#and one day something in me snapped and now once every two days is all i can manage and just barely

[pricegouge]

the erotic pin up thought but imagine nikolai tattooing his favourite pic and surprising his lover with it :3

he's already been away for two weeks when you get a text from an unknown number. you don't need the contact to discern who it is, anyway. in istanbul. things are running long. don't expect me back so soon. you're not expecting a reply when you tell him not to worry, to just keep himself safe, but you're delighted when you get one anyway.

>>You too, milaya.

he messages you at least once a day, just to check in. you've never been able to contact him like this while he's been on mission before and you don't want to ruin it by being too needy but the temptation of your phone lays heavy in your pocket all week. you'd hate to interfere but he makes it hard when he keeps up a slow, steady means of communication. you wonder about the mission, don't dare ask. it seems unlikely that he'd let himself be so distracted if it were something high stakes, though. it's possible he's been relegated to glorified taxi while bigger pieces make their moves and you can't help but sympathize when you picture him waiting around, dining in the quaint kind of cafes he'd never really seemed to find an appreciation for - at least, not on his own. he was always happy enough to take you but it had always been very clear where his interest lied, dark eyes trained on you even as he ordered. observant, filing away each little reaction he could pull from you with savory dishes and select deserts. you flatter yourself, imagining his patience breaking, just a little more each day, just enough to text you, earlier and earlier each day until two weeks have come and gone and you've basically fallen into a constant rapport.

you ask for pictures of the city and he obliges, little peeks into the life he's living while away. yet more evidence this is some bizarrely political mission he doesn't really need to be present for. you note when he moves locales a few times but he tactfully avoids telling you his location again. he stops sending you pictures altogether when you start guessing correctly.

so you start sending him pictures instead. they start out innocent enough, testing the limits of what you're allowed to say on this line. he shows gives no intent to stop you when you show him the view from the summit of a local hike, nor even when you snap a picture outside a local restaurant, its logo left carelessly in frame. he only tells you to enjoy, doubles down when you send a selfie with your cheeks stuffed full of spanakopita.

you start to think he deserves a reward, being on the clock for nearly a month straight and still finding the time to check in with you.

his hangar is a sacred place, one you rarely enter without his accompaniment. too many expensive tools, machinery pulled apart with all its fragile bits exposed. you're always afraid to touch, afraid to break. nik had told you once that every item there was made of sterner stuff, that you couldn't hurt a swashplate if you climbed up on it. funny how you might be taking him up on the offer now.

(you wouldn't know really, the knowledge about what a swashplate even was having gone in one ear and right out the other. not your fault when he looked that good, jumpsuit folded down to reveal a sweaty, clingy tank top, wiry hair visible through the thin ribbed material.)

but you're getting ahead of yourself.

the tarp kicks up a mess when you pull it free, concrete dust having settled in nik's absence. it sends you into a sneezing fit and you curse, smudging your makeup as you try to wipe away the moisture collecting on your lash line. you decide to roll with it when you catch a glimpse of yourself in some nearby chrome, see the kind of effect it brings to your overall look.

your makeup is classic, a bright lip and exaggerated liner. even a painted on beauty mark to really knock it home. the outfit was harder to settle on, your every instinct telling you nik always appreciated when you looked your finest, all dolled up in expensive labels he'd bought for you. but ultimately you'd decided what was good for the goose was good for the gander, pilfering from his closet until you'd found what you were looking for, the exact same outfit which drove you mad.

nik's a big man, his jumpsuit made to reflect that. it drapes away from your waist when you let it hang but it's nothing that a clever safety pin corset can't fix, the top of the suit left to hang over it, hiding it away. long legs are easier to remedy, hems tucked into a pair of hiking boots you hadn't cared about in years, now painted to look the part with the same gear grease you'd smeared all over yourself, tasteful swipes meant to accentuate your soft curves, here on display under the dirty tank top you'd sworn you'd told him to get rid of, now tied tight around your waist to show off your chest. and now with your smudged makeup you think you've finally got it right, the look exactly what you'd been going for when you'd first got the notion in your head.

with the stage already set, the photoshoot goes easily enough. the poses are almost instinctual, the big wrench you wield almost natural in your hands as you lean provocatively over the engine block, tits to squished you doubt he'll ever even notice the size isn't right for the bolts in front of you. you try a couple of different styles, positions which are obviously designed with aesthetics in mind interspersed with more competent looking ones, even though it makes you feel ridiculous when you think of how obvious it will be to him that you don't know what you're doing.

you just have to remember how little he's going to mind it, all told.

editing isn't your strong suit. you're racked with doubt all the while, hyperfocused on every little flaw you spot. it gets easier when you remember the whole shoot is meant to be quite grimy and in the end you settle on a decent collection. you even remember to upload them to a file sharing site to avoid compression, sending him the link with a wink and a warning not to open in front of his comrades.

he calls you naughty immediately, but it's long hours before he can properly respond, a call that wakes you up in the middle of the night so he can pant and moan in your ear about how much he wants to bend you over that engine, peel his suit off of you and eat your cunt from the back. it's the first time you've heard his voice in weeks and the low rumble of it conspires with the slickness in your panties which never fully righted itself after your little photoshoot, the anticipation of his reaction keeping you primed for him. you come together before trading quiet reassurances. how much you miss each other, how you can't wait to see him again. he makes a vague promise to be home soon and you're still so sated that the twinge of loneliness feels like nothing really.

you think that's the end of it. that maybe he'll request more, at most. but then you wake up days later with a furnace at your back and a hairy arm draped over your side. it's still early, the sun not even up yet. you should let him sleep but you can't help rolling within the age of his arm and planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. even in the low light you can see how haggard and hollow he looks, run ragged for too long. his beard is overgrown, the short stubble he usually keeps filling out into a decent beard.

really it's unfair how handsome he looks even now.

"go back to sleep."

you huff a laugh and press another kiss to him. lower now that you know he's awake. above his cupid's bow, your own lips drawn tight with your smile. "but it's morning."

"can't be," he counters, voice thick with exhaustion. "i only just fell asleep."

you hum, distracted as you trace the wrinkles of his forehead. was that one always there? was it new? "maybe it's not wherever you were," you concede. "where were you, by the way?"

"where wasn't i?" he sighs as he rolls away, a great puff of air that cuts through the easiness of the morning, reminds you of what exactly he's likely returned from. the culmination of the mission, even the easy one it seemed to be. he was rarely ever trotted out for emissary visits, after all.

but you don't want to think about all that so you follow him as he rolls, laying yourself across his chest to keep him grounded as you rub against his far shoulder. "well you're home now and my vote's for sleeping in."

his chest rumbles beneath you, a quiet laugh you can feel more so than you can hear. he takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to your fingers before setting it back down in favor of reaching much lower to pull you more properly onto him. your grip shifts from his shoulder to his bicep and you pause when you feel the edge of a bandage there, worry settling low in your belly as you trace the edges of it. "you're hurt?" you demand, but you don't give him a chance to respond before sitting up and leaning across him to turn the lamp on.

it takes you a moment to make sense of what you're looking at, the bandage you'd felt before nothing more than four haphazard lines of tape holding a square of black plastic against his skin. he laughs at your confusion, thumbing the furrow between your brows away as he also sits up, pulling you onto his lap as he reassures you he's not hurt.

"what's that then?" you ask, afraid to peel the edges up and see for yourself.

he's chuckling as he does it for you, the wrap pulling away to reveal the neat black lines and bold color of a traditional tattoo, a plump little pinup in a barely-hanging-on mechanic's jumpsuit, her cartoonishly circular tits squeezed between her own arms as she leaned confidently over simplified engine block. it's good work from what you can tell. his bicep is a big canvas, the tattoo itself appropriately sized, leaving the artist enough room for minute details, smudges of brown oil accentuating your curves and a wry smile below demure lids.

still.

"you didn't," you scoff, too blown away to even know if you're actually mad or not. you don't think you are, but what if he -

what if -

"well it was either this or i get you airbrushed on the side of the blackhawk, but you are mine, and i do not want just anyone to see you like that."

[okkotsuus]

mirror opposites. (michael k.) !

features: michael kaiser.

contents: kaiser backstory spoilers. mentions of child abuse. mentions of unhealthy mindsets. mentions of blood. reader is a rich girl and actress, also just a decent person. toxic-ish relationship dynamics. suggestive at times. angst. hurt no comfort. one-sided enemies to lovers. 2.2k words.

notes: i wouldn't consider this dark content, but it certainly isn't happy content. also i am NOT enabling anything that mihya's father did, god no. this is questionably written i spent like a week in multiple sessions on this hoe...

michael kaiser has never loved anyone other than himself.

this is something he knew to be true.

knew.

because the second he set his sights on you: such a pretty and sweet little thing. he was hooked.

you were everything that he was never blessed with the privilege to be.

a being that exists to uplift others, to build them up by giving. born to two loving parents who thoroughly wanted you. never having to truly work for a thing a day in your life.

yet, at the same time, so contrarian: you were everything he has ever hated about himself and his upbringing.

an actress that soars so far on the top of the charts that people believe she is a god-given talent. someone who follows so easily, a sheep ever to be drawn to her shepard. and a director in your spare time.

it stirred his very being, in a way that shook his stolen identity. a king high atop his throne feeling an earthquake rumbling below his palace.

his lips instinctively curl into a sneer as the thrum of his pulse deafens his ears. michael kaiser knew all about you, because it was simply knowing himself.

why you were here, at a bastard munchen publicity event: was something he did not know.

the little voice in the back of his head told him that it would be best to leave it a mystery. to let sleeping dogs lie.

but to listen to that voice was to degrade back to his old way, to allow the old man to crash his nearly empty bottle of jäegermeister against the back of his skull. there were always just enough droplets of that putrid filth inside to seep into his fresh cut: and sear at the tender flesh below golden blond hair.

he doesn't get the choice, though.

another thing he hates.

"excuse me, may i get through, sir?" a voice rings out from behind him. god, you sound like the sweetest honey, rich and full bodied like fine wine.

michael's head snaps in your direction, eyes sharp like a bird of prey. something burns in the back of his throat, a biting remark teetering on the tip of his tongue: just waiting to lash out and see crystalline tears roll down your pretty cheeks.

but it never comes.

his words die before they are ever born into this world.

just like his father wished of him.

an iron taste fills his senses as his teeth clamp down, skimming a few tastebuds clean off his tongue. with a clenched jaw, his teeth creaking and echoing in his head, kaiser steps to the side to allow you to pass him. "of course, my bad."

the words are a hurried mumble as his fleet footsteps direct his lithe frame towards the men's room.

everything feels hot as michael takes deep, hurried breaths. his hands prop against the sides of the sink as he hunches over the porcelain. the fabic of his button-down feels like a snake, like hands holding him down-

no.

with a cough, spit splats into the wall of the sink, a bright red marbling with the fluid.

it's flushed away with the turn of a knob.

if only he could flush this feeling away just as easily.

an all consuming paranoia, chills running up and down his spine in unity with flashes of heat. his palms feel like every single pore is being pricked with needles. his lungs ache as he takes gasping breaths.

yet, he is devastatingly silent.

when his head raises to see himself in the mirror, just for a moment: he sees a grimly little boy.

CRACK!!

now, in the shards of bloodied glass, he sees himself once more.

he needed to remind himself of his identity in the most base way he knew: pain.

michael doesn't feel the sting of his knuckles as he runs them under the water till it goes clear. he wraps toilet tissue over the wound and keeps his hand tucked into his pocket as he returns to the floor.

no one would ever know.

not until after the event.

and kaiser's trail of debris was not something that bastard munchen was unfamiliar with. on his very first day after being freed from his cell, he practically incapacitated three players in one breath.

it was an unspoken part of the team.

the price for his talent.

was blood.

as cerulean eyes survey the area, mapping every single money-grubbing exec to avoid, he is forced out of his thoughts once again. by that aggravatingly melodic voice that was beginning to etch its way into his mind. carving to make a mark.

"pardon, sorry to bother, but i completely didn't recognize you earlier: michael kaiser, right?"

his blood ran ice cold in his veins.

you knew him.

like a slap in the face, his calm was shattered to thousands of bits and pieces: like that damned mirror he had just slashed his hand on.

rashly, he reaches a hand to push his bangs from his eyes. the feeling of the strands against his forehead suddenly becoming far too stimulating. he doesn't even realize his mistake.

not until he sees those e/c eyes of yours widen like saucers.

fuck.

michael forgot that was his cut up hand.

like a deer in headlights, he stands there, arms limp by his sides.

but when your gentle hands reach for his, every muscle in his body tenses up. like a coil ready to snap.

no one touches him.

no one.

not fans, not teammates, not even ness.

in the corner of his eye, he can see his loyal guard dog's face paint in horror.

that instinctual disgust never hits him as soft skin meets with his own, so delicately as you bring his bloodied knuckles closer. that sends him further into his silent spiral.

why?

why does it have to be you?

out of the 8.2 billion people on this earth, it just had to be you.

god hated him, he was sure of this before; but now, he was certain.

"don't touch me." michael's words are poorly masked with indifference, which means nothing with the way he refuses to pull himself from your ensnaring gentleness.

you don't even acknowledge his quip, staring down at blood-stained porcelain skin with enigmatic eyes. "you're hurt... let's wash this out and get it properly wrapped."

kaiser can't find the strength in himself to fight you, not when you cradle him so gently in cupped palms: as if he were the last drop of salvation on this cursed and rotten planet.

it winds him up leant back on a random bench, while you pick some shards of glass carefully from his wounds with the tweezers of the emergency first aid kit your manager keeps. dutiful, you stay hunched over his knuckles, not even moving when drawing in slow breaths.

he'd dare to say you could have been a surgeon in another life.

ZING!!

okay, maybe he won't go that far. a searing shot of pain races up his arm as your hand shakes for just a second.

before he can pull away, you pull out a small, but jagged piece of glass. "i'm sorry, could tell that one hurt you..."

normally, michael wouldn't give an apology the time of the day. if they make the mistake once, they can and will do it again: that was his outlook.

but, seeing that forlorn look in pools of e/c, he finds his heart growing a little more forgiving.

even if just slightly.

"it's fine, didn't hurt that bad, schätzchen*. i've faced worse." the words leave a bitter taste on his tongue. even if he had not experienced it in so long, the memories of the wretched pain his drunk father would leave is something he can never shake.

"that doesn't matter, i hurt you: which means i should apologize." you speak, tone firm as you sprays an antibacterial spray on his knuckles before placing gauze and wrapping them taut. "that's common decency, michael."

he knows that.

but he was never taught that, it was something he had to learn over time. something he still hasn't fully grasped yet, even at nineteen years old.

another thing he can blame dear old dad for.

you tie off his bandage and hum, leaning down to press your lips against the fabric. "my mother says this makes anything heal faster..." it comes out in a whispered confession, as if you didn't intend for him to fully hear the words.

against his better judgement, heat begins to nip at the high points of kaiser's face.

"we'll see if that really works out, ja**?"

and just for a second, he can see that public face of yours crack just a bit when heat begins to pool in the middle of your palms, eyes averting his ocean gaze.

not quite sure why, but he found himself liking that reaction; though he had claimed to hate you. it sent a trill up his spine, bouncing up each vertebrae like a xylophone, leaving a melodic ringing in his ears.

wow.

so this is what love is like?

immediately a sense of horror begins to eat at the corners of his mind. falling in love at first sight with an actress? just like his dad did all those years ago.

he had no way to know you would stay.

and that truly scared michael kaiser.

possibly more than fearing for his life, as he did for so many years.

"it may not seem it, but i'm actually a football fan..." you murmur, tone creeping into the territory of shy as your eyes dart up to meet his once more. "originally, i had come to this event for a promotion that my manager arranged: some commercial that would be shot in a few months. i figured, while i was here, i would try to get an autograph..."

that perked kaiser's interest: you, a fan? with the millions of people who watched your movies, here you were in front of him acting like someone who just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

it was... cute.

"so, you're a fan of mine, then?" he hums, a smug look beginning to curl at the corners of his lips. his hand, the one you had so carefully bandaged, reaches to brush a stray h/c strand from your eyes.

yet, against his nature: michael's hand lingers, fingertips brushing over the supple skin of your cheek before slowly retreating. "i could give you a lot more than some autograph, schatz***..."

just like he thought, he can feel the heat that begins to radiate from your skin at his words. strangely, michael finds this sensation as fulfilling as breaking down other strikers. the sight of your pretty lips being drawn behind pearly teeth as he watches your head spin.

"oh, gosh- i don't even know what to say..." the words tumble from your lips like water from a broken dam.

kaiser grins, he had you: hook, line, and sinker.

"you don't need to say anything, just yes." his blood thrums under his skin, michael can practically feel it rushing through his veins, as it beings to pool.

god, the sight that you give him the privilege of seeing next sends a wave of heat running under his collar. those pretty e/c eyes swallowed up by dilated pupils he can practically see himself in, pink lips shiny and bitten.

"yes, please, michael."

it's like you've opened pandora's box.

.

.

.

every muscle in kaiser's body aches, raised red scratches spanning his broad back. but when cerulean eyes open, from briefly dozing off, he can't find the sight of you in his hotel suite.

the bitter taste of bile rises to the back of his mouth before he thickly swallows. in an instant, he's sat up, eyes desperately searching. his robe thrown on haphazardly.

in his fervor, he doesn't notice the envelope that he knocks off the bed, neat penmanship scrawling his name across the back.

michael's phone rings with a buzz, he picks it up with hope it's you; even though numbers weren't exchanged. no, it's jinpachi ego.

and in that moment, michael kaiser thinks he can understand his father's anger. even if just a little bit.

*Schätzchen: Sweetie (feminine petname)

**Ja: Yes (affirmative)

***Schatz: Darling (feminine petname)

okkotsuus 25

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Something with sonic and rouge? I think their friendship is really fun tbh

Disclaimer: please have mercy on me, I’ve only seen a few clips of Rouge at this point and this is my first time writing her | 1k

Nocturnal Runnin

Something about Rouge was that she, like most bats, was nocturnal.

Now this worked out for some of the time, all the best thieving happened in the dark after all, but Rouge had never been all that fond of being awake when everyone else was asleep. She was simply far too much of a people person to sleep through the day. Broad daylight proved to be a great deal more entertaining than three-thirty in the morning was.

It took some time, (and admitting to needing two cups of coffee before she was truly ready to be her beautiful self,) but she managed to adjust her sleep-schedule to fit the life she wanted.

But every once in a while her body’s natural clock would win out and she’d find herself unable to sleep after two thirty.

On those days she’d make herself a cup of coffee to prepare for the long day ahead, and fly outside to sit on the roof, wrapped in a blanket, with a book stolen from Shadow’s personal shelf in her hands. She knew that he knew she took them, but he never said anything about it.

Shadow, for one, liked to pretend he never slept at all. Which was partially true, but not all the way there. She’d catch him napping sometimes, his ears flicking and face twitching, deep in a dream. But those occasions were rare; the Ultimate Lifeform hardly needed sleep, he liked to remind her and everyone else on many occasions. He was usually either reading, trying out new recipes in the kitchen or off somewhere Rouge couldn’t begin to guess.

But that wasn’t who was occupying her thoughts this early morning. No, it was another hedgehog entirely.

3am and midway through her book, she was most startled to hear a woosh, far too strong to be a bird but a little too concentrated to be the wind. She’d heard the sound enough times to recognize the sound of Sonic.

Usually his presence did not bode well for a peaceful morning, which was why she was confused when he simply stopped near the front of the house, and stood there instead of going in like she would have expected had it been something urgent.

Her curiosity trumped her concern and she closed her book silently, focusing her attention on him.

Sonic didn’t seem to be in a rush to get anywhere. In fact, he seemed oddly calm compared to the times she’d seen him darting around or chatting with his friends, waving his arms about as he grinned. That same face that she had hardly ever seen without a smile was blank as he studied her house.

Sonic snuffed, rubbing his finger under his nose. Then he sniffed again. This time, tilting his head up, nose pointed in the air.

Rouge had time to become conscious of the smell wafting from her steaming mug of coffee, and then suddenly Sonic’s eyes snapped to meet hers, green, almost brighter than the crescent moon.

For a moment, they simply stared at one another.

Then Sonic broke into a grin. “You’re up early.”

Rouge blew lightly across the top of her coffee and took a sip. “Of course, if I wasn't, how could you expect me to greet visitors?” It wasn’t pointed exactly, more teasing than anything, but still, there was a passive question there. Sonic seemed to find it funny.

“You’ve always been a pretty great host.”

Rouge thought carefully for a moment. While Sonic was known for beating around the bush at times, if it was truly serious he wouldn't have been exchanging small talk. In the end she decided to let it slide. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No thanks,” Sonic said lightly, rocking back on his heels. He seemed more energetic now that he was aware of her eyes on him. “I’m already well-hydrated!”

“Do you want to come inside then?” Rouge offered. She genuinely thought there might be a reason he was there, but Sonic simply shook his head.

“Nah, just out for a run. You know how it is.”

Rouge tilted her head. “At 3am?”

“Oh is it that time already?” Sonic didn’t sound at all surprised. “Guess I better get back home before Knuckles wakes up. I’ll see you around, Rouge.” And with a two-fingered salute, he was gone.

She honestly didn’t think much of the little encounter until Amy was complaining about how Sonic couldn’t help her with shopping because she loved to go in the morning before it got busy and he was always napping in his hammock until 2pm unless someone shook him awake. Then she thought about it rather often for a while.

She decided one early morning at 2am that she would investigate.

Wings flapping, it didn’t take long to find him.

He was zipping about, here and there, peeking in through windows, rooting through loose papers in recycling bins, and occasionally standing, completely still, staring off into the distance.

There was something different about him that she couldn’t place. But she was never one for wondering, so she decided she’d simply ask.

Sonic seemed genuinely startled when she landed in front of him.

“Rouge? Is something wrong?”

“If something was wrong I would have gone to Shadow, not you,” she said, putting her hand on her hip.

“So something’s really wrong then.”

“Do you do this every night?”

Sonic stilled. He stared at her.

Rouge stared back, undeterred.

Slowly, Sonic’s hand came up to rub the back of his neck. “...No.”

Rouge gave him her most charming smile. “Liar.”

Sonic sighed, shoulders slumping, head falling forward. “Okay, okay, yeah. I get restless, y’know? Just nice to go for a jog when it’s… quiet.”

It was a more sincere answer than what she’d been expecting from him. He seemed to feel similarly.

“Hm,” Rouge said. “We made flan,” technically Shadow had made the flan, but he’d sworn her to secrecy about his baking attempts, “would you like to come try some?”

Sonic blinked. “It’s a little early for flan, isn’t it? Shadow and Omega aren’t sleeping?”

Rouge scoffed at him. “Did you just ask me if a robot and the Ultimate-I-Don’t-Need-Food-or-Rest-Lifeform are sleeping?”

Sonic laughed. Quieter than she thought he might’ve if it had been in the sun. His ears drooped, almost sheepishly. “Right, yeah, duh. What about you though?”

“Sweetie, I’m already awake.”

Sonic shifted on his feet. “Okay. Sure. Flan. Why not?”

“That’s the spirit,” Rouge smiled at him. “Try not to get under his skin too much while we’re there.” She spread her wings and slowly rose into the air, beginning to head in the direction of home.

“Who, Shadow?” Sonic followed after her at a casual run, keeping pace easily. “He loves my jokes!”

“Is that why he had you in a headlock last month?”

“That’s how he shows affection, obviously,” he said, sounding very pleased with himself.

Shadow retired to his room, muttering about going to sleep the moment Sonic walked through the door and Rouge assured him there was nothing serious happening. She did see him peeking through a crack in his door to see Sonic take his first two bites of his flan, closing the door fully again once Sonic had declared it to be delicious.

“It is good, isn’t it?” Rouge said, loud enough for Shadow to hear.

“Yeah!” Sonic said brightly. “You guys did a great job on it.”

“We should do this again,” Rouge said brightly when Sonic headed out two hours later. “We could use another taste tester aside from Omega.”

Sonic gave her finger guns. “I make no promises. But this was fun! See you around, Rouge!”

He never did say why he was up in the middle of the night or why he was intent to get back home before his friends awoke. And, while curious, Rouge wasn’t one to pry when it was clear he didn’t want to share.

She’d stumbled across a secret of his and what sort of thief would she be if she couldn’t keep a secret?

[spadefish]

They need to invent an automatic car wash for humans

[pseudowho]

"Yuuji-- if you don't mind, can I ask you something?"

Yuuji looked up from his phone, feeling so grown up to be in the Jujutsu High staffroom with Kento. He raised his eyebrows, the scar across his lip tugging up.

"Uh...yeah, sure. Go crazy."

"What is scary dog privilege, exactly?"

"Scary dog privilege? Huh, well...let's see, uhm...so it's like..."

Yuuji explained, all peaches and wide eyes and animated hands. Kento nodded occasionally, listening intently. His mind, naturally, strayed to you; you were what this was all about, after all.

As with any thought of you (you being his blossoming latent obsession), Kento's stomach flipped, his grip tightening fractionally around his coffee.

Kento remembered.

He remembered when he dropped you home. You checked over your shoulder, again, and again, and again, before you unlocked your door and hurried inside.

He remembered how he had once walked up behind you without much thought, and you spun with panic in your eyes. Kento recalled how quickly you had relaxed, to see it was him, and how high his hope climbed as a result.

He remembered how you had spilled the contents of your bag. You snatched your pepper spray up in the hope that his keen eyes had missed it.

He remembered how you headed to the subway after a staff night out. Your keys had been curiously gripped between your fingers, a weapon that wasn't a weapon.

He remembered, how just the day before, he and you had walked together through central Tokyo to get lunch. You had sat on a park bench together, and Kento had been so overwhelmed by the need to hold it together, Kento, keep it together, that he barely registered the relief written on your skin.

You had eaten in comfortable silence, then leaned over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek on the way to the bins.

"Thanks for the scary dog privilege, Kento. It's the first time in a long time that I've relaxed in public."

Kento's eyes had drifted closed for just a few moments too long, with the warmth of your lips on his skin, and he stuttered, fumbling, unlike himself.

"Ah...scary...dog privilege?" He asked, quiet. But you were already gone; throwing your crumbs to the ducks.

Yuuji's voice snapped Kento out of memory, and back to the staffroom.

"Dunno if that makes sense, Nanamin?"

A molten pit of spite and rage ignited in Kento once he put two and two together. Scary dog privilege. He gave you scary dog privilege. Why was walking the streets in safety a privilege? Shit. Kento kept his voice level, patting Yuuji on the shoulder as he left, his steaming coffee abandoned.

"Thank you, Yuuji. Stay safe out there this afternoon, and call me when you're finished, please."

If Kento hadn't already felt dirty enough with the knowledge that he pleasured himself to thoughts of you every night, he felt worse, now. He stalked through the corridors of Jujutsu High, calling Ijichi, calling Shoko, determined to find you.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Once you noticed how one man's gaze lingered on you, you noticed them all. To you, almost all seemed to do it, and to every woman, be they 18 or 80, tall or short or curvy or lithe or gay or straight or anywhere in between. Then, when you began to notice the gazes on 16 year olds, or 12 year olds, or--

You had nauseated by the time you turned the corner to grab lunch. Simultaneously built up and dragged down and accused, you were a madonna and a whore and a bitch. You wondered, vaguely, how deeply, how incurably the disease ran, as you entered the bustling café. You didn't want to think about it. You'd just grab food, and go, and--

"Ah. Good afternoon."

You blinked, to see Kento before you in the queue, and felt a warm burst of joy from your tummy to your toes.

"Kento, I'm...happier than you know, to see you, actually."

A satisfied hum. "I had a feeling you might be. Now...about something you said yesterday...."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento didn't immediately strike one as a scary dog. He was built, yes, but his suits hid it well, and he was only a little taller than average, and really quite mild, but--

-- oh.

The way his glares could frost a soul. The way other men bounced off him, a stone wall, when a shoulder 'accidentally' hit his. The way his eyes found wayward gazes like a sniper, with the dulcet loading of a bullet behind his sneer. The silent commanding respect. The dares that other men would not dare.

It was no wonder, then, how you and Kento, became you and Shoko and Kento, became you and Shoko and Maki and Nobara and Kento. While individually able to fight your own fights, feeling Kento's scary dog privilege melt threats with acid, was a burden blissfully relieved.

With Kento's protective Midas' touch, your daily lunches turned to gold, unsullied and unmolested. Still...he was there for the whole group.

So why, then, in such a large group, did you look up to find his gaze on you, and only you? How could his eyes caress without staring? It was sorcery, surely.

Kento sequestered you one day, throwing his crumbs to the ducks alongside yours, as the others chatted on the benches behind you. You looked up, shooting him a sideways smile, and wondering how you could ever be good enough for him. He spoke quietly.

"I always believed a dog to have just one owner."

You felt your stomach twist with insinuation. You laid the thread.

"...oh?"

"And while I'm happy to offer my privileges to the benefit of a group, I...would like to be in the position to make such a privilege exclusive."

You swallowed hard, looking sideways again with hope against hope against hope against--

"Are you...saying you'd like to be my scary dog?"

"Very, very much so."

[sunni-stuff]

P1 here.

Ghost walks through the door of your home as if he owns the place, tossing his keys onto the coffee table and shrugging off his gear by the door. He remembers your address by heart and recognizes the space he's walking through once again. 

Glancing around, he expected to see you greet him at the foyer only to be met with silence. Ghost passes by your couch, gloved fingers running against the back while his mind replays the sounds of your needy moans from when he fingered you on the cushions just weeks ago.

Ghost has had countless flings and meaningless one night stands, but never did he expect any of the doves he's played with to actively call for more. 

Though he wasn't complaining.

A creaking floorboard causes his head to snap towards the stairs. There, he sees you cautiously descending, the sides of your nightgown clutched anxiously in your palms. “I didn't think you'd actually show.” 

Simon stares at you, his eyes roaming over your form, taking in every dip and curve visible through the lacey material. He lets out a heavy breath, fist clenched in deep restraint as he thanked every single god above for what's standing in front of him. “How can I ignore a civilian in need?”

Your laugh makes him still, the mirthful chuckle and the smile on your lips making the tent in his pants ache painfully.

Did you know what you were doing to him? How just your chuckles alone stirred something profound?

“So… upstairs or on the couch?” You ask, breaking the silence.

“You wanted me here, love. Dealers' choice.” Simon watches you fumble, fingers thumbing over the lacing decorating the bottom of your nightgown.

“Upstairs then.”

For Simon, everything seems to happen in blurs. Just moments ago he was standing by the stairs and the next he's in between your legs, one large hand splayed over your stomach having you lay back motioning for you to relax as he eats you out like a man starved.

He doesn't remember how he got here; all that matters now is the taste of your cunt on his tongue. Simon laps at your glossy lips, tongue gliding your sensitive folds to your clit, making sure to give both his undivided attention. He needed no words to know he was doing a good job; your knees attempting to lock behind his head was added confirmation if your whines for more weren't enough.

“Can't you just put it in?” You huff in between moans, attempting to sit up on your elbows despite his efforts to keep you down.

“Shhh…” Simon coos, pressing a fleeting kiss on your pearl before pulling away his chin and lips shining your slick. “Look at that, practically begging for me.” A thick digit runs down your slit, gathering a pool of wetness and licking it off his fingers. 

Simon gazes at your cunt, observing how just his lips hovering near causes your weeping hole to clench around nothing. He could watch this all day. Watch how badly you needed him. How only he had the privilege to hear you beg.

“Alright, fussy bird,” He stands up straight, his shadow completely consuming you, the stark differences between you two are evident. Simon is not a small man in the slightest. Everything about him screams large. His presence commands attention, from his muscular arms down to his sturdy thighs.

Simon grabs ahold of your waist, pulling you against his bulge, slowly grinding his hips up and down, teasing you along the rough fabric of his jeans. He shows a little restraint, purposely holding back in hopes of hearing more pleas. “Come on, love, tell me what you need.”

This is what you dreamed of. His hands, his voice, his lips against your skin, a true dream come true. The final stretch was so close, so near and yet he still kept you tethered to the edge. “Please, I need it,” You mewl desperately, hips bucking for more friction.

Simon chuckles lightly, watching as you practically bounce in anticipation. "Someone's in a hurry," he jokes, despite his growing ardor matching your own.

With nimble fingers, he quickly unbuttons his jeans, sliding them down along with his boxers until he's bare to you. His eyes bore into yours as he did so, a silent question in them. His large cock sprang free, bobbing up against his stomach in time with his rapid heartbeat. 

The sight of his length, standing proud and erect, was enough to intensify the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. Finally, you'd be full once again, getting to feel that cock of his in places no one else can reach. You nod all too eagerly, laying back to fully embrace everything.

With a swift lift of your hips, Simon nudges the edge of himself against you, drawing a ragged groan as he feels the wet heat of your waiting entrance. One hand grabbing his length, he slowly guided his throbbing cock against your slick folds. The head of his erection teased your entrance for a moment, before he pressed forward, burying himself inside you. “Fuck, fuck, more, please.” 

Simon can't help but smirk at your eagerness, patting your thigh appreciatively. “Can't rush things, dove. Don't want you breaking.” It's a slow push, his cock stretching your welcoming heat inch by inch. As he bottomed out, he let out a throaty groan, his fingers digging into your hips, anchoring you to him.

You cum in that exact moment, your pussy squeezing tightly around him and milking his cock. It feels like a faucet that won't stop dripping, coating his length with your sweet juices. For a brief moment you're dazed, head swimming and unable to hear anything over the sound of your heavy breathing.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, admiring the sight of you breathless. You feel like velvet, your pussy a vice he wasn’t sure he’d be able to quit. His thumb pushes against your clit and you whine, your voice high-pitched.

“Sensitive, please,” you beg, squirming until his hands force your hips down. Your lips are forced into an o shape, a silent scream forced from your chest when he does the exact opposite.

You’re not sure if you’re begging for him to stop or begging for more–it’s hard to tell when you’re being fucked within an inch of your life.

“Stay with me dove, stay with me,” Simon sneers, something depraved and feral in his voice. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Once the initial shock of cumming has passed, he begins to move inside you, setting a slow, deliberate pace. With every thrust, he claimed more of you, your bodies moving together in synchronicity. The scent of your sex mingled in the confined space of your bedroom, intensifying the intimate atmosphere.

Simon closes his eyes, wanting to savor the moment. Everything about this is mesmerizing. He'd rather be here than anywhere else in the world.

A hitched moan has him opening his eyes, his gaze boring into yours, wanting to see every flicker of pleasure that passes through you. Thank you, god, Simon thinks. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, but he held on, wanting to draw this pleasure out as long as possible. He wanted to give you everything and more.

“Feel like heaven,” he breathes. “Is this what you wanted? Wanted me nice and deep huh?”

His palm presses on your stomach where his cock bulges the skin, his grin wicked. “Poor girl, can’t make herself cum so she had to call me, yeah?”

You nod, a symphony of yes yes yes escaping you as Simon bears down upon you, the bed rocking with each movement.

“Had to call me because you know no one can fuck you like I can,” he says, “say it for me, c’mon.”

You hiccup through every word. “N-No one can fuck me—oh god—like you Si’—”

Your words make his ego grow, muttering of that's fuckin’ right streaming from his lips as he comes, the feeling sending your nerves on overdrive. 

As he felt you tightening around him, he knew you were close—as close as he was. His hand slipped between their bodies, his fingers finding your sensitive nub, applying just the right amount of pressure. He stroked in rhythm with his thrusts, chasing your orgasm with his.

Your pleasure peaked simultaneously, his cum filling you as you cum around him, walls clenching and rippling along his length in your aftershock. After a moment, he pulls out carefully, the room filled with your heavy breathing. 

Neither of you spoke for a while, simply staring back at each other through lust-filled eyes and flushed cheeks. Simon starts his retreat, stepping back to make distance and pulling up his pants. Your hand on his makes him pause. He raises a brow, confused by your actions. He opens his mouth but you're quicker.

“We aren't done.”

-

The original prompt was supposed to be a little thing; but so many people liked it, so here <3! This most likely won't be a series.

Taglist (ppl who commented): @pheebslu @amaraabbz @crestapex @tsarinamariya @kittykatgorl @havoc973 @gg-trini @coyotebayou @delta98-idk @thincess-reup @my-bright-legacy @jaxz21 @readersandtumblers

[xvysarene]

𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕝

Pairing: Sylus x Fem!Reader Words: ~3.1k Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Eventual fluff Notice: Y/N is not MC, Profanities, Mentions of wounds Summary: There was a connection between you and Sylus that went beyond the typical boss & his right-hand woman dynamic. When you finally had enough of his recent behaviour since his return, you decided it was time to quit.

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

“We agree to your terms, and as soon as we finish the down payment, we expect to see the firearms—”

Before you could even finish, the heavy double doors swung open with a crash. Sylus strode in, a dark aura clinging to him, and you knew that nothing good would come out of it.

“The deal is off.”

You gasped. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

“Ms. Y/N, I thought you said you could handle this deal solo?” Marcel—that cunning eel of a man—drawled lazily. “Looks like Mr. Sylus here still doubts your ability, even after all this time.”

On any other day, you would have knocked the smug grin off Marcel’s face. But your attention was fixed on your boss, Sylus, whose expression was a cold, impenetrable mask of indifference.

“I’ve worked on this for months. Alone. When you were gone chasing shadows,” you hissed, “You have no right to dictate me.”

Crimson eyes met your gaze with a fire of his own as he stepped closer. “And do I need to remind you who’s the leader of this organisation?”

How dare he!

It took a while for the others in the N109 Zone to stop belittling you, to finally trust you as Onychinus’s indispensable weapon who could hold her own ground, even entrusted to run the organisation in his absence.

And he knew this.

“I don’t meddle in your affairs, so stay out of mine.”

He exactly knew what, or who, you were talking about.

Somehow, this conversation was no longer about the deal; it was about something else that had been creating a rift between you both.

“You don’t understand—”

“You have no idea what I understand!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at his firm chest.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Luke entering the room to usher Marcel out.

“If you’re looking for a new job, my organisation is always open for a pretty little thing, buttercup.” He threw a mischievous wink your way.

The man was clearly not uncomfortable with the commotion; it was satisfying to see Onychinus crumbling before his own eyes.

Kieran cautiously stepped forward. “Boss, Y/N, let’s take a moment—”

“You think I wouldn't find out about your little escapade with ‘Miss Hunter’?”

That struck a nerve; Sylus’s eyes narrowed. 

“What?” you continued, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “Mephisto accidentally charged your card with millions just to buy every single protocore in the auction?”

Any heartfelt emotion you held for him was swallowed by fury and disappointment that had been building for some time. This was the last straw, a volcano ready to erupt.

“I’ve warned you before, Sylus.”

Ever since he came back from doing who knew what, he had been distracted. Physically, he was there—but he wasn't present.

Conversations that once flowed easily between you were now peppered by half-hearted responses.

As a last resort, you decided to prepare dinner for him and the twins that one night, something you periodically did when the mood struck, in the hopes of getting him to come around.

Luke and Kieran were happily munching on the lasagna and sipping wine from Sylus’s favourite bottle, their lively chatter filling up the dining room.

But the man who was supposed to be the centre of it all took only a single bite before abandoning it for his phone.

“Sylus, could you please put your phone down and enjoy the dinner?”

The twins froze, eyes flickering between the two of you, sensing the impending storm.

Yet Sylus didn’t even acknowledge you, his attention firmly fixed on the screen in his hand. Somehow, it was more important than the company around him.

“Sylus—”

“Can you get off my back for once?” Red eyes snapped to yours, flashing with irritation.

“You are losing me,” you repeated the words you had uttered that night. The tremble in your voice was a blend of rage and a deeper, more vulnerable feeling.

Sylus's eyes flashed, revealing the first hint of emotion that you recognised—a wounded look, perhaps, or something else that you didn’t dare to think about.

Kieran, determined to defuse the tension, squared his shoulders. “We all should take a breather and approach this with clearer heads.”

Eyes still fixed on your boss’s handsome face, the words came out with unwavering finality, “I quit.”

Ripping the brooch from where it rested just above your heart, you hurled it with such force that it bounced off his chest before skidding across the floor.

The sharp, unmistakable crack echoed throughout the silent room.

Sylus's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Fine.”

And that was it. There were no apologies, not even a 'thank you' for your dedication to Onychinus all this time.

“Please, don't do this. We need you,” Kieran’s voice had a note of desperation in it.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “Your boss has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t need me anymore. Apparently, he has more pressing matters than ensuring the organisation's interest.”

Sylus crossed his arms, his voice cutting like a cold knife. “If you're going to leave, then leave. We don't have time for theatrics.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Luke, having just returned from escorting Marcel out, caught sight of the unexpectedly angry tears in your eyes and called out your name as you rushed down the hallway.

What you didn’t expect from quitting was the depth of void it created in your life. You missed the twins’ oddball humour and even found yourself longing for Mephisto’s often irritating caws.

It felt strange not to see the black bird outside of your bedroom window or atop the lamppost, as it normally would.

Despite the financial cushion provided by Onychinus’s paycheck, restlessness drove you back to the N109 Zone before long.

“Thought that we’d never see you again, missy.”

The familiar surroundings of Elysium provided a soothing balm to the loneliness gnawing inside you—the rich scent of aged booze mingled with the sound of rolling dice filling your senses.

“You’re not the only one surprised,” you muttered lowly, sitting down on one of the stools.

“Guess you are more used to staying here than Linkon now,” the young woman behind the bar chuckled. “Many might see it as a slum, but the N109 Zone has its charm.”

During Sylus’s absence, you had called the base as a second home. Staying there made it easier for you to manage the daily operation, sparing you the hassle of travelling back and forth to Linkon.

“What would you like to drink? It’s on the house.” Before you could answer, the woman beat you to it. “Rum and lemonade?”

A sudden feeling of yearning washed over you. It was Sylus who had first introduced you to this concoction right here, you had even questioned his taste at the time, but it had since become one of your favourite drinks.

You gulped the emotion down. “Yes, please.”

She sent you a sympathetic smile, obviously understanding what crossed your mind.

The burn of the rum started to warm your body as the second glass went down easily. Each sip brought back memories of standing side by side in battles and conversations shared in quieter moments, a foolish longing that settled deep within your chest. 

As you set it aside, you felt someone slid on the vacant stool beside you, encroaching on your personal space.

“What’s a pretty girl doing here all alone?”

“Leave me alone.” You didn’t even look at his direction.

Funnily enough, though you normally no longer felt the weight of the brooch—a symbol of your affiliation with Sylus and Onychinus—you now felt its absence vividly, like a phantom heaviness above your left breast.

With it, no one ever truly dared to come near you, wary of crossing paths with Sylus.

Without it, however, meant you were no longer under Sylus’s protection.

The man sidled closer, clearly not taking the hint. “Still playing hard to get even without Sylus behind you? You should have seen him dragged out of the raid like a ragdoll by his pair of thugs. It was pathetic.”

Your heart stuttered, finally looking at the man beside you. “What did you say?” 

Sylus, hurt? It was unthinkable. You had seen first-hand how his wound healed quickly.

“Heh, you really don’t know, do you?” His smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. “The idiot went to finish Marcel off by himself last night. Imagine taking down dozens of Marcel’s men alone, with all their weapons.”

He daringly placed a hand on your thigh, fingers digging in. “So bitch, you’d better get off your damn high horse and listen. Without Sylus, you’re just another pretty face.”

In a quick manoeuvre, you slammed his head on the bar. His painful howl was cut short as you drew your concealed gun, the barrel pressed firmly against the back of his skull. “Touch me one more time and I’ll paint this bar with your brains.”

The barkeeper approached, her expression impassive as she took in the sight of your gun pressing against the man's head. However, when she noticed the colour draining from your face, a look of surprise crossed her features.

“You didn’t know?” she asked, her tone softer than you expected. “I thought that was the reason you came back here.”

Ignoring the curious stares of the other patrons, you stormed out of the bar, the weight of fear heavy on your shoulders.

The city's familiar streets blurred past as you made your way to the base, and you thought you heard familiar caws in the distance.

You didn't spare a second thought as the electronic lock still buzzed with recognision when your palm and iris scans were verified. The reinforced doors opened, granting you access just like usual.

Luke and Kieran met you in the hallway, no doubt alerted to your arrival. Whether by Mephisto or the security alert, you weren’t sure.

Even with their masks on, their surprised body language was unmistakable.

“How did you find out? Boss made sure that none of us tips you off,” Luke asked.

“It’s true?” you demanded, your voice was tight with anxiety. “About Sylus?”

The twins exchanged silent glances. “He’s in his quarters,” Kieran said slowly. “But be warned, he is in a foul mood.”

As you moved swiftly down the familiar corridors, your heart pounded in your chest. The smell of antiseptic hit your senses as you slid the door open, revealing the dimly lit room.

Sylus was seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he changed his bandages. “I told you guys to leave me alone. I’m fine,” his voice gruff.

You took a steadying breath. “Sylus.”

His silhouette tensed, and the set of his shoulders turned rigid. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was rough.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. The sight of bandages covering his injuries made it difficult to articulate your thoughts. “Why did you go after Marcel?”

“This isn’t a place for someone like you right now.”

That comment was odd, but you dismissed it as you crossed the room, closing the gap between you. Up close, you could see the bruises and wounds peppering his body—dark, angry splotches that marred his skin, evidence of the brutality inflicted by Marcel’s men.

While the healing process was slower than usual, it was still significantly faster than it would be for an ordinary person.

You had been working with him for quite some time yet you had never before seen him in such a state.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, catching your concerned gaze.

“You don’t look fine,” you said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain what happened.”

Sylus shifted on the bed, wincing slightly as he rested his back on the headboard. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, “Marcel was the one behind the bombing of the hunter’s grandma’s house.”

As much as you felt sorry for the UNICORN hunter, you couldn’t understand why he would put his life on the line for her.

Was it because of the connection they had with the Aether Core? Or was it something else?

Unconsciously, your steps faltered backwards. The anxiety for his well-being took a backseat as the grip of jealousy clawed at you.

It was stupid to feel this way.

Suddenly, you felt rooted to the spot, your body freezing in place. The unexpected use of his Evol caught you off guard. 

“You came all the way here, so you’d better damn well listen to me before jumping to any conclusions.”

Even in his weakened state, he managed to pull you back to the edge of the bed and keep you seated there. He wasn’t close enough to touch, but not so far that you couldn’t see the fatigue etched into his features.

“I kept her around because she was useful. Marcel had been trying to frame Onychinus for the bombing.” His fists clenched, knuckles white. “But that wasn’t what set me off, that scumbag had been running his mouth about you, spreading lies of your incompetence, claiming that you’re nothing more than an empty shell.”

You looked at his injuries pointedly. “You took on his entire army because he taunted me?”

He sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “Don’t you see? I was the one feeding him that narrative. He had the front seat to everything that happened that day. I’m the one who unravelled the respect you worked so hard to earn.”

Was that a hint of guilt you heard in his voice?

“He’d been saying that you’d be better suited working in a whorehouse.”

Well, that explained the man's aggressiveness back at the bar, you thought.

“I’m not your responsibility anymore, you don’t need to protect me.”

Sylus looked away. Despite his rough edges, there was a glint of raw, exposed emotion that he struggled to conceal.

“It’s not just about responsibility,” his voice low, “Some things... they’re not as simple as just walking away.”

This was the Sylus you recognised—the same man who, in fleeting moments, had looked at you with an intensity or a softness that spoke of unfulfilled longing.

Everything had shifted since that one kiss, an impulsive act born from an evening of too much drink and unspoken feelings. A kiss that, in its haze, blurred the lines between what was accepted and what was desired.

Yet, every subtle brush of his hands, every act of ensuring your safety, was a quiet rebellion against the boundaries he had set from the start—this was not a place where work and pleasure were meant to mingle.

“That was the reason you called the deal off that day.” You fit the puzzles together.

He nodded. “I had a feeling that he was up to something.”

“And yet, I still don’t understand why you had to go behind my back with the hunter. This”—you gestured to his injuries and the distance between you—“could’ve been prevented.”

You tried to mask the hurt. “I thought you trusted me.”

Sylus shifted closer, and even though you felt that his Evol no longer held you in place, you allowed him.

“It wasn’t about trust, not in the way you think,” his voice was softer now, “If he found out you were involved, I couldn’t risk him coming after you.”

“I don’t need your protection as much as I need your honesty. And you were being a jerk.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

He reached out, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Leaning in closer, he cradled your jaw with a careful touch.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat at the intensity in his eyes that he didn’t try to mask any longer. “For caring. But I’d rather not see you get hurt again.”

“Can’t promise,” he murmured, “I will always stand between you and anyone who dares to harm you.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath before his lips touched yours, moving in a gentle, unhurried rhythm.

He wanted to savour this moment, to truly taste you with a clear head, unclouded by any alcohol.

Though, before long, a more primal voice seemed to overtake him. The intensity of the kiss grew, fueled by the unfiltered emotions coursing between you.

It was a fierce, unrestrained need to claim you.

No longer feeling tender, his tongue urged your lips open with a determined persistence. Sylus groaned into your mouth as you parted easily, the need to taste you becoming more urgent.

As he took a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back, your gaze locked with the searing flame in his eyes.

A sudden weight pressed against your neck, and you looked down, startled, to find a crow whose wings arched protectively around a red diamond pendant. It was similar to the brooch he had given you, but this was more than an accessory.

It was more personal—more intimate.

“Will you do me the honour of becoming my partner again?” His voice was husky with emotion. “Onychinus needs you. I need you.”

Carefully, you pushed him down the bed, legs spreading daringly caging his form. “Maybe if you beg a little more, I’ll consider it.” 

Both his eyebrows arched in surprise, visibly taken aback by your boldness.

“But, weren’t we supposed to keep work and pleasure separate?” you teased.

A hint of a smirk curled at the edges of his lips. “I’m the boss. I make the rules. Besides, this is more than just a pleasure.”

His large palms settled on your hips, fingers splaying across the curve of your body with a possessive yet tender grip, pulling you closer.

“Can I start by begging you to kiss my wounds and make them better then?”

As he whispered his request, his masculine hands sneaked their way inside your clothes, fingers trailing a line of fire against your skin. Just as the moment heated up, a rustling noise came from outside the door.

The two of you paused, eyes narrowing with suspicion. 

Suddenly, the door creaked open just a fraction. Before either of you could react, Luke and Kieran let out a startled yelp.

“Oh no! They’re doing the hanky panky!” Luke whispered loudly, scandalised.

In a flurry of hurried movements, the twins slammed the door closed and bolted down the hallway, leaving you both staring after them in stunned silence.

Sylus sighed, hiding his face in the soft bend of your neck. “We’ll definitely have to set some new rules about privacy too.”

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

[baby-yongbok]

One Last Time

Ex-husband!Bang Chan x afab!Reader

✦ Genre: Soon to be exes to lovers [18+ MDNI] ✦ Summary: Petty claims of possession lead to one last night of pleasure.

✦ CW: Choking/ light breath play, pussy spanking [for a second], Unprotected sex [wrap it up party people], Size Kink [for a second], Oral (f rec.), Chan is... aggressive(??), Chan is referred to as Chris, He calls you a bitch once. only once. ✦A/N: Bang Chan made me do it. There's barely any plot in sight. I wrote this in 4 hrs in the middle of the night. Enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✧ Masterlist ✧

It’s funny how things change. Day turns to night, hot to cold and love to pure seething hatred. 

Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic but you swear that that’s all you can feel swarming in your chest as you sit across from your soon to be ex-husband. 

He made a show of things at the settlement meeting this afternoon. He pushed back on every negotiation you made which has led you to where you are now. Each of you on your side of the bed with a pile of stuff littering the Egyptian cotton sheets that he just has to take with him. 

“There. Are you happy now?” You throw the last item on top of his pile and Chris stares down at the item with that damned smirk that you used to love. “Almost.”

He stands from the mattress, dark eyes on something behind you. He grabs it before you can turn. “I bought you this purse.”

The muffled thud of his hard bottom shoes against the carpet is all that you hear before he turns the black designer bag upside down. The contents clatter against his shoes, items rolling in different directions as you watch with a clenched jaw. 

He’s circling back to his side of the bed as you call upon the might of the gods to keep yourself calm. After being married for five years Chris has learned each and every one of your buttons and how hard he needs to press them just to tick you off. 

You’ve decided not to give him the satisfaction of making a scene. That’ll only feed his ego. Besides, he has buttons of his own, some that you installed yourself.

“Now I’m happy.” He drops the bag into his pile, smiling before you like he’d just gotten away with a million bucks. “Yeah?” 

Two can play that game. “I bought you that suit.” The smirk on blushed lips transfers to your painted ones as you stare over at him with arms crossed over your chest. 

“I’d like it back.” With an innocent bat of your lashes Chris smiles. It’s gone just as fast as it came and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He's pissed. 

“You’re fucking serious?” You hold your hand out to him. “Dead serious.”

Dark eyes are staring into darker ones as he holds your gaze. You’ve gotten used to him challenging you. You’ve gotten used to him being a petty asshole and you’ve learned how to play him at his own game. 

You watch as he pops the button of his suit jacket. Tongue in cheek while his fingers work to free him of the fabric. His eyes stay on yours as he peels the smoky threads from his shoulders. He shimmy’s it down thick arms, pulling at the cuffs until he’s free of it. He’s left in a skimpy t-shirt before you and you take the liberty of letting your eyes wander. 

“Want the pants too?” Chris throws the jacket over into your pile before his hands start to fiddle with the metal of his buckle. “Keep ‘em. They’re the nicest thing you own now.” 

He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, his hand comes up to rake through his hair as his eyes wander the space you used to share. His gaze stops at your vanity, busy eyes study your open jewelry box then look back to you. 

“I gave you those earrings.” He stalks towards the table, snatching the gold studs off of the surface and slipping them into his pocket. “And..” 

The muffled thud of his shoes is all you can hear over the thick tension pulsing around you. It’s all that you can hear over your own enraged heartbeat. “This necklace.” The clasp is snapped from around your neck before you can breathe a protest. You gasp at the sudden pressure of your chain being ripped from you. 

“What the fuck.” That smirk is stolen  back when he slips the jewelry into his pocket. He stands in front of you, barely an inch between you as your chests rise and fall in unison. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Me?” He fakes a pout, blinking over at you. “I didn’t do anything” 

“Whatever, you got your stuff, get out.” You’re hissing at him, heart racing and blood bubbling with the annoyance you’ve been harboring for the length of this insufferable process. “I’m done with you.”

“Not so fast.” he says slowly, his hands finding your waist before you can step around him. You attempt to shrug off his grip and fail. “I bought you that too.” 

His eyes trail from your eyes to your lips. His tongue darts out to lick over his own as he stares. “That lipstick.” His eyes find yours again.

“Fuck off, Chris.” There’s a bite to your tone that makes him smile. He’s always loved a challenge. 

“I bought it.” He pulls you into him by your waist. Your body is flush with his and one of his hands quickly abandon the plush flesh to wrap around your neck. “ I wan’ it back. I think that’s fair.”

It’s dark on dark as he leans in, eyes searching each others frantically as Chris closes the gap and kisses you gently. It barely makes a sound, it’s feather light and quick. 

“You want it back?” You whisper against his lips and he nods. “Then I want the pants.” 

That fucking smirk pulls at his red stained lips and his mouth is on yours in an instant. It’s hot and messy, drowning out the previous softness. You grab at his arms, clawing down the flesh while his fingers dig into your hips. 

He licks into your mouth with a desperate groan as you turn your heads left and right, his tongue explores your mouth as he takes in the taste of you one last time. Your arms wrap around his neck as one of his hands grab at the swell of your ass.

 “Fuck.” He groans against you, stealing another kiss before you catch his bottom lip between your teeth. “Up.” With a firm smack on your ass you jump up and his hands find purchase on the curve of your bottom over your dress. 

You fall into a mess of tugging and moaning. The tension you once felt in your chest melts into pleasure as his hands wander your bareskin. He drops you onto the mattress, pushing the sorted piles out of the way and hovering over you in your ripped dress as you lay sprawled out on the sheets before him. 

“Gonna miss this.” Chris’ mouth is stained cherry red with your lipstick, it’s smeared over your cheeks and it compliments the bruises that he’s sucking into your skin. You bunch his shirt up his back, scratching along the way and leaving your own marks as you please. 

“Shut up, eat my pussy.” You pull him back with a fist full of his hair, he hisses a moan through clenched teeth as his own hand finds it’s way around your throat again. He squeezes this time. It’s just enough to have your eyes flutter shut, just enough to get you right where he wants you. 

“Can’t you be my good girl for one more night? Can’t you stop being a bitch for just a second, baby?” Chris leans down with a tighter squeeze. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, your nails digging into the flesh. “Did you already forget who the fuck I am?”

He loosens his grip giving you the satisfaction of that blissful rush before squeezing again. “Do you see how small you are?” He whispers, placing a kiss by your ear. “Do you feel how strong I am, baby? Don’t you know how this goes?”

A moan is all he gets as he pulls back to admire you. Your pretty mouth is parted with a silent moan as your thighs press together in a desperate attempt at cumming. “I should make you suck my cock.” His knee wedges between your legs and presses hard against your core. 

“I should fuck this pretty throat. I should get you back for being such a fucking brat through all of this.” The hand that was around his wrist scratches up his arm as he lets up again, letting the blood rush and giving you the dizzy feeling he knows you love. “I should -”

Your fingers wrap around his neck before he can finish his thought. Fierce eyes stare up into his as your other hand moves to unbutton his pants. “Just gimme what’s mine.”

Your hand slips into the waistband of his underwear as you pull him closer to you. “Wan’ my cock?” He moans at the soft feeling of your fingers wrapping around the tip. Eye’s fluttering shut as he attempts to take a breath against your grip.

 “‘S mine.” You lean up to his ear. “Isn’t it daddy?”

It was quick when he pinned you against the mattress. Both of your wrists were in his grip before he shifted them both to one hand to free his cock for you. “You’re a fucking tease. You’re so fucking predicatable, you know that?” He’s hissing as he fights with the fabric of his pants and your dress. 

“You want a reaction outta me, huh? Wanna rile me up, sweetheart?” With a shift of hands and a grunt he’s turning the two of you over. You follow him with a gasp, straddling his waist and sitting over his cock with your clothed cunt. “C’mon I’ll let you. Use me, get what you want.”

Your resolve sinks as his cock twitches against your core. Chris is lying beneath you looking like a sin personified and you feel compelled to indulge in his offer. He is still your husband after all. 

Your panties are pushed to the side in an instant. Chris’ wrists are pinned over his head while you grind your cunt over him. Sloppy sounds of you working over his leaking cock swirl in the hot air and Chris watches it all with drooping lids as you work against him. “Put it in, lemme watch it.”

You ignore him, slowing your grind to counter his request. “C’mon, baby, lemme feel you. I can make you feel so good. Let daddy fuck you, c’mon.” He watches you, head reeled back and moans dripping from your lips like drool as you  do as you please. 

“Fuckin’ tease.” He breaks free from your hold, hands wrapping around your waist and guiding the grind of your hips just as your clit catches on the head of his cock. “I asked nicely.” 

His cock catches at your entrance as he controls you. The push of him against your pussy has your mouth open in a silent scream as he bullies his cock into you. “You keep forgetting who I am, hm?” He sits up, landing a firm smack to your ass to match his brutal thrust as you settle in his lap.

“Chris, shit, just fuck me. Fuck me.” Your nails are in his back, drawing lines that could surely draw blood. He hisses at the pain, smiling with a bite of his tongue as he fucks up into you. 

His hips snap into yours, gradually picking up the pace until you’re falling apart against him. Chest to chest, you’re panting into each other. Littering the thick air with profanities as he splits you open on his dick. “Oh my fucking god, Chris. More. More more more, please. C’mon.”

“Take it.” He growls below you, allowing you to push him back against the mattress and ride his cock to your heart's content. “That’s it, take it. It’s yours, all yours.”

Your nails dig into his pecks, leaving marks on the flawless skin and you use him for leverage. The loud smack of skin against skin decorates the air accompanied by your moans.

 “Don’t hold back, baby. Enjoy that fucking ride.” He thrusts up into you, meeting you halfway. “Let loose, just like that.”.

Chris is rambling under you, mumbling under his breath and growling praises when he fucks deep into you. 

“Fuck me, fuck me harder. Wan’ it harder.” It’s dark on dark again. Hooded eyes stare into each other void of rage, the only priority is pleasure. You’re only here to take advantage. 

“Wan’ me harder?” He fucks into you, moaning at the squeeze you give. “Wan’ me deeper?”

With a lift of his hips Chris flips you over. “Be good for me, yeah? One last time, be a good fucking girl and lay on your back for me. Lemme eat this pretty pussy.” He rips your dress down your frame with a grunt. Your panties get the same treatment before he’s falling to his knees before you. 

“Gonna miss you on your knees.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, staring down at him behind a fucked out haze. “Lookin’ so pretty for me with a mouth full of my cunt.”

With a smirk Chris licks a wet stripe from your hole to your clit. He swirls his tongue around the bud, sucking it between red stained lips and flicking it. Your head drops back against the mattress with a loud moan. Your hands comb through and grab at his damp dark locks but he quickly repositions you to hold yourself open for him. 

“Watch me eat it.” He reaches up, brushing your chin with his fingertips. He lays a flat wet lick to your pussy, hooded eyes staring up into yours. “Eyes on me. Eyes on daddy.”

He spreads your cunt with his fingers, holding you open for him while he spits down onto your clit. He collects it all on his tongue, licking it over the nub before spitting it back. Sloppy slurps against a drooling pussy is all that fills the room. “Daddy, please, wanna cum on your cock.”

He pulls back with a pop, spitting back down onto your cunt. He watches it drip down to your hole, following the stream with his fingers to press it into you. 

“You wan’ me deep right?” His middle and pointer fuck you open as he coos. “Want me to spread this tiny cunt on my dick?” You’re moaning. Panting confirmations and whining pathetically into the air. 

“Then hold it.” He kisses your clit, sucking it in then releasing. “Don’t cum.”

“Please.” You moan a plea, unraveling little by little with each suck and flick of your clit. His fingers fuck you open, curling into your soft spot and pushing you further towards the edge that you’re trying to avoid. 

You could just cum. You could just take what he’s giving you instead of following the rules but it’s so good like this. He’s so good like this. You miss him giving you what you want.

“Chris, ‘m gonna cum for you. I can’t. Please jus’ gimme.” He blinks up at you with pussy drunk eyes as his kiss bitten lips move against you despite your begging. “Daddy, please. I wan’ your cock.”

"Don't cum for me yet" he speaks against your cunt before licking a wet kiss up to your clit. 

"I can't, Chris. I can't, I can't, I'm gonna cum." Your eyes are glued to the way he licks up and down your swollen pussy. Taunting you with the skill he's gained over the years. He's pushing your buttons again.  

"Daddy, daddy, daddy, please you have to let me. You’re gonna make me cum. Your mouth, your fucking mouth, please let me cum."

You're babbling, you know you are. You’re slipping through the cracks quickly and you can’t do a thing to stop it. There’s no going back and Chris knows it but he still smacks the inside of your thigh. Warning you to be good for him and let him build you up a bit more before you take his cock again.

"Don't." He kisses your clit. "Cum." He sucks the bud into his mouth and swirls his tongue over it with a moan. He's a madman if he thinks you could survive that. 

"Fuck, 'm cumming. I'm cumming, 'm sorry." You’re shaking, your nails dig into your thighs as you keep yourself open for him.  "Cumming, 'm cumming, I can't stop cumming, I can't stop cumming."

He moans into you as he laps up every drop of arousal that you're giving him. He commits your sweet taste to memory with one final swipe of his tongue before he’s kissing up your stomach. 

His lips trail up the valley of your breasts. He licks over the mound, sucking your nipple into his mouth and swirling it with a hum. Once he’s satisfied he moves to your shoulder, kissing and licking his way over to your collarbone then finally his lips are back on yours.

You’re gasping as you tremble through your orgasm, aftershocks wash over you as you taste yourself on his tongue. Chris smirks, whispering against your lips. "No one else will make you feel this good, baby. No one else will make you cum like this.”

The head of his cock slips through your dripping folds, catching against your clit before he’s pushing in. “This is mine. All mine." He sinks in to the hilt then slowly drags his cock back against your walls. 

“This is what I want.” He straightens up, looking down at your pretty face contorted in pleasure. 

“All of that other shit doesn’t matter.” He moans, holding your thighs back to get a perfect view of you.  “I wanna watch it. Wanna see the way my pussy opens up for me. ‘S mine, isn’t it, baby? Tell me this shit is mine.”

“Yours, it’s yours. Fuck, ‘s fucking yours, please, you’re gonna make me cum.” Chris slows his strokes, grinding deep into you and dipping his hips to hit the soft spot that turns you into putty for him.

You’re drooling at the feeling. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of tired eyes as you watch the way he admires your cunt. The corner of his bottom lip is tugged and held firm between his teeth as he fights back his moans so that he can hear yours clearer.

“Shit, You’re gonna make me cum. Gonna make me fucking cum, make daddy cum.” The precise snap of his hips grows sloppy as the seconds pass. His once slow grind is now erratic. He’s purely seeking pleasure, sinking deeper into the haze with every drag. 

“Fuck, squeeze me. Yeah, just like that, that’s my girl. Pretty fucking girl on my cock.” Each thrust is met with a slap to your clit. You jolt at the contact, back arching off of the mattress. “Cum for me. Cum on my dick.” 

With one more flick of your clit you're trembling beneath him. Your cunt sucks him in and he takes it all with a loud moan. Chris lets your legs fall so that he can hover over you. He holds himself up on his elbows as he kisses you through your climax. You moan into it, shaking with each thrust and twitch of his cock. 

“Shit, that’s good. So good, baby, ‘m gonna cum.” The frantic bucking of his hips against yours comes to a halt as he falls apart. 

Moans tumble forward as he does. His muscles tense and his eyes roll back as he drives himself deep into you, filling you with every drop of himself that he has to offer. Chris collapses on top of you, his weight pinning you in place. 

You pant below him, coming down from your high as aftershocks wash over him. He kisses your neck, breathing heavily into your skin. 

“Now.” He pulls back slightly, gaze catching yours. “Now I’m happy.”

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[lushrue]

dinner party (nsfw)

ghoap x fem!reader

cw: oral (m and f receiving), dubcon (sort of?), voyeurism, dom ghost

it was supposed to be a normal dinner party.

by all accounts, it had been up to this point. it wasn’t unusual for your husband to invite the men he worked with over for dinner, especially johnny. the man lives alone, he’d said, least I can do is give ‘em a nice home-cooked meal every once in a while. you always pulled out the stops, cooking something bordering on gourmet that the mess halls couldn’t even hope to replicate. tonight, it had been grilled salmon with wild rice and roasted asparagus.

conversation over dinner was normal, aided by the wine and whiskey loosening everyone’s lips. you’re far more sociable than simon is, but that doesn't take much, so the alcohol kept the words flowing freely. it wasn’t until after dinner that things started to shift.

the three of you settled in the living room with your respective spirits, wrapping up the night with friendly conversation over light dessert. you moved to your usual spot in the armchair beside the bookshelf, but the sound of simon clicking his tongue at you stopped you in your tracks. he was sat in his own chair nearest the sofa, legs spread like a king on his throne. you couldn’t quite keep your eyes from wandering, admiring the way his jeans clung to his thighs. he met your gaze, the corner of his lips quirked up in a mischievous smirk. he patted his thigh and you felt embarrassment burn your cheeks.

you glanced over to johnny, as if to remind simon that you had company, but he didn’t seem to care. his dark eyes stayed fixed on you, silence falling over the room as johnny’s gaze followed his lieutenant’s. simon cocked his head, a gesture that you recognized as obey or else. you didn’t feel like testing the waters tonight, so you padded over to him, perching yourself on his thigh.

your husband’s arm snaked around your waist as you swirled your wine in your glass, staring at the whirlpool it created to distract you from the way johnny was eyeing you. simon had pulled you onto his lap for a reason, and part of you wondered if it wasn’t entirely selfish motivation that had you positioned here. simon’s hand stroked over the crushed velvet of the dress he’d insisted you wear, sliding down to grip your ass occasionally when you got too fidgety.

conversation gradually turned to their work, so you tuned them out. it wasn’t that you weren’t interested; most of it just flew over your head. it gave you time to focus on the way your husband was feeling you up. his hand never stayed in one place too long, sliding from your shoulder to your spine to the nape of your neck and down. it made shivers run down your spine, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs the longer it continued. despite your squirming, you managed to stay ladylike, a metaphorical aspirin between your knees as the two men talked.

“so, how’s y’r sex life?” simon asked, which snapped you back to attention. johnny seemed just as bewildered as you did at the question, his cheeks flushed scarlet beneath the stubble. you nudged simon’s shoulder, shaking your head at him. “simon, that’s not polite,” you said, but he didn’t pay you any mind. he was too busy watching johnny fluster and scramble to find his words. “l.t., I-” he started, but simon held up a hand to stop him. “nah, don’ play dumb with me, lad. heard ya jus’ the other day in the rec room. talkin’ about how ya haven’t had a good shag in months, somethin’ like tha’.”

you were just as embarrassed as johnny was now. you knew simon wasn’t the most tactful of men, but this was a whole other level. johnny stuttered around his words, trying to find some kind of reply that was appropriate for the situation. nothing would be appropriate for this situation, you thought. simon just chuckled, his hand rubbing the plush cheek of your ass. “look how flustered ‘e is, lovie,” he said to you, finally giving you his full attention. “poor man, doesn’ have a good bird like I do. no one to cook ‘im a nice dinner and keep ‘is cock wet.”

as flustered as you were, the words sent a jolt straight to your core. taking care of your husband was a sense of pride for you. you got a primal satisfaction out of sinking to your knees and sucking him dry after he’d had a hard day. it meant the world to you when his shoulders sagged and released the burden that he’d been carrying, all at your hands. you shifted on his lap, pressing your thighs together to get some relieving friction.

simon looked back at johnny, who seemed just as affected. he had his hands clasped over his lap, his gaze cast down at the throw rug like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “ya wanna know wha’ it’s like, sergeant?” simon asked, his voice dropping into a register only you got to hear. “wanna feel my sweet, pretty dove wrapped aroun’ ya?” johnny jolted like he’d been shocked with a prod, wide blue eyes looking up at his commanding officer. there was bewilderment there, you noticed. clearly, he hadn’t been expecting this. but behind the surprise, there was something more carnal. he looked hungry, like a mutt begging for scraps from the table.

your husband placed a firm hand on your back, taking the wine glass from your hands and coaxing you to stand. “g’won, lovie. on your knees for our bashful lad, hmm?” simon’s choice of words struck you. our. this was for both of you, not just simon. the two of you had discussed the idea of a threesome once, but it felt like a pipe dream then. you’d expressed interest, never really expecting simon to share but confessing your fantasy all the same. and now, here it was. Happening.

you did as you were told, kneeling in front of the sofa where johnny was. from this angle, you could see how harshly his chest was rising and falling, his breath quick and uncertain. it brought you a strange sense of satisfaction that you could fluster a special ops soldier so easily. you sat there expectantly, but johnny didn’t move. he just stared at you, almost the same way he’d stared at his dinner plate before digging in. his eyes traced the contours of your body, over your shoulders and down to your full chest, over your breasts and down to the plush of your stomach and thighs where they pressed against your dress.

“starin’ won’ make ‘er cum, johnny,” simon quipped. you drew in a sharp breath, glancing back over your shoulder at your husband. he clicked his tongue again, motioning back towards johnny. “ah-ah, keep your eyes on ‘im, precious. he needs y’r attention more’n I do.” you looked back up at johnny dutifully, your lips parting slightly as you waited for him to do something, anything. the fabric of the rug was biting into your knees, making you a tad uncomfortable. “she’s yer wife, simon, I cannae jus’-” “you can an’ you will,” simon interrupted. “the only way she gets any pleasure tonigh’ is by your hand, an’ I don’t let my wife go to bed unsatisfied.” you let out a whine at that, the stakes so much higher now that you knew the terms. johnny just had to touch you.

“steamin’ jesus,” the Scot cursed under his breath, your whine sending a spark of pleasure between his legs. he’d never heard a woman make that sound before, especially not at the prospect of being pleased by him. “i can touch ‘er?” he asked, but he didn’t look at simon for an answer. his stare was more intense, sizing you up, deciding which piece of you would be most juicy to sink his teeth into. simon hummed in amusement. “unless y’r bloody telekinetic, s’pose ya have to, don’ ya?” simon responded, shifting in his chair. you heard the zipper of his jeans go down and it was almost painful that you couldn’t look at him.

johnny reached forward, taking your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he stroked his thumb along your jaw, shuddering on his exhale. “y’r so soft,” he breathed out, marvelling at the beauty of you on your knees. you lean your head into his touch, following the pulls and pushes of his hand as he inspects you. “such a bonnie bird,” he cooed, spreading his legs and pulling you in closer to him. you shuffle forward, settling yourself more squarely between his knees.

“simon says ya suck cock like a dream. is he righ’?” johnny asked. you nod, leaning forward to mouth at his crotch through his jeans. you could feel how hard he was already from barely having touched you. instead of focusing on the fact that simon was going around blabbing about your blowjob skills, you chose to take in as much of johnny’s musk as you could through his pants. you couldn’t quite smell him, but there was the barest hint of his body wash peeking through.

simon had started stroking himself to the sight of both of you, the wet shlick reaching your ears and emboldening you. knowing that your husband was enjoying this ignited a fire that started in your core and spread through your veins. johnny got the same motivation, locking eyes with simon for only a moment before shoving his jeans and boxers down. you gasp at the suddenness of it, placing your hands on his bare thighs to steady yourself. before you can fully get your bearings, johnny grabs the back of your head and shoves you down.

he’s not as long as simon, but he’s certainly thicker. he fills your mouth almost instantly, your cheeks aching a little with the stretch. you and johnny moan in unison, your eyes fluttering shut as johnny’s hand balls up in your hair. simon chuckles behind you, his hand tightening around himself. “tha’s it, lad. fuck ‘er mouth good, she likes it a bit rough.”

johnny’s hips start thrusting, the ruddy tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. tears bead up in the corners of your eyes, whimpers and moans giving johnny some vibration as he fucks your throat. you applauded yourself for the decision not to wear mascara; cleaning the tears and spit from your face would be difficult enough. saliva dribbled down johnny’s length, wetting your lips as you hollowed your cheeks. the salt of him coated your tongue, precum leaking down your throat. above you, johnny was grunting and groaning like a rutting bull, thrusting into your mouth with abandon. “how’s my girl feel, johnny?” simon asked, his voice sounding strained. hearing just how affected they both were had your pussy dripping with arousal. “fuck, si, she’s…ah, so warm. fuckin’ milkin’ me.”

your tongue traced the protruding vein on the underside of johnny’s cock, delighting in the shudder you earned from him. it didn’t take long after that for him to finish down your throat. you swallowed every drop, taking in everything he offered. he was more bitter than simon, but you enjoyed it all the same. you pulled your mouth off of johnny’s cock with a wet pop, peeking up at him with heavy lidded eyes. the man you saw was not the man who’d sat across from you at dinner. he looked downright feral, grabbing you like a man possessed. he pulled you up from the floor, laying you out on the sofa and tugging your underwear down.

before johnny tossed them away, he held them to his nose, drinking in the smell of you. he groaned, balling the fabric up in his fists. “y’r bird smells like heav’n, l.t.,” he rasped, dropping the panties and fixing his wild gaze back on you. “bet she tastes even better.” without any further warning, he dipped his head between your thighs, thick tongue lapping up the moisture from your cunt. you squealed in surprise, throwing your head back against the cushions. simon bit back a curse behind his hand, watching his best friend devour his wife like his last meal. the mere thought was enough to make him spill all over his hand and stomach, his release silent so as not to distract johnny.

you didn’t think anything could. your thighs clamped around his head to keep him in place, but it was hardly necessary. even the rapture couldn’t pull him away from your pussy and the nectar that dripped from it. as much as you enjoyed the feeling, johnny wasn’t as coordinated as simon was. his tongue was wild, moving for his pleasure rather than yours. 

you twitched and moaned when he would happen to graze your clit, hoping that he’d get the hint, but he never did. there was no technique, no purpose. johnny came up for air, hazy eyes meeting yours. he was pussy-drunk, your juices shining on his lips and chin. he nosed at the inside of your plush thigh, sinking his teeth into the fat there. it stung and your back arched, reaching down to push his head away. the sting wasn’t pleasurable, not compared to his tongue against your cunt.

the moment simon caught the resistance from you, he was on his feet, yanking johnny back by his mohawk. the Scot gasped, back arching as simon held his hair tight in his fist. “easy, mutt,” simon growled in johnny’s ear, pushing his head down to look at you. “tha’s my girl, and y’r gonna treat ‘er with the respect she deserves. not some blushin’ virgin tha’s never had a woman, are ya?” johnny huffed, taking the question as an insult to his manhood. “‘course not,” he said, voice tense and strained. simon shook johnny’s head, then released his hair. “didn’ think so. remember y’r place, treat ‘er right.”

the scolding from simon had leveled johnny, forced him to slow down and think with his brain and not his cock. you twitched and whined as he paid more attention to your aching clit, swollen and puffy with desire. your hips bucked against your will, pressing against johnny’s tongue harder. 

finally, his tongue pushed inside you, caressing your walls. you clenched around him, tension building in your lower stomach. “don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged, chest heaving. simon appeared at your side, stroking your hair. his gaze was soft, admiring, a welcome contrast to johnny’s. “cum on his tongue, love. he’s been waitin’ for it, not gonna stop ‘til he gets it.” those words were all it took to push you over the edge, shuddering and whining as johnny licked you through your orgasm.

you felt floaty after, the pleasure of having your husband’s best friend eat you out while your husband watched going straight to your head. there were cooed praises and kisses to your cheeks, but you weren’t entirely sure who they came from. hushed words were exchanged at your feet, then johnny was zipping himself up and kissing you goodbye. simon wrapped you in your favorite fuzzy blanket, the gentle sway of his gait soothing you as he carried you to the bedroom. once he’d laid you on the bed, he started to leave, but your soft hum and hand on his arm stopped him. “si? can we do that again?” you asked, voice soft and wrecked.

simon just chuckled, brushing your hair away from your face. “don’ you worry, lovie. he’s comin’ back for dinner next week.”

[hoshifighting]

Hear me out, you have a crush on SVT (following them around, giving them gifts etc) but one day you stop doing that and start ignoring them, how do they react!??

when you start to ignore them — seventeen a your crush

hyung line / maknae line

seungcheol doesn’t notice right away. at first, he thinks you’re just having an off day—maybe you're busy, maybe you’re just tired, but then a few days pass, and the silence starts to feel heavy. no more small gifts, no more lingering smiles when you catch his eye. nothing.

he can’t stand it. seungcheol’s the type to act tough, but the way you suddenly stopped all your little gestures? it eats at him. “what the fuck,” he mutters under his breath when you pass him by, not even sparing a glance. his chest tightens. you’ve always been there, always giving him attention, and now… nothing?

he texts you once, just a casual “you good?” but when you leave him on read, something snaps in him. you’re ignoring him on purpose. the next time he sees you, he grabs your wrist, pulling you into an empty hallway. “what’s your problem?” his voice is sharp, but there’s a hint of desperation in it. “did i do something? why are you acting like i don’t exist?”

he doesn’t get it—why you stopped. he misses the attention, misses you, and for the first time, he feels vulnerable, wondering if he pushed you away without even realizing it.

jeonghan notices the shift immediately. he's always been sharp, always able to read people. when you stop following him around, when you stop trying to make him smile with little gifts or compliments, he can feel the change in the air.

at first, he finds it amusing. “oh, so you're playing hard to get now?” he teases, half-expecting you to blush and laugh it off, but you don’t. you just shrug and walk away. and for once, jeonghan doesn’t have a quick comeback. it starts to bother him, more than he’d like to admit. the absence of your attention leaves a strange void. he used to roll his eyes when you'd bring him coffee or leave him little notes, but now? he catches himself looking for them.

he corners you one day, that sly smile on his face, but his eyes give him away. “did you get bored of me already?” he tries to joke, but his voice wavers, just enough for you to notice. when you don’t answer, he steps closer, his fingers brushing against yours. “i miss you,” he admits quietly, his smirk fading. “don’t you miss me too?”

joshua pretends not to care at first. he’s good at hiding his feelings, always calm, always collected. when you stop showering him with attention, he tells himself it’s fine, maybe even a relief.

but it’s not.

he starts to overthink—did he say something wrong? did he push you away? the questions spiral in his head, and soon enough, he’s analyzing every interaction the two of you ever had. one evening, when you pass by without so much as a glance, something in him cracks. “hey,” he calls out, his voice a little too soft, a little too careful. when you turn around, he hesitates, trying to find the right words.

“did i do something wrong?” his voice is small, almost vulnerable. “you used to… i mean, we used to…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck, awkwardly searching for the right way to say he misses you. he doesn’t want to come off as needy, but the truth is, he misses your attention more than he thought he would. “just… talk to me. please.”

jun doesn't know what to do with the silence. he's never been great with words, always a bit awkward, but he’s used to you being there. used to your constant presence, your gifts, your smiles. so when you stop, he feels lost. he tries to act normal, tries to laugh it off like it doesn’t bother him, but it does. it really, really does.

one day, after you’ve ignored him for too long, he blurts it out. “did i do something to piss you off?” it’s blunt, but that’s all he knows how to be. his eyes are wide, his hands fidgeting as he waits for your response. “you used to… i don’t know, you used to care.” his voice cracks at the end, and he quickly looks away, embarrassed by how desperate he sounds.

he doesn’t know how to fix it, doesn’t even know what went wrong, but he wants your attention back. he misses it, misses you, and it’s killing him that he doesn’t know how to get you to care again.

soonyoung’s never been good at subtle. when he likes someone, everyone knows. and he thought it was the same with you. you were always there, always laughing at his dumb jokes, bringing him snacks after practice, and just hanging around, like you couldn’t get enough of him. but now? you’re distant. cold, even. no more gifts, no more texts, and it’s driving him up the wall.

“are you mad at me?” he asks one day, voice unsure, eyes wide with that puppy-dog look that usually works on everyone. you just shake your head. “no, everything’s fine.” but he knows it’s not. everything’s changed, and he hates it. soonyoung’s the kind of guy who thrives on attention, and without yours, he feels off-balance, like something’s missing. he doesn’t know how to fix it, and the more he tries, the worse it seems to get.

he starts showing off more, trying harder to make you laugh, but nothing works. and it’s fucking with him, making him doubt himself in ways he never has before. because he liked the way you made him feel, and now that it’s gone, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

jihoon is another one who pretends he doesn’t care. he’s always been good at that—keeping his emotions locked up tight, never letting anyone get too close. but you? you somehow slipped through the cracks. you were always there, bringing him coffee when he worked late, leaving notes on his desk with dumb doodles or stupid jokes that made him smile when no one was looking.

now it’s like you’ve disappeared. you’re still around, sure, but you don’t bother with him anymore. no more coffee, no more notes. nothing. he tells himself it’s for the best. that it’s better this way, less distracting. but deep down, it stings. because he liked having you around, more than he’d ever admit. one night, he stays late, hoping you’ll show up like you always used to. when you don’t, he feels a pang of disappointment in his chest. he hates it. hates how much he misses you. he sends you a text, something short and casual: “you haven’t been around much lately.” when you don’t respond, he stares at his phone, frustrated. he throws his head back, closing his eyes. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, wondering when he got so attached to your presence.

he watches you sometimes, sees you talking to other people, laughing like everything’s fine, and it makes something twist in his chest. he wants to ask you why, but he’s too stubborn, too proud to admit that it’s bothering him. so he stays quiet, burying himself in his work, trying to forget the way it felt to have your attention. but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing.

wonwoo doesn’t say anything at first. he’s quiet, observant, and he notices right away when you stop hanging around, but he doesn’t know how to bring it up.

he tells himself he’s fine with it, that maybe it’s for the best. but then he realizes how much he actually looked forward to your little gifts, your presence. he misses the way you’d light up when you saw him, the way you’d try to get his attention in your own subtle way. when you start ignoring him, it feels… empty.

one day, he finds himself walking up to you, his hands in his pockets, trying to act casual. “you’ve been avoiding me,” he says, his voice soft but direct. “did something happen?” there’s a sincerity in his eyes that’s hard to miss. “i… i miss you. i don’t know why you stopped, but…” he hesitates, glancing down before meeting your gaze again. “i liked having you around. i still do.” he doesn’t push for answers, but the quiet hope in his voice says it all. he just wants you back.

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

I think it would be so hard for Toji to deny you of anything when you're upset to the point of crying. You always act so passive about things that bother you, for him, because he rarely falls apart on you, so who are you to dump your emotions on him like that?

You come home from a really bad day at work that never allowed your headache to cease. Everybody was turning things in late, nobody was working to beat their deadlines—extended deadlines— and you were the one who took the hits for it all, as the leader of your group. You were one more mentioned member of your team away from snapping at your boss. Thankfully, you were allowed to go home after that talk.

Toji got home before you, so he had some time to wind down from his own stressful day, but the minute you walked in, he knew there was something wrong. You barely acknowledged him, a small smile being all you offered him, before you dragged yourself to your shared bedroom. No 'hi, baby' followed by you literally tossing yourself onto him, or even a 'wow, you're home before me?'

That didn't slide with him like you may have thought it would.

He got up after waiting two minutes for you to come back out. You never did, so he went after you, immediately spotting you face down on the bed. Your body was trembling, your shoulders jumping with your sobs. It was a strange sight, but it didn't make him feel any less concerned for you. He strode over to your side, resting a palm on your back. Your body was rigid with tension, your shoulders unable to drop because of it. He's sure you'll complain about the pain once you've calmed down a little more.

It was hard to get you to talk, but eventually you spilled every detail of what made you feel this way. Toji couldn't relate to your patience. If he were disciplined for other people's actions despite doing his job of trying to catch them up and reminding them to do things, he would be livid. You aren't like that, though. Things happen at work. Things that lure out frustration, anger, and overall feelings of wanting to implode and instead of leaving it there at work, where it belongs, you bring it home. You've clearly reached your breaking point.

"Want me to kill them?" He asks, feeling you shake your head against his chest in response. "Might just do it behind your back if you come home like this again, ma. Dead serious," he says, noting that you still haven't fully relaxed in his hold. "No reason you should ever be this stressed over people not doing their jobs. Fucking idiots, acting like children because they know it all weighs down on you."

You wanted to cry again at the way he tightened his hold on you while he defended you. You sucked it up and moved off of his chest, and when he looked down to see what you were doing, you kissed him. Your hand went beneath his shirt and felt up his warm, sculpted abdomen.

Clothes were removed and you now sat on his lap, his cock deep inside you. He knew you needed this despite how you were so distraught when he came into the room. He couldn't turn you down when you asked if he could be as close to you as he could. He knew you needed to release some steam, but he didn't expect it to be so calm. You laid your head on his shoulder, your arms draped around his neck while he held you close, his hands resting on your back.

Toji cooed at you, when you started sniffling, again. Slowly but surely, you were releasing all those bottled up emotions, your tears landing on the bare skin of his shoulder.

"Shh... it's alright. You don't have to think about anything, right now." He presses a kiss to your shoulder and then one to the side of your neck, before moving his hips a little, luring some quiet sighs from you. "Yeah, let me take care of you, mama. Just gotta breathe for me. That's all you gotta do, 'kay?"

You nod against his shoulder and allow him to bring both of you, soft, intimate, and unhurried pleasure. Your moans were light and airy, your whimpers soft and muffled by his skin.

Toji's orgasm rolled in before yours. His generous amount of release coated your walls, heavy and ragged breaths grazing your skin. In his head, he blames it on being able to become a safe space for you and his ability to provide protection. Your emotions were unconfined and you confided in him to soothe you. The mixture of physical intimacy and his comforting words was enough to calm you down. Your shoulders weren't tense anymore, and you were able to melt into his embrace.

Your orgasm had your body quivering against his. The sound of your rapid breathing was all you could release into his neck, your nails dragging across his shoulders through the intensity. He smiled softly, satisfied when you let out the smallest squeak.

"That's it, baby. Good girl. Just relax." He strokes your back, stilling his hips once the zenith of your pleasure passes.

Once the adrenaline dies down a little, you go back to rest your head on his shoulder, retightening your arms around him. Toji keeps stroking your back, his other hand resting on the back of your head.

"You're not going to work tomorrow. You have... let's see... food poisoning and you can't move without feeling like you're gonna blow chunks." He can feel your laughter against him, your shoulders jumping as a positive gesture compared to how he found you, luring a smile onto his face. "I'm not taking no for an answer either. We're both out tomorrow, 'cause I can't leave you here to die. Alright?"

"Okay," you mumble.

[flowersforbucky]

it's nice to have a friend

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: you're having the worst period you've had in a long time. bucky is determined to help you feel better.

author's note: this is a silly and smutty piece that i felt compelled to write when i got my period a few days ago!

warnings/tags: smutty, reader has a period, langauge, use of a vibrator, nipple stimulation, no use of y/n, use of a cbd gummy lol, 18+ only

Approximately every twenty-eight days, you curse the fact that you were born with a uterus and vagina. 

This month, however, you were cursing that fact a bit earlier than expected. Cycle day twenty three, to be exact. 

Your periods never start this early, but as soon as you opened your eyes at six o'clock this morning, you knew what had occured while you were asleep. You could feel the moisture that soaked through your underwear and pajama pants before you could turn on the light to see that your white sheets had been dyed bright crimson beneath where you'd been laying. 

One load of laundry with extra stain remover and as much Pamprin max strength as one can safely take later, you are curled up on the couch of the compound's living room with a cup of coffee and a heating pad turned up so high that you risk first degree burns. 

“Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you today? We can go to Coney Island another time,” Natasha tries to reason with you once again. 

“I promise I'll be okay here,” you assure her. “These cramps are killing me, I won't be any fun to hang out with today. Go, enjoy yourself. When is the next time that you'll all have a free day and weather this perfect?” You gesture towards the sunshine streaming through the living room windows. 

“If you're sure,” she caves after a few moments of hesitation. “Promise I’ll win you that stuffed panda that you wanted so badly last time.” 

“I am going to hold you to that,” you tell her in a faux-serious tone. 

After Natasha and the rest of your friends have left for their day of riding rollercoasters and eating hotdogs on the boardwalk, you turn on your comfort show and settle in for an unexciting and uncomfortable day by yourself. 

A few hours later, you decide you've sat in the same position for long enough - you can practically feel your body morphing to the sofa. You're walking to the kitchen to refill your water bottle and find something to snack on when you collide with what feels like a brick wall. 

A brick wall that happens to smell really, really fucking good. 

You step back, finding that the brick wall is staring at you with a confused look on his face. 

"What are you doing here?” Bucky asks as he glances you over from head to toe, taking in your choice of apparel - baggy sweats that are about two sizes too big for you, a cropped tank, and fuzzy slippers. You resist the urge to cross your arms over your stomach - you didn't think anyone else would be here today and the tank top you're wearing doesn't exactly conceal the period bloat you're currently experiencing. 

"I live here,” you snap, a bit harsher than necessary. “What are you doing here?” 

“I also live here,” he says, returning your attitude. You roll your eyes, maneuvering your way around where he blocks the doorway. 

“What I mean,” he continues as he turns around, following you into the kitchen. “Is why aren't you with everyone at Coney Island?” 

“I could ask you the same question,” you challenge, pouring some more ice into your cup. “Steve never shuts up about the glory days, all the time the two of you spent at Coney Island. I'm surprised you're not there with him right now.” 

He huffs a laugh, pulling out one of the barstools at the kitchen's giant island and taking a seat. “We did spend a ridiculous amount of time at Coney Island,” he admits, his voice almost wistful. He hesitates before continuing, staring down at his hands as he traces a metal crevice on his left palm.

"But I haven't been to Coney Island since the forties. Guess I'm kinda scared it won't live up to my memories of it. Plus, I had a lot of laundry to catch up on, so..” he shrugs, trailing off. 

You're taken aback by the honesty of his explanation. “Yeah, well,” you start awkwardly, turning away from him to search through a cabinet for something to eat. “I can't say that I know what it was like in the forties, but it's one of my favorite places, present day.” 

“Then why are you hanging out by yourself while all of your friends are at one of your favorite places?” 

Damn it, you curse internally. He's really not going to drop this. What should I say, that my uterine lining is falling out in clumps? 

You grab a bag of freeze-dried fruit from the cabinet before turning back to face him, trying to come up with an excuse. 

“I just didn't sleep great–” you come to an abrupt stop in the middle of your sentence as a blinding pain shoots through your lower abdomen. The bag of fruit falls to the floor as you steady yourself on the ledge of the counter with one hand, clutching your stomach with the other. 

Bucky rises from his seat in an instant, closing the several feet of distance between the two of you in one big step. 

"Are you okay? What’s going on?” His hands are both extended to you in an offer of help. 

“I'm fine,” you say through a sharp intake of breath. “It’s.. it’s just cramps. Bad cramps,” you force the words out, propping your elbows up on the countertop to relax your body weight. 

“Oh,” he says as realization dawns on him. He bends down to grab the bag of fruit that lays next to your feet, and then places it on the table in front of you. “I guess that answers my question, then,” he adds, referring to why you didn't go to Coney Island. 

“Ya think?” You stand back upright, grabbing your snack and water bottle off of the counter. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a busy day of bed-rotting ahead of me.” 

“Some exercise would help,” he calls when you're about to exit the kitchen. “Laying in bed won't do much for you. A little bit of light exercise to release some beta-endorphins, maybe an abdominal massage–” 

“Are you really man-splaining menstrual cycle pain management to me right now?” You ask, slowly turning to face him with an incredulous look on your face. “I wasn't aware that you had a medical license or that I asked for your opinion.” 

“Just trying to help, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a mischievous grin. 

“If you want to help, you can go get the Italian food that I'm craving and give me an abdominal massage yourself,” you practically spit at him. “Otherwise, keep the unsolicited advice to yourself and fuck off.” 

You turn back around and all but run out of the room before you can process the shocked, albeit pleased look on his face.  

After you've closed your bedroom door behind you (with perhaps a bit more force than necessary), you sink into the fresh sheets on your bed and shove several pieces of apricot into your mouth. 

Rationally, you knew that Bucky's advice was solid, and that he was just trying to get a reaction out of you. That's just the kind of friendship that the two of you have. Sarcastic, teasing and occasionally… tension-filled. 

You definitely didn't help the matter by telling him to massage your abdomen, but what does he expect when he suggests something as horrible as exercising during a time that you simply want nothing more than to melt into your mattress? 

Your cell phone chimes from the pocket of your sweatpants. You dig it out and look at the text displayed across your lock screen. 

Bucky Barnes: What kind of Italian food, specifically? 

You would never admit it to him, but the corners of your mouth tug upwards into a smirk as you read his message. 

You type: Don't you have a lot of laundry to catch up on? and press send. The message is marked as “read” right away. 

He types. And types. And types some more – until those three dots indicating a message in progress disappear. 

Whatever. You click your phone off and toss it somewhere in the covers around you. 

The next couple hours are spent sitting under the near scalding stream of your shower, and then reading on your Kindle in the dark. As jealous as you are that your friends are undoubtedly having a blast today, you honestly don't mind your current situation - aside from feeling like your organs are being pulled out of your vagina, you hardly ever have days with zero obligations other than to just relax in whatever way you see fit. 

A strong knock on your door causes you to lose your place on the page. 

"You didn't give me a legitimate answer so I hope you like gnocchi, or eggplant parmesan, or traditional lasagna, or extra breadsticks..” 

“You know, it's not funny to joke about carbs to someone when they are–” 

You come to a stop in the middle of your sentence when you swing your door open to see him holding several plastic bags. An aroma of garlic and herbs hits you in the face. 

Oh. Not a joke, then. 

He extends one of the bags to you with his big, blue puppy dog eyes. You take it from him, opening the door further as an invitation to enter your bedroom. 

"Consider this a peace offering,” he says, placing the other bags of food on your bed and perching awkwardly on the edge of your mattress. You close the door behind you, walking back to where you had previously been lounging on the bed. 

“I'm sorry for being a smartass,” he adds more genuinely. “I just.. didn't like seeing you in pain. That's all.” 

“This is far from my first period,” you shrug, not meeting his stare. “You get used to it after a while. But consider yourself forgiven.” 

He gives you a small smile when you finally look up at him. He grabs a smaller bag that you hadn't noticed him carrying, one that is visibly less full than the others. He reaches inside, pulling out a small jar that he hands over to you. 

Your brows furrow as you inspect it closely. “CBD gummies?” You ask, your brows now raising quizzically. You open the jar, popping one of the pink, cube-shaped gummies into your mouth. “Watermelon flavored CBD gummies?” 

You notice the faintest trace of blush bloom across his cheeks. “I take them sometimes to help me sleep,” he starts, fiddling with some of the beading on your comforter. “But they can help with all different kinds of pain too, so I just thought you might like some.” 

You close the jar, placing it on your bedside table before reaching over and grabbing his flesh hand in yours. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze and then releasing it. “Really. I appreciate all of this.” You try to ignore the jolt of electricity that buzzes through you when your skin comes in contact with his. His hand is both softer and warmer than you would have imagined. It brings you back to the last words that you spewed at him in the kitchen earlier. 

"A shit ton of pasta and CBD gummies,” you snort a laugh. “Would I be pushing my luck if I asked for that abdominal massage too?” You say it in a way that sounds halfway serious, halfway joking. 

“If that's what you want,” he says lowly, turning to angle his body towards you on the bed. “Then just say the word.” 

The air in your room suddenly feels suffocating. 

It is what you want - but you're at a loss for words. So instead of a verbal response, you scoot over to the middle of the bed, closer to where he sits on the opposite side. You lay down so that your back is flat against the mattress, your head propped up by a single pillow. 

Bucky's eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly wipes the look of astonishment from his features. He moves so that he's sitting directly next to your legs, giving him a proper angle to put his hands on your lower stomach. 

You're wearing the same sweatpants and tank top from earlier, having thrown the outfit back on after your shower. The loose sweatpants hang low enough to expose your hip bones and the edge of your underwear. 

The intimacy of the entire situation hits you the second that his hands make contact with your skin. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, perhaps sensing your nerves. “Or if I do anything that doesn't feel good.” 

Your eyes shut instinctively at the polar opposite sensations of his flesh and vibranium hands. Skin and metal, fire and ice.

“I will,” you assure him. Your words come out breathier than intended. 

There's an immediate relief in your lower stomach as he rubs languid circles across your midriff. It's a feeling beyond pleasure as the cramps fade the more he touches you. 

His vibranium pinky dances along the waistband of your underwear, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin. You try to focus on the relief he's bringing you - not the fact that you're wearing a thin tank top that leaves so much of your skin on display, giving him a clear view of the goosebumps that he's caused. 

He continues with the precise motions until the pain in your abdomen has faded nearly entirely - you feel so good that you can't stop yourself from letting out the smallest moan when his flesh hand applies just the right amount of pressure near your pelvis. 

You know he heard it - there's no way he didn't. Just as you know there's no way that he doesn't notice your fully hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top. 

You keep your eyes closed, terrified to meet his gaze in this state. You dread the moment that you feel his hands pull away from your skin. 

"You know,” he starts, his voice possessing a strained edge. “I don't think this is good enough for you.” 

Your eyes shoot open, looking at him in a nervous confusion. There's a glimmer in his eyes that you can't quite pinpoint - his stare trailing to your bedside table on the opposite side of you. “But I think I do know what could make you feel much better.” 

“What are you talking about?” Your voice quivers as you follow his stare. You're not sure what he's looking at - all that sits on your nightstand is the CBD gummies he had just given you, your Kindle, a few books, a bottle of lotion, and the Himalayan salt lamp that paints you both in an orange glow. 

He smirks before leaning across you - keeping his vibranium hand pressed firmly on your belly as he uses his flesh hand to pull open the drawer of the small table. 

“Hey! What are you–” but he retrieves the object he’s looking for before you can finish questioning him. You freeze at what he's holding in his hand. 

Your vibrator. Your glittery, lavender colored vibrator. 

“How the fuck did you–” 

“Do you think I can't hear you using this from across the hallway late at night?” He grins smugly. “That I can't hear your little whimpers when you think everyone's asleep?” 

Your face heats up a hundred degrees. You don't know whether to be infuriated or massively turned on. 

Both. You're definitely feeling a mix of both. 

He clicks the power button, turning on the device to its lowest setting. He watches you for a moment, giving you ample time to tell him to fuck off.

Instead, you once again relax against the pillow, your body going limp for him. You spread your legs the slightest bit. 

He takes this as his signal to proceed. Not taking his eyes off of your face, he trails the head of the wand from your lower stomach and over the fabric of your sweatpants until he reaches the apex of your thighs. Your nipples pucker once again, your thighs clenching around the tip of the vibrator. 

Bucky moves the device in a circular motion, making your back arch off the bed and your head tip back. 

How is it that it feels better when he massages you with it through your fucking pants than it does when you use it on your bare pussy? 

You hear the clicking of a button again, and the force of the vibration over your clothed cunt increases. You grind down on the device, desperate for friction. 

Bucky watches you with something akin to pride on his face. 

“You know how I told you to tell me if I do something you don't like?” He asks as he pushes the head of the wand directly down on your clit with the perfect amount of pressure. 

“Yeah,” you answer - it comes out like a moan that you'd hear in a porno.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Remember that.” 

Before you can clear your head enough to wonder what he means, he's tugging up the cotton fabric of your tank top and exposing your breasts. 

You gasp at the sensation of the cool air blowing from the AC coming in contact with your already hard nipples. Bucky leans forward, keeping the vibrator on your core, and captures one of your nipples in his mouth. 

Your hand immediately goes to his hair, tugging the soft brown locks in your fingers to keep him in place. His free hand grasps your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. 

The combination of pleasure radiating from your pussy and his hand and mouth on you is fucking perfect. Fucking perfect, and all too much. 

You clench your thighs together, riding against the vibrator until you feel warmth spreading through your lower belly. 

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you moan - he groans when you say his name, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge. You come hard, possibly harder than any other orgasm you've had in your life, thoroughly soaking your panties. 

When you've finished writhing beneath him, Bucky pulls back, removing both his mouth and the vibrator. He clicks the device off, tossing it towards the foot of your bed. 

You're panting, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process what the fuck just happened when you hear Bucky let out a low chuckle. 

Your eyes snap to him, finding that he looks thoroughly pleased with himself. 

"Can't say that's how I expected the day to go when I decided to sit this Coney Island trip out,” he sighs. 

“You can say that again.” You sit upright, bending your legs and crossing them at the ankles. You lean forward, tugging your shirt back into place before pulling one of the bags of food to you. 

"We should go sometime soon. Together,” you add, somewhat nervously. You aren't sure why - the guy just gave you the best orgasm of your life (and barely even touched you). 

“Are you asking me on a date?” that sly smile reappears. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I suppose I am.” 

"Then my answer is yes. But only if you share some of this food with me.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks so much for reading!!! can anyone tell that i really fucking love food by how often i incorporate it into my writing? 😅

[readsaboutreid]

Cast Your Bets | S.R.

summary: (Y/N) has been at the BAU for two months now and the tension between her and Spencer has been noticeable to everyone but them. The team takes bets on when they'll finally snap but (Y/N) and Spencer over hear them and some smutty shenanigans ensue.

This is smut so it's 18+, minors please dni.

spencer x bau!reader

contains: unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation (m), fingering (f receiving), non-established relationship

this has been sitting in my drafts for few months so i figured i'd finally let it see the light of day

The team were all sat on the jet after a long case, everyone off in their own little worlds. Morgan had his headphones on and had nodded off, JJ and Prentiss were playing cards, and Hotchner and Rossi were talking about the case they had just finished in hushed tones. Spencer had run out of reading material so he was just kind of sitting and staring off into space. His eyes fell to (Y/N), her brows furrowed in concentration as she read what looked to be a well-worn book, and he couldn't help the way his heart fluttered in his chest.

Ever since she had started at the BAU, Spencer had been hopelessly infatuated with her. She was intelligent, sweet, and most surprisingly she seemed to enjoy when Spencer would go off rambling about something that would usually leave Morgan rolling his eyes or Prentiss poking him and asking, "how did they make you so lifelike?" But when he was talking with (Y/N) and he would start off on a subject, she would just tilt her head and listen with a soft smile, occasionally chiming in with a question or comment, making it more than clear she was listening to every word.

She locked eyes with him and flashed him the sweetest smile and he felt his cheeks burn with a sudden heat. "Something interesting, Reid?" She chuckled, closing the book she had been reading and setting it on her lap as she turned to face him.

"I—I was just trying to see what you're reading," he lied, unconvincingly. He swallowed nervously and a small smile twitched at his lips at seeing her smile grow even wider before he looked down at his hands resting in his lap.

She held the book up for him to see the cover. Dune.

"Dune? That's one of my favorites!" He exclaimed with a wide smile.

"When I was a little girl this was one of my favorites. My dad would read it to me before bedtime," she explained before opening it back up to begin reading again. "I read it once a year the month of his birthday."

Spencer felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of confidence and decided to take advantage of it. "Hey, uh, I finished the only book I had brought with me earlier, do you mind if I read along with you, maybe? I could just read over your shoulder or something." He bit his lip as he waited for her to shoot him down, the confidence he felt already fading away rapidly.

"Oh! I, uh, o-okay," she responded while her eyes widened a little bit in response to the request. She moved closer to him on the bench they were both seated on. He adjusted the way he was sitting so that she could lean up against him and he found himself silently hoping she couldn't hear how fast and hard his heart was beating against his chest. She opened the book, holding it up high enough for Spencer to be able to read as well and they began reading. Spencer stole the occasional glance at her, the butterflies in his stomach flying around more frantically each time he did so.

His body was in overdrive and he did everything in his power to maintain his composure. He could smell the scent of eucalyptus and lavender on her hair as she leaned up against him and he started thinking about how nice it would be to be able to run his fingers through it while her lips were wrapped around his—

Spencer shook his head, dispelling the thoughts before they had a chance to take root. He cleared his throat and crossed his legs to cover up the fact that he was becoming rather noticeably hard. (Y/N) shifted a bit, leaning further into Spencer's chest and resting her head there gently. His breath hitched in his throat before he relaxed into her, resting his arm around her shoulders and his cheek against the top of her head.

They continued reading until Spencer noticed that she hadn't turned the page in quite a while. When he looked down at her he noticed that she was sleeping quite soundly against him. He tried his best to maneuver without waking her, placing her bookmark in between the pages and closing the book. There was no way Spencer himself would be able to get any sleep right now, but Spencer tried to relax enough to at least be a comfortable human pillow. Wrapping his other arm around her, he eventually found himself getting lost in the scent of her shampoo yet again as his eyes grew heavy.

Next thing he knew, he was waking up to Morgan lightly shaking his shoulder. "Come on lover boy! It's time to wake up. We're about to land," he said in a voice loud enough to also rouse the still-sleeping (Y/N).

She shot up suddenly, her face turning a deep shade of crimson as she stammered out a flustered apology and swiftly rushed off to the bathroom, leaving Spencer to glare daggers at Derek from his seat on the now otherwise empty bench.

Later that night, Spencer found himself at home, sprawled on the couch with the familiar blue glow of the television screen illuminating the room. The soft hum of the TARDIS filled the air as he half-heartedly tried to focus on the episode of Doctor Who playing before him. But try as he might, his mind kept drifting back to (Y/N).

Her scent still lingered on his clothes, a sweet and intoxicating blend that teased his senses. Images of her leaning against him, of her hair brushing against his skin, invaded his thoughts. His body reacted to these memories, stirring with a desire that he couldn't ignore.

As the scene on the TV faded into the background, Spencer's hand began to stray lower, fingers tracing the outline of his growing arousal through his pants. He closed his eyes, letting himself fully indulge in the fantasy of (Y/N) that had taken hold of his mind.

Her soft lips against his skin, his hands exploring her body with a gentle curiosity...

Spencer reached his hand into his pajama pants, pulling out his throbbing member and wrapping his fingers around himself, slowly beginning to stroke up and down. His breathing grew shallow as his hand moved more purposefully, seeking release from the building tension within him. Lost in a haze of desire and yearning, Spencer's thoughts were consumed by the memory of her touch, her scent, her warmth as she leaned up against him. With a quiet gasp, he abandoned himself to the fantasy, his movements growing urgent as he chased the climax that beckoned to him.

The fantasies of (Y/N) moaning and writhing beneath him in pleasure became more vivid, more alluring, fueling the fire that consumed him. Every fleeting touch, every whispered word in his mind pushed him closer to the edge until finally, with a shuddering breath and a silent cry of her name on his lips, Spencer found release in the solitude of his living room. The waves of pleasure washed over him, leaving him spent and breathless, his heart pounding in his chest.

As reality slowly seeped back in, Spencer lay there in the dim glow of the TV screen, a flush of both satisfaction and guilt coloring his cheeks. He wondered how he would ever be able to look (Y/N) in the eye again, but at the same time he couldn't help but long to see her still.

With a deep sigh, Spencer finally shut off the TV, cleaned himself up, and headed to bed, his mind filled with a mixture of longing and remorse.

The atmosphere in the bullpen was buzzing with it's usual energy. Spencer and (Y/N) were hunched over their desks, papers scattered everywhere as they focused intently on their work.

Meanwhile, across the room, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia, and JJ were observing the pair with playful banter and knowing looks. Their whispers floated through the air like mischievous spirits.

"Hey, JJ, how long do you think it'll be until these two finally give in to their sexual tension?" Derek asked with a cocky smirk.

JJ shrugged. "I'll give it two weeks."

Derek scoffed in response and said, "I say a week tops."

Penelope interjected, "oh please! I give it three days."

"You're all ridiculous" Emily shook her head and laughed, "I bet it'll take 24 hours, tops."

Spencer could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he overheard the playful bets being made about him and (Y/N). His heart raced at the mere thought of what could transpire between them, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling within him like a storm.

As they both reached for the same file folder, their fingers brushed against each other's in a fleeting moment that sent a jolt of electricity through Spencer. His hand trembled slightly at the contact, his skin tingling with a sensation he couldn't quite describe. But he couldn't deny the rush of warmth that flooded his veins at the simple touch.

(Y/N) quickly withdrew her hand, her eyes widening in surprise as she glanced up at Spencer. Her cheeks were painted with a delicate pink blush that mirrored Spencer's own, a silent acknowledgment passing between them in that moment.

Emily raised an eyebrow as they all observed the exchange between Spencer and (Y/N). "I told you all—24 hours, no more, no less.”

Agent Hotchner's lowered voice came from behind the group, startling everyone at the table. "Less than 12 hours," he stated calmly, his eyes piercing as they turned towards Spencer and (Y/N). The sudden silence that followed his words was almost palpable, the tension thick in the air as his prediction hung over them like a heavy cloud.

As the others in the room exchanged surprised glances, Derek let out a low whistle. "Hotch, you sure about that?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.

Hotch simply nodded, his expression unreadable as he turned away and walked out of the bullpen, leaving the rest of the table floored as they looked back at Spencer and (Y/N).

The gentle hum of the bullpen around them seemed to fade away as Spencer found himself lost in a daydream, imagining a world where he and (Y/N) were more than just colleagues. His heart quickened at the thought of what could be, but just as quickly, the shadow of doubt crept in.

What if she didn't feel the same way? What if their friendship was forever altered by a moment of vulnerability and desire? Spencer's mind swirled with conflicting emotions—longing mingled with fear, desire intertwined with doubt.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice (Y/N) shooting him a quick smile before returning to her work. The warmth of that smile lingered in the air around Spencer, filling him with a sense of hope and a tinge of uncertainty. Was it just a friendly gesture, or did it hold a deeper meaning that he desperately wanted to believe in?

As the day drew to a close and everyone began packing up, Spencer finally spoke up. "Hey, (Y/N)," Spencer nervously fiddled with the strap of his bag, "would, uh, w-would you want to come over and watch Star Trek tonight? We could get some takeout, you know, like we always do the weekend after a case?" She looked up at him with a warm smile that made the butterflies in his stomach flare up and nodded happily.

As they walked out of the office together, Spencer couldn't help the sweat that began coating his palms in a thin layer. He gripped the leather strap of his bag and fiddled with it to give his hands something to do. The elevator took them down to the parking garage and they approached her car. Spencer rushed to open the driver's side door for her, drawing a soft, melodious giggle from her lips that made him go weak at the knees.

He made his way to the passenger side and slipped into the seat, buckling the seatbelt and swallowing the lump in his throat. She pulled out of the parking space and they began the short journey to his apartment. On her car radio a CD started playing, and a man with a soft and pleasant voice was singing to them about a woman with a green plastic watering can and a fake Chinese rubber plant. (Y/N) hummed along to the song and Spencer looked at her from the passenger seat, and as he did so his mind ventured back to the conversation he over heard between their colleagues earlier today.

"Spencer? Why are you staring at me?" She asked with a small smile, snapping him out of his thoughts and back into reality. His cheeks burned as he silently berated himself, not realizing how long he had been looking over at her. A whole new song was playing on the radio now, the same man now singing about how he used to fly like Peter Pan.

"S-sorry, I, uh, I just, uh—hey, wh-what did you wanna order tonight?" He clumsily attempted to change the subject, looking down at his hands as he wrung them together in his lap.

"Oooh!" (Y/N) exclaimed, always excited to talk about food. "There's a new pizza place across the street from your building that I noticed the last time I came over, what if we ordered from them?"

Spencer closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, relief washing over him. "That sounds like a fantastic idea," he smiled and shot another glance her way, this time immediately looking back at his hands.

(Y/N) parked the car on the curb in front of Spencer's building and turned off the engine. They stepped out into the cool evening air and walked across the street, entering the pizza shop. The inside of the shop was small, just a handful of tables. The walls were painted a pale shade of yellow and plastered with vintage Italian film posters. The air smelled of tomato sauce and pesto, and as they approached the counter a middle aged woman with a red apron over her blue dress pushed through the door in the wall behind it, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Welcome! Table for two?" She asked, looking between (Y/N) and Spencer.

"Can we actually just order something for takeout?" Spencer asked, looking at the menu above her head.

"Of course! What can I get for the handsome couple?" She smiled, her brown eyes crinkling on the side.

Spencer blinked. "Oh, uh, w-we, uh, we're not—," Spencer stammered, his eyes widening as his cheeks flushed. "Um, can we get a, uh, a large pepperoni pizza?" He shifted gears, remembering her once mentioning to Garcia that pepperoni was her favorite pizza topping.

"Did you want a two liter bottle of cola? It would only be an extra $1.25," the lady chuckled, entering everything into the register.

"S-sure," he responded, pulling out his wallet.

"Alrighty! That will be $9.25," Spencer handed over a $20 and the lady opened the register drawer and handed him his change. "Please, feel free to have a seat while the two of you wait." She gestured over at the tables, which were all empty save for one, which was occupied by a single woman with a large slice of pizza on her table doing a crossword puzzle, before walking back through the door behind her.

"After you," he turned to (Y/N), following her to a table by the window. He pulled the chair out for her, earning another one of her beautiful giggles that made his legs go wobbly.

"Always such a gentleman," she smiled up at him as he made his way to the other side of the table and sat down. They waited for around 10 minutes and chatted about random topics, flowing from one to the next. The same lady from before approached the table with a white pizza box and plastic bag with the large bottle of soda and little packets of crushed red peppers and parmesan.

"Here you go, one large pepperoni pizza!" She placed the box and the bag on the table and wished them a good evening before heading back through the same door behind the counter.

The pair headed out of the shop and crossed the street, entering the door to Spencer's apartment building. Spencer carried the pizza box and soda while trailing behind (Y/N), struggling to keep his gaze off of her behind as he followed her up the stairs. As they approached his door, he fumbled trying to get his keys out of his pocket and ended up dropping them on the ground.

(Y/N) immediately reacted, bending down to grab the keys as soon as they hit the ground with a good natured laugh. "Need some help, Spencer?" She teased while grinning up at him.

"Yes, please," he laughed in return, shooting her a sheepish grin of his own. She unlocked the door to his apartment and opened the door, allowing him to slip in first and place the pizza and soda down on his small table. She followed and closed the door behind her.

"So I know I had agreed to come over to watch Star Trek, but what would you say to watching a little Doctor who?" She turned to him, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "It's been a while since I've sat down and watched that and I kind of miss it."

"We can watch anything you'd like!" Spencer responded while heading to the kitchen to grab a couple of plates and glasses. He brought them back out and offered one of each to (Y/N). They each helped themselves to a slice of pizza and poured their drinks before heading over to his couch. He grabbed the remote and put on Doctor Who.

They ate their pizza and watched Doctor Who on his couch, each of them getting up for another slice at least once. Spencer stole the occasional glance at her as they ate and watched, and once they both finished he took their plates to the sink and washed them off before quickly returning. As he sat back down, (Y/N) scooted closer to him slowly before gently leaning up against him and softly asking, "i-is this okay?"

Spencer's breath hitched in his throat as he managed to croak out a quiet, "y-yeah, it's okay." He lifted his arm and tentatively placed it around her shoulders while she moved in closer, leaning into his chest and resting her head against it like she had on the plane as they read together. This time he was sure she had to hear the way his heart was racing, but fortunately she said nothing. They continued to watch in silence as the tension between the two of them grew nearly palpable.

Eventually, once Spencer found himself wondering if she had yet again fallen asleep, (Y/N) broke the silence with a question. "So did you hear the team talking about us earlier today?"

"No, uh, wh-what were they, um, talking about?" He lied, doing his best to maintain his composure.

"You are a very bad liar, Spencer," she chuckled, making his cheeks flush bright red as she sat up.

"Sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes before looking up at her. "Y-yeah, I overheard them. I'm sorry about them, I can try to talk to them about it and ask them to stop—"

"No, it's not that! It was actually fairly funny," she chuckled, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "But to be honest I'm kind of offended that they thought it would take me that long to seduce you." She joked, nudging Spencer in the ribs. "I mean, Emily said 'no more or less than 24 hours' but I'm fairly certain that if I really tried, and I mean really put my heart into it, I could get you into bed with me tonight." She laughed again but there was a hint of nervousness in it this time, shooting a look at him from where she sat as a faint pink blush began to spread over her cheeks. Apparently she hadn't heard Hotch's bet, but Spencer wasn't focusing on that. He was too busy focusing on the fact that he was sitting here listening to her speculate how long it would take for her to seduce him as if she hadn't been plaguing his dreams and fantasies since they met.

"Good point," he breathed to himself, hoping it was quiet enough that she wouldn't be able to hear over the TV. Unfortunately for him, he thought wrong. He yelped in surprise as she lunged over his lap, grabbed the remote, and hit the mute button, making the TV go silent.

"Oh, really?" She shot him a smile that was an equal mix of surprised and some other emotion Spencer hadn't seen on her face before. "So tell me, Spencer, what might I need to do to convince you to sleep with me?" Her voice was sultry and soft as she bit her lip and looked up at him, her face closer to his than it had been before.

"I-I, uh," Spencer cleared his throat and swallowed, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He had two options: try to lie his way out of this or just tell her how badly he'd like nothing more than to lay her down and take her right there on the couch. His palms grew slick again but he took a deep breath. He had already been called out for his poor lying skills once this evening, so there was no point in attempting the first option. Instead he simply opted to tell her the truth.

"Y-you wouldn't have to do anything more than just ask and I'd say yes." His voice was barely above a whisper and he finally looked up to meet her eyes before he added, "in a heartbeat."

Before he could fully register what was happening she had leaned in and pressed her lips to his softly. His eyes slowly closed as he kissed her back, shifting to turn so he was facing towards her with more of his body. His hands slid to her waist, wrapping around her and pulling her into him.

When they pulled away from each other he reached his hand up to cup her cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb. He opened his eyes to find her already looking at him before she softly said, "Spencer, would you like to—"

"Yes," he exhaled with a fervent nod, grabbing her face with his other hand and crashing his lips back against hers, her lips parting to allow his tongue into her mouth. She threw her arms around his neck and laid back, pulling Spencer down with her. They shifted their legs until Spencer's hips rested between her thighs, his cock stiffening rapidly in his pants.

Her hands tangled into his hair and he began gently grinding his hips against her. They both moaned into each other's mouths at the sensation and Spencer's movements became more insistent and needy. When they finally broke apart to catch their breath, her cheeks were flushed and her pupils were dilated. Spencer brushed some of her hair out of her face before he pressed his lips to her cheek, then began trailing kisses from her cheek to her chin, then to her neck. She moved her hands to the collar of her shirt and began undoing the buttons while Spencer rose up to remove his own layers.

Once he had removed his shirt he looked back down at her and the sight awaiting him stole the breath right from his lungs. She had removed her shirt and her bra in the time it took him to get his jacket, vest, and shirt off and her entire torso was on display to him. He brought a hand up to one of her breasts and cupped it in his hand, brushing his thumb over the nipple. He leaned back over her and began kissing her neck again, teasing and tormenting her nipple before moving his mouth to take over, his fingers going to the other one to tease while he suckled and ran his tongue over the first one.

Everything else faded into the background when he heard her moan at sensations, including the throbbing and aching need in his pants. All that he could focus on was drawing more of those sounds form her mouth. He let his teeth graze against her nipple and she gasped, tangling her fingers back into his hair. He let his teeth press gently onto the hardened nub again and the moan she released in response was beautiful enough for him to think that maybe he had died and gone to heaven.

He eventually moved his hand from her other nipple, switching it out for his mouth and giving the first one a break. He let his hand trail down her abdomen, stopping as he reached the waistline of her skirt. He looked up at her from her chest as he hooked his fingers into the waistband and began to gently tug. She lifted her hips and used her hands to push her skirt and panties down before Spencer slowly pushed her thighs back open.

His fingers slid up her inner thigh until he reached her dripping center. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt just how ready she was for him. She whimpered beneath him and he felt his cock twitch at the sound as he moaned against her nipple. He gently ran a fingertip from her entrance to her clit, circling around it slowly before running his finger back down the other way. He repeated the action a few times. As he continued he started slipping the tip of his finger into the entrance of her pussy before swiping up to the clit, and with each repetition his finger slipped deeper and deeper into her.

His head became hazy with lust as he kept going until his finger was fully embedded into her. When he slipped it out this time instead of swiping it up to her clit he instead added a second finger, slowly pushing them both into her and pulling them back out. She arched her back up into his mouth, still tormenting her nipple. He switched back to the neglected one, feeling her chest heave against his mouth. Her fingers were back in his hair and tugging gently, and his cock twitched again at the feeling. He moaned loudly against her chest, and she pulled his hair again in response. He tugged at her nipple with his teeth lightly and she gasped, clenching around his fingers.

He sped up his pace, chuckling against her as the way she stifled a scream. "S-Spencer I'm gonna—oh fuck yes I'm coming!" She cried. Spencer pulled back to see her eyes flutter back into her head and her face twist in pleasure. Her face, neck, and chest were flushed scarlet and he felt as her pussy pulsed around his fingers. The sounds that fell from her lips were more beautiful than anything he'd ever heard. He slowed his fingers down, gently coaxing her through her orgasm.

(Y/N) tugged his hair, pulling him up to crash her lips against his. She then moved those hands to his belt, deftly undoing his belt buckle and fly. Spencer removed his belt and then pushed his pants and briefs to his ankles before kicking them off. (Y/N) reached a hand out and ran her fingers over his cock, her thumb swiping across the tip as it throbbed.

He was aching and leaking into her hand, his hips bucking into her touch while she stroked once, twice, a third time, before guiding the tip between her thighs and pressing him against her entrance. He pushed in immediately, moaning at the heat that enveloped him, and stilled once he was fully sheathed inside of her. He panted heavily as he remained still inside of her, listening to the way she whimpered beneath him.

"S-so good," he whispered, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to keep himself from finishing immediately.

"Yeah? It feels good?" She asked breathlessly.

"Yes!" He moaned. "You feel s-so good." His entire body tensed and his arms trembled under his weight when he felt her begin to writhe beneath him, trying to get some sort of friction between her legs. He took deep breaths before he pulled his hips back and pushed them back forward, earning enthusiastic moans from (Y/N)'s lips as her back arched up off of the bed, her chest pressing into his. He dragged himself back out, then back in, and kept this up until their hips had fallen into rhythm together. Every sound that fell from her lips was more beautiful than the last as Spencer rammed into her and the slap of skin on skin was mixed in with their moans.

"Sp-Spencer—" a moan cut her off, followed by his lips finding hers and swallowing the moan. His hips sped up and he felt her nails dig into his shoulders.

"I—oh my god—(Y/N), I think I'm about to come!" He cried out. He tipped his head back and a desperate whine ripped it's way from his throat as he felt himself growing closer and closer with each disjointed thrust into her and each moan from her lips. "Wh-where do you want—oh god—where should I—"

"Give it to me, please!" She mewled underneath him. "Please, please fill me up Spencer, please I need—" he finished before she could even finish her pleas, moaning loudly as he tensed and spilled every drop into her. He could feel her clench down onto him, could hear her cry out in pleasure and felt her fingernails digging into his shoulders hard enough that he suspected she may have drawn blood, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that through the pleasure coursing through every cell in his body.

By the time he came back down, he could barely hold himself up on his arms with how hard they were trembling. He opened his eyes and was blown away by the sight beneath him. Her hair was tousled and her face and chest were flushed, the latter heaving with her own gasps for air. Spencer leaned in to give her lips a soft kiss before pulling himself out of her. When he looked down in between their legs and saw his seed dripping out of her, his head spun with lust. He was snapped out of it by the sound of a cell phone ringing, and he reached for the source of the sound to determine which of them needed to answer.

When he located the phone beneath his own pants he answered figuring it to be his own phone ringing. "Hello?" He was still breathlessly panting as he looked at (Y/N), her eyes dancing with humor at his tone.

"Reid, is that you?" Garcia's voice came through the phone.

"Yeah, who else would it be?" He asked, gaining back a bit of control over his breathing.

"Well, given that I dialed (Y/N)'s number, perhaps her?" She laughed a little bit. "What are you doing answering (Y/N)'s phone sounding like you just finished a marathon?" She asked, her voice growing more and more excited with each word.

"I—uh, um—(Y-Y/N)'s phone?" He stammered, sitting up quickly at the words as he turned his gaze to (Y/N), who was cleaning herself up next to him with some tissues she had grabbed from his side table. Her eyes widened as she heard those two words come from his mouth and her hand shot to cover her mouth to stifle her laughter. "I. uh, I guess I must have grabbed hers by mistake after we ate lunch together at her desk."

"Spencer Reid you really are the world's worst liar!" Garcia laughed from the other end as Spencer felt his entire face burn with embarrassment at being called out on his poor lying skills twice in one evening.

"I-it's for you," he mumbled while he handed her the phone. After he had cleaned himself up, he put his pants and shirt back on while he let (Y/N) focus on her conversation with Garcia, which she managed to continue while getting dressed. Once she had hung up the phone she pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed slowly while laughing.

"Well, now that Penelope knows so will everyone on the team," she let out a sigh but then smiled at Spencer so sweetly he couldn't help but scoot closer and wrap his arms around her again. They sat like that for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's presence in front of the still muted television.

"Hey, Spencer?" She spoke up eventually.

"Yeah?" He muttered back sleepily while he absent-mindedly played with her hair.

"I'm going to go grab another slice of pizza, want me to bring you one, too?"

[fleuriieu]

May i pls request fem!reader x sevika? I've been fallen for her since 3 years ago and after her scenes in ep 2 i was so in awe and giddy i need to read more of her 😭🤲

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀 ( 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 ) — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐂𝐒

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖞𝖕𝖊 :: bullet points / short drabble

˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝐤𝖔𝖗𝖎 :: im absolutely in love with sevika too so this was really good timing!! ive been wanting to write for her and viktor for the longest time :3 i hope youre okay with me doing general hcs, i didnt know if you wanted anything specific so i just did this 😋 also, sorry if she turned out ooc, this is my first time writing for arcane characters 😓

[ masterlists ]

ᥫ᭡ sevika will be the most protective gf ever—anywhere you go, she’ll always be 2 steps behind looking out for you!

ᥫ᭡ its not that she doesn’t think you can take care of yourself, but its just who she is. she gets worried, especially if you’re wandering around in the undercity

ᥫ᭡ she will 100% be your biggest hype woman. whenever you wear something new for date night, you can see her pupils dilating when looking at you with a small smirk on her face

ᥫ᭡ rather than hand holding i think she would be someone to wrap her arms around your waist, almost possessive in a way. when shes not doing that though, she would want you to have a hand holding onto her biceps

ᥫ᭡ will never ever let you tag along with anything work related. shes pretty dead set on separating you with her dirty work, for your safety

ᥫ᭡ some nights when it gets bad, she just wants you to hold her. don’t say anything. don’t ask her questions. just be with her until the next morning

ᥫ᭡ she loves to bring you back little trinkets or accessories from her missions that she thinks you’ll like / will look good on you. she would never admit it, but her heart always skips a beat when she sees you wearing something that she got for you herself

ᥫ᭡ lives for teasing/banter arguments. she finds it so hot when youre all riled up and mad at her, because she knows that she’ll make it up to you later anyways ( WHAAAT 😦 )

ᥫ᭡ she has insane mood swings on her period. one time, she accidentally snapped at you while you were trying to tell her about your day, and she felt so incredibly shitty for like 2 months

ᥫ᭡ sometimes, she gets nightmares of you dying in her arms due to an enforcer attack. its a reoccurring dream, and whenever she jolts awake in a cold sweat, you reassure her that you’re still there. you’re alive, and you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

ᥫ᭡ sevika finds it adorable when you give her little nicknames. “vika”, “sevi” , “baby” , and “big mama” ( hehe ) are her favorites

ᥫ᭡ tries to have a date night at least once every two weeks. of course she would like it if it happened more often, but with her schedule its just not possible. when you two do go on dates though, she makes sure to go all out and make it the most enjoyable experience for you

ᥫ᭡ her coworkers are so surprised at how soft she has gotten because of you. she has something to fight for other than zaun now, and once they get their promised land then she’ll finally settle down with you and live through the rest with you by her side

[blindmagdalena]

All of a Sudden, There You Are

3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.

As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.

Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.

He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.

Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.

It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.

"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.

That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.

He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”

"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.

That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.

He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.

Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.

Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.

"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.

"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.

He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."

You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.

He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.

You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.

"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.

"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual. 

The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.

The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.

Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.

When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most. 

He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room. 

“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue. 

You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.

He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”

Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.

You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical. 

“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.

“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head? 

Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.

“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words.  “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”

love me back.

Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more. 

“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.

He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.

God, how he wants to feel every part of you. 

You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.

Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.

“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.

He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.

“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.

Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.

[poguelandiarafe]

broken promises | rafe cameron

pairing - rafe cameron x female reader

warnings - angst, mature language, mentions of infidelity.

summary - after coming home to rafe in bed with another girl, he tries to break up with you, claiming 'it's for your own good'. you don't let him, not allowing him to play the victim. there's a plot twist at the end btw :)

masterlist

part two

--------

"it's for your own good, y/n. you know it is."

the room is heavy with tension as you stand in front of rafe. as you stand in front of the man who, for the past three years, always told you he'd do anything for you, who told you how much he loved you every day. now all those words feel meaningless.

he's sat on the edge of the bed, jaw clenched as he watches you pace in front of him. his gaze is fixed on the floor, unable to meet yours while your words punch through the air. his hands are interlocked, resting in his lap as if he's trying to restrain himself from grabbing you and forcing you to let him explain. but it's too late for that now.

"no, no, no, rafe," you say, voice trembling but getting louder with each word, "you do not get to have the satisfaction of ending this relationship. i won't let you sit here and pretend you're ending it for me when you're the one who fucked up."

your voice echoes off the walls that once contained your shared love and laughter but now contain heartbreak and infidelity. the sheets of the bed are still messy and as you glance at them, they do nothing but fuel your rage. your chest is heaving and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. the anger and betrayal course through your veins as you try to make sense of what you came home to.

"sofia." her name makes you sick to your stomach as you say it.

rafe closes his eyes, like if he can't see the mess he created it'll all go away. he lets out a shaky breath but still remains silent. you laugh dryly when he doesn't respond and his head snaps up to meet your gaze.

"say something." you demand, "say something, rafe. or i swear to god i'll walk out of here right now."

he inhales deeply, running a hand over his buzzed hair, "what do you want me to say, huh? that i regret it? of course i fucking do, but it's happened! i can't do anything to change that."

your mind is racing, thoughts consumed with images of him and sofia together. of her standing right where you are now, her laying where you lay every night.

"wow," you whisper, kissing your teeth, "you don't even care do you? you don't even care that i had to see the love of my life in my bed with another girl."

"our be-"

"don't!" you cut him off, "don't you dare say our bed, rafe. i don't want to share anything with you after what you've done."

"y/n, please, i'm sorry," he says, vulnerability lacing his words, "i never wanted this to happen."

"never wanted it to happen or never wanted me to find out?" you scoff, "you're not the victim here, rafe. nothing about this makes you the victim. not only did you cheat on me, but you're trying to end this with me? i don't think so."

his eyes darken and he lets out another shaky breath. you're staring at him intensely, waiting for his next move, for him to do something. he stands up, stepping closer to you and attempts to touch your arm before you step back.

"don't touch me." you warn, voice cracking slightly, "just... i'm gonna go. i can't be here right now."

his face falls, the depth of the mess he created finally setting in. he watches as you grab your bag, shuffling around for something inside until you find it.

"i'm pregnant, by the way," you announce, throwing the pregnancy test at him before turning around and leaving, "merry fucking christmas, rafe."