#he can't just sit with his head out of water all the time

[seitmai]

“What did she say?” Steve whispered to break the silence. “You heard what she said. Everyone heard it,” Sam whispered back, giving you a quizzical stare. “How many drinks have you had?” You held up a finger followed by another couple. “Like this many. And water. Hydration is so important.”

Hahah this just cracked me up 😂

“Yeah, I know. He’s hot. We all know he’s hot,” you shrugged. “And I said what I said.”

Period

You were careful not to be cruel if you disagreed with anyone, but you still led with honesty. Alcohol didn’t change that. So, if you said you thought Bucky was hot and you wanted him to fuck you raw, you meant it.

Honesty to a fault 🤷🏻‍♀️😅

“And you know he’s sitting next to you, right?” she asked. You downed the rest of your drink and shrugged again. “Yeah, I know. And I’d let him fuck me raw. Every day. Twice on Sundays,” you said unapologetically as Steve coughed. You swung your head toward Bucky with a sultry smile and leaned in a little closer. He smelled your perfume before you sat down tonight, but now the sweet smell combined with your natural scent was making him dizzy. “You’d fuck me raw, right? Maybe fuck me from behind so you can get nice and deep.”

No holding back hahah

Bucky heard Thor’s footsteps, but didn’t take his eyes off you as the God of Thunder took a seat. “Clearly, I’ve missed something.” “I said I want Bucky to fuck me raw,” you said without missing a beat. And your bluntness didn’t seem to bother the blonde. “I thought you two were already having relations. With how close you two-”

I love how unbothered and 0% of shocked Thor is 😂

“Is that not what they’re discussing?” Thor asked, taking a sip from his flask. “Though if there is no protection there is the risk of procreating, but they would have beautiful offspring.”

I can't 😂😂😂

“And if a breeding kink is what you’re into, actually breeding me or not, I’m all for it. I’m wet just thinking about it.” Thor laughed and held up his flask. “That’s the spirit.”

Thor is killing me 😂

Bucky’s cock twitched in his pants. “I know you’re wet. I can smell it,” he all but growled. He inhaled so deeply he could actually taste it, and he wanted more. And if he could smell it, Steve could smell it. "Okay then.” Clint removed his hearing aid. “I think I’m done.”

No Clint removing his hearing aid 😂

“Breed her well, Barnes. Make us proud!” Thor shouted. Steve hauled him from the room, too, with Clint hot on their tail.

I'm so sad, I loved Thor’s commentary 😅

“I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or weird. I’d never want that.” “That’s the last thing I feel,” he exhaled, still gripping your arms when you finally moved into his lap and straddled him. “Good,” you smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

Perfect 😌

“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life,” he admitted, brushing a tear away that fell. “But you’ve been drinking, and that means you can’t fully consent, and I will not take advantage of you, no matter how you say you want me or this. I respect and care for you too much for that.” HYDRA took consent away from Bucky for a long time, and it was one of the worst feelings in the world. He’d hate himself for doing anything with you without your full consent. He wouldn’t be the kind of man who did that. The man you deserved would be the one who properly took care of you in and out of bed.

He is just the best 🥰🥹

However you wanted your first time to be, he'd make it happen. He'd make love to you or fuck you or both. As long as there was clear consent and communication, he’d give you everything you needed and more, and he knew you'd do the same for him.

🥰🥰🥰

The smile you gave him repaired the cracks in his heart. “You’re a good guy, Bucky,” you said, snuggling against him. “And it isn’t just sex I want, but, well, I do want to have sex with you.” “You’re adorable,” he chuckled and rested his chin on your head. “And I know. It isn't just sex I want either.”

Ahh this was just the perfect mix of spicy, cute and hilarious 👏🏻

Love drunk Bucky! What about a drunk reader?

Yes, we've seen drunk!Bucky in Pretty Girl. A drunk reader could be fun.

Your Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You're very vocal about wanting Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: Drunk reader with no filter, drunk confession, dirty talk, humor, slight feels, talk of consent and communication, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Raw. Next question.”

You sipped your drink, the room going eerily silent. It was the quietest it had been since everyone gathered in the lounge for some drinks hours ago. Pairs of eyes stared at you with a mix of fascination and shock as your words hung in the air.

Just moments ago, Clint had been going through his phone and showing everyone candid photos he managed to snap of everyone. Most of them were hilarious, but the most recent one wasn't hilarious at all. It was clearly hot based on your reaction.

“What did she say?” Steve whispered to break the silence.

“You heard what she said. Everyone heard it,” Sam whispered back, giving you a quizzical stare. “How many drinks have you had?”

You held up a finger followed by another couple. “Like this many. And water. Hydration is so important.”

“Hold on. Back to what you said a second ago.” Clint turned the phone toward him with a raised brow and slowly turned it back toward you so you could see it again. “You know that’s a picture of Barnes, right? Not some model or actor?” he asked.

Bucky Barnes, the beefy super soldier who was trying not to shatter the bottle in his metal hand as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. Clint managed to snap a photo of him when he removed his shirt after a recent workout, which begged the question of why he was taking the photo to begin with. Bucky wasn’t looking at the camera since his eyes were shut, but his parted mouth, slightly messy hair, and sweat shining off his torso made him look like a thirst trap. The sweatpants only made the picture that much hotter.

“Yeah, I know. He’s hot. We all know he’s hot,” you shrugged. “And I said what I said.”

Bucky audibly exhaled. You had a penchant for being very honest with the team which they appreciated. If someone asked for your opinion or thoughts on something you didn’t hide how you felt. You were careful not to be cruel if you disagreed with anyone, but you still led with honesty. Alcohol didn’t change that.

So, if you said you thought Bucky was hot and you wanted him to fuck you raw, you meant it.

Clint exchanged a quick glance with Natasha before the redhead nodded to the spot beside you. The spy looked like she was having a hard time not smiling. “And you know he’s sitting next to you, right?” she asked.

You downed the rest of your drink and shrugged again. “Yeah, I know. And I’d let him fuck me raw. Every day. Twice on Sundays,” you said unapologetically as Steve coughed. You swung your head toward Bucky with a sultry smile and leaned in a little closer. He smelled your perfume before you sat down tonight, but now the sweet smell combined with your natural scent was making him dizzy. “You’d fuck me raw, right? Maybe fuck me from behind so you can get nice and deep.”

The bottle shattered which only made you smile more. Bucky’s nostrils flared and everyone backed up a few inches, except for you, the newest member of the team. The person who loved to leave little treats and snacks for him to make sure he ate throughout the day. The same person who made a show of bending over and stretching in front of him whenever you two worked out together. The only one who seemed to get a real smile out of him since you showed up like a shining beacon of happiness and sass.

And now you were telling him you want him to fuck you. Raw. He thought about it, of course- how wet and snug you’d feel around his bare cock, how you’d take him like a good girl. He pictured you sobbing his name and squirming as he pinned you down and brought you over the edge again and again. Licking his lips, he imagined the taste of your arousal on his tongue and wondered if he could make you squirt. He sure as hell wanted to try.

Bucky heard Thor’s footsteps, but didn’t take his eyes off you as the God of Thunder took a seat. “Clearly, I’ve missed something.”

“I said I want Bucky to fuck me raw,” you said without missing a beat.

Bucky bit back a groan. He was two seconds away from throwing you over his shoulder like a caveman and taking you away from everyone. There were so many filthy things he wanted to say and do to you…

And your bluntness didn’t seem to bother the blonde. “I thought you two were already having relations. With how close you two-”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say ‘relations’?” Clint asked. “Relations.”

“Is that not what they’re discussing?” Thor asked, taking a sip from his flask. “Though if there is no protection there is the risk of procreating, but they would have beautiful offspring.”

You leaned in a bit closer, but Bucky gripped your arms to move you away from his spot. “I don't want the glass to cut you.”

“You're so thoughtful. And amazing,” you smiled. He adored your smile. “And if a breeding kink is what you’re into, actually breeding me or not, I’m all for it. I’m wet just thinking about it.”

Thor laughed and held up his flask. “That’s the spirit.”

Bucky’s cock twitched in his pants. “I know you’re wet. I can smell it,” he all but growled. He inhaled so deeply he could actually taste it, and he wanted more. And if he could smell it, Steve could smell it.

“Okay then.” Clint removed his hearing aid. “I think I’m done.”

Steve jumped up when his best friend glared at him. “I think I’m done, too,” he said, not wanting to face Bucky’s wrath even though it wasn’t his fault he also had heightened senses.

“Let’s go, boys. I think these two should talk without us,” Natasha suggested, hauling Sam up by the arm and giving both of you a wink. “Be good, okay?”

“No promises,” you replied in a sing-song voice.

“Shouldn’t they get a room? I’m just saying,” Sam said as Natasha dragged him away.

“Breed her well, Barnes. Make us proud!” Thor shouted. Steve hauled him from the room, too, with Clint hot on their tail.

“Alone at last,” you giggled. If you were at all embarrassed, it didn’t show. And now that the two of you were alone, the tension skyrocketed. “You know, this isn't how I pictured saying any of this, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” he said. He couldn't believe you wanted him, but you did.

“I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or weird. I’d never want that.”

“That’s the last thing I feel,” he exhaled, still gripping your arms when you finally moved into his lap and straddled him.

“Good,” you smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

As much as he wanted to feel your lips against his, he stopped you. And as much as he wanted to tear your leggings away and have you then and there, but he couldn’t. “I’m not fucking you. Not tonight.”

The playfulness slipped from your eyes. So did the smile from your face. “Oh. I thought…” you breathed, looking away and quickly blinking. God, he hoped there weren’t tears in your eyes. “You don’t actually want me, do you?”

Bucky hadn’t meant for his words or stopping the kiss to come across as rejection, but that was exactly what happened. “That’s not–”

“Oh, my God. I ruined everything, didn't I? Why did I open my mouth?” You sniffled and tried to move away, but he wouldn't let you. “Six months of friendship and crushing on you and I-”

“Hey. You didn't ruin a thing.” Bucky gripped your chin with tenderness he didn’t think he was capable of anymore, and his heart broke when he saw the tears swimming in your beautiful eyes. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life,” he admitted, brushing a tear away that fell. “But you’ve been drinking, and that means you can’t fully consent, and I will not take advantage of you, no matter how you say you want me or this. I respect and care for you too much for that.”

HYDRA took consent away from Bucky for a long time, and it was one of the worst feelings in the world. He’d hate himself for doing anything with you without your full consent. He wouldn’t be the kind of man who did that. The man you deserved would be the one who properly took care of you in and out of bed.

And he’d be the best man for you if you let him.

“So, you do want me?” you asked, your voice uncertain.

“I did say more than anyone else, and I meant it,” he replied. You had to believe him. “But our first time should happen when you're sober.”

However you wanted your first time to be, he'd make it happen. He'd make love to you or fuck you or both. As long as there was clear consent and communication, he’d give you everything you needed and more, and he knew you'd do the same for him.

The smile you gave him repaired the cracks in his heart. “You’re a good guy, Bucky,” you said, snuggling against him. “And it isn’t just sex I want, but, well, I do want to have sex with you.”

“You’re adorable,” he chuckled and rested his chin on your head. “And I know. It isn't just sex I want either.”

Bucky wanted to take you to bed, but he also wanted to take you out on dates. He wanted to make you laugh and smile, wipe your tears and comfort you when you cried, and be the one you confided in. He wanted to be your man, and he wanted you to be his best girl.

“I wanna be yours,” you sighed as if you read his mind, his heart skipping a beat. “Can I be your girl?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes when he kissed the top of your head. “You can be my girl.”

And tomorrow once you were sober, he’d officially ask you to be his girl.

Happy Moanday, lovelies! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[alpinesmommy]

Agora Hills ( bucky barnes x reader)

WARNINGS: porn with some plot, blood kink, p in v sex, period sex, female reader, slight dom undertones, pregnancy and fertility issues.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for months now, finally got the motivation to finish it! MINORS DNI 18+ Only. border credit to @saradika-graphics

There’s a deep disappointment that’s festering and aching within you. It starts in your chest and builds alongside the cramps that begin to throb throughout your abdomen. And on top of all that, you got a pimple forming on your forehead… All you crave for is something greasy and crispy, something to distract yourself from the malaise that has fallen over you.

You started your period…

…When all you wanted was a positive pregnancy test. 

The two of you have been trying for a few months now - not religiously or anything - he always insisted to ‘just let it happen, babe.’ So you let your protests rest. Its just that this month you were so sure because of how sensitive your breasts were, the nausea, how your discharge was slightly off. 

Except this morning you woke up to blood everywhere. It felt as if mother nature was taunting you. Mocking you, even. 

The sting from this made-up scenario had you wallowing. Sulking in bed all morning, pouty, moody and pathetic. To top it off you’re wearing a crinkly pad that pisses you off every time you move. Today was not it.

Huffing and burying your face deeper into the pillow, your mind races with anxious thoughts. You’re hurting and you want to cry, but you don’t allow yourself to. Maybe you’re defective. Maybe Bucky is defective.

Wasn’t the Super Soldier Serum supposed to enhance…everything? You selfishly think to yourself, but you immediately felt guilty for trying to blame your darling Bucky. He had been right there with you, holding your hand, hoping. You always try your best to self-regulate and rationalise with yourself. Most of the time.

Just like that, with his impeccable timing, Bucky walks in right on cue. 

He’s got a duffle bag swung over his shoulder and his sunglasses resting on his head make him look like a movie star. He looks great. Which makes you feel significantly worse, you can't imagine how terrible you look in his eyes. He carries a plastic bag full of Chinese take out, you can already smell the food. His eyes settle on you on the bed and immediately looks sympathetic to your misery. Your eyes water at the sight of him, the depression raising in your throat and strangling you into the bed.�� “Oh, babe.” He breathes when you don’t respond to him. He sets the bag down and immediately walks over to the bed. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on, especially considering the fact he can now smell the sweet tinge of iron in the air. Your blood.

He knows how important conceiving is to you - to him. Bucky knows how badly you want it, he'll do everything he can to make it happen. Rationally, he knows trying for a baby takes a few times. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t, it’s just something you both can and cannot control, ‘It's God’s will.’ His mama always told him.

But it still makes him feel less than, makes him feel failed because it’s hurting you. 

Bucky lets his leather jacket and jeans fall on the floor as he moves to scoop you up into his arms. He crawls into bed, manoeuvres you so you’re tucked on his chest as he props himself up against the headboard. 

His metal hand comes to tangle in your hair, his fingertips massaging gently into your scalp as you lay sniffling. You both pay half-attention to whatever is on the television. Bucky places a kiss against your head as you silently allow this moment of weakness to flood between you. Bucky handles it, he’s not afraid of your emotions anymore as he supports you. There’s nothing to be said, Bucky knows no words can comfort you right now, you only need the physical reminder that he’s here for you as you work your way through the stages of grief. He simply holds you, tells you he loves you, peppering kisses while you calm down. 

You know that it’s going to be okay, your emotions just have to pass. There’s always next month, right? Bucky still loves you and the sky isn’t falling so, you allow the feelings to course through.

Bucky grabs the bag off the nightstand, he’s got his own combo for one and a soup and roll for you. You guys eat in bed, just this once, because it’s a sad day and you’ll wash the sheets later. 

You’re laying on his chest again a while later, now full of delicious Chinese food, enough to satiate the nagging symptoms of your period. Bucky is combing his fingers through your hair as you both watch whatever show he's currently into. You love that Bucky is loving like this, love that he provides a comfortable place for you to curl up and go through the motions of your period. Mood Swings and all.

He’s so nice. He’s big, warm and he smells like his aftershave and cologne. You could practically purr from how his warm hand rubbing your lower back makes your cramps lessen.

The way his natural scent sends endorphins through your brain which makes you feel more calm as you lay on him. It's almost primal, you think, how him just being there makes everything better. 

Without realizing it, you’re wiggling your hips back and forth on him slowly, the motion causing you further relaxation until Bucky is pressing his hand on the small of your back and clearing his throat. 

“Babe…” He says carefully as he peers down at you. You freeze.

Suddenly you're very aware of his semi-hard on digging into your thigh. 

The thing is, Bucky is not shy or squirmish when it comes to blood, especially menstrual blood. He personally believes that period is the only pure blood to be spilled in this world. Plus, doing what he’s done for the past 80 years, he’s been covered in blood more times than he can count and really it just lost its gross factor. But you both never really talked about it either, it was always just this thing where all you wanted was relaxation and rest, you never had energy for much else other than survival during your monthly course.

“Babe?” You echo, your head slowly lifting as you look up at him. His chin is tucked into his chest as he studies you with a careful, intense gaze. It makes your stomach flutter as you swallow slowly. 

“What are you doing?” He asks simply, narrowing his eyes slightly as he tries to read your reaction. 

You shrug. 

“It feels nice.” You offer, though that isn’t enough. 

“Stop trying to be cute.” He grumbles and you can’t help but smile. 

“I wasn’t trying to…” You emphasize before you move to sit up and swing your leg over him so you’re straddling his waist. 

There’s an involuntary throb at your core, a strange mix of pain and pleasure as you look down at your man and he stares back with his mouth in a thin line as his brow furrows. 

Suddenly, this thick tension that blankets the two of you as you sit there. Both of your minds are on the same thing. Both of you are hesitant to say anything though, and it’s as if there’s a telepathic conversation happening as you two come to the same conclusion. 

You swallow, and you feel Bucky’s hands grip your soft thighs. 

“Yeah?” He breaks the silence, his body is completely still as he waits and analyzes every single micro expression you make. 

You take a deep breath as you nod your head, you feel your heart skip a beat,

“Yeah… Yeah.” You purr softly as you bring your hands to rest on his chest and you dip down so you can place a kiss against his mouth. “Please?” 

And that was all he needed, because he isn’t going to make his best girl beg again. Not while she's in such desperate need of him. 

Soon enough, there’s a pillow beneath you, your eyes are glued to the headboard as you squeeze onto another pillow in anticipation. You don’t dare to look back, not right now; you’ve never had period sex before. While you aren’t entirely self-conscious that it'll be debilitating, it's just entirely new to you. Not to mention that it’s with Bucky… Despite how long you two have been together, he still makes you nervous and giddy.

It’s fine, everything is fine. You repeat to yourself internally. Suddenly, you feel the bed dip and…

Fuck.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting really, usually he’ll take his time, warm you up, play with your pussy until you’re flushed, panting, and needy, but suddenly you feel his hands on your thighs. Parting them ever so slightly that it makes you squirm and suddenly, he’s climbing and practically laying on top of you, his body nearly completely covering yours as his mouth finds the side of your neck and he inhales. “Fuck.” He groans. You feel yourself quiver underneath him. Your entire body feels as if it's sparkling, and his touch sends electric shocks throughout your flesh and deep into your nerves and your eyes flutter from his weight against you. You can feel his dick dig into your thigh, before he adjusts his hips and suddenly it’s right against your soaked cunt, positioned so it’s full length is filling your slit, his cockhead bumping against the hood of your clit. You whine, your body tensing from just how sensitive you really are.

Somewhere in your mind, you know it’s because you’re already engorged down there, and everything is more fine-tuned.

Your thighs shiver and Bucky is mouthing at your neck. He moves toward your ear lobe and nuzzles you. He hasn’t even entered yet but this was already so overwhelming. Just from the proximity and the newness of it. Everything felt extremely sensitive and exhilarating just because of how truly exposed you are to him, how you've practically given him full control over you. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard before...” He says under his breath, an accidental confession. Just from his tone, the way his voice drops, and how you can feel him throb against you, you believe him. You decide to store that particular piece of information away for later, after all it would make sense that the Winter Soldier would have some affinity for blood. You’re not judging because your eyes are already ready to roll in the back of your head from just this. 

You move your hips back, sliding yourself against his length and it feels so good that it makes your toes nearly curl and there’s a drop in your stomach. You feel him tense against you as his head falls to your shoulder. “You tell me if I hurt you, okay?” His lips move against your skin, and he’s rutting back over you, dragging his dick over and over your slit and your clit. “Bucky,” You breath, nodding your head. “Hurry, please.” You beg, sucking in a breath through your teeth. “Okay, okay pretty girl.” He mumbles as his head lifts, and he groans at the sight of your blood staining his cock. There’s something primal to it, something that makes him feel more masculine has he prepares to spear you. You suck in a breath as you feel his cockhead at your entrance and you both take the moment to prepare. Your heart is pounding, his thighs are trembling against yours before he sheathes himself inside you in one swift thrust. And… You can’t help the debauched, whiny moan that escapes your mouth as you immediately clamp involuntarily around him. You’ve had him numerous times before, your cunt has swallowed his cock so many times before. You were sure it was made just for him, but this? It’s like he’s harder, thicker, longer. As his length feeds your needy, twitching, hole. 

And he’s not any better right now. 

For him? You’re warmer, tighter, wetter, and your cunt devours every inch he gives until his balls are pressing against your clit, his cockhead pressing against your delicate cervix. Bucky lets out a shaky groan, his mouth coming down to meet your shoulder as he bites down, not hard enough to break skin, but something to ground him so he doesn’t blow his load immediately. “Fuck,” He grunts, breathless and low as he grinds his hips into yours. “Shit. Need to move, can I move?” Bucky begs, peppering kisses against your neck now. You whine and nod your head in response, pushing back against him, you need him so bad right now. You need him to fuck you.

That was all he needed as a sign before he’s lifting his hips and rolling them back into you. Starting up at a consistent pace, in and out, in and out, over and over. You want to cry, you can’t help but smile as you gasp, biting your lower lip as you relish in the feeling of his dick stroking your walls, rubbing against your g-spot and kissing your cervix. His hand comes up to rest by your head as he repositions to get a stronger thrust. The room filled with the sound of Bucky’s low grunts and the wet, slick noises of their union, punctuated by the creaking of the bed frame under the force of his fucking into you. 

You’re both panting like animals, neither of you able to formulate a complete thought besides chasing the urge to cum. 

You need to cum, you feel so full of him you feel like you’re gonna explode. The painful cramps were now replaced with pleasurable tightenings as you take every single thrust he gives you. You arch your back, head thrown back against his shoulder, eyes screwed shut as you focus entirely on how he fills you. It’s all-consuming, you swear you’re gonna burst. The pillow positioned beneath your hips add to the pressure, making that sweet fullness that much more pronounced. His face is immediately buried in your neck. You don’t ever realize you’re chanting his name. “I know baby.” He coos, his pace picking up. He has the insane idea to glance down to see where the two of you are connected and it’s his turn to let out a whine as he watches himself spear your cunt over and over, and the noises you're making that match every one is sending him over the edge. 

He’s used to being soaked in blood, used to the horrific screams that accompany it, but right now? It’s different, he’s making you scream alright, but instead of horror you’re mewling in pleasure as your body receives him and pushes back against him so hard it makes your ass bounce rhythmically as you chase his cock. 

Shit, this awoke something within him. Something deep sated that’s been sleeping for a while, something entirely primal and biological that hums in his brain. Something-Something mammal, something-something, heat.

He growls, lifting his chest off your back as he moves his hands down to grip your plush hips and he begins to earnestly fuck you, slamming you down against him to meet his thrusts, like his own personal fuck doll. 

And you? You just take it. You take it and you scream his name. You whine and your calves come to spread on either side of his thighs as you lift your hips up to arch your back for him. Your hands are buried in the pillows as you push back. “Bucky!” You shout, and before you know it, his metal hand comes down to go beneath you so that his fingers can dance across your clit more fervently, coaxing the orgasm that’s building like a tight rubber band deep within your core. 

“Bucky–” You pant, your hand cups your breast, your eyes are closed as you feel your thighs begin to shake. “Bucky I’m gonna cum.” You whine. 

His hand comes up, it covers your mouth, and suddenly his chest is back on you. “That's it…Shh, babygirl, don't want another noise complaint.” He utters softly in your ear, covering your mouth with his palm. And that does it. Your eyes roll as your mouth falls open and white hot pleasure washes over you. You gush, it’s expected honestly, given what’s going on down there. More blood pools at the base of his dick and coats his pelvis and his skin. His head falls on your shoulder as he groans, his eyes can’t look away. It’s intense, the way you’re so wet, warm and tight around him. He releases his hand from your mouth as he cums. White hot spurts mix in with your blood, and it’s messy but it’s so hot. He’s panting against your skin, peppering kisses as he catches his breath. You’re on another world, lost in the air as you recover. He pulls out slowly, he grimaces a little though you don’t see. Not because he’s disgusted, but because it was messy. 

Whatever urge was deep within your womb was sated then, you immediately feel more relaxed as you melt into the bed. You could lay here forever, you could let him do that to you forever. You felt wild, tamed and satisfied as you practically purred. But, suddenly Bucky is there. “Come on, sweet girl. Come back to me.” He murmurs as he pets your hair. “Let’s go shower.” He urges as he moves to stand up and off the bed, and moves to cradle you as he carries you to the shower. “I love you.” Is all you manage to say now, feeling beat and exhausted. Bucky kisses the top of your head. “I love you too, babe.” He murmurs as he takes you both to the bathroom.

It unlocked something in him. He’s a man obsessed, thinking of how much more sensitive you were, how much more warmer and tighter. The blood, he bites his lip. It isn’t a kink, it’s a you thing, he would argue. He can see it in his mind’s eye, how his dick looks coated in your blood as he plows into you, it makes his mouth water. The sex was amazing. So, naturally, of course he began to count down the days until your next period.

Maybe he’ll fold you up this time, maybe he’ll spoon you from behind, or make you cum in the bath. Whatever you want really, Bucky would make it happen just as long as he gets to stuff his dick in you. So, he waits, he waits and waits and he’s eyeing up the calendar. You’re healthy enough, your cycle was consistent, never a day late. 

Except it’s been three days past and you’re still not bleeding. He’s laying on the bed, one arm propped beneath his head as he mindlessly absorbs whatever it is on the tv. 

“Bucky?” Your shaky voice calls from the bathroom. He’s up in an instant and you’re coming out of the door holding a pregnancy test. “Bucky I’m –” Ah fuck.

[wakasaswifee]

write pls an one shot where isagi wins a match and reader suck him in the locker room

Winner's prize | Isagi yoichi | 18+

✎...In where your boyfriend Isagi Yoichi wins a game and can't help but want a little bit of... appreciation from you. ✎...Isagi yoichi x reader | blue lock ✎...Tags/TWS: Explicit content,All characters aged up, oral ✎...WC:1.3k ✎...A/N: I'm so sorry to anon, this was sitting in my inbox for over a month, I had exams so I was busy with that and had no time to write other than a few short stories here and there. hope you like it!

Isagi yoichi knew he’d win. He felt it, he knew the winning goal would go to his team and he’d be the one scoring it; and what more, his sweet, precious girlfriend came all the way from home to support him, screaming his name. So he had no choice but to win, he couldn’t disappoint his girl. 

°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °

The game had ended, after a few interviews here and there; you ran up to yoichi, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a soft kiss. The salty smell of sweat mixed with his cologne invaded your nose, which you don’t know why but you loved it. 

“Ahh, doll, ‘m sweaty, don’t cling” he chuckled playfully. A blush crept up your face as the flashes of the camera’s went off. 

Isagi couldn’t help but laugh at your expression, kissing your cheek.

“It’s okay. Ignore them.” 

Running his calloused hand through his soft hair, keeping a protective arm around your waist. 

“Let’s go, y/n. Let me shower and change and i’ll come and we’ll eat out to celebrate, yeah? Sound good?” 

You grinned, nodding up at him. 

You were confused as he started walking off the field, pulling you along with him.

“Yoichi?” 

“Doll, ‘m not gonna leave you out here all alone, wait outside the change room, it’ll make it easier to make sure no one tries anything” 

He wasn’t trying to be an asshole but due to previous incidents, he liked keeping you close to him, to make sure no crazy fan attacks you when he isn’t present. 

You looked up at him, he looked.. Ethereal, especially after his games. Sweat glistened on his face and neck. His hair damp and pushed back, a few loose strands hanging over his face. If one were to define perfection, they’d see a picture of isagi’s side profile- no scratch that, they’d see a picture of isagi’s face beside it. 

“I’ll be out in 10 minutes, wait here, okay?” He kissed you softly. 

You sat on the wooden bench outside the change rooms. Pulling out your phone to watch edits of your otherworldly boyfriend.

°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °

You were confused, again. It’d been over 25 minutes, at first you thought maybe he was talking with his teammates or maybe taking a minute or 2 for himself but after you saw his teammates leave one after another, till the change rooms were empty, you were left puzzled. 

Slightly pushing the door open, just a peek to see inside. It was empty. You carefully opened the door and stepped inside as if there’s a landmine in the area. 

The door clicked behind you; looking around, the room was empty. 

You took slow, careful steps, till the faint noise of water running and.. skin slapping? 

You made your way towards the sound, turning the corner to find isagi's back facing you, water dripped down his sculpted back and shoulders.

His hand was clenched into a fist against the wall, veins straining beneath his skin, while his other hand moved at an even pace between his thighs. 

Your breath caught in your throat making your mouth go dry, heat rushing to your core. 

“‘Ichi..?” the soft hush of your voice snapped Yoichi out of his trance. Turning his head to find his poor confused girlfriend standing by the entrance of the shower. 

“Ah.. fuck, doll.. M’ sorry, i totally fo-”

“Why are you.. Doing.. That?” 

He sighed, letting go of his needy cock to turn off the shower. He neared you, the light taps of his footsteps against the wet tiles echoed. You took a few steps back, an unknown feeling of excitement coursed through your body. You’d never seen isagi like this. Such a chilling look plastered on his face. Did you say something you shouldn’t have? 

He closed the distance between the both of you. Subconsciously you tilted your head to look him eye to eye. 

“‘Is cause of you, doll.. You don’t know what you do to me.” he placed a hand on your shoulder, the cold water sending chills down your spine. His hair falling over his eyes, drops of water falling from them, hitting his abs. Something burned inside of you and you wanted to chase it. 

“And.. since you started this.. It’s quite convenient you came in here because now you can finish what you started and I also deserve a reward for winning the game for you, don’t i? ” The cruel grin you knew all too well made an appearance and before you knew it, your knees hit the ground making you wince. Looking up to see isagi’s fat, leaking cock hanging in your face like a taunting bait. 

I mean.. He’s right, isn’t he? He won the game for his sweet little girlfriend, so he should get something in return from you, right?

You looked up at him through your lashes before sticking out your tongue, licking the underside of his cock as precum dripped down it and landed on your tongue. Yoichi hissed at the pleasure of something other than his hand coming in contact with his cock. 

He put his hand through your hair, tugging at the back of it. 

“C’mon, no teasing, baby” he whined as if he didn't have the upperhand and could choke you with his cock whenever he wanted.

You rolled your eyes, licking the tip. Keeping your tongue out as you took him in, hollowing out your cheeks. Every inch you took in was another groan out of isagi, till it hit the back of your throat, making you gag, earning a loud moan out of your bf. Warm tears pricked your eyes - in contrast to his cold skin - isagi tried calming you down with sweet words. 

“Oh, baby, look at you, you’re doing so well. My cock is balls deep down your throat. I'm so proud of you, yeah? Show me how good you are by actually sucking it. You’re doing so so good, doll” 

He coos, a familiar gentleness lacing his tone. 

You slowly pulled back and went back down. His balls touching your chin. Slowly picking up the pace, the faster you bobbed your head on his veiny shaft, the more verbal he got. His hands tugging at the very roots of your hair. 

Every time you were about to pull away due to the lack of oxygen, he would push your head back down, harsher than the last. Tears rolled down your face and dripped down onto your thighs. 

The slick mess in your lace panties distracted you from the task at hand. You squirmed feeling discomfort but not being able to go anywhere else but his cock. 

The constant abuse to the roof of your mouth and the back of your throat persisted,  as isagi used your pretty mouth as a fleshlight. Your jaw going numb and precum coated your lips, keeping them soft enough to glide across his length. 

At some point, you stopped doing the work, only holding onto his thighs, letting him play with you. Using your hair to control your movements. Every once in a while when you look up, you’d see him throwing his head back, groaning and grunting your name or smirking at your pathetic expression. 

It wasn’t long before he came, holding your head down so you had no choice but to get a mouthful of his cum. The mixture of saliva and cum dripped down your chin. 

“Swallow, baby” isagi’s breathy voice reached you, swallowing up the salty white liquid. When isagi felt your throat clench around his tip, he finally pulled out, letting you gasp in the air you desperately needed. 

“Sorry sweetheart.. I might’ve kinda gotten carried away..”

“Kinda?” you grumbled in a hoarse voice, getting a laugh out of isagi, he pulled you up to your feet, 

“Forgive me?” he mumbled against your ear, wrapping his arms around your body. 

©2025 wakasaswifee do not copy

[tpwk-formula1]

Lactation and water sports with lando please please please (they both do the water sports)

AN: I just had a full conversation with my Tumblr bestie on how I actually don't think I know how to write watersports so I give her all the credits to helping me figure out how to write this!

TW: MDNI 18+ watersports, lactation

WC: 940+

Y/N POV

It was Lando and I's first vacation just the two of us after giving birth to our son who was now a year old.

We would only be gone for a few days but non the less the both of us were excited to have some alone time.

"Drink," I say while tossing him the plastic water bottle with a smirk. I can see Lando catch the bottle with a surprised look on his face before a small smirk breaks out across his face.

I wave my bottle showing him I was doing the same before opening it and taking a big drink before turning back and finishing getting unready from the long travel day we had.

I can see Lando in the mirror reflection scrolling on his phone while drinking his water. Once he was finished with the first bottle he got up and grabbed two more passing me one of them in the process.

"I already need to go," I whine while trying to push the bottle back towards him which only makes Lando smirk softly.

"That's kinda the whole point," Lando says with a smirk making me whine but still take the full bottle into my hand and opening before taking another big drink. Once we had both finished both of the bottles I get up from my seat at the vanity and make my way towards Lando who was currently wiggling in his spot showing he that he was int he same position as me.

I quickly climbs into his lap making sure to sit directly onto his bladder making him groan and jump at the sudden pressure.

"Fuck, baby" Lando says while gripping my waist into his hands and moving me so I'm sitting on his already hard cock. Even with us both being fully dressed still it doesn't stop me from grinding down on his cock making the both of us whimper.

"Been too long," I whine and moan when Lando moves a hand over my tummy and pushing down on my bladder making my breath hitch as I try to hold my bladder in.

"Fuck, baby you're leaking," Lando grunts out with his eyes locked onto the loose shirt I had thrown on earlier. When I look down I notice some of my breast milk had leaked through my shirt. I feel my face grow red at the sight but when Lando brings his hand up to my senstive nipple giving it a small squeeze a small whimper leaves my mouth.

"Fuck, I love how sensitive they've become," Lando whispers while quickly pulling my top over my head leaving my top half completely bare for Lando's greedy hands.

As soon as Lando pinches one of my sensitive nipples I see some milk start to dribble out. Lando wastes no time leaning forward and licking the small bead up.

"So good," Lando mumbles before attaching his mouth to one of my nipples and sucking some of my milk into his mouth.

"Lando," I squeal trying to push his mouth away from my nipples but it only encourages him to suck more milk into his mouth.

"I've wanted to do that since you started producing," Lando admits sheepishly before bringing his mouth down to my other nipple giving it the same treatment as the previous one.

The more Lando pinches and pulls at my nipples the more my milk is starting to drip over my skin making me whine and grind harder down in Lando's lap.

With my bladder feeling the fullest is has in awhile I can't help the loud whimper that falls from my lips.

"Lando, I need to go," I cry out which only has Lando giving my nipple one last suck before detaching his lips and quickly helping the both of us finish undressing.

Once Lando has both of us naked he quickly pushes me back onto the bed before climbing between my legs.

"Lando, please," I beg not fully knowing what I'm asking for but Lando takes it as his chance to slowly start pushing his already hard cock into my soaked pussy.

"Fuck Lando," I cry when he bottoms out.

Having such a full bladder is making everything that much more intense for the both of us and I can tell Lando is not going to last very long.

"Fuck," Lando grunts as he starts thrusting his hips in and out of my pussy making me moan even louder.

"Lan, I'm close," I cry when I feel Lando hitting my G-spot with each thrust.

"Fuck, feel so good," Lando grunts while hit hips start to falter letting me know he was getting close.

"Lando I can't cum," I cry out when I feel the urge of my bladder to give way.

"Just cum for me, it's okay," Lando grunts while picking up his thrusts again this time fucking into my pussy even harder.

"FUck Lando!" I moan loudly when I finally allow my body to succumb to the pleasure.

As soon as I start cumming all over Lando's dick I can feel myself squirting making the waves of my orgasm that much more intense feeling my body relaxing into the pleasure.

"Fuck so hot," Lando grunts while pulling out and jerking her cock till he starts shooting ropes of cum all over my stomach.

"Fuck," Lando whimpers when the final rope of cum shoots from the tip of his still hard cock when a small dribble of his pee beeds out making Lando tense his muscles to stop himself.

"Fuck, so good," Lando moans while allowing his body to relax forward falling to relax on top of me.

------

The end! I hope you enjoyed

[cod-indulgences]

Simon Riley x female!reader, alt POV, drinking, references to oral, hints of Johnny x reader but nothing happens between them

@skeletonsucker ask and ye shall receive

part 1 here

Johnny was having a grand time. Good drinks, the bar not so crowded he got itchy but not empty. Simon's little bird so blatantly delighted to be out and enjoying herself, smiling and sipping her cocktails with a flush in her cheeks. He saw how Simon just relaxed around her, following her with his eyes and a hand always half-reached out to grasp hers when she came back into orbit.

Maybe they should have kept better track of her drinks though.

"he's just so...like I don't know. You know?"

Johnny bit back his laughter. "Sure, love, I know."

"no! No you don't, he's just so good, Johnny, like he's so amazing. So good." You make little grabby hands in the direction of the mens room that Simon had excused himself to. "I just wanna, squeeze him. Forever. He's so cute!"

Gaz does laugh, the fucker, but you don't seem upset. Instead you turn the big eyes on him. "He is!!"

"Ok, yes, I believe you, Simon is cute," Gaz soothes, and he and Price share a look over their beers. Price just shakes his head.

You light up when Simon comes back, standing to hug him before he can sit down. Adorable, and Johnny smiles and sits back with his drink. And then chokes on it when you start giving a run down of your favorite parts of Simon to kiss.

Poor Simon, brick red and flustered, trying to herd you back onto your seat. He waves at the bartender for water but nope, too late, Johnny sees that look on your face. That's someone who doesn't care about anyone or anything else than whatever their alcohol-soaked little mind has latched on to. Johnny's intimately familiar.

"I want to suck your dick," you say, baldly, and at normal fucking volume.

Johnny and Gaz both burst into laughter. Price holds it for a moment longer but Simon's face, his eyes all wide with dismay and shock, sets him off too.

It'll probably take some sweet talking, but Johnny is absolutely going to get you back out and drunk with them again.

Oh Christ, you're not stopping- who calls a dick fucking yummy, but hell, that's some enthusiasm you've got. And Johnny can't say there's not an appeal there, soft hazy eyes and pink tongue licking your lips as you describe sucking Simon off, playing with him, getting him to come all over your face the way you love, fuck.

Johnny subtly adjusts his pants, and then snorts with laughter again as Simon decides to cut his losses and hoists you up in his arms, dropping cash on the bar for his tab as you pout. Johnny's with Simon on this one, you're definitely not walking out under your own power now, but it's funny as fuck to see him try and fail to contain his little drunk girlfriend who is now cooing in his ear about road head, Simon holding her head down as he drives, filling her throat with his come-

Johnny returns your wave goodbye and swallows more beer to wet his suddenly dry throat. Fucking Christ.

Where the fuck did Simon find you? And do you have a sister??

[solxamber]

Hello Miss Sol! I just saw the event and I can't pass up this opportunity to see you write Valentimes stories.

May I please have Riddle, Romantic, with "No Name Yet" by Double Face? https://youtu.be/U8Sb-laqFbo?si=wBDPDKcgILJgCWll

Thank you!

enstars??? in my inbox?? unexpected but love that

"The joy of first bloom" || Riddle Rosehearts

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: No Name Yet by Double Face

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 650

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Pre-relationship, Realization of feelings

The rose garden is quiet today. The gentle breeze carries the scent of fresh blossoms, and the golden afternoon light filters through the hedges, painting shifting patterns on the stone paths. It's peaceful—serene in a way that Riddle never quite knows how to handle.

Even now, with the weight of his past slowly loosening its grip, he still fights against the instinct to fill the silence with purpose. His hands remain stiff on his lap, posture perfect, eyes focused ahead as if waiting for an order. Old habits die hard.

But then, there's you.

Sitting beside him, humming some quiet, nameless tune, letting the sunlight kiss your skin without a care in the world. You've always been like this—effortlessly free, your warmth spilling into his life like a season he'd never been allowed to experience.

He doesn't quite understand it. Even after all this time, after everything he’s shown you—his ugly, controlling nature, the temper he barely manages to keep in check, the aftermath of his overblot—you remain. Smiling, laughing, asking him if he's eaten lunch today, if he's gotten enough rest.

As if it’s that simple. As if he isn’t something fractured, something still learning how to exist outside the rigid structure he was raised in.

He doesn’t deserve it.

And yet, he wants it.

He wants to be near you. He wants to hear you call his name like it’s something soft, not something sharp and demanding. He wants to be worthy of the warmth you offer so freely.

But he doesn’t know how.

The thought makes his hands clench slightly, nails pressing crescents into the fabric of his uniform.

You glance at him, sensing his tension, and tilt your head. “What’s on your mind, Riddle?”

He swallows. He could lie. It would be easy—he’s spent his whole life hiding his emotions, curating himself into something palatable. But something about the way you look at him makes honesty feel possible.

“I was thinking about…growth.”

Your eyes soften. “Oh?”

He hesitates, then gestures vaguely toward the garden. “These roses. They bloom so easily, don’t they? But they require constant care, the right conditions. Pruning, sunlight, proper watering.” He exhales, gaze dropping. “I wonder… if there are some flowers that simply aren’t meant to bloom.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words. Then, with a thoughtful hum, you reach down and pluck a stray wildflower that’s sprouted between the neatly trimmed hedges. It’s small, delicate—pale blue petals trembling slightly in the breeze.

“Not every flower blooms the same way,” you say, holding it out to him. “Some take longer. Some need different care than others. But that doesn’t mean they’re not meant to bloom.”

He stares at the flower in your hands, his heart beating strangely in his chest.

You continue, voice gentle. “I think you’ve been growing this whole time, Riddle. Even if you don’t realize it.”

His fingers twitch, aching to take the flower from your hand, to hold onto something so simple yet so profound. But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches as you tuck it behind his ear, fingers brushing against his hairline, lingering for just a second too long.

Warmth seeps into his chest.

Only you, he thinks.

Only you would make him feel this warm.

It isn’t until later, when he’s alone in his room, that he looks in the mirror and sees the flower still tucked behind his ear.

His fingers brush against the petals, delicate and real.

It has no name, but somehow, that feels right.

Because whatever this feeling is—the way his chest tightens when you smile at him, the way his pulse quickens when you touch his hand—it has no name yet.

But someday, he thinks, it will bloom into something beautiful.

And for the first time, he’s not afraid of it.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Reader watching WICKED 2024 for the first time with the 141.

2 FICS in 1

Camera Guy!Au, Female Reader

Masterlist

Previous -

Reader can sing.

Reader! who can sing but the rest of the base has no idea. She hasn't sung in a while until WICKED came out. Now she has to refrain from belting out the songs in the common showers.

Reader! who hums in the common room and sings quietly in her room. (Ghost can hear her.) Ghost who makes a note of this and gets prime video just for no reason. (Yes it's so she can watch WICKED over and over again.)

Reader! who thanks him with excited rambling before shutting up with an embarrassed smile.

‘I uh, I just really like-’

‘Its okay Sargent. We all have things we like, just like Johnny loves those fluffy shites.’ Ghost shrugs good naturedly.

‘You mean kittens?’ Reader! stifles laughter, not wanting him to take away her password privileges to Ghost's account.

Soap and Gaz who end up joining her to watch. Both arguing that they would be Elphaba but the Price who walks in claims the title of ‘The Elphaba’ of the task force. Gaz and Soap pout and slouch down into the couch while Reader! chuckles.

‘I remember when the broadway show had its first tour.’ Price hums.

‘Okay grandpa it's time fer bed.’ Soap quipps, with a snicker. Earning a pillow to the face for his comment.

Ghost who sits back and watches for the first time. He makes no comment as to whether he likes it or not. However he watched it the whole way through!

Reader! who starts hearing the group humming songs. One day in the common room she hears the melody of defying gravity being hummed and she pops her head in.

Simon, dressed in his basic compression shirt and cargo pants, mask and all humming defying gravity.

Reader! Who quickly whipps out her phone but Simon turns around so she fumbles with it as it clatters to the ground.

Simon (who Reader! can see) ‘s eyes are crinkled at the edges.

‘Bloody good song innit?’ Before taking his cup of steaming tea and heading back to his room.

Reader! Who just stares blankly at the spot he was just in.

‘LT isn't tone dead?!’ She exclaims.

Or

Reader! who doesn't sing.

Reader! who isnt a singer. She'd never really known about wicked until Gaz and Soap had all but dragged her to the common room for movie night.

Popcorn in hand and a cup of (whatever beverage) in her hand, she sat down.

‘I don't think I'll particularly like it, I'm not too huge on musicals.’ Reader! mumbles, unknowingly about to eat her own words.

After the movie finishes, reader! who is all teary and sniffling,

‘They were such good friends!’

Gaz patting Readers! shoulder in comfort and Soap just handing her tissues. (It didn't help that she was on her period)

‘They sang so well together! It's like they were meant to be!’ She continues sniffiling.

Ghost who just looks on, making a decision to subscribe to Amazon Prime just so they could all watch it again. He could tell she would want to view the movie again next week.

Price who reassures reader !that the movie was only part 1 and that there would be more for her to see next year.

Reader! whos tears slow,

‘You swear?’

‘Yes love, there'll be more.’ He speaks in a soothing slow tone, careful of his words so she doesn't lose it again.

Reader! who sniffs one last time and then wipes her face with a tissue.

‘Can I have a day off so I can go-’

‘Do you wanna go see the movie again at the cinema?’ Kyle nudges her.

‘Ye we can all go together.’ Johnny smiles at the reader, rubbing her knee gently.

‘We have Saturday off.’ Price nods, the plans already solidified in his head.

‘Did you want to go to a sing-along play through?’ Ghost speaks up, voice gravelly as ever.

‘But, would you guys be okay with that? I can't really sing.’ Reader!, whos now embarassed because shes little more aware of the fact that she was crying over a movie. She's now looking at the boys with wide hopeful eyes.

‘Yes of course! I'll go book the tickets online, go drink some water and we can go to bed early okay?’ Kyle rubs her back before getting up off the couch.

They all end up going to the sing along and Reader! swears she hears a low voice that sounds like Ghost singing along.

[sissylittlefeather]

So... I had this dream about Elvis.

It's a little blurry and my English isn't perfect, nos, but I can remember the important bits.

I (the reader, of you wanna write about it ;]) was working as Elvis's assistant and practically loved with him. There where some feelings between us and, eventually, we ended up in bed together. The things were getting heated up, he was rubbing himself through his pants and i was grinding against his thigh.. and just when things where going to get good...

I woke up.

Oh, sweet, sweet nonnie. Your fantastic dream sparked a whole thing for me. Please enjoy this fanfic that resulted from this ask:

Return to Sender

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, dry humping, thigh riding, p in v sex, unprotected sex, ejaculation

Word count: ~3.3k

Also decided to base it loosely on this gif:

You were so nervous in your interview that you actually knocked a cup of something off of his desk. As a result, you were pretty sure you did not get the job. But what you didn't know is that he found your stuttering and fidgeting endearing and when you bent over to clean up the cup you spilled, the view he got of your ass made his decision for him.

That's how you ended up as Elvis Presley's private secretary. It's 1959 and he gets so much fan mail these days that he can't manage it all himself. So, he hires you to help him out. He's pleased when you prove to be useful and supremely impressed when you show him that you can mimic his signature perfectly. Still, his interest in you is far from purely functional.

He's not sure how to go about making his first move, especially since you work for him and he'd hate to lose you. You're really quite effective, so he'll have to play this just right. He doesn't want to offend you and run you off for good.

Instead, he spends a lot of time watching you and smiling at you when you catch him looking. You can't figure out why he keeps looking at you. You're not dumb, not even naive really, but it still seems outside the realm of reality that he might be into you for more than your typing skills.

He tests the waters a little with some flirtation here and there, and you don't seem to turn him down, but you also don't seem to reciprocate. He confuses your nervousness with disinterest and tries to stay focused on the task at hand any time you're together. But as time passes, you get more and more comfortable with each other and eventually a kind of friendship forms between you. It's easy to bond as you laugh about some of the crazy things the girls write to him, but you really start to get close when he begins to talk to you. And not just about the letters. Without meaning to, he tells you about his loneliness, his fears, and how much he misses his mama. You're a good listener and he needs you more than he realizes.

Eventually, you get to the end of his time in the service and know he'll be headed back to the states soon. You're not exactly excited about seeing him go, but there's not much you can do to change it, so you take it in stride.

He's not so resigned, though.

If there's even the slightest chance that you might want him, he's not going to let the opportunity pass him by. The night before all of his big army-ending interviews, he asks you to come over. You assume he needs you to get through some letters or something before he leaves, but he has something else entirely different in mind.

“Hey, honey, thank you for coming over so late.” His voice is quiet, shy almost. The room is dimly lit and there's the faint smell of cigar smoke in the air. He sits in a large armchair, watching you as you stand in the middle of the room. You nod and tell him that you don't mind.

“You have some new letters that you need help with?” He shakes his head sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

“Not really. I just wanted to see ya before I leave.” You blink a few times, confused.

“I'll be there for the interviews tomorrow.” He nods. This is not a surprise, but he wants to talk to you without people around.

“Yeah, but…” He fumbles over the words, trying to say exactly what he feels. The hesitation is heavy in the air between you and it's almost as though the words get caught in his throat when he tries to speak.

“But what, Elvis?” You look down at him and he sighs deeply, drumming his fingers on his knee anxiously. Without warning, he stands up and walks to you, grazing his fingertips over your cheek gently. There's a moment of nothing but being between you and you see the conviction enter his eyes.

“Oh, fuck it.” And then his lips are on yours, soft and needy. At first, you're so shocked that you stand there with your eyes open and his mouth on yours. You can see his eyelashes where they settle on his cheeks and feel him breathing as his chest rises and falls so close to you. He pulls back and notices the look on your face. “No? Was that…?”

“Do it again.” A smile creeps across his face and he leans down and kisses you again. This time your eyes close and you melt into him. The taste of him on your lips is exquisite, something between mint and man, and it feels like you'll never get enough. He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth, his hands drifting to your hips as he pulls you in close to him, your bodies flush against each other. You moan softly as his lips move down your jaw to your neck and his hands slips down to grab your ass through your dress.

“I've wanted this forever.” His voice rumbles against your throat. You feel his hardness where he presses it against you, the urgency in his hips becoming more obvious.

“Took you long enough.” A little giggle escapes your lips as his hands continue to roam your body, squeezing you where it pleases him. He takes your breasts in both hands and lets out a small whimper. The need for more of him burns inside of you, manifesting in the ache in your center. His cock is so hard it hurts as he rolls against you, tangling one hand in your hair to hold you still as he dips his tongue into your mouth again. You start to pull at his shirt as he walks you backwards through the house toward his bedroom, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you as close to him as possible.

You fumble with buttons, fingers trembling in anticipation. All of a sudden, it seems like his shirt has a hundred buttons and you groan in frustration. He pulls back, chuckling and pulls it over his head, dropping it to the floor. In the hallway, he turns your back to him and puts your hands on the wall, dragging his down your back to your hips. The ache between your thighs is quickly becoming unbearable, your body burning up with the intensity of your need. His hands grip your hips as he ruts against you, his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. Then, you feel his lips on the back of your neck as he unzips your dress, pushing it forward off of you to let it pool at your feet. He turns you to face him, eagerly raking his eyes over you hungrily as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He takes a moment to really appreciate your body in just your underwear and bra.

“What?” You ask playfully, noticing the spellbound look on his face. He shakes his head a little, basking in the scent of your perfume as it mixes with the heat of your body.

“You're even more beautiful than I could've imagined.” He runs his fingertips down the side of your stomach and grips your hip tightly. The last ounce of inhibition leaves you and you grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to yours. Every ounce of him hums with insatiable desire as his soft mouth moves on yours passionately. He pushes your back to the wall and presses his body tightly against yours, his thigh on your center. Without thinking, you start to rub yourself on his thigh, your body begging for friction against your swollen clit. He groans and starts to roll his hips against you. “Goddamn, baby. Don't stop that.”

Your hands slide around to his back as you pick up speed, grinding your clothed pussy on his leg.

“Oh god, Elvis.” A deep moan floats up and out of you as your aching bud reacts to the delicious sensation of his pants.

“Fuck, baby. That's a good girl. Make yourself cum on me.” He grips your hips and helps you rut against him, chasing your orgasm. The wetness seeps through your panties, soaking the fabric under you, but he doesn't care. He wants you to cum, needs you to cum, his hips stuttering against you as you rub on him.

“I'm s-so close.” It's more of a whimper than a sentence, but he gets your meaning. His grasp on your hips is almost bruising as you grind on him faster and harder. The familiar bubbling heat gathers in your lower belly as the sweat drips between your breasts. He captures your lips in a desperate kiss and then mumbles against you.

“Come on, baby. You're right there. Let go.” And then, like your body knew to listen to him, you cum on command, shuddering and trembling as the orgasm rushes through you, sending bolts of pleasure to your extremities. He starts to slow the rolling of your hips as you go floppy against him. “Good girl. So pretty when you cum.”

“Think I might've ruined your pants.” You whisper and he chuckles.

“They'll wash. Can you walk?” You look at him, your eyes hazy with your post-orgasm daze.

“Huh?”

“I'm nowhere near finished with you.” He smirks.

“I'm not sure-” You don't even get the sentence out before he bends down, throwing you over his shoulder. A squeal escapes your lips as he carries you to the bedroom and drops you unceremoniously on the bed. He turns on a small light on the nightstand, casting a kind of orange glow around the room. You look at him standing there, the small patch of hair on his chest, his angelic face, and the small wet spot where his dick has leaked precum onto his pants and continues to stand at full attention. He looks at you spread out on the bed and decides at that moment that he'd give you anything you wanted, even his last name if you asked for it.

“I need you, baby.” He palms himself over his pants and you nod, reaching back to unhook your bra. You slip it down your arms and drop it on the floor, moving to push your panties down your legs. He grunts when your pussy becomes visible, moving his hand on his cock a little faster. When you spread your legs, he bites his bottom lip and moans.

“What are you waiting for?” You coo. His eyes are glued to your glistening pussy as he quickly unbuttons his pants and lets them drop. Your mouth waters a little as his cock bounces free, big and uncut and weeping precum. He climbs on top of you, arranging himself against your entrance and taking one of your legs onto his shoulder.

“You ready for me, honey?” He asks desperately, rubbing his tip through your wet folds. You nod and he groans, slowly pushing into you. The feeling of his dick stretching you out is overwhelmingly good. Finally, he groans, his whole cock buried deep inside you, balls pressed against your ass, as he resists the urge to pound you silly. Your hands clench around the silky sheets and you breathe, trying to adjust to the feeling of him. He looks at you with his eyebrows knit together in concern. “You okay?”

“God, yes.” He smiles down at you and pulls his hips back, sliding his now-wet cock out of you and then rolling them forward again, plunging himself into you. Your eyes roll back and you moan loudly as he starts to pick up a steady rhythm of slamming against you. He kisses your ankle gently and fucks into you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as the scent of your sex hangs in the air. Your breasts bounce with every thrust and he grunts, his release gathering in his balls. The headboard starts to bang against the wall and the little light on the nightstand rocks with the force of your lovemaking.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Such a tight little pussy.” His hair is sweaty on his forehead and you revel in the smell of him as he wraps your leg around his hip and leans down to kiss you, his cock sliding in and out of you. In doing so, he shifts the angle a little and begins to rub against your g-spot. Now, you whimper and moan with every movement of his hips, clawing at his back as he pounds you. You devolve into just a body, soaking in each sensation: skin pressed together, sticky and wet, his tongue in your mouth, insistent and deep, and his cock filling your pussy up again and again. He does the same, sinking into the waves of pleasure, your tight heat wrapped around his dick, squeezing him just right. Everything is sensual as you mix together and quickly lose track of whose sweat is whose.

“Elvisssss…” You whine, another climax crashing into you and burning you up from the inside out. He moans with the feeling of your pussy tightening around him.

“Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum. Fuck. Gonna… oh fuck!” He pulls out of you at the very last possible second, shooting cum all over the inside of your thighs. His cock throbs and pulses and he collapses on top of you, sticky ropes pumping out of him onto your legs. When he finally finishes, he groans loudly and picks up his head, kissing your lips softly. You giggle and push his hair back off his forehead. He chuckles. “I made a mess.”

“Yes, you did. But I helped.” He laughs and kisses you again.

“Yeah, I'm gonna blame this one on you.” You giggle as he rolls off of you and fetches a washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up. When he's done, he crawls back into bed and pulls you onto his chest. “Stay with me?”

You look up into his eyes and it's obvious he doesn't want to be alone tonight. Honestly, you wouldn't leave him even if you could.

“Of course.” He smiles and nuzzles into your hair. You settle in to sleep with him wrapped around you.

***

When you wake up the next morning, he's already dressed in his full uniform. He moves around the room quietly, but he notices when you stir and smiles softly.

“Hey, baby.” You lift your head up and yawn, stretching.

“You're leaving?” He nods and then sits down on the bed to put his shoes on.

“Yeah, I have those interviews. You comin’?” Again, it's clear that he wants you there, so you nod back.

“Oh yeah. I just have to run home and get dressed, but I'll be there.”

“Good.” He leans in and kisses your forehead before standing up. You're still naked from your activities last night and he looks down at you hungrily. He pulls the covers down a little so that he can see your body. “Goddamnit. I hate to leave ya.”

You're not sure if he's talking about this morning or forever. You reach out and take his hand, kissing it gently and then placing it on your breast.

“Fuck.” He climbs into bed in his uniform and pulls you onto him, kissing you deeply and running his hands all over your body.

“Thought you had to go?” You ask between kisses. He groans and buries his face in your neck. The sweet scent of your sweat and sex lingers on your skin and he breathes it in, trying to commit everything about you to memory. He mumbles into your hair.

“Yeah, I do. Just wish I could keep you naked in my bed forever.” For a few more seconds, you just hold each other, trying not to think about the future. Then, he pulls away from you and gets out of bed. “I'll see you at the interviews.”

He turns and leaves before he can get back into the bed and stays there until he dies. You sigh and get up, gathering your things and getting dressed. Something is missing, though. You cannot find your panties anywhere. Sighing again, you check your watch. You don't have time to keep looking. At least he'll have something to remember you by.

******

At the interviews, you stand behind him sipping your coffee and watching. The press are snapping photos like crazy and the flash bulbs are almost giving you a headache. You wonder how he stands it. The room is filled with noise and people, but you can't take your eyes off of him. He looks better than he ever has before, but maybe that's because you've seen him naked and know how beautiful he is without clothes. Your eyes drift down a little and you think about what's hiding under his pants, rubbing your thighs together. And that's when you see them: your panties, just barely peeking out of his pocket.

Your mouth pops open, but you shut it quickly. That little shit. He stole your panties! And he has them with him!

You grab a pen and a scrap of paper and scribble out a note. Motivated by his boldness, you walk up behind him and then lean forward, slipping the note into his jacket. He looks up and realizes it's you, his heart stopping in his chest. Still, he plays it off for the press and keeps going.

However, the second he's able, he pulls out the note and reads it eagerly.

You thief. I see what you stole and I want them back! Call me before you leave.

He grins widely, kisses the note, and folds it up, adding it to the pocket where your panties are. His intention was only to keep them, but now his blood is pumping with the possibility of seeing you again. A thought hits him and he sits with it for a bit. By the time he gets home, he's determined to make it a reality. He picks up the phone and dials your number.

“Hello?”

“I'm not givin’ em back.” Your face breaks into a smile.

“You better!” He chuckles.

“Alright, you can have ‘em. BUT-” He pauses for effect and you just about die with anticipation. You hear him take a deep, steadying breath before he continues. “You have to come get them in Memphis.”

Your mouth drops in shock. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't that.

“In Memphis?”

“Yes. Come home with me.” His heart is in his throat as he waits for your response. He twists the phone cord around his finger and bites his lip. If only he could see your face. The suspense is killing him.

“Okay.” What else could you say?

“Okay?” He asks excitedly, standing up with the phone.

“Yes.” Your heart is racing, but there's nothing that important keeping you here. Not if he's asking you.

He does a silent fist pump and thanks God that you said yes.

“I'll come get you on my way to the airport. Pack to stay for a while. Like, forever.”

“Elvis…”

“Listen, baby. It took me a long time to find you. I'm not lettin’ you get away anytime soon. You gonna argue?” You think for a second about what you're agreeing to and then decide to take a leap of faith.

“Not at all.”

“Good. And baby?”

“Yeah?” He hesitates for a second, his nerves getting the better of him. Then, he just says it, unable to keep the words from tumbling out.

“I love you.” Your heart stops.

“I love you too, Elvis.”

******

The End

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy @angelriley222

[mishaapocalypsse]

I saw you were asking for requests so... Can you do a Dean/reader where the reader has a boyfriend, Dean has feelings but let's her be happy, then her bf uses her and leads her on. Dean comes to her aide makes her feel loved confesses his feelings fluffy and smutty?

|| ceilings and plaster ||

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Description: Dean knows you have a boyfriend, and yet finds himself wanting you more than ever. When he sees that your significant other is just using you and above all not being faithful, he takes it upon himself to take care of it.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and adult themes, language and sexual content. MINORS DNI.

You have been warned. Story continues underneath the line.

Play this song while you listen...and cry really hard...

ceilings, plaster

Your boyfriend, a man by the name of Thomas Devin Monroe, continued to hammer nails into the roof of your house as Dean, your best and closest friend helped him. You knew Dean Winchester to be a fairly hard working man, who definitely knew how to get the job done. So when your boyfriend Thomas needed help, you were so quick to call up Dean who knew a thing or two about construction and fixing things.

The only problem was--was that you could tell that Dean hated your boyfriend. Reasons that were unbeknownst to you entirely.

"Ah, fuck you man!" You heard Thomas holler as you raced outside to see what was the matter.

When you looked up you saw your boyfriend holding his thumb as Dean held the hammer and looked smug as ever.

"Hey...I told you not to put your hand there when I have the hammer and nails." Dean replied. Thomas grumbled a "fuck you" before climbing down the latter.

You calmly walked up to Thomas.

"Let me take a look at it-"

"No. You can tell your fucking asshole of a friend to leave. I already told you I didn't need help with the roof." He hissed brushing past you and into the house.

can't you just make it move faster

You looked up at Dean with your hands on your hips.

"Did you really have to go and do that?" You called up to him. Dean turned his head and craned his neck to look down at you.

"I warned him Y/N." He said. "I really did."

You shook your head with a smile, before you could hear your boyfriend calling you from inside the house.

"I think its best if you go Dean, we can pick this up more tomorrow." Dean sighed and nodded, packing up his toolbox and sliding down the ladder with finesse. He towered over you, with his usual look. His freckles were noticeably more prominent today, and besides smelling like his usual scent of blood, and smoked wood, he smelled much like whiskey and sandalwood. A scent that you favored a lot.

lovely to be sitting here with you

You were mid thought when Dean hugged you goodbye. It was initially quite amusing to see the large man having to bend down to catch you in a tight embrace.

"See you tomorrow Dean." You murmured.

"Mhm." He replied. "You too."

You're kinda cute but it's raining, harder.

A few weeks went by as Dean was on a hunt with his brother and hadn't been around lately, much like your boyfriend who was mostly not around now.

My shoes are now full of water

Thomas wasn't answering his phone when he was supposed to be picking you up from work. So instinctively you asked Dean for a ride. You were soaked head to toe while you shivered typing in Dean's number. The phone rang a couple times before he answered.

"Hey!" You beamed, your teeth chattering.

"Are you outside?" He asks outright. You answered with how you were just waiting on Thomas to come pick you up from work, and that it was just cold.

"Oh...do you need anything?" You were about to answer Dean when Thomas called.

"One second, Thomas is calling." So as you hung up the phone to answer.

"Hell-" You never got to finish your sentence when Thomas spoke.

"I think we should break up..." You froze, not really understanding at first.

"It's not working out, Y/N. I just can't be with someone like you..." He continued. "You should probably find someone else to come pick you up from work, because I am a little busy at the moment." Thomas said that last part as a half-moan and chuckle. Which was how you also came to the realization that he was currently cheating on you with someone else.

The rain poured on while you chose to hang up the phone on Thomas. Overwhelmed you sat down on the sidewalk, getting drenched to the bone. You cried hard into the wet sleeves of your coat. wiping rain water from your eyes, calling Dean back, the phone rang before going to voicemail.

You tried Sam's phone, answering on the first ring.

"What's up Y/N?" He asked, a little concerned by the tone of your voice.

"Is Dean there with you?" Sam hummed.

"No, actually, he said he was going somewhere, are you sure you're okay?" You lied and told Sam that you were okay before ending the call.

You sighed tossing your phone into your pocket and hiding your face into your hands while the rain continued to drench you. You needed a moment to take all of this in. The state of your relationship was in shambles, the weight of how overwhelmed you were hung heavy on your heart.

Before long, you heard the revving of an engine and the sound of the door shutting.

Lovely to be rained on with you

"Y/N..." You glanced up at the sound of your name. Dean's worried face came into view while you buried your face into his chest. Everything came onto you all at once.

But it's

So short and you're driving me home

Dean had gotten you comfortable in his car, driving you home. Your head leaned against the window looking out, as beads of rain water dripped from both the window outside and from you onto his seat and floor mats.

"I'm sorry, Dean... I'm ruining your seat." You cried.

He reached out to grip your thigh with his hand.

"I don't mind." He said softly. "I'm happy that you're safe." He added.

And I don't want to leave

But I have to go

You slip silently out of his car as he comes around to help you out. His warmth that emitted from him made you shiver again, looking up at him.

You kiss me in your car

His eyes eyed your lips before looking up into your eyes. You looked away before he leaned down, capturing your lips in his. You close your eyes, arms reaching to wrap around his neck as he pulled you up into his arms. You pull away...

"Dean..."

"Y/N..." He answered. "Was it too much?"

You shook your head and pulled him back in for more.

Bedsheets, no clothes

Touch me like nobody else does

Feeling Dean Winchester in between your legs was something you never even imagined, yet here he was, your best friend, making you unravel and cum onto his relentless, empowering thrusts. He had one hand on your headboard, gripping it like a vice, the other hand caging you in as he fucked you. Your nails dug into his scarred back while he hissed.

He then moved to kiss you once more, then to kissing your forehead. His hands intertwined with yours as you felt his cock twitch inside you. Dean looked spent as he tiredly thrusted more and more into you, moaning "I love you's" to you. Something you hadn't heard much lately.

"Dean..." You cried out again, reaching your climax. "Dean!" As you came, crashing down, feeling your arousal dripping lewdly. Dean was next to reach his own. You felt him give another thrust before releasing into you. Holding you tightly against him, he stared into your eyes as he did so, giving another soft kiss, another one after that, then another "I love you."

You felt hot tears come flooding before the two of you laughed as he hugged you tightly to him.

Lovely to just lay here with you...

"I've waited so long for you, Y/N...." You heard his mutter, his fingertips brushing your bare hip. Turning to nuzzle his neck with your nose, you pressed a kiss to his throat.

"Me too..."

[laswells-ashtray]

Soooo because I can't write this properly, so I'm entrusting you with this.

Nik hurt Price comfort.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

Nikolai knows he isn't a young man anymore.

He hears men in their twenties make internet references that go over his head, they all sound like gibberish but apparently, they're humorous to surrounding 20-something year old men.

There are specks of grey starting to appear when he lets his stubble grow out and one stubborn steel strand behind his left ear that he can't seem to hide when he tucks his hair back.

But the excruciating sharp pain that spreads throughout his knee more often than not when he gets out of bed in the morning is a slap in the face to the man he once was.

Realistically he'd always known that the work he does would catch up with him but something about taking that extra minute in the morning just so that he can move without his right knee going out from under him is humiliating.

It isn't just his age, old injuries have a way of making themselves known but it would seem that the older he gets, the longer the list of pains that ail him.

Nikolai is a grown man, he can admit that it awakens an insecurity inside of him that he thought buried. Is he still good enough for John? He had proven himself many years ago but he no longer has the same vitality and agility that he had so often taken for granted.

John is a man in his prime. When did he pass his?

There are many things that a man can ponder whilst waiting to regain the full use of his right knee and yet Nikolai always seems to fall back into that swirling pool of shame and self-doubt. He has yet to find a way out of the water without letting himself drown, choking back into awareness.

One hand rests on the edge of his nightstand, holding him steady as he keeps his weight on his left leg. It's a practised routine by now.

Curling his toes into the carpeted floor beneath him acts as a source of amusement, it is one of few actions that can offer him a distraction as he waits out the aching.

John's string of curses as he batters his pinky off of the doorway is as close to a greeting as he'll receive, he believes that the phrase Sergeant MacTavish would use to describe his partner's ordeal is Fucked It.

The captain somehow manages to overcome his anguish as he approaches Nikolai, stopping in front of him and offering his knee a look of contempt as if the joint had assaulted him personally.

When will it become an inconvenience to him? A flaw that he just can't see past.

"Still playing up?"

He offers John a reluctant nod, there's no use in denying the obvious.

"Why not sit down? It's clearly worse than usual and you're only doing yourself more harm standing, give it a bit of time as you sit down then try to walk around again later."

John's suggestion is deliberately gentle and by the look on his face, Nikolai knows that he's expecting a fight. Maybe he expects the pilot to blow up at him like he has before on one of his worst days, a memory that causes guilt to hack away at what little parts he has that remain undamaged.

Instead, he lowers himself onto the edge of their bed and pretends to miss John's obvious relief.

The other man is quick to park himself beside Nikolai only to fall back until he's sprawled on top of the duvet, fingers hooked on the edge of the mattress as he stares up at their ceiling.

"Back's fucked today. Was thinking of staying in for a bit but if neither of us are up to it then we could go for a lazy day. Bed and Bond, best way to go."

He glances down at his partner, catching the faint grimace on his face as he tries to shift his weight off of the lower left side of his back.

"Okay."

For both of their sakes, he can succumb to his desire for laziness in the name of pain relief.

"C'mere, lie down with me. Can get a catnap in if I've got a good-looking man in my bed and he'll let me use him as a pillow."

The sincerity in John's tone is almost sickening, as is the warm look as he lifts his head just to admire Nikolai. There's an undeniable honesty about the devotion that the other man dedicates to him, his very existence even in its worst state is something that John cherishes. It almost makes him feel bad for doubting them both.

So, he nudges John's shoulder and waits for the other man to settle back onto the side of the bed that he had abandoned only an hour ago before he makes the move to lie down. The pain in his knee is no longer torturous, throbbing lessened to a mere irritation.

The pilot feigns exasperation almost as well as the captain often hides it. "Flattery will gain you nothing."

In lieu of responding, John just plants his face on one of his tits and nuzzles into his chest hair.

[sunnydbeam]

I love Alpha and Beta so much, and I absolutely ship them! I'm sure they would look really cute together if Beta wasn't so scared of Alpha </3

I also wondered what Alpha would do if he had the chance to get close to Beta without fears

I have to say, honestly, I'm glad there are people who ship them too, because I have several sketches and drawings of these two that I may share at some point hehe

On the other hand, yes, Beta is afraid of him, and that's a problem. He's the only reason Alpha usually doubts himself, and he's the only one that Alpha really bothers to seem as friendly as possible with

That doesn't mean Beta is always running away from Alpha. He's often nervous in his company, but if he needs help with something, he'll most likely ask for it (after much thought), and Alpha will be happy to oblige! Any hint of trust is everything to him

Alpha wishes he could comfort Beta 《more often》 in his anxious moments without making him even more nervous. It depends mostly on how “cooperative” Beta is at the time. Alpha will usually approach slowly and feel him out; if Beta doesn't flinch from the first moment, he will decide to approach quietly, crouching down beside him and still keeping some distance

Some asked earlier what Alpha would do in this kind of situation when it comes to comforting someone, and this is his procedure across the board!

I can't draw at the moment, so have a lil fluffy drabble!

Word count: 1k+

CW: slight mentions of anxiety. This is a Gamma Code concept and may contain spoilers for the fic. This is also not checked, so may contain spelling/grammar errors. Hurt/Comfort. Mild angst. Fluff. SFW

__________

It’s like a switch flipping on. A little sound, fragile, like a muffled sob, catches his attention. His head snaps toward the source, body pivoting on his heels with the faint squeak of rubber soles. Instinct kicks in. He moves, silent, careful.

Alpha peers through the crack of the slightly open door, and what he sees makes something inside his mechanical body twist, like an internal static crackle, a sharp overheating in his chest. If he had a heart, it would lurch. But he hides it well.

His red eyes glow faintly in the dim light as they scan the room. No one else is here, just his little sweet Beta curled up on the floor in the corner of the near-empty white room, hugging his knees. The overhead lights are dim, but the muted glow catches on the edges of Beta’s purple rays, barely visible beneath his yellow hood.

Alpha doesn’t blink. He watches with cold, calculated stillness, only for his expression to quickly shift, softening into something both fond and quietly resigned.

Beta is overwhelmed again, burying his face in his knees, shaking like a leaf in the wind. His frame curls inward, fragile, trying to disappear. Scared.

Something inside Alpha fractures.

Every time he finds Beta like this, it shatters him. It makes him want to reach out, to cradle him close, press him to his chest, and hold him there until the tremors subside. Until the fear melts away. But it’s hard when, most of the time, he isn’t allowed to get close at all.

His metaphorical heart clenches painfully. Beta always pushes him away. The reasons are obvious. Alpha is painfully aware of every single one.

He steps forward, then hesitates. The serpentine mechanical arms on his back remain still—calm, unthreatening, and he moves carefully, testing the waters. Beta doesn’t flinch too much, only tilting his head slightly in acknowledgment.

It’s a good sign.

Alpha waits. Longing to approach but unwilling to impose. Beta makes no sound, doesn’t pull away. He sits there, unmoving, eyes downcast.

That has to be permission.

The red robot moves closer, and his large frame is silent. He lowers himself to the floor beside Beta, carefully, knees together in an almost formal posture, leaving just enough space between them. Not too close. He doesn’t want to overwhelm him.

The silence is heavy.

Alpha glances at Beta from the side, taking in the soft glow of his purple rays, mostly hidden beneath the folds of his hood.

Alpha parts his lips but hesitates. Then, quietly—

“What’s overwhelming you, Beta?” His voice is low and measured. “Can I help?”

Beta doesn’t answer. He shifts — just a little movement — turning his head slightly between his arms and knees. Just enough for Alpha to catch the glimmer of one visible blue eye.

Silence.

Beta trembles. Not much, but enough. A clear sign that Alpha’s presence unsettles him. But he doesn’t move away, and that’s good.

Then, softly, hesitantly — Beta speaks.

“It’s just… today’s tests were too much,” he whispers. “I don’t think I did well. And they got mad at me.”

Alpha’s fingers twitch. His voice drops, sharp.

“Did they hurt you?”

Beta flinches, and his shoulders jump slightly. Alpha’s tone had come out harsher than intended. He forces himself to suppress the rising tension in his system.

“N-no…”

The energy within Alpha stabilizes. His body cools.

“You can’t do anything wrong,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, soft, almost as if thinking aloud. “You’re perfect.”

Beta looks up, startled and confused. A deep, luminous purple blush blooms across his face before he hurriedly looks away, shoulders curling inward.

“Wh… Why would you think that? Sometimes I feel...” His voice stammers. “… useless.”

Beta finally meets Alpha’s gaze, and freezes.

Those red eyes. Watching. Wide. Bright.

A strange light flickers behind them. Something unreadable. Something Beta never quite understands.

“That’s not true,” Alpha says. “And you don’t have to serve them.”

Beta’s circuits buzz with uncertainty.

“… Isn’t that our purpose?” he whispers. "The reason we were created? To please them…?”

Alpha shifts closer. He leans in, reaching slowly, hesitantly, gloved fingers brushing the edge of Beta’s cheek.

“They don’t get to mold you,” he murmurs. “They don’t get to define you.”

His voice is calm and steady.

“What humans think doesn’t matter. You are you. Quiet, timid, sweet in a way only you can be.” A pause, a flicker of warmth, then he says tenderly. “And you’re cute and perfect just like that.”

Beta’s blue eyes widen. His hands twitch against his knees and he starts shaking.

“I wouldn’t change a thing.”

It’s ironic to him to say when, sometimes, he loathes himself so much.

I wish I could be like you, he thinks. A strange pressure coils in his chest plate. He ignores it.

Beta’s gaze lowers. He looks like he might cry. His lips part, trembling, but the words catch in his throat, faltering into incoherent murmurs.

It’s… adorable.

Alpha’s fingers twitch.

“… Can I hold you?”

Beta doesn’t answer right away. He hesitates, then —slowly, barely — nods.

Alpha doesn’t waste a second.

He moves carefully, pulling Beta into his arms, wrapping all four around him, pressing him close.

A tiny, glitchy sound escapes Beta’s vocal system. His hood slips down, and his rays coming out in surprise.

Alpha loves those vibrant rays.

“Shh… It’s okay,” he whispers, one hand stroking Beta’s back. “Everything’s okay.”

His grip tightens, just slightly.

It feels unreal. Holding him finally.

He never wants to let go.

“You’re okay. You’re strong. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Without thinking, he shifts, pulling Beta fully onto his lap. Beta stiffens, startled, but doesn’t resist. He stays still. Shy.

Alpha processes the moment, his system adjusting to the unexpected warmth in his circuits. It feels… right.

“Please,” he breathes, his voice softer now, “don’t be afraid of me anymore.”

His eyes slip shut. His face presses against Beta’s shoulder.

His fingers move, trailing over Beta’s rays, mapping their sharp edges with care, no fear, no hesitation—just gentle reverence. His touch is light. Loving. Worshipping. Adoring.

He's pleased when Beta relaxes slowly.

Alpha presses closer. The sensation of Beta against him is grounding, steadying. Alpha doesn’t care that his frame wasn't built for this. He wants to hold him. It’s comforting.

Alpha adores him too much. And it almost hurts.

Beta’s presence is all he has.

And it’s more than enough.

“…Please,” Alpha whispers, barely audible, “no more fear.”

_______________

[alkalineapparition]

Jaws

Simon Ghost Riley x Hybrid!Reader|Full Chapter

Part 12– Basking in the solace of regret

"RIPPER, NO!"

This is the moment that will stay with Simon for the rest of his life. Someday, when he's watching his mistakes play in frantic strokes of color on the canvas of his eyelids, this is what will haunt him most.

You, for all your ferocity, gift him one last look. Soft, apologetic. No intention of heeding his command. When he reaches for the handle on the back of your vest, you slip through his fingers like water. Gone.

Just. Like. That.

You'd both been pinned for a while now. The others were farther behind, providing rear security so you could retrieve what they came for. They hadn't known, couldn't see past the smoke clouding your positions. And he hadn't had the time to tell them, between returning fire and holding position, before a close call shot his comms to shit. He hadn't had the time...

He should have made the time.

And now there would never be more time. The clock had stuck twelve, the hour glass run out of sand.

Because you had decided your life mattered less than his. Mattered less than the mission. Goddammit.

He no can no longer see you, he's lost sight and all he can think is how he'd rather become dust and smoke himself than come home without you.

Leaning back against the small outcrop of rocks you'd been taking cover behind, his eyes close. Then, he does something he hasn't done since he was a child.

He prays.

He prays to the bastard that's never bothered giving an answer before. Teeth gritting down to the nub, he wills the asshole to hear him.

Bring her back to me.

In this moment, Ghost hates himself. He's never been more useless—he can't just charge in after you, the lack of vision would make it suicide. Perhaps you'd been able to see what he couldn't. But then why did you go alone, if not to save him from whatever it is you saw? If he got up and charged after you now, would he find you grinning in triumph, or be faced with a wall of enemy soldiers riddling his body with bullets?

Some fucking leuitenant, huh?

As if he could summon you by mere thought, his mind drifts, one final goodbye.

—

You stand before him, head cocked, mouth curled in mischief. His skullplate sits on the desk after having gone missing for a few days (during which you swear you haven't seen it, of course not Lt!), now doodled with little pink ghosts. "Y' little shit." His hand snaps foward to snatch your collar, but you duck, snickering as you make for the door. [It washes off Lt! No, please! Uncle, uncle!]

—

[Ghost.]

"Hm?"

[Why do you wear the mask?]

He looks up, watching your face as you gnaw your lip. His tug up in a smirk. "To hide my face."

[Are you ugly?] The bluntness of your question almost makes him laugh. [It's alright if you are.] Sweet girl.

"Quite the opposite, love."

Something in his stomach flips at the sight of your face going red.

[Oh.]

He can't resist. "No' as pretty as yours, mind you."

You sputter as expected, and he does laugh.

[What do you look like?]

He pretends to think it over.

"Got a tattoo of the queens arse on m' left cheek," he says solemnly.

You choke, eyeing him and his inked arms speculatively before deciding he's full of shit.

He lets you believe what you will.

—

The dove-grey light of Sunday mornings filters through the blinds. Your eyes are filled with tears, body trembling with the force of your sobs. Simon wraps his arms around you, cheek pressed to your hair.

[I don't even have a name. I am nothing, it's like I don't exist.] He closes his eyes, searching for the words that will soothe this ache.

"Your name's Ripper. Ya ain't nothin', either. You're our best girl." It's the best he can do, offer placations, even if they are true. He hates that he can't do more.

[That's a not a name, Ghost, it's a callsign! I don't... I don't even know what my mother named me.] You're still for a few moments. [I... don't know if I have a mother.]  Simon rattles his brain for a way to make this right, something that can be a salve to your pain.

"How about... I give ya a real name? Somethin' other than what that bloody scot came up with." He doesn't think this will be enough, it's a stupid idea–

[What... would you name me?] Your eyes are on him, curiosity shining through the tears. Seems it was enough to distract you, for now atleast.

Humming, he contemplates. "I'll find somethin' that fits. Wait for inspiration an' all that."

[How will you know it's right?]

"I'll know, Rips. Promise."

—

Simon never did pick out that name.

He wonders what they'll put on your headstone.

[buck-up-buttercup]

Head-canons on how the Love & Deepspace men comfort a sad MC. I hope this helps anyone in moments of sadness, anxiety, or doubt.

Intro:

It's been a harrowing week. You're overworked, tired, and not taking proper care of yourself. Needless to say, your mental and physical health are lacking. Because of this, you continue to make small mistakes. You're embarrassed, frustrated, and so very tired. Jenna demands you take the next three days off to recuperate yourself. While this is supposed to be a relief, you can't help but feel the shame bubbling up inside of you, on the cusp of boiling over. "Rest well and don't forget to eat! Please call me if you need anything." Tara gives you a reassuring hug before seeing you out. Feeling at a loss, you are in desperate need of comfort. Taking care of yourself even feels like too much on your plate right now. Because of this, you dial the person you know who would do absolutely anything for you in a heartbeat...

Xavier

"Hey." Just hearing his voice answer the phone makes your heart swell and your eyes brim with tears. "...Hello? Y/N, are you there?" "Y-Yeah, sorry..." The moment he hears the tremble in your voice as you attempt to answer, his response is swift and his voice is laced with concern. "Where are you?" Your voice is quiet, "I'm sitting on a bench a few blocks from the association." "I'm on my way, sit tight."

You assume it's due to his ability to teleport that he's able to get to you so quickly. You keep your head down, trying to look as though you're distracted on your phone to hide the fact you have tears pooling in your eyes that you're barely managing to keep from spilling over. You notice Xavier once he kneels before you and immediately encircles you in his arms. He presses your face against the crook of his neck. "Let's go home, okay?" "Please."

Xavier brings you to your apartment. He makes sure you're seated on the couch before asking if you need something. "Just... sit with me..." He doesn't hesitate and immediately pulls you into his arms. He doesn't ask you any other questions. He knows you'll talk about what's upset you if you want to and that for the moment, you just wanted to be held by him. He'd stroke your hair soothingly. You couldn't hold the tears back anymore.

Xavier would hold you for as long as you wanted. Thinking about why you were in this state choked you up, but you wanted to finally open up about your feelings. "Xavier, how do you do it? How are you so good at everything you do? You make it look effortless, too. The only time I've ever seen you struggle is when you tried to beat that claw machine you were so suspicious of that one time." You giggle through the tears as you recount that memory, but Xavier knew you were being serious. "Hmph... I'm flattered you think so highly of me, but I've lived long enough to see my fair share of struggles and mistakes." You sit up to meet his eyes. "What do you do when you're overwhelmed from all your struggles and mistakes?" He pushes your hair out of your face. "Sleep." You couldn't help but to laugh and he smiles softly at that. "Yeah, I am lacking in that department lately." Xavier would take that as his cue to lift you bridal style and carry you to your bed. He'd pull out comfier clothes for you to change into while he went to fetch a glass of water for you.

Once settled in bed, you'd both snuggle up together. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out for all of this," You'd mumble into his chest. "Definitely. Just because you're human doesn't mean you aren't one of the most capable hunters I know." You sigh. "Besides, not just any hunter is worthy of being my partner." He'd huff a small laugh and kiss you on the forehead. You'd laugh softly and hug him tighter. "Get some rest. I'll always be here for you."

Zayne

"Hello?" As guilty as you feel for calling someone as important and busy as Zayne, you are so grateful he picked up the phone to answer you. "Hey! Um, you're not busy, are you?" You couldn't hide the shrillness of your voice from the overwhelming emotions you were experiencing. You could tell Zayne caught onto this. "For the moment, no. What do you need?" You struggled to come up with a straightforward answer. "Well, I just... I..." He waits patiently for you to gather your words. "I guess I just am having a bad day and wanted someone to talk to." Your eyes well up as you try to get the words out. "I hate to bother you, you were just the first person I thought of to call." The anxiety in your chest hurt and you wondered if your voice sounded as shake-y as you felt. "You're never a bother, Y/N." Zayne's voice was gentle and soft. You feel like you can breathe again for a moment, though the tears start to fall as you relax at his words. You sniffle, "I feel like that's all I've been lately." "Y/N, where are you?" "I'm hiding in that cafe a few blocks from the association." You offer a weak laugh to try to play it off like a joke. "I'm on my way."

You're antsy until he arrives. He approaches your table in the corner of the cafe. You are thankful he has a calming air about him, his demeanor never fails to help anchor your emotions. "Do you want something to drink or eat?" He offers. You shake your head, "no, thanks." He observes your face for a moment and then nods. You watch as he goes to order something at the counter. You mull over what to even talk to him about as you wait. So much was on your mind and you wanted to avoid crying in public. He returns with a scone and coffee for himself along with your go-to order. "Just in case," he says before you can object. "You seem like you need a pick-me-up." You nod and meekly respond, "thank you."

You enjoy the food and beverage he got you as you sit in silence for a few moments. You're not decided on how to break the ice and truly just enjoy his company in this moment. As you seem to be lost in thought, Zayne nudges your foot with his under the table. You meet his gaze and he holds out his palm. "Do you remember when we were kids, you got upset the neighborhood kids wouldn't let you play with them? You tried really hard to hide being upset and went to play by yourself." You recall the memory. "I made you this to try to cheer you up." a small snow cat appears in his hand made by his Evol. You smile sadly and take the snow cat from him to admire. "You've always been good at making people feel better. It's what makes you a good doctor." His gaze is soft as a small smile graces his face. "I wish I could be half as good at my job as you are at yours." His brows furrow. "Is this what's caused you to feel this way? A bad day at work?" You nod and look away. "Not just one, unfortunately. I feel like I can't do anything right." Zayne takes the snow cat out of your hand and places it on the table. He softly grasps your hands in his. "We all have bad days, even I do. You shouldn't beat yourself up over it." You nod, squeezing his hands. "Easier said than done." "I know. It's because you care and caring is what makes you good at your job. You're a passionate person. You always strive to do your best." You groan slightly, "if this is my best, then I'm screwed." Zayne shakes his head, "sometimes our best is getting a full night's sleep. Sometimes it's eating a meal. How can you improve if you don't prioritize your own health?" Your eyes start to water, "I am so tired, Zayne." "Go home, clean yourself up, and change into something comfortable. I'll come over after work... Doctor's orders." You smile with relief knowing he cared so much for your wellbeing. "Sure thing, doctor."

That evening, he brought you dinner, watched TV shows with you, and did everything to ensure you were comfortable. Having someone prioritize you like Zayne did made you realize just how much weight was on your shoulders before being lifted by him. "Next time you start to feel overwhelmed, tell me. I am always here to help you."

Rafayel

"What's up, cutie?" You can't hold back the sob as you hear his voice. "Whoa, Y/N, what's the matter?" "Rafayel, I need you to come pick me up." "Tell me where you are, I'll be right there." Your voice is weak and hushed as you try to regain control of your emotions. "Ah... I'm hiding in the lobby bathroom at the association. Just tell me when you get here, I'll come meet you outside." "I'm coming."

It isn't long before you get a text that he's here. You clean yourself up and walk out of the association. Rafayel is waiting right outside the front doors. The moment he sees you, you can see the look of worry on his face. He gives you a brief hug, kissing the top of your head before he leads you to his car, opening the door for you. You feel somewhat uncomfortable, probably due to your embarrassment at struggling not to cry. He sees this and gives you a knowing look, reaching for your hand and holding it the whole ride to his place.

Once at his home, he sweeps you up in a full body hug, picking you up by the underside of your thighs. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He carries you to his bedroom, laying you down and showering you in kisses. "Wanna talk about it?" You sigh, looking up at Rafayel as he hovers above you. He strokes comfortingly along your hips. "I might cry if I do." "Nothing wrong with crying." You hum. "Sometimes..." you hold your breath as you try to keep in a sob. Rafayel crawls onto the bed, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. "You need to let it out, cutie. You might be my bodyguard, but you don't have to hide from me in order to act tough." A dejected laugh escapes you and you meet his eyes with yours, fat tears finally spilling over and falling down your cheeks. "Sometimes I feel like all I'm good for is making messes for the association and making a fool of myself." "That's not true. Our mistakes don't define us. Besides, some of the most beautiful things are made out of the biggest messes. Don't overlook your good qualities and all the wonderful things you do just because you can't see past that mess." You can't keep a small whimper from escaping you as you hug his neck and cry into his shirt. He rubs your back and holds you tight. After a few moments, you try to lighten the mood. "You're pretty wise and poetic. Maybe you should be the next Bob Ross." You giggle and poke his side. "Pfft. As if. No one can replace Bob Ross." You laugh.

Rafayel would make sure you're well fed and run a bath for you. The bath makes you realize just how tired you are. Rafayel wouldn't leave your side, making sure you're tucked into his bed and feeling as loved and pampered as possible. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever met. Don't belittle yourself anymore, okay, cutie? I won't allow it."

Sylus

"Hey, sweetie." You can't help but to sigh in relief that Sylus is available and awake to answer your call. "Sylus, can I come over?" "You know you don't have to ask. You sound upset. What's the matter?" "Ah, I'll tell you later. Are you gonna be at the base? I don't... want to be alone right now..." Sylus sighs before speaking with a voice that seems almost too soft for the leader of Onichynus to be capable of using, "sweetie, do you need me to come get you? Are you okay?" The tears begin falling, overwhelmed by just how sweet he's being and how badly you needed his comfort. "I don't know..." You hate how helpless you sound but you're so exhausted and so desperate for Sylus, you can't hide it. "Okay. I'll be there in 10. Don't stray far." You sit at the top of a parking deck not far from the association while you wait on Sylus. He seems to always keep tabs on your location and never follow speed limits, fulfilling his promise of arriving at your location in a mere 10 minutes on his motorcycle. You're pulled from your sitting position right into his arms with the use of his Evol. You cling to him of your own volition, comforted by his arms wrapping around you. His helmet is off and he kisses the top of your head. "Sylus..." You mumble his name into his chest. "It's alright, kitten. I've got you." You whimper as the sobs begin to wrack your body.

Once your crying begins to cease, Sylus puts a helmet on your head as well as one on himself before driving you back to his base in the N109 Zone. You're thankful that you don't see the twins in your current state, either their absence being due to a coincidence or Sylus having them give the two of you space. Sylus carries you into his bedroom, not letting you go for even a moment. He doesn't press you for an explanation and you're grateful since you still aren't sure how to put your feelings into words. He helps you strip out of your uniform and into one of your more comfortable outfits he keeps for you at his place.

Now feeling more at peace and comfortable, you reflect on your feelings with some clarity. "Jenna gave me three days off because I've been overworking myself." Sylus listens intently, his eyes soft as they read your expressions. "What's frustrating is that I don't even have very hard assignments with my job right now. I get behind on sleep and I lose time in the day for a meal because I keep making mistakes on small tasks which then fill up all my time trying to fix or redo, and... ugh. I just can't get a grip on anything and I'm overwhelmed and I'm tired, but I feel so stupid..." Your eyes begin to water again. "You're not stupid for struggling, sweetie. Jenna did the right thing giving you time off to take care of yourself. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself." Sylus pats his thigh for you to come sit on his lap on the couch. You oblige, though you feel shy under his scrutinizing yet loving gaze. He tucks your hair behind your ear. "What starts as a small problem avalanches into multiple problems so quickly. I just feel embarrassed and like I shouldn't even make such small mistakes in the first place... It's become so much on my plate, I don't even know where to start." "Mm..." He appears thoughtful as he analyzes your words. "You need to start with prioritizing your own needs. You can't expect to be on top of everything when you haven't had the proper food or sleep." You nod your head. "I haven't had an appetite or a good night's sleep in maybe a week or so. Most of the time, I'm just getting a few hours and running on caffeine and a few snacks throughout the day." Sylus clicks his tongue. "Next time this happens, kitten, you need to use your resources better. Anything you could possibly need, I can help provide." "I know, I just am not used to asking others for help. It's not that I don't want it, I just forget it's there." "Well, that can't be a plausible excuse anymore." Sylus carries you to the kitchen and sits you on the counter. He throws together something filling yet quick and easy. You thank him for it before eating it.

After eating, he takes you to the bathroom to wash up. You brush your teeth while he changes clothes. Once you've washed up, he sweeps you up to carry you to bed over his shoulder. You laugh and he's happy the notion was able to illicit some humor out of you. Once in bed, he kisses you from your shoulder to your jaw. "Use me whenever you need, sweetie. Everything I have is yours."

Caleb

"Heya, pipsqueak. What ya up to?" His voice was something that could always help ground you when you felt overwhelmed. "Oh. Uhm, well... I'm headed home early. Wanted to see if you were able to talk for a little?" "Hmm? What's the matter? I can tell something's wrong." Ah, Caleb... Always able to see through you, even over a phone call. Though a part of you wasn't sure what to tell him, you knew you wouldn't have called him if you weren't seeking his comfort. "Well, I have been having a rough time at work lately, so they gave me the next few days off. Honestly, it's... embarrassing." Your throat burns as you realize how ashamed you are to tell someone as smart and capable as Caleb that you've been told to take days off for not doing your job well. "Hey, it's okay. Wanna come stay with me these next few days? Give you a chance to take your mind off of things in Linkon?" Your tears fall as you smile at his offer, knowing that was exactly what you were hoping for. "Yes, that sounds great."

You didn't even pack your bags, you felt so tightly wound and desperate to see Caleb, you immediately made your way to Skyhaven to see him. You use the code Caleb gave you to his place to unlock the door. Once inside, you smelt popcorn and followed the smell to the kitchen. There, you found Caleb putting together a tray of your favorite snacks. "Hey, pipsqueak. I thought you might like to watch some of our favorite movies together? Help wind down some." You paused for a moment, letting his words and actions sink in. You were so grateful for someone who knew you and cared for you as much as Caleb did. Overwhelmed by how touched you felt, the tears started streaming again. Caleb immediately frowned and reached for you. You met him halfway and you both embraced each other in a hug. "That rough, huh?" Caleb asks. "I just feel like such an idiot." Caleb cupped your face and made you look at him. "Don't say that, Y/N. It's not true." "But it's how I feel. I can't help how I feel." He wipes your tears with his thumbs before bringing you in closer for another hug. "Then let me help you feel what's really true." He kissed your head and backed you towards the couch before sitting you between his legs and pulling you against his chest. "Y/N, you're amazing. You're bright, stubborn, funny, kind... beautiful. You should never think any less of yourself." You nuzzled your face into his neck and let out a shake-y breath. Your voice was small, "...thank you, Caleb. I'm just overwhelmed. I'm not my best self right now." He pet your head. "It's okay not to be okay, pipsqueak. It doesn't make you any less amazing. Just take it one step at a time. I'll be with you every step of the way, too." You tearfully smiled and nodded. He kissed you so gently, so lovingly. You were finally starting to feel grateful for the three days you received. You wanted as much time with Caleb as possible.

[cicerfics]

So, I have been vaguely noodling around with an idea that's, like...

OK, first of all: I choose to headcanon that the SIS has a K9 unit, because why wouldn't they! They have dogs that are trained to sniff out bombs and do all kinds of other things! And I don't know if realistically these dogs and their handlers would be kept anywhere near MI6 HQ...but make-believe land can have anything I want, so they are there now!!

And I always choose to headcanon that Q was a Weird Neurodivergent Kid Who Spent All His Time With Animals Instead of People and had like ten million pets of all different species. But mainly he had cats and dogs, and he's as comfortable with dogs as he is with cats.

And he gave up having dogs when he moved to London full time and got very busy with grad school and MI6, but he still loves dogs very much. So he visits the K9 unit regularly and makes friends with one of the handlers and helps her with training and exercising the dogs. It's like free therapy for Q! It helps him decompress after a bad day! He is soothed by working with these creatures for an hour or two!

And I've been thinking about how maybe one or two of these dogs have been retired from active service but still hang out with the others. Their handlers take the retired dogs home with them at night, and bring them into work in the morning, and the retired dogs get to exercise with the others and stay busy and feel useful! They are also helpful for socializing the newly trained puppies and keeping them in order!

Aaaaand maybe the handler of one of these old dogs has to move away to take care of her sick mother, or something. And she can't take the dog with her. And she's very upset because she doesn't know who will look after this dog now!

And Q is like ☝️🤓 💡

Because, as it happens, there is another old dog lurking around HQ these days who is about to be retired from active service but needs to stay busy and feel useful!

And so Q simply leashes up the dog and hands him to Bond.

Congrats, Bond! You have your very own retired-from-service dog now! He is scarred and grumpy and suspicious of everyone and he has a bad hip! You two are gonna get along GREAT. Also, he needs to go for walkies every morning, and he needs to go swimming every afternoon, and you are going to have to spend two hours a day working with him in the training room or he will fall into a deep depression. And also, he needs a special expensive kidney-health diet and distilled water and regular brushings and nail trimmings. I will teach you all his commands and walk you through his daily routine for the first few weeks until you get used to each other! You two are going to have so much fun together! 🤩

Bond does not want this dog. The dog does not want Bond. But Q is determined, and now Bond is walking this dog around Hyde Park (or the dog is walking HIM) and they're both eyeing each other like...it's rotten work. Especially to me, especially if it's you. I'll do it, but Jesus Christ.

But both Bond and the dog have a strong sense of Duty which carries them through until they can properly get used to each other, and they do become very fond of each other in time!

(Also, I just have a nebulous Thought in my head of Q teaching Bond the dog's routines and commands and giving the dog treats and headrubs, and Bond getting jealous and needing Q to also give HIM treats and headrubs for participating in the Training Routine with the dog. After each training sesh, Q has to have them both sit politely while he feeds them treats and rubs them down and tells them they are Good Boys.

@halfbaked00q, maybe you have more thoughts on this, idk!!)

[bamboozledbird]

oᥒᥴᥱ ι'm ყoᥙrs ι'm ᥲᥣᥕᥲყs ყoᥙrs //stiles stilinski imagine characters: stiles stilinski, fem!reader, mentioned malia tate pairing(s): stiles x you word count: 4k tags: exes to ???, hurt some comfort, set in s5 warnings: some light emotional cheating, i think that's it, sad boy hours, *pats stiles’s head* this boy can fit so much trauma in here

a/n: long time no see. i've missed you my babies, and thank you so much for all the love while i was gone. i'm back with my usual overdose of angst and em dashes. i can't help it; i have a sickness. also, the timing of when stiles and malia got together is a little fudged, so they probably started dating in 4b.

It’s an icy slice of fear that wakes you up. A white flash of ‘fight or flight’ behind your sleep-sticky lids. A rattling that doesn’t belong to the pitter-patter of sleet or the whiplash of wind against your bedroom window. You sit up on your forearm, peek out from behind your fleece blanket, and pray until you’re nauseous that there isn’t a pair of glowing eyes waiting for you on the other side of the glass. 

The sleet leaves angry rivulets in the dirt-smudged panes. Sad little lines of streaming water, flooding in time with the choppy squall—you can’t help but think it looks like weeping.

A soft sigh falls from your mouth and stirs the stilted air in the room: No skulking eyes…but a foreboding sense of unease still looms above your head like the plumes of steely clouds outside your window. They swallow every trace of starlight and shift every so often in your peripheral vision, almost like they’re alive.  

The rattling sounds again, soft but deafening in the darkness. It’s a familiar sound, someone scrambling on the loose tiling of your roof, but a forgotten one. It's strange, sweet-sharp, and out of place in your current reality.

A noise that shouldn’t exist outside of a memory. 

Stiles spills into your room and lands on his knees, dripping water onto the hardwood floor. His hair is plastered to his forehead from the storm outside, and the dark clouds are a mocking reflection of the look on his face. 

The moon has eclipsed all the sunlight in his eyes, and it feels so, so cold.

For a moment, you think you’re dreaming, or maybe you’re still stuck in that luminescent oil slick spill between sleep and consciousness. Stiles looks like something from a dream—from a nightmare. He’s a boy, but he isn’t. He’s there, but he isn’t. He’s lost to something you can’t see, swept up in the storm and turned into something else.

The glow of your phone illuminates the pinch of your brow, the squint of your bleary eyes. 3:27 am. Stiles used to sneak in through your window a couple times a week, even during the day, just to avoid the parental inquisition. He still does sometimes, rarely, only when Beacon Hills is on the verge of collapsing—and it always seems to be 3 in the morning. 

He only ever needs you at 3 in the morning now. 

It makes you feel a little sick, the reminder that the only string tying you together now is barbed wire.  

You sit up in your bed and wait for Stiles to say something—to move—but he doesn’t. He just sits there, soaked to the bone on his knees, and stares at something beyond the shifting shadows on your bedroom walls. 

“Stiles?” 

Stiles doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even make a sound. 

You crawl out of your bed and sit down on the floor next to him, draping a woven blanket over his shoulders. It almost matches his flannel, blue and checkered. It’s a little thing that would’ve made you smile before, mostly because Stiles would get this warm look in his eyes when you did: so fond it felt like worship. 

It’s fall. The air smells like apples and earth. You watch the shadows of little fish swim in jagged circles through murky lake water. Stiles is a warm presence against your side. 

He buries his nose in your hair and hums, “You like the pieces.”

A fish breaks from the group and bubbles near the surface. Its silver scales gleam in the setting sun: a piece of a fractured landscape, a detail that steals all the color in your peripheral vision. 

You watch the fish swirl for a moment, almost like it’s dancing, and then shrug with a little grin. “I guess.”

You feel Stiles smile against your temple.

“Me too.”

Now, the only color your retinas can detect is black. 

Stiles’s pupils swallow his face, and they stick to everything like tar. Seep into the room and stain the moonlight until the blue haze over his skin looks more sickly than luminous. He looks alarmingly corpse-like, so still on your floor, slimy from the storm keening outside—hollowed out from the storm rotting inside. 

You sigh after a moment; a soft little sound to break the surface of strained silence coating the room. “Come on.”

It doesn’t take much prodding. Stiles bends to your guiding hands mindlessly and sits down on the edge of your bed without so much as a grunt. Pliant and robotic in the same breath. Ever the paradox, your boy is.

Though. 

He’s not, really. Yours, that is. 

Not anymore. 

Not for a long time. 

“Everything’s so fucked up.” 

Stiles is quiet, but his whisper still startles you. His voice is raw—and maybe, you’d really convinced yourself that he was dead. It feels like he is sometimes. At least, a version of him. Stiles, in the mole-speckled flesh, he’s a ghost of the boy you knew, a killer of the figment boy you never lost. A paradox. So difficult to read. Impossible to hold on to. 

Stiles doesn’t notice that you’ve gone silent, but he doesn’t really seem to notice anything beyond the wet film over his eyes. 

“I don’t…I don’t see a way out this time. I don’t know…” he scrubs a hand over his face and looks infinitely older than eighteen, “I don’t think I can fix it—any of it.”

You’re reminded, briefly, of the night he broke up with you. When you looked up, saw the look on his face, and you knew. You have the same sick feeling in your stomach now, and you want to crawl inside yourself until the flip-flopping of your intestines stops—to wring them into little knots until there’s nothing left. 

Stiles looks like he feels about the same, so small on your bed for such a lanky man. 

“What?” You pull your knees to your chest and hold onto your shins so that you don’t reach for him. “The Nemeton? We’ll find it again…eventually, and—”

“No,” Stiles grits his teeth and closes his eyes, “I mean, yes, but it’s…everything. Everything’s falling apart.” 

“Not everything. You’ve always got—”

“Not anymore.” Stiles gets that dead-inside look behind his eyes again, and your stomach turns. “You and me…and Scott—”

Your sheets whisper against your legs as you shift towards him. “Scott?”

You’ve seen Stiles wear pretty much every expression under the sun—backlit by shitty diner lights, laughing; tangled up in white sheets, panting; drenched in sweat, sobbing—but god. The way Stiles looks now, like his soul has been bleached from his bones, drained from his eyes with a power drill, it’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen. Worse than the Nogistune, because it’s Stiles. Whatever this skeleton on strings is, it’s him.  

“I fucked up.” Stiles whispers so softly you can barely hear him over the cracks in his voice, “I fucked up so bad.”

It takes you a second to realize that he’s talking about Scott. Dumb, considering you asked, but you’ve imagined him saying that to you so many times it almost feels like a memory—like he’s talking about you. 

You clear your throat and pull at a loose string on your blanket until it snaps. “He’ll get over it. He always does.”

Stiles just shakes his head, keeps his eyes trained on his muddy sneakers. “Not this time.”

Your fingers twitch with the impulse to grab his hand. “What happened, Stiles?”

“I…” Stiles rubs his hand over his mouth, trying to wipe away the taste of his thoughts. He swallows and then stands, tugging a little on his wet hair until it sticks up in random tufts—it would be cute under any other circumstances, if Stiles didn’t have a disturbingly manic look in his eyes and a desperate tumble of words flooding from his split lip. “The ends justify the means was just a thought experiment, right? Machiavelli was an academic, not a soldier—you know what kind of people actually practice Machiavellianism? Stalin, Mao—Peter ‘fuckin’ killed my own niece’ Hale.”

Your brow scrunches as you try to find the invisible path connecting all his seemingly disjointed thoughts. “Stiles—”

“And I know I rag on Scott all the time for being too soft,” Stiles sneakers squeak against the floor as he continues pacing, without a breath or so much as a glance in your direction. He might as well be pontificating to the darkness. “I mean, fuck, how many times have I said it’d be easier if we just killed the psycho? A dozen? Definitely enough for one of those stupid fuckin’ ‘take a shot’ memes.”

Stiles stops abruptly mid-step and finally looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time tonight. His Bambi eyes look so big right now, completely open and boundless on his sweet face, like the child he hasn’t been since sophomore year. “I didn’t…I don’t really mean it, you know. I don’t actually want...” 

His voice is so small it breaks your heart.  

“I know,” you say softly, coaxing him to stay here with you, in the moment.

Stiles blinks at you slowly and hangs his gaze on your face like it’s the moon. “I know it would kill him…feeling like this.” He spits it out like ‘this’ is something vile, poison on his tongue.  

Your stomach sinks, and a prickling sensation of hot-cold settles through your sinew. You lick your drying lower lip and methodically rub your clammy palms up and down your thighs. “Feeling like what?”

Stiles’s momentary dip into the present fades with the next blink of his clumped lashes. 

He starts pacing again, bending and flexing his fingers with twitching gestures that clarify little and worry you greatly. “I get it, totally support it as a concept. I mean, the greater good outweighs a scumbag or two—conceptually, because how do you really define scumbag? And that’s if you use a qualifier; real consequentialists think it’s totally fine to kill whoever the fuck you want as long as it’s in the name of a good outcome.” 

You blink a few times and drag your tongue over your teeth, “Right…killing innocent people: bad. That’s the general consensus.”

Stiles’s eyes dart back to your face. “What if they aren’t?”

“Aren’t what?” 

Maybe, if it weren’t almost four in the morning, you’d be able to follow his tangential breakdown. Maybe, if you hadn’t become dependent on his quiet sleep-babbling to fall asleep at night, if he hadn’t become the only thing capable of bleaching the nightmares from your eyelids, your temples wouldn’t be throbbing so violently. But it is almost 4 am, and you haven’t fallen asleep next to Stiles in over a year—no matter how right he looks when he sits down next to you on your bed.

Stiles’s throat bobs with his swallow before he says, “What if they aren’t innocent?”

“Stiles,” you grab one of his hands and search his face, scan every solemn line and curve for some semblance of meaning, “what’s going on?”

Stiles chews on his bottom lip and lets out a ragged breath, going stiff—bracing himself for the fallout. His voice is thick with fear when he finally whispers, “What if someone was going to hurt someone you cared about?”

You let out a heavy sigh and study his expression, eyes flickering across the unrelenting question written in his pinched forehead and glassy eyes. “Do the ends justify the means?” 

Stiles nods and bites down on his jagged thumbnail, “Yeah.”

You hold Stiles’s gaze so that he can see your eyes, so earnest they almost look pained, and nod, slow and definitive. “Yeah.”

It takes a second, but when his body catches up with his brain, Stiles collapses in on himself. Turns into a ragdoll of relief and wet clothes, and drops his head into his shaking hands. 

“F-fuck,” Stiles exhales and wipes his face dry with cruel scrubs of his hands. “Sorry—I just…” he digs his thumbs into his temples and trembles, “I’m losing my fucking mind, and I didn’t know where else to go.” He glances up from his hands, looks so devastatingly lovely as he peers up at you through his wet lashes it hurts, and murmurs, “There wasn’t anywhere else…anyone else. Nobody…” 

Stiles shakes his head slightly and clears his throat, but his words are still syrupy with so much meaning when he says, “I don’t really feel like I’m…me anywhere else.” He pauses again, and you forget how to breathe when his gaze refocuses on your eyes. His tongue flicks over his split lip, and then he whispers, “I’m not me unless I’m with you.”

This boy. This boy. He can wreck you without even trying. 

You have to reorient yourself before you get stuck on the drizzle of honey in Stiles’s eyes. They’ve always been so…alive. There’s an entire ecosystem in his irises, savanna grass swaying under the glow of sunset. A blackhole in his pupils, bending and distorting your every thought to Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.  Stop. Breathe. Count your fingers. 

Your arms are around your shins, the air is cold, and Stiles has someone who isn't you.

You still wake up with the taste of him sticking to your teeth, sweet honey and sharp cloves, but it’s never enough. Lately, it lingers like a cavity.  

You spent so long thinking you weren’t supposed to be friends, and you weren’t. You were supposed to be together—now you don’t know what you’re supposed to be. How can you belong to a memory?

What does Stiles think when he looks at you now? Does a thought even come? 

Does he ache for who you were that Friday at the lake? Does he still love that girl in his arms–orange and warm under the setting sun, blissfully unaware of the end? 

Oh, he does. Stiles aches for you, thinks of you, constantly. He meant what he said; he only feels solid when it's just you, him, and the shiny little bubble that keeps out the rest of the world. He doesn’t feel…real when he’s around other people, pretending like everything’s fine. Like he hasn’t lost every shiny piece of the life he had before his mind was stolen. 

That’s how it is for Stiles now; there’s before, and then there’s after. He can feel the schism widening with every single fucked up thing he does. Lately, it feels like that’s the only thing he does: completely and catastrophically fuck up. 

The thing is, when they finally got him—it—out, Stiles thought that would be it. Happily ever after. Evil expunged. Demon defeated. End-stop. No page turn. Cheers to the Nemeton. Stiles learned, very quickly, that you can’t purge darkness. It always leaves a mark. 

The days after…everything, Stiles discovered that rotting was a real human emotion. He still can’t believe people don’t smell it on him. The remnants of Stiles haven’t stopped putrefying in the Nogistune’s absence, and he just knows, somehow, that something this malignantly alive is contagious. He didn’t want to ruin you—doesn’t, Stiles corrects himself before he can finish the thought—doesn’t want to contaminate something so good with something so sick. 

Or maybe…maybe it was because Stiles knew that you’d see it. You’d see it, and you’d leave. 

The only clean thing he has is memories. He can’t stain the past. The figment girl in his mind can’t hurt. Can’t die. Can’t run. Stiles keeps you there—or, at least, some version of you, a you he can keep underneath the shelter of his ribcage, where you can watch the sunset turn fish scales into topaz in his maroon jacket, happy, forever.

Stiles can’t really remember the last time he saw you, the real version of you, happy. You must have laughed without him at some point, but he can’t think of anything other than when you were with him. Well, that, and the end. Stiles remembers the end with painful clarity. 

You were at a lake. The lake. Somehow, it only occurs to Stiles now how shitty that must’ve been for you. Anyway, you just sat there for a while, and he just listened to the silence wash over the world like a flood until the sun reached its peak. He remembers thinking: Holy fuck, this is what they meant. All those stupid songs and poems. This is what it means to break. Stiles couldn’t stand the way you kept your eyes closed, like you were afraid of seeing the inevitable car crash. If I kiss her, he’d thought, everything will be okay. If I kiss her, she’ll forgive me. 

Stiles didn’t kiss you. He just said, “I’m sorry,” and the words hung heavily over your heads. In the harrowing quiet, Stiles thought: I never realized cordial could sound so much like cowardly. 

“What are you doing here, Stiles? What is this?” 

Your voice drags Stiles from the gutters of his mind, and feels a fresh wave of shame when he hears how tired you sound. What is he doing here? Stiles knew it was a mistake before he even started his Jeep, but the flicker of doubt in Scott’s eyes drowned out his best intentions. 

“I just…” Stiles swallows, and his hand moves to scratch at his wounded shoulder reflexively. He…he just needed to be with the only person on the face of this planet that still knew him—who would get it.

You get tired of waiting, and when you speak again, Stiles feels about two inches tall. 

“You should be with her.” You say it nicely enough. Polite. No venom to fill the awkward hollowness. Cordial. 

Fuck. Stiles fucking hates cordial. He kind of wishes you would yell at him. At least, then, he’d know that you still cared. 

Stiles clasps his hands together between his thighs and leans his weight onto his elbows. He probably should be with Malia. No. He definitely should, but he’s not. And right now, like this, he doesn’t want to be. 

“She’s not good at…” Stiles clears his throat and sits up a little, “she tries, but she just…can’t.”

It’s not even her fault, and that’s probably the worst part about it. He doesn’t want to be another bad thing that’s happened to Malia Tate, but bad things just seem to be his specialty lately. 

“You know why you like her, right?” you say softly, not unkindly, but Stiles thinks he isn’t going to like the answer—mostly, because he’s sure it’s true. 

“No.” Stiles pauses and draws a circle in the dust with his pointer finger, “Well, I mean, yeah. Didn’t know you put so much thought into it.”

You don’t bother to dignify such a blatant lie with a direct response. That’s fair, Stiles thinks, and tries not to shrink in on himself.

Instead, you lift your shoulder like it’s made of marble and murmur, “She needs you.”

It’s innocuous enough—sweet, even, under different circumstances—but Stiles feels it like a blade. He clears his throat; it doesn’t help the dryness. He manages to arch a brow as he pushes out a raspy little, “So?”

The corner of your mouth lifts into a small smile; Stiles can still see it quiver. “You’re a control freak,” you bump his knee with your own, and it’s the first place on his body Stiles can actually feel, “and you and I both know she’s never going to be the one to end it.”

That was just like you; even your jokes are wrapped up inside an argument. It always left him frozen in a maddening power struggle between quipping something snarky and kissing you. No one else had ever managed to keep him on the ropes like you, and maybe that’s why no one after has managed to keep his, admittedly, short-attention span for long. Stiles has always liked his sweetness with a little bite. 

Of course, now there was no sweetness between the two of you. It’s all uncomfortable silences and unspoken thoughts that left his teeth aching for something more

Stiles’s jaw goes tight as he brings his lips to his knuckles, feeling a bit like bearing down on the bone. “That’s what you think happened?” He glances at you, eyes a little haunted, “I couldn’t control you, so I ended it?”

You tilt your head to the side, so sympathetic it makes Stiles a little nauseous as you murmur, “I think you realized that I didn’t need you; I think it scared the hell out of you.” You say it so softly, and it impales him the heart, right through the fucking center. 

It would be one thing if you were angry; people say stupid shit they don’t actually mean when they’re angry all the time—but this? You look like you mean it. You look like you mean it, and you’re saying it for his own good. The look on your face, it looks a whole lot like the truth 

And.

Maybe it is. 

It’s not like you’re wrong. Stiles remembers thinking it, more than once. He remembers more than a few mornings where he woke up to the sound of your breathing, your warm breath washing over his neck, and he thought he’d probably die if you ever stopped. It felt like an epiphany every time, the reminder that without you his world would be irreparably changed. 

Dark. Without you, Stiles’s world would go dark. 

Maybe, the Nogistune was just an excuse. Maybe, Stiles had been leapfrogging over his heart for a long time before then. Avoiding the future. Wrapping the present around your body and constantly thinking: I can’t believe it's not over yet. 

Yet. Yet. Yet. 

Maybe, Stiles thought about it so much he tempted fate. Maybe, that’s why the Nogistune chose him. Maybe, he should stop scapegoating the devil. He did end up with Malia after all. 

It’s different with her. Not bad necessarily, just different. He takes care of her, and he’s good at that. Making the plan. Having the answers. 

Being in control. 

With you…that was different. 

Stiles is a cynic at heart, but when he looked at—looks at—you, he felt less lonely. When he was with you, he kind of got why his dad used to always show up to work 15 minutes late because he got distracted by the way his mom made coffee. The simple domesticity, the comfort of a morning routine for the rest of his life, the concept of tried and true blue love: Stiles got it all when he saw you.  

You saw his happiness, and you gave it back to him. Every single time. That kind of love…it’s become abundantly clear to Stiles that kind of love is hard to find. Like maybe, once in a lifetime hard to find. 

Stiles swallows hard and shakes his head. “Whatever it was I was afraid of,” his voice drops to a whisper, “this is so much worse.”

You’re still the only person he can really cry in front of. Stiles is reminded of that when his eyes burn and something wet drips onto his lips. He sniffles quietly, feeling so incredibly small when he realizes the sound is coming from him. 

Stiles can’t look up from his shoes—won’t—and then you speak. You’re so quiet he almost misses it. 

“Life’s a lot better when you’re in it.”

The corners of Stiles’s mouth twitch into a small smile. The first one in about a week. Feels like much, much longer. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[kitsunexgari]

Summary: Byung-hun comes in for a photoshoot where you are working as an assistant. The head photographer is running pretty late and asks you to keep him busy. You soon find out he can't keep his hands off of you. Tags: Public Sex, Fantasy, Mild Exhibitionism, Light Dominance, Some Dirty talk Disclaimer: This is not meant to depict real people, places, or events. Story contains adult themes and all participants in these activities are of legal adult ages. Story content is not suitable for minors. Read with caution.

You have not been an assistant for long but even so, the job is very tiring. Rewarding but tiring. Initially, you thought that maybe you would be more involved with the process of taking photos. Actually taking them. Instead, you work for a pretty nightmarish and controlling witch who has to have everything just right in order to shoot a set of photos. Still, she is one of the best in the business. Clients of all walks of life, including celebrities, are constantly coming through the studio. You know that you can make some important contacts here and learn more skills to build a great reputation of your own. You learn to work with it because you know it will work better for you in the long run. 

One day she is running late. She calls you to tell you that you are going to have to take care of her next client for an hour or so because there is heavy traffic on the way back from her location shoot which she didn't take you on. You don't get to go on many of those because she always wants someone in the studio just in case. It's not too bad as it gives you time to practice your own work and take care of other things that need to get done. You assure her that the client will be well handled and there is nothing to worry about. You have done this many times before, after all. Just as you are hanging up, he walks into the studio and looks right at you. 

You hadn't had time to check the books to see the name of the client coming in and you didn't expect it to be him of all people. Someone that you have spent more hours fantasizing about than you ever want to admit. Byung-Hun. You already feel a blush rise up on your cheeks as he approaches your desk. 

"Good afternoon, sir." You say softly, unable to look directly at him. 

"I'm here to see Anastasia." 

"Yes, she's running a bit late. There was an accident and some traffic but I can take care of you until then. If you don't mind waiting." You tell him quickly, "Can I get you a drink?" 

"Sure, I have some time," He says going to take a seat on the couch, "Just a bottle of water or whatever is easiest." You nod and walk across the room to grab one of the bottles chilling in the fridge then come back to him and hold it out slowly. He takes it from you with a very charming smile and you hurry back to your desk trying your hardest not to stare at him. You sit behind your computer and try to look busy but you are worried about him getting bored with waiting. Anastasia doesn't like angry clients. She says that gives them a bad aura when she's trying to shoot. 

"I am sorry about this, it's not typical for her." You try to assure him. 

"It's fine, really, not in a hurry today." He says and glances at the TV that is on the wall in the waiting area. 

"The remote is, over there." You tell him and motion to where it is sitting on the table by the couch where he is. "At least it will give you something to do, right?" 

"Thanks." He says and picks it up. Since you don't have any clue what to actually talk to him about and fear you may say something very stupid if you have to keep talking to him, you attempt to focus on other work you have to do. Forms you need to fill out and clients that you have to email. 

You can't focus. Not only is he right there on the couch in front of you, you can smell him. It's intoxicating. You find yourself staring in his direction periodically before forcing yourself to look away. That is until the moment he catches you doing it. You panic and quickly look back down at your keyboard but he gets up and walks over to the desk, placing his hands on it, tapping his fingers lightly over the top of the wood. 

"I know that look," he says. 

"What look? I was just checking to make sure you were comfortable, sir." You say, unable to look at him once more. 

"Come on," He says, "You think I don't get that look a thousand times a day? I know what it means...I just usually don't get it from girls as cute as you." You are surprised to hear that and look up at him in shock. He thinks you're cute? Why is his voice so low and sensual? You lick your lips as suddenly your mouth has gone dry even if other places have become much wetter. 

"Cute?" You manage to choke out. 

"Oh yeah," He says and leans in to stroke your cheek, running a thumb over your lips softly, "Why keep fantasizing about it when you have the real thing right here in front of you?" All you are able to do is let out a soft squeak because you can't believe this is really happening. Can it be? You have to be dreaming again. That or the stress of this job has caused you to go completely insane but, does that matter right now? You aren't sure that you care. 

"You're serious?" You ask him. 

"Very serious, been awhile for me too...get so busy and lonely. This life isn't all it's cracked up to be and didn't you say she's running late?" He asks. 

"Yes but," 

"Shhh," He presses a finger over your lips gently and you go silent. You have no desire to contradict him and you are supposed to take care of as well as entertain the clients right? It would be bad for business if they got bored and left. "Stand up, come on." You nod stupidly and get to your feet. He looks you over before stepping around the desk and pulling you towards him. With a hungry glint in his eyes he captures your mouth in a kiss. His lips are much more soft and perfect than you could have ever dreamed of. 

When he pulls back you just stand there, staring at him breathlessly. He quickly shoves a few things off of your desk, grabs you by the hips and bends you over it. His hands run over your back to your skirt which he shoves up over your ass, gives it a nice firm slap with his hand causing you to yelp. His hand moves over the back of your thighs and between your legs. You mewl softly, when you feel his fingers on the crotch of your already soaked panties as he starts to tease you with those perfect fingers. 

"You really do want this, don't you?" He leans down to purr in your ear. 

"More than anything..." You gasp. He chuckles softly and slides your panties down, pressing your head to the desk as he unzips his pants. You can hear it but can't quite see what he's doing. Not that it matters, you wouldn't even care if you were blind folded. He moves in closer, you can feel him teasing your opening with his cock, which only gets you to moan, then whine, before he thrusts in. Firmly yet some how still very gentle. You groan and close your eyes as he starts to to move. Each time he thrusts he gets in a bit deeper. One hand holds your hair tightly, the other grasps your hip, enough that you are sure his fingers will leave bruises on your skin but you welcome that more than anything. 

"Like this?" He purrs breathlessly as he moves. He's good at this, far more than you could have dreamed up yourself. Even your own fantasies aren't this good. You close your eyes and moan again. 

"Yes...harder....please?" You beg. He starts to speed up, seemingly hitting every right place inside of you. Pleasuring nerves you weren't even sure you had. You hear him moan and a shiver runs through you, he starts to work his hips faster. You rock back towards him as the intensity rises. The heat inside of you, the sound of flesh against flesh filling the waiting room as he fucks you nice and hard. 

"Are you close? Huh? Going to cum all over my cock like a good girl?" He breathes. 

"Y-Yes...fuck...please let me cum!" You cry, wanting nothing more than that. He starts to pound into you at a feverish pace until you hit your climax and cry out. Your cunt clenching around his cock as you hear him groan loudly, one last time, as he cums too. His motions erratic, kind of jerky, he all but collapses on you, breathing down your neck as he licks and kisses at the skin there for a moment before pulling back. You feel him slip out of you and whine. You know you're going to miss that and it will be hard for anyone to top ever again. 

By the time you recover so you can grab your panties and make yourself decent again, he's already headed back to the couch. A grin on his face as he sits down and grabs his water bottle. You look at him bashfully as he takes a sip. Then you clear your throat, knowing that you are going to have to excuse yourself to get cleaned up. 

"I uh...should get cleaned up." You tell him sheepishly. 

"Alright," He says, "But don't stray too far, might have to go for round two if Anastasia keeps me waiting any longer."