#but its funny the voice they gave him sounds more like something they would give to sonic

[sonknuxadow]

KNUCKLES !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[grugruel]

The Artist and the Flower

Pairings: Benedict bridgerton x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Sexpollen

Masterlist

Summary: A mysterious flower brought back from Colin's travels put you and Benedict in a curious predicament. Resulting in sex and other things.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: sexpollen, friends to lovers, passionate sex, pinv sex, oral sex (female recieving), rough sex (blink and you'll miss it), choking, praise, pet names (princess, girl, woman, lady.), "I love you", mating-press, missionary, creampie. (Think that's all)

AN: not yet proofread! Hope you guys enjoy!

Approaching footsteps roused my mind. They thudded dully against wooden floorboards–pausing only to whisper mutely, 'This is not funny. Where are you?'

I tried to focus on my breathing, fingers working sluggishly as they wiped themselves clean against the bottom hem of my dress.

'Woman!' The voice was shrill and urgent this time, ringing terribly in my ear. The sounds of it's accompanying steps diminished as they hurried past my position on the floor, all dizzy on my knees.

'Benedict!' I hissed. The bright interior blurring as I made to stand up, legs wobbly beneath the unsteady weight of my torso.

There was a muffled squeak through the wall, shoes whirling against polished wood. Indicating him turning on his heel. 'Most, esteemed woman?' He tried again, punctuating the words as he half joked, half not. Simply hopeful hollow flattery would spur me into giving further clues to my whereabouts.

'Get in here at once!' I threw my finger toward the floor, as if he could see me do it and I'd sucesfully conveyed the sense of urgency. But the world spun suddenly, and I staggered a few steps until I caught myself on the nearest wall. The window I'd opened wasn't doing much except chilling my damp skin with the occasional draft.

With a last few steps, he darted to the door that separating us and four quaint knocks rapped aginst it. I gritted my teeth, annoyance taking over the hand. 'Yes, come on in.' Still, I willed my voice into the least irritable tone I could muster. This was not his fault, after all.

'Ah–' he sighed and pushed the door open. '–godess. . .' There was a mocking tone to the word and a satisfied grin on his lips, but it quickly fell as his eyes scoured over my appearance and utter devastation replaced it.

I wiped my forehead free of the beading sweat, and it too, began to tingle just like my fingertips had–to my horror, I realised–I'd probably just added more of whatever that dust was into my system. Now seeping through my skin and diluting my blood, impairing my usually keen senses with whatever toxins it provided.

He hurried to my side in big, worried strides to lay and arm around my back, steadying me when I couldn't steady myself. 'Wha-' He couldn't even form a word of surprise, his jaw slack as he gestured with his free hand to my dishevelled appearance. 'Why are you in Colins room? In this, state?' He quickly added. If I wasn't mistaken, which I might very well have been considering I didn't have full use of my mind. But, I could almost detect jealousy in his tone.

He would get the wrong idea, about Colin. 'Well,' I tried being nonchalant, tried to act like the places he made contact with my skin did not burn for him. I screwed my eyes shut and pulled all my focus into an answer. 'The wine got to my head, and I realised,' My words came out sluthered and slow. 'I hadn't been in here before, and. . .' My head began nodding of its own accord, already finding my unsaid words agreeable. '. . .it had to be remedied.'

'Of course, of course it did.' Benedict sighed, his shoulders shrugging in exasperation as he began looking around, presumably to find something for me to sit on, but his eyes fastened on something else instead. I cringed, for his eyes darted from the open rucksack, then back to me. The look he gave me was nothing but disapproving. But goodness, he was stading so close. His breaths warm against my cheek and mildly stained by alcoholic bevrages, much like mine must've been. But oh, the fire in his eyes gave me quite a start, not that I was fearful of it. In fact, I found the opposite to be true. It almost felt as if I had abaorbed it, and it traveled downward. . . 'You went through his belongings?'

My mind froze, the newfound aching in my body too distracting. 'I. . .' I felt my eyes narrow and forehead furrow, my dull reflexes attempting a poor pretence of thoughts. 'I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry. But there was this box, with some strange flower inside. . .' I trailed off. An amused, tipsy smile making it's way onto my face as I noted his incredulous expression.

His hands slid down my arm, and the sensation traveled straight to my core. Causing the need to stifle a moan arise.

'And you thought it a good idea to touch a foreign plant of which you know nothing of?' He spoke fast, too fast for me to keep up. Especially when goosebumps ran rampid in the wake of his touch, when my core ached for him to continue, to push his body further into mine. My heart beat too fast, his hand too close to the pulse point on my wrist.

My hand found it's way beneath his jaw, a wide grin splaying across my face. 'Wine will do that to a gentlewoman.' I explained, sluthering slightly. But feeling no more explanation to be necessary.

He screwed his eyes shut and stood completley still for a moment, I could almost see the thoughts swirling in the crammed space of his mind. 'Well,' he looked at me once again, searching my eyes. 'What gentleman would I be to leave a woman in need to her own devices?' He opened the box and grabbed the flower without hesitation, feeling its vevelty petals, rubbing the dust between his fingertips and then- tasted it.

Currents of static electricity zapped beneath my chest, spreading throughout me body. Everything happened so fast. And all I could do was watch, very intently, as the pads of his middle- and index finger made contact with his tongue, swiping clean against it. Lips then closing around them to suck whatever remained off. The heat building in my body was nothing short of sinful, and the thoughts–my thoughts–were even worse.

'Let's go.'

'Pardon?' Precious air left my lungs, leaving me breathless.

'Dinner with the Bridgertons.'

'I figured it to be out of the question.' My expression confounded.

'Colin is already downstairs, and we must find out what exactly that plant is-' He stopped. Eyes all of a sudden distant as they grazed over my features, landing on my lips. He still held my wrist, stroking the inside with gentle circles.

'Ben?' It was summer in the country, this much I knew. But surely, the temperature could not rise as fast as it just did. Sweat was pooling at my back, beneath my bust. And I began to wish, that he would simply. . . Lick-

'We must go.' I declared, clearing my throat. Hoping the words would snap us out of our trance.

'Right, of course.' He nodded, a blush sweeping across his cheeks. His eyes suddenly keen to examine the floor. But he kept his han his hand on the small of my back, urging me down the halls of the big house. Ocassionally, he'd scrunch the fabric of my dress, feeling the flexing of my back beneath the tips of his fingers. It pulled my attention to the sensitivity of my skin, and the pleasure his small, simple action gave me.

The next thing I knew, I was being helped into a chair at the center of the dining table. Benedict laid a hand on my shoulder that was meant to be reassuring, but it had an impact much more wicked on me. He took the seat across from me, and oh so conveniently placed himself next to Colin. Conversation grew heavy as Violet became quite inquisitive with her children. Eloise's debut, Anthony's proposal plans, and who he was planning on the recieving end. I would usually have been elbow deep in the gossip and drama, but my mind was elsewhere, muddled or perhaps tainted, as I couldn't focus on much of anything. Their voices grew sharp in my ears, the candlelight too bright for my eyes.

Ben leaned in to whisper in Colin's ear, who's eyes grew wide. Looking at me with growing worry, in fact, he almost looked like he would be sick.

I could understand why. Slouched in my seat, looking generally ill and doing more drinking than eating. Which was most likely only adding to the growing problem rather than subduing it. But oh, was he handsome. Flushed, he combed a hand through his hair. Slicking it with the dampness from his forehead, his eyes darting over my figure every now and then. Whatever that flower was, it seemed to be getting to him too. Colin opened his mouth to answer Ben.

'How are you dear, you look a little I'll.' Violet asked with genuine worry, interrupting the boys hushed conversation and turned them onto me with anxious eyes.

'I'm well.' I smiled, feeling as though my own voice was not mine.

Ben's eyes creased, a grin spreading over his lips, and then began giggling.

The conversations cut, and everyone stared at him. 'Are you quite alright, dear?' Violets eyes were full of concern, now placed upon him instead. I didn't yet know if it was warranted or not. But I was glad he pulled any lingering eyes from my current state.

'I apologise.' The words were strained as he pushed them out between more fluttering giggles, leading him to cover his blushing face. 'Her lady just told me something stunningly funny, that is all.' Benedict gestured to me, his eyes glinting with mischief. That little-

'Truly?' Violet smiled expectantly, something like understanding in her eyes. That cunning look she always gave her children when she knew something they didn't. Perhaps she'd taken my demeanour as that of a girl with a hidden crush, only anxious under the gaze of her love. She wouldn't be entirely wrong. Long had I known the Bridgertons, and even longer had I liked Ben.

I cleared my throat, blinking away the haze in my eyes. 'I'm uncertain of its propriety. . .' I tried to redirect, a drop of sweat sliding down my temple as I nervously glanced around at the members of the family. And ufortunately, I felt a bubbling up inside my chest, a composition of my own laughter. 'It was, uhm. . .' I paused, working hard to keep a smile from creeping onto my lips. Trying desperate to think of something to say. Anything, really.

'Well, let's hear it.' Anthony said with a grin, and the rest of the table agreed. Eloise being little more than a heap of snickers, Colin seeming to be the only one who gained little to no amusement from the situation.

Watching my struggles and deeming them incredibly funny, Benedicts giggles evovled and he burst out laughing. I was second behind him, but the table quickly joined in with a chorus of incredulous chuckles and wild looks of incomprehension. 'What is the matter with you two?' Eloise asked, her eyes watery as she clutched stomache.

We locked eyes, Ben and I. Both now scorching, judging from the trickling sweat on his neck and the tickling down my back. Warmth spread throughout my chest, and something fluttered in my stumache. Something was terribly wrong with the flower for me to feel so deeply, so suddenly.

Colin took his chance when Benedict had calmed himself, leaning in to whisper in his ear. Ben's face offered an array of reactions ti every word spoken. Confusion, surprise, anger. It was enough for me to conclude that something was not right, and that was when his eyes went wide. 'Then why would you not keep a lock on it, brother?' He shouted, his voice much louder than anticipated. Worry grew in me as I carefully studied their expressions, replacing all my previous feelings of joy. Colin whispered again, his lips moving eratically as he shook his head, clearly distressed and displeased. Ben's eyes locked on mine a second time, again, they were full of fire. However, something told me it was not of the same sort I'd seen earlier today, this was not anger. No, it was something else entierly. 'Pardon us, drar family. But the lady and I must be excused.' He claimed suddenly, turning to his mother and Anthony. 'We have urgent business that need tending to.'

'–my parents estate. . .' I cut in, sensing the graveness behind his words. It cant be good if his mood had changed so quickly. The family gave me an odd look, and I scrambled further, not wishing for them to get the wrong impression. 'The art- the art in their estate. We had a Lively discussion before dinner. . . Hence the art. Because he's an artist.' I paused my rambling lips, they did me more bad than good. I stood hastily, the rich pulsing around me as I did so, almost knocking the chair to the floor. I smoothed my dress out and exited the diningroom with an "excuse me" and a unecessary curtsy.

Rushing down hallways, I brushed my hand along the wall for support. Benedict's footsteps only a pace behind my own. He placed a hand on my hip, to brace me or simply because he wanted to fell me, I did not know.

Stopping outside my rooms, I urged him to explain. 'Apparently,' he began, rubbing the nape of his neck. I knew that tell. 'It's not, good news. . .'

I leaned back against the doorframe, my body drenched in sweat. The wafting of my fan doing nothing to help. 'Benedict Bridgerton, tell me immediately.' I growled.

'Its an aphrodesiac. It means-'

I expelled a strained breath. 'I know what it means, Ben. Continue.' The air blew against the exposed skin of of my chest, cooking it effectively.

Benedict hesitated, none of this was proper. Yet, his eyes lingered on the growing goosebumps over my breasts. His gaze sliding to my throat, watching it bob as I swallowed a big breath of air. 'We are friends Ben, discussing such things educationally does not betray social rules.' I tried to convince us both.

He nodded absentmindedly, his eyes snapping back to mine with a newfound reverence. He himself staggering as his balance perception had been knocked down a peg. It was really starting to get to him, so I grabbed his jacket to steady him. 'Its pollen is poisonous in large amounts, If consumed and left untreated, lethal.'

I swallowed again, the world spinning as my mind fumbled his words, turning them over and over in my head. 'Considering the side-effects,' I gestured with the fan between the two of us. 'I gather we have large amounts in our blood.'

To this he nodded, the uncertainty in his eyes replaced with a wicked smile spreading across his lips. 'Clever girl.'

His praise felt like a punch to the gut. Although not knocing the air out of me, it did leave me in pain. 'And how do we cure it?' I tried to distract myself, my breathing was growing uneven, my thoughts a haze. And Benedict Bridgerton, looking more and more like something I'd like to devour.

His hand braced against the doorframe above my head ti stabilise him, his tall frame nkw looming over me, our faces stopping only a few inches appart. 'By working it out of our systems, by executing certain activities,' he murmured, studying me under hodded eyes and parted lips. 'The burning needs to be sated. If not, it will develop into fever, the throat will close and-'

'Alright, that's quite enough.' I gestured for him to stop. My lip trembling, my body burning as I looked at him through my lashes. 'What exactly are these activities?' I had a feeling, a hunch, where this was going.

'You must forgive my crudeness.' He took my hands in his free one, managing to wrap his considerably larger one around both of mine. 'By love making.' He was even closer now, his nose touching my cheekbone as he whispered in my ear. 'Sex.' His breaths were ragged, on edge. His tongue darting out to wet his lips. He stopped himself, closing his eyes. His forehead lulling against mine. Most likely taming himself jusy like I had to, trying not to think of the multiple worst case scenarios.

'We cannot stay out here, somebody will see us.' I warned, my nose rubbing against his. My body so taunt, tense, it needed desperate release. My spine was still recovering from that word. It had shaped a ball of anticipation in the pit of my stumache. It could ruin me, my prospects. I only just debuted. But- sex. . . That was all I wanted in this moment, and I wanted it with this man.

I looked him in the eyes and opened the door to my bedchamber. 'I love a tragedy, an epic story of true love ending in death.' I whispered, moving my hands around his. 'But we are not lovers.' Taking a few steps back, I led him inside. 'So, lets make this count.' He followed me willingly, his eyes loyal and round like a puppy's as he gazed at me with adoration. And the door fell shut behind him.

'What if we were?' His voice was low and burdened with lust. One hand coming to stroke a few strands of hair from my cheek.

I blinked, barely comprehending his touch. 'We shall not perish, Benedict. I refuse.'

'No, but we could love.'

'What?' My brows furrowed.

'Perhaps, you could find it in your heart to love me, as I have always loved you.' He paused. The next words were heavy as they hung from the tip of his tounge. 'Let me make love to you.' His voice vibrating from the strain of on his chest. He took a step closer, his chest pressing flush against mine. 'Let me teach you.' His voice was pleading, and I had to crane my neck to keep his eye contact. 'Marry me. . .' His hands cupped my face. '. . .marry me.' he leaned in, whispering the words against my lips.

I nodded slowly. 'Teach me.' And our lips clashed together.

Years worth of structural limitations evaporated, society and politics a thing of the past as Benedict raised my skirt, found purchase under my thighs and pulled me into his embrace. His skilled tongue finding its way into my mouth with ease.

He walked us backward, gently laying me down on my bed despite the urgency of our lust. 'What do you need?' He asked through muffled moans, his lips busy with mine. I could not think, nothing about my being would work with me. 'Talk to me, what do you need?' He breathed, voice almost a whimper as his hands squeezed my hips, urging me to answer.

'You,' I managed. 'I need you.' I could feel him smile against my lips.

'Do you trust me, love?'

'Always.'

He pushed off me, hooked his hands under my knees and pulled me to the edge of the bed.

Then kneeled.

Benedict, the man that he is, stood on his knees before me. Between my legs, he smiled a wicked smile. My body was limp in his touch, completely at his disposal. The aching cravings of my core did not care what he did, as long as it was he who did it.

His hands dove under the hem of my skirt, tracing my legs upward, hitching the fabric on his wrists. He stopped above my knees, kneeding them thoughtfully as his eyes searched mine. It took my mind a second to wrap around his request, it was already so painfully clear to me that I would agree at any given moment of our time together that I could not fathom him wanting further confirmation. 'Yes. . . Please.'

He wasted no time. He was hungry. He flipped the skirt over my abdomen and got to work. Immidietly lowering himself onto my mound, lipping a stripe from my core to my clit and he moaned.

A shuddering whimper left me, if it was from his reaction or the sensation of his tongue I would never know. Proudly, he wrapped his lips around me clit and vegan sucking, licking and nipping. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before, my fingers could never compete with his expertise. My body wriggled involuntairly, compelling him to hold my hips down with one hand, and taking it as a sign to slide the other along the inside of my thigh and burry a finger inside me, pumling it in an out.

I cried out, covering my mouth as my free hand dove into his hair. Pulling and scratching, I urged him to continue. But somewhere inside me, worry built. What about him? My eyes glanced over the still beading sweat on his forehead, afraid it might be the fever Ben had spoken of. 'What about you?' I whimpered, stroking his hair in a gentler fashion as he continued his contrasting assault on my mound.

'What about me?' He moaned, voice muffled by my skin and shrugged, sliding another finger inside me. His eyes studying my reaction, the way my body moved. I cried out again, biting my lip this time to stifle it as my other hand entwined with the one he held at my hip.

'Is it enough for you?' The words were expelled on an exhale, my voice pitched from continously pleasure, but beneath there was worry. And he noticed.

He chuckled breathely against my clit. 'I do not care about me.' His eyes met mine, and a strike of lighting shot through me, a whimper escaping me with furrowed brows. And he continued with a groan. 'Giving you pleasure is all I need.' And added a third finger, curling them inside me. Their size was admirable, especially as they hit some special spot inside me.

My back arched and a tidal wave of pleasure rolled over me, the pressure that'd been builing in my stumache finally released.

He watched me intently. 'Let me hear you.' He requested, continuing to move his fingers as he helped me through my orgasm, palming himself through his pants with his free hand. I obliged him. A string of curses unbefitting of a lady left my lips in whimpers.

'It takes talent to make such vulgar words sound pretty.' He licked another stripe along my folds, gathering my orgasm on his tongue and swallowed greedily. A strained grunt left him, and he collapsed into my lap, a shiver running through his body. My hand left his to brace myself on my forearm, gathering a better view of him as I combed my hand through his hair soothingly, and that's when I noticed the wet spot on his pants. I gasped. 'It was truly enough for you?' I ovserved him in awe, the aching beginning to roar inside me yet again.

'I told you,' He panted, sucking his fingers clean between his attempts to catch his breath and tilted his head to look up at me. Such a sinful act embedded so innocently. 'You are enough for me, pretty girl.' Now it was not only mor core which ached, but my heart also. Still on his knees, he let himself regenerate in my lap whilst his adoring eyes romaed my face. A show of devotion, of resignation, of love.

I moved to sit, his head still in my lap as he circled his arms around my waist, gaze still locked on mine. 'I love you.' I whispered, brushing the damp hair from his forehead.

His eyes softened impossibly more. 'I've always, always been in love with you. Since the first week of our meeting.'

My chest ached. 'Why have you never told me so?'

'Throwing our friendship away based on chance was not odds I was willing to risk.' He hugged me tighter, then stood up. 'But im afraid, that were not out of the woods yet.' He said, un buttoning his shirt and pants. 'Im feeling quite feverish.' His eyes glistened with mischief, and let the coat fall from his shoulders.

'If you want me again, you need only say so.' I smiled, now it was my time to look up at him with loving eyes.

'I want you again.' He removed his shirt, and I hade to collect my breath for a second. 'Stand, my love. We will do this properly.' He took my hands and helped me to my feet, turned me around and undid my dress and corset. Again, It made me realise just how much experience he had.

When I stood in only my chemise, feeling naked and vunerable. He stood in only his breeches. Nothing my nervous state, he said. 'We can leave it on, love.' Searching my eyes.

But I shook my head, if I was to have all of him, he was to have all of me. 'Please.' I whispered, motioning for him to take it off me. And he did, it slid down my body easily. Gradually exposing every inch of skin only me and most likely my maids had seen.

He stood struck for a moment, unmoving, unspeaking. Until- 'I do not deserve you.' He awed, 'Beautiful, beautiful woman.' Reaching his hand out to stroke my biceps, my abdomen, eyes searching mine before they traveled further up.

'You do, if any man ever was to. It would be you.' I promised him, and at this he blushed. I grabbed his hand and laid it atop my breast. With a groan, he stepped closer. His free hand cupping my face as the other massaged my breast, and his lips met mine. Softly, his hand slid around my back, guiding me back knto the bed, laying me carefully down on the pillows. 'Princess.' He breathed, sat back and removed his breeches. I did not have time to fawn over his size until he was on me again. Hooking my leg on his knee, he spread it wide. Bracing on a forearm, his face was inches from mine as he lowers himself on top of me. His thick length grazing my clit. Sensitive and burning, still–I noticed. The polled had yet to leave our system, perhaps it deadliness had subdued, but it's symptoms were yet in full effect.

Benedict nuzzled my cheek. 'Tell me what you want.' He whispered in my ear.

'You, all of you.'

'Be more specific, dearest.'

I swallowed, my breathing growing heavier. 'Sex.' I murmured, and his lips formed a smiled against my jaw. 'I want sex.'

'I would want nothing more than to give it to you.' He breathed, and lined himself up with my entrance. Then pushed himself in, gently, but consistently. My whimpered only spurring him on, not stopping until he reached the hilt. He'd done his job well, since I easily adjusted around him. 'Good girl.' He whispered, tracing kisses from my lips to my neck. 'Taking me so well.'

I ached, arching my back, I needed more. My skin was growing more and more sensitive. 'Please, Ben. . .'

That was all he needed to hear. He pulled out and thrusted into me again, moving my entire body with each stroke and it was like nothing I've ever felt before. 'Holy-' I interrupted myself with a moan.

He chuckled, but truthfully it was more of a moan. 'Feel so good.' He murmured against my skin, kissing the tender spot between my shoulder and throat. 'Like I imagined.'

Pause. He's thought of me? In this way? With. . . women, by himself?

'When, tell me when.'

'Always. I thinn of you when I lay with other women, I think of you when I touch myself.' His hand ran down my body, squeezing my breast as he drove himself deeper. And I had to wonder–were those acts specific details of his dreams, desires? 'You occupy my mind, always.' He said quite breathlessly.

'Show me, show me how you want me.'

He pulled out if me, hooked my legs over his shoulders and thrusted back in. Every rut of his hips hitting that sweet spot inside me, wrecking me over and over again. Strained breaths against my throat became the outcome of his efforts, as the power behind each thrust pushed me deeper into the mattress. 'What else, show me what else. I'm yours.' I moaned.

His lips found mine, and his hand my throat. Gently, he enveloped it. Softly, he squeezed. 'Say it again.' His lips murmured against mine, kissing them between every breath he labored.

'I'm yours.' I whispered, and he groaned. A particularly forcefull thrust was made into me. He was never rough in anything he did, but he put his back into it. Always the gentleman, never the brute. I've never been happier for a man to be so contrasting.

The burning, the aching, the pressure. It was all towering, waiting to be pushed over at any second. 'Mine,' he moaned. 'My love.' His pace quickened and ruts hardened. He was as close as I was. 'I love you. . .' He whimpered and spilled himself inside of me. And I came a second later, irregular thrusts carrying me through my blinding orgasm. 'I love you.' He told me over and over again as he let my legs fall to his sides, and collapsed onto my smaller figure. With his head on my chest, I held him. 'I love you too.'

'Marry me, then.'

'Give me a ring, then.' I giggled. He made to stand up, to slither out of my embrace. 'Not now!'

'Tomorrow, then?' He laid back down, this time wrapping his arms around me and pulled me close.

'Tomorrow, then.' I confirmed. Id never been so happy as in that moment.

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one my, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 4,782

Warning: cursing, asshole Toji, mentions of blood, physical altercations—👀

A/N:The long-awaited part five! This was so satisfying to write. I hope you all enjoy it!! I think we have maybe one part left, maybe two. Omg! 🥹💚, If you want to be in the tag list YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Red. Red was the only color Satoru saw as he dragged his suitcase. He'd never felt so angry! Hurt! Betrayed! The emotions swirled and festered like an infected wound.

He'd let his walls down with you. A mistake he would never make in his life ever fucking again. It didn't matter how desperate a voice would sound on the phone. And it wouldn't matter if he genuinely enjoyed talking to the client or if they gave him the butterflies.

Gojo Satoru would never allow himself to be put into a situation like this again. One where he got hurt. Where he mourned the loss of a girl he barely even knew. A girl that left a scar on him no one would ever see.

The thoughts continued to swell and build up in his mind as he bought himself a hotel room next to the train station. They built up like a typhoon, threatening to destroy everything in its wake, all the way to his room, where he collapsed on the bed. Satoru didn't like feeling this suffocating pain. He needed to distract himself, to talk to one of the only people he trusted in this world.

He needed Suguru.

With a few taps of his finger over his phone screen, Satoru stared at himself, praying his best friend was still up. Which he was. Satoru sighed in relief as Suguru’s face took up the screen. His best friend was propped up in bed, his face dimly illuminated by the lamp on his nightstand. He took one look at Satoru’s face and cocked an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

Satoru chuckled, covering his eyes with his elbow. “Is it that obvious?”

“You just called me three hours ago. You said, and I quote, ‘You’re going to love her. She's got the prettiest eyes. Her skin is fucking flawless. I wanna put her mouth on my mouth.’ end quote.”

“I didn't say that last part!”

“You didn't have to say it, Satoru.” Satoru didn't argue with that. “So, are you going to tell me what happened??”

“I—” he groaned, sitting up, “we, well, ya’ know—”

“Fucked?”

Satoru glared at his only best friend. “No!” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Well, we didn't go all the way.” God, he wished it had, but he was glad it hadn't.

“Okay? So, did she give you major blue balls? This isn't helping me decipher what happened.”

Although the pain was fresh and stung, Satoru rehashed the night's events. The kiss at the bar, you calling him after Toji showed up, and everything after. From your sudden confidence to the gentle caresses to the intense intimacy between you both. It had been so fierce, raw, and real. Satoru had never experienced kisses and caresses like yours; hell, your touch still lingered as he lay in bed ranting.

All of the chemistry he felt didn’t change the fact that he’d been hurt. He thought you were genuine, that you didn’t want to sleep with him just because of his good looks. Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to sleep with him because you felt the same spark that he did. A spark that would lead to sex, but from there, it might grow into something more! A relationship, the possibility of a future together.

But those stacks of cash changed it all.

The possibilities Satoru had been fantasizing about, wanting, came crashing around him when he counted the bills. You had been so unfazed by it. All you did was check your wallet before pulling out the bag with condoms in it. Your pitiful face when he asked about the money flashed in his mind. You had been incapable of telling him why you had all that money; you just stared blankly at it like you were trying to put two and two together.

Playing around like you didn’t know what was happening had set him off. Why would you have that much money in your purse? Conveniently, it was also the exact amount that he charged for sexual services. Services that Satoru didn’t typically provide. He had been honest with you. He didn’t like having sex with people that he didn’t know, so for him to find all that money, it set him off.

Satoru finished up his story, rubbing his hands through white hair. “So I left, and I missed the last train out. Could you pick me up in the morning? I want to get home as fast as I can.” His blue eyes darted towards his phone screen, where Geto was staring at him like he was an idiot. “What?” Satoru asked, looking at himself on the smaller screen. “Do I have something on my face?” His best friend let out the most extended, most profound sigh in the entire world.

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

“Huh?!”

“I said, are you a fucking idiot?”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows pinching together. “Why the fuck are you asking if I’m an idiot? Are your gauges too big? Did everything I say go through them and not into your ears?” He watched as Suguru rolled his eyes. “I just told you I found all that money in their bag! Right before we did the nasty! I confronted her, she couldn’t explain. That, to me, screams that she’s guilty, Suguru.” He gestured with his hand in front of him as if motioning toward the evidence before his face.

“Did you ever stop and think maybe she couldn’t answer because she was just as confused as you?”

“What?”

Suguru shifted, dark hair falling over his shoulders as he sat up. “Satoru,” he purred, “think about it. She left her bag where anyone could touch it while you two were—preoccupied.” Well, when he put it like that. “And how would you react if you found that much money in your wallet that wasn’t there before?” Satoru remained silent, not saying a word. “You claim she looked guilty because she couldn’t explain it. But what if she truly couldn’t? And you left before even giving her a chance to explain herself.” Yeah, he did; he left you crying at the inn.

Thinking back to how you ran after him, grabbing his arm, stumbling over your feet, would someone guilty do that? Try to explain themselves, beg for him to stop and listen.

“I-I don’t know how it got there, Satoru! Please! Please believe me!”

Your tear-filled eyes, the shuddering tremble in your voice, and the blatant way he’d coldly dismissed your attempts to clear things up had his stomach twisting. The fury that had been fuming deep at his core had blinded him. He didn’t even give you a chance to talk, to explain what had happened.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” He mumbled out, putting his phone down to scrub at his face. “Why didn’t I stop and listen?!”

“Because you like her.” There was something in the tone of Suguru’s voice that had Satoru glancing at his phone. “You genuinely like her Satoru, so when you assumed she just wanted to fuck you just as an escort and not as a potential lover, that broke your heart.” Satoru opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t try to deny it; you just bitched at me for like an hour like some school girl who just got dumped.”

”Fuck you,” Suguru chuckled, knowing Satoru’s words held no heat in them. “So what do I do now? Run back over there, tell her how sorry I am?”

”Well, honestly, if I were in her position, I would slam the door in your face. The whole ‘consider the orgasm, payment for the cancellation of my services’ was fucking harsh.”

”Yeah, not my finest moment.”

“Well, use that Gojo Sator charm and make it up to her.”

After hanging up the phone with Suguru, Satoru plopped down on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. That red-hot rage had faded into regret. He should have listened to you; he should have stopped the second you grabbed his arm. Instead, he pulled away, refusing to listen to what you had to say.

He made you cry like you did when you told him about Toji.

Seeing you that upset had made him sick to his stomach. He thought, what kind of dick makes a girl cry like this? He hated people like that, people that were so cruel. Now the tables had turned, and he was the dick.

God, what are you doing right now? Were you still crying? Maybe you were pacing the room, thinking about what you would do since your wedding date just up and left you. How were you going to explain this to your friends and family? Or were you dreading the pathetic, woeful faces that would be on the faces of your friends and family when you told them he left? You had hired him to make this wedding easier to attend, but he had turned it into an even worse experience for you.

Gojo had been right about you crying. You were curled into a ball on the futon that still smelt like him. Your chest heaved as you screamed into his pillow, gripping it as you let the waves of anguish wash over you, pulling you deeper and deeper into the suffocating waters of despair.

You cried yourself to sleep, waking up with a numbness in your chest as the flashbacks from the night before plagued you. It had been perfect, too perfect. The butterflies, Satoru’s kisses, the pleasure. You felt so good about him, about the two of you, about yourself, to have it come crashing down around you in seconds.

It hurt being yelled at and screamed at and blamed for something you hadn’t done. The rage and betrayal in Satoru’s eyes burned into your mind, and his words sliced so deep into your skin that they touched your soul. You hadn’t been hurt like that since Toji broke up with you, and that had nearly destroyed you. You ran away from the pain, refused to talk to anyone, and stayed in bed for days. Your heart had been broken into a million different pieces, and it took you so long to put it back together. To allow yourself to live your life.

Luckily, your heart was stronger now, scarred and rough. The pain that it had undergone a year before had made it more durable and harder to break. This heartache was not going to destroy you this time around.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you exhaled heavily through your nose before pushing your hair out of your face. You could do this. You didn't need a wedding date to survive the next two days. You were fully capable of getting through this by yourself.

You put on a smile and got ready for your day. Everything hurt, but you would be able to get through it like you had done before. This heartache would not hold you down. You headed into the kitchen, greeting your family as they cleaned dishes from the morning breakfasts that had already been delivered to guests and discussed preparations for the next two nights.

Their voices were white noise as you pulled a bowl of peaches from the fridge. They asked if you were okay if Satoru felt okay since he wasn’t with you. Hearing them say his name stung, but it didn’t stop you from moving, washing peaches, and peeling them as you preheated the oven.

”He left.” You told the truth, not the whole truth, but you weren’t ashamed to tell them he left you. Their reactions varied from confusion and anger to stunned silence and disbelief. “I’ll be okay.” You assured all of them, urging them to go about preparations for the wedding. Right now, all you wanted to do was be alone, to bake the anger and sorrow out of your system.

They granted your wish, leaving you alone in the kitchen. The atmosphere was drastically different from the night before. You giggled and smiled as Satoru stood by your side; those beautiful, captivating blue eyes wandered, watching your hands move. The heat from his gaze alone had the kitchen so hot you thought every oven had been on when they hadn’t. Now, the only warmth that flooded the space was from the oven and stove as you cooked down the peaches in syrup.

You moved unthinkingly, cooking butter into three trays, before setting the stew pot of peaches off to the side. Mind and body numb as you focused on mixing your flour, sugar, and milk in a bowl, you never heard the footsteps behind you. It wasn’t until the timer on your phone went off that you turned, running into a firm chest. You knew the smell of fresh linen masked with musk, and it made you want to throw up.

Satoru rubbed at his neck, glancing down at you. Dark circles were under his eyes as he placed his sunglasses on his head. Even when he looked exhausted, he was still handsome, which irked you.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, like his voice alone would shatter you as if you were a porcelain doll. You said nothing, stepping to the side to turn your timer off. “Can we talk?”

You ignored him, taking out the trays of melted butter from the oven. You put cinnamon, baking powder, and salt into your batter before whisking it bitterly. Satoru moved, gently grabbing your elbow and stopping you from running further away.

“Please.”

“No.” You snapped, pulling away so you could continue to construct the dessert for the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Sweetie, please.”

“Oh my god!” You slammed the bowl down, turning to shove at Satoru's chest. “You fucking left! You left when I wanted to talk last night!”

“I know I did.”

His eyes never left your face, and his undivided attention only pissed you off more. “Well, guess what? I don’t want to fucking talk now.” Despite your dismissal, Satoru didn’t move. He stayed near your side, watching as your hands moved, putting the peaches on top of the batter. “Don’t you have a train to catch?”

“No, I have a wedding to attend—“

“The fuck you do.”

“You paid for me—“

“And you canceled your services!” Satoru grimaced as you all but threw the trays into the oven. “You paid me with an orgasm, remember?! Because I remember!”

He followed you as you headed to the sink with your dirty dishes. His hand gently grabs your elbow. “Look! Please listen to me.” He took the dishes from your hands, placing them in the sink. “I was an asshole last night, whatever this,” his finger gestures between your bodies, “it’s new and raw and real.” You barked out a laugh. “Stop, please. I messed up; I know I did. And I’m sorry for flipping out on you. But this is worth fighting over; I want to be with you.” His words were regretful; his face matched the panicked pain behind his voice.

That didn’t change the fact he’d hurt you. “Gojo.” The use of his last name had his heart crushed. “You did mess up, you hurt me.” You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Let’s be honest, this.” You mimicked his finger, gesturing between you. “This is never going to work, not after last night. I had my heart broken once after I was intimate with someone, and you knew that. You knew I didn’t want to have sex. I specified that several times. I put myself out there, out of my comfort zone, because I genuinely liked you. Now, well, let’s be honest: my heart has been broken twice now. So I’m going to ask you to leave.” Satoru swallowed hard, removing his glasses and putting them on the counter.

“Please don’t say that, please.”

“Go.” You pointed to the door, fighting back tears. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

He grips the counter before lifting his head to meet your teary eyes. “Okay,” he reached out, gently brushing away a stray tear, “I’m sorry for breaking your heart.” His gesture had your breath hitching as he turned, heading out of the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

The moment you were sure he was far enough that he couldn’t hear you, a shaky cry left your lips. You stumbled, your legs no longer wanting to hold you up. How dare he come back and apologize after breaking your heart the night before. If he didn’t apologize, things would have been so much easier for you. You could have grown to hate him, but seeing how upset he looked hearing the pleading tone in his voice, made you want to throw your resolve away to chase after him.

But would a relationship with him work?

He was an escort. People paid him to go out with him. Could you date him, knowing that’s what he did for a living? To be the woman waiting at home for him to come back?

He said he wanted to fight for this, for you and whatever this strange relationship was turning into. He wanted to be with you. So, did that mean he would give up on being an escort? Would he be okay with that? The questions flowed like a steady river through your mind as you sat on the kitchen floor. These were questions you would never get the answers to, all because you sent him away.

Footsteps entered the kitchen as you stared at the floor. You perked up, clenching your fists tight, digging your nails into the palms of your hands. Did Satoru come back? You tilted your head up, tears streaming down your cheeks, to find Toji smirking down at you. The last person on the planet you wanted to see.

”Why are you on the floor?”

”Why won’t you leave me alone?” You snapped as you pushed yourself off the floor.

Toji hummed, leaning over the counter as you went to the sink to clean your dishes. “Because I want to talk to you. But you keep avoiding me.” You threw the whisk into the sink, whirling around.

“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s fucking talk, Toji!” You shrugged a shoulder. “Not that there’s much to talk about, seeing that you’re the one that broke up with me. And last night, you made it painfully obvious that you didn’t want to be with me. So please tell me! What. The. Fuck. Is. There. To. Discuss?!” You screamed, putting both hands on your hips, glaring daggers at the first man who broke your heart.

“Fuck.” He laughed, his eyes trailing up and down your body. “You got feisty in the year that you’ve been away.” When he saw how you glared at him, he held up a hand. “Right, right, fine, I’ll talk.” He straightened his back. “But first, did you enjoy yourself last night?”

His words had your heart dropping into your stomach. “I-I’m sorry?” You asked, hoping that you heard him wrong.

”I asked how your night was. Finally, get dicked down?”

”What?”

”Oh, right, you didn’t know.” He strode forward, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefingers, forcing you to look into his dark eyes. “After you left, I got a job. I’m a PI, the best in the business.” You felt goosebumps rise against your skin as he leaned beside your ear. “I did a little research into this Gojo Satoru, heir to the Gojo business. It took a little digging, but I eventually found his profile in Escorts4you.com.”

You were frozen in shock and fear. “You knew?” Of course, he knew; he knew something was up the first night.

“To think my ex-fiancée hired a fucking escort to be her date to a wedding. I had a good laugh over it. But when I saw the prices, oof, I know you,” toji squeezed your cheeks, “a pathetic baker from a cafe could never, ever afford to get fucked by a pretty boy like him.”

“W-Wait—“your head spun, “wait, it was you; you put the money in my bag?”

“Ding-ding-ding,” He reached into his pocket, holding another wad of cash towards you. “¥480,000, the money you used to cover rent when I was out of a job.” He put the money on the counter behind you. “I’ve been wanting to pay you back. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You put—you put the money—“

“But seeing that you were able to buy a high-end escort for an entire week, I figured that maybe you wanted more. So I figured I’d give you half to get the full escort experience.”

“It was you—-“

Toji smirked, gently patting your cheek. “Yep, I found your bag in the kitchen last night. Put half the money in there.” Your ears started ringing as he pulled back. “So tell me, did he fuck you as good as I did? Did he make you scream and cry like me~?” He pulled back, smirking down at you. “Or have I ruined all other men for you?”

Ruined? The only thing he ruined was what you and Satoru had. He fucked this up! It was all because of him!

“You son of a bitch!” You screamed, slapping him across the face. Toji stumbled back, grunting as he cupped his cheek in shock. “Do you know what you did!?” You slapped him again, harder.

“Ow, what?!”

“You ruined everything!” He took several steps back as you grabbed the plastic flour container, throwing it at him, which he dodged. “Yes! I hired Satoru! But I wasn't going to sleep with him!” You tossed a spatula at him, trying to close the distance so you could hit him some more. “But what was supposed to be a job turned into something more! I liked him! I liked him, you asshole!”

Toji dodged a cookie tray, “Well, tell him that!” You rushed forward, slamming your fists against his chest.

“He found the money! And he assumed I was going to pay him to sleep with me!”

“Stop it!” He snarled, grabbing your wrists, forcing you to cease your assault. “Look, I didn’t know you legitimately liked the guy!”

You snapped, yanking your wrists free before kneeing him in the crotch. Toji gasped out, hands reaching down, cupping himself as he stumbled. Vision blurring with tears, you weakly slapped at his shoulders.

“You’re always ruining everything! You broke my heart! I didn’t get to pastry school, and I lost a nice guy because of you!” A gut-wrenching sob made its way through you. “Did you stop to think that maybe I was happy?!”

Your heart was pounding, thundering in your ears as you cried, and cried, and you kept crying as Toji straightened. “Look, I didn’t know it was serious. But if you keep hitting me, we’re going to have a major fuckin’ problem.”

He hissed his vague threat through his teeth. Hearing that only pissed you off more. So you did what anyone else would to the man who broke your heart and kept butting in your life. You pulled your hand back and slapped him as hard as you could. He winced, bangs shielding his eyes as he growled.

When he snapped in your direction, he received another slap. It was when you went in for a third slap that Toji’s hand flew up, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. He crowded you against the wall, scowling down at your smaller form.

“I told you to stop fucking hitting me!”

“I hate you! Let me go!”

“Are ya’ going to stop hitting me?!”

“No!”

“Then tough shit!”

You kicked at his shins, but he easily avoided you. You were going to kick his ass, beat him into a bloody pulp—once you freed yourself. But all the fight vanished as you saw two ivory fingers tap Toji on the shoulder. He turned around, only to be knocked back by a powerful punch. You stared at Toji, who spit out blood, his gaze locked on the man standing at six-three. Satoru shook his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles as he glared.

His lip twitched, revealing sharp canines as he stepped forward. “Oh, you think that hurt? Wait until I get a good hit in.” He clenched his fists into tight balls, continuing to close the distance between them.

“Oh, you don’t wanna fuck with me. I’ll fuck up your face so bad you’ll never get a ‘client’ again.”

“Why you—”

“Wait!” You yelled out, jumping between the two men and holding your arms out. “Stop! Stop it!”

Satoru looked down at you as if you’d lost your mind, his momentum stopping. Toji kept moving until your fingers grazed his chest. With a deep sigh, you looked up at Satoru, giving him a gentle smile, one that had his cheeks flushing.

“I got this.” the softness of your voice was the only convincing he needed. With a curt nod, he crossed his arms over his chest as you turned to look into Toji’s eyes. “You have fucked with my life for the last time.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep!” You grinned wide and warmly before punching him directly in the nose. “Try that shit again! I dare you! I fuckin’ dare you!!”

“Oooh!” Just as you went in for another punch, you were picked up, and Satoru carried you out of the kitchen. “Easy there, I don’t want you getting arrested.”

You flailed in his arms, “I’m serious, Fushiguro!” Your ex groaned, cupping his hands over his bleeding nose as you jammed your finger at him. “That was the last time you’ll ever interfere with my life!” You glanced over your shoulder, watching Satoru grab his forgotten sunglasses off the counter before heading down the hall.

“Oh!” You heard your mother squeak out as Satoru passed them. “What’s going on? I thought you said Satoru left!”

Satoru grinned, turning to face her as he passed. “Me leave her?” He shifts, throwing you over his shoulder. “I’m not making that mistake again.” You squeak as he bounds down the hall.

“W-Wait, the cobblers! Mom, take them out of the oven!”

The halls were a blur as Satoru carried you to the room you both had shared. Only once inside, he gently places you down, taking several steps back, giving you space. You remained silent, nursing the hand you had punched Toji with.

“Do you want some ice?” Satoru said softly, eyes following you as you sat down on the futon, thumb rubbing over your red knuckles.

“No.”

You could hear him wince at your stiff tone. “Are you sure?” He slowly approached you, not moving too fast, as if you would bolt if he did. “It could make baking hard if you don’t take care of it.” Your heart slowly crawled up your throat as he sat before you, crossing his legs.

“You know what I want?” Satoru inhaled slowly, holding it for the briefest of moments before exhaling.

“No, what is it you want?”

You slowly lifted your head, eyes locked on his. He was stiff, pulse visible in his throat as he waited for you. Seeing him like this, like a child waiting to be reprimanded, had you swallowing hard as you opened your mouth, the words leaving Satoru’s eyes wide as he rocked back at your request.

“You want what?”

Tag List/ (AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

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[mondaymelon]

₊˚ෆ 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄… | xiao, childe, scaramouche x gn!reader

⤷ art by @/Deltanpopo on twitter ! ❀

[ A coy thing, you are, daring to lie to them about your wellbeing. ]

— "I'm alright."

A scoff leaves XIAO's lips at your swift words, his mouth curling into a sneer, one absent of a smirk. His arms crossed over his chest, dark shadows cast over his eyes. "Come again?"

His glare was intense - dangerous, its malice not directed towards you, but instead to whatever had made you like... this. You could shield your form from his piercing gaze all you wanted. It'd do nothing to deter him. The knowledge he held of your character, the way your voice gave the slightest tremor, and the way your eyes slipped from his own... he let out a noise of annoyance.

"As I said, Xiao. I'm fine."

You were't a good liar. At least, from his knowing view. Unacceptable. His lashes fluttered as his eyes narrowed. Was he not reliable enough for the truth? Why was it that you'd refuse his assistance while you were clearly suffering?

"No." His voice was decisive, cold, but not in the manner of harsh, unforgiving ice, but the morning frost that bloomed on the dewy stalks of riverside reeds. "You aren't."

He felt your gaze pause at his lips, yet did not rise to meet his own. Your own mouth quivered, just the slightest, and you downcast eyes that glistened flicked their attention to the ground. "Xiao, I..."

You voice trails off. There's no need to say more. For you stood, enveloped in the adeptus' rare embrace, his pale skin cool, yet sparking an unquenchable warmth within your chest.

"If you aren't okay, that's okay. I'll just have to hold you in my arms, until you are." ₊˚ෆ

— "I'm alright."

A laugh escapes CHILDE's parted lips, a rather empty sound that resounded in your silence. It continues for a couple brief moments. "Ah, you're kidding, right?" He breaks into a smile that fades at the lack of your response. "Right?"

"Why would I be kidding?" You sighed, trying to sound as exasperated as possible. "I'm serious, Childe. I said I was fine." His gaze bore into you, to the point where you could feel your body smolder under his eyes. You shouldn't look at him now. Pursing your lips, you strengthened your resolve, but a moment of weakness upon hearing his shallow laughter was all it took to glance upwards. To meet his gaze.

A grave mistake, you had just unwittingly committed.

Before you could turn your head away, Childe's hand's caught you, one of them grabbing onto your chin and forcing your head to stay in place. "Say," his voice was low, quiet. A telltale sign of the anger that simmered underneath. "When did you get the notion that you'd be allowed to lie to me, and then get away with it scot-free, huh?"

The moment he had met your fleeting gaze, eyes locked onto yours, your verdict had been decided. Guilty. "Childe, it wasn't that I..."

"Oh, is it something you can't tell me, then?" His voice was softer now, but not in a threatening way, eyes melting with concern. Yes as much as he'd love to get at whatever - or whoever had made you so upset, he had a higher task of importance as of now. And that was to comfort the person before him, tentative under his touch. He slowly released his hold on your chin, instead giving your hair a ruffle that caused your locks to fly in disarray. "If so, then I won't push you anymore."

"I've... I've just had a really long day and-"

Your words lost their sound as instead, warmth replaced the quiet. Childe held you in his arms, delicately, like you were made of porcelain, and the slightest touch would shatter you. For someone as brash as him, to now stay silent, letting you let out all the world's concerns in his embrace...

"I won't say anything, alright? Just let it all out, and I'll listen." ₊˚ෆ

— "I'm alright."

At first, SCARAMOUCHE almost looks offended at your words. His brows are furrowed, and his eyes are drawn into a scowl. "What, care to repeat that? It's funny how you think you're fooling anyone."

It takes a moment to find your voice again, with how intense his eyes stare into you - indigo, flashing with electro power. Mesmerizing, dangerous, lethal if you drew too close. It didn't matter you supposed, you had already been in his reach for far longer than you cared to admit, and you had yet to be burnt away. "...I'm alright, nothing happened."

This time, your answer drew a startling laugh that bubbled from deep within him, a carnal yet almost melodious sound that flowed like water and blazed like flames. "Ah, that's funny. You've been hanging around the other Fatui, haven't you?" His gaze narrowed in distaste. "Disgusting, all of them. And from the likes of it, you've been picking up some nasty habits as well. Speaking nothing but the truth to me should be a given, yet you're saying such things without the slightest guilty conscience... I couldn't help but laugh!"

Guilty conscience my ass. Of course it took something out of you to lie to your.. lover. Yes, despite it all, Scaramouche was the one you were joined hands with - even in the male didn't act like it. Or perhaps he did, in a world of his own masked away in a guise behind a guise. His spark just drew you closer.

"Scara, you wouldn't understand...!" Don't get aggravated, keep your voice composed, steady. "It's... it's something personal, alright? I just.. I just don't want to talk about it right now. Give me time, please."

Please? His maniacal expression dimmed as he paused, just a brief moment. He hadn't hurt you, had he? No, you knew him well, well enough to know that that was just the person he was, didn't you? "...So it was like that?" He tried to hide his apologetic expression with a hand over the lower half of his face, but his eyes glistened regardless.

"Ah, just forget about it. If you're hurting, then... Come here, all right? I'll humor you, just for tonight." ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) okay okay so. i. im gonna try and post a fic every day this week. spoiler alert: its fucking exam week BUTBUT BUT im so close to a follower goal ive been wanting to reach and itd be so silly if we could hit it before new years!! that's why im gonna be listening to burnout playlists while typing away like my life depends on it.// wish me luck on my exams ahah. theyre tommorrow.

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader

-> teehee what if yall left a message on my christmas tree 😶😶😶

[cvnt4him]

................................................

"woah would you look at that, deku just took out that guy with a single punch!"

"he's so amazing!~"

"you're my hero!!!"

So many people chant, root, and holler for even the slightest glimpse of his attention, even a glance.

"Mr deku, what can you tell us about this villain, you hadn't even put up much of a hassle and yet he appears to be tired!" One report gleams.

It's true. He hadn't done too much, one simple practically, light punch and the criminal was already down, he knew that. Deku knew he was good, he knew others thought he was good. He thrived on that kind of energy.

"oh~, well you know, I'm not one to brag nor bring other people down, criminal or not we're all human." He sings to the reporter, hinting at the fact she gave the measly little lowlife schmuck at best, a promotion to 'villian'. cameras flashing everywhere as he heard a bunch of girlish screams, everyone looks over to see a bunch of fan girls rallying to get an autograph.

Dammit.

Izuku tried so hard not to let his smile faulter, its not that he disliked his fans, really he could never, he knows one of the reasons he's here is because of his fans, and he loves them all equally no matter what. However. scrolling on the Internet, especially as a pro hero it's hard not to go down a loophole of your own fans. Izukus fans are nice, sure. But they're also bat shit crazy.

Doxxing people for disagreeing, assuming he was gay for his best friend dynamite, writing fanfiction about him and his best friend dynamite, assuming he had a new significant other because he changed up his style of clothing??

Really his fans are too much, he loves them, he does. But they are just so...smothering?

As he sees the fans hurrying toward him he tries his hardest to jump away as he was stopped by a little deaf girl who wanted an autograph.

Shit. You can't NOT give a little deaf girl an autograph it'd be bad publicity. he sighs deeply in defeat, knowing how easily persuaded he is, he'll most likely be there standing, on his feet, smiling wide and big for fans, for the next hour and a half.

Izuku sighed deeply through his nose as he finally, after 5 more hours of working, made it back to his bed, that's all he wanted. He didn't bother taking his suit off just simply jumping in his bed and groaning at the comfort he longed for.

He grabbed his phone and opened Twitter.. that was the first mistake of the night, he scrolled through his feed coming across a post of a girl just rambling about her ever lasting love for deku.

He shifted in his bed so now he was laying back on his pillows, turning up the sound to hear your beautifully slurred voice.

"- like bro.. I don't think any of you understand how my NEED for this man is like just.. sigh. I'm about to go crazy bro. If I were given the chance I'd do unholy. Unspeakable. Down right horrendous things to this man, i- aHaAVE YOU SEEN HIS NEW HERO SUIT??" You were talking to your friend who had the idea to start recording you while you were drunk, laughing and snorting at you.

The video was posted by you, the caption read; 'my friend started recording while i was drunk and i randomly went on a rant ab my love for the #1 hero 💀'

He snickered at this, genuinely finding it funny, but sooner or later it registered in his brain what you'd said..you'd do what to him.

Before he knew it he was semi hard, he looked down at his slight hard on confused, there is no way this turned him on?? He had been sent so many videos of his fan girls from all ages going down on a dildo with his name slapped on it, he never found it the least but attractive, just kind of desperate..

He watched the video again, his cock becoming fully erect as he sighed at the uncomfortable feeling of his now leaking, completely hard cock, rubbing against his suit pants.

It had been a while since he'd done something like this.. since he had used someone..he needed this, just to relax. Just a couple of strokes to get him to come, that's all.

He let out a shaky sigh, slowly trailing his thick fingers up and down his clothed cock, earning a light squeak to rip from his throat due to the slight pleasure he felt from the gentle actions.

He knew he needed it, he needed this so badly, but he wouldn't rush it. He hated when he rushed things, he says 'they never get done correctly'.

So he would be patient with himself, gently palming himself over his suit pants, letting breathy sighs leave his slightly dried and chapped lips.

He looked over to his phone to see the paused video...

'oh what the hell.' he thought to himself as he grabbed the phone, angling and holding it close to his ear to hear your voice and the loud laughs that he hopefully tried to blur out of his mind. Focusing on your voice fully.

He held the phone close to his ear closing his eyes listening to your slurred speech, and the hiccups and giggles that left your mouth, he bit his lip as his palming motions began to get harder and more rough, "I would do down right horrendous things to this man." That line stuck with him, that's what made him undo his pants and shimmy them off so he could fully touch his leaking, crying cock.

He groaned in embarrassment and disgust in himself at the sight of his already soaked boxers, why did his cock have to be so leaky!!

He whimpered at the sight, pulling his boxers down just enough to have his cock hit against himself. He wrapped two fingers around his cock and rolled his eyes back, biting his lip to sustain the sound that wanted to come out. He stroked himself slowly, letting the precum on his tip continue to drip down his thick cock.

He had listened to the audio all over again this time fixating on the part where you'd talked about his suit. He had changed up his suit a couple of times, never really straying away from the original concept he had in highschool, the green was always there to stay, and he always liked the fact his suit was more of a jumpsuit kind of thing, but changing it over the years, he went with a tighter fabric for his new and improved suit, removing the bunny ears at the back, and adding a white cape, replacing his huge bulky gloves with just as thick, smaller and well fitted ones, the white the painted his suit was now black.

He hadn't done much to his suit really.

But you and so many others thought it was the sexiest thing in the world.

He loved that, that you loved his suit, he whimpered in a pitchy octave, eyes crossing as he shut them, breaths becoming uneven as he wraps his whole hand around his aching, dripping, cock. It yearned for release, he needed it, it hurt so bad but felt so good he couldn't stop, he was sooo close!

So so close, and yet.. not close enough to get him there. He abandoned all self respect and hope for 'not rushing things' he needed to come and the only way he could is if he really touched himself.

He ripped off the top of his hero suit before rummaging in his bedside drawer to grab a Fleshlight, it was a lot more advanced than your normal average pussy shaped fleshie, it had handle and so many different modes!!! It vibrated and wiggled and had a squirt thingy that shot lube inside to make his cock slippery, not that he'd need it, his cock is like a water fountain with so much cum to give.

He turned it onto its highest setting before settling his twitching cock, dribbling with precum, inside of it.

He couldn't contain the line of moans that ripped out of him, he wanted to really he did, he wanted to keep quiet for his neighbors but he just couldn't, he felt so fucking good, he'd felt that he'd never been this hot or bothered before especially not because of some measly audio that wasn't in any way remotely sexual, and yet he was so close to cumming because of it. This video. This person. You.

You were so close to making him cum.. he was right there bucking his hips up into the contraption, shaking, whilst his whole body spasmed as he threw his head back, sweat dripping from his tired and spent body, he groaned and moaned so loudly it was so lewd, he was so lewd. He couldn't believe what he was doing, he felt so dirty, but in this very moment, he couldn't care. He was so drunk off of the immense amount of pleasure he was receiving that all he wanted, needed, was to cum.

And when he finally released with a high pitched moan, globs of tears leaving his rolled eyes, there was so much, ropes of his white, hot, thick cum squirting inside of the toy. It was still vibrating against his softening cock, it made him so overstimulated yet he couldn't move, his orgasm was so strong he didn't have the energy to take his cock out. He just sat there, holding onto the toy that continuously vibrated and massaged his limp, thick, crying cock, crying, sniffing, and whimpering.

Hell he'd probably already came again without even knowing it, his orgasms had gone on for a while, he still couldn't move, just blissfully laying against his bed, covered in sweat and tears streaming down his reddened freckled face.

As he regained his composure, the overstimulation was more than enough, he hiccuped, wiping his face from the tears and sweat that covered it, as he turned off the toy and tossed it off of his bed, he was half naked, hot, and hungry.

He groaned as he draped one of his arms over his face, feeling the sweat and tears cover his forearm, as he heard the video that had been playing over and over again on repeat. His eyes shot wide open as he scurried to grab his phone. he looked at the video in disgust. Had he really just gone to a new low, and came to this stupid video of a dumb drunk girl complimenting him??

His post nut clarity was always bad, especially because he did some pretty down bad, disgusting, sinful things. But this? Yeah he deserved to suffer for all eternity.

He groaned placing his phone under his pillow as he buried his face in said pillow, squeezing his eyes shut at how hard he'd came, his cock still filthy and sticky with his thick ooey gooey cum, now dirtying his bed.

................................................

AN: he hates himself for how much and how hard he came, he really does.

I'm making a pt 2🤭

[cenittxnadir]

Lunch Box SingleDad!Miguel O´Hara x Reader

I think i'm going to make a small serie of SingleDad Miguel. Its going to have small fics, drabbles and headcanons. This is the second one I make, but is not a sequel so can read it any order you want.

You have been dating Miguel for awhile now and everything was perfect. Gaby and you got along quite fast, a little too fast. But she loves you and you love her.

Her favorite thing is the weekend, that means that you would stay at their house, so she has you and her dad for two whole days. She knows that Miguel has a time consuming job yours was a little more flexible but still.

Miguel loved how things were going, he was really happy but he couldn't help to feel a little bit jealous about the little bond you made with her daughter. Don't get him wrong, he loves you both, of course his type of love is different from one to another. He loves how you care for Gabriela and how she loves to spend time with you, but sometimes he feels that he's left outside. He just couldn't help it, he wants to have that communication that you have with her daughter, she tells you things that probably she would never tell him about, on the other side, he wants to have your full undivided attention only for him. There are days when he doesn't want to share his daughter and others when he doesn't want to share you.

You knew about it, he gets all grumpy when he hears you talking low in Gaby's room when you have your "girls night". He has tried to walk "by accident" in the middle of your chat only to get a "it's nothing" in response and then a few giggles when he leaves the room. Gaby and you use this to bother him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had just past one of those weekends, and now it was monday, your day off, so you didn´t left.

Miguel heard his alarm sound, he turn it off with a groan and turn his boby to reach you, but he felt your bed space empty he got up quickly from his place looking for you, you were nowhere in the bedroom, all lights where out except for the little light that came out under the door meaning someone was on the kitchen or living room.

Against his will he got up, he felt cold without your presence. He rubbed his sleepines off his face with his hands. He didn´t want to get up yet, he would dragg you back to bed and sleep late until he had to "call sick" so he can spend more time with you.

When he arrived to the kitchen he saw you there, looking for something in the freezer, you were still in pijamas wich was pretty much some shorts and a shirt courtesy of Miguel's closet. He can hear the sizzle of the pans on the stove and the smell of whatever you were cooking.

"What are you doing up? It´s 6:15 am" His voice was low and groggy.

You gave a little jump, you didn´t expected to see him awake you turn to see him with a hand in her chest. "Dios mío Miguel, give me a warning." He just kept looking at her waiting for an answer. "Oh, I´m making a lunch box for Gabriela"

"Why? She eats at school" He look at you more confused

"Oh, well hehe, she told me that last week there was an insect on her smash potatoes"

"Why I didn´t knew about this?" An insect on his daugther´s food!? That was unacceptable, he would definitely change her from school.

"Because she didn´t want to worry you, besides i´m more than happy to cook for her, its not the first time I make her a lunch box, I usually made them in my apartment and bring them to her school in my luch hour" You star packing everything in her lunch box - funny thing: it was from Spiderman-

His eyes never left you, he followed every movement you made until his stomach rumbled in the middle of the silences. You looked at him. "I´m going to start breakfast. Go get ready."

He gave one last look to the lunch box then he turn to you standing in the middle just like a small kid. "Hmmm... Love? Can i get..." he lower his voice.

You turn to see him "You can get what?"

"I said if I could get..." Again. He wisper

"Mi amor habla más fuerte, no te entiendo. ¿Qué necesitas?"

"Que si puedo tener una yo también" He exchange looks between the lunch box and you.

"A lunch box? You want me to make one for you?"

"Yes please"

You couldn't keep yourself from smiling "Claro que si mi amorcito, I can make you one" You grab his face "Go get ready for work"

Minutes later everyone had finished eating Gabi clean the table while Miguel was getting his stuff in the trunk once he was done he told Gabriela to get in the car and wait for him.

He ran back to the kitchen to grab his lunch box in the counter.

"Wait Miguel, you forgot your dessert" You handle him a small box similar to the bigger one which contains the main food only that this one was cold. "Keep it cold until dessert time my love, its a surprise"

"Gracias"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He can´t concentrate in work, he was constantly looking to the small freezer that he kept in his office, far from Hobie - he tend to stole his food- checking allmost every minute his watch hoping time moves faster so lunch time could arrive and finaly eat whatever you made him.

Finally lunch time arrived and he enjoy every single bite of his food, he felt like a kid again, eating home food in peace. Once hi finished his food he began to clean everything until he found the small box, he was full but he didn´t care it was his dessert, made by his lovly girlfirend, of course he´s going to eat it.

He opened the box, it took him a while to process what was happening, he grabbed what was inside lifting it up to get a better look. It was a strawberry, a blue one, with something red on it. Once he took a better look he almost let a squeal scape his lips, they were straberries covered in blue chocolate with some marks made with red chocoalte pretending to be his Spiderman mask.

He was definitely going to hide them from Hobie.

[choerypetal]

Princess / Logan Howlett ༄ ‧₊˚

summary: logan's variant in wade's world is indifference of the one you were familiar or heard about. until he proves you wrong on the rumors being spread about him.

ps; i apologies if there is a few grammatical errors, as english isn't my first language.

enjoy!

Logan’s heightened senses drove him to madness, fixated on what he considered his. Though his other selves shared similar traits, his obsession was a love language all its own—a twisted devotion that everyone recognized, and no one could forget.

Meeting him felt vague, yet endearing—at least in Wade’s eyes, especially when he caught the slight stutter in your voice. Your frame was just a bit smaller than Logan’s, something Wade couldn’t resist teasing you about, loudly enough to draw Logan’s protective gaze. “Will you leave them alone? I’m still amazed you have any friends with that loud mouth of yours,” he quipped, his tone half-joking but fully defensive.

Poor thing—a nickname he’d mostly outgrown, reserved now for special moments. Like when you struggled to reach something just out of your grasp. He’d watch you for a moment, scoff softly, and set his journal down before his shadow loomed over you. With effortless ease, he’d retrieve the item, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Poor thing,” he’d murmur. “You could’ve just asked the man for help.”

A pout formed on your lips as you rolled your eyes at his remark. Was he always such an asshole? You wondered, though it was hardly surprising after the stories Wade had shared about their first encounter. Searching for one variant was challenging enough, but finding the one in Wade’s world was something else entirely. Despite initially hating him—just as he harbored a slight disdain for you—you eventually outgrew your disdain for Wolverine, outgrew the man you never imagined you’d feel safe with.

After just a few months of living together, it was Logan’s feelings for you that began to deepen. A man of tradition, he’d often help you cook for Wade and anyone else who joined, a gesture you were slowly getting used to. But Wade, ever the tease, would sneak in during Logan’s absence and whisper, “If he doesn’t confess, I’ll make him confess.” His remark usually earned a smack on the chest, just as Logan would walk into the kitchen, eyebrow raised at the two of you. Wade, unfazed, would lean in and quip, “For my sanity, and everyone else’s.”

Later that night, Wade went out with Vanessa, giving you and Logan some rare time alone—a move you knew was just an excuse. As you washed the dishes, a comfortable silence settled over the room. Logan’s soft whistling filled the quiet, bringing a sense of calm that made you chuckle. He raised an eyebrow at the sound. “What’s so funny?” he asked, not looking your way as he finished the last of the plates.

You remained silent for a moment, a soft smile playing on your lips as you savored the peace. After a small shrug, you finally spoke. “Nothing, just enjoying this moment…” You paused, your eyes meeting his. “With you.”

Your quiet confession was enough to make him flustered. Though he hated feeling this way, he couldn’t deny the truth: your company was something he enjoyed, something he wanted to hold on to for as long as possible. Mirroring your smile, he saw you waiting for his response, so he gave it. “Me too,” he said softly, his voice calm as he set the towel down on the counter and turned to face you. Another moment of silence passed before you felt his thumb graze your chin. “And maybe spending even more time together…”

Your lashes fluttered, a detail he couldn’t help but admire—so much so, it drove him wild, igniting the possessive need to claim you as his own. Worthy of him, and only him, to love and cherish. “May I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low. The question wasn’t really an offer, not when you felt the same way. With a simple nod, you answered, “Anytime, Logan Howlett.”

Hearing his full name from your lips made him smile, envisioning a future where his name was etched into your heart. It was enough to fuel his desire, the need to make you his. He leaned in slowly, savoring the moment, though the hunger in him grew as your lips brushed against his. His strong fingers gently cupped your face before sliding to your waist, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as your legs wrapped around him.

He walked over to the couch, his hunger now transformed into a fervent passion. He wanted you, and as he sat down, with you nestled on his lap, it felt perfect. With a teasing smirk on your lips, you lightly brushed your hips against him. His head fell back, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. His voice came out rough, curses slipping through as he muttered, “You’re driving me insane. Come here, baby girl.” The nickname carried a shift in his tone—Logan had become the Wolverine, his wicked smirk and darkened eyes never leaving you. Finally, he confessed, “It’s a shame Wade isn’t here to see what I’m going to do to you tonight… to claim you as mine… Princess.’"

[kaleldobrev]

Mutual Pining

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Fem!Reader

Summary: Dean and you are in love with each other, and it's obvious to everyone but the two of you

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Cursing (10x), Mutual Pining, Fluff

Authors Note: Switches between reader and Deans “POV” but still written in the third person | This came out a lot longer than I thought, but I loved the way it turned out! I hope you guys do too! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

For as long as you’ve known Dean, he has always been incredibly nice to you, which initially surprised you given his gruff exterior. Growing up, you were always told to never judge a book by its cover, and things aren’t always what they seem to be; and you had felt that this truly applied to Dean. Despite his appearance (although a very attractive one you had to admit) and his very I don’t give a fuck attitude he sometimes gave off, he was genuinely one of the nicest, funniest, charismatic, loving, and selfless people that you have ever met in your entire life. He was just someone that wanted more than anything to love someone (to be loved by someone) – and craved touch.

He was a catch in all senses of the word: he was smart, sexy, cute, he could sing (well not good, but at least he liked doing karaoke!), he could cook and bake (you were teaching him a lot about baking lately, even though he did already know a thing or two), he was handy (both when it came to cars and household maintenance), and he was a nerd (Star Wars, horror movies, Star Trek, cartoons, you name it). For as long as you had known him, it amazed you that someone hadn’t snatched him up yet. Well, you knew about some of these instances (Cassie or Lisa for example), but Dean seemed to be under the impression that the reason it never seemed to work out with these women is because of the job, or he would blame himself. “I just don’t think you found the right woman yet.” You had told him. This had earned you a weird look from Dean, and since then, you hadn’t given your two cents into his love life, despite being one of his closest confidants.

For as long as Dean has known you, you’ve always been incredibly nice to him; even when he knew he didn’t deserve it. When he had met you years ago, it took him by surprise to find out that you were a hunter given your exterior and extremely bubbling personality and positive energy that you radiated (he would later come to start calling you Sunshine as he considered you the light of his life in his ever so present and consistent cloudy days he called his life). “Just because you’re a hunter, doesn’t mean you have to be depressed all the time.” You had said to him. “But we’ve all witnessed and endured horrible things. Don’t know how you can still be so happy.” He had said back to you. You had simply shrugged stating, “You have your way of coping, and I have mine.” What Dean had initially thought that he hated about you (you being that Ray of Sunshine) had actually grown into something that he would love and appreciate about you.

Something that he always tended to carry in the back of his mind is quote that you had frequently said: Never judge a book by its cover, and things aren’t always what they seem to be; and he felt that your quote really did apply to you. Despite the type of energy that you give off, and despite your colorful array of clothing, you were genuinely one of the best hunters that he has ever met or worked with in his life.

You were a catch in all senses of the word. You were smart, cunning, funny, cute, sexy (even when you weren’t even remotely trying to be). You knew how to cook and bake (he was particularly fond of your peach and apple pies that you had made), you could sing (despite you saying how awful you were, your voice had sounded like honey to him), and you knew how to shoot a gun almost as good as him (in reality, you were probably a much better shot, but he would never admit that). It amazed him that you hadn’t settled down yet, even though he knew that was something that you had wanted to do at some point in your life. “I guess I just haven’t found the right yet guy. Just like how you haven’t found the right woman yet.” You had told him. “He’s sitting right in front of you Sunshine,” he had desperately wanted to say to you.

It was a lazy Sunday at the Bunker, and since there was no cases you had decided that you were going to do some baking today. You had promised Dean that you would him your famous peach and apple pie sometime this week, and since that was something you promised him last Tuesday, you were getting near close to almost falling through with your promise – something that you didn’t want to do, especially when it came to Dean.

Dean didn’t ask for much. So when he asked ever so politely if you could make this for him adding “no rush of course” at the end of his request, you were more than happy to oblige. This man has saved your ass more times than you could possibly count, and never asked for anything in return. So, the least you could do for the man was bake him a pie right?

Walking into the kitchen you were wearing your comfy clothes which consisted of a very faded AC/DC shirt that Dean had lent you they you had never given back (to be fair, he never asked for it back), a plain hot pink sweatshirt, black sweatpants and hot pink fuzzy socks.

Rolling up your sleeves, you walked over to the cabinet to grab everything they you would need in order to make the pie for Dean. Technically speaking, you were making the pie for everyone to enjoy, but you knew the second Dean for a whiff of the peachy and appley goodness, he would most likely hoard this (not that you had a problem with that, you were happy that he enjoyed your cooking and baking that much).

Placing your phone on the counter, you decided to play some music, picking the playlist you had rightfully named “Baking/Cooking Jams” (pun intended), so the quietness didn’t seem so eerie to you. You didn’t like the quiet at times, but you had such fond memories of singing along and dancing along to the music when you were a little girl in the kitchen with your mom or grandma.

One of the things that you appreciated, was the fact that none of the boys made fun of you while you did this (not that it would have bothered you if they did), but you half expected one of them to say something. The closest any of them had gotten to “making fun” of or commenting on your dance moves or singing had come from Dean, and his comments which very complimentary. You were so thrown off, that at first you thought he was fucking with you.

It’s been almost a week since Dean had requested you make your famous peach and apple pie, and there was a part of him that was starting to get just a tad disappointed when you hadn’t made it yet. But one of the things that was holding him together, was the fact that you always kept your promises and followed through with them (it was one of the things that he loved about you. He had asked for the pie on Tuesday, and it was now Sunday. He had wanted to re-ask you, but decided against it because he didn’t want to seem pushy and he didn’t want to bother you with what he seemed to be a silly request. “You could never bother her Dean. Trust me.” Sam had told him numerous times.

As Dean walked down the hallway of the Bunker, he could hear the quiet sounds of your music coming from the kitchen. The only reason he knew that it was your music is because he recognized the current song that was playing as a part of “Baking/Cooking Jams” playlist (pun intended). He smiled, hoping that since you were listening to this playlist it meant that you were baking something - specifically, baking the pie that you had promised him.

Dean peaked his head into the kitchen and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight before him. You were bopping your head, quietly singing along, and shaking your shoulders to the music as you were lining a tin with your homemade pie crust. You were wearing your hot pink sweatshirt (something that he loved always seeing you wear) and your fuzzy socks (another thing that he secretly loved). Wonder what’s underneath. Hope it’s one of my shirts…or nothing at all…He thought to himself. No Dean, don’t think that way.

Almost as if you could read his mind (which he knew you couldn’t do and was extremely thankful that you couldn’t) you stopped your dancing and looked at him, giving him the biggest smile you could muster up. “Hey you!” Your voice sounded so cheerful, so inviting, it practically made him melt.

“Hey Sunshine.” He said, walking into the kitchen and making his way to the island. “Whatcha making?” He asked, as if he couldn’t tell from the fresh cut apples and peaches on the counter in front of him.

“Your favorite.” You smiled, alternating between placing the peaches and apples into the pie tin. “Sorry it took so long Dean.”

Your apology surprised him. “Why are you saying sorry?” He questioned; you literally had no reason to be apologizing to him right now.

“Well, I know you asked for this Tuesday and it’s Sunday now.” Your voice that was once full of joy, was now sounding almost slightly sad and embarrassed, almost as if you were disappointed in yourself. “I swear I didn’t forget. Got a bit sidetracked with research this week.” You looked down just then, finishing up with the filling.

“Hey.” He began to say and you looked up at him. “Please don’t apologize for something like that okay?” You nodded. “Need any help?”

You shook your head. “I’m good Dean. But thanks for the offer.” You said, placing the pie into the oven.

“It’ll be ready soonish.” You gave him a smile. He could sense that you were trying to go back to your joyful voice, but you seemed still slightly upset, despite you having no reason to be.

Although you said you didn’t need the help, Dean started to gather all of the dirty dishes that you had made while you were baking. “Dean, you don’t have to do that.” You said as you watched him bring all of the dishes into the sink.

He turned the faucet on and looked at you. “It’s the least I can do Y/N.”

“I would have done it.” You walked over to the sink, picking up a dish rag and started drying the dishes he was finished washing. He looked at you briefly before letting out a small chuckle. “What?”

“Sweetheart, no you wouldn’t have. You would have left the dishes in the sink and I would have come to clean them up anyway. I know you love baking and cooking, but you hate the clean up.” You had started to open your mouth to comment, but you knew what he had said to you was the truth. Yes, you didn’t mind doing dishes, but you hated doing a large amount of dishes.

“I see Y/N finally made you your pie.” Sam said, gesturing to the giant slice of pie that Dean came walking into the War Room with.

Dean walked over with the biggest smile on his face. “It’s her best one yet.” Dean said, mouth full of pie. He sat down across from Sam who was on his laptop. “I really do think the singing and dancing helps.”

“I don’t know why you just don’t tell her.” Sam said.

“She knows I like her singing and dancing.” Dean took a mouthful of pie and Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his brother.

“I mean how you feel about her.” Sam’s comment had made Dean stop chewing his pie mid bite before he gulped it down.

Dean went to open his mouth, to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything clever or snarky to say. “I’ll pass.” He decided to say.

“You’ll…pass? What does that even mean?” For as long as Sam had been around you and Dean, it seemed completely obvious to everyone that you two had feelings for each other, but for some reason, it seemed like neither of you understood that you two had feelings for each other.

“I said, I’ll pass.” Dean repeated. “What about that can’t you wrap your head around?”

“Dean, you’ve been in love with Y/N since you’ve met her. Which, honestly, is quite a record.” Sam had never seen his brother be so in love with someone before, let alone being in love with someone for as long as he had been in love with you.

“Look Sam, she doesn’t like me in the way okay? I’ve made my peace with that. Why would I tell her that I love her if she doesn’t feel the same way? Sounds very silly to me.” Dean got up from his chair and walked out of the room with this now empty plate.

You were lying down on your bed with your laptop in front of you researching. You weren’t really researching anything in particular, just random things that had peaked your interest. As you were typing away, a small knock came from the other side of your door. “Who is it?” You asked.

“It’s Sam.”

“Come in!” You called back, the door opening and quickly shutting just as fast. You questioned the abruptness of the door. “Everything alright?”

“Peachy.” Sam replied. He pointed to the edge of your bed. “Can I sit?” You nodded.

“Did you get to try any of the pie yet? Or did Dean finish it already?” You joked, closing your laptop.

“No, not yet. He uh, he didn’t finish it yet shockingly.” Sam’s expression looked at you more serious now. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” You smiled.

“Have you ever thought about telling Dean how you feel?” His question seemed to be coming out of nowhere.

“I…No.” You had wanted to tell Dean more than anything how you felt about him, but you knew that he didn’t feel the same way about you. “Why would I tell Dean that I love him when I know for a fact that he doesn’t feel the same way? It’s a little silly don’t you think?” Sam couldn’t help but almost let out a laugh. You two really are meant for each other. Sam thought to himself.

“But what if, there actually is a chance that he loves you too?” Sam asked.

You laughed. “Don’t you think he would have told me by now?”

“What if he’s afraid of the same thing you are?”

“Meaning…?” You weren’t completely sure of the point that Sam was trying to make to you.

“Meaning, what if he loves you too but thinks that you don’t love him back?” You furrowed your brow at Sam’s question.

“Dean afraid of telling me how he feels?” You laughed. “He doesn’t love me Sammy, trust me. I know what he looks like when he’s in love, and that ain’t the same way he looks at me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Sam challenged.

Dean and you both were laying awake at night, thinking about the comments that Sam had said to the both of you. The both of you had similar thoughts in your minds: Does Dean really love me? Does Y/N really love me? Have I been reading the signals all wrong?

“Sam wouldn’t just bring that up if he didn’t say something right?” You said quietly aloud to yourself.

“Did Y/N say something to him?” Dean said quietly aloud to himself.

“I could easily ask him.” You said.

“No, no. I can’t just ask her.” Dean said.

“Sam’s fucking with me.” You and Dean said in unison.

“No…Sam wouldn’t do that.” You rationalized with yourself.

“No, Sam wouldn’t fuck with me like that.” Dean rationalized with himself.

“He’s literally right down the fucking hall. I could just…be hypothetical?” You questioned.

“It’s three in the morning. She’s probably sleeping.” He said.

“Fuck it.” You two said in unison, both practically jumping out of your beds.

You opened your door and started making your way down the hall. As you were walking, you were trying to keep your composure despite how nervous you were in that moment. “Don’t chicken out now Y/N.” You mumbled.

“Alright. You got this. You got this.” Dean mumbled. “Don’t be a pussy now.”

Your head was down, but just up enough to catch yourself if someone else was in the hallway. As you were walking you noticed Dean coming down the hallway, he seemed nervous and you wondered why.

“Fuck I can’t do this.” You whispered and started turning around back toward your room.

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice had made you stop in your tracks, making you turn back toward him.

“Hey.” You tried to make your breath even. “What are…What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He replied.

“I asked you first.” You said.

“I…Wanted to talk to you.” He sounded so nervous.

“At three in the morning?” You questioned.

“Yeah I uh…You know what, this can wait till later.” He said, starting to turn back into the direction of his room.

For some reason you had found yourself running after him, like you were in some cheesy romcom that you both secretly loved. “Wait.” You grabbed his arm, and he almost spun back in your direction.

Dean looked at you before looking at your hand. It amazed him each and every time how soft they had felt whenever you touched him. God, what I’d do to feel your hands all over. He thought to himself. “What’s up?”

“Dean…” He watched you take a deep breath. You were nervous and he could tell. He had known you long enough to know what you were feeling by just your body language.

You removed your hand from his arm, and he already missed the contact. “Y/N?” He asked.

“I uh…Can we talk in your room?” You asked, and he found himself automatically nodding.

“Of course.” He gave you a smile, hoping that would comfort you in some way.

You didn’t realize how nervous you truly were until you had made your way into Dean’s room. You had been in his room numerous of times (even spending the night in here) and it always strangely gave you comfort, but not in this moment. It was one of the rare occurrences in which even the calmness his room usually gave you, ceased to help you.

Dean shut the door behind you, something that made you even more nervous. You weren’t afraid that the door was shut, a majority of the time you and him had been in your room or his room, the door was usually shut. “I can, I can leave it open if you want?” He almost questioned, gesturing toward the door.

“No. No. It’s fine.” You said. “Can I…Mind if I sit on your bed?” You asked. It felt strange asking to sit on his bed. In normal circumstances, you would have just walked into his room and just sat down, never asking if you could first. Something that you were now realizing, was that you were the only person that never had to ask if you could sit down on his bed - everyone else had to ask him.

“You know you don’t have to ask.” Dean sat down on the edge of his bed and patted the spot next to him, in which you hesitantly sat down.

Dean looked into your eyes as you sat down next to him, placing your hands on your thighs. You rubbed them up and down. It kills me to see how nervous you are. He thought to himself, so badly wanting to say it out loud to you. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m nervous.” You let out a small, nervous chuckle. It made his heart ache.

“I’m nervous too.” He said, hoping that it would make you somehow less nervous.

“Why are you nervous?” You asked. Crap. How do I answer that? He thought to himself.

“Probably for the same reason you are.” He looked at your face, looking for some kind of hint of what you possibly could be thinking.

“I highly doubt that.” You looked away, and folded your hands as if you were back in school, patiently waiting for the teacher to give you instructions.

It started to seem very evident to Dean now, that you were either nervous because Sam was right - you did in fact love him, or you were nervous because you were trying to figure out the best way to tell him that you didn’t feel the same way that he did about you. Either way, it scared him.

“I…I thought this would be easier somehow.” You admitted, after what seemed like a forever amount of silence between the two of you.

“I feel like I friggin teenager.” Dean joked, you knew he was trying his best to lighten the mood.

“Same here.” You gave him a nervous smile. “Um…Dean…” You took a deep breath, trying to figure out the best way to tell him, while at the same time, talking yourself out of telling him. “You know you’re my best friend right?”

“You know you’re my best friend right?” There is was, the sentence that he didn’t want to hear.

“Yeah.” He said, feeling his heart quickly sinking into the pit of his stomach.

“And you know I appreciate you more than anything.” You couldn’t even look at him; he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse somehow.

He reached out for your arm, gently grabbing it. “I appreciate you too Sweetheart. And I know I don’t tell you that enough.”

“Don’t be silly. You show me plenty.” Your statement was true, he may not have realized it, but there were plenty of times when he had found himself doing things to show you how much he truly cared and appreciated you, even when he didn’t outright tell you - you were the same way. You sighed. “Dean –”

“Before you say anything, I just want to tell you that whatever you say to me, our friendship is never gonna change. I won’t hate you. I could never hate you, okay?” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure you, or reassure himself in that moment.

“Here it goes then.” You took yet another deep breath.

“Fuck it.” You heard Dean mumble. Not even getting a second to react, his lips were suddenly on yours. His lips were just as soft as you had thought that they would be. Despite wanting to kiss him for as long as you had known him, you never thought that this is how your first kiss with him was going to go.

The kiss was quick, and not nearly as long as you had wanted it to be. He released his lips from yours and he stared at you blankly, almost embarrassed. “Sorry.” Dean said. “I uh…” He was actually speechless. “Shit.” He let go of your arms.

“Sammy was right.” He hears you mumble.

“What did my brother tell you?” He needed to know how badly the damage control was going to be, and how much he was going to kill his brother.

“He…He asked me if I um…If I ever thought about telling you how I feel.” So Sammy got to you too huh, Dean thought. “I told him that it would be silly of me to tell you how I felt because I knew you didn’t feel the same way.” You chuckled, nervously. “I guess…I guess I was wrong.”

“I told Sammy the same thing earlier.” He admitted. “As much as I wanted to tell you…” He trailed off, unsure of what he had wanted to say next, because there was so much he had wanted to say to you.

“You didn’t want to ruin our friendship in case I didn’t feel the same way.” You said, practically finishing his sentence for him. “I felt the same way. I mean, you know just as well as I do how hard it is to find people you can trust and rely on. I love both of you, and I didn’t want to say or do anything that would of fucked my relationship up with you guys.”

“So, what do we do now?” You asked, unsure of what was going to happen next. Just because the two of you had admitted your feelings for each other, doesn’t mean that you would actually do anything about it. As much as you had wanted to try out a relationship with Dean, you knew that he wasn’t much of the relationship type – then again, maybe it was because he hadn’t found the right person?

Dean looked over at the clock, noticing that it was almost 4:30 in the morning. He looked back over to you, almost looking too tired. “You spend the night in here with me. Or, morning in here with me.”

“And do what Dean?” You asked, curious as there could be a million things on his mind.

“Just lay here together…” He began to say, slightly pulling you in close. “Maybe cuddle…” He continued, leaning in slightly, inches away from your lips.

“Do some more kissing maybe…?” You whispered, slightly questioning. “Or are you too tired?”

“Hmmm, don’t think I’d ever be tired enough to not kiss you Sunshine.” He smiled tiredly, leaning in and kissing you again.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @jackles010378 If you would like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

[hwaightme]

Bonnie on the side

THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut)

(masterlist) (perma-taglist)

🏩 pairing: businessman!cheater!seonghwa x fem!reader 🏩 genre: smut, pwp, angst, slight fluff? ish? 🏩 summary: you could never escape park seonghwa, every business trip turning into an excuse to fall deeper, leading you to consider a role laden with sacrifice, lies and one that you never in a million years thought you would, nor could take. 🏩 wordcount: 4.7k 🏩 warnings/tags: language, edited? funny, explicit cheating, secret-keeping, grey line between lust and love, hwa has a female fiancée (she/her pronouns), rich businessman hwa with a black card, hotel manager!reader, lmk if anything 🏩 a/n: this in no way represents seonghwa <3 i just over-listened to the song 'sad girl'. i appreciate you all, any and all reblogs, notes, thoughts appreciated, much love! 🏩 playlist: sad girl by lana del rey, illicit affairs by taylor swift, fine line by harry styles, say yes to heaven by lana del rey, love is a bitch by two feet, salvatore by lana del rey, midnight love by girl in red

🏩 nsfw tags: soft dom!hwa, sub-leaning!reader, mention of multiple rounds, no protection (wrap before you tap), mention of the pill, hwa is rough but verbally loving, sweat (and other fluids), cumshot inside, overstim implied, intimate sex, needy as hell, mention of tears and begging, petnames (darling, love, good girl), praise, fucks the love into reader, implied cheating as a possible turn on

When you locked eyes with the owner of the black card, you knew that there was no easy way out. His eyes, fiery, sharp, alluring bore into your flesh and burned the man’s features into your brain. It was obvious that he would haunt you, be it in the waking world or as soon as you would succumb to a turbulent and short-lived slumber. He would be there. Always. Try as you might, there was no escaping him; in the end, even prey was honoured to be a sacrifice to the beast.

“All done, Mister Park Seonghwa, we hope you enjoy your stay with us at Hotel Horizon. My colleague here shall guide you to your room, and your bags will be following suit.”

You bowed, the angle and positioning of your shoulders and arms having been drilled into you after years of practice and execution. In the early days, the gesture would have given you strain; now it was not even second, but primary and central nature. And a method of avoiding his gaze, much to your fortune. Both hands outstretched and holding the card by its very edge so as to not make contact and maintain utmost respect, you waited for the businessman to retrieve it. It seemed that he was waiting for something, but you did not dare check. Not until you could rid yourself of the pesky item and move on to giving him the pass to his room. This was going to be a long morning. After what felt like minutes of motionlessness, you lifted your head slightly, only to see that he had not ceased his observations, still trained on you, though without a hint of malice nor lewdness. Merely more present than anyone else in the hall, or the city, for that matter. The scrutiny reminded you more of how one would study a painting or a statue in a museum, without much of an opinion nor goal in mind. Simply existing in the same space, convincing you that you were existing to be perceived by him. The thought sent a chill down your spine which you only just managed to suppress, though it appeared that the minute pursing of your lips was enough of a reaction for Seonghwa to take the cursed card from your now weak hold, and give you a dazzling, albeit slightly tired smile. 

“Thank you, Miss… L/N Y/N. I really appreciate it,” the timbre of his voice caused the phrase to reverberate in your head, making your name sound much more important than it had ever been. Even on your own passport. You gave him a grin - one that was approved by your employer and by the common standards of high end hotels, and refused the gratitude. Just like you had to. Just like you wouldn’t behind closed doors.

The uniform shirt felt tight, the tie was transforming into a noose around your neck, and the air conditioning was doing nothing to help combat the rising heat. Hellfire surrounded you, and was beginning to consume you. Your fellow hotel staff were somewhere far away and ignorant of the inferno, though physically close. Like clockwork, they were little soldiers parading and doing exactly what had to be done. Nothing more, but most importantly, nothing less. Such was the standard at Hotel Horizon, and it was something that you had always been proud of when you were at your best and most professional. But now you were crumbling, and with every visit by the same temptation, you were losing yourself more and more. If only you could return to being that bright-eyed and bushy-tailed new joiner who still knew nothing about the world, building castles in the sky and making the hotel life your everything. It was easier then, without the harsh reality of wanting more, and wishing for the most beautiful bird flying close to the heavens, rather than holding your own little sparrow dear in your hands and nurturing it. You let go of your soul’s freedom so thoughtlessly, and sinfully loved every second of it. Would you do it again? Most certainly. You knew you were going to do it again. That same night. 

You adjusted your vest discreetly, pulling on the bottom edges until you felt a light friction against your chest. In a fraction of a second, you were back to your removed self, dutifully completing your tasks until the pass, and the spare pass were both on their journey into the breast pocket of Seonghwa’s suit jacket. He tilted his head as he gazed into your orbs. It was not too challenging to read him, judging by the expectation written all over his features. He was rehearsing how he would ‘dispose of’ the spare key. Both of you had done this before, and the shared secret was another sweet taboo that you missed when Seonghwa was not around. After his visit to the rooftop bar where he would get his usual mocktail, it would be left in the large floral arrangement, in the statement vase down the corridor from Seonghwa’s room where the cameras did not reach - you had checked on multiple occasions, and never brought up the issue even though it was a security risk. It was a guarantee of safety for you and for him, and that made it more than worth it. 

“Not a problem. If you require any assistance or room service, do not hesitate to call the numbers provided in the pamphlet,” it was a struggle to not chuckle at your choice of words - room service. Were you going to be room service? Have you always been?

Seonghwa, however, did not appear to find your approach comical, instead taking it literally, remaining immersed in his role. He had always been a brilliant actor, or so you were partial to believing. You had the chance to witness his mastery when his fiancée had called on a couple of occasions some time ago, normally when she was somewhere abroad, and had a total disregard for time zones. Most likely, should anyone ever ask her, Seonghwa had insomnia and incredible stress, and ‘had meetings early the next day so he had to hang up to catch at least a couple of hours of sleep’. According to you, it was when he was tangled in the sheets at Horizon that he was himself, and he could let go of at least a fraction of the dulling pressures of his otherwise daily catastrophe. And no, he did not have meetings. At least not until a much more reasonable hour. And if he did, he was perfectly fine tuning in from the comfort of the hotel. The rolling of the eyes, the tightening of his lower jaw right before he answered the phone call with a ‘sweetie’; it made you want to laugh hysterically, loudly, right in her face - one which was at the forefront of your mind ever since you finally figured out her full name.

“Thank you. Have a lovely evening, Miss Y/N.” 

“Thank you,” you were practically shivering as he turned on his heels, following one of your colleagues towards the elevators. Though he was not directly inspecting you anymore, his glances still haunted you, littering your skin with burns.

All you could hear was how the rubber soles of his chunky dress shoes hit the marble floors, and all you could bear to witness was the swaying of his hips, the delicate curve that marked his phenomenal waistline that you were dying to grab, concealed only by the onyx jacket, along with a black shirt that was teasingly semi-translucent, with cutouts hinting at your favourite body, at the most angelic, yet downright sinful being who was a repeating graceful fall in your life. When Seonghwa turned to wait by the elevator doors for the familiar ‘ding’, making idle chat with the bellboy, he did not hesitate to look back at you and give you a nod, accompanied with the ghost of a smile - forever yours, Park Seonghwa. You pulled at your vest again, longing to be out of it, ablaze. Time was cruel, seconds trickling like lazy grains of sand in an hourglass, as many as there were buttons on your lover’s shirt, and yet it was still too long. So much for living in the now, when all you wanted was for the clocks to speed on ahead, and then freeze only when you commanded them. Mid-tryst, mid-secret. That way, there surely would no risk of anyone finding out why Seonghwa picked this hotel every time he visited, how by some mysterious coincidence, you were at front desk on the day he would register, and how, every time, you appeared to be pleasantly surprised, though not nearly enough to be total strangers.

With danger came a different kind of high, you had realised as you guided yourself back to your responsibilities, hiding behind a facade, and once you had gotten a taste of the concept of ‘getting away’ and not being caught, you were addicted to it just as much as you were to the one you blamed. When you got a moment to yourself, with another staff member who had been tasked with checking guests in bidding you farewell to have a quick break, you immediately shut your eyes and massaged your temples. It was going to be a long night. You tilted your head side to side, not exactly needing to stretch but making an appearance - for others except one you were void of ardent emotion; for others except one you did not think, operating exclusively by the work manual, impeccably executing every action down to the tiniest detail. Just like you would stealthily make your journey to take your place as his one and only for the night. Check in. Check out.

He liked to bear witness to the disaster he caused. That was how you found yourself pinned against the bed, with Seonghwa having intertwined his hands with yours, knuckles turning white, cotton fabric imprinting itself to decorate scalding hot skin. He set a languid, but lethal pace that made the chunky silver necklace he wore slap against his neck. Each thrust was deeper than the previous one, ruining what piece of dignity you had left. He muffled your whines and ecstasy-driven cries with his plush lips, kissing away the tiny traces of the waking day. With him, you were the night itself, biting into the forbidden fruit without hesitation. Seonghwa was the serpent, Seonghwa was the angel. In the throes of passion, the visions blended into one and all you were left with was the ability to stare back at his face, glistening with sweat, and even that was failing you. The world was a blur, and you wanted to be absorbed by it.

The beautiful, albeit troubled man could not get enough. He never could. Greedy, gluttonous, lustful, you spun threads out of his demons and made them all rise to the surface, possessing him for as long as you were around. Seonghwa could sense that you would be his undoing from the first time you had captured his attention - and he was not wrong. Before you, something like an affair was out of the question. Now, it felt as though it was you he was betraying every time he had to leave. A bead of moisture travelled down from his forehead, disappearing into his dark tresses that flew to and fro as he rolled his hips, guiding his throbbing member in and out of your wetness with practised mastery. When he leaned back to admire your tearful expression, entirely given up for him and only him, he could not help but leave a trail of feverish pecks across your jawline, to your ear, giving it a couple of nips before whispering:

“I missed you so much, darling.”

You could only mewl in response as he angled himself to directly hit your sweet spot, in turn making him groan when your walls clenched, begging for Seonghwa’s release. The rising stimulation made you even more vocal, and you were struggling to find support with how he pushed you into the sheets. He sensed your wriggling and let go of your hands, nudging you with his nose. The sweet aroma of sex and Black Opium filled your clouded mind, and you threw your arms around your lover, crying out his name. The action made him speed up, pistoning his cock into your dripping cunt as best as he could in the intimate position. In these moments he wondered how he possibly could ever look away from you, from your presence in his life, only to return to a palette of low contrast greys and a numbing dullness.

You bucked upwards when he thrusted into you with particularly satisfying aggression, prompted by a building anticipation of a carnal collapse. Sweet nothings blended with rage, filth with innocent musings as strained whines became your new, and his favourite language. A strand of hair, almost the length of his impeccable face stuck to his temple, the dampness, prompted by animalistic exertion turning into an accessory fitting of a divine performer, actor, demigod. While you could only just make out his shameless regard, the concealed emotionality consumed the last of your inhibitions. When you were connected, body and soul, he wanted to take this as a chance to reveal every inch, every thought that had ever passed by him. You read each one, praying for this exchange to last forever.

“Hwa-a-” you forced out, one hand falling to grasp the bedsheets while the finger dug into his flesh, careful not to turn inwards lest your nails leave a mark. 

How you mumbled his name as though it was the only thing you knew for certain, the syllable transforming into a universe you two had constructed for yourselves in the walls of The Horizon, sent its owner into overdrive. He could never escape you, nor would he ever wish to. You were his Garden of Eden, his beginning. Initially, he had been attracted to your cold resolve, your reserved nature, your resistance. Now, he would give up the world, sell his assets, become no one for the opportunity to see you at your most free. He was lost in your glossy eyes, wanted to worship how your lashes fluttered as you took him so terrifically. After meeting you, he had no challenges in understanding what ‘being made for another’ meant.

Seonghwa’s pants were your favourite music, and as more and more began to escape his reddened lips, overwhelming heat rushed to your core, causing you to throw your head back onto the messy pillows. Because of how he was hovering close to you, motion a sensory bliss, every stroke brushed against your aching clit before fading into unparalleled pleasure that you were floating in. You were breathless, on the verge of giving out, and judging by Seonghwa’s carnal grunts, and a string of curses moaned low, barely audible, he was in the same state. Together, as you always wished.

The velocity at which his high was approaching turned him to ruin. Roughly, he lifted your lower half by hooking you under the thighs and pulled you impossibly close. You let out a choked yelp when his hips pressed flush against yours, his length swallowed up by your hole. 

“Fuck, so perfect, baby, just for- ah, me-”

“Yes, yes, yes-” you chanted, voice high-pitched and airy as you accelerated towards your undoing.

“Wrap your legs around me, darling, I want to see you- shit yeah, just like that-”

You obeyed, shuffling to satisfy your lover. A hand landed on your lower abdomen as he began violently jackhammering into you, intoxicated from the feeling of the moving bulge. Lifting it, Seonghwa could not take his gaze off the sight, instead pulling you lower until he could sense his dick rubbing against your walls with even greater intensity. He moaned and doubled over, going faster, wishing nothing more than to permanently claim you. You could no longer make a sound, mouth opening and closing mutely, echoes of a name, unspoken worship caught in your throat.

“Sounds, darling, let me hear those pr- ah- pretty sounds,” he instructed, flying to hold onto your thighs as he relished in the squelching of your nectar leaking around him.

“Fu- I- I am-”

“About to?”

“Uh-huh-”

“Such a good girl, Y/N, that’s right, come for me-”

You did not need to be told twice; you shuddered, your body almost giving out and limbs turning into nothing more than a melted mass. The electricity that had been building within you crackled repeatedly, igniting your every muscle and leaving you a shaking mess, at the mercy of Seonghwa’s every gesture, every move. Suspended in oblivious bliss you listened to the lewd symphony of the bed’s swaying, Seonghwa’s balls slapping against you, and the sensation of your cunt pulsating around him, begging for more despite you being sure you could not take it. Arousal coated his cock and squirted out of you as the stunning man continued to chase his own orgasm, running down his toned thighs and onto the sheets below. You wailed, legs shaking with more vigour as he mercilessly pounded into you.

“Baby, I’m so close-”

“Inside,” you moaned, met with a particularly deep thrust and a searching expression. Using one hand Seonghwa cupped your chin, struggling to maintain a steady rhythm. Evidently, he was already holding back, rather than accumulating.

“W-what did you say?”

“I said, I wa-ant you to come inside me, Hwa,”

“Are you sure?”

“Y-yes I am on the pill,”

“Oh, darling-” he could not help but kiss you, his hair tickling your cheeks. When he moved back, letting you arch back into a more comfortable position, you could help but notice how much darker his orbs seemed to have gotten, “...fuck you so full with my cum you’ll be leaking until I can do this again, baby, is that what you want?”

“Y-ye-s-” you ignored the pang of melancholia that the phrase arose within your heart, biting hard on your lip when Seonghwa collided with you.

A guttural moan, more gorgeous than anything you had ever heard filled your ears, reverberated in your cranium. Hot, viscous fluid coated your inner walls, painting them a delicious white and mixing with your slick. After a few more stuttering drives of his softening length into your sopping pussy, Seonghwa threw his head back, a few tiny beads of sweat - like diamonds, launching themselves into the darkness. It was then and there that you were sure you had witnessed divinity. 

Gently removing himself - the soothing nature of his actions so astonishingly far removed from his earlier treatment, he sighed in delight at how the ropes of cum leaked out of your used hole, coating your folds, claiming you as exclusively his for the night. Seonghwa ran two fingers over the masterpiece, watching how the sticky juices formed strings of translucent white as he spread them apart. He climbed over to you, gesturing for you to open your mouth and smiling when you did without question.

“This is us, darling, care to give it a taste?”

As he watched you take his digits and suck on them with an adorable diligence, he realised it was doing little to abate his lust and longing for you. More, he always needed more, he concluded, pushing his tip against your stimulated bud with a sigh.

“Stay.”

“You know I can’t,” as soon as the words left your mouth, you were taken aback by the comical nature of the exchange. How funny it was that the two simple phrases held so much gravity, and could be said by either of you. Rearrangement of the variables still brought the same result. 

You continued to roll your tights up your legs which were tired after a spontaneous second round, careful to not tear at the material, while Seonghwa pierced your back with his searing stare. There was no need in turning to check on how he was positioned - the visage was intoxicating enough that you could draw it from memory. Hair, a hint of wave in otherwise impeccably smooth strands was styled by passion itself - a tousled fantasy. Glint of the necklace - a refined detail of the artwork that was he. Permanently sunkissed skin of his bare torso and toned arms was exposed to you, a last attempt of luring you back into the devil’s soothing grasp - one that you were sure that if you were to come back to, you would never leave. It would be a lapse of judgement to overstay your lack of welcome if you were hoping, at least partially, to see Seonghwa again. He was propping himself up, elbow digging into the mattress while the other rested on the waist that you adored to embrace, but could do only under the cover of the night that graciously chose to remain oblivious to your amorous ruses. His plush lips, still slightly reddened after the hungry kisses that made them all the more appealing. His nose - regal, elegant, that brushed against you sending electric shock after shock over your body. His eyes - deathly afraid to say goodbye, and yet never failed to contain the melancholy of parting. In these moments when you were tugging on your uniform, each article of clothing being a step closer to a mundane grayscale existence made from routines and systems in which you were nothing more than a pawn, you despised them, and had to mentally shake yourself and hurl yourself towards the life you were supposed to be leading.

“I think about you always,” he stated so casually that you almost paid it no mind, until a rustling preoccupied your senses. Seonghwa was moving, and from the dipping of the mattress, you could only conclude that he was stalking towards you. You needed to disappear, and fast.

This was a constant game between you and him, except a couple of ‘times’ ago, you stopped believing that there was to ever be a winner. It was clear as day that you were two broken hearted people, with your own paths, your own wounds, searching for an escape in whatever form you could encounter. You knew that Seonghwa was seeking a reciprocation, a ‘likewise’ or an ‘I think about you too’ spilling over the edge and into the intimate, illicit abyss. Who did not want to feel wanted? You smiled to yourself as you finally finished with the tights and took to buttoning up your shirt. 

A hand rushed to grab yours, prying your fingers away and reducing your instructions to nil, while the other pulled at the closest shirt sleeve to expose your shoulder. With a sigh, Seonghwa peppered kisses over you, over every curve and edge, upwards towards your neck, paying special attention to the area that would let him earn his most wanted response from you. You bit your lower lip and froze, resisting the urge to turn around, grab a fistful of his hair and sink back into a forbidden paradise. He was not giving up, noticing that you were no longer dressing nor pushing him away, and snaked an arm around you, forcing you to lean back into him. His breath was hot against you, the only thing you could feel aside from the dizzying taste of his lips, his teeth, the tip of his tongue grazing supple and sensitive skin. 

“Hwa…” you whispered, stifling a moan as your deviant lover sucked at the base of your neck, insatiable. 

“Hm?” his hum was sweet, sweet music, and you tilted your head back only to fall into him.

“There’s no time,” you tried, and made an honest rock forwards, only for your motion to be blocked, and for Seonghwa’s fervour to climb. Trepidation and inklings of a craving sparked behind your ribs, and you gripped the bedsheets exposed between your legs to retain the last ounce of sanity.

“There’s always time,”

“Not for us,”

“Then this can be our forever,” he twisted you more, kissing away your retorts and anguish.

Cutting it close, you skillfully made an exit before early inspections and rounds, perfectly filling your role as manager once more and occupying the same spot by registrations thanks to convenient scheduling manipulations and falsified benevolence towards some colleagues who were not too fond of the task. Your goal was simple - you wanted to be the one to greet one particular guest. 

It took longer than expected, and check in was almost over for the day when you saw the figure, and then the face of the person who you had been looking forward to meeting with a twisted, borderline disturbing excitement. She was all that you had assumed you would encounter based on the brief mentions and your less than brief perusal of social media and articles that described the financially prompted engagement, arranged to complete a function that was above any kind of love. You did not exist for her, just like Seonghwa ensured that she did not exist for you. It was comfortable, searching for her gaze which could not settle on any one place - unlike the man you had been making love to only a few hours ago. The fluttering wings of a seasonal butterfly, all yammer, no substance. It was impossible to discover an apology within your tainted inner world, let alone guilt. You added her name to the relevant number, issuing a pass and saying the same phrases with robotic politeness. She could not care less. Not for the strained smile, nor for the way in which you met Seonghwa’s look that hinted at an irritated desperation as he strode down the foyer towards the one who was supposed to be his beloved, and consequently, towards you. At least to one of you he was not lying. You had never seen a colder greeting, and that sent an arousing tinge of victory to your stomach. He held his stare over the woman’s shoulder while giving her a quick embrace with one arm. This time, you returned it in its entirety.

As the fiancée finally decided to resume her check in, accepting the pass and explaining that ‘even if Seonghwa dear was to leave early, she should not be disturbed until eleven in the morning with breakfast that had been specified in her booking’, you nonchalantly nodded along with a refreshing coolness. The boost of confidence that Seonghwa’s barely contained pride in your professionalism gave you was dizzying, and you were happy to bask in it and show off all your best sides. Yes, ma’am. Of course, ma’am. Always, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am. It was easy. She was an easy one to read. Such was normally the case with the clients who were the most demanding. How simple it must be, you mused as you watched her spin around to find a bored Seonghwa, asking him something in a shrill tone. You had no right to despise, in fact, if there was anyone who should receive the label of a monster it should be you, and yet, a revelation was bestowed upon you. If your rewards consisted of Seonghwa’s devotion, you did not mind being the villain. 

You knew more than she ever could, and that made things all the more easy. While it did hurt to be aware that the bed you had shared earlier would be occupied by another, the hope that in Seonghwa’s mind, it was always you was far too strong to remain pessimistic. And with that, you let them go. Enter their day as a couple, while you, as a passing face. Making sure to pay little attention to either of them, you returned to typing something on the computer, yourself not quite sure if anything appearing on the screen even made sense. He was due to check out in a couple of days. So close, but so, so far away. In a land called his own life, not meant to exist with yours. A mere couple of minutes later, your phone dinged, jolting you from your pondering.

> ps i cannot wait

You blinked multiple times to confirm that what you were seeing was indeed a message from none other than the man who had just raised his hand to point and was guiding his fiancée to the elevators. Park Seonghwa - ‘ps’, a little code you and he had devised for the rare occasions that he would need to notify you. You never knew his number, but you knew that whichever address the letters would come from, it was him, and could only be him. Lifting your head, you encountered a lingering regard, masked as a general study of the surroundings while she was trying to start an argument with one of the staff over their treatment of her suitcases. Baseless - but that was on brand. 

> next time?

You typed out as quickly as your typing under the desk would allow you. 

> is this ‘le chat noir’?

Silent at the mention of the high class restaurant, you could only respond with a curious agreement.

> yes.

> i’d like to make a booking for 8pm tonight.

Your hands were shaking. You could feel that gaze on you again, setting you alight. You had a second to decide, a lifetime to repent. 

> booking at ‘le chat noir’ for 8pm tonight confirmed.

There was no way out. But at least you could enjoy the labyrinth that you were trapped in, and be his Bonnie on the side.

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

OH GOD YOUR REQS R OPEN, i would rlly like to request something, could you write an one shot of price with a little daugther reader? just like, him coming home and spending some time with his little girl, she tells him about her school, he tells her some funny stories that happened while he was at work, he cooks her favorite meal, just a big fluff, i love this man more than anything and i just need some paternal love LMAO, feel totally free to deny! do everything in your time and remember to take good care of urself!

Memories of Youth

Pairing: Father!John Price x F!Daughter!Reader

Synopsis: It was hard being away from his little girl, but warm mornings spent in each other's company were blessings - even if they were far and few in between. It didn't matter the form.

Word Count: 4.5k (short and sweet)

Warnings: Angst (just a little cuz I can't help myself), a lotta fluff, banter, just good platonic/paternal relationship in general, etc.

A/N: Didn't specify if the reader was adopted or blood-related, so that's really up to you! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

He got the call at the halfway point of crossing the English Channel, Northern France behind him and Southern England just on the horizon line as the sun began to spread its orange glow over the waves. Sitting high above the water in a slick black Heli, John Price’s hand snaps to his side pocket, fingers deftly peeling back the layers as the overwhelming sound of helicopter blades shakes the hull. 

The rest of Task Force 141 watch with varying interest, only Gaz taking notice of the sudden frown that mars his Captain’s face; the furrowed brow, and the spark of concern in his eyes. A call was unusual. The Sargeant tries not to intrude, but can’t help the way his body lightly shifts so he can have a better view.

John doesn't bother to look at the contact when he takes the device out, rapidly pressing the answer button and slotting the phone at his ear, tilting his head so his opposite rests at the junction of his shoulder. It only stops a fraction of the noise, even so, it would have to do for now. But with how his ears were already straining to find a sound over the line, he may not need to force out the jarring racket after all. 

Inside his chest, John’s heart is racing – confusion laces his mind. This was abnormal. 

I told her only to call if it was an emergency. What could she have gotten herself into now? I said to stay out of trouble…

“Where are you?!” The Brit has to shout down the line, his familiar deep accent loud and guttural. 

His mind flies through every possibility. An intruder had broken into the house, you had broken your arm falling down the stairs again, or a fire had broken out in the kitchen. Fuck…he was too far away to help if anything bad had happened. John’s jaw clenches, eyes looking out over the water as the bucket hat on his head flops in the wind. It was only a product of his job that made him think like that; years of intuition and thinking on the fly leading to his mind making up the worst scenarios. 

Especially when you called on a secure line when he told you it was only appropriate for life-and-death situations. Especially when it was his little girl.

I told ‘er about the Pistol in my office, yeah? The Captain asks himself with a steel-like resolve. And gave her Laswell’s number?

John’s fingers tighten over the phone when he hears your breath over the line, a shuffling of clothes, and a deep exhale.

“Sunshine!” He tries again, sitting up straighter as his pulse gets faster. Why isn’t she answering me? “Where are you right–”

“We don’t have anything for breakfast.” Your voice is heavy with sleep; fatigue drowning the syllables and holding them under the very waves that rage under John only separated by thin sheets of metal. 

The Brit stops. His body freezes, and as the tense minutes go by his panic falls away and leaves a thick stain of annoyance resting behind his eyelids. Of course. John brings two fingers to his nose bridge, digging into the skin until tiny crescent moons are left behind; he has to take a deep breath before answering, but his tone leaves nothing to the imagination.

“...Breakfast…?”

“Yeah, Old Man, you need me to spell it for you? B-R-E-A-K-F-A–”

“Enough!” John barks stiffly and has to hold back his anger as you laugh from the other side. Ever the jokester – did you not realize how serious this was? How fast your father’s heart was racing with adrenaline? 

Fuck, he had just about been ready to radio the cockpit and force the pilots to fly faster.

Across the way, Ghost locks eyes with the man, and with a tilt of his head and a loud call he asks, “That the Mutt?”

The Captain’s eyes slip back into a firm blank slate.

“Affirm.” John tilts the phone away from his mouth, ignoring your sarcastic comments to catch his sanity for a moment and respond to his Lieutenant.

Simon blinks as Johnny perks up at his side, looking in from the view in favor of the Captain with newfound interest. A bright smile forms over his scruffy cheeks

“She all good?” The skeletal man asks, and Gaz smirks lazily tapping his fingers over his knee, immediately noticing your shenanigans and the way the Cap was so worked up. 

But anyone would be when they had a daughter thousands of miles away.

John simply nods once with an exasperated expression to Ghost. MacTavish snorts out a laugh, knowing the context of the situation without having to think hard.

“Is that Uncle Simon?” You ask, and with a scratch at his beard, your father hums in confirmation, letting the sound of your voice put him more at ease. She’s just fine. “Tell him I want him to come over and play Mario Cart with Gaz, Johnny, and me again! He wiped the floor with ‘em last time!” 

There’s a clinking of pots and pans as you move throughout the house. 

“Sweetheart,” Your father grumbles, sighing through the call. His voice takes on the authoritative tone that works for both soldiers and teenagers – but it rarely works on you, despite that fact. Took after your dad too much, is what John would say. Never listened until it was absolutely necessary. “What did I tell you about callin’ this phone when I’m away from the house?”

He hears your scoff and raises a warning eyebrow, though you can’t see it. You know your dad enough to know he’s doing it despite being separated. It was pretty common.  

“Not to, unless it’s an emergency…But I’d say food is a big enough reason, y’know? Unless you want me to eat the leftover cake for breakfast – which I haven’t thrown out as a possibility yet, honestly.”

“You’re not eatin’ bloody cake for breakfast. You’ll get sick.” Gaz snickers, turning his face away to hide the amusement at the comment. 

It hadn’t been a surprise that the Captain’s daughter was such a familiar creature – they saw traits reflected every time the two were together. Everyone had expected her to take after her old man in nearly everything, and when she had they had bumped fists and prayed for the brown-bearded man. But it was funny nonetheless, considering they got along better than most fathers and daughters; practically reading each other's minds when everyone was playing poker. Johnny was still pretty ticked off about that – he’s a good deal deep into the sweets debt he owes you because Price helps you win. But where they really shined was with the shared deadpan attitudes, bottom-of-the-barrel sarcasm, and knowing how to command a room without even trying. Safe to assume that the rest of the team would do anything for you.

“Will not.” You grumble in retaliation, and John’s lips threaten to tilt into a grumpy smile when he hears you put the cake plate back into the counter. 

Letting the tension fall from his shoulders, the brown-haired man takes a glance outside, watching the waves go bright orange as they lap and writhe like great sea serpents. 

“How long have you been up, eh? The sun’s barely risen. Thought Sunday was when you always slept in?” 

There’s a pause in what John believed were fingers digging through a cupboard, and he narrows his eyes in confusion as the silence grows long. He frowns when you speak again, words so quiet he has to place a hand over his other ear to hear properly. Having half a mind to go and tell the pilots to hurry up and go faster so he can just talk to his little girl in person, he refrains, knowing that’s not how this works. But something was wrong – it had been laced in your previous words, as tiny and unnoticeable as it may have been. Only a father would notice it.

“You said you were gonna be home last night. I stayed up.” It takes a moment of halted breathing before John’s eyes widen, blues full of realization.

Oh. 

…Damn it. He lets out the tense breath of air from his lips, shifting in his seat as the gear around his body weighs him down. His gun digs into his chest. 

He hadn't seen you for over a week – leaving you in the care of a close and trusted neighbor, Mrs. Lilly, just as he always had when he needed to leave for work on short notice. But seeing as you were older now, it became apparent that, with your learned independence, staying at the house by yourself was alright as long as you checked in with the neighbor every morning and night. You had been waiting for him to come home. All alone. In the dark. 

Fucken’ hell, John thinks in a deep layer of guilt as wrinkles overtake his forehead, I did tell her I’d be back yesterday. I forgot to call and tell ‘er. Shit! He didn’t want to imagine the stress that had been put on your shoulders. God, what’ve I done?

Not checking in was something he had never missed before – he always told you when he was about to come back. What had gone wrong this time? How had something that important just slipped his mind? Sure the Op had been tedious, but he was trained to handle it. It was no excuse. 

“Sweetheart,” John starts and then pauses the soft and gentle endearment, knowing that an apology didn’t fit into what you were looking for. You didn’t want an ‘I’m sorry’ right now, you wanted your father. Flattening his lips into a line, he continues, wishing he was with you more than ever so he can press a kiss to your forehead. “...I should be back before 1200. How about when I get back I’ll cook you up somethin’ myself, yeah? Or we can go to that Cafe you like down on Newman Street and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“...When do you have to go back?” You don’t answer his question, and yours makes his heart hurt. 

John clears his throat.

“None of that, now. We’ll talk more when I get back, Darling, alright?” You don’t respond, but he hears you sigh and quietly scoff under your breath. “Alright?” He tries again, head tilting forward and eyebrows rising as if you could see him. Maybe you could.

“Fine. But you better make me pancakes. I don’t care if it’ll be noon.” 

“Pancakes it is.” The Captain looks up in time to see Johnny mouthing words to him, and with a blank face and stiff lip, your father mutters with a grunt, “Johnny says ‘hello.’” 

Your shocked snort makes him feel better, but a layer of guilt still stays. You were awake all night waiting for him, and he never showed up. Did you sleep on the couch? Damnit, he hoped you didn’t…but in his rattling chest knew you had. He found you like that every time he came back from a long stay away. Huddled under blankets, no pillow under your head. Sometimes you steal one of his shirts and hold it like a stuffed bear to your chest, shoving your face into it. 

How could I forget to fucken’ call her?

Your voice takes him out of his growing self-resentment. 

“Tell him to watch his back – I’m getting better at Rainbow Road. Soon enough I’ll be able to beat him in a 1V1!” John can’t help the slow chuckle that bounces in his throat, mind, for the moment, at ease as long as you continue to speak to him.

“I’ll be sure to pass it along. But, eh,” The Brit makes sure he speaks slowly, letting you hear every syllable of his next words. “Promise me you’ll stay at the house until I get there. No goin’ out with friends, yeah? You know how I worry.” John ignores the teasing look from Gaz and peeks out again to see how close they were to the mainland with narrowed lids. “‘Specially when I’m not there.”

Getting back to the Base wasn’t the problem, it was the damn reports coming in that would wring his neck before he could get out the door. But he’d push it off for however long he could; call in favors from Laswell to get him more time with his little girl so he can fix his mistake. As a dad, the only thing that counted was seeing his daughter after a seemingly unending Op that he didn’t want to relive. The hardest part wasn’t the blood or the guts – it was being away from you. Nothing would ever change that, even if he was the one on the ground gritting his teeth at the bite of a bullet.

“Scout’s honor, Old Man.” The happiness in your voice makes him smile to himself. 

“Stop calling me that, Muppet.” John grumbles affectionately, rolling his eyes, “I’ll give you a call when back I’m in town, Sunshine. Make sure the door’s locked–”

“--Locked, the windows too, plus, if someone knocks on the door I need to look through the peephole and if I don’t recognize them don’t open it…Am I missing anything?”

“Mind yourself, now you’re just being cheeky, you are.” John teases, scoffing, but proud that you remembered his rules. It made all of this just a bit more manageable.

“Who do you think I got it from?” You laugh, but it tapers off sullenly, “Just…get home safe, okay, Dad?”

John’s beard pulls back into a soft close-lipped grin, eyes crinkling as his heart warms. He so desperately wanted to ruffle your hair. 

“Of course, Hun. But, eh, take a nap. It’s still early, and I know you’ve got schoolwork to do later. You sound like you’re about to keel over where you stand.” You scoff before agreeing with a muttered grumble, most likely already stumbling to the living room couch, and then the line goes silent and is replaced once more by the whirring of the helicopter blades. 

The man peels back the phone and pockets it, hand unconsciously brushing his breast pouch where a picture of the two of you always sits. It was a baby picture, with your little form held in his grip delicately; looking down at you with soft eyes and an easy smile on his lips that always formed when he was with you. From under a soft blanket, your tiny hand reaches out to try and brush his stubbily cheek. 

It never failed to bring him ease when he realized the photo was there. A reminder that if everything else in his life went horribly wrong, you would still be looking up at him with those eyes of yours. At the very least, he had managed to do one thing right.

“She’ll be fine. She’s a good kid.” Gaz calls at him, and John spares him a glance out of the side of his eye with a raised brow.

“I know she is. I’m the one who raised her.”

—

You remember eating a piece of toast before you made your way over to the couch, throwing your phone to the coffee table haphazardly before tossing yourself onto the cushions. Still in your pajamas, you can’t find it in you to go and grab the homework in your backpack this early. The sun had only just risen, and the bags under your eyes reminded you how late you stayed up last night. 

But your father had never shown up.

Frantic was too light a word to describe the feeling you had when your eyelids had peeled back to the empty living room and the TV still playing. It had been second nature to snatch your phone and call the secure line – half of you had said it was better to call Laswell, just in case, but your adolescent brain had wanted nothing more than to hear your father’s voice.

He would make it better. But you needed to hear his voice. 

Dad, you remembered pleading to yourself as the sound of the dial tone echoed in your ear, please answer the phone. Please. Answer the fucking phone. 

Your heart was pounding; hands shaking. He never just didn’t show up when he said he was going to. Never. Your dad was punctual – always on time no matter what – and he had ingrained the same sentiment in you as well. 

When his deep voice finally bounced in your eardrums you nearly started to cry, missing the first hurried and concern-filled inquiry of where you were. Hearing his voice put you at ease, and after a week of missing your father’s strong presence and his warm hugs, it was hard not to take a shaky inhale when he seemed so close.

You just wanted him home; you wanted him to make you pancakes and help you with your schoolwork. You wanted him to read a book to you on this couch like you were a toddler again while his old record player was on in the background. 

It was childish, getting so worked up about it, but your dad meant the world to you. Not having him here felt wrong. 

Sighing, you rub at your eyes and revel in the darkness before letting out a strained yawn, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and pulling it over your body. It didn’t take long before your eyes were flickering shut, a calm quiet settling over the house as cars passed by outside in the street. You pull the blanket closer and breathe, inhaling pine needles and ash. 

You don’t know how long you were there, twitching in your sleep before the scent woke you up – it makes your nose scrunch, eyelids blinking away fuzz. There was a pillow under your head, the blanket wrapped tight around your neck to keep out the London chill, and a clanking of pans in the kitchen. Scraping spatula over cast iron, you knew, the sizzling of batter. 

The haze of that in-between state, sleep and consciousness fighting in the back of your skull and under your hairline, stays even as you try to force it away. It was like a wave – it constantly pulled you under when you thought you were getting to the surface. Your eyes would blink open and closed; comforted back into sleep by the deep humming, the waver of an old record player. Feet over hardwood and the smell of fresh pancakes. 

Dad’s home. 

A delirious smile slides over your sleep-hot face. That was why you were so content. This was what home sounded and smelled like. 

Dad’s home. You repeat it once more, nuzzling farther into your father's travel pillow he brings to and from Base. Pine needles. Ash. Cigar smoke.

Dad’s home! Your eyes snap open wildly, your body shooting up from the cushions as the blanket falls to the floor. Angling your head to the separated kitchen, you swipe the drool from your mouth with a heavy hand and listen. 

Your dreams had tricked you before, but no. Not this time. 

He was humming along to some old tune under his breath that mirrored the record player behind the couch; the antique turned low so it wouldn’t wake you. Blinking in shock, your mouth morphs into a rich smile instantaneously. 

Throwing yourself off the couch, your feet slam to the floor, rushing and almost tripping over the blanket on the floor as your body slants forward. Giggling, you push on, righting yourself with no second thought other than welcoming your dad home the same as you always did. Zipping around the corner, a shadow is already turning your way, a plate of pancakes ready to be put on the table and devoured. 

“Dad!” You yell loudly and launch yourself at him, hearing his chest let out a grunt and his hands splay around you so he won’t drop breakfast food all over the floor. 

A velvety chuckle is wrung from his body, and his free digits go to rest heavily on your head as you shove yourself into his hold. Gripping his shirt tight between your fingers, you try not to cry when that scent that had been fading from the house comes back tenfold. Your eyes burn, but you only let one tear out when your dad’s finger begins stroking your hair just like he did when you were little.

You had been so worried. 

“There’s my girl,” His voice whispers out, “I’m here, Sunshine. Easy now.” 

“I thought you died,” You can’t help the helpless gasp that rips from you. Your father’s hand freezes; body going rigid around your smaller, desperately grasping frame. The atmosphere of the room flips. Digging into the fabric of his shirt the full flood of tears finally comes forward. “W-when I woke up and you weren’t here I… I thought you were never coming back home, and that I would have to go and live with the neighbors and I’d have to bury you in the cemetery. I don’t-don’t wanna have to put you in the ground.” You’re rambling, but you can’t stop the words. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, Dad. Please don’t leave me alone.” 

At some point, the plate of pancakes had been tossed to the counter without care for if the porcelain cracked from the force, and both of your father's arms hand scooped you into his hold effortlessly. Your breath was hiccuping violently, tears making his shirt wet and sticking to his skin. 

But John didn’t care. 

He wrapped his arms around you and curled his body in, taking you into a hold so warm and tight you couldn’t leave it even if you tried.

What’ve I done? The man feels his lips tense, blinking down at your shaking body with guilt as you sob. Oh, my Little Girl, I’m so sorry. What’ve I done to you? 

Had he never noticed the toll that this job was taking on you? John asked himself this in disgust as he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, whispering words into your hair under his shaky breath. He hated when you cried because of him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Love, alright? Look at me.” You don’t move your bruising grip, face still held away from sight as you gasp down frantic breaths. John’s voice gets firmer, “Sweetheart, I need you to look at me, yeah?”

Your tight fingers stutter, and your head barely shifts to the side, one red eye peeking up as he looks down at you with all the love he can muster without looking incredibly broken. He never wanted to see you cry again but knew that would be an impossible feat to accomplish – but he’d do his damndest to try.

“There she is.” John’s hand goes to your cheek, brushing away the saltwater with a calloused thumb as you sniffle. “Just keep those eyes on me, Little One.”

“...M’ not little anymore.” You grumble out, your cheeks heating even as your pulse slows as you focus on your dad's eyes. So soft the edges were nearly liquid; water that held your attention as they lapped across your form. 

“To me, you’ll always be little. Can’t change that I’m afraid.” The man grunts out, tilting his head down at you and letting his eyes travel from concern to comfort. But that doesn’t change the present. 

“I’m so sorry, Love,” Your father mutters, eyes flickering away from yours in guilt so rarely shown to others. He always prided himself on being strong, you knew, bearing the brunt of the weight. Apologies weren’t often verbally said until it truly mattered. “I should have called you. That’s all on me, that is. Bloody stupid to forget about, knowin’ how you wait up for me.” 

Your lips thin to mimic your dad's, brows pulling close. But in your chest, your heart couldn’t be larger. You didn’t hold it against him, but you wished he could be here more often; not put himself in dangerous situations. Knowing as little as you did about your dad's actual job, you still knew it wasn’t entirely safe. 

Maybe the two of you protected each other from the things unseen. 

Your chest aches.

“...You’re funny lookin’ when you have to apologize. Like a kicked bear.” Pulling back your lips, a tiny smile lighting your face, and you look up at your dad with a sniffle in your nose. 

His visage snaps to yours, eyebrows going high on his head in surprise, and hooded blue eyes widening. It takes a moment, but a smirk pushes back his beard when he sees the tears have stopped falling. 

“Yeah?” John asks you, a grumble reverberating in his chest, “Now, y’know, that is just bloody rude, Sunshine. Thought I raised you better…And after I made you pancakes.” 

Laughing, you pull back, stomach rumbling and nose twitching at the prospect of the nearly forgotten food. Slithering past your father, you snatch the plate and fork before rushing into the living room. Jumping on the couch you begin to cut into the carbs, piling pieces into your mouth and smiling at the taste. No one else could make them as your dad could. 

The Brit comes not seconds later, a cup of tea held in his hand before he sits down next to you with a groan, stretching out and laying his socked feet on the coffee table next to your tossed phone from hours earlier. You giggle, suddenly leaning to his large frame and hearing him grunt in retaliation. 

“Tell me a funny story,” You demand, listening to him sip his drink in the mid-morning glow that spreads outside the house and leaks in through the opened curtains. Birds sing outside, heard from the street. 

Your dad hums, his beard tickling your scalp as he leans into you in turn, making you chuckle before he nuzzles against you kissing your head; leading to a larger exclamation of glee before you elbow his gut. 

He laughs and answers with a smile in his voice.

“Hm, did I tell you ‘bout the time Gaz fell out of the Heli?” 

You laugh, eating the rest of the pancake remnants; feeling incredibly happy and warm. There were many memories you loved of your dad and his recounting of stories fit many of them. He always kept out the gory bits – promising himself that he would never lead you down that path no matter what – and always opted for the many downright hilarious situations the rest of the 141 always seemed to get into.

“Yes, but tell me again. It’s funny, especially when you describe his face afterward! Like he–”

“Like he had shit his pants and didn’t want to tell me,” John chuckles, eyes squinted, looking down at you as you snuggle into his side. He wraps an arm over your shoulders, taking your empty plate with one hand and putting it on the side table before pulling you close and making sure his tea won’t spill. He feels your tiny, bird-like, heartbeat on his ribcage and knows that nothing could ever take you away from him. You would always be his little girl.  “Yeah, Love, I remember that one. Now, let me start from the beginning…”

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[ariseur]

childhood friends and reward kisses with cloud strife ❤️

cloud didn’t mind the silence so much, especially considering his chest was not filled with words but with a quietude that only the sound of a quickened heartbeat thumping between his ribs could interrupt. he almost savored it at times, knowing he couldn’t be annoyed with something that didn’t exist.

this wasn’t one of those moments. you patching him up from his recent scuffle with an abundance of shinra’s lackeys and advanced machines. cloud could have easily done this himself, you know that, yet you insisted to do it for him anyways. he didn’t say much in return besides a small, ‘thanks’ as he limped over to your sofa.

it only wasn’t a moment because cloud didn’t mind you, whether you talked or not. although, even if he wouldn’t outright say it, he did find it a little sweet that you still remember small bits of your childhood together that you still recall to this day.

and yet your soft laugh breaks him out of his reverie, a chuckle escaping you and into the air — which almost makes him forget about the dull stinging echoing on the epidermis his jaw while you pressed alcohol soaked cotton balls against it.

you start up again as you brain whirs in search for more memories. “do you remember. . .” you trail off, lips twisting as you try to think of a funny moment. cloud watched for a second or two before your eyebrows raise with newfound idea. you smile again, “when we found that cat in the alleyway? the one that tifa gave some bread to?”

“oh, yeah,” he says in response. he remembers trailing after the two of you, hearing the distant cooing of your voices as you had crouched down to see a small kitten hiding away in the dark alley.

cloud couldn’t help but let a small amused huff of air puff through his nostrils at your antics. he had to give it to you, you were pretty good at taking his mind off of the pain.

“ginger,” he said blankly.

you looked up at him — slender, mako eyes already glued on you. quirking a brow, you waited for him to give you more context. “ginger?”

“ginger. that’s what you had named the cat,” he added. your mouth form a small ‘o’ shape with the realization. you softly laughs. “right, it had a bright orange mark on its forehead.”

he hums in agreement. at times like this there would be some memories he couldn’t remember, even when you blatantly described them with such detail. it was nothing if on the horizon, only blurry shapes and sounds that came with these memories. he was glad you still recall them, though, a greater comfort than you’d think.

“this might hurt a bit,” you say. his eyes flit down to where your hands roam over his arm, the thick laceration evident in the flesh of his arm as you hover a needle and thread over it. “do you want some—“

“you didn’t want to let go of the cat when we had to go home, even when your parents wouldn’t let you keep it,” he keeps going. you notice how his eyes clench shut with a furrowed brow as he cuts you off.

you cock your head.

and it’s almost like he senses it, because when he opens his eyes, he squints at you. “keep going,” he mutters, before closing his eyes again. you realize what he’s doing; keeping the conversation to take his mind off the sting of the sanitizer and the prick of the sterilized needle.

cloud hears you chuckle again. “yeah, said the cat carried diseases.”

he huffs, “it just wanted a home.”

the rest of the time is spent with mindless chatter, you both lose track of how long the procedure goes on. talking about tales of what he remembers back in nibelheim, talking about how different things are now — and before he knows it, you squeeze his hand reassuringly and gently tap his knee.

“we’re all done,” you say. “do they feel alright?”

he lifts his leg and moves it around, craning his neck and checking the rest of his injuries to ensure that there’s minimal pain left behind other than achy bones. “yeah, it’s fine.”

“look at me, don’t even know how to stitch someone up yet i got it perfect the first try,” you grin.

“you didn’t know how to—“

“don’t you think i deserve a kiss for how amazing i did?” you beam, half hoping that he’d forget about the fact that you know little about stitches and medical assistance besides fundamental healing magic.

he pauses, making a small, choked sound of surprise at your proposal of a reward. you tilt your head with a smile before puckering your lips out dramatically — making cloud scoff. hesitantly, his head leans forward as his eyes flutter closed. he can hear his heartbeat thump in his ears as a gloved hand comes to grasp the underside of your jaw, a soft gasp escaping you when he leans in and pressed a quick peck to your lips.

it was only for a second, but when he pulls away, there’s stars in your eyes and he can’t help but huff amusedly at the sight.

his eyes fixate on your figure even when you get up, skipping away to put the medical supplies back in their proper cabinets in the bathroom — leaving him to sit in silence as he waits for you to come back.

cloud enjoys his own company more now that he can include another, the quiet no longer so comforting unless you’re in it. he is on the cusp of insensibility and it only fills him with confusion. maybe you use magic or maybe you’re somehow manipulating him. he doesn’t know. cloud doesn’t know anything anymore except that he cannot sit on your sofa the same way he did before without feeling the phantom warmth of your hands lingering on his.

𐙚 dottie’s 500 event — 🍡 ( action ) prompts !!

𐙚 taglist ; @ch3rryfiles @alieeelinn

𐙚 non-500 requests are closed — august eleventh, 2024 ( 4:24 pm )

[heartfullofleeches]

Happy Birthday, C.C!

(And a happy belated Valentine's day. One holiday is a bit more important to me than the other. Gotta celebrate my favorite incubus's day or he may cut me. Reader is brief mentioned to be wearing lingerie, but there really isn't anything that suggestive in this fic- Enjoy!)

-

When asked what he wanted for his birthday, C.C gave the same answer nearly every year.

"Why would I want anything when I already have everything I need?.... A new pair of shoes would be nice, but I'm really not that picky about what I get."

A successful career, the funds to purchase whatever trivial possession he desired. If he hadn't found fame and fortune early on in his life on earth, C.C would have been more than happy to mooch off of the desperate, lonely humans who'd do give him just about anything for a crumble of his attention. A short while ago, the only presents that mattered were what he received from the select few in his family he deemed worth the title, but something that has changed recently - another person entering his life who he puts on the same pedestal as the blood he holds dear if not higher.

If there was one thing C.C didn't want for his birthday - it was waking up in an empty bed all by himself.

Reaching an arm over your side of the bed, the drowsy demon is rudely dragged from his sleep as he finds no one there next to him. It's funny to think that a year prior he would have had no problem with this. Now, his heart sinks every time there's no one at his side. You're cruel for making him so dependent on you like this - and not being beside him on his big day.

C.C grumbles something under his breath - stumbling out of bed, making a grab for his phone on the nightstand as he exits the room. The second he turns it on, he's bombarded with hundreds of birthday wishes from friends and fans across several social media accounts. C.C swipes them all away, only bother to read any of the notifications in case he misses a message from you saying you're out. Why you'd leave without him is beyond him, but it was the best his groggy mind could come up with. Turning the corner that leads to the living room, a sea of curses sound from the kitchen muffled by running water.

"Shit, shit, shit- Fuck, why won't it come off?!"

C.C would recognize that voice anywhere. He scurries into the kitchen - biting back a laugh at your unfortunate state of appearance. There you stood over the sink, frantically scrubbing at your palms with a sponge. It was all over your hands, the robe you wore, even your face - pink stains that stubbornly refused to come out no matter how hard you tried. On the counter behind you was a bowl filled with a pinkish mixture - a bottle of red food dye still mixing its top and covered in red fingerprints seating beside it. C.C creeps over while you're distracted and sticks his fingers in the batter.

It's pancake mix.

"Mmm... I think all that dye is supposed to be in the bowl, babe."

Startled by the voice behind you, the sponge hits the bottom of the sink with a wet splat as you look behind you - hands quick at fixing your robes over scantily dressed body. "C.C? You're awake?! You're usually not up til noon - I thought I had more time.... Happy Birthday!"

The more attempt to hide it, the more C.C notices parts of your skimpy attire beneath the robe he had got you on your own special day. C.C loved to see you in his favorite color, but the bright pink fabric lessened the nearly see through aspect of your underwear and top in this lighting. The stockings you wore made up for it well enough - another accessories he loved to see on you that he made sure to voice many times before.

C.C gathers some of the paper towels on the counter. "Well I see you were at least trying to make breakfast - or get readying for Halloween a few months in advance. Sexy vampire is always a nice look."

"The seal just wouldn't come off and when it finally did it spilled all over me... I'm sorry for messing breakfast."

"Hush." C.C pulls you in close, wetness bleeding through his shirt as he embraces you, but he doesn't seem to mind. "We still have everything we need. I'll help you finish up and then we can take a shower together and spend the day in bed. You didn't put that outfit on just for show, did you?~"

"No, it was actually meant to be your Valentine's gift but.... I still haven't gotten your birthday present yet. I was going to take you to the mall and let you decide since there's so many things you like..."

C.C holds you tighter - grinning from ear to ear as he looks over your shoulder at all you've done for him. 'Don't worry.... I have everything I want right here."

[solitaryearthperson]

I’m so lucky

Summary: The reader comes back to the compound to find an angry Klaus waiting for her.

(The reader is 18+ and uses she/her pronouns. The ethnicity/race is preferably black.)

Bloody 2 in the morning, Klaus mentally grumbled, as he continued to read from his book on the couch. Or at least, he tried to read from his book. His mind was racing with different thoughts of what you could be doing, and none of them were comforting in the slightest. "Who does she think she is," he muttered to himself, turning a page.

"Well, I think she's a woman, not a child." 

He didn't have to look up from his book to know that the statement came from Elijah and that his brother more than likely had an amused grin upon his face as he entered the room. "Has she not returned yet?" He asked, sitting down on the couch across from Klaus, amused at his brother's annoyance.

"No, she hasn't. Not one call or text." He tried to keep his annoyance out of his voice as he turned a page, not registering any of the words on it.

"She has to put up with this family and you, Niklaus. She deserves a night out."

"A night out ends when night ends," Klaus responded, giving up on reading his book and slamming it shut. "It is past midnight and now morning. She should be home."

Grinning, Elijah tried to not chuckle at his brother's frustration, but couldn't help letting a bit of it slip out which quickly caught the angry hybrid's attention.

"You find the worry for my love funny, Elijah," His voice began to rise as he watched the grin on Elijah's face grow.

"What I find funny, brother, is you forget that (Y/N) is a woman, not a child, who doesn't need your permission or approval on how late she returns. She can take care of herself."

"Always the feminist, Elijah," Klaus remarked, rolling his eyes. He took out his phone for the ninth time that night and checked the time again. Only 2:20. I'll leave and find her when its 2:30.

Even though Elijah was annoying him with his amusement, he knew that his older brother was right. At the beginning of your relationship, you made him agree that he wouldn't try to control you or become overprotective of you and let you have your freedom and at the time, he completely agreed, but he didn't think that that freedom involved you hanging out with your friends all night, leaving him worried. Each second that passed, he began to get more and more paranoid that something bad had happened to you.

"Let her enjoy a night out away from your scheming. She deserves it."

Yes, she does, Klaus mentally agreed, sighing.

"Yes. I admit she-"

The sound of a distant giggle stopped him and he quickly stood up from the couch and left the room to see you entering the compound, drunk and barefoot, holding the heels you were wearing earlier in your hand.

You were tiptoeing, letting out little giggles as you tried to be quiet. Your appearance was not that different from when you left, but Klaus could still spot a light sheen of sweat on your skin from all the dancing you did. Even though Klaus was ecstatic to see you again and to see you completely fine, he couldn't help but let his anger get the best of him as he made his way to you.

"Do you know what time it is," Klaus asked, his footsteps hurrying over to you with an angry frown upon his face.

Anyone else, when seeing that look on him, would have instantly become scared and begun cowering and apologizing, but not you. Even in your drunken state, you knew that Klaus would never hurt you and because of the alcohol still in your system, the only response you gave to his angry question was another giggle.

"You had me worried me sick," he continued, taking your heels out of your hand and placing his hand in yours. "Let's go to bed." He began pulling you in the direction of the stairs, but you quickly pulled your hand from his and hurried off to the kitchen.

"(Y/N)," he groaned, speeding after you and stopping in front of you before you could fully enter the kitchen.

"I'm hungry," you whined drunkenly. "I want a sandwich."

"You'll get your sandwich when you go to bed," he told you, ignoring the pout that grew onto your face at his words. He turned you around and gently nudged you to leave. "Go on."

Groaning, you took slow, sad steps towards the stairs, looking over your shoulder still pouting, giving him the best puppy dog eyes that you could make in your state.

"Love, go on," Klaus urged, trying to not to smile and give in to your pouting.

"I'm going," You said angrily, quickening your steps.

You didn't know it, but the look in Klaus' eyes as he watched you drunkenly walked barefoot to the room screamed nothing but love.

"I take it she had fun," the voice of his brother made him turn his eyes away from you (something he absolutely hated) and turned them on Elijah who looked at him, still amused.

"Yes, she did," Klaus sighed before turning around and entering the kitchen, placing your heels on the edge of the counter.

"What're you doing," Elijah asked, following him and taking a seat at the counter.

"Making the silly, drunk girl a sandwich."

His answer made Elijah smile even wider as he watched Klaus begin to pull out slices of bread and bologna and other things. Finally Niklaus has found his true love.

~

“Oh,” you groaned, opening your eyes and lifting your head. It was pounding terribly and you felt that your eyes were sore and heavy, even after waking up from sleep. Sitting up, you pushed the cover off your body, about to stand up, when you had to stop yourself, feeling an unpleasant rumbling in your stomach. 

Shit, you thought, placing a hand on your stomach. Another rumble made you get up from the bed, and run to the bathroom, quickly lifting the lid, and emptying your stomach of all contents from last night. 

You were too busy vomiting that you didn’t hear Klaus enter the bathroom. The sudden feeling of fingers in your hair and lifting it from your face made you look up to see your hybrid lover looking down at you with concern.

“You alright, love,” he asked. 

Seeing you nod, he grabbed some toilet tissue and wiped your face clean of any left over vomit, then flushed it. Gently holding your arm, he lifted you from the floor and walked you back to the bed, where he placed you on the bed. Before you could do it, he pulled the covers up and around you and you found that your sore eyes were beginning to feel heavy.

“Take this love,” he told you and you opened your eyes to see him holding a pill in one hand and a glass of water in another. 

“What is it?”

“For your head.”

You picked it up and placed it in your mouth and drank the water, swallowing it with a wince as your throat now felt sore. 

“If you’re hungry, your sandwich is right there,” he told you pointing to beside you, and you looked over and saw sitting on the bedside table was the sandwich your drunkenly requested last night. 

I must’ve fell asleep, ‘fore I could eat it. Klaus lightly placed his hand onto your forehead, getting your attention and making you turn back to him.

“If you need me, I’ll be painting in the other room. Just say my name and I’ll come.”

With a kiss on your forehead and another look of love at you, he left your side and exited the room, leaving the door open to hear you.

Feeling your eyes get heavier and heavier, you began to slowly drift into sleep and as you did, you couldn’t control the smile that spread across your face as you thought of your boyfriend. Fuck, I’m so lucky.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Hello! Could you do hc's for Trey, Cater and Rook where they wake up in the same as their crush

He doesn't remeber anything

When he asks, there's a rather wholesome but embarassing story

He had a nightmare and in an exhausted state went to his crush for comfort. Y/N let them stay the night and now they're cuddling

Cater Diamond:

Cater laughed a little nervously after you filled him in on the previous nights events, only able to imagine the disheveled mess he must’ve been clambering into your room and asking to share a bed with you. He started to let you know that he was sorry but you won’t hear it, arms seeming to wrap tighter around him as you stroked his hair lovingly. Loving Cater was an endless battle of tug of war, having to take advantage of every inch of your heart that he gave you, showing him you had the strength to take the positives as well as understanding his flaws. You wanted him to lean on you like this more often, and despite his rapidly beating heart, Cater felt a sense of calm that often seemed to escape him after a nightmare. Maybe he would have to sneak into your room a little more often.

Rook Hunt:

Rook had a look of contemplation on his face as he listened to the entire tale, thinking it sounded rather out of character for him and silently questioning if he had ulterior motives to appearing at your door at night. He had never been one to hesitate to ask for what he wanted so he didn’t think it was a matter of getting something out of you. He wondered if it was just his heart missing you so much, yearning for your touch and presence, that while his mind hadn’t fully caught up it did follow the signals his heart was giving. He thanked you for taking such good care of him, saying this was much like a feral beast showing its throat; you had seen him in a vulnerable position that no other had, and he hoped you’d be able to keep his secrets from those who might seek them.

Trey Clover:

Trey looked sheepish at hearing of his childish behavior from the night before, wishing his half-asleep self had been more considerate of your sleep. He couldn’t say he minded the position it landed him in though even if there was a less embarrassing way of getting there. He nestled himself a little closer as you casually chatted about it, enjoying the feeling of your fingers running through his hair; he could easily fall asleep again if you kept that up, wondering if you’d work your magic one more time and chase all his nightmares away again. He doesn’t voice his thoughts but you can see an amused look on his face, asking what’s so funny and pouting as he refused to let you in on the secret.

[alectoperdita]

I woke up possessed by something this morning and banged out the last parts of some joukai smut from a chapter 3 of Duelist's Pride. Given that I haven't written chapter 2 or published anything else in a while, I'm just gonna dump it here.

And yes, this continues on the theme of more joukai CNC.

Under the cut due to explicit sexual content, purposefully porn-worthy dirty talk, dom/sub overtones, humiliation kink, comeplay, ass to mouth, and light dacryphilia (might be other stuff I've forgotten, sorry I haven't even proofread this thing)

---

"Your ass' got a nice bounce to it now. Must be 'cuz of the cream I've been pumping into ya."

A hard smack across his butt cheek made him clench fiercely.

"Whaddaya say, Kaiba? Should I keep creaming your ass pussy until you got a nice, round bubble butt?"

Slap. Pummel. Slap. Pummel. Each strike of hand and cock shot his scrambled nerves to hell. Kaiba merely whined, drool flowing over his lips and dripping down the window glass. Not that Jounouchi cared to hear his answer. He was always going to do whatever he wanted. The brute only cared about getting his dick wet inside Kaiba's increasingly spongy hole.

The next spank flipped a switch in Kaiba's head, blanking his thoughts. A switch that made his orgasm go on for seemingly forever as his ass suckled on Jounouchi's cock. His hanging erection jerked and jumped between his splayed legs, shooting semen like a pissing animal.

His stomach gave a funny lurch as heat bloomed inside him. For a maddening moment, he wondered if it was another orgasm right on the tail of his last.

"Fuck yeah, a whore like you can't resist cream pies," grunted Jounouchi in his ear. He was panting like a dog yet Kaiba couldn't muster the brain cells to mock him. "Take it. Feel it? I'm painting your insides white. You're never getting rid of me."

Jounouchi's load made him keen anew. Kaiba trembled. The heat scoured him. It seeped into his furthest nooks and crannies. No matter how deep he tried to reach and scrap it clean, a part of him would always be branded by Jounouchi's claim.

He hadn't realized he was pushing back onto Jounouchi's pulsing cock until a sudden hand on his jaw tilted his chin back. Their eyes, both dark and wild, locked. They mirrored each other's lust and desperation.

Jounouchi's nostrils flared, and he flattened Kaiba against the window again. His wet cock and hard nipples smeared against the glass. The painful drag on his sensitive parts tore another filthy moan from Kaiba.

Jounouchi humped him still. "You're mine, Kaiba." His voice was soft in contrast to the obscene sounds of Kaiba's used ass squelching. "And everyone can see it now too."

Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, mixing with the saliva and semen already staining the glass. Jounouchi had beaten him. Bested his will and broken him with the hammer strikes of his hard cock. Kaiba has lost himself completely to him, and he didn't even care anymore. Not about his pride or his reputation.

"Oh, baby, don't cry," Jounouchi cooed. A thumb wiped away a teardrop but more followed. "It just makes me wanna mess you up some more. Give you something to really cry about."

Against his will, his breath hitched at the hint of menace. His sobs intensified even as they got caught in his throat. His entire body was a livewire, and he couldn't stop shaking.

He couldn't take much more of this. Yet he might have to.

Maybe he deserved it. To have Jounouchi ruin him forever.

When Jounouchi withdrew from him, it felt like his ass was unplugged. There was the fain rustle of clothing as Jounouchi moved to the desk. Cool air rushed in to filled the space vacated by Jounouchi's cock. Gravity raked its fingers along his walls, dragging the cooling come to his entrance and turning it into an open bubbling fountain of depravity.

Kaiba didn't dare move. He barely breathed for fear of everything leaking out of him faster. Messier. The pool of wetness he was kneeling in continued to expand regardless.

A warm current of air heralded Jounouchi's return, settled right behind Kaiba again. Kaiba pre-emptively tensed even before thick fingers dipped into his gaping hole.

"God, you should see how pretty your ass is right now."

Three fingers curled and burrowed into him without mercy. He nearly hyperventilated when short, trimmed nails scraped across his tender walls. The stinging swiftly dulled as Jounouchi transitioned to massaging him. Pleasure sharpened in Kaiba's gut, much to his shame. The lazy thrusts of warm fingers and the slick sounds of himself being opened up again... Kaiba didn't know what to think. What to do.

Out of habit, he craned his head toward Jounouchi, seeking a familiar point of focus. But Jounouchi's attention wasn't on him. Both the camcorder and his gaze were aimed at Kaiba's ass. As if he was nothing more than his hole.

His breath hiccuped out of him. New tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.

Finally, Jounouchi's dark gaze flicked up to his face. His fingers peeled out of Kaiba next, and the recording followed their journey up to Kaiba's mouth. The wet finger pads slid across his lower lip, painting a balm. Kaiba swallowed, knowing very well what came next.

Jounouchi could force his mouth open. He could grab Kaiba's jaw and squeezed, threatening to break or dislocate it until Kaiba capitulated. Or he could hook a finger into the seam between his lips and pry his mouth open.

But he went a far more devastating route.

"Open," he commanded. His eyes twinkled wickedly behind the camcorder lens.

Another switch flipped in Kaiba's broken brain. His jaw yawned as wide as he could, showing off his teeth and tongue and tonsils to the recording.

"Fuck, Seto," Jounouchi swore. A crack in his character forming for the first time. It made him act even rougher as he crammed his fingers into Kaiba's waiting mouth.

Kaiba didn't need another command. He closed his mouth and eyes and sucked, drowning in the unspeakable shame of pleasure in such a humiliating act. He ran his tongue over the length of each finger, not caring if it made him drool. He could taste it. He could taste them, their combined essences—salty and bitter.

A moan rumbled deep in the recesses of his chest. Jounouchi pushed deeper. Kaiba welcomed the gagging sensation.

"You like that?" muttered Jounouchi.

Kaiba's eyelids fluttered open, and the sight of a red-faced Jounouchi greeted him. The camcorder was still running. The little red recording light blinked, but the shine in Jounouchi's eyes had softened, taking on more awe.

"If you want, I can keep you nice and full every damn day for the rest of you life."

In lieu of a verbal response, because Kaiba's verbal facilities were very much offline, he drew his mouth back until his lips kissed Jounouchi's fingertips. A rush swept over him when Jounouchi sucked in a sharp exhale, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed in rapid succession. Contentment tugged at the corner of Kaiba's lips, and he lavished the tips with several kittenish licks before slurping the fingers back into his mouth. He toyed with the shaking fingers, nipping lightly and sucking, as Jounouchi played with his mouth.

He had no idea how long this went on. But eventually, Jounouchi pulled his pruney fingers out of Kaiba's aching mouth. Kaiba shivered and panted as their wet tips trailed over his tacky cheek, before petting his hair gently. Lost, he gazed up at Jounouchi and the camera.

Jounouchi stroked his head again, smiling. "You did good, Seto." He set aside the camcorder and extended both arms.

A shudder ran through him. Clumsily, he peeled himself away from the window and collapsed in his lover's waiting embrace. "Katsuya," he croaked and clung to the man's shirt.

"I'm here. It's okay. I love you, Seto."

Jounouchi and Kaiba faded away, and only Katsuya and Seto remained in their places.

[fairytsuk1]

getting katsuki gifts for the holidays was like trying to teach a monkey to dance, it was impossible.

you'd whined, mumbling about how the two of you had enough money to buy most items you wanted; katsuki also never seemed to never ask for things specifically.

"so, katsuki... the holidays are coming up!"

he's picking at his ordered in take-out, and you can see his displeasure at the lack of peppers as he picks through his kung pao chicken.

"yeah, already got your gift," and he's giving you smirk that makes you sweat, "are you sure you got the right chicken? this shit tastes like the fuckin' kids menu."

your eyes get caught on the wedding band wrung around his fingers, sailing the veins of his forearm till you can see his bulging biceps in the black muscle shirt. was your husband hand-carved by gods? seemed likely.

"mmm, no, it should be the kung pao chicken, want me to chop some chilies up for you?"

you're standing before he can protest, taking out your knives and chopping boards, "and you already have my gift? I don't have your gift, yet."

the box of take-out is set down as your husband circles his arm around your waist to leave soft kisses on the column of your neck.

"yeah, 'cause you don't love me," and a thankful hand squeezes your ass just to show his appreciation for the chopping of chilies, "...whatcha gonna get me?"

his hands are still wandering, and you're thinking more of what his talented fingers could do than his stupid gift, "i'm not supposed to tell, you know. santa's elves might get me into a whole lotta trouble."

he gropes you even more fiercely, and you can feel his pressing need against your back.

"fuck santa,"

he carries you off in a fit of giggles to your shared bedroom.

-

the bookstore was fairly crowded and you felt thankful you could slip by unnoticed and browse the various books of romance or sci-fi; katsuki didn't even seem like a sci-fi guy so each row left you feeling panicky and like a bad wife the further and further you went.

"excuse me, do you have any classical romance?"

the timbre of the voice makes your heart stop. It sounded just like, well, katsuki! your legs are thrumming with the knee-jerk reaction to tackle him to the ground, but you were literally buying his gift! the surprise would be ruined, and you're dashing into the row of cookbooks to calm yourself.

maybe it's not even him. you know what they say, just because it sounds like katsuki doesn't mean it is! you're affirming yourself silently when footsteps grow close, and your husband is flashing by you in seconds.

it is katsuki!

"i'm fucked."

your eyes follow the object of your love, his strong hands randomly pick books out of nowhere, but there's grumbles of displeasure as he skims the summary and grimaces at the cover. he didn't know that much about books, but you deserved something special.

you'd dealt with all the hero stuff (being gone for long periods of time and coming home nearly dead was no news to you), always made him lunch or dinner, and frankly... katsuki found his eyes drifting to a sleeping baby in its stroller.

he'd started thinking more like that. so the gift had to be pretty damn good!

a man strikes up conversation, and you smile at the idea that katsuki wasn't just factually married, but he gave that aura too. yeah, that was your man.

"i'm shoppin' for my wife," straight to the point and he's already grumbling at having to interact with this person for more than a minute.

"wow! a true husband, what's with the books then? looking to open your marriage?"

it's a joke that katsuki doesn't find funny, you do however and you're sure this conversation would be going very differently.

"fuck no. i'm just lookin' for somethin' good," there's a brief pause in his words, and katsuki looks askance at having to provide a reason why, "she does a lot for me. want her to know I appreciate it."

a beating heart is soothed by the words. your hormones run wild at his mild love declaration, and you're grinning like a mad man.

katsuki wakes up on christmas morning to find his absolute favorite thing; you.

and the book he got was pretty damn good, too.