#getting too deep into one moment and not moving the plot far enough

[wingfleur]

# — helping mark grayson lose his v-card.

ever since i finished invincible back in MARCH, mark grayson has been living in the back of my mind rent free. then, @sobbingscripter fucked around and gave me this stubborn childhood best-friends to lovers brainworm i cannot shake with her series "our turn." everybody go read it! this is all your fault, girl!!! 💔 | wc: 2.3k words.

cw: nsfw mdni (18+), afab!reader, childhood-friends-to-friends-who-fuck?, porn with a crumb of plot, vaginal fingering, explicit sex (p in v), missionary, loss of virginity (both reader and mark), creampie, reader trying (and failing) to not feel good, mark being inexplicably good at sex despite this being his first time?, this is... vaguely angsty considering the circumstances

thinking about mark grayson asking you to do him a favor and take his virginity.

i mean, shit— mark seriously thinks he has a chance with amber, and he doesn’t want to risk a single thing about him turning her off. like— what if, when they eventually get, y’know, "hot and heavy," he kisses her with too much teeth, or can’t find the clit, or, god forbid, he tries to put his dick in the wrong hole! in that case, he��d be single and lonely forever, doomed to die unfucked, and it’s not like you’re seeing anyone either, so you’re the only one he can ask for help!

now, in your defense, the first few proposals mark offers get shot down by you in no time at all. you like mark, yeah, and losing your v-card would be nice, sure, but you’re not that desperate. being so thirsty to fuck him that you’re willing to be his test dummy so he can properly fuck the girl he actually likes is a level of depravity you’d never, ever sink to, but the way mark gets down on his knees one night and begs with his those big, brown puppy eyes of his makes you kiss your teeth and begrudgingly say yes. 

and as nervous as mark’s been acting, he’s eager. 

when mark kisses you for the first time, the action not nearly as full of teeth as he initially worried about, you come to find that it’s actually... quite nice. it’s hesitant, sure, but as far as you're concerned, this is not only your first kiss, but his. it's clumsy, but full of good intentions, and you enjoy the sensation of soft lips pressed against yours until he gets comfortable enough to lick at your bottom lip.

he only gets bolder from there. strong, calloused hands caress your sides, slipping under the fabric of your tattered t-shirt that you cut the neckline off of. firm, muscled legs walk you back towards your bed and cause you to bend at the knee, falling back onto the mattress, and him along with it. soon, those soft, pink lips are trailing their way down your neck, and those shy, but secure, hands are making their way to your bare chest, thumbs cautiously flicking over your pebbled nipples. 

you’re quite surprised by the effort it takes you to try to act like you’re not enjoying this. 

“‘s that okay?” mark asks softly against your lips, pulling back enough to look at your face. your expression is pinched, brows slightly knitted in the middle. mark’s concentration deepens, and he moves back a little further to truly study you, lips parting as he cautiously moves to pinch your nipples between his pointer and index fingers. 

“...you look like it hurts.” mark’s eyes flicker across every tremor and flicker of the expression on your face. you let your eyes shut slowly and try to steel yourself, breathing deep. 

“no, it doesn’t. you’re just— notthatgoodatthis.”

mark’s fingers slow to a near stop as he takes a moment to truly scrutinize you, eyes locking onto the way your eyebrow twitches as he slowly rolls the buds between his fingertips. then, he smiles, leaning back down to brush his lips against yours.

“you’re lying.”

you are lying. to be more accurate, you’re lying like fuck, but to maintain a shred of your dignity, you can’t act like being mark grayson’s test fuck-dummy feels nearly as good as it does. you'd simply be handing him the green light to go fuck amber. 

“i have no reason to lie.”

“sure,” he chirps back, “we’ll see about that.”

you find two reasons to lie once mark sinks his fingers into you.

firstly, you’re wet— unbearably so— and you know mark can feel it from the way his lips drop open with a groan. mark inhales deeply in an attempt to stifle any other sounds that escape him in the process, focusing solely on the slow press of his middle and ring fingers into your hole. the whole process is audible and clicky, which makes his head buzz with static every time the squelch reverberates against his eardrums. secondly, you’re tight; sure, mark already knew you were a virgin, but it’s another thing for the proof to be sitting right in front of him (or, better yet, squeezing around him). the way you’re squirming beneath him tells mark everything: that, to date, his fingers are the biggest thing you’ve ever had inside of you. 

christ, mark feels like he’s gonna lose his mind. 

the first thing he notices, aside from the way you’re clenching around him like you wanna break his fingers off, is the way the cords of muscle in your thighs are pulled taut. you’re tense— that much is evident from your pinched expression— but mark decides he wants to watch that pained face melt off into molten pleasure, so he starts to rock his fingers into you gently. 

“how’s that?” he asks, voice low and a little frayed around the edges. his adam’s apple bobs hard as he swallows, focusing himself on your face instead of the pretty sight of your pussy swallowing him up. 

“hardly feel it,” you lie unconvincingly, teeth gritted and jaw tight. you know you’re not going to win an oscar for your performance anytime soon, if the way mark laughs is anything to go by, and you frown in reply because, as much as you want to be mad, it’s truly a glorious noise. that said, you do have a reputation for being a buzzkill to uphold, so you try and fix your lips to snark out a reply, but you quickly press them into a flat line the moment you feel a moan bubbling up rather than words.

“sure,” is all mark says, his voice and tone void of any dejection. there’s little to no emotion in it at all, actually, and it makes you open your eyes right as he curls his fingers and drags them across your upper walls. 

a soft gasp leaves you, and your brows shoot up in surprise, tummy spasming for a moment as your hips kick up into his hand. mark’s rhythm falters for a moment, surprised by the sudden movement, but he has no problem adapting to the situation and getting back into it with a grin across his face. 

“bet you feel it now,” he coos, tone patronizing as he concentrates his fingers on that tender spot inside you. you shake your head quickly, brain threateningly to drip out your ears as you squeeze your eyes shut so hard you see spots. 

“all i— fuck— feel is you fumbling around inside of me like this is some bastardized prostate exam.”

mark snorts, but ultimately doesn’t reply, and in the back of your mind, you think you notice that as a sign of trouble. in actuality, you aren’t really sure: you could’ve picked up on it as a result of your last-minute preservation skills, but at the same time, it very well could have been a lie you made up in an attempt to make this feel less real.

whatever it is, it doesn’t matter anymore. you’re hardly aware enough of your surroundings as is. not after mark busies himself with slowly sliding his cock inside of you. 

“oh fuck, you feel good,” mark moans, voice sounding utterly destroyed as he presses himself in to the hilt. your thighs quiver, and you take a hand to press it against his abdomen, right above where it tapers into a v-shape and disappears inside of you. 

“i— fuck you, mark—“

mark, despite how much his eyes wanna roll back, leans over you and smugly grins.

“you are right now, aren’t you?” 

you don’t know where the fuck mark learned this.

the first few thrusts of his are measured, more so savoring the feeling of the way your walls sticking to his cock every time he draws back and press his hips forward. then, his thrusts become confident. he falls into a good pace, most of his weight on his hands as he leans over you and focuses on your face. 

your expression starts to crumble. 

the rhythm slowly makes a tingle form in your gut, jaw dropping open as you try to fix your mouth to half-heartedly tell him to stop. then, he angles his hips and hits a spot that makes your mind go blank of any protests, effectively making your steeled expression finally crumble. 

“oh, fuck,“ you finally whine, back arching slowly into a deep bow. you blink open your teary eyes to catch mark looking at you with the most lovesick expression, something you’re nearly dumb enough to think is for you before it’s covered up by pride for finally getting you to crack. 

“tell me how good it feels,” he says, dropping suddenly onto his elbows. you’re about to tell him that you’d only ever do such a thing in hell, but then he presses his face into your neck and slowly grinds into you, causing a shudder to completely wrack your body. 

“mark,“ you whimper softly, arms and legs coming up to cling onto mark desperately. he continues to sensually rock into you, movements long and drawn out so you can really feel it. as you begin to squirm, mark uses his muscled arms and firm hands to clutch you so you can’t run. 

“tell me,” he pants again. “tell me how good it fuckin’ feels.”

“fuck, it feels so fucking good, mark.” the way you whisper it sounds utterly broken, tears pricking at the corners of your lashes as a part of you gets damn near angry from how good you feel. mark keeps rolling his hips into you as he leans back to take in your expression, head coming forward to press a kiss to one of your eyelids. 

“cum for me.”

the words quickly make your eyes flutter open, looking up at him with furrowed eyebrows as he keeps fucking you slow and measured. your mouth opens and closes for a few moments as you try to string together something akin to a disbelieving “what?”, but mark beats you to it and shushes you, pressing your foreheads together. 

“stop thinking so hard and let go. lemme feel it, baby.”

mark holds your gaze for a moment, actively watching the way your gears still manage to turn despite how stupid you currently feel. something suddenly gives in your expression, and mark smiles in realization, watching as you slowly relax and focus on nothing but the incredible warmth building inside you. 

your orgasm takes a little while, but when it does finally come, it’s glorious. 

mark would describe it as you melting. he watches as you seize up for just a brief moment, clutching him for dear life with slight panic in your eyes. then, he watches as you turn to jelly, the panic subsiding into something that can only be described as pure bliss, becoming one with the sheets and mattress itself. 

you feel so good around him that his hips stutter, but as much as mark wants to cum too, he wants to see you through your orgasm first. 

you can’t do anything but take it. 

it feels amazing— like a tingly, warm sensation spreading from the very top of your head to the very tips of your toes. you do your best to hold mark’s eye contact as your climax ravages you, but they eventually roll back into your head. the sight makes him groan and duck his head into your neck. 

“fuck,” mark hisses, voice low and gruff enough to be similar to a growl. it makes goosebumps rise on your skin— a few more than the ones that have already sprouted up on your arms and neck, at least— and when the numbing feeling of your orgasm begins to fade, you reach up to handle your fingers in his hair and lightly scratch your nails against his back. “where do you want it?”

you pause for a moment— one of genuine, critical thought— and lean up to speak in his ear. 

“inside.” 

mark briefly pulls up to look at you, the urge to ask you if you’re sure on the tip of his tongue, but the look you give him, combined with the knot tightening in his gut, tells him to shut up and listen, causing him to duck back down to your neck. 

mark’s pace falters, falling from measured and steady to frantic and fast as he chases after his high. he trembles with the force of his orgasm, hugging you tight as he humps into you like he’s trying to carve a place out inside of you. 

you shiver with him as he does, and you soothe him through it, murmuring praise in his ear until he’s panting heavily and slumps against you.

“…thank you,” he mumbles, face still buried in his neck. 

you’re panting heavily too, but that doesn’t stop you from weakly smiling, fingers tracing shapes in his skin. “don’t thank me, this was charity work.” 

mark snorts lightly and turns his head to lightly nibble you, making you giggle in reply. 

“maybe,” he says, sighing and turning his head to rest his cheek on your shoulder. “but still. thank you.” 

you hum quietly in response, a smile tugging at your lips until a nagging voice in the back of your mind reminds you of why he did this. it's quick, how suddenly something deep inside of you sours—something deep enough that it isn’t able to deter you from enjoying this peace you find in mark grayson’s arms, but accessible to the point of letting you feel that sting in the very tips of your fingers. 

you fall silent, listening to the rhythm of mark’s breathing, tracing patterns and shapes until his heavy, exhausted breathing becomes soft and measured. 

it’s only then do you allow yourself to speak, making the conscious effort to tuck the bitterness you finally feel in yourself away. 

“mm. i guess you’re welcome.”

# — navigation

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You smacks their ass as they walk past (Part.1)

Each X-Man reacts with a mix of surprise and playful teasing when you smacks their ass as they walk past, leading to affectionate and mischievous moments.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Warren Worthington III, Bobby Drake, Alex Summers, Pietro Maximoff & Jean Grey

Logan (Wolverine):

You’re in the kitchen, mindlessly going about your business, while Logan’s at the counter slicing through a loaf of bread. He’s focused, as usual, with that familiar scowl on his face that never quite leaves. The kitchen is quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint sounds of his knife slicing through the bread. You can’t help yourself—you watch him for a moment, admiring the way his muscles move under his tight shirt, the raw strength in every little motion. He looks so serious, so in his own world.

As you pass behind him, you smirk to yourself. It’s too tempting. Without thinking twice, you let your hand drift out, and with a sharp flick of your wrist, you smack his ass, enjoying the solid *thwack* that follows. You don’t stop, just continue walking like nothing happened, a satisfied smile curling on your lips.

Logan freezes mid-slice. For a beat, he doesn’t say a word. Then you hear the low rumble of a growl deep in his chest. “Really, darlin’?” His voice is thick, a little rough around the edges, and you can hear the amusement creeping in. He turns his head, one eyebrow raised, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You glance back at him, feigning innocence, but you can see the way his eyes darken just a bit. He drops the knife, turning slowly, taking a step toward you. His movements are deliberate, almost predatory. “You think you can just walk by like that and not face the consequences?” His voice is a low, gravelly whisper, sending shivers down your spine.

Before you can respond, Logan’s hand is on your waist, pulling you back against him. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, “If you’re gonna start somethin’, sweetheart, you better be ready to finish it.” There’s a playful challenge in his voice, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not about to let you off the hook that easily.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit):

Remy is leaning against the couch, casually flipping through a deck of cards, as he often does when he’s bored. The two of you have been lounging around the living room all afternoon, and there’s an easy, comfortable silence between you. He’s dressed in that effortless way he always is—dark jeans that hug him in all the right places and a shirt that’s just tight enough to show off his lean muscles. He catches you looking at him, flashing you that mischievous smile, the one that makes your heart skip a beat.

You roll your eyes at him, but you’re already plotting something in your head. You stroll past him, heading toward the kitchen, but as you do, you let your hand dip down and smack his ass, hard enough to make him jump a little. You don’t stop, just keep walking like nothing happened, a satisfied smirk on your face.

“Mon dieu, cherie,” Remy’s voice comes out in a playful drawl, full of that Southern charm he’s famous for. He’s immediately on his feet, tossing the cards onto the couch and following you into the kitchen. “You really gonna hit an innocent man like dat and walk away?” You glance over your shoulder, and he’s grinning, his red-on-black eyes glowing with amusement.

Before you can get far, he’s behind you, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you back against him. “Y’know, cher, dat’s gonna cost you somethin’,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. There’s a heat to his words, and you can feel the playful threat behind them. “You know what happens when you mess with de Ragin’ Cajun, right?”

He spins you around, pressing you up against the counter with that wicked grin still plastered on his face. His hands slide down your sides, landing right where you’d smacked him. “Might have t’ return de favor,” he purrs, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to your lips. “You know Remy always collects his dues, mon amour.”

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler):

You’re in the middle of tidying up the bedroom when you spot Kurt near the door, his back to you as he’s sorting through some papers. He’s muttering to himself in that soft, lilting German accent that you love so much, completely unaware of your eyes on him. His tail sways lazily behind him as he concentrates, and you can’t help but grin to yourself, an idea forming in your head.

You move silently, making your way over to him, and just as you pass by, you raise your hand and give his firm ass a playful smack. The sound is sharp in the quiet room, and you immediately keep walking, acting as if nothing had happened. But the reaction is instantaneous.

Kurt yelps in surprise, his tail flicking up and curling in the air as he turns to face you, a mix of shock and amusement on his face. “Liebling!” he exclaims, his yellow eyes wide with playful disbelief. “Did you just…?” His voice trails off as he stares at you, his mouth hanging open in mock offense.

You glance over your shoulder at him, feigning innocence. “What? I didn’t do anything,” you say with a smirk, knowing full well he doesn’t believe a word of it.

Before you can blink, there’s a familiar "bamf", and in an instant, Kurt’s teleported right in front of you, his arms wrapping around your waist as his tail curls mischievously around your leg. “Oh, so you think you can get away with that, meine Liebe?” he teases, his voice low and filled with amusement. “You know I won’t let that slide.”

His lips brush against your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he continues, “Perhaps you need a reminder of what happens when you provoke a demon.” The way he says it is both playful and sultry, sending a thrill down your spine. His tail tightens its grip on your leg, holding you in place as his hands move to your hips.

Kurt’s mischievous smile is contagious, and you can’t help but laugh as he presses a light kiss to your lips. “Next time, I might just have to teleport you somewhere… private,” he adds with a wink, his tail flicking playfully as he pulls you closer, the two of you lost in your little game.

Scott Summers (Cyclops):

You’re sitting at the dining room table, flipping through some documents when Scott walks by with his usual purposeful stride. His posture is perfect, as always, and that stern expression he wears doesn’t falter. He’s got a natural air of authority, but you’ve seen the softer side of him that few others get to witness. As he walks past you, that teasing side of you sparks to life, and without warning, you reach out and give his ass a firm smack.

The sound echoes in the quiet room, and Scott stops dead in his tracks. For a moment, you think maybe you’ve startled him too much, but then he turns slowly, adjusting his visor in that way he does when he’s trying to keep control. “Really?” he asks, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement. “You’re feeling bold today, huh?”

You grin, leaning back in your chair as if daring him to react. “What? You can’t handle a little fun?” you tease, enjoying the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly.

Scott doesn’t let himself smile, but you can see the ghost of one tugging at his lips. He strides back toward you, placing his hands on either side of your chair, leaning down until his face is mere inches from yours. His eyes are hidden behind that visor, but you know that intense gaze is focused solely on you. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and authoritative, “I could make this a teaching moment if you keep testing me.”

There’s a flicker of challenge in his tone, and you can’t help but shiver at the way he’s so controlled yet playful all at once. “Maybe I want to be taught a lesson,” you reply cheekily, smirking up at him.

Scott’s lips quirk into a small smile at that, and he leans in even closer, his breath brushing your skin. “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” he warns softly, his tone filled with promise. You know Scott is all about discipline and control, but with you, there’s always an undercurrent of heat simmering just beneath the surface. And right now, you’re enjoying pushing all his buttons.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto):

You’ve just finished straightening up a few things around the living room when you notice Erik standing by the window, his arms crossed and his expression distant. He’s always deep in thought, his mind constantly working through plans, strategies, and the weight of his responsibilities. But in moments like these, you love pulling him out of that serious headspace, even if just for a second.

As you walk past him, you let your hand trail along his lower back before delivering a quick, playful smack to his ass. You know it’ll catch him off guard, and sure enough, Erik’s head turns sharply toward you, a mixture of surprise and amusement flashing in his steely gaze. “Liebling,” he says slowly, his deep voice laced with a dark chuckle, “I hope you realize what you’ve just done.”

You meet his gaze with a mischievous smile, shrugging casually. “What? Can’t a person have a little fun?”

Erik narrows his eyes, though you can see the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He steps toward you, his movements smooth and deliberate, until he’s standing directly in front of you, his towering presence almost intimidating. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warns, his voice low and dripping with intent.

His fingers reach out, brushing against your arm with a feather-light touch before sliding to your waist. “You should know better than to provoke me,” he continues, his tone growing softer, more menacing in a way that sends a thrill down your spine. There’s always something about Erik’s raw power that makes moments like these feel electric, like you’re on the verge of something intense.

You raise an eyebrow at him, refusing to back down. “Maybe I like living dangerously.”

Erik’s smirk widens, and without warning, he pulls you closer, his hand firm on your waist. “Careful, Liebling,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Next time, I might not be so gentle.” His eyes gleam with the promise of something more, and you can’t help but smile, knowing that with Erik, every moment is charged with tension and passion.

Warren Worthington III (Angel):

Warren is pacing around the room, his wings fluttering slightly as he moves. He always gets restless like this, especially after long missions, and you can see the tension in his shoulders. His wings, magnificent as ever, brush against the walls with each step, and you can’t help but admire the effortless grace he carries with him.

You decide to lighten the mood, and as you walk by, you reach out and give his ass a playful smack. It’s quick, unexpected, and you’re already a few steps ahead by the time Warren stops and turns to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really, Y/N?” he says, a soft laugh escaping his lips. There’s a twinkle in his blue eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting into that charming smile you know so well.

“What?” you reply innocently, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Just wanted to see if you’d notice.”

Warren chuckles, shaking his head as he folds his wings neatly behind him and strides over to you. “Oh, I noticed,” he says, his voice smooth and playful, like silk brushing against your skin. He steps closer, his hand slipping around your waist, pulling you back toward him. “You’re lucky I find it cute when you get cheeky.”

You grin up at him, but before you can say anything, Warren’s lips are by your ear, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “But you should know… you’ve got my full attention now.” There’s a teasing edge to his words, and you can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, his wings subtly enclosing around you, as if shielding the two of you from the world.

His fingers glide down your back, lingering just above where your hand had landed on him. “You know,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck, “if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.” His lips brush the shell of your ear, and you can feel the playful energy between you shift into something deeper, more intimate. Warren always knows how to turn a simple moment into something unforgettable, and as his wings wrap around you, you know you’re in for more than just playful teasing tonight.

Bobby Drake (Iceman):

You’re standing by the counter, organizing some groceries while Bobby flips through a magazine at the kitchen table. His legs are kicked up, as casual as ever, when you pass by. Feeling playful, you give his ass a swift smack as you move past him. The sound echoes in the small space, and it’s enough to catch his attention immediately.

Bobby jerks, almost spilling his drink in surprise, before whipping around to face you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed from both the slap and embarrassment. “Woah! Y/N, what was that for?” he asks, though there’s no hiding the grin pulling at his lips.

You shrug, flashing him an innocent look. “Just making sure you’re awake.”

He laughs, shaking his head as he stands up, crossing the room to stand next to you. “Oh, I’m awake now, alright,” he teases, sliding his arms around your waist, his touch cool against your skin. “I didn’t know you had it in you to get so… bold.”

His playful tone matches the mischievous glint in his eyes, and you can’t help but laugh along with him. “What? You can’t handle a little fun?” you challenge, enjoying the light banter between you two.

Bobby leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “I can handle anything you throw at me, but don’t think I’ll let you get away with that.” His voice is laced with a teasing edge, and you feel a cool breeze sweep through the room, a subtle reminder of the icy powers he wields. You know he’s up to something, but before you can react, he presses a quick kiss to your neck and steps back with a wink. “You’re gonna pay for that, you know.”

Alex Summers (Havok):

Alex is sprawled out on the couch, looking through some reports when you walk by. His feet are up, and there’s a focused look on his face, the kind he always wears when he’s trying to deal with the endless responsibilities of being an X-Man. You take the opportunity as you pass, leaning over to give his ass a firm smack, catching him completely off guard.

Alex sits up instantly, his eyes narrowing playfully as he turns to you. “Did you just…?” he starts, not quite believing what just happened. He’s still processing it, a mix of amusement and shock spreading across his face.

You grin, crossing your arms as you raise an eyebrow. “What? Just thought I’d remind you who’s boss around here,” you tease, knowing it’ll get a rise out of him.

Alex chuckles, shaking his head as he stands up, his presence commanding yet relaxed. “Oh, is that right?” he asks, his voice low, a hint of mischief lacing his words. He walks toward you, closing the space between you quickly. “Well, I think you’re about to find out that I don’t take orders so easily.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, his energy always simmering just beneath the surface. “You like playing with fire, huh?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Careful, Y/N… you might just get burned.”

The tension between you sizzles, and there’s a playful challenge in his eyes as he leans in closer. Alex has always had that perfect balance of power and charm, and moments like this remind you just how intoxicating he can be.

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver):

Pietro is a blur of motion, zipping around the room as he organizes everything at lightning speed. You’ve gotten used to his constant fast-paced movements, but that doesn’t stop you from messing with him whenever you get the chance. As he darts past you, you reach out, timing it perfectly to give his ass a swift smack.

In a flash, Pietro skids to a halt, spinning around to face you, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and excitement. “Did you just smack me?” he asks, his voice incredulous but laced with laughter. “I didn’t even see that coming!”

You grin, leaning against the counter as you shrug casually. “Maybe you’re losing your touch, Speedy.”

Pietro narrows his eyes playfully, zipping right in front of you in the blink of an eye. He’s so close, you can feel the rush of air from his speed. “Losing my touch? Oh, you’re in for it now,” he teases, his lips curling into that trademark smirk that always makes your heart race.

Before you can respond, he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re lucky I find this little game of yours amusing,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr. “But don’t think for a second I won’t get you back. Faster than you can blink.”

Pietro’s hand slides down your side, and you can feel the energy buzzing off him, the tension between you electric. His eyes gleam with mischief as he tilts his head slightly. “Next time you try that, you better be ready to run,” he warns, but there’s no real danger in his tone—only the promise of more playful banter to come.

Jean Grey:

Jean is standing at the stove, her mind likely a million miles away as she stirs something in the pot. You’ve always loved watching her in these quiet moments, the way her hair seems to glow in the soft light, her expression so calm and serene. As you walk by, you decide to playfully break the stillness and give her a quick, teasing smack on the ass.

Jean gasps in surprise, her stirring hand freezing mid-motion as she looks over her shoulder at you, eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. “Y/N!” she exclaims, her voice half-laughing, half-scolding. You can see the blush rising on her cheeks, and it only makes your grin widen.

“What?” you reply innocently, trying your best to look like you didn’t just commit the playful act. “I couldn’t resist.”

Jean sets the spoon down and turns fully toward you, hands on her hips, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes. “You’re trouble, you know that?” she says, though the smile tugging at her lips betrays any attempt at a stern tone.

Before you can respond, you feel a subtle tug in your mind—Jean’s way of playfully reminding you she’s always got the upper hand when it comes to your little games. She steps closer, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm. “You know I could have you pinned with a single thought,” she teases, her voice soft yet teasing. “But I think I’ll let you off the hook this time… unless you want me to show you what happens when you mess with a telepath.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling the warmth of her body as she presses closer, her lips ghosting over your ear. “Think you’re fast enough to get away next time?” she whispers, her breath hot against your skin, leaving you anticipating her next move.

[andorsdoll]

Homecoming ♡ Anakin Skywalker x Reader [♀]

Summary: Anakin comes home from battle wrecked and starving for you. You’re his wife, his anchor, his religion—and he fucks you like it.

Word Count: 1.6k || Warnings: nsfw. p*rn w/out plot?? idgaf!!, reader & anakin are married, the gloves stay on during sex, no foreplay, penetration (p-in-v), unprotected sex/creampie, some praise/dirty talk, aftercare, doting husband! anakin, etc.,

Author's Note: idk how to write smut, it's hard!!!!! (stop.. genuinely no pun intended >w< )

PS- for any of you guys following my multi chaptered anakin fic on ao3, i'm so sorry that i never ended up updating but i promise it is on its way, like i'm (re)writing the first chapter as we speak ok!!

PPS- if i have any james kelly/hayden christensen girlies, i posted a one shot here ;)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺ .✦.

He doesn’t knock but you hear the sound of boots trecking closer. Your breath catches in your throat the moment the door opens.

Anakin.

Finally.

You stand a little too fast and your knees almost buckle from the way relief crashes into you like a wave.

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since he was pulled to the opposite end of the galaxy, again, with nothing but scrambled comms and a handful of encrypted messages.

He’s sunburnt, his cloak covered in dust. His brow is creased but he looks at you like you’ve just saved his life.

“Hi,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out.

That alone nearly breaks him.

Anakin crosses the space between you without hesitation, wrapping you in his arms. He buries his face in your neck, letting out an exhale. Like he's been holding his breath the entire time he was gone.

“I thought I’d go insane,” he mumbles. “I thought if I had to wake up one more morning without you next to me—” He pulls back just far enough to kiss you.

And the second your lips touch—it all unravels.

His kisses are desperate, needy, open-mouthed. Like he’s both punishing and apologizing to you for having had to leave.

“I missed you, Ani." you stroke the back of his head, fingers tangling in dusty curls.

It's almost overwhelming now, being in his arms after weeks. You can't even get another sentence out before Anakin's mouth devours the words against your throat.

He bites and licks at the skin there like he needs proof you’re real. Then he lifts you with both arms, one still gloved, possessive and loving on your thighs, walking you backward through the apartment without looking.

When he finally places you onto the bed, he lays you down like he's been waiting forever for this exact moment.

His forehead rests against yours while his hands roam, sliding beneath your top. Thumbs grazing your nipples until you gasp and whimper into his mouth.

“I dreamed about this,” he says. “Every night. I was afraid I'd forget your touch. Afraid I’d forget how it feels to be inside of you.”

You whimper, hips pressing forward instinctively. That alone makes him groan like you’re torturing him.

“I need you,” he says suddenly, dragging his mouth across your collarbone, leaving trails of blooming bruises. “I can’t wait, baby. I need you.” he whines, deprived and desperate.

“Take me,” you plead as you grind against him.

He undresses the both of you like a man possessed. Belt clattering to the floor, robes kicked aside, cock flushed, thick, and leaking at the tip as he shoves his pants down just enough.

He doesn’t waste time teasing, just pushes in deep with a sudden thrust. His head falls into your shoulder as he groans and just stays buried inside you, murmuring your name like it's holy.

Like loving you is the only thing he's ever needed and he's on his knees for it, buried in you like it's salvation.

Your legs are trembling from how full you feel when he says, "You’re clenching like you missed this. Missed me. Is that it, sweet girl?"

You nod against him, breath caught, arms wrapped around his shoulders like you never want to let go.

And then he starts to move.

It's really slow at first, mostly because he's making sure to reach as deep as possible when he rolls his hips forward. Like he wants to fuck your soul, not just your body. “So pretty like this… so wet for me… fuck, baby…”

He laces his fingers with yours, pinning both of your wrists above your head as he moves inside you with aching rhythm, eyes locked to yours.

He drives into you with ruthless precision, your dripping pussy clenching around him. The sounds between your bodies are obscene and wet, your legs shake while your mouth falls open.

Babbling incoherently now, you're barely able to take it. And he absolutely loves it.

Seeing you flushed and undone under him, Anakin moans, slowing his thrusts just long enough to lean down. His gloved fingers cradling your jaw while his eyes drink you in.

“Stars,” he whispers, voice hoarse, almost gone. “Look at you.”

A broken sound escapes your throat again as your head falls back, eyes fluttering. Your body’s too full, too sensitive.

You feel destroyed, wrecked, and you know he can see it. He brushes your cheek and the corner of your lips with his fingertips, gentle in a way that makes your chest ache.

Because even now, even like this, Anakin is still so tender with you. His expression is molten and dark with hunger. Yet, it's so soft and loving, as if he can’t decide whether to ruin you completely or stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for him.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” he pants, voice ragged. “Gonna fill you up. Will you let me?” He asks. But it's not really a question at this point, more like a promise.

All you can do is moan, arching your hips up to meet him, mouth still parted in gutteral cries. You come hard, clenching around him. He kisses you through it, swallowing your cries as he keeps fucking into you, desperate to reach his own release.

“Say it,” he breathes into you, hoarse and pleading. “Say you’re mine. Say you missed me.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, fingernails dragging down his back. “Always, Anakin. I’m yours, I miss—”

He slams into you, cutting off the words, rhythm starting to falter. You feel it as his thrusts grow uneven and erratic and he's cursing under his breath. His face contorts and he groans through clenched teeth as he finally comes, thick and hot inside of you.

But he doesn’t stop pounding until he’s completely spent, until it’s leaking out around him.

━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━

Afterwards, there's a long moment where neither of you move. Just the sound of your breaths echoing throughout the apartment. Shaky, uneven, like you’ve both been through something you barely survived.

His weight eases over you while your legs remain lazily draped around his waist. He’s still inside you, softening slowly. His breath hot and shallow against your throat.

The galaxy feels blurred at the edges, dazed and dreamlike.

Your thighs tremble with every little shift in movement. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you blink up at the ceiling, lips starting to tremble.

It hits you then, he's really home.

Anakin senses it, the shift in your breath, the way your lip starts to wobble. So he lifts himself just enough to look down at you. There's something soft in his gaze—like he knows exactly what you’re feeling.

“Oh, sweet girl…” he whispers before leaning in to kiss your cheek, your eyelids, your nose. Your eyes flutter shut from the sensation and he gingerly brushes your hair back.

His voice is sweet and doting now, “I missed you so much. I don’t think I can leave you ever again.”

You smile. Mostly because you know he has to leave again soon. Of course you do. He’s bound by duty—by the war, the cause, the robes he never fully gets to take off.

But right now, none of that matters.

Not with the way he’s holding you while his come is still warm inside you. Not with his mouth trailing over your collarbone like he’s relearning the shape of you.

He’s here.

And he’s yours.

And that’s enough, for now.

“C-Can’t feel my legs,” you mumble.

He grins.

Actually grins. Boyish, flushed and handsome.

It's then in his smile that a flicker of a memory comes back to you. The first time you ever met him, both of you years younger, standing awkwardly in the Temple courtyard. He’d smiled at you then like this too—cocky, sun-warm, all dimples and promise.

“Good,” he says proudly.

You shove at him half-heartedly, and he chuckles again before slowly, carefully pulling out. You whimper when your hips twitch at the sudden emptiness and soreness. He gently hushes you.

“I know, I know,” he coos. “You’re sensitive. It’s okay. I’ve got you, baby.”

You’re so fucked out you can’t move. So, he moves for you. He kisses your stomach, your thighs, your knees.

Then he disappears from the bed, rummaging around for a moment before returning to clean you up. He runs the damp fabric between your legs with maddening care, cooing every time you flinch or whine.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Still dripping for me.”

“Anakin!” your cheeks flush as you throw your arm over your eyes.

“What?” he says innocently, pressing a kiss to your hip. “Just admiring my beautiful wife. All full and spent and pretty… Do you want me to run you a bath? Or should I tuck you in? Did you eat already?”

Your mouth opens to answer but he’s already climbing back onto the bed, settling behind you, pulling you into his lap. Your legs go limp over his thighs. “Ani, you're not serious—”

“Oh, I’m serious,” he says, voice low and teasing now. “I’ve got you exactly where I want you. Might keep you like this forever.”

You lean into him, humming as your head falls back on his shoulder. “You're ridiculous.”

Anakin places a kiss on the top of your head as he massages your hips slowly. "I'm in love." he responds casually, like it's the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Good morning

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Authors note: OK, this was unexpected, but I woke up early and horny and didn't know what to do. It's somehow against what I said yesterday but sometimes one just has to follow the inner voice and my inner voice was whispering - more Bucky smut, please.

Warnings: fluff, SMUT 18+, not proofread, mistakes might or might not be corrected later along the way, but all are mine 😅

Word Count: 2K

Summary: Plot? Never heard of it, just pure, tender smut. Bucky loves waking up with you tangled in his arms, and he needs you. Now.

Bucky wakes slow, the kind of slow that only happens when he knows he doesn’t have to be anywhere else. The room is quiet, just the hum of the city beyond the window and the rise and fall of your breath beside him. It’s the kind of morning that wraps around him like the blankets tangled between your legs and he can never get enough of it.

He blinks through half-lidded eyes, vision still fuzzy with sleep, but he knows exactly what he’s looking for, and there you are, tucked under the blankets, face turned toward him, lips parted slightly still deep in a dream.

He smiles, he really smiles, not wide, not showy, just a small, quiet pull at the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile no one else ever gets. The kind that only exists on mornings like this, when he wakes up with you warm against him, wrapped around him like you belong there and even more – like he belongs here. 

Your leg is thrown over his, your arm rests on his chest, your fingers curling loosely against his ribs like you’re holding onto him even in your sleep. 

He shifts just a little, careful not to wake you, just enough to settle into the shape of you against him, and lets his eyes wander over the curve of your cheek, the soft line of your shoulder where the blanket's slipped low. 

His eyes are still heavy, but he watches you anyway, it’s by far his favourite moment in the whole day, this lazy calmness, this peace. Bucky watches the way your nose scrunches just a little when the morning light creeps in, the way you sigh and nuzzle closer like his shoulder is your favorite pillow.

His metal hand is at the small of your back, not doing anything, just being there, holding you, it rests against your bare skin and he feels the difference, sharp and stark – hard against soft, weapon against warmth.

It hits him again, like it does every damn morning, that you’re real, that this is real, that he gets to have this.

It still doesn’t quite make sense in his head, not fully, he was never meant for something so gentle. What right does he have to touch something like you? Something so soft, gentle and  breakable, so easy in your sleep, trusting him without a single beat of hesitation.

You could’ve flinched the first time he touched you, he would’ve understood, he even expected that, he was half man, half machine, he knew what he looked liked, but you never did. You looked at him like you saw something whole, like he wasn’t broken at all.  

How the hell is this his life?

He watches the slow flutter of your lashes, the way you breathe easy like he couldn’t possibly be something to fear. It humbles him, wrecks him a little, too. Because this, because you, is what saves him, day after day – that feeling that you give him, the quiet, impossible hope that maybe, just maybe, something like him is allowed to hold something like you. 

His fingers, flesh and metal alike, brush against your side in the quietest of ways, just to make sure again that you’re real, still here, still his.

He groans quietly, barely more than a breath, fuck, he’s so hard, just from watching you, from the way your body molds so easily to his, from the featherlight drag of his fingers along your skin. 

His body responds instinctively, want curling low in his stomach, but he doesn’t move quickly, never with you, not in moments like this.

He reaches, slowly, tenderly, flesh hand first, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek, his thumb lingers there, ghosting across your temple.

Then the metal hand, the one he once hated to even look at, shifts at your back, and he slides it up, just a few inches, until his palm is resting between your shoulder blades. He holds you like that, close and steady, savouring the feel of your breath against his skin.

He lets his fingers trace the shape of you in slow, barely-there touches, over the curve of your hip to the place where your shirt, or maybe it’s his, has ridden up. You shift sleepily, a soft sigh slipping from your lips, and his breath stutters when your body presses a little closer as his fingers dip beneath the hem of your pajama shorts.

His fingers trace a lazy line lower, until he finds the warmth of you waiting. He inhales, sharp and quiet, God, he never gets used to it, how ready you are for him, even in your sleep, even before your mind has caught up with what your body already knows.

He strokes you with featherlight pressure, testing, teasing, his fingers slide through your folds, circle your clit, your breath catches and he watches, rapt, as your lashes flutter, brows drawing together for a brief second before you sigh and shift again, hips tilting toward his touch. He feels his cock twitch, it’s fully hard now, painfully hard. Jesus you’re so fucking beautiful like this.

He keeps going, feeling the wetness pooling around his fingers, he watches the way your body responds, the way you arch just a little more into his touch, how your breath shudders when he adds more pressure, more care, sliding one finger inside you with aching tenderness.

Your eyes crack open, sleep-drunk and slow, and the first thing you see is Bucky, watching you with that look, that desperate, wrecked look he gets only in the morning when his guard is gone and his body aches for yours. 

“Mm… morning,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep and a small, knowing smile pulls at your lips as you stretch a little beneath his touch, feeling his finger inside you. “Someone’s needy.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. “You make it hard to behave,” he mutters, fingers circling more deliberately now, coaxing your body awake with each slow stroke.

Your breath deepens, your thighs part just a little, instinctive and welcoming, a soft moan slips over your lips, and it damn near breaks him. His cock twitches, hard and aching, pressed against your thigh. He could almost come just like this, buried against you, fingers deep inside you, nose tucked into the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers, even though you never do, even though he knows this by now, the way you melt for him in the mornings, the way you love how greedy he gets when the world is still quiet and you’re still half-asleep in his arms.

You shake your head gently, curling a hand around his wrist, keeping him close. “Don’t stop,” you whisper. “Feels good.”

He groans low in his throat, kissing you now, first your cheek, then your jaw, the hollow beneath your ear. His mouth moves lower, finding your collarbone, pressing open-mouthed kisses in time with the rhythm of his fingers, still working you open, still coaxing that heat to bloom just right for him.

“Did I tell you I love you? ” he breathes, lips on your skin. 

You smile, eyes half-lidded as you rock your hips into his hand, chasing that pressure. “You did, probably a hundred times yesterday.”

Another moan escapes you as he curls his fingers just right, slow but sure, and your whole body shivers from the inside out. He’s so fucking good at this, at you, at reading your body like it’s the only thing he was ever made to do.

You know by now he’s barely holding it together, his breath comes uneven, chest rising too fast, and his eyes, half-lidded and glassy, are fixed on you.

His cock twitches against your thigh, hot and heavy, and you can feel just how close he already is, how wound tight he’s been since the moment he woke up.

“Will you ride me?” he breathes, voice cracking into a low, desperate whine. “Please?”

The sound of it, the desperate need in his voice, pulls a soft, breathless laugh from you.

“God, you’re so needy in the mornings,” you murmur, brushing your lips over his cheek, your smile wicked but loving.

“Only for you,” he groans, his one hand tightening on your hip as if he’s already imagining the feeling of you sinking down on him. “Always for you.”

You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice low and breathy. “Make me cum first.”

His fingers twitch inside you, the reaction immediate, like your words flipped a switch in him, his breath stutters, and he lets out a rough, choked noise.

“Yeah,” he whispers, already moving, already giving. “I got you.”

His mouth finds your neck again, warm lips pressing between your collarbones, while his fingers curl with more intent now, hitting that sweet spot deep inside, and his thumb finds your clit and moves in tight, slow circles, his touch so precise it feels like he’s reading your mind.

You shudder, hips grinding down into his hand, chasing every wave of pleasure he offers.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, watching your face now, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every breathy sound you make. “Let me take care of you.”

Your nails dig gently into his chest as the pleasure crests, rising higher, faster, hotter, his voice sounds wrecked with love and lust as he whispers sweet things in your ear. 

He doesn’t stop, not until your thighs start to tremble, not until that heat he built so patiently finally crashes through you like a breaking tide and your body clenches around his fingers. 

You moan, loud and unrestrained, hips bucking shamelessly into his hand, chasing every last flicker of release.

And Bucky, God, Bucky, he tenses beside you like he’s feeling it too, his cock grinds against your thigh, hard and leaking, the desperation in him nearly painful now. He’s already wrecked, breath coming in shaky pulls, eyes glazed, body trembling, completely undone just from watching you fall apart on his hand and you love it. 

You love how helpless he becomes when you unravel like that under his touch. You love how much it takes out of him just to stay still, just to keep control when he’s dying to bury himself inside you.

And more than anything, you love teasing him, love how soft he is with you, super soldier or not, in your arms he’s just yours, unarmored, unmade, a man with trembling hands,  kiss-swollen lips and need written all over him.

“You ready for me now, sweetheart?” he breathes, voice ragged.

“Mmmm…” you mumble, still floating somewhere between this world and another. You shift, slowly, pulling your ruined and soaked pajama shorts off and pushing yourself up, as you straddle him in one smooth motion. 

His hands glide up your thighs, his head tipping back against the pillow as he takes in the sight of you with messy hair, plush and rosy lips, eyes heavy with the remnants of your orgasm. You are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, inside and out, and you’re his. 

You lean down, brushing your mouth just barely over his, not quite kissing, just letting your breath ghost over his skin. 

You reach between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him, guiding him to where he wants to be so desperately, and the moment the thick head of his cock presses against your entrance, his whole body tenses beneath you.

“Fuck, baby…” he gasps, hands flying to your waist, but you don’t rush, you never do, you take your time, teasing him with just your slick heat.

“C’mon, baby,” you murmur, voice like silk, “ask me nicely.”

His throat works around a swallow, jaw clenching as his hands flex at your waist.

“Please,” he half whispers, half moans, his voice catching as he rolls his hips up against you. “Please ride me... baby, I need you… need to be inside you so bad, I can’t…” he breaks off with a sharp gasp when you grind your hips against him, slow and teasing, letting the thick length of him slide against your soaked heat without giving him what he wants, not yet.

“Please,” he begs so sweetly again, and you smile, wicked and warm, heart aching with how much you love this man.

“Good boy,” you whisper, hand sliding up his chest and watching him fall apart inch by inch as you slowly, so slowly, begin to lower yourself onto him. 

His head snaps back, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as he tries and fails to hold back the sound that rips from him – a moan so wrecked and filthy it vibrates through your whole body.

“Fuck…fuck…, sweetheart,” he groans, hands gripping your thighs like they’re the only thing anchoring him to this world. “You feel so…Jesus… you feel like heaven.”

You sink down fully, gasping softly as he stretches and fills you, your hands braced on his chest, his heartbeat thudding wildly beneath your palms. You don’t move right away, you just want to feel him first – the pulse, the heat, the way you fit together like he was made for this, made for you.

And when you finally roll your hips, slow and deep, his whole body shudders beneath you, every muscle straining to hold onto something that’s already slipping away.

“Fuck… baby...” he hisses through clenched teeth, eyes cracking open, glassy and desperate and so full of love it almost hurts to look at him. “Yes… just like that… use me, take what you need, it’s all yours.”

And you know he means more than just his body, he means everything.

[ssahotchnerr]

heyy, i just want to say that i really love your writing and i was wondering if you could do one with hotch were its like really cozy and there like cuddling on the couch and maybe something with jack?

dozing off

🥹 the dream cw; fem!reader, established relationship, descriptions of food, fluff <3

"Do you just wanna go to bed?"

Your voice caused Aaron to lift his head, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "Hm?"

"You're falling asleep," you laughed, using your index finger to lightly trace shapes along his chest, the fabric of his t-shirt soft under your fingertips. "So do you want to move to bed?"

"No I'm not." He insisted drowsily, his hand running up and down your back, shifting just enough to settle further into you. Based on his relaxed posture, it was clear he had no plans to move.

"Oh yeah? What's happened so far?" You asked in amusement, referring to the movie playing in front of the two of you. It's been on for about forty-five minutes now, and Aaron had been asleep for the past twenty at least.

He squinted slightly as he looked at the screen, studying the current scene for a moment as if that alone would relay the entire plot of the movie. "They're... going on a date." He stated, which sounded more like a question than anything else - at the moment, two characters were getting in a car.

"Aaron, honey, they're siblings."

He frowned, "Maybe I was asleep."

"Maybe," you confirmed with a small giggle, laying your head back against his chest. "Try absolutely."

"I'm comfy." He closed his eyes, his arms around you tightening as if doing so would bring you any closer. "Can you blame me?"

The BAU's caseload had kicked up a notch, so that meant they'd been working overtime, resulting in more days and nights with Aaron states away. The second he walked through the door this very afternoon, there were deep bags present under his eyes. You were partially surprised he was standing upright.

So no, you couldn't blame him. Especially when you knew he needed the sleep, convinced he never got enough to begin with, a case occupying him or not.

"I enjoy Friday nights so much more when you're home." You sighed softly in content, resting your chin atop his chest.

Likewise, he released a breath. "Me too sweetheart. Me too."

He opened his eyes, an inviting smile on his face as you moved slightly upwards, bringing your lips to his.

He kissed you softly, long and slow in his sleepy wake. The way he approached it with such ease and leisure caused infatuation to buzz right through you. It was relaxed and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world, leaving you warm and happy. You felt loved.

The two of you broke apart at the pitter patter of feet coming from down the hallway, quickly joining you in the living room.

"What are you doing up?" Aaron asked Jack playfully, his eyebrows raised. "Didn't we already say good night to you?"

"I couldn't sleep." Jack said, his head turning towards the TV, suddenly engrossed as if it would somehow better his chances. "Can I stay up late too?"

"Well... it is Friday," you reached forward, picking up Jack and adding him to your cuddle pile. "It's okay with me if it's okay with Dad."

He looked up at his father, pleading. "Dad?"

Aaron looked between the two of you, his two favorite people. A smile tugged onto his lips - how could he say no? He caved, "sure, why not."

You smiled, tickling Jack's side gently amidst his small celebration. "How about some popcorn too?"

His eyes widened in excitement, "even though I already brushed my teeth?"

"I think we can bend some rules tonight."

"And m&m's?"

"Don't push your luck," Aaron warned gently, his voice slightly stern in that Dad-voice manner. But the glint in his eyes said otherwise - just happiness. As if things couldn’t get any better than this.

"I'll tell you what, you can even pick the movie too." You lowered your voice, but spoke loudly enough so Aaron could still hear you. "Your Dad keeps falling asleep, even though he keeps telling me he's wide awake."

"He always falls asleep." Jack grinned, "Can we watch Star Wars?"

As you switched movies, Aaron prepared the popcorn, adding a small quantity of m&m's mixed within. Slight adjustments were made too, due to the limited space available on the couch. Now, you sat in the middle, the two of them nestled comfortably at your sides with a blanket draped over the three of you.

And within the hour, prolonged only by the snacks, the scene soon played out just as it had started. Only this time, you had two Hotchners dozing beside you. Jack was mushed up against your arm, while Aaron's head rested atop your shoulder, small snores exiting his mouth.

There really couldn't be anything better.

[arabellasfvv]

Ghost👎 pathetic simon👍

MDNI 18+ just porn without a plot.

He's behind you, towering over you like the giant he is. His rough hands on your hips pulling you back on his cock, strained grunts falling from his lips. He bends down, one hand tangling into your hair so he can twist your head, see your face. "Say thank you, birdie."

"For what?"

For what?? The answer stuns him, making his brows furrow. "For‐" "For making me feel like every other guy?" You interrupt, almost rude with the way you speak. He doesn't even have enough time to gather himself and speak up before you do again.

"Just get it over with." And when you say that, he growls. Like a fucking mutt being denied its toy.

His thrusts slowed as his frustrations build. How could you say that to him? He's good. Women always say he's good. Makes them feel full, and sated.

The way your walls hug him, warm and wet, your smooth skin against his own.. it's felt like heaven. But the fact you didn't feel it as deep in your bones as he did completely threw him off. It makes his frustrations turn to desperation. Groans trailing off into whimpers, quiet whines that try to express what he's feeling.

Now he wanted to work even harder to make you feel good.

Yet his body was betraying him in every way. His hips were stuttering, no thrust really the same, some were hard and deep, and then he didn't pull out right, then he pulled deeper than possible, slamming into you, before slipping out which was a complete nightmare because he couldn't find the hole again, poking aimlessly around your slit. Fuck.

His hands, normally steady and tactile, now had about the same dexterity as of a toddler. He was grabbing everywhere, like he was searching for something with no idea how to navigate.

You cursed under your breath, what the fuck. And that just broke him. His whimpers turned worse, louder, more desperate. Guilty dog. He did feel pathetic, having no idea where his mind went. It just seemed to slip out off his ears once he realised you didn't like this.

"Okay, Jesus! Get off, lay down," you snapped. Pulling your body away from him, expecting him to comply. And he did, thanking everything that is holy that he got a command. Something to follow, easy, familiar. Pinching the bridge of your nose you watched as he eagerly complied and laid flat on his back. You would've laughed at the imagine if it weren't so frustrating right now. You climbed over him, straddling his thick thighs. Your hand reaching down to line his cock up with your weeping hole. Lips parting in a silent moan once you sunk down.

His hands shoot to your hips when you start grinding down on him, feeling every bump and ridge of your walls. His orgasm came far too soon, catching him so off guard he couldn't even warn you. A sound, more of a mewl than anything, being ripped from his throat, his body tightening as his load filling you, hot and thick. Threatening to seep out the moment you moved.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me. I'm about to zip tie your balls," you spat down at him, nails digging into his chest.

He flinched, guilt washing over him as the realisation of what had just happened hit. "Ah- fuck! I didn't mean to, I swear. Fuck, I'm sorry, love." God, you're scary when youre frustrated. "Just gimme a minute, I'll be—" you cut him off once again. Though this time not with words but with a lift of your hips, halfway up before you sink down again.

He's hissing through the feeling, "No, no, wait- nghh, please." Far too sensitive for the rhythm youre setting. But you don't seem to care, he's denied you pleasure and now youre chasing it. And clearly, you're not about to compromise that.

The sounds echoing in the room are obsence, the squelch of your arousal and his cum leaking out of you, forming a white ring around his base. Simons whimpers while he desperately tries to put his mind back together, mixing with your breathy moans when you finally manage to get his cock to hit that sweet, gummy spot inside of you.

"Make yourself useful," your hand comes down his wrist, dragging his hand away from your hip and down to your heat. Excepting him to get the hint. And thank God he did, cupping your inner thigh while his thumb gathered some of the slicky substance all around, lubing up your puffy clit so he could draw slow circles around the bundle of nerves. "Good boy."

You shift to squad above him instead, "Speed up," you croon, while doing the same. Bouncing up and down faster, making sure to repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside. His thumbs speeds up, firm and constant. But so do his hips, thrusting up into you, trying to meet your rhythm. You were gonna kill this man. Either through pleasure or anger. "That ain't what I asked for, is it?" "Sorry, sorry, sorry. You're just.. so good. So good, love. Feel so perfect 'round me."

Its absolutely torture for him to stay still, to keep his hips on the matrass when youre making him feel so good. But he's eager to please now. So he takes a deep breath, focusing on your body instead of his own. And it's worth it. The way your eyebrows furrow, the way those pretty lips fall open, the way your breath stutters, and the way you clench around him when you come, all of it is heavenly. "That's good... that's right," you praise breathlessly. The way your cunt is pulsing around him and the relief of making you feel good has him coming undone again. It's almost painful how hard he comes, it has his legs trembling and his eyes screwing shut tighlty.

"Don't get off," he protest weakly once you lift your hips. He doesn't want to lose that feeling. And his hands are urging you to stay down. His frown is almost pitiable when you get off nonetheless. Slumping against the headboard next to him. "Say thank you."

Oh, you're mean, throwing his words back at him. "Thank you. Thank you, dove. Felt so good." You did deserve it more than him.

His eyes wander down, his flaccid cock glistening, cum stuck in his blonde pubes. And then they wander over to you, watching your chest rise and fall with each breath, biting back the urge to suck on your hard nipples, to lick around the soft skin. He cant see much between your legs, your pretty thighs covering most of it from his point of view. And he truly cant help it. He shifts, slowly, the bed creaking lowly under his weight. He grabs your leg, spreading your legs so he can settle between them. Peppering kisses along your inner thighs, while his hands knead the supple flesh, the flexing muscles underneath.

"What's that gonna be, hm?" You hum in suprise, raising your eyebrows at him. A hand coming down to his shoulder, gliding along the tattooed skin until it reached the back of his neck. Wrapping around it, thumb playing with the little hairs along his hairline. "An apology."

"An apology? Huh. Won't find me complaining about that." He groans at the breathy laughter that follows. Everything about you is just so beautiful. His hand guides your leg to lay over his shoulder. His tongue flattening as it reaches your pussy. "I'll make it up to you," He assures, though he's not even sure if you hear him, it's all mumbled into your cunt. Before his tongue slips between your lips, poking at your stretched hole, leaking with both of your orgasms.

You tense up at the sound that follows, cringing at how filthy it is. If that's how he slurps up his own sperm you make a mental note to never eat soup with him. Yeesh. Your hand tightenings on his neck when he tries to push himself closer to you, wanting to get deeper, to taste more of you, be completely surrounded by you.

He is a good kisser though, eagerly devouring your folds. And you almost want to tug him up for a proper kiss. Almost.

Hes making sure to get every every bit from you, every sweat drop, every drop of slick arousal gathered around your crotch. Theres no way he hasn't swallowed a pube or two. But he isn't even noticing. Too lost in the taste. And the feeling of your hand gripping his hair, pulling him closer, encouragement to just keep going.

The hand that isn't firmly holding your legs over his shoulder sneaks with him between your legs, thick fingers pushing past your entrance. Callouses grazing your soft insides. Lips suctioning around your clit briefly. Before his tongue takes over, lapping up and down until your hips are grinding against it, wanting more and more.

Just before he can get desperate for your praise again you speak, "just like that, sweetheart. Now youre doing good." Boy, if he had a tail it'd be wagging like crazy like now. "Don't stop, dont you dare stop. M'close," you moan, words barely coming out right when his fingers finally find the spot, and hes not shy to abuse it. Quickly curling against it again and again until your back arches. His eyes shoot up, no way in hell he's missing your orgasm.

He prefers this one over your first, simply because of the pressure of your thighs clamping down on his head, and his lips being right at the source of what's holy to him. And now he's got a taste for it...

So when you try to pull away to come down again, he pulls you close again, pressing your hips against the matress, his eyes are more pupil than anything as he looks up at you. "I ain't done, birdie."

[downbadf0rficppl]

love in the dark

Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: You're used to being Natasha's in the dark, where no one can see you, but what if all the hiding causes insecurities to rear their head and make you question if you are even good enough for this job?

Word Count: 12.5K (CRAZY IK)

AN: Maybe - definitely - OOC Natasha, but I wanted to get my annoyance out somewhere. It's been a long week *crying face*. Anyway, I can't write anything angsty (dk if I would classify this as angst angst but ya know) without a lil bit of fluff at the end so yh. Also sorry that the plot is a bit shit - I haven't reread this and it was a lil bit word-vomity?? Will reread and edit eventually haha. HEA, hurt/comfort vibes? :P

Take your eyes off of me so I can leave

I'm far too ashamed to do it with you watching me

The dim light of morning filters through the curtains as you quietly gather your things, your heart a tangled mess of emotions you’d rather not confront. Natasha’s apartment is always neat—pristine, even in its chaos—but today it feels colder than usual. The aftermath of the night lingers in the air: the weight of intimacy, of bodies pressed together, of shared moments that somehow don't leave a mark, yet always seem to hang over you.

You move with practiced ease, pulling on your clothes, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the stillness. Natasha’s absence from the bed doesn’t surprise you; she’s already up, probably training or doing some task to keep herself distracted, to keep from thinking about the mission, about what happened, about anything. You don’t blame her. You’ve seen the way she handles it—how she compartmentalizes her emotions, how sex is the one thing she doesn’t keep in a box.

The door to her bathroom creaks open as you finish zipping your jacket. She doesn’t look at you, her hair damp from a quick shower, her expression unreadable, almost distant. She grabs her black leather jacket from the chair, pulls it on, and heads to the kitchen, the clink of mugs the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak, but the words always seem to hang on the tip of your tongue, trapped behind something you don’t know how to say. You're younger—years younger—and Natasha... well, Natasha never gives anything away. Not in the way you want her to. Her walls are solid, built from years of training, of being a weapon. And you? You’re just a moment, a fleeting thing in her life.

You find her standing by the window now, her back to you, her figure outlined against the early light. She’s always like this after missions, like she’s trying to rid herself of the weight, trying to get back to being Natasha again, instead of... whatever else she’s forced to be.

“Thanks for last night,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t turn to face you, doesn’t even acknowledge your words immediately. Then, as if the silence is too much to bear, she speaks. “You should go. Goodnight, baby.” Her voice is low, steady, but there's an edge to it—something you can’t quite place.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I know.”

You turn to leave, but something inside you twists, a knot in your stomach that isn’t just from the awkwardness. It’s the realization that, for all the time you’ve spent together, nothing will ever change. This is just routine—an unspoken agreement between the two of you. She'll keep using you to forget, and you’ll keep pretending this isn’t affecting you.

But Natasha doesn’t ask you to stay, doesn’t even look at you as you make your way toward the door. When you reach the threshold, you steal one last glance at her. Her eyes are on the window again, her face set in that familiar, unreadable expression.

You leave without a word, the door clicking softly behind you, and the silence that follows is deafening.

This is never ending, we have been here before

But I can't stay this time, 'cause I don't love you anymore

The quiet hum of the helicarrier was almost calming, the steady vibrations of the engines beneath your feet grounding you after a chaotic mission. You’d never felt more alive than when you were out there—fighting, taking down the bad guys, doing what SHIELD trained you to do. But tonight, that adrenaline wasn’t enough to silence the nagging feeling inside of you. You kept replaying the moments from the mission—the moments with Natasha.

The mission had gone smoothly. You had worked well together, flowing seamlessly as a team, and Natasha had even given you a rare, approving glance when it was all over. It had been a high-stakes op, but everything had fallen into place. When the mission was debriefed, there had been laughter, light-hearted jokes exchanged between agents, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Natasha.

Her touch had lingered, just a moment longer than necessary, when she passed you your gear. Her eyes had met yours once, a flicker of something in them. It was fleeting, but it was enough to make you wonder. Maybe she feels it too, you thought. The way she looked at you, the way she spoke—there was an intimacy in it, a spark you couldn’t quite ignore.

The night had unfolded with a casual invitation to meet in her room. No big deal, she’d said. Just to grab a drink, just to relax. But when you entered her room, it felt different. You both shed the weight of the mission in the space between words, the tension between you growing as the night went on. Her touch had been slow, almost gentle, when it first brushed against your skin. You’d been hesitant, unsure of what was happening, but she seemed so confident, so sure.

It wasn’t until later—after you were tangled up in each other, breathless, skin flushed—that you felt that spark you had hoped for. Maybe she was just as interested, just as real about this as you were. It wasn’t just a mission anymore, not just two agents getting the job done. There was a connection. There was something between you.

But when you stepped out of her room the next morning, something shifted in the air. The way she had casually kissed you on the cheek before you left, the way she didn’t ask you to stay, didn’t look at you the way you hoped—none of it was what you imagined.

Later, you passed a group of agents gathered in a corner of the mess hall, talking in low voices. You’d barely paid them any mind, too focused on your own thoughts, but then you heard it.

“I wonder who Nat picked this time,” one of them had said, laughing. 

“Probably one of the newbies who doesn’t know any better. Gets what she wants, and moves on. No strings attached.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your heart sinking lower with every syllable. Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. The woman you had admired from a distance, the one you had trusted and looked up to, had just used you. And maybe—maybe you had been just another mission for her.

You couldn’t help but feel the sting of that realization. You had wanted more. You had convinced yourself that there was something more to it—that the way she held you, the way she whispered your name had meant something. But no. This was who she was. A lone wolf. Cold. Detached.

You didn’t say anything, of course. You just nodded, forcing yourself to accept what you had heard, forcing yourself to forget what had happened the night before. The optimism you had clung to began to die right then and there. This wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t something that could grow or change.

You walked back to your quarters, the weight of the mission—and your heartache—settling in your chest. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was easier to be just one of the many in a string of forgettable faces. The night with Natasha had been a blip. No more, no less.

The next time you saw her, you kept your distance, smiled a little tighter, and allowed the walls to go up. There was no point in hoping for something more when you knew exactly how this worked. She was always a few steps ahead of you, always thinking of the next mission, the next fight, never lingering too long in one place.

And you? You learned to accept that. No strings attached. No expectations. Just the way things were.

Please, stay where you are

Don't come any closer

The clang of metal against metal echoed through the training room as you and Natasha sparred. The fight was almost second nature now—quick jabs, swift dodges, and the occasional, playful taunt thrown into the mix. You'd gotten better at handling the pressure, but still, when it came to Natasha, it was hard not to feel like you were always playing catch-up. She was faster, stronger, more experienced. Sometimes, it seemed like she was born to fight.

You threw a punch, aiming for her midsection, but she dodged it with effortless grace, countering with a sharp jab to your ribs. You grunted, stumbling back a step, but you didn’t let it throw you off. You pressed forward, more determined now.

“Not bad,” Natasha said with a smirk, her voice light. “But you’re still weak. You need me to save you again, huh?” She laughed, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

It was a joke, you knew that, or at least, you thought you did. But something about her words hit you differently today. You weren’t in the mood to laugh. You had been pushing yourself hard in training, trying to prove that you could handle it on your own, that you weren’t just some rookie who was always under Natasha’s shadow.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the growing frustration that bubbled in your chest. You swung again, but this time, you missed her entirely. She dodged it effortlessly and caught your wrist in a hold that felt too tight.

“Still not enough,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you some more training lessons. You know, to make sure I don’t have to keep saving you.”

The joke, the lightness in her voice, it only made you more upset. “Maybe I don’t need saving,” you snapped, trying to pull your wrist free from her grip, your temper flaring. “Maybe I can handle things on my own for once.”

Natasha’s smirk faltered, but she kept her hold firm. “Maybe I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Deep down you knew it was a joke, but it wasn’t funny to you—not today. Not when you already felt the weight of everyone’s whispers hanging over you like a shadow. She’s only here because she’s sleeping with Natasha. She’s nothing without her. Every agent seemed to think the same thing. Even some of your own teammates seemed to treat you like you were just an afterthought, a placeholder who only got the mission because of who you knew, not because of your skill.

You had always tried to prove them wrong. But when Natasha said things like that, it felt like all your efforts were for nothing. Like all of it was just... a joke.

You yanked your arm out of her grip and stepped back, glaring at her. “I don’t need you to save me, Natasha. I don’t need anyone.”

Her expression shifted, the playful edge in her eyes dimming. She didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t. She didn’t hear the things you heard, didn’t feel the weight of the judgment you carried every day. To her, this was just another training session, another moment of playful teasing. But to you? It was like being backed into a corner, your confidence slowly slipping away with every word.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Natasha said, her voice sharp now. “You know I’m just messing with you. Stop getting so moody.”

It stung more than it should’ve. You clenched your fists at your sides, holding back the urge to walk out of the room, to leave her there without another word.

But you didn’t. You just stood there, feeling the walls close in around you.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m just here for the fun of it. That I can’t do anything without you. You don’t even see it.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed, and she let out a frustrated sigh, dropping her stance. “You’re being overly sensitive.”

You felt the words cut deep, the sting of her dismissal more painful than you wanted to admit. The last thing you wanted was for her to see you as some emotional mess. But it was too late. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the ache of being ignored, dismissed, and reduced to nothing more than a pawn in her world.

“Fine,” you snapped, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Maybe I should just go. You don’t need to deal with my mood anymore.”

Natasha didn’t even flinch at your outburst. Instead, she looked at you with a cold indifference. “Then fuck off,” she said bluntly, as if you were just another irritation, another moment she couldn’t be bothered with.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, trying to make sense of it. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand why you were so angry, why you felt so small in that moment. And you realized, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that maybe she never would.

You turned and walked away without another word, your chest tight, your emotions a storm inside of you. You didn’t even know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay there, not with her. Not now.

Don't try to change my mind

I'm being cruel to be kind

The words hit like a slap in the face.

You hadn’t meant to overhear it. You had only walked into the SHIELD briefing room to check on some mission updates when Agent Ryder’s voice cut through the air, low but unmistakable.

You could feel the sting of his dismissive tone reverberating in your bones. Nepotism. The word had echoed in your head long after he’d left, taunting you. You knew the truth—your guardian wasn’t some high-ranking official, wasn’t some big shot with connections—but still, how could they say that? How could they reduce your hard work to just that? To nothing but the connections you didn’t even ask for?

You had always tried to prove yourself. Every mission, every task, every step forward was to show you deserved to be here, that you weren’t just some token agent or a pawn in a bigger game. You had trained harder than anyone. You had put in the hours, learned everything you could, sacrificed the same as everyone else. But still, every time you turned around, someone else was whispering behind your back, casting doubt on your worth.

And then there was Natasha. Her teasing had been the last straw. You had tried to laugh it off, to pretend it didn’t bother you, but you knew deep down that the way she dismissed you—it was just another reminder that you were expendable. You weren’t one of them. You were just... a mistake in the system.

So when you walked into the training room the next morning and saw Natasha leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking as relaxed and confident as ever, something inside you snapped.

You didn’t go to her like you usually did. You didn’t smile, didn’t offer the usual greeting. Instead, you simply nodded once, cold and distant.

“Something wrong?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow as she stepped forward.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you turned away from her, grabbing your gear and adjusting it with deliberate care. The silence stretched between you both. You could feel her eyes on you, studying you, waiting for an explanation, but you didn’t owe her one. Not anymore. Not after everything.

“You’re still upset about yesterday, huh?” Natasha’s voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it. A warning, maybe. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You ignored her, shoving your focus back into the task at hand, determined not to let her see the way your chest tightened. You didn’t want to feel weak. You didn’t want her to know how much her words hurt. You were done with this—done with pretending, done with leaning on her. You were going to prove yourself. You had to.

A few moments passed before Natasha stepped closer, frustration creeping into her tone. “If you don’t stop this, we’re going to have a problem.”

You turned to face her then, finally looking her in the eyes, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No. We’re not going to have a problem. I’m done with this.” You swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth. “I’m done with you. I’m tired of being treated like I’m some kind of charity case. Like I don’t belong here unless I’m under your shadow.”

Natasha’s face shifted, confusion flashing in her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You took a step back, your voice rising in frustration. “You think it’s funny, don’t you? All of it. The way you make fun of me. Like it’s just a joke. Well, it’s not. I’ve been busting my ass here, and all you do is remind me that everyone thinks I’m just some charity case. Nepotism. You think that’s a joke? You think I need you to save me?”

Natasha’s expression hardened, her gaze flickering to the side, and then back to you. She crossed her arms, clearly trying to hold her composure. But there was something in her eyes—something tight, something hurt.

“Is this about yesterday?” she asked, her tone sharper now, but there was a hint of concern buried underneath. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not overreacting!” You shot back, unable to hold it in anymore. “You don’t get to dismiss me and then act like nothing happened. I’m not some... some... tool for you to use whenever you want. I’m not some kid you get to play with and forget about when it’s convenient.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, thick with tension. Natasha’s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You think this is about me using you? You think I’m using you? Is that what you really think?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah. That’s what I think.”

Natasha’s eyes flickered with anger, her usual calm demeanor slipping for just a moment. She shook her head, disbelief and frustration written all over her face. “You’ve got it all wrong. But fine, if that’s how you feel, then go ahead. Go prove yourself, like you keep saying you will. But don’t come crawling back to me when you realize you can’t do it alone.”

The words stung, but it was the way she turned and walked away—cold, final—that hit you the hardest. You felt the knot in your chest tighten, but you didn’t call after her. You couldn’t.

You spent the rest of the day avoiding her, your mind racing with doubt and anger. It wasn’t about the mission, not really. It was about feeling like you were fighting a battle on your own, with no one in your corner. The more you tried to distance yourself, the more you realized how much you needed her, even if it hurt to admit it.

But you were stubborn. You had to prove to yourself that you weren’t just here because of someone else. You weren’t going to be Natasha’s shadow anymore.

You couldn’t.

You have given me something that I can't live without

You mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt

The morning briefing had gone smoothly, the usual debriefing about mission parameters, objectives, and exit strategies. But there was an undercurrent of tension you couldn’t shake. It was just a solo mission—nothing too difficult, Natasha had said, and you knew the protocol well. But the moment she had pulled out, just hours before takeoff, something in your gut twisted.

"It doesn't need to be a two-person mission," Natasha had said with her usual casual smile, but it hadn’t reached her eyes. "It’s easy. You’ve got this." Her voice had sounded almost dismissive, as if she hadn’t been training with you for months, as if she didn’t know how much you relied on her presence during missions. You knew Natasha wasn’t one for emotional goodbyes, but the absence of that small gesture—her usual good luck kiss before every mission—felt like a sign. You had never gone on a mission without one, and now, as you stood alone in the SHIELD hangar, you realized just how much you had come to rely on it.

She hadn’t even given you a heads-up, hadn’t said goodbye with her usual teasing smirk or reassuring look. It’s an easy mission, you told yourself. You don’t need her this time. But the unease in your chest told you otherwise.

You tugged the straps of your gear tighter, glancing once more at the aircraft. The mission was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate a small criminal syndicate operating out of a hidden base in the mountains, retrieve intel, and get out. You’d handled worse. But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was off. Your instincts were screaming at you, and for once, you weren’t willing to ignore them.

You checked your wristwatch again. The flight would take a few hours, leaving you with time to prepare mentally, but all you could think about was Natasha. The way she had waved you off with barely a second glance, as if you didn’t matter enough for a goodbye. You tried not to dwell on it. After all, Natasha didn’t do sentiment. But the emptiness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Maybe she’s just busy. Maybe she’s just focused on something else. But none of that helped. You were used to her being there with you, a reassuring presence by your side. You needed her, especially when the missions were dangerous—especially when you felt the weight of the world bearing down on you. But now, you were alone, and that felt heavier than you expected.

As the helicopter’s engines roared to life, you settled back into your seat, trying to center yourself. This mission wasn’t supposed to be difficult. You could do this alone, you kept telling yourself. But something about it didn’t feel right. Maybe it was Natasha pulling out at the last minute. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't given you her usual kiss for luck, the one that always helped you steady your nerves before a mission. But whatever it was, it gnawed at you. Your instincts were telling you to watch your back. Something wasn’t adding up.

By the time you arrived at the drop zone, the helicopter had been quiet for too long. The mountainside stretched ahead, vast and intimidating, and the cold wind carried the promise of danger. You could see the hidden compound from the air—well-guarded, heavily fortified, and far from any backup. A simple mission, Natasha had called it.

You didn’t believe that for a second.

The drop was smooth, and you quickly moved into position, your boots crunching against the frozen ground. The area around the compound was still and eerily quiet. Too quiet. No guards on patrol. No sign of life. It didn’t make sense, but you pushed the unease aside. You had a job to do.

You made your way toward the compound, slipping into the shadows, the cold air biting at your skin. Every step felt calculated, but the tension in your shoulders refused to loosen. You kept glancing over your shoulder, as if expecting Natasha to appear and tell you everything was fine, that this was just another mission to add to the books.

But she wasn’t there.

You reached the compound’s perimeter and found the first guard’s post abandoned, his gear left behind but no sign of a struggle. There was no time to waste. You slipped inside, working quickly to disable the security systems and hack into the mainframe. The room you’d accessed was silent, save for the whir of the computers. As you pulled the intel from the servers, the cold feeling in your gut only grew.

Something wasn’t right. Your instincts had been spot-on—this mission had been a setup.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You froze, turning off the monitor and moving swiftly toward the exit. You didn’t have time to think. You just had to get out. The sudden realization hit you like a punch in the stomach—Natasha wasn’t here for a reason. She’d known this mission wasn’t as easy as it seemed. And now you were paying the price for going in blind, without her by your side.

Your heart pounded as you sprinted for cover, your mind racing. Every corner you turned felt like a trap. The compound was alive with activity now. You could hear voices, shouts, the sounds of boots hitting the concrete floor.

I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have trusted this mission without her.

You ducked into an alcove, pressing your back to the cold wall, your breath shallow. The door to the room you’d just vacated opened with a quiet click, and a group of armed men poured in, searching for you. The walls seemed to close in on you as the adrenaline kicked in. You had to move, had to get out, or you would be trapped.

Suddenly, your body started to droop, collapsing against the wall behind. The last thing you saw before everything went dark was long red hair tied into a bun. 

But I don't want to carry on like everything is fine

The longer we ignore it, all the more that we will fight

You woke to the sting of cold water splashing across your face, the shock of it making your body jerk awake, muscles aching with the memory of the fight. The pain was sharp, gnawing at your ribs and shoulders, each breath a struggle. The world around you was blurred, and all you could focus on was the weight pressing down on your chest.

Your eyes opened, blurry at first, and then the details started to sharpen: concrete walls, dim lighting, and the cold, oppressive silence that clung to the room. There were metal chairs around you, all empty but one. The leader of the enemy force, a tall man with a face carved from stone, stood before you, a smug look on his face as he held the bucket that had been your rude awakening.

He tossed the remaining ice water in your direction, a small slosh hitting your face as he watched you with cold, calculating eyes. “You’re a tough one,” he said in a low, mocking voice. “I didn’t think you’d last this long. But everyone cracks eventually, don’t they?”

Your throat was dry, and your tongue felt like it was made of sandpaper. You could feel the blood caked on your face, the bruises that were already starting to swell. But despite the pain, despite the overwhelming urge to break, you held your ground. You glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to say?” the man sneered. “You SHIELD agents are all the same. So loyal. So stupid. You’re all just waiting for your little friends to come save you, aren’t you?”

Your lips pressed together tightly, and you refused to let a single word slip from them. You couldn’t afford to give him anything. Not a single piece of intel, not even a whimper. You knew that if you did, it would all be over.

He stepped closer, placing a booted foot against your thigh, forcing you back against the cold concrete. The pressure was almost unbearable, but you didn’t flinch. The silence between you both stretched, thick and heavy, until he finally gave a humorless laugh and straightened up. “I can wait. All of you are the same. Eventually, you’ll break.”

But you didn’t.

The next few days bled together in a haze of cold, pain, and isolation. The room was a blur of steel, concrete, and fluorescent lights. There were no windows, no sense of time. Your body was sore, covered in cuts and bruises, and the hunger gnawed at you. But you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not when you knew someone would come for you.

They’ll come. They have to.

Every time they came in, it was the same—questions, threats, taunts. And every time, you remained silent. You couldn’t let them know how desperate you were. You couldn’t let them see you break. Even if every part of you screamed for help, you stayed resolute, hoping that somehow, someone would find you, someone would come and end this.

But no one did.

It was only when the fourth day passed, when the darkness of the room had become your world, that you started to feel the weight of your own mind closing in. The silence, the isolation, the constant threat of pain—it started to take a toll on you. The hunger gnawed at your insides, and your thoughts drifted in and out. You could still hear his voice echoing in your head: They’ll come for you. They’ll come...

It was on the sixth day that it happened. A crack in the door. The low hum of voices. The sound of boots. You didn’t move at first, couldn’t. But then, just like that, the door swung open, and a small team of SHIELD agents burst in, guns drawn. They moved quickly, efficiently, sweeping the room and securing the area. You didn’t even have the energy to react as they cut through the restraints on your wrists and helped you to your feet.

"Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” one of them murmured, gently pulling you into their arms.

But the words didn’t register. You could hear them, but it was like they were coming from another world. You felt light-headed, your body numb, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. Your mouth was dry, but you didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

The next few days were a blur of recovery, of medical checks and debriefings that you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to. Every word felt like it was coming from a place far outside of you, and you couldn’t find the strength to answer.

In the quiet, isolated room they had put you in at the base, you sat in silence, staring blankly at the wall. Every noise around you felt too loud. Every touch too much. They gave you time to recover, but you couldn’t shake the heaviness in your chest. Your mind had shut down, your body running on autopilot.

There were no words. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. The trauma, the isolation, everything that had happened—it left you feeling hollow. Broken.

You didn’t speak at all for days, your body recovering, but your mind still trapped in the darkness of that cold room. The cold man’s words echoed in your head. You’re all waiting for someone to come save you.

But even as the team tried to coax you into talking, even as they brought you your favorite food and gave you the space to recover, the silence remained.

Natasha didn’t come. She wasn’t there when you needed her, and the weight of that felt heavier than any physical wound. It wasn’t her fault. You knew that. But somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still alone.

Your recovery was slow. You weren’t the same person when you were finally cleared to leave the facility. There was a coldness in your eyes, a distance in your posture. The silence you had once embraced had become a shield, and now, it was all you had.

Natasha had visited you once during your recovery. She hadn’t said much, just sat in silence beside you. But even when she reached out to touch your hand, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The trauma had built walls too high, too thick to break. And no one, not even Natasha, could find their way through.

You were alive, yes. But the silence that followed felt like it would never end.

Please, don't fall apart

I can't face your breaking heart

The sterile scent of the hospital room, the constant hum of machines, and the bright, white lights overhead did little to make you feel at ease. You stared at the ceiling, your gaze unfocused, your mind a swirling mess of everything that had happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything. You didn’t feel like you were living—just existing, going through the motions. Every movement felt like an effort, and the space around you felt too small, too suffocating.

You hadn’t spoken since the rescue. Not to anyone. The silence, once a comfort, had become a prison you couldn’t escape. Your throat was raw from the lack of words, and when you closed your eyes, you could still see the cold walls of that room, the mocking face of the enemy leader, and the weight of the isolation pressing down on you.

The door opened, and you didn’t look up. You knew who it was before the first words even registered.

“Are you seriously ignoring me?”

The voice was sharp, familiar, cutting through the fog that had settled around your brain. Natasha.

You didn't respond. You couldn’t. Your mind was screaming for you to stay quiet, to not let her in, because the moment you spoke, you knew it would shatter the wall you’d built to protect yourself. But Natasha didn’t wait for a response. She stormed into the room, her boots heavy on the floor, her expression tight with frustration.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” Natasha continued, her voice rising with every word. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I can’t believe you’re acting like this. It’s been weeks. You’re acting like a damn child, and I’m done with it. I don’t have time for this immature bullshit, especially from you.”

Your chest tightened, a knot of anger and confusion building inside you, but you refused to show it. You couldn’t. You knew better than to let her see the storm inside you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t follow your schedule,” you said, your voice flat and devoid of emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to add any more, any more than the words that barely scraped out. Sorry for being alive, sorry for failing.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she took a few steps closer, standing at the side of your bed. Her face was hard, her anger not hiding the concern that still flickered beneath. “You think this is easy for me, too? That I just get to pretend nothing happened? That I’m supposed to just let you wallow in here like—like this?” Her voice broke slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. “This is fucking ridiculous, and I’m not going to stand here and watch you ruin everything you’ve worked for. Do you understand me? You’re going to lose everything.”

The sting of her words cut deep, but it was the accusation in her tone that truly hit you. The one that had been festering in your chest ever since you’d been dragged out of that hellhole. You weren’t who you thought you were. You weren’t the person who deserved this life. The dream job, the recognition, the chance to be someone worth a damn—none of it was meant for you. Not after everything that had happened. You weren’t strong enough to keep it all, to be who they thought you were. And Natasha—Natasha, who had always been a silent pillar of strength for you, was now reminding you how easily it could all be taken away.

Her words stung. Immature... Ruin everything... You could feel the weight of her disappointment settle into your chest like a stone, heavier than anything you had ever felt.

And then, it clicked.

The final straw broke. Natasha didn’t understand. She didn’t understand the extent of what had happened to you—the isolation, the pain, the days spent waiting for someone to find you, and the crushing feeling that no one would. You were broken, and she was treating it like it was just a phase. That you just needed to snap out of it.

But you couldn’t.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, the pain from your injuries flaring in protest, but you pushed through. You weren’t sure where you were going, but you couldn’t stay here any longer. You had to leave. You had to escape the judgment, the expectations. You couldn’t pretend to be strong anymore.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Natasha snapped, but you were already moving. You couldn’t be near her right now. The anger, the betrayal—it was all too much.

Ignoring her calls, you grabbed the nearest coat, not caring that it didn’t quite fit right, and you made your way out of the room. You could hear her following you, her footsteps echoing behind you, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t owe her anything anymore.

You didn’t owe anyone anything.

It didn’t take long to get to the secure office where you had to sign a few papers before they cleared your discharge. You barely registered the words the agent at the desk was saying. You barely noticed the fact that your fingers were trembling. You only had one thing on your mind—the resignation letter you had been drafting in your head for days.

You placed it on the desk in front of the agent, your hands shaking slightly as you slid the paper over to them. The words were short and to the point, and they made everything feel so final. So irreversible.

“I’m resigning,” you said, voice hoarse. “Effective immediately.”

The agent didn’t ask questions. They just nodded, their face unreadable, and then went about processing the paperwork. You watched, numb, as the reality of it all settled over you like a weight that you could never lift. You had dreamed of this job for so long, had worked so hard to get here, only to throw it all away because you didn’t deserve it anymore.

And in that moment, you felt everything you’d been holding in for weeks. The grief. The betrayal. The isolation. It all came rushing back, but you didn’t cry. You couldn’t cry. The numbness, the emptiness, it was all you had now.

You stood up, turning away from the desk, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of finality wash over you. No turning back.

It wasn’t until you were almost out the door that you heard Natasha’s voice again, this time softer, more desperate. “Wait.”

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, and the world outside felt both too big and too small at the same time. You were alone now. Completely, irrevocably alone.

And somehow, that felt like the only truth you could rely on anymore.

I'm trying to be brave

Stop asking me to stay

Clint’s sharp eyes caught you before you could make it out of the door, his footsteps quick as he crossed the hallway. He was dressed in his usual casual gear, a quiver slung over his shoulder, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“Hey, wait,” Clint said, his voice softer than it usually was when he called someone out. You didn’t stop. Your feet kept moving, your heart hammering as you tried to escape. But Clint was relentless. He grabbed your arm gently but firmly, turning you around to face him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice laced with something like disappointment. “You can’t just walk out on everything. Nat’s worried sick.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy, exhausted. “I don’t need anyone’s pity,” you muttered, your voice strained. “Not hers, not anyone's. Just... just leave me alone.”

Clint studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing with understanding. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a quieter corner, away from the main corridors, where he knew you wouldn’t be overheard.

"Look," Clint said, his voice lower now, softer but still firm, "I don’t know what kind of crap Nat's been feeding you, but I can tell you're hurting. You think you can just walk away from everything, like it’ll make things better? You think that's gonna fix anything?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to. But Clint didn’t need an answer.

“I hear things,” Clint went on. “I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s trying to hide something. And I’ve been in the rafters during most of those 'training' sessions with Nat. You think you’re the only one who feels small, huh?” His voice turned bitter, a subtle edge to it. “You think you’re the only one she’s pushed away?”

You stared at him, shocked, unable to respond. Clint saw right through you. He knew what was happening, and he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“She’s been messing with your head, hasn’t she?” Clint said. “Somehow, you think you’re not good enough, that you don’t belong here. You think everything you’ve done has been handed to you on a silver platter because of her. Well, let me tell you something—that’s not true.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you still didn’t speak. It was like you couldn’t find the words. The guilt, the shame, the feeling of never measuring up to the expectations—they all churned in your stomach.

Clint let out a long, frustrated sigh, his eyes softening. “You’re good enough,” he said, his tone firm, but there was an understanding there that made your throat tighten. “You’ve earned every bit of your place here. And if she can't see that, then she's the one who’s in the wrong. It’s not about who you know or who you're sleeping with. You’re here because of you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

You felt the tears welling up, but you forced them back, swallowing the lump in your throat. Clint’s words had landed hard, and it was like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding was finally being released. But before you could say anything, Clint stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.

“Natasha…” Clint trailed off, his jaw tightening. “She’s been a mess lately. She’s scared—scared of losing you, scared of messing things up. But she doesn’t know how to apologize for anything. She’s been pushing you away because she’s too afraid to admit what she’s done. So yeah, she's been selfish. But you can’t just run away from everything. You deserve better than that."

Your heart twisted at his words, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of wanting to believe everything he said. But the hurt was still there, the feeling of being abandoned in your most vulnerable moment. You didn’t trust yourself enough to believe that you were the one who mattered.

Clint left you with a small pat on your shoulder - he couldn’t blame you for wanting to leave, he just wanted you to know the truth that Nat definitely wasn’t going to tell you. Now to chew her out. It didn’t take long for Clint to find her. Natasha was pacing the hall just outside, her face etched with frustration. The second Clint approached her, she shot him a glare.

“Where the hell is she?” Natasha demanded, her voice tight with anxiety. “You didn’t—”

Clint held up a hand to stop her. “Sit down,” he ordered. “And listen. I’m done with you thinking you can just brush this off like it’s nothing.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched, but she stood still. Clint’s eyes were hard, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t holding back.

“You’ve been treating her like shit, Natasha,” Clint continued, his voice rising just enough to get her attention. “You think she’s the problem? That she’s just acting ‘immature’ or ‘childish’? Look around you for two seconds. You’ve been pushing her away, making her feel like she’s not good enough, like she doesn’t deserve anything she’s worked for. You’ve been feeding her insecurities—her real ones—with your own mess. And, she’s traumatised. Those guys out there, the ones that tortured her for six days because she went in without an extraction plan”

Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but Clint cut her off with a sharp motion.

“I hear things,” Clint said. “I’m up in the rafters sometimes. I hear the crap that other people say about her when they think no one’s listening. They question her place on the team because her dad was an officer in Fury’s good graces, or because they think you play favourites with her. They don’t realise that you’ve got something else going on, but all that shit compounded. You’ve made one of our best agents question everything about herself.”

Natasha’s face went pale, her expression shifting from anger to guilt in an instant. “Clint, I—”

“You’re lucky she didn’t quit sooner, Natasha. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you didn’t see how bad she was hurting.” Clint’s words hit like a slap. “Now go find her. And you better make this right, because if you don’t Fury is gonna be pissed.” The ‘and I’ went unspoken.

We're not the only ones, I don't regret a thing

Every word I've said, you know I'll always mean

Natasha stopped at the entrance of Tony’s stupid ‘serenity garden’. It was the last place she had left to look, and it looked like luck was on her side. You were sitting on one of the benches in the corner, your back to her as you stared into the depths of the Koi pond. It was like you were a part of the landscape now, blending into the tranquility of the place. Natasha felt her throat tighten at the sight. You looked so small, so vulnerable, so distant. She had never seen you like this—not once. It was always her who had the walls up, not you.

She took a cautious step forward, the grass underfoot crunching softly as she neared you.

Natasha called your name softly, her voice hesitant, like she was testing the waters. You didn’t respond immediately, and for a brief second, Natasha was unsure if you had even heard her. The silence between you felt thick, almost unbearable. She sat down beside you, not too close, but close enough that she hoped you could feel her presence.

It wasn’t the same as before—when she had always known what to say to you, when her words had always been sure, always laced with a confidence that kept her safe. But now? Now she had no idea how to begin. Her usual sharp tongue had failed her. There were no easy words to break the ice this time, no snarky jokes to hide behind. Only you—and the wreckage she had left in her wake.

You turned your head just slightly, enough to see her. The surprise in your eyes caught her off guard. You’re surprised to see me here, Natasha realized. You didn’t expect her to come. You didn’t expect her to care enough to seek you out.

And for the first time ever, Natasha didn’t know what to say.

Her mind was racing, every thought colliding into the next. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She glanced at you, her expression filled with uncertainty. She could feel the weight of everything she had said, everything she had done, everything she had failed to do. The words that had always come so easily to her were nowhere to be found now. It was as if the depth of your hurt had trapped her, left her speechless, helpless.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned to face her entirely, but your gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual. You could sense her struggle—Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, speechless for the first time in your memory.

“Nat?” you finally said, the question carrying more weight than it should. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice, hoarse and small, like the person you had been before all of this had come crashing down.

She looked at you, the smallest glimmer of relief flickering in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the same guilt she had been carrying for days now.

“I…” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

You blinked at her, surprised. This was the first time you’d ever seen Natasha lost for words. You’d always been the one fumbling for the right thing to say, the one who couldn’t figure out how to get past the pain. But she—Natasha Romanoff, the one who always had control, always knew how to navigate even the most dangerous situations—she was the one who was struggling now.

It was like the world had shifted, and the unshakable woman you had always known had suddenly become... human.

It is the world to me that you are in my life

But I want to live and not just survive

Her voice was soft, as if the weight of everything she had been holding was finally catching up with her. “I messed up,” she said quietly. “I messed up, baby. And I... I don’t know how to make it right.”

Your chest ached as her words hit you. The vulnerability in her eyes was raw, and it took everything in you to keep the tears from falling.

“I’ve been a mess,” Natasha continued, her eyes looking straight ahead, not daring to meet yours. “I didn’t realize how badly I was hurting you... And I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I just—I pushed you away. I thought you’d be fine. I thought you’d understand. But I see now that I made everything worse.”

You swallowed, the words feeling like they weighed a ton in your chest. You couldn’t speak, not yet. But you turned your head slightly to face her, your gaze still unreadable.

“I never wanted to make you feel like you don’t belong here,” Natasha said, her voice breaking slightly. “I never wanted you to think that you were here because of me, or that you weren’t good enough.” Her lips tightened, frustration and regret flooding her features. “I just—I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And I made you think I didn’t care. But I do. I care. I care about you more than you could ever know.”

The silence stretched out between you both, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Natasha felt small. Her pride, her strength—all the things that had always defined her—were gone, stripped away by the vulnerability of this moment.

You glanced at her, studying her face. It was like you were seeing her for the first time—broken, fragile, and unsure.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the smallest sliver of hope.

“I don’t know if you can fix this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I need you to know something, Natasha. I needed you. And you—you—were the one who turned away.”

Her chest tightened at the weight of your words, but she didn’t flinch. She nodded slowly, accepting the truth, knowing it wasn’t something that could be undone in a moment. The air between you and Natasha felt heavy with words you couldn’t articulate. You had remained silent for so long, allowing her apology to linger in the air like a fragile thing—something too delicate to touch, to hold onto. But now, with the weight of her words pressing down on you, you couldn’t remain silent any longer.

“I’m leaving,” you said, the words steady, though they felt like they weighed a thousand pounds in your chest. You weren’t sure why you were telling her this now, but you had to. You had to make it real, to take control of something in your life again.

“I’m transferring,” you added, your voice quiet but firm. “I’m going to Quantico. I’ll be working with the FBI as a consultant. It’s not what I thought I’d be doing, but... I don’t deserve to be here anymore. I got the hint.”

The words felt like a confession, a goodbye you hadn’t yet found the courage to say. There had been so many dreams—so many things you’d imagined for yourself at SHIELD. You had fought for them, worked tirelessly, sacrificed for them. But now, they felt like they were slipping away.

Natasha didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t even look at you. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, like she was trying to find the words. You knew what she’d say. She’d tell you that you were making a mistake, that you had so much potential. But it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would fix what had been broken.

You could feel the emotions swirling inside of you, but you had already made your decision. It was easier to walk away, easier than confronting everything that had gone wrong.

But then, she spoke. And it was different from anything you’d expected.

“You’re the best SHIELD has to offer,” Natasha said, her voice steady, though there was an underlying urgency in it. “You’re the best agent we’ve got, baby. I... I don’t think you see it. You’ve done things that people can’t even dream of. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. You’ve earned your place here. And I know I haven’t made it easy for you, but you belong here.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying. Her voice was fierce now, insistent, and you could hear the raw sincerity in it. But none of it felt real. None of it felt true, not in the way you needed it to.

“I don’t believe you,” you said, your voice quiet, almost lost in the distance between you. “I don’t think I’ve ever truly belonged here. Not in the way you think. I’m not you, Nat. I’m not cut from the same cloth. I’m just—me. And I’ve been holding on to a dream that doesn’t fit. Not anymore.”

Natasha’s expression faltered. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words died on her tongue. She could feel your resolve, could see how broken you were, how done you seemed. It was like you had already left—mentally, emotionally, even before physically walking away.

Her chest tightened. “Baby, listen—"

But you shook your head, cutting her off. “Whatever you’re going to say, Nat, I’ve heard it all.” You inhaled sharply, the words rushing out. “And I’ve finally started hearing what’s been said. And now I’m seeing what’s been true all along. I’m not enough, no matter how hard I try. No matter how much I give. And you... you’ve made it clear that I’ll never be anything but a second choice. I was just a comfort to you, a distraction. You made me feel like I needed to prove myself—like I needed to earn my place, but I did. I did, and it never mattered.”

There was a pause. Natasha’s lips trembled, the harshness of your words sinking in. She knew she had been wrong, knew she had made everything worse. But hearing you speak this way—so broken, so defeated—it shattered something deep inside her.

"Please..." Natasha's voice faltered, her tough exterior cracking. She reached out toward you, but the gesture was hesitant, unsure. “I never meant for it to be like this. I never wanted to make you feel—”

You pulled away, standing up slowly, the decision final in your mind. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve made my choice. I’m leaving. And I don’t think you’ll miss me that much anyway. It’s easier to pretend like you don’t need anyone than to admit you might be wrong about something.”

That's why I can't love you in the dark

It feels like we're oceans apart

Before you could take another step, you felt a hand grip yours. Warm, strong, and unyielding. Natasha had caught up with you, her fingers laced around yours, holding you in place. You didn’t turn around. You weren’t sure you wanted to face her again, not after everything that had been said, not after the rawness that she had exposed.

Natasha’s voice was softer now as she called your name, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “Please, just—don’t walk away yet.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse, but it was hard when every part of you wanted to run. You didn’t stop, but neither did she.

Her grip tightened, pulling you back just a little, her touch sending a mix of warmth and tension straight through you. When she spoke again, her voice wasn’t the confident agent you were used to, the one who had always kept her emotions under lock and key. There was something different now, something uncertain, almost as if she wasn’t sure of her place in your world anymore.

“I’ve messed up,” Natasha continued, her voice shaking with emotion. “I know I pushed you too hard. I know I made you feel like you weren’t enough, like you didn’t belong here, and... I did that because I wanted you to be the best. I wanted you to be safe. I was afraid that if anything happened to you—if I lost you on a mission, I—I don’t think I could survive it.”

You could feel her breath, the rise and fall of her chest close behind you, but you didn’t turn around. Not yet. Her words hit you like a wave crashing into the shore, raw and jagged, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to process them.

“I pushed you because I was scared. And in trying to protect you... I ended up pushing you away,” she whispered, the confession hanging in the air, the depth of it too much to ignore. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. I was so so wrong.”

The air between you both was thick with everything she had just said, and you stood there for a long moment, processing it all. But it wasn’t enough, not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to face her—not yet.

“I don’t know how to forgive you for this, Natasha,” you said, your voice a mixture of anger and hurt. It wasn’t snark this time, no biting sarcasm, just raw emotion. "The only time something terrible happened to me, something that almost killed me, was when you abandoned me. You made the call. You didn’t show up. I was out there, all alone, and you weren’t there when I needed you most.”

Your chest tightened as you spoke, the hurt pouring out like it always had, but now it was different. Now, it wasn’t just anger. It was a deep, aching sadness that threatened to drown you. And despite yourself, you couldn’t stop the words from coming. “You made me feel like I wasn’t worth it. Like I wasn’t worth anything.”

You could feel Natasha’s breath hitch behind you, the weight of your words striking her deep. She didn’t say anything at first, and when you finally turned around, you saw the truth in her eyes—guilt, sorrow, and a pain you hadn’t expected. The sight of it, the way her face crumpled in on itself, broke something inside you.

Her hand fell away from yours, but it wasn’t because she wanted to let go. It was because she was shaking, trembling with emotion that she could no longer hold in. And then you saw it—tears. Two, maybe three, glistening on her cheeks. Natasha Romanoff, the unshakable Black Widow, was crying.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “I didn’t. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to make you feel abandoned. I... I couldn’t bear the thought of you in danger. But... I hurt you worse by pushing you away.”

For the first time in all the years you’d known her, you saw Natasha unraveling in front of you, breaking apart piece by piece. It felt almost cruel, to see her like this after everything you’d been through. But as much as your heart ached for her, you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“You can’t just apologize and expect everything to be okay, Nat,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “You hurt me. You made me feel worthless, like I wasn’t enough. And when it mattered the most... when I was out there fighting to survive, you turned your back on me.”

Natasha flinched at the force of your words. They were like a punch to the gut, and you saw how much it hurt her to hear them. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep pretending that everything would just magically be okay.

“I know,” Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know. And I can’t take that back. I can’t make up for it. But... I just need you to know, I care. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you care,” you said softly, but your voice still carried that edge of distance. “But that’s not enough anymore. I don’t know how to keep going back to the way things were. I can’t keep coming back to you only to be left in the dark again.”

There was a long silence, the kind that seemed to stretch on forever, and Natasha stood there, her shoulders slumped, her eyes filled with unshed tears. She was broken, but that didn’t change the fact that what she’d done had hurt you in ways you weren’t sure could ever heal.

“You’re right,” she said finally, voice cracked. “You deserve more than this. You deserve better. Someone who won’t make you feel like you have to earn their care, someone who won’t turn their back when things get hard.”

You stood there, feeling the weight of the finality in her words, and for a long time, you didn’t know what to say. You looked at her—the broken woman in front of you—and you realized that, despite everything, despite all the hurt, you didn’t want to stay. You needed to walk away. For yourself.

“I need to walk away, Natasha,” you said quietly, your voice steady but firm. “I don’t know what we were, what we are anymore. But I can’t do this anymore.”

You turned towards the exit, your steps unfaltering as you walked away. Natasha half expected - hoped - you’d turn around and run to her. But you didn’t. You walked away, slowly, your footsteps fading into the distance, away from SHIELD and away from her.

There is so much space between us

Baby, we're already defeated

A year later…

It was a quiet evening when you walked into the bar after a long day, your mind still buzzing with the details of your latest case. Quantico was different to SHIELD in almost every way. The people were different, the procedures were different, but you found that - after getting into the swing of things - it wasn’t worse. Just different. 

The dim lighting of the bar, the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses—it was a familiar comfort now, one that made you feel grounded after the chaos of your job. You ordered a drink and leaned against the bar, letting your shoulders drop, the weight of the day lifting slowly.

That was when you saw her.

Natasha Romanoff, standing across the room, her back slightly to you as she talked to a stranger at the bar. But even from behind, something about her caught your attention. She looked different. Older, somehow. More... mature. The woman you had known was always poised, confident, and untouchable—but there was something in the way she held herself now that made her feel more human. Vulnerable, even.

Her hair was different too—shorter, sleek, straight, a stark contrast to the wavy red that had once framed her face. She had always been beautiful, but now she seemed to radiate something else—something quieter, more grounded.

You stared for a moment, unsure if you were seeing things right, but as she turned to glance around the bar, her eyes met yours. Recognition hit her almost immediately, and she froze for a second, her expression flickering with surprise. Then, just as quickly, it softened.

Her voice was a little hoarse as she whispered your name, almost like she hadn’t expected to see you here, or maybe she hadn’t heard your name in so long that saying it felt foreign.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched her—really looked at her—before taking a slow step forward. “Natasha.” Your voice was calm, composed. Different from the way you used to say her name with that sense of longing, of wanting something that wasn’t ever going to be.

She gave a small, tentative smile, the kind that spoke volumes about how much time had passed, about how many things had been left unsaid between you. "You look... good," she said, her eyes flickering over you.

It was an understatement. You felt good. You felt like you were finally living a life that wasn’t defined by the weight of the past, by the mistakes you’d made and the ones others had made for you.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, with a small smile of your own. “You look different. I like it.”

“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her new, shorter hair, a nervous habit, before looking back at you. “A lot’s changed.”

“Clearly,” you said, glancing around. You couldn’t help but take in the way she stood—so different from the woman who had always been so self-assured, so used to being in control of every situation. But in a way, it made her more real, more approachable.

The two of you stood there for a moment, the air between you awkward but not uncomfortable, as if neither of you knew where to start. It was Natasha who broke the silence first.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asked, her voice softer than you remembered it. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow at her, unsure if she even knew what really meant anymore, after everything. But it was a simple enough question. And you’d spent the last year being honest with yourself, so why not? “I’m doing alright. Different. Moving on. Got a new job at Quantico. Therapy’s been helping. I’m in a better place now.”

Natasha nodded, though you saw the flicker of something behind her eyes—a mix of regret, of longing, maybe. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve... I’ve been trying to do the same. It’s been a long year. Things haven’t been easy, but I think I’m getting there.”

You studied her for a moment, your expression unreadable. The quiet honesty in her voice made you want to believe that she was trying. You could see it now. She had changed too.

“You’re still working for SHIELD?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation casual, as if the past didn’t hang over both of you like a thick, invisible cloud.

She nodded, but there was a hesitation in her movements. “Sort of. I’ve been taking a step back, working in a different capacity now. More... behind the scenes. I guess I’m trying to figure out who I am, outside of all the missions, the work.”

It hit you—she was no longer the same person either. The intensity in her eyes had softened, and there was a certain sadness to her that you hadn’t seen before. She seemed tired in a way that wasn’t physical—tired of running, of hiding behind the façade she had built. You hadn’t seen this version of her before, and in some ways, you almost didn’t know how to react.

“So... what now?” you asked, the question feeling lighter than it should. “Now that we’re both here, like this.”

Natasha’s eyes met yours, and there was a long pause, the weight of everything that had passed between you hanging heavily in the air. And then, almost as if on instinct, you spoke.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” You offered the invitation like it was just a reflex—like things could go back to the way they were, the comfort of those old habits, the way things had felt when it was just the two of you, before everything had gone sideways.

She looked at you for a long moment, and you saw the conflict in her eyes. She was torn, and you could see in her eyes, that something was playing on her mind.

“No.” 

Everything changed me

And I don't think you can save me

The words hit you like a jolt, a shock of electricity shooting through your chest. Natasha’s eyes were steady on yours now, no longer hesitant, no longer uncertain. There was a firmness in her voice that you hadn’t heard in a long time—a quiet confidence that seemed to say she’d finally found something worth fighting for. And for the first time in a long time, you saw Natasha Romanoff not as the untouchable spy, not as the woman who had left you behind, but as someone real, someone who had learned from her mistakes.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” she said, her voice low but with an undeniable certainty. “If you want me, I’m going to do it properly this time. No more running, no more half-heartedness. I’ve hurt you, and I won’t do it again. But this time, it’s going to be on our terms. If that’s okay with you.”

You stared at her for a long moment, taking in the gravity of what she was saying, the weight of the promise she was offering. For so long, you’d wondered if this day would ever come. The idea of this—of her asking—had seemed impossible, a distant dream you never thought you’d reach.

And yet, here she was, standing before you, offering a chance to try again. A real chance.

“Dinner tomorrow?” she asked, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “If you're free?”

You didn’t have to think long. The question felt so simple, so natural, in a way that almost made you want to laugh at how easy it seemed compared to everything that had come before.

"Yeah," you said, the answer escaping your lips before your mind had fully processed it. "I’m free."

Natasha’s smile deepened, the corners of her eyes softening as she took in your response. It was a quiet victory for her—one that meant more than words could convey. She wasn’t expecting you to forgive her immediately, or to trust her completely. But she was willing to try, and that was more than she had ever given before.

“I’ll pick you up,” she said softly, her voice almost shy now. “I’ll make sure it’s a good night.”

You nodded, still processing the fact that she was here, still standing in front of you, willing to do what she hadn’t done before. And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth saving between the two of you.

“Sounds good,” you replied, a quiet confidence settling in your own chest. “Tomorrow then.”

With that, Natasha gave you one last look, a small, genuine smile gracing her face, before she turned and walked out of the bar. You stood there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between you two, and then, for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to feel something else—hope.

Tomorrow. You were willing to see where it could go. And maybe, just maybe, Natasha Romanoff was going to do it right this time.

You saved me.

The evening had been everything and nothing like you expected.

Dinner was at a beautiful, upscale restaurant with soft candlelight flickering across polished wood tables, glasses of wine that felt far too expensive, and Natasha—sitting across from you, more present than she had ever been. She wasn’t the untouchable agent, the mysterious woman who kept her emotions locked away. She was Natasha, just Natasha, in the soft glow of the candlelight, her laughter filling the space between the two of you, the lightness in her eyes almost enough to make you forget the weight of the years spent apart.

The night had been filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed without effort, as though the years of silence hadn’t really existed. But it had. They had.

And yet, here you were, sitting across from her in a place that made your own paycheck look laughable, eating food that was far too rich for your taste, and all you could think about was how right this felt. You hadn’t expected it to be this natural, this easy to fall back into old rhythms, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And by the time you were back at your apartment, after a night of shared glances and a warmth between you that neither of you had ever truly experienced before, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You wanted her. You needed her. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to give her another chance, to let her love you, to let yourself love her again.

The moment your door clicked shut behind you both, Natasha pulled you into her, her lips capturing yours with an urgency that felt foreign, yet so familiar. There was no hesitation this time, no walls between you. Her hands roamed to your sides, pulling you closer, as though she couldn’t get enough. You met her halfway, losing yourself in the kiss, in the warmth of her touch, the way she made you feel like everything would be okay.

It wasn’t just the kiss though. It was what she said in between—her voice breaking the quiet with a rawness you hadn’t expected.

“I love you,” Natasha whispered against your lips, her hands tender as they traced over the curve of your jaw, as though she was afraid to let go. “I love you. And I never want to keep you hidden again. I’m done pretending I don’t need you. You’re everything.”

Her words hit you like a wave. They didn’t come with the weight of shame or regret this time. They were just the truth—simple, honest, and real. She loved you. After everything, after all the mistakes, she still loved you.

You breathed out a soft laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek at the raw vulnerability in her voice. She reached up, brushing it away with her thumb, as if she could erase the past for you, make everything better with that one gentle gesture.

“I’ve missed you,” you said quietly, your voice catching in your throat. “I’ve missed this.”

Natasha smiled, a single finger running down your cheek. "I don't want to hide you anymore. Let me love you in the light."

fin.

[heartsforvin]

DRUNK ON LOVE

you guys are fuckin SLUTS for wanting this so bad (literally me too i love the idea of this man actin this way)

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: smut, oral ( f receiving), praise, mild hair pulling, cum eating, cum play, kinda porn w no plot, overstim, spit play, if i missed anything lmk !!

summary: vinnie loves the taste of you on his tongue and can’t help but get lost in the moment

the position you were in was nasty — bent over the arm of the couch as your boyfriend ate you out from behind.

all that was heard from the two of you was the loud sounds of vinnie’s mouth on you and your moans.

he needed this, craved it like it was some drug. you knew vinnie’s favorite thing was to eat you out, but you didn’t know he loved it this much.

“pussy s’fuckin’ good, baby.” you hear your boyfriend slur as he laps up your wetness.

he moves one of your legs to rest over the arm of the chair before spreading your asscheeks apart.

he shakes his head back and forth as his tongue prods at your entrance at a fast pace.

you grip at the couch in front of you, needing something to steady yourself.

your legs are shaking, the movements of the blonde’s mouth is almost too much for you to handle.

“doin’ so good for me, pretty girl.” vinnie praises against you, his chin covered in your wetness.

you couldn’t see him, seeing as you’re facing the other way, but you could definitely feel him, and it felt amazing.

vinnie continues to suck at your clit while also grabbing a fist full of your hair and pulling it slightly.

a moan escapes your lips and vinnie smiles against your clit. no words are exchanged, just the filthy sound of his mouth on you.

vinnie watches you clench around nothing when he removes his mouth from you. he smirks, moving his hand up to you, gliding his finger against you.

his mouth attacks your clit again as he carefully pushes a finger into you, eliciting a whine from you.

“baby.” is all your able to get out before vinnie flips you around.

he smiles at you as he moves you to lay on the couch while he kneels in front of you.

he spreads you apart again, taking a real good look at you before kissing your clit.

“look at you,” his voice is deep, he’s completely submerged in this moment, in you. “prettiest fuckin’ pussy.” he doesn’t even finish his sentence before he’s back on you.

you fist his hair in your hands as his skilled mouth sucks at you again.

you squeeze your thighs around him which instantly makes vinnie moan into your heat.

he can’t get enough of you, you’re just too sweet. his nose nudges your clit and that’s what pushes you over the edge, not being able to warn vinnie beforehand.

you squeeze your thighs around him as you cum, making him moan into you once again which only spurs you on more.

“vinnie, please.” you’re a whining, shaking mess as he continues to not let up on you.

he’s too into this moment, almost like he’s drunk on the taste of you.

“c’mon baby, gimme another.” he rasps against you as he lifts his hand up to you, pushing the substance that slid out of you back into you again.

it was filthy really, but so hot at the same time. vinnie wraps his arms around your thighs, lifting you up just a bit as he helps you grind your pussy into him, riding his face.

the stimulation of his mouth and you grinding into him, it’s all too much as you moan out for him again.

“that’s it baby, i know you’re close. give it to me, mama.” he encourages you.

your breathing is heavy and skin is glistening in sweat as you move your hips on him one more time before you cum again on his face.

vinnie takes it all with a satisfied groan once he feels you let go. you look down at him as he looks up at you through his lashes.

he’s not done with you yet, he’s only gotten two orgasms out of you so far, that wasn’t enough for him.

“n-no more vinnie, please.” you try and plead with him as you feel his fingers on you now.

vinnie tsks, looking up at you with the sweetest eyes. “sensitive?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

you nod as you feel his lips on you again, he kisses you once more, making you clench your legs.

“can’t stop now, princess,” vinnie mutters. “pussy’s too sweet, i can’t get enough.”

you buck your hips up against his face again when you feel him suck on your clit. you grip his hair, tugging as you feel his tongue on you.

the taste of you is too good he can’t let up, even if he wants too.

“love when i have you like this, don’t you baby?” he asks as you tilt your head back. “love feelin’ my mouth on your sweet pussy, huh?”

you moan at his words as they go in one ear and out the other at this point. you don’t know anything besides the feeling of vinnie’s mouth on your cunt.

the wet sounds are filthy as they merge in with your and vinnie’s combined moans.

he grips your thighs, absolutely with no doubt creating bruises that’ll appear the next day.

he moves his mouth from your cunt to the inside of your thighs, creating hickeys along them before continuing what he was doing.

“f-fuck, mouth feels s’good vin.” you whine out as you feel his tongue against you once again.

vinnie moans into you at the praise which spurs you on and you instinctively buck your hips up into him.

he lifts his face mere inches as he sees the white substance leak out of you. he smirks, his fingers find your pussy again and he spreads them along your folds.

he pushes the cum that has spilled out of you back inside, making you moan when you feel his finger inside you.

“gonna-“ you cut yourself off with a moan when you feel not only his finger but his moth on you. “shit!”

vinnie hums, loving the effort he has on you as you do him. “one more pretty, c’mon.” he urges.

you grind against him as you moan out profanities along with his name as you cum on his mouth for the third time that night.

you’re completely spent but vinnie doesn’t seem to care, too drunk and lost on your pretty, glistening, pussy.

he looks up at you as he glides his finger along your folds, collecting the substance.

“open,” he says once he’s face to face with you. you see your juices on his chin and smile.

you open your mouth to happily invite his index finger into your mouth. vinnie hums as he watches you suck his finger clean.

“good girl,” he praises as you keep the smile plastered on your face. “did so good f’me.”

he kisses you properly and you melt into it before pulling away after a few seconds.

vinnie tells you he’ll be right back and goes to grab a warm washcloth.

he carefully wipes up your thighs as you watch him. you gasp when you feel his fingers on you again, the sensitivity skyrocketing.

“vinnie.” you say warningly, making him look up at you with a smirk.

he finishes cleaning you up with one finally kiss to your cunt, making you whine. he helps dress you for the night before dressing himself.

his mind is a bit hazy still, so you help him come down by laying in bed snuggled together as you trace meaningless patterns on his chest.

before the two of you know it you’re both asleep in each others arms.

PUSSYDRUNK!VINNIE PUSSYDRUNK!VINNIE PUSSYDRUNK!VINNIE PUSSYDRUNK!VINNIE 🫦🫦

i hope you guys loved this as much as i loved writing it !! <33

tags: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @khackerr , @sturnioloshacker , @native2princess , @visualbutterflysworld , @slvthrs , @bernelflo , @leqonsluv3r , @0strawberrysorbet0 , @kriissy4gov , @louloulemons-blog , @defnotayonna , @supabhad , @kayleighh , @hallecarey1 , @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom , @jpg3 , @violet0182 , @khxna , @eddieslut69 , @miilzzy

[adispit]

Hii! Do u write for xiao ?? If u do can u do with a amab reader who is extremely sensitive during sex and gets overstimulated really easily and cries??

A Hefty Price

Xiao x bttm m! thief reader

content warnings: slight dubcon, overstimulation, reader cries, Xiao is a little ooc bc he’s irritated and pissed here, mindbroken reader (fucked into oblivion), punishment sex (?)

note: hiya I didn’t know if u wanted plot with it so I just did it, hope you enjoy 😭🫶

You always thought you could get away with it. Xiao’s warnings, his sharp glares, the low growl in his voice whenever he caught you—it had become almost a routine, something predictable. You'd brush off his words, slip through his fingers, and disappear into the night with whatever prize you'd set your eyes on.

Maybe that’s why you kept going. Deep down, you believed Xiao would be lenient with you forever. That no matter how many times he cornered you, no matter how many times he said, “This is your last chance," there would always be one more.

But tonight was different.

The moment you saw him step out from the shadows, his figure illuminated by the pale moonlight, you knew something had shifted. His eyes weren’t just filled with the usual exasperation or annoyance. There was something darker, more primal, simmering beneath the surface.

You should’ve stopped.

But instead, you smirked, brushing off the unease creeping up your spine. "What, are you here to lecture me again, Xiao?" you teased, trying to keep your voice light. "You know how this goes. I’ll be gone before you even—"

You never got to finish your sentence.

Xiao moved faster than you’d ever seen him before, closing the distance between you in an instant. One moment, you were standing, your usual bravado shielding you from the weight of his presence, and the next, you were pressed against the stone wall of Wangshu Inn, your wrists pinned above your head in a grip so tight it made you gasp.

"Xiao—" you choked, but the words were caught in your throat as you met his gaze. His golden eyes bore into yours, no longer just filled with warning, but with an animal like intensity that sent your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with fear—and everything to do with something far more dangerous.

"You think I’ll let this slide again?" His voice was low, rough, almost unrecognizable in its rawness. His face was mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "That I’ll keep letting you walk away like nothing happened?"

His grip tightened around your wrists, his body pressing you harder against the cold stone. The sudden, brutal force of it made your heart stutter, a flicker of panic mixing with something else you didn’t want to name. He wasn’t just angry—he was done. Done with your games, done with your teasing, and done with your refusal to take him seriously.

"You always brush off my warnings," Xiao growled, his voice so close, so filled with something dark and primal that it made your knees weak. "You think I’ll be lenient forever, that I won’t do anything to stop you."

You swallowed hard, the smirk that had once danced on your lips now completely gone. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you tried to understand what was happening. Xiao had always been intense, but this—this was different. He wasn’t holding back anymore.

"You’ve pushed me too far," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. His hand left your wrist, sliding down to your throat in one swift, controlled motion, his thumb pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. "You think I’ll keep forgiving you? That you can keep stealing, keep defying me, without consequences?"

His eyes darkened as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "No more."

Your chest tightened at the finality in his tone, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had always played with fire, but now, you were burning. Xiao’s restraint, his patience—it was gone, replaced by something far more wild, far more dangerous.

"I… I didn’t think—" you stammered, trying to gather your wits, but Xiao wasn’t having it.

"That’s your problem," he interrupted, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make you still. "You never think. You believe you’re untouchable, that you can keep running from your consequences."

His fingers pressed harder against your skin, his body trapping yours completely against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he watched the realization wash over you. For the first time, you truly understood—you had gone too far. You had pushed him too far.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something, but nothing came out. His grip on you was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. The usual playfulness you had wielded against him was gone, shattered under the weight of his fury.

His other hand slid down your side, pinning you in place with a strength that left no room for argument. You gasped, the pressure making it clear that this time, there was no escape.

"You never took me seriously," he murmured darkly, his lips brushing against your neck, sending heat coursing through you. "But I’m going to show you exactly how serious I can be."

Your breath hitched as his hand moved lower, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive touch, one that made it clear—he wasn’t playing around anymore. There was no teasing, no games. You had crossed the line, and Xiao was about to teach you the consequences of defying him.

"You’ll remember this," Xiao muttered, his voice filled with quiet dominance as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body leaving no space for resistance. "You’ll remember who you belong to."

Your heart raced, fear and something else—a darker, more dangerous thrill—mixing together as you realized just how far you had pushed him. Xiao wasn’t fucking around anymore.

And now, you were going to pay for it.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, your heart thundering against your ribs as you stared up at him, completely at his mercy. Letting out a quiet whimper at his gaze, you could feel heat pool in your core, inwardly groaning as his body pushed against yours, giving you no space to retreat or run. “Quiet, (name). Take your punishment.” He shot you a silent glare of disapproval as he fumbled clumsily at your pants.

You weren’t stupid, despite haven’t done this kind of thing before, but you knew what the Yaksha was trying to do, and was clear to your eyes. There was a flash of thought that crossed your mind that if Xiao was the one standing before you, and you weren’t pinned against a wall, you might have considered sharing your first with him.

Your body, however, was much more honest. As he freed your cock, it was already erect, as pearls of precum slid down your length, the cold night air graced your naked lower abdomen. Teeth chattering as the cold wind blew, it didn’t stop your cheeky mouth teasing him much to your regret later on, “Seems like the yaksha is quite the inexperienced one— Ah!” He gripped your dick forcefully, sending a shock of mixed sensations of pain and pleasure through your body. “You never shut up do you, mortal?” Xiao rebuked unhappily as he gingerly jerked your cock up and down, bringing about an onslaught of sheer pleasure and ecstasy that seemed to intertwine with each other.

Being a virgin yourself, it didn’t take for you to release, splattering ropes of white cum into his hand as you let out a strangled gasp. Your eyes widened as you felt Xiao's teeth graze your sensitive skin, a shudder running through your body. The combination of pleasure and discomfort had your nerves alight, every touch sparking a new wave of sensation.

"Nnh...haaah..." You whined, hips bucking involuntarily as you grinded down against the firm muscle of Xiao's thigh. The friction provided some respite, but it wasn’t enough to quell the ache building in your core.

“Stay still.” He let out a growl of frustration before biting down on your collarbone, fangs glinting in the moonlight, sunken into your sinewy skin. The bruising pain and burning pleasure felt indistinguishable as your mouth hung open with inaudible gasps escaping.

“You don’t listen,” he murmured darkly, his breath warm against the raw skin of your collarbone. His teeth released your skin, leaving the bruised, throbbing mark of his claim, the sting lingering like a brand. “You never listen.” His tongue flicked out to trace the bite, sending another wave of heat through your body.

Not intending to give you a break, his fingers thrust into your waiting hole, making you squirm and writhe, insides clenching around his fingers. “Hhn!” A gasp left your lips as you felt the fingers prodding a certain bundle of nerves, nudging it repeatedly until you was moaning incoherently. A little sob even escaped you, as your cock twitched, spurting white all over your own pelvis again. Your whole body quivered, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the stimulation didn’t cease, your breath came out in ragged gasps, each one more shallow than the last as your body trembled under his control.

The Yaksha’s name left your lips in a stutter.

The pleasure left you reeling in its wake like a tidal wave engulfing your body in full force. Tears began to decorate your eyes as you let out small hiccups and chokes from the merciless sensations that seemed to plague your fatigued body endlessly.

Xiao’s hand shifted from your ass to your chin, forcing you to look at him. His golden eyes bore into yours, sharp and unyielding. For a moment, something flickered in them—a recognition of the tears that now streamed down your face, glistening in the moonlight.

But his grip didn’t soften.

“Are you crying?” Xiao’s voice was rough, his words cutting through the haze between you. His thumb brushed against your cheek, smearing the tear across your skin. “After everything, you still don’t understand.”

“I’ll make you understand.” You let out a scream as he impaled you on his cock, the girthy length bullying his way into your insides, searing his shape into your walls. There was pain, yet most of it became pleasure as Xiao started to thrust in and out of your tightness. Inaudible, slurred cries escaped you as you hung your head low, body rocked back and forth as Xiao fucked you deep and slow. The tears kept falling, but you were helpless to stop them. Everything about this moment felt too intense, too overwhelming.

Half-sober, you muttered pleas and apologies from your hoarse throat amidst the obscene squelches of his cock kissing your walls repeatedly. “Too late.” He huffed a noncommittal sigh as he put your arms over his shoulders and carried your limp legs with his arms before driving his hips against yours with full force.

Your brain was mush at this point, barely registering anything as your overstimulated hole rapidly twitched and clenched around Xiao’s disappearing cock into your hole. Your cock let out pitiful drops of cum, if that could even be called that, as you had truly lost count on how many times you had climaxed simply from the sensation of his cock scraping against your sensitive walls.

You had truly paid a hefty price.

note: might have made him a little too intense here sry 😢 but i ran w it he’s tired w readers shit lol 😹

Reblogs are appreciated!

[mullermilkshake]

The last time.

—-Minors DNI—-

Yandere!Satoru Gojo

Tags: Breed kink. Breeding. Kidnapping. Imprisonment. Unprotected sex. Plotting murder. Cream pie.

"Fuck me like it's the last time." That's what you say to Satoru's face after you have everything ready to make your move and run from him.

It's certain that if you stay here, Satoru will trap you in other ways, and you aren't about to let that happen. It's taken meticulous planning to get to this point, earning his trust finally and getting your leash extended enough for wiggle room.

Satoru takes your statement as a challenge, but constantly reinforces the face that you aren't leaving and that this is all role play. He doesn't deny that it is turning him on, going further in gorging himself on his favourite kink.

He needs to breed you.

You aren't sure where it's come from, you don't want to know either. You've been lucky so far, despite his best efforts and bold disappointment when nothing came of it.

Relief.

The last time doing this and the last time seeing his smug face before you disappear and vanish into the night. Satoru won't ever find you, you've made sure of it.

Satoru fucks you. His thrusts are hard and unforgiving, repeating over and over how you'll stay with him, bear his children and somehow be alright with raising them for his legacy he's been pressured to fulfil.

Not a fucking chance.

You let him, taking the chance to think of all the good times you'll have after you leave, but the danger you'll be in to ensure he never finds you.

Satoru Gojo isn't as trusting as he might appear. Time and exhausting effort to throw off this sniffer dogs nose. He never seems wise to it the entire time, how you'll leave him in his bed and fight the urge to slit his throat in his sleep.

After he comes inside you for the very last time, he takes a hold of your wrist and drags you out of the bedroom, throwing you back into that awful closet he had you in when you arrived here.

"C'mon, you really think I don't know? I thought you were intelligent." Is all he says before slamming the door shut with his grin the last thing you see into the darkness.

With his come still leaking between your thighs.

Yandere!Suguru Geto

Tags: Murder. Indoctrination. Choking.

"Fuck me like it's the last time." Suguru hears you loud and clear.

He understands what you are saying, and takes it as literally as possible.

Originally, you hated the idea of being with him after he snatched you up, but he convinced you that his logic was the way forward. that he was the way forward. And eventually, you started to believe it yourself.

Now, you applaud his reasonings, even go as far as to thank him for doing what he does. You aren't sure when it was, but there is a moment in the timeline from when you first met to now, that urges your brain to enjoy it whenever he takes a life.

Almost to the point that it impresses you how he does it with such ease. Though it's most probably due to the fact that it fascinates you. You battled with the guilt for the longest time, shaming yourself against your better judgement until you became numb to it.

Numb. Like now. The last time. Suguru decides the best way to fulfil this request its to lace his slender fingers at your throat, whispering filthy things into your ear to allow the dark spots at your eyes to collect around the outside.

He presses just right, light pressure, enough to hear your gasps of pleasure as you watch all the red on his face, on his open yukata to reveal his bear chest. Yes, he had killed again, but that doesn't deter you to let the bubbling itch in your abdomen grow and grow until you can't take it anymore.

The agonising part is that he fucks you slowly, dreadfully teasing until you come around his cock and he tells you what a good girl you are.

This path isn't one you ever saw yourself walking, but you guess you're in too deep now to ever think about leaving him.

Yandere!Kento Nanami

Tags: Psychological abuse. Spanking. Humiliation.

"Fuck me like it's the last time." It's supposed to be a comment to throw him off, but to be honest, you aren't sure why you said it.

Kento in hyper critical of you all the time. There's a spec of dirt on your face, your hair is out of place, your shirt is crooked, you haven't taken care of your nails. He's always picking up on something wrong.

You fought it originally, but when you realised that you weren't getting anywhere, you stopped. Now, you let him have his say, correct it and go about your day like he doesn't exist.

It's always manners with him. Watch your posture, manage your words and stop using curse words like they command the room. Verbally, you reel it in, though internally, you scream and say every word under the sun. You constantly think of all the ways you want to hurt him, to kill him.

There are many ways to kill a man.

At first, when you asked this of Kento, you assumed he would pick up on the curse word and reprimand you. But he doesn't. He never says a word, he only leads you up to the bedroom and sits down on the bed.

He asks you to bend over, to lay across his lap with your clothed ass pointing up. It makes you feel like a petulant child, you hate it. He's done this before, because he has picked up on how you said the word 'fuck'.

Kento pulls your leggings and panties over your ass and leaves it there, bulging at the plush of your thighs. He tells you that he won't sleep with you, not right now. Which meant that he's going to make an example of you.

At least if he is fucking you, the crack of his hand making the connection with your bare skin, isn't nearly as embarrassing. But alas, he doesn't, he strikes your ass in the weighted silence, heavy with burden and humiliation.

At least if he fucks you and finishes all over your stomach, there's a likely chance he'll fall asleep. Then you can have a moments peace to yourself. Trying to escape him is impossible now, you can't count the the amount of times you have tried on ten fingers anymore.

Ten times he spanks you, cupped hand with the extra sting he likes, his free hand laying flat on the small of your back like it's supposed to soother you, but it's not.

It's to keep you there so he has control.

Kento always needs to have control.

Yandere!Ryomen Sukuna

Tags: Mark making. Physical abuse. Rough sex. Dubious consent. Shaming.

"Fuck me like it's the last time."

Why the fuck did you just say that? You think it was a way to stop him glaring at you the way he just did because you were sure he was going to make your day miserable.

Sukuna actually laughs at this, cackles even. He says that it's not up for debate, there is no chance he would ever let you get far enough to make this the last time. Because he will always find you.

You have not ever attempted to escape him, it's like he can read your mind and even the slightest whiff of a plan to leave makes him give you the look as though he would burn you alive right where you stand.

He thinks you're weak, in comparison to him, you are. But your spirit is much stronger than he assumes, even if he can see straight through you.

There's no point in trying to fight him, no chance to slip from his grasp as his nails dig in with those little present shapes over your skin. Little deeper marks when his nails are especially sharp. You're sure he does this purpose, just to watch your eyes wince no matter how much you try to hide it.

"It it's to be the last time, let's make the most of it." He says, taking you in his bed like an animal howling in the night.

Terrifying. Ghastly. A demon unlike anything you ever read in books. The cursed man believes in no boundaries, no safe words. Just pure raw sex, hormones to run rampant while he's balls deep inside you. The bare skin slaps and sucks each other in until you are screaming from under him.

He only laughs. This is exactly what he wants. What he craves.

Just what he expects from his little pathetic whore.

Yandere!Toji Fushiguro

Tags: Forced marriage? Restraints. Power imbalance. Marriage. Psychological tactics. Cunnilingus.

"Fuck me like it's the last time." You said it out of anger.

You want it to be the last time. Truly.

Most days you often ask yourself how in the hell Toji managed to persuade you to get married. The old ball and chain as they said back in the day.

You didn’t realise that it meant an actual restraint around your ankle. Not that Toji needs it to keep you right where you are, but you assume it’s for dramatic effect.

There isn’t a day that goes by now that you don’t hate his guts, often questioning yourself how you even said yes to him in the first place.

It’s odd, because you don’t even remember.

Today, Toji promised he would let you out again after much deliberation. Like a fucking dog more like. It angered you, the only reason you have been kept inside was because the cashier spoke words to you while Toji stood right there and watched. How were you supposed to pay if you did not talk?

Why did you say yes to marrying him again?

You don’t remember. You only remember how he uses his tongue over your body because he claims to own it. He tells you this every time, because the difference in power between you is so immense.

You can't leave even if you tried.

This whole thing is fucked, while you get fucked. Toji enjoys eating you, pulling every guttural moan from your lips so he can savour it because no one else has the privilege to hear it. But you know it’s because he’s insanely possessive over you. It’s unhealthy. This relationship is unhealthy, yet he’s convinced you to stay.

How?

After he makes you come a few times, you’re in a daze. Is that when he convinces you?

You’re married. He gets half of everything you own. Everything you worked hard for. What does he actually bring to the table besides some misinformed ownership over you?

At times it’s like he wants you to divorce him, but still keep you here. It’s obvious he will make things difficult for you.

He always makes things difficult for you.

Yandere!Choso

Tags: Obsessed. Mentions of making a family. Missionary sex. Attempted break up.

"Fuck me like it's the last time." You have had enough of Choso’s clingy nature, trailing behind you like a lost puppy. You’re tired of it.

One last time, and then you will see whether or not you would leave. The connection is there, but his protective, over bearing nature is suffocating.

Choso looks at you like you have just broken up with him point blank. You haven’t. But you are unsure of how to proceed with this.

He tells you he’ll do anything to keep you happy. He will do anything. He’d steal for you, hurt for you, kill for you. Die for you.

It’s all very intense.

You can’t live this way, you know this when he holds you, pulls you close and presses precious little kisses all over your face, your neck. He holds your hands softly, lacing your fingers with his as he leads you over to the bed.

Choso makes love to you slowly, intimately, whispering all sorts of nonsensical drivel. He loves you. He adores you. He wants you to be in his life forever, live in a little bubble, start a family together.

He wants it all with you, he says as much as he’s inside you, rutting slowly, sensually enough it allows you to clear your mind.

This is not healthy.

But how can you deny him now after he’s saying all of this?

When he comes inside you, he draws back to look down at you, staring up at him.

“I love you. This isn’t the last time, is it?” He strokes your hair and presses his lips to your nose and he loves you, it’s true.

How can you deny this now?

This is not healthy.

[wingfleur]

# — breath play with jason todd.

the jason todd brainrot won out in the end. and what's a better way to celebrate than to post the filthiest draft i have for him lying around? | wc: 1.3k words.

cw: nsfw mdni (18+), afab!reader, porn no plot, explicit sex (p in v), undernegotiated kinks, breath play, dirty talk (jason's got a mouth on him), creampie, i rlly have no excuse for this so pls enjoy <3

thinking about breath play with jason todd. 

jason fucks like he’s trying to carve himself a place out inside of you— like he wants to mold you to the shape of him so that when he pulls out, you’re still sore and throbbing around a phantom of what he’s shaped like. one of his favorite ways to do that is by fucking you from behind with your back glued to his chest, nails scratching fruitlessly at the wall as he bullies his cock into you with filthy, measured thrusts. 

each roll of his hips is deep— so much so that it actually paralyzes you for a few moments with pure, unadulterated pleasure. you’ve tried to tell him to knock it off once before, saying that him grinding his hips into you like this makes you feel like a bitch in heat and causes your head to fill with static, but each time, he’s met you back with a half smirk and a raspy utterance of “is that so bad?” 

yes, you would argue. it is that bad, because right now, as jason todd fucks you with those slow, disarming strokes that send an endless stream of tingles down your spine, you let out the most pathetic noise you have ever made in your life. you can tell that jason’s lips quirk up at this– only because you know him so well and he has a reputation for being a smug piece of shit– but before you can scrape enough brain cells together to slur out something resembling a defense of your honor, he’s rubbing salt in the wound by using one of his big, calloused hands to cover your mouth. you’d be less irritated about how sexy all of this is if jason had the decency to act like he cared about smearing your lip gloss all over your chin, but he doesn’t. instead, he busies himself with peppering wet kisses up the side of your neck and face, pausing to hover his lips right over your ear.

“quiet,” he says lowly, his tongue poking out to run over the shell of your ear. “quiet, and i’ll make you feel real fuckin’ good. think y’can do that?”

delirious and disoriented from pleasure, you quickly nod, desperate and wanton against jason’s palm. he rewards your pliancy with a kiss– something soft and chaste against your temple, which, to you, is so incredibly out of place considering the way he currently has you speared on his cock. jason seems to know it, too, if the wicked grin he’s sporting is anything to go by, but even if you had the wherewithal to chew him out for it, you couldn’t; jason chooses that exact moment to duck his face into your neck and snap his hips against you at a bruising pace. 

your brain doesn’t last long before it starts melting out of your ears.

a garbled sound escapes you at the feeling— a cough, a choke, a mixture of both, you aren’t sure— and your eyes are rolling back into your head before you’re aware it’s even happening. it’s pathetic how you don’t even get a chance to try before your body chooses to disobey the very clear set of orders jason laid out for you, but it must be your lucky day, because your benevolent boyfriends seems to understand. you just can’t help it— his dick is too big, each thrust is too deep, and your head is far too empty to comply the way you usually do– so, clearly, your insubordination is not on purpose, and jason chooses to mostly let it slide. he won’t reprimand you like usual, or sink his cock to the hilt and stay there to make you squirm as you feel him in your stomach, but disobedience is disobedience. 

he has to punish you somehow.

“deep breath, baby,” jason mumbles, his palm moving to hover over your lips. he adjusts his hand over your mouth so he can position his pointer and index fingers over each side of your nose, and the moment you feel your lungs fill with air is the same moment you find yourself inhaling fruitlessly against jason’s palm.

his hand has formed a seal over your half-open mouth, and, if that wasn’t bad already, his fingers make it worse by pinching your nostrils shut. 

“there y’go,” jason grunts, feeling your weight stiffen, then relax against him. your cunt flutters around his cock and he sucks in a shaky breath, head swimming from how damp your slick has made his lower stomach and thighs. “that’s it, baby, relax. you got it. take it.”

if it were anyone else, you might have the urge to panic— to seize up and squirm in this grasp, desperate to get another gulp of air. it’s not anyone else, though– the person behind you is jason– and because you completely and utterly trust the fact that he would never cause you harm, you slump into it; jason lets you.

jason lets his grip on your nose go for a moment, enabling you to take a welcome break from the asphyxiation and a big breath to prepare for more. when he hears you inhale deeply, chest burning as your lungs fill with air, jason closes your nose back up right before you exhale. he punctuates it by pressing his lips to the side of your head. 

“jus’ a little more,” jason whispers, the weight of his chest practically crushing you against the wall. your chest sticks with sweat to the plaster, your stomach digging into the headboard. “gotcha all wet and messy f’me,” he says, the hand that’s not over your mouth coming to rub tight circles into your clit. “she’s gonna cum ‘round me real soon, huh? i can feel it.”

if you were any further out of your right mind, you would’ve considered jason a messiah from the way he’s reading your body language. he’s right: you are gonna cum around him soon— right now, actually, which is a realization that makes him laugh– and the way it washes over you has you seizing in his grip, then subsequently turning into a pile of mush. 

everything about your orgasm is making you feel lightheaded. mostly, it’s the lack of oxygen, but the pleasure you’re currently drowning in intersects with it in a way that would threaten to leave you addicted if jason didn’t drop his hand when he did. he slides that very same hand down to your neck, cradling your jaw with his fingers as his calloused palm sits against your throat. then, those same fingers— long, thick, and covered in a mix of your lip gloss and saliva from before— press into the bone of your jaw and force your head back onto his shoulder.

“fuckin’ hell, you’re perfect,” jason grunts, and his thrusts become sloppy as he allows himself to chase his pleasure. you ripple around him as the aftershocks of your orgasm wrack your body, and out of jason’s mouth comes a throat “fuck,” followed by a filthy admission of how you “feel so fuckin’ good” around him and that he’s “gon’ fill you up, just how y’like it.”

you whimper softly in reply— a sad sound punched out from the depths of your chest— and jason maniacally grins, turning his head so his canines can nip at your skin. he sucks and bites marks into you until he cums, handling you like a cherished sex doll as his body melts you the wall. jason’s hips twitch sporadically until he’s finished, and when he finally comes down, he stops, fixing his lips to kiss you softly across all the marks he’s left on your skin. 

“thank you,” jason mumbles quietly, wrapping his arms around you and falling back. he takes you down to the bed with him, where he slips out of you and lies on his back, positioning you carefully so you can rest your head on his chest. 

“love you,” you softly say in reply, letting your leg drape across his and your eyes fall shut. jason’s warm hand finds your head and fiddles with strands of your hair, kneading them between his fingers before letting them fall back to your head. 

“love you too, baby. g’night.”

# — navigation

[beardedjoel]

smother - part ii: resistance

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: joel knows how to break you just right, to get you feeling helpless enough to accept what he believes you need. somewhere deep inside of you, you think you might like it. 10.9k words (sorry) chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! noncon, nonconsensual touching, dubcon - reader eventually enthusiastically consents but the syndrome is stockholming so its dubcon, reader is a virgin, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is 55) masturbation (m), nipple play/groping, manipulation, joel def has a corruption kink, joel gets a bit violent in this chapter, y'all get a lot of touching and (kissing), if these darker tags aren't your cup of tea please keep scrolling! a/n: okay i'm even more nervous about this chapter than the first, idk how it got so long but i really hope its tense and enticing for you all! i love writing dark joel, this has been such a thrill so far tbh! get buckled in for heavy duty smut next chapter too ✌️

Light spills in around the thick, heavy curtains, drawn tightly shut. Just a glowing sliver on the edges and underneath, telling you it’s at least well into the morning, that you’ve been asleep for longer than you’d expected to. Your brain is a scrambled, hazy mess from the way you’d finally been able to pass out, still encumbered by Joel’s grasp holding you down. After a while his heaviness had a calming effect, the opposite of what you’d ever thought would happen when he first came into your bed last night. But now, he was nowhere to be found, the other side of your bed cold and empty, such a stark difference that you start to wonder if maybe you’d imagined it, dreamed it all last night. 

You get up to let some light from the day in, your eyes burning as they adjust and you see that it looks to be late afternoon already. How many hours had you been out for? 

Recollections of the night before flood your brain - Joel’s warmth pressed so close to you, his hard body molding softly into yours like he knew how to keep you safe, take care of you, just like he’d said. Yet there’s still an unease surrounding the thoughts, that he’d made the decision for you, came into your bed and lied. It sends a shiver up your spine, half thrill and half fear as you contemplate what you should do next. Maybe plotting a way to Jackson is the right move, but something about Joel was keeping you here, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on yet. It was more of a feeling, something indescribable that came over you when thinking about him. 

Could he really save you, like he said? Or was he just a sick old man with a fantasy? One he’d fulfill before tossing you out just as easily as he’d taken you in.

You sigh heavily and sit on the edge of the bed for a few moments, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You finally decide you have to leave this bedroom sometime and face Joel again to see if those same confusing feelings from last night persist, or even to clear the air between you two. You freshen up a bit with a toothbrush and homemade toothpaste that Joel had left out for you before fixing your hair to an acceptable enough level. You creep out of the bedroom, soft and quiet movements with socks padding your feet as you listen to hear what Joel is up to downstairs. No sounds of cookware or silverware clinking on plates, no rustling on the pages of a book, no distant sound of him chopping wood outside again. Until you do hear something. 

A sound almost in between a whimper and a groan, and it’s right there, the door diagonally down the hall from yours. You freeze, brows knit together as you wait to try to hear it again. The next time you hear it, it’s more urgent, more gruff, a loud exhale. Was it a pained sound? You couldn’t quite tell as you walked closer, noticing the light spilling from a crack in Joel’s door out into the dim, windowless hallway. 

One peek through the opening in his door has your eyes widening. A gasp sticks itself in your throat but you clap your hand over your mouth when you take in the sight before you. Shit…

All your eyes immediately focus on is Joel’s cock, heavy and thick, hanging out of his pants in a tight grasp in his hand. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, practically in perfect view through this open sliver in the doorway. His eyes are closed, lost in the moment as he grunts a little bit more. You avert your eyes almost immediately, standing frozen with your cheeks burning. You’re not completely unaware, and you do have an idea of what he’s doing. You can’t help but flick your eyes back to him as another strained exhale leaves his lips, your eyes drifting down to where he’s sliding his hand in quick jerks. His cock is pink and slick as he runs his hand along it, and you start to tune into the lewd, sloppy sounds that it's all making as flesh hits flesh over and over again. You squirm in place, feeling your knees go a bit weak before you finally notice it. 

Your underwear. 

It feels like something screeches to a halt inside of you, everything moving in slower motion for a few seconds as this information sinks in. Joel’s face, turning more red and eyes rolling back as he pumps his cock with your underwear from yesterday in his other hand, a fist tightly wrapped around the material. You shudder, but find the little zing traveling further to a spot right between your legs, making you clench your thighs together tighter.

It’s all so… so… a feeling you can’t quite explain that starts to make your skin hot, and a scene you don’t know if you want to stop watching. You are just curious after all, you lie to yourself in those few seconds of continued peeking on Joel’s private moment.

You sense a difference in his movements, flashing your sight up to his face where his eyes are open now, gaze locked on yours, heavy lidded as a smile plays on his lips. He doesn’t stop, though, like you thought he would, and it practically steals the breath from your lungs. 

“Oh… sh- sorry,” you blurt out, panicky and quiet before you can think about it, covering your eyes with your palm and hastily pulling the door shut. 

Joel can’t stop smiling, a wry, devilish thing as he continues in fast, long strokes on his cock. You knowing exactly what he’s doing in here is only urging him on even more, the look in your eyes as he’d caught your stare on his glistening, ruddy cock making him harder. 

His smile grows when he realizes you haven’t stopped enjoying the show, not at all, despite your appearances of shutting the door behind you. What he realizes you don’t know, is that he can see the shadow of your feet underneath the door, tiny, anxious movements that catch the light and cast shadows. 

If you want to listen, he’s surely not going to disappoint you, another little groan slipping past his lips and he tightens his grip and speeds up, picturing you in his mind. He can practically see it now, one of your perfect little hands clasped over your mouth outside his door, trying not to make a peep, your body rigid as you lean closer to listen. Those perfect little hands that should never have to lift a finger, should always be taken care of. A pulse of pleasure wracks his body at the thought of him being the one to do that for you. 

“Fuck,” he whispers hoarsely. “Fuuuuck…”

A few more swift tugs on his length and he’s stuffing your underwear right at the head of his cock, thrusting once and cumming hard into the fabric with a loud moan, the only thing on his mind the mental image of you in nothing but these. 

He’s not too weak to admit he’s already completely addicted to you. Your pretty face, the way you’d finally given him those few little smiles yesterday. How you fit so wonderfully in his arms last night once you’d decided that you needed him. Joel knows he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you as his, to make sure you understand just what you need, how you need him. He sighs as he leans back a moment, then stares down at your underwear, his creamy release staining it now looking like one of the most beautiful sights. To paint you with it himself would nearly kill him, send him into a point of no turning back. No, there’s no doubt now that he’s addicted to this… And god help anyone who tries to take it from him, even you.

The moment you hear Joel’s longer, drawn out groan you scurry away, light as can be on your feet and tiptoe down the stairs in a hurry. The mortification you’d feel if he opened the door to you standing there listening in is more than you can bear. You wish you hadn't been curious, hadn’t wanted to stop and stare just to watch just a bit longer. It wasn’t your fault that you felt completely embarrassingly lost when it came to… sex, but you know it was wrong to invade Joel’s privacy like that. He had left the door cracked, hadn’t he, though? Your brain devours the information, barely able to latch onto that train of thought before the next one comes barreling in. 

You pace back and forth in the kitchen, hands wrung anxiously over and over again in front of you. You gaze at the staircase practically every millisecond, waiting for Joel to come down, wondering if he will. You two have to confront this, right? He knows what you saw, and you certainly know what you saw, the image burned into your mind now. All the details seem hazy in your panic, but all you can think about is your underwear in his hands, and how your current pair feel damp now against your own will. You’d felt this before - attraction and arousal - but not like this. You had been so close to everything this time, not just hearing stories or thinking about kissing a boy you thought was good looking. This was a full fledged man, pleasuring himself right in the next room to you. It makes you break out in a sweat, your body hot and breathing shallow as the floorboards creak under your rushing movements. 

You sigh and continue pacing for another moment before trying to make yourself busy by putting on the kettle, maybe to make some tea, something to calm your frayed nerves. If Joel didn’t wind up kicking you straight back out into the wilderness after that debacle, you’d be surprised. Maybe you should think about kicking yourself out to avoid any of this awkwardness. You make a split second decision to grab your things and go, your first steps out of the kitchen interrupted by heavy footfall upstairs, lazily making its way down to you.

You stand frozen, your plan quickly forgotten when you see Joel, moving with confidence, his steps nonchalant and unhurried as he approaches with a satisfied look on his face. Not angry, not embarrassed, just a casual, almost smug look plastered on his features. You look at a spot past him before dipping your eyes to the floor, your face already heated and flushed. He’s wearing jeans again but this time with a plain, moss green henley shirt rolled halfway up his forearms. Another shirt showing off his strong, muscular form, and it’s killing you inside, especially now that you’ve seen just that much more of him. 

“Sit,” he says plainly, finishing his walk to the kitchen table where he pulls out a chair, settling himself down. When you dare to glance in his direction, he’s giving you a look that sends a shudder up your spine, already knowing he’s about to ask much less nicely if you don’t heed his words. Your shaky hand pulls out a chair, perching yourself on the edge, hands holding on to one another for dear life in your lap. You feel like a child about to be scolded for doing something naughty, and you suppose in many ways that’s exactly what’s happening right now. 

“J-“ you start, with Joel cutting you off before you can even get a syllable out. 

“You enjoy listenin’ to that little show? Gettin’ a little peek?” Joel asks smoothly, a hint of irritation but also gratification in his tone. He leans forward onto the table with his forearms pressed against the wood. 

“N-no I didn’t… I mean I didn’t see much. I didn’t hear… I swear. I’m really sorry, that just made things so… uncomfortable…” you ramble on, feeling like a bumbling idiot as you’re sure your body is about to catch fire. 

“Did it?” Joel asks, eyebrow lifted in casual questioning. It makes you stop, your lips sitting parted with words you can’t express, clouded by confusion. 

“Well… didn’t it? I’m - I don’t know what’s… normal… That didn’t feel…” Your eyes search his face wildly, and you know he can see you, trembling like a fawn stood in the clearing of a forest just before it bolts. 

Joel sighs out a long exhale. “Seems like you enjoyed it, standin’ outside my door.” He states it as a fact, not a guess, and your stomach twists as it sinks. How he knows is beyond you, and you can only sit in your shame now, eyes fixed downwards on the table. You’ve never found knots in wood so interesting before as you stay transfixed by the glossy surface.

“Nothin’ to be ashamed of. Just curious, weren’t ya?” he says, his voice rumbling softly. His hand inches towards you across the table and you finally get the nerve to look up at his eyes. They’ve gone gentler, full of understanding. You’re sure your expression gives everything away, your shock, your intrigue at what you’d witnessed. “Weren’t you?” he asks again, and you finally give him a little nod.

His lips twitch upwards in a wry grin just as the kettle starts to whistle, the sound ramping up rapidly into the silent room. You both stare at each other for a few moments, still processing your answer to him. The screeching reaches a fever pitch, making your skin start to crawl, so you push your chair out in a hurry to grab it off the stove. Joel’s hand shoots out, his large hand snatching your thigh, fingers wrapping around and digging into the flesh through your sweatpants. You halt, your ass plopping right back into the chair as Joel stares at you through narrowed eyes.

“I’ve got it,” he says sternly. He waits a moment longer, making sure you’re fully seated and about to heed his words before standing up. The kettle is at a deafening scream, but Joel seems in no hurry, sauntering over to the stove. You breathe out a sigh of relief as the sound tapers off, Joel setting the kettle to the side while he busies himself with reaching up to some open shelving along the wall where you see several jars full of different types of tea leaves. He’s silent, moving slowly, as if to make you sweat it out, and you admit that his plan is working. You don’t know the last time you felt such an odd, burning fear inside of you. Different than facing infected, than being so hungry without knowing where your next meal is coming from. It’s primal, deep down inside of you, meek little claws in a vice grip at the core of you, a burning that travels downward repeatedly, right between your legs. You notice you’ve started trembling without even realizing it.

He brings a steaming mug over, setting it on the table in front of you. It smells mainly of chamomile, maybe some lavender - you see Joel read your mind on wanting something for your nerves. Instead of retaking his seat across from you, he walks around the table, doing a slow, deliberate lap. His feet, although shoe-less, make an impact along the floor, and you feel like each one sounds like a drum along with the way your heart is beating in your ears. He circles back and pauses behind your chair, sliding his forearm across your chest, tucking it close to your neck.

You really were trapped now. Not just by your own mental doing, unable to make yourself leave at the first sign of trouble with this man for god knows what reason, but truly, physically ensnared by his embrace. His arm wraps tighter across the top of your chest, his hand squeezing on the shoulder where it snakes around.

“Tell me…” he leans closer, lips coming to your ear, a hint of a smirk in his tone although you can’t see his face now. “That the first cock you ever seen? Or just the first time you seen one like mine?” 

Your head swims, unsure of how to answer. He has you trapped with this question, either answer damning to you. You sputter and scoff out a chuckle, shaking your head. 

“No, you say? Which one, honey, c’mon it’s a simple question.” His arm tightens, fingers digging in along your shoulder. “No judgement here, just a curious man, thas’ all.” He says the words as if he’s expectant of a certain answer for you, following a hunch and looking to confirm it for himself. He knows, he knows, he knows. He knows you so effortlessly, reads your mind like it’s the simplest thing in the world. You worry he sees right through you right down to your debased thoughts, the ones where you give in to him and these foreign feelings you want to chase.

You shake your head again. “I haven’t…” Your cheeks burn with the confession, hoping he won’t make you actually say the words. You struggle uncomfortably in his grip, his scent invading your senses now as well, mint and leftover coffee from this morning and your stomach burns so hot you think you might be sick now. He responds with a tighter grasp, his arm starting to press a bit on your windpipe.

Joel blows out a breath, the sound nearly grating next to your ear. “Never seen a cock before till today? Till you saw mine the way you did? That so, darlin’?” He sounds amazed, excitement creeping into his voice. 

You swallow hard, fighting back tears, but you nod for him. “Y-yes…” you admit with a shaky voice, willing yourself not to cry again in front of Joel. 

“Oh, hey, hey, that’s okay. Must be an awful lot to see it jus’ like that, no context for any of it…” he murmurs, his voice oozing a sick sympathy as you sense his excitement building. “Shouldn’t have had to see it as a surprise. If it were up to me, darlin’, I’d have made sure it was perfect. Y’would’ve been amazed by the things a cock like mine can do for ya.”

He tuts quietly, his lips grazing along the shell of your ear. You squirm a little, your breathing picking up as you strain against him. You remember how much you’d liked his lips right under your ear last night, how badly you’d wanted to hate it, but here you were yet again, enjoying it. 

“Now I’m gonna ask you somethin’, honey, and I want you to be honest with me, mkay?” Joel says. Your options feel limited so you motion with a nod for him to go on, his arm digging into your throat further when your head bobs down.

“Be honest, now, remember.” He squeezes your shoulder hard. “How old are ya, honey?” His lips graze your ear again and your legs tense, thighs pressing together. You nearly have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the little moan that wants to slip out of you. 

You chew your lip, telling him the truth before you can even think about it too hard. “I’m nineteen.” You don’t know why you tell him the truth, why you give him any part of you, but you do. 

“Hmm,” he murmurs in a low little groan. His fingers brush along your shoulder, across your chest a bit, loosening his tight grip. “Thank you for tellin’ me the truth, sweetheart. I appreciate that.”

“H-how old are you?” you ask in return, getting a haughty chuckle from Joel. 

“Older’n you,” he says simply, a little growl caught in the back of his throat as his nose buries itself in your hair, taking in a deep breath.  

“B-but I told you…” you whimper a little as he tightens his hold again, leaning further to press his head into your shoulder and neck. 

“Why d’ya wanna know? Wonderin’ why an old man like me is gettin’ your panties wet?” he asks, amused at your expense, knocking you down just one more peg. 

You blink hard and feel yourself flushing again, warmth radiating throughout your body all the way down to your fingertips. You’re angry that he seems to know every damn thing about you, and you feel like you know nothing about what he’s thinking. “I don’t understand… any of it. Why -“

“It’s all natural, sweetheart. Happens when you find yourself likin’ what I’m doin’,” Joel tells you, voice starting to sweeten like honey. His hand strokes your hair, smoothing the sides. 

“I know…” you bite back, only to feel Joel move his forearm closer to your neck. Your breath hitches. “I just mean… I - I want to know how old you are.”

“You persistent little thing…” He smirks again, looking impressed by you. “I’m in my fifties, that’s all y’need to know.” He pauses for a brief second, not wasting a second to keep contact with your skin, his calloused fingertips stroking along the hollow of your neck. They trickle down, gentle and fluid as water as he ghosts along your chest and over your stomach. You shudder and try to keep your eyes open, succumbing to the pleasure of it all - nobody has ever touched you like this, taken their time to feel you out and seem interested in every part of you. It’s a slow, tortuous movement while his arms reach down over you, thick muscles on display, until his fingertips brush along your waistband. They trace back and forth along the crimped edges of the band, tied tightly. He plays with the strings, a clear contemplation to untie them any second. It makes you start to tremble even more, the way you feel powerless and know you couldn’t stop him even if you wanted to.

Joel abruptly stops, pulling his arms back before he starts to walk around the chair, standing in front of you now. He doesn’t crouch to your height, standing tall and proud as he towers over where you sit. His fingers reach forward slowly and gently, thumb and forefinger taking your chin delicately, holding it like something he might break. You can finally see his expression, look into his eyes, and they’re a dark abyss full of mystery and that hungry look he’d flashed at you a few times yesterday. 

“Get the sense you’re feelin’ a bit scared right now, hm?” he suddenly asks.

You swallow and then nod for him, eyes barely blinking as you try to keep track of every single movement he makes. His grip on your chin flashes tighter for just a moment before he lets it go, leaving a little red mark in his wake.

“Good girl.”

Your stomach turns as you realize he wants this, wants your fear to permeate the room so he can devour it, to know that he has this hold on you. Joel leans forward, one hand planted on the table next to you, the other coming down to rest on your thigh. He’s tender in his touch, letting his hand soothingly find its way up your leg.

Joel’s eyes bore into you, trying to capture your attention and hold it, but you can barely summon the courage to look into those dark pools, worried they’ll draw you in forever. Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on your shaky inhales and exhales as Joel’s hand rubs your thigh.

“Don’t you like it, sweetheart? Feels good to be touched here, doesn’t it?” You don’t answer him, eyes squeezed shut even tighter, a quiver starting on your lips. You try to ignore the way your body responds to the touch, skin blazing right where he’s touching and that pooling of heat starting between your legs.

“Now c’mon, open your eyes f’me. I want to take care of you, honey. Jus’ like we agreed to last night. You need me to take care of everythin’ for ya, never make you have to worry or lift a pretty little finger again. I can show you everything.” Joel pauses, waiting to see if you’ll heed his command. His hand wraps a little tighter around your thigh, fingers squeezing.

“I said… look at me. Open your eyes. Nothin’ to be afraid of.” His voice has a shake to it from trying to keep it even amongst his building frustration, his desire to have you under his thumb already. You finally brave it, your eyes opening slowly to find a softer smile playing on Joel’s lips as his face comes into focus, just a few inches from yours now.

“I want you all to myself… d’you understand what I’m sayin’?”

You nod. His smile grows, much more foreboding now.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, fingers squeezing your thigh again, brushing his thumb along the inner part, sending a set of sparks hurtling up your spine. “And you’ll stay? Won’t try to get away from me, will you?” he asks, a wicked raise of his eyebrow telling you there’s only one correct answer here.

Your face falls a little bit. “Wh- what would you do if did?” you dare to ask.

He laughs, a mirthless chuckle before he can even stop himself. “Oh, honey, what’re you gonna do? Where’ll you go? You wouldn’t get barely ten steps outside this door ‘fore I got to ya.” His eyes pierce yours before studying your face for a few moments, challenging you. “Best that you don’t even try, yeah?”

You don’t reply, hoping that the fear in your eyes and trembling lips are answer enough for him.

“Come and sit w’me, how about that? I’ve got a few more questions for you.” Joel offers you his hand and you pause, eyes fixed on his tan, rough skin - hands that have worked hard for an entire lifetime. He takes the initiative to grasp your hand instead, giving you a quick tug that has you standing up to start following him. He completely dwarfs you in every way, his hand practically enveloping your entire fist as he pulls you along towards the couch.

You don’t know what otherworldly urge possesses you so suddenly, but you glance over towards the door, then back at Joel before you muster up everything you have and shove him square in the back, yanking your captured hand back in the process. He stumbles forward, your hand slipping from his and you quickly gain your balance and bolt. You reach the front door, fumbling with the lock and knob as you hear Joel grunt loudly behind you. 

“Don’t you understand? There’s nowhere to go, sweetheart,” he calls after you angrily. You don’t dare turn around as you fling the door open with a strength you didn’t even know you possessed, feet moving of their own accord as you sprint down the stairs and towards the oncoming woods. You can hear Joel’s huffs behind you, both of your shoe-less feet pounding on the frozen earth. It hurts, the cold ground combined with all types of brush and wood littering the forest floor that are now jabbing into your feet with every step. This was stupid, this was a mistake, you’re going to die out here if he doesn’t do it first.

“God… damn… it…” you hear Joel pant behind you, knowing he’s close, that it’s almost over now. You’re weak and frail still, much too slow to outrun a towering powerhouse like Joel. He was right - there’s no fighting it, no escape from here unless he allows it. Maybe it won’t be so bad… maybe you do enjoy the way he speaks to you, the way he’s been touching you… maybe it’ll all be just what you’ve needed. You’ve always wanted more than what you had, wishing for someone to care just a little more, to have a family again.

You lose yourself to an almost transcendent train of thought, letting it wash over you. As if the universe was trying to tell you the right decision, you feel your foot collide with something sharp and you stumble, a sure way to get you back into Joel’s arms. He catches you as you go down, upper arm squeezed into his grasp as his other wraps around and yanks you by the front of your collar, tearing your shirt all the way down to the middle of your chest as he tugs. You’re pulled into his chest with a hard thud before you both go down with the momentum of it all, his body landing on top of yours on the hard, frozen earth.

“God damn it, girl, what the hell you think you’re doin’, huh?” Joel huffs out, arms pinning you down by the wrists as he breathes heavily right in your face. You grunt and struggle, squirming against the ground, but it only serves to help Joel push you into the frosty dirt even harder, his own grunts slipping out of his lips. 

“Like it when you struggle…” he says closer to your ear, leaning down. His lips turn into a chilling leer as he bares his teeth down at you. “But too bad we can't play a little longer, you’ll freeze out here. Get up,” he demands, pulling back and then fluidly plucking your body up off the ground as he stands. He hooks one of his arms through yours and begins drags you, your feet scrambling to keep up with how quickly he’s moving. 

You’d barely gotten far, just like he said you would - it’s only a short distance back to the cabin where he slams you against the wall, clutching one hand around your throat, not hard enough to put much pressure, just to show you he could, if he really wanted to. His body crowds closer as your back presses against the hard, unrelenting wooden logs adorning the outer frame of the cabin. The chill of the air settles in and you shiver, feet throbbing and chest prickling with goosebumps from the frozen air entering your lungs in large heaves. 

“Told ya, girl. You don’t need to go anywhere. All y’need is right here. I can do anythin’ I want with ya, can’t I?” He spits his words out angrily, eyes blazing. His head is cocked, looking down on you with scornful, yet hopeful eyes. His gaze travels to your chest, the way your shirt is torn to almost reveal everything there, eyes flickering hotly on the sight. Both of you stand with huffing breaths, chests heaving and letting out little cloudy puffs of air as your exhales hit the air. 

You nod, whimpering as his grip gets slightly tighter around your throat when you don’t answer right away. Your entire body trembles against him, afraid you’ll collapse any second as your knees buckle. His entire frame is pressed against you, keeping you upright, the warmth of him the only thing keeping you grounded and afloat right now.

“Thas’ right, it’s just me ‘n you out here. I’ll take real good care of ya, never let anyone hurt ya again. Ever.” A hand snakes around to your hair, smoothing it as he pulls your head off the wall, tracing his palm down as he pets you. “Now c’mon.” He yanks your entire body by the waist, holding you close as he hauls you back inside, pulling the door shut behind you two and locking it.

Joel brings you to his original destination before you’d run - the couch - and sits back, pulling you down with him, maneuvering you to settle on his lap so that you’re straddling him. His hands wrap around your back in a possessive, tight hold. You squirm a little bit, the feeling of him enveloping you like this making you hot, a sheen of sweat breaking out over your entire body.

“S-stop…” you mumble as you continue to struggle, his hands only seeming to get stronger the more effort you put in. You start to shove and push at his chest and one of his arms comes from around your back to catch your wrists in one fell swoop, pinning them against his chest. 

“Better knock that shit off quick,” he commands, grunting as he continues to hold your squirming body. “You got me offerin’ you everything I know you want, and all I ask is you do what I want, sweet girl. Be here w’me.” His tone is somehow cruel and hard but soft and caring at once, like he really believes that he needs to act this way to care for you right now.

“N-no, you’re hurting me,” you cry out. “You said you wouldn’t let anyone hurt me…” You think that maybe your reasoning will have any kind of effect on him, and he only smiles softly. It disarms you a little, your struggle starting to die out as you look at the hidden anger behind the smile, the desire to let out the hidden beast within him. 

“Let’s get one thing clear,” he says, letting go of your wrists to grip your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, squishing them together. Your hands fall limply to your sides, skin burning on your cheeks where he’s pressing in harder. “Only I can make you feel pain. Nobody else. Nobody’s gonna hurt you when I’m around. And I’m the only one who can make y’feel good too, understand? But if you’re not gonna be a good girl ‘n pull this shit, I can’t help what I’ve gotta do to get you back to bein’ good, hm?” His eyes track across your face, awaiting a response. 

You shake your head in small movements, squeezing your eyes shut and squirming one final time to try to slide off his lap. He sees your desperate eyes and his blood rushes a little hotter through him, tugging you harshly to situate you back perfectly centered on his lap.

“Please…” you whimper quietly, unsure of what you’re asking for now. To be let go? To be held tighter? For someone to just make it all okay?

Joel drops your cheeks from his tight grip and looks at you a little more sympathetically. “Okay, okay, c’mon, no more strugglin’ sweet girl. I’ve got you. Not gonna hurt ya. I just wanna help ya.” 

He leans forward and his lips find your neck, peppering wet, urgent kisses from just underneath your chin all the way down to your collarbone. It’s all too much, the emotions bubbling up as the adrenaline leaves your body. You shake a little, feeling the now all too familiar sting of tears behind your eyes that quickly manifest as tears that roll down your cheeks. Joel must sense a heave in your chest as you try to hold back your sob because he pulls his lips off of you and looks up to see your eyes shining as tears start to fall at a more rapid pace. 

“Shh, shh,” he coos. Both of his arms wrap around your back and pull you in so that your chest is flush with his. Your head drops instinctively to his body and you find yourself wrapping your arms tightly around his neck before burying your face in his chest. 

“Oh, c’mere, sweetheart. Let it all out… shh…” Joel says quietly, his palms splayed along your back, rubbing up and down in a soothing pattern. You finally break completely, finally let yourself sob. Your entire body is wracked with shaking heaves of breath each time you start another wave of tears. You bury yourself deeper into Joel’s chest, your face burning red hot with embarrassment, but unable to stop nonetheless. He’s warm and soft against you, the comforting fabric of his shirt soaking up the tears you pour out. 

Joel continues his soothing ministrations, his hands uncharacteristically kind and sweet, holding the back of your head against him now, like he’s encouraging this, even, this release of emotion from you. It makes you sob even harder to realize the only person you have in this world to comfort you is a man you met yesterday, one who hasn’t shown you a consistent side to himself since then. You don’t know how long you cry for, the last two weeks of pure desperation and the flood of emotions since meeting Joel have all collided into this one meltdown, Joel’s chest taking the brunt of it as you continue sobbing.

“Oh, that’s it, there we go…” he hums calmly, his chin resting on the top of your head as he keeps stroking along your back. You finally start to let up, choking back little sobs as they climb their way up your throat. 

“Jus’ breathe… there ya go, honey. Take some deep breaths for me now, okay?” Joel says calmly, continuing to chant little encouragements in your ear. You turn your face to lay the side of your cheek along Joel’s chest for a moment, a few remaining hiccups shaking your body as you sniffle. Your entire face feels puffy, like everything is two sizes too big for you now, cheeks wet and sticky as your tears start to dry. You slowly lift your head up and Joel quickly catches your face between his hands, thumbs going to work wiping your tears.

“Beautiful…” he murmurs as his eyes scan your flushed, glowing face. His lips turn into a gentle, small smile while he continues to wipe down your cheeks for a moment longer. “Now don’t that feel better?” Joel looks at you with concern now, his head tilting as his fingers continue to stroke along your face. You look so broken and fragile right now - the thought exciting him, sending a twitch beneath his jeans that he doesn't even have the mind to be ashamed of. You're close... so close to being his.

“I g-guess…” you murmur, unable to say if it really does feel much better. You feel lighter now, unburdened of the pent up emotions that had been weighing you down the last few weeks, but you still had to grapple with the fact that you were here now, with a dangerous man who seemed intent on keeping you here no matter what.

“Listen, darlin’...” Joel starts, a heavy sigh escaping him. “You’re too sweet for this world, you deserve to be protected… That’s all I’m tryin’ to say here, to do here. You wanna know what I thought when I first saw ya?”

Your eyes widen in curiosity, letting him go on.

“Thought that the universe sent me a gift. One look at ya and I knew you had to be all mine. Like y’were made for me, I swear it…” he gushes before his eyes go more serious. “I can show you how good it all feels, sweetheart, d’you understand?”

You shake your head slowly. “S-show me how good what feels?” you ask tentatively.

Joel leans forward, his lips brushing along your jawline then ghosting to that sensitive spot under your ear. His breath tickles you in just the right way and you shudder, hating that he seems to have pinpointed your weakness.

“Show you… just how good it feels… to submit to me.” His lips press onto your neck gently, his tongue poking out to taste the salt of your skin. “Show you what your place is here.” He sucks a little harder on your neck, eliciting a tiny sound from the back of your throat. “I’ll give you everything, you’ll see. I can see you want it, sweet girl. I can see how badly you need it.” His hips thrust upwards into yours on his last words, grinding against you slightly. Your eyes flutter shut when his lips kiss your neck again, rough but gentle, as Joel always seems to be. You squirm, your body and mind still mixing signals with each other, unsure if you’re fleeing or giving in. 

You consider his words heavily, the weight of them pressing down on your chest, nearly choking you. It makes your entire body tingle, the way he’d said the word submit, not even fully understanding all of what that would entail. But he’s right, you do need someone, you need something in your life that won’t fail you or run or disappear. You’re desperate for it at this point, needing it like you need air and water. You’ve seen nothing but loss and sadness and lived with a desperation to just be loved and cared for in the deepest ways. 

Maybe it was fate, like he said. Maybe you were meant to stumble into that clearing just at the right time, just when you so fiercely needed everything he’s offering to you. 

He pulls back and stares into your eyes, trying to read the look behind them, trying to gauge how you’ll respond as you sit silently. You feel tears building on the rims of your eyes again, quickly wiping them away before they can fall. 

“Let me show you, hm? How I’ll take care of you.” He thumbs your chin as he stares at you, a look of wonder in his eyes. “We need to get some more food in you, darlin’. Barely ate a thing yesterday.” His bargains immediately begin to work as you notice your stomach rumbling and empty again as if on cue. You nod slightly and he gives you a half smile.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos. “Now hold on tight.” Before you can question him further on why, he’s lifting you up off the couch, and your arms scramble to fling around his neck so you don’t fall backwards. Your legs wrap around his middle for extra support as he carries you to the kitchen table, settling you down on top of it now, legs dangling off the side as he lets go of his grip under your thighs. You find yourself reluctant to untangle your arms and legs from his warm, safe body, but he begins to pull away, heading for the fridge. You watch him with a frown as he bends down, shuffling a bit in the fridge before pulling out an item wrapped in a thin cloth. He opens a breadbox on the counter and reaches in, tearing off a chunk of bread before plating it and unwrapping the block, revealing some type of cheese.

“Sheeps cheese from Jackson. And some bread I made. Should tide y’over till dinner time, don’t you think?” he asks, bringing the plate over. He nudges your legs apart with his knee, a silent command that you follow mindlessly before he steps in between your thighs. One hand brushes along your thigh as he gets closer to you, eyes pasted right onto yours. His near glare is nearly too much to keep focused on as he grabs the piece of bread and brings it up to your lips. You pause, gaze faltering as you scan his face, a little stunned.

“Y’need some food, darlin’. Now eat.” Another command, another test to see how pliant you are, how willing you are to accept the entire package he offered you. You crane your neck forward enough to bite down on the piece, tearing some off as he holds it for you, never breaking eye contact with him. His eyes quickly flash back to a satisfied, pleasant look from the darkness that had threatened them moments ago.

“Good girl.” The words burrow in a little more, your thighs tightening against his, sending Joel gazing down with a smirk pulling at his lips. “Another,” he says quietly, holding the bread up to your lips again. You don’t falter this time, taking a quick bite and chewing as Joel smiles down at you, letting his thumb brush across your lips.

“You’re bein’ so good f’me now, what happened?” he says smugly, picking up the cheese and feeding you again. Each time he does it, you take the food more eagerly, Joel stepping closer until he’s pressed against the table, his hips as close as they can be to the apex of your thighs. You can sense the excitement radiating off of him now, the pure satisfaction that you’re not putting up a fight, accepting the care he’s pouring out onto you.

“Now you see how I can take care of you, darlin’? That’s just a small thing, honey, makin’ sure you get fed. Now tell me how much you appreciate it, hm?”

You feel your cheeks warming up at the blatant coaxing from Joel, the way the heat of his body presses so close to you now as his finger lingers on your lip after the last scrap of bread goes in.

“T-thank you, Joel,” you say, quiet and mousy as you avert your eyes downward.

“Oh, such a good girl.” He pets the top of your head down the side, stroking a gentle, long path down to your shoulder. “Feel better now that we got you full?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Y-yes, thank you.” Mousy. Quiet. The way Joel seems to like, the way that you can’t help but be when he questions you like this, when his eyes search your depths so intensely. Your heart clenches at just how quickly he’s already worked his way in, has you saying just what you know he wants to hear. 

“Not bad for an old man baking bread, huh?” he asks, winking as he caresses your cheek. You tilt your head down, failing to conceal your little smile in time as a breathy chuckle makes its way out of you. You can sense the lightness fill Joel and the entire room as he notices, cocking his head and leaning closer to you.

“That a smile I see, darlin’? You think it’s funny to call me an old man?”

You shake your head, pulling your lips tight to suppress your smile. “N-no, you’re n-not…” 

“Oh, too sweet, ain’t you.” He wraps his arms around your middle, drawing you close again. “Y’know, you’re so pretty when you smile. This old man’d like to see more of that, y’know.”

Your smile falls quickly as discomfort settles in again at the way he’d cracked through your façade just now.  “Why haven’t you just… hurt me yet? Or done what you want with me and tossed me out?” you ask suddenly, blurting the words out before you can think twice about the possible consequences. 

Joel clicks his tongue and lets his lips part slightly, showing his surprise - a rare moment from such a guarded man. 

“That what you think this is?” he asks quietly, forebodingly. The pure control in his voice is a skill that you can tell he’s exercised many times. “Just want to squeeze the life outta you and toss your body out for the damn animals? Or fuck you senseless then turn you to the cold? You really think that little of me after I fed you, clothed you, helped you?”

He doesn’t sound quite angry, but something deeper that takes a minute for you to register - you’ve hurt him. Wounded his ego, made a dent in this brick wall of a man. A power you suddenly wish you didn't have over him.

“I don’t… I don’t know…” you admit. “You scare me.”

He leans forward, his dark irises going icy as he captures your rapt attention with this one single glance. 

“I should,” he spits out with a twitch of his lip. “But only if you give yourself reason to, yeah? I never want to hurt you, sweetness, never.” He goes softer, brushing a finger along your cheek, sending you trembling with a quivering lip. “Jus’ want you to be here w’me, lettin’ me take good care of you, and you do the same f’me. Somethin’ so beautiful here, you ‘n I…”

You sigh heavily, your body slumping in defeat. You’re exhausted, your nerves frayed and mind overstimulated from all of the inconsistencies, the back and forth with him. If what he says is true, if he wants to treat you kindly, give you all he’s promised, you know what he expects in response. You can feel it in the undertone of every word he says, every tiny movement when he touches you. He wants you to belong to him, to have you sucked so completely into his world there’s no going back. To have you fear him and look in wonder at him and worship at his feet and let him touch you and feel you and be completely yours and you be completely his. Your head spins, a dizzy sickness overtaking you at how utterly lost you feel right now. How badly you crave it and are equally repulsed by it. 

You dip your head down, eyes on your lap as you let the wave of churning fear wash over you.

“Eyes up, darlin’,” Joel reminds you, fingers tracing on your thigh to get your attention. 

“I… believe you,” you say, turning your gaze to him again. It’s not an answer yet, not a yes or no or anything at all. A fact.

“I know you do,” he says, a serious expression curling into a smile. “Only say what I mean. Are we clear, then?”

Joel’s face inches closer to yours, leaving just a few inches between you, now. “Y-yes,” you mutter, rapidly scanning over his eyes to try to read anything there but the inky darkness that seems to permeate above all else.

“Good,” he says proudly. “Now gimme a smile, darlin’. Need to see you lookin’ happier ‘round here.”

You pull your lips into a tight smile that seems to suffice for Joel as he carries on, moving until his lips hover just above yours. You notice yourself starting to tremble a little bit, shoulders tightening up, and Joel holds you close as his brows come together.

“You ever kiss a man like me, darlin’?” he whispers, licking his lips.

Your lips part, words failing you for a moment as you contemplate him. Your throat is suddenly dry and itchy as you glance down at Joel’s lips. “N-no…” You shake your head. “I haven’t… haven’t been with… anyone…”

Joel stills completely for what feels like minutes, his lips twisted to the side in a wry smile now. “You sayin’ you’re a virgin?” he asks bluntly, his hands naturally tightening their grip on your back, fingers digging in as they slide a little lower towards your waist.

Your face burns first, then your entire body is set aflame as embarrassment sets in. You know you shouldn’t be embarrassed, but you can sense Joel’s experience, almost having some strange need to impress him with your own, coming up empty. Your eyes look down, staring at the middle of his shirt before you nod once, blinking away a quick sting of tears at your sudden humiliation. 

“Christ,” Joel bites back all the things he wants to say for a moment and tuts as he notices your glassy eyes, scraping his fingers along your back. He tightens his hold on your waist and tugs you even closer so that your hips are flush with his. He moves his lips right next to your ear, making you shudder as they brush close enough to touch for a moment. “Had a feelin’. You have no idea… how turned on that makes me, sweet girl.”

Joel’s crude words have you gasping a little, a breath caught in your throat as you stutter out a sound to try to answer him. His lips press on your neck again, kissing a little more fervently down to your collarbone and then he pulls back, one hand going to your face to cup your cheek. 

“Such an innocent little thing… so sweet…” he murmurs. “‘S okay to touch me, y’know.” Your hands tingle with anticipation as he says that, but you don’t know how to move them, where to move them to, or if you want to touch him.

“I - I don’t…” You shake your head, and Joel captures one of your hands in his, holding it gently and rubbing his fingers along yours. 

“I got ya, I’ll show y’everythin’ you need to know, how’s that sound?” he says, gazing down at you intently, waiting with baited breath to hear your response. 

“You mean…” you ask, cheeks flushing as you’re unable to finish your sentence. Joel places your hand on his chest, spreading your fingers out to splay across the space between his pecs. He nods softly and you wiggle your fingers a little, feeling the planes of his chest, hard but warm underneath your palm. He glances down to where your hand explores a little more, running your fingers gently over to the right side of his pecs, then the left, and smirks. 

“I mean all of it, you sweet little thing. You don’t know how good y’could feel, do you?” Joel breathes a little heavier, his expression losing a bit of its controlled façade, that vague look of craving revealing itself in his eyes again. “I could give you so much… oh, you pretty thing, you need it.” He shakes his head in disbelief of everything he’s learned about you. “Untouched… so innocent…” he says more quietly, his hands finding their way back to your waist, thumbs hooking under the waistband at the back of your pants.

“I’m n-not sure… I-I don’t know -” you stutter as you feel his thumbs touch bare skin before one of his hands trails under your shirt, moving upwards. Your eyes blink a little slower, a flutter of your lashes as his calloused pads scrape along your skin, leaving a blazing trail that tingles all the way to the base of your spine. It pools quickly there, your core starting to heat up as his hand travels higher, the other playing at the hem of your shirt, starting to lift it. Your breath hitches, eyes going wider as your shirt moves, but you don’t squirm, don’t try to stop him.

“Y’do know. I can see you want it, sweetheart, look at how you respond to me…” He breathes in and out a little shakily. “Respond to a man takin’ good care of you…”

“W-what are you doing?” you ask, feeling your back almost halfway exposed to the air.

“Think you know what I’m doin,” Joel huffs a stony hearted chuckle. “Just wanna see how pretty y’are, take a peek, thas’ all.”

You shrink back a little, eyebrows pulled close together, shaking your head in small movements. “I’m scared…” you whimper finally, showing Joel the fear that’s been building deep inside of you. You don’t know how to want this, when to know your body is telling you it’s okay. You’ve somehow lost complete trust in any of your instincts, unsure of where along the way that happened. 

“I know, I know,” he purrs, still pulling your shirt higher. His lips dart down to your stomach, where your bare skin is starting to show, kissing sloppily along all the fresh skin he hasn’t seen yet. He starts speaking against your body, kissing in between his words. “Nothin’ to be scared of when you got me though, y’understand? You let me take care of you, and you’ll never worry a day in your life. Be my good girl, my everything. Just gotta trust me.” His nails dig into your back, a sweet, welcome pain, bringing you to the present. It’s too easy to lose yourself to his lips, his touch, his words. Your hand stays steadily placed on his chest, barely daring to move now.

You stare with your mouth open, and at your silence Joel drags his mouth up your chest and to your neck before looking at you expectantly.

“I don’t… know…” you murmur, less convincingly than the other times, an observation that Joel doesn’t fail to notice. He gathers the fabric of your shirt and tugs on the front hem of your shirt, pulling it taut along your back, drawing you closer to him as his lips sit merely an inch from yours.

“Think y’do know,” he says, greedy hands under the front of your shirt now, pulling the hem up. “I’ll be so gentle, honey…” He pulls your shirt up further and you drop your hand from his chest, allowing him the freedom of movement he needs to finish the job. 

“Okay…” you whisper, unsure if the two syllables even resonate far enough to reach Joel’s ears. You start to feel your legs trembling as you see his face registering your one word, the only thing he’d needed to hear. 

“Good girl,” he breathes out, exuding pure elation. “Oh, I’m gonna make you so happy, darlin’, gonna give y’everythin’.” He practically snarls as his hands get back to work on your shirt, lifting each of your arms to tug them through the sleeves, then tossing your shirt aside after it's over your head.

A growl tumbles out of his throat when he takes in your breasts, and you hunch your shoulders up a little more, your arm flying up to cover your chest now that it's exposed. Joel’s hand grabs your wrist, strongly wrapped around it as he tugs it away.

“Don’t have to hide ‘em from me, nothin’ to hide from me now,” he snaps, tossing your arm back to your side. His hands reach up to tease at the swell of your breasts, and you sit half in shock, letting his fingers send tingles across your skin as he explores your chest. He runs errant fingers down along the curves as he stares downwards. Your breath catches when he rubs his thumbs over your pebbled nipples, you back arching towards him as you gasp. 

“So soft ‘n pretty…” He grins, continuing to watch the way his hands work along your skin, a little more rough as he gropes your tits, rolling your nipples just to observe your reaction. The little pinch sends waves of arousal through your body, pooling deep inside of you, making you feel your underwear get damp again. You’re already panting, the sensations he’s bringing out in you so strong that you can hardly contain the little noises slipping out of you as he continues touching your chest.

“I - I’m…” you pant. “Joel…”

He pauses for just a moment, leaning closer and brushing his lips across your cheek. “Know you’re feelin’ good, aren’t ya?”

You nod dumbly, completely awestruck as he pinches your nipples again, sending your back arching and hips pressing into his. It’s maddening and confusing all in one, the way he’s able to work your body like this and make you feel a hot burning starting to blaze across your skin. 

“Pretty girl never had her tits touched, has she?”

You shake your head urgently, a breathy moan pulled out of your throat as he pinches and tugs a little harder on the hard buds. “P-please… stop… it’s too…” you whine, scrunching your face, unsure if you actually want him to stop. You feel wild, feral almost, the strangest sensation pulling at your insides as he tugs one more time.

Joel smirks in satisfaction, going back to caressing you more lightly, giving you some relief. One hand travels down to rest on your hip, the other up to your face to cradle your cheek in his palm. 

“You’re fun to play with, jus’ like I thought you’d be…” Joel muses as he touches your face. “You’re bein’ so good f’me, too, honey. Lettin’ me see you ‘n touch you.” He looks at you almost curiously now, like he’s studying you. 

“Think you deserve a little reward for bein’ so good for me, finally seein’ some sense.” He pauses, watching your face morph into a soft, intrigued look. “How’s that sound, hm?” he asks, pinching your cheek. 

You tilt your head at him. “A reward? Wh-“

“Exactly. If you act like a good girl, gotta reward ya for it.” Your heart beats a little faster as you take in his words, your thighs clamped as his voice comes out low and teasing. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his fingers around your cheek and pulling you closer as he leans in. “You deserve to feel good, do you realize that? You’ve been denyin’ yourself somethin’ so good, but turns out it was so that I could show ya.”

“I - Joel - I don’t know…” you blurt out, your stomach twisting. The fact you can barely say anything but those same three words over and over is starting to frustrate you. 

“Don’t go gettin’ shy on me now,” Joel replies, his hand now cradling the back of your head. “You’ll enjoy this.”

He leans forward again, completely closing the gap between the two of you as he presses his lips to yours. It’s soft at first, testing you, and you blink once in surprise, not able to force yourself to press your lips back into his at first. But your body naturally starts to melt into him a little, his hand stroking against the back of your head calming you into submission. Your hands twitch forward, gently touching the bottom hem of his shirt and holding onto it just slightly. The feel of the fabric grounds you as you feel your lips press back into Joel’s, sending a wave of heat over your body. Your cheeks burn and your skin prickles as he groans quietly and pushes his lips a little more aggressively against yours before pulling back slightly. 

He looks down at you with a smirk. His hand digs into your waist a little harder, the possession he’s feeling clearly evident. 

“Tastes sweet, darlin’,” he says quietly before leaning back in, kissing you again. Your hand tugs a little harder on the bottom of his shirt and you feel yourself cracking under the pressure, like you’re about to burst into a million little parts like a piece of dropped china.  

His mouth opens and invites you to do the same, so you follow his lead. You’re frustrated, unsure of yourself, not understanding the way your body just moves with his, mirroring his motions. 

Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be. Maybe your first kiss is supposed to feel just like this. Maybe you’re supposed to be afraid and unsure and terrified yet intrigued in a way you can’t ignore. You wouldn’t know any different, after all, and your body already yearns for Joel to keep going, to press his lips harder onto yours, to feel his warm, soft lips all over you. You don’t even quite understand where the thoughts come from, it’s like your body is telling you without your mind having to get involved. 

You open your mouth the tiniest bit, allowing Joel to kiss you deeper. He pulls back just enough to suck a little on your bottom lip and you whimper and your brows scrunch. How… how could it feel so good?

As if to send you asking that question a hundred more times, one of his hands skates his fingers up your spine and you shudder, falling apart just as his tongue swipes across your bottom lip. You nearly gasp but find your own tongue hesitantly brushing against his. He hums quietly in satisfaction, continuing the motions of his tongue with small variations - darting into your mouth, licking your lip. 

You feel your entire being aching and warm now with the way Joel is pressed as close as he can, hips flush with yours. You want to move your own hips, to push them further and further, your body urging you on again without telling you quite what it’s doing. 

You yank your head back, completely breathless. Joel’s hand scrambles to the back of your head, holding it in place as he devours your lips again, not letting up just yet. 

“Wasn’t done w’you yet…” he mumbles before kissing you again, his tongue and lips more aggressive now as his hand slides to the back of your neck, gripping tightly. When he’s had his fill he tucks his head back enough to get a read on your expression, smirking. He sees the wonder in your eyes, the confusion, the struggle, but he welcomes it all, now. He knows he has you - his prize, his to keep, his to take. He can practically feel the ache of want oozing out of your pores now as you sit trembling slightly on the table, your soul and tits bared to him, equally enticing. A perfect paradox, he thinks.

You look so perfect - like a pure, innocent angel sent just for him. He knows you can be exactly what he’s looking for - someone to call his own, to protect and guide and keep close to him. His perfect girl.

He buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent and musk like it’s the last time he’ll ever get a chance to before his lips rumble against you. 

“Lemme take you upstairs, show you how to be mine," he offers, in a way that's not an offer at all, but an instruction, a test.

He’s quiet and seductive with his words, a low, gravelly lilt to his voice that makes your head swim. You’re hazy, a practically drunk feeling coming over you now - cloudy and out of control of your own body. 

Before you can stop yourself, body buzzing and lips puffy and parted in need, you nod for him.

reminder i have no taglist now! follow @beardedjoel-updates and turn on notifs!

[lilacxquartz]

in an attempt to teach you — part two!

plot: mr. silvair who found you to be an intellectual curiosity, took it upon himself to teach you anatomy, but also pleasure.

themes: smut, touching, limited dialogue, mr. silvair being clinical about it, but ultimately is a secret pervert — a/n: this can be read as a one shot, but part one really sets up the scene! <3

< part one • masterlist • on ao3

As the days passed, Mr. Silvair’s mind had been occupied with the same thought on repeat: just how far could he go to make you both… feel ‘happy’?

He already calculated in his mind that, certain actions when conducted successfully could give him very specific results, but it was still all too tricky. It wasn’t as simple as just touch alone, he determined, no, it had to be about finding the right moment that worked for you both.

Getting you alone the second time was tricky since he had to be sure that no danger loomed around the corner, but once the coast was clear, he beckoned you to his workshop. You hesitantly followed suit, sitting yourself over the cold metal slab that was rooted in the center, feeling a little put off by such a dreary place. You never liked being in there, the smell was a bit too raw, organic, like fresh meat.

Still, you were curious. Mr. Silvair after all, had a different demeanour to him today, seeming somehow warmer, if not a little suggestive. You personally weren’t opposed to such advances, but you were apprehensive at the same time, finding his initiation a little unsettling.

And just as he stepped closer towards you, extending his hands to meet at your waist, his long, slender fingers curling around your form, you felt a little thrown off.

You weren’t sure why, but you felt a wave of unease wash through your body, so you pushed him back a little, hesitating just noticeably enough to get him to stop.

Mr. Silvair rightfully faltered, seeming confused.

[Did he read your body language wrong?]

Retracting momentarily, he moved his hands over a safer area instead, resting his hands atop your shoulders instead. His voice was soft as he carefully selected his next words, “Me… make you… happy?”

Finally, his intentions clicked. He wanted to pick up from where he left before, right? If only that’s what he opened up with initially, then you would have been more on board. You supposed that he was still learning though, just as much as you were, in fact.

Taking note of your expression which seemed to be deep in thought, Mr. Silvair logged the way you slowly grew visibly flustered, noticing the heat that started to creep into your cheeks.

[Did you want this too?]

Unable to resist cracking a smile, his tense expression finally thawed. “Make you happy?” he repeated.

You nodded in silence, even if the nerves did continue to rise and grow. You wanted to get closer to him, but you couldn’t deny that he still had a menacing aura to him, making it difficult to fully relax around him. Little steps, though, you figured. Maybe you would feel comfortable in due time. As such, you confirmed your consent with a soft, yet reassuring tone, “Yes.”

Mr. Silvair smoothed his touch down your arms, languidly making his way down towards your breasts where his hands stilled for a moment. Curiously, he kneaded at the soft flesh, savouring the way that they felt in his hands, letting the pleasant feel sink in. The way his hands explored your body felt delicate, yet firm, as if careful to not break you.

Soon, his hands then drifted down to where they were before, wrapping right around your torso before taking a step in between your legs, dropping his hands down to push apart your thighs. You couldn’t help but gasp as he did so but allowed him to advance towards you all the same, letting him fumble with what you both wore, making his next intentions in mind loud and clear.

You held your breath as he slowly lowered your seated form to lay atop the slab, climbing over you and hovering over your body in the process, unable to take your eyes off of his taut, chiseled form. All the while, Mr. Silvair seemed focused, pushing up the hem of your dress, pulling down his own clothes, revealing his springing erection.

For a moment, you were left stunned at the sight of it. His height was already impressive, so you supposed that you shouldn’t be too surprised that the equipment he had to work with was scaled to match his build. Even so, however, you felt a little intimidated at the thought of something so large entering you, making you wonder how on earth you were going to accommodate him, let alone have him fuck you.

However, before you had any time to continue worrying about such matters, Mr. Silvair leaned back slightly, testing the waters of the situation you had both found yourself in. Curiously, he tested the water, dipping the tip of his impressive length over the slick entrance of your slit, teasing you with purposeful promise.

You averted your gaze for a moment, letting your eyes roll back to the ceiling in strained anticipation, unable to quite hold eye contact just yet. No matter how much you tried, there was something… unsettling about him, even when you were so ready to take things further with him.

Mr. Silvair only cared about your thoughts though, so he took it at your pace. For better or worse, he didn’t seem to be focused on chasing his own desires at that point, even if his arousal did long for release. For the time being, he was just curious about how you could react to him.

“Happy?” he asked.

“Yes,” you confirmed.

With your confirmation in mind, he took the plunge at last, burying his cock into your hilt, taking his time to really savour the sensation of your walls wrapping right around him. To his delight, you felt incredible, taking him on with such slick ease, finding that he could slide into you with one smooth pump. Slowly, you enveloped him entirely, your core swallowing up his length all the way.

For a moment, you could only blink. To your surprise, you took him in much easier than you thought you would, but then, he started to move.

Mr. Silvair’s first thrust was painful, causing you to gasp out in a high-pitched whine of protest. Your hand shot to his wrist, gripping it with such desperation, squeezing at it with pleading eyes. In turn, he stilled for a moment, realising that there was a possibility that he was hurting you, momentarily pausing his affections.

[It wasn’t fun if you weren’t enjoying yourself.]

“Sad?” he asked, trying to gauge the reason.

You shook your head, searching for the word he taught you most recently. “No. Pain.”

Mr. Silvair seemed to understand right away, deciding to try and take things slower with you to see if it was the pace that was the issue. He rocked his body tenderly that time, turning you over to your side to ensure your comfort, keeping a palm tucked right below your hip so you wouldn’t feel any pain from the cold, hard surface beneath where you lay. Slowly, albeit passionately, he pushed into you on repeat in softer motions with less intensity than before.

This was perfect, you thought, especially when you felt his chest press tight against your back, his silvery locks cascading over your face, lacing your vision with his embrace. Mr. Silvair took things at your desired speed, feeling completely content with working up to something you both enjoyed, dipping his head down as if by instinct, his lips searching to lock with your own. The kiss lasted so long too, slow and sensual, leaving you both breathless by the time he parted.

However, as you both grew all the more comfortable, your sex adjusting to wrap around him with memorised need, you found yourself grinding against him with increased fervour. Quickly, you found yourself succumbing to the tempo of his initial pace, which he too, quickly picked up on, plunging into you with more heat in his drive. Mr. Silvair took no time at all to read into your wants and needs, trying his best to match your rhythm, rutting into your cunt.

Just as you felt him get close though, you too, felt yourself involuntarily spasm around his cock. You gasped as your walls fluttered around him, milking you both of a much-anticipated release, the sensation causing you both to stutter and still, leaving you both gasping from the intensity alone. You felt as he twitched while still lodged within you as if refusing to part from your spent core, fully content with keeping you all plugged up.

As you wound down, on the cusp of falling asleep, Mr. Silvair didn’t quite let you.

He brushed along your skin with the featherlight tracing of his fingertips; up and down your arms, kissing along your neck, cuddling you oh-so-tight. Maybe the workshop wasn’t the best place to have done this, but maybe, also, he could make it up to you with a massage if you felt sore.

It was up to you, of course.

For now, he’d let you sleep, though.

[movingmusically]

Author’s Note:

A week later and I’m still here. No plot just smut!

Word Count: 5,715

Masterlist

Best Laid Plans

The sunlight spills through the glass, bathing him in a golden glow that sharpens the contrast of his profile. He leans one arm against the window, his fingers splayed against the glass like he’s grounding himself. His head tilts slightly, his gaze fixed on the city below, and the soft fall of his hair catches the light just enough to make it shimmer.

I shouldn’t be staring. Not like this, anyway. But it’s impossible not to. There’s something about the way he moves—slow, deliberate, as though he’s completely unaware of how every shift of his body commands attention. My attention.

Then it happens.

His lips part.

A breath escapes me like he’s pulled it from my lungs. My focus narrows to that single motion, the almost imperceptible curve of his mouth, the hint of moisture on his bottom lip. His tongue darts out briefly, and I swear the room gets hotter. He’s not even looking at me—he hasn’t for the past five minutes—but the effect he has is devastating.

My pulse quickens as his head dips a little further, and then he does it—he looks up. Slowly, lazily, like he has all the time in the world. Those piercing blue eyes catch mine, and I’m done for. His brow furrows slightly, a question unspoken, but it’s the smirk that follows—barely there, just a whisper of it—that sends heat pooling low in my belly.

“Something on your mind?” His voice is low, husky, like the question itself amuses him. He knows. Of course, he knows.

I shift in my seat, suddenly hyperaware of the tension coiling between us. It’s tangible now, thick in the air, and his gaze doesn’t waver as he steps away from the window. Each step is unhurried, deliberate, the roll of his shoulders predatory in the best way.

“You were staring.” He states it as a fact when he’s close enough to tower over me, his tone laced with something that makes my breath hitch.

“I wasn’t,” I lie, but the heat creeping up my neck betrays me.

He chuckles, soft and deep, and the sound sends shivers down my spine. “Liar.”

Before I can come up with a retort, his hand moves—slow, like everything he does—and his fingers brush against my jaw. He tilts my chin up, his thumb skimming across my bottom lip in a way that steals every coherent thought from my head.

His voice drops lower as he leans in. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might have to do something about it.”

His eyes drop to my mouth, lingering there for a moment that stretches too long, too charged. He pulls back just slightly, leaving a breath of space between us. It’s not far enough. It’s never far enough.

The tension between us feels like a live wire, humming with energy that neither of us seems willing to break. My heart pounds, each beat echoing in my ears as his thumb lingers against my skin, a touch that’s somehow both soft and commanding. He’s still so close, standing over me, his presence almost overwhelming, and yet he doesn’t close the distance. It’s maddening.

“I think you like this,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. There’s a teasing lilt to his words, but his gaze is heavy, unrelenting. His thumb brushes across my lip again, slower this time, and I have to fight the urge to part my lips, to lean into his touch.

I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat feels tight, my body frozen under the weight of his stare. He leans in slightly, his hand still cradling my jaw, and I swear I can feel the heat radiating from him, pulling me in like gravity. My breaths come quicker, shallower, and I know he notices. Of course, he does.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he’s amused. “That’s not like you.”

I want to snap back, to remind him that it’s hard to speak when he’s looking at me like this, but the words don’t come. Instead, I press back into the seat, my fingers curling tightly around the armrests as if they might anchor me, and his eyes flicker down, catching the subtle tremble in my grip. His smirk deepens, just barely, and I know he’s toying with me.

When he finally lets go of my jaw, it’s deliberate, his fingers dragging against my skin just enough to leave a trail of heat in their wake. He straightens, standing tall again, and for a brief, crushing moment, I think he’s going to walk away, leaving me to drown in the tension he’s created.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he steps closer, his knee brushing lightly against mine before nudging my legs apart ever so slightly. The motion is subtle, but it’s enough to make me catch my breath, the space between us feeling even smaller now. My gaze snaps up to meet his, and the angle forces me to tilt my head back. The shift makes me hyperaware of how close he is, how easily he towers over me.

“I wonder,” he says slowly, his voice like a low hum, “how long you’re going to keep pretending.”

“Pretending?” I manage to choke out, my voice barely steady.

His smirk grows, but his eyes stay locked on mine, unrelenting. “That you don’t feel this.”

My breath hitches, and I hate how transparent I am under his scrutiny. I hate how right he is, how easily he’s dismantled every defence I thought I had. But I don’t answer. I can’t. Instead, I meet his gaze, hoping it’s enough to convey everything I can’t bring myself to say.

For a moment, the silence stretches between us, thick and charged, and then he moves again. He kneels in front of me, one hand resting on the armrest of the chair, the other settling lightly on my knee. His touch is barely there, but it sends a shiver racing up my spine. His eyes level with mine now, and the shift in his posture somehow feels more intimate, more intense.

“You can tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, but no less intense. His hand on my knee tightens slightly, his thumb brushing slow circles against the fabric of my skirt, and he waits, his eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation.

I don’t tell him to stop. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Instead, I let the moment hang between us, the unspoken permission clear in the way I tilt my head slightly, leaning closer.

His lips curve into a faint smile—just enough to make my pulse race—his hand leaves the armrest, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from my face before settling just below my ear. His thumb traces a soft line along my jaw, and the tenderness in the gesture is enough to make my chest ache.

“Good,” he whispers, the word warm against my skin, and before I can fully process the weight of it, his lips find mine.

His kiss is slow at first, testing, almost like he’s giving me an out. But I don’t take it. Instead, I lean into him, my hands gripping the armrests as though they might keep me steady. The pressure of his mouth against mine deepens, his lips warm and firm, and it’s enough to make every nerve in my body ignite.

His hand slides from my knee to my thigh, his fingers splaying against the fabric of my skirt, and even through the material, his touch burns. It’s unhurried, deliberate, like he’s savouring every second, every reaction. His other hand remains at my jaw, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against my skin, grounding me even as I feel like I might float away.

When he pulls back, it’s only far enough to let us breathe, his forehead resting lightly against mine. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips still hovering dangerously close to mine, and the intensity of his gaze makes my stomach flip. There’s something almost reverent in the way he studies me, as though he’s trying to memorise every detail of my face.

“This,” he mutters, his voice low and uneven, “is not how I planned this to go.”

I let out a shaky breath, my hands still clinging to the chair. “You planned this?”

“Not exactly,” he admits, his lips curving into a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. “But I'm sure as hell not planning to stop now.”

His lips find mine again, and this time, there’s no hesitancy. It’s rougher, hungrier, like he’s finally letting go of the restraint that’s been holding him back. My hands move instinctively, one threading into his hair while the other grips the edge of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, urging him on. His hair is soft, the strands slipping between my fingers, and I tug lightly, eliciting a low sound from him that I feel more than hear. The noise sends a jolt through me, and I tug again, just to feel it one more time.

“Careful,” he warns, though the breathlessness in his voice betrays how much he likes it. His teeth scrape against my bottom lip as he speaks, and the soft moan that escapes me is involuntary. His response is immediate, his hand on my thigh gripping tighter, pulling me forward slightly until my knees brush against his sides.

The chair feels impossibly small, the space between us shrinking until it’s almost nonexistent. His hand moves from my jaw, his thumb tracing a deliberate line across my bottom lip before he pauses, holding it there. His eyes lock on mine, intense and unyielding, and I swear the room feels like it’s spinning.

“Open,” he murmurs, the single word soft but commanding. I hesitate for barely a second before parting my lips, and his thumb slips inside, pressing lightly against my tongue. The taste of his skin, the sheer intimacy of the act, has me trembling, a soft whimper escaping me before I can stop it. His gaze darkens at the sound, his free hand flexing against my thigh like he’s trying to hold himself back.

My lips close instinctively around him, my tongue brushing against his skin, and his reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, his eyes darkening as though I’ve unraveled what little control he had left. “That’s it,” he says, his voice rough, almost guttural, as his thumb moves just slightly, brushing against my tongue in a way that has heat pooling low in my belly. “So perfect.”

The praise makes my pulse race, and when he finally pulls his thumb away, dragging it slowly across my bottom lip as he does, I feel the loss like a physical ache. His gaze flickers down, watching me, and there’s something possessive in the way his eyes linger on every movement.

I can’t speak. My hands cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping me steady, my chest tight and my breaths shallow. His hand slides further up my thigh, my skirt inching higher under his touch, his fingers now brushing against bare skin. I can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes me. It’s like he’s waiting for it, savouring the sound, because his grip tightens, pulling me closer as though there’s still too much space between us.

His lips are on my neck now, trailing kisses down to my collarbone, each one deliberate, like he’s marking me. My head tips back of its own accord, giving him better access, and I can’t stop the way my body reacts to him, my legs parting instinctively to invite him closer. His hand slides to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he angles my head just the way he wants.

The tension between us is thick, heavy, and when his fingers skim the edge of my underwear, I gasp, my body arching into his touch. He pauses, his grip steady but not overwhelming, as though he’s giving me one last chance to stop this. But I don’t want him to stop. All I can do is hold onto him, letting him take and take until there’s nothing left but him.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says softly, his voice steady despite the heat radiating from him. His gaze meets mine, searching, and the tenderness in his expression is almost enough to undo me.

“It’s not,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, but I know he hears me. His lips claim mine with a hunger that steals the air from my lungs, leaving no room for hesitation or second thoughts. His hand in my hair tightens slightly, angling my head to deepen the kiss, and it’s like he’s pouring everything he’s feeling into me, consuming me entirely.

The other hand, already dangerously close to where I want him most, moves deliberately. His fingers hook under the edge of my underwear, not quite touching but close enough to leave me trembling in anticipation. It’s maddening, the way he teases, the way he keeps me on the edge of falling apart. His lips break away from mine only to trail back down my jaw, his breath hot against my skin as he makes his way to my neck. When he finds the spot just below my ear, his teeth graze the sensitive skin, and I can’t stop the soft, broken moan that escapes me.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs against my neck, his voice rough and uneven. His fingers trace featherlight, torturous circles over the damp fabric, not quite giving me what I need but enough to make me tremble beneath him. “I could stay like this all day—just watching you fall apart.”

The words, combined with the heat of his mouth and the maddening slowness of his touch, leave me completely undone. My whole body jerks in response, a soft gasp escaping me before I can stop it. The sound seems to undo him; his fingers press firmer, stroking deliberately through the wetness that’s already seeped through the lace.

“Please,” I whisper, the word barely audible but loud enough for him to hear. My hands fly to his tie, tugging him closer, and the growl that escapes him sends a shiver down my spine.

His lips crash into mine again, almost frantic this time, as his fingers finally slip beneath the fabric, brushing between my folds. The first touch is electric, his movements precise as he glides through the slickness that’s already there, exploring every inch of me like he’s memorising it.

A single finger presses against my entrance, circling but not quite pushing in, and the tease makes me whimper, my hips lifting instinctively toward his hand. His other hand tightens in my hair, a grounding pressure that contrasts with the intensity of his touch below. He doesn’t give me what I want, not yet, but the heat in his gaze as he watches my every reaction tells me he’s savouring this as much as I am.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice low and commanding, pulling my focus back to him. His hand in my hair tips my head back further, exposing my neck to him, but his eyes stay locked on mine, unrelenting. “I want to see you.”

The rawness in his voice sends a shiver through me, and I do as he says, my gaze meeting his even as my body trembles beneath his touch. He watches me intently as he finally presses a finger inside, the slow, deliberate slide leaving me gasping. The stretch is perfect, enough to leave me breathless, and when he adds another, the sensation is overwhelming. His thumb brushes against my clit in the same moment, a soft, deliberate circle that sends sparks shooting through my entire body.

“You're so responsive,” he murmurs, his eyes still locked on mine, and the praise makes my stomach tighten. His fingers move in slow, steady thrusts, each one deliberate, curling just enough to draw out a moan that I can’t hold back. The wet, obscene sounds of his movements fill the air between us, and the tension coiling low in my belly grows tighter with every stroke.

He pulls me closer to the edge of the chair, his free hand shifting to my waist to guide me where he wants me. The movement leaves me completely exposed to him, my legs falling open as his hand works me with a confidence that has my breath catching in my throat. His thumb presses firmer against my clit, the rhythm of his fingers inside me never faltering, and the combination is enough to make me dizzy.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough and uneven, and the words send a bolt of heat straight through me. His fingers press deeper, curling just right, and I cry out, my body tightening around him in response. The sound earns me a low, satisfied groan from him, his gaze never leaving mine. “Just like that. Let me see you fall apart.”

My hands grip his shoulders tighter, my nails digging into the fabric of his suit jacket, but I don’t care. All I can focus on is the way he’s touching me, the way he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters in this moment. The tension inside me builds and builds, my body trembling under the intensity of his movements, until it finally snaps. A wave of pleasure crashes over me, leaving me gasping and shaking as his fingers keep moving, drawing out every last bit of my release.

As the tremors slowly subside, his fingers still, resting deep inside me as if to savour the way my body continues to pulse around him. My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath, the aftermath of my release leaving me boneless in the chair. He doesn’t move right away, his hand steady, his gaze burning into mine, as though the sight of me like this—undone and exposed—is something sacred.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick, roughened by something raw and unguarded. His free hand brushes a stray lock of hair from my damp forehead, his touch impossibly tender compared to the storm he just unleashed inside me.

The heat in my cheeks is undeniable, and I know he can see it—feel it—just like I know he’s fully aware of the effect he’s having on me. But there’s no mockery in his expression, no arrogance. Just an overwhelming reverence that somehow makes my chest ache and my stomach twist all over again.

His fingers slide out slowly, and I can’t help the soft sound that escapes me at the loss. He watches me carefully, like he’s gauging my every reaction, and when he finally withdraws his hand entirely, he doesn’t rush to leave the space between us.

He leans in, his lips brushing mine for a brief, soft, kiss before his hands move to my waist. Gently, he guides me off the chair and onto my knees in front of him. The carpet is soft beneath me, but the firmness of his body, his commanding presence, is all I can focus on. The look in his eyes is molten, like he’s holding himself together by a thread.

I reach out instinctively, my hands trailing down his chest before settling at his belt. The bulge beneath the fabric of his pants is impossible to ignore, and when I press my palm against him, a low, raspy sound escapes his throat. The sound sends a jolt of heat through me, and I can’t help but press harder. His hips jerk slightly, his breath catching, as my fingers curl to trace his length through the material.

My hands still against him as he shifts, his fingers working quickly to remove his blazer. He shrugs it off with a fluid motion, letting it fall to the floor in a careless heap, his eyes never leaving mine. Next, his hands find his tie, tugging the knot loose with a sharp pull before sliding the silk free from around his neck. The tie joins the blazer on the floor, and the deliberate way he moves has me mesmerised, each motion measured, confident, as though he knows exactly the effect he’s having on me.

His fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, one by one, until the fabric gapes open, revealing smooth skin and a taut expanse of muscle beneath. The sight of him—broad shoulders, defined chest, the sharp line of his collarbone—is enough to steal the breath from my lungs. My hands find him again, brushing over the heat of his skin, the tautness of his muscles, and his chest rises and falls under my touch, his breaths uneven.

For a moment, I forget to move, caught in the sheer presence of him. He doesn’t rush me. He watches, his lips curving into a faint, almost amused smile as I trail my fingers over him, mapping the curve of his shoulders, the firmness of his chest, the faint line of hair trailing below his navel. When my hands finally settle at the waistband of his pants again, he exhales slowly, the sound low and heady, as if he’s barely holding himself back.

His hands move to my blouse, tugging it free from my skirt with an urgency that matches the pounding of my heart. Together, we make quick work of the buttons, the fabric falling away to expose the thin lace of my bra. He leans back just enough to take me in, his eyes raking over me with a hunger that makes me shiver. With deliberate care, he pulls each cup of my bra down, leaving my breasts exposed and pushed up, the fabric framing them in a way that makes his gaze darken.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he murmurs, his voice rough, more a growl than words, as he leans in.

Before I can respond, he eases me down onto my back, the plush carpet cushioning me as his body presses against mine, firm and unyielding. His mouth finds one nipple, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak before his teeth scrape against it. The sharpness makes me arch into him, my hands flying to his shoulders as his hand palms my other breast, tugging and kneading with just enough pressure to leave me gasping.

His lips and tongue move with precision, his mouth leaving a wet, heated trail as he switches to the other side, sucking gently before blowing cool air over the sensitive skin. My head tips back, the sensation of his mouth combined with the roughness of his hands making my entire body feel like it’s vibrating with need.

My skirt is already bunched around my hips, and I feel him push it the rest of the way up, baring me completely. His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, and he pulls them down slowly, deliberately, letting the fabric drag over my skin as he slides them down my legs. He doesn’t drop them, though—instead, he tucks them into his pocket with a smirk that leaves me breathless.

“You won’t be needing these,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but thick with promise.

Then he leans back onto his knees, his hands moving to his own belt. I watch, transfixed, as he unbuckles it, the sound of the metal catching briefly in the silence. He unzips his pants, tugging them and his underwear down just enough to free himself. My breath catches when I see him—thick, long, hard, and so perfect it’s almost unfair. Every part of him is beautiful, and the thought sends another rush of heat through me.

He doesn’t give me long to admire him before he’s over me again, his weight braced on one arm as his other hand moves back to my breast, teasing my nipple while his mouth crashes into mine. His weight feels incredible, and when his hips shift, the hard length of him brushes against my inner thigh, making me moan softly into his mouth.

His hair falls into my face as he kisses me, the strands brushing against my skin in a way that feels intimate, unplanned. My hands move to his hair, threading through the soft waves as I hold him closer, needing him like I need air. His kisses trail down my jaw to my neck, and then he pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and heavy with desire.

He shifts, his hand trailing down my body to my thigh, guiding my leg higher around his hip, to angle me just right. The head of his cock presses against me, and even that small contact is enough to leave me trembling.

When he pushes inside, it’s slow, deliberate, the stretch stealing the air from my lungs. My body welcomes him, slick and ready, and the sensation of him filling me is overwhelming—too much and not enough all at once. A low, guttural sound escapes him, his jaw tightening as he sinks deeper, and the sheer intensity of the moment makes my chest ache. He stills once he’s fully seated, his body trembling slightly against mine as though he’s savouring the way I feel around him.

For a moment, neither of us moves, the tension between us almost unbearable. Then, he pulls back, the slow drag of him leaving me gasping, only to thrust forward again. His movements are measured, deliberate, and every roll of his hips leaves me clinging to him, the friction setting my nerves alight.

His forehead presses against mine, his hair brushing against my skin as his rhythm builds. The soft sounds he makes with every thrust send a shiver down my spine, the rawness of them fuelling the fire that’s already consuming me. My hands move to his hair, threading through the strands and tugging lightly, earning me a deeper, almost desperate sound from him.

“Just like that,” he mutters, his voice rough and uneven, the words barely audible over the sound of our bodies moving together. His free hand moves between us, his fingers finding my clit and circling it with just enough pressure to leave me shaking. My hips arch toward him, chasing the sensation, and his pace quickens, each thrust deeper, harder, until I feel like I’m unraveling beneath him.

The wet, obscene sounds of his movements mix with the quiet moans and gasps he draws from me, and the tension coiling low in my belly grows tighter with every thrust. His hand moves back to my thigh, lifting it higher, opening me further for him, and the angle sends a shockwave of pleasure through me. My breath catches, my back arching as I cling to him, and his mouth finds mine again, his kiss messy and desperate.

When I finally break, it’s with a cry that’s muffled against his lips, my body tightening around him as the pleasure crashes over me in waves. He doesn’t stop, his movements growing rougher, more frantic, as he chases his own release. His hair falls into my face again, and I pull him closer, my hands tangling in the soft strands as I cling to him.

When he finally comes, it’s with a deep, throaty sound that sends a fresh wave of shivers racing through me. His body stills, trembling against mine as he spills into me, his forehead pressing against mine as we both struggle to catch our breath. For a moment, the world feels still, the only sound in the room the ragged cadence of our breathing.

He stays pressed against me for a moment, his body still heavy, his breath hot and uneven against my neck. The weight of him, the way his chest rises and falls against mine, feels grounding, tethering me to the moment. There’s no rush, no words exchanged, just the quiet intimacy of two bodies still tangled, the air between us charged and thick.

After a beat, he shifts slightly, his hips rolling as he pulls out of me. The sudden emptiness makes me gasp softly, my thighs trembling as he moves back onto his knees. His hands slide down my sides, brushing over my exposed skin, lingering at my waist as though he’s not quite ready to let go. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, rake over me, taking in the mess we’ve made of each other.

He doesn’t say a word as he rises to his feet, adjusting his pants with a sharp tug and buckling his belt in one fluid motion. The sound of the buckle clicking back into place feels jarring in the quiet, and for a moment, I just watch him, taking in the way his chest still rises and falls as he tries to compose himself.

His eyes flicker down to me, and there’s a glint of something—satisfaction, maybe—as he watches me struggle to gather myself. My blouse is open, my bra still framing my bare breasts, my skirt bunched around my hips, and I know I look just as wrecked as I feel. But there’s no hesitation in the way his gaze lingers, no self-consciousness as he leans down, gripping my arm and pulling me gently up from the carpet.

My knees wobble, unsteady beneath me, and his grip tightens just enough to keep me upright. “Easy,” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly, and there’s a subtle softness in the way he steadies me that makes my chest tighten.

I barely manage to smooth my skirt down, fumbling with the hem as I glance up at him. His gaze is locked on me, and when I catch the faint curve of his lips, I realise he’s watching me struggle with my blouse. My hands are still trembling as I attempt to fasten the top button, and before I can even process the thought, he steps closer.

“Let me,” he says simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He takes over with deft fingers, his touch brushing against my skin as he buttons my blouse with an ease that makes me swallow hard. When he finishes, his hands move to my hair, his fingers combing through the strands with unexpected care. He smooths it down, his knuckles grazing my temple as he works, and the tenderness in the gesture sends a warmth spreading through my chest.

“There,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. “Better.”

I glance up at him, my breath catching at the way his gaze lingers on me. There’s no trace of mockery in his expression, no smirk, just a lingering intensity that makes my stomach twist. His hand stays at my hair for a moment longer, his fingers brushing over the strands before he lets it fall back to his side.

He steps back then, giving me space as he adjusts his own clothing. His shirt is still untucked, his hair disheveled, and there’s a flush across his cheeks that he doesn’t bother to hide. The sight is arresting, disarming even, but the way he looks at me—dark and unrelenting—ignites something deep and inescapable within me. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out my panties with a casualness that makes my face heat.

“These are mine now,” he says, slipping them back into his pocket with a smirk that’s more restrained than usual, but no less devastating.

I roll my eyes, unable to stop the small huff of air that escapes me, but the faint quirk of his brow tells me he notices.

He picks up his tie and blazer from the floor, draping them over the back of his chair with a deliberate care that contrasts sharply with the earlier chaos. Once he’s composed, his gaze returns to me, sharp and assessing, like he’s making sure I’m steady before he speaks.

“Take a minute,” he says, his tone casual, But the way his eyes flicker over me, the faint tension still lingering in his frame, tells me he’s anything but unaffected. “Don’t rush.”

I smooth down my skirt, adjusting the file I’d left on his desk and now hold tightly in my hands. The moment feels fragile, like stepping too far in any direction might shatter whatever this is. His attention lingers on me, his expression unreadable, as I take a tentative step toward the door.

My fingers are on the handle when the question bubbles up, refusing to be ignored. I stop, turning back to face him.

“Austin?” My voice is quieter than I intend, but it’s enough to draw his gaze back to me, his brow lifting in faint curiosity.

“Yes?” His tone is calm, measured, but the way he watches me makes my pulse quicken all over again.

I hesitate for only a second before the words slip out. “What was your plan?”

A flicker of surprise flashes in his eyes before it softens into something warmer, a faint smile curving his lips. He steps closer, stopping just short of closing the distance between us, his hands slipping into his pockets as he tilts his head slightly.

“Let’s just say,” he begins, his voice low, intimate, “it didn’t involve you on your knees in my office.”

Heat floods my cheeks, but I hold his gaze, unable to stop the small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “No regrets?”

“None,” he replies, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. His smile shifts into something more mischievous, though, his eyes glinting as he adds, “Though, I’d be happy to show you the original plan. Later.”

“Later?” I echo, my curiosity sparking despite myself.

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face, the gesture so gentle it almost undoes me. His fingers linger for the briefest moment before dropping back to his side.

“Later,” he repeats, his voice carrying the weight of a promise.

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I turn back toward the door. My legs feel steadier now, though the lingering intensity of his gaze is impossible to ignore as I step into the hallway.

Whatever his original plan had been, I can’t deny how much I’m looking forward to finding out.

[kill4luvina]

Orphic Magic

Star!Eren x Black!Read

I'm so sorry guys, i'm too excited for christmas.... :(

Summary: Christmas is right around the corner, and you've been working as much as you can as a full-time lash tech to save up enough money to buy a special Christmas present for everyone you care about. On your way home one night, you see the brightest and prettiest star and make a wish. This star shines so brightly, before quickly starting to move around in a circle until it disappears. Confused, yet very surprised, you go on with your day—only to bump into the prettiest boy known to Earth, who seems to have fallen from the sky. Out of the kindness of your heart, you take this boy in.

Content MDNI : Smut With Plot, Unprotected Sex, Unexperienced Eren, Creampie, Oral(m. receiving), spitting, tit sucking,biting & not proof read...(deal with it)

"There is no life I know To compare with pure imagination Living there, you'll be free If you truly wish to be"

The wind howled down the street, a biting reminder that winter in New York is no longer just a distant idea, but now rather an urgent & inescapable reality. Snow, like a thousand tiny white feathers, falling steadily from the pretty grey sky.

Your eyes wandered the snow-covered streets as you made your way home. You didn't live too far from your lash studio only a 5-minute walk, but in weather like this it felt so much longer. You'd slowly look up at the sky as you kept a steady pace trying to get home as quickly as possible seeing a bright star in the sky.

"Make a wish" You'd hear a voice in the back of your head say, a very nostalgic feeling drowning out any pessimistic thoughts. Your eyes twinkle from the reflection of the star, the heaviness in the air almost being completely lifted. Subcousionly you'd hear yourself begin to speak almost missing what you said.

"Star light, Star bright, First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, Have the wish I wish tonight."

Tightly closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and made your wish. A wish you felt only magic could grant, a wish that so many people make every day, longing for it so deeply, yet unable to find it on this earth no matter how hard they try. A wish that only the lucky seem to receive. And in that moment, you found yourself wishing for it, true love.

You opened your eyes, looking around for a moment, trying to see if anything had happened. You glanced around the corner, half-expecting a boy to come walking down the street. But nothing. Realizing how silly you must have looked, your eyes met the star again. Embarrassment flooded over you, as if you'd just been fooled by a stupid star.

But to your surprise, the star began to shine brightly, so brightly it started to worry you. As you watched closely, the star quickly began to move around, startling you as you flinched slightly. "What the—" You kept watching until the star suddenly disappeared.

Sighing, you assumed you were hallucinating and that the cold air had just gotten to you, especially as you felt an awakening breeze hit you. You quickly turned the corner to continue on your way home, bumping into a tall figure. Almost falling, you were caught by the figure, and as you looked up, your jaw almost dropped.

The prettiest boy to ever exist in the world had just caught you. His brown hair, with what looked like starry sparkles fading, framed his face. His brown eyes had star-shaped pupils, and a star tattoo curved just below his neck, taking you right back to that feeling you had when you made the wish. Almost instantly, he smiled.

"I found you!"

"You—You—what—" You looked at the boy, confused, as you glanced between him and the spot where the star once was. You looked down at his clothes, realizing he was barely wearing anything but a shirt and sweatpants. "You're... not cold?" you asked, and he shook his head no.

A mixture of concern and worry followed the question as you told the boy to follow you, then started walking in the direction of your apartment. He followed quietly, very, very close behind you, his left hand searching for your right as he held it. Warmth filled your body to the brim, and you felt comfortable, even though you had just met him.

When the two of you got inside, you touched him, realizing his temperature was incredibly warm for someone who had just been outside in the snow-covered streets of New York City. He sat down on your couch, waiting as you came back with a blanket, microwaved leftover Chick-fil-A, and a change of clothes for him.

"Okay Eren, can sleep here for a few days, until we figure out exactly where you're from," you said, shaking your head as his eyes brightened.

“I’m from the sky.” He’d answer, his eyes following you as left to your room.

He'd tilt his head, quite confused on why he couldn't get you to believe him, his eyes going to the food you left on the table. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without you, but tried just for the sake of it.

Around 2 a.m., you were woken up to this boy knocking at your room door. He towered over you at a height of 6'2, looking down at you with sad eyes as he begged to sleep with you. His pupils slightly glowing a golden color the moment you said yes. For some reason, he felt like he needed you, in so many different ways, but right now he just wanted to be as close to you as he possibly could.

By 3 a.m., you found yourself cuddling with him. Your head on his chest as he held you comfortably in his arms. You listened to his heart, which didn't sound like one but rather a shining star. You were tired, but deep down you truly started to believe he was what he claimed to be.

Not too long later in the night, you found yourself grinding against him tiredly feeling his hard-on poke agasint you. "Y/n?" He'd say quietly, starting to breathe heavily. His eyes rolled a little at the unfamiliar feeling, gasping when you picked up your pace. He'd grab you by your hips quickly stopping you, as he tried to catch his breath.

"Y/n" He'd whine, pushing his hips up into yours softly. Kissing your neck and using his hands to rock your hips at his pace. You'd moan feeling him rub against your clothed cunt. His pretty starry eyes stared up at you in awe as you took your shirt off.

Eren was completely lost and confused but loved the view above him. His hands wandered up, eyes meeting your gaze as he started to caress them. His warm hands sent complete shivers throughout your whole body. Seconds later you found him attached to it, sucking, licking, and biting.

"Eren! Be careful." You'd whimper as you felt him sightly bite a little to hard making him pull away. He'd stare at you for a while, waiting for you to lead him, his eyes soft, showing nothing but love and patience. He'd watch as you moved down into the blanket that was once over the both you.

Flinching lightly at the movement between his legs, he watched you from under pull out something he wasn't fully aware he even had. Embarrassment taking over him as he felt himself drip of pre-cum and twitch the moment you touched it. His face turning red as he shamefully tried to hide.

You, on the other hand, were shocked. This boy was packing a solid 9-and-a-half-inch dick like it was nothing, and while long it was also thick. You'd place a kiss on it, feeling it twitch n spurt out more of the clear liquid. "Somebody's sensitive." You'd look up noticing he was hiding his face.

"Aw, no, it's okay," you’d say, moving his hands and giving him a reassuring kiss. His face was completely flushed, as he had never experienced anything close to this while he was a star. "Want… more…" he’d breathe out, trying to look away. "Then you gotta promise you'll watch."

He'd look back at you nodding his head okay quickly, wanting you to do something to his aching dick. He'd watch you closely as you lowered your head back down, the sight of his dick twitching throwing him off. You'd slowly start to get to work, pumping your hands up and down it.

Eren could barely handle just the air itself touching him, so this sent him off the edge. His eye's tearing up as he started to moan, hands shooting right back to his face. You ignored his reactions, putting it directly in your mouth. He tasted sweet, something about him was so warm it felt like he'd just melt in your mouth.

You'd feel him put a hand as your head, sounding like a complete mess as you started to bob your head up and down. His eyes rolled back, as he couldn't handle the new feeling. In seconds he was cumming down your throat, pushing your head down as you choked around his dick.

The After taste of his cum had you obsessed, you'd quickly move up turning your body around pushing your pussy against his face as you went back to work on his semi-hard cock. This left Eren feeling completely dizzy, the sweet smell from your pussy having him weak. He'd hold onto you hips pushing his nose against where the smell was coming from.

This had and the fact you were sucking on his dick got him hard again. "Y/n.." He'd mumble agasin't you moving your panties to the side. "Y/nn... i wanna put it in here." He'd whine, softly kissing up agasint your slit giving light licks. "Er—" You'd be cut off by a moan feeling a finger enter you.

"Wanna fit it right here.." He'd say before pulling his finger out, your head turning to look at him a little surprised. You'd feel him start to push you down, taking matters into his own hands lining you up to his dick. You'd pussy dripping fluids all over in excitement as you slowly started to lower yourself down.

"W-ai—" you'd try to protest, before being slammed down onto all 9 inches, feeling yourself get stretched out. You'd choke out a moan feeling all air leave your lungs. Your eyes rolled back as you couldn't help but let out a moan. You'd feel your hips being moved up and down his length, Eren letting out whimpers from behind you.

You'd cry, moaning his name out as he fucked you deep and slow. His eyes watching your ass move from the recoil of his movements. Watching your pussy completely swallow his dick every thrust, as he felt something in him snap.

"Rennnnn" Your moan being cut off by a kiss, your arms quickly wrapping around Eren's neck. The sloppy make-out session came to an end as he left wet kisses and soft bites against your neck. As if his body had a mind of its own he felt himself digging himself until he was bullying your curvix.

His eyes water, he’s doing everything he could not to cum. “y/n want you to feel good too.” he'd say as he kept fucking you, your eyes rolling back as you came on his dick. Not being able to hold back anymore he'd cum in you, his eyes closing shut quickly as he hid his face in your neck.

Though he had came, he couldn't stop himself his hips moving on their own as he fucked his cum deeper into you. You on the other hand were crying, tears rolling down your face from pleasure. The overstimulation drive you crazy as his cum dripped out of your pussy.

You woke up the next morning completely cleaned up, Eren still asleep on your chest. The way he held you made you feel loved and cared for, you realized he hadn’t been lying—your wish had come true.

"Don't be shy, it's alright If you feel a little trepidation Sometimes these things don't need Explanation"

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Hi it's me again 😔 kinktober req perchance?

Steve Harrington with sex pollen prompt? I don't know suthn freaky with the demodog lair keeps popping up in mind. Sorry to keep bombarding you with requests HAHAH hope you're well :>

- 🌝

it's not a problem, I love all the requests you send me 🥰 this reminded me that I've never actually written somthing for him before, which is kind of crazy?? that being said I love this idea and hope it turned out okay, I wrote this with a transmasc reader too since you asked for one with your other kinktober request. thanks for sending something in <3

(also just a disclaimer creative liberties were taken when writing this so the story would flow better and the plot would make more sense)

Kinktober 2024 Day 12: sex pollen with Steve Harrington x transmasc reader

Warnings: smut/nsfw content, sex pollen, slight bondage via tentacles, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (please use condoms irl), brief implied Nancy x Robin

The Upside Down was like something out of horrific nightmare. It gave a glimpse into what life would be like if Vecna was able to take things over, which why it was crucial for your plan to destroy his physical form to work.

After wandering through the disturbing woods for what seemed like forever, you finally managed to come across the place you were looking for. Dustin and Eddie warded off the hellish bats, which gave you, Steve, Nancy, and Robin the opportunity of doing your part by searching for Vecna.

Creel House was even more eerie and disturbing in the alternate dimension, which certainly didn't help to ease your already spiked nerves in the slightest. The vines (or tentacles, rather) that were covering the floor made things even worse, because you knew if you made one wrong move they'd be on you in an instant.

While the tentacles in the lair were gross looking, they were also strangely erotic, from their length and girth to the squelching noises they made as they moved around. You tried to keep your thoughts as clean and sex-free as possible as you carefully manuevered yourself over and around them, hopping from one place to another as you did your best not to fall.

Our goal is destroying Vecna and saving Hawkins, you reminded yourself every time your mind started slipping into the gutter. Not fraternizing with what looks like a bunch of over-sized sex toys.

Everything seemed to be going as planned until something started to shake the house, causing what could only be described as some kind of mini earthquake. Naturally, this disturbed the tentacles, which led them to attack.

Some of them grabbed Robin and began dragging her in one direction while others grabbed Steve and dragged him the opposite way. You and Nancy split, her chasing after Robin at the same time you were trying to grab Steve.

"Steve!" You cried out in a panic, using your makeshift spear to stab at the tentacles in hopes it would injure them enough to let him go. They writhed around in agony at the feeling, though you noticed when you stabbed them they started to give off this sickeningly sweet type of odor.

Thinking nothing of it, you kept stabbing, hoping it would be enough to get them to let him go. Eventually they were hacked up to the point where they were far too weak to keep him restrained, forcing them to loosen their grip.

"Are you okay?" You asked while helping him up, noting that he seemed to be a little dizzy, which was odd given that he hadn't really done anything to warrant feeling lightheaded.

"Y- Yeah, I think so," he breathlessly responded, his eyes looking a little cloudy for some reason when you looked at them.

Before you could question him further, you began to feel dizzy yourself, your own vision blurring as a rush of heat spread through your body and buried itself deep within you. The only thing you could seem to focus on at that moment was Steve. His body, his eyes, his voice-

It was then that you realized what was going on. Whatever it was the tentacles sprayed you with must've included some kind of aphrodisiac that was absorbed through the skin, which meant-

Oh, God. Now was really not the time for this of all things to be happening.

"Steve," you began in a slightly shaky voice. He picked up on your nervous tone in an instant, though it was hard for him to think properly when he was going through the same physical reactions you were.

"I- I think we should do something about this," he suggested, his voice low and sultry without even meaning to be. Or maybe that was just you hearing things due to your sudden burst of horniness.

"We can't, we have to go do something about Vecna," you lightly protested, although you knew it was no use. Your legs had grown shaky and weak, causing you to cling onto him for support.

In the meantime, the tentacles had come back while you were both distracted, though they didn't seem nearly as hostile as before. If anything, they were docile, almost affectionate, as if the scent they'd left behind on you make them much more peaceful. Despite this, their intentions weren't entirely innocent, as they'd started to travel up your body, searching for the warmth of your arousal.

"I really don't think we have much of a choice," Steve remarked, his cock already painfully hard in his pants. You weren't faring much better, as your underwear was practically soaked by now.

"As- As long as we're quick about it," was all you could manage to get out before your mouth met his in desperation, your hands moving to grab at his clothes as you pressed your body as close to his as possible.

He was just as eager, his hands finding their way to your hips in a need for contact. Even if you wanted to pull away, you couldn't, as the tentacles had now fully wrapped themselves around you. It wasn't enough to stop your blood flow or anything like that, but you were definitely unable to go anywhere as they'd successfully restricted your movements.

"Oh, Steve," you moaned out his name as his lips traveled down your neck, your fingers lacing through his hair. Every touch the two of you shared seemed to leave behind sparks, his mouth feeling like a red hot iron that was branding your skin.

Somehow during this, you'd moved down onto the floor, the tentacles seeming to swaddle you as you did. Your clothes were quickly pulled off and discarded as the both of you became more and more needy, your actions bordering on primal. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving visible scratches going down his back at the same time that his teeth sunk into the tender flesh of your shoulder.

By the time his cock had finally found its way to your aching hole, you were already dripping wet, like a faucet that hadn't been turned off properly. The mixed sounds of your combined pleasure filled the air as he sunk deep within you, your back arching up off the ground as you threw your head back.

It was hard to tell how long you were there for. It could've been seconds, it could've been hours. You were much too focused on the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you at an animalistic pace to be sure.

Orgasm after orgasm tore through your body, and if you weren't so caught up in the moment you would've recognized this for what it really was: a distraction to keep you away from finding Vecna and destroying him. Eventually, however, both you and Steve began to run out of steam, the combination of exhaustion and overstimulation getting to you.

Beads of sweat covered your body, your eyes hooded as you felt him empty yet another load of his sticky seed inside you. Neither of you were thinking clearly enough to remember that it'd be better if he didn't cum inside you, which left you feeling abnormally full.

It took everything in him not to collapse on top of you once he was finally finished, his limbs looking as weak and shaky as yours were. A quiet whimper exited you when he pulled out, his cock softening again after what seemed like ages.

He slowly helped you get redressed, and you helped him do the same, trying to be careful so you wouldn't disturb the pile of tentacles that laid nearby. They'd become bored after the second or third round and had taken to leaving you alone, but you still didn't want to risk waking them back up again.

You stumbled out of the room you'd been in as you went to reconvene with Robin and Nancy, who looked as though they'd been through the exact same thing you had. Their clothes were wrinkled, their hair was messed up, and you could see a few hickeys peeking out of the collar of their shirts. You had no doubt you and Steve looked about the same.

Nancy awkwardly cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact as she shifted back and forth on her feet. "So, uh- should we...?" She gestured towards the staircase, to which Steve nodded his head in response.

"Yeah, let's."

The four of you began to make your way through the house yet again, a certain kind of tension in the air full of unasked questions with equally unspoken answers. None of you decided to say what had taken you so long to meet up again, and you didn't need to. It was fairly obvious.

Who knew the Upside Down could bring you as much pleasure as it could fear?

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