#and mark my words she's going to get worst

[moth2flamewriting]

Easier

So, I figured I would take my time putting this one out. I don't like feeling like I'm rushing to write and then giving you guys bullshit to read.

I appreciate all the positive feedback, it makes me feel super confident in my writing!

ENJOY.

"You makin' love so easy," the words lazily slipped out of her mouth.

"That's cause we was meant to be Annie," Smoke grinned.

The Beginning of the Day...

She woke up to and immediately thought the worst. It had been almost 2 years since Smoke came back to town. She was prepared for the worst and hoping for the best.

Her furrowed brows loosened as aromas wafted in from the doorway.

He was making her breakfast, well lunch.

She rolled out of bed on a hot July afternoon. In complete bliss from the last 2 years she's had with her husband.

He'd been so consistent, so.. present. The war wasn't holding him hostage. He was clear minded. He was focused, and it was on her.

As she got up, Elijah walked through the door with a big shit eating grin.

"I got sumn' for ya." He was always doing something.

"You gotta close ya eys if you wanna see,' he teased.

Annie was always in the mood for his surprises.

"Lijah, don't let me fall now,' she joked back.

He guided her out through their living room and into the kitchen.

"Baby.. you've really outdone yourself," turning into his chest with happy tears falling down her face.

64 roses arranged on the kitchen table. A note. Not only that, there sat a ring.

They were already married, but this? This was a moment she always dreamed of sharing with him. Specifically, him.

Approaching the table, hands gravitating towards the letter that read:

Annie,

I waited a long time to come back to what we had. I ran. I hurt you. I should've stayed here with you. I can't change the past, only what I do from here on out. And that's show you.

I prayed for you, not even knowing who the prayer is going to. I just pleaded with whoever to get me back to you. Asked the big hole in the sky day in and day out to reunite us. I love you Annie. Everyday that passes by I wake up loving you more than I did yesterday.

You are the light on my darkest days. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between. What better way to prove that to you? I dedicate my life to your happiness, peace, and wellbeing. I'm choosing you in this moment the way I choose you every day.

I know in every lifetime that you & I will be reunited because when it's meant to be, it lasts forever.

Thank you for who you are. For helping me become who I am. Now I just have one more question for you baby..

Yours forever,

Elijah

p.s. Turn around!

She was gasping for breath, chest rising and falling so rapidly.

She turned. And there he was, on bended knee, reaching for the ring.

Tears welded in their eyes. THIS MOMENT, specially made for them.

"Now, I know you probably thinking I done lost my damn mind. But I have to have you for the rest of my life. So I was wonderin' if you would be my wife?," he asked.

"I'd marry you one hundred times over Elijah," she replied.

He placed the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit. They were perfect for each other.

He knew that this was something she longed for even after they got married. He made her dreams a reality.

What started off as a kiss of appreciation, escalated quickly into a heavy session. Tongues dancing, hands gliding up and down eachothers bodies.

He cups her face with two large hands, caressing her cheeks. Plants a sweet kiss on her lips. Her forehead. Her cheek. Traveling down her face licking, biting and sucking on her neck.

Her hands holding the back of his head. If he wasn't holding her up, her knees would've gave out right from under her.

"Smoke you bitin' me so hard, you gon leave a mark," she hissed.

Everybody knew she was his already anyway, it wouldn't be the first time she had to walk around with love marks.

"I can't keep my mouth off of you, you're so sexy," he growled into her chest. "Take your shirt off," he demanded.

She obeyed his request.

Soft, plump titties fell out of her dress. He was mesmerized. Her nipples were so hard, sensitive to the touch. He wanted to suck them. That sent her body into a frenzy.

He pulled her towards the couch where he sat down and pulled her to sit in his lap. Her breast directly in his face, he took the erect nipple in his mouth. Sucking lightly, biting them softly. Moans fell out of her mouth. She dug her nails into his shoulder, leaving marks.

"Elijah, the way you touching me got me going crazy, I can feel my pussy getting wet for you," she moaned.

His dick was hard as fuck. Between the titties, the moans and her rocking back and forth on his dick.

She felt him growing under her. She needed more friction. She rocks harder. The only barrier between then are her panties. She's leaking onto his pants.

"Baby, I'm bout to cum for you."

"Oh no no noooo," he stops her. He grabs her around waste with one hand to lift her up a little, he uses his other hand to rip her panties off and pull his dick out.

Her body hovered in the air as he lined himself up with her slick opening. He guided the tip of his dick into her gushy, warm pussy.

Annie's head fell back, mouth agape, "Ohhh my god Daddy, i feel so full already." He wasn't even in her yet.

"Your dick is so big baby, I don't think I can take that." She said that everytime.

"You can take it baby, I'm gon lower you on this dick nice and slow," he growled.

Her pussy was too wet. Too warm. It was too good.

She sank further onto him. Taking breaks in between.

"Smoke, please just fuck me with this much.. I can't take nomore dick," she begged him.

"Aw baby, you almost there," he wraps his hands around Annie holding her ass open with one cheek and rubbing her asshole slowly, using her pussy juices as lubricant.

She could help but sink down on his dick as he played in her ass. Slightly teasing her hole.

She screamed, "Fuck Daddy! You're so big."

He began to lift her up slowly using her ass cheeks as leverage. Her pussy was so slick on his dick. Dripping all over them. She was riding him so slow, he thought be might cum right then and there.

"Your pussy is so fucking good, I'm gon spend the resr of my life diggin' in you baby," Smoke moaned.

"You like the way I ride that dick daddy? Put your finger back in my ass so I can bust all over you," she was playing a dangerous game.

He teased at her ass making him ride him harder. She's slamming her pussy on to his dick now. He can feel her heartbeat he so deep inside her.

"I love you baby," she whimpers.

"I love you Elijah."

"Your dick is so good."

"You tearing me up Smoke."

"You so deep in me baby, fuck."

She was a wreck. His dick made her dizzy. It was soooo good.

"Annie baby.. I- I'm boutta nut all in your pussy. Your pussy grippin my dick so good," his hips started to buck.

Annied lowered her lips to his ear. "I'm about to squirt all over you daddy. Right there. Don't stop pounding my pussy oh my-," it gushed out of her all over his dick. He fucks her even harder.

"I love fucking this pussy baby, Daddy bout to cum right in you," he grunts.

Annie's slamming her pussy onto him. Over and over. It sounds like a love audience.

"Cum in this pussy daddy. Please nut in me," she begged.

Hammering into her, he releases all cum in her with a string of cuss words to follow.

"Oh fuck Annie, i'm fucking cummin' in this wet ass pussy.. you got the best fuckin pussy baby. You're so beautiful."

They both slow down to look at each other. He's still inside of her. Neither one of them want to part.

Trying to find words, they just stare in admiration.

"I love you, Elijah."

"I love you, Annie."

"You makin' love so easy," the words lazily slipped out of her mouth.

Her head now nestled in his neck.

"That's cause we was meant to be Annie," Smoke grinned.

They spent the rest of the day basking in their "engagement" and making love all over their house.

Exactly the way it would always be.

Just them.

the end.

[wayiiseetheworld]

50 Ways

{ Chapter Two }

Summary: Fifty Ways Jack Abbot shows his love.

Warnings: Jack Abbot x OC!Wife. Established relationship. Age gap marriage. Depression. BiPolar. Medical inaccuracies.

Word Count: 1,369

Author Note: I am obsessed with Abbot, Robby, and The Pitt. Slowly going to post my stories from A03 on here. Rewatching ER and Animal Kingdom because of this show. Thank you so much for reading! || Not my gif.

Based off this Tumblr post : https://shorturl.at/a51iG

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64495642/chapters/165620575

Prev | Next

II : “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

Jack was getting the house ready for a special date night with his wife. After finishing his shift at seven am, he had spent much of the day dozing on the couch; sleep had eluded him in their bed. The police scanner hummed softly in the background—a soothing reminder of his military days that brought him a sense of comfort. Despite his therapist's suggestion to stop using it over a year ago, he found it hard to relinquish that solace, especially when he was alone in the house without her. 

He sighed as he navigated the stillness of the Abbot household, waking up alone, which was unusual since his wife typically followed a similar schedule. A quick shower helped clear the remnants of drowsiness, and he changed into a pair of black sweats and a tank top. He carefully slipped back on his prosthetic foot with the tennis shoes he normally wore in the house, opting to forgo his crutch, determined to tackle the tasks he’s planned out ahead. He then put on the black Ugg slippers his wife had gifted him a few months prior after he lost his old pair.

His wife was still at work, and he didn’t expect her home until a little after seven pm. It was usually her day off, but a last-minute call from a coworker had her stepping in for the noon to seven shift.

Tonight was their date night, and Jack was responsible for making dinner while Aila would choose the movie. 

As the clock struck five pm, Jack stood in the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients to start on taco chicken when his phone buzzed with a familiar number��the bar where his wife worked. “...Hello?” Jack answered, his voice steady but laced with concern. Aila always called or texted him from her cellphone, never the bar's phone.

He could hear the distant sounds of music from the bar echoing through the phone. A voice broke through the noise. “Dr. Abbot, this is Mark, head of security.”

Jack's heart raced, the urgency in Mark's voice sending a jolt of fear through him. “What happened? Is Aila okay?” he demanded.

“There was a fight,” Mark explained quickly. “A couple got into it, and Aila tried to intervene as the MOD. I just got in. In the chaos, one of them threw something, and it hit Aila. She can't move her hand properly, and honestly, it might be broken. She’s refusing an ambulance, though, so we need you to come get her.”

Jack's breath caught in his throat as he absorbed the news. For a moment, anger flared up inside him at Aila for refusing to accept an ambulance. “Refusing an ambulance?” he echoed, his disbelief spilling out. Jack's mind raced to the worst of possibilities, did she hit her head? “I'm on my way; I'll be there in five minutes to pick her up.”

“Great. We’ll be in the back office,” Mark replied before ending the call.

Jack rushed to put on his jacket, his mind racing back to a few weeks prior when they had shared dinner and wine. Aila had opened up about the increasing difficulties she faced during the day shift, expressing her frustration at management for not taking her seriously. She had mentioned that around three in the afternoon, rowdier customers from the hotel across the street would start to arrive. It pained him to think of how often she felt responsible for managing the bar’s atmosphere, especially when she was often left to handle things on her own without any support. 

Jack made a mental note to contact his friend who owned a bar and was also an ex-soldier. He might have some leads on where Aila could find a new job as he would really prefer her not come back to this bar.

As he finally pulled into the employee parking lot and parked beside the entrance, Jack took a deep breath before stepping inside. He ignored the lively sounds of the bar, scanning the backroom until he spotted Aila. She was seated on a chair next to a desk in a cramped office, positioned just across from the entryway to the kitchen. He could hear Mark trying to soothe her, offering to pour her a drink on the house or get her a bag of ice.

Aila cradled her injured hand, her face pale and strained, masking her pain with an expression of annoyance on her face. Jack knew that once they were out of her workplace and in the car, the facade would shatter.

Without hesitation, he hurried toward her, calling out, “Aila!” 

She looked up, forcing a weak smile, but he could see the pain lurking in her eyes. “Hey, I’m fine,” she said, uttering a lie that felt more directed toward herself than him.

Jack knelt beside her, his gaze falling on her shattered phone lying on the desk. It suddenly clicked why Mark had called him instead of her. His heart sank as he noticed the blood seeping through the makeshift bandage wrapped around her hand. She was visibly shaking, and Jack realized she was likely in shock or adrenaline rush leaving her body. “You’re not fine. We need to get you to the hospital,” he insisted, his voice steady and authoritative.

“It’s just a cut. I don’t need—” she began to protest, but the expression on Jack’s face silenced her.

“Aila,” he said gently, interrupting her, “can I see your hand?” He wanted to check for himself what kind of injury she was dealing with. The way she was cradling it, combined with the pale color of her skin and the way the blood was seeping through the bandage, made him suspect it could be broken. When she hesitated, he continued with a soft but firm tone, “You might have a fractured bone in there. We can’t take that chance. Please, let me take a look.” He hoped his calmness would penetrate the wall of stubbornness she often built around herself. “Just let me help you.”

Aila stared at him for a moment, doubt flickering in her eyes as she weighed her options. She could see the genuine concern etched on Jack's face, and despite her instinct to downplay the situation, she felt the urge to let her husband help. Slowly, she extended her injured hand toward him, wincing slightly as she did.

Jack took her hand gently, his fingers brushing against the bandage. He could feel her trembling, and he tried to be as careful as possible. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with here,” he said softly, lifting the edge of the bandage to inspect the wound. 

As he revealed the injury, he saw two small gashes and her fingers limp. “Aila, this looks serious. You have definitely broken something, especially with the swelling starting already,” he said, keeping his voice steady to soothe her. 

“I just… I don’t want to make a big deal out of this,” she replied, her voice shaking.

“Sweetheart, this isn’t making a fuss. You’re hurt, and you deserve proper care. Let me help you, alright? I’ll drive you to the hospital. No ambulance.” he said, his grip on her hand gentle yet reassuring. Jack noticed the glass sitting on the desk, likely left there by Mark. He picked it up and began re-wrapping her hand, doing his best to provide some temporary support. “Robby is still working, and so is Dana. I’ll give them a call, and try to make it quick and as painless as possible, okay?” 

Aila finally nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing a bit. “Fine. Okay, just… let's go,” she agreed, her voice barely a whisper.

“Thank you,” Jack said, relief flooding through him as he stood, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you out of here. Thank you for calling, Mark.”

Together, they made their way toward the exit. The once lively bar felt muted as Jack focused solely on Aila. Once they are in the car, Jack calls Dana to give them a heads up. Aila lets out a shaky breath, “Thank you for picking me up.”

“Anytime,” Jack promises her, starts driving towards the hospital.

[cribabey]

I love the pervert!mark fanfics but… what if pervert!rex? eh? eh?? you see the vision I’m showing???

lowk imagining him unabashedly taking user’s panties or boxers and bringing it up to his nose to sniff aggressively, especially when he’s away from home and he has at least a whole box of user’s underwear. in post lobotomy he would at least ask politely now even if you still dated him despite being an asshole and all

bonus: Rex slowly finds out about scenting so he purposely sprays user’s underwear with his own cologne so you’ll perfectly smell like him once he goes down there for a meal <3

a/n: omg ofc i would love to... tbh i haven't actually watched much of invincible so i will do it before the lobotomy. actually anon you're a literally genius i was talking about this w one of my friends but more of for mark but rex is totally it as well. he's an asshole but he wants you. wait lowk i wasn't sure if you wanted it to be est. relationship but i thought it would be super juicy if there wasn't! cuz u know then it's supppper perverted.

MDNI- pervert reader, pervert rex.... panty stealing, m masturbation, (no est. relationship, he's literally just a freak.) PinV unprotected (wrap it before you tap it kids) , oral (m! recieving and f!) assertive r! and rex

wc: 4.2k. (freaky)

what it involves: rex is your roommate, one that you just couldn't get along with no matter what you tried. it was annoying cuz you liked him. finally you've had enough, and you decide you're going to try to find him with one of your panties, but it's a bit more than what you've bargained for.

a/n: sorry anon this too soooo long to write idk why.

rex is an asshole. there's no doubt about it.

in some ways, he's one of the worst roommates you've ever had. he's loud, obnoxious, and he almost always is playing some dumbass meme music that you can definitely hear from your room.

you're always knocking at his door, trying to get him to turn the music down so you can get some shut eye before some exam or something else that's quite important, but he tends to ignore you.

sometimes, if he's in a good mood, he'll tell you that he'll do it, and he'll switch it off for awhile. key word, awhile.

he may be an asshole, but he's a good looking asshole. and that pisses you off to no end whatsoever, because what do you mean, you literally need him so bad you can't function properly when he stretches at the breakfast table.

what do you mean, you hate how thin the walls are in your house because you can hear him fucking some other girl, and god she sounds like she's enjoying it a bit too much....

and sometimes, he can be nice. if he knows you've had a bad day and you can't deal with him at all, he won't play his music, and he'll cook dinner or buy take out for the two of you.

he'll make sure to clean up, and when you protest, he'll go, "well, i'm the best anyway, so just remember that."

but the main thing that pisses you off about rex, is that he gets all up in your personal space. he's always barging into your room, not even knocking before he does it.

he plays his music too loud behind closed doors, but the music can still be heard outside.

but what you don't know, is that behind that closed door, he's fisting his cock to the thought of you.

he plays his music so you can't hear him groaning your name as he thinks about fucking you on your couch, having you sit on his lap reverse cowgirl as he spreads your bottom lips open to watch where you're connected to him.

his favourite is when you wear his favourite black little lingerie that he gets to rip off of you with his teeth alone, before you scream his name out when he sheaths himself into you.

as your roommate, rex manages to get a lot of spank material about you, just living around you and watching you live your life out.

one time, when you were both in the kitchen together, he watched you reach up the cupboard, your shortest sleep shorts moving upwards to give him a glance of your tight panties hugging your cunt, mound obvious even from where he's sitting.

he came to that so many times he's lost count, and that night alone he masturbated until he passed out.

rex hates how he's obsessed.

he hates how the first thing he does when he gets home from being out all day is sniff the air of the house, seeing if he can still catch your sweet, sweet perfume in the air, despite that you've been out for the last five hours.

and when he knows you've just showered and have gone to your room, he hates how he basically sprints to your shared bathroom, thanking whatever gods that gave him this tiny ass house he shares with you that has one bathroom, and that you keep your laundry in the basket there.

he hates how he feels just the slightest bit of guilt when he fishes through the laundry basket looking for the freshest pair of underwear that he knows you just wore, the ones where he can smell you fresh and sweet, and he hates how his cock twitches so painfully in his pants.

and god, does rex hate how he doesn't even last more than 20 pumps of his hands when your panties are pressed so close to his nose he might die of asphyxiation, but he knows it'd be a happy death.

with each passing day of his dirty, dirty habits, rex gets more depraved and addicted.

he starts bt not bothering to wash your panties once he's done with them, just leaving the panties back in your laundry basket, covered in his cum.

he doesn't try to hide the fact that he's started to keep your underwear, no longer returning it back to the laundry basket, tucking it into his own drawers to keep for himself as keepsakes of his obsession of you, and your smell.

you ask him if he's seen your favourite pair of panties, as you tell him that your underwear has started to disappear more often, and he shrugs, saying that it's probably just the washing machine eating them all up. they usually turn up weeks later, and your favourite red panties have disappeared a total of 5 times in the last 5 weeks!

he's suspicious and you know it, but the idea of rex, oh so arrogant rex, on his knees for your used panties? it sends a hot burst of...something into your stomach, and you can feel your panties getting damper, not that you'd admit it!

rex is getting braver, you can tell. it's now just a matter of catching him in the act.

he's started to sneak into the bathroom when you're showering, with the spare key that you don't know exists, and he steals the dirty underwear that you've left on the floor to throw into the laundry, and with the dirty underwear pressed to his nose, he uses the clean ones to get himself off, wrapping them around his cock, thinking about you putting them on without a clue.

he cums in those panties, leaving them on the sink for you to wear, just waiting for you to put them on so you can smell like him, and when he does this again tomorrow, you'll already smell like him. that thought sends a devious grin across his face.

when you come out of the shower after that, you can feel your panties are a bit heavier than before, but you put them on anyway, and you immediately feel the wet spot from his cum, because the thought excites you more than you could possibly explain.

sometimes, he doesn't even use them for his own pleasure immediately. he takes his cologne, and sprays the wet spot right where your entrance will be, thinking about how your entrance will smell just like him. the thought, hours later, gets him shooting his load all over his desk, where he was staring at up skirt picture of you he'd managed to sneak.

you finally catch him in the act one day.

you'd been planning this for weeks, slowly building up the courage to finally confront him and get what you want from him.

you've been telling him for weeks about a made up conference that you'd have, telling him that you'd be out for most of the day, reminding him through small things such as saying "don't bring anyone over when i'm gone, i don't want them going through my things" and "don't let anyone trash my shit."

and so you get ready. you wear your red underwear that you know he loves, and you leave the house. you plan to come back four hours or so before you tell him you'll be back, to see if you can catch him in the act.

when you get home, the house is a bit quiet. you open the door as quietly as possible for you, taking your shoes off and setting them by the door as quiet as possible.

you walk slowly, and with purpose, setting your coat up on the hanger, and you walk towards his room.

as you near his room, you can hear some grunting, and the wet sound of skin on skin.

you can hear the low murmur of words, but can't quite make out what's being said.

as you near the sounds, you can make out what's being said.

he's grunting out your name, saying; "god, you really want this, don't you. you love smelling like me. you're such-hngh- a dirty girl, wearing your panties with my cum on them"

"god-" he whimpers, rex actually whimpers, "i bet you taste so good, fuck-" and you can hear the desperation in his voice.

but soon, you realise, the sound isn't coming from his room, it's coming from yours.

rex is in your room, fucking his fist to the thought of your pussy clamped around his dick, squeezing him like a vice.

based on the sounds of his voice alone, he sounds like he's close, and you decide this is the best time to interrupt, thinking about the look on his face alone is getting you wet as hell, walls fluttering around nothing.

you push your door open slightly, and you see rex. he's lying on your bed, his sweatpants pulled down to his thighs. you see his cock strained and flushed a dark colour, and god, his thick tip is gorgeous. you can't wait to sink down on it, feeling it bully against your cervix.

his eyes are screwed shut, and your panties are pressed against his nose with one hand, the other one gripped so tightly around his dick it looks like it might just actually hurt.

he has his eyes shut so tightly, and the wet sounds of his cum 'shlick, shlick' sound across the room.

the sight is gorgeous, and you can't help but appreciate the view in front of you.

rex's abs are flexing under the dim light from your lamp, sweat is beading on his chest. but the real show, the real show is his dick. it's bigger than you imagined, and you can feel the drool collecting in your mouth from the way you're salivating for its weight against your tongue.

you want to taste the precum beading at his pretty flushed tip, but all in due time. he needs to pay for stealing your underwear, making you go commando around the house, feeling sticky in your shorts when you're near him.

he doesn't notice the dip of his bed when you sit down quietly, and only opens his eyes when he hears your breath hitch. your face is pretty and flushed, lips wet and breaths shallow.

"you having fun without me?" you ask, and you cringe slightly, but it's too late now, it's already out of your mouth.

he stops immediately, yanks your panties off of his nose and throws them across the room, as if you haven't seen them already.

his hands drop from his cock, resting on his thighs as he stares at you, open mouthed.

it elicits a response from you, the arrogant rex quiet under your gaze? goddamn, you could get used to this.

"oh no, don't stop on my account. you really seemed to be enjoying yourself." you essentially purr out, getting excited.

rex can only stay quiet as you look at him, a dirty grin on your face, now.

"need a hand?" you ask him, seeing how he just sits there open mouthed.

you watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows, and he nods.

oh god, you're gonna cum untouched in your shorts like some teenage boy.

you shift forward, moving towards him. his hands move from his thighs, not entirely sure where to rest.

you move them gently out of the way, and you sit on your knees, looking down at the view in front of you.

his tip is flushed a light purple-red, and you think he's hard enough that it actually might hurt.

the underside of his dick has a couple of veins that are rather prominent, and you remind yourself that you're going to want to lick them as best as you can when you finally get your mouth on his dick.

your hands wrap around his cock, and he hisses from the sensation, already being so sensitive. you can immediately feel how hefty and big he is.

you struggle to wrap your hand around him, and the thought of this entering you later is exciting to you.

you let go for a moment, and rex is disappointed from the lack of warmth, and just as he's about to interrupt and complain, you spit in your palm, making eye contact with him as you use the spit in your palm to lube him up.

you hear the wet shlick from both his precum and your spit, and rex throws his head back, eyes shut as he fists your hair.

you lean forward, tentatively licking his slit, and he groans gutterly, "fuck- you can't- " and you grin in you kiss against his slit, kitten licking the precum that's spilling over like a faucet, refusing to waste a drop.

and without warning, you wrap your lips around him, taking him inch by inch.

he really thinks he might bust any moment now, and he needs to fight it. he can feel his abs tightening up again, and you can hear him almost...whimpering?

"god, you feel so goddamn good. you were keeping this hot mouth from me? god baby, you're taking me so well."

the compliments are really going straight to your cunt, and your panties are slightly uncomfortable with how much they're sticking to your mound.

you deepthroat him in one go, choking slightly on his length as you feel his tip bump against the back of your throat.

using your other hand, your hand is splayed across his bare thighs, squeezing the muscle as you try to bob your head up and down, before rex uses his hand to push you down all the way.

using the underside of your tongue, you fondle his veins, and you can almost feel the way he throbs on your tongue, dangerously close to cumming down the back of your throat. the idea is delicious to him, but he doesn't feel right doing that on the first time.

suddenly, rex doesn't seem so submissive anymore, and he pulls you off of him.

when you're using the back of your hand to wipe the saliva away from your mouth, you look up at him questioningly, and rex feels his dick twitch again, just from seeing you underneath him.

"not yet, sweetheart. in due time." he grumbles, pulling you up from the underside of your arm, before pushing you gently onto the bed.

he hovers over you, his arms on either side of your head with his elbows pressed against the mattress of your bed.

and then he kisses you.

rex literally kisses you. it's quick and urgent, and he presses his tongue so roughly against yours your teeth clash together.

it's painful but god you're melting into him.

rex is done holding back. he's gonna take what he wants, after struggling all this time to contain it.

as he kisses you so deep you can feel saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth, he's grinding his raw dick against your clothed cunt. the rough stimulation of your clothes against his dick hurts in a good way, but he wants more, he needs more. he needs you now.

he breaks the kiss, stomach clenching, dick twitching when he notices the string of saliva connecting you two, and he looks at you for permission, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants.

you nod, and he yanks them off so hard he moves you down. you laugh, and he immediately clocks in on your underwear, shoving his face in between your thighs, nose bumping against your clit.

your laugh breaks off into a moan, and you can feel him sniff as much as he can.

"god, you smell just like me...fuck, baby, all this for me?" he says to you when he pulls back, grinning up at you.

you can see the slick from your panties slightly brushed across his nose, and you flush, which makes him groan more.

you nod, "all for you, rex."

he grins against your mound, his nose nudging against your clit.

suddenly, his mouth closes around your covered clit, and he sucks harshly, leaving you to let out a mewl.

your hand clasps over your mouth, and you're embarrassed of the sounds that you made, so loud and wanton.

"na, baby, i wanna hear you. can you do that f'me?" he mumbles against your clit, as he pulls your hand away from you mouth, fingers interlocking with yours.

his words against your clit vibrates through you, and you can feel yourself pulse around nothing, completely desperate for him, for his dick.

"rex, please. i wan' you." you mumble, your face flushed and sweaty already.

rex grins arrogantly again, and he nods in compliance. he pulls your panties down, discarding them somewhere across the room, forgotten until later.

he groans at being greeted with the site of your cunt, and rex's mouth drops open.

"oh baby, you're so pretty...you're dripping wet for me, honey." he groans, before he leans in to take a sniff, like the pervert he is.

"rex!" you squeal, pushing his head away from between your thighs with your hands.

rex tuts, "none of that, sweets. this is all mine now, you don't get to keep her away from me." his voice is deep, drizzling like honey.

and without another word, he shoves his face into your cunt.

he spits onto your cunt, drawing back to watch the way it drips between your legs, falling between your ass cheeks.

he groans, rutting his hard-on into your bed, leaking so much he thinks he's about to explode.

he dives right back in like a man starved, flicking his tongue against your clit fast and rushed, and you think, you think you can feel him spelling out his own name; 'r', 'e', 'x'. marking your cunt as his.

you're gonna die, you're gonna die.

"fuck!" you squeal, when he finally pushes his tongue through that first barrier of tight muscle, squealing his name again when he contracts his tongue, causing your tight hole to stretch.

the stretch catches you off guard, but it feels so good, you can't stop thinking about how good his dick will feel in comparison.

"you like that, baby? can't wait to have you splitting apart on my cock." he tells you, before he breaks away from your lower lips, yet another string of saliva breaking between you two.

he grins at the mess in front of him, the flush on your face, and the pool between your thighs.

he finally pushes his fingers into you and you gasp, the intrusion making you throw your head back, clenching down on rex's fingers.

"god, you're so tight. 's all for me?" he asks, smiling down at you.

he starts pumping his fingers in and out, the speed increasing slowly but gradually, and it's almost too much, just because it's him.

he manages to find your soft spongey spot so quickly, making sure he hits it every time. he adds a third finger, stretching you out slowly, to ensure that you can fit him later on.

"all fo' you rex. only for you." you're babbling now, feeling your approaching climax.

rex feels it too, with the way your walls spasm around his fingers.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he asks you, smug written all over his face.

"yeah, yeah i'm gonna-"

with the coaxing of his words, your walls clamp around his fingers like a vice, rex swears, and he pushes his thumb onto your clit, pushing you over the edge.

you feel it wash over you, your thighs clamping shut tightly around rex's hands, which he pries open. your legs twitch, and rex helps you ride through your high.

there's tears in your eyes, from the violent high rex just pushed you through.

you're babbling now, begging for his cock.

"rex- please, i wan' it." you babble, cunt aching for his dick stretching you out, making you cum.

"say it louder, use your words. what is it that you want, baby?" rex asks, cocky as he waits for you to beg for his cock.

"i want your cock in me, please rex, please." you look so sweet underneath him, tears in your eyes and your shirt pushed up to your chest, tits spilling out of your bra.

he leans forward, popping a tit out of your bra, and latches onto your nipple, sucking your nipple hard into his mouth, his teeth grazing over your nipple.

"ah!" you whimper, hand flying into his hair, tangling in his long locks. at some point, rex's hair had come loose, his long hair down now.

rex grins again, against the fat mound of your tit, using his other hand to grope your other one, rolling the nipple between his index finger and thumb.

"aw, well i gotta give my sweet girl what she wants, right? i'm gonna give you my dick until the only thing you can think about is the feeling of my cock buried inside you, stretching you, claiming you, owning you."

with that, rex slowly pushes in the mushroom tip of his cock through the first row of muscles of your tight cunt, into your clasping heat in one smooth stroke. He lets out a guttural moan as your walls flutter and clench around him, trying to adjust to his size.

rex thinks he might cum from this alone, with how wet and tight you are, your insides gripping onto him.

you can feel the veins on the underside of his dick, grind against your walls, the feeling dragging a wanton moan out of

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight" rex grits out, fingers gripping into the fat globes of your ass, as he slams into you in one go, groaning as his cock head hits your cervix.

"fuck me, please!" you scream, the cervix bumping causing your legs to tighten around his waist, nails raking into his back.

it hurts a little for rex, but the look of pleasure scrunched into your face is totally worth it. and he can't wait to see the marks tomorrow morning, marking him as yours.

He hooks his hands under your knees, pushing them up and back towards your chest to expose more of your dripping sex to his relentless thrusts. The new angle allows him to go even deeper, to hit that special spot inside you that has you arching off the bed with a sharp cry.

"Fuck, right there!" rex snarls in satisfaction, feeling your pussy clench and flutter around him. "That's your sweet spot, isn't it? The spot that makes you fucking drench my cock in your juices. I'm going to ruin it, baby. I'm going to ruin it for anyone else." his obsessive side peaking through. rex knows he's never going to let you go after this, even if you try to run away. nothing will make him let you go.

rex's dirty talk is just making you clench tighter around him, and you can begin to feel rex's dick twitching in your cunt. you throw your head back as you moan, eyes closed.

rex leans down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth, biting down just shy of pain before soothing the sting with his tongue. He laves the sensitive bud with long, slow licks and suckles, coaxing it to stiffen even further.

He snakes a hand down between your sweat-slicked bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, rapid circles into the sensitive nub. rex feels you teetering on the edge, your body tensing, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

all the while, rex never stops with his unrelenting pace of fucking you with his dick, his balls slapping against your skin, hips bruising against your ass. you're gonna be bruised all over, especially where he's been biting you and gripping you tight.

"cum, baby, cum on my cock." rex demands, and that finally pushes you over the edge, spasming around rex's dick. you feel him follow right after, groaning as he drops his head against yours, slowing his unrelenting pace.

With a final, brutal thrust, rex buries himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt as you orgasm. He grinds against your cervix, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he starts to erupt, painting your insides with thick ropes of his hot, sticky seed.

he collapses against you, trying to catch his breath.

he pulls his half-hard cock out, and you let out a whine from the loss of pressure and warmth inside you.

rex tuts as he watches his cum leak out of your pussy.

he pushes his seed back into your abused cunt with his fingers, tutting about "such a waste", before scooping down and collecting your underwear off the floor.

he pulls your ruined underwear back on for you, letting his cum collect on the panties instead, his spend keeping your abused cunt warm, completely ruining your panties once and for all.

you groan, something about feeling gross, but he grins at you, already thinking of next time, and how he wants you to smell just like him.

but it's totally worth it for him, because when you go shower later that day, he steals them again, using them to get off with the wet splotch from both your cum and his. he sniffs them, eyes rolling back into his head as he groans, cumming just from the memory alone of your walls fluttering around his dick, before he's even touched himself.

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!! hope you thirsty freaks enjoyed

[unintentionalseductress]

Prescription For Pleasure

Warnings: MDNI, sex, masturbation, medical masturbation, use of vibrators, clit play, piv sex, use of latex gloves, oral (fem receiving), some praise, kinda slow burn A/n: I am not normal about this man in any way. Not really proofread. Please do not use my banners without permission.

You’re seated in Zayne’s office, trying not to squirm as he sets up your appointment. Although this was now the third time you were seeing him for this regular inspection, it didn’t alleviate your nerves the slightest. Each month, according to the Hunter’s Association regulations, every hunter needed to be seen by their primary care physician for 3 consecutive days for their health.

And although the association deemed it a necessity, it was an embarrassing requirement according to you. The Hunter’s Association had done a survey and discovered that many of their employees suffered from high levels of stress because they were isolated and lacked much-needed human contact. To combat this, they made it mandatory to get physical contact by a medical professional every month.

But when all the fancy jargon was pushed aside, all the hunters called it the same thing - medical masturbation. It had become wildly popular amongst both men and women hunters, eagerly marking the days on their calendar for when they could come in. When you heard about the rule, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. You had tried talking to Jenna to insist that you were indeed taking care of yourself in that aspect, thanks to your trusted vibrator, but she had shaken her head no. 

“We need documentation. I’m subject to it, and so is everyone else in my order.”  Defeated, you’d walked out of Jenna’s office before remembering another mortifying fact with a jolt. Your primary care physician was Zayne. 

Your childhood friend, your trusted cardiologist, stoic and calm, who remained reserved during your general checkups, was going to be your medical masturbator. You had almost turned yourself into a ball on the floor, tweaked out at the insanity of it all. Although Zayne was your general physician, you had a separate gynecologist, and apart from asking if you’d had your annual PAP smear, Zayne had left that part of your anatomy unquestioned. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him, and sure, if he’d asked you out on a date, you would have been more than happy to let him inspect you all he wanted down there.

But this clinical setting, enforced by your organization was a little too much to bear. Wondering how to tackle this situation, you wander over to Tara who was humming as she made her medical bookings on her phone app. “Isn’t this exciting?” she squeals as she sees you. “God knows the dating pool is thin right now. This is just what I needed!”

Tara’s primary care physician was a woman, and you wondered if that was a pro or a con. On the one hand, dropping your panties for a woman doctor seemed less unnerving than for a man. But if you had a preference for men, would it work against your arousal? You shook your head at your ridiculous musings and focused on talking to Tara. “Are you really that excited about this?”

“You have no idea!” Tara taps her feet as she talks to you. 

“And you’re ok about having a woman stimulate you?” You probe, trying to gauge Tara’s reaction. Tara giggles and lightly pats your shoulder. 

“I don’t know but the idea is kind of hot. I mean, getting it on in a doctor’s office? Besides if I don’t like it, I can change the doctor the next time.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. “You can change your doctor?”

“For this yes, the app gives you an option since it involves showing off a lot of intimate areas. You have to be able to trust your doctor right?”

You logged into the app, finding the little button to request a change in doctors, but for some reason, the page kept refreshing and crashing. With a sigh, you decide to get the worst of it over with and call Zayne, hoping he can make the change for you on his end. His voice is cool and professional when he answers your call.

“Yes?”

“So, you must have heard about…the new regulation?” you had put forth nervously.

“I am aware of it, yes.” 

“Well, for obvious reasons, I would like a different doctor.” 

Zayne smoothly says, “Of course. Patient comfort is always first. Do you have a doctor in mind?”

“Maybe my gynecologist? I tried doing it in the app but it keeps crashing.” There’s a moment of silence and you can hear Zayne’s fingers tapping away at his keyboard before a low hum leaves his end of the line.

“There appears to be a problem.”

“Problem?” you’d parrotted back.

“Yes. Because so many people are booking appointments at the same time, most of the available doctors are already taken. Including your gynecologist.” 

It felt like watching a bird crashing into a window in slow motion, that brief moment of hope that it wouldn’t hit the glass shattering in an instant. “Oh.”

There’s a pause before Zayne delicately says, “I’m sorry but it looks like you will have to make those appointments with me for this month. 3 of them according to the regulation. Hopefully, you can make the change for next month.” His voice sounded slightly apologetic.

“Won’t it be weird given that we know each other personally?” The question had fallen from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“I promise not to treat you any differently than any of my other patients who are coming in for this inspection. I understand this may be a little unexpected, but I assure you I did a term of gynecology during my internship.”

A tinge of mirth carried over in his voice and you can’t help but make a noise of embarrassment. “Zayne, please!” His laugh was dry but not unkind, and you can’t help but want to hide your face even though he couldn’t see you. 

“Don’t worry too much. But I do advise you to make the appointments soon. My schedule is filling up rapidly.”

With those words, he’d disconnected the call and you were left wondering if an unknown god from another planet had cursed your existence. 

And changing doctors had proven to be more difficult than you’d thought. The entire organization seemed to be having a single thought. They had made appointments in the app almost halfway into the year, essentially blocking you from being able to do anything about your situation. Now on your third month with Zayne, you watch as he checks his notes from your last session, feeling like you want to scamper from the room.

The last two sessions had been incredibly stimulating, your arousal heightened by the fact you were attracted to Zayne. You’d never considered having someone watch as you touched yourself but found that you’d enjoyed it, at least, when it was him. He had remained professional, but you’d avoided him these last two months, save for when you had to get your monthly cardiac profile. He reads his notes from his computer as he prepares for your session. 

“Preferred device for stimulation still a vibrator, with a large, rounded, flexible head?” His eyes remain on his screen and you’re grateful for him giving you this smidgen of privacy. 

“Yes.”

“Preference for the doggystyle position still?” 

Your face burns. “Yes.”

“Still consenting for verbal stimulation?”

You nod your head.

“And still consenting for internal vaginal stimulation?” You make a noise of consent, squeezing your thighs together, your panties uncomfortably chafing against your already swollen pussy. 

“All right, I have everything I need.” He logs off and removes his lab coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his well-corded arms, and your mouth almost waters at the sight of them. Clearing your throat, you shyly reach into your bag and pull out the vibrator in question, which he takes from you and clamps into a stand, adjusting it over the examination table you’d be on. A bottle of lube awaits on the tray next to the table and you swallow as he finishes the setup. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says in that deep voice, and feeling like your fingers are wrapped in thick woolen mittens, you reach behind you to untie the hospital gown you’re wearing, and it falls to the floor with a swoosh, your nipples pebbling under the sudden chill. A small set of sensors were taped to your chest and on the sides of your forehead, essential medical devices to ensure your orgasm was satisfactory. Unperturbed, Zayne gestures to the table and you make your way onto it, letting your feet settle in the stirrups as he settles on a stool between your legs, pulling on latex gloves before gently spreading your folds apart. You stare up at the ceiling as he does his initial checkup.

“Labia look healthy, no signs of trauma or abnormal discharge,” he murmurs, then runs a finger down the edge of the fold that separates your inner and outer lips, causing your core to clench involuntarily. You hold still, knowing very well he saw the action, holding your breath, letting out a little sigh as he lets go. 

“Normal reaction to stimuli, already semi-aroused,” he says, trashing the gloves and making another note on his computer. He glances over at you, leaning back uncertainly on the table. “You may begin.”

You swallow, then carefully turn onto your hands and knees, crawling towards the head of the table, grabbing the bottle of lube and squeezing the viscous liquid onto the head of the vibrator, avoiding eye contact as your breasts sway under the motion, nipples painfully hard from anticipation. You could feel Zayne’s gaze but can’t bring yourself to look up. Even though this was the third time, it hadn’t gotten easier, stripping naked and pleasuring yourself in his office. 

Once the rounded head of the vibrator is slick, you turn, the chill of the lube against your heated membranes causing more blood to flow into your already engorged nub, and run your moist slit across the surface to spread the liquid onto your slickened folds. Your hand fumbles for the little remote control and with a buzz, the vibrator turns on at the lowest setting. You click the button a few more times until it gets to the speed you liked, then fail to hold back a moan as the sensations pleasurably begin to take hold in your clit. 

The first time you had done this, nervousness had made you set the vibrator on the highest possible setting hoping to get a quick orgasm and sprint out of the office. Unfortunately, the sensors relayed this information into Zayne’s medical record that your climax had been unsatisfactory, and you had endured being lectured by him with the medical gown loosely draped on your body, your rear open to the cold office air. 

His tone wasn’t unkind but it hadn’t helped you feel better either. “It helps neither of us if you rush this. The whole purpose of this examination is to ensure you’re relaxing. I know it’s embarrassing but if you fail to have a proper orgasm, I’ll have to make you repeat the process until I get data that says otherwise.”

“The sensors are-”

“The only way to measure anything. Without involving another person anyway.”

His words had left you gobsmacked and your retort had died in your mouth. After that incident, you had learned. Even with the chagrin of having him watch you, you had learned to take your time and let the feelings build, leading to incredibly savory climaxes that made your body squirm from the aftershocks. 

Your hips sway, setting up a rhythm to brush your sensitive slit onto the head, letting it vibrate from cunt to clit, the lube aiding the frictionless sliding and making your core drip. Quiet noises of pleasure leave your throat as help yourself, arching your back and changing the curvature of your ass to maximize the sensations, then when the perfect pattern emerges, you let out a keening sigh, and try to remain still, letting the vibrator work its magic. 

Zayne, who has been quietly observing the computer this entire time, observing the spikes relayed from the sensors, asks, “Have you found your optimal pleasure form?”

“Yes,” you gasp, the timbre of his voice sending an arrow of lust into the deepest parts of your clenching core. You knew what was about to come next. The sound of Zayne’s desk chair moving, followed by the snap of latex gloves as he pulled a fresh pair onto those beautiful hands. He approaches the examination table and takes the bottle of lube you had set aside earlier, a wet squelching noise issuing from it as he squeezes it over his gloved hand, gathering the fluid on his index and middle fingers. He leans over to whisper in your ears; the verbal stimulation has begun.

The humiliating reveal that you had a heavy praise kink had come up during your initial session and despite your insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Zayne, the ever-diligent worker, had made a note in your profile, and he’d been fulfilling it each time. A tickle of hot breath near your ear, before he murmurs, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

The hum of the vibrator in the background coupled with his voice makes your breath catch in your throat. You nod, knowing you didn’t have it in you to form coherent words. 

“That’s a good patient. Good patients listen to their doctors you know. And you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Your hips snap back to push your clit against the rubber pad, letting out a whimper of pleasure, the action pushing your ass up higher, revealing your pathetically drooling cunt, fluttering with the dissatisfaction of being unfilled. 

“Are you ready?” He waits for your consent and you manage a husky, ‘mm hm’.

“Good girl. Take a breath.”

You inhale, trying to relax, then let out an uninhibited moan as Dr. Zayne inserts his middle finger into your needy cunt, the ring of muscles offering no resistance to the probing digit. He gently thrusts a few times, before curling the tip of his finger up into the delicate patch of nerves on your upper wall, the smooth come hither motion awakening a new level of pleasure in your body. Your fingers tighten on the edges of the table, sobbing, trying not to scream at the feelings that threatened to explode from you. He keeps up the gentle assault before asking, “Are you ready for another one?”

“Yes…” your voice comes out shakily, knowing you desired more than just his fingers, but that you would never get to experience it. 

“Perfect. So well behaved, taking exactly what I give you.” Zayne’s sensual voice floods your ear before his index pushes into you, the thickness of both his fingers sending you into overdrive. Your walls clench welcomingly around him, inciting an exciting pull of liquid heat in your abdomen, the muscles tensing in anticipation for the exquisite release you knew was about to occur. 

Feeling your inhibitions abandon you as you are stroked closer to orgasm your self-control slips and his name falls from your lips as he pushes over the edge.

“Zayne…” some partially functioning confine in the back of your brain registers what you had just involuntarily purred, but the spasms rocking your core, those gratifying waves of delight flooding your body made it easier to ignore it as your being is reduced to a pliant mess of pleasure. His fingers ease up as the fluttering in your pussy calms down, your clit pulsating weakly as the final vestiges of pleasure are wrung from your body. 

With a wet noise, his fingers leave your moist hole, the glove coated with your juices and the lubricant. Awareness finally comes crashing around you as you realize what you had uttered in the throes of passion. 

“I…I didn’t…I wasn’t in control…” You try to find a way to explain, to let him know you had very little choice in the matter of sobbing his name as you orgasmed, but everything feels flat, almost on the fine line between explaining and insulting. 

“There’s no need.” Almost as if he’s read your mind, Zayne matter-of-factly redirects the conversation. “It’s not uncommon to blurt out things during climax. Some people swear, and others call out names. It was a very normal reaction considering I was the one in the room with you.”

He throws the gloves in the trash and goes to check the computer, to ensure the sensors had given him the information he needed before starting the second round of the appointment.

“Oh.” You say quietly as he sits at his desk, feeling dejected. Although relieved he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, you can’t help but feel disappointed with his reaction. Shouldn’t a man be flattered when a woman cried out his name when she came? Maybe he really was treating you strictly as a patient. And here you were, pussy exposed and spread after being probed by his dextrous fingers, mooning over him like a high school girl. Perhaps the limit of your relationship with him was in fact, doctor and patient, the childhood friends aspect fading. 

So there was no romance here at all. You had a crush on him, and he was doing his job. Reality sucks. You sniff and suddenly feel cheap, and get out of the doggystyle position and try to find the hospital gown to preserve some of your modesty. Zayne glances over at your sudden movements.

“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.”

“I’m fine.” You try to sound normal. 

“Your records show that you usually rest about 10 minutes before you are ready for the next round. Do you feel like that will be the case this time too?”

You find the gown and drag it up to your chin, covering your body as you lay back on the table. “Yeah. Actually a little sooner today maybe. I have somewhere to be.”

“You can’t rush these things. Your body will cum when it wants to. A forced orgasm doesn’t promote anything beneficial.”

“Well can we find a way for this to happen quickly and in compliance with the sensors?” You’re trying not to let your frustration show, the pleasantness of your orgasm fading. “I don’t think I have the patience to do two more rounds.”

Zayne listens to you impassively, but those amber eyes flecked with green had an underlying intensity you couldn’t place. “You don’t have the patience to do two more rounds?” He gets up and comes over to you. “You want to just leave then?” He approaches the edge of the table and there’s tension in his jaw. Perplexed, you look at him, his reaction unexpected. 

“No, I’m sorry, I know I can’t leave because of compliance and all that.”

“Compliance,” Zayne mutters under his breath before grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him, a gasp leaving your throat. 

“You’re getting frustrated because you have to do this a few times every month while being supervised? Do you have any idea what I have to do before you come in for these sessions?” His voice is a growl and you clam up, shocked by this aggressive display of expression from him.

“Every month I have to remain professional as you come in, pleasure yourself, and then leave. I have to endure seeing your beautiful body bare in front of me and control all my impulses to touch you, to not overstep my limitations as your doctor. I pleasure myself remembering the noises you make and ensure I’m well spent before coming in to do your appointments. You sit there, acting like it’s hard for you, but do you have any idea what you do to me?”

One of his knees is on the table, and he’s looming over you making you feel like a tiny animal caught in his fury. “It’s torture, to watch you. You’re not like the other patients I see. You never have been. Because with you, I always feel like I’m on the verge of losing control. Do you know how difficult it is to not do things to you that aren’t specified on your medical record? To have my fingers so intimately inside you, feel every little drop of pleasure clenching around my fingers, knowing at the end I can’t have you to myself? To hear you call my name and know that you only see me as your doctor?” 

Your face is a bright shade of red but you can’t look away from his face. His teeth are gritted, and when you dare to glance down, you see the noticeable bulge that has formed between his legs. He follows your glance and clicks his tongue, letting go of your chin. 

“I know I crossed a boundary today. It’s all right. You can go. I’ll reschedule you with another doctor. I know you didn’t want me in the first place.”

Your mind is a blur as you quickly reach out to grab his hand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. His admission was like a prayer answered, and you weren’t going to meek about this. His breath hitches as he feels you pulling at his hand and gives you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part but the words you want to say refuse to come out. 

“Damn it,” he whispers ferally before his mouth captures yours in a rough kiss. It was wild and demanding, a contrast to the reserved, patient man he usually was. You’re swept up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, the taste of his tongue, and the softness of his lips. When you break apart, his hand cups your cheek, his eyes searching your face.

“This isn’t just because of the session right?” He asks keenly and you realize what he’s asking you. He’d been aching for you before this whole stupid policy came into place. The same way you’d been longing for him. 

“No, it’s not. I had a crush on you back when you became my doctor to check on my heart condition.” A sigh of relief leaves him before he tenderly presses his forehead to yours, and you’re caught up in the sweetness of the moment. 

“I just had to be sure.”

Boldly, you raise your head, delighted when he meets you, pulled back into his kiss, your tongues sliding over each other, your fingers tangling into his hair, scratching the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasp as he breaks the kiss to drag his tongue down the column of your throat, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the heated flesh, your blood humming in your veins as your eyes flutter closed. He pulls away the gown and pulls your perked nipple into his mouth, and you revel in the jolt of pleasure it brings you, each suckle felt in your clit which had already swollen up again in need. His fingers capture your other nipple, softly tweaking and pulling it and drawing little whines of desire from your throat. 

Your hand finds the junction between his legs and cups the heavy bulge, drawing a groan from him, palming him through his slacks, feeling it grow and tent the fabric under your ministrations. A low guttural sound leaves him and he gets off the table, and you almost protest until you see him dragging the small wheeled stool from earlier towards the table. He settles down on it, looping his arms around the tops of your thighs and pulling you closer to the table's edge until your feet find the stirrups again. 

“Stay open for me darling,” he instructs, his eyes glittering and you shiver as you feel his breath against your swollen folds. You squeak as he pushes your folds apart with his nose, inhaling your scent, his eyes growing dark with lust. “You smell delicious. I always wondered. Had to stop myself from sniffing my gloves after you climaxed. Not professional you know.” 

The musky tang of your pussy fills his senses, and his tongue darts out and dips into your slit, finding the swollen bud and licking it with just the right pressure that makes your toes curl and stars pop into your vision. 

Your hand rests on his head, tugging his beautiful dark locks, his name falling from your lips without barriers. Your hips rock against him, moaning, then let a sob as his lips suction around your clit. His fingers, free from the gloves at last, probe your entrance, scissoring inside to prepare you for what was to come before they curl up into that gummy patch that he knew too well. 

The sensations flood you, and the sheer knowledge of knowing you had Zayne touching you this way, unbound by the usual rules was sending you into a frenzy. Incoherent noises leave your mouth, crying out hotly as he teases the orgasm from you, your body shivering from the intensity. 

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and takes in your appearance, so soft and satisfied on his table, a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Are you prepared for the after?” he asks, you nod, more than eager to experience him. A sly smile crosses his face before he reaches over into the little chest of drawers by the table and pulls out a condom. 

“Hospitals have free condoms. It would be impractical to not use one when it’s on hand.” He explains seeing your questioning look and stands to undo his pants. You watch curiously as his cock is finally freed, eyes widening as it faces you, so impressive and veiny, standing proudly with a slight curve in its length. His pubes were neatly trimmed at the base, ebony curls visible behind the shaft. As he starts to roll on the condom, you feel your whole body heating up in anticipation. 

He leans down to kiss you before taking your feet and resting them on his shoulders, his cock at the perfect angle to enter you. As he sinks into your welcoming heat, you let out a sigh of longing, feeling the delicious stretch of muscle as he pushes up inside you, gasping as you feel his full length sheathe itself. As he bottoms out, his eyes close in bliss, hardly daring to believe that after all this time, he is finally getting to fulfill this private dream. 

Each stroke has him brushing against your gspot and kissing your cervix as he paces himself, feeling the primal urge to take you roughly and selfishly calling at his self-control. A growl leaves his throat as you whimper, straining towards him as the both of you struggle to keep a grip on reality. He feels the seductive way your walls clench around him, hears the soft noises you make, sees your face contort in pleasure with every roll of his hips. 

“Oh you feel so good,” he pants hotly, glasses askew, almost at the tip of his nose as he thrusts. “Clenching me so needily. Gonna milk me dry.”

Your response is a shuddering whimper, your back arching greedily to feel all of him, creating the perfect curvature to brush your clit against the base of his erection with each push of his hips. He feels the little bud on his heated skin, your combined fluids dripping onto his shaft, slickening the bundle of nerves with each stroke. 

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock the way you do on my fingers.” Zayne’s voice is husky as he tries to hold on, damned if he came before you. “I know you want to. I can feel the way your walls are spasming. They always do this pattern before you orgasm.”

The fact that he had memorized this knowledge of you was too much and you let go, your voice filling the room as you climax. Zayne’s hips stutter as he feels you around his length, pussy fluttering so him. His pace quickens, the sound of slapping skin becoming more and more urgent, his balls hitting your ass each time as he chases his orgasm. 

A shiver passes through his body as it happens and he buries himself in your warmth. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his cock twitch and pulse inside you as he spills his load. He pants, sweat on his forehead as he bends down to kiss you again, carefully lowering your legs which burn from the stretch as they settle on the stirrups. 

Threading your fingers through his hair, you brush your noses together, smiling shyly at him as he smirks, his eyes closing as he catches his breath.

“Can I see you outside of my office sometime?” he asks and you laugh at the invitation. 

“Are you asking me out on a date after having sex just once?” you tease as he grips the base of the condom and slides out, your pussy feeling the loss keenly. 

“I have been wanting to for a while. I was just wondering if I was misreading the signals. But I think I have a solid answer now.” He helps you sit up and cradles your body against his, idly stroking your skin, before gently removing the sensors off your body. 

“Let’s get dressed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead after a moment of cozy silence, and the both of you hunt down your clothes. As he fixes his tie, Zayne passes by his computer and lets out an amused huff. 

“Something funny?” you ask as you button your blouse.

“The sensors definitely gave enough information to make anyone’s head spin.” You walk over and snort as you see the window, full of sharp spikes. 

“Well, at least I am guaranteed you had a good time.” Zayne’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he pulls you in for another kiss. 

“I’m not changing my doctor,” you reassure him as you pull away. There’s amusement in his gaze when he replies. 

“Oh, definitely not. I think if the Hunter’s Association ever sees this record, they’ll heavily advise you to remain with the same healthcare professional.” 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating support banner by @/ cafekitsune @theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @actuallysaiyan

[marscardigan]

thinking about soccer player!ellie and cheerleader!reader…

this is part of my soccer player!ellie and cheerleader!reader series!! go check it out!

before dating her...

soccer player!ellie who refuses to admit she has a crush, so she treats you like you’re annoying. always rolls her eyes when you wave at her from across campus, but secretly she’s dying inside when you do.

soccer player!ellie who has your whole cheer routine memorized. she watches you during warm-ups instead of listening to her coach. if someone points it out, she pretends to be looking at the scoreboard.

soccer player!ellie who doesn't follow you on instagram but has to check at least once a day if you posted something new. absolutely stalks your profile at midnight like it's her own job.

soccer player!ellie who ignores you on campus, but you once dropped your lip gloss outside the gym, and she picked it up and kept it. she doesn’t know why. itlives in the bottom of her backpack like a cursed object.

soccer player!ellie who played her worst game of the season the only day you missed it. she was too busy trying to look for you on the benches, and once she assumed you weren't there, the game had lost its purpose.

soccer player!ellie who acts extra cocky whenever you’re watching practice. suddenly she’s doing trick shots, shirt half-tucked, everything you can imagine.

soccer player!ellie who denies knowing anything about your cheer competitions but saw your team was ranked online and checked the score updates live.

soccer player!ellie who always pretends not to notice you at parties, but the second someone flirts with you, she’s watching like a hawk from across the room, jaw clenched, drink untouched. jesse’s like “just go home before you kill someone.”

soccer player!ellie who starts arriving early to practice just to “warm up,” but really it’s because she knows that’s when your team rehearses stunts on the field. she says it’s the only time it isn’t crowded. dina doesn’t believe her.

soccer player!ellie who went absolutely feral during an away game when a girl on the other team said you looked good in red. she got a yellow card five minutes later for a reckless slide. she doesn't regret it, tho.

once you're dating...

soccer player!ellie who wears your hairband like it's her personal bracelet by now. she even told you once it was her lucky charm.

soccer player!ellie who says PDA is cringe, but lets you wear her jersey to games and gets SO smug when people notice.

soccer player!ellie who will fight if anyone says your routine looked sloppy. she knows every beat and claps the loudest when you finish.

soccer player!ellie who starts doing little things like carrying your bag, bringing you water, or showing up outside practice with snacks.

soccer player!ellie who insists she’s not the romantic type, but gives you her medal the day they win regionals. doesn’t say a word. just hangs it on your neck and walks off blushing.

soccer player!ellie who starts “jokingly” calling you babe in front of people. no one thinks it’s a joke.

soccer player!ellie who dedicates goals to you by making a subtle heart shape with her fingers when you’re not looking. the team knows. the crowd knows. you still pretend not to notice.

soccer player!ellie who refuses to kiss you before games because “it’s distracting.” but if you don’t show up to wish her luck, she texts you in a panic like:

ellie: you forgot ellie: i need my good luck kiss ellie: where r u

soccer player!ellie who has your cheer bows in her room, hidden in her sock drawer. and you don’t even remember giving them to her.

soccer player!ellie who lets you do face paint for her before every home game, even though she complains the whole time:

“you’re doing too much—wait, why is there glitter on my cheek?” “shut up, you look cute.”

soccer player!ellie who scored the final goal from the regionals, and lifted her shirt to expose your initial marked on her abs. let’s say both of you were very busy after the game, because you needed to show her how much you loved the detail.

soccer player!ellie who keeps little trinkets of yours—a charm that fell off your bag, a broken hair clip, a scribbled note you tossed. they’re all in a shoebox under her bed.

soccer player!ellie who panics when you’re sad and does the most insane things to cheer you up, like drawing a comic of you two fighting crime as “captain pom-pom and goal queen.” it’s awful. you love it.

soccer player!ellie who won’t let anyone trash-talk you, even her own teammates. one girl called your cheer routine extra, and ellie benched her with a slide tackle the next day. oops!

soccer player!ellie who gets in trouble for being late to practice because she was walking you to class, carrying your pom-poms for you.

soccer player!ellie who loves when you wear her hoodie with her name after games, especially when you’re tired and clingy. she swears you’ve never looked prettier.

soccer player!ellie who helps you stretch before your performances, getting way too flustered when you sit on her lap mid-stretch and act like it's nothing.

soccer player!ellie who walks around with glitter on her face from hugging you, completely unaware, but looking smug about it.

soccer player!ellie who gets irrationally jealous when you cheer for other teams—even during friendlies.

“why were you clapping so hard for them, huh?” “ellie, i’m supposed to do it. you know i'm not your personal cheerleader, right?”

she audibly gasps after that like you had just insulted her personally.

perm taglist !

@valeisaslut @firefly-ace @sevslover @twopeoplee @mayfldss @elliesfavtoy @usuck @avalovesmus1c @samcvrpenters @mars4hellokitty @prettyinpink69 @yashirawr @furtherrawayy @maximumdreamlandcoffee @elliesfavgirlfriend @abcline006 @marieeeluvsyou @smaugayra @eriiwaiii2 @creativedespaitr

series taglist !

@vahnilla @elliecoochieeater @iheartclairo66 @thankynext @layalisthings @mascspleasegetmepregnant @machetegirl109 @modernvenuss @elliewilliamskisser2000 @liztreez @mikellie @prwttiestbunny @snuffphiliaa @ellieseightfingers @sparkle-jump-rope-queen @velvetinkbym @starletfemme @elliesbabygirl @d1psht @nomie-11 @leaaavesss @ravyaryn-n @elsbunny @alinerr @pexurina @piercedome @desiretolive @robiceps @leahflwers @angelsglitch

it doesn’t let me add more ppl sorry gals </3

[cherryyluvs]

Third Wheel Trouble

Mark was supposed to have a romantic skating date with you. But thanks to Debbie, he now has an unexpected plus one, his very nosy little brother (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Mark had been looking forward to this date for days, just him and you finally. A nice, normal perfect night out where he can give you all his attention instead of you know, saving the world.

Just the two of you, holding hands, maybe even sneaking a few kisses in if he was lucky.

So when he walked into the living room all freshly showered, decently dressed for once and ready to head out.

Of course, Debbie had other plans.

“You're taking Oliver,” Debbie said, completely ignoring the way Mark choked on his own spit. “What!?” Nearly dropping his skates. “Mom, no. No way it's a date!”

“And Oliver's a child who wants to get out the house” She said while ruffling Oliver’s hair. “You'll be responsible. Right Mark?”

Mark’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Turning around expecting Oliver to protest but nope! The kid was already smiling, shoes on and ready to go.

“But–”

Before another word, Debbie gave him that Mom look.

Mark groaned, pressing his fingers into his eyes before throwing his hands in defeat. “Fine”

It only got worse from there.

When Mark pulled up, you were expecting a cute night out with him. Instead, the first thing you noticed when you slid into the passenger seat was.. “Oliver?”

You looked between the two of them, the way Oliver was happily kicking his feet in the backseat while Mark looked like he wanted to crash into oncoming traffic.

“Oh my god” You beamed. “Your mom made you bring him. Didn't she?”

Mark scowled. “Don't ask.”

But it was too late, you were already giggling.

This was going to be fun.

At first it was just a few minor interruptions, every time Mark tried to subtly hold your hand. Oliver skated right between you two. Mark tries to whisper something cute? Oliver slurps his milkshake obnoxiously loud.

Mark dares to make flirty eye contact? “Why are you staring at her like that?

Mark was losing it, and you? You were loving it. Barely holding it together, biting your lips to keep yourself from laughing as Mark sat there, completely dead inside.

And then?

“Oh!” Oliver's eyes widened. “You're the girl Mark won't shut up about?” Mark choked.

“Oliver!”

“What?” Oliver blinked innocently. “You talk about her all the time”

Your smirk grew, turning to face Mark, resting your chin on your palm. “All the time?”

Mark, red faced and flustered, grabbed a fry and shoved it into Oliver’s mouth.

“Eat.”

“He's adorable” You giggled watching him munch on the fries.

After an hour of skating, Oliver finally gets distracted by the snake bar. Seizing the opportunity, Mark grabbed your hand and pulled you to the edge of the rink, away from the chaos.

“Finally” He muttered, pressing quick kisses to your knuckles.

You smiled. “Desperate, are we?”

Mark exhaled, leaning his forehead against yours. “You have no idea” Your breath hitched , caught up in the warmth of his body and the cool air of the rink. The distant hum of music surrounded you, the twinkling lights above casting a soft shadow over Mark’s face.

He looked at you, like you were the only person in the world. He was just about to lean when–

Thud.

A tray of nachos and cheese hit the ground.

“Aw, come on!” You and Mark turned your heads at the same time. Oliver stood there, arms crossed, and a big frown on his face.

Pointing an accusatory finger at mark.

“I leave for 2 minutes and you guys are already being gross?”

Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oliver”

“What?” he huffed, walking up and standing between you two. “Mom said to make sure you weren't doing anything weird”

You blushed, laughter bubbling up before you could stop it. Mark, however, looked like he wanted to pass out from the secondhand embarrassment. “Dude, you're, like, the worst chaperone ever.”

Mark looked at you helplessly, but you smiled. Grabbing his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze,

“Guess you'll have to be sneakier next time” you teased, bumping his shoulder playfully.

Mark lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “Next time, I'm leaving him at home."

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤALIEN GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Qu Reader Part 1

☆⁠ HEADCANON : He Was Just Living His Life When Put Of Nowhere An Alien Girl Cling To His Arms And Start Following Him Around...

☆⁠ NOTES : Qu is an alien species from the book All Tomorrows. You can learn more about her here. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Mark didn’t see you coming. One second, he was standing in the middle of a battlefield, panting, body aching from the fight, hands still slick with blood that wasn’t his. The next second, there you were, stepping out of the shadows like some ethereal creature, all glowing skin and impossibly long hair that cascaded over your body, shielding you like a silk curtain.

Mark thought you were scared. You looked fragile, standing there barefoot, naked yet somehow untouched by the carnage around you. He was about to ask if you were okay when you moved—graceful, slow, head tilting to the side like a curious cat.

Then, your soft fingers brushed his blood-streaked face.

You murmured something—words he couldn’t understand, a language that sounded like whispers and echoes in his ears. And then, with all the trust of a child, you leaned against his chest, pressing your face into him like he was some kind of anchor in this violent world.

Mark froze.

What the hell was happening?

And then, you clung to his arm like a koala, looking up at him with wide, fascinated eyes.

Mark had no idea what to do with you, but you weren’t giving him a choice.

You refused to let go, practically draping yourself over his arm as he stumbled his way back home. His mom nearly had a heart attack when she saw you—her reaction a mix of "Oh my god, why is there a naked girl in my house?" and "Mark, what the hell did you do?"

"Mom, I swear I don’t know what’s happening!"

You, meanwhile, just looked around the house like it was the most interesting thing in the universe. You poked at the couch, stared at the TV, then climbed onto the kitchen counter and perched there like a bird, blinking at them.

Debbie sighed, rubbing her temples.

"Mark. Explain."

He couldn’t. But after a lot of fumbling (and covering your body with his hoodie, which you hated because it felt weird), he managed to get out the basics—he had no clue who you were, where you came from, or why you were so attached to him.

You just sat there, listening, then suddenly spoke in that broken, childlike way of yours:

"You... kill. I like."

Debbie paled.

Mark choked.

"Oh my god—Mom, she doesn’t mean it like that!"

Living with you was... an experience.

For starters, you didn’t understand clothes. You hated them. Every time Mark turned around, you’d somehow gotten rid of his hoodie again, leaving you naked and unbothered.

"You need to wear something," he groaned, shoving his oversized T-shirt over your head.

You frowned, tugging at the fabric like it personally offended you.

"Feel bad. Skin... not like."

"Yeah, well, people don’t just walk around naked!"

"Why?"

"Because—it’s—!" He groaned. "Because it’s not normal!"

"...I am not human."

He blinked. Well, yeah, you had a point.

Then there was the affection.

You had zero concept of personal space.

You liked to lick him. For some godforsaken reason, you’d decided licking was a perfectly acceptable form of communication.

"STOP THAT!"

"Tastes... good."

"You don’t just—!" He wiped his face, groaning.

You also bit him. Soft little nibbles on his arm, his shoulder, his ear, like you were testing how breakable he was.

"You are... soft. Not strong."

"Gee, thanks."

And sitting? You didn’t just sit near him. No, you sat on him. On his lap, on his back, wherever you felt like. He had to physically pry you off sometimes.

And the worst part? You had no idea how attractive you were.

You were practically a walking wet dream—long, silky hair, an impossibly perfect body, and this innocent way of touching him that was definitely not innocent.

And you had no clue. None.

Amber took one look at you and decided she hated you.

And well... you hated her too.

The first time Amber put a hand on his arm, you straight-up tried to kill her.

“YOU CAN’T JUST KILL HER!”

"She touch." Your eerie, beautiful face was dead serious. "She want take. I no let."

Mark wanted to die.

"She’s my girlfriend!" he hissed.

Mark had to sit you down and explain what a girlfriend was.

You did not like it.

"Girlfriend? You Mark female?"

"Well, yeah."

You squinted. Stared at her. "…You weak."

“EXCUSE ME!?”

You nodded, completely serious. "Not strong. Not fast. Not smart. No fly. No fight. Not pretty. You ugly."

Amber shot Mark a glare. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU BRING HOME?!"

Mark dragged you away before you could start a fight.

You pouted. "She not good. She touch you."

"That’s what girlfriends do!"

"...You are mine."

Mark choked.

"No, I—No, I’m not!"

You blinked at him, looking utterly confused. "You are not... mine?"

"NO."

"...Why?"

Oh god, he needed a drink.

You’re Scary Sometimes

For all your innocence, you were still a Qu. A god-like being that viewed others as nothing more than ants.

And sometimes, it showed.

It started small.

A man touched his shoulder. Grabbed it.

Mark barely had time to register it before you lifted your hand, eyes dark and unblinking—

And the guy screamed.

His body convulsed. Twisted. His fingers elongated, skin peeling away as new, foreign muscle formed underneath. His eyes bulged, then split, spreading across his forehead like something from a horror movie.

By the time it was over, the man was not a man anymore.

He collapsed, shaking, his new limbs twitching in confusion.

Mark’s stomach dropped. "What the fuck?!"

You blinked at him, tilting your head like a confused child. "...Touch you."

"THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU TURN HIM INTO A—A—WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT IS!"

Your lips wobbled. You pouted, shoulders hunching like a scolded puppy.

Mark groaned, running a hand down his face. "Oh my God. You can’t do that to people just because they touch me."

"But... mine."

Mark felt his brain short-circuit. "...What?"

You curled up, pressing your face into his chest. "You... mate. Mine."

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Or the other time Mark found you kneeling over a man in an alley.

His body was trembling, eyes wide with horror, and you were just staring down at him, hand on his forehead, eyes blank.

"What are you doing?" Mark shouted.

You turned to him slowly. "I... fix."

"...Fix what?"

"He was... bad. I change him."

The man sobbed.

Mark dragged you away before he could find out what the hell you meant by "change."

Mark didn’t realize how much he cared about you until Amber dumped him.

He was crushed, sitting on his bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling like absolute shit.

Then you climbed into his lap.

He barely had time to react before your soft lips pressed against his.

He stiffened. "Wh—?"

You kissed him again, warm and slow, like you were tasting something new.

"You are sad," you whispered. "In movie, this... makes better."

He swallowed. "It’s not that simple."

You tilted your head. "I like you."

His heart stopped.

"...You do?"

You nodded, wrapping yourself around him like a living blanket.

"You are mine?"

This time, he didn’t say no.

Mark sat there, your warmth pressed against him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. You looked up at him with those unreadable, almost otherworldly eyes—eyes that had seen things he couldn't even begin to imagine.

He should have pulled away. He should have.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against yours. "You don’t really understand what love is, do you?"

You blinked, tilting your head in that way you always did when you were thinking. "...No."

"Then why do you like me?"

You hummed, considering, then slowly pressed a hand to his chest. "You... interesting. I watch. You fight. You... strong."

That made him snort. "You literally see me as a pet project, huh?"

You nodded. Dead serious.

He laughed. It wasn’t bitter this time, wasn’t weighed down with heartbreak. Somehow, you always had this way of distracting him, of making the world feel like something less heavy.

And then, as if you hadn’t just kissed him and staked your claim, you curled up against him, burying your face in his neck.

Mark stiffened.

"...You’re really affectionate, huh?"

You hummed. "Like... touch. Warm."

Oh, he was so screwed.

Mark thought living with you was weird before.

Now? Now it was a full-on disaster.

Because before, you were just a weird, beautiful alien girl who clung to him and had no concept of personal space. But now, you thought you were his.

Which meant you took full advantage.

You never let him sleep alone anymore. It didn’t matter where he was—his bed, the couch, even the floor—you would find him and drape yourself over him like a human-sized cat.

Clothes? Still a big no. You refused to wear anything besides his shirt. Which meant Mark spent half his time panicking whenever his mom walked into the room.

You licked him. Still. All the time. He’d be eating? Lick. Talking? Lick. Taking off his shirt after training? Lick.

"STOP THAT!"

"Taste... good."

"I AM NOT FOOD!"

But the worst part?

You still had no idea what was appropriate or not.

Like the time you walked into the shower.

Mark had never screamed so loudly in his life.

You just blinked at him, completely unbothered, and sat on the edge of the tub, staring at him with zero shame.

"You... hide body?"

"YES, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE DO!"

"...Why?"

"BECAUSE IT’S WEIRD TO BE NAKED TOGETHER!"

You stared at him like he was speaking nonsense. "We are always naked together."

His soul left his body.

"...Get out."

"No."

"GET OUT!"

Mark was pretty sure nothing in his life had been more frustrating than trying to explain dating to you.

"It’s... you know, it’s when two people like each other and decide to be together."

You nodded, fascinated. "And then... kill?"

"...No. No killing."

You frowned, disappointed.

He sighed. "It’s about love."

You blinked. "What love?"

He opened his mouth, then froze.

Holy shit, how was he supposed to define love?

"Uh... it’s... it’s when you care about someone more than anyone else," he tried, scratching the back of his head. "You want them to be happy. You want to be with them. You feel safe with them."

You considered, tilting your head. "I feel that with you."

Mark’s breath caught.

You said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was just... obvious.

"...You do?"

You nodded, then climbed into his lap, straddling him. "So... we date?"

His brain short-circuited.

"N-No! That’s not how—!" He groaned, face burning. "You don’t just sit on someone’s lap and say that!"

You pouted. "Why not?"

"Because—it’s—!"

He gave up. There was no winning with you.

Cecil already didn’t trust you.

And then you had to go and prove why.

Mark was at GDA headquarters when Cecil’s men dragged in a criminal. A guy who’d murdered at least thirty people.

You watched him. Quiet, blank, calculating.

Then, before anyone could stop you, you walked up to him, pressed a hand to his forehead—

And changed him.

Right in front of everyone.

Mark watched it happen. Watched the man’s entire personality shift, his eyes go blank for a second before filling with something new.

When you stepped back, he fell to his knees, sobbing.

"I... I’m sorry," the man whispered, voice shaking. "I don’t—I don’t want to hurt anyone—"

Mark stared at you, horrified. "What did you do?"

You blinked. "Fix."

Cecil looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

"She rewired his fucking brain," he hissed.

Mark turned to you. "You—you can’t just do that!"

"Why?"

"BECAUSE IT’S NOT—" He stopped. Struggled. "Because it’s not right!"

You just tilted your head, like a child being scolded.

He groaned.

Mark didn’t realize when it happened.

Maybe it was the way you always curled up against him, completely at ease.

Maybe it was the way you protected him without hesitation, despite seeing him as weak.

Maybe it was the way you said his name—not like you were calling him, but like you were claiming him.

Or maybe it was the way you looked at him.

Like he was the only thing in the universe that mattered.

And when he finally kissed you—really kissed you—you made the softest noise, melting into him, fingers tangling in his hair.

"You are... mine?" you whispered against his lips.

He exhaled, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I’m yours."

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

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

[always-just-red]

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s okay. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m okay.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

���Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m okay.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.  

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were okay!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Okay…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Okay.”  

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s okay. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—?” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor, shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—?”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, okay? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—?”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.  

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—?”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, okay?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys okay?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.

[barnacles34]

A Bourgeois Comedy

Male Reader x NJZ Haerin x NJZ Minji

18+ smut

a/n: I've been intensely sick these past days. Finally feeling better. Here's a little piece I did while I was sick. <3

IMPORTANT UPDATE

---

'Got a spare ounce of willpower?'

Minji didn't look up. 'Fresh out. Used it all resisting the urge to close this door.' 

'Harsh. What about caffeine? Any spare?'

'Machine's down the hall. Unless you've forgotten its location in the last twenty minutes?'

'Remember the location. Lack the motivation for the journey.' You leaned a shoulder against the frame. 'It's a whole thing.'

'Uh-huh.' Minji’s keyboard: click, click, tap. 'So you're just going to stand there?'

'It's low-energy loitering. Environmentally friendly.'

Her typing stopped. 'Go loiter somewhere else.'

'Can't. My energy reserves are critically low. Need a jumpstart.'

She finally turned her head. 'And how, precisely, do you plan on achieving that?'

'One second. Just a hand-hold. For sustenance. Come on.'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because.' Her fingers paused over the keys. A hesitation. 'No. Just… no.'

'Is it the wilting? Maybe I should get these dark circles fixed? Would that help my case?'

'No. Don't do that. Please.' 

'Ah, the first 'please' of the day. Mark it down.'

'Ugh.' Just a grunt.

'You know, I know a Dr. Kim. Gangnam street. Supposed to be good.'

A laugh finally escaped her. 'You’re impossible.'

'Wrong. Minji,' you held out your hand, palm up flat. 'See this? Put your hand here. Just for a second. Scout's honor, no biting.'

'You're such a damn dork.'

'And you're a total loser.' You pulled the door closed behind you.

Half-teasing, half-hope. That's the tightrope you walk. Minji's rule is simple: cross the line, you're gone. Permanently. But you haven't been booted yet. You keep pushing, and somehow, you stick.

—

Later. Deep into the evening. She’s curled against you on the couch - soft fabric, faint flowery scent, warm. Some dumb dog grooming competition plays, unnoticed. You lean into her warmth, let your breath out, a little too heavy.

She shifts.

Then, she stilled completely. 'Okay.'

'Okay, what? Finally admitting the poodle deserved that ribbon?'

She turned her head, slow. Her gaze locked onto yours. 'Okay. Kiss me.'

'...Say again?'

'Kiss. Me. Simple concept, right?' She paused, her lips looking tangible in the worst way possible; and her next word slipping out quieter, almost desperate, 'Please?'

You scanned her face. No joke. No test. The usual script, ripped up. The Tom & Jerry routine dissolved. Her expression wasn't asking; it was direct, almost impatient. She just upended the world and expected you to keep up. That look. Yeah. That did it.

You had to get the last word, had to twist the knife just a little before you - inevitably - lost yourself. 'Right now? During the Shih Tzu semi-finals? Classy, loser.'

Then your mouth was on hers, and the world dissolved.

Soft. Unbelievably soft. Faint sounds vibrated from her throat into your mouth. Pulling back felt like surfacing, gasping for air. You saw her then: wrecked, face flushed bright pink, heated, a touch of stunned deer in her wide eyes. She just watched you, breathing unevenly. Her hand came up, thumb brushing, feather-light, across your bottom lip. Her eyes, implacable; her fingers, gliding along the firmness of your face.

'Right,' she said. Squeaked, almost.

Then: 'Love me.'

There was no air between you anymore. Lips like candy, velvety, gliding sickeningly sweet against yours. 

—

There were days. You think. You lost track anyway; waking tangled with Minji, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, skin bare, both of you exhausted in that specific, amorphous, body dissolving satisfying way. It felt jarringly new and utterly inevitable, all at once. Quiet morning light catching her cheekbone - in those moments, you understood:

'I think,' you murmured one dawn, finger tracing the curve of her bare glowing shoulder, so perfect you wanted to latch onto it, and never let go, 'I'd actually die for you.'

Her eyes fluttered open. A slow, sleepy smile touched her lips. 'Weirdo love bombing.’

You stopped. Thought about it. 'Okay, maybe tiny bit. But I'm serious.' You held up a stray strand of her hair against the light. 'This one hair? In danger? I'm finding a sword.'

'You don't own a sword,' she mumbled, burying her face against your chest.

'I know.'

—

The power dynamic shifted. She called it 'collecting back-pay,' this sudden, focused intensity on you. Cat and mouse reversed. She’d walk in, keys still singing, kick off her shoes while her eyes hunted you down. Undoing her ponytail in that split second. A look that just said: you, now. Her lips, often faintly bruised by evening's end, found yours before a single 'hello'.

Zero complaints.

‘Can’t you just… call in sick, babe?’ she murmured one night, fingers twisting in your tie. The one she’d given you. The one you wore every damn day.

Babe. Still landed weird. Good weird.

‘Can’t. They made me 'important' now, apparently.'

‘That’s… good, right?’ Adorable, how serious she looked.

‘God, no. Means I work twice as long for maybe five percent more pay. It's crap.'

‘My poor suffering man.’ Her hands worked the knot loose, sliding the tie down. ‘You work so hard.’

‘You wouldn’t believe.’

She slipped off her little house slippers, then sank down to her knees on the rug before you, still holding the end of your tie.

‘Just relax,’ she said, looking up, her eyes dark. ‘Lean back. I’ll make it all better.’

She unbuckled your belt; pants heaved lower along your thigh; then, her soft breaths riding along your clothed hardness. Then inch by inch, her hand tousled the cloth down. Staring intensely, her breaths looming on your shaft. 

Then: she licked a stripe along the side of your cock. Hand along your shaft at the base, holding you still as she pressed soft trailing stripes. Just as her tongue made a desperate path along the head, her mouth devoured you. 

A few coughs, deeper still. Mouth working you loose. Little strips of her spit trailing down, her hollowed cheeks - your hands were about to tear the fucking couch apart.

Deeper down her throat, you were dying, literally, constricted in the heavenliest of vices - cock trapped in Minji’s throat - you sprayed ropes and ropes down her mouth.

‘Gross.’

Yet she swallowed.

And cleaned your cock; with a gaze that bared no tired eyes.

You were in for the night.

—

A few days passed. Messy days. You were stuck together until the very last minute - each and every day. Entangled together; Minji would apply her eyeliner as you caressed her cheeks, and she’d nibble the ridge of your jaw while buttoning your shirt. 

Brilliant days.

—

At home, on a foggy evening, you spread yourself against the couch - waiting for Minji to come home. The door clicked, and you could hear Minji shuffle into the door.

She met your gaze, ‘Give me a kiss.’

So you did. 

Going deeper, feeling the soft curves of her entire body, hidden under damning cloth.

‘I need to fuck you so bad.’ A whisper into her perfect ear.

‘Uh. Babe.' She coughed, more out of shock than anything else. 'I brought someone over.’

You looked past her. There was someone there, standing.

A flushing redness spread across her cheeks, and she bowed - no comment.

Sturdy stiff, flushed hot; you exchange glances with Minji, who so lovingly has creased eyes of joy for you - a hint that she’ll tease you for however long it stays on her mind.

Brush off imaginary dust, try to maintain some semblance of courtesy in front of someone who’s shell shocked.

‘Hey!’ Not the best introduction.

‘Hi…’

Minji came to save the day, ‘Introduce yourself, come on.’ She pressed a hand to Haerin, a nervous butterfly.

‘I’m Haerin.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Haerin.’ You barely craggle out.

…

It’s white noise after this, you don’t remember anything; Haerin; that’s all you remember.

She was clad by a cloud of camo adjacents - green camo pants, a darker camo hat, and a grey jacket that clung against her slim body; but she was beautiful, wandering big eyes, thin long fingers decorated with painted nails.

Her eyes, even in careful rumination of Her, you gravitate toward her eyes - careful, soft, feline-like - as if any aspect of her was to be complement of her Eyes.

Dissonance escaped you after the first beer. In the kitchen, chopping up variations of aged cheeses, Minji stood adjacent to you cutting up fruits.

‘You’re hilarious.’

‘You should’ve told me.’

‘Told you what? Who could ever predict that you’d say that?’ She giggled some more.

‘Do you think she minds?’

‘Haerin? Probably. A little. Most likely. She’s just like that. Shy. Quiet. Very unresponsive.’

‘I made it worse.’

‘Probably.’

‘Fuuuuck.’

‘Come on. Don’t worry. You earned points with me.’ Tipping your chin up. She pressed a thumb against your lip - letting you taste the sweet fruits she cut - and kissed you soft. ‘You brazen bull.’ 

‘God. I need you so bad.’

‘Baby. Haerin’s in the living room. There’s time for that later.’

‘Please stop entertaining the possibility.’

‘I want it as much as you.’

‘ - But?’

‘Mysterious disappearances in the middle of friendly reunions don’t exactly spell out cordial, babe… Hey - come on - get off me - ngh.’

—

Some arbitrarily large amounts of alcohol later; red-stained wine glasses, charcuterie board stained with a variety of acidic ideals; you find Minji’s lips again. In front of Haerin. 

It’s capillary force, as natural as a plant seeks the sun or water: her lips. Soft against yours. The fact that Haerin’s watching? Mortifying. Absolutely so. But it’s destiny (what can you do against that?) so you delve.

You weren’t privy to what Minji or Haerin thought, it was just Minji’s fingers pressing notes of sing-song motivation with her fingers on your sides, and, you were sure of it, totally so: Haerin’s eyes indelibly locked in on your exchange. 

Voyeur. Is that it? She was a voyeur? You ask of Minji through the antiquated language of kissing the top of her lip, entering her mouth, sharing spittle. And she responds, licks back, moans softly: that’s it, she’s a voyeur. Cruel Minji. 

You try to mangle out a look at what she was doing with all this eyespace (was she pressing against her moistness hidden in soft cloth?) (finger-deep in herself?) (And.. Did she want to join?) (are her toes pressing deep into her slippers, barely maintaining herself?). 

Minji punished your nape for the slightest indolence, tight fingers, pulling you into her velvet mouth - the slightest breath between you forbidden - the softest exertion ignored - she was, at this moment, a machine.

Minutes passed like this, Haerin’s soft clothes mushing together, the squelches of Minji’s lips. Almost suffocating, Minji let you go - breathing heavily with beads of condensation floating on her honey forehead - so fucking hot. 

Your eyes landed on Haerin, and first thing, her eyes dilated full, like two black holes: the concept of irises ridiculous. As you stared at Haerin - not sure if she was finger-deep in herself; the majority of her hidden under the table - Minji breathed a bristling breath on your neck, and in an even more suggestive breath: ‘It’ll be fun.’

No answer.

The both of you knew. 

You waited for Haerin’s expression, as did Minji, for confirmation, or the nil possibility of her running out right this moment.

And so: her hands landed on the zipper of her jacket, and revealed a faintly pink tank-top. God almighty.

‘Follow me.’ Minji broke the silence.

You followed Minji as she tore off one layer after another, then splaying herself along a bed - half-naked - that spared no space for three - well, space for three if one was on top of each other. 

Then Haerin entered last. This time, you had a better view of her: beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. 

‘Now kiss.’ 

‘What?’ The both of you say.

‘Kiss each other. Go on.’ 

‘Uh…’ You look at Haerin. She looks back. This time, the floor wasn't so interesting; her eyes were on you.

‘No hand holding.’ You heard from the background. And you laugh: it’s all so absurd, Minji’s half-naked on the bed, your girlfriend of years, chest low and tight, pupils dilated, watching you kiss her friend. 

Kissed. Again and again. Saliva moist against Haerin’s lips, against yours, hers and yours. She tasted faintly of menthol, strong mint, a trite sensation against the soft weaves of her tongue against yours. Every breath held her scent, every breath she took spread on your skin like a breath against cold glass - her soft, beautiful little exhales. 

You had glimpses, of Minji, hand tucked deep into her pants, little shallow shadow-changes on the groin of her pants - what could only be her fingering herself. Lip-bitten raw, huffing, moaning softly with eyes that didn’t leave you. You were hard, unimaginably hard, almost passing out - Haerin’s kissing you, her delicate palms caressing the bristled nape of yours, and Minji, sat on the bed, finger-fucking herself with hawk-eyed concentration.

You began shuffling towards the bed, with Haerin’s lips buried into your neck, sucking phantom hickeys onto your neck. 

And Minji made space for you, sat a little to the side, held the hem of her pants to take it off. 

‘Minji.’

‘Babe.’ Her hands wrapped around your waist, and softly, inch by inch, she pulled down your pants. She kissed your navel, almost worshipping you, before pulling down the last piece of cloth that hid your member. It was the loudest silence. Two pairs of dilated eyes, engaged on your swollen member begging to be taken care of (which, inevitably, will happen). 

First, Minji’s hand encircled around your member; a few rough strokes; then saliva mixed unevenly on her palm, a smoother gliding sensation; soft strokes, Haerin’s eyes tracked every soft stroke, and each stroke led her closer towards you. 

Minji added a few more dribbles of her spit on the head, then her hands moved faster, and smoother. By the next stroke, her mouth circled your head, then she swallowed your cock. ‘Fuck, Minji.’ She murmured a bit before going deeper, her tongue massaging your underside, her mouth leaving thin trails of sheening spit all over your cock. She choked, once or twice. 

Haerin came closer, eye-level with Minji, eye-level with your cock. She was kneeling, like worship, like Minji. She was about to suck your dick. Pony-tailed hair. Waiting patiently as Minji sucked you off into the depths of hell. 

Then: Minji was off your cock with a soft pop. ‘Such a big fucking dick. I thought I had to share.’ Haerin flushed again, ‘I thought you wouldn’t tell him.’

‘Him? He knows. Haerin. Just give it all up. Suck his dick. Worship it. I want you to.’

Perhaps that’s what did her in; you know, just the way her eyes locked on your spit-sheened cock. Her thin perfect fingers encircling your shaft, teasing the soft rigidity, the gliding sensation of Minji’s spit clinging, and she went up and down, up and down - squelch after squelch. Her first peck followed not long after, her tongue caressed the pre cum leaking. Her mouth encircled the head of your cock, and her cheeks hollowed. ‘Fuck.’ ‘Is it good babe?’ ‘Fuck yes.’ Instead of replying, Minji wrapped her tongue around one of your balls, sucking, teasing, worshipping your entirety. 

Your toes pressed firm against the mohair carpet. Haerin’s hands found themselves on your thighs as she took you deeper into her mouth.

The one who couldn’t even say a sentence to you, eyes stuck to the floor, now sucking your life out.

You began twitching; Minji under your balls, licking profanely; Haerin, taking you deep into her mouth, big eyes locked on to you, her perfumed hair yielding to your grasp. 

‘Get on the bed.’

The air dried blanket molded to their - now naked -  bodies. Golden light reflecting, blurring against their perfect skin. Two goddesses, placed parallel, eyeing you with an implacable lust. 

You entered Minji’s arms first. Who let out a sigh as you pressed your body weight against her; letting her hand curl against the back of your head; legs intertwining behind your back; and whispering Fuck Me.

Lining yourself up, you breathed one deep sigh into her neck. Before entering dead slow. Feeling every velvet fold of hers caressing your cock, soaking your cock in her tight pussy. The beautiful sounds she made. You pressed up to the hilt. ‘You’re so hard. Is it because Haerin’s watching?’ She giggled what she could, and lost what she had as you pumped into her one more time.

You smashed against her wet core again - making a wet slap - wringing out the most beautiful noises out of her. Slap, slap, slap, smashing your cock inside her, her perfectly molded pussy, wet with slick - some of it sticking and stringing along your shaft. 

‘Fuck me. Daddy. Fuck me.’

You desperately latch onto her mouth - exchanging a spit-stricken kiss as you fucked her over the cusp of her climax; Her loins shook, her body twitched, and she screamed euphoria into your mouth.

Through it all, Haerin pressed a palm against her pelvis - you had glimpses - her fingers worked along her delicate folds. She groaned, moaned, squealed. And as you hooked Minji's leg on your shoulder to show, exactly, how your dick went in undulations out of Minji’s wet core, Haerin came on her fingers. 

Then Minji cums on your cock. Breathing. Softly. Trying not to break anything you haven’t already broken, she pulls herself up, softly, head-level with you, ‘Now, there’s somebody waiting. Right there, and I need you to grant her wish.’

‘Being?’

‘You already know.’

You did. God almighty, you did. 

Haerin’s golden chest heaved as she recovered from the crest of her climax, and her eyes - god, her eyes - invited you over with a gaze that insisted upon itself. 

You start moving over, Minji’s palm sliding along your forearm - telling you that it’s alright, that she wants to watch, maybe even join. 

Apropos of all that happened before, you slid, softly, into Haerin’s arms. Your lips molding against hers; your hands pressing the soft flesh of her inner thigh, vis a vis open up; and from then on, you lined your slimy cock at her entrance, her glossy entrance, and entered.

She squealed, right in your ear. Held you tight like she might crumble to dust otherwise. 

Minji hobbled over, hovering just above, ‘Is it good, Haerin?’

She didn’t reply. Sounds of her slick moisture. Of her raggedy breaths broken by the thumb between her teeth. Large eyes that stayed closed for the most part. 

You latched onto her neck, still ravenously pressing yourself into Haerin. Her body recoiled against your latter strokes. Little wet sounds. Soft moans. Minji held her shoulders down as you went deeper. Right up to the hilt. That’s when she groaned, that’s when she really loosened up. Then, her body chased your cock. Gripped. Soft wet sounds turned blasphemous. As if slapping a body of water in a cave. Minji observed with delight, and kissed Haerin’s cheeks to encourage her to keep up.

You left her neck, kneeling in an upright position. Moving against her faster now, holding her soft waist: a handle. Back arching, she squealed another time - finally, reaching the cusp of her orgasm. Softly shaking under your touch. Her bristled skin - full of electric lust. Droplets passed along your shaft. But you didn’t stop. 

You pressed four fingers against her softly curved navel and a thumb on her clit.

Minji looked at you with a wry smile.

You fucked Haerin hard. To the point of muscle failure. Triceps blazing hot; thighs worn out; and a tuckered Haerin with sweat pressed god-like into her skin.

With cum seeping out of her pussy.

Wherein, Minji collected it all in her tongue. And kissed Haerin.

IMPORTANT UPDATE

[ellieslittleslutt]

Random Loser!Ellie Head Cannons ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹

MEN DNI!!!

⋆｡°✩ she would send you random videos when she’s at the store or trying new foods, or just when she’s high and needs to ramble about her comics.

⋆｡°✩ speaking of comics, the first time you came over she was so embarrassed of the giant collection she had on display on her shelves. like this girl had to buy another shelf from ikea just so she can display it all.

⋆｡°✩ she’s the type no matter where she’s always touching you. at the grocery store? holding your hand. folding laundry? head in your lap. literally no matter what always in contact.

⋆｡°✩ at night she wears the most ridiculous shirts to bed. she has a shirt with just micheal ceras face on it claiming “babe he’s apart of the family”

⋆｡°✩ her wardrobe is the gayest shit ever. mass mass MASS amount of flannels and graphic tees. also has a weird amount of tank tops and struggles too much picking which to wear. all her pants are either beat up jeans or beat up cargos. takes lots of her clothes from joel.

⋆｡°✩ on her period she’s the biggest baby. gets so clingy too that she’s always cuddling you and even when you’re showering she sits next to the tub while she groans about her cramps.

⋆｡°✩ she claims to her friends that she only listens to grungy ish music never telling them that you guys scream your lungs out to chappell roan.

⋆｡°✩ at night when you’re getting ready for bed she’s up on her nintendo playing pikmin.

“ellie go to sleep”

“but i’m doing a boss fightttt”

⋆｡°✩ she loves watching you get ready for date nights. she pulls up a chair next to the sink while you do your make up and hair just star struck by her girlfriend.

⋆｡°✩ waking up with her she’s always sprawled out arm around your waist snoring as you try to wiggle out to pee and she groans clinging tighter.

⋆｡°✩ definitely send you pictures like this saying “babe this might be us.”

⋆｡°✩ the worst brain rot you’ve ever seen.

⋆｡°✩ she loves taking your chapstick so much that you got her a princess collection for her birthday and unironically uses them daily and loves kissing you while she wears it.

⋆｡°✩ spoils you so much even if it hurts her wallet. when she comes home from a hang out with jesse and dina she always has either a new plushie or trinket for you.

⋆｡°✩ bought you guys matching plushies getting married and keeps them on your sofa next to eachother.

⋆｡°✩ can’t sleep without her stuffed animals next to her.

⋆｡°✩ on the rare occasions she falls asleep before you she’s sleepily rambling to you while your play with her hair watching her eye lids close slowly and her words slur.

⋆｡°✩ loves it when you paint her nails or doodle on her shoes. she also keeps a photo of you and her with lipstick marks all over her face in her phone case and shows it off all the time.

⋆｡°✩ huge loser but you always tell her “you’re my loser”

a/n: i love her sm omg and i finally got around to doing this!? idk i might write again soon or not depends on if i have the energy

[clappingandcheering]

(Percy Jackson X Reader)

"New Feeling"

Warnings: Smut, pure smut, no protection (always use protection; this is a story), teasing, rubbing, overstimulation (ish), chocking, first time squirting, mentions of piss (but not actually piss). I think that's all? This is technically my second smut so I hope it's good...

Percy has always driven you crazy, making you die with want and need, but tonight you were getting the worst of it. He had gotten scolded by some God you couldn't remember, and he wanted to vent it out somehow. You were his 'how'.

Percy was now using one hand to keep your head pushed into the pillow while the other held your waist, guiding you slicked pussy onto his dick. Your moans were muffled by the pillow that consisted of both your drool and tears; your flushed face and dazed eyes were enough for Percy to cum right then and there, so he had to keep you pressed into the pillow so he could continue to wreck your perfect body.

"Being such a good fucking girl for me, hmm?" His voice was laced with lust and mock as he thrust into you relentlessly, sending shivers down your marked and bruised spine, the praise making your pussy clench harder around him. "Fucking liked that, didn't you? like being called a good girl, don't you?"

All you could do was moan in response—even that was hard with the pillow, but you managed. His pace was even, and his stokes were hitting all your right spots as they stuffed you to the brim and then left you empty again, his veiny dick making your brain fuzzy.

He wrapped a hand around your throat and pulled you back so you were pressed against him. He marked your neck while mumbling your name, Oh, so deliciously, leaving you in complete bliss and awe. His hand tightened and left you with little to no air, but under the circumstances it was more like no air; his thrust picked up their pace, and your pussy clenched at the feeling before you blacked out and went limp. Percy continued to ravage your body as he let go of your throat and pressed kisses on your neck, using his hands to support you while you half came back from the lack of oxygen.

"Percy, I can't...too—fuck—much."

He continued pressing kisses into her neck and moving a hand down to her clit rubbing it with the perfect amount of pressure. Your squeals and whines filled his ears, beckoning him to continue while your hand made weak attempts to push him away after sensing a new feeling in your stomach, one that you've never felt before.

"Percy—stop—I think I'm going to pee—wait!" Your hands desperately clawed at his in an attempt to stop him from rubbing your clit.

"Just do it—beds already messy." He was right on the edge of cumming his mind way to far with lust to even think properly and form a proper sentence; his words were slurred and you could barely register them.

All of a sudden he pushed into her deeper, chasing his high, but the foreign feeling in her stomach suddenly snapped with the movement, and with a loud squeal that was only just dimmed by Percy's other hand, your pussy squirted all over the sheets and Percy's dick.

Percy's thrusts faltered, and he groaned into her neck after seeing what happened. He stopped his hand and moved it up to her breast, groping them before slowly sliding out of her, trying not to overwhelm her too much.

"Shit—what was that? Are you okay?"

Your pussy was throbbing and still raised in the air while the clear liquid ran down your leg along with his cum.

"You...prick!..I told you I was gonna pee..." He shook his head breathlessly and then rubbed her ass gently in a comforting way.

"Don't know if that was piss, baby." Your face contorted to confusion as you attempted to sit up and turn to lean your back against the headboard.

"What do you mean?" He shrugged and then spread your legs, going down and licking a long, smooth stripe while you let out a moan and weakly attempted to push him away.

"Not piss!" You frowned and then pushed his head away.

"Freak." She crossed her arms.

"Whatever you say, but that was hot as fuck, and I definitely want to see it again." His smirk was way too confident considering you were worn the fuck out.

You guys went another round before heading to bed.

[wwooyology]

Vipers Touch | L.HS

「pairing」 : heeseung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 5.4k

「synopsis」 : being a princess was tiring, and you hated it. you wanted out—to become just a normal person, to be free. but there was only one person who could help you, the dark warlock that no one bothered because of his practices. you had no other choice but to go visit him; however, were you willing to take him up on his offer to gain your freedom, even if it meant losing a bit of your self-worth?

「genre」 : DARK THEMES!!!, nasty smut, dark warlock!heeseung, princess!reader

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, unprotected sex, usage of aphrodisiacs, dub-con, manipulation, petnames (princess, bunny...), dom!heeseung x sub!reader, choking, finger choking, degradation, derogatory names (slut...), oral (f. receiving), cum eating, usage of magic, bondage, overstimulation, dacryphilia, teasing, biting/marking, bludge kink, slight manhandling, breeding, dumbification, power play, fingering, slight clit biting, clit play, squirting, spanking, passing out, lmk if I missed anything!

「notes」 : this is for my favorite girasole rae!! I wish you the happiest birthday in the world bc god only knows that you need it!! I may or may not have gone a little stir crazy with this... but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!! also, I started growing delirious towards the end and while editing, so I apologize if the ending is trash and if there are any mistakes!! besides all of that, happy reading, sweets!!!

“M’lady, I sincerely do not think this is a good idea,” Your royal advisor, who just so happened to be your childhood best friend, Vernon spoke as he slowly walked behind you. “What if your father finds out? Worst yet, what happens if it doesn’t work?”

“Vernon, you worry too much; my father will not find out.” You looked over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “It’ll work, I’m sure. People aren’t scared of him for no reason.”

Vernon let out a defeated sigh, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to talk you out of this. So he just handed you the clock in his arms before watching you tie it over your shoulders and pull the hood over your head. You then slipped out of the secret door that was hidden in the furthest wall of the kitchen, leading right out to the stables.

Slipping out under the cover of the night to go see a dark warlock probably wasn’t the best idea, but you didn’t have any other choice. Your father was adamant about finding you a suitor before the end of the month, meaning you didn’t have much time left to find a way out.

Walking into the stables you were welcomed by the huffs and whines of the few horses that were in their stalls.

“Hi, guys.” You greeted the creatures before walking over to your personal horse, Starlight. She was a beautiful, sleek black horse with white streaks in her mane and tail. Reaching out, you patted her snout a few times before grabbing her saddle, “C’mon girl, we’ve got a rough ride ahead of us.”

After saddling her up you walked her out of the stable, closing the door behind you. Grabbing the reins you put your foot in the stirrup before pulling yourself up to sit up on Starlight’s saddle. Glad that you had opted for not wearing a dress but rather a blouse and a pair of slacks.

Sighing deeply, you patted the horse’s neck before grabbing the reins once more, “Alright, girl… let’s get a move on.”

And just like that, the two of you set off into the night on the hunt for this dark warlock that you believed was the key to solving all of your problems.

“Haven’t we been here already?” Your eyebrows furrow as you take a look at your surroundings. However, you can hardly tell because all of the trees look the same. Pulling on the reins, you stopped Starlight, who let out a soft huff. 

Something about this place felt off like something was missing. The only sounds were those of the insects and wildlife around you, as well as the soft breeze that blew through the trees. Yet you couldn’t help but feel uneasy, something in your gut telling you to turn around.

Swallowing thickly you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to center yourself. You had to do this; you had no other choice, especially if you wanted to get out of this life you’re living right now. So, giving yourself a curt nod, you nudge Starlight forward, keeping a keen eye out.

It took you almost five hours before you were able to even find any kind of sign as to where this warlock was hiding. However, after walking into the opening where the hut was sitting, you couldn’t help but notice that something was off.

It was quiet. Far too quiet.

All of the sounds of insects and animals were suddenly gone, leaving behind an eerie silence. Stopping at the end of the pathway, you patted Starlight’s neck as she whined in protest, the hairs on her back standing tall. Slipping off of her back, you took another look around, trying to find any sign of life. However, there was none.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your hands out, trying to calm your nerves and racing heart. You walked forward with hesitant steps, keeping an eye on your surroundings just in case something or someone were to pop out.

Something about this whole area gave you a bad vibe. It felt as if you were in a different place entirely—not in the middle of the forest.

You started to wonder if this warlock even existed and, if he did, if this was some kind of trap that he had set up for any unwanted visitors. The same gut feeling returned, screaming at you to turn around and run home.

Despite this feeling, you continued to push forward. You’ve come this far; why would you turn around now? Letting out a huff, you reached towards the door handle, wrapping your fingers around the cool metal.

“Does being a princess mean that you lose all sense of common decency?” His voice broke the eerie silence, scaring you half to death and causing you to turn around with wide eyes. There stood a tall male, his red hair messy, his outfit completely black save for the white top under what looked to be a corset vest. “I let my vail down for you, and all I get in return are you barging into my home?” His tone was stark, eyes narrowed into slits, and hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers.

“N-No! I was just-” You started stumbling over your words, watching as he stepped closer to you. However, he was quick to cut you off, his tone sarcastic.

“Oh, so you weren’t about to just let yourself in?” He stepped even closer, and with each step he took towards you, more power you could feel radiating off of him. The energy caused the hairs on your arms to stand tall, goosebumps littering your skin.

You knew he was dangerous, but it wasn’t until now that it fully sank in. He could easily kill you if he saw fit, not giving a care to the world if you were a princess or not. Your breath hitched as he stood before you, bending down until he was at eye level with you.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” He smirked, the feeling was sinister leaving your heart raging under your ribcage, mouth suddenly dry. Your wide eyes search his, flinching when he brings his hand up. “Well, you wanted to talk, right? Let’s talk.” With a snap of his fingers, the door behind you flung open, allowing a cold gust of air to wash over your body, intensifying your goosebumps. Looking over your shoulder a sense of dread filled your veins as you took in the dark entrance, the only lighting were the candles lit along the walls.

Looking back over at the tall male, you took in the wide smirk that was still plastered on his lips, a dark gleam in his eye. There was really no running away now. You had no other choice but to comply and talk to the warlock. So, with a shaky breath, you turn and take a hesitant step toward the door.

--

You stood before the red-haired male, hands interlocked in front of your body as you looked everywhere but him. He, however, kept his eyes on you, a smirk tugging on his lips at your visible fear and unease. Something that he loved seeing on those who came to visit him, although most would have run with their tails tucked between their legs by now. So, to say he was intrigued would be an understatement.

Leaning back on the desk behind him, Heeseung tilted his head slightly, arms crossed over his chest. The movement caught your eye, causing you to look over, your breath catching in your throat as you met his eyes.

“So what is it that you’re wanting princess?” His tone was cocky as if he already had an idea as to what it was you wanted. Your mouth suddenly goes dry, suddenly wary of telling him what you were wanting.

“I-” You cursed yourself internally when your voice cracked, missing the cocky look that flashed across the warlock’s face. Clearing your throat, you met his eyes once more, “I want a way out of the royal life.”

Your words only made the redhead chuckle, amused by them. The sound made your stomach churn, sure that he was mocking you. Eyebrows furrowing, you opened your mouth to speak once more, but he cut you off.

“What did daddy say no to getting you another pony?” He laughed, the action causing his lips to pull up, showcasing his pearly white teeth. However, his words left a sour taste in your mouth; who was he to mock you? Taking a breath, he met your eyes once more, that same cocky smirk lying on his lips, “You do know that you're asking for your title to be taken away, the fame, the riches, the fancy lifestyle you live, everything. Is that something you really want?”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded your head; you knew what you were asking for. Hell, you had thought about any other solution, but this was the only thing that you could think of that would actually work. Even if it meant that you lost your title and all of your wealth. You’d still take it.

“It is. I want out; I want to start anew.” Despite the shakiness in your voice, your words held truth, which only further amused Heeseung.

He had met many, many people who had asked him for the same thing. They never took his deal, though, because it would mean losing a piece of who they were. Though he had a small inkling that you would be different, and boy, was he going to have fun with you.

“Alright.” He nodded his head, pushing himself off of the wooden desk before walking towards a shelf that held countless vials and containers of liquids and unknown items. Your eyes trailed after him, the unease growing in the pit of your stomach. “I’ll give you what you want, but in exchange, I want your help.”

You already knew that it wasn’t going to be easy; you couldn't just walk in, ask and he’ll give it to you. No. He would obviously want something in return. Watching him closely, you saw him grab a beaker filled with a purple liquid and pour it into a smaller glass.

“I need help testing out this elixir and…” He turned around after capping the beaker once more. Your heart started racing as he took a few steps closer to you, only stopping when he was an arm's distance away. “You just happen to show up at the perfect time,” Your eyes fell on the glass in his hand, filled about a quarter of the way with that purple liquid. 

You then glanced up at him wearily, not entirely sure you could trust his word. How could you be sure he wasn’t trying to kill you? Or turn you into some weird creature? Monster even?

“Take this and let me record the results, then I’ll give you what you want.” His voice was smooth, with no indication of a lie. However, you still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you once again pushed it away as he held the glass out to you.

“What does it do?” You asked, shaky fingers reaching out to take the glass from him, your fingers brushing his. An electric shock jolted through your entire body, making the hairs on your arms stand tall. Noticing your reaction, Heeseung had to bite back the shit-eating grin that was threatening to pull onto his lips.

“It’s a sensory enhancer.” He started explaining as you examined the dark, glittery liquid. Confused, you looked up at him, wondering why he couldn’t just test it on himself. “It’s much better to record results from a third party.” He shrugged, the words falling from his lips as if he had just read your mind.

Turning your attention back to the elixir in your hand you contemplated the pros and cons, wondering what the worst was that could happen if you did drink it. Sighing, you pulled the glass away from your face, meeting his chocolate irises once more.

“So I take this, tell you how I feel then you give me my freedom?” You questioned, eyes narrowing slightly as his lips curled inward, a hum of agreement reverberating from his throat. “And that’s it? Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He repeated your words, holding his hands up in a mock surrender.

Looking at him with a skeptical eye, you tried to find any sign that he was lying to you, but there wasn’t one to be found. Sighing, you nodded your head, agreeing to his deal, and looked down into the glass once more. Missing the sinister gleam that had appeared in the male’s eyes.

Inhaling deeply, you tried to will your heart to calm down, repeating to yourself that it would only take a few minutes, and then you’d be on your merry way with your freedom.

Oh, but how wrong you were…

Heeseung watched as you brought the glass up to your lips, a sense of excitement coursing through his veins. It has been far too long since he’s had a new plaything, especially one as pretty as you.

As soon as the bitter liquid touched your tongue, you had to stop yourself from gagging. Your eyes started to water. Trying to ignore the taste, you downed the rest of the liquid before pulling the glass away from your lips, a gasp following.

The room was silent as you waited for something to happen, your eyes moving over to meet the redheads. A smug, sinister grin decorated his face, filling your body with a sense of dread. However, after a few moments of absolutely nothing happening, you started to believe that you had gotten the easy way out and the elixir was a dud.

A gasp fell from your lips as the glass slipped from your fingers, shattering on the floor as a sudden overwhelming heat erupted throughout your body. Your skin feeling far too warm for it being late fall, your mouth filling with excess saliva and worst of all? Your core was throbbing, yearning to be filled causing you to clench your thighs together.

“Aw, you poor naive little bunny…” Heeseung smirked as he took a step towards you, waving his hand and making the glass shards dissipate into the floor. Your breathing became ragged as you tried to step back, only to stumble. However, Heeseung was quicker. He grabbed your wrist, yanking your body towards his, hand finding the small of your back, keeping your body pressed against his. “You shouldn’t ever trust a warlock’s word.”

His scent engulfed your senses, causing your brain to turn into mush, no matter how hard you tried to fight against it. Whatever he had given you was way too strong to resist.

“W-What did you give me?” You huffed out, fingers balling the fabric of his jacket into your fists. Your brain felt like it was trying to shut down, something trying to overtake your mind and body. All of the thoughts that you had were slowly fading away, replaced by the insatiable need to be touched.

Heeseung smirked as he took in your teary eyes, watching the internal conflict happen behind your dilated pupils. His grip grew tighter on your body, loving the way your body was already reacting to him.

“I wasn’t lying; it is a sensory enhancer.” He chuckled as he watched the shock morph on your features, “just not the one you thought it was.”

That’s when it clicked in your brain, he had given you an aphrodisiac. A sex drug. It was no wonder that it felt like you were in heat. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to suppress the drug, pushing at Heeseung’s chest. 

This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. You wanted to gain your freedom. You knew that there would be some price to pay, but not this… this was–

Your brain started to go foggy, and you forgot what you were trying to say. The heat spreading throughout your body becomes so overwhelming that you just want it to stop. Your panties were soaked, some of it leaking onto your trousers. The clothes on your body feel so comfortable, wanting nothing more than to strip out of them.

Noticing the glaze over your eyes, Heeseung smiled sinisterly, knowing he had you right where he wanted you now. Reaching down, he took your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting your head so you were looking up at him. Your breath hitched in your throat as you met his heated gaze, acutely aware of how close he was to you.

“Help me. Please,” you plead, rubbing your thighs tightly together. A shiver coursed through your body as you felt his fingers slip under the fabric of your blouse. You felt like you were going insane, like a wild animal completely lost in primal instinct. Your fingers started to claw at the fabric of his vest, the tears that were once sitting on your waterline now overflowing down your flushed cheeks.

“Hmm, you want my help? Aren’t you a needy little thing?” Heeseung smirked, drawing your face closer to his. The warmth of his breath only added to your need. A needy whine fell from your lips as you tried to lean more into him. The sound only riled the male up more, wanting to hear more.

“Heeseu–” Your words caught in your throat as his hand moved down to cup your weeping heat, feeling your slick soak through the fabric even more, coating his digits in a thin layer. A choked moan tore through your lungs as he applied more pressure, your whole body trembling in his hold. Chuckling darkly, he moved even closer to you until his lips were right next to your ear, soaking in all of your little whines and mewls as he continued to toy with you. “Don’t worry, princess, I'll take great care of you.”

A series of choked moans and cries fell from your swollen lips as Heeseung continued to fuck his fingers deep into your drenched cunt. His lips trailed the line of your jugular, leaving hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your mind was sent reeling, the smallest touch making you feel like you could cum then and there.

“Gonna cum already?” Heeseung asked, a cocky smirk on his lips as he pulled away from your neck, taking in your pleasure-twisted face. 

You couldn’t even reply to him as your orgasm washed over your body, eyes rolling back. It was so intense that your vision turned white for just a moment, legs trembling on either side of Heeseung’s hips as he had you perched on his desk.

“Such a desperate little slut aren’t you?” He berated you, picking up the pace of his fingers despite your whines of it being too much. Your shaking hands moved to try and pry his hand away from your sensitive cunt, but he was quick to slap your hands away, teeth nipping into the juncture of your shoulder. “Don’t be a brat, bunny.” 

You mewled at his words, already feeling another orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach. The heat of his body on yours offered no relief, only adding to the delirious feeling that was clouding your mind. 

Your pussy was leaking so much that a pool had started to form on the wooden surface beneath you, the sight only making Heeseung’s mouth water. Groaning softly against your skin, he pushed your body back roughly, making you lay flat on your back, body completely exposed to his predatory gaze.

“Hee–”

“Shhh, my little bunny, I need to appreciate my meal before I dive in.” His eyes continued to travel down the length of your nude skin, taking in all the little details that littered your skin. Then his eyes fell down to your spread thighs, your dripping cunt on full display as his fingers continued to fuck into you slowly.

You bit your lip to try and muffle some of your sounds, watching as he kneels down, coming face-to-face with your pussy. However, all of those sounds broke loose as his lips wrapped around your puffy clit, sucking harshly. Your hands then fly down to grab his hair, fingers threading through the red locks.

“Fuck!” A cry tore from your lips as he nipped at the little button, his free hand moving up to pull your hands away from his head. Then, your hands were pinned to the desk above you by some unknown force.

Looking up, you tried to tug your hands out of whatever was holding them, but it was futile. Whatever it was was far stronger than you, keeping your hands firmly in place.

Your attention was then brought back to the man between your legs as he wrapped his lips around your clit once more. Tears spilled from your eyes as his pace picked up tenfold, leaving your legs trembling next to his head, held by the same invisible force as your wrist.

“Heeseung!” You cried out as his fingers brushed over a peculiar spot along your gummy walls, back arching off of the desk, shoving your cunt further into his face. You cry out once more as he bites at your clit, causing your whole body to tense as you come once again.

Pulling away from your cunt Heeseung moved over to your thighs, sinking his teeth into the plush fat. Pain erupted in the same spot, a pitiful squeak falling from your lips as you lifted your head to meet Heeseung’s smug gaze.

“Well, aren’t you a little pain slut?” He licked over the raised skin, eyes still on you, relishing in the tears that stained your cheeks.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Heeseung pulled his drenched digits out of your spasming cunt. A whine rolled off of your tongue at the emptiness that it left behind, eyes watching all of the redhead's movements.

He brought his hand to your mouth, tapping on your bottom lip. " Go ahead and clean up your mess, princess.”

Blinking away some of the tears that were blocking your vision, you parted your lips, allowing him to stick his fingers into your wet cavern. Your eyes rolled at the taste of yourself on his fingers, tongue running all along his digits. A moan vibrated from your chest when he pressed down on your tongue, saliva spilling from the corner of your lips, blending with your tears.

“See how sweet you are, bunny? I could have you on my tongue for centuries and never get tired of your taste.” His voice was hoarse as he slipped his fingers from your swollen lips. Your eyes went wide as you watched him stick those very same fingers in his mouth.

You could feel your pussy clench around nothing as Heeseung put on a show of lapping up the leftover cum and saliva off of his fingers, groaning at the taste. Pulling his fingers from his lips, he wiped his mouth before grabbing your hips.

The restraints on your body were suddenly gone, but you weren’t able to move much before Heeseung pulled your body off of the desk, hands maneuvering your frail body until you were bent over, chest pressed against the wooden surface.

A choked moan fell from your lips when Heeseung sent a sharp slap to the fat of your ass, watching the skin jiggle. Repeating the action a few more times, loving the sounds that would leave your lips every time his hand made contact with your skin.

“Look at you trembling. Are you gonna cum just from me spanking you?” He mocked you, grabbing your asscheeks and pulling them apart so he could see your needy hole that was throbbing with need.

“S-Seungie.” You whined out, pushing your hips back into him, wanting, no, needing him to do something.

Heeseung felt his cock grow even harder as the nickname rolled off of your tongue, teary eyes pleading with him to do something. Clenching his jaw, he released your ass, grabbing your hip and pulling you flush against his bulge. A sharp cry fell from your lips as you felt the rough fabric of his trousers rub along your exposed cunt.

“Is this what you want? My dick?” He leaned over your back, lips right next to your ear. “Want me to stuff you full, maybe even enough to get you pregnant?”

You mewled at his words, pushing your hips back into his. Heeseung hissed at the pressure, the fabric of his trousers soaking in all of your slick. Pulling away from your body, the redhead made quick work of his clothes, adding to the pile of haphazardly thrown clothing on the ground.

Trying to move your body to face him, you realized that you were once again stuck in place. Heeseung chuckled, grabbing the base of his cock, watching the way you struggled to try and move your body. Pumping himself a few times, he moved towards you, hand finding your hip, stilling all of your movements.

You let out a choked whine when he teased your entrance with the tip of his dick. Tears streamed down your face as you let your head fall to the surface of the desk when he started to push in.

“Hee–” Your words fall short when he pulls out again, a cry of protest falls from your lips. Heeseung continues to tease your entrance until you’re begging him to finally fuck you, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

Then he finally pushes his entire length into your weeping cunt, a choked moan slipping from your lips at the sudden stretch. Your eyes squeezed shut as he left you little to no time for you to adjust, pistoning his hips into yours.

“Fuck you’re still so tight.” He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening until his knuckles turned white. 

Your body felt like it was on fire, your mind clouding with so much pleasure that words were no longer forming. All that left your pretty swollen lips were chants of Heeseung’s name and babbled nonsense. The pleasure was so overwhelming that your legs were trembling despite the support of the desk, the coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter at an alarming rate.

Reaching behind you, you made a grab for Heeseung’s wrist, hoping to get him to slow down. However, Heeseung just chuckled darkly before taking your wrist in his hand, pulling your body back to meet his thrusts.

“Give me your other hand.” He growled, reaching for your other hand, giving you no other choice but to hold your hand back to him. “Such an obedient little bunny,” He hummed, taking both of your wrists in one hand, using them as leverage to pull you back onto him as he continued to fuck into your needy cunt.

“Heeseung!” You screamed his name when the tip of his dick brushed over your sweet spot before hitting your cervix. The combination of the hits had your body spazzing, another orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Shit.” He cursed as he felt your walls squeeze his dick almost painfully tight, but he kept his pace, never slowing.

Your moans seemed to rise in pitch as his tip kissed your cervix with each thrust, stars dancing across your vision. Heeseung smirked smugly, watching you completely lose yourself as he fucked into you.

He then released your hands and leaned over your body, pushing himself deeper. The feeling had your eyes rolling back, mouth gaping open. Taking the chance, Heeseung grabbed your chin, shoving his middle and ring fingers into your mouth until you gaged.

“You’re so fucking noisy.” He groaned as you squeezed around him once again; he then pulled your body up. The new position had your vision turning hazy as another orgasm conjured in the pit of your stomach. “Am I fucking you so good that you have to let anything and everything within a ten-mile radius know?” He mocked you, burning his face in your neck to lick and suck at the skin, making sure that marks were left behind.

You whined around his fingers when his other hand snaked around your waist, pressing on the small bulge at the bottom of your tummy. Your eyes almost crossed entirely as he added even more pressure, making sure that you felt everything. 

“Feel how deep I am, bunny?” He licked up the side of your neck until he reached your ear, “I could breed you so well.” He bit the shell of your ear, making your whole body shiver, more tears spilling from your eyes flowing down to join the spit and saliva that spilled out of your mouth around Heeseung’s fingers.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he moved his hand down to your throat. Encasing the soft flesh in his palm, loving how small your neck was in his hand. 

“Hee!” You choked out his name when he moved his hand from your tummy to play with your swollen clit, sending shocks of electricity all throughout your body.

Heeseung could tell you were close once again as your nails started to dig into the skin of his forearm, and your cunt was squeezing him with a vice-like grip. Picking up his pace, he made sure to hit all the spots that made you scream, and that’s exactly what you did.

“Cum for me bunny. Make a mess all over my cock like the desperate slut that you are.” He berated you, teeth nipping at the shell of your ear once more.

It only took a few moments for the coil in your stomach to grow tight, but this time, it felt different, like there was more pressure than normal.

“Heeseun–” Your words caught in your throat as his hold tightened, limiting your oxygen. Then your whole body convulsed as you squirted all over his cock and hand, the warm liquid running down your legs.

“Holy shit.” Heeseung groaned at the sigh as your walls fluttered around his cock. The choked mewls falling from your lips were like music to his ears, loving how fucked out you sounded.

“Seung–” His name spilled from your lips as he continued to pound into you at an almost animalistic pace, chasing his own high. The sensitivity had your body burning, almost as if you were on fire, completely overwhelming your senses.

Heeseung’s cock twitched in your cunt, begging for release after he had been holding out for a while. A breathy groan was pulled from his lips as he felt his high on the tip of his tongue. Tilting his head down, he whispered the nastiest things in your ear, making your body tremble even more.

“‘M gonna cum and make you a mommy,” He whispered lowly, lips brushing the skin of your tear-streaked cheek, “make you my cumdrop.” You whined at his words, shaking your head in protest, but he just disregarded it. “Isn’t that what you are, my little bunny? My desperate slut just waiting for me to fill you with my cum, hmm?” He chuckled as your body shivered, the sensitivity causing another high to build up rapidly.

“Fuck!” You cried out, head falling back on his shoulder when his fingers continued to toy with your puffy clit, sending your body right over the edge.

Black spots clouded your vision, threatening to black out entirely as your orgasm racked over your body. Your orgasm triggered Heeseung’s. He spilled deep in your womb just like he said he would. The warmth made your brain short-circuit, eyes rolling back before your vision went completely black.

Holding your body close to his, Heeseung laughed darkly as your lax form, body drained of energy entirely. Kissing up your shoulder, he moved his hand to continue leaving kisses until he got to your ear once more.

“Don’t worry, princess, you’ll get exactly what you want.” His words held a more profound, sinister meaning as he moved away from your skin. Just then, a small mark appeared on your skin right behind your ear, a sign that you were his.

You wanted to get away from being a princess, to start anew. So that’s what he would give you. A new start with him.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[myfictionaldreams]

Hey, I was wondering if you are still going to write for Natasha Romanoff x reader. If you are, imagine something where the avengers don’t know that they are together, until one of them (maybe Tony because he talks too much) sees reader with hickies and messy hair early in the morning after an intense night 🤭. And then maybe Natasha would be wondering why she’s taking so long away and comes in after. 🤭🤭🤭🤭

⁀➷ Classified // Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: A quiet night at Avengers Tower turns into something much more intimate when secrets begin to unravel—and nothing stays hidden forever.

Requested by: I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to write! I've actually had this drafted for months and months, but I'm so glad to finally get around to finalising it.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, soft dom!Nat, sub!reader, doctor reader, secret relationship, marking (hickeys), hair pulling, minor injuries, fingering, oral, praise kink, protective nat, power play

Words: 2.4k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Restocking the medical supplies was usually a monotonous task that dragged endlessly. Today, however, you completed the task with the precision of someone trying not to think about worst-case scenarios.

Gauze, antiseptics, sutures—each item slid into place like it could stop your hands from shaking. The mission was supposed to be routine—in and out. But they were late. No one had heard a word from the jet in hours. 

While wiping down the already sterile and clean surface for the tenth time in the last two hours, you tried to avoid your colleagues’ quizzical looks, but your phone buzzed.

Heart thudding painfully in your chest, you snatched it up.

Natasha. Thank fuck.

You answers, relief flooding your chest. “Romanoff.”

“Mm”, came her voice, low and sultry. “I love it when you call me that. Makes me feel like a bad girl.”

Turning your back on the other doctors and nurses in the room, you tried to act casual, ignoring her remarks that had already caused heat to creep up your neck at her teasing. “How can I help you, Miss Romanoff? Are you in need of some medical assistance?”

Natasha laughs lightly down the phone at your professional response. “I need you to come to my room and check on me. My face has been missing its home between your legs.”

Her words caused an immediate reaction between your legs, your core tightening with arousal. Coughing to release some pent-up frustration, you tried to casually answer, “Your left knee? It hurts? Can you come to the hospital level, or do you need me to come to you?”

“You can come alright. I’m in my room. Alone.”

“I’ll be there shortly with my medical supplies.”

“That’s my girl.” The line went dead.

Pocketing your phone while turning to your colleagues, you tried to explain that you needed to attend to Black Widow’s knee. Slinging a medical bag over your shoulder, you tried to walk and not run like you wanted to out of the medical bay and into the elevator.

When stepping onto Avengers’ personal floor, you could see no other individual. Tentatively, you knocked once on her door before entering.

The room was dimly lit, and soft orange light from the setting sun cast through the ceiling-to-floor windows. Natasha, beautiful as ever, stood near her bed in just a sports bra and leggings. Her red hair was still damp from a quick shower, and the room was sweet from the scent of her body wash.

Those fierce green eyes clash with yours as you close the door.

“Shirt off”, she commands, her tone light but firm.

Blinking in response, you remark whilst dropping the bag onto the floor. “I thought I was here to check on you, baby.”

Natasha gives you her signature smirk. “You are. But I’ve missed you. And you’re wearing too many clothes for that, even though I love seeing you in those scrubs.”

Still, you stepped toward her first, fingertips brushing against her bare stomach that tensed at the action as you stared at the discoloured bruise along her left side. All excitement had quickly manifested into worry.

“How’d you do this?”

“Threw a guy over a railing. He didn’t go quietly. You know how it is.”

You sigh, pressing your palm gently over the bruised skin, checking how significant the bruising is. The lack of reaction from Nat was reassuring; you knew that her pain tolerance was higher than most of the US population.

“You need to rest. Ice. Maybe you shouldn’t be on your feet.”

She leans in, her voice a purr against your ear. “Then you’ll just have to keep me in bed, won’t you, Doc?”

There was barely any time to react before she was kissing you- hard and hot, like she’d been waiting days, weeks, too long. Her hands tangled in your hair, guiding your mouth open so she could taste you deeper. She tasted sweet, like cherries and gum.

Nat walked you backwards until your knees hit the bed. Collapsing onto the mattress, she’s quick to follow, straddling your hips with a predator’s grace.

It took entirely too long – seconds – for your shirt to be removed, but her lips are all over the moment it’s removed. From your neck, biting and licking, to your stomach, kissing and caressing with her tongue like she wanted to taste your entire body.

“You taste like antiseptic”, she murmurs against your skin, her admission not stopping her actions at all as she gently nipples on your collarbone, her fingers massaging your breasts through your bra. “And anxiety, did you miss me, hm?”

Tugging her closer, your nails dig into the flesh of her hips, “And you smell like trouble, baby.”

“Mmhm,” she hums in agreement, “but you love trouble, don’t you, Sugar?”

Her lips are on yours again with renewed hunger, but slower, like she savoured everything you had to offer. Your hands move to cup her arse, pulling her hips closer until you’re both grinding together.

“Let me take care of you for once.”

Natasha arched a brow. “You think I need taking care of?”

Flipping the two of you with surprising ease - meaning Natasha allowed you to do so - you hover over the assassin, taking a moment to admire the redness of her hair, mixing with the orange streaks of sun beaming through the window.

“You’re so fucking beautiful”, you breathe the words out as your fingers bring down the waistband of her leggings and underwear as she removes her own bra, leaving her completely naked beneath you.

While mindful of her bruised side, you eased her to the edge of the bed. Sinking to your knees, Natasha’s eyes darkened as she bit her lips, thighs spreading as you ease each leg over your shoulder.

“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?” she asks as she idly plays with her own nipples until they’re taunt, rosy and peaked.

You didn’t answer. Just pressed your lips to her inner thigh, slowly kissing your way upward. Her fingers laced through your hair, but her grip faltered when your mouth finally reached her. Tongue lickign up the length of her hairless pussy, adding pressure to slip betweens her softness to feel the firm, throbbing clit that drew out a choked sound from the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” she goans, her eyes closing and head tipping back.

You work her slowly. Needing to memorise her taste, the sounds she makes, the way her body moves from her hips, trying to dictate your movements by a subtle role, to the way her strong thighs nearly suffocate you between them. 

“Don’t stop,” she rasps, the hand in her hair tightening to the point of pain. “God, baby, just like that.” 

You were never going to stop, even if you couldn’t breath as your lips sealed around her clit. Two fingers slipped inside, curling in time with your pulsing mouth, the other hand pressing lightly above her pubic bone, attempting to keep her hips on the bed so you can have some form of control.

You watch, memsorised as her cunt begins to pulse around your fingers. Back arching, thighs unbelievably tight around your face, a moan so breathtaking that you’re sure your own arousal is now staining your scrubs with how turned on you were. She was utterly fucking beautiful.

Ever the dom, Natasha’s orgasm hadn’t even subsided fully before she’s pulling your body back onto the bed, swapping your positions so you’re lying against the sheets.

“That was dangerous,” she teases against your mouth, nipping your lower lip between her teeth until it snaps back to place. Now, I’m going to have to remind you who’s really in charge.”

Her slender fingers skim beneath your waistband, teasing and lingering.

“Say it”, she says against your throat. “Say you missed me.”

“I missed you.” Your voice quivers as her fingers finally dip lower, brushing beneath your underwear, touching exactly where you want her most.

She was always like this, dominant and teasing, but you’re always rewarded.

“That’s my girl, always so wet for me”, she compliments before sucking on the skin to the point of pain beneath your ear. You grunt at the mix of discomfort and pleasure as her fingers idly stroke over your soaked pussy.

There was no rushing Natasha, not when she’d been kept from you for so long. A small part of you worried that the other doctors and nurses would wonder where you’d disappeared, too, but all rational thoughts escaped you as she spread your labia, pressing her finger directly there.

One finger, became two, slipping inside as you gasped and arched into her, rolling your hips until her palm is pressing against your clit. With slow, deep curls, Natasha's fingers have your thighs trembling and breathy moans becoming desperate in no time at all.

All the while, she keeps her forehead pressed against yours, eyes locked on your face, studying every moan, every flutter of your lashes.

“God, look at you,” she whispers, voice rough. “Fall apart for me. Are you going to cum on my fingers, Sugar?”

You nod your head, whimpering as she applies more pressure to your clit. Bucking up and grabbing her shoulders. “Please - Natasha-!”

“I’ve got you”, she promises, lowering her face now until she’s biting your nipples through your bra in a sharp sting of pain.

You came with with a startled cry, your cunt pulsing around her fingers, sucking her in deeper, like your body never wanted to give up. She keeps the pressure, continues to curl her fingers as your orgasm draws on and on until you’re a pile of numbness, still half dressed from work.

Nat withdraws her fingers with slow movements, leaving you twitching in the sensitive area. Watching her movements, you groan deeply as she sucks her wet fingers into her mouth, tasting your juices with a pornographic moan, her eyes clossing as she savoures the taste.

She curls around you protectively, damp fingers brushing against your cheeks whilst kissing your temple, then your shoulder. Lazily dragging her lips down your neck, sucking another deepy hickey against your skin. 

Groaning whilst half-laughing, “You’re marking me on purpose”.

She smiles against your skin. “Obviously. You’re mine.”

~~~~~~~~

Later, you were lounging on one of the couches at the tower’s low-key celebration, which was never really low-key when it came to Tony Stark. Thankfully, you owned a turtlenecked dress that was soft and comfortable on your sensitive, heavily marked skin.

Something Natasha noticed as she caught you in a dark crevice, easing away your neckline to admire her artwork with a bite of her full lips. That wasn’t all, though. Usually, at public events, the two of you would stay on opposite sides of the room, but tonight, Nat couldn’t help herself.

Frequently, she would walk back, her warm hand brushing the small of your back, her eyes watching your every sip, every shift in your chair; your secret girlfriend missed nothing.

Since then, the party has dwindled to only a handful of individuals, who are, for the most part, members of the Avengers or close friends.

“You know,” the billionaire loudly declared while holding up his glass of scotch. I know I’m a genius, and you guys never really appreciate it, but I’ve just cracked a code, and I need to share.”

Not thinking anything of it, you continued to idly sip from your drink, eyes flicking to the red-haired woman sitting across from you in the circle of couches.

“I know who’s been sneaking around like hormone-crazed teenagers.” Tony grins widely. You stiffen, eyes once more flicking to Natasha, who remains nonchalant. Her reaction has you calming. Of course, he wouldn’t know about you and Natasha. She’s an assassin; she could keep secrets, hide in plain sight, and, of course, your relationship was still hidden.

However, as your eyes moved back to the billionaire staring only at you, you knew nothing good would come from his next words. “Our very own medbay angel and Miss Romanoff. Caught the Doc here leaving her bedroom with messy hair and a constellation of hickets. Pretty classic evidence, honestly.”

A beat of silence followed. Every head turned to look at you. At Natasha. At the space between you.

All you can do is freeze. Not blinking. Not breathing. They knew. They all knew. The attention made your skin feel too tight, like your heartbeat had jumped outside your body.

It wasn’t just embarrassment—it was vulnerability. The intimacy you’d guarded for so long was exposed. It was no longer a private, secret thing. It was no longer yours and Natasha's alone.

Finally, dragging a deep breath in, the urge to flee the room came over you, but an enraged redhead stepped into your path. Her arms rested comfortingly on your upper arms, thumbs stroking in slow circles. The energy rolling off of her was unmistakable. She was protective, sharp, and unapologetic.

“That’s enough”, she said evenly, tone calm but laced with authority. “We kept it private for a reason, Tony.”

The man blinked, taken aback by the reaction from the room. “Hey, it’s not a bad thing-”

“She’s not a punchline,” Natasha continues to defend you. “And this isn’t gossip. I don’t want the whole world, including our enemies, Stark, knowing what she means to me. Understand?”

You felt her hand slip behind you, curling gently around your wrist, anchoring. But the tremble of anger was evidently there.

“Nat,” you whisper, stepping closer to her side as your heart hammered.

Turning away from her friends and colleagues, her features soften, eyes tracking every emotion written across your face. “You okay?”

You nod, even if you weren’t entirely sure.

She leans in, her breath tickling your eye. “You’re mine. And I’m not letting anyone make you feel small about it. Not even Stark,”

There was another beat of silence until Clint, of all people, groaned and toasted an empty beer bottle at Tony’s head. “It took you this long to figure that out? I’ve had fifty bucks on them for months.”

“Same,” said Sam, raising his hand.

Steve snorted, “I told you she wasn’t just icing her injury in the medbay.”

Tony looked around, betrayed. “You all knew?”

Bucky shrugged. “It wasn’t that subtle.”

Laughter filled your ears from those surrounding you. Natasha’s grip on your wrist eased, but her hand kept you close. Exhaling shakily, you watched the group ease back into their jokes and drinks, the weight slowly lifting from your chest.

When you glanced back at Natasha, she was already looking at you. She pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. “Not a secret anymore. Now there’s no hiding that you’re mine.”

And somehow, that made it all ok.

[mintyys-blog]

wahh ty for my request (undressed chap 3) i love it sm!! sorry if i was a bit rude w my wording tho i just get passionate abt good angst 😭 it’s crazy how the only thing that seemed to bother mark (aside from his family getting harassed of course) was his reputation going up in flames and not the fact he left a civilian to fend for themselves against evil variations of himself 💔 i hope reader is getting the princess treatment they deserve from the other marks cause main mark is a tool n they should’ve dumped him first honestly 😭

UNDRESSED 4 — mark variants x reader

A/N: you have inspired me once more to continue this series

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

Life with the variants was chaos. Every day was a battle, not just for survival, but for control. They were all versions of Mark, yet each one was wildly different in how they viewed her, how they treated her, how they fought over her. And they did fight—constantly.

Sometimes it was words, sharp and venomous, laced with possessiveness. Other times, it was outright violence, fists cracking against flesh, the ground shaking beneath their feet as they tore into each other. Each of them believed they had the strongest claim to her, and none of them were willing to back down.

She tried to intervene when she could, standing between them, shouting at them to stop. Sometimes they listened. More often than not, they didn’t. They were too stubborn, too full of rage and jealousy to care about her pleas.

But one of them always took advantage of the distraction.

Full Mask Mark was different. He rarely spoke, always observing, always waiting. And when the others were too caught up in their fights, he made his move.

She barely had time to react before she felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her away from the chaos. He was careful but firm, guiding her down dimly lit corridors, through hidden passages in whatever place they were calling home. She struggled at first, trying to fight against his grip, but he never let her go. He was patient, unyielding.

“You’re better off with me,” he murmured against her ear once, his voice muffled behind the mask. “They’ll tear each other apart for you. I just want you to myself.” She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

He would take her somewhere secluded, somewhere the others wouldn’t find them right away. A quiet room. A shadowed corner. Somewhere intimate, somewhere where he could be alone with her.

She could feel his gaze on her, even through the mask. There was something intense about it, something that made her breath hitch in her throat. He never forced anything, never hurt her, but his presence alone was suffocating. He wanted her, and he wasn’t afraid to make that known. And the worst part? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to run anymore.

Mohawk’s fist hovered inches from Sinister’s face, knuckles white with tension. He had been ready to break Sinister’s jaw, but something felt… off. He glanced around, scanning the room, his sharp eyes narrowing.

“Where is Y/N?” he demanded.

The room, once filled with chaos and shouting, suddenly went eerily quiet.

His gut twisted as he noticed the absence of a certain variant.

“Damn it!” he growled, fists clenching at his sides. His gaze snapped toward the door, realization dawning. “That masked moron took her for himself again!”

Sinister wiped a smear of blood from his mouth, smirking despite the near-beating he’d been moments away from receiving. “Guess he got tired of sharing.”

Mohawk didn’t waste time on more words. He stormed out, shoving past the others, his boots pounding against the floor as he followed the path he knew Masked Mark had taken. This wasn’t the first time it had happened. That silent bastard had a habit of sneaking off with her, dragging her away whenever things got too heated. And every time, it pissed Mohawk off more. The others weren’t far behind.

“Fan out,” Viltrumite ordered, eyes dark with irritation. “Find them.”

They scattered, searching every shadowed hall, every locked door. It was always the same damn game—Masked Mark stealing her away, keeping her to himself like she belonged only to him. And Mohawk hated losing.

Mohawk stormed through the halls, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He knew where to look. Masked Mark always had his hiding spots, little sanctuaries where he thought he could keep her away from them.

And sure enough, when Mohawk shoved open the door to one of the more secluded rooms, he found them.

There she was—laying against Masked Mark’s chest, sleeping soundly. The tension in his body snapped into something colder, something almost bitter. She looked… comfortable. Relaxed. As if she belonged there.

Masked Mark lifted his head slightly at the intrusion, pressing a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he hushed, as if he were the one in control here, as if Mohawk were the problem. Carefully, he peeled himself away from her, moving with slow precision so she wouldn’t wake. The sheets slipped off his torso as he moved, and without hesitation, he grabbed a blanket and pulled it over her bare form, shielding her from their view.

Mohawk’s glare sharpened. “Really?”

Masked Mark only shrugged, standing to face him, still frustratingly calm. “Technically, she kissed me first, sooo…”

Mohawk scoffed, dragging a hand down his face in irritation. “Unbelievable.”

Before he could start a real fight over it, footsteps sounded behind him. Viltrumite Mark entered the room, but unlike Mohawk, he didn’t say anything. He barely even acknowledged the exchange. His gaze was locked onto her, taking in the slow rise and fall of her chest, the peaceful expression on her face.

For all his brutality, for all his possessive nature, there was something unmistakable in his expression. Relief. She was okay. The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by her soft breathing.

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room as Y/N woke, stretching her arms above her head. Her muscles ached slightly, but in the most comforting way, as if the sleep had worked its magic on her. The bed felt empty beside her, and she blinked, eyes adjusting to the daylight. Masked Mark was no longer there.

A rush of conflicting emotions flooded her as she remembered the night before. The way he’d held her, how she had felt so… safe in his arms. The way he had pulled her close, the undeniable pull between them. Yet now, in the quiet of the morning, her thoughts seemed to crowd her head. She tried to push it all away.

With a small sigh, Y/N tugged the blanket closer to her chest and sat up, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of his touch. She was still wrapped in the warmth of the bed, but the memory of last night was harder to escape.

Her eyes wandered to the empty space beside her again, and her mind couldn’t help but wander back to the question of why she was allowing herself to be pulled into this web of variants, this mess of men all vying for her attention. Was this how things were going to be from now on?

“Focus,” she muttered to herself. She wasn’t about to dwell on that now.

Y/N let out a long yawn and decided it was better to get up and try to start the day fresh. She pulled the covers off, her feet hitting the cool floor as she stood. She needed a shower, something to ground herself before facing the chaos of the other variants.

The shower would give her a moment of peace, a rare chance to collect her thoughts.

As she walked to the bathroom, she could hear the faint sounds of the others arguing from down the hall, their voices raised in that all-too-familiar way. The tension between them never really seemed to subside. She just wanted a break from it all, even if only for a little while.

Stepping into the shower, Y/N let the hot water cascade over her, sighing as it washed away the tension in her muscles. The steam filled the room, and for a brief moment, she let herself forget about the variants, about the confusion swirling in her mind. It was just her, the water, and the soothing silence of being alone for once. But, as always, that wouldn’t last long. She had to face them eventually.

Y/N walked downstairs, her mind still a bit foggy from the morning. The house was quiet, save for the soft sounds of a pan sizzling in the kitchen. As she entered the room, she paused, her gaze falling on the man standing at the stove. It was hard to tell them apart sometimes, especially when they weren’t wearing their usual suits—whether it was their hero or villain attire, it usually made things easier to distinguish them. But when they were like this, just regular versions of themselves, it became more complicated.

But she knew it was him by the way he carried himself. The calm, quiet confidence in his posture, the way he moved with purpose but without rushing, the subtle way he observed her as she entered.

No Mask Mark.

He didn’t need to say anything at first. He just kept flipping the pancakes, his back turned to her for the moment. She stood there for a moment, watching him, trying to steady her racing thoughts.

Finally, he spoke. “Want some?” he asked, his voice low and easy, as if it were just any other morning. He gestured toward the stack of pancakes on the counter, steam still rising from them, the smell of syrup filling the air.

Y/N nodded, feeling the weight of everything from the night before pressing against her chest. “Thanks.” Her voice was quieter than she intended, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure how to feel.

She grabbed a plate, serving herself a generous portion before sitting down at the small kitchen table. The soft clink of the silverware and the occasional creak of the chair were the only sounds as she took her first bite, savoring the warm, fresh pancakes.

For a moment, it almost felt normal. Almost.

When he finally joined her at the table, he didn’t speak right away. He set his own plate down and sat across from her, their eyes meeting briefly before he began cutting into his own pancakes.

They ate in silence, the tension from the previous days still lingering between them, but neither of them seemed eager to address it. It wasn’t awkward, exactly—it was just… quiet. The kind of silence that only came when too much had been left unsaid.

Y/N found herself stealing glances at him from time to time, unsure of what to make of his calm demeanor. He wasn’t acting like the other variants, like the ones who would argue, who would demand her attention. He wasn’t demanding anything at all.

It was almost… unnerving.

Finally, after a few minutes of chewing and sipping her coffee, she spoke, her voice still a little tentative. “Do you always make breakfast?”

He looked up at her, and for a brief moment, his eyes softened, just slightly. “Only when I’m not distracted.” He paused, setting his fork down and leaning back in his chair. “I figured you could use something that didn’t come from a can or a microwave for once.”

Y/N’s lips twitched into a small smile, the lightest hint of warmth crossing her features. “I appreciate it,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if she appreciated the gesture or if it was just the normalcy of it that felt like a fleeting comfort.

The moment lingered, but neither of them spoke. There was something in the air, an unspoken understanding between them that neither one of them seemed ready to break. She wasn’t sure where things were going, or if they even could go anywhere, but for now, there was just the silence, the breakfast, and the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air.

Y/N finished the last bite of her pancakes, the warm syrup settling in her stomach. She pushed her plate aside, feeling the odd tension still buzzing between them. She wasn’t sure what to say next, or if anything needed to be said at all. He hadn’t made any moves to address the chaos between them, and part of her appreciated that. For now, she just wanted a little peace.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said quietly, offering him a small smile as she stood up from the table. “It was… really good.”

He gave a nod in acknowledgment, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but he didn’t say anything more. He was content with the silence, it seemed.

Y/N picked up their plates, stacking them carefully, and took them to the sink. She rinsed them off, the rhythmic sound of water running over the dishes filling the kitchen. She found herself focusing on the task at hand, scrubbing the pans he used to make the pancakes, the clean, soapy water offering a brief distraction from the weight of everything else.

She wasn’t sure why she was doing this—why she was cleaning up after him like it was some normal morning. Maybe it was because, in some twisted way, it felt like the only thing she could control right now. Cleaning felt… soothing, grounding. The kitchen, messy as it was with all the used pans and dishes, felt like the one thing she could manage without feeling helpless.

When she finished, she dried the last dish and placed it back on the counter. The kitchen felt a little less chaotic now, the smell of food lingering in the air, the plates and pans clean once more.

She turned to face him, her movements slow as she leaned against the counter, a small sigh escaping her lips. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to help. You made breakfast, so… I thought I’d take care of this.”

He stood up, pushing his chair back with a scrape, his eyes following her every movement. There was a long pause before he spoke, his tone low. “You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly, his mask seeming to soften the words even though she knew it was him, fully aware of the subtlety in his voice. “But… I appreciate it.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze briefly meeting his. “I know. It’s just…” She didn’t have the words to finish. It felt like everything she wanted to say was tangled up in her chest, a knot she couldn’t unravel.

He didn’t push her to speak. Instead, he just leaned against the counter, his posture casual, but his eyes never left hers. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the silence growing comfortable again, even though the weight of everything still loomed over them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he said, “We should get going. The others will be waiting.”

It was a simple statement, but Y/N could feel the weight behind it. She wasn’t sure what “getting going” meant yet. She wasn’t even sure where they were going, or if it mattered. She was starting to wonder if any of it mattered anymore. Still, she nodded. “Yeah… let’s go.”

Y/N straightened up, her fingers lingering on the edge of the counter as she glanced at Maskless Mark. She felt the space between them thick with unspoken words, but there was no rush to fill the silence. He hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t forced her to confront the mess of emotions swirling within her. And for that, she was grateful, even if she didn’t fully understand why.

“Right,” she murmured, her voice steady but still soft. She walked past him, her steps almost automatic, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting. With every movement, with every glance exchanged, she was becoming more aware of how easy it was to fall back into the rhythm of things with him—like it had never changed, like she hadn’t been pulled through hell and back by the variants.

But she had, and that reality hung over her like a cloud.

The others would be waiting. She didn’t know exactly what they’d be doing, but she felt a strange pull to follow him, a sense of duty that kept her from questioning her decision. They were a broken team, a fractured mess of personalities and powers, yet somehow, she had become a piece of it all. They needed her.

The thought made her stomach twist, but she pushed it down. No time for that now.

Maskless Mark followed her silently, and together, they left the kitchen, walking toward the hallway. The sound of muffled voices came from further down, the others undoubtedly already gathered and bickering, as usual. But in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter. Not when she had to face what was still looming between them.

As they entered the room where the others had gathered, their voices immediately cut off, and all eyes turned toward her and Maskless Mark. There was tension, as always, but there was something else now—something sharper in the air. A sense of unresolved tension.

Y/N felt the weight of their gazes, but she refused to let it affect her. Instead, she focused on Maskless Mark. He didn’t look back at her, not yet. He stood there, shoulders tense but his posture relaxed, as if he was waiting for her to make the first move.

She glanced around the room at the other variants. Some of them were already in the middle of heated conversations, others watching her closely, but none of them dared to approach. They all knew the tension, the fragility of the situation. There was no need for words.

“I’ll be in my room,” Y/N said quietly, breaking the silence. She didn’t wait for a response. There was nothing more to say.

Turning on her heel, she walked away from them, from the chaos of the variants and the awkwardness of the moment. As she reached the door, she felt a tug at her heart, an unexplainable pull back toward Maskless Mark. The others, though, were already beginning to speak again, their attention now divided between each other.

For a moment, it felt like she had slipped into another world—a world where she could just escape, even if only for a few seconds. But the door clicked shut behind her, and she was alone again.

Y/N tossed and turned in the bed, the sheets tangled around her limbs as the restlessness clawed at her. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind betrayed her, replaying the argument with Mark and the loneliness that had followed. The pain still lingered, gnawing at her heart like a constant ache. No matter how hard she tried, sleep wouldn’t come.

It had been days since everything had changed, and it felt like the walls were closing in on her. She couldn’t get rid of the tightness in her chest, the way her heart felt hollow, like someone had torn out a piece of her and left an emptiness in its place.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. Throwing the covers off, she sat up in bed, the cold air biting at her skin. She stared at the window across the room, the moonlight streaming through it, casting shadows that seemed to mock her. The silence of the house felt oppressive, heavy with unspoken words and regrets.

Her gaze flickered back to the bed, where the absence of Mark’s presence felt louder than anything else. The bed was too big, too empty without him. She didn’t want to be here anymore, didn’t want to be trapped in her thoughts. She needed to escape. She needed space—if only for a little while.

Y/N swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet meeting the cold floor with a soft thud. She stood up and moved quietly toward the window, hesitant but determined. There was something about the night air that called to her, the idea of being out there, away from the suffocating tension of the house.

Her hands reached for the window, the cool glass smooth under her touch as she slid it open. The sound was soft but sharp in the quiet room, and she paused, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t woken anyone. No one stirred.

With a quiet sigh of relief, she pulled herself onto the window ledge, slipping her legs out and onto the ledge below. Her feet found the solid grip of the tree outside, the one that she had once climbed with Mark, when everything felt normal and right. She started to climb down, but she had underestimated her upper body strength and the distance she had to drop. The further she went, the less confident she became in her own ability to make the jump.

As her hands slipped slightly on the rough bark, she panicked, realizing just how far the ground was. Her heart raced, a chill running through her as she reached for the window again, trying to scramble back up. But before she could get a good grip, the window slammed shut with a harsh click, catching her fingers in the process.

Y/N gasped, her breath catching in her throat as she cursed under her breath. She tried to pull her hand free, but the pain was too much, and in her panic, she lost her grip.

There was no time to scream. The ground was rushing toward her, closer, faster, and she knew in that instant—this was going to hurt.

“This is gonna hurt…” she thought, her stomach flipping with fear as she let go, falling toward the ground below.

But just as the impact was about to take her, she felt a powerful force wrap around her, lifting her from her descent. The air rushed by her, and before she could even process what was happening, she found herself safely cradled in strong arms.

“Going somewhere?” a voice rumbled, deep and amused.

Y/N gasped, her breath catching in her throat as she looked up to see Prisoner Mark holding her effortlessly, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

She blinked in surprise, trying to catch her breath. “Uh… well… I was just—”

He let out a low laugh, the sound like a rumble of thunder. “Calm down, sweetheart. I won’t tell the others,” he said, his voice teasing but with a hint of something else she couldn’t quite place.

He gently set her down on the grass, his touch almost gentle despite his rough demeanor. “Still, where were you planning to go?”

Y/N hesitated, looking away for a moment as the vulnerability of the situation washed over her. “There’s this tree,” she said softly, her voice trailing off. “It sounds dumb, but Mark—my Mark—he would take me there when I couldn’t sleep. We’d just… watch the stars. It was our thing.” She frowned, looking down at her hands. “Uh… never mind. It’s silly.”

Prisoner Mark didn’t press her, though there was something in his eyes that softened just a little. “Where’s this tree?”

She blinked at him, surprised by the question. “It’s a little ways out from here, behind the house. I used to climb it with him.” She paused, her voice growing quieter. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just a memory now.”

Without another word, Prisoner Mark scooped her up again, lifting her in his arms as if she weighed nothing, and took off into the sky. She startled at first but didn’t say anything, letting him fly her over the treetops, her mind still swirling with everything that had happened.

Moments later, they landed with a soft thud in a large, sturdy tree. The branches were thick and strong, winding upward like a natural staircase. Mark set her down carefully on one of the high branches, and she sat down, trying to steady her breath. The cool night air was refreshing, and the stars above seemed to twinkle just a little brighter, somehow.

“You know,” Prisoner Mark said, looking around, “this is quite high up. How would you have gotten up here?”

Y/N shrugged, managing a small laugh despite the heaviness in her chest. “I didn’t think that far ahead. He would always fly us up here.”

Prisoner Mark tilted his head, considering her for a moment, then took a seat next to her, his posture relaxed as he gazed out over the trees. “Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was quieter now, softer. “The breakup, I mean. You haven’t told any of us. We didn’t want to push you, but we’ve all been wondering. We knew something happened, but not the whole story.”

Y/N stared out at the stars, her gaze distant, lost in thought. She didn’t answer right away, the weight of his question sitting heavily on her chest. She’d never really talked about it, not like this—not with someone who wasn’t wrapped up in the same mess.

Finally, she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay. I’ll tell you. But you can’t tell anyone, alright? I don’t want to sound stupid.”

Prisoner Mark didn’t say anything, but his expression softened, waiting patiently for her to speak.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N began. She explained everything—the love she had for Mark, how he was her first boyfriend, her first everything. How everything had seemed perfect at first, until it wasn’t. She told him about how she’d understood Mark’s duty to save the world and how she never complained, even when it kept her up late at night, worrying over his safety. How she’d stayed quiet, blind to the stress it caused her. Then, the painful truth—how he had broken up with her for what he thought was the greater good, and a week later, Sam had been there.

“I think he was… cheating on me with Eve,” she said, voice cracking a little, though she quickly suppressed the emotion. “But I’m not too sure. I just… I feel like everything changed overnight.”

Prisoner Mark didn’t say anything for a long while, just watching her quietly. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Y/N. It’s never easy when someone you care about makes decisions that leave you hanging, especially when you don’t have all the answers.” She nodded, swallowing hard. It was easier to talk to him than she expected, even if it didn’t take away the hurt. At least someone was listening.

Prisoner Mark stayed silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on her as if processing everything she had just shared. The air between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable. For once, it wasn’t the pressure of judgment or the weight of expectations. It was just… understanding.

“I know it doesn’t fix anything,” he finally said, his voice low but sincere. “But I’m here for you. If you ever need to talk, or… whatever it is you need, just know that you don’t have to go through this alone.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she leaned back against the thick trunk of the tree, staring up at the stars. The night sky felt so vast and infinite, and for a moment, she allowed herself to forget everything else. To just breathe and exist in the stillness.

But soon, her thoughts drifted back to Mark—her Mark. How everything had unraveled. The lies, the confusion, the feelings of betrayal. How she’d trusted him so completely, only for him to walk away, choosing someone else. And that hurt more than anything.

She glanced at Prisoner Mark from the corner of her eye, surprised at how much comfort his presence offered. Despite his scars, the rough exterior, he was… different from what she expected. There was a quiet strength about him, something unspoken, and it made her feel strangely safe, like nothing in the world could touch her while he was there.

“I should get back,” Y/N said softly, her voice almost sounding like she was trying to convince herself. “They’ll notice I’m gone.”

Prisoner Mark gave her a long look, his jaw tightening slightly. “You don’t have to go back just yet,” he said, his tone a little more forceful now. “You’ve been running around trying to fix everything, trying to make sense of it all. Take a moment. You deserve that.”

She blinked, surprised by the intensity in his voice. But it wasn’t forceful in a way that felt wrong. It was like he wanted to shield her from the chaos that awaited her back inside, from the people who might not understand her pain, from the weight of Mark’s absence.

Prisoner Mark stood and offered his hand. “Come on. Stay a little longer. It’s not every day you get to be up here.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering between him and the ground below, the house she had come from, the reality that awaited her. But for the first time in days, she didn’t feel rushed. She didn’t feel the pressure to go back to the people who expected her to act like everything was fine.

With a soft sigh, she reached out and took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She wasn’t ready to go back yet. Not to the chaos, not to the questions, and not to the man who had once been everything to her.

As they sat together on the branch, the wind gently rustling through the leaves around them, Y/N closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the moment of peace. There was no one demanding anything from her, no expectations, no broken promises. Just the quiet comfort of someone who understood the weight she carried, someone who didn’t try to fix her, but instead let her be.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “For letting me talk. For not pushing me.” Prisoner Mark didn’t say anything at first, just gave her a quiet nod. He didn’t need to say anything more—his presence spoke louder than words ever could.

Y/N’s voice broke the silence, soft but laced with curiosity. “Can I ask you something? How did you lose your Y/N?”

Prisoner Mark’s body stiffened, his eyes briefly flickering to the stars above them, as if the memory was still too painful to touch. He hesitated, the weight of her question settling between them like an anchor, pulling him down into the past.

He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice rough with the remnants of old grief. “I lost her before I ended up in prison,” he began, his words slow, measured. “The Viltrumites—they… they killed her. As a punishment for me.”

Y/N’s heart twisted at the rawness in his tone. She could feel the pain hanging thick in the air, a pain she couldn’t even begin to comprehend, but a pain she now understood more clearly. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it. The Viltrumites were ruthless, she knew that much. But to lose someone so close, someone you loved, just as a way to punish you—it was beyond cruel.

“What… what happened?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She wanted to understand, but she feared the answer.

Prisoner Mark’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he relived the memory. “I was never supposed to care,” he continued, his voice hardening. “The Viltrumites teach us that emotions are weaknesses. That attachments slow us down. But with her… I didn’t care. I loved her.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand tightening around the branch beneath him. “They killed her to send a message. To remind me that no one, not even someone I loved, was safe from the Viltrumite way. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t save her.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten, the heaviness of his words pressing against her chest. The pain, the loss—it was all so much more than she’d imagined. She wanted to reach out, to say something that would make him feel better, but she didn’t know how. The silence that followed was thick, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

Prisoner Mark continued, his voice softer now, like he was speaking to himself more than to her. “I thought maybe it would get easier after a while. But it doesn’t. Losing her… it’s something I’ll carry with me forever. It doesn’t matter where I go, or what I do, that hole is always there.”

Y/N swallowed, the weight of his confession sitting heavy in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected to hear the depth of his loss, the quiet devastation that shaped so much of him. She couldn’t begin to understand what it felt like to lose someone like that, not in the way he had.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely audible. She didn’t know if those words were enough, but they were all she had to offer.

Prisoner Mark gave her a small, almost imperceptible smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s alright. It happened a long time ago. I don’t expect anyone to understand. Just… don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Y/N frowned, not fully grasping what he meant. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t let someone you care about slip away,” he said quietly, his voice thick with regret. “Don’t waste the time you have. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. And you can never get it back.”

Her breath hitched at the truth of his words. It was a warning—a reminder of how quickly everything could change, how fragile everything was. She could feel the weight of it, the same burden he carried, the same fear that clung to him.

“I won’t,” she whispered, the promise feeling more real than she had intended.

Prisoner Mark gave her another look, a deeper one this time. His gaze softened, and for a brief moment, there was something almost vulnerable in his eyes—something that matched the rawness of his confession. He didn’t need her to say anything more, didn’t need her pity. It was just the two of them in the quiet, the night air surrounding them like a blanket.

“I’m glad you stayed up here with me,” he murmured after a long pause. “You’re not like the others.”

Y/N met his gaze, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “I’m glad I stayed too,” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying through the air. “I think I needed to be reminded that I’m not alone.”

Prisoner Mark nodded slowly, as if he knew exactly what she meant. And for a while, they both just sat there, letting the night pass them by. Neither of them felt the need to speak more, the shared silence offering more comfort than words ever could.

Y/N didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or where she would be in a week. But for the first time in days, the tightness in her chest had loosened just enough for her to breathe again. Maybe, just maybe, things didn’t have to be as broken as they seemed.

Prisoner Mark gently lifted Y/N into his arms, his grip steady and comforting as he took to the skies. The cold night air rushed past them, but for Y/N, the warmth of his presence kept her grounded, a quiet solace she hadn’t expected to find.

The familiar sight of the house grew closer, and with a soft landing, he touched down on the ground just outside her window. His boots barely made a sound as he lowered her gently, his hands lingering on her shoulders for a moment.

“Here we are,” he said quietly, his voice as soft as the breeze that ruffled the leaves around them.

Y/N turned to face him, her heart unexpectedly full. Despite the heaviness of the night, there was something about him that made everything feel a little more bearable, even if just for a while. She smiled, her eyes meeting his, and before she realized it, she stood on her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the words carrying more weight than she could explain. “Goodnight.”

Prisoner Mark didn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, as if to break the silence, he gave her a slight nod. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

As she turned to climb back through the window, he remained just outside, watching her with a quiet intensity that lingered even after she had disappeared from view. His heart ached in a way he didn’t want to admit. She wasn’t his Y/N, and maybe she never could be, but in that moment, he had given her something no one else had. And for once, it felt enough.

The night was still, the stars above burning brightly as he turned away, leaving her to find peace in her own way. Tomorrow, they would all face the consequences of their choices. But for tonight, it was just them—their shared silence, their unspoken understanding—and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

The house was eerily quiet for once. No fights, no arguments, no threats of tearing the place apart. It was almost unsettling. Y/N sat on the couch, curled up with a book she wasn’t actually reading, flipping through the pages mindlessly.

She barely noticed when Omni Mark entered the room. He was always composed, his presence almost suffocating in how intense it was. His gaze swept over her, taking in her quiet form before he silently took a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

“You look bored,” he observed, his deep voice breaking the silence.

Y/N sighed, closing the book and glancing at him. “I guess. I just… I don’t know. I don’t feel like doing anything.”

Omni Mark studied her for a moment, his piercing eyes unreadable. “You’re still thinking about him.” It wasn’t a question.

She scoffed, shaking her head. “No. Well—maybe. I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s just hard. Being here, being with all of you… it’s a lot.”

Omni Mark nodded slightly, as if he understood more than he let on. “You’ve adapted better than most would. Surrounded by versions of the man who broke you? You should be falling apart. Yet, you’re still here.”

She frowned, looking at him. “Do you think I should be falling apart?”

“No,” he said simply. “I think you’re stronger than you realize.”

That caught her off guard. Most of them, even the softer Marks, treated her like she was fragile, breakable. But Omni Mark—he didn’t. He saw something in her that she didn’t even see in herself.

She shifted slightly, pulling her legs up on the couch. “What about you? What was your Y/N like?”

His jaw tightened at the mention of her. His gaze flickered away for a second before he leaned back against the couch. “She was… strong. Stubborn. A fighter,” he said, his voice quieter now. “She hated me at first. Thought I was a monster.”

Y/N tilted her head. “And were you?”

Omni Mark smirked slightly, but there was no amusement in it. “In some ways, yes. But she didn’t fear me. She challenged me, pushed me in ways I didn’t expect.” His expression darkened. “She fought until the very end.”

Y/N swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. She could guess what that meant—his Y/N was gone. Another casualty in a war that never seemed to end.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Omni Mark glanced at her, eyes searching. “You remind me of her sometimes,” he admitted. “But you’re different. You’re still… hopeful.” She let out a small, bitter laugh. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You are,” he countered. “You still believe there’s a way out of this, that things can get better.” He leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. “That’s why they all want you. Why I want you.”

Her breath hitched at his words. There was no mistaking the way he looked at her—like she was something rare, something worth having. And for once, she didn’t feel small under his gaze. She held his stare, something unspoken passing between them. “You’re not alone here, Y/N,” Omni Mark murmured. “Not anymore.”

A/N: there will be more parts

@starlightt180

[manhandlememando]

i’ll beg whatever gods i need to. | cregan stark

cregan stark x f!wife!reader

format: one-shot

tw: MDNI warning (oh boy here we go) in depth descriptions of gore and bodily injury, blood, ANGST, cregan crying and in pain, mentions of religion and praying, hurt/comfort, more angst, angry cregan, insecure!cregan, unprotected piv, oral (both receiving), face riding, cowgirl, breeding kink (duh he’s a stark), uncut cregan. (written in 3rd person POV) (she/ her pronouns)

word count: 5,539

excerpt: Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging anyone who could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

- or -

cregan gets mauled by a direwolf.

song inspirations: youth by Daughter, human by Daughter, i gave you all by Mumford & Sons, heavy in your arms by Florence and The Machine, i found by Amber Run, roslyn by Bon Iver and St. Vincent, work song by Hozier, family tree by Ethel Cain, in the woods somewhere by Hozier, glory by Dermot Kennedy

The hour of the owl came passing over Castle Black, and still Cregan had not returned from his patrol of the Wall. Her worry had grown tenfold, the knot in her stomach was now a heavy stone. She knew something was amiss. Moving from their shared chambers to the corridors of the small castle, she decided a short walk may alleviate some of her anxiety, allowing her to clear her head.

However after only several minutes of beginning to wander, she heard commotion coming from the direction of the courtyard. Yelling and shrieking, men could be heard barking orders at each other, calls for the maester were loud, but the one thing that rose above it all was the most blood curdling roar she’d ever heard. Not wasting any time, she ran through the narrow hallways towards the source of the noise, only to come to a dead stop, the beating of her heart doing the same.

There he lay on a gurney in the middle of the courtyard, thrashing against the hands trying to hold him still. Crying out in agony as the maester tried his best to assess the situation at hand.

“Oh gods…” she gasped when the source of his pain became clear to her. His armor was covered in deep crimson streaks of blood, the leather ripped to shreds revealing the metal beneath. His face, contorted in pain, bore two long gashes from above his right eyebrow and trailing down his temple into his hairline. It seemed as if a deep crimson curtain had been pulled over half of his face as the blood seeped from the deep, jagged cuts. However the worst of his injuries were to his left shoulder, which seemed to be attached only by the grace of the gods. It was so gruesome she began to feel ill. The bone of his upper bicep was exposed, the flesh hanging from it. Blood seeping profusely from the wounds, teeth marks littered his forearm and hands. The fabric of his pants torn and she could see more crescent shaped puncture wounds littered across his legs, and his right ankle was bent at a sickening angle. They were large, belonging to something much bigger than anything she had seen in the North. A direwolf.

A young knight was holding the Stark ancestral sword, Ice, which was now covered tip to hilt in blood. Another man standing next to the knight who bore her husbands sword, stepped towards her.

“My Lady you mustn’t be here, you should not witness this,” he said, trying to block her view of her husband.

“No! No, I must be with him,” she rushed forward, only to be stopped by the strong arms of the guard holding her back.

“Please! He’s my husband, I have to -,” she began to plead with the man keeping her in her place before Cregan’s loud yell stopped her sentence short. The maester and his assistant were beginning to pack his wounds with whatever clean cloth the other men could find, Cregan seemed as if he was trying to pull away. Arching at the contact to his arm and shoulder, neck straining and face red as another scream erupting from deep within him. Tears were streaming down his face as it crumpled into an expression she never thought she’d see from him; fear.

It took two full grown men to hold him still, even in his weakened state, as they began to move him from the damp ground. Although, consequently the motion caused his body to shift and in turn sent him into another fit of agony.

At the sounds of his screams getting even more broken and strangled, her knees fell weak, slumping into the man’s hold as the air left her lungs.

He could die, the thought crossed her mind when she caught a glimpse of the expanse of blood leftover on the muddy ground.

————————————————————————

They had placed him in their bedchamber and the maester had since given Cregan milk of the poppy to calm him. He had been cleaned up and mended as best as the maester and his assistant could manage. They had also taken measures to prevent infection, although they informed her that it wasn’t fail safe and to be prepared for any outcome.

“He will have an incredibly long recovery period… if he survives,” the maester said to her as he wiped his hands of her husbands blood, his voice lowering as he spoke of his Lord’s possible death. She only nodded, eyes wide, feeling as if she was submerged in water. All the words being said to her were muffled and distorted. Some of the men from the Watch had tried to pull her from the bedchambers when they had first begun to work on him, whispering false reassurances and pleading with her to not witness this.

She couldn’t look away from his limp form laying on their shared bed, smothered in white bandages that were slowly blossoming red. However, his torso was somewhat unmarked by the direwolf’s teeth and claws (save for several deep purple bruises beginning to show their full form) due to the steel armored chest piece he had adorned upon her request, just before leaving for his patrol.

This might be his deathbed, she thought to herself. Tears beginning to pool on her lashes.

“I shall leave you. I will return in several hours to replenish the milk of the poppy… if he wakes again,” the maester looked down at the floor in despair. Exiting the room, the maester bid his condolences.

Nearing the bed, she knelt down and lightly took his hand in hers, brushing her lips over his bandaged knuckles and letting out a shaky breath.

“Please, my love you must wake up. Heal well and return to me, do not leave me in this world without you,” she pleaded with the unmoving form in front of her. The tears beginning to fall as she placed her head upon the bed next to their interlocked hands.

She did not pray, she never had found an interest in paying much attention to the new gods or the old. But in this moment she found herself reaching out for guidance as she called upon the gods to help him. Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging any god that could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

————————————————————————

The night dragged on, as if time had been weighed down by the gravity of the situation, and on its continued trek forward it somehow had slowed.

The maester had come and gone twice before, but Cregan had not woken yet. She refused to move from his side the entire time, having wept for hours she now felt empty and void of anything at all.

“My Lady you must eat,” a guard had come in, trying his best to persuade his Lady of the North to eat something or else she would fall ill.

“I am not hungry,” she flatly responded to the young man, whose face fell as he nodded and exited the room.

It was several more hours before Cregan awoke, he was still deep within the fog of the poppy’s milk but he was whispering something. His mouth barely moving, the sound coming out more like a silent prayer than a word.

He spoke her name, breathed it more like. But still, through all the hell he had been through in the last several hours, his mind only fell upon her.

“My love,” she said softly, lifting his hand to her lips once more. “My love, can you hear me?” She asked, but was met with nothing. Cregan drifting back into sleep, leaving her in the silence once again.

He woke like this periodically over the next several days, the maesters visiting every couple of hours to assess his wounds and change his bandages. Still all the while providing him with an ample amount of milk of the poppy to ward off his pain. They were somehow successful in warding off any major infections to the wounds, which was nothing short of a miracle. They had spent hours on different herbal remedies to help the Lord of the North heal without a fever.

As the days passed, she still refused to leave his side. Six days had passed by the time Cregan finally gained enough consciousness to express his pain level.

She had been napping in a chair next to the bed where he lay. Waking suddenly to the sound of a loud, pained groan.

“Cregan!” She gasped, his eyes opened just slightly, and she saw they were bloodshot but open nonetheless. He hissed in pain as she touched his hand.

“What’s happened?” He asks weakly, looking down at the bandages still covering most of his body.

“There was an incident beyond the Wall when you went to patrol the perimeter several days ago. They say you and the men were attacked by a direwolf.” She explains softly. His face drops, his eyes going wide at the memory. With some effort he tried to look down at his left shoulder, and when met with the sight of layers and layers of white bandages, he grimaced.

“I remember,” he whispers. His eyes closing as he inhales deeply, wincing again at the movement. When he opens his eyes again she can see the tears gathered within them.

“I - I cannot feel my hand,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked down at his left hand once again, his dominant hand.

“I will fetch the maester, it must just be a symptom of the damage caused. They will mend it though, as they have everything else,” she reassured him and stood to leave and get the maester, but they both know her reassurance was empty of any fact.

Worry gripped at her stomach again as the maesters words rang within her ears; “he will have an incredibly long recovery period”.

But what if there was no recovering fully from this? What if he would never be able to wield a sword again? Or walk properly? The thoughts swam in her mind, each drowning out the other.

She returned shortly with the maester, who breathed a sign of relief at the sight of Cregan fully awake.

He tried to offer Cregan more milk of the poppy before he began assessing the healing progression of his injuries, but Cregan refused.

“My Lord, I do not wish to see you in pain. But I must remove the bandages -,” the older man tried to explain, but Cregan cut him off curtly.

“Then do it,” he said, his face stern.

“Cregan, please listen to the maester, this is going to be more painful than you think,” she tried to reason with him, but his jaw was set and so was his mind.

“As you wish, my Lord,” the old healer nodded solemnly, moving to remove the first bandage. Upon contact with his arm Cregan did not grimace or contort in pain, his brows furrowed as if confused.

“I cannot feel it,” he said, his voice sounding far away, as if was in shock at the realization finally setting in.

“What, my love?” She inquired, looking at his arm as the maester began to unwrap more of the white fabric. The stitches were surrounded by bruised skin, what couldn’t be stitched back together was healing under a protective salve the maester had prepared. It will scar badly, but it didn’t matter, they were able to save his arm when she was more than certain he would lose it. As the maester lifted his arm Cregan had no reaction, just staring blankly into space. She was sure he must be in pain but he wasn’t reacting to what the maester was doing whatsoever.

“My darling, are you alright?” She asked him quietly, placing a hand under his chin to turn him to face her.

“I cannot feel anything,” he said, still his voice was hollow.

“What do you mean?” She questioned, not fully understanding what he meant by that.

“In my arm, it does not hurt because I cannot feel it,” he explained finally meeting her eyes. That was where she saw the flicker of fear again come across his face, worry painting his features.

“This is my dominant hand, I must be able to use it whenever necessary. It is the hand with which I wield Ice. But now I am not even able to move it. I am no longer a sufficient warrior… or man,” he said, his voice shaking as tears came to his eyes. The maester gave Cregan a pitiful look that just upset the Lord more.

“No, no that is not true my love,” she rushed to comfort him, cradling his face, making sure to avoid the stitches on his brow and temple.

“Do not do this to yourself, my darling. Do you understand what you have survived? You were attacked by a direwolf, Cregan… and you survived. That is next to impossible, but here you are,” she said, her voice soft and dripping in empathy. Brushing a tear from just under his eye as it began to fall. He shifted his gaze away from her, his eyes hardening again.

“But what good is survival if I am no longer able to live how I am meant to?” He said, still not meeting her eyes.

“It will take some adjustment, but we will get through this. You will get through this,” she assured him.

“Cregan… look at me,” she says quietly, trying to get him to connect with her again and not sink deeper into his darkening thoughts.

“Look at me, now,” she commanded in a more firm tone, which caused him to finally look at her once more, a sheepish expression in his eyes.

“Stop this at once,” she said, still holding her firm tone. He nodded and sighed, knowing he would not win this one. But as he cast his eyes downwards and frowned slightly, she knew he couldn’t be swayed in this moment from the doubt that was consuming him.

This will be a long recovery indeed, she thought to herself.

————————————————————————

About thirteen moons after Cregan had been nearly killed by the direworf, the head of which now hung in the council room, he had recovered quite well by what the maesters had told her.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had since moved back from their residence at Castle Black when Cregan was finally well enough to travel. Although his body was healing well with time, his mind only sunk deeper into the belief he was now not worthy of his station as Warden of The North and the Lord of Winterfell. He had become easily irritated and many days she wished to not spend time with him, however she understood this too shall pass. She had sworn to him in her marriage vows to be by his side through sickness and in health, and she had no intention of breaking those vows in her lifetime.

As the Winter continued on, and as Cregan's strength grew back and the feeling began to make its way back into his limb, he was insistent on beginning his sword work training. She understood his urgency, finally having hope after such a long time of uncertainty was an addicting sort of feeling. It was hard for Cregan to accept that he would have to relearn how to use a sword with this new complication, and not train as he once did, as if nothing had happened.

Once the maester overseeing the Lord's care had cleared him to begin his lessons, she asked him if she would be able to accompany him. He agreed instantaneously, he was going to ask her anyways, feeling much better in her presence than anyone elses.

She busied herself with a book, perching upon several barrels of wine that sat on the edge of the courtyard, waiting to be taken to the cellars. Cregan had begun his lessons, and within minutes was already frustrated at the difficulty he had with even just handling the sword, let alone swinging it. She watched from the distance with a frown painting her face as he continued to struggle and bark at the knight he was sparring when he would try to offer his help. After much protest, Cregan finally gave into the offers to get him a wooden sword to wield instead. It was easier for him to handle, however his skill had rusted over with time and lack of use. His frustration became paramount when the young man bested him again, Cregan threw down his sword and stepped forward, grabbing his opponent by the collar.

"Do you wish to humiliate your Liege Lord?! Get out of my sight at once!" he roared in the mans face, causing him to stumble back and retreat from Cregan as quickly as possible.

She sat watching the scene as her own anger began to surface, standing and coming towards Cregan once he'd let the other man go, still breathing heavily and fuming.

"Come with me, now," she growled as she wrapped a firm hand around his good wrist, pulling him along behind her like a toddler being scolded and hauled off for punishment. She thought it best to bring him to their bedchambers as the conversation they needed to have was private.

Once they had entered their shared chambers Cregan immediately started in on his defense, to which she put up a silent palm in his direction, causing his sentence to halt before it finished.

"I can not do this anymore," she said softly, trying to keep her voice level, but to no avail. Placing a hand over her mouth as she began to silently weep, still refusing to look at him.

He softened immediately at the sight of her tears, hating desperately to make her upset. He took a step forward and brought his hand to her cheek, getting her to turn to him. She did not lift her gaze from the floor, sniffling lightly and trying to keep her tears from cascading and overflowing.

"You cannot do what anymore, love?" Cregan asked gently, moving his right hand to place at the back of her neck, and the other moving under her chin. His fingers intertwined into her hair at the back of her head as he tipped her head back slightly using the finger beneath her chin to raise her face to his. Taking another step closer to her he engulfed her in his size, pressed against her body, in complete control. Cradling her head completely in his hands, he moves the hand below her chin to place on her cheek once more.

"What was it, hmm?" he hummed to her, bringing his lips to brush against hers. She had become putty to mold as he wished, letting out a small sigh as he continued to tease the possibility of a kiss.

But in that moment she remembered her anger and could not let the lust for her husband overpower something that was becoming a serious issue between him and the rest of the world. She pushes away suddenly, putting space between them again. Cregan lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands fall to his sides.

"I can not possibly understand the stress you are under, and the constant unease you must feel within yourself. But I can understand how that affects me, and how that has affected our staff and those on your court. You were not slain, Cregan! You still have so much to live for, even if it means you cannot see battle again. That is what your army is for. Your value lies more in your character and not your physical form. Allowing that of which keeps you on solid ground to be the demise of what lies within your head, when you are so intelligent, and kind, and humorous. That is a sin, and the more treacherous of fates to befall a Warden of the North, even more so than a direwolf." She said, silence filled the room as Cregan realized he had no rebuttal. She was right after all, he could have been killed, and the fact he is allowing his mind to destroy what a direwolf couldn't, well it just seemed downright mad.

"I am so sorry, I never saw it that way," he responded softly, his heart feeling some what heavy in his chest as he felt the onslaught of emotion begin to creep up his throat. He had repressed so much in wanting to keep a certain image, and with his own wife being able to see through his facade so clearly, he realized how much pain he was really holding in. With that thought the dam broke as he let out a choked sob, leaning on the back of a chair closest to him he began to fall weak to his emotions.

At the sound of his whimper she turned around again, seeing him holding the bridge of his nose as he wept uncontrollably. Barely keeping himself upright with the back of the chair next to him.

"Oh, my darling," she went to him, quickly gathering him into her arms and bringing him down to kneel on the ground as she sat in the chair he was using for support. With his head tucked to her breast and his arms tightly wound around her body, hands finding purchase in her hair, he finally began to rack with sobs. She just let him collapse into her, stroking the hair from his face, tracing the scar on his temple and kissing his hairline. All the while cooing sweet reassurances into his ear.

"I have you my love, I have you," she whispered into his hair as he began to regain his breath. Not letting her go in the slightest, but relaxing nonetheless, Cregan began to breathe normally again, silent tears still coming from his eyes every now and then.

But he knew he was safe, and above all, he knew he was loved unconditionally.

————————————————————————

“Cregan, we cannot you aren’t healed properly yet,” she breathed out in a sigh as his lips traced the column of her throat.

“Your shoulder… and your ankle, it is too risky,” she tried to protest but the affect he had over her was undeniable.

“I am fine, my love. I am in need of my wife. It has been many moons and I cannot refrain any longer, injuries be damned,” he said, scoffing at the last part of his statement. Her skin was set alight with his touch as she leaned into him more. Laying in their bed, beneath a mountain of furs, he began to move atop of her, but she stopped him.

“If we are to do this, you will not lift a finger, is that clear?” She said firmly, and Cregan’s eyebrows rose in surprise at his wife’s sudden dominance, his cock twitching within his small clothes. He nodded quickly as he moved to lay back against the many pillows, eyes darkening as she rose from the bed to lean back on her heals. Very slowly she removed her shift, revealing the whole of her body to him.

“It is as if you are a goddess yourself, there is no need for religion when you are the alter I pray at, and the deity I pray to,” he whispered as he took in the sight. His mind putting to memory every curve, every inch of skin he laid his eyes on. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before, but after such restraint it is like they are newlyweds once again. With her help he removed his tunic and small clothes, breath shaky as he looked down upon her naked form crawling up his body.

She was gentle with her touch, ghosting it over the small scars that now cover each of his legs. He shivers at the contact but does not pull away, allowing the sensitivity to wash over him and settle within his groin. He reaches with his good arm to touch her face, but she retracts to his disappointment.

“No touching,” she said with a small smirk forming at the corner of her lips. The mischievous look in her eyes was enough for him to understand it would be better to not protest. Leaning down she places soft kisses across his thighs, moving closer to his stiff member, his hips buck involuntarily as she finally takes his tip into her mouth. Swirling her tongue around the top just before pulling down his foreskin to lick at his sensitive slit.

A groan erupted from deep within his chest, wavering at the end as he gasped and sputtered. She had taken him fully into her mouth at this point, beginning to move up and down his length in a rhythmic motion.

His chest flexed as he threw his head back, his right hand hovering just next to her jaw. Knowing she would stop if he disobeyed her direct instructions, he held himself back from caressing her face. Broken gasps and whimpers were falling unabashedly from the Warden of the North’s lips, his strong, muscled body molding into putty in her hands.

Suddenly she rose and removed her mouth from him, to his disappointment. Breathing hard he kept his eyes on hers as she began to move even further up his body. His brows knitting into one another as he wondered what exactly she was doing, until it clicked, and the biggest smile graced his handsome features. He understood and shifted himself to be fully lying down, moving down the bed slightly to give her room as she moved to take her rightful place on his face. He hummed happily at the sweet taste of her on his tongue once again, having not indulged in his most favorite delicacy in far too long. She let out a sharp gasp as his lips wrapped themselves around her sensitive pearl, sucking lightly before exploring her deeper. She looked down to see his eyes closed and the most blissfully content look upon his face as he continued to ravage her with just tongue. Switching between broad strokes of his tongue along her cunt to small kitten licks upon her clit that had her panting and grinding her hips down onto him. The scruff on his unshaven face added to the sensational feeling against her as he sank his tongue within her finally. Moaning uncontrollably and quite loudly, she found herself leaning against the headboard for support as her body began to give into the pleasure he was bringing her.

“That’s it, my darling. Fall apart for me, I have you,” he coaxed, breath hitting her clit, causing her to groan, which shortly turned into the most obscenely moan. He hooked his left arm around her waist and continued to guide her to completion. With his tongue in her cunt and his nose teasing her clit, she came apart with nothing short of a scream of his name. Throwing her head back as she felt her muscles go limp from the intensity of her orgasm.

“So perfect for me,” he whispers to her, kissing the inside of her thighs softly.

She smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief as she had been just as pent up as he’s been, and finally getting some form of release was euphoric to say the least.

As she moved from his face she could see the way his lips shown with the remnants of her. She looked down to see his cock almost impossibly bigger than when she had first taken him into her mouth. She couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could he. Grabbing ahold of her hips he quickly shifts her down his body back to his waist. The tip catching at her entrance ever so slightly and they both moaned loudly in unison.

With his right hand having an iron grip on her hip, he helped her position her on top of him. As she began to sink down on his length it was as if all the air in the room had suddenly been removed. The sensation punching the air out of her lungs.

Cregan thought he was seeing the gods, his vision almost going completely white as he feels her tight, hot cunt envelope him. Arching his spine while his eyes roll to the back of his head as soon as she is fully seated on him. Staying still for a second to give them both a minute to catch their breath, she regains her strength and begins to shift her hips.

“Touch me,” she commanded softly, he didn’t need to be told twice. He moved to sit up, his forehead resting on her sternum, placing open mouthed kisses between the valley of her breasts before taking one into his mouth. His left arm secures her hips in his hold while the other hand snakes its way into her hair. Grabbing at the roots he tugs her head back to expose more of her neck to him. Laying hot, wet kisses upon any expanse of skin he could reach. As his grip around her waist tightened slightly, he kept guiding her to ride his cock slowly, thrusting up every so often causing her to choke on a moan.

“Cregan…,” she moaned his name, groans continuing to slip from her mouth as he moved to suck on her other breast. Gently lapping at the nipple as she whimpered.

“So gorgeous, my love. So good for me. Taking me so - nnnggh - well,” he grunted out, groaning when she squeezed him as his words sent a shock wave to her core. She threaded her fingers into his chocolate strands, pulling slightly earning another pleased noise from her husband.

“I’ve missed this, I’ve missed us,” she pants, looking down at his face. As he looks up, her breath catches at the sight of her fucked-out husband and his pink cheeks and kiss swollen lips.

“I know, me too,” he responds breathlessly, she cups his face and brings her lips to his. It’s messy, he crushes his mouth to hers and suddenly begins thrusting upwards, hitting that one spot deep within her.

Her gasp causes him to pull away from the kiss, but not from her. Their mouths still close, breathing in each others air as he continues to thrust into her. Tipping his head back as his face scrunches in pleasure and groaning loudly, he then ducks his head into the curve of her neck as his thrusts get more and more sloppy. His right arm still snaked up her back and his hand tangled in her hair to keep her close. She was reaching the precipice of heaven for the second time that evening, and he could tell. The way she began to squeeze him, how she fluttered around him, he knew.

“I know, my love. Give yourself to me,” he begged, whispering the pleas in her ear before kissing the shell of it. With several more thrusts she was coming undone around him, moaning and gasping as she collapses into him. With only several more thrust he too was coming undone in the most beautiful way. Flushed and groaning, he is the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Only moments afterwards, still basking in their post-coital glow, he lays back against the pillows once more. Placing a hand directly over her womb, he mutters something about “seeing her round with child in several moons” and she felt his cock jump within her as he continues to cradle his hands around her lower stomach.

“I can’t wait for you to bare my children, my love,” he states, looking into her eyes with such adoration. Resting her hands atop his she nods.

“I can’t wait to be the mother of your children, I’m sure I will be soon,” she responds, equal adoration radiating off her.

————————————————————————

She missed her moon’s blood the following month, and he was the happiest he had been in a very long time.

Although the feeling never fully returned in his left arm and hand, he had re-learned how to wield Ice with just as much skill as he did before the incident. His ankle and legs did recover after more than a year of rehabilitation, but eventually he no longer walked with a limp.

The gratitude which he felt was immeasurable. Thinking about how many ways his life could have been different if he didn’t have her to keep him sane through the most difficult thing he had ever faced; losing his physical strength and health. Most days feeling as if he couldn’t go on, but then she would be at his side to aid him in whatever he needed. Never wavering in her love or loyalty to him.

He woke every day from then on thanking the old gods and the new for sparing one of their angels to be his wife.

[softtdaisy]

need your touch / Aaron Hotchner

summary. Hotch didn’t realize he developed an aversion to being touched until he became touch-starved.

words count. 2 776

what to expect. kind of grumpy x sunshine, very sad, mention of foyet and the attack, but very sad

a/n. I had this idea reading a book and I felt so sad about the man suffering from that, that of course I wanted to do with Hotch too so here it is

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

The shivers. The disgust. The sudden need to wash his skin.

Hotch didn’t realize he developed an aversion to being touched until it was too late.

It wasn't until he actually became touch-starved that he realized this. 

The first time he realized something might be wrong was after a case. One that they all thought would take days but was surprisingly done after a few hours. After they finished packing, Rossi walked behind him. “Well done,” he congratulated Hotch by patting his shoulder. 

He had a slight and unconscious movement of recoil. Something Rossi didn’t notice, already focused on someone else. But something that stayed in Hotch’s mind and didn’t leave him. 

Soon, he realized how every little moment where he was touched by somebody else made him feel sick. 

He had to fight against the need to run to the bathroom after shaking hands with anybody.

He started avoiding every form of affection from the team, not that they were numerous but still present.

And if after his divorce with Haley, Hotch stopped the whole dating process, the idea of being intimate with someone became a real anxiety issue. Hands getting lost on his body, the feeling of lips leaving wet marks on his skin… this was too much for him. So much so that he didn’t even know how to get over this now.

And with months spent staying away from any type of physical contact, he started to feel the consequences on his mental health. He was the one avoiding it, but in his mind, the idea of being repulsive started to grow.

The thing was, he knew exactly where it came from. 

It could have been “the best part” of this if he could find a way to fight against it.

But it was definitely the “worst part” of this whole mess.

Because there was nothing he could do about the memory of almost dying in the hands of George Foyet. Every physical contact was a reminder of the worst night of his life. His brain ended up associating it with the feeling of dying. Again and again.

If he had been feeling better, he probably would have found it funny that the universe decided to put you in his life at the exact moment he was starting to lose it.

Just like that, one day, when he arrived in the meeting room, you were there next to Penelope.

“Let me introduce you to the most amazing little fairy you will ever meet,” she said, her hands on your shoulder like a proud mom. Which, of course, caused some laughter from the team. Not that they doubt you could be some kind of fairy, especially if you were the one Penelope chose to work with her. 

“As you know,” she pursued, “I asked to have another pair of hands to help me, and so here is my little ray of sunshine.” 

“Ok,” you laughed, patting her hand gently. “I think we can stop with the cute nicknames; they got the idea.” 

The whole time you spent explaining what your job would be, basically supporting Penelope in her office but also going more on the field with the team to be the connection between them and her, Hotch never stopped looking at you.

Penelope was right: you were a pure ray of sunshine. You lighted up the whole room in a way he forgot was possible after years of discovering the worst cases between these walls. You kept smiling and laughing, joking with Derek at his silly remarks and blushing when you heard Emily’s compliments on your hair. You were already a part of the team in less than five minutes.

And when you walked to him to shake his hand, he realized there was something even more special about you.

For the first time in months, he was able to touch someone else without feeling any disgust. It was even pleasing.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a low voice, still in shock from the lack of reaction his body gave. He got lost in the beauty of your eyes when you looked at him. More than the color of them, which was straight from a painter’s palette for him, he found some peace in it. You didn’t know all the struggle he was going through. 

You were like an open door to something new. To feel like himself again.

Of course, it would have been too easy if he could have just started to feel at ease next to you and put his touch revulsion away in a flash. 

Hotch was still the boss, and you were working for him. If he were being as responsible as he felt he had to be, he would put a respectful distance between the two of you. He couldn’t be there, longing for your touch.

But, without meaning to, you were making things way harder for him.

You were the affectionate type. And soon the team learned that they couldn’t escape your overflowing need to have physical contact with them to show your appreciation. Even Spencer, who made it clear from the start that he wasn’t comfortable with this type of affection, ended up asking for some of yours. 

Like the high five when the team progressed in the case, the handholding—or grabbing, in your case—for the person next to you in the plane or the comforting touch when you felt like one of them needed it. A hand on the shoulder, a squeeze on the arm, your fingers patting your thighs softly when a meeting was going wrong, or even a hug when it was necessary. It was a normal habit for you, and soon it became one for the team too.

You weren’t sure Hotch was appreciating it though. He was your boss, and for obvious reasons, you tried to keep a distance so you wouldn’t get fired for sexual harassment. But if you felt like some of them barely needed your affection—yet, still appreciated it—like Emily or Derek, and some truly loved having you around, like Penelope, there was something different with Hotch.

That man was the incarnation of sadness, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

The first time you overpassed your feelings about it was during a case involving children. The meeting with the sheriff went terribly wrong, and Hotch, who always seemed so calm and composed, let his anger out when he got up. Slamming the chair against the desk and closing the door just as hard. 

You didn’t hesitate a single second before running after him. “Hotch!” you yelled, a little louder than intended since people turned around. Well, most did, except for the one concerned. You had to run after him outside to finally be able to grab his arm. “Oh god, I’m not trained for this stuff,” you said, out of breath. 

He stayed silent. Still in shock that you went after him. Still in shock that your touch didn’t make him feel sick. Once again. He even found some comfort in the way your thumb was naturally brushing his wrist; he could feel your tenderness even through the tissue of his shirt.

“Are you ok?” you asked before laughing. “I’m stupid; of course you’re not. But…can I do anything?” 

Hotch was impressive for many, many reasons. He was your boss, sure. He was older than you; it was a fact. But he was terribly and undeniably handsome. It wasn’t easy to be in front of him most of the time. But right now, alone in the street, facing his eyes that were leaving your face and his deep silence, it was even harder.

“Can I offer you a hug? Maybe?” Your voice was so low that you were convinced he didn’t hear you. Which was probably for the better. You could live with the idea of missing the opportunity because you didn’t speak loud enough. Less with the idea that he deliberately ignored you.

But soon, you watched his movement as he made a step towards you. As his arms opened up before closing against your body. As his head is buried in your neck. It took you a second to react, and you held him tight against you. Your hand went to his back to caress it slowly. 

You wondered when was the last time he experienced a comforting hug.

Hotch knew it had been roughly a year. 

The following weeks, you noticed Hotch took some distance with you. You’d like to say he did it again, but the truth was you don’t think he was doing it deliberately before the hug. Now he was doing everything to not be close to you.

It was late at night when your bell rang. The camera on your phone immediately gave you the image of the man standing in front of your door. A tall man with dark hair and a dark coat that you knew well since these days have been cold and it was your boss’ favorite.

You didn’t question Hotch's presence at your door until you opened it and were met by his sad figure. “This has to stay between us,” he immediately said in a hoarse voice. And before knowing what this was about, you nodded. You had the feeling you couldn’t refuse what he was asking for. 

You watched as he entered your apartment. As he took off his coat, putting it on a hanger and hanging it on the coat rack in precise movements. Like he repeated it in his head many times to make sure everything went smoothly. Or to reassure him that if he didn’t mess up here, it meant he was doing the right thing.

And you watched as he faced you, again, and went to your arms immediately. This one took you by surprise. You were used to being the one initiating the hug, not the one receiving it. Or, more exactly in this case, giving it without offering it in the first place.

Because Hotch wasn’t holding you. He was being held by you. More than that, he was holding onto you tightly, craving your touch. You could feel his fingers grabbing the thin tissue of your pajamas. Like he feared you might disappear any second. Fearing that he would lose the only person that made him feel good about himself again.

The hand you put on his back slowly moved to his neck, softly touching and caressing his skin. In any other moment, this was something that would have stressed him. Hotch always felt sensitive in this part of his body. He used to love being touched there, but after these past months, the idea of someone else's hand here was impossible to conceive. But here he was, longing for your touch. Hoping you never stopped.

And when you leaned back, he was glad that your hand didn’t leave its place. “Let’s sit so we can talk, ok?” you offered in a whisper. It seemed right to grab his hand at that moment to guide him, as if your apartment wasn’t small enough that your living room was more than apparent from the door.

You found it funny, once you both settled in your vintage sofa, how you looked like two opposites. You are in your pajamas, far from the professional outfit you wore all day. While Hotch was still in his suit, it looked like his day had just started. 

Except for the tired eyes and the exhausted expression. You knew it wasn’t even caused by work; you had a very casual office day. Maybe that was the saddest part. How life has exhausted him to a point of no return.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, suddenly realizing that maybe you should give him the chance to decide instead of imposing an explanation. 

At first, Hotch didn’t reply. His eyes were still on your hand holding his, how little it looked compared to his big fingers. There was something almost fragile in his behavior, how he looked smaller, trying to disappear in your cushion. 

And so, you started to talk for him. You told him what you did when you got home, what you ate, and what you watched during dinner. Trying to keep his mind entertained. And since you had the habit of speaking with your hands, you kept playing with his fingers or hitting his thigh. 

“You’re the first person that can touch me,” he finally said after hearing one of your silly facts about burning your soup the other day. But his revelation didn’t ruin the mood. Sure, you weren’t laughing anymore, neither was he—even if he didn’t truly laugh, simply giggling. But the way you turned to him, your knee falling on his lap and your hands grabbing his in a protective way, he felt at ease. 

Hotch couldn’t look at you when he told you about Foyet, what happened that night, the stabs, and how he actually remembered everything compared to what he said to the others. But he was still looking at your hands. “After that, I realized that the idea of being touched was frightening. I just couldn’t handle it and avoided it at any cost. The feeling of someone else’s skin on mine was just…” He didn’t finish his sentence, closing his eyes at the memory of the sickness it used to give him. 

When you stopped brushing his skin with your thumb, he put his hand on top of yours. “But not you,” he continued, looking up at you. “Being touched by you is like an antidote. I can’t explain it.” 

Now that you were thinking about it, you realized that more than once you saw Hotch step back to not be touched by anyone. Something you never paid more attention to. You weren’t a profiler, not like the team. So you didn’t question his freeze when someone approached him, the tension in his jaw when he had to shake hands, or that the only person he sat next to on the plane was Spencer, the one that wouldn’t touch him without permission. 

“I don’t want to escape your touch.” He said after a long pause. You could tell from his eyes that it wasn't easy for him to say those things. “I need it.” 

This sounded like a confession. It was actually the first time that Hotch acknowledged that more than accepting your skin on his, it became a necessity. An urge to be touched by you. And feel alive. 

“What are you asking me, Aaron?” You asked. You were confused about the situation. “I’m happy to help, and I would have understood if you had asked me to stop being this affectionate with you because it makes you feel uncomfortable. But here…”

Something changed in his eyes; you could see it. And before you could understand, Hotch was up and already walking to your door. “I’m sorry. This was inappropriate.”

Running after your boss in your pajamas and slippers was not on your to-do list today. So you grabbed his wrist, but when you tried to pull him close to you, he stopped at the same moment. And so you fell against his chest. Naturally, one of his hands went on your back to secure your body. You did the same, putting a hand on his chest. 

It was hard to ignore the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other. “I want to help you,” you said in a low voice, like a secret you wanted to keep between you. “I’ll gladly do it.” 

Something softened in his body when he couldn’t find the one thing he was convinced people had for his behavior. Judgment. Hotch had been convinced that anyone was judging him. And maybe some did, for what he knew.

You didn’t. All he could see was a comprehensive look and a will to do right. 

“But I need you to guide me,” you added. Slowly, you went for his other hand, held it, and brought it to his chest. 

You stayed like that. Skin to skin, body to body. This moment lasted longer than all the physical contact Hotch had in the past months. And you could feel his fingers untighten slowly, just like most of his body. Accepting your embrace, your touch, your help. You even saw a little smile grow on his lips, very subtle but that meant so much.

Maybe Hotch died a few months ago. Maybe a little part of him had accepted it.

But now, he had the feeling that in between your hands, he could experience life again. And with your help, making it worth living.

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