#he's not always right and his word is not the word of god

[tonycries]

50 Shades of Kento - N.K.

Synopsis. You help your hot uptight boss blow off some much-needed steam, and he makes an absolute mess of you - that annoyingly flirty new employee of his. Deal?

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! flirty!reader, CEO! Nanami, office AU, pánty-stealing, jealousy (Nanami’s side), Higuruma cameo, he goes FÉRAL, ROUGH S, chokíng, semi-public, manhandIing, p talking, p sIapping, spítting, slight angry s, he’s BIG, cervíx kíssing, talking you through it, oraI (fem rec.), creampíes, cúmplay, male mast., ínnuendos, no curses AU, slight bóndage, use of “work wife”, proposals, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.7k

A/N. CEO Nanami? I wanna be SAVED.

“-the boss looks really mad-”

“-where’s he storming off to before the meeting?”

“Bet he’s going to fire someone again-”

Now, it’s not like Nanami Kento intentionally built himself such a painfully strict reputation in the office. 

In fact, he’d spent the first few months as CEO wondering just what he might have done to make it so that none of his employees could even look him in the eye. Hell, they barely even seemed to breathe whenever he passed by. 

All of them except you - that pretty new hire always buzzing around his department. Even when it might not be too…professional. 

But, right now, professionalism was the last thing on his mind. 

“Dammit. Dammit.” Nanami’s hissing, sharp edges of his pearly whites sinking into his bottom lip to stifle away a ragged moan. Hard enough to bruise when he shuts the nearest bathroom stall with a resounding clatter! “B-before a meeting, too-”

Barely wasting even a split-second before unbuckling his belt and inching his greedy hand past the too-tight hem-

All because of you and that damn skirt.

“God fucking dammit-” His voice tumbles out in heady puffs into the air, murked with a growling tint of desperation.

Fingers usually so dexterous and deft whenever he’s typing away, now fumbling with the mere latch on his stubborn zipper. He’s spitting out a few slews of profanities before panting out an impatient tut and all but ripping his formal slacks down to his knees. 

Nanami’s sculpted thighs weaken, smearing out widely as he leans his back against the firmly shut door with a groan. Cold against his feverish body. 

Shit, he’d barely even touched himself yet already feels like he’s melting.

Because Nanami wasn’t just rock-hard - it was as if his swollen cock was built out of fucking diamonds. 

Hot. Heavy. Sobbing out a glistening streak of precum that slobbers access his washboard abs and wayyy down to his tawny happy trail. He wanted you. He needed you. 

“Fuh-fuck!” He gasps, instantaneously clamping his delirious mouth shut. Loosening that yellow speckled tie just so he can breathe, “Never been sooo fucking h-hard. Shit this isn’t- fuck.”

Achy red shaft throbbing out a needy ba-dump—! in his meaty palm, ribbons of treacly pre splatter in copious torrents down to his angled wrist. He’s making such a puddling mess all over the tiled floor, swiping up the fatly padded curve of his thumb to plug up those never-ending droplets. 

“N’ this is all your hngh- fucking fault.” Nanami’s canines glint in the dimmed lighting, snarled at that strawberry pink blush on his mushroomed tip. The very same shade of pink to match your flimsy panties today. Fuck. “Should fire you. Should really, r-really…”

But the heaving man can’t even finish those syllables, can barely even finish his thought before it’s once more overtaken by that image of you from only a few simple minutes ago. 

Knees bent to pick up some useless document for the meeting, too-short skirt hiking up just enough to flash him a good eyeful of your cute pink panties. You looked like the sweetest fucking dessert in it, and that adorable bow fastened onto your underwear was just the erotic cherry on top. 

That memory was going to burn behind his lids for the rest of his life. And oh, he could tell. 

That glint in your gorgeous eyes - how you’d batted your lashes up at him in exactly the way that made him gulp - told him everything he needed to know. 

You knew. Oh, how you pissed him off. 

“Sh-shit.” The thought makes Nanami’s poor heart race, plump balls twitching oh-so-eagerly when he dips into the side of his pants pocket to pull out something treasured. His secret good luck charm. “Know exactly what you’re fucking- hah- doing t’me. W-with your damn panties, n’ those skirts I hate and- and-”

And if anyone else had seen the uptight CEO of Jujutsu Tech right now, then they would have fainted. Undoubtely. Because dipping out of his pocket, he’s pulling out nothing but a frilly black garter.

Yours.

The very same one you’d “accidentally” slipped off in your chair after a meeting with him last month.

“Mmm—” He’s drinking back a few swallows of candied saliva once he brings the gauzy fabric up to his nose and sniffs. Long. Hard. The stuffy stall air notches up a few scorching degrees higher when Nanami curls his free digits around his bulky base and squeezes. “Bet that pretty pussy smells even s-sweeter.”

The thought only makes his slacked maw water even more guiltily. Bet you taste sweeter, too.

And like an animal, Nanami’s hunching his Herculean body over to spit out a steady stream of saliva right onto the bawling divot in the middle of his bloated cockhead. Watching it slosh in rivulets down his pulsing length.

Calloused thumb swiping over the weighty masses that top his filthy length like buttery icing. Biting back a whimper and tugging. He can’t stop.

“L-look how fucking hard y’got me–” He’s babbling away underneath his breath, clammy foreskin drawling up and down like adhesive with every roughened jerk. “All your fault hck! All your fucking- ptwah!” He gives himself another one, two, three more wads of excess spittle over his crownhead, taking a solid lick of your pretty garter. He breaks off with a pained mantra. “-fault.”

And shit, Nanami doesn’t know when he found himself acting like such a…pervert.  

But he blames you. Blames you and the way that thin lace of yours looks so sinful wrapped around his thick cock. Round n’ round coiling to massage every thickly inflated, lightning bolted vein-

“Hate how I’d never d-do this before-” He’s spilling out in throaty groans, swirling mahogany eyes widening at the sultry scratch of it up and down up and down his tender underside. With trembly fingerpads his smushing it all over the delicate curvature of his balls, “-before…you.”

And, shit, Nanami had a meeting in what- a few minutes? He can’t help but thinking about what his clients would think if they knew. What his employees would think. What you would think.

Would you…like it?

A muggy gust of air heaves out of his chest, sweat-slicked brows crinkling at the direction that those thoughts had just taken. Precum clinging onto his skin like adhesive, he fucks his fist like he’s angry.

He is - at you and every teasing touch of yours that makes every ounce of blood sprint down to his heavy cock. You, with your sunny smile and your eyes dazzling as if you weren’t just undressing him with your gaze. You, and your pretty outfits and stupidly sexy panties that make him run off right before important events-

“Gonna fucking- p-pay for this-” Nanami’s nose crinkles when he’s tugging his claggy white undershirt underneath his firmly grit teeth. Free hand straying to twirl little hearts over his puffy, bubblegum pink nipples, his tensed abs flex with every jerky buck. “-gonna- ngh-”

Gonna shove you down and make you feel just as needy as he is. Oh, Nanami’s thumbing underneath the heated line of his slippery slit, musing away just how much your clingy pussy would smooch it even better. 

“Wonder if I could ngh- fuck you stupid-” Nanami finds himself chuckling - chuckling. Low and crazed, plump lips twitching up at the sparks of bliss at the bottom of his abdomen. He was furious at you. “-would ya still be mouthy? Slutty? Ohhh, darling, I fuck you in every ngh- dream I have.”

And isn’t that what you wanted? What you’ve been driving him crazy for every since you stepped foot here? 

Joints in his wrist aching with that sloppy tempo, Nanami thinks he almost catches a rim of battered, stinging pink right where his fisted hand was hitting his toned abs. 

What he’d give to make your pretty pussy feel just as if she was his- what was it you call him? 

Ah, Nanami’s blossoming-red tip flinches as if being hit with a zillion volts of electricity as your words echo in his brain, his favorite melodic tune. His “work wife” was what you call yourself. 

“Tch, damn work- wife.” He’s murmuring, a blotchy blush taking over his handsome features - burning all the way up to the very tips of his ears. Fingers trawling faster and faster. Sloppier. He’s spraying out sheeny ropes of pre with every bruising pull off his swollen length. “Gonna show ya- gonna ngh- for how you make me- gonna make ya mine-”

“Kentooo? Are you in here?”

Fuck.

Without warning, Nanami’s teeth come latching harshly into his fist - he needs to. 

He has to, because just the mere notes of your voice from the other side of the door is enough for his ballooned balls to give a depraved pinch. Enough for him to cum.

Shit. Nanami’s head falls back against the wall, letting off strained gruffs around his flesh. 

A slow trickle of sweat beads down his temple at the sweltering splash of his undershirt being coated with vulgar cobwebs of thickly viscous seed - so much. Hot. 

And Nanami always did cum more whenever he thought of you - but this was almost too much. Such heaping volumes that it was like he couldn’t stop. Soaking your sopping garter, pooling out swashes of cum that formulate a sticky ring down his fingers. He’s leaking from his twitchy tip over n’ over-

“Fuck-” he’s hiccuping out, vision sparking with stars. He was too late - too entranced - to plug up his geysering orifice now for any semblance of order now. He hated how he was so weak for you. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck!” 

You really have corrupted him, because Nanami doesn’t feel even a single speck of shame when he leans even further against the door. Biting the insides of his cheek into silence, his ringing ears crane to hear just a syllable more of your tone-

God, he feels dirty.

But victorious. 

“Well, the meeting starts in a few minutes.” Nanami feels himself blush, he doesn’t give a single shit about some meeting - not when those words are enough for his aching cock to dredge out a few more ivory ounces that hit the tile with a deafening pap! “Hurry up, m’kay? It’ll be real boring without you, Ken—”

Minx. 

And Nanami doesn’t know what’s louder - the creaking shudder of the now-broken door hinges as you saunter out of the bathroom, or his beating heart.

Pulsing halfway out of his chest - not only at the fuzzy high of his orgasm, but at you. You, and those cute lil’ panties no doubtedly hidden away underneath your tight silken skirt. While you pretended to be all professional in the meeting that he is supposed to lead.

Dammit. Nanami’s head drops incredulously when his reddened cock gives another ravenous twitch. You were going to be the death of him.

.

.

.

You had no idea why everyone in the office was either scared senseless of your boss, Nanami Kento, or simply too intimidated by him to feel anything else. 

No one knew much. No one sought much.

But you knew that your self-proclaimed “work husband” was a gentle giant, surely - you’ve caught the way he silently comes into the building early with snacks for the break room, and leaves the latest personally finishing up documents he deems imperfect. What you simply didn’t understand was why no one else saw how hot he was.

Didn’t they see the absolute specimen of a man that towered around daily in tightly-fitted suits and perfectly combed blond hair? 

Those big, beefy arms, long lashes you’re almost jealous of, and regal features that dusted an innocent pink whenever you teased him too much. Always so worked up with the stress of running a company, that you couldn’t help but wonder if that would translate into bed.

Honestly, after years of men that disappointed and bored you - especially down there - could you really be blamed if you made things a little…unprofessional?

And you could tell that Nanami wasn’t complaining. 

Oh, he wasn’t complaining at all. 

No matter how much he’d falsely scowl or tut - you’d already “lost” one of your black garters, and you swear you saw just the slightest centimeter of it dangling from your boss’s pocket. 

The all-powerful CEO, but so weak for you.

What you really didn’t understand was why he didn’t take things to the next level.

You’d initially thought he would during your training period, whenever you’d stuck by him with your trusty notepad and tightest silky blouses that Nanami loved to pretend he wasn’t looking down. Always snapping his glassy eyes away after taking a long look at your bra, toying with his velveteen ties as if trying to choke either the hunger or the life out of him.

But when that came and ended, and you’d finally been awarded a permanent position, you finally got the chance to…have a little more fun.

Your favorite pastime was getting on your knees because of how oh-so-clumsy you are, brushing just past Nanami’s tersely bouncing knees. Lingering mere seconds longer when he presses his meaty thighs into you hotly.

“Oh?” It was like a little routine at this point, for you to faux gasp from your position on the floor as if you’d just noticed the touch. Each and every time. “My, how forward of you, work husband.”

Only to immediately get a choked-up groan of your name, and extra documents to finish by the time the work day was over. Worth it.

Because you had made the ever-stoic Nanami Kento blush. 

And the employee groupchat would text you about it for hours on end. Some swooning. Some skeptical. The rest of the office thought you were either very brave, incredibly slutty, or plain stupid. Possibly all three.

But seriously, you bite your lower lip to force down a giddy giggle when Nanami catches your winking eye for the nth time this past hour. Hastily looking back towards the hefty contract each n’ every time with a furiously grit jaw. He was so bad at pretending he didn’t want you.

Too bad you were getting impatient. 

“Right!” Comes the booming voice of a businessman that’d just secured a lucrative contract, you snap out of your whirlwind of thoughts when your client- President Higuruma from Kyoto Corporations, you think - stands up. Oh, the meeting was already over? “Now that the hard part is done, why don’t we all get the celebrations in, Kento old pal.”

They’d known each other a long time, you hear. And had apparently been rivals prior to forming this close relationship.

You think that your poor boss has never looked more grouchy than when he shrugs off Higuruma’s sociable hand off of one broad shoulder. Staring longingly at the clock that showed you’d all run way into evening overtime, “I’m not much of a partier myself, Hiromi.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, when you have a team as good as this, then you simply must treat them.” The other man sweeps his dark eyes across the room, resting ever-so-slightly on you. “Or else the pretty ladies here will think you’re boring.”

“I-” Oh, you should’ve gotten tips straight from Higuruma - because Nanami’s cheeks ruddy. Eyes narrowing at you, then darting to his friend, “-I’m terminating our contract.”

“And I’m taking you to crack open the good whiskey I know you hide in your second drawer.” To everyone’s shocked amusement, Higuruma lugs his all-new business partner bodily out of the door. Words carrying from the distance, “You know you never did tell me whether you got a padlock for that drawer because of me…”

You’re still careening towards the glassy door to hear more snippets of that conversation when suddenly you hear a loud SMACK!

It hits your ears right before it hits your senses that Shoko had turned over in her seat beside you and planted a harsh swat on your arm. Hissing at the ache, you’re huffing at her knowing smirk, “What if I’m into that?”

She snickers, giving you another resounding strike just for the sake of it. You really, really didn’t know why the two of you were friends-

“Oh, I bet our boss would know, then.”

Kidding, of course you knew. And you can’t stop yourselves from falling into your familiar old gossip, the rest of your coworkers listening in curiously be damned. “I wish. You should’ve seen the way he reacted when I fussed over his tie before this. Seriously, it’s not my fault it was crooked for once n’ he almost ran away.”

“Ran straight back into the bathrooms, you mean.” She’s wiggling her brows, stopping only when you tilt your head curiously. “Oh- shit, you didn’t know? I heard from Utahime who heard from Yaga who heard from Ijichi who went to the bathroom that uptight CEO Nanami here was almost late to the meeting because he was having a fun little him time in there.”

You hear yourself gasp- no-nonsense, sensible Nanami Kento? Touching himself in the bathroom? “That’s why he looked…so fucked out. No.” 

“Yes.” She nods seriously. “And you know what’s even better?”

“What?”

“Ijichi - who was hiding underneath the sink out of fear, by the way, pfft- claims he’d been holding onto a frilly black garter.” Pointing very blatantly at the practically skin-tight skirt you’d decided to wear today. “And I know someone who just-so-happened to ‘lose’ a black garter in the office.”

“What-” you’re sputtering out, not because of the accusation - no, Shoko knew all about that - but about the confirmation of your suspicions that Nanami really did have your lacy lil’ number. “But if he liked that so much then why doesn’t he make a move?”

Shoko crosses her arms with the wise air of someone that had just solved the answer to the meaning of life, and was intentionally being coy about it. “Don’t you realize that you have the perfect solution for that?”

“What?” Wow, you really were on an eloquent streak today. 

Just then, the heavy meeting room doors slide open - and in walks a sternly reluctant Nanami and Higuruma with too many dozens of prized alcohol. Said Higuruma who winks at you garishly- 

You glance at Shoko’s smile, the kind she gets when she’s about to cement a contract that would result in several lawsuits that she already knows your company would win. Oh. You get it. 

.

.

.

And so does Higuruma, apparently.

Because even though he might not know of your little plan, the man was more than happy to keep you company amongst the thrumming masses celebrating. 

Somehow, the entire department had been roped in and packed inside the sprawling meeting room. Mingling over dim lights and softly playing music from the corner of your impropmtu office party. 

Which worked out in your favor, surprisingly, as it gave you the opportunity to eye a stony-faced Nanami’s reaction - stood right next to you when you leaned against Higuruma with a wheezing laugh.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really funny, President Higuruma?” You’re tittering out and, admittedly, his humor was amazing - but what was more interesting to you was the way that Nanami’s neat brows furrowed. 

“Mhm, you’ll just have to get used to that, sugar.” You swear you hear the glass in Nanami’s vice-like grip clink! Thickened digits, so easily powerful and tightening until his mountainous knuckles shone white. “After all, we’ll be working together to take care of some big packages now.”

You feel your lips curl up into a sleazy grin, eyes locked dead-set on Nanami’s own. “Yeah, I’m quite excited to be handling those big packages, actually.” 

Higuruma raises a brow, “S’that so?”

“Of course.” And if you inched in ever-so-slightly closer to him, if you let your voice dip saccharinely in honey, then Nanami couldn’t do anything about it. Nothing but spill out a sharp huff, mouth tightening into a harsh line across his pretty face. “I only hope they’re bigger than what Jujutsu Tech has currently been working with.”

“Oh yeah, much bigger.” Nanami looked positively like an explosion just waiting to go off, and you didn’t know whether it was slight fear or anticipation that made your thighs clench sinfully together. “This contract will be like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

“The bigger the better.”

You risk a glance downwards, just barely catching the way that your dear boss adjusts his sleek formal pants down near his thigh. Oh, lips parting, he was big, huh? Really big. 

And the quieter Nanami grew, the more talkative Higuruma became. More confident. “Pardon my forwardness, angel, but are we still talking business here?” And then comes the finishing blow - before you can blink, a strong arm latches onto your waist. “Because if we aren’t then-”

SLAM!

It’s all you can do to not shiver when you turn your gaze over to Nanami, who’d just clanged his half-full glass down on a nearby table. Veins bubbling with voltage from head to toe at the sheer metallic glint of something dangerous in his targeted gaze. 

Locked purely and utterly on you.

You can see the way his sharp jaw jumps with a furious tick. Fawny strands of blond curtaining over his furrowed brows, that slightly bumpy trail of his vein-

“I believe my employee is out of line, Hiromi.” Nanami bites out those words - sharp, and rugged. Piercing through your figure and sprinting right down to your heating core. The grin he gives you makes you shudder, “I will correct that.”

What? 

“Ken- ah!” You’re yelping when Nanami doesn’t give you the time for it to sink in, for you to even register anything other than the way his massive palm locks around your waist tightly. 

Doughy pads of his fingertips dig into the curvature of your hips, and you almost get whiplash at the tug of Nanami’s strong arms stealing you away from Higuruma’s touch. Tucking you into his blistering hot side, you think you feel dizzy with just how heady the combination of skin and cologne was. 

And then you leave - the both of you. Higuruma only calling after, stricken. 

You’re walking - or, at least, it feels like you’re walking. Almost on autopilot, you’re stuck on the firm set of Nanami’s jaw when he guides you briskly through the throngs of people. 

“Kento-”

“What now, darling?” Darling? He’s never ever called you that before. Never manhandled you with only one of his arms until you’re striding - running - down the familiar route to his richly-kept office. 

Oh.

Your own fingertips dig into the shimmering fabric of his fitted suit jacket, words coming out a little bit more breathless than you’d have liked. “Ken- sir, what are you-”

But, of course, Nanami Kento never let up that easy. Of course, he would never let you get the last word in if he had the chance. And tonight was all about chances. 

Whatever probing question dies in your throat when Nanami pauses - for a mere split-second - although it feels like hours in slow motion before he bends down and jostles you into a princess carry. Firm curves of his biceps digging underneath your thighs, a tender palm splays out across your back. 

Yet, the way that he’s staring deeply down at you is anything but.

“Oh, you know what the fuck I’m doing.” He wrenches out, vibrating you with the rumbling baritone that husks from his chest. So close that your own heartbeat matches with his fervent ba-dump! ba-dump! ba-dump! Each word just coated and dripping in something so raw that you barely even notice until after he weightlessly carries you past that familiar arching doorway. “It’s what you wanted, after all. Isn’t it?”

Dazed. Until the metallic click! of the door being locked by one of Nanami’s hands pull you out of your whirling thoughts.

He’s striding inside fast. Depravedly. 

“Is that jealousy I hear?” You sing-song, fingers trailing up to rub over his fuzzy undercut. And the moment you touch him, it’s like something in Nanami snaps. Something in him blinks…awake.

“Stop that.” 

Wasting with not a single nanosecond of hesitation before cupping his greedy palms on the squirming curve of your ass. He sneaks in a nice, long squeeze with one hand, the other facing down on the table in a long swipe to clatter down everything but that golden CEO Nanami nameplate onto the floor.

You suck in a sharp inhale when he splays you out like some spellbound slut on the cool surface of his mahogany office table. Unceremoniously. 

You’ve never seen him like…this.

He spanks his thick fingers along where your sinfully tight skirt was perking up to show off skin that makes Nanami’s mouth water. That makes him angle his head greedily for a flash of those very same pink panties that had him forgoing all duties earlier today. 

“Trying to make me fucking jealous. You forget your place, my love.” His index toys over the ribbony straps of your underwear. “I’ve been crazy for you since you stepped foot in this place. I’ve been yours.”

You, on the other hand, were still reeling to make your jumbling thoughts somewhat coherent. 

Rutting up into the merciless weight of his sculptured front pinning you down - Nanami’s body was feverish. So hot that it made your skin break out in a humid layer of perspiration, you felt so hot. You felt like you were melting already.

And his muscles, oh- even through a jacket, and that cotton button-up you so loved on him, he was so toned that you could count every delicious ridge of Nanami’s glissading abs. 

Rounded centers of your knees attach around his slender waist, you’re gasping at the firm plane of muscled obliques that welcome you. “N’ that’s what made you jealous? Heh- that’s so cute- mmpf-”

“Does it amuse you to break me, my love?” Nanami grapples two of his tough digits to smush your cheeks together, sultry leer piercing its way through his mask of fury. He growls, “To make me fucking furious?”

“Ngh- Kento—” The whimpers just won’t stop spilling from your lips, his gaze drilling into your eyes and falling straight to your drenching cunt. Your hips arch needily off of the icy cold wood to nudge your pussymound for more more more- “I- fuck-”

SMACK!

“Talk to me like a big girl.” He hisses, knotting his fingers around your tender throat so tight. Tight enough to drain you of the necessary volumes of air strangling in your throat, letting only a few weepy gurgles leave your mouth. Hard. “Ah ah, a big girl I said. If you can talking with fucking- President Higuruma, you can talk to me.”

“Want- want-” Your nails claw patterned lines that paint across Nanami’s muscular forearms. “I want you to kiss me, Kento.”

There. You’d said it. 

And Nanami’s smile was almost blinding.

He’s closing in the hypnotic inches until his plump lips hovered simple milimeters away from your puckered ones. Much too far for you, in your opinion. 

Fisting a single hand around Nanami’s sapphire collar, you’re dredging up your strength to finally pull him in for the kiss you’ve been waiting ages for at this point. Finally. Singing off a brief sigh at the heated proximity of his maw-

Only for Nanami to pull away.

“Wh-where are you going?” You’re mewling out, brows furrowing with the type of upset desperation that only Nanami was able to bring out in you. You needed him - and you needed him badly. 

But the only answer you get is the balmy breeze of his snickers clouding down your body, so scorching that it made flames of want zip down between your legs. And Nanami does kiss you - between the heaving valley of your chest, right underneath your left tit, your tummy- down, down, down.

Rip—!

There go your limited-edition fishnets - torn right with only a few tugs of Nanami’s carnal canines. Right with his mouth that burrows between the pliable hole he’d made between your legs. 

“Hm? What was that, darling?” He’s drawling away, shuffling until he was right between your legs. Until your big, bad boss was kneeling in front of you. “Oh! My sweet girl wants a little kiss, doesn’t she? How cuuute.”

Rutting up your hips, you just barely manage to get the edge of your slick-flooded thighs to stroke his dimpled cheek. Lips jutting out into a pout, “Yes- yes.”

“Too bad she didn’t earn it, hm? As if I’d kiss a mouth that flirted with another man in front of me- no matter how pretty. ” Nanami continues, like he didn’t even hear your pleas right now. Thank goodness you couldn’t see the way the cracking rawness to your voice made his pants so much tighter. 

There’s the stubborn schwf! of your skirt being pushed up in a rough tug. And it’s only once he turns his heart-eyed stare down between your legs that you realize. “So, guess m’just gonna hafta kiss you.”

He wasn’t talking to you. He was talking to your dripping cunt. 

No sooner does this realization hit, that Nanami’s eager kiss does too. A filthy, sodden French snog planted right through your soaked panties. 

Nodding along as if he was translating every slurp weaving its way from between your bloated folds. “Oh? What’s that you say? More?” 

He’s trawling the pointed edge of his nose up n’ down the your slippery slit, teeth nipping along the rubbery folds to make your entrance gush out slivery ropes of slick. You count exactly one smooch at your dripping base, two right where your pussymound was the pulpiest, and the final - longest and most lingering - on your throbbing clit. 

“See?” He hums, fleshy thumb outlining the slobbering fringe of your pussylips. Just peeking his manicured fingertip past your useless underwear, and inching backwards with a saturated squelch whenever you squirmed for more. Tease. “Now tha’s a good girl, she’d never flirt with another. You’re mine, right- all mine? Or- well-”

Your breath hitches when you feel the wet splatter! of a slimy clump of saliva striking your teary cunt dead-on. And Nanami’s thumb rolls over the sheeny glaze with such utter love, “Now you’re all mine.”

Your fingers sneak their way to tangle into Nanami’s mussed-up locks, pulling his sappy mouth even closer. So close that his curved chin hits your pussy with a wet plap! And the crisp whoosh of him drinking in your scent deeply has you whining, “Ken- more. More.”

Nanami growls and it’s almost feral. He’s knocking out a deafening mewl from your lips with a sharp, sultry spank exactly on the target of your pulsing clit. “More? More, huh?” Purposefully rovering the chilling band of one signet ring - holding it firmly down where your hole was leaking. “After you got this wet for Hiromi? Nice try.”

“This isn’t for Higu-”

Thwack! The hollowing noise of flesh meeting flesh sings out in your ears, every swat after swat being left on your pussy enough to make your head throw back helplessly. 

The sight of it only makes Nanami’s scouring fingers pry apart your gluey folds even wider, kissing every nook and cranny. Over and over. Taunting. “N’ now you’re talking about another hah- man when you’re w’me? I should fire you, darling.”

You already know he never would. 

But you can’t stop yourself from spilling out a string of swears anyway, “Th-this is all for- ngh-” Flinching bodily when he wraps the waterlogged remnants of your panties around one fist, ‘round and ‘round until your pussy was allll on shamefully display, and your delicate pink panties dig into your fleshy mounds. “-for you, Kento.”

And when Nanami pulls at the silky fabric with one hand, you’re dragged down across the table right with it. Till you were exactly where he wanted you.

“Correct.”

Your panties were in tatters now - and he tucks it away into his pocket with a wink. For later. “Hate these slutty fucking panties. Wanted them off every fucking time.”

Swiping away the syrupy trickle of saliva overspilling from his mouth, Nanami’s instantly surging over to connect his lips with your puffy ones. Groaning out a throat mmmm– the moment that candied flavor sugarcoats his lips.

The most lecherous squelches! speak across all four corners of his decadent office when Nanami handlessly tilts his head to let his scratchy tastebuds maze through your weepy pussy. 

He doesn’t even care that he’s getting the frames of his glasses all messy. Swirling out slow circles around the elastic ring of your entrance, before pumping inches in-

“Fuck-” You’re squealing, throat clogging with a leaden ball the moment he’s contracting his tongue to stretch your entrance out wiiidely agape. In and out until your rubbery hole was tenderizing to his ravenous shape and texture, “-fuck just like ngh- that.”

“Oh yeahh? You like this, huh?” Meeting Nanami’s gaze from between your cracked-open legs results in shockwaves all over your body. Because his molten gaze was gleaming - practically glowing. “Getting so turned on s’like you’re a ngh- damn waterpark. Think anyone else could get you this f-fuck- soaked?”

And you couldn’t even hide it just how aroused you were. Just how close. 

Wiry ropes of your webbed slick clings onto Nanami’s mouth with each soppy plap of his mouth clashing onto your cunt. Harder. Fucking you with his tongue just the way his thick cock was aching to do right now-

SMACK!

“Mmm sweet girl, makin’ such a mess. Answer me.” He spits into your syrupy pussy, urging out a few fresh waves of slick that laminate his fat digits in pure gloss. A gloss that he sucks up happily.

“You-”

He doesn’t even let you finish. Because you were so adorable being eaten out until you were stupid, none of that usual flirty snark present when he was making out with your cunt like a man parched. 

Swirling out tiny hearts on your clit with the mushy tips of his fingertips, he yearns to skim the perked edge of his tongue all over your gummy walls. Bumping into every delicate orifice, Nanami’s free fingers fly down to trace your tight ring of muscle. “Oh yeah?”

“O-only you–” Your blubbers are so adorable, mouth loosened into an oh! yet the only thing coming out of it are repeated shrills of Kento! How cute, Nanami can only hope that these walls aren’t thick enough that those outside won’t hear. He wants them to. “-only you can make me so- ngh-”

“Shy, darling?” He sounded so painfully pussydrunk right now. Rouge blush burning, gazing up at you heavily shuttered eyes, a maw that was drooling more and more with every lapping snog placed on your slobbering pussy. “What happened to my flirty girl?”

His flirty girl. 

Shit- the words themselves affect him just as much as they do you. Nanami’s muscular thighs manspread even wider with just how fat his painfully hard cockhead was bloated. Close. It’s so sloppy how he quickens his pace to toy with the button of your clit.

His, all struggling to get out the words from your mouth - battling with your heavy tongue to get out a keening- “You. Yours. Hngh- Only y-you can make me feel like this. M-make me feel so hck! close, Kento.” 

His perfect girl.

“Ohhh, say that again. Dunno if I quite believe that.” He groans, budging your thighs over to suffocate his head even deeper, god, he knows that he could pass out right here and still be the most content man on Earth. Holding your ankles behind his hand with a second hand, you can’t help but ogle the rippling bulge of his biceps. “Lock them.” Your tangling motions were limp - weak. But Nanami finds himself grinning anyway, holding you in place tightly, he’s doubly stuffing in two digits past your slicked entrance. “Say my name.”

“Ken- Kento?”

Piling upon wads and wads of stringy cum that sprinkle all over your thighs, just the striking sensation is enough for you to see stars. Enough to gasp when his probing digits pillage your gooey depths, “Again.”

“Kento.”

And of course, Nanami Kento wasn’t a merciless man. Mean. Filthy with just how much he’s clacking his jaw to grind into the supple rim of your, your knee bounces up even higher at the taut spring of something hot pooling in your tummy. 

He could tell. Oh, he could tell. 

You were always so adorably readable - especially with your wobbling lips, and those crinkling beads of tears spilling over from the corners of your eyes. Mumbling, “Kentooo-!”

And all he really had to do was pound a battery swipe along your sweltering walls, deeply. Skidding right across where he knew your magical g-spot would be. He’s giving your perky clit not one - hell, not even two - but three solid pinches on your sensitive hood. Hard. 

The babbling words “C-cumming-” are barely starting syllables out of your mouth before it crashes into you headfirst. 

You feel like you’re being run over with such waves of bliss, pupils sliding allll the way into the back of your scrunched lids. 

The wooden desk trills out a ringing creak! when you arch your spine into the perfect semi-circle, dragging Nanami’s mouth all over each and every crevice of your quivering cunt. Riding out your high in long sloppy drags. 

Using him. And how Nanami loved to be used by you.

“Yeah- yeah yeah—” Holding your gaze fatally, you can only watch as the pearly beads spraying from your cunt drip the long trailway down to hit the back of his throat. Your fingertips dig into his scalp, mushing his face even closer, “-cum. Cum all over m’face, my love. Make a fucking mess of me.”

You swear that Nanami’s voice was shattering into a whimper towards the very end. Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with every greedy gulp, and he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

Not even when your sparking high fades out into nothingness, not even when that white-hot pleasure formulates into something sensitive. Almost painful. Gasping out a sharp ah! with every drag of Nanami’s tongue over your too-tender cunt. 

“S-sensitive-” You’re mewling, desperately trying to push on his blond head. Stacks of sweat-dampened hair plastering across your palm, “Ken- Ken, m’too sensitive.”

“Tch.” He’s panting, eyes latching on instead to your glistening pussy - all pretty with trickling layers of sweet, sweet juices and his saliva. What a mess he’s made. He swears he can spot a darkening patch oozing out all over the desk. 

Nanami rubs his fleshy thumb over the tantalizing curve of your pussymound just a few repeated times, “Let me ask her- hm, wanna let me ah- go? Ready to say goodbye, darling?”

And whatever slurring squelches that emanate from your soppy lips speak to him. Enough so that he finds himself nodding mindlessly, “Fine then.” Planting an exaggerated mwah! on your clit, “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” 

He was so gentle kissing your pussy goodbye - but so, so mean manhandling you off of the desk. In a singular fluid motion, scooping you up with two beefy arms underneath your legs and falling back into the CEO’s cushy chair.

“O-oh.” You find your thighs straddling his sculpted hips, hands falling precariously on top of his bulging deltoids. What a feast Nanami Kento was. 

He barely even had to try to make your hips grind in a jerky up and down on his too-tight bulge. Splotching out gluey patches of slick wherever your driveling lips were hitting. Nanami counts exactly six slippery streaks before he grabs your throat and pulls-

“Think ya earned it now.” He hisses through a simpering groan. You’re so pliable like this - so open to being dragged into a filthy, filthy kiss. “Mm- might just be my favorite ngh- lipgloss on ya.”

You’re smacking at the curvaceous valley between Nanami’s pecs - nothing more than kittenish pecks for him, “That- that’s so filthy, Ken.”

Skin dappling with a second skin of goosebumps with every inch exposed to the heady air, he’s unbuttoning your blouse slowly. Lazily. Pop! Pop! Pop! Taking his precious time to watch every minute huff and puff you cloud out. 

“Oh, darling.” Bursting out a bout of laughter that hits you to your very core as soon as your top and bra hit the polished floor. Nanami tilts back in his seat sexily, angling you to take up even more space on the comfortable seat of his lap - his thick, outlined bulge. “We haven’t even gotten started.”

Fuck.

He pants, “Hated these slutty skirts- fuck- made me almost call HR because you looked so- beautiful.” With your skirt soon shed, you’re suddenly reeling with the realization that you’re the only one naked right now. “Better with them off.”

Never one to fall behind, you can’t help but tumble your greedy digits downwards. Mouth lathering with a sloshing wave of greed as soon as your fingertips skim the rock-hard tent struggling in Nanami’s pants.

“Fuck- greedy girl.” At this point, it’s as if the exact measurements of Nanami’s hand were branded into the mounded flesh of your ass. Because each spank has you crying, “Don’t you worry now, m’gonna fuck that ngh- feisty mouth shut soon, but for now…”

You’re left hanging, waiting on where Nanami’s drawling words would take you next. 

But it just-so-happened that you didn’t have to wait. Didn’t have to register anything but the way that he’s tugging down his too-tight pants and boxers just enough-

“Oh my-” You gasp at the sight below you, blinking your weighty lids just a few times to make sure that you weren’t imagining things. Because, sure, on those lonely nights you’d imagined Nanami to be big - but this was just ridiculous. “-Ken, you’re so-”

Big package for sure.

“H-heh.” He preens, wrenching down the velvety fabric until it looped halfway down the padded meat of his thighs. “Don’t act so cockdrunk, my love- s’only gonna make me ngh bigger.”

Roaming five dexterous fingers to grasp his bulky base, the rest of Nanami’s nine- no, ten inches drip down needy gumdrops of pre onto your hand. He was long, girthy - blushed on his swollen mushroom tip a pretty cerise pink that matched your ruined panties. 

“Wan’ you inside me.” You’re purring out, and Nanami’s heart races as he catches a few glimpses of that complete and utter tease you usually are. You swipe your thumb over the syrupy top coating of precum on his tip, plugging it into Nanami’s mouth.

Well, he might be the boss - but not in here.

After all, who was he to go against anything his pretty girl said? 

“Mmm- s’that so?” He’s suckling right on your doughy pads, fringes of his neat teeth nipping your flesh. Looking you right in the eyes while leaving a few streaky smears across your drooling slit, up and down. Golden blond lashes so long they flutter against the flushed apples of his cheeks, “Gimme a kiss first, my girl.”

So sweet.

Or so you thought.

Because you’d just inched your allured body closer to give him what he wanted. Digging your rounded knees into the sides of his body to just let your pursed lips brush in an innocent, innocent skim across his kiss-bitten ones- 

Before Nanami wraps his hand around your throat and tilts your head back to let himself spit. Just seconds before nudging apart your sticky folds and pushing in-

“Ah!” Your eyes sprint between snapping open in sheer shock, and screwing tightly shut at the pure stretch. The tightness. You could almost hear the elastic creak of your weepy entrance being pulled to its very limits around Nanami’s globed tip. “O-oh my god-”

“Shhhh you can take it, good girl- my good girl.” He’s thumbing away the purposeful spatteres that decorate the sagging edges of your lips. Rounded centers of his fingertips sinking in tight around your throat, “Mmm- s’this a big enough package for ya?”

It’s an uphill battle to force your lids to shutter open, only to peer into Nanami’s glassy eyes to see that yeah, there was still a glint of raw jealousy in them. Still. 

Your hand dips its way down to swipe open your dewy pussylips, rubbing over the most tender spots on your drooling cunt when your hips stutter down inch by fucking inch. 

Splitting your tight orifice in half with his vast cylindrical cock, every wild rut that pumps Nanami even deeper makes you dizzy. Your ajar maw spilling with drool while he fucks himself furiously harder and harder and-

Head lolling over into the clammy crook of his shoulder, your tongue licks up a long stripe along his neck. “Ngh- s-so fucking big– Don’t know if I c-can take it.”

“Now now.” With a rude spank! your fingers are swatted away meanly, Nanami’s own taking over in its place. Not to do the job - just to toy with the buzzing nub of your clit while he pumped you snugly full of his never-ending shaft. “Move that hand, lemme see my girl’s hah- pussy take my big fuckin’ cock.”

Salty tears spring to your eyes and end up dripping onto Nanami’s awaiting tongue, voice laced with something primal. “Poor baby, getting nervous. Don���tcha remember what you told Hiromi?” You did. “The bigger the better?” You remember. “So buckle up n’ take it like a good girl now, my love.”

Your answer is nothing but a half-lucid nod, “Y-yes, Ken-” 

“Hm?” He pinches your clit. A warning. 

“Sir.”

“Atta girl.”

And then Nanami’s bottomed-up, his hefted base sagging against your sopping wet lips, globular swell of his breeder balls nestling up behind your cunt in a congratulatory smooch. And he was kissing your other lips just the same.

Leaving wet swabs that decorate your pulpy cervix in translucent streams, you’re squealing after each n’ every fat thud! of Nanami’s rotund cockhead mushing into your gooey depths. Probing veins massaging you incessantly.

He couldn’t get enough.

“Atta girl-” He’s snickering into your mouth, pounding and pounding even more despite the clingy push of your pussy. Despite the way that he can’t even go any deeper - his cock was still aching for more. To strike the bullseye of your womb. “O-ohhh atta giiirl. Open wiiiide f’me.”

Like a mantra. You weren’t any more coherent, with your words garbling out over every leathery creak! of the pristine office chair. “Loud- g-gonna be loud, Kento.”

“I don’t care.” Nanami spits out immediately, leaving a heavy-duty swat on your bulging pussy folds as if to ask why should you care, too? He had such a way of speaking to you with his body, rendering you speechless after only a few seconds in the presence of his vicious tempo. “Let them hear, they couldn’t fuck you like this. Let them know hck! wh-who makes this slutty cunt feel so good.”

And it wasn’t a question, but you’re answering anyway. Looping your boneless arms around the expanse of Nanami’s broad shoulders, your limbs stick to the sweat-drenched fabric of his button-up and you huff. 

“You- need you to-” You’re murmuring away, numb tips of your fingers fumbling with his pearly buttons. Two seconds away from ripping this damn shirt off of him, “-need to see you.”

“Oh yeah?” He’s letting his top fly open to reveal what looks like yard upon yards of smooth, sculptured skin. Shiny with a glimmery sheen of humid perspiration and slick - puddling from your weepy cunt at the way that Nanami was so sexy. All jiggling pecs and abs for days, you find your pussy gulping his length up n’ down even faster. Nipping along bites that redden his flesh prettily, “Woah- Really are a slut, my love. N’ I fucking love it.”

Nanami was always such a possessive man, one hand latched onto the side of your waist and helping you stumble along with every pap! The other wandering down to pat that proud curve where your cozy hole was being overstuffed with his fat cock, before traipsing up to your clit-

“Mmm– gonna have everyone know.” He’s biting down on his bottom lip, looking up at you through teary lashes. Tapping your clit, “Say my name, my love.”

“Ken-”

“Louder.”

“Ken!”

The chair bustles with every jerk, and the unsteady motions only have Nanami driving even deeper. “Mmm- now say his name-” He’s settling your mouth open with another clump of saliva, kissing away the smearing excess. “-say his name. Say Higuruma-”

But it was no use. The only thing your mouth seemed to be able to form into was a loud Ken. Just as he’d wanted. Just as what makes him chuckle, “Gonna fuck you s-so good that fucking Hiromi s’gonna know from a mile away.”

Ohhh, how he loved that cute lil’ thought. 

He was certainly jackhammering you like it, motioning your hips into eager gyrations even faster than your fatigued legs could handle. Practically carrying you through every claggy slap of skin-on-skin, Nanami’s tensed core burns with the friction. 

But he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even burn the sting of anything other than the way his sensitively enlarged balls were papping against your skin. Painting sweet, sweet bruises for days. 

“Would ya like that?” He’s mindlessly babbling away, and even through his hooded eyes you could tell that Nanami was completely pussydrunk. He wasn’t even circling your clit now - he was writing out on top a rapid K-E-N-T-O. Gone. Ruined. Rolling his hips in sloppy bucks, “Wan’ me ta fuck you until everyone knows?”

You’re nodding. Nodding and nodding away, and Nanami thinks this can’t get any better. You’re so gorgeous when you’re fucked dumb like this, who knew his office tease would be so…pliant?

He’s already in heaven with each saturated slip n’ slide massaging your weeping orifices. Angling his hips ever-so-slightly to the side to feel more of you-

That’s when he hits it.

That spot. 

And oh, Nanami thinks he could cum right then and there with the way your slicked walls kiss his length in a lingering smooch. Just as lovers do. 

“There-” you’re mumbling out, your lips leaving tiny pecks across the grinning corners of his lips. But you didn’t even have to start for him to already be bouncing you with the target of exact, precise strikes to your g-spot. Spotting steamy splotches of parched precum over that bulging spot, “R-right there, Ken- don’t miss don’t miss.”

“Would never fuckin’ imagine.” He has the audacity to roll his eyes. 

You believed him - just as much as you believed in the flurries of stars bursting countlessly behind your eyes. Hushing out, “M’close, Kento- gonna cum- fuck m’gonna cum.”

How could you not be close when he’s back to his favorite hobby that makes you squirm - pinching your throbbing clit right in time with the long, long lines his battering tip glides across your sweet spot. Ending allll the way back at your cervix. “Mhm, gonna make you cum on m’fucking cock. Hafta l-let those fucking ngh- losers know whose pretty pussy this is.”

And once the ever-stoic Nanami starts babbling, it’s like he can’t stop. 

“Mine-” Sucking on your bruised lower lip like his favorite candy. “Mine.” Twice. “Mine.” Thrice. He’s fucking you like he’d die if he slowed down right now, massaging your rubbery entrance deliriously raw. Teeth grit the closer and closer he inched himself, “Gonna let Hiromi know. Gonna let Ijichi know- Shoko- fucking Ino who w-was making eyes at my girl. My wife.”

You’re gasping, “W-wife?” And it seemed like such a highly tense moment to finally accept you as his work wife. That is, before-

“Mhm—” And there’s no regret, none of that usual shyness in Nanami’s eyes as he fucks you with deep eye contact. Thumb finishing off drawing a final KENTO on your clit, “Better know that m’gonna buy you th-the biggest fucking diamond you’ve ever seen, my love.”

Maybe it’s the way that he’s so serious. Maybe it’s the drilling pace of his thumping cock. Or maybe it’s just Nanami himself; boring up at you through droopy eyes and foggy glasses, a delirious smile plastered all over his face while he rammed you to your orgasm.

Fat tears collecting on your waterline, your vision blurs with just how intense of an orgasm he’s wrenching out of you. You swear it’s the best you’ve had in years - maybe even in your entire life.

“F-fuuuuck–” Your fingers drag unorganized lines all over his smooth shoulders, making it out as if he’d just been attacked by wild cats - but it’s just you. You and your sappy folds milking Nanami’s very soul, hot puffs of condensed breath hitting his craned neck when you lean in. “A-all for you, Kento.”

And the exact moment Nanami feels your lips descend upon his skin to suck - the exact moment he realizes that you’re marking him - his breath strangles in a gasp. 

“Darling- darling.” He’s panting out, shivering fingers setting the soft spots of your cunt free to get a good grope of your ass. To muster all his fucked-out strength to whack your pussy against his sharp hipbones with a resounding pap! “Oh, darling m’cumming- fuck- better take every drop now.”

But it was impossible to.

Because Nanami was cumming so much - even more than he had in the bathroom just hours earlier. Torrenting out sticky webs of seed that glue your walls feebly together and scratch such a primal urge inside you to have him fill you up.

He’s fighting to keep his head from throwing back, blinking away the sparks that bolt behind his eyes to drink in the sight down below. 

In awe at just how much of it was overspilling in ivory ribbons from the stretched-out ends of your sodden slit. Stretching thickly over his bulked base in a buttery ring, it’s so messy that he’s barely thinking before smearing over the wadded mess.

“Ken- mmpf-” Your mouth falters as soon as he stuffs in the glazed-over tips of his fingers, swirling around a slow circle inside your unhinged maw. He already knows this is going to be good. “Want more.”

More.

More.

Here you were - stuffed until your poor pussy couldn’t even handle just how much cum Nanami was still fucking into you. Spraying out a fountain of creamy globs with every pressurized thrust planted on your pussy - and you still wanted more?

Something flashes behind Nanami’s eyes.

And before you know it, you’re whimpering at the loss of his girthy inches weighing down in your cunt. There’s a saccharine fwop! followed by the slosh of trickling cum when Nanami pulls out, “C-come back.”

With a ringed finger plugging up your geysering hole from losing any precious ounces, Nanami carries you over to that familiar office desk in a single stride. Splaying you out - manhandling you - with ease until you were bent over the cool surface. 

Your cheek being pushed into the currently saliva-soaked wood, wrangling hands instantly tied behind your back with something silky - fuck, Nanami’s tie. Your cunt once more stuffed to the very brim with all of his throbbing cock. 

He’s leveraging the little restraint to jostle your hips ever-deeper. You’re squealing at that stretch - one you’re sure you’d never get used to. “K-Kento, sir–”

“Shhh, my love.” You hear in throaty groans from above you, and Nanami’s muscular weight pinning down your body makes you even wetter. As if he was just melting his abs into your curved back, smearing back n’ forth in tiny smudges after he starts pushing- “Say another word n’ m’gonna get ya pregnant- then they’ll really know you’re mine.”

.

.

.

It’s not like Nanami Kento to ever be late to a meeting.

Given, there was that one time a year ago when he’d almost been late before an important contract discussion with Kyoto Enterprises. But thirty five whole minutes late to a meeting? 

Well, that was unheard of. Impossible, really.

And Shoko finds herself sighing, tapping her nails impatiently on the glass table. Honestly, there were so many better things she could be doing with her time than waiting for her mystery of a boss. And - just her luck - you weren’t here today to distract from the boredom of corporate life, either. 

The universe is against her, really. 

“Oi, Ijichi–” She calls out to the fidgeting man seated across from her - and she doesn’t know whether he jumps because everyone on the team is on edge, or simply because this is Ijichi. “Five more minutes, then we file a missing persons report.”

“I-I am sure Mr. Nanami is ah- fine-” He pushed up his dangerously low glasses, muttering underneath his breath. “...hopefully.”

“I think we should go with the missing persons report.” Higuruma pipes up from one end of the room, the man had become a much-loved addition to this department since the contract. “Because I hate to say it, but the man has no life. There’s no reason for him to just-”

SLAM!

“My apologies, I’m late.” Nanami pants out into a silence that could only be caused by the object of your conversation suddenly intruding. A blur of impeccable suits and blond hair. 

Well, Shoko couldn’t see his face properly from the way he was hunched over to catch his breath like that - but she was glad he seemed unharmed.

Or, at least, that’s what she thought.

Because then Nanami stands up properly.

And honestly, she doesn’t know what makes her heart stop more. The fact that Nanami Kento arrived late to a meeting - or that he arrived late to a meeting with lipstick stains all over his lips, his jawline, his neck. And- and were those hickeys bruising his neck?

The coffee cup in her hand falls, and it’s not the only one. Surely, this had to be a prank- wait, does her boss even know what that is?

Still thinking it’s some strange practical joke, she’s squinting to get a closer look at the strangely familiar color of that lipstick. That- shit, wasn’t that your favorite shade?

Nanami snaps his head to Shoko the very moment she says your name - almost as if a form of experimentation. Before looking down at himself and finally - finally - seeing the state he was in. He sighs, fond. “Ah, my apologies again. My beautiful wife held me up, and I forgot to check if she left marks.”

Wife. 

Higurua drawls out the question striking through everyone’s mind right now. “What. The. Fuck.” 

And Ijichi squeaks out the second most striking question, “W-wife? D-do you mean your w-work wife, Mr. Nanami?”

“No.” He’s tilting his head in confusion, as if there was any possibility of anything else otherwise. Pulling out a glinting golden band hung around a simple chain from underneath his suit. A wedding ring. With your name engraved. “My wife wife.”

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[gf2bellamy]

lipgloss — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you leave a lipgloss mark on spencer's cheek content warnings: nothing a/n: i malfunction when i see glasses spencer

You let out an exaggerated sigh, slumping forward as you rested your chin on your hand. Across from you, Spencer sat at his desk, completely engrossed in his work, the soft scratch of his pencil against paper filling the otherwise quiet bullpen. His brows furrowed in concentration as he made notes in the margins of his case files. 

“Spencer,” you whined, drawing out his name. “Do you think Hotch would say anything if I just went home?” 

Spencer glanced up at you, his honey-brown eyes softening the way they always did whenever he looked at you.

“I think he might,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly. “But you could always say you weren’t feeling well. Technically, boredom is a form of mental fatigue.” 

You let out another sigh, this one even more dramatic. “I’m just so bored,” you groaned, dragging out the last word. 

Spencer’s lips twitched in amusement before he returned to his notes. You stared at him for a moment, then perked up as an idea struck you. 

“I’m gonna make myself a coffee,” you announced, standing up and stretching. “Do you want one?” 

Spencer shook his head with a small smile. “No, that’s okay. But thanks.” 

He picked up his pen, going right back to his work. You lingered for a second before stepping closer to his desk, your lips curling into a small, mischievous smile. With no one else in the bullpen, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. 

Spencer froze. His pencil slipped from his fingers, rolling across the desk. His head snapped up, his face already turning an unmistakable shade of pink. 

Your smile widened. “What?” you teased, tilting your head. 

“You—” He blinked rapidly, his blush deepening. “We’re at work.” 

“And?” You arched a brow, feigning innocence. 

Spencer opened his mouth, then shut it, clearly searching for a response. Finally, he huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head before picking up his pencil again. 

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but the small, fond smile on his lips gave him away. 

You grinned. Mission accomplished. 

You made your way to the break room, yawning as you prepared yourself a much-needed cup of coffee. The scent of freshly brewed caffeine filled the air, and just as you reached for a mug, you heard loud voices echoing from down the hall. 

Garcia and Derek. 

As you poured your coffee, you caught snippets of their conversation—mostly Derek chuckling about something Garcia had said, followed by her dramatic gasp. They had obviously just come back from their little break.

By “little break,” they meant sneaking off to grab food somewhere without telling anyone. Classic. 

Once your cup was full, you wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, only to immediately flinch and mutter a curse under your breath. Too hot. You blew on it a few times before deciding to just endure the heat, making your way back to the bullpen. 

The second you stepped inside, you were met with two pairs of wide, mischievous eyes locked onto you. 

“Oh my god, it is hers,” Garcia said, practically vibrating with excitement. 

You froze mid-step, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… what?” 

Your gaze flickered between them and Spencer, who was now sitting at his desk, very clearly avoiding eye contact. His ears were turning a suspicious shade of pink. 

Slowly, you walked over to your desk, setting your coffee down as you eyed them warily. Garcia and Derek were standing on either side of Spencer’s desk, arms crossed, looking like they had just cracked some kind of case. 

“Okay,” you said cautiously, dragging the word out. “Why are you all looking at me like that?” 

Silence. 

Spencer, still blushing, pretended to be very, very interested in his paperwork. Garcia and Derek, on the other hand, exchanged a knowing glance before Derek let out a low chuckle. 

“You sneaky little thing,” he teased, shaking his head. 

“What are you talking about?” You sat down slowly, still staring at them like they’d lost their minds. 

Garcia gasped dramatically. “Don’t play innocent! We know what you did.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. “What—?” 

Derek smirked, arms crossed over his chest like he’d just won the lottery. “Your lip gloss.” 

You blinked. “What about my lip gloss?” 

As if on cue, your lips instinctively pressed together, feeling the slight tackiness of the gloss you’d applied earlier. Garcia let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. 

“You left a mark,” she said dramatically. “A very clear mark, right on Dr. Reid’s cheek.” 

Panic surged through you. 

Your eyes darted to Spencer, then to Garcia and Derek, then back to Spencer again. He was already looking at you, and now it all made sense—the blushing, the way he had been avoiding your gaze, and the way Garcia and Derek were practically bouncing with glee. 

Oh. Oh god. 

You leaned in slightly, taking a closer look. And there it was. A faint but unmistakable pink smudge on his cheek. 

Spencer huffed, finally speaking up. “She’s not letting me wipe it off,” he accused, nodding toward Garcia. 

Garcia gasped, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense. “Excuse you, Doctor! It’s called preserving evidence.” 

Derek chuckled. “Yeah, man. We gotta document this. It’s not every day you get physical proof that you two are—” 

“Shh!” you hissed, eyes widening as you quickly glanced around the bullpen. 

Your relationship with Spencer was still a secret, and the last thing you needed was someone overhearing this conversation. You shot both Garcia and Derek a glare, but they were absolutely thriving off of your reaction. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Derek teased. “It’s just us.” 

You turned back to Spencer, who was looking at you expectantly, silently pleading for help. With a sigh, you grabbed a napkin from your desk, stepping closer to him. His eyes flickered to yours as you hesitated for just a second before reaching out, gently swiping at the mark on his cheek. 

His skin was warm beneath your touch. 

You tried to focus, but you could feel Garcia and Derek’s eyes burning into you. 

“There,” you murmured, inspecting his face. The lip gloss was gone, but his blush? Very much still there. 

Garcia clapped her hands together. “Awww, that was adorable.” 

Derek grinned. “Man, if y’all think you’re still fooling anyone—” 

Spencer groaned, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Can we please move on?” 

Garcia waved him off. “Fine, fine. But just know—this isn’t over.” 

She and Derek finally turned away, giggling to themselves as they walked off, no doubt already plotting their next round of teasing. 

You sighed, rubbing your temples before glancing at Spencer. He still looked flustered, but there was a small, barely-there smile on his lips. 

“You okay, genius?” you asked softly. 

He nodded, exhaling as he glanced at you. “You know they’re never gonna let this go, right?” 

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “Yeah. We’re doomed.” 

Spencer chuckled, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile too. 

Even if Garcia and Derek were onto you, at least work wasn’t boring anymore. 

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

moonshine leaks in through the window blinds.

suguru is undressing, sluggishly, in the dim darkness of your bedroom. he is weary; as are you. it’s been a long, long day, celebrating in the morning, in the evening, going to the spring festival downtown and grabbing hotpot with satoru and shoko right after — stopping by their favorite bar before finally heading home. fatigue drags your bones against soft flooring, as you rummage through his closet, pull your worn hoodie over your head and let it fall to the floor. 

suguru’s birthday is always eventful. your boyfriend is a well-loved man, after all; no less by you than anyone else. it’s been worth it, worth every ache in your joints, to see him smile and scoff and swallow down mouthfuls of soba and cake. to see him a little sheepish, a little tipsy, a little more open with his heart than usual. sweetness brings it out of him. 

(you’re happy, that this year was a success as well.)

a low groan. you turn your head, to watch as he cranes his neck, stretches his arms, as the muscles of his bicep coil and twitch under the linen of his shirt. as he slips out of it, lets his hair fall, a hair tie slipping down to rest around his wrist. his roots must ache, by now — you wonder if he’ll let you massage his scalp, just to help him unwind. but suguru gets restless after being pampered for too long. could barely stop himself from pouring your drink, over and over, carrying you the last bit home even though his own legs must have yearned for respite too.

sometimes, you want to ask him — can you please just let me love you?

(his answer is usually a smile.)

”god,” comes the voice of an angel, raspy and sweet. the heel of his palm meets the blade of his shoulder, digs into the skin as if to soothe it. ”’m exhausted.”

a smile tugs your lips up, blooms like a peach tree and flutters in tune with your heartbeat. you put your arms through the gaps of an oversized tee, press your nose against the fabric and inhale, the scent of laundry detergent and musk soothing your muddled senses. after pulling it over your head, you’re left in nothing but your boxers and his shirt. it makes him melt, you’re more than aware. when your hair is tousled, from the midnight air and satoru’s restless hand — when you’re engulfed in nothing but him.

”well, we walked a lot,” you exhale, sending him a sweetened glance. he returns it with a huff. 

”talked a lot, too,” he mutters, too tired to sound as displeased as he’d probably like. you drink in the sight of his skin under lunar light, lap up the excess cobalt, swallow softly. ”why is it that all my energy magically drains as soon as satoru’s involved…?”

you let out a giggle, breathy and light, cooing. ”he loves you,” you supply, not-so-helpfully. ”he just hadn’t had a chance to bug you in a while, i guess.”

a scoff. 

”he has a funny way of showing it…”

suguru unbuckles his belt, kicks off his jeans, slumps back on the bed with a silent sigh — the mattress creaks beneath his weight, allows him to get comfortable as he rests on the edge. gazing at you, patiently, spheres of rusted-gold through lidded eyes. heavy with what you know to be fatigue.

he pats his lap, one heavy hand. 

”come here, sweetheart.”

(his voice alone melts you down to the marrow. sweet and smooth, roughed up from the outing; the purr of a needy cat, silken sheets and jasmine buds.)

a moth to a flame, or a lamb to a knife — you are pliant as you move towards your lover. weak, as you tuck your legs over his knees and slide into his lap.

an inhale. he buries his face in your shirt, his shirt — smiles, noses against your pulsepoint and the tender valley of skin between your jaw and shoulder. engraves your scent into his being.

”i love you,” he whispers, a low lull of his tongue. a kiss against your neck. ”thank you for today.”

the words have left you long before your mind tugs at your lips. ”i love you too, sugu.” you nuzzle against his locks, relish as they tickle your sensitive skin. ”i don’t think i did much, though…”

”no?” you hear the smile, the hint of a chuckle, even as he lifts his fingers to pinch your little nose. ”you don’t think so, silly?”

he tuts — eyes gleaming under artificial light, the lamp on your nightstand. 

”even made me breakfast.”

”… it turned out so-so.”

an exhale, at your little frown. humoured, your mind supplies, if a little exasperated. he clicks his tongue, rubs his thumb over the bridge of your nose before letting go. ”it was lovely,” he corrects. ”you’re lovely.”

and you know that he’s displeased. you know by the way he says it, how softly he shuts you down and guides you in the right direction, lips smearing kisses on your vulnerable skin as if reproaching you. he’s sleepy, can’t help but be lazy, no less thorough in his mission. has no mercy for your jaw, or collarbone, or neck. you’re shivering, shaky sigh slipping out — curling your arms around his neck and angling your head to give him more room to work with. he can be greedy, tonight, you don’t mind. whatever he wants. his fingers find solace in the plushness of your hips, squeezes softly, molds the flesh. a silent thank you. 

for what, you wonder.

melting when your skin meets his? letting him touch you like this? trusting him to do it gently?

your mind is tangled up in knots. just letting him love you, hold you close, feeling his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt — ba-dump, ba-dump, like waves crashing into shore. you hope he cannot hear the constant patter of your own; hope he cannot sense the prickling of your nerves. he might think the night is over, but you still have something more to offer.

… or, at least you should.

it’s nerve-racking. your heartbeat knocks at your ribs, sticks its head out to ask how you’ve been. better, you’d like to say. a lot less close to passing out. silly, silly body, never letting you get off easy — never being of any use. it shouldn’t be this scary, not even close. you know your lines. you’ve practiced all week. but it is, and it’s paralyzing, and suguru is so tired he’s just gnawing at your earlobe now. 

clammy hands, beating heart, shaky fingers.

(you wish it was easier to say what’s inside.)

”i… have another present,” you mumble, finally, into his hair. as if that will muffle it. swirling a lock around your finger, playing with it to ease your mind.

suguru blinks. you feel the flutter of his eyes against your skin, the ghosts of pretty raven lashes. he pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes — watching you, closely, to see what you mean. attentive. 

there’s a certain look in his eyes.

”… more?” he asks, voice scraping against the walls of his throat, the buzzing of a dragonfly. he slips a hand under your shirt, curls it around your naked waist to tug you closer, keep you safe and still. ”haven’t i been spoiled enough, today?”

he’s smiling. you don’t think he knows what you mean, but he must sense your hesitance. keeps his hand on your hip, rubs comforting circles into your skin, seems to delight in the way your body can’t help but tremble all while leaning into it. stupid, beautiful suguru, stupid wandering hands. he’s only making your heartbeat sputter more. 

it’s too difficult. even after that peptalk with satoru and shoko, you can’t find the words you need. 

finding a birthday gift for suguru is always a hurdle. every single year. you can never decide on what to go for, never settle for just one thing — because he’d be happy with anything, you know that, but it’s not enough when you’re as smitten as you are. when all you want is to give him something that will make him smile brighter than ever, a smile that’s just for you.

what would make him the happiest? what do you want to tell him, more than anything? 

you always agonize over it, sure, but this year…

(even if it’s a little much, you —)

”haha… well.” 

you shift on his lap, tuck your thighs around his waist, just needing stability. and it’s muscle memory, your skin against his, bodies molding together like liquidated gold. he watches you, patiently — doesn’t rush or force the words out. a sun god in your room, on your bed. tangled up in sheets he washed for you. 

a sliver of sunshine, that belongs only to you.

what is there to say?

even now, you can’t uncap the lid over your heart. your hands are too shaky to dust off the longing. if you could, you’d say something like: 

i love you, i love you, i love you.

i want to wash your hair, and kiss your eyelids when you sleep, and scrub the rot from off your bones. i don’t want to care about what anyone else thinks. 

i could tell you i love you a million times.

also, do you want to get married? 

i know i’ve made you wait — you always wait so patiently — but would you mind?

would you be mine forever? 

a sudden sting. your teeth sink into your bottom lip, as if to silence your own thoughts, the phantom taste of heavy iron blooming on your tongue. slick vines wrap themselves around your teeth and sew your mouth shut. no words, no breaths, no nothing. 

just clammy hands, beating heart, shaky fingers. 

(you wish you could be kinder to the monster in your ribs.)

”… tomorrow,” you sigh, at last, the word forcing its way through your throat. you slump your cheek against his forehead, fleeing from his prying gaze, the question on your mind. ”… you’ll get it tomorrow.”

(shoko’s voice rings in your ear. coward, she’d say. loser, satoru would add. they’d be right.)

stupid, silly heartbeat. beating so loudly you can’t even find your voice. 

but suguru only smiles.

”… not today?” he brushes against your bottom lip, traps it between his thumb and pointer finger. tilts his head, softly. ”did you change your mind?”

you melt, into his touch, head dipping forward. 

”… just wanna wait a little longer,” you sigh, a little shaky, feeling sheepish. ”is… that okay?”

”of course.” his answer comes as soon as you ask. 

as natural as breathing.

mwah. his lips meet yours, chaste and sweet, gone as soon as you’ve thought to lean into it. ”i’ll always wait for you,” he says. ”you know that, don’t you?”

(you do.)

a silent nod. he seems to note your sour mood, the ghost of a pout on your lips. because he chuckles, that familiar purr-like rasp, falling backwards and tugging you with him — pushing you down against the mattress, crawling over you, a praying mantis with the smile of a fox. gentle, gentle, his hands cupping your hips. black hair frames his face, his smile, the moonshine gliding across his nose and cheekbones. he’s all you can see, until he’s leaning forward, nosing against your pulsepoint to feel the pitter-patter there. you can still feel the weight of his gaze, sticky honey-webs of oak and cedar.

warm, warm, warm. a little sleepy.

and he sighs against your skin. 

”i want to tell you i love you a million times,” he says, an orange split into tender halves. ”you know that?”

he sounds tired. he sounds happy, deliriously so, like he can barely believe it himself. you like it when he gets this playful, like it when the hint of boyishness he keeps carefully concealed spills through the gaps.

you blink.

a matching sigh, from your loverotted lungs. ”.. yeah,” you murmur. ”i know. i’d say it back a million times.”

a plum tree blooms against your collarbone, the branches of his lips stretching up into a grin. ”see? you’re perfect.” he moves up, captures your lips with his own, savours the flavour of your lip balm. eyes gleaming like fireflies. ”just perfect for me…”

ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. 

(your heart asks to be let out of its confines.)

”what other gift could i possibly need?”

and, well — it’s hard to argue when he sounds so convinced. when his skin is gleaming, when he’s on top of you, caging you in with his thighs and keeping you steady. when he looks like the rest of your life. 

it’s hard, even though a litany of words scratch against your windpipe, begging to be set free. even though you didn’t want to be a coward, today. 

(any other day of the year would have been fine.)

a hand cups your cheek. 

”… hm?” he tilts his head, raises an eyebrow. awaits your response, with fond, tired eyes.

you bite your lip. ”… i guess…”

”no, you don’t guess,” he huffs, half a chuckle. leans close to nip at your cheek. ”you know. i’m already spoiled with your presence. what else do i need?”

”well, it’s just—”

”no.” he shuts you up, mashes his lips against yours again. ”no more of that. okay, sweetheart?”

…

”thank you for today.” he echoes, into the shell of your ear. the warmth in his voice sparks against your spine. ”i had a lovely time. with the others, with you.”

an underlying demand —

you know what he wants.

so you give in. whatever he wants, you remind yourself. whatever he wants.

”… you’re welcome,” you mumble, finally. defeated, just breathing in his scent, smooth hints of bergamot and coconut oil. ”happy birthday, suguru.”

(and he smiles.)

one more kiss, and then he’s pulling back. watching you, softly, laid out across his sheets like sunshine spilling through window blinds in spring.

”… thank you, honey.”

(tomorrow, you’ll air out your restless ribcage. uncap the lid, dust off the longing.)

today, you will lie with clammy hands, a beating heart, shaky fingers — and simply let him hold you close. as tightly as he wants, for as long as he wants.

whatever he wants.

the words can wait; they’re good at that.

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][fingering][passionate][ex!fwb][quiet reader][slight breeding kink][light choking][hair pulling][quiet sex][no nudity][nipple play][nipple sucking][promise of pregnancy][low-key right person; wrong time][not proofread because my beta reader's asleep]

"I have a fucking kid and you didn't think to tell me?!"

Dick's voice is low, frustration bleeding into his words and his fingertips dig into his palms, blunt nails leaving crescent indentations in the flesh as he stares down at you.

The worst part is, you look so fucking nonchalant about it too.

Sitting crossed legged on the couch, a mug of steaming hot chocolate cradled in your hands and a plate of cookies resting on the surface of the coffee table. The TV plays one of the older episodes of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, and God, the sight of you so relaxed while watching trashy TV makes Dick falter in his anger.

"How do you know he's yours or even mine?"

You speak, your voice soft and gentle, despite the way your eyes burn with annoyance at the fact that Dick's just.... Standing there, in your space, his suit clinging to him like a second skin in the way it always has.

Dick leans forward, his breath fanning across the surface of your face and he gives you the opportunity to see the stormy rage that swirls in brilliant blue irises, darkened by the sense of betrayal at the fact that you've kept his son from him for so long.

"Because he looks like me. He looks fucking just. Like. Me." Dick grits the words out like they're liquid sulphur, burning his throat on the way out.

Before he lets out a breath, dropping onto the seat beside you and he cards a gloved hand through his hair.

"And he told me I look.... Romani. And proceeded to call me a 'gypsy bastard'."

Your apartment looks different from when he was here last.

Warm, pale blue walls, a dark leather sofa and a bigger TV mounted on the wall. Fuzzy blue throw pillows and the bowl of fruity gummies on the coffee table is a fun new addition, just like the drawings that line the walls of the living room, and clutter on top of the fridge.

On each drawing, Dick can make out the scribbled out 'Mommy And Me', usually in a colour that has no match in the palette and he can't deny the heaviness in his heart when he reads that.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dick speaks softly, hands moving to carefully remove the mask from his face, tossing it onto the coffee table and he grabs one of the throw pillows, resting it on his face.

You can practically smell his emotions.

Confused, hurt, betrayed. Frustration's a big one though, and you purse your lips.

"I didn't wanna have the 'is it mine' conversation."

You speak so softly, so sweetly and it reminds Dick of how much motherhood's softened you. It reminds him of the way that you'd have pushed him out the window for showing up unannounced, but instead, you're letting him sit on your couch, and you talk.

Not argue.

You just... Talk.

"I'd know he was mine." Dick murmurs. "We were... Exclusive."

The way Dick says it makes you feel like it was more than just occasional hookups, more than the odd movie date that ended with your ankles touching your ears.

The silence between you is comfortable.

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops dropping against your aluminium window, pot plants on the terrace watered so gently and the TV continues to play, although at a much softer pace.

Dick lowers the pillow, looking at you with big, almost teary blue eyes. Eyes framed by long, inky lashes, full brows and striking hues that make you feel like your breath is dying in your throat with every passing second.

"He's beautiful."

Dick's voice is soft.

"A little bit of an asshole, but he's beautiful."

Before you can answer, before you can even fathom properly what Dick's saying, you hear the crack of a door and the shuffle of tiny feet as Riot stumbles into the living room, fists balled and rubbing at his eyes.

"Mommy, my eye." He sniffles, continuing to scratch at his eye before you let out a quiet hum, your hands hooking underneath the little boy's armpits before you tug him onto your lap.

And you open his eye, the sclera just a bit red and you hum softly.

"Dickie, can you put on the light, please?"

Dick doesn't question the nickname, because it makes his heart swell in a way that has him internally screeching, even as he reaches for the overhead lamp and switches it on.

And your lips purse as you blow on Riot's eye, watching the way his lashes flutter and his eyelid twitches before a teary droplet plops down his cheek.

And you wipe it away, feeling the distinct strand of cat fur against the pad of your thumb.

"We don't even own a cat." You mumble, before using your index knuckle to wipe the watery eye.

"All better?" You muse softly and Riot nods his head, before glancing at Dick with sleepy eyes, lashes fluttering even as he clambers across your lap, and into Dick's.

And his tiny arms wrap around as much of Dick's midsection as he can, his chubby and rosy cheek pressed against Dick's chest.

And the man's expression crumples.

Brows twitch and eyes begin to sting as one of his long fingered hands move to rest on Riot's back, feeling the soft fabric of his pajamas through the glove. And Riot lets out a content sigh.

"Deadbeat gypsy." The words are muffled, but they're audible enough for Dick's lips to part in shock, brows raising before letting out a bark of laughter.

Before he glances at you.

"He's just like you." Dick murmurs, before watching as Riot climbs from his lap, and heading back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

There's a still silence in the air, only filled by the sound of Kim's voice and rain droplets crashing down outside before Dick clears his throat.

"My— uh...— my patrol ended early." He murmurs softly.

"Do you wanna watch a movie?"

The way you're slot under Dick's bicep, your head against his chest and your legs tossed across his lap makes him feel 4 seconds away from crashing out. Because God, you're so warm and so much softer.

Dick stares unabashedly at the way your plush thighs brush against his when you shift to make yourself comfortable, he feels the way heavier breasts push against his side as you snuggle closer, before ultimately decided to pull the quilt over the both of you.

Your eyes remain glued to the TV, occasionally letting out snorts of laughter as you watch Grown Ups for what you could guess would be the 60th time on your lifetime.

But you can feel Dick's eyes.

Following the curve of your face, watching the way your lashes fan out and watching the way breaths leave your soft, glossy lips. And before Dick can even fathom it, his arm behind you is shifting, hand moving to wrap around your neck, long fingers stretching effortlessly and he brushes his thumb along your pulse, the action causing your head to tilt up and you meet his gaze.

And Dick's lips are pressed against yours, his fingers twitching against your neck before leaving the column of your throat, instead, shifting until you're resting back against the sofa.

You can't refuse. Well shit, you don't want to refuse.

Dick's kissing you like he's dying tomorrow. Lips pressed against yours, his hips nestled between your thighs and his arm moving to support his weight, elbow braced on the armrest above your head, and his other hand cradling your face.

His thumb strokes along the soft skin of your cheek, his hips pushed against yours and his tongue brushing along yours, but his movements stutter when your thighs wrap around his waist, arms around his neck and bringing him down to deepen the kiss.

Dick swears he sees heaven when your fingers card through his hair in that way.

Starting right at the nape of his neck, before dragging those manicured nails, up up up, before they disappear beneath silky raven strands and he sighs into the kiss, before pulling away.

Dilated pupils, and heavy breaths are exchanged between the two of you, and Dick swallows hard.

"Is he a heavy sleeper?" Dick whispers softly, gaze darting towards the bedroom he saw Riot disappear into and you nod your head.

"He is but you're pretty loud." You tease softly and Dick pushes his hips into yours, his bulge prominent beneath his suit and you can feel the way his tip brushes against your clit, even through the layers of fabric between you.

Dick always could find it in record time.

"Fair point." Dick whispers softly, a breathy laugh slipping past his lips, just a bit reddened from the intense kiss and he speaks again.

"But you never were loud."

Two digits bully their way into your cunt, your shorts and panties tugged to the side and Dick's lips are pressed against yours, muffling any sound you could even think of letting escape from your lips.

His tongue is buried in your mouth, thumb rubbing sloppy circles against your throbbing clit and your nails dig into Dick's biceps when he prods at a particularly sensitive spot. Your lashes flutter, and you take a shaky breath when Dick's fingers curl, his glove abandoned on the surface of the coffee table, and Dick pulls away from you, a thin, glossy string of saliva between the two of you before it ultimately breaks.

Landing across your chin and he giggles.

The man fucking giggles, as he uses his free hand to wipe away the mess, before ultimately moving your hair out of your face, staring down at you with pretty, big eyes that look at you so adoringly.

"You're so pretty." Dick murmurs softly, pressing a peck to your lips as he stares at you.

And fuck, you are.

Pretty eyes fanned by long lashes, perfect eyebrows and rosy cheeks, wet and parted lips (both pairs), and a few strands of hair clings to the thin sweat on your forehead and Dick sighs softly.

You're perfectly spread out too.

Hands gripping at him like you're scared he'll disappear, thighs spread messily and your panties and shorts tugged aside. Gummy walls thrum around his digits, pulsing at the intrusion and all he does is he continues to tease your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling the sensitive and swollen nub as he continues to look at you with those heart eyes.

"Can I take you out tomorrow?" Dick's question is unexpected but he can't lie and say he hasn't been thinking about it since he saw you.

Plush, squishy, and so soft.

And he'd do anything to see you pregnant.

To watch you move around in oversized shirts, a belly swollen and heavy breasts that he could tease because they're just so sensitive and pretty.

And God, he can't even imagine the way your perfect, plump pussy would look, nestled between even rounder thighs, clit completely hidden until he uses his thumbs to spread the lips.

Dick swallows.

Hard.

And he doesn't even notice that his fingers begin to move, curling and prodding, nudging at that little fleshy spot that has your toes curling in your mismatched socks and your nails dig into his forearms.

And Dick remembers just what a sight you are when you come.

Brows pinching into the cutest little frown, lips forming a little 'o' and that gasp that leaves you has him leaking in his suit and he's so glad it's dark.

"That's it, princess, come on my fingers." Dick coos softly. "Use my fingers to make your pretty pussy feel good."

Your eyes roll back, you hide your face in your shoulder and your body freezes, the only movement being the rhythmic spasm of your cunt around his fingers.

His stupidly long, incessant fingers that keep dragging out your orgasm even as you nod your head, a silent answer to his prior question.

And Dick gleams, dimples in his cheeks and brilliant blue eyes lighting up in a way that can only be described as cosmic.

Blue eyes flecked with silvery stars and the gleam of the moon, dilated pupils and pretty lashes and Dick nods.

"Okay." He breathes out. "We're gonna go to the museum, okay? He's a little artist so I think he'd like looking at the paintings?"

You nod meekly, chest still heaving even when you watch as Dick licks his fingers, cleaning them up like he's just licking syrup from his fingers. His long tongue swivels around his digits before he carefully tugs up the fabric of your T-shirt, exposing your torso to the cold air.

Perfect tits, dotted with pebbled nipples and Dick swallows.

He never thought he'd be someone to have a kid out of wedlock but fuck, is he happy to be your baby daddy.

"Come on, princess." Dick hums sweetly. "Let me worship those pretty fucking tits before I leave."

Dick leans down, breath fanning across your chest before his tongue drags along one of your sensitive nipples, and he watches the way your face screws up, biting your bottom lip to stifle any sounds.

And you look at Dick from beneath your lashes, bleary eyes and rosy lips and he groans low.

A rumble in his chest that has your needy pussy pushing out a trickle of slick.

"Keep looking at me like that and I'll get you pregnant again." His lips latch onto the sensitive nub, his free hand moving to palm your other breast, thumb brushing over your nipple.

"Fuck that, I'll get you pregnant anyway."

Taglist:

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[alpinesmommy]

Agora Hills ( bucky barnes x reader)

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

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

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

You started your period…

…When all you wanted was a positive pregnancy test. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

And he’s not any better right now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cowgiri]

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 | how they send their late night nudes when they’re horning and missing your pussy <33

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 | mastrubation, twt links

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | sylus, zayne, caleb

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒’ nudes never fail to have you weak to your knees and dripping at the core. they always look so perfect and always have you rushing over to his apartment when you get the chance. he sends all kinds of nudes weekly without you even asking; in the car, on the bed, in the mirror. but oh god your favorite ones are the shower ones. especially when they’re videos. those always make your cunt flutter with butterflies. the audio is filled with rushing water in the background as he groans while petting his cock. his length is flush red and veiny dripping water. his wet silver strands sticks to his skin as a look of pleasure contours his face. you can feel yourself growing soaked as you swipe through the series of photos and videos. your favorite part is when he lets out a loud groan as his warm cum drips down his cock, the video being captioned ‘wish you were here so i can cum on your pretty face’. bonus points for when he compares his cock to his bottle of conditioner to show you how long and thick he is!

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 isn’t really a sender but when he does send, he keeps it very simple. he won’t send nudes often unless you ask or you send something first. on often occasions when he’s gone for long periods of time for work, he’ll find himself missing you. he remembers you talking unprovoked about how people have phone sex and the concept bewildered him. but now he understood why after being away for so long. to show how much he misses you, he sends you a video. he’s usually laid back in his bed with his pretty cock in his hand. there’s beading of cum dripping down his blushing tip. a throbbing sensation fills your core as the video of him fucking into his fist lights up your screen. his moans are breathy and shaky as he chases a high. “like this? am i doing it right? fuck, can you see how much i miss your pussy? gonna eat her and fuck her so hard when i get back,” he grunts as chases he pumps himself faster. he’s almost always loud and vocal with his lewd moans and grunts. your face grows hot at his lewd words. something tightens in your core seeing a man everyone sees as reserved making a absolute mess of himself on your phone screen. bonus points if he does it in front of a mirror so you can see his facial expressions at the same time!

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 is so obsessed with you that he cannot go a single day without fucking his fist when he’s away from you, even if he’s gone for just a couple hours at work. and he’ll make sure you know by sending you nudes and videos. he never really expects anything back, he wants you to know that you consume his very being. when he does send something, there’s always some artifact of yours involved. like last time, he sent a picture of his cum splattered across a picture of you. this time he sent a video of him jerking off to your panties that went missing the week before. your panties rest o his heavy cock before he starts slowly pumping it against his length. his tip is flushed an angry red and the veins along his length are pulsing from how long he has been teasing himself. “fuck, look what you’re doing to me,” he breathily moans as his cock becomes more flushed. he twitches and lets out a husky groan as he coats your panties in his hot sticky cum. bonus points if he makes you wear the panties when he gets off his shift!

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is a new acc so i am take requests for short stuff like drabbles or headcannons! feel free to become an anon if you enjoy my work <33

[artficlly]

sweetpea [one-shot]

post-apocalyptic marvel au

retired!hero!bucky x fem!reader After the Riftborn War, Bucky Barnes seeks to retire from his past as a hero and settle down, you might just be the peace he’s been looking for all along.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, p in v, against tree sex, outdoor sex, no protection, vague primal vibes, very consensual, kissing, underwear ripping, if you squint, there's some plot, teeth-rotting fluff, it's so cute, bucky barnes is the sweetest, beefy bucky, yelena meddles, steve rogers is horrified, spring festivals, paganism, masks, drinking, mentions of past violence, death and war, mentions of readers previous relationships, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.9k

A/N: hello! it's nearly my birthday so heres a treat for you all. i've been sitting on this idea for AGES. i've been working hard on the daughter of the rotsál first draft, so i decided to take a break from the angst for some fluffy, cute smut!! please let me know if you enjoy and your thoughts! sorry for any typos - not proof read. permanent tag list: @globetrotter28

main masterlist

Being fucked over the table was not unwelcome but rather surprisingly pleasant, even if it derailed your breakfast plans. 

Leif had always been a rather attentive lover, skilled at pulling orgasm after orgasm out of your needy cunt. He possessed stamina and a hint of roughness that stirred warmth within you, yet something still felt absent. This elusive quality lingered throughout your year together—an unexpressed awareness that simmered between you. Leif was kind, diligent, attractive, and strong. He was considerate, often surprising you with gifts and regularly praising your looks and cooking. Your friends approved of him.

So even if that brief and passionate session had been perfect, him thrusting into you from behind so intensely that your toes curled and you had to press your face against the wooden surface to keep from screaming—you realised it was all somewhat melancholic. The thing that was missing between you and your Springbond was that fabled spark.

The decision to part ways had hurt, but you both knew it was right. A week before you had made the decision, on Mayflame he would move out, and the both of you would be single once more. The morning sex had been a goodbye of sorts, in typical Leif style. Even if you aligned perfectly, you inevitably amassed a long list of differences that broke the perfect illusion. You desired to settle down, concentrate on your work and home, and build connections with those nearby.

In contrast, Leif craved adventure and excitement—obviously, the Bleeding Age hadn’t brought enough danger and activity into his life. He later confessed that he was eager to sleep around more, as he was still a young man exploring his possibilities. This revelation didn’t necessarily shock or hurt you; you had captured his attention for the entire year, far beyond your predictions. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder... were you boring?

After years of undue stress, survival, and several near-death experiences, you were eager to take advantage of the calm that followed the defeat of the Riftborn and the end of the Bleeding Age. You had to remind yourself—somewhat bitterly—that Leif was not the first and would not be the last. 

“Did you see who that was?” Yelena exclaimed from beside you, her hand gripping your forearm tightly. You nearly leapt in surprise, abruptly pulled from your thoughts. Your head turned as you looked back, tracking Yelena’s gaze. “I swear to the fucking gods that was Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes—”

You squinted at the backs of the two men who had passed you by. 

They walked like soldiers—steady, assured, their movements streamlined but commanding. No hesitation, no wasted motion, just the certainty of men who had spent years on battlefields, who had fought and bled and survived when others hadn’t. They were massive, even under their coats, their broad shoulders and thick arms unmistakable beneath the heavy fabric. Towering over the people around them, they carried themselves with the kind of presence that didn’t demand attention but took it anyway.

“The captain and the sergeant?” You shot back, doubt curling around your words as your brow furrowed. “I thought they were stationed in Stonebrook until the village was built.”

“They were… but last I heard, Stonebrook’s finished.” Yelena’s voice had an eager edge; her gaze locked onto the two figures even as they disappeared around a street corner, swallowed by the cobbled streets. “They were invited back for the Mayflame celebrations. The word is that they want to retire from the soldier business now the war is over.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging at her arm with a huff. “Come on, we’re going to be late—”

“But do you think they’ll run in Mayflame?” Yelena pressed, barely budging under your pull. 

“I mean, gods, can you imagine if Steve Rogers was your Springbond?” She exhaled, almost breathless at the thought, her fingers tightening around your sleeve as if the mere idea was enough to set her heart racing.

You grit your teeth, heat rising in your face—not from excitement but from secondhand embarrassment. A group of older women lingered outside your destination, snickering between themselves at Yelena’s loud ponderings. With a sharp yank, you pulled her off the street and into the village hall, the heavy wooden doors thudding shut behind you, sealing away the crisp morning air and her starry-eyed ramblings.

“There you two are! I need all the hands I can get!”

A flustered-looking Pepper Potts intercepted you and Yelena before you could fully step inside, already ushering you towards a large pile of decorations. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, auburn hair pinned haphazardly at the nape of her neck, a sure sign that she had been running herself ragged in preparation for the festival.

“I’ve got half the boys working on the course and the bonfire,” she said, exhaling sharply. “Can you please cart these down and get started on the flowers?”

“Of course,” you replied with a quick nod, already sizing up the pile, considering how best to carry everything down in as few trips as possible.

Yelena, however, had other priorities. “Pepper, are the captain and sergeant joining the Mayflame?” She asked shamelessly, barely masking the anticipation in her tone.

But Pepper had already turned, swept away by the tide of arriving villagers, barking orders as she moved—clearly too busy to entertain Yelena’s curiosity.

You scoffed, sinking your hands into a collection of freshly cut flowers, their stems already bundled neatly for easy transport. You had grown and picked them yourself, much to Pepper’s praise. In recent years, you found comfort in your gardens and flowerbeds. The scent of wild blooms filled your nose, the petals soft against your fingers as you began sorting through them. “Yelena, stop meddling and help me.”

“Fine, but you are no fun!” Yelena groaned, throwing herself down beside you with dramatic flair. Then, as if compelled by some unseen force, she added with a wistful sigh, “I know you’re upset about Leif, but at least let me dream of a raunchy, hero-filled Mayflame.”

Her voice carried farther than she likely intended. Several nearby villagers—some heaving chairs, others hauling tables—stopped mid-task, casting curious glances in your direction. 

Mortified, you didn’t dignify her with a response. 

—

“I mean, you keep saying you’re not upset about Leif, but you’re obviously upset.”

Yelena’s voice drifted up from below, thick with scepticism. She was not taking her duty of stabilising the ladder very seriously. The wooden rungs wobbled beneath your feet, shifting with every careless movement she made. A quick glance down confirmed your suspicions. She was barely gripping the beams, more occupied with craning her neck up the hill, no doubt hoping for another glimpse of the fabled Steve Rogers or Bucky Barnes.

You sighed, your arms burning from the strain. You had foolishly volunteered for the painstaking task of weaving flowers through the towering wooden archways that framed the festival’s entrances. The Mayflame decorations were meant to be intricate and beautiful—braided vines, bundles of wildflowers, bright ribbons fluttering in the evening breeze—but at this rate, you’d be lucky if you made it out of this task without breaking a limb.

“I’m not upset,” you grumbled, though your voice lacked conviction. You worked the soft stems of sweetpeas and baby’s breath into a sturdy braid, securing them with twine against the wooden frame. “We made a mutual decision. It wasn’t working. Just a Mayflame fling...”

Yelena snorted from below, unimpressed. The ladder swayed as she shifted, and you tightened your grip, heart stuttering. “You two lived together for a year. I think it was a little more than a fling.”

You exhaled sharply, your fingers tightening around the flowers. “If he wants to run off, sleep around, and travel, who am I to hold him back, Lena? He wanted something different than I did. It never would have worked.”

“I just…” Yelena hesitated. “I just don’t like thinking about you living up on that farm by yourself.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you reached for another bundle of flowers. “Then come visit me more often instead of spending all your nights at the tavern, bothering Nat. I need all the help I can get wrangling those weeds—”

The words barely left your mouth before the ladder jerked violently beneath you.

Your stomach lurched as you wobbled. You instinctively reached for the wooden arch to steady yourself but overcorrected. The shift in weight sent the ladder tilting dangerously, its legs twisting beneath you. The basket of flowers on your hip slipped free, tumbling towards the grass below in a flurry of petals.

“Yelena! The ladder—!”

“There’s a bee in my hair!” Yelena shrieked, her grip altogether abandoning the wooden beams as she flailed wildly. “Gods, if it stings me, I swear—”

You had no time to process her nonsense. The world lurched violently as the ladder lost its precarious balance, tipping sideways with terrifying speed.

Air whipped at your cheeks as you plunged downward. Your arms shot up in a feeble attempt to protect your head, your entire body bracing for the inevitable collision with the earth below.

But the pain never came.

Instead, you collided with something solid—something warm.

A pair of strong arms locked tightly around your middle, yanking you against a broad, muscled chest. The force of your fall sent both of you toppling over; your breath knocked from your lungs as your saviour twisted to absorb the impact. The two of you crashed into the grass in a tangled heap.

A startled squeak escaped your lips as you landed atop them, hands splayed flat against their chest. Their sheer size was dizzying—hard muscle beneath the thin fabric. The steady rise and fall of their breathing made you acutely aware of how firmly you were pressed against them.

For a long second, neither of you moved, your heart pounding as you processed what had just happened. Then, slowly, the arms around your waist loosened. A deep, low voice rumbled beneath you, quieter than you expected yet laced with a restrained amusement.

“Careful, angel. Keep this up, and people will talk.”

Your breath hitched, pulse stuttering as you realised who lay beneath you. Bucky Barnes.

A cold rush of realisation hit like a shock to the system. Your eyes widened in alarm as you took in the situation. Your hands braced against the solid plane of his chest, his body beneath yours, broad and unmoving. Worse, your legs were hooked around his hips, the warmth of him seeping through your clothes—oh gods, were you sitting on his—?

Panic jolted through you. Without a second thought, you scrambled off him in a flurry of movement, heat rushing to your face. Your hands shot up instinctively as if you could wave away the mortifying situation.

“I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Bucky didn’t move immediately. He remained where he was, lying on the ground, one arm bent behind his head. The dappled sunlight filtering through the trees cast shadows on his face, highlighting the defined angles of his cheekbones and the depth of his blue eyes. There was no teasing smirk, no cocky remark—just a quiet, lingering patience.

Finally, with a slow, fluid motion, he pushed himself upright, his expression unreadable. 

“It’s fine,” he assured, his voice smooth but low, edged with something thoughtful. Just a quiet confidence that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

You took a hurried step back, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but the erratic beat of your heart refused to settle. You’d always known of Bucky Barnes—the colder one, the quiet one. The man whose name carried a reputation as cutting as winter’s first frost. Yet now, looking at him, the weight of that reputation felt at odds with how he carried himself.

There was something measured about his movements, deliberate and careful, as though he were wary of taking up too much space.

The silence stretched between you until his voice, softer this time, broke through. “You’ve got a little something…”

His hand shot up before you could reply—quick yet remarkably gentle. His fingers delicately moved through your hair, his careful touch igniting a familiar warmth in your gut.

You froze.

He plucked something from your hair and turned it over in his fingers. A single sweetpea, its delicate petals trembling in the breeze. Bucky studied it with quiet intensity, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Sweetpea,” he murmured, as if the word carried weight, his gaze flicking back to meet yours. How he looked at you—calm yet piercing—made your breath catch. For a fleeting moment, the world felt impossibly still.

Your cheeks burned. You didn’t even know why.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Something flickered across his face, subtle but there. Not quite a smile, but something close, something softer than you would have expected from a man with his reputation.

“You don’t have to apologise,” he said simply. Then, after a beat, quieter: “You could’ve hurt yourself.”

It was such a small thing. Barely even a kindness. You were glad the hero couldn’t sense the throbbing between your legs. Maybe this break-up with Leif had indeed done a number on you, lusting after the first man who showed you kindness... but there was something rather magnetic about the sergeant you couldn’t quite understand. 

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus and gather the scattered remnants of your pride. Your gaze turned to the abandoned basket of flowers at your feet, a welcome distraction.

 "Right, well, thank you,” you muttered. “I should probably—” 

You motioned vaguely toward the half-finished floral arch, eager to redirect the moment into something less intense. But before Bucky could respond, a sharp, frantic voice shattered the moment.

“Oh, gods! I’m so sorry, there was a bee, and I just—are you okay?” You barely had time to brace before Yelena was upon you, hands gripping your shoulders, her wide green eyes scanning your face as if she expected to find a gaping wound. You squirmed under her touch, cheeks still burning.

“I’m fine, Lena,” you mumbled, trying to pry her hands off you. “Really.”

“Yes, of course! This gentleman saved you—” Yelena cut herself off mid-sentence, her entire body freezing as she finally got a good look at him. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in unfiltered shock. “Wait. You’re Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, barely, but you caught it. A flicker of something. Not quite discomfort, but something close. His posture stiffened, his fingers flexing once before settling back into stillness.

He didn’t confirm or deny it. He just gave a slow, short nod. You saw the way his throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, the way he held himself—not defensive, exactly, but closed off as if he had already braced for whatever reaction was coming next.

Yelena’s gaze darted between you, her sharp mind working fast. Too fast. There was a feral glint in her eyes, one you knew well. You could practically see the cogs turning in her mind, a meddling scheme already in action. You held back a groan.

Before she could say something truly insufferable, a sharp, shrill voice rang out from across the unlit bonfire.

“There you are! I need more flowers—can you believe it? I thought we’d have enough with all that you grew. Please tell me you have more in that garden of yours!” You blinked, grateful for the interruption, and immediately turned towards the sound of Pepper’s voice. 

“Yes, of course,” you called back, relief flooding through you. “I grew extra just in case. I had a feeling this might happen.” 

“Wonderful! Oh, you’re a lifesaver today,” Pepper’s voice rose in excitement. “Leave the floral arches for now. I’ll have one of the girls help finish them up. If you could just run up to your garden—” 

You didn’t need to hear the rest. 

“Of course!” You cut her off a little too eagerly, desperate to get away from Yelena’s looming interrogation. It was almost like an escape route had opened, and you weren’t about to hesitate. Pepper barely seemed to notice your enthusiasm as she continued.

“Oh, but you won’t be able to carry them all alone, will you? Yelena, you’ll help her, won’t you? And, oh, Bucky, I didn’t realise you were down here already. If I send you and Steve up as well, can you help these lovely ladies?”

You turned towards him instinctively, almost uncertain of what to expect. Bucky, who had been silent throughout the exchange, lifted his head slightly. His eyes jumped towards Pepper, then towards you. His blue eyes were unreadable, his expression impossible to decipher.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“Yeah.”

That was it. No unnecessary words, no wasted breath. Just a quiet, steady answer, the same way he seemed to carry himself, like a man who only spoke when it was worth speaking.

Yelena, on the other hand, was already on you like a hawk, latched onto your arm, nails digging through even your clothing as she grinned in excitement. Instead, you held back any protest that wanted to bubble to the surface, donning a hesitant smile. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the afternoon was about to take a turn for the absurd.

There was no way out of this now. 

—

The sun sat high in the sky as the four of you climbed the hill towards the garden. The path was uneven, the dirt packed down from years of footsteps, the scent of wildflowers and earth thick in the warm air. You focused ahead, gripping the empty basket, determined not to meet anyone’s gaze—especially not Bucky’s.

Of course, Yelena had no such reservations. She walked beside Steve, hands clasped behind her back, the picture of feigned innocence. You could feel the question brewing before she even opened her mouth.

“So,” she began, her tone laced with a familiar mischief. “You two were some of the great heroes of the Blooded Age.”

Steve huffed a small, almost bashful laugh. “I wouldn’t call us heroes.”

“Really?” Yelena raised a brow. “Because I’ve heard plenty of stories that say otherwise. You fought monsters, saved villages, built armies—sounds pretty heroic to me.”

Steve glanced at Bucky as if expecting him to jump in, but the other man remained quiet, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. Steve sighed and shrugged. “We did what needed to be done. It wasn’t about being heroes. People were dying, and the world was falling apart. We just... fought to keep it together.”

Yelena hummed, unimpressed with his humility. “And now you’re here. Retired.”

“That’s the plan.”

“You must be very tired.” She smirked. “All that fighting. Saving the world. Carrying such a heavy burden on those broad, broad shoulders.”

You choked on absolutely nothing, coughing into your hand as warmth flared in your cheeks.

Steve cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was time to put the war behind us.”

Yelena turned to Bucky, who had been walking a step behind, silent as ever. “And what about you, Barnes? Tired of fighting too?”

Bucky finally glanced her way, his expression unreadable. 

“War doesn’t leave much room for a future.” His voice was low, quiet, but firm. “Figured it was time to start thinking about one.”

Yelena tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle she was determined to solve. “And New Fernwick is the place to do that?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. His attention turned to you—brief and mysterious—before he looked back at the trail. “Seems as good a place as any.”

Yelena smirked, but you reached the garden before she could push further.

“Here we are!” You announced, a little too brightly, desperate to change the subject.

You set your basket down and knelt to gather the flowers, focusing intently on the task. Yelena crouched beside you, plucking a few stems with ease. Steve busied himself as well, his hands surprisingly gentle as he worked.

Bucky, however, remained standing with his arms crossed as he surveyed the field of blooms. After a brief pause, he crouched, reaching for a flower near your basket. You watched as his fingers brushed over the petals carefully and deliberately.

Yelena noticed too. “Didn’t peg you for a flower guy, Barnes.”

Bucky plucked the stem and twirled it between his fingers, his expression unreadable. “You learn to appreciate the small things when you don’t see ‘em for a long time.”

The words were simple, but they settled in your chest, something unspoken lingering beneath them.

Yelena, for once, said nothing.

The silence stretched as the four of you worked, the baskets gradually filling, until until Yelena, as always, shattered it with a single sentence—one that made your stomach drop the moment it left her mouth.

“So, are you two going to do the Mayflame Run?”

Your fingers tightened around the delicate stems of the flowers in your hands, nearly crushing them. Heat flared up your neck, and you snapped your head towards her. “Yelena.”

She only grinned, tilting her head in mock innocence. “What?”

 She batted her lashes. “It’s a fair question.”

Bucky and Steve glanced up from where they were crouched, picking through the wildflowers. The question had caught them off guard. Steve’s brow furrowed, curiosity laced with hesitation.

“What exactly is the Mayflame Run?” he asked.

You parted your lips, scrambling for a way to downplay it, but Yelena was already launching into her favourite pastime—oversharing.

“It’s a spring festival all about welcoming in the new season... new life... fertility and all that.” She wiggled her fingers for emphasis, an impish smirk tugging at her lips.

Steve blinked, his expression shifting into one of wary understanding. “Right…”

The mischief in Yelena’s eyes deepened as she continued.

“The main event is the run. We call it the Springbond Run, but let’s be honest—everyone knows what it’s really about. See, after the Blooded Age, people kind of… forgot how to date. Or just didn’t bother.” She waved a hand as if brushing aside years of devastation. “War, famine, monsters—it put a real damper on romance. And, well, people aren’t exactly repopulating at the rate they should be, so...” 

She shot Steve a pointed look. “The elders decided to encourage things.”

Steve still looked uncertain. "And how does it work?”

You exhaled through your nose, adjusting your basket.

“The women carry torches and run through the dark forest,” you explained, keeping your voice even as possible. “The goal is to reach the clearing on the other side and light the bonfire.” 

You hesitated, dreading the next part. “The men chase them.”

Steve’s brows lifted. “They chase them?”

You nodded stiffly, but Yelena was the one who answered.

“If you get caught,” she said breezily, “you have to date the guy who caught you for a week. You’re now each other’s Springbond. After that, you decide if you want to keep seeing each other or go your separate ways. Most end up sticking it out. Either for marriage or, at the very least, some fun.”

Your stomach twisted as Bucky’s gaze flickered towards you. He hadn’t spoken yet or reacted outwardly, but you felt the weight of his attention pressing against your skin like an unspoken question.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, clearly processing the information. “And what happens to the women who manage to light the bonfire?”

“Oh, then they get to choose who they spend the week with,” Yelena said. "Which honestly makes the whole thing even more exciting. It’s so dark, you don’t always know who’s chasing you until they’re right on top of you, pinning you to the ground—”

Steve choked on his own breath, shifting awkwardly. You clamped your eyes shut, pressing your fingers to your temples.

“Yelena.”

“What?” she said, all false innocence. 

“It’s true. And let’s be real, some people don’t even wait until after the run to start celebrating.” She smirked. “All that adrenaline, all that tension, out there all alone in the woods—”

Steve made another strangled sound, and you wished, for the first time in your life, that you had the power to smite Yelena where she stood.

“And this is normal?” he asked weakly.

You let out a long breath. “Yes. It’s… tradition.”

Yelena’s smirk stretched wider, and a pit of dread opened in your stomach just before she delivered the final blow.

“Oh, she would know,” she said airily. “She’s done it three times.”

Silence.

You felt the shift in the air before you even looked up. Steve was already glancing away politely, but Bucky—Bucky’s gaze was steady, unyielding, waiting. His expression was unreadable, but there was something sharp beneath it, something that made your pulse stutter.

Your mouth went dry. “I—uh—yeah.”

Yelena cackled, delighted. “And she had quite the reputation for it, too. She and Leif turned it into a year-long one-night stand."

Your stomach dropped. Heat flared at your ears, mortification wrapping around your ribs like a vice. Steve coughed into his fist, visibly uncomfortable, but Bucky—Bucky still hadn’t looked away. The weight of his silence pressed against you, heavier than any words could be. He didn’t flinch, didn’t frown, didn’t even raise a damn eyebrow. He just watched as if waiting for you to offer something. An explanation. A reaction.

You swallowed hard.

Yelena, meanwhile, had absolutely no shame.

“Some people take the week actually to get to know each other,” she continued with a smirk. “Others treat it like a festival fling. A week-long one-night stand, if you will.” 

She turned to Bucky then, eyes glinting. “You seem like the type who’d do a Mayflame run.”

Bucky finally exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “You get that from watching me pick flowers?”

Yelena leant in. “No, I got it from watching you look at her.”

Your breath hitched.

Bucky didn’t flinch. Didn’t react at all. He just held her gaze for a long moment before standing, dusting the dirt from his hands with deliberate ease.

“We should get these back,” he said.

That was it. No denial.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears as Yelena shot you a triumphant look, nudging your arm with her elbow. You shoved her back harder than necessary, grabbing your basket with too much force.

—

You had braided sweetpeas into your hair, their delicate petals—a cascade of soft pinks, purples, and whites—woven carefully through your strands. The fragrance clung to you, sweet and fleeting, barely noticeable except when the wind stirred just right. You didn’t know why you had done it. Maybe it was a whim, an idle distraction while you got ready for the Mayflame. Maybe it was some quiet hope you refused to name, a foolish sentiment born from the strange afternoon. Or maybe, worse than all of that, it was the loneliness of returning to an empty house.

Leif had left while you were gone. You hadn’t seen him pack or even heard the door shut behind him. Just silence, so much silence. His absence had been waiting for you like a ghost when you stepped inside. No trace of him remained, save for a few scuff marks on the wooden floor and a half-finished bottle of cider in the kitchen. You had stared at it for a long time before scrubbing the house clean in a fit of confused energy as if sweeping away the dust might sweep away the ache in your chest.

Did you even want to run tonight? If it always turned out this way?

Leif had been inevitable—his leaving, even more so. The one before him barely lasted the week. And the first... gods, the first. You didn’t let yourself think about that one.

Yet here you were, standing in the dark forest, a burning torch in your hand.

The other women huddled together, whispering in excited clusters, their laughter soft and secretive beneath the trees. The firelight flickered over their masked faces, catching on the gilded edges and painted symbols of the goddess of spring. Yelena was causing trouble somewhere in the throng, as always, her voice carrying through the dark.

“I swear, I can pick them out. I just need a second,” she was saying.

You sighed, already knowing exactly what she was up to.

“It’s a useless pursuit,” you had reminded her earlier. “They’ll be masked, everyone will. That’s the whole point.”

And yet, she was determined. You caught a glimpse of her through the shifting bodies, her blonde hair twisted into an elaborate crown braid behind her fox mask, taunting the gathered men. They stood on the opposite side of the clearing, a sea of darkened figures illuminated only by flickering torchlight. The line between hunter and hunted might have blurred if not for their masks.

You fiddled with the edges of your own mask, adjusting it once more against your face. Each mask bore the likeness of a creature of the forest—the women had prey animals: deer, rabbits, and foxes. You had chosen a wide-eyed doe, its carved wooden surface smooth against your fingertips. The men, in contrast, wore the guises of predators: wolves, bears, and great hunting birds.

A shiver trailed down your spine as you scanned their ranks, the shadows swallowing their bodies.

This was fate, they said. A tradition older than the Blooded Age. The goddess of spring would take the helm, guiding her children together. 

Destiny, not choice.

You weren’t sure you believed in fate anymore.

Still, you craned your neck, searching for Yelena again before the race began. Some women had already lined up at the start, their torches raised, waiting for the signal. You pushed through the crowd, weaving past a group of masked rabbits, your torch casting long, twisting shadows over the forest floor.

Yelena stood at the edge of the men’s group, utterly unbothered, her fox mask tilted slightly as she studied them. The smirk you couldn’t see was undoubtedly plastered across her face.

“Lena,” you called lightly.

She turned towards you, still distracted. “You’d think we’d be able to recognise them even with the masks, right? They should be massive, but it’s so hard to tell in the dark—”

You grabbed her wrist, pulling her away. “Come on.”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled.

As you turned, your torchlight swept over a lone figure standing at the edge of the men’s group. Half-shrouded in shadow, his wolf mask glinted in the firelight. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, yet there was an unmistakable intensity in his standing and watching.

You swallowed hard and averted your gaze.

Tugging Yelena along, you stepped towards the start line.

The time was near.

You gathered your skirts with one hand, feeling the rough fabric in your fist. The cool night air licked at your skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. Around you, the other women shifted in anticipation, their torches flickering like stars in the dark. Somewhere beyond the trees, the men waited. Watching.

A hush fell over the gathered crowd. Then—

The drum sounded.

The tension snapped, and you ran.

Flames bobbed wildly as the women surged forward, feet pounding against the forest floor. Laughter rang through the night, breathless and high, voices calling to one another before being swallowed by the trees.

Yelena was gone in an instant, lost in the chaos.

You barely had time to register it before you were weaving between trunks, torchlight bouncing wildly in your periphery. Your skirts whipped around your legs, the rough fabric catching on twigs and undergrowth, but you didn’t slow. The forest stretched wide before you, vast and shrouded in shadows.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, heart hammering against your ribs.

It was exhilarating.

You could hear the others somewhere to your left, their laughter spilling through the trees, echoing their footfalls blending with your own. And behind you, somewhere in the dark, the men had begun their pursuit.

The sound of movement grew. Leaves rustled, and twigs snapped. 

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t dare look back.

Instead, you pushed forward, your torchlight slicing through the thick night. The distant hum of music reached your ears, the festival, just beyond the treeline. You were close. So close.

Then—impact.

A weight slammed into you from the side, knocking the air from your lungs. Your torch flew from your grasp, landing somewhere in the brush, its flame sputtering but not extinguished.

You hit the ground hard, back pressing into the cool earth, the scent of moss and crushed leaves filling your senses. Above you, a broad figure loomed, breathing heavily from the chase.

The dim torchlight barely illuminated him, casting jagged shadows across the carved wolf mask that stared down at you. The smooth, wooden surface gave away nothing—no expression, no hint of who was beneath it.

Your pulse thundered.

Around you, the chase still roared on. Footsteps pounded the earth, laughter echoing as others darted past, unseen but near.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming fast, your chest rising and falling. You had been caught.

But gods, it was thrilling.

The figure above you didn’t move, as if waiting—for what, you weren’t sure. His hands were braced on either side of you, caging you in, his breath still heavy from the chase. Yet he didn’t press his advantage or seize you like the others would have. Instead, he lingered, watching.

Then, in the flickering torchlight, he reached for your hair.

You barely breathed as his fingers tangled into the strands, the movement deliberate, almost reverent. Slowly, he plucked one of the deep violet sweetpeas from your braid, twirling it between his fingers before your masked face. The petals fluttered slightly with the motion, fragile between the ridges of his calloused fingertips.

A beat of silence stretched between you. Then, finally, his voice, low, deep, rough with exertion.

“Hey, sweetpea.”

The nickname sent a shock through you, something warm curling in your chest even as your breath hitched. Recognition dawned, sharp and sudden.

“Bucky?” You murmured, stunned.

Even if surprise coursed through you, it made sense. The sheer size of the body hovering above yours, the weight of him pressing into the earth, the controlled stillness…it was him. A reversed echo of your earlier position that day.

“How did you—”

“Your hair,” he interrupted, his voice quieter now, rougher. “You put flowers in your hair. I recognised it.”

He reached up, fingers catching the edge of his mask, and in a smooth motion, he pulled it free. The last flickers of the torch beside you cast just enough light to reveal the sweat beading on his brow, the shadows cutting across his sharp features—and the unmistakable, almost feral gleam in his eye.

Something deep inside you clenched at the sight.

You exhaled a breathless laugh, your hands instinctively sliding up his broad shoulders, fingers curling around the back of his neck. Beneath your palms, his skin was hot, his pulse hammering. “I didn’t think you were running.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He hesitated, head tilting slightly as footsteps dashed past, followed by an excited shriek from one of the other women. The sound faded into the trees, leaving you in perfect darkness, only the two of you remaining in the silence. “But—”

He trailed off, his voice thick with something unspoken. His weight above you was solid, immovable, and gods, you liked it.

“Do you want this?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Instead of answering, you twisted your arm, pulling your mask off. You weren’t sure he could see the grin curling your lips in the dark, so you let your actions speak for you. Tugging him closer, your chests collided, heat blooming between you.

“Yes,” you breathed.

And then his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was molten, searing through your veins like wildfire. He wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t uncertain—he kissed you like he had been holding himself back for far too long, like the chase had only wound him tighter, and now he was unravelling against you.

You gasped into his mouth as he shifted, his weight pressing down on you, one hand sliding to your waist, fingers digging in, anchoring you to him. His other hand tangled in your hair, gripping just enough to make your head tilt back, giving him full access. He took it eagerly, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours in a slow, devastating stroke.

Heat pooled in your stomach, your legs shifting beneath him, but then—

With shocking ease, he moved.

For a brief second, you were weightless, a startled sound escaping your lips as he lifted you effortlessly from the ground. You barely had time to react before your back hit rough bark, the solid tree trunk now bracing you. His hands were firm as they guided your legs around his waist, pinning you in place. You could already feel his cock growing hard, pressed into one of your thighs as you squirmed beneath him.

A shudder wracked through you at his sheer strength, the way he handled you like you weighed nothing. The last remnants of your composure shattered when his lips found your throat, the scrape of his teeth ghosting over sensitive skin. You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, the sensation overwhelming and utterly intoxicating.

"You run fast, angel," he murmured against your skin, his voice dark and teasing. His lips trailed lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. "But not fast enough."

A breathless laugh escaped you, your fingers threading into his hair, pulling just enough to make him look at you. In the darkness, his blue eyes burned.

“I didn’t want to get away.”

Bucky’s breath hitched, and he just looked at you for a moment. Then, his grip on your waist loosened, fingers slipping beneath your skirts. He let out a deep groan as his digits navigated past your underwear, sweeping through the wetness already gathered. “You’re so wet already.”

You threw your head back at the small act of friction, your skull pressing hard into the rough bark as your chest heaved. He did one final pass, stroking through your folds. In the close distance between your faces, you could see a smirk lingering as your hips rocked involuntarily, begging for more. 

Bucky brought his fingers to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours as he pressed them flat against his tongue, dragging them slowly past his lips. His eyelids fluttered briefly, his breath coming heavier as he tasted you, a low, guttural sound rumbling in his chest. “Mmm.”

Heat coiled in your stomach at the sound, something deep and electric winding tight inside you. 

“Bucky—” The whine clawed unexpectedly from your throat, raw with desperation.

He smirked, his expression both teasing and dark, his hand slipping between your bodies.

“I know, sweetpea,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. His fingers fumbled blindly with his belt, metal clinking softly in the hush of the forest. You could feel his hunger in the way his body pressed against yours, restless, taut with restraint he was barely clinging to.

You rolled your hips against his hand, a breathless sigh spilling from your lips as friction sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. He inhaled sharply, his head tilting slightly as if savouring the way you reacted to him.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, his voice lower now, almost commanding.

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, nails digging in. Your head tipped back against the tree's rough bark, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your lips parted around the words.

“I need you,” you whispered. “Now.”

Something snapped in his expression.

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat as his fingers hooked into the delicate fabric of your underwear. His patience was fraying. No careful undressing, no gentle peeling away. His grip was rough and decisive, a growl slipping from his throat as he gave one sharp tug. The fabric tore effortlessly beneath his fast fingers, the sound lost beneath the hammering of your pulse in your ears. He didn’t even bother pulling them down—too impatient, too consumed by need.

You could practically feel your wetness dripping down to your thighs as he blindly lined himself up, cock pushing into your needy heat. Your head dipped, your mouth finding the top of his shoulder as you bit down lightly with a soft cry. The world beyond this moment—the festival, the music, the laughter—blurred into nothingness. The only thing that existed was the feverish press of his body, the way his fingers dug into your skin, anchoring you to him as if he never wanted to let go.

“Fuck.” He hummed low in your ear. His voice strained as he slowly rocked in and out of you. You could tell he was restraining himself, his muscles taut along his back. You hooked your legs around his waist tighter, pulling your bodies flush. 

Bucky tilted his head, his lips ghosting over your jaw before finally finding your mouth, desperate and all-consuming. His pace faltered for a moment, a quiet groan slipping from his throat as you tightened around him.

“Gods, you’re so fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ perfect—” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. Your breath was hot against his neck and ear as you whispered. “Then don’t stop.”

Any type of restraint the hero had been holding snapped, his hips immediately jerking into action, beginning a relentless pace, withdrawing from you only to slam back inside. Each thrust sent sparks through your body, pleasure coiling tighter, overwhelming in its intensity. One of his hands roamed, sliding down your thigh to where you connected.

You let out a gasping moan into his shoulder as his thumb found your clit, the added circling motion sending a spike of pleasure up your spine. You felt your cunt tighten around him again as you jolted from the sensation, back arching inward. 

“Bucky—” You groaned into his ear, head tilting as you laid hot, sloppy kisses that were all lips and tongue along his neck. You could taste salt on his skin, sweat beginning to mist both of you. The squelching and slapping sounds of your connected bodies echoed through the dark forest,  the both of you barely holding back the pleasured moans and gasps. 

“You gonna cum for me, angel?” Bucky growled against your throat. Your toes curled in delight. His strokes were already growing frantic and sloppy. You pushed yourself back against the trunk, chest heaving as you used your grip around his waist to grind yourself upon his thumb further. A coiling sensation grew in your gut, a knot beginning to tighten. You closed your eyes with a gasp, chasing the sensation. 

“Y-Yes.” You stammered through your pants, nails digging into his shoulders as your body began to shudder around him. Bucky let out a dark chuckle, straining through his grit teeth as he continued to plough into you. His thumb circled once more, gentle but practiced. You felt your back arch involuntarily—

You moan his name as every wave of pleasure washes over you. Your hips buck and your thighs shake, but he doesn’t let up. His cock strokes inside of you at a continued relentless pace, and he moans right along with you. Bucky’s hand began to roam along your legs, gripping your flesh tighter as he chased his own release. There would be finger-shaped bruises all over your hips and thighs by the time this was over. 

You’re panting above him. Eyes closed, the grip on his shoulders slackening as ropes of thick, hot cum fill you. His cock throbs, each pump releasing even more, only stopping as his hips stutter and his heated moans in your ear fade. 

The two of you panted in the aftermath. Bodies still pressed together as the sounds of the forest slowly filtered back into your ears—the distant thrum of festival music, the rustling leaves overhead, the occasional laughter of those still running through the trees. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

Bucky shifted first, pressing a lingering kiss to the base of your throat, his lips warm and soft against your sweat-dampened skin. His breath fanned over your collarbone as he slowly and carefully lowered you to your feet. Your knees nearly buckled when they touched the earth, your legs trembling with exhaustion. A startled gasp left you as you clung to him for support, fingers curling into his shirt.

“Easy, sweetpea,” he murmured, a quiet chuckle rumbling in his chest as he steadied you, one strong arm wrapping around your waist. His touch was grounding and reassuring, though the heat in his gaze told you he wasn’t entirely done with you yet.

You huffed a breathless laugh, tilting your head to look at him. 

“You know we have to go to the dance now, right?” Though amusement laced your tone, you could already picture the knowing smirks Yelena and the others would shoot you when you finally emerged.

Bucky smirked, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Even better,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “All I’ll be able to think about is those little noises you make... and that mess between your legs.”

Your breath hitched, a shiver rolling down your spine despite the lingering warmth in your limbs. You swallowed hard, heat pooling low in your belly once more at the thought of his hands on you again, the way he had unravelled you so easily.

He tilted your chin up with a single finger, pressing a teasing kiss to your lips before stepping back slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 “Come on, sweetpea,” he murmured, his eyes flickering with mischief as he laced his fingers with yours. “Let’s go dance.”

—

By the time you and Bucky arrived, the festival was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced cider, and the smoky tang of bonfires. Laughter and music filled the clearing, the rhythmic beat of drums and the sweet hum of strings carrying through the night. Couples swayed to the music, feet shuffling against the packed earth as villagers danced in loose circles, the warmth of drink and celebration evident in every movement.

You barely had time to take it all in before a chorus of knowing smirks and raised brows greeted your arrival. Yelena, seated at a long wooden table with a tankard of something strong in hand, nearly choked on her drink when she spotted you—your slightly dishevelled hair, the flush still clinging to your skin, and Bucky’s possessive grip on your waist.

“About time,” she called with a grin, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Did you get lost?”

Bucky, unbothered, merely smirked and tugged you towards the dancing. “Something like that.”

You shot her a look, but it was impossible to ignore the amused glances and hushed whispers behind you. You tried not to think about the wet mess—a combination of both your fluids nesting between your thighs. Bucky had offered you a handkerchief to clean up, but the small square of fabric had done little against the wetness dripping down your thigh. What didn’t help was the thought of that handkerchief he casually tucked back into his pocket before you could protest. Your lips parted, ready with some half-hearted excuse, but Bucky spun you into his arms before you could respond.

The moment he pulled you into the dance, the rest of the festival seemed to fade into the background. His hands found your waist, guiding you through the steps with ease, music thrumming beneath your skin. Everything was intoxicating, with the warmth of his palm against the small of your back and the gentle pressure of his fingers as he led you.

His lips dipped close to your ear as you moved, swaying to the rhythm. “So, who is this Leif guy?”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but then sighed, your fingers tightening slightly against his shoulder. “Oh—just… my last Springbond.” 

The words felt foreign on your tongue now, distant. “It didn’t really work out in the end.”

Bucky hummed, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles over your hip. “Why not? Sounded like you lasted longer than a week.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, tilting your head back slightly to meet his gaze.

“Well… we just had different paths. He wanted to explore, adventure, sleep around…” You trailed off, gaze flickering to the firelight dancing in his blue eyes. “I was looking to settle. I’m just tired after everything. I feel you would understand that.”

His grip on you tightened ever so slightly, his gaze dark and steady as he murmured, “I understand you completely, angel.”

Something in the way he said it made your chest ache, warmth curling in your stomach in a way that had nothing to do with the fire or the wine or the exhilaration of the chase. He understood.

You held his gaze, the firelight dancing over his face. There was something ancient in his eyes, something heavy, worn by time and battle. You had known, of course, what he and Steve were before they arrived in New Fernwick—everyone did.

And yet, when the war ended, when the Riftborn were vanquished and peace finally settled over the world, they had simply walked away. But peace was a fickle thing, and you often wondered if it had truly found them in return.

Bucky’s fingers flexed against your waist, grounding you back in the present.

“You ever think about it?” you asked softly.

He tilted his head slightly, the movement curious. “Think about what?”

You hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “The way things used to be. Before.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t look away.

“Sometimes.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I don’t miss it. But it’s hard to let go of something that shaped you.”

You nodded, understanding. The past had a way of clinging to people, no matter how far they ran.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. 

“Steve took to peace like it was always meant for him. I think he’s been waiting for it his whole life. Me…” He trailed off, his lips pressing into a faint line. “I think I’m still figuring it out.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. He deserved peace just as much as anyone else.

As the music slowed, your hands slid from his shoulders, fingers tracing the length of his arms before settling over his. His grip tightened instinctively like he knew what you were about to say.

“Come home with me.” The words were quiet, tentative, but certain.

Bucky stilled for half a beat, and then his lips parted, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No doubt. Just certainty, as if he had been waiting for you to ask.

—

The door creaked softly as you pushed it open, stepping inside with Bucky close behind you. You moved awkwardly through the space, glancing at the walls, the furniture, anything but him, as though it could distract from the knot forming in your stomach. The house felt both too small and too big now, the empty rooms amplifying the tension in the air.

Bucky stepped in after you, his boots echoing softly on the wooden floor as he glanced around. His gaze lingered on the fire's warm glow in the hearth, he seemed at ease. His eyes scanned every corner of the space, taking in the simple comforts of home. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

You shifted nervously, breaking the silence with an anxious laugh. “You don’t actually have to do the full week if you don’t want to... I mean, most people just use it as an excuse to get off work—” Your words stumbled out, and you cut yourself off, realising how ridiculous you probably sounded.

Bucky turned toward you, his eyes dark with amusement but softened with something else, a quiet intensity. He was silent for a long moment, focusing entirely on you. Finally, his lips quirked up, and his voice was low and deliberate.

“Sweetpea, I love the sound of your beautiful voice, but just shut up... and kiss me.”

Before you could respond, his hands were already pulling you close, his mouth slanting over yours in a searing kiss that left no room for hesitation. You melted against him, your body pressing into his with a soft urgency, both of you stumbling as you navigated the space towards the bed. His grip on you was firm and reassuring, yet there was a rawness to it, an unspoken need that made your heart race faster.

You fumbled through the room together, bumping into furniture. Your hands sought purchase on his broad chest or tangled in his hair as you kissed desperately, blindly. The dim light from the hearth barely illuminated the path ahead. His lips were warm and hungry, pulling at yours with an intensity that made your pulse spike.

There was a quiet reassurance in how his hands roamed over your body, the steady pressure of his touch as though he wanted to anchor you in the here and now. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t treating this like a fleeting moment. You laughed softly against his lips as you stumbled into the bed, falling together in a tangled heap of limbs and tangled sheets. For a moment, all that mattered was the warmth of his skin against yours, the unspoken understanding that this was something different, something real. 

Something that could last.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Where Do You End Pt. 1

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 2

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, light angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have found yourself in a body swap situation, but your bodies don't seem to be aware of that. They keep trying to do what they always do.

And what they always do isn't really something either of you what the other to know about.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! On god I made it as weird as it could get. I'm proud of me. Also, we're once again looking at multiple parts. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.5k

This was fucking weird. 

Dean knew wasn’t exactly worth saying—it might be the most obvious statement in history—but this was so fucking weird. Weird in a way that made his brain feel a little fuzzy, that made his skin itch because there was no way this was real.

But there was certainly a way this was real.

And it wasn’t Dean’s skin that was itchy. 

She had nice skin. It was soft and comfortable to be inside of, the callouses on Her hands felt better placed than the ones on Dean’s, and there were scars that he’d sometimes touch on accident that felt more like art than stains. Her hair felt right whenever he’d brush his fingers through it. Her waist was perfect to hold whenever he’d brace his hands on his hips. And when Dean would reach up to rub his jaw, he’d be slammed with another reminder that this wasn’t his jaw. It was too smooth, at a different angle, and far too good.

This was the jaw he’d dreamt of holding and angling back. Of kissing a soft line across, sucking a small, dark mark on, or nipping at until everyone could see that Dean had been here. That his hand had wrapped around Her neck because she trusted him there, and he’d been holding Her chin up so She could look him in the eyes as they grinned at each other.

She had the prettiest smile. Her lips would curve up at the perfect angle, her eyes would shine like small stars, and every little line on Her face would serve as evidence that She was happy.

Dean hadn’t seen Her smile in a while. Not at him. Not like She used to. 

And he certainly wouldn’t see it now. He couldn’t.

All he could see was himself, across the room, rolling on the balls of his feet and sucking on his teeth as he thought.

As She thought.

This was so weird.

“I don’t like this.” She muttered, and Dean frowned. His voice sounded rougher, deeper, and heavier from outside. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, or how to interpret the small shivers up his spine and over his skin. 

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, in her sweet and musical voice, and he liked how it sounded. He’d always loved how She said her own name, like it was an answer to something or the only lesson Dean would ever need to learn. “Is it really that bad to be stuck in my body-“

“Yes.” She snapped, raising Her chin and glaring down at him, and now his heart was beating faster. “This feels weird, and I don’t like seeing you be me. You’re doing it wrong.”

Dean frowned, and Her hair fell over his eyes. “How the hell am I doing it-“

“You’re sitting wrong. Your legs are too wide, I don’t lean like that, and when I frown it’d not supposed to look like I’m trying to murder someone.”

Dean disagreed with that last one. Shit, for months the only expression he’d gotten from Her was a frown that told him She wanted him dead. 

He didn’t blame Her. He wasn’t all too happy with himself either, but it had been the only option. She wanted him. She said She wanted him, and she hadn’t been lying, and that had been the worst thing in the world.

If She hadn’t really wanted him, Dean could’ve offered himself in all his broken, foul glory and She would’ve walked away all by herself. Dean never would’ve needed to worry about losing Her, because he wouldn’t have had Her to begin with. But She’d said Dean Winchester, I want you, and he’d fucking believed Her. He never believed people when they said that. 

And him believing Her meant Dean could lose Her. Could truly let Her down and get her hurt. 

So he’d said no. He’d lied with practiced ease—through his teeth and with a flat expression—and told Her he didn’t see her like that. That She was his best friend, and he’d just never felt that for Her.

She nodded, and backed off. Smiling less and frowning more and still joking with him but never bumping their feet together under a table or leaning Her head on his shoulder. 

It was what he’d wanted. She was safer, and still within Dean’s reach to just see Her, to know she was okay. But he’d never expected to touch Her again. He’d made his peace with the fact that She’d always be just a stretch away, but never his to hold.

And now he could only hold Her. Only rub Her thighs when he was thinking, only touch her face when he tried to brush Her hair away, only feel Her everywhere, every second, until he drove himself mad.

He didn’t know if he wanted to thank the witch that had done this, or kill them again.

Right now he was leaning towards the later, if only because he really didn’t like seeing Her in his body. It wasn’t just weird. It was wrong.

“You’re not exactly acting like me either, sweetheart.” Dean raised his brows, and watched his own face drop into a further glower. “You’re standing too much like a girl.”

She scoffed. “What the fuck does that even mean-“

“You’re too relaxed-“

“Relaxed?”

“Yeah.” He tried to raise his chin, but Her hair fell in his face again. He didn’t know how the hell he was suppose to do anything when he had to keep it out of his face. “And you gotta walk slower. We’re not in a rush-“

“I’m in a rush! I told you, Dean, I don’t like this-“

“I’m not a big fan either!” He snapped. “But what the hell are we suppose to do about it? Every time we’ve tried to tell Sammy he hasn’t heard us-“

She rolled Her eyes. And they were Dean’s eyes, but that was Her eye roll. “That’s the curse, dumbass. We have to break it-“

“I got that, sweetheart, but I’m not seeing how you plan to do that without help-“

“I have you, Dean.” Her voice—his voice—was louder. Firmer. Commanding. It made his gut warm, and his body—Her body—sit a little taller of his own accord. “You’re on research duty, buddy. Let’s go.”

Dean scowled. He hated it when She called him buddy. He wasn’t Her buddy, he was supposed to be Her-

Nothing. Dean was Her nothing, because he’d been so very careful to make and keep it that way.

And that knowledge never stopped him from wanting Her. Wanting Her so bad that, when he’d glance down at her hands, now in his control, he couldn’t stop wondering if he’d ever get to feel them like this again. Rubbing against skin and tracing over the curve of his lips and trailing nails on his legs.

It didn’t really count. That wasn’t Dean’s body that he was feeling. But the touch felt real, and he didn’t really want to let it go yet, not if this was the closest to holding Her he’d ever get. Just a small, torturous reparation for his sacrifice of never really having her, where he got to memorize Her body and keep it in his head forever.

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, because he wanted a little more time. A longer chance to exist in this purgatory, because he’d never get the chance to fully enter heaven. “You don’t need my help-“

“Yes, I do.” She snapped, grabbing Her jacket from the bed and marching to the door. “Get up. We’re going.”

Dean didn’t want to get up, but Her body didn’t seem to agree with him. He pushed off the bed and gained an unsteady balance, because Her knees were oddly weak. She wasn’t weak—She hunted like an animal and had used this very body to knock Dean flat on his ass—but something was making him lightheaded and dizzy. 

He was probably just hungry. They hadn’t eaten since the curse hit. 

“If we’re doing this,” he grumbled, shuffling to put on Her shoes. “We’re doing it with food.”

“Deal.” She tried to shrug on Her jacket, froze when it didn’t fit around Dean’s body, and chucked it right at his face. “Wear that. I don’t want you getting me a cold.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but put on the jacket. She was already pissed, and this wasn’t worth fighting about.

“This is so weird,” She mumbled, shaking Dean’s head. “C’mon, Winchester, we’re fixing this-“

“Wait,” Dean frowned, patting his pockets—Her pockets—and scanning around the motel room. “Where are my keys-“

“You mean these keys?”

He turned to see Her holding up the Impala’s keys, a shit-eating grin on Her face. 

Dean narrowed his eyes, holding out his hand. “Gimme my keys.”

“No.” She shrugged, Her grin growing. “I think I’m good.”

“I’m not asking, sweetheart-“

“Okay. You take them, they’re yours.”

She walked out of the motel room, and Dean’s eyes widened. There was no fucking way She was driving his car.

“They are mine!” He shouted, sprinting after Her. “Just cause you’re in my damn body-“

Her body was faster than Dean was used to. He almost slammed right into Her back—His back—and an undignified sound left his when Her arms wrapped around his waist, catching him from a fall and holding him right to Her chest.

He’d never realized he was that broad. Or that strong. She was holding Dean like he was paper, and looking at him with shining eyes—he could see the real Her almost glowing in his body—and grinning with Her whole face. Dean’s whole face, with crinkles near his eyes he hadn’t known he had, and stubble on his jaw he’d meant to shave today.

Her hands were rubbing his waist. It was the small, careful circles he always dreamt of leaving on Her hips and arms. 

He wasn’t sure She knew she was doing it.

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat, because She needed to let go now. Her touch was burning on his body, and they hadn’t really touched since the curse hit, so maybe they weren’t allowed to. “Keys.”

She shook Her head. “This is my one chance to drive, Dean-“

“It’s my freakin’ car-“

“And I’m you.” She raised Her brows, still holding him, and the fiery feeling got worse. “I’m driving.”

He should’ve fought more. But Her hand squeezed him lightly, and his whole body grew molten. 

She needed to let go of him now. 

He tried to grunt Her name, but it just came out breathy and soft. “You crash it-“

“I pay for the repairs.”

Dean scowled, but gave in. Right now She was stronger and taller than he was, and Dean didn’t really want to lose any dignity trying to physically take the keys. 

And She didn’t crash it. Dean watched Her drive with careful attention—grumbling about what She was doing wrong until She shot him the deadliest glare he’d ever seen—and She never even came close to crashing. Her hands were big and firm and broad on Baby’s wheel, and Her arms would flex when she shifted the wheel, and there was a set look of determination on Her face that made her jaw look shaper-

That was not Her jaw. That was his jaw. And his arms, and his hands, and he wasn’t sure why the hell his eyes had been wandering over himself like that. He didn’t know why the hell he could feel his heartbeat in his throat and stomach. 

He wasn’t in full control. When they parked, his body didn’t want to move until She helped him out of his seat, and Dean didn’t miss the look of confusion on Her face, like she wasn’t entirely certain why She’d done that. It was the same expression she had when She guided him inside, or when She opened the door for him.

Those were things Dean always did for Her. He wasn’t used to a hand on his back, or how nice it felt there. Secure, like a tether that told him he’d be alright. He didn’t understand why his body leaned closer to Her’s as they walked, or why his stomach kept doing little flips when Her eyes would fall from scanning over the diner and land on his.

He felt so unbelievably safe and calm. Hell, he’d never felt like this. Like the sky could fall and it would be fine, because the body across from his in the booth would catch it. 

This was a really weird curse.

“You’re going to take notes,” She said, pushing a stack of books across the table that She must have pulled out of her ass. “I’ll look for something online.”

Dean frowned, shaking his head. The fucking hair was in his face again. “Why do I have to do the notes-“

“Because I have better handwriting, and you have my hands.” She handed him a notebook and pencil, and their fingers brushed, sending small sparks of electricity through Dean’s blood. “Tell me if you find something.”

“Nah, sweetheart. I think I’ll have some pie and do the online research-”

Dean had started to push everything back across the table, but he froze at the glare on Her face. It was downright domineering, and did weird things to his brain. He felt fuzzy. 

“You’re doing notes.” She grunted, and Dean definitely felt at least a little dizzy. “That’s it.”

His voice was high and almost bratty in his own ears. He didn’t like it. “But-“

“Don’t test me, Winchester. I swear to god I’ll eat a salad.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll take you for a run.”

Dean tensed. “You wouldn’t fuckin’ dare-“

“You wanna bet?”

She’d won the argument again. Those were the arguments Dean was supposed to win. He was supposed to be able to talk his way out of anything with Her. To smirk and wink and tease Her until she broke rank from Sam’s side, and Dean didn’t have to do the stupid parts of the cases anymore. He hadn’t taken notes in years. He hated taking notes, and he wanted to keep pushing until order was restored and She was doing the notes—she usually loved doing the notes—but Her body had other ideas.

His mouth couldn’t figure out how to open and snap at Her. His body was molded and frozen into the seat whenever She’d look at him, and something kept humming in his chest whenever She’d talk. He was taking notes because he couldn’t remember how not to—how to grab the laptop or point at Her with a stern finger—and Dean’s was writing fast and neat, and his hand wasn’t cramping.

His foot kept aching to inch forward and press on Her calf. His fingers kept wanting to reach out and trace Her jaw. Dean wanted to sit on Her lap—he could never say that one aloud—because his body seemed to think it would be comfortable. 

This curse was insane. He didn’t need to try and act like Her anymore, because his body—Her body—still seemed to remember how She was supposed to move. He found his hands spinning the pen between Her fingers like he’d seen her do a million times. His legs were crossed on the booth instead of spread under the table. He ordered a burger, but he couldn’t eat it. It was too greasy and heavy, and he already felt a little sick from just one bite. 

She’d ordered chicken nuggets, and put Her usual disgusting amount of ketchup on the plate, but barely touched them.

They smelled really good. Dean was starving, his mouth watering as he couldn’t stop staring at them—or Her, in his body, but he didn’t really want to dwell on that—and when She glanced up at him, Her eyes flicked to the burger in front of him.

They traded plates without a word. And Dean had never seen himself eat before, but he finally understood why Sam was always so annoyed with him. She inhaled that thing, chewing loudly and wiping Her mouth with the back of her hand, licking her fingers clean and making disgusting smacking sounds-

The sounds should’ve been disgusting. Instead they settled in Dean’s gut, lighting a small fire he didn’t know how to stop feeding. He couldn’t figure out how to not stare at Her, arms braced on the table and brow furrowed as she read something on the laptop screen. 

He had to excuse himself to go get more drinks. 

“One beer.” He muttered, then immediately cringed. Beer sounded foul to his mouth. “Actually, make it a milkshake.”

“Hey, darlin’.” 

Some poor chick at the bar war probably getting hit on. The lady behind the counter seemed motherly. She’d handle it if it got out of hand, and Dean had bigger problems to deal with anyway. Problems like how if he didn’t have a milkshake right now, he might actually die.

“What flavor, sweetheart?” The server asked, and Dean frowned. Being called sweetheart was weird.

He responded with Her usual order—hopefully that would satisfy his unwelcome craving—and someone off the side cleared the throat.

“You gonna answer me?”

A hand landed on Dean’s arm, and he flinched. It felt clammy and wrong on his body. Like a weight that settled into his bones and sent a creeping, itchy feeling over his skin.

He turned to see a fairly tall, well-built man grinning at him with an almost predatory smile. It made his body go rigid, almost shrinking in on itself.

“Are you, uh,” he frowned. “You talking to me?”

The man laughed. It was too loud, with not warmth, and echoed like a gunshot in his skull. “Course I am, sweetheart. I don’t see any other pretty girls ‘round.”

Oh.

Dean was the poor chick being hit on. 

And he hated it. His body hated it. Not only was this man’s touch wrong, his voice was wrong. It slithered over Dean’s gut and chest, making everything in him recoiled and balk, because that was not how he was supposed to be called sweetheart. 

“I, um,” he glanced back to the booth, frowning when he realized She was gone. “Listen, dude, I’m not-“

“Dude?” The man laughed. “We can do better than that, baby-“

Dean might have visibly recoiled. He hated baby, only one voice felt like it was supposed to call him baby, even if it never had-

He didn’t know what was happening, or why he was having such a visceral reaction to something that should’ve been passive and boring. Dean knew She got hit on all the time, because she was a fucking knockout, and his usual reaction to it was a possessive anger he had no right to feel. Not disgust, or a weird desire to retreat and hide-

“What’s going on?”

That was Dean’s own voice. And there was a large presence behind him that felt reliable. That his body wanted to lean back into.

When Dean turned, She was right there with narrowed eyes. 

He didn’t love how he immediately felt better, and softer, and a little light-headed.

“Hey, man, you gotta wait your turn-“

“My turn?” She snorted. “Walk away from hi- her, buddy, or I’ll kick your ass. I can do that now.”

She puffed Her chest, and—as soon as his brain remembered how to not be static warmth—Dean would have to talk to Her about not abusing his body for unapproved bar fights.

The man scoffed. “Bro, there ain’t no way this is your girl-“

“She is.” Her voice was dry, her face flat. “In more ways than you can imagine. Go.”

Dean was starting to like this curse less. To start, he didn’t appreciate the speed at which the idea of Her being his girl had been dismissed. He also wasn’t a huge fan of how She’d called him his girl, and he’d liked it. She’d been talking about how Dean was in Her body, and she probably didn’t want a random creep trying to get in her pants. 

Dean’s body—Her body—loved the sound of Her agreement in his voice. It made him feel tingly. 

It didn’t help how She was touching him—holding his arms as She glared at the man over his head—and it kicked the feeling from a soft, warm hum to fireworks. Dean wanted Her hand to meld there and never let go. When the man walked away and She started talking, he never wanted Her to shut up.

“You-“ She swallowed, shaking Her head slightly. “Never mind. I found it.”

Dean blinked at Her. “It?”

“How to tell Sam.

“Oh.” He paused, mostly staring at her as the words sank in, and letting out a long breath of relief escape him when they did. “Awesome.”

She raised Her brows. “You’re pro switching back now?”

“I’ve always been pro switching back-“

“You said it wasn’t that urgent.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I changed my mind, sweetheart. What’d you find.”

She gave him an odd look—Dean couldn’t tell if it was hurt, annoyance, or absolute indifference—but continued. “We have to work around the curse.”

“What the hell does-“

“We can’t tell Sam that I’m you and you’re me. Every time we have the call gets dropped, or something loud has drowned us out, Sam’s literally fucking hangs up-“

“I know,” Dean drawled Her name, giving Her a flat look. “I was there for all of that-“

“Shut up. My point is every time we’ve tried to explicitly tell him, he hasn’t heard us. So what if we just don’t?”

Dean frowned at Her. “Your solution is to just freakin’… give up? Like we’re a kiddie soccer team that lost one to many matches, and we’re gonna quit and cry about it?”

“No, Dean. My goal is to not say it, but let Sam figure it out himself.”

“How-“

“Think of something only you and Sam know about. Something you’d never disclose to anyone else.” A wide, broad grin was stretching over Her face. Dean’s face.

He couldn’t keep living like this.

“We’ve got a few of those kinds of secrets, but I’m not-“

“You don’t have to tell me. You have to tell Sam, in my voice. Just like I’m going to say one of our secrets in your voice.”

It was a smart plan, and it would probably work. Sam knew She and Dean were being so annoying and weird about each other, so they wouldn’t be spilling deep, dark secrets anytime soon. Sam would hear them, and he was smart, so he’d figure them out. 

But Dean was mostly stuck on the last part of that sentence.

“You and Sammy have secrets?”

She rolled Her eyes. “We’re friends. Of course we have secrets.”

“About what?”

“It’s not a secret if I tell you.”

She crossed Her arms—Dean’s arms—and he wanted them to wrap around him and keep him warm and safe, maybe choke him a little or carry him around everywhere like he was the only thing She was meant to hold-

Jesus. 

“Whatever.” Dean muttered. He needed to get away from Her now. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She frowned. “Can you hold it?”

“Yeah, but why the hell would I-“

“I don’t want you peeing in my body.”

Dean snorted. “Are you freakin’ serious-“

“Yes! You’ll have to wipe-“

“I know how to wipe, sweetheart. And you’re gonna need to take me to piss eventually-“

Dean could swear She blushed. He blushed. Goddamnit. 

“I’d hold it.” She snapped, standing a little taller. “You can go back at the motel, where I can go with you.”

“Why would you need to go with me-“

“I don’t want you touching me there, Dean!” Her voice was a low, hushed shout. “It’s- You don’t get to- I’d need to wipe, and make sure you didn’t look!”

“It’s just a pussy,” he said Her name slowly, and She looked like she was going to kill him.

His horrible body—Her body—wanted to either give in or push harder, until She snapped him in half. 

It seemed to like the idea of Her giving him anything at all.

Dean could work with that.

“Dean, I’m fucking serious-“

“So am I! It’s just a body, ” He sneered, and really wished She was taller. It was hard to be firm and authoritative when She was bigger. 

When this was over, he’d probably respect Her a little more. She shouted and him and Sammy all the time without ever flinching.

“Look, I get that this is weird as hell, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before-”

 “You haven’t seen it before. It’s my vagina, Dean, and you don’t get to see it now. Hold your piss.”

Suddenly, it clicked. She cared that Dean would be touching Her. If it was Sam, She wouldn’t give a shit.

But Dean had lost the right to touch Her there when he’d decided he could never hold Her.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. Past Dean had understood that She deserved better, and She shouldn’t have to live Her whole life with a target on Her back. Past Dean had known that She’d find better, and he’d be forgotten in a few years, and it was better for his to have another good thing slip through his fingers rather than hold it and break it. Past Dean just wanted Her to be happy and safe, and She’d never be both as long as She was attached to him.

Past Dean had been an idiot. That son of a bitch hadn’t needed to pee this bad, and he hadn’t spent months with Her just in reach. 

Dean opened his mouth to say something—not an apology, because he’d make that choice in every life to keep Her safe—but before he could, She was moving. Grabbing the hook of Dean’s arm and pulling him out of the diner.

“That’s my body, Dean.” She snapped. “You’re peeing at the motel.”

Dean grumbled an agreement, and didn’t fight all that hard. He had bigger worries. She was pulling him through the parking lot, and he was letting Her. Shit, he was trying to jog a little to keep up with Her, maybe fall into her side. Just fall into Her. She opened the Impala door and he scowled, but let Her help him inside. Her hand touched his lower back again, and it set off fireworks around his ribs and through his intestines.

He felt weirdly warm and gooey, his skin was tingling again, and when he shifted slightly in his seat he could feet something wet between his legs-

Son of a bitch.

She’d been manhandling him, and he was turned on by it. Her body was turned on by it. She wanted to Dean to jump in his own body and climb it like a tree, and Jesus, that ache between his legs was unbearable, and he wanted his own cock inside off him-

They needed to fix this right fucking now. 

End Note: Brace for incoming smut and silliness and angst. Brewing a perfect storm over here.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

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@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf

[animamii]

"Fushiguro, that's your girl?" One of Toji's block mates asks, eyeing one of the many pictures Toji had of you taped to the slate gray brick wall. It was a simple picture, your hair was wavy in this one, a cute dimply smile, lashes curled as you looked all natural. But god, were you still stunning. Toji looks up from the thing he was doing, sitting in the steel chair that was bolted down to the floor.

"Yup, that's my ol' lady," looking up at the picture he can't help but proudly smile. Toji's wall is covered in pictures. Of you, of Megumi. The whole family. Cute pictures you took with each other before he got locked up. It was his motivation to stay straight while being inside. To remind him of what's waiting for him when he gets out.

The block mate lets out a low whistle, nodding approvingly as he leans back against the cold wall. “Damn. She bad.” His celly's eyes roam over the pictures. Ones where you're dressed up all pretty, makeup done perfectly. Ones where you're wrapped around one of Toji's arms, looking up at him with all the adoration in the world. Even the ones that show just a little too much, which Toji keeps right next to where he lays his head.

Toji chuckles, shaking his head. “Watch it.” There’s no real threat in his voice, but there’s an edge of warning that makes the other guy hold his hands up in surrender.

“Ain’t mean no disrespect, Fushiguro,” he says, still looking at the pictures. “Just sayin’. You lucky.”

Toji doesn’t need to be told that. He already knows. It’s what gets him through the long nights, the endless hum of fluorescent lights, the hostility of the barbed wire that separates him from the outside. Knowing you're out there, waiting, is the only thing that keeps him from losing his damn mind.

He leans back against the desk he sits in front of, arms folding across his broad chest, eyes fixed on the pictures. His ol’ lady. His girl. His anchor in a life that never gave him much stability.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. He can still hear your voice, that soft, teasing lilt whenever you’d call him by his full name just to mess with him. “Toji Fushiguro,” you’d say, dragging it out, pretending to scold him, even though your eyes always gave you away. He lived for those moments.

“Bet she writin’ you, huh?” the block mate asks. “You get letters?”

Toji nods. “Every week.” And he does. Neatly folded pages that smell like you, inked with words that remind him that he’s still human. That he’s still yours. That he still has something waiting for him beyond these walls. But god, does he miss you.

“Damn,” the block mate mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Every week? That’s real love right there.”

Toji just smirks again, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, edges worn from being opened and closed too many times. He doesn’t even need to read it again—he’s already memorized every damn word—but still, he unfolds it, running a calloused thumb over the handwriting. Your handwriting.

Hey, baby. I know you hate when I get all mushy, but I don’t care. I miss you. I miss you so much it drives me crazy sometimes. But I’ll wait. However long it takes, I’ll wait. You better be eating, staying out of trouble, and keeping that smart-ass mouth in check. (Okay, maybe not too much. You know I love that about you.)

Toji chuckles to himself, shaking his head. Yeah, you knew him too damn well.

Megumi misses you too, even if he acts all tough about it. You should’ve seen his face when I told him your letter came. He’s just like you, y’know? Won’t say how he really feels, but it’s all there in his eyes.

Toji swallows hard, jaw clenching. Megumi. His kid. Another reason for pushing through this hellhole. He pictures him—too serious for his own good, but with those same sharp blue eyes. His boy.

“Yo, Fushiguro,” another voice calls out, snapping him from his thoughts. One of the guards. “Mail just came in.”

Toji is already up before the guy even finishes his sentence, heart pounding just a little faster. The guard hands the baby pink envelope with a lazy flick of the wrist, and Toji snatches it up quick, already recognizing the familiar scrawl of his name across the front.

His block mate lets out a laugh. “Man, look at you. Actin’ like a kid on Christmas.” Toji was always stoic, kept to himself and never showed much emotion. But hey, you always brought it out of him and he wasn't gonna front or hold a facade when it came to how he felt about you.

Toji doesn’t respond. He just sits back down, thumbs sliding under the flap of the envelope, tearing it open like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing in this godforsaken place. The first thing that falls out is a polaroid. His breath catches. It’s you.

You're sitting by a window, sunlight spilling over your skin, that soft, gentle smile on your lips. His girl. His sweetheart. Looking at him like she sees something in him that even he has trouble believing in sometimes. And just like that, the walls of the prison don’t feel so damn suffocating. He’s got something to hold onto.

Toji runs a thumb over the polaroid, like he could somehow feel you through it. The picture is warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold steel and concrete around him. He exhales through his nose, staring at it for a long moment before finally unfolding the letter.

Your words hit him like they always do—gentle, teasing, but full of something deeper. Something that reminds him why he’s still holding on.

Hey, baby. I hope you’re not making the guards’ lives too hard. (Who am I kidding? I know you are.) It’s been getting colder here. I keep stealing your hoodie, the one you always say is yours but smells like me now. Tough luck, Fushiguro, it’s mine until you come back and take it from me.

Toji smirks, shaking his head. She’s gonna pay for that one.

Megumi’s been doing good in school, but I had to threaten to ground him just to get him to eat something other than instant ramen. He’s stubborn, just like his old man.

His smirk fades a little. He can picture it—Megumi sitting at the dinner table, arms crossed, trying to act like he doesn’t care. Just like Toji used to. The guilt settles in his chest, heavy and unshakable. He just wishes he could be there. For the both of you.

We miss you. I miss you.

He stops, lingering on that line. Simple, but enough to send a slow ache through his ribs.

I don’t care how long it takes. You come back to me, Toji. We’re waiting.

Toji exhales sharply, pressing the paper between his fingers, his grip a little too tight.

“Damn,” his block mate mutters, watching him. “She really ridin’ for you, huh?”

Toji just nods. He doesn’t need to say anything. He folds the letter carefully, tucking it away with the others. Getting up, he sticks some tape of the back of the polaroid, putting it up next to the rest of the pictures. Then he leans back in his chair, looking up at the mosaic of pictures you send him.

Yeah. She’s waiting. And he sure as hell isn’t gonna let her down.

[tinythebunni]

How bunnyprincess!reader and Rafe met!!

inspired by @rafesangelita @princessbrunette

Rafe always came to the country club on the weekends and on Wednesdays to play golf with his friends. He wore a polo every time and always had his shoes shined pristine. Rafe usually ended up winning and afterwards he’d go inside to sit by the bar or swim in the pool.

After a long and tedious match, Rafe ended up losing. He wasn’t completely locked in on the match due to the argument with Rose this morning.

Walking inside and huffing a sigh, he took off his shirt and slouched in the lounge chair with Kelce and Topper joining him. Rafe ran his hand through his sweaty buzzed hair and used his shirt to wipe his head. He closed his eyes, zoning out the stupid conversation around him.

his head was fucking pounding and their nonsensical ramblings made him even more and more irritated. pinching the bridge of his nose he sighed as he heard someone walking over to them. probably one of those fucking bartenders, he thought to himself.

Rafe was ready to just up and leave at this point but then he noticed 3 things. He could smell the sweet scent of your perfume. Smelled of cupcakes and the sugar cookies his mom would make. Your voice sounded of honey drizzling. And when he opened his eyes, his lashes flutter at how beautiful you were.

“Hai guys! The usual?” you spoke as you pulled out your notepad. your eyes did a sweep over the three guys in front of you, lingering a bit on him. Rafe was very fucking confused, he’d never seen you before and he definitely would know.

Kelce went to open his mouth but Rafe was faster than him. “What’s your name?” He spoke, sounding a little more angry than he meant to.

“Oh i’m sorry if i interrupted your nap, i just know that these two like to-“ He cut you off once more.

“Forget about it bun, ‘m not worried bout it. last fucking thing on my mind right now.”

you blushed and blinked, wide eyed. You told him your name, pen resting on your lip as you looked at him. He introduced himself to you and stood. he towered over you, which was unusual. being tall yourself, you often felt like a giant compared to most guys on the island.

Rafe smirked at your reaction, a laugh bubbling out his throat. You could sense the God inside him, aching to be let out. Maybe you were a bit dramatic but you’re just a teenage girl!

Stepping closer to you, he put his hand on your hip and turned you so that you were right next to him. He slid his hand to the small of your back, whispering a quick come with me to you before turning around and smiling at the boys.

“Rafe come on! Ya can’t keep stealing the pretty girls.” Topper yelled in exasperation, throwing his hands up.

Rafe chuckled before saying something that made your heart flutter. “You don’t gotta worry bout that no more. I want to keep this one. Make her mine and all that” he replied.

As he lead you away to a table in the corner, he asked you little questions. Mainly about your love life, what you were doing at this bar. “girl like you should never have to work. too pretty for all that shit” He added, watching as you glanced down as if your shoes were the most interesting thing in the world.

his thumb tilted your head up and you looked away nervously. “Hey hey. none of that shit. Look at me.” You did as he said, not wanting to lose his attention. “you should have someone providing for you. So you can do all that girly shit yall like and not worry about it.” He watched as you smiled, eating up your reaction. His tounge darts out to swipe at his bottom lip before he speaks again.

“I could be that for you. All my money just rots in my fucking bank account anyways. You want me to be that for you? Could be your boyfriend. Keep your tummy full, nails done, and make you feel good. Whenever you need it.” His words made you flush, your chest blooming with nerves and anxiety. But in the best way possible.

You nodded, your eyes a bit glossy at the casual dominance. You’d always been one to prefer when people take charge about certain things. And this? it was perfect. “Yea. I’d really like dat Rafe.” You stepped closer, making a move. You placed your hand on his chest and stood on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. “Can you wait for me to finish my shift? It’s over in 30 and I wanna talk to you more” you pouted trying to win him over as you regained your confidence.

“Fuck yea!” he said a little too excited. “I mean, yea yea for sure.” he corrected, nodding his head and he turned on his heel. You watched him walk away, noticing the slight bounce in his step.

[lnfours]

focal point ☆ chapter 5 | l.n

summary: oh damn, never seen that color blue…

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy x sunshine, some more filler (IM SORRY ITS FOR THE PLOT!!!!!), fluff (EEKK!!!!), subtle foreshadowing, unedited as fuck, and hints at a strained family relationship (trauma!!)

message from jordan: hi everyone! long time no see, huh? 😅 i'm so sorry for being mia and for not updating this series in so long, i decided to take a small break from almost all socials. but don't worry, we're back and better than ever <3 as always, thank you for being so patient with me. i hope this chapter is worth the wait!! see you soon, for real this time :) - p.s i hope you enjoy that taylor swift reference in the summary, cause, iykyk 🙂‍↕️

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

“hellloooo earth to oscar!”

it was no use. this was the third time he had unintentionally interrupted your conversation to respond to a text. all while doing so with a giddy smile, one you had never seen light up his face quite like this one did.

you had come over right after class, the two of you agreeing to hang out and catch up. it had been a while since it had just been the two of you hanging out, the inevitable busy schedules really hitting hard during your last semester. you missed your best friend.

missed meaning past tense. because although he was your best friend, right now, you wanted to snap his neck.

"oscar jack piastri!"

"oh- sorry," he mumbled the same apology for the third time this afternoon, "sorry, i was just texting someone. it's nothing, what were we talking about?"

you gave him a blank stare, "were you texting your secret girlfriend?"

you noticed the way his eyes widened a little upon mentioning the word ‘girlfriend’, "okay, one, she's not my girlfriend. and two, no. i was texting max."

and for the four years you've known oscar piastri, you could always tell when he was lying. and this time, he was lying right to your face.

you decided to play along with his game, letting him think he won this time. so you hummed, nodding your head, "okay, fine, if you say so."

"i'm sorry," he apologized again, locking his phone and placing it face down on the kitchen counter, "you have my full attention now, promise. what were you saying?"

"i was telling you about last week."

"right, with lando and the diner thing, right?" he asked and you hummed, taking a piece of popcorn from the bowl in between the two of you, "wait a minute, how'd you go from hating his guts and it being unbearable to be within 5 feet of him to 'oh my god he took me to breakfast'?"

"you know that party lily practically dragged me to?" when he nodded you spoke again, "apparently i really suck at beer pong and he helped me back to the apartment and helped lily take care of me. it was really sweet, actually."

he smiled softly before letting out a quiet snort, "sorry, just never thought i'd hear you say the words 'lando' and 'sweet' in the same sentence."

"i'm serious!" you sighed, pouting ever so slightly.

"no, i know!" he laughed softly, "it's just... you're just now finding out what i've been trying to tell you for the longest time? that he's actually a really good dude?"

you bit down on your lower lip softly, "i didn't really give him a chance, huh?"

"not really, no," he chuckled softly, "but it's okay. he didn't exactly help out his own case either, in all honesty."

you nodded in agreement, the front door to the apartment creaking open. you both turned to see lando kicking off his shoes, placing his keys on the hook by the door.

he smiled at you and oscar, "hey,"

"hey," oscar smiled, answering for you as well as you took in his appearance. messy curls, tight black t-shirt, grey sweatpants, duffel bag on his shoulder and a soft glow on his skin, you could tell he had just gotten back from the gym.

arms. biceps. veins. god, you should probably speak before you embarrass yourself...

it was too late though, he had already seen the way your eyes traveled over his body. he decided to put the mental note in the back of his mind for now, instead checking the watch on his wrist.

"oh shit, i didn't mean to keep you waiting, y/n."

you tapped your phone screen, looking at the time. it was 4:35, just five minutes passed when you said you'd meet up. it really wasn't a big deal. you didn't even know it had gotten that late already.

"no, no, it's fine. didn't even notice, if i'm honest," you smiled and he sent you a smile back. oscar watched the two of you like a tennis match, cheekily grinning at the counter.

"i have some of those papers you had me work on the other day, they're in my room if you wanna..."

"oh- yeah! yeah, sure," you smiled, grabbing your things as oscar silently laughed at the way you acted around his roommate. how you were unintentionally tripping and stumbling over your own feet and your words, how lovestruck you became.

you followed lando to his room, placing your things down and taking a seat on the edge of his bed as he looked through his closet for a change of clothes, "i'm just gonna shower real quick, make yourself at home, though."

you smiled, nodding his way as he closed the door behind him. after all this time, you had never thought you'd see the other side of this door. his room was slightly messy, due to his busy schedule and his active lifestyle. posters of cars and, seemingly, his favorite video games hanging on the walls. the bookshelf that sat in the corner of the room was littered with different textbooks at the bottom and little die cast models of his favorite cars, along with a few formula one cars that you had recognized. the top shelf stood out the most to you, though.

a picture frame of him and who you had assumed to be his family. a family photo taken during christmas, all of them dressed in matching pajamas. a big happy family.

the photo, for whatever reason, brought tears to your eyes. a smile on your face as you sniffled quietly, putting the photo frame back down on it's designated shelf.

the door opened, causing you to turn around as he closed the door behind him, "sorry, i figured you'd prefer if i didn't smell like a guy's locker-room."

you laughed softly, wiping away the small tear that came from your eye, "god, yeah,"

"hey," he said, sitting down on the bed beside you, immediately disregarding the notebook he was grabbing beforehand, "what's wrong? you okay?"

you nodded, waving a hand dismissively, "yeah, yeah, i'm fine. i just- for whatever reason, when i looked at that picture of you and your family it just uhm..."

he patiently waited for you to finish your sentence, "it just brought back some feelings that i wish it hadn't, that's all."

"fuck, i'm so sorry," he said.

"no, no," you shook your head, "you don't have to apologize, if anything i should be the one who's apologizing."

"you don't have to apologize for having emotions."

you smiled softly, feeling another tear fall from the corner of your eye. this time, he gently brought his hand up to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he wiped it away.

the action made you breathless, as if the way he was looking into your eyes hadn't already. a mysterious color you couldn't quite put your finger on. it was a mix between blue, green and grey.

whatever it was, it was gorgeous and captivating at the same time.

you cleared your throat, the two of you moving away from the gap that had slowly been closing. your fingers untwisting themselves from his, you growing flushed at the fact that you had, at some point, interlocked your fingers with his unknowingly.

"sorry," you mumbled softly.

"'m sorry," he said at the same time. you both shared a soft and awkward chuckle before he grabbed his notebook from behind him.

"so, i had a few questions about chapter 15."

"go on," you said, studying his side profile as he explained the areas he was having trouble with. pretty tanned skin littered with freckles and moles, curls that perfectly kissed the skin on the back of his neck and his forehead.

the sentence lily had said to you last week repeating itself into your brain:

“...and it’s not like i don’t see the way he looks at you. he definitely is feeling something he doesn’t want to show just yet,”

oh, fuck.

[honeyyyblue]

✧ it's hard to spend time together when satoru is barely ever home, always away with some mission, due to his reputation as 'the strongest'.

that's why he spends the time he does get buried deep inside you because he knows how rare moments like these are.

moments like right now.

he's fucking you from behind, your tear-streaked face pressed against the mattress as he pounds into you. your molten walls clench around his girthy length and he groans at the feeling.

'that's it, good girl. fuck, you're taking it so well, precious.'

''toru, ngh-,' you're so fucked out you can't even form actual words.

'what's that, sweetheart?'

you manage to mumble something along the lines of 'so full, need more, 'toru'.

satoru's cock hurts at how desperate you sound.

'look at you,' he coos 'always begging for my cock.' you whine into the mattress when he punctuates his sentence with an exceptionally harder and deeper thrust.

'you used to be my sweet angel, so innocent and pure,' he hisses when you clench around him, harder this time 'since when did you become such a cockhungry little slut?'

your cheeks flame crimson. you're embarrassed because, well, he's right. every moment he's away has you thinking about him. his cock, his hands until your own hands creep down your body to in between your legs until you have yourself whimpering his name out to nothing.

you were down bad. and it's not any different for satoru.

'don't worry, baby. if you want cock so bad, i'll give it to you. i'll give you anything- everything.'

he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you up, your back flush against his broad chest. the new position makes him shift inside you and the feeling has you sobbing.

''toru, please.'

'please what? use your words, baby,' the grin on his face is huge as he watches you try form coherent sentences. his other hand wraps around your throat, pressing just hard enough to weaken the airflow to your head.

''toru, i'm gonna cum,' your head is spinning and you're pawing at the hand at your throat.

'aw, does my baby want to come?' he purrs in your ear.

'yes,' you manage to breathe out.

'then, beg.'

cocky little shit.

'pleasee, 'toru,' you whine, helplessly 'please, please, please. i've been a good girl. just please let me.'

he leans in to press a kiss against your shoulder his snowy hair tickling your skin. 'go ahead,' he whispers against your neck 'come for me, love.'

and god, oh, yes, you do.

your orgasm has you seeing stars, your vision going a little blurry at the white hot pleasure.

the sensation of your walls spasming around his length sends him over the edge, a few more thrusts and you feel him empty inside, his thick release painting your walls white. his hold on your throat loosens and you catch your breaths together as you come down from your high.

he pulls out of you and gently lays you down on the bed, joining you momentarily. you've lost all feeling in your legs and there's a dull ache between them. you slowly turn towards satoru to find him smiling drowsily at you, bright blue eyes hooded from exhaustion. you smile back at him, too tired to formulate a thought. he pulls you toward him and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

'i love you, sweetheart' was the last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep.

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

[gf2bellamy]

haircut — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you're caught off guard by spencer's haircut content warnings: mention of stuffing yourself with ice cream and popcorn a/n: boyband spencer makes me feel things so i just had to write this

You pushed open the door to the conference room. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of paper and ink from the stacks of case files spread across the table. 

Penelope Garcia was already seated. She looked up from her laptop the moment you entered, her eyes lighting up as she greeted you. 

"Good morning, sunshine!" she chirped, holding out a file for you. 

You smiled, the warmth of her energy making the early morning a little more bearable. “Good morning,” you replied, taking your seat beside her. “Thanks, Pen.” 

She gave you a playful wink. “Always here to deliver your daily dose of doom and gloom.” 

You chuckled, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair, settling in. “How was your weekend?” you asked, genuinely curious. 

Penelope sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, my dear, it was divine—a full 48 hours of zero crime, binge-watching the most ridiculous reality shows, and eating a huge amount of popcorn. A true masterpiece of relaxation.What about you?” Penelope asked, her eyes fixed on her computer screen as she attempted to pull up the PowerPoint for the case briefing. 

You sighed, stretching slightly in your chair. “Same thing,” you admitted. “Spent the weekend on the couch, barely moving, while shoveling buckets of ice cream down like it was my full-time job.” 

Penelope gasped dramatically, turning to you with wide eyes. “You didn’t move? At all?” 

“Barely,” you confirmed, already missing the comfort of your couch. “Honestly, I think I might have become part of it.” 

She snorted, shaking her head as she finally got the PowerPoint to cooperate. “Respect,” she said, clicking through the slides. 

Before you could respond, the conference room door opened again, and the rest of the team started trickling in. Hotch took a seat next to you, as he opened his files, while JJ leaned toward Penelope, the two of them quickly falling into conversation.

You glanced around the table, scanning the usual faces—until you noticed an empty seat. 

Spencer’s seat. 

Your brows furrowed slightly. He was never late. If anything, he was usually one of the first to arrive, sitting quietly with his coffee, already halfway through the case materials before anyone else had even opened their files. 

When JJ and Penelope began presenting the case, you had no time to let your anxieties cloud your judgement regarding the empty seat. voices pulling you back into work mode.

That was until JJ suddenly smirked and said, “Well, hello.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to her, confused by her reaction—until you followed her gaze. 

And then, your mouth fell open. 

Spencer had just walked in. 

But not the Spencer you had been expecting. 

He looked… different. 

Not in a bad way. Not even in a way you had the right words for. Just—different.

His normally tousled curls had been cut shorter, neater, styled in a way that framed his face and somehow made him look even more—God help you—attractive. It was a change you hadn’t been prepared for, and from the silence that briefly passed over the team, you weren’t the only one caught off guard. 

Spencer gave a small, almost shy smile at JJ’s reaction before heading to his seat. He settled down on the other side of Hotch, setting his bag on the table. 

Hotch barely looked up from his file as he raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, “What, did you join a boyband?” 

A small frown creased Spencer’s face. “No,” he replied, the petulant tone in his voice making a few people chuckle. 

Conversation quickly resumed, the team diving back into case details as though nothing had happened. But you? You were barely processing a single word. 

Your mind was too busy reeling. 

Your eyes kept drifting back to Spencer, betraying you as they traced over his new look. The sharpness of his jaw, the way his now-shorter curls curled just slightly at his temples, the way his freshly cut hair made his cheekbones stand out a little more. 

This was dangerous. Very dangerous. 

Because if you had thought Spencer Reid was cute before, you had no idea how you were going to survive this version of him sitting across the room from you every day. 

As expected, Hotch wrapped up the briefing with his usual stern voice. “Wheels up in thirty.” 

The room stirred with movement as everyone gathered their files and bags, preparing to head to the jet. You slung your bag over your shoulder, but not before sneaking a few more glances in Spencer’s direction. 

Unfortunately, you weren’t as subtle as you thought. 

At some point during the meeting, Derek had caught you staring—not once, not twice, but multiple times. And when your eyes met his across the table, he grinned knowingly, amusement flashing in his gaze. 

You had felt your face heat instantly and quickly looked away, pretending to be very focused on your files. 

Smooth. Real smooth. 

You got up, ready to make a quick exit before you could embarrass yourself further, but just as you turned toward the door, Spencer’s voice stopped you. 

“Hey—uh, is it okay if I ride with you?” 

It was such a simple question. A question he had asked before. Sometimes Spencer drove with Derek, other times he rode with you. It was normal. Casual. 

So why did it suddenly feel like the most dangerous thing in the world? 

You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. Your usual response would have been an easy, effortless “Yes. Of course.” But today? Today, you could barely meet his eyes without feeling like your brain short-circuited. 

Because he looked that good. 

Still, you forced yourself to nod, offering a quick, “Sure.” 

You kept your gaze trained on the hallway as you stepped out of the room, hoping that if you avoided looking at him, your heart would stop hammering against your ribs. 

Unfortunately for you, Spencer had already fallen into step beside you. You stepped into the elevator together, the metallic doors sliding shut with a soft ding.

A silence settled between you, not entirely uncomfortable, but not the easy kind you were used to with Spencer either. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him tapping his shoe against the floor—a habit you’d picked up on over the years. Spencer only did that when he was nervous. 

That surprised you. 

He never did that around you. 

You and Spencer were close—so close that sometimes it felt like too close. Like the kind of close that made your heart race when he so much as looked at you a certain way. And today, with his new haircut and the way his suit fit just right, that feeling was overwhelming. 

Your eyes flickered to the floor, watching his shoe tap against the tile before glancing up at him. 

Big mistake. 

Because the moment you did, your heart flipped in your chest. He looked so good, and that single thought refused to leave your mind no matter how hard you tried to push it away. 

You quickly looked away, biting your lip, hoping he hadn’t noticed your staring. 

But of course, he did. 

“If it’s a bother,” Spencer suddenly spoke, his voice quiet as the elevator hummed downward. “I can drive with Derek to the airport instead.” 

Your stomach twisted at the suggestion. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him in the car with you—it was that you wanted it too much. And now he had clearly picked up on your avoidance, which only made your embarrassment ten times worse. 

“No, Spencer,” you said quickly, shaking your head as the elevator dinged again, signaling your arrival. “You’re not a bother at all.” 

You barely gave him time to respond before stepping out of the elevator, making a beeline for the parking garage. 

Spencer followed closely behind, and even though you weren’t looking at him, you could feel his gaze on you. 

You unlocked the car, and Spencer slid into the passenger seat beside you. Normally, by this point, the two of you would already be knee-deep in some random discussion—whether it was a case, a bizarre fact he recently read, or a debate about which movies held up over time. 

But right now? 

Silence. 

Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind that came from years of understanding each other so well that words weren’t always necessary. 

This was different. 

Spencer was quiet because he sensed something was off. He was a profiler, after all—he could read people better than anyone, and he had definitely picked up on your shift in behavior.

And you? You were silent because you feared that if you opened your mouth, you’d do something completely mortifying. Like stutter over your words. Or say something dumb. Or worse—blurt out the fact that you had spent the entire morning internally spiraling over how ridiculously good he looked today. 

Your fingers curled around the steering wheel, your gaze fixed ahead. 

Beside you, Spencer set his bag down at his feet, shifting slightly in his seat. You could feel the weight of his stare even without looking at him. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said suddenly, staring straight ahead. “I promise there’s nothing wrong. I guess I’m just… off today.” You exhaled, fingers tapping absently against the wheel. The last thing you wanted was for him to think he wasn’t welcome here. “And I am happy to drive us to the airport.” 

Spencer was quiet for a moment, but then, in a soft voice, he asked, “Do… do you want to talk about it?” 

You swallowed hard, pulling out of the parking lot. The road stretched ahead, but your mind was a tangled mess of thoughts, each one worse than the last. 

What were you supposed to say? 

Oh hey, Spencer, funny thing—I literally cannot look at you right now because you’re so insanely attractive that I might actually die on the spot? 

Yeah. Probably not the best thing to say to a coworker—and more importantly, to the friend you’d been secretly crushing on for longer than you cared to admit. 

So instead, you shook your head, offering the safest response you could manage. 

“No, it’s nothing.” 

You weren’t sure if he believed you. But for now, he didn’t push. 

The drive to the airport was short, but thankfully, Spencer had started talking about the case almost immediately. You were relieved—you could focus on the conversation instead of the way your heart kept stupidly skipping beats.

Plus, driving gave you an excuse to not meet his eyes. 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? His eyes. 

Warm and intelligent, always analyzing, always seeing you in ways that made you feel exposed. So, you kept your attention on the road, discussing victim profiles and behavioral patterns. 

Before you knew it, you were pulling into the airport lot. 

You parked carefully, turning off the engine as the conversation about the case trailed off. Both of you got out, grabbing your bags before heading toward the jet. 

It wasn’t until you were walking side by side—no distractions, no case details to focus on—that Spencer suddenly asked, “What do you think of…” He hesitated. “My haircut?” 

You froze for half a second, your grip tightening on the strap of your go-bag. 

Oh. 

Oh, no. 

You hadn’t been prepared for that. 

“Uhm—” You stuttered, caught completely off guard, your brain scrambling for a normal, casual response. 

You walked slower, suddenly hyperaware of his presence beside you. Spencer matched your steps, his hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced at you, waiting. 

Finally, you swallowed and forced yourself to speak. “It looks great,” you said softly. “I like it.” 

Spencer tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Yeah?” His lips curved into a small, pleased smile. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, willing yourself to keep it together. 

But then—because the universe apparently wanted you to suffer—your mouth betrayed you. 

“I mean, it makes you look…” You trailed off, but Spencer was still watching you, waiting for you to finish, and oh god, you were already in too deep. You cleared your throat. “Really handsome.” 

Spencer blinked. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

Heat immediately crept up your neck, and you snapped your gaze forward, walking faster in hopes of escaping your own embarrassment. But Spencer—being Spencer—was too damn observant for his own good. 

His eyes widened slightly, something clicking in his mind. His posture straightened, his brows lifting ever so slightly as realization dawned. 

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding my eyes.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

Your breath hitched. 

“No, no,” you said quickly, shaking your head as you picked up your pace, the jet now in sight. If you just got inside, if you just sat down and pretended this conversation never happened, maybe—maybe—you could salvage what was left of your dignity. 

But Spencer wasn’t letting it go that easily. 

“Wait—” He reached for your wrist, his touch light but enough to stop you in your tracks. 

You swallowed hard. 

Slowly, reluctantly, you turned to face him, keeping your eyes trained somewhere near his shoulder instead of his face. 

Spencer let out a soft breath, studying you. “So… I was right?” 

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Your heart was pounding. 

“About you avoiding my eyes,” he clarified, his voice softer now, more careful. 

You exhaled sharply, forcing a nervous laugh as you rubbed the back of your neck. “I—no, I just—” You sighed, giving up mid-sentence. Lying to Spencer Reid was pointless. He could probably read you better than you could. 

His fingers twitched at his side, like he was debating whether or not to reach for you again. Instead, he tilted his head, his eyes flickering across your face, searching for something. “You think I look… handsome?” 

You groaned, shutting your eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. “Spencer, please.” 

But he wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t smug. He looked genuinely curious. 

And that—somehow—was worse. 

You sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yes, okay? I think you look… really good.” You avoided his gaze, focusing on a spot over his shoulder. “Too good, actually, which is kind of annoying because it makes it really hard to—” You stopped yourself before you could say concentrate at work like a normal human being, realizing how that sounded. 

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, as if surprised by your admission. But then, slowly, his mouth curved into a small smile. 

Not a smirk, not teasing—just… soft. 

Warm. 

And something about that undid you a little. 

“I didn’t think you noticed things like that about me,” he admitted quietly. 

Your eyes snapped to his. 

Was he serious? 

You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “Spencer, are you kidding? Of course I notice things like that about you.” 

His smile faltered just slightly, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before he looked down, like he was processing that. 

The jet door opened in the distance, voices echoing faintly from inside, but neither of you moved. 

Then, after a long moment, Spencer glanced back up at you. 

“I think you look really good all the time,” he said simply. 

Your breath caught. 

Before you could respond, a voice called out from the jet—Derek, naturally. “You two coming or what?” 

You cleared your throat, tearing your gaze away from Spencer’s as you took a step toward the jet. “Yeah, coming!” you called back, trying to keep your voice steady. 

Spencer fell into step beside you, hands in his pockets, but his small smile remained. 

And as you both climbed the steps to the jet, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this conversation wasn’t over yet. 

[arkhamsbrat]

even before he met you jason knew he loved you. the little box hidden under the floorboards at Wayne manor was proof enough. the sheets were folded neatly, stacked in the order he wrote them in an old sneaker box. letter upon letter upon letter to his future spouse that were long forgotten after his death.

when he was younger, he hoped he’d be able to to give it to someone one day. sat and prayed for the day that the right person would come along that he could make happy.

when he came back, he still dreamed about it. jason just didn’t think he deserved it. a love worth those letters would never be in his cards.

then you came along, with your bright smile, sweet words, and patience. god, your patience had to be strong dealing with all of his baggage. he didn’t think he deserved it, but you refused to give him anything else.

was it patience or were you just too stubborn to let go of him? jason didn’t really care about the difference.

he spent nights with you, tangled in the sheets just letting you love him. his mind calms, slowly, with all of your words, your touches- you. it takes nearly a year for him to even believe you really do care about him, without any ulterior motives. he’d found himself too attached to you to worry if there were any, anyways. if he was going to die again, he’d hoped it would be you that killed him.

jason realized he loved you when he woke up to your fingers pressed gently against the pulse points on his neck. sweat beaded along your hairline, eyes wide. “what the-” he couldn’t help the twinge of fear in his gut. what the fuck were you doing?

his hands wrapped around your wrists rougher than he probably should have as he sat up, heart beating against his ribs. he took a deep breath, fighting off every single thought of how you could kill him so easily right now. there was no reason for him to think you’d hurt him, you would never.

your breathing was just as uneven, heart stuttering with every half second. “i-just… had a dream.” you whispered , barely audible against the buzzing of the ceiling fan. “you died. i needed to… make suure.” your eyes flickered away from him as your tears started to fall. the nightmares that plagued your mind normally stopped around jason, but they broke through your safe space tonight.

the look of shock he was giving you made your skin crawl. jason was normally so sweet to you. did you overestimate how much he could handle? you took a deep breath and wiped your cheeks. “i didnt mean to wake you up, i’ll-” jason shook his head and let your wrists go, pulling you to his chest.

he steadied his breathing and shut his eyes tight , chin resting against your head as you sobbed against him, apologizing over and over again because you might lose him now. the fear in your eyes wasn’t because you got caught. it was because you loved him. this was somehow his first realization that it was real for you too. your whispered apologies slowed as he soothed you to sleep “not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.” he whispered before you fully dozed off. “who’s gonna take care’a you if im gone?”

things between you two felt… different after that. better, but different. it wasn’t until two weeks later that it solidified. Alfred had called him to grab lunch together, and came with a beat up box. jason didn’t recognize it at all until Alfred opened it and pushed it towards him. “I thought it was Master Bruce’s at first, but…” jason scanned over the top letter, eying his old chicken scratch. he shut the box and pulled it close to his chest, wondering if you’d be home before him. “thank you, Alfred..” the old man nodded with a smile. jason knew you were it for him, no questions asked. the letters had always belonged to you.

the minute you were home he sat you down and set the box in front of you. “read them. please…” you eyed the box carefully before reaching out and grabbing the first letter. barely halfway through it and tears were streaming down your cheeks. before he even knew you, he wrote letter on letter on letter about how much he dreamed about being with you. how deep in his soul, he knew he’d find you no matter how long it took. it wasnt chance that these letters found their way to you- it was fate. everything in them perfectly described you, how you spoke to him, acted around him. everything about you is exactly what he’d always wanted.

he eyed you carefully from the opposite end of the couch, fiddling with the edge of his shirt. “so?” he mumbled once you finished. “so!?” you sniffled, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “do you… like them?” you nodded once, fighting back the shock of it all. “jayce, these are…” he let out a nervous laugh. “cheesy? yeah. just thought the person i wanna spend the rest’a my life with should have ‘em.”

reading that was one thing, but jason saying it out loud? “are you sure?” you asked, scooting closer to him. he cupped your cheeks and smiled at you like you hung the stars just for him. “never been so sure about anything else.”

[artemisiasmuse]

jealous rafe x reader

he saw you with him, cuddled up on your bed with your lips pressed to his face, holding him against your chest. rafe knows he’s a stranger compared to him. your boyfriend’s only been here for months while he’s been by your side for years

so it’s not his fault for being jealous, no he's not crazy it’s normal, right? he does what any normal totally well-adjusted boyfriend would do, he wakes you up slightly by removing the offender from your hold and replaces it with his arm, pulling you against him and throwing “Wigglesworth” across the room and relishing in the way his lifeless body hits the wall and slides down it, resting in a slump on your floor.

how could he be considered unhinged when your warm body curls instinctively around his arm, held tightly against your chest with your lips pressing against his shoulder like you somehow know it's him and you're kissing him not your stupid elephant plushie. God he hates that thing. rafe knows he’s right when you hum at the warmth he can provide, not the plushie, and move a bit closer even in your sleep.

when you wake up an hour later, you rub your eyes to see your boyfriend where your plushie had been. he looks away from his phone, using his left hand since his right arm is tucked between your breasts, you let him go. rafe presses a kiss to your forehead and you smile at the feeling, feeling fuzzy and happy from your nap and being greeted by a pretty face. you look around for Wigglesworth, wanting to place him on your other side only to see him across the room, surely you couldn’t have done that in your sleep? he was always on the floor next your bed if he slipped out of your hold. with a small glance to rafe you quickly realized what had happened, straddling the offender and pulling his attention to you fully. he didn’t even bat an eye, smiling up at you like he wasn’t about to be put on trial. “what’s wrong baby?” you hated how his deep adoring voice distracted you from your thoughts, shaking your head slightly at the intrusion.

“why is he over there?” you crossed your arms over your chest, his lips curling even more as he was now grinning at his adorable girlfriend, hair a bit messy from sleep with bleary eyes and puffy cheeks. you were trying to look intimidating, but he just wanted to squeeze your cheeks and nip at them.

“you’re gonna think i’m crazy” your eyes narrowed as you tried to think through what he could possibly mean and his motives. the realization slowly dawned on you and he watched your eyes widen, lips pursing in surprise.

“you have to respect your elders rafey.” you poked at his chest, cheeks puffing as your lips pouted, he laughed at your words which made you poke him again. he wanted to kiss you so badly but he knew you were half serious.

“okay okay next time he’ll be in put in a chair happy?” you nodded your head and he finally tugged you down towards him by your hand, pressing dozens of kisses to your face, before planting one on your lips. you melted into him, letting your body lay on top of his and he relished in how he had won, again.

[lure-of-writing]

Priority

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: none

Summary: Bodhi is in love with you. Hopelessly in love. Unfortunately for him he can't say anything about it.

If you asked Bodhi when he first met you two things were certain. One, he would tilt his head to the side and raise an eyebrow in question. Two, he would give a small shrug of his shoulder before saying “Uh I don’t know?”. His statement always sounded more like a question. In his defence why would he know the answer to that question. There is no point in time where Bodhi can pinpoint the moment you entered his life. Unfortunately or fortunately depending on who you asked, you have always been there. Always a constant in his life and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Oh come on Bo don’t be like this.” You tilt your head slightly, your lashes batting so strongly he swears that there is a draft in here. Bodhi doesn’t budge, he keeps his arms crossed over his chest with a slight twitch in his clenched jaw. “You know I didn’t mean it right?” The teasing in your voice softens, just a little, just enough to know you really didn’t mean anything by your comment.  “As cool as Xaden is, I could never replace you with him.” You pause for a moment before adding “His ego is too big for me.” Bodhi glances down at where you were sitting on the ground next to the chair he was sitting in. Bodhi wanted to say something sarcastic right back at you, but he couldn’t, the jealousy burning in his throat wouldn’t allow him to. Even if he could say anything he wouldn’t be able to; the way you were looking up at him, like you needed him to know you were only joking. Like what he thought truly mattered to you, it rendered him speechless. 

 Your friends- Liam, Garrick, Xaden and himself were spread out in Xadens room talking about nothing and everything all at once. Garrick being the instigator he is just had to ask you who you would pick to be stranded with and of course you being you said his cousin. He knew you were just trying to mess with him. To get under his skin. And it worked, of course it did. Bodhi would never admit it to anybody but he felt like he was always walking in Xadens shadow. Always second best, never good enough to be picked first. Your lighthearted teasing didn't make him feel any better, not when the jealousy hit harder than it ever had before. 

Bodhi said nothing as you stared up at him. He stared down at you as you looked up at him, a frown was starting to replace your teasing smile. He hated that look, despised it really. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was seeing you sad. “Are you really going to give me that look?” he muttered, and you didn’t miss the annoyance painting his voice. But the moment he finally looked at you again you knew he truly didn’t mean it. With your eyes locked onto his nothing else in the room existed besides you. God he could never be mad at you, not when you look at him like that. 

 The glare he sent Garrick wasn’t missed by you but you couldn’t help yourself when you leaned your body to rest fully against his leg. Placing your head against his thigh. Bodhi would never reject your touch, not when it was so familiar. He craved the feeling of your body against his, more often then he would care to admit.  With Bodhi ignoring you, Liam picked up the conversation, you were trying to listen but all of your attention was on Bodhi. Truly you felt bad about hurting his feelings. While he would never admit that you did, you could see it in the way his jaw set, hands flexing against his arms and his eyes flickering away from yours to hide his hurt. Bodhi could feel the guilt coming off of you in waves. Without even thinking about it he gently brushes his fingers through your hair. He may be talking to Garrick but you knew his attention was on you. This was his way of letting you know that he accepted your apology. The words “i’m sorry” never tumbled out of your lips but the way you leaned further into him and periodically glanced up at him in worry was an apology to him. Words weren’t needed, they never have been, at least not between the two of you. 

“Bo?” The light nudge against his legs pulls his eyes away from Garrick and back to you. “Yeah?” His response was equally as quiet as yours was. His voice felt thick with an emotion he refused to acknowledge. He didn’t stop his ministrations. Instead he found that spot behind your ear and rubbed gentle circles on it before resting his hand on the base of your neck. His fingers still tangled in your hair. “Ya’ know I would never replace you right?” The guilt mixed with an undercurrent of pleading broke his heart.  “I know sweetheart.” His whispered words sound a little rough even to him. But he meant what he said. Gently he squeezes the back of your neck in an unspoken promise. He wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what you were to follow. 

“You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.” His words were an afterthought but he meant them. Bodhi bent forward slightly to reach eye level with you. His other hand that wasn’t tangled in your hair cupped your cheek softly turning your face to look at him. The limited space between you forces a sharp inhale of air into your lungs. Bodhi didn’t miss your near silent gasp or the way your eyes flickered over his face before looking at his lips and then back to his eyes. “Sweetheart I’m gonna need you to stop worrying in that pretty little head of yours, ok?” His voice was quiet but you felt them as if they had been screamed at you. That nickname he gave you never failed to make your heart skip a beat. He watched as you took in a shaky breath before lightly nodding your head. “Ok.” Glancing between your eyes he waited until he saw the guilt slip away and he swore love replaced it.

He needed to pull away, put some space between the two of you before he did something he would regret. Leaning forward just a bit more he angled your head up just slightly so he could place a kiss against your hairline. His lips lingered for a moment before pulling away. His eyes found yours again and you saw the small smirk forming on his lips. Maybe he should have kissed you on the lips he thinks to himself, especially with the way a flush of red makes its way to your cheeks. He wonders what would happen if he kissed you.  After a light tap against your cheek he removes his hand and sits back in his chair, refocused on the conversation you hadn’t been aware of. His hand never leaves your hair though. With Bodhi’s focus back on whatever conversation was happening you lay your head back down onto his leg. The gentle kiss you place against his leg is enough for his brain to short circuit. The glide of his hand in your hair stops mid stroke. Bodhi feels his breath hitch in his throat while he was frozen for a second. Without thinking he hand tightens its hold on your hair before releasing once more. 

Bodhi has never been more grateful to not have your eyes on him. The way his jaw tightens. The way his chest rises and falls just a little bit quicker than it should for sitting in a chair. He had to close his eyes for a moment to collect himself. Bodhi knew he was protective of you, maybe even a little obsessed with you but god damn if he wasn’t in love with you. Bodhi's heart sang from the feeling of your lips against his body. And he hates to admit it but for a second he thought about what your lips would feel like against his leg without pants blocking your way. After taking the moment to collect himself he clears his throat pulling your attention back to him. 

The way you bat your eyes at him in anticipation causes him to clear his throat yet again. “I know you were joking but just don’t do that again ok baby?” He chuckles softly at the way your eyes widen and cheeks flush even brighter while casting your eyes downward in hopes to hide the shock you are feeling. There is nothing Bodhi loves more than seeing that shy bashful smile grace your lips all because of him.

“Where the hell is she?” Cuirs talons curled into the wet stone as Bodhi's voice rang out across the flight field. The grey clouds unleashed gallons of freezing droplets of rain upon every rider. Constricting leathers tightened with their newfound water weight. Across the blurred Bodhi could make out the red and brown dragon that was a part of your group but the emerald green scorpion tail dragon he was so used to seeing was nowhere to be found. Everyone from the training exercise had returned. Everyone but you. Time seemed to slow to a screeching halt as Bodhi took in the field before him. Short quick breaths pounded against his ribcage. Panic raised with bail in the back of his throat. “No..no” A panicked gasp of air cut off his train of thoughts. He was the only person who hadn’t dismounted. “Xaden! Garrick!” Bodhi could hear the raw desperation in his voice, he knew that other riders had heard it too, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when everyone had returned but you. He would follow you to the end of the world without you ever having to ask him. It was no surprise to his two closest friends that he was willing to bring the wrath of the professors upon himself by defying orders and heading back out. He would do anything to find you. And if he found you- no he wouldn’t let himself think about that. 

The terror gripping his voice propelled his friends back to their own dragons. Both men had done a quick scan of the field and knew what was wrong. They would have known without even having to look. Bodhi never lost control of himself no matter what. Unless it involved you, then all bets were off. Bodhi couldn’t control his protective instincts even when he tried. So he stopped trying. 

Just as Garrick and Xaden were about to remount the powerful distinct sound of dragon wings could be heard approaching from a distance. Only one thing could be possible. You were returning with Aella. Once again time seemed to slow down. Minutes felt like hours. Every second that passed felt like a lifetime. The fall of rain seemed to double within seconds blurring his vision even more than it already was. Howling wind whipped the rain in all directions forcing other riders to lower their heads or raise their arms to at least protect their faces. Bodhi did neither. He wouldn’t not when the sound of wind being beaten into submission by powerful and strong wings could be heard from mere miles away. You were coming. He could feel it in his bones. It had to be you- there was no other possibility for Bodhi. Finally there was a shadow of a dragon and the vice grip his ribs had on his lungs loosened allowing him to take a deeper breath just by a fraction. Green. He saw green. It was a muted green but it was green nonetheless. 

Dark grey heavy clouds limited his visibility but he knew what he saw. Rain was being pelted down towards the earth with the force of Aellas wings. Bodhi was a part of those that were in Aellas path but he could not care less. Not if that meant you were safe. He would stand under the frozen dagger feeling rain for his whole life if that meant you were safe. Gracefully Aella landed in the middle of the flight field where most of the other dragons had previously occupied it. He was moving before he even knew he was. He was on Cuir one moment and the next he was sliding down his own green dragon without an ounce of grace. “Y’n!” The waiver in his voice didn’t stop, no, it traveled throughout his whole body. The waiver transformed into different things. Trembling hands, burning eyes from unshed tears and lungs that were on fire from how quickly he was running towards you. 

Something was wrong. If anyone possed elegance and grace even in the world of dragon riding it was you. The clumsy tumble down Aellas leg combined with the way you landed with a thud forcing you to roll onto your shoulder to prevent yourself from breaking a bone was anything but normal for you. Sharp painful breaths pumped his legs faster. He had to be faster. He couldn’t get to you soon enough. After what couldn’t have been more than two minutes Bodhi was finally in front of your bent over body. You were tipped over at the hips facing the ground. Both of your elbows rested upon your legs while you cradled your head in your heads. Something was wrong. Without thinking Bodhi unraveled your body forcefully crashing your body into his chest. “Thank god you are ok. I thought…. I thought you were.” Bodhi couldn't bring himself to say the words, not when his eyes burned and his lungs ached and he couldn’t stop the way his hands were shaking. “Are you ok?” He pulled your body away from his slightly to scan your body for injuries. Subconsciously his hands moved to cup your cheeks. “What's wrong baby? I need to know so I can help. But you gotta tell be baby.” Whispered words tumbled from his lips causing your eyes to meet his. Wordlessly you gripped his hands and pulled them away from his face. Silently he watched as you unzipped your flight jacket and pulled the side of your shirt up exposing a large bleeding gash decorating your skin.

“Who did this to you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. Nobody touched you. Nobody dug their dragger along your skin and didn’t pay for it. Bodhi was going to kill whoever did this to you. That was a promise. Bodhi was unable to pull his eyes away from your side as he spoke. “Sweetheart we need to get you to the healers, ok?” Your silence forced his eyes back towards yours. Water was pooling on your waterline and your lips where shaking in pain. Tenderly he pulled you back into his chest. One of his hands found purchase in your sopping wet hair while the other rested upon your neck. “It’s ok I’ve got you baby. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything like this happen to you again I promise.” 

Bodhi hadn’t moved from the chair in his room. He couldn’t bring himself to, not when you were laying in his bed. Sleep had pulled you away from him. Not that he could blame you of course. He would never blame you. “Bo?” Your quiet voice pulled his attention away from his plot for revenge and onto you. “Yeah sweet girl?” He matched his voice to yours not wanting to destroy the peaceful environment that your presence had created. Outside his window it was pitch black but inside of his room warm flickers of light bounced around the room casting you in a beautiful light. Granted you were always beautiful in his eyes but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy what was before him. Wordlessly you watched as he made his way over to his bed. He perched himself on the edge of the bed right by your hip.  Your watchful eyes traced his movement until you couldn’t. His hands where once again in your hair. Carefully he moved his hand down until it rested on your neck. He couldn’t help himself from touching your cheek. Lightly his thumb ran back and forth against your cheek.

“Will you lay with me?” His room was not warm by any means but suddenly it felt like a hundred degrees warmer and he felt the blood rise to his face. He was sure that there was a flush to his face. He had laid in bed with you a thousand of times before so he wasn’t sure why he was suddenly nervous. Deep down he knew why. Some part of your relationship with him had changed and he wasn’t sure what that meant. He wasn’t sure if he had to prepare to mourn all the ways he wished he could of had you. Swallowing the lump in his throat he glances out the window and follows the path of a raindrop along the window until he couldn’t follow it anymore. Turning back to your he finds your sharp eyes already resting upon him. Forcefully he cleared his throat once more before answering. “Of course, you never have to ask me that.” His voice wasn’t a whisper but it wasn’t normal speaking volume either.

Gently he pulls back the blanket helping you scooch over in the bed making more space for him before he climbed in. With a wince you pull yourself up and pat the pillow behind your head. Expectantly you look at him. A laugh falls from his lips “You could of just said you wanted to use my arm as a pillow you know that right?” The shake of his head does nothing to move his smile. “Why would I do that? You should know this by now.” Your words floated into the space above him. “You’re right I should know better.” This time it's a huff of air that leaves you instead. Bodhi missed the sound of your laugh but he knew it would be too painful for you to laugh at the moment so he enjoyed what he had. “Obviously I’m always right.” Your words were cut off with a wince. Bodhi went to push himself up so he could help you move but you shook your head and placed your palm on his chest. 

Following your silent command he lays back down to his previous position, A soft grunt and a heavy sigh of relief later you were pressed against his side. One of your legs crossed against his chest and the other rested against his leg. Your head rested on his chest right above his heart. He waited until you were comfortable to move. Softly he moves to rest one hand below the cut on your side while the other finds its way to your bare leg. Absentmindedly his thumb begins to rub patterns along your leg. A few minutes of silence had passed before your voice filled the room. “Bo?” Slowly he opens his eyes to find yours are already looking at him. “Yeah?’ His eyes traced over your face while you fought to find the right words. He always knew you were stunning but here in his room with the gentle light dancing upon your face, your beauty took his breath away. “What happened out there Bodhi? The use of his first name caught his attention before the rest of your words did. You only used his first name when you were serious. “Huh?” 

 The words tumbled out of his lips before he could even stop them. Internally he cringes at his answer. “What happened out there with you? I’ve never seen you like that before. You were so- so panicked. You never panic.” Bodhi knew in this moment that it was now or never. He had been so close to telling you out on the flight field but he couldn’t not when you desperately needed to be seen by the healers. Bodhi sucked in a deep breath in hopes of calming his nerves. It did not. “I panicked because it was you. You hadn’t come back. Everyone was back but you and just the thought alone of something having happened to you worried me sick. But then you finally showed up, right as I was about to go searching you for and at first all I felt was relief. Until I watched you dismount from Aella and then the fear took over all over again. I could tell something was wrong but I didn’t know what it was and all I could think about was something finally taking you from me. And I… I can’t stand that thought. It makes me sick.” Bodhi's words came to a stop but still you said nothing. You could tell that there was more he wanted to say, more he needed to say, but he needed the space to find the right words. Without realizing it you had begun to rub soothing circles on bodhi's chest. Bodhi felt the warmth of your hand against his chest. The gentle comforting touch of your hand upon him was more than he could ask for. 

“I am so in love with you. I have been for years. I could never bring myself to tell you. I worried about what it would do to our relationship but after seeing you like that. I can’t hold it in anymore.” Bodhi's hand encased yours pulling it to rest on his cheek but he didn’t remove his hand. If this is the last time he gets to have you like this he was going to take every  moment presented to him. “I love you. And I understand if you don't feel the same. But I can;t keep it in anymore. I am so incredibly in love with you.” A beat of silence passed while your eyes bounce between his lips and eyes. Finally after what felt like forever a laugh rang out into the once silent room. Out of all the reactions Bodhi was expecting this was definitely not one of them. His raised eyebrow did all the talking for him. 

“Oh Bo.” A sigh mixed with a breathless laugh tumbled from your lips. “We are such idiots. I am in love with you too. I have been since I met you but I never said anything because I was worried about it not working out.” A laugh of disbelief rumbled in his chest. He removed his hand from your wrist to rub his eyes for a long moment before laughing again. He pulled his hand down his face before placing it back on your thigh. “I can’t believe this. I have been on the verge of losing my mind for a year and a half because I was worried just for this to happen.” Bodhi shakes his head in disbelief once more. Even though he wished he had known this information earlier he didn’t mind. Not if it meant what he hoped it did. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Giggling, you lightly shook your head. Even though the movement was gentle it was enough to push a few hairs into your face. Without thinking he pulled his hand away from your leg and brought it out from the blanket to push your hair behind your ear. God he could never get used to the sight in front of him. 

A bashful smile painted your face along with a deep blush. “I was way too nervous to tell you first.” Your answer pulled a laugh from the two of you. After a few seconds both of your laughter had died down leaving silence to fill its space instead. “So I should have grown a pair and done it first a long time ago is what you're saying.” The slight shrug of your shoulders didn’t match the coy smile you were sporting. “You said it not me.” Once again you shrugged not before laughing again. This time it was against the pec of his chest. “So I should always make the first move, is what I’m hearing?” Quickly you glanced up to find his eyes already upon you. Shifting you move to hide more of your face in his chest but he doesn’t let you get far. “I mean if that's how you feel that it then sure.” Bodhi knew when you got shy you tried to hide from prying eyes but fortunately for him he wasn’t subject to the same rules as everybody else. Softly his hand finds its rightful place against your cheek and neck. The gentle guide of his hands pulls your face up to his. You watch as his eyes drop to your lips before coming back up. “Well if that's the case then you won’t have any problem with this.” Bodhi lifted himself while bringing your face closer to his. With one last look at your eyes wide in surprise he closes his own eyes when he felt the softness of your lips against his own. Slowly your lips found a rhythm against Bodhis and he swore there was no better feeling in the world than this. 

Finally when both of you ran out of air did you pull away from each other. Bodhi was watching you when your eyelids finally peeled apart from each other. “I think you should do that again just so I can make sure there is no problem.” The laugh that tumbled out of Bodhi was loud and full of joy. He could feel the smirk on his face but he made no move to stop it. Not when you were looking at him like that. Right before your lips met his .That laugh that he loved graced the room once again. He would hate to cut off the laugh that he loves so much but the feel of your lips against his takes priority.