#i barely proofread don't @ me

[ps-cactus]

HO 🎄HO ☃️ HO 🎁 it's your Secret Santa in town🎅🤶🔔🎶 coming down your chimney with questions about your MC ⬇️⬇️⬇️

I'm so excited to learn more about Alyn! I just got started on one of your fics but I'm dying to know what the dynamics are between Alyn and Ominis?? What do they do when they spend time together? Who's the more affectionate one? Do they argue a lot? Who apologizes first? I would love to know if you don't mind sharing ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hellooo! Thank you for reading 🥹💖 and for the questions, Santa! 💖✨ HERE COMES THE BIG POST! ~800 words👇🏻

To not make it extremely big I marked with * places where there are some extra headcanons behind the statement and I can elaborate additionally if needed.

Amberlyn x Ominis

⋆˚⋆⌜ Dynamics ⌟⋆˚⋆

The only one who'd understand. Recognition of each other's complexities. Mutual respect. Quiet support. Nevertheless, push and pull of varying intensity. Something from their Pinterest board:

Their bond unfolds slowly, built on trust (since Scriptorium, Alyn always sided with Ominis*) and, much later, subtle expressions of affection. They find common ground in shared struggles (family issues among them*) and the guilt and grief lingering after the events of the fifth year.

Alyn has a knack for finding the right words to soften Ominis' sharp edges and gently coax him into vulnerability. Though both are reserved in their own ways, they provide each other a sense of safety and understanding. (exceptions in Conflicts below)

Alyn is more open with affection—small, casual touches like brushing her hand against his (or her knee against his, because yes, she would; she’s, lost, traumatised and overcaffeinated teen). She completes his notes sometimes, drawing schemes from the board for him, describes things that catch her attention in and out of the class—all this happens naturally and easily.

Ominis is more reserved but deeply enjoys her presence and is grateful for her small gestures of help and appreciation. At first, he starts to subconsciously lean just a little closer than necessary during conversations. Over months time, he becomes braver about returning her gestures—a hand brushing hers deliberately, his voice softens noticeably when he speaks to her.

⋆˚⋆⌜ Time together ⌟⋆˚⋆

✨Studying: Since around the end of the fifth year, they often sit together at classes, at the library, or meet in common areas of the castle. Ominis becomes attuned to Alyn's steps, her scent, her presence. He’s startled to realise one day the sound of her voice reading aloud calms him.

✨Spells and Dueling Practice: Ominis’ magic is powerful, and his wand never misses. Alyn learns new spells quickly, and is excellent in explaining. Their training sessions are focused yet competitive and somewhat playful, filled with mutual encouragement and a bit of teasing. Alyn would brush the dust from a shattered dummy off his shoulder, and Ominis, whether he admitted it or not, would think that if the entire castle crumbled into dust around him, he wouldn’t mind—as long as it meant she’d be this close again, brushing it away with her hand.

✨Walks: Both enjoy long walks through the castle or by Black Lake. In the sixth year, they always visit Hogsmeade together. Sometimes they are just walking or sitting in silence. They don't normally talk in big emotional outbursts but instead share small, meaningful pieces of themselves over time.

⋆˚⋆⌜ Conflicts ⌟⋆˚⋆

They feel connection because they understand each other’s pain and offer emotional safety, but that very depth makes them vulnerable to fear, mistakes, and misunderstandings.

⚡️Curiosity vs protectiveness: Alyn is still new to the magical world. It makes her eager to learn everything—seemingly dangerous or not—out of wonder, fascination, and a desire to understand and catch up. Ominis, however, sees such curiosity as naivety and feels an urge to protect her, especially from anything risky. Alyn grows frustrated when she feels he’s infantilising her.

✨ Resolution: Alyn may prove her curiosity is tempered by caution, reassuring Ominis that she won’t put herself recklessly in harm’s way. Ominis, in turn, may learn to trust her judgment while remaining a protective figure she can rely on.

⚡️Miscommunication: Both Ominis and Alyn struggle with communication. Ominis often needs time alone to process his thoughts, but Alyn interprets his silence as distance or blame and tries to pull him out of it. If she doesn't succeed, she can rapidly go to 'Oh, it's now me not talking to you.'

✨ Resolution: They need to compromise—Alyn has to learns to give Ominis the time he needs, trusting that he will come back to her. Ominis, in turn, has to learn to communicate when he needs space instead of leaving her guessing.

⚡️SeBaStIaN isn’t even at school during their sixth year. But, whenever he’s brought up, Ominis subtly redirects or shuts the topic down, even though he's not as mad at him as he used to be and still considers him a friend. Among other feelings, Ominis is unsettled by the thought of Alyn reconnecting with Sebastian and leaving him behind. Again. His worry isn’t just jealousy (though it is that too). He fears Sebastian might pull her into something dark and dangerous. Again.

Ominis might: a) Withdraw—not to punish Alyn, but to protect himself emotionally. b) Overcompensate—offer her small gestures of affection, lingering touches, or closeness during homework sessions as a subconscious reassurance of their bond. c) Act stupid and say something he'll regret.

Alyn, in turn, gets irritated by his lack of trust, and such an attack on her judgment.

✨ Resolution: Alyn may reassure Ominis that she was never anything more than friends with Sebastian, and that she’s not under anyone’s influence. Ominis needs to learn to differentiate between jealousy and genuine worry and to communicate his fears in a healthier way.

⋆˚⋆⌜ Apologies ⌟⋆˚⋆

Ominis apologises after angry outbursts, guilt-ridden over losing control—something he fears makes him like his family. His apologies are slow and a bit awkward but deeply sincere. Alyn, on the other hand, apologises gently when she feels she’s misunderstood his intentions or pushed too hard.

Some of these 👆🏻bring them to this 👇🏻

⋆ Christmas 1891 ⋆

...and the aftermath. The second half of the sixth year.

Extra overcompensating for his insecurities while being not entirely sober, Ominis actually kissed Alyn. It happened after an argument following the Christmas party, but as Christmas magic would have it, that time both sides felt heard and satisfied. Eventually, they found themselves sitting together on the windowsill, sharing a quiet conversation. Aaand the first kiss happened.

Afterwards, Ominis apologised so many times they almost had another argument. Alyn reassured him that he didn’t need to apologise—that she didn’t mind them trying this new relationship. But of course, they have to make sure no one finds out.

And here the 'Shades' story begins

[ Thank you for reading all this! Now the little side note and rambling (sobbing on the floor) I don't think I actually succeeded at writing their friends to lovers trope in 'Darkness' I wasn't ever even going to post it and it shows. Well, anyway, I figured I'm rather more interested in writing adventure/action and seasoning it with romance than the other way around. That's what I'm trying to do better in 'Shades'. At the same time, now I have clearer understanding of how to deepen and write their relationship and again, it will all be covered in 'Shades' . You are very welcome to read 🤍]

[adore-gregor]

🙄🫠

[lre333]

for @rainymoodlet Kiss Me In Komorebi -

Darol Bennett,

age 42 (newly spun Adult life stage, thanking you), and friends say that I finally look my age - the grays came in early; I was around 22 when my pepper first showed a sprinkle of salt. Though I can’t say I had a particularly stressful young life, my role has always involved a level of responsibility.

I was born to my mother Olivia, a youth school and music teacher from the city who retired to the countryside onto inherited land in The Bramblewood of Henford-on-Bagley. She still runs her daycare here, and throughout my childhood, I was often at her side playing assistant, caring for the younger ones, helping them learn their abcs and arithmetic as she taught it to us. As self-appointed captain of our playtime adventures, I'd provide elaborate lore for us to reenact from bedtime stories my father, Nolan, told me nightly. I hardly remember my father, who maintained his business in the city still after the move but always managed to make it home at the end of the day. However, I do so distinctly recall the sudden shift when that was no longer the case. A bold strike of nature took him one thunderstorm in spring - it seemed like such a storybook ending to a child of four who had never known grief, but i knew that when father would say “the end”, it would be time to sleep, and I’d never hear the same version of that story again.

My mother took on more children to teach and soon it was my time to enroll for institutional learning, which I proceeded to let consume me for the foreseeable future as I gobbled up all there was to know. The sharing of story and information remains an insatiable passion of mine, but I can't recommend you get into it without first relaying a word of caution from firsthand account: the more you know about the vast possibilities available to experience, the less you may be willing to press yourself into the narrow ideals most championed by the ignorant majority. This may result in extreme discontent. I was budding into myself, beginning to learn what it means to present an image of my inner workings dressed in the ill-fit clothing of puberty, and found myself to be outside of wider society’s expectations of what’s allowed a person to become. In all my little time on earth, nothing had seemed a logical reason for why that could be. What did it matter who I wanted to love?

I had always been a “polite child” - or so I’d been told quite frequently by elders whose well-meaning attempts at making me into a paragon of acceptable behavior instead sowed the disdain of my peers, including my adoptive sister who joined our household when I was eight years old - she was two years younger than me, but two years older than the age I’d been when experiencing the loss of a parent. Her mother died in a misdiagnosed electrical fire that reduced her home to cinder and sent her father - a friend of my own - for a lengthy and ultimately incomplete hospital recovery. She was of an age to know grief, yet still too young to understand its process, and she found mischief to be an effective coping strategy to allay her pain. The elders favored my logic and docility - she was all too amused to see my placid disposition break years later as the logic they so favored turned on them in an outburst against their injustice. Our mother was patient with us; she understood our machinations for what they were. With my new eyes, I could see where it seemed those elders had failed me in creating a world where I was allowed to thrive rather than live under their thumb, and so this rising discontent in me manifested into a hothead trait that stayed for the ride from teen to young adulthood. I was still “polite”, responsible, practiced at good manners and actively practicing emotional control under the attentive guidance of my knowing mother, still careful as well to be an example and caregiver to the children I still helped her to teach, and still willing to volunteer my time and skills to whatever handiwork needed doing to improve the self-sustainability of my hometown, but angry, angry, angry. I tried to fight it away; thought punching bags would make quell the anger. I tried to read it away; found comfort in the words of revolutionaries, but that just stoked the embers hotter. I wrote it away, made it a physical thing that by the machinations of this ill-balanced vehicle of the system called institutional education brought me accolades. I was awarded with scholarships for skill and merit and went on to graduate with Honors in Communications first, eventually adding Language and Literature, and History. Anger is a potent emotion, and well-channeled, will surely help you get things done. The kickback, though, has a way of knocking you on your butt.

I entered the journalism career armed with a decorated resume and connections achieved by college savvy several steps ahead and in high acclaim. I took pride in uncovering what was rotten underneath the veneer of authority and its figureheads; I wanted to expose the systemic discrepancies that had bred the societal ones responsible for my discontent, dig out the root of corrupt power structures so my community might have a chance to grow into a healthier garden for young buds like me who had been let down or who had learned to self-inflict the violence of stifling valuable parts of oneself in order to avoid an outside influence crushing you under their boot. Anger can have a way with you, if it finds you eager to effect change, and sparks the impulse without warning or regard for future planning. As for me, I had been waiting to take a swing at larger, more influential players - and I got my wish. I found a lead on a whiff of foundational disease in the city’s government and I went in, gathered evidence, unearthed it and set it on display too quickly and brightly for those who’d rather censor our worldsview to prevent it reaching the public attention - and I was proud to have done it, hopeful to do it again, but my name now carried a spotlight and that work required stealth. I was advised and satisfied at the time to step down from my career, knowing that what I’d done had reached the limits of what could be done at my station there. I returned home to focus my attention on fostering local reform through community enrichment, resumed my share of handiwork around town when the need would arise, and became a regular on the library staff rotation. It was my joy to cultivate a quest for learning through literature, and I hosted many a story time sit-down in the library, or at the end of a repair job sat on the living room floor beside a newly-installed wall-mounted tv; it became a thing, and it wasn’t long before I was invited to host a segment on the public broadcasting station to bring the experience of story to any town's living room simultaneously.

I never cared for the notoriety that came with my decision to take a stand against misuse of authority by government figures - it angered me more that the notion was novel enough to warrant such a reaction, which was then bent by the lens of spectacle, effectively stifling the work and allowing progress to backpedal when the sensationalization of it all died down. It’s a process of conserving the narrative of public helplessness against big issues to inspire a desire for someone “bigger than you” to take the reins and feed you false promises of a better tomorrow - as long as your precious head remains under the shepherd’s hand, little sheep. I delighted in championing another way, and I didn’t mind becoming known for it in order to encourage more people towards a freer lane of thinking. The challenge for viewers was to seek answers for themselves - not to take my word for truth but to explore and discover, decipher meaning by one’s own definition, to question even those they admire, and to share what they’ve found with each other. The television segment was titled “Prose Prismatic” and featured literature focused within an overarching monthly theme so that a topic could be explored in depth and from a variety of facets, to consider not just the angle that confirms your bias, but the many other colors there are in the vibrant gradient between black and white thought. Viewers were asked to submit works following a weekly prompt which would then have excerpts featured in a special broadcast called “Kaleidoscope” to play between shows in advertisement’s stead. My hope was that by inviting everyone’s voice to be heard and respected, it would make the concept of speaking up to affect change less of a foreign or fearful one. Society could only get better for normalizing it. I can’t know for sure whether it was a success, but the show was popular and folx participated for the duration of its run. At its end, I continued the fun through radio, continued introducing listeners to a variety of stories and to each other’s inner workings, as well as boosting local talent seeking a living from their wordsmithing. My own royalties from poetry books, skill and research manuals, and memoirs written in my journalism days kept the station sustained when donations wavered or were redirected to the community in case of emergency. The station was to be a supportive feature, fully in opposition to becoming a predatory parasitic presence in the lives of those it aims to enrich. I’m proud to note that it continues to be just so, heading fundraisers to fulfill community needs, food drives with participation from agriculturists, regular youth Finchwick Fair events, and a solid foundational group of dedicated volunteers who share my passion.

The flames of my hothead trait have cooled so as to be extinguished, put into the soil of this work, not without its frustrations, but worthy of the effort for the great bountiful yield that I can see my hometown thriving on. Instead, I’ve become rather domestic at this life stage, caring for my mother who remains a pillar and sage presence in the lives of the town's young, still teaching music and watching over the infants, toddlers and children of HoB; my sibling and I are closer now, sharing a hobby in automobile restoration; a cousin here or there comes to visit between time spent in the city perusing big dreams, and now that my life has eased into a more homeward-focused pace, they all wonder if this is when I plan to finally make time to date.

In all of this telling, you may not have noticed it left untold. It hasn’t been for lack of suitors that my romantic history is a messy scribbled half-page of awkward notes and unrefined, if not empty. Sure, I’ve gone out in my 30s, saw what it was like to sow the odd wild seed, but I’ve never moved as fast as many. Maybe achieving that level of fame (two or three stars, still quite uncomfortably bright for me) made me too cautious to allow the spontaneity of a whirlwind affair to blow me off-course; maybe that burning head of my youth blinded me to more basic desires with my attention trained so squarely on other ambitions. Beneath the banner of those all-important ideals, it just hadn’t been a priority. Maybe a truth that’s harder to admit is that rejection hits deep and the memories of it don’t fade kindly. A college crush: the boy from my debate team, a night of misread intention when he invited me over after a chance meet up in the park, where I grilled for him. Silly. I suppose I decided then that it wasn’t worth the distraction. I bested him in a debate the last week of the semester before I’d graduate in a petty attempt at regaining some dignity. He was quickly forgotten when all was said and done, but the sting of failure stuck, and the glow of success before me reinforced a path of solitude. Easier to stick with what I know. A wall of accolades holds the place where photos of lovesick vacations would hang in my bachelor abode, and I’ve been content with that until now. I’m no longer loving the single lifestyle, but the dating pool of gays in my life stage is shallow round these parts - and maybe I’m fond of risky extremes and don’t mind going out on a limb for a crush, even if the outcome isn’t guaranteed. Friends and family agree that it’s rather like me to pursue romance through reality tv, where the medium contradicts the genuine sincerity I bring to a world of seeming play-pretend, especially when the goal is to connect with a potential kindred spirit on something true within the fantasy. Daniel feels very familiar to me, and not only because I was often recommending his show to townspeople wanting to boost their own handiness skills after I’d finished using a trick he’d shown me. It’s silly… but maybe not so impossible.

I approach the chance of meeting him with a curious mind and open page, ready to explore what might be written there, whether only a word, two paragraphs, three chapters, more… Whatever comes of it, I'll delight in the sport of self-discovery inherent in the journey.

[gojosprettyprincess]

STUCK IN THE WASHING MACHINE TROPE WITH STEPBROTHER BAKUGOU!!!

cw - SMUT, Stepcest, dubcon in the beginning, Creampie, dumbification, anal play, he's aged up to 19, dirty talk, heavy degradation and Bakugou is really really mean cause he's Bakugou duh, slight daddy kink, some bad grammar bc it's not proofread. MINORS DNI!!!!

Word count - 2350

A/n - I have no idea how someone can possibly get stuck in a washing machine but just pretend you can😔🙏

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"Katsuki Katsuki! Holy fuck are you deaf or something?! I'm stuck!" you yelled at the top of your lungs as you tried your very best to wiggle yourself out from the washing machine opening. You can't even remember how you got yourself into this fucking mess, you were just trying to look and see if there were any more clothing pieces left behind because you've been noticing a few of your panties have gone missing the past few days and it kept getting worse and worse to the point where you barely have any left to wear, you assumed it's because you accidentally kept leaving them in the washing machine and now somehow your fucking stuck.

Heavy substantial footsteps were heard loudly outside the room before the wooden door went flying open, causing the doorknob to hit against the wall, causing a loud bang!, "The fuck do you want, can't you see I'm tryna fucking play?" the annoyed blond growled at you.

"Shut up and get me the fuck out" You yelled annoyed, while kicking your legs back to get his attention.

"Woah some mess you got yourself into, sweetheart" he smirks slyly while analyzing the situation, staring down at your pretty ass poking out of the washing machine, barely even covered by those tight slutty shorts you always wore around the house that never failed to make his cock rock hard.

"Oh please, just shut up and get me out already", you kicked your feet back hoping that he was behind you so it would hit him. "I don't think that's how you speak to someone you're trying to get help from, princess".

You rolled your eyes at the annoying pet names he always calls you every fucking time but you've grown used to it by now but the constant teasing was so fucking annoying. "Listen are you going to help me or not?".

"That depends princess, are you gonna beg me to or not?" you wanted to punch him in the face so fucking badly, imagining the shit-eating grin he definitely has plastered on his face right now. "Your so fucking annoying! No way go to hell!" you yelled.

"Oh yeah? Is that so"

He chuckled as he bent down behind you, eyes fixated on the way the thin material hugged your ass cheeks so tightly and delicious, you're so vulnerable in this position, he could keep you there and pound your slutty little holes for hours and hours if he wants to—which is probably what he's gonna do anyways.

He pressed the pad of his thumb against your damped crotch, rubbing it slowly back and forth as he watched the way your body jolted unexpectedly.

"Wha-what are you doing! You sick fuck??" you screamed as you tried to wiggle your ass away from his hold. "Oh, come on princess, let's have some fun yeah? You might even like it" he teases before tugging down your tiny shorts, just to be greeted with your glistening dripping cunt. A string of your slick connects to the crotch of the shorts before snapping away as he pulls it down to your knee. He groaned as his eyes took in the delicious sight in front of him, "No panties? And your fucking dripping, you probably planned this out and did this purposely just so I can come and see you like this, dirty fucking slut" he lands a harsh slap on your right ass cheek as you closed your eyes in embarrassment when you realized you're basically fucking exposed to him.

"Go to fucking hell you perv" You snapped back at him, "Oh yeah? I'm the perv?, I'm not the one fucking soaked and dripping onto the floor sweetheart". He laughs mockingly.

His dick was painfully hard and eager, straining to be released from his sweatpants, what can a man do? It's not his fault his dumb little stepsister always runs around the house with those tight little booty shorts, ass almost fully exposed, basically begging to be pounded and now he has his chance so why not take it?

He pulls his sweatpants and underwear down, thick perfectly curved dick slaps against his abdomen as pre cum oozes out of the angry red tip, he grips his fist around it before pumping himself a few times while circling your clit with his thumb, "Pretty little cunt you got here princess, been hiding this from me this whole time?"

"S-stop it Katsuki, this is wrong! You're my stepbrother, we can't do this!" you whined, it's so fucking wrong and fucked up and you sure as hell knew that, you just can't help but feel your needy cunt throbbing and yearning for more, it's only natural right?

Before you could even process anything else you felt his angry tip lining up at your entrance, his thick cock head bullying and prying it's way into your weeping tight hole before he shoves it all the way in unexpectedly, knocking the wind out of you as you hissed at the sudden pain.

"Hahh fuckk- Katsuki slow down!" you moaned as he starts thrusting his hard cock in and out of you like it was his mission to bruise and mark up your silky walls with his tip, strong hands gripping onto your waist as he stretches out your poor cunt with his fat girth, splitting that pretty little cunny in half as it drips all over him. "Holy fuckk you're so fucking tight hah- shitt" he hisses as your pussy clenches around him snugly, tightest cunt he ever fucked for sure.

He started pounding you harder, gripping the oversized T-shirt you wore as he rammed himself in the tight warm space between your thighs.

"Stupid little slut, is this what you need to shut that annoying little mouth of yours, my dick pounding this little pussy?" he took a mental note to give you exactly what you wanted when you're acting up and being a little bitchy brat to him. "Sh-ut up katsu-" shit you couldn't even form proper words to even say his fucking name, "You're the fucking worse fuh-ckk" you moaned out of pleasure. You can't even lie his cock was the best you've ever had and it's only been minutes since he started fucking you so that surely says a lot, his tip was grazing against the right spots in your hole, it's like his dick knew all the parts in cunt that would make your eyes roll to the back of your head and he was stretching your stuffy cunt with his cock soo good, it turnt you into a moaning mess.

"Oh yeah I know my cock is good you little slut, Gonna fuck you so stupid with it, you won't ever think about another guy's dick other than your stepbrother's" he smirks as he lands a hard slap on your ripped ass, watching the way the thick flesh jiggles against him, bouncing back against his pelvis as he drills himself so fucking deep inside of you. You're his little glory hole, he can stuff you full and deep of his seed and use your tight pussy for hours and fuck you so dumb that you can't even think for the rest of the week if he wants to.

He circles his thumb over your neglected butthole, the puckered hole fluttering against the pad of his thumb as he notices the way your moans got sweeter and louder at the gesture. He won't be surprised if you're a slut for anal he snooped through your room a shit ton of times looking for your dirty cum-stained panties he uses to jerk off to, to know that you have several jeweled anal plugs hidden away in your drawer.

"Mmm want me to put it in baby?" he teases, adoring the way the pink ring flutters on his thumb, soo eager and hungry to be stuffed and played with, "Ye-yes pleasee!" you hiccupped, purposely winking your hole for him desperately as a form of inviting him. "Heh, how cute" he mumbled before gathering your slick from your clit to rub it on the tiny rim before slowly sinking it in little by little. He groaned as he felt your cunt throbbing around his cock as your hungry asshole swallows his thumb into the hilt.

Heavy balls slapping against your clit as your eyes roll back to the back of your head as if you were possessed or something- or maybe you were, possessed by his fucking cock hitting your favorite spots in your hole that had you seeing stars. His cock was so fucking good, mushroom tip kissing your cervix with every single one of his mean thrusts. "Fuck wish I could play with those pretty tits" he groans, head falling back as he moans, your cunt felt like fucking heaven, so warm and tight just for him.

"Kat-Katsuki m' so close" you moaned as you felt the familiar feeling in your stomach building up, "Yeah? That fast? My cock is that good huh?".

You let out a porn star-worthy moan when you felt his thick thumb sliding in and out of your tight bullied walls, matching the rough brutal pace of the pounding he was giving your poor pussy. He lifts up one of his legs and plants his feet flat on the floor so he can drill deeper into your cunt, "Fuckk yes daddy- don't stop fuck! Please don't stop" you cried out as you felt yourself approaching your release.

He chuckled mockingly, "Daddy huh? You're such a fucking dirty whore ya know that?" he slapped your ass so fucking hard that his handprint was definitely branded on your ass cheek, "Didn't know my dear little stepsis was such a cock-hungry slut, what'd ya think mom would say if she found out her innocent daughter was milking her stepbrother's cock and calling him daddy hm? Always knew you were a whore" he smirks as you whimpered and dripped to his mean words.

He pulled his thumb out of your butthole slowly and then groaned when he saw the delicious little gape he created. He brought his thumb up to his mouth before sucking it, gathering spit onto the finger then circling it around the gaped hole.

"Fuckk would you look at that, she's all prepped and ready for my cock, maybe after I'm done stuffing your cunt, I'll fill this one up too, bet you'll fucking like that", you felt his cock throbbing like crazy in your pussy as he imagined stuffing both of holes with his bitter cum and having you all plugged up n pretty with his seed deep in your asshole and the only thing keeping it in is the princess plug you have hidden away in your drawer- buried deep inside your ass.

You almost screamed when you felt him stabbing his cock into your cunt even harder, strong hands gripping your waist tightly to keep you still as he rams his hips against yours. The friction of his heavy balls slapping your clit made it feel even better as your cunt clenches around his cock, threatening to milk his balls into your pussy. You're not surprised that Bakugou was this good at fucking, after all, he was really fucking sexy and built, of course he had a lot of experience. You cried out when you felt his fingers rubbing harsh harsh circles on your clit, "Come on slut, need ya to cum on my cock, don't make me repeat myself" he grunts, head falling back when he feels your cunny squeezing around his cock soo much fucking tighter. You closed your eyes as you felt your orgasm approaching. His thrust was so fucking brutal, it's like he has some fucking personal problem and is taking it out on your poor cunt.

Before you could process anything else, you were gushing all over his pretty cock, warm liquid squirting all over his abs and pelvis and he continues pounding you through it, he lets out a slurpy moan while laughing, "Fuckk yeah that's it baby that's it, Gooddd girl" he thrusts got sloppier and sloppier when he felt his balls tightening. He didn't expect you to fucking squirt and make a mess all over him so it drove him fucking crazy.

You felt his cock twisting against your tight walls, assuming he was about to cum. Fuck, you felt so lifeless. The only thing holding you up was Katsuki's strong grip on your waist and the washing machine because you can't even think right now, your mind fully fucking clouded with his cock bullying your poor insides, splitting your sweet cunny apart. Fuck he's so mean, you shivered when you felt his fingers digging deep into your waist.

"Fuck m'gonna cum, gonna stuff this slutty cunt so full of my seed, it'll come right out your mouth bitch" he hisses before emptying his balls in your pussy, thick ropes of cum filling up your cumdump of a hole as you cried out when you felt his angry tip pushing the cum further and further into your cunny, making sure to stuff you full and not let any of it leak out or you'd have to lick it up.

He chuckles darkly when he hears you're out of breath whimpers. "Is this what you needed? A good little filling to shut that pretty mouth of yours? Because if it's dick you need to function properly you know where to find me baby" he chuckles, slowly pulling out his still-hard cock, being sooo careful that none of the cum drips out. He lines his tip up at the entrance of your butthole, smearing the cum onto the hole as it winks at him.

"Ready for the other filling?"

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[l13]

cw: nsfw 18+, MDNI, fever sex, f!reader, lazy writing, not proofread

DEAN is half-lidded, can barely keep his eyes open. You're starting to get worried so you press your palm down against his chest to move away from him, but he grabs your waist, pulling you back down on his cock. “No, no, no, don't stop, don't y'dare stop,”

You whine, “But Dean- you're burning up.” and he really was. You could tell by touching his pecs, the skin too warm under your fingertips, and you could also tell by his pulsing cock inside of you. The hot sensation spreading through your cunt, the warmth traveling up to your belly.

Dean hisses, “It's this pussy- h my God- so warm baby, could stay inside you forever-”

He pushes you skin tight against him with a hand on the small of your back, his arms then circling around your frame as he holds you close, his breath fanning against your lips as he moans lowly

Holding his cheek in your palm, your eyes dance across his face as his head tilts back, eyes rolling from the feeling of your cold hand against him.

“Just like that honey, fuck yourself onto me c'mon. Want y'to cum all over me.” he was mumbling, his words barely coherent, yet his hips never stopped snapping up against you, chasing your hot cunt.

“Jesus, Dean-” you whimper against his lips as you roll your hips in circles, making sure he stays snug inside you, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone making your thighs shake “m gonna cum” you cry out, and he groans, giving you open mouth kisses, his thoughts too fuzzy to even kiss you properly.

Your walls clamp down on him, and he moans, “Yess, yeah that's it- fuck- squeezin' me so damn tight sweetheart-” his cock now gliding easier in and out of your puffy pussy with the help of your wetness

Despite the aftershocks, your body twitching, and your thighs begging you to take a break, you keep going. Now, sloppily fucking yourself down on his warm cock, as you egg him on, “Come on baby, cum for me. I want it s'bad,”

His cheeks are flushed, mouth hanging open n' eyes crossed as he stares into nothing, “Yes yes yes, oh please- please make me cum- i'll do anything just please-”

His voice cracks as he begs you, his hands grabbing onto your thighs, nails digging into your skin as he follows the movements of your hips, feeling the coil in his belly slowly unfold.

You place your hands behind you on his thighs, leaning back as you keep your relentless pace and he groans pathetically, sitting up to moan against your tits as he cums, snapping his hips up against you roughly to make sure he’s as deep as he can go, feeling his cum and your slick messing up the inside of his thick thighs.

You’re panting hard as you slow down, thighs still twitching every now and then as you run your fingers through his hair, murmuring praises against his temple, lips warming up quickly since he was still burning up.

“You okay? you ask, and he nods against your shoulder, moaning huskily when he gives another slow roll up against you, “Dean let's go have a look at you, I’m getting worried baby-”

“Wait.” he snaps his half lidded eyes up to yours, a tear running down his cheek as he grins lazily, “Wanna go again. Please?”

2024 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.

[incognit0slut]

was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

[silasours]

ৎ⸝⸝⠀COCKWARMING ! —

#pairing : lucifer, alastor, vox, valentino, x gn reader. #cw : 18+ content, mdni. unprotected sex. edging. office sex. public sex. sub/power sub reader. no mentions of specific anatomy. vox is in an online meeting for work. touch starved lucifer. val blowing his smoke on you for fun. non proofread because it's six in the fuckin morning and I have not slept a wink. #summary : in which they keep themselves buried deep inside of you while being busied by other stuff. #note : save me, I've been writing nothing but hazbin smut lately. i should really start working on other shows.. alastor's a bit shorter than the others, can't really think of a solid idea for him and I wanted to get this out as soon as possible

ʚ LUCIFER .

lucifer whines when you force him to focus on his unfinished work once again. he has been going back and forth from attempting to thrust into you, but you always found a way to press him down in his place firmly. he had some unfinished work that he left sitting in his office for almost a week now, and it irritated you. that's when you offered to cockwarm him while he worked, get him to finally get his hands on those unfinished works.

being absolutely touch starved, lucifer agreed without hesitation unaware of how miserable and impatient this will make him. his hand remain on his working desk, occasionally scribbling some words and a signature on the paper filled with printed words. he does his best to resist the urge to finally thrust into you, worried that you'd leave him unsatisfied if he doesn't do as he's told.

but there's a limit to how much he can contain himself, especially when he has you sitting on his lap with his cock stuffing you to the brim, when you'd tease him so often by clenching around him or moving your hips ever so slightly. lucifer whines every time, the hand that's placed on your hip squeezing on your flesh desperately.

"can i please.. just finish this up later?" his voice muffled from nuzzling his face into your shoulder, eyes closed shut to focus on the warmth engulfing his throbbing member. you let out a small chuckle, baring your teeth into his neck to draw out those pretty moans of his; his cock leaks pathetically inside of you.

"no can do, luci. you're not going to get whatever you want until you finish up." you pull away and tilt your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss onto his jaw while giving a quick glance at the papers sprawled across his desk. he's only halfway done with them. "you're doing pretty well, no? you're halfway done."

lucifer groans, annoyed as he picks up the pen from the desk again while reading through the papers. this time, you decide to tease him a little more instead of staying still. you connect your lips with his exposed neck, sucking on the sensitive skin as your hips slowly grind against his. you hear his breath hitch, his knuckles turning white from how hard he's gripping you.

your name spills out from his lips breathlessly, following with a whimper that you love so much. you carry on with your actions, dark marks gradually bloom all over his skin like breathtaking flowers. lucifer shifts to lay his forehead on your shoulder, shuddering from pleasure; you tug on his soft hair, firm enough to lift his head up from your shoulder.

"stay focused, luci. remember what's waiting for you to finish your work."

ʚ ALASTOR .

"oh, what a twist!" alastor exclaims with his eyes glued to the book he's reading, chuckling like you're not clenching down on his cock out of desperation. your eyes are teary as you turn to peek at the page he's on, frustration brewing in your chest. upon noticing your reaction, alastor laughs while moving his hand to cup your face, leaning in with a grin. "don't you agree, my dear?"

you groan, parting your lips further enough to drop his thumb into your mouth, biting down on it. alastor mutters a small "fiesty" before buckling up his hips, watching your eyes widen from the sudden pleasure that shoots up your veins. his arm tightens around your waist to stop you from squirming around excessively.

"put.. the fuckin' book down, a-alastor.." your nails dig into his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, the back of your other hand hovering over your mouth with a frown on your face. alastor smiles in response, holding the book between the both of you now that there's a gap.

"why, it has only gotten interesting! patience is key, darling."

"it has been almost a whole fucking hour, alast-" your words get cut off by yet another harsh thrust of his hips, an uncontrollable moan slipping off your tongue. a low, barely audible grunt could be heard coming from alastor because of how you're squeezing around him like your life depends on it.

slowly, he places the book down, pushing two digits into your mouth as his sharp nails graze past your gums. your tongue swirls around them, gaze fixated on his that seems to be mocking your desperation. you grind your hips, wanting to feel more of that sensitive spot in you being stimulated by his tip brushing against it. alastor grunts every time you tighten around him, the feeling making his skin jump and his eyes close shut from the pleasure he receives.

you reach for the book to toss it aside, not allowing him any chance to get it back and return to what he was previously putting you through. he laughs at the action before getting cut off by yet another groan, a frown slowly finds its way to spread across his face despite the grin that remains on his lips.

"the book shall wait after all."

ʚ VOX .

the sound of vox's workers and colleagues echoes through his workplace, the source of it coming from the laptop that sits in front of him. he's holding an urgent meeting with them to discuss some things about work, yet you're here obediently sitting on him, cockwarming him. your arms hug his neck tightly, hands grabbing tightly onto his shirt while listening to him speak to the people in call.

you bite down every moan that builds in your throat, not allowing any sound to be heard by anyone but your partner. times when vox isn't discussing important matters, he leans into your ear to whisper praises, thrusting into you, and stops so suddenly when you're close to release.

he grins as you whine at the sudden loss of friction, skin flushed while feeling him draw lazy circles on your hips with his thumbs. he starts speaking again just when you're about to voice your frustration, drawing out a grumble from you. you stay there unattended, glancing at the part where the two of you connect; you're craving release, and you're done waiting.

with a steady pace, you move your own hips while holding onto his shoulders for support. vox's head snaps toward your direction, teeth gritting as he bites back the groans that threaten to leave his lips. he tries to hold you down, but his body betrays him and allows you to carry on with your movements. his head tilts back to lean against the headrest of his chair, the words that his workers speak gradually shifting to a blur in his mind.

"fuck, w-wait," his breath grows heavy, barely managing to keep his eyes open as you fuck yourself on his cock. you're supposed to be cockwarming him, not riding him. he has allowed you to the point of no return, how is he going to carry on with the meeting now? you grab him and connect your lips with his, drinking in his groans like how he does to your moans.

ignoring the calls of his name from the meeting, he pulls you closer by the waist as you grind yourself on him. it wasn't until he started getting annoyed by the meeting that he broke away from the kiss, strings of saliva still connecting your lips while his hand reached out to shut the laptop down. the room falls to a sudden silence, the only sounds that remain are your heavy breathing.

"you're gonna fuck up my company if this carries on," vox snickers before crashing his lips with yours again, hands holding onto your hips to thrust into you without anything holding him back this time.

ʚ VALENTINO .

you still can't process the fact that you're in valentino's studio with his cock buried deep inside of you while people walked around to work on set. valentino takes puffs from the cigarette he holds between his fingers, often ordering and even yelling at people as they rush to obey his commands.

nobody pays any mind to the both of you; in fact, they see it as something normal. after all, they're working for a porn producer, what is there not to be normal? you keep your face stuffed in the fluff of his coat, hands gripping tightly onto his outfit while still trying to adjust to how good he stretches you apart. everyone has just started working, and the set is still being prepared for a new film.

"you're tighter than usual my love, are you that excited to be around everyone?" he teases with a mocking tone, puffing out a wisp of pink smoke onto your flushed face. you lightly shake your head with a whine, the smoke that you inhale causing your vision to spin immediately. humming, valentino lifts your body up with the help of his lower pair of arms before roughly slamming you back down onto his cock. "I doubt that. you've always loved being fucking in public, no? look at you,"

you gasp, body tensing as a moan escapes your throat. you immediately bite down on your lower lip, eyes screwing shut while simultaneously having your body trembling under his hold. you don't want to draw too much attention to yourself, yet the idea alone excites you in an odd way that you never knew it would. noting your reaction, valentino continues repeating the action before stopping promptly, feeding himself with your choked back moans.

"keep looking pretty like that while i work, i'll have a reward waiting for you." you mewl at his words, giving him a weak nod while tugging onto his shirt. he takes another long drag from his cigarette before letting his gaze fall onto the prepared set displayed in front of him, eyes scanning for the stars of the show in the room.

he would moan softly into your ear whenever you clenched around him, teasing you with his mere voice and carrying on with his work. you don't complain, though, considering how you'll be fucked into a moaning mess once he's done with work.

© silas ( @silasours ). all rights reserved. every work posted on this account belongs to me, and only me. please refrain from reposting, plagiarizing, translating, or reproducing my work in any form possible.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ fury unleashed!

── a blue lock fanfiction.

synopsis: when the blue lock boys lose a match and come back bitter 'n all to you. pairing: afab!reader x multiple men [aged up isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, hyoma chigiri, rensuke kunigami, nagi seishiro, reo mikage, oliver aiku.] // separate for all the characters. cw: NOT PROOFREAD. WRITTEN JUST CAUSE I WAS BORED. MDNI. nsfw concludes: mean men, penetration, handjob, blowjob, teasing, nicknames teasing, overstimulation, sex in too many places [shower, locker room, car, etc.], marathon sex, aiku's is slightly lovesick help me. like, share, subscribe guys :) m.list

♡ isagi yoichi!

all this anger and only one way to end it: you!

you knew your own boyfriend, of course. you had seen how his words turned razor-sharp on the field, how his gaze hardened and how he almost ripped his own players to shreds when the game didn't go his way.

but despite it all, isagi yoichi was not a sore loser. in fact, he took every loss as another opportunity to be better. maybe... maybe that's why seeing him like this was a wicked surprise.

"baby?" you had called out from the kitchen as the main door had opened, and then shut just as soon. a loud, rippling bang had reverberated through your apartment as you saw isagi pass you by.

"what's wrong? how was your... match?" you had tried again, calling after him. but isagi had just given you a tight-lipped smile, "don't wanna talk about it. 'm just gonna go shower, wanna join?"

"oh?" you had given him an easy smile, thinking you could knead away the tension from his shoulders as the hot water ran across his muscled body, "'course, baby."

that was thirty minutes ago, and now you could barely stand.

perched against the wet bathroom wall, the same hot water was a soothing sting against yoichi's administrations.

"ha-hah, yoichi!" your words were a rough pant, your eyes closing at the harsh thrusts.

but isagi yoichi was unforgiving.

sinking his canines into your shoulders, hot drool collected over the newly blossomed bruises before being washed down and slipping down your syrupy body.

he pulled away, his reddened lips connecting to your shoulders with a lewd string of glistening saliva. his crazed eyes came to search your face, and he brought up a hand to pull your cheeks into a harsh pout. his words were laden with unresolved anger, "can you fuckin' believe it? he didn't even score."

your words were a lost gurgle, eyes widening as he continued, "i really don't fucking get it. that fuckin' idiot."

the star player didn't even give you a moment to recover, using the same hand to press down on your mouth to suppress your gasps and broken whines.

you choked on your own sounds, his palm flat against your kiss-bitten lips as he continued fucking you into the wall behind you. using all his anger, isagi vowed to ruin you utterly the way he would have the rival team.

"y-ichi." your muffled words reached his ears, even more weak under the sound of the falling water crashing against the bathroom floor. the footballer nodded, half in his senses and half in delirium, "what?"

he pulled his palm back, the skin now tainted with your drool and you burst into a fit of moans, "'m gonna cum ag-again."

"oh?" the man bunched his brows together — as if he had quite forgotten what his actions were doing to you, "are ya?"

you nodded and your eyes snapped shut at his repetitive thrusts within your cunt. barely managing a coherent word, you mewled, "y-yeah. fa... faster, ichi ngh—"

isagi grinned, a man maddened who could only see one goal — and that goal being splitting you on his cock and fucking you even dumber if possible, "c'mon, gimme all of it."

"y-yoichi 'm gon—" your words burst inwards, toes curling and nails scratching down his biceps in a desperate effort to ground you. but despite your desolate reactions, your boyfriend kept fucking into your snug cunt, relishing in the spasming sensation against his needy cock.

as you found yourself coming back to earth, yoichi gently picked you in his arms. his biceps flexed, muscles shifting against your naked body as you slumped against him completely. the water was turned off, and he stepped out of the shower.

as yoichi lay you down on your bed, you smiled up at him for his sweet action, "t-thank you, yoichi."

but he just cocked an eyebrow. his words were nothing more than a soft hiss, "what for? 'm still angry."

oh? the night was still young, it seems.

♡ rin itoshi!

the man with jersey number 10 loses his sanity!

truth be told, there was always this air around rin — the kind that always made everyone assume he was mad. with his icy gaze on the field, and snarls and insults thrown around, it was hard not to assume that rin itoshi was a very bitter man.

but in all honesty, rin was never bitter with you. he tried to sigh away his annoyances, and kiss away his anger with you around. as cringe as it sounded, he couldn't help but melt whenever you met his gaze.

maybe that is why the younger itoshi never quite looked at you as he fucked all of his anger into your weeping cunt.

after a match gone wrong, rin had his hand pushing your face against his locker door as he fucked your pliant, destitute cunt with reckless abandon. his strong grip groped the fat on your hips and thigh, ensuring that each fucking thrust within your heat had you betting your sanity on a losing match.

his ITOSHI: 10 jersey held up by his teeth, hair damp from a match gone wrong, and the ITOSHI tag on his locker rattling with each hard thrust into you.

"fuckin' shit—" the man grunted, and the jersey glided down his milky abs and bunched on his waist. gripping your leg harder, your boyfriend pushed your back further in, deepening the sinful arch. his body chased yours, his chest pressing against your stuttering back.

a steady rhythm of thwap! thwap! thwap! resounded in the abandoned room. and the cool metal against your cheek was a stark contrast to the hot sting against the fat of your ass from his body colliding against yours.

"ri-in" you whined, still meeting each of his thrusts with a sly roll of your own hips despite your reluctant words. your skin burnt with another calculated smack! against your ass and your clawed at the metal — deprived.

seeing the desperate action, rin brought the hand on your head down to your hand and intertwined — such a romantic gesture despite the way he fucked into you as if you were nothing more than a toy.

"yeah— fuck, what?" rin thrust deeper at the desperate echoes of his own name. his achy tip rubbed against your volatile spot, smearing pre against your sodden walls with each careful movement.

"rin, p-please—" limbs trembling, your words almost slurred at the way his hand came back up and squished your cheek against the metal, "please aah— f-fuck."

"please what?" grunting, he brought his fingers to your throbbing clit. pressing swift figures against your, he pressed his chest against your back tighter.

rin repeated, this time with a harsh, little slap to your mewling cunt, "please what?"

"please..." barely managing to move your face under his grasp, you looked back at him. your bleary gaze met his sharp ones, and your wobbling lips sagged open to let out a pathetic request, "fuck me harder."

and rin itoshi — the ever stoic man — laughed. he laughed, trailing the hand that was pressing down your head down to your nape and dragging your entire body back into him and his deprived cock.

each pull back into his muscled body had your limbs spasming, each roll of his hips had him hitting your g-spot and each word past his spit-soaked lips led to your demise.

"fuck you harder?" his hips snapped at a deadly pace, brows bunching at the way his own girlfriend had become so cockdrunk, "you want that?"

you nodded just barely, still under the control of his palm on your nape.

"okay, then." rin hiked up your legs impossibly higher, and your muscles burned with each shove into you, "I'll fuck you harder."

♡ chigiri hyoma!

trust me, meaner than he looks!

"hyoma?" your brows knitted together, a soft frown across your face as you recalled the live telecasting of your boyfriend's match online earlier today.

his team had lost, badly at that. and here you were halfway across the world, just to see chigiri's breath stutter and jaw tighten on your camera screen.

"h-hyoma?" you tried again, just to be met with eerie silence on his end. but being a woman of unyielding devotion, you tried yet again, "'sokay, you guys did your best, didn't... you?"

but the man on videocall just grunted, a sliver of a nod from his side.

"hyoma," you tried one last time, "is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

and those words had landed you in this position.

"faster."

"b-but hyo—" your own hips jerked, too out of control as you tried to hold the position steady, "i can't. i c-can't do it anymore— nghh—"

with your phone carefully perched against your pillow, it showed your boyfriend all the obscene ways in which your essence dripped out of you and onto your shared bed. the sheets under you were tainted with your honeydew essence, a wayward breath stuck in your throat as you pulled and pushed the rabbit vibrator in and out of your greedy hole.

toes curling, head thrown back, teeth sinking into your bottom lips — it was so, so hard to keep your thighs apart and put on a show for your eerily calm boyfriend. the very same boyfriend who was currently using one hand to control the app and another to lazily tug at his erection.

"h-hyoma—" you whined again and your boyfriend cocked an eyebrow at your disheveled demeanor, as if he wasn't the very cause of it. "why're you whining so much? too much for you?"

and acting as if he were a benevolent man, chigiri clicked the button on his phone and the buzzing ended abruptly. the slightest of smiles tugged at his lips as he hummed, "that better?"

your arched back fell back onto the sheets, your sweat-slicked skin falling limp in disappointment. this wasn't the first time chigiri had shut off your toy, or the second, or even the third. your benevolent boyfriend had been turning the precious toy he had bought you on and off again, and again, and again on his vicious whims.

with a shuddered breath trapped within your chest, you looked at him and whined yet again, "can you ju-jus' fuckin' turn it back on."

"huh?" your pretty boyfriend bunched his eyebrows together and drew closer to his laptop screen. nimble fingers still tugging on his tip, coated with his pre, he almost laughed at your tone, "are you really giving me that fuckin' attitude?"

"n-no." your eyes widened, body coughing up a shiver at the way chigiri's cold words rung through the speaker. you swallowed but your mouth felt awfully dry, "h-hyoma... just please, please turn it on."

"fine." the pro-player pressed the button on the app with reckless abandon, and the toy started up against your drenched, quivering cunt... and then stopped yet again. throwing your head back dangerously, you felt your limbs shake with frustration, "hyoma. please."

and even with your eyes clenched shut, you could hear the slightest of smirks in his words, "say nicely. y'know i don't have it in me to be nice today, baby."

snapping your eyes open, you tried to meet your unsteady gaze onto the phone screen, "i'll be good. i'll be s'good, i p-promise— just please let me fucking... c-cum."

there must have been something worthwhile in your drunk, lewd words that made chigiri finally tap the button on his phone again. and this time, he threw his phone somewhere on his bed, aiming to let the device get lost within the foreign sheets.

this time, he planned to watch the show without any interruptions.

the buzzing against your needy clit, and the shove within your greedy, gummy hole rendered you useless with orgasm upon orgasm till all you were doing was babbling on and on and on about how fucking sensitive you were.

"s-stop." holding your thighs together, you brought them up so that the toy fucked into your pussy with another angle. tears pooled at the edge of your eyes, and you found yourself aching for freedom from this torment. words just a wet plea, you asked, "pl-please ohmygod— hyoma, fuck fuck fuuck—"

with the blood rushing in your ears, you missed your boyfriend sodden, little hum — a warning, "you can do more than that, can't you?"

♡ rensuke kunigami!

swear up and down, he's the devil!

you were sure there was god up there somewhere, because how else could you explain the very re-incarnation of devil that was fucking into your spongy spot? you couldn't quite see his eyes, but if you did, you were sure to find no traces of guilt in rensuke kunigami's eyes for the way he was ruining you.

the muscles in your thighs burned, your limbs pinned upto your chest with his broad palms. perspiration across your body dripped onto him, your soaked back rubbed against his chest as kunigami snapped his hips into your inviting, plush cunt with inhumane stamina.

"c'mon." he panted, hips following the soft rhythm of his syllables, "the last stretch, 's the last."

"fu-fuck, fuck fuck re-rensuk- nghhh—" your nails dug into the very hand that was holding you still, trying to pry him off your malleable body. but it was all in vain, he had already planned your demise.

your head lolled back as you found the pro-played clawing out another orgasm out of you. limbs spasming, lips kiss-bitten and raw, and your poor cunt bulging obscenely with his length within you — you didn't even know how you ended up in this situation.

rensuke had come home with a dangerous glint in his eyes — of course, you hadn't been able to see that.

he had come upto you as you were unloading the clothes from the dryer and had pressed such a sickly sweet hug to your back. his hulking body was steady against yours, and his breath was hot against your neck.

"rensuke?" you had laughed as his grip across your waist grew tighter slowly. bringing up a hand to his hair, you had softly patted him, "what's wrong, ren?"

"think you can help me?" kunigami had breathed the question out so gently, "let me fuck you, yeah? i had a hard day."

and despite being such a simple question, here you were with your throat scratchy and muscles aching.

your boyfriend had planted his feet onto your almost-broken bed with all his strength, using it to leverage nasty, bruising thrusts within your sensitive hole.

"jus-just a bit more." your boyfriend sunk his teeth into your shoulder, and you yelped at the added stimulus, barely coherent with whatever was going on. all you knew was that you were being ravaged by the beast underneath you.

with every mean, little thrust inside you, kunigami's jaw tightened, his muscles flexing and unflexing as he supported your completely limp body. he heaved again, a ragged promise on his tongue, "i promise, just a bit more. jus' hold on a l-little bit f'me, baby."

how were his words so sweet when his actions were not?

"you can hold out for me... ri-" a harsh roll into your cunt, and the man felt himself losing his coherence, "right?"

"uh huh. i- fuck oh ngh— i can, i can." being an ever-loving girlfriend, you nodded. frankly too cockdrunk to really grasp his words, anyways.

a bit of drool threatened past your lips, and all you were aware of was the dreadful coil in the pit of your stomach. it wrapped it's tendrils around your muscles, then your throat and lastly, your sanity.

but kunigami kept on babbling his candied lies, as if blinding you with his words would undo the hell he was unleashing on your poor, sensitive cunt. each word a rough pant, he reminded you, "you're doin' so well for me, holdin' out s-so well for me, aren't you?"

"i- i am, ren." you nodded, and he felt his tip ooze out nasty smears of pre to paint your insides at your pliant reactions. tightening his hand around you and holding you steady, the man brought his skin against you in an accursed symphony of skin upon skin, "good girl, such a fuckin' g-good girl... yeah?"

"just." smack! "a." smack! "little." smack! "more." smack!

his length throbbed inside your spasming, inviting cunt with heinous intentions. fucking into you like he was fucking into a ragdoll, he asked a question — a question you were too fucked dumb to even answer.

"we're going again, right?" kunigami nudged his face next to yours, holding your shivering body as he felt his own body tightening up, "when we finish?"

despite the lack of oxygen in your brain, and lack of logic in your system, your eyes widened as you babbled out your own nonsense chorus, "w-what? ren... but y-you said—"

"—again."

"b-but i can't..." walls spasming, you tried yet again to pry him off, "i can-not."

"but you can." the man pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, the kind that were in clear juxtaposition with the depraved plunges he placed within your heat. he repeated with just the tiniest bit of insanity mixed into his syllables, "you can."

♡ reo mikage!

got an heir wrapped 'round my finger!

"reo?" you had cocked your head to look at the mikage industry's heir's sideways, trying to check if he was okay after that failure of a practice match, "you okay?"

he hummed out a faint yes but his knuckles tightened against the steering wheels far too easily. chuckling, the words came out somewhat strained, "of course, why wouldn't i be?"

you had tried to put a palm on his thigh, just to find the clothed muscle tighten, "can i help?"

the car steered sideways on the long-abandoned road, now coming to a steady crawl as he parked it.

reo's voice shook, eyes clenching shut as he addressed you again, "can you?"

despite the dangerous lilt to his words, you couldn't help but trail the hand on his thigh somewhat higher, teasing him. you smiled, and your lips curled so cashmere at your lewd intentions, "i can help take your mind off of things, reo."

his veiny hand gripped the headrest harder, manicured nails indenting frenzied dents onto the expensive leather. strands of his hair fell in front of his face in shuddering gasps as you flicked your wrist with each tug of his sensitive cock.

down on your knees for the man, you looked up at him with a sinful gaze — the kind that had reo hiss out weak moans of your name with each one of your reckless flicks.

"reo, are you okay?" you purred, lips curling deviously at the way his entire body stuttered out a falsetto. from the bunched eyebrows, to the quivering lips, to his lead-like limbs — reo mikage was rendered useless under your kitten licks and sultry tugs, under your already pearlescent hands.

how many times had he come undone, anyways? two? three?

"thr-three." reo breathed out shakily.

the man attempted to nod quick after, trying to forge a sign of sanity despite his shaking thighs and curled toes.

oh? did you ask that out loud?

"three?" you cocked an eyebrow, the same vicious smile still tugging at your lips like you were planning to suck the soul out of him tonight. "then, you can still go for one more, right?"

at your purr, reo's eyes widened, "n-no, this is— 'senough. i f-feel better, i promise."

but your tugs didn't halt, still such cruelly pulling at his sensitive tip, "but you're being such a good boy for me, right?"

at the petname, reo let out such an obscenely saccharine moan. eyes rolling back, he ran his helpless fingers through his soaked, hued hair. thighs trembling all over again as the mikage industry heir almost cried, "y-yes."

maybe you were a woman capable of mercy. because you stopped the slow, dragged out flicks of your hands against his flushed tip slowly. half-standing, you leaned to press a kiss to the tip of his flushed nose.

"tell me, baby." you cooed, pressing another kiss to his cheek, and another to the side of his swollen lips. dragging your vixen-like figure over his body, you caged him in so helplessly, "tell me, think you can handle if i use you?"

"i— ngh ple-please." and you heard the most sinful whimper tear out of reo's throat, eyes all but rolling into the back of his skull with the way you straddled his hips and pressed his wet, sensitive dick up and down your syrupy folds.

still playing with the flushed mushroom tip, you found it all-too-easy to hook the tip against the hood of your drumming clit. repeating the action again and again, you found yourself lazily biting out a moan of his name.

afterall, reo mikage was being so nice.

he was holding his breath in his throat, clenching his fist around the leather, biting down obscene curses — all in an effort to be good for you.

so, ofcourse, you had to reward him, didn't you?

with a hasty roll of your hips, your ravenous cunt pulled in the tip of his aching cock. inch after inch, the veiny, overstimulated muscle stretched within you and—

"—fu-fuck, fuck, fuckk." reo panted, eyes widening and body shivering when he let out the salacious beads of his orgasm within your voracious cunt.

"'msorry, 'msor-ry," he clenched his eyes shut, not quite looking at you as you were pumped with his essence, "i did-didn't mean to... to so— soon."

when his jitters subsided, you hooked a careful finger under his sweaty jaw to pull him upwards. a soft hiss on your tongue, "feel better?"

reo nodded softly, and you smiled so easily at him. but maybe you missed that glint in his eyes, or maybe you forgot that reo's play-style was copying. because now his fingers pumped in and out of you, a sly smile on his spent face as his demolished you.

reo mikage said it real slow, "tell me, angel... think you can handle if i use you?"

♡ nagi seishiro!

breaking that pretty cunt tonight!

"sei!" you had turned your head from the couch to the door that had opened to reveal your boyfriend, "hey!"

hair damp and face monotonous, he had given you a nod, "hey."

"something wrong..?" your voice had trailed off as the man walked upto you and easily picked you up in his arms without even as much as a sliver of explanation.

"need a shower," nagi seishiro had quietly answered, yet you could hear the slight rattle in the fractures of his words, "just tired."

"s-sei... c-can I move?" now, your manicured fingers kneaded his shoulders, trying to ease away the tense feeling lodged within the fibres of his muscles. the snowy-haired man had his head in the crook of your neck, lapping on the soaked skin lazily at the slow gyrations of your hips against his.

sitting in the heated bath, it was your idea to cockwarm him, your idea to sit excruciatingly still to let your boyfriend feel better. and yet, as your slick glossed over his muscled thighs, you shuddered out a pathetic sigh, "s-sei, please..?"

it just had been so long, almost felt like an eternity with the way your drooling cunt kept clenching around him — brewing up a violent storm of heady desires in the bottom of your stomach.

"se-i." the syllable rolled of your tongue with another desolate plea but nagi just tipped his head back, ignoring your forlorn words.

the damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead and glinted under the overhead ambient lighting. he sighed, and his deltoids flexed as he stretched his limbs out on the bathtub's edge.

biting your lip, you tried again. this time growing mouthy, "sei, jus' let me move."

the man cocked an eyebrow, a feeble smile tugging at his lips with the way your aching cunt seemed to suck him in, "nah, don't feel like it yet."

"i-i'll do all the work," you found yourself striking a deal with a demon reincarnate, found yourself pleading to a deaf god, "i promise— jus' let me move."

at the statement, your stoic boyfriend laughed. and once done, he nodded — an action so soft that you would have missed if not for the fact that your entire body was finetuned to his. at his action, your depraved hips caught up a lewd rhythm. grinding up and down, his flushed divot caught against your fraught spots and with each manic plunge.

"shi—" his usually downturned eyes widened for just a second, a restrained mewl lodged in the back of his throat as your greedy pussy sucked up the sloppy, spilling pre, "s-slower, baby."

but you just looked at him so dolefully — with your wretched, doe eyes tearing and lips quivering, "n-no."

"can't go slower?"

"don— don't want to."

and despite the tension etched into his sore muscles and the meagre patience, nagi laughed. plump lips curling up, he planted a careful hand on your soft waist to support your delicate figure, "that good?"

after an eternity of cockwarming, how could nagi seishiro even ask you if it was 'that' good? how could he ask that when practically each trivial stutter of his achy mushroom tip against your walls had you gasping for air and throwing your head back?

but you didn't have the coherence to say all that, so, clawing your nails down the same flexed deltoids, you nodded vigorously, "mhm— y-yeah, so good sei—"

with each nod, your body shivered and cunt mewled distraught at the way his cock split you apart at his sheer length.

bringing his quick fingers up to your face, nagi plucked away the damp strands of hair from your flushed face with a soft sigh. tucking the same stand behind your ears, nagi rolled his pelvis once and you fell forward onto his chest.

his lips ghosting over the shell of your eyes, the pro-player smiled, "having fun?"

nodding again, you stole another needy gyration or two as if nagi couldn't feel it, as if he couldn't feel you — you and your filthy, yearning pussy pulsating around his dick.

you heard the slightest click of his tongue, "'msorry then."

"f-for what..?" before you could raise your head to meet his eyes, or to question his words — nagi seishiro splayed his fingers against the fat of your hips and pulled you up and down on his whims.

with each nasty smack! of skin on skin, the man seemed to hit a deeper spot and you— oh, you were seeing stars.

head lolled, eyes rolling back and nails still digging into his flesh to mark him — you came on nagi's dick with a few, mean strokes into your heat, "jes—jesus fuck! se-i... sei— ohmygod—"

still now out of your orgasmic bliss, still caught up in the trance of his skin against yours, you almost jumped when you heard nagi seishiro whisper again, "'msorry. trust me, i am."

wobbling lips too tired to conjure up a reply, you just looked up to a strange, almost barbaric look flash in his irises. his hips snapped into yours, his cock ramming into your bruised walls with an inhumane force.

"sorry, babe." the pro-player breathed out a half-baked excuse, "sorry— think 'm gonna break this pretty pussy tonight."

and you didn't miss the slightly sadistic resonance in his words. oh no.

♡ oliver aiku!

fwb aren't supposed to do this, right??

"what d'you want?" you had slammed the door open to see the man of the very hour — oliver aiku — standing at your door, leaning against your wall all so nonchalantly as if it weren't three in the morning.

rolling your eyes, you regarded the tired man, "what? hoe no.3 busy that you had to come to me?"

"don't be ridiculous," aiku slipped past you and into the familiar apartment he had spent far too many nights in. his cadence dropped low, "you're hoe no.3."

although bitter syllables clung like dew onto your glossy lips, you closed the door behind you anyways. "what do you want? we didn't have any plans today, righ—"

"needed some help." and the former captain found himself turning on his heel to face you, "needed to blow off some steam. please."

well, plans be damned. this was the first time the oliver aiku had uttered the word 'please' to you.

"oh my god—" one of your fists clenching against the fabric of his shirt while the other rubbed desperate figures against your sloppy clit, you barely held your gaze steady against his heterochrome eyes.

he had been so desperate — oliver aiku had been so desperate — that the dress that you were wearing had been hastily bunched up on your waist, and his shirt had stayed on.

he had kissed you, and then he had kissed you again and again and again till his lips were bruised and swollen and his head wasn't quite screwed on right.

shoving your figure against the nearest wall, the man had caged you in with a forbidden whimper of your name. his muscles shook, eyes searching your salvaged form like a predator on hunt, "i tried going on a run, i hit the gym— fuck, didn't fucking help."

the clicking of the belt, followed by a swift shove within your velvety hole, and you heard the man audibly hiss at the feeling of his tense erection bruising your walls with every dragged out, filthy plunge. he mumbled false nothings, praying to a deity that would never answer, "i tried everything. b-but you—"

now, clenching his jaw, the former u-20 captain tightened his hold against one of your thighs, stretching the limb out so that he could fuck into your sopping cunt harder. all while another hand supported your crumbling figures against the creaking bed.

"too much? too much?" meeting your pelvis against his in a lewd dance, the man grunted out strained words, "sorry— 'msorry, tough... tough day today, ma."

"mhm," you nodded, your sugary lips falling into an easy pout, "'s okay, what's wr-rong?"

oliver scoffed — you and him were nothing more than a series of horny, reckless favours, and yet you were looking up at him like you meant your question.

usually, your sessions were fast-paced; the sound of skin on skin, damp hair, scratches down his skin and bruises blossoming on your skin where people could see — rabid animals in a wicked arrangement. that's all you two could ever be.

but today, his thrusts were slower, more calculated despite the anger that lingered in each movement of his lagged limbs. and if you had been in your senses, you could see the sliver of yearning in his eyes as he took in your shaking figure under his gaze.

"i—" words a wet gurgle, he tried to think of the reason he was fucking you like this — soo slow, like you meant something more, "s-shit match."

"oh— aah—a-aiku!" whatever reply you had thought of dissolved as oliver shoved his tongue in your mouth. the muscles caught in a lewd dance, the pro-player tried to shove down any thoughts. moaning against him, you sounded so sinful... did you always sound like aiku's demise or was he imagining things in his lucid state?

when he parted from you, the glistening strings lingered between you — a haunting sign of the way you were making him feel. so, obviously aiku just clutched your leg harder — almost bruising — and fucked into your cervix.

body moving mechanically, each crevice of his mind was occupied by you. how soft your skin felt under his skin, how warm you were, how your breath hitched with another orgasm knocking down your insides.

and as you threw your head back, exposing your shuddering neck and chest, you clenched your eyes like you always did. weak fingers kept rubbing frenzied circles onto your drenched cunt, rosy cheeks scrunched up in a forbidden delight — oliver had seen this scene so many times, then... why did he feel so utterly stupid looking at you?

didn't he come here to blow off steam..? and yet, the pro-player felt like he had found more things to be worried about as he found himself spilling the pearlescent fluid within your plush cunt.

well, nothing another round or two couldn't fix, right?

a/n: did you know aiku is his first name and oliver is his last?? bro. insane. anyways make isagi and bachira kiss u losers i know they wanna. also, im sowry cause i know some part is long and some isn't, i have been writing this over the course of many days, hence, the inconsistency in writing style and length :') tagging: @fantastically-imperfect @moodswing101 @isabellalovesyou @mininji @scara-simp69 @heartfeltstarry @actuallynarii <3 hope you enjoy mwuah mwuah <3 m.list

[yoyomomiko]

☆ : They're jealous ×

characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace

cw: jealousy (is that supposed to be a warning??), probably ooc, cringe, not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

(a/n): This is like, my first time writing for one piece characters specifically😀 I'm barely in Alabasta but I cannot wait until I finish one piece so that I can write for it😔 ACE IS A NEED UGH -> m.list

★requests are closed!!

LUFFY

Luffy doesn't understand jealousy at first and will simply blurt out "Why are you talking to him so much?" without realizing it sounds possessive.

Believe it or not, he can get VERY possessive. You're pretty much just as valuable as his hat, you're his treasure.

That's right, his treasure.

So then, why are you talking to that donkey faced man? He's so ugly, why would you even bother wasting your breath speaking to him?

He'll cling to you like glue, throwing an arm around your shoulders or holding your hand tightly while pouting.

When Luffy's jealous he starts getting loud, making exaggerated jokes or showing off just to grab your attention.

Complains to the rest of the crew (probably Usopp or Nami), asking things like "Why does she want to talk to him when I'm right here?"

He completely interrupts your conversation with the other person by inserting himself, I just kinda feel like he'd do that.

WILL demand you sit next to him at meals and get grumpy if you sit by someone else.

He can't stay mad for long, the SECOND you give him attention, he lights up again as if nothing happened.

If the other person makes you laugh, he'll immediately try to one up them by doing something goofy, trust me, I know

He will casually lean on you or put his hat on your head as a possessive gesture (LUFFY THE MAN YOU ARE)

He's so childish

ZORO

Zoro acts nonchalant but is secretly FUMING inside when someone gets too close to you.

Glares daggers at the other person, making them incredibly uncomfortable without saying a word, he's just like that

Crosses his arms and stands near you as if silently asserting dominance (ugh I need him)

He gets extra grumpy with Sanji or anyone else he sees as competition, throwing insults their way.

He physically can't hide his annoyance and mutters things under his breath like "Tch, what's so interesting about him?"

If you laugh at someone else's joke he's gonna be like "It wasn't that funny."

I feel like he gets jealous if someone compliments you, but instead of complimenting you himself, he'll grumble like "You don't need to hear that from him."

WILL position himself between you and the other person, silently blocking them from getting closer.

I think he lowkey gets clingy after cooling down his jealousy, sticking close to you but pretending it's no big deal.

When you reassure him, he'll pretend it didn’t bother him, saying stuff like "Whatever, it's not like I cared." But deep down, he's RELIEVED.

SANJI

Lord have mercy

Sanji gets visibly jealous and is UNABLE to hide it with his dramatic reactions

He definitely calls the other person out immediately, saying things like "Why are you bothering her, huh?"

He tries to pull your attention back to him by showering you with compliments and affection.

He starts offering to cook your favorite dishes after that, just to make himself seem more worthy than moss head over there

If the other person is flirting, Sanji will step in and sweet talk to you SO passionately it makes the other person back off (simp power??)

He dramatically smokes while muttering "How could she look at someone else when I'm right here..."

Tries to outdo the other person in everything, just to show he's better

WILL ask you "Do you think he's better than me?" with puppy dog eyes

100% gets extremely competitive with Zoro (if it's him you're giving attention to) insulting him while trying to impress you

When reassured, he's back to his usual lovestruck self and saying "I knew you couldn't resist me, my angel!"

Sanji just wants to feel like he's your number one, and your affection always melts his jealousy away.

ACE

MY MAN UGHH

HE'S THE REASON I STARTED ONE PIECE IN THE FIRST PLACE

Anywayss

Ace tries to play it cool, but his temper makes his jealousy pretty obvious.

If someone flirts with you, he'll casually throw an arm around your shoulders and say "She's taken, by the way."

Speaking of throwing, he definitely picks you up and completely THROWS you over his shoulder. It doesn't matter how tall you are or how much you weigh, he ALWAYS manhandles you.

His freckles make it easy to spot when he's blushing out of jealousy or frustration (UGH😫)

He gets restless and starts fidgeting, for example bouncing his leg while watching you talk to someone else (is that my seat right there?)

Stares at the person with a smirk that doesn't quite hide his irritation, daring them to push their luck (you know that one scene in Alabasta where that giant scorpion was in front of him and Ace was like "I wouldn't if I were you" or something like that? Yeah, that's right🤭)

If someone compliments you, he'll immediately agree and add "Yeah, but I noticed that first."

UGH KICKING MY FEET😣

Can get surprisingly moody, muttering things like "What's so special about him, anyway?"

Might act a little childish, poking fun at the other person

WILL casually flex his strength or abilities if he feels the need to, like lighting a flame in his hand and saying "Bet he can't do this huh?"

If you reassure him or show him affection, he'll relax immediately, grinning and saying something like "Yeah, I knew you couldn't resist me."

And he's smirking at you with that stupid handsome face (I need him🚨)

★yoyomiko ★miko

[mcrdvcks]

love me do

summary: Logan likes to mark you.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

notes: i don't know what came over me. i had a dream a few nights ago about logan marking you (me??) up during sex and i just couldn't get it out of my head so here ya go

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, porn with no plot, pet name (sweetheart), marking, bite marks, hickeys, lots of kissing, scent kink, fingering, slight praise kink, unprotected piv, creampie, not proofread

There was one thing that Logan did constantly: leaving marks. Whether it was hickeys or actual bite marks, your skin was constantly littered with dark marks along your neck, shoulders, chest, and even down to the plushness of your thighs.

Sometimes you wondered if he was really just teasing you or if he really enjoyed trailing his lips along your body; you got your answer fairly quickly when he plunged two fingers inside you all while kissing your jaw and down the side of your neck. His teeth grazed your skin as his lips moved lower, leaving behind more of those marks you’d come to expect.

“Logan,” you said, barely above a whisper, your hands gripping the edge of the bed beneath you.

“What?” he murmured against your neck, his voice low, almost rough. His thumb found that sensitive spot between your legs, pressing down in a way that made your breath hitch. “Can’t hear ya, sweetheart.”

You hated when he played dumb, but the heat pooling in your stomach made it hard to care. Your hips bucked slightly against his hand, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he kissed just under your ear.

“I said…” Your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as his fingers curled inside you, brushing a spot that sent a wave of pleasure through your whole body. “Oh, my God.”

“Not quite, but keep calling me that, and I might get used to it,” he teased, voice gravelly, his lips now trailing down to your collarbone.

You rolled your eyes even though they were fluttering shut. “You’re such an—”

“An what?” He pulled back just enough to look at you, raising an eyebrow. His fingers didn’t stop moving, though, and the smugness in his expression only grew when your body betrayed you, your thighs trembling around his hand.

“An asshole,” you managed to get out, though it lacked any real venom.

“Yeah? This asshole’s making you feel pretty good, though.”

You didn’t dignify that with an answer, biting your lip to stifle the noises threatening to spill out. He noticed, of course, and immediately decided to make it harder for you. His thumb circled over that sensitive spot again, this time more deliberately, and his free hand came up to hold your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t do that,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

“Do what?”

“Hold back,” he said, his thumb pressing down a little harder as his fingers worked faster inside you. “I wanna hear you.”

The intensity in his eyes made you shiver, and any attempt at holding back crumbled. A moan slipped out, and his grin widened as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time on the lips. It was messy, all teeth and tongue, but you didn’t care.

“Good girl,” he muttered against your lips, his hand still working between your thighs.

“Logan,” you whimpered, your hands gripping his shoulders now, nails digging into his skin through his shirt.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rougher now, almost like a growl.

“Logan,” you repeated, louder this time, your voice trembling as the tension in your body built to a breaking point.

“That’s it,” he said, his lips finding your neck again. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The way his voice dropped, combined with the relentless rhythm of his fingers, pushed you over the edge. Your whole body tensed, and a broken moan escaped your lips as the pleasure washed over you. He didn’t stop right away, working you through it until you were practically trembling beneath him.

When you finally came down, you let out a shaky breath, your forehead falling against his shoulder. His fingers slipped out of you, and he brought them to his mouth without hesitation, his eyes locked on yours as he sucked them clean.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, still trying to catch your breath.

“Unbelievable in a good way or a bad way?” he asked, his tone playful now as he reached up to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

“You know the answer to that,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Do I?” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Why don’t ya remind me?”

Before you could respond, he was pulling your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you. The heat and hardness of him through his jeans made your breath hitch again, and the teasing smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Logan,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You gonna keep teasing me, or are you gonna do something about it?”

His grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower but just as intense. “Oh, I’m gonna do something about it,” he said against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs.

Logan’s grip was firm, possessive, the rough pads of his fingers tracing up your skin like he was mapping you out. “You smell so fuckin’ good,” he murmured, his voice deep and low, the words almost growled into your ear. “Can’t get enough of you.” His lips grazed your jaw, then your neck, leaving soft kisses before his teeth nipped the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Logan…” Your voice was shaky, breath catching in your throat when his hands hooked under your knees, spreading your legs further. You felt the heavy, warm press of him between your thighs, still confined by his jeans but unmistakably hard. The denim’s rough texture teased your skin, making you squirm beneath him.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he said, his lips quirking into a smirk as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. He made quick work of unbuttoning his jeans, the metal clinking softly. When he shoved them down his hips, you caught sight of him—thick, hard, and already glistening at the tip.

Your breath hitched as he leaned back over you, one hand gripping your hip, the other guiding himself to your entrance. The anticipation made you ache, every nerve in your body on fire as you felt the blunt heat of him pressing against you.

“Look at me,” Logan said, his voice suddenly commanding. His fingers caught your chin, holding your face steady so your eyes stayed locked on his. “I wanna see you when I take you.”

You nodded, biting your lip as his hips shifted forward, the thick head of his cock pushing inside you slowly. The stretch was intense, almost overwhelming, but the heat in Logan’s eyes grounded you. His gaze never wavered, watching your every reaction with a mixture of hunger and something softer, deeper.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his teeth catching his bottom lip as he pushed in further. “You feel perfect.”

Your hands found his shoulders, nails digging in as he filled you inch by inch, the slow, deliberate pace making you gasp. Logan paused when he was buried fully inside, his breath heavy against your cheek. “You okay?” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your voice barely audible. “Move, Logan.”

His smirk returned, but his movements stayed slow, deliberate. He pulled out almost completely before sliding back in, his hips rocking in a rhythm that had your toes curling. The drag of him against your inner walls was maddening, each stroke deliberate, like he was savoring every second.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice rough and low, his lips brushing against your ear. He didn’t wait for an answer, his teeth grazing your neck again as he set a steady pace, each thrust hitting deep and hard. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer with every movement.

“Logan—oh, God,” you gasped, your nails raking down his back. The tension in your core coiled tighter with each slow, deliberate thrust, the way his hips rolled driving you closer to the edge.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” Logan growled, his forehead pressing against yours. “Takin’ me so good, sweetheart. Fuck, I could stay buried in you forever.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and your body arched into him, chasing every bit of contact you could get. Logan’s grip shifted, one hand sliding up to your jaw again, tilting your face toward his. His lips crashed against yours, the kiss messy and consuming, his teeth catching your bottom lip as he drove deeper into you.

“Logan,” you whimpered against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders, desperate for more.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice a rough growl. His thrusts grew harder, each one deliberate, his hips rolling in a way that had you seeing stars. “Lemme hear you.”

“Logan!” Your voice broke, your body trembling beneath him as the tension inside you snapped. The orgasm hit you like a wave, your walls clenching around him, pulling him even deeper as you cried out his name.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his pace faltering as he chased his own release. “So good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” His thrusts turned erratic, and with one final, deep stroke, he buried himself completely, his hips pressing flush against yours as he came with a guttural growl.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, his body heavy on yours, his breath hot against your neck. Logan’s hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline as he pulled back to look at you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, a tired but satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again, this one slow and lingering, his hands never leaving your body.

[audisive]

♪ BROOKLYN BABY. (💌) – previous part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the 141 believes the scot now.

tags: fluff, romance, soft!simon, you're basically their mom atp lol, bickering, there's a bet between gaz n soap, gaz secretly wants you shh, ooc characters, not proofread, price being the gentleman he is, he's seriously just watching everything unfold

       It's not always that Ghost is willing to let the 141 stay at his house for their traditions – which is just drinking beer and watching sports, really. In fact, he's always said something about his place being empty, so they always settled on someone else's. They stop asking after a year, and in turn, he stops having reasons.

It's not until Soap pops the question again when everyone else's houses are unavailable for a variety of reasons, his being that he left his faucet on and now his shitty apartment is flooded. You can only imagine the suspicion and shock when Ghost agrees (or, rather, simply grunts).

The drive is long, nothing short of 5 hours, and Soap spends the better half of it bickering with either Gaz or Ghost. He falls asleep by the next half, and when he awakes, he gawks at the lovely looking house before their car. There's two stories to it, a balcony, a front porch, and there's no doubt that there's a backyard.

Contrary to popular belief, no, it is not all black or plain at all. It's all equally surprising to them. The Brit isn't the type to care about the appearance and state of a house, usually. They do envision him in a mostly empty apartment with only a bed and a bathroom, though.

There's a delicate touch to where a rough man lives; the smell is almost heavenly when they enter the house. It's homely, the scent of newly washed sheets and lingering smell of food; there's a cat perched on the living room table that Ghost scratches the head of lovingly in a way that's so casual and natural. It's like they're at the gates of–

"Simon!" Heaven's bells ring in their ears, luring them into the doorway of the living room, and the sound of feet padding against the cold floor. There comes a soft-looking thing running into Ghost's arms, completely engulfing you.

You only notice the three familiar faces of your boyfriend's team members – though you know he considers them family if anything – when you pull away. An angel clad in only a cami top, shorts, and Simon's hand around your waist, you turn to look at the group with a surprised look on your pretty – Soap thinks that God, you're so pretty – face. "Oh, hi," you smile sweetly, obviously awkward at the silence and the staring.

"It's been a while," Ever the gentleman, the gruff voice is the first to speak up with your name uttered, the only who's actually met you – John Price. Soap is too enamored with the way you hold yourself and the fact that, holy fuck, even your name's pretty. Gaz raises a brow at the captain's greeting.

You smile once more – a genuine one now. "Nice to see you again, John."

"'S rude to stare, Johnny." Simon speaks out, a smirk under the mask. "Please excuse him, miss," Gaz adds, this beautiful man, and offers a charming smile.

"You must be Gaz," you hold your hand out, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Kyle forgets that a hand could be this soft and gentle, "and please, call me Kyle." He barely stops himself from turning your hand in his to kiss the back of it like one should to a lady so fair; his lieutenant has good taste in women, he'll give him that. And when you're out of the area, Soap is sure to rub it in Gaz's face. I told ye so! LT wis hidin' somethin' from us. A pretty something, that is. You don't miss the way he slips a twenty-dollar bill into the Scottish man's hand.

"Glad tae meet ye," Soap finally says, winking. "Understand why he wis hidin' a bonnie lass like ye from us." There's a mischievous glint in his eye, almost naturally so.

"A'm hurt, LT, but whit can I do? After all, we're just a couple o' brutes, arenae we?"

Simon watches in amusement, "you'll live." Soap is quick to move to your side as you lead the small group of hulking men through your shared home after that.

Simon is visibly more relaxed with you around. He's comfortable, that much is a given, with the way he's taking up most of the thankfully large couch with his manspreading. So is the 141. They're pampered like spoiled children (or pets, really) through the whole day.

Instead of just beer and faucet water, they're offered a variety of drinks in the kitchen that's enough to be considered a private bar. Instead of an empty belly unhealthily stuffed with beer and a mix of mediocre takeout, they're met with warm homecooked meals. They lose track of time quickly; the night falls by the time they've tired themselves out, and they've had not one, but two meals thanks to you.

(They're sure to commend your cooking skills and think of how lucky this tall brute of a man is blessed with a woman so soft and pliant and wonderful and– while Price is the one to be the most grateful, Soap compliments you the most. "A can practically taste the love." You laugh in turn.)

Gaz is the first to speak after a meal so lovely, they could simply just sleep on the floor comfortably and wake to the same smell of home. "It's a bit late, love, we should probably go."

"Thank you for having us," Price smiles down at you kindly.

"Ye've been lovely, bonnie." He wants to stay some more.

"Wait," you stop them, looking up at Simon for further approval. He's already looking at you with a reassuring brush of his thumb on the side of your hip and a nod. You turn your eyes back at them. "It's already late, you three should stay the night. We have enough room for everyone."

There comes, "we don't wanna intrude," then, "we can take care of ourselves, it's alright."

"Please, I insist." Your smile brightens, "I'll even cook breakfast before you leave."

The mohawk moves with a sigh, "now tha's just no' fair, lass. How are we gonna say no tae that?" You giggle. Only then do they find themselves tucked away in the guest room, and boy, you were right when you said it could fit them all if not more.

On the way to the bathroom in the late hours of the night, Soap catches a glimpse of light through the crack of your bedroom door to see his oh-so strong lieutenant, vulnerable in your arms. There's something natural about the way you cradle the large man and kiss his hair like it's part of your DNA, like you're programmed to do that 'cause Soap thinks you're simply unreal.

He's proud of his lieutenant, this lucky bastard. He turns another blind eye once more, but he's paid in full with another fulfilling meal by the morning.

[sleepyhoon]

bang bang, kiss kiss. - p.js

pairing. boss!jay x employee!reader genre. age gap, porn w some plot, long drabble warnings. swearing, infidelity (jay cheating on his wife), homewrecker!yn (sorry), age gap (reader is 21 jay is 31), smut [ office sex, impregnation kink, creampie, oral (f. receiving), degradation, pussy slapping, manhandling, spit ]

a/n. attempt number 2 of trying to make yn a bitch ahaha anyways enjoy whats been plaguing my mind the past few nights. not proofread so pls disregard any typos haha

Park Jongseong's wife had a lot of nerve.

Calling the workplace and disrupting Mr. Park with nonsense you cant even begin to comprehend. He's far too good for her, adhering to her every beck and call, missing out on detrimental meetings and interviews with high-profile clients just to tend to his dumbass wife.

God, you hated her.

As Jongseong's personal secretary, it was your responsibility to keep his business in order, and most importantly, keep him stress-free; which is why you were more than happy to suggest he keep his cell phone off and locked away in your desk for the day, to ward off any unnecessary distractions.

"Always looking out for me, huh?" Jongseong asks, leaning against your desk with a smirk as he willingly hands you his locked iPhone.

"Always," you repeat, not breaking eye contact as you drop the phone into your drawer and slam it shut.

"And what if my wife needs to reach me?"

Your expression goes stoic, and a little bit annoyed. Jongseong knows you hated whenever he brought up his wife in any context, even a hypothetical one.

"She knows your e-mail address," you respond through gritted teeth, your eyes panning over to the empty excel sheet on your desktop.

Jongseong nods, amused and slightly aroused at the distaste you have for his wife. It's fucked up, he knows it is, but he just can't help it. The jealousy in your eyes at the mere mention of his wife was enough to drive him crazy. He loves that you hate her, and how envious you were of her; so desperate to be his wife instead.

"I suppose that's true; but if she calls, just forward her over to me, yeah?"

You don't respond, blatantly ignoring him as you open a new Google tab on your desktop and search 'avg cost of divorce south korea'.

Jongseong leans over, eyes lighting up in a mixture of surprise and amusement as he peeks at your screen, "You're funny, YN," he says, biting back a laugh.

"I'm not joking."

"I know," he stands, shoving his hands into his pockets, "that's the best part. I'll ping you if I need anything."

You nod, chin resting in the palm of your head as you continue to stare at your computer. The results of your Google search were anticlimactic, not one direct answer on the average cost of divorce. Just your luck.

Jongseong discretely glances around the office, making sure all other employees were occupied with their own tasks before leaning down and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the sudden action causing you to stare up at him wide-eyed and raise a confused brow at him.

"And you let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything at all." He says, voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

Music to your ears, really, having Jongseong at your disposal while his own wife would have to fight tooth and nail to even speak to him today. It's a dream come true.

You clear your throat, adjusting your glasses as you straighten your posture, "Okay."

Jongseong smiles down at you one last time before turning on his heels and making his way down the hall and into his office.

A few minutes have gone by when you receive a message.

Jongseong Park [ 10:20 am ] : Around 1-5M KRW, higher if there are any court battles involved.

You [ 10:20 am ] : noted :)

Of course she'd show up to his workplace, so fucking relentless.

You can't really blame her, not being able to call or text Jongseong all day only to have his personal secretary dodge any calls made to the office surely would drive you crazy. Still, she has a lot of nerve.

"Sir, your wife is here," you grit into the phone, glaring daggers at said wife, Park Yunjin, as she scrolls on her phone.

"Shit, should've known," he sighs, "I'll be out in a few, just finishing something up."

You don't bother saying goodbye, slamming the phone down so hard that it startles Yunjin and a few of your coworkers. "He'll be out shortly."

Yunjin smiles, "Thank you, I got kinda worried when I wasn't able to get in touch with him, you know?"

Not interested in making small-talk with Yunjin, your responses to her are limited to hums and polite nods, fighting the urge to slam your head on your desk while ripping your hair out.

After what feels like an eternity, Jongseong finally emerges from his office and calls out for Yunjin, holding back a smile at the sight of the two of you being in the same vicinity.

Yunjin turns, cocking her head to the side with an annoyed look on her face, "Are you busy?"

Jongseong shakes his head, "Not at the moment, come in," he says, pushing his office door wide enough for her to enter.

Adjusting the purse on her arm, Yunjin makes her way down the hall and into the office, glancing at you over her shoulder one last time as she does so. She's suspicious of you, that much was obvious. You're much younger than her, obviously attractive, and the only other person who spends as much time with Jongseong as she does. You know him like the back of your hand, while she could barely get her husband to open up to her.

She has every right to be suspicious, though, considering you are fucking her husband behind her back.

Thirty minutes have passed when Yunjin finally exits his office, her expression unreadable as she shuts the door behind her, strutting out of the office without so much as a glance in your general direction.

Your eyes follow her every movement, staring so intently that you nearly miss the newest messages from Jongseong.

Jongseong Park [ 3:54 pm ] : Are you able to stay a little longer tonight? Need your help with some stuff.

Jongseong Park [ 3:55 pm ] : Dinner on me as an apology for the inconvenience

You [ 3:58 pm ] : of course, whatever u need :)

You don’t think much of it when you slip into Jongseong’s office later that evening.

He doesn’t bring up the incident with his wife and neither do you, opting to engage in light, easygoing topics as you help your boss complete his workload. It wasn’t much besides transferring over data into excel and responding to some emails, surely not enough work that required staying after hours, but Jongseong’s promise of a free dinner was enough to intrigue you.

And the fact that you’d be spending time alone with him, of course, free of your coworker’s wandering eyes and his wife’s disruptive behavior.

Your remaining coworkers had finally left for the evening, stopping by Jongseong’s office to briefly wish the two of you a good night and a safe trip home.

It’s around seven p.m. when you’re finally finishing up the excel sheet, your tired eyes carefully inspecting each and every corner of the screen, double-checking for any minor errors.

“Almost done?” Jongseong asks, swiveling in his office chair to face you.

You nod, offering him your laptop, “Think so, just need you to look it over.”

Taking the laptop from your hands, Jongseong looks over the screen for half a second before shutting it and handing it back to you. “Looks good to me. Get on the desk.”

You pause, mouth falling open as Jongseong begins to loosen to tie, “Wait, can I expl-”

He crosses the short distance between your seat and his, snatching the laptop from your grip as he forces you to stand, “No more excuses.”

Tossing the MacBook onto your now empty chair, Jongseong hoists you up on his desk, his rough, calloused hands bunching up your skirt until it’s settled around your waist. He doesn’t even give you time to prepare, sliding your thong down and off your legs with a quick yank of his hand.

He lowers himself before you, knees hitting the carpet as he becomes eye level with your cunt. Jongseong gathers a wad of saliva in his mouth, staring straight at you through hooded eyes as he spits directly on your pussy.

You shiver, swearing under your breath as he rubs the saliva onto your folds, “Think you’re so fucking funny, huh? Trying to upset my wife.”

Ugh, there he goes again talking about his stupid fucking wife.

“She’s a distraction, you got so much done today without her bitching in your ear.” You plead, gripping onto Jongseong’s desk with your eyes squeezed shut as he slips a thick finger into your hole.

It’s true, Jongseong had managed to get a lot more work done today than usual now that his wife wasn’t distracting him. Still, he can’t admit that, your ego was already big enough as it is. He’s sure if he inflated it any further your head would explode.

He teases a second finger at your entrance, amused at how easily it slides in from his wet you’ve gotten; it hadn’t even been five minutes and his hand is practically drenched because of you. “Doesn’t matter, you should’ve listened when I said to forward her calls. She already doesn’t like you and you just made it worse.”

Yunjin seeing you as a potential threat had you over the moon, a wicked grin on your face that only pissed Jongseong off further.

His fingers thrust in and out of you at a pace he’s never used before; he’s rough, flustered, and downright mad. His eyes narrow up at you, pulling his fingers out of you entirely to deliver a harsh smack on your clit.

Your body jolts, the sting of the slap sending an unfamiliar, yet arousing, shockwave throughout your body. You’re suddenly grateful that all the other employees have gone home for the evening, because the loud miss that escapes your lips surely would’ve had them running to HR.

Jongseong doesn’t even give you time to recover or process what’s happening, a smug look on his face now that he’s successfully wiped the cocky smirk off of yours. He leans forward, plump lips wrapping around your already swollen clit, swirling his tongue around it as he tugs it into his mouth.

He spits again, using his tongue to mix his saliva with your wetness to make a mess of your cunt. ”That’s funny to you? That you just made shit worse?”

You nod eagerly, another painful slap being delivered to your cunt as a result. You jolt again, tears welling up in your eyes as your back arches off his desk. He rotates between aggressively lapping at your clit, thrusting a third finger into your sopping hole, and delivering more slaps to your cunt, each smack harder than the last, leaving your entire body quivering.

By the seventh slap, the knot in your belly finally snaps, a loud slew of sweats falling from your lips as you come on the palm of Jongseong’s hand.

He doesn’t even give you the chance to catch your breath, standing as he shoves various paperwork and other miscellaneous items off his desk before forcing you on your back.

“I hope it was fucking worth it,” he grumbles, undoing his belt and zipper.

You nod, “It was.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He says, punctuating his sentence with another smack to your cunt. Your body is still spasming from your orgasm, the aching sensation between your thighs only adding to the overstimulation.

He pulls down his trousers and boxers in a swift movement, fully-hardened cock smacking straight against his abdomen. He pumps himself a few times before aligning his tip against your entrance, not giving you any time to prepare or adjust to his size before plummeting himself into you with a harsh thrust.

You cry out Jongseong’s name, back arching off his desk as you reach to hold onto his shoulders. His fingers move to your clit, rubbing harsh circles as he picks up his already fast and aggressive pace.

He’s relentless, fucking into you as if you were his own personal pocket pussy. There’s no doubt Yunjin would let him do this shit to her.

He takes your hand, pressing it down on your own abdomen as he pushes himself inside of you. Even from the outside you can feel his cock bulging into you. “You feel me right there?” He asks, breathless.

You nod wordlessly, a tear trickling from your eye as you do so. Jongseong leans down, unintentionally pressing himself further into you as he kisses the tear away, “You okay?”

You nod again, cupping Jongseong’s face with your hands before bringing him down to kiss you. It’s soft and sensual, making your heart rate increase as he tilts his head to allow himself further into your mouth.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling his body closer and furthering his cock deeper into your pussy. He swears under his breath, pulling away to press open-mouth, wet kisses on your neck and cheek. He stills for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your warmth wrapping around him as he’s peppering kisses across your collarbone.

He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together before thrusting into you again. He starts off slow this time, seemingly relishing in the feeling of your cum coating his cock.

He doesn’t let up after that, his thrusts becoming much harsher than what you expected, so rough that you’re nervous he may break the wooden desk supporting both of your weight.

“Fuck,” he groans, tip of his cock practically slamming into your g-spot, “gonna cum.”

“Please,” you beg, eyes fluttering shut as your second orgasm approaches.

Jongseong opens his eyes, taking note of your smudged makeup and how fucked-out you look. “Want me to cum inside you, huh? Fill you up until you’re nice and pregnant with my baby?”

You nod embarrassingly because you do want that, to be able to carry Jongseong ‘s child, clinging to his side to let everyone know it was him that did this to you.

He shakes his head with a chuckle, “Fucking knew it.”

That exchange seems to be enough to drive him to his orgasm, because a few seconds later he’s spilling himself inside of you, thick, white ropes of cum coating your insides. It’s the most he’s ever came, chest heaving with exhaustion as he catches his breath.

You’re only a few seconds behind him, ironically calling out for God as your own orgasm hits you.

His office goes quiet, the only sounds being your staggered breath along with his overhead ceiling fan.

Jongseong pulls himself out of you, immediately shoving two fingers inside your hole to keep his cum from drilling out of your pussy. Your body jolts again as you let out a pathetic, “Jongseong, please.”

“Not letting it go to waste.” He says simply, using his thumb to rub small circles on your clit. “Besides, you said you wanted me to fill you up right?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Good,” he groans, “now lie on your stomach.”

[pathologicalreid]

diphenhydramine | s.r.

in which reader has a hard time getting to sleep at night, leading to Spencer's step by step instruction of which hormones help you fall asleep

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: unprotected p in v sex, fingering, spencer infodumps while fingering you, restlessness, ambien, sex as a sleep aid, effective but not recommended, physiology, female masturbation, insecurity, reader doesn't pee after sex which you really should do, no clean up, but fanfiction isn't real. softdom!spencer. not thoroughly proofread. word count: 1.99k a/n: i thought i had this scheduled so imagine my surprise when i went to check tumblr and it wasn't posted. ANYWAYS. this one goes out to all the girlies with chronic sleep issues (me) and the person who requested this. don't like, don't read.

Your pillow was warm. Surely that was what was hindering your ability to sleep. Lifting your head, you flip your pillow over, resting your head on the cool side and turning to your other side.

Facing Spencer, you pull your arm out from under the covers, wondering if you should only change one variable at a time to see what actually helps you get to sleep. Huffing, you shut your eyes again, the usually muted traffic outside of your apartment seeming extraneously loud for this time of night.

You couldn’t put a name to it, but there was something keeping you up at night. You’d always had sleep issues, but your restlessness from the last several weeks was unprecedented.

“Angel,” your boyfriend says from next to you, reaching his hand out and placing it on your waist, trying to drag you across the sheets and into his arms.

Willingly, you move to his side of the bed, leaving space between the two of you to keep your body cool—maybe you were just too warm to sleep. “Did I wake you?” You ask, peering up at him through your eyelashes. He looks so ethereal in the diffused moonlight that seeps in through the closed curtains, the cool light falling over the harsh edges of his face.

He hums in response, opening his eyes and casually slipping a hand under your sleep shirt, resting his palm on your bare waist, “No,” he murmurs, even though you know he’s lying through his teeth. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t sleep,” you tell him miserably, sticking out your lower lip even though he likely can’t see your face—his eyes would need to adjust to the darkness.

He shifts under the covers, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over your ribcage, “Have you tried Ambien?”

Your primary care physician prescribed sleeping pills for you, but you didn’t have any interest in taking them. “So I can end up at the Lincoln Memorial with my underwear on my head? No, thanks.”

“I would be very impressed if you managed to sleepwalk all the way to the National Mall,” he muttered, his voice clearing as he became more alert.

You sigh in exhaustion, “I’m multifaceted.”

Spencer kisses your forehead, “Go to sleep, multifaceted.”

“I can’t,” you complain, watching him through your eyelashes, “I’m open to suggestions.”

Your boyfriend groans at your impertinence, “You could try taking the pills that your doctor prescribed to you.”

Rolling your eyes in the dark, you tuck some stray hairs behind your ear, “Nope. Any other ideas in that big brain of yours?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you get kind of snippy when you get tired?” Spencer asks rhetorically.

Frowning in defeat, you consider going out to the living room to watch something on the TV. At least that way you would be able to let Spencer get some sleep. “Are you telling me that there’s nothing you’ve read recently that has any kind of information on remedies for restlessness?”

Next to you, Spencer stiffens, and you wonder if he’s cold. You turned on the ceiling fan in an attempt to cool down, “There are always new articles on sleep remedies, but none you’d be interested in.”

Your eyes flicker to the alarm clock on his bedside table, just past three in the morning, “I’m open to anything.”

“Orgasms produce some of the same hormones that are conducive to falling asleep,” he whispers, his ministrations on your waist coming to a halt.

Sighing, you flop onto your back, “I already tried that.”

He’s silent for a moment, “Were you touching yourself while I was in bed next to you?” There was a new lilt in his voice, some sort of shift as the type of frustration he was feeling changed.

Considering your options, you cross your arms in front of your stomach, staring up at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan, “Yeah, but I didn’t— I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t make yourself come?” He finishes for you, the words that you couldn’t get out slipping easily past his lips.

It shouldn’t embarrass you, but you find your face warming under the cover of night anyways. “No,” your answer comes out as barely more than an exhale, “I couldn’t quite get there.”

With his hand now resting on your abdomen, your attention laser focusing on the way his pinky finger skimmed the elastic band of your panties, “Do you want me to try?”

Honestly, it wouldn’t be much of an attempt, like every other aspect of his life, pleasing you is something Spencer excels at. “I want you to go to sleep. I’m sorry for waking you,” you decline his offer.

He doesn’t move his hand, “Are you sure? I’m offering, if you’re accepting.”

“I-“ you falter, “I guess it doesn’t hurt to try, but only if you want to.” You were perfectly fine with going to the couch and wasting the night away in front of the TV screen. You’ve clocked a lot of time with the early morning newscast recently.

Spencer twists his wrist in response, looking at you in the cool light of the room, “I’m always interested in pleasing you.” He speaks to you quietly, retaining the reverent tones of the morning while slipping his hand deeper into your underwear. His index finger slipping easily through your folds, “Oh, you got close,” he whispers.

There’s no resistance as his finger breaches your entrance, already deeper than your fingers had gotten. Your mouth falls open, a small, choked gasp escaping your throat as your hand instinctively grabs at Spencer’s wrist, “Yeah.”

His motions are slow and precise, making sure you can feel every slight movement as he withdraws his finger before sliding it back into your pussy. Adding a second finger before his other hand pulls down at your underwear, haphazardly leaving them around your thighs before finding a rhythm. The peace of the night pauses only for the crude sounds from you, muffled by the blanket strewn over your bodies.

Gently, Spencer presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, maintaining the thrusts of his hand as he slowly encircles the sensitive nub, “Spence.” Your voice is a breathy laugh in recognition of just how quickly he can get you there.

There was something about having someone else touch you. When you do it yourself, you can hold yourself back or overthink it, but with Spencer’s hands on you—or in you, rather—there was nothing to hold back. “Sex can help you sleep for the simple reason that it’s physical activity, but it’s when you cum that your body releases hormones that can actually help you sleep,” his ministrations don’t suffer as a result of his physiology lesson. If anything, it all becomes more intense.

A sharp, high-pitched noise comes out of your mouth, the all too familiar knot in your lower belly coiling. And coiling. And coiling. “So, you can—” your voice cuts out as you gasp, “You can literally fuck me to sleep?”

Spencer hums a confirmation, “Sex reduces cortisol levels, and your body’s going to release oxytocin and prolactin,” he assures you, “and those will induce pleasant and relaxing feelings. All of which means I get to fuck you to sleep tonight.”

“’m close,” you breathe, closing your eyes as the pressure in your core nears unbearable levels. “Oh, Spence,” you say, your grip tightening on his wrist as his hands don’t let up on you.

His unoccupied hand reaches up to your face, gently sweeping hair off of your forehead in a way that makes you dizzy, his head falling to your shoulder before he kisses the worn fabric of your t-shirt, “You can cum, baby. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t want you to hold it in, so you don’t. Your head tips back into the pillows as the coil in your belly snaps, going off like a slingshot—sharp and quick.

Spencer’s fingers keep working you through your orgasm, slowing at the same pace that your orgasm does, the sheets sticking to your back as you slowly unarch, coming back to the surface as the pleasure of your orgasm drifts away almost as quickly as it came.

Every part of your body trembles as you fall away from your high, hooded eyelids staring over at your boyfriend as you catch your breath. Timidly, you reach down and push your underwear down your legs, kicking them off into the abyss of sheets to be discovered at a later date as you turn on your side.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, shifting under the covers as he pulls his cock out of his boxer briefs.

You hum, scooting yourself closer to him on the mattress, heat emanating from his body in a way that you now find welcoming, “You can’t even see me.”

Grabbing your thigh, Spencer slings your leg over his waist, opening your body to him, “Not right now,” he admits, “But I know you. I know the way you look right now, while I’m slipping myself into you.” His voice is low, but your attentions are focused on the feeling of his tip at your pussy, slowly pushing into you. He lets your body adjust, this isn’t an angle he usually takes you at, but you can feel every single ridge as he moves.

“I know the glossy look your eyes have right now,” he mutters, pushing your lower back closer to him, leaving his cock impossibly deep in you. “A combination of the orgasm that you just had and the sensations you’re feeling right now.”

You shudder at his words, tentatively rolling your hips against him, silently signaling to him that you’re ready for him to move. A soft cry escapes your lips as he withdraws his hips, pushing himself back into you while your cunt throbs around his length, “Spence.”

He grunts in response, finding a steady, gentle rhythm as your mind goes blank. You find yourself searching for that high again, “You feel so good, angel. So, so good.” His voice is low as he pulls your body closer to him still, “Fuck.”

“Spence,” your voice cracks at stimulation, overwhelming you as he breathes into the crook of your neck. You dig your nails into his back, trying to keep yourself from screaming as his hand slips between your conjoined bodies, swiping softly at your clit.

Spencer keeps moving, fucking into you as his movements grow messier and messier with each passing thrust. “You’re so pretty,” he repeats, seeing your features in the soft moonlight as your mouth gapes and your second orgasm quickly approaches.

Whimpering, you bite down on your lower lip, your leg that’s slung over him shaking uncontrollably as you chase your orgasm, “Oh my god,” you gasp helplessly.

“So good for me. Let it go, I’m close too,” he says, continuing his motions even as your pussy clenches around his length, the waves of your orgasm pulsating around him, sending him hurtling toward his own.

Stars dance in front of your eyes, and you let them fall shut. His movements come to a stop and you loose a sigh of relief at the realization that you’re exhausted. “Don’t go,” you mumble.

Spencer presses a soft kiss to your lips, holding you close to him with one arm while readjusting his underwear with the other. “I won’t,” he whispers, “You need to call your doctor about wanting new sleeping pills.”

You grunt in response, too close to sleep to form a coherent response.

“I’m not opposed to a more natural remedy, but I’m not always around at night, and I need to know you’re sleeping at night,” he tells you, his voice growing softer as sleep threatens to take him.

Humming, you nuzzle closer to him, letting your body melt into the mattress as you finally fall asleep. Staying cold was no longer a concern, staying close to Spencer was.

[entitled-fangirl]

Meek.

Cregan Stark x Baratheon!reader

Summary: Cregan is determined to be a different man for his betrothed than the men in her family.

Warnings: poor treatment of women, sexism, cursing, talks of sex, making out

A/N: Based on TWO asks!!!! Also--- not proofread😯

Masterlist

....................................................

Everyone knew the absolute torment that house Baratheon put their women through.

They were cruel to them, not caring for anything but their own pleasure. That was well known.

When Cregan was betrothed to Lord Baratheon's second eldest daughter, he wondered how she'd fair under the Northern weather.

Lord Baratheon didn't even bother to see her go, sending her off to the Wolf with just her handmaidens and guards to see her safe to Winterfell.

Cregan stood at the doors, his shoulders back in a display of northern pride. He was beyond grateful to rid the sweet woman from the ungrateful Baratheons.

The moment her horse stepped through the gate, his people were attentive to her, taking her belongings and beginning to carry them into the castle.

She watched them with widened eyes, confused by their kindness. Cregan quickly stepped down the stairs to her, "Welcome, my lady."

Her head snapped to him and looked down at him from her horse. She said nothing in fear of saying the wrong thing.

He reached up and gently pulled the reigns from her hands. The leather slid from her grasp slowly. She dared not to intervene. 

Once he had the reigns in his hand, he pulled on them, walking the horse further into the yard and closer to Winterfell.

She merely let him as she held to the saddle. 

Cregan felt a small smile grow on his face. She was a curious thing. It was too bad she wouldn't voice her thoughts. 

As he looked up at her, he decided then to change that. He would get her to open up one day.

He tied the reigns off and held out his hand to her. "Let me help you." She reminded him of a skittish doe, ready to run at any sign of danger.

Her shaky hand reached out, and she swung her leg over the horse. She stared at him expectantly.

He let go and grabbed her waist, holding her as he slid her down the horse's side and placed her on the ground.

"Thank you, Lord Stark," her soft voice finally spoke.

He swore he'd never heard anything sweeter.

How the Baratheons could bare to mistreat her, he'll never know.

…

He told the North that he was in no way going to rush the marriage. So she stayed in the Winterfell walls unwed so he could understand her more before becoming one.

He felt like he owed her that. 

She deserved to be known. 

She had become a little more comfortable around him, beginning to slowly speak to him about only the things that were essential to say aloud.

The two walked the grounds together, a routine they had developed over time. 

"I wish you'd speak about things that don't matter," he finally mentioned. He peeked over to her to see her reaction.

Her brows furrowed as she stared in front of her, "I don't understand."

"I didn't mean it in that sense I suppose." He reached up with his free to stroke the hair on his chin in thought of what to say. "I want to know the things that you worry I'll find unimportant. Does that make sense?"

She hesitantly shook her head.

He sighed softly at how to correct his words. Finally, he shrugged. "I want to know you."

"You do," she countered quietly. 

"I don't," he smiles as he brushed hair behind her ear, "but I'd like to."

She sucked in a sharp breath at his touch to her face. The men in her family were far from this gentle. "I assure you there is nothing of interest to me."

"There is, I'm sure. I'll find it."

She nodded, "Whatever you wish, my lord." She began to walk again.

He pulled her back, "Not so quickly." He reached down and pulled both of her hands into his. "Don't say what you wish me to hear. Say what you are thinking."

"Why would I do that?" She asked innocently. 

He cursed under his breath but didn't let her see the way his jaw clenched. "It matters to me. Your thoughts, I mean."

She stared at their intertwined hands, "Even the unpleasant ones?"

"Especially the unpleasant ones."

It was a strange concept for her, but she nodded as her brain began to truly consider what he was asking for. 

He smiled in relief, still holding one hand and beginning to walk again. "Let us start with simple matters. Perhaps… your favorite novel?"

Her head snapped to him, "I don't… I…"

His thumb rubbed over her knuckles, "I know you have one. I've seen the way book pages soak you in like water."

The question had been a sensitive one. She shrugged in a fake nonchalant fashion and kept walking, "I don't have one."

He hummed lowly, a small warning. "Don't lie. Just say what it is."

"I… I don't remember the name of it," she finally admitted. 

He accepted that answer. "I see. What was it about?"

Her big eyes looked up at him, debating what to say. "It was… a fiction."

He smiled, "I see. There can be enjoyment in fictional novels, can't there?" He waited to say what else she would say. Each new piece of herself she revealed to him, he treasured like a precious stone.

"Well… it is the only one I've read, I'm afraid," she smiled weakly, eager to change the subject.

"The only?" He asked in pure shock. "The only one?"

She nodded, keeping in a certain side of herself. "It was left behind. Father has it."

"Ah," he said finally. 

…

That evening, he wrote to Lord Baratheon, urging him to send her favorite book. He was straight to the point, telling the man he could send the novel to earn Stark's forgiveness for avoiding the wedding.

…

A few weeks later, a letter arrived addressed to Lord Stark. He almost ripped it out of the maester's hand in concern when he saw the Baratheon sigil in the wax. It was a thick roll, only making his concern spike.

He pulled it open, revealing a few pages that fell from his hand. 

Book pages.

Ripped book pages. 

He picked up one with a shaking hand. He began to see red as he looked back up at the maester. "What is the meaning of this?"

The maester held out his hand, "Allow me to read this for you, my lord."

Cregan handed the letter to him as he began to gather the few book pages that were sent to him.

The maester's face turned white. "He dares to disrespect you."

"Do not tell me these are what I believe them to be," he growled lowly.

"I'm afraid they are."

Cregan's hand slammed the papers onto the desk in pure rage and stormed out of the room.

…

Cregan swung his sword with a fury. His sparring partner could hardly keep up, but he knew his Lord just needed to get out his anger.

His partner was grateful when Cregan's betrothed interrupted them.

"Cregan?"

Cregan faltered, freezing in place and turning his head to her. "Yes?" He asked with a surprisingly soft voice.

She wrung her hands nervously. "I… Forgive me. I shouldn't have interrupted."

He stood up tall, handing his sword off to his partner and waving him off. "No. Please. Tell me what you need."

She hummed and let out a deep breath. "I've been thinking."

He nodded, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Aye…"

"I'm ready to marry you."

He sucked in a sharp breath. "What?"

"I- I want to marry you, Cregan."

He saw the absolute nervousness that radiated through her frame to admit that to him.

He stepped to her, "You're sure?"

She nodded. "If you still want me."

He stepped further to her in urgency, "Of course, I do. Never think that I wouldn't."

She stared at him, now unsure of where to go from there.

Cregan smiled. "Shall I set a date for the wedding then?"

Her eyes lit up. "Would you?"

"I would. And I shall. We shall have it two weeks before Winter strikes. I will leave for the Wall not long after. Would that suffice?"

She looked down at her hands. 

"What?" He tilted his head down, hoping to get her to look at him. "Did you wish for after winter? That could be quite a while."

She had worked herself up just to admit wanting to marry him. How could he expect her to do more?

"Talk to me, pretty girl."

She'd never been called that before. It made something inside of her stir. 

"It's so far," she whispered.

He felt a chill down his spine at her small confession. He gulped as the anger left him completely. "Sooner then?"

"Sooner."

He nodded, biting his lower lip in deep thought. "Aye. Soon then."

A bright smile pulled at her lips. "Thank you, Cregan."

He grinned back. "Of course. Now, go on," he tutted playfully, "Your betrothed must finish his spar."

Red came to her cheeks, "Right. Right, of course. Excuse me, Lord Stark-"

"-Cregan," he quickly corrected.

"Cregan."

He watched her leave. There was a slight skip to her step now that he hadn't noticed about her before. 

Perhaps she was finding happiness in Winterfell.

…

The wedding was a large northern celebration. The bannermen and families came  from miles around to witness their Warden's wedding.

Everyone was too kind. It was beginning to worry her.

"Quite the feast, I'd say," Cregan smiled at her as the two sat at the high table. 

Her hands immediately reached for her chalice of wine.

And she didn't stop for the entire night.

…

"Let us retire," he suggested when she tried to refill her cup again. His hand reached out and gently placed it over hers. "It is getting late. And before you fret, the bedding ceremony will not happen. It is only you and I."

Her eyes softened in surprise, not expecting him to say that. "One more glass for courage?" She slurred slightly.

His brows ticked down for only a second before he composed himself. "Courage isn't needed for this. Are you truly this nervous?"

"I'm perfectly content," she huffed. 

The crease between his brows returned. That was uncharacteristic of her to speak in frustration. Had the wine affected her? "Then let us go, hmm?"

She nodded, setting her cup down. "Very well."

He stood, offering his hand out to her. She took it and stood, trying to hide the slight falter in her first step. She moved her hand up to his bicep, letting him lead her from the banquet hall.

Entering their chambers, she sat on the bed. "Will you have me on my back or shall you take me from behind?" She asked bluntly, no hint of embarrassment or hesitation to her.

Cregan hand on the doorknob faltered. He locked the door and turned to her with shock on his face, "What was that?"

"Which way do you fuck, Lord Stark?" She asked in the same tone.

He shook his head with an amused chuckle. He stepped to her, reaching down and pushing her chin up to look at him. "I will not be fucking you tonight." He watched her posture change, a relaxation coming to her. "Why would you ask something so crude? It's unlike you."

"You wanted me to speak my mind, and I have," She stated in frustration. 

"You certainly have," he commented. "But I have a feeling that the wine is twisting your words. Tell me why you indulged in so much wine tonight."

She shrugged, "Why do you care?"

He gently pulled her chin back up, "I care about you."

"There it is." Her nose twitched. "I don't know what to do when you say things like that."

He stood straight, "You didn't answer the question."

"Fine!" She stood up and stepped around him, "I drank so much because I have never known a man to be as kind as you and it frightens me."

"Frightens you? How so?" Cregan was beyond confused. He turned to watch her.

She stepped to the fireplace and buried her hands in her hair in frustration. "I've never wanted to speak my mind to anyone until I met you, and now I fear I'll say something I shouldn't and ruin it all. Do you know what that feels like? To know that one wrong word could send you back to…" Her voice faded off. 

"I don't. And neither do you, because regardless of your words, I'm not going to send you back there. You're a Stark. The Baratheons are only a name now- if you want them to be, that is. If you want to truly be a Stark in name and heart." He offered. His calculating eyes watched her closely now, frowning at the tugging of her hair.

"Even after I've indulged myself in wine and ruined our wedding to the point that you refuse to consummate the marriage with me?" She turned to him and only then did he see the glimmer of the tears that sat in her eyes. 

"You did not ruin anything. But I will not sleep with you as long as you are not fully aware of your actions."

"I am aware," she huffed.

"We shall see in the morning." The slightest amused smile come over him. "I promised to take you to bed one way or the other. Perhaps tonight, it is only to sleep and nothing more." He walked to her. "Turn around. Let me undo your laces, stubborn woman."

She did as he asked, pulling her hair over her shoulder. "Will I regret this tomorrow?"

"The marriage or this particular conversation?" He asked. "If it has to be one, I hope it is the latter. I personally enjoy the former."

She hummed, pulling her outer dress down once Cregan had untied it enough. Layer by layer, she threw each piece to the cloth chair not far from the fire. 

Cregan's careful hands untied each string they came across. 

Silence filled the room, and she broke it with a small sniffle. Her voice was much softer now, "Do you believe my father didn't want to be here? Is that something you believe?"

Of course, he believed it, but he wouldn't say it. "I'm not sure. Do you, sweet girl?"

She hummed, "I do."

That surprised him. "Ah. Do continue speaking your mind, please. Do not let me stop you."

"He has a particular hatred for women. I'm not sure where it started. When he had a firstborn daughter rather than son, my mother was fearful for the girl. I was second. He married us off without a second thought. Dare I admit to you that he signed me away to you without truly reading the document?"

Cregan placed his hands on her clothed hips and spun her to face him.

No wonder she came here so fearful. She was mistreated from the beginning. He stared into her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle. He reached up and brushed his fingers on her cheek. "How could a man ever hate you?" He asked with a barely heard voice.

Her heart jolted, "I have never felt love before. Is it supposed to feel this warm?"

Cregan let out a joyful laugh as he ran his hands through her hair. "I want to say yes, but you're near the fire. And the wine is coloring your cheeks. We shall revisit this when you are well. Let us get you to bed."

"Bed? Right." She pulled herself from him and moved to the bed. She tucked herself under the covers.

Cregan's smile stayed. "Are you warm enough for the night?"

"Yes, but… are you not staying?"

He shook his head. "I don't want you to wake in a fright if tonight's details blur in your mind. Waking beside me may be startling for you."

"No! I-" she looked around the room in thought. "I want you to stay. I want that."

His head tilted. "Alright. If you want this. But know that nothing will happen to you while I stay here tonight."

"I can live with that," she admitted as she laid on the bed completely.

Darkness filled the room with Cregan blew out the candles, and the bed dipped down as he laid on it. 

…

In the morning, she awoke with a groan. The sun was burning her eyes. 

"Ah, you're awake," Cregan's voice commented from across the room.

She sat up and rubbed at her eyes until they were raw, determined to get the feeling to fade. When she did, a headache began to erupt.

"Easy," he chided as he walked to her. He reached to the nightstand and held a cup out to her. "The maester made a tea to help with the pain."

She sipped it gratefully. "I had the strangest dream that I'm fearing is true," she said with a groggy voice.

He watched her with a glimmer in his eyes. His hand reached to her and smoothed her hair down.

She peered up at him. She wondered how someone could be so thoughtful.

"Tell me something," he said as sat down at her side. "If that's alright."

"Anything," she whispered. Her eyes flickered to his lips. 

"Is the warmth still there?" 

He watched her face began to near his. She placed her hand on his leg to help her lean over to him. "I believe I love you," she admitted gently.

He smiled and leaned the rest of the way to her. His lips kissed her softly and slowly. 

Before she could truly react, he pulled away again. The grin on his lips returned, as were his hands in her hair, "I was going to gift this to you yesterday, but I believe today is a better day for it."

"Oh," her shy demeanor returned and she set the cup down.

"Don't fret. You'll adore it. Or… I hope you do."

She watched him get up from the bed, beginning to dig though a drawer in his closet. 

He returned with a book in his hand. "It took some time, but I believe it was worth it."

She reached out and took it, examining the cover. She only stared at it for a moment before her eyes lit up. "Is this-?"

"Your favorite novel? It is." His head tilted back and forth, "Or, at least, I believe it is."

"This isn't the same copy as the one with my Father," she remarked.

"No, it's not. I tried to recover it but was unsuccessful. I hope this copy with be worthy of your happiness."

"Oh, Cregan," she mused. "It's… it is too much. I don't understand."

"It is a wedding gift. Do not think twice about it. You haven't the feignest idea of how far I would go to please you," he admitted.

"I've never had someone do something so selfless on my behalf." She hugged it to her chest, "Tell me how you managed it."

He smiled, content with the way she cherished the book. "I admit that I wrote a letter to your father, asking for the book. I was sent ripped pages in return-"

He faltered at the way her face fell.

"-But," he continued, "I sent the pages off to three well-read men and promised them anything to the man who found the novel it belonged to. It took a while, and I feared I would not have it in time, but alas, one of them found it. And here it is."

"What did he wish for?"

He frowned slightly, "Don't fret over that. Just know that it is all handled accordingly."

She pulled it from her chest to look at it again to guarantee that it was indeed real. "You are the most spectacular man I've met." She looked up at him. "I don't know what I have done to deserve you, but I shall spend my entire life thanking the gods for you."

"It is only a novel, my girl."

"It is much more than a novel."

"Then you'd hate to see what else I'd get you to only see a smile come to your lips."

She leaned over to him again as before, "May I kiss you?"

"Of course," he smiled. 

She grinned and pushed herself into his lap completely, pulling her body as close to his as she could, careful to not hit him with the book still in her hand. 

She finally connected their lips with a heavier intent than they had shared before.

He groaned against her and wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm certain," she panted against his lips, "I love you."

"My girl, I've loved you since the moment you arrived in Winterfell."

She pulled away from him completely. "W… What?"

"Since that day," he said as he brushed his thumb over her cheek. "I've been quite sure that I love you."

"You feel warmth when you are with me?"

"When I see you, I want to keep you beside me. I want to hold and kiss you until you're dizzy. I want to watch you sit and read until you become one with the sofa," he chuckled, "I want to see your joy as much as I can. I want you."

"You're unlike any man I know."

"That's alright. Isn't it?"

She chuckled as full relief flowed from her, as if only now accepting that she was safe here. "What a silly question, my lord."

He tilted his head playfully. "My lord?"

"It was my attempt at a jest," she admitted sheepishly. "Was it a poor one?"

"No," he countered. "I was just not expecting it from my meek wife. Perhaps she is not as meek as I once thought."

She laughed again, "Perhaps. We'll see, won't we?"

He kissed her cheek, "I cannot wait." He spoke in her ear, "But for now, be gone. You have a novel to read, don't you?"

Her eyes lit up and she clambered out of his lap. "I do! Oh, I do!"

Cregan watched the woman run to the cloth chair by the fireplace and sit, pulling her book open in a rush to absorb its words.

He chuckled and stood as he began to dress, "I'll fetch you for dinner. There's breakfast on the table from earlier. I expect you'll be content until then," he teased.

She looked up and nodded, "I will."

"Read closely. I expect to hear a summary at dinner of whatever chapters you consume."

She grinned from ear to ear as he left.

………………………………………………….

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver,

[caelivir]

synopsis. you’ve been deliberately dodging atsumu miya. he wants to know why.

pairing. atsumu miya x fem!reader | wc. 2.0k (it wasn’t even supposed to be this long) | genres. (implied) university au, tbh i don’t even know what this dynamic is, he calls us princess, reader’s kinda bad emotionally, rain confessions

notes. for my birthday (not gojo’s eff him (/j)) i decided why not take one of my favorite tropes of all time and pair it w the loml. you’re so welcome. this is very dialogue heavy, barely proofread, and a hot mess, but i hope you enjoy regardless.

"(y/n)." the very familiar, sultry yet aggravating voice says the moment you step out of the cafe.

"oh my god!" you jump, clutching a hand over your heart that skipped a beat. it's immediately followed with a glare towards atsumu. "what the fuck, miya? you don't just come up to people like that."

"sorry." atsumu apologizes but his nose scrunches at the word. "nah, not really. didn't know how else to get to ya."

"so you had to find me at my job?" you raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

he shrugs. "yer really not leavin' me with any other choice."

"what are you on about?" you roll your eyes as you take a sharp left, carefully exhaling out. the street is nearly deserted now that the sun sunk past the horizon, leaving only the street lights and the moon to illuminate what would be a pitch black scene. puddles of water are scattered along the walkways, remnants of the downpour that occurred earlier in the day. you had clocked out later than usual, and the next flash of rain is predicted to fall within the next few minutes. you want to get back to your dorm before the worst of it happens.

"ya know what i'm talking about." atsumu huffs. "yer clearly avoiding me."

your shoulders tense when he brings it up, and you pray that atsumu doesn't catch it. "i'm not." you lie, your heart speeding up.

"yer a shit liar. i hope ya know that." atsumu shuts you down right then and there. the fact he's able to makes you wince. that's one of the many bones you have to pick with him. he can always see right through you, and it allows him to get under your skin easily since he knows exactly what to say if he wants to get a reaction out of you.

it's because of that reason that you've been avoiding him. you know yourself well enough that if you were to stand face to face with atsumu miya as you are now, he'd figure out the secret that you've been hiding for two weeks.

atsumu presses his lips together, sighing once he realizes that all he'll get from you from this point forward is silence, but he tries his luck anywayy. "can we talk?"

you let his question fizzle out in the air, continuing down the sidewalk as atsumu follows by your side. the first drops of drizzle fall onto your hand and cheek. atsumu feels them too.

"look, it's gonna rain soon. could ya at least let me take ya home? yer gonna get soaked." atsumu gently reaches out for your hand. the sudden contact and its spark of heat makes you jump. instinctively, you yank your hand away from him. your widened eyes snap towards him, and shame washes over you. maybe the street lights are playing tricks on you, but you swear there's a flicker of hurt in his gaze. you turn away from him because you can't bear the sight of it.

"are ya mad at me? did i do somethin' to upset ya?" atsumu continues.

no, you answer in your head. you can't trust yourself to say it out loud without betraying anything else. it's not that.

"(y/n), please. talk to me." atsumu pleads. you don't think you've ever heard such desperation in his voice before. you've never seen him so raw. it's almost enough to break you, but you refuse to let go the threads of your resolve. the rain is picking up; it's cold as it soaks the threads of your clothes.

"princess." atsumu throws in as a last ditch effort. you know it is because it's the one nickname that gets you riled up the most. it sparks a reaction that atsumu knows will get you talking, but unbeknownst to him it's not for the reason he expects. he wants you to snap with anger, but all your heart does is ache. all it does is melt you into putty in his hands.

"don't call me that." you finally come to a stop, turning so that you can face him, defeat in your gaze. atsumu's blond locks are beginning to lose volume; they stick to his forehead as droplets continue to fall. his hoodie is littered with small, dark stains, a physical consequence of the rain.

"oh now i got yer attention." atsumu scoffs, poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek.

"miya." you warn, voice shaking. he ignores it.

"yer not being yerself, and ya haven't been for the last two weeks." he tells you as if you don't already recognize it yourself. "what's goin' on with ya?"

"nothing!" you deny. "i'm fine!"

atsumu rolls his eyes. "cut the crap, princess."

"seriously, stop calling me that!" you spit back at him.

you're shivering. you can't tell if it's because of your cold, wet clothes or your frustration that keeps reaching new levels. you can sense it; you can sense that your heart is about to claw itself out of chest and dump itself onto the feet of atsumu miya. your hand fists the fabric of your soaked shirt as if to keep it in.

"then tell me what's wrong!" the blond in front of you demands, running a hand through his hair. his voice projects over the brutal force of the rain.

you grimace. that's the one thing you can't do, especially since it involves him. you bite your tongue, hiding your face so that atsumu doesn't see the glassiness of your eyes. "miya... please drop it." you ask him pathetically.

"why?" he pries. this is the other issue with him. he's so damn stubborn to the point that it's infuriating. atsumu miya never backs down until he gets what he wants.

"because it's you!" the first wave of tears break free. they cascade down your cheeks, mixing in the stream of rain on your cheeks; all while your hand remains pointed at atsumu. "because i fell for you!"

atsumu shuts his mouth, going completely silent. you shake your head, laughing bitterly. "i bet you didn't expect that, did you? believe me, i didn't either. day in and day out all we've ever done was argue so i don't know how this happened. i don't know why i have these feelings for you."

wiping your face is a futile attempt yet you still do it anyway. a sob gets caught in your throat, and you choke on it. "i can't stop thinking about you. i can't be near you without my heart attempting to leap out of chest. and so yeah, i've been avoiding you miya, and it's because you've made me so damn weak."

your stare finds atsumu's. you can't get a read on him, but you don't have to second guess that he can see the pain swirling in your eyes. it's so humiliating that even now the first thing that crosses your mind is how good he looks even as you feel your heart being torn apart. his hair is completely stuck to his forehead. his blond ends that are soaked through and through drip their excess water onto his face. you want nothing more than to brush them out of his line of sight, but you can't. you fight that desire by balling up your fists.

"so please just leave me alone. stop trying to find me because i can't take this anymore." you beg through hiccups.

you wait for a response. you wait to see if atsumu will kick your heart aside. in an even better scenario, which is far from likely, he accepts it. you'll take either or.

but he does neither, and that's fine too. you leave atsumu by himself on the sidewalk, and your lack of presence pulls him out of his trance. he jogs to catch up to you, reaching from behind to clasp your hand in his.

"miya, let go-"

"no." he says firmly, a newfound fire burning behind his eyes, one that exceeds the one you feel on your hand. the sight makes you gulp. "ya can't just confess yer feelings for me and leave."

you chuckle weakly, trying to pull yourself free from his grasp. "i think i can."

"no, ya can't. ya didn't even give me a chance to say anythin'." atsumu argues. he doesn't relinquish the hold he has on you.

"what more do you have to say? you don't feel the same, and that's fine-"

"could ya stop assuming things?! i never even said that." atsumu squeezes your hand ever so lightly in frustration. "and by the way, i'm not gonna leave ya alone. i'll follow ya to the edge of the earth if i have to."

you're still crying at this point, and atsumu's words are only making you more upset. "why?! why are you so fixated on me?! why can't you just-"

"because i'm in love with ya!"

in that moment, you swear the rain stops in its place, suspended in the air. surely, you must've been hearing things wrong. atsumu miya, the guy who has everyone dancing to the tune of his hand, is- no that doesn't even sound right. how could he possibly-

"god, i've been in love with ya for so long." atsumu laughs, like it's a relief to finally get it off his chest. "but ya nearly ripped my heart to shreds over these past two weeks."

atsumu squeezes your hand before letting it fall to your side. his own flex by his side as if to hold himself back. "(y/n), ya can insult me to yer heart's content if that's what makes ya happy, but don't dodge me like i'm the damn plague. i hate it. i really do."

atsumu picks up his tear-filled eyes; it makes your own fall even faster because you realize that this hurts him. you want to apologize, but the words are backed up in your throat. your cries steal away your ability to speak.

so you pull him in, yanking him by the drenched fabric of his hoodie and closing the distance between you two. your lips crash onto his, praying that this action is enough for him to understand. it takes a moment for atsumu to react, he's unmoving against you, and once he realizes what's happening, he relaxes. his hands fly to your neck, resting one on either side as he kisses you back.

it's carnivorous. he kisses you like he's been deprived of you. you feel how badly atsumu's been wanting this, how long he's been waiting for this day. you can barely keep up with his hunger. it's hot enough to overpower the chill that comes with the rain beating down on both of you. you'd kiss him forever if you could, but your lungs are begging for air.

when you pull away, atsumu's eyes reveal that he's in a daze, a happy one, like he just came back from soaring through the clouds. his damp hair presses onto your forehead as you both catch your breaths.

he pulls back. atsumu wears a soft grin as he admires you, even though you probably look like a wet dog. one of his hands find their way up to your cheek. you look at him expectantly. "(y/n), i want all of ya. i want yer stubborn ass attitude and yer insults. i want ya to be the only person who can bring me back down to earth. i want yer smiles and all yer laughs. i want to continue lovin' ya." he professes with complete certainty. his flowery words make you beam so brightly that it makes your cheeks hurt.

"i'll give you all of that and more." you swear. "but miya, i need you to kiss me again."

"oh? it seems like i got myself a needy princess." atsumu smirks, but he's already leaning in.

"shut up."

"gladly." atsumu agrees, pressing his lips to yours, smiles on both your faces.

you catch the flu the day after, and so does atsumu. but man, it is so, so worth it.