#custom address walls

[damedonger]

Traditional Porch - Porch Mid-sized classic stone front porch idea

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was working at the sex shop I was pulling poverty wages. I loved my job but I was on food stamps and still barely getting by. When they hired the stores first male employee and he started at my pay rate after I’d been there for three years I quit.

I was initially really nervous when I saw the post for the mattress job. It listed a pay scale that I couldn’t even conceptualize and I appeared qualified. When I got an interview I was over the moon but also petrified. Reactions to my line of work often varied but most people were very embarrassed or skeptical. I worried about how I’d address it in the actual interview.

I lived far to the north of their headquarters and drove almost two hours to get there. When I finally arrived it was in the nicest thrift store clothes I could find, but I shrank inside to see a room full of older white men in nice suits waiting to be interviewed for the same job.

Why did I bother? I was decades younger than anyone else in the room, shabbily dressed, and I suspected I was the only afab person in the entire building. I stewed in my insecurities until I was called in.

The second I met my interviewer I was instantly put at ease. The man had the energy of a therapy dog, he was abound with positive, good natured energy. He was also incredibly beautiful. I grinned back at his welcoming smile as we said our pleasantries. But still. This very beautiful polished man seemed very innocent. How would the sex shop question go?

“I see here you worked at STORE?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“And that was sales? Or you just rang people up.”

“No, it was sales. I’d help people find products, we were encouraged to upsell, there was sales spiffs, and most importantly we educated customers on products to help them find what they liked best.”

He grinned approvingly and asked, “Can you give me an example of a time you successfully upsold a customer?”

I paused, wringing my hands before I asked, “How vague would you like me to be…?”

“Not at all!” He assured me. “Go for it!”

“Well. A man came in looking for something to make his fingers vibrate so when he was touching his wife it would enhance that sensation. We had cheap $10 cockrings that I showed him first. But we had a rechargeable waterproof one made of nicer material, and after I showed him a demo he bought that one.”

“How much was that one?”

“$110”

“Wow! You had an upsell of 100% from what he came in looking for! That’s incredible!”

He was so truly genuinely stoked and not at all embarrassed that for the first time I saw a tiny glimmer of a future where I didn’t have ramen and peanut butter tiding me over between paychecks.

He asked me to wait then came back to tell me he liked me so much that he wanted to send me right into another interview, if that was okay. He didn’t want me to have to drive back later, it was terribly considerate and exciting. I beamed and told him it would be lovely.

I then had the second worst interview I’ve ever had. The worst goes to the time I applied to be a store manager for a pet food place years later. The district and store manager interviewing me passed notes and texted while I was speaking. When the district manager called to inform me I didn’t get the job I told him I’d never have accepted anyway because I’d never had such a disrespectful interview.

The new man sitting behind the desk radiated an aura of a brick wall. As someone with anxiety I’m highly keyed into the emotional states of people I’m talking to. To receive no feedback at all was my personal hell. After a perfunctory greeting he asked me with no inflection to sell him a pen.

I gathered the shreds of my courage and attempted the Herculean task he’d set me. Through my whole improvised spiel he resisted all attempts at engaging him, regarding me with a cold apathy as I touted the benefits of my fictitious pen.

Halfway through I broke into a cold sweat. My smile didn’t waver but it grew strained as I projected friendliness and warmth into the black hole of his heart. My thoughts scattered and my sales pitch grew redundant in the face of his nothingness. I finally concluded with a hard close and he simply nodded.

He glanced at my resume and commented, “You didn’t ask me to touch or hold it. Though I suppose I can understand from your previous line of work why you wouldn’t.” I shriveled and died inside knowing that I encouraged people to touch dildos all day long and had been too frazzled to offer him the pen.

He bid me a cool farewell. I made it to my car before I started sobbing. I had never been so rattled. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to make him so unfriendly or if my threadbare clothes were what had made him treat me like dirt. I drove an hour and a half to get home, weeping intermittently.

I was therefore taken by complete surprise to receive a call the next day inviting me on board for their five week training program. The first man who’d interviewed me gushed on the phone about how the second guy had loved me and that I was going to be fantastic.

I was in shock. When I showed up to training the second interviewer was charming my new classmates, beaming and laughing. He was an utterly different person. To my dismay I learned he was the trainer for my district and would be my point of contact if I made it through training.

He joked with me later that his interview facade was just a tactic to see how people held up under pressure and I filed him into a category of my deepest enmity. I never forgave him for how small he made me feel that day, but I never showed him the depths of my fury.

I aced every test and went on to be valedictorian of the eight people who had survived the rigorous training process to earn a sales position. When I got my first paycheck I bought myself new clothes, the first non-thrifted things I’d owned in years.

[mayspicer]

Ok, the boss is no more! There were some super stressful moments but surprisingly we all survived o:

My animal companion got hit with disintegrate, but we had hero points to make him avoid it. I would cry actually, because disintegrate means no resurrection x_x

The war is prevented! At least this one, because Cayden's party is right at the center of a much bigger one just starting. Today we saved the country. Cayden is trying to not even save the whole world, just maybe slow the whole thing down and save as much people as possible...

[misspapercut]

USA Personalized Jewelry Display

Misspapercut can provide you with the best USA Personalized Jewelry Display. We can add your logo and brand name on the jewelry display. Also we will etched all the letters on the backside so that you can get the smooth touch on the front side. So order now!

[cakelitter]

Pawsitively Yours

Leon x Puppy - Hybrid Fem! Reader

Warnings: age gap, daddy kink, fingering, breeding kink, slight mention of virginity, spanking, degradation

Summary: Leon's new puppy treats him to a relaxing bath after a stressful mission.

Words: 5.1k

a/n: this one took me so long to do omg. rewrote some paragraphs like three times. but anyway, hope you enjoy!!!!

December has started, and with it came the heavy rain fall and bone chilling winds. Leon makes his way to the nearby convenience store, trying to be as quick as possible before the sky starts getting upset again. Bundled up in his coat and boots, he can see the white smoke like fog that forms after each breath.

His nose froze long ago, and he’s only been out of the house for five minutes. His once functional nose now turning a rosy shade of pink along with his cheeks. And so, he opts to breathe through his mouth a bit till he reaches the warmth of the store.

Milk, eggs, bread, milk, eggs, bread, milk, eggs-

His mind keeps repeating, in order to not forget anything. Writing a list would have saved him so much back and forth, but he’d rather do that than give in and actually write one down. It’s actually impressive how stubborn a man can be.

The glowing lights from the festive decoration on the streets are single handedly illuminating his way to his destination. Christmas is right around the corner, and people are filled with excitement and glee. For Leon on the other hand, Christmas is another cold winter day with the advantage of things being half off the next day.

Maybe it’s the traumatic events that he went through, or maybe it’s the fact that he barely has anyone around to celebrate this once in a year holiday with. But Christmas is not as special as it once was.

Opening the glass door, he steps into the warm space. Breathing in comfortably for once without the feeling of pins and needles tormenting him from the icy air.

It doesn’t take him long to grab the items he initially came in here for, while picking up a bottle of whiskey along the way to keep him company. It was calling his name from the wooden shelf it once stood on, and it was fifty percent off. So, he’s technically doing something good. He places his belongings on the register, while making small talk with the old cashier. The man in front of him says something about the weather, old man talk, and as time passes by he is actually starting to like these types of small conversations more and more.

He's definitely getting old.

The yell of an employee interrupts their conversation, alerting everyone around and addressing a customer that sprints out the store with unpaid items in hand. He thought the officer inside of him died a long time ago, but apparently not. He starts chasing the individual, down the street into an abandoned alley way. When suddenly the clanking sound of cans ricochet through the eerie alleyway, as some of the cans their holding slip from their grasp and onto the concrete floor.

He tries his best to not step on any of them. Which shouldn’t be too hard if this damn alley way wasn’t so fucking dark. He can’t see shit in front of him. It’s practically almost pitch black and the person he’s chasing is wearing a black jacket with the hood up. He’s chasing shadows at this point. Hopefully he is even chasing someone in the first place and isn’t having another one of his hallucinations. Running out the store like a crazy person.

All he does know however is that whoever he’s running after is fast, real fast. He’s almost out of breath kind of fast. The I hope they slip so this can be over kind of fast.

His prayers must’ve been answered cause instead of them slipping, they found themselves reaching a dead end. They’re movement ceases and they freeze in place looking at the stone wall blocking their way out.

He stands behind the hooded figure, their back turned to him.

“Turn around.” He orders, voice stern and intimidating. The thief turns around slowly, eyes facing the ground and full of guilt.

“Take that hood off.” Shaky hands comply, revealing their identity. They look up at him, and… are those dog ears?

Your eyes make contact with his, tears brimming in your eyes, reflecting the yellow light coming from the nearby and only street light, horrified of the thought of what is going to happen to you next. Your ears are droopy and wet from he can only assume the previous rain. Eye brows furrowed and your tail from what he can tell is now hiding between your legs, covered by your oversized jacket. The jacket is two to three sizes too big for you, can’t tell if that’s a fashion choice. He’s not up to date with today’s fashion trends. You’re a hybrid. A homeless one, judging by the state of your clothes and hair.

Regardless of the disheveled appearance, you’re a real cutie. Practically begging him silently to pretend like he didn’t catch you, and let you go on your merry way. His eyes drop down to see what you’re holding in your arms and finds three cans of tuna there. You poor thing, hungry and shaking from either the cold or from the possibility of going to jail… or the pound. He’s not sure where they deal with your kind.

He steps closer, and immediately senses the he picked the wrong choice of action as you start growling. Taking the hint, he backs off and nods slowly raising his hands up, making you stop.

The sound of running footsteps enter into the alleyway the two of you are standing in.

“You caught them?” the employee from earlier asks. Your eyes move over to them then back to him. Leon is a firm believer that stealing for hunger isn’t a crime. You were stealing tuna cans for fucks sake, the cheapest kind too. Not a lavish necklace worth millions.

“Yeah…” he can hear your brain cogs working, thinking about how you will get yourself out of this situation. And he could swear that he heard a whine leave your mouth. Hybrids are looked at as a minority, either locket away in cages or poked in labs. And that’s if they weren’t causing trouble. He doesn’t know what the law would do to you in your case… but it’s most definitely not humane. After a moment, he speaks again, not taking his eyes off of you.

“How much did those cans cost?”

That incident was four months ago, and ever since that day he decided to take you in. Leon was very adamant on the idea of not adopting any pets, not having the time to take care of them. But he figured that since your half human, it wouldn’t be too bad.

The first couple of weeks were hard. You’d lock yourself in your room and hide under the covers when he’s home. You’d growl if he tried touching you, and in general was having a hard time adapting to your new space. Leon however, remained as patient as possible. Giving you your time to feel comfortable, and always made it clear that he’s not a threat to you. Although he can’t really blame you for thinking he is, after all, having a man chase you down and corner you in an alleyway isn’t the best first impression to make.

He doesn’t know much about your background. Whether you were experimented on in a lab and somehow managed to escape, or simply tossed into the streets. But it’s clear that your days before meeting him weren’t the brightest. Matter a fact, he didn’t even know what your voice sounded like for the first 3 weeks, and just assumed that your breed didn’t have the capabilities to speak.

Nevertheless, you decided to break this cycle of keeping him away, when he once came home and sat on the couch. You were laying down on the floor on the further end of it. And to his surprise, decided to walk towards him, laying down and placing your head on his boot, instead of scurrying away into your room.

Leon has fought some of the most gut-wrenching bioweapons, designed to end a man’s life in a matter of seconds and managed to end them without breaking much of a sweat. Yet, this is his biggest achievement yet. You wanted to be next to him, instead of telling him to fuck off like usual. With your eyes of course, he still hasn’t unlocked the dialogue option with you at that time.

Ever since then, you’ve made small steps of opening up to him. And now, he’s the center of your universe, the main attraction, your favorite toy. Pawing at him for belly rubs, standing at the door, ready to greet him, as soon as you hear the jingle of the keys, and needing his attention 24/7 whenever he’s home.

You are now a completely different pup compared to the one he found wet and cold in a sketchy alleyway a few months back. You’re playful and energetic. A pain in the ass to take to the doctor for checkups, but nonetheless, a perfect companion for him. Leon likes to believe that you’re a gift sent to him, an early Christmas gift to light up his gloomy days. A thing he never knew he needed.

Ever since you stepped into his life, leaving paw prints behind, he started getting better without even knowing it. Instead of spending nights self-loathing and mourning the person he could’ve been, downing beer after beer. He spends that time now playing with you and watching movies together. Colorful ones though, your attention span isn’t the best…

He anticipated that you would have dog-like characteristics, and you do. Going crazy over squeaky toys, sniffing him for a good fifteen minutes after he comes back home, being obsessed with his shoes and hiding them under your bed, and tilting your head to the side when you’re confused.

Pure innocence, pure puppy innocence is what you are. Which is the reason that made him feel like a creep for his dick standing up whenever you’d sneak into his bed at night, cause you had a bad dream. Wearing skimpy shorts that did nothing to hide your ass, and a tight floral tank top without a bra. Your pouty lips, and soft-spoken voice. Your pretty eyes, and delicate skin.

“Leon…I had a bad dream; can I sleep with you?” Is all he would hear coming from the direction of his bedroom door. You don’t even bother waiting for him to answer, and instead climb into his bed, tangling your self around him. Head nuzzled into his chest, one of your arms and legs draped over his body. It doesn’t even take you longer that a minute to be fast asleep, leaving him an achy mess without even knowing it.

In addition to how you’d sit on his lap while watching a movie. He hasn’t taught you boundaries yet, knowing you, you’d get upset and give him those kicked puppy dog eyes for shooing you off his lap. Cause it makes his dick fucking hard.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal if you stayed still for once. He swears that you can’t stay in one position unless your asleep. As long as that cute little brain of yours is conscious, you’ll keep squirming on him lap, again with those frilly white skirts and revealing shorts, like he isn’t on the verge of losing it.

Worst part of it all, how your cunt always seems to be so wet all the time. Feeling it seep through your panties and onto his pants, making him want to die on the spot. The way your underwear will always have massive wet patches on them whenever he does the laundry. Is that even normal?

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Today he came back home after being away for three weeks. Opening the door, he doesn’t find your figure standing in front of him, with a flashy smile on your face, showing off your sharp canines. Twinkling so perfectly like you didn’t suck his bank account dry with those toys off yours. He raised his eyebrow at your absence and whistled hoping your pick it up in case you haven’t heard the sound of the front door opening. Which is pretty unlikely.

Dropping down his bag in the hallway, he walks over to the living room. The older man inspects the area, calling out for you, yet there is no sign of you. Kitchen, same thing. It’s not till he reaches the dining room till he spots out of the corner of his eyes the sight of your fluffy tail sticking out from under the table.

A grin creeps up on his face as he walks towards your hiding spot. He stops a few inches away from where you are and pretends like he’s still looking for you.

“Oh my god, I can’t find her!” He exaggerates, and watches over at how your tail starts wagging.

Cute.

“Where could she possibly be!!” it starts swishing left and right even harder, hitting the chair legs that are on either side of it.

Thump

Thump

Thump

“Is she under the dining table?”

…

“Or is she in my room?”

Thump

Thump

Thump

You’re adorable.

“Oh well I give up. Guess I’ll never find her.” He says throwing his arms defeatedly and turns around to exit the room.

“Boo!” Jumping out from under the table, you reveal yourself. Your arms extending and grabbing his leg. He chuckles and you look up at him with a beaming smile.

“Did I scare ya?”

“Real good, sweet thing.” He replies and crouches down to your level, rubbing behind your ear. Your favorite spot. He helps you get up and you waste no time beginning to sniff him near his shoulder. Face scrunching up at the smell and your eyes meet his again.

“Did you swim in the sewers again?” you ask rubbing your nose.

“I-… yeah”

It’s a long story okay…He needed to get to a certain point but the normal way was blocked so he had to-

Whatever.

Your head nods up and down slowly, knowing your nose is never wrong.

“I’ll go shower.”  He replies, and your eyes light up.

“Want me to help?” You ask excitedly, your tail wagging intensely. “I’ll help you take a bath, and I’ll let you use my rubber duckies too!”

“No honey I-”

You give him those eyes. The ‘you wouldn’t be mean and break my frail puppy heart would you?’ eyes. The eyes that make the strongest agent in the United States, weak. And to no one’s surprise, he gives in.

“Fine, but you only prep the bath and then leave, okay?”

“Don’t you want me to wash your hair like you wash mine?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“…I’ll only prep the bath and leave.” That took you longer to answer than he would like. “Promise? “He asks.

“…”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He nods, making sure that you understood what he was saying. And as soon as you get his approval, you sprint to the bathroom and the sound of the tub being filled follows pursuit.

He sighs, shaking his head with a smile. Walking to his bedroom, he grabs a freshly cleaned towel before making his way to the bathroom. Your figure is kneeling on the floor, hands grabbing the edge of the tub, watching as it fills with water and bubbles.

Turning around, you smile with a tail wag and turn off the faucet once the water has reached the amount, he usually puts for you.

“It’s ready!” He nods and you start to make your way to the door. As you do, he grabs the edge of his shirt and begins lifting it revealing the bare skin beneath. You stop in your tracks and he notices, your eyes looking at his defined muscles without even blinking.

“Out!”

“Okayyy” You whine, brows furrowing as you slowly close the door. Not before taking a final look of course.

He continues undressing and walks over to the tub, it has some bubbles and a couple of rubber ducks floating on top of it. Placing one foot in, the water is a little too hot, but not bad considering it being your first time doing something like that.

The water level rises as he soaks his entire body, feeling his muscles relax. Soothing his aching muscles and bones. A moment later, he pulls himself fully under the water, and then comes back out, pulling his hair off his face, giving him a slicked back hairstyle you always make fun of him for.

The smell of soap and the feeling of finally being safe after three hellish weeks grounds him as he closes his eyes. Once he reopens them, one of your rubber duckies is looking at him.

God, this is a bit weird.

He grabs it and inspects it, it’s mostly in good condition except for a few bite marks here and there. Wonder who those belong to. He examines the duck for a few more minutes, taking in its yellow body and orange beak. You go crazy over these things, he practically needs to drag you out of the tub each time because of them.

The silence around him is broken when he hears the sound of the door slightly opening which is followed by a cold gust of wind. He looks over and sees one of your eyes looking into the room.

“What did I tell you?” He says, but you don’t respond. Thinking you can trick him into thinking that you’re not there, just like how you still think he couldn’t see you back when you were hiding. And to think your breed is supposed to be one of the smartest.  He calls out your name, making you speak and pull the bathroom door open exposing yourself, kneeling next to it.

“I wanted to see if you were having fun…”

“I am now leave.” He says, tone trying to show seriousness. You don’t listen and in lieu, start crawling towards the tub.

“Are you listening to me?” He speaks again, but it falls to deaf ears. How can he blame you for not listening when he has never disciplined you. Spoiled brat. Ever since he picked you off the streets and claimed you as his own, he has not even once, raised his voice or gotten angry at you.

You crawl over and place your head on the edge of the tub. He’s honestly shocked at how shameless you’re being.

“That one’s name is Jerold.” Your voice says, pointing at the duck he forgot he was holding. A pathetic attempt of trying to change the topic. He looks at the duc- Jerold then back at you. Smiling so sweetly with a halo above your head like you just didn’t break his word.

He sighs, realizing there is no use in wasting his breath and places Jerold back in the water. Looking over back at you, he notices that you’re no longer watching his face, but at something else intensely. Curious, he follows your eyes and realizes at what caught your attention. The bubbles in the bath decided to migrate to either side of the tub, making his crotch completely exposed to your prying eyes.

You’re are not even blinking, a thing you do when you’re thinking too hard about something. The snap of his finger cuts your thread of thoughts, making you jump as you look back at his face, the place you should only be looking at from the get go.

“Privacy?”

Your ears go back in shame, it’s like you didn’t even realize that you were staring.

“Sorry… The water just looks nice.” He raises a brow at you. You are a pervert and a horrible liar.

“The water.” He repeats, showing you how ridiculous your lie was. You remain silent for a while, but start getting a bit fidgety. Looking around and getting up and sitting down again, the same way you act when he’s about to give you a treat.

“Can I get in the bath?” You say impatiently. You’ve always loved bath times, and pools, and lakes, and every single body of water that has ever existed. So, this is not unusual for you to ask, but he can’t help but feel like your intentions aren’t pure.

“No.”

“Why?”

…

Good question. Why not? He does think you’re the cutest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. He has fantasized about you before, something he doesn’t like admitting. He has checked you out a few times too… you were once again, wearing flimsy clothing, prancing around him, licking his neck and begging him to touch you and give you rubs. At the end of the day Leon is a man, who is guilty of thinking with his dick a time or two.

But he always resisted his urges. Locked them away in one of the rooms in his mind next to other gruesome core memories and throwing away the key. You were his baby, he’s supposed to protect, care, and provide for you, not fuck you.

By the time the voices in his head are fighting each other, you were quick to take off your clothes. And next thing he knows you’re in the tub with him. He goes to protest against what you’re doing, but you straddle him and place your head on his shoulder.

If that was your plan to shut him up… it worked. You feel warm and soft. The plush of your breast pressing up against his chest as he watches your chest rise and fall. Maybe this is wholesome, not like the two of you are naked and he could practically feel your cunt on his dick. No no no, that would be absurd.

He places his hand on your back, and moves it up and down soothingly. Why is he even rubbing your back? You disobeyed him, shouldn’t he be pissed? The two of you sit in silence for a while, before you remove your head off his shoulder. Arms still on either side of his neck, your eyes meet his. Dropping from his sky-blue eyes, over to his wet lips. Fuck.

You lean in. Fuck fuck fuck.

And you kiss him. Possibly the most delicate kiss he’s ever experienced. Full of pure affection. He doesn’t push you, he doesn’t pull back, he doesn’t lecture you about boundaries. But instead, he takes it. All of his attention on your mellow lips and light breath.

You pull away, locking eyes together. And he sees the blood rushing to your cheeks. Did he ever mention that you were cute? You anticipate him lecturing you, yelling at you, or even kicking you out, for what you did. But he doesn’t.

Remember that voice that was telling him that this is weird? Yeah, it can go fuck itself. He leans in and kisses you lips again. You let out a soft breath at his action, and he can hear the sound of your tail wagging once again even when it’s submerged in water.

Splash

Splash

Splash

Once more, your lips disconnect and you start shifting your hips above him. His dick has already started rising ever since your lips made contact with his.

“Can I wash your hair now?” he laughs.

“Sure, why not.”

And so, you do. Grabbing his shampoo bottle and squeezing some product on your hand before lathering in on his head. Your fingers work the product into his hair, before grabbing the nearby shower head and rinsing it off. The masculine aroma of his shampoo fills the small space as he decides he might as well give you a bath while he’s at it. He goes to grab your shampoo before your hand stops him.

“I want to use yours… wanna smell like you.” His heart could burst out of his chest at this moment. This shouldn’t have turned him on this much, but alas it did. Without complaints, he does what you want. Repeating the same process, you did on his hair earlier.

It doesn’t take long before the two of you walk out the tub. He pats you dry with his towel then himself. This went over rather smoothly, see wholesome just like he said. Everything is under contro- you’re rubbing your thighs together.

“Leon…” Your soft voice calls out to him, grabbing his attention. He hums in response and looks over at your eyes. Stepping closer, you place a soft lick over his collar bone before beginning to kiss the area. Your hand creeps up the side of his neck over to his jaw, coaxing him to accept your touch. And you almost managed to do that, till those voices in his head barged in once again.

He grabs your hand gingerly and whispers. “Baby, I don’t know if we should do this.”

You whine, mouth stopping its assault on his neck to speak. “Please, wanted you to breed me for so long.”

Once again, those voices get thrown out the window, as the words you just said make his brain short circuit. Cursing under his breath, he smashes his lips against yours harshly driving you up the bathroom wall.

You kiss him back fervently. Hands cupping his face as his chest closes the proximity between the two of you. Grabbing your jaw, his hands slither down and cup your mound, receiving yet another whine from your lips. Music to his ears.

His finger then starts making firm circles around your clit making your hips buck forward towards his touch craving more. Your hands scramble around his chest, a puppy like you has probably never experienced something like this before, huh.

His tongue enters your mouth and you accept it gladly. Two of his fingers rub between your folds back and forth. Collecting the slick that is practically dripping down your thigh, your hole is practically weeping. And he groans at the slippery feeling, before plunging two of his fingers into you with ease. Your back arches and you moan into his mouth, as his fingers start moving in and out of your wet heat.

“Who knew my sweet pup was such a slut.” He says pulling your ears closer to his mouth with the iron grip he as on your jaw.

You’re so sensitive, thighs begin to tremble at the way his fingers curl into you, and the real fun hasn’t even started. You can barely stand at this point. Realizing that, he grabs your thighs and pulls you over his shoulder and makes his way to his room. He plops you down on the bed, and you immediately roll over to your stomach, back arched, and ass up in the air like its instinct. He could get used to the sight of this, your face pressed down on his sheets and begging him to fuck you senseless.

“You know sweetheart, I don’t even think I should breed you after you’ve disobeyed me so much today.” He says, hands rubbing over your ass. And upon hearing his words your expression shifts, it feels like he just told you the most heartbreaking news you could ever receive in your whole life.

“Noo please. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? I don’t believe that.”

“I promise, I won’t do it again Daddy.”

Shit.

You’re into that too.

...Oh, your nastier than he thought. Without even replying, he grabs his cock, slapping it a few times on your ass, precum forming strings connecting the two surfaces. Then bullies his cock into you making your feet kick out with a squeal. His balls are plush against your clit as he completely bottoms out inside of you.

You start drooling over the mattress, hands clutching the sheets beneath you for dear life. And without giving you much time to adjust, he starts moving. You feel so tight around him, its driving him crazy. The squelching sounds of your tight dripping pussy can be heard from a mile away. The fluid dripping from the hole that is connecting the two of you and down onto Leon’s gray sheets. Leaving wet dark gray spots on the surface. Picking up his pace, his hips slam into you harshly, pornographic moans can be heard from the two of you along with the clapping sound of your skin slamming against his.

He grabs your hips and leans in, having your back against his abdomen as he speaks into your ear.

“Here I was thinking you were innocent, not knowing what you were doing. Having your entire pussy on display for me, all wet and needy, waiting for me to fuck you full like the slut you are.”

“Wanted you.” is all you can manage to retort back, voice breaking from the impact each thrust has on you. He chuckles lowly and spanking your ass making you yelp and squirm beneath him before grabbing it. The skin now, hot and red beneath his touch.

“Should’ve spoken earlier sweetheart. I wouldn’t be this rough if I wasn’t so pent up.”

Your pussy is now sucking him in even further as he rabbits his dick into you. His hand moves over and under you, making its way to your clit. Pleasure is slowly but surely fogging up your brain, no thoughts other than Leon floating around in your head.

“Be a good girl and cum for me. And maybe then I’ll breed you.” And just like that, your thighs shudder beneath you as your pleasure blurs out your vision. The idea of being full of Leon’s pups making you see stars.

The tightness that you are gripping Leon in, in addition to your walls spasming around him, makes him tighten his grip on your hips leaving bruises there. His release ensuing yours. You bite your lip at the hot liquid being spurted out inside of you. Making you feel warm on the inside. Leon groans at the intensity of his release, one he forbid himself from for such a long time.

He thrusts a few more times, distributing his cum evenly inside you, and pushing it further up your cunt. He lets out a breath at the sight, one he can’t believe is seeing.

Plopping a delicate kiss on the middle of your back. He pulls out with a squelching sound from both your fluids combined, forcing a whimper out of the two of you at the discomfort. He walks over to the tissue box he keeps on his bedside table, and helps you clean up the mess. Throwing away the dirty napkin and laying down on the bed next to you, his arms open and inviting you.

You cuddle up against his chest, and he places a soft peck on top of your head.

“Thanks for the bath sweetheart.”

divider by: @/picopipi

[pretzel-box]

A sebastian fic idea, doesn’t have to be romantic but can be, for whatever you want with it :3

Basically, when the Expendable dies and Sebastian explains their death to them albeit frustrated(as the Expendable is just really bad at what they do and keep dying), they decide to stay dead as an annoying ghost haunting Sebastian’s side, much to his annoyance and dismay

Tags: Gn!Reader, Reader is a ghost, slight comedy

Words: 1k

Sebastian slammed the file down on the table with a force that made his random coffee cup tremble precariously on the edge. The dark room was lit only by the dim, warm glowing angler lure on his head, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. He glanced at the file he had just laid out, his lips curling into a smirk.

"You couldn't have died in a more stupid way," he chuckled, his deep voice echoing in the room as he mocked the other person. He was addressing the latest expandable, who sat across from him, eyes glazed with a mix of irritation and confusion. It was their second time to die and yet the poor fellow still didn't understand what is happening.

Across the table, you, or rather your ghostly apparition, floated just out of reach. You scoffed, your spectral form leaning forward as if to peer over Sebastian’s shoulder. "Oh look, that coffee spill on the file is shaped like a horse," you remarked, your translucent finger pointing with a strange, childlike excitement.

Sebastian blinked, momentarily thrown off. "What?" he muttered, following your line of sight to the brown stain that indeed had a vague equine shape. His eyes squinted, trying to understand why a horse-shaped spill might be interesting.

The expandable on the chair furrowed his brow. "I haven’t said anything," he mumbled, clearly unsettled by the shopkeeper’s apparent non sequitur.

"Not you," Sebastian shot back in a dry tone, feeling a flush of embarrassment. He couldn't believe he had let his guard down in front of a customer due to your ridiculous observation. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

The situation with you had become… complicated.

The whole thing started three years ago and he can remember the details fully in his memory due the weird situation.

It had all started after your twenty-sixth death. You had shown up at the death room as usual, but there was a different look in your eyes—a look of resignation, of defiance. You sat down across from him, arms crossed tightly over your chest, a permanent scowl etched onto your face as if you had made up your mind about something.

“Take time to read it or else you’ll die from it again,” Sebastian had instructed, his tone exasperated but calm. He pushed a file across the table toward you, flipping it open to reveal the gruesome image of the Eyefestation—green, glowing, and malevolent. The sight was familiar, the text barely new for you and the highlighted parts were mocking you.

You turned your head away, refusing to even glance at the file. “No,” you said flatly.

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No?”

“No,” you repeated, more firmly this time, your eyes locked onto some distant point on the wall.

Sebastian had seen many expendables come and go, but none like you. Most of them were desperate to get back into the field, to keep trying until they finally made it out. But not you. You just sat there, a stubborn pout on your face, refusing to move.

You had planted yourself in that chair like it was your throne, declaring, without words, that you were done with all of it—the missions, the dying, the endless cycle of suffering. You were going to stay right there, a ghostly nuisance in Sebastian’s life.

"Fine," he had finally snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Fine, stay a ghost if you want. But you will beg to return eventually."

Yet here you were, three years later, still haunting his shop, your spirit lingering like a bad smell he couldn't quite get rid of. And, frustratingly, the begging he had predicted never came. Instead, you had made yourself right at home, offering unsolicited commentary on everything from his choice of inventory to the coffee spills on his files.

"Have you ever seen a coffee spill shaped like that?" you asked again, your voice breaking into his thoughts.

Sebastian’s patience, already worn thin, snapped. “No, but have you ever seen someone get silenced because someone shoved a whole file in their mouth?” he growled, his frustration evident.

You giggled, unperturbed by his threat. “Oh, come on, Seb. Don’t be so grumpy. I’m just trying to make the afterlife a little more interesting for you.”

He sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You know, most ghosts would have moved on by now. Found some peace or… whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”

You floated closer, your ethereal presence hovering just above the table. “And leave you all alone? That would be so boring. Besides, I think you secretly like having me around.”

Sebastian huffed, turning his attention back to the file. But he couldn’t deny there was a strange comfort in your constant presence, annoying as you were. You were… familiar. And in this dark, twisted place, familiarity was a rare and precious thing.

"Look," he said, his tone softening just a fraction. "I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself. Why you’re so determined to stay dead. But… it’s not healthy. Even for a ghost."

You shrugged, a ghostly, nonchalant gesture. “I’ve seen what’s out there, Sebastian. All those monsters, all that pain. Why keep going back when I can just stay here?”

Sebastian looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. “Because you’re still… you. And that means you still have a chance to make things right. To fight back.”

You sighed, your form flickering slightly. “Maybe I’m tired of fighting,” you admitted quietly. “Maybe I just want to be… done.”

He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Then let me help you. Let me show you there’s still something worth fighting for.”

You were silent for a moment, considering his words. Then, slowly, you nodded. “Alright, Seb. I’ll give it one more try. But just one. And if I die again, I’m staying a ghost. Permanently.”

He grinned, relief flooding his features. “Deal. Now, let’s get to work. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

You smiled back, feeling a strange warmth spread through your ghostly form. You trusted his words, going back to point one and trying to get to the crystal, a last time.

After three years you forgot how terrible you are and you died to Pandemonium at door 30, making you meet Sebastian in the death room again who was groaning in frustration.

“NOT AGAIN!”

[brunchable]

It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆. 《Chapter 3: Kibble Thief. 》

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: It's not a meet-cute, it's a meet ugly, Grumpy Meets ✨️Sunshine✨️, Opposites Attract, Sassy Pet Matchmaker, Enemies-to-Lovers (Lite), Destined to meet again, Bucky is a hidden softie. Summary: Who gets the last Kibble in the grocery store? Rock-Paper-Scissors should settle that. A/N: This story will be OUTSIDE of MCU but Bucky's traits will be mixed comics/mcu. Also this will be updated every FRIDAY(AEST). I hope I tagged everyone? Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

The Emporium NYC bustled with the usual morning energy—customers browsing, displays perfectly set up, and staff ensuring everything was running smoothly. You strolled through, heels clicking softly against the polished floor as Lincoln, Maddie, and Rachel trailed behind, taking notes and addressing finer details, from updating store layouts to planning promotional events for the upcoming season. Officially the new CEO, you’d be overseeing each component, ensuring the customer experience was flawless, from aesthetics to the efficiency of operations.

As you rounded a corner, you came to an abrupt stop, causing your small entourage to halt behind you. There, by one of the benches near a fountain, was Bucky. He was crouched down, helping an elderly woman with her shopping bags, his eyes crinkling as he laughed at something she’d said. The sight of him, relaxed and genuinely grinning, made you pause, head tilting in mild fascination.

Bucky was… peculiar. You couldn’t quite pin down why; there was something about the way he carried himself that seemed at odds with the man you’d met—reserved and gruff, yet here he was, all warmth and easy charm. He looked completely at ease, like he belonged in this gentle moment, laughing softly with an elderly stranger.

You stood there, watching him as if trying to solve a puzzle. How could someone be so closed off one moment and so approachable the next?

A hand suddenly waved in front of your face, snapping you back to reality.

“Hey, you okay?” Lincoln asked, raising an eyebrow with a curious look.

“Oh!” You blinked, catching yourself. “Yeah, just… observing,” you replied with a small smile, glancing back at Bucky, who was still chuckling with the elderly woman, completely unaware of his unexpected audience.

After a moment, Bucky stood up, giving the elderly woman a warm smile as he handed her bags back. She patted his arm gratefully, and he gave a small nod before turning around, his gaze sweeping over the bustling mall.

Just as he glanced in your direction, he caught sight of your back as you continued walking, your little group following closely behind. From his angle, all he could see was the silhouette of a well-dressed woman in heels, surrounded by assistants, her focus already directed ahead, purposefully striding through the mall. He raised an eyebrow, thinking for a moment that the figure seemed familiar, but brushed it off.

Bucky continued his stroll, unaware that he’d just missed you by a few paces, each of you none the wiser to the other’s presence.

× × × × 

Back in your office—a space designed with clean lines, muted tones, and an impeccable sense of style—you sat at your desk, but your mind was elsewhere. The memory of Bucky by the fountain lingered, refusing to fade. You twirled a pen between your fingers, the rhythmic motion doing little to refocus your thoughts.

Through the glass wall, you caught sight of Lincoln, busy at his desk just outside. His head was bent over paperwork, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up as he worked. With a small sigh, you picked up the telephone on your desk, dialing his extension. A moment later, Lincoln’s phone buzzed, and he glanced your way before answering.

“Yeah, boss?” he asked, voice carrying just the slightest edge of curiosity.

“Can you come in here for a sec?” you replied, keeping your tone casual.

“Sure,” he said, hanging up before making his way into your office. He closed the door behind him with a quiet click, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the back of the chair opposite your desk. “Something the matter?”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before speaking. “You mentioned before that you’re into the Avengers, right?”

Lincoln blinked, looking slightly taken aback by the unexpected question. “Uh… yeah, I guess you could say that. Why?”

You leaned back in your chair, tapping the pen lightly against the armrest. “Is there a guy named Bucky? Perhaps?”

Lincoln’s expression shifted, a look of recognition crossing his features. 

“Yeah, there’s definitely a Bucky,” he replied, nodding slowly. “Bucky Barnes—also known as the Winter Soldier. Kind of a big deal, depending on how much of a fan you are.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden enthusiasm. “Go on.”

“He’s Steve Rogers’ best friend and has, uh… kind of a complicated past. He has a bionic arm too—I heard they had to use the mind stone to remove the brainwashing a long time ago so yeah, that’s him—definitely has that ‘badass with a heart of gold’ type.”

Lincoln looked at you, curiosity clearly growing. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing,” you replied, shrugging as casually as possible. “Just curious.”

Lincoln narrowed his eyes suspiciously, crossing his arms as he gave you a skeptical once-over. After a moment, he leaned forward, clearly not about to let it go entirely. 

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

You cleared your throat, attempting to change the topic. “So… who do you like better? Bucky or, you know… Captain America?”

Lincoln didn’t hesitate. “Bucky, hands down. He’s cool.” He grinned, adding, “I mean, come on. Vibranium arm—but I don’t think he’s actively working anymore, probably laying low.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “I see… well, thanks for the info.”

With a smirk, Lincoln shrugged, giving you one last curious glance before heading for the door. As he left, you spun your pen between your fingers, lingering in thought for a moment. Finally, with a small sigh, you turned your attention to the computer and typed in Bucky Barnes into the search bar, curiosity getting the better of you.

× × × × 

After a long day at work, you decided to stop by Rhys’ office unannounced. Frustration lingered in your chest; he’d been dodging your calls and texts all day, and the unanswered questions had built a subtle tension you were eager to resolve. As much as you tried to brush it off, a part of you felt that familiar pang of disappointment, wondering if he’d really be there for you this time or if the gala would end up as another solo appearance.

Dressed in a high-waisted pencil skirt and a relaxed-fit blouse tucked neatly in, you’d opted for professional yet effortlessly striking. As you stepped into his office, Rhys’ gaze flickered up, eyebrows lifting as his eyes ran from your heels to the curve of your shoulders, lingering slightly longer than necessary before he met your gaze.

“Hey,” he greeted, leaning back in his chair, a hint of surprise coloring his voice. “Didn’t know you’d be stopping by.”

You gave him a small, tired smile, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. 

“Thought I’d save myself another text,” you replied lightly. “So, will you be coming to the gala next week?”

He sighed, glancing at his computer screen. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I’ll try my best, but you know how it is. Busy, busy.”

Before you could reply, you noticed a figure off to the side, stacking a pile of files on a desk across the room. A young woman you didn’t recognize, dressed in a polished but slightly over-eager way. There was something oddly familiar about her—the way she held herself, the slight flicker of recognition as she glanced over at you before quickly averting her eyes.

Turning back to Rhys, you tilted your head, gesturing subtly toward her. “New assistant?” you asked, your tone light but curious.

Rhys glanced over, nodding. “Yeah, that’s Carly. She just started. Great addition to the team, very… efficient.”

Carly offered a polite smile, though her gaze didn’t quite meet yours. The vague familiarity nagged at you, but you pushed it aside, refocusing on Rhys.

“Don’t you think going to the gala with me is a good way to make it up to me?” you asked, keeping your tone light but with an edge.

Rhys sighed, leaning back in his chair, looking almost exasperated. “Baby, we went to dinner, I bought you flowers… I thought we were over that already.”

A flash of irritation sparked within you, but with his employees nearby, you bit your tongue, choosing to keep things civil. Instead, you offered a tight smile. 

“Alright. Then just cancel our weekend together,” you said, tone even as you reached for your phone, texting Lincoln to prepare the car. Without waiting for a response, you turned to walk toward the door.

Rhys, visibly frustrated, hurried after you, catching your arm gently but firmly, turning you around to face him. 

“Are you seriously going to act like this?” he demanded, his voice low but laced with annoyance.

“Act like what?” you replied, voice steady, but the tension between you was palpable. “Do you not like your own medicine?”

Rhys’ jaw tightened as he released your arm, his gaze hardening. He looked like he wanted to argue but held back, glancing briefly over his shoulder at his employees before forcing a smile.

Rhys let out a frustrated huff, his expression twisting as he tried to maintain his composure. “This is being petty. I have a few deadlines, alright?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “So do I, and yet I’m going,” you replied, your tone sharp but controlled.

He let out a mirthless chuckle, rubbing a hand over his jaw as if trying to rein in his frustration. 

“Look, it’s not the same,” he muttered. “You don’t understand the pressure I’m under right now.”

You shook your head, the familiar sting of disappointment returning. 

“No, Rhys. I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand,” you said quietly. “Just—just keep your bare minimum away from me. I want someone who shows up with passion, not just a shrug.”

He opened his mouth, as if to argue, but you were done. Turning on your heel, you strode toward the elevator, leaving him standing in the hallway, his employees glancing away awkwardly, pretending not to notice the heated exchange.

As the elevator doors closed in front of you, you took a steadying breath, focusing on the feeling of moving forward.

× × × ×

The grocery store was surprisingly packed for a weekday evening, but you only had one item left on your list: Figaro’s favorite premium kibble. He definitely knows his social ranks for a feline. After a few minutes of searching, you finally spotted the last bag on the top shelf, wedged annoyingly out of reach. Standing on tiptoe, you stretched your arm, fingers just barely grazing the edge of the bag. No luck.

With a sigh, you jumped a little, just enough to brush the bottom of the bag but not quite enough to grab it. Just as you were about to give it one last try, an arm reached out beside you, snatching the bag with ease.

“Oh, thank you—” You turned, half-expecting to see a store employee, but froze when you realized it was Bucky, he looked at you, an eyebrow raised, holding the bag as if he were contemplating your gratitude.

“Thanks,” you said with a polite smile, reaching for it. But he didn’t hand it over.

“What?” he asked, looking down at the bag, then back at you. “Did you think I got this for you?”

“Obviously?” you replied, exasperated. “I was reaching for it!”

Bucky tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, I saw. Looked like quite a struggle.”

You huffed, hands on your hips. “So you just saw a lady struggling and thought, ‘Nah, I’ll just grab my own and let her suffer?’”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you with mock seriousness. 

“In my defense, I was here to buy cat food too. And besides,” he said, holding the bag up a little higher, “I’m the one who actually got it off the shelf.”

Your jaw dropped as you let out a disbelieving scoff. “So, what? You think you can just keep it?”

Bucky shrugged, giving the bag a little shake. “I don’t know… I think Alpine would be pretty disappointed if I came home empty-handed.”

“Oh, really? Well, Figaro’s basically feline royalty, so he deserves the best. And I was here first, thank you very much.” You narrowed your eyes, refusing to back down.

“Sure, you were here first. But I was the one who reached it.” He leaned back a bit, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this. 

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, reaching up again, trying to snag it from his grip.

He pulled it just out of reach with a faint teasing smirk. “You know, if you tried a little jump, you might actually get it.”

You rolled your eyes. “And you call me a Trash Panda?! You’re the one robbing me in public.”

He shrugged, looking you over with a mockingly thoughtful expression. “Well, if you could use those same Trash Panda skills you talked about, maybe you’d actually reach it.”

“Oh, so now you’re saying I should just climb the shelves?” You bit back a laugh, folding your arms with a challenging look.

“Hey, if the trash panda mask fits…” he replied, smirking.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, shaking your head. “Well, guess what, I’m not giving up. Figaro needs this kibble, so… how about we make a deal?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“Rock, paper, scissors. Best two out of three. Winner takes the kibble.”

He chuckled, clearly amused. “You serious?”

“As a heart attack,” you replied, holding out your hand, already set on rock.

He sighed dramatically but held out his fist. “Alright.”

You both counted off—“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”—and threw your choices. First round: you threw rock, he threw scissors.

“Ha! One for Figaro,” you said, grinning triumphantly as Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Beginner’s luck,” he muttered, shifting his stance.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” you both chanted again. This time, you threw paper, but he threw scissors, a sly smirk pulling at his lips.

“Looks like Alpine’s back in the game,” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

You narrowed your eyes. “Fine. One to one. This is for all the kibble, Barnes.”

You both held your fists out one last time, tension building as you chanted together, “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

You threw scissors… and his hand did some weird, twisty thing that didn’t look like a fist or open palm. It seemed to morph into rock at the last second.

You stared at his hand, utterly perplexed. “Hold on. What… what was that?”

He cleared his throat, trying to keep a straight face as he straightened his hand into a proper rock. “Uh, rock.”

You squinted at him, highly suspicious. “That didn’t look like rock. That looked like some sort of… ninja move.”

“Rock. Fair and square.” He shrugged, deadpan. 

“Fair and square?” you repeated, scandalized. “You hesitated! I saw it. There was… like, a split-second where it was maybe paper or… or spaghetti hand. You can’t just—”

“Ha!—” he laughed suddenly, clutching the bag triumphantly. “Looks like Alpine’s getting her dinner after all.” Realizing he’d let his competitive amusement slip, he quickly cleared his throat and returned to his usual deadpan expression. “Uh, like I said. Rock.”

You gasped, pointing a dramatic finger at him. “Cheater! This is an outrage. Figaro and I will be filing an official complaint.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, barely hiding a grin as he clutched the kibble bag like a prize. “Good luck with that, Trash Panda. You know where to find me.”

“W-what?! This is unacceptable!”

He gave you a mock salute, turning to leave with the bag held victoriously at his side. “See you around. Better luck next time.”

× × × ×

You finally made it back home, juggling grocery bags as you stepped through the door. After Bucky’s so-called “victory” over the last bag of Figaro’s kibble, you’d stubbornly marched to a different grocery store just to get the brand he liked. And now, as you set down the bags, you couldn’t help but grumble, still ‘annoyed’ by the whole ordeal.

“Can you believe that guy, Figaro?” you muttered, pulling out the new bag of kibble and placing it on the counter. “Rock, paper, scissors? And don’t get me started on his weird ‘ninja rock’ move.”

Figaro, who’d been lounging on the windowsill, perked up at the mention of his name, giving you a lazy blink. He trotted over, sniffing at the bag with casual curiosity, clearly more interested in the kibble than your grocery drama.

“Yeah, I know, buddy,” you sighed, scratching his ears. “I went through all that trouble just to get this for you. Because some self-proclaimed ‘cat dad’ thought it was funny to mess with me.”

Figaro blinked at you slowly, his usual regal, unbothered expression intact.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” you continued, almost indignant. “He was laughing at me—like, actually laughing! And then he tried to pretend he didn’t. I swear, the nerve…”

You opened the bag, pouring a small amount into Figaro’s dish. He immediately sauntered over, sniffing it appreciatively before settling down to eat, clearly oblivious to your rant.

You huffed, pacing around the kitchen as you continued your one-sided conversation. “And then, he had the audacity to call me a Trash Panda. A Trash Panda, Figaro! Just because I had to take the recycling out one time. If anything, he’s the one acting like a sneaky raccoon, hoarding all the kibble.”

Figaro paused mid-chew, glancing up at you with a flick of his tail, as if he were considering whether to care about your grievances. Ultimately, though, he resumed eating, clearly finding the kibble well worth your extra trip.

“Glad you’re satisfied, at least,” you muttered, watching him with an exasperated smile. “But just so you know, if I run into him again, there’s no way he’s winning round two. Trash Panda, my foot.”

You sighed, finally plopping down on the couch. As you closed your eyes, Figaro leapt up, curling onto your lap, purring as if to say, You did well. Now, keep that kibble coming.

With a chuckle, you scratched behind his ears. “Yeah, yeah. All for you, buddy.”

× × × ×

Bucky unlocked his apartment door, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The memory of his grocery store “win” replayed in his mind, and he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he thought of you muttering something about a “trash panda” rebellion. But as he stepped inside, his good mood was interrupted by a startling sight.

There, sitting casually on his couch, was Nick Fury, his signature eyepatch and stoic expression in place as he stroked Alpine, who lounged contentedly on his lap, purring like she’d known him her whole life.

“Fury?” Bucky’s voice was laced with a mixture of irritation and surprise as he closed the door, eyeing the uninvited guest warily. “Breaking into people’s apartments now, are we?”

Fury didn’t look up, still scratching Alpine’s ears. “Didn’t break in. Used the spare key you left at the front desk. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Bucky sighed, leaning back against the door. “Something tells me you didn’t swing by just to bond with my cat.”

Finally, Fury looked up, his expression as unreadable as ever. 

“Got a job for you,” he said, straight to the point. “Nothing big. Need someone with your… skill set. It’s important.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “So, you need me for a mission?”

Fury gave a curt nod, placing a slim folder on the coffee table in front of him. “Consider it a favor. Low profile, nothing flashy. Think of it as keeping yourself sharp.”

Bucky looked at the file, then back at Fury, giving a single, firm nod, his expression resolute. 

“Alright.”

A flicker of satisfaction passed over Fury’s face. “Good. Figured you’d see it that way,” he said, standing up and straightening his coat. “Call it… preventative maintenance.”

Bucky gave him a sarcastic smile. “Good to know you’re looking out for me.”

Fury adjusted his collar, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t get used to it.”

With that, Fury headed for the door, but he paused, glancing back as if he’d forgotten something. 

“Nice cat,” he added, nodding to Alpine. “She’s got good taste.”

Before Bucky could respond, Fury slipped out the door, leaving the room silent except for Alpine, who looked up at Bucky with wide, innocent eyes, as if nothing unusual had happened.

He let out a breath, shaking his head as he picked up the file Fury had left. 

“Guess I’m not the only one with ‘friends’ stopping by,” he muttered, scratching Alpine under the chin. She purred, looking thoroughly unbothered, as if welcoming mysterious guests was just part of her day.

As Bucky settled into his apartment, he opened the slim file Fury had left behind. The first page was blank, but as he flipped it open, a small stack of documents fell out, including a photo. He picked it up, his gaze settling on a familiar face.

There you were, captured in a candid shot, your expression focused and composed, a faint smile touching your lips. Bucky felt a slight twist in his chest; he knew you looked good, but seeing you in an official document made it all seem… different.

He sighed, setting the photo aside as he turned to the profiles. The first file, marked with your family’s name, laid out the details of their empire. The Emporium, he read, the flagship shopping mall brand that had grown into a national luxury name, renowned for its upscale stores and sleek, modern architecture. A leader in the retail market, The Emporium was a prestigious name, built on elegance, exclusivity, and exceptional customer experience.

Finally, he found your profile. There was your name, the one he hadn’t known until now. Bucky murmured it to himself, testing the sound on his tongue. It suited you.

As he read, he found his initial hunch confirmed—your involvement in any of the suspected activities was highly unlikely. The profile outlined your recent appointment as CEO, noting your reputation for commitment and vision, as well as your focus on a flawless customer experience and dedication to preserving the company’s high standards. The report even highlighted your relative lack of experience with the inner financial workings of the empire, making it clear you hadn’t been involved with the questionable transactions.

Still, Bucky’s stomach clenched as he flipped to the next page. A profile on your older brother, marked with multiple instances of substantial, unusual transactions. The transactions were linked to shell companies 'known' to have Hydra connections. He sat back, fingers brushing over the file, his mind whirring with the implications.

He couldn’t deny the odd twist in his gut. The more he read, the more he realized he was being drawn into something that would involve you deeply. And the idea of you eventually finding out about his involvement gnawed at him. But for now, he told himself, he was only gathering information.

As he leaned back, closing the file, his gaze drifted back to your photo, a faint sigh escaping him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that when you eventually learned the truth, this mission might cost him more than he wanted to admit.

 tags: @winchestert101 @lomlbuckybarnes @lveegsoi @itsshellzy @almosttoopizza

@aami98 @hextech-bros @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @infqnitysblog

@ayayaeyato @blackbirdwitch22 @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @crdgn

@yiiiikesmish @jae0515 @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @nikey-no-likey @aami98

@almosttoopizza @hextech-bros @wisteriaandwafers @yiiiikesmish @marvelavengerspovs1

@ppbhquinn

[dmitriene]

cw: mentions of groping and attempts at harassment, reader stays her ground, simon falls in love and kind of a horny mutt, smut is not the main curse.

simon keeps his distance from relationships, he has enough problems of his own, he rarely stays in one place because of deployments, and very often risks his life.

until simon observes a situation in a bar that turns his world upside down, making him feel a prickly warmth in his lower stomach and a whirlwind of thoughts consisting only of the same words

— “she's gonna be mine„

it was so easy, you only had to go to the bar for the first time in a long time to unwind, only to get caught by an annoying, nasty guy who didn't want to stop trying to touch you and whisper nasty compliments to you like — “your tits looks so good in this shirt„ “wanna get out of here with me?„ “don't play hard to get„

until it all turned into screams and pig squeals, as soon as you poured the drink from your hands on his gross self, ruining not only his clothes, leaving them sticky, but also his image, attracting the attention of almost all the customers and also the bartender, a clever one who immediately called for help to get the man out before he did anything worse, not to mention his squeals about — “fucking bitch! that how you react to some attention?!„

it's really easy, responding with rudeness to rudeness and not tolerating humiliation just for the sake of saving face, not even yours, in public, instead keeping your nerve and addressing rude people in their own language, before wiping your hands with a napkin and going back to relaxing by ordering another drink.

and simon is not at all ashamed to admit to himself that the whole performance, carefully followed by his thawed chocolate eyes, not only made him aroused, which caused him to fidget in the seat, spreading his legs wider and squeezing the prominent bulge in his pants, tenting against the fabric of the black jeans —

but also allowed him to imagine how it would have been in different circumstances, yelling at him about completely different things — while being on top of him, riding his fat cock with rough rolls of your round hips and loud slaps of your plush ass against his relaxed, muscular thighs, the warm, gummy walls of your cunny clench around his meaty cock so good, making him go delirious with just one imagination how hot you would sound with his name and orders slipping past your soft, bitten from his hungry mouth, lips — “h — haa, yesyesyes, simon! stay just like that, s' good!„

it's all enough to make simon break out of his habitual image in which he tries to keep a low profile, he calls the waiter to ask him to extend your drink at his expense, and it's really more than enough for simon, because you don't hesitate to find his gaze among the numerous tables when you're told that another cocktail you didn't ask for is a compliment from another customer, and simon doesn't hide his communion either.

he catches your gaze back, feeling a thrilling shiver in his body, and raises his glass of bourbon to the thin line of pale lips that spread into a smile of their own, accord when he sees your biased squint, but even though his slightly intimidating balaclava and broad physique, you nod, thankfully, your lips moving in silent gratitude — “thank's, sir„

that was his green flag, to sit in the bar until you were about to leave, leaving the room and his line of sight, slipping out if only for a moment, because simon couldn't let you go home alone after all that, coming out after you and as gently as possible touching your shoulder to make you turn, your gaze falling onto his warm eyes before processing the hoarse words he said

— “le' me wolk you home, hm? nothing more, jus' a safe wolk, lovie?„

and will you refuse? after all, no matter how hard you try to think otherwise, something in his whole form inspires of unexpected safety, so maybe he's the one who will be your normal company tonight.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[simp-ly-writes]

OH, BABY!

─────── · · A Smosh FanFic

Pairing: Boyfriend!Spencer Agnew x gn!Partner!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Smosh Baby #2! The sequel nobody knew they wanted or needed that finds you walking around the office with a robotic baby and leads to you and Spencer realizing that getting another cat was the best choice for now.

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, established relationship, no mentions of pregnancy only wanting to have kids later, children, light swearing, domestic fluff, fluff, suggestive themes, attempt at humour.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,000~

─ · · A/N: This was so fucking cute and wholesome to write, thank you so much @itgirlcat for the wonderful idea. So much love your way! 🫶

─────── · ·

"You're kidding me," was all you could think to say while deadpanning towards the camera that a crew member held closely to your face. Their ominous laughter ran down your spine as all the blood drained from your face, 'I am NOT ready to be a parent.'

And next thing you knew you were being lead into a dark room, a singular bassinet laid there in wait as you took steady steps towards it. To your surprise, Tommy jumped out from seemingly nowhere as you screamed and ducked down behind the bassinet.

"Throwing your own kid in the line of fire... and I thought we couldn't get a worse parent than Angela-" Tommy began to say, spinning around the bassinet for you to see a small robotic baby staring back at you.

"Hey, I was a good fucking parent, and we all know that!" Angela yelled from across the room as the house lights came back on and you were unsure of where one bit ended and another started.

"So let me get this straight, you want me to... watch over this baby for the WHOLE day? I have work, and responsibilities-" you began to ramble, somewhat dreading the day ahead as the robotic cries started to drown your senses.

Tommy picked up the baby, giving it a kiss o the head before shoving it in your arms and showing you how it worked as you quietly nodded along. Now taking a closer look to what the infant was wearing: a small Smosh games hoodie seemingly custom made with a little pair of jeans and leather boots to match.

"OMG ITS SPENER!" you yelled out in excitement, all worry and your ability to listen to the instructions going outside the window as you placed the baby on your hip and walked straight to Spencers desk to show him apparently his new son.

─────── · ·

Turning past the kitchen/break room and into the office spaces, you walked along the faux-glass walls before reaching your boyfriend Spencers shared space with Damien and Shayne, the later two no where to be seen as Spencer sat hunched over his desk. Infamous can of Kickstart within reach and a framed picture of the two of you just to the side of it.

You remember that picture fondly when you accompanied him and his family on vacation back to Florida, touring where he went to school and grew up brought a smile back to your face. Especially the baby photos what were all across his parents' home walls, you look down to baby Spencer, silently asking them if they are ready themselves- not truly expecting an answer you clear your throat and watch as he fixes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turns around.

"Hey! How're..." Spencers sentence slowly falls off as he takes in the little person within your arms with a raised brow. Shock is raised in his eyebrows, a certain softness in his gaze as he moves to stand, greeting the robot in your arms with a soft whisper. "And who is this little guy, lookin' very handsome."

"Mhmm, I guess so..." you sass back- Spencer can only scoff in return. You try to hold in a laugh as you pass over the baby into his arms, taking in the sight with a tilt of your head and matching his earlier tone, "This is Spener, my... baby..." you are unsure of how to properly address the situation and by the sour expression of unsureness on your face has Spencer laughing wholeheartedly.

"I can't believe you cheated on me," he fakes a sob, holding the baby closer to his chest as you wrap an arm around him. "You know I could physically never, Spencer. I mean we both are still virgins!" you state towards the camera with a wink that Spencer joins and in that moment Shayne and Damien appear back from their break.

"Spener and Spener!" Damien greets with a wide smile, pulling you away from Spencers side with a hug before sitting down at his desk and Shayne does the same, not even batting an eyelash to the scene before doing a double take.

"What the fuck you guys?" Shayne states in disbelief, now at a full stand one more, only to let a sigh out in relief as he takes a step closer. "Oh, we are doing another one of these videos? Do you think you are going to be a better mom than Angela-"

"I heard that!" Angela yells from seemingly no where yet appears right behind you, wagging her finger in Shaynes space as Amanda steps out from behind her. "I hate these babies," Amanda states, looking disgustedly at the robotic creature as it gets passed around the friend circle before ending up in her arms.

Its robotic screeches happen once more as everyones gazes snap towards you and the keys swirling around in your hand. It takes you a moment to realize why everyone is staring at you before you take the baby out of Amandas arms and towards the couch behind Spencers desk and take a seat.

Pulling up the back of baby Spencers hoodie you insert one of the keys into its back, praying for it to be the right guess upon first try- it was not. Pulling it back out, irritation growing over the deafening cries as you can hear multiple people moving around their offices. Ians just behind you all, God I hope I don't get fired for this. You joke to yourself before the cries stop once more, apparently it needed a diaper change.

─────── · ·

Over the next few hours, you bring the baby into every meeting both in person and across zoom. Into the bathroom as you had to turn the face away from you, feeling utmost awkward with your fake child. And even on videos and live streams, your favourite of which was trying to make bits with it... them- in Try Not To Laugh.

Lets just say its easier said than done getting the right costume to put with a baby carrier strapped across your front. The TikTok you filmed for the main channel was doing increasingly well as comments flooded in, loving to see you with baby Spenner walking around the office and how everyone also worked with baby Spencer.

─────── · ·

Your day continues outside of the office as you and Spencer sign yourselves out of the office and decide to make a home video on your phones cameras. Taking the baby to the grocery store as you look over the various baby foods, baby Spener sitting in the cart as the actual Spencer rests his hand across your hip or the small of your back, walking with you and the cart through isles while picking up things you both actually need for your apartment.

"Babe do we need more eggs or did we grab those last week?" Spencer asks from down the isle as you look over the snack selection, now bouncing baby Spener in your arms. "No, we have some left still," you call back before pointing at the various colours and designs for the two of you.

Spencer smiles warmly, crouching down beside you both as he takes a photo and pulls some chips from the isle, placing them in the cart. "Park next?"

"I like the sound of that." And to the park the three of you go, some part of you did feel like a bad parent, holding the baby in your lap while going onto the main roads without a baby seat in the back. Yet you remind yourselves this is just for the video, not an actual baby, its just a robot.

While at the park, you take a short video of Spencer and... Spener going down the slide together. You push them lightly in the baby swing and go on the sea-saw together before taking a walk on the beach to end the day. Watching the sun set over the water you turn to look at Spencer to see him already looking down at you.

"You know... I don't think I would mind this being our future. Not anything soon... but I really like the idea of this later," Spencer comments, looking for your reaction before matching your smile as you lean to put your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around your waist. "How about another cat for now?" You tease yet a part of you is being very serious in that moment, feeling as Spencer stills before rubbing small circles into your side with his thumb.

"What would we name them?" Spencer asks, looking down at the robotic baby in your lap that is now in nap mode... or more likely out of batteries as you both forgot to return to the office.

"Well... I do like the name Spenner-"

"Oh fuck off," Spencer whisper-shouts, yet you can hear the smile in his words as he shuffles to look at the side of your face.

"Okay, but how about Spoons or like Crash... Bandit?"

"Cyclops? Dee?-"

"-Last name twenty?"

"Read my mind babe."

─────── · ·

When you both return to the office the next day, everyone looks anxiously at the baby as you hold it up like Simba and announce. "It is out of batteries, we win these!!!" you cheer as the office claps and joins you. Courtney running over to give you a hug as Tommy takes the child finally from your hands.

"Ready to see how you did?" Tommy asks in a teasing tone, already leading you away from the group as everyone gets ready to start work for the day. The cameras are already set up in the set you started this experiment in, now literally seeing it in a new light as the crew had placed lamps around the room and a small carpet on the floor to create a more homely atmosphere.

"Did I kill it?" you question as Tommy stares at the back lights of the infant with speculation before putting back down its hoodie and placing them gently back in the bassinet. "(name)..." Tommy starts as you can already hear the dramatic sound effects being added in post-production.

"Tommy..." you tease back, leaning more closely in as he too does the same, your noses almost touching before you both pull back with a laugh. "Well, I can officially say that you did NOT in fact kill the baby, and you did better than Angela, congrats! But the bar was already on the floor-"

"I. Am. NOT. A. Bad. Parent. You take those words back Tommy!" Angela shouts once again, turning up in the most unknown of places and all you can do is laugh, loving this bit of the video before doing your outro to the camera.

"Thank you all for getting through this video, if you see a new fuzzy child on either me or Spencers instagrams in the near future... you now knew why," you laugh a bit before continuing. "So please like, subscribe, share this to all your friends and family to show them how much of a better parent you could probably be than me!"

And the camera fades to black.

─────── · ·

🔔 Smosh Pit just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

Another Smosh Baby?!

Smosh Pit ✓ [Subscribed] 👍 67k | 👎 8.36M subscribers 300k views 1 week ago it's official... click to read more

1,110 Comments

username01 (name) and spencer are couple goals. like did anyone elses heart hurt during that montage. i would sell my literal soul to have that at least once in my life, even if just for an hour or two...

↳ username88 woah okay my dude, do you want to talk about it because damn? ↳ username01 god i was really in my feels when i wrote that shit lol...

username20 Those "Angela not being a good mom" bits throughout the video were so funny. It was like something out of a horror film mixed with looney tunes logic XD

username14 24:01 That montage was giving me the UP movie scene and I was not ready to cry like that on my lunch break 😭 ughhh why must they be so perfect with one another

username54 Anyone else wondering where Tommy keeps getting all these kids from? LMAO /positive

username70 OMG (name) and Spencers new cat is so cute!!!!!

↳ username88 OMG OMG OMG, what did they end of naming she/him/them??? ↳ username70 They ended up adopting a stray, she is called Dee! (last name twenty)! ↳ username88 so cute! i am so happy for them 😭🫶 ↳ username70 me too, me too. 😭

username19 (names) change up from the start of the video is so visually poetic, the arts department and editing bay were both COOKING on this one. Chefs Kiss! 😘

username30 15:24 yeah sure... you both are virgins mhmmm.

username45 when (name) and Spencers wedding happens its going to be a civic holiday, i'm telling you this now. we all are not readddyyyy for itttt

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I wrote this surprisingly quickly- hope you all enjoyed, let me know what you want more of or if you'd like to see something different! 😄

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2

[toruskiii]

Love Delivery!

Synopsis: Balancing part-time food delivery with a busy school schedule is no easy task. One day, while on a delivery, you find yourself awkwardly waiting at the door of a luxurious apartment. Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing a handsome, albeit annoyingly rich, man. Genre: Romance, fluff, slow-burn?? (modern au!) Character: Aventurine x fem!reader Warnings: Hot sassy men apocalypse, maybe this will have a part 2 or smth idk

[masterlist] [about me]

Ding!

Someone has placed an order near your set area.

You glance at the notification on your screen, just as you’re snapping a picture of the food you’ve delivered to the nice granny’s house. The elderly lady smiles politely, waiting patiently as you finish taking the photo.

“Ah, another order, young lady?” she croaks out, offering a small, grateful bow when you hand her the plastic bag of food. “Thank you so much, hoho. I’m sorry to trouble you young folks, but it’s hard for my old bones to get around, you know?” She chuckles, giving your shoulder a gentle pat.

You smile at her and shake your head, waving off her concern. "It's no problem, granny. It's my job, after all." After bidding farewell to the old lady, you put on your helmet, hop back on your bike, and accept the new order request.

Penacony's Clock Diner? Wait-

You quickly check the location set for your food delivery, confused by the address. You're all the way in Aurem Alley, and the customer wants food from Penacony? Ridiculous.

Location Set: Xianzhou Luofu.

How is this guy even able to send his request to you?

You double-check the address, noticing the system listing it as Fyxestroll Garden. What the hell? There aren’t any apartment complexes at Fyxestroll Garden!

Puzzled, you pull over to the side of the road and open the map on your phone, trying to make sense of it. Fyxestroll Garden is a well-known public park, famous for its serene walking paths and meticulously kept gardens. You can’t recall any buildings, let alone residential ones, in the area. You tap on the address again, hoping it’s a mistake or a glitch, but the coordinates remain unchanged.

Maybe it’s a new complex that just opened? you wonder. Or could it be some sort of exclusive residence hidden within the park?

Not long after, another text message pops up on your screen, and it's from the guy.

Frustration boils within you as you read the message, your temper nearing its breaking point. The blazing sun beats down mercilessly, intensifying your irritation as you stand near the dock, contemplating a plunge into the cooling waters below. How could this customer be so careless as to mess up their address, leaving you to contend with this sweltering heat and an hour-long detour?

And curse this app for its lack of a proper cancellation feature!

With a frustrated groan, you glance at the text, feeling the resistance of your bike's wheels grow heavier as you open the GPS. You're tempted to unleash a torrent of curses at the customer for exploiting some loophole in the app, forcing you to exert yourself just to deliver his order. He better be prepared to tip generously for this inconvenience.

To reach Penacony, your best bet is to take the Astral Express train— a mode of transportation you've used before but disliked immensely. The erratic jumps and occasional turbulence make for a nerve-wracking journey. And that conductor… Was it just fatigue playing tricks on your mind, or did they really have bunny ears…?

You sigh heavily as you enter the station, swiping your pass before parking your bike and leaning against it. Your gaze drifts to the TV hanging on the wall, checking the schedule to see when the train will arrive. Fifteen minutes? Well, there's no escaping it now…

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

You feel like hurling yourself into outer space.

Not only did the restaurant forget to prepare the order, but you're also stuck in a conversation with one of the servers who insists on cracking the most cringeworthy jokes.

"There's no such thing as a bad joke, only lousy comedians who can't deliver them!" the server— Jay, apparently. boasts. Doesn't this guy have other customers to attend to? Good grief. You're tempted to point out that he's no better than those lousy comedians, but you're not that mean— and you definitely don't want to risk losing your job.

"Order number 38! One sarmale and one classic soulglad!" a worker calls out, providing a convenient distraction as you hastily grabbed the food and rush over to your bike— just in time for your phone to start chiming with multiple notifications.

Fuming with frustration, you run a hand through your hair, pedaling away as fast as your legs can carry you to the designated location. One hand grips the handlebars tightly while the other clutches your phone, fingers jabbing at the screen as you send panicked voicemails to the careless customer.

"I'm on my way! I'll be there soon!" you breathe out, your voice strained with urgency, weaving through traffic with reckless abandon. You're so preoccupied that you didn't even bother with your helmet, leaving it hanging on the basket of your bike as you speed along. The wind rushes past you, whipping your hair back as you scream into your phone.

"I'm practically flying to your place. Just hold on!" you seethe, narrowly avoiding collisions with other vehicles. You swear you catch a glimpse of a pair of blue-haired siblings shooting you a skeptical glance as you whiz by. No one's going to meet their demise on my watch.

(Maybe a few might with the way you're on the verge of causing car crashes.)

With determination fueling every pedal, you push yourself to the limit, determined to reach the customer's location before they decide to relocate to another universe altogether.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Upon stepping into the lounge of the apartment complex, you stand there, utterly flabbergasted.

The sight before you is nothing short of opulent. Everyone here is dressed to the nines in fancy attire, oozing sophistication and wealth. I mean, what did you expect? That the guy who ordered the food would settle for anything less than extravagance? 1800 credits for a soda?

But even knowing that, you weren't prepared for the sheer luxury of it all. Marble floors greet you the moment you enter, with plush velvet red sofas arranged in elegant clusters at every corner. The vases of plants adorning the marble countertops probably cost more than your entire monthly rent.

The sprawling expanse of rooms lining the halls seems to stretch on endlessly, giving you the impression that you've stumbled into a palace rather than an apartment complex. You can't help but feel like a humble peasant as you approach the lobby manager, your attire— a mishmash of sweaty clothes and a random jacket—paling in comparison to the impeccably tailored suits of the residents. Are you checking into an apartment or a castle?

What catches you off guard is the realization that most of the people milling about in this opulent setting are students. Students! You recognize familiar faces in the crowd— classmates from the same campus you attend.

"Hello, I'm here to deliver an order for room number ███," you murmur to the manager, noting the slight stress in her demeanor as she punches in the room number to confirm the request. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise when she directs you to the Platinum room.

The Platinum room? Your mind races with questions as you make your way through the halls, the extravagant surroundings only adding to your bewilderment. What kind of student lives in the Platinum room of an apartment complex like this?

Here you stand, face to face with the imposing wooden door adorned with intricate golden trimmings, feeling as though your bank account is slowly draining with each passing moment. You raise a hand to knock, furrowing your brows in confusion when there's no immediate answer.

"Hey, it's me. I'm here to deliver your food," you call out, giving the door another firm knock. Still, there's no response. Seriously?

Technically, you could just leave the food at his door and be done with it. But something about the luxuriousness of this apartment complex makes you hesitate. It wouldn't reflect well on you to simply abandon the delivery outside, especially in such an upscale setting. (You internally roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all.)

As the door finally creaks open, you're poised to unleash the most scathing side-eye you can muster— ready to give this guy a piece of your mind for keeping you waiting (and running). But as your gaze meets his, you freeze.

You'd seen his profile picture on the app before, but you'd doubted that a man so devastatingly handsome could possibly exist in real life. You'd convinced yourself that it was probably some sort of prank or scam, someone using a fake photo to lure in unsuspecting victims.

But now, standing before you, is a man who defies all logic. His golden, tousled locks frame a face so strikingly beautiful it steals your breath away. His eyes— oh, those eyes— they're like pools of sapphire surrounded by a halo of lavender. You feel your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment as you struggle to find your voice, your words caught in your throat like a lump of lead.

He gazes back at you, those mesmerizing eyes flickering with mild curiosity as he tilts his head inquisitively. "Hm? Ah, it's you," he says, breaking the spell of silence that had enveloped you. But you can hardly hear him over the thunderous pounding of your heart, which seems to be screaming one thing over and over again: He's even more breathtaking in person.

You mentally slap yourself, shaking off the remnants of your daze as you stumble over your words, handing him his bag of food with trembling hands. "R-right, sorry to keep you waiting. Here's your food, sir," you manage to stutter out, inwardly cursing yourself for apologizing. Why am I apologizing? He's the one who's in the wrong here!

He lets out a soft chuckle, and you swear the sun must be finding its way to shine through the walls of the complex as your ears burn at the mere sound of his laugh. It's so calming, so captivating, that you feel like you're floating in a dream.

"No, no. Don't apologize. It's my fault for entering the wrong address," he reassures you, his voice smooth as silk. His fingers brush over yours as he reaches for his food, sending an electric shock through your entire body at the brief contact. You can't help but notice how his gaze softens as he opens the plastic bag to check the contents, a small hum of satisfaction escaping his lips at the sight of the still-warm food. You decide not to question it— perhaps he's just feeling a bit homesick.

You continue to awkwardly stand there, your hands fidgeting nervously in your pockets as you struggle to find something to say. "So, uh, your total is 6500 credits, sir," you finally manage to blurt out, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

He blinks in mild surprise, a small "ah" escaping his lips before he nods, disappearing momentarily back into his apartment. He returns a moment later, wallet in hand, a mischievous smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Since I've troubled you so much, how much do you want me to pay you back with, hm?" he teases, his tone playful.

You stare at him, your mouth hanging open in disbelief. Well, he did put you through quite a bit of trouble, making you trek all over town just to deliver two measly items. But still, the thought of asking for more money makes you feel incredibly awkward and embarrassed. "No, that…that won't be necessary," you choke out, feeling your palms grow sweaty with nervousness. "There's no need—"

"I insist," he interrupts, his tone firm yet strangely charming.

Well, damn. You're caught between feeling grateful for his generosity and feeling utterly mortified at the prospect of asking for more payment. But with his insistence ringing in your ears, you find yourself reluctantly nodding in agreement, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"1000 credits is fine," you mumble, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of asking for more money.

"Just 1000?" he repeats, narrowing his eyes at you with a slight frown. "That's quite low, considering the trouble I've put you through," he adds, his fingers skimming through his wallet in search of more credits.

As he rummages through his wallet, you can't help but notice his student card peeking out from among the bills. Your lips part in shock as you realize he's a student at the IPC—yeah, he's definitely rich. You should have haggled for more money.

"Are— do you major in accounting…?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself, your eyes darting to his card. He hums in response, shaking his head. "Nah, fashion. I can't count."

The two of you maintain eye contact for a few moments, and you find yourself staring at him dumbly while he gives you a cat-like grin.

"Did you actually buy that? I'm joking. I major in both finance and accounting."

You can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at his flippant attitude. This man radiates fuck-boy energy, and you're starting to have second thoughts. Does he get a pass because of his looks, or is it because of his looks that he gets a pass?

"Oh," is all you can manage to answer as he hands you a random stack of credits.

You stare dumbfounded at his outstretched hand, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you glance back and forth between the stash of credits and his gaze. "Huh? How much is this?" you inquire, still hesitant to accept the payment.

"Does it really matter?" he scoffs, nudging you playfully. "1000 credits is way too little, and I don't like scamming people. I don't stoop that low," he chuckles, his tone light despite the seriousness of the situation. When you don't budge, he feels a twitch in his eye before suddenly grabbing your jacket and tugging at your pockets, causing you to let out a startled yelp. "Hey! What the hell—"

Ignoring your protest, he shoves the credits inside your pocket with lazy nonchalance, letting out a whistle of satisfaction before releasing his hold. "There. Now just think of it as you were robbed in reverse," he quips, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"That's not helping!"

"It's not like your boss or whoever's in charge of the app will check your pockets, right? I'm just giving you tips, there's nothing wrong with that," he shrugs, struggling to hold back a snort at how visibly annoyed you look. If this were any other person, like an 'actual' adult or man, he'd brush it off and just toss a random wad of tips your way before politely closing the door. Maybe he'd pause for a pretty lady— well, you are a pretty lady.

But he can tell you're a student, just like him, probably working your ass off just to make ends meet. Hey, he doesn't judge. Plus, it's kind of fun to tease people occasionally, and you remind him of another acquaintance of his who's majoring in medicine.

"So, anything else?" he murmurs, leaning casually against the doorframe, a small smirk playing on his lips.

You can't help but feel a mix of irritation and amusement at his nonchalant attitude. "No, that's it," you reply tersely, your voice tinged with annoyance. You can't wait to get out of here and put this bizarre encounter behind you.

He nods in acknowledgment, his smirk widening ever so slightly. "Alright then. Take care, pretty," he says, offering you a lazy wave before shutting the door gently behind him.

As you make your way back to your bike, you can't help but replay the encounter in your mind, wondering just what the hell just happened. This guy is definitely one of a kind, that's for sure.

As you swiftly exit the complex and pedal back to the train station, a dull headache begins to gnaw at your temples. You have other pending orders waiting for you back in Luofu, and the thought of having to navigate through the city once more only adds to your growing exhaustion. Yet, amidst the fatigue, a small swell of warmth tugs at your heart at the thought of not getting his number.

Sure, he provided his contact information when he placed the order, but with a guy like him, you're almost certain it's just his business line or something equally impersonal. Besides, it would feel a bit creepy to text him out of the blue. What would you even say?

'Hey, I thought you were cute after making me run laps around the city and deal with an annoying server, hmu?'

No way, that's beyond pathetic. Plus, you'd risk losing face.

Lost in your thoughts, you arrive back at the train station, your hands absentmindedly reaching up to touch your flushed cheeks, still tingling from the encounter. He's undeniably attractive, and you can't shake the nagging feeling that he probably already has a girlfriend— or several. Besides, you should be focusing on your studies, not getting involved with some rich fuck boy.

Ding!

Huh?

You're snapped out of your reverie by the sound of a notification chiming on your phone. With a curious frown, you unlock your device to see what it is.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you read the notification, your eyes widening in disbelief. What the hell is wrong with this guy? 10,000 credits? Is he insane?

With trembling hands, you quickly fish out the money he gave you from your pockets, counting through the stack under your breath to keep your panic in check. "6, 7, 8… 9…" you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you realize he gave you thrice the amount needed.

Your fingers tap frantically on your phone screen as you type out a response, your words rushed and panicked. "Dude, you gave me thrice the amount needed already—stop."

As you stare at the screen, your mind reels with disbelief. He just willingly gave you his phone number— and he thinks you're cute?

It's a little funny, in a surreal sort of way, that the entire conversation is still ongoing within the food service app. Here you are, exchanging private messages with each other despite the platform's intended purpose.

You gulp, feeling the heat rise to the tips of your ears. Your brows knit together in a mixture of disbelief and slight annoyance, the memory of the earlier encounter still fresh in your mind. After all, he did put you through quite a bit of trouble with that address mix-up.

Should you add him?

"…"

You're caught off guard as a strong gust of wind rushes past you, fluttering your hair in its wake as the Astral Express train arrives. The station immediately becomes crowded, and you struggle to maneuver your bike into the passenger compartment as people squeeze past you. Finally, you manage to park your bike and squeeze yourself into an empty corner to avoid blocking anyone.

As everyone settles into their seats and grips the handles, the doors of the train shut, and the conductor announces the next stop. You let out a sigh, knowing it'll be another 20 or so stops before you reach Luofu…

Glancing back at your phone, your fingers tap onto it mindlessly, the cabin now quiet save for the occasional cries of children or chatter between friends.

Your gaze softens as a new notification pops up.

Aventurine (loser of a customer) is now saved into your contacts.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Ding!

"Good evening to you again, pretty delivery lady."

[mojogojocasahouse]

Just in Time Part I

Satoru Gojo x f!reader (Principal Gakuganji's daughter)

On the eve of a wedding of your father's arrangement, you call upon your reliable yet agitating old flame Satoru Gojo in an act of desperation and defiance

words: 4.7k content: infidelity (in an arranged marriage so does that even count?), smut, unprotected p in v, oral m-receiving, face fucking, rough sex, minor choking, spit kink, creampie, jealous!Gojo, protective!Gojo (moreso in part ii), minor degradation 18+ only

[9:37 pm] Are you busy?

[9:38 pm] Aw. Kamo family party not as lively as you’d hoped?

[9:38 pm] Just answer the question, Gojo.

[9:38 pm] Gojo is busy. Satoru on the other hand can be persuaded. 

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, scanning the room again for anyone who might be taking an interest. Of course, no one seems to even remember you’re here at all.. 

[9:45 pm] Yes or no

[9:45 pm] What’s in it for me?

[9:45 pm] You’re joking

[9:46 pm] With all my options, why do I choose the Kamo bride tonight? Hmm? 

[9:50 pm] You’re a piece of shit. 

[9:51 pm] HARSH!! You’ve convinced me. Send me the address. 

[9:52 pm] Oh and tell daddy hi for me!

“Fuck you!” you hiss under your breath, sighing as you toss your phone back into the small bag you were carrying. 

Your history with Satoru Gojo has always been…tumultuous. It started in high school, as the daughter of the principal of the Kyoto branch, you sought him to get back at your father, Principal Gakuganji, and he’d been more than happy to oblige for the same exact reason. Exchange events had been less about competition and more about the time stolen in dorm rooms and behind buildings, far more than goodwill being spread. 

It had all come crashing down the day you turned 18. 

Not that there had been an air of commitment between either of you, but whatever physically beneficial relationship that had sprung up and the hopes that it would be more frequent after graduation were wiped away with one sentence. 

“You’re getting married,” your father had said, the Kamo boy from a year ahead of you smiling at his side. 

That was the day you’d realized you’d been nothing but a pawn from the day you’d been born. Despite being a Jujutsu sorcerer, you’d begged to go to university, prolonging the inevitable for as long as you could. Gojo had frequented your dorm room there, too, arriving at your door with his cock already stiff, you barely made it inside before you were on your knees, pulling him into your throat. 

Those years were as close as you got to happy. 

The Kamo clan had taken possession of you two years ago, and while meetings with Gojo became less frequent, they also grew more hostile. Satoru Gojo wasn’t known for his kind, warm nature, and his frustration in losing his favorite toy was on full display whenever you’d been able to get away from lackluster events and days of learning customs you couldn’t care less about; you were too weak to end it entirely with him. He made you feel too good, it was a reprieve from the life you faced day in and day out. But maybe it was just a different breed of nightmare. 

As things continued, you realized it wasn’t actually you that got his cock throbbing. It had always been the satisfaction of how much your father would hate Gojo being in your presence, never mind your bed. You felt the same, being with a man your father loathed above all else was just as thrilling to you. And now, on the evening of your arranged wedding, you’re standing outside a small sushi cafe in a misting rain waiting for a ride to the lavish Tokyo apartment Gojo uses for one thing only. You can’t help but wonder how many others have seen those barren walls. 

Typically, he sends a taxi service, letting you know the details of the car to look out for, but it’s been twenty minutes and you’ve received no information. 

[10:19 pm] You better not have fucking bailed on me. 

You hate how the thought makes your cheeks burn and your chest hollow in what you try to convince yourself is anger, but you know the truth. 

“Why would I bail on you!?” The sound of his voice yelling from his downed window has the muscles in your shoulders loosening. “You look ridiculous. What is that makeup?”

“Fuck you,” you spit at him, rounding the car to slide into the passenger seat, “Just go.”

“Well, aren’t you tense? What’s a‘matter? Already hating marital bliss?”

The disregard he displays about your impending doom digs under your skin. Your bladed gaze shoots over to him, you’d just noticed he was wearing his white bandages over his eyes still, the high collar of his uniform unzipped just enough to reveal the stretch of his throat you’d be decorating soon. 

“Were you working?” you ask, the hour a little strange for a teacher to still be on the clock. 

“Uh-huh,” he practically purrs, flicking through the songs quietly humming from the radio.

Well, that explains why he was the one that rolled up to get you. However, more dangerously you consider that he’d dropped what he was doing for you. 

“Seriously, what are you wearing?” he asks again with a chuckle.

“Shut the fuck—“ your retort was cut short by a long, slender thumb pressing down on your tongue, your lips locking around the digit and sucking instinctively. 

“I’m gonna tear it to shreds.” The whisper is almost menacing, and your core throbs at the husky tone and malicious intent. 

When you’d texted him, you knew tonight would be different. Tomorrow you’ll be signed away. Not that it will change your arrangement, at least you had no intention for it to, but it won’t be the same. It couldn’t be. You’ll be princess to the Kamo clan, officially, and while you find pockets to escape now, soon there will be hurdles even Satoru Gojo can’t leap over. 

“Did you have any trouble?” he asks as the car comes to a smooth halt at a red light, your lips pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb before he can pull it away completely and check whatever alert had just pinged his phone. 

“No,” you answer, turning your attention out the window.

In fact, the lack of resistance had given you pause. When you’d told your father you wanted to head home, he hadn’t even asked why. You’d already prepped the excuse of a headache and buzzing nerves, but he’d waved you off and returned to his conversation with one of the many Jujutsu society higher-ups in attendance. You hadn’t even bothered to check in with the man you were set to marry in just over twelve hours. Instead, you took the easy way out and ran.

The apartment is pitch black when you arrive, Gojo forgetting to turn the lights on as he throws his things onto the kitchen counter and heads straight to his fridge, grabbing a glass bottle of soda and sending the metal top skipping across the floor. Your eyes can’t help but try and follow it, even in the dark, the thud of Gojo’s hands slamming against the door behind you echoing in each of your ears. He’s centimeters away, his sweet strawberry breath huffing out against your lips, and your lungs seize up, your chest shaking with traitorous little gasps. It’s been almost ten years of this, and still, he leaves you quivering.

“I know what you wanna do.” His voice is smoother than melted chocolate, sweet and rich.

“You don’t know shit.” Maintaining this ruse is futile when your voice is trembling, but you try anyway.

“Oh? I think I know you best of all.”

He’s right, and the fact that he knows that has your stomach knotting. As he flashes that cocky, toothy grin there’s no helping the relief that floods through your body. The night had been tense, you’d been nothing but a stranger in a strange land, sat down and expected to abide by customs and etiquette that made you sick. It was a hierarchy, and you were the very bottom rung of the ladder, only there to push the others around you up higher towards their goals.

“You called me, remember?” he croons, backing away enough to have your body following his on pure instinct, “So come and take what you want. I’m all yours.”

For one last night. The leather of his belt is smooth as you grip it with one hand, yanking him back into you. He has a significant height advantage, but when you seek his lips he’s already curled himself down, the kiss you find solace in waiting for you. It’s sugary and warm, the soft cloth of his eye-covering pressing against your forehead as his palms swallow your sides whole, he’s learned the intricacies of your preferences in ways no one else ever would. He knows to tease you until your fingers thread through his hair, a gentle tug the welcome invitation to swipe his tongue along your swelling lower lip, but he’s also well aware you won’t take that step, but it’s one he’s always happy to leap into.

Snowy, white strands fall over the back of your hand as the bandages around his eyes loosen and drape over your noses, your nails still raking through the buzzed hair of his undercut and you know if you dared open your eyes, the infinite blue that the sky itself envied would greet you. Both your fingers and his work to pull the troublesome fabric free, his succeeding before threading with yours and pinning your hand above your head, the fraying edges of the cloth dancing against your hair as his pace picks up. 

Every inch of your body burns, the tight material of your assigned outfit suffocating and the room growing seemingly smaller around the broad shoulders in front of you. All you can smell is him as you search for the zipper of his jacket with your free hand, pulling it open and making quick work of the buttons of his overpriced shirt. His skin is smooth and cool to the touch, the peaks and valleys of his defined torso solid beneath your brushing fingertips. It takes all your concentration to keep up with him, he’s almost frantic, pushing you further and further into the wood behind you as his chest heaves until suddenly he pulls away. 

You’re left cold and buzzing in anticipation, his predatory gaze burning through you from where he stands just out of reach. 

“I want that off,” he mutters, low and menacing, his teeth gnashed together, and you know he isn’t talking about your clothes.

He’s faster than you are, his pointer finger and thumb gripping the gold ring on your left hand and tugging, the ping of the metal skittering across the floor after his haphazard toss in sync with the speed at which he claims your mouth once again. You knew he could feel it catching in his hair and grazing over his chest. Typically, you remembered to take it off prior to even stepping foot in his building, but today the surprise of Gojo himself pulling up to get you had sent everything out of whack. 

“Satoru,” you sigh, his appreciative groan from hearing his given name falling from your lips hitting where he was currently mouthing at your throat, “Satoru…”

You sound pathetic and you can't care less, he’s eating your blatant need for him out of the palm of your hand. He always does, and you wonder if he’s like this with everyone else who gets to see these walls. 

When your hand shoots to his belt, undoing the buckle and finding the button and zipper that’s keeping him contained you can feel the stretch of his smile against your neck.

“I win,” he croons, tugging his arms free of his sleeves as you push his pants and boxers down to his ankles. 

“I volunteer,” you correct as you sink to your knees, his finger keeping your chin in place and eyes on him as you drop down. 

Satoru usually won this little tradition, his hand diving between your legs first and claiming himself the “loser” as he spread your thighs wide and worked you on his tongue until he’d had his fill. Tonight, however, belonged to you, his cock thick and long as you ran your tongue along the underside, greedily collecting the small pearls that had already begun to leak from the tip. 

“Lookit me,” he slurs, mouth already hanging open as you keep his flushed head sitting on your tongue, “Good girl.”

His thumb rubs reverent circles on your jaw as he spits along his ridge, your mouth immediately locking around him and sucking him clean. With each bob of your head you take him a little deeper, your lips loudly suctioning around him as his head falls back in bliss and his shoulders drop from their tensed state. He sighs in relief, his thighs flexing beneath your hands when your throat constricts around the intrusion, your hair quickly knotting in his grip as he takes two steps forward, pinning you against the door. 

“Come on, princess,” he urges, pinching your chin, “don’t be a tease. Gag it down. All of it.”

It’s times like these when you remember the man towering above you is just a few criteria short of being a monster. Spoiled rotten and all-powerful—there is nothing the world could offer that was out of his reach. His confidence is otherworldly and earned, there is no task he isn’t proficient in, and in turn, you’ve always worked hard to stand toe-to-toe with him in all things. Even this. 

A wicked grin stretches across his face as he watches your expression morph into one of ire and determination, he knows how to push every button and pluck every string and he’s well aware of it. With your head firmly in his grasp, his hips start to move, his cock sliding over your tongue like silk as you try to force back the urge to wretch it out. Your eyes burn, tears sliding down your cheeks and mingling with the drool coating the lower half of your face, and he doesn’t relent, nor do you ask him to. 

“There we go,” he praises, yet your nose still hasn’t touched the thin patch of white curls that’s still an inch away, “Fixed that hideous makeup.”

He can tell that you need air, and he pulls himself free while still keeping you pinned by the hair, a string of spit connecting your gasping, swollen lips to the shining tip of his dick. He’s chuckling to himself at your haggard state, your lungs burning as they pull in the air that tastes like him. He bends, forcing himself to your eye level, his free hand thumbing at your gaping mouth.

“You’re such a whore,” he whispers, and it sounds like a compliment in his tooth-rotting, sweet tone, and he spits once again straight onto your tongue. 

“Prick…” you cough after swallowing down what he’d left, his high-pitched giggle echoing in the room as he stands back to his full height. 

“Well, you don’t come here cause I’m nice to you. Do you? Open up.”

Your response is a swift obeying of his command. 

“You like this kind of attention,” his tone is lower now.

Once again, you have to resign to the fact that he’s right. There’s no warning now, no preparation, just his cock slamming into your throat, and your eyes snap shut as you breathe through your nose. He reaches down to feel the bulging of his thrusts, being careful to not pinch off whatever airflow you may have just yet, his hum of approval shooting straight to your throbbing core. 

“And only I give it to you,” he finishes, your tongue laving out against his sack drawing out a whine, “Stay still.”

He knows exactly what you can take, moving his hips at a speed he knows won’t be too much and stopping when your mewling turns frantic, kissing your lips as you suck in air before returning to fucking your throat hard enough the door rattles on its hinges. You want to reach between your legs to relieve the ache that’s becoming unbearable, but you know he’ll scold you, prolonging any relief indefinitely. 

“And what would daddy think of you now?” he snarls, pulling out and smacking the side of your face with his cock, “When are you gonna stop letting that old man run your life?”

The question comes out of nowhere, shocking you enough to give you pause. His nostrils are flared again, and his chest heaving; he looks furious. He takes full advantage, a firm grip around your upper arm pulling you to your feet before he does exactly as he’d threatened, tearing your outfit off in one effortless tug. The question of what you’ll be going home in flits across your mind, but it’s background noise, drowned out by the confusion at his sudden uncharacteristic question and the oceans swirling in his eyes staring down at you.

“I hate what you do to me.” Words you weren’t sure you were meant to hear push the air from your lungs as he tugs you towards the bedroom, your feet following until your back hits the soft down comforter stretched across his bed. 

You want to contemplate what he means by that, but he doesn’t give you time. He’s nudging your legs apart with his knees, his cock flushed practically purple in his grip as he finds you dripping wet and ready for him. There’s nothing slow or gentle about the way he fills you in one hard thrust, his arms immediately pulling you upright and flush to his chest, your thighs trembling from the burning stretch between your legs as he lifts you slightly and lets you sink down onto him.

“You know, out of everyone,” he purrs, all signs of his previous anger neatly tucked away, “your pussy is still my favorite.”

Whatever of his anger had quelled now coiled in your belly at his words, and you shove at his shoulders, his unsuspecting body toppling over with a clumsy “oof!” as your knees straddle his thin waist. 

“Ohoo, ha! That makes you mad doesn’t it?” he taunts as you do your best to pin his wrists above his head with two hands, “That you have to share.”

It’s a thought that shouldn’t irk you in the slightest, but it makes your eyes flash green with envy. He doesn’t even flinch as you hold him in place despite how easily he could overpower you in less than a second. Tufts of white hair fan out around his head like a halo for a man anything but angelic, his hands wriggling free just enough to entwine his fingers with yours. You go from feeling in control to once again at his mercy as he cradles your palms in his, the gentle press of his lips to the point of your chin waking the butterflies in your stomach. There’s no reason for him to be this reverent, this intimate, he was spitting in your mouth just minutes ago, but he continues his soft path, your head turning to allow him to trace your jaw and find the sensitive hollow behind your ear.

“Now you know how I feel,” he breathes, and you clench around him as a shiver shoots down your spine.

The sharp point of his nose grazes along your skin and you’re twitching on him now, but you’re too content like this to move. He’s so close, you feel hypnotized, almost serene as you breathe him in and just feel him. The worst part is that he gives in, letting you have this tease of a moment, a flickering and fleeting ruse of something that will be ripped away. You like holding his hand, as it turns out, his grip is strong and delicate all the same, his fingers practically at the bend of your wrist. You’re just breathing each other’s air now, noses bumping as your eyes flutter closed, and part of you just wants to collapse and fall asleep.

“Am I still a prick?” he asks with a devious lilt.

“Yeah,” you confirm, but for reasons that aren’t entirely his fault.

“Hmm. Want me to be nice to you?”

Life will be easier moving forward if you refuse his offer, but before your train of thought catches up with the autopilot currently in control, you’d already nodded. 

The pillow is soft under your head as he flips you onto your back, your bodies still connected while he situates himself comfortably between your legs. With the first slow roll of his hips, a kiss to your forehead sends your knees into his ribs, his smile stretching across your dewy skin before he repeats it all over again. It’s cruel, and immediately you loathe the woman who has seen this side of him before you have. 

“You need to relax,” he commands, flicking his tongue out against your pursed lips, “Before you drive me insane. How long d’you think I can make it with you clamped around me like this, huh?”

“Aren’t you the strongest?” you sass in reply, trying to distract yourself, and he laughs.

“Most of the time.”

He’s found the angle that drives you mad, every drive of his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that inches you towards ecstasy. Your vision goes white around the edges, his lips still close enough to kiss but neither of you can focus enough to close the distance. At some point, your fingers had wound into his hair and his in yours, the muffled whines and gasping breaths escaping into the room more obscene than the guttural cries of his name of times past. This was raw, honest, desperate. He’s muttering obscenities as he tugs hard enough to have your scalp twinging, the sudden pressure of a hand clasping your throat dragging you up to the surface.

“I need you to…” He’s wrecked, sweat dripping down his temples, his hair stuck to his face, “I need you to come. I can’t…”

A reassurance that he can cut the act and do what he needs to is cut short by a blinding, white-hot wave surging from your middle outwards. Your nails seek to permanently indent their half-moon shapes into the marbled perfection of his back while your face buries in his neck. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can feel the vibration of his voice against your cheek until your senses begin to regulate, and it’s then you realize it’s a pleading whine of your name he’s been chanting like a prayer. 

Panic sets in, he looks like he’s in agony, his face twisting and eyes clamped shut but when your hands cup his jaw it melts away. A lazy kiss allows you both to settle, lips tugging and pulling, tongues brushing softly, and you can feel him softening inside of you as his cum and yours soaks your inner thighs and drips onto the bed. You want to know what he’s thinking, but his face is unreadable now, it’s almost as if he’s half asleep, opting to rest down on your chest for just a moment, his ear directly over your still-hammering heart.

There’s no time to decipher exactly what had just transpired. It’s better that way. He lifts you with ease and carries you to the shower, his fingers scrubbing your hair before he drops to his knees in front of you–a silent plea to return the favor. You take it slow, scraping over his scalp and combing through his thick locks until his head falls to your stomach. You stay until the water runs cold, not a word is said, and there’s no use in translating the silence. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

“Guess I didn’t think that through,” he chuckles as he passes you a t-shirt from his drawer, watching intently as you pull it over your head before focusing on the way the hem hits the middle of your thighs, “Maybe you’ll have to climb in through a window like the old days.”

The memory makes you smile. 

He’s in nothing but sweatpants when he walks out with a wink, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed with a towel in your hair. Once you leave this room he’ll call you a taxi, and then it’ll be tomorrow. So you sit there surrounded by everything that makes Satoru him. Empty soda bottles on the nightstand, mochi wrappers surrounding a half-empty trash can, his uniform for tomorrow folded and set neatly on a chair in the corner of the room beside the moonlit window, expensive watches he rarely wore, an array of sunglasses, and a single photo of him, Shoko, and Suguru Geto from their second year at Jujutsu High tucked back on the dresser like a relic he dares not move.

When you finally shake the lead from your feet and trudge into the kitchen, Satoru’s at the stove, music playing lightly from his phone on the counter, the symphony of the orchestral tune mixing with the sound of metal scraping on a pan. As you approach the table, he slides a plate across to you, your stomach rumbling at the sight.

“What’s this?” you squeak out, staring down at his offering.

“An omelet,” he states bluntly, flipping the one he’d started for himself.

It’s like an anvil has been dropped on your chest, the control on the tears that had been threatening to break free since he’d pressed worshipful kisses to your stomach in the shower waning. It’s insane that for a moment you consider he actually cares, the lack of common decency you’re shown in your daily life making every gesture grand, even something as simple as this.

“Do you…not like omelets anymore?” he asks, you hadn’t realized how long you’d been in a staring contest with your late-night snack.

“I do.” Your throat is closing in on itself and it’s becoming impossible to mask.

“Okay…”

Etiquette takes over, and you sit to take a bite of what he’s prepared for you, but the small piece you’ve cut off only makes it halfway to your trembling lips before it goes clattering down to the table. 

“What is–” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Why?” The question is much more harsh than you intend.

“Why what?”

“This.”

“Because your stomach has been gurgling since I picked you up. It’s annoying. And you said you wanted me to be nice to you.”

You can’t help the knowing laugh that snaps you both out of whatever daze you’d been trapped in. Your appetite ducks and runs once again and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. It’s all part of the act; he could be whatever it was you wanted, all you had to do was ask as long as the request wasn’t honesty. If he won’t call you a cab, you can get one yourself, and you find your discarded bag on the counter on the other side of him, but of course, he blocks your path.

“What is your problem?” The concerned furrow of his brow almost makes this all believable, like he can feel remorse.

Footsteps coming up the sidewalk catch not only your attention but his, and although he slips around you to separate you from whatever lies on the other side, his arm held out to keep you safely pressed behind him, your anger has already taken over.

“Have I overstayed my welcome?” you snap, shoving at the barrier of infinity he’s activated.

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Is your next visitor here? It is a Friday, I’m sure you’re busy.”

“Tch. I was working before I dropped everything to come rescue you. Left poor Megumi to finish the job on his own.”

“As if you couldn’t have just done it yourself.” You mimic the way he unleashes that destructive purple technique, flicking against his invisible wall right behind his ear with your middle finger, “Just let me leave–”

“With no pants? Good luck.”

The color drains from your face when it isn’t a woman’s voice heard on the other side of the door, but a very familiar one. Three raps of a wooden cane echo through the palpable silence, your body going rigid in terror as the sound of your pulse turns deafening.

“What did you do…” you mutter under your breath, backing away from Satoru who’s playing the part of shocked exceptionally well, “What the fuck did you do?”

“What did I do?!” he responds in a hushed, frantic whisper.

“You called him.”

“Of all the stupid conclusions you’ve had in your life!”

“Gojo!” your father’s voice echoes through the room, “GOJO!”

PART II Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs=love

{{Masterlist}}

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit - pt.ii

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

summary: While performing your latest heist, you unexpectedly cross paths with Jenna again.

word count: 4.6k

————

You seriously considered getting a job at the warehouse. Ever since the race three weeks ago, your confusion had only deepened. For starters, those brown eyes still haunted you, lingering in your thoughts more than you'd like to admit. And then there was Anton—if you thought he was relentless before, now he was downright impossible. Constant messages about everything going on at the race club, endless invites to group meetups, even asking for your measurements so he could get you a custom jacket. He was acting like you were already one of them.

You finally do something you should've done a long time ago, and put his messages on mute as you make your way to Summer Valley. One of your contacts tipped you off about a luxury car ripe for the taking, with security that could easily be bypassed and minimal risk of trouble. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Glancing down at your watch, you take notice of the time: 3:24a.m. Everyone in this neighbourhood should be asleep by now.

"Twenty-four, twenty-six, twenty-eight..." you mutter under your breath, eyes scanning the street for the address with the Aston Martin. As you take in the houses, you can't help but feel a sense of awe. Each one is a mansion, towering at least three stories high—your own place barely scrapes one. The bricks alone on these estates probably cost more than your entire home. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it'd be like to own something like this one day, a life so far from what you're used to. You can't help but wonder if your mystery girl lived in a place like this, hidden behind grand gates and perfect lawns.

"—ah! Thirty Oakmont Boulevard."

You look up at the house, tugging the hood on your head down. This house put all the others to shame, just who owned this house? You quickly shut down your curiosity, you were about to steal the owner's car. Curiosity only means guilt that will eat you up later.

You glance up at the cameras, fully aware you've already taken care of them. The only thing standing between you and that car is the garage door—and you just happen to have the code. With measured steps, you walk up the driveway, eyes locked on the garage door opener mounted to the brick wall just a few feet away. Almost too easy.

"Greaser?"

Shit—wait...Greaser?

You turn around fast and you see her. Walking down the side walk towards you with a confused look. "What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

You scramble for an excuse, your mind racing. "Uh, just... taking a walk," you manage to stammer, trying to sound casual while your heart pounds, not knowing if it was because you got caught or because of the girl standing before you. You glance nervously toward the garage door, knowing you shouldn't be lingering here.

"Right," she says, crossing her arms. "You just happen to be out here in the middle of nowhere, staring at houses?" She takes a step closer, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "You looking to steal a car or something?"

Your cheeks heat up, and you can't help but chuckle nervously. "Actually, I'm just... uh, admiring the architecture." You try to sound nonchalant, but the look in her eyes tells you she sees right through you.

She narrows her gaze playfully. "Architecture, huh? I'm sure that's what everyone does at three in the morning when it's pitch dark." Her eyes squint, dripping with sarcasm, and you can't help but admire her wit.

"Let me help!" she suddenly says, walking past you to the garage opener. "Tell me the code," she turns around looking at you expectantly.

Just who is this girl? You consider all the things you can say to get her to leave, but you find yourself saying something else, "0926."

She turns back around, and you finally take a look at her. She's wearing a simple, cute white dress that flows just above her knees, its fabric light and airy, with delicate lace trim along the sleeves and hem. A stark difference to the red viper jacket. This softer look reveals another side of her—one that feels almost disarming and invites you to know more.  You were surprised that she seemed happy to see you.  With the way you just left her in the alleyway at the race, you expected her to grimace at the sight of you.

Suddenly you hear the garage door open, and you're met with the beauty of the Aston Martin, its sleek curves glinting under the soft glow of the automatic garage lights. The car looks almost regal, standing there like a prize waiting to be claimed. Your heart races at the sight, but the girl's presence beside you adds an unexpected layer of excitement.

She glances at the car, then back at you, a playful grin spreading across her face. "Well, I suppose you didn't just come here to admire the architecture after all." Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and you can't help but feel the thrill of the moment pulse between you.

"Are you really going to steal it?" she asks with genuine curiosity. The question hangs in the air, and you decide to show her rather than answer.

You walk into the garage and approach the car, every instinct telling you to be cautious. You've done this before but this is the first time you had an audience, making you nervous. Taking a deep breath, you kneel beside the driver's side door, your fingers dancing over the sleek frame as you check for any security features.

After a moment, you spot the lock mechanism and pull out your slim jim—a 24 inch long thin metal tool.

"What the fuck, you just had that in your pants?"

You laugh at her question, and with precision you carefully slide it into the gap between the door and the frame, wiggling it just right until you hear a satisfying click.

You fought the urge to turn back and see if she was impressed with your abilities. Opening the car door, you slide inside, the plush leather seat enveloping you like a warm embrace.

Like it's muscle memory, you fumble with the ignition as you reach for the steering column. With a bit of twisting and pulling, you manage to bypass the ignition system. The engine starts, a deep growl that sends a thrill down your spine.  The excitement gets to you and you start fiddling with all the foreign buttons.

You accidentally hit something, and suddenly the entire car unlocks with a soft click.  Without missing a beat, the passenger door swings open, and before you can even react, the gorgeous Viper slides into the seat beside you.

"Uhm—absolutely not. You can't come," you blurt out, shaking your head immediately.

She turns to you with a slight frown, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.  "What? Why not?"

Why not? Is this girl serious?  You two are far from being friends—hell, you're from completely different sides of the track.  You're not about to start committing crimes with a Viper riding shotgun.  Getting buddy-buddy with someone like her? Yeah, that's not happening.

"Are you insane?  We talked for maybe ten minutes three weeks ago, and now you want to be my accomplice?" you snap, frustration bubbling over.  If it weren't for her, you'd already be on the highway by now.

Her demeanor shifts instantly, and you see an attitude rise to the surface that you hadn't seen before.  Her eyes narrow, and her voice takes on a sharp edge.  "I don't want to be your anything," she snaps, her tone dripping with sass.  "But you better get this car moving, Greaser." Her words cut through the tension like a challenge, and for a split second, you see just how serious she is.

You grit your teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly.  This wasn't part of the plan—none of it was—but you're losing time, and every second she's sitting there, you're closer to getting caught.  You weigh your options, but her fiery gaze tells you she's not getting out without a fight.

"Fine," you mutter under your breath, throwing the car into gear.  You pull out of the driveway, you feel the adrenaline starting to kick in.  You shoot her a quick glare as you hit the gas, tires squealing as you tear down the street.  Your mind is racing just as fast as the car, trying to figure out who this girl really is and what she wants. This whole thing just got a lot more complicated.

Twenty minutes pass in tense silence, the kind that feels heavier with every kilometre. It's then you realize—you're heading straight for the Sinner's garage. And there's no way you can take her there.

"Hey," you murmur, quieter than intended, breaking the awkward stillness between you.

From the corner of your eye, you see her glance over at you. "I can't take you to the Sinner's garage. Tell me where I can drop you off," you say, keeping your voice as even as possible, hoping to avoid another argument.

"I'm not getting out."

Oh. My. God. Any calm you had vanishes in an instant, replaced with a fresh wave of frustration. "Why are you even here? Do you want the car for yourself?"

She raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Did you forget I'm from Summer Valley? We Vipers can actually afford our cars—we don't have to steal them."

That struck a nerve. "Then why are you torturing me like this?"

Instead of answering, she shoots back a question of her own. "Why did you freak out on me at the race?" You stay quiet, but she presses on. "I thought we had something going on," she says, her voice softening slightly. "And then you just ditched me."

Her eyes flicker with something like hurt, but you refuse to get drawn in.

"There was nothing going on between us," you lie smoothly.

"Oh bullshit!" she scoffs. "What changed your mind?"

"It's a long story," you respond, making it sound boring.

"We've got time," she retorts.

"Look I'm not telling a stranger my life story."

"I'm not giving you a choice."

"What?" you say confused.

"0927," she says randomly.

You take your attention off the road for a second and glance at her. You raise a brow, urging her to explain herself.

"The code for the garage wasn't 0926—you had the last number wrong."

Huh. "Why do you know that?" you say cautiously, your heart starting to race.

"Because the code was my birthday," she reveals, a satisfied smirk spreading across her face.

"Why would the code be your birthday?" you murmur, almost to yourself. Then it hits you, and your eyes widen as your heart stops. "Is this your car?!"

"My dad's," she corrects you quickly.  "It'd be weird if I didn't know the code to my own house right?" she starts laughing to herself, studying your reaction.

You should've listened to the warning bells blaring in your ears as soon as you laid your sights on the girl. She was different, there was something about her you found intriguing about her immediately. But you didn't know intriguing meant insane until this very moment.

Deciding it's not the best idea to drive in shock, you exit the highway, now in your territory, Brimstone, and park alongside a lowkey street.

You put the car in park and turn your entire body to face her. "So if I don't tell you my life story, you're going to snitch?" you ask looking deep into her brown eyes, trying to find any sign of a bluff. "I took care of the cameras," you suddenly say, remembering that she didn't have any tangible proof of you stealing this car if you returned it. "It's your word against mine," you smirked feeling as though you got the upper hand.

"All of them?" she questioned. "Even that one?" she smiled, pointing to the horn on the steering wheel.

You turn to look at what she's pointing to and see absolutely nothing. You turn back to her, you catch her glancing at an app on her phone displaying multiple surveillance feeds. One of them showing your face live, in perfect view from the steering wheel.

What kind of rich people technology is this? You look back to the wheel and still couldn't see the camera. You were trapped and this stranger had the upper hand on you.

You sigh, your mind running through millions of different possibilities on how to leave this situation unharmed. "Okay I'm sorry. Let me return the car then. I can't afford to get arrested," you plead, embarrassed to be caught in such a ridiculous situation.

"Greaser, I don't care about the car. I want to know why you ditched me. I want to know you."

Your heart flutters at her declaration. She wants to know you? All of this is just to get to know you? You may be a little twisted, but you're intrigued by the lengths she's gone to for answers.

"Okay. I'll answer. But can you please turn the camera off now. I don't want this to be documented."

She nods, tapping on her phone to disable the camera. She then turns to you, looking at you expectantly, waiting for your response.

So you begin.  You open up for the first time in your life—not entirely by choice, but because you feel like you have to.  You verbalize the inner turmoil, the impending doom that clouds your mind when you think of the life you've been dealt.  The choices you make—the choices you must make.

You tell her about Anton. How your father's founded the Sinners. How your cousin's the leader and you're not a member, but rather a mechanic who makes her living off of stealing, working and selling cars. How Anton's been trying to make you join the crew, fulfill your legacy.  How you're conflicted because you don't know if that's what you want.  How your father died during a race, and that's deterred you from joining the crew and driving in general. How you don't agree with the illegal activity the group partakes in. How your mom has also conditioned you to hate and avoid anything racing related.  How you feel trapped in the confines of Brimstone and stuck in the narrative of another poor Brimstoner who has to work themselves to the bone for the rest of their life.

When you finally finish, you realize you've been rambling, but you don't apologize.  She asked the question, and the entire time, she listened intently, nodding and showing understanding.

"And here I thought you were more than just a pretty face," she shakes her head disapprovingly.

You're shocked. You open up to someone for the first time and they're calling you stupid?  You narrow your eyes at her, not knowing what resulted in this response from her.

"So from what you've told me I've gathered that, you hate doing illegal shit, yet you steal cars. You hate racing, but you speed away from cops. You hate Brimstone, yet you're still here? You do realize you're the reason why you're playing the typical narrative."

You narrow your eyes, your blood beginning to boil. How dare she? After everything you just laid bare, she's making it sound like it's all black and white, like you're choosing this life.

"You think it's that simple?" you snap, your voice dripping with frustration. "You think I haven't tried to get out? I'm stuck here because I don't have a choice. My whole life has been about surviving—making sure I don't end up like my father. You think I want to be in this mess?"

She doesn't flinch. In fact, she barely reacts, just keeps looking at you with that infuriating calmness.

"Survival's one thing," she says calm, "but you're not just surviving—you're making excuses. You let the people around you make choices for you because it's easier than standing up to them."

You grit your teeth. "You don't know me."

"Maybe not," she admits, leaning back in her seat, eyes flickering with something like challenge. "But I know enough to see that you're scared. Scared of breaking away. Scared of what happens if you do. So you settle, and teeter on the edge, never crossing the lines—never pushing the limits."

The truth of her words stings, more than you care to admit. But you've never had anyone call you out like this before, and you don't know whether to be furious or impressed.

"You think I can just walk away from everything?" you ask, voice low but trembling with barely contained anger.

She tilts her head, considering you. "Maybe not. But you could try. Stop running from yourself and start making decisions for your own damn life."

The silence that follows is thick with tension.

You pull out your phone, scrolling through the flood of texts from Anton. From the string of messages, you piece together that the crew is busy on the opposite side of town, partying it up. The garage should be empty. You clench your jaw, too frustrated with the girl sitting beside you to even ask her to leave. You don't have the patience right now, and you need to make sure no one sees you bringing her to the garage. If anyone caught wind of this, it'd be a mess you couldn't afford.

Putting the car into drive, you embark on the ten minute journey to the garage where you mod your cars. Neither of you two say a word the entire way.

The garage comes into view, glancing over your shoulder, you double-check the coast is clear—no crew, no unwanted eyes.

As you cut the engine, the weight of the silence emerges again. You exhale sharply, gripping the steering wheel for a second longer than necessary before turning to her.

"End of the line. You can get out now," you say, trying to sound firm, though your frustration is laced with exhaustion.

She doesn't budge. Instead, she leans back in the seat, crossing her arms casually, like she's not about to leave anytime soon.

You roll your eyes. Instead, you decide to step out of the car first, feeling her gaze follow you as you make your way to the tool bench.

You hear the car door opening softly behind you, and shut a second after.

"Why are you still here?" you ask tiredly, turning around leaning against the tool bench. "I've told you my story."

She doesn't answer immediately, just watches you with those damn unreadable eyes of hers, arms still crossed leaning against the car you just stole, like she's perfectly comfortable in your world. After a moment, she tilts her head slightly, studying you.

"And yet, you still don't get it," she finally says, her voice low, but firm. "I'm not here for your story. I'm here for you."

Her words hit you harder than you expected, and you blink, thrown off guard.

"For me?" you scoff, shaking your head like it's the most ridiculous thing you've heard all day. "You don't even know me." You say again for the second time today.

"But I want to," she admits, pushing off the car and taking a step closer, "And I think you want me to, too."

Your heart skips a beat, but you try to ignore it, turning away to focus on anything but the intensity in her gaze. You're not about to let her see how much that statement rattled you.

That smirk is dangerous. You feel yourself slipping for a moment but catch yourself before you fall. She steps closer, her attention shifting to the workbench in front of you both. She picks up a wrench, but you can tell right away—it's too heavy for her. Her grip is awkward, and the strain on her flimsy wrists is almost comical.

You chuckle at her struggle. "That's not how you hold it."

Before you think twice, your hand moves over hers, guiding her fingers into the right position around the wrench. The touch lingers just a second too long, and you catch the faintest hitch in her breath.

You notice the brief flicker in her eyes. You quickly pull your hand away, pretending it didn't happen, and step back. "There. Now you won't drop it," you say, clearing your throat, trying to steer the moment back to neutral.

You swear you saw the faintest tinge of red on her cheeks, but she quickly looks away, trying to play it off. The sight of it sends a ripple of satisfaction through you, knowing you've managed to chip away at that confident exterior, if only for a moment.

"What's your name?" you suddenly ask, realizing you couldn't even address the girl who's been the bane of your existence.

"Jenna."

"Jenna," you repeat back softly, testing the name out on your lips. "It suits you."

"And what about you Greaser?" she asks with a smile, the rouge tint still on her face.

"Y/n," you reply, a hint of a smile creeping onto your lips as you say it. You know the weight of a name. It was the very reason you ditched Jenna at the race. Now that she's given her name and she's got yours, you know that means connection, connection means vulnerability and vulnerability means complications.

"Well, I'm calling it a night," you yawn, stretching your arms wide. You notice her gaze trailing over you, your shirt lifting just enough to expose a sliver of skin at your waistband.

"How are you getting home?" you ask, catching a glimpse of the playful spark in her darkened eyes.

"Uber? Or I could just crash at yours," she muses, wiggling her brows teasingly.

You know she's half-joking, but the idea lingers in your mind longer than you'd like. Honestly, it wouldn't be the worst thing. But you're relieved she's not serious; the last thing you want is for her to see how you really live.

It suddenly dawns on you that the home you were just at is hers, along with that stunning car. She leads a lavish life, one you can barely fathom. You can only imagine what she'd think of your own living conditions—a stark contrast to her world of luxury.

You sigh, cursing yourself for what you're about to do. Grabbing a key off the table, you walk towards another car in the garage. "Come on, I'll take you home," you call out.

Jenna tried her hardest to hold the smile on her face in. You cared about her, that's what that had to mean right? You didn't want her getting in the car of a stranger, and would rather have to drive her all the way back to Summer Valley, then potentially have her at harm's way.

Before you knew it you were back on the highway to Summer Valley. In the silence, you realized that the girl knew so much about you, yet you knew little to nothing.

"So why didn't your boyfriend drop you home?" you ask her, shifting the conversation you two were having about which crew had the better jackets.

The question catches her off guard, and she does a double take. You remember how she startled you earlier when you were about to steal the car—she was walking home. "Boyfriend?" she repeats, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"Yeah Percy," you say looking straight ahead.

"Oh my god ew! He's not my boyfriend," she retorts, shuddering at the thought.

You can't help but chuckle at her reaction. "That hug you shared with him at the race says otherwise."

"You saw that?" she asks, her voice softening with a hint of embarrassment.

You nod. "So, you're not into him, then?"

"Not even close," she replies, crossing her arms defiantly. "He thinks he's so cool, but I can't stand him. It's all just an act."

An act? Posturing?

You fall silent for a few moments, weighing whether to voice the thought swirling in your head. Something tells you that asking this question could open a door between you two, or perhaps it already has.

"Okay," you sigh, glancing over at her. "What do you need my help with?"

Jenna's expression shifts, seriousness replacing the playful glint in her eyes. She realized that you finally picked up on the tension and underlying problem under her words.

"I need to get some dirt on Percy," she reveals getting right to the point.

You didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. But for some reason it does make sense to you that this asshole's crew member did not like him. You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Why?"

"Because he has some serious leverage over me," she explains, her tone steady. "If I can find something on Percy, maybe I can turn the tables and protect me and my family."

Your heart races at the revelation. You want to press for details, want to know what exactly does Percy have on her, but you decide better against it. She'll tell you with time. "So you're with the Vipers because of him?"

Frustration flashes across her face. "Yeah, something like that," she sighs not elaborating. "He thinks he can control me. And he has been all this time," she frowns. "But I want to show him he's wrong!"

You can't help but admire her determination. "Why me? You couldn't find someone else to help you?" you ask, genuinely curious about her choice.

Jenna meets your gaze, her expression resolute. "Because you're not like the others in the crew—you're different. I can't turn to any of the other Vipers incase they rat me out. I can't ask any of the Sinners for obvious reasons, but I had a feeling about you. And its perfect now that I know you aren't a Sinner. You're close enough to the race world but not too close. Plus, I saw how resourceful you are when you stole that car. If anyone can help me, it's you."

Her faith in you feels like a heavy weight and a warm glow all at once.  You take a moment to process her words. "And you trust me?"

She bites her lip, contemplating her response. "Trust is a strong word, but I believe you understand what it's like to feel trapped.  I need someone who gets it, someone who wants to fight back against the odds."

"I know I'm throwing a lot at you right now. Just... talk to me about it later, okay? It's 4am and I get that this is a lot to take in."

All you can do is nod. You can't believe you're even considering this for even a second. Why would you help a Viper? Especially one who's been so disrespectful and always seems to challenge you.

She grabs your phone which isn't password protected, and starts putting her number in it. "I really hope you help me Y/n. I need you."

You don't respond. As you approach her street you see a swarm of cops in front of her home. Knowing exactly why, you pull over about 12 houses away from hers.

"Wait won't your dad also have the camera footage of me—"

"Don't worry, I already took care of it," she smiles, proud of herself. "Consider that car a friendly offering for our potential alliance."

A four-hundred thousand dollar car, as an offering is baffling. But maybe this is how the rich operate.

While you're lost in thought about everything that's happened tonight, you suddenly feel a soft brush of lips against your cheek.

It's gone as quickly as it came, and you're left stunned.

"Thanks for the ride, Greaser. I'll be waiting for your text."

With that, she steps out of the car and strides toward her home, toward the police, her distraught father, and a world so different from your own.

You already knew your answer to her request. You could've told her right then and there, but you wanted her number and kept silent. You also didn't want to seem too eager.

As you watch her walk off, you realize you never answered her question.

I want to know why you ditched me.

"Because I think you're the answer to all my problems. I need you too."

next chapter

[latenightdaydreams]

Please can you write about ex boyfriend Konig can't moved on from reader. He sneaked in her house and raped her. She resist him at first but then he just dicks her down.

You Can't Leave Me (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, rape, stalking, toxic ex, p in v, oral

1.8k word count

🚫

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It’s now been eight months since you’ve broken up with König. When you found out about the trackers he put on your phone and car, it was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Since then, you’ve moved into your own apartment an hour away from König. Your phone number has been changed along with all social media deactivated.

The last several months have been hard, but you’ve been pushing through so well. Too well, actually. König never lost track of you. He knows your new address, phone number, job, and schedule. You changed your scenery, but not who you are. So, when you left one day, he knew where to look.

Of course, you move to your favorite city. You know König hates the city. He never wanted to move here. You move into the apartment that is only ten minutes from a bookstore, one that you become a frequent customer of quickly. König knows you like the back of his hand. There is no escaping him.

One thing he didn’t expect was you finding someone so quickly. It’s only been eight months. You were together for five years. It should take you longer to move on before realizing there is no one else for you. What the fuck is this?

König walks behind you at a distance as you walk to your date. Wearing a yellow summer dress compliments your body, paired with white sandals. Is that…make-up? That’s not right, you don’t wear make-up; you don’t need it. You’re so naturally beautiful. 

He watches you walk into a café. A very handsome brunette man stands and hugs you. His hand resting above your ass, comfortable with your body as if he’s touched it already. When did he miss this? He glares at the two of you before walking away and going to your apartment.

While you’re out on your nice little date, König breaks into your apartment. Not really breaking in when he finds your spare and uses it, right? He enters your apartment for the first time, taking a deep breath. It smells just like you.

König walks throughout your home, looking at the new photos on the wall of your city friends. One of you with this new guy. He knocks it over. He continues on to your bedroom, seeing your bed is messy; you never make it. His eyes drift to the floor where he sees a pair of black underwear. With little thought, he stands and walks to them. A little white stain, you were aroused? By what? Who?

König lifts the underwear under his mask and to his nose, taking in a deep breath. Exquisite. He shoves the underwear into his pocket and keeps looking. Stepping into your bathroom, he turns the light on. His eyes fall to a little purple case near the sink. It can’t be. Is his little Schatz on birth control?

A sharp stinging feeling deep in his gut travels up to his heart. The mental image of that pathetic worthless man going raw into his Kleine Perle disgust him. You’re whoring yourself out, he knew you’d be lost without him.

He turns the light off and sits on the toilet, pulling out your panties to sniff while he waits for you. An hour passes and he began to grow worried that maybe you went back home with that loser. Right as he was going to check his phone, he hears your keys in the door.

You enter your apartment while on the phone. For safety, you always call a friend while walking.

“Yeah, I’m home now though. I love you, Ann. I’ll see you Tuesday.” Once you hang up, you kick your shoes off and place your purse on the hook.

As you pass your photos in the living room, you notice the photo of you and Finn has been knocked over. A wave of anxiety rushes over you. You try to reason with yourself. It’s almost been a year and you’ve never seen König. He’s probably moved on the same way you have.

You enter your bedroom and turn the lights on. The door closes behind you as you take off your dress, tossing it into the hamper. You grab out a pair of pajamas, placing them on your bed. Reaching behind your back, you unhook your bra, tossing it aside. When you do, you look down at the floor and notice your black pair of underwear is missing.

Maybe you put it in the hamper? Slowly, you walk to the hamper and look inside. At that moment, your bathroom door opens. Your eyes go up and meet the dreadful pale blue eyes. Your heart beat sky rockets, your feet moving ahead of your brain as you turn to run.

König is fast. He reaches out and wraps his arms tightly around your stomach. Lifting you in the air as you kick and scream, slamming you down hard on the bed. The air leaves your lungs and your screaming stops. König pulls out your underwear from his pocket and shoves it into your mouth. He grabs your arms and pulls them behind your back, pulling off his belt with one hand and tying your hands together.

When you try to kick him to get away, but he just climbs on you, resting his weight on you. “Where are you trying to go, Hase?” He growls.

Your screams are muffles as you try to squirm away from König.

“I saw your birth control pills.” He grabs a fist full of your hair and pulls your head back. “That is still my pussy. You are still mine.”

You shake your head no and try to break free from his grasp. His 6 ’10 280 lb body is just too big to fight back against.

König’s hands begin to travel along your mostly naked body. Your skin is just as soft as he remembers. His finger hooks your panties and moves it down. You buck backwards like a horse and try to kick him. A heavy hand comes down and spanks your ass cheek, you whimper.

“Stay still. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” König finishes pulling your underwear off completely before standing off of your body and getting undressed.

“It’s a shame you thought that you could get away from me. Bigger shame you decided to give away my body to another man. You know I don’t like that.” You can hear his pants drop to the floor finally.

König walks to your body and drags you to the center of the bed. He joins you on the bed, spreading your ass cheeks and pushing his face between them, taking a deep breath.

“That’s still my fucking pussy.” He grabs your ass and jiggles them before climbing over you, one leg on either side of your thighs.

His heavy cock slaps against your cheeks. He spits in his hand and rubs it around the tip of his cock, rubbing the tip along your folds. The feeling of his cock being pressed up against your entrance makes you squirm your hips, but that doesn’t stop König.

König spreads your ass cheeks with his hands so he can have a clear view of your pussy. He looks down at you and pushes himself into you. You tense up, only making yourself tighter for him. A loud moan leaves his lips as he buries his cock deep inside of your pussy.

He doesn’t allow you any time to adjust to his enormous dick as he slams his hips into you. You shake your body, trying your best to break free of his belt around your hands. Eventually you manage to spit your underwear out.

“Stop!” You cry out as you kick your legs as you writhe under him.

“Just take my cock.” He groans.

One of his hands comes down on your head and pushes your face into the pillow, holding you there as he picks up his pace. He rams his cock hard enough to cause pain, forcing the full length of his cock into your tight cunt. Your cries are muffled.

König yanks his head back and forces your head up. “What? You can’t handle my cock anymore?”

“Fuck you! Get off of me!”

“What? You don’t like my cock anymore?” He asks in a condescending tone.

“No!”

“Shut up.”  He pulls his cock out of your pussy, grabbing you by your hair and dragging you to the edge of the bed.

König puts you on your back and slaps his cock on your lips, rubbing it back and forth. You try to turn your head but he grabs your jaw and forces you to stay still. The tip of his cock presses against your lips pressed tightly together.

“Open.” He lightly taps the side of your face.

Your mouth opens and König shoves himself inside. He forces his way into your throat, finger tracing the outline of his cock appearing. You gag, causing spit to come out of your mouth and on to your face. König keeps pressing in until his balls are resting on your face. Not being about to breathe, you kick and arch your body.

“Shhhh, calm down. You can take it.” He pushes even further.

König begins to rock his hips, fucking your throat. His heavy balls hitting your face over and over. This causes you to gag again and you throw up, turning your head to the side and vomiting on the floor. He laughs, “Are you going to be a good girl or should I keep going?”

“I’ll be good.” You pant with tears in your eyes.

“Gut.” König growls as he walks to the other side of the bed, joining you.

He lays behind you, lifting one of your legs and tells you to hold it. His hand covered in your spit handles his cock as he slips it into your pussy. Your gummy cunt welcomes him back. König grabs your face and turns your face to his.

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Mine.”

“Say it, Schatz.” His voice trembling as he bullies his cock deep inside of you.

You try to suppress the orgasmic feeling his cock gives you. As much as you like Finn, his cock is nothing compared to König’s. No matter how toxic König is, you can’t help but to miss him.

“Yours.” You moan out bashfully, hating yourself.

“What was that?” A grin crosses König’s lips.

“It’s yours!” You angrily moan.

“Fuck yes!” König rolls his body on top of yours, your leg pushed over as he grasps your hip and thigh. As he thrust into you, he pulls your back to meet his thrust.

Pitiful mewls freely leave your lips; a mixture of shame and euphoria consumes your whole body. You look back at him, your eyes meeting, as you see the same possessive glare in his eyes as he always has. Will you ever escape this man?

[francixoxoxo]

𐙚𝒯𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒸ℯ𝓇 ୨ৎ

𝒞ℴ𝓇𝒾ℴ𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓊𝓈 𝒮𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒳 ℬ𝒶𝓁𝓁ℯ𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒶 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇

𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐨, 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨.

𝐓𝐖: 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚

𝒴𝒶’𝓁𝓁 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓀ℯ 𝒾𝓉 𝓌ℯ𝒾𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝒷𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒻ℯℯ𝓉！！

Ballet was your passion. It was like when you entered that room, glossy hardwood under-toe and expansive mirrors across the wall— you forgot your body’s limits.

At the end of the day, the lactic acid would kick in and you’d feel like a true cripple. Your toes were cracked, your spine brittle, your legs stiff from being pulled so taught.

Coriolanus was so, so endearingly supportive of you. Your grace was unmatched in every endeavor you took, yet ballet was your calling. He was at every performance, your enamored husband, yet careful to respect your wishes of letting your success be solely from your work. You were adamant that you didn’t want him pulling strings for you.

If he couldn’t use his political power as President to get you ahead, he’d dote on every single other aspect of your dancing.

A leotard in every color you pleased. The best hairstylists and gentlest products to keep your hair silky and healthy, unlike what most ballerinas had to deal with. Hell, a whole dance studio in the presidential mansion all to yourself for the few days you didn’t have rehearsal with your dance company.

Coriolanus noticed in particular that your feet took the largest toll. Bruised and battered between heels for events as the First Lady of Panem and pointe shoes for performances as a Prima Ballerina… it broke his heart. He saw to it that your slippers were custom-made to fit your feet, the finest quality and comfortable as possible.

And yet, though the pain was exponentially better, your passion continued to discomfort you. You’d insisted how much you loved ballet, insisted that you didn’t mind some pain in the face of your career.

That didn’t mean that Coryo didn’t feel awful.

One night, Coryo slipped into the dance studio. You were somehow more awake than him in the late hours of the night. He’d finished up his address for the next cabinet meeting, and for the first time in the past few months felt truly ready for bed.

You? Not so much. You were in your ballet slippers, in a cream-colored leotard and pink skirt. Working your pretty little ass off. You were practicing an important routine for the next show, which you had an important role in. When you heard the door open, your heels immediately hit the floor and your head whipped to see Coriolanus.

You let out a soft sigh. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Your husband cooed, his sapphire eyes shamelessly drinking you in. He waved a hand to you as he crossed the room to sit on the bench against the wall. “Keep going, my love, don’t let me stop you.”

You smiled a bit shyly, turning around so your back was to him. You met his eyes in the mirror as you began from where you left off in the dance, a dainty arabesque.

Coryo just leaned against the wall, his legs spreading lazily as he sat and watched you dance. You were absolutely captivating in every movement. Graceful and iridescently beautiful.

That was, until you couldn’t bear to dance on the pointe of your slippers and stumbled a bit. You groaned in frustration, slipping to your knees in a smooth and somehow still elegant motion.

“What happened?” Coriolanus sat up now, brows drawing in concern as you began to undo the ribbons of your pointe shoe. You shook your head, rigid with frustration.

“I think it’s time for bed.” You admit, slipping your right flat off and undoing the thick bandage wrapped from your heel to your toes.

You grimaced at the sight of your foot. Some of your toes were purple with bruises, cruel and mocking blisters on your knuckles. There were indivudual bandages around certain more damaged toes, a bandaid under the ball of your foot. The bones of your foot were strained against your skin. Even you could admit that you looked beaten.

Before you realized it, Coryo was scooping you up with his arms under your back and knees. You gasped a little, though it delved into a little giggle. He couldn’t pretend that your battered feet didn’t bother him, he couldn’t manage a smile. Your husband gently sat you down on the bench he had been on, reaching for your ballet duffel bag. He dug around a bit.

“Poor baby.” Coriolanus cooed, pressing a kiss to your knee as he shifted to kneel at your feet. In his hand he clutched a roll of soft pink bandages and a tube of Neosporin you kept in your bag. “It looks like it hurts.”

You hummed, admiring the sight of Coryo on his knees in front of you. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and baring his forearms, his dress shirt’s top few buttons unbuttoned. His hair was ungelled, to your delight. “It’s not that bad.”

But you flinched as Coryo pressed gently on a bruise with his thumb. He’d hardly applied any pressure, and you were reacting like that. “This? This isn’t that bad?” Coriolanus huffed, he held your foot in one hand and gestured to it by lifting it just a bit. He raised his brows, blue eyes wide in disbelief. He shook his head disapprovingly, looking down and applying some Neosporin to the opened blisters on your toes.

“My love, you’re pushing yourself too far.” Coryo murmured, his breath warm on your shin as he reached for the bandages. He took loving care in wrapping your foot, once, twice, as much padding as he needed to ease his mind.

You shake your head. “Don’t be dramatic, Coryo. This is normal.” You watched your husband’s jaw tick. He leaned down to press a tender kiss to your ankle, his eyelashes tickling your calf.

“Normal, fine. But I’m not dramatic when I say that it hurts to see.” Coriolanus turned to lean his head against your knee, unraveling the ribbons of your other slipper with an agonizingly gentle touch. His fingers were featherlight, as if you’d crumble under his fingers. “You don’t deserve this. Such a good, beautiful woman as you shouldn’t have a scratch.”

You smiled faintly down at him as he slipped your pointe shoe off. He was unbelievably doting, despite what people might say about his coldness. Coryo was completely different behind closed doors. He melted with you. He adored you.

“You’re too good to me.” You murmured softly, Coriolanus scoffed and shook his head as he carefully unwrapped the fabric covering your toes. He could see the deep crimson staining the cloth already, his brow was already pulled taut.

You grimaced at the damage to your feet. Damn. You hadn’t realized it was bleeding until now, looking down at the rubbed-off skin and blisters cracking your toes. Now that the wounds were exposed to the air, they suddenly stung and ached. Coryo was staring down at your foot for a long few moments before rifling through your duffel bag for some baby wipes. He was sure this had happened before, he was sure you would be hesitant to tell him.

“My poor darling..” Coriolanus cooed, successfully finding a wipe and cleaning the blood from your skin. You whimpered at the touch on the raw skin, but when your husband looked up at you as if to ask if he should stop, you gently pushed your fingers through his blonde curls.

“I’m fine.” You assured him, watching as he squeezed some Neosporin onto the opened skin. Coryo was painfully gentle in wrapping up your foot, he cooed sweet words and apologies to you, though it wasn’t his fault.

Coryo was certain you didn’t deserve any of this pain that came with your passion. You were too good for any kind of pain, period. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your foot, his lips trailing up to your ankle, the length of your shin, your knee. That last kiss, he let his azure eyes flutter shut, humming lowly against your skin. You couldn’t help smiling down at him, gently scratching and rubbing his scalp. If only he could see himself now, kneeling in front of you, kissing up your legs and practically worshipping you.

“I love you.” Coriolanus murmured, propping his chin on your knee and looking up at you with soft eyes. Well, he was looking up at you like you were a goddess, like you were something to pray to. His eyes twinkled, his expression sincere.

Your smile only widened. You folded at the waist to press a kiss to the crown of Coryo’s hair, whispering, “I love you too.” That brought a fond smile to his lips, a little snort from his nose.

He tossed those devilish slippers into your bag after a long, lingering few moments of staring up at you. “Let’s get you to bed.” Coryo hummed, zipping up the duffel and swinging it over his shoulder as he stood. You moved to stand, opening your mouth to ask for the sandals in your bag, but before you could speak he was scooping you back up into his arms like a princess. You couldn’t help the giggle bubbling from your lips, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Coriolanus pressed his lips to your temple as he pushed the door open with his back, carrying you down the hall. He didn’t really care if a servant or an Avox saw you two; he wasn’t doing anything that a loving husband wouldn’t, anyway.

Your pain truly hurt him. Coryo felt an ache in his heart every time you’d complain of stiff joints or blistered feet. He made sure to have ballet slippers created specifically for you, so that you wouldn’t feel such pain again.

You didn’t have to ask; Coriolanus was a husband who jumped to your every need before the words rolled off your tongue.

[omgbilly]

☆ pure ☆

𝟙𝟠+

ɪ 𝕒𝕞 𝕤𝕠 𝕠𝕓𝕤𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 ԝ𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕦𝕪. ɪ 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕒 𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕚-𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕦𝕘𝕙, 𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕥. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

ԝ𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕠ԝ𝕟 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 ԝ𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥, 𝕝𝕠𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥, 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕤 *𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕗𝕤 𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕤* ԝ𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟙.𝟞𝕜

You glanced down at your watch, nervously watching the seconds go by as you waited desperately for your coffee order. You had three job interviews lined up today and traffic had already pushed you far later into the morning than you had wanted, despite waking up so much earlier than your set alarm. You had scrambled out of bed, gotten yourself dressed and ready in your most professional attire, and bolted out of your cheap apartment in a terrible part of the city all the way across town into one of New York’s many corporate pockets. 

However, that didn’t stop you from running into a small coffee shop. Your friends were always joking that you had an uncanny ability to make yourself late for—quite literally—the dumbest reasons; and today, that was your legal but annoying addiction to a good cup of coffee. 

The sound of the bell on the counter pulled you away from your intense staring at your watch. You looked up to see the barista glance at you with an apologetic smile as she threw her head towards the paper cup on the counter, signaling you that it was, in fact, your order that was ready. You gave her a small understanding smile amid the bustling cafe and rushed up to the counter. You dug in the pockets of your coat to grab a couple of crinkled up singles to drop in the tip jar before hurriedly grabbing the paper cup.

“Thank you!” you throw over your shoulder before turning on your heel to rush through the door as quickly as you had entered.

You looked around, feeling even smaller amid the skyscrapers surrounding you. You took a deep breath to center yourself, calm your nerves, and get your bearings. You pulled up the address of your first interview on your phone, seeing that there was a shortcut through one of the city’s many alleys. You took a quick gulp of your fresh coffee before heading that way.

Rounding the corner from the cafe, you glanced down at your watch again. You breathed a quick sigh of relief as the walking route would get you to your first interview on time. It wasn’t until you had started to look up from your watch that it was too late.

You collided into the chest of man who was so firm in his stance, you may as well have walked directly into brick wall. Your paper coffee cup was crushed flat between the two of you, exploding your hot coffee all over both of you. You let out a startled gasp as you felt the heat of the liquid seep through your clothes and meet your skin. Almost immediately though, your eyes widened in a panic as you remembered you ran into someone, your jumbled apology pouring from your glossed lips.

“Sir, oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry,” you blurted, dropping your crinkled and empty cup to the dirty concrete below you. You let your purse fall to the ground before you shrugged off your wool and cotton blend overcoat, using it as the closest thing you had to a napkin. You assessed the damage to the man’s clothes before you knelt down, ignoring the feeling of concrete on your bare knees. Your skirt bunched up even higher, exposing the suppleness of your thighs. You balled the fabric up in your fist, dragging it all over the man’s orange shirt in a desperate attempt to salvage the fabric. You noticed how carefully coordinated and curated his outfit was to his muscular stature, as if it were custom tailored for him. You looked up with pleading eyes, searching to meet the stranger’s gaze that was nestled away underneath his ball cap. “That coffee was way too hot, are you okay?”

Homelander’s brief annoyance evaporated almost as quickly as it had come as you stared up at him, your face flushed to a stunning pink with embarrassment and your voice filled with concern for him. Your silky white blouse had taken the brunt of the damage but you had almost completely disregarded it as you knelt to take care of the cheap rags he had thrown on before he had left the Tower. The realization dawned on him that you had no idea who he was. He was a perfect stranger, nothing more than another one of the millions of powerless cockroaches on the street that he often gazed down upon with disdain. This realization stirred something deep inside him; a feeling new and uncharted.

“Oh,” he rolled his eyes, adding a shrug for good measure. Of course a cup of coffee, no matter how hot, could never hurt him. “Don’t worry about that. I’m fine. Your blouse on the other hand…” he gestured down, his hand raising briefly to point out the coffee stain that had trailed down your chest. Your cream-colored blouse, freshly wet, offered the tiniest glimpse of the outline of your black bra. He felt his tongue dart out briefly to wet his lips unconsciously. You exuded innocence, and he could tell you hadn’t been fucked into oblivion, to ruins, in a long time—if at all. You were pure. His cock twitched at the thought.

You looked down, your face falling at the sight. You let out a sad chuckle, hoping to lighten your own mood, “Damn…so much for those interviews today, huh?”

Homelander knelt down to your level, overwhelmed with the unfamiliar urge to comfort you. His hands extending to gently caress your upper arms. You shuddered pleasantly at his touch, unaware of the sheer strength beneath it. He felt the gentle warmth of you in his ungloved hands, your gently perfumed scent intoxicating to his inhuman senses.

“Coffee or not, you still look great,” he smiled, his sharp canines an attractive feature of his smile despite the unnoticed, underlying predatory intention. 

He reached out to touch where your chest was exposed from where you had stopped buttoning up your blouse. It was an interesting choice…to stop buttoning your clothes so low, where your cleavage could so easily be seen. He couldn’t help but feel as if it were all for him. Using his finger, he pulled the fabric to the side, stopping just barely above your upper breast. Your breath hitched in your throat as he took in the exposed skin, bright red from your spilt coffee. He heard your heart beat thrum in your chest, a small smile crept in when he realized you had such a physical reaction to his touch. Good.

“I think the better question is are you okay?”

You gawked at him, dumbfounded, at his concern for you—the klutz who just splashed coffee all over him. Him kneeling before you offered the perfect vantage point to finally get a decent look at his face. His strong jawline and high cheekbones looked as if they were sculpted from marble but possessed subtle signs of aging with small wrinkles framing his alluring blue eyes that gave him an almost boyish charm. You could see even under his ball cap that he was very much so blonde, the sides of his hair cut short above his ears. There was something about him that was oddly familiar but you truly couldn’t put your finger on it. 

“I, uh, I-I’m okay,” you fumbled, the heat of attraction replacing the embarrassed flush on your face. “I just feel awful about starting your morning off like this. Please tell me you weren’t on your way to work because I’d just die right here, right now.”

“Well, if you died,” he laughed, his finger releasing its hook in your blouse, “I think that’d be a far greater tragedy. But, no, I was just meeting with a colleague.”

“Thank God,” you laughed in return, grabbing his hand in its retreat. You gave it a brief reassured squeeze, letting your hand linger longer than you intended. His hands were much larger than yours, and soft to the touch. Your eyes met his again, biting your lip as terribly inappropriate thoughts of how his hands would feel in your hair, on your throat, in between your legs began circling your mind.

You cleared your throat, letting your grip on his hand go and rising to stand. You smoothed out the wrinkles in your skirt. “Um, well, I should probably get going. I’ll need to go back and change before I try to beg for a job. It was really nice to meet you—”

Homelander rose with you, his eyes never once leaving yours. He realized you were waiting for him to give you his name. He wasn’t ready for you to know who he was yet; wasn’t ready for the likely reality of having you tremble in fawning, or worse fear, of The Homelander. For once, he liked being just someone else on the street, having an insignificant interaction with a beautiful woman.

“Uh, John,” he gave you a tight-lipped smile when he offered that name.

“John,” you hummed sweetly before turning to leave, offering a smile small over your shoulder and small wave of your hand. “It was nice to meet you, John.”

As he watched you walk back down the alley and around the corner, he couldn’t help but replay the last few minutes over and over in his mind. The way his name had sounded on your lips was delicious but it did nothing to satiate his growing hunger for you. Homelander recollected Sister Sage’s words from their earlier conversation. He had gone to Sage for her immense knowledge, to offer her a spot on The Seven, but it was his desire to understand his utter lack of happiness that ultimately drove him to her door. What if you could change that? What if you were what could make him happy? 

His own little Roman Empire.

[prettypinkporkchop]

"Uhm, I'm not sure about hiring anyone without any experience yet." Jacob flips through your papers.

You just moved to Forks and need a job asap! You got a car and a tiny house but need income over here since you quit your old job back at home.

"I won't disappoint you." You plea. You couldn't find any good work in Forks, so you ended up in La Push. Someone directed you here. A mechanic shop owned by Jacob Black.

He looks at you, raising an eyebrow.

The room is stuffy. It's a small office inside the shop. You're sweating simply sitting there. There are tires hanging on the wall behind him. He has papers everywhere and a computer set up.

"I'll make a deal." He leans forward.

"Anything!" You reply. "I'm going to hire you for a hand that we don't need. You can give us the tools we ask for. Keep them organized and put up. You will ask customers what is wrong with their cars, write it down, relay the message to me, Embry, and Quil. Got that?"

You nod your head rapidly. Hell yeah! Easy!

"I'll only do that IF you help my dad at home. He's in a wheelchair and getting older. There's only a few days that our friend, Emily, can help. We'd like an extra hand. He's very kind. All you need to do is house chores." He leans back and opens his arms. "Deal?" He asks.

You're quite nervous about this. It seems too good to be true. At this point, anything. Anything to stay here.

"Yes! Yes! Uhm, when do I start?" You ask, smiling.

"I'll get my boys to train you tomorrow. Today, I want you to go to this address." He writes it down on a piece of paper. "If you need anything, you can call me, or..." He writes another number underneath. "My wife, Renesmee. Sometimes. I'm too busy to answer." You nod your head as he slides it to you.

"Thanks, Mr. Black!" You stand up.

He starts laughing and stands up with you. "Please, we are basically the same age. It's just Jacob. This will be the least professional setting ever." He opens the office door leading out to the shop.

"That's good to know." You giggle.

"Your pay will be sixteen an hour. Plus, whatever my dad pays you. See you tomorrow at eight?" He asks.

"Yes! I'll be here." You smile.

He gives you a thumbs up, and you make your way out. There are two cars in there and two guys working on them. One of them with curly brown hair stands up and looks at you.

"Who are you?" He smiles.

"Uh, y/n. I start tomorrow." You smile back.

"What?! Embry! Check it! We got a new coworker." He says across to the other car.

Embry stands up and looks at you. The pupils in his eyes seem to zoom in inside your mind. You see them dilate. You feel like you love him, but you've never met him. Maybe he's just hot to you? You mean, he is. You're not sure. He's just paused and then looks back at the other guy. They look at each other for a second, and then they both turn back to you.

"I'm Quil." He walks up to you and shakes your hand.

"Hey. Nice to meet you!"

Embry walks up to you as well. He's so damn tall. His eyes are boring into yours as of that's all he wants to do.. or can do. He seems stuck and in awe. You realize he likes you. You like him too.

"Embry. Embry Call." He shakes your hand.

"Hey. I guess I'll be working with you guys tomorrow." You smile up at him.

"You know about cars?" Quil asks.

"Nope! I'm a tool girl." You laugh and blush because it seems embarrassing.

"Huh. Well, okay. I'm glad you're here!" Quil replied. He walks back to the car he's working on.

"Where are you from?" Embry asks.

"I'm from (your home). I moved here a few days ago. I really have to go. Jacob sent me on a side quest." You start to walk away.

"What does he need?" Embry asks.

"I'm helping his dad." You call out and make it out to your car.

"Turn left." Your GPS says.

"Gotcha." You talk to her like a weirdo.

You pull up to this small house. It's quiet here. You step out and knock on the door. Within a minute, it opens. You see a smiling older man in a wheelchair.

"Jake just called and told me about you! Come on in." He moves to the side.

You step inside and look around. There are lots of native pieces on the walls. Even some blankets. It's absolutely stunning. "I'm Billy Black. I hope I can trust you." He chuckles and holds out his hand.

You shake it and smile at him. "I'm y/n. I promise you can trust me." You reply.

"Let me show you around."

After the small house tour, you guys are sitting in the living room, getting to know each other.

"Wow! You moved here of all places?" He laughs.

"I know, I know. I love the weather. Working her on the rez, it's so homey."

He nods his head and looks around on his walls. "Yeah, we are loving people. Did you get to meet Embry and Quil?" He asks.

You nod your head.

He scoffs with a smirk. "Them boys may be grown, but they still act like they're kids. Rowdy ones." The way he's speaking of them makes you feel more comfortable. "Alright, so, Emily, who is Sam Uley's wife. You'll meet them soon. She comes here every Wednesday and Sunday to do my laundry and dishes. I'm just getting too old. Renesmee helps, too, but she's one busy woman!" He laughs.

"Oh, I understand. I'm available any day you need me." He nods his head and looks back at you.

"I like you already. I hope you come often and I learn more about your life! You'll be great friends with our people, I already know it." He smiles approvingly.

You give him your number and head home. You start putting up your decorations to finish off your place. By 10 pm, you're in bed.

"Too hard?" Quil asks you.

He went over how he wanted the tool station organized.

You see the mess surrounding you but can't let it overwhelm you. "Yes." You reply.

"Tomorrow, we will go over the tools." He pats your back. He walks away, leaving you to it.

While organizing, someone sits on the ground next to you, setting a water bottle down in front of you. You see Embry smiling at you.

"Hey, Embry." You grab the water and start drinking it.

"Damn, it already looks better in here. You even put the lug nuts with their own sizes. Thank you, y/n!" He looks around.

"Imagine having to use Google for some of this stuff." You side eye him with an awkward smile.

He bursts into laughter. "Couldn't be you, huh?"

You sigh deeply and then lean back on a shelf. "It's hot." You groan.

"Come sit in the break room for a moment. If you ever need to, don't hesitate." He stands up, helping you up and bringing you into the empty room.

There's a fridge and a table. There's a big fan blowing, and the room is cool. "Yes!" You sigh and sit at the table. Embry sits down across from you.

You guys end up losing track of time and talking. No cars came through after the ones him and Quil worked on, so it was just the waiting game. You found out a lot about Embry's life, and you opened up as well. You two vibe very well.

Your phone starts buzzing. It's your alarm to go to Billy's.

"Well, thank you for talking to me. I have to go to Billy's." You smile and stand up. He follows behind you.

"Embry, are you single?" You ask.

He's digging in his pocket for some gloves. "I am." He responds.

"Would you want to hang out sometime?"

He looks at you (JUST LIKE GIF). "Yo, for real?" He asks, shocked. His face is so adorable, and you're confused as to why he is shocked.

"You do get hit on a lot, don't you?" You ask.

He smiles, looking down and shaking his head. "You're the first." He admits.

You feel so proud of yourself for asking him. That girl boss shit.

At Billy's, he's sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a beer, while you do the dishes.

"Billy, those aren't healthy for you." You face him.

"Eh, nothing truly is. I'm old. You might as well live it up until then." He laughs.

"Come on! You're not that old. I give you another twenty years." You wink at him.

"Oh, stop." He laughs and then chugs the rest of it down.

You finish up your job and sit next to him. "What do you want for dinner?" You ask him.

"I'll call in something." He pulls out his phone.

"No, sir. Let me cook it." You smile.

Billy is so kind and makes you feel safe. He's like a father figure to you. Spending the day with him yesterday, getting to know each other, and then all of this evening has been fantastic. You have told him all about your home life and what it was like. He's got a big heart. Cooking for Billy is the least you can do for his kindness.

"Oh, can you cook?" He looks at you.

"It's easy to read directions." You chuckle.

He laughs and then nods his head. "Go for it."

You ended up making something you both like. You two are sitting at the table and talking.

"Oh, so Embry and I, I think we're going on a date soon." You say to him.

He looks up at you, and his smile is wide. "Embry took a liking to ya?" He looks over your face.

"Yes. I really like him too." You reply.

"He's a good man. Known him and all of Jacob's friends all of their lives. There's a lot with our community. Our family and tribe run deep. We're like a very old tree with roots down to the earth. We are grounded together." He explains.

Before you can say anything, a young man walks in. Billy turns quickly and then laughs. "Seth Clearwater. You scared the hell out of me. What you got, bud?" He asks.

Seth looks at you with a confused face.

"I'm y/n. I work for Jacob and helping out Billy." You stand up to shake his hand.

He smiles and gladly takes your hand, "Awesome! Happy to have you here!" He turns to Billy.

"Sam wanted me to come grab those tanks of gas from you, Mr. Black." Seth explains.

You can't help but notice his shirt is off. He has a tribal tattoo on his shoulder. It's a beautiful design!

"Yes, they're in Jacob's old bedroom." He nods his head.

Seth walks away, and you look at Billy.

"Who is he to you?" You ask. "Family." He simply states.

You leave it at that, still curious if he's like a nephew or what. Seth comes back with two heavy tanks of gas. Like, they're huge. He's holding them effortlessly.

"Nice to meet you y/n! Embry has said something about you. I'm happy I got to see you." He says before going out the door.

You turn to Billy, who is chuckling. "Lucky girl." He mumbles.

The next day, after work and learning the tools, you are at home, taking a relaxing bath. Your phone is ringing ringing ringing. "UGH!" You lean over, wiping your hands on the clean towel and grabbing your phone. A random number. You answer it. "Hello?"

"Y/n, it's Embry! Sorry, I got your number from Jacob." He awkwardly laughs. Awe, how precious.

"No, it's okay, sweetie!" You laugh. You can sense that he's blushing hard on the other end of the line.

"When do you want to hang out? A date, actually. I'm taking you on a date." He says.

"Hmm. How about we go somewhere to eat! I trust you'd pick the best food." You laugh.

"You got it, beautiful. Tonight?" He asks.

"Perfect."

You're not sure whether you need to dress nice or casual. It's stressing you out! Okay, okay, how about this. You are dressed nice but not tooooooo nice. After getting ready, there's a knock on your door. You open it, and Embry instantly smiles at you, looking you over. You are full of butterflies.

"Y/n, you're perfect." He sighs. His eyes are like doe eyes as he stares with infatuation.

"Thank you, Embry." You blush.

At the restaurant, there's a live band. It's very nice inside and most people are dressed fancy. You feel confident in your outfit choice.

"For two?" The lady asks.

"Yes, ma'am." Embry replies.

You two follow her to a booth.

"Drinks?"

You ended up learning a lot about Embry's life as well as his friends and the people that surround him. There's some flirting but it's more of serious conversations.

Suddenly, the music calms down, and you see couples slow dancing. Embry looks at you and then smiles.

"Oh, no no. I'm not a dancer." You laugh awkwardly.

"Come on, y/n. Just one dance?" He smiles.

His smile is so damn cute. You can't turn him down. "Okay, fine!"

He stands up, grabbing your hand and leading you to the small crowd of dancing people. He pulls your body into his by your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck and look up at him.

"I'm not a dancer either. But I'd be damned if I didn't take this chance to dance with a beautiful woman." He twirls you around.

----

"Embry! Oil change!" You call out, scribbling on your paper.

Embry is quick to step next to you. He looks at the customer, shaking his head. "Sup?" He says and then leans into you, looking at the clipboard.

You sit at your station, watching Embrys arm flex with every movement he makes. Jeez...

He glances up and sees you staring. He smiles at you.

You quickly look away and blush.

Quil walks up to you and nudges you. "You know he likes you a lot, right?"

"It's painfully obvious. I'm making it obvious as well." You look at the curly haired boy.

After a few hours, it's lunch break. Embry walks over to you and breathes in. "Do you want to go out to eat together?" He asks.

"Absolutely." You reply.

You two end up at a booth in a diner.

"Why are you staring at me all of the time?" He asks, smirking.

You roll your eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Call."

"You're coming to a bonfire with me Saturday. It's about our tribes history. You'll have fun." He says, taking a bite of his burger.

"Do I get a say?" You giggle.

"Yes.... but you have to come." He laughs.

You shake your head and smile.

----

"Billy, no. I'm not taking your money." You shove his two hundred dollars back into his hand.

"Please, do. You've been so good to me, and Jacob talks highly of you at work."

You sigh and rest your hand on your hip. "I'm here because I want to be. Not because I have to." You say.

"You'll get it one way or another." He smiles.

"Mhm, right, old man. Anyways, what's this whole bonfire thing Embry invited me to?" You ask, leaning on the counter behind you.

"Well, it's very important to us. We have the elders there and talk about our tribe." He looks over your face.

You feel bad! You have no idea why they're so accepting of you. You're a random who just moved here. Now, you're coming to something so special to their people? "I can't do that! I'll have to call Embry." You shake your head.

"You don't want to?" Billy raises an eyebrow.

"It's not that! I just feel like.. I can't be there. I'll be crashing the party." You giggle.

"You're a part of us now." He says and turns the wheels on his wheelchair, leaving the kitchen.

"Billy! What does that mean?" You call out and follow him.

"Ask Embry." He laughs.

You go home at 7:00 p.m. and message Embry like you have done the past few days.

You: Hey. Can I come over? I have questions.

Embry: yuh! You're welcome here anytime.

You drive to Embry's. You knock on the door.

"It's open!"

You open the door and see him sitting on the couch. His tribal tattoo is the first thing that catches your eye.

"You too? Seth has one." You point to his shoulder.

"We all do!" He smiles.

You sit next to him.

"Is everything okay?" He shifts his body towards you and runs a finger over your cheek.

It sends chills all over your arms. God, his lips. You think he notices because he starts blushing and smiling.

"Uh, well, uh, Billy said I'm a part of your family, now. I'm not sure what he meant." You say.

Embry bites his lip. "He sees you as family." He smiles.

-----

You walk inside the shop and see Quil and Embry wrestling. Jacob is watching with amusement.

You watch with a raised eyebrow. "Alright kids." You laugh.

They stop and look at you. Embry walks over to you and puts his hands in his pockets. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Embry." You reply.

The first car pulls in. A girl steps out, and you walk over to her with a clipboard.

"Hi ma'am! What's going on?" You smile.

She smiles back and sighs. "Well, my engine light is on. According to my boyfriend, I have an oil leak."

The guys get to working on the car, and you go inside the break room to breathe in cool air for a bit. You start to think about the bonfire. Why are you going?

"Think any harder your brain will fall out of your ear."

You see Embry walk in and sit next to you. "Sorry, I'm just confused." You giggle.

He looks over your face. "About what?"

"Why I'm invited to a bonfire that's important for your tribe."

"Trust me." Is all he replies with.

All of you start closing and cleaning up the shop. Embry sits beside you as you count all of the tools to be sure they're there.

You look at him and raise an eyebrow. "Need something?" You giggle.

"Nope." He smiles.

-----

You grab onto Embry's arm as you guys get closer to the group of people sitting around a fire.

"Don't worry." Embry kisses your cheek.

This makes you burn up and all giddy inside. Every problem just went away.

You guys get comfy on the logs. You see Seth, Billy, Jacob and his wife, Quil, and a lot of other people you don't know.

As Billy speaks, his stories play out in your head like a movie. The history is very important so you have to pay attention. And you do. You've soaked in every word.

After that, you and Embry sit on the back of his truck. He's sitting right next to you. You both swing your legs and talk, watching everyone.

"What'd you think?" He asks you.

"It was actually amazing! I mean, hell. It's really cool." You look at him.

His face looks serious. His hand reaches up and touches your cheek. He starts to lean in. You can feel his breath on you.

"So, you having a good time?" You two pull away from each other, and you see Billy smiling up at you.

"Thanks, Mr. Black." Embry says sarcastically.

"Just doing my job." He shrugs.

You laugh and step down onto the ground. "I am having a good time."

"What did you think of the legends?" He asks.

"Oh, it was amazing!" You reply.

"Has Embry told you?" He smirks at Embry.

"Billy." You hear Embry say sternly.

Billy raises his eyebrows. "Oops." He wheels away from the situation.

You turn to Embry. "Tell me what?"

----

You are back on the job. Jacob and Quil are working on an old truck. You put your bag down on the small table next to the door of Jacob's office.

"Hey, where's Embry?" You ask.

Jacob and Quil look up at you with an awkward face. "I'm not sure how to say it." Quil says.

You raise an eyebrow at them.

Jacob slaps Quil on the back of the head. "Don't make it sound like bro died." He sighs and then turns back to you. "He's not doing okay. He told us what happened."

You started to feel a lot of guilt. "I didn't mean to hurt him." You say.

"You're denying the bond. That actually hurts us." Quil says.

"What do you mean?" You ask.

"When a wolf imprints and the imprintee turns down the bond, we have physical and mental pain." Quil clarifies.

"Look, it's up to you, but I do see the way you two look at each other. If you're sure about not wanting him, it's going to take a good bit for him to get back to Embry. Don't worry." Jacob adds.

You sigh and go to the small table. You pull put your phone and message Embry.

You: I never meant to hurt you. I just need time to collect myself. It's a lot stacked on me at once. I like you a lot. You're funny, kind, handsome. I'm not turning you down.

You put your phone back in your purse. Doing so, you feel papers. You pull them out and see its the money you tried to refuse to take from Billy. You shake your head, and then go to your station. You bend down and start cleaning the tools up. You organize them how you've had them, and when Quil or Jake call for a tool, you bring it to them.

After work is finished, you dust off your knees and start turning off lights, unplugging things, and then head to the office where Jake and Quil are.

"Y/n, here's your check." Jacob holds out an envelope.

You grab it and smile at him. "Thank you." You say. "Peace out. Goodnight." You say.

"Night!" They call out as you walk out of the shop.

Once you get home, you see Embry standing outside, leaning on your door. You quickly get out of the car and walk up to him. He's shirtless and has on shorts.

"What're you doing here?" You ask.

He seems out of it. It breaks your heart to see him like this. But damn his face and body.

"I just needed to see you for just a second." He look over your face.

You fall in love all over again when his eyes touch yours. You shudder and step closer.

"Did you get my text?" You cup his cheek.

His eyes light up, and he touches your hand that's on his cheek. This sends electricity through your body. You can tell he feels it too.

"I did." He replies.

"Come inside." You say, opening the door.

Embry follows you inside. You throw your bag on the couch and huff. You turn to Embry, who is watching you. "I want to be yours." You admit.

Your words snap something inside Embry. He softly grabs your face and kisses you. You're in shock by how good his lips feel. You fall into it and let your lips part for him. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your body against his. Because of that, he flips you guys around, pushing you against the door. His hand hits the door next to your head while the other hand grabs your waist. You feel the cold door on your back, seeping through your shirt.

You pull away, and he looks down at you. "I'm sorry if that was too much." He says awkwardly.

You shake your head. "It wasn't enough." You grab his hand and guide him to your bedroom. You shove him on the bed, and you two get to work.

----

In the morning, he's gone. You have to get to work.

You check your phone.

Embry: sorry baby. Patrol.

You get to Billy's house and set the money on the table. He looks at you sternly and sips from his coffee cup.

"Billy Black. Don't mess with me." You laugh.

He points to his neck and then at you.

"What?" You reach up and touch your neck. You reach for your phone, turning on the camera and seeing purple spots. "That's embarrassing." You sigh.

"It sure is." He laughs.

"Quiet, old man." You hiss.

"Hey, now!"