#and then decided to make a play out of it just to make fun of the people they didn’t like

[oldqueergrandma]

Everyone's experience has nuance, so here is mine;

While I was in high school, I was having a pretty good time. I had a circle of friends besides my one Worstie. I outsmarted a couple of scheduling problems so that I could take instrumental music, vocal music, and art electives each year. I'd started going to SF/Conventions so I'd found My People and my world was already a lot bigger than my high school.

It wasn't until later that I saw how seriously fucked up my life was then. Why I busted my ass to go to college four hours away, and then just collapsed. That drive I had in high school evaporated on me. I was free, and I didn't really understand what that meant.

Some years later, after he went through a lot of therapy, my (3 years younger) brother asked me if I could pinpoint "when things at home got really bad."

My reply was that they got steadily worse. I could really see it when I flunked out of college and had to move back home the following year.

For him, that year I went away marked the "Worst" year. And I just stared at him and very softly said, "And why do you think that? What was different about that year?"

I watched him connect the dots at last. "You weren't there... To protect me."

"And I'm sorry."

Now, we didn't have a horror story.

We weren't beaten, or starved. We weren't forced to work part-time jobs while in school to feed the family. My brothers were allowed to play sports and I was allowed to pursue art.

But we were being emotionally abused, financially abused, and watching our parents' descent into their own miserable madness.

High school is when you start to see the bigger picture. High school is when many of us start to see what kind of cage we have been living in.

And, for some people, they don't experience that awareness. They love it so much because it's the only time in their lives when the ratio of freedoms-to-Responsibilities is favorable. And they spend their life reliving those Glory Days.

But I gotta tell you, and tell you truly:

It gets better. It's going to get better in ways that you might not even know about. You are going to become the manager of your own affairs, and that means you're going to get to make choices about the shape of your life.

High school *can* be practice for figuring out your life. But once you're no longer being monitored, you have only yourself to answer to.

If your life right now is miserable, try to find a space in your mind to decide what you want it to be like.

One day, you will be able to curate your experiences fully.

Maybe you won't have a mansion to live in, but an apartment. If you need personal space that is really private, promise yourself now that you'll work toward that goal. (Ditto for a house full of fun roommates, a dorm room all tricked out with a loft, or house with a yard.)

One day, you will be able to curate your friend group, based on people you like, who are supportive and fun. You won't be thrown together with randos who happen to live nearby and were born the same year.

One day, you won't have to sneak around to date. One day, you can make your own choices (including not to date.)

Life is a great adventure. Consider me the wizard walking through the door to inform you that you're special. That there is great peril, but also great rewards ahead. It is dangerous to go alone.

But take my hand. Everything will turn out right in the end.

what a beautiful day to not be in high school

[cinnamoonblue]

It reminds me of you

ONE SHOT - Ryomen Sukuna/Reader (female)

DESCRIPTION: Modern AU - fluff

SUMMARY: You want a Labubu so bad, especially the one which reminds you the most of your boyfriend, and he makes sure you get everything you want.

WARNINGS: english is not my first language, explicit language, pet names (princess, brat, woman), reader described as a female

WORD COUNT: 2,9K

✰ MASTERLIST ✰

NOTE: This is my first Sukuna one-shot ever, and I'm so excited. I have been wanting to start writing about him for such a long time now, and recently I finally become a Labubu mami and I love them so much and they have always reminded me so much of him so I had to write this. I hope you have fun reading this short one-shot with Sukuna as your mean, rude and grumpy man to the world, but being the most carrying and sweetest boyfriend to you. I know that for a lot of you this might not be the most correct take/description of modern day Sukuna, but low-key I think that he will be a big softy for his girl. ♡ Enjoy reading ♡

!PLEASE IF SOMEONE KNOW WHO IS THE ARTIST BEHIND THIS FANART OF SUKUNA IS IN THE BANNER LET ME KNOW SO I CAN CREDIT THEM!

It all started when one day you saw a TikTok of some girl unboxing something called Labubu. The moment you saw the fluffy small monster you fell in love with it and wanted one immediately. Sadly, when you checked the website where they sell them everything was sold out.

Since that day, your boyfriend has been hearing about these so called Labubus all the time. Sukuna, being Sukuna of course, doesn’t get the hype behind them and thinks that they are just a waste of money, but you choose to ignore him and his opinion.

Tonight is Friday, surprisingly both of you have it off today from both your university and the part time jobs you have, so you have decided to just stay home and do nothing. Ordering a takeaway from the nearest ramen shop closest to your apartment, you two eat your dinner while doing your own stuffs – you snuggled up in bed watching your favorite series, while Sukuna is playing games with his friends on his computer.

Your boyfriend seems to be losing as you can hear him loud and clearly cussing out his opponents and friends, but you don’t pay much attention to it as you are quite use to this type of behavior from him.

You and Sukuna are very different as people. When you started dating two years ago it came as a surprise to everyone around you. While you are more of a layback, nice and open person, Sukuna is a menace. He is rude, he is mean, he is eighty percent of the time grumpy, and he is probably the biggest cocky asshole a person can be or meet - is what everyone will say if you ask them about your salmon haired boyfriend. What they don’t know is that they are right, but also very wrong. He is all this and even more, the list with his bad sides and qualities is quite long. What they don’t know is that your boyfriend is also the most carrying, loving and sweet boyfriend any girl in this world would dream about, but only you get the chance to call him yours.

To this day you are the only person who he has let to know him on such a deeper level. Even his closes friends, Uraume and Toji, had never seen how sweet and carrying Sukuna could be until they met you, which leaded to a lot of teasing and messing around with him from his friends, but even when it seemed like he couldn’t stand it when they do it, from the inside Sukuna didn’t really care. As long as his girl is happy, he is willing to do the best he can, so you never feel unloved or cared about.

As they night continued you have switched from watching your favorite show to scrolling on TikTok. Tonight is a very important night for you as Labubu is having a big restocking and all you want is to get your hands on two boxes – one for you and one for your boyfriend.

Even though Sukuna doesn’t like or see the hype behind them, they remind you so much of him, and because of it you want to match with your boyfriend and get him one as well.

You know that you can’t keep yourself awake till four in the morning when the release will be so instead you put alarms to wake yourself up. Getting up from the bed before you fall asleep, you go to Sukuna who is still playing and wrap your hands around him.

“I’m going to sleep now.” You say to him as you place kisses all over his face while his eyes are focused on the game he is currently playing. “Are you coming to bed soon?”

Cussing out one more time as his team loses, he takes his headphones down and turns to you. Taking your face in the palms of his hands, he pulls you closer to him as he crashes his lips into yours. The kiss you share is both aggressive and gentle at the same time, but you don’t mind.

“No, princess. All because someone doesn’t know how to play.” He says to the mic attached to the headphones from which you can hear Toji’s voice complaining about Sukuna and his skills.

You laugh when you see your boyfriend’s grumpy face and kiss his lips one more time. “Don’t take too long.” You tell him as you wish him and Toji goodnight.

Your alarm rings at exactly three fifty-eight in the morning, but in your sleepy state you turn it off and roll to the side hoping that you will find your boyfriend next to you but instead you are met with an empty bed. Sitting up in bed you open your eyes and see him still on his computer talking quietly, probably still with Toji, making sure not to wake you up.

Grabbing your phone to see what time it is, the realization hits you. The Labubu drop. It is tonight and it is happening right now. Unlocking your phone and typing the website you breathe out for a second as you see that it is loading so you still have the chance to have your hands on two boxes, after all you are just a minute late after four.

“No, no, no, no.” You scream in despair as the website crashes. This makes your boyfriend immediately turn around and look at you. Seeing you whining and hitting the pillows in the bed with all the power you have in you, he takes his headphones off and gets up from his gaming chair.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Getting in bed and wrapping his arms around you he pulls you closer to his big define with muscles body.

“I failed.” You cry as your turn towards him, burying your head in his naked chest and wrapping your arms around his neck.

Looking down at you Sukuna raises one brow. What have you failed exactly? You have already passed the last exam you had, so what it could be you failed so badly at four in the morning?

“What are you talking about?” His voice deep as always makes you look up at him.

“The Labubu war. I failed getting us Labubus.” Crying out dramatically, you bury your face again in his chest.

“Woman, are you fucking crazy?” He can’t believe that this whole scene is all about some overpriced kid’s toy. “You can’t be serious. All this at four am, for some ugly ass toy?”

Pulling away from him, you give him an offended look. “How could you call Labubu ugly?” You try to push him away from you, but this is impossible. This man is at least five times your size if anything you made things worse, as he pulls you to lay down with him.

“They are, princess.” His arms tighten around you even more as you gasp when he offended your little obsession again.

“No, Kuna they are not.” You protest once again as you try to escape your boyfriend’s deadly grip. “They are extremely cute, and you have no idea how much I want to get us some.”

“Why you keep saying us?” Easing his grip a bit he looks at you once again with confusion and a bit of irritation written all over his face.

“Because I want to get one for you as well, so we can match.” Propping on one arm on the bed you move your body a bit sideways to Sukuna’s in a way that you can balance it as you start running the fingers of your other hand through his soft salmon pink locks.

“I’m not carrying this ugly ass toy anywhere.” A makeshift of a mocking laughter escapes past his lips as he can’t believe that you want to get him one as well, even when you know that he doesn’t like them.

“You were going to put it in your car as a car charm.” Grabbing a bit of his hair in a fist you pull it playfully, making him hiss a bit from it.

“Oh, so you already decided where I’ll put it.” He playfully rolls his eyes as you nod at him.

“You know, I don’t know if I have mentioned, but they remind me of you so much.” Pushing yourself up with one hand, you cross one leg over his body and now you are sitting on top of him, tracing his tattoos with your fingers.  

“These monster looking things?”

“Yes, Kuna. These monster looking things.” You reply with a smile as you bend your body closer to him, your faces now millimeters apart. “Because they seem evil and mean from the outside, but they are actually super nice, and sweet, and cute.” With every word you say, you place a kiss on his lips. His grumpy face doesn’t change much, but you know him very well and you know that he enjoys what you are doing. “Should I stop?”

Giving you a warning look with his dark crimson eyes, you just laugh at him as you continue to kiss his lips. “I’m not cute.” He murmurs in between your kisses.

“Sure, Sukuna. Sure.” You whisper with a smile.

It has been a week since that night. You have promised yourself that you will get Labubu no matter what next time they drop, but the problem is that it won’t be any time soon. You have found a lot of resellers in your city, but the prices they sell them for are crazy and as much as you want one for you and your boyfriend you won’t spent that much money on it.

Coming home from a long shift from work and a long day from lectures all you want is to take a hot shower and snuggle up in bed. Sukuna is working tonight as well, but you don’t know when he will be home. The nightclub he works at doesn’t close until five in the morning and even if you text him, he won’t be able to response, so all you can do is guess when he might be back.

After taking your hot shower before bed your whole body feels a bit relaxed, but it is still crying for sleep. Instead of putting on pajamas, you go for one of your boyfriend’s T-shirts. The moment you put it on, you hear the front door of your apartment opening.

Walking out of the bedroom you are met with your tired boyfriend’s face. “Hey, Kuna.” You say as you go to him and wrap your arms around him. “Why home so early?”

“It was slow. They can manage without me.” He grunts as he pulls away a bit but still holds you in his arms. “I have something for you, brat.” He tells you, giving you a tired, cocky smile, the one you love so much.

You can’t help but smile. This is the real Sukuna for you, the one only you have the privilege to see - grumpy, but carrying; tired, but still very loving.

Nodding with his head, Sukuna leads you to your living room, and you both sit on the sofa. Taking his black backpack from his bag he tells you to close your eyes, and you do exactly what he tells you to do. You can hear him unzipping the bag and then taking something out of it, pulling it on the table. “Okay, open them now.”

Opening your eyes, you look at the coffee table and see what is on top of it. Gasping loudly, your eyes widen, and you can help but happily stomp with your legs on the floor. Two Labubu boxes. He got you not one, but two Labubu boxes as you wanted. “Sukuna… you… how?”

“I have my ways.” He smirks at you.

The excitement in your voice fills up the room and you can’t help but throw yourself in your boyfriend’s body. “I love you, Kuna. I love you so much.”

Wrapping his arms around your body and rolling his eyes as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, he murmurs. “Yea, yea. Me too, brat.”

Pulling away from him you give him a quick kiss on the lips before you take the boxes in your hand.

“They are not from the two different collections, one of them is the one you wanted the most, so…” Hearing this you are not surprised. He might be grumpy and seems like he doesn’t always pay attention to what you are saying, but Sukuna always listens. Of course, he has heard, and against his will, remembers all the things you have said about this stupid keychain of toys. He knows which collection you want the most, and which color you wanted, but he has managed to find only one box from it, but he hopes you like the other one as well.

“Okay, let’s open the macaron one first.” You excitedly say, as you closed your eyes and started to open the box. “I really want the pink one.”

Sukuna can’t help but smile. You are adorable. Not only now when you are all excited as a little kid about some toy, but in general. He will be lying if he says that he doesn’t love this childish side of yours. He adores it. He adores everything about you.

Finally, opening the box and the small package the Labubu is in it, you open your eyes. “Oh my, Kuna, look how cute it is.” You coo at the grey Lububu in your hands, pulling it closer to you in a hug.

“But it’s not pink.” Sukuna comments as he takes it from your hands to observe it better, still not understanding the hype.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s still super cute.” Reaching for the other box, you take a better look at it, before you open it. It is the ‘Have a Seat’ edition, the other one you wanted the most, because here is the Labubu that reminds you the most of Sukuna and you are praying to be it in the box.

Doing the exact same blind opening as you did with the first box, you take a deep breath before opening your eyes. You not only scream, but also jumped from excitement, which made Sukuna flinch in surprise.

“Calm down, woman. You’ll wake the neighbors up.”

“Baby, oh my, Kuna. Kuna, look!” You excitedly start to jump on one spot on the sofa, your excitement through the roof, because you have got the one you want the most. The salmon pink one, with red eyes with heart shapes in them. Your own Labubu Sukuna. “I got you in Labubu version.”

Turning the Labubu, towards him, Sukuna just rolls his eyes. It looks nothing like him. He is a tall, big, scary for some people man, not a pink furry monster keychain. “It looks nothing like me.” He grunts.

“Yes, it does, Kuna.” You pull him closer for a kiss. “Thank you. You made me so happy tonight.” Placing a kiss on his cheek, you also wrap your arms around him.

“Only tonight?” He slightly tilts his head to take a better look at you.

“A bit more, than usual.” You reply.

Two weeks later you, Sukuna and Toji went out for a few drinks. Sukuna didn’t drink tonight, because he has decided to go out with his car, and right now he is the only sober one, he has to drag you and Toji to where he has parked.

“Come on, get in asshole.” He tells Toji as he tries to get him to sit in the back seat of the car. Once he gets Toji to get in the car, he closes the door and gets to the driver’s seat.

“The fuck is this mouse hanging on the mirror?” Toji laughs from the back of the car as he points towards Sukuna’s grey Labubu hanging on the rear-view mirror.

“This is Labubu.” You turn around to look at Toji as you explain to him what Labubu is and you show him your salmon pink one, placed in a little car basket on the air conditioner on your side.

On your way to Toji’s place he heard everything about Labubu, and the story of how you got them. “It was last week when we went to the mall and bought them their outfits and the car seat.” You happily squeak as you take look at your Labubus. Your Labubu is dressed in a cute pink outfit, and Sukuna’s wears a black robbery mask, with a silver and gold chain around its neck and a gun in one hand.

“We are here. Now get out before you throw up in my car.” Sukuna turns to Toji as he parked in front of his place. He knows that from tomorrow Toji won’t stop making fun of him, all because of this stupid toy.

Before Toji gets out of the car, he pats Sukuna on the shoulder and leans closer to tell him something, which you don’t catch. “Aren’t you a big softy, Kuna?” Without giving Sukuna a chance to response, Toji is out of the car, as he knows how to piss his best friend off the best – call him weak for you and use the nickname only you can call him.

“What did he say?” You ask once you two are alone and Sukuna starts the engine again.

“That Labubu sucks.”

END NOTE: I hope you really liked this short one-shot. Sukuna is one of my most favorite anime men (I have only two most favorite men lol) and this is the first time ever I write something about him, so every criticism about it will be appreciated, as I plan to write a lot more about him in the future. If you liked this feel free to like, comment, reblog or message me ♡ Thank you for reading it ♡♡♡

writing, format, header © cinnamoonblue & dividers by © cinnamoonblue and @bernardsbendystraws ©cinnamoonblue, do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[p0orbaby]

Hello! If you’re still doing the short blurbs may I request a short one with R taking alexia ice skating? R’s really good and alexia’s really bad. So bad she needs to hold the kids penguin support thing type bad. But she’s a bit stubborn and doesn’t want help. She’s constantly holding on to the rail, falls on her bum and one kid even laughs at her. But after a few falls she finally gives in and lets R guide/help her, and even lets go of the side ☺️

No worries if it’s not your thing!

-

At first, she’s suspicious.

You’ve never seen Alexia side-eye a leisure centre before, but here we are. A converted warehouse in some unholy corner of South London with strip lighting, a vending machine from the ’90s, and the distinct smell of wet sock. She’s clinging to your sleeve like it’s diplomatic protocol.

“People do this… for fun?” she asks, brow arched, eyes darting around like she’s assessing the risk of frostbite.

“They do,” you say, handing her a pair of skates and watching her stare at them like they’ve personally wronged her. “It’s charming. Festive. Builds character.”

“You’re trying to kill me,” she decides.

You do not deny it.

She lasts twenty-three seconds on the ice before the first fall. It’s not even dramatic—more of a slow, deliberate sit-down, like her thighs have made an executive decision.

“I am not built for this,” she hisses, as a six-year-old glides past her effortlessly and then circles back to laugh. Loudly.

You try not to laugh with the child.

She glares at you from the ground. “I have two Ballon d’Ors.”

“And now you have mild bruising,” you reply, extending a hand.

She swats it away and scrambles upright via the wall like a very determined crab. “I don’t need help.”

“You just got shown up by a child in a Peppa Pig bobble hat.”

“She’s probably training for the Olympics.”

The next fall is less dignified. She tries to push off from the rail, gets maybe three inches of momentum, panics mid-glide, and immediately pancakes. A nearby steward offers her a little plastic penguin—the kind toddlers use to learn. She accepts it. With bitterness in her eyes and pride in shreds.

“This is humiliating,” she mutters, inching forward while clutching the penguin’s ears. “I play football for a living.”

“Exactly,” you say. “Footballers aren’t known for their balance.”

“I do Pilates.”

“That makes this even worse.”

She gives you a look that says I love you but I could end you right here on the ice and make it look like an accident.

You’re already pretty good. Comfortable. Confident, even. You circle around her once—purely to show off, obviously—then coast backwards in front of her like some smug, ice-dancing forest nymph.

“Stop that,” she snaps. “You look like that Disney ice queen, Elisa or whoever.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?”

“It’s rage,” she says, but her mouth twitches at the corners.

Three more falls and a minor tantrum later, she gives in.

You’re holding out a hand before she even asks. She takes it.

“I’m only doing this because I’m freezing and tired,” she says, like you’ve dragged her to a hostile terrain under false pretences.

You smile. “Of course.”

“Not because I need you.”

“Obviously not.”

And then—slowly, awkwardly, but determined—she lets go of the wall.

One of her hands is in yours. The other is still on the penguin’s plastic face, but it’s progress. Her feet slide forward, cautious but brave. You guide her gently, fingers tight around hers, keeping pace. Every now and then she wobbles, curses softly in Spanish, and shoots you a dirty look—as if the ice itself is under your command.

“You’re laughing,” she accuses.

“I’m delighted.”

“I’m never doing this again.”

“You’re doing so well.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

A pause. A sigh.

“Yes. But I hate you also.”

And you can’t help it—you beam. The rink lights are too bright, the air smells like someone’s gym bag, and your girlfriend is hanging on to a fibreglass penguin for dear life, but it might be the best date you’ve ever been on.

Even if she spends the rest of it muttering darkly about broken ankles and national embarrassment.

[hitomisuzuya]

okayokay.. sssmuttt!! fatui scara x fatui harbinger reader. scara messes with her(bullying, testing reader, teasing and degrading) you can choose how this goes from start to end!!(i have no idea for a scenario🥲) overstimulation, degredation, electro play, alot of clit play?😳 and maybe toys!!!

have a great day!

fatui harbinger! scaramouche x fatui harbinger!fem!reader. smut. clit play. sex toys. degradation. overstimulation. scara on a power trip.

for obvious dynamics reasons, the rank here is lower than scara's. chose your own rank though, just ya know? 😳

it's funny that certain things happen the way they do. you'd gone from being bullied by scaramouche in the hallway of the fatui operated hotel, to having your hands pinned above your head, your legs spread and your pussy drooling while the 6th fatui harbinger plays with your swollen clit.

scaramouche decided to take that adoring look you always have on your eyes for him, and make it his.

and what scaramouche wants, scaramouche always gets.

"i don't understand you," he muses, sighing, "you don't have the disposition to be a harbinger, and yet here you are," his cock throbs feeling how fast your pussy is soaking his fingers, "still, this fascination amuses me," you squirm in his grasp as his finger wags across your throbbing clit, bringing such a smirk to his face.

"i..i am not weak," you swallow a moan that inevitably comes out, your hips rocking up to grind your clit on his fingers.

"oh?" scaramouche laughs, clearly amused by your statement. you let out a gasp of pleasure as he imbues electro on the pads of his fingers. "then hold yourself from cumming while i abuse this pretty clit," he flicks your clit, keening a whine from you, "show me how strong you think you are."

your eyes widen for a moment. even as he said it, you knew you couldn't. the waves of pleasure just kept coming, building your orgasm up on stronger bursts. "i..i don't know if i can," you whimper, your walls squeezing tight around nothing.

scaramouche can't help but laugh again, massaging your clit in slow, agonizing circles. "too bad for you, saying that is only stretching my ego," he dips his fingers down to your entrance, teasing electro on the bundles of sensitive nerves around your entrance.

you cry out as pushes two fingers inside of you, flicking electro right on your sweet spot. your thighs shake as your hips buck into his fingers. "and this whore pussy is agreeing that you should submit to your superior," he sighs shakily feeling how much tighter you clench from his degradation.

mewls tinge your moans as he slides his fingers back up to your clit. "fuck, your moans are making me hard," he hisses, his moan sounds almost frustrated as precum beads onto the head of his hardening cock.

it's just so much fun for him to break you.

it's frustrating that you are reducing him to this, but he can't enough of the intoxicating way you respond to him, looking at him in such worship. like he is the very center of your world. he could cum right in his shorts observing your drooling, fucked out expression.

scoffing, he lets go of your wrists and grabs the vibrator on the bed next to him. "beg for this like it's my cock, and i may be merciful," he flicks his thumb over the button on the toy, imbuing the tip with electro and bringing it hum on your clit.

the storm of your orgasm builds up more, shamelessly grinding your clit on the vibrator. "no, i don't want you be merciful," you whine, your moans bordering on pornographic, "please, my lord, put it inside me. put it inside me with your cock!"

scaramouche turns up the setting on the vibrator, abruptly pushing it inside of you. he leaves the vibrator to thrust mechanically into your sweet spot, further overwhelming you as the dull ache of overstimulation floods through your twitching body.

"aww, look at that," he concentrates his fingers back on your clit, reaching up to flick one of hard nipples with electro. your walls snap tighter around the toy as drool pools from the corner of your mouth. "you are going to cum hard. you are weak. a pathetic, weak slut."

electro zaps against your throbbing clit. well delivered pinches send you over the edge. your pussy gushes on the toy, your body writhing from the intensity. "more, more please," you babble, effectively falling apart in the way in he fantasized about, hopelessly fisting his cock at night, trying so hard to forget about you.

"see how easy it is to submit to me," he decides to leave the vibrator inside of you, overstimulating you further as his head dips down between your legs. "i have many ways i can play with you, slut," electro hums on your clit as his tongue flicks across it. "i am going to enjoy indulging myself.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

what's a little ink?

pairing: han jisung x reader

word count: 7.3k

summary: you wanted the upper hand. you came for a tattoo. you also came for him. and somehow you ended up in his hoodie, eating his eggs, and wondering how a bet turned into this stupid, soft thing you just can’t resist wanting

tags: tattoo artist au, friends to lovers, fluff and smut. porn with plot. sweet, sappy, and gross romance. enjoy

requested by @burlesquerade hope u like it honey

It all started with a simple, completely ridiculous bet. You and Han had been hanging out for hours, as you often did, swapping old stories and making fun of each other’s quirky habits. Laughter echoed around the cozy living room, the kind of laughter that was easy and natural, the way it always was when the two of you were together.

"Okay," Han said, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leaned forward, eyes glinting with that playful spark you knew all too well. "If you can beat me at this stupid game one more time, I will get you whatever you want as a prize."

You raised an eyebrow, already suspecting he might be setting you up for something ridiculous. "Whatever I want? Really?"

"Yep. No holds barred. You name it, and it’s yours," Han assured you, his tone full of confident mischief. "But if I win…" He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. “You have to let me tattoo you.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Tattoo me? Really? That’s your big gamble?”

Han’s smile grew wider. “I’m a tattoo artist, remember? It's a fair trade. I think you’re too scared to let me do it.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, your fingers tapping idly on your cup. “Scared? Please. I’m not scared of a tattoo.”

His eyes narrowed, a challenge sparking in their depths. “Oh, so now you’re saying you can handle it? Alright then. You’re on. But we both know I’m going to win.”

You gave him a playful smirk. “Big talk for someone who has no idea what they’re up against.”

The game you were playing—a mix of cards, trivia, and guessing games—was silly, and it didn’t take long for the competition to become heated. But, much to your surprise, you did win. By a narrow margin, of course, but a win was a win.

Han’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from gloating too much. You had been expecting him to be smug, but now, as the reality of the situation sank in, you saw a flicker of something else cross his features.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, trying to hide his grin. “You won. So what do you want?”

You leaned back in the chair, considering your options. There were so many things you could ask for—something extravagant, maybe—but you had been thinking about this for a while. Han had been inking people for years now, and you had always wondered what it would feel like to have him work on you.

So, you decided to go for it.

“I want a tattoo,” you said with a straight face, barely able to hide the excitement in your voice.

He blinked at you. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Totally,” you answered, your grin impossible to hide. “You’re going to ink me, Han. And you can’t back out.”

He stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to make sure you weren’t joking, but then the challenge returned in his eyes.

“Well, if I have to do this, I get to choose where,” he said, his tone slightly mischievous. “No complaints, okay?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Fine. As long as I get to decide what the design is, I’ll leave the location to you.”

Han smirked and held out his hand. “Deal.”

The text from Han came just before noon.

“Hope you’re not chickening out. Studio at 3. Wear something loose. ;)”

You stared at your phone longer than you meant to, heat crawling up your neck. Chickening out? Hardly. But that stupid winking face was another story. He always knew how to push just the right buttons—just enough to make your pulse quicken, just enough to stir things that should probably stay buried.

Still, you showed up. Of course you did.

His studio was tucked into a quiet side street downtown, its glass windows fogged slightly from the early spring chill. You had been here before—countless times, really—but never like this. Never with your skin on the line. Never with your heart threatening to beat out of your chest for reasons that had very little to do with ink or needles.

The soft chime above the door rang as you stepped in. Han was already inside, hunched over a sketchpad, his brows knitted in concentration. A pencil twirled between his fingers as he tapped it against his lower lip, eyes flicking to you the moment you walked in.

And just like that, the air shifted.

He smiled, slow and crooked. “You came. I’m impressed.”

“You told me to. I don’t exactly think that counts as bravery,” you replied, trying to play it cool, even though you were already peeling off your jacket, already catching the way his eyes flicked to your collarbone with something unreadable.

Han rose from his chair, brushing his fingers through his soft brown hair. “I sketched some ideas. Wanna see?”

You nodded, joining him by the desk where several sheets were spread out. The designs were delicate—subtle, intricate things, clearly drawn with you in mind. One of them caught your eye: a minimalist crescent moon nestled inside a trail of tiny stars, the lines fine and whisper-soft.

“I like this one,” you murmured, fingers brushing the paper.

“I thought you might.” His voice had dropped a bit. He was watching you closely, as if your reaction meant something more than approval. “It’s gentle. Quiet. But it lingers.”

You swallowed.

“I’ve decided where to put it,” he added after a beat, stepping closer.

“Oh?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Do I get a hint?”

Han smiled, tilting his head just slightly as his eyes traveled—unapologetically—over your exposed shoulder, down the dip of your neck. “Upper shoulder. Right where it curves into your neck. Here.” He reached out, fingers grazing the exact spot, the barest ghost of a touch. “It’s a place you never see, but everyone else does. Intimate. Subtle. Kind of like the moon.”

You froze. It was a good idea—too good, actually. Because now, your body was responding to more than just nerves. The closeness. The delicacy in his voice. The way his fingertips lingered, resting there a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“I trust you,” you whispered, hoping it would ground you.

Han met your gaze. For once, he looked serious. “Then lie down for me.”

The chair was cold at first, the studio quiet but for the low murmur of music and the faint clatter of his tools. You lay on your side, hair pulled up and shirt slightly off one shoulder, baring the space where he would work. The air kissed your skin, but it was Han’s presence—his warmth—that you felt most acutely.

He cleaned the area with methodical care, the scent of alcohol and antiseptic somehow comforting. But it was the way his hand curved around your shoulder, the way his thumb brushed the nape of your neck, that made you hyper aware of every inch of yourself.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Mhmm.”

“Tell me if it hurts too much.”

You chose not to tell him that it already did—but not because of the needle.

As the machine buzzed to life, the first kiss of ink stung. You flinched, just slightly, and felt his other hand firm on your back in response. Steadying. Anchoring.

He worked in slow, precise strokes, the pressure rhythmic, hypnotic. But each time his fingers brushed your skin, each time his breath tickled your shoulder from how close he leaned—it lit something warm and aching inside you.

His voice broke through the quiet after a while, low and slightly hoarse. “You’re really still. Most people twitch like hell when it’s here.”

You exhaled, barely moving. “I think I just… don’t want to mess you up.”

“You couldn’t,” he murmured. And for a second, the machine paused. His hand stayed, resting lightly over the fresh lines. “You’re kind of perfect like this.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare ask what he meant. But in the pause between one stroke and the next, the silence pulsed—thick with something fragile, something not quite spoken yet.

He resumed working, but something had changed. His touches had always been skilled, steady, but now there was a new kind of deliberateness in the way his fingers slid across your skin—slower, more lingering, more aware. The buzz of the machine became background noise to the static dancing along your spine.

Your breath came shallow and controlled, each exhale purposeful, but no amount of focus could erase the way heat pooled low in your belly each time he adjusted your position, each time he leaned in just close enough that his breath grazed the shell of your ear.

"You’re warm," he said suddenly, voice barely audible over the low thrum of music.

You tilted your head, cheek brushing the leather of the chair. “Is that your way of saying I’m sweating too much?”

A quiet laugh. "No." He wiped the spot gently, fingers spread wide against your upper back. “Just saying... your skin feels alive.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to shiver.

He paused to dip the needle again, but his other hand stayed pressed against you—thumb dragging absently along the edge of your spine. And then, as though the words slipped free without permission, he added, “It’s kind of driving me crazy.”

The machine stilled. Your eyes snapped open.

“What?”

Han blinked, as if he had not meant to say it aloud. But the corner of his mouth lifted anyway, a half-smile that was equal parts sheepish and satisfied. “Nothing. Just... hard to stay focused when you’re under my hands like this.”

Your pulse spiked. “You’re the one who insisted on choosing the placement.”

“Maybe I wanted an excuse to touch you like this. To drive you crazy”

The air between you crackled. He was close now—too close. His hand still rested against your skin, fingers slightly curled as if resisting the urge to grip tighter. You felt it in your bones: the shift from friendly banter to something heavier. Something hungry.

The tattoo needle remained idle, forgotten for the moment.

Your voice came soft, but steady. “Are you always this... handsy when you’re working?”

He leaned in slowly, slowly, until his mouth hovered just behind your ear. “Only when the canvas makes it impossible not to be.”

Your breath caught. You could feel the heat of him, the deliberate pause before he moved again—not toward his tools, but toward you. His hand slid from your shoulder, knuckles brushing the side of your throat in a line so featherlight it made your skin pebble.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You said you wanted to drive me crazy, too.”

“Is it working?” he murmured.

You closed your eyes, exhaling. “I think you already know the answer.”

Han chuckled under his breath, but there was a tightness in it—like restraint stretched thin. Still, he didn’t kiss you. Didn’t push further. Instead, he pressed a hand to your waist and guided you gently back into place, the spell not broken, only deferred.

“I should finish,” he said, almost hoarse.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Finish.”

But every second after that was charged. Every brush of his hand, every hum of the machine, every stolen glance when you dared to peek up at him—all of it thrummed with the knowledge that something had shifted. And neither of you could pretend it hadn’t.

You lost track of time. Moments bled into minutes, drawn out by the quiet rhythm of his work and the unspoken weight between you.

By the time he shut off the machine, your body felt like it had become a tuning fork—tight with tension, humming with everything unsaid.

“That’s it, you're done,” Han said quietly, voice thick.

He reached for a clean cloth, gently dabbing the inked area. The sting had dulled into a soft ache, but the way his hand moved over your skin—slow, deliberate, reverent—was what left you breathless.

He lingered there, thumb brushing just above the fresh lines. “You did good. Barely moved.”

You shifted onto your elbows slightly, twisting to catch his face. “Is that praise, or are you just surprised I didn’t faint?”

His gaze met yours. For a second, he said nothing. Then, a smile tugged at his lips—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re a lot tougher than you let on.”

You sat up, pulling the collar of your shirt gently over one shoulder. “Maybe you just bring it out of me.”

Han stood there, still holding the cloth, still watching you with that unreadable expression. The tension between you was no longer subtle. It stretched between your bodies like a wire, thin and tight, vibrating with things neither of you had said out loud.

You looked away first.

“Let me pay you,” you said, reaching for your bag.

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “This wasn’t about that.”

Your fingers froze on the strap. You turned slowly. “Then what was it about?”

He hesitated, jaw tight. The weight in his gaze softened for a beat—something bare flickering through, like he wanted to say everything but chose instead to say:

“I wanted something of mine on you.”

The words landed in your chest like a drop of ink in water—sinking, blooming.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence folded around you again, but it was thick, pulsing, the air saturated with all the ways you almost touched.

Finally, you smiled, small but real. “Well... now you’ve got it.”

He laughed under his breath, but it was quieter this time. A little more careful. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

You moved toward the mirror, pulling your shirt slightly aside to see the finished piece that now lay protected by second skin. The crescent moon curved delicately against your skin, soft as a secret, sharp as a wish you hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

It was beautiful. It was everything you could have asked for.

You caught Han watching your reflection—eyes fixed not just on the ink, but the shape of you, the moment of you. Like he had never really allowed himself to look until now.

And still... he did nothing. And neither did you.

Just two bodies, standing too close, tied together by a single piece of ink and a silence that spoke louder than anything else.

You turned from the mirror, fingers brushing down the edge of your collar one last time. The skin was still tender beneath your touch, but not as tender as the weight in your chest.

“I should go,” you said, voice a little too light. A little too careful.

Han nodded once, but he did not move from where he stood. “Right. It’s late.”

You moved toward the door, bag slung over your shoulder, shoes forgotten under the bench. The silence followed you like smoke—slow and curling and hard to breathe through. You could feel his eyes on your back.

But just as your hand touched the knob, you paused.

“…I’m not usually like this.”

The words escaped before you could catch them.

Han’s voice came from behind you, lower now. “Like what?”

You didn’t turn to face him. “This affected.”

A beat.

Then: “Me neither.”

You turned then. Slowly. He was closer than he’d been a moment ago. Still not touching. Still not reaching.

But close.

The streetlights from outside filtered through the frosted windows, casting soft shadows over his face—his expression was unreadable again, but his eyes were not. They were dark and warm and searching. Like he wanted to speak with his hands instead of his mouth.

“I should walk you out,” he offered.

“I don’t need—”

“I know.” A pause. Then, his voice was gentler, “Let me anyway.”

You nodded.

He opened the door, and the cool air of the hallway hit your skin like a shock—like stepping out of a dream. The clack of your shoes echoed softly as you both walked, side by side, neither of you speaking.

You reached the door to the street. The city breathed on the other side. Stillness clung to the space between you like fog.

“Hey,” Han called, just as you stepped onto the threshold. His voice pulled you back. “Wait.”

You turned, heart stuttering.

He was standing close again. Too close. The kind of close that felt deliberate. His hand hovered near your waist, fingers flexing once, like he was debating whether to touch you again.

He didn’t.

Instead, his voice dropped. “If I kiss you right now… would that mess things up?”

Your breath hitched.

The world held its breath with you.

You let the silence stretch. Let the ache of it crawl up your spine. And then you said—quietly, honestly:

“I think not kissing me might mess things up more.”

And still—still—he did not kiss you. He only looked at you like he wanted to memorize the moment, the space between your mouths, the way you had just told him everything without saying it outright.

He smiled, slow and heavy with intent. “Then maybe I’ll wait until it really ruins me.”

Your throat went dry.

“Night,” he murmured, stepping back.

And just like that, the door closed between you.

But your heart stayed in his hands.

It was past midnight when your phone lit up.

"You still awake?"

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering, heart already answering before you could.

"i never really went to sleep"

Three dots appeared, then vanished. Then again.

"Me neither"

A beat of no incoming messages passed, then:

"I'm keeping myself up thinking about earlier''

Your breath caught.

"the tattoo?"

"Not exactly.."

You didn't respond right away. You didn’t have to. The air in your room had changed—thicker, tighter, like his voice might pour from the cracks in the wall's paint if you leaned in close enough.

And then the screen lit up again—this time, a call, to which you answered—not after panicking for a few seconds, of course.

“…Hey.” You whispered into the microphone.

His voice was low, rough from too many unsent words. “You looked good tonight.”

You swallowed the simmering embarrassment down. “You saw a lot of skin.”

“Not the part I meant.”

A silence stretched. Not awkward—intimate. It curled through the receiver like warm breath against your neck.

“Come by tomorrow,” he said finally. “I need to check your tattoo.”

“You just want to touch me again.”

“I'm not gonna sit here and lie to you by saying I didn't love every second of touching you. Come by tomorrow, please?”

Your skin flared at the bluntness. There was no smirk in his tone. No teasing this time. Just heat. Quiet and real.

You whispered, “Okay.”

The next day, you were back at his studio.

You told yourself it was just for aftercare, but the second you walked in, saw the way he looked up at you—eyes dark and steady—you knew you were both done pretending.

“Shirt,” he said softly, gesturing to the seat.

You sat. You peeled the fabric from your shoulder, the same stretch of skin that had sparked the night before and haunted his thoughts since. His hands were gloved, but his touch still felt like bare electricity.

He leaned in, inspecting the ink, but the space between you crackled. “Looks good,” he murmured. “You’ll heal fast.”

“So I can go?” you teased, voice thinner than usual.

He gave you no answer. Just peeled off the gloves, tossed them aside, and placed his bare hand against your back—palm flat, warm. Possessive.

“You came back,” he said. “That’s what I wanted.”

You turned your head, letting your cheek rest against your shoulder, watching him. “I did as I was told, Han. So what now?”

Han stepped around to face you. He reached up and touched your chin, tilting your face to his. The air between you shrank to nothing.

“Now I kiss you.”

And this time, he did.

His mouth was warm, unhurried, like he was tasting something he had waited weeks to touch. His fingers cradled your jaw, and you melted into it, into him, into the truth that had been aching beneath your skin for days.

He pulled back, just an inch.

“Still messing things up?” he asked, breath brushing your lips.

You smiled. “Only in the best way.”

The kiss tasted like every moment that came before it—charged, aching, sweet with restraint. His mouth moved against yours like a secret unraveling, like he had memorized the shape of your lips before ever daring to touch them.

You leaned into him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer like instinct. Like gravity. Han followed the movement without hesitation, one hand sliding around your waist, the other brushing the side of your neck—soft, reverent, as if you might vanish if he held you too tightly.

When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, your foreheads touched. Your eyes stayed closed.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes. “Then show me.”

The words cracked something open between you. Quickly, he sat beside you on the tattoo bed and pulled you onto his lap.

He kissed you again—deeper now, his hands no longer tentative. One slid under your shirt, fingers warm against the small of your back, the other braced at your hip like he needed the anchor. You shifted in his lap, and before you realized you had even moved, he groaned low in his throat at the feel of you straddling him, bodies pressed with no space between.

Still, he slowed. Just for a breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded, nose brushing his. “More than.”

His lips returned to the bare side of your throat—soft at first, then with the scrape of teeth. Your hands threaded into his hair as you tilted your head for him, shivering when he dragged his mouth down the slope of your shoulder.

“Han,” you breathed.

He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed against your skin.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said. “But not just this.”

You stilled, heart thudding.

“I want every version of you,” he continued. “The fire, the softness, the silence. I want the way you look at me when I'm not looking. I want the way you talk like you are not afraid but touch like you’re terrified.”

You exhaled, chest caving. “You noticed everything?"

“I tried not to.”

He leaned back to meet your gaze. His hands moved with more intent now, but still gentle—still you-first. His thumbs traced the curve of your hips beneath your shirt, and you shivered under the slow build of it.

And then, still holding your waist, he laid you back against the padded bench—carefully, gracefully—like you were something rare. Like he had dreamed of this exact moment in the quiet between days.

Your shirt came off slowly, inch by inch. His hands explored like a map he was finally allowed to touch. Every kiss was a promise: I will not rush this. I will learn you inch by inch. I will memorize every sigh.

When his mouth found yours again, the kiss burned hotter—teeth clashing gently, breath shared. You tugged at his shirt, and he pulled it over his head in one clean motion, your hands already seeking skin, already desperate to feel.

Still, even in the heat, he slowed now and then—traced your ribs with a single finger, kissed the inside of your wrist. Whispers scattered between kisses.

“I want you,” he said. “But I also want you.”

You arched into him, fingertips splayed across his back, heart wide open. “You have me.”

The second his shirt hit the floor, your hands were on him—tracing the taut muscle beneath warm skin, nails catching just enough to make him hiss. His mouth was back on yours before you could take your next breath, more forceful now, more needy. Tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your spine arch and your legs tighten around his hips.

Han groaned when he felt it—your thighs drawing him in like a vice, like you already knew exactly how this would end.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth. “You feel too good.”

“You haven’t even felt me yet,” you whispered back.

His eyes darkened.

He pulled you up in one fluid motion, strong hands gripping your thighs as he laid you down atop the workbench, your back pressed against cool wood, your skin burning beneath his palms.

He kissed down your throat, not slow anymore. Messy, greedy, open-mouthed kisses that left your pulse stuttering. He bit lightly at the curve where your shoulder met your neck, and you gasped—head tipping back, legs spreading instinctively, begging for more contact, more friction, more.

His hands slipped beneath the band of your pants, thumbs dragging over the sensitive skin at your hips.

“These need to come off,” he growled, voice thick with want. “Right fucking now.”

You lifted your hips to help, letting him tug them down along with your underwear in one swift motion. The heat in his gaze when he looked at you—all of you—bare on his table, flushed and panting, legs spread for him like it was the most natural thing in the world—

It made your stomach flip, made your core throb.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, like he was angry about it. “So fucking pretty and wet already, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“Then do it,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

And he did.

One hand pressed your thigh open, the other sliding between your legs, fingers stroking through your slick folds in a rhythm that was maddeningly light. He teased your clit with the pad of his thumb, watching the way your hips jerked, your mouth parted around soft gasps.

“You gonna let me make you come with just my fingers first?” he murmured, leaning close, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna feel you grip them before I fuck you. Want you so messy I can’t think straight.”

You whimpered, back arching. “Yes—please, Han—”

He slid one finger in, slow, letting you feel the stretch. Then two. Then a curl of his knuckles that had you crying out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the edge of the table.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Grind on my fingers. Let me see how desperate you are.”

You did—hips rocking, thighs trembling, your core clenching around him as he worked you open with deliberate pressure, circling your clit with his thumb until the pressure built fast and dizzying.

“I can feel you getting close,” he said against your throat. “You gonna come for me, baby? Right here on the table where I ink people’s skin?”

“Fuck—Han—yes—”

You shattered with a cry, legs shaking, body arching against his mouth as he kissed you through it—murmuring things you could barely process, words lost in the white-hot rush.

And when you finally came down, breath heaving, he leaned back and licked his fingers clean with a satisfied smirk.

“Think you’re ready for my cock now?”

You nodded, dazed. “Please.”

He undid his belt with one hand, gaze locked to yours as he stroked himself—slow, thick, already slick from the sight of you. Then he lined up, ran the head through your folds once, twice, teasing your oversensitive clit just to watch you twitch—

And then he pushed in.

You both groaned—deep, guttural—like relief and hunger all at once. He filled you in one slow, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You were soaked. Sore. Already wrecked.

But he did not stop.

He fucked you—hard, deep, each thrust lifting your hips from the table, your hands clawing at his back, your moans turning to whimpers, then cries. His name over and over.

Your moans spilled out in sobs as your second climax hit you like a dam bursting. It was hot—blinding—your release painting his cock in pulsing waves, your entire body locking up beneath him. All the hunger, the want, the times of aching tension you had swallowed back whenever he so much as looked at you with those dark, unreadable eyes—it all came out in that moment. You clenched tight around him, and he groaned loud and low, his head dropping to your shoulder.

“God—look at you,” he rasped, voice wrecked, pride and awe tangled in every word. “So good for me. So perfect when you come.”

But then, his hips stopped to a jarring halt. He was still buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. You could feel the tension in his body—every muscle taut, his hips stuttering in that way that told you he was right on the edge, right there—

But holding back. Just for you.

You cupped his jaw, breathless but steadying. “You didn’t come.”

He shook his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanted to feel you first. Wanted to see—fuck—how tight you get when you come around me.”

Your body gave a little twitch at the memory, still oversensitive, still full. But a flicker of something else lit behind your eyes.

You kissed him—slow and deep—and then, with a sly smile, clenched around him deliberately.

He choked on a moan, arms trembling where they braced beside your head.

“Baby—don’t—”

“You always so in control?” you whispered, brushing your lips along his jaw, down his throat. “Or are you just that good at hiding when you want to break?”

He groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “Please—fuck—”

You rolled your hips beneath him, just a little. Just enough.

“You’re still so hard,” you murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Still deep inside me like you need to be. You want to come? Want to fill me up?”

“God—yes.”

“Then allow me.”

You pushed him gently, and he let you—collapsing back into the chair beside the bench, cock glistening and flushed as it slipped free, twitching with the aftershocks of restraint. He barely had time to breathe before you dropped to your knees between his legs and wrapped your hand around him—tight, slow strokes from base to tip that had him gasping and clenching the arms of the chair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmured, kissing the head of his cock, licking the slit just to taste the salt of him.

His hips bucked and he cursed—head thrown back, abs tensing.

“Sensitive already, aren’t you?” you purred.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

You took him into your mouth before he could finish the sentence—deep and warm, tongue swirling as you bobbed your head, one hand cupping his balls, the other pressing down gently on his hip to keep him from thrusting.

He was loud now, whimpering, begging, gasping your name like prayer.

And when he came—god—

It was with a broken moan, back arching, thighs shaking under your palms. You swallowed everything, licked your lips, and looked up at him through your lashes as he tried to remember how to breathe.

His eyes were glassy, hair clinging to his forehead, chest rising in jagged waves.

You smiled. “Still in control?”

He laughed—wrecked, breathless. “Fuck no.”

You climbed into his lap again, your bare skin still warm, flushed and tingling, and curled against him with a quiet little hum.

He wrapped his arms around you like instinct. And then, softly:

“…Round two’s gonna ruin us both.”

You grinned against his neck. “Good.”

The studio held comfortable silence for a moment.

Only your breathing filled the space—shallow and warm, mingling with his where you straddled him on the tattoo bed again, skin flushed and shining in the low amber glow of the work light. The air smelled like sweat and sex, care, and ink—hot, heavy, and honest.

Han was still beneath you, arms slack, mouth parted. His chest heaved, his cock softening between your thighs.

You dragged your fingers along the lines of his jaw, smug and satisfied. “Speechless?”

He blinked once. Then again. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he rasped. “Just… trying not to fuck you so hard this bed breaks.”

You laughed softly—until his hands shot to your hips and slammed you down onto his thigh.

You gasped, the sudden friction making your oversensitive body jolt.

“I let you ruin me once,” he growled, voice low and wrecked. “Your turn now.”

You barely had time to react before he stood, arms beneath your thighs, lifting you like nothing. Your back hit the nearest wall—your bare skin flush to cool concrete, legs wrapped around his waist, his cock already hardening between you again.

“What—Han—”

“You think you can just look at me like that,” he snarled against your neck, grinding up between your soaked folds. “Touch me like you own me. And then walk out of here? Nah.”

You shivered. His cock pressed right against your entrance.

“Han—”

“Look at me.”

You did.

He didn't give you a warning. Just a brutal promise, growled against your skin; “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name—but still remember mine when your hands are between your legs for weeks after.”

Then he was inside you again—deep—in one smooth, merciless thrust, hips snapping forward so hard your back hit the wall with a dull thud.

You gasped—high and breathless—arms clinging to his shoulders, nails biting into skin.

“Han—fuck—”

He caught your cry in a kiss that was anything but sweet. All tongue, teeth, and desperation, lips crushed to yours like he needed your breath to survive.

Your walls fluttered around him already—sensitive from the first round, still dripping wet and raw, but ready despite the ache. He filled you so completely, so perfectly, it stole the air from your lungs.

“I felt this pussy clench around my fingers,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to slam into you again. “But it’s nothing—nothing—compared to how you grip my cock. So fucking tight. So wet.”

You moaned—helpless—every part of your body trembling as he started to move.

Hard. Fast. Focused.

Your back scraped against the wall with every thrust, the studio echoing with the filthy slap of skin on skin, the sound of your choked gasps and his rough groans.

“You want control?” he hissed, fingers digging into the underside of your thighs, forcing them open wider. “Then take it.”

He pulled out.

You nearly cried from the loss.

Then he moved you back to the table, your knees hitting the workbench edge as he turned you, bent you forward, pressed your chest flat to the table.

You barely had time to breathe before he plunged back inside from behind, the new angle making you cry out, high and broken.

“Louder!” he commanded. “Let the whole damn building know how good I fuck you.”

And louder you were when he found that spot inside you—over and over again, the pace brutal and relentless.

He gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet every thrust, the obscene sound of your slick arousal growing louder with every stroke. Your legs started to buckle—nerves frayed, every inch of your skin alight.

“F-fuck—Han—I can’t—too much—”

“You can. You’re taking it like a fucking dream,” he rasped, reaching down, rubbing your clit in tight, wet circles that made your vision blur.

Your whole body tightened—shaking, clenching, desperate to come again, and again—

He leaned over you, lips to your ear, voice hoarse:

“Come on my cock again, baby. Milk it. Let me feel that pretty pussy worship me.”

And you did.

You shattered—body convulsing, mouth open in a silent scream as you came hard, squeezing him so tight he cursed and slammed into you with one final, brutal thrust.

He came with a shout—loud, raw, high—hips jerking as he spilled inside you, his hands fisting in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

You stayed like that for a moment.

Ruined. One tangled, sweaty, aching mess.

Then his hands softened—smoothed up your back, traced the curves of your hips like reverence.

He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades.

“…Still remember your name?”

You laughed, wrecked and breathless.

“Remind me?" you whispered.

You did not remember collapsing—just that one moment he was still inside you, and the next, you were draped across the tattoo bed like laundry left out to dry. Your skin tingled, nerves alight, thighs sticky and trembling, your mind still floating somewhere just above your body.

And Han?

Han was slumped in the chair again, legs spread, one arm thrown dramatically over his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered into the crook of his elbow. “I think I blacked out. You short-circuited me.”

You snorted, face still pressed to the cool surface of the bench. “You short-circuited me. I’m literally leaking.”

He scooted the chair to get a full view of what you were talking about, eyes glassy but mischievous. “Good. I want it dripping down your thighs next time you show up in those little skirts you wear.”

You blinked. “Next time?”

Han grinned, wicked and lazy. “Oh, baby. This is so not a one-time thing. I’m gonna put a stamp on you like a repeat customer loyalty card.”

You rolled onto your side, raising a brow. “You’re gonna fuck me five times and give me a discount on a flash piece?”

He laughed—loudly. Like you caught him off guard. “God, you’re a menace.”

“You’re the menace. Who says that shit mid-stroke?” you shot back, mimicking his earlier line with mock dramatics: “‘Forget your own name but still remember mine?’ Who writes you?”

He leaned forward, dragging his fingers up your bare spine. “No one writes me. I just improvise.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So… you freestyled your way into making me cum thrice and see stars?”

He winked. “What can I say? I’ve got bars and stamina.”

You smacked him with a rolled-up paper towel, but he caught your wrist and pulled you into his lap, arms curling around your waist like he never wanted to let you go.

Then—softer, like he almost did not mean to say it aloud:

“…I really like you.”

You stilled, looked over to him and kissed him gently, pouring every single ounce of reciprocation your being had to offer him. Because maybe he was a cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man—but he was your cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man.

Even when he was a little bit of a menace.

The silence after pulling away was heavy—not the uncomfortable kind, more like an exhale. A shared, serene stillness, your heartbeat slowing while his lips ghosted along your jaw, your collarbone, the tender edge of your throat.

He had not moved far.

Still close. Still inside your gravity.

Then Han shifted, propping his head on one elbow which rested on the arm of the chair, eyes sweeping your face like he was memorizing something. His fingers moved before his mouth did—brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb dragging down your cheek.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him, still dazed. “Hey.”

He hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but because this, somehow, felt bigger than everything you both had already done.

“You don’t have to go home tonight.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His voice stayed soft, careful, “I mean… you could stay. With me.”

You stared.

He rushed to fill the silence, eyes darting between yours.

“Not just for more of this—though God, don’t get me wrong, I want more of this—but like. We could crash at my place. Order food. You could steal my hoodie. Wake up and make terrible coffee together. You could see what I’m like in the morning. Spoiler: not sexy. Kind of grumpy. But you’re good with chaos, right?”

You laughed—but something in your chest ached, cracked just a little.

Because he meant it—this wasn’t just about lust anymore. Not even about proximity or chemistry.

It was a choice.

He was asking you to stay, to see him past the high, into the quiet.

You leaned up, kissed him once—slow and certain.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered.

And the way he looked at you then—hopeful and smug and so unmistakably fond—made you feel warmer than anything else that night.

Sunlight crept in like it was in on a secret, painting lazy gold across your bare shoulder.

You stirred, slowly, blinking awake to the smell of coffee and something warm—eggs?—cooking in the kitchen nook. Your body ached, in all the right places. Inner thighs sore. Lips swollen. A fingerprint or five pressed like stamps into your hips. You stretched, wincing slightly, and smiled.

And Han—God, Han—was nowhere in the bed, but his hoodie had been draped over your legs like a blanket, his scent wrapped around you like a sigh.

You slipped it on, oversized and soft, sleeves swallowing your hands, and padded barefoot across the polished concrete toward the sound of gentle humming and the clatter of a pan.

Han stood with his back to you—shirtless, hair wild and sticking up in twenty-seven different directions, tattoos flexing as he flipped something in a pan. There were two mugs of coffee already out. One black. The other just the way you liked it.

You leaned on the doorway, biting your smile.

He sensed you, because of course he did.

“You’re up,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder. And then, softer, like he couldn’t help himself: “Fuck, you look good in my hoodie.”

You padded up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face on his nape.

“You’re feeding me. You really trying to make me fall in love with you?”

He chuckled, flipping the egg once again with a practiced hand. “That was the plan, yeah. Ruin your body, then win your heart with food.”

You laughed against his skin. “Tactical.”

He turned the stove off and turned in your arms, resting his hands low on your hips, looking down at you with sleepy warmth in his eyes. You felt it then—not just the physical closeness, but the easiness of it. The comfort. The pull.

“You staying the whole day?” he asked, voice quiet now, vulnerable in that way he rarely let show.

You nodded, brushing your lips over his collarbone.

“Only if you kiss me like that again,” you teased.

He grinned.

And did just that—slow, sweet, a kiss with no agenda other than to keep you there.

Later, with your stomach full, your limbs loose and drowsy from the best kind of indulgence, you found yourself curled up on the couch—Han’s head in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the messy strands of his hair.

Some terrible movie was playing on his television. Neither of you was really watching it. The remote lay forgotten on the floor. His fingers traced idle patterns on the bare skin beneath your borrowed hoodie, the both of you half-clothed, half-tangled, fully comfortable.

“This is dangerous,” you murmured.

Han cracked one eye open. “What is?”

“This. Us. You looking at me like I hung the stars and made your coffee.”

He smirked without moving. “You did, though. Kind of. That coffee was perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed anyway.

His expression softened, gaze dropping to where his hand rested just beneath your ribs. “You should let me tattoo you again,” he said after a long beat.

You looked down at him. “Now?”

“No,” he smiled, “not now. But someday. Something small. Just for me. Somewhere only I get to see.”

Your stomach flipped at the idea. You tried to play it off. “That’s a lot of trust, letting you draw on me permanently.”

His fingers slid a little lower, dangerously close to a place that still pulsed with the memory of last night.

“You already let me ruin you once,” he said with a grin. “What’s a little ink?”

You snorted, swatting at him half-heartedly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re still here,” he countered easily, nuzzling into your thigh like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You sighed contently as you carded your fingers through his hair again.

“Yeah,” you whispered, half to him, half to yourself.

“And I'm here to stay.”

drops this in your hands and runs off into the sunset

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325

[lotusdrops-world]

Canvas & Cradles

wc: 1.5k

rating: explicit

tags: rafayel x pregnant reader, pregnant sex, established relationship, husband/wife, paints, fluff with smut, p in v, oral sex f!receiving, creampie.

cross posted on ao3 | sylus version.

The scent of linseed oil and acrylic paint clung to the warm air. Rafayel’s studio was a haven of creative chaos—brushes in jars, canvases leaning like dominoes against the walls, and the gleaming seawaves dancing with the wind outside the studio were playing in the background as white noise.

You sat in the center of it all, posed on a worn velvet chaise, a thin robe draped over your shoulders. The robe had slipped open, framing the swell of your belly, glowing with the soft blush of candlelight and the waning gold of the sun slanting through the tall windows.

Rafayel stood a few feet away, brush in one hand, palette in the other, white shirt paint-stained and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He tilted his head dramatically, squinting at you through one eye.

“Okay, but be honest, are you trying to seduce me or are you just naturally this breathtaking?”

You smirked. “This was your idea, remember?”

He clicked his tongue. “Yes, but you are the one sitting there glowing like a fertility goddess who just stepped out of a Renaissance fever dream. You’re ruining my concentration, cutie.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You’ve already been staring for over an hour.”

“That’s because I’m in agony,” he said, placing a hand to his chest in mock despair. “Do you have any idea what it's like trying to paint you while you’re literally the most beautiful thing that’s ever existed?”

“Flattery won’t make me sit still longer.”

He grinned mischievous, roguish—and walked over to you, the tiled floor warmed under his slow, theatrical steps. “No? Not even if I tell you I’m immortalizing you? Preserving this perfect moment of motherhood, beauty, and ‘glowy hormonal goddess energy’ for future generations?”

You raised a brow. “Future generations?”

“Well,” he said, kneeling between your knees with that familiar smirk, “at least for our kid. So they’ll know how extra their parents were.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the crest of your belly. His lips were soft, reverent. The humor faded from his face, replaced by something quiet, intimate.

“I mean it,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… everything. Every shade I’ve ever mixed. Every curve I’ve ever chased with a pencil.”

Your fingers sank into his curls. “Raf, you’re getting sentimental.”

“Don’t make fun of me. I’m vulnerable right now.” He kissed your belly again. “I’m painting my muse while she grows a whole human. I think that earns me a free pass to wax poetic.”

You leaned down to kiss him—slow and deep, tasting the intimacy that had always lingered between you. When you pulled back, he exhaled against your mouth.

“You’re warm,” he murmured. “And you smell like paint and peaches. It’s driving me crazy.”

“You’re the one who said this was going to be a ‘wholesome art session.’”

“Cutie,” he said, grinning, “I’m an artist. I lie for a living.”

You laughed again, tugging him up by the collar of his shirt until he was hovering above you. His hands found your thighs, parting them with practiced ease, his eyes flicking between your mouth and your belly like he couldn’t decide which miracle to worship first.

“You’ve been sitting there for almost an hour. Can we unwind a bit?” he spoke gently, while his hands filled with paint that had already dried played with the hems of your robe.

“Absolutely.”

The robe slid further open, revealing the fullness of your breasts, the curve of your hip. Rafayel drew in a breath like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

“You’re more than a muse,” he said. “You’re a masterpiece that keeps changing. Evolving. It’s not even fair.”

You let out a breathless chuckle, “You’re very dramatic today.”

“It’s the lighting,” he whispered, brushing his nose along your neck. “And the hormones. Yours and mine.”

You reached between you, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Then take this off and stop talking so much.”

“Oh now you want me to shut up?” he teased, tugging the shirt over his head and letting it fall to the floor. “You didn’t seem to mind when I was reciting sonnets to your belly a minute ago.”

You pulled him closer. “I love your mouth most when it’s not speaking.”

His laugh rumbled against your skin, low and sweet. “I do love when you get bossy.”

Then, he pulled back slightly—just enough to kneel before you once more, eyes locked on where your thighs parted.

“I have to see you,” he said, breath husky, reverent. “I need to see what I’ve made mine.”

You laid back slightly, propping yourself on your elbows, robe fully open now. Rafayel dipped between your legs like a man approaching the altar of a cathedral, his hands coaxing your thighs wider, mouth already parting with anticipation.

And when he looked at you—slick, swollen, divine—it was as if he were looking at brushstrokes in motion.

“God…” he exhaled, brushing a thumb so gently over your folds you shivered. “Cutie, you’re... you’re glowing down here too. This—” he spread you open more, watching your slick catch the flickering candlelight, “—this is the center of the universe right now. Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you like this?”

He leaned in, tongue pressing flat and slow, tasting you like a sommelier savoring wine, moaning low in his throat. His lips moved over your core as if kissing a page of scripture. Every motion was languid, reverent, worshipful.

“You’re sweeter than I remembered,” he murmured between licks, voice rasping like charcoal over silk. “And I remember everything, cutie. The first time I saw you, you were standing by that gallery window, wearing that ridiculous linen jumpsuit you hated.”

He kissed just above your clit, making you tremble.

“I looked at you and thought—that’s it. That’s the line I’ve been trying to draw my whole life.”

You moaned softly, hips arching into his mouth as he flattened his tongue against you again, dragging it up slowly, deliberately.

“Every painting before you was a draft. A study. And then you walked in like light through stained glass and ruined me.”

Your breath stuttered. “Raf—”

“You’re art,” he whispered, now licking you in firmer strokes, his voice cracking under his own arousal. “But this? This is my favorite part. The wettest, softest proof that you’re real. That you want me.”

You cried out softly as he sucked your clit into his mouth, groaning like a man starved. He didn't rush—he savored. Between every flick of his tongue he murmured praises, confessions, tiny worships.

“You taste like something I’d die to paint, but never share.”

Your legs began to tremble, hands clenching the velvet beneath you. He looked up, lips glistening, chin slick with your arousal, and smiled against your heat.

“You want me now?” he murmured.

You nodded, breathless. “Need you inside..."

And then he rose, pressing his body against yours once more. His hands cradled your hips, your belly, freeing his cock from the restraints of his trousers, hard and heavy between you.

He guided himself to your entrance, sliding in with one long, slow push. You both gasped at the depth, the fullness. One of his hands never left your womb.

“Let me leave one more memento before I finish the piece,” he said again—but this time his voice was trembling with raw, unfiltered adoration.

When he moved inside you, it was a rhythm of worship. Slow, unhurried. Like strokes of oil on a canvas he never wanted to dry. His mouth brushed against yours in quiet pulses, his murmurs soft as paint on linen.

“You’re a living sculpture. I still can’t believe I get to keep you…”

As much as you want to tell how much he means to you, words are stuck in your throat. The long drag of his cock around you, your tightness memorizing each thrust makes you feel dizzy, feel needed.

“This body, this soul—this is the best work I’ve ever helped create.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until your foreheads pressed together. His thrusts grew deeper, still gentle but filled with a hunger that reached past flesh and bone.

“Raf… ‘m cumming…hah…”

“M-me too, princess. Paint your cum around me…”

And one finally thrust got Rafayel shaking on top of you. When you both finally came undone—shuddering, clinging, whispering each other’s names—it felt less like an ending and more like the finishing stroke on a masterwork.

Minutes passed in warm silence. Rafayel pulled the robe back over your shoulders, wrapping his arms around you as you curled into him, the baby nestled safely between you.

“I’m keeping this canvas forever,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “But even it won’t do you justice.”

You smiled, tired and full. “Guess you’ll just have to keep painting me.”

He smirked. “Deal. But next time, I get to pose. Nude. With a flower crown.”

You groaned. “God help me.”

“Cutie,” he said, kissing your temple. “You married a menace. No take-backs.”

And with that, you fell asleep in the arms of your artist—his paint-streaked fingers still wrapped around your hand, your body resting in the quiet, sacred glow of love and new life.

[heartsforjh]

Ｐｏｌａｒｏｉｄｓ

window - pt. 1

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader

warnings: slow burn, very dramatized (are some of these situations the most realistic? no, but it’s for the plot so just try to enjoy the whimsy aspect of it all 🔥)

word count: almost 4k (3,914)

summary: little y/n and quinn meet for the first time!

a/n: credits to @beenucks for this cutesy idea, and helping me with the graphics + storyline! it’s been in the works since like february 10th, so definitely thank you for your patience as well 😭 this is an AU INTRO! the masterlist for it is right → here! hope you guys enjoy!

Ontario, Canada 

Winter 2007 

You watch as the figures outside your window dance around on the beautiful ice rink. People laugh and skate in their own little world—a world you wish you could be a part of. 

The glass keeping you from the bustle outside fogs as you let out a disheartened sigh. It’s not really the window that’s keeping you… trapped. It’s your parents—or rather, what your parents are afraid of. 

When you were just a baby, you got extremely sick, and doctors were worried about the outcome. Thankfully, you made a successful recovery for the most part, but you were left with a very weak immune system. Since then, your parents have treated you like the most fragile thing to grace the Earth. 

“Y/n! Lunch!” your mother calls, cutting through your thoughts. 

You get up from your seat on the windowsill and make your way downstairs, taking it one step at a time. 

When your feet finally hit the first floor, you head to the dining room and sit at the table. Your mother serves you your food, and you say your thanks. After a while, as you eat, you decide to bring up the topic that’s been plaguing your mind. 

“Mommy?” you start. “Do you think I can play outside? The outside where the ice and the other kids are?” 

Your mother’s head snaps up, a surprised look flashing on her face briefly before calming herself. “Now, why would you want to do that, silly?” 

You think hard. This is your shot to convince her to let you go explore and make new friends instead of just observing like you’ve always wanted. 

“I like it out there. It’s nice,” is all you manage to get out under pressure. 

Your mother chuckles, amused. “What do you like about it, honey? 

“I like the tree by my window. And I like the ice, Mommy. I want to go on the ice. All of the people that get to play on the ice have a lot of fun,” you inform her, your voice filled with hope. 

Your mother brings your lunch over, setting it down in front of you. “It’s nasty out there. We’ll find something more fun for you to do where you won’t get sick.” 

The next day, you wake up early in the morning, a little more bummed than usual. However, you make your way out of bed and go sit at your window, like you do every day without fail. 

You sit and watch for a few minutes, zoned out and zoned in at the same time. You’re watching everything and nothing. That is… until something catches your eye. 

A small figure is stood still in the middle of the ice, waving. Surely, not at you. 

You look around, but nobody else seems to be interacting with him. You lean closer to your window to get a better look. 

It’s a little dark-haired boy, and he’s facing you with his head tilted up to your second-story bedroom. He is waving, and it is at you! 

You’re stunned for a good moment before realizing you need to do something back. Excitedly, you hold up your hand, moving it side to side quickly. You’re aware you probably look incredibly eager, but you couldn’t care less in this moment. 

The little boy smiles, and you can’t believe someone from out there is interacting with you like this. Usually, everyone is locked into what they’re doing, where they’re skating, and certainly not worried about you. 

This one is different. He’s different. He looks like he wants to be your friend. He’s not ignoring you the way the other skaters always have. He noticed you. 

The rest of the time he’s there, you watch as he moves around the ice. He goes around in circles and shows off his tricks that have you giggling with amusement. The entire time he’s doing this, he’s constantly looking back up at you, making sure you’re thoroughly entertained. 

After a while, the little guy waves goodbye, then leaves with a blonde woman and two other little boys—who you’re assuming are his family. 

You don’t see the boy for a couple of days after that, despite waking up earlier than usual to make sure you’re ready at the window during the exact time you saw him last. On the third day, as you lay in bed, you accept that it was probably just a one-time thing. 

However, when you finally get up and go to your window to peek out—there he is. He’s standing in the same place he was just some time ago. You let out an excited gasp, and when he sees you he perks up. 

He immediately waves, and you return the action. You’re overwhelmed with joy that he’s back. But suddenly, he begins to walk—and not away. He leaves the rink and walks the few feet it takes to get to the wall where your window is. 

Now, you’re caught off guard more than anything. The little boy stops right in front of where your window is and waves. You can only think to do one thing. You open the window. 

He smiles when you do, and calls out. “Hi! Do you want to come play?” 

“One second, please!” you yell back. 

The boy nods, and you shut your window. Opening your bedroom door, you start for the downstairs window that’s facing the rink. You don’t use this one as much. It’s got a pretty view, but you simply can’t see as much as you can from the highpoint that is your bedroom window. 

When your feet leave the final step you run over to the window that you can see the boy standing near, and open that one up. 

He notices, and turns to you, smiling even brighter now. “Hi. My name is Quinn.” 

“My name is Y/n,” you tell him, relatively shy. 

“I saw you up in that other window. Do you want to come play? We can skate, and look,” he says, lifting his hand to reveal that he’s holding a camera. “I got this for Christmas. It’s my first time opening it. My mom said I can bring it here. We can take pictures of anything.” 

You nod, thinking up a response to your complicated situation. “That sounds nice, but I can’t go out there. I’ll get sick.” 

“No, it’s okay. You just have to put a coat on, then you’ll be alright,” he says, his voice full of hope. 

You smile at him trying to help. “Thank you, but I’m not allowed.” 

“Ever?” he asks, his eyebrows raised. You shake your head no, and his eyes widen a little bit. “Uh… maybe I can come in there to play with you!”

You go to reject his offer again before realizing that it’s not a bad idea. Your mom has a problem with you being outside and playing with people because you’ll get sick, but she never said anything about playing with people inside. 

“I can ask my mom!” you say, ecstatic at the thought that this might be your first real friend. 

Quinn matches your smile. “Okay! I’ll ask my mom too. She’s just at the rink.” 

You nod and shut the window, turning to go ask your mother if your new friend can come inside, but Quinn stops you. 

“Hey, Y/n! Can I have a picture of you to show my mom?” he yells through the window. 

You come back to the window, smiling for a photo. Quinn takes it and watches as it develops with a wide grin on his face. He holds out a thumbs up to you before running off in the direction of his mom, and you do the same with yours. 

You finally find your mom doing laundry and tug on her shirt to get her attention. “Mommy? Can my friend come play with me?” 

“Um… sure, sweetie,” she says with a laugh, glancing at you before getting back to what she’s doing. 

You’ve always been a super imaginative, and honestly, quite the lonely kid. You’ve had “friends” before but they’re the kind that you’d pretend are there when playing, or that you’d blame something you obviously did on when you’re in trouble. 

You're a little surprised at her agreeing just like that, but you don’t question it and go back to the window waiting for your new friend, Quinn, to get back. 

When he finally arrives he’s got a huge smile plastered on his face, and you give him a thumbs up, pointing to the side of your house where the front door is. The boy quickly makes his way around the side of your house, and you meet him. You open the door excitedly as soon as you reach all of the locks and figure them out. 

“Hi, Y/n! We can play?” he asks, his eyes all lit up. 

You nod, opening up the door further to let him in. You watch as he steps inside, and sits on the floor of the foyer. He takes his skates off, then sets them up as neatly as possible. 

You watch his movements carefully, studying him almost. “Do you have fun on the ice outside?” 

“Yeah, I like skating! It’s for hockey… or it can be for ice skating. That’s kind of like dancing on skates,” he explains. 

You take in all of this information, then glance back to his skates that are sat on the floor. “Those ones are yours?” 

“Yeah, these are mine. You can hold them if you want, but don’t touch this silver part. It’s called a blade, and you could get cut on it,” he says, picking up one of his skates and holding it out to you. 

You take the skate in your hands. It’s heavier than you imagined, and you can’t seem to figure out how anyone could balance on a blade so thin. 

“I like your shirt. You wore one just like that last time,” you point out. 

Quinn looks down, then back up at you with a smile. “This is called a jersey. It’s for hockey players to wear. Or… you could wear one—anyone can, even if they don’t play hockey.” 

Once you’re done asking Quinn a million questions you decide he’s definitely hungry and you should make sure he gets something to eat. 

“Stay here, Quinn,” you order, and he nods. You leave the room and go find your mother again. 

She greets you with a sweet smile. “Hello, sweetheart. What do you need?” 

“Mommy, my friend… is hungry. He needs a snack,” you inform her, serious as can be. 

“Oh, does he?” she laughs, figuring this is your own silly way of letting her know you’d like something to eat. “I’ll be right out.” 

You nod, say your thank yous, and make your way back out to Quinn. He’s sitting on your family’s couch and you climb up to join him. 

The poor boy is bombarded with wave two of questions. However, he doesn’t seem to mind at all, answering every question with more enthusiasm than the last. 

Your moment of getting all of the info out him that you can is cut short when you hear your mom’s footsteps approaching. She finally comes out of the hallway, turning to glance at you but immediately doing a double take. You and your new friend watch as your mother stands there wide eyed—staring right back. 

“Y/n, baby… what… who… um… who is this?” your mother asks in a half-collected half-panicking tone as she walks closer. 

You look at Quinn then back to your mom. “My friend, mommy. Remember? You said he can come in and play with me.” 

“Right… your friend,” your mother repeats slowly, her eyes flickering between you and Quinn like she’s waiting for him to magically disappear

“He’s… actually sitting… on our couch right now,” your mother says with a nod and you swear you can see her eye twitching a little bit. 

You simply nod back to her, unsure of why Quinn sitting on the couch is so crazy. Your mom takes a deep breath and turns around, heading to the kitchen to make that snack, not knowing what else to do. When she finally brings the snack, she’s the one bombarding Quinn with all of the questions now. 

“Does your mom know you’re here?” 

“When have you got to leave?” 

“Are you… okay?” 

“What’s your name?” 

“How old are you?” 

Over the course of practically interrogating him, your mom does grow quite fond of the random little boy you’ve invited in. She lets you continue your play date, except now that she knows he’s real, she’s supervising. 

Your play date with Quinn is going very smoothly. You find that he’s very funny and very polite. Unfortunately though, your fun is interrupted when there’s a knock on the door and everyone, including your mom lets out a little gasp. 

“I think that’s my mom,” Quinn says a little defeated. 

Your own mom gets up. “I’ll go see, honey.” 

She makes her way to the door and opens it. You and Quinn stare at each other as all you can hear is mumbled talking, and you try your best to make out what is being said. 

“Quinn!” your mother calls after a little while. “Time to go!” 

Quinn’s shoulders slump and he sighs, turning to you and giving you a hug. “Bye bye, Y/n. I’ll come back, okay?” 

You nod your head and hug him back before he hops off the couch. You watch as he makes his way towards the front door and picks up his skates then disappears out of view. You turn around to watch out the big window as you see him leaving with that same blonde woman and two little boys. 

Quinn does in fact come back. He comes back a lot. The two of you become very close with time. Your mother and Ellen even start to really get along and hang out during playdates. You come to learn that Quinn’s two brothers are named Jack and Luke. Jack is rowdy, and Luke is constantly just trying to keep up with the chaos of his brothers. 

One day, during one of your many playdates Luke accidentally slips up. Your mom and Ellen are sitting at the kitchen island talking, Jack is nowhere in sight–probably getting into something he’s not supposed to, you and Quinn are sitting on the couch drawing pictures, and he is laid on the ground, eating Goldfish, and listening in. 

“Quinny, I think one day when we’re older maybe my mom can let us skate together,” you tell him, voice full of hope. 

Quinn smiles and looks up from his page at you. “Yeah, one day. Only when you’re healthy though.” 

“Wait… how will you skate together if we’re leaving?” Luke asks. 

Your brows furrow, and you look up at Quinn confused. “Leaving?” 

“Luke! Why would you say that?! You’re not supposed to tell her yet! I wanted to tell her! You ruined it!” Quinn raises his voice. You can tell this is really frustrating him, but you still don’t know what it all means. 

He sighs, then looks back at you. “Y/n, we’re all going to be moving soon… to a different place. We’ll still be in Ontario, but just really far. So, we won’t be able to see each other as much.” 

“But, I don’t understand. Why are you guys leaving me?” you ask, fighting back tears. 

As long as you can remember your world has only been the one outside of your window. It doesn’t go any farther that, because you can’t go any farther than that. Somehow, you had a good friend delivered to you right at your doorstep and it led to this. You’ve never been more grateful for anything in your life than you are the Hughes family. Now, your people are going beyond your world. They’re leaving your world! 

“Our dad got a job,” Jack answers, coming around the corner to sit on the couch. 

You sigh, shoulders fully slumped and a saddened expression on your face. “He can have a job here. Why can’t he just have a job here?” 

“I wish I could control it, but I can’t. Trust me. I’d stay here with you forever if I could,” Quinn explains. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s not the end or anything. I can still visit you. I’m gonna ask my mom every single day until she finally lets me. Then, when I get back, I��m going to bother her until the next time.” 

Your nerves settle a little at that, but your heart still hurts. “Everyday?” 

“Everyday, I promise.” 

You nod, starting to be semi-okay with the idea. It could be worse. “When are you guys leaving?” 

“Two days…” Jack answers, he puts a hand on your back and looks closely at your expression, feeling bad. 

Your face immediately changes to one of anger. “No! Not two days. That’s too soon! Why didn’t you tell me?! You’re not leaving in two days!” 

“I’m sorry. We didn’t want to upset you, but it looks like that didn’t really work either way,” Quinn says, a sympathetic expression on his face. 

You lean back on the couch, putting your head in your hands. “I can’t believe this.” 

All three boys look around at each other, unsure of what to do. Jack is the first to make a move. He wraps you up in a hug, laying his head on yours. That’s when it clicks for the other boys, and they join the hug as well. 

“We’re sorry, Y/n. We love you, and we’re gonna miss you. I hope you’re not mad at me,” Quinn says, and you could’ve sworn you heard a sniffle. 

You look up to check on him, but you can’t really see his face as he has it down. Finally, you hug them back. “I love you guys too. I’m not mad. I’m just… surprised.” 

The time for them to leave comes quicker than you’d like it to, granted, you only had two days to mentally prepare. They swing by your house one last time, kind of in a hurry. 

You tell Ellen, Jim, Luke, and Jack all goodbye. It’s absolutely heartbreaking, but when it comes time for Quinn you’re immediately in tears. 

He leans down, wrapping you in a hug. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I’m honestly so sorry. We can see each other soon! I’ll make sure, okay? It won’t be long.” 

“Okay…” is all you can get out, crying as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

Then, it’s obvious. It’s not a simple sniffle. You can hear him clearly this time. He’s crying. You’ve never seen him cry before. It’s an odd feeling. You don’t want him to be upset, but this isn’t something you know how to fix. 

“I love you, alright? You’re my best friend,” Quinn says, pulling back to look at you. 

You nod, staring right back at him. “You’re my best friend too. I love you. I won’t replace you.” 

As if you could. Once these boys are gone, you’ll have no one again. No one to drive your mom crazy with the yelling or making a mess. No one to come see you and stay for hours. Before Quinn and his family, you were all alone. You know what this means. You know that feeling will be back. How will you ever find a friend as great as Quinn? 

He noticed you when the world had never even come close to acknowledging you. He waved, he asked to play, and he wanted to be your friend. 

The goodbye is much longer than Quinn’s parents probably would’ve wanted, but they couldn’t bring themselves to make the two of you separate without being ready first. 

You watch out the big downstairs window as they drive off. And when you can’t see them anymore from there, you run upstairs to see if you can get a better look out of your bedroom window. You watch silently as your second family fades away. 

It’s painful.

You don’t know exactly what to do with yourself after that. You just sit at your window, and watch the people below. It makes you realize that you haven’t done this in a long time—since Quinn. Sure, you’d look out of it occasionally, but that was only when you were trying to see if Quinn had arrived at your house yet. Now, you’re really looking out again. You’re back to square one. 

It’s been months since Quinn moved. There hasn’t been a play date since then either. Your mom would always tell you that she’ll ask, but nothing ever comes of it. Is she even really asking? How would you know? 

You’ve still not got a singular new friend—not surprising considering you still aren’t allowed to go outside and play. You’re fed up. You’ve decided that it’s time you get to do something. You’re gonna convince your mom today. 

“Hi, honey!” your mom says with a smile when you come downstairs. 

You sit at the dining table watching as she cleans up the counters. “Hi. Can I skate?” 

“What?” your mom snaps her head to look at you, caught off guard. 

You nod your head, signaling that… yes, she did in fact hear you correctly. “I wanna skate. Quinn does it for his sport—remember, Quinn? Yeah, I want to do that too.” 

“Okay, well, Quinn plays hockey. You’re absolutely not doing that,” your mom says, catching your snappy tone. 

You huff. “Mom, it doesn’t need to be hockey. I just want to skate. Quinn told me that there are places like the rink outside but inside instead. I won’t get as sick! There’s one in Toronto. That’s what he told me. I want to go there.” 

“Do you know how far Toronto is? And besides, you don’t even know how to skate. You’ll hurt yourself,” she counters. 

You raise your eyebrows. This convincing thing is harder than you thought. “So then get me lessons. Plus, it’s still a car ride away! Isn’t it worth it for me to be happy? I don’t get to do anything.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna pull the sick card?” she says, annoyed. 

You cross your arms, not budging. “You do it every time I ask to do something harmless.” 

“Okay… I get your point. I’ll look into it. Now, go play,” she says with a sigh. 

You get up from the table, frustrated, unsatisfied. You’re sure she’s not really gonna look into it. Luckily, you won’t let her brush this off. You feel a little bad—it’s your mom and you weren’t the nicest, but you’re tired of being coddled and having your wants ignored. 

Safe to say, your plan to get your mom to let you skate worked. You’re hopping out of her car in your big pink jacket and new white skates, ready to go into the rink. 

When you step inside, it completely amazes you. You thought you knew everything about it from the things Quinn told you, but his words don’t do it justice. You cannot wait to step on the ice for the first time ever. 

You immediately sit down to put your skates on. You struggle quite a bit. Gosh, Quinn made this look so easy. You don’t even bother asking your mom, as she’s already in a bad mood about having to be here. 

“Hi, need some help?” a voice says, getting closer with each word. 

You smile at the offer, and look up to see who’s trying to do such a kind gesture. “Luke?!”

PLEASE BE SURE TO UPDATE YOUR TAGLIST SUBMISSION IF YOU’D LIKE TO KEEP GETTING TAGGED FOR THIS AU! THANK YOU! :)

creds to @beenucks for the polaroids 🙏

tags: @beenucks @nic0-hischier @azure-dawn81 @emsdevs @puckmedude @joesnumerouno @alex-wotton @puckfics @editzcp @r0wdymaize86 @ccomandercody @macklin-celebrini-71 @randomcuboidshape @when-im-with-you @quillycrow @rainyvalentines @alwaysclassyeagle @ruinix @greensnakegobblep @whitegirlsworld @dancerbailey3 @cheesecakeinahole @multifandom-2091

join the taglist here! :)

[jakezzgirlz]

love love love Jake who knows he's being manipulative, trying to coax you into a quickie because he just wants you so bad, knowing damn well it won't be quick, but also knowing you couldn't say no to him when he gives you that look. Or when he tells you how he just wants to have fun with his pretty girlfriend, how's that a bad thing :((

ೀ TOOK ME 5 FUCKING DAYS IM SO SORRY :c i also kinda went off track... PLEASE INTERACT IF YOU ENJOY!!

ᝰ.ᐟwarnings ¡ DARK THEMES, coercion, verrrryy bad jakey, manipulation, painful sex, cervix fucking, possesive jake, jake is an insecure asshole, quickies uhhhh idk

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

He doesn't understand why you just cant be there for him when he needs you? He's always been there for you when you need to relieve some stress so why cant you be a good girlfriend and help him out? You'd guys would fuck like bunnies before but now you can barely spare 10 more minutes? Thoughts flood his head- maybe your not attracted to him anymore, or worse- maybe your seeing someone else. The thoughts plagued his mind even when he pushed them away because he cant stand the fact of you being with anyone else.

His fear of losing you warped into control, all because the idea of losing you was far more terrifying than the guilt of keeping you close by any means. Finding any way to claim you just to reassure himself that 'your not going''. You never even realized how you depend on jake. His voice calmed the noise in your head, and his presence was a kind of safety you couldn’t recreate on your own, jake knew you needed him, how much you depend and trust him. So he decides to use that to his advantage.

He'd disguise it as love, he’d isolate you gently, starting with casual comments like, "I just don’t think your friends really get you the way I do,” or "You always seem drained after seeing them—maybe you should take a break." Over time, you'd find yourself spending more time with just him, because it felt easier, safer. He’d play the role of your protector, framing himself as the only one who truly understood you, making you doubt your own judgment. When you were upset or anxious, not feeling energized enough for sex, just needing to rest. He’d flip it—“After everything I’ve done for you, and this is how you treat me?”— So you'd give in, letting him use your body no matter how sore or painful your core feels from his cock plunging deep, and filling you up with cum again and again.

Begging you before you leave to work for a quickie with his pleading eyes promising that he'll be quick. But behind those eyes is the need to claim you as his, to have you go outside with your pussy stuffed with cum-his cum.

Trying to talk to jake nowadays just turns to sex. Bringing up how you feel isolated and he will look at you crazy before he shrugs it off and kneels between your legs kissing you through your panties. Even when your pussy's still spasming and leaking out his cum- he'll make you miss the first half of your friends birthday party just to shove his cock down your throat... won't let you wash away the mascara that's running down your face.

At first, he might frame sex as a way to feel closer, saying things like, “I just want to be close to you. Isn’t that normal?” But soon, the choice would start to disappear. He’d push you past your comfort zone, brushing off hesitation with, “Why are you acting like this? Don’t you trust me?” or “You’re my girlfriend—you should want this too.” If you tried to set boundaries, he’d act wounded, withdrawn, or angry, forcing you to carry the emotional weight of “rejecting” him. Over time, sex would stop feeling like affection and start feeling like obligation—something she gave to keep the peace, to avoid conflict, or to prove her love. No longer taking his time with you, no more sweet words- just his cock bruising your insides-stretching you beyond belief, just his hands holding your head while he face fucks you. Looking at you with his beautiful brown eyes because he knows-you can't say no to him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

likes, comments and reblogs appreciated !

[mrsknowitallll]

If I Ain’t Got You

Bo Chow x Black Plus Size Reader

Summary - You have an on again off again situationship going on with Bo Chow and you’ve grown tired of it, deciding to spread your wings and try out other suitors. After a date goes badly and he nearly loses you he decides he’s done with the games and wants to make you his once and for all.

Warning: Assault, Fighting/Violence, Foul language, Mentions of death, Gore, I think that’s it?

A/N - Bo Chow appreciation cause that man is FINE, i’m going through the whole crew at this point lolll y’all tired of these fics yet?

"When you gone stop playing with me girl? I ain't too proud to beg y'know." Bo leaned into your personal space, strong smell of whisky on his breath.

"Don't you got a lady at home Bo? You can't have yo cake and eat it too, not with me." You placed a hand on his face, mushing him.

"Oh come on now you know me and that lady been done for a while. You the one I want why you keep doing me like that?" He grabbed ahold of your waist pulling you against him.

"Cause you like to play games and i don't. I'm a grown ass woman, too grown for a fuck buddy, you gone be with me you gone have to settle down, stop fucking everything that moves." You glared at him.

"Aww is that what you take me fo baby? Somebody that just goes around sticking it in every available hole?" He frowned.

"Bo go on now, I came here to have a good time not fool around, go mess with some of these other huzzys in here. Bartender, a refill please." You shook your glass.

"These other 'huzzys' ain't you, it's you I want." His lips ghosted over your ear.

His words caused you to shiver, arousal pooling in your gut causing your knees to go weak.

But you knew Bo all too well, it was easy to fall under his spell, all those sweet nothings he'd whisper in your ear turning you to mush, leaving you feinin for him, begging for it all for him grow cold afterwards, standoffish, distant. You never knew what his problem was but you weren't gonna be swept up into the mess again.

"Have a goodnight Bo." You downed your drink heading toward the exit of the club, waving goodbye to slim and the others.

He watched you go, disappointment washing over him.

He was just gonna have to do better, try harder. As much as he loved the thrill of the chase had grown rather impatient. It wasn't your fault it was his, he was the one that kept running, from what? He didn't exactly know. But he was done playing games, you were his and he wasn't gone stop till he got you.

You’re out on the town a few nights later shacking up with some guy you met through Annie, while he was a nice man, polite, gentleman like he didn’t appease you. He was just soooo boring.

He kept going on and on about some mill he inherited from his father, something about how all the upkeep was wearing him down not only physically but financially, and while you felt for the man, you really, really did, you didn’t wanna spend your night talking about work. You came out to have fun, to pretend like your problems didn’t exist, not be burdened with somebody else’s.

You stared longingly into Bo’s shop window as you passed. Was it bad that you wished he was inside? That you wished he’d come out and save you from this terrible date.. if you could even call it that.

As much as you’d hate to admit it, especially to Bo himself, you’d grown to love the man. No matter how many time the two of you fell out you always came running back as did he. You had spent many nights looking for someone to fulfill those desires, to scratch that itch, to love you like you needed, but nobody else seemed to fill Bo’s shoes, no matter how many guys you took up no one could compare and you hated that but at the same time it ignited something in you, a fire you didn’t care to tame.

You turned toward your date, ready to cut the night short when he kissed you all of sudden, causing you to freeze for a few seconds before you pushed him away harshly.

“What the fuck was that about?” You wiped your mouth roughly glaring at the man.

“I just thought..” He trailed off eyes lowering to his feet in shame.

“You thought what? Just because you took me out to dinner, brought me flowers that i owed you something? All you niggas act just alike.” You scoffed storming off.

“Girl get yo ass back here!” He grabbed ahold of your wrist snatching you up.

“You better get yo motherfucking hands off me or i swear ‘fore god.” You seethed.

He grabbed a switchblade from his pocket, placing it against your throat.

Any smart remark that you had quickly diminished.

“I spent my last on you, wined and dined your stuck up ass and you think i ain’t leaving hear with something? Oh you got me fucked up.” He began dragging you away.

Your eyes darted around pleading that somebody, anybody stop this but they all just stared cowardly, to fearful to do anything.

You couldn’t believe they’d just stand around and watch this man hold you at knifepoint, drag you off to god knows where and do god knows what with you.

Your eyes fluttered close, tears spilling from beneath your lids as you continued walk, the man’s arms wrapped around your neck, blade still pressed against your throat.

“I suggest you drop that and let the lady go.” A familiar voice spoke in front of you, the sound of a gun cocking.

“Bo.” You sighed in relief, body relaxing upon seeing his face.

He spared a quick glance at you, brows furrowing in worry, gaze softening.

“You come any closer and i’ll slit her throat.” The man’s grip on you tightened.

“Nah you wouldn’t even attempt to do that, cause if you did i’d have your brains splattered all over these country roads faster than you could blink.” Stack spoke lowly from behind him, gun aimed at the back of his head, a hint of amusement in his voice.

The man’s body stiffened in fear, dropping the blade immediately.

“S-stack i ain’t mean no harm i swear.” He turned around raising his hands in the air.

“Oh you meant every bit of harm when you put yo hands on my lil cousin.” Stack twirled his toothpick around in his mouth, his iron grip on his gun not faltering.

“And my lady.” Bo inched toward the man, gun aimed at his back.

You rushed over to him, arms wrapping around his middle tightly.

“Thank god you came when you did.” You whispered into his neck.

He kissed your forehead gently, free hand rubbing your cheek.

“Go wait in the shop for me.” He looked down at you, expression hard.

You knew not to argue, nodding rapidly before rushing off to the store.

“On your knees.” Bo commanded.

The man did as he was told, sobbing like a little girl, reciting scripture, but even god couldn’t save him from the wrath of the two men.

“You got this?” Stack spared him a glance.

“Absolutely, he messed with my woman, so imma take care of it.” Bo grinned devilishly.

“Baby you alright?” Bo rushed over to you practically tearing off the shop door.

“I’m fine, I’m good. What bout you, you okay?” You swatted at his hands grabbing ahold of his face.

He sighed deeply resting his forehead against yours.

“Be mine.” He whispered after a while.

“What?” You pulled back from him slightly to stare into his eyes.

“Be. Mine.” He repeated staring right back at you.

“Where all this coming from Bo?” Your eyes searched his.

“When I saw that man threatening you i just- I realized right then and there that i couldn’t imagine a life without you, that i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if i lost ya, be mine baby, no more games, be mine.” He peppered gentle kisses on your jaw.

“Okay.” You nodded.

“Yeah?” His eyes lit up.

“Yeah Bo i’ll be yours, no more games.” You giggled.

He shouted in excitement, picking you up and twirling you around.

He set you down, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the back.

“Where we going?” You quirked a brow.

“I gotta show my lady how much i love her, sometimes words just ain’t enough, and lord knows i love a little action.” He smirked setting you on top of a supply box.

He knew just what to do to get you going.

Tags - @eclecticblkgirl @alphabetically-deranged @sassymemoryelixir (Comment to be added to my tag list)

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Hidden Treasure

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1653

Summary: You surprise Bucky by wearing a gift he got you and he has a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

Warnings: swearing, smut, butt plug

A/N: For @avengers-assemble-bingo AA-Kinky Bingo with square Public Sex & Butt Plug. Card (KB010)

A/N 2: Thank you to my Beta readers @late-to-the-party-81 & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog also @late-to-the-party-81 for the header & Stella @stellar-solar-flare for the idea behind this.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

Tonight was going to be a night to remember because you had planned a special surprise for your boyfriend, Bucky. He’s always talked about being spontaneous in your relationship and you’d always been eager to indulge him. The pair of you fucked a lot and literaly anywhere you could get your hands on each other, so it wasn’t surprising that tonight you’d had the idea to indulge in some public sex. To make it even better you’d also decided to wear a pink jewel butt plug. The pair of you always talked about different positions and scenarios to incorporate in your sex lives, so tonight you were going to plan the best sexcapade ever with your man.

You were looking at yourself in the mirror and when you turned around you could see the pink jewel sparkling at you. Just looking at it, you knew Bucky was going to lose his mind when he realised you were wearing it. You pulled the cute dress you had on down over your hips and hid the hidden treasure, wondering how long it would take him to find it. 

When you heard a knock on the door, a giggle escaped your lips. When you open it, Bucky is standing there, just taking you in. “Hey, doll, you're looking fine as hell tonight. Are you sure you don’t wanna stay in and cuddle? I could do that thing you like with my tongue.” He pokes it out from between his lips, attempting to demonstrate, but you stopped him.

“Bucky, you promised to take me out tonight. We can have fun later I promise,” you plead with him.

“But I’m feeling pretty horny,” he pouted. “I just want to sink my cock deep in your pussy and feel you squeeze around it.” A little frisky, Bucky chased you around the apartment as you squealed in delight. When he eventually caught you and pinned you against the wall, he reached around to squeeze your butt, but instead nudged your butt plug.

“What do we have here?” He questioned you with a lear as he lifted up your dress, spun you and took a good look at the toy nestled between your butt cheeks. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw Bucky’s mouth drop open and you swore he had hearts in his eyes. “Oh, doll, you’re in so much trouble. No panties and a butt plug? Now I have to play with you before we go out.” 

“Bucky,” you whined out. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Well, I’m definitely surprised, that's for sure.” Bucky stepped back, his hands on his hips, and he licked his lips.

“Please, let's just go out for a little while and then we can play afterwards. I promise you can take what you want then. I’m all dressed up just for you so we can go on a date. Please, Bucky, let's go have some fun tonight.” You were at the point of begging and you weren’t ashamed to be doing so.

“I can’t say no to you, doll. Not now, not ever. But later your body is mine. Let’s head out and go to the new club. I’ve heard it's very nice and that Tony Stark is an amazing host.”

“Sounds good, Bucky.” You grabbed your keys and ID before skipping out the door with your boyfriend trailing behind you. As you locked up Bucky slapped your butt and chuckled to himself. You knew his patience was going to wear thin tonight, so you were going to have to make the most out of your date.

Bucky drove you both to the Stark club which luckily wasn’t far from your apartment. Although, having you arrived and observed the large line outside, you started to doubt if you would actually get in tonight. However, Bucky just grabbed your hand and bypassed everyone, heading straight to the door. When he stopped in front of the bouncer, Bucky gave his name and just like that, he let you both in.

“I didn’t know you knew someone here.”

Bucky smiled at you. “I know the manager Steve, we go back many years.”

“I’m impressed. Let’s grab a drink — I need liquid courage if I’m going to dance.”

"You have as many as you want doll, but I'm gonna just have the one - I am driving after all."

You made your way over to the bar and Bucky ordered a pair of beers, paying for both. Transaction completed, you walked over to a table and sat down. You both started talking about how your days have been. Bucky started, telling you about how he’s ready to fire an employee named John for all his screw ups he has been making and in turn you told him about your crazy day at work. As you were talking, Bucky stared at you with his cool blue eyes, and when you finished he asked, “What made you finally choose the butt plug?”

Your cheeks got hot and you squirmed in your seat at the mention of it, making the item itself shift inside you. “You said you wanted me to surprise you sometime, so I figured I’d do just that and use the butt plug you bought me for my birthday a few weeks ago.” You shifted again, but this time more purposeful, keeping your gaze locked on your boyfriend’s. “Have to say it fits nice and snug. Makes me yearn for your big cock to be inside of me.”

Bucky growled. “Keep talking like that and I may just have to give you what you want.”

In response, you seductively drank your beer, your tongue swirling around the top before your lips wrapped around the top as you took a long pull of your drink. When you swallowed you made a show of it and licked your lips. For good measure, you added a small throaty moan which threatened to turn into a giggle as Bucky picked up his own drink and started to chug it. You knew you’d got to him. His cock was probably hard enough to pound nails and he wasn’t waiting any longer.

“Come with me,” he said gruffly, as he placed his now empty beer bottle on the table.

You finished off your own drink just as quickly and took his outstretched hand. Bucky pulled you efficiently through the crowds of people and toward the back of the club. He pushed through an exit-only door and headed outside, pulling you along in his wake. As soon as the door closed he was on you. 

His lips crashed against yours in a heated kiss and his hands grabbed your ass. You moaned into his mouth when he pulled your dress up over your hips and started playing with the butt plug. The sensation was so good, and you could feel your pussy getting wet.

“Wait until we get home — my cock is going to replace that plug. I’m going to fuck that ass real good.”

“Fuck, Bucky. I need you.” You kissed him all over his face, waiting for him to dominate you.

“Then you’ll have me,” he replied, huskily. 

Bucky lifted you off your feet and you quickly wrapped your legs around his trim waist, your back resting against the wall as Bucky pulled himself free of his pants. Rubbing his cock through your wet folds until he was slick with your arousal made him groan, but he didn’t delay in placing the tip of his cock at your entrance and sinking into you. Now it was your turn to let out a noise of pleasure. However, he allowed you no time to adjust, immediately thrusting up into you, hard and fast. The pair of you moan, not holding anything back and you meet him thrust for thrust as he takes you apart piece by piece.

The thought of getting caught spurred you on as you let Bucky take control of your body. He thrust into you over and over again, his eyes locked with yours. On a particularly hard thrust, he sealed his lips over yours and swallowed your moans. 

“Fuck princess,” he mumbled against you. “You feel so tight around me. Gonna let me fill you up like a good girl?”

You answered him with a filthy kiss, before adding, “I want it, Buck. Need you to fill me up.”

Harder and faster Bucky pistoned into you as you panted his name. One hand reached between you and he started to rub at your clit with quick motions which was all that you needed to tip over the edge, your panting turning to a cry that echoed into the night's sky. 

“Bucky!”

Your walls squeezed and spasmed around his cock which made Bucky’s pace falter. However, as soon as you came down from your high he chased his orgasm with a few hard thrusts, before he spilled inside of you. 

For a few moments Bucky didn’t move, just catching his breath. However, he didn’t wait too long before he pulled out of you and placed you back on your feet. Tucking himself back into his pants, he then helped you smooth some of the wrinkles from your dress before he leaned back into you and kissed you like his life depended on it.

“Princess, can we go home now? I’m more than ready to play with this butt plug and your ass.” 

“But Bucky, I didn't even get to dance tonight,” you pouted at him.

“I’ll do the horizontal tango with you all night long, instead,” Bucky smirked back at you as you giggled. “This time we won’t have to rush and I can take my time with you. What do you say, princess?”

“How can I say no to this handsome face? Fine, but next week you’re bringing me back here for the full experience. Deal?”

“Deal, love. Now let’s hurry before I have to take you in the car.”

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[thewretched1999]

── .✦ bailale, mi amor.

cw: established relationship, jealousy, luis serra is alive!! (i scream as they drag me away.) reader is an agent + is also implied to be like, latina, but it’s hardly (heavy on the hardly) mentioned.

a/n: finish literally any fic i’ve had in the vault and post it? no. post a imagine/drabble i wrote cus i was listening to a song? yes. anyways. short n sweet i guess. will be posting a real fic soon, promis :3

word count: 577

Imagining Leon going out with you to like a baile or something, Leon doesn’t dance, would rather roll on broken glass and pour salt in his wounds than ever humiliate himself like that in front of anyone, especially you.

He opts for the safer option, stays behind, nurses his drink and takes in the setting, everything was going fine but for some god forsaken reason, you dragged Luis out to dance.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to let you two be all buddy buddy because now he’s silently seething watching you both dance together. You’re not doing anything bad, per se, just having fun with a friend, a friend.

It’s not that Leon doesn’t trust Luis, he does!

…He just has to remind himself that there would never ever be anything between you and Luis. He remembers how Luis was all too eager to hit on you any chance he got back in Spain, granted he stopped once he figured out Leon had a thing for you, but that was basically on the helicopter ride home.

A little too late for Leon’s liking.

He still knows a little bit of spanish from Spain and what he's learned from you to know he doesn’t like what the lyrics are saying at all.

Something about turning someone on and needing to feel their body close to them. You’d be proud of him for making the words out.

But he can’t focus on that right now, not with the way his brain is just screaming at him that you and Luis just look too good together, too natural.

Luis twirls you, you stumble a bit but recover by leaning into him with a laugh, Luis’s hand makes it’s way to the small of your back, pressing you just a tiny bit closer against him.

Leon’s fingers tighten subtly around the glass, jaw clenched and brow furrowed. He’s being stupid he knows he is, but he can’t help it. He’s jealous.

Eventually the song ends and you bound back to the booth meanwhile Luis slips outside, probably to smoke, Leon’s just glad you’re back with him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, he forgets you know his tells.

“Nothing.”

“Your face is doing that thing, Leon.”

He stays quiet for a moment, wonders if he should just tell you or not, but he sighs and decides he doesn’t want to ruin your night.

“Did you have fun?” He asks instead, cringing slightly.

Fuck, even he knows his tone was bitter and snarky, you picked up on it too, judging by the momentary look of suprise on your face that’s being quickly replaced with a grin, he knows he’s screwed.

“You’re jealous.”

You gasp and point an accusatory finger at him. Like it’s the discovery of the century.

He just glares at you, slugs his drink while you cackle, because it’s hilarious to you, it’s absurd.

“You’re jealous!” You repeat.

He’s jealous of Luis? You can’t help but laugh at the notion. If you weren’t a couple drinks in you’d have taken him seriously and reassured him.

But right now all you can do is laugh.

“You wanna play like that?” He grumbles, “Wait til’ we get home.”

That shuts you up real quick, paints a pretty blush across your face that lets him know he’s got you right where he wants you.

Needless to say, he makes sure you remember your place by his side once you both get home that night.

[blastzachilles]

— Girls .ᐟ

CHARACTERS: BASSIST FUTCH!PAT x FEM!READER WORD COUNT: 2.3k CW: SMUT 18+, afab reader. fingering, oral (f!receiving), somewhat inexperienced reader, mentions of alcohol/cannabis, author has an unpacked hand kink and really likes bassists????, author who has never been to a party and gotten drunk tries writing about a party and getting drunk

a/n: happy late challengersversary!!!! baby’s first smut <3 . even if im posting last (need to even out the angst and smut). kind of happy with how this turned out. also thank you mel for the band name nod 100 emoji link to main post!

— You don’t know why you’re here right now. 

You have tons of homework you should be doing, and finals season is just around the corner. But your friends swore you were in dire need of going out, and that was that. They got you ready and (literally) dragged you off to this party. 

This party that your friends said would be fun. Sure, fun. Fun’s the reek of alcohol and weed, couples making out, and intoxicated people passed out, everywhere. They clearly don’t know you. 

Empty solo cup in hand, you make your way through the crowd to the backyard for some fresh air, sitting on the edge of the patio and basking in the cool breeze that comes with the late hours of the day. 

Until you see a crowd of people walking back inside the house. Oh yeah, your friends had told you about this. There was going to be ‘live entertainment.’ Which usually meant some shitty college boy band that was just trying to get into people’s pants. No thanks.

But for some reason, you find yourself walking back inside anyway, pushing through the crowd to get a few rows in front of the makeshift stage. Then the band walks out, and you look over the members. 

When you see them, you short circuit. 

You tune out every other noise but the sound of rushing blood in your ears as your heart starts to pound, hands going clammy with sweat. Thank god the lights are dimmed, is your only thought as you feel the blood rushing to your rapidly warming cheeks. 

You miss the band’s name, and their little introduction leading up to their first song. But you don’t really care, your eyes don’t leave whoever that is up there, playing the bass. 

The hottest person you’ve ever seen. 

Dark curls, broad shoulders, and a face that looks like it was carved by Michelango himself. They’re in a tight white tank that leaves little to the imagination, and black cargos with a statement belt. You’re mesmerized, and you feel yourself staring in a way that many would deem disrespectful. 

When you manage to tear your eyes away from their face, as the band introduces their next song, you decide to look them over. 

Big mistake. 

The first thing you settle on is their casual stance, almost like nothing can bother them. Then follows their legs–they definitely work out–and then comes their shoulders.

Those are great. Both of them. 

But it’s their hands that really get to you. Their fingers plucking the strings like it’s nothing. Like it’s second nature to them. It gets you thinking about what else they– 

That thought immediately goes south, and you feel the need to squeeze your legs shut, just a little more. 

Using what feels like superhuman strength to rip your eyes off their hands, you look back up to their face, only to be met with their eyes already locked onto you. A slow smirk crawls onto their face, and you feel like you’re going into cardiac arrest, like you’re not really alive and instead in some sort of dream sequence. 

The world falls away as your eyes bore into theirs, like you two are the only people who exist. You hold their gaze for what feels like forever before they tear theirs away again to play the next song, and while the moment feels broken, it doesn’t exactly feel over.

Especially when their set has finally finished, and while the band you still don’t know the name of packs up, you turn on your heel to rush to the bathroom. You need a moment after that. 

But you don’t get twenty steps in before someone catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks. Turning around, you find yourself meeting the gaze of them. The bassist. From the band. The one you were ogling so hard, it probably looked like you had googly eyes. 

“Pat.” 

“Huh?” you stammer out. 

“The name. It’s Pat.” 

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, of course.” you say, introducing yourself. “You were great up there. You–you all were. I really liked your band, uh–” 

“Phil’s Tire Town?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. That.” 

“Yeah,” a small breath escaping Pat’s lips as they chuckle softly. It’s confident, like they know they’re hot and run with it. “Saw you staring at me the whole set. You here with anyone?” 

“Was with my friends, but they’re… elsewhere. Around.” You look around the room to see if your friends are anywhere, but they’re not. They’ll check in later, that’s how this usually goes.

“No… partner?” 

“Oh!” you laugh. “You mean that way. Oh, no.”

Pat laughs back, and you feel like your heart has skipped at least five beats. “You sound so sure of that.”

“Well, yeah, I am.”

They let out a little ‘hm’ at your words, nodding with interest before looking down at your solo sup, still empty. “You, uh, you drinking anything?”

You catch Pat’s gaze, and look down at your solo cup, trying to play it off like it hasn’t been empty the whole night. “Oh, yeah. Just finished the cup. Was about to head over to the bar to get myself another cup.”

“Definitely.”

“Yeah, definitely.” you laugh awkwardly. 

Then Pat walks past you, and your smile falls, your gut dropping as you prepare yourself for the worst.

But then they turn around to look back at you. 

“You coming?”

And you’re following behind them faster than ever. 

After you get to the kitchen and start drinking with Pat, the night goes by like something of a blur. You spend upwards of an hour laughing as you slowly progress further and further into an intoxicated state, and eventually, sometime around two, decide it’s time to get up and leave.

“I should, uh, I should head out.” you giggle, the alcohol starting to get to you.

“You sure? The party’s just starting.” Pat chuckles. 

“Yeah, positive…” 

“Let me walk you home then.” They say, with a tone that indicates they’re in it for something else.

“No… you don’t hav’to–” 

Pat grabs your arm, and you quickly shut up. “Please, I insist.”

“Okay.”

The walk back to your dorm is slow but enjoyable, you and Pat basking in the early morning breeze, giddy with intoxication. 

When you stop outside your door, Pat’s still with you, and the air feels charged. There was tension at the party, but not to this degree. You swear you could cut through this with a butter knife. 

“Well, I guess this is goodnight.” they say.

“Yeah. I guess this is. Goodnight, Pat.” 

“Goodnight.”

Neither of you move though. 

Instead, you’re both staring into each other as though trying to decipher who each other is just from a glance. Like you’re trying to crawl inside them and find out who they are, what makes them tick, and what gets them going. At least that’s what you’re doing. You can only hope they’re doing the same.

Heart pounding and hands clammy, you inspect Pat, their eyes, their face all over, and you sense your thoughts starting to wander and–

That’s why they call it liquid courage. 

Your lips crash against theirs, your kiss hungry and desperate, like their breath is the only oxygen you need. 

It happens in a matter of seconds. 

You pull them into your dorm, the kiss barely breaking, clothes being torn off and forgotten on the floor, as it registers in your head what you’re about to do.

“I’m–I’m not–” 

Pat helps you to your knees, sitting on the edge of your bed and spreading their legs. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” 

You nod, leaning in to rest your head on their thigh, kissing at it, getting soft gasps out of them that leave a grin on your face.

Pat’s hand finds its way into your hair, bringing your mouth closer to where they’re expecting you, and you look up at them, eyes wide in a way that shoots south. 

When your tongue darts out to give a small lick at their cunt, you grin against their folds when they let out a soft moan.

“Fuck yeah, baby. You feel that? That’s all for you.” 

As you lick again, a long stripe along their cunt, they push your head further in between their legs, your eyes still looking up at them. 

“Oh god, yeah. Yeah, that’s good.” They moan, head falling back as you keep going. 

You’re not really sure if you’re actually doing that good, but if they’re making those noises, you can only hope you’re doing something right. 

Burying your face deeper in their cunt, you circle their clit with your tongue, sucking softly before moving a little lower to delve your face into their folds once more, pushing your tongue inside Pat as their moans become louder and more frequent. 

“Oh, yeah—Fuck, I’m gonna—Fuck! I’m so close—Just a little more. Just—Oh!” Pat cries, their legs shaking around your head, grip in your hair tightening as they reach their climax, coming all over your face as you try to lap it up, prolonging their orgasm. 

When they’re done, they’re breathing heavy, head falling forward as their hand falls out of your hair, and you press a few kisses to their inner thighs. 

After a few moments, they perk up again, and smile down at you. 

“Okay. Your turn.” Pat huffs out, clearly spent from finishing, as they help you up and lead you over to your bed, lying you down. 

“Okay.” You gasp, grinning, face still glistening with their orgasm.

“Let me take care of you.” they whisper, leaning in and pressing their lips to yours again, before peppering them along your jaw, to your neck, to your collarbone, and then your chest. The intensity of it all makes you gasp, your mind fuzzy as though you’re in some sort of haze. You’re half aware of Pat’s hands rubbing your thighs as you watch their tongue circle your quickly hardening nipple, before they close their lips around it and begin to suck softly. The action elicits small mewls from you, your back arching and pushing your chest further into their mouth, making the feeling all the more intense. 

You feel like you’re in a dream, but come back with a protesting gasp as Pat lifts their head up and removes their mouth from your chest. 

“Hey!–” 

“Easy, babe.” they chuckle, a satisifed smirk on their face, their green eyes on you as they squeeze your thigh slightly. “Saw you staring at my hands while I was playing. You like ‘em?” 

Your face somehow manages to feel even hotter than it already does, but you give a small nod regardless. “Yeah. Who wouldn’t?”

They make a face as though to contemplate that answer, bobbing their head side to side. “Eh, good point. You wanna learn what else they’re good for?” 

It’s such a stupid line, but that paired with the cocky smirk on Pat’s face absolutely destroys any sort of self-preservation you have, and you’re quick to give in. “Yes. God, yes, please. I’ve been thinking about it since I first saw you.” 

“I know.” Pat’s voice is low, quiet, as they drag their fingers up along your inner thigh, reaching your cunt and running a finger along your folds, getting a few whimpers from you. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that. Such pretty noises, just for me. So wet, just for me.” 

It’s not a question, but you feel the need to answer it anyway. “Yeah–yeah. Wet, just for you.” 

Pat’s smirk widens at that, and they begin to ease a finger inside you. “That good? Yeah?” 

If the way you moan and your back arches is any indicator, it’s very good. So good Pat eases in another, sliding the two fingers in deeper as you grab at their shoulders. “Easy, baby. That’s it. Yeah, that’s good.”

And then Pat starts to curl their fingers inside you, repeating the motion, and you think you just might black out. You’ve never felt anything like this, and it’s like Pat’s been doing this to you forever, as if know every little thing that makes you moan and gasp and whine like never before. 

And when you start squirming, hips rolling erratically against their hand, signaling you’re close, Pat pushes their fingers knuckle deep to work you to your brink.

“Fuck, Pat! I’m gonna–gonna–”

“Yeah, that’s it. Come for me, baby.” 

“O-ok–Yeah–Oh! Fuck!” you moan sharply, finally being brought to your brink as you release all over their hand, releasing a stream of liquid as you squirt. Your legs shake, and Pat keeps working you through your whole orgasm. 

“That’s it, baby. Yeah, just like that. Beautiful.” 

Your chest is heaving with exertion, a wave of exhaustion coming over you after enduring such a brutal orgasm. 

“God, that was…” 

“I know.” Pat grins. 

You grin up at them, and with a final kiss, you say your goodnights, Pat’s warm body wrapped around you from behind as you fall asleep, spent and satisfied.

The next morning, when you wake up in your dorm, your hangover leaving you with a killer headache and your clothes still strewn across the floor, you feel it before you look to your side. The spot where they were sleeping, now empty and cold, the clothes they threw on the floor now gone. And when you reach for your phone, you feel a sticky note on top of it, taking it off to read it. You scoff to yourself, looking at their number on the note, on top of a ‘call me ;)’ written underneath.   

Maybe your friends were right. These parties are fun.

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[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twenty-two

Don't look at me I have zero self restraint😭 I am so sorry (not sorry) for the curveball thrown in this chapter and for the curveballs that are about to come (our unsub is devolving, folks!)

Warnings: you know the drill, our usual angst, Rossi being Rossi, Strauss being Strauss, an almost panic attack, dare I say...fluff? comfort to accompany the hurt? from Hotch of all people? y'all...

Rossi comes to find you in Garcia’s lair at barely four p.m. You’re in the middle of watching Garcia — completely legally — hack into some database or another. She’s not looking for anything specific; this is purely for fun, and to kind of mess with one of the guys that works there that she’s old friends with. It’s good entertainment and a wonderful distraction after Hotch’s sudden weird behavior.

“Knock knock,” Rossi says, already opening the door. “It’s closing time.”

“What?” you spin around in the chair. “What are you talking about?”

He taps his watch. “It’s time for me to get out of this place, and I’m your ride, so that means it’s time for you to get out of here, too.”

You never leave this early. It’s a miracle if you’re out of here before five-thirty. But Rossi gives you a look that tells you he is not budging on his leaving time, not even for you.

“Fine,” you huff. “Until tomorrow.”

“Drink some glorious wine,” Pen says, blowing kisses at you.

“I will,” you promise, returning her kisses.

Rossi follows you back to the bullpen so you can grab your things. The team is hovering around the coffee pot, clearly taking a break from everything — you can’t blame them. You’re never one to condone leaving this early, but you want to tell everyone to call it for the night. 

“Hey, there she is,” Emily smiles when she sees you. “Heading out?”

You nod, thumbing in Rossi’s direction. “Someone said it’s time to go already, and I’m without a car, so I’m at his mercy.”

“How tragic, I’m making you work less,” Rossi deadpans, but he’s smirking. “Go get your stuff.”

You turn to do just that, nearly smacking right into Hotch’s chest and spilling the mugs of coffee in the process. Thankfully, he saves them and you both from being covered in cold coffee.

“Sorry,” he says, taking a step to the side. “Heading out for the day?”

“Yep,” you nod. “Rossi’s orders.”

Hotch smiles a little when he looks over at Rossi. “Alright, well, enjoy your night. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

“Sure.” You step around him and go to your desk, grabbing your purse, and deciding to leave everything else for once. 

You’d like to know exactly what the hell those two talked about in Hotch’s office, but you’ll be damned before you ask either one of them. If it’s important, they’ll clue you in. If they don’t, that’s their own stupid decision.

Hotch is rinsing out your mugs when you return to the circle, his back turned. He cranes his neck to look at you as you wave goodbye. It’s a small look, but it’s enough, and it’s…soft.

You’re annoyed that he felt the need to have a private meeting with Rossi to discuss something obviously pertaining to this investigation. But you’re not as angry as you might’ve been a month and a half ago, which is saying something. It’s progress, if you want it to be. Do you want it to be?

You don’t know.

You’re quiet on the ride back to Rossi’s house, but so is he, save the occasional humming to the jazz radio that he is playing.

It’s not until much later that the two of you talk. You, perched on a stool in the kitchen with a glass of wine and Dave, standing at the stove with a towel over his shoulder as he cooks, his own glass of wine on the counter next to him.

You’re scrolling randomly on your phone when Rossi asks, “Do you remember being kidnapped at all?”

You sit your phone down, peering at him. “Is this really what you’re thinking about right now?”

He chuckles, shrugs, and continues stirring whatever sauce it is he’s concocting. “I’ve never stopped thinking about your case, you know.”

“Mine?”

He nods, keeping his back turned to you. “The kids always stick with me the most. Yours was special because of who your dad was, but…also because of who kidnapped you.”

You pause mid-sip of your wine. “What about him?”

“Well, because we don’t know who it was,” Rossi continues. “That isn’t typical. Usually it’s a family member, or a family friend, or at the very least, we catch them when we find the kid. But not with yours. We have no idea who it was, to this day, and you never saw his face, did you?”

You shake your head, even though Rossi isn’t facing you. “I never did.”

He hums.

“What are you thinking?” you press.

He shakes his head again, turning around to look at you while the sauce simmers for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

You shift on the stool, leaning onto the counter on your elbows. “Have you really been thinking about it all this time?”

He nods seriously. “It’s hard not to. Of course, I’ve thought about it more since everything has been happening.”

You let out a laugh. “Yeah, me too. Hard not to rehash it all when it’s coming back to haunt me like this.”

Rossi smiles, a bit sadly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We’ll have to,” you say. “We have no choice, and something tells me the unsub is getting close to making himself known.”

“Gut feeling?”

You nod. “A bad one.” You don’t want to let that admission linger in the air for a second longer, so you quickly change subjects. “By the way, Hotch will be staying here for the weekend.” You pause. “For security.”

You don’t miss the way Rossi’s lips tug into a smirk that he quickly tries to hide with a nod. “That’s a good idea.”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes, it is.”

“I assume this means the two of you are on…better terms now?”

You roll your eyes. “We’re no longer arguing at every turn, if that’s what you mean. But don’t think I’ve forgotten about him going behind my back— or the sudden private discussion with you today.”

“Ah, that.” Rossi’s eyebrows raise as he turns back to the sauce on the stove. “I told him he could’ve timed that better.”

“Or just asked whatever it was right there,” you argue. “What was so important that I couldn’t hear it?”

Rossi shakes his head. “It was nothing.”

“So now you’re lying to me.”

You see his shoulders rise and fall with his deep breath.

“Dave,” you try again. “Please, I’m serious.” He still doesn’t turn around. “There’s so much going on with this that we don’t know, the biggest part being that we still don’t know exactly why the unsub is targeting me— I can’t stand any more secrets.”

You can practically hear the battle going on in Rossi’s mind as he keeps his back turned, idly stirring the pot and waiting.

Waiting. Sighing. Waiting.

“He asked me about your kidnapping,” Rossi finally says. “Because everything that has happened has mirrored your life, including Lila’s kidnapping, and— She did see her kidnapper’s face.”

You don’t get it. “And?”

Rossi turns slowly, watching you carefully. “Are you sure the man who kidnapped you didn’t show you his face?”

“Yes,” you answer automatically, and Rossi’s gaze doesn’t waver. “What are you trying to say? Even if he did, it was twenty years ago. How would I remember?”

“No, you’re right,” Rossi says. “Memories can be fickle at best, even worse when they’re two decades old.”

“Exactly.”

“But some things stick with you,” he continues. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about how calm you were when we found you. Do you even remember how we found you?”

You open your mouth to answer, but your mind comes up blank. It’s like one minute you were at the bus stop that afternoon, the next you were speaking to a younger Rossi in the police precinct while your mom and dad were in separate rooms just across from you. You had a feeling in that moment that your life was about to change drastically. You just didn’t know how. You remember getting to say goodbye to your dad, but only for one second, before your mom pulled you away.

“How did you find me?” you ask quietly.

Rossi’s face softens. “It was similar to Lila. We were patrolling the area and you waved us down.”

“I did?”

“You were just walking,” Dave recalls, somewhat in disbelief. “You were in the same clothes, but they didn’t look dirty. You didn’t look dirty or uncared for.”

“He had given me other clothes,” you blurt, short flashes of memory rushing back. “And let me shower. I remember the bathroom had a lock on it, on the inside, like one of those bars on bathroom stalls, because that was why I felt safe to actually shower, knowing it was locked.” You pause, swirling your wine and staring at the liquid as it whirls. “But I remember he told me to put that outfit back on, the one I was wearing that day. So I’d match the description the police had put out for me.”

“He told you that?”

You nod slowly. “I didn’t question it, I just put them on and…next thing I knew I was walking down the road and saw a police car coming toward me.” You look back up at him, a tiny memory coming back, your eyebrows furrowing. “You were in it.”

“I was,” Dave confirms. “I was patrolling with an officer when I spotted you.”

You take a deep breath. “Do you think he — the unsub — knows that you were at the BAU then, too?”

“I don’t know,” Rossi admits. “Maybe. But he hasn’t seemed to target me. That could just mean he’s not interested in me, not that he doesn’t see the connection, though.”

“Right.”

“We can talk more about it tomorrow,” Rossi says after a too-long moment of silence from you. He turns the sauce off and puts a lid on it. “Come here, I’m showing you how to make pasta.”

You perk up. “From scratch?”

He looks mortified that you’d even imply otherwise.

+++

You try not to let what Rossi talked to you about earlier keep you up that night, but it’s easier said than done. 

You do choose to sleep in a different guest room, this one further away but still on the same floor as Rossi’s room. You know he has the best security system money can buy, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t paranoid. It’s hard not to be.

As a result, you barely sleep, and it’s clear on your face the next morning. Rossi is kind enough not to mention it or try to keep you from going into the office as late as lunchtime again. He does stop by a cafe to get you both fancy coffees — that you’ll admit does taste heavenly — but you’re in the office just a few minutes after your normal time.

Just in time to see everyone’s worried faces in the bullpen.

“Um…” You drop your purse on your desk, looking around. Everyone is down here. Even Hotch. No one is sitting. Everyone looks…scared. “Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”

“We have a mystery meeting with Strauss,” Emily says.

“In about five minutes,” Morgan adds, glancing down at his watch.

Reid grimaces.

“I think I know what she’s going to tell us,” Hotch says quietly. 

Your eyes snap to his. “What?”

To his credit, he opens his mouth to reply, but he doesn’t get that far. Strauss breezes through the glass doors five minutes too soon, halting when she notices everyone huddled around the desks.

“Conference room, now, please,” she says, raising her eyebrows at all of you. “We aren’t having this discussion out in the open.”

That sends your panic spiking. “What’s going on?”

“Please,” Strauss gestures again to the round table room just up the stairs. “Everyone, now.”

You leave your coffee on your desk, deciding to lead the way since everyone else seems frozen in place. You have no idea what could come out of Strauss’s mouth next, not with how unpredictable everything has been as of late.

You take a seat at the table and everyone follows suit, with Hotch to your right and Morgan to your left. 

Strauss enters last and shuts the door — both doors — and draws the blinds. She paces to the front of the room, standing in front of the screen. She doesn’t sit.

“I will save you all the agony of wondering whether or not I know what you’ve been doing,” she begins, her eyes landing on you. “I may be absent from this department at the best of times, but I am not oblivious. I haven’t stopped it because I thought it might prove useful, and I was right.”

“Where is this going?” Reid blurts out.

Strauss pauses her pacing to clasp her hands together. “Richard Monroe has escaped from prison. He is now a missing person.”

You freeze. Hotch tenses beside you, his arm reaching slightly across the table, just barely inching into your space. 

“When did this happen?” Morgan asks.

“Sometime this morning between one and five a.m.,” Strauss replies. “I was notified when I arrived this morning.”

You aren’t sure if you can or can’t breathe. You don’t know what’s going on — not with Richard Monroe, not with any of it. Hotch’s hand is just barely in front of you on the table, and you have the urge to grasp it, to hold onto his arm for some sort of stability, but you don’t. You lean back in your chair, putting some distance between the two of you, as much as you can.

“I know you’ve been investigating the recent cases and their connections as an additional priority, but as of right now, I want it to be your first priority.” Strauss locks eyes with each of you, ending last on you. “I understand this might all connect back to you.”

You nod slowly. “We think it might have something to do with my father, ma’am.”

“So you’ve told them,” Strauss notes. “Understood. Well, I want to be briefed on everything you’ve discovered thus far, and any new leads you think you might have.”

“You’ll want to sit down, then,” Rossi says, standing to pull a chair out for Strauss. “This will take a while.” 

You relay everything to Strauss, everyone chiming in at certain points to fill in each missing piece until she has the full picture.

Once you’ve finished, Strauss nods once, firm. She looks at you. “Normally, in circumstances like these, I might ask that you relieve yourself of your duties for this case.”

You hold your breath, expecting her to do just that.

“I will not be doing that, for now,” she finishes. “Don’t make me regret that decision.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Your top priority is this investigation,” Strauss reiterates. “I will be coordinating with the authorities to receive updates about Richard Monroe’s whereabouts, but until then, get to the bottom of this. Quickly.”

“Yes ma’am,” Morgan says. “We will.”

“Good,” Strauss says, standing to her feet. “Now, unfortunately, this isn’t my only important meeting of the day, so I need to get back upstairs.”

Rossi stands to open the door for her, and he follows her out, shutting the door behind him.

You stare blankly at the table before you, your mind still reeling beyond comparison. Richard Monroe broke out of prison? He’s missing? None of this makes sense. How did he get past the prison guards? How did he not get stopped somehow on the grounds on the way out? How did he just disappear?

“Hey,” Hotch’s voice is soft beside you, and you blink up at him. He nods in the direction of the door, you think. “Come on.”

You nod, feeling almost outside of your body as you stand, placing your hand in Hotch’s when he offers it to you. You feel the team watching the two of you, especially now that you’re hand-in-hand, leaving the room to head to his office. But you don’t care.

You don’t let go of his hand until you’re in his office, leaving him to shut the door as you collapse down onto the couch. You hear him shut the door and close the blinds, giving you some privacy.

“Can I get you anything?” you hear Aaron asking. “Water?”

You shake your head.

“Can you breathe?”

You nod.

Aaron sighs deeply, sounding relieved, sitting down in the chair next to the couch, clasping his hands together. He waits.

“What are we supposed to do?” you whisper, keeping your eyes trained on the floor. “How are we supposed to find him if he got past the guards and disappeared into thin air?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh my god, it’s not your fault,” you laugh, just from the absurdness of it all, dropping your head into your hands. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“No,” Aaron says immediately, turning his body toward you. “This is not your fault.”

“How is it not?” you cry, lifting your head, your eyes wide when you stare at him incredulously. “This is all related to my father—”

“Which does not make it your fault,” Aaron interrupts, leaning closer to you. He might as well move to the couch, but he won’t. Not unless you tell him to.

You lean your head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I never should’ve joined the FBI. I should’ve listened to my mom, I should’ve done something else with my life, I should’ve never let this— let him consume my life like this, I—”

Hotch is next to you in an instant, acting against his better judgement and grabbing your hands. “Listen to me— Look at me.”

You stop your rambling, your eyes darting to him. You don’t move an inch away from him, though.

“It’s not your fault,” Hotch repeats. “What your father did, and everything that has happened as a consequence, is not your fault. You joining the FBI, following this path, does not mean you brought this all on yourself.”

“It means that I didn’t even try to stop it,” you whisper. “I could’ve kept running. I could’ve chosen some other life, changed my name again— Instead of just walking right into this. It feels like my whole life I’ve been walking into a trap and I didn’t even realize it and now it’s too late.”

Hotch says nothing for a moment, his brown eyes swimming as he scans your entire face, squeezing your hands. He shakes his head finally, slowly. “You wouldn’t be yourself, if you weren’t here. You’re doing what you’re passionate about.”

“Passion isn’t always a good thing,” you suck in a deep breath. You let your head drop, resting your forehead just barely on his shoulder. “It certainly doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“I know,” Aaron whispers, still holding onto you. It’s the closest you two have ever been, the closest you’ve let him get, and he’s not moving. Not unless you tell him to. “I know.”

[bluemerakis]

being approached by a tipsy soldier boy at a bar while playing pool with your friends, large palm edging into the corner of your vision as he cups the rim of the pool table with intent. his large frame hovers beside you at a distance far enough to be considered mindful—but not shy—the cool beer bottle he’s got in clutch ghosts up your back as he casually beckons for your attention. his lips find your ear almost effortlessly, a charming smirk perking the corner of his lips once you spare him a glance over your shoulder.

“next game’s on me, sweetheart,” he declares loudly through the bustling atmosphere, hot breath caressing your temple while the scent of one-too-many beers strangle your senses. he’s intoxicatingly bold, that’s for sure. “if i win, there’s a bathroom round back that you ‘nd i can get real cosy in. but if you win, feel free to tell me to fuck off like every other sorry dickhead who’s tried their luck this evenin’.”

you’re an inch away from being nose-to-nose with the unknown, albeit attractive man, but for some reason, you don’t attempt to put any space between your bodies. if anything, there’s a magnetic air to him that keeps you drawn in—close and personal—like a planet doomed to crash into the centre of it all.

was that what he was—trouble? you don’t need to ponder that question for long, not when you’re close enough to study every hypnotising feature on his face—the devilish look to his eyes, the beckoning glint to his perfect teeth, and the way his lips hover ever so loosely, like he’s waiting to claim a taste of you.

and just for tonight, you’re offering.

you angle your torso to face him more directly, but he doesn’t move to give you the space. doesn’t even attempt to. and he’s got a lazy, lopsided smirk plastered to his lips as he studies your every feature, head tilting slightly, like he’s just waiting for your inevitable fall into his arms.

“please,” you huff mockingly, hand clutching your pool stick firmly. “i come here enough to know who’s the reigning champion of the game, and it’s kinda hard to miss your face when it’s plastered to the posters stuck in every corner of this joint,” you point out. “you’ll win me for sure.”

he listens closely, head subtly lowering into your space—like he’s latching onto your every word, and then cocks an eyebrow at your statement that tells you he has zero intent to be humble about his title.

“well, that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, now would it, sweetheart?” he drawls with a throaty chuckle, chin perking as he glares you down with silent resolve. “c’mon, all i’m askin’ is that ya entertain a bored man on an even more borin’ night—i’ll take it easy on ya. promise,” he adds with a sly wink, gaze narrowing expectantly as he lifts his beer to his lips for a greedy swig.

for a moment, neither one of you say anything further, but the air between you thickens with the silent tension. you return his calculating stare with your own, like you’re weighing the risks of his offer. not that it mattered, really, because the answer had already been decided. you’d come here for a night of fun, and you’d be damned to let the first exhilarating opportunity slip away.

“okay,” you say finally, head tilting mischievously as your hand tightens around the tip of the pool stick. “challenge accepted,” you chirp, to which he raises his half-emptied bottle in a triumphant cheers. “but don’t you dare take it easy on me,” you add with a challenging smirk, your hand making a suggestive stroke down the stick. “i can handle myself. i’m not a sore loser, but i am a generous winner.”

his eyes track your motion intently, his motives rather focused despite the way his pupils are blown wide with liquor and irrationality alike. he drags his lazy stare back up to eye-level, the corner of his lips quirking. “was only ever being courteous, doll,” he says lowly, finally pushing himself from the support of the table.

he twists around briefly to grab a stick from the opposite table before facing you with a jut of his chin. “my bad for thinkin’ that a gal like you needs the easy handout. i’ll be sure to sport my fuckin’ a-game,” he says with a wink, shifting to brush past you before he reappears at your other side. his lips find your ear once more, beer-adorned hand coming up to brush your hair out of gloat’s way. “easiest win o’ the night,” he murmurs smugly before retreating from your space with the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth.

you whip around to face him with an amused shake of your head. “oh, it’s so fucking on,” you chuckle in disbelief, the grip on your pool stick firming up.

“now that’s what i’m fuckin’ talkin’ ‘bout!” he says loudly—like he’s announcing it to the rest of the bar. a few heads turn to look, but he doesn’t spare them a second of the night. he’s got all his focus on you. and his gaze doesn’t once stray, not even has he brings his beer to his lips to drown what thawed beverage remains to free his hands for the game.

and then it finally commences.

he didn’t go easy on you, that’s for sure. hell, he doesn’t even go easy on you now as he practically drags you along to the bar’s bathroom, large hand clasped around your wrist. his free hand comes forward to push the door open, and it swings back in an effortless surrender before he slips inside and you’re tugged along after him like a dog on a leash.

he spins around and pulls you into his torso with a practised ease, taking full advantage of your position to reverse you into the door until it slams shut like a blaring announcement to all the bar’s inhabitants to stay clear of this space. your back presses against the cool wood, his hands trailing from your waist to grip at the hems of your dress, where he tugs until it’s lifted over your head. it’s tossed aside almost instantly before his hands find your underwear, and his lips dive in to find the skin of your neck.

his lips slur kisses along the flushed skin while his fingers hook into your waistband, tugging in a notion for you to shed the coverage. he breaks away only to allow the shimmy of your legs, your lace bottoms pooling at your feet before he dives right back in to claim ownership of your lips with a kiss that leaves you utterly ruined. his hands slither back up to your hips to grip and squeeze the fat, eventually pulling you from the kind support of the door.

he breaks off the kiss with an impatient grunt, twirling you around and ushering you toward the counter with a palm to the small of your back. your hips collide with the rim, and he wastes no time in bending your bare body over the cool marble, your stomach pressed flat against the surface.

“now ain’t this a familiar view,” he laughs darkly, hand gliding up your back to hook a finger under your bra. “help a man out, would ya, doll?” he asks with a pointed yank of the clasp.

normally, you’re content to let men suffer and figure it out. but right now, you’re impatient and squirming, eager to have your own win of the night. so obediently, you twist your hands backwards to grab ahold of your bra’s clasp, where you work to undo it while his touch retreats and he shifts behind you to match your effort in undoing his belt.

it’s not long before his erection slips between your thighs and burrows into the slicked heat of your cunt, the cramped space echoing with the strained grunt that brews in his throat. his hands take up grip on either hip as he hollows you out with the first of his thrusts, the motion brutal as it snaps your lower half into the counter.

“you’re a mess down here,” he chuckles, the sound somewhat impressed. “a hot, wet mess. thought you seemed all worked up out there. guess you’re more o’ a sore loser than ya thought,” he adds with a satisfied scoff, squeezing your hips to add to his point before he pulls your body further his exploration and thrusts up into you.

you let out a broken gasp as your cheek presses against the marble, eyes fluttering closed around the sensation of your walls being stretched out—his to mould whichever way he pleases. and he seems hellbent on doing just that—internally branding you.

he glides one delicate hand over the curve of your ass before settling at the small of your back, where he presses your stomach into the countertop to maximise the pressure he’s subjecting you to. the sensation is godsent in combination with his thrusts, and you find yourself clenching around his every movement.

“told ya you’d be the easiest win o’ the night,” he taunts lowly—the sound strained and slightly breathless.

you strangle a moan before finding your tongue. “i’m not easy,” you protest indignantly, but the sound comes out weak. flustered. your palms find purchase atop the slippery field of marble as you arch your hips into his with enough force to temporarily subdue his thrusts, lifting your cheek to cast a challenging glare over your shoulder.

he meets your stare with one of warning, but the gesture hardly has time to translate before the hand on your back glides up your bare skin and over your shoulder, where it wraps around the front of your neck. there, his grip on you firms up enough to choke the air—and the nerve—right out of you, before he uses the unfair leverage to tug you off the countertop.

your back crashes back into his clothed chest, the contrast in modesty burning your cheeks hot. but the grasp on your throat doesn’t leave you enough air to complain—about the crudeness of it all, or about the way he’s gripping you as surely as he’d held his pool stick during the last round.

his head lowers to your level, his lips wrapping around the lobe of your ear for a quick nibble before retreating to whisper, “you’re easy enough.”

your hands wrap around the arm that imprisons you, your throat bopping beneath his grip with the silent plea for air. but he’s surprisingly quick to relent as he finally loosens his hold on you, hand tracing over your collar bone and across your breast for a snarky squeeze before he shifts to bend you over the counter once more.

“you look better bent over the bathroom counter than you do over the pool table—sure as hell perform better here, too,” he remarks suddenly, hands finding a steadying grip at your waist as his thrusts make a brutal comeback. he lifts a hand only to whip it across your ass cheek in a spank, urging a strangled moan from your lips. it’s a sound ridiculous enough to make him chuckle before he rubs a soothing line over the skin, almost gentle enough to make you believe it was an apology.

“not a sore loser, huh?” he recalls your words from earlier. “i want ya to show me that ya ain’t all talk, sweetheart. i want you to come for me—all over my fuckin’ dick. can ya do that for me, hm?”

you wince at the rapid pace he adapts, and the way he seems to excavate your core like a starved man searching for gold—like he’s already made up his mind for you. your palms sprawl across the counter before you, your vision becoming blurry with the mingle of pain and pleasure that burns your eyes teary. at this rate, it’s not if you can come completely undone for him—it’s when, and how many times.

“god—yes,” you sputter out breathlessly, your walls clenching around him with every second that passes.

“atta girl,” he praises gruffly, fingers tightening into the flesh of your hips as he drives your body into the counter. “god, you feel so fuckin’ good. so fuckin’ tight,” he breathes into the space, folding over at the waist to press himself against your back—like you’re finally wearing him out for a change. his jaw finds the slope of your shoulder as he settles his full weight over you, but his pace below doesn’t stutter. it wouldn’t dare. “knew i was right to take a fuckin’ chance on ya. prettiest girl in the room with a cunt slicker than any o’ my shittiest pickup lines. gonna come inside o’ ya—fill ya up real good. you want that, huh?” he grunts against your slick skin.

you utter a string of moans in acknowledgment, but your high is too close to allow any tangible words to part your lips. you’re overwhelmed with the pleasure, your body completely surrendering to him with a malleability that rocks your forms in unison. it’s a clear enough answer that has him grunting with every thrust, desperately chasing the high that’ll finally snap the string that winds both your bodies taut.

and then his tip finds your cervix in one final bruising motion, forcing a broken gasp from your lips. “oh, fuck!” you breathe out, and he harmonises with his own broken grunt, the grip on your body bruising as he latches onto something—anything that’ll ground him in the midst of his climax.

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” he pants against you, one hand releasing your waist as he lifts it to brush back the hair cascading over your collapsed head. he lets out a soft chuckle as he catches a glimpse of your red-tinted cheeks, his head tilting to get a better view of the absolute mess he’s reduced you to. “now that’s what i call a real fuckin’ win,” he says haughtily. “looks like i’m two-for-one this evenin’.”

“so charmingly humble,” you scoff weakly against the counter.

he leans in to place a kiss on your neck before retreating from your proximity, leaving your back bare and exposed. the inner of your thighs are slick with the mingle of your juices, seeping through the crevices of your plugged entrance like a testament to the pleasurable moment. for a few seconds, he hovers within your warmth, hands lingering against your back, before he finally pulls himself from your entrance with more caution than he’d exercised this entire evening.

behind you, the sound of his belt clinks into the space as he makes himself proper, and you push yourself off of the counter to face him. he catches your eye with a douchey smirk, hand coming forward to pinch your chin.

“you’re a shitty soloist, sweetheart,” he says, and your face contorts with an affronted expression, but he cuts you off before you’re afforded a comeback. “but a goddamn good team-player. i’d wish you better luck next time, but for my sake, i hope you suck just as much.”

he drops a suggestive wink before releasing your chin, briefly trailing his knuckles down your jaw before turning his back on you. he reaches for the bathroom door, clicking it open and slipping through the crack without so much as a second glance back.

a/n. not proof read soz

[fandomfablesunleashed]

The Stakes of the Heart Pirates

Law x reader (she/her) ft. Heart Pirates

Part of the Polar Tang Chronicles but can be read as a standalone! (They're all just various one-shots featuring the Reader, Law, and the Heart Pirates)

Summary:It’s poker night on the Polar Tang, and you managed to pull Law into joining the fun

Tags: suggestive at the end (they really all turn this way)

Words: 3.3k

Notes: Originally, I wanted to describe the game more. I even did some research for it, but honestly, I didn’t want to mess it up since I’ve only played poker once or twice in my life. In the end, I decided it wasn’t that important.

It ended up turning suggestive. Apparently, every little story in this series wants to go in that direction.

I still have a lot of ideas for this, so if you want, help me decide the next story here.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

Law was sitting at his desk, hunched over various maps, plans, and some random notes, his sharp eyes scanning everything with meticulous focus. He was always like this—lost in some work, as if the weight of the world rested solely on his shoulders.

You stopped in the doorway for a moment, captivated by the sight of him. His spotted cap lay forgotten on the desk, leaving you free to admire the chaotic state of his black hair, likely ruffled even more with his hands—those beautiful, tattooed hands—whenever frustration got the best of him.

A smile pulled at your lips as you leaned against the frame, arms crossed, unable to tear your eyes away. There was something oddly endearing about how consumed he became by his responsibilities.

You always admired that about him.

Law continued scribbling notes, utterly unaware of your presence. The only sounds in the room were the scratching of his pen against parchment and the distant murmur of the crew moving around other parts of the submarine.

With an amused shake of your head, you cleared your throat.

Law's head snapped up, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “What is it?” he asked as he set his pen down to give you full attention.

That was your first sign that you could get him away from his work.

“Nothing, just wanted to check up on you.” You stepped closer, slowly making your way towards him.

“I'm fine,” he waved his hand, dismissing your concerns. Typical.

“You always say that,” you said with a smirk, standing behind him. You put your hands on his arms, hugging him from behind. “The rest of the crew is drinking and playing cards tonight. You need to unwind a little too, you know.” You basically purred into his ear, wanting nothing more than to persuade him to join in your activities.

Law exhaled through his nose slowly, his expression remaining impassive, but you caught the subtle change as he mulled your words over. “I have work to do,” he replied, gesturing to the mess on his desk.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pressed more against his back, peering down at the parchment. “You always have work to do,” you teased, pushing one of the maps aside.

“I don’t need to unwind,” he said stubbornly. “I'm fine here.”

You arched a brow, sensing an opening. “Oh, come on,” you pressed, your voice dripping with charm. “Pretty pleeeease?”

“Nope.”

“Please, my darling, my love, Captain of my heart, my Doctor Heartstealer, my star guiding me through this chaotic life, my—”

“Are you done?” he interrupted, deadpan. Completely unbothered by your theatrics.

“I’m done.” You flashed a playful grin. “But you can grace us with your presence every now and then. It won't kill you to enjoy yourself.”

Law let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair as if debating whether indulging you was really worth the trouble. For a moment, it seemed like he might object again—but then, at last, his lips quirked ever so slightly at the corners. 

“Fine,” he relented.

You grinned, triumphant. “Finally.” With a playful shove to his shoulder and a quick kiss on his cheek, you straightened up. “Now hurry before they drink all the good stuff.”

Law huffed, as if exasperated, but there was a spark in his eyes as he stood, stretching his arms over his head, though you could tell that he wasn't really opposed to the idea. He never was, just liked to pretend otherwise.

You wasted no time, looping your arm through his and leading him toward the door. “You'll thank me later,” you teased.

“I doubt that,” Law murmured in his usual fashion, but you knew by now that he enjoyed being pestered to join in on the fun. Especially if you were the one doing the prodding.

You kept dragging him through the corridor, the distant sounds of laughter and clinking glasses growing louder with every step. You were almost giddy at the thought of having a relaxing evening. What made it even better was the fact that Law was letting himself be pulled into it.

And whether he admitted it or not, you knew he wouldn’t regret it. The rare moments of peace, the simple joy of being with the people who cared for him—this was exactly what he needed.

The second you entered the common room, you were met with a chorus of cheers and whistles from the gathered crew members. The warm overhead lights filled the room with a pleasant glow, as your eyes swept over half-filled glasses and scattered playing cards.

“Well, well, well,” Penguin drawled, throwing his cards down dramatically. “The captain actually left his cave. Somebody mark the calendar!”

Shachi snickered, leaning back in his chair with a knowing grin. “For a second there, I thought he'd fused with his desk.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, and even Ikakku joined in, crossing her arms with an amused smirk. “Pretty sure the only reason he's here is because you dragged him out.”

You chuckled at their reaction, steering Law toward the table. “See? I told you they'd be happy to see you out here for once,” you said, plopping down into an empty chair.

Law sighed as he lowered himself into the seat beside you. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but there was no real bite in his tone.

Bepo beamed from across the table. “We're glad you're here, Captain! It’s always more fun when you play.”

Clive leaned forward. “Now the real question is—are you gonna let us win this time?”

“You’d better watch out, Captain. We’ve been practicing without you.” Jean Bart added.

He rose from his seat and made his way toward the bar. Without needing to be asked, he started preparing drinks for you and Law. You watched him for a moment, grateful for the kindness, and accepted the offer with a soft, murmured thanks.

“You all talk big,” Law said, picking up his cards with practiced ease, “but I’m not going down easy.”

You watched the exchange, shaking your head with a grin as you leaned in slightly, giving Law’s arm a playful squeeze. “Better be prepared to back up that talk,” you teased.

“Just watch,” he murmured, his gaze not straying from his cards.

The game began, and just as expected, Law approached it with the same intense focus he applied to everything else. He studied his cards, his expression unreadable, his brilliant mind already calculating every possible move. The crew did their best to distract him with banter, but he hardly flinched.

Penguin groaned as Law won yet another hand, tossing his cards onto the table in defeat. “Dammit, Captain, you're like a damn rock. Can you at least pretend to look phased for once?”

Shachi narrowed his eyes, squinting at Law with mock suspicion. “You’re cheating, aren’t you? No way you’re this good without some kind of ruse.”

Law barely acknowledged their accusations, simply smirking as he shuffled his cards. “No tricks,” he said smoothly. “Just skill.” He glanced at you then, an almost imperceptible smile showing at the corner of his lips, a tiny acknowledgment only you would catch.

A few more rounds passed, and Law's dominance remained unchallenged. The crew's attempts to rattle him were futile, though their frustration never soured the mood. If anything, it only fueled the playful competitiveness.

“I'm starting to hate you again,” Shachi muttered as Law raked in another pile of winnings. “No one is this good every single round.”

“Oh, accept your defeat gracefully, Shachi,” Law responded dryly, stacking his chips with practiced ease. “Not my fault you’re all so predictable.”

You laughed at their exchange, enjoying the crew’s exaggerated complaints. “He’s got a point,” you teased, nudging Shachi with your elbow. “You guys are pretty easy to read.”

Shachi pouted, crossing his arms. “Easy for you to say! You’re doing way too well, too. Maybe you’re both just cheating.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No cheating here, just pure skill,” you said smugly, leaning back in your chair. “Right, Captain?” You turned to Law with a knowing wink.

For a split second, you and Law exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between you.

The truth? 

He had taught you how to play—how to spot the tells, how to bluff, and how to read people before they even realized they’d given themselves away. But neither of you was about to disclose that.

“That’s right,” Law said, his poker face impenetrable. “We’re just that good.”

The crew groaned in unison at his remark, though beneath their dramatic protests, there was just a joy of spending time together. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Ikkaku grumbled, glaring after her latest loss. “Are we absolutely sure Captain isn't secretly psychic?”

Law chuckled, setting down his cards with easy confidence. “You’re just a sore loser.”

Shachi threw Law an unimpressed look. “You could at least pretend to lose once in a while,” he complained.

Law raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “What, and go easy on you all?” he replied. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Bepo grinned at his captain. “You're just too good, Captain.”

It wasn’t every day that Law let loose like this. There was a lightness to the way he played, an almost uncharacteristic charm as he gathered his winnings with that trademark smirk of his.

You couldn’t even be mad at losing. The warmth, the laughter, the carefree fun—it all felt like a small victory, one that came not from triumph over others but from moments like this, where everyone could just be present, enjoying themselves without worry. And, as always, it came with the unmistakable thrill of being with a crew you could actually call family.

You leaned back in your seat, taking in the chaos of it all. “So,” you mused, your tone dripping with amusement, “still happy I dragged his ass here, guys?”

The collective groan from the crew was all the answer you needed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shachi grumbled, tossing his cards onto the table in defeat. “Even if he's kicking all our asses.” With that, he drowned the rest of his drink.

“You all make it too easy,” Law replied smoothly. His words were cool, casual—like he was simply stating a fact—but the twinkle in his eyes and the way his smile deepened betrayed the pride he took in each flawless victory. Even in moments like this, when the game was more about fun than stakes, Law’s competitive edge never quite faded.

You shook your head, still laughing, as you turned to Law. “See? I told you it would be fun.”

“I guess you were right,” he admitted.

The crew mumbled their reluctant agreement, still licking their wounds from their losses.

“You should listen to her more often,” Penguin quipped, though there was still a sulky edge to his voice. “She knows what’s good for you.”

Law shot him a pointed look, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Without thinking, his hand drifted to the small of your back. His fingers brushed lightly against your skin, a casual, instinctive gesture that sent a welcome sensation through you. Affection between you two was rarely displayed in front of the crew, kept tucked away waiting to be shared in private. So even something as simple as this felt deeply intimate. It wasn’t much, not outwardly. But to you, it meant everything.

Feeling his touch, you turned your head slightly, your gaze finding his. Soft, unspoken, meant only for him.

The crew noticed, of course. They always did. But, for once, decided not to comment, content in the knowledge that their captain—reserved, calculating, and stubborn as he was—was finally, slowly, allowing himself to let go.

“Alright, that’s enough poker for one night,” Law declared, pushing back from his chair. The crew nodded, still pouting over their losses, but none of them had the energy to protest.

“Yeah, I need a break from getting my ass handed to me,” Shachi muttered, rubbing his forehead in defeat.

Bepo beamed at Law, his fluffy ears twitching with excitement. “You were awesome tonight, Captain.”

“Next time,” Law drawled, voice laced with mock arrogance, “maybe you all can put up more of a fight.”

You stood up beside him, stretching slightly. “Or maybe you could just go a little easier on them,” you countered.

Law rolled his eyes dramatically. “And give up the chance to watch them suffer a little?” He smirked. “Never.”

The crew groaned once again. But even as they grumbled, they couldn’t hide their wide smiles. Because, for all his teasing and destroying them in games, Law’s way of letting go had its charm.

“You’re ruthless, Captain,” Harugan complained, shaking his head.

Shachi nodded in agreement. “We’ll get you back. Count on it.”

Law’s grin widened slightly, clearly enjoying their futile determination. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As much as you enjoyed your life as a pirate, all the adventures, discoveries, and endless places to explore, those small moments with the crew—with your family—were always the most significant part.

You grabbed Law’s arm, pulling him away from the table. “Alright, that’s enough gloating. Let’s give them time to nurse their wounded egos,” you said, laughing.

Law followed your lead, his arm naturally sliding around your shoulders as you both walked away from the table. His gaze drifted back toward the crew, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “See you all tomorrow. Rest up, lick your wounds.”

“Yeah, yeah,” they called after him, waving him off. Their complaints were empty, their eyes glinting with the promise of future revenge.

As the two of you stepped out into the quieter halls of the ship, the sounds of laughter and grumbling fading behind you, the air seemed to settle into a more peaceful atmosphere. Law let out a low chuckle, a rare softness creeping into his voice.

“Thanks for dragging my ass out there, as you put it.”

You grinned up at him, amused by his reluctant admission. “Told you it’d be good for you,” you replied, poking at his side playfully. “Besides, it was fun watching you humiliate them—even if I got a little humiliated in the process too.”

“No, no, you held your own,” he assured you. “You even beat me a couple of times.”

“Yeah, a couple,” you scoffed, though you couldn’t hide your smile. “But you still won overall. I forgot how competitive you can be.”

Law’s smirk deepened. “Can you blame me? Sometimes it’s good to remind them who the captain is,” he said, a hint of that cocky arrogance of his slipping through.

You shook your head fondly. “And there’s that ego of yours,” you teased. “You really can’t resist proving you’re the best, can you?”

“When I am the best,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping slightly. “Why would I hold back?”

Oh, how you loved that cocky edge in his voice.

You wouldn’t confess it out loud easily, but truth be told, you wouldn’t change a damn thing about him. Not his arrogance, nor the way his eyes were a little too sharp. Not even how blunt and insensitive he could be.

It was late by the time the two of you reached the captain’s quarters—your quarters now, too.

Officially. 

The air carried a familiar tranquility, broken only by the steady motion of the submarine and the distant, muffled sounds of the crew retreating to their routines. But here, behind the closed door and beneath the soft, amber glow of the lights, the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

As the door clicked shut behind you, you marched toward Law. “Thanks for teaching me how to play poker,” you said. “It really paid off in there.”

Law chuckled, leaning casually against the wall, his golden eyes studying you. “You picked it up fast,” he admitted, the usual calm in his tone betrayed slightly by the note of pride. “Didn’t expect you to catch on that quickly.”

You grinned, practically glowing at the compliment. “Well,” you said, taking a step closer, just enough for your shoulder to brush his arm, “I had a good teacher.”

Before he could respond, you closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers slid into the strands at his nape as your body pressed flush against his.

Law inhaled sharply at the sudden intimacy, his body stiffening for just a second before his hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you even closer. His grip was firm, the warmth of his palms seeping through the fabric and settling into your skin.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he murmured.

You laughed, soft and smug. You reveled in the power of being the one to rattle him. “I know,” you whispered, your lips grazing along the sharp edge of his jaw before pressing a tender kiss there.

Law’s breath hitched at the contact. His tattooed fingers tightened on your waist as he tilted his head slightly, granting you better access.

Taking full advantage of the way he melted beneath your touch, you let your lips trail slow kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat. Your fingers slipped over his chest, exploring the muscle hidden under his shirt, every rise and fall of his breath growing just a little less controlled.

“You know,” you said against his skin, the words barely more than a breath. “I think we’ve spent enough time entertaining everyone else for tonight. Don’t you?”

“Yeah…” His voice was rougher now. His hands slid from the back of your neck down your spine. He paused at the curve of your hip before gripping your thigh firmly, pulling it up to hook around him, and the shiver that coursed through you was instant. “Let’s entertain ourselves now.”

A delighted giggle escaped your lips just before Law moved, swift and decisive. In one fluid motion, he lifted you as if you weighed nothing, his grip secure. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, your arms tightening around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair for balance—or maybe just to feel closer.

The world blurred as he carried you across the room with that same steady confidence he carried everywhere.

When your back met the bed, a small gasp left you, the mattress dipping beneath you as he hovered above. His gaze was heated, his expression unreadable like usual and yet entirely consuming.

“So…” You looked up at him, your lips parted, your body already responding to his touch. “What kind of entertainment did you have in mind?”

Law’s smirk deepened, his hands sliding over your body with intentional slowness, tracing every curve beneath his fingertips. His golden eyes gleamed with that vitality that was reserved just for you as he leaned down, his lips brushing just barely against yours.

“Something a little more… private,” he answered, his voice a dangerous whisper. His hands traveled lower, fingers tracing heated paths along your skin. “Something that doesn’t involve any cards… or clothes, for that matter.”

“Sounds like my kind of entertainment,” you whispered, your fingers tightening in his hair just as he finally closed the space between you.

The time you spent with the crew was important, meaningful in its own right. But this? These rare moments behind closed doors, when Law let the world slip away and gave you the parts of himself no one else saw. This was what you treasured most. 

[melanchoire]

#thinking of our beloved g!p chaewon… she’s so cute and girlfriend’y but she somehow switches to being a possessive loser that only thinks with her di- :( reader who loves bringing this side out of her by flirting with her older teammate sakura for giggles but somehow that ended with reader getting fucked on all surfaces in the dorm :(

cw: face fucking, deep throat, hair pulling, throat fucking.

pupu being the cutest and sweetest girlfriend until you suddenly decide to be mean to her and chaewon doesn’t understand why :( ignoring her all day and barely answering or looking at her and all thanks to the fact that you were too busy giving all your attention to sakura 😒 obviously kkura is a loser with no female affection so she is completely oblivious to your plans because she just thinks maybe she can get some pussy today but no! it’s just you playing around and using a dumb unnie to make your girlfriend jealous, and boy does it work, because chaewon always looks like she is trying really hard to keep your gaze on her eyes and not on your tits because she was slowly getting hard and chaewon knew it

although when you cross the door of your shared apartment with her your attitude ends because chaewon almost instantly pushes you against the wall and presses her body against yours, looking at you with cute eyes that had fire in them, but were still beautiful! bad idea that you wanted to make fun of her and tell her she looked cute angry, only for her to force you to get on your knees and suck her cock 😊 looking so cute looking at you with a frown and trying to act tough when only pathetic moans come out of her lips as you bob your head up and down when you’re swallowing her cock completely and you look her straight in the eyes every time the tip hits the back of your throat… obviously chaewon can’t let you win, because even though she may not be a complete dom, she is powerful! so she ends up pushing you against the wall until your back hits the cold material, taking advantage of the fact that you have no way out to move, she shamelessly fucks your face to the point that you start to choke on your own saliva and it starts to drip down your chin 💕 xhaewon couldn’t care less because every time she thinks she has a little empathy for you she remembers that’s the same mouth that was giving sakura comments, so she chooses to fuck your mouth until you feel like your jaw will fall off your facial structure

and chaewon loves it when the instant she cums inside your mouth and as she withdraws her cock she sees how a thick thread of saliva and semen combined connects from your lips to the pink tip of her cock without even breaking when she already withdrew from your mouth seconds ago 😵‍💫 obviously chaewon doesn’t lose the option of continuing to teasing you, wrapping the string around her tip and forcing her cock back into your mouth, making you swallow the whole mess you made

and you know you’re beyond screwed when she again, upon leaving your mouth, doesn’t let you take a breath or ask you if you’re okay, but she abruptly takes a hold of your hair and says “get up and go to our room” and you know it’s going to be a loooong night