#from sheer number of boxes

[morewonders]

Every time I see a bucktommy fan try to make Firefly happen as a ship name I’m just like “fandom already has a Firefly, did you know that? It’s important to me that you know that.” And then I remember that not everyone is checking for a rightfully canceled Joss Whedon sci-fi show from 20 years ago and feel ANCIENT.

[mexicangrizzlyappreciation]

Making this easier to communicate is one of the reasons why the term climate change has overtaken global warming as the way to refer to this slow disaster in the last decade or so.

So many people do not understand the relationship between climate change and cold weather.

[nephynes]

To everyone else, you’re Jake’s girlfriend and picture of innocence—soft spoken, always with a smile, the type to bake cookies and kiss him goodbye on the cheek. His friends are sure he’s not getting what he needs, and they don’t hold back their advice for him to cheat, flirt, find someone who’ll actually put out. Jake doesn’t even bother correcting them, cause not only are they wrong, they’re wildly off the mark.

nsfw warnings: SMUT, toxic male friendship dynamics, back-talking, gaslighting, multiple rounds of sex, overstimulation, oral (m & f receiving), creampie, fingering, light breathplay, praise kink, mild degradation, anal play (established dynamic), light powerplay, hair pulling, dirty talk, cockwarming, light possessiveness, squirting, soft dom/sub elements, and begging. 7.9k

Jake Sim is...hard to explain.

If you ask around, you'll hear a thousand different versions. Jake Sim is hot. Jake Sim is an asshole. Jake Sim is the sweetest guy you'll ever meet. Jake Sim is the guy who'll flirt with you all night, fuck you into the mattress, and then forget your name before the sun even rises. Jake Sim is a player, a charmer, he's the guy everyone warns everyone about always a little too late.

And to be honest? they're not exactly wrong. Jake is the kind of guy who makes a mess just to see if someone else will clean it up. The kind who smiles like he knows all the answers to everything and doesn't care to share them. Jake's never had to try hard for anything—not attention, not girls, not the kind of casual popularity that clings to people like him for no reason other than sheer gravity.

He floats through life on charm and instinct, making trouble look too effortless.

Well, not until you.

You never belonged in Jake's world, like not even a little bit. You didn't chase parties or post thirst traps. You weren't loud, or flashy, or easy to figure out. But you were soft spoken and self contained, always in those oversized knit sweaters and delicate little necklaces. You said "pardon?" instead of "what," and you never once looked at Jake like you wanted anything from him. In fact you never looked at him at all.

Maybe that's why he couldn't stop staring, because you didn't orbit around him like everyone else did. You truly just existed in your own world and you didn't give a toss that he was attractive in the way that made people act stupid. You were genuinely kind, irritatingly kind Jake would say, and it made him feel like a walking glitch in your perfect little universe.

He was the kind to ghost girls. You were the kind to remember everyone's birthdays. He blew off midterms sometimes. You sent people your notes when you noticed they weren't in class.

You weren't his type in any sense and he sure as hell wasn't yours. But that didn't stop him from going after you anyway.

It didn't stop the way he'd linger outside the library when he knew you were in there, with his eyes low and his fingers twitching. It didn't stop him from getting your number from someone he'd never even spoken to in his life but he saw them speak to you once and that was enough for him. It didn't stop whatever this became—this quietly consuming, slow burn kind of obsession that made Jake Sim, the most unserious, nonchalant boy in the world, go dead serious when it came to you.

So dead serious that he made you his girlfriend quicker than you could think to even consider saying no, and goddamn if you didn't love him and the intensity of it all too.

The promise ring he asked you to be his girlfriend with was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. You remember how red in the face he was, a little awkward too, holding out a tiny velvet box.

You'd slipped it on without hesitation, and now it lives on your finger, always warm from your skin and twirled endlessly whenever you're anxious or shy or thinking a little too hard. Jake watches you do it sometimes when you're talking to him, or even when you're not. It makes his chest tight in the best way possible.

You're still not officially living with him. But your things are everywhere, all over his apartment. Your makeup clutters the edge of his bathroom sin, your slippers sit beside his sneakers at the front door, your clothes even hang in his closet, slowly but surely taking over, and your lacey panties end up in his laundry pile more often than not—a discovery Jake reacts to every time like it's Christmas morning.

He swears he loves it, all of it, all of you.

He loves the way you hum to yourself when you cook, loves how you taste everything off the spoon and make him do the same thing. He loves waking up to the smell of something sweet in the oven, loves hearing you sing along to songs you think he can't hear from the other room. He loves the softness you bring into his space, it’s like his whole apartment exhales when you're in it.

And right now, he's trying not to smile like an idiot as you leave the tray of cookies fresh from the oven on the coffee table for him and his friends, they’re still warm and rich with the scent of vanilla and browned butter. The boys dive in immediately, tearing into them like they've been starving all day.

"Dude," Sunghoon mumbles with his mouth full. "What does she put in these?"

"Crack," Heeseung says, reaching for another. "Crack cocaine, I’m so damn sure."

Jake just smirks, watching you tidy up in the kitchen with your hair pulled back, phone in hand before heading toward the living room again, eyes already on him.

"I'm heading to the mall with my friends," you tell him sweetly, swinging your purse over your shoulder and leaning down to kiss one cheek, then the other. "Don't eat all the cookies before I get back." You tell them even though you know it’ll all be gone by the time you’re back.

Jake smiles up at you. "No promises."

You glance at the guys. "Enjoy, boys."

"Thanks, sweetheart," Sunghoon replies automatically, and Heeseung raises his cookie in salute.

The door to the apartment shuts behind you and the silence gets loaded.

Jake barely has time to reach for another cookie before Heeseung squints at him over the edge of his glass and says, "Okay but like...how often do you jerk off?"

Jake blinks. "What?"

"You know," Heeseung gestures vaguely. "When she's not around. Or even when she is. Like, how bad's the drought?"

Jake frowns. "What are you even—"

"Come on dude. She bakes, she cleans, she kisses your cheeks like a fucking disney character," Sunghoon says, shaking his head like he's genuinely concerned. "And she's got you wearing a promise ring, bro. Be serious."

Jake raises an eyebrow.

"She's your girlfriend, not your chastity coach," Heeseung adds, mouth full. "It's okay to like her, man. Be whipped or whatever, but every guy's got needs." He does air quotes with his fingers at whipped.

"Exactly," Sunghoon nods. "You're telling us you haven't cracked once? Eight months and she's still playing house instead of playing with your dick?"

Jake laughs.

It's low and easy as he tosses a cookie up in air, catching it in his mouth like he doesn't have a care in the world. "You guys don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Oh, come on—"

He doesn't let them finish.

Just shrugs, wipes a crumb off his jeans, and leans back against the couch cushions with that same frustratingly calm grin. Not confirming anything or denying either and definitely not offering a damn thing more.

And maybe that's what gets them most. Sunghoon is about to continue with his drilling but the apartment door bangs open and Jay barrels in like he was trying to break the door open.

"I had to park three fucking blocks away—why are there so many delivery trucks on your str—" He stops question when he spots the half empty cookie tray and Jake's face. "Ah. What’s going on?"

Heeseung and Sunghoon exchange a look that says perfect timing.

Sunghoon jerks a thumb toward Jake. "We're staging an intervention. Lover boy here claims he hasn't touched himself for eight months because little miss betty boop apparently doesn't—"

"Dude," Jake warns, voice flat.

Heeseung dives in anyway. "We're just saying every guy's got needs, and she's not exactly—" he twirls a hand, searching for a polite word and failing—"open access."

Jay slumps into the couch slowly, suddenly wary. "Okay, first? Why is this our business? Second, she literally did my laundry when I was half dead with the flu last month. She's an angel—"

"Exactly," Sunghoon interrupts, irritated that Jay isn't backing him. "She's too angelic. Jake's basically wasting away. I know a girl who wouldn't care that you’re taken—she'll rock your fucking world, no strings."

Jay's eyebrows shoot up. "Bro, are you actually telling him to cheat? That's fucked up."

Heeseung waves him off. "Look, pastor Jay, spare us the sermon. We’re being practical."

Jay crosses his arms. "Practical? Or fucking sleazy?"

Sunghoon's jaw tics. "Fine, keep your halo. I'm trying to help our boy here."

"Help?" Jay snorts. "You're insinuating his girlfriend's a prude and pushing him toward some side piece because you can't fathom a relationship that isn't twenty-four/seven fucking."

Heeseung lets out a low laugh. "Prude? She's sweet, yeah—but let's be real, she's a little stuck-up. Bet she makes him say please and thank you before he even—"

"Enough."

His voice isn't loud, but it's close to lethal and it make the room still. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on Heeseung. "Don't talk about my girlfriend like that."

The silence is as thick as caramel.

Heeseung opens his mouth, thinks better of it and just shrugs instead. Sunghoon raises both hands in a mock surrender. "All right, all right. We're just looking out for you, man."

Jake sits back, expression unmoving except for the tight belt of muscle along his jaw. "Appreciate the concern but drop it."

Jay exhales, tension easing from his shoulders as he snags a cookie. "Cool. Crisis averted. Let's talk about literally anything else—basketball, stocks, the weather—"

But the mood has unfortunately shifted too far. Under the warm scent of sugar and butter, something colder threads the air, like a line drawn or a warning given.

Jake breaks off a crumb, flicks it onto the tray, and doesn't say another word.

The hangout's pretty much dead, even though they try to shift the conversation, try to joke but nothing lands. Not with Jake sitting there, stiff as a statue, jaw tight, barely looking up. Heeseung's chewing slower, the cookies don't taste as good anymore, and Sunghoon keeps checking his phone like there's somewhere else he needs to be.

Because there is.

Anywhere but here that’s for sure.

Jake's not even yelling, but does he have to? The way he's gone quiet should be enough. He's not laughing at their dumb jokes, not biting back with sarcasm like usual. He’s just sitting there on his own couch like he doesn't even recognize it.

Jay finally clears his throat. "Uh...I should probably get going. Early shift tomorrow."

Heeseung stands. "Yeah. Same." He doesn’t even have a job.

Sunghoon mumbles something about traffic, already halfway to the door. No one says it, but they all feel it, feel the vibe shot and Jake's silence holding the smoking gun.

Jay lingers a little longer near the door. He glances back, eyes softer than before. "Hey...sorry, man. I’m sure they didn't mean for it to go there."

Jake doesn't look at him. Just rubs the heel of his palm into one eye. "Yeah. Whatever."

Jay nods once and doesn't push. The door clicks shut behind them, and Jake's left alone in the quiet. He slumps back on the couch, eyes drifting to the half empty cookie tray on the coffee table.

You made those for them.

And they still had the audacity to talk about you like that. To reduce you to some outdated stereotype of some sweet, doting, sexless girlfriend he must clearly be suffering through.

The door creaks open a moment later, and you waltz bouncing with happiness, arms overflowing with shopping bags. You toe off your shoes at the door, grin still plastered on your face as you make your way inside, the scent of your perfume trailing behind you like sunshine.

"Babyyy," you call out cheerfully. "You will not believe the sale I hit today."

You find him on the couch, slouched deep into the cushions, hoodie up, face shadowed by the TV glow and a silence that immediately makes you feel like something is wrong.

Your grin falters. "Jake?"

He turns his head toward you, offers a weak smile that’s just a twitch of his lips, not the real one that crinkles his eyes and melts your stomach.

You pause at the edge of the couch, looking at him, then the table, at the cookie tray that’s half full. There’s not a crumb in sight on the cushions or floor, which is odd because the boys always devour them like wolves.

Your heart sinks a little.

Something is wrong.

Without a word, you gently set your shopping bags down and crawl into his lap, settling your weight carefully over him, but his hands stay limp at his sides. He doesn't even tuck them around your waist like he always does. Doesn't nose into your neck or murmur a "missed you."

You touch his face, frown deepening. "Jakey..." you whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Talk to me. What happened? You were fine when I left."

He shrugs once and his eyes stay distant, so you lean in and kiss his cheek, then the other, then his forehead, then the corner of his mouth but still nothing.

You press a soft slow kiss to his lips and his eyes flutter shut for a second.

He finally breathes out a sigh at that, like you've loosened something that was wrapped too tight in his chest.

"Just..." he mumbles, pulling you in by the waist now, finally holding you, finally here with you. "Some stupid shit with the boys."

You lean your forehead against his. "Hmm…what kind of stupid?"

He shakes his head, exhaling through his nose, jaw still ticking. "Doesn't matter."

"It matters if it makes this face," you say, gently pinching his pout. "Talk to me, baby."

He sighs again, but this time it's softer and a little less bitter. For a second, he just holds you, arms snug around your waist, your fingers in his hair, the scent of fresh cookies and the ghost of something ugly lingering in the air between you.

But at least you're here now and he’s already starting to feel better.

"They were just..." He swallows, jaw clenched. "Saying shit. About you. About us."

You pull back just a little, just enough to look into his eyes, head tilting softly. "Like what?"

He doesn't answer at first, he just presses his lips together like the words taste unpleasant on his tongue.

"That you're too sweet," he says finally. "Too innocent. That I must be struggling. That I'm not getting...what I need." He can't even say the rest while looking at you so his gaze drops to your collarbone. "Sunghoon even suggested that I should cheat. That he knew some girl who wouldn't care if I had a girlfriend."

“Jay was different though, he wasn’t having any of it.”

Your breath stutters just a little, but it’s enough that he notices and enough that it makes his stomach drop.

There it is—your face crumpling, it’s not dramatic, it’s like your heart folded in on itself for a second, and you're working quickly to iron it flat again.

Jake hates himself for putting that look there.

But then—God, your smile. It comes immediately after and it’s soft and unshaken.

"That's really shitty," you say, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. "But it doesn't matter what they think."

Jake's eyes flick up, searching yours for any signs of insincerity.

"You know that's not true," you continue. "Right?"

He nods, slowly. "Of course I do."

"Then that's all that matters," you whisper. You lean in and kiss his forehead again, warm and reassuring. "Maybe you just need to reevaluate your little bro club. Pick the ones who don't suggest cheating on your girlfriend over cookies she baked for them."

Jake exhales a breath of a laugh, tension starting to ease from his shoulders.

You smile again, a little sly this time. "Honestly, I always liked Jay more than the rest, anyway."

Jake huffs through his nose. "Yeah?"

You nod. "He defended my honor. What a man."

Jake finally smiles, real and wide and completely helpless. "I love you."

"I know, baby. I love you too." You kiss the corner of his mouth. "Now help me carry in all my bags. I got new panties." You say and push off him and that shuts him up fast, he’s already standing and following you into the bedroom like a possessed man, with eyes that gleam and hands that twitch, absolutely thrilled to see what you spent his money on.

You're already pulling out bags, giggling as you place each one on the bed like a dramatic little fashion show.

"Okay, ready?" you ask, grinning as you kneel on the mattress, surrounded by tissue paper, paper bags and receipts.

He flops down beside you, eyes wide, nodding like this is the first time you’ve done this, it’s not.

You hold up a dainty little silk top. "Cute, right?"

"That’s so hot, princess."

Followed by a miniskirt. "Too short?"

"No such thing."

He leans back on the bed, hands behind his head, watching you with an easy smile as you sift through your shopping bags, showing him more of what you got. He doesn't even bother hiding how proud he is watching you flaunt everything you bought.

You hold up a cute little white dress next. "This one was kinda expensive..."

Jake hums, eyes raking over you. "Worth every cent if you're wearing it."

You snort, but you're smiling as you slip it over your head. You smooth the fabric down and twirl once. "Do I look like someone's sugar baby?"

"You are someone's sugar baby," Jake grins, "you just cook too well for it to be obvious."

You giggle, tugging the hem down before sighing. "Okay, I'm not about to stain this with lipstick or lotion—hold on."

You casually peel the dress back off and toss it onto a nearby chair, standing fully naked in front of him without a second thought.

He lets his gaze drag slowly down your body, the same way it always does when you’re naked in his presence, so lazy but heated and familiar. Like he knows every inch of you by heart and never gets tired of seeing it.

"C'mere," he says, voice so deep, you already know what’s on his mind and you barely take a step before he's already got his hands on your waist, pulling you into his lap so he can have you straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck, and he just leans in, pressing his face into your skin, right at the curve of your neck.

"You always smell so fucking good," he tells you, lips brushing your collarbone. "And you're warm."

"I'm always warm," you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair.

He grins into your skin. "Yeah. Especially when you're on top of me like this, titties in my face and everything."

His lips trail along your collarbone, soft and slow, and his hands stay steady at your waist, thumbs pressing into the dip of your back, holding you in place

You sigh when he kisses your neck, just below your ear, and he feels the way your body softens in his lap, you're melting just for him.

He nips your jaw, then lower, moving his mouth down your throat, so warm and unhurried, open mouthed kisses skating down your chest until he reaches one of your breasts, wrapping his lips around it with a low groan like he's finally getting something he's been craving all day.

You arch into him instinctively, fingers curling in his hair as his tongue swirls around your nipple—lazy at first, then firmer and hungrier.

"Jake," you whisper, breath catching a little.

He hums against you, sucking slow and deep, one hand sliding up to cup the other side, thumb circling with the same rhythm his mouth sets.

Your hips shift without meaning to grind down unto him, and he catches that too, cock already hard beneath you.

"I’m so fucking in love with you," he mumbles into your skin, kissing across your chest to the other side.

His mouth stays wrapped tightly around your nipple, sucking on it so hard you moan a little, then he continues trailing wet kisses over your chest, his lips drag down your sternum before slipping one of his hands between your thighs. He's lazy about it at first, tracing idle circles against the inside of your thigh, like he's in no rush, or like he doesn't already feel how warm and wet you are sitting right on top of him.

You shift your hips, needing more, trying to grind down on him, but Jake just smiles against your skin. "Getting needy already, baby?" he murmurs, moving your panties to the side with two fingers, knuckles brushing deliberately light against your folds, teasing. "You're already wet," he mutters, almost to himself. His thumb grazes just barely over your clit, featherlight. "You know what that does to me?"

You whine and he grins like he's won something. But then his grin falters when you grab his wrist and hold it still.

Your voice is soft. "Jake."

He glances up at you.

"Stop teasing."

Before he can say anything back, you push firmly at his chest with both hands and he lets you. Lets himself fall back onto the mattress with a small gasp of surprise that turns into a breathless laugh.

"Shit," he laughs under his breath, one arm behind his head now, the other resting on your thigh. "You don't even let me pretend I'm in control anymore, huh?"

You raise a brow as you settle over him properly, your hands moving down his torso, nails dragging just enough to make him tense.

He bites his lip, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, already drunk on the way you’re naked above him and so sure of what you want.

Jake's always had game. He's had his fun, knew what it meant to chase and win. But with you? With you, it's never been a game.

Your palm works him over his cock through his sweats, slow and deliberate, your thumb catching the outline of him through the fabric just right, and Jake's head tips back into the pillow with a strangled sound, breath hitching like he absolutely cannot help it.

"F–fuck," he whimpers, hips twitching up into your hand. "I love you. I'm so in love with you."

You lean down, nuzzling your nose against his cheek, voice soft and syrupy as you coo, "Yeah? You love me, Jakey?"

He nods fast, his chest rising and falling hard beneath you, completely gone for you already, and you hum sweetly like you're proud of him, almost like you're indulging a boy who's trying so hard to be good.

You tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, just enough to free his cock, and he lifts his hips obediently, still panting.

And when you finally pull him out, your eyes widen.

"Oh my god," you gasp, like you haven't seen him a hundred times before.

Jake lets out a breathless laugh, flushed and glowing with affection. "You do that every time," he grins.

You wrap your hand around him, giving one firm, languid stroke, eyes still fixed in reverence. "It shocks me every time."

Jake groans, both hands flying up to grip your hips now cause he needs to hold on to something, as if the worship in your voice is just as dangerous as your touch.

"Baby," he breathes, already dizzy, "please..."

His hands tighten on your hips. "My heart," he says, breathless but steady, "can you sit on it for me?"

Your brows lift in teasing surprise. "You asking nicely now?"

He leans up, kisses the swell of your breast before dragging his mouth to your neck. "Please," he murmurs against your skin.

You giggle, glancing down between your bodies where he's hard and leaking pre cum against your stomach. You drag your fingers over his tip and grin when he twitches. "Jakey, I don't know...it's so big. Not sure I can take it."

He lets out a full bodied groan and his hands shoot up to cover his face like your words physically broke something in him. "Fuck—don't say that."

You laugh, warm and wicked, and reach down to line him up with your pussy.

He peeks through his fingers at you, eyes dark and glassy. "You know what that does to me."

You lean in, kiss his jaw and whisper, "I do, baby." Slowly sinking yourself down on his cock, and Jake's mouth falls open around a gasp so needy it makes your stomach flip.

All his confidence and playboy charm melts into raw want for you. And you know he wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world, so when you settle fully on him with you clit nearly brushing his pubic bone, you gasp at the stretch like it's brand new, even though he's been inside you more times than you can count.

Jake watches with blown pupils, biting down on a groan as your walls flutter around him. You're breathless, clutching his shoulders, eyes glazed and already starting to tremble from how deep in your cunt he hits.

But it's still you who says it first, voice all sweet, whiny, and almost demanding. "Please fuck me, Jakey."

That’s truly all he needs and he doesn’t even hesitate, his hands lock under your thighs and he drives his cock up into you, fucking you from below with a pace so sharp it knocks the air from your lungs. The slap of skin on skin fills the room instantly, his hips pistoning up into yours like he's making up for every second he ever spent apart from you.

You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, clinging to him as your head tips back. “Oh!—Just like that, baby!”

"You take me so well," he pants, staring up at you with so much love and adoration. "Always do. So fucking good for me."

You can't even answer cause with every snap of his hips, your body jerking helplessly every time he hits that spot inside you just right and you're jus too far gone, moaning as your thighs start to tremble,

Your moans get higher, needier, and Jake just holds you tighter, fucking you harder like he knows you're getting close. “Ah—Shit! I love this pussy—I love you.”

And the you whimper his name in that high pitched tone, he already knows what’s coming.

"Jake...Jake, please..." He groans, lifting his whole body and head to kiss you through it, breath hot and desperate against your mouth.

His hand slips between your bodies without thinking too much, fingers finding that sensitive little clit and the moment he starts rubbing tight, practiced circles into it, your whole body jolts, your hips stutter as well as your breath.

"Jake—" you cry out, the sound thin and wrecked as your orgasm nears.

"I've got you," he says, voice husky and strained as he keeps thrusting up into you. "Come on, baby. Cum for me."

Your eyes roll back, mouth falling open as your walls clamp down hard around his cock. You never had a shot, not with his cock so deep and thick inside you, not with his fingers rubbing so deliciously at your clit.

Your orgasm slams into you with a force that makes your back arch and your nails dig into his shoulders, shaking as pleasure floods your veins. “Oh my—F-Fuck! Jake! I’m cumming! I’m cumming for you!”

You're moaning his name like it's the only word you know, clenching around him so tight he practically growls.

"Fuck—you're so tight—" Jake's hands grip your hips, fingers digging in. "Gonna cum, baby—gonna fill you up—"

He snaps his hips up one, two, three more times before burying himself deep with a sharp gasp, thick ropes of cum spilling inside you as he lets out a low, trembling groan against your shoulder. “Just like that, take it baby.”

His whole body tenses, as he continues to fuck his cum deeper into your pussy, before melting beneath you and wrapping his arms around your waist cause he needs to come back to earth.

You sit there on his cock, fucked out with your body is still twitching from aftershocks, then he sits up presses a soft kiss to your collarbone and speaks, almost dazed, "I love you. You know that right?."

Your chest heaves just like his as you try to catch your breath as well, your skin is dewy and flushed, thighs still trembling slightly where they cradle his hips. Jake lies beneath you, hair stuck to his forehead and completely ruined and glowing in the aftermath.

His cock stays buried inside you, still thick but it’s starting soften and warm from his and your cum.

Jake's eyes are barely open when you start to move again, just with slow and lazy rolls of your hips, like you're testing him, like you already miss the stretch. His eyes snap up to meet yours, wide and glassy.

"Baby..." he rasps, voice rough with the tail end of his orgasm. "Again?"

You nod, bottom lip between your teeth, hands planted firmly on his chest as you grind your hips just right. He twitches inside you, not fully hard yet again, but your walls squeeze around him like you're coaxing him back to life.

"Need you hard again, baby." You whisper, a little whine slipping into your voice. "Want more."

Jake actually groans but his hands flying to your waist regardless, it’s not to stop you, it’s to anchor himself.

"You're insatiable," he mutters, head dropping back on the pillow. "You know that?"

You giggle breathlessly, grinding down again. "But you like it, don’t you?"

He laughs, weak but wrecked, already feeling himself swell inside you again. "Fuck, of course I do, you know I do."

He’s already giving in, letting you use him, letting you move how you want, letting you chase what you need. Because you always take what you want from him and Jake fucking lives for it.

His finger squeeze your waist as your hips keep rocking against him, slow but hungry and so greedy, so fucking sweet about it, whining for more when he's still soft and sensitive. It has his head spinning.

"God, you're gonna kill me," he groans, voice low and shaky.

But you just smile down at him, hips grinding insistently, eyes all sparkly with mischief and need.

That's what does it.

He sits up with a sudden growl and grabs your thighs, flipping you onto your back in one smooth quick motion that makes you squeal and giggle. Before you can protest, he's sliding your leg up, hooking it over his shoulder and settling between your thighs again, his cock already twitching back to life as it presses against your slick pussy.

"Since you don't know when to stop..." he mutters, leaning over you, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips, "guess I'll have to fuck it out of you."

You gasp, fingers digging into his arms as he ruts forward slowly, stretching you out and you're still so wet and swollen around him from your first orgasm that he slips right back in. A shaky moan tumbles from your lips as he bottoms out, and Jake watches your face melt with satisfaction.

"There she is," he breathes, cupping your jaw. "Always so ready for me."

You try to sass him, you open your mouth with something smug, but then he draws his hips back and slams back in deep, and all you can do is cry out and clutch at his arms. “Jake! Fuck!”

He grins. "Yeah? You like that, baby?"

With your leg slung over his shoulder, every thrust drives his cock in at a perfect, punishing angle, he’s so deep it punches the air from your lungs, makes your head tilt back and your fingers claw down his back.

"Yes Jake—"

He groans low at the sound of his name from your lips, fucking in harder and rougher now, one hand gripping your thigh, the other pressing down beside your head.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, voice wrecked and breathless. "You feel so good—so tight, still?"

You're barely holding on, moaning so high and needy with your eyes fluttering. "Because I want you all the time," you whisper, drunk on the stretch and the rhythm of him. "Wanna fuck all the time."

Jake curses, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. "That's fucking insane," he gasps, his hips jerking for a moment. "You're—Fuck."

You hold him tighter, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as your leg slips from his grip, both feet now planted flat so you can rock up to meet every thrust. Your mouths meet in a messy kiss, full of panting breaths and whispered "I love you"s between the moans as he fucks you into the sheets.

You gasp, "Oh baby, please don't stop," he just nods frantically, already lost in you all over again.

His thrusts slow as he feels your body start to tighten again, that telltale tremble of both your orgasms building. You're gasping his name, legs shaking on either side of his hips, hands gripping at his arms so hard he’s sure you’re gonna leave marks.

"That's it, baby," he pants, breath hot against your cheek as he presses his forehead to yours. "You gonna cum for me again? I can feel it—fuck, you're squeezing me so tight—"

Your nails dig into his shoulders and your voice breaks. "Jake—Jake—I'm—"

He doesn't let up his thrust, he continues to fuck his cock into your cunt deeper and faster. "Make you cum for me. Let me feel it."

Your back arches, mouth falling open in a soundless cry, and then it hits again and your whole body jolts as you gush your release around him, warmth flooding between your legs. Jake groans, deep and raw, watching you as it happens.

"Holy shit, baby—look at you," he breathes, eyes glued to where your bodies meet. His fingers slip down instinctively, sliding through the mess of cum and squirt and pushing two inside you with ease, curling them so deep, you jerk under him, overstimulated, crying out, but he's grinning like he's the one being worshipped.

"Yeah baby," he rasps, fucking his fingers into your cunt so fast and deep, he's coaxing out every last tremble, every aftershock. "You're so fucking perfect—fuck, I love when you do that."

You're whining, twitching beneath him, but not stopping him either and he knows you won't, especially when you don't even pause to catch your breath. You're already pushing up, hands slipping against his sweat-slick skin, eyes glassy and blown wide with lust.

"Baby—" he starts, but you're pushing him on his back again and wrapping your mouth around his cock in one desperate and hungry motion.

Jake chokes on a moan, his head falling back with a thud against the pillow. "F—fuck, baby..."

You're still shaking from your own orgasm, but your mouth sucks him so good with your lips stretched wide and your eyes fluttering shut as you take his cock deeper in your throat that tightens around him. He's still wet from you, slick and throbbing on your tongue, and the mix of it all makes your head spin.

"Jesus—shit," Jake growls, both hands fisting in your hair as he begins thrusting into your throat, fast and controlled, his hips twitching as he groans through his teeth.

"You're—fuck—you're gonna make me cum," he breathes, voice strained, eyes locked on the obscene sight of you between his legs with your cheeks hollowed, looking so fucking pretty even now.

You hum around him, fingers digging into his thighs for balance, tears prickling at your lashes as he hits the back of your throat again and again. He swears under his breath, tightening his grip in your hair, one hand cupping the back of your head as he starts to move a little rougher, chasing that high you're dragging out of him like it's yours.

"Fuck—just like that—don't stop—don't—"

"Y/n—Baby." He groans, jerking into your mouth as he cums hard, hips stuttering, holding your head down on him while he spills down your throat.

His hands fall away, and you finally pull back, swallowing his cum with a soft gasp. Your lips are swollen and your cheeks are flushed but you're smiling up at him cause to you, you've done nothing out of the ordinary.

"Holy shit," he whispers, grinning up as you flop half on top of him and on the bed.

His skin is warm, still damp from sweat, and his voice is soft and sweet when he starts talking.

"We should go to the farmer's market tomorrow," he says through breaths, turning his face toward you with a sleepy smile. "Get that jelly you like. Maybe brunch after...or just come back and stay in bed all day."

You hum in agreement, eyes half-lidded as you turn to face him. "Mhm. That sounds perfect."

He's still talking, "We could also check out that new restaurant you wanted to try—" Then he feels your leg slides over his, bare skin gliding against his thigh as you spread yourself open beside him. His voice stutters, pauses, but he doesn't think much of it until your hand finds his.

Still speaking so sweetly, like he doesn't even notice what's happening, Jake continues, "And maybe get stuff for dinner too. We could try that new reci—"

You take his hand and slowly guide it down your stomach, between your thighs...but instead of stopping on your pussy like he expects, you slide his fingers just a little further back.

He stops talking and his brows knit. "Wait..." he breathes, lifting himself onto one elbow to look down at where you're gently positioning him, not quite shy, but quiet.

"Oh?" His voice lifts a little, soft and surprised, fingers frozen in place.

"Here?" he asks, tilting his head, eyes searching your face.

You nod, biting your lip, pupils wide, cheeks heated, just the tiniest bit nervous but far more excited. Jake's heart patters at the sight.

He blinks, then lets out the softest, most reverent little, "Fuck," as his fingers twitch against your hole.

He goes still for a second before glancing down at you with a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jake huffs a soft laugh, rubbing his fingers gently where you've placed him. "You really want that again?"

Your lips part in a quiet sigh. "Mhm. Haven't stopped thinking about it."

He grunts in his throat, already adjusting his position to hover over you, his hand still between your thighs. "God, baby...you're unbelievable."

"Please," you whisper.

Jake leans down, kissing your neck with a grin. "Okay, baby."

Jake does exactly what you ask without question, without teasing this time, without dragging it out. Just the steady glide of his fingers, slick with you, working your hole open with practiced care. He knows what you like now. Knows how to curve them just right, how much pressure to apply, when to slow down and when to ruin you.

You're shaking under him, body arching, fists gripping at the sheets. Your eyes flutter back and your mouth falls open but no real words are coming out, just breathy, broken sounds that melt into helpless little moans.

"Fuck, princess," Jake breathes, watching your face like he's obsessed. "Look at you."

You're drooling and you don't even care. Your brain's gone soft and syrupy, babbling nonsense, hiccupping between whines. "So full...s'too good, Jake— I—"

"You can," he murmurs, curling his fingers deeper. "You asked for it, baby."

You whimper hard at that, thighs squeezing around his hand.

Jake leans down, kissing your jaw, your ear, whispering all the filth you crave like praise. "My pretty girl. So greedy for me, huh? Couldn't even wait. Got your fill twice and now you want more."

"Need it," you mewl, "need you— please, please—"

"You have me," he says, voice thick devout as he strokes his own cock back to life, and pushes it in your hole just enough to have you gasping again, moaning as your body clenches hard around his cock.

His thrusts start slow, so deep into you and deliberate, loving the way you squeeze around him and trying not to lose it too fast. Every push forward is a grind of his hips and a filthy exhale against your skin.

But then he hears that sweet little whine you make and he feels your fingers dig into his back, he loses all his patience.

"That's it, baby," His voice is shaking. "Doing so good."

Then his pace starts to speed up, his hips snap harder and sharper. Each thrust makes the pressure mount, your breath hitching as your body rocks forward with every stroke. He holds you firmly, one hand pressing into the mattress, the other one at your hip—dragging you down so his cock can slide deeper and deeper into your ass.

The drag of him against your walls is so intense, even his hips are starting to jerk erratically in their movements, his body slick with sweat, every nerve in him frayed and completely on fire, but he doesn't stop. He can't. Not when you're shaking like this beneath him with tears in your eyes from how good he’s fucking you, so good that you're clawing at him.

He's already come twice and his body sore and overstimulated, but none of it matters cause he has to make you cum one time.

"C'mon, princess," he pants into your neck, his voice is bordering on a little whimper now, "need you to cum for me—give it to me, yeah?"

You nod, your fingers digging into his back. "Jake—I'm—I'm close—"

"I know," he says, sliding a hand between your bodies, thumb immediately circling your clit just the way he knows you like it as he continues to fuck your ass faster and harder, his rhythm never faltering even when his whole body twitches from the overstimulation.

"Fuck—!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut, thighs locking around him.

Jake moans when he feels you start to clench again, the grip of your body making him curse into your skin. "That's it. Just like that. Be good for me, baby—cum for me."

Your body listens to him and you cum so hard and loud, you’re nearly sobbing through it, your whole body shaking as you gush your release around him again.

Jake groans like he's in pain and pleasure all at once, overstimulated out of his mind but still working his thumb through your orgasm, riding it out with you, whispering, "That's my girl. So good for me. So good."

He's trembling too, face buried in your neck, still inside you, still twitching, but all he cares about is the way you're still falling apart in his arms.

"You've got one more in you," Jake whispers, lips brushing your cheek. "I know you do. Be good for me, baby. Just one more, yeah?"

You're still shaking with how hard your third orgasm just rocked you, but you nod, because you know he knows exactly how to touch you that’ll have that fourth orgasm he wants dragged it out of you.

"You know," he says, lips curling into something darker, "the guys still think you're some sweet little thing who doesn't even let me touch her."

Your eyes snap open.

"They really think I'm suffering over here. Poor Jake, dating the world's most innocent girl," he chuckles in your ear, his fingers pressing harder, cock thrusting faster and faster just the way you need. "Wonder what they'd say if they saw you like this."

"Jake—" you gasp, nails raking down his back. "Don't— don't say that—"

"Why not?" he groans, barely holding on himself. "Look at you. Fucking soaked for me. Begging me to fuck your ass. Taking my cock like this—over and over."

You're gone, completely unraveling under him with your hips bucking, your back arching and a scream caught in your throat as you fall apart, wet and messy and uncontrollable.

Jake watches it all with a dark, fucked out smile, his lips on your cheek as he whispers, "Yeah...real fucking innocent, huh?" His words slam into you like a wave. You arch off the bed, fingers tangling in the sheets, mouth falling open in an enraptured cry.

"Fuck!" you sob, hips bucking involuntarily around his hand and his cock. "Oh god—Jake—"

You're shuddering and everything going white at the edges, and then you cum again, for the fourth time. You squirt around his fingers and cock again, every muscle spasming as you cry out his name again and again, lost in the release.

Jake drops his mouth right where you’re squirting so he can get some into his mouth and suck down on your clit, to guide you through each quaking wave. One of his hands trails back to finger your ass while the other one strokes his cock until he cums into the sheets.

“Yes baby—Oh shit!”

His tongue keeps tracing delicate patterns over your clit and your whole pussy that keep you teetering on the edge even as you ride out your climax before pulling back and looking down at you.

When you look up at him, he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out, then he drapes himself over you, chest slick against yours, breath heavy and shallow as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

"Baby..." he starts, boneless and spent. "You're insane."

You giggle, tracing lazy circles along the curve of his spine, still catching your own breath.

He gave you everything, held you down and pulled you apart until your body trembled under his, until he had nothing left to give. And now he's here, lips brushing your collarbone with every exhale, trying to hang on to consciousness.

"We should try double penetration." You say, running your fingers through his hair and feeling his body stiffen at your words as his head lifts slightly to look into your eyes.

"What?"

You grin. "You know. Your cock and a dildo. Just once."

Jake's eyes flutter close and open again, the look he gives you is somewhere between bewilderment and disbelief. His mouth opens like maybe he wants to say something, but doesn't even know where to start.

"Princess," he breathes, collapsing back down on top of you with a dramatic groan. "You might actually kill me one day."

You hum sweetly, threading your fingers through his damp hair. "You'd like it."

"I know I would. That's the problem." He grins against your skin. "Let me survive tonight first."

You laugh, soft and warm beneath him, already thinking about which toy you'll pick and feeling his breathing go even.

He falls asleep like that, with his arms wrapped around you, utterly spent, murmuring something about needing to train for you like it's a sport. And as you run your fingers through his hair, smiling to yourself, one thing's crystal clear.

Jake's friends have no idea just how completely undone he is by you.

➺ a/n: who wants a boyfriend like jake? MEEEEE!!!!

[xazse]

Cw: Hybrids + smut + heat + Catboy!gojo x reader x Suguru + ART CREDS TO: @baobei-bu ON TUMBLR AND baobei_beh ON TWITTER (if you don’t like ur art posted by me lmk asap so i can delete it!!)

Catboy!gojo who’s so damn annoying during his heat, he makes sure to let his two owners know: you and Suguru.

He’s caught multiple times jerking off in the laundry room with your dirty panties inbetween his thick hands, he’s using them to stroke his fat cock over and over, and another pair up to his nose while he deeply inhales your scent and laving up the nonexistent juices with his tongue.

“He needs this, so badly” he pleads when you “scold” him and shoo him somewhere else.

He whines that everything hurts as Suguru soothes his back and tries to calm him down, he isn’t even trying to hide how he’s palming himself to just the soft circles Suguru decorates on his back.

The amount of clothes he goes through is insane, he’s always leaking fat droplets of cum in his underwear from the amount of times he’ll touch himself throughout the day, you’ll sometimes even help him by suckling on his reddened overstimulation tip, he groans out your name like a mantra, telling you how close he is and how fucking good it feels.

“Mm…h.. fuck-.. yes-“ he’s so damn close, don’t you dare stop using that wet warm mouth of yours, yes of course pay attention to his heavy balls they require attention too.

Eventually you’ll let him fuck your cunt for hours on end, the newly bought condom box is thrown across the room empty, you know you should be letting Satoru cum inside you this much but the sheer amount he produces just rips the condom.

“Toru…”

He uses his sharp teeth to pin you in place, his hips slamming down against your ass with each thrust, his eyes are rolling into the back of his head as he cums again for the whatever number you’re at already.

He loves being destroyed by Suguru’s fat length as well, folding his legs into an uncomfortable position but it’s not for Satoru, he loves when it hurts. Suguru isn’t gentle either, he fills Satoru to the brim and fucks him so good. It’s messy and nasty with the way he’s positioned Satoru’s cock spurts all over his own face, it arouses him a tenthfold and it’s not long before he’s hard all over again.

[shuafiles]

hands to myself [c.sc]

★ MDNI, 18+ ★ SUMMARY | seungcheol can't keep his hands to himself. i mean, he could, but why would he want to? ★ PAIRING | boyfriend!seungcheol x fem!reader ★ CONTENT | pwp, inappropriate touching in an elevator with people around (lmao), semi-public sex, car sex, nipple play, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex (dont) ★ WC | 2.1k ★ A/N | yay im back to writing again. hope you enjoy this!

y/n: where are you? cheol: elevator, baby :)

You tucked your phone in your bag before standing from your desk. You neatly organized your stuff before walking near the elevator shaft while waiting for your boyfriend.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing your handsome boyfriend.

Seungcheol flashed you his signature smile. His arms open, waiting for you to engulf yourself in them, which you gladly ran into. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lightly lifting you off your feet. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his musky scent.

“Missed you, baby,” Seungcheol mumbled, slightly swaying your bodies into the hug. “How was work today?”

You pulled away from his neck, eyes scanning his frame. He was clad in a black polo shirt, neatly tucked into his pants. “Tiring.” You responded, placing your hands flat against his chest. He took this moment to reach behind you and push the elevator button for basement parking.

Seungcheol’s eyes roamed over your body. Your white polo is perfectly snug on your waist, bringing out your curves. Your black bra peeking through the sheer fabric of your shirt, giving him a sneak peek of your perky breasts. Your black pencil skirt hugging your ass deliciously. He unconsciously licked his lips as he shamelessly checked you out.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his gaze, tiptoeing to place a sweet peck on his lips. The elevator halted on a random floor. You turned around in his clutch as a group of people entered the tiny metal box. You were pushed against the crowd, your backside pushing against your boyfriend’s crotch. His manly arms caught you from tripping. Turning your head, you flashed him a thankful smile. In which he pressed his lips against your temple in return.

The elevator ride was excruciatingly slow for Seungcheol. He silently cursed that you were nearly on the highest floor. His dick grew hard as every floor passed. He wondered if you could feel him; you probably could, but didn’t say anything. As more people filled the elevator, your body pressed flush against his even more. It didn’t help that you kept wiggling your ass against his already hard cock.

Little did he know, you did feel everything. Your breath got caught in your throat the first time you felt it. Your fingers digging into your palms as you felt him grow beneath you. You glanced at the tiny screen that displayed the floor number—fifteen. How was time so slow?

People started gradually getting off the elevator at each floor. You pulled away from Seungcheol’s chest, letting out a tiny cough in the process. He smirked behind you, reading your body language all too well. He began to kneel behind you, reaching for his shoe laces. You didn’t mind it until you felt his cold fingers on your ankle, making your eyes widen. He slowly danced his fingers up to your legs, making it seem like he was done tying his laces. He continued to drag his fingers until he reached your thighs, slipping them underneath your skirt until he stopped in between your legs. You glanced around the elevator, checking if anyone could notice what your dirty boyfriend was up to. You released a shaky breath as you realised everyone was scrolling on their phones or having different silent conversations.

Seungcheol’s rough fingers made contact with your already soaked panties. You let out a tiny gasp, head swiveling to face him. He had a cocky smile on his lips. His lips moved towards your ear.

“Already so wet for me?” He whispered. His deep voice shot sparks throughout your body. You shot him a playful glare before returning your focus to the screen before you.

Five.

Seungcheol pushed his hand further between your thighs, his fingers tracing your slit through your underwear.

Four.

He slowly drew lazy circles on your clothed core. You bit your lip to prevent any noise from spilling from your lips.

Three.

Your eyes roamed around the elevator once more, checking if anyone can see your boyfriend’s hand up your ass. Thankful for the lack of cameras inside.

Two.

Seungcheol pushed your underwear aside, collecting your arousal with his finger. Tiny crescents formed on your palm as you continued to dig your fingers into your skin, needing to relieve any tension.

One.

He slipped his fingers between your folds, but he didn’t insert them, just resting them between your lips.

Basement.

The soft ding of the elevator pulled you out of your trance. Seungcheol quickly pulled his hand from your underwear and straightened his posture. You tried casually fixing your skirt to prevent any suspicion. People started flooding out of the elevator. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding before glancing at your boyfriend, who had a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

Seungcheol grabbed your hand with his dry one before guiding you to where he parked his car. Conveniently enough, he was parked on the far side of the basement, barely surrounded by vehicles. You walked to the shotgun seat, but his hand blocked you from opening the door. Instead, he opened the door in the passenger seat.

“Get in,” Seungcheol murmured. You looked at him, confused, before sliding in. You were even more surprised when he climbed in with you.

“What are you—“ You could barely finish your sentence before he hoisted your body so that you were sitting on his lap, straddling his thighs while facing him.

“I can’t wait until we get home, pretty. I need you now.” Seungcheol grumbled. His mouth instantly found yours, greedily capturing your lips. Your hands flew to grip his hair while his found your hips. “Wanted to fuck you then and there at the elevator.” His hands slid to grip your ass, pushing your hips against his. Your skirt ruched up your thighs, giving him a complete view of your already soaked underwear. “You’re fucking soaked, huh?”

You glared at him, as if he weren’t the complete reason you were practically dripping right now. “Are you gonna do something about it?”

“On it, baby.” Seungcheol wrapped his fingers around the waistband of your skirt and your underwear, swiftly pulling them down your legs with your help in the process. You sat back down on his lap, your arousal sticking to his pants. His hands reached for the top button of your blouse before he turned, frustrated with the number of buttons. In a swift motion, he pulled apart the fabric, buttons flying around the car. You gasped at his suddenness, weakly slapping his shoulder.

“That was expensive!”

“I’ll buy you ten more of those,” Seungcheol mumbled, eyes falling to your newly exposed chest. Your tiny black lace bra is tempting him to sin. He leaned down to your chest, lips brushing the hill of your breasts before placing soft kisses on them.

You sighed in content, your hand gripping his hair as he peppered your chest affectionately. His hands snaked behind your back, hastily unclasping your bra. The thin fabric falling from your shoulders and quickly tossed aside. He wasted no time latching his mouth around your nipple, licking and sucking the sensitive bud eagerly as if he had been waiting for it all day. Tiny moans left your lips. He certainly knew how to make you feel weak.

Seungcheol placed his hand on the small of your back, while his other free hand softly caressed your other breast. His rough fingers twisting your nipples, you couldn’t help but arch your back, further pushing your chest into his mouth. His cock violently hard beneath your core with every sound you made.

“Cheol,” You whined, fingers reaching for the hem of his shirt, tugging at it. He took the signal and pulled away from your chest, a string of spit forming. He let you pull his shirt off his body. Your hands roamed his chest, adoring your boyfriend’s body. He’s perfect.

Seungcheol smirked at your sparkling eyes. He quickly undid the button of his pants before slipping them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang against his stomach and you licked your lips at the sight. His tip was red and twitching, precum was leaking from his slit. Your hand reached to pump his cock but he prevented you from doing so.

“Lift your hips, baby.” He commanded, and you did as you were told. Kneeling in front of him, he leaned down and pressed a kiss on your stomach. You gasped, legs nearly giving up. He snaked his hand between your thighs before guiding you back down on his lap. He collected your arousal with his fingers before easing two fingers into you.

You moaned, resting your forehead on his shoulder as he skillfully worked his fingers inside you. Pumping them in and out of you in a way that makes your legs shake. Curling them ever so slightly that it makes the pit in your stomach form.

“Always so tight for me,” Seungcheol grunted. His other hand reached to grasp your hair, but not enough to hurt you, making you face him. “My pretty girl always takes my fingers so well, huh?”

You merely nodded at his words, your fingers digging into his shoulder. He continued his addicting pace, pulling out only to rub your clit before inserting them in again. You nearly cried as he added his thumb to the mix. Rubbing circles on the sensitive bud, your hips bucking to meet his touch. 

Seungcheol felt your insides clench as he quickened his pace. Your mouth drops open, unable to make any sound as he works you through it. Fingers fucking you deliciously, your hips grinding against his palm.

“You look so beautiful like this, fuck—“ He pressed his lips against yours, tongue exploring your entire mouth. Your stomach was coiling at the intense pleasure.

“Please,” You whimpered. Your orgasm is peeking through. The windows started to fog from the warmth you two were exhibiting.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me.” That was all the encouragement you needed before your walls tightened, releasing all over his hand. You chanted curse words, and his fingers helped you through it. His pace dying down when your legs began twitching, pulling his fingers from you before placing them into his mouth. “Absolutely delicious.” He muttered before reaching down to his cock and pumping them. “Think you’re ready for me?”

You meekly nodded, weakly lifting your hips to align his tip with your entrance. He guided his length to your core, rubbing the head along your folds, collecting your arousal. You bit your lip at the sensation before his hand guided your hips down to his cock.

You moaned out his name, grabbing onto his shoulders for support while his eyes gazed upon your fucked out face.

“Holy shit, how are you still so tight for me?” Seungcheol grunted once his length was fully deep inside your walls. Both of his hands landed on your hips, and once you got used to his size, he carefully guided you up and down on his length.

“Oh god!” You cried out, tears welling in your eyes as his cock split you in half. Even after all this time you were still surprised at his massive cock. Your toes curled as he lifted you before jerking you down again. The car was surely shaking from riding his cock but you didn’t care. He felt so fucking good and you needed more.

Sweat beads down Seungcheol’s forehead as you continue to grind your hips on him. His eyes darted to your chest as your breasts bounced with your every movement. You throw your head back, legs burning from fucking yourself on his cock. You were too desperate to chase after your high, and he loved it. He loved it when you used his cock just to make you feel good.

“Fuck, fuck, Cheol, please.” You begged, lifting your head to face him. He nodded before placing his lips against your chest, sucking on the skin before trailing down to capture your nipple once more. “So fucking close.” You began frantically grinding your hips against his. You almost looked insane, but you couldn’t care less.

You felt his cock twitch inside you, pulsating and you continued to grind your hips. Your thighs began to shake as you clenched around him. You started panting as he continued to suck and lick your nipple, switching between breasts.

“I can’t—I’m gonna, fuck!” You cried out. Your orgasm spilling out of you. Your walls closed in on his cock as you reached your high.

“Me too, baby,” Seungcheol grunted, his hands continued to guide you on his cock as white spurts of his cum exploded inside you. “S-shit, you’re gonna milk me dry.”

Out of breath, you rested your head against his sweaty chest while he lazily drew comforting patterns on your back. His cum dripped from your cunt as he pulled his dick out of you.

“My perfect girl, I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.” 

[fawnnlvr]

stun gun just in case i'm in trouble | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid × hot!diva!reader

masterlist

summary: spencer and the team arrive to catch the unsub before he gets another victim, but when they arrive, they find him already down. and it looks like the girl who took him down had taken a liking to a certain doctor.

word count: 1.3k

author's note: inspiration by yummy by ayesha erotica. "big purse with that rhinestone buckle, keep a pink stun gun just in case i'm in trouble." there will be a part 2 because i love writing divas. this character is inspired by my friends too bc i love their style :P i also love the nerdy bf × hot gf trope!!!! (update months later. 06.10.25: i am going to rewrite soon bc this is not my best work)

You always knew that as a young woman living alone in her twenties, you would be somewhat of a target for a deranged criminal. Like any other woman, you took precautions in the form of self defense devices and kept it close to you. A small grocery run turned into a nightmare.

Now there you stood, breathing heavily from the adrenaline as you watched a man spasm on the ground. A hot pink stun gun in your left hand and your large black leather purse in the other. Your expensive sunglasses were thrown on the ground, along with your brown paper bag full of box cake mix, frosting, sprinkles and a can whipped cream. All you wanted was to bake a red velvet cake and decorate it for your day off, but of course you couldn't have a normal day.

The man was having a muscle spasms due to the electric shock of your stun gun and the right side of his face was both red from the swelling and red from the cut that was created when you smacked him across the face with your bag. Your bag was heavy, leather, had many keychains, and also had a large rhinestone buckle that would most definitely hurt if used as a weapon.

The police sirens got louder as it approached the street you were on but it didn't connect in your head just what they were responding to since you hadn't called them.

"Just how much crime is in this city?" you questioned, but immediately stopped once you saw that the bright red and blue lights on top of the car had stopped right by you. A large group of men in uniform hurriedly exited the car and went towards the men on the ground who was now groaning in pain.

That's when you saw him. A man's chest came into your line of vision, separating your eyes from the man who tried to attack you. An FBI vest. You trailed your eyes up and felt yourself biting back a smile. Wow. Tall, brunette, with the nicest eyes looking at you with such concern.

"Miss-"

If only the criminal didn't interupt your cute moment. From the floor, the large man spat towards your direction, "Fuck you, woman!"

Both you and the man in the FBI vest looked at his way. The cop pushed his head down. You scoffed, crossing your arms, "Screw you too, man?" it sounded more like a question because you were taken aback by the sheer audacity for him to curse you out when his own actions led to this situations.

You directed your attention back to the cutie right in front of you with a polite smile. "Hi."

You mentally thank yourself for putting some sort of effort in going out that morning. You always imagined a sort of meet cute with an attractive guy and although these weren't the ideal circumstances, you'll make it work. He wouldn't catch you in your homeless outfit that day.

"Hi. I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, are you alright?"

You told him your name, "Better now that you're here."

Spencer felt heat rise to his cheeks, but he ignored your little comment and continued his assessment. "Are you injured anywhere?"

"Only my heart if I don't get your number." he let out a small chuckle at your rather bold statement, "but other than that, I'm fine."

You watched as his brain nervously collected it's thoughts, trying to form whay he should say to you next. Lucky for him, he was saved by his older colleague. An older man appeared beside him, wearing an FBI vest.

"Miss?" you directed your attention towards him with a small hum, "I'm Agent Hotchner. Can you tell us a little about what had happened with the unsub?"

"The unsub?" you questioned the unfamiliar term. Was this a new acronym online that you weren't familiar with?

"Unknown subject." Spencer chimed in, "used for an unidentified criminal. In other words, the man you just maimed."

"Oh sure. Well, I was walking out that store a few blocks down and all of a sudden, that man just jumped outside the alleyway and stood in the middle of the sidewalk. He kept looking directly at me and seemed, sparatic in a way. I tried to move out the way but he mirrored my movements like he was blocking me."

You retold the story with such an expressive face and hand gestures and Spencer found himself utterly enticed with every single word that came out your mouth as you recapped what had happened.

"So of course, I politely asked him to move out the way. And that's when he pounced at me like a disfigured leopard with its prey." Spencer held back a laugh as you imitated claws slightly pouncing with a disgusted face. He took notice of the nail art on your nails too that had leopard print with various charms. "We tussled a bit and I hit him across the face with my bag then I tazed him with my stun gun."

You realized your hot pink stun gun was in your hand and brought it up to show them. Turning it on for a few seconds to show them the electricity before tucking it back into the safety of your large bag.

Your bag made sound with every small movement due to all the keychains on it. Spencer took note of the little red lightsaber keychain and smiled when he realized where it was from.

"Thank you." Hotchner stated, "It's a good thing that you were carrying that."

"Always." you responded and Hotchner had walked away, leaving you with Spencer who has spotted your items that were sprawled out on the ground.

"Let me help you." Spencer immediately stated and went to the concrete floor in order to gather the things that spilled out your bag from the altercation. He finished gathering your few groceries and put them inside the paper bag before grabbing your sunglasses too and politely handing them over.

"Thank you." Your manicured fingers grazed his hand as you took your items. Spencer looked down at how slowly you took your things, leaving your hand to linger on his.

"A-are you baking a cake for dessert or something?" he stammered.

"More like breakfast--- but aren't you a bit young to be a doctor?"

"Perks of having an eidetic memory. I graduated high school early and have three PHDs in math, chemistry and engineering."

"How impressive. Cute and smart." you praised.

He paused for a second, "thank you."

"So Doctor. Do you also have a PHD in women or do you just not want my number?" you turned your head slightly to the right as you watched his reaction. He was exactly your type. With every word he seemed to get more perfect. Tall, brunette and nerdy. How you loved men like that. Who would've known that this nightmare altercation would've led you to the man of your dreams. You would be damned if let him go.

If Spencer wasn't already stammering enough, this just sent him over the edge. You looked at him with a teasing smile and sharp eyes and he felt embrassed under your gaze.

"I-"

"Reid, we need to get going." Hotchner called out from beside the cop car. Spencer turned back to look at him and sent him a quick nod.

You opened your bag, pushing aside your stun gun, lipgloss and wallet before taking out a little notepad with a sparkly pen clipped to one of the pages. You scribbled down a series of numbers and teared out the page before gesturing for him to hold out his hand.

You took his hand and placed the little piece of paper in it before closing his fingers to keep it safe. "When you're done being superman, you should give me a call."

He couldn't hide his smile as he looked at his hand.

"You're friend is calling for you. We should both get going now, but I hope I can hear from you again."

You started to walk away and Spencer stood there frozen. He wasn't sure he ever had gotten such romantic attention from a woman as attractive as you--- both physically and personality wise. You left him utterly speechless which was a hard skill to have, especially when those around him are sick and tired of his long talks.

He watched your retreating figure and knew he couldn't let this interaction end off on a bad note. Building up the courage, he raised his voice enough for you to hear, "I will!"

You glanced back over your shoulder and he caught your smile. Oh he knew he was in trouble.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

A study that just came out demonstrates that outdoor cats are known to prey on over two thousands species of wild animal, from mammals to birds to insects. That includes 347 species that are endangered, threatened or otherwise of concern, and they've been a key factor of the permanent extinction of over 60 species. And while cats may not always bring home what they catch, chances are if your cat is allowed to roam unsupervised outside, they're killing your local wildlife.

Why is this so important? Worldwide, wild animal populations have decreased in number by 69% in the past fifty years; that means that in my lifetime (born in 1978), the sheer number of wild animals in the world has been decreased by over half. Even "common" wild species are less numerous than before. While habitat population is the single biggest cause of species endangerment and extinction overall, outdoor and indoor/outdoor cats are a significant cause as well. In fact, they are the single biggest cause of human-caused mortality in wild birds.

Most importantly, it's very, very simple to fix this problem: keep your cats indoors, and spay and neuter them. If your cat is bored, they need more enrichment, and there are plenty of ways to make your home more exciting for them, from bringing home cardboard boxes for them to explore, to playing with them more often. If you want your cat to get some outdoor enrichment, leash train them (yes, it can be done!) If you have the space and resources, build them a catio where they can be safe from outdoor dangers like predators and cars, while also keeping local wildlife safe from them.

If you just give into their whining and pawing at the door, then they know that that's what they have to do to get their way; I know it's a tough transition, but it's worth it in the end for everyone involved. Cats are domesticated, which means they are not native anywhere in the world; there are exactly zero ecosystems in which they belong, save for the safety of your home. It is your responsibility to give them an enriching environment without taking the shortcut of letting them go wreak havoc outside.

[wosospacegirl]

Penalty box - Leah Williamson x Hockey player! reader

Summary: Leah knew hockey was rough- she just didn’t know her girlfriend led the league in penalties.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: (+18) Smut. Leah has a rulebook, Y/N is hot-headed and a sore loser. Includes fingering and oral (r giving).

a/n: Really enjoying writing this dynamics!

Masterlist

..

.

Leah Williamson had never been to a hockey game before.

Well, not until she met Y/n.

Now, here she was–front row in a bitingly cold Boston arena, sitting stiff-backed on a plastic seat that vibrated slightly from the sheer volume of the game, bundled in one of Y/n’s oversized navy and white hoodies she had stolen from the girl’s wardrobe.

She had a thoroughly annotated rulebook lying open on her lap, highlighted, tabbed, and scribbled in, because, of course, she had one. How else would she be able to understand the game?

Leah had just flipped to the “Minor Penalties” section when, with a loud whistle and a collective groan from the whole crowd, one of the referees raised her arm.

Again.

Leah didn’t even have to look at the Jumbatron. Her eyes moved to the ice, already knowing exactly which jersey number was being called.

Y/n.

Her girlfriend, aggressive, fast and annoyingly good, was skating toward the penalty box, tossing her stick onto the ice angrily.

The pure fury in her eyes wasn’t new to Leah–it was the same look she got when she lost her phone for the fifth time that week or burned her toast and blamed the toaster.

Y/n was a hockey player for the Professional Women’s Hockey League in Boston. She was aggressive, fast and technical–and sometimes, a little too physical while playing.

“What do you mean elbowing?” Y/n yelled at the ref as she passed her. “She was the one who launched her rib into my arm–that’s fucking different!”

Her voice echoed off the walls of the rink. She was still muttering under her breath in what might have been a mix of bad words and growling when she slammed herself onto the penalty bench, arms crossed.

Y/N was on that bench again–she had spent more time in the penalty box this period than on the ice.

Leah just sighed, holding the bridge of her nose. She didn’t even flinch when Y/n ripped her helmet off and nearly chucked it at the floor.

Next to her, one of the other players’ girlfriends, wearing a bright blue Boston Fleet beanie, leaned over.

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” she said, sipping from a thermos. “When I saw one of Andrea’s first games, I thought she was going to leave in an ambulance–I had to take a break in the bathroom.”

Leah cracked a small smile. “Oh, I’m not worried about her getting hurt,” she said. “I’m more nervous she’s going to hurt someone else.”

The girl laughed, just as Leah reached up and tapped the glass in front of the penalty box.

Y/n turned her head and spotted her girlfriend in the front row, hoodie hood half-up, eyes sparkling behind her smug expression.

Leah lifted three fingers slowly.

“Really?” she mouthed through the glass. “Three times? Want me to start keeping score?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, ignoring Leah.

She turned away, arms crossed, boots tapping furiously against the floor of the box. But Leah caught the way her jaw twitched, how her lips threatened to curl up at the corners. She was trying not to smile.

Good.

Just thirty-four seconds left. Not that Leah was counting.

..

Y/n stormed into the hallway. Her hair was soaked from the post-match shower, still dripping down the back of her neck, and her duffle bag thudded against her hip with each furious step.

“That ref was a fucking–”

“Section 67, Rule 3,” Leah cut in smoothly, not looking up from the book in her hands. “Cursing out an official is a minor penalty.”

Y/n glared. Leah smiled.

Y/n stopped in her tracks, stared at her, jaw slightly unhinged. “Are you actually quoting the rulebook at me right now?”

“You know I am,” Leah replied sweetly, finally looking up with a smug, innocent smile. “You gave me the book. You can’t get mad when I use it.”

“I gave you that book for studying purposes, not to throw it back in my face every time I do something… unintentionally!”

“Four penalties,” Leah raised her eyebrows. “Are we sure they were all unintentional?”

“Don’t patronise me,” Y/n said impantiantly

“I’m not pat–”

“I got put in the box four times, Leah! Four! And I didn’t even play the full game!” Y/n interrupted her, dropping her bag with a loud thud and pointing at herself dramatically.

“I know,” Leah said, perfectly serene. “I was there. Front row. Freezing my ass off, mind you.”

Y/n let out a loud groan, raking her fingers through her damp hair as she started pacing. “They were all bullshit calls. That last one? Saying I hit her leg with my stick? I wasn’t even looking at her! I was protecting the puck!”

“Ah, yes,” Leah said, tilting her head. “Because whacking someone’s shin with a hockey stick It's a complete clean way to play.”

“You weren’t there!”

“I was literally there.”

“Yeah, but not in it. Hockey is more physical than football, you don’t get it!” Y/n huffed, storming ahead, leaving Leah a few steps behind

Leah sighed, pressing her lips together. She recognised this version of Y/n. It wasn’t just about the box time–it never really was. Y/n could handle getting sent to the penalty box. Hell, sometimes she liked it. No, this wasn’t about penalties.

This was about losing

“You are a little angry,” Leah said carefully, as if stating a fact.

“I hate hockey,” Y/n declared, throwing her arms in the air. “I hate the refs. I hate the cold. I hate the box. I hate–”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do!” she insisted, volume rising with each word. “It’s a stupid sport! And all I do is try–like actually try to play clean, and we still lose to fucking Minnesota?!”

There it was. The real burn. The real reason.

Y/n’s shoulders were shaking slightly, her face flushed, her brows drawn so tightly together that Leah was scared she might burst a vein.

Leah caught up, her footsteps echoing softly on the concrete.

“No,” Leah murmured, as she stepped closer, sliding her arms around Y/n’s waist and tugging her gently in. “You don’t hate hockey. You’re just frustrated.”

Y/n didn’t fight it. She sank into Leah’s body like it was instinct. Her forehead pressed against Leah’s collarbone, and she exhaled one long, tired sigh.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered, voice muffled by Leah’s hoodie. “We trained our asses off for this game, we came up with a plan, I actually tried to keep my cool and we still lost.”

Leah ran a soothing hand up and down her back. “I know, baby.”

Y/n grumbled again, arms wrapping tightly around Leah. “It’s not even the penalties, I don’t care about that…okay, maybe a little–but I hate sitting there in the box while everything goes to shit. Everyone’s watching me like I fucked the game. Like I let us lose.”

“You didn’t,” Leah said firmly. “You didn’t let anyone down. You played your heart out. And anyone watching that game knows it.”

“But it’s not enough!” Y/n practically yelled, pulling back just enough to look at Leah. Her eyes were glassy now, frustration mixing with anger, sadness and guilt. “What’s the point of doing this? This is like… the second game we lost.”

Leah cupped her face gently, brushing a thumb under her jaw. “The point is you gave everything in you. The point is you showed up, even when the calls were bullshit and your temper was boiling.”

“Sometimes teams go throught bad seasons, it’s normal,” she continued. “Expected even. Especiallyin a competitive league like yours.”

Y/n sniffed, trying to pretend she wasn’t crying, she wiped her face on the sleeve of Leah’s hoodie. “I hate that you always know what to say.”

“I know,” Leah said softly. “It’s part of my charm.”

Y/n let out a half-laugh. “I’m still mad.”

“You can be mad.”

“I’m gonna be insufferable for the rest of the night.”

“I expect nothing less.”

Y/n looked at her for a long second, eyes tired but soft. “You still love me?”

“Of course I do,” Leah whispered. “Even when you were the first one to initiate a fist fight in the history of the league.”

Y/n groaned. “I think I have an anger problem.”

Leah grinned and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Good thing you’ve got a girlfriend who knows exactly how to calm you down.

“I’m very lucky” Y/n smiled, melting fully into her again.

By the time they made it out to the nearly empty parking lot, Y/n had burned off just enough steam to stop ranting aloud…but her silent fuming might have been even louder.

She stomped ahead toward her car, keys already in hand, her wet hair sticking to her neck, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up.

Leah trailed a few steps behind, arms folded, watching the show unfold. Poor thing- she really thought she was going to be the one driving.

Y/n clicked the unlock button and went straight for the driver’s side, tugging the door open.

“Nope,” Leah said flatly.

Y/n blinked at her over the roof of the car. “What?”

“You’re not driving.”

“I am driving,” Y/n said, like Leah had personally insulted her. “It’s my car.”

Leah raised one eyebrow and walked slowly toward her, hand outstretched. “Keys.”

Y/n scoffed. “Leah. I can drive a car, thank you very much.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I’m saying you shouldn’t. You’re way too angry.”

“I’m not–” Y/n started, then stopped herself. Her nostrils were literally flaring. “Okay, I’m a little angry. But I can drive!”

Leah didn’t budge. She just stood there, palm open, face blank, waiting.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

There was a long pause. A car passed by with a crunch of snow under the tires. 

Y/n looked at Leah. Looked at the keys. Looked back at Leah.

Then, with the world’s most dramatic groan, she slapped the keys into Leah’s hand.

She stomped around to the passenger side and threw herself into the seat. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, and out fully engaged.

Leah slid into the driver’s seat, quiet for a second as she adjusted it.

“You have the opportunity,” she said casually, “to be a full passenger princess. You can eat in the car. Choose the music. Control the temperature. And you’re still pouting.”

“I wanted to drive,” Y/n muttered without looking at her.

Leah smirked, glancing over. “I was afraid you might spot someone from the Minnesota team and try to run them over.”

Y/n gasped. “I would never!”

Leah didn’t say anything, just raised her eyebrows.

“Okay, maybe if it were one of the refs,” Y/n added after a pause, tone completely serious.

Leah blinked. “Right. Cool. Now I’m officially concerned.”

Y/n leaned her head back against the seat with a sigh, arms still folded. “I’m just mad. We lost. I don’t like losing. Especially not to them.”

“I know,” Leah said, soft again now. She started the engine, heat flooding through the vents. “Let’s get you home, get you in a hot shower, and see if we can wash off whatever foul mood you’re currently in.”

Y/n grunted.

Leah glanced at her, reached over, and grabbed her hand gently, lacing their fingers together. “You can pick our dinner”

“…I want fries.”

“We’re stopping for fries.”

Y/n was quiet for a moment.

“…Can I also get a milkshake?”

Leah smiled. “Now that’s the passenger princess spirit.”

The car ride was mostly quiet–save for the occasional crunch of fries and the occasional muttered “bullshit” from Y/n as she relived the game in angry fragmented.

Leah let her get it out, throwing in a few well-timed nods and one “Yeah, that ref clearly hadn’t read Section 52, Rule 7”, which earned her a rude pinch to her arm.

By the time they pulled into Y/n’s driveway, the anger wasn’t sharp anymore, just dull, heavy, and annoying.

Leah unlocked the door with the spare key, stepping into the warm, familiar space like it was hers–because for the past few days, it kind of had been.

Her coat went on the same hook, her trainers lined up neatly next to Y/N’s. And her suitcase sat in the corner by the stairs, exactly where Y/n had left it when Leah arrived earlier that week.

It was small. Compact. The kind of suitcase you pack when you know you’re only staying a few days.

Y/n’s eyes landed on it, and the weight in her chest shifted. Heavier. A little more real.

Just four more days. Then Leah would be back on a flight to London. Back to club duties. Back to FaceTime and time zones and waiting for off-seasons.

Leah noticed the pause, her gaze following Y/n’s to the suitcase.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Instead, she stepped behind Y/n, wrapping her arms around her from behind, nose brushing against the side of her neck.

“Shower,” she mumbled softly. “You stink.”

Y/n leaned back into her a little, letting herself sink. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t. Not tonight”

They stood there for a moment longer, still wearing their snow coats. Just holding onto something solid. Something that wouldn’t be there next week.

Then Leah pulled back, nudging her up the stairs with a gentle tap. “Go. Shower. And don’t punch the shampoo bottles.”

“No promises.”

“I’ll be right behind you, just need to get a glass of water.”

Y/n stepped into the steaming shower stall and let the hot water wash away the last of her frustration.

For the first time in hours, she felt the tension in her shoulder alleviating.

Suddenly, the curtain slid back and Leah slipped in beside her. Y/n opened her eyes, watching her soft, naked body. Leah’s hair was a little wet from the snow, which had started to melt.

“Too good to let you have all the warmth,” Leah murmured, stepping closer so that her arm rested lightly along Y/n’s back. She tilted the handheld shower head toward them both, letting the water cascade over Leah.

Leah reached a hand up, brushing Y/n’s wet hair away from her face, thumb tracing along her cheek. “You okay?” she asked, voice gentle over the hiss of water.

“Yeah,” Y/n whispered, leaning back into her. “Much better.”

Leah pressed a slow kiss to Y/n’s temple, then to her shoulder, warm droplets sliding over their skin. “Let me,” she said, taking the shampoo bottle from Y/n’s grasp and squeezing a dollop into her palm.

Her fingers worked through Y/n’s hair with careful tenderness, as if she were smoothing the girl out.

Y/n’s arms slid around Leah’s waist. “I love you,” she said softly, water sliding off her lips.

Leah smiled, pressing her forehead to Y/n’s. “I love yo,u too,” she answered.

Then she wrapped her free arm around Y/n and rested her head against her shoulder, letting them both stand quietly under the warm spray.

Later, back in the bedroom, Y/n tugged a soft T‑shirt over her damp hair and wriggled into her pyjama shorts. Steam still curled off her skin as she watched Leah pull on a pair of worn-in joggers. Her joggers.

Y/n slipped into Leah’s arms before her T‑shirt was even fully on. “Come here,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to Leah’s collarbone.

Leah caught her wrists gently. “Not tonight, love,” she said softly, though a playful glint still flickered in her eyes.

Y/n huffed, shoulders rising. “Seriously? We just got out of the shower–”

“I know,” Leah interrupted, brushing a finger down Y/n’s jaw. “But come on.” She paused, letting Y/n look into her eyes. “You. Are. Exhausted.”

Y/n pushed at Leah’s chest, trying to break free of the affectionate hold. “I’m not that tired,” she insisted, though her words came out slower than she meant. “I just… want you.”

Leah’s expression softened. She leaned in, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to Y/n’s lips. “I want you too,” she whispered, “but rest is just as important. Tomorrow, I promise.”

Y/n crossed her arms, stubborn as ever. “You’re making me go to bed mad.”

Leah chuckled, stepping closer until Y/n’s back was against the wall. “Can’t be mad when you’re yawning mid‑complaint.” She smoothed a hand over Y/n’s hair. “Let me tuck you in.”

Y/n blinked…her fight gone as quickly as it had flared. “Okay… fine.”

Leah gathered her into a soft hug and guided her to the bed. As Y/n settled under the covers, Leah kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, stubborn girl.”

“Goodnight,” Y/n mumbled, eyelids fluttering shut.

Leah switched off the light and stayed beside her until the steady rhythm of Y/n’s breathing told her she’d finally fallen asleep. It didn’t take long, Y/n was really worn out, she just hadn’t realised it before.

..

The morning light seeped through the blinds, gently brushing across the room. Leah was tangled in the sheets, her face nestled into the pillow, the warmth of sleep still wrapped around her. But she wasn’t going to get to stay in that peaceful slumber for long.

Y/n was fully aware of the quiet peace in the room, she couldn’t help but take advantage of the moment.

She leaned over Leah’s sleeping form, pressing soft kisses against her cheek, her neck, and then down to her shoulder, trailing a slow, teasing path.

“Mmm...” Leah murmured in her sleep, instinctively shrugging away from the intrusion. But Y/n wasn’t having it. She kept pressing soft kisses to the exposed skin, determined to get what she wanted.

Leah groaned, pushing her face into the pillow and mumbling, “Five more minutes, love…” Her voice was thick with sleep, the promise of rest still tugging at her.

Y/n ignored her.

She moved to Leah’s neck, kissing the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“But you promised,” Y/n whispered, her lips lingering against Leah’s skin. “You said we could have sex today...”

Leah groggily blinked her eyes open, barely catching the words. She squinted at Y/n, the corners of her lips twitching upward.

“Did I?” she mumbled, voice thick with amusement.

Y/n's lips curled into a playful grin, not giving up the chase. She slid her body closer to Leah’s, gently brushing her hand over her bare ribs.

“You did,” she confirmed, her voice dripping with teasing sweetness. “You said, ‘Tomorrow, baby,’ remember?”

Leah opened one eye just enough to catch Y/n’s gaze, the spark of mischief already in the girl’s eyes. She shifted in the bed, resting on one elbow and giving Y/n a half-smile.

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

Y/n leaned closer, her lips brushing against Leah’s ear, her breath warm against her skin. “Please?” she whispered softly.

Leah let out a dramatic sigh, finally pushing herself up against the headboard, her arm pulling Y/n into her.

She looked at her with a mixture of exhaustion and affection.

“Alright, alright,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “What do you have in mind, then?”

A satisfied smile spread across Y/n’s face. She moved her lips down to Leah’s collarbone, nipping lightly at the skin before slowly pulling away to meet her gaze.

“I want to taste you,” she whispered, voice heavy with desire, her breath catching in anticipation.

Leah’s eyes fluttered as she processed the words, her lips curling into a knowing grin.

“Consider it breakfast, then,” she said, her voice thick with teasing heat.

Without another word, Y/n leaned in again, her lips catching Leah’s in a deep, lingering kiss. It was slow at first, a deliberate teasing of each other’s lips.

Leah let out a soft sigh, her hand sliding up to cup Y/n’s cheek, deepening the kiss with a gentle but confident pull.

Y/n responded, her hands roaming over Leah’s body, feeling the familiar curves and warmth that had become her comfort.

Her mouth moved from Leah’s lips to her neck, pressing soft, heated kisses there as she slid lower, trailing her lips over the sensitive skin of Leah’s chest.

Leah let out a soft breath, leaning back against the pillows, her hands threading into Y/n’s hair, pulling her closer as she shivered under the touch.

The anticipation built between them, each kiss more desperate, more intense than the last.

As Y/n’s lips made their way further down, Leah’s body responded, hips instinctively tilting up. Y/n kissed Leah’s breasts, her nipples, her sternum, then she moved to her belly, to her hips–until she got where she wanted to be.

Leah was ready for her already. Her cunt completly wet, almost glimering with need. She looked pretty, all spread out for Y/n to do whatever she wanted.

Y/n kissed her inner thighs, small, innocent kisses. Her hand was each cupping one of Leah’s breasts, playing with her nipples gently, without any rush.

Y/n’s lips met Leah’s clit–it was just a peck, but she was so wet already that the just a simple touch already made a mess of Y/n’s mouth and chin. Y/n decided to put Leah out of her mysery, sucking on her clit.

Leah's hands gripped the sheets, pulling at them as if she couldn’t get close enough. “Baby…” Leah murmured, her voice barely above a breath, thick with desire.

Y/n looked up at her with a smirk, her eyes darkened with want.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered against her cunt, her voice a promise as she slowly closed the distance, taking her time to savor every inch of Leah’s skin–ever inch of her core.

Y/n continued eating Leah out, very slowly, very gently, relishing about the way she tastes, trying to memorize the sweet falvour of her pussy, knowing very well than in last than a few day, Leah would be gone and Y/n wouldn’t be able to wake up to her by her side, her cunt on her face.

She needed to enjoy it, and make sure Leah would enjoy it too. Y/n might have lost yesterday’s game–but she was good at other things, giving head being one of them.

Y/n sucked Leah’s clit harder, feeling that she was close, she left one hand on her hip, keeping Leah in place.

In less than a minute, Leah was painting on the bed, enjoying the high of her orgasm. But Y/n wasn't completely done.

She dipped a finger on her pussy, teasing at the entrance first in slow, measuring circles–before sliding it inside, brushing against the slick heat within. Leah’s back arched, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Too much,” Leah whined, trying to move her hips away, but Y/n held her down.

“Shh, I know you,” Y/n said, moving the finger ever so gently. “It’s okay.”

Y/n kissed Leah more deeply now. It was messy, dirty, and rushed.

“Fuck–,” Leah urged against Y/n’s mouith “God, don’t stop.”

So Y/n didn’t. She worked her finger in and out, adjusting the angle until Leah was writhing beneath her touch, every exhale a tremor of need.

Then, because Y/n wasn’t about half‑measures, she slid in a second finger, letting Leah’s body stretch around them both.

Leah cried out, hands fisting the sheet as her hips began to lift into Y/n’s hand. “Oh, baby… shit…”

With a final curl of her fingers, Y/n brought Leah close to the edge, then slowly withdrew, leaving Leah trembling with need.

Two orgasms before eight o’clock. They were up for a good day.

Leah lay back on the cool sheets, chest heaving, eyes fluttering closed against the afterglow.

Her fingers threaded through the pillow, her body still trembling from the wave that had just passed through her.

Y/n pressed a soft kiss to Leah’s temple, then to the corner of her mouth, murmuring, “You’re perfect.” She smiled against Leah’s skin before settling down, head fitting neatly into the hollow just above Leah’s heart.

Their bodies moulded together.

Y/n’s arm draped over Leah’s ribs, legs tangling against Leah’s—warmth radiating between them. The only sound was the gentle rise and fall of their breathing.

Y/n leaned up slightly and let her lips trail over Leah’s collarbone, down to the swell of her breast.

With delicate tenderness, she brushed her mouth against the nipple.. Leah’s eyelids fluttered open, a soft moan slipping out as Y/n’s tongue flicked in slow, lazy circles.

“Shh,” Y/n whispered, pressing a kiss to the space just above, then sliding her head back down so her ear rested on Leah’s chest. “Just relax.”

Leah’s hand came down to cradle Y/n’s head, thumb stroking her hair. “Don’t stop,” she murmured, every word a soft tremor.

Y/n smiled against Leah’s skin, breathing in the steady thump of her heartbeat. “Never,” she whispered. “I could stay like this forever.”

..

A/n: hope you guys liked!! Let me know what u guys think <3

I loved writing this little one-shot 

tag list in the comments.

[catboybiologist]

Many billionaires in tech bros warn about the dangerous of AI. It's pretty obviously not because of any legitimate concern that AI will take over. But why do they keep saying stuff like this then? Why do we keep on having this still fear of some kind of singularity style event that leads to machine takeover?

The possibility of a self-sufficient AI taking over in our lifetimes is... Basically nothing, if I'm being honest. I'm not an expert by any means, I've used ai powered tools in my biology research, and I'm somewhat familiar with both the limits and possibility of what current models have to offer.

I'm starting to think that the reason why billionaires in particular try to prop this fear up is because it distracts from the actual danger of ai: the fact that billionaires and tech mega corporations have access to data, processing power, and proprietary algorithms to manipulate information on mass and control the flow of human behavior. To an extent, AI models are a black box. But the companies making them still have control over what inputs they receive for training and analysis, what kind of outputs they generate, and what they have access to. They're still code. Just some of the logic is built on statistics from large datasets instead of being manually coded.

The more billionaires make AI fear seem like a science fiction concept related to conciousness, the more they can absolve themselves in the eyes of public from this. The sheer scale of the large model statistics they're using, as well as the scope of surveillance that led to this point, are plain to see, and I think that the companies responsible are trying to play a big distraction game.

Hell, we can see this in the very use of the term artificial intelligence. Obviously, what we call artificial intelligence is nothing like science fiction style AI. Terms like large statistics, large models, and hell, even just machine learning are far less hyperbolic about what these models are actually doing.

I don't know if your average Middle class tech bro is actively perpetuating this same thing consciously, but I think the reason why it's such an attractive idea for them is because it subtly inflates their ego. By treating AI as a mystical act of the creation, as trending towards sapience or consciousness, if modern AI is just the infant form of something grand, they get to feel more important about their role in the course of society. Admitting the actual use and the actual power of current artificial intelligence means admitting to themselves that they have been a tool of mega corporations and billionaires, and that they are not actually a major player in human evolution. None of us are, but it's tech bro arrogance that insists they must be.

Do most tech bros think this way? Not really. Most are just complict neolibs that don't think too hard about the consequences of their actions. But for the subset that do actually think this way, this arrogance is pretty core to their thinking.

Obviously this isn't really something I can prove, this is just my suspicion from interacting with a fair number of techbros and people outside of CS alike.

[keferon]

So.... how do you want Jazz's enclosure? I'm planning out some things, but I want to know how you want the story to go. Is it completely empty or really nice or something in between?

So far he has two, his main tank and his stage tank.

Please tell me your desire, what is your vision. 🌟

This will effect not only the vibe but the world. Don't let me pick, I have too many possibilities, and I need a point to start the "butterfly effect" lol ^^;

-GLC

You know by asking me you probably just erased any hope he had for a nice comfy place ahahahha

Basically. I'm thinking of something similar to what most of the real world aquariums have. Which is haaahhm. Not fucking comfortable. Because the whole thing is just a concrete pool. With NOTHING inside. Sure Jazz can escape from it at nights and go wander around but his own place is an empty box. Staff can bring him some toys and fun stuff like music but they aren't allowed to let him keep it.

Half of the reason - empty pool is infinitely easier to maintain. Another half comes from the first one - it is also cheaper. If there's no objects then Jazz wouldn't accidentally break them and their pieces wouldn't accidentally hurt anyone or clog the filtration system or something.

So I'm thinking yeah he would have his main tank and the stage tank but this is it. No pretty/comfy/fun places to live in. Cause that's how bad it is in real life. Empty concrete box that will make you want to bash your head against the nearest wall just from sheer boredom.

I'm not sure what kind of architecture you had in mind but I was imagining something like this pretty much the whole time

Surely there's a lot of people who find this cruel but unfortunately Jazz is basically a money printing machine for the aquarium bosses so their number one goal is to make the most profit with as little expenses as possible.

Which results in Jazz having such poor physical and mental state. Between the performances and training sessions he basically lives in solitary confinement.

[agathasfamiliar]

hi!! I just found your blog, can I request g!p detective!agatha railing reader in a missionary position and has a bulge kink (poking the bear🤭🏃‍♀️)

thank you so much for this request it was very fun to write, i hope you enjoy it!

fuck the police:

detective agnes o'connor x fem!reader

You fucked up and finally got caught for your long-running streak of graffiti artistry. What's worse than being arrested, however? Being interrogated by the one detective in town who causes you to question your all out hatred for the profession.

word count: 6.2k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, agnes is trans/intersex/has a penis, penis in vagina sex, power bottom!reader, service top!agnes (but agnes still needs a little control of course), handcuffs, breeding kink, bulge kink, agnes loves reader's tits, smut

author's note: trans butch agnes, my beloved. also i probably could've done more research into a more realistic set up/i know this isn't how someone being arrested/interrogated would work but it's porn so...hopefully you can look past that

You never thought you’d find yourself here, arrested and waiting to be questioned for your crimes. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming, your graffiti art has steadily risen in popularity over the last few months, ever since one particularly evocative piece got featured on the local news and allegedly inspired a number of protests throughout the city of Westview.

Not that you had anything to do with that.

The police department has issued several requests for information on you, even offering a pretty handsome reward for the proven identity of “Hex”, the name you tag every piece with. A rumor has even reached your ears about a copycat artist getting arrested over in Eastview. Serves them right for using your signature, but it at least has kept the feds off your trail for a bit. 

Admittedly, you’d gotten cocky thinking you could get away with tagging the squad car stationed at the busiest intersection in town. In your defense, it had looked empty. How were you supposed to know the deputy on duty was napping in the back seat? You’d made it halfway through the looping pink pig face you were sprawling across the windshield before he woke up and chased you down four blocks.

If you were wearing your usual running shoes instead of having slipped on an old pair of slides in your rush out of the house, you probably would’ve outrun the middle-aged cop chasing you, another mistake you won’t make again.

  Now, you sit shivering in nothing but a sheer white tank top and sweatpants so spattered in all the vibrant colors of your, now confiscated, cans of spray paint, that you can’t even remember what color the pants originally were. You weren’t an idiot, you had a black hoodie on when you went out to do your work, but the rookie cop that booked you at the station also insisted on taking your sweatshirt for “evidence”.

You’re pretty sure he just wanted to see you suffer in the refrigerator-like temperature they keep the precinct at, clearly only recently having graduated the academy and already taking a shine to abusing his power. Pigs, indeed. 

The interrogation room they brought you to well over 30 minutes ago sits at the very back of the building, a windowless box that somehow looks and smells both musty and sterile. A large one-way mirror covers the wall opposite the door, the only noise in the confined space being the tick-tick-tick of the clock above it that reads just past midnight.

You rattle the short chain connecting your handcuffed wrists to a bar on the heavy metal table in front of you, just to disrupt the suffocating silence. Have you seriously been forgotten here?

Just as you have that thought, as if summoning another person into existence with it, the door, opposite the corner where you sit, opens briskly. 

Twin sighs of irritation drop from both your mouth and the supposed detective’s as she enters. You can’t make out too many details of her appearance at first because of the dim lighting that mostly just illuminates the table you sit at, as well as the fact that she has her head down looking over what you assume is your intake forms. 

“I want a lawyer.” Are the first words out of your mouth once the woman has turned to shut the door behind her.

“Ha!” She laughs dryly and it has you simmering with rage already, but something about it also sounds familiar.

 “Well, sweetie,” The still concealed detective continues as she finally steps into the light, “not likely to find a public defender that’s available at this hour, but if you insist on staying overnight…” She trails off amusedly, finally stepping into the light and causing your prepared reply to die in your throat as you connect the recognition of the voice with the blue eyes that meet yours.

“Detective O’Connor.” You greet, trying to keep your tone even. 

Fuck.

Of fucking course, of all the detectives in the goddamn city, this is who had to come question you. The same detective you’ve served coffee to every morning for the better part of three years at your shitty cafe day job. The same detective who barely acknowledges your existence, but when her fingers brush yours as you pass her usual over the counter, you think about it for the rest of the day. The detective you berate yourself for fantasizing about, because she’s everything you despise and your friends would never let you hear the end of it if they found out, especially with how often you’re spouting your “radical” political beliefs (not that you see them that way.)

Detective Agnes fucking O’Connor…

This is not how you imagined it would look if you ever got her in a room alone.

“Huh? Do I know you?” She questions, almost offended, and now you’re the one to let out a dry laugh.

“Here, let me help jog your memory.” You say, picking up the small, paper cup of water that had been left on the table for you in one bound hand, holding it aloft and reciting her order.

 “One large hot coffee with two sugars and half a pump of vanilla.”

She looks unaffected at your display, only raising both eyebrows once in sudden recognition before sauntering over to the chair on the other side of the table and sitting down casually. 

“Impressive, that how you’ve avoided custody so long? Charming Westview’s finest by memorizing their coffee orders?” Her questions are laced with condescension.

“Nope, just yours. Why? Is it working?” You smirk despite your better judgment. You hadn’t planned to try the flirting route to get out your charges, but hey, the best schemes have an element of truth to them. Plus, if this is the only chase you’ll have to speak to the detective alone, you might as well make the most of it. 

She doesn’t answer, instead leaning back in the rickety metal chair that lets out a squeal at the motion. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail that’s tied low at the base of her skull. Blue flannel sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and it’s all you can do not to think about tracing your tongue over the veins that snake over her strong forearms.

The jeans she’s wearing strain with the way she sits, legs spread apart, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from letting out a gasp when you notice how it puts the delicious outline of what’s beneath the denim on display. Fuck, you do not need to be thinking about straddling the woman where she sits and grinding down against her bulge right now, but you are anyway.

Mercifully, she leans forward again in the seat to ask another question and the view is gone. You need to focus if you’re going to get out of this without incriminating yourself.

“What were you doing tonight?” She asks flatly, getting down to business. You know better than to provide anything resembling an answer, true or false.

“This whole thing seems pretty excessive, all things considered. I mean, an interrogation? Really, Agnes?” Her first name slips out before you can catch it, but you don’t really care.

“Just answer the question. And it’s Detective.” The flare of anger in her eyes only spurs you on.

“Sorry, Detective Agnes,” you correct yourself, purposefully using her name this time, just to see that flash of heat again. 

“If you were so curious about where I was tonight you could’ve just asked me out.” Now that you’ve opened the floodgates, the suggestive remarks just keep coming out.

For Agnes’ part, she remains still and draws in an angry breath. Her blue eyes blaze with irritation at your lack of cooperation more than the intrigue you were hoping for, but that just means you’ll have to turn up the dial on this improvised plan you’ve laid out for yourself. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Listen, if you’re going to keep wasting my time I’ll just lock you up now and wait ‘til morning.” She threatens with a glowering expression, voice raising every few words in an attempt to intimidate. It’s kind of cute, actually. 

You think she might hear just how her phrasing comes out and anticipate your next response, because she almost looks remorseful. The slightest pink tone that rises to her cheeks and the way she pokes her tongue out to wet her bottom lip when her eyes flick down to your barely covered chest don’t escape your careful observations either. 

“Ooo,” you start, falsely scandalized, “now you want me to spend the night?” A slight giggle escaping you at your own words and the way you lift your handcuffed wrists in front of you playfully. 

With the action, you’re sure to press your biceps against either side of your body to even more obviously display your tits, and she can’t help but look down with the movement, eyes raking over your nipples that stand at attention beneath the thin fabric in the cold space.

Heat is practically rolling off her in waves and you can’t tell for sure if it’s arousal or fury that is threatening to boil over, or what will happen when it does, but you have always been the type to take risks. Why stop now?

“Can’t you just get me off with a warning? I mean- let me off…” You ask before she can recover from your last question, attempting a simper at the intentional slip up in your speech. 

It seems that this is what finally pushes her over the edge as she slams her hands loudly against the metal table and stands up, causing it to vibrate with the impact. Her chair goes clattering to the ground behind her, but she doesn’t seem to care. The satisfied expression you wear drops for a second at the forceful display, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“Alright, that’s enough!” She shouts, leaning over so you can practically feel her breath on your face before she rounds the table quickly.

“Do you really wanna keep poking the bear?!” She asks, furious, now standing at your right side and heavily folding at the waist to shout into your ear. 

You have to lean away slightly at the volume that threatens to burst your eardrum and it provides just enough space to look the detective up and down where she stands. 

That’s when you see it. 

Unmistakable and pressing against the zipper of her jeans so forcefully that it’s a wonder they haven’t burst; Detective O’Connor is hard. 

You can’t drag your eyes away from the tented fabric, so obvious that it nearly casts a shadow onto the denim in the odd light of the room. As you are still seated, you’re practically at the perfect level to just lean over and mouth the length through her pants. It’s all you can do not to let your head dip where it wants to most, as if you’re a magnet being drawn by its opposite charge.

“I- uh.” You stutter, unsure of your words for the first time since she walked in. The amount of saliva that has accumulated in your mouth at the sight in front of you forces you to swallow before you speak again.

“I think I’d rather have the bear poke me.” You breathe, sounding wrecked just at the thought.

When you finally drag your gaze back up to hers, her face is burning red, but this time you can tell it is much more out of embarrassment than anger. She looks self conscious in a way you’ve never seen and it’s so, so pretty. 

“It’s okay I c-” You start, reaching out uselessly in your confines, but you’re cut off from your attempt at a rare comforting word when Agnes seizes your right shoulder and lifts you to your feet. She then immediately folds you over and presses you against the table on your stomach, handcuffed hands pinned beneath your chest. You let out a grunt at the forceful action as well as the freezing cold metal that almost stings your skin that has warmed at your flirting.

The position is much like the one you were put in a few hours ago upon your arrest, only now it causes you to ache with desire instead of seeth with fury. 

“You think this is funny?!” She questions, but it sounds strained and unsure. Your own hesitance at her intentions keeps you from muttering out that it’s actually not funny, it’s really fucking hot.

It dawns on you then that she probably turned you over like this so you aren’t able to see the blush that’s probably still spreading over her skin, or the bulge in her pants that’s no doubt only getting worse, especially with how you purposefully arch your back in her grasp.

She has you pinned beneath her hands, one still on your shoulder and the other holding your waist, the perfect placement for her to pull you back against her. Instead, a shaky breath sounds from behind you. It seems like she’s deciding what to do next and you can almost feel the heat radiating from between her hips that begs her to choose the option you’re hoping for too.

You start pressing back yourself, impatient and using any amount of leverage possible to reach your destination. To help her decide.

“Come on, detective. Let me help you out.” You nearly whisper in the most convincing and sweet voice you can muster. Her hands loosen ever so slightly at the soft sound and you use the opportunity to slide the last inch backwards, your ass just barely brushing her front, aware also that if she had wanted to stop you she would’ve easily been able to.

You feel the hardness and heat of her cock against you through both your clothing and nearly release a whimper at the sensation, at the idea of her finally being inside you like you’ve fantasized about so many times. 

Just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again. Her hands release you entirely and she steps away without a word, leaving you feeling even colder than the steel table you’re slumped against. You drop your head to the metal in defeat. That’s it, you think. Your efforts haven't worked and you’re not only going to spend the night in a cell, but you’re going to do so while very uncomfortably wet and wound up. Plus, she’s probably going to try to add attempted bribery or harassment to your charge sheet. God, this was a dumb idea. Why couldn’t you have just gotten some old guy detective whose questions you would have dodged coldly and without a second thought?

All these thoughts flash through your head in the few seconds it takes Agnes to step away from the table and turn you by the hips to face her, the chain keeping you there being just long enough to allow such movement. 

You look down immediately, as if out of instinct, to find the large bulge still present, possibly even more so somehow. A bolt of desire strikes through your core at the small dark spot you notice has formed on the crotch of the already dark jeans. The evidence of your effect threatens to turn your legs to jelly. Finally, your eyes raise to meet Agnes’ with a curiosity, who stands less than a foot from you, hands still holding your hips loosely. The thrill of not knowing what she’ll do next makes your already racing heart beat even faster.

You find that she looks as weak as you feel, drinking you in like you’re an ice cold glass of water she’s found in the middle of the sahara. It’s clear that she’s used up every last thread of restraint she has to resist your offer, and it still has proven to be insufficient. Her blue irises have nearly been swallowed by blown black pupils that bore into you as she speaks her resignation to her rapturous fate.

“If I’m gonna fuck you,” she breathes the words out like she’s just run a marathon, “it’s gonna be while looking at those pretty tits.”

You lean back into the table in favor of collapsing straight to the floor at those words. How is this actually happening?

Seeing you stumble into the table, her right hand shifts down to your thigh and lifts, helping you to sit on the ledge as she steps closer to let your knees bracket her body. She looks so much more confident in this moment, and not in the same stone-faced way she had while you prodded at her before. It brings a soft smile to your lips and she looks away, somewhat coyly, at your noticing. It’s hard to decide if you prefer her shy or assertive.  

Blunt nails graze gently over your covered thighs, to your hips, then your waist, before finally settling over your scarcely contained breasts. Your own sharp intake of breath meets your ears as you lean into the warm touch and she squeezes them with a smirk playing on her lips.

  “I might not remember your face…” she rasps, leaning to speak directly into your right ear, “but I definitely remember these.” Both thumbs move to brush over your already pebbled nipples, causing them to harden further. You roll your eyes, both at the comment and at the thread of pleasure that tugs right from where she touches you all the way down to your pulsing clit.

For all the humor in it, you can’t help but notice just how sincere her comment sounds and flashes run through your mind of every low cut top you’ve ever worn to work, wondering which one’s are her favorite.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You exhale with a chuckle against her cheek, momentarily forgetting your binds and trying to reach around her shoulders to pull her closer. The chain rattles loudly and you jerk with the reminder of your limited movement.

Agnes shakes her head and laughs at your needy but firm command as well as your inability to move.

“Here, let me.” She continues laughing gently as she reaches for the key ring you somehow hadn’t yet noticed swinging from her hip. 

“No.” You blurt before you can think better of it. 

“Leave them.” 

It’s a daring statement and you run your tongue across your teeth mischievously while the implication works its way through the woman’s mind. Her lower lip disappears into her mouth with how hard she bites into it, looking at you in disbelief and utter need. 

“Fuck,” is all she says, dropping the keys back to her side and moving instead to undo her belt with a clumsy haste. 

You would be scrambling to remove your own pants as well, not wanting to waste anymore time, but your own request has left you unable to do so. Instead, you’re left in awe as the black leather belt is unlatched and left hanging loosely open while Agnes works at her zipper. Even less is left to the imagination when denim is pulled aside to reveal cotton boxer briefs protruding with the tension of her arousal.

Her cock is pressing tautly against the soft, grey material and the way the underwear clings to her body causes you to gape at the implication of how much the secure garment is still concealing. 

The dark spot you’d noticed on her jeans is even darker and more centralized to its origin on the grey cloth. Saliva fills your mouth again at the sight, the only thing better than seeing her from beneath that last layer of clothing will be when it is finally removed.

As if reading your mind and wanting you to suffer a moment long, she pauses her motions of undressing any further. Before you can argue or make a snide remark, her hands are on your own waistband, tugging the paint-covered article down as much as she can while you’re still seated. You can’t very well lift yourself with your hands at the moment, so you slip off the table quickly to help get them the rest of the way down, hopping back up just as swiftly and letting her pull them off your legs, shoes falling to the floor one by one in the process. 

The cold table under your mostly bare ass draws the breath from you momentarily, only a black pair of boyshorts now protecting you from the metal.

“Do you ever wash these?” Agnes asks down at the rainbow vomit littering your clothing before dropping the pants to the floor, a real dry humor in her voice replacing the stern, mocking one from when she first entered the room.

“What’s the point?” You ask, because seriously, why would you wash them if you’re just going to get paint all over them again?

“Do you answer every question with a question?” She fires back, moving back between your knees from where she’d stepped back to help undress you. Her fingers play again at her own waistband, dipping into them slightly before meeting your eyes, waiting for your answer.

“Do you always stall like this when a girl wants you to fill her pussy?” You ask with an exaggerated expression of curiosity, as if you are genuinely awaiting the answer and not just communicating your impatience. 

Her cheeks pink again at the response, any clever comebacks quickly forgotten. You remove your gaze from her face and shift it back to her arousal to allow her to blush in private.

In your peripheral vision, you see her eyes flick up to watch your face as she dips her left hand into her underwear and grasps herself so gently, right hand pushing the material down to reveal what you’ve been waiting for.

You’re first met with a mess of dark curls that trail all the way up to her belly button, which you only catch a quick glimpse of with the way her shirt momentarily gets caught by her arm. You stifle a moan at the reveal of her thick cock; rock hard, reddened and still beading pre-cum, as you saw evidenced on the front of her jeans and underwear.

Now you slightly regret having her leave the cuffs on, as you long to reach out and take the length in your hands, or better yet, your mouth. Heat takes your face at the idea of getting on your knees before the detective and gagging on her length, and now you’re the one blushing and biting your lip.

Painfully tearing your eyes from the beautiful sight to catch Agnes’ expression, you find her still looking for your reaction. She finds exactly what she’s looking for in the way your eyes soften and you use one finger, your hands still bound at the wrists and settled in front of your chest, to beckon her forward.

Loose strands of brown hair that have escaped her messily tied back tendrils brush the side of your face as she leans in close to catch your message.

“I need your cock inside me, detective.” You husk, more than speak, into her ear, the lust dripping from the title she insisted on minutes ago causing a physical and auditory shudder through the woman. Looking back down, you see Agnes stroke herself once, as if your words have rendered her unable to resist.

Maybe she notices that you’re about to make a comment about it, because in one swift motion Agnes’ right hand flies up to your left shoulder, shifting you fully to your back on the table. You let out a gasp at the sudden movement, metal tabletop clattering at the impact and drowning out the sound. Just as quickly as you’ve adjusted to your new position, you’re being pulled by the thighs to the very edge of the table and towards exactly what you want, Agnes then guiding you to wrap your spread legs around her hips for support.

“You need this, huh?” She asks, hungrily looking over your body from her new perspective. You’re about to answer her question with your own when she slowly and teasingly drags the head of her cock from your clit to your entrance, over your underwear. Her timing is getting a little too convenient.

You groan at the feeling of your own wetness being pressed against you by her hardness. It makes you ache knowing it’s so close to being consumed by your heat, only a thin shield of fabric left between you. If you had full range of motion of your hands, you would have already ripped the rest of your clothing off, but the quick and dirty way you’re both still mostly clothed almost turns you on more. 

Desperate to maintain the dizzying contact, your hips grind upward as your legs become a vice, pulling her ever closer. The clear enthusiasm only spurs her on, gliding back up and down again, circling your clit three times with her cock on the last pass until you're squirming beneath her and hopelessly trying to contain your whimpering. You would rather wait a lifetime for your orgasm than beg a cop.

You’re so sopping wet, though, that when you look down between your bodies you can see the way her cock shines with your arousal despite not having yet made full contact. It’s almost too much to bear, your clit throbbing in time with your pounding pulse. Something has to give or you’re soon going to be a blabbering mess. 

“Just fuck me, Agnes!” You bark out, hips rising insistently and your voice verging on a whine.

The room goes still for a moment, even the clock ticking away on the wall seems to pause for dramatic effect as she quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head dangerously at your outburst. That same feeling from before washes over you, when you thought you might’ve really fucked up, but it only lasts for half a second before a hand is shoving your ruined underwear to one side and you feel the tip of her resting at your entrance.

Your eyes meet her blue ones, which are actually still mostly black, especially in this light. They burn into you like before and you don’t know whether her silence is a good or bad thing. 

You draw in your own shaky breath, waiting for her next move, and on the exhale she sheathes herself to the hilt inside of you.

Even she can’t contain her half of the guttural growl that comes from both of you at the perfect feeling. You don’t even have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed about just how fucking soaked you are that she was able to slide all the way in with one thrust, because the way her cock is filling you up so completely has rendered every other thought irrelevant.

A moment passes where you both breathe, adjusting to the stretch and squeeze respectively. You feel her throb once within you and think, at this point, with enough determination, you could come just from that small amount of friction.

You don’t need that determination, though. As if mocking that passing thought, Agnes skips any unnecessary build up and starts at a positively bruising pace. Just one moment ago she was panting over you, looking like she might not even make it two thrusts in before unraveling, and now she’s slamming into you with a literally breathtaking force.

No intelligible noises are able to come out of your throat at first, only broken, reedy gasps. Your eyes roll back in your head as the glorious, slapping sounds of your joining sexes fill your ears. Her length jabs over and over again at the perfect spot inside you, just where you need her. 

Doing your best to focus your vision, you look up to see the red face of a woman clearly holding on to her composure for dear life. Her finger nails are short, but still able to bite into your hips ever so slightly as she practically slides you up and down along the table while also moving against you herself, which deepens her thrusts even more.

This also seemingly provides quite the show for Agnes, who you observe is splitting her time between watching your face contorting with pleasure, her cock sliding in and out of your pussy, and most of all, the way your tits are bouncing considerably with her every movement.

“You like these? You should fuck them.” You make out between gasping breaths, nodding down at your own chest.

Agnes takes a moment to respond, her laser focus causing her to not even register your words at first. When she does however, and notices your gesturing, her thrusting falters only for a moment, as if the idea alone has made her nearly swoon with desire. Crystal irises scan you over again and you can tell she’s thinking about it by the way her eyebrows knit together in a desperate sort of way.

“Maybe next time.” She decides, smirking down at you and ramming herself into you particularly hard once before returning to her rhythm, while her left hand comes up to grip your right breast greedily.

“Mmn- next time?” You ask around a moan, trying not to sound too hopeful, but it’s also such an unexpected sentiment from the detective you can’t help but question her further.

“I’d bet good money this won’t be your last arrest,” is all she says to satisfy your curiosity. While it’s also a subtle dig at your evading skills, your imagination still runs wild with the unspoken promise of how a future slip-up might turn out for you. It almost makes you want to get caught again.

“Right, because you’d love to f-fuck, fuck! Oh my god!” Your response turns into a moaning curse when her hand shoots down from playing with your tits so her thumb can land firmly on your clit and press down with flawless pressure, never letting up consistently filling you in the process. 

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..” The mantra spills from your lips while your orgasm mounts within you and you know you’ll be toppling over the edge any minute now.

If your hands were free you would be locking your fingers behind her neck and pulling her even closer to you to ensure you get what you want, but the burn of the metal chafing your wrists is a delicious alternative. The pain only sharpens the pleasure you’re feeling everywhere else and you throb at the idea of waking up tomorrow and seeing angry red and purple bracelets of evidence.

At your emphatic request, she doesn’t stop. You’ve never been so full before and when Agnes’ cock throbs within you after every couple of pumps, stars explode behind your eyes. There’d better be a next time because you’re pretty sure nothing and nobody has or will ever make you feel like this.

“I’m so, so close. Fuck!” You shout, unsure what possesses you to tell her, but her response only drives you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, yeah, fucking come for me. Come on my cock, come on my c-cock…” She huffs, the exertion that you were already impressed with her maintaining finally shows in her voice, but she still never lets up. It almost sounds like she’s begging, a “please” barely contained behind her lips, and that’s what makes you really want to come for her.

Chasing your orgasm, you redouble your efforts of rocking your hips up and it makes her length press even more fully against your front wall until you’re practically screaming with pleasure. The new angle caused by your rocking coupled with the way your walls are tightening around her in anticipation of your release is also clearly doing something for Agnes.

Her breaths are coming in short puffs and she is completely unable to stifle the loud whimper that bursts out of her when you clench around her even harder, your orgasm just seconds away.

That’s what finally does it, that mewl that you were able to pull from the tough detective. It sends you flying, every muscle tenses and wave after wave of pleasure causes you to buck against the table and Agnes, but she holds you firmly in place, fucking you through it and moaning herself the whole time as she marvels at your release. The aftershocks go on for what feels like forever while you float in your euphoria, never wanting it to end.

After your release, Agnes’ thrusts quickly become short and frantic, almost rutting into you with a fervor. The throbs you’ve felt are coming on every pump and you’re content to lie back in your blissed out state and let her take whatever she wants, until she starts to pull out of you, one trembling hand releasing your hip and clearly intent on finishing herself off. 

You’re suddenly more lucid than ever, quickly locking your ankles behind her from where they’d fallen limp, and shoving her back into you until she bottoms out. A surprised breath leaves her at the action, a sheen of sweat breaking across her forehead as she stutters out her reasoning.

“I-I’m gonna-” She can’t even get the words out and it’s the second time in so many minutes that you feel your heart squeeze at just how adorable this usually grave woman is. 

“I know, I know. Come inside me, baby.” Your voice is thick with desire and you’re still lingering bliss, the pet name slipping out like water, but you need her to know just how badly you want it.

Her eyes widen slightly as a deeper blush somehow takes over her already red face, unsure but so very full of want. You feel her twitch within you despite herself and her hips roll just at the words. 

You don’t break eye contact, making clear how serious you are to quell her doubt.

Tentatively, after a beat, she starts up a slower pace, pulling almost out of you before thrusting all the way back in, like she’s giving herself time to think again.

“You can do it baby, I know you want to. Fuck, you feel so good inside me.” You gasp out the words while she fucks back into your pussy and you think you could come again just from the way she looks at you when you say them.

You repeat your cooing encouragements and it doesn’t even take three more of those slow thrusts before she falters and stays sheathed inside you, rutting weakly. 

“Come on, baby.” You repeat, and you know she’s done.

More of those beautiful whimpers fall from her lips as you feel one stronger throb and then warmth explodes into your walls. You can’t help but moan yourself at the feeling of being filled by her. Spurt after spurt of her cum coats your insides while she holds you tighter and tighter, as if you’ll float away if she lets go. Her desperate moans die down eventually and she slumps against you, still inside, and draws in one big breath before releasing it slowly. Her eyes are screwed shut and her head is now resting against your restrained hands on your chest. 

It’s probably good they're restrained, you think, because if they weren’t you’d be having a very hard time resisting running your fingers through her long hair, tenderly scratching your nails against the nape of her neck.

Another beat passes where the two of you breath against one another and come down from your respective highs. The delicious mix of your and Agnes’ cum has started to drip out of you onto the table below and it’s a hot enough thought that your sensitive clit gives a weak twitch and you clench around Agnes unintentionally, causing her to crane her neck to look up at you.

Her eyes are clear again and softer than you’ve ever seen them; you let your coursing endorphins carry you away on a cloud of imagining leaning the six inches it would take to capture her lips in yours, but you don’t dare actually do it.

She starts to shift, maybe shaking herself from some similar thought, you can’t tell. Her soft sex pulls out of you slowly as she pushes up on her hands and waits for you to release her from the grip your legs still have her in. You unsteadily unravel yourself from her, shuddering slightly at the loss and trying not to think about how empty you feel without her.

Now free, she tucks herself back into her briefs and makes quick work of finally undoing your cuffs. Her hands rub at the raw skin absently, using her hold there to pull you into a seated position. She then reaches down for the balled-up mess you call a pair of pants and slides them back onto your trembling legs easily. After you’re relatively put back together, cum still leaking out and coating your already ruined underwear, she looks you over once more with hunger along with something else you can’t place. 

She looks thoughtful, like she wants to say something else but thinks better of it, instead letting a sly smile pull at her mouth and a different comment sneak through with a soft laugh.

“Consider that your warning.”

[fanaticsnail]

I know dreaming of you are group works but I literally want one for katakuri sooo bad like, the GRIP this man has on me is insane

(I love him so much🍩❤)

(Ps.I'm sorry if this sounds like a demand I didn't mean it to❤)

Sweet anon, I have had a grapefruit flavoured soju and immediately began this as soon as I saw it in my ask box an hour ago. I hope you enjoy! (Don't worry, honey. I crave the big guy too).

Dreaming of you

Masterlist Here

Word count: 1,800+

SFW Part 2 Here

Synopsis: He couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in his dream. The way you writhed on his lap, cried his name and allowed him to please you had him wake to sticky blankets when he jolted upright. His thoughts got the better of him, and he was wracked with a new mission to seek out whether it was a possibility to see it become a reality.

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader x katakuri, fingering, nicknames, haki, dub con (Using your image to picture satisfying him in his fantasy), suggestive content, size difference, feelings, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I normally do this in threes, but as soon as I saw the ask, I needed to know. Enjoy playing the part of Katakuri's fantasy. Art link.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Sat on his lap with your back on his chest, his middle digit gently began pistoning in soft beckoning motions into your glistening cunt. His face was coated in a soft glow of blush, his toothy grin tugging dotingly up his cheeks as he watched you cum on his hand through half-hooded lashes. 

Your legs shook as he slowly brushed against your g-spot, angling his large hand over your clit and grinding into it with his palm. Huffing and panting, your release gushed over his leather pants and coated them with another wave of your slick as he stretched your tight pussy with his large fingers. 

“Did you cum again for me, little mouse?” he cooed down at you, gently drawing his index finger over your chin and dragging the pad of his fingertips over your jaw. You looked up at him, the soft sheen of your dewy sweat coated your forehead and stuck the loose strands of your hair against your head. 

“I-I-...” you struggled to find the words, your head fuzzy and spiraling with the sheer number of times Katakuri had devoted to making you whimper, writhe and cream your desires over his fingers, lips and tongue. He offered you nothing but love in his hazel eyes, blinking slowly and angling his face down to smile at you in a soft gaze. 

“I know you did, sweet thing,” he affirmed, drawing soft patterns into your cheek and offering you a kiss on your glistening forehead, “I felt you flutter around me when you called my name. So pretty,” he complimented, rubbing his large cheek over your head and inhaling your perfume, “So sweet.”

You whimpered, drawing your hands up to his face and tugging at his jaw. Moaning and pleading with him, you pressed intentional and desperate kisses against his cheeks, lips, teeth and chin while confessing your desires. 

“I want to try again,” you called to him, imploring him to give into your demands, “Please can we try again? I promise I’ll behave and listen. I can do it this time, promise.” Katakuri groaned, his cheeks deepening with their soft flush as he withdrew his fingers from your pussy, your gummy walls contracting with aftershocks of pleasure as he did so.

“We can’t, you know this,” he attempted to relay to you, gently pressing on your shoulders and turning you in his lap, “I am over seventeen feet tall,” he gestured to his tattooed chest before gently caressing your shoulders, “You don’t even reach half that height. Where are you going to fit it-?”

“-I don’t care,” you reassured him and cut off his train of thought, pressing needy kisses against his chest, trailing lower to his belt buckle, “I’ll make it fit. I am determined to make it fit.” You tugged hard on his belt and released the metal clamp from the leathery holster, “I promise it’ll fit.” 

“It won’t fit,” he again argued, gently tugging at your shoulder with a soft nudge, “You can’t fit it in both of your hands, let alone anywhere else. It’s okay, I assure you,” he urged you to look up at him by drawing up your chin with his index and middle fingers, “It doesn’t make me love you any less.”

You grit your teeth, looking down at him and hardening your resolve. He smiled at your expression, adoring your soft pout and closing his eyes as he was sure he had convinced you to give up on your little mission. It was true, there was no natural way for him to slot himself within you without tearing open your abdomen and breaking your smaller body. 

As he closed his eyes, he felt something soft, wet and tight begin to descend onto his knob. He immediately snapped his eyes open, his eyes wide with shock as you took him within your pussy while wincing back the pain. 

“What are y-you-...?” he began, halting as he gasped at the sensation of your body choking his shaft with your tight pussy. His hands shook, his body ignited with lust and arguing with himself to tug your body away from him, while fighting the urge to buck up into you. 

“I-... I can do it,” you grit your teeth, your eyes clenching shut as you descend onto him inch by inch. Finally taking his large tip into your body, he could see the outline of his knob sheathed within you. Gritting his teeth, he balled his hands into fists and held them firmly at his sides. 

“D-Don’t,” he implored you, his breath hitching in his throat as you took more of him into yourself, “Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.” He begged, huffing and panting as he felt more of you descend onto his throbbing cock. His shaft twitched at the base involuntarily, prompting a cry to fall from his lips as they parted in shock. 

“I…” you growled at him, prompting his eyes to open at the tone of your cadence, “...can do this.” Your determination held something else in your eye, his own gaze meeting your steely determination as you took the final few inches of his shaft deep within you. He looked closer, noticing the tinge of red around your irises, the lightning veins of swirly command prompting him to fall his toothy jaw slack in shock.

“Armament haki?” he whispered at you, his gaze trickling over your naked form in shock and awe, “You’re-... nnnnhg-... you’re using armament haki in order to take my cock?” His voice stuttered as his resolve nearly crumbled in its cower. Your eyes darkened, your pussy fluttering around him as it contracted to endure his size.

“I am,” you confirmed with a curt, dangerous and feral nod, “And I can hold this armament haki for three minutes,” you splayed your fingers on his happy trail and bounced a little to ensure it was working. You looked up at him with a manic glint in your eye, his eyes trembling in shock as you uttered mischievously, “So you have about one minute forty five to use me the way you so desperately want to, sweetheart. Better get going.” 

Without much further warning, Katakuri spun you beneath him and began mercilessly bullying you with his exceptionally girthy cock. The indent of his shaft molded your body to fit his contour, the bulge in your abdomen protruding as he sheathed himself with every harsh thrust. 

He had never been with a partner, always fearing to tear them in half and break them the moment he gave into his desire. He wasn’t sure he would be able to hold out for the remaining minute and thirty seconds you had remaining of this armament, simply lost to all other thoughts than how perfect you felt wrapped around him. He huffed and panted your name, using you as his personal sleeve as he grasped your hips in a single hand beneath where you lay under him.

“I-I’m-... I’m-... I’m-...” he growled, feeling his release pool in his abdomen and tighten in the pit of his belly, “I’m gonna cum. I’m g-gonna cum.” 

“Cum in me, Katakuri,” you urged him, your body taking him effortlessly without a hint of pain or sorrow, “Claim me, make me yours. I’m yours. Only yours.” He pulled you into him further, harder, faster, stronger. His hips stapled you against the mattress as he felt the first twitches of his cock readying for erruption. 

“Hh-hah-... I’m c-cumming,” he sobbed, his teeth drawing down to nibble at your neck as he began to ride his high, “I’m cumming, I’m-... f-fuck-... I’m cumming.” He shot rope after rope of his pearlescent cum deep within your abdomen, immediately splashing back and coating the base of his shaft and balls with each hefty wave of sticky release. 

Huffing and panting, he continued riding through his high, his bucking, tugging and grinding continuing to have him sob your name as he finally experienced the unity between the two of you. He felt relief and bittersweet sorrow eclipse his being the moment his ecstasy ceased, looking down at you with awe and amazement. 

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a sweet kiss on your forehead as he felt the final spurts of his pent up release brush into your body and splash back onto his own. As he darted his eyes between yours, your image dissipated into a cloud of vapor and his eyes widened in shock. 

He shook his head, reopening his eyes and noticing his room was without luminance and dark in comparison to the soft, smoky glow it was lit with moments before. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, he looked down at himself and noticed another duvet ruined by his midnight muse. He growled at himself, his jaws clenching tightly shut as he came to terms with everything he dreaded. 

It was another dream. 

Another dream about you.

When he met you and the rest of the Straw-Hat crew back at Cake Island for the wedding between his sister and the Vinsmoke boy, he was immediately captivated by you. You had a fiery temper, a need to care for your crew, and compassion for your enemies by heeding a code of conduct while you battled. 

You hurt his sister, Brulee, by engaging her in combat. Something he was going to ensure you paid for with interest the moment he had an opportunity to do so. As she was harmed a little more than you potentially intended, you halted the combat to ensure she was truly okay. Your need to ensure she had an ‘out’ from the fight, to offer her a swift execution or an honorable understanding if she stood down had him immediately smitten with you. 

The minister of flour was in love with you, something he didn’t anticipate ever feeling for an individual. And this was the twelfth time this month he had dreamt of you. His dreams started with him engaging you in battle for you to halt it and offer him peace in the form of a donut. As the dreams became more intense, he pictured himself revealing his face to you and having you accept him for who he was. 

This was the first time he had ever pictured himself fucking you. He had always ever pleasured you in his dreams, never seeking satisfaction for himself due to the sheer impossibility of it. You were small, he was tall: there was nothing he could do to change that fact. 

Nothing, until his dreams offered him this solution. 

He immediately began cleaning up after his night visit, reaching for his tissue box beside his bed and tidying the glubs of his release over his abdomen, deflating shaft, and bedsheets beneath him. Getting up from his reline, he headed over to his desk and pulled out a small collection of information regarding armament haki. Sifting through the pages, he thought this time he had finally found the solution. 

This time, he could finally find a way to experience what he had denied himself for so long. 

He could only hope that you were not only able to wield armament haki, but that you could consider the possibility to engage yourself with him in a relationship. He loved you from afar, using his sister’s ability to check in with you from time to time after the battle. You seemed friendly enough with them both whenever they checked in, perhaps you could see yourself with someone like him.

His hope would come soon enough, his sister's face split up in a large smile as she spoke with you on a den-den snail. You were aboard the Thousand Sunny and sailing with your captain towards Elegia to see Uta's concert. Inviting Brulee to join you at the venue, to sing along to Uta's music with her, was potentially his way to confess his love for you once the festivities concluded.

[ozzgin]

I really hope you continue the eldrich God story. I may or may not have become obsessed with the idea, and i think it's actually really funny and I also just love the idea of a God being in love with a human.

Also, I love your writing and art! I hope you're doing well!

Yandere! Eldritch God x Detective! Reader

Based on this prompt and this meme. You're sent to a remote island to investigate a string of murders, and end up with a horde of cultists and their Lovecraftian God who is very much obsessed with you. Don't worry, he just wants to help you with your case!

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, tentacle tomfoolery again

[More Monsters]

The island checks all the boxes for a stereotypical shady place: the grimy boat captain who talks in riddles and vague warnings, the constant fog, the tavern filled with rumors and fears, the bizarre statue of a creature with tentacles. You were expecting most of it, save for their patron God being a literal monster.

Soon after your arrival, you discover that you’re being followed by men in dark robes. Could it be related to your case? A little alcohol-aided interrogation, and the locals confess to you about the existence of a cult. The dots begin to connect.

Unfortunately for you, whatever theory is cooking up in your mind couldn’t be further from the truth. The patron Beast of the land has been watching you from the moment of your arrival. He’s rather intrigued by your nonchalant city attitude, your stubbornness, your lack of any sense of danger. Thus he demands that you’re brought to his lair.

A game of cat and mouse. You are now convinced this said cult is responsible for the murders, so you delve deeper into their secrets. At the same time, the men put all their efforts into chasing you down. The Lord's wishes are their command; for how long can you outsmart sheer numbers?

At last, they succeed. You’re dragged over, cocooned in thick rope. “My Lord, we’ve brought you the sacrifice”, one cultist proclaims victoriously. Sacrifice? The ancient creature gazes at the men with utmost confusion. He frees you from your restraints with a mere point of his tentacle appendage, and proceeds to lecture his devout following for treating his special guest with such shameful brutality. Everyone blinks in disbelief, you included.

What the hell is this, some beastly romcom? Once everything is cleared up, you dust your knees, stand up unceremoniously, and tell the cosmic deity you’ve no time for idle gossip. “There’s a criminal running free and it’s my task to stop it”, you bark. Aha, that’s the very same attitude that got his nebulous heart pumping with curious desire. He cannot explain the maddening interest he’s taken into you. The monster releases a monotonous hum, causing you to jolt in surprise. The cult leader gasps. “He…he wants to help you solve the case”, the man concludes, defeat in his voice.

“Does it have to be all of you?” You whine, clicking your tongue at the sight. It’s the morning after the godly encounter, and you’re greeted outside your room by the cult leaders and their monster. “I can’t be discreet with a dozen monks after me. Not to mention…” your eyebrows furrow. “What on Earth is he wearing? Is that a detective hat and a mustache? Are you mocking my job?” You demand, glaring at the eldritch beast and his ridiculous disguise.

“Excuse me, I’ll have to ask you to quiet down”, an employee suddenly interrupts. “You and the gentlemen over there.” You stare at him incredulously. Can he really not see he’s facing an enormous, tentacle monstrosity? You swear you can discern a grin forming across the creature’s amorphous, unholy features. Alright, you’ve been convinced. What now?

As a child, Sherlock Holmes was one of your favorite books. You'd flip through the pages and daydream about your own future as a detective, though your little fantasies never included Watson as a cursed entity of a thousand tentacles. The eldritch creature seems to be more interested in you than the case itself. Eyes always fixated on your movements, tendrils creeping around you, never leaving your proximity.

Why would he need to look elsewhere? He can already tell how things will unfold. He is, after all, the God of this land. He knew your wanted culprit had been hiding in a sealed room right under your nose, as you dusted for footprints and scribbled hurried notes. He knew the underground tunnel had deadly traps, which would have normally put your investigation to a swift end. "Kind of suspicious to leave his trail unguarded like this", you mumble in deep thought. The cosmic God smiles.

He wouldn't dare ruin your fun. Consequently, he only interferes when your safety is involved. As annoyed as he is by the criminal's persistent attempts to kill you, he doesn't want to steal your grand capture. Besides, he is very much content with the current circumstances.

As the two of you follow along the dark passageway, you clear your throat, lips pursed awkwardly. "Uh...Thank you for dealing with the obstacles", you finally say. The monster pretends to ponder your words. "Hey now, don't play dumb with me. The conveniently deactivated bombs? The mutilated guards clumsily stuffed behind the door? I am a detective, after all."

You feel a thick tendril wrapping around your arm, and you turn to glance at the creature. His eyes of spiraling depths regard you intensely. A voice suddenly echoes in your head; is he trying to communicate with you? Deep, resounding, and imposing. "I am looking forward to our next case."

"Next case? Sorry pal, I work alone-" your throat clenches involuntarily. Somehow, your innards are flooded with a particular kind of certainty, dictating an ironclad truth: you do not have the option to refuse. You sigh, exasperated. "Fine! Have it your way. At least skip the fake mustache", you beg, then pause. You slap a second tentacle that has made its way under your shirt. "And avoid groping me when I'm thinking. You interrupt the little gray cells at work." You tap your temple to prove your point, and the eldritch God bows lightly. Of course.

He'll refrain himself until you're off work, Detective.

[lysarion]

━━━━━━ of logic and dance ⟢

♱    |    anaxa was not one who willingly admitted to his wrongs. but not with you; not when he spent three weeks losing himself at the thought of you dancing with someone else.

𖤝 including  ⠀! ⠀anaxa          ◟          𖤝 warnings ⠀! ⠀modern/college au, long fic ( 10k words send help ), word vomit, potential-ooc

❝      tags     ⚜     .   if you'd like to be tagged please send me an ask off-anon!!!

theoretically speaking, was it possible to see someone in a different light in just three weeks when you’ve spent your entire life disliking them?

the past anaxa would argue—without skipping a beat—that no, it was not possible. the sheer notion of a measly three weeks crumbling a philosophy a genius spent their entire life cultivating felt absurd. but now, he’s been proven wrong. and to add more salt to the wound, it was you who bested him in this argument.

to understand the suffering anaxa has gone through, we must first take a few steps back—specifically, three weeks ago when a pesky junior had put his name inside a ballot box for aglaea’s dancing competition as a joke. 

anaxa was fuming. to put his name inside a random mystery box was one thing, but to have him be picked and participate in an art he was unfamiliar with was another. phainon spent the majority of his tuesday trying to escape from anaxa’s lividness. barely squeezing by when the said man was hunting him down like a poacher in the forest. to some, the sight may be endearing—anaxa did have a tendency to dote on phainon—but the snow-haired junior would argue. 

and that’s how anaxa found you; patting down phainon’s hair as you shook your head in disapproval in his direction. anaxa’s mood sours further, a permanent scowl etched on his face as he demanded you to hand over the sulking boy behind you. phainon was just about ready to bolt out the room when suddenly, aglaea entered the room. an amused but barely noticeable smile on her face has anaxa’s skin rattled with goosebumps.

“thank you, phainon, for doing my job for me. this certainly saves me the trouble,” the blonde woman said, much to the trio’s question. aglaea cleared her throat, “now that everyone is present, i must congratulate you, [name] and anaxa, for being chosen as this year's representatives.”

“surely you jest, aglaea,” anaxa chimed in, irritation lacing his voice as he stepped closer to said woman. “i clearly remember the rules stating that the students chosen must be willing to participate. if you could not tell, i am not—in the slightest—willing.”

normally, a glare from anaxa would send even the terror professors of this university running with their tails in between their legs—but never aglaea. be it from the immeasurable amount of time they have spent together trying to one-up the other since pre-school, or simply the strange connection they have since childhood, it is an undeniable fact that even the great anaxa loses to aglaea. 

aglaea only smiled, “yes, that is true. but i’m afraid i will have to make an exception this time. after all, due to your misgivings in one of the labs, the number of willing candidates have dwindled.” anaxa’s brow twitched in annoyance as you crossed your arms over your chest, much to aglaea’s amusement. “therefore, me and the teachers have decided, your participation in this event will be considered your punishment.”

and thus began anaxa’s three week long journey of being your dance partner.

— the first week.

much to agalea’s expectations, your chemistry with anaxa was nonexistent. 

his logic and bluntness clashed with your more free-willed and creativeness. she heaved another sigh as you lectured anaxa on his hand placement and stiffness—if she imagined it hard enough, steam would be leaking out of your ears as your face turned a few shades red in frustration.

“it has been almost four hours!” you exclaimed in exasperation, throwing your hands up before they dragged down your face in defeat. “aglaea surely you agree with me that this is hopeless—he’s hopeless!”

anaxa scoffed and raised his head with a sneer. “hopeless in this situation does not describe me—it is you who’s hopeless. there is no subject i can’t master. the fault lies with the teacher.”

“excuse me?” you huffed out in offense. you strutted to his direction, boldly invading anaxa’s personal space, reveling in his slight flinch, and jabbed a finger to his chest. “there is no one i cannot teach, for your information. it’s not my fault you can’t understand the common principle of dance—a simple waltz.”

“if it’s so simple, why have we not made any progress?” he argued back, flicking your finger at his chest at the same time and glowered at you. “do not think of yourself as high and mighty just because you are the only chosen instructor in this university. compared to other dancers i have witnessed, you pale in comparison to them.”

“that’s quite enough from the both of you!” 

anaxa watched in disapproval as your debate was cut short by aglaea’s intervention. he clicked his tongue, crossed his arms over his chest and walked past you to speak face to face with aglaea. “see? this just proves that this entire endeavor is meaningless. you cannot expect me to cooperate with someone so…” anaxa paused. he let out an infuriated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, “insufferable. clearly our views are too different and neither of us are willing to compromise. go chat with mnestia and cerces and reach a consensus for a different punishment.”

aglaea sighed. her nimble fingers massaged her temple as her eyes come to a close, “and i vividly remember telling you that this is final. no more discussions. honestly anaxa, i thought you were better than this. of all things, i never expected this to be your tipping point.”

red eyes glared at aglaea, “watch it goldweaver.”

“enough,” she waved off anaxa and pushed past him, much to his dismay. aglaea called out your name—a lot softer this time, might he add—and announced, “both you, go home and cool off. we’ll try again tomorrow. i expect you both to be a little more amiable until then, understood?”

you only looked away and nodded, biting down on the words you did not trust yourself to say and simply gathered your bags. anaxa noticed your downcast gaze and the way your thumb rubbed at your elbow or the way your foot tapped incessantly on the smooth wooden floor. he clicked his tongue in annoyance and begrudgingly collected his things from the ground before he dashed out of the exit. he would deal with this tomorrow.

but when tomorrow eventually comes, anaxa found himself a unable to pay attention in class. lectures on his favorite topics such as history on alchemical transmutation, ancient theology, hell even simple subjects such as literature or readings, anaxa could not bring himself to pay them any mind. not when he's busy watching the choreo you submitted to the group chat last night.

anaxa clicked his tongue in annoyance. no, he was absolutely fuming because aglaea was right and you had proved him wrong.

your choreography was nothing short of dumbfounding—it was incredible in every sense from rhythm, energy, grace, and oh how anaxa hated to admit it, you evoked emotions so evidently with just a sway of a hand. 

“now what has gotten you so glum?” a teasing voice with an equally teasing expression invaded anaxa's vision. he sneered in distraught having been caught by professor cerces—his mentor and detested guardian—in the acts of his exasperation.

he shoved his phone back in his bag and flipped his textbook senselessly, ignoring cerces’ presence as she took a seat by her lecture table. “it's none of your business.”

“i'd argue it is my business,” cerces rebutted. “i am one of the teachers who agreed on this punishment.”

anaxa looked up from his textbook to glare at the professor who only intertwined her fingers together. when a beat of silence passed, anaxa rolled his eyes in annoyance before his attention redirected itself onto his blank paper—not a single drop of graphite gracing its surface.

“child of reason, i have a question.”

“i’ll have you know i have no interest in your pointless inquiries.”

cerces smirked and leaned forward, the slight tilt of her head has anaxa's fingers quaking with aggravation. “oh but isn't that the point of it all? to ask questions even if they are pointless? what use is that curiosity of yours if you won't find opportunities to use it?”

another pause, the atmosphere continued to thicken. anaxa was the first to conceive with a heavy sigh. he cradled his head with one hand while the other picked up the stray pencil on his desk to tap it on his blank paper. “well? out with it already, i don't have all day.”

“ever the rude student,” cerces murmured with vexation. “well whatever, this is you we're talking about. now for my question,” she paused and unlaced her fingers to open the laptop on her desk. “i'm curious, what crime has poor [name] committed for you to dislike them so?”

anaxa stilled. of all the questions he hypothesized cerces would ask, this was not one of them. his brows furrowed further. he'd solved more complex formulas and memorized great philosophies in his sleep—so why couldn't he decipher you?

“when have i…” he muttered before his mouth snapped shut. he shook his head and massaged his temple before snapping back to his actual self. “and what good will knowing my reasons do?” 

“oh, i don't know, help with your poor chemistry on the dance floor?”

another click of his tongue, and anaxa loudly gathered his things.

“and where do you think you're going?” she asked. “you still haven't answered my question, anaxa.”

“why don't you use your brain to pick apart my answer? you always seemed to do that, so why not do it again?” anaxa quipped, a certain kind of venom dripped from the skin of tongue.

cerces quietly watched as anaxa haphazardly threw his items in his bag and ungraciously slinged it over his shoulder. the professor heaved out a long sigh as she said, "so you're giving up after one attempt? how unlike you, anaxa.”

said man was halfway out the lecture room when he heard cerces' musing. the grip on the door handle tightened under his hand—knuckles turning snow white. “i am not giving up, you inadequate professor. there is no field i cannot master.”

aglaea mused, ‘something changed,’ but she's not quite sure what during rehearsals. sure, you're still at each other's throats—but there's a strange, sudden synchronicity in the way you moved. as if a switch had been flipped, anaxa was more compliant with your advice and you held your sharp tongue and lectures. (aglaea found great amusement in you making funny faces when anaxa was not looking—incredibly childish but your only outlet for frustration).

aglaea knew she was right—something had changed. she just didn't know how deep the crack ran.

there was this strange awkwardness to you, too, though she can't quite name it. yes, you held your back your sharp words more frequently, but aglaea can't help but wonder if there was more to it. she noticed—she always does—the way you looked at anaxa as if you wanted to say something, but you would back out before you could get the chance.

but she doesn't blame you for your cowardice—it was well expected. anaxa seemed more irritated than usual. he was quieter, more introspective but not in a good way. his eyes tracked your movement in quiet precision as if he's dissecting your being alive. there was a quiet yet turbulent kind of curiosity whenever his hand touched your bare back—the muscles in his fingers flexing uncomfortably as if he's been burned. anaxa's expression would shift from one of nonchalce to that of pain whenever you're too close for comfort. and aglaea found it painfully ironic—this field required you both to be close.

skin to skin; breath on breath. anaxa was being pushed to his limits while you pretended to revel in the situation.

— the second week.

“lovely mnestia has told me you've finally grasped the choreo,” cerces said as she walked side by side with anaxa who kept his face passive. “i'm relieved you managed to overcome a hurdle in such a short amount of time.”

anaxa scoffed, half offended half arrogant as he mused, “i told you, haven't i? there is no field i cannot master.”

“yes, yes i know. you've said the same line thrice in the span of a week. your arrogance truly knows no bounds.” the professor replied in annoyance. “how is [name] doing nowadays?”

“why do you ask?” anaxa raised a brow as cerces unlocked the lecture hall. being a professor's mentee had its own pros and cons, one of those pros being able to spend a couple hours in peace and quiet before other students arrive.

cerces looked at him in bewilderment. in turn, anaxa looked at her as if she's grown two heads. the professor sighed with a small shake of her head. “aglaea told me the poor child's feet has been hurting, badly might i add. just from your first week alone the clinic's band-aid supply has run out.”

anaxa's eyes widened involuntarily, “when was this?”

“did you not hear me at all?” cerces quipped. “since the first week, child of reason. i'm surprised you didn't notice.”

anaxa was surprised as well. for the entire week, you had moved with such proficiency—lectured with such fervor—he wouldn't think twice to ask if you were doing all right. and he cursed himself inwardly. not because he was worried, but because your character is slipping through his fingers like sand—you weren't even giving him the ability to hold on to something.

a click of his tongue and he's dropped all his things at his usual desk. 

“anaxa, where are you going?” cerces asked with quiet curiosity as anaxa made a beeline out of the room.

“it's none of your business, professor.”

and that’s how anaxa came to be, outside your lecture hall with a grimace on his face, arms crossed. you were rightfully confused. you tried to side step his figure but anaxa would move in coordination with your movements and blocked the exit.

“oh so now you show me some foot coordination?” you snarled. 

anaxa only rolled his eyes as his arms slowly dropped from his chest to his side. a lone eye unwittingly glazed over your foot as he muttered, “shouldn’t you be resting?”

your brows knit together, “well i was about to—until you decided to be an annoyance and block my way to the dorms.”

anaxa clicked his tongue—both in annoyance but mostly in embarrassment—as he moved away from the exit and let you pass. though he didn’t quite leave you alone just yet. the both of you walked in awkward and tense silence. anaxa was the first to break the delicate blanket over the both of you when he noticed you taking a turn that did not, in fact, lead to the dorms.

he grabbed your wrist—you noticed the way not all his fingers wrapped around your flesh, just like how he kept a few fingers up whenever he dipped you low during dance rehearsals. “and where do you think you’re going?” anaxa asked with a deep frown. he jabbed a finger to his left, “if i recall, the dorms are that way.”

you sighed, shaking your head as you felt an oncoming headache form. anaxa watched in quiet frustration and interest as you looked at anything but him. a finger gingerly scratched your cheek as you mutter quietly enough for him to mishear—but nothing escapes him.

“i’m getting bandages,” you muttered.

anaxa’s frown deepened—all five fingers now circled your wrist without him flinching away from the touch of your skin. “and from where? if i remember, the clinic has already run out.”

“the faculty,” you said, as if you’ve done this all the time, and anaxa is sure you have.

he stared at you as if you’ve grown two heads.

you’re quick to glare back at him and pull your wrist away from his hold. “why do you care all of a sudden?” you snapped.

he didn’t answer immediately. his lone eye flickered between your wrist, your foot, before they settled on the hand he used to cage you. anaxa sighed heavily, “i don’t. i simply find it incredibly foolish that you’re trying to hide your injury.”

“i’m not hiding it. i’ve told aglaea and she’s been helping me.” you seethed through gritted teeth. “and don’t throw the word foolish around so casually. for your information, don’t you think it’s stupid that you can’t even look me in the eye for more than five seconds during rehearsals?”

your words hit a nerve within anaxa as the air between you started to crackle and ignite.

when he glared at you, you scoffed in disbelief. “don’t think i haven’t noticed, anaxa. you flinch when you touch me. you can’t even stand to be near me.”

“that’s not—” he stopped mid-sentence when he caught a glimpse of your face—brows furrowed, eyes stormy, and lips wobbled every so slightly as they opened and closed but no words tumbled out. anaxa proves your previous point as he looked away, jaw clenched. “you know what? forget it.”

anaxa turned away and started walking in the direction of the dorms. he played deaf when your voice called out to him with equal amounts of frustration and annoyance.

“anaxa!” 

another shout of his name, but he doesn’t spare a moment to stop nor look back.

“anaxa!”

his fists curled at his side, his teeth caught his bottom lip and bit down hard to have blood force its way between his teeth and land on his tongue. he can’t turn around—he mustn’t turn around.

“what are you so afraid of?!”

that was the last thing he heard before he started sprinting away—from you.

surprisingly, anaxa skipped rehearsals the following day, much to your annoyance. and aglaea’s worry is spiking with every jump, turn, and breath you take in the room.

you were frustrated, angry—but mostly tired. 

time was running out and you were shouldering all the pressure, soaking it all up in your heart like a sponge dropped into an ocean. aglaea has never seen you so stuck in your domain. everything was tearing from the seams and you no longer had enough patience to stitch it all back together yourself—you needed anaxa by your side if you wanted to fix the tapestry you both started. and that infuriated you.

“dammit!” you cursed out loud as your body collided with the ground. you heaved and heaved, your entire body being supported by your arms in a plank position. 

“what a mess our little dancer is in,” cerces commented, striding to aglaea’s side as the blonde woman sighed.

“anaxa skipped rehearsals,” aglaea informed. “twice.”

cerces frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, “now that’s a first. has he told you where he’s been?” when aglaea shakes her head, cerces dragged a hand down her face before they settled to hold her chin in contemplation. “where has that scholar run off to this time?”

“well wherever he is, he better return soon.” cerces watched as aglaea flinched as you failed another jump. you had no support—anaxa was supposed to be your anchor, but he has run away where vulnerability cannot find him. “if he’s not back by the day after tomorrow i’ll have no choice but to replace him as [name]’s partner.”

anaxa’s mentor frowned. “will you find someone in time?”

aglaea doesn’t answer and cerces understood. with one final sigh, cerces conceded, “alright, fine. i’ll have that phainon boy practice with our little dancer starting tomorrow. in that way he’ll at least know the flow of things.”

“thank you for your understanding, professor.” aglaea thanked the older woman.

“but i do have one question.” cerces followed up.

“what is it?”

“do you think they hate each other?”

aglaea paused. golden eyes gazed at your figure sitting on the polished wooden floors, staring at your own image reflected by the mirrors. you were fracturing, lights dimming out, but you were still trying to shine through all the cracks.

“no,” aglaea hummed. “they don’t. not really.”

anaxa felt ashamed—for skipping rehearsals and having to hear from cerces about your transgressions.

“dance is a conversation. what use would i be if you weren’t there to talk back?”

your words haunted him like a looming deadline as he gripped the handle of the rehearsal room’s door. he heard music inside—you were probably inside, dancing in your lonesome and falling to the ground with no one to catch you. anaxa’s teeth caught his lip once again as the thought of him not being there by your side had his stomach turning on itself in an unexplainable way.

he took a deep breath. his other hand gripped at the fabric over his chest where his heart rattled in uncertainty. when he thinks he can finally open the door—face you—he’s left with after images of your disappointed face. it was unlike him to act this way. he was a scholar—someone who dared to challenge the philosophy laid out to make sense of this chaotic world. but for all his intelligence he can never put his learnings to practice when it comes to you.

a laugh snapped anaxa out of his self-deprecating thoughts. his brows furrowed together and he willed himself to crack the door ajar to get a peek on what in the world could have happened to elicit something so uncharted from you.

anaxa wished he hadn’t opened the door.

there you were, squatting on the floor, as you laughed so casually at your junior—phainon. something turned inside anaxa’s gut as the snow-haired boy spewed something anaxa did not care for, his attention solely on you as you wiped a stray tear from your eye. he felt his blood run cold as you approached the younger boy and gently—far gentler than you would to him—lifted his arm into position while the other guided to hold you by the waist. the both of you stared at your feet as your voice—so tender and almost intimate it made anaxa want to vomit—counted so phainon would not lose his rhythm.

the warmth of your voice had left him feeling cold in the quiet hallways.

you moved with grace, phainon only messily tried to follow. anaxa watched with a pained look on his face as phainon carefully lifted you from the ground and twirled—your laughter echoed and bounced from the walls and phainon laughed with you as he sets you down. something snapped—maybe it was the doorframe, maybe it was him—when your fingers laced with phainon’s.

you were both effortless and right. he knew phainon was talented—perfect in some ways—but this? you don’t flinch, avoid eye contact, and you accept the closeness between the two of you. suddenly the image of you dancing better with someone that wasn’t him drove anaxa to a wall.

why do you not smile like that at him?

why don’t you move like that with him?

why does it feel like you’ve replaced him?

“now look at who the cat dragged in.”

anaxa shut the door in front him with a loud bang. he no longer cared for secrecy—he needed to get out of here.

cerces raised a brow, “and you’ve just blown our cover. honestly, anaxa, what has gotten—where are you going?”

he doesn’t answer. in fact, cerces’ presence prompted him to speed up his pace. taking sharp turns in corners and avidly ignoring how the professor tailed him with brows raised in parts amusement and worry.

“my goodness, if i had known you’d react so strongly then i wouldn’t have asked that boy to be [name]’s partner.” she joked.

anaxa paused as he turned to look at cerces. the professor was taken aback at his expression—wide-eyed, mouth hung open, as a flash of hurt circled in his eye. the two of them stood still in front of the campus building as the skies slowly turned gray, thunder rumbled in the far distance as anaxa spoke.

“you did what?” 

cerces could not begin to describe the timbre of hurt that laced anaxa’s voice. she quickly tried to clear up the misunderstanding, “temporary partner, child of reason. you skipped two rehearsals and [name] had grown frustrated of their lack of improvement due to your absences. you gave me and aglaea no choice.”

“but phainon of all people?!” anaxa snapped. 

“why not him? phainon may not be as academically sharp as you, but he listens. he adapts. and he certainly doesn’t run when things get too difficult for him.” cerces tried to reason. her reply discreetly jabbed at anaxa’s own actions.

“why didn’t you wait?”

“we did.”

anaxa scoffed, “i highly doubt that.”

“anaxa you are acting irrationally right now,” cerces lectured. “your insecurities are clouding your judgment.”

at her response, anaxa let out a laugh—mocking but strained. he was cracking and cerces cannot understand why.

“insecurities? when have i ever been insecure?!” he tried to argue.

“right now—you are insecure right now, anaxa.”

anaxa’s mouth opened—then like always, it shut. what was there left to say? all explanations would sound like excuses as cerces cut straight to the heart of anaxa’s problem. slowly, anaxa’s facade of arrogance began to crumble—and he made no effort to catch himself and patch it all back together. he didn’t care if the rain had started to pour—he didn’t care if the world blurred into one giant mess of emotion and logic, or that his clothes clung to him like punishment. he just kept walking, away from his cerces, away from you, away from the version of himself he could not recognize.

he let it rain. because maybe, just maybe, if it poured hard enough, it would drown out the sounds of your laughter with another man.

anaxa had gone mad, he was sure of it—everyone thought so, too. 

the way he’d drag his sleepless body into lecture halls, head always buried in his folded arms, and the dark circle under his lone eye, anaxa was nothing short of the typical overworked student. but the thing is: anaxa hasn’t done any work since his last encounter with you and phainon in the rehearsal rooms four days ago.

four days of no sleep, anaxa was just about ready to rip his hair out due to the absurdity of it all. whenever he’d close his eye, the haunting images of you and phainon on stage smiling as you raise a golden trophy hand in hand had him jolting awake and pacing around his room. he’s tried to wrap his head around why that single thought sent shockwaves of hurt into the crevices of his heart but none ever made sense. 

when the professor at front dismissed the class, anaxa heaved out a tired sigh. he had wasted another perfectly good lecture dozing off—burning down images of you in his mind in hopes you’ll fade away with the cinders. but you’re just so stubborn. whenever anaxa is alone at home and he’s pacing around the room in the dark, he hears your voice. he hates how he’s got the timbre of your tone memorized and how his mind plays tricks on him. but it's as if his body moved on its own last night—when he heard your favorite piece playing from his phone, as if by second nature, anaxa’s arms lifted and placed it around the misty image of you in his imagination and led you to a waltz.

anaxa shook the thought away and rushed out of the room. he needed another cup of coffee, something to wake him up from the daydreams he didn’t think he could have. 

“anaxa?” 

his eye widened and before he could fully process who had called out to him, his body had turned around in lightning speed. 

there you stood, your duffle bag slung over your shoulder as your hand held your typical dance shoes. you were in no better condition than him, he surmised. bags lined under your eyes, hair a mess, your lips chapped and lacking its usual color. anaxa hated it—how his gaze immediately fell to your feet to make sure you were okay now. or how he noticed the slight twitch of your hand and how your lips fell just to snap shut. he smiled as some sick twisted part of him felt happy—overjoyed at the fact that he’s not the only one being affected by all of this. but it’s short lived when sirens blared in his mind when you took step after step in his direction. 

anaxa fled like a coward.

“anaxa wait!” 

anaxa was fully sprinting and when he slammed the exit doors open, he cursed under his breath when he realized it was raining. he heard your footsteps closing in on him and against his better judgement, he ran straight into the rain. ever since that day, anaxa had learned how it felt to hate the cries of the sky. during the first few hours when the flesh wound of you being better without him was inflicted, he found comfort in the rain washing away the blood from his body. but he later realized that not every part of him will be abstained from the pain—your smile, your grace, your voice, they remained etched into his psyche where the rain could not erase. and he hated that more. 

he hated the rain—incredibly so. but now, as he’s sprinting away from the same ghost that had haunted him for the last ninety-six hours, anaxa finds himself hoping that it would at least wash some madness out of him.

the rain would have felt nice if the water did not sting his eye or felt like bullets piercing his skin. if he wasn’t careful, anaxa would slip and the bravado he had cultivated all his life would melt away like paper meeting a flame. you were the flame—you always have. always warm to touch, bright with your smile, and captivating with the way you danced. someone that always had anaxa recoiling back in timidity because he’s never felt like this with you before—you were the only thing anaxa wasn’t willing to study because he feared the inevitable result of his findings.

“anaxa, won’t you hear me out, just this once?!” you pleaded.

anaxa was winded, his pace was faltering but he pushed himself to continue. he could not—he would not—allow himself to fall right into the palm of your kind hands. 

“ANAXA!” 

before he knew it, a body collided with his just in time for a vehicle swerved past him. anaxa felt his heart stop, eye grow unfocused for a moment as his back fell onto the cold and damp pavement. on instinct, anaxa’s shaking hands cradled something delicate to his chest as another kind of rain soaked his chest. you were soaked to the bone and trembled within his embrace as gasps of exhaustion and fear escaped from your lips. when he looked up, the first distinct thought he had was, “you don’t belong in the rain.” 

“you nearly got yourself killed and that’s the first thing you say to me?!” you screamed at him. your feeble hands gripped at his shoulders as they shook. “anaxa have you finally, genuinely, gone mad?!”

anaxa wanted to pull away, run past you like he always had these past four days—he needed to get away from you. but he can’t get up—not this time. not when you’re crying and afraid, not when you still don’t know the truth of what you’ve done to him in a measly three weeks. 

“have i gone mad?” anaxa laughed, bitter and breathless. “yes, yes i have. ninety-six hours of pure excruciating hell.” 

you glared at him, the grip on his shoulders turned bruising as you rebut, “so this is your solution? to get yourself killed?! anaxa this is a new definition of madness! if you were in hell just as you said why didn’t you tell anyone?” 

the rain poured harder as if it were laughing with anaxa. with a shaky hand, he pushed his damp bangs out of his eye to get a good look at your distraught face and smiled, “you still don’t get it. it’s right in front of you! you are the reason for my suffering and still, you don’t see it—how you ruin me!” 

“what are you talking about?!” you say in incredulity.

“you’ve rendered me unable to breathe after a glimpse of what it would be like if i weren’t by your side—when you’re dancing with someone else. just one glimpse of another wrapping his arms around you and i’m sent into this spiralling hell and you ask me what i’m talking about?” 

something snapped in anaxa—maybe it was his self-control or the lock that he used to hide his feelings. you were still panting but your eyes had gone wide in shock of his confession. anaxa continues, “i saw you with him—phainon. laughing. dancing like nothing happened. like i never happened. like we hadn’t spent a week skin to skin. and do you know what that did to me? ninety-six hours, ninety-six, of no sleep, no peace. just your face in my mind and your voice under my skin. all because i caught a small glimpse! and i know it’s still my fault in the end.” 

anaxa dragged a hand down his face roughly. “i hate you. i hated you. but i hate how i care more. for fuck’s sake i don’t think i ever hated you to begin with. i tried so hard to find faults in our interactions—how you get under my skin, your incessant nit picking at dance rehearsals, and the hours i spend debating over useless topics because you just can’t accept defeat.” 

you gasped when anaxa’s hand slid up to cradle the side of your face as his eye narrowed into a glare, his other hand covering half of his face to hide the involuntary flush on his cheeks. “you don’t even have to try. you ruin me with a single touch, your voice—you ruin me by just being you and i hate it.”

“i couldn’t bring myself to study you because i knew the answer would wreck me.” anaxa laughed and slowly pushed himself off the ground with you still on his lap. “and it did. there, are you happy now?” 

“anaxa,” you tried to interject.

his head fell to your chest, his ear placed right above your erratic heart as anaxa took a deep breath. the hand that cradled your face fell to his side as the other gripped your forearm in a desperate plea, “please, tell me you feel it. or tell me i’m mad once more. tell me that this is all just in my head so my misery can finally stop.” he grit his teeth and buried his face further into your chest, “if you truly feel an ounce of pity—something, anything—for me, then don’t leave me standing here like a fool.” 

you sat there feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of you.

anaxa’s head still remained buried in your chest, trembling—not from the rain, but from the weight of something he’s kept close to his chest. his words ricocheted in your mind, tangled with the sound of your heartbeat and the rain that refused to let up. 

for a second you did nothing, stayed motionless and let his feelings sink in fully. then— 

you brought your arms around his shoulders, pulled him impossibly closer to your heart, and held him there—not tight, not desperate, just enough for him to infer your response.

“anaxa”, you whispered and you felt him stiffen in your hold. “i was wrong—you’re not mad. or if you are, then i must be, too.” 

anaxa tried to pull away, look at you, but your arms would not let him. just like him, you were afraid, scared of what he would respond with your vulnerability laid bare. 

“you… you’re just so hard to read sometimes. the first day you’re baring your fang but the next you’re suddenly so tame. so when i noticed you pulling away, i thought—i thought you were just done with me. that you were tired of me pushing your buttons. so, i let it go, because i thought it was for the best—for the both of us. i didn’t think… i never thought it would end up hurting you.” 

you let out a shaky breath and continued, “i danced with phainon to fill in the space you left. at first i thought, ‘i’ve done this before. i can make it on my own again.’ but i couldn’t. i didn’t want to admit that i needed you there with me.” you swallowed hard, then laughed. “i’ve been in hell too, you know—for one hundred sixty eight hours, i’ve missed you incredibly.”

memories of your bickering resurfaced like flowers floating on top of crashing waves. though both your tones were meant to kill, they often died down after a few minutes, replaced by something uncharacteristically soft as you both stretched and started warm ups. how you would glance at your phone in that week anaxa had not appeared, waiting for him to reach out, and you hated how whenever the device lit up, you’d make a dash for it only to be disappointed because it's not him. 

you pulled back—ignoring the flutter inside your chest when his arms wrapped just a tad bit tighter around you—just enough to look at him. your thumb brushed the side of his face—careful, hesitant, almost reverent. and you smiled, “you’ve always caught me with every throw and hadn’t let me go with every dip—i’d never leave you standing alone, anaxa.”

aglaea mused that something must have happened—again. after all, it wasn’t everyday you and anaxa enter the rehearsal room soaked straight to the bone, your hairs clung to your faces, eyes puffy and red as if you had been crying. 

with a worried lecture, aglaea sent you both to the locker rooms to get a warm shower, change into dry clothes, and eventually drive you both home. though, deep down, aglaea is elated with this sudden change. something soft had taken root in both of your sharp edges around one another, especially with the way anaxa held your hand in a firm grip and how you looked at him as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of your chest.

the blonde woman smiled as she watched you two leave the room, hand in hand, muttering secrets to one another—pretending as if aglaea wasn’t in the same space as you.

you were both stuck in your own world where the storm quieted when you two were together.

— the third week.

the following rehearsals were painfully quiet.

not in the usual hostile way—just in the way where the remnants of a storm finally settles and everyone is left to pick up the stray pieces. the room felt heavy, like the walls in the locker room where you both sat were waiting for something to happen.

you and anaxa sat facing each other, avoiding each other’s gaze and tucked behind a closed room as aglaea stepped out to take a call. you were both grateful and distraught over the silence neither of you knew how to fill. you fiddled with your phone, opening the group chat out of instinct before swiping it shut again. your reflection greeted you when the device fell asleep—hair still a mess, eyes just a tad bit more red than usual, and you looked pale due to spending too much time under heavy rain. 

something soft fell on your shoulders. when you looked up, anaxa was already sitting down beside you, drinking nonchalantly from his water bottle. you mutter a soft thank you, all the while ignoring your hyperfocus on the few inches that separated your fingers from touching and causing a chain reaction. you bit your lip in contemplation, hand letting go of your phone to clutch the jacket placed on your shoulders—tugging it closer for warmth and if you closed your eyes, you’d catch a small whiff of anaxa’s favorite cologne.

anaxa was the one to break the heavy silence.

“you were going to say something. back then,” he said, voice low and casual in the way people speak when they’re trying to sound like they don’t care.

you blinked, “when?”

anaxa didn’t look at you. “the first week. after our first rehearsal together. you typed something, then deleted it.”

you pause momentarily before a small smile tugged at your lips. “yeah… i was gonna ‘sorry’.” you admitted. “but i wanted to say it in person. i guess i missed the right time.”

anaxa scoffed and clicked his tongue. his head leaned back against the lockers behind him. “you’re free to judge my poor choices—you always have. it’s not that you missed it, i didn’t let you have it.”

you slowly turned to look at him. he chewed on the inside of his cheeks, his eyes glared at the ceiling as if the concrete structure would reveal to him all the answers. the moment felt raw—no heat, no fire, and no bickering, just the truth sitting between the few inches of your fingertips.

“you don’t have to be too harsh on yourself y’know?” you lectured, following his gaze and settled them on the ceiling as you confessed, “i was scared that if i said it too late, it’d mean less. but if i said it too early, it wouldn’t fix anything.” you let out a teasing chuckle before continuing. “you aren’t exactly the easiest person to apologize to, anaxa.”

he didn’t answer right away, anaxa only scoffed. then he muttered, “i would’ve ruined it anyway. i wasn’t looking for an apology.”

“then you’re really gonna hate this part.”

anaxa finally glanced at you and he wished he didn’t.

you leaned both of your hands on top of your legs, your hair falling seamlessly around your face to accentuate your soft smile and eyes, and anaxa hated the immediate jumps of his heart at the sight.

“i still want to say it. i’m sorry, anaxa. for being such a pain in your ass, for pushing all your buttons, and for letting you walk away thinking it didn’t matter to me.”

something passed through his eye—quiet, deep, but not quite forgiveness. maybe fond, intimate.

and then he frowned. “we’re taking a break. why are you still sitting on your toes?”

“huh–?” 

before you could argue, anaxa is already on the floor pushing, letting his hands push your legs down until the sole of your heels meet the ground. for good measure, one hand gently pressed on your shin and kept them in place. “flat. you need to rest your feet, especially after your injury. it’s laughable at how to try to present yourself as someone taller or tenser than you are.”

“hey!” you huffed but your mouth snapped back shut when he looked up. that single crimson eye stared at your soul—all knowing of the effect he had on you. your voice turned quieter as you complained, “that’s rude to say…”

anaxa only let out a breath of amusement. he shifted in his position and you tensed, jumping in slight shock as a heavy weight landed on your thighs. 

“anaxa what are you–?!” 

you fumbled with your hands, unsure of where to place them. you’re heart racing erratically inside the columns of your chest as your cheeks erupted into a flushed pink. anaxa turned his head carefully on your lap, looking up at you with a deadpan expression as his hands slowly snaked themselves around your mid-back.

“if you try and sit on your toes again, i’m staying here for the remainder of our rehearsals.”

you stared at him frozen, hands awkwardly in the air and mouth slightly ajar.

he turned away. “you’re more comfortable than the benches. don’t get a big head about it. and not a single word to professor cerces.”

“i’m not a damn snitch,” you muttered. after an exasperated exhale, your hands slowly fell to your side. for the next few minutes, you let anaxa lay his head on your lap. you couldn’t stop the small laugh that bubbled out. slowly—and very unsure—you carded your fingers through his hair. anaxa flinched at the contact and you quickly retracted your hand. but his hold quickly seized your wrist.

“did i tell you to stop?” he asked—more like demanded—through the fabric of your pants.

you let out another sigh. “well sheesh i’m sorry.”

your hand hovered over his hair as your brows furrowed, mind going a hundred miles a minute before you’re broken out of your daze. anaxa sighed, the warmth of his breath tickled your thighs as he gently led your hand to lay on top of his hair.

“i was caught off guard,” he murmured. “i don’t dislike it. feel free to continue.”

you remained hesitant. hand laid limp on the crown of his head, but when anaxa tapped your wrist—a motion that’s just so him—you let yourself smile at his attempts in sharing his feelings. you don’t notice how time passes like a blur when you brush anaxa’s hairs with your fingers. 

for a moment you think you forgot how to breathe. but anaxa’s warmth, that gentle rise and fall of his chest, reminded you that you had the best student in campus to teach you how to breathe again.

“good morning my favorite seni—”

“get out.”

phainon physically deflates at anaxa’s blatant rejection. the snow-haired bow dejectedly walks back to mydei and castorice’s side—the latter offered him small comfort while the blonde man crossed his arms with a small smirk on his face. anaxa felt an oncoming headache invade his senses as he looked to aglaea who seemed far too amused at the situation. 

“i was not informed we would be having guests today, aglaea.” he spat out. his arms crossed over his chest out of habit as he raised a brow at the three new faces in the studio.

“we’re sorry for the intrusion,” castorice intervened. “but we were informed by professor cerces that our presence was required here. though she never fully explained why.”

anaxa sighed. “if i were to take a guess, you three are our audience.”

aglaea smiled and urged the trio to come forward, “and you would be correct, anaxa. once [name] arrives, we’ll begin like usual, but with these three as your pseudo-judges.”

“fine,” anaxa replied and made a beeline towards the locker rooms.

phainon sat there, on the polished wooden floors, with his mouth hanging open. his head looked to where anaxa had disappeared into and then to aglaea who only smiled—he repeated the actions for a while before mydei grabbed hold of his head and forced him to stop.

with a shaky hand, he pointed to where the locker rooms were and asked, “was that really senior anaxa…?”

aglaea chuckled under her breath. “yes, he is. why do you ask?”

“well it’s just, i don’t remember him giving in so… easily?” the junior sounded confused as the two students beside him nodded in agreement.

“i have to admit, it seems hard to believe.” mydei interjected.

castorice only nodded when aglaea’s eyes landed on her. with an amused smile, the older woman entertained them, “even the sharpest of blades grow dull with constant use. though to use the word ‘dull’ would be nothing short of incorrect. it’s more of, anaxa is now—”

“good morning, everyone.” 

“taken care of.”

all head turned to you. phainon could feel his eyes bulging out of their sockets as mydei let out a huff and castorice covered her mouth in shock. there you stood by the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, hair in its usual messy hairstyle, but hanging delicately on your shoulder was anaxa’s jacket. 

you notice the added presence in the room and tilted your head in question, “i wasn’t informed we were having guests today.”

“they even talk the same now…” phainon muttered under his breath.

“huh?” 

“what phainon meant was,” aglaea interjected. “they’ll be watching you and anaxa rehearse. only for today. think of it as a small prep for competition day.”

before you can step out of the way, phainon sprung from his seat, and wrapped his arms around your torso with comical tears streaming down his face. you let out a startled yelp, “phainon?!”

“please don’t turn into another mean senior, [name]! you’re the only one who treats me really nicely, i can’t lose you!” the boy cried out and buried his face into your side. half-amused and half-confused, you gently pat down phainon’s hair as mydei and castorice tried to pry his crying figure from you.

the room turned a little colder when phainon was roughly tugged backwards.

“and what do you think you’re doing, phainon?”

said boy, shook like a leaf, as he turned around to meet anaxa’s glare. his face turned paler than it usually was and cried out your name like a plea.

“[name] save me!”

“what do you need saving from, you buffon?”

you let out an amused breath at the sight. anaxa holding phainon by the back of his collar like a mother cat holding her kitten by the scruff. phainon kept flinging his arms around like a child caught sneaking candy before bed time as mydei and castorice send their quiet prayers to their friend. when you turned to look aglaea, she held that same quiet yet amused expression—she was not going to stop their little scuffle.

with a sigh, you let an elated smile break free from your face as you approached the two.

“alright, that’s enough,” you said. a hand softly wrapped around anaxa’s wrist as you turned to him, smiling with mirth in your eyes, “won’t you let him go, anaxa? he’s learned his lesson. isn’t that right, phainon?”

anaxa stiffened ever so briefly at the contact—your touch still felt like a searing iron when meeting his bare skin, but he welcomed the pain wholeheartedly this time. his grip on phainon’s collar loosened slightly, but not enough to let go. instead, he glanced at where your bare skin met —eye flickered between you and the contact before he averted his gaze.

“i’d beg to differ,” he muttered, voice a lot softer than normal. “he still has much to learn.”

“hey!” phainon protested.

“anaxa,” you called out once more. anaxa actively ignored your gaze as he felt something warm trickle down the system of his nerves when your voice came out gentler than the last. your thumb gently pressed against his pulse with idle care—you knew what you were doing to him. “please, won’t you let him go?”

he took a deep breath before letting out a shaky exhale. he finally looked at you, and for a moment, everyone in the room thought he’d argue. instead, he looked away—cheeks ever so slightly flushed—and released phainon with an exaggerated sigh. “fine. are you happy now?”

phainon dropped to the floor with a thud, scrambling back like a cartoon villain escaping the jaws of death. “i’ve never been more afraid in my life,” he whispered, crawling behind castorice.

aglaea let out a quiet, knowing hum—a smile tugged at her lips. “i see we’ve entered the negotiation stage.”

“negotiation?!” phainon squawked.

“that,” mydei said under his breath, a knowing smile on his lips. “was not negotiations. that was flirting.”

“flirting?!”

“are seniors anaxa and [name] in a relationship now?” castorice whispered, wide-eyed.

anaxa whirled around, clearly having heard their conversation as aglaea quietly exited. “we are not.”

you blinked, a teasing smile graced your lips as you asked with mock innocence, “not what?”

anaxa’s face flushed as he glared at you. his hand circled around your wrist as he dragged you to the locker rooms. your laughter bounced around the walls as the trio watched you exchange quiet codes only you knew how to decipher. when you think you’re out of sight, you tugged anaxa closer as you planted a soft kiss to his cheek—the man in turn scurried back a few inches, a hand covering half his face as you continued to laugh.

“yeah”, mydei huffed. “they are definitely dating.”

by the time the trio had left the studio, the sun was setting in the horizon, leaving only you and anaxa with aglaea as she gave you final reminders before the day of the competition.

“your chemistry has improved greatly,” she complimented with a smile. aglaea tucked her tablet back into her bag before her gaze returned to her two dancers—both heaving and sweaty, but content and proud of their progress. “all that’s really left is to prepare for the competition. i won’t nag you on the hows—you can figure it out by yourselves. have a pleasant evening you two. shoot me a message when you get home.”

you and anaxa nod in tandem and quietly watch as the older woman leaves the room with a quiet click of the door. you collapsed to the floor with a heavy sigh, your legs stretched outwards as you massage the tender muscle with a quiet wince. anaxa kneeled in front of your figure, his hands rubbed at the sore spot near your ankles with worry in his eyes.

“i’ll be fine,” you reassured him before he could say a word. when he looked up, you only gave him a tired smile and reached for his hand to intertwine your fingers. “i trust you to catch me when i stumble.”

anaxa huffed—a breath so full of tender fondness you’re not sure how to put it into words. he stood up and brought you along with him. his hold delicate and still slightly hesitant—the warmth of his palm ghosted the skin of your waist. you only nodded in approval as he quietly asked with his eyes, “can i touch you?”, without saying the actual words itself.

when his hand made itself home on the base of your flesh, you hummed the music and let him guide you through the dance. left and right, then turn. distance yourself from him, but never too much. he pulled you back, not roughly nor gently, just enough for him to quietly plead for you to stay. turn away from his gaze, lest you want his eyes to burn his name in your bones. try to run away, build a cage to shield your heart, but leave your hand reaching for him so he could take the key and open it. your feet are off the ground before you can fully process the dance—and you laughed at the absurdity of it all.

when you land back on the ground, it’s as if you’re taken back to that stormy day. when you looked at anaxa, that frosty layer of uncertainty had been washed away by the rain. your hand reached to cup his cheek and you smiled brightly when he leaned into your touch—nuzzling his face further into your palm as his lips ghosted the point of your pulse. 

“after all this time, you still can’t find your balance,” he muttered—fondly.

“maybe i’m doing it on purpose,” you joked. your other hand trailed up his chest—the sensation being followed by flames being ignited as anaxa’s breath got caught in his throat—and you lay it where his delicate heart is hidden. you chuckled, “if i had known you’d be so keen to catch me maybe i would’ve thrown myself at you sooner.”

anaxa retaliated by pulling the hand at his chest into his own, raising the one settled on your waist to your upper back and dipping you low. you let out a startled scream, eyes squeezed shut as the world blurred before it stilled. 

“open your eyes.” 

when you cracked your eyelids open, it took you a moment to let the sight fully sink in. anaxa’s figure bathed by a soft iridescent glow courtesy of the studio lights, his long bangs tickling your face as his breath threatened to become your own. his lips quirked up into a smug smile and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. anaxa leaned impossibly closer—he wanted to merge your souls into one at this very moment. 

you could hear the erratic beating of your heart as anaxa’s hold of the position remained firm. the way anaxa looked at you now—as if you’ve penned every book he’s ever loved and recited every lecture he’s always so keen to listen in—it made it hard to breathe, let alone think.

“you’re so dramatic,” you whispered, eyes still locked on him.

“and you’re reckless,” he replied, tone warm, almost teasing. “for playing with my heart like this.”

you grinned. “then maybe it’s only fair that we fall at the same time.”

anaxa took a breath in. he searched your face—gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips where they lingered for a moment too long—like he was asking for permission if it truly was okay to cross the border that would unravel his existence. anaxa needed—yearned—to know if you’d still want him even when the music has stopped.

“what’s on your mind, anaxa?” you asked—pretending to remain oblivious to his wants.

“an inquiry,” he replied. “one i’ve been trying to understand for the last few weeks.”

the hand that quietly rested on his shoulder snaked to cradle his face. “does it include me?”

“when has it ever not included you?” 

his words hung in the air like suspended notes, trembling, waiting for resolution.

you felt the ache in his words—the feelings so palpable you could catch it in the way you would desperately try to grasp at burning cinders. anaxa’s breath hitched when your thumb brushed under his eye, tender and deliberate. 

“please ask,” you murmured. “please say it.”

anaxa swallowed hard, voice soft—his self-control fraying at the seams.

“is it foolish of me… to want this to mean something beyond the stage?” he finally asked. his brows furrowed as his eye narrowed in uncertainty, “would you still let me feel your skin against mine even if it burns? let me experiment on your soul until it only knows my name—and mine, yours?”

your breath hitched.

“no,” you answered. “not foolish. not even close.” 

for a moment, neither of you moved. not out of hesitation, but reverence. hoping to make this fragile moment that could break with one wrong breath last just a second more. 

then—slowly, almost nervously—anaxa leaned forward, closing the painful distance, not with grand dramatics but with aching certainty with your permission. and when your lips met, it was not fire that invaded the moment, but a slow-burning sun that ached to see the horizon—steady, warm, constant, and real.

his hand tightened just slightly at your back, as though ground himself in your bare presence where only the two of you mattered. your own fingers curled against his jaw, pulling him like a tide, like homecoming.

you parted only when the need for air became undeniable, and anaxa cursed this mortal body for its necessities—he only needed you. 

“not a word to the professor,” he chimed.

you laughed as he pulled you back to your own two feet. your hand still on the edge of his jaw and his on your back. you smiled as you pressed your face into his neck, listening to the way his heart rattled your name in the columns of his throat. 

“not a word to the professor,” you echoed.

theoretically speaking, anaxa once believed it was impossible to change your mind about someone in a matter of weeks. that it was absurd to undo years of contempt with a few shared dances, a handful of late night rehearsals, a string of glances too long to be innocent, or a confession made under a stormy day.

but now, as you buried your face in the crook of his neck and his hand splayed firm against your back like a promise—he knew.

anaxa had been wrong.

not just in theory, but in practice. utterly, wonderfully wrong.

because it only took three weeks for all his logic to crumble. for you to rewrite the entire philosophy he’d built his whole world around—not with arguments or with evidence, but with the way you moved around the stage, the emotions evoked with your reckless courage in the steps you take, the soft curve of your smile, and the infuriating way you slipped past his defences like light through stained glass. 

and for the first time, anaxa didn’t mind being wrong.

not if being wrong meant having this—you.

© 𝓵ysarion 2025 — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[casedclosedbyb]

The Birthday Overload

Aaron hotchner x reader

Fluff

Wc: 1.5k

It was your birthday, and Aaron Hotchner had promised to get you something special. But what you didn’t expect was for him to get everything you might want… and then some.

You were sitting on the couch, casually scrolling through your phone, when Hotch came back into the apartment, looking slightly frazzled. His arms were weighed down with what seemed like an endless number of shopping bags.

“Hotch, you okay?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at the sight of him struggling to make his way through the door.

He sighed deeply, his usually composed demeanor faltering just slightly. "I… I might’ve gotten a little carried away," he admitted, setting the bags down with a soft grunt, clearly relieved to unload the weight.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his predicament. "What do you mean by ‘a little carried away’?"

"Well," he began, glancing at the mountain of bags, clearly weighing how to explain the madness, "I started with something simple. I thought you’d love this sweater." He pulled out a cozy-looking grey sweater. "But then I worried it might be too plain. So, I bought a pair of boots to go with it."

You eyed the boots, noticing how perfectly they complemented the sweater. Before you could even comment, he dug deeper into one of the bags. "But then I thought, maybe the boots weren’t quite your style. So I grabbed these instead."

Out came a pair of sleek, stylish shoes that could match any outfit in your closet. You stared, dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond to this growing pile of gifts.

"And then," he continued, “I realized, do you even *like* grey? So I bought this." He pulled out a rich, red scarf that contrasted sharply with the muted tones of the sweater and boots. It was elegant, and you could already picture yourself wearing it on a chilly night out.

You blinked a few times, still trying to process the sheer volume of thought he had put into this. "Aaron, you didn’t have to—"

"Oh, wait," he interrupted again, his hands diving back into the bags with renewed determination. "Then I thought you might want something more personalized, so I got you this." He pulled out a beautiful, intricately carved wooden jewelry box. "But then I worried, do you even wear enough jewelry to need a box? So I got you these."

He reached for yet another bag, pulling out two delicate bracelets that shimmered as they caught the light.

You chuckled softly, thoroughly entertained by his internal struggle and sweet yet chaotic effort. "Aaron, I love you, but how many more things did you buy?"

He paused, his expression a mix of determination and uncertainty as if he was working his way through some kind of mental checklist. "Well, I kept thinking maybe you’d want some skincare products." With that, he pulled out an assortment of creams, lotions, and face masks, all neatly packaged and looking as though they belonged in a high-end boutique. "And then," he continued, as if he’d just remembered something crucial, "I got candles. Because, you know, everyone likes candles."

More bags appeared, each one seemingly holding yet another thoughtful item. A plush scarf, a novel you’d mentioned wanting to read, a bag of your favorite snacks from the store, and, as if on cue, the exact blanket you’d been eyeing the other day when you’d made a passing comment about how soft it felt.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, overwhelmed but incredibly touched. "Aaron… I think you’ve gone above and beyond."

Hotch gave you an exasperated yet endearing look, finally sitting down beside you, clearly relieved to have finished unboxing his extensive haul. He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in mild frustration, but with a fondness for you in his eyes. "I just wanted to get you something you’d really love," he admitted, "but I couldn’t decide what you’d like the most. So… I just kept going."

You kissed his cheek softly, your heart swelling with warmth. "Well, you definitely succeeded. It’s perfect."

He smiled, still a little unsure but clearly relieved. "I’m glad," he murmured, his voice softer now. "I was really worried you wouldn’t like something or it wouldn’t be… enough." His gaze flicked to the pile of presents that now took up most of the space between you both.

You gave him a playful side-eye, though your voice was filled with affection. "Aaron, it’s my birthday. I’m pretty sure I’m going to love everything… even if it takes me a week to unpack it all."

He chuckled, his tension finally easing as he leaned in closer, resting his head against yours. "As long as you’re happy."

You snuggled against him, surrounded by shopping bags and the overwhelming feeling of being loved. Hotch’s gift-giving might have been a little over the top, but you couldn’t deny that the thought, the care, and the genuine desire to make your birthday special had come through in every item.

You felt the warmth of his affection settle around you like the softest blanket, and for the first time in a long while, you simply *relished* in the moment. This wasn’t about the presents or the excessive effort; it was about his commitment to making sure you felt appreciated, to ensuring you were happy, no matter how many bags it took to do that.

The pile of gifts scattered around you was just a symbol of how much Aaron cared, a reminder that love wasn’t always about grand gestures, but sometimes, about going overboard to show someone they meant the world to you. And right now, you couldn’t think of a better way to spend your birthday than in his arms, feeling more loved than you’d ever felt before.

You leaned back into him, content and at peace, knowing that no matter how many presents you opened, the best gift was always going to be him.

[ryzheling]

sfw, fluff, bicep biting, mention of suggestive themes, loosely based on this, kinda goofy don't take me seriously guys ( ~700 wc )

It’s sitting right there. Right in front of your face.

On any other day it would’ve been easier to hold back, as they’d always be covered and usually out of your sight. But during times like this – particularly in the mornings where the sun is up and high above your head, when no blood is to be spilled and the bed is meant to be occupied by two naked bodies tangled in the sheets together – your impulse is being tested like no other.

Alas, you’re just another human being with desires and itches meant to be scratched.

“Would it be weird if I say I’ve been wanting to bite your arm?”

Nagumo pauses. One of his hands hangs midair above the printed pages full of table lines and empty boxes, his eyes blinking curiously at the numbers as if trying to comprehend what you’d just said.

"Nope." He then turns to you with his head cutely tilted to the side, “Do you think it’d be weird?”

His reply doesn’t surprise you, to say the least, and if anything, you’d expected him to say that much. Though what you didn’t expect was for him to direct the question back to you, causing you to take a second too long to respond.

“Well, I mean…” your eyes drift back to his tattooed arm, cursing at the lack of clothes that he’s sporting. Nagumo’s leisurely sitting back against the headboard, the blankets that you have pulled up to your shoulders pooling around his waist and hiding all the lower part of his body, much to your dismay relief.

Then again, you can’t really blame him because last night was… something.

The little sudoku book is long forgotten on his lap, and the pencil is idly being twirled between his lithe fingers. His lips curve into a smile – always so keen to indulge you – then the next thing you know Nagumo’s already shoving his arm in your face with a low murmur, “Go on.”

(You’re exaggerating. He’s just holding it out closer towards you but what could you possibly do in that situation, really? Lay there and pretend to be normal about it?)

You wanted to do it. God, you really do want to do it. But he’s looking down at you, his big round eyes so soft yet so sharp in the way his gaze is solely focused on every reaction you’re about to offer.

Gritting your teeth, you reach out a hand to smack over his perusing eyes. “Stop looking! You’re the one making this weird now.”

His chipper laugh rolls over you like gentle waves on a morning tide, “Okay, okay! I won’t, I promise.”

(He’s lying, that menace. He’s going to take a peek out of the corner of his eye.)

It takes a few moments for you to eventually be convinced that his sight is directed somewhere else, and when you do, you’re all the more eager to get this over with.

Your hand loosely grips the side of his bicep (the sheer thickness of it sends you down into a little spiral, but you’re not gonna let him know that) before you finally bite down, teeth gently digging over the swirls of dark ink on the firm muscle.

“Ow, ow–”

You immediately pull away, guilty and maybe a little worried. “Shit, sorry! Did that hu–”

“Kidding! You bite like a little kitten, you know? It’s adorable!” Instead of a pained expression, his eye smile and grinning lips greet you.

Your jaw drops for a second before irritation comes over you, resulting in your fist punching him right on the spot where you’d bitten. “I thought you were really hurt, dumbass!”

Chuckling, Nagumo pulls you to lay on his chest and back into his arms like how you were sleeping the night before, like how you were meant to be. “All these muscles would’ve been useless if I couldn’t handle a little chomp from you, sweets. But look, you still managed to leave a mark! Ain’t that fancy, hm?”

“I’m seriously going to bite a chunk of your flesh off one of these days, I swear to god,” you grumble under your breath, nuzzling closer to the heat radiating off his bare chest.

“Yeah? One day for sure, but for now, it’s my turn!”

“What do you– OW, YOU LITTLE –!”

He goes straight for your neck.

©ryzheling. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else!