#i gave up and wanted to go back to that gif but i could never find it again

[h0useslut]

chemistry ‘til it blows up, ‘til there’s no us ✦︎

requests | masterlist

pairing : spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

w/c : 3,5k

warnings : nsfw! sexual explicit content, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, canon-level ANGST, profiling, crying after sex, daddy issues, spencer is a bit of an asshole

summary : spencer profiles reader to impress the new recruits, but takes it too far. after messy apologies and sharp words, he finally knows how to make it up to the one person he shouldn’t have let go.

a/n : ignoring my responsibilities to focus on spencer reid!

It was supposed to be a simple demonstration. A harmless example of profiling, to impress the new recruits and remind everyone why Quantico produced the best of the best.

More specifically, why boy genius Spencer Reid was always the smartest in the room.

You and Spencer joined the BAU almost at the same time - just a few months apart - and immediately clicked together.

He was awkward, spilling facts about anything and everything. Never in a way that made you feel small. If anything, he went out of his way to include you in conversations, like he remembered what it felt like to be on the outside looking.

In those early months, you were inseparable. Late night cases turned into quiet conversations in hotel hallways. You read next to each other on the jet. He brought you hot chocolate after a case particularly hit too close to home. You laughed. You listened.

But then he was arrested. He was in prison, gone from you in the blink of an eye.

You wrote to him, left voicemails. Checked in with Garcia more than you should. You remember asking more than once if you could see him. You missed him, so much.

You never got an answer from him.

But someone did.

It was Emily, or JJ. Someone close enough to him to get through the walls he built. Someone you trusted, until they came back from a visit and quietly pulled you aside.

It was Luke who’d told you. News travel fast don’t they? You’d said back.

“He said he doesn’t want you to come”

You remembered freezing. Blinking hard as if it was a joke. Luke had tried to soften it, saying that it’s better if you don’t see him like that - reassuring you that it was out of protection or shame. All you heard was that he didn’t want you.

So you stopped asking.

And when he came back? You didn’t run into his arms. You didn’t wait by his desk with coffee and a shaky smile. You gave space.

He called you once or twice throughout the day, till he stopped. Mostly because you ignored him.

It killed you to do it, but the space between you was so wide, so hollow - you could fall into it.

You told yourself you were over it. You could survive working with him 24/7 in the same space? Right? Losing your best friend shouldn’t be that bad. Or pretending that the memory of his voice in your voicemail inbox didn’t still echo sometimes.

But then came the morning when Emily paired you two up for a consult. Something low-stakes. Easy. Just the two of you and a briefing room that felt too quiet.

You could barely look at him. That’s what made him crack.

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?” he asked, trying to sound gentle.

You glanced up from your folder, brows raised as if he didn’t have the right to talk to you like that. “You said you didn’t want me, remember? I’m better off here”

Spencer looked like you’d slapped him. “That’s not-“

“Thats exactly what it was, Spencer” You cut in. “You didn’t want me to see you like that, so you shut me out. You didn’t even give me a chance”

His mouth opened, but you cut him off.

“I begged to see you. I begged, and I hoped and couldn’t sleep at night because I wanted- God, I needed to prove that you were innocent” You snapped. “And you told them that I wasn’t- I wasn’t welcome to see you”

The room went quiet. The only sound was the humming of the fluorescent lights above, sharp and cold - buzzing between you.

You were still clutching the case file like it would crawl out of your hands. If you let go, the floodgates would open.

Spencer stepped closer - approaching you like a wounded child.

“I thought I was protecting you” he whispered.

“Well” You said, breath hitching. “You didn’t”

Whatever words you exchanged that day were minimum. You avoided him like the plague.

But he searched for your eyes like a desperate man, trying to make everything alright. He wished he could change your mind - stop you from resenting him so much. This wasn’t his best friend he left before prison. You were slowly becoming a rival at work.

Fast forward to today - when the tension came to a head. You hadn’t expected him to choose you.

It was supposed to be something light, just to make the newbies get used to what was going on with the BAU.

You watched Spencer step forward, that familiar flicker of nerves in his hands. But he hid it well, launching into facts, psychology and how profiling is a science of empathy, not judgement.

His profiling methods on you were purely ill-mannered.

You blinked at him, your lips curving into the smallest of smiles. He didn’t smile back though.

His eyes flickered over you, scanning. You felt your shoulders tense, your body instinctively retreating.

“She dresses in soft tones. Usually blue or lavender. Non-threatening, comforting. Her jewellery looks inherited, not bought. Subtle, sentimental. She doesn’t like attention, but wants to be noticed”

The recruits chuckled, someone muttering a small “accurate”. You didn’t move.

“She bites her nails. Twitches the single scrunchie in her arm. Not out of nervousness, but out of guilt. Regret, maybe. Or shame”

Your heart almost gave out. The air grew tighter.

“She overcompensates with warmth. With kindness. Because if she keeps giving and not taking, no one will notice how afraid she is to ask for anything back”

You tried to look nonchalant. The faint sound of a few pens scribbling brought you back. Someone whispered “damn”. You felt as if he was stripping you bare - and not the good kind.

Emily motioned for him to stop, muttering a small “Too far.”

But he ignored it. He kept going.

“She has abandonment issues. Abandonment trauma, actually. Parental - maybe paternal. Textbook daddy issues. She’s used to being left behind, so she build bridges she knows people will burn”

Silence. Even the recruits were silent now.

Your breath hitched.

And then he said softer,

“She’s also grieving. Grieving a version of someone she lost a long time ago. Someone who let her down. Someone she let in and tore those walls down.”

It wasn’t a profile anymore. It was a confession.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood abruptly. “Excuse me”

You walked before anyone could stop you, before anyone put a half pitying half comforting hand on your shoulder and reassured you that it was okay. Because it wasn’t.

And outside, down the hall- behind the safety of the women’s restroom, you cried. Not because he was wrong.

Because he was right.

He used it anyway. Knowing what this meant to you.

He used your bruises to prove a point. That wasn’t the Spencer you remembered.

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to get rid of any evidence that his words touched you. As if that would erase what happened. As if that would help you forget the way he looked at you while he did it. Not entirely with cruelty - but with understanding.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Y/N…?” Tara’s voice.

You hesitated, torn between hiding in silence or letting someone in. The door creaked open.

“I’m not here to make you talk” she continued gently. “Just wanted to let you know that what Spencer did out there, it wasn’t okay. You don’t have to pretend it was”

The tears came again, quieter this time - smaller, but somehow heavier. Because even though you were humiliated, you weren’t alone.

“He’s- He’s an asshole” You whimpered out, hand flying to your mouth. “I trusted him w-with these- these things, Tara” You sobbed, gesturing helplessly like it could make her understand the depth of what he’d used against you.

Tara let you cry it out, a warm hand on your shoulder to keep you grounded. She didn’t offer platitudes. She didn’t tell you to breathe or calm down. She just stayed.

Sometimes, that was enough.

When your sobs had died down and softened into quiet sniffles, Tara pulled you in for a hug.

“I thought he knew me” You murmured in her shoulder, voice shaking. “I thought- I thought if anyone did it, it would be him”

She sighed softly, rubbing your back. “He does. He does know you, Y/N. That’s why it hurts”

Eventually, you managed to pull yourself together. You dabbed your eyes with tissue, forced a weak smile when Tara squeezed your shoulder again, and promised her you were okay. Or at least, that you would be.

Back at your apartment, the air felt cold. Maybe it was just you. Or maybe it was the silence, pressing down on your chest the way Spencer’s words had hours ago. You tossed your bag down, hung your coat on a nearby chair, kicked off your shoes and stood in the middle of the room like you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

You didn’t bother with dinner. The tears had stopped, but the ache hadn’t. You curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown haphazardly over your lap, replaying everything. The sound of Spencer’s voice. The look in his eyes. The way he’d said things only he was supposed to know.

You hated that you still wanted to hear him apologise. Make up for everything that’s been said and done since the minute he was incarcerated.

And then you did. There was a knock on the door. A hesitant knock, as if the person on the other side shouldn’t be here.

It was Spencer. You knew it was him.

The knock came again. Firmer this time.

You hesitated. Maybe if you didn’t move- maybe if you stayed frozen he’d go away. Maybe he already knew you weren’t ready to face this.

But your feet had other plans. They carried you to the door before your brain caught up.

You opened it.

Spencer stood there, soaked from the rain that had just started minutes ago. His hair was a little messy, eyes desperate and uncertain.

“Can I come in?”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped aside and let him in.

He walked in slowly, taking in the space as if it were unfamiliar - like he didn’t know you always kept the small lights instead of the big ones, or that your favourite mug was on the cabinet above the sink, or that you always read cartoon illustrated romance books when you were feeling down. Like he hadn’t once known you like the back of his hand.

He took a tentative step forward, “Y/N…”

“You held me” you said, words slipping out like they’d been waiting all day. “You held me, when I was shaking. When- When I opened up to you about my “paternal issues’” You mimicked him, only this time your voice broke. “You held me and you told me I was safe.”

Spencer froze.

“You remember that?” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “After Gideon left. After everything with my dad. I told you what it felt like. And you- you said I wasn’t broken.”

You laughed, bitter and wet. “And now, you’re standing in front of a classroom, dissecting me like I’m just some example. ‘Textbook daddy issues’ right?”

Tears spilled again. Your chest heaved.

“I would’ve let you say anything.” You paused, noticing how his eyebrows quirked up. “If you were saying it to me. If we were alone”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You started crying in earnest now, breath hitching, and shoulders trembling. Spencer finally moved, not to explain it. Not to fix it.

To hold you just like he did - hoping he could fix this.

Only this time, you weren’t sure this would be fixed.

You didn’t mean to let it happen, not again at least. Maybe it was the way he stepped forward, touching your elbow to gather you in his arms. Nevertheless, your body betrayed you.

“Shh, sweetheart” He whispered, like he’d said it a thousand times before. Like the word never left his mouth during all those times apart.

You shook your head, trying to get away from his grip. “You don’t- You don’t get to call me that”

Before you could push him away, he had already pulled you in his arms.

Not tight, not desperate - just steady.

You let him. You let him put his hand on your head and rub your back soothingly. When your knees buckled, and you almost fell - Spencer caught you. He carried you to the couch, pulling you into his lap.

It wasn’t romantic. Not yet. It wasn’t seductive. But it felt safe.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry” He whispered, pressing kisses to your temple every now and then.

Your hands clutched at his shirt. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t ask you to. He just held you like he did before. Like he still remembered how.

After some time, your tears had slowed down. His hands stayed on your back, tracing soft patterns as you gradually relaxed.

For a moment, you let yourself believe that he was really sorry. That you two could get back from this.

His forehead dropped to yours, barely touching. His breath fanned against your lips, shaky and warm.

What if I just kissed him? you thought to yourself. Against your better judgement, you still felt this- this shift between you.

“Y/N” he whispered, like your name was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You didn’t think. Didn’t move away this time.

Your lips crashed into his, messy, desperate and needy whines coming from you. Your kisses were full of pain, apology and everything else you both hadn’t said.

His hand cupped your face, pulling you closer like a starved man. He tried to make up for all the times he hadn’t held you this close.

And you clung to him like a lifeline. You pulled at his shirt, carded your fingers through his curls- mouth parting against his with a whimper that shattered whatever was left of his resolve.

He had pulled back, just a little- his lips were red, breath heavy and he was looking at you like he could hung up your face in a gallery.

His eyes searched for your own, thumb wiping a few leftover tears on your cheeks.

“You don’t have to forgive me tonight” He whispered. “but I need you to know- how much I’ve missed you”

You kissed him again. Slower this time, more sure. Your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, grounding yourself in the feel of him, in the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms.

“Let me show you, sweetheart” he murmured. “Please”

You nodded, breath catching in your throat.

He guided you to lie back down gently, your legs parting as you lay on the couch. He placed open mouthed kisses on your jaw, neck - slipping the straps of your dress just a little so he could bite your breasts. He pushed your dress up, hands careful and warm as if you were made of porcelain.

“Spence-“ You whispered, the nickname rolling off your lips like the old times.

Spencer could drown hearing that sound.

“Tell me to stop, honey and I will”

But you didn’t want him to stop. God no.

“Please- Spence”

That was all it took. He kissed you again, slower now - drinking you in, needing to taste your forgiveness on your tongue.

“Lie back for me, baby” He whispered, placing one last kiss on your lips before helping you back down.

Your dress was already bunched around your waist, thighs open and parted for him. His fingers trailed down your legs, touch featherlight as he dipped his hand inside your underwear, finding your clit.

“That’s it” he murmured, his voice nothing but more than a breath against your skin. “Just like that”

You gasped, hips twitching. He looked up - eyes dark but tender. “So sensitive, sweetheart” he said, like he couldn’t believe he was finally doing this. “Been thinking about this for so long”

You choked back a whimper, heart hammering in your chest.

Within seconds, your panties were off and Spencer was now kneeling between your legs, spreading them wide enough so he could press a kiss on your mound.

His mouth met you like he’d done this a hundred times, a soft lick first, then deeper. Harder.

Your back arched off the couch, a moan slipping from your lips as his tongue circled your clit. He groaned softly at the sound, holding your hips down with both hands, mouth relentless and warm.

“You’re so beautiful” He murmured, pressing another kiss to your clit. “I missed you so much, sweetheart. So, so much”

“God- Spence…” You gasped, one hand flying to his hair, the other gripping the cushion.

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved with precision, like he knew your body. Like he remembered what made you shake. And when he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right - you nearly came undone.

You were a mess beneath him, trembling, whispering his name between curses and half sobs. It wasn’t just pleasure. It was grief, guilt, years of ache melting into want.

When you came, it hit you hard. Your hips bucked, head thrown back, whispering his name like a broken mantra. He didn’t stop until you were pulling at his hair, whimpering from the overstimulation.

He kissed his way back up your body, hand still cupping you gently, like he was afraid you might break.

“Okay?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded, eyes glassy. “Yes- God- Yes, I need you”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Then he fumbled with his belt, urgency returning to his hands. You helped him, both of you clumsy and breathless as he finally shed the last layer between you.

He lined himself up, looking at you like he wasn’t sure this was real.

“Tell me you still want me” He commanded, lining himself up - looking at you like he wasn’t sure this was real.

“You never- You never gave me the chance to stop”

His breath stuttered. One hand cradled your cheek, the other steadying himself at your hip.

When he slid inside, slow and deep - you both gasped at the feeling. Your eyes fluttered shut, mouth still agape.

He stilled inside you, forehead resting against yours.

“You’re doing so good for me, so good”

He moved then - slow thrusts, deep and aching. Each roll of his hips was apology, every moan from your lips was forgiveness. It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t filthy. It was desperate. Raw. Like coming home after too long away.

You clung to him—legs around his waist, arms around his shoulders, lips at his ear. “I missed you so much,” you breathed.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I missed you too. I never stopped.”

He came with a quiet groan into your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair. He held you afterward, still inside you, hands smoothing over your skin like you were something sacred.

You stayed there for a long time. Silent. Holding onto each other like it meant something.

Because it did.

Afterwards, you were curled up into his chest, legs still trembling. He reached for a blanket, wrapping it around the both of you. Spencer’s lips found your forehead again, and that’s when it happened.

A single tear had rolled down your cheek. Then another.

“Sweetheart…”

You didn’t mean to cry. But after it was over, after all the tension snapped and the two of you were tangled up in each others arms, it came without warning. The tears were silent at first, sliding down your cheeks while you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

“Hey, hey sweetheart” he whispered, already cupping your jaw gently. “You’re okay. I got you”

You didn’t know what to say. All you could do was hold him tighter, chest shaking as the weight of everything : the weeks of distance, the pain, the softness of his touch collapsed over you.

“I’m sorry,” you choked, but he was already shaking his head.

“No. No, don’t do that. Don’t apologise,” he murmured, kissing the crown of your head. “You’re safe. You’re so good. You’re perfect. You hear me?”

His hands ran down your back slowly, grounding you. One on your spine, the other cradling your head.

“You did so well for me,” he whispered. “You were incredible.”

You sniffled, curling closer.

“I didn’t think this would… us” you whispered, voice barely there, gesturing to the small space between you.

“I’m the one who burned us down” He said, pressing a wet kiss on your lips.

“It’s not what I meant, angel. I don’t want- I don’t want to lose this with you” He croaked out, his own voice breaking.

You swallowed, fingers curling into his chest like an anchor.

“I don’t wanna do this without you, Spence”

He held you tighter. No promises. Just breath and skin and the quiet hum of two hearts finally beating in time.

[maeshoneyles]

trophy

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

wc: 3.1k

tags: 18+!!!! smut, sugar mommy alexia, mafia alexia, fingering (r receiving), mirror sex, cunnilingus (r receiving), alexia grinding on r, dirty talk, jealousy, possessiveness but the good kind, alexia threatens a guy, aftercare and fluff at the end

a/n: i love a good sugar mommy alexia dynamic and the mafia just adds the perfect touch to me lol hope you enjoy!

The restaurant felt like somewhere the characters from Succession would eat, which honestly probably wasn’t too far off. Alexia was across the small table, eyes darting across a wine menu like she was deciphering some ancient cipher instead. Her brow had certain quirk to it, her forehead wrinkled just so as she read through the list of foreign reds and whites. The soft candlelight only accentuated her soft features as you sat there, staring, unabashedly, like nothing else in the world mattered. At that moment, it didn’t. 

“Where did you say we were going after this, baby?”

“An event.” She said quickly, not looking up from the list.

“Do I get any more detail than that?” you said, batting your eyelashes in that way that always pissed Alexia off. Of course, it only made her mad because it made her melt for you.

“Stop that, and no. I told you everything you need to know.”

“All you said was to stay as close to you as possible, stay quiet, and look pretty.”

“Exactly, that is all you need to know.”

You sat back in your seat with a sigh and continued watching. The fabric of your dress was tight, but not too tight. The shoes were silver, and you honestly could not remember if this was a pair studded with real diamonds or not. You had too many too keep track. The necklace, though, those were definitely real. You remember Alexia coming home with the box on a random Wednesday a few months ago, almost giving you a heart attack in the living room when you saw the exquisite piece.

Alexia ordered the wine and the food, as usual. She liked to do everything short of actually chewing your food for you like a mama bird. And honestly, you wouldn’t put it past her. 

You really had no idea what you ate—there was no point wasting energy on even looking at the menu when Alexia decided everything. Not that you minded, of course. One less decision for you to make. You told her about your day, your internship, your coworker who had bought you coffee twice this week, and yeah, had you brought that up just to see her jaw clench and her pupils dilate? Maybe. “Princesa, you know you don’t have to work that silly job, right? If this man is bothering you…”

“Yes baby, I know. You’ve told me a million times. But I want to, okay? I would go crazy sitting at home all day waiting for you. And I promise he is not a big deal. He doesn’t matter. Don’t do anything stupid on his account, ‘kay?”

“Mmm…I make no promises when it comes to you.”

“Ale…” You smirked. Alexia flashed back her wolfish smile that never failed to make you squirm in your seat. God this meeting or event or whatever better not take too long. Maybe I can convince her to leave early.

Dinner was comfortable and quick, just the precursor to the rest of the evening.

“Come, the car is outside,” Alexia’s hand found it’s place at the small of your back, leading you through the dimly-lit restaurant, out into the crisp night air, and into the back of the unassuming black car she had hired. You couldn’t remember the last time you had driven anywhere. Would you even remember how if given the opportunity? You didn’t waste too much time on the thought, brought back to reality quickly by Alexia’s hand squeezing your thigh. “Remember princesa, stay close and quiet. Don’t move out of my sight. Let everyone drool over you and make sure they know who you go home with,” she husked.

“Is that it? I’m here so you can show me off on your arm and make these assholes jealous?” you smirked.

Alexia gave me an unimpressed look and sighed. “Don’t- I’m not-”

I chuckled, shutting her up with a kiss. “Shut up. I love when you show me off, I love being your trophy”

“I don’t want you to think that’s all I see you as.”

“Ale, I know. You love me,” you smirked, lips just millimeters from hers.

“Brat.”

“You loveee me,” you sing-songed, playfully pecking her lips over and over again, your lipstick tinting her lips in a soft pink that just made you want to keep going and going.

The black car pulled up to what looked to be some kind of event center or hotel, again, you couldn’t bother yourself with the details when you knew Alexia would take care of everything.

The security guard escorted us in, not hesitating to lower his head in respect when he saw Alexia. You clocked her facial expression as you both strutted into the event, the subtle changes to her posture, her eyes darkening, her jaw clenching in the same way it did earlier. You felt her energy shift from the car to now; this was no longer your Ale, your wife, your love. No, this was Alexia Putellas. This was La Reina. Everyone knew not to mess with her or they should face the consequences. You were grateful to be on her arm and not a face in the crowd. Even in a room of potential danger, you felt as safe as you could by her side.

The next several hours were a blur of Alexia talking to various associates about god-knows-what. Honestly, you were just focused on her. The feeling that was buzzing underneath your skin, combined with the several drinks Alexia had gotten you from the bar, was begging to get out of that stuffy room and back home. “Ale,” you whispered in between conversations.

“Yes, carinyo?”

“How much longer do we have to stay?” You batted your eyelashes, giving your best pouty look that you knew she could never resist.

You saw the mask slip, her tough exterior fade for just a moment. “Not long, I promise. Stop it with the eyes, brat.”

I smirked in victory and leaned my head onto her shoulder as she led us away to another man she needed to converse with. Only a short while later, I felt an unfamiliar touch on my shoulder. Flinching further into Alexia, I looked up to see a man in a suit looking down at me with hungry eyes. “Quién es esta linda chica, Putellas?” he said, his voice slimy and sending shivers down my spine.

“Aléjate de ella antes de que te corte la garganta, Javier,” Alexia said, low and full of anger. She tugged you closer to her.

“Veo que la reina tiene una mascota ahora?”

Alexia took a deep breath before speaking again. “Podría matarte aquí mismo, y nadie vendría corriendo a por ti. Cuida tus palabras.”

Your Spanish wasn’t perfect, far from it, but you knew enough to know the gist of what was going on. And you weren’t sure you wanted to hear the specifics of how she was threatening that man, anyway. Once she was done her threat, she dragged both of you away to the entrance, already on the phone with the driver, making demands in rapid Catalan.

You didn’t dare speak until the driver safely deposited us at Alexia’s house. “Are you okay, Ale?” you said softly, almost worried she would explode again.

“Yes, princesa. I despise those men, every one of them. Even the thought that one of them would make you uncomfortable, let alone touch you, fills me with rage. I needed to leave before I did something I would regret doing in front of you.”

You clocked her choice of words immediately. In front of you. She would have killed that man like he was an ant in the blink of an eye if you were not watching, you were sure of it. The thought that she was willing to do such a thing in the name of protecting you filled you with heat. 

“I’m okay, baby, I promise. Thank you for protecting me. I loved seeing you in your element tonight, by the way.”

“Yeah? You liked that? Liked seeing me boss everyone else around for a change? Not just you?” Alexia’s hands were all over you, running over the smooth silk of your dress.

“Mhm…loved seeing everyone scared of you..” Alexia’s lips were barely a breath away from yours, ghosting over them to tease you.

“Everyone there was staring at you, mi vida. I could tell. They all wanted you. But you come home with me? Don’t you?” she whispered against your skin.

“Y-yes…’m yours..” Alexia’s smirk came back, stopping for a moment before her grip on your waist tightened and her lips moved to attack your neck. “Fuck, Ale. Mark me, please.”

Alexia groaned against your neck as she sucked a bruise to the spot below your ear that made you squirm in her hold.

“Ale, please. Please- bed,” you moaned out after what felt like a lifetime of Alexia biting and sucking at your neck and collarbones.

“What? Your little pussy can’t handle a little kissing? You need more of me?”

“Y-yes! Yes baby, I need more.”

Without a word, Alexia scooped me into her arms and carried me into the large master bedroom, placing you down in front of the dresser and large mirror that sat on top of it. Alexia stood behind you and softly kissed the back of your neck as she took off your jewelry. Her large hands ran down the back of your legs as she knelt down to undo the buckles of your heels. Her fingers grasped the zipper at the top of the dress and paused. “Keep your eyes on the mirror, princesa.”

You whimpered softly, bracing yourself on the dresser with my forearms as Alexia freed your body from the sleeveless black silk. The dress puddled around your ankles on the hardwood floor, leaving you in nothing but the red lace panties Alexia had picked out for you hours ago. “Every time I am amazed at how beautiful you are, darling. So perfect, and all mine.”

“Yours.” You gasped out at Alexia’s hands began wandering, wrapping around your front to softly knead your breasts. She dragged her fingertips lightly around your nipples, the feather-light touch on the hardened buds making you squirm. You watched her hands work like magic against your body in the mirror. You could feel you wetness gathering between your thighs, desperation growing. You were always desperate for Alexia, but how could you blame yourself? 

You resisted. Resisted the urge to let you head fall forward and eyes flutter closed in ecstasy. Resisted the urge to push your hips back into Alexia’s, silently begging. Resisted the urge to slip your own hand between your legs and get some kind of relief.

“All this,” she spoke in your ear as she lazily dragged her hands around your chest, back, stomach, and thighs, “is mine.”

“Yes..yes it’s yours. All yours. Alexia please.”

“Do you need more, carinyo?”

“Yes. Please.”

Her hands drifted down to your hips and toyed with the waistband of your panties for what felt like an eternity. You squirmed and whined, dropping your head to hang between your arms, the feeling of need becoming close to too much. You immediately felt one of Alexia’s hands snap up and tangle itself in your hair, yanking hard forcing your head back up, forcing you to make eye contact with yourself. The sharp prickles of pain from your scalp sent sparks straight to your core. You moaned, and Alexia tightened her grip.

“If you want me to touch you, watch. I won’t ask again.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Ale please.”

“Shhh…I’m gonna take care of you. Just keep those pretty eyes up there.” You managed a nod and a whine as her hands released your hair and returned to your hips, one of them snaking around to feel through the thin fabric convering your pussy. She hummed in satisfaction at the wetness she found there. “What is this, princesa? All for me, hm?”

At this point you didn’t have words, turned on beyond belief and using every ounce of self-control to keep your eyes where she wanted them. Another sharp tung on your hair had you gasping into the suddenly too-hot air of your bedroom. “Words, mi vida.”

“Y-yes! Yes, it’s all for you Alexia!” you choked out. She took her time, gliding her fingertips through your silky folds like she was mapping them out in her mind even though you both knew she already had it memorized like the back of her own hand. The rough pad of her thumb made sudden, rough contact with your clit, causing you to gasp and buck your hips back towards the source of your pleasure. Your high was building quickly, the tension coiling in your lower stomach and threatening to break in what should be considered an embarrassingly short amount of time. “A-Ale..Ale I’m gonna-”

“Not until I give you permission, remember?” You glanced behind you in the mirror to see Alexia’s biting smirk looking down at you. You whimpered but nodded your head, biting your tongue until you tasted copper to try and starve off the climax begging to overtake your body. The visual stimulation of seeing yourself, seeing the desperation and pleasure in your eyes as Alexia played your body like she was in an orchestra kept you dangerously close to the edge. Alexia’s thumb slowed it’s circles around your clit and her middle and index finger were inside you before you could even whine in protest. “I love feeling you squeeze around me carinyo. Who’s pussy is this? Hm?”

“Y-yours! Yours, yours, yours!”

The uncontrollable facial expressions you watched yourself make were downright sinful. Alexia’s words, low and husked and laced with the Catalan accent that made you weak in the knees in a normal atmosphere, only added to the growing mess between your legs when combined with the current context.

“That’s it, baby. Watch yourself fall apart. Watch how you give yourself to me. God, you look so perfect like this, don’t you think? I should just keep you like all the time, dripping and begging for me. Would you like that? My perfect, slutty, little toy for whenever I want?”

All you could do was whimper and nod as Alexia’s talented fingers hammered against all of your most sensitive spots.

“Alexia-! I need- needa’..please” you babbled incoherent nonsense as Alexia pushed you just to edge and kept you dangled there for what seemed like decades. Tears filled your eyes, falling down your flushed cheeks as you blinked them out to regain your vision.

“Don’t you dare take your eyes off the mirror. Watch your perfect eyes when you come for me,” Alexia hissed against the shell of your ear, attacking your neck in bites as she finally pushed you over the edge. The sounds that ripped from your throat were completely feral and animalistic. Alexia continued her movements, not stopping until you were writhing from the overstimulation. Your head dropped onto the dresser as you attempted to catch your breath. But Alexia, obviously, was not done. Her strong hands wrapped around your hips and dragged you over the bed, laying you down and knocking your legs open. You swore you could see her mouth watering, even through your post-orgasm haze that hadn’t even begun to fade, your heart still racing and your skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

“So good for me, watching yourself like that, coming so hard for me. Let me clean my girl up, and then you can help me out, okay?” You only nodded and took a deep breath. Alexia’s soft lips kissed your pussy, still sensitive and slightly raw from before. “I’ll be gentle, I promise,” you could feel the smirk against your skin and knew she wasn’t being entirely truthful, but you couldn’t find it to mind.

Alexia lapped gently at the arousal pooled in your folds, drinking it up like she had been craving it for weeks. She focused the tip of her tongue on your clit, eliciting a gasp from you and your hips to buck up. Not one to allow you any kind of control, she tossed your legs over her shoulders and linked her fingers over your stomach, effectively trapping you exactly where she wanted you. 

She alternated between sucking on your clit, fucking you with her tongue, and flattening her tongue against your folds, slowly building your arousal again until you were a shaking mess beneath her. “Ale-!”

“Shh, you’ve been good tonight. Come when you feel it.”

“Mmm- thank you thank you-“

You babbled out thanks and nonsense as another wave of your arousal flooded her mouth. She drank it up with no complaint and moved up to kiss you, your slick still coating her mouth and chin. You moaned, tasting yourself on her. 

She slid her hips up until her bare cunt was rested against your abdomen. She used your gasp as an opportunity to slide her tongue into your mouth as she grinded her soaked pussy along your abdominal muscles. You loved being used by her like this, even after two orgasms it sent sparks straight to your core.

Unsurprisingly, Alexia came fast after getting to toy with you for so long. She collapsed onto the sheets beside you, fingers coming up to trail imaginary paths along your side. “You okay, amor?”

“More than okay,” you hummed, turning you body to tuck your face into her neck and cuddle into her side.

“Good. You want a bath?”

“Only if you get in with me.”

“Brat. Deal..” Alexia smirked and moved gingerly up from the bed, taking your hand and supporting most of your weight on the way to the bathroom. She ran the bath with the utmost care, triple-checking the water temperature and that she had the scent that you preferred in the soap. Although you really didn’t care about all that, as long as you were in a warm bath, back pressed against Alexia’s chest, you would be content.

You sighed in satisfaction at the feeling of the hot water on your over exerted muscles. Alexia slid in behind you, carefully holding you against her chest with her strong arms. Your head leaned back to her shoulder and her lips pressed against your temple gently. 

After some time soaking in the bathtub, Alexia spoke, her voice miles away from the confident and powerful woman that had stepped into the event hours ago or fucked you to tears just minutes ago. “I’m sorry that man made you uncomfortable. I should have been keeping a better eye on you, and on everyone else.”

“Not your fault Ale, it’s okay. Don’t tell me what you said to him after though, okay?”

“That was the plan mi vida. I love you.”

“I love you more. Every version of you.”

[angelickks]

I  OWE  YOU  A  BLACK  EYE  AND  TWO  KISSES   joel miller

synopsis  your  deadbeat  ex-husband  shows  up  again  and  god  help  you—you  fuck  him

warning(s)  nsfw,  mdni  18+.  au! no outbreak. joel's  a  deadbeat  ex  in  this.  literally  porn  w/  little  to  no  plot.  lowk  toxic  joel.  unprotected  p  in  v  (wrap  ya  shit).  creampie. pussy  pronouns.  rough sex. backshots  (yum).  finger  fucking.  arguing.  hair  pulling.  swearing.  mention  of  a  vibrator.  joel  licking  his  fingers  like  a  whore. sum possessive!joel. spanking.  no  use  of  y/n. (gif not mine)

angel  talks  had  to  go  back  to  my  roots  here.  i  wanna  fucking  gnaw  on  him.  literally  just  had  to  get  this  out  of  my  system  bcuz  ovulation  is  a  fucking  bitch. so heres a cute drabble for yall.

#NAV.ᐟ pedro pascal mlist!

CLEAN LINES. HIGH-END CLIENTS.

Success that tastes like everything he never gave you. You’d been at this for a while now—curating luxury interiors, designing award-winning spaces, becoming the name everyone wanted in their portfolio. You wore structure like armor. Controlled every room you walked into.

Joel Miller was long lost in your rearview mirror. Or so you thought.

You didn’t know it would be his company on the new build until you were already waist-deep in contracts. Miller Construction. You’d laughed when the name came up—assumed it was a coincidence.

But when you stepped into the meeting room and saw him leaned back in a flannel shirt, jeans, and that same cocky slouch that used to make you wild, every breath in your body turned sour.

He looked like the past. Bruised, aging, too familiar. But somehow worse—because you could tell life hadn’t been kind. And he was still so fucking sure of himself.

“Been a while,” was all he’d said.

And now here he was. In your house. At your kitchen island. Going over structural layouts with his big, calloused hands spread across your marble countertop like he still had the right. As if he isn't the same fucker that built the goddamn thing.

The plan review had turned into a fight twenty minutes ago.

“You’re not listening,” you snap, shoving the blueprint across the marble kitchen island. “That beam can’t be exposed. It interrupts the ceiling flow.”

Joel just leans back in the bar stool, legs spread, one arm slung lazily over the back of the chair like he owns the damn room. Like he owns you.

“Ceiling flow?” he drawls. “That’s not a real thing.”

You glare. “Yes, it is, Joel. Just because you never finished your degree doesn’t mean you get to shit on mine.”

His smirk falters—just slightly.

“I ain’t shittin’ on your degree. I’m shittin’ on your attitude.”

You laugh. Cold. “You wanna talk attitude, Miller? You’ve been gone for years. Then you decide to ghost me after I served you the divorce papers, and came back wearin’ flannel like it’s armor.”

Joel’s jaw ticks. “You think I wanted to leave?”

“You did leave.” You slam your wine glass down. “You left me, Joel. And now you’re showing up in my home, telling me how to build it better?”

His voice drops, low and lethal. “You think this is your home?”

He stands slowly, broad shoulders rolling like a storm coming in, eyes never leaving yours. He moves around the kitchen island, boots thudding against hardwood you both picked out once upon a time.

“I put up the walls. I laid the floor. I installed the damn fixtures. You designed it, sure—but I built it.”

A beat.

“C’mon, baby,” he says softly, and it’s that tone—that aggravating, mocking fucking tone—that used to bleed under your skin and straight between your legs.

Your blood boils. “Don’t call me that.”

Joel’s eyes flicker up, slow and sharp, and fuck, there it is—that look that used to precede every argument, every orgasm, every time he made you beg.

“Call you what?”

“That.” Your voice cracks. “Like you still know me.”

He hums, low and condescending.

“I know you’re still dramatic.”

You take a sharp step back.

“Fuck you,” you spit, fury curling around the edges of your voice like barbed wire.

His mouth curls. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

“Oh, you sick fuck,” you snap. “You don’t know shit about me anymore.”

He closes the distance fast. So fast your back hits the edge of the island with a dull thud, the stone cold against your spine. His palm lands beside your hip, fingers splayed wide and possessive. His voice lowers into that dangerous rasp—the one that used to get you naked without a word.

He leans in until his lips brush your cheek, breath hot against your ear.

“I remember every goddamn inch of you.”

You freeze.

“Still fuck yourself with that vibrator I got ya?” he murmurs. “From when you used to travel and leave me cummin' in my hand to those cute fuckin' pictures of you?”

Your breath stutters.

“I remember the way you used to cry when you came,” he says, voice like gravel dragging over silk. “Like it hurt to feel that good. Like you wanted to drown in it.”

You should shove him. Slap him. Scream.

But your knees betray you. Your thighs press together. He sees it—smells it on you. The want. The hate. The history. That’s all it takes.

His mouth crashes into yours. Brutal. Tongue sliding past your lips like he’s taking back something that was always his. His hands grab your thighs and lift you, sit you on the cold stone counter like you weigh nothing. You gasp into his mouth as he yanks your shirt up, your bra down, and sinks his teeth into your nipple with a moan that vibrates through your chest.

“Still so fuckin’ soft,” he growls. “Still fuckin’ mine.”

His hand slips beneath your skirt, fingers dragging through your soaked panties.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, voice broken. “You’re drippin’. You’re gonna fuckin’ deny me and soak your panties over my voice?”

You try to respond—some insult, some curse—but his fingers pull your underwear aside and slide through your folds with practiced, filthy ease. His touch is rough. Fast. Unapologetic. One thick finger pushes into you, and your mouth falls open on a moan.

“Still so goddamn tight,” he snarls, watching your face twist. “Like your pussy missed me more than your mouth wants to admit.”

“Fuck y—”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it or I stop.”

You glare at him, teeth clenched, panting as your walls flutter around his finger. Then he curls it just right and you cry out, gripping his flannel.

“You ruined me.”

His breath hitches.

He adds a second finger without warning and fucks you with a growl. Presses his forehead to your sternum like he’s trying to crawl inside you.

“Good,” he says. “’Cause you fuckin’ ruined me too.”

You claw at his shirt, drag him into another kiss that’s more spit than anything else. His beard scratches. His tongue fights. He fucks you with his fingers until your thighs shake and your cunt gushes over his hand, slick dripping onto the counter.

You scream his name when you come. You sob it.

He pulls his fingers from your cunt and stares down at the mess coating them, breath still ragged. Then, eyes locked on yours, he sucks them clean one by one—tongue slow, wet, obscene. He licks them like he’s starving. Like he’s been waiting for years just to taste you again.

“Still tastes like fuckin’ heaven,” he rasps, lips shiny with your slick.

“Don’t get used to it,” you snap, chest heaving. “You’re still going to fucking hell.”

He grins, teeth flashing like sin itself.

“Then I’ll see you there, baby.”

He steps back, undoing his belt with one hand, popping the button on his jeans like he’s done it a thousand times just to think about you. His pants hit the floor and fuck—he’s already flushed, heavy, cock veined and leaking at the tip.

He wraps his fist around it, strokes once, slow and dirty, and groans low in his throat.

“Bend over.” He growls, voice dropping into something dangerous.

You raise an eyebrow. Don’t move.

“You gonna make me?” you taunt, a wicked smile tugging at your lips.

His eyes darken—jaw clenched, chest rising.

“Fuckin’ try me.”

Your smirk deepens. You turn around without another word and lean over the island, arching your back, ass up, face down against the marble. The countertop is cold under your bare tits. You spread your legs wider. Just to be a bitch.

Skirt shoved up, your soaked pussy is on full display. You don’t look at him. You feel the shift in the air when he sees you—feel the breath he lets out, ragged and ruined.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters like a prayer.

You hear him spit into his palm, stroke his cock once, twice—then the blunt head is sliding through your folds, smearing slick and spit all over your pussy. He slaps it against your clit once—hard enough to make you jolt.

“You gonna take it all again, baby?” he mutters, dragging the head against your entrance.

You glance over your shoulder, lips parted.

“Shut the fuck up and fuck me.”

That’s all it takes.

He lets out a noise—low, feral, like a fucking dog—and drives into you in one brutal, soul-snatching thrust. He doesn’t give you time to adjust—just pulls back and starts pounding into you, cock slamming deep, balls slapping your clit with every thrust. The sound of it is filthy. Slick. Skin on skin. Wet. Desperate.

You scream. Hands flying out, palms slapping the marble as your cunt stretches around him. The pain burns so fucking good, the pressure so familiar you could cry.

“Fuck—fuck, Joel—”

His hands grip your hips tight, bruising, possessive.

“Oh, you missed this,” he snarls, still pounding into you. “This what you needed? To get split open like you fuckin’ deserve?”

You can’t speak. Just whimper, mouth hanging open, eyes rolling.

“Bet you let some pretty little suit fuck you all soft, huh?” he pants. “Bet he couldn’t even get you wet.”

“W-Wouldn’t you like to know,” you choke out.

Joel groans, fucks you harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls dissipating into the ceilings he hates.

“Say it then,” he grits. “Say no one fucks you like I do.”

You’re already shaking, legs trembling.

“Say it or I’ll pull out and leave you beggin’.”

You gasp, cunt clenching around him.

“No one—fuck—no one fucks me like you do, Joel—”

“That’s right.” He slams into you deeper, grunting with each thrust. “Still stretch you open like I own this pussy. Still make you soak the fuckin’ floor.”

He spanks your ass, hard, then grabs your hair, yanking your head back.

“'Cause I’m still the best fuck you ever had,” he growls. “Still the only one who knows how to make you cum till your legs shake. Still the only one who knows this pussy cries for me.”

You whimper as his hand snakes around, fingers finding your clit again. He rubs hard and fast, just the way he knows makes you lose control.

“I missed you,” he breathes. “Missed this. Missed ruinin’ you.”

Your whole body coils. Tightens. Fucks back against him.

“I’m gonna—”

“Come all over my fuckin’ cock. Let it squeeze me dry. You know I’ll fill you up good. Always do.”

You break.

It’s loud. Wet. Devastating. Your body convulses, cunt spasming around him in fluttering waves. Joel groans, grabs your hips and slams in deep—one final thrust before his cock pulses and he spills inside you with a choked gasp.

He doesn’t move. Just breathes. Heavy. Shaking. His body covers yours, chest pressed to your back.

“I ain’t touched anyone else,” he whispers. “Haven’t even wanted to.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I think about you every night,” he says, voice rough and wrecked. “Fuckin’ myself stupid just to get the memory to fade. But it don’t. You don’t.”

You don’t say anything.

He pulls out slow, cum dripping down your thighs. His hand runs down your spine, a long, tender stroke that makes your heart ache.

“Just needed to feel it again,” he murmurs. “To feel you. To see if y'still mine even when the ring came off.”

And all you can do is breathe.

Because no matter how much success you built, no matter how clean the lines or polished the floors—he still lives under your skin like a bruise that never healed.

[laumier]

TWO-MAN PLAN ──── 성화 + 산.

taking on two after your best friend bailed..

fem reader nsfw / swearing, pet names, threesome (obvi), alcohol mentioned, nipple play, fingering, praise.

˶ˊᜊˋ˶ : ty to @chuhees for the inspo ☺️ this is for u mama. also, this was supposed to be longer ! but i felt like this would be a good way to end it >.<

you’re not even sure how you got here. from the nightclub, to sitting on some stranger’s leather seats—sandwiched between two of the hottest men you’ve ever seen.

it wasn’t even supposed to be like this. but your best friend, nari, had left you inside. all alone, with the man who was supposed to be her “date” and the other one you met.

EARLIER AT THE CLUB…

“no, y/n— i’m just gonna step outside really quick,” nari gave you a small smile as you tugged her away from the door. “i’ll be quick, promise.”

“nari, no, no. you cannot leave me here with them.” you giggled nervously, glancing back at the two men talking.

they wore long trench coats, dressed in suits that made them look like they were apart of some type of mafia gang. the one in the glasses—san—that was nari’s date.

the other one was yours. seonghwa—he looked as if he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but could if he wanted to.

“why not? you scared?” she smirked, tilting her head.

for some odd reason, you both were immensely intimidated by the two. they were just so.. tall and broad. any time they stood in front or in the back of you, they towered right over your heads.

you scoffed, “you’re the scared one. you just said san looks like he’d put you through the mattress—literally.”

“and i love that.” she bit her lip playfully. you rolled your eyes before continuing to beg her.

“nari, please. we just met them and i don’t know, i just—“

“y/n. they both bought us drinks and they weren’t spiked.” nari deadpanned.

“so?”

“so, loosen up. chill here until i come back and stop running from getting some,” she said, turning back to eye seonghwa up and down.

and then, she was gone. but never came back.

“nari’s leaving?” san said from behind you suddenly, causing you to spin around to face him.

“uh, y-yeah, she told me to wait for her.” you explained, avoiding his eyes.

he hummed in response, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looked around the club for a moment.

“let’s go sit.” he nodded to the sofa.

you followed him, seonghwa right behind both of you as you all took a seat on the burgundy cushions, watching everyone around you drink and grind on each other.

sitting between the two of them wasn’t helping the uneasiness in your stomach. san’s knee brushed yours, while seonghwa’s arm wrapped around you.

it was silent between the three of you, but the air was thick. thick with a tension you’d only felt with someone you were intimate with.

seonghwa’s fingers brushed your arm lightly, tracing shapes on your skin while san seemed to get closer as the minutes passed.

“did nari tell you where she was headed?” san turned to you for a moment.

you shook your head, “no, said she just needed to step out..”

he nodded, a smile growing on his face. “well at least we have you, right?”

seonghwa’s chest rumbled with laughter as you sat between the two, confused and flustered.

we? weren’t you just there for seonghwa?

your thoughts were scrambled as san and seonghwa continued chuckling next to you. the warmth of their bodies ghosting over your skin.

“you alright, love? you seem tense,” san leaned down once again, closer to your ear this time. his arm brushed yours—definitely not by accident.

“we could always go somewhere quieter if you’d like.” seonghwa chimed in, his thumb rubbing your shoulder.

you swallowed. suddenly, the club was too loud. too hot.

he chuckled again, “we don’t bite.”

but the way his eyes scanned your face and body said otherwise.

you shouldn’t.

but your legs are already shifting as you leaned off of the couch.

“..yeah, sure,” you murmured. “let’s go.”

they didn’t hesitate. they stood with you, seonghwa’s hand slipping into yours as they both guided you to the door, san’s hand resting on the small of your back.

what were you getting yourself into?

there you were. in the back of the dark car, sandwiched between the two of them once again. this time, it felt different.

you didn’t feel as nervous.

as san’s larger hand rested on your knee, you bit your lip subtly, feeling the inside of your thighs tremble.

the driver in the front had a partition window inside of the car. he closed it as soon as the three of you climbed in.

seonghwa and san looked ahead at the dark road, but you felt as if they were aware of your every move and emotion.

the silence grew heavier as san’s hand brushed further up your leg, reaching your upper thigh now. dangerously close to the area that had been pulsing since the moment you saw them.

you turned to your right to look out the window, but seonghwa was staring at you now.

“still so tense..” he said as his fingers came to brush your jaw gently.

“i’m fine.” you said softly, your voice too shaky for your liking.

seonghwa chuckled under his breath, leaning in closer. “you’re cute when you lie.”

before you could respond, he gripped your jaw tightly, bringing you in so your lips crashed into his. warm, slow, and teasing. he kissed you as if he knew your body—like he’d done this hundreds of times before.

you could feel san’s hand brush your inner thigh now, coaxing you to spread your legs in your seat.

“such a good girl already,” he mumbled from the other side, his fingers stroking the middle of your panties—soaked and clinging to you.

seonghwa slid his tongue into your mouth, groaning into the kiss softly.

your hand traced down your body until it found his friend’s, guiding san’s hand to cup your pussy.

he hissed, pulling his hand away for a moment to drift up to your top half, peeling down your strapless dress, revealing your hardened nipples that he latched onto right away

he gripped and groped it, squeezing here and there as you whimpered into hwa’s mouth.

you pulled away for a moment, only for him to pull you back in, hand wrapped around your neck now.

san’s tongue swirled around your nipple, teasing it slowly. his fingers eased inside of your underwear, not hesitating to drag the pad of his fingers over your clit.

“oh my gosh—“ you moan against seonghwa’s lips, spreading your legs as san rubbed in slow circles.

“mmph, so wet..” san whispered, his fingers pushing into you. your thighs shook with pleasure as you felt the stretch, his thick fingers plunging in and out of your hole.

seonghwa’s hand came to grope the other side of your chest, teasing your nipple between his fingers.

you were overwhelmed with pleasure now—desperate for the both of them. it almost made you glad that nari bailed on you.

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 11

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: The three of you finally start to discuss what life will look like going forward.

warnings: AFAB Reader. Pregnancy. No use of Y/N.

notes: This one is shorter than I wanted, but it's been ages since I've gotten anything up and I just wanted to give you guys something! I've just been stupid busy lately. There's a whole 'nother section that was supposed to be part of this chapter but will have to come in the next chapter because I just have not had the time to do anything but jot down quick thoughts but not really dig in a write and edit. So sorry! I promise I'll try and get more up soon!

w/c: 2,722

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks*

“Still think Francine is a cute name.”

“Oh my god, Frank. No.” Matt scoffed

“Is this really the priority right now?!” you questioned

Frank simply shrugged.

The three of you sat around the kitchen island still, sun now long disappeared over the horizon. Bouts of uncomfortable silence settled between the three of you since you’d arrived home and you’d done your best not to fill the voids of awkwardness with babbling useless jargon as you usually did. You were doing okay. You thought.

You’d spent the last hour or so recapping how you found out about your pregnancy and all the milestones and appointments Frank missed, wanting to make sure all three of you were up to speed and on the same page before digging into all the stuff you desperately wanted to avoid hashing out.

As you swiveled back on forth on the bar stool, leaning lazily on the island of the kitchen with one hand supporting your head, you could tell Matt was debating if he wanted to say something or not. He’d been oddly quiet all evening despite the way he fidgeted and chewed on his lip. He even did the dishes without a word while you gave Frank the recap.

Matt could taste the blood in his mouth, all coppery and tart as he bit into the side of his cheek. He’d hidden himself behind his glasses since you’d come home, using his armor of crimson used to shield himself anytime he couldn’t hide his soul behind the horned mask. As if you couldn’t already see right through him; feelings painted all over him in the way he teetered between each of his feet, rocking on the balls of them as he stood across from you behind the counter.

Frank was no better. Never one for many words or digging into the difficult feelings of being human, his eyes remained downward into his beer bottle, for fear of what your eyes might tell him if he dared look into them. To see the hurt and pain he caused by disappearing was more than his broken body could handle. So they both silenced their words and let you speak, behaving like two children being sent to the principles office and getting scolded.

“Matthew…” you goaded

He sighed deeply, taking a big gulp of his whiskey before speaking. The way the ice cubes clinked and clanked against the side of the glass felt like a thousand needles in your ear drums as Matt absentmindedly swished the glass around. Pregnancy had certainly heightened all your senses and made every bit of overstimulation that much more irritating. You might’ve felt bad that this was how Matt lived his life every day, constantly aware of every noise and smell, if you weren’t so damn pissed off at him still. The way Frank gulped after every swig he took of his beer certainly also wasn’t helping the situation.

The “shit they were doing to piss you off” list was getting longer; having to add them drinking right in your face when you couldn’t relatively low to the growing catalogue of things to be discussed. It wasn’t fair to you at all considering they were at fault for knocking you up in the first place.

“Frank and I were talking while you were out.” Matt almost stuttered

“Oh goody, can’t wait to hear what you two argued about.”

His nervousness etched on his face with a crumpled brow and a thick lick of his lips.

“We didn’t— we just…” another hearty sighed escaped from him. He shook his head to gather his thoughts “I was just— we were just thinking. If you want some space— from either of us. I mean, if you don’t want to be together—”

“I’m not breaking up with you Matthew.” you assured, annoyed that he would even suggest it

“Right.” he nodded, trying to hide the relief in his voice as it washed over him like an aloe salve

“But you lied to me. And you need to do some serious work to regain my trust.”

“How? I— I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t think that’s really fair for me to decide. You get to hurt me and put the onus on me to fix it?”

“Right.”

More silence filled the room. Despite how drafty and large the apartment was, it might as well have been a broiler with how stuffy it felt.

“I’m already really overwhelmed— you know thinking of all the shit that needs done before this baby comes. I really don’t have time to gentle parent you into being a decent partner.”

“What all is overwhelming you, baby?” Matt asked, voice staying soft despite how venomous your attitude remained, taking his verbal beating like the champ his daddy raised him to be.

“Well, we’ve got to figure this shit out.” you gestured between the three of you “We haven’t even looked at nursery furniture yet and Colleen is hounding me for a registry list. And then there’s parenting styles, sleep schedules, feeding habits— not to mention how Frank is going to fit into all of this now that he’s back and I assume still wanting to stay, despite the fucking circus we’ve got here.”

Frank nodded gently.

“Plus, the New York daycare scene is brutal. We should have been applying weeks ago. We haven’t talked about that either, what our childcare plan is once she’s here.”

“Okay. Okay.” Matt resigned, throwing a hand up “Let’s tackle one thing at a time.”

“Oh, and I still haven’t met your mom which feels like it would have been an easier thing to do before I was popped like a blimp and the other baby daddy showed up. How you gonna explain that to her, huh? ‘This is my girlfriend and yeah she’s got a kid in there; might be his, might be mine, who knows she just couldn’t keep her legs closed?”

“Really?!” Matt interjected with a raised voice just as Frank shouted out a “Woah!”

“She does that shit for you too, huh, Red?” Frank asked

“The little comments to get you to argue with her? Yeah, I fucking hate it when she does that.”

“Yeah, but you let her.”

“How am I supposed to stop her? What, you want me to duct tape her mouth shut?”

“Ain’t saying that, just saying—”

“Guys!” you interrupted just as Frank stood to try and get in Matt’s face “As kinky and fun as that sounds, not the fucking point right now!”

The way Frank looked you up and down nearly broke you. Every time you downplayed yourself, both of them were unhappy; but Frank— you might as well have kicked a puppy in front of him with how downtrodden his eyes looked. He dipped his head as he returned to his seat beside you, running a comforting hand against your arm as he did.

You couldn’t help but smirk at the way Matt’s knuckles turned white against his glass at the simple gesture. You weren’t sure when you’d be over this; when you’d be done punishing him for the lies. But not any time soon.

“Just to be clear — Matthew, you said you didn’t want a paternity test back when I first told you I was pregnant. Is that still the case?”

“Yes.”

“And Frank? You said you didn’t want one either. That still good with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Great, so we’re gonna Mamma Mia it.”

“Only if I get to be Pierce Brosnan.” Frank said, sarcastically

“You know that movie?” you asked

“I used to be fun.”

Picturing Frank doing something as normal as seeing a movie, much less a light-hearted movie musical, was difficult to do. You knew Matt wasn’t big on movies, audio descriptions for most lacking any reliability to actually help him picture whatever was going on. But Frank didn’t seem like the type either. You were more used to seeing him with a worn paper back in his hands, looking like an ancient Greek philosopher deep in study with his sturdy brow crumpled as his glossy eyes scanned each word with intent.

You had to imagine Maria had dragged him to see it when it was in theaters, knowing it wouldn’t have been his first pick to see voluntarily. You’d only ever seen this version of Frank, war-torn and grief driven, living in the shadows and only existing for whatever self-imposed mission was next. It felt incorrect to think of him doing something as normal as going on a date with his wife to the movies.

The thought filled you with indescribable joy though, hoping that maybe raising your daughter would keep dragging Frank back into the light and you’d get to see more of those glimmers of normalcy.

Shit, maybe if life got stable enough, you could even convince both of them to see a Broadway show some time. That’d be a sight; a lady with a baby and her blind lawyer boyfriend their retired Marine, all beefy and broad-shouldered squished in the old, tiny seats that filled the theatres just a few blocks east of here, all the while everyone around him singing and clapping.

The laughter that bubbled up at the thought of Frank in that scenario was warm, a much needed reprieve from the seriousness of the discussion you were currently having. Frank let out a dry chuckle himself, fondly thinking back to who he used to be. And Matt couldn’t help but join in the laughter as well, overall demeanor growing lighter each second. The three of you around the kitchen island, sharing giggles together, it was the first time you felt comfortable and safe since Frank had returned.

“It’s gonna make deciding who goes on the birth certificate harder, that’s for sure.” you replied still chuckling

“He is.” Frank spoke decidedly, nodding toward Matt

“No, Frank— we can talk about it more.” Matt interjected

The fact that Matt was even willing to discuss the subject more and not immediately take the opportunity to subtly mark his territory by being the one on the baby’s birth certificate shocked you. Maybe he was just trying to get back on your good side via playing nice with Frank.

“Nothin’ to talk about. My name poppin’ up on anything— ain’t exactly the kind of attention we want.” Frank explained, the crestfallen expression on his face apparent despite his attempt to hide it with a large drink of his beer

“Frank, I do recall as your legal counsel that you received a presidential pardon for uncovering a major conspiracy in Kandahar. If you’re worried about any legal entities finding you, they don’t really have grounds to now.”

“They do. Come on Red, you know I’ve done a lot of shit since then that could get me put away. Think I’m out of favors with my friends at the CIA too. Besides, I still got a lot of enemies out there, so it’s best if we keep my name as far away from our daughter’s as possible.”

“What about the fake passport you have?” you asked

“No.” Matt shook his head “Peter Castiglione isn’t real. That could cause issues down the line for all of us legally if that name goes on her birth certificate.”

“Frank—” you pushed back

“Look, I’m gonna be here in her life and that’s enough for me. Red can handle all the legal shit. So quit arguin’. Both of you.”

“Not like that’s what I do for a living or anything…” Matt mumbled under his breath

“Would you at least feel comfortable living with us once she’s born? Or would that also be a bad idea? I’d like as many hands on deck with a newborn, but I also don’t want to risk her safety.”

You ignored the way Matt grimaced at your request and instead focused on Frank. His eyes finally flickered up to meet yours, rich maple twinkling with how moved he was by the question.

“I think, keeping some of my safe houses ain’t a bad idea if I need to lay low every once in a while. But yeah, I want to live here. With her.”

The words “And with you” hung silently, implied in the space between his words and his exhale. The way his tongue slipped out, wetting his mouth quickly while he looked you up and down, you swore you heard him whisper it. But you know he didn’t based on the lack of reaction from Mr. Bat Ears across from you.

Safe houses. Laying low.

No matter how many things you got worked out about sharing your daughter’s life with each of these men, there would always be the one thing waiting to destroy any happiness you could build: Daredevil and The Punisher.

That answered the question you’d been avoiding— Frank wasn’t going to quit. Based on the argument you’d had last night with Matt, it didn’t seem like he was going to either.

You couldn’t ask either of them to; it was crucial to the core of who each of them were and you didn’t want to take that away from them.

Every time you thought about it though, the fear gripped you like vines overgrowing and choking a flower. Either of them getting caught would land them in prison and out of your daughters life. No matter what age she was that king of turmoil would irreparably wound both you and her. Heaven forbid if one of them died while out. You couldn’t bare to even think of it.

“Matthew, you clearly have something to say.”

“We’re gonna need a bigger apartment.” Matt responded, clipped and cold tone indicating he was not happy about the arrangement, but also avoiding speaking his true feelings to prevent another argument

“Ain’t gotta do that. I can make do on the couch.” Frank argued

“Francis, this is a non-negotiable.” you ordered “The couch is fine while you heal, but yeah. You’ll need a room and a decent bed for the long term. So, bigger apartment it is.”

“Okay.”

His acquiescence provided you with a small sense of relief, filling in the hollow spaces left from the stress of the past day. The limited sleep you got this morning was finally starting to catch up to you as the amber glow from the pendants in the kitchen lulled you further into exhaustion.

The thought of moving again so soon after packing up your life into boxes once was daunting. Not to mention navigating the awkwardness of the arrangement— Frank having to watch every day as you and Matt carried on like the happy couple you were (or were hopefully going to get back to.) Agreeing on how all three of you wanted to parent your daughter as she grew up and having to explain it all to her would be tricky to navigate too.

Trying not to give into the overwhelm of everything there still was to figure out, you laid your head on the counter. The stone slab was cool against your skin and almost energized you enough to keep talking until dawn.

“You should get to bed soon, sweetheart.” Matt commented softly

“We all should.” you hummed in agreement

“About that...” Matt sighed

You lifted your head in a rush, tiredness melting away as you watched the way Matt tilted his head downward and pursed his lips.

“What?”

“For the sake of honesty—”

“You’re going back out tonight.”

Matt nodded, flinching slightly as you leaned forward just in case you were ready to throw anything else his way.

“Why?

“Angela.”

“What happened last night?”

“She’s okay.” Matt reassured “But the thing Hector was investigating? There’s a serial killer out there. I mean you know, other than Frank.”

Dread washed over you at his words. Great, another person out there to be a danger to your child. Was the world always this scary or did it suddenly get worse now that this little life was going to enter it soon?

Frank cleared his throat, obviously annoyed by Matt’s little jab.

“When were you going to tell me this?” you asked

“Well, I really haven’t had the time between making sure Frank didn’t die on our couch and having a toaster thrown at my head.”

“I could’ve done worse, Murdock.”

“I know.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[swanimagines]

Hiiiiii Could I request truth or dare kiss from the kiss list with Morpheus please?? 💖

Prompt: F8. Truth or dare kiss

TIME FOR DARE

Morpheus couldn’t believe he agreed into this. Sitting in a circle with Lucienne, Matthew, Mervyn, Abel, Cain and you, a mortal he had befriended and who had a rare permission to visit his palace during asleep, a bottle in the middle while you excitedly explained the rules to the bunch. Everyone else looked amused while he was scowling, he really didn’t have time for a silly game like this.

But still, he stayed, sitting there as you wrapped your fingers around the bottle. “Okay, is everyone ready?”

Morpheus let out a grunt as others nodded, and you spun the bottle. It landed on Abel.

“All right Abby, truth or dare?” you asked, smirking.

He eyed you for a moment. “Uh, truth.”

You pursed your lips. “You’re boring. But well, who you’d switch bodies with for one day, 24 hours, if you’d have to choose one of us?”

He eyed at Cain nervously before muttering, “I’d like to feel like not being killed all the time so… I’m sorry, but you. You’re only here at night.”

Cain huffed and Abel flinched, knowing he had made a mistake again and insulted his brother — which probably meant that a fight might burst out once they'd get home. You raised your eyebrows. “Well, that’s unfortunate for me, then. Spin the bottle.”

The bottle spun for a while, landing on everyone one by one, and finally, it landed on the person everyone secretly had been hoping throughout the whole game so far.

“Finally. Boss, truth or dare?” Matthew croaked and Morpheus scowled at everyone staring at him.

After a moment he huffed. “This is a silly game and serves no purpose. I shall leave.”

You whined and rolled your eyes. “Come on Dream, just one. You can go to do whatever after that.”

He lifted his eyes at you for a moment, why it was so hard to say no to you? And finally, he sighed. “Fine. Dare.”

Matthew’s eyes lit up. “Hm, I didn’t think you’d choose that but this is going to be delicious.”

Morpheus glared at him, and you could almost see Matthew smirking at him, even though he wasn’t physically able to do expressions.

“I dare you to kiss our dear mortal visitor.”

Snorts were heard around the circle, and you felt all blood rushing into your face.

“Absolutely not,” Morpheus growled, and you nodded along, trying to ignore the light dust of pink on his cheeks.

“Isn’t that… creepy?” you mumbled as you glanced at Matthew.

He tilted his head. “Cheek kiss will do too. You don’t have to make out, I just want to see if Boss follows his heart, all of Dreaming knows by now he’s absolutely smitten over you.”

“Is this why you tried to insist on inviting Desire to play?” the Dream Lord growled and the room’s energy shifted slightly, making everyone nervous.

Matthew bowed his head and muttered, “I mean… you don’t have to, Boss.”

You swore you had never seen Morpheus as red as he was now. You didn’t even now he could blush. You swallowed, unable to tear your face away from him.

You wanted him to accept the challenge. You wanted him to walk over and kiss you. Cheek, mouth, on top of your head, anything. You wanted to know if it’s true, if he’s actually in love with you, if your dream about Dream would turn out to be true.

And after a long moment of staring each other, you shyly gave a small nod of consent, and he closed his eyes before grunting and making his way up to you.

And then, he leaned down and kissed you. Not on the lips, it would probably have been too bold, but still. His lips met your skin and you heard your heart pounding in your ears for that.

And when he pulled away, everyone was silent, staring at him.

“You’re… a little red, Boss,” Mervyn mumbled and everyone stifled a chuckle. Morpheus grunted at it and circled back to his spot. You all sat in silence for a moment longer before you nodded towards the bottle.

“Your turn to spin the bottle, Dream.”

And the night continued, with two hearts in the room starting to entangle along each other…

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Richie X Reader: A scary good time

a/n: i have not seen the exorcist so idk if it's actually scary or not 🤷‍♀️

Warnings: fluff, kissing, movie date cliches, cuteness, Richie being a little self conscious, mutual pinning, happy/cute ending, no use of y/n

Word count: 2.8K

“Whatcha doing Sunday?”

You were walking down the street, Richie by your side. The two of you had just come from The Bear. He’d offered to drive you home, but you gave him a small smile.

“Don’t worry about it. I live just a couple blocks from here. It’s like a ten-minute walk.”

“Oh. I never knew that.”

You shrugged.

“I never told you.”

Richie nodded, glancing at his watch and then up at the sky before meeting your eyes again.

“Well, it’s late. Let me at least walk you home. It’s not safe being alone at night.”

You thought about telling him that you’d been doing this same walk since you started working at The Bear earlier this year. That you’d be fine. But he was clearly trying to be a gentleman—and you wanted to soak up as much alone time with Richie as you could. So that’s how you found yourself in your current situation.

 “This Sunday?”

You nodded, not bothering to look at him as he spoke.

 “Oh, uh, I don’t know. Tiff has Eva this weekend. Frank’s taking her to the zoo or some shit.”

 “That sounds nice. I bet she’ll love it.”

 “Yeah, I think so too. But yeah—no plans for me, I guess. How about you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. There it was. The opening you’d been waiting for. The truth was, you’d started this whole conversation just to figure out if Richie would be free this Sunday. Because you wanted to invite him to the movies. But you didn’t want it to sound like you’d been planning the conversation out for a week.

 “I was thinking of going to the movie theater.” You finally turned to look at him as you spoke.

Richie was staring at the ground as you walked. You let yourself admire his side profile for a second before continuing.

“Actually, I saw that that director you like—the…” You snapped your fingers like you were trying to remember the name. Total exaggeration. You knew it by heart by now.

“William Friedkin?”

“Yeah, him!”

You kicked a stone out of your path.

“So anyway, they’re gonna be replaying a movie of his at the theater this week. And I’ve never seen any of his stuff, so I was thinking of going. Actually—"

Richie stopped walking, and you had to stop too. You looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Hold on. You’ve never seen a William Friedkin movie?”

 You shook your head.

 “Not even The Exorcist.”

You gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged.

“Oh, well then, you have to go. The man’s a genius.”

Oh, we got a live one, boys.

 “Yeah, that was… actually what I was gonna ask you.” 

You could hear yourself starting to ramble. You were feeling more self-conscious with every word that left your mouth. But you’d made it this far, and you weren’t about to chicken out. Not when you were so close.

“I was wondering if you’d wanna come with me.”

Richie looked at you, a little surprised. You fought back the urge to shrink into yourself. Chill out. Let him answer first.

 “You wanna go to the movies this Sunday. With me?”

“Yeah, I mean—I think it could be fun.” You shrugged. “Plus, like you said, you didn’t have any plans.”

He didn’t say anything right away, and for a second you wondered if you’d come on too strong.

 “Consider it an opportunity to enlighten someone else on the joys of William… what’s his last name again?”

Okay, maybe you were laying it on a little thick. But Richie smiled at that, and it made it all worth it.

 “Friedkin,” he said, before turning his gaze back to the ground.

You walked in silence for about two minutes. It was starting to kill you. The waiting. You were just about to say something like or don’t, whatever, it was a dumb question, never mind—when Richie finally spoke.

“What time were you thinking?”

The smile that spread across your face could’ve lit up a whole restaurant.

You were so giddy that you almost passed your own building. Luckily, you realized before it was too late. It was a little awkward when you abruptly stopped and turned around, but Richie followed without question. And when you finally stood in front of your door and he gave you a slightly puzzled look, all you could say was,

“Guess I got caught up in the conversation. Didn’t even realize we were already here.”

Richie had just given you a soft smile.

He scratched the back of his neck and glanced up at your building like it was suddenly very interesting. The truth was that he was too nervous to look at you head on. And he was also trying to remember what your building looked like. In case he had to come back. Not that he was assuming, of course.

 “Well,” you said, rocking slightly on your heels, “guess I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Yeah. Sunday,” he echoed. Then he paused. “I’ll, uh—I’ll pick you up or whatever. If that’s cool.”

“Yeah. That’s cool.”

There was a silence that stretched just a few seconds too long. Richie nodded like he was trying to wrap the moment up, then gave you a little two-finger salute. “Alright. G’night.”

“Goodnight,” you said softly.

He waited until you’d closed the door behind you before he left. The whole way back to his car, he couldn’t stop overanalyzing the entire exchange. He got in, turned the engine on, and waited for it to heat up. He repeated his two-finger salute to himself, making a face like he was cringing, before whispering,

 “Get it together, man. Don’t be a fucking loser.”

You’d been ready for an hour already, anxiety causing you to overestimate how long it would take. You paced around the apartment, glancing at the clock every so often. Oh, what had you gotten yourself into? When your phone buzzed with Richie’s “On my way” text, you raced across the room to get it, moving so fast you almost felt out of breath.

You were sitting on the steps when his car pulled in. You checked your watch—punctual, another thing to add to the list of qualities Richie had. He leaned across the passenger seat to unlock the door and gave you a lopsided grin when you slid in.

 “Ready to get educated on Friedkin?” he teased, his voice a mix of nerves and something softer you couldn’t quite place.

You laughed, trying to keep it cool, but your cheeks warmed. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

After you got your tickets sorted, you moved over to the snack tables. Both of you wanted popcorn, but neither thought they could manage to eat a whole bucket alone, so you opted to share one. The theater was mostly empty, which surprised you a bit. The movie was The Exorcist, and even though you’d never seen it, you knew it was pretty popular, so you had expected a bigger crowd. Not that you were complaining—you liked the idea of being alone with Richie without prying eyes.

You found your seats near the middle, a perfect spot with a good view but not too close. Richie settled beside you, and when you both reached for the popcorn at the same time, your fingers brushed lightly. You felt a jolt of warmth shoot up your arm and tried to hide the grin threatening to break free.

“Sorry,” Richie said quietly, his eyes flicking to yours with a shy smile.

“No worries,” you whispered back, your heart still fluttering.

As the lights dimmed and the previews began, you scooted just a little closer to Richie, the hum of the projector filling the silence between you. The first few minutes of the movie were slow, atmospheric, building tension, and you could feel it creeping under your skin.

Then, a sudden, eerie scene hit, and you jumped—maybe a little more than you wanted to admit. You buried your face in Richie’s neck before you could stop yourself. He stiffened for a moment, glancing down at you. When he saw you peeking out from between your hands, he couldn’t help but let his body relax, a small smile gracing his features.

When you finally came out of your hiding spot, you didn’t move away, opting to let your head settle on his shoulder for the rest of the movie. Richie wondered if you could hear how his heart was pounding. But when the movie ended and the credits rolled and you finally raised your head off his shoulder, Richie couldn’t help but wish the movie had lasted longer.

The night outside was a cold contrast to the stuffy theater room. You’d been worried that as soon as you got out, Richie would offer you a lift home and the night would be over before it had even really begun. Because sure, you’d invited him to the movies, but you didn’t really want to stop there.

Fortunately for you, Richie glanced at his car, then turned back to look at you. And to your surprise, he asked,

“I’m starving. There’s a good restaurant around the corner. You wanna grab something to eat?”

 “Yeah, sure.”

It was an Italian restaurant—because, of course, it was. This was Richie, after all. But it was a nice place, and the food was amazing. You eyed the other guests as you ate. Most of them were couples. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander. Would this be the place Richie would think of for a first date or an anniversary?

You were pulled away from your thoughts by Richie’s voice.

 “So… what’d you think?”

You smiled, glancing around the cozy restaurant, the soft lighting making everything feel warm and intimate.

 “Honestly? I really like it here. It’s cute, and the food’s amazing. Definitely a good call.”

 Richie’s cheeks flushed slightly, a small, sheepish grin tugging at his lips.  “Oh—uh, I was actually asking about the movie.”

You blinked, then laughed softly.

“Oh! Well, I liked the movie too. Scary as hell, but definitely worth it.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Glad you liked the place, though. It’s one of my favorites.”

“You’ve got good taste, Richie.” You took a sip of water. “Not that I ever doubted it, of course. I’ve seen your flower arrangements.”

Richie blinked, caught off guard by your compliment. He smiled as you took another bite of your food.

 “Sugar hates them.”

“Because they’re expensive. Not because they’re ugly.”

He pointed his fork at you, as if to say, “Touché.”

“But hey, at least I’m good at something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like spending money on flowers?”

 “Hey,” he said, mock-defensive, “there’s an art to it.”

You laughed, the easy banter making the whole night feel even more comfortable. Silence took over the table for a small moment.

“You’re good at a lot of things, Richie—not just flowers.”

Richie sighed, placing his glass down.

“Doesn’t always feel like it.”

He gave you a half smile, causing you to frown a little. You moved your hand across the table, placing it on top of his. Richie stared at your hand.

 “Hey.”

He raised his eyes to meet yours. The expression on your face nearly took his breath away. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t shame. It was worry. Genuine worry.

Richie swallowed hard, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. He gave you a small grin—a quiet way of saying “thanks.”

You squeezed his hand gently, your heart aching for him.

 For a moment, the noise of the restaurant faded away, and it was just the two of you.

On the walk back to Richie’s car, you tried to rack your brain for ways to make this drive last a little longer. Just a bit more time with Richie. Was that too much to ask? Then you remembered an old tradition you had with your parents. Some people drove around to look at Christmas lights—it was too early for that—but one thing people might be decorating for was Halloween. You offered your idea to Richie, who was more than eager to accept.

You drove around for a while, heading toward the neighborhoods where you knew the houses were bigger—and, as a result, the decorations were more elaborate. Eventually, you made your way back toward the areas around The Bear and your building. The car hummed softly beneath you as the two of you shared smiles and quiet conversation, the night stretching gently ahead.

Every so often, you found yourself glancing down at Richie’s hand on the gear shift and wondering—if the two of you were something more—would his hand be resting against your thigh instead? The thought made your stomach flutter.

You let out a soft yawn just as Richie turned onto your street.

Richie pulled up in front of your building, easing the car into park. For a moment, neither of you moved.

“Well,” he said quietly, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel, “guess this is your stop.”

You smiled, unbuckling your seatbelt but not reaching for the door just yet. “Thanks for tonight.”

 “No—thank you. I had a good time. Like, really good.”

You nodded, then laughed softly under your breath. “I was kinda nervous about asking you. Thought maybe I came off weird.”

Richie turned slightly in his seat to face you. “You didn’t. I was just… surprised. In a good way.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, exactly—but it was heavy. Weighed with unspoken words. You looked down at your lap, then back up at him.

“So, um… I’ll see you at work?”

 Richie gave a little smile, but his eyes flicked to your mouth for just a second too long.

 “Yeah. I mean—unless… you wanna hang out again before that.”

 Your heart jumped. “I’d like that.”

You reached for the door handle, slowly, like giving him one last chance to say something—do something. You stepped out, and Richie followed, rounding the car to walk you to your door. The air between you felt electric now, buzzing with something unspoken. You stopped on your front step and turned to face him.

“Guess this is goodnight,” you said, your voice quieter than before.

“Yeah. Right,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, then letting his hand drop. “Goodnight.”

Neither of you moved.

Your eyes met his. You didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was both of you at once—like you’d been orbiting this moment all night, and now gravity had finally pulled you in.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t perfect. It was soft and uncertain and full of that dizzy, heart-in-throat kind of tenderness. Richie’s hand brushed your cheek as he deepened the kiss just slightly, like he couldn’t help himself. When you finally pulled apart, you stayed close, foreheads nearly touching.

“Well, that was… something,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him again. Richie accepted your kiss, smiling against your mouth. The smile didn’t disappear when you pulled away. You took a step back, grinning softly, your hand still holding Richie’s.

“Well, I have to go to bed.”

“Is that an invitation?”

You laughed, which only made Richie smile wider.

“Not just yet, Jerimovich.” You made your way up the stairs, pausing at the door before glancing back over your shoulder. “But I’ll think about it.”

Richie gave you the biggest grin. You offered a small wave before closing the door behind you. He stood there for a while, just staring at the door, then finally turned and made his way to the car, heart full, heading home.

 Things at work weren’t exactly different after that night…but they kind of were.

Richie still showed up loud, still made a mess, still acted like he owned the place. You still rolled your eyes when he did, still gave him shit, still worked your ass off just the same.

But now, there were glances. Small smiles passed over stainless steel counters. A brush of hands when handing over plates—things like that.

You were plating something by the pass when Richie said something low under his breath that made you laugh. Really laugh. It was nothing, probably stupid. But you leaned into his shoulder for a second, giggling like you couldn’t help it.

Carmen clocked it from the other side of the kitchen. He squinted, confused, and turned toward Tina.

 “What the fuck is going on with those two?”

Tina didn’t even look up. She just smirked, sprinkled a little parsley over a finished plate, and said, “They’re in love, Jeff.”

Carmy blinked. “Since when?”

Tina finally looked over at you and Richie, who were still laughing like the rest of the world had faded out.

Tina shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Since before either of them knew it. You’re just late.”

Carmy shook his head and muttered something under his breath as he turned back to the walk-in. But even he couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

[iloveslasher]

What’s Left After Trust Breaks

Post-Torture | Poly!141 x Reader | Finale of Shatterpoint

Johnny's POV, John's POV, Kyle's POV, Simon's POV, Finale.

It’s been twelve days.

You’ve counted.

Twelve days since they found out the truth. Twelve days since the shackles came off. Twelve days of silence from you.

The medbay walls feel like a cage. Cleaner than that dungeon, sure. Warmer. But no less confining.

They visit in shifts. Whisper apologies. Offer soft looks. Bring flowers and books and quiet regret.

But you haven’t said a word.

Until today.

You requested it. One meeting. All four of them. Together. Because if this is going to end, it needs to end with honesty.

They file in one by one.

Price stands at the back, his hands behind his back like he’s facing a court-martial. Ghost lingers near the door, hood up, unmoving. Gaz stares at the floor, fists clenched. Soap is the only one who looks directly at you.

You sit upright in the hospital bed, pale and quiet. IV still taped to your arm.

Your voice, when it finally comes, is hoarse but firm.

"Why are you here?"

They freeze.

None of them speak.

You continue. "You already did what you wanted. You interrogated me. Hurt me. Watched me fall apart. You didn’t even let me speak."

Ghost stiffens. Price opens his mouth. You raise your hand.

"Don't." One word. Sharp. Final.

You turn to Gaz. "You didn’t even look at me. You used to stay up at night rubbing circles into my back when I had nightmares. And then I was begging for you to see me—and you wouldn’t even look."

He flinches. A tear slips down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away.

You look to Soap. "You cried when I broke my wrist on a mission once. You told me I was your heart. And yet you held the hose when they made me crawl for water. I saw you. I saw you."

Soap's breath shakes. His knuckles are white.

You finally face Price.

"You promised I’d always be safe with you. That no one would ever hurt me." Your voice cracks. "But you were the one who gave the order."

Silence.

Dead. Chilling. Endless.

"I would’ve died for you," you whisper. "All of you."

"You almost did." Ghost's voice cuts through the quiet. Ragged. Low. "And we let it happen."

You finally look at him.

"Why?" you ask. "Why didn’t any of you ask me? Look me in the eyes? Believe me?"

Soap moves forward, his voice thick. “We were scared. The intel… it looked airtight. It made sense. We thought if it was you—if you’d really turned—then—"

"Then what?" you snap. "You could forget you ever loved me?"

"No!" Gaz chokes out. "Never. I never stopped—I just didn’t know how to—"

"How to what?" You stare at him. "Choose me? Believe me when it mattered?" Silence. None of them respond.

You close your eyes. The weight of everything sinks in.

"I'm not the same anymore," you say quietly. "You didn’t just interrogate a traitor. You broke the person you claimed to love."

“We know,” Price murmurs, voice shaking. “And we’ll carry that every day. You have every right to hate us.”

Ghost nods slowly. “But we’ll stay. For as long as you want. To make it right.”

You look at them—truly look—and for the first time… you see guilt not as performance, but as a wound that mirrors yours.

Still.

You shake your head. “You can’t make it right. Nothing will undo what you did.”

Soap steps forward, eyes glassy. “Then what can we do?”

Your voice is quiet. Hollow.

“You can let me choose whether I want you in my life at all.”

And they nod.

Because they know they don’t deserve even that.

Weeks Later – The Start of Healing

Time doesn’t fix it.

But it gives you space.

They respect your boundaries. They don’t pressure. Don’t ask for affection. They offer support, and distance, and apologies—over and over.

It starts small.

Gaz drops off tea one morning and you thank him. A whisper.

Soap reads aloud in your room when you can’t sleep. His voice cracks when you don’t push him away.

Ghost sits outside your door at night. Silent. A sentinel.

Price writes a letter. Handwritten. Four pages long. You don’t open it for a week. But when you do, you cry so hard you vomit.

Then one day… you speak first.

“I had a nightmare,” you whisper to Soap in the dark. He doesn’t say anything. Just holds your hand.

Another day: You let Gaz braid your hair again.

Later, you let Price help you out of the hospital bed for a walk. Just once.

Eventually, you ask Ghost to sit beside you, not across the room.

They never assume it means they’re forgiven.

But they’re patient. And present.

You’re not sure if the love you had will ever come back in the same way. It’s not romantic anymore. Not yet. Maybe never.

But it’s something.

And for now… that’s enough.

The End.

[whimsicalcrying]

Blue Umbrella

Pairing: Kento Nanami x Reader

Summary: The first time Nanami notices you.

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: This is my first ever x reader fic so I'm super nervous!! I do really like the vibe I went for so please let me know if you'd want more of this reader with Nanami.

Any feedback is welcomed! Enjoy!!

Ao3 | M.List

!Warnings!: mentions of death, dead bodies and arranged marriages.

⋆.ೃ࿔⛈ ˖*༄

It was never a question if humans were meant to die. 

Death is one of the many truths of the universe. To the very planet we know. But there are some truths that the men of our era spend their lives putting aside. A truth so simple even a mere child could understand, a truth that truly made the world go round.

Life repeats and nature evolves. 

Nanami Kento knew these fundamentals well, just as others in his line of work did. There was no wondering if or how he died, it was a matter of when . He saw firsthand how the scales of power shift. 

Of how quickly a man could become something akin to a god.

Or something more monstrous.

Nanami didn't want power. He didn't want anything really. Nanami was simply doing what he could, and that meant returning to the world that broke every part of his soul. A job that demanded more than just his time and effort. 

Returning back to the world of sorcerers wasn't easy after spending his time running from it. The higher ups and his colleagues brought him back to his teen years, the years he spent countless hours at his dead end salary job trying to forget.

He was on the verge of regretting coming back. “What is the purpose of the small good I can do?” he’d often ask himself as he went from mission to mission. It still felt better than what he was doing after he left Jujutsu Tech.

The bleakness of both jobs seemed to stay with him regardless of feeling a bit better about his role in the world. After work, what did he have besides an empty apartment and friends that nearly die every time they clock in?

Something changed the first summer after switching jobs again. Something- no, someone had finally caught his attention.

He remembers it clearly, a hot rainy day where water rolled down the many steps to the entrance of Jujutsu High. Nanami had just come back from a mission, ready to give a quick report and head home exactly on his schedule.

Instead, he faltered, catching a glimpse of you.

You were standing in the rain with Gojo at your side. Nanami had never seen Gojo look so cautious around a person before, but he stood there, hands clenching and unclenching at his side, blue eyes trained on you as you looked up to the cloudy sky. 

The hot sticky rain was hitting your face, slowly running from the top of your head, to your cheeks and then framing your jaw. To others it would seem quite strange, but to Nanami it seemed like you needed this. Like nature herself was grounding you.

Nanami couldn't move. His muscles locked mid step, just his left leg on the upper stair as he watched the scene before him. You looked familiar in a way, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps you were the embodiment of life and death. Gentle yet a slow killing poison. He couldn't place you in his memories yet he felt as if he knew you.

He wanted to know you.

Forcing himself to come back to his senses, he shakes off some water from his hair and starts his journey back up. That's when he hears your voice, gentle yet stern.

“I’ll run a cursed blade through my heart before I’d ever listen to them and marry you.”

Gojo gave a small laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets looking at the sky with you. “I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Y/N Kiyomi.” He muses before dropping his tone to something deeper, curious. “What do they have on you to ask for such a thing?”

“Have? They have my life, Satoru, just as they have yours.” Your answer came easily. Just as you open your mouth to speak more, you catch Nanami's tall figure making its way up the stairs. Clearing your throat, you look down to your feet as Gojo spots him, waving the serious looking man over. 

“Nanami! You’re going to make the ladies go mad with your wet shirt clinging to you like that.” Gojo teases, throwing an arm over the man's shoulders before he could protest. Throwing him off casually, Nanami keeps his eyes trained firmly on you, his glasses off in his hand so he could see without the rain drops blurring his vision. 

“Have we met before?” Nanami asks you  bluntly but of course it's Gojo who answers. 

“Whaaat? You're telling me you don't remember the Jujutsu techs resident cry baby?” Gojo grins, bringing his arm around Nanami once more to whisper in his ear. “I suppose Y/N is all grown up now. They really….filled out.” 

Without looking, you hard launch a rock to hit Gojo right between the eyes.

“Ignore him, he's a fool.” You rush to say, puffing out your cheeks in mild embarrassment. Nanami feels something tighten in his chest as he nods, stepping away from Gojo who's now complaining about the attack that didn't even hurt him. 

He steps closer, looking down at you. You watch as his jaw clenched, hands tightening around his glasses, the rain drops sliding down his cheeks to his perfect jawline. “Forgive me for not remembering you.” He nearly whispers. “You’re one of Shoko's' friends, yes?”

You nod your head, a shy smile taking place instead of the somber feeling you oozed earlier. “No, no it's okay, Mr. Nanami. I was a year below you, then you left not long after I came to the school.”  Pausing you look to the side, a little sheepish. “ And yes, I work closely with Shoko.”

“I see.” So they were here when I ran away, Nanami thinks as he takes in the shape of you. You stand there with a certain air about you. Like you know your place in the world well, that you've accepted how the course of your life will go.

I’ll run a curse blade through my heart before I’d ever listen to them and marry you.

Your words come back to his mind, and he quickly re-evaluates his last thought. Perhaps you've accepted your place, but it seems you have yet to stop fighting for what you want. 

“Did you not have an umbrella?” You ask him, before digging into your bag and handing him a blue folded one. Nanami raises a brow, looking at the dry umbrella to the soaked clothes clinging to your skin.

“I don't usually carry one.” Nanami answers. “Did you forget yours was in your bag?”

“No, I love the rain.” You lean up, whispering like it's some sort of secret. Nanami's mind nearly blanks at how close you are and how good you suddenly smell. “Take it, Mr. Nanami. For next time.” You say, grabbing his arm to turn his palm to the sky to set the umbrella in his hand.

Nanami opens his mouth to protest on taking your property but you're already moving down the steps as a sleek black car pulls up. A man in traditional clothing comes out to open the door for you, bowing slightly. You nod to the man, then look back to Nanami and Gojo.

With a small wave, the door slams shut and you're gone, leaving only an umbrella and a few past memories Nanami couldn’t remember behind.

“Oh boy! Do I smell love in the air?” Gojo laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge. Nanami does not dignify him with an answer, simply opening the umbrella and walking to finish his work day. Of course, Gojo tags along smiling like a Cheshire cat. 

“She simply caught my eye.” Nanami says when they make it back inside. Gojo simply pats his back, before turning to run off to do God knows what. 

⋆.ೃ࿔⛈ ݁ ˖*༄    

That simple boring conversation with Nanami stayed tucked neatly in the back of your mind as the June weeks slowly passed to July ones. There was nothing special about the words exchanged between the two of you. No new revelations, no love at first sight. 

Yet you couldn't get that look on his face out of your mind. 

You stayed busy regardless of your clouded thoughts as there were plenty of things to be done on the Kiyomi Estate.

Unlike the Zenin's or the Gojo's, the Kiyomi’s were more of a laid-back family when it came to certain things. There was no power struggle, no money issues, only set expectations everyone with a drop of Kiyomi blood was expected to follow. 

The Kiyomi’s respected the course of nature. The soft and warm, the sick and deadly. The elders were not afraid of the new generations to come. There wasn't a word spoken of the new age, it was a known fact deep in their souls. 

For the world always changes when things become too comfortable. Nature always evolves, and humans always die. 

“Y/N!”

You look up from the hole you were digging, dirt collecting on your clothes and staining your hands. A young teen boy comes your way, Megumi with his familiar deadpan look on his face carrying a plastic bag. He’s Satoru’s ward, a project of sorts that Satoru loves to tell you about. Soon he will be a first year at Jujutsu Tech, meaning your days of doing Satoru’s job of caring for the boy are coming to an end.

Smiling as the young teenager approached, you dust your hands off on your pants, rising to greet him. “Megumi, what brings you here?” You ask, watching as Megumi makes it to you, sighing at your question. He steps closer, halting at the sight of the six-foot hole before flicking his gaze back up to you.

“Stupid Gojo told me to bring these souvenirs to you from his mission” Megumi explains, handing off the bag while side eyeing the hole. Or perhaps the corpse that lies close to the hole and unplanted flowers. 

“Of course he did.” You smile, taking the bag and looking inside at an array of sweets. “He really shouldn't waste his money on such things.” 

“I doubt he even checks prices before swiping.” Megumi huffs, crossing his arms. His eyes fall to the corpse again, but you pretend not to notice. The man looked to be older, semi decayed and clearly ready for a proper burial. Whatever got to him and ended his life did it brutally, given the stitches holding certain parts back together.

“Who's that?”

“A criminal who was brought to justice.” You explain without hesitation, setting the bag down before glancing to the body. “Unclaimed body from the morgues. Shoko suspects he was a curse user. I am returning him to nature so that he may come back as something better.”

Megumi takes a moment to absorb the words you tell him before nodding. It's nothing new when it comes to the Kiyomi's. Every flower patch here is someone who has lived a life before. From unclaimed criminals, to sorcerers who’ve met their fate, their bodies rest here when no one else takes them.

Whatever can be salvaged of them at least.

For a brief moment you wonder if you should make the young boy go inside to not see this, but you know his future work will show him much worse things. Inside you hope you'll be dead before his body comes here to rest.

Megumi moves to the hole, grabbing one of the shovels to help dig before you can ask what he’s doing. You smile at his kind offer to help, and fall into quick work of burying the man. After the corpse is buried and flowers are planted on top, he takes his leave without a single word.

Your next distraction comes in the form of Nanami himself, though this time it was not the thought of him. He's in the garden, walking with his suit jacket tucked neatly in his arm as the clan leader, your grandfather, rambles to him about the Kiyomi ways. 

Finishing the last flower in the arrangement on top of the criminal's final resting place, you stand to make your way to greet them. Bowing as they approach, your grandfather lets out a joyful laugh, echoing throughout the land.

“This here is my lovely grandchild Y/N. Do forgive her appearance, they work hard in these fields putting the dead to rest.” He says happily, waving his wrinkled hands in front of his face.

Nanami nods, before bowing to you slightly. “Forgive my interruption. I came here to ask some questions about the curse user you've just laid to rest.”

“What sort of things would I know?” You ask, watching paint as he stands straight up and fiddles with his tie. Nanami clears his throat before glancing at your grandfather who's taking notes on the flowers nearby instead of listening to the conversation.

“The man's cursed energy, I was told by Shoko that it seemed off. I'm afraid he may..well you know..” He looks back to you, making sure to make direct eye contact as he pulls your blue umbrellas from his arms, handing it back to you. 

“And I wanted to return this.” Nanami says, watching every move you make. You feel the urge to smile, but hold it back to instead nod, taking the umbrella gingerly from his large hands. Your fingers brush and it's like you were suddenly set on fire. 

“Thank you, Mr. Nanami, but I could have sworn I meant for you to keep this.”

“Perhaps I wanted to see you.” He retorts back, making your cheeks warm slightly.

Your grandfather stiffens up, looking between the two of you with a knowing smile. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you clear your throat pointedly to the old man. “Oh! Well, look at the time, I've got to head back inside to work.” he says cheerily, leaving you both on the garden path. 

Turning on your heel, you gesture for Nanami to walk with you. Instantly he falls right into step at your side, like there was nowhere else for him to be. “You didn't have to go through all the trouble. How did you even find me?”

Nanami hums, pushing his dress shirt sleeves up slightly and adjusting the jacket in his arms. “The Kiyomi estate isn't hard to find…..and I asked Shoko.” Nanami tells you, looking at the many flowers instead of you. 

You giggle in response, grinning as you look at the side of his face. 

“Why are you here, Mr. Nanami? Surely, you're aware of the gossip in jujutsu society right now.”

“I'm well aware you’re on the cusp of an engagement to that idiot.” Nanami tells you bluntly, stopping in his tracks. You follow along, letting him step to face you. “I dislike the higher ups and the clans who force such things. No, I actually hate them. I hate all sorcerers too.”

Pausing for a moment to find the right words, Nanami runs his hand on his jaw before looking you in the eyes. Even through his tinted glasses, you could see it clearly. The bit of nerves, the longing to be understood. The acceptance of what this world is.

“I didn't come back to be their dog. I came back to do what little good I can. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I feel you are the same way.” 

Humming in thought, you put your hands behind your back and look up to the sky. Closing your eyes at the feel of the summer breeze, you let this wonderfully complex man sit in silence. 

“My job, Mr. Nanami, isn’t to kill curses. As a Kiyomi, I am here to bring a balance to this world. A new age is coming, and I fully intend to protect the generations to come. To plant trees and flowers that I’ll never come to see.” You speak, before cutting yourself off with a small sigh, looking back at Nanami. “I don't play by sorcerer rules. I'm not that kind of person, and I'll never be.”

Nanami nods, swallowing roughly. “You’ll plant flowers at my grave then?”

“No. You will become a wonderful tree. A protector from the sun and harsh rain. A provider, something solid, long lasting.” 

He reaches out for your hand, hesitant to touch. You're almost worried he'd be put off by the dirt and calluses that were on your skin. Nanami simply brushed the mess, before bringing your hand to his lips for a soft gentle kiss against your skin.

“Miss Y/N, would you join me for dinner this Saturday?”

A pretty smile graces your lips, then slowly turns to a teasing grin. “Only if you bring an umbrella. I hear it's forecast to rain.” 

Nanami grins, letting your hand go. “I'm starting to like the rain.”

⋆.ೃ࿔⛈ ˖*༄

[malsmind]

▸12 ⋅˚₊‧ Falling Down – Bonus Track ‧₊˚ ⋅

𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰

⚠︎ ∿ toxic relationship dynamics ∿ implied substance use ∿ mental health struggles ∿ unprotected sex ∿ dirty talk ∿ self destructive behavior ∿ manipulation ∿

၊၊||၊ Come Over When You're Sober, Pt. 2 ⌗ 12

𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 @delilahsturniolo

you knew this wasn’t going to be easy. not with chris. not with anything between you two.

he was beautiful and broken in the same breath—a flame that burned too hot, too fast, and left nothing but ash behind.

you’d met him when you were both falling apart, two halves that barely held together. and somehow, you clicked. the way he looked at you—hungry, desperate, dangerous—made your heart race and your skin crawl all at once.

but love wasn’t what you had.

it was pain, addiction, control, and need—all wrapped up in a tangled mess you didn’t want to untangle. one night, the air heavy with smoke and silence, he pulled you into an alley behind a bar you’d both been avoiding, and everything you’d been holding back came crashing down. his hands were rough, shaking as they found your waist, pulling you close, breath hot and uneven against your neck.

“why do you keep comin’ back?” he whispered, voice cracked like he was trying not to break.

you looked up, eyes searching his.

“because you’re the only one who sees me like this.”

he laughed—a bitter, broken sound.

“see you?” he scoffed.

“i don’t know if i’m saving you or destroying you.”

you didn’t answer, you didn’t have to. you knew it was both.

his lips crashed onto yours, desperate and bruised, tongue pushing, claiming, taking what you both needed but couldn’t say. you kissed him back, wild and unrestrained, fingers tangling in his hair, nails scratching down his back. he tasted like cigarettes and pain and something electric you couldn’t resist. the kiss broke just long enough for him to growl,

“i’m not good for you.”

you smiled, breathless,

“neither am i.”

he grabbed your wrist, dragging you toward his car nearby. doors slammed, bodies pressed together in the cramped space. his hands were everywhere—on your thighs, under your shirt, tracing the lines of your spine. you shivered, caught between pleasure and dread.

“you don’t have to do this,” you whispered.

he shook his head, eyes dark and raw.

“i need it.”

and so you gave yourself to him—to the chaos, the pain, the craving.

every touch was electric and dangerous, every kiss a battle between wanting and hurting…

he moved inside you with frantic urgency, as if holding onto this moment could save him from falling further. his head dropped to your shoulder, hips slamming into yours at a fast, shaky pace. small whimpers leaving his lips as he fucked you into the backseat.

“don’t leave me…please,” he gasped, voice breaking.

you whispered back,

“i’m right here.”

but you both knew that didn’t mean anything. afterward, tangled and trembling, he pulled you close but kept his distance, the silence heavy with unsaid apologies and promises he never planned to keep.

“i hate myself,” he murmured, voice barely audible.

you kissed his temple, tears burning in your eyes.

“then let me love you enough for the both of us.”

but even as you said it, you knew—love wasn’t enough.

not for you.

not for him.

and that’s the cruel truth of it all.

a/n: this writing marathon was so much fun. i love this album sm. might do more of these if i have more time to post consistently. i love yall, thank you to everyone who read these marathon fics. :) <3

[cakerybakery]

Adam watched Lucifer over the day.

It wasn't like there was a noticeable difference between his male form and her female form. Her face could be thought to be softer, but Adam wasn't sure it wasn't just the lighting and his eyes. There was a swell to Lucifer's chest under the vest, but Lucifer had had a bit of a barrel chest to begin with and Adam didn't think anyone but him would notice the difference since Lucifer wasn't advertising the change.

Lucifer had asked him to leave the baby girl, princess, Lulu stuff in the bedroom, which was fine, but he was struggling with the idea of how Lucifer wasn't presenting herself- himself?? As female in public. It was different from the other angels he'd known.

It was messing with his brain a little.

He was just exclusively calling Lucifer, Lucifer. It gave him odd looks, but Adam could take it so long as no one asked questions so he didn't fuck up whatever was making Lucifer happy.

A happy Lucifer, meant Adam wasn't going to get booted.

Despite Lucifer's repeated insistence that Adam was fine, Adam knew it was a matter of time. His best was still Eve, Adam didn't even last to his death. Eve started making excuses and Adam started napping during the day. He was pretty sure the lack of sleep is what did him in.

But a few decades to a couple nights was average.

If he lasted through this date, then Adam was sure he scored a sleep partner for a few decades at least.

Lucifer seemed the type. So long as Adam kept Lucifer cumming, he'd keep getting to have the best sleep of his afterlife.

There was something about Lucifer being such a powerful person that made Adam feel real, down to his bones, safe, and he'd never slept better.

That was the only reason he agreed to this date.

It definitely wasn't how Lucifer fit in his arms so perfectly, or how nice Lucifer smelled, or that cute face.

Adam wasn't sure what was cuter, Lucifer with reading glasses, when Lucifer was dead tired and struggling to stay awake with big yawns and rubbing at heavy eyes, when Lucifer was asleep and those lips parted, or in the throes of sex.

If he'd agreed to the date because of Lucifer, Adam was doomed.

When they were finally alone in the back of a driverless limo he asked about what had been tripping him up all day so he wouldn't upset Lucifer by accident. "Why don't you want the others to know you're a chick right now? Why not switch back?"

Lucifer flushed and squirmed a little in the seat. "I can't get myself to switch. I didn't do it on purpose and now I don't know how to turn back. Besides, you only like women so..."

"What gave you that idea?" Adam captured Lucifer's jaw with his fingers and tilted Lucifer's face up towards him. "I mostly just fuck women, but I don't turn down dick. I'd fuck you either way, baby girl."

Lucifer's flush deepened and he let out a little squeak as Adam kissed him.

Being told Lucifer was just stuck made it a lot clearer in Adam's head.

He didn't know angels could get stuck, but maybe thinking Adam only liked women was messing with Lucifer's head as much as Lucifer being stuck had messed with his. What a pair of clusterfucks they were.

Adam couldn't sleep alone and Lucifer often had terrible nightmares about his fall.

There was no way this would last, but he'd enjoy it while it did.

Lucifer suddenly pushed him away with a quick and panicked, "no!"

He was almost hurt. Except, Adam could see how affected Lucifer was. The "fuck me" vibes Adam was getting were off the charts.

How Lucifer held onto him firmly. How flushed Lucifer's body was. The light panting and quiver of Lucifer's legs.

All Adam would have to do is call his princess a few sweet nothings and Lucifer's legs would spread wide for him. So he held back.

Short term gain of avoiding this date versus the long term having a safe place to sleep, kept his cock in his pants.

If the date went well, Lucifer would be a sticky mess back home anyway.

Lucifer calmed himself back down and brightened up as he talked about their date.

"Okay. So, we don't know much about each other yet," he started and Adam resisted rolling his eyes.

He knew a lot about Lucifer. Adam had been watching Lucifer for more than just seeing if he could pick out Lucifer's tits under his vest.

Speaking of, he interrupted Lucifer. "Does that hurt?"

"But I think steak... does what hurt?"

Adam pointed at Lucifer's chest. "Your tits. I know they're not very," would it be insulting to say they're not big? They were decently sized, but when Adam thought big breasts, he thought too big to fit in his hands and Lucifer's were the perfect size for fitting in his hands. "Uhh, huge, but they're a good size and aren't they squished under your vest?"

Lucifer was squirming again and muttered, "a little."

"Are we going somewhere people will recognize you?"

"I- no? I used a fake name for the reservations that I use when I don't want to be recognized. L. Magne."

Adam smiled and jostled Lucifer's shoulder, "see. You can't change your form back, but I know angels can make cosmetic changes to their appearance. Get rid of the iconic suit and free ball it, er, so to speak."

Lucifer chewed on his lip as he thought. He eyed the outside world as the limo started slow.

In a second, Lucifer's hair grew out. More fully to his shoulders and swooping a bit in the front. It looked more like Charlie's did, with the slight waves that came with length. The suit tailored itself into a white sundress with small white sweater. Lucifer kept the red accents along the trim, buttons, and with a belt.

He thought for a second more and little red bow tied itself in Lucifer's hair.

"Well, fuck me." Adam let slip. Lucifer was modestly covered, no even a hint of cleavage, but he was visibly breathing easier without his breasts being pressed as flat as possible under his vest, the instant physical comfort of being able to breathe made Lucifer sigh in relief.

Lucifer tugged a bit on the straps of the sandals he switched his boots for and his face slipped into a nervous frown as the limo stopped.

"Does it look okay?"

"Yeah. You look," would it be okay to say Lucifer looked pretty?

They were suddenly in new territory. Calling Lucifer baby girl and shit had been fine in the bedroom, but not outside of it, but now he was in disguise as a woman and didn't want to be recognized as himself in public but they still had a moment before they were in public. Would Lucifer get upset with Adam if he called Lucifer pretty right now?

"Great." He finished lamely. "Dude or chick, you look hot." Adam added on hoping Lucifer could tell he was being honest, Lucifer was very fuckable, and ignore that Adam was struggling with trying to not offend Lucifer by accident and get his ass booted.

Adam was also kind of hoping Lucifer would be able to figure his shit out and get unstuck. Course, Adam had been pegged before. Lucifer could always fuck him with a strap on if that helped.

His jeans got a little tight as the idea of cute little Lucifer fucking his brains out. His breasts jiggling and bouncing with each thrust. Lucifer's pale face flushed and that lip quivering as he got close to cumming.

He was struck by the idea of Lucifer being the opposite though.

For a decade in heaven he'd been with this dominatrix. Innocent looking on the streets but real freaky in the sheets type of shit. That might have been the only person he broke up with. She got real intense over the years and Adam couldn't keep up. The scene was fun and kinky to try, but the shit she was into was biblical, and he wasn't into it.

Lucifer would look real hot in leather. Projecting that look he had normally outside of the bedroom. Confident and in control. Unlike how he was now.

"Adam?" Lucifer's voice cut through his thoughts. "We have to get out." His hand was on the car door and Adam hadn't seen Lucifer look this scared since...

Since banishment.

Since the fall.

His nightmares.

Was Lucifer into doing something he didn't like because he was trying to prove Adam wasn't unlovable?

He took Lucifer's other hand and leaned in. "It's okay. You don't have to do this if you're uncomfortable."

In a blink Lucifer reverted to his old look and that fear was replaced with a different type of relief from earlier.

Lucifer before had been physically relieved because his clothing was too tight. Now he looked like he was feeling more comfortable because he felt more like himself.

It hit Adam that Lucifer had been willing to be uncomfortable and afraid because he was trying to help Adam the best he could.

Adam was sitting here, trying to play some fucking mental 5D chess and figure out how to make Lucifer think he was showing him how he was lovable, so he could still sleep in Lucifer's bed, and Lucifer was just genuinely trying to help him, all while is body was doing something against his will that was terrifying Lucifer.

Fuck.

They were such fuck ups.

He was a fuck up.

They got out of the limo and Adam felt guilty in a way he never had before. Instead of trying to out maneuver Lucifer and fake like he believed he wasn't unlovable, maybe, he should just let Lucifer try to help him?

It would probably be less exhausting than trying to keep up with all the mental math he couldn't even do right.

And he might stop accidentally making Lucifer's problems worse.

Adam made a few decisions as Lucifer talked to the host.

One, he was going to actually try doing Lucifer's plan. Whatever it might be.

And two, he was going to try and help figure out what was wrong with Lucifer's body.

He didn't bother to knock, Lucifer should consider himself lucky Adam put underwear on, instead he just opened the door to Lucifer's suit with the master key he swiped from the front desk.

Lucifer looked up from the novel he was reading in bed, his dorky little reading glasses perched on his barely existant snout, and he frowned in confusion.

Before Lucifer could say anything, Adam lifted the covers of the large bed and climbed in. He laid his head down on the pillow he dragged with him from his room, clicked off the bedside table lamp on his side, and muttered a good night.

"Uhh, what are you doing?" Lucifer finally asked.

"Going to bed."

"This is my room."

"Yup."

"Why are you in my room?"

"My bed is too small." Adam rolled over to face Lucifer and to prove a point. "See, I barely fit this one with my horns, and a bigger bed won't fit in my room."

Lucifer put a bookmark in the novel and set it, and his glasses down on the bedside table. "Adam, why are you in my bed?"

"I knew your bitch ass would make the bed big enough for Lilith." Adam grinned smugly at being right. "She's not coming back, loser. She said so herself."

"Get out of my room."

Adam buried himself deeper under the covers. "Fucking make me."

In a blink, Adam was dropped back on his on bed.

That didn't deter him. He could be just as stubborn as that old goat.

He was back up to Lucifer's penthouse in minutes.

Over and over it went. Adam being sent back to his own bed, and breaking back into Lucifer's room until he tried to open the door and Lucifer slammed it shut.

"NO! Go sleep in your own bed, asshole."

"Would if I could, freak." Adam slammed against the door and it shuttered.

"Why can't you just sleep in your own bed?" Lucifer's hooves slipped a bit on the carpet.

"Because the bed-"

"Bullshit! I can tell when people are lying! You'd be fine even if it was too small. Tell the fucking truth!"

Adam stopped. He let go of the handle and left.

He'd rather cut his own tongue out.

There was a faint, "Adam?" Behind him. He pretended not to hear.

Back down in his room, Adam flopped down on the bed.

"So, why did you want to sleep in my bed?"

He jolted up at the sound of Lucifer's voice and realized he was back in Lucifer's room.

Lucifer had the covers over his legs and was resting his head on his knees.

Adam stared until Lucifer turned golden around the edges and looked anywhere but at Adam.

He stared at Lucifer's bare arms and chest. Lucifer was thin, but not really scrawny. His normally styled hair down.

The atmosphere had shifted.

Light from Lucifer's bedside table was no longer bright and intrusive on sleep, instead it softened the edges of Lucifer's body, it was fire keeping the dark at bay.

"Turn off the light." He requested at last.

Lucifer clicked the light off and huffed, "this better be worth it."

Darkness swallowed their faces and Adam spoke quietly. "I can't sleep alone."

A hand touched his arm.

"Earth was," how did he describe Earth without sounding like a wimp? "Dangerous. Even in Heaven I couldn't sleep alone."

The hand patted his arm.

"Okay. You can stay."

There was rustling and the two settled into bed under the covers.

The sound of Lucifer's breathing was all it took. Adam's eyes were heavy and he easily fell asleep. Feeling safe and comfortable in hell for the first time since he fell.

[paperbackpetals]

The Price Of Freedom

Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary:

After escaping a toxic relationship with Rafe Cameron, she finds comfort in JJ and a taste of the freedom she thought she lost. But when Rafe discovers she’s back—and with someone else—old habits resurface. Torn between the boy who broke her and the one helping her heal, she makes the choice that feels familiar. Even if it costs her everything.

⚠️ Content Warnings:

✦ Toxic relationship

✦ Emotional/verbal abuse

✦ Substance use

✦ Trauma & manipulation

✦ Love triangle

✦ Themes of relapse & recovery

Rafe hadn’t always been the worst boyfriend in the world. Once—before the coke, before the booze, before the screaming matches in Barry’s backyard over absolutely nothing—he was kind. Attentive. He remembered your favorite flower. Played your favorite song in his truck like it was a ritual. Bought you candy just because you said you liked it once. He made you feel like you mattered. Like maybe someone could see you.

But that boy disappeared the moment he realized your love could never compete with his need for his father’s validation.

He started slipping after that. Started sniffing lines with shaky hands, started getting mean with his mouth. Started looking at you like you owed him something just for staying.

And you did stay.

Through the yelling, the jealousy, the bruised wrists and darker words. You stopped going out, because he didn’t like how other guys looked at you. You stopped texting friends back, because he didn’t like you having them. You even started showing up at Barry’s, standing stiff in the corner while he got high out of his mind, because he said being there made him feel better. That having you around kept him from doing worse.

That was a lie. But you believed it. Or maybe you just wanted to.

Sarah had tried. Told you a hundred times that her brother was bad news. That you didn’t deserve this. Eventually, even she gave up. Everyone did. You became a town secret—everyone knew how Rafe treated you, and no one said it to your face. They just whispered behind your back. And maybe that was worse.

You knew Rafe’s moods like the back of your hand.

Knew how to read the twitch in his jaw, the way his fingers danced against his thigh when he was itching for a hit. Tonight, he was wound up tight—like a fraying wire sparking at both ends—but he was trying. For you. Or maybe for the fantasy of you he still believed in.

You leaned against the railing of the rusted freighter, eyes on the inky sea below. The moonlight hit the waves just right—like silver flames licking at the edge of the world. Your hair stuck to your neck from the humidity, but the night was quiet. Still. Almost peaceful if you ignored the fact that someone was locked up just a few rooms away.

Behind you, heavy boots thudded along the deck. You didn’t have to turn. You could feel Rafe coming like a storm rolling in.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low, careful. His hands slid around your waist from behind, the brush of his fingers cold against your stomach.

You tilted your head just enough to see him. “Everything okay?”

“Just making sure everything’s where it should be.” He glanced back toward the shadows of the corridor leading to the engine room, where Sarah was held. “Still no sign of the Pogues. They’re not stupid enough to try anything tonight.”

You reached for his hand, interlacing your fingers, soft and slow. “You should go check again. Just in case.”

He hesitated. “You think?”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”

That was all it took. His mouth twitched into something like a smile, and for a moment—just a second—he looked like the boy you used to know. The one who brought you flowers and curled up beside you in bed, whispering dreams he never believed in.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said quietly.

You swallowed hard. The ache in your chest felt like guilt, but you weren’t sure who it was for. Him—or you.

You forced a smile, fingers tightening around his. “Well, luckily you don’t have to find out.”

He turned to go, hand lingering on your back as he walked away. You watched him disappear into the dark and waited. Counted ten slow, quiet seconds, then slipped through the door.

The room was darker than you remembered. The metal walls sweat with heat and rust, and the single flickering bulb overhead made everything look jaundiced. Sarah was slumped in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees, her blond hair tangled and dirty, but her eyes snapped up the second you stepped inside.

“You.”

You closed the door gently behind you.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed, scrambling to her feet, hands still zip-tied in front of her. “You’re doing this with him? Come on. Are you seriously—?”

“I’m getting you out,” you cut in, voice sharp.

She blinked, startled. “What?”

“I said, I’m getting you out.” You pulled the small knife from your waistband—one Rafe had forgotten he gave you when he thought you’d need protection—and knelt in front of her. “Hold still.”

She stared at you like you were a ghost. “Why? After everything—”

“Just shut up and let me do this.”

The plastic tie snapped after a few quick saws, and she hissed, shaking out her wrists.

You stood. “There’s a raft on the starboard side. You can lower it quietly. If you time it right, the engine noise will cover it.”

Sarah hesitated, rubbing her arms. “You’re coming too, right?”

You stared at her.

She stepped closer. “You can’t stay with him. You know that, right? He’s not—he’s not Rafe anymore.”

“I know who he is,” you said quietly.

“Then leave. Please.” Her voice broke. “Come with us. You don’t owe him anything. He treats you like you’re his toy. The Y/n I knew before Rafe would’ve never let any man treat her that way.”

“She doesn’t exist anymore,” you reply, reflecting on everything you’ll never be again.

“She can. If you leave with us. Leave him behind. He deserves the pain of losing you.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell her that this was your problem, your mess. That love—real, ugly, terrifying love—didn’t just vanish because someone turned into a monster. But the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, you didn’t believe them anymore.

You nodded once.

Sarah exhaled shakily and grabbed your hand. “Come on.”

You moved fast. Quick and quiet. The sound of heavy machinery masked your steps as you crept along the side of the boat. Sarah handled the raft like she’d done it a hundred times before, her hands working ropes and knots with fluid ease. You climbed down the side, boots slipping against the damp metal as the raft swayed below.

JJ and Kiara reached up first, steadying the raft. Pope was already inside, checking the oars. John B’s eyes widened when he saw you, and his mouth opened—probably to curse you out—but Sarah was faster.

“She helped me,” she snapped. “She’s coming with us.”

There wasn’t time for arguments.

You hit the bottom of the raft just as Sarah climbed in behind you, the wood rocking violently. JJ shoved off with the oar, and suddenly you were drifting away.

The freighter grew smaller. Quieter. Distant.

Until—

“Hey!”

Rafe’s voice cut through the night like a gunshot. You looked up and saw him at the rail, silhouetted by moonlight. His eyes scanned the deck, frantic.

“Babe?”

He called again. Sharper now. Panicked.

Your chest caved in.

“Babe? Where the fuck are you?!”

John B muttered a curse and rowed harder. The raft picked up speed. You kept your eyes on Rafe, even when Sarah tugged at your sleeve to look away. Even when he shouted your name so loud the birds fled from the mast.

“Babe!”

His voice cracked.

And you knew—you knew—that he would burn the entire ocean if it meant getting you back.

You curled your knees to your chest and buried your face in them.

You didn’t cry.

Not yet.

But the sound of his voice stayed with you long after it faded into the wind.

Your heart ached.

You had been trapped in the middle of nowhere, on an island JJ had ironically named Poguelandia—the flag proudly flapping in the breeze, painted with a chicken smoking a blunt. What a great mascot. Exactly the kind of dumb humor that made this group feel like a weird little family.

Except you weren’t really one of them.

Not yet.

You were still the girl who had dated Rafe Cameron. The girl who stayed with him even when he became the worst version of himself. The one who helped Sarah escape, but didn’t quite know how to save herself.

But JJ never looked at you like that. Not once.

He’d been oddly close to you since the escape. It started with the occasional glance when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, but it had turned into more. Moments where you’d catch him completely zoning out—his eyes somewhere far off but always… always in your direction.

Maybe he saw something in you he recognized. That broken, bruised thing trying to fight its way out.

He sat beside you on the beach now, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a salty mess. The sun was starting to set, dyeing the sky in oranges and pinks, and your stomach growled for something other than roasted fish and coconuts.

JJ flopped dramatically into the sand, groaning like he’d just lost the will to live. “I’m so tired of eating fish,” he muttered. “I’m beginning to turn into a mermaid.”

“You’d be a merman,” you corrected with a soft laugh, stretching your legs out beside him.

He grunted and rolled onto his side, then lazily placed his head in your lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You stiffened for just a second—but then your fingers found their way into his hair, combing through the golden strands gently, like second nature.

JJ let out a low hum of approval, eyes fluttering shut. “Nah, mermaids are cooler. Mermen just sound like insecure fish dudes who need a gym membership and a trident to feel something.”

You snorted. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, huh?”

He smirked without opening his eyes. “I’ve had a lot of time to reflect. You know—between the fishing, the hunger, and the trauma bonding.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was soft. Heavy in a comfortable way, like being wrapped in a blanket that smelled like salt and sun and safety.

JJ opened his eyes again, this time quieter. More serious.

“I meant what I said, by the way.”

You glanced down at him. “About the fish?”

He shook his head faintly. “About you.”

His eyes stayed on yours. “You’re a badass. A warrior. Like Wonder Woman… just, you know, if she was from the Outer Banks.”

Your fingers stilled in his hair.

“I’m serious,” he said. “After everything with Rafe… You didn’t just survive him. You saved Sarah. You jumped.”

You looked away, throat tight. “It didn’t feel brave. It felt like I was abandoning him. Like I… like I betrayed him.”

JJ sat up a little, resting on his elbow to face you, the fading sun casting shadows across his face.

“He betrayed you first,” he said, voice firm but quiet. “Over and over again. You don’t owe someone your life just because they were good to you once.”

You swallowed hard, blinking fast. His words cracked something open in your chest that you hadn’t realized was still sealed shut.

“You think he’ll come for me?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

JJ’s jaw flexed. “Yeah. I do.”

You felt your stomach twist, the familiar weight of fear trying to worm its way back in.

“But we won’t let him get to you,” JJ added. “I won’t.”

Your eyes locked with his.

There was something in the way he said it—not a throwaway promise, but a vow. No sarcasm, no filter. Just him.

You gave a small smile, the first real one in days. “Thanks, fish boy.”

JJ grinned. “Anytime, Wonder Woman.”

And for the first time since you leapt off that boat into dark water and certain chaos… you didn’t feel like you were running.

You felt like maybe—just maybe—you were finally free.

But freedom came with a price, apparently.

Freedom was supposed to feel like lightness. Like breathing without a weight on your chest or looking over your shoulder every second. But ever since you returned to the Banks, it felt like your lungs had never fully reinflated. Like you’d only survived, not escaped.

You were back home—technically. Your mother and younger sister had cried when they saw you on the porch, their arms wrapping around you so tight it almost hurt. They didn’t ask questions. Not about what happened, or who did what, or what he did to you. They were just glad you were back. Alive.

But you weren’t really there. Not fully.

You were quiet at dinner. Distant when your sister tried to braid your hair like she used to. And at night, you stared at the ceiling until the shadows crawled off the walls and wrapped around your chest like chains.

The only thing that felt even remotely familiar—like you—was JJ.

Since Poguelandia, since that stupid chicken flag and the smell of sea salt and smoke, he had become a constant. Not perfect, but honest. Kind, in his reckless way. With JJ, you didn’t have to be the broken girl who escaped Rafe. You could just exist. Just be.

You weren’t dating, not really. But it looked like it. Felt like it, sometimes. He kissed you—sweetly, slowly—like he didn’t want to scare you off. Always short, like a question. A promise that he’d never take more than what you offered.

And yet your heart stayed locked up tight. Not because JJ didn’t deserve it.

But because it had been shattered before, and you didn’t trust it not to betray you again.

“Aren’t you tired of Sour Patch Kids in our popcorn?” you asked, eyeing the candy wall inside the corner store. JJ stood beside you, sunglasses pushed up on his head, hoodie slung halfway off his shoulder like it always was.

“That’s tradition,” he scoffed, grabbing the red bag anyway. “We’re not about to break Pogue customs now.”

“Chocolate sounds better.”

“That sounds disgusting,” he shot back with mock betrayal.

“Says the man who drinks beer after brushing his teeth.”

He made a face. “That happened once.”

“Twice.”

JJ leaned in, grinning. “I don’t see you complaining when I bring it on beach nights.”

You smirked, nudging him with your elbow. “That’s different.”

You were so wrapped in the rhythm of him, in the comfort of laughter that felt real again, that you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you.

But you felt it.

The silence. The shift in the air. The way JJ went rigid beside you, shoulders stiff, hand half-curled into a fist before he even turned around.

You turned too.

And there he was.

Rafe.

Hair shorter than you remembered. Face sunburned at the edges. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up like always, showing off arms that used to wrap around you like a shield—and later, a prison.

His eyes landed on yours like he’d been searching for you in every store and alley and street in the Banks. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You’re back,” he breathed, stepping forward.

JJ instinctively moved closer to you.

“Don’t,” you whispered under your breath. But you didn’t know who you were saying it to—JJ or yourself.

Rafe’s gaze flicked to JJ, then down at your linked arms, and the soft red imprint on your neck from earlier where JJ had kissed you just before coming inside.

His jaw clenched.

“You’ve been fucking him?” Rafe’s voice cracked, tears gathering in his eyes. “After everything? Him?”

You froze.

JJ immediately stepped between you. “Back the fuck up, man.”

“You don’t get to touch her,” Rafe snapped, shoving JJ’s shoulder. “You don’t know her—”

“I know she’s safer without you.”

Rafe laughed—a short, bitter sound. “She loved me.”

JJ’s fists clenched. “She survived you.”

“Stop it,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

They didn’t hear you.

Rafe looked at you again, the way he used to when he was clean. When he was yours. “I don’t care what happened. I don’t care how mad you were. Just come with me. We can talk. Fix this.”

You said nothing.

He stepped closer. “Come with me.”

“She’s not going with you,” JJ growled.

“You don’t get to make that decision,” Rafe spat.

JJ shoved him this time, hard enough that Rafe staggered back a step. His face twisted, and it looked like a fight was about to break loose right there in the aisle, among the M&Ms and Red Vines.

And you—

You did nothing.

You stood still.

Because part of you was screaming go with JJ, but the other part—the damaged, scared part that still remembered soft nights in Rafe’s truck, his lips on your neck, the boy he used to be—was whispering: what if he means it this time?

What if this was your fault? What if you broke him, too?

So when Rafe said it again—“Come with me”—you nodded.

And JJ’s face broke right in front of you.

“No,” he said, voice cracking. “No. Don’t do this.”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

Rafe reached out, and this time, you let him take your hand.

You left the store with him.

And JJ didn’t follow. No matter how bad he wanted to. You had abandoned him, just like his father, and he refused to beg for you back.

Back in Rafe’s truck, the world passed by in a blur. Your heart beat out of rhythm, your fingers numb against the cold windowpane.

He talked. About starting over. About rehab. About his dad. About how much he missed you.

You didn’t respond.

You just stared out the window, one thought circling like a shark beneath your skin:

Freedom had a price.

And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t done paying it.

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: EARTH (PART 1 - REVAMPED)

Ft. Staff Cmdr. Sophie Oliveira-Shepard Alenko-Oliveira, Cpt. Arno Delacroix, and Zaeed Massani-Shepard MIRA'S MORE CANON ME3 "Shadow Broker resources? Yeah, they might be good for a lot of shit, Dove. Convincing the brass to get off their asses and do something about the Reapers? Not one of them. Think that one might be up to you, this time. Entertaining diction and goddamn fucking all." Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

[wickcdmindz]

oh, that was satisfying.

the way grace melted into the kiss—just enough hesitation to be adorable, just enough submission to be addictive—had dylan’s blood humming. she didn’t have to look at cain to feel the shift within her: possessive, electric. but dylan wasn’t afraid of cain’s rage. in fact, it made her smile against grace’s lips.

that low, pleading “i’m yours. all of yours”? that was the crown jewel. dylan pulled back just enough to see grace’s expression—flushed, dazed, deliciously overwhelmed—and her thumb traced gently along grace’s jaw.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice silken and slow, “you don’t even know what that means yet.”

she turned her head just slightly, meeting cain’s stormy gaze, her tone sharpening ever so slightly beneath the sugar. “but you’re about to find out. aren’t we, cain?”

her words were edged—half invitation, half challenge. dylan liked to stoke fire until it begged for oxygen. and right now, grace was the flame dancing between all their hands. not a girl caught in the middle.

a girl being worshiped from every angle.

dylan leaned in again, this time to murmur just behind grace’s ear, her tone a whisper meant only for her. “you’re doing so well. we’re going to ruin you so gently you’ll thank us for every second.”

the kiss was...hot. so fucking hot.

cain’s grip on grace’s waist was a vice. her body felt coiled, straining to stay still. the only thing keeping her in check was grace herself, the way she arched and gasped and whimpered into kellan’s touch like she belonged there. like she wasn’t afraid of being pulled in three directions at once���because she wanted to be.

that “i'm yours”? it did something to cain.

her mouth pressed to the back of grace’s shoulder, biting the words into her skin without speaking. she didn’t need to say mine—her hold said it. her eyes locked onto dylan, something feral lurking just under the surface.

“i'm watching,” cain warned, low and razor-sharp. “and if you push her too far, i will end you.”

cain felt the whimper before she heard it—the way grace trembled, the way she gave in, gasping and grinding like her body had already surrendered before her mind caught up. it hit cain deep. twisted tight. lit that part of her that didn’t just want to have grace—she wanted to own the moment. not in chains. not in fear.

but in trust.

her hand slid up grace’s stomach, firm and grounding, holding her in place with the kind of strength that didn’t need to prove itself. she lowered her mouth to grace’s ear, brushing a kiss there, her voice low and steady—a wolf soothing its pack.

“you’re okay,” cain whispered. “you can give in. let it take you. i’ve got you.”

her fingers flexed against grace’s hip, possessive but gentle. “this isn’t too much. you deserve to feel everything. take all of it, baby. no one here’s gonna let you fall.” her eyes lifted—sharp, territorial—and locked with kellan’s across grace’s shoulder. there was tension in it, but also understanding. a silent nod.

go on.

that promise—the soft, breathy “you promise?”—landed in kellan’s chest like a stone in still water. she’d never wanted to be bold. never liked leading. but grace’s need pulled something forward in her. something new. and maybe it was the heat in dylan’s kiss or the tension in cain’s frame—but kellan felt like she could finally stop second-guessing.

her hands slid around grace’s hips, steady, encouraging. Sse met her eyes and nodded slowly, expression soft but unwavering. “i promise,” she whispered.

and when grace whispered, i’m yours, kellan felt her breath catch.

her voice cracked slightly when she replied. “i won’t break that.” then, bolder now, she shifted grace’s hips with the rhythm of her own, a low sound escaping her throat. “we’ll all show you how much that means.”

then there was that look. cain’s nod, small and charged—was everything kellan needed. she didn’t hesitate after that. her hands curved around grace’s waist, steadying her just enough before her mouth found hers in a kiss that wasn’t soft anymore. it was hungry.

needy.

like all the time she’d waited, the breathless restraint, had finally burst at the seams. her lips pressed hard against grace’s, not rough, but urgent. she tilted her head to deepen it, one hand sliding up to cradle the side of grace’s neck, thumb brushing her jaw as she kissed her like she couldn’t get enough. like she wouldn’t get enough.

and in that moment, kellan didn’t second-guess.

she just took.

this wasn't supposed to feel so good, right? whatever they were doing, what she was doing, was wrong. she was on someone's lap, needy and letting them touch her while her girlfriend watched. and now, she was kissing dylan. the one who had started this whole thing, the one who called cain puppy like she meant it. grace tried to find reasons to hate this, to move away but she couldn't. not when dylan kissed her like a blessing and a curse all at once, like she was absolving her and encouraging her to give in to her sins. it dazed her, for a brief moment, the power dylan had - on her, on cain, on all of this.

all she could do was nod softly, quietly extinguishing any semblance of defiance, not when dylan's mouth had felt so nice. "i'm sorry." she breathed out quietly, her exhale loud in the silence surrounding all of them.

she felt cain hold on tighter, recognized the hitch in her breath. she wanted this too. all of them did. they wanted her. it almost made her dizzy to realize it, to understand that she was at the center of all of this. slight fear tugged at her stomach, feeling like she was about to be devoured but the heat was stronger. the need, the familiar desire was taking over and she was submitting to it, accepting it.

kellan's lips on her neck made her gasp, softly, her hips rolling into her again, body surrendering to the sensations, tilting back into cain's touch. the promise sounded like heaven, like sin wrapped in white silk and god, grace wanted it. "yeah? you promise?" she asked, quietly, giving in, her eyes meeting kellan's as her hips continued to grind, then dylan's, lips parting in a soft plead, a quiet submission. "i'm yours." she exhaled, cheeks flushed, nodding slowly. "all of yours."

[sidollie]

༉‧₊˚. Simon Riley letting reader use him cw// ᴍᴅɴɪ, age gap that's legal? (simon in his early 40's and reader in her mid 20's), heavy somnophilia, creampies

𐙚 Simon Riley never denied his sweet little girl, he gave her everything she ever wanted. You started your periods and needed him to stay home wanting cuddles and kisses? He's calling the captain for a urgent leave. You want him to wear the matching promise rings everywhere? He's being questioned and teased at the base by the sergeants. Want that expensive diamond necklace that you just glanced at? He's purchasing it without a question. Wishing to go to Paris for a romantic getaway? Everything's booked swee'heart just look pretty f'me.

So how could he say no to you when you said you wanted to try somno but you wanted to reverse the roles and get him to sleep while you fucked yourself stupid on his fat cock. He was getting old now, barely being able to keep up with his lovely birdie's high libido like he used to but he still keeps her little cunt fully filled and satisfied.

And here he was, out cold in the sheets just in his sweatpants with his bulge hard and ready for you. You stare at his bare chest that was filled with scars and healed bullet wounds, your admiration and respect for him raising high. You softly breathed out, tracing his scars for a moment your lip between your teeth.

You leaned down and started to lick them with your tongue as you left hot open mouthed kisses he always left on you. You move slowly, carefully pulling down his sweatpants trying not to wake him up as you straddle his hips. His fat cock is already hard , thick and the sheer weight of it is weighing it down against his stomach, begging for your attention. You watch in fascination as his red mushroom tip leaks precum, making it seem like it's almost angry. You run your fingers over the underside, watching his cock twitch to life.

You sink down onto him with a low moan as your whole body shudders at the delicious stretch of your tight cunt. You can feel him deep like this, brushing against your cervix as you whimper out feeling already filled to the brim. You feel him groan beneath you, his hips lifting on instinct but he's still not awake.You start riding him slowly rolling your hips lazily, his large pecs anchors for you tiny hands as you use his fat thick cock to chase your release. You watch him through half lidded eyes, feeling tears build as you try hard not to moan loudly.

You pick up your pace, the bedroom echoing with the slick sounds of your wet cunt being pounded by his hard dick. He grunts lowly, his brows contracting as you clench around him, your tight cunt milking him for all he's worth

"Oh fuck! dovie w-wha'?"

He let's out another groan, his gruff sleepy voice making you drip more onto his cock as he thrusts into you purely on instinct hitting your gooey spot. His head falls back on the bed again, as you keep moving fucking yourself harder now, bouncing on his fat cock while he stares up at you, dazed and wrecked letting you do whatever you want.

"ngh, si-simon? You ah like it when I-"

You mouth falls open in a silent scream as his rough fingers found your throbbing clit, pinching and tugging on it roughly to pull an orgasm from you. His other calloused hand snap to your hips, his grip bruising as he helped you ride him. Rugged moans and grunts falling from his throat.

“c-cum in me s-si, need to feel you!”

"shit lovie, cl-clench around ma cock"

He groans your name like a sacred prayer when he finally spills deep inside your fertile little womb, flooding it with his hot seed. You whimper and cum around him, his cock covered in your mixed fluids , as your body fell forward on his. But he doesn't really have any plans for stopping as he grabs your hips roughly and fiips you over on your stomach as he drives his still hard cock in your filled little cunt.

"gosh swee'heart, 'm not gonna stop till yer lil cunnie is overflowing with ma seed"

@sidollie

༉‧₊˚. masterlist

[laceyfaeryy]

fire fighter! simon riley x single mom! reader

simon being completely enamoured by the pretty single mom that volunteered at the fire station with free lunch every friday.

pure fluff, mentions of burns and scars - might do a part 2 and not proof read teehee

he was a man of discipline - of routine, and hard work and yet he was currently staring at you moving around swiftly as she handed out cookies like a love sick boy. his eyes seemed to follow your every move, how you seamlessly interacted with his coworkers and even the other parents and children.

of course, his interest didn’t go unnoticed by his captain, price who gave him a sly smile before nudging him slightly.

“she’s single for if you want to make a move and stop ogling her.”

if looks could kill price would be six feet underground.

he couldn’t make a move, not when you were the complete opposite of him. you were the like sun, beaming no matter what as you platted each meal, you were always so positive, so selfless no matter what.

simon was convinced that someone as dark and troubled as him would dim your light, scars and burns on his body that were so ugly and gruesome it almost felt blasphemous to touch you.

“si? want some lunch?” your soft melodic voice breaking him out of his trance, you always had a way of making him spell bound, like a siren.

he shook his head with a small attempted smile. “‘m not that hungry.”

but he was really fucking hungry. though he was convinced that if he ate your food he would be addicted, begging for more.

“but fire fighters need energy!” a small high pitch voice spoke up, your daughter. “mama makes good food, try it pretty please?” her eyes wide and pleading, her small lips jutted out in a determined pout.

simon cleared his throat, “i guess a little bit won’t hurt.”

oh it wasn’t just a little bit. he came back for seconds, thirds, fourth.

simon ate like a man starved, his fork scraping against the plate as he finished it again. “told you mama’s food is the best!” your daughter beamed as she perched herself up on the step next to him, her feet swinging in the air whilst simon’s were extended out. the size difference was comical.

her gaze drifted over his uniform, her eyes wide and curious. “what’s this?” her small chubby finger pointing to his scarred hand. instinctively, he pulled his sleeves over them, shielding something so dark and ugly from her innocent eyes. “‘s nothing, kid.”

“does it hurt?” she asked, completely oblivious to simon’s insecurity. he shook his head “doesn’t hurt anymore

white lie. god, it hurts so bad not physically but emotionally. sometimes he couldn’t even stand staring at his hands, purposely trying to cover them up with gloves but it irritated the uneven skin which made it even worse.

“hey, you shouldn’t be asking questions like that missy,” you playfully narrowing your eyes at your daughter who smiled sheepishly. “thought i’d taught you better than to pry into peoples personal lives.” you raised a brow at the smaller girl whose eyes were crinkling due to her cheesy smile. “gotta go get food!” she giggled as she ran, well stumbled away.

“sorry about that, she’s a curious little thing,” your eyes glued to her as she asked another volunteer for more food. simon chuckled lowly, “‘s alright, got good intentions.”

simon’s heart felt like it was going to explode, it was never heated this fast, not even during the missions where he thought he was going to die. he felt so aware of everything, secretly hoping you didn’t notice how he was hiding his scars.

you cleared your throat, pulling something out of your pockets. “i got you something,” your tone soft and shy, completely different to what simon was used to.

gloves.

“i heard cotton is good for sensitive skin, so i thought it would be appropriate for you.”

god, what did he do to deserve you?

“if you don’t want it it’s fine, i don’t want to cross any boundaries-“

but before you could even finish he took them from your hands, putting them on. “they’re amazing,” his hands flexing under the material as he tried them on. he felt like a school boy who was talking to a girl the first time, his mind completely blank.

“do yer wanna grab sum coffee with me?”

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