#but really you were just wound too tight and it's /good/ that it's over

[bookwyrminspiration]

What do you think will happen to Sophie after the neverseen is defeated? When she’s an adult. Her entire life to this point has consistently been struggle and isolation, now, on top of that, her purpose, what she was built for, is done. What is there to be after that? What could one do?

I for one, think she’s going to have a midlife crisis, or whatever the equivalent is since infinity has no middle.

Well I'd argue that her purpose isn't focused on the Neverseen; sure, they've made a problem of themselves and she's part of a solution, but the reason the Black Swan and Sophie exist goes beyond contesting the Neverseen. She isn't done. Once they're dealt with, I think she'll still have purpose in addressing inequalities and injustices in the elven world--the treatment of the talentless, pyrokinetics, twins, etc.

There's also the whole matter of humanity, the human problem. Which is more personal for Sophie than anyone else, and her unique knowledge of them would be invaluable in any conversation and decision making going forward to solve the issues there. I highly doubt she's going to sit that one out. And whatever they come with is most likely going to be a very drawn out, long term thing that will always need involvement, so I think she'll always have something to do there.

However! A continued purpose does not negate the possibility of a crisis! Even helping improve their world and advocating for humans, she's still doing what others set up for her; she didn't have any control over any of who she is, so is she even her own person? Who is Sophie Foster? Who does she want to be? Can she be that person? Does she do what she does because she wants to or because it's what she was made for?

And can she ever fit in? Can she ever truly belong? There is no one else like her and there never will be. There will always be a gap between her and everyone else, and can she overcome that? is her one deepest wish--to be normal, to belong--achievable? or is it a fantasy she can only imagine and yearn for and grieve. will she ever be satisfied with the people around her or will that out of place feeling last forever?

There's a lot to break down over, she can take her pick. But I do think tying her purpose to specifically defeating the Neverseen misses a big chunk of Project Moonlark and the Black Swan's intentions, so any crises would also factor that in because there would be more for her to do :)

[seouljazzbar]

GO WITH IT

MARK LEE (이민형)

ABOUT 𓂃 ࣪˖ “have sex with me so I can finish writing this” inspired by this tweet or when mark offers to solve all your problems, it's much better to go with it

WARNING 𓂃 ࣪˖ language, mark is a bit of a slut, 18+ spiderman kiss (you’ll see lmao), allusions to fat cock mark… 😵‍💫, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mark’s name repeated like 78 times (no seriously, it’s up there), reader bent like a pretzel, orgasm denial, this author loves a comma, a pinch of softdom!mark, silly ending

PAIRING 𓂃 ࣪˖ bestfriend!mark x bestfriend!reader

WORD COUNT 𓂃 ࣪˖ 6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𓂃 ࣪˖ a little surprise drop for my favorite neo! i guess it's also a wee bit of a belated birthday gift to him :) i skimmed it for typos and stuff but i unfortunately did not edit it the way i should have, sorrryyyyy hope y'all enjoy! omg also reader's room is yu nabi's from the kdrama nevertheless hehehe

Nobody was busier than your best friend, Mark Lee. Between his job, his vibrant social life, and his weekly family dinners, you were lucky to be offered a slot in his schedule. It was always a yes to Mark Lee. Usually.

The last three times Mark had tried to make plans with you were all failed attempts, and the excuses varied each time. There was nothing shameful about the truth, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that your friendship was being thrown to the backburner while you sloppily attempted to get your life together. He knew all about your small business, taking commissions for art prints and ceramics, but he had no idea how much time and effort went into each piece. Besides, knowing Mark he would offer to help, and that wasn’t going to be of service to you in the slightest. 

All you could do was rot in bed, hoping that something would spark your creative mind to no avail. Frustration was starting to take up every corner of your mind— from the nonstop orders that you couldn’t fulfill, to your supplier raising prices, to the fact that you hadn’t had a good date in two years. You were wound too tight to function, and any minute now you were going to start pulling your hair out in chunks.

The sound of the pin-pad at your door let you know that Mark was about to come barreling through. There were so many times that you’d be in strict creation mode, headphones in at full blast while Mark banged at the door pleading for you to answer; when it started to feel like a normal part of your routine, he just requested the code to let himself in. “Yo!”

Except, this time, none of that was necessary. Your headphones were stuffed in their case on the other side of the room, workstation completely untouched with your multiple projects stacked on top of each other. Despite the custom orders piling up over the last two weeks, you hadn’t had the artistic strength to move forward with any of them. The only thing you could do to  buy yourself a little time was to post a message asking for patience and understanding while you navigate some vague emotional hardship. Realistically, though, it would only buy you another week or so before people would start to get angry. 

“Hi.” Perched on a stool near the kitchen island, eyes locked on the cup of coffee you warmed up seventeen minutes ago, you were out of it.

Mark waved a few inches from your face, trying to get your full attention. “Hello? Earth to ___, are you okay?”

You snapped out of it, looking over at your best friend to see that he was dressed for a night on the town. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind right now.”

White, distressed tank top, loose plaid button-up undone, and his sexiest pair of black jeans. The way the meticulous curls fell around his face, looping around his forehead in a way that feigned boylike wonder. He looked oh so delicious, but you would never tell him that— his ego was big enough for the both of you. “Anything I could help with?”

A stifled chuckle barely reached his ears before you cleared your throat, turning toward him with renewed energy. “No, not really.”

Mark put his phone and keys down on the counter, taking a quick intermission to wash his hands before walking back over to you. He’d never been in your apartment in this way before— an unannounced hangout where you’re clearly just a stop along the way, being so underdressed in his presence. He’d seen you in a swimsuit before, but something about a big shirt and underwear felt far more intimate than the two strips of fabric. “This is like the third time you’ve curved me, if you hate me just say that.”

“Oh, you’re so fucking dramatic. I’m just busy.” You shoved at his shoulder, urging him to take a seat so you wouldn’t feel so awkward with him standing over you. He refused cooly, taking a look around your apartment to make sure you hadn’t been aimlessly rotting since the last time he stopped by.

“Even I'm not that busy. What’s going on?”

“I’ve just…” You sighed heavily, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Talking about everything wrong in your life felt far too heavy, too much to divulge to a friend seemingly just doing a wellness check. “I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and I’ve got all these creative blocks that won’t go away and honestly I just need to be fucked like properly fucked to get my juices flowing again but all of the men worth giving it up to are in hiding.”

Mark stood there, mouth agape in disbelief. He did ask, after all. “Woah.”

“Yeah.” It felt embarrassing to hear laid out like that, but there weren’t too many secrets between you and Mark in the first place. Your sex lives weren’t off limits for discussion, and the two of you had plenty of chats that were NSFW in nature. But blurting out how badly  you needed to be railed? That was a new one.

The silence spoke for itself, apparently. You didn’t want to chance a glance up at him, but you knew that you’d have to say something. Maybe something to cover your ass, let him know that you’re well aware how ‘TMI’ that was. Or even—

“I’ll fuck you.”

You nearly choked on air,“What?!” Now you had no choice but to look at him, scanning the twinkle in his eyes in search of sincerity.

“I’m really good, too.” He took a step towards you, eyes never leaving yours as his hands found home in his shirt pockets. This was a side of Mark you rarely got to see— charming, smooth, confident. There were times, namely on nights out, where you’d get a taste of it, watching him chat it up in some dark corner with the prettiest girl you’d ever laid eyes on. But this, being on the receiving end? Watching his eyes drink you in like sweet tea on a balmy Southern summer afternoon? It was enough to make your heart skip several beats. 

“Mark—”

The smile he cracks at you makes you embarrassed for even considering it. “I’m just messing with you, geez,” Heat takes over your face as you try to hide it from him, palms rubbing at your cheeks as your heartbeat tries to find its resting rate. “Although, given that reaction, maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“Shouldn’t be what?”

“Messing with you. Joking, rather. I can definitely mess with you, if you want,” Running so hot and cold in such a short window of time has you shivering under his gaze, scared to make the wrong move and ruin what you’d beg him for. “Hm? Is that what you want?”

The air is thick with anticipation, nothing but the consistent drip from a ceiling leak as the soundtrack to your staring contest with Mark. He was so close to you in all of his Friday night glory, cologne a cloud around you as the heat from his chest permeated your personal space. You were certain that just one taste, just one night in the throes of passion with a curly haired Mark Lee would solve all of your problems. If you closed your eyes, you could picture it— sweaty bodies intertwined amidst the sweltering heat of your studio after dark, the fanning of his breath in your face as he rocks into you, his strong frame caging you into the bed so all you can focus on is Mark, Mark, Mark! His sighs and whines of pleasure flooding your senses so they’re all you can pay attention to, just his voice and his unrelenting pace as he— “___,” The sound of your name on his tongue snapped you out of your lustful haze. “Offer’s about to expire, baby.”

Mark slipped his jacket off without breaking away from you, dropping it carelessly on the floor while your attention wandered to his arms. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, crossing his arms against his chest as he awaited your answer. “You’re serious? This isn’t some cruel prank where if I say yes, you’ll tell me it was just a joke?”

“That’s not my idea of a prank, princess, where’s the fun in that?” Mark licked his lips, a faint smirk taking over. “Look, if you’re uncomfortable, we can pretend this never happened,” His fingers ghost along the side of your face, sweetly making their way to your lips. “But if it were up to me? I’d have you seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment.”

That was all you needed to lunge into a kiss with him, throwing him slightly off guard as you practically tossed yourself into his arms. But his lips were ready for you, steaming hot and sopping wet— just the way you like it. The smush of your lips together so suddenly garnered the sweetest moan from him, just enough to tease you of what’s to come. His arms wrapped around your torso like a claw machine, pulling you so flush against him as though he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. 

Your lips were still tingling as he pulled away to lap kisses against your neck, peppering anywhere his lips could reach. “M-Mark, hmngh.”

It was no secret that Mark had a bit of a reputation in the bedroom, but you never thought you’d witness it firsthand. His hands delved blindly to your legs, hoisting you around his waist so he could move you over to your bed. You almost had a mind to remind him of the three big steps up to your bedroom area, but he was far suaver than you gave him credit for— this wasn’t exactly his first rodeo.

He tossed you on the bed, the slight recoil exhilarating before he was all over you again. “If a proper fuck is what you want…” His kisses had shifted to your chest, lips and tongue sucking in the essence of your skin like he couldn’t bear not to. He was almost more excited than you were, his touch reaching anywhere and everywhere all at once, like he couldn’t get enough of exploring everything you had to offer. It was all starting to feel real as Mark made a move to lift up your shirt and the implication of your best friend seeing you naked caught up with you.

“Wait, wait. We’re gonna see each other naked.”

Mark, with the fabric of your shirt caught in his teeth, stared at you blankly. “Yeah…” 

“Shouldn’t that be weird?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, squeezing at your hip with the hand closest to it. “Maybe, but how do you suggest we fuck then? Through my jeans?” He pulled your body swiftly down the mattress so you could feel how hard he was through your panties. 

“Shut the fuck up, oh, my God.”

“I was trying to before you got all weird and jittery,” Mark made a move for your shirt again, and this time you didn’t fight him on it. The balmy air hit your pert nipples the second they were exposed, and Mark couldn’t stop the gruff  noise that formed in his throat. “Just as pretty as I imagined.” You squirmed at the compliment, cheeks heating up at the sight of him drooling over you. “Like that? Hm? Are you my pretty girl?” 

His lips wrapped around the peak of your breast, tongue swirling to the same pattern his thumb and forefinger followed on your other nipple. “Yes!” It was embarrassing, how fast you succumbed to his commands. He struck with confidence, maneuvering his way around your body like he’d done it before. “I’m your pretty girl.”

“So sexy saying that for me, baby,” Your legs part instinctually to make more room for him, and Mark took that as his sign to shift gears. “You know… sometimes, every now and then, I’d think about you. If I needed a little extra push towards ecstasy, you’d pop in my head. Think about the way you’d look if I got my hands on you. How you’d feel, how you’d taste,” His fingers prodded at the growing wet patch on your underwear. “Gonna let me see?”

Your back arched off the mattress, hands pulling him impossibly closer to you. “Mark, please stop asking, just do it.”

“Mm, say ‘please’ again.”

“Mark!”

His laugh would be even sexier if it weren’t at your expense. “Alright, fine.” Your panties stayed on as his tongue lapped at your folds through them, the flimsy cotton doing absolutely nothing to stop him from devouring you. You jerked at the feeling as his tongue licked a bold strip through your folds, your hands entangling themselves in his curly locs. “You’re so wet, holy shit.”

One quick motion moved your panties to the side, puffy wet lips on full display for his greedy eyes. His eyes sparkled at the sight, mouth watering at the mere thought of getting to taste you. “Smell so good, pretty girl.” He was so hungry and you were the only one who could satiate him. His tongue had a mind of its own, pressing flat against your folds without a second thought, “Taste even better.”

Mark’s grip on your thighs held you in place as he licked you clean, running his tongue against every nerve-ending he could feel for. He pulled them apart just enough to spread you out for him, just enough to be on full display for him. Your taste occupied every corner of his mind as he blacked out in pleasure, lapping up every drop your gushing pussy offered up.

He circled your clit until you saw stars, your squirming uncontrollable as his tongue darted inside of you. “You’re so good to me.”

Mark groaned between your thighs, in love with the praise you were showering him with. There was something about how natural and seamless it was for you to compliment him that turned him on even more, if that was possible. “I don't think I'll ever get enough of how you taste, Christ.”

His free hand slithered up your torso, sinking his thumb into your eager mouth while his continued working at your core. He wasn’t shy, either, licking boldly from your ass to your clit while shaking his tongue side to side. Slurping up every drop that dribbled out of your entrance, twisting his tongue as far inside of you as he could reach. You were dripping down his chin by the time he introduced his fingers, prodding at your glistening hole with just one to test the waters. He took the way you gripped onto his hair as his sign that you were more than enjoying it. “F-feels good, oh, God.”

“Mm, don’t be shy.”

Laving at your clit, he drank up the praises the way he was drinking you up. He only pulled away to fully discard your panties, diving back into center with renewed vigor. “Need more.” You didn’t want to push him any closer to you, scared you’d smother him, but he didn’t seem afraid to drown. He’d awoken something desperately greedy inside of you, and you were slipping further into a haze of pleasure with every passing moment. Two fingers pressed their way inside of you, pumping slowly to get you adjusted before the jerk of your hips told him to pick up the pace. You couldn’t hold still with the way he was devouring you, mouth and hands prying you open deliciously all for his enjoyment. He would die between your thighs if you let him, you’re sure of it.

You had to physically pull him off of you to get him to stop, orgasming bubbling inside of you in record time. “Want you inside of me already.” The entirety of the lower half of his face was a sticky mess of your arousal, from his nose to his chin completely covered in you. “Bro, you need to wipe… that.” Times like these, you were glad that you kept tissues on your nightstand.

“You cannot and will not call me ‘bro’ now that I know what you taste like. How insulting.”

It hadn’t dawned on you that Mark was still fully dressed, sans his plaid jacket-shirt that was curled in a sad pile on the floor. “Is that an order?”

He bit at his lip, eyes darkening as he drank in your bare figure sprawled beneath him. Your hands ran themselves up and down his arms, finally getting a chance to admire his body after all the focus was turned to you. Maybe it was the lighting, the way his hair fell over his eyes, or just the fact that he was the best kisser you’d had the pleasure of test driving— but he looked divine. Halo of light circling his head as he fumbled with his belt, biceps flexing as he lifted the tank top off of his lean frame. Suddenly, he wasn’t your friend anymore; he was something new entirely.

You were so lost in your own adoration of him that you hadn’t noticed he was undressed, pulling you directly underneath him as he kissed at your collarbones. “Where’d you go off to, huh?”

“It’s nothing,” you shook your head, snapping back to reality (which was so much better than whatever was going on in your will they-won’t they fantasy). “Thank you, for this.”

Mark didn’t respond with words, instead opting to kiss you softly, tenderly. Slowly, deeply, passionately kissing you as he lowered himself atop of you. He wasn’t in a rush anymore, pulling you into him like you were made of glass, grinding against your center like you had all the time in the world. Everything was so delicate, like he was savoring the moment for years to come. It scared you, if you were being honest. “Mark? You know you can still kiss me while you’re inside of me, yeah?”

He hummed in approval, connecting your mouths again in a slow, languid kiss, tongues slithering into each other's mouths and twisting messily. You could feel him lining up with your entrance, his hand wrapped around his girth to guide himself into you steadily. Chancing a look down, you tried to hide the way your eyes bulged out at the sheer size of him— he would never let you hear the end of it if you fawned over how huge he was. It took all of your willpower to remain still, your body welcomed him as though it had hundreds of times, the shape of him slotting inside of you like he was made to. His fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head so he could travel to your neck, groaning out his praise against your sticky skin. The absence of his lips on yours made you whine, hands wandering the expanse of his back just for confirmation that this was real. “Tell me how it feels.”

You couldn’t. Months of the worst dry spell you’d ever experienced coming to a head with Mark milking you for everything you had couldn’t be described. All you could do was moan, coiling around him even tighter as he started to rock his hips forward as though he was testing the waters. He was the only thing you could focus on— his scent, his taste, they way his nose pressed right against yours, the feeling of his fingers intertwining with yours against the mattress, the dionysian desire his hips were fulfilling. It was all just Mark, Mark, Mark. “Mark!” His teeth couldn’t resist nipping at your lip, pulling on it playfully before letting go to let his tongues soothe the area.

“I can’t help it, you’re so fun to play with.” He kissed you to make up for the quick dot of pain, relishing in the way you immediately kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm.

“I’m, I’m close.”

He spread your legs further apart to give himself more room to buck his hips, pressing at your thighs as he fucked into you faster. “Hold it.”

“Whyyyy?”

“You asked for the Mark Lee experience,” His thrusts grew pointed, almost exaggerated as his hips drove forward with precision, “and I’m gonna give it to you.”

You could feel yourself teetering dangerously close to the edge, stomach coiled tight and lungs working overtime. The mere thought of being denied your orgasm was getting you worked up— you hate not getting your way. Your legs wrapped around Mark’s waist, locking your ankles together for good measure. If he wanted to play games, you were down for it. “Harder.”

But instead of faster, Mark slowed to a complete stop, hands drifting down to your hips to pin them to the mattress. “Oh, baby, do you think I’m stupid?” He chuckled in your face, shaking his head as the laughter subsided. “That’s a sure fire way to get nothing.”

“Wait, no, please! I didn’t mean it.”

The damage had already been done. His patience with you was wearing thin, and he didn’t take kindly to disobedience. “Have you learned your lesson?” Each second that passed stole a piece of your orgasm away with it, that delicious ball of tension and heat simmering down to a cool pit of nothing the longer Mark held your hips down. Your heart stopped fluttering with urgency, slowing to its resting rate as you dealt with the consequences of trying to outsmart your best friend. “Speak up, baby.”

“Yes,” You hissed out, annoyed that your declaration of needing to be fucked was currently going unanswered. Who is he to deny you of the very thing he promised you? “I learned my lesson.”

It was exactly what he wanted to hear, “God, you’re so sexy when you behave yourself.” 

You rolled your eyes, slapping his chest as he pulled away from you entirely. “What happened to ‘having me seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment’?” 

It was Mark’s turn to roll his eyes, fingers running through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “Up against the wall.” You did as he said, spreading your hands against the wall as you felt him behind you, lining himself up with your sodden entrance. The inward arch felt unnatural at first, but you settled into it as you got comfortable in it. “Look up at me.” Mark was towering over you, quite literally. From this angle, all you had to do to see his face was look up and there he was with that devilish smile. His cock pressed into you as you watched him, the sheer thickness splitting you clean open for him, sucking him in like your pussy had been waiting for him. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Maybe it was the taboo of sleeping with a friend, but your body was on fire. You felt your entire body heating up at the sudden change in his demeanor, switching your flirty best friend to a man absolutely starved. With your eyes screwed shut, you reached a hand out to hold onto his arm, fingers giving it a squeeze, head bumping the bare skin of his chest.

“Fuck.”

You were even wetter than you were while he had you pinned to the mattress, the feeling of being filled by him more electrifying after a brief intermission. He was all over you again and that was all that mattered, walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip that had both of you gasping for air.

“Shit,” he hiss, already lost in the sensation, “so good to me, ___, so fucking good.” He emphasized the last syllable with a gentle thrust that had your nails scratching at the wall. Your orgasm was building back up faster than you would’ve liked it to, considering you knew Mark wouldn’t let you cum so soon after denying you.

It hit you deeply, in all the right places at the right angle. Mark was that good from the start, and you couldn’t believe you’d been missing out on it. If you knew he was this goof, you would’ve ruined the friendship ages ago. “So fucking deep, Mark, keep going like that,” you moaned, just as caught up as he was.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, fucking into you with much more vigor than before, gripping your ass with such force you half expected to see the dents after. You moaned all you had to say, all you had to feel into each other’s mouths. When his velvety tongue enveloped yours you could almost taste the remnants of your arousal and the chocolate muffin he ate right in between sweeping and mopping. The water was still running, hitting part of his back and your leg.

You couldn’t pull away from him even if you tried— he was a part of you now, molded into each other’s bodies until you became one. “Wanna keep fucking you forever,” he groaned, pouring his all into every touch. “Keep you on me forever.”

It threw you for a loop. Keep you forever? Mark was a lot more emotional than he let on, sure, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he meant it in ways other than platonic. You couldn’t even stop him to ask what he meant by that because he was so deep in your guts that you were starting to feel him in your throat. 

“Don’t stop,” you cried out, biting your lip when he hit a certain spot inside you and kept hitting it over and over again— the taste of blood didn’t stop you. “Don’tstopdon’tsopdon’tstop-”  

“Fuck,” he whisper, voice strained and raspy, smacking at your ass before gripping it and bringing you down to meet his increasingly harsh thrusts, the slap echoing throughout your studio apartment. “Wanna fuck you forever, baby.” One hand kept its vice grip on your hip while the other grasped at your neck, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. “Gimme a kiss, pretty girl.” Your lips found his despite the blurring of your vision, a supple lock as he steadied rocking into your core. Kissing him upside down felt worlds away from the first kiss you shared with him, and yet you still couldn’t get enough of it. The hand on your hip slithered up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple as he pulled away from the kiss. “So obedient.”

All the shame had disappeared from your body, the satisfaction of finally being fucked numbing you to his quips completely. His name was on the tip of your tongue, begging to be set free, but the way his hips ricocheted off your ass made you short circuit. Your skin was hot to the touch, goosebumps littering the expanse of your body as your toes curled around the fabric of your duvet. 

“Who knew you were such a dirty girl, hm?” Mark tutted. You hold back your moans, reveling in the sensation of his tip sliding up and down you dripping folds. Interrupting his own rhythm just to get a rise out of you, giving you no warning before shoving himself right back in. 

“Bet this was your plan all along,” You ignore the fact that he technically initiated all of this, too blissed out to snap back at him cheekily. “Dripping all over my cock, fuck.” He’s thinking out loud, eyes locked at the way your pussy invites him in, grip unrelenting with each thrust. He drew his hips back again to repeat the same unforgiving tempo, laughing to himself at the way your thighs shake in anticipation.

“Wanted this for so long.” You whine, bashful about the confession rolling off your tongue so easily. Mark had always occupied a special part of your mind, but the barrier of your friendship with him always kept you from thinking of him in that way for too long. He’s hot, sure, and one of the most genuine guys you’d ever met— but risking that by dating him felt too stupid to risk.

Mark didn’t keep you waiting for too long, filling you to the brim with one stroke that had your toes curling. You gasp, a shiver running up your spine as he adopts a frenzied pace that nearly knocks you into the wall in front of you. “You’re so fucking warm.”  He can’t help but moan out at the feeling, clutching onto your hips as he pistons in and out of you. Blunt fingers digging into your skin as you let your body fall forward. You felt so full.

“Mark, fuck.” you whine, probably a tad too loud considering how thin the walls feel at night but you couldn’t help it, with the way he held onto you and fucked you like he had never had good pussy in his life. “Faster.”

“Where’d your manners go? Say ‘please’.” He teased, testing your obedience despite knowing you’d obey him. There was just something about knowing he held your pleasure in the palm of his hands, knowing that you’d do anything he asked of you. 

“Please, please, please Mark, need you so bad.” It sounded  pathetic, and it only makes Markn screw his eyes shut as he fucks you harder. All control lost as he watches the drool drip from your mouth down the wall— he was really fucking your brains out.

Mark's rough groans were slowly morphing  into needy moans, the sound causing even more slick to build up between your legs. “Taking my cock like such a good girl.” And you really were, considering you had nothing but the wall to grip onto, you let your body go wherever Mark led it. Each thrust sending you closer and closer to your climax, his dick hitting every single spot that you’re sure you’d see stars.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck.”

“You’re gonna cum? Mm, you can cum. Cum all over my dick, lemme see that pretty face.” You arched inward one last time for him, looking up at the man sending you to heaven and back on a loop. “There you go. Good fucking girl.” Mark smacked your ass sharply, holding onto your ass as he switched his rhythm to harsh, precise thrusts that were sure to throw you over the edge of pleasure. He kissed your forehead as the growing tension in the pit of your stomach snapped, your walls contracting around him in a tight frenzy that nearly triggered his own. He didn’t slow down, though. The clutching of pussy did absolutely nothing to deter him from fucking you with the same rigor, hips just as quick as they were before he finally let you cum.

“M-Mark, I don’...” The aftershocks of ecstasy silenced you in your tracks, the sparks of pleasure like electricity through your bloodstream. “Don’t stop.”

He laughed at the change of your tune, thumb flitting down to flick at your clit. “Baby needs more? Haven’t had enough yet?”

Even with him poking fun at your desperation, you were too drunk on his cock to care. All you could manage was a chorus of fuck me, fuck me, fuck me as Mark held you flush against him. “God, yes, fill me up like that.” Your arousal was dripping all over the inside of your thighs, the sticky slick glistening under the moonlight that peaked through your curtains. 

“That’s right, I’m not fucking done with you yet, pretty girl.” This side of him was lethal. He was insatiable, obsessed with the way your body responded to him, greedy for the way you bent to his every whim. It was such a change of pace from the way he was kissing you in missionary, the way he treated you like a doll that he was afraid of hurting you. “Feel good?”

He was mocking you— of course, it was good. You didn’t have to tell him that for him to know; but feeding his ego was so addictive. The way he’d reward you for praising him was enough for you to fall for the trap every single time. “So, good, Mark, hngh.”

The smack of his hips against your ass bounced off the walls, echoing the depravity that you and Mark were oh so good at acting on. All of your senses on overdrive, the overstimulation pulling at you from every end, you weren’t sure if you could take it all for much longer. Drool slipped from your mouth onto Mark’s arm, the edges of your vision blurring as you could feel yourself bubbling over. “Gonna cum again?”

“‘m gonna cum again.”

He was drunk with the power of controlling you. “Hold it.”

“Mark, I can’t.” You were surprised you were even able to do it the first two times he commanded it, not used to having gratification delayed against your wishes.

“Gonna fill you up and then you can cum.” It only took a few more targeted thrusts before he was spilling his seed into you, an endless leak of evidence of what took place over the last hour or so. Even as his cock began to soften, he made sure to fuck you through it, massaging tight circles into your clit until your legs spasmed. The air was snatched from your lungs, eyes flittering shut in sweet relief. It was only two orgasms, but the build up had really taken it out of you. Mark flipped you over gently on your back, brushing the hair out of your face as you sleepily opened your eyes.

“Look at that. Take a look at the mess we made, baby.” 

He gestured between your legs, a slippery canvas of cum smeared across your most intimate parts. “So much…” You couldn’t stop yourself from gathering some on your fingers, popping them into your mouth for a taste of the two of you mixed together.

Your brain was on fire, neurons alight with the molten sensation that was Mark Lee. Even though you took him up on the offer, you weren’t expecting him to completely change your world. A solid orgasm and a pat of the back, maybe. But now you were afraid that he was your new addiction that you’d never be able to feed. 

You woke up in a fresh sleep shirt to the smell of toasted bagels and coffee. Mark balanced the plates and mugs the best he could as he tackled the steps leading up to your bedroom area. “Mornin’ sleepyhead.”

“What time is it?”

He shoved a mug of steaming coffee into your hands, kissing you on the forehead. “Don’t worry about that. You were exhausted, wanted to let you sleep.”

“Thank you.” The coffee was exactly to your liking, just what you needed after a night of fucking like rabbits. “So, should we talk about… it?”

Blush rose to his cheeks and there was no hiding it, his hair pulled back into a messy bun so his face was on full display. “I mean, only if you want to? I’m okay with proceeding however you want to.”

“You’d be fine staying friends? Never talking about it? Pretending that nothing’s changed?”

He shrugged, “if that’s what you wanted, then yeah.” His attention shifted to his breakfast, eyes zeroed in on his eggs and toast like it was a gourmet meal. “Just don’t wanna make you feel weird about it, you know?”

“Mark?” You placed your coffee and plate down on your bedside table, turning your full attention to him as he continued to avoid your gaze. “What did you mean by all the ‘keep you forever’ stuff then?”

He rushed to try to explain himself, scrambling his words into a whole lot of nothing. “It’s not, like, a big deal or anything. I just get possessive… in bed, sometimes. I’m not a weirdo or anything, I promise.”

None of that mattered to you anyway, your dreams of Mark that clouded your head all night giving you the push you needed to throw caution to the wind. Would it be the worst thing in the world to risk it all with him? One kiss, chaste and sweet, was enough to shut him up for just a moment. “So if I said we should try exploring further, maybe go on a date or something, you’d say yes?”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, mouth falling agape as he searched your face for any signs that you were being facetious. “Y-yeah, yes. If that’s what you want.” He was so bad with his feelings, sometimes— but you were more than willing to be patient.

“Well, good, because that’s what I want.”

[pearlzier]

────⠀ ⠀ oh to sit on dean winchester's face⠀ᥫ᭡

warnings 𓂅 ✶ face sitting, oral (f!recieving), softdom!dean, afab!reader, uhh implied oral(m!recieving) ending.

when dean saw how petulant you were getting, all pissy with him, he knew exactly what was going on. maybe you were feeling pent up, clearly, since every little thing was setting you off and he hated to see you so wound up. you'd been getting on his ass the entire hunt, even being snappy with witnesses—that wasn't like you at all. he'd tried to figure out what was up with you, a million times. it wasn't getting him fucking anywhere.

"you gonna tell me what's up now?" you'd simply frown and look away, and he knows he won't get it out of you in the usual ways of being gentle and comforting. "fine, be like that then," he'd grumble in return, looking back at the steering wheel as he drove around the backwater town you two had found yourself in.

it's getting on his nerves as much as something's definitely getting on yours. dean'll figure it out eventually. he's softer with you in moments like this, not teasing you as much as he usually does so he doesn't piss you off as much. it's like setting off a live wire and he sure as hell ain't in the business to be doing all that. there's a hunt at hand, but he's realising you need sorting out before anything in that regard can get done.

when the two of you get back to a motel you'd grabbed, the hunt still proving fruitless. sam was fuck knows where, having said he wanted to work on some leads with cas, leaving you and dean together. he didn't mind, neither did you, since you two love eachother so damn much, but when you're so temperamental like this? always biting at him? a little hard to enjoy the alone time when he's walking on damn eggshells around you.

but he knew what you needed. needed your pussy ate, that's what. neeeded to get off, somehow, huh? you always got so sharp with him when you were pent up, all horny and frustrated. it was kind of becoming a game of his, see how long he could leave you pent up only to bring you to the edge over and over again till you calmed down.

"gotta come up with other ways to let out your frustration, baby, 'cause bein' horny ain't no excuse to start snappin' at me," he mutters, locking the motel door behind the two of you. you grumble at that, "not horny, just.." knowing full well you're lying through your teeth. how can you not be? like, he looks too damn good when he's impersonating law enforcement, that tight white shirt which he on occasion rolls up to his elbows—fuck, it's like he wants you to be pent up.

"starin' at me like you're gonna eat me whole, sweetheart. can't lie to me," you really can't, dean practically knows you better than you know yourself. his green eyes meet yours and he scoffs.

"that's not fair," you're shrugging off your blazer, hooking it over the coat hook by the door of the motel room. you do notice how dean rakes his eyes over you, seemingly happy with what he's seeing. you know he is, he's told you and shown you countless times in motels rooms quite similar to this one, actually.

dean tugs his tie from around his neck, draping it over the edge of the motel bed before he wanders over to the bed. he kicks off his shoes, leaving them on the floor before laying himself down on his back. he looked up at you with an expectant upwards cock of his brows. "right, you. c'mere," he gestures to his face, hands open for you to come sit yourself down on him and go to town. he barely suppresses a laugh at your expression, but he means it.

"you're not—" you're sceptical. you'd been pissing him off all day with your attitude and instead of being angry at you he's offering his face for you to sit on? you stand there for a moment, gnawing your bottom lip. "really?" your voice is uncharacteristically quiet, and dean softens a little bit at that.

"yeah, really," he slides his hands over the first few buttons of his shirt, in case he gets too warm with you sat over top him, before he gestured you over again. "don't make me drag you over here, y'know i'll do it." he most definitely will. you groan at that, knowing what lies ahead of you. "and you know you wanna."

you really do, that's the issue. he's right. you stare at him, and sigh under your breath. as much as you wanted to resist, be petty, you physically couldn't. "yeah, okay, hold on," you mutter, corners of your lips tugging upwards at the corners. dean practically cheers, he literally lives to please you, to make you feel good.

"just a second," you hum, sliding your hands into the sides of your slacks and easing them down. dean's eyes immediately drop down to your thighs, his tongue darting out to run over his bottom lip before he gazes back up at your face. he nods for you to continue, and you do, stepping out of your trousers and kicking them away from you.

"lookin' real pretty, sweetheart," dean murmurs, smiling softly at the sight of you. he shifts his weight upwards, so he can look at you properly. holding his hands out for you once more, he hums low under his breath. that coaxes you to make your way over to him, albeit the tiniest bit reluctantly still. you're still all tense. he hates seeing you so high strung. making your way over to the bed, your knees dig into the soft mattress, dipping it a little. dean quickly places his hands on your hips, sliding up under the blouse you're wearing.

his eyes rake up and down you, "gorgeous," he mumbles under his breath, squeezing at your flesh in gentle motions. as much as he'd like to worship your whole body right now, he's focused on worshiping a specific part of you right now. "you're okay with this?" he asks, placing a gentle kiss to your navel, eyes lifting back up to yours. "yeah," you murmur, "of course i am." he just needed to make sure.

"yeah? alright, up you get," dean lifts you to the side a little bit, slowly shuffling back down on the bed and laying against the mattress. his head rests against the pillow, eyes fluttering up and down you for a minute. "okay," you're tentative for a moment, reaching for your panties. though dean reaches over and eases them down your thighs for you. he swallows hard at the clear arousal dampening the thin fabric of your underwear, his breath hitching in his throat.

"starin'," you tell him gently, a soft smile playing on your lips at the sight of him. dean's eyes dart back up to yours and she scoffs, gently slapping your thigh a little bit before he grasps at your hips again. "can't wait any longer, up," he murmurs, and you bite your lip for a minute before you grasp at the headboard of the bed. dean's practically salivating, his tongue poking at the inside of his mouth for a minute before he practically tugs you down onto him.

"hold tight for me," dean mumbled, shifting his weight against the bed. just the sight of your bare pussy hovering mere inches above his face has him reeling. without hesitation, he grasps at your hips properly and tugs you down onto him. burying his face between your thighs, he lets his tongue delve into your warm, slick folds—lapping at your clit with a hungry fervour. "fuck, baby.."

you gasp shakily, your breaths picking up almost immediately at the feel of his tongue plunging against your warmth. "oh, shit," you grasp tighter at the bedframe, head tipping back a little bit. your thighs squeeze around his head, and he groans into you at the feeling. he uses the flat of his tongue to spread your wetness around, before his tongue darts back and forth over your clit, suckling at it insistently.

"that's it," dean moans into you, eyes fluttering shut juat at the feeling of your hips rocking up against him. he licks a thick line down your pussy, hiking you up him a little bit. his nose bumping against your clit as he slowly traces his tongue over your entrance. he flutters his tongue against your wet slit, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh a little tighter.

he groans into your cunt, the vibration sending a shiver down your spin and causing your hips to twitch againsr his face again. dean tightens his grip on your hips to try encourage you to grind down against his tongue even more, coaxing louder sounds from you. "holy fucking shit," dean lets out a low laugh against you, smacking your thigh for a moment at that. it only urges you to grind down further.

dean's nothing if not focused when it comes to making you feel good, and as he suckles at your clit, flicking his tongue against it and sucking on it, he's dedicated to the job. "so wet for me, yeah, that's it, ride my face, go on," his words are muffled by his position between your thighs but you can hear them clear enough. he might be throbbing beneath the fabric of his boxers, blood rushing to his dick with every cant of your hips, but he has to make sure you're satisifed first. "that's it, baby."

he runs his hand up between your thighs, lifting his thumb to your clit and rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves, feeling the way your thighs squeeze around his head and tremble against him. "dean, dea—" dean squeezes at your thighs to shush you, murmuring against you, "i know, baby, gonna come all over my face." he squeezes at your hips a little tighter, rutting you down against him so he can circle his tongue around your entrance once more. a few more tight circles made by his thumb and your movements stutter, thighs shaking even more as your orgasm hits you.

dean's groaning the whole way, happily lapping up all of your juices with no complaints. the fact he's making you feel good is more than enough for him, more than enough. "shit," he mumbles, laying back for a moment just to take in what just just happened. before he gets a chance to help you off of him, you're easing yourself off him. "that was—hey, where are you goin'—" his eyes widen as you're practically crawling down his body, settling yourself between his thighs.

"can i?" repay the favour, of course. he'd made you feel so good, after all.

dean's in a little daze, his breathing heavy. he lifts his hand to wipe his face of your release, blinking for a minute. sliding up the headboard, his hand moves to the back of your head easily and he mutters, "like you even gotta ask, baby." his free hand unbuttons his trousers with ease, "all yours."

ִ ֹ ★ @blue-d, @gibson-g1rl, @stevelacylovebot, @psychicnatural, @funkycoloured, @lovesickgrlsrh0t, @soldierboycunt, @hrtsoldierboy, @beetlejenna, @venusiers, @v3nusasagrl, @imwetforyourmom, @https--roman, @pillwebb, @beridollie, @sl33pylilbunny, @sincerebabydoll, @angelicjackles, @deansbite ִ ꒱

[charliemwrites]

Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃

Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!

Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.

Carrion

Reader comes back Wrong

Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care

The breakup was bad.

Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.

On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.

Your misery wanted no company, though.

You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.

Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.

He should have.

Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.

So. Six months.

Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.

183 days come and go.

On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month… one more mission… one more…

Six months turns to ten.

312 days since you left; since you were home.

The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.

The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.

374 days. Twelve months and some change.

They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.

Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.

487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.

561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.

You’re coming home.

590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.

It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.

Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.

Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.

Apart from that, you look… almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.

(Why are you the way he remembers?)

“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.

There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.

Then you grin and reach back.

“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.

Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.

You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”

So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.

“Sergeant.”

That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.

(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)

When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.

“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.

You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.

“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.

You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.

Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.

“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.

Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.

“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”

“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.

You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)

“I get that,” you sympathize.

He snorts. Since when?

“Do you?”

When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.

“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.

At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.

“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”

You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.

You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.

Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.

He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.

But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.

You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.

You’re back, better than ever.

So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?

You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.

It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.

When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.

You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.

“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.

You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”

“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”

You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish…”

“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”

Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.

Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.

It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.

(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.

You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.

“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)

Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.

“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)

“Always,” you reply.

Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.

“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”

It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.

(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)

“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.

You yawn. “What about me?”

“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”

Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.

“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.

Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.

“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”

Then why is it still bleeding?

When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.

(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)

In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.

Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.

On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.

It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.

It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.

You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.

You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.

It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.

And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.

But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.

“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”

Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.

“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.

“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.

“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”

“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”

Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.

Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”

They’re running out of time.

Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.

In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.

Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon… Simon is watching you.

Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.

But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.

“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.

The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.

“Do it.”

You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.

“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.

Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”

The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.

There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.

“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.

[januaryembrs]

i love your sunshine!reader x specer fics so much and ngl it's one of the best spencer fics i've ever read. i was wondering how the team would react to them dating? did anyone ever suspect that there was something going on between them or were they completely clueless??

PDA | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

description: Sunshine reader is worried about telling Unit Chief Prentiss about their budding relationship, despite Spencer telling her she's being dramatic.

length: 1.8k

warnings: fluff, TINY BIT OF HOTCHNISS BECAUSE I AM STILL MAD ABOUT THEIR SCENE AT JJ'S WEDDING I have never been blue ballsed so hard.

“Sweetheart, I think you need to calm down,” Spencer’s voice was calm and soothing, as was his hand that skirted down her arm to take hers in his own. Her palm was warm, the tiniest bit clammy as he meshed their fingers together, and stroked over the back of her knuckles with his thumb, “It’s only Emily,” 

“I know, I know, it’s just,” She conceded, and she smushed her face into his chest as a last ditch effort to revel in his affection before they had to go back to remaining professional, the elevator quickly approaching the sixth floor, “I feel like we’re breaking the rules. Are you positive it said nothing in the papers about workplace relationships?” 

“I would stake my life on it, believe me. Me and page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three are tight as can be,” Spencer reassured, after he had spent a good seven minutes reading through their entire contract, front and back, in an attempt to make her feel better because she knew she couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it, even more so couldn’t keep her hands and lips off Spencer for such an extended amount of time now she’d had him.

He watched the illuminated digits flick from four to five, and he yielded his restraint just the tiniest bit, knowing they might not get a chance to love on eachother so unapologetically until the work day was over. Spencer brought his hand that wasn’t wound tightly in her own around her shoulders, squeezing her to him with a pressed kiss to her forehead, the gesture full of eight hours worth of affections. 

Five turned to six just a little too fast for his liking and he was forced to let go of her as the doors slid open, trying to ignore the saddened expression on her face as they parted, the way her lips turned into a pout like a kicked puppy. 

“Good morning, my angels!” Penelope chirped, a sweet coffee with a buttload of creamer swirling around her octopus mug as she headed for her office, walking right past the two agents who looked like they’d forgotten how to behave normally. 

“Morning, Penelope,” She sang back, smiling at the woman who hummed as she walked, a skip in her step, yet the second the tech analyst entered her lair, the younger slapped a hand on Spencer’s arm, turning to him with wide eyes, “Oh my god, she knew!” 

He chuckled, shaking his head and resting a hand on her lower back, leading her to the bullpen as she fretted, “Relax, she did not know. And even if she did, we’re not doing anything wrong,” He cooed, thankful that the floor was empty besides Emily where she poked around her office, moving some folders between her desk and cabinet, “Derek dated pretty much every woman on the second floor within the first term of me being here, Penelope dated Kevin from Internal Affairs for years,” 

“But that’s, like, between floors, between departments. There’s no way they can get distracted if there’s a whole bunch of concrete and carpet between them,” She explained, and the two of them headed for their joint desk so they could set their bags down, “When I look at you, I get side tracked thinking about your beautiful hair and your stupidly handsome face and kissing you and-” She puffed her cheeks out, flustered already. 

“That sounds really difficult for you, I don’t know how you ever get anything done.” Spencer said with an indulging smile, because his favourite thing might just be humouring her. Besides kissing her and everything that came with it ofcourse.

“It’s a struggle, I’ll tell you now,” She said, almost unaware he wasn’t being serious as she looked at him finally, the glint in his eyes he got when he was teasing her, “It is. I nearly tipped coffee over my lap yesterday because you fixed your hair, it’s infuriating.”

He smiled, fighting every urge in him that wanted to pull her back into his chest and kiss her face a dozen times, because he knew she wasn’t joking when she said she was worried about breaking the rules. He knew Emily would be fine with them dating, they’d all turned a blind eye to the clear tension and lingering glances that had gone between her and Hotch for years, but he hated seeing her so frazzled, so he complied with her strict no PDA rule. 

He would just have to give it to her twice over later, when they were alone, and the thought of it excited him already. 

“Alright, alright, let’s do this. Am I speaking or are you speaking?” She asked, rubbing her sweating hands over her legs, and he shrugged. 

“I’ll do the talking, will you just do something for me,” He said, his voice calm and collected as he took the stairs, her footsteps nervously trailing behind him. 

“Sure, anything,” She said, looking up at him with wide eyes where he stood a whole step above her. 

“Take a deep breath,” He reminded her, grinning when he heard her pause and do as he’d said, because this was just Emily. 

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, meeting him at the top of the landing, where he waited by the office door, watching her with gentle eyes, “I just really don’t want to mess anything up, least of all with you,” 

He quickly tucked a slither of hair behind her ear in guilty pleasure, “You’re not messing anything up, I promise.” He murmured, his cadence low and calming because she already seemed worked up and they hadn’t even opened the door, “You ready?” 

She nodded after another deep breath, and he knocked on the door with those boney knuckles of his. 

Barely waiting for Emily to invite them in, he strode into the office, her trailing behind him like she was waiting for a scolding, and Spencer simply cleared his throat. 

“Everything okay?” Emily asked, her dark eyes scanning between the two of them, a look of concern flitting over her face, “Why do you guys have a weird look on your face? Did you chip Penelope’s mug again? Was it the good one? Oh man, she’ll kill you, that was her favourite-”

The rookie shook her head, and before she could breath and regulate like Spencer had been trying to tell her it happened; the word vomit she’d been shoving down for fifteen days, “We’re dating! We’re seeing each other together, I mean were seeing together, I mean wait, hang on-” 

Spencer put a hand on her shoulder to hush her, and she stopped then and there, sensing he could take over for her, because she’d quickly realised she was not one to handle pressure. 

“What she means to say is we’re dating, and according to page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three of our contract, workplace relations are acceptable as long as they aren’t hindrance to either the team or the work, so,” Spencer tucked his hand into his pocket, the other still gentle as it stroked her back soothingly, “Is that okay?” 

Emily shrugged, her lips twitching to hide the broad smile that begged to be released. 

“That seems reasonable to me,” She said politely, looking to where the rookie seemed to have found her words. 

“Th-that’s it, we’re not in trouble?” She asked on bated breath, her brows furrowed and confused. 

“Look, are you guys happy?” She nodded vehemently immediately, and Emily threw her hands up, “Then, there you go. As long as there’s no funny business in the office, it’s none of my concern,”

“Funny business?” She asked, and Spencer ran a hand over her braid she’d twisted into running down the back of her head, a small smile tugging at his lips, as he and Emily exchanged a look.

“No bang bang on company time,” Emily said plainly, ignoring the way the girl stiffened, her face hot and embarrassed as she shook her head. 

“Never, no, never. Never ever,” She spluttered, and Spencer took it as his signal to get her some space, “None of that ever, Emily, you don’t have to worry-”

“Who broke the rookie?” Tara asked, entering Emily’s office with a stack of folders in her arms, her eyes quickly zeroing in on the way Reid’s arm wrapped around her waist, and she turned to Emily with a knowing smirk, “You owe me ten bucks, Prentiss,” 

“Hold on, you guys bet on us?” Spencer asked, his expression dropping because he’d thought that the two of them had been subtle the past few weeks, even if his sweet girlfriend looked like she was keeping bees in her mouth every time there was a pause, like the secret had been begging to come out any second it got. 

Emily seemed guilty, though perhaps scathed would be a better term as she fished a bill out of her purse and handed it to Tara. 

“JJ owes forty, so I’m not too torn up about it,” She replied, catching JJ’s bluebell hues as she swanned past the office window, her eyes narrowing on the way the youngest agent was all but pressed into Spencer’s ribcage, the two of them looking like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole. 

Her face morphed into chagrin, “Two more weeks, and I would have been up by sixty bucks, you guys,” She bit at the happy couple, turning on her heel to where Luke was sipping coffee at his desk, clueless to the meeting they were having in Emily’s office, “Alvez, cough up. They told Emily already,” 

There was some sound of indignation from the desks below as Luke rummaged through his wallet, and Tara looked like that cat that got the cream as the wads of dollar bills made their way to her. 

“This is gross misconduct of workplace trust,” Spencer said, his lips pursed into something annoyed, and he could feel the way her face burnt with embarrassment without even having to look at her, “Alright, we are going out to get coffee, since we’re the only ones who know how to handle things like adults,” 

He led her out with a tight, protective grip, shielding her mortified expression from the rest of the office as they got back into the elevator, and he damned himself when he let her hug into his chest again, though this time it was to hide her humiliation in his shirt. 

“It’s okay, at least it’s out there now. No more secrets,” He comforted, and she nodded silently, her cheeks still on fire where the shame weaselled its way out of her face, “And, hey, it’s not like they can go on forever. They’ll have to give up some time,”

The group watched the doors close behind them, Luke immediately turning to the three women with an impish look in his eye, “Twenty says they’ll engage within a year,” Tara scoffed, waving her money in his face as Emily rooted around for more money, “You’re on, I give it eight months,”

[introloves]

can we puh LEASE get a drabble or a one shot on that gojo undercut thing u posted im beggin on my hands AND knees 🙏🙏

you knew he wanted something from you. you could feel it in the way he folded his frame down against yours. borderline suffocating, a malformed pout stretched across his face while humming against your neck.

“what is it.” you wondered, tapping away on your laptop without so much as paying him any attention- wounding him further.

he scoffed, wondering how you could be so cruel considering the fact he was dying. his eyes painted against the sheen of gloss painted over your newly done nails.

pink.

they were pretty and pink, and oddly resembling a part of him you just loved sucking on. his ego absolutely through the roof with that fact. you hadn’t put up your usual fight when he suggested the color brushed over that acrylic.

��nothing.”

a lie.

he himself knew what he wanted, but he never gave it up easy. choosing instead to wander away from the back of the couch you were so prettily purchased on. walking to stand directly in-front of you- the laptop screen doing nothing to block the majority of his body. tight shirt tucked into sweats that were hung a little too low for your tastes to be casual.

eyebrow raising and huffing with the hint served on a silver platter before you. smiling knowingly while closing the device and setting it aside.

opening yourself up to receive the heavy weight of his body, an exclaimed huff of air leaving you when his arms braced your body. engulfing them with ease- face planting first into your chest and groaning like he’d just found nirvana.

lifting his face to really show up that pout. letting those arms wrapped around you leave the circumference of you to grab at your wrists and plant them firmly against the shortened hair laying against the lower part of his head.

giggling when you finally got the unspoken hint. taking those newly manicured nails and raking them through the translucent hair.

“nothing, huh?” you teased, finding it easy to follow along to his whims. it was him who had paid a pretty penny for your current set after all.

answered with only a groan- eyes shut tight while you traced your initials into the hair there.

a vein prominent along the curve of his jaw with the force of his clenching teeth, something inside of him purring with the fact that you were so well taken care of.

taken care of on his money, with the color of his cock head painted on your nails.

shamelessly moving his face to nestle further against you, hands grabbing at you with an intensity not in proportion to your actions. wondering why the singular act of you running the tips of your styled nails across the short hair of his undercut had him reacting like this.

“satoru?” you inquired when his breathing nearly heaved while he let the full weight of him lay against you. answered with another near incoherent hum.

“is this okay?” words giggled sounded just a little teasing- but you truly wondered if this was fine. you’d never seen his body react in this fashion- not unless he was buried deep inside of you.

and with that realization, it seemed like a veil had been pulled from your eyes. looking over the curve of his back, over the defined planes, and watching the shifting of his hips against the couch cushions.

glossy lips pulled into something that resembled a smile before bringing your nails back and running them over the surface with just a little more pressure. making sure to watch for any shift in his demeanor.

barking out a bell of a giggle when his body tensed, coils of muscle wound tight and with an intensity that would have scared anyone that wasn’t you.

“feels good?” you wondered, and he could only nod. looking up and marveling at the pretty face smiling down at him. choosing to stretch himself back up to his full height. looming over you with that same intensity highlighted seconds previous.

“yeah, that feels good baby.” satoru huffed, letting you see for yourself when those horrible, teasing, wonderful sweats detailed the throbbing outline of his cock.

“do you wanna feel good?” he wondered, not letting you answer before tugging down the front of his waistband. finding it funny how close in color the pink tip of his matched your fingernails.

[reilemon]

Beneath the Collar

♡︎ synopsis: What do you tell yourself when you develop a crush on a hot priest? 'It'll pass.' But what if it doesn't?

♡︎ pairing: priest!Zayne x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: personal sacrilege, mutual masturbation

♡︎ word count: 13k

♡︎ a/n: the fifth story for kinktober 2024. i know i wrote something else as a prompt for this story, but it kinda didn't fit into the vibe. I hope you'll still like it.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

You’d been absentmindedly wiping down the counter, eyes flicking to the clock every couple of minutes. You were anticipating the weekend as if it was your lifeline. The shop was nearly empty, just a couple pastries left. You could already taste the freedom that awaited once you locked up. Saturday nights were your escape. You’d head out of town and finally let loose with your old friends. You couldn’t wait to slip into a tight dress, feel the beat of music thrumming through your veins, and drown the stress of your quiet life with a few too many drinks.

You loved the buzz, the way you could disappear into the crowd. It was so different from the slow, predictable pace of this town—so different from the way you had to be here, composed, calm, responsible. You could already imagine the way your friends would greet you with shrieks and hugs, the taste of sweet cocktails on your lips, the feel of someone’s hands on your waist as you danced the night away.

You hadn’t realized how tightly wound you’d become until you started thinking about it. The endless days of baking, of small talk with customers who didn’t really know you, of going home to an empty apartment. This wasn’t the life you’d imagined.

The chime above the door rings, pulling you back from your thoughts. You straighten instinctively, slipping back into your practiced routine, eyes flicking up with a tired smile ready—until you see him.

The man who steps in isn’t like any customer you’ve seen before. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark, understated clothes. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the stark white collar around his neck—the unmistakable sign of a priest. Yet you can’t help but stare at his features - his sharp jawline, the raven-black hair falling slightly across his forehead, and those intense green eyes. He looks cold, distant, his gaze hard and unreadable as it sweeps the room before landing squarely on you.

You can feel your heart pound as your breath catches. You aren’t supposed to feel this way. He’s a priest, for God’s sake. Yet here you are, rooted in place, unable to tear your eyes away from him. You shouldn’t be thinking about how strong his hands look, or how his lips might feel if they ever touched yours. Guilt twists in your gut, making you flush with shame.

You swallow hard, the professional smile faltering for a second as your thoughts race. What is a man like him doing here? He doesn’t look like the type to indulge in something sweet.

He steps forward, approaching the counter, and the closer he gets, the more you can feel your façade slipping. You force yourself to break eye contact, focusing instead on the pastries.

You need to say something, anything to break the tension. “Good evening,” you finally manage.

“I’m sorry for coming in so late,” he says, his voice deep and smooth, instantly making you feel butterflies. “I was hoping to grab something before you closed.”

You nod, trying to keep the conversation professional, though your mind is anything but. “Of course,” you reply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

His eyes flick over the display case before returning to you, making your heart flutter. “Macarons,” he says after a moment. “Do you have any left?”

You blink, thrown off by the unexpected request, by how he knows exactly what he wants. “Ah—no,” you stammer, shaking your head. “Sorry, they sold out earlier today.”

He nods once, but doesn’t seem disappointed. You half-expect him to say something more, maybe ask about the next batch or try one of the remaining pastries. But he doesn’t. His eyes flick to the empty spot where the macarons should’ve been, then back to you.

"Thank you," He doesn’t smile, just offers a polite nod before he turns and walks toward the door. The air feels lighter the moment he steps out, but your heart is still racing, your mind still tangled in thoughts you shouldn’t have.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what just happened, your hand still resting on the counter as if anchoring you back to reality. Slowly, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

‘What the hell was that?’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Later that evening, you stand in front of your mirror, smoothing your dress down over your hips, but your thoughts are miles away. You’ve been looking forward to this night all week— but now, you can’t stop thinking about him.

As you spray the perfume on your neck, your mind drifts back to the way those cold green eyes had fixed on you with such unnerving intensity. You replay the interaction over and over in your head as you fix your lipstick, each swipe of color across your lips bringing back the memory of his deep, steady voice.

You grab your heels and slide them on, trying to push the image of him away. It’s your night - you should be thinking about the friends you’ll be laughing with, the strangers you might flirt with, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. And that damn collar, the way it stood out against his sharp jaw, mocking you.

You sigh, frustrated with yourself as you grab your clutch and head for the door. Tonight is about fun, freedom. As you step outside, you convince yourself that by the end of the night you will forget all about him.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You stand just outside the church, a box of macarons clutched in your hands. The crisp autumn air hits your face, cooling the remnants of your hangover. You wince slightly as the last pulse of your headache throbs behind your eyes. But it’s nothing compared to the nervous energy swirling in your stomach. The night before is a blur of music, laughter, and drinks—too many drinks—and yet, through it all, he was still there. No matter how hard you tried your mind kept circling back to the priest.

You woke up early this morning, despite the dull ache in your head, the need to see him again pulling you out of bed far earlier than your body wanted. You spent more time than usual getting ready, trying to make yourself look presentable. Like you hadn’t spent half the night dancing under neon lights, sweat mingling with perfume. Like you were fresh and composed, not some hungover mess delivering macarons to a man who probably didn’t even remember you.

Now, as you stand outside the church, watching as the last of the congregation trickles out from Sunday mass, you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous. ‘What the hell am I doing?’ You glance down at the box in your hands. Last night, you’d come home and found the extra macarons sitting in your fridge—fresh, untouched. And somehow, in your alcohol-soaked brain, you’d convinced yourself that bringing them to him would make sense. That maybe, just maybe, seeing him again would clear your thoughts.

Inside, you hear the faint echoes of voices, the last goodbyes being exchanged. Your pulse quickens, the nerves settling in deeper now. ‘What if he thinks I’m crazy?’ You glance up at the church doors as they swing open again. More people spill out, some of them familiar faces, regulars from your shop. You offer a small, polite smile to those who glance your way, though the last thing you want is to be seen here, holding this box like some desperate girl with a crush.

The crowd thins, and finally, you see him. He steps out of the church, tall and composed, his dark coat catching the cool breeze as he exchanges polite nods and handshakes with the remaining parishioners. Your heart stutters in your chest when his eyes land on you, sharp and focused, just like yesterday. His gaze flickers with confusion as he approaches. The contrast between the two of you couldn’t be more stark. He’s the picture of calm and control, while you feel like a bundle of frayed nerves.

"Good morning," he greets, his voice low and even, though there’s a hint of curiosity in it. His eyes drop to the box in your hands, and then back up to meet your gaze. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

You force a small smile, suddenly feeling foolish again for showing up like this. "I, um..." You glance down at the box before awkwardly extending it toward him. "I brought these... for you. Macarons. I had some extras, and I thought..." Your voice trails off as you realize how ridiculous you sound.

He hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the gesture, his brow furrowing slightly as he looks between you and the box. "That’s very kind of you," he says after a beat, his tone polite but still laced with confusion. He takes the box from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through you. "But I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why bring them here?"

You feel your face heat up, the embarrassment creeping in again as you try to explain. "I just... yesterday, you asked about the macarons. And I had some left at home, so I thought..." You trail off again, unsure how to finish without sounding completely absurd.

His eyes soften slightly, the confusion changing into something more like understanding. "I see," he says quietly. He looks down at the box in his hands, then back at you. "Thank you. This was... thoughtful."

There’s a long, awkward pause before you gather the nerve to ask, "Have you visited my shop before? I mean, you knew we sold macarons, but I don’t remember seeing you."

He glances away for a moment, then returns his gaze to you, his tone still measured and calm. "I have stopped by a few times, yes. But more often than not, my colleagues bring me your macarons. They speak highly of your pastries." His lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but the closest thing you’ve seen from him. "They’ve made sure I know where to find the best sweets in town."

You blink, processing that information. ‘So, he has been there.’ A strange mix of relief and disappointment washes over you—relief that he’s not a complete stranger to your shop, but disappointment that you missed those visits. Still, knowing he’s tasted your work fills you with a sense of pride.

"I see," you murmur, nodding. "I wasn’t sure, since... well, you don’t seem like the type to indulge in sweets."

He raises an eyebrow. "I do, on occasion," he says, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "Especially macarons."

Another silence falls between you. The cold morning air feels sharper now, the quiet around the church almost too loud as the last of the parishioners filter away, leaving just the two of you standing there.

You feel the urge to say something, anything. "I hope you enjoy them," you say quickly, nodding toward the box in his hands.

His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than feels comfortable. "I’m sure I will," he replies, his voice softer now, though his serious demeanor never wavers. "Thank you again. This was... unexpected."

You nod, unsure what else to say, and suddenly, the weight of what you’re doing—standing outside a church, hungover, giving a priest macarons—hits you all over again. You swallow hard, feeling the need to leave before you make things even more awkward.

"I should probably go," you blurt out, taking a small step back. "I didn’t mean to interrupt your morning."

He watches you, his gaze steady, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to say something to stop you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he simply nods. "Take care,"

You turn and start walking away, your heart pounding in your chest, the cool air biting at your skin. You feel a little silly, a little reckless, but something about the way he looked at you, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he accepted the macarons... it stays with you.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Sunday arrives quicker than expected, and this time, you're determined to play it cool. You still went out the night before, but you kept it light—a couple of drinks, no wild partying. The ache behind your eyes this morning is faint, nothing like last week’s pounding. You’d woken up with enough time to fix your hair and choose an outfit that’s both casual and appropriate, though you spent longer than you’d like to admit deciding on it.

As you step inside the church, the scent of old wood and candles washes over you, calming your racing heart just a little. The crowd is larger than you expected—families, couples, elderly regulars. You quietly slip into a pew near the back, hoping to blend in.

You settle in, your eyes scanning the front of the church, seeking him out. There he is, standing at the altar in his robes, his presence as commanding as ever. He’s facing the congregation, his expression stoic, speaking in that calm, steady voice that fills the room with reverence. At first, he doesn’t notice you. He’s focused on his sermon, his attention on the crowd as he guides them through the service.

And then, as if he can sense you watching him, his gaze flickers toward the back of the church—and locks onto you.

For a moment, the rest of the congregation fades into the background. It’s just you and him, his eyes lingering on you longer than they should. There’s no surprise in his expression, but his gaze isn’t the distant, detached look you remember from before. Your breath catches, and for a second, you’re not sure what to do. You glance down at your hands, trying to steady yourself, but when you look back up, his eyes are still on you. He’s quick to recover, though, returning his focus to the sermon, but the brief connection leaves your pulse racing.

The rest of the mass is a blur. You try to listen, to follow along with the prayers, but all you can think about is the way he looked at you. The quiet intensity of his gaze, the way it felt like he was seeing more than just another face in the crowd.

As the mass ends and people begin to rise from their seats, you remain seated for a moment longer. You watch as the crowd shuffles toward the exit, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, offering their thanks and farewells. For a second, you think about slipping out quietly and disappearing before he notices you again. It would be the easiest thing to do—walk away, avoid any awkward conversations.

But just as you start to stand, your eyes find his across the room. He’s still speaking with a couple of elderly women near the front, but his gaze shifts—briefly, unmistakably—back to you. And there’s something in that moment that makes it impossible to leave. Before you know it, you’re moving toward him, your pulse quickening with each step.

You tell yourself it’s only polite to say hello, maybe thank him for the sermon. It’s what people do, right? But the truth is, you haven’t attended a church service in so long, you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to talk to a priest. What do people even say in these situations? Your mind races as you approach, trying to figure out what you’re supposed to say.

When you reach him, he finishes his conversation with the elderly women, offering them a polite nod before turning his attention to you. For a moment, you stand there, unsure of how to start, but before you can stumble over a greeting, he speaks first.

"Good to see you again," Zayne says, as he offers you a barely visible smile. It’s subtle, just a small upturn at the corner of his lips, but it’s enough to make your heart race. "I don’t recall seeing you here before last week."

You blink, feeling like you’re caught red handed. You fumble for a response, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Oh, no, I—I haven’t been here before," you admit, glancing down at your hands before looking back up at him. "I mean, I used to go to church when I was younger, but... it’s been a while." You force a small smile. "I’ve been in this town for a few months now, but I guess I still feel kind of... new. I’m trying to, you know, be a part of the community."

It’s a half-truth, but close enough to reality.

Zayne listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he considers your words. "It’s understandable," he says after a moment, his voice softer now. "Moving to a new place can feel... isolating." His gaze lingers on you. "I’m glad you’re finding your place here."

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest. "Yeah, I think I’m making some progress."

You’re unsure of what to say next, but Zayne is the one that speaks next. "Those macarons you brought last week," he begins. "There was one flavor I hadn’t tried before—rose, I believe?"

You hadn’t expected him to bring it up. "Oh, yeah," you say, a giddy smile creeping onto your lips. "I like to experiment with new flavors in my free time. I wasn’t sure if anyone would like that one."

He nods, with a faint smile. "It was... different. Unexpected, but in a good way."

Your smile widens at that, unable to contain the warmth blooming in your chest. You hadn’t realized how much his opinion would matter to you. "I’m always experimenting," you admit, feeling more at ease now. "Sometimes I stay up late trying out new combinations."

The air between you feels lighter, warmer. "I can tell you put a lot of effort into it."

The compliment catches you off guard, and you’re not sure how to respond. But before you can say anything, Zayne shifts the conversation slightly. "We’re hosting a bake sale next week," he says, "It’s for a local charity. I was wondering if you’d have the time to volunteer."

Volunteer? At the church? You’ve never done anything like that before. But the idea of working with him, of contributing in some way—it tugs at you, and before you can think it through too much, you find yourself nodding.

"Yeah, I’d love to," you say quickly, the giddiness from earlier still bubbling beneath the surface. "I mean, I’m sure I could make time."

His gaze softens, and there’s that almost smile again. "Good," he says. "I think your talents would be appreciated."

You nod, feeling strangely content. Working with him, even if it’s just for something simple like a bake sale—seems like a small step forward, a way to stay close without pushing too far.

As the crowd continues to thin, you realize you’ve lingered long enough. You take a small step back, your heart still racing from the interaction. "I’ll see you next week, then," you say softly, offering him a final smile before turning to leave.

"Yes," he replies. "Next week."

You can feel his gaze on your back as you exit the church, the weight of it lingering long after you step outside into the cool autumn air. And though you try to tell yourself that it’s just a bake sale, just a way to be part of the community, you can’t shake the excitement simmering beneath the surface.

Next week couldn’t come soon enough.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The bake sale was a success. The air was filled with the scent of baked goods and laughter, but you hardly had time to enjoy it. Zayne, ever the center of attention, had been pulled away in a dozen directions the entire day. When you’d arrived early that morning, hands full of pastries and stomach full of butterflies, you barely got a chance to exchange more than a quick greeting.

He had smiled at you, brief but warm, though his attention was quickly snatched away by people needing his assistance, asking for advice, or organizing last-minute details. Of course, he handled everything with calm efficiency. You watched him navigate the chaos with admiration, though a part of you ached for more than those fleeting glances you stole throughout the day.

Now, as the sun begins to set and the crowd dissipates, everything is finally winding down. The tables have been mostly cleared, the leftover baked goods packed up, and most of the volunteers have either left or are chatting amongst themselves. You’re still tidying up, folding a tablecloth when you feel a presence beside you. Zayne.

"Need any help?" he asks.

You offer him a small smile, shaking your head. "I’ve got it," you say, too aware of how close he’s standing. "But thank you."

"You did a lot today," he says quietly. "The bake sale wouldn’t have been as successful without you."

The compliment, though simple, warms your chest, and you can’t help the slight flush that rises to your cheeks. "I’m just glad I could help," you reply, glancing at him, and there it is again—his gaze, lingering just a fraction too long.

"Will you be attending mass tomorrow?" he asks after a pause, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

For a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. Attending Sunday mass on a regular basis was not something you imagined for yourself when you moved here. But neither was the crush on a priest. You tilt your head slightly, offering a small smile. "I might," you say. "But... I’d be more than happy to help out around the church too. If you need extra hands for events or... anything else." The offer hangs in the air.

Zayne’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer, before he nods, his lips curving into that barely-there smile that always makes your heart race. "I’ll keep that in mind."

As you both finish the last of the cleanup, the weight of the day settles over you. The connection between you and Zayne feels more real.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Days pass after the Sunday mass, and your mind is restless. You had hoped—foolishly—that this crush would fade. That the flutters in your stomach and the lingering heat in your chest, and somewhere else, would disappear. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s grown stronger. It’s more than just attraction now—it’s curiosity, fascination, a desire to know him beyond the surface.

You had gone to mass that Sunday, and the entire service, your eyes had found his. After the service, you exchanged pleasantries as usual, but there was something beneath the surface. The way he smiled at you, as if holding back. And then, before you left, he had handed you his phone, suggesting that you exchange numbers, “in case there’s any more help needed with events.”

It was a perfectly reasonable request, and yet, your hands had trembled slightly when you typed your number in. A simple exchange of phone numbers shouldn’t feel like this, but you couldn’t shake the thrill it gave you.

Now, days later, you’ve been staring at his name in your phone for what feels like hours. Your fingers hover over the screen, your mind spinning with a thousand excuses you could use to text him.

‘Just invite yourself over.’ Tell him you’ve been working on new desserts and want to share them. It’s innocent enough—after all, you’ve done it before, and he was more than happy to accept. Why should this time be any different?

You lean back, the phone still in your hand, your thoughts a tangled mess. ‘It’s not wrong to want to see him, is it?’ When you’d exchanged numbers, had there been something in the way his hand brushed yours? Something more than just casual contact?

Your thumb hovers over his name on your phone, heart pounding in your chest. ‘One message. That’s all. Just one message to bring him something.’ It’s innocent. Harmless.

You begin to type. “Hey, I’ve been experimenting with some new dessert recipes. Thought you might like to try them. Could I drop some by?”

Before you can second-guess yourself again, you hit send.

The message disappears, leaving you staring at the screen, your heart racing.

Your phone buzzes a minute later, and you can hardly breathe as you open the message.

“That sounds great. I’d love to try them.”

His reply is simple, casual, but the effect it has on you is anything but. You glance around your apartment, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’ve done. You’re going to see him again, and this time, the meeting will be more personal, more intimate. ‘Just you, him, and those damn desserts.’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You close the shop with shaky hands, flipping the sign to "closed" and locking the door behind. You try to calm your nerves as you walk toward the church.

‘Why am I doing this?’ you ask yourself for the hundredth time. You always shared your new recipes with your two employees—they were your taste-testers, your go-to feedback. So why now? Why are you heading to a priest, of all people?

‘He’s the customer experience,’ you remind yourself, a weak excuse at best. However, if anyone could give an honest opinion, it would be him—level-headed, composed, with that quiet seriousness that always unnerves and excites you. It’s just an opinion, nothing more. You repeat it like a mantra as you approach the church.

The doors creak open as you step inside, the familiar scent of incense filling your senses. The church is mostly empty, the soft glow of evening light filtering through the stained-glass windows. As you enter, you spot Zayne standing outside the confessional. He’s speaking quietly with an older woman, but his eyes flick up as soon as you walk in. The moment he sees you, his expression changes for a split second, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make your heart skip a beat.

The woman finishes her conversation, offering him a polite smile before heading toward the door. Zayne watches her go, and when she’s gone, he turns his full attention to you.

His lips curve into a subtle smile. "Good evening," he greets you with that calm authority that always makes you feel both at ease and strangely vulnerable at the same time. "Thank you for coming. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble."

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady as you return his smile. "No trouble at all. I just closed up the shop, so... it worked out."

He nods, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before gesturing toward the back of the church. "Shall we?" He leads you down the quiet hallway, until you reach his office—a small, private room tucked away from the rest of the church. The walls are lined with bookshelves, a modest desk in the middle, and a soft lamp casting a warm glow. Zayne closes the door behind you, and for a second, the air between you feels thicker than it had before.

You sit across from each other at the small desk. You set the box between you, showing a display of your latest creations. Zayne’s intense green eyes take in the array of sweets.

"These look incredible," he says as he leans in. He reaches for one, pausing as if to savor the moment. "Shall we start?"

You nod, your voice wavering as you describe the little creation.

As he finishes the first dessert, followed by more praise, his eyes drift over the others in the box. His eyes linger on a small orange-tinted one. His brow furrows slightly, and he glances up at you. "Is that… carrot?" he asks, with reluctance in his tone.

You laugh softly, "Yes, it’s a mini carrot cake," you say, your voice light and teasing. "I’ve been thinking about adding it to the menu."

Zayne’s smile tightens just a little. His fingers hover near the pastry, but he doesn’t reach for it. "Carrot cake... that’s..." He trails off, clearly searching for the right words, though his discomfort is obvious. "I’m sure it’s delicious," he adds, his tone strained with effort.

You can’t help but chuckle softly at his expression, the idea of Zayne being uncomfortable with something as simple as a carrot cake is both endearing and amusing. "You don’t like carrots, do you?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him with a grin.

Zayne shifts slightly, his ears tinged with a faint blush as he gives a sheepish smile. "I’ve never been... fond of them," he admits.

You laugh again. "That’s completely fine," you say, shaking your head. "You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to. I won’t be offended."

Relief washes over his face, and you can’t help but find it charming. "Thank you," he says with a smile, his voice more relaxed now. "I’m sure it’s wonderful. Just... not for me."

You nod, smiling back at him as you make a mental note not to add the carrot cake to the menu after all. Who would have thought Zayne, of all people, would have such a small but specific dislike?

As you both settle into a comfortable rhythm of tasting the remaining pastries, the earlier tension eases, replaced by the easy conversation and laughter that flows between you. There’s something natural, almost soothing, about this—sharing these quiet moments, watching his reactions as he tries each new flavor, the occasional teasing smile crossing his lips.

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to push the boundary just a little. “I won’t ask what made you become a priest at such a young age,” you begin, offering a shy smile to lighten the weight of your words. “But I have to admit... I do wonder what you do when you’re not here. What’s Zayne like when he’s not... well, Father Zayne?”

Zayne’s lips twitch slightly at the question, as though he’s surprised but also amused by your boldness. He leans back in his chair, his posture relaxing a bit.

“Well,” he begins, a faint chuckle escaping his lips, “I don’t have much free time, to be honest. Between the church, the community events, and my other responsibilities, it’s hard to find a moment just for myself.”

He pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “But when I do get some time, I like to read. Mostly fiction—novels, stories that take me somewhere else for a little while.” His voice softens with a hint of something like nostalgia. “I also try to visit new restaurants when I can. There aren’t many options in this town, so sometimes I take trips to the city just to try something different.”

There’s something so relaxed, almost vulnerable, in the way he talks about it that makes you feel like you’re seeing a side of him that few people do. A side that isn’t weighed down by the responsibilities of his role, but is simply... Zayne.

He shifts the conversation, leaning forward slightly as he looks at you. “What about you?” he asks, his voice warm with genuine curiosity. “When you’re not experimenting with food, what do you do in your free time?”

“Well,” you begin, shifting in your seat, “when I do take a break, I like to drive out of town, too. I’d meet up with old friends, go out for a drink or two... but honestly, I like the quiet here. It’s different. Calming, in a way.”

Zayne nods, his expression thoughtful. “I can see that. There’s something peaceful about being here, away from the noise. But I imagine it must get lonely sometimes.”

His words strike a chord in you, and for a moment, you feel a vulnerability creeping in. You hadn’t expected him to understand, but somehow, he does.

“Yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “It does.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, you feel like you’re seeing him in a new light— as someone who, like you, is navigating his own struggles, his own desires.

The rest of the evening continues with light topics and soft laughter. But as you glance out the window you see it’s pitch-black outside. You glance at your watch, feeling a pang of reluctance as you realize it’s time to go.

“I should probably head out,” you say softly, not wanting to break the moment but knowing it has to end.

Zayne nods, though there’s a hint of something in his eyes that shows he feels the same reluctance. He stands, walking you to the door of his office. “Thank you for the desserts,” he says, his voice feeling more personal now. “And for the conversation.”

You smile. “Thank you for listening. And for the... honesty.” There’s a moment of hesitation before you step toward the door, the space between you suddenly feeling too close. He opens the door, and as you step out into the quiet hall, you glance back at him one last time.

His eyes linger on you. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice low, and for a second, it feels like there’s more he wants to say, but the moment passes.

“Goodnight,” you reply, turning to leave, your heart still racing from the quiet intimacy of the evening.

As you walk out into the cool night air, you can’t help but feel that this connection—whatever it is between you and Zayne—has deepened. And as you head home, your thoughts linger on him, wondering where this path will lead.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next day, your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips a beat. It’s a message from Zayne.

“The desserts were incredible,” it reads. “You have a real gift for combining flavors. Thank you again.”

You smile, rereading the message a few times before typing out a casual reply. His words, the thoughtfulness behind them, mean more than they should. You tell yourself it’s just feedback—he’s just being kind, just acknowledging your work—but the fact that he took the effort to write this message... it lingers in your mind.

Days pass, and the messages continue. They’re not frequent, but every other day, you’ll receive something from him—a thoughtful comment on one of your desserts or a small exchange that feels more personal than before.

One evening, your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a picture—a grainy snapshot of a small, scruffy-looking cat sitting outside the church doors.

“This little guy hangs around the church sometimes. I think he’s starting to expect me to feed him,” the message reads.

You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself as you look at the picture. You quickly type out a response: “He’s adorable! Have you tried petting him yet?”

A minute later, Zayne replies: “I’ve tried. He runs away every time I get close.”

You smile to yourself, finding the image of Zayne—a man so composed, so in control—being outwitted by a stray cat endearing. You imagine him, kneeling down, trying to coax the little creature closer, only for it to scurry away. There’s something so human about it, so... normal.

“That’s adorable,” you reply, the smile still on your face. “Keep feeding him, and he’ll come around eventually.”

The conversation carries on like that—simple, easy exchanges that make you feel more connected to him in ways you hadn’t expected. But with every message, every small insight into Zayne’s life outside of his role as a priest, the ache in your chest grows. The attraction you’d hoped would fade has only grown stronger, and now it’s not just about the way he looks or the way his voice makes your heart race. It’s about him—his quiet strength, his thoughtfulness, the way he seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders but still finds time to send you a picture of a stray cat.

You know you shouldn’t feel this way. He’s a priest, and you’re well aware of the boundaries that are supposed to exist between you. You’ve tried telling yourself that it’s just a crush, something that will pass.

But it hasn’t.

Late at night, you lie in bed, staring at your phone, your thumb hovering over the screen as you reread his latest message for the hundredth time. You feel a warmth spread through your chest, a soft ache blooming alongside it—a gnawing longing.

Your set the phone beside you as you exhale, closing your eyes. The ache doesn’t go away. The thought of him consumes you. Every night, it’s the same. You tell yourself not to think about him, not to let your mind wander to those places where it’s dangerous to go, but you’re powerless to stop it.

You imagine his hands—strong yet gentle—the way they would feel against your skin. You think about his lips, how they’d taste, how they’d move against yours, how they’d trail lower. Your body heats at the thought and before you can stop yourself, your hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties. The room feels too quiet, too still, as your breath quickens, and all you can think of is him.

Every night, you touch yourself to the thought of him. It’s become your secret ritual, a way to chase the frustration and desire that builds up inside you. You picture the way his body would feel pressed against yours, the way his breath would hitch as he gives in, as the control he fights so hard to maintain finally snaps. You can almost hear his voice—low, rough with need—as he murmurs your name, telling you how much he’s wanted you, how long he’s been fighting it.

Your fingers move faster. And just as you reach the edge, teetering on the brink of release, you whisper his name into the darkness, your voice barely audible.

When it’s over, you lie there, breathless, your heart pounding in the silence of your room. The guilt creeps in, just like every night.

During the day, at the shop, you go through the motions—serving customers, smiling, chatting. But your mind drifts back to him, and you wonder –

‘Does he ever think about me like that?’

You think of him during the slow afternoons at the shop, when the world feels like it’s moving on without you. You wonder what he’s doing, if you cross his mind in those rare moments when he’s alone. Or if you’re just another parishioner to him, someone he texts about cats and pastries and nothing more.

The next time your phone buzzes, and you see Zayne’s name light up the screen, your heart skips a beat, followed by that all-too-familiar flutter in your belly. He’s sent another picture of the cat, this time with a playful caption:

“Still no luck with petting him. I think he likes to torment me.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. Warmth spreads through your chest, but the ache follows closely behind.

You type out a response, light-hearted to match his tone. “Maybe he’s playing hard to get. He knows you’ll keep trying.”

The response comes seconds later, “You’re probably right. I’ll keep trying. Maybe one day he’ll trust me.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Sunday mass comes, and you sit quietly in the back, as you’ve grown accustomed to. Zayne stands at the altar, delivering his sermon with the same calm and captivating demeanor. The words, though meaningful, drift over you like a gentle breeze—comforting, yet distant. You can’t help but let your mind wander, your gaze occasionally flitting up to meet his. Each time your eyes find his, there’s a momentary spark, a flicker of something that passes between you.

At first, it’s subtle—a glance, nothing more. But as the moments pass, the weight of his attention seems to grow heavier. His gaze lingers on you for just a heartbeat longer than it should. The words coming from his mouth slow for the briefest second, just enough to notice, before he corrects himself and continues. But the flicker is there, a momentary lapse in the composed, unwavering Father Zayne.

You feel a rush of heat rise in your chest. ‘Is he losing focus because of me?’ The thought sends a thrill through you, though you immediately try to brush it off as wishful thinking. But then, it happens again.

Zayne’s sermon flows smoothly as usual, but this time, when his eyes find yours again, there’s a subtle shift in his expression. His voice falters, just slightly, as if he’s momentarily forgotten his place. He pauses, clearing his throat, his gaze quickly flicking away. You feel your heart pound in your chest, and you know he felt it too—his usual calm shaken, if only for a moment.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. A pair of elderly women seated a few pews ahead of you exchange a glance, their heads turning slightly as if they’re trying to figure out what—or who—might have caused the good Father to stumble. They lean toward each other, whispering quietly, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, a mixture of excitement and guilt flooding through you.

Zayne continues, his voice steady once more, but you can see the subtle tension in his posture now—the way his hands grip the edges of the lectern just a little tighter, the slight crease between his brows as if he’s fighting to regain control. You try to focus on the sermon again, to pull yourself out of this strange, charged moment, but it’s impossible.

When the service ends, and the last of the parishioners trickle out, you step forward, your heart still pounding in your chest. Zayne looks up, and you can tell he’s still unsettled from earlier.

But he smiles. "Good morning," he says, his voice quieter now. "I—uh, hope you enjoyed the service."

You nod, offering him a small smile in return. "I did. Though, I have to admit... I still don’t understand most of it."

Zayne chuckles, "As long as you’re here, that’s what matters," he replies, and for a moment it seems as if there’s more he wants to say but can’t quite find the words.

Before either of you can speak again, you glance toward the doors and realize that, during the service, the skies outside have opened up. Rain pours down, tapping against the windows with a steady rhythm. You curse softly under your breath, realizing you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

"Looks like I’m stuck for a while," you murmur, half to yourself, half to Zayne.

He follows your gaze, then turns back to you with a thoughtful expression. "You don’t have an umbrella?" he asks.

You shake your head, feeling a bit foolish. "No, I didn’t think it would rain today."

Zayne pauses for a moment, as if thinking about something, before he speaks again. "I could walk you home," he offers. "I have an umbrella, and I need to head out anyway. We could talk about the next bake sale on the way."

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of walking alone with him.

"Are you sure?" you ask, though you already know what his answer will be.

Zayne nods, that soft smile returning to his lips. "Of course. It’s no trouble."

And just like that, the decision is made. You follow him to the coat rack near the entrance, where he retrieves a large, dark umbrella. He opens it with a swift motion, then gestures for you to step under it with him. As you do, the two of you step out into the rain, the world around you suddenly feeling smaller.

You walk side by side, the umbrella barely covering both of you, forcing your bodies to press close together. His arm brushes against yours every few steps, the warmth of his presence almost too much, making it difficult to focus on what he’s saying. The scent of rain mingles with the faint hint of his cologne, and it makes your head dizzy.

At one point, your eyes meet again, and for a split second, Zayne’s step falters, just slightly. His words stumble as he’s explaining something about the church’s plans for the sale. He catches himself quickly, but when you glance up at him, there’s a flush of color in his cheeks. And in that moment, you wonder – ‘Is he affected by this as well?’

As you walk, the rain begins to lighten, turning into a soft drizzle, but neither of you rush to part ways. The conversation continues, easy and unhurried, and for a moment, you forget about everything else—the church, the responsibilities, the complicated emotions swirling between you. It’s just the two of you, walking in the rain.

When you finally reach your street, Zayne stops in front of your building.

"Thank you," you say with a smile.

Zayne smiles, that familiar softness in his eyes again. "It was my pleasure."

There’s a brief pause, and for a moment, it feels like something hangs in the air between you. But before either of you can break the silence, Zayne steps back, offering a small nod.

"I’ll see you soon," he says, his voice quiet.

You nod, watching as he turns and walks away. As you head inside, you can’t shake the feeling that the space between you and Zayne is growing smaller with every encounter. You wonder if the boundary between friendship and something more is becoming increasingly blurred.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next day, you couldn’t stop replaying it all in your head. The way he had looked at you, the subtle hesitations in his words, the fleeting touches. You found yourself waiting for a message from him, hoping for a hint that he felt something.

But the message never came.

You tried to brush it off at first. ‘He’s busy.’ The church had its demands, and the bake sale was coming up soon. He probably had a hundred things to take care of. But as the days passed, the silence grew heavier. Each time your phone buzzed, you found yourself hoping it was him, only to feel that familiar stab of disappointment when it wasn’t.

When you finally couldn’t stand the silence any longer, you sent him a message, keeping it casual. You told yourself that it wasn’t a big deal, that he’d reply, and everything would be fine. But when his response came, it was short, almost curt.

Your stomach sank as you stared at the screen. You told yourself you were imagining things, that maybe he was just having an off day. But the pattern repeated itself. Another message from you, another short, impersonal reply from him. It was as if a wall had gone up between you, growing taller with every passing day.

And then there was the shop. Zayne had always made a point of visiting at least once a week, stopping by for a quick chat and dessert. But that week, he didn’t come. Each day, you glanced toward the door, half-expecting to see him walk through it with that quiet smile, but the door never opened for him.

The absence weighted on your mind, leaving you questioning everything. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ you wondered, replaying your last conversations over and over in your head.

You tried to focus on work, on the bake sale preparations, but your mind kept drifting back to him. You thought about sending another message, something more direct. But each time, you hesitated. ‘What if he’s distancing himself on purpose?’ The thought left a hollow feeling in your chest.

By the time the weekend approached, the doubt and confusion had hardened into something else—hurt. You couldn’t understand why he had gone so cold, why the easy warmth between you had turned into this frigid distance.

And as you stood behind the counter of your shop, watching the door and waiting for a familiar face that never came, you realized something. ‘He’s avoiding me.’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Saturday, the church is buzzing with activity. Tables are set up along the hall, covered in pastries, cakes, and breads that you had carefully crafted over the week. The sight of them should be enough to fill Zayne with excitement. He usually enjoyed events like these. Always eager to chat with volunteers, admire the work of the community, and, if he was honest with himself, look forward to seeing you.

But today, as he scans the room, his gaze lingers on the table where your pastries sit, beautifully arranged and ready to be sold. He can feel a flutter of anticipation. ‘She’ll be here.’ he thinks to himself, hoping to see you among the busy volunteers. You hadn’t come to last Sunday’s mass, and even though he had tried to keep his distance, part of him had been looking forward to seeing you today. He hadn’t realized how much he missed your presence until you weren’t there.

But as the minutes tick by, his eyes sweep over the table again, and something unsettling clicks into place. You’re not here. Instead, your two employees are standing behind the table, chatting with customers, offering samples and smiling as they go about their work. The sight of them, rather than you, feels like a punch to the gut.

Zayne takes a deep breath, as he walks over to the table. He exchanges polite greetings with your employees, but his mind is racing. ‘Why didn’t she come?’ He expected you to be here, after all the work you had put into the preparations. He glances around the room again, hoping maybe you’re somewhere else, mingling with the other volunteers. But you’re nowhere to be seen.

The knot in his chest tightens. For the first time in days, the weight of his own silence, his distance, hits him with full force. ‘She didn’t come because of me.’ His guilt, which he had been trying to push down, now rises to the surface. This time, for a different reason. He remembers the unanswered messages, the short replies, the way he had deliberately pulled away, thinking it was the right thing to do.

He moves through the rest of the bake sale with that guilt gnawing at him. Every time he passes your table, he feels the weight of your absence, the emptiness it leaves behind. And though he tries to focus on the event, shaking hands and exchanging small talk with parishioners, his mind is elsewhere—on you, and how he pushed you away with his silence.

As the crowd thins and things begin to slow down, he can’t resist any longer. He approaches your employees again, keeping his tone casual.

“She did an incredible job with everything,” Zayne says, offering a small smile as he glances over the leftover pastries. “I was hoping to thank her in person, though. Is she around?”

One of your employees, a young woman with a friendly smile, looks up at him. “Oh, she’s not here,” she says. “She’s actually out of town right now. I think she’s with her friends for the weekend.”

Zayne’s chest tightens. ‘Out of town?’ ‘With friends?’ The information feels like another blow. He hides his reaction, nodding politely.

“Ah, I see. Thank you both for participating,” he says, his voice a little more strained than he intends.

As he walks away from the table, the guilt intensifies. The thought of you spending the weekend elsewhere, with your friends, leaving the bake sale in the hands of someone else, feels like a quiet rejection. ‘She didn’t want to see me.’ The guilt twists in his chest, tighter and heavier than before.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You stood in your kitchen for a few minutes, debating what to do. You weren’t planning on attending tomorrow’s Sunday mass—again. The thought of sitting there, with Zayne at the altar, pretending everything was normal, made your stomach twist. But the tablecloths. They needed to be returned, and the idea of just dropping them off quickly, quietly, without having to see anyone—without having to see him—seemed like the easiest solution.

You didn’t expect the rain. The sky had been calm when you left, but halfway to the church, the clouds burst open. Within seconds, the rain comes down in torrents, soaking through your clothes as you clutch the tablecloths tighter, your feet pounding against the wet pavement.

By the time you reach the church, you're drenched, the fabric in your arms heavy and useless. Gasping for breath, you push open the door. Your shoes squeak on the stone floor as you step inside, water dripping from your clothes and pooling beneath you. You wipe a hand over your face, trying to gather yourself.

"Hey," a voice calls from deeper within the church.

Your heart skips a beat. You recognize that voice immediately. Of course, it had to be him.

You’re standing there, dripping wet, trying to catch your breath and your bearings when Zayne steps closer, his eyes scanning over your soaked clothes. There’s a flash of concern in his expression, though he quickly tries to mask it with something lighter, a smile playing on his lips.

"You really don’t like carrying an umbrella with you, do you?" he teases softly, trying to ease the tension, and it works—just for a moment. You chuckle, shaking your head.

"I guess not," you manage to say, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your shivering.

His smile fades slightly as he takes in the sight of you, soaked and visibly trembling. “You’re freezing,” he says, his voice gentler now, more serious. “Why don’t you come to the rectory? You can dry off and change into something warm.”

The idea of going to the rectory, the space where Zayne lives, feels like crossing a line, a line you’ve been tiptoeing around for weeks. You shake your head, stepping back slightly. “I’ll just call a cab. I’m just here to return these,” you say quickly, you murmur, gesturing to the tablecloths. "I don’t want to intrude."

But Zayne steps forward, his brow furrowed as he looks you over. "You’re not intruding." he says, his voice more insistent now. "You’ll get sick if you walk back out like this. Please, just let me help."

You look up at him, the concern in his eyes stirring something deep inside you, something you’ve been trying to suppress. The rain outside is relentless, and despite your instinct to retreat, you find yourself nodding. "Okay," you whisper.

Relief flashes in Zayne’s eyes, and he nods, stepping aside to lead the way. "Good. Follow me."

Zayne leads you into the rectory, the warmth of his home. He guides you toward a small bathroom. “Take a hot shower,” he says, “I’ll put your clothes in the dryer, and I’ll leave some of my pajamas for you to change into.”

You nod, stepping inside the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

As the hot water runs over your skin, you feel the tension in your body begin to ease, the heat chasing away the lingering chill. You try to focus on the steam rising around you, on anything but the fact that you’re in his home, about to wear his clothes.

When you finally step out of the shower, you glance at the folded set of Zayne’s pajamas waiting for you on the bathroom counter. You slip into them, the soft material comforting against your skin, and can’t help but take in the smell of his fabric softener – fresh, floral scent. As you step out the bathroom, suddenly you’re self-conscious, aware of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. The loose fabric brushes against your skin with every movement.

You walk timidly toward the living room, your heart pounding in your chest. As you step into the room, you find Zayne waiting for you, seated on the far end of the sofa. He’s placed two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits on the coffee table. The room feels intimate, almost too intimate, with just the two of you here, the rain still tapping against the windows outside.

Zayne looks up as you enter, and for a moment, his breath seems to catch in his throat. His eyes widen slightly, and a blush creeps up his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you in his clothes, fresh from the shower. He clears his throat, his gaze quickly dropping to the tea in front of him, but the redness on his face betrays him.

You feel your own cheeks burn in response, suddenly hyper-aware of the way the loose fabric hangs on you. You move quickly to the far end of the sofa, sitting down with careful distance between the two of you.

"Thank you... for the shower," you say. "And for letting me stay while my clothes dry."

Zayne glances at you, his eyes flickering briefly over you again before he focuses on his hands resting in his lap. "Of course," he murmurs, his voice a little strained.

You give him a small smile, wrapping your hands around the warm mug of tea, grateful for something to do with your hands.

Zayne speaks first, before the uncomfortable silence could stretch, “I heard you were out of town,” he says, his voice soft but probing. “What are you doing here?”

His question catches you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to bring it up so directly.

“I was supposed to be,” you say quietly, your fingers tightening around the cup of tea, the warmth barely grounding you. “But... the friend I was supposed to go out with caught a cold. She cancelled last minute.”

The explanation hangs between you, and even though it’s true, it feels flimsy. You look down, staring into your cup. ‘I shouldn’t have come here.’

Zayne’s gaze remains fixed on you, as if he’s waiting for something more. Then, he continues. “And the bake sale?” he asks, “You didn’t come.”

The question lands like a blow. You know why, of course. Your throat tightens as you try to form a response.

“I—uh, I got caught up,” you say, your voice faltering.

You know how weak that lie sounds. But he doesn’t push.  Instead his gaze softens as he looks at you. "I’m glad you’re here now," he says quietly.

You stare at him for a moment, his words sinking in, and a small, ironic chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it. "I find that hard to believe,"

Zayne looks at you, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, his brow furrowing slightly as he waits for you to elaborate.

"I thought..." you begin, but then pause, biting your lip as you glance away, trying to gather your thoughts. "I thought you didn’t want me around."

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence.

Your eyes find his and the vulnerability in them makes your chest tighten.

"I’m sorry," he says softly. "For keeping my distance. For... pulling away."

The apology lingers between you, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity behind them, but also the pain. He’s struggling—just as much as you are, maybe more.

"I thought..." he starts, his voice faltering for a second. He pauses, his hand moving to the white collar at his throat. "I thought keeping my distance would help, that it would protect both of us. But it only made things worse."

You swallow hard as you watch him. His fingers linger on the collar for a moment longer before he drops his hand, his eyes filled with a quiet regret. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "I started hearing things. Rumors. People talking about... us." The words make your heart skip a beat. "It was like a wake-up call, a hard one." His fingers brush the collar again, this time more deliberately. "That I’m a priest. And I took vows. Vows I can’t break."

You want to say something, anything, to ease the guilt you see in his eyes, but before you can, he continues, his voice even softer now. "But no matter how much distance I try to put between us, you’re always on my mind." He looks away for a second. "Everywhere I go, everything I do... I can’t stop thinking about you."

You don’t know what to say, what to do. Zayne’s vulnerability, his confession of how deeply you’ve affected him, makes the tension between you almost unbearable.

His eyes meet yours again. "You’re everywhere," he whispers, his voice almost breaking. "And I don’t know what to do about it."

Zayne’s words linger in the air, pulling at your heartstrings. You want to say something, to ease the pain, and you don’t know if you can. Not when you’ve been feeling the same way.

"Zayne..." you say softly, "I don’t want to be the reason you’re struggling," Zayne’s gaze drops to the floor, shoulders tense. Seeing him like this makes your chest tighten, but you can’t stop now. There’s too much unsaid.

"But I can’t stop thinking about you either," you confess, your voice trembling slightly. The words make you feel exposed, but it’s the truth you’ve been holding in for so long. "You’re in my thoughts all the time. It’s like... no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, I just want to be near you."

Zayne looks back at you, and you fight every fiber in your body to close the distance between you.

"I care about you, Zayne," you whisper. "And I hate seeing you like this. But I can’t pretend that what I feel isn’t real."

He’s quiet, his breathing shallow as he processes your words. Neither of you has the answers, but in this moment, it’s enough to know that you’re not alone.

"I’ve tried to ignore it," you continue, your voice shaky but honest. "I’ve tried to stay away, to give you space, but..." You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to say what’s been burning inside you for so long. "It’s not just the little things. It’s all of it. The way your touch lingers... even when you barely graze my skin. I keep thinking about it, imagining more, wishing you would... touch me, hold me.”

Your cheeks burn as the words leave your lips. This is it. There’s no turning back now. You’ve held this in for so long. And now, it’s out there between you, impossible to ignore, to pretend it doesn’t exist.

"I want to feel you," you confess softly. "I want to feel your hands on me. I can’t pretend I don’t need this anymore."

For a moment, Zayne doesn’t move. His breath is shallow, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers flex slightly against the fabric of his pants. You wait, breathless, watching him.

"I want to touch you," he whispers finally. "I’ve thought about it more than I should. About how it would feel…” Then, his expression falters, frustration flashing across his face. “But I can’t."

The empathetic side of you understands him completely, and you don’t want to push him. But at the same time, you can’t just let this moment slip away.

Your hand moves instinctively, slowly sliding down your chest in a deliberate motion. "You don’t have to." you murmur.

You don’t wait for him to respond as you reach up, your fingers tracing the top button of the shirt. Then, one by one, the buttons come undone, exposing your skin to the warm air of the room. You hesitate for just a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you look at Zayne. His gaze is fixed on you, the unbuttoned shirt, eyes betraying everything his words deny.

Your fingers slide along the edges of the unbuttoned shirt, and, with a steadying breath, you shrug your shoulders slightly, letting the material slip down your arms. The shirt falls away, delicately sliding off your skin. Your skin is bare now, exposed under the dim light, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Your nipples are hard as the air brushes over your skin.

Zayne’s reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, and you can see the deep flush flood his cheeks and ears. His gaze roams over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin, his pupils dilated. He’s stunned, frozen in place, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing—what he’s allowed himself to see.

His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out, to touch you, but he doesn’t. He’s rooted to the spot, his body betraying him with how tightly he’s gripping the sofa, the knuckles of his hand turning white from the force of his restraint. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—he’s completely consumed by the sight of you.

Without another word, you let your hand slide down, your fingers brushing against the waistband of your pants. Zayne’s eyes follow your movements. You pause for a moment, savoring the anticipation. Zayne lets out a ragged breath, his body tensing as he watches you, helpless to do anything but stare. Your fingers tremble as you hook them into the waistband of your pants, eyes never leaving Zayne’s. You push the pants down slowly, the fabric sliding over your legs and pooling at your feet, leaving you sitting in just your underwear.

For a moment, you hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. You give him one last chance to stop you, to pull back before things go any further. "If you want me to leave," you say, your voice low, "you should say it now."

Your words hang in the air, the final chance for him to take control, to push you away. But Zayne says nothing. His lips part slightly, but no words come. He doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t tell you to leave. Instead, his eyes stay locked on yours, his silence a wordless plea for more.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

Your hand slides down slowly, Zayne’s eyes following every move. You let your fingers brush over the front of your underwear, and you know he can see the obvious damp spot, his presence alone having you already soaked through the fabric.

His pupils dilate as he watches, and for a second, you think you hear him let out a soft, involuntary sound—something like a groan—but it’s barely audible. His chest heaves, and his grip on the sofa tightens even more, as if he’s hanging on by a thread.

"I think about you all the time, Zayne," you whisper, your voice trembling. "And when I do... this is how I touch myself." Your hand presses down on the damp fabric. "There’s nothing wrong with this," you continue, your voice silky and sweet. "Not if you just watch."

The words feel like a challenge, a tease. Zayne’s face is a mixture of conflict and desire, but he doesn’t stop you. His eyes are glued to your hand, to the way your fingers move against the fabric of your underwear, his gaze filled with hunger he can’t hide anymore.

Your hand moves in slow, deliberate circles over your underwear, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body, and you let out a soft moan. The sound makes his jaw tighten, and he shifts in his seat, clearly aroused but still holding himself back. His gaze flicks back and forth between your eyes and your body, torn between wanting to pull away and being unable to look anywhere but at you.

Then, finally, his voice breaks the silence. "Take it off," he rasps, his voice trembling with the weight of his words. His eyes meet yours, and there’s no mistaking the command in them now. "I need to see... all of you."

His words send a rush of heat through you, making your entire body tingle. There’s no hesitation in his voice this time. Without a word, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, your fingers trembling slightly as you slowly slide the fabric down your hips. The underwear slips down your legs, falling softly to the floor, leaving you completely exposed before him. You sit there, vulnerable, your skin glistening with arousal. You can feel his gaze on every inch of your body, lingering on your thighs, your hips, and finally, on the slick wetness between your legs.

"You’re... so beautiful." he breathes, his voice barely audible, filled with astonishment and desire. Zayne swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to steady himself. "Show me," he says, his voice low, trembling with desire. "Show me how you touch yourself... when you’re thinking about me."

Your heart races, your entire body flushed with heat as you slowly slide your hand down your stomach, your fingers grazing over your slick skin. You let out a soft moan as you begin to touch yourself, your eyes fixed on Zayne. He’s completely captivated, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he watches you.

Your fingers move with a growing urgency, sliding over the slickness between your folds. The sight of you touching yourself, moaning softly, has him teetering on the edge of his restraint. You’re watching him just as intently as he watches you, and you need to see more.

"Touch yourself too," you whisper softly. His eyes snap up to yours, stunned. "It’s not so bad," you add. "You’re not touching me. We’ll just… watch each other."

Zayne’s jaw clenches. His eyes are locked on yours, a storm of guilt and desire brewing beneath the surface. But then he slowly reaches up and unclasps the white collar at his throat.

For a moment, he holds it in his hand, his fingers trembling as he looks down at the small strip of fabric. Then, with a quiet exhale, he sets it aside on the table beside him. His hands move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, each motion slow, as though he’s still hesitating at the threshold. When he’s halfway down, Zayne pauses, then pulls the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, slipping free, leaving him bare from the waist up.

The muscles beneath his shirt are more defined than you had imagined. Your eyes roam over every line, every curve of his body, taking in the way his chest moves with each heavy breath. He sits there for a moment, shirtless, his collar gone, his identity as Father Zayne falling away along with it.

He’s just a man now—just Zayne.

You swallow hard, your fingers still moving, your own arousal building with each second that passes. "Please," you whisper. "I want to see you. All of you."

Zayne’s hesitation doesn’t linger for long, before he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. Your pulse races as the pants drop to the floor, leaving him in nothing but his underwear, his arousal straining against the thin material. His eyes flick to yours, searching, almost pleading. He’s asking without words—asking if this is what you want, if this is what you’re ready for. And you are.

You nod, biting your lip, your body trembling with anticipation. With a shaky breath, Zayne hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, and you can see the tremor in his hands. But he doesn’t stop. He slides them down slowly, the fabric falling in one fluid motion, leaving him completely naked.

Your breath hitches, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as you take in the sight of him. His erection stands thick and heavy, the tip glistening with need. Every inch of him is raw, masculine, breathtaking. He’s stunning, more than you could have imagined, and for a moment, you’re lost in the sheer power of him—his vulnerability and strength laid bare before you.

Your fingers slide over yourself again, the slick heat of your arousal making you moan softly, your body shuddering from the touch. Zayne’s erection throbs visibly as he watches you. His hand twitches at his side, his body screaming for release, but he waits for you to give him permission, waiting to be told it’s okay to let go.

"Touch yourself," your voice is breathy, filled with need. "Please, Zayne."

His eyes flick between your hand and your face, but then, slowly, he wraps his hand around his length. The sight of him finally surrendering, of his strong hand gripping himself, sends a surge of heat straight to your core. You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your lips as your fingers move faster.

Zayne lets out a low groan, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he strokes himself. The room is filled with the sound of your combined breathing, the soft moans that slip from your lips, the slick sound of your fingers slipping inside your wet entrance. You’re both completely lost in each other now, and there’s no going back.

Zayne’s hand moves slowly, rhythmically over his length, his breathing heavy and uneven as he watches you, his eyes filled with a hunger so intense it makes your pulse race even faster. His breath catches in his throat, and you know he’s still holding back.

“Relax,” you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with warmth. “It’s okay... I want this. You don’t have to hold back.”

Your words seem to wash over him, his eyes flickering with something like relief. His gaze is locked on your body, the way your fingers are soaked with your wetness, the slick sound filling the quiet space between you. His jaw clenches as he tries to steady himself, his hand stroking his length with increasing need.

"You’re... beautiful," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. "God, you’ve been... in my head... in my dreams... almost every night."

His confession makes your squeeze around your fingers, a soft moan escaping your lips. The raw honesty in his voice, makes your body tremble as you teeter on the edge. Your fingers press harder, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you feel the tension in your body building, coiling tight, ready to snap.

You can see he’s close too—his hand moving faster, his body tense with the effort of holding on. But even now, even with his own release so close, his eyes are locked on you, filled with a hunger.

"I want to see you," he whispers, his voice low and rough. "I want to see you... let go. I want to hear you... Please..."

That’s all it takes. His voice, thick with need, and the sight of him on the brink, unravel you completely. Your breath hitches, turning into ragged gasps as pleasure overtakes you, your fingers moving faster, desperate to prolong the sensation as wave after wave crashes through you, each one more intense than the last. And all the while, Zayne watches, his hand moving faster, desperate to join you in the release.

Your breath steadies, your hand still resting on your wet folds, the space between you now feels too wide. "Come closer," you whisper. "I want you closer... please."

The raw need in your voice, the tenderness of your plea, draws him toward you, erasing any hesitation. He hovers over you, kneeling between your legs, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin. His arousal still hard and throbbing, inches away from you, his gaze filled with so much want that it makes your own body heat up again.

"I’m... I’m so close," Zayne gasps, his voice shaking, laced with desperation.

"Let go," you whisper, your voice soft but unyielding. Your eyes lock with his, your breath hitching as you speak. "Let go on me, Zayne."

His eyes widen at your words. He looks conflicted for a moment, as if he’s about to argue, to get up and find something else—a tissue, anything to keep from crossing that final line. But the hunger in your gaze, the trembling of your body beneath him pulls him back into the moment. The sight of your hand sliding over the slickness between your thighs seals his fate. His hand tightens around himself, his strokes quickening as his control shatters.

"Please," you whisper, your soft plea the final push he need.

And then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he finally lets go.

The first hot spurt of his release hits your belly, warm and wet, the sensation eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. His body trembles violently above you, his muscles taut and shaking as his hand moves over himself with desperate need. He groans deeply, the sound raw and primal, as more of his release follows, thick and hot, landing between your thighs, coating your skin. His breath hitches, his body tensing with each spasm of pleasure as he watches the way his release paints your skin. His hand continues to pump his length, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, caught in the overwhelming force of his orgasm. 

Zayne closes his eyes as the last drops land on your flushed skin, his body still above yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The air is thick with the weight of what just transpired, but there's no guilt, no regret. His breath is still ragged, your own chest rising and falling with the same uneven rhythm.

When Zayne opens his eyes, they’re soft with awe—filled with pure, unguarded admiration.

"You..." he whispers, his voice rough and shaky, barely able to finish the thought. His eyes trace the glistening trail of warmth he’s left on your stomach, the way it pools between your legs, marking you with the undeniable proof of how far you’ve both fallen. "You’re... perfect."

A soft, breathless smile plays on your lips. "So are you," you murmur back.

For a moment, Zayne just stares at you, his eyes filled with something deeper than words can express. Then, he leans forward, pressing a soft, featherlight kiss to your forehead. The gesture is so tender, so filled with affection, that it takes you by surprise. It feels fragile, like something you both need to hold onto, if only for a little longer.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours again, and for the first time, there’s a sense of peace. Just the quiet aftermath of something real—messy, complicated, but undeniably real.

And for now, that’s enough.

[dinogoofymutated]

ik you just wrote for Kurt but if I could request some sfw headcanons for him? 👉🏽👈🏽 he'd be such a cuddly man especially with that tail of his

Sfw! Nightcrawler/GN!Reader

YES OFC!!! I was just thinking about this !! With how cuddly he was in the latest episode it had me all giddy and shit AAUGHH!! THIS MAN!!!

I also may or may not have gotten carried away with the fic half of this because I'm actually in love with him.

-Ps- @bl1ngringz You sent an ask for more Kurt, and I'm working on more but I figured I'd tag you in this one!

TWs: none that I can think of atm.

Touch is 100% one of Kurt’s love languages. If you're close to him, he's going to be touching you in one way or another

He really likes to wrap his tail around your waist to pull you closer to him, and it's always surprising because how is his tail that strong?? The sensation of his tail being wrapped around you in one shape or form starts to become such a comforting sensation.

If you're anxious and picking and your fingers in a social situation, he'll take hold of your hand and press a kiss to your palm, and if you're less comfortable with pda, he'll snake his tail in between your hands instead. Afterwards he always checks your hands and cuticles, just in case.

Sometimes he'll have really rough days and will just really need you to hold him. He'll teleport you out of your office if he feels like you've been gone too long and he starts to worry about you. It's surprising at first, but you quickly get over it when the furball snuggles into you, quietly pouting about how long you've been gone. It's easy to tell other things are on his mind, but you know he enjoys the silence when you choose not to press him, and simply hold him tightly.

Kurt isn't just a cuddle bug. He's a cuddle MONSTER. On the couch? He'll plop down on top of you, falling asleep on you like a cat who only ever manages to fall asleep right when you need to pee. In bed? Again, no pee breaks. He usually has such a tight grip on you, only able to fall asleep buried in your arms. It doesn't matter how hot it is, if you roll away he'll feel bad. He knows you don't hate him and that you're just moving in your sleep but :( come back. He can't sleep without you!

You wouldn’t consider yourself a morning person, but sometimes you’d wake up and simply be too restless to fall back asleep. Sometimes it was anxiety, other times excitement, but today you woke up simply content. Kurt’s arms were wrapped around you loosely, which was a surprise. He’s normally fully wrapped around you, limbs tangled tightly with your own, tail wound around your wrist, ankle, or hand in his sleep. You smile as you turn around, brushing hair out of his face. He doesn’t even stir, nor lean into the warmth of your hand. You’d be freaking out if it weren’t for his steady breathing, but the two of you had a rough couple of days. If he’s sleeping this deeply, he deserves the rest.

It’s easy to slide out of his arms, quietly padding out of the bedroom barefooted. You flinch when you reach the cold wood floors of the hallway, early spring still inconsistent with its bouts of cold weather. After quietly closing the door, you make your way to the living room on the search for a pair of slippers. You had a bad habit of losing them, sometimes stealing Kurt’s instead, but you find yours set aside neatly. You smile as you slip them on, knowing that you most certainly weren’t the one who put them there.

It’s still dark outside when you start to preheat the oven, and you know you must be up way too early. You laugh a little, with how early Kurt tends to rise, you can only imagine the time. You glance at the oven clock and notice it’s a little after 5 am. You grimace just a little, deciding to ignore it for now. Might as well make breakfast.

You feel like you’ve forgotten how to make breakfast food. Kurt always manages to beat you to it, waking you up in the morning with the smell of coffee and baked goods. You used to feel bad about it, telling him that he didn’t have to. That he didn’t have to go through with the effort. You felt guilty about such a simple thing, feeling like an inconvenience to him. That feeling didn’t last long, however. Kurt had insisted that you were worth the effort, worth his love, and much more. You don’t fight him on it anymore, having taken over lunch preparations instead. He still tries to beat you to that too, though. It’s become a competition as of late, and you smile in a giddy manner, excited to see his pout when he realizes you managed to beat him to breakfast.

    The sun has risen by the time you’ve finished the biscuits and set them out to cool. You’re scrambling some eggs when a tail wraps around your waist and a warm chest presses against your back. Kurt nuzzles into your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the skin. 

    “Guten morgen.” His morning voice is groggy, and to be honest, he sounds like he’s about to fall back asleep right here in the kitchen, holding onto you like a pillow.

“Good morning,” You giggle, turning your head to kiss him sweetly. He’s pouting when you pull away, leaning his cheek on your shoulder.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up.” Kurt mopes. You mimic his pout with a poorly hidden smile, kissing him a few more times. They were chaste, as you didn't want to get distracted and burn the eggs.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep, and I didn't want to wake you up.” You turn your attention back to the eggs in the pan, and Kurt sighs dramatically at your words, beginning to smile a bit himself. You see an arm sneakily reach over to take the spatula out of your hands, but you’re quick to hold it away from him. He smiles widely when he’s caught, pulling you flush to his chest as he tries to snatch it again with his other hand.

“No!” You giggle. “Kurt, stop it! I’m not letting you finish the eggs!” You may have the willpower to keep the spatula away, but Kurt still has the upper hand with longer arms and an extra limb. His laughs are infectious and he fights you for the utensil.

“Penance, then! For leaving me in a cold bed, I could have gotten sick, you know?” You gasp as Kurt manages to slip the spatula from your grasp. He rejoices in victory, holding it above your head as he turns back to the eggs. He kisses you on the cheek, holding you squarely in his grasp as he finishes breakfast for you, as he always does.

Today was a good morning indeed.

[gojossocks]

We can't be friends

Gojo x Reader Summary: You decided to erase Gojo from your memory.

“Who is Gojo Satoru to you?”  

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, before giving the doctor a tight-lipped smile. “W-we were together for 6 years.” 

He’s no one important really, just the love of your life. 

There has been an on-going trend all over the world— technology has upgraded enough that you can erase someone entirely out of your memory, as if they’ve never existed. If they do, it wasn’t like how you knew them. 

You weren’t sure what dragged you in this clinic with all of the most important things that remind you of him. Maybe it was the way he ignored you like the plague, the way the familiarity in his eyes disappeared just earlier last week when he spoke to you so freely like you’ve never been together. It was clear that he got his memory of you erased after that incident. You were just another colleague. Perhaps, the pain in your heart is too much to handle. 

You don’t remember the way to the clinic that much. It was a surprise you even got there in one piece considering you were sobbing the whole way there. So even if you aren’t entirely sure whether you’re ready to let go of Satoru, you signed the consent form anyway. 

If he’s got you erased completely from your life, then what’s the point of living in hell remembering him? You didn’t want to mourn for someone alive and well. 

You never really understood why he left because everything was just working out between the two of you. Satoru provided you with no explanation and packed up his things to leave you behind to your own devices. You almost wanted to back out when you started reminiscing vividly of everything you once shared with him. 

You remembered falling in love with him, how it feels like the first day of spring, how his kisses taste like daylight. How he squeezes your hand three times before you part ways for a mission.  How he holds you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world. How it was always you and him against the world, him making you laugh while you tended to his wounds. He would tell you that everything would be okay because he has you and only you. 

The bad outweighed the good that you had forgotten that loving him and being loved with him is something that you never wanted to forget, even if your relationship with him crashed and burned. You don’t want him to be a stranger you can’t recognize anymore.

But it had already been done and everything faded into nothingness as you try to grasp with whatever you have left of him.

-.- 

You have been working with Gojo for quite some time now, maybe about six years. But you’ve never directly initiated conversations with him outside work. He’s the only one you don’t know much about in Jujutsu High. Today is no different as you’re waiting with him in the clinic for your mutual friend Shoko. 

“That’s a beautiful necklace you have there.” He acknowledges you for the first time since you got there. Even if you’re just a few meters away, he doesn’t talk to you. You find that a little bit weird because everyone tells you that he’s obnoxious and loud. Somehow with you, he’s always quiet. 

You didn’t remember much of how you got the necklace. You figured that the reason why Gojo’s asking about it is because it matches the color of his eyes. There was a hazy memory though— you were crying, telling a doctor to ‘let me keep it, please. Just this one.’ but you didn’t think much of it. Maybe it was all a dream. 

You responded with a laugh before toying with the pendant of the necklace. “Yeah, It was a gift to me.” 

“Oh?” He looked at you through his glasses, his intense gaze making you feel a little nervous. “Mind telling me who?” 

“I forgot.” You replied,  slowly relaxing in your seat while looking around at Shoko’s clinic. He nodded at you, a small smile adorning his lips and he didn’t say anything more. 

You missed the way his eyes linger on you for a moment before putting back his blindfold on or the apologetic look that Shoko gave him before he leaves. 

“So, who’s Gojo Satoru to you?” 

“He’s the strongest of course.” 

But to him, you’re still his everything—because he didn’t really remove you from his memory. Maybe if he was braver, you’d remember him. 

a/ n: part 2? :0

[jeonful]

TATTOO!

bf!jungkook x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

includes — smut, pwp, swearing, oc gets a new spine tattoo, pet names, teasing, unprotected sex, rough sex, penetrative sex, d/s dynamic, bigdick!jk, 3D!jk, doggy, softdom!jk, spanking, praise kink, oral sex (f. receiving), cum eating, fingering, overstim., cream pie, cumming inside

m.list

"fuck."

he stared in awe at the new ink that ran down your back. it's intricate details starting at the top and ending at the bottom of your spine.

you were holding your t-shirt up so he could see you're new tattoo.

his fingers delicately traced around the artwork on your back,

"you like it?"

you asked, glancing back at him,

"no baby, i fucking love it."

you grin and then pull your t-shirt down.

"i'm sorry i didn't tell you babe. i was planning on surprising you."

"don't apologise baby. i'm glad you surprised me."

he rubbed his thumbs in circles, massaging your hips, each movement causing you to almost moan out his name.

he knew what he was doing.

"did it hurt?"

he asked,

"not really. it wasn't as bad as i thought it would be."

he smiled and you turned round.

you put your arms round his neck and he hugged you, wrapping his arms tightly around your lower back which caused you to wince,

"ow,"

he quickly realised his mistake,

"shit. baby m'sorry."

he put his hands on your hips instead.

you shook your head,

"no, it's okay kook."

he planted a soft, slow kiss onto your delicate lips,

"the worst part of having a tattoo is the healing."

he was, of course, speaking from experience.

"yeah."

you mumbled,

"aw baby..."

he held your face in his hands and leaned down to kiss you again, but harder this time. then again but this time, adding his tongue.

he pulled back and gazed at you,

"m'gonna fuck you now. wanna see your back on full display in front of me."

your pussy throbbed for him.

you were so wet already.

you grinned at him,

"just be careful babe."

you told him.

you didn't want the beautiful, fresh wound on your spine to endure anymore pain today.

he brushed his thumb across your bottom lip,

"i'll be gentle. i promise."

you smiled.

not because of the sweet words that had fallen from his lips but because of how he had made a promise that he absolutely could not keep.

in no time at all, jungkook had you on the bed, on all fours and was ramming his thick dick into your hungry pussy.

"fuck -ngh, you feel so good baby,"

his hands were firmly holding your hips, his eyes were fixated on both the beauty of your spine and ass,

"so. fucking. tight,"

he groaned with each thrust. his hand gripped the headboard, causing him to lean over you, driving his cock deeper inside of you,

"good girl,"

he breathed, and you moaned and arched your back, causing his dick to twitch inside of you.

"koo, please, i'm so close..."

you whined and he smirked and that's when you felt a short, sharp pain across your ass,

"cum baby,"

his hand came to stroke your clit,

"can you do that f'me?"

that was it.

your moans became louder as you reached your peak, you moved forwards and back, clenching around jungkook's hard length,

"kook..."

you say, your eyes started to blur as tears formed, you couldn’t take his words combined with the amount of pleasure he was giving you, it was too much.

jungkook groaned at the feeling of how easy it was to slide through your soaked walls, even though they were wrapped around him.

the knot that had formed long ago in your stomach had snapped, the feeling in your pussy flushed through you and you released all of your juices onto him, coating his pulsing cock.

"fuck, that's it baby,"

he whispered,

"such a good girl f'me..."

you rocked your hips in time with his, you were absolutely soaked.

"mmh-"

jungkook moaned, fucking you harder, deeper, trying to feel as much as you as he possibly could.

his breathing increased rapidly, his jaw clenched and his movements became sloppy, his moans became whiny, desperate whimpers,

"fuck baby, m'gonna cum-"

he didn't bother trying to hold on any longer, he was at his limit.

heaps of his warm milky cum spilled deep inside of you, filling you up to the brim.

he watched as it flowed out.

he couldn't think of anything more beautiful than his cum dripping out of you.

jungkook didn't hesitate and flipped you onto your back.

he put your legs over his shoulders, and instantly latching his mouth onto your swollen cunt.

"fuck!"

you whined, your head dropping down onto the mattress and your hand tugging at his hair.

his hands ran up and down your thighs, his moans vibrated through your body, making your legs clamp around him.

he gripped your thighs and licked a broad stripe from your slit to your nub then down again.

his tongue swirled around your wet hole, hungrily lapping up the mixture of your cum combined with his.

he couldn’t get enough of you,

"kook..."

your eyes rolled back,

"fuck,"

your hips rolled against his mouth, wanting and needing to feel more of him.

he didn't care if he suffocated, this was heaven for him.

he slipped one finger inside of you that you knew you couldn't take anymore.

"koo-"

you didn't even get to finish your sentence.

you came for the second time, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. your cum gushing into his mouth.

he moaned softly, his eyebrows knitted together,

"good girl,"

he repeated again and again.

his tongue moving faster, swallowing every single drop of your sweet cum.

he sucked hard on your clit before reluctantly removing his mouth from in between your legs.

you were weak. unable to move. unable to think. unable to process anything.

you felt so fucked out right now.

"you okay baby?"

he mumbled against you,

leaving a trail of sloppy kisses up from your collar bone to your lips.

he kissed you softly. slowly. savoring every second of it.

his hand ran down to your body to your slit.

he ran two fingers through your wet folds and couldn't stop himself from moaning.

"fuck."

he whispered.

your eyes slowly shut, you felt like you could fall asleep at any moment.

the state that jungkook would leave you in whenever he fucked you like this was beyond unexplainable.

and jungkook could say the exact same thing about you.

he saw you lying there, under him.

completely overwhelmed with pleasure.

he chuckled, glad to know that it was all because of him.

he nudged your side gently,

"feeling satisfied baby?"

you only managed a weak nod.

he smiled and buried his face in your neck,

"i fucking love you."

he breathed, tracing his finger up and down your cheek.

"and i fucking love that tattoo."

a/n: requested

© jeonful 2024, all rights reserved.

[mxstly-melancholy]

Logan request!!

Logan finally had enough and fucks you the way he’s always wanted putting you in your place then you have to deal with the mansion over hearing him

Everyone’s just happy you guys don’t argue anymore instead your loud in a different way

Logan X FemReader SMUT!!

Warnings: No y/n, fem reader (she/her) , pet names, sub/dom if you squint, arguments, embarrassment, breeding. squirting.. lmk if there is more.

Logan has been super cranky lately, but to be fair, so have you. And this has caused a lot of tension and arguments between you two. You aren’t sure why it’s been this way, it probably ranges from the constant stress of missions to the lack of sleep. Who knows at this point, but everyone including yourself is getting sick of the arguments.

And they’re not even real arguments either, they’re just loud disagreements about stupid small things.

And it seems like today you were the one to start a disagreement..

You and Logan were in the mansion's kitchen, talking about a mission you both came back from. It was exhausting, and the last thing either of you should be doing is having a beer, but here you are..

“I just really don’t think we did the right thing, that’s all I’m saying.” You put your hands up in defense. Logan’s eyebrows drew together annoyed.

“What do you mean? We did the only thing we could do. There was no other option.” He huffs.

You sigh, “Look, all I’m trying to say is we did have other options, they just didn’t come to mind until we literally had no other option but to act on what we did.”

You watched as Logan downed the rest of his beer, annoyance on his face as he sat at the table across from you.

“What’s your deal?” He asks seriously, crossing his arms.

The sudden change in demeanor made your heart race.

“What?”

“You heard me, what’s your deal?” He repeats.

You anxiously shrug and awkwardly laugh. “I don’t understand what you mean. I'm just sharing my-“

“Why have you been so wound tight? Everything has to be an argument with you lately.” He huffs.

Your eyes widen at the comment, feeling attacked almost.

“I'm sorry? You’re putting the blame all on me? What about the ones you caused? Just gonna forget about that now?” You stand up angrily.

Logan stands up and walks around the table, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the kitchen wordlessly.

“Wh- Logan where are we going?” You nervously ask.

He was tense, his jaw clenched as he speed walked to their shared room.

He didn’t reply. Just continued on until they reached their room. He opened the door, almost running inside & locking the door. He picks you up and places his hands under your ass, catching you by surprise.

“Logan-“ you whisper breathlessly. He walks over to the bed and places you down on it, crawling on top of you.

“I’m gonna fuck that attitude out of you.” He mumbles, not letting you reply before smashing your lips together. His hands roam over your body, teasing and seducing. You give in, wrapping yourself around him. With His free hand, his claws come out and rips your pants down the middle in one motion. You gasp from fear but also excitement.

He throws the ripped pants off of you, then before you know it his hand is at your heat, rubbing slow circles on your clit. He smirks, watching your face contort to pleasure and desperation.

“Logan… fuck.” You moan. He kisses and sucks at your neck, leaving deep purple marks along it. Your hips buck up into his hand, his pace too slow.

“You want more, huh bub? You gonna stop being a little brat if I give it to you good?” He whispers in your ear. You nod rapidly, your hands clawing at his shoulders.

“Please Logan. Please.”

And with that he sits up, quickly removing his own pants. He pulls his briefs down and his cock springs out, head red and leaking pre already.

Your mouth waters as he grabs your ankles, pushing your legs towards your head, putting you in the mating press position.

From past experiences, this position means he’s not going to hold back.

He rubs his cock against your folds, gathering your slick on him.

“Fuck baby. So fuckin’ wet fu’me.” He nearly growls.

You whimper as he starts to push his way in, tingles shooting up your body. He goans, white knuckling while holding you down by the back of your knees.

He starts to thrust slowly, the wet noises your pussy makes as he thrusts into you makes his cock twitch. He can’t help but have his eyes flutter, gaining a faster pace every minute.

“Logan- please. Fuck- more!”

And with that his hips snap into you and he’s going to pound town. He growls, teeth showing as he looks down at you with possession.

“Mine, all mine.” He grunts, leaning down and biting into your shoulder. You moan loudly, and unfortunately Logan isn’t being too quiet either, you already know everyone can hear you two but at this very moment in time, you don’t care.

“Y-yours-“ you moan back. Your body shivers as you squirt on his cock unexpectedly, adding even more slick to the mix.

“Fuuuck yes, that’s right baby.” He smiles, bringing a hand down and rubbing at your clit while he fucks you.

Your legs shake, eyes closing.

“Uh uh- look at me.” He grabs your face with his free hand. “You better be a good girl after this. After I’ve been so nice and fucked you senseless.” He says with short breaths. You can barely even understand him, the white noise in your ears and the static in your eyes only getting louder as you’re about to cum.

“Y-yes sir- yes- I’m gonna- I need to cum!” You whimper loudly.

With one final slap to your clit you’re cumming hard, clenching around his cock so tightly that his claws retract and push right through the headboard of the bed. He cums hard right after you, a deep guttural growl leaving his throat as he paints your walls white. You hold onto him tightly as he fucks his cum into you, your legs shaking from overstimulation with every thrust.

“Fuuuckk.” He groans.

The morning after, you two leave your room after a shower & getting dressed for the day. You notice Scott smirking as he walks by.

And as you’re walking down the hall, you see people whispering. Logan looks smug as could be, and you were completely oblivious.

“What’s going on Logan?” You whisper to him,

He smiles, “Really?” He wraps his arm around you.

“You have no idea?”

Your face heats up with embarrassment once you realize.

“Oh.. damn it..” you mumble.

Then Ororo walks by you two. “Glad to see you two aren’t arguing anymore!” She smiles.

You stop and hide your face in your hands.

“This is so embarrassing.”

Logan laughs, “Hey, it’s not so bad. At least they’re happy for us.” He clears his throat. “Oh, don’t let me forget, I have to get us a new headboard..”

[ameliathornromance]

Link to PT1

Your Ex-Orc’s life has been going great since you broke up. He had been skirting around ending things with you for a while, and the relief of you breaking up with him crashed over him like a tsunami.

He’d forgotten how amazing it was to have his home to himself, to be able to sit in his front room without having to keep up a drab conversation with you about whatever happened at work, or to come home with a ‘shut up’ gift, just to make sure you didn’t complain about his prolonged absence.

However, there were times where we would walk into his flat and catch a whiff of your signature scent, or of a dish being prepared. He would ignore the way the pit in his stomach would open up and would head straight to his bedroom to go and get ready for a night on the town.

This feeling began to wake him up in the mornings too. When he rolled over and instinctively reached out for your figure, to drag in the smell of your shampooed hair and see your sleepy smile.

Every time this happened, your Ex vowed to go out that night. Going out and bringing home random women he met at bars and clubs always made him feel better.

And so, like clockwork when that all too familiar feeling kicked in, the pit reopening like a cut that just won’t heal, he would get on his best clothes and head out.

Tonight, he wanted to check out this new bar that had just opened up in town centre, named ‘Poena.’

Apparently, the drinks were all named after Roman and Greek plays, generals, philosophers and the like. 

It just begged for him to go in there tonight.

As he stepped through the front door, your Ex was greeted by Roman arches and Greek pillars with vines that wound around, up and over the bar itself, fake grapes dangling from the ceiling while the bartender was dressed in a white toga, a golden leaf wreath adorning his brow.

Taking a seat at the bar, your Ex Orc straightened out his blazer and began to scour the place for tonight’s lucky lady.

It was still early in the evening and the only other woman at the bar had her back to him and was admiring a statue of Venus, so your Ex decided to wait a little while longer and ordered a drink named ‘The Bloody 23’

After his drink had been given to him, your Ex’s attention went back to the woman at the bar, where he recoiled in shock. The woman… It was you.

He was stunned that he didn’t recognise you at first, but you just looked so… different. 

Had you done something new with your hair? Was your Make-up different? Or was it the clothes? 

You never normally wore club attire, you even said yourself that that kind of environment wasn’t really your thing.

But here you are, wearing a skin tight, red wine coloured dress. It was like you were a different person.

In front of you on the bar's counter, was an empty glass.

Your Ex smirked, and called the bartender over with a snap of his fingers, “would you kindly refill that lady’s drink? I’ll pay of course,” he said, almost lazily. 

Your Ex lifted his drink to his lips as he imagined your pleasantly surprised face when you realised he was there with you. Who knows, maybe even the pair of you could talk about what happened, make up and even-

His train of thought broke when somebody collided with him. Your Ex’s drink drenched his front, ruining his last good ‘going out’ shirt, staining it dark red.

“Whoops!” The collider said. It was another Orc, younger than your ex. This Orc had his hair tied back into a fishtail braid that went down his back and reached his waist.

He wore a leather jacket, black skin tight shirt and black jeans to match, boots undone, laces loose and unkempt. 

Your Ex Orc gave him a disgusted expression. “Watch where you’re going.” He snarled as he patted his front dry with a tissue the bar had provided.

The younger Orc held his hands up in defence, “sorry, must’ve had too much to drink tonight.” Digging into his pockets, he pulled out some cash and held it out to your Ex, “here, for the drink and… the shirt.”

Snatching it from the Orc, your Ex grumbled, giving one last disgusted glare up and down the collider, “and wear something more appropriate next time, oaf.”

The younger Orc didn’t seem to hear him however, as he continued on and to-

Your Ex froze.

Your face lit up at the other Orcs, jumping to your feet and throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

Eyes twinkling, grinning widely, your eyes darted over to your Ex. The pair of you locked eyes for a moment.

Your smile faltered slightly, the spark in your eyes went out.

The other Orc beside you looked over his shoulder, at his elder and then back at you. His hand reached out to your face, held it in his hands.

Heart thumping in his ears, your Ex stared. You hadn’t replaced him, had you?

The pair of you broke up only a few weeks ago!

You locked eyes with the Orc who held you and just as quickly as your light had faded, it reignited. 

The Orc said something, and it made you burst into a fit of giggles. 

You no longer had eyes for your Ex as you leaned forward and kissed the Orc in front of you. 

And this younger bastard, he kissed you back.

Like the pair of you had completely forgotten about your Ex, sat at the other end of the bar. 

When the kiss broke, your new lover looked over his shoulder at your Ex again and smirked.

Piercing pain shot through your Ex’s hand and he let out a gasp of shock. Looking down at his hand, he found the glass had been crushed by his grip.

He wanted to get up, rush after you and your lover, but the bartender stopped him, already trying to stem the bleeding from his green palm. He looked back up just in time to see you and your new Orc get up and head for the door.

As you and your new lover left, anger, frustration and remorse hit your Ex like a ton of bricks, one after another. 

And suddenly, the pain in his hand was gone. The pit in his stomach consumed him whole as he dissolved into tears.

He didn’t need more time out in bars or clubs, or to meet new women. 

Your Ex needed you. 

And he’d lost you, over a stupid woman at a club.

Tag list:

@serendipitous-fernweh @seungfl0wer @sammywo @sunndust

Patreon - 7 day free trial!

[moon7jay]

OKAY (p.sh)

Warnings : smut, rough sex, degradation, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Dedicated to •┈┈⛧ @hoondrop

Sunghoon didn't think of it much when you let him into your apartment without a single word when usually you'd be huffing and puffing because he showed up unannounced. He didn't think much of it when you slipped off your dress silently and laid on the bed, spread open, waiting for him to use you however he wanted.

He attributed it to you being really needy. Sunghoon was too lost in his own lust to notice how you cried out his name when he slipped himself home inside of your wet heat in one painful thrust. Your nails dug into his back and your hazy eyes fell on his expressions of bliss, hot pants falling from his mouth, brows furrowed and eyes fixated on your heaving chest. He wasn't even looking at your face and an acute pain started to bloom inside your chest.

"Fuck-oh god-never been inside a pussy so fucking good ,you were just made to be fucked" He grunted, pelting his hips harshly into you. His touches were rough, palms groping around your body in a desperate abandon, leaving bruises in their wake. Usually you loved it, your body welcomed the familiar sting and the pleasure that came along with it, but the bruises from your inside were looming on the surface today, making you feel like an open, gaping wound.

He buried his face inside the crook of your neck, folding your body in half, his thrusts merciless as always. "fucking slut, can't stop coming back to this tight little cunt, you should get paid for it" he panted in your ear. His words were hitting you as hard as his thrusts were, the hollowness in your chest intensifying by the second. Soft sobs started leaving your lips before you could stop them.

"Yeah ? Does it hurt?" He asked coming up to rest his forehead against yours, looking you dead in the eye for the first time since he came over. His eyes were dark in lust, hot breaths of exertion falling on your lips while his hips kept pounding you into the sheets. You nodded, your vision becoming blurry as you were unable to control the onslaught of tears that was wracking your body. "You can take it, just keep letting me use this hot little body till I'm fucking satisfied" His movements became rapid, you could tell that he was close. Your walls were breaking down with each snap of his hips, pain beginning to constrict your throat. Your breaths were becoming shorter, sobs becoming ugly, the physical pain transcending into emotional one.

You hated it, hated feeling so vulnerable and raw, especially in front of someone who didn't give two fucks about you. Maybe it was the stupid feelings you had started harbouring for the boy above you that were begging him to notice your suffering. To see you, look beyond the relief that your body had to offer and peek behind the mask which was your face. To hold your aching body till it didn't feel like something was clawing it's way out of your chest, till you could voice out your grief and give this empty feeling a name.

Sunghoon's mind was beginning to get clouded over by the feelings of ecstasy, his hips stuttering, feeling his high approaching closer. Even though his body was responding to the pleasure you were giving him, something about the way you were looking at him was filling him with unease. He had never seen you crying so much during sex and something inside him was telling him that this was something else. Those weren't the sobs of pleasure that were racking your tiny form underneath him, your wails sounded like cries of actual pain and he wasn't sure what to do. His high faded into the void the more that he focused on your quivering lips and flooded eyes, his hips coming to a halt inside of you. When you didn't stop wailing despite the lack of his assault on your lower body, sunghoon's chest constricted in panic. Did he hurt you? what the fuck was going on?

You were jolted out of your agony by the feeling of two big palms cupping your face.

"Y/n? Hey, hey, calm down" Sunghoon's panic filled voice penetrated through the viel of tears covering your eyes. It took you a while to notice how he wasn't inside of you anymore, the aching between your legs was lost somewhere between your grief stricken cries. You pushed him away and curled into yourself, wrapping your hands around your middle to find some sort of comfort. Rocking your body back and forth to calm your stuttering breaths. This was all you had. For as long as you can remember, this tiny stroke of comfort was all you had to ground yourself to reality. The fact that someone else was witnessing your breakdown was making you feel defenseless. "G-Go please" you sobbed and closed your eyes to drown out your surroundings.

Sunghoon's brain was going into overdrive. Seeing you like this was something he had not thought about even in his worst nightmares and he felt helpless. He didn't want to leave but at the same time he didn't want to push your limits either, so he gathered his clothes and dressed himself as fast as he could. There was an intense urge to hold you that was blooming in his chest, but who was he kidding? He couldn't comfort people for shit. Sunghoon didn't do emotions, he didn't do feelings and he sure as fuck didn't care about anyone, so why were you making him feel this way?

As he took one last look at your naked body curled into a fetus position, your cries tearing through his heart, sunghoon did what he did best. He left.

As you stared at the empty screen of your phone with no calls or messages from sunghoon, you could hear the distinct sound of your heart breaking. One would think you would have gotten used to that sound by now. How pathetic.

Did you not know how it was gonna end from the beginning? or when you decided to be vulnerable and scare him away ? Did you really think you meant something to him? That you meant more to him than just a warm body to fuck? How many heart breaks would it take for you to realize that you were just convenient? Convenient and replaceable and so so naive. You wouldn't call yourself naive tho, you were just desperate. Choosing to ignore reality to live in momentary illusions of happiness. You guess this is what becomes of people who come out of broken homes, searching for little specks of love where it doesn't exist, deluding yourself till the glaring reality decides to shove you back to where you came from. Somewhere along the way, you had come to terms with the fact that you couldn't make people love you. You had always lacked that ability, to make someone want you, to make someone stay.

You picked on the scab of wound on your knuckle mindlessly, chuckling to yourself as tears started streaming down your face again. You out of all people should have known better. You had so much love inside of you and no one to give it to. And what was excess love if not grief? Where do you put this agony? How do you get rid of this aching need to be enough for someone else?

He must be with some other girl right now, some girl who didn't ruin his pleasure with random breakdowns and ugly sobs. Someone who wasn't so difficult and unlovable and excruciatingly clingy. you kept scratching till the healed skin was peeling off, making way for warm blood to ooze out. A sigh fell from your quivering lips at the familiar sting, wondering if he stayed when other girls asked him to.

Sunghoon downed his 6th shot of the night and yet, he was wide awake and functioning. He'd been sitting in this godforsaken bar for days but no amount of alcohol could take you out of his head. You were like a constant itch at the back of his mind. What fucked him up the most was the fact that he missed you. Utterly and desperately. And not just your body, he missed YOU. He missed your giggles and he missed your flustered smiles. He missed the way you sassed him when he teased you. He missed watching his big palms engulf your small ones.

The past few days had been enough to bring him to the glaring realization that he needed you. He cared about you. Your wails were still ringing in his ears and your broken voice when you told him to leave was haunting him at nights. His dark circles could attest to that. His hands shook with the desperate need to call you and hear your voice but he was a coward. He left you in your worst moment and the guilt and shame was eating him from the inside. What would he even say to you? You probably hated him now.

His mind drifted off to the conversation you had with him a few weeks ago. He'd been getting ready to leave when your soft, hesitant voice had spoken the words which changed the trajectory of his life. "c-can you stay?" you'd asked and sunghoon had looked at you like he'd seen a ghost. Your tiny figure had been wrapped in your white sheets while you peered up at him nervously, your fingers fiddling with the stray thread on the duvet. "can you stop being fucking clingy?" He'd replied, regretting his words as soon as he'd seen you visibly flinch. Then truth was that he'd been afraid. He was scared then and he was scared now. Scared of how badly he'd wanted to stay.

He downed another shot and hoped it would be enough to give him the liquid courage for what he was about to do.

You didn't know what to expect when your doorbell rang in the middle of the night. You were lounging on your couch in the living room, staring blankly at the romcom playing on your television. Your first thought was to ignore it, the emotional distress of the past few days had taken so much away from you physically that you had little to no strength left in your body.

But whoever was behind that door was persistent. Ringing and ringing till you couldn't help but heave yourself up from the couch in frustration.

You yanked the door open and froze. It took a few seconds for you to process the fact that he was standing in front of you and another few seconds to stop yourself from running into his arms. You swallowed harshly and stepped aside to let him in. His eyes were fixated on you and you were looking anywhere but at him. Not quite ready to face your demons just yet. You weren't surprised to see him at your door to be honest, he couldn't stay without sex for too long.

At least you are useful for something, you thought. You were in the middle of slipping off your top's strap down your shoulder when his voice interrupted you. "What are you doing?" He asked, making you look up at him, staring at him blankly. "Getting undressed" you replied in a solemn monotone like it was the most obvious thing in the world but he shook his head, his gaze intense "why? "

"Isn't that what you're here for?"

Your genuinely confused question hit sunghoon like a slap across the face. He knew that he had been treating you like shit but why were you treating yourself like this? It made him want to puke. He shook his head again and willed his heart to calm down "I'm not here to have sex with you"

His words sounded like static to you. Oh. He was here to break things off with you, because of course he was. Did you really think he was going to come back to you for sex after what you had done when he could have any girl he wanted for the night? You really were delusional. You bit your lower lip to stop it from wobbling when you felt tears gathering at your waterline. So this was it then? You really had driven another person you loved away from you successfully.

"I-im sorry, j-just don't hate me please" you spoke through gritted teeth, blinking rapidly to avoid crying in front of him again. If he couldn't love you, you wanted to make sure he didn't leave hating you. You honestly wouldn't be able to live with yourself if he did.

Sunghoon watched your cowering form inching away from him and he was overcome with an intense urge to wrap you in his arms and keep you close. You looked so scared and small standing there, asking him to not hate you. Silly little girl, he thought. How could he ever hate you?

He rubbed a shaky hand over his face to choose his next words carefully but you interpreted his actions the wrong way. Your throat constricted and you fisted the hem of your top tightly. The feeling of desperation was beginning to overpower your rational thoughts, what were you going to do if he left? Your feet moved before you could stop yourself and your shaky fingers were tugging on his shirt softly. When his dark eyes met yours, you couldn't stop the tears from pouring down your cheeks. "G-give me one chance, I won't ruin it this time" you hiccuped through your sobs. "Y/n- " please sunghoon i-i'll be so good and s- so quiet, just u-use m-your words were cut of by a sobbed gasp escaping your lips when sunghoon pinned you against the wall behind you forcefully, his body pressed firmly against yours. You stared up at him with wide teary eyes and he looked angry, the vein on his forehead throbbing visibly. "Stop that" He spoke sternly through gritted teeth and cupped your face in his palms, resting his forehead against yours. "Stop treating yourself like a fucking object y/n, this isn't you" His lips captured yours before you could react and the softness of the kiss caught you off gaurd. You didn't remember the last time you had been kissed with so much tenderness and you couldn't help but sob into his mouth, your hands fisting his shirt desperately. Sunghoon didn't stop kissing you. More like, he couldn't stop kissing you. Hoping that he could convey with his kiss, all the words that he couldn't say. His hold on your face was soft and you couldn't help but press yourself closer to his body, seeking warmth, looking for comfort. He pulled away briefly, his forehead still pressed against yours and he stared right into your soul. His thumbs reached up to wipe your tears and you hiccuped through your sniffles. "would you believe me if I said that I'm here to stay baby?" He asked softly. The sweet nickname was something he'd only called you in throes of passion sometimes, so the fact that he was consciously speaking to you with so much affection made your heart hurt. Hope fluttered like butterflies in your stomach and you searched his face. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to get lost in his affection even if he was lying, so exhausted from your emotional turmoil. Your eyes flooded with tears and you sobbed a pathetic "no" while you shook your head. Sunghoon closed his eyes and rubbed his nose against yours, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. "will you give me a chance to prove it to you?" He asked, his hot breath warming up your mouth. You bit your lower lip and buried your face into his chest, unable to stop yourself from crying your heart out. This felt like a fever dream and you wanted to stay in it a little longer. You wanted to feel his arms around you, holding you closer in a way only you had ever done to yourself. He wrapped your body in his embrace and sighed in relief, he couldn't comprehend how he'd gone so long without the feeling of you in his arms. "please baby, you're like air to me and i know that i have hurt you and i won't ask you to forgive me but these past few days have been hell and i don't think I can survive something like that again" He whispered his truth and it felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off of his chest.

He hated that he was always so afraid of his own feelings, hated that you were turning him into this emotional person that he was not. His words made you tighten your hold around his shoulders and you peeked up slightly to stare into his eyes. His eyes that were staring at you with so much adoration that you couldn't help the blush spreading across your cheeks.

He pecked your nose "let me inside your heart baby, I want to know what hurts you and makes you bleed, I want to swallow your pain if it's the last thing I do"

Your breathing had evened out from hearing him speak and you were suddenly coming to the realisation that he was asking you to give him a chance at loving you. Sunghoon wanted to love you. Your heart was beating rapidly across your chest at the possibility of your feelings being reciprocated and yet at the back of your mind, you couldn't help but question. Were you ready to let him in like that? would you be able to take it if he left you stranded again? You didn't know. But what you did know was that you were tired of running away.

"Okay" you whispered and his lips were immediately on yours, kissing you like his life depended on it, in a way it did. "Okay" He whispered back into your mouth and swallowed your whines, pressing you closer to himself, tasting you like he'd never given himself the liberty to.

There were so many things you wanted to ask him and so many feelings he wanted to express. But for now, okay was enough.

[elssero]

best friends big sister

i.midoriya

♰ nsfw/suggestive, sub!izuku

bakugo tried to keep you a secret from his friends-he really did. facing the inevitable reaction they would have to you was not something he wanted to face right now.

he manages to do so until half way through his first year in college when he begrudgingly brings kirishima home thinking you weren't there-

it goes the same way everytime- he introduces you to someone and they immediately fall for you. sometimes he feels you do it on purpose, leaning into kirishima as he introduces himself, holding his hand for a second to long when he greets you.

he watches as you bat your eyelashes up at his red haired friend. speaking to him with a tone in your voice that sickeningly seductive. his signature frown on his face.

you do it too piss him off, you know he hates it when his friends fawn over you- it's been happening since you were little after all.

he hates how kirishima doesn't shut up about you after that- your only a year older right?? means he would totally have a chance if it wasn't for the oh so sacred "bro code."

it doesn't stop his gushing though- soon his entire friend group is aware of who you are. they're stalking your instagram during lunch. they beg him to hang out at his place in hopes of the chance they'll get to see you- to have a conversation with you.

he complains about it constantly- "shitty hairs askin' about you again." you can't help but giggle at the scowl on your brothers face- he really does get so wound up over nothing.

it's not like you don't face the same- your own friends all agree that your younger brother is insanely attractive. you don't let it get to you though- you know your both crazy beautiful- your siblings after all.

you tease him about it regularly- "when are those friends of yours coming over next kats?" and he just grumbles- something about him being forced to partner up with some stupid nerd for a project due on monday so he can't hang out with his chosen friends this weekend. your excited at the idea of a new face- a new name to tease bakugo about.

imagine your shock when none other than izuku midoriya knocks on your house door at 10am sharp that saturday morning.

he's grown. that much your sure about- he towers over you now- forcing you to bend your neck backwards to look up at him.

his face immediately flushes when he sees you-clearly not expecting you to be the one to open the door.

he feels silly- his curses at himself in his head for his stupid crush he's had on you since childhood. he's an adult now. a proper adult with proper adult problems- yet he can't seem to hold himself together when your in his vicinity.

he knew he should've just invited kachan over to his place for the project work-

his thoughts are stopped dead in his tracks when you jump on him- pulling the boy into a tight hug as you gush about how much bigger he's gotten- how much he's grown.

he's definitely not that same little boy you knew when you were younger- at least not physically. he's built- insanely so actually. you can't help but wonder how long he spends in the gym each week-maybe you should start going when he's there-

he squeaks out a quiet hi as he fumbles against your touch- he's incredibly aware of how close you two are- your tits pressed tightly against his chest. you don't seem to notice but he does.

you let him go- much to his thanks, allowing him to regain his breathe as he shakily as he asks you how you've been.

you begin to talk his ear off and he's reminded exactly why he liked you so much when you were small. your nothing like your brother, yeah your a little teasing- maybe a little mean at times but it's clear it's all in good faith. your funny, charismatic, easy to talk too and incredibly attractive.

he's in awe of you as you speak- explaining the piles of work your dealing with due to your major, complaining about your workload.

you take a second to look at him- a small hint of nostalgia bubbling in your stomach. you really liked izuku when you were younger- not just because it pissed kats off more than anything when thee two of you would interact but because he's sweet.

he's always been a sweetheart- so nice- so helpful. your reminded of how he used to trail after you and your brother as kids- constantly wanting to be around you- standing incredibly close to you as he shook with nerves.

the two boys had a falling out when they hit middle school- you were never really told why, just that your brother and izuku were not friends anymore- if they ever really were, and you being loyal to ur little brother stopped talking to the green haired boy in solidarity- much to your dismay.

you don't really know how they made up either- all you know is that the nervous boy you haven't seen since he was a young teenage is now in your family kitchen again- and he's certainly done a lot of growing up.

you don't get long to catch up before your brother is storming into the kitchen and physically pulling the other boy up to his room- ignoring your complaints about not having enough time to talk to him- bakugo knows exactly what your doing.

izukus painfully obvious crush he had on you when you were younger was no secret to you- despite not feeling the same way for the boy at the time you can admit that you maybe played into it abit when you were teens-

you would playfully push his shoulder, lean over the back of him to look over his phone- use virtually any excuse to touch him- enjoying watching the effect you had on him.

you think that's were it started- your love for attention- your reputation of flirting and leading people on. you truly believe it all started with your brothers childhood friends silly crush on you.

you retreat back to your room to get some studying done- you work for hours, finally being satisfied with the work you've done for today you decide to reward yourself with the desert you've left in the fridge.

your leaving the kitchen when izuku walks in- he's clearly ready to leave, bag his back as he makes his way to the door- stopping in his tracks when he notices you.

you've changed outfit since he saw you this morning into something more comfortable- maybe your shorts are a little too short for having visitors round but you don't pay it much mind.

his eyes however go straight to your now exposed thighs- face heating up as he trails your body. he needs to get out of there and fast. he can already feel the arousal growing in his chest. he shuffles out a weak goodbye as he begins walking again.

you stop him before he gets to the door- calling out after him. you ask for his number, you know to keep in touch? his eyes are blown wide but he scrambles to take his phone out anyway- pushing it into your hand as he looks away. you type your number in-feeling pleased with yourself and the reaction you've bring out of the boy infront of you.

you sign your contact with a little <3 and send yourself a message too double check that the numbers correct before you let him leave. closing the door behind him as he spits out a thank you and a see you later.

it's weeks before you see him again- you engage in small conversations over texts- complains about your jobs and your coursework, nothing too serious before your made aware by your mother that he and inko will be joining your family for dinner this friday night coming.

your ecstatic as you message him- telling him your so excited to see him and promising to keep him a seat next to you at the dinner table.

friday rolls around quickly and you spend the day helping your father prepare the apparent feast your serving your guests tonight.

you spend a quick hour getting ready- showering, doing your hair, freshening up your make up. your making tonight fun you decide as you do your finishing touches.

it's mitsuki who greets the boy and his mother at the door- wrapping them in a tight hug. your mothers been looking forward to this all week- excited to finally have the pair back in their home again after many years.

it's comfortable immediately- your thankful there's no awkwardness surrounding the long overdue get together.

you settle into chatter easily after the initial greetings- setting in your living room as your father finishes up on dinner- your laughing about old time-your squashed comfortably between the two younger boys, leaning more into izuku and facing him to talk to him from time to time- watching a blush rise to his face when his eyes uncontrollably look down to catch a glimpse of your cleavage.

it's not long before masaru is calling you all through for dinner, you take a seat on the left side of your dining table- ushering izuku to take the boy other seat on that side next to you, your parents take their seats ate their respected heads of the table as inko and bakugo take the seats facing you and midoriya.

you settle into easy chatter- inko flows words or gratitude towards you and your dad for the food and you smile warmly at her- you really have missed the woman.

you divert your attention away from the mother and to the son sitting next to you- he's tense. your shoulders are so close that they would be touching if you moved even slightly words him, you lightly kick his foot under the table and his eyes dart to yours quickly, you attempt to stay composed as he looks at you in shock- you can't help the small giggle that rises in your throat-

you take a look around quickly before continuing your next move- no one's paying attention, mitsuki is nearly leaning over the table to talk to inko- bakugo in between them is distracted by their conversation as your dad looks over at the scene adoringly.

you take this as an opportunity to do something incredibly risky- not just because your at dinner with your parents- because the boy next to you could totally react your advances. you don't think he will-but you keep in mind that he never fails to surprise you.

you move your leg back to his now, wrapping yours around his as you begin a little game of footies with him- he's rigid now- unmoving as he looks at you with wide eyes-

he doesn't move your leg and he definitely doesn't tell you to stop- you lean in to speak to him- almost a whisper- "are you enjoying your meal zuku'?"

his face flushed an even darker red- he's clearly not used to you being so close- the position your bodies in squeezes your cleavage even more- it feels impossible for him to rip his eyes away-

"y-yeah" he stutters out it-it's adorable how difficult it is for him to say a single word- you play dumb, pretending your not painfully aware of your affect on the boy- "what's wrong zuku-? your all red."

your taunting him- teasing him- you love to watch how his breathe hitches and his eyes snap away from your tits and to his lap- looking down in shame.

"m' fine-" he says it with a small smile- he's trying to convince you, he knows your not that stupid. you move your hand to the side of his face, gracing his cheek slightly as you lightly push his face to meet your- your noses being only a couple inches apart-

"you sure? you look like your overheating?" you say it innocently- voice mixed with false worry- you know exactly why his face is so red.

you move your hand away from his face- the other still firmly on the table and your arm closest to the boy finds its itself resting on his lap.

his breathe hitches at the contact- his eyes snapping to yours- the look of desperation on his face causes you to move your own thighs tightly together.

he doesn't answer- so instead you move your hand even closer to him- having it now resting on his inner thigh as you watch him attempt to keep composed.

"y-yes. m' f-fine. i promise." his breathe heavy as he says it, he's struggling against the the movement of your hand lacing up and down his thigh.

"tell me if you want me to stop" it's a complete whisper now- you glance around the room again to double check that no one's paying attention to the two of you- your glad they aren't- your hand isn't seen under the table and you've positioned yourself in a way that too your family it looks as if your only whispering in his ear, you'd play it off as if you were telling him one of bakugos big secrets instead of the light touches your giving his thigh.

you move your eyes to his suspiciously when he doesn't answer and the movement of your hand stops- threatening to be removed before he rushes out an answer-

"don't stop." it's quick and quiet- his voice kept low to not alert the people around you, the desperation in his voice isn't missed by you as you begin to move your hand again- closer and closer to his bulge with each slip.

your hand lightly graces the outline of his dick as you watch hold back a moan- you decide you love seeing him like this- already looking so fucked out.

it only takes a second touch of his clothed cock before he snaps his head away from yours to meet the table- biting down on his hand to muffle the whine threatening to escape his throat-

the loud noise snaps everyone's head towards izuku-you remove your hand quickly before anyone can notice and place a look of fake worry on your face as you place a hand on his shoulder before leaning down to him-

"are you okay izuku-? do you want me to take you upstairs- maybe you can lay down for abit?" it's a show- voice laced with fake concern as you deliver your performance- tricking both your mothers into a state of admiration for how sweet your being to the boy- they give each other a wide eyed look before ushering you both upstairs together- hm...

"oh yes sweetie take the poor boy upstairs- it seems your father has forgotten how badly the boy deals with spice-* your mother laughs slightly before excusing you from the table- you take the opportunity to pull the boy next to you away from the table, hand still rested on his shoulder as you guide him upstairs- his eyes unmoving as he looks down on the floor in shame.

you move him towards your bedroom door- he stops before he steps inside- "w-what are you doing?" he's whispering- as if someone could hear him from all the way downstairs.

you reply casually- "i'm taking you into my room- you need to lay down" he's not convinced when you finish your sentence so you continue- "i'll take good care of you kay'? i don't mind."

this forces him to look at you- he's trying to figure something out- he sighs before he lets you move him into your room- he's gave in- and it really didn't take much at all.

you pull him towards your bed, signalling for him to sit against the headboard as you sit at the side of the bed- your back touching thighs as you face him side on.

"you wanna tell me what happened back there?" your straight to the point- you thought it was going well? did he not want you to touch him?

"n-nothing-" you eye him suspiciously, an eyebrow raised as you reply to him. "m' not an idiot zuku- i can tell something's up."

he can't even look at you when he finally replies after a long stretch of silence "it felt t-too good." your puzzled at this- asking him what on earth he means when he says it felt too good??

his face is dripped in shame as he fiddles with his hands- you take a look at him properly- it's then when you notice a very slight wet patch at his crotch-

wait.

"izuku- baby." you take a breathe before continuing. watching as his face lights up at the nickname. "you wanna tell me what really happened when you hit your head against the table?"

you know. he knows you know and he feels disgusting- what will you think of him when you force him to admit he came in his pants from you touching his dick twice.

"i- um okay f-fuck." he can't find his words. "i-i came."

he watches your face for a reaction but you don't give him one, you don't move an itch and he feels like he ruined it- your everything he's ever wanted- for as long as he can remember- and when he finally has the chance with you he's been dreaming about for years- even if only for tonight he goes and fucks it up by being a fucking prejac.

your silent as you move your hands- slightly shocking the boy in from of you. you place your hand on the line of your trouser before looking up at him- "can i take these off?" your eyes meet his and he takes notice of the hazed look in your eyes before nodding.

you pull them down- taking his boxers with them as you admire him- his cock bounces up immediately as it's freed from its restraints- you admire it for a second- he's big- not completely huge but big. thick too-

you stare for abit- seeing the cum from before still sticky on his dick and his boxers- he's getting increasingly more nervous but he can't help the twitch in his dick as you watch him.

"can i touch you?"

his face flushes even more- "p-please" it's nearly silent, only loud enough for you to hear it.

you don't waste a second before your hands on his dick, not giving him any warning as your hand goes up and down his cock- he moans immediately-already overstimulated by your touch-

"w-wait wait!" he's struggling to speak between his moans. "if you k-keep ah fuck- if you keep going so f-fast i'll come again-"

his confession only speeds the movements of your hands- it's as if that's what you want. he doesn't have a second to think before you dip your head down to his dick and take his red tip in your mouth.

you move your tounge around his dick as your hand continues to move along what you don't have in your mouth- he whines at the feeling of your tongue before bottoming out only a minute seconds after your mouth intintally took him in.

he comes ropes there's so much of it that it's spilling out of your mouth and down your chin- his orgasm lasts him a couple of seconds before he lays his head back- still whining when you remove your lips from his dick.

he watches as you swallow him- moving your hand to collect the spilt cum on your chin back into your mouth. he could be hard again at the sight-

"zuku." you look at him dangerously- his eyes unable to leave yours- "i wanna fuck you."

he stays still. not trusting his voice to speak as he fears he'll shout his answer- yes! he wants to say-yes please fuck me but he can't find the words.

"cmon izuku- let me fuck ur pretty dick baby-" he whines again- cock now once again fully hard at the way you speak to him- your coaching him- leading him. and he loves it.

"p-please tuck me-" that's all it takes tor you to rile your dress up- moving your panties to the side as you position yourself on top on him- he sounds pathetic-practically begging you to fuck him and who are you to refuse him-

you manoeuvre your body so your straddling him comfortably- you line your entrance at the tip of dick- hovering for a second as you admire him below you- your stopped before you can move down by a right grab on your wrist-

"w-wait!" he huffs out- "i-i've never done this before!"

you want to say your surprised but your not-you could tell he was a virgin when you saw his reaction to you in those shorts a couple weeks ago-you could tell by how red he went in the face when u started playing footsies earlier- he's been screaming virgin the entire time, you can't help that it only makes you want him more.

"i know-" you cut yourself off with a moan as you lower yourself onto him- he's so thick- he stretches you out perfectly as the slight pain quickly turns to pleasure.

he's gawking beneath you- mouth wide as a chain of noises- moans mixed with whimpers leaves his mouth- he's loud. you shut him up with a kiss-worried about something hearing him if they walk by your room-

you move yourself up and down him, his head following yours to move with you to not break the kiss- he's groaning into your mouth- unable to stop the noises of pleasure slipping out of him.

your fully riding him now- setting a fast pace as you bounce yourself up and down- rolling on him as he hits that sweet spot in your pussy-

he's leaking so much precum that it forms a ring at the bottom of his dick- you thank your birth control for allowing you to safely take him raw.

he's blabbering nonsense into your mouth- "f-fuck mghh you f-feel so good i c-can't" you kiss him again- pushing your tongue roughly into his mouth-

he never imagined his first time being like this- he imagined shitty missionary with some random girl at some college party- he believes he must be the luckiest guy in the world to have you on top of him-grinding down on him.

"f-fuck baby your cocks so good-fillin' me up so good-" he whines at your praise as he feels yet another knot in his stomach- he's going to cum again- he's going to cum into your pussy-

"s-stop m' gna cum!" he makes no effort to move you off- secretly hoping you'll get caught in the moment and allow him to stay inside-

"it's okay- m' protected just cum-" you can still sense his hesitation- you ride him even faster- desperately attempting to force a third orgasm out of the boy-

"cmon baby it's okay- cum in me zuku- cum in my pussy-*

that's all it takes- he lets out a loud whine and you catch his lips in yours to try and silence him-

you ride though his high- not slowing down as you case your own realise- he's crying under you, shaking at the overstimulation

"¡ cant! it h-hurts!" tears are spilling as you ignore his pleas- "hold on for me baby oh f-fuck m' so close" he's sobbing under you now, hands grabbing your waist so hard it hurts- gripping you for dear life.

"you can take it zuku- know you can-" the poor boy is twitching his hips upwards, kisses getting sloppier and the volume of his whimpering increasing. you think he looks prettiest like this.

you feel your orgasm approaching as your pace gets sloppier- izuku is a mess under you, a mix of cum and your slick feeling heavy at the base of his cock- he can't even speak, his mouth as agape as he watches you in a trance.

you cum with a moan- "oh-oh m' cumming-" you crash down onto him, riding out your high as you feel his thighs tense up- feeling even more cum leak from his tip filling you up even more- you dip your head into his neck as you recover.

you stay there for a second- taking in what just happened- izuku is panting under you, little sobs escaping his lips everytime you move even a little, you slowly remove yourself from him and plant a small peck to his cheek-

"did so good for me zuku- gna clean u up okay? gotta head back downstairs soon."

all he can do is stare at you in awe- he's completely fucked out, he has this dazed look in his eyes that you love.

you clean yourselfs up and let izuku take his time calming down- "can't believe i was your first-" your teasing him again- the never ending blush on his face gets deeper-

"m' sorry i didn't do much-" he's immediately self conscious- he came three- no four times and he feels bad for hardly being able to hold on long enough for you to come too.

"shhh sh it's okay baby" you smile at him as the nickname rolls of your tounge. "next time kay'?" his eyes widen. next time?? what could he possibly have done to make you want to see him again?

"you were perfect for me zuku- so good." you take his hand in yours as he looks away from you- clearly embarrassed by your praise. you don't drop his hand as you lead him back into the living room where your family's now sit- mitsuki has a bottle of wine open, thankful that it means your parents wont notice your hand linked with the green haired boys.

katsuki notices though- he noticed it the second you walk though the door- he also can't help but notice the flushed look on his childhoods friends face and you drag him to sit down next to you. hand not wandering from him.

he shoots you a suspicious look as he watches midoriya sit extremely close to you- you catch his eyes and shug your shoulders at him- you'll explain another time- maybe.

part2

[januaryembrs]

hot chocolate!

(last one i promise)

reader & spencer who aren’t exactly enemies but they’re def not friends but reader always double checks if spencer’s fbi vest is secured correctly which in return makes spencer check her over as well and they’re always like ‘stop checking up on me and worry about your own safety’ and it just happens every single time and they swear up and down that they dislike eachother deeply (they need to make out)

BANE OF MY EXISTENCE | Spencer Reid x reader

description: Spencer hates you, and you hate him, until it comes to protecting each other in the field

length: 0.7k

His fingers wound through the back of your vest as you made a move to dart past him, trailing after Hotch as you loaded your glock. 

You felt a yank at your neck, his obnoxiously long arms giving you a firm tug back with little to no effort, all but making you stumble backwards as he forced you to stop, and his fingers were at your hip, adjusting the strap before you could ask him just exactly what he was doing. 

“Wha- Reid, let go, my vest is fine,” You snapped, huffing when he ignored you, in the interest of fixing your belt, his brow turned down into a frown. 

“Don’t come crying to me when you get shot in abdomen and suddenly you’re bleeding out, and you lay there and thinking, dang if only the smart FBI would have told me to adjust my kevlar, and I’ll be right there to point and laugh and say I told you so,” He huffed, his fingers making light work of the fiddly strap, tightening it until he couldn’t see a single inch of your shirt to the point he heard your breathing constrict, but he thought he’d rather you be a little uncomfortable than shot. 

“I mean, if I’m laying bleeding out I won’t really have much to say other than, Reid, get medical, I think they hit something serious, please don’t come to my funeral, you were insufferable enough when I was living,” You said, allowing your body to be tugged back as he started on the other side, because there was no use fighting it when he got in those moods when he always needed to be right. 

He paused, his brain catching up to your words and he drew in a silent breath, wondering if the other side of your jacket needed tightening even more, or better yet, if there was any way Hotch would make you stay in the car as back up. 

Spencer yanked the strap with a vendetta, ignoring the way you whined it was too tight, and his lips pursed together. 

“Would you relax, I was clearly kidding,” You said, thinking his mood had come from your teasing, because you seemed to know exactly what to say to push every one of his buttons, “What I would probably be thinking however is if you’ll be able to flag down a medic with your shoelaces untied,”

His gaze snapped to his converse, and sure enough the double knot he relied on seemed to have failed him, and his strings were hazard material as they dragged along the pavement, already mucky where they’d probably been undone for hours. 

“Make sure you do them before we move in, I’m not carrying your bone head out of there if we start taking hits and you trip over your own feet,” You snipped, and he finally released you, immediately leaning down to fix his own issues, completely missing the way your eyes trailed down to make sure he did the loops tight enough because you were being serious when you said it would loathe you to be the one to carry him away from the danger, though probably not in the way he thought. 

He huffed, standing back to his full height and giving his feet a wiggle in their shoes to make sure they were comfortable, and he looked back at you where you were watching him carefully, catching the split second where something close to worry pooled in your eyes. 

It snapped back into your usual cold demeanour when you realised he was looking straight at you, and you whirled you keep your back to him, inspecting your loaded gun some more as a way to busy yourself. 

“Try not to miss, it doesn’t look good on the reports when I have to save your ass twice,” Spencer snarked, and he practically heard the scoff before you even gave it. 

“That was one time, Reid, and it was only cause I couldn’t see past your stupid fluffy hair. You’re a cop, Reid, not a poodle, you don't need that much volume,” You snapped back, the two of you squabbling the entire walk to the building, until Hotch separated you for the sake of his growing headache. 

He just wished you two would talk things out before he seriously considered Emily’s proposition of locking you in the broom closet together.

[dovveri]

at-home olympics

synopsis: you and your girlfriend are watching the 2024 olympics except you’re cheering for different countries. you get a little distracted during the swimming finals though…

warnings: fluff and smut! sana's a little tease so lots of teasing, 1x edging, fingering, swearing

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: ok ik the races take place over several days but for ✨plot✨ lets pretend they dont and that history hasnt happened and i dont chronologically put these races in order bcs i couldnt be bothered doing that much research LOL aaanyway this one was inspired by miinatozakiii bcs we cuddled and play fought over which of our teams was better (i won)

〰⋆｡˚

“sana! it’s starting!”

“one second!”

“babe hurry! you’ll miss australia thrashing everyone else!”

you can hear her scoff from the kitchen, her voice nearing you as she rounds the corner to the living room where you have the olympics stream set up on the tv. “no way sweetie. if any one’s getting an ego check this year it’s absolutely gonna be you guys.”

you grin at the sight of her balancing a bowl of popcorn and a tray of sweets and goods to snack on while you watch the finals.

“what took you so long?” you tease, staying put on the couch and not bothering to get up and help her set everything onto the table.

she rolls her eyes, plopping down next to you, “i was peeling all the mandarins because someone is a big baby and won’t eat her fruit if it means getting her hands dirty.”

“you like my hands.”

“shut up.”

you laugh, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her into you adoringly, kissing her cheek. “thanks babe i love you.”

she turns to peck you properly on the lips with a smile, “love you too my big baby.”

you’re about to pout and kiss her again but you’re distracted by the cheers on the screen. the announcers start to read out the names of the finalists. you squeeze your arms around her waist in excitement, “it’s starting it’s starting!”

sana pokes a piece of fruit and holds it up to your mouth. you open without looking, eyes fixed on the screen as the swimmers start walking out for the women’s 400m freestyle.

when the australian, ariarne titmus, is named, you cheer, almost knocking the bowl of popcorn out of your hand in excitement.

“she’s the one! she’s the best bet to win this race! she won the 400 and the 200 metre freestyle last time in tokyo! she holds the world record for both of them!!”

sana hums, smiling at your enthusiasm. “you never know sweetie. the american and the canadian… mcintosh? she’s new but you saw her in the heats, she was fasttttt.”

“no way she’ll beat arnie though. this is australia’s win for sure.”

the swimmers get ready on their diving blocks, and then the buzzer sounds and they’re off.

you’re on the edge of your seat, taking in each stroke and breath, sana right there next to you.

“look look! she’s falling behind! i told you the canadians might grab this one!”

“no no that’s normal for her she always starts off slower but because 400 metres is one of the longer races she’ll really shine after the second or third lap just wait and see.”

you can feel the tension wound up tight all over your body as you watch the race, yelling encouragement, eyes locked on the swimmers as arnie starts to speed up on her final lap, passing the other competitors and hitting the end of the pool first. you jump up, whooping, punching your fist in the air as if you were the one who had just won the race.

sana laughs at your antics, rolling her eyes when you turn back to her, "i told you! i told you we'd win! the aussies are gonna crush everyone this olympics!"

"it's only the first day sweetie you know you'll fall behind once the swimming events are over."

you plop back down, "not this year. our roster is too good."

"we'll see about that."

sana was originally all smiles and giggles, watching you fondly during the next few races while you cheer when australia qualifies off various heats, and slump down next to her, miserably pecking off the snack plates when they don't. but as time goes on and australia just keeps winning, she gets a little pouty, either at the little patriotic spirit that ignites in everyone during the olympics, or the fact that you've been paying these athletes more attention than her for the past few hours.

either way, she plans to get your attention back and she has a wonderfully terrible idea on how to do exactly that.

the opportunity comes during the lull of the men's events. you're droning on about how "the aussie men aren't all that compared to the women. the aussie women are the ones to watch. who cares about the men when we've got arnie, mollie o'callaghan, kaylee mckeown, emma mckeon, especially since the french have leon marchand and he's like crazy fast and- b-baby w-what- what are you doing?"

you don't notice the way sana's hand has crept up your thigh while you were talking, too focused on the tv screen and the races.

"nothing."

you look to the side where sana's watching you with a smirk and a gaze that screams bad news.

"uh huh-" you try and wriggle away from her, shuffling backwards into the corner of the couch, shaking her hand off. her hand is stuck to you though, the movement finds her fingers only closer to your core that was beginning to slowly burn up at the feeling of her trailing her fingers up and down your inner thigh like that.

"b-baby i want to watch the olympics."

"i'm not stopping you."

"but- no i meant-"

"mm? watch the olympics."

you sigh in frustration, tearing your gaze away from her to fix your gaze back on the screen.

sana giggles lightly, letting you have a break, just resting her hand on your thigh innocently.

eventually, you forget her hand's there, too invested in the races going on screen.

"c'mon aussies! oh my god these germans elijah has to speed up oh shit- c'mon c'mon c'mon-"

the race ends with elijah winnington winning silver in the 400m men's freestyle.

"he was so close! baby did you see he was so close oh my god!"

sana rolls her eyes, more interested in your reactions than the actual games. it's when the buzzer sounds for the beginning of the 400m men's freestyle relay final that she begins to move her hand again.

your eyes immediately flick back down to your legs at the feeling, hand coming up to cover sana's but this time she gives you a lot more to work with than just her hand. she leans in, starting to pepper your neck with light kisses.

"s-sana..."

"hmm?"

"t-the finals baby..."

"you can keep watching them. or you can try anyway." you can feel her sly grin against your neck, your body betraying you as you stretch out your neck unconsciously, giving her more room to work. she latches onto the newly available skin easily, sucking and licking, her other hand drifting under your shirt and fingers running up your stomach.

"w-what brought this on?"

she shrugs, lips never leaving your skin, "do i need a reason to want to taste you?"

you whimper as she reaches your ears, knowing they're sensitive she giggles, letting the soft breath of her laugh hit the edge of your ear, kissing sweetly. your hands are clenched into fists at your side, eyes still locked on the tv screen but none of the information hitting your retina was being processed by your brain. you're straining to hear, see, feel more of sana, but she's torturously taking her sweet time, touching where she wants, kissing where she feels, even when you spread your legs open wider for her, her hand on your thigh doesn't move, only squeezes gently in thanks but refuses to make any further progress up your thigh.

"sana..." you start to whine, pushing your hips up, squirming under her touch.

"what is it sweetie?"

"need you..."

"need me to...?"

"touch me."

"i am touching you." she giggles, pinching softly at your waist, hand gliding up to cup your bare chest gently.

"more."

"more what?"

"ugh sana just-" you wriggle around under her, huffing, her nails scratching gently against your inner thigh and the bottom of your tit.

"hmm?"

"you fucking tease sana c'mon just- ah!" sana's fingers come up to tug roughly at a hard nipple, hand at your shorts sliding up to rub at your clit harshly through your drenched panties.

"watch your tongue sweetie. that's not how you talk to me is it?"

you mewl, "n-no. i'm s-sorry."

"that's better. now tell me what you want again. this time with manners."

"can you touch me please?"

"touch you where? here?" she tugs at your nipple again, your hips buck up into her, the finger at your clit pressing down at the movement.

"y-yes! everywhere! n-need you e-everywhere."

"oh everywhere? you are greedy. take off your clothes for me then baby."

she sits back, her hands no longer touching you while you hurriedly rip your top off, your shorts and panties following not long after. you lean back, spreading your legs as lidded eyes find her again. she's watching you amusedly, eyes flicking between the tv screen and your dripping cunt.

she jerks her head to the side, indicating at the tv, "australia just won silver in that race baby. did you see?"

you groan, hands coming up to grope at your own chest, the other trailing down your stomach and to your core, "don't sana- please- i don't care right now just need you-"

"now you don't care huh?" she grins self-satisfied, crawling towards you and slapping your hand away playfully, "so needy."

"only for you p-please sana-"

she hums, smiling as she kisses her way up your body, tracing the marks she's already made over your neck and collarbone, finally reaching your lips with a cheeky grin.

she looks down at you with a mirthful glint in her eyes, her lips just centimetres away from yours, "ask me."

you groan, "what?"

"ask me to kiss you."

"oh for fuck's sake-"

a hand pinches at your side and you yelp in pain.

"what did i say about language?"

you whimper easily, submitting to her without a second thought, "i'm sorry. please kiss me?"

a smile, "much better."

she connects your lips at last, giggling a little at your desperation. you moan as soon as your lips meet, hungrily sucking her lip into your mouth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and slight annoyance at how long she's been teasing you for.

her tongue swipes along your bottom lip and you eagerly open, panting into her mouth as she licks into you, tasting of the snacks you just had and something uniquely hers that made your head spin and your pussy clench.

you're obviously terrible at multitasking and sana takes advantage of that while she's got you completely focused on how good her body feels against yours and how her tongue is searching every inch of your mouth, her hands sliding down your chest to grope at your tits properly now, squeezing and relishing the moan you let out, the slow grinding that your hips start up even without you knowing.

she gives you a much needed oxygen break, moving down your neck again but making her way straight down to your chest, her hands and mouth working in tandem to drive you positively insane, massaging your sensitive flesh and licking and sucking until you were whining and panting once again.

when she takes a nipple into her mouth, your chest arches up into her, hand finding purchase in her hair, tugging her impossibly closer. she mumbles something around your nipple, and although you don't catch what she says, the small rumble and vibration sends shivers up your spine and straight down to your core, your thighs aching to rub together to find any kind of friction on your absolutely drenched cunt.

she licks across to your other nipple that she's been twisting and pinching with those long fingers of hers, taking it into her mouth as well, the hot warmth around your nipple and her hand that comes up to squeeze at the tit she's just left, causing another gush of slick to leak between your thighs.

you don't dare look down at her, nails digging into her scalp, hips pushing up against her, moans drowning out the commentary of the swimming finals still playing on the tv.

her hands inch downwards while her mouth is still attached to your chest. she doesn't tease this time, dipping straight into your heat and running her finger along your opening.

"m- please- sana there-"

she wets her fingers easily, running them up and down your cunt a few times, making sure to rub a little circle at your clit each time she does a lap, her fingers swimming around in your pussy like the swimmers on screen.

"i-inside sana pl-ease- i'm ready-"

she hums, inserting one finger gently, pumping slowly with just her first knuckle before sliding in more, curling her finger once she reaches that part of you where she can rub at the little patch of your frontal wall that has you bucking up into her and gasping.

"r-ight there- fuck- sana- god you're- so good-"

she starts up a slow rhythm, lips still attached to your breast, sucking hickies and new marks into your skin, right next to fading marks that no one else but her could've left.

she's building you up at her own leisure, pushing another finger in once she thinks you're wet enough (you've been wet enough). your hands move down from her hair onto her shoulders, gripping tightly at the feeling.

"f-faster sana i c-can- i can take it-"

she listens so well, speeding up immediately, pushing in and out of you at a pace that leaves you breathless. you throw your head back on the arm of the couch, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten with each entrance and exit, the orgasm she's building you up to so close with each thrust.

you're so focused on cumming you don't notice the way sana's ears perk up, her lips leaving your nipple with a plop as she turns her head to the side curiously.

and then all of a sudden, just as you're about to climax, sana rips away from you, jumping up from the couch and squealing in glee.

"matsushita!! he did it! y/n look he did it! france came first but that's okay because marchand was always going to win right?! but matsushita beat america!"

you're sweating on the couch, breathing heavily as you hazily look towards sana, confused at what just happened and how you didn't just have a mind-blowing orgasm 2 seconds ago. you can feel the fluttering of your stomach, the slick on your thighs still very apparent, as if you did orgasm but you just couldn't remember it.

"w-what?"

sana turns to you with a bright smile, kissing your lips sweetly, "look! japan won silver! in swimming!"

you blink dumbly at the screen, sure enough, at second place in the men's 400m individual medley is matsushita tomoyuki representing japan. you're trying to piece together the connection between this new piece of information and why you had your orgasm so violently torn away from you.

and then you realise there was no connection.

"sana!! are you serious?!"

she turns back to look at you with a confused pout on her face, why was she being yelled at? she tilts her head like a lost puppy, completely disregarding your state of undress, a total personality flip from when she was whispering and touching you in the dirtiest ways, distracting you from the olympics only to get distracted herself and stop milliseconds before she helped you reach your high.

"what?"

"i- you- we just- i was-" you gape blankly at her, flushing bright red, hands waving around dumbly while trying to come up with the words to describe this absurd situation.

you end up throwing your hands over your face in frustration, groaning and bringing your knees up to your chest, hunching over and pulling the couch blanket over your naked body.

sana giggles, plopping back down on the couch and squeezing into you. "whaaaaaaaat-" she pokes your side, trying to get you to look at her, but you're persistent, pouting and throwing the blanket over your head, shuffling around until your wrapped around in it and your head pokes back out to watch the screen as they transition over to the women's swimming again.

sana sidles even closer, trying to get under your blanket as well, "what's wrong?"

you huff, not looking at her.

"baaaabyyyyy-" she pouts.

"i was so close." you mumble.

sana grins, "what was that?"

you whine, tips of your ears still red, "i was so close sana! why did you have to- were you watching the whole time?!"

she laughs then, bright and innocent, "noooo i just suddenly heard japanese cheering coming from the tv so i looked up to see what was going on and then matsushita hit the end of the lap!"

"so you won't let me watch the olympics but you'll deny me an orgasm when you want to watch?!"

"i always said you could keep watching! too bad you just can't pay attention to two things at once." she smirks, finally able to sneak in under your arm and come in next to you under the blanket, not minding at all that you were stark naked and she was still completely dressed.

"urgh you're so-" you huff, mumbling to yourself incoherently while making sure the blanket was fully covering her as well.

"what? i'm so what?" she's staring at you with wide eyes, a knowing smile on her lips.

"i'm not talking to you. watch the olympics."

she laughs, a full body-shaking laugh, tackling you back down into the couch with the force of it, her arms going to wrap around your waist immediately as she makes herself comfortable nuzzling herself under your neck and onto your chest.

you roll your eyes, covering the both of you as you turn your attention back to the screen. once the games were over and you only had to pay attention to your cheeky girlfriend, you'd make sure she knew exactly how you felt with all your attention focused on repaying her for her antics.