#honestly more for juice and happy than anything

[clownprincesshq]

double lives, double dates pt2

"You've got the costume. You've got the power. You're Spider-Woman. Act like it."🕷🕸️

Main!Mark Grayson x Spider-Woman! Reader

warnings: smut again sorry guys im a fiend, death, hurt no comfort, canon event </3, mark is a supportive boyfriend, mentions of sex

w/c: 8.7k

a/n: canon event time</3 also, thank you for your lovely asks and comments! they truly mean the world!

You wind yourself at the kitchen table, seated across from Mark, caught between May’s judgmental toast-serving and Ben’s everlasting dad look. It's warm. It smells like coffee and eggs and the crisp citrus of freshly cut fruit. It’s nice.

And you're losing your mind.

Your hand is still tingling from when it stuck to your nightstand earlier. You had to shrug it off like you were battling off a ghost. Now you’re here, attempting to eat breakfast with your boyfriend like a regular person, but your body buzzes like it’s got additional code written into the marrow.

You reach for the orange juice. Your fingers twitch.

Don’t break the glass. Don’t break the glass. Don’t crack the-

“You gonna drink that,” Ben says unexpectedly, making you flinch so sharply you nearly drop it.

You laugh. “Yup. Uh-huh. That’s the plan. Totally in control of my motor functions, why do you ask.”

Mark raises an eyebrow across from you, but doesn’t say anything.

May lays a plate in front of him. “So. Mark. Since senior year, huh?”

He picks up his fork with a kind of forlorn certainty. “Yeah. It started with her threatening to hit me for talking during biology. It was love at first sight.”

You groan. “Why would you say that out loud.”

“She deserves context,” he adds with a piece of egg. “I deserve recognition for my emotional growth.”

May grins, but it’s the harsh, knowing sort. “You’ve been keeping this from us a while.”

You murmur, “I wasn’t keeping it. It was more of a... long-term rollout plan.”

“Three years,” Ben answers bluntly.

“We’re busy,” you murmur into your toast.

May bends over her cup. “With what, exactly?”

Mark points his fork. “She has like seventeen credits, works part-time, and watches nature documentaries at two a.m. for fun. It’s actually sort of intimidating.”

You flash him a glance. “You’re not supposed to roast me in front of my family.”

“I’m endearing myself to the judges.”

May hums. “So far, he’s succeeding.”

You gulp your juice, too fast, and nearly cough. The flavor smacks your tongue like a blow. You lay the glass down a touch too hard, just a little, and it produces a louder clink than it should.

Mark’s eyes flick to your hand. Just for a second.

You attempt to grin.

He doesn’t press it.

Yet.

Ben, meantime, sits back in his chair, cup in hand. “So. Why the secrecy? You thought we wouldn’t approve?”

“No,” you answer hastily. “It was... I don’t know. It was just ours. And then it kept being ours. And then suddenly it was three years later and we were very much lying by omission.”

Mark shrugs. “Honestly, I was just following her lead. She said wait, I waited. Like... a faithful, loving golden retriever.”

Ben grunts. “Golden retrievers don’t sneak around.”

“Golden retrievers don’t pass AP Calc either,” you add.

Mark points. “Let the record show, I passed.”

“With my notes,” you say.

“With my charisma.”

May cuts in before you can hurl your napkin at him. “Well, it’s out now. And despite the... wait, I’m glad. It’s good to see her happy.”

That makes you silent.

Because you are joyful.

But you’re also something else. Wired. Fragile. Like you’re one hard grasp away from snapping your fork in half.

Mark’s still eyeing you out of the corner of his eye.

You feel his foot poke yours under the table.

You nudge back, just slightly.

“So, Mark,” Ben says nonchalantly. “You treat her like she’s the best thing that ever happened to you?”

Mark doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. She is.”

You nearly choke on your fruit.

“Okay,” you respond, half a laugh. “That’s enough sincerity before ten a.m.”

“I’m just saying,” he says with a shrug. “You deserve to know.”

May’s observing you now, her grin a bit gentler. “We always knew you’d keep your heart close to the chest. But I’m happy he’s the one who has it.”

You go silent again.

Mark takes your hand beneath the table. Warm, steady.

He squeezes softly.

You squeeze back.

But your fingers are twitching. Still sensitive. Still too aware. You’re hyper-conscious of every point of touch. Every pulse. Every scrape of chair leg on floor sounds excessively loud. Every fragrance strikes too intensely. You feel like a balloon overfilled and tied shut too tight.

And you’re not sure how much longer you can pretend you’re just weary. Just stressed.

Because something in you has altered.

And Mark doesn’t know.

And your aunt and uncle don’t know.

And sitting here in the kitchen, with sunshine on the table and eggs cooling on the plate, you suddenly realize

You’re not simply lying about your relationship anymore.

You’re lying about you.

The plates are mostly empty now.

Toast crumbs scatter the table like polite wreckage. The coffee’s been refilled twice, the fruit picked through, and May is humming as she rinses the frying pan at the sink. Ben’s halfway through the crossword, pen tapping rhythmically on the counter. Mark’s still across from you, lazily spinning a fork in his fingers.

And you... you're pretending everything’s fine.

You haven't moved much. Not because you're full. Because you’re afraid if you grip your utensils the wrong way, they’ll bend. Or snap. Or worse.

You fidget with your napkin instead. Something soft. Something safe.

And then, like fate’s just waiting for the tension to peak, the news comes on.

May’s small kitchen TV flickers to life in the corner. Background noise, usually. Something calm and distant while breakfast happens. But not today.

Today, the name hits your ears before the anchor even finishes her sentence.

“Invincible was spotted again last night above Midtown, engaging what looked like two rogue Flaxan warriors attempting to break through into Earth’s dimension.”

Your stomach drops.

The screen shows shaky phone footage, Invincible, blue and yellow and blood-streaked, slamming through a Flaxan like a baseball through a windshield. He’s fast. Brutal. And unmistakable.

The camera pans to show wreckage. People running. Civilians yelling.

Mark shifts beside you.

Mark interrupts the stillness, voice low but steady. “People always want someone to blame.”

May peeks over her shoulder. “Blame him? He’s the only reason half this city isn’t a crater.”

“They don’t care,” Mark answers. “It’s easier to fear power than to understand it.”

That lands odd.

You gaze at him.

He’s looking at the blank screen, mouth stiff, without blinking. Like he’s still seeing the conflict happen in real time.

Something in your belly twists.

Ben folds his newspaper. Leans forward. His hands are linked now, fingers intertwined. There’s something serious about his posture like he’s going to utter something he’s been sitting on for years.

He looks between the two of you. His niece. Your boyfriend. Two kids in their early twenties, thinking breakfast is just breakfast.

Then he says it.

That line.

“I’ve always believed one thing.”

His voice is steady. Not loud. But it fills the room like thunder regardless.

“If you’ve got the power to stop something bad from happening, and you don’t...”

He stares directly at you.

“Then it’s your fault when it does.”

You blink.

Your throat tightens. You don’t react.

You can’t.

He lets the words hang. No drama. No fanfare.

Just the truth.

“With great power,” he adds, softer now, “comes great responsibility.”

It smacks you like a blow to the chest.

You don’t breathe for a second.

Because he doesn’t know. He has no idea.

But he’s right.

You feel it in your bones. In your hands. In the way your whole body feels like it’s vibrating just beneath the surface. You don’t know what you’re becoming but you know it’s not nothing.

And suddenly, everything feels heavier. This room. This moment. The weight of what you might be able to do.

And the scary option of deciding not to do it.

You try to talk. “I mean... I’m just a college student. I can barely pass physics. I don’t think I’m competent to stop any catastrophes.”

Ben doesn’t laugh. He merely glances at you.

“You don’t have to be qualified,” he continues. “You just have to care.”

Mark adjusts slightly in his seat.

You sense him observing you. Not in a suspicious way, not yet, but near. Too close. His foot touches yours beneath the table again, grounding you.

But you’re still floating.

Your voice comes out softer than you intend it to. “Sometimes I wonder if power finds the wrong people.”

Ben raises his eyebrow. “You worried about Invincible?”

You hesitate.

Mark tenses, barely discernible.

“No,” you say. “Not really.”

Ben takes a drink of his coffee. “Then what are you worried about?”

You freeze.

Mark’s eyes are still on you. He doesn’t blink.

You swallow. “That... someone could have power and not even know what to do with it. That they might mess it up.”

Ben leans back. “Then they learn. Or they suffer the price for not learning.”

His words drop into your chest like bricks.

Mark eventually speaks, voice faint now. “It’s scary. Having power. Knowing others want something from you, even when they don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

You glance at him aggressively.

He catches your gaze for half a second before glancing away.

The air feels different. Thicker.

May attempts to cut through it, delicate and lovely. “Well. All I know is, if this Invincible kid’s trying his best out there, good for him. Not everyone can say the same.”

You nod absently. You’re hardly hearing her.

You’re watching the flash of a shadow on the wall. A reflection from the TV.

You think of your hands adhering to the faucet. The power in your fingers when you cracked a slice of bread by accident. The way your body understood how to land when you leaped off your house.

You think of the way your heart leaped when you saw Invincible on-screen not because he terrified you.

Because something in you whispered

You could do it too.

But what if you shouldn’t?

What if you’re not ready?

What if you never will be?

Ben’s words come back, circling in your thoughts now

“If you’ve got the power to stop something bad from happening, and you don’t… then it’s your fault when it does.”

You breathe in deep.

And realize...

You can’t sit motionless forever.

Mark squeezes your hand beneath the table as you clear the rest of the plates. “I’ve got class in, like, fifteen minutes,” he whispers. “But I’ll text you?”

You nod. “Of course.”

His eyes linger on yours a bit longer than they should.

You know he’s still thinking about the way you froze during the announcement.

You know he’s suspicious.

But he doesn’t press. He merely kisses your temple and gets his bag from where it’s resting against the wall. “Tell May she makes a killer omelet. And tell Ben I’ll return his newspaper. Probably.”

He gives you one last look before sliding out the front door.

And suddenly it’s just... silent.

Mark leaves for class with one more peek over his shoulder, and you offer him a faint wave like you're not vibrating out of your skin.

As soon as the door closes behind him, your body becomes motionless.

The air shifts.

The kitchen is too light, too heated. The eggs are cold on the plate, and May is humming gently as she rinses dishes, the water spraying in gentle, rhythmic spurts. Ben’s chair creaks as he leans back to finish the crossword, pen pounding on the table. It’s normal. Comfortable.

But you’re not.

You can’t sit still.

Can’t breathe well.

The strain within your chest is increasing, coiled like a spring, and the quiet just makes it worse. You murmur something about needing air, about wanting to clear your thoughts, and they don’t even flinch.

You slip out the back door.

Then you climb.

The side of the house shouldn’t feel this easy but it does. Your hands know where to go. Your feet stick when you don’t expect them to. The gutter moans quietly beneath your weight, but doesn’t shatter.

You crest the edge of the roof and swing a leg over, placing yourself on the angled shingles with your knees tucked under your arms. You sit there for a while, heart still hammering from everything, the morning, the news, Uncle Ben’s remarks.

‘With great power…’

You push your palm to your chest. You swear you can feel it buzzing under your ribs.

You’re not simply terrified.

You’re wired.

Every nerve feels like it’s had coffee and electricity for breakfast.

You peek across the street, apartment complexes, electricity wires, small lanes. And you wonder

Could you do it?

Really?

You stand.

The breeze sweeps your hair back. The street below looks so far away now. You rock on your heels, arms wide for balance, trying not to think about how easy you may fall.

But that’s not what terrifies you.

What terrifies you is that part of you wants to jump.

You flex your fingers and gaze down at your wrists. There’s a subtle, prickling heat just under the skin, like something waiting. You tighten your fists and murmur to yourself

“Okay. No pressure. Just... try not to faceplant into someone’s windshield.”

You aim.

Instinctively.

You don’t know how you know what you’re doing, but you do. You can feel the tightness in your forearm, the way your fingers want to lock into place a specific manner.

You close one eye, stretch your arm toward the chimney of the building across the alley, and

Thwip.

The sound is moist and abrupt, like silk ripping through the air.

A silvery-white thread bursts from your wrist and hits the brick. It sticks. Firm. Clean.

You gasp. “No freaking way.”

You tug. It holds.

Your heart is throbbing in your throat now. Your legs feel like they’re made of static. You glance at the web, then at your hands, then at the plummet to the earth below.

This is ridiculous.

This is risky.

This is exactly the type of thing you’d yell at someone else not to do.

But you were never going to walk away from this, were you?

You back up, breath frozen somewhere between your ribs, gaze focused on the web line stretching across the lane.

“Alright,” you mumble, partly to yourself, half to whatever strange new portion of your body made it happen. “Time to jump off a roof. Totally fine. People do that all the time in... cartoons.”

You take a couple steps ahead. Then a couple more. Then you’re running.

You dash straight toward the edge of the roof.

Your foot strikes the edge and you launch.

The wind rips past you suddenly. For half a second, you’re weightless. Flying.

Then the web draws tight.

Your arm yanks forward. Your body whips with it and suddenly you’re swinging.

Your legs flail. You scream, actually scream. It’s not cool. It’s not elegant. It’s half panic, part ecstasy, and your entire body is moving considerably quicker than your head.

You crash onto a fire escape.

Bounce off.

You clutch the web with both hands, dangling now, thirty feet from the ground and breathless, clinging by a thread of whatever you just produced.

You’re panting. Knees shaking.

But you’re laughing, too.

A high, exuberant, nearly insane laugh.

You’re alive.

You’re still up here.

“Okay!” you yell, voice breaking. “Not dead! Not dead!”

You swing one leg up, grab your foot against the edge of the building, and struggle upward, dragging yourself back onto a lower rooftop. You fall in a heap, gasping for air, arms shaking from the exertion.

You gaze up into the sky, still laughing, still surprised.

And then you look at your wrist again.

The skin there appears flushed, mildly heated, but not damaged. You stretch your fingers, and feel the same strain again like a second heartbeat inside your arm.

It’s you.

This power, it’s not from a machine. Not a serum. Not a weird event that left you shattered and radioactive.

It’s yours.

Part of your body now.

Maybe it always was.

You lie there, chest rising and falling, eyes wide, and murmur to the empty sky above

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

The wind doesn’t answer.

But in your thoughts, you hear it again:

“With great power comes great responsibility.”

You swallow hard.

And for the first time since this started... You comprehend what it genuinely means.

The next day, everything is louder.

The clink of the spoon in your cereal bowl. The sound of your pen tapping against your notebook. The hum of the fridge. It’s all sharper, like someone turned the world up a few notches and didn’t tell you.

You slept maybe four hours. Woke up tangled in blankets, your heart racing, flashes of rooftop swings still jolting through your mind like lightning.

You keep replaying the fall, the sound of your own scream, the terrifying thrill of not dying.

You should be resting.

But instead, you’re hunched over the kitchen table, staring at a newspaper like it’s going to explain how to live your life now.

May slides a mug of coffee next to your elbow. You don’t even flinch. She pauses.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You force a smile. “Yeah. Just...brain fog.”

She presses a hand to your forehead, mock-serious. “You’re not allowed to get sick. We’ve already met our household’s emotional crisis quota for the month.”

You grin weakly. “Copy that.”

She moves away, humming again.

You glance down at the paper.

You weren’t even planning to read it. You just needed something to look at. Something boring. Something human. The comics page. Maybe the crossword. Something that doesn’t ask you to stick to walls or leap off roofs.

Instead, your eyes catch on a bolded headline tucked in the corner of page seven

“$3,000 CASH PRIZE! Local Wrestling Event Seeking Challengers” NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY “Step in the ring and stay in for 3 minutes!” ONE NIGHT ONLY! CASH PRIZE GUARANTEED.

You blink.

Your heart skips.

You reread it.

Then again.

You glance at the prize money. Three thousand dollars. Right there in bold. No fine print. No strings. Just survive for three minutes in a cage with a guy called “The Pulverizer.”

Your first thought is ‘That’s sketchy as hell.’

Your second thought is ‘But I could win.’

And your third thought, the one that settles like warm static under your skin is

‘Mark’s birthday is coming up.’

He hasn’t mentioned it, not really. But you remember. You always remember. He plays it off like birthdays aren’t a big deal, but you know better. He’s not the type to expect gifts. He never asks for anything. But you were there the year Amber forgot completely. The year Nolan didn’t call. You remember the look on his face. He never said anything, but it lingered.

And now there’s this necklace you saw online. Dumb. Simple. Nothing super flashy just a little silver tag with the coordinates of where you first kissed engraved on it.

You’ve never had the money for it.

But you could.

Your hand tightens around the edge of the newspaper.

You think about what your body did yesterday. About the way your bones felt when you jumped. The way the wind tasted when you flew. You think about your hands, your reflexes, your web. The power humming under your skin even now.

Three minutes in a ring?

You could do it blindfolded.

You’re halfway through planning it before you realize.

A hoodie. Loose jeans. Something to cover your face, nothing dramatic. You don’t need attention. You just need the prize. Get in, stay standing, get out.

You tell yourself it’s harmless.

You tell yourself it’s smart.

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal.

But under all of it...

You feel it again.

That need.

That pull.

The part of you that wants to test it. That wants to feel the adrenaline again. That wants to see just how far this goes.

And maybe, just maybe, you want to win.

Not for the necklace.

Not for Mark.

But for you.

You fold the paper slowly, set it aside, and whisper under your breath

“Three minutes. That’s nothing.”

You nearly don’t go.

You almost chicken out when you see the outside of the facility, a converted rec center with damaged signs and a banner duct-taped to the brick wall that proclaims "CAGE NIGHT" in a bold font.

You convince yourself you’ll simply scope it out.

Just watch.

But you brought your hoodie. And your gloves. And the mask you patched the night before out of a tattered beanie and an old red t-shirt.

And the small folded-up flier in your hoodie pocket has “$3,000 CASH” emblazoned in enormous strong letters, circled three times in red ink.

You can’t walk away now.

You head inside.

It’s louder than you thought. The bleachers are packed with rowdy, beer-sloshing males in football jerseys and cheap sunglasses. There’s a cloud in the air that smells like fried onions and old perspiration. The floor creaks under your boots as you check in with a teen at the fold-up table who doesn't even glance up from his phone.

You scrawl your name on the sign-in form.

Stage Name: The Human Spider.

It felt intelligent last night. Sciencey. Personal. A subtle little hint to what you are today.

Now, looking at it on the page, it feels stupid.

You’re escorted to the rear, a tiny hallway that might’ve previously been a supply closet, now full with tense males in tank tops stretching and moaning like they’re prepared for battle. You can hardly hear the announcer above the clamor of the crowd.

You take a breath.

This is for Mark. For his birthday. For the jewelry you couldn’t afford. The one with the small coordinates inscribed into the pendant, the place where you kissed him for the first time after school, right before it poured. He doesn’t even know you remember.

You do.

You remember everything.

You step into the hallway when they call your name.

The lights hit you first. Bright and unpleasant.

The music is booming. The floor sticky. The Pulverizer is already in the ring, throwing air punches and flashing his pecs at a bunch of people in the front row.

The announcer reaches over the ropes and swings a clipboard in the air. “And in this corner, we’ve got a last-minute sign-up... standing at what looks like... five-foot-something? Really? Okay. Give it up for... hmm... The Human Spider?”

You wince.

The crowd laughs.

“Wow,” the announcer says into the mike, dry as sandpaper. “That name sucks. What is this, a National Geographic tribute act?”

The crowd laughs harder.

Your cheeks burn under the mask.

You look down at your hands.

The announcer throws the clipboard behind him and shrugs. “Y’know what? Forget it. Let’s spice it up. Give it up for the one and only... SPIDER-WOMAN!”

The name hits like a cymbal crash.

People cheer.

You freeze.

That’s not what you wrote.

But it resonates around the gym, ringing in your ears, and suddenly it’s not a suggestion, it’s a branding.

You move, approaching the ring.

And the name walks with you.

The Pulverizer is constructed like a fridge and twice as mean-looking. He twists his neck as you climb between the ropes and snaps his knuckles like it’s intended to terrify you.

The ref mutters something about “three minutes or a pin.”

You nod absently.

Your heart is thumping. But it’s not fear.

It’s something different.

That pull in your arms.

That quiet vibration in your center.

You’re ready.

The bell rings.

He comes at you fast, a swinging punch aiming at your jaw.

You duck. Smooth.

He misses by a mile.

You turn, whirl behind him, and without thinking, put your foot into his back.

It’s hardly even a hard kick.

But he flies.

He slams against the ropes. Bounces off. Crashes to the mat like someone dropped a couch.

Silence.

Then, the audience erupts.

The ref appears startled.

The Pulverizer is knocked out.

Not moving.

The bell sounds again.

You won.

Backstage smells like dampness and crushed hopes.

The promoter’s office is merely a folding table with a cash box and a clipboard. He doesn’t glance up when you step in.

You’re still shaking. Not from terror. From energy. From the way your whole body feels like it just woke up for the first time.

“I won,” you say. “Three grand, right?”

The promoter nibbles on a toothpick. Shrugs. “You didn’t last three minutes.”

You blink. “What?”

“You knocked him out in forty-five seconds. That’s not what the fans paid to see.”

You open your mouth. Close it.

He tosses a single hundred-dollar cash onto the table. Doesn’t even glance at you.

“There. Take it or leave it.”

You gaze at it.

It’s not even crisp.

You take it.

You leave.

You’re halfway down the corridor when the yelling starts.

A door slams.

You hear the promoter shouting, someone stole from him. Took the lockbox.

Then you see him.

A guy in a gray hoodie.

Running.

Fast.

Lockbox tucked beneath one arm, eyes wild.

He establishes eye contact with you as he rushes by.

You could stop him.

You know it.

You could pin him to the wall with one hand.

You don’t move.

The promoter stumbles out seconds later, breathless and red-faced. “HEY! YOU-YOU SAW HIM! WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP HIM?!”

You meet his gaze.

And say, “Not my problem.”

Then you stroll out into the night.

The air is chilly against your face. The wind tastes like metal and rain.

You open your palm and gaze at the hundred-dollar bill.

It feels heavier now.

And for the first time since you received your powers…

You feel little.

You’re almost home when the lights appear.

Not the normal cozy porch sort. Not the glimmer of passing headlights. These are brighter, colder, red and blue flashing against the black like alarms shouting into the sky.

You stop at the end of your street.

Crowd forming.

Voices mumbling.

Sirens still booming in the air, despite the patrol vehicles are already parked.

People stand on the street in slippers and bathrobes, arms folded close, heads turned toward the familiar tiny house at the corner. Your home.

And suddenly, you know.

You know.

You run.

You don’t ask. You don’t shout. You just run.

The mob swirls around you as you surge through. Someone grabs your arm,“Hey, kid, you can’t be here-” but you pull free and dart under the tape before anybody stops you.

Your steps slow as you move passed the cruiser.

You saw the car first.

The passenger door is still wide open. Headlights throwing lengthy shadows onto the pavement. The engine is off, but the keys are still in the ignition.

Then you notice the form on the ground.

A body.

Unmoving.

Covered in a white sheet.

But not all the way.

One hand sticks out, familiar and aged, fingers curved just slightly, like they were grasping for something.

You recognize the ring.

Your throat locks.

You walk closer, slowly, like your body’s fighting to refute what your eyes already know.

A police officer tries to stop you. “Miss, please don’t-”

You ignore him.

You don’t utter a thing.

You fall to your knees beside the body and look at the hand like it would move. Like this is all a misunderstanding and any second he’ll wake up and tell you to stop being theatrical.

But he doesn’t move.

And that sheet isn’t raised.

You notice his sneakers. His watch. The corner of his flannel shirt. The same one he was wearing when he made you coffee this morning.

And suddenly it strikes.

Not everything at once.

Not like a scream.

But like water rising in your chest, sluggish, choking.

Your breath hitches. Your shoulders tremble.

Your fingers press to your mouth like they’re trying to hold everything in.

You let out a sound you don’t identify. Guttural. Choked.

Your vision blurs, and suddenly you’re weeping so hard you can’t see. You hunch forward, forehead on your knees, body shaking like it’s trying to break apart.

You don’t know how long you sit like that.

In some time, May is there.

She kneels alongside you, not saying anything, simply drawing you into her arms. Her hands massage your hair, but even she’s shaking. Her breath stutters on your skull.

“He just, he tried to help,” she murmurs. “They said it was a mugging. That he said for them to stop. That he tried to do the right thing and-and then the man just-”

She can’t finish.

You don’t beg her to.

Because you already know.

You see it again in your mind, the man who rushed by you in the corridor.

Gray hoodie. Lockbox clasped to his chest. Eyes wild and terrified.

You stepped aside.

You informed the promoter “Not my problem.”

Now it is.

You stare back to Ben’s corpse. You want to reach for him. You want to take it back.

But you can’t.

He’s gone.

Because of you.

A deep, scorching fire grows in your gut, sadness entwined with something harsher. Anger.

At yourself.

At the man who pulled the gun.

At the version of you who walked away.

You wipe your face.

Stand up slowly, eyes burning, hands clutched firmly at your sides.

You’re not sobbing anymore.

Your jaw is locked. Shoulders squared. Your pulse pounds with purpose.

Because now you know what you’re going to do.

You’re going to find him.

You don’t care what it takes.

This isn’t about becoming a hero.

Not yet.

This is personal.

The world is ringing.

You can’t hear May weeping behind you.

You can’t hear the murmur of the neighbors, the cops attempting to gently take her back into the home, the paramedics speaking to each other.

All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and the sound of your feet hitting concrete.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You run.

Harder than you ever have before.

The wind slashes at your face, and your hoodie flares behind you as you speed down the street with no strategy. No direction. Just purpose. Just rage.

The night is harsh. Cold. The streetlights make everything gold and wrong. And down in your breast, underneath the shock and the sadness, lies something else

Heat.

Boiling.

Growing.

Your fingers twitch. Your knuckles hurt.

You hear the words again.

“If you’ve got the power to stop something bad from happening…”

Your teeth grind together. You don’t finish the statement in your brain. You can’t.

You see his face. The man in the hallway.

Gray hoodie. Lockbox clasped to his chest.

You stepped aside.

And now Ben’s dead.

You scale a building without thinking. One jump. Then another. Your fingertips touch brick and metal and your legs propel you upward like you’re weightless.

You spring onto the rooftop and sprint full-speed across the tarpaper and gravel, leaping between buildings, air burning in your lungs.

Below, you spot him.

The same man. Same hoodie. Moving through side alleys swiftly, scared, peering over his shoulder like the devil is behind him.

He’s right.

You follow.

He slips inside by a side entrance of a nearby warehouse. You land on the roof seconds later, staring down through a dirty skylight.

Dim lights flicker. It’s abandoned. Half-packed containers and piled shelves threw lengthy shadows across the cement floor. Puddles of rain pour from fractures in the ceiling. The walls are coated in graffiti and lost messages.

You creep down the side, quiet, hands adhering to the wall like magnets.

You drop to the floor without a sound.

Then, from deeper in the warehouse, a noise.

A door creaking. A mumbled curse.

You step forward.

Fast.

You grab him toward the back.

He turns barely in time, eyes wild.

Recognition shoots over his face like lightning.

"You-" he starts.

You don’t let him finish.

You move. Fast. You grab him by the jacket and slam him into a support beam with a crack. The sound echoes. Dust falls from the rafters.

"Why did you kill him?" you demand, your voice like gravel.

He struggles. "I didn’t-I didn’t mean to, I just-he surprised, me, dude! I didn’t know!"

"You shot him."

He’s shaking now. "It wasn’t supposed to go that way!"

He swings. A fist to your stomach. It barely connects. You slam him back again, harder. He gasps.

He stumbles free, pushing off the beam, and dashes for the stairway at the far side of the warehouse.

You chase him.

He scrambles up to the catwalk level, high above the floor, past rusted-out rails and an old dangling chain.

You follow.

You reach the top as he struggles along the platform, nearly tripping on a puddle of old rainwater gathered near the edge.

"Don’t come any closer!" he cries, drawing a little blade from his jacket, holding it out like a threat.

You stop.

Your breath is steady. Measured.

He’s panting.

"You don’t get to walk away from this," you say, quietly. “You killed someone. You killed my uncle.”

"It was an accident!"

"So was this.”

You lunge.

He slashes frantically. You dodge. Grab his wrist. Slam it against the railing. The knife falls.

He panics.

Backpedals.

And steps incorrect.

The railing creaks.

Then breaks.

He slips backward, falling into the corroded crack.

You reach out.

You grab him.

Your hand wraps around his wrist, firmly. His body jerks to a standstill, hanging twenty feet above the concrete floor.

He yells.

Your grasp slips slightly, his skin is slippery with perspiration and blood. You tighten.

“I’ve got you,” you gasp, breath shaking.

He glances up.

And you see his face again.

The fear.

The recognition.

"You could’ve stopped me earlier,” he says, voice shaking. “You-you let me go.”

You freeze.

Your stomach lowers.

And in that hesitation

Your fingers lose him.

He slides.

Falls.

You lunge too late.

CRACK.

The sound of his body hitting the hard floor is definitive.

Sickening.

You look.

You lookat the fractured figure below.

The silence.

The quiet.

Your hands quiver.

You back away from the railing. Stumble. Fall to your knees.

He’s dead.

You didn’t mean to murder him.

You wanted justice.

Closure.

Something.

But this?

This feels like neither.

You don’t know how you got there.

You’re perched on a rooftop someplace blocks away, high above the street. The wind rips through your hoodie like razors, and your body hurts from the pursuit, from the fall, from the guilt.

You’re curled into yourself, arms wrapped tight over your knees.

Your mask lays crumpled beside you.

In your palm is the hundred-dollar note the promoter gave you.

The paper’s moist now, smeared, discolored. You unfold it, gaze at the ink spilling onto your hand.

Then you rip it in half.

Then again.

You let the fragments disperse off the side of the building, fluttering down into the lane like dead leaves.

You sit in the dark, your breath short, your face sticky with dried perspiration and tears.

And for the first time since this began, you say it out loud.

"...It was my fault."

And you mean it.

The church is too silent.

Too still.

It’s one of those modest neighborhood chapels that smells like dust and wood polish and something slightly fragrant. Rows of pews border the central aisle. Candles glimmer softly at the altar. The organ is silent, but for the occasional murmur of aged pipes adapting to the heat.

You sit in the front row, hands folded in your lap, eyes distracted.

You can’t recall how you got here.

You recall the night. The fall. The sound. The way your hand slid.

But this?

This is fuzzy. It everything moved too fast. The coroner. The papers. The casket. The outfit you didn’t know still fit.

Ben is sleeping just a few feet away, locked within a pinewood box you had to help May pick out.

Because she couldn’t do it alone.

And neither could you.

You’ve scarcely uttered a word since that night.

The silence is easy.

May hasn’t asked where you were. What happened. She’s mourning, buried so deep in grief that she rarely eats, barely looks up. She clutches your hand when people speak to her, but never too firmly. Like she’s frightened of breaking you too.

Your eyes wander toward her now.

She’s seated next you, clothed in gray, slimmer somehow. Her face is pale, but her jaw is firm, composed in the manner only someone who’s gone through this before could manage.

She hasn’t cried today.

You have.

Not loudly.

Not noticeably.

But your hands won’t stop shaking.

You’ve had to sit on them the whole time simply to keep motionless.

The service goes on in a flurry of eulogies and silent songs. Someone reads a chapter from Psalms. Another neighbor adds something about Ben constantly volunteering to trim their grass, even in the heat. You hear the words, excellent man, amazing, kind, always had a tale to tell, and they all land like stones in your chest.

Because it’s all true.

And he’s gone.

Because of you.

Your eyes hurt again.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Not now.

You can’t weep again. Not here.

Not with everyone watching.

Not with him watching.

Because somewhere between the commencement of the ceremony and now, Mark Grayson sneaked into the back row.

You spotted him as you turned slightly, head down, arms wrapped tight across his chest, clad in black.

You haven’t seen him since the day before it all happened. Since the match. Since before.

You didn’t text him. You didn’t explain.

And still… he came.

Your stomach knots.

He captures your sight briefly.

Nods once.

You glance away.

The service concludes.

People rise in silent clumps. They converse in low tones. Some leave flowers at the coffin. Some embrace May. One woman, a friend of Ben’s from down the block, lays a hand on your shoulder gently.

You attempt to smile.

It doesn’t reach your eyes.

Eventually the church empties, sluggish as a tide pushing back. Only a few individuals remain now. May is chatting gently to the preacher.

And you’re still sitting in the same location, unable to move.

Then there’s a gentle shuffle of shoes approaching the pew behind you.

You glance up.

It’s Mark.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

He just sits down next you.

His suit’s a tad too small in the shoulders. His tie’s crooked. His hair’s still wet, probably raced here straight from class or a shift.

But he looks at you like he sees you.

Really sees you.

“I didn’t know if I should come,” he replies gently.

You shake your head. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

Your throat tightens.

He stares down at your hands, still curled tight in your lap.

Then at your face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. And he means it. All of it.

You swallow. “Yeah.”

He’s quiet for a minute. Then, a bit softer,“You okay?”

You nearly laugh.

It comes out strangled.

“Not really,” you say. “But thanks for asking.”

Another beat of quiet.

“He talked about you.”

Mark’s brow furrows. “Ben?”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “He liked you.”

Mark delivers a sorrowful smile. “I liked him too.”

You nod.

And suddenly, as if all at once, it breaks.

Your shoulders tremble. Your face twists. You cover your lips with your palm, but the sound still escapes, a breathless sob, piercing and abrupt and dreadful.

Mark moves without thinking.

He pulls you in.

His arms wrap around you like a shield, and you bury your face into his shoulder, shivering, breathing, trying to calm yourself, trying not to make a spectacle, but failing.

“I’m sorry,” you choke. “I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t,” he urges, his voice low in your ear. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I let him die.”

Mark stiffens slightly but doesn’t let go.

You didn’t intend to say that.

Not like that.

Not out loud.

You close your eyes.

Mark doesn't ask what you mean.

He just holds you closer.

You don’t deserve it.

But you’re thankful regardless.

The sun is low by the time you walk home.

You’re alone.

Mark offered to walk you, but you shook your head.

You needed the room.

You pass stores with their lights out. Apartment windows shining soft yellow. An aging couple strolling their dog. A group of teens giggling on someone’s porch.

Life carries on.

Even when yours doesn’t.

Even when something in you is gone.

You approach the corner where Ben was shot.

There’s chalk on the ground now. Someone sketched a heart. Wrote his name. Left a flower in a glass jar.

You squat beside it. Touch the chalk dust.

And then you do the one thing you haven’t done in days.

You whisper

“I’m sorry.”

The breeze blows gently.

No reply.

But something moves in your chest.

Not forgiveness.

Not peace.

Just… resolve.

Your room. Your silence. The beginning of anything fresh.

The home creaks in the calm.

May’s already sleeping, or at least pretending to be. You passed her room on the way up the stairs and noticed the gentle bulb glow beneath the door, the shadow of her sitting in the chair by the window. She doesn’t cry when she thinks you can hear.

You don’t weep either.

Not anymore.

There’s nothing left in you to spill.

You sit on your bed, legs crossed, looking at the closed closet door. Your funeral garments are balled in the hamper. The sleeves of Ben’s flannel droop off the side of your work chair. The one he used to wear when he prepared breakfast, even in summer. The one he was wearing when-

You squeeze your palms into your eyes.

Stop.

Focus.

You take a deep breath. Let it out gently.

Then you get up.

Open the closet.

Dig past the old pants, the half-broken Halloween costume from two years ago, the box of notebooks, till your palm brushes the little duffel bag you carried home two nights ago.

The one with your improvised wrestling costume still inside.

You pull it out and unzip it carefully.

The hoodie. The gloves. The mask. It smells like perspiration and dust and remorse.

You drop it on your bed.

And then, you stroll over to your workstation.

Pull open every drawer.

Scissors. Safety pins. Sewing kit. A set of iron-on patches you never used. A red turtleneck. Your old jogging sneakers. Fabric leftovers from May’s quilting bag. An old gymnastics leotard you outgrew but never threw away.

You put it all out in rows like evidence at a murder scene.

Then you sit.

And you begin.

The scissors aren’t sharp enough.

You cut nonetheless.

Your fingers hurt from keeping the cloth taut, but you keep going. The leotard becomes your foundation layer, red, form-fitting, functional. The turtleneck sleeves get sewed on with weak stitching. You strengthen the seams where you can.

You pull a sweatshirt sleeve inside out and start tracing the spider sign by hand.

It doesn’t come out perfect.

But you don’t care.

You sew it on.

You cut the red patches into jagged cuffs and stitch them on your forearms. They’re symbolic. They’re intended to be. They’re for Ben.

When you slide the mask over your face, a new one, red with black stitching around the eyes, you gaze into the mirror for a long time.

You don’t look like yourself.

Not really.

Your eyes are the only thing still visible, and even they feel like someone else’s.

You grab for the hoodie again, this time, not to wear it.

You put it over your lap. Fingers smooth the cloth carefully. Gently.

Ben gave you this sweatshirt years ago.

You were thirteen, soaking from a deluge, shivering in the car after going home from school in the rain. He didn’t even say anything. Just took it off and put it over you.

You never gave it back.

Now you cut a portion of it away, cautious, steady, and fold it into a patch.

You stitch it inside the wrist of your glove.

Close to your pulse.

You want it to be the last thing you touch every time you put it on.

It’s nearly 3 a.m. when you finally finish.

The outfit is rough. A patchwork of reclaimed cloth and irregular stitching. The mask moves slightly to one side. The spider on your chest is asymmetrical.

But it’s yours.

It’s not about cameras or fame.

It’s not for glory or fighting in rings.

It’s not even for revenge anymore.

It’s a promise.

You settle back in your work chair, still wearing it. The metropolis hums outside your window. You may hear the occasional honk, a dog barking someplace far off.

You flex your fingers within your gloves.

And murmur, “I’m ready.”

But you’re not.

Not really.

Not yet.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

Ben is standing in the kitchen in his flannel, flipping pancakes like he’s on a culinary show. The radio’s on. Something aged and comforting. You’re sitting at the counter, arms folded on the tile, yawning into your sleeve.

“You ever think about what you wanna be?” he asks, unprompted.

You raise an eyebrow. “In life?”

“No,” he smirks. “In a dream.”

You snort. “I don’t know. Someone who doesn’t set the smoke alarm off attempting to microwave rice.”

He smiles, pours more batter into the pan.

“I think you could be something really special,” he continues, not looking at you.

You blink. “Because I make good rice?”

“Because you care,” he adds. “You act tough. You’re funny. You’re clever. But deep down? You care. Even when you don’t want to.”

You gaze at him.

He flips a pancake with impeccable timing.

“I just hope,” he says, “that when it counts, when it really, really counts, you remember to use that. Whatever you do, wherever you end up... I just hope you choose to do the right thing.”

You roll your eyes. “Great, thanks, Yoda.”

He grins. “Hey, I’m older than Yoda.”

You toss a napkin at him.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

You stand at your window now, the complete outfit clinging tight to your frame. The fabric tugs slightly at your elbows. The mask is down, yet your fingers tremble at your sides.

You open the window carefully.

The wind rushes in. Cold. Bracing.

You step onto the fire escape.

The city stretches out before you in a sparkling grid of movement and commotion.

You squat low.

Close your eyes.

Feel it.

That tug in your center.

The one that knows what you are today.

The one that instructs you to leap.

Ben isn’t here to witness this.

But you are.

And it means you have to try.

You rocket forth into the night.

The web fires before your brain fully instructs it to.

Thwip.

You swing.

Not perfectly.

You almost lose your grasp.

But you land hard on the next building over, gasping, heart pumping.

And then you laugh, breathless and half-crazy.

Because you’re alive.

Because he isn’t.

Because this is the only thing that makes sense now.

You glance out at the skyline.

You put the mask over your face.

And say it, quiet, not to the world.

To him.

“I promise, Ben.”

You leap again.

This time, you don’t fall.

The wind stings your eyes.

Your second swing is smoother than your first. Your third is almost graceful. You’re still getting the hang of it, how much pressure to use, how far to leap, how to twist your body midair so the landing doesn’t jar your knees but you’re improving fast.

Your body knows what it’s doing even when your brain doesn’t.

You land on a rooftop with a low thud, breathing hard, heart thudding against your ribs. The city stretches around you like a maze of light and steel. Cars crawl below. Horns echo. Steam rises from vents like phantom trails.

You’re wearing the suit. Your suit.

And you’re out here.

Doing something.

Finally.

The first hour is quiet. You perch on rooftops. Watch alleys. Follow sirens from a distance and stop short when you realize the cops have it handled.

You help a guy pick up a box of dropped produce. He thanks you like you’re a cosplayer.

It’s not glamorous.

But it feels right.

Then you hear it, a scream.

From somewhere below.

You don’t wait.

You drop from the roof and fire a web mid-fall. You swing around a corner, flip over a railing, and land in a narrow alley between two apartment buildings. A man’s got someone pinned against the wall, clutching a purse, shouting. The woman is struggling, kicking, trying to twist away.

Your feet hit the pavement hard.

“Hey,” you bark, voice lower, more serious than you expect. “Back off.”

The man turns.

Scoffs.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters. “Another costumed freak? What is this, comic con?”

You shoot a web.

It hits the purse and yanks it from his hand, sticking it to the opposite wall.

He startles. Turns back to you.

“I’m not in the mood,” you say.

He lunges.

You dodge easily.

It’s instinct now.

You sweep his legs with a fluid motion and drop him hard onto the pavement. He groans, tries to rise. You web his hands to the ground.

The woman runs, clutching the purse once it peels loose.

You wave faintly.

Then crouch beside the man, inspecting your own handiwork.

“Okay,” you mumble. “That went better than expected.”

Then, crash.

Something loud above you. A blur of motion.

You spring back just as a figure drops from the sky.

And lands.

Hard.

In front of you.

You stumble into a crouch, webbing ready in your wrist.

Then stop.

Because you recognize him.

Yellow and blue suit.

Black hair.

Big lenses. Sharp. jawline.

Invincible.

You’ve seen him on the news. You’ve watched him toss tanks, punch asteroids, argue with government mouthpieces and win.

And now he’s standing in front of you, slightly breathless, looking between you and the guy you just webbed to the floor.

“Oh,” he says.

He tilts his head.

“You already got him.”

You blink.

“...Yeah.”

He nods, eyebrows lifting. “Nice.”

You glance at the guy. “Thanks. He tried to do a whole ‘I’m the big bad guy’ thing. Didn’t go great for him.”

Invincible laughs.

It’s annoyingly charming.

“Seriously, though,” he says, crossing his arms. “Not bad. You’re new?”

You shrug. “Depends who’s asking.”

He smirks. “Guy who just flew in to stop a mugging that clearly didn’t need him.”

You huff a laugh. “You’re late, by the way.”

“Fashionably.”

You both stare at each other a second too long.

You fold your arms. “So, do you always land like that? Or was that just to show off?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, the superhero pose?”

“It was very dramatic. Big ‘I’m the main character’ energy.”

“I am the main character,” he deadpans.

You roll your eyes under the mask. “Wow. Humble too.”

Another beat.

He runs a hand through his hair. It flops back exactly how it was before. Like gravity loves him too much to interfere.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” he says.

“That’s kind of the point,” you reply.

He smiles. “Mysterious. I dig it.”

You pretend your stomach doesn’t flip.

He takes a breath, suddenly softer. Looks past you at the alley wall. Then up at the stars, like he’s thinking too hard.

“Honestly, I just needed to get out,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head.

“Rough day?”

He nods. Then shrugs. “Yeah. My girlfriend’s going through something. Heavy stuff. I think I made it worse. So I figured I’d... you know.”

“Fly halfway across the city and interrupt someone else’s win?”

He chuckles again. “Pretty much.”

You smile faintly, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Girlfriend.

You should’ve guessed. Guys like him? They’re always taken.

Still, something about how he says it, soft, a little sad, makes your stomach twist differently.

You step closer to the edge of the alley and look out at the city.

“Sometimes getting out doesn’t help,” you say.

“Yeah,” he replies. “But it’s all I could think to do.”

He glances back at you, expression unreadable.

“I’m trying,” he adds. “She’s important to me. I just... don’t always know how to help.”

You nod.

You know that feeling too well.

“Maybe she doesn’t need you to fix anything,” you say. “Maybe she just needs you to stay.”

He looks at you, really looks.

Like he’s trying to place something he doesn’t quite recognize.

You don’t let him.

You fire a web and swing up to the fire escape, crouching on the railing.

“Anyway,” you call down, “nice meeting you, Invincible.”

He blinks.

“Wait, what do I call you?”

You pause.

Think for a second.

Then smile behind the mask.

“Spider-Woman.”

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

current taglist: @adeptusxia0 / @moonjellyfishie / @ladynoirx321 / @moraxussy / @saturnalya / @the-good-kooshe / @atomspidyr

not on here but want to be? just let me know! i don’t bite :)

[stilinski-ortiz-dolan]

[mercvry-glow]

All that glitters

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. jack isn't a materialistic man, and you try your best not to be spoiled—but when your man gets flirted with, maybe it's time to flaunt the rings?

warnings. typical pitt setting, hospital drama, age gap bc i make the rules in this house (Jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), secret marriage trope but the don't really try very hard to hide it, jack gets flirted with, sassy jack, reader that has hair long enough to be in a ponytail, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. love love love jack and younger reader who he loves to spoil—i'll make them my mark sloan/lexie grey dream. sorta follows the stereotype of nurses getting married young with a big phat rock on their finger and reader is living her best life fr, today she's giving health icon realness! like always feedback is very much appreciated and i love all of you!

wc. 1500+

There were very few perks to working night shift in the ER, but your coworkers were definitely one of them. The vibe was calmer, looser. You could play music low, crack jokes in between traumas, and snack on protein bars and green juice in peace without an intern hovering at your elbow asking if this was the “bad kind of blood.”

 More importantly though? You didn’t have to deal with as many junior staff mispronouncing meds or asking you if “NPO” was a hospital in another state.

Not that you were that far off from their age. You were only a few years ahead of most of them, and honestly? You didn’t always look like someone who belonged in the ER. You were the compression jacket-wearing, Pilates-going, smoothie-before-shift, electrolyte-during kind of nurse. Hair always in a claw clip, nails always clean and glossy, scrubs perfectly tailored and paired with a cute fleece half-zip. Your badge reel had glitter. Your tumbler was filled with ice water. You had a favorite lip balm and two glosses.

And somehow, you were married to Jack Abbot.

Not that most people at PTMC knew that.

Jack—hardass, sarcasm-laced, gruff-charm Abbot—wasn't exactly wearing a “taken” sign on his back. And you weren’t shouting it from the rooftops either. You both liked the privacy, liked having something all to yourselves in a place where everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business.

Still, the diamond on your finger didn’t exactly scream subtle. It was flashy. Big, clear, and set in a gold band that sparkled aggressively under the hospital’s harsh fluorescents. People noticed it. You’d caught more than one resident blinking at it mid-sentence.

Jack noticed it too, especially when you wandered over to where he stood, leaning casually against the wall near the trauma bay—arms crossed, mouth in a flat line, giving you that look he always did when you showed up a little too put together for the ER at 2 a.m.

You sipped your icy water and tapped your fingers against your cup. “Slow night.”

He didn’t even glance at you. “You trying to get us all booked?”

“Oh come on, I didn’t say the actual Q-word.”

“You said ‘slow night,’ which is the Q-word’s passive-aggressive cousin. We’re totally fucked now, hope you’re happy.”

You smiled sweetly, resting an elbow on the nearby table. “I brought chia pudding for later. Want one?”

He side-eyed you. “I don’t even know what the hell that is.”

“It’s gut healthy, Jack. There’s fruit in it too,”

“I don’t trust anything that you find on TikTok.”

You giggled, which only made him more suspicious. Jack’s gaze dipped to your hand as you fiddled with the straw in your drink, the ring practically glowing.

“You’re really wearing that thing tonight?”

You blinked innocently. “What, this old thing?”

He snorted. “You know it’s blinding under these lights, right? Someone’s gonna seize just from the glare.”

“Well then I’m technically doing my job,” you said, smiling. “Keeping you on your toes.”

“You’re gonna give the interns a complex. They think you’re single, you know.”

Your eyes widend in fake horror. “You don’t think I’m flirting with anyone, do you? Frank gets really chatty before he leaves for the night,”

He raised an eyebrow. “With how much you like to bug me, I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“That’s rich coming from you, you like to hover too.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

Jack tilted his head. “Okay. A little. I’m just makin’ sure my girl’s all good.”

You gave him a light shove and took another sip of your water, just in time to hear the trauma pager start going off. 

MVC. ETA six minutes.

Jack stood up straighter like someone flipped a switch, already reaching for gloves. You grabbed your own pair from your pocket, gently removing your ring and placing it onto the accompanying chain around your neck. It’s something you and Jack had agreed to when it came to your wedding rings, minimal gore around them—”up or off” he liked to call it. He had his own of course, though most of the time he just kept his ring on the necklace while at work. 

You started bouncing lightly on your toes to get the blood flowing, not having had any action in the time since you had arrived. 

“Try not to trip over your own sparkle out there,” he muttered.

You gave him your sweetest smile. “You love it.”

He looked at you for a beat longer than he needed to. “Unfortunately.”

Unfortunately, your ass—he picked that ring out himself.

As the trauma team assembled, you took your place beside him, the two of you syncing without needing to speak. He passed you a gown without asking. You tied the back of his before he even turned around.

If anyone noticed how in step you were, they didn’t say anything.

 Jack’s hand brushed against yours as you moved into the trauma bay, just long enough for you to know he saw you. Always did.

After your first success of the night, the adrenaline had faded from the area like mist burning off in Pitsburgh morning light. You were perched back at the nurses' station, sipping from your oversized pink tumbler once again and tapping notes into the EMR system, your high ponytail somehow still intact after the trauma call. You’d already changed into your backup hoodie, the pale blue one that matched your compression socks. 

A little style, a little lip gloss, and a whole lot of not here for nonsense.

Things had quieted enough for Jack to finally emerge from the trauma bay, only for him to be flagged almost immediately by a patient coming in from the waiting room. She was maybe late twenties, long hair, fresh manicure, a barely-there scrape above her brow. Her chart said “fall on concrete.” Her strappy heels said, fall caused by attention-seeking behavior.

You glanced up briefly, watching Jack walk her to a curtained bay. She was smiling too much. Laughing too loud. He was wearing that look—the one he got when he knew a situation would be annoying and had already mentally detached from it.

“I swear,” the patient was saying, voice high and sweet, “every time I wear these I end up in trouble. Guess that teaches me for wanting to be cute on a Wednesday night.”

Jack didn’t even blink. “Sounds like unfortunate planning.”

You tried not to smirk, eyes drifting back to your screen, but your ears stayed tuned.

Inside the curtain bay, the flirting only ramped up.

“You’ve got great hands,” she continued. “Like, really strong—Are you a surgeon or something?”

“Or something,” he muttered, clearly already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

A moment later, you stood, casually collecting a folder from the rack. You strolled over, your walk unbothered, the slight shimmer of your clear gloss catching in the overhead light. You didn’t need to announce anything. You just stepped in like you belonged there—because in reality you didn’t.

“Oh—sorry, just grabbing this,” you said lightly, nodding toward the folder tucked on the side cart.

Jack’s eyes flicked to you briefly, then away. But that flicker said a lot. You were his safety net, his distraction, his gentle way out.

The patient looked between you and Jack, then caught sight of his chain. His ring where it should be—resting loosely around his neck, the soft shine of the gold band catching the overhead lights like a quiet announcement.

She blinked. “Oh... You’re married?”

Jack didn’t miss a beat. “I am.”

You turned just slightly, giving a small, polite smile. “He’s got great hands, right? They open all my jars and everything." shifting your own necklaces ever so slightly to show off your own ring.

The patient made a noncommittal noise. You gave Jack a subtle tap on the arm—nothing big, nothing dramatic—and slipped out without another word.

Back at the nurses’ station, Dr. Shen had just walked up, sipping his Dunkin’ coffee and looking comfortable as ever. He glanced at you, then at Jack still behind the curtain.

“New patient?” He asked.

“Minor trauma,” you replied, eyes still on your chart. “Potential for eye strain, though. A lot of eyelash batting happening in there.”

Shen raised one brow. “You jealous?”

You gave a soft laugh, sliding your tumbler closer. “Nope. Just observational.”

Jack appeared a second later, walking past with his usual quiet swagger and that look of can everyone please just not say something dumb, but paused near Shen.

“Patient’s stable. Probably fine to discharge with wound care instructions and a lesson on appropriate footwear.”

Shen nodded. “Noted.”

As Jack passed you, he muttered, “You know that folder wasn’t yours, right?”

You didn’t look up. “You’re welcome.”

He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. “You’re ridiculous.”

You smiled, too sweet. “She was hitting on you.”

“I noticed.”

“She said you have surgeon hands.”

“I noticed.”

You leaned into him just enough for your perfume to tickle his nose. “You do, you know. Big, capable. Very sexy.”

“Don’t weaponize nice compliments.”

You grinned and rested your cheek on his arm for a beat. “You’re just mad you’re the one getting teased.”

He shook his head with a sigh, then mumbled under his breath, “Married a menace in $98 leggings, and I’m the one being told off.”

And you didn’t even argue—because you absolutely are… and you did buy the leggings in two colors.

mercvry-glow 2025

[baepsays]

Gojo with lotsssss and lots of body hair <3

Gojo Satoru's hair follicles are stronger than him.

His hair grows at a rapid speed. It consistently spreads all over his body. Some might call it a blessing, not having the fear of balding by the age of thirty, but honestly he thinks of it as a curse. It's not normal just how fast it grows, and covers him entirely.

His arms get covered in flimsy white hair, so does his legs, chest, back, even his ass is not spared, sadly.

And don't get him started on just his hair, the ones on his head, it grows so long in just months and weeks. He had to invest in a good trimmer and razor blades for his undercut alone. It takes a lot of time and effort to make himself look presentable and well groomed. The shaving he has given up on, he lets his body hair grow until it becomes an annoyance, then he just trims it or shaves it entirely depending on his mood. And of course these are just mild inconveniences, but collectively they take away quite a bit from his limited amount of free time.

But you, on the other hand, really love it.

Especially how easily his facial hair just grows all over his face, jaw, and chin—untamable and messy, in the morning. It's rough, and thick, and prickly. But you really like the sensation of it grazing against your neck in the morning, when he nuzzles in the crook of your neck, subconsciously, before waking up. And when he drags his face along the column of your neck, up to your chin, and lips—despite all your complaints, you love the rough texture.

"Satoruuuuuu, stopppppp." You whined, as he prepped kisses on your neck, collarbone, and jaw.

"Mhmmmm one more minute."

it's never one more minute, it's always several more minutes. And some more making out for him to shove himself off of you with a long painful groan. And even when you whine, as he smothers you with his scruff, it's never because you hate how his stubbles prick you. It's quite the contrary really, you like how they kind of hurt. In fact one of your hands always finds its way to his face, caressing his scruffy cheeks.

And you love when he asks you to shave it for him. Even though it means loss of beard Toru, but the act of sitting on the sink's countertop, or sitting in his lap, and having him lean into your touches, while you carefully dragged the blades of his razor to leave behind his soft cheeks—it all feels so intimate, beyond kisses and sex.

Speaking of sex.

It's always a bonus when on the weekends or off days, he wakes you up with his head between your thighs.

"Toru- ah. Fuck." Your whines never seem to stop when his stubbles rub against your inner thighs or puffy cunt. It's this itchy and burning sensation that his scruff leaves behind on every surface of your body, that just satisfies a very specific knot in your stomach.

"Good mornin' sweets." He'd mumble with his mouth on your clit, sucking, licking long stripes from the mound of nerves, down to your hole—lapping up everything and anything he can. Giving his entire chin and white scruffy beard, a glowy shine with your juices.

And you love how drastically all that hair changes his looks. How he looks much older when over the weekends he doesn't bother with shaving, or trimming, or anything. Like you could be just passing by and he'd be sitting on the couch watching something, and he'd put his hand up his t-shirt to scratch his stomach—because yes the hair gets very itchy—and you'd get a glimpse of all that snowy wispy hair curling in between the ridges of his abs, down his happy trail, into his pants.

Makes you want to jump him.

Aside from that, you dig how pretty his hair looks when it grows wild and unkempt, to the point it just flops over despite all the gel and wax he uses to keep it up, after putting on his blindfold—honestly you like that look better than his usual spiky hairstyle when he wears the blindfold. Just how it falls over and covers his blindfold, it looks as if he just got out of a fight, and looks so worn out, feral even.

Again, It makes you want to jump him.

Then there is his chest hair, and the happy trail, and his pubic hair. All of it grows at an equally rapid pace. And you feel like you'd die if it stopped growing as wildly as it does.

You especially appreciate it when he's giving it to you from the back, and when he leans down to stuff his face in the crook of your neck as he continues to thrust his hips—his chest presses against your back, and his cock drowns deeper within your walls.

Which means you get to feel his chest hair rubbing on your back, while his happy trail, and bush rubs and tickles your ass. Just how wet the hair down there gets, with sweat, cum, and everything filthy—it really adds to the sensation of how it prickles, tickles, and caresses your skin.

Honestly if it were up to you, you'd just grind on his happy trail or chest hair, and that'd be enough to get you off more than twice.

"Hah. L-ook at ya', m' pretty girl just grindin' on m' stomach like that." He tried his best to help you with his hands on your hips.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say ya' just really like m' abs." He chuckled as you threw your head back and clawed his chest, pulling slightly on his chest hair in the process, intentionally, most definitely.

"Bu- but, m' filthy filthy sweetheart, likes her man covered in hair huh?" His hand came down on your ass with just enough force to make it sting.

"Ye- YES. oh my god. yes."

"How honest baby." He chuckled to himself, thinking how is it even possible for him to fall in love with you again and again?

I mean he has all the money to just make an appointment and laser it all off. It'd definitely stagger the growth and for a few months he'd be mildly more productive. But who needs productivity when he has you foaming at the mouth over his hair? And how dare he take away what you, very clearly, adore? So he let it be.

For your sake.

It was not easy to hide this new found love and appreciation you suddenly grew for hair. Because this was never the case. Most of your life you've been with people with very well groomed body hair and hair in general. But something about how feral his hair grows, and how insanely hot he looks with it—the white turf that covers his entire body in mere days, despite all the time he spends keeping it to a minimum. It does something to your head and your pussy. And he definitely knows it.

It is not like you try to hide it. You just let it show, the adoration and the lust. Because he deserves to know how gorgeous he is. And how much you love him, all of him, a big polar bear or not.

a/n: dividers by @/enchanthings-a

not you guys not making enough hairy gojo content >:( I had to take matters in my own hands! like I want my big bad polar bear please. I love body hair. no one can convince me it's nasty on anyone fuck awwwffff.

taglist (because I need you guys to sit with me and ponder): @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojao @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @soupicidesquad @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi

[holeforzenin]

Tw - Stepbrother choso, soft dom Choso?, fingering, pussy eating, squirting but reader didn't know what it was, oversimulation, ass play. Reader is 20 about to start college and choso is 23. This shit is honestly pretty filthy. I'm sorry for any errors.

Thinking about...

Your mom getting remarried to another man and you having to move into a new house and adjust to your new household, it wasn't going to be easy, it's a whole different chapter of your life beginning and a lot of things were going to change and be different.

But no matter what you vowed to try your very best to make everything easier for your mom, whatever it takes. She been through a lot in her past relationship and now she's finally happy and smiling so you'll do anything you possibly can to keep it that way. It's just so weird being the only child and now having to get used to having a new sibling, he was 5 years older than you, you don't really interact with him that much, you just wanna get all this over with till you can finally move out and begin college once summer ends.

Well things just happened to take an unexpected turn pretty fast.

"Be a good girl for me and keep still yeah?" he whispered to you while slamming two of his long thick fingers into your cunt nonstop. It was too much, he made you came on his fingers two times already yet he still kept going, scissoring and curling his digits against your tight walls while he fucks it in and out of you, the wet squelch of your cunt filling the room. He had you laying on his lap with your body folded on half, one of his hands gripping your thigh while the other is plunging into your cunt, you couldn't help but squirm on top of him.

"T'much, c-can't anymore please, t'much cho" you whimpered, nails sinking into his forearm.

He looked down at you smirking, "Cum f'me one more time then I'll stop, deal?", you reluctantly nodded your head, your poor cunt was so sore from all the times he'd do stuff like this, which is every night when your parents are asleep he'd sneak into your room and play with your poor little cunny so he can prepare you for when he's gonna give you the real thing and fuck you silly with his thick cock.

"Fuckkk baby you have no idea how much I wanna sink my cock into this cunt right now", He hisses, feeling your walls tighten around his fingers, his cock straining to be released from his boxers.

"Need you to cum f'me right now, c'mon princess you can do it". He encourages, fucking his fingers into your slopping cunt knuckles deep, faster and faster, hitting your sweet spot while he brought his thumb to your clit, flickering and rubbing small circles on it as he helped you climb to your orgasm.

Your head fell back against his chest as you came undone on his fingers. You cried out as he continued pumping his fingers inside of you throughout your orgasm, your toes curling while your eyes were rolling back of your head.

His eyes were glued to your body and face, paying attention to how your body reacted while your cumming, how you look so pretty with your eyes rolling back, he can't wait to see that exact scene but with his cock splitting your tight in half instead.

You came so much, your juices were leaking onto his lap, he licked his lips looking at how creamy your cunt was glistening as he slowly began pulling his fingers out of you. Strings of your slick connecting to your cunt and his fingers before snapping when he pulled away.

"Such a messy girl, see all the dirty mess you made princess?" he chuckled "What kind of big brother would i be if I don't help my sweet little sister clean all of this up?" He questions before he manhandles your body from his lap and places your back onto the bed.

He quickly got between your thighs, pressing both back towards you so your body could be folded, he took a moment to stare at your leaky wet cunt, the way there's cum dripping out of your entrance, leaking down to your asshole it was so messy. He dragged his tongue to your asshole before licking all the cum off it in one swipe up to your cunt, then he started lapping your entrance, making sure to clean and lick all the cum off with his tongue in the process so he could taste you, he loves eating your cunt so fucking much, the taste drives him absolutely crazy, always making him coming back for more. It was delicious.

"F-fuck!" you hiccupped "N-not so fast cho, s'much slow down please" you cried out, trying to push his head away, tugging on his hair, only to earn a groan from him while he ignored you and kept slurping on your cunt like a hungry man that just got his favorite meal for the first time in forever.

He kept swirling his tongue on your clit while his fingers are digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, eyes fixated on your lewd expressions while your loud moans and cries filled the room.

It was just too much; your legs were shaking, you tried to move yourself but couldn't because of his strong grip on your thighs. All you could do is lay there, whimpering and crying as he feasts on your poor cunt. You felt your tummy start feeling weird, everything started feeling strange, like something different was about to happen. The new sensation of your body being stimulated launching you over the edge, making you jolt and writhe.

"Oh my god! Oh my god cho! Something's coming, feel so weird fu-fuck!" you warned, panicking as you attempt to try and push his head away only for his grip around your thighs to get tighter, he starts sucking your clit, as he pushes two of his fingers into your soppy fuckhole, fingerfucking the shit out of you, it was honestly so fucking nasty, the noises that were being made, literally everything.

He was acting like an actual fucking animal, groaning into your pussy while he's slurping and sucking on your clit as his thick fingers working its way in and out of your wet sloppy cunny. Your brain gets all fuzzy and blank as you released whatever it was, clear liquid gushing out of you like a fucking water hose, your back arching against the bed as you grip onto the sheets screaming, you might've even woken your parents up for fuck's sake. You squirted all over Choso's pretty face, his shirt was drenched, his fingers, everything. Yet that nasty motherfucker still kept licking up your leaking cunt, his tongue lapping up all your juices from your dripping hole then he makes his way to your asshole, circling his tongue around your puckered hole before giving it a few kitten licks, making sure that he licks up every bit of your pussy juice since it seems like a burden to him to let any go to waste. Flickering his tongue on your hole as it's fluttering and winks against the pad of it while his long fingers still slamming into your poor tired hole. It was so fucking much that you felt like passing out as you start crying and whimpering even more.

After he was 100% sure he licked your cunny and everywhere else squeaky clean and was satisfied, he pulls away from you, panting and trying to catch his breath before moving closer towards you, he picks your head up with his arms, cradling it while wiping away your pathetic tears.

"S'okay princess I got you it's okay" he allows you to catch your breath as you calm yourself down. "Did so well f'me, such a good girl, aren't you?". He cooed, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Cho-choso what was that! What happened!??" you asked nervously. "It's nothing bad baby, don't worry about it, you did a great job".

"Gonna make you do that same shit again tomorrow but on my fucking cock got it?".

Bonus

Visual on how he was eating your cunt but he was def doing way more than that since he's such a sick desperate fucker.

[httpiastri]

nsfw alphabet – ln4

author's note: this pretty much wrote itself, oh my god. hope you enjoy (and hoping for some good results this weekend!!)

nsfw content below !! minors dni !!!

a – aftercare (what he is like after sex)

after sex, lando craves having you near him. he needs his skin on yours, he needs to kiss you, he needs to hold you. it doesn't matter if he's just fucked you senseless, he still can't live on if he doesn't feel your body pressed up against him.

lando gets soft and mushy after sex, and especially if he's been in a certain type of mood; he just needs to make sure you're alright and that you understand that even if he got a little too into it, he's still your cute and sweet boyfriend. he thanks you for being there, he asks you if you're feeling good, and makes sure he wasn't too rough with you.

another thing about lando after sex is that he loves cockwarming. the first time you tried it was probably just because he was lazy, too tired to pull out, but after then it's so much more. again, it's that craving for your touch and what better way than to completely drown in you all night? he doesn't care if you're both sweaty or sticky or if your combined juices make a mess of the sheets. that's a problem for another day.

b – body part (his favorite body part of his and also his partner's body)

lando likes a lot of his own body parts for different reasons. his tongue because of the way he knows it makes you feel and because he's confident in his skills with it. he likes his hands, the size of them and the way they never fail to make your back arch off the bed (and because of how they look wrapped around your wrists, your legs, your waist, your neck...). he knows his neck makes you go crazy, and he'll think about you leaving a trail of lovebites down it whenever he does his neck exercises at the gym. but honestly, i think he just really likes all of his muscles, partly because of how defined they are and how good they look, but also a lot of it is because of how strong he is; he loves being able to hold your body down in bed, or hold you up in the shower, or throw you over his shoulder and toss you onto the bed.

i genuinely can't figure out if i think he's an ass guy or a boobs guy – i'm pretty sure he's both, and he's obsessed. it doesn't matter if you're petite or curvy or somewhere in between, he's pretty much gawking at you 24/7. if you're turned towards him, he's happy to have a view of your chest. if you've got your back turned against him, his eyes won't be leaving your gorgeous butt. his hands will be on them all the time, doesn't matter if you're out in public or home in your apartment. he needs to feel you, and nothing satisfies his needs as much as having his favorite body parts of his favorite person in his hands.

c – cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

oh he's good with anything. coming inside you, in your mouth, over your chest, doesn't matter. he finds it all so insanely hot. seeing you lick it up? he's dead. seeing you lick your own cum from his fingers after he's fingered you? even more dead.

d – dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of his)

lando loves a good photograph – and that definitely goes for pictures of you. you bet he's got a whole private folder on his phone of just pictures of you on top of his covers, hickeys adorning your skin... ass or breasts on full display... tied up to the bed frame or with one of his hands wrapped around your neck... of course, the two of you have had a serious conversation about it to make sure it's consensual, and he would never ever even think of showing anyone else, he's far too possessive for that. they're purely for his own enjoyment.

the only thing that makes him even more aroused than pictures of you is videos... he's a bit shy to bring it up but he would love to make some kind of softer sex tape one day. but for now, he'll settle for the short clips he has of himself slowly thrusting into you or you riding him.

e – experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he's doing?)

lando is experienced, no doubt. mostly with casual hookups, though, which i think influences his style. he definitely knows what he's doing, he knows every little secret about your body and what every touch will make you feel. he also surprises you with a new trick every once in a while that just blows your mind because how can he still impress you even after all this time? that's just lando.

f – favorite position (this goes without saying)

lando doesn't settle for just one position, he wants you every way all the time. he loves to switch positions mid-way through just to get another angle and another feel of you. plus, the bonus of getting to see different parts of you is great. doggy just to have his hands on your ass, cowgirl to get to see your breasts bounce... he doesn't really have a set favorite, anything that makes you both feel good is perfect for him.

g – goofy (is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous? etc.)

oh he can definitely be goofy with it. lando laughs at pretty much everything and that doesn't just go away in the bedroom. it's not overly frequent, like he doesn't just crack jokes out of nowhere, but he's a smiley dude. he's also very teenage boy-ish, which leads to a lot of laughter and funny situations.

h – hair (how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i don't think he cares too much, to be fair. he's tried shaving a couple of times just to see how it looks, but he's much too lazy to keep up with it. as long as you don't mind a lot, he will just let it grow however it wants.

i – intimacy (how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he's intimate, sure, but not overly romantic i think. there are moments or certain occasions where he definitely is, though; he enjoys getting all romantic and fluffy for you every once in a while. but for him, most of the romance comes after it. the aftercare is where he'll show just how sweet and domestic he can be.

j – jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he used to love a good handjob, especially during a race weekend when he didn't have access to any girls and just needed to blow off some steam. but ever since he started getting with you, it's just not the same anymore... he misses your touch, the feeling of sinking into you, getting to hear your whiny breaths as he fucks you. he doesn't properly get off by himself unless he's watching a video of you or looking at a particularly suggestive picture you've sent him.

k – kink (one or more of his kinks)

i think lando definitely has a bulge kink. seeing your stomach move around when he thrusts into you makes him so weak. also, i'm sorry but he has a bit of a pregnancy kink, too. especially after spending days with baby relatives or just seeing kids around. it doesn't come out very often, but don't be surprised when he gets all "you'd look so good with my baby inside you" and "let's make that belly round and beautiful, hm?"...

l – location (favorite places to do the do)

i feel like the location doesn't matter a lot to him. bedroom, kitchen, living room, bathroom, the windowsill that any of his neighbors could look through any day... having someone watch you two doesn't matter to him; he just feels like a generous boy for giving them a treat.

he isn't shy to get it on in public, either. obviously, behind closed doors is a must, but if he gets particularly horny at a friend's party? then the bathroom seems like a good place to spend some time. he isn't shy to play a little with you in public either, his hand on your thigh underneath the table at the club slowly but surely inching up... and giving you a few teasing strokes until you're begging for him to just take you home...

one of his weaknesses is swimming pool sex. as long as there's no one else in the pool, it doesn't matter if there are friends nearby (if it's a pool party, etc.); he just loves the feeling of the water around you and how easy it is to slip into you.

don't know where else to put this than here, but i think it's very important to add that lando does not care at all who else is near when you're around and he's in a mood. pda is his middle name, and his hands will be on you at all times. holding your hand, wrapping an arm around your waist, a hand on your ass...

if you're at a party, lando will be upset if you choose a seat that isn't his lap. having you straddle his thighs or sitting sideways in his lap is his biggest wish, and he feels like the world's luckiest man whenever you give him the pleasure of doing it. he also loves it because it means he can make sure you're not off talking to some creepy dude, and that everyone sees who you belong to. lando is very possessive and this is the perfect way to keep his possessiveness in check.

m – motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)

honestly, it's not hard at all to rile lando up. he can and wants to get with you at all times. but drunk lando = extra horny lando. never is lando as frisky as when he's downed a few drinks (or half a champagne bottle on the podium). his hands will be on you constantly.

whenever you wear anything that shows off your cleavage, he's done. his brain will short circuit.

as i've covered before, and will cover again, lando is possessive, but also quite easily jealous. seeing you with some other dude makes him really easily riled up. it's not that he likes it – he hates the thought of you actually being with another man – but just a little teasing never hurt anyone. he's too confident in himself and he knows that you love him and only him, that even when he sees you flirt with someone else, it doesn't upset him because he understands that it's all just a game.

n – no (something he wouldn't do, turn-offs)

lando doesn't like to share you. he thinks it's cool that you flirt with other men, but if you were to ever cross the line and actually do something with another man, he would be so mad (and not in a good way-). he could possibly be up for a threesome if you really want to, but he needs to be there and he will be watching over the other guy with so much suspicion. he would want to make sure that you're enjoying everything he's doing much more than the other dude, and to be fair it would pretty much eventually turn out to be just regular sex between the two of you with the other man just not being involved.

o – oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he loves both of them. he's a messy giver, hastily licks and just eating you out like a starved man. he loves the taste of you – he swears it's one of his favorite things in the world – and he will just never get sick of it. he can go over and over, a million rounds, until he has you completely ruined underneath him; legs trembling, eyes rolled back, brain empty of thoughts.

your blow jobs, though, are like god's gift to him. he would never force you to give him them, but oh does he think about them about 24/7. unless you're completely oblivious, you'll understand quite quickly how much he enjoys them. and why would you not want to please him and make him as happy as he wants? he gets completely lost in the feeling, his hands tangling in your hair and fingers pulling on it, guiding you up and down... and he just can't hold back from thrusting ever so slightly into it. you're just too good – and you bet he'll praise you for it.

p – pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

i think this can vary a bit, actually. fast and rough sometimes, slow but deep and hard other times. it's not often that he's on the sensual side, though it does happen every once in a while. but you bet he's going to pour all of his energy into it and make it real hot and needy, no matter the pace.

q – quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he definitely likes a good old quickie! you've both gotten quite used to them, especially during race weekends when you have a tight schedule. if you're really really tight on time, a quick blowjob does the job, too.

r – risk (is he game to experiment? does he take risks? etc.)

definitely. he loves trying new things to spice things up, and he's not shy to experiment and take a risk that maybe not everyone else would. he would adore having a partner who's as open to experimenting as he is, it would just make him feel so free and non-judged. if you get to see lando in his fully comfortable state, you'll definitely find him suggesting all kinds of things.

s – stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

lando is obsessed with you, so nothing can tire him out. he can last forever (or, at least so he thinks).

t – toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)

as we've talked about already, lando is up for anything. bring up any kind of toys and he's sold. he's also really curious about how you please yourself when he's away, so you bet he will love watching you get off without him helping you out.

u – unfair (how much he likes to tease)

lando is definitely a big tease. pressing pecks all over your body except for where you really need and want him, fingers stroking up and down your sides a little too lightly for your taste; leaning back when you lean in to kiss him, pressing a finger to your lips with a silly grin on his lips; pulling out of you just as you're about to reach your climax, tilting his head and letting out a little "oh? you wanted to come? sorry, baby. you'll have to beg for it"....

this also happens, maybe even more, when you're in public. he doesn't care who's around; he knows you get a little extra tense and that you're easier to work up when you don't want anyone to know what lando is doing to you. his specialty is kneeling down and pretending to tie your shoelace or brush away some dirt from your heels, and when no one is looking, he makes sure to press a short trail of kisses right above your knee and up the inside of your thigh. it makes you react with the same wide eyes and speechlessness every time, and he loves it. almost as much as he loves seeing your friends ask you what's wrong.

v – volume (how loud he is, what sounds he makes, etc.)

lando is not scared of being loud, he's very very vocal during sex. he loves to moan, seeing it as a way to let you know how good he thinks you feel. he's the type to moan and groan even when he's the one doing the work; just watching your juices drip out of you brings a warm sensation to his chest because he's the one who did that. you react like that to him and only him.

he also loves to talk you through it. a lot of guiding, even though you already know what to do, and a lot of praise.

w – wild card (a random headcanon)

one thing lando thinks is the maybe hottest thing you can do is pull on his chains when he's wearing them... just yanking him towards you so that you can press your lips to his, it has him dead in seconds.

he also has a thing for seeing you wear necklaces or chains (esp his chains) because it reminds him of this other type of necklace that he loves seeing around your throat much more...

x – x-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

he's a big boy for sure. thickness is his strongest suit but he's got some good length too.

y – yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

as i've said before, lando is obsessed with you, so he could have sex with you anytime anywhere. there's not going to be a time where he doesn't want to have sex with you.

z – zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterward)

i think it depends. if you've been at it for a while and he's very energetically drained, he'll be quick to fall asleep. but in some other cases, it takes him a long while to mentally calm down from his high and actually relax his mind. he'll be all pumped up.

[artdcnaldson]

yknow those wives who have affairs with men they meet at the gym? yea so that but its art fucking the pretty, young thing from the yoga class his trainer signed him up for. something about mindfulness and old joints, honestly art wasnt listening, too busy thinking about how embarrassed he would be trying to do yoga in a public gym, a nice gym, but public nonetheless. but the first time he goes he picks the matt next to yours, youre no professional but youre a hell of a lot better than he is, as is everyone else but he's not looking at them. you end up chatting afterwards and it just kind of become routine for you to share those classes when you're both there. grabbing a juice together afterwards. and before either of you really understand whats happening, juice turns to lunch, one class a week turns to 3 or 4, a cup of coffee on the weekend turns to regular dinners. and suddenly he's fucking you in the back of his car in the parking lot of your building, all the yoga really paying off with the ways he's bending you trying to make it work in the cramped space. he was really just going to drive you home, like he always does, but you're just so pretty and he swears he saw tashi texting a number with the name "p" last night... so he kisses you and then hes rutting into your pussy, begging oyu to cum around him, let him feel your pussy get tight like that, strangle his cock.... many a thought

-🐞

GODDDDD <3 <3 <3

He isn't going to cheat, he isn't going to cheat, he is NOT going to cheat. It runs through his mind every fucking class after that first one. He's there to improve mobility, to help him get out of his head and be mindful, to kick the horrible anxiety that he's developed since the injury, that's worsened since New Rochelle.

He's not there for you. Even if you're the only person there he talks to. Even if he looks forward to seeing you every morning when he wakes up. Even if he suffers through gross pressed juice after each class because it means more time with you.

You make him happy, in a way he hasn't felt in a really long time. Desirable, interesting, worthwhile. You smile at him across the table when you go out for lunch, and sometimes you duck your head to hide giddy little smiles when he says something sweet. He'll reach across the table and his fingers will brush against your hand, and you won't move away. Your fingers stretch out, feel his, and that's good, that's fine.

It's not cheating. Coffee on Saturday mornings when there aren't any classes scheduled isn't cheating. Texting with your name replaced with a single letter to be discreet isn't cheating. Getting dinner isn't cheating. Watching movies together in your cute little apartment isn't cheating.

Surely Tashi knows. But why would she care when she's got a secret of her own? He know's she's texting Patrick. She has been since the challenger, working out the minutiae of what her coaching him will entail, and it makes Art's stomach turn. That incessant buzzing in his ear like a gnat, the constant question of if Patrick is fucking his wife. Again.

Art had said he would try. He would try to keep playing past the open, and he'd try to fix their marriage. But that was an optimistic promise made in the aftermath of a great fucking game of tennis. It wasn't until later that the resentment and anxiety reared its ugly head.

And then there's you. You don't watch tennis, you don't care about his ranking, you don't expect anything of him. All you expect of him is the pleasure of his company. And god, you look so sweet, sitting in the passenger seat of his jeep. For the past ten minutes, you’ve been rambling on and on about the new show you started watching, how you swear he'd like it, really.

"You're quiet," you say once he's pulled into the parking garage and killed the car. You reach across the center console and put a hand on his arm. "Everything okay?"

No. He's thinking about Tashi and Patrick. Of a text that flashed across her screen that morning from a contact that's just P, "when are you telling art?" He's thinking about affairs, about how he wants one thing to himself, and why can't that be you?

So he kisses you, and you can feel the desperation and need in the rough press of his mouth against yours, in the slow lave of his tongue, licking into your mouth like he wants to savor the taste of you. And you just take it, moaning into his mouth, soft and pretty.

"You're married," you pant as you both climb into the backseat. You say it like you haven't been craving this exact moment since you first saw him walking into the class with an overfull gym bag and a plain gray mat slung over one shoulder. You say it because if you don’t, you’ll feel worse.

But he just silences you with another hungry, desperate kiss that you return in kind. You paw at his shirt, trying to tug it off without breaking the kiss. Art laughs against your mouth and sits back on his heels to peel it off.

He likes the way you look up at him, like he’s the best thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s never felt that from anyone before, never felt like much more than a second choice. A consolation prize. Your hand is small, sliding along the plane of his chest, dipping down to his abs. It’s like you’re marveling at him, appreciating his body the way you’d appreciate a work of art.

Your hand slides down and you palm him almost timidly, feeling the hard length of him in your palm. He groans, a low, masculine sound that makes heat bloom in the pit of your stomach. You’ve heard something similar, when he’s stretching out a particularly tight muscle, or when you’re doing partner poses in yoga class— a hot, panted groan in your ear due to the proximity. But this is entirely new— addicting in the best way.

You don’t care that he’s married. Well, you do, but you just want him to be happy. You can make him happy— can give him something more than what he has. Doesn’t he deserve that?

Your clothes are shed quickly, easily. Peeled off smooth skin, discarded into the floorboard. All of your senses are flooded with Art’s hands, the way they grasp at your exposed skin, feeling, holding, possessing— His mouth, searing hot where he laves at your throat, over your tits. He sucks your nipple into his mouth and it makes you mewl. Arching into his touch.

“I want— fuck— I want to do so much to you,” he mumbles against your skin. He nips at the plush skin of your tits, promising bruises that will remind you in the morning you hadn’t just dreamt it all. “I just need to have you.”

You’d let him do anything. You’d let him carve you open and replace everything inside with him, him, him. And he does, in a way. When he lines up with your cunt and drives in, burying himself deep inside, it feels like he’s all that’s left of you.

The car rocks on its axels as he fucks you, deep and slow. It drives gasps and moans from your lips each time he bottoms out, when you feel his cock deep in your cunt, when his balls press tight against your body.

Art moans a desperate, masculine sound, his breath coming hot. The windows fog, dripping condensation in slow trails. “I think I love you,” Art groans, the words slipping out as he gets closer and closer and closer.

He’s married. He’s probably only saying it in a fuckdrunk haze. It’s a bad decision, you’d both regret it in the morning.

“I love you,” you tell him, softly. Earnest as he’s ever heard it said. He cums hard, grinding slow and deep so it’s as deep as possible.

He walks you to the door, kisses your cheek, tells you he’ll see you at the studio soon. When he gets home, he doesn’t tell Tashi, but she can sense it on him. The secret seeps from his pores. Good for him. It’s about time he does something for himself.

His next tournament is beautiful— his best tennis in a while. And maybe it’s best for Tashi to turn a blind eye while Art’s winning again. Maybe.

[artsninspo]

"CINDERELLA 🛍️" - RIO X READER

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

Authors Note: Inspired by this ask, i've come to deliver 'sweet' Rio. Let me know how I did lol.

Summary: This ones fluffy 🐻 🐻 🐻, when boyfriend Rio hears you celebrating your friend getting spoiled by her man he has questions and answers.

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader

Word-Count: 1.2K

Sitting in your backyard you laugh sitting forward as you take a break from your book. You slide back on the recliner to get a better look.

“Eeeeeeeee” you squeak, looking at the haul in front of your best friend.

“I know right!” She smiles wide eyed.

“I can’t believe it! You need to come over and see” she laughs hand to head in disbelief as you talk on FaceTime.

“Trust me, I’m coming” you nod sipping your morning green juice. 

“Okay, yes! Come over, I'll order pastries and we can play dress up.” She proposes.

“Okay!” You smile hanging up to head back inside. You head to your bedroom to find something to wear and then into the bathroom to get ready. You’re nearly finished when Rio appears in the doorway.

“Morning, you’re up early” he says, kissing your temple and pulling you into a hug.

“Morning baby, I’m headed over to my bestie's place.” You smile.

“What do you two have going on?” He asks as you finish your hair, always curious, always protective.

“She’s seeing this guy who … oh my gosh! Babe you should see it. He bought her like three designer bags, and cleared out her shopping carts for Amazon and another site.” You smile but Rio doesn’t. He doesn’t like the excitement you carry while talking about another man.

“Sure it’s all real?” Rio says and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be a hater” you mumble, casting a disappointed look over your shoulder.

“When are you coming back home?” Rio asks, looking you over.

“We just need an hour or two,” you shrug.

“Are all the girls gonna go?” he asks.

“Don’t know but I’d assume her sisters are coming too.” You explain. Nodding Rio takes your chin giving you a kiss to love on you. He never lets you leave his sight without giving you affection, it's something about him that you love. When he pulls away your eyes open to find him taking your expression in before he steals a few more quick kisses, holding you against him.

“Come back around 4” he says into your hair.

“Okay” you nod. “Need anything while I’m out!”

“I’m good, have fun with your friends.” Rio says, letting you go.

Rio’s always admired how you speak about the people you love. You never hate, you’re such a good person you don’t take your friends’ excitement and milestones as bragging or showing off and you’re not a jealous person. Yet, you never brag about yourself.

“I will” you smile but he doesn’t leave. “What?”

“Nothing, I just didn’t know you like designer” he shrugs looking you over with folded arms.

“It’s pretty, I can appreciate it” you shrug.

“How come you don’t have any bags?” He asks.

“Can’t justify the expense. I don’t dress up or go out enough” you tell him honestly. You’re the inside friend. The green juice over tequila friend. The Pilates and picnics over clubs and vip sections. You aren’t above the latter but it just isn’t you.

“Makes sense,” he nods. “Want me to drop you off?” He asks.

“Sure”

“Bet, I’ll be in the car” he mutters, patting your butt as he leaves you to it. You’re out in five minutes. Rio gets your door, always the gentleman. The drive is short and you give him a quick kiss before you’re off.

———

You walk out to Rio’s car giddy. Girls' time is much needed. Nothing is better than hearing about when your friend’s man has done well. You prefer it infinitely to the contrary.

“Hey” you smile leaning over the console to give him a kiss.

“Have fun?” he asks.

“Yep, she’s happy and I love that for her.” You tell him. Rio nods not giving a fuck about your friends one way or another.

“I gotta pick up a few things before we head back to the house,” he says.

“Ok” you nod powering up your kindle for the ride. Rio smiles watching as you read.

“Are you reading some shit we can get into later?” He teases. You blush and he laughs.

“Maybe I don’t know yet?” You respond. He gets a call from his cousin Nick and you tune it out noting the hostility in his tone. You figure the pick-ups are for Nick but when the car stops at the high end shopping plaza in your city you’re confused. You follow him into Hermes. 

“Called ahead, booked the private room with my girl. Gave the sales associate her sizes,” he says as you look down at your yoga outfit, glancing at your casual hairstyle in the mirror horrified.

“Baby” you quip just above a whisper.

“You look beautiful,” Rio responds, kissing your temple.

“Right this way” the associate smiles, taking you into a room. You see sandals, bags and a picnic basket on the table. Along with comfortable seating, mirrors and champagne. “I’ll leave you to it,” she smiles.

“Rio” you sigh, heart racing.

“Don’t start mama. If I want to do something nice for my girl, I can.” He says with defiance seated.

“But baby, I can’t return the favour” you pout looking at all the luxury items around you. Rio pulls you in wrapping his arms around your waist as he looks at you from the elevated seating. 

“You keep my head clear, you don't stress me out, you take care of me and don't ask for shit. It’s priceless” he explains. You smile feeling appreciated and he smirks. “Go one have fun!” he nudges.

“I love you Christopher” you giggle holding his hands.

“Love you too” he responds. You look at a few of the sandals wincing at the price. You look at the picnic basket and see it’s like $20k.

Gasping you look at him. “Rio this stuff is seriously too expensive.”

“Money isn’t a problem,” he reminds, picking up a sandal. You sit overwhelmed.

“Rio people have real life problems and I’m walking around with a bag that’s worth a car?” you question the ethics and implications of these kinds of wealthy displays.

“Well look at that Cinderella” he teases. It’s a perfect fit. You smile admiring the design elements. It’s your style and the colour compliments your skin tone. “The purses can fit everything, shoes you can wear anywhere, and there’s no monogram.” He explains and you pause relenting when you see he won’t drop it. You accept his generosity allowing yourself to accept the grandiose gifts. Your heart races as you turn back to the bags. You pick up a bag in your favourite colour and one in black. He buys you a couple of sandals and you leave the overpriced picnic basket knowing it’s highly likely to be stained or damaged. The total of everything makes your heart race but Rio doesn’t flinch paying with a smile. An associate boxes everything up and places them into the trunk of Rio’s car for you.

“Thank you” you smile giving him a kiss.

“You clap for everyone around you, sit back and let me take care of you alright?” He asks, holding your gaze calmly. It makes you a little misty eyed. Rio chuckles, giving you a peck.

“Big baby,” he says, pulling out and heading home. Rio helps you arrange your closet with your new things and you show him some appreciation in the shower. You're all ready for bed when you get a facetime call from your bestie. Rio sees it first.

“Make me sound good, yeah?” he teases, stepping out and you laugh answering with a smile before bragging on your man.

_______

Authors Note: You know the drill, don't forget to like comment and reblog. Let me know how I did in the replies. I have so much fun writing for Rio's smartass.

[mintwithchoco]

Slow Down

Oh My Girl Yooa x Male Reader + Male OC

Word Count: 8883 words

Categories: smut, threesome, oral, spitroasting, rough sex(?), double penetration, subbygirlfriend!yooa honestly, commission

Commission Details: one quaint sized of mint choco ice cream (8k-10k words)

Inspired from:

Breathe in, breathe out. Control it. Just for a little bit more. You can hold it in, you can definitely hold it— 

“Fuck, Yooa… slow it, down, a little—”

She’s far from gone. You can’t stop her anymore. Relentlessly thrusting herself onto your cock is the only way for her to feed off this sinful pleasure. Being a few weeks away from her beloved significant other is quite the punishment, and with it comes an unquenchable desire to give you the best ride of your life, milking everything that your balls have saved.

This situation was within your expectation however, so you were prepared to pull an all-nighter. What wasn’t in it though was how you would have four orgasms, fully filling up her cock hungry soul in a span of three hours. To say that you were exhausted was an understatement—you felt like you were on the borderline of passing out as the constant streams of euphoria registers into your whole body. 

Both of your crotches were in complete mess. Your cum was literally leaking out of the horny girl, who just couldn't keep her mouth shut, resonating the room with her moans. With a piercing screech, she makes one last powerful thrust and sprays her climax juice all over your cock. 

Now that she’s laying almost lifeless on your torso, surely this enthralling scene would come to an end right?

Before you could even think about sleeping with your cock still inside her dripping cunt, she rises up once again after whispering into your ear these three sinful words, “Cum for me.” This instantly sparked something inside your brain to force everything you have left to tend to your lover’s demand. You hold her by the waist, steadily supporting her body moving against you. The friction proved to be effective as you were driving closer and closer to your peak.

 “Yes, yes, yes, fucking cum for me!”

 “Fuuuuck, Yooa!”

You let Yooa sink deep into your lap as you violently let out everything that you had—two thick shots of cum smearing her insides, adding towards the already unreasonable amount. Her head falls backwards, letting herself fully enjoy the feeling of being stuffed with your semen until she finally collapses onto you due to exhaustion. Meanwhile, it was a challenge for you to regain your composure after that intense session, especially with Yooa hugging you so tightly. Yet, you didn’t utter any complaints. A satisfied smile from your beautiful girlfriend is all you need to feel better.

“That was so good, oppa. You came so much for me.” Yooa said, in between breaths.

You giggle softly. “Anything to make my dearest happy. I hope you feel satisfied now.”

Yooa nods cutely, and you reply back with a kiss on her forehead. No other words were needed to end the night off as Yooa snuggles into your embrace, making you drape the sheets over your sweaty bodies before drifting off to sleep.

─◍──────

“...I just feel like, last night, we didn't do very much. Like, I need more.”

“You… want more?” She nods. “So, all we did last night was not enough?”

“No! No, oppa, I-I don’t mean it like that! It’s just that…” Yooa trails off, getting distracted by the ice cream stand by the street you both are going to before continuing, “It’s just that I wanna, you know, try something new when we do it again!”

The two of you are currently basking in the serenity of a much-needed getaway, a perfect retreat after Yooa’s performances at the recent Waterbomb festival. As both a congratulatory gift for her success plus an apology gift for being away on a business trip, you decided to bring her to the resort that she’s been dying to visit for months. Unsurprisingly, she was more than ecstatic to thoroughly experience this trip, savoring each second as if it was the most precious thing to her.

“Don't we always do that? I mean, last night, I came so much inside of you—”

Yooa puts a finger on your lips to stop you, as more people are appearing on the sidewalk. “Shhh, not so loud!” She sighs, before continuing, “I know it was, but it was me who wanted it. How about we switch it up this time, with you picking what we do next?”

But we’ve done everything though?

The intention of shopping at a mall near the resort is put on hold for a while with a stop for some ice cream. While you both munch down on your cold snack, you begin to wonder what your girlfriend really wants—what else haven't you done with her? 

For the last year you’ve been together, you’ve experienced a lot of new things with Yooa. Memories of the first date are still fresh in your mind, like it just happened yesterday. You remember being so nervous to even meet eyes with her, especially knowing the fact that a well-known idol you’ve seen on music shows countless times is now right in front of your eyes. You’d have to thank the hands of fate somehow, as Yooa was attracted to your charms from the very beginning, and how genuine you are going into this relationship after being tested with the cons of her busy idol life. 

Yooa suddenly whines at your tense expression. “Don’t think about it too much, oppa! I’m still very happy, and that's all that matters. Let's just enjoy this trip to the fullest, okay?”

She's right. Your focus should be on this trip that you have thoughtfully planned out purely for both of you. You then grab her hand swiftly and lead her through your next agenda. Before you know it, you both are already walking around the mall, your eyes left to scatter around for some interesting place to shop at. Eventually, Yooa stops by a dress store. 

She quickly gets to one of the clothes racks. “Look oppa, this dress is so cute! This one too! And this one!” 

You smile. “Why don't you try it on?” 

Yooa then excitedly grabbed three of the dresses that she likes and brought them to the dressing room. It only took her a few minutes to put on her first choice—a white floral patterned dress which flaunts her curves really well and more on the revealing side. When she comes out to show it off to you, you’re nothing but starstruck by her look.

“How does it look, oppa?” 

You snap out of your little trance. “Uhh, looks great to me! How do you feel about it?”

“It’s a little tight, but it's comfy!” Yooa spins around while checking out all the details of the dress. “Hmm. I’ll put on the next one.”

She returns to the small cubicle to change into her second option—a plain dark blue maxi dress, flowy and conservative that reaches by her ankles. It definitely looks much cuter than the first one, due to its simple nature. The door opens, and you are immediately greeted by a much brighter look from your girlfriend.

“Oppa look! This is sooooo cute! What do you think?” Yooa says while fluttering her dress cutely.

“Yeah, it does look cute babe! Wait, just stand there and look pretty.” You quickly pull out your phone and open your camera. Taking a few steps backwards to aim your phone properly, you began to capture a few pictures of your gorgeous girlfriend. 

“Hey—”

Suddenly, you accidentally hit something—or rather someone while you were backing up. You jerk in surprise and immediately look behind.

“Oh, shit—s-sorry! I didn't see you there,” Hold on, this guy looks familiar…

“It's cool, bro—eh?” The man’s neutral expression turns into a puzzled one once both of you meet eyes, as he also recognizes you. It didn't take that long for you both to find the answer.

“Mingi?!” Yooa exclaims.

Take another look at his face, and your eyes widen. “No way! What's up bro?”

Mingi isn't just an acquaintance; more accurately, he's your former rival. Before you became close with Yooa, he was the one taking her on dates, spoiling her with gifts, and, for all the obvious reasons, shaping her into the woman you’re now with. In some ways, you could admit that they made a great couple, given how happy they seemed together. But in the end, it wasn’t meant to be. Their careers clashed too much, pulling them in different directions. Thankfully, they ended things on good terms, as shown by how well they still maintain their friendship over the years.

You give Mingi a firm handshake. “Good, good. Are you two on a holiday?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been away because of work and she's been busy as well, so we decided to just take a little detour here. What about you, what are you doing here?”

Mingi beams, “Oh, this is actually my store! Well—not exactly mine, but my sister’s store. I’m just helping with a few things here.” 

Yooa butts in, “No wonder the store felt familiar! Hey, can we get a discount on these?” 

“An idol asking for a discount? That’s rare.” 

“Hey, idols still need to save some money if given the chance!”

Mingi and Yooa continue to tease each other, going back and forth with each other like back in their days. Surprisingly, you were unfazed by their shenanigans at all. Jealousy has never even crossed your mind. It's all due to the fact that Mingi has been nothing but genuinely nice to the both of you, even going as far as advising you on some things about Yooa in your early days. And like he mentioned to Yooa, he is also not interested in looking for another partner yet, which means a scheme of getting back together is definitely not in his books. Hopefully.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you these three dresses for the price of one. Happy?” Mingi offers, and Yooa excitedly agrees.

You shake your head in response, feeling the secondhand embarrassment from your girlfriend’s playful behavior. As Mingi sends both her and a staff member to the receptionist for some final adjustments and the payment of the dresses, you thank him for the generous offer.

“It's nothing really. Hey, we should totally hang out sometime. Been a while since we had a drink.”

“Yeah, dude! I’ll see if we can make the time.”

Mingi snickers. “No, no, no, I mean, just us. Boys talk, you know what I mean?”

You thought about it for a while until you caught his message. “Gotcha, gotcha.” Within minutes, Yooa returns to you with a bag on hand containing the dresses. A big smile is plastered on her face. “All done, babe?”

Yooa nods. “Thanks again Mingi! I’ll be sure to promote your store on my Insta!”

“You better be, or else I'm getting killed by Minju. You two keep enjoying your day, alright?”

You both bid Mingi a goodbye and went on to check out some other stores around. Amidst the shopping spree and the almost excessive spending done by your girlfriend, one thing is still stuck in your mind throughout your day. 

“Boys talk, you know what I mean?”

It wouldn't hurt to bring it up to him, right?

───◍────

Afternoon soon came around, and you are now lying lifelessly across the bed in your hotel room. Your legs are at the point of breaking apart (probably an exaggeration on your end) due to the whole shopping spree in the morning. You blankly stare at the white ceiling, wondering when your next few events will unfold. But it quickly diminishes itself as the fatigue finally settles in your body, your eyelids growing heavier the more you sink into the ever so comfortable mattress.

Just as you are about to fall deeper into your state of resting, a face suddenly appears in your vision.

“Oppa!” Yooa’s loud voice rings in your ear, making you jolt awake. “Let's go for a swim!”

“A swim? That does sound nice. But—” You stretch out your limbs, before continuing, “I’m all drained out. Maybe later.”

Yooa flattens her lips, looking slightly dissatisfied with your answer. “Alright then, but I’m going first. Feel free to join in whenever you want!”

You flip your body over, sinking yourself into the bed with your face flat and give her a thumbs up. Yooa quickly finishes preparing herself for the pool, wearing a two piece swimsuit that perfectly accentuates her tantalizing figure and bringing along a couple of towels to cover up and dry herself right after. 

Before she reaches for the door, Yooa screams out, “I’m going now!” 

You weakly utter, “Mmm, have fun.”

The door closes, and you are now left alone in the room, being free with your own thoughts and to do whatever you want. Maybe you will join your girlfriend downstairs. Though to be fairly honest, you’re not a big fan of public swimming pools, so the only reason why you would go to the pool is to just admire Yooa in her skimpy swimsuit. So basically, there's not much use for you to go there anyways other than to accompany your girlfriend. But looking at her enthusiasm even if you—her beloved one who she sticks with all the time like glue—are not there shows that she can take care of herself well enough for the moment.

Eventually, your thoughts come across your encounter with Mingi once more, leading you to remember your concerns about Yooa. You don't know whether you should bring this topic up to him at all, despite Mingi’s open mind and carefree nature. Sure, he has helped you out in deciphering your girlfriend’s riddles since he went through it all with her. Though, this is more of a “personal” case rather than your typical puzzling interactions. 

But in your head, there's a voice that tells you to take this chance. Maybe there’s still a few things that Mingi hasn't told you, and this could be the right opportunity to do so. Soon enough, you got a hold of your phone and quickly got in contact with him.

[4:26 PM] You: yo, you free?

[4:28 PM] Mingi: in about a few mins

[4:28 PM] Mingi: why?

[4:29 PM] You: lets hang out, i have smth to talk about

[4:31 PM] Mingi: ight, where?

[4:32 PM] You: at the resort’s cafe, i’ll send you the location

[4:35 PM] Mingi: cool, be there in 10

It took you two minutes to get dressed and be headed downstairs to the cafe. Luckily, the swimming pool is on the top floor, so chances of being noticed by Yooa would be pretty low. Once inside the cafe, you are greeted by the calming scent of coffee beans, the buzzing sounds made from the espresso machine, brewing a fresh shot of that liquid gold caffeine.

A waiter soon comes up to you when you finally find a seat by the window. “Americano, cold.”

“Alright. Anything else, sir?”

“Uhh, my buddy is coming soon, but I’m not sure what he wants—”

“A hot caramel macchiato, please.” A voice suddenly appears behind the waiter, startling the both of you. “Oh, sorry.” Mingi then sits down in front of you while the waiter confirms your order before leaving you both to your matters. “Didn’t think we’d hang out this soon. You must have something on your mind.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “But it’s a little different this time. This might get a little uhh… vulgar.” Mingi’s eyebrows moved and a small smirk began to appear on his lips, already having an interest in the topic you’re about to cover. “We just gotta keep it lowkey.”

Mingi adjusts his clothes, all ears for the conversation. “Alright, hit me with it.” 

With every word you let out, you try your best to carefully explain what you’re dealing with while keeping it in sentences that won't make anyone bat an eye even if they heard it. The further you talk, the further Mingi looks amused and keeps asking you more details about your lovemaking life. One after another, his questions grow to become more direct and specific which makes you a bit worried since the number of people coming into the cafe were also increasing. You try to give him a sign to lower his voice, but he brushes it off by saying, “Don’t worry man, no one’s really near us anyways.”

After gathering everything that you have said, Mingi began to give you a few suggestions, some of which are quite concerning and rather questionable. You rejected most of them, given that they were either out of your comfort zone or too much for you and probably Yooa to consume. I mean like, why would you constrict your girlfriend with ropes and tapes just to heighten her pleasures? Your vanilla-esque mind can only handle so much that you couldn’t even bear to watch your girlfriend being in pain even if she enjoys it. A few customers around are starting to give your pair a weird look because of your constant recoils of embarrassment after hearing such sinful words coming out of Mingi which were only bedroom appropriate. Eventually after even more refusal from you, Mingi finally lands on something that piques your interest.

“What about… adding another guy in one of your sessions?” 

“You mean a threesome?” 

“Yeah, but don’t get like a random guy. At least bring someone that is familiar to you, like a friend. It depends on her as well.”

“D-Did you ever do it?” 

Mingi snickers. "Yeah, I asked one of my staff to join in while we’re doing it in the office.”

Your eyes widen, almost spilling out the drink in your mouth before swallowing it quickly. “You serious?” Mingi shrugs his shoulders with a smirk on his face. “H-How did it go?”

“Oh, she loved it. Even asked the guy to come by the house after that.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course! He’s a youngster after all. Just giving him some fun, you know. But Minju doesn't like it whenever I bring someone over.” 

“Wait, when you said ‘we’, does that mean—”

“Oh, no no no! It was with another girl. Don’t worry, Yooa is not as much of a freak as you think.” 

“Of course it's an understatement, coming from you.”

You began to find the benefits in the option Mingi gave to you this time. It's something that you and Yooa have never tried; check. If done in the right way, you won’t feel uncomfortable doing it; check. All parties—Yooa, yourself and the other guy—will feel satisfied by the end; check. No more double takes, this is probably the perfect breakthrough that your relationship could take. 

“Seems like I just hit the bullseye.” Mingi says after noticing your nodding head in agreement. “So, is that the answer?”

You inhale a sharp breath. “M-Maybe. It's the only thing I could imagine myself doing. But, who should I bring tho—” Your eyes then lock itself on the man right in front of you, who was enjoying his drink and the scenery unfolding outside the window. In a glance, Mingi emits a cold yet flirtatious aura, clearly letting you know how much experience he has in these kinds of situations. Your brain overloads itself with various depictions of how you want to fulfill your girlfriend’s wish.

Mingi notices that you were looking at him for a bit too long. “What?” 

A hesitant look in your eyes was certain, but your lips were quick enough to utter, “Do you wanna join us tonight?”

Mingi chokes on his drink. His cool demeanor begins to crumble apart as he coughs away the pain in his throat, never expecting the sudden invitation. “Wa-Wa-Wait a minute, are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“I think I said it,” you wear an uncertain look on your face. “Can't think of anyone else that's more perfect for this than you. We’re already pretty close and since we're here, why not try it now? Plus, you can teach me a few things too, I guess.”

Mingi’s eyes blinked a few times, still processing what you had said. “Are y—Are you sure, bro? Like, reaaaaally sure?” He stops for a while, licks his lips, before continuing, “You do realize that I’m literally her last ex?”

“I know dude. But honestly, you’re the only guy that I’d trust with her if I wanna do this.” As Mingi calmly lines his thoughts together, you watch his actions intently, waiting for his answer. “T-That is, if you're free tonight. No pressure.”

“Oh my god.” Mingi rubs his temple, managing to let out a little chuckle, baffled by your assertion. His eyes are quick to scan the surroundings, hoping to find a camera of some sort, holding a belief that this is some sort of cursed prank. “Dude, tell me I’m dreaming right now. Ain’t no way you’re letting me clap your girl just like that.”

“You’re right. This does sound very wrong, but like—” The more you think about it, the more you feel that this is totally an absurd request. Although, the drive to uncover the unknown has been implanted in your head, with the motivation to please your girlfriend’s wants seeding it to full growth. “One time doesn’t hurt, right?” 

Mingi sighs, “Fuck, man.” 

For a moment, you felt like time is slowing down, eagerly making you nervous for Mingi's reply when actually, you shouldn't need to. His mind has already been poisoned with the sinful thoughts of Yooa taking on both of them at once, how loud she will be when they both enter her insides, burying her face in the crook of his neck when that beautiful body of hers is bent over, begging for more as her fingers grip onto the bed sheets because of how full she feels— 

“You know what, I could scrap the idea, we can find someth—”

“Fuck it. Just… don’t tell Minju about this. Please.” 

“I-I guess that's a yes?” 

Mingi replies with a slow nod. “I’ll say this flat out, I’m just doing this because of you. I’m not gonna let Yooa focus on me too much. You’re the main guy for tonight.”

A sense of relief washes over your body. At last, your mind can rest easy after finding the potential solution to your girlfriend’s request. All that's left is for you to cross your fingers and hope that Yooa will enjoy the thought of having Mingi joining in the bed. Based on her mood today, she might take the chance for a different view. You are also ready for anything else if things go south—you’re used to last minute decisions anyways.

“Thanks man, I really appreciate it. I know how she is, so we have nothing to worry about. Finish up your drink. I’ll take you to our room.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Soon enough, you both are on your way to the said hotel room upstairs. Check the time on your phone, 6:03 P.M. You expected that Yooa would already be back in the room, but the trail grows cold as the room was still in the same way before you left. It's a better outcome for you at least, letting you to prepare yourself for the potentially life changing experience.

Meanwhile, Mingi quickly gets comfortable as he takes off his jacket and sits down on the edge of the bed. “She’s still at the pool?”

“Yeah, but she said that she's gonna be back soon,” you say while replying to Yooa’s message on your phone. “How about Minju? Is she okay with you being late?”

“Don't worry about it. I can make shit up. Worst I’ll get is a pinch on my chest,” As Mingi moves himself into the bed more, he asks, “Hey, what if she doesn't wanna do it? What do we do?”

You scrunch your face, not knowing the answer. “I hope that won't happen, because I got nothing else.”

Mingi puckers his lips, “Mmm, I don’t know man, I’m still on the fence here to be honest. And if I was her, I probably wouldn't do it.”

Two minutes later, a faint beep was heard and the door opened itself. Yooa enters the room swiftly, her lower half covered with a towel and her hair still looking pretty damp, a sign that she really did go for a dip in the swimming pool. She immediately stops in her tracks when she spots the other guest on the bed.

“Mingi? What are you doing here?” 

You walk over to Yooa who is still standing in front of the door. “Hey babe. Listen, uh…” You look over to Mingi, who gives you a reassuring nod. You began again, now bringing her in closer to you by the waist. “Remember when you told me that you wanna try out something new?”

Like magic, Yooa reads your mind. “Is that why he's here?”

“Kinda. We both met up just now and talked about it. And uh, Mingi suggests that we try out a threesome. Since he's already close with us, I thought to just—you know, invite him for it,” you explained. “So, what do you think about Mingi joining us for the night?” You applaud yourself silently in your head for successfully asking her without a lot of stuttering.

Mingi suddenly gets off the bed and comes up closer to the two of you. “Come on, Yooa. I know you miss a piece of me,” His fingers move to caress Yooa’s chin gently. “Princess.” 

Her eyes widen instantly upon remembering her term of endearment with Mingi, specifically used whenever he feels aroused. She obviously loved the nickname as well, as it is certain to make her blush even until now, along with the recollections of it being used in their special moments. 

Amidst her desire building up, the feeling of self-consciousness lands first in her heart. She knew that she wanted a change, but this is definitely a risky step to take, especially considering that Mingi, her last ex, is involved. His amorous personality is what scares her the most, as it might induce anger within you and worst case scenario, a reckless brawl. 

“Have you thought this through? I just—” She sighs, “I don't want the both of you to fight.”

“Babe, I’ve thought about it, and I’m sure of it. If you're not interested, that’s fine by us. Though I really hope you would consider it.” You then hold both of her hands. “I know you're worried about me being jealous or angry with Mingi, but I promise I won't feel that way. I know that I’m the one who wanted this, and I know what I’m getting into, so you have my whole word for it, dear.”

She met eyes to the two tall men standing right in front of her. Her boyfriend has a fixed gaze on her, showing hints of nervousness, possibly because of the unusually long time she's taking to answer his question. While her ex has a calm yet eager look, though deep inside, it probably could be described as hunger at this point, just waiting for the right moment to devour its prey to fully satisfy his desires.

There is no amount of pressure that can match what Yooa is currently facing. She would literally be playing with fire, risking her relationship all for her own sexual desires. As she looks upon their eyes once again, it seems that they’re confident enough to invite her to do the act, especially her own lover, showing how much trust he has on both Mingi and Yooa, even if they are both facing a potential change of heart.

Mingi immediately breaks the few seconds of silence, “Look, I’m not gonna seduce you. I just want you to know that he's my bro, and bros won't hurt each other, mentally and physically. I’m just gonna be your uh, ‘Cock Number 2’ for tonight. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The line of restrictions starts to fade away, as lust begins to take over with trust and devotion coming into play.

She takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly, before her lips part to speak, “Alright, let's have some fun, boys.”

Without wasting any time, you bring her in for a passionate kiss. Her body feels a little cold due from her time in the pool, but you love it nonetheless—she feels fresh in your arms, ready to be ravaged by the two of you. You found yourself falling further into her lips, and the tenderness of it led to an addiction that compelled your arms to hold her more securely. There is no doubt that you are already used to making out with your girlfriend; nonetheless, the feelings that you have are so intense that they could never leave your mind, a craving that is endless.

“Hey, don't leave me out now.” Mingi teases, feeling a little lonely looking at the couple.

After chuckling at his remark, Yooa invites him in to make out with her as well. Mingi shows no sign of hesitation, immediately latching onto her lips before she could even prepare for it. It is certainly odd to see a literal replay of how these two were back then, but you don’t let jealousy creep up into your head—you did agree to all of this unfolding anyways. All you can do now is to reach over to remove the towel covering Yooa’s legs and gently began caressing her beautiful figure from behind.

“Don’t forget your man behind you. Give him some love as well.” 

There’s not a single bit of resistance left—Yooa submits herself to the four hands that roam around her body as lust begins filling up her mind in every passing second. Mingi attacks her neck with soft pecks and bites, careful not to leave a mark. You, on the other hand, struggle to find the hem of her top while leaving kisses on her shoulders. After guiding your hand to it, Yooa reaches down to your crotch and cups the growing bulge in between your legs. 

“Fuck—” you gasp as her fingers massages your clothed cock, delicate yet agonizing. Although her touch is shooting copious amounts of pleasure into you, you manage to slip a hand under her top to reach her mounds. They fit perfectly in your palm, and you couldn't help but to just knead her breasts and tweak her nipples, making her jerk pleasurably.

Mingi puts a halt on his kisses. “I think it’s time we get more comfortable.”

You agreed almost immediately, making both of them giggle as you complain about your legs getting sore. You lift Yooa right into your arms, carrying her in a bridal style to bring her over to the much more pleasant bed. As soon as you lay her down on the soft mattress, she wraps her arms by your neck and pulls you into her lips once again. Mingi scoots over to the other side, takes off his shirt and joins in with your intertwining bodies on the bed.

He stares stupidly at the full view of Yooa’s figure reflected from the dim lights of the room. As his hands slowly creep upon her waist, he blurts out, “Damn, your body still looks fine as hell, just the way as I remember it.”

“Go on then, take off her clothes. You’ll get a better view that way,” you respond before going back to Yooa’s lips.

“Stole the words right out of my mouth.” 

Yooa's top is gone within seconds, and her bare breasts are finally fully exposed to your eyes. Perfectly round and perky with a set of brown protruding nipples, her tits are never disappointing, never failing to make you drool for it every time. Although before you could satisfy your own hunger, Mingi lands his lips onto them first while squeezing each boob gently in his palms. Her body starts to jerk at the pleasing touch, and the way your kisses trails across her neck and shoulders brings shivers down her spine. 

“Oh god, this feels, amazing…” Yooa breathlessly moans.

Intoxicated by her seductive tone, you and Mingi continue your teasing, or in one way to put it, worship her captivating body. A connection is made in both of your brains when the two of you dive mouth first on her erect nipples at the same time. Yooa throws her head back the more their tongues swirl around and suck on her areola, with each whimper driving both men nuts and hungry for more. 

Your idling hand then lands itself on her midriff, caressing each visible tone of her abs muscle that she worked on for years to maintain. It’s one of your favorite parts about her, though arguably, everything about her is perfect in your eyes. And obviously, the second man in the room shares the same thought, as his hands drift towards the heat between her legs, the main dish for the night. 

He slips it under her bottoms, and it is met with slickness on his fingers. A smirk is evident on his face. “Enjoying it so far, hun?”

“You— fuck— mmmh—” Yooa struggles to let out coherent words, her feelings still mixed around by the inconclusive thought that her past and present are on the verge of fighting for her pleasure, morals are being thrown away for the sake of discovering a new side.

Mingi makes contact with her vagina, his index and middle fingers help it to open up slightly, causing more of her juices to leak out. In the meantime, you continue to give love on her upper body, let it be her breasts, arms, pits, waist, stomach, anything deemed to be a part of Yooa is not leaving untouched by your kisses. Eventually, Mingi takes a big step by taking off the last article that’s left on her body. 

She moans at the feeling of being vulnerable and sensitive to the two men beside her, with the cold ambience of the room adding up to the cause of her shivering. After throwing the undergarment somewhere in the room, Mingi then moves himself in between of Yooa’s legs, but stops himself before going closer. 

“Dude, go for it. No need to ask me.”

Your mind immediately did a double take on what you said spontaneously. The words of affirmation goes straight out of your mouth with no hesitation whatsoever, and it baffles you how a few minutes ago, you are also unsure whether this was a good idea or not. It’s safe to say that you are now driven by only lust in this new experience, and you want to hope that it will get much better, because there are still a few doubts left in your mind. 

Mingi licks his lips in anticipation. Both of his hands hold onto her thighs, letting her to spread them apart as he descends his head lower towards her glistening pussy. He breathes out an impressed gasp, and his eyes are now locked upon his mouth-watering meal. Warm air grazes over her damp labia, and his fingers return to tease the opening to her walls. Yooa continues to squirm under your body due to Mingi’s immaculate touch, and desperation is imminent in her eyes. 

Yooa manages to reach over to the hem of your shirt to give it a little tug. You catch the message in an instant, so you take some time stripping down, leaving only your boxers to be your cover.

You groan deeply as Yooa fondles your confined erection for the second time. “So fucking hard, and full…”

Suddenly, she yelps in surprise and throws her head back in pleasure. Look to your right, and you’re greeted by the sight of Mingi devouring her pussy, lapping up all of her juices flowing out while gently penetrating her slit with his tongue. It freezes you in place for a second—this is a whole new appeal that strikes both arousal and fear inside you, but to be fair, it was all going in the way that you wanted it to be.

“I need— mmh, your cock, p-please?” Such a filthy request, coming from a goddess-like voice. 

Naturally, shyness overwhelms you. But why would you resist any further? It would be a big waste for you to dip out now. With a deep breath, you release your member from its confines, and it springs out hard and fairly warm. Salivating at the impressive length, she instinctively grabs it by the base, and strokes it gently with all that she can. More precum leaks out of your slit, an occurrence that has been happening since the beginning of the act, and it only grows better when it is finally shown to your girlfriend’s eyes.

The moment when Mingi sucks wholeheartedly on her pussy is when you begin inching your shaft closer to her face. As Yooa moans profusely with her mouth open, your tip makes contact with her plump lips and automatically, like a vacuum, it enters the wet cavern. The three of you are now connected in some way, and it is definitely a feastful sight to witness for those who are into it.

“She tastes so fucking good.” Mingi moans. “This never gets old.” 

Yooa is clearly getting accustomed with Mingi’s company in such a wicked act, and the same could be said to you, as your erection throbs over each lick to its underside and tip. It’s not a surprise that the view of Yooa’s gorgeous eyes locking upon yours as she takes you in more would drive your libido into overdrive.

“Just like that, princess. Good girl,” you groan.

Your hand having a firm grip on her head is something you rarely do, especially when you’re the one moving it further into your crotch. You’ve never gotten this rough with Yooa before, even your voice has dropped deep, filled with eagerness and dominance. As a copious amount of spit seeps out of her sealed mouth, so too does her vagina leak more, and it’s all thanks to the newly added two fingers thrusting in and out of her. 

Mingi is locked in, never leaving any parts of her pussy untouched and unstimulated. Be it with his lips or his fingers, he’s not showing any signs of halting his progress, amidst the suffocating clamp of her thighs around his head and the constant harsh jerks of her figure. The flame of passion continues to burn brighter, fueled by the girl’s wordless wails, intensifying with each of his rapid motions, all to gratify Yooa’s sensations. 

A thought comes across your mind, as you notice a small space on her crotch that’s left unattended—a perfect spot for another hand to lay upon. You slowly sneak your way to it, and the middle finger is immediately acquainted with her clitoris as it begins rubbing the flesh delicately. Alongside the vibrations from her mouth as she vocally expresses herself around you, a perfect cycle of pleasure is somehow made.

Disappointingly, the cycle is about to break after a while, as she is reaching her limits. Your shaft suddenly appears out of Yooa’s mouth, her back then arched itself perfectly while having both hands on Mingi’s head, holding on for dear life. Never uttering any complaints about the pain however, Mingi continues his feast like a hungry animal, gripping onto her thighs to make her stay put. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, I’m cumming! Fuck—”

Give her head a gentle rub. A little comfort is the final stretch she needs to reach her orgasm, and she cums hard. Her head falls back, as she sprays love juices all over Mingi’s face and drenching the bed sheets. You’re even more impressed by the fact that he didn't falter from the pressure of her squirting, and instead diving right back into it, all in order to lap up everything that she had to offer.

The high comes to an end when Yooa raises herself up to lean by the bed frame, her chest heaving to gather some air. “Goodness, that was amazing.”

“Wasn’t that bad huh, princess?” Mingi teases while wiping his face with his own shirt. 

Yooa nudges him on the chest. “Shut up.”

“So, what's next?” you ask.

The man in front of you smirks as he gently caresses Yooa’s chin. “Gotta say, I quite miss the feeling of these lips being around me.”

You couldn’t agree more. “Guess it’s my turn on the other side then.”

Yooa didn’t even get a single word in, and yet her body is already being turned around by the waist, forcing her to be on both knees. The tip grazes over her pussy, still freshly wet from her orgasm, and it easily receives the first inch of your shaft. While you begin pushing yourself into her more, Mingi finally relieves the pressure of his own, revealing his member to the girl's eyes.

His heart races intensely when Yooa looks up, her mesmerizing yet lustful gaze upon his pride is a view that would make any man fall. Focus on her plump lips, and he lines himself right in front of them. It then opens slightly, which gives him a chance to insert his length into her orifice. Though he twitches before he could move any further, her hot breaths grazing over his shaft forces him to leak more.

“Oh god, yes. That’s it, baby. Good girl.” Mingi breathes out.

Yooa’s body arches once both men successfully insert themselves from both of her ends. Dopamine rushes through her immediately, as her boyfriend goes in deeper while Mingi holds her head in place, not wanting her mouth to leave unexpectedly. She’s helpless—there’s almost nothing that she could do by herself as these two men had a chokehold on her entire being. 

Without you realizing it, the switch has finally been turned on, as you began thrusting into your love. 

You're a changed man. All of your worries have been swept away, obviously by the way you're making Yooa’s body tremble and jiggle with each move of your hips. You crave for her moans, but it was muffled up due to the second cock that's filling up all of the space in her mouth. A slight jealousy invades your thoughts, courtesy of how Mingi is enjoying the warmth of your girlfriend’s mouth, and it instinctively drives you to progressively extend your reach inside of her. You quickly shake it off your mind however—the trust you have for the both of them is strong.

Mingi strokes Yooa’s head gently. “That’s it baby. Look at me. Look at me while he’s stretching you out. Bet she feels so tight huh?”

“Oh, so fucking tight. Our princess is doing so well.”

Mingi gathers a bunch of Yooa’s hair to make a ponytail of some sort, turning it as his handle to begin fucking her mouth. She gags repeatedly as he goes in deep down her throat, drool forming on either side of her lips. With the way things are going, the pet name “Princess” wouldn’t really line up with how much filth there is plastered on her image—lips messy with saliva and precum, body fully sheen with sweat and teary eyes begging for more. For this night alone, she is the perfect fuckdoll for the both of you, her mind has been reprogrammed only to fulfill lust and submit to pleasure. 

Thrust after thrust, and she ascends to her climax once again, the vigorous vibrations felt on Mingi’s shaft becomes the sign of her pussy gushing out juices all over you. The two of you express praises for your princess by not halting the pace, motivating her to leak out more. 

“Aww, our princess is leaking out so much for us! Do you want us to go faster?” Mingi teases. 

You don’t need her confirmation. Your hands are already digging into her waist, gripping them as tight as you can while relentlessly driving your hips. Yooa's body goes numb—she couldn’t catch a break for even a second, as the two hungry beasts are going rampant, using every bit of what she has to offer physically. 

Mingi loves this scene. You may not realize it, but other than being the second cock inside of your girlfriend, he has successfully turned you into the complete opposite of what you are in bed before. From being the submissive one, who lets all the work done by the girl, you’ve become the dominant one that takes control over everything, driven only by desire. In addition to that, the possessive side of yours was really starting to show its fangs, constantly asking Yooa who’s her real owner is.

She manages to release herself from her ex’s cock, before blurting out, “I’m yours, I’m yours! Only you oppa—” 

You cut her off by yanking her hair, pulling her closer to you. “Did I tell you to stop sucking him off?” 

Yooa moans profusely as your thrusts are put into a halt, the whole shaft sealing up her holes, forcing the walls to contract in. Though, you brush it off like it was nothing and manage to turn her body around to face you once more.

Almost immediately after you left her pussy, the neediness overpowers her as she gets all whiny, pushing her crotch against yours repeatedly. “Fuck, please please please, I need more, I need more—”

You calm her down and reach close to her right ear, “I’m about to show you, baby. Slow down.”

“God, that’s so fucking hot.” Mingi speaks out, his gaze locked towards the two of you while he idly strokes his member.

A smirk lands across your face. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Mingi moves himself behind Yooa and wraps his hands on her waist. “You don’t need to tell me twice. I know what our princess really wants.”

The girl giggles as Mingi brings her into his lap, her back resting against his muscular frame. His shaft appears right in between her thighs, and he guides it to the other hole that hasn’t been invaded by anything yet. Her legs shake when the man behind her slaps his cock over the puckering hole, but you hold them in place before the tip finally begins penetrating it. Thanks to him facefucking Yooa earlier, her saliva acts as some sort of lube to ease the friction when entering her extremely tight ass.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight.” Mingi moans. 

While Mingi struggles to penetrate your girlfriend’s back door deeper, you move yourself right in front of the two, letting your cock to rest against her midriff. You witness the way Yooa’s face contorts as Mingi brings her down more, biting her lips as response to the painful yet pleasuring act—she’s still so gorgeous amidst everything, and you crave for more. 

“I’m going in now, princess. Now, be a good girl for us and don’t cum until I say so, okay?”

You smile at her small nod of approval, her wanting eyes looking upon yours as you line yourself up to enter her once again. It feels a lot more tighter now somehow, due to the fact that her walls are convulsing even more with the addition of Mingi from behind. Nonetheless, you both push through the obstacle, filling up her insides like snuffing a pillow into its own sleeve.

This feeling of being this full was too much for her, and Yooa definitely knows that this is her limit. But she wants to keep going, the pleasure is too addicting for her, even if she knows that she will be completely drained by the end of this. As the two men drive even further into her guts, the exchange of guttural exhales are the signs of her euphoria, peaking at levels that she didn’t know existed.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, fuuuuuuck!” Her head falls back as your whole shaft is finally inside her, and ironically, you try your best not to cum first, the sudden constriction of her walls puts you instantly on cloud nine.

All three of you go stiff for a moment, trying to regain some sense before proceeding with this new experience. You leaned down to share a few kisses with your princess, “Does it feel good, baby?”

“It f-feels so good! I feel so full, oppa!”

Mingi adds fuel to the fire. “Are you ready for more, princess?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, pleasepleaseplease, I need it so bad!”

God, she looks so fucking cute being all needy and whiny like that, you thought. With a deep breath, your hips began to move in and out between her legs, disappearing your shaft inside of her slick cunt. At the same time, Mingi thrusts up into your girlfriend’s ass, and her body recoils with each of his harsh movements.

Yooa realizes the difficulty of the task that she had been given. How can she hold herself from orgasming when there’s two fully erect cocks all up in her guts? Simple answer; she can’t. She’s trembling so much that it’s getting harder for the both of you to hold her in place. 

Feeling compassionate, you motivate her, “Hold it in, princess. You can do it.” 

“Yes, princess. You’re a good girl for us, aren’t you?” Mingi continues.

She nods profusely. The thrusts now grow even stronger on both ends, as a perfect alternating rhythm is achieved between the two men. Struggling to contain the pressure building inside her, you gave her a little distraction by letting her suck on two of your fingers. It’s evident that her patience is running out as she glares at you with pleading eyes. 

“Tell me what you really want, princess. I’ll let you cum if I hear what I want.”

“I— I want— both of you— cum inside—”

“Aww, our princess wants to be filled up! Surely we won’t disappoint her huh, Mingi?”

Mingi snickers, before replying, “Fuck yeah, let’s give her what she deserves.”

The two of you go off on her, chasing the imminent climax that all of you desire the most. It’s getting closer than ever; the astonishing view of Yooa’s holes being full of white, and the extreme waterfall of her delectable juices gushing out. A few more thrusts later, and it finally comes to fruition. Your grip on her waist tightens, holding her in place as you fill her pussy to the brim with your hot load. The manly groans in the room doubles as Mingi also reaches his own peak, cumming deep inside of your girlfriend’s ass, completing the vision that you never even thought of dreaming about before.

Amidst the overload of euphoria and shortness of breath, you manage to break Yooa’s short curfew, “Cum for us, princess.”

In an instant, the pressure inside her snaps. With a gut wrenching moan, you witness her third climax—the most you have ever seen. It went exactly as you have pictured, the way her squirt covers your entire crotch in an instant, pouring out an immense amount nonstop until it soaks up the bedsheets and the pure ecstasy reflected in her eyes, finally being fulfilled of her wish. 

“Holy fuck,” you first utter, after a few seconds of just heavy breathing. “That was insane.”

Yooa’s body falls weak on top of Mingi’s, her head resting by his shoulder. He flinches for a second, “You okay there, princess?”

“Fuck, you guys,” she says, as you pull out of her slowly. “I feel so full.” As Mingi also retreats from her ass, it immediately stuns you with a view of both of your thick loads escaping the freshly fucked holes.

You let out a satisfied sigh at her response. The night was a complete success! “You deserved it, baby.”

The mess all over the room was the wake up call to reality for all of you. As laughter starts to erupt when Mingi makes a joke about the hotel service, you realize that it was an eye opening experience, considering the amount of comfort you felt after sharing an intimate experience together. Exhaustion then starts to settle in, but not for the guest of the night.

“Where the heck is— oh, here it is.” Mingi finds his phone beneath the bedside table, and is soon shocked as soon as he opens it. “Oh, fuck.”

You ask, “What's wrong?” Mingi shows the screen to you, making you gasp. “Holy fu—19 missed calls?!!”

Mingi hisses, knowing how much he’s getting scolded in a few more minutes by Minju. “Yeeeeah, I gotta go.” He immediately springs out of bed and dresses up. “It was great by the way, I enjoyed it.”

“Yeah, we did too. Thanks a lot man. You take care now,” you reply.

Yooa pops out of the blanket, “Bye Mingi!”

After you witness Mingi swiftly leaving your hotel room, the focus is now back to your lover. With a strong yank of the blanket, Yooa’s naked figure is revealed to you once again. 

You’re not slowing down just yet.

“Huh? B-Babe? What’s wrong?” she reacts.

“We’re not done yet, princess,” you say as your hand trails over her waist. “I haven’t fucked you thoroughly.”

“W-Wait babe, at least let me cle—”

“That can wait. Besides,” you whispered close to her ear, “I’m gonna fill you up again.”

“Ahh! Babe! S-Slow down!”

===========================================

note; thank you so much for the commission anon, and thank you so much for your unwavering patience! this was definitely one of the hardest fics that i’ve worked on, but i hope that it was worth waiting for a year! 💀 

i still have some doubts about the concept of this story, and i know that there will definitely be some peeps that will not enjoy it because of the dynamic, but it's built itself that way just because i wanna make it entertaining in a way, so i hope i’ve done exactly that :)

special thanks to @ggidolsmuts for helping out with proofreading! as he’s the resident oh my girl stan, i had to ask for his touch and this fic would not be alive without his guidance 😔✊🏻

anyways, thank you so much for reading and have a beautiful day up ahead! <33

[hiddenlife-manager]

i dont know if you do driver x driver x reader, if you do then maybe oscar x logan x reader? if you dont then just logan x reader is good. i dont really have a good idea for smut but if youre up for it there could be some oral sex, choking, possessiveness, and degradation? ima gonna be honest its been a hot minute since ive read your smut so id theres something in my request youre not comfortable with, my apologies!

Logan Sargeant X Reader X Oscar Piastri

cw... anal, double penetration, not edited, cumshot, kissing with cum, hair pulling, slight dom, slight hinting to the two of them being into each other, gagging, blow job, oral, jealousy, timeskip, plot and porn, etc...

notepad... HIYA! Second post of the day. Honestly speaking I enjoyed this. But i probably could have spent more time on it. Either way I had fun.

There were only a few things Logan Sargeant had that Oscar Piastri didn’t. He hated to admit it, but it was true that Oscar was the better rookie and the better driver. He had things that Logan didn't, but he had one thing—the only thing Oscar couldn’t have and wanted more than anything. He had you. You were his trophy, the girl the two of them fought for in the Perma days. There was no hate between the two of them, still being the closest of friends, but Oscar could never help but be filled with jealousy each time he saw you with Logan. He was the better match for you, yet you chose Logan. 

It was the Miami Grand Prix; you were there supporting Logan after a disappointing week. Oscar certainly had a bad week, but compared to Logan, it was a hundred times better. He couldn’t help looking at you talking to Logan, walking hand in hand. He wanted what Logan had; it was selfish; you were happy; his friend was happy; he knew it was wrong. 

“Hey Oscar!” He heard Logan's voice call him out, it stunned him. He looked up, seeing him walk up with you. You waved to him, clearly unaware of his feelings.

“Oscar, you look great; how long has it been?” You asked, letting go of Logan's hand, hugging the tall man. Leaving him confused for a moment, he slowly raised his arms to hug you back. It had been sometimes since he felt your touch that all the feelings he felt became stronger than ever. 

“Likewise, are you two still together?” He asked if it was true that you were never in the media and were also never posted about. You nodded. Logan grabbed her hand and pulled her away. 

“Stronger than ever. Oscar, do you want to join us for dinner at my place? Like before, this time at my own home.” Logan asked him rather quickly. Oscar was unsure of how to respond. After spending an entire night with you and Logann being in love, It sounded like hell, yet he missed you, the sound of your laughs, or the way you talked. It was a tough decision; it felt like hours passed while the two waited for his answer. 

“Like old times.” 

“Ah~” You mumbled your head back, your legs being pushed while Logan’s mouth sucked at your clit. How did Oscar get here? Watching his friend eat out the girl he wanted. He could have left, but he stayed. Your moans sound so sweet, like honey to him. He watched Logan suck your clit almost as if he were making out with your pussy. You were clearly close to orgasming, your words becoming less coherent. He heard the low voice of Logan. 

“You’re our guest, Oscar; I know you want to.” Logan stood up, looking at him with your juices on his lips. Logan knew him too well. Oscar walked over to you and him. Logan sighed, seeing your panting face cumming just by his mouth. “You are my friend, but do know I am possessive of her. Don’t leave a mark on her Oscar, or I might not be able to forgive you for it.” 

Oscar nodded; it seemed like all that Logan told him went through one ear and out the other. Logan sighed, climbing on the bed right behind you, hauling your panting body up. He used his chest to support your back, putting you right at the edge of the bed for Oscar. His other hands spread your legs wide. 

“You want me to?” Logan rolled his eyes, taking one hand away from you and tossing a condom for Oscar to catch. He hated it because he was acting so inexperienced in front of you. He held the condom, opening it while pulling his cock out and putting the protection on properly. 

“Pick a hole, ass or pussy?” 

“I know you, Logan; you pick.” Logan smiled upon hearing Oscar say such a thing. He was caressing your cheek, flipping you over, and having you on all four. 

“I say surprise her. You dreamed of this, so do what you want for once.” Oscar knew Logan's kind heart was nothing but excited to have control over him. Logan pulled out his cock, pumping it a few times. "Besides, I have her mouth.” He shoved his cock into your mouth suddenly. Oscar began to hear the lewd sounds of your muffled gags. He groaned while doing it. He shoved his cock up your ass. It was so tight, and you were so unprepared. “You picked her ass. I’ve been training her, so she’ll be fine.” 

Logan gently placed his hands on your head, playing with your hair; cooing at you. Oscar could tell he truly cared for you. No matter what, even face-fucking you, he had a hint of gentleness. Oscar held onto your hips, bouncing you back and forth on his cock. Causing moans to be heard that were muffled by Logan's cock in your mouth. Logan thrust deep into your mouth, gagging echo into the large room. 

“Can I grab her hair?” Logan smirked, nodding to him. Oscar's hand went to your hair, pulling it back, causing a small pop when your lips left Logan's cock. Logan used the opportunity of shock from you to shove his cock once more into your beautiful mouth. Logan and Oscar found themselves moaning, both enjoying the view of you being used. Clearly, they both enjoyed it; their relationship has been a bit rocky since Logan got with you, and this was a good way to get them to fix it. 

You, on the other hand, didn’t mind it; you were being fucked in two holes and forced into a moaning mess. You loved it even when your hands got weak. They began to shake, feeling like you were about to orgasm. You knew Logan was close, his cock twitching in your mouth and his thrust being deeper than normal, making you gag even louder than before. You weren’t sure how Oscar orgasmed and were unsure if he was close or not, yet the sounds of his whimpering from how good your ass felt told you all you needed. 

The abuse of your ass and mouth continued until Logan thrust so deep it made you gag that you had to pull away while he came. Oscar grabbed your hair tightly, your mouth open, and Logan once more shoved his cock in your mouth, making you milk him dry. You were gasping for air, trying to moan, cum flowing out of your lips, unable to hold yourself up. Oscar fucked you faster; you knew he was enjoying it, but it became overwhelming for him. 

That was until he pulled you back by your hair so tight that he sat you up and came into your ass deep, filling his condom up. Leaving you moaning loudly at the feeling of his cock getting soft slowly. You were still covered in cum. Logan leaned down to you, kissing you deeply, not caring about the cum clearly on your lips. Oscar is still deep inside you; his cock is so deep that it feels better than any woman he has been with.

“We can do this again, Oscar.” Logan and Oscar were both naked, watching your sleeping body. You went right to sleep after they helped clean you up. 

“I missed you too, Logan.” They turned to each other and shook hands, firmly embracing each other in a quick hug.

[moosesarecute]

December 17th

December Masterlist

Masterlist

Her day had gone to exploring her home. She had been all over trying to find something that might restart her memory, but she couldn’t.

The toys she played with as a child, the kitchen she and her mother baked in and the library where she spent most of her time. None of them gave her any clues of her life before.

It gave Annette an uneasy feeling.

She felt alone and scared. The people who called themselves her family were nice enough, but she couldn’t trust them completely yet.

She and Cathrine, her mother, had been talking the entire day. She had been stroking Annette’s hair and told them about their life. She spoke about how Annette was adopted. That while it was usual for fae to struggle getting children, Cathrine and Bru just couldn’t live without a child.

When she was first born and sent to an orphanage, it didn’t take long before they found her and knew she was the one. Cathrine cried talking about it.

Her mother at least cared about her, Annette concluded with. Nothing to be worried about with her. The rest of her family had kept a bigger distance. Cathrine said it was to not overwhelm her.

When night arrived, Cathrine tucked Annette into bed. She told her to make sure she stayed worm and gave her some of her medicine. It tasted just as bad as before, but she got it down.

However, when Cathrine left, Annette didn’t feel like sleeping.

She quietly stood up from the bed and started to explore her room a little more. She looked at the books and toys and yarn, but she felt no connection to it. She found more of her stuff in boxes stored under her bed. She went through each and every one-off them, but didn’t find anything particularly interesting until the last box.

It had a backpack in it. It looked well made and sturdy. But it also looked like it had been used a lot. Maybe this was the backpack she used when she last was out on her adventures? She knew it was hers. She didn’t know why, but she just knew it.

She opened the backpack and found many bottles of red liquid and a pile of paper. She picked of the papers first. One piece of paper was folded around the others. She read it first:

Winterberry juice for memory loss. Drink as much as you can every day.

And some reading for the journey. Hope you find what you need in these letters.

Good luck,

Nick

Annette decided to drink the juice. It tasted amazing. Both sweet and tangy from the berry. She drank some of it and then picked up the rest of the pile of papers. She picked up the first one. It was covered in tearstains, but other than that it was beautiful. The handwriting was precise and carefully done. Annette started reading.

My dearest Y/N,

It’s been over three years. This is the third December without you, and it haven’t become easier.

Rhys and Cass are forcing me to go to therapy. My therapist, Jonathan, suggested I write you letters, so that’s what I’m doing.

You have missed so much, my light. Both Rhys and Cass have found their mates. Their names are Feyre and Nesta. They are sisters and used to be human, but that’s a story too long for letters. I promise I’ll explain all to you when if you come back to me. Feyre was the girl that saved all of Prythian from Amarantha. Rhys made her his High Lady and they even have a son, Nyx. And Nesta and some of her friends have become Valkyries. She and Cassian are always at each other’s throats, but they love each other. You would have loved them too, I’m sure of it.

Mor and Amren have also found their loves. Which means I’m constantly surrounded by couples.

I’m happy for them, I truly am, but I can’t help but feel like it’s a little unfair. Why do we have to be apart?

I miss you, my love. I honestly feel lost in this world without you. I’ve been counting days since you disappeared, and each day feels heavier on my heart.

The shadows also miss you. They have never been as poorly behaved as now. Some days I wake up from them screaming to get you back, other days they refuse to listen or talk to me.

All our memories together are what keeps me going, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll last in this life without you. I need your soft smiles and warm embrace to get me through this. I know I won’t, but deep down I still have hope that I’ll be able to hold you once again. Hold you, and never let go.

I love you, Y/N. I have loved you all my life and I will keep loving you till the day my soul no longer exists.

x Your Shadow

The first thing Annette noticed was that she really wanted to know what happened to Y/N and who her shadow was. The second thing was that she felt sort of connected to the names. Rhys, Cassian, Mor and Amren felt like names she knew. Feyre and Nesta, she didn’t feel connected to, but from the way they were written about in the letters, she knew that they were kind.

Annette wasted no time picking up the next letter It was also covered in tearstains. It seemed like most of them were.

My dearest Y/N,

Jo asked me today to write about what our life would be like.

And even though I did like he asked, it only brought out painful emotions. I hate having to imagine this. I want it to be true. To be our real life.

I wanted us to buy a house. A house where we can make our own home. So that we can choose everything ourselves.

I wanted us to have a family. We never spoke about kids. Both of us knew that a war was coming and that we would need to go through a lifetime of terror before we could bring babes into this world.

I want us to fly together. Fly to work, fly to family dinner, fly as exercise, fly as fun. Flying have always been when I’ve felt the freest and I know you feel similar, but without you beside me, it feels wrong. So wrong. I have multiple times thrown up from flying without you.

I want us to be happy.

I want us to fight, and argue, and laugh, and cry, and smile. I want it all.

Please come back to me.

x Your Shadow

My dearest Y/N

I think therapy is helping a little.

I thought about you yesterday without crying. Do you remember our first dance? Not our first as a couple, but our first one ever?

Sneaking around in the woods behind Windhaven and dancing to the song from the shadows swirling around us. Our feet making the snow crunch beneath us.

If only the bond had snapped earlier or if I was just a little braver. I would have danced with you every moment I could. You deserve to be danced with you too. I’m glad we’re not longer in Windhaven. You deserved so much better than that camp.

You’re my princess. You should dance around in the ballgowns you make, but no, you always sold away the most beautiful ones.

I still dream about the blue gown you wore on your first Starfall as a couple. I wish I could see you in it again some time.

x Your Shadow

My dearest Y/N

I think the time has come. I’ve finally gone crazy. I felt you. I’m sure I did. But I couldn’t get to you. Please tell me where you are so that I can get you home. Please tell me.

Are you out there?

x Your Shadow

My dearest Y/N

Family dinner is hard without you. I always imagine you sitting besides me and it gets a little better.

Cassian spilled soup all over the floor yesterday. That’s nothing unusual, but it was all over a new carpet Feyre just bought. Feyre was about to become very angry when Nyx started laughing louder than ever before. Cassian is now Nyx’s favourite person.

I’m convinced that if Nyx knew you, you would outrank Cassian very quickly. I don’t know how much he knows about his auntie Y/N, but I know you would be the best aunt he could ever wish for. I’ll start telling him more about you when I can talk about you without crying.

x Your Shadow

My dearest Y/N

The shadows miss you too. They’ve been trying to braid my hair lately. It’s like they miss helping you with yours. I don’t think they understand that you’re gone forever. It’s like they’re in denial. It’s not that different from what I’m doing, but still, they shouldn’t have these complex feelings. I wish I would tell them that you’ll be back soon.

Sometimes the only thing they do is to scream in my head. I think they believe too that you’re out there, but I just can’t get my hopes up. Please give me or the shadows a sign and we’ll be there. I promise.

x Your Shadow

Annette was crying now. The letters were so full of grief she just wanted to hug this Shadow and tell him that everything would be alright.

She drank a little more of the winterberry juice. As she gulped it down, she felt her head grow lighter.

My dearest Y/N

It’s snowing. A lot. It’s like the sky is falling down in white. I can almost image you running around with your snow-zoomies. It’s like my entire body just expects you to sneak up behind me and dump way too much snow on me. The shadows have tried to do it, but it just isn’t the same.

Nyx spoke about the Winter Lights today. He told us that a friend from his kindergarten had painted them. I left the room before anyone continued speaking. I haven’t seen the lights since you left. It used to be such a good memory, but now it only brings pain. Our first kiss, my love. Under the Winter Lights after everyone else had gone inside. You always insisted to watch them until they had danced finished.

Maybe I’ll try to do that this year. I’ll do my best.

x Your Shadow

Imagine having your first kiss together under the Winter Lights. Annette’s heart melted at the thought. It felt right. She would love to experience that.

Annette picked up the last letter. It was filled with even more tearstains than the others. She drank the rest of the winterberry juice before she started to read.  

My dearest Y/N,

I have understood now that I must let you go.

Madja and Jonathan believe you might me out there, but I won’t survive if I get my hopes up now only for them to be crushed once more. I want to, but I just can’t. It’s too much.

My sweet, beautiful, amazing, wonderful, thoughtful mate. I love you so much and it hurts so much to have to do this, but it’s what you would have wanted.

I’m going to try to make this a good Winter Solstice. I’m going to keep our traditions alive. I’m going to make a snowfae, I’m going to have the snowball fight and I’m going to make cookies and hot chocolate to stay on the counter every second of every day. I’m going to try my absolute best to be happy. Even if you aren’t here to see it.

I don’t think I can go to see Jonathan any longer. Even though therapy has helped, I think Jonathan is wrong for me. I’ll se if I can find anyone else after Winter Solstice, but right now I need a break.

I’m also going to take a break from these letters. I might start with them again soon, but for right now, I need to put you behind me. I hope this is the best decision, but I have no idea what I’m doing.

My dearest Y/N. I will forever long for the life he had planned. I will forever sit with the feeling that half of my heart is yet to come home.

x Azriel, I’ll always be your shadow

It was his name that did it. His beautiful and kind name. The name you had grown that fond of throughout your life.

It was the name that made you smile, cry and feel safe all at once. It was a name that brought you so many emotions that you didn’t know how to act.

It was the name of your person.

Because you knew now that you aren’t Annette, 254 years old from the continent.

You are Y/N, 540 years old from Windhaven, and last but definitely not least. You are Y/N the proud mate of Azriel Shadowsinger.

Taglist: @prettylittlewrites @hailqueenconquer @onebadassunicorn @mich0731 @tele86 @mellowmusings @anarchiii @anainkandpaper @donnadiddadog @atomictyphoonkitten @annablack @graciepies @salvatoresister1 @nastylicious @plants-w0rld @stqrgirlies-blog @scoliobean

Let me know if you want to be added!

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

[warmcookiepuff]

RESTART ( badly timed reunions suck ass when you leave your best friend behind)

— gn!reader, jason, wingman roy, mentions of dick

tw: curse words (many), jason dealing with his mental health and hyper independence (i hc he never properly deals with it)

p.s: raw writing skills after a year of retirement (it sucks).

p.s 2.0: Yes i rewrote this

---- ⭐ ----

"You've got a type," Roy jokes, lightly shoving his friend as he swivles his cup of juice. His eyes turning to the newbie vigilante across the room, stressing over the cups knocked over on the table.

"Yeah? What's that?" Jason rolls his eyes, adjusting himself on the wall. His eyes never leave your back.

"Scary," Roy hums, taking a sip of his juice as he watches you stack the cups again annoyingly.

It's been a while, you know. Probably a decade. Last you checked, he upped and died after getting adopted from the Alley you both grew up in. His shirt used to be as dirty as yours. Your smarts still match his, even more actually. Both were practically inseparable before--

Well.

"I don't know why you guys don't just talk," Roy muses. "It's not like you don't know each other."

"We don't," Jason answers harshly, his eyes looking away from you to his friend. "I'm not the kid that played mechanic anymore. Besides, I've got blood on my hands."

Its quiet. The house is still buzzing with friends and family. Wayne's mansion was grand as always. Jason always looks out of place in a space like this. Especially in celebrations, he typically never shows up. Not even for his own birthday. Much less Dick's.

Where he currently is.

The real question is: "Why is he here?"

Dick knows Jason won't come to the party. Everyone does. In typical Jaybird fashion, he'd send a text a few days late wishing his family a 'happy birthday' (if they're lucky).

He's a self-sufficient guy. The hyper independent, gruff, bad boy vigilante with a few screws loose. He does fine on his own.

So Dick brings in his screws; you. Jason fell for it like a sheep.

"How did Dick even--" Jason starts, feeling frustrated over the situation. Roy cuts him off.

"I told him."

"Honest to God I could kill you right now, Roy."

"In my defense, it sounded good at the time."

"I almost chopped their head off? What the fuck do you mean it sounded good?!"

"They threw like 15 bombs at you. Something tells me they don't just die easy."

"Christ, you're insufferable," Jay pinches the bridge of his nose. Needing silence above all else at the moment for the migraine that was shooting up his psyche. "i need some fresh air. DON'T follow me. I'll shoot your ass."

Jason leaves before Roy could say a word.

The balcony doors push open. Cold air pricks his cheeks and he takes a deep, deep breath of the polluted Gotham air. He rests his elbows on the railings, overseeing the city raining with crime.

Home.

There's a beat of silence. Before he sighs heavily, holding his head in his hands.

"Why am I like this," He asks himself in a low, tired voice. One he uses when he's sure he's alone. "Fuck's wrong with me. Can't be normal for five fucking seconds."

"Honestly, it was like 46 minutes but who's counting?"

Jason arms himself with his gun as swift as possible, his eyebrows furrow angrily as he makes sense of the silhouette standing by the balcony door behind him.

"Better than beheading, I'd say," You roll your eyes, walking up to him unfazed.

"You-- I-- Give me like 5 seconds," He locks in, immediately stuffing his gun in his holster. Fuck, since when did he stutter.

"Time's up," You answer smoothly, leaning on the railing with your body turned to his own rigid stance. "Speak, big boy."

"How'd you know I was out here?"

"You're a big guy," You answer, shrugging. "Also, Roy."

"Fucking ginger," He sighs, massaging his temples. "Don't do this to me."

"Do what?"

"Pretend we're talking. Like we're friends again."

"I'm not doing anything you don't want me doing," You put your hands up in surrender. "Talk when you want."

It felt like hours had passed by in the quiet that the cold had started to nick at your skin. Cars had passed, small amounts of people had left. For once, Jason didn't want to disappoint someone more than he already has -- he's stuck in his own head. He had to say something.

Anything.

Anything that isn't so fucking stupid.

"I... I missed... you," He says through gritted teeth, his eyes never meeting yours -- his heart pounding and nervous.

He should've died in the Pit.

The second of silence you left had him consider every escape option possible.

You snort loudly and burst out laughing. It catches him off guard. It was noisy, loud -- full of life. You grip the railing as you hold your stomach.

"I--," You heave, snickering through your words. "I-- I missed you too."

[honeysickledream]

Who's Who, Darling? Part 2 | Poly141 x F!Reader

Tags / cw: NSFW (Smut) fivesome (F/M/M/M/M), fingering (f!receiving), p in v, protected sex, blindfolds, finger sucking, a bit of spanking, light pussy slapping, edging (ig?), orgasm denial of sorts, birth control (IUD) mention, Reader is referred to as Pet a handful of times (mainly by Price), offscreen masturbation, polyamory discussions and agreements, no use of Y/N, no descriptions of reader | if i missed anything, let me know! MINORS DNI (18+) w/c: ~3.4k Pt. 1 | AO3 A/n: this whole thing got away from me, it’s a long one. I’ve been slowly writing it as life hits me upside the head with a new pan every other day. If parts feel rushed, that’s predominately why. Proofread in the middle of the night so ignore typos, please. Also, happy Halloween! divider by @/saradika-graphics

The guys are making coffee and tea when you manage to pull yourself out of the bed and stumble into the kitchen. You’re flashed a smile by each and given pecks on the cheeks as you rub the sleep from your eyes and try to adjust to being alive and having them in your house—last night seeming like some mouthwatering fever dream. Soap suddenly proposes that he make breakfast for everyone and you whine, knowing just how inept he is in the kitchen. The little kitchenette in the break room on base has been closed down more times than anyone can count because he manages to set something on fire.

Price quickly banishes Soap to the living room and sends you along with him, but not before he hands you a warm mug filled with your favorite drink doctored just the way you liked it. There’s not much room on the couch, not with Soap sitting on the middle cushion with his legs spread out as far as they’ll go. He gives you a look—the ‘come sit on my lap, I don’t bite’ look—and you give in. It’s too early in the morning to be stubborn, to be standing honestly, and you’re chilly despite the heat being on.

His thick arms wrap around you, pulling you as close as they can, and he turns on the TV. You notice as you take small sips from your mug that Soap’s eyes are trained on your throat as it bobs with each swallow. He gives you the sweetest look as he asks—begs almost—to give your throat a kiss. Tells you he’s been wanting to do it for ages now and that he promises not to bite.

Fucking liar he is. One peck to the center of your throat turns into another, then a dozen more with faint nibbles between each one. He licks your throat, too, which causes your breath to catch and thighs to press together. The throbbing in your clit worsens when he noses at your pulse point and whines, hips jerking lightly against your ass.

Ghost’s voice cuts through the faint buzzing in your ears and you wince as your arousal dissipates. He tells you breakfast is ready, but you’re not released from Soap’s intense hold. Ghost gives him a glare and Soap’s hips buck once more in response. You’re given one last nip before Soap lets you push off him. He trails behind you, the hem of your sleep shirt caught between two fingers.

Your place at the table has been set elegantly, as if you were royalty. Price pours you a glass of juice while Gaz pushes your chair in and lays a napkin (really it’s just the second cheapest kind of paper towel you could get) in your lap. Ghost places your plate before you and awkwardly gives your head a pat when you thank him. It’s awfully charming being treated so well by them, but there’s a bit of suspicion lurking in the back of your mind.

It’s not your fault the men you’ve entertained in the past have be lackluster in…well, just about every way.

They all sit on the other side of the table, crammed together like sardines in a tin as they dig into their own omelets and hash. Your omelet was the prettiest that’d been made: no tearing along the seam, perfect gold spots across the outside. The seasonings used were light and complementary. Ghost had been the one to cook it, you reasoned. He was a maestro in the kitchen, always bringing in little bits of what he’d cooked the night before to team meetings or sharing his food during breaks in the rec room when it wasn’t under repair because of Soap.

Your appetite quickly fades as you wonder when the topic of ‘Round Two’ will be mentioned, or if Ghost and Gaz’s hints of things turning into something more will be touched on. Both have been sitting in the back of your mind since last night to the point you recall vague dreams regarding them. The anticipation of a talk makes faint nausea build in your belly as your heart keeps wondering and hoping, hoping, hoping—

Price clears his throat and your fork skids on the plate. The screeching of metal on porcelain makes your skin crawl and your teeth ache. All four of the guys look at you with concern and you wave them off, quickly taking a sip of juice. The anticipated conversation begins once you swallow, no chance of any spit takes or choking.

He puts it all very plainly: the four of them do want you. They’d been keen on you for the longest but had all agreed to refrain from making any moves to preserve camaraderie but then you’d gone and complained about your workload and not being laid. The perfect opportunity for them, for you. He tells you they’d talked about how things would go afterwards, the proposition of some kind of…situation or legitimate relationship between you and all of them.

It’s stressed that there’s no pressure, no true expectations of anything—the military’s funny that way sometimes; the expectation for anything to work out often squashed without realizing once it begins to grow. Soap becomes a little pouty when Gaz assures you they’ll all be okay if you decline round two of the bet, or if you ask them to just forget anything ever happened.

That’s when you ask if you can say your piece and you’re given the floor. You find it flattering, and jarring, that they’ve all had their eye on you for a while. You admit you can’t help but pay close attention to them as well. Sometimes you think you know their personalities, talents, and appearances better than your own. And you express that round two is something you desperately want to have happen. But, the prospect of a relationship of any kind between the five of you makes you twitchy despite the last twelve or so house of constant dreamy pondering.

You explain, not in too much detail, that your past relationships and dynamics haven’t been the healthiest. Each one adding a new boundary and expectation to an already long list. Anyone you get with in the hopes of something serious is quickly met with said list because you’ve learned to never assume that people will be good and faithful. You tell them that you’re willing to explore things with them if they’re amenable to be respectful of that list—and of course, you would be be respectful of their limits.

They hear you out when you tell them you’d want something closed, just the five of you. Everyone intertwined in various pairings if that’s what they wanted, but no outside people. Too complicated, too risky in some circumstances. No one throws a fit or even looks the least bit bothered by the boundary which settles your nausea significantly. Slow and steady is your next big point. You want to explore things with them as they come up naturally, be it kinks or troubles or life in general. Rushing to force an experience, you have found, cheapens it and leads to some form of relationship burnout that you don’t want to experience with them or have them experience with you.

It’s all quite formal, their agreeing to what you want and stating their own boundaries—no secrets, the relationship still exists but becomes second place when on a mission or otherwise at work, communication remains at the forefront of everything—which you’re happy to agree to. You’re half-tempted to get some pens and paper to really seal the deal, but you settle for pinking-promising with Soap which seems to be enough for the others.

Breakfast is through not long after, and you work with the guys to put away leftovers and clean up the kitchen. You get a kiss on the cheek or shoulder, a firm hand pressing your back whenever they pass by you. It makes your skin heat, your stomach and heart in some mild flux at the constant sweet attention that is all yours. They receive their own affections from you, a peck in return for a peck, a gentle lean into their side when their shoulders brush yours.

Soap mentions needing a change of clothes—toiletries, too—and the others echo him. They’d be gone for a while, base was a healthy distance from your home which is just how you like it, but you didn’t want to be alone while getting ready for round two. You ask if they can grab some of Price’s stuff to bring back while they’re on base so he can hand around to take part in the prep since he got so little time with you last night.

And that’s exactly what led to you trying to tune out the grating voices of sports casters while being prepped on the couch.

Price has been idly fingering you for the last hour while watching a rerun of a football game he missed during the last deployment. He slowly presses two of his thick fingers into your cunt, keeps them still for a moment or two before he crooks them and you tense around them. Then he pulls them most of the way out while spreading them bit by bit, only to push them back in.

Occasionally he’ll get a text, sometimes multiple at a time and you know it’s from the others because of the little text tones. Whatever they send him has his hips bucking, causing his hard cock to rub against your stomach for a bit of friction before he settles.

You want to bite him for being such a fucking tease but you can’t find much purchase to do so given that you’re draped over his lap and pinned there, face buried in one of your fluffy throw pillows that Soap teased you for owning. You also remember that it was you who asked him to stay behind to prep you and to do it his way.

The front door opens and you perk up to the best of your ability. You try to squirm a bit so you can go greet the others and find out what they’d been up to, but John’s hold on you tightens. He gives your bare ass a light slap, soothing over the spot as the faint burn of pain faded. The others come into view and you whine at them, but they don’t pay you any mind, leaving you to your fate with Price as they go to the bedroom, shopping bags and luggage in hand.

“I didn’t know they were going to the shop, too. What did they get?” you ask Price.

“You’ll find out when we’re ready for you to,” he says as he slowly presses a third finger into you. The stretch is bordering on uncomfortable. His free hands soothes your tensing back. “Three’s all we’ll do—that’s what we agreed on. Relax for me, pet.”

You huff, feigning annoyance while relaxing to the best of your ability. His three fingers are about as wide as your biggest toy. The same one that sits at the back of your nightstand drawer, used only when you have a fully uninterrupted day off, something you haven’t had in ages. It simply takes too long to prep yourself and when you’re ready, you’re too tired—annoyed, too, sometimes—to do more than cockwarm it for a while. It was also hit and miss if penetration did much for you.

Something thuds in the bedroom and you bang your head against the fluffy pillow. “If they break something up there—“

“Nothing’s broken, pet. Gaz probably tripped on Soap’s damn boots, or Ghost’s turned one of them into a pretzel for being annoying,” Price said.

Price gets a text and he pulls his fingers out of you slowly. He’s gentle as he grabs hold of you, a wall of muscle for you to lean on as the shaky muscles in your legs remember how to work. The bed’s been stripped down to the fitted sheet and mattress protector under it, a lone pillow is at the foot of the bed. Water bottles and a variety of snacks have been laid out on your desk, the lights dimmed and tower fan turned on to manage the temperature. Ghost hands you a lilac satin blindfold, a definite upgrade to the sleep mask he’s now tossing in the trash bin under your desk.

A quick refresher of the dos and don’ts and safe words are had before Ghost helps you lay the strip of fabric over your eyes and tie it in place. You casually drop that if the others want to toy around with you while you try to determine who’s fucking you, they should go for it.

Four sets of hands guide you onto the bed and put you on your knees, the pillow secure under your elbows. Belt buckles clank and fabric rustles, you hear whispers before a box is opened and foil is crinkled—condoms. Condoms had escaped your mind but not theirs, and you’re glad. Sure you’ve got an IUD that’s going to need replacing in a handful of months, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. None of you could afford the scare that came along with not using condoms.

The bed dips as one of them kneels behind you and you try not to flinch when a firm hands rests on your hip. You arch your back as his tip presses against your slit with the slightest bit of pressure. It’s when he slowly presses into you that you realize just how necessary Price’s three fingers were. The stretch makes you shudder and clench, your inner voice reminding you relax as he massages your hips.

You give him a quick thumbs up when you feel situated enough. His movements are slow at first, he pulls out halfway before guiding you back until your ass is flush with his hips. You feel unruly hairs scratch your cheeks and shake your head, knowing full well who it is: Soap. You may or may not have caught a few glimpses of his bush, at least the top bit, during the times he stretches his arms over his head after unbuckling his belt post-mission or training.

He reaches around and between your legs to toy with your poor clit that had been ignored by Price for a whole hour. You whine into the pillow as your body shudders with pleasure and your hips jerk to chase his teasing fingers, pulling you out of the steady pace that had been set. You hold off on saying his name because he’s at least trying to be a giving partner, but it stumbles from your lips when his pace gets faster and jostles you closer to the edge of the bed.

Per the rules of the bet, his turn is over. He slips out and carefully pulls you from the edge. You feel a little bad that he didn’t come, but then he groans softly across the room and you know he’s taking care of himself just fine. And probably sitting naked on your leather desk chair at that.

Someone gently turns you onto your back and settles between your legs, cool hands guiding them to hook around his hips. You’re given a bit of time to adjust to him before he’s leaning on his left forearm and thrusting into you firmly. There’s no way to identify him by his manscaping, or lack thereof, and he hasn’t started using his hands or making sounds, which quickly frustrates you.

Patience isn’t your main virtue, you’re learning.

You scrunch your nose and move your brows, trying to get the satin blindfold to shift so you can get a glimpse of something but you hear someone ‘tsk-tsk’. Then a hand slaps your cunt lightly—Price’s hand, it felt the same when he spanked your ass earlier. You writhe and moan as Price occasionally pats your clit while you’re getting fucked, the stimulation causing that dizzying tension in your belly to coil tighter and tighter.

Those thinner, longer fingers that tormented you last night ghost over your lips and you part them. You lay your tongue out flat and then lick the finger that prods at the pointed tip of your tongue. Your lips wrap around two of his fingers and suck lightly, moving your tongue against the undersides. The man doubles over, hips stuttering as he comes. He pulls his fingers free and you wipe the spit from your lips as you say his name—Gaz—softly. He presses a kiss to your lips before pulling away and hopping off the bed.

Either Price or Ghost take Gaz’s place quickly, resuming his pace to keep your arousal from dissipating. You’re hoisted up by four hands and you quickly wrap your arms around the man’s neck. He guides your hips to rock with his as he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek. Ghost lays you back down as you do what he asks and say his name. He wanted Price to have the final go, to have his fun and to make you come.

You latch onto Price like a leech when he hovers over you. That hour of prepping you taught him exactly what to do, where to press and when. As he pulls out, his thumb moves faster against your clit before slowing as he thrusts in, your back arching and body burning. Sweet praise comes at you from all sides, filling your brain with cotton as you try not to let go too quickly but when Price calls you their ‘sweet pet’, it’s all over. You’re coming around his cock, crying out brokenly as hands move across your body to limit the jerking of your limbs. For a moment everything’s quiet, then a heavy and hot weight is on top of you, panting in your ringing ears.

Price pushes off of you and helps you sit up against a bunch of pillows that are shoved under you. A water bottle is shoved in your face right as the blindfold comes off. You sip at it while you watch Soap, Gaz and Ghost bumble naked around the bedroom to find the wet wipes the apparently bought, and your backup sheets and mattress protector. Price is half holding you as he asks how you feel and if everything was done to your liking. You tell him you’re good but tired, and that it was quite enjoyable. You check in with them, as well, getting smiles along with affirmative answers.

The next thing you know, all four of them are filtering in and out of your shower, quickly washing up and helping you do the same before they tap in the next one. Dinner consists of five different pizzas, a shabby blanket fort in the living room, and a campy horror film that puts you to sleep across their laps halfway through it.

What if I put reader on leave with in an array of dildos and a new vibrator while the guys go on a mission…? I’m thinking some thoughts. Anyways, poor Soap. He hasn’t even come close to making reader come and it makes me so happy. He’s the character I love to be sadistic towards. Last time it was Ghost x Gaz who got her off, now it’s Price. He’ll get his turn eventually…

[maveras-posts]

Being Arts ✨Significant Other✨

The Poll showed an overwhelming support for Art Headcanons so come get your juice ya simps. I never see much on our boi so…LETS CHANGE THAT—

The lovely Tags: @michaelmyers-isdaddy @slasherholic @slasherfxcker @arttheclown-coveredinblood @slasherhaven @strange-and-unappealing @uhh-hi03 @kber2424 @local-caffeine @dem0nic-symph0ny-19 @midnightwritersblock

🤡Art the Clown Relationship Headcanons🖤:

FIRST— ATTITUDE 🙄🤌

Art is Pan and honestly could give two F’s about how you look

You intrigued him in some way

Most likely loved his act or giggled at him…

He is a slut for a strong willed person

At the end of the day he gets his way but breaking down a hard headed person gets him ✨OFF✨ (He is not afraid of the Goth Baddies)

Very protective and possessive (Smothering energy)

Won’t admit it but he needs reassurance you love him and won’t leave him

I mean if you tired he would mostly have you and anyone he blames ✨ReMovEd✨

Art mostly loves to make you laugh, even without speaking🤡

This man is mostly, if not ALWAYS in your personal space

What’s yours is ✨MINES✨

Touch is his major love language

Art is also one to pick someone smaller than him (Lil shit loves it because it makes him “useful”)

For the love of all HUMANITY—WATCH.HIM.AROUND.ANYTHING FLAMMABLE. Trust me…

Also don’t let him around duct tape he makes really cool stuff don’t get me wrong but he abuses the power of the tape😭

He shares all of his trash bag candy with you (YOU GOTTA BE VERY SPECIAL)

You will also be put before him or anyone else

GIFTS are also a must, cheap or expensive he’ll get it for you ✨BorrOWED✨ if ykyk

When he misses you sometimes he honks his horn😭

He’s gonna hurt or k!ll ANYONE who even inconveniences you, he is like oh so they cut you off let me cut them off (ART MY GOD NO—)

Contrary to belief he is actually very gentle with you, you’re like glass to him (He’s not this way with anything or anyone)

In the rankings he is definitely one of the top slashers to be s/o YES he can be toxic but once he loves you (in a sick way) he is not gonna leave your side and will try to make you happy😭✋

Hey Yall I hope you’re all well! I have begun my headcanons for our clown of the hour ART. As always suggestions and requests are open! I’m thinking of getting more into the smutty and NSFW Headcanons for the slashers, input would be most appreciated for this as always thanks for reading and I’ll spook ya later!

-Mavera

[leth-writes]

Hello. Could you write for yandere Volturi Kings (separately or poly) and soulmate female reader?

Yandere Volturi x soulmate reader

Aro

oh no. Oh no. I’m so sorry.

Aro is honestly quite manipulative. He’s able to read minds, afterall, and he spends a lot of time just sifting through your memories, picking out your insecurities and anyone who’s ever said anything mean to you. He sends Felix after the latter and comforts you about the former, but the fact that you’ve never told him about your insecurities definitely means you’re unnerved.

Is really obsessive. You occupy his thoughts most of the time, and he spends most hours of the day with you at least at the back of his mind. Every time he sees a new painting, he thinks about bringing it back for you.

You have a small museum in your rooms, just from the gifts he’s stolen from the various galleries around Volterra and Italy as a whole.

Keeps you locked high in the tower, Corin constantly beside you. You’re essentially drugged, constantly loopy and exhausted. You’ll be awake for a couple of hours out of the day, in which Aro spends time reading to you and quizzing you endlessly about your life, as well as feeding you by hand. He prefers fruits like strawberries, loving to watch the way you bite at them, then kissing the juices off you lips. He’s just kinda like that.

Loves watching you sleep. He spends most of his time just looking at you, eyes wide and face frozen into a creepy grin. Sometimes you bolt awake and he’s just… staring at you in the dark. Has definitely made you scream and cry in fear before. Doesn’t really feel bad, wants you to think he’s more dangerous than he actually is.

Probably exaggerates the truth about vampires, for example, not telling you about the glittering. You just see him coated head to toe in blood and know something’s happened. It helps keep you in line, seeing him with that horrifying smile, face completely obscured with blood.

Honestly the worst out of the three. WILL kill your family if you try to escape, and shows you the bodies. Don’t try, it’s for the best.

Has Chelsea weaken the bonds with friends and family until they’re practically non-existent, giving you a sort of amnesia.

Makes you sit in court, just to see how ruthless he is. He wants you terrified of him.

Caius

Caius is strategic, yes, but he isn’t nearly as sadistic as he may seem. Aro is more terrifying you on purpose to keep you in one place, while Caius accidentally terrifies you through his temper. He’d never hurt you, but you’ve seen him in court.

The second he learns you’re scared of him, he forbids you from going into court. Secretly has Corin make you happy while you’re alone with him, so you begin associating that contentment with him.

Otherwise, doesn’t let anyone use their abilities on you, including Aro. Keeps his brother far away from you, though he does let Marcus spend time with you.

Seeing how hurt Marcus is by the death of his soulmate puts it into perspective for you, and you’re noticeably nicer to him afterwards.

If another vampire even looks at you, he’s attacking them and ripping their head off.

Also keeps you locked in the tower for your own safety.

If another member of the Volturi hits on you, they’ll be tortured for days before Caius deigns to kill them. Death will be a mercy.

Turns you as soon as possible, though probably still keeps you in the castle complex. You aren’t allowed to leave, he’s still quite protective.

Marcus

Marcus is a bit of an odd case. We don’t really see what he’s truly like, only what he’s like after years and years of depression.

However, St. Marcus day was named after him for a reason, hinting toward toward his wisdom and cunning mind.

As a result, Marcus slowly becomes more and more… himself. The others liken it to him waking from a long slumber.

You’ll have quite a lot of freedom, moreso than the other two’s darlings combined. He absolutely does not want a repeat of what happeend last time, so he focuses a lot on keeping you happy. Long walks through parks, visits to museums, anything for you. However, he does rent those spaces out prior, so you can’t actually see any other people, sorry. It sucks, but it’s better than the tower and the constant sleeping.

He’s a hopeless romantic, and works really hard to get you to trust him. He wants your relationship to be genuine.

As he wakes up, he starts to show more personality and to be more possessive. He’s still quiet, but he takes on a more intimidating exterior to anyone except you. He just kinda lurks behind you like a silent shadow, waiting for a guard to try something, at which points he just fucking decimates them. He’s an extraordinary fighter when he isn’t so focused on his depression.

Tells you stories about Didyme. He’s not comparing, but he knows she would’ve loved you, and he wants you to feel her presence.

[hugemilkshake]

Yandere Ancients x GN Reader

How would they react if their darling rejects them when they confess their love to darling?

Enjoy the milkshake! Yandere content. Nice 👍

How the ancients would react to rejection

-romantic-

!TW! Under the cut is stuff like obsessive behavior, inflicting harm on one’s self or others, delusional behavior, implied alcoholism, over protectiveness, bad coping mechanisms, kidnapping, messing with one’s sense of reality, denial and stalking

Pure Vanilla

Pure Vanilla takes it… well…?

He says he understands that you’re not ready for a relationship yet… odd thing to say when you get rejected but go off ig…

He’s actually pretty normal. To everyone around him.. but when he’s alone…

Your rejection eats at him from the inside out. He doesn’t understand why. He’s been really nice to you! Is it because he hasn’t spent enough time with you?!

Pure Vanilla concludes that he just needs to spend more time with you. But there’s one issue…

He’s unsure how to start up a conversation with you after your rejection…

That is until you get injured and go to him for help… Pure Vanilla gets… an idea…

What if.. he injured you so you’d see him more? Well he knows that sounds awful and it is but he won’t actually hurt you! Just kinda make things happen so you’d get injured? It’s complicated…

Pure Vanilla would never dream of doing anything to harm his darling! So he will just… incite the incident.

Maybe your floors are a bit too slippery and you break your wrist or you get a really bad cut from a loose nail.

Any of that could be treated to by you or someone else, but usually to ur injuries are a big more in the “in need of aid” side of stuff. Good thing Pure Vanilla is the best healer around!

After a while, Pure Vanilla teaches you how to do some basic healing stuff, like small cuts and minor burns.

This just leads to Pure Vanilla injuring himself so you can heal him… You ask why he can’t do it himself and he says he has to save energy.

Over all, you both are in a cycle of getting constantly hurt and healing each other…

Please see that this isn’t normal. It’s not safe for either of you and leave…

Hollyberry

Hollyberry is honestly shocked. I mean, she can give you a lavish lifestyle and you two seem like good friends, so your rejection was very shocking

Hollyberry starts to drink too much berry juice. It gets to the point that Wildberry or other family members to take the juice away from her

Once she goes somewhat back to normal, she probably is the best ancient to reject since she would rather have a friendship over nothing

But that doesn’t mean she won’t have over protective moments with you, like if Pitaya dragon comes around, she will either make sure you are no where close or right next to her.

And she might starts drinking again if her mental state gets particularly bad. All Hollyberry wanted was to feel your arms wrap around her in a loving embrace…

She will also send knights and sometimes her own family to check on you and make sure you’re happy, healthy and safe several times a day and will constantly ask to hang out with you

Like mentioned before this is when her mental state is particularly bad.

Hollyberry will try to impress you by doing some really impressive feats, she feels happy when your concern falls into relief and then praise.

She adores you more than you’ll ever know, but at least she can still have you in her life… even if it’s not the way she wanted…

Dark Cacao

Now, how Dark Cacao reacts to this depends on what point in time this rejection occurs

If it’s after Affogato is banished then you’re done for. But… if you reject him when Affogato is the advisor, you actually will notice this behavior

This is because Dark Cacao turns to his advisor for help. Now don’t get me wrong, Affogato is manipulative and cunning, but even he can see how odd this is. I mean the king is asking if he should kidnap you! How could that not be concerning?!

The advisor will tell the king to relax and he’ll sort everything out, he’ll get you to see reason

Affogato doesn’t do that.

Affogato tells you. This became his concern since you will most definitely get in the way of his goals… and that he’s never seen the king on the verge of doing something this brash before

So when Affogato tells you, it’s best to leave and pretend that you died because you’d be dodging a MASSIVE bullet.

But… if Affogato is not there… Dark Cacao will not take it lightly…

You’ll be threatened with banishment. It doesn’t matter if you take the banishment or not. You’re still getting locked away.

Now Dark Cacao will be nice to you, he still cares for you after all.

Honestly his whole behavior depends on how you are with him.

If you’re on the more cooperative side then you’ll definitely get more privileges rather than if you were uncooperative

You may lose a blanket or two when the nights are particularly cold and maybe less food. It’s not enough to harm you but it’s enough to make you uncomfortable

Dark Cacao is very careful with how he treats you since he doesn’t want to lose you like he lost his son…

You may have a somewhat good chance of convincing others to help you escape but most cookies are either fiercely loyal to the beloved king or are frightened by him…

Golden Cheese

Golden Cheese is quite angry. She has done so much for you and you reject her?! It’s unacceptable

Golden Cheese will try to play it off and will offer you come to her kingdom, but you can tell she’s pissed

It takes a while for her to convince you to follow her. When you do… it’s the worst thing that could happen…

Theres an open, unnamed sarcophagus. You turn around to why Golden Cheese showed you this… only to feel yourself be shoved in

Golden Cheese didn’t want to do this, but if you won’t accept her affection, she’ll make you.

She knows that her digital world can really fuck with someone’s reality. She also knows that it’s wrong to manipulate your reality but she really can’t bear to feel the pain of losing someone she cares for again.

In this digital world, you are made to believe that you love golden cheese, her behavior is normal and are treated like a god

Golden Cheese would want to you leave her digital world after a while but the fear of you hating her for the rest of eternity lays thick in her consciousness..

White Lily

Denial. That’s White Lilys reaction, she says that she understands but she’s just on autopilot. She doesn’t understand

She tried to wrack her brain for answers. The only answer she can come up with is that you didn’t like the person she was,

So her solution? Become a person you’d like.

White Lily stalks you to see what makes you smile, what makes your eyes light up or darken, WHO makes you feel joyous

Over time, White Lily will act like other people you like, she will even style her hair and wear different outfits just to get you to like her

You don’t notice her at first, until she starts to get overwhelming

You have to tell her or well, force her to stop. She won’t stop if you don’t.