#he needs a better frame but had to get him up

[pumpkintushie]

Flashed and Marked, Forever Mine.

NSFW fic 🔞Solivan Brugmansia x Fem! Reader

This is my first proper fanfic writing considering I usually draw sooooooooo I hope you enjoy.

ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

Please do not steal or copy my work ♥

Art by Fantasia TKaTB

Word Count: 1,600

Warnings: Smut, teasing, dominant behavior, public sex.

You had been teasing Solivan every second you could, reveling in the way his fingers twitched and his eyes roamed over you. Sneaky brushes of your arm against his, your fingertips dancing along the back of his arm as you walked with him. Solivan was at his breaking point, practically ready to throw caution to the wind and show you how much you affected him regardless of the busy sidewalk you two walked on. Your eyes were set on the arcade you were headed towards as the bright flashing lights and loud chimes sounded around you two.

 ”haah~…pumpkin you should know better then to tease me”…Sol said under his breath and with a strain in his voice.. “Heh…mmmn~…you’re soooo cute when you’re all flustered” you said back to him, finding his reddening cheeks endearing. You were practically tugged along and into the photo booth at the back that you two often frequented, but this time the atmosphere felt charged. Behind the curtain of the booth, his lips immediately crashed into yours catching you by surprise but you melted into him. Sol swallowed your breathy gasp with his lips as he resisted the urge to devour you right then and there. A press of lips turned into desperation, roaming hands and you could feel the heat pooling between your thighs at each slide of his tongue against yours.

How long had you two been kissing in the booth? It didn’t matter no, the only thing that mattered was the heat radiating off his body seeping into yours. Solivan pulled back just enough to look into your heavy lidded eyes brushing the pad of this thumb over your kiss swollen lip. He smirked then and slid the hand that was on your hip to your thigh squeezing it, he knew what he was doing and it sent bolts of desire straight to your core. Toying with the hem of your shorts his hand crept closer to where you needed him the most “nngh~…Sol..wait~” you breathed out even as your legs opened invitingly. 

“Shhhhh..…you’re going to be a good girl and stay quiet for me…right?” he said with a grin making his piercings glint in the dim light behind the curtain. The world outside the photo booth faded away as all you could focus on was his eyes that seemed to dance with mischief. You silently nodded, feeling a heat crawl up your neck as he pushed the crumpled bills into the photobooth. 

“GET READY FOR YOUR PHOTOS- SELECT YOUR FRAME” the automated voice came out like a shrill practically making you jump as you were so entranced by the way his fingers moved, he noticed, of course he did and that elicited a dark chuckle from him. Slowly his fingers crept higher and higher teasing under the hem making your brows furrow at him. “Sol… what are you planning?” you said but it came out more like a whine, he ignored you and pressed the sleek black frame. 

“GET INTO YOUR SILLY WACKY POSES FOR THE PERFECT PHOTO MEMORY” the voice cut through the air again, gods was it always this loud? Before you had even a second to process what pose you may want to do, a large palm pressed over your mouth and his other hand hooked around the crotch of your shorts tugging them to the side. “Pumpkin, we’re going to capture some memories alright” he purred out with a wolfish smile as the two of you appeared on the small screen. “Mmnnhhpppf!”  you huffed out into his palm pinching your brows together feeling the cool air of the booth hit your feverish exposed skin.

The time seemed to slow as you felt those all too familiar fingers slide through your glistening folds and the most pitiful sound came from your lips. “Heh…you’re so wet..is this all for me?” Sol teased with that same wolfish grin, gods you swore you could see his eyes darkening as he looked at the mess you were becoming. Your eyes flicked to the little screen seeing you two from the waist up hiding the hidden touches he was stealing below. “Pumpkin, eyes on me..” he said, keeping his palm over your mouth but turning your head to face him as he pressed his finger against the sensitive bud that ached for him. That press made your hips roll forward wantonly and you were thankful that your reddening cheeks were covered by his hand. 

“GET READY…..ONE….” The automated voice rang out as he circled your clit leaning his head to the side watching you with a predatory glint in his eye, the strain in his pants all but growing at the needy sounds being muffled by his hand. “...TWO..” Sol grinned wider as his fingers moved in tight circles, the pleasure radiating through your core was making your breaths come out in short quick bursts. “THREE!-” Snap~ the booth camera went off forever immortalizing  your cruel punishment for teasing him, and what was worse? There was more frames to be taken and he was just getting started. 

“You know, you're so beautiful when you fall apart for me” he purred against your ear, tightening his grip on your mouth as your warm breath from your nose ghosted over his knuckles. The automated voice said something similar than before but you couldn't focus, how could you when his words were dripping with sin and he was wringing out your pleasure? It felt so damn embarrassing knowing how much of a mess you were making in your shorts, your lace panties all but becoming a second skin clinging to you along with your damn shorts. Snap~ the lense captured his lips to your ears and your eyes going glassy, you were practically drooling into his palm.

Solivan turned your head forward facing the lens, opening your neck up to his greedy mouth. “Keep your eyes on the camera.” it was a command and the way he said it sent a shiver through your spine. His fingers became more demanding on your skin and his own hips canted up against nothing but the tightness of his pants. “Mmmnnh!~” the needy sound was muffled by his hand because that was his to hear, his alone. “M’Fuck…Im going to make you fall apart”  Solivan growled into your skin but only loud enough for you to hear. He could hardly take it the friction of his too tight pants pressed deliciously against his cock, if it weren't for his dark pants he would look just as much of a mess as you were right now. 

You. Were. Aching. For him. His lips and tongue on your sensitive neck made your skin flush and his hot breath rippled goosebumps across your skin. Solivan’s dexterous fingers slid between your slick heat and teased at the place you needed him the most. Schlick~ the audible squelch of his finger sliding effortlessly into your pussy sounded in your ears in the hidden place behind the photo booths curtain sounded in your ears.  

Snap~  The camera you were facing captured your eyes fluttering closed with a fucked out expression on your face. You were truly a mess, but his mess nonetheless. Solivan’s eyes flicked to the screen seeing your eyes closed and he pressed his finger deeper inside you curling it as he breathily whispered into your ear. “Pumpkin, you’re going to keep your eyes on that camera. Eyes. Open….or you’ll be punished when we get back.” another command, a warning that made you clench around his digit.  

“Fuck…look at you” Sol said thick with need curling his finger out of you only to replace it with two digits, this made you cry out into his palm that he held tightly against your mouth. Pumping his fingers in and out of your wetness his teeth began to dominate your neck. The muffled moans were caught but occasionally slipping between his digits making his cock throb and leak into his boxers. You were transfixed on watching him through the grainy screen, watching him suck love letters into your skin and marking you as his.  Snap~ Captured and enraptured by the punishment and worship he was giving you. 

It was too much, the slide of his fingers inside you coiling heat inside you like a spring ready to snap and then it happened. Squeezing around his digits your walls fluttered as Sol shattered you completely, you hadn’t even noticed him pull back to watch you come undone because your eyes were nearly rolled back.Snap~  “Haaaah~ yes, that's it! Fucking break for me” he said with ragged heavy breaths as he fell apart from the friction of his tight pants and purely by watching you crumble for him.

Solivan slowed his pace and then pulled his fingers out of the mess you made, your eyes lazy and trying to focus on him seeing his own fucked out expression. Your flushed face came into full view as he released his hand from over your mouth but only to hold your jaw in his grip. Holy fuck, you could only hazily think before he made a show of bringing those digits to his lips and licking them clean while you watched. Snap~ the final photo took showing you two, utterly ruined. 

Solivan moved your damp shorts back into place but not before snatching up the polaroid strip into his greedy hands. With twitching fingers, he held the strip raking his eyes over every detail of his newest obsession, before looking at his most prized possession. Fucked out, utterly ruined, marked in bites and hickeys and so his. “You're so fucking perfect so fucking mine, and only m i n e.” he said before capturing your lips again, his mind racing with every way he would show you just how much he meant his words, his promise. 

Find my spicy art here ➺PumpkinTushie🎃 (@PumpkinTushie) / X

[dramagodesss]

fourteen : climbing through windows

playin' the players

a/n: HE'S BAAAAACCKKKK i know i know I'M SORRY— this is gonna be more of a text kinda chapter but i think we all need it 😔❤️‍🩹

it had been days— too many, for your own taste. it was unfair. the way he was punishing himself, ignoring everyone, isolated from everything and everyone.

but what you hated the most was the way it made you feel. it's not that you wanted to see him, its that you needed to. it pissed you off because of the bet, and because all that you were feeling— it reallly was all a lie.

but it was late afternoon when you made your move.

you tried to move fast before your rational thoughts could pull you away.

'it's all a fucking bet, you idiot!'

and maybe, it was just that. but, at this point, it didn't matter anymore. at least not so much. just for a while. just until you made sure he was okay.

the frat house is quiet, the kind of silence that settles like dust after something breaks. you’re climbing the side fire escape in leggings and a hoodie, one hand gripping a greasy paper bag, the other braced against the freezing railing. inside the bag: two breakfast burritos, a chocolate chip muffin, a bottle of gatorade, and a small tupperware of pasta you made yourself.

because you know he hasn’t been eating. you know.

your fingers find the window ledge, and you hiss through your teeth. the damn thing better still be unlocked.

it is. barely.

you crack it open and hoist yourself up—

—and immediately slip.

“shit—!” your foot catches the edge of the desk and you tumble straight into the room, smacking your hip against the wooden surface as everything in the bag goes thud-thud-crash onto the floor.

pens scatter. the chair topples. a spoon clinks loudly somewhere in the dark.

“what the—?!” rafe’s voice, low and hoarse and wrecked, cuts through the silence.

you groan from the carpet. “good evening to you too.”

there’s rustling. a light flicks on.

he’s on the bed��hoodie on, hair messy, skin pale under the dull yellow lamp. the room looks like it hasn’t been touched in days: blackout curtains drawn, water bottles and protein bar wrappers piled near his nightstand, half a jersey crumpled on the floor like it’s been there since the game.

he blinks at you. once. twice.

“did you just fall through my window?”

you push yourself up on your elbows, scowling. “i brought you food, you ungrateful little rat.”

his eyes flick to the floor, where the bag of offerings lies half-spilled but intact. he doesn’t say anything.

you brush off your knees and look at him properly—he’s got that hollow look again, like everything’s pressing in too close. dark circles. clenched jaw. the kind of stillness that doesn’t look like peace, just… surrender.

“rafe.” your voice is softer now.

nothing.

so you cross the room and sit on the edge of his bed, close enough to touch, but not touching.

“you don’t get to shut down like this,” you murmur. “you don’t get to starve and rot in your man cave over one game.”

his voice is barely audible. “it wasn’t just a game.”

“i know.” you pick up the muffin and press it into his hand. “eat. then feel sorry for yourself. but not the other way around.”

he stares at the muffin like it personally offended him.

you reach for the gatorade and unscrew the cap for him.

“you’re such a pain in the ass,” he mutters finally, taking a slow bite. “you could’ve just texted.”

you raise a brow. “and let you ignore me? again? no thanks. i commit to the bit.”

he swallows, eyes trained on your lap.

“…you really climbed in through the window?”

“and fell. dramatically. i should get an oscar.”

that earns you a small, begrudging smirk.

and when his shoulder brushes yours—just barely—you let it stay there. you stay in the quiet. stay in the mess. and for the first time in days, he lets you.

you take a look at him. his hoodie is draped over his frame like armor. his eyes are tired, rimmed red, lashes low. the half-eaten muffin sits untouched in his hand, the coffee steaming faintly between his knees.

you watch him.

not just look—watch. the slump in his shoulders. the way his jaw tics when he swallows. the silence in him, like he’s trying not to take up too much space.

your voice cuts through it. soft. sure.

“rafe.”

he glances up.

you step closer, fingers clutching the bag of takeout a little tighter. your brows furrow without meaning to.

“you scared me.”

his mouth opens, but nothing comes out for a beat. then—

“…sorry.”

quiet. raw. his eyes drop again, staring at the floor like it might swallow him whole.

“i just… i didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” he adds, voice tight. “felt like if i saw anyone i’d—break something. maybe myself.”

you exhale, shaky. “you should’ve let someone see you. i would’ve come earlier.”

he looks at you then. really looks. something flickers behind his eyes—guilt, maybe. or something that runs even deeper.

and that’s when you move.

slowly, like a tide creeping in—you cross the room and drop the takeout bag on his desk, then sink to your knees in front of him, between his legs.

your hands reach up, fingers brushing the edges of his hoodie, and then slide around his back as you lean forward.

you hug him.

arms wrapping around his torso, head resting gently against his chest.

he freezes.

completely.

for a second you wonder if he’ll pull back—if this is too much, if you’re pushing too hard—but then his hands rise and curl around your shoulders, burying into the fabric of your sweatshirt. he holds you like he’s forgotten how.

like you’re real and warm and here, and maybe that’s more than he thinks he deserves.

“you’re allowed to mess up,” you murmur, voice muffled. “but you don’t get to disappear. not from me.”

he lets out a sound—part breath, part laugh, part ache—and tucks his chin over your head, arms tightening around you like the world’s trying to pry you out of them.

he doesn’t know you know. about the bet. about the challenge he made you into.

and you hold him anyway. just a little longer.

because revenge can wait. but right now?

this is yours. and he’s letting you in.

you stay there for a while. wrapped around him like an anchor, steadying his breath with your own. eventually, he shifts—pulls back slightly, eyes flicking over your face like he’s checking to see if this is real.

you give him a small smile, brushing your thumb over the crease between his brows.

then you wrinkle your nose.

“…when was the last time you showered?”

rafe blinks. “…rude.”

you arch a brow. “not denying it, though.”

he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “couple days. i guess.”

you point toward the bathroom like a fed-up sitcom mom. “go.”

he hesitates—just for a second—but you level him with a look and he sighs again, dragging himself to his feet. before he disappears into his bathroom, he glances over his shoulder.

“don’t go through my stuff.”

you smile sweetly. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

the second the door shuts and the water starts running, you look around the room like a mission's been assigned.

depression den? not on your watch.

you move on autopilot—straightening the blankets, collecting the mess of takeout containers, laundry, crumpled socks. you empty the trash, crack open a window, light one of the half-burned candles on his shelf. vanilla tobacco.

you even find a rogue pair of boxers under his desk chair and launch them across the room with a disgusted hiss.

twenty minutes later, when the bathroom door creaks open and rafe walks back in—hair wet, towel low on his hips, steam trailing after him—you nearly knock over the now-clean nightstand.

he doesn’t notice.

(you hope.)

he’s digging through a drawer for sweatpants, water dripping down his chest like a fucking cologne commercial. his back is still a little red from the hot water, muscles shifting as he moves.

you look everywhere else.

the ceiling. the window. the existential void.

“you cleaned,” he says, almost surprised.

you shrug from the bed, where you're very casually folding a hoodie like it owes you money. “someone had to. your socks were starting to unionize.”

he huffs a laugh, pulling on a shirt and finally pants. “thanks.”

you toss the hoodie aside, daring to glance up now that he’s decent. “you’re welcome.”

there’s a beat. quiet, but not awkward.

he scratches the back of his neck. “uh… you wanna stay? watch something or whatever?”

you smile. “like a pity movie date?”

“more like a very exclusive, limited-seating premiere of whatever’s not depressing,” he says. “i might even let you pick.”

you fake-gasp. “me? the remote? cameron, are you feeling okay?”

he rolls his eyes, flopping onto the bed beside you with a faint grin. “i’m recovering.”

and yeah, he still looks tired. but at least now—he’s not alone.

you're curled into the far side of rafe’s bed, blanket draped over both your legs, the soft blue glow of the screen lighting the room in shadows.

something vaguely action-y is playing. you’re not really watching.

not because it’s boring—just because rafe’s here. sitting close. his arm brushing yours every now and then, like it’s on purpose. like he needs to keep checking you're real.

you feel him shift beside you. glance over just in time to catch the way his jaw moves as he says—barely above a whisper— “thank you.”

you blink. “what?”

his gaze is still on the screen. but his voice is a little louder this time. a little steadier. “thank you. for coming over. for climbing through my damn window. for bringing me food. and for not… acting weird about all this.”

your heart squeezes.

“you’re welcome,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with yours. “but next time maybe unlock the door like a normal person.”

he huffs a laugh. turns toward you, then, slowly. his eyes meet yours—dark, warm, careful.

and then he kisses you.

no warning. no rush.

just a soft press of lips, like a secret passed between two hearts that already knew.

you inhale sharply against him, but your hands move without hesitation—curling into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring him closer. he kisses you again, deeper this time, and you melt into it. his hand slips up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your face.

you pull back eventually, breathless.

his forehead rests against yours. his voice low.

“i missed this.”

you tilt your head, teasing. “what? kissing me?”

he laughs—quiet, soft. it rumbles through his chest. “you,” he says. “i missed you. and kissing you too, yeah.”

your chest aches with something dangerous and sweet.

so you kiss him again. not because you’re trying to prove anything—just because you can. or because you’re not ready to let go of.

rafe’s hands are steady on your waist, but there’s a twitch in his fingers, like he’s holding back something hungrier.

he pulls back just barely, eyes flickering over your face. “you’re dangerous, y’know that?” he mutters.

you raise a brow, breath still shallow. “me?”

he nods, his voice all gravel and softness. “climb through my window, boss me around, clean my whole damn room like you own it—then look at me like that.”

“like what?”

he smirks a little, leaning in again. “like you’d kiss me no matter how fucked up i am.”

you don’t answer—just tug him in by the front of his hoodie and kiss him again, slower this time. and he lets you. like he’s starving. like your mouth’s the only thing that’s tasted like home in weeks.

his hand slips under the blanket, settling over your bare knee. he doesn’t move it—just keeps it there. warm. grounding. you sigh into him, finally letting your hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat under your palm.

you speak against his lips, barely a whisper. “i didn’t come here to fix you.”

“i know.” his eyes are heavy-lidded now, his voice rough. “but it still feels like you did.”

you’re quiet for a second. then: “rafe…”

he leans back just a little, eyes searching yours. something in his gaze is raw. unspoken. but he doesn’t say it. instead, he brushes a thumb across your cheek, and the moment sharpens into something softer again.

“stay?” he asks.

you nod.

no hesitation.

fuck.

you tuck into his side, his arm coming around your shoulders, the movie still playing in the background like white noise. and for the first time in days, he breathes easy.

and now you know.

you

are

so

so

so

fucked.

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[piroulinewafers]

hi hiiiii i’d like to make a zayne requestttt

set in university, he needs to study female anatomy, so reader offers herself up to be studied by him. naturally he needs to get up close and personal afterall, he’s a dedicated student ((:

hope this is okkkk <3

𝐚/𝐧: i wasn't sure if you wanted this to go in a particular direction ie extra smutty, so this is relatively tame. i know nothing about the body i literally had to look any medical terms i used up... so if they're wrong just pretend i'm right :p zayne is so cute i want to bite him...

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: zayne x fem! reader 𝐜𝐰: none. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

the library had grown almost eerily quiet. it was late— so late that even the most dedicated students had packed up for the night. only a few scattered figures remained, hunched over textbooks and laptops, slaving away at whatever morsel of work seemed to be occupying all of their attention.

she sat nervously across from zayne, picking at the frayed sleeve of her sweater. he looked so serious under the harsh fluorescent lights of the private study room, black hair slightly tousled and silver framed glasses slipping down his nose as he poured over dense medical diagrams.

he was only a few years older than her, but it always felt like there was a gulf between them. zayne had skipped grades, finished his undergrad years before she’d even finished high school, and now, in this strange pocket of time, where their paths had crossed again, he was already leaps and bounds ahead of her, nearly top of his class as a surgeon in the making while she was fumbling her way through her general studies.

she didn’t really get it… all that medical stuff. the complicated words, the long hours. but she understood him— the quiet way he carried his burdens, the care tucked behind his stoic looks.

and she wanted to help.

so when she heard him muttering under his breath about how the textbooks weren’t enough, how he needed a better grasp of female anatomy for surgical accuracy, the words had slipped out of her mouth before she could think better of it,

“i-i could help you. if you want.”

zayne’s head jerked up sharply, hazel-green eyes wide behind his glasses. “what?” he questioned, brows drawn to a furrow. it was clear now that he had merely been muttering to himself.

if anything, zayne hadn’t had any sort of idea in mind on how to get that better understanding he so deeply craved, an insatiable, unbearable desire for knowledge. he’d just have to go looking for another textbook or a better reference, or perhaps a more detailed, recently-dated study. but this…

“that’s not necessary.”

“but i want to,” she said quickly, cheeks burning. “i mean… it if helps you study, i don’t mind.”

she regretted the clumsy way it came out almost instantly. her stomach twisting in embarrassment. 

but zayne just stared at her for a long moment, studying her face like he was searching for any trace of hesitation. after a long pause and an unreadable look, he pushed up his sleeves slowly and quietly set down his pen.

“alright. but you have to tell me if you’re uncomfortable. immediately.”

she nodded, swallowing hard.

to her surprise, zayne didn’t hesitate once he had her permission. he pushed his chair closer, knees brushing hers under the table, his hands— large, scarred, steady— hovered just over her, seeking silent permission to touch her. 

when she gave the faintest nod, he got to work.

first, he pushed up the hem of her sweater with careful fingers, revealing the soft skin of her waist. she shivered partly from the cool air, partly from how serious he looked, completely focused on her like she was the only thing in the world.

she hadn’t really thought about what helping would mean. she thought maybe he would ask a few questions, maybe vaguely point at her stomach or something.

instead, zayne leaned in, so closeshe could see the faint lines of exhaustion under his eyes, the faint flush creeping up the back of his neck.

“this is the costal margin,” he murmured, fingers gliding along the underside of her ribs. his touch was clinical but held a lingering gentleness that made her heartache.

“and here,” he said, fingers skating over her hip bone, “is the iliac crest.”

she bit her lip to stifle a gasp.  he was… really hands on. there was no embarrassment on his face— only the same cool, unwavering concentration he gave his textbooks. as if understanding her body was as serious as learning how to save a life.

her hands fisted in her lap as he mapped the curve of her waist, his palm flattening lightly over her lower stomach. 

he glanced up as she tensed, his face immediately softening, brows furrowing with concern. 

“am i hurting you?”

“n-no,” she stammered out. “just… surprised.”

zayne hesitated. then, almost shyly, he admitted, “i need to feel the structures directly. palpation is critical for diagnosis. but if you wish to stop, i will.”

she shook her head a little too hurriedly, cheeks burning. “i… i said i’d help, zayne.”

a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth— the smallest, softest expression, like sunlight peeking through a crack in winter ice.

he continued, slower now, as if savouring each careful touch. “can you stand up?” 

she obeyed, tugging self-consciously at the hem of her sweater as she rose to her feet, the chair’s legs scratching against the floor. 

zayne adjusted his silver glasses with a careful hand, stepping close— close enough that she could feel the brush of his breath against the top of her head, that she could catch the way his pale ears had turned a faint pink under the fluorescent lights.

“turn around,” he murmured, already moving to position her by her shoulders. his touch was featherlight but firm, guiding her to face away from him. she swallowed thickly, her heart thudding as she stared at the blank wall.

“you said you would assist,” he reminded her, not unkindly at noticing her hesitation.

“yeah,” she whispered.

“flex forward slightly,” he instructed. “at the waist.” his hands were steady as he mapped her back, pressing lightly along her spine after bunching up her sweater.

she obeyed, bending forward awkwardly. 

zayne’ bent behind her a bit now, fingers skimming down the subtle ridge of her vertebrae, murmuring the names under his breath: “thoracic… lumbar…” 

he sounded almost reverent. 

“you have a very… delicate frame,” he said, suddenly, and she heard the slip in his voice— the way it thickened just slightly at the edges, like he was battling himself.

she stayed still, heart hammering, unsure what to say. “thank you…?”

almost abruptly, zayne cleared his throat. “straighten.”

she did as he said again, feeling the warmth of him at her back. he stepped around to face her again, unusually stiff in his movements. 

his fingers brushed against the hem of her sweater, pausing— giving her a chance to back out. when she didn’t move, he pushed it up carefully, baring her stomach to the cool air of the room.

she shivered, both from the temperature and from the sensation of zayne’s careful hands settling firmly against her lower abdomen. 

his palms were broad and steady, thumbs spreading lightly over the soft dip just below her navel.

“relax,” he murmured, his head bowed.

relax? how was she supposed to relax when he was touching her like that? she squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the warm, expensive scent of his cologne— something dark and clean and dizzyingly good— and the way she wanted to instinctively lean into him.

zayne pressed gently, his fingers tracing along the natural ridges of her body, napping the planes of her abdomen with slow, thoughtful movements. 

“the rectus abdomens is here,” he said quietly, to himself mostly, thumb brushing a slow line just above her hip.

she whimpered— barely a sound— but it was enough.

zayne’s hands froze instantly, his entire body stiffening.

she kept her eyes shut, mortified, praying he hadn’t notice the pathetic sound that had spilled past her lips— but she could feel the tension in the air, the way his breath hitched slightly against her skin, the way he was staring holes through her.

when he spoke again, his voice was lower, hoarser.

“did i hurt you?” he asked, the bluntness of his words belying the fragile concern within them.

“n-no,” she managed, voice breaking a little. he hesitated, then resumed his slow, methodical exploration, hands moving higher to splay across the shallow curve of her waist. 

“obliques,” he murmured, his fingertips pressed in just slightly, feeling the muscles beneath.

she bit her lips hard, her fists clenching at her sides. it wasn’t just how warm and how steady his touch was— it was the way he handled her, like she was a precious tool to be studied, understood, memorized.

her heart was going to break through her ribs if this kept up.

“you are… “ he said after a moment, voice low and almost grudging, “a very cooperative subject.”

she dared to open her eyes just a sliver, a breathless little laugh leaving her, a bit awkward in response. she didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched— a suppressed smile, maybe— before he forced his expression back to its usual neutral setting.

slowly, almost reluctantly, zayne stepped back, arms falling to his sides.

“you’ve helped enough for tonight,” he said, voice rougher than before. “thank you.”

she nodded mutely, still reeling from the intimate gravity of it all. as she gathered her things with trembling hands, zayne lingered awkward by the door. then, just before they parted ways, glasses askew, he said very quietly:

“if you would be willing… i’d appreciate your help again tomorrow.”

her lips wobbled into a tiny, breathless smile. she couldn't say no to him. 

[cheralith]

cw: cannibalism, blood, murder, heavier gore warning on this one (description of an eyeball taken out of its socket more specifically)

no one asked but yukimiya is a serial killer cannibal in cannibal!au.

he is also your sweet, seemingly innocuous friend that you may or may not have a crush on. part of you wants to believe that he feels the same way, since you've noticed he gives you a rather specialized attention, but you'd be lying if you said he wasn't hard to read.

but he's lovely to be around, lovelier when it's just the two of you alone. he'll stay close to you in public spaces as your own human shield. he always reminds you of your guys' friday movie nights—asking if you were still up for it (you always are, when are you not?). he always makes a compliment regarding your appearance whenever you meet up, something to set a good foundation for the day.

but every once in a while, you'll catch him staring at you in rather adoring manner, this quiet smile on his lips as he looks at you. it makes you giddily nervous, knowing that he has this spotlight for you and you alone.

"is there something on my face?" you ask him one time, dabbing around your cheeks.

yukimiya shakes his head, smile still settled.

"oh no," he says. "i was just... just admiring your eyes, that's all. they're beautiful, i hope you know that."

you blink in a doe-like manner, a curious ponder in your innocent gaze. yukimiya's own tangerine hues soften at your surprise, making him chuckle affectionately at your modesty that arrives not a moment later.

"sorry, i didn't mean to fluster you," he excuses, "hope i didn't weird you out."

"oh no," you laugh lightly, waving his apology away. "not at all. i just... no one really has told me that before. i didn't think my eyes were all that enticing."

yukimiya hums, allowing himself to stare at you again when you don't shy away from him, letting him be lost in your gaze, too embarassed at his sudden compliment to see the darker resolve that he hides behind his glasses.

--

the woman's wheezes come to a stop eventually when the last bit of blood needed for a pulse bleeds out.

yukimiya sighs in relief, gripping his hand around the knife plunged deep in her body and recklessly pulling it out, wincing when some blood sprays his face. he draws a tongue over his teeth, swallowing the bundle of saliva built up in his mouth as he gets off of the body of his former date now laid face down on the floor of his apartment. foolish girl, didn't anyone tell you not to trust strangers?

he pushes her body to face right-side up, allowing her face to stare up at him, the life completely gone from her eyes. he grins when he sees the familiarity of the deadened gaze and lowers himself down, taking the knife and carving out the skin around her eye sockets to better space the area out.

he snacks on the bit of meat, the sucking on the blood from the piece of eyelid, spitting out the mascara-caked lashes as he continues working his way through. she tastes okay—he's had better though. he assumes the alcohol from the wine in her system had melded in her blood a little bit. he's not too fond of the bitter aftertaste.

yukimiya sees it suddenly, that little fleshy arm from behind the eyeball. his fingers shove their way through the hollowed-out socket and pinches it between his middle and index, then cupping the eyeball around his palm and giving it a harsh tug.

the eyeball and its muscle disconnects from inside—mission success. with a blood-smeared hand, yukimiya pops it into his mouth, then goes to chew and suck off the leftover muscle framing around the gummy orb, being careful not to impact it directly.

he spits it back out as the sweet blood and meat from the muscle slither down his throat contently. delicate fingers go to pinch the eyeball and he holds it up to the light. a perfectly rounded shape, a pristine white all over with a beautiful rim of amber around the pupil. no signs of glaucoma, jaundice, or broken blood vessels anywhere.

he thinks this'll be a good piece to his collection, a good possible replacement. it looks rather close enough to his own.

it's not long until yukimiya takes out her other eye, placing the two into a jar of solution to keep them hydrated and ready if ever the case. he takes it to a private room in his complex, this darkened cupboard hidden away that holds other jars of eyes with some that mirror his own, some in different colors—but all healthy and pristine.

yukimiya admires his collection for a bit, welcoming the newest addition, but suddenly feels a vibrating in his pocket. he takes his phone out and blinks at the bright screen that lights up the dim room, the leftover adrenaline he felt from earlier bespeckling his vision with a few black spots that he attempts to blink away.

he presses the accept button.

"hiya," your voice rings from the other end.

"hey there," he chimes. "what's up?"

"movie night is still a-go?" you question.

yukmiya winces. right, today is friday, and he said last time you could come over to his place. but with the current body bleeding out in his living room, he feels as though he's going to need more than a couple of hours to completely discard the body. taking it apart and storing its flesh for later often takes a few hours, and yukimiya is not one to waste food for the sake of time.

"yeah, yeah," he hums. "but is it okay if we do at your place today? sorry, they're doing some construction outside my building and i'd hate for the noise to interfere."

your laughter echoes from the other end. "haha, no problem. could you give me an extra half-hour, though? i need to clean my place up."

yukimiya assures you that it's fine and bids you a temporary goodbye, agreeing to meet up soon. he sighs, going to stretch his limbs for a bit and opening up his camera roll to find a particular photo of you that he finds himself admiring a few times in the week, a soft smile on his lips as he traces a finger over your eyes, hues bright and attentive at the camera he had focused on you one night.

they really are one of your best features, aren't they?

[caoimhewrites]

Take It or Leave It

Undying Ground (Pt 3)

Ghosts decides... do you accept?

Tags/CW: brief mentions of grief/loss, non-graphic mentions of injury, post apocalyptic world, zombie mentions WC: 2k

Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader. Reluctant allies to lovers

Series Masterlist → here

A/N- Dabbling in a little Ghost pov. Don't know if I'll keep up with it

 G

The cans were a clever move. They almost gave him away when he had snuck up on you days ago. He almost felt angry with himself for not thinking of it. Relying on the sounds of growls outside the fence he built around the cabin wasn't the most foolproof solution when it came to alerting him to get rid of any infected that wandered too close.

He's spent days watching you sleep, eat and struggle with your bandages. There's something about you, something interesting, but he can't put his finger on it. Maybe it's the way you watch him back or the few words you speak in your conscious moments that have him biting back a small chuckle.

No.

Not that. Definitely not that.

You're up now, walking around with much more ease and no more limp. He doesn't speak when he sees you moving around. You've made yourself useful by packing up your things and Ghost would be lying if he said he wasn't a little... disappointed? He may have gotten the better of you a few days ago but still... you had skills to have made it this far. Five years, alone or not, was an achievement in this world. Ghost didn't consider himself to be a curious man. Didn't bother himself with the goings on of other people, not even before the sickness spread but the intrigue of you won't fade.

He's being practical, he tells himself. A decision like this… it makes sense, it's realistic. He's not getting any younger and the infected only find his cabin more frequently, their numbers only seeming to grow. Maybe a little help wouldn't be so bad?

No. Not help.

Ghost doesn't need help. He's never needed help a day in his life but maybe... an extra set of hands wouldn't hurt. If you stay as quiet as you usually are, fend for yourself, scavenge your own meds... it could work. He could find a way to tolerate it.

He's talked himself out of it a million times. He doesn't know you. His initial suspicions could be right. You might slink off in the middle of the night with all his things, leaving him practically defenseless. Or you could just end him. He's mulled that possibility over more times than he can count. He's been betrayed before. Before and after the world fell apart and as far as he's concerned he's in no rush to repeat history.

But he had to choose. Risk you betraying him, or possibly get swarmed by so many infected that even a man like him couldn't fight them. Or worse, some other lunatic who won't sit quietly like you do, keep to themselves and get out of his space whenever he asks. Someone who wouldn't hesitate to take everything he owned and toss him out as food for the infected.

So that's exactly what Ghost does. He chooses. Against every single instinct, every life lesson, every rational thought.

He chooses.

You can stay... For now.

R

You hear him before you see him. It feels strange. He’s always appearing out of nowhere, leaving a delirious you confused and scared shitless before the details of his frame clear. But, today it’s like he wants his presence to be known. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m going,” you murmur as you shove your old tattered coat into your bag. The summer still rages outside, leaving you far too sweaty even in the relatively cool damp of Ghost’s cabin. You had used it as a blanket when the shivers set in, side aching. Now it really serves no purpose, just weighing you down until the winter comes again.

“Stop.” His voice is demanding, slightly cold. 

“What? Why?” You freeze your movements, looking up at his towering frame. It casts a long shadow across the room, blocking out the light from the oil lamp.

“You can stay.” His words come out flat, emotionless. 

“Stay?” You can’t be sure you heard him right. Stay? Why on earth would this man let you stay? You still haven’t figured out why he would take you here in the first place. 

“Under some conditions.” He adds, words keeping their flatness.

“Conditions?” 

He rubs a frustrated hand over his face, venom lacing his voice. “Will you just- stop repeating everything I’m saying and listen.”

“Sorry,” you mutter quietly.

“You can stay… under some conditions. You get your own food, your own medication and first aid. I will not help you. If you get stuck out there, people or infected. I will not help you. If you get injured. I will not help you. You will sleep in the corner. If you want a mattress, find one. And…” He pauses, his brown eyes boring into yours, “stay the hell away from my room.” 

The question slips out before you can stop yourself, “why are you letting me stay? We don’t know each other. I mean… you let me heal here but, why?”

He hesitates, jaw clenched as he chooses his words wisely. “We… could be allies.” He says it like it physically pains him, like any suggestion of having someone else around goes against every instinct and desire. 

"Why should I trust you?" Your tone is accusatory, sharp like a knife.

"Why should I trust you?" He echoes, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You're the one who asked me to stay." You tilt your head, throwing in as much sass as you possibly can.

He lets out a huff at your words. You're right, but he's not going to admit that. He isn't the type of man to be wrong and certainly not the type of man to admit when he is. "Doesn't mean I trust you."

"Well I don't trust you either," you retort in a snarky tone, face scrunching in annoyance.

"Good."

What does that mean? Good? Good? Your stomach churns in annoyance. He's the one who brought you here. He's the one who asked you to stay. 

"Well? You staying or what?" His tone is sharp, impatient.

You didn't realize how long you had been silent, neglecting to answer his question, head spinning. What options do you have? Stay with this guy who's mildly annoying and definitely a bit out of his mind but at least have a roof over your head or go back out on your own with hardly any remaining supplies and legions of infected wandering the earth who wouldn't hesitate to make you their next lunch?

"Take it or leave it," he adds with an annoyed sigh.

"Fine. I'll stay... I guess."

---

Ghost wasn't kidding when he said he wouldn't help you. He hasn't lifted a single finger in the second week that you've been occupying his floor. You haven't bothered to do much more for him. It's tense and awkward, the atmosphere thick enough to slice with even the dullest knife. Your conversations are short and stilted, exchanging nothing more than a few words each day.

But, you keep up your end of the deal. Stay quiet and out of his space. It's not too bad, you've had roommates far worse. 

Yet, he still watches you. Quite frequently in fact, his distrust obvious. In all fairness, you don't trust him either. Sure, he lets you stay and keeps to himself, not even bothering to pretend to be your friend, but even still, he could always betray you. It's the risk you run in this world.

"So... Where did you learn the trick with the cans?" he asks, eyes studying you suspiciously as he sits across the small table from you.

"A friend." You reply, voice clipped.

"Infected?"

"Yeah... Infected," you murmur quietly, the word feeling heavy on your tongue like you almost can't speak it. Your mind swirls with memories of Vivienne. You can't be sure of exactly how long it's been, the days you spent half conscious on Ghost's floor were hard to keep track of. You think it's been three weeks since the infected found your camp. Three weeks without the one person who had been with you through everything. Thinking about her always seemed to make you feel worse. Knowing that after so little time, her voice had already been forgotten. 

"You've been traveling?" He's pushed his food away now, focusing solely on you. His words feel more like an interrogation than an actual conversation.

"Yeah. Quite a lot since the start." You give a small nod, picking at your dinner.

"Where did you start? Virginia?"

You let out a huff and finally meet his eyes, looking up from the overcooked squirrel on the plate in front of you. "North Carolina actually."

You're tempted to ask him about himself but something in his eyes stops you. Something tired and... sad? Maybe if you could see his face you could understand it better. Trying to read him just through his eyes was proving to be quite difficult. His body language reveals even less— always statuesque.

The minutes pass in an awkward and tense silence, the only sound is the rustling of the fabric of your clothes as you eat in silence. "You... uhhh you been here since the start?" You regret it as soon as you say it, your question slipping past your lips shakily.

"Yes. Military," he says simply, offering nothing else. His shortness makes exasperation rise in your chest. Who is he to ask about your life, but give hardly anything in return? He’s the one who brought you here, who suggested you be “allies”, whatever that means to him. You shake the feeling off, you’re not going to let him get to you. It’s fine. It works. You can live with it. Dealing with Ghost’s interrogations mixed with indifference is paradise compared to the last five years.

“Right. Military,” you parrot, awkwardly tapping your wooden fork against your plate. You suspected he had made them both. They had that kind of rustic quality, much like the things your grandfather had made for your grandmother years ago. But these didn’t carry the comfort of their home or any home really. Nothing cute and sweet, just made from need and practicality. 

He lifts his mask just slightly so he can take another bite of his food. You see pink lips and a strong jaw dusted with blond stubble. It’s the only clue you had to how he looked beyond his brown eyes. You tried to piece him together, playing a game in your head, creating a million different versions of the man under the mask. None seemed too convincing. There was always something off, something that didn’t fit. It bothered you day and night not to know. 

“You’re low on supplies.” He spoke without looking up. 

“I know.” You stare at him as you take a bite of the stale bread on your plate that Ghost had actually decided to share with you to your surprise.

“You’ll need more. There’s a town down the road, not too far. I checked it out a few weeks ago, not much has been taken.” 

“Many infected?” Your voice is quiet but practical.

“Just a few.” He shrugs and glances up at you. There it is again. That look. The tiredness has seeped into him so deeply that you feel it radiating out of him. Five years alone out here will do that to you. Five years in some place that isn’t anything like home. Maybe it’s been there longer, you think. Maybe it’s something he’s been carrying on his shoulders for so long that tired is just who he’s become.

“I’ll go tomorrow then,” you say as you set the bread down. You see now why he gave it to you, it’s basically inedible. You would need several more rows of the world strongest and sharpest teeth to get through it. 

He lets out a low hum and nods, “I’ll go with you. Need some things. Don’t expect me to-”

“I know, I know.” You wave your hand in dismissal, cutting him off with a small huff. “You won’t help me.”

Taglist: @little-mini-me-world @angeldemon28 @iminlovewithjasontodd @i-like-foxs @dravenskye @lilynotdilly @thatghostlykid

[lakesparkles]

Why are you here? (One shot)

I finished the niche oneshot scene with Thanos and Seo-wan!

Please read it below, if you want:

(NOTE: This is an AU that may make sense only to me ^^’. Everything between [ ] is Thanos speaking English)

 That was a good day. Yes, it was.

 Thanos walked around, almost aimlessly, repeating that same phrase in his head. He even brought his thumb to his lips, biting his nail lightly in concentration.

 What he knew was that there were good days and bad days, no matter your situation.

 He'd heard about that a long time ago. When he was a kid, very young. He had vivid memories of that time, not being able to stand spending an entire day inside a classroom. He wasn't usually a good student: skipping class in the bathrooms to smoke weed; running away from school when the staff didn't pay enough attention; taking out his frustration, even in a good-natured way, on people who didn't deserve it.

 When he started coming home with a black eye more often than not... It started to become a problem.

 It was around that time when he heard about the good days thing.

 He heard that from…

 Thanos stopped in mid-step, suddenly frustrated. He could remember the conversation itself perfectly, but not who he was talking to. It was an adult, yes. Someone much older than him. He put his hand on the back of his neck, frustrated by how the gesture hadn’t been able to make his memories clearer.

 It was with... His mother! Yes, of course, who else would it be?

 Then he started walking again with slightly unsteady steps.

 That day, years back, his mother had explained how necessary it would be for him to know the difference between a good day and a bad day. Thanos didn't pay much attention, because he thought he was about to get another scolding. However, what she explained was that a good day didn't always feel like one. It just needed to be better than a bad one. If he didn't feel terrible most of the time, it would be good enough.

 And now, at that moment, he was having a good day too. His heart was beating a little faster than usual. He was sweating cold, but only a bit. He felt nervous, but not too much.

 So it was a good day.

 "Mr. Choi!"

 He looked back reflexively, regretting it a second later. With a grunt, he lowered his shoulders and started walking again.

 "Mr. Choi? Are you okay?"

 He knew those nurses too well to know that this one wouldn't give up until she got an answer:

 "[I'm great, perfect even!]" He spoke in English, still with his back turned, but waving his right hand in the air. "I'm just going straight to my room, nothing else, señorita!"

 "When you say it like that, I think you're up to something," The nurse said with a small laugh.

 "No way! Me? Never!" Thanos laughed back, increasing his pace so that she wouldn't catch up with him. "[Goodbye!]"

 He arrived in the room a few moments later, satisfied that he had managed to (literally) escape a conversation. He just didn't feel like it. Not at all. To tell the truth, his head started hurting again, so it seemed like a good idea to just go back to his room.

 Without thinking much, he walked over to his bed, throwing his weight on it and feeling the bed frame creak. Some roommate - he didn't care enough to remember his name - complained about the noise, saying that he would end up breaking that thing.

 Thanos paid it little attention, ignoring him and stretching as dramatically as he could. An involuntary yawn even came out of his mouth, it was as if he yawned more often every day.

 Something about that place was that they always tried to keep their patients busy. Maybe so that they wouldn't even have time to think. Thanos had a theory that it would fix him, but in the end, he managed to appreciate the little free time he had in the afternoon. He didn't have a damn thing to do, but he could sleep.

 After five minutes, he realized that he wouldn't be able to sleep.

 So he sat up awkwardly on the bed, rocking his body from side to side.

 He felt like his head was about to explode. He could barely keep his eyes open, so he grunted loud enough to make it a problem for everyone there. Apparently, that automatically caught someone's attention.

 "Were you cursed too? It happened to me on that last mission, remember? Next time, it's better not to cross that bridge," The man in the bed closest to his own spoke in a neutral tone, but clearly confident about what he was saying. 

 That was the funny part! So Thanos smiled, turning towards him:

 "Oh yeah, dude? Do you know if the nurses would give me a healing potion twice in the same hour? It's a healing potion you say, right?" Thanos scoffed, even though he knew that Seo-wan (one of the only names he memorized from there) would take everything completely seriously.

  "Nurses?" The other seemed confused, however. "What are you talking about, bard Su-bong?"

 "Su-bong!?" Thanos exclaimed with the same intensity as someone who just received a slap in the face. "My brother, I already told you that I'm Thanos!"

 "You are not," Seo-wan laughed lightly. "Thanos is just a fictional character, I think you're a little confused.

 "Huh? That you are aware of- Ah, fuck it!" Thanos cut himself off and preferred to move on to the next subject before he got bored.

 First thing, however, he got up from his own bed, pretending that his legs were not wobbly and weak. In a few steps, he reached the other's bed, making himself comfortable and sitting next to him with a smile. Seo-wan returned it with the same gesture, despite poorly disguising his discomfort with the sudden proximity.

 Seo-wan could always maintain the appropriate posture, but Thanos was good at observing people. Even though he'd known Seo-wan for a few days - a little over a week -, he could capture all the little details: the way his shoulders tensed; him changing the focus of his vision to a random point before returning to Thanos out of pure politeness; how he licked his dry lips, something he rarely did.

 Seo-wan couldn't say that explicitly, but he didn't want Thanos there. That fact wasn't enough to make Thanos leave, but it didn't feel good either.

 "Are you bored too?" Thanos began, elbowing him lightly. "I tried walking around, there's no shit to do."

 "I kinda like it," Seo-wan shrugged. A simple statement, with nothing more to add.

 "How so? Damn, I feel like-"

 "Why are you here, bard Su-bong?"

 Thanos opened his mouth to answer, but he was too surprised to form any coherent thought. Since he had been admitted to that place, he hadn't seen Seo-wan acting like that - so direct. His gaze was fixed on Thanos, who had no choice but to stare at his dilated, almost intimidating pupils.

 "What are you-"

 "You're not like this!" Seo-wan didn't even allow him to finish his meaningless question. "I know you'd rather be hunting wild boars during these hours. Or anything else. You're always in someone's company for that too."

 "You're talking nonsense," Thanos looked away, not really knowing what the hell he meant. Usually, Seo-wan's analogies were weird, but understandable. If he tried a little, he could translate half of the words in his mind. Today, his head hurt like hell. "And, like, duh! Now I'm in your company, nothing new, right? Why are you surprised? Do you happen to like watching me?"

 "A little, yes," To his surprise, he received an immediate confirmation. "You're one of the only people here who can hear me too!"

 "Everyone here can hear you, man, they just pretend you don't exist," Thanos shrugged only to finish after a short pause. "Because you're a fucking weirdo."

 "That's not true!" For the first time, Seo-wan raised his voice. "The sorceress told me about everything they did to me! She gave me some instructions on how to end this specific spell... But I still haven't managed to fully unravel the enigma..."

 "Sorceress, [right...?]" Thanos remained serious, unimpressed. "Come on, man, do you know what I mean? It's impossible to understand anything you say!"

 Seo-wan seemed to give up on the little argument, making an impatient "tsk" as he lifted his chin and closed his eyes, to see if Thanos would simply stop existing.

 Thanos was about to make another joke, but suddenly stopped.

 It was a simple gesture.

 For a few seconds, Seo-wan raised his hand to his nose, scratching it lightly. There was something in the way he did it, mixed with the way his nose moved... Even Thanos's head stopped hurting for a second.

 He had to admit to himself that Seo-wan always made him feel strange. It was like that ever since he first saw him sitting around in the halls of the psychiatric ward. His gaze met his and Thanos noticed every detail at once, from his faint freckles to the way Seo-wan always kept his hands moving, restless. He was stupidly familiar, and Thanos knew why.

 It was at that moment that he realized that maybe that wasn't going to be a good day after all.

  "Hey, Seo-wan... Wizard, whatever," Thanos remained seated in the same place, even though he looked away and forced a more serious tone of voice. "Why are you here again?"

 Seo-wan hugged his legs and rested his chin on his knees, a little distracted during the short time Thanos had been silent:

 "Hmm? I'm just a little tired."

 "No, that's not it! Not in this bed, why are you here in general?"

 "In this region?"

 "That 's it."

 "I need to defeat the fire dragon, I thought I already told you that."

 Thanos nodded slowly, his gaze completely unfocused. But, of course, he didn't find much sense in what he heard, so he continued:

 "And why do you need to do this anyway?"

 "Isn't it obvious? It destroyed everything I had!"

 "The fire dragon…?"

 "Of course! I've been training for years, I don't think I've ever been so close to achieving it! That excites me, you know? I've focused on this for so long that I don't even know what I'm going to do next. Trying to figure it out thrills me even."

 "I see," - Thanos lied, despite being entertained. He hadn't even noticed the small smile that appeared on his lips. Now that he looked at him, he realized that Seo-wan seemed to be relaxed for the first time that afternoon, even releasing his legs from his own embrace and sitting up straight next to the other.

 "And you, bard Su-bong? Why are you here?"

 With a sigh, Thanos took the weight off his shoulders, already anticipating that very question:

 "Look, there's not only one reason."

 "I could notice."

 "Fuck you," Thanos pretended to be upset. "Dude, I have a huge list. Do you want it in alphabetical order or what? Sure, man, if you don't mind listening to me for a long time! Such an honor, I know you won't mind!"

 Fulfilling his goal, he heard Seo-wan laugh lightly. It didn't necessarily sound like his laugh, but it was close enough to make his heart ache.

 The comparison hadn't been a good feeling. Nor a bad one.

 And the worst part was that Thanos wasn't just lying for the sake of it. He really didn't know how to answer Seo-wan's question. ‘Because it's the first time I've spent more than a week sober in the last decade' could be a good start, but he didn't have the patience to go into any details. He didn't want to tell him more about his headache that wouldn't go away. Or about the chills he still felt days later. Or how ironically he felt exhausted and discouraged all the time. Or about all the times he'd yelled at some nurse when he regretted having gone there in the first place.

 It wouldn't be worth it.

 So maybe he could tell Seo-wan about everything he'd been through until he got there, but it wasn't like Seo-wan would understand or even believe it. Sometimes, even Thanos wondered if his memories were true. If he hadn't created another reality just to pretend that none of that had happened to him in the first place.

 However, what ended up coming out of his mouth was:

 "I miss someone."

 It wasn't the answer Seo-wan was expecting, he could judge by his mouth slightly open in confusion:

 "Really? Who?"

 "Uh..." Thanos scratched the back of his neck in reflex, not sure if he wanted to be honest. "A guy I met a few months ago. You don't know him."

 "I know but... He ended up here in this village? Are you looking for him around here?"

 "That's not exactly it," Thanos knew he was nowhere to be found. Not anymore.

 "Are you running away from him?"

 "No!"

 After realizing that his answer was louder than expected - even making Seo-wan's eyes widen slightly - Thanos stood up with a quick movement. Standing up, he dramatically cleaned an invisible mess from the hideous pants he was forced to wear there.

 "Bard Su-bong, did I say something that-"

 "[Relax, man, you're fine!]" Thanos raised both arms in the air, doing a few turns and turning his body in the same place. "He has nothing to do with you! I'm going to sleep now, okay? Or my head will disintegrate for real."

 He knew that Seo-wan knew he was lying. And he knew that Seo-wan knew he knew. Even so, he walked to his own bed and threw all his weight on the mattress again. Then he buried his face in the pillow and remained still. He couldn't see anything around him anymore, but he heard Seo-wan sigh and clear his throat, probably changing position and going to lie down too.

 But Seo-wan didn't say anything.

 This was wrong, it wasn't supposed to be like this.

 With another sudden memory, Thanos remembered how Nam-gyu would have followed him at the same moment, complaining and whining for Thanos to spill the beans. Nam-gyu could be insufferable when he wanted to, he lost count of the last time he could even think without that bastard's voice ringing in his ear nonstop. If Nam-gyu were there, he would have a worse headache and could already give up on his possible nap.

 But Seo-wan didn't say a single word, too polite to bother him.

 This bothered Thanos immensely.

 He thought about how Seo-wan had the same hair color as Nam-gyu, only much shorter. He also had the same faint freckles. He scratched his nose the same way. He sighed like him.

 But he was far from being Nam-gyu.

 So he concluded that his mother was right all those years ago. Today was indeed a good day.

[chaoscreaturewrites]

Call of duty, ghost, angsty maybe

On my knees for you

Summary:A fun night out at an illegal fighting ring turns dangerous when Simon goes dumbstruck for a skilled fighter who takes him down quickly.

WC: 1.6k

Soap takes the guys to a not so legal fighting ring. It's fun entertainment so they stay, Gaz and Price even makes a few bets. Ghost is interested in watching the fighting styles, criticizing some moves and silent nods of approval for others.

Ghost can't believe his eyes as a short girl enters the ring, she looks tired, worn, but there's something about her he recognizes. It's a look he's seen before in battle, the look found in the ones you underestimate but are beasts, mainly because they have nothing to lose. 

He asks soap if he's seeing the same thing, but all he says is ‘ you'll see everything here’.

Ghost watches the match carefully, he notes her sharp movements, quick reflexes, but the most notable is how she could have dodged. 

The guys all suck in a breath watching that hit land, it's all they notice but Ghost sees what happens next. She took that hit to get closer and land a brutal strike of her own.

This isn't a common tactic and one Ghost has only rarely had to deploy in more dire situations to finish things quickly and when he's too pissed to waste time dodging. 

But why would she do this, this is the ring, there is time, she has the advantage of agility to dodge easily, taking the hit is not worth it.

Well that's what he thought but again she takes a hit she could have dodged and this time her strike, he didn't expect anything like it, and has only ever seen a move like that among highly skilled and trained operatives.

She gets him down and out almost instantly and that's when it clicks. The first time she took the hit and striked was a test to see if she could get in, to see what he'd do, the second time was for the take down.

She didn't face the crowd, show off, or diss the guy, once she was called the winner and the bell rang she just left the ring as if nothing else existed. It's so unlike everything else he saw that night, every other winner showboated, some had to be dragged off, but this, he needs to meet her.

He doesn't tell the guys a thing, he can't take his eyes off her, he needs to find her. He heads off through the crowd and finds his way to the back where the fighters can prepare. No guard to stop him, he walks in scanning the area for her. 

There she is. He spots her short frame standing in front of a sink, carefully unwrapping her hands. He heads for her.

He's not thinking, not processing his actions, not planning like he usually does. No, his actions are being driven by something deeper, subconscious, maybe just maybe he can meet another person like him.

Before the guys, he too had nothing to lose, he didn't care what hits he took to complete his mission, his eyes were devoid of life, and if his job wasn't to fight he probably would have ended up in a place just like this, doing just what she is. So he needs to meet her, he needs to know. Not because he wants to change her, not because he wants to tell her it gets better and you can find people, he has no desire of that kind, he just needs to know there are others, even if he himself has changed.

Since the planning, and analyzing part of his brain is currently on the back burner, he didn't  come to the realization that coming up behind a fighter still rushing with adrenaline without warning was a bad idea. 

That's how he ended up on his knees,knee to his crotch,face pressed into the sink bowl, hand on his neck and a firm grip on his hair.

He's breathless, dumbstruck and probably lovestruck. 

There is love at first sight and then there is love at first take down and oh boy is he feeling it. Which isn't helping his analytical brain get him out of his dangerous hold, a bit more pressure and she could crush his tracia against the sinks rim, it's already hard to swallow.

“what are you?”

Her voice sends a shiver down his spine, like a walk home on a dark night as the rain soaks through his clothes. Most would hate that feeling, recall it as an unpleasant one, but there are plenty of things he's fond of that others are put off by. 

“ I won't ask again”

“ Simon”

She pushed down, applying more pressure to his throat, he can't help the choked sounds that escapes him. He should be fighting back, he shouldn't be taking this so happily but he is, nothing in him is telling him to fight. He can't hurt her, how would he get her number that way.

“ I don't care about your name, why did you come up on me? Last chance Simon”

The way she said that last line, his name, he could tell that chance at getting to finish him excited her. That she wanted to unleash herself on him, and oh he wouldn't mind that either, he feels a deep need to give her anything, especially if it makes her voice go into that dark dangerous tone.

Meanwhile the guys have noticed their LT is missing and not for a piss or drink, he's been gone too long, musr have found some trouble. So they execute an efficient grid search around the ring and alley but no Simon or sounds of his fighting.

 That's when Soap realizes when he disappeared. The girl, he went after the girl, so they take their search to the locker room, and walk into the most mindfuck scene they have ever seen their LT in, well top 5. 

Once they snap out of their shock they realize how compromising a position she's got him, how he isn't resisting, isn't fighting back. They can't believe their eyes, their hardass LT, Ghost, is submitting to the short fighter. 

But they can't let this continue, looks like she's ready to KO him, but who's gonna step in, no one wants to volunteer for that. So they decide not to get too close, they will just call out from here, a hopefully safe distance. 

Captain takes a crack at first to defuse the situation.

“ Excuse me, but that man is under my charge. Can we resolve this peacefully?”

Her head snaps in their direction, almost too fast, and her gaze makes their instincts activate, she's dangerous and has got one of their own. Soap find his hand drifting to his side where he gun would be, but the comforting weight is missing. 

Unfortunately none of them realized just how bad this situation is. They think they are just facing an adrenaline high fighter, but the reality is they are cornering a paranoid, adrenaline high, tiny bit delusional, sort of on the run/ hiding out, it's riddled solider. Who now thinks they have been outed and these men are here to capture or kill her and she's resolute to never be taken alive. 

“Identify yourselfs Now”

Simon's brain is still off and being overloaded with oxytocin, but the others are better grasping the situation and the state of the girl. 

“ We are solders, part of an international task force. We are not here for you, this is our night off just here for fun. That man you have is Simon Riley aka Ghost. He's not here to harm you, none of us are. Will you release him and we'll leave.”

Her delusions and paranoia has been getting worse and worse lately, it's been harder to tell truth from lies. This could be a trap, a well crafted one to overpower her, but it could just be coincidence. Does she even belief in coincidence anymore, us anything a coincidentally, what can she trust?

She examines the men then turns her gaze to Simon, the vast difference between them confuses her. She pulls Simon's head up, relieving the pressure on his throat.

“ what's wrong with this one, have to much to drink?”

“ he's not usually like this. Too much drink plus seeing you fight has gone to his head, he's infatuated.”

She finds that notion of someone being infatuated with her preposterous. She gives Simon a quizical look, looking him over from head to toe. Seems like a big empty brained lug, but he must be competent to belong to an international task force, to have men willing to vouch for him. Did she really have this mind melting effect, this wasn't a power she was aware she possessed, interesting. 

She doesn't usually takes risks anymore, doesn't take bets, doesn't leave things to chance. It's not a risk she's been willing to take. First her training told her not too, then her paranoia sent that habit into overdrive. 

But right now she's considering it, this might just be a risk worth taking. It could lead somewhere interesting, bring a new experience, one more tale for her long legend.  Even if it writes the final chapter, ‘ long hunted rouge taken down by task force playing a simple ruse’. 

Oh fuck it, she's run long enough, she's been going In circles, getting no where but deeper into her fracturing mind.  Time for a risk even if it's the final one. 

She releases Simon, slightly shoving him in his compatriots direction. He's able to gather his witts before he smashes his teeth out on the tile.  

She walks around them, shrugs on her jacket, grabs her bag and steps twords the back exit. 

“ next time we should meet in the ring, Simon”

[bradleysass]

swimming pool - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 655

James himself lay stretched out like a smug cat basking in attention and heat, golden from weeks of sun exposure, his chest bare and glistening with sunscreen and confidence. His abs—of which he was intensely proud—were on full, accidental-on-purpose display. Every so often, he’d roll his shoulders or yawn dramatically, just in case Regulus happened to glance his way. Which he rarely did. Which only made James more determined.

Sirius, on the other hand, had already achieved peak relaxation.

He lay in a purple flamingo float drifting gently around the pool like some sort of chaotic deity on vacation, wearing a wide-brimmed straw sunhat, designer sunglasses, and a white shirt billowing open in the breeze. One leg dangled over the float’s side; the other rested on a waterproof speaker that was currently blasting Fleetwood Mac.

A half-melted drink was balanced precariously on his chest.

“James,” Sirius called lazily, one eye cracked open. “Bring me watermelon. Or a better drink. Or both.”

“Bring it yourself, you lazy git.”

“I’m floating, James. This is a sacred state of being.”

“You’re lounging in an inflatable bird.”

“Exactly.”

Meanwhile, Regulus sat upright in a rigid patio chair like a perfectly miserable Victorian ghost, legs crossed at the ankle, jeans on (jeans!), and a pale button-up tucked and ironed like he had a business meeting instead of a sunburn to earn. He looked vaguely offended by the idea of summer in general.

He hadn't even taken his shoes off.

James, watching this ridiculous contrast, pushed his sunglasses onto his forehead and stared.

"Reg."

“Hm?”

“You’re gonna evaporate in that outfit.”

Regulus didn’t look up from his book. “I’m comfortable.”

“You’re sweating.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re wearing jeans.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Sirius chimed in again, now slowly rotating in the pool. “Honestly, Regulus, I don't know if you're the most stubborn person alive or just committed to the bit.”

Regulus turned a page. “Both.”

James leaned up on his elbows, squinting toward him like he was planning something.

"You know what you need right now, my love?"

“No,” Regulus said immediately and with maximum suspicion.

Sirius cackled. “God, this is gonna be good.”

James stood, stretching like he was preparing for battle—or a one-man stage performance. “You,” he said dramatically, “need to lighten up.”

“James, don’t.”

But James was already moving, grinning like a child on Christmas morning.

Regulus caught on too late. “*No. James—No.”

“YES.”

With a loud whoop, James hoisted Regulus up bridal-style, muscles flexing as if to say see, Sirius, this is why I do ab day. Regulus flailed and cursed like a proper sailor, book flying dramatically to the ground.

“PUT ME DOWN—THIS IS KIDNAPPING—”

“This is love,” James corrected, and with a running leap, he launched both of them into the pool.

Water erupted in a magnificent splash. Sirius screamed—not in fear but indignation as he clutched his drink above his head. “MY COCKTAIL, YOU BASTARDS!”

Regulus came up first, sputtering, eyes wide and hair flat against his head. “You absolute monster.”

James surfaced, laughing so hard he nearly choked. “You’re welcome.”

Regulus tried to glare, but the glare lacked conviction now that he was dripping wet and his shirt clung dramatically to every part of his slim frame.

Sirius let out a long, theatrical sigh. “You two are sickening.”

“Jealous,” James called back, treading water as he pushed Regulus’s hair from his eyes.

“I am,” Sirius agreed. “Of Regulus. For getting free abs and a man who’s willing to drag him into a pool for emotional enrichment.”

James grinned and looked back at Regulus. “You’re hot when you’re wet.”

Regulus groaned. “Don’t say that.”

“But you are.”

“Still hate you.”

James swam closer. “That’s not what you said last night.”

Before Regulus could respond—or commit a murder—Sirius cannonballed in with the grace of a drunk cat, soaking all three of them and sending the flamingo float spiraling.

[aventurineswife]

Aventurine with a tall female reader 🙏🏽 I need this i learned he’s a short king like somewhere between 5’5 or 5’7 and im 5’11 and im so giddy about this 😭

Eye to Eye, Heart to Heart

Summary: After a long day, Aventurine and his tall lover share a quiet evening in their home. As always, their relationship is filled with teasing banter, playful challenges, and an undeniable pull between them. Despite the height difference, Aventurine’s confidence never wavers, and he reminds his partner that no matter how tall she stands, he’ll always find a way to meet her eye to eye. What starts as a game of words turns into something far more intimate, revealing the depth of their connection beyond the risks and facades.

Tags: Aventurine x Female!Reader, Established Relationship, Height Difference (Tall Female Reader x Short King Aventurine), Playful Banter, Fluff with a Hint of Angst, Emotional Vulnerability, Subtle Power Dynamics, Kissing & Intimacy, Soft Aventurine Moments.

Warnings: Minor mentions of Aventurine’s manipulative tendencies, Brief references to his traumatic past (nothing explicit), Flirting and teasing that borders on suggestive but remains SFW.

A/N: He's 5'6 from what I know... Bro I'm the same height as him and I'm taller than the average women's height 😭🙏

The evening air felt crisp, threading through the cracks of the grand house you and Aventurine called home. Your shared space—an eclectic mix of luxury and calculated chaos—had a comfort to it that you’d come to treasure over time. The elegant furnishings, intricate designs, and soft ambient lighting all spoke to the grandeur of his world, a world of high-stakes gambles and unpredictable strategies, but here, in the stillness of the night, it was just the two of you.

You were standing by the large bay window, gazing out at the moonlit horizon, your figure towering in the reflection, contrasting with the smaller, more compact frame of Aventurine. His figure was barely a shadow against yours, the two of you perfectly in sync as you both observed the view.

"Careful," he teased, his voice rich with playful arrogance. "You might give me a crick in my neck just by standing so tall." He stood beside you, craning his neck to meet your eyes as you shot him an amused glance over your shoulder. His eyes gleamed mischievously, but there was no hiding the warmth beneath the banter.

You chuckled softly, turning your body to face him fully. "I’m not trying to tower over you, Aventurine. You know, I didn’t choose to be this tall. But I do wonder," you mused, leaning down just slightly to bring your face closer to his, "if you enjoy being around someone who can look down on you."

Aventurine’s lips curled into that trademark smile of his—the one that always made people second-guess whether he was joking or serious. "Oh, darling," he said, his voice dripping with honeyed amusement, "you don’t tower over me. You simply offer a more... elevated perspective." His words were deliberate, carefully chosen. And the way he leaned up just enough to brush against your ear sent a shiver down your spine. "Besides, I’ve always preferred being at the heart of the action, no matter the height."

You smirked, loving the way his playful facade masked the deeper layers of his personality. Aventurine—your Aventurine—was a master of strategy, never showing all his cards, and yet you were starting to get a better understanding of the hand he was playing with you.

"I’ve noticed," you replied dryly, your voice tinged with fondness. "And I’ve always wondered how you handle being so close to the ground while still standing so tall in the world of men." You tilted your head, watching him closely. You didn’t mean it as a slight, though you could tell by the glimmer of his eyes that he’d taken it as a challenge.

Aventurine took a half step back, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he surveyed you, his posture adopting a more calculated stance, yet there was a playfulness behind it. "Ah, but you forget something," he said, voice dropping an octave, laced with the familiar, charming intensity. "It’s not about height. It’s about how you stand tall. And I stand as tall as anyone, even when it seems like I’m just a little..." His gaze flicked up at you, eyes narrowing with a teasing gleam. "...shorter."

His words were a delicate jab, but there was a glint of admiration in them too. Despite the height difference, his confidence had never wavered in your presence. He was a man who had spent his life playing dangerous games, but the game he played with you was a little different—one that balanced between the thrill of risk and the deeper emotions neither of you had truly dared to explore before. You could see through his careful control, his need to guard his heart.

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, your gaze holding his. "You’re right about one thing," you said softly. "It’s not the height that matters. It’s what you do with it." You leaned in just enough for your lips to brush his ear, letting your words linger there. "And with you, it’s all about how you make me feel like the tallest person in the room."

His breath hitched ever so slightly, and for a moment, you saw the cracks in his perfect composure. His usual easygoing demeanor faltered, his shoulders straightening as if he were bracing for the next move in your shared game. But this time, the game had changed.

"You're dangerous, my love," he murmured, his voice low and steady. Then, with a sudden movement, his hands were on your waist, pulling you toward him with a swift yet calculated motion that surprised you. For a brief moment, he looked up at you with his trademark smile—only this time, it was laced with something deeper, something far more intimate.

He leaned in to close the gap between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, full of the passion that only came after a long day of carefully played strategies. You could feel his heart beating against yours, the connection undeniable, even if words had no place in this quiet, stolen moment.

When the kiss ended, Aventurine pulled back just enough to look up at you—really look at you. "No matter how tall you stand," he said softly, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck. "I will always find a way to meet you eye to eye."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, his smile didn’t just mask the strategist—the manipulator. It was real. Genuine. Because, in this moment, he wasn’t playing a game. He was simply... with you.

Aventurine had always been a master of risk and reward. But tonight, in the quiet confines of your shared space, he seemed to have found something even more thrilling than any gamble.

And you were more than willing to take that risk with him, no matter the height of the stakes.

[ficfield]

A Soldiers Return.

Request: Soft, slow, sensual sex between Chris and reader....  Thirsting for gentle Chris

Chris Redfield x Reader Smutty smutty smut smut smut

The dim evening light spilled into the living room, bathing everything in a soft amber glow. Chris stood in the doorway, his massive frame taking up the space with an almost tangible presence. Months apart had carved new lines of exhaustion into his features, but none of it dulled the raw magnetism he exuded.

He had shed the weight of his mission along with his gear, now standing in just a fitted black t-shirt and worn tactical pants that clung to every inch of his thick, powerful thighs. His hair was a little messy, his jaw shadowed with scruff. Her chest tightened painfully at the sight of him, her protector, her heart.

She rose from the couch, every movement slow, reverent. When their eyes met, the rest of the world simply ceased to exist.

“Welcome home,” she whispered, her voice trembling under the weight of months of longing.

Chris crossed the room in two strides, his hand catching hers in a grip that was sure yet gentle. “God, baby,” he rumbled, voice thick and low, “you have no idea how much I’ve needed to hear your voice.”

Without waiting for another breath, he gathered her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. She melted into him, breathing him in, the clean scent of soap and the lingering, wild note of him underneath. His hands slid over her back, large palms mapping her body as if committing her all over again to memory.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then to her temple, and finally, his mouth found her ear. “Missed these soft little sounds you make,” he murmured, voice a slow, deep stroke against her skin. “Missed everything about you.”

Her body shivered under the intensity of his words. The months of loneliness and unspoken need wrapped around them like a noose, and she whispered the only words that mattered: “Take me to bed.”

Chris didn’t need to be told twice.

He swept her up into his arms, effortlessly, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. As he carried her down the hall, his mouth grazed the side of her neck, catching the delicate skin between his teeth just enough to make her gasp.

“You smell so fucking good,” he growled into her throat. “Bet you taste even better.”

By the time they reached the bedroom, she was trembling with anticipation. Chris laid her down gently, looming over her like a man starved. His rough hands found the hem of her shirt, and he lifted it over her head in one smooth motion. He paused, looking down at her with a heat that made her entire body flush.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, his voice dropping even lower. “You’re perfect. Look at you… all soft and pretty for me.”

His hands framed her breasts, reverent but greedy, thumbs brushing over the fabric of her bra with slow, purposeful strokes that made her arch into him. He leaned down, his mouth hovering just above the swell of her breast.

“Missed these more than I should admit,” he muttered, nipping lightly at the top of her cleavage. “Been dreaming of getting my mouth on you every damn night.”

She whimpered, her body aching for his touch. Chris chuckled darkly against her skin, sliding the straps of her bra down her arms, peeling it away until she lay bare before him.

He didn’t rush. His hands cupped her breasts fully, thumbs flicking over her nipples until they peaked under his touch. He watched her face as he leaned in and wrapped his lips around one tight bud, sucking gently before flicking it with his tongue.

“You always get so sensitive for me,” he murmured between licks. “Love how you fucking squirm when I play with you.”

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Chris obliged, shifting between teasing and worshipping, his dirty whispers seeping into her skin like molten gold.

“Could spend hours here,” he groaned, squeezing and kneading as he moved from one breast to the other. “God, baby… every inch of you’s made for me.”

When he finally dragged his mouth down her body, leaving a hot, open-mouthed trail, she was panting, her hips rolling needily. He caught her gaze and smirked, wicked and tender all at once.

“Bet you’re already soaking wet,” he teased, voice dark velvet. His fingers traced the waistband of her pants, dipping teasingly beneath. “Aren’t you, sweetheart? All this for me?”

“Chris,” she gasped, hips lifting.

He chuckled, peeling her pants and panties off in one slow, tantalizing slide. His rough palms brushed up her thighs, parting them wide. When he settled between them, he didn’t dive right in. He hovered, breathing her in, eyes dark and hungry.

“Fucking beautiful,” he muttered, dragging a finger through her slick folds. She jolted under his touch, her whole body crying out for more.

“So damn wet,” he murmured, teasing her entrance with slow, maddening circles. “Been needing me this bad, huh?”

She moaned, trying to grind down onto his hand, but he held her hips steady with an iron grip.

“Patience,” he growled, licking a slow stripe up her slit that made her cry out. “Gonna taste every inch of this pretty little pussy first.”

He feasted on her with slow, devastating precision, his mouth relentless in its worship. His dirty praise never stopped, a constant stream of murmured filth that made her toes curl.

“Such a good girl,” he groaned against her. “Taste like heaven, baby. Could drown in you.”

When he slipped two thick fingers inside her, curling them just right, her orgasm crashed over her so hard she sobbed his name. Chris kept working her through it, mouth and fingers relentless until she was trembling.

Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking utterly wrecked and still starving for her.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice rough with need.

“Please,” she whimpered, reaching for him.

Chris stripped off the last of his clothes, his cock heavy and flushed, standing proud against his stomach. He pumped himself once, lazily, eyes locked on her.

“Look at you,” he said hoarsely. “So pretty, so mine.”

He positioned himself between her thighs, rubbing the thick head of his cock against her soaked entrance.

“Gonna fill you up real slow, baby,” he promised. “Make you feel every damn inch.”

When he finally slid into her, inch by devastating inch, she gasped, her body stretching deliciously around him. He buried himself to the hilt, groaning low and broken against her mouth.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled, stilling to let her adjust. “Feels like coming home.”

She clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist, urging him to move. Chris obeyed, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had her gasping into his mouth with every thrust.

“That’s it,” he whispered against her lips. “Take it, baby. Take all of me.”

Every roll of his hips hit deep, deliberate, designed to drive her crazy. His hands never stopped moving—cupping her breasts, gripping her hips, threading through her hair. He kissed her like he needed her to breathe, moaning low whenever her walls clenched around him.

When her second climax built, slow, unstoppable, Chris felt it.

“You gonna come for me again, sweetheart?” he coaxed, his voice dripping with filthy tenderness. “Come all over my cock, baby. Show me how good I make you feel.”

With a sob, she shattered, her body convulsing around him. Chris cursed low and beautiful against her skin, driving into her a few more times before groaning her name and spilling deep inside her, holding her so tight it felt like they’d never part again.

After, he collapsed beside her, pulling her into his chest, their bodies sticky and sated. He kissed the top of her head, whispering against her hair:

“Never leaving you again, baby. Never.”

And in the quiet after the storm, with his heartbeat thudding against her ear and his arms locked around her, she believed it with every fibre of her being.

[domesticatedstew]

its been a few days, but I finished another gaslight district fanfic!! Mel and Ken are apart of a cooking show episode in the style of like diners, drive-ins and dives. basically just a lot of dialog and descriptions of fly guts

idea came from @loaf-of-wren !!

"C'mon people we gotta schedule to follow!! We need this crap filmed and edited by next WEEK!!!" There was frantic scrambling, multiple rotlings holding filming equipment were struggling to hide behind the singular camera as to not get into frame.

Ken and Mel stood behind the center island in the kitchen, making sure all their equipment was laid out. "We got all the knives we need, could you grab a couple of jars so we can use some of the innards for jelly later," Ken pointed over to the cabinets where they usually kept their clean dishes (if they ever had any dishes clean at the time.)

Thankfully this was one of those times, Mel brought back nearly 10 whole jars. "Sheesh, seems like a bit of an overkill but alright kid," Mel would've glared at the microphone guy if it weren't for the fact they director signaled they were about to start recording. Suddenly a tall, and rather beautiful, rotling with a deep brown wig strut up in front of the camera. "Welcome back citizens of the Gaslight District!! I'm your host, Ramona Ray, and today we're featuring the lovely Whale Belly Butcher Shop!"

Her voice sounded so professional and yet so attractive. Ken gave Mel a worried side glace, Mel knew exactly what he was worried about, her nose bleeds. She gave him a quick reassuring pat on the back before the stunning rotling turned to look at them. "So, you two are the father daughter duo that keep this ship running smoothly, what's it like working together?" The camera came in closer and so did the swarm of people behind it, getting a good angle of all 3 people.

"Well us being family for sure has its perks, my daughter Mel is an excellent worker and isn't afraid to get her hands dirty with her old man!" She knew what Ken would've said if they weren't being recorded, but they needed to look good for publicity. "Mel, why don't you tell the beautiful lady what we'll be making them today?" Ken laid it on thick with his flirting, and if they weren't on TV she would've gagged.

"Today we're gonna show you how we make our most popular dish, the platter! While also making some of our in house fly spread," Mel made sure her voice sounded pleasant for the viewers, as per the director's request. She thought the director guy was full of shit, but Ken insisted they listen to him for the sake of the restaurant's publicity. "You need to go and actually get the fly," Ken whispered as he began shoving her towards the dining room.

She would've talked back if he hadn't immediately turned his attention back to stupidly pretty Ramona Ray. Mel waltzed into the front room where they kept the fresher fly corpses in a glass case. She quickly found the (much higher quality than what they normally serve) carcass and heaved it over her shoulder. It didn't drip like the normal flies they sold, so clearly something was going on and it was Ken trying to look good for the cameras (and for the hostess.)

"Ah there you are Mel! Took your sweet time getting our main ingredient, didn't you?" He chuckled but it was obvious that Ken was trying to say 'move your ass so we can finish filming this crap.' "Sure thing dad," Mel didn't hide her frustration as she plopped the fly onto the center island.

"Wow, such a fresh corpse! You guys specialize in only the best, don't cha?" Ramona Ray batted her eye lashes at the butcher, who was enjoying all the attention he was getting. Mel had to refrain from making grosses out faces. "Oh you better! We only serve the best of the best here, isn't that right Mel?" All she did was nod along, worried that if she spoke it'd come out the wrong way and they'd have to reshoot.

Ken pulled out a butchers knife (not the one in his head) and made a swift chop, loping off the flys head. "To start, we need to chop the head off as that's the centerpiece of our platter! And it makes it easier to pull the spine from the body," as he said that, he dug his fingers into the base of the headless nub and violently ripped out the spine. Ramona Ray seemed extra impressed with Ken's strength, Mel just had to stand there and not cringe.

"We usually save the bones and spine to make stock, but since we're just making a platter and some jelly we'll just be throwing this out," Ken tossed the spine somewhere where the camera wouldn't see it. Mel watched one of the crew members practically slither over and start gnawing on it, nasty. Suddenly the carcass was now flipped onto its back, exposing the gross translucent wings. "Now we gotta clean up the rest of the body, get rid of the wings and the lil hairs," Ken, now using a smaller and slimmer knife, sliced all the wings off and begun basically shaving the dead fly body.

They'd usually skip the shaving part, especially since they don't serve the skin to begin with. But whatever makes them look better on TV.

"Mel, would you do the honor of scooping out the guts for our jellies?" Finally!!! Something for her to do that wasn't just standing there to emphasize the father daughter thing the director was really trying to push. "Hell yeah I will!!" She said with all the excitement she's felt so far.

Without hesitation, Mel grabbed a knife nearly as long as her forearm and plunged it into the center of its back, dragging it down while it made disgustingly loud squelching noises. Ramona Ray leaned in closer to watch Mel disect the insect person, which made her face flush from the sudden attention. Damn hot lady.

With the back now open and exposing the other side of the organs, Mel began pulling fistfulls of the organs they didn't need for the platter. She made sure to get every single bit of gross, nasty, red blood and guts into each individual jar. Mel realized she probably needed to explain what the hell she was even doing, "We usually just place the guts we don't need for the platter into these jars, then we let them sit for a bit so they get all jelly like and then you can eat them."

The director looked disappointed with how flatly the delivered that line.

Ken simply sighed, "Now that we've got the desirable organs left, we plate them up!" And he did exactly that, placing the intestines, trachea, and the heart in a fancy little pattern. Again, something he usually didn't do. "Now for the final touches," Ken said as he gently placed the decapitated fly head onto the pile of its own guts.

A grotesque yet delicious sight, Mel could've sworn she heard one of the crew members stomach growl.

"That looks fantastic!! May I have a taste?" The brunette wig wearing rotling pointed to the plate with hunger in her eyes. For a second she thought that the hostess was going to snatch the plate from Ken's hand and swallow the food whole. It wouldn't have been the first time someone's done that.

Ken handed Ramona Ray a fork, who promptly scooped up a large chunk of innards and blood and nearly swallowed the fork in the process.

She proceeded to let out the most shrill, annoying squeal, "Oh my GOODNESS!! This truly lives up to the hype!! I might have to just take this whole platter for myself," Ramona Ray let out a forced, yet still beautiful sounding, laugh. Mel could feel her face heat up again and it seemed like Ken felt the same way since his face turned the faintest bit purple.

"And I can't forget the jelly you made Mel!! I've gotta take it home to see how yummy it is," Ramona Ray took one of the jars full of liquidy red organs, practically staring into Mel's soul. God damn hot creepy lady.

"And that's a WRAP!!" The director called out and nearly everyone in the room let out a sigh. "Thank you so much for having us on your show Ramona Ray, can I add how gorgeous you are?" Ok Ken was really laying it on thick, but since they werent being recorded anymore Mel could finally fake gag in response to her dad's cheesey flirting.

Ramona giggled, "You're quite handsome yourself Ken, maybe we should plan a date sometime soon!" Ken gave her a kiss on her hand, signaling that he was more than willing to go on a date with the gorgeous rotling.

Mel had enough of this crap. She shoved her way past the swarm of rotlings and finallt got some space in the dining room.

She wished she had gone with Mud and Breadhead to go do a hit instead of listening to Ken's non stop flirting and having to make food for a camera.

[cmdrfupa]

III. Marubo (マル暴・まるぼう)

Yakuza or police who investigate the yakuza. Used by police as a code word for the yakuza, and used by yakuza in reference to investigators

All CW and chapters can be found here.

I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!

4.7k words

The office at the top floor of the club pulsed with low bass from the floor below, dimly lit by amber sconces that framed long shadows that danced like apparitions across the lacquered table. Hiromi sat at the head of said table, pristine in his tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to expose the gold watch on one wrist and a thin link bracelet on the other. His eyes were sharp as he scanned the documents in front of him then up at the gathered men that sat around the table.

When his presence was needed at the club, Hiromi despised being there for any longer than he needed to be. The American inspired nightclub his father was adamant about opening was too busy on the eye and the ears for him personally.

He didn’t need a crystal backdrop to commemorate his evening out but according to his father, the patrons did.

‘Too much money and not enough sense to know what to do with it’ he always thought with each feature he would see placed in.

But tonight was a little different. It was in the air the moment he walked in.

He bought a round of drinks for some young business men and asked the DJ to play something that would make him feel like he was on vacation.

He didn’t expect Nujabes, but he wasn’t going to complain.

"Someone has been talking," he spoke plainly, voice calm, almost casual. He gently placed the folder down on the table,"Feeding scraps to the authorities and whispering in the ears of men who’d rather see us dead."

The silence that followed was thick. No one moved.

"I'm giving you all a chance,”

He looked around the table. Younger and older men. Years of loyalty tied to the Higuruma name and yet it came to this. “Be honest, and maybe it ends with a clean cut."

Still, no one spoke. A few shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting to the corners of the room like answers might be found there.

Hiromi let out a quiet breath through his nose and slowly stood, the scrape of the chair legs sharp against the hardwood. He walked around the table, fingers brushing the back of each chair with a quiet deliberateness. When he stopped behind someone old enough to know better, everyone was surprised.

"Kenji."

Kenji stiffened. "Boss—"

"I know who you met Tuesday night. And now you get to tell your brothers who also.”

Kenji tried to speak again, but Hiromi had already drawn the short blade from his waist, pressing it with eerie gentleness against the man’s shoulder.

"Loyalty isn't just a word we use around here," Hiromi expressed. "It’s a debt. A bond. And you broke it. Why?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from someone else at the table, but no one dared intervene.

Then, Hiromi’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

He paused, slid the blade back into its sheath, but held Kenji by his tie and pulled out his phone.

Your name lit up the screen.

His tone shifted the moment he answered, voice warm. "Hello. Everything okay?"

"Hey," you replied, your voice soft, unaware of what you'd interrupted. "Everything is okay. I just wanted to see if you still want to meet early for breakfast tomorrow to finalize some things or push it back a little?"

Hiromi turned away from the table slightly, giving you more of his attention, though his foot pressed down on Kenji’s chair, pinning him in place. "Early is fine. I like the quiet."

You chuckled lightly on the other end. "Of course you do. I also... wanted to apologize for my behavior at the church the other day. I didn’t intend on being so hostile but.. you do see how someone could be a bit pissy after you don’t respond to their emotional tell all, right?”

Behind him, one of the other men placed a plastic tarp over the floor without a word.

“I do. And I apologize for being such a piece of work in that department. We can discuss this more in the morning.”

"Fair enough,” your end of the call went silent before you spoke up again. Did you eat tonight?" you asked.

Hiromi gave a small smile. "Not yet. Busy with something, but I’ll be sure to get something in me before it gets too late."

You didn’t question it. You rarely did. "Okay. I’ll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight."

He hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket, rolling up his sleeves fully now.

When he turned around, his expression was a different thing altogether. Cold. Unapologetic.

“I would like everyone to listen to me, please." he said to the others. They sat up in their chairs, Hajime grinning as he watched closely from the corner.

Hiromi skillfully pulled his blade out as he slammed Kenji’s head to the table. “Hand out and on the table please.”

Kenji knew it was better to just do it, but he had to try.

“Hiromi, please. I wasn’t trying to do anything to hurt you or the family--”

“Hand, Kenji,” Hiromi removed his own hand from the nape of the older mans neck, letting him sit up. No one dared look him in the eye as he tried to find some sort of sign that he wasn’t alone.

“I didn’t say any names, I promise you. They were asking about my affiliation and wanted to know what I knew about the stabbing near the fish market.”

Hiromi rested his hip against the dark table. “Mind if I get a cigarette?”

Trembling, Kenji reached into his jacket pocket and held the gold engraved cigarette holder out for Hiromi.

He took one, placing it between his lips before catching Kenji’s hand, squeezing it before slamming it on the table.

“You allowed them to tap your phone,” Hiromi placed the blade at the first line of Kenjis pinkie. “They had access to each and every one of your points of contact since you decided that befriending and talking shop with an informant in Gakuganji’s camp was critical. He used your fucking phone and tapped it.”

A plea so desperate, and almost child like, filled the room before Kenji gave up on trying to wriggle out of Hiromi’s hold. “Please, forgive me, big brother.”

The unlit cigarette hung from Hiromi’s mouth as he looked into Kenji’s eyes. “My mother is now a target. My father would’ve had you killed.”

Without looking, the knife came up, then down in an instance. A pain ridden yelp left the victims throat as his whole pinky disconnected smoothly from the rest of the hand, rolling to the edge of the table.

"Let this remind everyone, including veterans, of what disloyalty costs." His voice was balanced, even. He pulled out a dark handkerchief and expertly bandaged Kenji’s finger up gingerly, a solemn, almost saddened expression as he patted Kenji’s shoulder. “Not just flesh for your behavior. But a sign to the world that you can’t be trusted.”

_____

The bathroom light hummed gently, the soft glow of the white ceiling lights washed over the marble counter tops as steam curled lazily from your recently used sink.

You dipped your middle finger into a jar of toner, dabbing onto your forehead then cheeks before working it into your skin in upward circles the way your dear friend Mei Mei taught you. It was part of your routine, a grounding ritual. And yet tonight, it did nothing to settle the weight twisting low in your stomach.

The phone was still sitting on your bed after you tossed it and the screen was dim. But it honestly could’ve been on fire at this point. You stared at it through the mirror like it was in the middle of judging you.

“Did you eat tonight?” you muttered to your reflection, mocking yourself as your lips twitched into a bitter smile. “Asked if he’d eaten like some worried housewife.”

A quiet laugh escaped you—dry, borderline embarrassed. “What am I doing?”

You leaned forward, letting the toner set in as you picked up serum, pumping a few squirts of your mucin into your palm as you met your own eyes in the mirror. “I’m supposed to be upset about this whole thing. I should hate this man. I basically told him to fuck off not even a week ago.” You patted the clear, viscous serum into your skin. “Like actually I’ve been traded like a bargaining chip, and I still called to check on him while he’s probably fucking some hooker?”

Your reflection didn’t answer, of course. It just looked back at you with tired eyes and a smudge of guilt on your brow.

“He must think I’m losing my mind.” You scoffed, grabbing your fan and fanning your face to expedite the absorption on your skin. “Maybe I am. Or maybe he’s just... getting under--.”

The fan froze in your hands for a moment. You didn’t want to finish that thought.

It would’ve been easier if Hiromi was cold, cruel, or even condescending. But he wasn’t. He was quiet. Attentive. That soft-spoken calm that unnerved you more than any raised voice ever could. Like he was always thinking five steps ahead. Like he already knew how this was going to end—and you weren’t sure whether you were being led or protected.

You wiped your hands and shuffled out to your room, throwing yourself into bed, phone still beside you, heart beating a little too fast for your liking.

“You called him.”

The words whispered back at you like a dare.

The café Hiromi chose wasn’t loud or flashy like you expected. It was tucked away on a quiet street corner, the kind of place where conversations were kept low and the scent of freshly baked bread softened the sharp edges of the morning.

You stepped inside and spotted him immediately. Hiromi sat near a window near the back of the space, a pot of tea already on the table, steam curling in lazy tendrils around him. He looked... calm. Unbothered. As if neither of you were tangled up in the mess of circumstances that brought you here.

He stood when he saw you, that small, polite smile touching the corner of his mouth. You hated how instinctively you noticed how he looked today — dark slacks, a crisp white shirt with a black, slim tie, sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms, a simple watch glinting at his wrist. Every inch of him controlled and calculated, yet somehow entirely effortless.

"Good morning," he greeted you, voice low, the same even tone he always used. A small, unreadable light flickered in his eyes as you reached the table. He offered a light dip of his head.

The faintest shadow of fatigue had seeped in under his sharp eyes. As if he hadn't slept much or not at all, but wore it better than anyone should.

"Morning," you echoed, sliding into the chair. Your voice was neutral but you weren’t sure your eyes could hide how conflicted you felt.

Hiromi poured you tea without asking, the gesture smooth and automatic. You hated how thoughtful it was. Breakfast was light — miso soup, grilled fish, tamagoyaki — traditional, simple, respectful.

Hiromi plated your food and placed it in front of you. “I apologize if it isn’t enough or too much.” He began to place a few pieces of grilled fish onto his own plate. “If I need to make any adjustments, let me know.”

You looked down at your plate, “Thank you. This should be fine.”

He kept conversation easy. Your posture gave off you’d only give one word answers and he knew to keep it easy. Asking if you slept well, if your dress fittings are coming along to your liking. Small talk, polite and inoffensive. It irritated you and comforted you all at once.

At some point, while you lifted a spoon of soup to your lips hesitantly, he tilted his head slightly and broke the intermittent silence, "Thank you for calling last night."

The words stunned you more than you wanted to admit. You looked at him, finding no sarcasm or mockery in his face. Just a quiet sort of sincerity that you didn’t know what to do with.

You nodded once, quickly, and turned back to your soup.

“I’d been having a fairly rough night. Late call to fix a problem at one of the clubs had me awake far longer than I liked.”

  You didn’t reply. Instead, you slurped your soup, smiling, feeling a humiliating flame of fire in the pit of your stomach as he talked. ‘You could always tell him you don’t care. You’ve told a man that before’

  a small, almost imperceptible smile was perched onto your face as you brought your mug to your lips.

  Imperceptible to everyone but Hiromi.

  A dimple formed at the corner of his lips as he watched you.

  “If you do almost hate me, that phone call said otherwise to me personally. But what do I know.”

   Unsettling. Completely unsettling.

__

Itadori drove you to the ring fitting which left for no kind off reprieve or word if you did in fact want to speak with Hiromi. Itadori had something to talk about for every second that passed in the car.

  Pulling into a private entrance, the car came to a stop and Hiromi made gentle haste with getting out to get the door for you. Your low heels clacked against the gravel as you approached blacked double doors at his side. The jewelry store was tucked inside an older discreet studio, all clean lines and warm lighting as the receiving room smelled of warm jasmine and gardenias.

  The jeweler, an older man with nimble fingers and sharp eyes, greeted you both warmly. You were led to a small lounge where velvet trays were brought out, glittering with pieces made of gold, precious stones, and platinum cut so precisely they almost looked fake.

  You sat on the furthest end of the couch. Hiromi sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, but he didn’t crowd you. His hands rested on his knees, relaxed and patient while you placed your bag across your knee.

  “I can take that for you?”

You eyed the dark haired young man who approached you from a desk near the wall. “I’d rather keep my belongings with me, thank you.”

He nodded, walking backwards before turning to head back down the hallway.

  “Kamo-sama. Thank you for seeing us so quickly.” Hiromi gave another subtle head bow.

  Kamo smiled, sitting a warm kettle on the small table near you all before he came to take a seat.

  “Its a pleasure, Hiromi. The news of your marriage has spread like wildfire. Which,” Kamo bowed his head slightly in your direction. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Hiromi nodded once and then gestured toward you, offering your name with a quiet, respectful lilt. The jeweler beamed at you like you were royalty and proceeded with showcasing the jewelry on the table before you.

  “While he has already created your wedding ring, this will be the accessories you can choose from for your traditional ensemble.”

  You looked over at Hiromi, “I want to see it. My ring.”

  Hiromi didn’t tear his eyes away from yours as he slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved an emerald green velvet box. He flipped the lid then placed it on the table.

  “You’ll need to try it on in case adjustments need to be made.”

  The ring was... beautiful. A perfect blend of traditional design with subtle modern detail. The gold band curved like silk around your finger, neither flashy nor plain, just intentional. It fit too well — and something about that irritated you more than it should have.

  You tilted your hand in the light and feigned a quiet gasp. “Oh,” you said, softly. “You really have been listening to my mother.”

  Hiromi raised a brow, catching the teasing edge tucked in your voice. “I take her words seriously,” he replied smoothly. “She has very strong opinions when it comes to design.”

You glanced at him in the mirror that sat on the table, letting your smile sharpen just a touch. “And what about my opinions?”

He was quiet for a moment — not caught off guard, but considering. “I’d like to think I’ve paid attention to those too.”

You hummed, twisting the ring slowly around your finger, letting your shoulder brush just slightly against his as you stood up from the couch. “Careful. Saying things like that might give a girl ideas.”

Hiromi’s lips curved — a small, patient smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What kind of ideas?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you walked slowly around the room, pausing at a nearby display case. You traced a fingertip along the glass and shrugged lightly. “That you actually care how I feel about all of this.”

He watched you from where he stood, hands folded neatly in front of him. “Would it be so bad if I did? Though you’re the one who called me so I think you care more than you lead on.”

That stopped you. The air shifted — not heavy, not cold. Just... still. He hadn’t said it like a threat. He’d said it like he meant it.

You looked down at the ring again and gave a soft, ambiguous laugh. “Don’t be fooled. I just know how to play the part.”

Hiromi’s gaze didn’t waver. “Good. Because so do I.”

-

Kamo thanked you both profusely as you left, offering blessings for your union and bowing until you disappeared through the door.

Outside, the day had brightened as afternoon approached. The golden sunlight filtered through the narrow streets, and just ahead, a tucked-away shrine garden waited in silence.

“I thought you might like some fresh air before we go our separate way for the day.” Hiromi said quietly, nodding toward it.

You said nothing, but followed him up the stone path. The shrine was modest, ringed by mossy steps and lanterns, with a small koi pond tucked beneath the trees. Cicadas buzzed gently in the distance, and the quiet rustle of leaves felt almost sacred.

You walked a few steps ahead, letting the silence stretch, pretending not to care when you felt his gaze on your back.

“I know you’re still deciding what to make of all this,” he said suddenly, his voice low behind you.

You turned halfway, arms folded lightly. “You don’t say.”

“I’m not asking you to pretend,” he continued. “But I’m not pretending either.”

There it was again — that quiet steadiness. The unnerving calm. You didn’t know what to say, so you looked away first.

He stepped beside you, pausing at the edge of the pond. A gold band you hadn’t noticed before was now sitting on his left ring finger.

“I think the ring looks good on you,” he said, softer this time.

You scoffed lightly, turning your face away. “That makes one of us.”

But your hand didn’t move to take it off.

And his eyes didn’t leave your face until the approaching car signaled him to turn away.

The room was beautiful. That was undeniable.

Warm lighting spilled from chandeliers like liquid honey, catching on crystal glassware and the delicate folds of white linen draped across long banquet tables. A soft quartet played in the corner, the melody polite and inoffensive. Laughter buzzed under the music — warm, familiar, expectant. It was all perfect. Exactly the kind of rehearsal dinner your mother would plan.

Three days.

Three days until the wedding. Until your family would finally call themselves whole again. whatever that meant. Until the promises you never made, but were forced to keep, became permanent.

Everything felt dulled lately. The days passed, one bleeding into the next. Your body moved, dressed itself, smiled on cue. But inside, you were distant. Suspended.

Hiromi has made himself sparse trying to finish getting your home prepared for your move in and arranging for your things to be moved.

It made your continuously confusing feelings a little easier to sort through knowing he was at least fours away for 2 days.

You stood near the edge of the room closest to the garden entry, barely listening as polite laughter drifted from the patio. A glass of untouched champagne in your hand, chilled against your fingers. You felt eyes on you all night — your mother's, your father’s, his father's. Measuring your posture. Your smile. Your compliance.

Then, a shadow crossed into your peripheral vision.

"Kento-san is asking for you," a voice said behind you. One of Hiromi’s quiet attendants.

You turned slowly. Across the room, Kento waited near the opposite garden doors, hands clasped behind his back like always, expression unreadable.

Hiromi stood beside him. He met your gaze, gave you a slight nod before turning to go back into the venue. Not permission. Not possession. Not quite. But it still made your stomach twist.

You made your way to the doors and followed Kento outside.

The silence between you was comfortable at first, like it always had been. The cool air kissed your skin, brushing away the warmth and suffocation of the reception.

"Beautiful night," Kento said softly, as you both walked beneath a canopy of wisteria blooms strung with fairy lights.

You didn’t answer.

He waited a few beats before glancing at you. "You look tired."

"I'm fine."

"You don’t look fine."

The words weren’t cruel, but they cut like they were meant to. You stopped walking, your heels sinking slightly into the grass as you turned to face him.

"You dragged me out here to tell me I look like shit?"

"No," Kento said. "I dragged you out here to ask why the hell you’re letting this happen."

There it was.

You blinked, your throat tightening. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he said, tone even. "You’re marrying into a family with blood on their hands. A man you barely know. You don’t look in the mirror anymore. You barely make time to do anything. And you flinch every time someone mentions your future.”

You swallowed. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you’ve convinced yourself you don’t have a choice,” Kento said. "That playing the good daughter is your duty. That this is noble. It’s not."

You turned away, pretending to focus on a lantern swaying in the breeze.

“Do you hate him?” Kento asked.

You hesitated.

“I don’t know,” you said. “Sometimes I think I do. But it’s not really him I’m angry at.”

“Then who?”

You laughed, bitter and small. “Everyone. Myself. My father. The whole damn arrangement.”

Kento stepped closer. “You don’t owe them your life just because they broke it and glued it back together in the shape they wanted.”

You exhaled. “And what do I do? Run away? Disgrace my family? End up dead in a ditch somewhere because I spat in the face of a deal that saved them?”

Kento’s expression didn’t change. “If it ever comes to that,” he said, voice low and even, “I’ll handle it. But don’t lie to yourself while you still have time to make a different choice.”

You looked at him. Then really looked.

"You really think I'd be safer running?"

"I think you'd be happier not bleeding yourself dry for a name that isn’t yours to carry."

You stared at him for a long time, silence swelling again between you. But this time it wasn’t warm. It was sharp. Raw.

“I called him the other night. On a whim,” you murmured.

Kento’s brow rose. “You?”

“I asked if he’d eaten.”

“You did?” he asked, clearly surprised.

You nodded. “He didn’t make a joke out of it. Just... answered. And thanked me.”

Kento’s jaw tightened. You could see the shift in his eyes, the way he masked his thoughts. But he didn’t speak.

“I don’t trust him,” you said, softer now. “But I don’t know if I’m supposed to.”

“You’re not.”

“But he listens.”

“That’s what good manipulators do.”

You looked down.

Kento reached for your hand, gently brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “I’ll be here, no matter what you choose. But I won’t lie and say I know this is a choice made with your heart.”

A beat passed.

“I know,” you whispered.

From inside, someone called your name.

You both turned toward the sound.

“Go,” Kento said.

You nodded, stepping past him — then pausing. You didn’t look back, but you said it anyway.

“Thank you.”

When you were gone, Kento remained under the wisteria, unmoving.

He knew what he saw in your eyes. You were opening up to the idea of being okay with this life.

And he hated it.

__

The drive home was quiet, almost too quiet. The low hum of the engine filled the space between you and Hiromi like fog. Streetlights passed in slow intervals through the tinted windows, creating long shadows over his profile.

He didn’t look at you.

You didn’t look at him either.

Your phone sat in your lap, screen dark, clenched a little too tightly between your fingers. The lingering echo of Kento’s words in the garden buzzed in the back of your head like a splinter you couldn’t reach.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting from Hiromi after that — silence, maybe. Or distance.

But instead, he spoke, voice placid, measured.

“If you’d prefer to live in separate homes after the wedding, I won’t oppose it.”

You blinked slowly, turning your head toward him.

His eyes remained on the road. "And, if you’re already involved with someone else, I won't interfere. I’m not here to police your personal life. Not unless you want me to.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a pressure point.

You inhaled slowly, your gaze narrowing. “That’s an odd thing to say.”

He glanced at you now, briefly. There was something unreadable in his face, something like calculated concern.

"Is it?"

“Yes.”

Hiromi gave a faint shrug, like it didn’t matter. “You’ve made it clear I’m not wanted. I'm simply offering solutions.”

Your jaw tensed. “You’ve been talking to someone.”

“I’ve had... conversations. Listening to more than talking to,” he said smoothly. “With people who seem to care a great deal about your safety and comfort.”

He didn’t say Kento’s name.

He didn’t need to.

You turned away, watching the city blur past through the window. “And what did this caring person tell you?”

Hiromi didn’t answer right away. “That you're unhappy. That you feel trapped. That you may already have someone who treats you the way you deserve.”

You scoffed under your breath. “And you just believed them?”

"No," he reassured, voice softer now. “But I listened. Which is more than most people in your life seem to have done.”

The car slowed as it turned onto the next street. A sharp pang hit your chest before you could bury it again.

“So what is this?” you asked. “An exit clause? Guilt relief?”

Hiromi finally looked at you fully, his expression still maddeningly composed.

“It’s me giving you your power back that I have seemingly taken from you,” he said. “If you don’t want this, if you want a partner who lets you go where your heart wants, I’ll make that possible.”

You stared at him, stunned silent.

The car came to a gentle stop.

Your family home.

Hiromi got out of the car and quickly walked around to open yours.

A thread of something unreadable found its way into his tone as he walked you to your front door.

“But if you decide to stay, I’ll be your husband in full. Not a placeholder. Not a villain. Not a man you have to hide from.”

You didn’t move right away. He didn’t push.

“Good night,” he took a step back, bowing his head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You watched him walk back to the car and lean against it as he waited for you to go into the house.

Realizing what he was doing, you made haste with going inside just to look out the window.

As the car pulled away, you realized something cold was curling in your stomach. It wasn’t fear, not resentment. Something like... dread.

Because for the first time, Hiromi hadn’t sounded like he was playing along just to satisfy you anymore.

He sounded like he meant it.

[rvlse]

Haiii!! I've seen your writing and I litterally love it sm you're so talented 🫶

Could I request an Earthspark Bumblebee x f or gn reader fic where the two are just too stubborn to admit they have feelings for eachother (The maltos and Terrans are just faceplaming the whole time like "these two are hopeless-) They just deny deny deny until one of them accidentally slips and says something to the other one during an argument or something.

Sorry if this makes no sense 😭🙏

HELLOOOO Thank you so much for sending this! I actually love this idea and I had fun writing it but I hope it's to your expectations because it's kinda short lmao

Also.. sorry this took me three months.. Better late than never? Please?

BUMBLEBEE ES X READER

WARNINGS: kiss 💋 and little to no violence I guess??

It wasn't a secret that you and Bumblebee weren't so fond of each other - at least, that's what you thought.

All the other Maltos saw the connection between the two of you as clear as day. Of course, every time one of them would bring it up, the both of you would furiously deny whatever “relationship” you had. It was annoying, to say the least.

Your favorite pastime had always been fight training, so it was never a surprise to find you in the fields throwing a couple fists and kicks… which was what you were doing right now. Form was extremely important when discussing martial arts, and that’s exactly what you were practicing.

That was, until…

“You need to get your leg up higher,” Bumblebee commented, materializing behind you out of thin air.

Out of reflex, you spun around and immediately tried to throw a punch at the yellow and black bot. Of course, that slagger had been expecting it, catching your fist in his palm and wrapping his digits around your closed servo.

He wore a smug smirk, his optics looking down at you almost teasingly.

You stared back up at him, searching his faceplate. That was… hot.

Wait, huh?

“Oh, go frag yourself, Bumblebee.” You hissed, snatching your servo back, snapping out of your weird daze.

“Hurtful..” He replied, crossing his arms and taking a step back.

What was he even here for? Couldn’t he just leave you alone for one second? It was like a never ending nightmare.

“What do you want, and when can I finally practice in peace without you interrupting me?” You scolded, scowling. If you had a cube of energon for every time Bumblebee interrupted you, you'd be swimming in them. This was really getting annoying.

“When you learn how to hold a proper form, Y/N,” he shot back, optics analyzing your frame.

That did it.

First, the idiot insect of a bot interrupts your training, manipulates you into thinking he was actually attractive, and then insults you? After he invaded your space? Frag no. You’d show him what “proper form” was.

With a final decision, you launched yourself at him, faceplate contorted in a fit of rage. You caught a glimpse of Bee’s own face jolt into an expression of surprise and worry - and that gave you a kind of satisfaction.

Your frame smashed into his, sending the two of you crashing to the grassy ground with you on top. You threw a punch, missed, and then threw another one, which landed on the side of his helm.

“You mess everything up for me!” You growled.

“What are you doing?!” Bumblebee exclaimed, voice high pitched, arms flying everywhere, trying to get you off of him.

“Hitting you!” You screamed.

After a moment he finally remembered his own fighting skills, and wrapped his legs around your waist. He twisted, and sent you flying to the side, giving him an opportunity to top you instead.

“Y/N!” He barked out once he regained his balance.

After that, it was limbs uselessly swinging and kicking anything they could - on your part. Bee avoided all of them as best he could. Half-assed insults spilled out of your intake as a bonus.

Bumblebee glared down at you, lip curled up in a snarl. That is, until he realized how good you looked.

Your optics, your lips, your panting..

It was clear what he wanted to do.

So he did it.

With all his strength, he managed to grab both of your hands in one of his own. Pretty easy, since he was so much larger than you.

Bumblebee forced your hands up, over your head, until his faceplates were inches from yours.

Suddenly, you were silenced. Bumblebee’s optics stared into your own, wide and… longing.

The urge to reel him in closer - to feel him, to please him - consumed your mind, but you couldn't act on it since the mech still had you in his grasp.

And then his lips were on yours. It was a searing, needy kiss, as if he’d been waiting to do this, as if he were born to do this. To be with you.

And you couldn't help but kiss him back. Just as needy, just as fiery.

Maybe this was a kink. Maybe the both of you were just fragged in the helm and had no idea how to handle your emotions. But this felt so real. So vivid.

Nothing could compare to the feeling.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I hope this was good considering it took me three months to get around to 💔💔

[sailorblossoms-rankane]

I usually ignore replies disagreeing with me because I don't want to argue with others, it's exhausting. But I see how this might be a response to me failing to elaborate on what I mean, and that's on me.

"It's not that girl Ranma is particularly sexualized in the anime"

Do you see a difference between this

and say.... this

Do you not see a difference between setting up something like that just to stare at a cleavage and image a proposition, and something that's framed far more childishly and has an immediate follow-up such as this one to break any horny illusion?

Ranma over time becomes more comfortable with his girl half in general and in using his femininity to get what he wants.

We agree

And that's also in both the anime and the manga

Yeah... but is this not different?

(also the anime adds a lot of emphasis the manga doesn't have on Ranma wanting to cure himself to the point they change important parts in manga arcs, like in the goddamn soap episode. This same episode invents a scene where Ranma says he's ashamed of being seen as a girl, and reaffirms it by turning him back into a guy in scenes he had as a girl in the manga)

In point of fact female Ranma flirting with Ryoga in order to manipulate him is a constant throughout the story

We agree there, but framing and delivery make a difference. The way you present information is important.

There's humor and innocence in the delivery here

So no, I don't think this version of Ranma pretending to be in love is going further than washing Ryoga's naked back while he's saying this

When he touches Kuno in a similar situation, it's to kick his face (haven't seen the anime episode that adapts it, if it does btw). There's a difference between staring at someone with big cute eyes, leaning on them while keeping your hands to yourself, both fully clothed, and washing someone's naked back while praising their muscles. Ranma wouldn't do the latter. (In fact, I look at both of these examples right now and I notice how Ranma only uses a "big strong man" line to talk about himself)

This is the manga version

There's a different between washing his naked back, calling him a hunk and this too

Ranma is not meant to be some sort of invincible paragon of martial arts.

We agree. I read this part and went to re-read what I said in case I used an example that could be misunderstood as me powerscaling a manga that it's absolutely not for powerscaling (we agree on the rule of funny) but I mainly used his protectiveness (and there is logic to this) still, this one is on me cuz I didn't really elaborate, I'll give you that. Manga Ranma does need help, and this is a good thing, but when and how matters.

I watched the Shinnosuke OVA after I watched the movies (bad way to start watching that old adaptation btw) so it stood out to me that, while Ranma is not unbeatable, he's no average bitch either (part of what makes him different is that he can't stand losing, that's what I mean by "manga ranma wouldn't let losing against a child stand." If he loses pathetically, prepare to see him behaving pathetically to chase that win) There is logic in "if Ranma is behaving like a pathetic loser for a win, there will be no real reward" but that's still not what I meant by "he's needing help where in the manga he doesn't need it"... in the Herb arc, Ryoga helps him recover the kettle to become a man again (he's kind of redeeming himself here, given both Mousse and him "betrayed" Ranma earlier and Ranma behaved like the better person anyway) but the anime has patterns, so if girl Ranma is screaming for Ryoga, I'm comfortable assuming some damsel shit is going on... because the anime liked doing that.

I also mean unimportant shit (but annoying when it builds up) like when he needs Akane and Mousse's help to kick him to get impulse in the Shampoo's cursed kiss episode (also cursed episode) while in the manga, he just can do that jump all by himself, because, again: he's no average martial artist. This isn't really a "power of friendship and teamwork" type of story, it tends to makes fun of that stuff with the cast of questionable clowns. It makes it stand out that Akane and Ranma do work as a team (it is ultimately her help what results in Ranma defeating pantyhose the first arc he shows up) (there's also logic in: if the manga needs Akane to help Ranma, she will get it done no matter what, but if it wants a rescue, she will be limited... and while Ranma is helpful to everyone, his romantic rescues are reserved only for Akane, which is why he's never much help when Ukyo or Shampoo are in the damsel role. Akane and Konatsu do more to rescue Ukyo when Konatsu's family kidnaps her. When both Ukyo and Akane are chained on that tree, good ol' Ranma doesn't even see Ukyo, he's only seeing Akane. In the arc with the Chinese twins, Ranma tries to save Shampoo – when she's pretending to be a damsel as a romantic move... notice how, when she's unconscious, the twins beat the shit out of her and nobody helps her, she protects herself when she starts fighting even unconscious – then Akane has to help Ranma, and he ends up with his legs broken for his troubles, which is the type of thing telling you Shampoo only ever creates problems for him, and Akane always has his back. This is intentional)

One of the movies has more annoying example

This might not be the series for powerscaling girlies, but there are still rules. Anything goes in comedy, but Ranmas still tends to be the bar for his peers (among the regular cast at least). It's Ryoga who's trying to catch up to him. Guys tend to be far stronger than the girls (strong female fighters tend to be tied to sexual harassment, see the constant boob jokes with Hinako, or how both Ukyo and Shampoo are attrociously clowned on by male fighters... it is what it is) nothing summarizes it more than when Herb turns into a guy and he's immediately ridiculously stronger. Ranma's girl form allows him to take on challenges and does things he wouldn't be able to as a guy, it can be a strenght, but it's also a handicap against strong male opponents in more "traditional" fights. One could say "he has shorter limbs, less strength etc it makes sense" and sure... I'm gonna move on.

Shampoo will give Ranma trouble when the plot or the humor demands it (it will tie Ranma's hands and feet if necessary) but she's not a match for him in a more traditional fight. If Ranma has a serious fight against an opponent that's about to kill him, Shampoo has nothing to do here. Yet she shows up to heal Ranma earlier in the movie, and then she shows up to save him. You can't even argue this is good in the sense that "they're making a female character less of a damsel" cuz you don't even see the damn fight (Shampoo is never a damsel anyway, even when caged or brainwashed she's still pursuing her interests) you're only shown her "heroic rescue." And I find that... suspicious. "But that's the movie, the show is different"... is it? the show where I keep finding our friendly neighborhood catgirl, a character who doesn't exist in the manga?

Fighting in Ranma isn't something I'm super invested in debating (what the anime does stands out to me precisely because I'm not super interested in this and I'm, still noticing... why is Ranma struggling while literally everybody else isn't, for example) so we're gonna have to agree to disagree. Also, if you're someone who's invested in the anime and think it does a good job adaptating the manga (whenever they try to) we're definitely not going to agree.

I find myself cringing (like foaming in the mouth and full-body twitching) when female Ranma asked screamed for Ryoga to help him. LIKE URGH—Ranma will absolutely do a somersault and a backflip going to the volcano's pit instead of asking Ryoga's help! Man, the old version is so goddamn weird.

the old anime is indeed weird as fuck.

I haven't seen what you mention, but in general: anime Ranma is generally just a fraud. He constantly has to be saved or helped in situations he would neveeerrr need any help. They often make him look like a common clown. There's a filler where he has a fight with a child and he LOSES (and this is somehow no big deal for him. Manga Ranma would never let this shit stand) whenever I watch anime original content (don't get me started on the movies)... i have yet to see anything that truly underscores that bro is built different. They even change manga content to make him look more useless like

it's even worse with girl Ranma because girl, which means male fantasies. Part of this is this thing where they give girl Ranma weirdly sexualized lines or behavior to sell her as "available" for a male audience, sometimes they use Ryoga to deliver them ("she says it to him" but it's actually for you) (there's this WEIRD scene in the soap arc where the anime has Ranma washing Ryoga's back while calling him a hunk the ladies die for, which is part of the fantasy for the audience... in the manga, Ranma simply knocks him out with a blow and runs. He would kill himself before saying or doing some of the shit they have him doing in that show) I don't eve going to take screenshots of the tweets where I show examples, I might start foaming myself. So let's focus on the next fantasy: the damsel.

Girls' gotta be fragile, so they do this in the pantyhose episodes: instead of Ranma protective Akane with his body and looking fierce, they do a "scared girl" closeup

they also omit Ranma making it clear he's angry cuz Akane almost got hurt btw, so you might think part of his anger was bro (feminine) just being afraid of the big bad boulder

speaking of damsels

however, because this is indeed a very strange show, in the shinnosuke ova they do the opposite (an ova where they remove practically all of Ranma's vulnerability and the depth of his feelings for Akane... they have bro SNORING when they reveal Akane is MISSING and no, I'm not making it up or exaggerating, but anyway...)

in moments where girl Ranma is meant to look vulnerable, they show her like an action hero

(why the fuck is Ranma saying this to Akane after saving her is beyond me. makes it seem like Ranma can't help but put her down, even when it's dead serious, which he also does in the movies)

bro is meant to be heartbroken </3 (they also ommit all the instances of boy Ranma looking like he lost his will to live, god forbid that motherfucker shows how bad he has it for her)

[vulpinesaint]

i don't talk about alucard castlevania very often because the last season of castlevania was so bad to me that i just don't engage with the show anymore like that but make no mistake. i have many thoughts and opinions on that man.

[carpesabrina]

Her head cocked to the sides, a teasing smirk playing along her features. “You’re more wild than you’ve showed me?” Barry was wild in bed, but Max had easily taken it one step at a time head of him. She was sure Max probably had more in store for her. And as much as she loved him, she hoped that she could handle it all. That it wouldn’t be too much for her to handle. She nodded in agreement. “Max or MJF. You saying daddy had took me for a loop. Made the girls laugh, though. They picked up quickly.” She talked about her backup dancers that were with her during that segment. It was question galore from Gaynor and Adam when they got Sabrina alone the next day. They were probably the dancers she had gotten close to in the past year of knowing them. She wouldn’t give them details, and just smiled as she passed them in the hotel lobby. “I’m just glad I didn’t fuck up on stage after that. Would have been very embarrassing if I had and everyone realized I was just horny and thinking about you pounding into me when I got off stage. Could you imagine if I had let out a moan or even said your name?” And that’s where the public sex kink had started. She wanted him to go up on stage and fuck her in front of thousands. She knew it was out of the question but she was glad they were able to figure a way around it while they were Vegas. If she couldn’t have him onstage, she’d take him on the dance floor.  “You are hot, and I know you aren’t going to fumble this. And they see that. Everyone can see how happy I am when I’m with you. Or the way my eyes light up when I talk about you.” Shannon knocked it right away when she first started talking to her about Max. She had never seen her sister so in love with someone before, and it was surprising to her. Hell, it was surprising to Sabrina herself. She was never gonna move as fast after things ended with Barry. She was gonna take time for herself, stay single and slut around for a while. But then Chris and Max came into her life and she started imagining a happiness again. And she had found it, she was just scared that at some point her heart would get ripped out all over again.

Her eyes locked with his, “I think you might be due to cum in it again. It’s been awhile.” Their first time together, he had fucked her ass and she had been thinking about it constantly since then. It was definitely a good introduction what sex with him was going to be like, and it had only gotten better since; partially because now she had fallen in love with him. That first night, she assumed it was just going to be a one night thing. She shook her head, “we’re good. I don’t want food. Maybe after you wreck me I’ll get hungry.” She said teasingly. Her mind had been on one thing since the hot springs. Him. She wanted nothing else and wasn’t going to make time to get food into her system in that moment. “Be careful, might regret saying nothing is off limits. Might come up with some crazy ideas,” she said teasingly. The one nice thing about all this, they were both up for experimenting. He knew what he wanted to try on her, and maybe she would have to start thinking up more ideas; she laid one out already Tying him up and teasing him, and he seemed okay with that one. She moaned as he bit her skin and at how his voice went from soft to stern as he ordered up. She loved how easy he got into that mind frame. She obeyed, lifting her hips off of him and then she moved her legs as he pulled the bottoms off of her. Sabrina nodded her head as he talked, her hand instantly moving between her legs and she started playing with her clit. By the time he had came back into the bedroom, she was slowly thrusting her fingers into her, her free hand pinching one of her nipples. Her eyes were glued on him as she fucked herself, moans escaping from her parted lips. “Please, daddy. I need your cock in me. I need you to fuck me.” She breathed out as he stroked his cock, her own fingers thrusting faster into her. Sabrina knew it would be a while before he even let his cock touch her. It was gonna be a big build up for it. It did excite her. She watched as he moved into the closet and pulled out a case. She wasn’t sure how she missed that on the way here. Maybe she saw it but never thought to ask what he was bringing with them. She wasn’t surprised as he pulled out the items in it. Feeling herself inching closer to her high already, she let her hands move from her body to the bed, wanting the pleasure to be fully from him rather than her now. She lifted her head as he slid the blindfold over her, It was new. But she knew it was for the sensation and so she wouldn’t know what was coming unlike when they were in the hotel when he used the knife. “moon. Got it.” She confirmed, remaindering herself to not say anything different starting now. “Yes. I want to play.” She hissed as the ice cube hit her nipples. Her breathing slowly got heavier as he moved the ice along her body. She felt the bed shift as his weight lifted off of it. “Baby?” She asked, wondering what he was doing, or what he was grabbing. Maybe she didn’t like the not being able to see, but she wasn’t willing to use a safe word over it just because she wanted to know what was next. It was adding to the anticipation of it all. She smirked as he grabbed her arms, knowing exactly what he was doing. She tugged at it, “fuck. You never get it tight enough for me, daddy.” She said teasingly, making note of when he had cuffed her she told him the same thing. She licked her lips, feeling him move again. “Do you like seeing me like this? Tied and blinded?” She asked. She could only imagine what she looked like to him. Her body was full at his display, to do whatever he pleased to her - exactly what she liked. Sabrina nodded as Max told her to take a deep breath, and as she did she felt the warmth of the wax. Wax was nothing new to her, she knew exactly what she was getting as it her body. She let out soft moans, her body twitching at the warmth. “I’m okay.” She murmured softly. 

So she did enjoy that side of him and didn't mind dominating off and on. He had thought she had by how she reacted but wanted to be sure she wasn't just doing it for him and it wouldn't make things at work weird. Partners had to feel each other out even older couples and they were still very young in their relationship even thought it felt longer with how much time they were spending together. His eyebrow rose upward because whatever he pleases could be more twisted than she imagined. "Careful baby doll, daddy might be more wild then you think he is." He smirked and winked at her trying to play it off as teasing but she had opened pandora's box and he was letting himself try things with her that he had only thought about doing. "And you expected me to say Max but I had to say daddy just to see your reaction." There was something about teasing her and using things only they knew about while she was on stage. "That was daddy's intention baby. To make you so wet that you couldn't wait to fuck him when you were done." To make her squirm onstage before she was squirming underneath him at the hotel. Maybe that was a part of all this. Proving that the guy that got bullied and made fun of years ago, could get the girl and make her feel things no one else had been able to get from her. He bet all those idiots had watched that and been jealous, wishing they were him there with the pop princess. He didn't like to think that had anything to do with his feelings for her but he did have a huge ego and that incident years ago had scarred him for life. Maybe she was doing that by parading him in front of her exes, showing them how they fucked up and now she was with a guy that was nothing like any of them, a guy he bet they felt didn't belong in their world or with her and yet she had dragged him into it and he wasn't fighting it, not anymore. Shaking his head he told himself that had nothing to do with any of this. Sure they both had their issues but he thought they just fell in love for who they were away from work, in spite of all their baggage. "I'm hot so they should love me and I'm not going to fumble you. I'm going to love you and give you all you ever wanted, they'll see." Her fans were nuts and that's saying something since wrestlers fans can be weird.

Max didn't want them to ever lose their spark between them. He had seen it happen to others but he was sure that he and Sab could keep their fire going forever. He worried at times that he might need to tone things down because she said before she was a normal amount of horny but maybe he brought that other side out in her. Not that all they did was fuck because that wasn't true. There were days they just talked, watched tv, played with their cats and just enjoyed each others presence in a non sexual way. This was love not just sex for them but he did enjoy the sex just as much as she did. "Such a nice ass, I can't help but squeeze it and think about fuckin' it again." He smiled as she pushed her body up against his….she was so needy and clingy. He loved it but he had plans and it had to build. He noticed the pout and smiled as she followed him and took a glass from him. "I just wanted to make sure you ate if you were hungry." Her well being would always take place before sex. "I'm hungry but for you not food." He took a sip of his drink and sat it down on the end table by his side of the bed as she straddled his lap. His arms circled her and pulled her close as they kissed before nodding his head at her words. "And I'll try anything you want, any fantasy you have, noting is off limits." His hands moved to the edge of her coverup and raised it up over her head. His eyes stayed locked onto hers as he undid the little ties and let her bikini top drop from her body. His mouth nuzzled her neck and he bent to nuzzle her breasts licking and biting at her flesh. "Raise up." He ordered and as she brought her ass up slightly he slid her bikini bottoms off, leaving her naked on his lap. His fingers moved between her legs and teased her clit before he rolled so she was underneath him. "Daddy's going to get some things, you lay here and play with your pussy for him." Sliding off of her, he stood and removed his shorts and briefs. "That's my pretty girl." Turning he went to the kitchen and got an ice bucket and filled it with ice. Coming back he glanced to the bed watching her and stroked his cock before sitting the ice bucket by the bed and going in the closet and pulling out a black case. He sat it on the table not far from the bed and began to take things out of it…candles and candle holders, a set of different sized knives just in case, silk ties, a flogger and a blindfold. He wasn't sure how much she was going to like the blindfold but he put it on her. "I can take this off at any time if you need to see. Moon is the safe word and this stops whenever you want and use it. It's the only word that I'll be listening for. Not please, not no, not stop, only moon. Anything else I'll consider begging or and consensual. You sure you want to play?" He asked as he reached into the bucket and began to run the ice over her nipples, watching them harden from the sensation. He ran the ice up her throat and back down her breasts and her stomach. The blindfold kept him from seeing her eyes and so he felt a little cheated but he knew it could add to her pleasure not knowing what was coming at any time. He paused as he ran the ice cube over her clit and down her pussy. He would get off the bed and walk to the table and take the silk ties and come back and tie her hands upwards to the bed then go back and reach for the candles. They were going from cold to warm and he was careful to make sure it wasn't too hot for her. "Take a deep breath." Slowly he begin to let the wax drip onto her body, basically her breasts and stomach. "Are you okay?" He asked checking in with her as he went to get one of the knives.