#he just started ch6

[woundedheartwithin]

Mfw my brother’s like, “every time Kuwana shows up something happens. It’s happened two times now, first with the Liumang guys at that cafe and now with the Liumang at Yokohama 99, so if he shows up right before something bad happens one more time I’m sequence breaking the game and killing him,” and I know the next time he shows up is when Sawa dies:

[g0nta-g0kuhara]

Yknow the more i think about it the more I realize. Future foundation/New heads of Hope's Peak Academy (Makoto and co i guess?) did a terrible job picking the "seeds of hope" for the gofer project. They put a serial killer and someone was already infected with the virus in the group of people meant to be the last survivors of humanity?? oh my god

[italoniponic]

a little bit of a spoiler from ignihyde ch6 3.1:

OOOOOOOOOOOOH MY GOD

EPEL'S UM IS EXACTLY WHAT I ALWAYS THOUGHT IT COULD BE

I mean, my personal concept was a little more complicated with the whole "put people into sleep" thingy and I was so proud to imagine him casting a spell names "Kiss of Death" but YK WHAT? FUCK IT! WHO CARES? MY BOY GOT GOT HIS UNIQUE MAGIC AND I'M IN TEARS

if I was there, I would push Rook and kick Vil out of the way bc I want to hug Epel first AND CONGRATULATE AND PRAISE AND SQUEEZE HIM TIGHT I DONT CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ANYMORE

I don't know if it's the simp in me or the motherly instincts to protect and love him... I just love Epel in general. I'M SO HAPPY I ALMOST FORGOT WHAT CH6 WAS ABOUT (offc i'll remember this in my ch6 summary when I write it)

Me to Epel rn:

[krytus]

part of me is like Oh lets finish rdr2 before the end of the year what a fun goal other part of me if like if i have to watch arthur die again i will literally [REDACTED]

[vampire-matcha]

Blood in the Wine-1

Chapter One: Hibiscus Tea

A/N: hi guys!!! So, this is the first thing I've written in literal years so please forgive me if it's a little rusty, I'm still trying to get my writing chops back into shape. Anyways, thank you all so much for the support, you all have really reignited a fire within me that I'd long thought had gone out. It's nice to get that passion back. I can't thank you all enough for your encouragement. Now, without further ado...

Reader x Vampire!141

Summary: After moving to London all by yourself, you're struggling to make any meaningful connections. so, when a handsome stranger invites you out, you jump at the offer. However, you soon find yourself in way over your head when he reveals himself to be much more than what you expected.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: blood, alcohol consumption, no smut yet, but suggestive material, vampirism (obviously), blasphemy, grinding, some dubcon elements (vampires using compulsion as a form of mind control) but no actual SA, eventual reverse harem.

Ps. The song I listened to the most while writing this was In The Glass by OK GO if you want to listen to that while you read xoxo

MASTERLIST, CH2, CH3, CH4, CH5, CH6, CH7

---

You had first met Kyle in a café in London. You had just recently moved there, leaving your friends and family back in the States in search of a fresh start: a small flat within walking distance of the pub you'd managed to get a job at. You'd done your best to get settled in by yourself, gotten all unpacked and ready to explore the city you'd be calling home. Now all that was missing was making friends.

So far you only met a handful of new people, one of which was your boss Jerrie; a portly man in his early 50's who, despite being nice enough, really only cared about you enough to make sure you were on time for your shifts. He had a strict no-tardiness policy, but as long as you were on time, he'd mind his business and let you tend the bar. 

The other person you'd made acquaintance with was your coworker Camille, a redhead only a couple years older than you. She was a delight to work with, but outside of work she was absurdly preoccupied with her relationship and the near-constant drama she had going with her on-again-off-again boyfriend. In the three weeks since you had started working together they'd already broken up and gotten back together four times. She'd inadvertently made it clear that she had no time for friendship. 

So you were alone. Alone in your flat. Alone walking to work. Alone behind the bar slinging pints and shots for strangers who only cared about you for the few minutes it took to pour the perfect Guinness. It was no wonder that when you were approached one afternoon by a handsome stranger in the café down the street from your flat, you didn't turn away- even though he had interrupted your reading. 

"I don't want to spoil the ending but… Dracula is a vampire," came a velvety voice from behind your right. You strained to hold back the eye roll that was clawing behind your eyelids, and turned toward the voice. You were met with shining white teeth peeking out from tan lips, a dusting of dark hair above it. He's lucky he's cute. 

"Well, now the whole book is ruined," you joked. 

"Mind if I join you?" He asked, gesturing to the armchair across from you. You considered him. On one hand, you had just started getting immersed in your book, and normally a stranger ripping your attention from it would've pissed you off. On the other hand, you were growing weary of being so alone, and here was a warm body with a sparkling smile presenting an opportunity for the connection you so deeply craved. And who were you to deny fate? 

"Be my guest," you relented with a smile, one that he reciprocated immediately as he pulled out the chair and settled in. "I'm Gaz, by the way"

"Gaz?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Kyle, but my friends call me Gaz."

"Oh, we're friends now?"

"We could be," he offered, once again flashing you those pearly whites. You smiled, doing your best to ignore the heat flooding your face. You gave him your name and he repeated it, rolling it on his tongue like a fine aged whiskey. You tried to suppress the chill that went down your spine. 

"You're American," he said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"What gave it away," you joked. He laughed with you. 

"Reckon I must be psychic, huh?"

"Must be."

"So," he continued, "What are you doing all the way over here? On holiday?" 

"I just moved here, actually. Just trying to get settled in, I suppose. Getting acquainted with the area and all that.”

“You like it here?

“From what I’ve seen so far, yeah. It’s kind of hard to get a good feel for the area though, I have no idea where anything is.” 

He took a drink from the mug in his hands. A deep red color. Hibiscus tea, maybe? “Maybe I could show you around, then. I know a few good spots.”

Damn, this guy is good. 

“Well, since we’re friends and all, how could I say no?” you said, a small laugh tumbling out of your mouth. He laughed with you. 

“Does that mean I can get your number, then?" He said, a teasing smile playing on his lips. God, those lips. 

"I suppose so," you answered, pulling out your phone. "Here," you said, pressing the button for a new contact and sliding it over the small coffee table between the two of you. He entered his information before typing out a message to send to himself. 

"There we go," he said, satisfied. "So, fancy a drink then? There's a few good clubs around here you might like."

"I'd like that, yeah."

"You free this weekend?"

"Saturday, yeah"

"It's a date." His smile grew into a grin as he looked into your eyes with an expression you couldn't quite place. Anticipation, maybe. Your stomach flipped with butterflies. He really was handsome, wasn't he? He'd opened his mouth to say something else when his phone buzzed on the table. "Shit, sorry I've got to take this. I'll text you, yeah?"

"Yeah, sounds good." You were suddenly breathless as he stood, raising the phone to his ear. 

"I'll let you get back to your book, see you around."

"Book?" You questioned. He gestured to the hardcover in your lap, stifling a chuckle. "Oh right, my book," you giggled at your own forgetfulness. 

He waved goodbye, carrying his empty mug to the dish bin by the door, and walked out. And just like that, he was gone, just as suddenly as he had arrived. 

You tried to get back into reading your book, but your mind was now far too preoccupied with thoughts of the man you'd met. You'd always been an extrovert, making conversations and acquaintances easily wherever you went. However, this felt different. Gaz felt different. 

You didn't believe in love at first sight. Love as a concept was something you had to work for; something to nurture and grow in your heart's garden. Infatuation, well, that was something else entirely. And this tall, dark, and handsome stranger had you hooked already. What could you say? You were a whore as much as a romantic: which is to say, a little bit of both. 

And as your eyes scanned over the same paragraph for the third time, a vibration on the table finally snapped you out of your redundant stupor. A text from Gaz, already. 

"It was nice talking to you, hope to do it again soon x" 

—

In the days that followed your encounter, you found yourself texting with Gaz more and more. You'd even called and spoken on the phone a few times, getting to know each other better. You told him about growing up in America, your family, and why you chose to leave. 

"I've lived in the same town my whole life. I just wanted to go somewhere new, where nobody knows me, you know? Nobody knows what I looked like in middle school, or- or that time I spilled spaghetti all over my prom dress-”

"Spaghetti?" He interrupted. 

"Yeah- and it wasn't even mine!" You laughed. And hearing his laugh come through from the other line made your heart flutter. It was nice just talking to him.

You counted down the days, hours, minutes until your date- was it a date? Sure, yeah, it was a date. Your hands shook in anticipation, desperately trying to keep them steady as you drew eyeliner on. You spent damn near half an hour trying to find the perfect outfit. Something not too slutty but something you could dance in. God, you were nervous. So nervous, in fact, that you just about jumped out of your skin when the alarm on your phone went off, alerting you that it was time to catch the underground. 

You rushed to grab your jacket, throwing your wallet and lipstick in the pocket, not wanting to be bogged down with a bag, and hurried out onto the street to catch your train. When you arrived at your stop, you shot Gaz a text telling him you'd be there soon. He told you he'd meet you at the entrance and sure enough, as you hurried up the stairs onto the street, there he was. 

He was even more handsome than the day at the café, dark skin positively glowing under the street lights in a loose-fitting shirt that was unbuttoned just far enough to be tempting. 

"There she is," he said, looking you up and down. "I thought you were beautiful before, but I was wrong. You're stunning."

You muttered out a retort, something like "not too bad, yourself," but you'd be lying if you said you weren't flustered. He clearly took note of his effect on you, a sly look passing through his eyes. Smug bastard. He held out his arm for you to take. 

"Such a gentleman," you mused.

"Just wait," he said, leaning closer to your ear as he started down the sidewalk, "you'll see there's nothing gentle about me." Oh. You cleared your throat as your heart rate picked up. You could see his smirk out of the corner of your eye. He knows exactly what he's doing. 

"So where is this place, anyway?" You asked, changing the subject lest you get carried away and jump his bones there on the street. 

"It's sort of underground, usually you'd have to wait in line for hours." Oh, great… "Lucky for you, though: I know the owner." Oh, Great! You rounded the corner and approached the booming bass of a club. Gaz led you right past the considerably long line and right up to the bouncer, who gave you two a once over, then let you pass after Gaz whispered something to him. You couldn't make it out over the rhythmic thumping that rattled your eardrums even from outside the club, but whatever it was, the bouncer seemed satisfied enough to open the velvet rope for the two of you. 

The inside of the club was beautiful, like a modernized Gothic chapel with a DJ spinning at the pulpit and a dance floor where the pews should've been. Technicolor flashing lights mimicked stained-glass windows, and a bar full of spirits replaced the cistern of holy water. Incredible. No wonder this place was so exclusive. 

"What do you think?" Gaz yelled into your ear above the music, his lips brushing against the shell of it. 

"It's gorgeous, oh my god," you replied, awestruck. 

"I know you are, I was asking what you thought about the club," he teased. You rolled your eyes with a smile and nudged your elbow into him, meeting a hard, muscular abdomen. He smiled back at you as he led you to the bar. "What's your drink?"

"Gin and soda, please." He nodded, waving the bartender over. 

"Usual?" Asked the man. 

"Yeah, and a gin and soda for the lady, please," Kyle replied. The bartender nodded and went off to make the drinks. 

"You come here that often?" You mused. 

"What can I say, I like the atmosphere."

"So, do you bring all the girls here then?

"Nah, just the ones I really like," he said, and you suddenly noticed just how close the two of you had gotten. His hand rested on the small of your back, and his face was so near you could count his lashes if you tried. 

Just then the bartender arrived again with drinks in hand. Gaz pulled back from you and slid some cash across the bar. "Thanks, mate." He handed you your drink, raising his in between you. "Cheers!" You clinked your glasses together, the dark liquid in his gleaming in the bright red lights of the club. 

You briefly wondered what it was that he was drinking, but the thought left your mind as you took a drink, the botanical liquor warming you and cooling you all at once. You relished in the feeling for a moment. Vice as it might be, this was your communion. Your eyes fluttered shut while you focused on the mild burn in your stomach. You could feel Gaz's eyes on you, watching you enjoy the feeling. 

You opened your eyes and were met with the deep darkness of his. Just like his drink, they gleamed and glimmered in the flashing red lights. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. You savored him like you savored your drink, the burn of his gaze doing as much to ignite you as the liquor. You could feel him doing the same to you; the both of you bring glasses to lips, but drinking in so much more than just liquor. He had you hooked as much as you had him. 

Words were exchanged, none of them meaningful, and before you knew it you were onto your second round as Gaz pulled you onto the dance floor. You balanced your drink in one hand, the other sliding up Gaz's front to rest on his shoulder, while his hands knit themselves together behind you, pulling you close. You swayed together, draining your cup and filling yourself with tipsy motivation. 

He twirled you around, pulling you back into him, front pressed hard into your backside. Your swaying turned into something more sinful, following the devilish bass, and- Oh, there he is. You could feel the weight of him growing, grinding against you. Back and forth you danced, and he pulled your hair away from your neck before diving in lips-first. 

A thousand bodies writhed around you, but the action couldn't have felt more intimate. Your hand found its way up to the back of his head, nails digging into his curly hair, egging him on. You felt a sharp nip just below your hairline and you jolted in his arms. His grip on you only tightened- but you didn't fight against it. 

You couldn't lie to yourself. You loved this. The tenacity, the risk, the strong arms around you, the pain. You felt alive, electric, on fire. Gaz continued to nip and suck at your neck, hips never missing a beat of the music. This was worship. Bastardized fellowship in an unholy sanctuary. 

This was Gospel rewritten. 

His lips were suddenly too much, but still not enough. You turned your head to meet his lips. And when you finally came together you caught a glimpse of heaven. His tongue was hot and warm, and tasted of something so familiar, and yet you couldn't place it. Bitter. You swore you could be sober the rest of your life if you could just keep drinking him in like this. 

He devoured you like sacramental wine, turning you fully around to face him once again. His hand wrapped around your neck in place of a rosary. His leg slotted between yours, and you almost fell to your knees to worship him. He pressed deeper into you; deeper, and deeper still, until you thought he'd press your very molecules together. Your heart beat in time with the rhythms surrounding you, thrumming around your skull like an echo chamber. You were suffocating and it was delicious, divine. 

He pulled away and you found yourself loathing the oxygen, much more preferring to breathe in Gaz's breath as your own. That is, until he spoke into your ear a deafening whisper. "Let's get out of here."

It was as if the world had stopped, all the other dancers froze, a spotlight cast upon you two. All you could say was…

"Yes.”

And then you were outside again, the music faded away. Hand in hand, bound together, Gaz led you through the streets of London back to his flat. You could hardly contain yourself as you walked, stumbled, and ran through winding path after winding path until you finally reached the building. His building. 

He fumbled with the key a bit, hands slightly trembling with anticipation; but you were in no place to judge, nor would you want to- your hands were doing much of the same. The two of you stumbled through the door, his hands back on your body instantaneously. 

He pushed you deeper into the loft, peeling off his jacket, his lips devouring yours, and then peeling off yours the same way. His hands were on your waist, squeezing, and it was all you could do to remain upright as he backed you up deeper into his home. 

The lights were already on. 

"Easy there, Gaz, don't want to eat her up in one bite," came a deep scottish voice from behind you. 

You jumped, twisting around to find two other men in the dimly-lit room with you. The air was hazy with smoke from the cigar hanging out of one's mouth. A single lamp struggled to illuminate the space. 

"Oh my god! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You laughed nervously, resisting Gaz's arms that kept winding around you from behind. "Gaz, you didn't tell me you had roommates," you half-whispered. 

"Flatmates, love. And it's alright, they don't mind. Do you, boys?" 

"Not at all," answered the same Scottish voice, the one with the Mohawk sitting closest to you. He had an amused smile on, but there was something more to it than that. Something hungry. 

Gaz's lips reattached themselves to your neck as he held you against him. You tried to pull away from him. You felt nervous and lightheaded. You shouldn't have felt this dizzy, you'd only had two drinks.  

"Gaz, stop, I'm not comfortable-"

"Shh baby, it's alright. Just relax, you'll be alright." His grip on you was like a vice.

"Gaz, please." Something was wrong. The way these men were looking at you…

"Just look at me, love. You're panicking, just look at me." 

You were beginning to hyperventilate. Oh no. Oh God no. What were you thinking, following a stranger home? Gaz was stronger. Stronger than he should've been, even with the body he had. It was like pushing against stone. His hand gripped your chin, forcing you to turn your head towards him. 

"Look at me, darling." Your wide eyes met his calm, uncanny gaze. 

"Kyle let go-" 

"Calm down."

You were underwater. The sounds around you met your ears, but they were muddy, like listening in on a dream. You shivered, all adrenaline purging itself from your bloodstream, and you felt the tension leave your body. The wrinkle between your eyebrows smoothed itself out. Your fingers, which had been digging into Gaz's forearms, melted down to your sides. Your head lulled back against his chest. You felt like a ragdoll. 

"There we are," he cooed. "I'm sorry I had to do that, love, but I need you to cooperate, yeah?" You couldn't answer, only managing to push out a pathetic strangled sound out of your throat. 

"Is this the one you told us about?" Asked the gruff voice of the man smoking the cigar. He had a full beard, and was lounging against the back of the couch, legs spread, shoulders broad. 

"The American, yeah. Just moved here. No family in the country. The pub she works at is a shithole, her boss won't miss her. And as far as I can tell, she's only got one good friend," Gaz answered, smiling in your face like the cat who caught the canary. 

"And who's that?"

"Me." He dragged his finger down your cheek. A gentle, almost loving gesture. 

"Good. She won't be missed. Let's eat," said the Scott, standing and approaching you. Eat? 

"Wait, wait." Gaz's head snapped up at him, his arms moving around you to shield you from him. "What if…" he trailed off, looking back down at you. 

"Spit it out Gaz," the large man on the couch commanded. 

"What if we didn't kill her?" The other two men were silent for a moment. The mohawked man spoke first. 

"And do what with her? We can't let her go. Chrissakes, you've already compelled her. She's seen our faces. Let's just get on with it."

"No, wait. What if we kept her? Like a pet. I've grown kind of fond of this one."

"You're goin' soft, Gaz."

"Maybe. But she's also the sweetest damn thing I've ever tasted, and it'd be a shame to waste it all in one night."

"Is that so?"

"Try for yourself." Gaz loosened his hold on your body, presenting you to his colleague, who stepped forward and leaned into your neck. 

"Easy, Soap. The neck's mine," called the other man. 

He- Soap- breathed deeply against your neck before pulling away, a disappointed look in his eye as he met your wavering gaze. His eyes were so blue. Maybe they were the water you were floating in. You could've drowned in those eyes. His hand dragged down your arm, fingers wrapping around your wrist and bringing it up to his face, never breaking eye contact until he did the unthinkable. 

His mouth opened, revealing his teeth. Sharp teeth. Fangs. Fangs that he sunk into the supple flesh of your wrist. You felt every millimeter of his teeth penetrate your skin. You gasped out a strangled, rattling sound, quickly overshadowed by the loud moan rumbling from Soap's throat as he tasted you. You watched in horror as the man drank from you- drank from you! This man- this stranger- was drinking your blood. You wanted to struggle, to push him off of you, to sprint out of the place and never look back. But you were still breathing underwater. Your body had betrayed you. You felt dizzy again. Dizzy like you had felt in the club, dancing with Gaz. 

Then it hit you. Gaz had drunk from you, too. Your eyes rolled back. 

"Easy, easy!" Shouted a voice behind you. Gaz. He pulled Soap off of your wrist by the hair. You could only watch as your blood dribbled out of the two little holes in your arm. Soap moaned again at the tugging on his hair. 

"Steamin' Jesus, Gaz, you were right," gasped Soap, satiated but still starving for more. His lips were tinged red as he smiled with an open mouth. "I wouldn't mind keeping her around."

"Of course you wouldn't," rumbled another voice. A third voice echoing from the darkness of the apartment like an earthquake. It was dark and gravelly, like a rough pumice stone scraping against your raw nerves. 

"Oh shut it, Ghost. She tastes like fucking heaven." He turned to you, tongue dragging against your wound. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you noted that the bleeding stopped after he licked you clean. "What do you think, darlin'? Wanna be our little pet, huh?" He stepped even closer, nose nudging yours. He gripped your chin in his fingers and moved your limp head up and down. "There, she said yes," he called out to the men behind him, grinning. You heard Gaz chuckle behind you. "We'll take such good care of you, hen." You could feel Gaz's arms stroking your waist up and down… up and down… lulling you into further complicity. "What do you think, Price?" He asked, backing away and turning to the man on the couch. 

The man had been sitting there, watching, observing, puffing away at the thick cigar in his thick fingers, thick thighs spread wide. He considered you for a long while. Gaz and Soap waited with bated breath as the man in front of you decided your fate. He must be the leader. Finally, he spoke, pale eyes burning into yours. 

"She really as good as Gaz said, Soap?"

“Even better."

He took a long drag from the cigar, staring unblinkingly at you with an easy air to him. He was in no rush. He seemed to quite enjoy taking his time looking you over. If Gaz's gaze had been fire burning you alive, and Soap's had been an ocean current dragging you down, this man's- Price's, was like arctic waters rushing over you, chilling you to the bone, making you shiver. And even then he breathed smoke like a dragon, fogging up the air as much as your mind. He leaned over the coffee table in front of him, stubbing out the dragon's breath on an ashtray. 

"Right then," he drawled, leaning back again. "Let's have a taste." 

---

Tags:

@cherry-slushee @iimfae @newcomernewcums @cowboybxtch @quiurifam @sad--pigeon

Please comment or message me to be tagged! I hope you all like this, my stomach literally had butterflies as I was writing the big reveal part. Xoxo!

[the-orion-inexpirience]

Chapter 7 (or all thats available of it)has destroyed me

Shout-out to twst and continuing the themez of loss and helplessness that started from ch6 with chapter 7 thus drawing the parallels between idia and malleus I didn't know i needed

I can't even FATHOM how shitty idia is gonna feel when yuu and co wake him up

Imagine grieving your brother for years, finally starting to come to terms with your grief, but then suddenly hes back and you're ecstatic, and it feels right but you suddenly just wake up, and realise he was never back and it was all a dream-

Intensive therapy for both ignihyde and diasomnia dorm leaders pls and thank you

(not that the other housewardens dont need therapy but yk, that's not my point rn)

Idia and Malleus when faced with the loss or potential loss of a loved one did everything in their power to keeo them alive, to keep them with them

I can't wait to see how the game handles a confrontation between these two

Imo i want idia to yell more. It's the same point i jad back in the glorious masquerade event when R*llo told idia to his face that "he doesn't know what it's like to lose a brother" 💀

He didn't drop kick a short person then so im with the bandwagon that wants idia to get genuinely fucking angry for once

Oh yea and if you ship Idia and Malleus this situation is even worse/better depending on how you look at it

[skunaskitten]

The Affair chapter 6

AU: human ceo sukuna x female reader

Contains: cheating, lying, yelling, angry sukuna, Sad sukuna, heart broken, depression, drinking,

Summary: Sukuna had lost everything he could ever want. He let you slip through his fingers and did not fix anything before it all came crashing, now he sits alone to himself.

Master list to other stories

chapter 5 ch6 chapter 7

 Sukuna woke up to see the early sun through the curtains of your window. A smile filled his face when he felt you still laying beside him asleep in his arms. Feeling your warmth and naked body pressed against him. He was enjoying his time with no care in the world but reality soon crushed everything. His wife. He told her he was coming back late, not the next day.

 He sat up quickly out of bed panicking which startled you awake when he got out of bed rushing to put his clothes on mumbling curses. "Sukuna? What happened?" He looked at you and said "I am late for work."

 You sat up holding the blanket against you seeing the bracelet he wore the whole time during sex. You are happy he likes it so much not to take it off. Sukuna got his pants on then walked over to you grabbing your face pressing his lips to yours. "I will see you later sweetheart go back to sleep." You slid out of the bed keeping the blanket around you and followed him out to the front door watching him put on his shirt and jacket he dropped on the floor as you picked up your clothes. A smile grew on your face after he left.

 When sukuna got to his building he hurried to the elevator and went into the home to hear how quiet it was. He looked around not seeing his wife then went into the room thinking she was asleep but still no sign of her. He rubbed the back of his neck and got dressed ready for work feeling bad for leaving you so soon. 

 Sukuna walked out into the hall then saw his wife walking out from her office and smiled at him. "Hey darling, I am going out for a while. Going to hang out with the girls I hadn't seen since before the trip." He smirked and said "alright then have fun." She gave him another smile and walked over to him placing a long kiss to his lips then bit his lower lip pulling it slightly. She pulled away from him giving him a wink then left him alone in the room with some of his employees staring at him. "What?! Go back to work!"

 When yami walked to her car she pulled out her phone and looked at the info that was sent to her from last night. "Let's go pay this little whore a visit."

 As you cleaned the apartment and started to reorganize your bookshelf out in the living room you heard a knock at your door. Curious as to who it is but also happy hoping it was sukuna. You ran to the door and opened it to see a woman standing there with her arms crossed. She looked like someone of high status as she smiled at you but you didn't know who she was until you looked at her face longer. 

  You were shocked to finally realize who she is, Sukuna's ex wife but you didn't know why she was here.

 "Hello you must be the little home wrecker." You raised an eyebrow saying "excuse me?" 

 She went through her purse and handed over a magazine to you. You snatched it from her hand and looked at the cover and your eyes widened in shock. On the page a picture of you and sukuna during the date. You were so confused why you and him would be on a magazine.

 "Do you not get it? I don't know what he sees in you. Let me explain it to you. Ryomen Sukuna is a ceo of a company and married to me. You and him had got caught in this little affair with you. All he sees you as is just a getaway from his stressful life, nothing more. He is married, why would he ever want you to be in his life. He is using you."

You snapped squeezing the magazine. "Go the fuck away! You are lying, he told me that you are his ex that always harassed him. Why should I ever believe anything you say." She laughed and said "honey read the magazine. If you still don't believe anything, why don't you look up his life and go ask him yourself. Though I doubt after this if he ever wants to see you again."

 You growled  saying "don't ever come near me and my man again you had your chance i guess you are not good anymore seems like you became useless to want me." She was about to come at you with angering her eyes but you slammed the door in her face and locked but you started feeling the tears start to form. "It's not true. Kuna never would lie to me." 

 You went back to your room and looked through the page reading about the questions if this was an affair happening or just a meeting. You swallowed a lump in your throat then pulled out your laptop to search for his name. 

 Feeling your heart race and nerves spike, with a shaky hand you clicked on different sites to see who he really was. Pictures of him showed up in his suits and business meetings with other men next to him. His dazzling smirk showing off and pink hair styled laying back across his head. Your heart felt like it stopped beating and started to crack.

 The many headlines you saw of their marriage and pictures recently of them together at after parties. "Ryomen.." your voice cracked as you closed the laptop and pushed it aside feeling your tears begin to leak from your eyes. "This is not real, it can't be."  You put on a sweater, taking your phone and the magazine then left your apartment to get answers. 

 Finding the name of his company was easy so you took a train to the area trying to keep your eyes away from other passengers not wanting them to see how upset you were. When you got there walking up to a tall building with the names of malevolent shrine in glowing red letters. You took a deep breath feeling the anger rise as you walked through the doors and came up to the front desk.

 A woman saw you and smiled asking if you had a meeting or here for another matter. 

 "Let me see ryomen sukuna." She looked at you and said "I am sorry miss but no one can not see mr sukuna unless it's a business meeting."

 You cut her off talking louder "I need to see him now tell him y/n is here to see him who knows who that is." She rolled her eyes then picked up a phone pressing on the number pad and said "hello sir some here by the name of y/n is here to see you."

 Sukuna heard the name and froze with a shock of the world stopping. "Send her up to me."

 He hung up and stood up from his desk. How the hell did you find him? Do you know who he is now? He fixed his tie leaning against the front of his desk looking at his doors waiting for you to walk through. A security guard opened the door as you walked through as it closed behind you. 

 The world stopped as he stared at you but then he smirked saying "well hello there sweetheart I am surprised you found me."

"Shut up sukuna." 

 He raised his eyebrows hearing your tone and it didn't sound happy. Fuck.

 "Do not talk until you answer my question. Are you married?"

 Sukuna felt his heart drop. So you found out. He went to say something then looked away from you. He could not look at you feeling the guilt.

"Yes."

 Tears filled your eyes as you squeezed the magazine then threw it at him. He looked at it then to you not knowing how you got one of those, he stopped those from being produced  so how did you end up with one.

 "I fucking can not believe this. You lied to me! You used me played with my fucking heart! All to get away from your marriage! How long were you going to do this to me?!"

 His jaw clenched as he swallowed heard he wanted to speak but he was feeling fear for the first time. Fear of hurting you more, fear of never being happy again. The fear of losing you.

"Beautiful please believe me I love you."

 "Do not call me that! You don't love me. Because if you did you would not be using me for your pleasure. Was this all a lie?"

 Sukuna walked a little closer to you and said "no none of my feelings for you were a lie I do really love you. Please believe me. All those moments we shared together. Yes at first it was just a way to finally be free again to do what I want but then that moment in my car I fell in love I was scared to admit. But it slipped because that is how I truly felt about you and I knew I fucked up by loving you."

 You stared at him feeling tears roll down your cheeks. 

 "So I was a fuck up then. Just another thing in your rich ass life to use. I knew I shouldn't have fallen for you. I should have just ran away but I was finally happy to be with someone who cared about me. To finally think that I could have a family and life where I can come home to be with a beautiful man that I love. Thanks for destroying that dream Mr. Sukuna."

 Sukuna saw you turn away crying, breaking apart in front of him. 

"No, don't say that. I told you I was not good for you. My marriage is nothing but a cash grab it was arranged I didn't feel loved in this fucking marriage. When I got older I wanted to feel that romance that heart throbbed moments. Then I ran into you and I could not believe who I found. I finally found that woman that makes my heart throb. Please listen to me. You are all I want, all I need."

 You shook your head looking at him and gazed at the bracelet still on his wrist and it made your heart tear in half. 

 "Sukuna to know you were married going home to your wife fucking her when you were ignoring me spending time with her. It hurts. It does not make you better that you went behind her back and did it. She told me who you were. I am glad she did before we did something stupid."

 You turned away from him saying "goodbye sukuna" and started to walk away from him. Sukuna did not want you to walk out of his life, he wanted to fix it. He walked to you quickly grabbing your wrist.

"No you are not leaving. Please stay."

 You tried to pull your arm out of his grasp. "Ryomen let me go! I don't want you any more! We are over sukuna!"

 He shook his head giving pleading eyes. "Stay with me I will file for a divorce then I can show you how much you mean to me please. Yesterday when we slept together I wanted to get you pregnant because I want that life with only you."

 You growled feeling yourself snap hearing how selfish he is he wouldn't let you go and you wanted to be alone for good. "Y/n do not leave!"

 Suddenly in a blurr sukuna heard a smack and a stinging pain on his cheek then let you go staring at you with wide eyes. You looked at him and everything between you two fell silent. Seeing the red mark form on his face, your heart twisted, feeling hurt from everything and feeling bad for hitting him. Tears spilled out as your lip quivered then you finally moved away, whimpers came out as you ran out of his office. 

 Sukuna stood there staring at the door letting you run out of his life. You ran past people out of the building hiding your face away from people in his building questioning what had happened.

 His hand went into his hair gripping it feeling his heart shatter this pain was worse than anything he felt. "Fuuuck!" Sukuna yelled out and gripped one of the chairs, throwing it and hearing some glass break. Going by his desk he swiped everything off of it yelling. He is upset with himself and his life, angry more at the fact he hurt you after he promised to keep you safe and happy. 

 He slammed his hands on his desk hearing his door open. Satoru had come in hearing the noise and talk already going around the place, seeing the office destroyed. "Get out!" Sukuna yelled and turned to see his friend standing there shocked. But gojo was even more frozen because for the first time in his life with sukuna he saw a tear roll down his cheek.

 When you got home you threw your stuff down onto the floor and looked around not knowing what else to do. You just finally broke down as you dropped in bed crying your heart out. Yelling at the world but into your pillow. Why did this all happen? 

 Sukuna wasn't done with his anger after gojo had told him to go and he will clean up the mess, sukuna went straight to his home and slammed the door hard catching the attention of his dear wife. 

"Yami!" His voice roared through the home.

 She came out with a smile but then saw the state he was in, the red puffy eyes hair a mess and she smirked knowing what happened.

"Hey sukuna what happened to you? You look like a mess."

 "Dont fucking play this bull shit game with me yami. You knew about me and y/n. So you chose to fuck with my life and confront her." His eyes flared with anger.

 She giggled saying "sukuna you are a business man no need to be fucking around with little gold digger sluts like her." 

 Sukuna threw his fist into the wall leaving a dented shape of his fist into it staring at his wife. "Do not ever talk about her like that. She will always be more of a woman than you."

 She gulped looking at the wall then to him.

 "We are getting a divorce now!"

"But sukuna, it was arranged for our companies. If you back out now my father won't be happy and he will take that half away from you. Think about the business, think about other people for once. Think about the money you will lose."

 He growled at her and stalked towards her. "I am thinking of other people. I am thinking about her and my life. I never asked for this fucking marriage I want a wife who does not see me as a bank. I want a wife like her."

 She crossed her arm looking away saying "I don't see the point she won't take you back now."

 Sukuna felt the jab at his heart and yelled out "get the fuck out of my home! I am done!" She flinched from his voice and went into the room packing a few suitcases as sukuna sat in the living room waiting for her to leave. She came back out with two cases and said "ryomen please take care of yourself. I do say you make a great husband." All he did was growl.

 When she finally left, Sukuna was alone. He looked around then put his face into his hands and ran them through his hair. After sitting there for a few minutes he stood up taking a deep stuttered sigh feeling his chest ache and eyes red, glazing over with his tears. 

"Fuck every one."

 Sukuna walked into the bedroom and started to go through all the stuff, putting the rest of yami's things into trash bags and taking it to the front door. 

 He sat in front a window with a drink in hand staring at the city life, the bottle next to his feet trying to hold back tears with his hand wrapped up in a bandage feeling the pain but nothing compared to the hole in his heart. The shame he felt for all this he wanted to hide away from the world feels the spirits even watching him and looking down on him. Sukuna got up sucking in a breath and picked up the bottle tossing it into the sink with the glass cup and went into his room.

 The room now was filled with just his stuff and himself. Not even you to lay with him. Sukuna sat on his bed staring at the bracelet feeling his chest ache as he ran his fingers over the gold tiger. He had never taken off this bracelet ever since you gave it to him. 

 "Y/n I am sorry. I really don't deserve you any more for the pain I put you through." 

 He untied the rope to the bracelet and took it off feeling guilty for even doing this action then placed it on his table. While he laid in bed he couldn't sleep. He stayed awake staring at everything in the room. Thinking of just getting up to see you, to pull you into him and kiss you to try to make up with you. But the look you gave him seeing your broken heart he will not be able to see you without breaking down and begging on his knees.

 His heart and body wanted you next to him to feel your warmth. To make his pain go away. To see you smile and feel your lips on his skin. 

 "Why does this hurt so much?" He rested an arm over his face not wanting the world to see him shed silent tears over a woman he fell so deeply in love with and watched a s he shattered her heart.

ahh my heart. Sukuna and the reader poor babies. Finally his wife is gone.

[a-kaash-me-outside]

not fair - ch6

in which your boyfriend is perfect in every single way... except for one and kei can't just sit back and watch you suffer...

previous | ch6 | next (coming soon) [masterlist]

// "i hope you had your fill of feeling in control" ~ ᴛsᴜᴋɪsʜɪᴍᴀ ᴋᴇɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 6222 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter/tw: 18+ minors dni super nfsw, not really cheating anymore but still some vibes, use of character first names, somewhat anxious in the beginning, degradation, oral m!receive, dom/sub undertones, dirty talk, name calling,very soft feelings, soft sex too wow nice, cross posted from ao3, afab reader she/her pronouns

no more taglist for not fair, but get tagged in my other stuff! ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍ���ᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

You’d think that the walk back to your place would mean time to think and reflect. Kei and you had woken up only an hour or so after all three of you had fallen asleep. You were careful not to wake Tadashi, careful to not make a sound as you got dressed, put your shoes on, and locked the door behind you with your spare key. 

The car was left in the driveway once again. It was a task for another day, you’re sure. For now, you’re just trying to tackle the sorting of everything that’s happening in your head and how you’re feeling leaving the house this time around.

You know that it was good for Tadashi, that’s exactly why you did it. Even with the pressure that was riding on you to make the night run smoothly and the unfamiliarity going into it, you have to admit that it was good for you as well. That surge of power was unlike anything you’ve felt really, and definitely was not something you were used to in the bedroom.

After everything was said and done, you felt confident. The outcome was better than you had anticipated and everyone listened to you and you felt that, on some level, Tadashi understood why everything had to unfold the way it did. All of that was a result of the role that you played, and it was a fun role to play.

But despite all of that, despite the overarching success of the night, the small journey back to your place feels weird, wrong, like something’s not quite in place. You don’t know why your brain feels off or where the confusion is coming from. You try to remind yourself that the night went exactly as it should’ve. You repeat it over and over in your mind, but you can’t shake the feeling.

You’re so focused on it that you barely notice that you’re at your front door. If Kei said anything on the walk back, it was lost to the outside air. You don’t know where it started, but you can feel the concentration in your core, spreading out to your fingertips and toes, and when you cross the threshold and step inside, you start feeling it on your skin. 

Your mouth is about to open when Kei turns to face you. “I hope you had your fill of feeling in control.” His voice is low and you know exactly what that means, what’s coming next. You want to tell him about the feeling, are ready to spout out a warning color just as his hand wraps around your throat. Your instinct, then, is to reach for his wrist, fingers out to tap him, but your hand doesn’t even make it there before a feeling of calm spreads across your body. 

His thumb guides your face up to look at him, to make direct eye contact with him. You’re certain that there is some residual dismay written on your face, because he almost takes a step back. You press your throat into his hand, stomach in knots. You don’t know how to tell him that what he’s doing is actually righting whatever felt so wrong before and if he stops you might burst into tears.

“So you did have your fill of control, huh?” he says softly. It’s riding a line between genuine care and condescending and somehow it still amazes you that after all this time, he’s still so incredible at reading you and knowing exactly what to do. 

That feeling of discomfort, the building aches, and the spreading warmth. You felt out of place. 

It doesn’t matter how much of a success the night was. It doesn’t matter how confident you felt when everything calmed down. When the smoke cleared and the dust settled, you knew exactly where you belonged.

You know exactly where you belong. 

“Are you sure that you want to do this right now?” he asks, the genuine care completely taking over. He takes his hand off of your throat, his thumb out from under your chin, using it instead to caress your cheek. It feels left field only for a moment until you remember exactly how much has happened tonight, the mental preparation and the weight on your shoulders before you even walked in the doors, not to mention the follow-through and the decision making that you never really have to do. 

Sure, part of you wants to wrap yourself around him, feel every inch of his skin against yours and stay there the entire night just like that, but the other part of you, the much bigger part, knows that you’ll have time for that after he puts you back in your place, exactly where you need to be. 

You want to give away all of your control. You want to let go completely in a way that you never have. You don’t want to focus on pleasing him or worry that you’re doing bad, you just want him to use you like there isn’t a single thought behind your pretty eyes. 

You know that once this sentence leaves your mouth, there’s no going back. It’s going to flip a switch, going to be met with a cocky smirk and some sort of quip along with it, and with each thought, you can barely remember how upset you were in the first place. “I don’t think you understand how much I need this right now, Kei,” you murmur. 

“God, you could barely handle a few hours of what I have to do for you every single day,” he scoffs, corners of his lips turning up just the way you envisioned in your head. He plants his fingers back around your neck. “I bet you think you know just what it’s like to be me now, don’t you?” You don’t even have time to inhale before he barks at you again, “I asked you a fucking question.”

You shake your head no, but his grip just gets tighter. 

“Bullshit. You think you know exactly what it’s like to be in my shoes, know what it’s like to have someone listen to you and to be in charge?” he asks, shaking his head. His face gets closer to yours and he shakes you for emphasis. “Tell me. Say, ‘Yes, Kei, I know what it’s like to be in control.’”

If he hadn’t said them immediately before, you’re not sure anyone could’ve made out what you were saying, not with the lack of air and the tightness around your throat. You try your best regardless, squeaking out vague syllables and noises that sound like what he asked you to say. 

“It doesn’t look like you know what it’s like to be in control, now does it? Standing here, barely breathing on your own, not even choosing your own words. What? Do you need me to carry you to bed too?” he asks. He’s really laying into it now that he’s double-checked that this is, as he suspected, exactly what you needed.

He gives you even less time to answer now.

“Say, ‘Yes, Kei, I need you to carry me to bed.’,” he instructs as if you honest-to-god need someone to choose your words for you. 

He drops his hand from your neck, allowing you to catch your breath and to hear you repeat him clearly. “Yes, Kei, I need you to carry me to bed,” you say, warmth spreading from your cheeks, down your neck.

Kei doesn’t say another word, but the smirk he’s wearing conveys anything that he’s thinking. He hoists you up, carries you down the hall and into your shared bedroom, silent as he does. There is no time at all between him lying you down on the bed and him climbing on top of you, one knee on either side of your hips. 

He’s quick to pull your t-shirt off, tossing it aside without a second thought. His hands run down your chest, cold from being outside a few moments ago and rough against your skin, and yet, you can’t get enough. He takes your tits into both of his hands, harshly kneading them, pressing them into one another, watching the ripples and jiggle.

It’s vaguely different from how he normally treats your tits, like he’s still performing the same actions, but you can tell the reasoning has changed. He’s not looking up at your face every so often to see how he’s affecting you. His gaze doesn’t break from staring at your chest. Kei isn’t trying to pleasure you, he just likes the way your tits bounce. 

The rough fabric of his jeans grind against your bare stomach as he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his index finger and thumb. His palms press into your tits as he continues to toy with your perky nipples, flicking and rubbing until he’s satisfied with how hard they are. 

He moves down your body, hands sliding against your stomach and sides, grabbing onto your waistband and completely undressing you in one motion. He’s been quiet since you’ve been in the room, but you can’t help the anticipation of teasing you feel. Once he pushes your legs apart and sees how drenched you are, you’re sure he’s going to have something to say about it. 

But he doesn’t get that far. He sinks his fingernails into your hips, massages his fingers into your thighs, down your calves, but he doesn’t spread your legs. Instead, he gets off of the bed entirely. You go to sit up, to follow him or just object, but he shoots you a look.

“Don’t move, wouldn’t want it to go to your head, having control of your movements and all.” He begins to move you so meticulously. He spins you around, your head hanging off the foot of the bed now. Your instincts tell you to adjust so that you’re comfortably on the bed, but you know that Kei has other plans for you. You also know there’s no reason for you to think that far ahead.

So you let your head hang off of the bed, relaxing your shoulders and the strain of your neck and you just lay there. “This is much more comfortable for you, isn’t it?” Kei asks, undoing his belt. You can’t see much, but you can hear every little noise. The belt buckle clashing against the floor, his jeans and boxers being thrown into the corner, a glob of spit hitting the palm of his hand, wet strokes. “Lying here, not having to think or make any decisions, just being my little bitch. Say, ‘Yes, Kei. Thank you.’”

“Ye-”

He slides his cock past your lips and into your mouth. “That’s a good little bitch,” he laughs, pressing his hips forward, driving his cock further down your throat until you’ve taken his entire length. “Fuck, that’s good.” His balls are resting against your nose, held there as he soaks in the feeling of his cock being swallowed by your tight throat. He doesn’t even want to move, just loves how warm you are around him.

The entire situation is disorienting for you, upside down, mouth full, not being able to breathe. You do your best to breathe out of your nose, but he’s not making that any easier either. You’re so grateful when he finally starts to pull out even if you can only take in one good breath before he thrusts back in. 

He doesn’t hold it this time, fucking in and out of your mouth rythmically. His balls are slapping against your face with every thrust and this new angle is not being very forgiving to your throat. You can already feel the hoarseness coming on, the ache setting in, and with no control over his pace or roughness, you have no other choice than to just lie there and take it.

The thought alone could make you come on the spot.

This new angle also means every thrust feels deeper, every thrust elicits a gag, a cough. You’re choking on his cock like it’s the first time you’ve handled it and you can’t see his face or hear his moans with how loud and visceral your noises are, but you know he’s in utter bliss right now. 

You were dumb to think he’d loose stamina over time, so fucking stupid thinking that by the end, it wouldn’t be as rough or harsh. You can’t see anything. Your eyes are shut so tight, but you can still feel the sting of your spit and precome dripping down your face and into your eyes. It’s up your nose and in your hair, all over your fucking face. 

He places a hand on your neck. “God, I can feel my fat fucking cock right here.” He pushes on your neck, gives himself leverage to fuck into your throat faster, harder while the muscles in your throat squeeze him even tighter. He runs his palm up and down your neck, following the length of his cock like he’s jacking himself off. “Can’t believe it took me until now to fuck you like a little doll, do whatever I fucking want to you,” he says through pants and gritted teeth. 

“Fuck, wanna come down your throat so fucking bad,” he groans, pushing his cock all the way down your throat and holding it there, “I could spill my load right fucking now, you couldn’t even taste it I’m so deep.” So much is rushing through your mind, but you can’t make sense of any of it. You’re soaked, a fucking mess between your legs, thighs sticky and slick from how absolutely drenched you are.

“Too fucking bad I want to use that tight little cunt,” he says, pulling out of your throat. Despite the fact that nothing is obstructing your airway now, you still can hardly breathe. There is too much saliva on your face, up your nose, drooling out of the corners of your mouth. You swallow harshly, trying to at least clear your mouth. Your eyes are still screwed shut as you’re yanked by your hair, pulled to the other side of the bed. You can’t tell where exactly Kei is until he pulls you by the hips, nudging himself between your legs. A soft fabric hits your face. “Wipe your face. As pretty as you look all ruined and messy, I want you to watch me fuck you,” he says. You do as you’re told, running the shirt over your face and wiping as much grime off as you can. You can finally open your eyes and see him towering over top of you.

He uses both of his hands to press your legs open further, slides them towards your cunt and uses more fingers than necessary to spread you open. He can barely hold your lips open to see into your pretty pink hole. “Shit, you’re so fucking wet,” he scoffs, “I don’t think you’ve ever been this fucking wet.” He shakes his head.

“What is it? Is it how you were used? Couldn’t see anything or do anything? You tried to be all big and mighty and in control, but you’re really just my little fuck toy. Is that why you’re this wet? Say, ‘Yes, Kei. That’s why I’m so wet.’,” he instructs. 

“Yes, Kei. That’s why I’m so wet,” you repeat. You don’t move an inch. It feels so taboo, like you’re on display for him in a way you never have been. 

“So fucking wet, bet I could fuck my whole hand into your slutty little pussy.” Kei runs three fingers between your puffy lips, grazing your throbbing clit and teasing your hole. “Wouldn’t want to stretch it out too much, needs to be perfectly tight for my cock, isn’t that right? Say, ‘Yes, Kei. Thank you.’”

“Yes, Kei. Thank you,” you repeat.

He slips one finger into your hole. You barely notice it gliding in and out of you, yet the only emotion in your head is gratitude. He uses his other hand to guide the head of his cock, running the slit of his tip against your clit. Even with how wet you are, you can feel the precome leaking out against you.

Kei doesn’t bother taking his finger out even as he prods his cock against your hole, fucking his sensitive head shallowly inside of you. The thrusts are so short, barely fucking deep enough for his entire head to enter you. “Say, ‘Thank you, Kei’,” he pants. 

“Thank you, Kei,” you whimper. 

“Again.”

“Thank you, Kei,” you say again. 

“Again.”

“Thank you, Kei,” you say once more, louder this time, voice cracking on his name, hoping that he hears how much you mean it despite not choosing the words yourself.

“Good girl,” he breathes. He rolls his hips, pushing his cock deeper. Every roll of his hips, his cock goes deeper and deeper until he’s pressed up against you, cock buried inside of you as far as it can go. He moves his hands to your hips. You’re sure that he’s going to press down, hold you by your hip bones and ram in and out of you. Instead, he pushes you backwards until you’re almost empty and then pulls you back towards him. 

A rush of air leaves your lungs. He doesn’t wait for you to get it back before he does it again, pushing you and pulling you repetitively as he stays in place. Your back rolls against the covers beneath you, the friction warming you after a while, but it’s nothing compared to the bruises forming on your hips. The longer that he uses you to fuck him like this, the more confident he gets. His grip on your hips gets tighter, more assured as the motions keep working.

The way that your cunt looks as it’s being pulled off his cock and speared right back on is something he wants to remember forever. Your pussy is swallowing his fucking cock every other second, so tight and perfectly hot encompassing his thick hard length. He never thrusts forward to meet you, doesn’t adjust himself to get deeper. If he wants to fuck you deeper, he moves you closer. If he wants to fuck you faster, he digs his nails into your skin to better anchor himself and he moves you faster.

He uses you like you’re nothing more than a fleshlight, a glorified fuck toy. 

In spite of how degrading the situation is when you really think about it, or maybe because of it, it doesn’t take you long to get right on the edge. You want to tell him, but you can’t find your voice or the right words. Your whimpers and moans get needier, louder, but he’s not paying any attention to them. He’s too busy watching your pussy slide up and down his cock. 

“I- Mmm. Kei,” you basically whisper. 

“Guess she does know how to talk on her own, huh?” Kei asks, “What? What is it?”

“Gonna… Gonna come,” you breathe, head pressing back into the mattress. 

“Yea? You could stand to be a little tighter. Why don’t you come for me, then?” he asks, continuing to fuck himself with your cunt. He doesn’t even finish his sentence before you’re coming all over him, pussy tightening around him just like he wanted. “Fuck, yea, just like that, don’t stop, keep coming for me, baby, you’re nice and tight like that, squeezing my thick cock.”

He’s throbbing inside of you as you come around him. You can’t even feel the pain from him digging into your hips anymore, not while your core is so fucking tight and his cock is so fucking deep. You’re losing your high, but you’re trying to focus on the pleasure, trying to come again quickly just so Kei can feel so fucking good.

He pushes you up by your hips once more, but this time, instead of pulling you back onto his cock, Kei crawls on the bed to meet you. He hovers over top of you just long enough to get a good look at your confused post-orgasm face before lowering himself onto you, resting his weight against your chest, bracing himself the tiniest bit on his elbows and slamming his cock into you. 

Reaching one hand up, he takes a fistful of your hair, not to hurt you or to put you in your place or guide you anywhere, but to ground himself as he rails you. He stays deep inside of you, lifting his hips up only a few inches, but slamming back into you so hard that your inner thighs are burning. Without his fingers digging into your hips, you can tell how sore they are just being exposed to the air. It only takes a few thrusts before you’re quivering around him again. 

“Come again,” he commands, his head coming into contact with your g-spot repetitively as he rams in and out of you. You do as you’re told, as if you had any power otherwise, cunt clamping down on his cock as the orgasm rolls through your body again. You have nowhere to move, no way to convulse as your body is racked with pleasure, trapped underneath Kei’s strong chest. Your head collides with his shoulder, forehead pressing against it as you scream his name. “That’s my girl,” he praises.

You’re riding your high again, barely even having recovered from the last one, with just those three fucking words. The repetition of his name is replaced with yeses, a million of them over and over. You’re convinced it lasts forever, heart thumping so hard against your chest, teeth clenched, gushing. 

The second that it subsides, your pussy and muscles relaxing, he pulls out of you. He flips you over underneath him, manhandles you in the exact position that he wants, lifting your ass up into the air just enough to show your pussy through your sticky thighs and doesn’t let you realize what’s happening before slipping back inside of your wet cunt.

Both of his hands are braced on your lower back, hands splayed in a way that gives him so much steadiness as he rocks into you. He pulls you back every time he presses hips forward, slowly at first, setting a pace and fucking you like rolling waves. “If you think that you know what it’s like to be me, you’re so fucking wrong,” he tells you, voice just as steady as his motions.

“I know you think that you were in charge that entire time, I know you do,” he says, pace starting to pick up, “but you have to know, deep down, that you were really still under my control.” You have no other thoughts in your head other than how full you feel and whatever is coming out of Kei’s mouth. “You never had an ounce of power.”

He rocks you faster, meeting with his length as he puts more pressure on your lower back. “If I would’ve said anything, you would have listened in an instant.” His breath is getting heavier as his pace gets even quicker, sliding in and out of your wet pussy. “I could’ve told you, in the middle of everything, to get on your back and spread your legs like a good little bitch and you would’ve done it.”

It’s all true.

“Isn’t that right?” he asks. You’re not sure if he’s looking for a real answer, but you want to give him one, one that comes from you so he knows that it’s true.

You nod your head, “Yes, fuck. I missed it. Halfway through I missed it so much. I thought about just leaving and coming home with you. Couldn’t go two seconds without wanting you to take control of me again.”

His hips stutter, cock throbs violently inside of you, and the force that comes after the stutter is animalistic, like he can’t control himself. He snakes one hand around, grabs you by your neck, and pulls you up until your back is pressed against his chest. The backs of your thighs are resting against the tops of his and every time he fucks up into you, you fall back down onto his cock like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“I can’t take control of you again if I never stopped,” he grunts into your ear. His large hand around your throat doesn’t let you respond again, but maybe that’s for the best. You’re not sure you could take another drastic increase in force. Your entire body is more sore than he’s ever made it. Your throat, your hips, your chest, the insides and backs of your thighs. 

His other hand roams around your body, groping whatever parts of you he can reach, desperately trying to fulfill his need to touch every inch of you. It ends with his fingers on your clit, rubbing small circles into your sensitive nub. “Do I have to abuse your cunt even more or are you going to cream all over my fucking cock again?” His lips are pressed up against your ear as he speaks so you can feel the vibrations of each word.

Your body slumps forward, too much energy going towards trying to stay conscious as you come for the fourth time after being handled so roughly. Kei is there to catch you, wrapping his arm across your chest as he fucks you through another orgasm. It doesn’t last quite as long as your last one and you’re grateful for that, not sure how much you could’ve handled without collapsing. 

As soon as the waves have passed over you, he leans you forward and grabs onto your shoulders. If this was anyone else other than Kei, you would’ve protested. There isn’t a single other person you trusted to take care of you in a position like this. One wrong move and you were falling on your face on the floor.

Kei acts like it’s not a big deal, like he’s not incredibly fucking hot for being this trustworthy and strong. As he slams into you, you lurch forward off his cock, but are instantly pulled back on by his grip on your shoulders. The motion is jarring at first, abrupt and hard to get used to, but when you finally do, it feels incredible. He experiments with different holds, different rhythms, and you can’t get enough of it.

But the need comes all at once and leaves your mouth in the same beat, “Kei, wanna- wanna see you, please.” You half-expect him to make a comment about how he’s in charge and how you don’t get to make demands, but instead he starts to move you.

He stays in the same position, but turns you around to face him. You wrap your legs around his torso and sink onto his cock. It’s as deep as it was before, but you feel even more full for some reason. The softness in his eyes when you finally make eye contact with him is something that surprisingly doesn’t surprise you.

You trust him to support you, don’t feel the need to wrap your arms around his neck to hold yourself steady so you use them instead to brace the sides of his face. He wasn’t planning on turning away from you or breaking eye contact, but you weren’t going to take that risk. “I need you to fill me up, baby, please, need to feel your come inside of me,” you tell him.

His grunts and throbbing cock are affirmations, but not as much as him lying you down softly on your back and starting to fuck into you faster. “You want my come?” he asks, hands planted on your shoulders once again. “Ask nicely.”

“Please, please, please, Kei. I want your come, want it deep inside of me, so deep. Fuck,” you beg, trying to roll your hips to meet his. It throws off his rhythm slightly, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Rather, he adjusts as best he can to match them, breathing harshly through his nose when it matches just right.

“Pretty please?” he smirks.

“Pretty please, baby, fuck. Need you to fill me up, pump me full of your fucking seed,” you wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself closer to his face as he struggles to keep his pace, “until I can fucking taste it.”

He opens his mouth, going to ask you to beg again or say something else, but you close the gap between your lips, crashing yours against his and shoving your tongue in his mouth. You’re not concerned with technique or politeness, you just want to be closer to him. Your tongue is exploring his mouth like it’s the first time you’re kissing, little moans escaping out of the sides of your mouth. You pull away for only a moment, “Come for me.”

The second that your lips are back on his, you can feel his fingernails scratch into your lower back where he’s wrapped his arms. His cock is pulsing and you can feel his come spraying against your walls, stream after stream. You’re tightening your pussy as he sloppily fucks into you trying to milk every single drop from his balls. “Wanna feel it drip out of my hole, baby, please,” you whisper against his lips. Another string of come drips out of his cock and into your pussy before he pulls away from you, slowly sliding out of you, come still drooling from the slit. 

It doesn’t take long for the come to start dripping out of your gaping hole. “So pretty and messy, fuck,” Kei says, pressing the head of his cock against your hole, smearing his load on your clit and over your puffy lips. 

By the time you’ve caught your breath, he’s stopped, now only focusing his energy on staring at you. “I should probably go get cleaned up, huh?” you ask with no real intention of moving. Kei nods his head anyway, getting up off the bed and reaching out his hand. 

You, again, with no real intention of moving, don’t make a move for his hand. 

“Come on, pretty,” he leans down and scoops you up instead. You almost protest, already missing the soft mattress until the feeling of grime sets in. He helps you get cleaned and then carries you right back to bed and you’re somehow the most grateful you’ve been all night.

“I feel balanced again. Everything feels back in place,” you tell him as he tucks you under the covers before climbing under them himself, snuggling up against you. 

“Is that so?” he asks. It’s not even the slight bit sarcastic.

“Mhm,” you nod along, “when I was walking home, something felt off. I think it was how little we touched when we were having sex with Tadashi. I never want to have that little of contact with you in intimate moments ever again.”

“When I saw that look in your eyes, I thought I really fucked up, you know?” he admits, “Even when you pushed forward, I still felt like something was really wrong.”

“I barely knew what was wrong,” you laugh. “All I knew was that as you were touching me, I was starting to feel better and I didn’t want you to stop.” You press yourself against his side, throwing one arm overtop of his chest, but it’s still not close enough. Without warning, you throw your leg over him, climbing on top of him and lying on his chest. You rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him.  

“Is that better?” he asks, softly, smoothing your hair.

“Kinda? Almost,” you quietly state. You chew on your lip, not exactly sure how to ask for what’s on your mind. “Wanna be closer to you.”

Kei cocks his head. He doesn’t have to explicitly ask you what you mean, the question is showing on his face.

“You know how normally you take care of me after by petting my hair and holding me?” you ask. “And it’s very wonderful and comforting, but,” you mumble through the rest of your sentence, “this time, can you just fuck me nicely? Want to be close to you again.”

It’s rare that the two of you do this. It’s really only happened twice in your relationship, but you know that makes it even more special. Neither of you really have any need for slow, sensual sex. It doesn’t get you off as much.

But this time isn’t necessarily to get you off as best as possible, you just want to feel him inside of you, feel his skin on yours as much as possible. 

He slides you down gently, lifts his hips up to rub his soft cock against your thigh. It’s growing hard against your leg as he places soft, gentle kisses into your neck and down your shoulders. “Is this what you want?” he asks.

You nod against him, “Mhm, please.”

“You know that I’ll do anything for you, right?” It’s a rhetorical question, you know, but you still feel the need to answer him despite the incessant warmth spreading through your cheeks and chest. 

“I know that,” you whisper back to him. 

He’s gentle around the spots that he knows he wasn’t too gentle to earlier. He makes sure to avoid your hips and the backs of your thighs, your neck, half of your body essentially. When he slips inside of you, he’s not fully hard, but there’s something about feeling him grow inside of you that has you throbbing. 

Typically, this doesn’t get the two of you off as much as the alternative, but right now, your breathing is heavy and his is mirrored and he hasn’t even started moving yet. 

You push his hair out of his face and you begin rocking against him. His cock isn’t really coming out of you and back in rather than moving along with you, but neither of you mind. You stay as full as possible and he gets to be surrounded by how perfectly warm your walls are.

“Does this feel as good for you as it does for me?” you ask, hands softly grabbing onto his shoulder as you move your hips in small circles. He nods, swallowing harshly as he reaches up to hold your face in his hands.

“Better, maybe,” he admits. 

You breeze over it, don’t have the heart or energy to disagree with him so instead you say, “I love you, Kei.” You lift off of his cock and slowly slide back down, eyes rolling back into your head as you take in the feeling of every inch.

“Fuck, I love you,” he reciprocates. 

You stop moving, resting all of your weight on him and locking your fingers together at the top of his head. “Fuck me harder, baby,” you instruct him. Kei listens immediately, lifting his hips and slamming into you. “And tell me you love me again.”

“I love you. I love you,” he repeats, driving his cock into you forcefully. 

“Faster,” you breathe. You’re absolutely certain that your body can only take one more orgasm before you pass out tonight and you know exactly what’s going to get you there. Kei is fucking up into you just as rough as he was earlier now, the insides of your thighs red and raw. “Feels better for you?” you ask.

He’s out of breath, under covers and fucking into you relentlessly now, but he manages to nod, eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. 

“Then fill me up, baby, drain the rest of your come inside of me, need it, need it now,” you say against his ear. 

It takes seconds before he’s spilling his load into you once again. It’s less forceful, less intense, but you can feel his balls tightening and his come filling you. “Fuck it into me. Wanna feel it spill out as you fuck your thick cock into me.”

The come is spilling down the sides of his cock, coating his length and his balls as it drips from your hole around him. You can only imagine the mess between his legs, can feel yourself getting emptier and emptier and it pushes you over the edge. You let your forehead collide with his shoulder, muffling your final moans as you squirm against him one last time. The orgasm isn’t as strong as your previous ones, but the feeling of bliss and euphoria is still residing as your eyelids grow heavier. 

He doesn’t pull out of you, doesn’t move an inch, just whispers into your hair, “You really are everything to me.”

You wouldn’t necessarily categorize it as a nice fuck or a rough fuck. It’s its own category, falling somewhere in the middle of it all, a desperate, sleepy, lazy fuck that’s guided by instinct and not a lot of thought, but still has direction, mostly from you. It’s a testament to how incredible the two of you are together, how your dynamic works no matter what, how you are meant to be. It’s a showcase of how perfect you are for each other, the trust that you each feel for one another, and the inseparable bond between you. 

Really, it just confirms what you knew all along. You’ve been in control the whole time.

taglist: @daddyjackfrost @karasunoya @girlwith-kalei-do-scope-eyes @itsmeteiiteii @omiivr @cyueksims @kei-tsuki21 @ks-tsukki @snazzyturtles @rinniemybeloved @tsukiran @kurapika-1999 @hehatesmati

no more taglist for not fair, but get tagged in my other stuff! ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

[tulisydan]

Käärijä and Bojan meeting timeline (preparties) part. 3

Anyone still here? We have only started! 

You can find the part 1 here and part 2 here <3

Jatketaan!

April 8th The second day of the Madrid pre-party

Here is Käärijä’s Instagram stories from the morning after, he is very happy and lively (until someone spat on him, don’t do that). I think yesterday went well? 

The Blue(?) carpet

Kiss, Mary, Party: 

This one. I don’t even know which one I’m more embarrassed for. Käärijä is trying sneakily glance at Bojan and when he notices that Joker Out is moving he slowly turns his head to their direction and locks his eyes to Bojan’s. We don’t even have to talk about Bojan’s reaction. (He btw gives a hug to Käärijä’s friend/translator). Why are both of them so extra already, they JUST MET

(Also sidenote, at this point in interviews Käärijä has added a new favorite Eurovision 2023 song to his list and I think you can guess which one right yes yes of course it is Slovenia.)

I don’t know, I’m still not sure if Bojan liked Käärijä that much right after he met him… oh here Bojan doing impression of him the day after he met him. (GO WATCH: Carpe Diem Series / Ch6 – Madrid, it’s so cute)

And finally this picture, I think it was taken very late in the evening because Bojan is drinking. Look at those smiles!!

This is the end of Madrid preparty and part 3. Next one is Amsterdam (and London). 

[babybatscreationsv2]

Upskirt ch6

Marvel | Starker

Someone has been taking pictures up Peter's skirt when he's not looking and poor Peter has found their blog.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Warnings and tags below

Warnings and tags: femboy!Peter, public sex, teacher/student, romnoncon, spanking, threesome, thigh fucking, face fucking

The weekend dragged on for much too long. Peter did his best to use his free time to get caught up on homework and studying, but he just kept thinking about his teacher. He checked the blog a million times a day, but there were no new pictures. He half expected there to be one of him with Tony's cum on his face. He'd definitely taken one. Peter supposed it would get them both into trouble if someone recognized his face. Covering your student in cum was definitely a firing offense if not a crime.

He was up early Monday morning. He told his aunt he would most likely be late again before running out the door. His heart raced all the way down the street and onto the subway platform. It was the usual morning crowd full of barely awake zombie faces. Everyone sipped coffee or scrolled on their phones. The train pulled up and they squeezed their way on. Peter didn't see Mr. Stark anywhere, but he rarely did. Still he was disappointed. He need it.

The subway began to move along and that's when Peter spotted Mr. Stark standing a few spots ahead. His teacher looked back and met his eye. He shot him a wink that he felt in his groin. He didn't seem interested in pushing his way through to Peter. It was even worse to have seen him and still not get what he wanted, but maybe he could volunteer to stay after to help 'grade homework'.

Peter jumped as someone touched him. A curious hand fondled his ass through his skirt. He stared at the back of his teacher's head across the train. Did he know? Was that why he looked back at him?

When he didn't pull away, that hand grew bolder just as Mr. Stark once had. It slipped under his skirt and calloused knuckles ran over the curve of his ass where it stuck out the bottom of his panties. Peter licked his lips. He wanted him to touch him he needed it. Whoever this person was, they didn't seem to have the same reservations Mr. Stark had started with. They reached between his legs, forcing him to shift his feet apart, and palmed his cock rubbing and squeezing as if he were some sort of toy.

They played with him for a while, getting him fully hard and embarrassingly close, before stopping. Their hands traced his waist up to his chest and found his nipples under his shirt. His mouth dropped open, but he choked back the squeal that almost escaped. They pinched and tugged and it had Peter humping the air and desperate.

Mr. Stark looked back and watched him for a moment with amusement. He'd definitely set this up, whoever it was. Peter swallowed. Mr. Rogers? Mr. Stark had promised to call him after their talk about how fuckable he was. He was so rough and Mr. Stark was so mean and if the two of them didn't give him the nastiest spit roasting possible he would going to simply die.

As the train reached its stop, the hands went away. Peter stood, panting, nipples hard under his shirt and cock aching in his panties. When it came time to move, he was stuck until the person behind him nudged him forward.

He didn't look back. Not until he reached the front of the school. Sure enough, Mr. Stark was walking and talking with Mr. Rogers. They spotted him and Mr. Stark grinned while Mr. Rogers looked hungry. Peter almost wanted to laugh. If Mr. Stark wasn't going to fuck him, Mr. Rogers definitely would. He looked like he wanted to throw him down on the sidewalk and fuck him like a dog.

Now he had two classes that he could barely survive. Mr. Roger's class was early in the morning. The man acted like he didn't know Peter existed, but Peter's nipples were still hard under his shirt from where he'd touched him. Or maybe they'd hardened up when he came into the room. He wasn't sure. He couldn't think straight. Mr. Stark's class wasn't any better. He didn't take in a word being said. He was busy remembering the taste of his cock.

At the end of the day, he ran back to Mr. Stark's room. The room was empty. Peter stood beside, Mr. Stark's desk. It was just the same old desk that had always been there, but now looking at it just made him horny.

The classroom door closed. Peter jumped, quickly turning around. Mr. Rogers stood by the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

"How long have you been letting strangers molest you in public?" he asked. He didn't hide the disgust his voice. As if he wasn't the one who had done the 'molesting'. Peter's face burned. He didn't know how to answer that, but it sure seemed like the man expected an answer.

"I uh..."

His eyebrows raised. His arms dropped. He marched across the room with heavy steps backing Peter into the desk. His hand gripped his chin. "You are a little slut aren't you? I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. Thought you were sweet, but you're not are you?"

Peter whimpered. He seemed so angry. Like Peter's lack of morals was a personal affront. He wanted to argue that the teacher was really no better, but he couldn't find his voice. Mr. Roger's grabbed his wrist and Peter flinched. He brought it to his crotch and pressed Peter's palm against his erection.

"That's what you do to the grown men who see you bouncing around like somebody's toy. You've got us all walking around thinking the most disgusting thoughts about you and you love it don't you?" He let go of Peter's wrist. His knuckles trailed up his thigh and under his skirt. "Well... it's my job to teach you after all."

He let go of Peter's chin to turn him around. He pushed down on his back, bending him over the desk. His arm knocked over Mr. Stark's pens and they rolled across the floor. One hand held the back of his neck. He shivered at the sound of a belt coming undone.

Finally.

He was so ready for it. He was starving. Mr. Rogers grabbed the bottom of his skirt and flipped it up around his waist, but rather than a hand pulling down his panties he felt the cool leather of the man's belt touching his thigh.

Peter jumped as he heard the door click. The hand on his neck kept him from moving.

"Started without me? And I invited you to my party," Mr. Stark said.

"I'm just doing my civic duty and teaching the youth."

"He's a really slow learner. You're gonna need some help making sure the lesson sticks."

"Could use some help making sure the rest of the staff don't come running."

Mr. Stark chuckled. "I have just the thing."

He heard the sound of another belt coming undone. Mr. Rogers manhandled him until he his head could hang off the side of the desk. Mr. Stark walked around, pants hanging open, stroking his cock. Peter licked his lips. The teacher smirked.

"You know what to do don't you?"

Peter opened his mouth as he came close. He moaned as his teacher's cock filled up his mouth. And screamed when Mr. Rogers struck his ass with the belt.

"Perfect," Mr. Stark sighed. He pushed himself into Peter's throat. Tears welled in his eyes as he choked. Mr. Stark wiped them away while a grin.

"Never took you for a sadist," Mr. Rogers commented.

"Me? No, I just love teaching my favorite student how to be a more upstanding citizen."

Mr. Rogers scoffed. "Sure, Stark."

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"Of course." He struck him again with the belt and Peter squealed. Mr. Stark kept his cock in his mouth, though it didn't actually do much to quiet him, while Mr. Rogers spanked him. His ass heated up quickly, stinging more and more and with each strike of the belt until he thought it had to be bleeding, but when his teacher stopped and ran his hands over his ass he didn't feel any broken skin.

Mr. Rogers knelt behind him and pulled down his panties. "Nice and red," he mused. "Have you learned your lesson yet, Peter?"

He tried to say yes, but his mouth was too stuffed. Mr. Stark just laughed. "I think he wants more, Steve."

A hand palmed his sore flesh. "I think so, too." Rough hands spread his ass open. Peter jumped and then moaned as his teacher's tongue swiped over his hole.

"Oh he loved that, listen to him," Mr. Stark said. He slowly fucked his mouth while Mr. Rogers ate him out. It felt so good, that tongue pressing over his hole, running around his rim, running down over his taint and back up. He couldn't do anything but spread his legs asking for more. Mr. Rogers slurped up the mess he'd made with his own spit and Peter shivered at how dirty that was.

He picked up the belt again. Peter whined.

"Press your legs together. I don't think you want your balls in the way." He grabbed Peter's hips and positioned him with his ass a little higher and his cock and balls against the desk where they were safe but uncomfortable.

He screamed again as the belt struck his ass. Neither one of his teachers seemed interested in being gentle with him now. Mr. Stark fucked his face while Mr. Rogers belted him. They had him rocking against the desk, hanging on desperately to the surface. The desk top was too hard, but it made no difference to his cock at this point.

"You're not getting close are you?" Mr. Stark teased. "I think you're enjoying this too much."

Mr. Rogers stopped and sighed. "We're trying to help you here, Peter. How are you ever going to learn like this?" He grabbed his hips and pulled him back from the desk.

"Hey, I was using that," Mr. Stark complained.

"He's not going anywhere. I'm just fixing the problem." He turned Peter around and pushed him onto his back. Mr. Rogers moved him around so easily, like he weighed nothing. He positioned him again with his head hanging so Mr. Stark could use his mouth. He could get so much deeper at this angle and he didn't care when Peter choked and spit ran down his face.

Mr. Rogers grabbed his legs and pulled them straight up in the air. Peter moaned as he felt his cock against his ass.

"I've got dibs on that," Mr. Stark growled.

"Easy. I'm happy with this." His cock squeezed between Peter's thighs, sliding against his cock. He whined desperately with every thrust of his teacher's hips, especially when he dug his fingers into his skin and his hips smacked against his sore ass. It felt so good. One teacher stretching out his throat while the other used his thighs.

"Fuck," Mr. Rogers moaned. "Such a filthy little boy."

"Told you so," Mr. Stark laughed.

Mr. Rogers squeezed his thighs tighter together. He fucked him like he should have fucked his hole. Peter held on to the desk top feeling like he might fall off. Then Mr. Roger's groaned and he could feel the wet spurts of his cum all over his cock and the inside of his skirt.

"There," he sighed. "I'll let you jack off with my cum." He swatted Peter's sore ass as he took a step back. Peter was quick to wrap a hand around himself. Mr. Stark kept fucking his throat. Every time he gagged it made his cock throb. Drool had run down into his eye, but he loved it.

"That's a good whore," Mr. Stark purred. "Make yourself cum while I bruise your throat. You won't be able to speak when I'm done with you, but that's not what your mouth is for anymore is it?"

Peter moaned. He pumped his cock with his fist full of his teacher's cum and in no time he was cumming, too. Mr. Stark pulled out of his mouth and let him catch his breath. Even his breathing was raspy and painful and it just made him want to cum again. He felt so used.

He slid down off the desk. The disgusting mess under his skirt stuck to his skin. "Here, we don't want to waste all of that do we?" Mr. Rogers said. He bent and pulled up Peter's panties.

"I've got one more for you," Mr. Stark said. "Lift the skirt up."

Peter did what he was told. Mr. Stark pulled his panties down enough to aim his cock inside while he stroked himself. He sighed happily as he came, filling up his panties all the more before pulling them back up. Peter felt like he could barely stand. It was too good, his brain felt like mush and his cock was hard again.

"I hope you learned something," Mr. Rogers scolded.

"Yeah, Peter," Mr. Stark said with a grin. "If you keep running around like a slut this is what dirty old men are gonna do to you."

Peter smiled. "Is that a promise?" His voice was raspy and broken.

Mr. Rogers chuckled. "I guess there's no saving a whore after all."

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (18/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU

This Chapter: Teen, ~4900 words

AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 |

It was no hyperbole for James to say that the next six weeks were some of the best of his life. He worked hard to stay in the present, to file the memories he was making with Rose into his brain to be pulled out again at a later date when things got bad (because inevitably things always got bad, didn’t they?) He cataloged every laugh, every smile, every touch, basking in the high of new love.

His relationship with Rose had become the most important thing in his life, and he would protect it fiercely with every bone in his body. The media had caught on to that fact; as a result, more and more articles were coming out, wondering where he was and what he was doing. They ranged from wild speculations that he had been pulled into nefarious schemes, to softer and sweeter (and more accurate) speculations that he was love-sick. The paps still called her his mysterious blonde, which had become a running joke between them, with Rose calling him her mysterious beau.

His fans had also noticed his public absence. In the past, he could often be found wandering London and sampling its pleasures with whomever he happened to be dating at the time. But with his desire to keep Rose away from the cameras, they were sneaking around or hanging out in each others’ homes far away from any hope of discovery. His fans were discussing among themselves about whether he was working on a super secret project, or if he was ill, or if he’d stepped away from music altogether.

While he yearned to soothe their worries, he didn’t want to jeopardize this pseudo-peace he had found with Rose. They obviously couldn’t keep going as they were forever—he would want to take Rose all across the globe with him whenever her schedule allowed for it. He wanted to show her all the places she’d never been to but wanted to go. He wanted her to watch him on tour, wanted to see her face in the crowd beside the family and friends he’d invited to his show. He wanted to bring her along as his plus-one to the formal events and galas he was regularly invited to.

But not yet. Baby steps. He knew they first needed to continue building and strengthening the foundations of their relationship, and unlike all of his previous failed attempts at love, he wanted these first few months to be just theirs and no one else’s.

As November drew to a close, he slowly began to integrate Rose into his private life by introducing her to the people he trusted to keep the secret. His mates were thrilled that he seemed to have found “a good one” (their words), and he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than grin like an idiot. Rose really was a good one—the best one.

“She’s good for you, mate,” Ian told him when his friends began to depart from his birthday dinner. “You act more yourself around her.”

“What do you mean, I always act myself,” he protested, frowning.

Barbara, Ian’s fiancée, patted his cheek softly while she kissed his other cheek. “You think you do. But remember, we’ve known you since puberty.”

He grimaced and shooed his two oldest friends out of his house so he could celebrate the remainder of his birthday alone with Rose.

His record label seemed surprised but overall indifferent to Rose. James didn’t know what he expected, really; they’d always made it clear that his personal life was his own to do with as he wished, but the moment he started looking bad for the label, they would put him on a short leash.

Nevertheless, it was a relief for them to be privy to the knowledge that he wanted Rose to remain a secret from the public for as long as possible. They also didn’t mind that his productivity had slowed down. Since the bulk of the work for his next album was complete, it wouldn’t take too much longer to get it produced, polished, and published.

Rose didn’t yet want to introduce him to any of her friends, and he wavered between hurt and guilt, wondering in equal measure if Rose was embarrassed to be dating him or wishing she could have a normal boyfriend she could show off to her mates.

But at the same time, he understood. With too many people in the know, it would be far too easy for word to leak about their relationship, and before they knew it, paparazzi would be battering down their doors to interrogate them. His friends had years of practice (and several awkward or painful missteps along the way) with keeping aspects of his life a secret, while hers didn’t. He would let Rose decide the pace with which they broadcast their relationship to others.

It was like he was living in a dream, and while he existed in a state of euphoria for most of the day, there were times when a lingering doom would settle over him as he wondered when their bubble of joy would pop. It was as though a great storm was approaching, but he couldn’t predict when or where or how it would happen.

He always knew he and Rose were teetering on the edge of discovery. One moment of being in the wrong place at the wrong time beside someone with a camera, and the game was up. One person would be all it took to have his paradise come crashing down around him.

But James never expected that person to come in the form of Jacqueline Tyler.

oOoOo

It has been nine days, eleven hours, and twenty-eight minutes since he last saw Rose, (not that he’s counting), when they snuck into the back of a darkened cinema to watch the Catalysis film together. The theater had been mostly empty, thanks to it being noon on a weekday and the film having been out for a month and a half. Rose’s school was closed for the day due to a water main break that left several city blocks without running water.

When she’d texted him that morning telling him the news, he couldn’t help but want to spend the entire day with her because he would be off that night traveling to a few cities across Asia for more film promotion and some early holiday concerts, mostly to raise money for charities. Everyone was more generous in December, and James wasn’t above being used to draw people in to watch him perform for a half hour.

The trip also served to satisfy his fans that he was, in fact, alive and well. The hashtag #WelcomeBackJames was trending on Twitter for half a day when he made his first stop in Tokyo. His social media was flooded with photos of himself either performing on stage, posing for a photoshoot, or taking selfies with fans. For the first time in a long while, he looked healthy. His eyes shone with joy and his skin had a glow to it that he hadn’t realized was missing.

When he took part of a morning to do a photoshoot for a Japanese magazine, his makeup artists barely had to touch his face like they usually did to soften the sharp gauntness of his cheeks or conceal the dark shadows beneath his eyes. After some of the photos had been released, Rose had sent him one where he was clad in nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans that showed off the jut of his hip bones and teased at the happy trail that disappeared beneath the denim. The photo had been heavily edited to make his skin tanner than it was and to highlight abdominal muscles he definitely didn’t have.

Can I get your ab regimen? “How to get abs of steel in 48 hours” from James Noble, she had texted.

He snorted. “Sorry, it’s a trade secret.”

Hmm. I’ll give you a bj for it? 🍆

His stomach swooped teasingly, and he banished the memories of Rose’s mouth on his cock before they could take root.

“Deal. The trick is being a multi-millionaire with a phenomenal make-up team and photographers who know how to use photoshop. BJ when???”

When you come home 💜

Home. It’s funny that when he thought of home, it wasn’t his house that came to mind. It was her—her smile and her laugh, the warmth of her embrace and the passion in her lips and the tenderness of her touch. And as excited as he was to visit east Asia, he was more excited to return to Rose.

Presently, now that he’s home, he aches to see her again. He returned three days ago, but Rose has been recovering from some respiratory illness her plague-riddled students passed on to her. While he respected her wishes for him to stay away for a few more days, he misses her. Their late-night phone calls were just enough to take the edge off, but he longs to see her in person, to hold her in his arms and kiss her deeply and slowly until they’re both starved for breath.

It’s Friday evening, and James is in the recording studio, snacking on a packet of crisps to tide him over until dinner time and plonking away on the piano, trying to put his finger on what is missing from the latest song he’s recording. Every time he tries to focus on what doesn’t sound right, it slips farther and farther away, like trying to catch wisps of mist with his fingertips.

He groans dramatically and gets up from his piano bench to flop even more dramatically onto his sofa. He shoves the remaining few crisps into his mouth and sullenly chews while replaying the melodies over and over in his head, trying to map slight variations on top of each other to fix whatever is dissatisfying him. But it doesn’t work, and he only succeeds in giving himself a minor headache and a bone-deep frustration.

Fuck it. It’s Friday, and he’s going home.

Unless…

He snags his phone from the table and opens his messaging thread with Rose.

“I know you said to wait until this weekend when you’re feeling better. But it’s practically already the weekend, innit? Can I come over for a bit? Or pick you up and we can go to my house?”

James drums his fingers across his thighs while he waits for her answer. Now that he’s got it in his head that he might be seeing Rose within the hour, he’s impatient to get to her.

His phone vibrates in his palm, and her message sinks his spirits.

Sorry, I can’t. I’m babysitting my little brother for the night. Mum and Dad have Friday date night, and their usual sitter came down with the flu. Tomorrow. I promise xo.

James sighs and rubs his fingers into his eyes.

“It’s fine. I understand. Tomorrow first thing? 🥺”

Oh, that’s so pathetic! Yes, first thing tomorrow. Pick me up at 9?

“On the dot,” he confirms.

He rests his phone beside him on the sofa cushion. Now what? Go home to an empty house and cook up whatever his personal assistant planned for him? Or maybe he can see if any of his friends are up for a night out. His week-long excursion to Asia scratched the itch of wanting to socialize, but he wants more. He’s always been extroverted in nature, loving the energy of a crowded pub or some similar venue, and while he would never regret these quieter, calmer weeks with Rose, he misses the former bustle of his social life.

James pulls open the group chat with his local famous friends, but before he can ask if any of them want to meet him at a pub, he gets a new message from Rose.

I mean… I don’t suppose you’d mind a 4-year-old third-wheeling us if you came ‘round?

A grin steals across his face. “Not in the slightest. Though it does put a damper on my plan to ravish you thoroughly and filthily the moment I see you 😏”

Well, what if I told you Tony will be gone by 9pm? 🍆

“I suppose the ravishing could be postponed ‘til then 🐱👅💦” He sends the text, then a thought occurs to him. “Does this mean you want to introduce me to your family?”

The three dots that indicate Rose is typing pulse across his screen for many long seconds before she answers, Yeah, I think I do. At least preliminarily. We can do a longer introduction later.

He beams at his phone screen. “Perfect. Can’t wait. I’ll come by right now. See you soon! 💜”

James hurriedly packs away the instruments and equipment he’d used that day before bolting out of the building and to his car, praising his lucky stars that he’d chosen today of all days to drive himself to the studio. He would have gone half-mad waiting for his driver to trek to him amidst Friday rush hour traffic. As it is, he goes half-mad inching through the rush hour traffic on his way to Rose’s flat.

Finally though, he arrives, and he battles the climb up to the tenth storey. It’s only when he knocks on her door that he belatedly thinks he should have offered to pick up dinner. No time for it now, not as Rose swings open her front door and ushers him inside.

When the door snicks shut behind him and she fastens the lock, he folds her into his arms and simply holds her for several long seconds, tucking his nose into her hair to breathe her in. She embraces him just as tightly, rocking slowly from side to side.

“I missed you,” she murmurs into his neck. There is still a faint, throaty rasp to her voice leftover from her bout of illness, and if he’s being perfectly honest, there is something incredibly sexy about it.

“And I you.”

He pulls back only far enough to cradle her jaw in his palm and angle her face up for a sweet kiss that he works to keep chaste. She melts into him, bracing her hands on his shoulders to kiss him back, matching his pace. Heat unfurls through him, gentle yet delicious. Before his desire can overtake him, he pops their mouths apart to rest his forehead to hers.

She nudges the tip of her nose into his before backing up a step. “C’mon. Tony’s in the kitchen havin’ some hotdogs and cheesy potatoes.”

Rose takes him by the hand and guides him to her kitchen table, where a small blond-haired boy sits perched on several pillows on top of a chair to get him to the proper height to reach the table. He’s watching a cartoon on a tablet, so transfixed that he doesn’t even notice their presence.

“Tony? I’ve got someone for you to meet,” Rose says, releasing James’s hand to step closer to her brother. “Can we pause Peppa for a moment, please?”

“I guess,” the boy says with a dramatic sigh. He reaches out with grubby fingers to pause the video, then pivots in his seat, causing the pillows to shift slightly with his movements. He meets James’s eye and blinks. “Who’re’you?”

“This is James,” Rose says, touching his upper arm as she says his name. “Remember I said he’d be hangin’ out with us tonight. He’s my boyfriend. Can you say hi?”

“Hi,” Tony obliges. “D’you like Peppa?”

James scratches the back of his neck. “Can’t say I’ve ever watched Peppa. What’s it all about?”

Tony lights up and launches into a half-coherent rambling about the show and the characters. James barely follows what the boy is saying, but judging from the interactions he’s had with some of his friends’ kids, it doesn’t really matter.

“Come come come,” Tony says, patting the table beside him. “You can watch Peppa too. Come on!”

Rose flashes him an apologetic smile, but James waves her off and pulls up a chair to sit beside the child.

“This one’s my fav’rite,” Tony says, returning to the tablet and starting the episode.

“They’re all your favorite,” Rose mutters. She steps up behind James and lightly links her arms around his neck, resting her chin atop his head. He leans into her while an anthropomorphic pig appears on the screen.

“Is that Peppa?” he asks.

Tony giggles. “Nooooo, silly, tha’s Chloe!”

“God, I can’t believe you didn’t recognize that’s Chloe,” Rose drawls in his ear.

He reaches back to pinch her bum as he says to Tony, “Oh, right, silly me. Of course I can see that’s Chloe now.”

Tony absently swings his feet and nibbles on a hotdog. “There. Tha’s Peppa.”

Rose continues to hold James in a backwards hug while the three of them watch the brief episode together. When it ends, Rose ruffles Tony’s hair and says, “I’m gonna steal James back, all right? We need to make grown-up food.”

“You don’ wan’ hotdogs?” Tony asks, frowning.

Rose grimaces. “Nah, remember big sissy doesn’t like those.”

Tony simply blinks owlishly at her, as if he couldn’t possibly understand why anyone wouldn’t like hotdogs. James, meanwhile, catalogs that factoid of Rose into his memory bank.

“After dinner, why don’t we all play a game?” Rose suggests. 

“Okay,” Tony says brightly, and he returns his attention back to Peppa Pig.

James follows Rose the short distance to the kitchen, where, together, they chop, season, then cook the ingredients for fajitas.

The knife is an extension of his hands as he neatly slices and dices. He hardly realizes Rose is watching him until she asks, “Have you always been this comfortable in a kitchen?”

He glances over at her lumpy attempts at cubed chicken.

“Don’t laugh, but I actually took cooking lessons a couple years ago,” he admits, faint heat crawling up his cheeks.

“Why would I laugh?”

He ignores the jabs his friends made when he told them he was learning to cook.

“Just hire a chef…”

“Just order in…”

“Just find a wife…”

His famous friends didn’t understand why he didn’t hire someone to cook for him, and his non-famous friends didn’t understand why he would want to learn a skill they would all kill not to need to use.

James shrugs. “I like the idea of knowing how to cook. My luck might run out, and this time next year, I’ll be a washed-up has-been who needs to get by like a normal person, which includes knowing how to cook and use ingredients efficiently. And it’s healthier than dining out all the time. I struggled with proper nutrition when I first became famous.”

Rose comes up beside him and, careful of the knife, hugs one of his arms. She plants a kiss to his shoulder.

“Makes sense. You’ll have to teach me one day. But not tonight, I’m starving and in no mood for lessons.”

He snorts and bumps his hip into hers to get her to take a step away so he can reach for the onion that needs chopping.

The flat is soon filled with the sound of sizzling chicken, and it smells absolutely divine. The meat and spice scent reminds him of their date at Cocinara.

“Let’s go out to dinner sometime soon,” he suggests. “I know we’re trying to keep a low profile, but I’d really like to take you out. We can get all dressed up and get wasted on fancy champagne and stuff ourselves on fancy hors d'oeuvres and order fancy meals that come on fancy plates that look too fancy to eat. I know some places. I can book a reservation in a private area where we can go unnoticed.”

“James, you don’t need to convince me,” Rose says gently, resting her hand on his forearm to pause his rapid-fire speech. She then flashes him a cheeky smile. “You had me convinced at the promise of champagne. And dear God, would you please stop saying ‘fancy’?”

“You don’t fancy it?” he quips, giggling as she rolls her eyes and halfheartedly swats his chest.

When their dinner is finished, they each struggle to enfold the sauteed chicken and veggies into a tortilla shell until they give up and shred their tortilla atop a pile of fajita innards. Tony has left his perch at the kitchen table and is instead curled on the sofa with the iPad, still wholly consumed by Peppa Pig.

Rose clears her brother’s empty plate from the table. While in the kitchen, she grabs a bottle of pink wine and two glasses, and pours them both healthy measures. They clink their glasses in a dainty toast before tucking into their meal.

They don’t speak while they eat, but James has never felt more comfortable. There have been dates he’d gone on where he felt the need to fill every awkward silence because it was too stifling. But not here. Not now. Not with Rose.

He stretches his legs towards hers and lets his toes tap an absent beat against her feet while they eat. The beat turns into the rhythm of the song he tried (and failed) all day to tweak.

“D’you wanna see the recording studio?” he blurts. “I could show you how the sausage gets made.”

“You mean you don’t just sing into a microphone and magically have an album?” she drawls.

“Enh, that’s really the general gist of it. Just with some fancier gadgets. So… wanna see the studio? I’m sure there’s a “take your girlfriend to work” day coming up soon.”

Rose cackles. “Next time school’s off, I’ll come by. During the winter holiday, maybe.”

He makes a mental note about it, and is suddenly impatient for the next couple weeks to pass. While he genuinely does want to invite her into his professional life, his ulterior motive for showing her the studio is to present his half-finished album to her, to seek her blessing about creating music that captures and immortalizes the beginnings of their relationships.

When their food is eaten and the dishes are piled into the sink to do later, James and Rose join Tony in the living room. He finally puts the iPad aside and asks, “Can we play Jus’ Dance?”

James perks up. “Ooh, yes please!” He turns to Rose and affects his best pout.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” she says.

She opens the little cabinet door of the entertainment center her TV sits atop of to reveal an older-model gaming unit.

“Is that a genuine antique Wii?” James gasps.

Rose sticks her tongue out at him. “Shut up. I found one cheap online and got it so I could entertain this little terror when he comes to visit.”

Tony is utterly oblivious to his sister’s comment and is instead preemptively gyrating his hips, dancing to music that exists solely in his head. He puts lyrics to that music and is soon crooning in a long, off-key babble, “Gonna play Jus’ Dance. Gonna dance wi’ sissy. Gonna dance wi’ James. Gonna dance and dance ‘til it’s bedtime and Mummy comes and I go home and sleep in my big boy bed.”

“All right, big boy, you first,” Rose says, loading up the game.

There is a wide selection of songs from the 90’s and early 2000s; James notices she picks a child-appropriate song for her brother to play. Tony eagerly grabs the Wii remote and vaguely follows the on-screen dancer, choosing instead to move his body however he sees fit. The pure joy and delight radiating from the boy is infectious, and before they know it, he and Rose are mirroring Tony’s wild movements and giggling uncontrollably.

“Your turn!” Tony pants, pink-faced.

James accepts the nunchuk and selects a song for himself.

They pass nearly two hours in this fashion, trading off the controller between the three of them. James is amazed by (and slightly envious of) how much stamina Tony has. It’s only when the clock strikes 8:30 that he seems to have hit a wall. He throws himself onto the sofa and announces, “My legs are out of breath.”

Rose grins. “Yeah, mine are too. How ‘bout you, James.”

“So out of breath,” he agrees.

“Let’s sneak in a bit of ice cream before Mummy comes to get you, eh?” Rose suggests.

“Yay! Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream! Choc’late?”

“Of course. Only the best for my Tony.” Rose glances at James. “Want some?”

He nods, and powers down the Wii before settling onto the sofa beside Tony.

“That was fun. Good choice, little man.”

“It’s my fav’rite,” Tony says, still lying in a heap on the sofa. He peers up at James with giant brown eyes that are a few shades darker than Rose’s. “Are you an’ sissy in love?”

James balks. For a split second, he nearly spits out the reactionary retort he gives paparazzi, but mercifully catches himself.

He’s just a child. Of course he isn’t fishing for information. He’s just a child.

“Er, yeah, we are,” he answers, scratching at the back of his neck, as though that will stop his skin from prickling.

Tony beams. “Are you gonna get married?”

James doesn’t have a chance to respond, since Rose chooses this moment to enter the living room juggling three bowls. Her cheeks are pink, and she flashes him an apologetic smile before setting one of the bowls on the coffee table.

“Bum on the floor,” she tells her brother, who is already in motion to sit in front of his ice cream.

She then hands James his ice cream and settles into the spot her brother vacated.

“Sorry ‘bout him,” she murmurs in an undertone.

James shakes her head. “Children don’t know any better. No filter at that age. Not that I’m one to talk. My filter hasn’t developed even by age twenty-seven.”

Rose visibly relaxes, and the three of them sit in comfortable silence, enjoying their dessert.

The entire lower half of Tony’s face is covered in sticky chocolate by the time he’s done, so Rose marches her brother down the hall to clean him up while James takes it upon himself to start the washing up. He cleans up the droplets of melted ice cream from the coffee table, then does all of the dishes piled up by the sink.

Washing dishes has always been a mindless task for him, and tonight is no different. While he runs through the motions of washing and rinsing, his mind wanders absently, wondering what he and Rose can do together tomorrow, wondering where he can take her out to dinner, wondering if, as Tony said, Rose might want to marry him some day.

He never put much thought into marriage; it was something that either happened or didn’t. He has never had the deep and desperate desire to get married; all he ever wanted is to find a partner he loves with his whole self, and who loves him with their whole self. Whether that is made legally official with legally binding documents, or whether it’s a vow of commitment made between him and his partner, he doesn’t care.

But does Rose care? Does Rose want the big fancy wedding with the big fancy dress? He supposes he ought to find out. Really, he ought to find out a lot more than what he already knows. How much does he even know about Rose? What are her hopes and dreams and aspirations? Where does she want her life to be in five years? In ten? Does she want children? Does he want children?

He tries to imagine himself in ten years’ time, just like this, with Rose bathing their child or putting them to bed while he does the evening chores, and he just… he can’t see it.

He tries again and again, despite a little voice in the back of his mind that tells him that this doesn’t matter because he doesn’t know what Rose wants, and yet it makes no difference. Because what if Rose really, really wants children? What if having children is a deal breaker for her? Would he be okay with having kids? Would he be okay with not having kids? Do most twenty-seven-year-olds know by now if they want kids??

James has been absently scrubbing the same bowl for nearly five minutes, and he realizes Rose and Tony have been gone for quite a while.

But he barely finishes that thought when he hears the metallic jangle of a key in a lock, and suddenly Rose’s front door swings open. James’s heart is hammering as he is jarred back to the present. He sets the ultra-clean bowl into the sink and grabs a towel to dry his hands.

“Sorry we’re late. Traffic was a nightmare, you wouldn’t believe—”

A middle-aged blonde woman that James recognizes is standing just inside the front door beside a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair. James freezes as the woman’s eyes lock onto him and turn to ice.

“You!” she snarls, and stalks towards James. He shrinks away, but the sharp edge of the countertop bites into the small of his back, preventing his retreat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in my daughter’s flat?!”

[anika-ann]

Love on the Brain - part 6.2

Ch6: Floriography (2/2)

Type: MCU x Criminal Minds crossover series

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 6000

Summary: After the long night, you come back to the case with fresh eyes… and a new piece of evidence. You wished more evidence was good news. It’s not.

Series masterlist

Warnings: series includes criminal behaviour such as stalking or kidnapping; graphic violence, gun violence; (mentions of) death; allusions to dub-con; possible PTSD and flashbacks; sexual innuendos and foul language. Loads of fluff and teasing. I’m covering my bases here to make sure - probably sounds worse than it is. If you’re interested in specific warnings for individual chapters, let me know.

A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics​; Second part - the few first paragraphs in italics are from the end of part1 of sixth chapter, just to remind you what’s up 😁

“Why don't you ever use your strength on me?" she said. “Because love means renouncing strength," said Franz softly. – Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

No one protested against your plan. No one pointed out that the Tony’s coffee machine was a thing from caffeine addicts’ dreams and could prepare virtually anything. No one offered to help you with the large number of cups and sweet treats you had mentioned, understanding that needing air meant needing some alone time too.

It seemed they could all be pretty smart cookies after all – you would crack this case before it was too late, right? There were no other options anyway.

You motioned an awkward ‘gotcha’ on Emily and Hotch, nodding to yourself.

“Should have remembered those orders – some things never change,” you said wistfully, grabbing your phone with a credit care in its case. “Coming right up, guys. It’s on me.”

“Thanks, Bean.”

You smiled tightly at Spence, all but escaping the room as you felt more and more embarrassed at your emotional outburst – something coffee could hardly make up for, especially since it wasn’t your first scene in the past 24 hours.

You were all over the place ever since this mess started and you really did need to get your head straight.

And since getting a good night sleep in Steve’s room – bless him – didn’t help, your morning slip-up only making for more nerves, it seemed that you needed to do it alone.

…

As you stalked towards the elevator, quick on your feet, you heard him before you saw him. You sped up – but you could never outrun a supersoldier.

He fell into step with you, still a foot behind when he tried to talk to you – something you desperately didn’t want to do unless you were interested in falling apart.

“Sparkles,” he called out softly, having you grit your teeth as you ignored the itch to either push him away or to jump into his arms – because everything bad always disappeared when he held you. Or it felt as if it did.

But this wasn’t going to just go away with a hug; you needed to actually solve the case to have that happen and you couldn’t afford to be distracted, be it by your weakness or Steve’s presence or his complete lack of self-preservation.

“Steve, we’ve talked about this,” you hissed. “Go back to that room or I swear to god…”

“No.”

You halted in her steps, head snapping to him to shoot him an incredulous glare. He said what?

“What the fuck do you mean no?”

Could he just wipe that stupid concern out of his face and go back to where he had five other people protecting him instead of parading around when he could get shot?! What was wrong with him?!

Why did he have to be so obstinate and irritating and--- so Steve.

“I mean no,” he repeated firmly. No shit. “You’re upset and I-“

You shook your head, not letting him finish as you started walking again, long strides in quick succession so you could escape him before he could try and dive into your feelings and try to help. Before you could punch him or maybe kiss all the stupid out of him.

You sped up upon the last thought, practically breaking into a run.

You may not be able to outrun a supersoldier, but you could try to outrun the onslaught on feelings you had. For him, among others.

Ha, he said no. Idiot.

“You know what? Fine. Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. See if I care!”

The elevator door slid open invitingly, having you slip in and turn on your heels to glare Steve down just in case he didn’t get the memo.

Vainly.

“Sparkles, wait. Just stop for a minute,” he pleaded as he pushed into the elevator with you just as the door was closing.

“Seriously?!”

God, he was the most maddening person on this damn planet-

“What floor, Agent Jones?” Jarvis asked, perfectly polite and unfazed, while you crossed your arms on your chest, staring ahead and ignoring Steve standing by your side.

“The lobby, J. Thank you,” Steve replied to the artificial intelligence calmly.

Jarvis didn’t even reply, sending the elevator down in slow pace as to prolong your suffering.

Even when making a point of avoiding Steve’s gaze, you could see him in your peripheral vision. He kept looking at you steadily, resembling a kicked puppy as you watched the numbers tick by, his presence immense and nagging even in its silence.

You reached number 24 until you couldn’t handle it anymore.

“What?” you snapped, not dignifying him with a single look – which clearly bothered him. Good.

“Sparkles… look at me.”

Your stomach made a somersault at his gentle tone; you felt your resolve not to break into stupid tears again cracking.

No. You would not fall for this. You would not.

Gritting your teeth, you lifted your chin and turned to face him, mindful to glare, because he was supposed to be in the conference room minding his own sitting-on-his-ass business; you were determined to explain it to him again.

Your expression slipped when you got hit by a full load of his sincerely worried gaze.

Damn you, Steven Grant Rogers. Damn you, damn you, damn your stubborn reckless heroic ass-

“You’re so bossy and stubborn and reckless and I hate you,” you spat viciously, irritated and somehow relieved by a small smile growing on his face with each word and good lord, if he could just-

“I know. Come here.”

Carefully, slowly enough to give a chance to back out, he took your hand, twisting it slightly so your fingers rested over his pulse point, feeling every strong beat of his heart. You felt your expression falter further. That bastard read you like a book. Reading between the lines, staring straight through the wall of anger you had put up to reveal the fear underneath.

You felt his eyes studying your face as you stubbornly focused on the wall behind his shoulder – even if the dead eyes of Kyle Meyers were glaring back at you – until the mass of muscle moved closer and closer, once again giving you enough time to stop him. But you didn’t.

You accepted his hug instead, gulping against the lump in your throat when he enveloped you entirely, arms shielding you from the world, his chin resting on the top of your head. You melted into him as few stray tears rolled out of your eyes at last, seeping into his shirt.

He didn’t say another word; he just held you close, until you relaxed into him, hands reluctantly rising to wrap around him as well.

You were painfully aware that the elevator had stopped, but Jarvis had enough tact at least to leave the door sealed.

“Okay… maybe--- maybe I don’t entirely hate you,” you admitted quietly and lord, wasn’t that the truth.

You felt him smile into your hair, his hand rubbing your lower back comfortingly. He held you so carefully and yet firmly, giving his reassurance and comfort so willingly, his frame pressing to yours reminding you he was strong and not easily hurt.

And that he cared.

He cared so much, offering not only his body heat to sooth the shivers running up your spine whenever you remembered the board in the meeting room with his pictures on it, but also warmth; kind, protective and almost loving, stoking the feelings you were so stubbornly stomping on. Your own love. Actual romantic love.

No, of course you didn’t hate him – not even when he was being a stubborn jerk.

You loved him.

You loved him with your whole heart and you couldn’t imagine losing him and all your damn investigation was falling apart and maybe so were you a little and you hated that.

You sniffled a few times, fighting the full-on sobbing. It was only over a day, but you were psychically exhausted and you knew you were being unreasonably impatient but that didn’t really help you to stop being that way, only adding to your frustration. And to the fear that no matter how hard you tried, this might end up in a tragedy.

You had no right to dump all that on Steve, you needed to deal with this shit on your own; but you told him anyway.

“I’m… scared,” you whispered reluctantly, Steve’s arms tightening momentarily at your admission.

“I know that too. Thank you.”

You chuckled minutely, pushing slightly against him so you could look up at him, eyebrow raised in doubt.

“For being scared?”

“For being worried,” he corrected you softly.

He didn’t say it out loud, but as you met his gaze, you heard the rest of his words as clear as if they had been spoken: thank you for being worried for me.

You’d always be. Watching him now, the gorgeous image of his face, beauty written in his features and expression, body and soul, you knew your feelings were never going to go away. Even years down the line, even if you’d live in another city and cut all communication, the picture of Steve – and more so, the burn of a feeling whenever he touched you – would always remain.

He watched you with a tiny smile on his lips, tender fingers fixing the hair that had got out of place when he hugged you, the gentlest caress of his fingertip on your temple. You released a shaky breath when the pad of his index finger slid down to your chin, holding it up to keep your gaze trapped in his; as if you wanted to escape it again.

His eyes roamed your face – it occurred to you that you must have looked like such a mess and he didn’t seem to care – settling on your lips, sending your heart into frenzy, your gaze flickering to the temptation of his mouth in such intimate proximity.

Inevitable gravity guided you to erase the last distance, fighting with the reason in your brain. The spark was tangible now, you could taste it on your tongue as something in Steve’s eyes shifted, pupils dilating like they had when the morning found you in his bed and you had suggested sharing it. His insanely tempting lips were right there for your taking, barely moving as he spoke your nickname softly, no more than three inches from your mouth.

“Sparkles, I-“

The ding of the elevator shattered the moment, having you draw in a sharp breath, Steve’s firm arm on you loosening enough for you to take a step back, head spinning. You were pissed beyond belief for Jarvis’ timing – and grateful.

Not the time. Now was not the time.

Gulping, you stepped out to the lobby, Steve following suit – reminding you that he in fact, shouldn’t, as you walked past the few other employees walking in the lobby.  

“You shouldn’t be here,” you sighed, not even bothering to look at him, knowing how he’d react.

“I’m still in the building,” he argued, voice a little raspy, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine, your stomach deliciously warm still.

Leave it, Jones.

Later. Think of it as a reward. We’re 75% sure he feels the same now, he wanted the kiss too. This will be worth the try, chances are high.

LATER.

You cleared our throat. “True that, but we said you shouldn’t be walking alone. This isn’t even the residential area.”

“The private elevator is right here. I think I can make a few steps without hurting myself...” Steve continued, almost carefree. “I’m not you when you get drunk.”

Should you punch him or kiss him for trying to be funny? Maybe both at once – just punch his mouth with yours. He was literally asking for it.

“Ha, ha,” you laughed sarcastically. “You’re still a little shit, GG.”

And I love it. I love you. How dare you.

“So are you,” he shot back, pace leisurely, getting you to slow down too. “Look, Sparkles… I know—I didn’t want to take this seriously, but I see it is now. I promise, I just wanted to check on you. Thank you for calling in your old team. I know it couldn’t have been easy and it brings memories.”

You sighed. It was hard to be mad at him when he talked like that. And looked like that.

“It does, actually. But mostly the nice ones,” you assured him, a smile playing on your lips.

It was easy to say that now; now that he was with you, when you got the ugly emotions out. Steve might be a little shit – but you’d be damned if his presence wasn’t all things wholesome.

“Like Dr. Spence Genius Reid and his ridiculous coffee preferences? ...or Genuis Penelope Garcia who calls you angel or honey?” he added quickly after a beat, having you stop dead in your tracks, your jaw falling slack.

No. No fucking way.

Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, stunning you speechless for a moment.

Make that 85%. Maybe 90% if you were counting the way he instantly zeroed on Reid rather than Garcia – and yes, it could have been that Reid was actually physically present, but… maybe it wasn’t just that.

“Steven Grant Rogers… are you jealous of my friends? Is that what’s been bothering you?”

“No,” he said way too fast, utterly unconvincing.

You gave him a look, wordlessly asking him to try again and think before speaking. Red tinted the tips of his ears, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans as his gaze lowered to the floor for a moment.

Oh god, he really had been jealous the whole time. You couldn’t believe it. The gentle stroke to your ego was such a welcomed feeling it almost had you forget all about the troubles of this morning.

“Well, you’re—you know, you’re…” Steve muttered, swallowing heavily as he was looking for the right words, “you’re one of the most important people in my life. And you get along with them so well… they might end up stealing you back. So… yeah. I might be. A little bit. I just don’t want to see you go.”

Oh.

Your heart swelled with affection at his confession, stumbling in your chest when he looked up to meet your gaze, shy and a little guilty.

As if only his behaviour was the insufferable one; as if he was the only one whose fears got the best of them in the past 30 hours or so.

“Oh GG,” you whispered, fingers itching to comfort him. “I don’t think I could go back to that job. I know we were making a difference there too, but here… there’s just something very right about being here.”

With you.

At that, the corners of his lips quirked up a bit, eyes lighting up. Encouraged, you continued.

“And you’re one of the most important people to me too…. So I’m glad you’re letting them help. Now let me save all of our lives and sanity by bringing coffee and donuts.”

“We could have had it delivered,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I’m honestly so done with being copped up. It’s clearly not helping my judgement. Scratch that, it’s driving me crazy and I’ll be happy to breathe in the New York City’s not-so-fresh air.”

Steve hung his head with a sigh, eyeing the busy streets with longing. What an adorably pitiful image of a huge man.

“I can relate to that. I am definitely jealous about that. Going out.”

Grimacing, you reached out to rub his arm – and with a last second decision, you stepped on your tiptoes, pressing a brief kiss on his cheek. The shortest stubble prickled your lips, a welcomed distraction from the fact that your aim was a little off.

He gifted you with a soft smile, large hand landing on your shoulder as if keep you in place, thumb caressing the bare skin on the side of your neck. The thrill it sent through your veins had you nearly tremble in excitement.

Definitely 90%.

It was like a shot of an instant determination to get this case done as fast as possible for a whole different reason – so you could explore this sooner. Preferably three minutes ago so you could make out in an elevator.

Later, Jones. Focus.

“I know, GG. I’ll be back before you know it and the caffeine will help us solve this and we’ll be back to our routines.” Perhaps with some adjustments. “Though I’ll let you run a few extra miles before joining for your next morning run, I can already tell you’ll be sprinting like a crazy supersoldier. Soon.”

Maybe if you said it one more time, you’d actually believe the optimistic view.

“You could keep up,” he said, sounding confident he was right.

The way his eyes subtly flickered all over you, a shadow of a promise when he met your gaze again, had you swallow loudly. Perhaps he wasn’t only talking about running; and damn, wasn’t that distracting and since when did Steve flirt with you? Little shit-

Later. You’ll deal with this later.

Your lips twitched as you shook your head.

“Yeah, right. In my dreams. Maybe,” you threw over your shoulder and you walked out of the building at last.

Once outside, you shot him a look and mouthed an amused and exasperated go back when you found him still watching you – as pleasant as it was to have him look at you with longing that went beyond envying you your freedom. He looked at you as if you had been in his dream before; and the mere idea made you giddy all over.

In your dreams, there might have been some other activities revolving around Steve and keeping up with him, but you wouldn’t spell that out for him. Yet.

Steve shook his head as if he heard your thoughts and disagreed, spinning on his heel and heading back to the elevator.

Maybe you imagined it, but there seemed to be a new pep in his step; there definitely was in yours.

Truth was, Steve would have done nearly anything you’d asked him; and so when you told him to just go back at last, he obeyed, even if he was in no rush to return to the conference room. In fact, he made to turn and the moment you weren’t looking anymore, he watched your retreating figure until you rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight.

Only then, he shuffled his feet back to the elevator.

His body was still buzzing; his senses and his mind were full of you. How your body always mended into his so naturally, how you had looked at him in the morning, still sleepy, but so trusting – and almost heated as you practically proposed you two shared the bed next time. Most recently, how your lips brushed his cheek, low, so low it was almost on his jaw, almost in the corner of his mouth.

It was maddening, really, that you didn’t aim an inch or two elsewhere, but it filled him with heat – and with hope.

It was there earlier too, even if originally, he had followed you to the elevator only to comfort you.

But once inside, it was impossible to ignore the sparks spicing the air as you looked up at him; with such intensity, eyes wide, affectionate… as if you wanted to kiss him there too. You even leaned in; he tasted your breath on his tongue, his lips almost brushing yours--- and then Jarvis just had to mess it up.

To say Steve was disappointed was an understatement, but coming clean about his jealousy later and the sweet reward in the form of a kiss – albeit only on his cheek – almost made up for it. It felt like a promise; and Steve couldn’t wait to collect, making a promise to himself that when, hopefully when, you’d kiss him and agreed to go out on a date, he’d laid the world to your feet.

So no, Steve wasn’t in any rush to go back to the grim conference room, empty of your presence, but full of threats to women he had dared to speak with.

He re-entered the room with a sigh, met with concerned gazes of your former teammates as Natasha and Tony seemed engrossed in guaranteeing the women from the photos a bodyguard to escort them to the Tower.  

“Is she gonna be okay?” Reid questioned with a soft frown, only making Steve sigh again.

He would be jealous and inclined not to reply, but he understood that the question was coming from a place of genuine worry and friendship.

And it wasn’t Doctor Spencer Reid you had almost kissed a few minutes ago.

“I think so,” Steve said, his lips turning upward again as he recalled something akin to amusement when you were leaving the building, lighter on your feet you had been walking out of this very room. Yeah, you’d be okay. “I know she really was sorry about earlier. She’s… she worries,” he defended you gently.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Emily assured him as she looked up from the reports on the table, a somewhat teasing smile playing in the corner of her lips. “If I had my boyfriend in danger, I wouldn’t have a clear head either and would sure as hell snap at people.”

“We’re not-“

“You might as well be,” Natasha interjected as Steve automatically went to disprove Emily’s assumption.

Smartass redhead.

“She’s my best friend,” Steve protested lamely, unable to help the giddy feeling of hope warming up his chest.

You were. But maybe, maybe, you could be more soon.

“Eeeeeh yeah, but you’ve been doing googly eyes on each other since forever and you’re grinning like you finally kissed the hell out of her. Come on, it looks like even the profilers from the FBI think you’re dating,” Tony added, smirking as he looked up from his work as well.

“Now you trust profiling?” Steve sassed him back.

“We just trust someone who’s been working with the kid for years,” Natasha hummed. “And is a profiler.”

Steve just gaped, having no counterargument.

Why was he friend with these people again?

“That’s not--- not the point. I just wanted to say that she’s been so determined to resolve this ever since she found the photos and it’s taking us longer than she imagined, I guess,” he sighed again, scowling at the offending objects. “I understand her concern with--- she must have seen a lot of cases like this when she was with your team.”

The air in the room shifted – metaphorically and literally, since Reid’s head whipped in Steve’s direction so fast Steve was surprised he didn’t break his neck.

Reid’s face was stunned, staring at Steve in silent shock, before he snapped back to the board, frantically looking all over it and then zeroing on Steve again.

Was it Steve’s imagination or did the genius’s skin turned a shade paler?

“What did you just say?” Reid asked with such urgency that it sent an icy shiver down Steve’s spine, prompting him to reply immediately.

“That when she was working with you-“

“No, no, about the photos. She was the one to find them?”

Steve gulped, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty at the other man’s surprise; he honestly thought it had been mentioned. And if it hadn’t, he wouldn’t think it was all that important with how often the mail got mixed up – but everything about Reid now was screaming that somehow, this detail was crucial.

“Uhm, yes. In her mailbox-“

“Son of a bitch--- and neither of you thought to tells us that?!” Reid exploded, his voice going an octave higher with the curse and making everyone in the room jump – and look at him as if he had grown a second head.

Blind to the reaction he received, Reid grabbed his phone, dialling, mild panic painting his features as mumbled to himself, phone to his ear.

“Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up-“

Everyone – the BAU team included – watched the genius with mute wonder as he paced, grimacing when the only response he got was the dialling tone.

The sound was ominous in the quiet room; and as it was, a slow understanding crept up to Steve’s mind, his heart racing.

Reid looked worried, truly worried. What if he was worried for you and it had nothing to do with the way you left the room?

“Reid, what’s going on?” Emily asked at last when the man cursed under his lips, staring at his phone with disdain, eyes barely flickering up at the question.

“She’s not on any of these photos.”

Steve wished he understood what the hell stating the fact again meant.

And apparently, so would the others.

“Yeah, we knew that…?” Emily questioned slowly, visibly confused as Reid tried his phone again. “And now we learned an additional information about Jones being pulled into it more than we thought, her being the one possibly worthy enough to even find the photos, but…”

She trailed off, watching Reid helplessly as he ignored her, turning his back to them all, mumbling under his breath again.

A lump in his throat – and a mess in his head – Steve looked at the last remaining member of the BAU. Hotch’s gaze was calculating as he observed the board and Reid’s erratic behaviour.

Then all of sudden, his whole demeanour changed, eyebrows rising, arms uncrossing; the most expressive Steve had ever seen him.

“Reid. You’re not seriously suggesting Jones planted the pictures and is actually the unsub?” he questioned, voice flat.

Steve felt the wind knocked out of him, blood pressure skyrocketing so fast his head actually spun for a second. His fists clenched on their own volition, as to defend you against the completely absurd claim.

“I’m sorry what did you just say?” Steve found his voice, incredulous – and menacing.

Steve would have thought he misheard agent Hotchner, but the beat of shocked silence that followed told him he wasn’t the only one rendered speechless.

Reid’s head snapped to them, a scowl on his face, hand with a phone still by his ear.

“What? Of course not, that’s absurd!” he blurted out, almost offended. “But she might be a target!”

Cold horror seized Steve, stealing last remnants of breath from his lungs. Claws of ice, not unlike those which grabbed him when he plunged the aircraft into the Arctic, bit into his skin, quickly gnawing deeper, aiming straight for his heart.

A confused what sounded in the room, maybe even from Steve himself, but he wouldn’t be able to tell.

All he thought of was you, possibly in danger. Of you walking down the street with a light smile on your face, numerous coffees in hand along with a box of donuts, not having a single clue that you might be the very target of the stalker you were investigating. You, unsuspecting, suddenly catching a bullet straight between-

Doctor Reid’s cursing snapped him back to reality – but a nightmare was still unfolding in front of him.

“Goddammit! Can’t you--- tap into her phone or something?” Reid demanded frantically, earning a reluctant and very much confused response from Tony.

“I could…?”

“Do it,” Steve barked without thought, already making his way out of the room, adrenalin pumping.

Natasha was faster, making him stop by stepping in his way boldly – and stupidly.

Did she think she could stop him? Why would she even try? This was you. They couldn’t expect him to just stand back, that was simply absurd.

“You sit down, Romeo.”

“I’m not sitting down,” Steve spat, irritation rising. “Tony, do you have her location yet?”

“Jarvis is on it…” Tony said slowly, watching Steve try to sidestep Natasha with a frown, the spy mirroring Steve’s movements, her face speaking of just how unimpressed she was. “For whatever reason.”

“I don’t care for the reason—Jesus Christ, Natasha, get out of my way before I move you! If Reid thinks she’s in danger-“

“Then still, Natasha’s right, you are not going anywhere,” Hotch stated almost calmly – but Steve could tell that his façade was cracking. He was scared for you too – only more reason to get fucking moving.

Bullets or no bullets.

“We’re wasting time here. Those bullets are not just dangerous to me,” Steve reasoned swiftly, glaring murder on Natasha who reciprocated it wholeheartedly. “I’m probably still the one least likely to get seriously hurt-“

“That’s not exactly true, they’re calibrated to your DNA-“ Tony pipped up.

A growl gathered in Steve’s chest and he wasn’t about to hold it back.

His fists itched to punch his way through anything and anyone. Because this was you. And he didn’t give a damn about anything else, because his ribcage felt tight at the mere thought of you getting hurt. Let alone—he couldn’t even think it.

“I don’t give a damn. If she’s in danger-“ he argued again, pissed beyond believe because he could have already been on his bike and Tony would text him your location on his way down to the garage-

“I’ll take Clint,” Natasha announced, having Steve sigh irritably, because telling Barton only prolonged the time you stayed unprotected, which was simply unthinkable.

“You guys stay here, especially you, and keep trying to reach her,” she stared at Steve pointedly before moving onto Reid. “And you explain to them what the hell is going on. Keep us updated.”

Steve grinded his teeth, but before he could protest, Natasha exited the room and Hotch subtly took her place.

“I know this is hard, but you need to stay,” he said, using the same tone he had when you lost your nerve earlier, levelling him with a steady look, and it made Steve nearly combust with frustration.

Because he was not you – he didn’t answer to this man. Especially since you were in danger…but he was willing to give him one minute more. He didn’t move as Hotch looked over his shoulder at Reid and reluctantly followed his line of gaze instead.

“Do you think the stalker doesn’t consider her worthy either?”

“No, it’s the exact opposite,” the genius muttered miserably, scratching his forehead, equally frustrated.

“Talk to me, Reid. What does that mean? Why do you think she’s a target?” Emily pressed, encouraging.

“It’s obvious-“

“Pretend it’s not, Boy Wonder,” Tony sassed him, for once speaking the words Steve would if the anxious lump in his throat wasn’t making it hard to even breathe.

“Sorry—you said that about a week ago, there was an article about you two,” Reid started, pointing to somewhere before the beginning of the timeline they had built and Steve automatically nodded. What did that- “That was probably the secondary trigger, though we still need to find the initial stressor. Anyway, the public thinks you’re dating and even your co-workers think you’re in love – and I can’t exactly blame them.”

Steve could hear Tony’s smirk, but he didn’t give a shit at the moment. It only added insult to the injury now that Steve almost kissed you – because he then let you walk out of the lobby only to find out this.

“Six days later, she receives an envelope with pictures of you. Not her, you.”

Jaws of guilt biting into his stomach at the single word: him.

You might be in danger and it was on him.

“We thought that the stalker made a mistake,” Steve said quietly, swallowing hard and feeling like a stupid little boy. “The mailmen messed it up plenty times.”

“That is not likely,” Hotch sighed. “This stalker seems incredibly meticulous, she’d know.”

“Exactly.”

Steve’s hands clenched into fists as Reid once again reached for his phone, trying to call you; with no avail, judging by his clenched jaw.

“Okay, let’s say I buy that,” Tony jumped in after yet another failed attempt. “But why take pictures of Cap if…?”

“It’s true that it’s more common to take pictures of the victim, but the unsub could have thousands of pictures of Jones we don’t know about. However, she received these 23. And in every single one of these, Steve is talking to another woman,” Reid explained. “Smiling at her, shaking her hand, possibly looking like he’s giving her his number-“

“I’m not-“ Steve defended himself lamely, but Reid only shook his head.

“They see what they want to see, fit it into their narrative. Truth is not important to them.”

“Not if they’re in love with her and want to protect her,” Hotch added, realization evident on his face.

“In love? With her?” Tony parroted, still puzzled.

Steve wasn’t; not anymore. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, creating a horror image of you and him. Him, secretly enjoying the attention you showered him with, your protectiveness over him, your persistence – leading to you both missing an essential clue.

Of course the stalker was in love with you; you were impossible not to fall for. Steve would know.

God, he was such an idiot.

“I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner!” Reid exclaimed, genuinely outraged on his supposed stupidity. “That’s what we’ve been missing. The photos were an act of service of sorts.”

“They say look how he’s with other women. He’ll hurt you eventually, he’ll cheat on you,” Emily continued, having tuned to Reid’s thought process.

“Yeah, exactly. And think about the flowers and the note. I’m sorry I scared you into hiding. I could hurt people who are not worthy of you, if necessary, but I would never hurt you. They were saying more than we thought---- I could hurt people who are not worthy of you. They are actually able to hurt Steve because they have the bullets. I really think we’ve been looking at it all wrong.”

They all were; you were. And it was a fatal mistake that might cost you your life.

Steve had to swallow the bile rising up his throat at Emily’s astonished face, his nails digging into his palms to relieve the tension. Why was he still here, when he had fucked up and was supposed to be out there, helping Natasha-

“Oh my god,” Emily whispered, eyes flickering all over the notes, until they landed on Steve, the genuine fear only feeding the flames of Steve’s personal hell. This was on him. Your blood could be on his hands. “It’s not the women who aren’t worthy of you…”

“The unsub thinks you’re not worthy of Jones,” Reid finished ominously and for the moment, Steve couldn’t but full support the stalker’s notion of that. “She’s the one the stalker has been after all along.”

“And she just walked out of here without care for the world,” Emily said, gulping.

“She’s still by the café though and Romanoff and Barton just arrived,” Tony announced. Steve automatically strode to him to look over his shoulder, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest.

Indeed, three dots were scattered around a building of what Steve assumed was the café; and he should feel relieved at that.

But he didn’t.

Because Reid called your number again and you still weren’t picking up and Natasha wasn’t calling either.

Steve took a wavering breath as he listened to the dialling tone, his acute need to just run and check on you by himself resulting in pacing, eyes flickering to the door every other second. And every time it did, he could feel Hotch’s glare on him, a silent plea and a warning.

And then finally, Tony’s phone rang.

One tap to accept; one to put Natasha on speaker.

“Stark, we have a problem,” Clint huffed into the phone, breathless. All air was sucked out of the room at once. “Pull the security footage from her route and the café, especially the alley behind the café if you can get that. We found her phone and her watch in here.”

Your watch. Your phone. The two things that contained a locator Tony used to track you down. And they were abandoned in an alley.

Dark spots danced in Steve’s vision when choked out the question he as he already knew the answer to.

“Any sign of-“

“No. She’s gone, Steve,” Natasha said, regret lacing her voice. “Jones’ gone.”

Jones’ gone, screamed a voice in Steve’s ear in echo and he let it, squeezing his eyes shut, every muscle in his body tensing, ready to fight – but there was no one to punch. Only himself. Gone, gone gone- mocked him the voice, sickeningly sweet as it whispered the endearment Steve’s lips spoke more often than your given name. Sparkles’ gone and it’s your fault.

Steve’s fists ached to punch his way through, but he couldn’t very well punch himself. So he did the second best thing.

He drove his fist into the drywall with a roar and fuck, did the sting of a breaking skin and bruised bones feel good. It almost made up for the burn of angry tears in his eyes and the pit in his stomach.

I’m sorry, he whispered in his head to the smiling image of you, panting and flexing his fingers to feel the burn as if it could prove how guilty and sorry her truly felt to the imaginary you. As if that did any good.

Sparkles, I’m so fucking sorry.

→ Next part

Series masterlist // Steve Rogers masterlist // Misc masterlist

Shoutout to those who saw through my attempts at mystery (some even in prologue).

Shoutout to those who didn’t and thus made me feel like I’m not entirely predictable. OR to those who decided not to share to help me keep the others on their toes, who followed my request and marked things as a possible spoiler.

Cough cough Dead Poets Society reference cough. I was so excited about the ‘Steven Grant Rogers… are you jealous of my friends’ moment 🥺 One of the first things I wrote for this series, so I hope you enjoyed 💗

[italoniponic]

may i request... riddle, jade and idia with an overachiever hardworking s/o who just does not know when to slow down ever. like genuine workaholic who cares too much about success type. would prefer male s/o but gender neutral is ok :] i love your writing sm btw!!

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

| Notes: Hi, anon!

I can understand that, it’s okay! I tried to be as neutral as possible, even with the slight mentions of the King & Queen of Hearts and Hades & Persephone. I didn’t quote them by name but I wanted to bring up couple dynamics that the reader and the boys could allude to, but in a very general couple manner. It’s more about the vibes than the people per se

It was really interesting to write this, especially since I can relate a little to the reader’s situation but also with the boys opinions. Hope is good enough!~

Thanks for the request <3 |

Riddle Rosehearts, Jade Leech, Idia Shroud x g!n overachiever hardworking reader / headcanons / fluff tied with a bit of angst / very implicit minor ch6 spoiler / use of “you” pronouns

Cherry’s Harvesting event 🍒 Masterlist

Work is Hard, Love is Easy

Born in the cradle of a couple of renowned doctors, Riddle knows what it's like to live almost his entire life alongside people who worked hard for what they loved and longed for success. His parents were ambitious but, over time, their goals were moving away from each other and what was a teamwork, became a garden of thorns and a falling house of cards;

Riddle could compare you to any of them at times. You were completely focused on what you wanted, not measuring efforts to achieve your goals. And he found that admirable and honorable, no doubt. He was like that too and because of that, you practically got together. But when his childhood memories come to torment him from time to time, Riddle stares at you with some concern;

Not only for him — after all, one of the sources of his perpetual state of stress is keeping everything perfect and in order — but for yourself too. Riddle can’t help but feel afraid of having an overblot again for wanting to demand more from himself and others. Because he wants to keep his status as an exemplary student with the best grades completely intact but that comes at a cost;

Riddle knows how you can't just relax most of the time, always worrying about your projects and whether you'll be able to complete everything you're planning. In the space of time when he frees up a time in his own schedule for you to have tea together, you are clearly restless;

The two of you started to become more friends and get closer as lovers like that, sharing your concerns, your dreams and support. Riddle is in the process of starting to decide things more for himself and maybe be a lawyer in the future rather than a doctor. This is a difficult decision and you’re 100% by his side for whatever comes and goes;

And Riddle does the same for you, supporting you in your projects and goals — especially those that are your dreams. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to call him. You are both very busy people but, the foundation of a healthy relationship is communication and mutual support even in the most difficult hours;

Riddle worries a lot about your lack of rest, being forced to acknowledge that he even exceeds his own limits at times. And while overcoming life’s obstacles is good, it's a process that should be done over the course of someone’s life and not in a few hours. You put very excessive expectations on yourself most of the time and get frustrated when you don't meet them;

In this, Riddle reaches out, comforting and advising you the way he always wanted someone to do to him. You argue a little in these moments but, realizing your own fatigue, you can only give reason to him and force yourself to rest. With the exception that Riddle tells you not to make it an obligation. Resting and taking the right time to do things is not a forceful nonsense, in fact;

Riddle sometimes brews some tea at Ramshackle and serves you with some foods he's learning to make himself. He shows you his own mistakes so that you realize that, like him, it is perfectly normal to fail, take time to recover and strive for victory. Riddle always makes your moments of rest comfortable and invigorating;

Wherever you go, you are recognized as a kind of “power couple.” You may even focus on different things, but your mutual support is quite inspiring and admirable. Riddle has you to his right as an equal. He hopes that by learning from his parents’ mistakes, he can have you by his side wherever you go together;

“We are the majesty of our own ways... but I wish we still found ourselves in this maze, somehow,” Riddle confessed, passing some butter on his toast. You looked up from what you were reading and shook his hand, smiling. That reading was important but, you were feeling exhausted and his voice was exactly what you needed to put that aside and focus on something a little better in the moment.

Having big ambitions and goals for the future isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And Jade is completely in favor of this. Even though he says several times that both he and Floyd don't exactly consider themselves Azul’s “best friends” — in the sense that their alliance is merely a matter of business — Jade has a certain admiration for ambitious people;

No wonder he was very interested in your manners from the very beginning. You have always worked hard for your interests, worrying about meeting the necessary expectations and achieving that success you want so much. Jade and you used to talk a lot about your own interests and what you two want to do to achieve those goals;

You have a lot of passion in your veins and you end up demonstrating it even in the moments when you would like to appear subtle. After all, you didn't want to scare Jade with the energy you put into your dreams. But Jade assures you that he is far from intimidated by your enthusiasm and pursuit of success;

On the contrary, Jade cannot help but admire and be inspired by this side of yours. As Jade falls in love with you, he ends up creating a more concrete foundation for his newfound concept of loyalty. Over time, he will better understand his feelings for you;

More than making you compete with Azul to be his “new boss” — though that would be pretty entertaining — Jade understands what he really wants from you: a partner. Even if you have more concrete and higher goals than him, Jade just wants to stay by your side and support you in whatever way he can, in the same way that you support him in his most eccentric hobbies;

But don't think that just because Jade is so positive about your ambitious, hardworking, and purposeful way of being, that he won't tell you to rest when he realizes you're running out of energy to get things done and trying too hard. No use disguising, he can read you like an open book;

Jade usually buys you some small snacks for break times or class changes to make sure you're eating well. If you're struggling on a crucial — or even small — issue of your projects, don't be afraid to ask for his opinion and help. After all, Jade is very versatile in his knowledge and very smart;

Surely Jade will explain to you as many times as it takes the benefits of taking a “little pomodoro” among your special activities. Effort is an important part of any project, but pushing your limits too far is a completely different thing — and one that ends up doing more harm than good;

Sometimes, in those moments when he approaches you to talk about these things, the pleasant sound of his velvet voice practically leads you to a little well-deserved nap. Jade doesn't let you oversleep, of course, but he's happy to watch your sleep so you can regain your energy. You have such a cute and vulnerable face while sleeping;

You both have a good and healthy couple dynamic where you strive for success and are very objective while Jade is by your side, as support and helping you behind the scenes with whatever you need. You are very grateful for his help and make a point of always acknowledging this consideration and love of his for everything, both in front of him and for other people;

“How about a break to rest now, dear?,” Jade said softly in your ear, placing a hot drink specially made by him on your table. You stopped what you were doing, taking a big breath. Exhaustion hit on your shoulders. But you smiled when Jade gave you a little kiss on the cheek and began to massage your tired shoulders and back.

Idia’s family was connected to a large conglomerate, yet their work wasn’t connected to anything that should be public — for the safety of their services and also the world. The Shroud were like obscure gods, living in isolation and inflicted by a curse, but sometimes acting like the supposed deities they were to be;

Idia sometimes felt like a stain on his family. The only one who, despite having great mechanical capabilities and a genius intellect, had no great desire to surpass himself beyond what was necessary in all areas or great ambitions for a glorious future even in the shadows. Idia only did what he wanted and reserved these energies for his cultural entertainment and his little brother Ortho;

Eventually, Idia came to have you as another important person in his life, something that caught his attention and captivated him. But one of the things Idia never understood about you was your hard-working way of dealing with your projects. You were like an addicted gamer who devoted forty-eight hours without a break to your favorite game — that is, your goals for success;

From a certain point of view, that was pretty impressive. Idia had no doubt that you would be seen as someone of potential by anyone in the Shroud family and the Jupiter conglomerate. They were full of ambitious people and strong desires in that place. You would fit perfectly on their “Mount Olympus” just like flowers that rise at the source of a river;

But Idia kept worrying about your well-being due to your workaholic status and thinking about how fundamentally different you were — even if you shared the same tastes. Idia didn’t feel any motivation to seek something more, to go beyond the distance and impose his presence before the world. That would just be a pathetic dream mixed with delusions of grandeur and god complex;

Because the environment in Ignihyde is quite clean, relatively quiet and full of technology, you usually spend a lot of time with Idia and work with your stuff there. Sometimes he asks if you don't want to take a break and watch something with him, maybe even play something — which you usually politely deny, one hundred percent concentrated on your things;

Idia is by your side most of the time, swapping his time between his cell phone, his portable tablet and some improvement schemes on his computer or Ortho’s equipment. He catches your eye a few times and neither you nor he notices that the only few times when you stop is to watch him do something;

The two of you occasionally talk about the future and the dreams you have, a topic Idia avoids more than noobs — especially those who play “fOr FuN” — who parachute in the middle of a quest. Idia can't respond at all when you praise his skills and encourage him to try something more. In a way, he knows it's true. He just don't know what to do with that;

One good thing about talking to Idia was that you understand his feelings better and end up remembering that you are both mere humans at the end of the day. There are things that you cannot abuse and there will be things that may not be achieved for whatever reason. But you can't help but try and at the same time know when to stop and breathe a little;

Somewhat by difference of temperament and style, the two of you as a couple are akin to two deities of quite distinct natures bound together by fate. For Idia, you’re like spring and summer. Seasons full of life and energy, making him yearn for something more. And for you, Idia is the quiet and cold junction of autumn and winter, where you feel safe in resting;

“Hey... uh, don't you want to take a break? I was at level seventy when you said you were going to rest...,” Idia commented, shyly showing his phone to you. There wasn't even anything to say when you saw that he was at level ninety-two — and the levels weren’t that easy to the point where he was just going through everything without worry. You stood up from Idia’s computer, leaving the tabs aside, to lay down next to him, wrapped in comfortable silence. You smiled. Yeah, maybe you just needed that sometimes.

[blanketorghost]

I have two moods and they are imagining scenarios in which Yuu could kiss Azul but won't, and scenarios in which NRC! Yuu could kiss Azul and 100% will with no hesitation.

Poor Canon Yuu is in Ch6 pining hard over a guy who doesnt even look his way whilst NRC!Yuu has already been dating Azul for at least a month smh.

This takes place post-Scarabia arc before they formally start dating, in which Yuu has to constantly try and convince Azul he does like him for realsies but Azul's self loathing won't let him believe it.

As a proof of trust, Yuu allows Azul to see him without any glamour spells or charms on while they get ready for a housewarden meeting. Azul takes it a step further and promises not to peek until Yuu has his charms back on— completely missing the point of the trust exercise smh.

Dialogue/context under cut✨️

Y: You could win yourself a pretty madol if you opened your eyes right now, you know.¹

A: So you know about the bets?

Y: They started on my freshman year. They're just more desperate now that there's only a couple months left before I leave for internships. I heard the prize pool is over 10,000 thaumarks now, so why won't you look?²

A: I know what it means for your culture to show me this form. I don't want to betray the trust you have for me as your vice-housewarden.

Y: Hm, you've done your research. But you should know I trust you as more than just my vice-housewarden.

A: You really shouldn't. Was my overblot not proof enough? You really are a bad judge of character.

Y: Maybe I am. I trust you as much as you trust me. And if you've read the stories, you should know not to keep your eyes closed around creatures like me.

A: Is that a threat? Are you going to eat my heart out, Yuu-san?³

Y: It's a tempting offer but– that's not what I want to do right now. And I won't do anything you don't want me to do, either.

A: What do you want to do?

Y: I want to kiss you.

A: You're lying.

Y: I'm not. I really want to kiss you right now.

A: Mhm.

Y: Can I?

A: Hm?

Y: Can I kiss you, 'Zul-kun?

A: ... Yes.

Y: Are you sure?

A: If you're going to keep bluffing, I'll open my eyes. I've got very little time, you know?

Y: Please do. But I'm going to kiss you right now, okay?

A: ... O-

(He was not bluffing)

----

Azul may be OOC here but tbh I have such a hard time writing him lmaoo;;

Footnotes below:

¹ Since kitsune are so cagey about showing their true appearance, a small bet ring started about who could guess the number of tails Yuu has correctly and/or see his true form. The person who manages to make Yuu crack gets the whole pool, but if nobody does, the people who got the closest to Yuu's true number of tails are given the earnings.

²Since the currency names differ on EN and JPN versions, I have this hc that Madols and Thaumarks are diff names for the same currency. Madols are the coin money and Thaumarks are paper money!

³This isn't exactly Kitsune but Kumiho lore; they're known for seducing men and then eating their hearts or livers😋

[vampire-matcha]

Blood in the Wine-5

Chapter Five: Tannins

A/N: so, uh... it's been a while, huh? yeah... I'm sorry about that. but I'm two months sober, now. I just want to thank everyone who has been checking in and has been offering me support and kindness. I can't tell you all how much i appreciate it. Well, I hope this was all worth the wait! I feel like this chapter felt a little rushed, but let me know what y'all think. Love you! xoxo

Reader x Vampire!141

Warnings: Blood, injury, yelling, SMUT (I know y'all have been waiting for this) oral sex (f receiving), fingering, fem!reader, blood kink

(yeah I had to use the sexy Sleep Token song okay sue me)

MASTERLIST, CH1, CH2, CH3, CH4, CH6, CH7

---

Your feet seemed to move on their own accord, boots sticking in the mud. You tripped over yourself as you scrambled off the forest floor. And then you were running. You heard the haggard breath of the monster behind you, felt the hot puffs from its mouth on the back of your neck, but you didn't dare look behind you. You felt sharp claws graze across your back, tearing through your shirt and knocking you facedown on the ground. Before the monster behind you could completely overtake you, another body rushed past you. Sounds like animals fighting roared out behind you. Once again, your boots squelched in the mud and you got back on your feet. You kept your eyes forward as you sprinted through the forest. 

You should've been lost in a maze of trees and underbrush, but something in the pit of your gut told you where to go. The dirt pounding under your feet guided you, the trees whispered to you their secrets, and you followed the road of their roots systems until you broke out into the clearing once again. 

You squinted as the moonlight flashed in your eyes, so bright compared to the pitch blackness of the forest, and ran straight into something firm, but soft. Something familiar. You felt arms wrap around you, and your brain tried to tell your arms to fight back, but you froze all over again as a voice called out loudly next to your ear. 

"I've got her!" The voice was familiar. 

"Get her inside, now!" Someone else called from the other side of the clearing. Before you could register who was speaking, you were moving- or rather, you were being moved. The arms around you lifted your weight easily, and the world around you seemed to flash by in a slideshow of blurry snapshots. Your surroundings morphed into one another until your feet were planted onto the floor of Price’s study. Vertigo threatened to overtake you, but someone strong held you steady. 

“I've got you, love. I’ve got you,” the rich voice crooned. 

“Gaz?” you asked. Your whole body was shaking from adrenaline and your head was still spinning, but you recognized the voice. It was him. He shushed you gently. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you. You’re alright.” He seemed to be convincing himself as much as you. His hand stroked the back of your head, and the other held you securely against him. Your heart was pounding in your ears, and you were willing to bet he was listening to it, too. 

“Gaz, what the hell was that thing?” you asked into his neck where your face was still buried. 

“Don’t-” then the study door burst open. You flinched, and maybe you screamed, expecting that Dead face to be the one to greet you, but instead it was one equally chilling. Price slammed the door closed behind him with a look of unrestrained fury trained on you. 

“What the FUCK were you thinking?” he roars, taking long, calculated strides at you. “You stupid, stupid girl. I give you one rule to follow, ONE RULE, for your own safety, and you can't even listen to that?!” Gaz, to his credit, does his best to physically shield you from Price’s rage, pushing you behind him; but he can only do so much. Your mouth opened, and you tried to find the words to defend yourself, but they got stuck in your throat, blocked by the terror you couldn’t get ahold of. 

“John, please, just-” Gaz starts to try and diffuse the situation, but Price shoves him away with a snarl, leaving you bare and exposed to his wrath. 

“Do you understand you could’ve been killed? Do you not understand how dangerous the night is here? He would have ripped you apart, had you stayed out there a second longer.”

“Wh… who?”

“You’re lucky he had enough self-control not to tear into you then and there in the woods. No, instead he sunk his teeth into the next moving thing he saw, which just so happened to be Soap.”

“What? Is he okay?” Gaz interjected, concerned for his- boyfriend? What were they to each other? Now wasn’t the time to think about it. 

“He’ll be fine… he’ll heal,” Price answers, scrubbing at his beard and screwing his eyes closed. “You…” he started, pointing a finger and taking a dangerous step closer. His eyes were dilated and he licked his lips. There was no doubt he could smell the blood seeping out of your back. “Now, what are we going to do with you? Hm? I trusted you, gave you freedom to wander. I thought you’d be smart enough to heed my warnings, but clearly you’re not.” He raised a hand, seemingly to grab at you, but stopped himself short when you flinched away, clenching the hand into a fist and forcing it back down to his side. He shook his head. 

“Should I put a collar on you like Soap? Hm? Or should I chain you up in the cellar? Maybe a bedroom is too good for you.” He was leaning into your face at that point.

“John, stop.”

“I tried doing this the easy way- Tried giving you a choice. But if you want to act like a prisoner, maybe I should-”

“John, that’s enough!” Gaz interrupted once again, putting a firm hand on the older vampire’s chest and pushing him back. Price looked at him, stunned. You assumed Gaz standing up to him wasn’t a common occurrence. “Look at her, she’s scared out of her mind already. You’re making it worse.”

“She deserves to be scared.”

“She deserves an explanation. She deserves answers.” Price considered him, chest still heaving in anger. 

“Fine. You want to give her answers? Go ahead.” he motioned between Gaz and you. “But for fuck’s sake, don’t let her out of your sight.” he looked at you once more, swallowed hard, and then stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him again. 

A moment passed in silence. Gaz stared at the door with a look of disbelief. But then his eyes snapped back at you when a terrified sob clawed its way out of your chest. Your eyes were unfocused and your arms trembled as you hugged them close to your body in an attempt to shelter yourself. Gaz took a tentative step closer, holding his hands out in front of him. 

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're okay," he cooed, speaking to you as if you were a wounded pet. Your body flinched away at first, but with more gentle words, you relaxed enough to allow him to place an arm around your shoulders and guide you to sit on the couch in the center of the room. "Hey, look at me." 

Your eyes snapped shut and you turned away from him at those horribly familiar words. Look at me. How could you ever look at him again? He sighed and placed a hand on your cheek. 

"I'm not going to compel you again. I promise." You choked through a couple more sobs. You couldn't trust his word. He'd betrayed your trust irreparably. Even still, his voice sounded so sincere. But didn't it always? You opened your eyes. 

"There she is," he said, smiling softly. "Just breathe for me, okay? In and out. With me." He did his best to guide your breath, and tried to calm you as much as himself. He kept swallowing, his mouth watering at the smell of your freshly-spilled blood. "Nobody's going to hurt you in here," he told you, but you still felt like prey. 

"I c- I can't!" You gasped. 

"Yes, darling, you can. Please, your heart's racing like mad." You knew. You could hear ot pounding in your ears. It would have drowned out Gaz's voice if he weren't so close. And goodness, he was close. 

"Price is gonna kill me!"

"No, he's not."

"Yes he is!"

"He can't hurt you! He can't!" You shook your head, but he continued. "He literally cannot hurt you, love. Listen to me." You quieted yourself the best you could, the rush of blood in your ears quieting minutely. "Once we entered the pact with you to keep you as our familiar, a bond was made. Your pain became our pain. Everything you feel, we feel, too. Price can't hurt you without hurting himself and the rest of us."

"But Ghost hurt me out in the woods."

"And he felt it. We all did. Trust me. He was blinded by his bloodlust, he didn't have the mind to stop and think. He held back as much as he could." 

"How are you holding back, then?" you wondered out loud. Would he pounce on you at any second? Was your time running out? You noticed the tension in his shoulders, the same tension you held in yours with every stinging throb of the shredded skin on your back.

"With great difficulty,' he answered through gritted teeth. He met your eyes, his pupils blown. He swallowed. "Can you please turn around so I can close the wounds?" 

"Close the… you're gonna feed on me like this? Now?" you asked. Your legs tensed up, getting ready to run for your life again. 

"No! No. Not really. I mean, technically, I'll still be- well- consuming your blood, yes. But just what's leaking out already. I won't bite you, I swear. Just- please, you're dripping all over the couch, love.” He tentatively pushed on your shoulder. “And the smell, it's driving me mad. Please just turn around." The desperation in his voice was clear, close to begging. And the stinging behind you was getting harder to ignore with every passing moment. 

You turned around, exposing you bloody back to him. You reached behind you to tug the tattered fabric up your back, but Gaz was quicker than you. 

Rrriiip!

You gasped at the obnoxious tearing sound, suddenly feeling much too hot and much too cold all at once. The remaining fabric of your shirt fell down your shoulders and you crossed your arms over your chest to prevent it from falling off altogether. 

"Gaz!" You scolded, but your admoniment fell on deaf ears, and you gasped once more at the sudden feeling of his soft tongue gliding up your back. 

He licked up the dripping rivulets of scarlet blood that wound down the canvas of your exposed back, before fixing his mouth on the five slashes. The sharp pain subsided to a tingling as one by one, with each swipe of Gaz's tongue, the wounds sealed themselves. His tongue and lips felt so soft and plush. 

You'd never thought to consider the space between your shoulder blades to be an erogenous zone, but as Gaz kissed and licked his way all over you, taking his time to clean every drop of your blood, you found yourself panting with want. His breath was so hot against you, heightened by the wetness of his spit left behind. 

It must be their venom. It has to be some kind of aphrodisiac. 

Gaz kissed his way up your spine and into the scoop of your neck. His lips lingered there. He promised not to bite. 

"I swear, you're the best thing I've ever tasted in both lives," he whispers into your skin. Your body flushed with another wave of heat. 

"What does it taste like?" You asked, voice equally hushed in anticipation- for what, you didn't yet know. His fingertips brushed up your arms. 

"It's hard to describe… it still tastes like blood, that hasn't changed. It's more like our perception of it changes. Imagine going your whole life hating chocolate, and then one day you wake up, and suddenly it's all you crave. And everyone around you smells like chocolate. 

"Some of them smell like cheap candy melt chocolate," he says, pressing another kiss to your bare shoulder, "others smell like Godiva." He kisses you again, working his way up your neck. "And you, my love…" His lips touch that sweet spot under your ear. "You taste like the whole damn sweet shop," he whispers directly into your ear. His hand grips your arm, guiding you to turn back to face him. His mouth and chin were ruddy, stained with the remnants of your wounds. 

"Like the finest artisanal chocolate this world has ever seen." His eyes are fixated on your lips. Those dark, crimson eyes that you'd pretended were brown because you couldn't help but want to get closer to him. You were closer, now, that much was certain. 

His chest was pressed against your back, the fabric of his shirt a little too rough against the raw, sensitive skin. He really was close. Your breaths, panting in synchronicity, mixed together to form a tiny hurricane in the centimeters between your lips. 

"Bitter and sweet, rich and full." He licked his lips and your eyes darted down to the movement of it; slow, swiping along his bottom lip, collecting your lingering taste. "Addictive. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you." He smiled. "You'll rot my teeth right out of my head, you're so sweet." 

And then he kissed you. And God, you let him. His hand found itself cradling the back of your head, and you turned to fully face him. You tasted your own blood on his lips again and it was dizzying. 

This paradox of a man. Feeding off of you, draining you, but you'd never felt so alive before. Here in his arms, you were electrified. The terror of hardly an hour before was now long forgotten- a lifetime away. You found life again in the lips of a man who'd lured you to your near-death. 

Your ruined, bloody shirt slipped off your arms onto the floor. His palms rubbed up your sides as he devoured your mouth, though less literally as he did your blood. His tongue had made its way into your mouth at some point, and yours into his. You fell into a rhythm together, somewhere between tender and desperate. God, your heart was racing, and he could feel it. Every thumping beat rattled his ribcage as if it was his own; as if his dead lump of muscle had come alive again, fed by your crimson drippings. 

Your hands, trembling, fisted themselves in his shirt for a moment, then they fluttered like birds to his neck, pulling him closer against your chest. His shirt was still there. You wanted it gone. 

As if he read your mind, Gaz disconnected your mouths to discard his shirt, also wet with your blood, and tossed it on the floor with yours. He stopped to take you in, his eyes gliding over the ink in your skin, and then froze at your breasts: pierced. 

Gaz moaned. He glanced up at you, waiting for your permission. You answered by grabbing hold of his wrists and guiding them up your sides, to the front and finally onto your tits. He looked as if you'd given him the best gift he'd ever received. 

He squeezed your malleable flesh in his hands, rolling them, massaging them. He lit a spark in your cunt, and when his mouth attached itself to your nipple and sucked, the spark caught fire. You grabbed desperately at the short curls of his hair and whimpered. Gaz took this as encouragement, and nibbled lightly on the bud. You jumped, feeling his sharp canines graze your tit, but it never broke the skin. His tongue twisted around your nipple, and then he moved to the other breast.

The cool air against your spit-wet tit made goosebumps erupt under your skin while Gaz gave the same treatment to your second nipple. There was no hiding it: you were wet. His maroon eyes looked up at you while he sucked and you knew that he knew. 

He abandoned your tits to chase after your mouth again. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you tight to his chest. The kiss was sloppy: wet with spit and tinged with blood. 

Gaz guided you onto your back. The leather couch was cool and soothing to your feverish skin. 

"Let me taste you," Gaz pleaded. His hands left their positions on your tits and glided down your body. You arched your back into them, until they landed on your hips, the tips of his fingers just barely hooking into the waistband of your jeans. "Please- fuck- please I need to taste you."

"I thought you already did," you said, unable to resist a little teasing. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at you. 

"I want. To taste. Your fucking. Pussy." He looked you dead in the eye as he said those words, making sure you understood each syllable. Something misfired in your mind, and you suddenly were unable to speak. This wasn't compulsion, though. This was pure arousal that weighed down your tongue. All you were able to do was hold his gaze and nod. He tisked his tongue at you. 

"Say it, love," he commanded. He kissed your lips again. "Go on, tell me what you want. 

"Taste me," you relented. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. 

"I thought I already did," he threw your words back at you. Two can play at this game, apparently. But you could play it better. You spread your legs for him and arched your hips against his hands. You leaned up and whispered into his ear. 

"Eat my pussy, Gaz." His body shuddered above you. His hands found your button and fly, and he pushed your jeans down your legs until they were stuck around your ankles above your boots. His brows scrunched together in irritation as he struggled with the laces. His eyes glanced up at yours at the sound of a soft giggle escaping your lips. He rolled his eye at you and in a flash, your boots were off and scattered across the floor. He smirked up at you. 

“How did you…?” you began to ask, and his smile grew wider as he rolled your jeans down and off our legs. He kissed his way up from your calves and nipped at the soft fat of your inner thighs. 

“Don’t worry about that right now, love. I’ll answer your questions after I make you cum on my tongue.” You shuddered at the low tone of his words. His eyes scanned over your body, moving down from your eyes to your chest, and finally to your dripping cunt. He lapped at the wet spot on your underwear with closed eyes and moaned into the fabric. He breathed in deeply through his nose, inhaling your musk. He cursed under his breath, already intoxicated on you. 

His hands rubbed up and down your thighs as he licked and lapped at your cunt, teasing you until you whined his name, begging for him to hurry up, to give you more. Finally, he took pity on you and hooked his fingers into your panties and tore them off your body, throwing them into the growing pile of scrapy, ruined fabric on the floor. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, looking down at your glistening pussy. He was mesmerized at the way it glimmered in the flickering firelight. He teased two fingers through your folds and spread them open. He touched you like the pages of a holy book: with reverence and awe. He took his sweet time studying the way your pussy moved under his touch until once again, you had to snap him out of his stupor. He glanced up at you for the briefest second, and then dived in. 

He licked into your lips and moaned aloud, finally getting a taste of your wetness. You whimpered when the tip of his tongue prodded at your clit, and he took notice right away. He licked it again, once, twice, and then latched onto it, determined to pull more of those perfect sounds out of you. He gazed up at you through his eyelashes, and you couldn’t look away. The fire in his eyes sent a fresh wave of pleasure down your spine. And then you felt it: how easily he slipped a finger inside, and you threw your head back in pleasure.

He curled it into you slowly, pressing up inside you at a spot that made your thighs shake. You couldn’t be bothered to keep quiet, and Gaz couldn’t get enough. He added another finger and shuddered at the way your pussy practically sucked his digits inside. He started to build a steady rhythm, gaining speed and intensity with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue, every suck of his mouth on your clit. 

You could hardly get enough oxygen in your lungs. Your chest almost burned with need, the tips of your fingers started to tingle. Your moans got louder and louder, until your shouts were reverberating off the walls of the study. Your fingers scrambled for something to hold onto, something to steady yourself, and locked onto the curls atop Gaz’s head. His name tumbled from your lips. A prayer, a warning, a plea. You were close, and he knew it. He could tell by the way your walls fluttered and gripped his fingers; by the way your hips bucked against his mouth; by the way your back arched and your thighs twitched. He watched you, studying the way you writhed from him. His cock twitched in his trousers. It was him that had you moaning and coming undone on this couch. 

Your orgasm knocked the wind out of you. A sound that was halfway between a moan and a scream left you as your legs locked around Gaz’s head. You threw your head back, your pussy clamping down on his fingers, and gushing over his forearm; your cum added to the puddle of blood and slick beneath you. He groaned, lapping wildly at you, licking up as much of your taste as he could manage, drinking you up like communion wine. Sparks lit you up inside from your belly up your spine. You writhed against his mouth and hands, grinding your hips against his tongue until it was too much, until you felt like you’d burst. 

He lifted his head and let you catch your breath. He watched you twitch from the aftershocks and sucked his fingers clean of your sticky cum. When you finally opened your eyes, you saw him already looking down at you. He took his cue and crawled up your body, kissing your stomach and chest and finally your mouth. He slipped his tongue past your lips with ease and you moaned at the taste of your own cum. His hand cradled your head and the other wandered up and down your body. He settled himself between your legs and grinded his bulge onto your cunt. 

“Please,” he begged into your mouth. “Please, let me fuck you.” You dragged your nails down his abdomen, scratching the sparse coils of chest hair and the hard muscles on his stomach, past his happy trail and down over his pants to grab his hard cock through the fabric. He moaned lowly. 

“Yes,” you panted. “God, yes.”

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[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

WHEW sorry it took so long, but here’s Gentiste origins Ch 9! This was meant to be a beefy fight finale chapter, but decided to split it so i could get at least this portion out in a timely manner. Enjoy! TW for blood, injury, and a healing injection so needles

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8

kofi  patreon

Captain Cuerva: Lieutenant Augustin, come in! Mauga, have you found him yet?

Mauga: No sign of him here, captain. I’ll head back, Copy. I know you’re not going to shoot me, baptiste. You an put your rifle away. Bap: Why did you do that?

Mauga: C’mon, buddy, What’ll it be? [chuckles]

Bap: I surrender, Mauga Mauga: How sweet. He’s said those sweet nothings to me before, Shimada. Deja vu Sommbra: Want me to hold that for you?

Mauga: Careful, he’s a biter. Sombra: Geez... I wouldnt do that if i were you, sparrow

Mauga: We /must/ stop meeting at piers, baptiste, people will start talking. Why that face? I’ll admit, I was surprised you snuck into overwatch AND got them to truth you with their secrets? Talon would be fools not to let you back in! Now we just have to get the cyborg back to HQ Bap: Genji stays. He isnt apart of this. Mauga: I am a patient man, you know this. As much as I would love to do that for you,

Mauga: You’ve burned me before Genji’s dragon: Genji, you have suffered, you have endured, you have learned patience Sombra: Stop struggling, sparrow, calm down. Genji’s dragon: now you must strike

Genji’s dragon: If your body wont bend to you, Sombra: What?! Genji’s dragon: Lend it to me

Bap: Genji Mauga: Sombra, what’s going on?

Hanzo: Genji...What have you done?

Mauga: Don’t move

Mauga: Have you finally decided to get serious? This is the dragon’s wrath, yes? Hit me with all you’ve go-!

Hanzo: Baptiste, can you hear me?

Mauga: Eyes up here, shimada

Bap: Som-

Genji: [dissonant screech]

Hanzo: Jean-Baptiste /listen/ to me. He’s in pain. You must intervene NOW. He’s lost control of his dragon. Genji’s condition isnt stable! If he can’t be subdued, his body will destroy itself!

Hanzo: Please, Baptiste Sombra: Pull your leg out

Bap: One more Sombra: C’mon, on your feet! Time to go! I’m not able to hack into him, so unless I can shoot, we’re leaving. Hanzo: Fucking answer me, Baptiste Sombra: Are you listening? Bap: Understood

Sombra: What are you doing? Bap: I have to help him. Just trust me. Sombra: If he hurts you, thats it. Bap: Thanks, Sombra Sombra: You owe me, bestie. Oh. Don’t let mauga die either. I don’t want the headache

Bap: No dying on my watch