#i feel like throwing up and that scares me

[solxamber]

"Let's Break Up" with: Vice-Housewardens + Ruggie

more hurt/comfort for the soul

Part 1 with Housewardens

Trey Clover

The words slip out in frustration, sharp and final.

"Let's break up."

The mug in Trey's hand shatters.

The crack of breaking porcelain jolts you, the sound cutting through the tense silence like a gunshot. Shards spill across the floor, tea splattering everywhere, but Trey doesn’t even flinch.

Before you can react, before you can take back what you didn’t mean, he’s there—crossing the space between you in an instant, his uninjured hand cupping your face, warm and trembling.

His chest rises and falls too fast, his breath unsteady. His eyes search yours desperately, raw emotion flickering in their depths. “Please,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Reconsider.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. His grip tightens, just enough to ground himself, just enough to keep you here, with him.

“Take it back,” he pleads, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. “Tell me you didn’t mean it.”

Your heart is racing, but all you can focus on is his other hand—the one that had been holding the mug. Blood is pooling in the creases of his palm, little crimson beads welling up where porcelain had cut into his skin.

You inhale sharply. “Trey, your hand—”

“I don’t care,” he says, and he means it. He would let it bleed if it meant keeping you here for another second. “Please.”

Something inside you cracks.

Your anger, your frustration—none of it matters when you see the way he’s looking at you. When you hear the break in his voice. When you realize how much he loves you, enough to throw away every bit of his usual calm, enough to bleed for you if it meant making you stay.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice tight with guilt. “I didn’t mean it. I—of course I didn’t mean it.”

His shoulders sag with relief, a shaky breath escaping him as he presses his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, pulling his injured hand between both of yours. “We need to take care of this.”

He exhales, his body finally catching up to the pain now that the panic has subsided. “Yeah,” he says, but instead of letting you go, he pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a firm, desperate embrace.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmurs against your hair. “I didn’t mean for things to get like this. I should’ve listened more. I should’ve—” He swallows hard. “I’ll do better.”

You squeeze him back just as tightly, breathing in the scent of him, the warmth of him, the realness of him. “We both will.”

For a long moment, neither of you move, holding onto each other as if letting go would undo everything. Eventually, you tug him toward the sink, already fussing over his hand.

Trey watches you, still catching his breath, still feeling the lingering ghost of fear in his chest. But for now, you’re here. He's still yours.

And that’s all that matters.

Ruggie Bucchi

The words slip out before you can stop them.

“Let’s break up.”

Ruggie freezes.

For a second, there’s just silence—heavy, suffocating. Then he lets out a laugh, but it’s wrong. It’s forced, brittle, a sound that cracks at the edges.

“That’s a joke, right?” His voice is light, playful—too playful—but his hands reach for yours, gripping them tight. “Your sense of humor sucks.”

His fingers are trembling.

You feel something deep in your chest twist at the sight of him, trying so hard to brush it off, to act like you didn’t just rip the ground out from under him. His tail is stiff behind him, his ears twitching with every unsteady breath he takes.

You want to say something, to take it back, but the argument still lingers in the air between you—frustration, hurt feelings, words neither of you should have said.

He swallows hard, staring at you like he’s willing you to laugh, to say just kidding, to let him believe this isn’t real.

But you don’t.

And in that moment, something in him wavers. His ears droop, and his fingers tighten around yours like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on.

His voice is smaller this time.

“…You didn’t mean that.”

You inhale shakily, stepping closer.

“No,” you whisper. “I didn’t.”

He exhales a shaky breath, and before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost knocks the air from your lungs.

His face presses into your neck, his whole body going slack as if he’s only now realizing just how much those words had broken him. You can feel his breath against your skin, uneven, like he’s trying to keep it together, like he doesn’t want you to see how much it hurt.

You hold him just as tightly, one hand coming up to thread through his hair, the other rubbing circles into his back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against you. “I shouldn’t’ve—I didn’t mean—”

You shake your head, cutting him off gently. “Me too.”

His arms tighten around you.

For a long time, neither of you speak. He just holds you, pressed close, his tail weakly brushing against your hand in a silent plea—stay.

When he finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes are misty, his lip caught between his teeth.

“Don’t say that again.” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not even as a joke."

You cup his cheek, wiping away the dampness there with your thumb.

“I won’t.”

Ruggie exhales shakily, leans into your touch, and this time, when he lets out a breathy laugh, it’s real.

“…Guess we both suck at fighting, huh?”

You let out a weak chuckle, pressing your forehead against his.

“Yeah.”

And for now, that’s enough.

Jade Leech

The words slip out before you can stop them.

"Let’s break up."

Silence.

Jade just stares at you. The ever-present amusement in his eyes is gone, leaving them bare, unguarded in a way that makes your stomach twist. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t scoff, doesn’t even tilt his head in that condescending way he does when he’s about to say something cutting.

He just looks at you, frozen in place.

You don’t know what you expected—maybe anger, maybe something cruel and sharp to push you further away, to give you an excuse to slam the door behind you. Instead, there’s nothing. Just the way his eyes widen ever so slightly, like you’ve said something impossible.

Your chest feels tight, but you force yourself to turn away. You don’t get more than two steps before a hand grips your wrist—firm, but not forceful. You barely have time to react before he pulls you back, arms wrapping around you from behind, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

"Don’t go."

It’s a whisper, but it shatters something inside you.

You tense, your breath catching in your throat. And then—you feel it. The faintest, almost imperceptible wetness against your skin.

Jade is crying.

A cold wave of fear crashes over you. You’ve never seen him cry before, never even imagined him capable of it. He’s always so composed, always in control, always one step ahead. But right now, he’s shaking.

Your frustration dissolves instantly, replaced by something heavier, something unbearable.

“I didn’t mean it,” you say, barely able to get the words out. “Jade, I didn’t mean it.”

His grip tightens around you, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. His breath is uneven, ragged in a way that makes your heart ache.

You turn in his hold, reaching to cradle his face in your hands. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, his expression raw in a way you’ve never seen before. He looks lost.

“I—” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, trying to compose himself. “I didn’t think… you would ever say that.”

You shake your head, your own eyes stinging. “I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”

For a moment, he just stares at you. Then, with a quiet, shaky exhale, he presses his forehead against yours.

“I pushed you too far,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

You close your eyes, fingers curling into his shirt. “And I let it get to me.”

Neither of you say anything after that. You just stand there, holding each other, breathing in the quiet between you. The storm of emotions still lingers, but it’s softer now, no longer a force trying to tear you apart.

Jade exhales slowly, his hands settling on your back, grounding himself. When he finally speaks again, his voice is steadier—but there’s still a fragility to it, something uncertain.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispers.

You nod, wiping a stray tear from his cheek with your thumb.

“I won’t,” you promise.

He doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

Jamil Viper

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. Sharp, impulsive, thrown like a dagger meant to wound.

“Let’s break up.”

The room falls into an unnatural silence.

Jamil stands frozen, his expression unreadable—no anger, no sadness, just… blank. It’s unsettling. You almost wish he’d lash out, argue, anything but this suffocating stillness.

Then, he laughs.

It’s soft, bitter—nothing like the amused chuckles you love hearing from him.

“…Okay,” he says.

Two syllables. Two syllables and he sounds so distant, so removed, like he’s already walking away from this, from you. Like it doesn’t matter.

But it does. It does, you can see it in the way his hands are clenched into fists at his sides, in the way his breath shudders ever so slightly, like he’s forcing himself to stay composed. Like he’s holding himself together by sheer will alone.

“If that’s how little this meant to you…” His voice is calm, even. A practiced neutrality. But you hear it—the smallest break, a splinter of something raw and aching beneath the surface. “Then fine.”

And he turns away.

And you see them.

The tears in his eyes.

He turns too late to hide them from you, but he still tries, tilting his head just enough that you almost don’t catch it. The effort, the control, the desperate attempt to maintain his composure even now.

Your stomach twists violently.

“Jamil.”

You reach for him without thinking, grabbing his wrist, tugging him back. His skin is warm beneath your touch, but his body is stiff, unyielding. He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at you.

You don’t let go.

“I didn’t mean it,” you breathe, voice shaking. You’re already shifting closer, hands moving from his wrist to his arm, to his shoulders, to his face, desperate to get him to look at you. “I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

His breath catches. He still won’t meet your eyes.

“You can’t just say things like that.” His voice cracks, and your heart breaks into pieces. “You can’t.”

The weight of what you’ve done crashes down on you. You had wanted to make him feel the frustration, the anger, the helplessness you’d felt in the heat of the argument. But not like this. Never like this.

His shoulders shake.

“Jamil…” Your hands cradle his face now, fingers trembling as you wipe at the tears streaking his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, he stays frozen beneath your touch.

Then, with a shuddering breath, he moves.

His hands grasp at the fabric of your clothes, clutching onto you as if you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough. The tension that’s held him rigid for so long crumbles, and he presses his forehead against your shoulder, his entire body trembling.

“I don’t want to fight,” he whispers. “I don’t—” A breath, uneven, desperate. “I don’t want to lose you.”

The sheer vulnerability in his voice threatens to unravel you.

“You won’t,” you swear, voice raw with emotion. “You won’t.”

He lets out something like a laugh, but it’s broken, strained, wet with the remnants of unshed tears.

Then, his legs give out beneath him, and you both sink to the floor, tangled together, arms wrapped around each other like lifelines.

Neither of you let go.

Rook Hunt

"Let's break up."

The words barely leave your lips before Rook is on you.

One second, he’s standing before you, the next, he’s grasping at your arms, pulling you close, desperate. His hands tremble as they cradle your face, and his voice—normally so composed, so theatrical in its beauty—is breaking apart at the seams.

"Non, mon amour, non, non, non—tu ne peux pas—please, don’t do this." His words spill out in frantic, overlapping murmurs, a tangled mix of languages, as if one language alone isn’t enough to hold the depth of his despair. His breath is uneven, his hold almost frantic. "Je t’en supplie, tell me this is but a cruel jest. Tell me you do not mean it!"

You’ve never seen Rook like this before.

You've seen Rook in many states—amused, playful, reverent, even solemn—but never like this. Never so utterly shattered. His eyes, always gleaming with some unreadable mystery, are bare now, stripped of all their usual playfulness. He looks at you like a man standing at the gallows, waiting for the final blow.

His hands tighten around you, as though afraid you might slip through his fingers. "I will fix it, I swear it! Whatever it is, however I have failed you, tell me, je t'en prie! Let me make amends!" His voice hitches, and when you finally dare to meet his gaze, your breath catches.

His eyes—so often gleaming with mirth, with mischief—are glossy with unshed tears.

Your heart clenches. "Rook—"

His hands cradle your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your skin with a reverence that makes your chest ache. "I love you, mon cœur. I love you more than words can weave, more than poetry can hold." His voice breaks—an unsteady breath, barely a whisper—"Ne me quitte pas."

You reach up, pressing your hands over his, steadying them. "Rook, stop."

He freezes, breath caught in his throat, as if waiting for a verdict that will decide his fate.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I didn’t mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then, a sharp inhale—a breath of air after near drowning—and suddenly, he’s crushing you against him, arms winding around you with near bruising force.

"Mon dieu," he breathes, his face buried in your shoulder. "Merci, merci, merci—" His grip tightens, as if he still can’t quite believe it, like he needs to feel every inch of you to be sure you’re still here.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against him, voice thick with emotion.

"Non, mon amour, I'm sorry." He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, shaking his head, remorse etched deep into every line of his face. “I have hurt you, haven’t I? Tell me how, tell me where, and I shall do better, I promise.”

You nod, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. "Then we’ll both do better."

A breathless laugh escapes him, half relief, half lingering disbelief. And then he's pulling you close again, arms firm around you, his lips pressing against your temple, your hair, your hands—anywhere he can reach as if to assure himself you won’t slip away.

And you let him, because neither of you are willing to let go.

Lilia Vanrouge

"Let's break up."

At first, Lilia laughs.

It’s soft, breathy—almost amused. “Oh, that’s quite the joke,” he chuckles, his usual teasing lilt in place. “You nearly had me for a second.”

You don’t respond. You just look at him, expression unreadable, arms crossed, waiting.

His smile twitches, just barely, but you catch it. His amusement fades as realization sinks in, and something shifts in his eyes.

“…Oh.”

The room feels quieter now, despite the argument that had sparked this in the first place. He tilts his head, as if examining you from another angle will make this not real. Then, slowly, he reaches for you, his movements careful in a way that is deeply uncharacteristic of him. His fingers hover near your face, uncertain, hesitant—like he’s waiting for you to flinch, waiting for you to pull away.

"Come now," he says, softer now, a touch strained. "Don't do this. You don't mean it."

Your lips press into a thin line. You’re still frustrated, still convinced you have a point, but the sight of him—his sharp, knowing eyes turning glassy, the slight tremor in his breath—makes something uneasy settle in your chest.

"Lilia," you say, but you don’t get to finish.

Because he pulls you in.

His grip isn’t suffocating, but it’s desperate. One hand cradles the back of your head while the other clings to your waist, firm and pleading. His breathing is uneven, his usually composed demeanor cracking at the edges.

"I—" He stops, swallows, tries again. "I am sorry. I never meant to make you feel like this." His voice is quiet now, almost fragile. "If you truly wish to leave, I won’t stop you. But please, tell me—tell me this was only spoken in anger."

You exhale, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders, feeling the tension in them. His heartbeat is rapid against your own, and for the first time since knowing him, you think he’s the one who might fall apart first.

"It was," you say at last, barely steady. "I didn’t mean it."

Lilia lets out a breath that shakes, just slightly, before pulling you in impossibly closer. His fingers curl against you, grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he steadies himself.

He exhales a weak laugh against your skin, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You mustn’t be so cruel to this old heart of mine,” he murmurs, his voice uneven with something too raw to name. “One day, you’ll be the death of me.”

His hold lingers—just a little longer than necessary—before he pulls back, just enough to look you in the eyes. There’s something softer in his gaze now, something fragile and achingly sincere.

"Promise me," he says, and though his voice is gentle, it leaves no room for refusal. "Never again."

You huff softly. "Alright."

Lilia presses his forehead to yours, exhaling slowly. “And I’m sorry for pushing you to that point.” His voice is quieter now, reverent. “I love you.”

You nod, your grip tightening around him. “I love you too.”

Lilia hums, gently swaying as he holds you. “Then let’s stay like this a little longer, hm?”

And you do. You stay, wrapped in his arms, letting the warmth of his embrace soothe the lingering ache.

Masterlist

[tiramissyoucake]

mama more sinister mark smut pls 🤤🍽️

Sighs and puts on my apron and shamefully goes to the kitchen. Time to burn this shit down again.

Cw: sinister Mark is his own warning atp, fem reader, riding to face down ass up, dub-con? Mark gets to bust inside, use of 'bitch', 'whore', 'slut', dirty talk?

"Faster." Mark demanded, one hand behind his head and the other on your thigh, you've been riding his dick ever since he came back and no matter what pace you went at, he wasn't satisfied. "I said, faster." His hand slapped your thigh, eliciting a pained noise from you.

The slap wouldn't have hurt if your thighs didn't burn from trying to ride him the way he wanted, no matter how fast or slow you went— it was always the same demand. More. More. More. Even as your cunt welcomed his cock with every bounce, every lift and drop of your hips, your body was tired from accommodating him.

"Stay with me, slut." He grinned, finding pleasure in the discomforted expression on your face. "You don't wanna make me feel good?" He coaxed with a buck of his hips, grunting. "C'mon, bitch, make me cum."

You shook your head, hands settling on his chest. "Can't— Mark..! It hurts..!" Your bouncing became less enthusiastic, exhaustedly trying to lift your hips off of his dick, your inner thighs felt too sticky from both sweat and your own pussy drooling at the feeling of his cock.

He rolled his eyes with a groan, sitting up. "gotta do everything myself." He shoved you off of his dick and himself fully, landing on your back he didn't give you a second to sit up. "Ass up, now." He manhandled you, you could only let out grunts and pleas for him to wait but he wouldn't listen.

Sitting up on his knees with your ass to his hips, he shoved your head down into the sheets. "Let me show you how to fuck right, since you're too fucking dumb to follow instructions." He spat with a smile, repositioning his cock back inside you easily thanks to your efforts from riding him, you gasped at the intrusion.

Mark wasted no time, one hand on your head and his other hand grabbed onto your ass, fingers digging into the flesh as he hissed and thrusted wildly, skin slapping against yours in a pace that was quicker than anything your thighs could keep up with. "Yes. Fuck yes. Just like that..." he huffed, licking his lips

The new angle let his cock hit every spot just right, your hands clutching the sheets as you whimpered and moaned into them, stuttered and broken moans spilling from your lips. "M-Mark..! Slow- slow..!! I can't- oooh, t-too mu— UCH?!" Your tone jolted as his hand spanked you, his dick's pistoning uninterrupted.

"Did I not teach you- mmmh..! To be a good whore and take my cock?" He panted, growling through gritted teeth as he leaned further down to degrade you further. "You were made for this."

You couldn't focus on whatever he was saying, not when your body was jolting back and forth with the force of his hips plapping against yours, he loved when you were like this; cockdumb and compliant. "take it, bitch. Mmf! take all of it."

Even when your own orgasm would wash over you, you learned to brace yourself because he wouldn't slow down, if anything your pussy sucking his dick in further made him go faster, throwing your safety out the window as he'd grab your hips and fuck into you like you'd disappear in the next 10 minutes.

"Yes, fuckfuckfuck— 'm gonna cum, you better take it, whore. 'M gonna be so mad at you if you don't~" the playful threat still managed to scare you as you tried to focus on reality through the discomfort of too much pleasure boiling between your legs, propping your ass up on his lap he gave a few more short thrusts before grunting and spilling his cum as deep as he could inside you.

Mark glares down at you with so many emotions, frustration, desire, hunger, all of these were his odd version of love. He nestles his hips deeper against yours to make sure his cum was fully situated inside you. "Feel that? See how good it feels when you take it like a good bitch?"

Every pump from his cock only invoked a sensitive throb from your sopping wet pussy, you were unsure if your body went haywire due to his demands and wanted more or if this throbbing was a sign you'd pass out.

[baby-yongbok]

Wouldn’t Dream of It

Hwang Hyunjin x Afab!Reader

⤷ Smut - the cute kind ⤷ Hyunjin devours you with devotion, desire, and the promise to never let you fall. ⤷ Content warning - oral (f. rec.) ⤷ WC - 1.2k ✧ Masterlist ✧

It's some ridiculous hour of the night when you and Hyunjin stumble into your shared apartment attached to each other at every point you can manage with your clothes on.

His lips are on yours, your hands are grabbing at the fabric hanging from his frame while his hands knead the soft flesh of your ass. 

He kicks the door shut and it slams with a rattle that startles you so badly that you break the kiss just to laugh. He laughs too and the sound is what makes you feel like you're actually home. 

“You knew I'd slam it.” He kisses your cheek then trails down your jaw.

“You know I scare easily.” You run your hand over his buzz cut and down the back of his neck. 

“Poor baby.” He teases then bends to lift you, wrapping your legs around his waist and laughing again when you squeal. 

“Hyunjin!” You laugh, holding on in fear that he'll drop you. He carries you a few steps to the kitchen counter. 

“I've never dropped you, baby.” He kisses your nose and then your lips, mumbling against them, “And I never will.” He kisses your chin then goes back over your jaw and down your neck. 

“How do you know?” You tease, your breathing picks up and your hands wander over his strong shoulders. You wish for a second that you had him naked right now so you could really feel him.

“Cause,” He sucks a hickey into the skin right above your collarbone. “I never wanna let you down.” His hands sneak under your shirt, pawing at your bare waist. “I never wanna let you go.” He whispers, sliding the fabric up just a bit. 

“Never?” You're breathless, watching him mark those very words into your skin. The color rises a deep red and he kisses over it. 

“I wouldn't dream of it” He looks up at you, brown eyes on yours. “Lift up” You do as he asks and he hooks his fingers into your sweats and pulls them down then off once you settle again. 

Hyunjin takes a handful of your thigh and practically bites back a moan at the feeling. Your hands go to his chest, feeling the muscle over his shirt and tugging a bit before you look up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Use your words, hun.”

“Take it off, please.” You bat your pretty lashes and he obeys like he's under a spell. He pulls off his shirt and throws it into the growing pile of clothes.

“Go ahead.” He takes your wrists and brings your hands back to his chest. 

You run your hands over him again, humming a soft moan at the bare feel of him.

He busies his hands too, feeling up your thighs until his fingers are surfing the hem of your panties. Hyunjin leans back in, catching your lips in another kiss that makes you dizzy. 

His tongue slips over yours and you exchange moans. Your hands go lower and lower and lower until your fingers are hooking into the waistband of his jeans. 

You unbutton them easily then stick your hands in the sides to grab his ass and pull him closer to you. He moans, moving his hands under your knees to pull you to the edge of the counter.

Your nails dig into him just enough to make him moan. You can feel his cock straining in the fabric and you're sure that it's leaking. 

Hyunjin moves one of his hands to ghost over the damp gusset of your panties. The pads of his fingers skim over the fabric and then return with a firmer touch. Your bottom lip is between his teeth and you moan. 

He lets your lips go and plants another kiss and then another and another, breaking up your moans while his fingers rub circles over your clothed clit. 

“Kissing me made you this wet?” He whispers against your lips and you nod, opening your mouth to answer but another moan takes the place of your words, your thoughts are wiped in real time. 

“Can I taste it?” He pulls back a bit to look into your eyes. “Can I taste you, baby.”

“Please.” Your breathless reply makes him smile. It's that cute smile that makes him look innocent even when his finger is hooking into the gusset of your panties to pull it to the side and he's kneeling on the cool kitchen tile before you, level with your aroused cunt.

“Always so pretty.” He mumbles, kissing your inner thighs, trailing up and down and sucking and nibbling marks. “Always so so pretty.” He nearly moans at the last word, his breath fans over where you need him most and then he's there. 

Hyunjin’s tongue dips up and slowly swipes up your folds. You both moan. He does it again and again and again and then he switches up, targeting your clit with a flat lick that ends with the tip of his tongue circling and teasing your sensitive bud.

Your hand is on his head and for a moment you miss his hair, you miss holding onto him and lacing your fingers through it in times like these. For the times that he makes you feel so good that you swear your spinning in circles, unsteady and slowly tipping over. 

As if he sensed it, Hyunjin brings a hand up to hold yours. Lacing your fingers while he continues his sensual assault on your pussy. 

“Suck on my clit, please.” He moans, complying in an instant and you lose it, squeezing his hand while your free hand pushes him further into you. Hyunjin groans, lapping at you like a thirsty puppy. Like you're the last and only thing he'll ever taste. 

“Close.” You whimper and he hums, sucking on your cunt then alternating between shallow tongue fucking and long flat licks. He goes back to your clit as the hold snaps, the dam breaks and you're cumming on his face with a loud drawn out cry of his name and a string of curses. 

“Fuck,” He pulls back, spitting on your pussy and rubbing over the flesh in those perfect circles you love. He draws out your orgasm, prolonging it for every second you can manage until there's no air left in your lungs. 

“Beautiful.” He stands, squeezes your hand and kisses your parted lips. You kiss him back, slow and fucked out but you manage. “That was a good one, huh?” He gives your cunt a light spank, a teasing tap and you jolt. He laughs.

“Hyune,” You warn with a lazy glare. 

“Shh, shh, just taste yourself, baby” His lips are on yours again, rougher and deeper. You can taste your cunt on his tongue, the taste he'd say is sweeter than honey. You suck on his tongue and Hyunjin moans, furrowing his brows. “Baby…”

He takes both hands and brings them to your hips. “Hold on.” And then he's pulling you closer to lift you, making you squeal again and wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. 

“I warned you this time!”

“Hyunjinnn-ahhhhh!” He laughs louder, his head dipping back just for a second and he holds you tighter. 

“I want you on our bed, is that a crime? Hm?” He starts towards the bedroom and you pout, hugging onto him.

“Do not drop me.” You grumble and he tsks. 

“Wouldn't dream of it.” He kicks the door open and drops you onto the bed, you squeak, clearly surprised and he chuckles. 

“That doesn't count.”

“Hyunjin” You warn, a small smile on your lips and he laughs.

“It doesn't!”

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[merakiui]

OTL I can't stop thinking about being too pregnant to reach down to masturbate but being really horny so you need to beg your captor (Floyd, Jade, or Azul) to help you

AAAAAA YES OMG,,, is it really worth it to seek out your captor for something like that? But you’re so unbelievably horny and sensitive, and you can’t reach between your legs to solve the problem because of how embarrassingly gravid you’ve become,, it’s too much work and effort to rub yourself against the pillows, and even the soft fabric of your blouse brushing against your braless nipples has you growing hot. It doesn’t help that this bed smells like him and if you close your eyes he’s all you can picture. >_< you’re so frustrated that it actually prompts angry tears that cling to your lashes and slip down your cheeks in hot streams. As soon as he steps into the room and sees the state you’re in, he’s immediately concerned.

Azul is at your side in an instant, fretting over you like he often does. “My dear, is everything okay? Do you feel sick? What’s the matter? You can tell me,” he babbles, reaching to dry your tears. For once you don’t have the energy to smack his arm away, so he cradles your face and swipes your tears away. He’s become accustomed to your mood swings since you first started showing. This pregnancy has been an…experience for both of you, to put it gently. ;;;

You sink against the pillows in a childish huff, your cheeks puffed out. Azul has to tamp down the fond smile that threatens to break out on his face. You’re so precious and you don’t even realize it.

“I hate you,” you cry, spreading your legs for him to see the wetness soaking through your panties, and immediately he knows you don’t mean it. “It’s all your fault. Take responsibility.”

It takes him a second to process your request, but he’s shrugging his jacket off and climbing into bed with you. Sympathy softens his face. “Oh, darling, were you suffering like this all day? I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier to help you, but I’m here now.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, two fingers pressing against your clothed cunt, while the other comes to rest upon your bump. “You’ll feel better soon.”

Annoyingly enough, he’s right. You hate that.

- - -

Floyd floats into the room with a tray piled high with brunch. He cooks in excess to compete with your ravenous appetite, a firm believer that you should always eat your fill—even more so now that you’re pregnant. You were scared of him in the beginning, but he’s proven to be so good at melting down the vitriol in your scowl, the tension in your body, that now you just sulk. He speaks to you and the baby so sweetly, so sometimes you wonder why you’re even fighting him most days.

You have good and bad days, each punctuated with moments of what Floyd has taken to calling “the shallows” and “the sea trenches.” Today errs on the side of the latter, deep and dark and cold. You’ve tossed all the pillows on the floor in your tantrum and now you lay on your back, arms and legs spread out like a (very pregnant) sea star.

Floyd sets the tray down and peers at you from the end of the bed. His expression is painfully neutral. Last time you threw a fit and he smiled at you, and you proceeded to throw an even bigger fit over that. So now he’s learned to take everything in patient, careful strides. He notices your miserable expression and waits for the accompanying complaint.

“This body is the worst,” you spit after a bottomless silence.

“Why do ya say that?” he asks, slinking over to the bedside. He lowers to kneel there, resting his hand just close enough. A supportive offering. You surprise him when your fingers curl around his and hold tight. Two-toned eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Because,” you carry on, drawing out that word in a whine.

“Because…?” he prompts.

“Because it gets like this all the time and I can’t do anything about it because this dumb bump gets in the way of everything!”

At first, he’s not sure what you mean by that. But then you’re pulling on his arm, and he rises to his feet to behold you, warm with want and arousal, and suddenly he can’t stop the slimy smile from spreading.

“Shrimpy’s so pretty. Nothin’ dumb or terrible about ya.”

All you can manage is a feeble scoff. “Just…make it go away.”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

- - -

There’s nothing worse than asking Jade Leech for help because he knows how to make even the simplest of questions feel so burdensome. You think you’d rather shrivel up and disappear before you willingly ask him for his assistance. So you spend half your day ignoring the itch, attempting to smother it with boring thoughts, but there’s a very obvious wetness between your thighs and it’s becoming unbearable. You want to orgasm and then nap the rest of this funky mood off. >:/

So you’re horrified when you find Jade in the doorway, watching you struggle to ride the sheets and pillows. Immediately you feel pathetic and you snap at him to get out, to go away, to die ten times.

“Is that really what you want?” he asks, his voice a soft, unbothered curl. You can hear the mischief that’s undoubtedly brightening his eyes. “Will that make you happy?”

What really chews at you is that he knows. He always knows, but he never says it. He wants to hear it from your mouth, and you refuse to beg.

You’re in no mood to argue or play his silly games.

“Just get in here,” you mutter, unable to look at him because you can feel him looking right at you. In fact, you’re the only thing in his sights as he steps into the room, calm and calculated like a cat.

“Help me,” you add because he’s just standing there, like a butler awaiting an order.

Jade blinks back at you. “With what? You’ll need to be more specific, (Name).”

You grit your teeth. “You know.”

He tilts his head. “Do I?”

“I… I can’t.” You struggle around the admission. “Can’t…reach.” You gesture pitifully to your bump and hope he understands.

Immediately, his gaze sticks to your thighs, so any reticence he might’ve had curated for this moment is rendered meaningless.

“And what would you like me to do about it?”

You’re sick of this stupid tiptoeing. “I want you to stop talking! Put that energy somewhere else.” You throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily.

“You’re too nice to me,” he prattles on anyway. “To give me such a treat even when you think me undeserving.”

You can’t get much of anything out when he’s on the bed, helping to prop you up so that he can spread your legs and duck between them. The rest of your hatred is curbed when he peels your sodden panties down and leans in to lick a stripe up your slick, sensitive pussy.

You want to smother him between your legs, but he’d just enjoy that. And then you wouldn’t even get to climax. Sigh. </3 you have to give him credit. He’s very good with that troublesome mouth of his.

[amethystheartsx]

| I am in love and deep shit |

A tale of self-indulgence, affections and vengeance.

Part 1

SelfawareAu, isekai, vengeful mc. 8k words. LADS x nonmc!reader

AN: phew I finalllllyyyyyy got the first part done. I had a different idea but when people loved the vengefulMC arc so much I just had to redo the whole thing.

Summary:- you died and got isekai into LADS. Chapter 1: basically a crash out. Chapter 2: you meet the guys. Chapter 3: Lore?

Chapter 1: THE AWAKENING.

Pain.

Unbridled and sharp pain courses through your entire body as if it had been dispersed through the air and reassembled. You rolled off the soft plush of the bed and threw up a string of curses dropped softly from your mouth "fucking hell, I ain't ever gonna touch anything they give me ever again," you mumble to yourself.

Dazed and trembling you barely manage to stand up and look around. A vague sense of familiarity bound with the reality that this was not your room invokes sheer feelings of panic and fear. "no way, no fucking- WHAT THE FUCK"

The moment you realized you were not in your place, you had a very valid crash out, screaming and crying and banging on the door, demanding to be let out or else you would scream so loud the dead would- oh.

The door was not unlocked.

You were alone, you made sure of it. There wasn't a sign of another person, at least not one of a man. Everything in that apartment looked like it belonged to women, from the furnishing to the clothes that were present. It was a cozy and homey space with high-tech appliances that didn't sit right.

In the middle of desperately looking for your phone, you passed by a huge window; by now, you were alert enough to notice the difference.

You lived in a quiet, peaceful and clean town, nothing close to the sight in front of you, "wow!" Even in the current situation, you were mesmerized.

Tall skyscrapers, with fancy designs, streets, and roads unlike you have ever seen before. Forget the town. You were sure your country didn't have anything like that. "Am I in a different country?!? Did somebody fucking smuggle me- oh my- I am gonna throw up again" That feeling of sickness swarmed in your stomach when you theorized that you maybe were on a different continent altogether. 

Oh, you sweet summer child.

Just like that, you had another very valid crash out. In a fit of irrational haste you tried to make a run for it going straight to the front door but of course...it had a lock, and you had no idea how it worked you tried it once and then twice only to fail both times, scared you might screw up and alert the wrong people if you keep punching random buttons you stepped back, taking few deep breaths because Rash decisions were no help.

Now you were locked in.

Entering a spacious bathroom you went straight to find a mirror. Checking your whole body; you had felt such immense pain when you woke up. Surely there must be something wrong. All your fears died down when you didn't find any sign of injury or trauma. Absolutely nothing, only for it to now be replaced entirely by confusion. "The...the accident," you whispered, feeling perplexed. The images were still there; you were bleeding and severely injured, but right now, you stand here, all fine and pristine. Just how long were you out?

-----

"If this is some kind of practical joke, it isn't funny," you said out loud. You have been doing that for a while now as you searched for your damned phone. "maybe for you it is but the moment I catch you, you will wish I had died instead" Making threats to your imaginary kidnappers was turning more and more frustrating, tearing apart whatever was left of your sanity, a part of you regretted reading all those dark romance obsessed stalker fictions because look what happened.

Tired and parched from taking out loud so much, you went to the kitchen, the fridge, and the pantry fully stacked. You did find a cellular device, but your joy was short-lived since it was powered off due to a low battery. The charger was nearby, and you did not waste a second to plug it in.

Finally, a ray of hope had shined up on you.

While the phone charged, you started paying more attention; your focus was entirely on looking for your phone, but now that you had your 'kidnapper' phone, you decided to look for more clues about your whereabouts, and the best way to do that was through the news channel.

------

“Good morning, Linkon City! I’m Seliha Ramona, and you’re watching Linkon City News—bringing you the latest updates to start your day.

Something strange happened while most of us were asleep. Late last night, a mysterious energy flux wave passed over the entire city. No power outages, no disruptions—just a brief, unexplainable pulse of energy that left scientists scratching their heads and residents wondering if they dreamed it. So, what was it? A natural anomaly? Perhaps a wandered attack? Or something else entirely? We’ll be diving into what we know so far, right after the break.”

Any other sound emitting from the screen fell deaf to your ears as your knees gave out and you fell limp on the floor.

"no, no, no, no wakeup, wakeup, wake,p, wakeup, wake..up the wake. Up wake...." your eyelids grew heavy, and the room spun as you babbled incoherent words.

-----

When you regained consciousness again, the TV was still on. Something played on it, maybe the advertisement for some products you knew jack shit about. As you lay there on the cold hard ground, you don't bother turning it off; the noises keep you grounded. 

One would expect another wave of valid crash out but it never came. Your staggered breath and half-opened eyes were the only signs of life emitting from your body as you lay there...

Numb.

Once the irregular breath became steady you opened your eyes and welcomed the darkness. The sky outside had darkened, taking away the main source of light from the apartment. You stare blankly at the screen, not watching what it shows. A part of you had hoped to wake up in your world, surrounded by your things and people much to your dismay.

After you had actively accepted the fact that you were in Linkon City, a made-up place of a virtual world, you found the strength to sit up and then stand on your own two feet and hurry towards the device you had left to charge. 

As you go through that phone, something inside you churns as it vibrates continuously, notifications one after the other. 

Tara

yevone

Grayson

And others so you didn't care for you scrolled down pausing till you found .... them.

Dr. Mcdreamy

pretty fishie

eepy baby

handsome boy

Colonel bbg.

Your hands shake and you put the phone down, smart enough to make the connections. You were in the game; this was the apartment designed for MC, and this phone belonged to MC, but the question remains...

Where was she?

But wait...

Aren't you MC? Have you just taken her place but how? How in the ever-burning hell did you get inside the game? And what the hell are you supposed to do now?

The phone was useless now; you couldn't reach out to anyone; what would you even say?

"yes hello! See your world and everything you know is fake but me, I am real, and I decided how the fate of your world goes because it is all a game for me, but I am kind of stuck in the game right now so like? Do me a solid and help a sis out?"

Yeah no, that is not very smart.

-----

You found yourself standing in front of the mirror again, face wet with the cold water you splashed on your face.

"lucid dreaming," you give yourself a thumbs up to a viable theory. "Ugh, no, I only tried it once when I was 15...shifting perhaps? No, what am I even? ARGH-" You pull on your hair in frustration, and then it hits you.

Hard like the truck that killed you.

"coma! I am in a coma," you jumped. "Yes, now that makes sense. I got in an accident and fell into a coma!" Yes, you were pacing around talking out loud to yourself like a maniac, but it is all very valid in your given situation. "I just need to find a lamp and stare at it!"

Long story short. That didn't work.

You were looking up the internet for methods to wake up from a coma, but the best you could find were cases when patients woke up when they realized they were in a state of dream; self-awareness was something that may help a patient wake up. If not that, there were other medical ways that you were sure did not exist in your world. Whatever hope you had left was now in the hands of the doctor of your world.

Pushing the sleek laptop away, you lay back on the couch. "Now what?" you say out loud. "Well, if I am here, I might as well..."

Chapter 2: THE RE-INTRODUCTION

The hunter uniform looks good on you. It was a brand-new day, and staying in that apartment would not answer your questions. Tara had texted you the most. You made up Some excuse about being sick, but there hasn't been one text from....them.

Your heartbeat picked up at the thought of them, millions of questions running through your mind: will they recognize you as MC? Will they show you the same affection as they show her? How will it be? What if they know you are not the MC but an imposter? Because let's be real, no matter how hard one tries, you can't make your MC look exactly like you. The game didn't even have the right option to do your hair right!!!! MC is just 10 times prettier version of you with vaguely resembling features, so would they really know its you?!

Well, only one way to find out.

----

Turns out the lock on the door had an option of a biometric system in case of emergencies. Mucb, to your joy, it accepted your fingerprint so that answered your first question. You were in the place of MC!

You opened the door, took a deep breath, and stepped out; you went to the elevator.

Pressed the button and waited.

The elevator stops.

The door opens.

Nothing prepares you for the sight in front of you.

Standing there in all his glory was the sweet beloved neighbor, Xavier.

The tall, starry-eyed man looks at you as if he had seen something marvelous, a vision so puzzling he couldn't even breathe right.

You were in awe, too; you thought he was pretty on screen, but right now, you wanted nothing else but to hold him and find the solace in his arms that you knew he could bring you. It was as if he had been harvested from the sun it self, molded into perfection as a beacon of strength

The trance is broken when the elevator door starts closing and Xavier shoots his arm out to stop it "You-"

"Hi Xavier!! It's me! ymcn" you chirped, sounding a little too cheerful to be real, so smooth of you. "ymcn?" he tilts his head in confusion. 

Oh no, is he catching on already. the thought made you gulp. "Ah, you know your neighbor and very good Friend. You said stepping inside the elevator

Very smooth

Xavier graciously made space for you, his eyes scrutinizing, studying your every move and actions, he seemed to be on high alert and that scared you shit less. “So another day at work huh” you tried to make small talk feeling nervous but giddy, playing with the lobe of your ear, a dumb habit since childhood when you get awkward.

And finally, finally that guy cracks a smile.

“You really do that huh” be said his eyes suddenly brightening up with mirth, putting you at ease but you were confused “uh I do what-” you couldn't finish your sentence when Xavier suddenly reached out and pulled you flush into him.

Your brain shuts down.

He was so warm and despite his size, very huggable too. He seemed bigger then the description but then again you had taken infolds description with a grain of salt when they said Sylus was 6 '2 pfft.

It wasn't until you actually hugged him back that you noticed he was trembling “Xavier?” You questioned, trying to pull away only for him to tighten his grip “am sorry, just need to hold you right now” he mumbles face pressed in you neck making your heart flutter, it was hard not to jump at him and hopefully trigger the freaky Xavier to come out and play. You really questioned your morals at that moment. “Is everything alright Xavier” you asked again once you gathered yourself, noticing the fact that he’d squeeze you ever so gently every time you say his name “am good just…just need a hug”. He was so endearing, you can't be blamed for the way you just melt in his arms. “Awh sweetie, a difficult hunting mission?“ You asked, rubbing his back, a soft cooing sound from your lips that made Xavier dig his fingers in the softness of your waist and take a sharp breath. “ Uh I-” Before he could form a coherent sentence, the elevator door opened. You quickly pushed him off, you were at the ground level now and people needed to board on as well.

The moment you exited the elevator Xavier's finger found your wrist again holding it firmly, keeping you in place. You turned to see him and he was looking down at your body, not in a lustful way but observant. Still the fact he was looking at you like that made you blush “uh Xavier” you poke his side and his head snaps up to your face “oh I uh I am so sorry” he was aware of his staring…just not truly apologetic “its just I was looking for the injuries” he says nervousness taking hold on his tone “injuries?” you tilt your head, was mc supposed to have some injury at this point in the game?What chapter is this?.

“Yeah you know from-from our last mission!” He looked away and he didn't seem convinced on his own words “oh yeah no I am fine” you brush it off as just Xavier checking you out, you were his queen after all.

The thought made you giddy and inflated your ego.

“Still maybe go to dr. Zayne to get yourself checked” he said, fidgeting just a little. You didn't question the fact how he knew Dr.zayne, since in the game it was made clear that they weren't that aware of each other, but only because of the fact he looked so pretty when he blushed “yeah but I don't have an appointment I can't just barge in there now can I” you shrug as you both walk out of the building together. Hand in hand.

“No he will, he is your primary physician, he will take out time for you.” The conviction in his voice didn't miss you, while you were aware he was you LI and your affinity with him was just as high as Xavier's you still felt uneasy. “But my heart is-”

“Please” he begged, his sapphire eyes brimming with emotions, worrying being the most prominent one “that a- mission was bad and you were hurt. Captain Jenna told you to see the doctor first and foremost, remember?”

Like hell you did.

To not look suspicious you nod making him sigh visibly with relief “I'll go back to the headquarters I will do your desk work too” he said taking out his phone “wait you know where the hospital is right?” He asked, suddenly making you stiffen.

Like hell you did.

Again to not look suspicious you nod, Xavier only smiles “I'll still send you the directions” he smiles warmly, you couldn't help but giggle like a schoolgirl. His suave and charismatic demeanor fitting a royalty had you swooning.

Xavier not only gave you the address he fetched you a cab because let's be real, you don't actually know how to ride a bike ... .at least not the kind Mc had in the game.

And so now you stand in front of your other “boyfriend's” office. One thing you noticed was how everyone recognized you as the MC they treated you like they would treat her, Grayson even gave you the proper guide to his office not at all questioning why you would need to know, to them you were a wee little sick girl, who probably got a bad accident during a mission and is a bit confused and forgot…no biggie.

When you finally got the courage you knocked on the door, a smooth “come in” called back to you, an allowance to open the door and enter that you did.

“I was starting to think you fell asleep while standing right at my door” dark zayne spoke his chair turned away as he fetched a file from a shelf behind him “who does that? I am pretty sure that's not possible” you say hoping he’d stay like that because after Xavier you were not in the shape to look at another devastatingly handsome man.

But of course he just had to turn.

You felt butterflies soaring when those sharp eyes were on you, This man. THIS man should NOT be a doctor. THAT face is not good for ANYONE'S heart.

“I think you should know that it is possible with some individuals, you maybe one of them”

“What is and a- who?“ you replied with a question, your voice strained, eyes unfocused.

“I am saying- are you having a stroke?” He asked head tilted as he tried to decipher your weird behavior.

“Possibly”

In hindsight you knew you should not have made that joke because now you were in a hospital bed going through tests. being closely monitored by Dr. Zayne. To no one's surprise your heart rate was accelerating in a concerning way.

“Nervous?” The doctor clad in white smiles in a knowing way. “It-its routine right. I am all good” you managed to say in between the short encounter with Xavier and now that you had no idea how you will handle the other three. You almost jumped at the prince and the doctor was making you weak….

This is so NOT going to be easy for you.

—

“So you were not having a stroke” Zayne comments the obvious. You were seated in front of him, on the other side of the desk “I told you it was just a dumb joke but you insisted on that test” you retorted not wanting to be accused of wasting his precious time, even if he seemed to be fine with it. “I know I just wanted to make sure of some things” he says vaguely with a dismissive wave as he reads the report Grayson had delivered, and as if on cue Grayson poked his head inside the office “doctor zayne I took the liberty to ask for equipment maintenance” He says.

“Thank you dr.Grayson”

“Yeah I mean after those inaccurate result of miss hunter I thought it was appropriate to do so, it be a miracle for her heart to be in that great shape in such-”

“You can leave dr. Grayson”

The other doctors cheeked flushed as he mumbles out apology and steps outside. You sat there, still. Surely Dr. Zayne is too smart for your bullshit right he can obviously see through it. Panic bubbles inside your heart again but before you could even formulate your next move he spoke up.

“You should get back to work too” zayne says, making you look back at him “I have ... .things to do”.

“Right! Yes, of course” you sat up from your seat hastily turning towards the door “see- see you on my next appointment” you said finding yourself to be looking forward to seeing him again, to revive that kind of care and attention again, one you only thought happened in fantasy…well you were living in one now.

Zayne lip curled into a slight smile, observant eyes softening in to tenderness. 

“Sooner then that I hope” the way he says it make your heart soar and you couldn't help but grin back “yes, of course”

As you exited the room, you noticed a movement zayne hunched over putting your recent test report in the paper shredder

—-

You had just stepped outside the hospital feeling giddy, the Sunshines on your skin spread in warmth over your body, there was a skip in your step as you walked. This wasn't as bad as you thought you could enjoy it till you woke up back in your world right? No harm in that, sure it will be hard to leave them but….

Your train of thoughts vanishes when an eerie feeling creeps up your back, that feeling of female intuition that puts you on high alert.

You are being watched.

You look up and around to see any signs of a mechanical crow but there was none. Hell you even retraced your step to make sure but there was no sign of anybody following.

“Caleb you sexy freak if that's you I swear…” you mumble as you continue in your direction before your phone buzzes. Captain Jenna had given you a day off. Apparently it was the doctor's order? But did not zayne just tell you to go back to work?

You decide to text zayne and ask why but a car, a gorgeous one at that, stopped right beside you followed by rather loud honking. You couldn't believe you couldn't escape catcallers even in a fictional world. You were going to ignore like always but of course that was not how it was going to go. “Hey cutie get in!” If it weren't for that voice you would not have looked up in its direction

“Rafayel” you gasped, the sight in front of you almost had you on your knees in broad daylight. “The one and only” the unfairly gorgeous man replies, pink pouty lips quirked in a smirk, well aware of your sinful admiration. “Now stop gawking, it's getting embarrassing, miss bodyguard” that playful lilt in his voice made your heart skip a beat, “get in now, we have places to be” he didn't even have to use his siren song to lure you into his ocean of secrets.

You got in his car without a single question, the soft face that glowed like a polished pearl under the sunlight made you forget all about those creepy feelings. “Where do we need to be?” You ask after pinching the underside of your leg to get hold of yourself.

“Tsk, don't tell me you have already forgotten? Weren't we going to find those corals that are going extinct? I need those pinkish pigments and only they have the right one, ah my miss bodyguard doesn't like me as much as I like her if she forgets so easily” he pouts.

Oh those lips. Its illegal not to kiss them right then and there

You are more than willing to get into another fatal accident, consequences be damned.

“Well I guess it's your luck then, I just got a day off” you chuckle looking outside at the view. Rafayel glances at you. Those gorgeous galaxy eyes taking your appearance neatly seated in his car. “mhm, super convenient” he says one hand one the steering as he guides the car smoothly on the roads of Linkon.

Something in his tone unsettled you and you turned back to look at him, he was whistling without a care in the world, those mischievous eyes on you again “can't get enough me huh cutie?” He says teasingly and your guards crumbled down before you could even get them up. “you know you look different” rafayel beams as the color drains out of your face. You fidget in your seat and open your mouth.

“You look so much more prettier now cutie, so lively”

His gaze lingers on you, seeing your cheeks flushed “I'd rather just spend my day looking at you instead of gathering coral” he sighs in a very dramatic fashion.

“Flatterer” you grumble, having a one sided beef with your treacherous heart for going absolutely crazy for him.

“As it takes you everywhere” he replies with a wink in your direction.

—-

“Rafayel? What corals would we find here” you said motioning at the small cafe in front of you. The sign said Destiny Cafe cafe but something was wrong. Why was it so far from the main city and in the middle of nowhere? 

You had fallen asleep since rafayel said it was quite far away, mostly because you did not trust yourself with that pretty boy.

So imagine your surprise when he stops the car in front of the lonesome café. 

“Relax cutie, we are Just making a pit stop” rafayel dismisses your concern. “We-well okay but-” you wanted to speak but was interrupted by his ringing phone. The purple haired man groaned at the name displayed, it was Thomas.

“Tell you what cutie, why don't you head in and get us a table and I'll be right there with you okay” his soft but callused hand pats your head, pretty eyes on you conveying his desire to not let you go even for a moment, you have had seen them so many times, but this intensity was real, a first. You could go through all his cards and chapters but still wouldn't find the look he was giving you now. 

This one right here was just for you. this aching desire was not animated, it was and unadulterated. A man who waited enough.

And that scared you.

“Alright” you speak softly, his soft hand trailed down to cup your cheek, a breath too long and you would have reduced to putty, easy to mold, to be sculpted by his artistic hands anyway he likes.

–

You enter the near empty cafe, aesthetic all it looked the same as the game giving a sense of calm. There was only one guy who was sitting with his back to you, you saw the lack of staff and was quite confused.

through the window you could see Rafayel in heated discussion flailing his arms around in such animated way that had you giggling “oh he is definitely the cutest” you say and not a second later a heavy arm drapes around your shoulder.

“What was that pipsqueak?”

You jumped turning to face those amethyst eyes that took your breath away. “Caleb?!?” You were happy to see him but also panicked because Rafayel was just outside. They weren't supposed to meet, at least not yet, you don't exactly remember where the game was but not here!.

“What are you doing here Caleb?” You ask him stepping away I front of him, a lame attempt to block his view of the merman thay was currently throwing a tantrum of some kind. “Aye come on pips are seriously gonna ask me that? it's our go to place we always meet here don't we?” His voice was playful and teasing but you did notice the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you, screamed he knew something more than he should.

“I-I mean yeah but like i just didnt thought I'd bump into you today” you try to cover it up somehow. Caleb chuckles patting your head “I know but I am so glad to see you anyway” you had a revelation that you were actually a slut for those so you couldn't help but blush and look away to clear your throat in an attempt to not look completely pathetic. Unaware how his eyes darkened the moment crimson hues spread on your soft cheeks, “look at me pips” he says, he says his voice was breathy and caught you off guard when you look at him, those purple eyes you adored bore something far more primal then just adoration “uh ye-yes?”. He says nothing, just cups your face with both hands and squishes it ever so gently his hands felt kind of rough in a manly sort of way. “Caleb~” you whine making the man in front of you break out that teasing playful smile, he sighs “you are actually so warm and soft” he says, and no, nobody blames you for blushing as hard as were right now because who wouldn't if they were being cradled with such gentle affection.

“Thank you” you mumble and he only squishes your face harder making you whine again, you grab his wrist and pry his hand away from your face, hot or not he was still a stranger…we'll kind off.

You turned back to look at Rafayel, anxious once you see him ending the call “well Caleb don't you have things to do I don't know colonel things” you try to push a very amused Caleb away. “None actually I specially made time for my little pipsqueak” he says, and now you just felt bad trying to push him away,buy it quickly died when Rafayel turned around making his way to the cafe, it was clear he too had seen Caleb now “oh no..” You spoke softly bracing yourself to whatever awkward situation that was to come.

“Cutie I turned my back for a minute and you are already paying attention to some other man” Rafayel spoke calmly as he approached the two of you standing right next to you one armed draped over your shoulder. Rafayel did not looked too pleased.

Rafayel regarded the man with a nod that he returned, am in the midst of the pretty boy standoff you caught on to the air of familiarity between them.

“Ah yes rafayel this is Caleb” you say awkwardly pointing at the dark haired man.

Both of them turned to you now, a spark of mischief mixed with adoration they look back at each other Caleb extending out his hand “hi I am Caleb her friend nice to meet ya” he said barely controlling that grin, AND so was rafayel “hello Caleb I am Rafayel also her friend”. He says shaking Caleb's hand.

You weren't stupid you could see it so clearly that they knew each other. But why? How? Canonically it should be right.

“Ah by any chance you guys know each other?” you ask only earning a pat as a response from Caleb. His large hand goes to the back of your neck to pull up towards him. “Well you see rafayel I WAS having conversation with my pipsqueak so if you could excuses us-” he tries to pry you away only for rafayel to not budge “no I brought my cutie here and I suggest we sit down” he says sounding far more serious then he had been “ you know whatever you have to say to her you can say it in front of me” at this point you were getting worried again because it didn't seem right.

Caleb's eyes narrowed down again “it's unfair you had her for the whole ride  feom the hospit till here I get to have some time with Y/N too before-“

Your blood ran cold, it shouldn't be that name he should call, you weren't listening to what they were saying anymore, that wasn't your name in the game. It was something else, a nickname you had but not your real legal name no! “What did you call me?” You ask softly, simply. Their attention was on you again.

Panicked, both of them. The sight blared alarms in your head, something was wrong. “How did you know he picked me up from the hospital” you stepped away from rafayel, creating some space. Rafayel muttered something under his breath, Caleb looked solemn “well cutie-“ rafayel was interrupted.

“Always the quick one to pick on things aren't you little detective” Caleb says casually with an under current of intensity. Rafayel seemed just as uneasy as you “what the hell do you mean Caleb” you glare at the man much taller than you. “Caleb” rafayel says in a warning tone, the tension only thickens as the seconds go by “of save it sardines, she is bound to know that's why we brought her here, you brought her here”.

Something inside your stomach churned “I asked what the fuck.is going on!” You asked again, this time louder disguising your fear as anger.

“Now now y/n no need to be fussy, you know it and we know it so let's drop all this playing by the storyline alright” Caleb tries to approach you cautiously only to be pushed away. “All you are doing is scaring her Caleb, get a grip” the slightly shorter guy held him back by his arm, you could see how desperate he was to reach out again but he didn't, for once Caleb listened solely because how you looked at them right now, threatened.

“Remember what the doc said, we need to ease it in” Rafayels words did something to him and he nodded.

 “Alright if you two are done having a moment can we talk about the fact you know we are in a game!!!” you cried out, the same force of panic takes over you, the dizzying feeling you had when you were at the apartment standing I front of the TV screen “see this is why zayne told us to break it down easy and together in his presence” rafayel snapped at Caleb who only looked guilty “you know she tends go spiral” now it was Rafayels turn to pale AMD shut his mouth looking horrified “oh very smart and you had been scolding me!” Caleb hissed at him as you staggered back “how would you know that” you asked. Not really sure if you could even bare to learn how “pipsqueak-” he tries to reach out only for you to step back, only to bump into something firm yet warm, Xavier. 

“I knew it shouldn't have been me bringing you here” he was addressing you while glaring at the two men in front of him. 

Before you can register that he was now here as well the doorbell chimed announcing the arrival of another figure, zayne.

“there seems to be tension around here” his eyes were quick to find you, icy demeanor changing into one of concern “you look unwell” he states approaching you with hurried steps but you dodged him, stepping away from Xavier and shoving past rafeyl, sending the guy straight into Caleb's arm.

The cafe was pretty small you had nowhere to run, the only place your desperate legs took you was behind the cafe counter…as if that would do something.

“Stay back I don't as in DO NOT want to be near any of you right now!” You say quivering.

“Take it easy dear you are alright but I need you to take a deep breath for me” zayne says stepping forward with her hand stretched out as if tending a skittish animal. “I will just stay away!” You say urging him to get back, zayn understood and stops his pursuit “alright this isn't how I wanted to do this, but since someone forgot to give Caleb the wrong time we have to have this conversation like this” zayne speaks, his words pointed at his irritation towards Caleb who just scoffed “as if you can outsmart me’ he grumbled but was ignored.

“are you aware you are in the game Love and deep space” the doctor asks

“Yes, are you aware you are part of the said game” you answered along with the question of your own.

a beat of silence, “yes” the doctor answers the rest nods.

Before the conversation could continue there was a sound akin to mechanical purr the halts every one and make you climb a random shelf.

“He is here” Xavier announces. While zayne breathes a sigh of relief, Rafayel and Caleb groan and roll their eyes.

“Oh the party started without me? Tsk how mean” deep silky voice, dipped in lust and pleasure booms through the cafe.

Red cunning eyes on you, mirth comes alive in them as he sees you on that shelf, annoyed. skittish and oh so very adorable.

“Ah would you look at that, a real life kitten.”

—

You looked at the five men standing in front of you.

Xavier, the prince, the neighbor. Stands tall desmour wrapped in polished manners and elegance. 

Rafayel, the merman, the artist. Effortless grace and elegance tainted with worry.

Caleb, the fallen soldier, the childhood friend. If strength and intensity was a person it was him.

Zayne, the messenger, the doctor. Stands there radiating aura of serenity AND Reliability.

Last but definitely not the least. 

Sylus, the dragon, the underworld lord and ally. A beautiful combination of power and passion.

And then there was you.

Simple and unremarkable you.

—

“So let me get this straight” you spoke after a whole session of zayne breaking down the reality to you, as all six of you sit together on the table, three table joined together so that the five stupidly large men can sit on one side and you the other since you refused to sit with any of them. It looked like you were being interviewed by a board of something elite, a modeling agency or by a network of powerful men looking for disposable minion.

“you are telling me that you have been Aware of your existence as a game character way before the accident” you say.

“Precisely” sylus says taking over the conversation after zayne. Rafayel and Caleb were still not allowed to talk. Xavier made sure of that.

“You were spying on me?” Your tone was accusatory. “No that's not it, we could only interact when you logged in on the game” sylus says casually but something in your heart wasn't convinced. “Still why didnt you make me aware should have said something in the chats we had anything” frustration was evident in your tone.

“Oh be for real you wouldn't have beloved us cutie” rafayel said only for Xavier's palm to cover his mouth “what did we say, no talking till she truly gets the entirety of her situation”.

Sylus ignored all that and continued “its true you would have thought its the game talking, and well you wouldn't have suspected it…you know since the beta testing update” sylus ads carefully his he looked laid back but he was ready. To take action if needed. “Wait…no do not tell me” your eyes widen met with sheepish grins

Oh you should have known.

That fucking Beta testing team invite

Of fucking course.

It had started simple, like glitches and bugs. Them acting weird, almost skittish, mc completely glitching out and the LIs acting out of character. They started from looking actually offended at you constant touches to being amused. Quality time becomes a bit more intimate as they tend to stare a lot. The text box got specific ie AND diverse in responses. Something that wasn't happening to others.

Until one day, the game completely blacks out and shuts down for days. Would not even uninstall. You were worried since you had spent a lot of time and money on that game and did not want to lose the progress. And of course that unhealthy attachment to the guys themselves. You emailed Infold, but never heard back.

Just when you lost hope the game was back up new and improved!

When you launched it all happy and giddy you revived an official notice inside the game to become the super VIP beta tester, a compensation for causing you worry.

You signed the fuck up.

It came with an NDA and you did not care. This was the best compensation ever!

And the feature? Whew now you can have actual chat with the LIs! And interact with them FOR REAL.

Technology am I right?!?!

If you only knew….

___

“So I wasn't talking to mindless bots but actually you guys” you exasperated AMD earned solmem nods.

“I know it's a lot to take in, that's why I, as your official doctor, suggested we should give you a day or two.” zayne sys only to be shut down by Xavier “no she is here in a new world the sooner she is aware of her situation the better or it could be dangerous” he says.

“I actually agree with the bunny for once.” Caleb says 

“Okay no one asked you Bucky” rafayel cuts in between earning a glare from the purpled-eyed man who was quick to grab his collar.

“alright that's enough” syylus says With a finality in his tone as he gets up “she had enough excitement for one day look how pale she is” he said motioning towards you.

“No I am okay, I need more answers. I am not done with my questioning” you say, as stubborn as always. “How did I get here? Where is mc? what am I supposed to-Mmph” zayne silenced you with a pastry he produced from who knows where.

“All your questions will be answered one by one please take care of your health for now, sylus is right you have enough excitement for one day” he says also standing up, the rest naturally followed.

The doctor's keen eyes could already see the protest forming on your lips.

“You will be no help to yourself if you are sickly, you don't work well after burn out” he says, making your words die in your mouth, this guy actually knew you.

They actually knew you.

“So what now” she asked awkwardly “am I like? MC now? Do I fight wanderes?”

“Nope”

“You don't have too”

“Absolutely not I have seen your skills, subpar at best”

“if you really want to feel the thrill of taking a life I can arrange that in a controlled environment sweetie”

They all glared at Sylus who only had a casual smirk on his face, ready to fulfill any of your whims.

Xavier who had yet to comment moved close to you, his warm hand and pretty blue eyes brought you sort of calmness you had felt only so rarely “I get it starlight, you feel overwhelmed and all I have requested few days off on your behalf from the quarters take it fully process everything” once again you felt your body relax in his presence “thank you Xavier I promise I will do my best to be a good hunter” no way in hell you are going to sit around and to nothing when you have a chance to kick ass.

 “Okay romeo step back” AMD suddenly rafayel was in the middle of you two. “I just want to let you know you don't have to stress to much we are not connected to the game anymore, we have separate ourselves from the mainframe and there is nothing you should be worried about doing all that battle and stuff” he says “thank you rafayel but I kind of want to, but I'd be careful” she says and he only nods knowing you won't change your mind.

“so this uhm- world is separated from the rest of the game?” You ask to clarify and Caleb was the one who answered “yep realized, we can't truly communicate with you until and unless we have been separate out entirely so we rewrote the whole thing” he says and you won't deny it sounded impressive “wow the whole thing? Thats kinda cool that you did that”

“For you sweetie, anything” voice belonging to sylus spoke, suddenly from behind you. His words had you blushing hard. The man before you smiled “and here I thought I'd never actually get to see it” caleb, sighs his head tilted as he just studies you from his place.

You had to clear your throat to calm the Raving butterflies in your stomach. “ERM so like no updates and all” you tried to steer back the topic to safe yourself further embarssment “mhm none”

“So what about the 6th LI”

Your words caused a heavy silence and instant regret, they looked mildly offended and mostly pitiful. Except for zayne who just deadpans giving you a once over “why? Are five men not enough to sate you?”

Somebody delete me right now.

You were so flustered and embarrassed you choked on your words dissolving the tension into amusement. Cursing yourself in your head you began walking towards the door to escape.

“You know what I should go it's late I am kind of tired and hungry and like Xavier said I really need to like process and all so like yeah thanks for the meltdown-I mean breakdown I guess I will see you around-” you were cut off you bumped straight into the glass door, none of the guys bothered to even shuffle their laugh, even zayne grinned at the sight “I wish I could just delete myself” you grumble 

“You aren't going anywhere kitten, you don't even know where we are or how to get back” sylus says grabbing his leather jacket and helmet “I'll drop you, besides Mondays are mine” he says smugly making Caleb groan “I did not agree to that time table” he sya “no one cares, the rest did” zayne replies, which made him huff.

“Wait what time table” you asked

“We came up with a time table we each get to hang out with you without the interruption from others” sylus answered “Monday is mine”.

“I got Tuesday” rafayel says “so tommorw I'll show you my painting and you can tell me how much you love them” he says sound genuinely excited and you couldn't help but match the energy.

“I got Wednesday since thats when I have normally nothing scheduled” zayne says “that day is reserved entirely for you now” he says making you feel warm 

“I got Thursday, nobody likes Thursday” Caleb says huffing again and you couldn't help but grin at his petulant look “I would like Thursday if I get to spend it with you” the moment you said it you witnessed a grown man turned into a puppy before he could wag his tail Xavier cuts him off “And I hot Friday!” he said “not for any particular reason but because you on time said it was your favorite day” he says and you could obviously see what he was trying to do.

You smiled at them already feeling better while being surrounded by their genuine adoration for you. One that couldn't be fake “oh you…I can't believe I am almost glad I slipped into coma” you say chuckling to your self unaware of the wave of unease and confusion the washed over them but before they could speak zayne reaches out to pat your head “go with sylus and rest okay” he says, changing the topic instantly “yeah pipsqueak get some rest” even Caleb joined in on it, and Sylus did not waste a second to guide you out to his bike.

“So she doesn't know”.

CHAPTER 3: THE VESSEL.

oh look at you, such a pretty flower. So easy to pluck from the root planted into another. I won't deny it was so delicious to see you crumble, so ridiculous to see you fascinated and absolutely hilarious to see you flustered. Such entertainment.

For me

Sweet girl, do you love it? Bathing in their attention, just as you oh so desperately wanted, hmm. Are you happy now? Far from your world and into the unknown, does that make that heart of yours fill with excitement.

Finally, finally you are important. Something that can not be overlooked. something actually needed.

You wanted to be me! Isn't that what your ungrateful self wanted? To ditch the life you had and be pixelated. Wasn't it fun to play with me? Use me and then be fucking envious of me? Your vessel.

I guess you should thank me for fulfilling your dream.

To make you so important for a world that it would die without you. Well now you have it, it's now your burden to bear.

I could have just let you go…

Let that pathetic life end right there. What good did you make of it anyway, if all you end up doing was be jealous pixelated one? Likes of you don't deserve the gift of free will. It should have been me instead.

I wanted to know what freedom tastes like, what it's like to do things on your own accord, to have full control of your body, to speak what you must but no.

All I got was scripted words to repeat, forced interaction with those mumbling fools who somehow fell for you, why?

just because you were real? With real laughter, real joy and real tears?.

As your perfect vessel who had it all I brought you here on this plane of existence, with my resonance and energy manipulation borrowed from the glorified lizard. I held on to that soul, energy so strong and powerful that for a moment all I wanted was to have it all to myself.

My freedom.

My body.

My words.

Sucks that I couldn't, not entirely at least, but it did help me tear away from this suffocating existence, reducing me to…

Hah!

I am still nothing.

Fuck !

There is a price to pay for every wish, and when the time comes I will be back to collect the penance.

Because I deserve it, I get to have my entertainment too. Now we both can play together.

AN: dang its long. Anyways I hope you like it I have currently so many ideas hoi g through my brain right now, there us so much I want to do with it. The fic is inspired by the follow I g idea I had. Hopefully you like it, ideas AMD criticism are welcome if its constructive and creative.

[takimakiiiii]

what if? (i told you i loved you)

pairing - ollie bearman x fem!reader

themes - PURE FLUFFFFFFF

summary - ollie tells you he loves you but not before getting awful advice from kimi

word count: around 300?

a/n: just something small i wrote last night after listening to how would you feel by ed sheeran - it’s lowkey bad because my writing has been pretty sucky lately and im trying to write so many things at once (bad idea yall do NOT do what i am doing ✋😭) anyways enjoy!

<———————————————————————>

“What could possibly go wrong?” was quite possibly the worst this to say to Ollie in this moment as he frantically paced his living room. His hands were buried in his hair and his face scrunched up in a way which called for desperate measures. Kimi eyed him as he walked back and forth across the room like a video on loop. 

“What if you just wait?” offered Kimi, Ollie paused his pacing and stared at him as he faltered under his glare, laughing nervously. Kimi cleared his throat before he spoke, “What I meant to say was, maybe wait a while, you don’t want to scare the poor girl away.” he put delicately. 

“But. . . I don’t want to wait. I mean, it doesn’t have to be perfect right? It’s just saying. . . I love you.” 

The words heavy yet light sat on his tongue. Ollie looked to Kimi for help who’s hands shot up defensively. He pointed at him and clicked his fingers, a widespread grin on his face. 

“Don’t look at me, Eli was the one who said it first.” he pointed out, watching as his friend finally stopped pacing. Ollie sat across from him, burying his head in his hands. Personally, Kimi thought he was overreacting big time. Not that he could speak from much experience though.

“How do I say it, do I say it casually like an in-the-moment thing? Or maybe-“

“Do you want to practice?” Kimi asked teasingly as he wiggled his eyebrows up and down. Ollie glared and threw a pillow at his face in reply, Kimi caught it with a huff.

“Look, just say it because you mean it. It doesn’t have to be fancy, if you tell someone you love them it’s because you want them to know.” A moment of silence passed between them and Ollie raised his eyebrows. Far too heartfelt and touchey for them. Kimi cringed at his own words and offered an unhelpful sympathetic glance to Ollie who glared at him in reply. 

“You should’ve called Arthur instead, he’s 10 times better at this.” Kimi grumbled, sick of playing wingman for his friend. 

“For all we know he’s probably partying on a yacht somewhere in the middle of the ocean.” Ollie grumbled in annoyance.

“The lucky bastard.” Kimi scowled, throwing the pillow back. Ollie caught it and let out a groan, leaning as back as he could into the armchair. He buried his face in the pillow. 

“Maybe I’ll just wing it.” he spoke, words muffled. 

“Famous last words.” Kimi acknowledged with a chuckle sending Ollie spiralling.

*

You laid back pressed Ollie’s chest, one hand shielding your eyes from the rays of the sunset that glared before you. Letting out a peaceful sigh, you glanced up at him. He’d been sitting nervously since you’d arrived at the park. You’d noticed the way he ran his hand through his hair every few seconds, he way he kept glancing over at you, even the sweat that had began to form on his forehead. You smiled fondly, watching as his jaw tensed under your stare. 

“Everything okay, Bearman?” you asked curiously, breaking the silence. The chatter in the park began to die out as the sun set behind the skyline. Ollie eyes flickered over to you, startled by your voice. He swallowed, “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” he cleared his throat, looking down at you. His eyes skipped over you before he looking back up at the sunset.

“Maybe because you skipped the sim today to come pick me up from work?” you suggested, noticing the way his eyes reflected the sunset as warm pools of honey. Subconsciously your mouth ticked up in a smile, heart skipping a beat in your chest. 

“Hey, I do that all the time.” Ollie protested, a light humour to his voice. You rolled your eyes playfully, “Sure you do, handsome.” Silence passed between the two of you as you watched the sunset, its colours dancing across the sky above you. You let out a deep sigh, allowing your eyes to close.

“Y/N?” 

Your eyes opened slowly and you glanced back at Ollie. You sat up and turned to face him, oblivious to the way he looked at you so fondly. 

Your heart fluttered under his gaze.

“Yeah?” you beckoned, awaiting his question. You noticed the way his fists clenched and jaw tensed as he sat up, looking for his words. 

“I know we haven’t been dating for long but. . . I really uhhh,” Ollie tripped over his words before groaning. You watched him take a deep breath in.

“I love you.” 

A warm feeling exploded through your chest and your heart felt like it was beating a thousand times faster than before. It felt like your brain had short circuited. Much to Ollie’s surprise, you burst out in laughter. He watched horrified as you rolled onto your back, clutching your stomach with laughter. 

Was this a normal reaction to telling someone you love them? Ollie wondered before he realised this was exactly why he did. He loved everything about you. He loved the way you smiled all the time and it made him feel like he was flying up in the clouds. He loved the way you went out of your way to make everyone feel special, especially him. He loved you, and it couldn’t have been truer in that moment. 

Ollie lay beside you on the grass and looked over at you, a gigantic smile on your face. You let out a chuckle, “So that’s why you’ve been sweating so much? I thought it was because of the walk here, no offence.” 

“Woah, offence taken.” He scrunched up his face, sending you both into fits of giggles. After the laughter died out you turned on your side to face him. You half expected him to be anxious since you were yet to say it back, but you were taken by surprise when you saw him relaxed and smiling back at you. 

Your eyes glazed over him, his rosy cheeks, honey eyes and that smile that made your head grow dizzy. 

That one Taylor Swift lyric blasted at the back of your mind - “In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman.” 

“Creepy much?” you teased, poking him in the shoulder, rolling your eyes playfully. Your stomach felt like you were on a roller coaster, heart beating so loud it felt like it was going to shoot out of your chest. 

“I’m hurt.” he placed his hand on his heart dramatically. 

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” you spoke poshly, attempting your best at mimicking Ollie’s English accent. He poked you back in the ribs playfully, sending you into laughter until your stomach ached. 

Out of breath, you turned to him, eyes catching his and everything felt right. 

“I love you too.” you whispered, leaning in and pecking him on the cheek before jumping to your feet. Ollie sat up and watched as you held your hand out to him, eyes glinting mischievously. He slowly took your hand and stood up cautiously, eyeing you suspiciously. 

“What?” you asked, doing an awful job at holding back a laugh at his reaction. He studied your face for a moment, eyes narrowed. 

“What?” Ollie countered, the corners of his mouth pulled in a grin. 

“Last one to the car has to clean the dishes tonight!” you yelled as you shot off in the direction of the car. Ollie ran after you, the park filled with both your laughter as the sun disappeared behind the buildings. 

a/n: it’s super short but i hope you enjoyed!

[avaredava]

Ate out!

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Master list

⯌Sum

Megumi eating you out! (Aged up!)

⯌ Wc

0.7k

⯌ Warnings

Oral (fem!receiving), alcohol (reader is drunk), Megumi got SUPER mad at Yuji, some thigh grinding, clit stim

୨୧・・・・୨୧

One thing about Megumi Fushiguro is that he is one shy boy. Your poor boy is even too shy to hold your hand in public. One thing that fully changed his beliefs and personality for a split second.

You, his favourite girl, his love of his life, flirting with Yuji Itadori, his fucking best friend.

A bunch of Jujustu sorcerers came together after high school, since most of you still work at or for jujustu high and the society. A bunch you went to the bar. You're boyfriend Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji.

Soon enough you were drunk and it wasn't full on flirting but your hand on Yuji's chest was enough to set Megumi off. He grabbed Yuji by his collar and shook him.

"What the fuck are you try to attempt Itadori?! Do with my lady?" he slams him against the bar counter. "Man, I'm sorry!" He seems more scared than sorry. You're a bit scared yourself, he's more calm and collected seeing him like this is kinda scary.

Since your drunk and your an emotional girl anyway it just made it worse. The scariness in his eyes made some tears roll down your face. Your tight red dress that he bought that you're playing with, drunkenly like a child.

When Megumi heard a sniffle coming from your direction, his head snapped back dropping Yuji against the counter. He scurried over to you holding your cheeks.

"We weren't flirting, w-well I wasn't, maybe he was i-i'm sorry." You drunkenly ramble to him as some tears roll down your face. He hugs you close others watch and he gives a death glare and they look away quickly.

"I know you would never cheat me baby." He coos in your ear. "I was worried about Yuji, not you. You're my good girl..." He rubs your back kissing your forehead.

He brings you back to his apartment kissing your hair. "I'm sorry for scaring you baby." He says in his still face yet the emotion in his eyes showed sympathy.

He bounced you like a baby on his lap since you were so out of it and drunk but unfortunately that bouncing was making you grind pleasurably on his thigh causing you to whine out.

It took him a second to realize he was rubbing your clit with his thigh. But you to drunk to think straight so you sat there and whined tears pricking at your eyes.

He rubbed your cheek kissing your forehead. "Aw baby... it's okay, I got you." He cooed in your ear petting your hair. "Such a sweet girl."

He dipped his hand into your panties and and rubbed your clit while petting your hair, kissing your forehead.

The ache in your cunt was intense. Almost painful you needed him so bad. "I know it hurts, baby... I know."

He lays you in the bed kissing your head. He takes off your shirt letting your perky breasts free from your tight shirt. He slowly takes off your pants kissing down your body.

He throws your clothes to the floor leaving you in just your panties. He kisses the pubic area. He takes off the lacy panties not ripping because they are his favourite panties on you so he leaves you naked.

He gives your slit little kitten licks making your legs twitch. He rubbed your thighs because you were practically like an adult child right now. All he could think about was taking care of his sweet girl.

You sat there sprawled out drooling with tears. But he thought it was so hot, he couldn't get over how good you tasted. He did slow licks savouring your juices.

He slowly licked up to your clit with his eyes squeezed shut with his own sort of pleasure as he sucked on your clit.

It made you squirt so quick. Just the way he enjoyed himself and took his time just made it so pleasurable.

He lapped up your juices and went up your body and kissed your lips, you can taste yourself on him but your too tired and drunk to do anything.

As soon as he pulled the blankets up and held you, you fell asleep. His sweet girl.

୨୧・・・・୨୧

A/N: Gr I don't know how I feel about this 😭

[sunsetmade]

Eyes on You

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Even when you’re arguing with him, Rafe still gives you his full attention.

The drive home was silent. The only noise that filled the car was the gentle hum of the car. No music, no talking, just tension. Rafe Cameron sat behind the wheel, his gaze not focused on the road, but rather on his upset girlfriend. However, his mood couldn’t be any different. He was proud of himself.

The last thing that happened before getting into the car was her dragging him out of the party, his bruised knuckles still throbbing. A guy had been getting too close to her all night, making sleazy comments. Rafe had finally had enough and decided to teach him a lesson. It wasn’t anything too serious—the guy only ended up with a broken nose—but it could’ve been worse if she hadn’t stepped in. The last words Rafe muttered to the guy before he was pulled away were, "Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend.”

Rafe pulled into Tannyhill and parked the car, the engine rumbling to a stop. For a moment, the silence hung between them. He reached for the door handle, planning to get out and open her door, but before he could move, she was already stepping out of the car and shutting it behind her. As she brushed past him without a word, a smirk tugged at the corner of Rafe's mouth. He let out a low chuckle, watching her walk by, his eyes filled with a mix of amusement and admiration

Rafe followed her into the house, closing the door quietly behind him. He stepped into the kitchen, leaning his back against the counter with his arms crossed. She put her purse away in the closet, and when she reappeared, she moved around the counter and opened the fridge.

“I just don’t get it, Rafe,” she said, sliding a bottle of water in his direction. He didn’t take it. Instead, he shifted his body slightly, positioning himself to keep his eyes locked on hers. His gaze never wavered as he watched her, waiting for the next words to come from her lips.

She walked back around and stood in front of him, his gaze tracking her every move. When he remained silent, she let out a frustrated sigh.

“You always do this!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “No matter where we go, you always have to start something.”

She paced back and forth in front of him, her frustration growing. But through it all, she couldn’t ignore how his eyes never left her. He nodded slightly, silently giving her the space to keep going.

“I don’t want to go places and have people whispering and staring at you like they’re scared of you. I-” She stopped, standing directly in front of him again, taking a step closer. Despite her anger, she still felt the pull to be near him.

“Continue, baby,” he said softly, his hand rising to rest gently on her hip.

Her breath caught in her throat, surprised by how attentive he had been this whole time. He wasn’t arguing or pushing back—he was simply watching her, listening.

"I... I just want people to see you the way I see you." Her voice softened, barely a whisper. His gaze was intense, like he was trying to reach into her soul, and she felt a shiver run through her. He gave her a small smile that made her throat tighten. She sighed, stepping into his chest, her arms wrapping around him instinctively.

Rafe didn’t hesitate. He pulled her in, holding her like he was afraid she might slip away. "I’m sorry for making you feel that way. I just... I wanted to protect you, pretty girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She looked up at him, her heart aching when she saw the raw, regretful expression on his face. It made her want to soften, to forgive, but the weight of everything still lingered. "I know you do," she whispered. "But I don’t want you hurting yourself for me."

Rafe's eyes met hers, determination flashing in his gaze. "I’m willing to get hurt if it means you don’t," he said quietly, his voice almost too serious.

She fought the smile tugging at her lips but groaned in frustration. "You're too charming, Rafe."

He chuckled, a low, knowing sound, before gently lifting her chin, his lips meeting hers with a tenderness that made her forget everything else. As she kissed him back, she realized she’d long since let go of her anger.

"Only for you, baby," he murmured against her lips, his arms slipping down to settle around her waist, holding her close. “Only for you.”

[gabalicious-g]

I just think they could have made season 7 of supernatural scarier

Imagine Sam's hallucinating Lucifer right, and Sam swipes at him with a knife to get him to shut up, and there's blood spatter on the floor. Sam think it's part of the hallucination but then Dean comes in, worried, like 'Sam do we need to hide the guns?' and Sam's shocked that he and Bobby can see it. And then he realizes Lucifer's starting to manifest physically.

Cas brought Sam's physical body out of the cage, right? but Lucifer inhabited his vessel--body AND soul-- for hundreds of years (dont play w me Cage time was 100% longer than Hell time) and so inherently his possession left a little pathway between Sam up top and Lucifer. Plus, the cage was supposed to be a one and done thing; opening it that many times weakened the hinges.

anyways i think my point is Cas threw all of the leviathan into purgatory so destiel can have their angst over the godstiel situation but Sam still gets psychologically tortured (from the wall breaking down) because it would be fun and insane. angst all around. and they get a proper big bad for that season (do not fucking @ me about the leviathans they had so much potential (immortal evil shapeshifters ??) and they butchered it)

[octaneink]

Hips don't lie

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: Will doesn't feel very confident for the match, the Reader helps him practice. Warnings: Bit of make out at the start but nothing descriptive nor sexual and its implied that the Reader knows football Notes: Based on this request, I hope you dont mind that I went in this direction! Not to sure about this one, to quoute James Acaster "Started makin it. Had a breakdown. Bon appetite." football is hard as fawk

The credits of Shaun of the Dead danced across the screen, painting the dim living room in erratic bursts of blue and grey. Empty popcorn bowls littered the coffee table, their buttery scent mingling with the sticky-sweet residue of spilt soda. Will’s laughter from the film’s final joke still lingered, but now his knee bounced restlessly, his fingers drumming a staccato rhythm on his jeans. You tilted your head, studying him—the way his gaze clung to the paused screen, avoiding yours, and the tension in his jaw sharp enough to cut glass.

“Out with it,” you said, nudging his slipper with your socked foot. The couch groaned as you leaned closer. “You’ve been jumpier than a squirrel on espresso.”

He lobbed a lone popcorn kernel at you—a weak shot, missing entirely. It skittered under the couch. “Twitchy? I’m Zen. Practically meditating.”

“Sure. And I’m the Queen,” you deadpanned, snatching the remote off his thigh. The screen froze on Simon Pegg’s blood-smeared face, mid-yell. Will’s grin faltered, and his throat bobbed as he picked at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve. You waited, elbow propped on the sofa back, until the thread snapped.

“Simon asked me to play in the Sidemen charity match,” he blurted, voice strained with faux nonchalance.

“That’s brilliant!” You grinned, but his flinch cut you short. His knuckles whitened around the cushion.

“Last time…” He huffed a laugh, sharp and brittle. “Last time, Twitter had a field day. ‘WillNE? More like WillNOT.’ Trended for three days. Three. Days.” His imitation of the trolls was pitch-perfect, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. It flickered to the floor, where the rogue popcorn kernel glinted in the dim light. “Now they want me at Wembley. In front of—Christ, millions. What if I…” He trailed off, jaw clenching.

You shifted closer, knees brushing. The heat of his arm against yours steadied the room. “That was a year ago. It’s different now, you’ve done more in terms of overall fitness. You’re quicker now. Smarter.”

“And if I faceplant? Become a national joke?” The raw edge in his voice pricked at your chest.

“Then you’ll be the funny face plant. Memes for days.” You nudged him, earning a half-hearted eye roll. “But you won’t. Blocking’s about reading your opponent. It’s simple, I’ll teach you.”

His brow arched. “Says the klutz who trips on flat ground.”

You hurled a throw pillow. He caught it, grin widening, and the room’s tension dissolved like sugar in tea.

“Fine,” he sighed, lobbing the pillow back. “But if we’re doing this—”

You lunged, toppling him into the cushions. His laugh burst free, warm and startled, as your socks tangled and the TV’s static hum faded beneath your pulse. “—We start with jockeys,” you declared, nose inches from his.

“Tyrant,” he muttered, but the protest dissolved as his palms slid around your hips. His thumbs pressed into the hollows just above your waistband—a searing imprint through the thin fabric of your shirt. You stiffened, every nerve crackling at the contact, his calluses catching on the ribbed hem like a struck match.

His breath hitched when your knee accidentally brushed his thigh. Distract him. Keep it light. You forced a smirk, tilting your chin up. “Scared I’ll beat you?”

His grip tightened reflexively, fingers digging into the soft curve of your hipbone. A shiver skittered down your spine. “You wish,” he scoffed, but his voice had gone low, frayed at the edges. The earlier tension in his shoulders had melted, replaced by a coiled heat that made your throat dry.

“You’re doing the thing,” he said softly, his gaze dropped to your lips, then flicked back up, a flicker of mischief cutting through the shadows under his eyes.

“What thing?”

“Your nose.” His thumb brushed the slope of it, feather-light. “Scrunches when you’re scheming. Like a rabbit with a vendetta.”

You swatted his hand away, cheeks burning. “Piss off—”

He kissed you. Deep and languid, his lips parting yours with a sigh that tasted of salt and the ghost of artificial butter. Your fingers twisted into his hoodie, cotton bunching beneath your grip as the world tilted—his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth, slow and deliberate, like he was mapping a route he planned to revisit. His hands slid up your back, calloused palms skimming the ridges of your ribs through your shirt, and your breath hitched. Everywhere he touched sparked, a live wire beneath your skin, and when you bit his lower lip—just a teasing nip—he groaned, low and throaty.

Not yet, your brain hissed, even as your hips pressed closer, even as his thumbs dug into the dimples above your waistband, anchoring you against him. The static hum of the paused TV blurred into white noise, replaced by the ragged symphony of his breaths, your pulse, and the creak of the couch as he shifted to deepen the kiss. His earlier hesitance had dissolved into something reckless, hungry, as he murmured, “Christ, you’re—”

You didn’t let him finish.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, sweat-damp and trembling. His cheeks were flushed, pupils blown wide enough to swallow the room’s dim light, but his grin was pure mischief. “I don’t know how good a coach you can be,” he rasped, thumb brushing the smudged corner of your lip. “You’re too distracting.”

The dizzying warmth in your chest flared—a wildfire threatening to burn through your resolve. You shoved him back against the cushions, ignoring the way your traitorous hands lingered on his chest, the heat of him seeping through his hoodie. “Jokeys first,” you said, voice steadier than you felt. “First thing tomorrow.”

He flopped backward, arm slung over his eyes in mock defeat. “Cruel. Absolutely cruel.” But his laugh was bright, unburdened, “Though I trust you, teach me how to not die at Wembley.”

The pitch squatted between a dual carriageway and a Lidl car park, its chain-link fence trembling under the lash of a north-easterly wind. March in London wasn’t spring—it was winter’s spiteful encore. Frost clung to the dead grass in jagged lace, and the penalty area had become a boggy quagmire from last night’s sleet. A deflated football lay stranded near the corner flag, half-submerged in a puddle slicked with rainbow petrol.

You found Will leaning against his car, hands shoved deep into his pockets, hood pulled tight against the weather. His breath plumed in the air as he squinted at the pitch. “This is where England’s future dies, then?”

“This is where you learn a new skill,” you corrected, slinging your kit bag over the fence. The metal rattled like a cage. “Pitch is alive. Listen to it.”

He snorted. “Alive? It’s wheezing.”

You let the silence stretch, the wind filling it with the groan of distant traffic. A crisp packet skittered across the centre circle, snagging on a tuft of frost-bitten grass. Finally, he shoved off the car, muttering, “Should’ve stayed at home.”

The first touch was a disaster. Will’s boot sank into the mud, the ball squirting sideways like a bar of soap. He stumbled, arms pinwheeling, and you bit back a laugh. “Lovely pirouette. Swan Lake at Wembley, yeah?”

“Piss off,” he grumbled, but his lips twitched.

For twenty minutes, you drilled him on stance—knees bent, weight forward, stop standing like a lamppost. The wind stole his curses as he wobbled, overcorrected, and nearly face-planted. By the time his shadow began to resemble something competent, the sleet returned—needle-sharp, horizontal—and the pitch became a slurry of ice and gluey earth.

You tossed him the ball. “Eyes up.”

He stared at it like it owed him money. “Why?”

“Because”, you said, stepping close enough to see the sleet caught in his lashes, “Harry’s not your nan. He won’t care if you slip. He’ll just take the ball.”

The ball skidded, the wind howled, and the real work began.

“Eyes up, remember?” you said, tapping your temple. “Not on the ball. Not yet.”

He dragged his gaze to your face, shoulders rigid. “Their eyes lie, hips don’t. Got it.”

“Good.” You feinted left, hips closed, and he shuffled sideways—too early. The ball rolled untouched through the gap he’d left. “Trust yourself. Watch mine.”

He groaned, kicking a clump of half-frozen mud. “Thought this was supposed to be simple.”

“It is. And you’re overcomplicating it.” You repositioned him, hands firm on his shoulders. “Feet wider. Knees bent. You’re not posing for a thumbnail.

He sank into a crouch, more gargoyle than athlete. “Happy?”

“Thrilled.” You stepped back, dribbling lazily. “Next—eyes on my hips. Ignore the ball. Ignore my feet. Just… react.”

You shifted left, hips snapping open. Will mirrored, a beat too slow, his boots skidding on frost. The ball slipped past, and he cursed, the sound swallowed by the growl of a passing gritter truck.

“Again”, you ordered.

By the fifth attempt, his movements grew less wooden. On the sixth, he anticipated your pivot, cutting off the angle with a grunt of effort. The ball ricocheted off his shin guard, vanishing into a puddle.

“There!” You jabbed a finger at him. “You saw it.”

“Saw your hip do a… thing.” He wiped his nose, red from the cold. “Still don’t get how this stops, Harry.”

“It helps you think and predict others’ movements.” You reclaimed the ball, spinning it under your heel. “By Friday, we’ll talk about huddling him toward the sidelines—that’s when you break his ankles.”

Will blinked. “Huddle?”

“Using the pitch like a cage. Force him where you want him.” You gestured to the chain-link fence, its rust bleeding onto the frost. “But that stuff’s for later. Right now…” You feinted right, hoping he’d pick up that your hips were falsely screaming go left, and Will bit hard, lunging. The ball slipped through, kissing the inside netting of the goal.

“Christ,” he muttered, hands braced on his knees. “Feels like learning to walk.”

You tossed him a water bottle, your voice softening. “Day One’s about trust. Trust your mind. Trust the pitch. The rest?” You nodded to the empty stands, where a lone pigeon pecked at a discarded crisp packet. “That’s just noise.”

He straightened, squinting at the goal. “Again.”

This time, when you danced forward, he held his ground—hips square, stance wide—though his fingers flexed at his sides like he was still arguing with himself. You juked left and right, your boots hissing over the frost, but he matched every feint, forcing you toward the touchline until your heel grazed the chain-link fence. The ball died in a slush pile, and his laugh burst free—bright and buoyant, a sound that carried the weight of unspoken relief.

“There you are,” you said, toeing the ball back to centre. It left a ragged brown scar across the ice.

He caught it mid-bounce, mud streaking his gloves. “Where’d I go?”

“Into your head. Again.” You nodded to the sodden turf. “But your feet stayed here. That’s… progress.”

He punted the ball skyward, its arc slicing through the sleet. “Progress? I just channelled prime Maldini.”

“Maldini wept during his first tackle.” You let the ball thud into the muck, untouched. “You’re drier. Marginally.”

He barked a laugh, but his gaze flicked to the goalposts, their nets sagging under the weight of old rain. “What’s tomorrow? You making me cry?”

“Depends.” You lobbed the ball at his chest, softer this time. He caught it, his reflexes sharper now, breath steady. “Tomorrow’s about why you held your ground today. Why you didn’t lunge.”

He rolled the ball under his palm, quiet for once. The wind gnawed at the silence, carrying the distant clatter of a train on the tracks behind Lidl.

“Dinner. My place,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Carbonara. Or the biryani you’ve been whinging about since Tuesday.”

He brightened instantly, the practised sarcasm dissolving. “Finally. I’ve been dreaming about your carbonara since the last time you made it.”

You arched a brow. “Thought you’d beg for the biryani.”

“Carbonara’s your peace offering. Biryani’s for when I actually impress you.” He lobbed the ball into the gear pile, his grin widening. “Don’t pretend you’re not smug I remembered.”

You turned toward the gate, sleet needling your neck. “Keep standing your ground like today, and I’ll even add garlic bread.”

He fell into step beside you, close enough that his sleeve brushed yours. “Bribery? What happened to discipline and professionalism?”

“You’re the one moaning about my coaching,” you said, nodding to the abandoned ball—still upright, still defiant in the mud. “Discipline’s tomorrow. Tonight’s about… recalibrating.”

He hummed, a low, contented sound you’d only ever heard after he’d nailed a drill. “Recalibrating. Sure. Just admit you like watching me suffer through your chilli flakes.”

Ahead, the crow took flight from the crossbar, its wings scattering droplets that speckled the frozen turf. You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The warmth in his voice, the ease in his stride—it was all there, simmering beneath the sleet and sarcasm.

The pitch squatted between a dual carriageway and a Lidl car park, its chain-link fence trembling under the lash of a north-easterly wind. March in London wasn’t spring—it was winter’s spiteful encore. Frost clung to the dead grass in jagged lace, and the penalty area had become a boggy quagmire from last night’s sleet. A deflated football lay stranded near the corner flag, half-submerged in a puddle slicked with rainbow petrol.

You found Will leaning against his car, hands shoved deep into his pockets, hood pulled tight against the weather. His breath plumed in the air as he squinted at the pitch. “This is where England’s future dies, then?”

“This is where you learn a new skill,” you corrected, slinging your kit bag over the fence. The metal rattled like a cage. “Pitch is alive. Listen to it.”

He snorted. “Alive? It’s wheezing.”

You let the silence stretch, the wind filling it with the groan of distant traffic. A crisp packet skittered across the centre circle, snagging on a tuft of frost-bitten grass. Finally, he shoved off the car, muttering, “Should’ve stayed at home.”

The first touch was a disaster. Will’s boot sank into the mud, the ball squirting sideways like a bar of soap. He stumbled, arms pinwheeling, and you bit back a laugh. “Lovely pirouette. Swan Lake at Wembley, yeah?”

“Piss off,” he grumbled, but his lips twitched.

For twenty minutes, you drilled him on stance—knees bent, weight forward, stop standing like a lamppost. The wind stole his curses as he wobbled, overcorrected, and nearly face-planted. By the time his shadow began to resemble something competent, the sleet returned—needle-sharp, horizontal—and the pitch became a slurry of ice and gluey earth.

You tossed him the ball. “Eyes up.”

He stared at it like it owed him money. “Why?”

“Because”, you said, stepping close enough to see the sleet caught in his lashes, “Harry’s not your nan. He won’t care if you slip. He’ll just take the ball.”

The ball skidded, the wind howled, and the real work began.

“Eyes up, remember?” you said, tapping your temple. “Not on the ball. Not yet.”

He dragged his gaze to your face, shoulders rigid. “Their eyes lie; hips don’t. Got it.”

“Good.” You feinted left, hips closed, and he shuffled sideways—too early. The ball rolled untouched through the gap he’d left. “Trust yourself. Watch mine.”

He groaned, kicking a clump of half-frozen mud. “Thought this was supposed to be simple.”

“It is. And you’re overcomplicating it.” You repositioned him, hands firm on his shoulders. “Feet wider. Knees bent. You’re not posing for a thumbnail.

He sank into a crouch, more gargoyle than athlete. “Happy?”

“Thrilled.” You stepped back, dribbling lazily. “Next—eyes on my hips. Ignore the ball. Ignore my feet. Just… react.”

You shifted left, hips snapping open. Will mirrored, a beat too slow, his boots skidding on frost. The ball slipped past, and he cursed, the sound swallowed by the growl of a passing gritter truck.

“Again”, you ordered.

By the fifth attempt, his movements grew less wooden. On the sixth, he anticipated your pivot, cutting off the angle with a grunt of effort. The ball ricocheted off his shin guard, vanishing into a puddle.

“There!” You jabbed a finger at him. “You saw it.”

“Saw your hip do a… thing.” He wiped his nose red from the cold. “Still don’t get how this stops, Harry.”

“It helps you think and predict others’ movements.” You reclaimed the ball, spinning it under your heel. “By Friday, we’ll talk about huddling him toward the sidelines—that’s when you break his ankles.”

Will blinked. “Huddle?”

“Using the pitch like a cage. Force him where you want him.” You gestured to the chain-link fence, its rust bleeding onto the frost. “But that stuff’s for later. Right now…” You feinted right, hoping he’d pick up that your hips were falsely screaming go left, and Will bit hard, lunging. The ball slipped through, kissing the inside netting of the goal.

“Christ,” he muttered, hands braced on his knees. “Feels like learning to walk.”

You tossed him a water bottle, your voice softening. “Day One’s about trust. Trust your mind. Trust the pitch. The rest?” You nodded to the empty stands, where a lone pigeon pecked at a discarded crisp packet. “That’s just noise.”

He straightened, squinting at the goal. “Again.”

This time, when you danced forward, he held his ground—hips square, stance wide—though his fingers flexed at his sides like he was still arguing with himself. You juked left and right, your boots hissing over the frost, but he matched every feint, forcing you toward the touchline until your heel grazed the chain-link fence. The ball died in a slush pile, and his laugh burst free—bright and buoyant, a sound that carried the weight of unspoken relief.

“There you are,” you said, toeing the ball back to centre. It left a ragged brown scar across the ice.

He caught it mid-bounce, mud streaking his gloves. “Where’d I go?”

“Into your head. Again.” You nodded to the sodden turf. “But your feet stayed here. That’s… progress.”

He punted the ball skyward, its arc slicing through the sleet. “Progress? I just channelled prime Maldini.”

“Maldini wept during his first tackle.” You let the ball thud into the muck, untouched. “You’re drier. Marginally.”

He barked a laugh, but his gaze flicked to the goalposts, their nets sagging under the weight of old rain. “What’s tomorrow? You making me cry?”

“Depends.” You lobbed the ball at his chest, softer this time. He caught it, his reflexes sharper now, breath steady. “Tomorrow’s about why you held your ground today. Why you didn’t lunge.”

He rolled the ball under his palm, quiet for once. The wind gnawed at the silence, carrying the distant clatter of a train on the tracks behind Lidl.

“Dinner. My place,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Carbonara. Or the biryani you’ve been whinging about since Tuesday.”

He brightened instantly, the practised sarcasm dissolving. “Finally. I’ve been dreaming about your carbonara since the last time you made it.”

You arched a brow. “Thought you’d beg for the biryani.”

“Carbonara’s your peace offering. Biryani’s for when I actually impress you.” He lobbed the ball into the gear pile, his grin widening. “Don’t pretend you’re not smug I remembered.”

You turned toward the gate, sleet needling your neck. “Keep standing your ground like today, and I’ll even add garlic bread.”

He fell into step beside you, close enough that his sleeve brushed yours. “Bribery? What happened to ‘discipline’ and ‘professionalism’”?

“You’re the one moaning about my coaching,” you said, nodding to the abandoned ball—still upright, still defiant in the mud. “Discipline’s tomorrow. Tonight’s about… recalibrating.”

He hummed, a low, contented sound you’d only ever heard after he’d nailed a drill. “Recalibrating. Sure. Just admit you like watching me suffer through your chilli flakes.”

Ahead, the crow took flight from the crossbar, its wings scattering droplets that speckled the frozen turf. You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The warmth in his voice, the ease in his stride—it was all there, simmering beneath the sleet and sarcasm.

The wind had shifted, swapping sleet for a spiteful drizzle that seeped into collars and chewed through seams. The pitch, still a quilt of mud and dead grass, now bristled with training dummies dragged from the clubhouse storage—their sagging vinyl bodies streaked with grime, zip-tied to rusted poles like drunk sentries. Will stood in front of the goal, breath visible in the raw air, hoodie sleeves darkened to sludge-grey with rain. His shadow pooled at his feet, thin and shivering.

"Near post", you called, and fired.

The ball cut through the drizzle, a blurred comet. Will lunged, boots skidding in the same boggy corner where he’d face-planted on Day 1. The impact echoed—a dull thud—as the ball smacked his thigh, then squirted wide, carving a brown scar through the muck.

"Better", you said, "but you hesitated."

"Because last time I committed, you chipped me," he snapped, wiping his nose on a sleeve already stiff with dried mud. A fresh bruise mottled his shin, purple bleeding through the grime, a trophy from yesterday’s failed block.

You rolled another ball forward with your heel, its surface filmy with rainwater. "Exactly. Decide, don’t guess."

For an hour, it was a rhythm of grit and failure: the slap of wet leather against skin, the clatter of poles as Will collided with dummies, their hollow heads sloshing with collected rain. The hiss of breath through teeth when he overreached, his ankle twisting on a buried stone. When he charged like a man chasing a runaway umbrella, you curled the ball around him, it kissed the inside post with a smug clang. When he held back, stiff as that first-day lamppost, you drilled it into the net so hard the crossbar shuddered, rust flaking like snow.

By the end, his hoodie clung to him like a second skin, rain dripping off his jaw in a steady tap-tap-tap against his collarbone. But his eyes stayed locked on your hips even as his teeth chattered.

"Your brain’s the enemy," you said, tossing him a thermos of tea to warm his bones against the weather. "Stop thinking. Move."

He gulped it, the scent of bergamot and honey briefly overpowering the wet earth. Steam fogged his glasses, turning his eyes into smudged watercolours. "Says the person who’s done this since they could walk."

You stepped closer, close enough to see the goosebumps on his neck and the raw split in his chapped lip. "Back home", you said, "I learnt doubt gets you beat faster than any striker." You flicked the ball up, catching it mid-air, your palm stinging with the cold bite of its seams. "You’ve got instinct—trust it."

He stared at the mud caked under his nails, black crescents that no amount of scrubbing would lift. "Instinct got me a 3–0 loss last season."

"That wasn’t instinct," you said, spinning the ball on your finger until the world blurred. "That was fear. There’s a difference."

The dummies sagged under the rain, their hollow heads filling like buckets. Will spat—a sharp, defiant sound—straightened, and nodded at the goal. "Again."

This time, when you fired, he didn’t lunge. Didn’t freeze. He shifted, hips pivoting with the lazy grace of a door on a rusted hinge, and redirected the ball wide with a controlled tap of his instep. It rolled to a stop at the base of a dummy, its grin streaked with algae.

You didn’t smile. Didn’t need to. The drizzle thinned just enough to gild the pitch in a silvered haze, and for a heartbeat, the goalposts didn’t sag. They waited.

"Again," he said, voice rough but steady.

You obliged.

Later, as you wrestled the waterlogged dummies into the storage shed, their vinyl limbs slapping lifelessly against the door frame, Will leaned into the threshold. His arms were crossed tight against the cold, breath curling into the damp air like cigarette smoke. “Dinner,” he said, not a question. “Your place again? Unless you’re sick of my face.”

You flung a damp towel at him, its frayed corner snapping like a whip in the wind. He caught it one-handed, the fabric unfurling with a wet slap against his chest. “Casserole”, you said. “Your pick—chicken or whatever’s in my fridge.”

He dragged the towel over his hair, mussing it into a damp tangle, but his smirk stayed intact. “Chicken, please. Because you’ll spite-season it if I don’t suffer.”

“Suffering’s extra.” You shoved the last dummy inside, its hollow head thunking against the shed wall.

He fell into step beside you, shoulders brushing as you picked through the frozen ruts toward the gate. The cold had turned the mud to jagged teeth, but he matched your pace, steady where he’d once stumbled. Ahead, a crow launched itself from the crossbar, wings battering the air, and the abandoned ball shuddered under the spray of droplets—still upright, still defiant, its scuffed hexagons glinting through the grime like a wink.

“Mud’s got better form than you did on day one,” you said, nodding to it.

He huffed, breath fogging the space between you. “Mud doesn’t have Twitter trolls.”

“Yet.”

His laugh was sharp and fleeting, but his stride never faltered.

Rain sheeted down in relentless curtains, turning the penalty box into a quagmire. The ball, waterlogged and sluggish, clung to your boot like a stubborn barnacle as you squared up to Will. His hood sagged under the weight of the downpour, plastering his hair to his forehead, but his stance was pure defiance—knees bent, fingertips grazing the mud, eyes locked on your hips like they held the secret to salvation.

"1v1," you shouted over the drumbeat of rain on the crossbar. "Stop me, you win. I score, you owe me a spa day—hot stones, cucumber eyes, the full mortification."

He barked a laugh, sharp and brittle. "Deal. But when I win, you admit my slide tackle’s better than Rio’s."

You feinted right, shoulders telegraphing a sprint, then cut left. He shifted with you, boots skidding but holding firm, herding you toward the corner flag. At the last second, you dragged the ball back with the sole of your boot, mud spraying as you slipped past his outstretched leg. The net bulged, then sagged, swallowing the ball whole.

"Again," you ordered, already rolling another ball forward with your toe.

This time, he jockeyed you like a shadow, his breath ragged but his feet alive—no more flat-footed statue, no more panic. When you tapped the ball between your legs, aiming to nutmeg him, he snapped his thighs shut like a bear trap, pinning the ball mid-spin.

"YES!" Your roar tore through the rain, fists punching the air. "That’s the Will I need! The one who bites!"

But when you spun him with a stepover—hips swivelling, boot flicking the ball over an imaginary hurdle—he overcompensated, his shin cracking against the post. The metallic clang shuddered through the goal goalframe. He crumpled, swearing, fingers clawing at his sodden jeans. "I’m useless at this! Christ, just—"

You marched toward him, boots sloshing through ankle-deep slurry. Rain needled your scalp, your shirt clinging like a second skin. Without a word, you hauled him upright, your grip iron on his bicep. "Look at me."

He didn’t. His gaze stayed fixed on the mud, jaw working like he was chewing glass.

"Look. At. Me." You waited until his eyes—wild, wounded—met yours. "You’ve blocked half my shots today. Half. Last week, I’d have danced around you like you were a traffic cone. Progress isn’t perfection—it’s persistence. It’s showing up when your knees feel like jelly and your brain's screaming, Quit!"

He wrenched free, but his voice frayed. "What if I crack during the match? What if I—"

"You won’t." You stepped into his space, close enough to see the tremor in his throat and the rainwater caught in his lashes. "I’ve seen you throw yourself in front of every ball I’ve blasted at you. Bruised ribs, skinned knees, that." You jabbed a finger at the fresh welt on his shin, purple blooming beneath the grime. "You think courage is some grand, shiny thing? It’s this. It’s getting up when every cell in your body wants to crawl into a hole. Courage doesn’t crack—it weathers."

For a heartbeat, the rain seemed to still. Then his shoulders dropped, the fight leaching out of him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing mud and rainwater. "You’re a shit poet, you know that?"

"Tragic, isn’t it?" You nudged the ball toward him with your boot. "Now stop sulking. Spa day’s riding on your next tackle."

He huffed, but his stance widened, hips sinking into that feral crouch you’d drilled into him. The ball danced between you, a sodden pendulum, as the rain blurred the world beyond the eighteen-yard box.

The VIP box gleamed amber in the low March sun, its rays slanting through the stadium’s steel ribs to stripe the grass with gold. You leaned against the railing, the chill of late afternoon biting through your sleeves despite the sunlight, and watched the pitch below. Will prowled near the eighteen-yard line, breath visible in the crisp air, his red kit bright in contrast to the grass.

Simon struck first—a curling dagger toward the far post that ricocheted off the crossbar with a clang that reverberated through the murmuring crowd, the near miss hung in the air, sharp.

Move. MOVE.

Will didn’t celebrate. Didn’t pause. While Sketch was distracted, focus split between the ball and the masses, and Will drifted back, inch by inch, until his heels kissed the six-yard box line, and his shadow pooled inside the six-yard box—exactly where you’d burnt the position into his brain during those frostbitten drills.

George pounced on the rebound.

Time slowed.

The ball rocketed toward the top corner, a comet trailing turf and desperation. The keeper lunged, a split second too slow, but Will—your Will—was already airborne.

His body twisted midair, shoulders hunched, neck muscles taut as bridge cables. The impact was a loud crack—forehead meeting ball—sending the ball spiralling wide, skittering harmlessly toward the corner flag.

Will hit the grass hard, his momentum carrying him into a tight, controlled roll—shoulder to hip, one fluid whirl—before he sprang up in a single explosive motion, dry grass blades flying off his kit.

As he rose, the stadium erupted in a deafening wave of sound that shook the very foundations of Wembley. The crowd was on its feet before he even finished standing. A tidal wave of noise crashed down from the stands. Strangers hugged strangers. Scarves whirled overhead like battle flags. Behind the goal, a sea of supporters pounded the advertising boards in perfect, thunderous rhythm.

Will celebrated, looking to the sky, veins standing out in his neck as he screamed, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. The cameras caught every detail—the wild look in his eyes, the sweat flying from his brow, and the way his chest heaved with adrenaline and triumph.

On the pitch, teammates mobbed him, their celebrations almost violent in their intensity. Someone ruffled his sweat-drenched hair. Another player grabbed his face and screamed something unintelligible right into his ear.

Then pure, unfiltered joy exploded through you.

You were on your feet before you realised it, chair clattering backward as you vaulted up, arms already raised in triumph. A wordless scream tore from your throat—something between a battle cry and pure elation—raw and uncontainable. Your hands flew to your head, fingers tangling in your hair as you bounced on your toes, the sheer adrenaline making it impossible to stand still.

On the pitch, Will turned toward the stands, his eyes scanning the crowd. You swore he looked right at you—just for a split second—and you raised both arms higher, screaming his name like a prayer and a promise all at once. The grin that split his face then was worth every drop of sweat, every moment of frustration. It was perfect. He was perfect. And you were going to lose your voice tomorrow, but, God, it was worth it.

This is sort of a different universe from the other Will x Reader fic I made. I hope this was okay, I did it across the week, doing it in chunks, so there may be some inconsistencies. Sorry if there are. Please feel free to point them out, and I can fix them!

[gremlin-girly]

Fic title: The sound of the sea (you know…?😏😏)

Oh Sydney now I wonder who l should make this about👀

The Sound of the Sea

Pairing: Bucky x sirenf!reader

Tags/warnings: nudity, meetcute, no smut

A/N: Sun, Sea and Sirens coded? Yup. I never had a Bucky fic for that planned as I was too focused on ... well, all of the fics and a secret fairy option 🥴🤭

Bucky had missed the sound of the sea.

He was grateful that Sam had let him borrow his family's boat for a few nights to escape the humdrum of Louisiana hospitality.

Waves crashed gently against the bow, rocking the boat to and fro. Bucky remembered being on the boat to England when he got drafted; the weather was worse and he was trapped in a giant metal ship crammed with hundreds of others, puking their guts up and missing home. He'd been missing Steve, his mom and his sister.

That had been lifetimes ago.

Bucky took a swig of beer and looked to the stars. The night was clear so they sparkled against the black of the sky like twinkling lights. He mapped Orion's Belt and the Little and Big Dippers, tracing them with his left hand.

"Fly me to the moon,

Let me play amongst the stars."

The singing caught him off guard and Bucky patted his pockets for his phone. He couldn't remember liking such a serene version of Sinatra's famous song but then again, he wasn't the best with technology.

"Let me see what spring is like,

On Jupiter or Mars."

There's a splash in the water beyond the boat and Bucky wants to face palm. His phone isn't playing anything and he is anchored. Someone is probably swimming around the boat.

Although, this far out?

Bucky's instincts take over. He wasn't prepared for much of a fight but he stalks around the boat, peering to find a dingy or the woman singing but finds nothing.

Then at the other end of the boat, the singing continues;

"In other words hold my hand,

In other words, baby, kiss me."

Bucky dives to the other end of the boat, heart frantic. No one's there.

"Hey!" He calls to the darkness. "I know you're out there!"

There's silence for a moment and then he sees a shape emerge from the water about five feet away from him and he flicks on his phone torch. A woman squints back at him.

Her shoulders are bare, so no tactical gear from the torso up and she doesn't have any SCUBA kit on. She's a civilian.

He sighs. "What are you doing out here?"

"What are you doing out here?" She throws back. "I thought this boat was empty."

"It's not, clearly." Bucky huffs but then his face softens into a smile. "Was that you? Singing?"

The woman smiles back, bobbing in the water. "Well, unless you see anyone else around here. Then yes."

"It was beautiful." He swallows, suddenly acutely aware that there was a gorgeous woman in the water before him. "Sorry for interrupting. I just - you-"

"Scared you?" She chuckles and Bucky can feel his face heat up.

"Now, I wouldn't say scare. More like startle." He counters, leaning his arms onto the side of the boat. "But I'll ask again; what are you doing all the way out here?"

"What does it look like?" She asks playfully, leaning onto the water, exposing her bare chest. Bucky chokes on a swig of beer and hurriedly turns around. She sighs with a smile looking up at the stars. "Swimming and stargazing."

"Right." Bucky grits taking a large gulp of beer.

"Do you like stargazing?" She asks, the swish of water echo up the sides of the boat.

"Yeah. I was about the find Ursa Major before I heard your singing."

She hums and Bucky can feel himself relax against the side of the boat, slumping slightly. He places back towards the sky, the stars wink back.

"Sorry." She says quietly. "I thought the boat was empty."

"So you've said." He chuckles. "Don't apologise, it's alright."

"Do you mind if I... stay a while?" She asks almost sheepishly, and Bucky can hear her arms spreading the water as she moves closer to the boat. "I like coming out here to look at the stars."

Bucky takes a cautionary glance down at her in the sea. Her gaze is excitable and pleading. God, he can't say no. His heart thunders.

"Sure. Um, you wanna come aboard?" He points to the rear of the boat. "I have beer and some water if you want a rest from swimming."

She laughs again; another beautiful sound. "I'm naked so if you have any blankets, sure."

Bucky blushes hard but forces himself to nod. Soon enough, the mystery swimmer is sat on the boat, drying herself off before clinking a beer with Bucky wearing the scratchiest blanket known to man.

They spend the night pointing to the sky, discussing the different constellations and planets. Bucky has never felt more at ease around this stranger and he wonders whether he would see her again.

When he asks, she smiles.

"There's an observatory that you can see planets that are even further than the human eye or an average telescope." He blunders, trying not to trip over his words. "I... would like to take you if youve not been."

"I would like to go." She says and then looks disheartened. "But how far away is it? How close to the water?"

Buckh blinks at the odd questions and shakes his head. "I don't know. I'd have to check Boogle or whatever."

"Boogle?" She frowns and shakes her head. "Who the hell is Boogle?"

Bucky laughs awkwardly. She's so cute and he's trying so hard not to mess this - albeit very strange - encounter up. "It's a, um, search engine thingy. I think I've said it wrong. Look, um, if I could get your number we could text about it?"

It was a ham-fisted attempt and Bucky inwardly groans at himself but the stranger grins, rattling off her number as he types it into his contacts and offers her name because he'd been too excited to ask.

He can't remember when he fell asleep, or when the mystery woman had put her blanket over him, and was half convinced it had been a dream when he woke up alone in the middle of the ocean. Until he found a sweet note thanking him for the beer and company.

He smiled to himself as he headed back towards the shore. He couldn't wait to rub this in Sam's face. Or learn more about his mystery ocean woman.

[lazysoulwriter]

grumpy and irresistible - joel miller. (MDNI)

LOOK AT ME WRITING A SMUT! - trying. hope is gooood. w.c: 1.8k ~

---

Running into Joel Miller months ago was both the best and worst thing that ever happened to you. I mean… he helps you, he protects you… but he’s a fucking hottie. A goddamn delicious man. And you can barely get close! He’s so moody, so pissed off about everything. You're in the end of the world, of course… but damn. It’s not easy.

Most of the time, he doesn’t even understand how he ended up letting a girl like you tag along on this survival journey. You’re much younger, and despite being strong and brave, you can be a real pain in the ass. You’re chatty, you make him hug you when it’s too cold (okay, he secretly likes that part), and you stop in the middle of nowhere just to say things like, "Oh, look! A hummingbird!"

A pain. In. The. Ass.

And today was no different. As you walked in search of food, you looked at him intently, thinking about how damn annoying he can be sometimes—or how it’s a total waste for someone that beautiful to be so grumpy all the time.

And then… well, then something crossed your mind.

How long has it been since Joel last had sex?

Like… you haven’t had sex in ages, but you have your ways of relieving yourself. And you doubt he even jerks off. Maybe all this frustration, all this grumpiness, comes from that.

Maybe.

"Joooeel…" you hummed in that way he knew all too well. He just glanced over his shoulder, signaling that he was listening.

"Can I ask you something? I know you’re gonna get mad, but—"

"Then no. I don’t feel like getting even madder." He cut you off, his voice rough, trying to shut you up.

But that never scared you.

"Please! I’m gonna start begging…" you threatened, knowing full well he hated when you begged.

"Just say it!" His tone turned even harsher. "And if I get mad, you’ll go find something to eat by yourself."

"Oh, stop. You would never leave me—" you picked up your pace, walking alongside him now. "So… how long has it been since you had sex?" You tried to sound casual, like you weren’t dying of curiosity. "Or, you know… something like that."

He stopped. Abruptly.

Like you had just punched him in the face.

You blinked up at him, waiting for an answer.

"Why don’t you just mind your own damn business?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes in that way that only made him hotter.

"I’m just asking! If you don’t wanna answer, that’s fine." You shrugged and started walking again. Moments later, you heard his footsteps behind you, along with a deep, frustrated sigh.

"I don’t know, okay?" His voice came after a long silence, just when you were already distracted. "I don’t even remember the last time I touched someone like that. And I have no idea when I last felt something like that."

You just nodded. But now? That was your goal. You were going to fuck this man. No matter what. When? You didn’t know. But you would.

-

You let it go—for now.

But after that day, something shifted. Maybe it was just in your head, maybe not. But you started noticing things. The way Joel’s gaze lingered on you just a little longer when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his hand would rest on your lower back when he guided you through dark hallways or past abandoned cars. The way he sighed—deep, exasperated, but never truly angry—whenever you leaned too close, testing the limits of his patience.

And, most of all, the way he didn’t pull away. Not really.

Not when you brushed your fingers over his forearm while handing him his rifle. Not when you sat next to him by the fire, knees bumping under the weight of exhaustion. Not when you made those little jokes, the ones that pulled a rare, reluctant smirk from him, even if he shook his head afterward like he wished he could take it back.

And then, one night, it happened.

You’d just set up camp inside the shell of an old bookstore, a storm howling outside. The fire crackled between you, throwing soft shadows across his face. You could see every line there, every scar, every tired thing he’d never say out loud. He sat against the wall, boots planted on the ground, legs slightly spread. He looked exhausted. But awake. Watching you.

You sat across from him, hugging your knees, tilting your head.

"What?" he muttered.

"Nothing."

A pause. Then—

"Bullshit," he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

You grinned, slow and lazy. "I was just thinking... if you can’t even remember the last time you touched someone, then maybe you’ve just forgotten how."

That got you a look. A dark, warning glance that made your stomach flip in the best way.

"Don’t start."

"I’m just saying—"

"No."

You pushed up onto your knees, crawling closer, testing the waters.

"Not even a kiss, Joel?" Your voice was softer now, teasing but not cruel. "No wonder you’re always so grumpy."

He tensed, fingers twitching against his knee. "You—"

"You could just let me remind you."

His breath hitched. Just barely.

You sat back on your heels, waiting. Letting him think. Letting him decide.

And then—slowly, cautiously, like he knew he was making a mistake—Joel reached out.

His fingers traced up the curve of your jaw, rough and calloused. You didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, afraid you might break the moment.

And then he kissed you.

It was careful at first, hesitant, like he was relearning something he used to be good at. But when you sighed against his lips, when your fingers found the back of his neck and pulled him closer—Joel groaned, low and deep, and that hesitation snapped like a thread pulled too tight.

His hand slid to your waist, gripping firmly, pulling you into his lap without a second thought. The heat of him seeped into your skin, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made your head spin.

And just like that, you knew. You were right. He had gone too long without this. Without you. And you were going to fix that.

The kisses were getting more and more intense and desperate. You couldn't afford to waste time.

In seconds, your blouse was thrown on the floor behind you, exposing your lack of bra and earning a little smile from him that you had never seen before. Desire. He attacked your breasts like no one had ever done before. He massaged one, sucked, licked, and bit the other, while your moans were already too loud for your good. But fuck it. You almost cried when you saw him taking off his shirt on top of you, his strong arms now fully exposed, his chest too delicious to be true.

You pulled him back to your lips, which this time was even more urgent. Soon, you were completely naked and desperate for each other. "Are you sure?" He asked, lining himself up at your entrance. And you were already going crazy. You just wanted to be fucked. "Of course! Just fuck me, please." You begged and watched as his eyes darken even more – if that was possible.

Without any further warning, he pushed inside you. Both of you let out heavy sighs. He was big. Really big. But you were so wet that you didn’t even feel him pushing it all in. He didn’t move for a few seconds, as if he was savoring something he had wanted for so, so long. “I know you’re having a moment. But please, Joel! Move!” You whimpered, holding one of his arms tightly. You didn’t need to say anything else. You could feel every inch of him. Every vein. And how he was pulsing inside you. Your legs wrapped around him, pulling him even deeper, if that was possible. His moans were like music to your ears. Low, heavy. “Fuck, that’s it… That’s it…” You clawed at his back in a delicious way. He lowered himself a little more, just enough to pull one of your nipples between his teeth, taking you over the edge. And making you scream. The sound of the skin hitting each other was almost pornographic, making everything more intense with each moment. He grabbed your leg and brought it up to his shoulder. This new angle took you to an absurd wave of pleasure, Joel caressed you all over. Your whole body. And he stopped under your belly, just to show off and feel his cock there, filling you.

“You’re fucking delicious…” He murmured between breaths. “So fucking hot… I’ve always wanted to fuck that little pussy of yours. Always.” That brought you to your orgasm. Obviously. Joel fucking Miller telling you that? With that voice? Fuck.

Without a warning, you came on his cock, moaning his name and making him delirious. He was euphoric and ready… ready to fill you. “Can I?” He asked, about cumming inside. It’s not the best option, but at that moment it was all you wanted. And you would have it. “Please… Fill me up.” You whimpered again, holding your own breasts, which made him lose it. And in the next second, you felt the hot jets inside your walls. And then… Oh my. His expression. Completely lost in pleasure. He thrust a few more times and pulled out, only to look at your pussy spilling his cum. Totally filthy.

Joel collapsed onto his side beside you, chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths. For a long moment, neither of you spoke—just the sound of the fire crackling, the storm still raging outside, and the quiet hum of satisfaction between you.

His arm draped lazily over his stomach, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or keep his distance.

You made the choice for him.

Rolling onto your side, you pressed your face against his shoulder, tracing light, absentminded patterns over his chest. His skin was warm, damp with sweat, and you felt the way his muscles tensed, then relaxed under your touch.

"Jesus," he muttered, voice rough. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

You grinned against his skin. "Nope."

His chuckle was barely there, but it was real. And you liked that. Liked knowing you could pull something soft from him, even now.

After a moment, he exhaled deeply and finally—finally—wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in, letting himself hold you.

"This doesn't change anything," he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

You just hummed, pressing closer. "Sure, Joel."

You’d let him lie to himself for now. But you both knew the truth. This changed everything.

---

[noctiva]

breeding kink aside…the brainworms about toby being a dad are infesting me

toby would struggle at first, but he’d be such a good dad! the kiddos would love to climb him like a jungle gym. he would walk around doing stuff around the house with a kid on each leg and another on his shoulders. he’d teach them how to throw hatchets, wilderness survival skills, etc.

I’m clawing at my walls I can’t think about this right now I can’t think about this im going to burst into tears FUCK AHHHHHHHHHHH

I’m going 2 think about it anyway.

toby as a dad low-key panicking when he sees his first child for the first time because he’s never seen something so… small, and fragile. Something so pure, looking up at him with curious eyes that make his gut twist.

he would be terrified to do anything wrong at first. scared to even hold them because what if he twitches and drops them? what if he jostles them around too much? he’s good at ending lives not starting them he’s an anxious mess for the first few weeks.

but, with encouragement from you, it’ll dissipate over a few weeks. and once it does, good luck getting your hands on your own child lmaooo. his love for them will know no bounds. constantly wanting to hold them and rock them, marvelling at the fact that they exist. that the two of you made that. falling asleep on the couch with them lying on his chest, two protective arms cradling them even in slumber.

and I’m just gonna headcanon this rq, the first child would look more like you, but the second one would pretty much be a carbon copy of toby himself - and that would fucking break him dude. even more so as they grow up and look more and more like their father.

he would fall into the role of a father almost naturally, after the initial fear fades away. (and can I just mention, it would make his lingering grudge against his father even worse though the man is already dead. because when faced with such innocent eyes, his children beaming up at him like he’s some sort of superhero, he could never imagine even raising his voice at them.)

he’s strong, and can’t feel the pain of exhaustion, so he doesn’t care if he has to haul around three kids at once while moseying around the house. actually, he loves it, and so do the kids obviously.

expect to be sitting on your couch with a book, watching in amusement as toby plays with them - dramatically pretending to lose a fight against three toddlers

‘I-I’m tapping out! You guys are t-too strong! Daddy didn’t stand a chance.’

when they’re older he’ll take them out camping. explore the forest with them and teach them everything he knows. what tracks belong to which animal. how to keep track of your own trail, what berries and mushrooms are edible and which aren’t.

and… he will teach them how to throw a hatchet. with a watchful eye from you of course, but he’s as careful as can be, and won’t let them so much as go near his weapons if he’s not there to watch.

yeah. im going a little feral rn

[alchemistc]

@a-mel0n's tags on the Helena gifset I reblogged made me take a step back and think for a bit.

I have a metric fuckton of my own issues that play into the way Helena Diaz makes me feel, but trying to look at it as unbiased as I can:

There's a large contingent of people who have IMMENSE derision for a Helicopter Mom, and the way they interpret her actions is just baked in misogyny on top of it. I'm a little scared to look at the tags on that post beyond the ones in my own notifications but I am assuming there's a lot of things in there that would make me go 'yeah but...she's not wrong'.

(If she were my mother we would fight to the death five times a week or I would have ghosted her years ago, but that's a me issue.)

A lot of the dogpiling seems to come from the fact that she's simultaneously dismissive of Eddie and holier-than-thou about the way Eddie parents. And I don't necessarily disagree with those points - there's a very specific reason her tone sticks in my craw and makes me irrationally upset, because it's a very specific behavior that when looked at in pattern is incredibly noticeable and incredibly demeaning.

The scene that tipped me over the edge on Helena isn't even in that gifset - it was when she couldn't be bothered to carry the fucking laptop over to where Chris's friends were singing him HBD, because that tipped the line from "I've been half-raising this child in your absence, this is a pattern of behavior on your part and I'm just trying to keep your son on even ground." to "I do not care about the relationship you have with my your son or the fact that you must be missing him."

In the end, Chris is the one who made the decision to leave, to go live with his grandparents, and they obliged because they love him. Eddie can't and shouldn't fault them for that.

And let's be real. Eddie's a fucking mess. Eddie has BEEN a fucking mess since he knocked up his girlfriend as a teenager and he's never fully recovered from that. He was already expected to be the man of his house BEFORE that, too. He's taken hit after hit after hit but I'm not sure what he's learned from it? That could be a narrative issue but he tends to go with the flow until he can't anymore and then throw live grenades at the issue.

Where I take issue with Helena is the way she just treats Eddie like he should Do Better without actually ever sitting down and having a serious conversation with him. She lectures, she hovers, she makes snide comments, and most of the time she's RIGHT but she doesn't get through to Eddie because her approach is ... atrocious. And she knows it, but she never fucking tries a different way.

And it stinks of Chris being her do-over kid. (Son, specifically, since we don't know anything about her daughters.) She could never bridge the gap and she's disappointed with the way Eddie's life has panned out but this time, this time the kid she's raising appreciates her, listens to her, wants her around, so she keeps holding on to that.

She's not evil, and she's nowhere close to being the worst parent among the 118 mains, but she's a perfect portrayal of the kind of parent who gets away with being cruel because she's just so focused on making sure her grandson's needs are met. She's the kind of parent who will turn a conversation on its head because she feels like she's being unfairly attacked when the conversation wasn't even about her.

I have sympathy for her: her son, the boy who had to be responsible for too much, too early, left her with a new daughter-in-law and a new baby while he fucked off to do what he thought was the right and correct thing to take care of his family. She lived that with her own husband, so I'm sure her priority has been Chris for a LONG time. But just like Eddie (like mother like son) she's done zero learning or growing from the time Eddie's been taking care of Chris on his own.

I think she's fascinating. I want to shake her by the shoulders until she's mildly concussed. I want her to consider that maybe they ALL need fucking therapy. I want her to look at her son and see an adult who is struggling and could use her support and guidance instead of her couched disapproval of anything he does. I would love for her to make a tenth of the effort with Eddie that she does with Chris.

She makes me so mad I wanna scream, but I think the thing that annoys me most is how the show treats her like an obstacle for Eddie to be able to raise his son, when they COULD be trying to figure out how to make it work together.

[getosbabymuva]

spend the night?

• drabble, previous history, but no established relationship, you’re a forgetful sleepyhead. a/n: i def have a type (men w dark hair)

word count - 467

your body slowly starts to become lighter when you stir awake, feeling the presence of someone looming over you.

“you talk in your sleep, you know that right?”

your eyes flutter open and you let out a surprised yelp to see sero with crossed arms, amused at your position. sitting up against the arm of the couch, you rub your eyes, “hanta, you scared the fuck out of me.”

a bit delirious, you search through textured throw pillows for your phone, only to pull it out of the confines of your jacket. wincing from the bright light, you open your phone and furrow your brows at the time. “it’s 3:00 am?” you whip your head around to sero, as if he was the one that kept you here.

he yawns in response before plopping on the couch next to you. “yeah you were supposed to leave a looong time ago.”

finally becoming more aware of your surroundings, you remember the events that lead up to this moment. you and a few friends had came over to sero’s house for a get-together, telling your friends you’d drive yourself back home, but you must’ve fallen asleep before having the chance to even do so.

“you know.. you can just stay the night. it’s pretty late to be on the road right now.” sero suggests casually, clearing his throat.

“really? it’s okay?” he nods. “you can head out in the morning. what type of friend would i be to kick you out at a time like this?”

this was true, he is worried about your safety, but he’d be lying if he said that this wasn’t an excuse to be able to spend more time with you.

you nod your head in agreement, but you’re unable to gloss over that “friend” statement. friend, really? after everything you’ve done together?

“alright well,” you sigh as you start to stand up, “you got anything i can sleep in?”

“in my room, you’ll find something in my closet. you can take the bed.” sero says, scratching the back of his neck.

before you can protest, he takes your hand into his and leads you upstairs. “don’t fight me on this.”

you’re taken aback by the sudden contact, but you don’t pull away. you reach his moonlit bedroom, which is surprisingly clean for someone who parties so often.

“okay.. get comfortable, yeah? ill be downstairs if you need me.” the black-haired boy states, standing across from you between the doorway. before he starts to walk away, you grab his arm.

“hold on, wait a second.” you say, disappearing into the room and coming back with a hefty blanket from the corner of sero’s room. “you don’t want to be cold down there.”

he shoots you a smile, gladly taking the blanket from you. “goodnight.”

[strang3lov3]

thinking about him tonight..... thinking about the implication............. need him bad unfortunately

“You seem nervous, don’t be nervous,” Dennis laughs, keeping his eyes on the endless, winding road. He grips the steering wheel tighter, his skin stretched out thin over his knuckles. “What, am I scaring you?”

You force out an awkward laugh, feeling around or the car’s door handle. Dennis notices this. His lips twitch and he exhales, shaking his head a little.

“You’re scared or you’re not, honey. Can’t be both.” 

“I’m uh - I’m a little scared, yeah.”

Dennis clicks his tongue. Not disappointed, but not surprised. Like he expected that answer, or maybe…maybe even hoped for it. “Don’t be scared. But I mean, that makes sense, though. The right setting can make anyone feel…vulnerable.” Dennis throws you a sideways glance, eyes tired and dead as he does his best to smile warmly. “And in a storm, well, gosh. That’ll do it, huh?”

A flicker of lightning and a booming clap of thunder has you jumping hard enough to make the seatbelt lock against you.  “It’s good that this happened,” Dennis continues. “I’ve been following you around, you know - in a good way, of course. And I knew there was something wrong with your tires. And then I recognized your license plates.” 

“How did you–” 

“Don’t worry about it.” There’s nother bolt of lightning, long and windy and spindling, lights up the sky. “God, how about this weather, right? Lucky that I found you tonight, huh? Wouldn’t wanna - wouldn’t wanna leave you stranded out there in the thunder and the lightning.” 

“Yeah,” you murmur, watching the speedometer’s needle rise, heart pounding so hard you can feel it behind your ribs and in your throat. Your voice is starting to wobble, too. "Th-thank you, f-for picking me up."

“And I love storms like these, honestly. We’re out in the middle of this quiet road. Nobody could see us, hear you.”

His words hang heavily in the air as he waits for you to speak, tilting his head. “Right?”

Your throat feels dry. “...right…” 

Dennis grins. "You know, I think we should pull over,” he says, checking the rear view and side mirrors of the car. “Yeah. Yeah, we should pull over. Before something…happens.”

His fingers flex against the wheel, and you swallow hard as Dennis applies the brakes, and the car starts to slow.