#at least until Never Stop Blowing Up drops

[trikalovski]

LIMERANCE

Dom!, mean! Caitlyn kiramman x sex!worker, zaunite! reader. (Set in Season 2 act 2.)

Warnings: internalized misogyny, sexism, use of strap-on's, choking, slapping, name calling, discrimination, etc.

"Look at you-" she says with a scoff. "With all of your proud talk about justice and balance.. Only to end up at my feet." Her tone is void of any emotions, not even derisive, just pure venom dripping from her lips.

Or

You're a sex-worker from the brothel who Caitlyn uses to blow some steam off from time to time. And you have a crush on her, basically.

(This is a dark!fic so everything is slightly exaggerated.)

Your ancestors, if they're watching, must be cringing at your current predicament;

Face smushed into the table, make-up smeared, mouth wide open as you fight for air.

The hand pinning your head down tightens around your hair, applying more force as the woman fucking you silly bends over to hiss in your ear;

"You deserve nothing but the scraps i'm feeding you."

Another half pained moan slips past your lips when she suddenly stops fucking you and instead, pushes the toy all the way in.

"Guh-"

You breathe out, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles turn white.

The sudden stillness and lack of friction morph pleasure into pain.

It's driving you mad. You've never felt this full before.

You attempt to slam yourself back against her lenght, yearning for some sort of release but the action turns out unsuccessful. Already you're standing on your tippy toes, barely touching the ground and the body trapping you against the table prevents you from moving about.

"Quit that."

She's been toying with you for nearly an hour now and silently, you couldn't help but think how unlike her all of this was.

It was habitual for the two of you to see eachother at least once a week, yes, but she's never been so rough and mean before. Your sessions were always quick and desperate. She came and went, never even sparing you a glance after.

Something's eating at her.

"Cait-" you sob, indignation starting to boil inside you.

"Be quiet." she interrupts, emphasising her words with a series of deep thrusts which make your mouth snap shut and eyes roll back.

Caitlyn proceeds to pull your head back forcibly, fist wrapped tightly around your hair. She pulls until you can feel her breath fanning down your neck.

You take it like a good girl, of course.

Teeth clenched shut. The way you know she likes it.

The woman gives you a once-over, then mutters; "You disgust me," with such sincerity, you're sent spiraling.

Another thrust.

"What would your people say if they knew how well you're taking my cock right now, hm?"

You stay mute, eyes squeezed shut as the tension building in your core prevents you from talking back.

Besides, she wasn't looking for an answer-

Her intention was solely to break you.

Too bad there's not much left for her to break.

Her hand sneaks down to grab you by the neck, firm fingers hauling you flush against her.

Into your ear, she hisses; "You really have no sense of loyalty, do you?"

Your heart drops at that, a lump forming in your throat. You couldn't stop the following words from slipping past your lips even if you wanted to; "Lucky you-"

The commander merely scoffs, incredulous, fucking into you with newly added force that sends pinpricks of pain and pleasure all over your body.

An overwhelming feeling of guilt consumes you, causing a new trail of tears to stream down your cheeks as you're made into a whimpering mess. That was reality kicking in-

She was right, you're nothing but a treacherous whore.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" You grit out, teeth bared as you turn your head just enough to look at her from the corner of your eye.

"If you insist.." She simply says, and your heart drops for a second time.

This was mostly your fault.

You knew what she was, what she was planning on doing to your people- Yet you craved her touch, her affection, the praise.

You wanted to be good for her, needed her validation.

And Caitlyn isn't stupid, no.

She knows what she's doing-

She carries this.. Appeal.

Appeal that comes with her authority; The draw that influential people have over those below them.

A praise here, a lingering touch there..

It happens just often enough to keep you dependant, wanting more.

'Another person's temporary pleasure is someone else's forever pain.'

The woman was setting you up for failure and you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

As if to punish you, she presses more firmly against your neck, squeezing. You choke, hands jerking up to claw at her wrist.

"Zaun's finest whore, they said.." She comments derisively, before slamming you back down.

The contact makes you blink a few times, but it sadly isn't violent enough to knock some sense into your poor head.

(If the fresh trail of wetness dripping down your thighs is anything to go by.)

Now, now.. Caitlyn must've been reading your mind or something because to your absolute horror, her free hand slides down your stomach and slots itself right between your parted legs.

"Oh, darling.." She sighs at the abundant amount of wetness coating her fingers, tone almost pitying. "You're insatiable."

Thankfully, your current position prevents her from seeing your flushed face. Her fingers already running through your abused folds, greedily collect everything they can before she pulls her hand back and presents it to you mockingly.

The taller woman opens her mouth, ready to drop a new series of casually dehumanizing insults, except nothing comes out-

She watches as you take three of her long fingers, knuckle-deep into your depraved mouth and suck, moving your head up and down vigorously.

"You- fuck.." she breathes out. You bite down offering an apologetic kiss to her wrist right after and manage to elicit another strained moan that fills you up with pride. Finally, you got to break her composure, having been fed up by her constant insults and air of superiority.

You don't really register her pulling out and spinning you around until it's done. Brows furrowed, you go to voice your confusion except the words die in your throat when she cracks her palm across your cheek.

"Oof-"

The commander gives you no time to react before she's got your jaw secured in a vicious grip, forcing you to meet her gaze. Eyes impassive as ever she simply states;

"It would do you well to remember your place.."

Okay, so, she clearly wasn't happy about her little slip up.

She towers over you easily, but you don't let it get to your head. You make a sucking noise with your tongue and gums, tentatively soothing the pain inside your mouth.

Your next question carries a challenging lilt to it;  "And where, pray tell, would my place be?"

She laughs briefly, and without humor. Her long fingers brush afew strands of hair from your eyes. "Come now.." she says matter-of-factly "You know you'd be nothing but a splatter on the wall like the rest of them, if it weren't for me."

Your reaction is instantaneous;

You lunge forward with a gutteral scream, attempting to grab at the taller woman's neck.

Caitlyn's moves are mechanical; She grabs your wrists with ease before she sends you crashing into the carpet with a mere leg sweep.

You attempt to push yourself up on shaky arms, ready to strike again but she's already straddling your hips and pinning your wrists above your head single-handedly.

Completely immobilizing you.

Caitlyn cracks another slap across your face, this time using the back of her palm. You cringe from the pain. Nothing will ever compare to the inner turmoil you're experiencing right now.

"Look at me" she spits. You don't want to.

"Fucking look at me!" She nearly yells this time and you flinch, but other than that, keep your eyes shut and face turned to the side in an act of defiance.

She allows you this. Doesn't push further, knows you'll listen to her words nevertheless.

"I don't need your whorish love [Name], do you need that in writing?"

Your eyes snap open reflexively at the sudden name-drop.

She never calls you by your name. (Or anything nice, really.)

The other presses on, taking advantage of your silence

"Do you really think i wouldn't notice?" She questions, brows furrowed in genuine confusion

"I tire of your dog-like obedience. I tire of your dumb little face, the way you look at me like i'm the sole solution to your shitty fucking life problems-"

Each sentence that leaves her mouth crushes your soul little by little.

"You're a whore, and i'm not your fucking lover."

"Hypocrite!" you finally grit out. A single stray tear rolls down your cheek, "You're a fucking hypocrite Kiramman, and you know it!"

Her eye twitches at your words, she offers a 'do you really want to go down that route' type of look which you ignore.

Naturally; You too, press on.

"It's funny, really." You laugh drily "You've got all these nasty things to say about me, my ill fucking adoration for you- And yet here you are.."

"Careful now [name]-" she warns, jaw clenching and unclenching.

Caitlyn's words fall on deaf ears though.

"Screwing a 'nasty zaunite whore' instead of your goody-goody little enforcer girlfriend, while also being on the brink of yet another war that you, initiated.."

"Shut the fuck up." she grits out through clenched teeth, eyes closed as she pinches the bridge of her nose in obvious irritation.

"We're done here.."

She pulls back, fingers already working on unbuckling the straps around her hip when you reach out, blinded by your rage

"What would violet think of-"

she releases a strangled screech of outrage, lifting your upper body up only to slam you back down into the carpet, nearly denting the floor with your head.

"Shut the fuck up i said!"

You wince, but the eye-contact stays.

"I will fuck you, and i'll keep fucking you till there's nothing left of you for me to fuck!" Both her hands shoot out to grip your neck with bruising force,

"You ought to change professions after tonight because you won't be of  any fucking use to any of your clients by the time i'm through with you-" She sneers down at you, then captures your lips in a furious kiss. 

A kiss you sadly return with equal amount of force, moaning into her mouth when she nearly suffocates you with her tongue.

"I'll ruin you-"

She rasps out.

The tension and anger between you two dessipates into pure and animalistic lust. You've never experienced this type of want before.

It's the type of want that makes you want to rip all your hair out. It's pathetic, you're pathetic. "I hate you, i hate you so much!" you sob into her.

She stops her ministrations with a laugh, low and derisive-

The young commander queezes her free hand between your bodies, grabbing your pussy and smearing the wetness there, proving her point. "Clearly.."

It's your turn to wipe Caitlyn's grin off her face. You pull her back down for another kiss.

Both your arms snap up to claw at her back, leaving angry red marks that make the older woman's hips snap forward, dragging her long shaft along your slit as she groans into your mouth.

"Fuck-" You blurt out.

Caitlyn sits back on her heels. The older woman sneaks a lazy hand between her legs, smearing the remaining wetness from her hand over the plastic dick in an achingly slow fashion. Gets it ready for you.

She gives it a few pumps, the head steadily bumping into your swollen clit making your spine arch up.

"Behave.." She hisses then puts a hand on your stomach and pushes down, denying you. 

Your whines morph into moans when the other finally decides to fuck the tip of the toy inside you, to which you plead for something more.

She mutters a low "You talk too much" before bottoming out while simultaneously shoving two of her fingers down your throat.

She audibly gasps;

"Slut, can't even gag on my fingers anymore? How many of my men had their way with you already, hm?"

Fuck,

"Ten? Fifteen, perhaps?"

You try to pull back but she adds another long finger, hips pushing down and stretching your walls impossibly wide.

"Mmph-"

You do choke on them this time.

Hard.

"Quiet now, i don't want to hear it." She breathes out then sets a crazy pace for the both of you. The woman crushes your body under her weight and fills your walls up to the brim.

At one point, the two of you switch positions. She lays there, holding your hip with one hand while gripping your cheeks with the other, keeping you quiet as you ride her.

It's bordering on too much after some time, even so you try meeting her crazy rhythm.

You tap her arm afew times, hoping she'll go easier on you but she's far too gone to care at this point. Your well-being of lesser importance.

"Look at you-" she says with a scoff. "With all of your proud talk about justice and balance.. Only to end up at my feet." Her tone is void of any emotions, not even derisive, just pure venom dripping from her lips.

You're utterly mortified, face blotched and swollen with crying.

Still, her words make your hips buck forward involuntarily, while a moan dies somewhere deep in your throat. the head of her dick is hitting a very specific spot within you that makes your eyes clench shut as you begin to crumble.

She notices you're close and slides both hands down to hold you by the hips. She selfishly encourages you to keep going while silently enjoying the way the other end of the strap rubs against her aching clit.

"Gods, you were made for me darling-" She moans out, slightly out of breath at this point.

Both of you moan into eachother's mouths when she pulls you down for yet another sloppy kiss.

"Made for me to use as i please-" you shake "Fuck, you're lucky this isn't the real thing cause i wouldn't be able to pull out if you paid me to." she groans

That does it for you, you can't hold your weight anymore, the force of your orgasm makes you double over in ecstasy as you shove your head in the crook of Caitlyn's neck.

The latter allows you this brief pause, wrapping her long arms around you, pushing you further into her.

You quickly come to realize the action was far from affectionate though. It's a trap, she's trapping you against her.

Your fear is only further confirmed as you go to pull back and are met with resistence.

"Please, no more-" you plead weakly, feeling utterly used and quite frankly, mentally worn out after all the moral shit she's been spewing on you tonight. But above all, you feel so. Fucking. Raw.

"What did i tell you earlier, sweet thing?" She whispers in your ear.  Your heart drops for what feels like the millionth time. "And i didn't get to cum yet"

In the end, she does end up pulling out, briefly;

You're too busy gasping for air to comprehend what she's doing until you find yourself laying on your back.

And you know it's going to be a long night because the way she smirks at you before slipping back inside is simply diabolical.

At least you'll go out doing what you loved most.

[justletmeon12]

Couldn't Get Through TUC II, But Loved Dungeons and Drag Queens: Round 7 Time

Obligatory context: I watch them out of order based on what interests me. So far, I've completed (in order): Mentopolis, A Court of Fey and Flowers, A Crown of Candy, the Ravening War, Burrow's End, Misfits and Magic (including both specials), Neverafter, The Unsleeping City Chapter I, Mice & Murder, Escape from the Bloodkeep, and Dungeons and Drag Queens. I'm not equally interested in all that remain, but these are my top choices. Comments/advice are welcome.

[webism]

pornstar!toji who is known for being easy with his scenes. he's there for a good fuck and an even better paycheck: it doesn't matter who, or where, or how... if he's being paid he will do it. he doesn't mind getting nasty, and so he's often booked for more exotic scenes. he fucks good, and he fucks a lot.

pornstar!toji who is strapped for cash one week after an unfortunate loss on the horses, and takes the first scene offered to him. a vanilla fuck with a new-to-the-scene pornstar with potential... at least that's what his agent, shiu, tells him. he's confused on what potential he's hinting at until he rocks up ten minutes late to the shoot and lays eyes on you, already naked and on the stage bed. you have a look to you that makes a man like toji feel obliged to drop to his knees.

pornstar!toji who is already harder than he has been in a long time when shiu clarifies that when he called you 'new to the scene' he meant it: this is your first porn shoot. and though you're not a virgin, toji has the honour of taking your first time on camera... and god does he love the thought.

pornstar!toji who is greeted with a small smile and a soft 'hello' from you, shy beneath his gaze as if you aren't naked and soon to be stuffed full of his cock. he watches your eyes shift, from his piercing eyes to his beautifully scarred lip to the gorgeous tone of his body, all the way down to his awfully large cock. he can tell you're nervous, worried about taking all of him on film.

pornstar!toji who isnt good with gentle comforts, but still wants you to feel at ease with him. so, despite his instructions for a simple fuck scene, toji attacks you with deep kisses first, gets you used to the burning heat of his body against yours. and when you're melted enough against his skin he trails down and eats you out for a long twenty minutes. production would try and stop him, but he's already tipsy on your taste and the moans leaving your lips are, frankly, made for porn.

pornstar!toji who revels in the way your back arches off the mattress—he'd accuse you of putting on a show for the cameras if your hips weren't bucking up against his face in an almost primal need. he can taste it on you, the genuine lust, the way you drip wet on his tongue and still grab at his hair for more. and when he gives you more—when he finally slips his cock into you—he can't help himself from groaning out something needy. he's the silent type, letting his costar take center stage, but god can he not keep quiet feeling your walls wrapped around him.

pornstar!toji who has never had an issue with porn before, but with your legs wrapped around his waist, your eyes locked onto his as he pumps in and out of you with white hot need, he finds he hates the thought of anyone else seeing you like this. he's not a possessive man, he shouldn't feel this way, but he does. even the watchful stares of the cameramen piss him off, and he finds his hips moving faster and his cock nestling deeper inside of you just to show them that he's the one pleasing you.

pornstar!toji who can't help but kiss you as you both cum in unison. he ruins the shot, the cameras cant see your orgasm face when he's swallowing your moans like they're sweet wine. he's surprised his pay doesn't get cut for it.

when pornstar!toji does get paid, it's the first cheque in a very long time that he doesn't blow the same night it comes through. because he doesn't have time to go out and waste his money: he's at home fucking his fist to the film you made together and mentally degrading himself for being so pussy whipped. he strokes himself in time with his own thrusts in the video, and tries so desperately to recall your taste on his tongue, but its fruitless. he's agitated and sexually frustrated and keeps reloading your personal pages to see if you've filmed with anyone since him.

pornstar!toji who becomes so lost in his own mind that he starts turning down shoots with other actors—shoots with good pay. he's done everything under the sun, done all the hardcore porn and weird fetish content but now that he's gotten a fresh taste of plain passion sex with you, he can't stomach anything else. he'd say your name, he knows it—and it doesn't help that he hasn't been able to reach orgasm for a week without thinking of you.

pornstar!toji who, after three weeks of pure misery, decides to make a move. he doesn't do dates or romantic nights on the town. he doesn't do flowers or sweet nothings or eye contact even, but he finds himself contacting shiu and threatening the poor man in hopes of your real name, your address, anything.

and you, late one evening fucking yourself on your fingers to the brink of frustrated tears because they're not his cock. even more disgruntled when theres a pounding knock at your front door, and after cleaning yourself up a little you swing it open to find pornstar!toji stood in the rain outside. and you can only take him in—his heavy build and desperate eyes—before he's crashing his lips against yours, walking you into your own home and kicking the door shut behind him.

[tojiphile]

ONE PIECE LIVE ACTION MEN + DICK HEADCANONS & SIZES

a/n. i wrote this last night at 5am while sleep deprived so the further it gets the more wack it gets LOL

cw/tw. f!reader, rough sex, blowjobs, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, body hair, skinny penis, unprotected sex, for 18+ readers

MONKEY D. LUFFY

— 6.5” but thinks he’s average, so he doesn’t stretch it out with his abilities. not too girthy, but he makes up for it with his unrelenting stamina. it curves up against his stomach and leans left slightly. a little bit messy because he tried to shave it once and nicked himself, so he just settled with the hair. honey-toned towards the base and a deep red at the tip, especially when he’s raring to go.

— he wants to do it in every position, on every surface. he has you bent over the dinner table, one leg up and slamming into you mercilessly. he has you spread eagle in the bathtub, legs locked behind his back as he stuffs you full. it’s almost as if his dick is made for you, the curve perfectly abuses your g-spot as every orgasm overwhelms you, and you’re left a sobbing, babbling mess. he wants to know if he’s doing well, and he gets his answer when you chant “s— so, ah! good, fuck, d— don’t stop!” like a prayer.

RORONOA ZORO

— long, fat and heavy. he’s blessed with a stunning 7.3” length, though if anyone asks, he rounds down to make them feel more at ease. veiny. the mushroom tip is flushed purple, and it’s rests nicely on your tongue!! probably messy down there, he doesn’t see the point in shaving or trimming, but if you ask nicely, he’ll grunt, roll his eyes, and do it for you.

— you insisted that you didn’t need any prep, but as you straddled him, lining up your cunt with his cock, you soon realised your mistake. you have to spread yourself open, face scrunching up, and slowly sink down. he loves the feeling of your pussy walls fluttering as you start riding him. when your eyes flutter shut and your hips stutter, he takes control—holding you tight by the waist and fucking into you until you’re screaming.

SANJI VINSMOKE

— 6.4” and so so pretty. slender, with a pale shaft that leads into a rosy pink at the tip. it curves up and to the right. the carpet matches the drapes. he keeps it neat, though he probably doesn’t grow much hair anyway. he trims it once every few days, but he’ll never admit to it. smells the best AKA smells really clean, like soap.

— he goes crazy when you maintain eye contact and drop to your knees. you take his cock in hand, lifting it to run your tongue on the underside, tracing a prominent vein. you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head and his whole body is shaking, knees buckling as he chases that familiar high.

USUPP

— coming in at 5.8”, he makes up for it in his thick girth. when he jerks himself off, he can barely wrap his hand around it. he’s soooo sensitive that the wind can blow and he’s be hard. fat fat fat mushroom head that’s olive, golden-hued, and always oozing precum. heavy heavy balls. he might be clumsy and inexperienced, but his size alone is enough to make you drool. trims sometimes but only when he thinks he might get lucky.

— his hand grips your hair as you worship his cock, working magic with your mouth. as you jerk him off, you give small kitten licks to his leaking tip, tasting his salty precum. you whisper, “i want you” and before you know it, he has you pinned under him, rutting his thick cock into you desperately. his eyes are fixated on the way your cunt swallows him, and only strangled groans escape his lips.

BUGGY

— sorry buggy simps but he’s definitely a shower not a grower, though he still does comes in at a nice 6”! also, it’s ya boy, skinny penis. built like a tree branch but at least it’s really veiny, AND he knows how to talk you through it. so really, it might not be the most impressive but with his confidence when he’s fucking you? he’ll fuck you out and make you believe he’s 8” and 5”.

— he loves admiring your sopping cunt as it swallow him whole, your princess parts stretching to to accommodate his cock. he likes to fucks you. he presses you up against a window and fucks you from the back, choking you with his forearm and practically purrs, “taking me so well, ya dirty slut, fuckin’ cunt was made for my cock.”

SHANKS

— he doesn’t act like it buuuuuuut monster cock. it’s 7.8”, thick, and curved so much it slaps against his happy trail. let me tell you that when he sun tans, he does it naked. he lathers that horse cock up with sunblock and spreads eagle on the sand, hands behind his head, so he’s bronzed and beautiful. trims when he feels like it or if you ask, he doesn’t really think much about it.

— he doesn’t look like he’s putting in much effort when he fucks, barely breaking a sweat, but he has you writhing, hands gripping the sheets, eyes hazy and choking on your own spit. he knows what he’s doing to you. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in delicate circles making you cum over and over again until you’re absolutely wrecked. when he’s close, he picks up the pace, grunting heavily, hips stuttering as he spills his seed inside of you. when he pulls out, he takes the time to finger fuck his cum back into you, your body shaking as you work through the aftershock.

[writersdrug]

Bartender Simon, who cuts of a drunk costumer. The costumer is angry and begins insulting Simon, particularly his looks. It doesn't bother Simon but how does Waitress!Reader react?

Alas... the much-awaited ktih

Warnings: making out, groping, dry-humping

It was only seven pm, and Cole was already drunk. Simon knew this would happen - it usually does, at least every Friday night. He comes in, drinks for a solid two hours, until Simon finally has to cut him off and steer him in the direction of his apartment. The man at least lets him add twenty percent auto gratuity if he has to be sent home like that - and, more often than not, it's every week.

Today, however, is a different story.

Cole had come in at four, right when the pub opened. He gave you his usual, tight-lipped smile, making his way to the seat he took every Friday evening. Simon was already pouring his beer by the time he removed his coat. The conversation continues (mostly one-sided on Cole's part), as does the night, and he never ceases to tip the beers back - rattling on about how much money he makes, only getting louder when a group of women walks by.

Around nine at night is when he began to get drunk enough that the numbers on his tab begin to blend together. "A'aight- 'nother one for good fortune." He smacks his empty glass against the bartop, making you jump slightly as you did your tips at the end of the.

"Not tonight." Simon says, hovering over the POS and punching buttons on the screen. "You got 'nuff for good fortune. You can pick it back up next week."

"Bahhh, c'mon - I'll pay double." Cole slurs, leaning over the bar.

"What's your wife's name?" Simon asks, turning back around and leaning against the liquor shelf.

"... Sharon."

"Ya not even married, Cole."

He laughs, eyes glassy as he smacks the bartop and wheezes. "Tha's good! Real good- ya got me. Can't keep a woman 'f I tried."

Simon doesn't comment. He slides Cole's receipt across the bar, before promptly turning back and grabbing a glass.

Cole sighs, crumpling the receipt in his fist. "Y' don't want business?"

"Don't want you gettin' lost findin' your Uber." Simon replies, polishing a glass.

"Y'know..." Cole leans back in his seat, very adamantly refusing to leave, "I know you're strugglin' t' bring in the money with... whatever ya got goin' on behind the mask."

Maybe when he was a lieutenant, constantly dealing with jabs and stabs towards his ego, it would have gotten to him. But Simon just huffs in annoyance. "This what you resort to when you can't get a beer?"

"Defensive much?" Cole bites back. "You could use the money to fix y'r fuckin' face. Should stop bein' such a cunt n' worryin' 'bout me like you're my mum."

"Hardly - your mom probably wishes she'd swallowed you instead."

Simon nearly drops the glass - it takes him a moment to realize that you had spoken, and another one to process just what exactly you had said. He turns around to find you, staring Cole down with the most disgusted, angry expression he's ever seen you display. He's speechless - mostly because he didn't know you had an arsenal of insults, ready to fire off like this.

Cole chuckles drunkenly, turning in his seat to face you from down the bar. "Don' like it when I insult y'r bank account, do ya?"

"Aren't you supposed to be dumpster diving or something?" You snap, getting up out of your seat - Simon's never seen such a look in your eyes, and he quickly steps out from behind the bar to jog over to you. He places a hand on your shoulder, but you don't back down.

"You realize who you're talkin' to, little girl?"

"Draco Malfoy if he'd gone into British Parliament."

"Oi-" Simon snaps, fingers digging into your shoulder - surprisingly, you swat his hand away. You're fuming at this overgrown cabbage, running his mouth like he actually means something to anyone in this pub.

Cole purses his lips; your insults are getting to him. "You gonna do somethin' with this chick?" he asks Simon - who nearly blows a cap, but you beat him to it.

"Y'know, maybe you should spend your money on fixing those fucking teeth - because I see they're still social distancing - instead of wasting our time here, you grey, fucking sprinkle on a rainbow cupcake-"

"Hey- stairwell. Go." Simon gives you a gentle shove towards the stairs, and you throw your hands up and storm off. He stares after you, wide-eyed and tense, watching as you disappear behind the stairwell door. He's quickly growing hard, concerningly, after witnessing you fire off at Cole with a loaded gun full of wit and anger - it was quite possibly the most attractive thing he's seen you do.

Cole huffs, breaking Simon's focus. "Women - sticking their noses where they don't belong." he looks at him, expecting the bartender to agree.

Simon's holding back the urge to drive his fist into the man's skull. He grabs Cole's jacket from the back of the chair and shoves it into his chest so hard he nearly falls from his seat. "If you're not gone in the next ten minutes, Soap 'n I will make you leave, you understand?" he doesn't even wait for a reply, turning on his heel and stalking towards the stairwell, boots thudding heavily against the ground.

He's got bigger priorities at the moment.

You're standing in the stairwell, chewing the edge of your sweater as you stare at the dustpan and broom. Simon can surely fight his own battles - he didn't seem irritated in the slightest by Cole, why did you step in? Simon isn't yours (unfortunately), you don't need to defend him. You don't have the right to defend him other than the fact that he's your coworker. Manager. And you were definitely doing it based on other, unspoken reasons. It was obvious. Is it obvious to him? Forget possibly losing your job, is he going to be mad that you lost your shit like that? That you put your foot where it doesn't belong? That-

The door to the stairwell swings open, and you stop your pacing. His eyes are lidded. Angry? You can't tell. He looks rather intimidating, tall and tense as the door swings shut behind him, mask bunched into his fist as he shoves it into his back pocket.

You think he's about to let you have it, to chew you out for your outburst. "Simon, I'm-"

His rough hands are around your face before you know it - right as you open your mouth to yelp in shock, he leans down and kisses you.

Your eyes force themselves shut. You don't have a chance to pull away, not with his hand cradling the back of your head. He won't let you; you don't want to. His breath fans across your face, fingers calloused yet gentle as they relax around you, and you sigh into his touch, tilting your head to let him get closer. Your arms rest against his shoulders, squeezing the muscle as you feel months of worry and anticipation melt away-

And then, as quickly as it had begun, Simon has the audacity to stop and pull his head back.

His eyes find yours, still cupping your face in his hands. He looks breathless - good. At least you know he's just as riled up as you are, now. There's a hint of pink on his cheeks, and a need for reassurance in his hazy stare. He needs to know he was right, despite the months of flirting and the little chase you've been leading him in; now that he's finally caught up, caught you in his grasp, he needs you to tell him you want this. Though he doesn't know how he'll survive if you don't.

"You ok?" He pants, brow creased with uncertainty.

You let out a noise of frustration - threading your fingers behind his neck, you pull him back down, sealing your lips against his once again.

He exhales through his nose in relief. His hands find your waist as you part your lips, letting him slip inside and explore your mouth. Your fingernails dig crescents into his skin - he lets out a rather needy-sounding groan, backing you up until you hit the wall. You whine; your tongue flicking across his lower lip sends a shiver down his spine, heat building and twisting and tangling in his gut until you break away for a moment, nipping your teeth into his lip.

His mind short-circuits; he grunts, all the blood in his head rushing south to his cock, where it's getting uncomfortably warm and tight. He grabs you underneath your ass and hoists you up, and you squeak, instinctively locking your legs around his hips. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he kisses you feverishly, desire brewing in your stomach as he presses you into the wall, tongues and teeth clashing, the both of you unable to satisfy the ever-growing blaze. It threatens to burn up the stairwell until there's nothing left but a sweaty, naked mess.

Simon breaks away to latch onto your neck, taking the thin flesh and rolling it between his teeth You bite back a whimper, carding your fingers through his hair; he bucks his hips in response, albeit involuntarily. You can sense the knot in your pelvis tightening, underwear growing slick as you feel the size of his erection with each thrust. Even through his clothes, you can tell it would be a challenge, but you've never been one to back down.

Fingers slide under his shirt, feeling the solid wall of muscle and fat beneath - his retracts a hand and drags it up your stomach, kneading and groping your tit through your shirt, silencing your moan with another searing, wet kiss. He's grinding into you now, hips rolling, cock twitching through his pants as you lock your ankles behind his back, and fuck he's ready to strip you bare right here and fuck you against the wall, ready to get back at you for teasing him for so long, ready to listen to your cries as you take each and every rung of his piercing-

He catches himself, lips moving away from yours to kiss along your chin, all the way up to your jaw. He sighs as he stills his hips, letting his head fall against your shoulder as he leans his weight into you. You feel him relaxing, wondering if he's worried about you again, but you so desperately want this to continue where it's heading.

"I'm alright, I'm alright-"

"I know..." he mumbles, his hand sliding back to your thigh and squeezing the flesh there, fingers barely slipping past the hem of your shorts. He wants to go further, to feel the hem of your panties snap against his fingers, but he forces back the urge.

"What's wrong?" you pant, craning your neck to the side to look at him.

"'M not..." he huffs, pulling his head back and gazing down at you. "Not fuckin' you in the stairwell, dove. 'S filthy back here."

Your face heats up even more - the fact that he had to hold himself back from disheveling you right now is an unspoken compliment. "Can we take it upstairs?"

He chuckles and gently sets you down, much to your disdain. "No. Got a bar to run." He says, preening at the way you pout at that. "And I'm takin' you out, first."

"Out?"

"Yea, for lunch."

"Wh- where?"

"You decide. Monday."

Monday - that's deep-clean day. "Don't we have to be here at noon?"

He chuckles. Always worrying about losing your job. "I'll make an exception. Won't fire ya for goin' on a date with me."

Date. God, you could scream. "But what if Price-"

"If that man ever threatens your position at this pub," Simon leans down, gently grabbing your chin between his fingers, "you come to me, n' I'll knock some sense into 'im. Sound good?"

You're too starstruck to register half of what he's said. Simon Riley's just kissed you. AND admitted to wanting to fuck you. Now, he's taking you on a date on Monday. Did you have any plans? Doesn't matter. If you do, they're cancelled.

"Uh huh..." you say, absentmindedly leaning into his touch.

Looking down at you: you, you... god, can he call you his? Is that too soon? The stars in your eyes while you're staring at him, the struggle within himself to avoid both adoration and getting hard(er)... He takes another deep breath, thumb running down the blossoming hickey on your neck.

"Right." he taps your cheek softly, then goes to tuck his shirt back in from where you'd torn it from the waistband. "Go ahead n' take a minute. Come to the bar 'fore you leave."

He grabs the handle to leave, hesitating only for a moment. Both of you seem to have the same idea, sharing a hive mind with each other. You quickly move forward and he leans down as you both kiss again, slower, trying to savor this one. Honey drips from your brain into your chest, every cell in your body screaming in relief, satisfaction, and pure joy...

He breaks away again, laying a kiss to the crown of your head. You sit down on the stairs as he walks back onto the pub floor. He's still hard, and it's plain as day - but he could care less right now. He's got you just as much as you've had him. There's a lightness in his shoulders, a voice in his head that you've finally plucked free and thrown into the abyss, only to be replaced by your own being.

You're still sitting on the stairs, massaging your tits through your shirt as you try to smooth your nipples out. Your mind is racing a million miles a minute. What should I wear? Will Price be upset? Should we try to hide this? Will anyone care? Should I wear perfume or just body spray? Is work going to be weird now? He's not going to treat me differently, is he?

You sigh, biting your lip and trudging up the stairs. Your fingers run over the hickey on your neck. I need to find a whisk.

[willieverseetheland]

good girl

Dexter Morgan x reader

based on this ask!

Warnings: 18+ smut, rough sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I write), oral m!receiving, slight choking, dom!dexter Summary: Dexter comes home after an unsuccessful kill and needs to blow off some steam ;)

You stand in your kitchen, admiring your work. You've spent the entirety of the day cleaning, scrubbing until the whole room sparkled. The entire house is filled with the fresh lemon-y scent of cleaner. You plop down on your couch, satisfied with your hard work. You reach for the book lying on your coffee table when suddenly the door flies open and shuts with a loud slam. In walks your very handsome boyfriend, Dexter Morgan. Something about the look on his face, and the dramatic entrance, tells you he's not in the greatest mood. His gaze is dark, angry. You feel like you should be scared when he's like this, hell most people would, but you feel rather turned on instead. He's pacing around your living room. Not stopping to look at you, or even say anything.

"Dex, what's wrong?"

He shoots you a harsh glare

"It's just work. I should probably go" he replies

"No, don't. I want to help" you reach to grab his arm

"No, I shouldn't have come here" he pulls his arm back

You frown in response

"What can I do to make you stay" you ask, looking up at him with pleading eyes

he sighs

"I'm sure there's some way I could help. I can be pretty convincing" you slide your tongue across your bottom teeth while holding eye contact

He sighs again, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back

He's contemplating his next move. He'd love nothing more than to rip your clothes off and have you right here on the floor. But considering tonight's circumstances, not being able to feed that need inside him. He's afraid he'll be too much, too dark and empty. That he won't be able to control himself. He's been stalking his prey for the past two weeks all for nothing, all for him to turn up empty handed. No blood slide to bring home. He didn't know what else to do but come over. Deep down he knew what he wanted, what this would lead to. The only thing that could take his mind off of things, just for a little while at least. Maybe he could channel that hunger, that need, into something else. You.

As he's looking at you, something in his eyes shift. From anger to a hunger. Something insatiable. You knew what this meant. You could hardly contain your excitement as your arousal began to pool in your underwear. He cups your face in both hands kissing you hard, deep. Teeth clashing, breath heavy. It's like something switched in him. From a man wounded, angry, to a man in need. A man who knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was you. In this moment it's all he could think about. He had tunnel vison, trying to keep tonight's previous failure out of his mind. His hands began to roam your body, grabbing anything they could. You slid your hand down to his crotch, grabbing and rubbing. He growls in response. This only further fueled the fire inside him, like a spark to gasoline. He spun you around and slammed you against the wall.

He breaks the kiss searching your face for any sign of discomfort. He may be a killer, but he would never hurt the woman he loved.

"Keep going" you say breathlessly

At your confirmation, he returns to kissing you. Moving down your neck, sucking and biting. Your breath catches in your throat. His hand snakes down to play with the hem of your pants. He slides between the band reaching further down, tracing circles around your clit. You let out a soft moan. You move your hands to his hair, gliding your fingers through his auburn locks, pulling and tugging. He begins to kiss you more roughly now, breathing hard. You can feel him hardening against your thigh.

"Bedroom" you whisper

You wrap your legs around his waist as he picks you up. Never once breaking the kiss as he carries you to the bedroom. He drops you onto the mattress, springs creaking from the impact.

"Off" he orders, referring to your clothes

You slowly remove your shirt, then pause

"Everything" His face is like stone as he watches your every move, his eyes the only thing moving as he follows your hands move across your body.

When you unclasp your bra and let it slide off, you watch as his pupils dilate wide, focusing in on your now exposed chest.

You move your hands down to start working the buttons of your jeans, moving teasingly slow.

He grabs your wrist

"Don't play games with me" His voice ragged and deep

You can't help but smirk ever so slightly. You've never seen him like this before. Dominant? Sure. But never this dark and angry, never this in need.

You slide your pants off, then your underwear. You're completely exposed now, while he's still fully dressed. You blush a little. His eyes scan your body, taking it all in. Preparing for what's about to happen, playing out different scenarios in his mind. You frown when he doesn't make any moves to remove his own clothes. That tight green button up makes you think horrifically sinful things, you just want him to rip it off and crawl on top of you already. You guess you'll have to do it yourself.

You reach up to tug on the hem of his shirt, he understands and pulls it off over his head. He removes his belt as well which brings your attention to his now extremely large bulge. 'He must be so uncomfortable' you think. You look up at him, making eye contact as you slide his pants and boxers down to his knees. His wild eyes looking into yours as you lean forward to lick a long stripe along his cock. He clenches his jaw at the sensation, wanting more. You finally take him into your mouth, pushing further inch-by-inch. His head falls back as he lets out a low groan. You move your head slowly, still trying to adjust to him in your mouth. He decides this is too slow and places a hand on your head pushing you faster. Your gags only encourage him as the closer he gets the rougher and faster he pushes until he's full-on face fucking you. He stops however and pulls away; this isn't how he wants to finish. He wants more, he needs to be inside you.

He looks down at you, noticing tears streaming down your face. He snaps out of whatever sex induced daze he was in. His eyes dissolving from aroused to concerned.

"Are you okay? Was that too much?" His voice laced with worry

But to his surprise, you just smile up at him

"No, I can take it. I promise" you say, giving him the same pleading doe eyes that got you into this mess

With your approval, he immediately snaps back. Lips crashing into yours, tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, like he's trying to memorize your taste. He pushes you onto the bed and crawls over you. He continues devouring your lips, rough and passionate, he even bites and draws a little blood, much to his amusement. One hand grasping your jaw while the other snakes down to your core. He easily slides two fingers in while his thumb rubs circles on your clit. Your loud moans are muffled by his mouth on yours. Gripping your jaw tightly, he moves your head to the side to gain access to your neck. He loves the sounds you make when he bites the tender flesh where your jaw meets your earlobe. He ravages your neck, biting, licking, and sucking any available skin he can get his mouth on. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was a vampire. Maybe that's just the effect you have on him. You moan loudly as his fingers work you into bliss, practically screaming his name as you cum.

He moves your face back to look at him. Your eyes glazed over with pleasure, one of his favorite looks on you. He grabs your thighs, wrapping them around his waist. He locks eyes with you as he aligns with your entrance and slowly pushes in. He loves watching your mouth fall open and your eyebrows scrunch in pleasure. He moves his hands to your hips, gripping tightly. His pace quickens, causing you to moan with every deep thrust. You squeeze your eyes shut as pleasure rolls through you.

His thrusts become faster and rougher. He moves a hand from your waist to your chest, rubbing his thumb across your nipples.

He suddenly pulls out and you whimper at the emptiness. You look at him confused

"Dex, please. I need you"

But before you know it, he grabs your waist and flips you over. His hands return to your hips, gripping them tightly. You arch your back in response, pushing into him.

"Good girl" he says in a low taunting voice

You moan at his words, God you love when he's like this

Without warning, he plunges back into you. Hitting deeper inside you with this new angle. He's just as rough, pounding into you relentlessly. With every stroke he can feel all his anger and stress fall away. He doesn't care about what happened earlier, all he can feel is you and the way you wrap around him perfectly. It doesn't take long for you to fall over the edge as you're sensitive from your previous orgasm. You cum hard, moaning out his name as your walls clench around him. Dexter continues to fuck into you, his thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy as he gets closer. He leans over you, bringing his lips to your ear.

"Inside, is that okay?" he whispers

You can't do anything other than nod

With a few final thrusts he comes undone, spilling into you. He slumps over you, chest against your back. Breathing in sync, feeling each other's bodies pressed together. He places soft kisses to the back of your neck, a complete contrast to the man he was a second ago. He collapses on the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you.

"I didn't go too far, did I?" he asks in his usual calm, gentle voice

"No, you were perfect." you smile, pulling his hand to your face and placing a gentle kiss.

...

This ended up WAYYY longer than expected but I'm very glad. Big thank you to the person that requested this, I hope I did your vision justice. Thanks for reading! <3

[defmaybe]

Cherry

NMIXX’s Oh Haewon x Male Reader

2.5k words

A/N: Dawg. Another BFH fic, I promise I’ll reduce the output rate lol. Also, thanks to @djnayeon for inspiring this with a fucking Shrek gif lol. Thanks for reading!!!

—

Haewon tosses a torn piece of paper with a scribble on it.

My dorm, 602

—

You stand in front of a dormitory, exuding malice with its structure–black, trapezoid, dystopian. A buzzer then signals you to enter. The glassy doors slide open, giving the sight of its stark interior. 

You trail through the rotating stairs, seeing your destination up high. Each step grows heavier, as her room comes closer and closer. Fatigue sets in. Fuck.

But just as you’re about to give up, the number appears on the door right in front of you—602.

Thank fuck.

You knock on the door, as the customs—three times, knock, knock, knock. You wait. You wait. You wait. It’s an eternity of ten seconds. Before the door swings open, giving you the sight of an olive-haired woman, dressed in a tight, cream top, with the pants that leaves little to your imagination.

“Get in,” Haewon orders, annoyance spreads on her expression. “Don’t fucking ogle me right now, keep it to when I fuck your brains out.”

You settle yourself inside her room immediately. It’s tidy, perfect for a lone living space–bed over here, bathroom over there, table by the bed. It’s everything you’d expect from this type of room. Then, you catch the Imaginal Disk vinyl sitting above a player, with other ones: Alvvays, Emotion, Keepsake.

“Come,” Haewon orders, snapping you out of the trance. “Eat my cunt.”

—

“Fucking pervert,” she huffs, as the wet squelches of your tongue lapping up her tangy nectar carry through the room. Her tempting lush folds only heighten your lust further. And despite the nonchalant verbal expressions, her quivering nails gripping on your scalp seem to have their objections. Oh, the woman that you are, Haewon.

Long gone, her lower garments, leaving her in a cream top. Every blow of wind would give the view of her erect nubs from time to time, What a sight. Not to add, her luscious, creamy thighs only sate your unquenchable thirst.

Right now, your world is only her—her glistening cunt, to be exact. You need to take all of her for yourself—every square millimeter of her velvety flesh, every strand of her silk, every drop of her salty liquid gushing out in arousal. You alternate between her juicy folds and the swollen nub, sweeping her sensitive area for all you can. “Ah! Fuck!” And you earn a wailing from her.

You’re sure that the crescent marks are going to be visible until at least the next week, eliciting some laughs and giggles from your prudish peers. But they will never know what an ecstasy it is to be eating Haewon’s pussy like this, with the mixture of your fluids running down your chin.

“F-Fuck, yeah, just like that, boy toy,” Haewon moans. “Keep eating my pussy like this and I’ll fuck your ass until you can’t walk.”

The promise of her plastic phallus pushes you up among the clouds. God, her artificial cock plowing your ass, making you her bitch. Every thrust ramming your prostate to your own brim, as you moan like a fucking cockslut you are–hungry for her domination.

You part her wet folds at an even quicker speed. “F-Fuck, boy toy, you’ve improved, haven’t you?”

“Life is a learning, mommy,” you answer through the act. Haewon lets go of your sore head, instead using her palms, softly pressing your head onto her instead.

“Witty, I like that.” And you just whimper out in response.

Her stream of lubricant won’t seem to stop, and it’s like you’d complain about her taste–tangy, intense, robust. While the scent, far from the flowers of the springs, only shackles you by the throat to keep eating her cunt like there’s no tomorrow. It’s intoxicating, she’s intoxicating, fuck.

Queued, her legs shake, signaling the pending orgasm on your face. “M-Mommy’s gonna cum soon, boy toy. Keep eating my cunt just like that,” Haewon commands.

With her words, your touches become more intense, eager to please your mommy to her climax. You wait for her torrent on your pretty face.

And just like that, her legs shake, a fountain of her squirt paints your features. You let your tongue out to taste her liquid–clear, yet intense like her aggression.

“Fuck, yes, drink it up, you dirty cuntslut,” she grunts, body still convulsing from the pleasure. God, quite a thesaurus she has.

Her squirt flows for a few more heartbeats into your welcoming mouth until she comes down from her climax. Her juice comes out just as slow as her subsiding breathing.

“F-Fuck, that was good, boy toy,” Haewon huffs, smiling, before her voice would become low again. “Now get on the bed, get that asshole ready.”

On a whim, you jump back first onto her bed, with her plushies jumping a bit upon your landing. You quickly push your pants off, and your cock springs out. Not to mention your eager puckered hole, so ready for her rough pounding.

Haewon picks up a harness with a dildo on it–daunting in its length, outrageous in its girth. You aren’t walking normally to your dorm today.

“I-It’s so big, m-mommy,” you whimper.

Standing, latching her strap, she bends forward to speak, “A slut like you deserves to be stretched out, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes, mommy.”

“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.” She finishes the last lock of her strap-on, before discarding her creamy top, displaying her tits in glory.

“Give me the lube, it’s above your head,” she orders, and you toss her the red bottle from the cabinet above you.

“Ready?” Haewon asks, stroking her plastic cock with a strawberry-scented lubricant.

“Yes, mommy.”

Boldly, she pounces on your thighs for a grip–so tightly. Her glistening length is merely an inch away from you. She grins–so malevolent.

Boldly, her length pierces your tightness, inch by inch. Fuck, it’s stretching you out. You’re fighting the urge to moan, like you haven’t been under her assertion all this time.

“Hmm~, so ready for mommy.”

Boldly, she buries her plastic cock up to the hilt, hitting the little spot called the prostate. It sends shocks through you, and she seems to be satisfied with your contorted expression.

Boldly, you moan, so loud, too loud. And she giggles at the sight.

“Can’t handle my cock, baby?” she says, as she slowly slides the length out.

“Ngh,” you cry out. The filling inside you agonizingly disappears. But as you thought she’d pull out all the way, she rams herself back into you. “Ahhh. Fuck.”

Haewon chuckles at you, pulling out again. And it begins, the rhythm of her dominance.

You become pliant for her–to touch, to play with, to fuck. She gains her tempo in messaging your inner walls. “Keep moaning like that, boy toy, It’s a song to me.”

Your mind is lost in the stars, only moans and whimpers to follow her orders. “Ngh, ahhh, mmmh.” Her pounding is so rough, yet it only fuels your fire further.

“Y-Your cock is so good, mommy.”

“I know, boy toy, I know you’d love my cock like a slut you are,” Haewon responds with a chuckle. Her hips strike your ass faster, hitting your prostate at the bullseye with each jerk. “Say it, who’s my little slut.”

You take a deep breath, before responding, “I-I’m your slut, mommy.”

“Louder.”

You take another deep breath, before shouting this time, “I’M YOUR SLUT, MOMMY.”

“Good boy, good fucking boy,” Haewon says, before dragging out her pace as she pants.

“Wha-What are you doing, mommy?” you ask, voice shaking with worry.

“I-I need your cum inside me, c’mere,” Haewon huffs, as she pulls in your thighs until they press against hers. The plastic cock points up along with yours.

“Can’t have your cock go soft before I, ugh,” she grunts, forcefully attempting to unbuckle the strap from herself. “Why the fuck is it so hard?”

“Nghhhh, mommyyy, please just fuck me already,” you groan out, being pulled away from the precipice second by second.

A forceful slap lands on your ass, “Ah! Fuck!”, the red mark of Haewon’s hand is probably imprinted on a canvas called you.

“You’re in no position to exert your needs here, alright? Shut the fuck up!” Haewon shouts, voice raspy, and you can do nothing but comply. “You’re so fucking lucky that I let you get a taste of my cunt. If you’re pulling some shit like this again, I’ll fucking hang you on the edge, alright?”

“Y-Y-Yes, mommy,” you whimper, voice shaking.

“Now, let me get this ugh- fucking strap off.” She struggles with it a bit more, until she finally tears it off, revealing her aroused sex for you once again. “Fucking finally.”

And it’s quick—the way she quickly envelops your cock within her drenched folds. And it plays out by the cowgirl’s book—her supple ass sliding up and down your cock, your moans, her moans (even if hers are in a much lower register–more like a groan per se).

“Nghhhh.”

“Fuckkkk.”

“M-Mommy!”

“Ah!”

The cacophony fills Haewon’s room, combined with the mess of fleshes clapping into each other. The allegro tempo makes it easier for you to make your eyes flutter in raw, unscathed ecstasy. The storm is still far away, but you can see it. You can see it. Lightning. The sound of it. The small drops of water on your arms, signaling the whirlwind of a release in the distance.

With her movement, your eyes keep alternating between her bouncing, luscious mounds and the sight of your cock disappearing into her. This shit is fucking hypnotizing.

“Don’t you dare go fucking other slut, understand? I-I only have you.”

Her first tinge of genuine affection. Your heartbeat quickens even more at her words.

“Y-Yes, ah, mommy,” you respond.

And somehow, boldly, Haewon captures you with her cherry-flavored lips–ardent, confident, ass still grinding on your filthy cock. She keeps gasping for air, but her tongue sweeps every square millimeter of your dirty, lustful mouth. She cups your face tight.

But before you can revel in the act, Haewon pulls back from the kiss. Her face is now flushed, eyes elsewhere with hands wiping the saliva away. And you smile.

“The fuck you’re smiling at, huh? Just fucking cum inside me, boy toy, fill me up.”

Your voice isn’t shaky anymore, reinvigorated by the kiss. “Okay, mommy.”

Haewon rides you faster, upping the tempo of yourselves clashing together. Her tight, velvety walls are calls of the storm. It’s raining now, and flashes and flashes of lightning can be seen from afar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I-I’m gonna cum,” she moans, as her body atop of you shakes–violent, unyielding. She keeps the pace for her sex to be impaled by your length. Her juicy thighs lose their controls. Her breaths grow shorter. And her wanton cunt is quivering.

And she cums, “Fuck, shit!” Streams of clear juice leaks out in a torrent, legs trembling once again. Her whole body convulses, mouth open, you’d do anything just to see this again.

But she won’t stop just here.

“Now, your turn.” Haewon recollects herself up to a languid pace, opposite to the frantic tempo earlier. She’s definitely fucking with you now.

“Oh, my toy is frustrated because I’m not riding him fast enough?” Haewon pouts, and of course it is a sarcastic one. She doesn’t seem to let you have your pleasure yet.

“What if I–” Haewon swipes her lips with a finger, gathering a hue of coral on it. “–do this?”

Slowly, she docks the digit on your needy lips, pasting the tinge along them.

Slowly, she pushes her finger into your mouth, giving you the taste of cherry.

“Like that, you slut?”

“Yes, mommy.”

Slowly, you envelop her slender digit with a warm welcome–eyes closed, humming through the act.

Slowly, she sweeps your cavern, spreading the fruity paste everywhere, and you surely forget about how slow her tight cunt is pressing onto you right now.

“Mmmmmm,” you moan, sucking her digit. The taste only entices you more.

“Yeah, suck mommy’s finger like a bitch you are,” she says, and you just can’t deny that–her finger and the title.

Here you are, surrendered to her conquest, sucking her finger with an incomparable hunger. The submission just becomes innate now; you are so ready to give her the full control.

Without a warning, she finally ramps up her pace, slamming her wet, dainty cunt down your cock with more frenzy.

“Ah, ah, nghh, fuck, mommy~” you cry out, so lost in the haze.

“Breed me, fucking breed me.” Haewon looks up onto the ceiling as her groan fills the room. “I want to feel your seed hitting my womb, only yours.”

Thunders start to strike the ground with each thrust–bang, bang, bang. Each one has the determination to set the fire inside you alight.

“I-I think I’m cumming, mommy, a-are you sure about this?” You can feel it, the spark of it.

She huffs, “F-Fuck yeah, I want a creampie this time, boy toy.”

You start to grow greedy, despite the fear of her punishment. Still, it’s like you’d care right now, with any of her so-called disciplinary actions only pushing you towards the edge. You pump your cock upwards to match her slams.

“Hmm~, putting in some work too?” Haewon bends down to ruffle your hair, pouting. “So adorable for mommy~.”

Again, she captures you with her lips, every moan, every whimper, every cry is contained within the connection. You can feel it, the little fires everywhere. It’s only a matter of time until it merges into a raging inferno.

“M-Mommy~.”

And it burns, deep into her womb. Your cock paints ropes and ropes of essence within her needy cunt, as you scream deep into her lungs. The blaze consumes both of you, still fighting with your tongues. Your hips jerk with each shot, “Ngh, ngh, ngh,” and your back becomes an arch.

Eventually, the fire is gone, only the remnants of the burns left. Haewon pants against you as you do so, foreheads touching, smiling.

“You’re just fucking fun to use, you know that?” she says, before latching onto your quivering lips.

Long gone, the ardor buried within you two, replaced by something else, something you can’t quite pinpoint. Haewon kisses you, and you kiss her back with the remaining passion for her that’s left inside you.

Finally, she pulls back from you, a string of saliva connects you two in the separation. She’s smiling.

“I love being your little boy toy too, Haewon,” you say, she laughs. Before she gets down from the ride, lying next to you. Your cum leaks out of her cunt onto the bedsheets.

“Wanna do this again?” Haewon asks.

“Definitely, maybe.”

“Maybe?” Haewon furrows her brows, getting up to look you in the eye. “I fucking dicked you down until you moaned like that and you say ‘maybe’?”

You chuckle with the statement, before turning your back to her, “Cuddle me please, mommy.”

“Sure.” Haewon says, smiling, as she lies down again, hugging your frame from behind, ready to go through this nocturne together.

—

[lacroixqueen]

sparks fly - deadpool x fem!reader

Summary: deadpool has been stalking reader who works at a diner. he ends up hatching a diabolical plan to get reader's attention

Pairing: fem!reader x deadpool

Word Count: 1.3k

Wade knew he was obsessed with you from the moment he laid eyes on you. 

It was a dark, rainy night in the city, and you were closing shift at the diner. You liked closing shift. Especially on weeknights like this when it was generally pretty quiet. You were placing dirty plates and utensils into the bus tub when you heard what you swore to be shattering dishes from the back of the kitchen. 

Your back stiffened as you peered over your shoulder to the shadowy, unlit part of the restaurant. 

“Hello..?” you called out carefully. 

Silence.

You carried on with your tasks for the remainder of the evening, unsure exactly of what you heard but too terrified to investigate. 

He was already watching you this entire time. He admired the subtle curve of your waist. How your apron tied around your hips in an adorable little bow. The way your thigh-high stockings dug ever so slightly into your skin. 

He knew that sneaking into this rinky dink little dinner to spy on some random girl he found somewhat attractive off of a split second impression was.. reckless to say the least. But recklessness has never stopped him before. 

Wade stationed himself next to the dishwasher, staying still as a statue until you turned around the corner.

“Boo,” he said without so much as a care in the world.

You screamed, of course, and instinctively threw your entire tray of plates at him. “What the fuck!”

“What the fuck is right!” he answered gleefully, effortlessly brushing the completely filled bus tub to the side, not even flinching as even more silverware crashed into the ground. “And you are actually in big trouble! Like biiiiig trouble. This entire diner, and probably all the buildings around it are going to be incinerated within the next.. 5 minutes? So if I were you, I would leave everything behind and follow me while you still have the chance.”

You watched as the diabolical man in what you could only describe as some sort of BDSM gimp suit pantomimed every single word that came out of his month with a bravado of a world renowned circus performer. 

“And.. who are you exactly?” you asked, folding your arms across your chest and raising your eyebrow. 

“Deadpool. Spelled like dead and pool,” he replied confidently, sticking his hand out.

“Uh huh,” you said, allowing him to shake your limp wrist. In your mind you were calculating the fastest way to reach the store phone to dial 9-11. “What a.. pleasure.”

“So.. you are coming with me,” he established. “As in, I am going to take you away from this building. Because it is about to blow up. There is a bomb some psycho what’s his face planted in the basement and you are way too pretty to die this young, so I am just going to have to rescue you right here right now.”

“You- what?” you stammered out, but before you could even muster another word, the mercenary had already swept you off your feet bridal style. “Hey! Put me down. Right now.”

“Yeah, sorry that’s not really gonna be an option sweetheart,” Wade snapped back with a wit as sharp as a knife. “Oh, and look at the time! Only one more minute left.”

And with those words, he quickly darted out the back door of the diner into a dingy alleyway. You reflexively wrapped your arms around his neck, taking note of how sturdy his arms felt underneath your legs. 

“Whatever you do,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “Don’t. Drop me.” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice!” Wade chirped as he scurried down the avenue, maneuvering around a sharp corner. “You’re precious cargo, and besides, the whole point of this entire stunt was-”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you heard a loud “boom”, now realizing you were miles away from the diner you were just at. You felt the ground shake under Wade’s feet, and a gust of warm wind blowing from the explosion site. 

You gazed over Deadpool’s shoulder, and gasped as you watched the distant part of the city being engulfed in flames. 

“You.. you saved my life..” you murmured. “H-how did you even..”

“Well, if I were to lie, and we all know I am very good at that,” the assassin began. “I would say it was sort of a right place right time sort of situation. As in I was just innocently strolling around the block when I noticed a big bad evil villain, aka my arch nemesis plant a little, let’s just call it grenade downstairs. So, I, being the upstanding citizen that I am, decided to walk right in and save the day. Yay! Let’s just go with that.”

“And if you were to be honest?” you challenged, untangling yourself from his arms and stepping down onto the sidewalk. You realized since you were in a slightly calmer state of mind, and actually standing face-to-face to him under the streetlight, that he was literally towering over you by at least a head. 

“Hmm, you got me there princess,” he capitulated. “If I were being real, I would say the part about me being in the right place at the right time was true.”

“Go on,” you chided, beginning to rub the middle of your forehead. You could already feel that this was not about to end well.

“Buuuuut, you were just too cute. I really had no idea how to approach you. So, the most logical conclusion was to throw a wrench into the sink, or should I say a bomb into your diner, and time it perfectly so I could sneak in, pull you aside, and er, get you outta there? And here we are. Ta-daaaa!” he embellished the ending of the entire debacle with jazz hands, as if he was telling a casual story to a group of friends. 

“You.. are unbelievable!” you shouted, pushing him against his chest, and not really causing enough force to have him step back. “What kind of sick, twisted joke is this?!” You threw a punch against him with every single word. “You really thought this would be the way to get my attention? Instead of, oh, I don’t know, just coming up to me and striking up a conversation like a normal fucking person?”

“Cute, very cute. Adorable,” Deadpool commented as he watched you attempt to hurt him, almost as if he were observing an unfamiliar specimen in the wild. “God, you are so cute.”

“That’s all you have to say?!” you cried. “After blowing up part of the city? You are a psychopath.”

“Eh, not even wrong,” he shrugged. “Nowadays I even take that as a compliment.”

“I-I’m gonna call the police!” you ultimately decided, whipping out your cell phone from your back pocket. 

“Oh, no no no I would not do that,” Wade said, effortlessly grabbing the device from your hand and texting his phone before you could notice. “Just.. they aren’t a big fan. Of me.”

“You think?!” you seethed. “God. You are insane. You know that?” You stood up on your tippy toes, trying to take your phone back. 

Wade eventually relented, motioning to hand it back to you before you snatched it out of his hand. 

“And never speak to me again,” you shot back at him as you walked in the opposite direction. 

“So does that mean I can pick you up at 7 tomorrow?” the assassin called after you. “I know a really nice place downtown.. er, wait that might have been blown up.”

You stormed off without another word, self-assured that this would be the last you would ever see of him. But you were sorely mistaken. 

[topherwrites]

𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘈 𝘓𝘖𝘛, 𝘑𝘜𝘚𝘛 𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘙

summary - a saturday morning, and I love you on the tip of both your tongues.

pairing - bob floyd x (gn!)reader

word count - 2.1k

rating - nsfw content, 18+, mdni!

content warnings & tags - no use of (y/n) / fluff / slightly h*rny fluff / bob's love language being acts of service / the peak fantasy of homeownership / bob floyd being the ideal man™ / lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: time for my bi-yearly fic drop, lol! i wrote this in semi-conjunction with this moodboard. (a.k.a i started this months ago.) everyone who said they want to live in it... same. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated!

TOP GUN MASTERLIST / LIBRARY BLOG

Your boyfriend has disappeared.

Even before your eyes are open and your brain is semi-functioning, you feel the lack of his presence, the sheets next to you devoid of his usual space heater existence. You touch the left side—his side—double checking—hoping, really—that you won’t have to peel yourself out of bed to search for him.

A cascade of orange and pink spills through your curtains, painting your room in soft light, letting you know it has to be before seven. With a groan, you check your clock, confirming your suspicions. The time reads a quarter past six—far too early for you.

Not nearly as agonizing for him, one of those irritating early riser types, but Bob is diligent about letting you know when he’s leaving for his early morning runs, a kiss planted to your temple, and a ‘be back soon’—just a little moment in case you have to leave for work before he gets back.

But it’s Saturday, and you had plans of lazing about in bed until at least eleven, preferably with him. 

Your brow creases as you push up onto your elbows, slowly blinking around your room as if your boyfriend will just appear in front of you, and you won’t have to pull yourself out from under the covers to try to coax him back to bed.

As of late, it’s like he gets struck by a whim, and his body is overcome with the need to check it off a list, unable to rest until he does—changing your oil at ten o’clock at night, fixing the light in your fridge that flickers before he heads off for a run, trying to fix the leaky pipes under your en-suite sink—he did eventually give up on that one and call a plumber. Thank god.

Part of you has just taken it as part of his job and personality—he likes getting up as the sun does, he likes fixing things, and his job is a stressor, you're sure. But it doesn't feel work-related, so part of you is beginning to wonder if it’s you. 

An ugly little thought that you can recognize has no factual basis. He’s never been anything but honest with you, open and vulnerable, even when you’ve guarded yourself.

As a result, you tuck it away, considering that he’s off on another one of his little quests. They’re things that always make you feel cared for and thought about—weeding or checking the pressure on your tires or rearranging his kitchen so you can reach the things you frequently use.

So, as you begin to pressure yourself to leave your cocoon of early morning sleepiness, a quiet metal-against-metal clattering floats down the hall and through the crack in your bedroom door, catching your attention.

Slipping out of bed, you pad down the hall, sleep shirt brushing your thighs. Growing nearer to the sound of the soft noise—clearly being sensitive to try not to wake you—-you catch soft guitar strings and the twang of John Prine and Iris DeMent coming from your grandma’s old record player.

You cringe as your foot touches the cold tile lining the floor and immediately regret not rummaging around for your slippers.

You find Bob there, posted at the counter as he cuts something at a butcher board, only wearing the sweats he went to bed in. He's still warm despite the lack of clothing and the countertop fan blowing at him.

At the arch entry, you stop and watch him for a moment, entranced by the way his broad shoulders and the muscles of his back move with the motion—by the sight of him in your kitchen. Something so distinctly domestic and intimate about it.

Completely focused on his task, he doesn't hear you come up behind him. He slightly jumps under your touch as your hands slip around his middle, his stomach beneath your fingertips.

He makes a short noise of surprise that washes into a gentle greeting, his voice low, “Hey, sweetheart.”

You press your lips to his shoulder blade, enjoying the feeling of his skin against your own.

You've clearly ruined some sort of surprise, but you can't feel too bad at the sight of his eyes still clouded by sleep and the odd angles his hair sticks up.

Keeping his eyes on the cuts he’s making, Bob briefly twists around to press a kiss to your temple as he mumbles, “Go back to bed.”

You just hum, beginning to press kisses to the freckles that scatter along his shoulders, deepened by the tan he’s obtained from working in the flowerbeds that sit alongside your front door. The beds were slightly tragic before you began dating, some sort of sparse bushes planted there. They were alive at one point, you assume, but lying half dead and bare when you bought the place.

In no time at all, he had the beds torn up and replaced with bright white hydrangeas that now sit in full bloom under your front windows. Pink zinnias, sunny yellow goldenrods, and pale milkweeds—all chosen by him because they attract monarch butterflies during their migration—flank either side of the brown brick pathway. Cheek pressed to his skin; you cast a glance outside just as a small orange and black blur flits by the glass.

“So… where is it?”

Chewing on the inside of his lip, Bob casts a lost glance around the plant nursery’s vast outdoor gardens—bright pops of color among vast expanses of green, the high afternoon sun beating down on them—the acreage of it is astounding and certainly a workout.

You’re supposed to be picking up some mulch for the beds—but you keep getting sidetracked. Half your fault; you beeline for every slightly pretty plant, balancing it on the cart that’s rapidly becoming overloaded. The wheels digging heavily into the gravel pathways, little trenches left in your wake.

It’s early days with Bob Floyd, but he’s sweet and helpful and easy to get free labor out of—a big plus in your book.

On your first date, when he walked you to your front door, sweet and gentlemanly, you made a quick joke, a callback to your hinge profile. There, you had answered the prompt, I'm looking for…, with, ‘someone to put together my ikea bookshelf. seriously.’

Because, after two unsuccessful attempts to put it together and three months of it languishing in the corner of your living room, you were tired of feeling a pang of guilt every time you piled another book on top of the precarious stack teetering next to your reading chair.

Of course, on the date, you didn't actually expect him to do it. You made the joke as a way to test the waters, to see if he was open to coming inside without fully putting yourself out there that way.

But then he followed you in, sat himself down cross-legged on your living room rug, and got to work. You stood there in the doorway for a moment, warming even further to him. 

You poured a glass of wine for each of you, and watched his hands as he set joints together and tightened screws with a furrow between his brows. And despite his serious focus on the job, he continued asking you questions about your taste in books, your favorite bands growing up, what you liked about San Diego as you sat near—your only real contribution being the wine, simple conversation, and occasionally handing him a screw.

He’d finished near midnight, asked if you wanted help sorting your books, and when you said no, already mildly abashed at the fact that you’d set him to work on your first date, he’d given you a kiss goodnight on your cheek—chaste and unpresuming—and left it at that.

You’d fallen for him a little bit then and there.

Blinking, he stares down at the map once again—same furrow in his brow—turning it in his hands. Not sounding any more sure than he was a second ago, he points slightly westerly of you, “That way. I think.”

It draws a slight laugh from you. You lightly hip-check him, teasing over your shoulder, “Come on, farm boy, you’re supposed to be helping me.”

The scent of lemon carries inside from the open window over the sink, summer ripening the tree planted in your yard. That’s also when you spy past his shoulder a small stack of the same yellow fruit on the counter. A pancake crackles away on the stove.

Your voice is quiet—reticent to break the seal of this hushed moment—as you ask, “What are you making?”

Hands wandering mindlessly, your touch follows the trail of hair from his belly button, fingers sneaking only just under the waistband of his sweats, loosely hung on his hips. 

He seems to part with the idea of whatever he’s doing being a surprise, clear that you’re not going to accede to his request and tuck yourself back into bed, too awake now to do so.

“Pancakes,” he reveals, continuing to whip, “with lemon ricotta whipped cream.”

“Trying out a new recipe?”

His throaty laugh reverberates into your chest, shaking you. Your smile hikes higher before you even know what he’s laughing about—just enjoying the sound, the melody and the slight grit to it.

“Emphasis on trying,” he says, scooping a bit of the whipped cream onto his finger, offering it to you to taste. “Would you?”

You draw his finger into your mouth. It’s slightly sweet with a burst of tang, the sugar and cream mellowing out the sharper edges of the lemon flavor. A success, you think. As you draw back, you flash your gaze up and find his eyes unabashedly caught on your mouth.

You pull off and without breaking eye contact, breathily tease, “Lech.”

With a slight flush to his ears and cheeks, he laughs and leans in, nose brushing yours as he presses his lips to yours. His mouth slants over yours, insistent, his hand finds its way to cradle your jaw, tilt your head just right. It catches your breath, makes your toes curl against the tile.

You're still not entirely used to this, the sweetness of Bob Floyd. His eyes are soft as he pulls back, his thumbs sweeping along your cheeks. He clicks his tongue, cheekily muttering, “I think it’s good.”

His lips move to your cheek next, mumbling between a kiss there, “You're distracting.”

The gesture, so simple, makes your heart flip.

By this stage of dating you're usually spiraling, finding reasons that it won’t work out and tallying up slights so when the expected happens, you're not blindsided. Like it's a game you’ll win; perpetually preparing yourself for heartbreak. 

And it’s often been easy, dating men who were noncommittal or uninterested or flippant with affection made it so. They were easy to write off— jettison them from your life and think, onto the next. 

But everything has changed with him. There’s an ease to the intimacy, a frankness to him that makes that defense mechanism very difficult to muster. You're… settled.

And it should scare you, the way your heart is fully on the line, but then you catch sight of one of his dogeared-to-hell paperbacks in the living room or the little date night notes he leaves scribbled on the calendar that hangs next to the fridge or his mismatched colorful socks mixed in with your laundry and it doesn't. As simple as that.

You haven’t said the L word yet. But it’s there, dancing on the tip of your tongue every time you look at him.

Bob is near certain that this is love.

No, he supposes, he is certain. He’s mulled this particular topic over too much in his mind not to be.

It's love—the big kind. He’s just not certain when he should let you in on that fact. Release it out to you and see if it comes back returned.

In the past five months he’s undertaken a million little projects to keep his hands, mouth, and mind busy, working out all that excess energy. All he’s doing is kicking the can down the road, trying to find “the right time”. 

He's gotten close more than once, yet every time it catches in the back of his throat, his tongue an uneasy ally in the venture. The words, three simple ones, are left as something uncomfortable to swallow down at each abandoned attempt.

And yet, virtually all that discomfort is eased by the way you say his name, catching his attention when they nearly slip, nearly an endearment all on its own. 

His call sign being his name means that Bob hears it alot, from a considerable amount of mouths. Shouted, whispered, whooped. In a variance of forms, he's heard it. But it's never sounded so important, so weighty, then it does as it falls from your lips. Like you're speaking a dialect only the two of you hold knowledge of, his name equivalent to the word in the forefront of his mind.

"Bob."

He hums, certain that his face gives him away; 'Whipped' as Mickey called it or 'in love' as his mother did the first time you met.

This is the sort of thing that his parents have, the ease, the humor, the affection. It permeates every space of his life, the knowledge that you're here, with him, choosing each other easily.

Eight letters.

I love you.

He lets temptation run wild, hands glancing down your back and tugging you right into him. He takes a moment just to look at you, your bright eyes, and the sweet shape of your lips as you smile up at him. Your hands slide around his neck, gently teasing the hair at the nape of his neck, his stomach swooping at the feeling.

Three syllables.

I love you.

He lets them swirl in his head, settle in the back of his throat as he prepares his tongue.

Your thumb runs along his cheekbone and he opens his mouth, readying himself, just as your lips part, and twice at once, I love you, becomes tangible reality.

Like a held breath released, a smile, broad and uncontrollable, spreads over his face, mirrored on yours as everything comes into view.

Just as Bob leans in to brush his lips against yours, higher than he’s ever felt, the smell of rapidly burning batter hits his nose. 

"Oh, shoot."

a/n: thank you for reading!

[withleeknow]

forgetful.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; minho is lowkey the biggest simp wbk, unedited ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ word count: 0.9k note: first fic of 2024! don't look at me tho, at this point i just keep writing the most self-indulgent shit lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

minho is the type to - 15 seconds after he meets you for your weekly date night - ask you where your gloves are when he sees your reddened and shivering hands. there was a greeting kiss preceding the question, of course.

"i think we both know what the answer is," you tell him, trying to rub your hands together for warmth until he takes them and presses your cold fingers against his cheeks, before he kisses your palms.

"what’s the point of getting matching gloves if you keep forgetting yours?" he says, a light scolding tone in his voice that matches the slight frown tugging on his brows.

"it's not my fault!" you try to defend yourself. you'd raise your hands for emphasis, but he's still keeping them near his face, alternating between kisses and blowing into them to get you all nice and toasty. "i keep them by the door on purpose so i wouldn't forget to take them with me when i go out. you have to at least give me a little credit for that. i just... never actually remember to bring them."

he rolls his eyes, an act that most would find patronizing especially if minho is the one who's doing it. but when it comes to you, everything minho does is full of affection, even as he pretends to be annoyed.

"what am i going to do with you?" he mutters like a disappointed parent.

"it was your idea to get the gloves. i didn't really need them though. i have you."

"but i'm not with you all the time, baby. you need to keep yourself warm."

"well, you're here with me, aren't you? you can keep me warm now. i'll worry about cold hands later."

squishing his cheeks together, you pull him toward you for a swift peck.

despite his exasperated sigh, minho still presses his lips against each of your palms one last time, even turns them over to kiss your knuckles, before he settles on intertwining his left hand with your right one, stuffing them in his coat pocket as he pulls the both of you toward the direction of your dinner reservation.

"wait!" you exclaim, holding up your neglected hand, "what about this one? it's cold too."

he turns to look at you, his face devoid of all emotions as he assesses your so-called dilemma. then, minho lets go of you, telling you to put both your hands in your own pockets.

"come onnn," you lament, pouting at the man in front of you.

"you come on," he retorts. "just do it."

you huff childishly, watching as the breath comes out in a puff of smoke in the cold air, thinking minho is really letting you fend for warmth by yourself for the remaining 10 minutes that it takes to walk to the restaurant.

it's not like you meant to forget the gloves at home.

before you can resume walking, minho moves to stand behind you, pulling you to him, eliciting a surprised oof! from you. he shoves his hands into your pockets, intertwining your fingers once again within the confines of the fabric as he shuffles you forward, his legs on either side of yours so it's easier for you to walk. the thick coats and wool scarves that you're both wearing already make you look like a pair of clumsy bears roaming the street, but with your back pressed against his front like this, you have no doubt that by-passers must be thinking you're two cotton balls waddling in the middle of the city.

"minho!" you laugh, partially embarrassed that people are side-eyeing this strange public display of affection. "stop!"

"you wanted me to keep you warm, didn't you?"

"people are staring!"

"you said you were cold." he seems unfazed though, continuing to nudge you forward like it's the most normal thing in the world. "make up your mind."

"i take it back!"

you do your best to plant your feet firmly on the ground to keep him from moving. it works though, or at least it staggers him enough for you to wriggle out of his hold. you take a few steps away from minho, and he looks at you with unimpressed eyes.

"i take it back," you repeat. "we're only a couple blocks away. i think i'll manage."

he stares at you for a moment longer, before he reaches into his bag and pulls out a pair of gloves, identical to the matching ones that you two picked out together a few weeks ago.

"how do you have my gloves?"

"these aren't the ones at your place," he clarifies. "this is your backup pair. i went back to the store and got them because i know you never remember to take shit with you."

you don't even try to suppress the grin that tugs on your lips when he walks closer to you, taking your hands and attentively covers your skin with the wool. "so you just... keep them with you at all times now?" you ask.

"pretty much, yeah."

once he's made sure that gloves are hugging your fingers snugly, you pull him down for a kiss, your lips moving together warmly. you feel him smile against you even though he's trying to look stern.

"you love me sooo much," you simper when you break from the kiss.

minho sighs, a long one as if to say yes, unfortunately i do love you very much.

"now come on." this time he does speak aloud. "let's go before they give away our table."

because that's just the kind of person minho is. because no matter how grumpy he may appear from the outside, he's still the type to always think of you and your wellbeing and show up for you even when you don't show up for yourself. no matter how callous his facade is, he is still the type to love you quietly. tenderly. completely.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 01.01.2024]

[sideeve]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀LITTLE MISS PERFECT

synopsis : getting homosexual tendencies for her best friend? absolutely not!

note : i just started playing tlou2 again and my love for abby and ellie blossomed again. naughty dog knew what they were doing

ft. : questioning homosexuality, internalized homophobia, non-apocalyptic au, implied smut but not that descriptive, ellie already has a crush on reader but it’s not really described until they kiss and what not.

you search through the rack of bras, lazily looking for one that at least looks fitting. you huff, starting to lose hope. your hands stop at one. a black lacy one, which if your wore, would cover nothing. it reminded you of that erotic video you found went internet surfing.

two women alone together, exploring each other’s bodies. their tongues acting like a paintbrush and their bodies were canvases, covered in saliva.

you press your lips together, trying to push down the tingling in your body. you can’t be gay. you literally have a crush on that ABC news host.

“[name], honey? did you find one yet?” your mother asks, messing with the displayed jewelry. “no, there’s nothing here.” you sigh, hiding the bra in the rack.

you had no problem with homosexuality. hell, your whole search history is the complete opposite of heterosexuality. your best friend is a lesbian. but there is no way you’re gay. that’s…just not you.

after many of those “are you gay” tests, your answers remain the same. ‘you’re most definitely a lesbian, babes’.

you lay on ellie’s bed, blindly flipping through one of her many comic books. you blow raspberry, getting bored a little. “what?” she diverts her eyes from her TV for a second before tending back to her game.

“nothing.” you flip a few more pages until your eyes land on a certain panel. two girls in close proximity, lips ghosting over each other. you swallow a large lump, trying to push away the thoughts again.

but now you can only think of you in that situation. curled up next to a girl, her hand rubbing softly on your waist.

you try to picture what she would look like, only seeing your best friend’s face. you groan, rolling on your back.

“ellie?” she hums in response. you fiddle with your thumbs before asking the question. “how did you know you were gay?”

her game pauses. “what?” she looks at you before her eyes travels to her opened comic book. “ooooh.” she laughs, picking up the book. “you picked the one i didn’t want you to get.” she closes the book, stuffing it under her bed.

she leans back, propping herself up with her arms. “ i dunno. i just…” she shrugs, “never pictured myself with a guy. and you know, boobies.”

you softly hit her, making her laugh. “i’m serious, ellie. i think i might be gay. lesbian, bi-i don’t know!” you groan, stuffing your face in your hands.

“i mean, why don’t you?” she lays on her side, looking at you. “that ABC news host.”

“David Muir?”

you nod, making her scoff. “do you have a crush on any guy at job?” she twirls a strand of your hair in her fingers. “god no. they all look like troglodytes.” you grimace at the thought of liking them.

“can you picture yourself marrying a man for the rest of your life?”

that question made your stomach drop. you feel bile pile up in your throat. ‘yes, you can’ you try to convince yourself.

“no, i guess not.” you give a slight frown at your answer, looking down.

“hey, it’s normal. not everyone is straight. and you sure aren’t.” she laughs. “oh shut it!” you huff.

she stops laughing after a while. “well, let’s kiss to see if you are gay.” she suggest so nonchalantly. kiss? your best friend?

“uhhhh..” “if you don’t like it, we don’t have to ever talk about it.”

you look at her, contemplating whether you should go through with this. you couldn’t deny that ellie was very attractive. you could say that she was your “gay awakening”. they way she was naturally flirty with you was the beginning of the questioning phase for you.

“let’s do it.” you sit on your legs, waiting for her to kiss you.

she gives you a soft smile, getting up.

“you sure?” she questions, not wanting this to go wrong. you nod.

she takes a deep breath, putting her hand on your cheek to pull you in.

your skin ignites. this is what you’ve dreamed of. intimacy with a woman. natural intimacy. not like those forced erotic videos you watch in your free time.

her lips press on yours, her eyelashes tickling the apple of your cheek. you reciprocate the affection, putting a hand on her cheek.

a moan slips from your lips, your eyes fluttering shut. the hand on your cheek falls to your hips, her hand squeezing for a few moments to tell her that this is real; this is actually happening.

in a flurry, her body is pressed on top of yours, her tongue exploring every crevice on your mouth. her hands slipped under the hem of your jeans, fingers brushing over the seat of your panties.

you card your hands through her auburn hair. “els…” you call to her as she pulls away, a string of saliva connecting from hers and your bottom lip.

“you okay, princess?” she moves her hand at an angle, her thumb drawing tight circles on the pearl of your cunt. you arch into her, making her chuckle.

you nod, a moan slipping from your lips again.

“yeah, you’re definitely gay.” she giggles, stuffing her face in the crook of your neck, making you laugh too. “shut up and use your hands, ellie.”

“oh, i know something better than my hands.” she leaves your neck for a moment, digging under her bed.

she pulls out a harness. one not built for your shoulders. the purpose accessory catches your eye, making you widen them. “is that…”

“i haven’t used it yet.” she smirks. “your call.”

do you have enough red orbs? stop by my store to request a fic!

[hom3landr]

Blow Me (One Last Kiss)

18+

Homelander teaches you an important lesson at one of his rallies

CW: Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Dubious Consent, Slight spoilers for S4

You’ve long grown accustomed to the roar of a crowd. It comes free with admission as Homelander’s lover. Sometimes it’s as if the noise itself follows you even into the dark peaceful nights spent dozing in his arms. Your ears still ring with cheers. You don’t mind too much even if you can tell the constant mindless applause has started to grate Homelander’s increasingly sensitive nerves. You know the alternative would be much worse.

You’re especially thankful for the noise as you kneel under the podium with his cock down your throat. Well, you call it a podium but it might as well be a pulpit with the way he preaches to the masses. Your precarious situation is the result of you correcting him in public. His firm grip on the back of your head ensures that your nose remains fully nestled in the nest of hair at the base of his cock as he begins to hush the crowd so he can begin his speech. You’ve heard him practice so many times by this point that it’s almost become gibberish to your ears but you’d never dare tell him that. He takes a moment to look down at you before he starts, a wicked smirk as he takes your wide teary eyes and the way your mouth puffs around his cock.

His fingers nestle in your hair and pull you off him, a line of spit connecting you to the tip. He gives a wink before shoving you back onto him. Despite how many times you’ve done this, you still gag a bit and you flush crimson when the mic manages to pick up the sound in the lull between words. Homelander chuckles.

“Sorry everybody, it looks like we have a little mic feedback.” He laughs good naturedly as the crowd echoes with mild laughter of their own. Your hands fly up to grip his hips as he slowly starts to fuck deep into your throat. His voice is able to mask the wet sloppy sounds of you sucking him off but if someone listened close enough, they’d be able to hear what he’s doing to you.

You’re embarrassed but the depravity has you moaning quietly around his cock as heat pools between your legs. You know he can smell your arousal because even from your awkward angle you can see his cheek twitch smugly. Drool drips down your chin and onto the stage below. You’re grateful that the sides of the podium shield you from the curious looks of the stage crew. They know what’s happening but they have no idea what it looks like when Homelander fucks your face. He loves showing you off like a trophy but there are things that are for him only. (At least if the viewer is meant to stay alive after. You can’t forget when he showed off your skills in front of Todd and his pals before ordering his teammates to beat their brains out to advance his plans.)

He speeds up right as he hits a lull in his speech and you can’t help but whimper as obscene noises fill the arena for a moment.

“There’s that feedback again. I might need to get a new mic here.” His voice is lighthearted but smug. He knew that didn’t sound anything like mic feedback but who’s going to question him. His hand gently scratches at your scalp mockingly. You tease at the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue until he can’t help but whine for a moment. That earns you a sharp tug but your satisfaction masks the sting.

He’s careful not to finish until he’s done with his speech and when he does and the tech crew comes out to check the equipment in between sets, he tugs you off him to fix you with a stern look.

“Have you learned your lesson?” He asks you mockingly, his thumb swiping a drop of his come off your bottom lip.

“It depends, are you going to stop being so petty?” You reply in turn, cocking your head cheekily. The effect is slightly dampened by how fucked out you look but Homelander’s eye twitches in annoyance even so.

“Guess not.” He says before tugging you down on his still hard cock once more. After all, he still has so much he needs to say to his adoring public.

It’s alright though. He doesn’t need to know that you don’t really mind.

[candyeager]

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

— sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader

PART TWO 10.1k words

short summary. in which your heartbreak over Mikey pulls you into the dangerous and irresistible orbit of Bonten's Number Two, Haruchiyo Sanzu. warnings. sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning, graphic violence, substance abuse, toxic/manipulative relationships, explicit sexual content, depression & self-destructive behaviour, strong language. tags. female reader insert, bonten au, tsundere!sanzu, ex-boyfriend!mikey, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, heavy pining/yearning.

masterlist

Manjiro Sano never hurts you—not physically, at least—though the emotional havoc he's wreaked has left you unraveling. But what you face now is something entirely different. 

Haruchiyo Sanzu's grip is iron-clad, dragging you away from Mikey's door with no regard for your protests. His fingers dig into your wrist like vices, the pressure biting deep into your skin until the pain is sharp and throbbing. It radiates up your arm, but even that ache is dull compared to the hollow devastation gnawing at your chest. The image of Mikey with her—so close, so intimate—burns behind your eyelids every time you blink.

It's as though the world around you has ceased to exist. You can't even register the hallways passing by as Sanzu hauls you through them, his erratic pace nearly causing you to stumble. You feel like a ragdoll in his grasp, powerless, your heart beating out of sync with reality.

Kakucho's voice filters through the numbness. "Sanzu... what are you doing?"

There's concern in his tone, but he stays planted where he is, as if crossing that line would be dangerous. 

Sanzu doesn't slow, doesn't even glance at him. His lips curl into a sneer as cold as the concrete walls. 

"Taking care of a stray," he bites, yanking you closer as though you might slip from his grip.

The words sting, but not as much as what follows.

Kakucho's frown deepens, but he's hesitant. "You sure you wanna do that? She's—"

Sanzu cuts him off, sharp and merciless. "She's nothing. A nobody. Mikey made that pretty fucking clear, didn't he?"

Nothing. A nobody.

Each word hits you with the force of a physical blow. Whatever you were to Mikey, whatever you thought you had—it's been ripped away, stripped down to these ugly truths. 

You're nothing now.

Kakucho's gaze flickers to you, sympathy and uncertainty mingling in his dark eyes. But you can't meet them. You drop your head, staring at the floor as though it holds all the answers you need. Maybe if you don't look, you won't have to acknowledge what Sanzu just said. Maybe you can pretend you didn't hear it.

Mikey doesn't want you anymore.

"Stop this," Kakucho urges, stepping forward now, his movements careful, deliberate. "You're high. This isn't going to end well, you know that."

Sanzu's eyes snap up, wild and feral, like a predator guarding its kill. "Exactly." His voice drops to a venomous whisper. "So back the fuck off before I kill you too."

The tension between them is palpable, but Kakucho eventually steps back, his jaw tight with barely suppressed anger. He's seen what Sanzu is capable of when he's in this state. They all have. 

"Just don't go too far," Kakucho mutters, his voice tight, his eyes flicking to you one last time before he steps aside. His reluctance lingers, but in the end, he's still letting you be dragged away.

Ran, sprawled lazily on the couch, barely lifts his head as he calls after Sanzu. "Mission's at nine. Try not to be dead before then."

Sanzu pays no mind to either of them. His grip tightens, and you're dragged deeper into Bonten's labyrinthine corridors, every step taking you further from any hope of intervention.

He pulls you into a small room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle your bones. A click follows—the lock sliding into place—and you're alone. Alone with him.

The room is stark, clinical, a conference table dominating the space with its polished wood surface and neatly lined chairs. But there's nothing neat about what's happening now. The moment Sanzu shoves you against the table, hard enough that the edge bites into your lower back, the sterile, formal atmosphere of the room is obliterated.

His hand shoots up, fingers wrapping around your throat. The pressure is immediate, your breath catching in your throat as your vision blurs at the edges. You gasp instinctively, hands flying to his wrist, nails scraping against his skin, but he's too strong. His hold tightens further, cutting off more of your air, and panic grips you.

He leans in, his breath hot against your face, laced with the stench of drugs. His expression is wild, unhinged, pupils dilated and blown wide with intoxication. But beneath the drugs, there's something else—an anger, a bitterness that has nothing to do with you, but is aimed at you all the same.

"Now..." His voice is low, almost a growl. "What more do I need to do to make you understand? You don't fucking belong here."

Your lungs burn, your head spinning as your fingers claw at his hand. I don't belong here? The thought pierces through your fog of fear. Maybe he's right. You're not sure of anything anymore—not after Mikey, not after what you saw. 

You can't breathe, and everything is turning dark. Sanzu's face, his mocking grin, is the only thing in focus.

Tears well up, spilling over your lashes. But you're not crying because of the physical pain. It's the emotional torment that's killing you. The crushing realization that you are utterly, completely alone. No one's coming to save you. 

Sanzu watches as you choke on your own sobs, and he laughs, low and cold. "Already crying?" he mocks. "I haven't even started yet."

But the tears won't stop. The dam inside you breaks, and you're gasping, sobbing uncontrollably in front of him. You can't take it anymore. Not this. Not after what Mikey's done to you.

"Just..." You choke on the words, your voice broken and hoarse. "Just fucking kill me already."

For a moment, there's silence. Then, his grip on your neck loosens just enough to let you breathe. You gasp, sucking in precious air, coughing as your lungs fight for life. But the relief is short-lived.

Sanzu's face hovers inches from yours, his smirk growing, eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. "Kill you?" His tone is soft now, condescending. "Nah. That's too easy."

His fingers trace the curve of your jaw, rough, possessive. "I think I'd rather play with you a little longer." 

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands pressing against your face as tears continue to spill down your cheeks. This feels so stupid. So, so stupid. Mikey's across the hall with his wife, living his perfect life, while you're stuck here with Sanzu—his insane, drugged-up number two. 

What a fucking downgrade. 

Suddenly, without warning, Sanzu grabs your face roughly, forcing you to look up at him through your tear-filled eyes.

"You're pathetic," he sneers before crushing his lips against yours. 

The kiss is brutal, possessive, and filled with an overwhelming heat that makes your skin crawl. You try to push him away, but his weight presses you into the table, your wrists pinned beneath his hands. It's suffocating, just like his grip on your throat.

And then you taste it. Something bitter and foreign sliding past your lips. Your eyes widen in horror as you realize what he's doing.

He pulls back, his lips brushing yours as he whispers, "Swallow."

You shake your head, panic rising in your chest. No way. You're not going to swallow that. You try to spit it out, but his hand clamps down over your mouth, smothering any attempt to resist.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," he murmurs, his tone soft but filled with menace. "Be a good girl... and swallow."

His words slither into your ears, so sweet and venomous all at once, poisoning what little willpower you have left. You want to fight him. You want to scream and tear away from him, but you can't. Your body is too sluggish, too weak to resist, and part of you doesn't want to. 

It wants him to be right.

It's easier, isn't it? To let him take control. To stop resisting and just give in, let the numbness wash over you. Maybe then the pain of everything—of Mikey, of the betrayal, of this twisted mess—will fade, even just for a moment.

"I said swallow," Sanzu hisses, his patience thinning. "That. Shit."

You finally swallow the pill, the bitterness lingering on your tongue like a promise you'll regret. The drug settles deep inside you, blooming warmth spreading through your chest like wildfire, but there's no comfort in it. It only intensifies the chaos swirling in your mind—the betrayal, the loss, the desire to escape. It all collides in a sickening wave, leaving you gasping, clinging to the edge of the table as your body betrays you.

Sanzu watches you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl, his eyes dark, wide, and hungry. He's waiting. Waiting for the drug to take hold, waiting for you to crumble.

"Good girl," he breathes, and the words slide over your skin, soft and menacing. His gaze lingers, tracing every tremor in your body, every stifled breath. 

The drug spreads quickly—too quickly. The next thing you know the room is spinning violently, the floor tipping beneath your feet, and you're stumbling as warmth floods your limbs. You try to steady yourself, but your body feels too light, too hot, like you're floating, disconnected from reality. Your breath quickens, panic swelling in your chest as your senses sharpen, every touch, every sound amplified to unbearable levels.

Sanzu's hands are still on you, his touch electric, sending jolts through your skin. You gasp, your heart racing as the euphoria spreads, tangling with the devastation inside you, turning everything into a dizzying blur of sensation. You can barely breathe, and yet, in the haze of it all, a part of you is aware of his gaze, watching you intently, reveling in your reaction.

"First time's always the best. You might cry, you might like it. Who knows?" He laughs, a quiet, sinister sound that rattles through your bones.

You choke on a sob, the tears spilling over as the drug overtakes you, drowning you in heat and haze. Your body feels foreign, your mind too foggy to comprehend anything other than the intensity of it all. You want to fight it, fight him, but there's nothing to hold on to—nothing but him.

And that terrifies you.

"Let go," he murmurs, his voice is low, almost a purr, and you can feel his breath against your ear as he leans in closer. "Let it take over... Forget everything and just feel."

Your body acts before your mind can catch up, your hand clutching the front of his shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric. It's an instinctual, desperate motion, driven by something deep inside—a need for warmth, for something to hold on to. You can't explain it, but you crave him now, the heat of his body, the solidity of his presence. You pull him closer, though you don't even understand why, though it feels all wrong.

"Look at you..." Sanzu's chuckle is dark, amused. "Hanging onto me like that. Lost little thing, aren't you? So pathetic." 

But he leans in anyway, his breath brushing against your neck as he speaks. His proximity feels like a lifeline, shielding you from the blinding lights that seem to intensify with every passing second. The room tilts, but his voice anchors you, even as it weaves dirty, degrading things in your ear—things that make your stomach twist, yet ignite something you don't want to acknowledge.

Your heart races, breath coming in ragged bursts. Everything is too intense—his touch, his words, the sensation of your body betraying you. You don't understand this feeling, this mixture of euphoria and humiliation. It's confusing, overwhelming, and yet, you can't shake the craving. The need for more. 

His touch, his heat.

Then, without warning, he steps back.

The sudden absence of him is like a cold slap to the face, leaving you breathless and cold. Your body aches for the warmth he took with him, for the closeness that you didn't even know you craved. You hate it. You hate the emptiness he leaves behind.

He adjusts his waistcoat with a casual smirk, like this was all just a game to him, like your unraveling was just another form of entertainment. 

"You're on your own now," he says, his voice detached, distant. "Enjoy the ride."

And just like that, he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You're left sprawled across the table, the world spinning, lights burning into your skull. Your limbs are heavy, useless, and you try to move, to escape the overwhelming heat and dizziness suffocating you, but your body won't cooperate. You tumble to the floor, the carpet catching your fall with a soft thud.

A giggle bubbles up from your throat, though you don't know why. Everything feels distant, like you're floating, detached from reality. The warmth of the drug mingles with the cold ache of abandonment, creating a disorienting swirl of emotions that you can't make sense of.

And so you lie there, lost in the haze, your body sinking deeper into the plush floor as the laughter fades, leaving only the hollow emptiness behind.

Until, finally, the world pulls you into the darkness of sleep.

Manjiro Sano never cheated on you before. You've known him for nine years—nine long years where loyalty was never questioned, not once. He's never strayed, never looked at another woman the way he looks at you. That was the truth you clung to through all the chaos, the violence, the bloodshed. But tonight, the foundation of that truth crumbles before your eyes.

When you catch him with his wife, it's not exactly cheating, is it? Not when she's the one wearing the ring. Not when she's the one he made vows to. And yet, it feels like betrayal. If anything, you're the other woman now. Your position, the one you held so dearly, has shifted, without your consent.

He's the one betraying her, not you. But that logic doesn't make the pain any easier to bear. It still cuts deep, searing through you with what you had just witnessed in Mikey's office. You thought you were strong enough to endure it, thought you could compartmentalize the ache gnawing at your insides. You were wrong. The sight of them together burns itself into your mind like a wound that refuses to heal.

Until Sanzu forced that pill down your throat. 

The memory floods back, vivid and suffocating. His twisted grin, the roughness of his hands, the way he made you feel so helpless. But now? Now you feel the strangest relief. The aching wound in your chest—the one Mikey and his wife carved out—fades into a distant blur, replaced by a creeping, unnatural numbness. Your mind is hazy, clouded, but in that haze, you find comfort.

The world felt kinder in that numbness. And for a moment, you were almost grateful for the relief Sanzu gave you. Almost.

When you wake up, the high is gone, leaving behind a pounding headache and a body that feels stiff, heavy, like someone drained the life from you. The floor feels strange under your hands, cold and unfamiliar. You blink, trying to orient yourself, and realize you're not on the floor anymore. Someone moved you—you're sprawled across the couch in the executive lounge, a blanket thrown haphazardly over you like an afterthought.

Your body screams in discomfort, muscles sore, your skin aching where his hands had pressed too hard. But the pain is secondary to the memories—Sanzu. That damn pill. The way he—

"You're awake."

The voice cuts through the fog in your mind, and your head snaps to the side. Mikey sits in a chair not far from you, the dim light casting shadows across his face. He's watching you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes... his eyes are different. Tired. 

The night stretches behind him through the window, a dark sky lit by city lights. The office is quiet. Everyone else is gone. Even Sanzu.

It's just you and Mikey now.

You don't answer him. The ache in your chest resurfaces, sharper this time, suffocating as the image of him and his wife flashes in your mind again. It hits harder now, with Mikey sitting right in front of you, looking at you.

You push yourself up, your body swaying under the weight of exhaustion and leftover dizziness. Your throat is sore, bruised, where Sanzu's fingers had pressed too hard, too rough, forcing. You reach up instinctively, wincing at the tenderness, and you catch Mikey's gaze drop to your neck.

His jaw clenches. The air between you shifts—heavy, tense.

"He won't touch you again."

His voice is low, soft, but there's a dangerous edge beneath it, one that sends a chill through your veins. You know that tone. It's the tone he uses before someone dies.

You swallow, the reality sinking in. What has Mikey done? What did he do to Sanzu? The thought twists in your gut, unease settling deep inside you, but part of you pushes the thought away. Sanzu deserves whatever he gets, doesn't he? After what he did?

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "Forget about that... He gave me something. A pill."

Mikey's face shifts, unreadable for a moment, then he shrugs. "A pill? X, probably. He does that sometimes. Are you alright?"

That makes sense. No wonder you passed out so quickly. But it doesn't ease the anger boiling inside you, doesn't take away the humiliation of letting Sanzu drag you deeper into his twisted games when you were already at your lowest.

"I'm fine," you bite out, though it feels like a lie. 

Fine? You're far from fine.

The words hang in the air, sharp, bitter, and when you look at Mikey, the ache in your chest becomes unbearable. You're not sure if it's anger or heartbreak that makes it so hard to breathe.

"Mikey..." you begin again, your voice cracking slightly, the words lodged in your throat. It's harder than you thought to say it, because once it's out, there's no taking it back. 

"We can't just pretend like nothing's changed."

He doesn't look at you at first. He just stares at the floor, his jaw clenched tight, as though he's trying to force himself to say something, but can't. The silence stretches on painfully before he finally speaks, his voice so low you almost don't hear him.

"I know things are different." Each word sounds forced, like it's taking every ounce of strength for him to admit it. "But..."

Your heart clenches, your breath catching in your throat. There's always a 'but' with him, isn't there? Always some excuse, some reason why things can't go back to the way they were.

"But what, Mikey?" you ask, unable to stop yourself. It's not anger that drives you this time, but the desperation clawing at your insides. "You have feelings for her now, don't you?"

You watch him as he exhales slowly, his face still calm, almost detached. You wish he would say something, anything, to ease the ache in your chest. But he doesn't.

"I do," he says, his voice distant. It's a confession that feels like a knife to your heart. "I can't deny that. She's... she's gonna have my kid. It's not simple anymore."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You knew it, deep down, but hearing him say it aloud makes it real in a way you weren't prepared for. The sharp, bitter taste of betrayal lingers in the back of your throat. You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions from spilling over, but your voice wavers when you speak again.

"And us?" 

The question slips out, soft and fragile, but it cuts deeper than anything you've said before. You're asking about more than just your relationship—you're asking about the nine years you gave him, about the promises he made, about the love you once believed was unbreakable.

Mikey's eyes finally meet yours, and for a brief moment, you see the boy you once knew—the boy who swore he'd never leave you, who promised you forever under the stars when you were both too young to understand what that meant. His gaze softens for a second, a flicker of something almost tender, almost apologetic.

"I still care about you," he says, his voice low but steady. There's no hesitation in his tone, no doubt. But it's not the answer you were hoping for. "That hasn't changed."

But it has. 

The truth of that slams into you with crushing finality. You shake your head, the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating you. 

"Oh, it has, Mikey," you whisper, barely able to get the words out. "You know that."

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with everything left unsaid. Mikey doesn't argue, doesn't try to convince you otherwise. He just leans back in his chair, his hands falling limp at his sides, as though he's too exhausted to fight anymore. There's a defeat in his posture that wasn't there before, as if even he knows this is the end.

You want to scream at him, demand why it took him so long to be honest, why he let things fall apart so silently. But the words won't come. All that's left is the ache, the unbearable knowledge that the man you've loved for nearly a decade is slipping further away from you with every passing second.

Mikey looks like he's about to say something, his lips parting slightly, but then he falters, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he's holding back. 

"Maybe," he murmurs after a moment, his voice so soft you almost miss it. For the first time, he sounds vulnerable. "But I don't want to lose you. I can't..."

His voice breaks, just a little, and that cracks something inside of you too. Because it sounds like the truth, like the rawness of his feelings is finally breaking through the cold exterior he always wears. Nine years together, and this is where it's come to—a place where even his honesty feels too late. Too hollow. You know it's not enough. It never will be.

You don't want to lose him either. You don't want to believe that all those years meant nothing. But deep down, you know it already has. The moment she became his wife, the moment he chose her, you lost this battle. The war in your heart is over, and all that remains is the wreckage of what once was.

"You're already losing me," you whisper, the finality of it sinking in. Each word feels like a dagger in your own chest. "When you started choosing her, Mikey."

Mikey doesn't move, doesn't say a word. He just sits there, silent and still, like he's frozen in time. Maybe he doesn't have the strength to argue. Maybe, deep down, he knows it's true. He's losing you, and there's nothing left he can do to stop it.

You don't wait for his answer anymore. You've spent too long waiting for him to decide, too long hoping for a future that's already gone. The pain in your body—your aching muscles, the soreness from Sanzu's rough touch—it all fades into the background, drowned out by the unbearable weight of your broken heart.

You push yourself to your feet, your legs shaking slightly under the strain. But you don't let yourself falter. You can't, not now.

"You need to figure this out on your own," you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay strong. Your words are an ultimatum, a final plea for him to understand what he's done. 

"'Because I can't keep waiting for you to choose me. I'm not meant to be an option. I'm worth more than that."

There's nothing left to say. The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of goodbye. Mikey doesn't move, doesn't speak, and that hurts more than anything else. He's letting you walk away.

Without another word, you turn and head toward the elevator. Each step feels like a thousand miles, like you're walking out of his life for good. And maybe you are. Maybe this is the end you've been dreading for so long.

The elevator doors close behind you with a soft click, and in the quiet of the enclosed space, the tears finally come. They fall silently at first, warm trails down your cheeks, but you don't wipe them away. 

As the elevator descends, you let the tears flow freely. The weight of the years, the memories, the love you poured into him—it all hits you at once, and you don't stop it. You don't need to hide from the truth anymore.

Manjiro Sano has killed before. The thought of it had once terrified you, the cold certainty in his eyes when he spoke of violence always chilling. 

You know this because you asked him, point-blank, one night when the weight of his world became too much to ignore. He didn't tell you directly, but the silence that followed, the coldness in his eyes, was answer enough. In that moment, the boy you knew, the boy you loved, disappeared into the shadows of the man he had become.

Still, you accepted him. Loved him anyway. You convinced yourself it was the only way to keep him—by accepting all of him, even the parts you couldn't bear to understand. You've always found a way to justify it—his actions, his choices, the darkness that clung to him like a second skin. Because loving him was the only thing you knew how to do. It became an instinct, a reflex, something that felt inevitable.

But now, the uncertainty gnaws at you, harder than ever before. Not just the heaviness of knowing who he is, but the gnawing question of what he's capable of—what he's done to the people around him. 

What he's done to Sanzu.

Your mind races, replaying every detail of your last conversation with Mikey. The hard edge to his voice, the finality in his words. If Mikey killed him, it's because of you, isn't it? Because of what Sanzu did to you. 

If Sanzu's dead, then his blood is on your hands. 

That thought lodges itself deep in your chest, a weight too heavy to shake. Even after everything—after the drug, the violence, the way he pushed you to the edge—you can't stomach the idea of Sanzu dying because of you.

Which is why you find yourself here again, standing outside Sanzu's condominium in the middle of the night, your heart pounding so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts. 

Mikey's words echo in your mind—his cold, distant voice, the final crack in everything you thought you knew about him. The realization had shattered you in ways you hadn't been prepared for.

It's over.

The words taste bitter on your tongue, but they ring with a truth that you can't deny. The boy you loved, the man you thought you'd stand beside forever—he's gone. And in his place is someone you no longer recognize.

Your feet move almost on their own as you approach Sanzu's door, but a hesitation stops you just before you reach the doorbell. Do you even know what you're doing here? What you want? You aren't sure. But the pull toward him, toward finding out what Mikey's done, is stronger than your doubts. 

With a shaky breath, you press the doorbell. The silence that follows is deafening, punctuated only by the racing of your heart. Each second that passes feels like a lifetime, until finally, the shuffle of footsteps inside tells you someone's there.

The door swings open with a creak, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. Relief washes over you—but only for a second. What replaces it is a sharp stab of pity. 

Sanzu looks like hell. His one eye is swollen and bruised, a fresh bandage covering the right side of his face. His lips are split and caked with dried blood, a sight that twists something deep in your chest. 

His trademark sneer is still there, but it's marred by the pain that's evident in the way he stands, slightly hunched, favoring one side. There's an anger in his eyes, but behind it, you can see the weariness, the vulnerability he would never admit to.

"What the fuck do you want now?" Sanzu snaps, his voice sharp despite the obvious discomfort he's in. He's trying to sound like his usual self, but you can tell the fight has been knocked out of him. He's hurting. Badly.

Your mouth opens to respond, the words on the tip of your tongue, but they die there. Seeing him like this—broken, battered—it's not what you expected. It shakes something loose inside of you. Your eyes scan his injuries, your mind reeling with the knowledge that Mikey did this. The boy you loved did this.

Mikey isn't supposed to be this brutal. Not with his own.

The thought makes your chest tighten painfully, and before you can stop it, the tidal wave of emotion crashes over you. Tears spill from your eyes, hot and unchecked. You thought you'd cried all the tears you had to give tonight, but this time, they come from a place deeper than heartbreak. This time, you're crying for everything—for Mikey, for Sanzu, for the person you've become in all this mess.

Sanzu's sneer fades slightly as he takes in the sight of you, replaced by an annoyed scowl. He's trying to hide his discomfort, but you can see the confusion in his eyes. 

"What are you, a child? Stop crying!" His words are rough, but there's an edge of bewilderment in them. 

He doesn't understand why you're here, why you're crying.

But you can't stop. The sobs come hard and fast, tearing through you in a way that makes it hard to breathe. You're overwhelmed, consumed by the realization that Mikey is no longer the man you fell in love with. When did he start to change? When did the violence become more than just a part of his world, but a part of him?

Sanzu watches you, his irritation growing as your sobs continue. He's never been good with emotions—especially not yours.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, rubbing a hand across his face and wincing as he touches the bruise. "You're crying over him, huh? You think he even cares?"

His words hit you like a slap, and more tears fall, a pitiful, uncontrollable mess. And in that moment, you don't care. You don't care that Sanzu's dangerous, that he's hurt you before, that he's the reason you ended up here in the first place. All you can think about is the fact that Mikey—your Mikey—is gone.

He's no longer the boy who used to hold you late at night, whispering promises of a future that now feels like a distant dream. He's no longer the man who looked at you like you were his entire world.

He's no longer yours.

Sanzu scoffs, the sound harsh in the quiet hallway. "Fuck's sake, will you stop that whining?" 

But even his sharp words don't reach you. 

When you don't respond, don't even acknowledge him, something in Sanzu snaps. He can't stand it anymore—the emotions, the tears, the fact that you're standing here crying over someone else while he's falling apart.

"Goddammit!" he snarls, and before you can blink, he slams the door in your face. 

The sound echoes in the empty hallway, a loud, final punctuation to the moment. You're left standing there, your body trembling as the sobs finally start to quiet, though the tears continue to stream down your cheeks. You're alone again, and the weight of that reality hits you harder than anything else.

Mikey is gone. And so is the life you thought you'd have.

Manjiro Sano hated seeing you cry. Every time your tears would spill, it was like the world stopped spinning. His face would twist in pain, even if the tears weren't his fault. He once said that when you cried, it felt like he had failed—like he should have protected you from whatever caused them. 

He always pulled you into his arms when you broke down, his touch so gentle it was almost unreal. He would stroke your hair, whispering that everything was okay, hiding you in the crook of his shoulder so you wouldn't feel so exposed.

But that Mikey? That Mikey is long gone.

Now you're standing outside Sanzu's condo unit, your fingers shaking as you try to dry your tear-streaked face. The cold air bites at your skin, or maybe it's the weight of what's happened tonight that chills you to the bone. 

The second time you've cried in front of Sanzu today. 

The first time, his hands were around your throat, forcing a pill past your lips, his eyes distant and clouded with drugs. The second time, there was no pill, no high to hide behind—just bruises, pain, and a door slammed in your face.

You shouldn't have come here, but at least you know he's alive. Mikey hadn't killed him, though something in the pit of your stomach told you it could have easily gone that way. You should feel relieved. Instead, the relief is mingled with anger, a deep-seated frustration that makes your heart pound even harder.

Just as you wipe away the last tear, the door swings open again. 

Sanzu stands in the doorway, his silhouette stark against the dim light inside. His scowl deepens as his eyes land on you, scanning your face like he's surprised you're still standing there. 

Then, without a word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside, slamming the door shut behind you. His grip is rough, but it loosens as soon as you're inside, leaving you stunned and blinking in the middle of his condo unit.

He disappears into another room and comes back with a box of tissues, shoving it toward you without a word. You take it, still in shock, as your eyes land on the bandage on his cheek. It's crooked, slapped on without much care, and his busted lip is still untreated, blood crusting around the edges, making him look even more broken than usual. You flinch inwardly at the sight.

"Did you get that wound treated?" Your voice is softer than you intended, concern slipping through the cracks in your resolve.

Sanzu glares at you. "What's it to you?"

You ignore his harshness, stepping closer. "You need to clean it properly," you say as your eyes fall to the faded scars at the corners of his mouth, scars you've always tried not to stare at too long. 

"Or it'll leave... a scar."

"Yeah? So what?" he mutters, brushing off your concern as he walks away.

You stare at him, the words catching in your throat. The sight of him—bruised and bandaged sloppily—somehow makes your chest ache in ways you don't fully understand.

"Don't you have any antiseptic?" you ask, turning toward the door. "I'll go buy some if—"

"I have it," he grunts, cutting you off. "Top shelf, next to you. You'd think I wouldn't know how to deal with a damn wound in this line of work?"

You glance at the haphazard bandage on his cheek, clearly not impressed by his self-care. Still, you open the shelf and retrieve a small emergency kit. 

"Then why didn't you treat the cut on your lip?" you ask, your voice a little firmer this time as you sit on the edge of his couch. "Surely you know you need to put antiseptic on it."

Sanzu grumbles under his breath, looking away. "Because... it fucking hurts, alright?"

You freeze for a second, blinking at him in surprise. Sanzu—the man who seems to thrive on chaos and pain—can't handle the sting of a simple cut? It's almost absurd, and yet, in that moment, you glimpse a flicker of something real beneath his usual mask. Vulnerability.

"I didn't think you were afraid of pain," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

"I'm not afraid of it," he snaps, his voice rising defensively. "I just fucking hate it."

There's a childishness in his tone that catches you off guard, like he's throwing a tantrum rather than admitting weakness. The outburst lingers in the air for a moment before you decide to ignore it, reaching for the antiseptic in the first aid kit.

"Let me treat it." Your voice is calm, quiet. An olive branch, if only he'd take it.

Sanzu stares at you, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowing. "Forget it," he mutters, brushing you off. "I don't need you all over my business."

"You're a dick, you know that?" you say, watching him limp slightly as he heads toward the pantry. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach.

He doesn't even glance back as he opens the fridge, retrieving a beer. "And I get paid for it," he replies, voice flat, devoid of his usual smugness.

You roll your eyes as he cracks the can open, lifting it to his lips, his pink hair a mess, like he's been through more than just a fight with Mikey. The black shirt and sweatpants he's wearing make him look almost... domestic. It hits you, suddenly—this familiarity, this strange sense of calm despite everything. It reminds you of Mikey, the way he used to walk around your apartment. The way things used to be. 

Your heart twists.

"We broke up," you blurt out, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them. It's like ripping off a bandage—quick and painful, but it has to be done.

Sanzu pauses mid-sip, his back still turned to you. You watch as he downs the rest of the beer in one long gulp, crushing the can in his hand before tossing it aside. 

"'Bout time. I'm surprised it took him this long to figure it out," he mutters, but his words lack bite. There's no usual mockery, no cruelty, just... hollow indifference.

You study him, sensing the weight of his own pain, the bruises left by Mikey—not just on his body but somewhere deeper. You want to ask, to probe at the cracks in his usual defenses, but you don't. Instead, you take a breath and shift the conversation.

"I know, right?" You force a smile that feels thin, brittle. "I'm so heartbroken." The sarcasm coats your words, but it can't hide the tremor in your voice. 

"You must be feeling pretty good right now, so why not do me a favor?" You motion for him to sit beside you. "Come sit here and let me treat your wounds."

Sanzu turns slowly, his eyes scanning you as if weighing your request. You can tell he's torn, that a part of him wants to accept the help, even if his pride keeps getting in the way.

You sit there, waiting, knowing that if he needed to push you away, he would've already done it. You don't say anything, just hold your ground, offering him something he's clearly not used to—genuine care.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, he mutters, the words almost begrudging, "Fine. But don't expect me to thank you."

You smile softly, shaking your head as you hold out the antiseptic. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He walks toward you, but instead of sitting next to you, he drops down on the opposite couch, legs sprawled out carelessly, almost as if daring you to come to him instead. You raise an eyebrow, the familiar exasperation rising within you.

"You could at least make it easier for me," you grumble, standing up and walking over. 

There's a flicker of amusement in his eyes as you sit down in front of him on the coffee table, closer now, the scent of alcohol faint but present on his breath. He watches you carefully, eyes following your movements with that predatory focus he always seems to carry, even in moments like this.

When you peel back the bandage on his cheek, revealing the jagged scrape underneath, he winces, trying but failing to hide it. You smirk despite yourself, dabbing the wound with antiseptic. 

"You're such a baby," you tease, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

The reaction is immediate. "Am not," he snaps, his voice cutting through the space between you. "Don't fucking call me that again." There's a sharp edge to his words, but you can hear the vulnerability beneath it, the bruised pride of someone who's used to fighting, not being taken care of.

You ignore his outburst, focusing on his wound. This time, you're more careful, your touch gentler as you apply the ointment. His lips press into a thin line, and you can feel the effort it takes for him to sit still. There's something oddly endearing about it, watching him struggle with the idea of being vulnerable, even for a moment.

He really hates being called a baby, doesn't he?

When you finish with the bandage, you move on to his split lip, focusing on the dried blood caked around the cut. He avoids your gaze, scowling as if pretending this isn't happening. 

As your fingers brush against the faded scars at the corners of his mouth, curiosity gnaws at you. Before you can stop yourself, you press a thumb to one of the scars, feeling the jagged line beneath your skin.

Sanzu jerks back, his eyes blazing as he swats your hand away. "What the hell?" he growls, the vulnerability from a moment ago vanishing beneath the weight of his anger.

"Sorry," you murmur, pulling your hand back. "I got distracted." 

The air between you shifts again, tense and fragile. You can tell you've touched something he doesn't want to share, a part of him that's still too raw, too guarded. And yet, you can't help but wonder what it would take for him to open up—to let you see more than just the surface.

You watch him stands abruptly in front of you, like he's about to bolt. "But I'm not done," you lie, trying to keep him there, keep the moment from slipping away.

He hesitates, glaring at you, but after a second, he sits back down with a grunt. "Whatever, just get it over with. I don't have all night to wait around."

You stay still, your hands resting in your lap as you stare at him, not moving to pick up the first aid kit again. "Can I ask you something?"

Sanzu slouches deeper into the couch, his eyes narrowing at you. "What now?"

You take a breath, steadying yourself. "How did you get those scars?"

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy and loaded with meaning. For a moment, you expect him to laugh it off, to mock you for even asking. But instead, he just stares at you, his gaze cold and distant, like he's weighing whether or not to answer.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost a whisper. "Mikey gave them to me."

The admission hits you like a punch to the gut. Mikey? Mikey did that to him? You feel your heart sink, your stomach twisting in disbelief. Judging by the faded look of the scars, it wasn't recent—this happened years ago. Long before Bonten. So why...?

"Why did he do that?" Your voice cracks, betraying the flood of emotions rising inside you.

Sanzu's eyes darken, his expression hardening. "I don't fucking remember," he snaps, his tone sharp, like he's daring you to push further. 

But the look in his eyes tells you more than his words ever could. This isn't something he wants to talk about—not with you, not with anyone.

You lower your gaze, staring down at your hands as the weight of everything threatens to crush you again. The urge to cry surfaces, hot tears stinging your eyes. You've cried so much today, and in front of him of all people. It's humiliating at this point. 

You stand, trying to escape the overwhelming weight of it all. "It's done. So I'll just... go," you mumble, stepping toward the door.

Before you can make it far, Sanzu's hand wraps around your wrist, his fingers cool against your skin. His grip is light, almost hesitant. You look down at where his fingers hold you, then back up at him. 

"What is it?"

You can feel your voice trembling, on the verge of breaking. You're so close to falling apart, and he's just... watching.

"Want this?" he asks suddenly, holding up a bottle filled with colorful pills. 

He gives it a small shake, and the pills rattle softly inside. The smirk that spreads across his face now is familiar, predatory. This is the Sanzu you know, the one you hate. 

"This shit's the real deal. The other stuff I gave you earlier was just a trial run." He laughs, that low, mocking sound that makes your blood boil.

Your chest tightens as you stare at the pills, your mind flashing back to the euphoria from earlier. It had felt so good, so easy, like all the pain had vanished for a while. And yet... you narrow your eyes at him, anger replacing the temptation. How could he think you'd ever take anything from him again after what he did?

Sanzu sees the anger flash across your face, and the smirk fades. He lets go of your wrist and looks away, his expression hardening again. "Forget it. Just go."

For a moment, you almost do. You almost walk out the door and leave him behind. But something makes you stop. The way his hand had felt around your wrist, the way his voice had softened when he realized what he was offering. You glance back at him, his body tense as he stares ahead, avoiding your gaze. And suddenly, you don't want to leave anymore.

"I want it," you say quietly, turning fully to face him. "Give it to me."

Sanzu's eyes flick back to you, surprise flashing briefly before his usual sneer returns. "Fuck no," he grunts. "You think I'm gonna give you this just to watch you walk out that door?"

There's a pause. His words hang in the air, and for a split second, his eyes widen slightly, like he's just surprised himself with the admission. He hadn't meant to say that, but now it's out there—he doesn't want you to leave. Not yet. 

He actually wants your company.

You can't help the bitter smile that tugs at your lips. "What, so you can choke me again?" you ask, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

His head snaps toward you, confusion etched into his features. "Huh? No. That's—" He stumbles over the words, almost defensive, like he hadn't considered how far he'd gone before.

Without waiting for him to finish, you plop down on the couch beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. You extend your hand, palm up, eyes fixed on his. 

"Fine. Give me that, Sanzu."

For a moment, he doesn't move, his gaze searching your face. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at his lips again—the same smug, infuriating expression you've come to expect from him.

Manjiro Sano has warned you more than once: avoid Sanzu when he's high. The fact that you were Mikey's girlfriend has always been enough to keep Sanzu from crossing certain lines when he's sober, but when the drugs took over, his already fragile self-control shatters. 

The warning always carries weight, like a veiled threat that lingers at the back of your mind, but tonight... tonight, you don't care. You're too numb, too broken, and the reckless part of you craves the release Sanzu offers. The part of you that wants to forget Mikey. 

The pill between Sanzu's fingers gleams like forbidden fruit, a dual-colored capsule that promises escape. His grin is lazy, predatory, as if the thrill of watching you self-destruct is part of his form of entertainment. Without a word, you reach for the pill, swallowing it down without hesitation. The bitter taste lingers at the back of your throat, but the anticipation of oblivion drowns out any second thoughts.

Within minutes, the edges of reality begin to blur. The room shifts, the walls breathe, and the floor ripples like water beneath your feet. Colors bleed into each other, swirling in dizzying patterns that make you feel weightless. The cool marble floor presses against your cheek as you lie sprawled on the ground, your limbs heavy yet disconnected from your body.

Above you, like a ghostly shadow, Sanzu lounges on the couch, watching you with an intensity that both unnerves and thrills you. He takes a pill of his own before the next wave hits you—stronger this time, pulling you under completely.

For a fleeting moment, you let everything go—the pain, the heartbreak, the memories of Mikey's distant eyes as you walked away from him. All the weight of your unspoken love, of your shattered heart, evaporates in the fog of euphoria. It's terrifying how easy it is to forget, to lose yourself in the numbness. But somewhere, deep in the pit of your soul, the fear lingers. 

What will be left of you when the high wears off?

When you wake the next morning, reality presses you down like a vise. Your head pounds, each throb a reminder of the drug still pulsing through your system. The soft morning light filters through the unfamiliar room's windows. You blink, disoriented, trying to piece together what happened. 

Right... Sanzu. You were in his condo last night, and this—this must be his bedroom.

As you shift, the soft rustle of sheets draws your attention, and your heart leaps into your throat. Sanzu lies beside you, his face buried in the pillow, his hair a wild mess of pink strands. He's half-naked, the blanket draped loosely over his hips, and for a moment, panic seizes you. 

Your fingers instinctively brush over your clothes—still on, thank God. Relief washes over you, but it's fleeting. The haze of the previous night is still there, muddy and unclear, and you have no idea what happened between the two of you after you'd lost yourself to the high.

Whatever it was, it doesn't seem like you had sex with him. At least... you hope you didn't. Two people who are really high wouldn't bother to put their clothes back on after sex, right? 

You sit up carefully, the bed creaking softly beneath you, and that's when you notice them—his scars. Lines of jagged, raw skin crisscross his back like a violent roadmap of his past. Some scars are old, barely visible against his pale skin, while others are fresh, still healing from whatever recent chaos he's endured. 

You know that Sanzu lives in violence, that it clings to him like a second skin, but seeing the marks so intimately, so vulnerably laid bare before you—it stirs something inside you. A deep, unsettling pity, but you quickly shove it down, pushing it past the ache in your chest.

Your shift your gaze to the floor, where the bottle of pills lies tipped over, colorful capsules scattered across the marble floor. How many did you take last night? Too many, you're sure. You feel their lingering effects, the way they dull the edges of your thoughts, how they slow your movements. 

Shaking off the grogginess, you move toward the door, eyes landing on the katana propped up against the wall. A glint of steel in the early light. 

You pause, your hand gripping the door handle. The memory of what Sanzu did before flashes through your mind—the way he choked you, forcing the first pill down your throat. Mikey has punished him for it, but still, you felt guilty enough to treat his wounds. Then, stupidly, you let yourself get high with him again. Willingly.

But the anger still simmers under the surface. All those cruel words over the years, the taunts, the smirks, the way he looks down on you. He's infuriating. And this... this is your chance to get back at him.

Without thinking, you walk over to the katana. The hilt feels cool and foreign in your hand as you lift it, the weight of it surprising you. But you don't hesitate.

As you drag the katana behind you, the metal scraping loudly against the floor, the sound reverberates in the silent hallway. Each step feels like defiance, like a rebellion against everything Sanzu represents—the control, the twisted power he holds over you.

In the basement, you find the garbage bin. Without a second thought, you dump the katana in, the clang of steel against metal echoing in the empty space. It isn't enough to truly hurt him, but it's enough to piss him off, enough to make him notice.

And that's what you want, isn't it? To get under his skin the way he always gets under yours? To make him feel something—anything—that isn't amusement at your suffering?

As you walk away, a small, bitter smile tugs at your lips. You know this won't end well. You're playing with fire, and Sanzu is dangerous when pushed. But the part of you that's still reeling from Mikey, still wounded and desperate, craves this chaos. You want to see what will happen when Sanzu finds the katana, want to watch the fury flash across his face. Because for once, you aren't the one falling apart.

Maybe it's madness, or maybe it's something deeper—a need to reclaim some form of control in a world that's stripped you of it. Either way, you aren't running anymore.

You'll face whatever comes next, even if it destroys you.

Manjiro Sano haunts you everywhere. He's with you in the empty bed, a ghost beside you as you stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the dark. When you’re in the kitchen, his voice echoes in your mind, teasing, laughing, pulling you into memories that make your chest tighten with an ache that hasn't dulled. In the mirror, you see him staring back, his familiar, cold gaze mocking you as you brush your teeth, as if daring you to forget the life you shared with him.

It's been weeks since the breakup, but the weight of nine years doesn't just vanish. You were naive to think it would be easy to let go. After all, you didn't just lose Mikey—you lost the future you had envisioned, the dream of always being by his side, no matter what. 

You'd never loved anyone else, never felt the safety of another person's arms. You never had a reason to think you'd need to. And when you first learned about the arranged marriage three years ago, you foolishly believed that nothing could ever come between you and Mikey, that love would always win. However, reality had other plans.

Eventually, it all became too much. So, you made a decision. You packed your things and left the apartment you had once shared with him, that place filled with memories—of laughter, of love, of a time when he was truly yours. But now, those memories felt like weights pulling you under, drowning you in a past that you could no longer live in. 

So, you found a new place, a smaller apartment far away from that suffocating ghost. You didn't tell anyone from Bonten. Not a soul knew where you were now. It was supposed to be your clean break.

But fate never lets you escape that easily.

Weeks after you've settled into your new life, you find yourself out for a casual walk, basking in the simplicity of a quiet day. An ice cream cone in one hand, a plastic bag of snacks in the other—small, ordinary comforts in an otherwise chaotic life. You're beginning to breathe again, to feel the freedom of being on your own. And then you see him.

Mikey.

He's sitting outside a café, his silver hair catching the sunlight, his posture as calm and unreadable as ever. But next to him is her. His wife. The sight of them together makes your stomach lurch, your heart clenching as if gripped by an iron fist. She's laughing, and though Mikey's face is still as cold and impassive as always, there's something different about him. Softer. He looks at her in a way that sends a sharp pang through your chest. 

He's moving on.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world feels like it's tilting on its axis. You need to get out of here. Now.

Before you can make your escape, though, you spot them. Ran's lazy, amused expression is the first thing you notice, his sharp eyes locking onto you with that all-too-familiar smirk. 

"Well, well. Look who it is," he drawls, his voice dripping with mockery. But it's the presence next to him that makes your blood run cold.

Sanzu.

The moment his gaze lands on you, the air around you thickens. His eyes narrow, his lips curl into a sneer, and you know. He knows. You can almost feel the anger rolling off of him, simmering beneath the surface. You've crossed a line with him, and now, you'll pay for it.

Your heart hammers in your chest, panic seizing your throat. The plastic bag slips from your hand, the ice cream falling, forgotten, as it splatters against the pavement. You don't even care. All that matters now is getting away.

You turn and run.

"Oi!" Sanzu's voice slices through the air, sharp and dangerous. "Stop running!"

Like hell you will. 

You know what he's capable of, and you know there's nothing holding him back now—not Mikey, not anyone. Not after what you did. The memory flashes in your mind—the clattering of metal, the weight of his katana in your hands as you threw it into the trash. The reckless satisfaction of it all.

You can hear his footsteps behind you, the sound growing louder with each passing second. He's faster than you remember, and your chest tightens in fear. Sanzu is dangerous even when he's calm, but this? 

This is personal.

The crowded street is a blur as you dash through it, weaving past confused onlookers, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. Dignity is the last thing on your mind right now—you're running for survival. And yet, amidst the chaos, a ridiculous thought crosses your mind: If I die today, I'll die looking like shit. No makeup, no cute clothes, just sweat and terror.

You can feel him gaining on you, the heat of his rage practically burning at your back, and desperation grips you. You need to think fast, or you won't make it. That's when you spot the riverbank up ahead, the water glistening in the distance. 

Without a second thought, you sprint toward it, your feet barely touching the ground as you throw yourself into the icy water. The shock of the cold steals your breath, but you don't stop moving. You swim, forcing your body through the water, the chill biting into your skin. 

When you finally break the surface, you gasp, a fleeting moment of triumph swelling in your chest. You've escaped.

Or so you think.

Your heart sinks when you see him standing on the riverbank, his figure dark and ominous against the bright sky. Sanzu is already peeling off his blazer, his eyes fixed on you with a predator's focus. There's no hesitation as he tosses it aside and kicks off his shoes. Of course, he's going to follow you. Of course, he's not letting this go.

You should have known better.

Sanzu dives into the water without a second thought, cutting through the current with frightening speed. And that's when it hits you—he isn't just chasing you out of anger. He's chasing you because you've crossed a line you can never uncross. Because Sanzu doesn't follow any rules, doesn't have any boundaries. 

And neither of you are sane enough to stop now.

< part two ends >

author's notes. heyy beloved sanzu kinnies <3 i'm so so happy & grateful for all the love you showed to part one of BNT that i decided to bless you guys with twice as long part two hehe :D hope you guys enjoyed it! i've got some fun stuff planned for sanzu and y/n in the next part... so please stay tuned! also, i'd love to hear your thoughts so do leave some notes & comments!! tysm for reading guys! stay awesome ☆(>ᴗ•)

taglist. @iluv-ace @reiners-milkbiddies @bontenbabyy @risheliette @loveantonnlee @sukunas-bitxh @honeygonebads-blog @r3yk @soilaluna @l1ttl3m1ss666 @novv @slvdsjjk @miffysoo @qyoongi @drakensdarling @ask-the-insect-hashira @awkwardaardvarkforever @thebiggestlovergirlever @shinichirolover @kyyuuuuu @meowww1041 @kiasnotforever (comment below if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

© CANDYEAGER. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any other platforms.

[togrowoldinv]

Memory

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

You feel like you’ve met her before, but you just can’t remember when or how. It turns out there’s a lot you don’t remember

Note: Hey y’all. I have been swamped these last couple of weeks studying for and taking a part of the cpa exam, but I finally had a free moment to have some fun. I went and saw Argylle, so this is loosely inspired by that. Enjoy it!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

The room is silent aside from the clicks of a keyboard as Natasha tries to break through a firewall. She’s smart, but the person who created it is slightly smarter than her.

The redhead smirks when she is one step from breaking through, but her cheekiness doesn’t last. An alarm sounds and she’s met with at least ten agents swarming all around her.

“Oh hey, guess you guys found the party,” she says in her usual cool under pressure tone.

She uses the agents’ hesitation to begin attacking them to deal the first blows. She takes them down two at a time until there’s only one left. She knows who he is.

“Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?” Natasha asks.

“You know what I want,” he says.

“And you know what I want,” Nat replies.

The two of them keep their guns in ready position. Nat alerted for backup, but she knows most likely she’ll have to handle this on her own.

“Where is the woman?” The man asks. He shakes his gun at Nat. She sees a weakness in the way he’s holding it. He won’t last.

“If you give me the intel, I’ll give you her location,” Nat says.

“You’re lying!”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m telling you the truth. They’re never really that different, right?”

“Drop your weapon,” he tries another tactic.

Natasha just smirks. She moves her left arm down and the man mistakenly thinks she’s giving in. The moment he shifts his aim Nat takes a shot at him. It’s an easy shot for her.

He goes down and Nat finishes gathering her data from the computer before she quickly gets out of the building. That backup she was waiting for finally arrives as she’s making her way outside.

“Thanks for the help,” she says sarcastically as Steve opens the door for her.

“Sorry,” he says. “We can’t be everywhere all the time. What were you even doing here?”

“Gathering intel,” Nat says simply. She shows him the flash drive and he just shakes his head. “The more I can find out the better I can help her, Steve. It’s an easy choice to make.”

“Nat, she’s so far gone,” he tries. “It might be worth stopping.”

“I’ll never give up on her. She’ll be herself again. I know it,” Natasha says. “Now, will you help me get this to Stark to decode?”

“Of course I’ll help you, Romanoff.”

She nods in thanks. For the rest of the drive, Natasha thinks about what her next step should be. There’s no easy fix to this situation. She needs to go where her mind works best.

Meanwhile, you are working on cleaning tables when the most beautiful woman walks in. You’ve seen her in here several times since you started working here.

She always sits at the table in the corner and orders coffee and a piece of chocolate pie. It’s always the same thing. You’ve never waited on her before, but somehow the stars align today and you’re covering that section.

You walk to her table and take a deep breath. She’s even more beautiful from this close up.

“Hey, how are you today?” You ask her.

“I’m okay,” she replies. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain,” you say. It’s your typical response when a customer asks you that question. “What can I get for you, ma’am?”

She orders her usual. You feel her eyes linger on you as you pour the coffee and bring her slice of pie to the table.

Something feels familiar about the way she smiles at you in thanks.

“Do I know you?” You ask her. She doesn’t reply, but you notice she looks away from you. “Sorry, it’s just that I had some memory loss so I’m just not quite sure who I know at this point.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry,” she says. “I don’t think we know each other though, no.”

“You seem familiar,” you tell her.

“Well, I am an Avenger so maybe that’s it,” she says. “I’m Natasha.”

“Right. The superheroes. It’s nice to meet you, Natasha,” you say. “I’m y/n.”

You hold out your hand for her to shake. When she does, you swear there’s still a lingering feeling that you know her. Maybe you’ve just seen her on television.

“I better get back to work,” you say.

“Nice to meet you, y/n,” Natasha says.

She stands from her chair and drops cash on the table. Walking towards the door, she stops short and turns back to look at you. You offer her a smile that she returns.

With that, she disappears into the city. The rest of the day goes by seemingly without any other excitement. You can’t stop thinking about your interaction with the woman, which is why you thought you were dreaming when she shows up at your door.

You blink hard to try and wake up, but the reality is that she’s truly here.

“Natasha?” You ask confusedly.

“I don’t have time to explain,” she says. “Can I come in?”

“I- what? Okay?”

She takes that as a yes. She walks inside and goes straight to the corner of the room where she picks up a piece of the floor to reveal a secret storage area.

Natasha fills her bag with the weapons that were stored under the floor.

“What is happening?” You ask her.

“Just trust me,” Nat says.

“I just met you today and you somehow know about this secret area of my house I didn’t even know about. And I’m supposed to trust you?”

“Yes,” Natasha replies. “Come on. Get some shoes on. We have two minutes.”

“Two minutes before what?”

She doesn’t get the chance to answer before a loud bang comes from outside. A series of car doors close simultaneously.

“Look, I know you don’t know me but you have to trust me. These guys are after you and if we don’t bail in the next thirty seconds we’re dead. Got it?” Natasha says.

“What?” You ask. It seems to be the only word in your vocabulary right now.

She grabs your hand and pulls you through your house. Once you’re outside, you go through the fence to the neighbors yard.

“Here,” Nat says, pulling you to a motorcycle that’s waiting there.

“I am not riding on that,” you say.

“Then you’ll be dead within minutes. Come on, y/n,” Nat says. She puts the helmet on your head involuntarily.

You have no choice but to listen to her. Hopping onto the bike, you hold on tight to her middle as she drives through the streets. At some point, a van is tailing the two of you. Natasha turns down every alleyway and street she can to get you away from the tail.

“When I say jump, you’ve got to jump!” Nat says over the roar of the engine.

“What?”

You’re quickly approaching a road that you can see has no end. She drives full speed ahead before letting go of the handlebars.

“Jump!” Nat shouts.

You cling onto her as you both jump. You have no idea how far the drop is but somehow you land in water. Natasha pulls you to the surface quickly.

You get to shore and try to gather yourself some. You’re so confused about all of this.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

“Am I okay?” You ask her. “Seriously, you’re asking me that? I don’t know who you are or what’s happening. We just got chased by a van through town and jumped off a motorcycle into a fucking lake. Do you think I’m okay?”

The woman has the audacity to smile at your words.

“I’m sorry, do you think this is funny?” You ask her, feeling fury seethe inside you.

“No,” Natasha says too quickly. “No, it’s just- nevermind. We have to get to the Avenger’s compound.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you tell her matter of factly.

“Y/n-“

“Don’t!” You interrupt her. “Just leave me alone.”

Nat raises her hands in surrender and watches as you walk away. She lets you get ten steps ahead before she follows after you.

“I told you to let me be.”

“You’re up there all alone. I just happen to be walking in the same direction,” Natasha reasons. “Although, the compound is the other way.”

Despite the fact that you were just doing insanely dangerous tasks with her, you feel a certain safety in her presence.

“Why should I go with you?” You pose a question.

You notice her hesitation in answering. Like she wants to tell you something but she just can’t.

“If you just come with me, I’ll explain everything there. Okay? Please give me a chance,” Nat says. “I won’t be responsible for them finding you and finishing the job.”

“What job? I’m just a waitress. Who could I possibly have wronged?”

“I promise I’ll explain later,” Nat says. “Please follow me.”

You relent and follow her. There’s no reason for you to trust her but somehow you do. It doesn’t take long to get to the compound once Nat hot wires a car.

“Y/n?” A girl asks when you are inside. You look at her despondently and she frowns. Natasha gives he’s her a look.

You follow Natasha to what seems to be a laboratory. There’s a large screen on the wall.

“Ah welcome,” a man says. You recognize him as Iron Man. “You’re just in time.”

“For?” You ask.

“The truth,” another man answers. You’re pretty sure he’s Captain America.

Before you can speak again, photos of you litter the screen. There are some of just you and some of you and the other Avengers.

“What the hell?” You wonder aloud.

“Y/n, we wanted you to remember on your own but it’s taking too long,” Tony Stark explains. “Natasha tried to jog your memory just by being in your presence, but that didn’t work.”

“So I do know you?” You ask the woman.

“You know all of us, y/n. You’re an Avenger.”

“But I’m- no. I’m a waitress,” you say. Your head feels like it’s spinning.

“That’s what they made you think, but you’re not. You’re a special agent,” Steve says. “And one of the best.”

“I don’t believe you. This is all a joke, right?”

“It’s not a joke, y/n. Why do you think we knew those people were after you? Or that I knew about the floor in your house?” Natasha asks.

“That’s easy. You’ve been spying on me.”

“No,” she says simply.

“Then how?” No response. “This is just insane. I’m leaving.”

You start to walk away. You hear Natasha’s footsteps behind you.

“Natasha,” a warning voice comes from Tony. “Don’t.”

“You know what, you go ahead. Take a car of ours, y/n,” she says.

She holds up a pair of keys. You reach for them, but instead of giving them to you she throws a punch your way.

You surprisingly dodge it with ease. Natasha smirks at the way you look at your arms in confusion.

“How did I do that?”

“Come on, throw one,” she taunts you.

You do your best to punch her, but of course she dodges it. You spar back and forth until you’ve both had enough.

“Great, now that that’s over. Do you believe us?” Tony asks.

“I’m not sure,” you say. “How could I not know I’m an agent?”

“Brainwashing,” Natasha answers. “Very effective brainwashing.”

“But why?”

“Because you were going to uncover a huge invasion of Hydra in the government,” Steve explains. “We still can’t find the data that you had before they took it from you and erased all of your memories.”

“So the memory loss, that was a real feeling I was having?”

“It was,” Nat says. “The reason why wasn’t a car accident as they told you though. They captured you and essentially knocked you senseless.”

You rub your hands over your face as you try to take all of this in. Just a few hours ago you thought you knew who you were, but they’re telling you something completely different.

“We wanted you to remember on your own, so it might not be so overwhelming,” Nat says.

“So, we’re all what? Coworkers? Friends? I don’t remember any of you, or anything you’re describing,” you say.

“We’re friends,” Steve says. “You’re friends with all of us and with Nat-“

“Steve,” Nat interrupts. “She doesn’t need to hear that right now.”

“I don’t need to hear what?”

There are shouts down the hallway that interrupt your conversation. Tony suits up and Steve grabs his shield.

“Get her to safety,” he tells Nat.

She grabs your hand and takes you down the hallway to a door and down a ton of stairs. Nat locks a door behind her once you’ve reached the lowest level.

“They’ll handle them,” Nat says. “But the further you are from the fight the better.”

“What was Steve going to say?”

“Hm?”

“About you and me,” you prompt her.

Natasha tears her eyes from yours much the same way she did when you questioned if you knew her earlier.

“Natasha, please just tell me. Clearly, everything I thought I knew was a lie. What’s one more thing?”

“Okay,” she agrees. “We were- you and I were together.”

“Together?”

She nods.

“Define together. Like dating?”

“Kind of yeah,” she says. You look at her for more details. The silence prompts her to continue. “We were married. We are technically married.”

“Oh,” you say.

“Yeah. I didn’t think you were ready to learn that,” Nat says.

“So that’s why you knew your way around my place?”

“Our place,” she says. “But they moved all of my stuff out before you went back there.”

“Natasha, I don’t- I can’t remember anything,” you say.

“I know,” Nat says sadly. “We kept our distance once we realized what they did to you, but we’ve never stopped making sure you were safe.”

You hear the sound of the fight getting closer. Natasha reaches for your hand. She places a loaded gun in your palm.

“I want to remember.”

“You will,” Nat says. “But right now, you’ve got to fight.”

To be continued…

[newbakerontheblock]

Bucky Barnes 18+

Summary: gym session with y/n’s least favourite avenger

Warning: smut 18+

With headphones, you was hitting the punching bag hard. Sweat dripping and breathless. Completely unaware of her least favourite avenger strolling in.

Bucky plugged in his phone to the speakers and music blared out, making yn jump.

“Seriously Bucky,” she shouts

With a sly smirk on his face he turns around and starts lifting weights. She walked towards him and stood in his view,

“Turn it down,” she said whilst crossing her arms.

“Nope.” He looks past her at his form in the mirror.

She watches him for a few seconds, watching the muscles tense and the veins pop in his arms. She gave herself a little shake of the head and walked straight to the stereo, unplugging his phone.

“Hey!” That made Bucky stop, he dropped the weights and come rushing over. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s too loud, turn it down. I was here first, have some respect.”

“Oh doll, you need to respect your elders.” He takes a step forward with that annoying smirk across his face again.

YN held her breath as his face came closer, she could feel the pounding over her heart and clammy hands but she couldn’t let him know what she was feeling.

“Just turn it down.” She turned away from him.

“What happens if I say no?” Suddenly his voice was next to her ear and she jumped. His lips grazed her ear, blowing gently causing her to shiver.

“What are you doing?” Her voice came out in a low whisper.

“I’ve seen how you look at me, doll. And I think that you want me as much as I want you.” His finger ran down her arm whilst he spoke.

Yn turned around to face him and looked at him.

“Bucky,” she whispered and leaned forward.

His lips crashed down onto hers with no hesitation, her hands finding their way straight to his hair, tugging slightly and earning a grunt. The noise went straight through her and her pants were getting wet immediately. Bucky pushed yn against the wall and the kisses between them were coming so hot and heavy and she couldn’t breathe. He started making his way down her neck and she clenched around nothing, whining when he reached her soft spot.

“Bucky please,”

Bucky gave a small smirk and carried on. He pulled her top above her head and letting it fall to the floor. Quick as a flash he takes off her bra and mouth instantly finds its way to her nipple. His metal hand teases the other nipple while she writhes around. Moaning and a complete mess.

“Please I can’t,” he took a little pity on her and dropped to his knees. Slowly pulling down her shorts and pants.

She stopped breathing in anticipation, watching every movement he made. Hoping to god he was going to stop teasing and put her out of her misery.

“Oh doll, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” He asked,

She nodded but it wasn’t enough for Bucky so he gave a sharp slap on her inner thigh.

“I said.. is this all for me?” He was stern but his eyes were watching her.

“Yes!” Yn felt like she was on fire and was about to combust.

Bucky attached his lips to her clit and ate her pussy like a man starved. Her knees buckled and he put her leg over his shoulder.

“Fuck!” She screamed across the gym. Hopefully no one planned on coming to the gym right now.

His cold metal finger found its way inside of her and her legs definitely gave out and held his shoulders for support. Another finger entered her and she saw stars, he curled his fingers in a come hither motion and her high came ripping through her so fast.

“Bucky!” She could barely say his name as she was cumming, Bucky never slowed down. Only continuing until yn was squirming to get away.

He stood up infront of her licking his metal fingers.

“Knew you’d taste so good,” he groaned.

He started kissing her again and pushed her against the wall, despite the orgasm she just had she was dripping for him. She’d always suspected he had a big cock but when he undressed in front of her she held her breath. She had no idea how it’d fit inside her, so thick and just perfect.

“Like what you see?” Yn hadn’t realised she was staring.

“So big, I don’t know how you’ll fit.” She admitted.

“Trust me.. jump” she wrapped her legs around him as he lifted her from the ground. The head of his cock rubbing against her clit. They both moaned in unison.

His cock nudging in slowly, and she felt the burn of the stretch. He was entering slowly so yn wasn’t hurting. But when he seated inside her fully she felt like all the air in her lungs had gone.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned against her neck.

“Move Bucky, please move.” And when he made the first thrust she knew she was done for, he’s ruined her for all men now. The intense feeling of pleasure he was giving her right now.

Fucking her against the wall in the gym, she held onto him tight as his cock dragged its way through her walls. She couldn’t speak, only moaning and whining as she felt another high climbing fast.

“You gonna cum on my cock? I can feel you squeezing me. So fucking perfect, this pussy is mine now. Do you understand?” His thrusts never faltered.

“Ye..yes..oh god.. yours!” Her words came out all jumbled.

Her pussy fluttering around his cock was going to make him cum too. He watched how her eyes glazed over with pleasure and mouth open as she let out small gasps each time he fully enters.

“I’m going to cum, where do you want it?” He makes sure to check.

“Inside.. fill me up Bucky..” she whispered.

Holy fuck she was perfect, thought Bucky. He leaned forward to kiss her as they both tumbled over the edge into bliss. Stars floating around her vision and it took a second for her to catch her breath. She felt Bucky push a strand of hair behind her ear and stroke her cheek.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“More than okay.” She gave him a smile and he realised that this was the most content he’s felt in many years.

Finally got round to a Bucky story 🥺

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 9

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

A/N: Happy reading!!!!!

Isla touches up her lipstick under the bright lights of the bathroom, which smells like apples thanks to whatever air freshener is plugged in here. When she drops the lipstick in her purse, Isla sighs at her reflection, the frustration evident in her green eyes. She knows it’s only been a little over an hour since she and her family arrived at Midsummers, but it was an hour spent unable to get to Rafe, and the thought has her blowing a slow breath out of her nose.

Relax. You’re becoming desperate. When has she ever chased after a guy? It’s not in her nature, really, and she’s not sure why it’s becoming so prominent about Rafe Cameron, of all people. She tells herself that it’s guilt that’s driving her, feeling badly for assuming he was the one who had punched JJ because of how offended and hurt he had looked when it came up. Truthfully, Isla hadn’t expected Rafe to be hurt by it, not the way she had seen it reflected in his eyes, and she guesses maybe that’s why she’s so adamant on talking to him and properly apologizing to him.

And especially after that date. . . The way he set it up for them, cooking their meal—it was the sweetest thing any guy has ever done for her to show her their interest. Anyone she has been with before, whether it was a relationship or whatever, never put that kind of effort for her. And that. . . It meant a lot to her. Not to mention the fact that she really did have a good fucking time and, frankly, wished that he had kissed her. Or she should have kissed him.

They should have fucking kissed.

Isla blows out a breath, knowing she can’t change the past as she gives herself one last look over before walking to the door. She begins her walk down the hallway back to where the party is, hearing chatter and music in the distance, only to come to a sudden halt to avoid running into someone who turns the corner from a connecting hallway.

“Isla?” She freezes upon hearing her name from the familiar voice, taking in a deep, quiet breath when her gaze lifts and her eyes lock with her ex-boyfriend.

Of all the people to run into. . . 

She hadn’t once thought of running into Carlo at Midsummers, but that was also because she forgot that a few months ago, his mom got remarried and his step-dad is from the Kook side of Outer Banks, and while Carlo hadn’t changed schools and still went to the public school Isla and her friends go to instead of switching over to the Kook academy, it shouldn’t be a surprise that he and his family would come tonight. She had been lucky enough not to spot him—until now, as he stares at her in mild surprise, like he hadn’t expected to run into her, either.

“I was just heading back,” she says, moving to brush past him.

“Wait—” She is forced to stop when he suddenly appears in front of her. “We never got a chance to talk at Sarah’s party.”

Her patience is already wearing thin. “That’s because I made it clear I don’t want to talk to you,” she tells him, trying to keep her voice steady. Goddammit, why can’t he take the hint? What is there for him to say? To apologize for cheating on her? Beg for her forgiveness? She doesn’t care—not anymore, at least. Her annoyance builds, and Isla narrows her eyes and says, “Let’s get one thing clear, Carlo. I don’t owe you shit, alright? You fucked up. You threw our relationship out the window. So I’m well within my rights to tell you to go to hell and never have to speak to you again, because you don’t deserve it.”

Carlo’s jaw tightens, the vein in his temple beginning to protrude with every word Isla hits him with. But she simply keeps glaring at him, undeterred and sick of him trying to have a conversation with her that he thinks will change her opinion of him. “You never even gave me a chance to explain myself—”

“Explain yourself?” Isla repeats, eyebrows rising in disbelief at his audacity. “I’m sorry, I don’t need a step by step walk-through of how your dick ended up in some Jersey girl. It’s been a year since we broke up, Carlo. Move on. I sure as hell have.”

She sees the muscle in his jaw work, indignation firing up in his eyes. But right when Isla thinks he’s going to argue back, spew some bullshit, he surprises her by dipping his chin briefly in a nod. “Fine,” he says tightly. “You win. Won’t bother you again.”

Isla arches an eyebrow as she watches him turn and go, mildly surprised at how easily he gave in. But she doesn’t have a chance to dwell on it, because a new voice from behind her speaks up. “Are you always this brutal to guys who have a thing for you?”

Heart jumping, Isla spins around to see Rafe leaning against the wall on his side, watching her with an almost blank expression. Unable to help herself, Isla’s gaze dips, taking in the sight of him now that he’s this close after days of not seeing him, admiring the pristine press of his suit, his bangs framing his temples, and the family ring he wears on his pinky that gleams under the hallway lights.

When her gaze lifts to meet his, he arches an eyebrow, and instead of being embarrassed that he noticed her blatantly checking him out, she’s just relieved to see him—to have him talk to her. “Only the ones who deserve it,” she replies, her voice growing soft on its own. There’s about five feet of space between them, and she’s desperate to diminish it. “Rafe, I—can we talk?”

“About what?” he asks, but there’s a shift in his gaze that tells Isla he knows exactly what she wants to talk about.

She takes a couple of steps towards him, all too aware of the party going on behind her and that any one of her friends or her sister could walk by at any point and spot them. But she doesn’t want to add fuel to this already sensitive situation as she tells him, “I want to apologize—”

“Not here,” he cuts her off.

Isla blinks and before she knows it, his hand is holding hers and Isla’s gaze instantly drops down to the way his larger hand engulfs hers, his touch warm as their palms press together, and the air hitches in her throat as he tugs her forward. She has enough sense to use her free hand to lift the skirt of her dress so she doesn’t trip as Rafe pulls her around her corner, her heart thundering and too quickly for her to comprehend, they’re suddenly in a small, dark room.

Isla’s gaze darts, just barely making out the shelves next to her and along the wall opposite of the door as she turns around when the sound of the door clicking shut breaks the silence. She squints when a light is switched on, bathing her and Rafe in dim yellow lighting. Her throat tightens when she notices how small the room is—feeling smaller still with Rafe towering over her. Even in the shitty lighting of the supply closet, he’s unfairly gorgeous, the kind that makes her heart skip a beat in one second and pick up its pace in the next. And in the small space, the scent of his cologne is more prominent; fresh and woodsy and delicious.

When her gaze meets his, he arches an eyebrow and tells her, “Wouldn’t want your friends to spot us.”

He says it dryly, and it tightens something in her chest—even as she notes the way his gaze seems to trace the length of her, her skin prickling with awareness. His words have her blurting, “Rafe, I’m so—”

“I overreacted,” he cuts in, effectively surprising her as she gapes up at him. She most definitely hadn’t expected that. When he takes note of her surprised expression, one corner of his lips tilts up in a small, knowing smile. “I was thinking about it and I can’t exactly blame you for thinking I gave Maybank the black eye.”

“I was unfair,” she says with a frown, unsure how this conversation turned around. “I shouldn’t have just assumed that it was you.”

“I can’t exactly blame you for it,” he says, that half smile still visible as he rubs his bottom lip with a thumb. “Not with the history I have with your friends. I can’t expect you to forget all of that after just one date. It was unfair of me, too, to just shut you out these last couple of days.” His gaze meets hers and Isla’s throat locks at the genuine apology in his eyes, the kind that you can’t fake. “I’m sorry for not responding to your messages.”

Isla’s lips part, though no words come out as she stares at him in surprise. Part of her wonders if she’s imagining things, but she still can’t help the way her lips curve up into an incredulous, fond smile. Rafe’s gaze tracks the movement as he asks through a short chuckle, “What?”

She shakes her head, biting down on her smiling bottom lip. “I came here today fully intent on apologizing to you for not giving you the benefit of the doubt. And you just completely turn it around and apologize to me instead.”

His smile widens a bit, looking down at her with a lift of his chin. “Did I steal your thunder?”

Isla lets out a laugh. “A little bit,” she says with a nod. The air between them grows tense, in a way that makes her skin heat up as she realizes their proximity. But even so, her smile falters and she tells him, “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Rafe’s smile fades a bit and for a second, Isla thinks he’s going to deny being hurt. But then again, Rafe is full of surprises, because he nods, gaze dropping to their feet as his lips twist to the side briefly. “I appreciate your apology.” His gaze lifts, blue eyes locking with her deep green, and the air seems to crackle. “You’re forgiven.”

Her shoulders sink in relief, not realizing how badly she wanted to hear those words until Rafe says them. The guy had given her one of the best dates she had ever been on, and she had turned around and insulted him, hurt his feelings, and Isla hated that she did that. If you asked her months ago if she would be up at night, tossing and turning over hurting Rafe Cameron’s feelings, she would have laughed in your face. But now, Isla feels an immense amount of relief knowing that he has forgiven her, and it’s a crazy development, but it’s not one she minds.

“Good,” she says quietly through a smile.

Her heart jumps when Rafe takes a step towards her, the already small space between them diminishing more as he does. “What about me?” he asks, voice low and enough to threaten goosebumps breaking across her skin. “Am I forgiven, too?”

She has to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact as he gets closer, her pulse skittering in anticipation as the distance between them diminishes. The world beyond the door of the supply closet ceases to exist and all Isla can think of, can focus on, is the man before her, towering over her in his staggering height that she never before admired. She sees the way Rafe’s gaze dips from her eyes, lingering on her lips, and her stomach flips at the hungry look that darkens his eyes. She desperately wants him to act on that hunger.

“Yes,” she answers, her voice a whisper as if she’s divulging a secret only for him to know. Her own gaze flickers to his mouth, at lips that look so soft and make her wonder if they feel the same. Desire makes heat pool in her belly, her heart thudding faster and faster with every passing second. Through her dried throat, she speaks up, “If I tell you something, you promise not to hold it against me?”

Maybe he hears the vulnerability that slips into her tone, because Rafe’s gaze snaps up to meet her eyes once more. His chin dips into a single nod. “I promise.”

Her pulse quickens even more. For a split second, she hesitates in spilling her truth, knowing it’s going to leave her open and vulnerable in front of a person she never before wanted to be in such a state. But somewhere along the way, things changed so fast that Isla is left dizzy from it, but it’s a slow turning change she finds herself wanting to explore more of. It’s scary and new, but Isla wouldn’t be a Pogue if she shied away from trying scary and new things.

So conjuring up every ounce of her confidence, she looks him in the eye and confesses, “I missed you.”

Rafe’s eyes flare and she swears she hears him suck in a sharp breath, like her words were a punch in the gut. Her own cheeks warm as her statement hangs between them, feeling her heart pounding in her ears as she waits for him to say something. Anything. The tension in the small space is taut, ready to snap at any second, and she wonders if he can feel it so intently, too. Is she just imagining it? Can he, too, feel the sizzle of energy that exists between them?

“Isla.” His voice is rough, eyes darkening with a need that she feels deep in her bones. “Tell me I can kiss you.”

She nearly wants to cry in relief. “Please.”

It’s all the permission he needs, thankfully, and their collision is earth shattering.

Rafe’s arm winds around her waist and he tugs her close, erasing any remaining space between them as he leans down and captures her lips in a searing, breath-stealing kiss. Isla can’t stop the instant, gratifying moan that sounds from her throat at the first contact of his lips against hers, her hands coming up to grip the lapels of his suit jacket as she practically melts into him and the head spinning kiss.

Their fronts are pressed together and she swears she can feel every hard line of his torso against her as Rafe’s other hand grips her jaw, thumb on one side and his fingers on the other as he tilts her head just the way he likes it. Isla’s knees threaten to give out when his tongue teases her lips and she parts them for him immediately, wetness pooling in her underwear when he groans as his tongue languidly, teasingly slides along hers, tasting her as if he’s savoring every moment. Liquid heat pours through her blood as Rafe takes a few steps forward until Isla is being pressed against a shelf, the contents of it rattling yet neither of them paying any attention as he continues to rob her of her breath with his kiss.

One of her hands slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair, and the pace of the kiss doesn’t slow for a second as Rafe’s arm moves from around her waist—only for his hand to grip her thigh from the parting of the slit of her dress, his skin warm against her already heated one, and she gasps against him as he lifts her leg to hook it around his hip. It brings them even closer, if possible, and Isla whimpers when she feels his hardness press against her panty covered core, the fiery need for him intensifying even more.

Yes, yes, yes. This is better than she could have ever imagined, going beyond her wildest fantasies. Every movement of his lips against hers sparks electricity in her veins, bringing her closer and closer to the point of cataclysmic explosion. She has kissed plenty of people before but, God, never like this. This, she can feel deep in her soul, bringing every cell in her body to life. She thinks she can easily get addicted to this—to Rafe’s kisses. How can someone be so damn good at kissing?

Isla doesn’t want to stop, she never wants this to stop, but air becomes an annoying necessity. Their kiss slows down, but it seems that Rafe doesn’t want to end it, either, dragging it out as long as he can, tasting her lips with sweet, soft kisses that make her heart ache in the best way. They don’t pull apart, foreheads pressing together as they catch their breaths, the supply closet filled with the sounds of their labored breathing as they share the air between them.

Isla’s eyes slowly open, heavy with dizzying lust, eyelashes fluttering as she finally opens them—only to see that Rafe is already watching her with a hooded gaze of his own. Her heart leaps, noting his kiss swollen lips, which have pinkened also because of her lipstick. The sight of her lipstick smeared on his mouth intensifies the heat pooled low in her belly, watching him with a hunger no doubt he can see.

Fuck. He kissed her in a way that ruined anyone else for her. There’s no going back from this.

“That was. . .” She trails off, still trying to catch her breath, their noses brushing together.

His mouth curves up. “Better than I could’ve imagined,” he finishes, making her already flushed cheeks blush more as she lifts her gaze to meet his, a shy yet thrilled smile dancing on her own lips. Especially when she feels his fingers brushing along her thigh, her leg still wrapped around him, and the blush deepens as she slowly puts her foot back onto the ground.

A breathless laugh escapes her as says, “You’ve got lipstick on your face.”

Rafe grins. An honest, panty-dropping smile that makes her want to kiss him again. His hand on her jaw shifts and she feels his thumb swipe along her bottom lip. “So do you, baby.”

Oh, God. The term of endearment does more to her than she cares to admit, breath stilling in her lungs as her lips tingle not only from his kiss, but the gentle caress of his thumb. His voice is low, a dizzying rasp, and if he ever finds out the kind of effect he has on her, then Isla is in trouble.

Dropping her gaze, she opens her purse and pulls out a small tissue packet. When she takes out a tissue and holds it up to him, Rafe glances at it before meeting her gaze, smirking as he says, “Your mess. Only right for you to clean it up.”

She finds herself grinning at the teasing glint in his eyes, biting her bottom lip as she moves her hand further up and, gently, wipes at Rafe’s lips. His gaze is heavy on her as she does so, heart thudding wildly as she gets rid of her lipstick smeared on his smiling mouth. “Done,” she says once she’s finished, crushing the tissue in a ball in her hand.

“Thank you,” he hums before taking the tissue pack from her hand. “My turn.”

Her pulse stutters once more when he places a knuckle under chin to lift her face up, gazes locking as he, oh so gently, wipes at the skin right around her lips, as if he’s being careful not to displace the rest of her makeup. It’s the most tender anyone has ever been with her, even if it’s something as mundane as him fixing her smeared lipstick, and Isla is a hundred percent sure she falls for him a little bit more, right at this moment. Who knew Rafe Cameron could be so soft, so gentle? After kissing her senseless, nonetheless.

“What do you say to a second date?” he asks, head tilting slightly as he dabs at the corner of her mouth.

Isla finds herself smiling, stomach fluttering. “I’ll say yes if you promise to kiss me again.”

Rafe grins, lowering his hand. Her body craves to be wrapped up in him again as he lifts his chin and says, “That’s a promise I’ll always keep.”

He proves himself when he presses a slow kiss to her lips once more, and Isla melts into him once more, wishing that they could stay in here, just the two of them, instead of returning to the Midsummers party. Her heart flutters wildly, happily, as she returns the kiss before they break apart slowly. “Just let me know when,” she tells him.

“Hmm?” Rafe hums, his gaze on her lips, like he wants to kiss her again. She’d totally let him.

Isla laughs. “For the date.”

His eyes flicker up to meet hers. “Yes, ma’am.” He glances over his shoulder. “Let me make sure the coast is clear.”

“One sec,” she says, taking out her phone and lipstick. Using the camera, she checks her reflection for a moment and grins at Rafe. “Nice clean up job,” she says, making him chuckle as he watches her quickly reapply her lipstick. He really did wipe away any remnants from her skin, and with the lipstick newly applied, no one would ever know. “Okay, I’m ready.”

She watches as Rafe steps to the door, switching off the light and plunging them into darkness, only for some light to slip through the crack that appears when Rafe opens the door just an inch or so. He peeks out, his hand gesturing her forward, and she steps up. “Okay, you’re good to go.”

He opens the door wider and Isla’s heart thuds as she steps out into the empty, bright hallway. She can hear the music and the party continue on outside, glancing down at the last second to make sure her dress is straightened, which it is. Right when she’s about to make her way down the hallway, not wanting to linger in case someone comes by, Rafe’s voice stops her.

“Isla.” She glances at him where he remains inside, standing in the space between the door and the door frame. He grins that panty-dropping smile once more, his gaze dipping to take in the length of her and igniting a fire in her skin as it trails back up to meet her eyes. “You look beautiful.”

Her cheeks flush, glancing away momentarily to give herself a second to get her wits about her, before musing, “You’re only saying that ’cause you just made out with me.”

He chuckles. “Doesn’t make it any less true.” He winks and somehow makes even that seem hot, when Isla would otherwise find it cringey if it was anyone else. Rafe nods in the direction of the party. “Get back out there.”

Isla’s not quite ready to leave him, but she knows she has to because her friends and sister will start looking for her if she’s gone for too long. When she rejoins Kie and Sarah, her sister asks, “Where have you been?”

“Bathroom,” Isla answers. “Why, did I miss something?”

“No,” Sarah hums, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. 

“Other than watching people ask Mom and Dad about their anniversary party. I think Mom’s gonna break out in hives,” Kie adds in. Their parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary is coming up quick, and they’re planning a party which Kie and Isla will be helping out with, and while their mom loves to throw a good party, the whole planning part stresses her out. “But we saw Carlo and were worried if you ran into him.”

Isla scoffs, trying to ignore the way her lips are still tingling from Rafe’s kisses. “I did,” she says, making both of their gazes whip to her. Isla rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. I told him to fuck off, and that was the end of that.”

Sarah shakes her head, expression scrunching up in annoyance. “If men are gonna have one thing, it’s the fucking audacity.”

Kie nods as Isla chuckles. “Tell me about it,” she says, just as her skin prickles with awareness. Her gaze wanders until it lands on Rafe, back on the porch with his friends, and Isla bites the inside of her cheek as his gaze seems to find hers in that moment, too. They lock eyes on opposite sides of the party, and her belly flips as that dizzying kiss replays in her mind on a loop.

She has to look away before anyone notices, tuning back into the conversation with Kie and Sarah while trying not to think of Rafe. But it doesn’t help that he watches her from wherever he is throughout the party, a secret just between them in a crowd full of people, but theirs to keep. For now, at least.