#i think this is gonna be good. new set up

[syluses]

𝄞 bloodhound

𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader

(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.

✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,

✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂‍↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D

With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.

By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.

In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.

You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.

And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”

Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.

…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.

✦

You blink and autumn is in full throttle.

You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.

Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.

You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.

Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.

Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.

Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.

Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.

At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…

Potential witnesses if he does.

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.

You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.

You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.

…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—

A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.

You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.

It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.

Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.

…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.

Then-

Tap tap tap.

Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—

You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.

By the sounds of it, he’s already close.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”

-Closer and gaining still.

Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.

You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.

“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”

No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.

You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.

You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.

As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.

Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.

“Sylus-“

You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.

Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.

Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’

You turn the corner and blanche.

Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.

And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.

The bottom falls through.

The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.

✦

“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.

The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.

“Y-You’re not my dog.”

One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-

That can’t be Sylus.

For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.

“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”

With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”

That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”

D-Dragonfruit? How does he…

The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.

…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.

“Y-You’re not-“

Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”

…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.

Not in your tiny apartment.

“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”

Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.

Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?

He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”

You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.

But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!

You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.

“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.

Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.

The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…

And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.

Sylus, it all says.

But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.

He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.

Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.

“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.

“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”

He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”

And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?

Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”

You do believe it. But it’s crazy.

He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.

Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-

“So? Do we have a deal or not?”

And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?

Or several.

✦

A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.

It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.

Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.

…As do your bones.

Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.

Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.

You gasp. “Sylus-“

You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.

He snarls.

“Quiet. I’m eating.”

Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.

He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.

‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’

“Good girl,” he practically purrs.

He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.

Not as much as you do right now.

“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.

But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.

But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—

“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.

“Just take the day off.”

Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.

“O-Okay.”

As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.

So you glance down.

He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.

He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.

Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.

That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.

You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.

…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.

Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:

Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.

Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.

“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”

He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”

You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.

And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.

His cock is somehow bigger.

Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.

Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.

Point is- he’s insatiable.

You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.

In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.

…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.

Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.

“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“

A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.

Challenging.

He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.

It’s the least he can do.

“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”

Your eyes bulge from your skull.

His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.

From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.

When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.

Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.

He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.

You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.

“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”

You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.

He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”

You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.

Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.

Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”

And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.

So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.

The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.

Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.

Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.

For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.

He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.

Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—

Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.

He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….

“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.

With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”

Void of words, you nod.

The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.

Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.

The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.

He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.

You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.

He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”

One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.

With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—

His knot pops inside with a gasp.

Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.

He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.

When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.

The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.

You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.

You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.

Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.

Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.

Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.

“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.

“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”

“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.

Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”

He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.

“It’s too big,” you cry.

“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”

As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.

There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.

“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.

And you—

(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)

Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.

Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.

“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”

Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.

With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.

His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.

You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“

“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.

“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”

Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-

“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.

“So. Did you like it..?”

“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“

He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”

Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.

“I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.

“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.

In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.

“When I know it’s manageable.”

If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.

“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.

“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[hughes-your-daddy]

Idk if you listen to Sabrina but in good graces where she says “break my heart and I swear I’m moving on to your favorite athlete” and now popstar!reader is in a happy but private relationship with Quinn. Her ex thought he could win her back after buying backstage passes and thinks he’s lucky to also meet his favorite athlete backstage only to find out Quinn and reader are together and Quinn is lowkey pretty protective of her

good graces

pairing: quinn hughes x singer!reader

summary: requested above

warning: creepy ex, mild sa

“i’m excited to see you perform baby,” quinn smiles, thumb running over your knuckles as you drive to the arena in the uber.

you had been asked to perform at the nhl all star game at half time, so here you are arriving at the arena for a sound check, ahead of tonight’s performance.

a few of the hockey players would also be there to do some pr, but hopefully none of them should be watching. well, quinn has made it his mission to sneak a peek since he won’t be able to watch tonight.

you quickly arrive, hopping out and grabbing your bag. thankfully there isn’t any paparazzi yet so getting inside is easy. you get taken through to a dressing room area where you and quinn dump your stuff before he moves to meet some of the other players for their pr.

you meet your manager at the rink, seeing the stage set up ontop of the ice like it will be tonight.

“ok so we have a lineup of taste, good graces and espresso, we’ll just need to sound check good graces since it’s a new one.” the stage manager says as you nod, pulling your hoodie tighter around you as you step out onto the ice, uggs keeping your feet warm and stepping onto the stage.

you say a quick hello to your band before starting to check vocals a little bit, saving your energy for tonight you just stay by your mic stand.

you finish good graces and before the music cuts out you hear clapping. confused your eyes drift over to the side of the rink where a group of players are stood, quinn at the centre of them clapping.

you see his smile, wide across his face. as he cups his mouth sending a whoop your way. you giggle slightly at the group before going back to sound check mode, your manager speaking over your in ears.

“we good?” you ask down the mic, your sound desk man sending you a quick thumbs up. you give them one back before handing the mic off to a sound tech and hopping down heading over to quinn.

“you were great baby,” he smiles, pulling you in for a tight hug, pressing a kiss to your temple, “i love that new song,” he whispers making me chuckle.

“you like your line?” you ask seeming him grin wide, nodding his head.

“that’s my sister in law everyone.” you hear jack call out making everyone laugh.

quinn sends him a glare, luke knocking him over the head, as his teammates giggle. quinn hasn’t asked you yet, but there’s been subtle signs, from both of you even his family that you’re ready to take it to the next level.

you say a quick hello to all the other players before you heading back to the dressing room, quinn trailing behind.

“i’m gonna head back to the hotel, do you know how much longer you’ll be?” you ask, grabbing your bag and sliding quinn’s jacket on.

“probably an hour or so.” he smiles, coming up to wrap his arms around your waist, resting his heirs head in the crook of your neck. you let your hands come up tangling in the curls at the base of his neck.

“want me to grab you some lunch on the way back?” you ask, feeling his smile against your neck, nodding.

“that would be insane thank you.” he mumbles before pulling away pressing his lips to yours. you smile into the kiss letting your hands tangle further into his curls before pulling away.

“i’ll see you later baby.” he smiles before you press one more quick kiss to his lips and leaving. you stop by a small cafe on the way back getting two chicken salads and a smoothie before heading back to the hotel.

you decide to just lounge abit, watching a bit of netflix while eating and then showering, before your glam team arrive, starting to set up in the room. you change into a small tank top, easy to take on and off after your makeup and hair when quinn comes back.

“hiya baby.” he smiles pressing a quick kiss to your lips before heading off to the bedroom to have his pre game nap.

your makeup artists does your signature rosey glam, with your hair stylist doing some hollywood curls, setting them in place with some hairspray.

your hairstylist is just finishing your hair when quinn pops in, still half asleep from his nap.

“i’m gonna shower now babe, jack and luke are gonna come up so we can head down together.” he smiles as you nod.

“i just need to get my dress on so we shouldn’t be long.” you smile before he disappears to the bathroom, jumping in the shower.

your hairstylist finishes and your given your dress to change into. you quickly thank them before heading through to the bedroom, hearing the shower in the en-suite still running.

you take off your sweats and tank top, also removing your bra since you can’t wear one with your dress before jumping at the sound of a wolf whistle.

“jesus christ quinn.” you laugh, seeing him walk out with a towel hung low around his waist. he comes over, setting his hands on your waist, a few water droplets covering your chest.

“baby, i got to get ready.” you smile, pushing a few wet curls off his forehead to stop them from dripping.

“do we have to go?” he whines causing you to laugh.

“well i think your captain if you team and im performing under a contract so i think so.” you reply sarcastically before he pressing a kiss to your neck, nothing sexual, just loving since he knows he can’t actually kiss you because your makeup artist would kill him.

“hurry up and dry off so you can zip me up.” you smile, patting his chest as he laughs, moving away to get ready.

you change your panties as well, before moving across to slide your dress on. the gold slip dress, corseted top slides on over your body, opting for a strapless look.

“can you zip me up please.” you ask quinn through the mirror. he walks over, shirtless in dress pants, zipping up your dress before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“you look beautiful baby.” he whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist, letting his head rest on your shoulder, looking at you through the mirror.

“mmh, you should go for the shirtless look.” you giggle causing his to laugh before pulling away to finish getting ready.

you move back into the open area of your room, your stylist tying the corset before help you step into your loubiton heels.

you stand to take a few pictures before quinn comes out of the bedroom, dressed in a black suite, with a matching black tie, letting his curls breathe today, no beanie.

he stands back watching you for a bit before you motion for him to join you.

“just a few pictures babe?” you smile and he hesitates for a moment before joking you, letting you team take a few pictures before jack and luke are coming in, smiling when seeing both of you.

“hiya.” you smile giving each of them a hug.

“yous both look great.” jack smiles, pulling away as luke hugs you.

yous take a few pictures all together before your driver is ready to take all of you to the arena.

you head down to the lobby where there is a few paparazzi waiting outside the hotel since most of the players are staying here. you wave to a few, quinn’s hand staying on your lower back, offering a hand to help you into the car, before jack and luke hop in as well.

the drive isn’t too long and soon enough your stepping out heading onto the red carpet. you take a few solo pictures before quinn joins you, wrapping his arm around your waist, yours moving to the middle of his back, tapping your fingers gently, a little code you both have when in public situations.

he looks over to you, matching your smile before continuing to move down the line, jack and luke joining again for a group one before heading inside.

“love you baby, i’ll see you at half time ok?” quinn says, pulling you aside from the hustle and bustle, slipping into a side corridor.

“i did t get to tell you but you look really handsome tonight quinn.” you smile, a blush creeping on both your cheeks.

“not as hot as you though,” he smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, “can’t wait for tonight.” he mumbles against your lips before pulling away and heading down the corridor to the players room.

you giggle to yourself before heading down to your own dressing room where your glam team are setting up.

they help you out of your dress and get into some sweats and a shirt to wait in before having to get ready. you watch the game on a small monitor on the wall, before needing to get into your performance outfit, your team doing a few touchups and heading out to the arena.

you see the teams heading off before being escorted to the side of the stage which is being pushed onto the rink quickly by tech teams.

you begin performer “good graces” a new song with your back up dancers hearing the arena roar at “Break my heart, and I swear I'm movin' on with your favorite athlete.”

yours and quinn’s relationship hadn’t been quiet as such but you hadn’t made a big thing about it in public, simply just letting the public see whatever they see, you and quinn just being a regular couple, so hearing that line made the fans go crazy.

you finish up your set, waving goodbye to the arena, but one person catches your eye, someone who you thought you’d left 4 years ago, someone quinn saved you from.

your breath catches in your throat as his eyebrow raises at your eye contact before you keep your composure moving off the stage quickly walking through the corridors.

you space out, letting people move around you, someone taking your microphone, removing your mic pack before your free to go. you find your breath for a minute heading back to the dressing room, your glam team waiting outside.

“give me a minute yeh?” you say politely, flashing a small smile as they nod, letting you inside.

you quickly head in, leaning back against the door closing your eyes and taking a breath. you try to take a few calming breaths before jumping at a voice.

“very nice performance y/n.” he says, and you freeze, looking forward and seeing him, stood there, hands in pockets smirk on his face.

“that lyric huh? you knew hughes was a favourite of mine?” he asks, slowly walking over. your hand darts to the handle, but his is quicker grabbing your wrist.

“what do you want?” you ask, voice wavering of slightly, his grip tightening around your waist.

“i want you back, fuck that hughes boy.” he says getting closer, before he drags you away from the door, flinging you into the small sofa, your head hitting the wall, sending you into a dazed world.

he lets out a small chuckle before you see his blurry figure walk towards you again, towering over your figure.

“you always were good to me.” he says, leaving down, as you try to squirm away. you feel your breathing pick up, his grip tightening one again on each of your wrists, pining you down from moving. you feel tears well up and slowly fall, as your body starts to succumb to what’s happening.

“get the fuck off of her,” you hear a voice yell before he’s being pulled off of you by security, quinn wrapping you up in his arms, “baby, i’m here, breathe baby.” he soothes as you break in his arms, hear still half off from the break.

he holds you for a few minutes before you find your breathing begin to settle again, the room now empty of security, just you and quinn.

“that’s it baby, just keep breathing.” he says, grand brushing over your hair.

“i tried to get away quinn.” you whisper, his lips finding your temple, pressing a soft kiss to it.

“i know baby, but they’ve got him now,” he whispers, letting his head rest on yours as you pull away wincing, “baby, you hurt?” he asks, quickly pulling away at your flinching.

that’s when you realise how deep the ache is in your head.

“i hit my head, he through me against the wall,” you mumble, his hand coming up to check your head, his brows furrowing at the small bump starting to appear on the back of your head.

“i’m gonna get a medic to come check you baby.” quinn says, finger gently grazing over your head.

“don’t you have a game to play?” you ask, sniffling slightly, wiping your nose.

“they can go one without me, just an all star game, nothing serious.” he says sending you a soft smile, before moving to poke his head out the door calling for a medic.

they come in and check your head, doing a concussion protocol to see you have a very small one, nothing too serious but they tell quinn to keep an eye on you.

“let’s get you changed baby, we’ll head back to the hotel.” he smiles, moving across to your bag, pulling out your sweats and his hoodie, helping you get changed out of your outfit into some comfier clothes.

“give me 5 mins baby, im gonna go grab my stuff and ill be right back.” he says, pressing f a soft kiss to your forehead before quickly leaving, letting you rest against the couch, holding a small ice pack the medic gave you against your head.

as promised quinn is back in no time, hurriedly dressed in a hoodie and some shorts, sliders on, hair tossled from the sweat of the first game.

“ok baby, got an uber waiting outside, you think you can walk?” he asks and you nod, quinn moving to pack a couple things in your bag before slinging it on your shoulder and moving to help you up. he slides an arm around you waists before you walk out, security buzzing around the building each sending you a sympathetic smile as you pass.

quinn helps you into the uber before your back off to the hotel, your head falling to rest on his shoulder, as you drive back.

“you gotta stay awake baby.” quinn mumbles, gently nudging you as your eyes start to droop.

you manage to stay awake for the rest of the ride before you heading back up to your room, quinn swiping you room card and guiding you inside.

“lay down baby, i’ll order us some food, you’ve got to eat something.” he smiles, laying you down on your bed. you climb under the covers, letting your head fall back into the soft pillows.

you feel the bed dip beside you, your eyes fluttering open, moving to rest your head on his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

“they’ve arrested him.” he mumbles, you nodding against his chest, “gonna make sure he can never find you again ok?” he says, as you move to look up at him.

“that’s twice now you’ve saved me.” you say huffing out a small laugh, quinn copying.

“mmh, knight in shining armour.” he smiles, brushing your hair back, “i’ll always be here baby, but hopefully it’ll never happen again.” he says, hand moving to cradle your cheek, “i promise.” he says before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“relax baby, i’ll wake you when the food gets here.” he smiles before you rest yourself back against his chest, letting yourself relax a bit for the first time since he appeared.

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Seven ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, domestic country vibes

Word Count: 3,209

Synopsis: You & Mark are about to set off on a road trip to your hometown in Georgia, and Mark’s about to get a crash course in southern living. The real challenge though? Meeting your family.

a/n: this chapter got a bit long but there was a lot i wanted to do with it – it’s also my FAVORITE so faaar

read part six ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

The week before the trip, you were practically glowing.

Mark couldn’t even finish a sentence without you interrupting with something like, “Oh! Did I tell you my mama has a peach tree in the backyard now?” or “Wait till you try Daddy’s smoked brisket—he’s been workin’ on that recipe since before I was born.”

He swore you hadn’t stopped smiling in three days.

You were packing early, too—which Mark found both adorable and mildly terrifying. Every time he came over, you had a new duffel bag half-zipped on your bed. You kept saying things like, “Should I bring my cowboy boots or my church boots?” and “Do you think your lil’ superhero suit’s wrinkle-resistant, baby? ’Cause I got the iron out.”

He was happy just listening. You talked about your brothers like they were a trio of rowdy golden retrievers, about your Meemaw’s cast iron skillet like it was a national treasure, and about your mama and daddy with a kind of love that made Mark ache a little.

“You really think they’re gonna like me?” he asked one night, trying not to sound nervous.

You’d blinked at him like he’d asked if water was wet. “Sugar, you carried a busted water heater outta Meemaw’s crawl space and didn’t even mess up your shirt. They’re gonna adore you.”

—

The sun had barely crested over the rooftops when Mark showed up at your place, backpack slung over one shoulder, a hopeful smile on his face.

“You ready?” he asked, bouncing slightly on his heels. “I figured we could take off by nine—be there by lunch if we fly.”

You didn’t even look up from where you were strapping down the world’s most over-packed cooler in the bed of your pickup.

“We are takin’ off by nine,” you said sweetly. “In my truck.”

Mark paused. “...Wait. We’re not flying?”

You stood up, dusted your hands off, and opened the driver’s side door like the conversation was over.

It hit him slowly. A memory montage in his brain: you sidestepping the subject every time he offered to take you flying… how you suddenly “remembered errands” when he mentioned rooftop views… how your voice got a little too light whenever he said, “Wanna try something cool?”

He blinked. “Hold on. You’re scared of flying.”

You paused mid-sit, one brow arching over your sunglasses.

“I’m not scared of nothin’ sweetheart,” you said, pulling the door shut. “I just prefer transportation where my feet stay firmly on the ground—just like God intended.”

Mark snorted. “So... you’re telling me you’ll hand-feed a goat, slap a copperhead off the porch with a broom, and throw me a wrench from the roof of a barn—but you draw the line at a little air travel?”

You didn’t respond, just gave him a look.

Then the engine roared to life.

“Wait—are you serious?”

You put the truck in gear.

Mark took a step forward. “Babe.”

The tires rolled.

“Babe?!”

You rolled down the window. “I got a seat warm and ready, darlin’. You can either get in or get to joggin’.”

Mark hesitated for one tragic second.

You were already rolling toward the road, and now he had no choice but to run and all but launch himself into the passenger seat, backpack bouncing off his shoulder.

You barely glanced at him as you adjusted the mirror.

“Good choice, sugar.”

He leaned his head back against the seat with exaggerated breathlessness.

“I can’t believe I just got hijacked by a woman who won’t get on an airplane but owns a tire iron named Lucille.”

You reached over and turned the radio dial.

“Buckle up, baby. You’re in my airspace now.”

—

The road trip was an adventure in itself.

Every time you stopped for gas, Mark had to learn a little more about southern road-trip culture. Boiled peanuts were first. His face when he tried them? Priceless.

“...So these are beans. Just... wet beans,” he’d said, eyebrows raised as he chewed through the first batch.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, casually popping a handful in your mouth. “You ain’t a true southerner 'til you’ve had a bag of boiled peanuts and a sweet tea. You’ll get used to ‘em.”

Mark’s response was just a grimace, but he kept eating.

Next stop: barbecue. Of course, because no one goes to the south without trying proper BBQ.

The tiny hole-in-the-wall diner was legendary, and Mark had learned one important lesson: don’t try to compete with southern food. He made the mistake of ordering a side of fries with his pulled pork sandwich, and the waitress side-eyed him so hard he almost felt like he was in an old western standoff.

"You don’t need fries with that, sugar,” she said, placing an extra side of cornbread in front of him.

He never questioned it again.

Somewhere past the Alabama line, the sky had turned into a soft hue of amber-pink. You had one hand on the wheel, the other lazily tapping to the beat of the crackling country radio. The hum of the tires on pavement was steady, soothing—and then, there it was.

A familiar little guitar twang floated through the speakers.

You perked up instantly. “Oh my stars, babe—it’s you!”

Mark, halfway through unwrapping a MoonPie, blinked. “Wait, what?”

You gave him a look like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the stranger with the big iron on his hip!”

Mark blinked, laughing under his breath. “That makes zero sense.”

“Sure it does,” you said, eyes still on the road as you started to hum along. “Only instead of a shooter, you’ve got fists.” You glanced sideways at him, voice dropping just a touch. “Big. Iron. Fists.”

Mark’s ears turned red instantly.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly. “I’m just sayin’… a man with hands like that?” Your voice was syrup-slow now, just soft enough to ruin him. “I wonder what else those big irons can do.”

Mark straight up choked on air.

He turned toward the window, jaw clenched, trying to reset his whole internal system.

“Okay—nope, nope,” he muttered. “We are driving. Public roads. Laws. Sanity.”

You just smiled, innocent as pie, tapping the steering wheel. “Mhm. Eyes on the road, baby. We got states to cross.”

Mark sank down into the seat, dragging a hand down his face.

—

The sun was just starting to dip below the tree line, that perfect golden hour haze settling over the world as your truck rolled past the weathered “Welcome to Georgia” sign.

Mark was reclined in the passenger seat, a bag of pork rinds half-eaten in his lap, and the windows were down just enough to let in the soft evening breeze.

And right on cue—as if the state itself had been waiting—the radio crackled, and Ray Charles’s voice slid in smooth as honey.

🎶 “Georgia… Georgia…” 🎶

You gasped softly, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my lord, they knew,” you whispered, hand lifting off the wheel like you were praising the radio gods. “They knew we were comin’ home.”

Mark laughed, watching you with that same look he’d worn for the past three states—utterly helpless.

“I feel like I should salute or something,” he murmured.

You nodded solemnly. “Just put your hand over your heart and think about fried chicken. That usually works.”

As the chorus swelled, your voice joined in—not loud, not performative—just soft, like the words had lived in your chest your whole life. Mark listened, barely breathing, and yep—there it was. That twist in his chest.

Every mile brought more pine trees, more wraparound porches, more soft red clay kicked up by old trucks and tractors and summer wind. And then finally—you pulled up the long gravel drive to your family home.

The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over a big old farmhouse with a weathered roof, rocking chairs, and flower boxes blooming bright as July.

And standing dead center in the doorway was your daddy.

Tall. Silent. Holding a .22 like it was just another part of his outfit.

Mark froze halfway out of the truck.

“...Is that—?”

“Yep,” you said, already slamming your door shut. “That’s Daddy.”

Mark blinked. “Does every member of your family answer the door with a gun?”

You shrugged. “You’re the one who keeps showin’ up on porches with bruises. It raises questions.”

He swallowed, slowly stepping around the truck like a man walking into a saloon showdown.

“Evening, sir,” he offered, voice polite.

Your daddy didn’t blink. “Name?”

“Mark Grayson.”

Silence. A long, slow scan from head to toe.

“Occupation?”

You coughed behind your hand. “He’s... uh... real strong.”

Another beat.

Then finally—Daddy lowered the gun.

“Strong, huh?” he said gruffly, then turned and walked back inside without another word.

Mark exhaled. “Okay. Cool. That’s fine. Totally normal.”

You looped your arm through his, grinning up at him. “Welcome to Georgia, sugar.”

The screen door creaked open before you could even make it up the steps, and there she was—Mama.

Hair up in hot rollers, apron on, flour dusted on one cheek, and a casserole dish somehow already in her hand.

“Well look what the cat dragged in!” she called. “My baby girl and her mystery man!”

You barely got up the steps before you were swept into a hug that smelled like cornbread and Chanel No. 5. She kissed both your cheeks, then held you at arm’s length, giving you a once-over.

“You eatin’ enough? You look thin.”

“I’m fine, Mama.”

She waved that off and turned her gaze to Mark—and Lord have mercy, that woman could scan a soul. Her smile never wavered, but her eyes? Sharp as Meemaw’s sewing shears.

“And you must be Mark.” She stepped closer, still holding that casserole like it was loaded. “I’ve heard plenty about you.”

Mark smiled, sweet and a little nervous. “All good things, I hope.”

She leaned in, patted his cheek, and said, way too gently, “We’ll see.”

Then she swept past, calling over her shoulder, “Y’all come in and wash up. Supper’s almost ready.”

He turned to you, eyes wide. “...She terrifies me.”

You grinned. “Oh, honey. That was her bein’ polite.”

The screen door hadn’t even shut behind you when the thunder of boots hit the hallway.

Three of them.

Your brothers.

Built like linebackers, all flannel and worn jeans and big grins that didn’t quite hide the fact they were absolutely sizing Mark up like he was about to be thrown into a ring.

The oldest, Jesse, clapped Mark on the back hard enough that might’ve dislocate something in the average man. “So you’re the one who’s ‘real strong,’ huh?”

Mark coughed. “I—uh, yeah. I guess.”

The middle one, Beau, grinned. “What’s your max bench, son?”

The youngest, Caleb—sweetest face, meanest grip—smirked. “Bet I could take you.”

Mark blinked. “...Take me?”

“Wrestlin’,” Jesse said cheerfully, already rolling his sleeves up. “Out back. After supper.”

Beau nodded. “It’s tradition.”

Mark turned to you with the slow horror of a man realizing he might be about to fight three generations of corn-fed chaos.

“...Do I have to?”

You were already biting back laughter. “Well sugar, it’d be rude to say no.

—

Dinner smelled like heaven dipped in butter and baptized in bacon grease.

The table was packed. Casseroles, cornbread, sweet tea in mason jars the size of your head, bowls of mac and cheese that looked legally golden, fried okra stacked like tiny crunchy monuments, and a pecan pie cooling on the counter like it knew it was the finale.

Mark was trying his best to keep up. He was polite, he was charming, and he said “ma’am” so many times Mama actually started to smile for real.

He thought—for one shining second—that maybe he was in the clear.

You bumped your knee against his under the table and whispered, “You’re doin’ great, sugar.”

He leaned close. “I think your mama likes me now.”

You gave a small, noncommittal hum.

He blinked. “What?”

Before you could answer, Jesse leaned back in his chair, wiped his mouth, and said, “So, Mark…”

Oh no.

Here it comes.

“You ever wrestled a hog?”

Mark froze, fork halfway to his mouth. “I—no?”

Beau grinned. “Good. Wrestlin’ us should be a breeze, then.”

Mark’s fork dropped to his plate.

“Wait, you guys were serious?”

The chairs scraped back. Jesse was already rolling his sleeves up again. Beau was cracking his knuckles. Caleb was taking off his flannel like this was Friday Night Smackdown: Backyard Edition.

You just sipped your tea, absolutely zero help. “I did say it’d be rude to say no.”

Mark turned to Mama in desperation. “Ma’am? Is this… normal?”

She didn’t even look up from her sweet potato casserole. “Just don’t bleed on the gardenias, dear.”

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the silver hush of moonlight and the warm, golden glow of the porch light to spill across the yard. Crickets chirped their nighttime chorus, the rope swing creaked slow in the breeze, and three full-grown men stretched like they were about to enter a pay-per-view main event.

You leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed and smiling like it was a front-row ticket to the best show this side of the Mason-Dixon. Mark stood in the middle of the yard, looking real concerned for a man who regularly fought intergalactic warlords.

“So this is happening,” he said slowly, glancing between your brothers.

“Oh, it’s happening,” Jesse confirmed, already tossing his cap to the ground.

“No cheap shots, no runnin’, and no weird city kung-fu,” Beau said, rolling up his sleeves. “Just a good ol’ southern-style throwdown.”

Mark blinked. “City kung-fu?”

“You know what I mean,” Caleb added, nodding like that clarified anything. “No yoga nonsense. No pressure point magic. You go down, you stay down.”

Mark looked up at the porch where you stood, very much not helping, grinning.

You just shrugged. “Play nice, sugar.”

Mark sighed and looked back to the brothers. “What’s the win condition?”

“You tap,” Caleb grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Or cry. We ain’t picky.”

You gave Mark an innocent smile. “Told you dinner was just the warm-up.”

Before he could reply, Jesse lunged.

Mark barely dodged, skidding backward in the dirt. “Okay. Okay, we’re doing this!”

Beau came next—broad, fast, and aiming to grapple. Mark sidestepped again, trying not to accidentally dislocate anything, and that’s when Caleb came in low, arms wrapping around his middle like a linebacker with something to prove.

They went down hard.

You let out a gleeful little cheer. “Get ‘em, baby!”

From the ground, Mark shouted, “I’m trying!”

He rolled, kicked off the dirt, and spun out of Caleb’s hold like he’d done this a thousand times. And he had. Just never while holding back this much.

He couldn’t hit hard. Couldn’t fly. Couldn’t suplex Jesse into orbit no matter how tempting it was.

But what he could do?

Use every ounce of technique drilled into him by Cecil’s trainers, by Nolan, by muscle memory and pure, stubborn will.

A quick twist of the hips—Caleb was down. Jesse came from the right—Mark ducked, grabbed, and pinned. Beau tried to tackle him from behind—Mark dropped to the ground, rolled forward, and flipped him like a pancake at Sunday brunch.

The yard went quiet.

Mark stood panting, grass-stained and wild-eyed, hair a sweaty mess, moonlight silvering the sweat on his skin.

You tilted your head, eyes shining. “Well hot damn,” you said, slow and syrupy, “the stranger with the big iron fists delivers.”

Mark looked up at you, dazed, like maybe he was hallucinating the whole thing.

“That was hotter than church with no A/C,” you added, fanning yourself with your hand.

Mark mouthed help me.

And then—WHAM—Caleb launched himself one last time, and Mark caught him mid-air. One-handed.

Set him down like a toddler. Patted his shoulder.

Total silence.

Then Jesse, flat on his back, wheezed, “This man’s made of steel.”

“Boy just caught me like a sack of mulch,” Caleb mumbled, from the ground.

Beau shrugged, picking grass out of his hair. “Hell. Fair and square.”

You clapped politely from the porch. “Good hustle, boys.”

Mark staggered toward you, the scent of sweat and churned-up dirt clinging to him like battlefield glory.

Mama met him at the screen door, holding a plate in one hand and a dish towel in the other. She gave him a long look, then handed over the plate—loaded with leftovers.

“You earned your seat at the table, son.”

Mark blinked. “...Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

As you held the door open and Mark stepped inside, you leaned close, all smiles. “C’mon, baby. I’ll patch you up.”

Mark looked at you like a man reborn.

—

Mark wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing over at you. His heart gave a little jump when you looked right back.

Your smile was soft, but he could see the mischief still dancing in your eyes. “That all you got, sugar?”

He gave you a half-smirk, rolling his shoulders as if to say, no big deal. "Just a warm-up."

You shook your head with a small laugh, stepping closer to him. He could feel the heat of your hand on his arm as you reached up, your fingers brushing his jaw—gently, tenderly. His breathing went still as your lips met the bruise on his cheek, soft as silk.

The world around him blurred as you kissed each tiny little scuff and bruise with that special tenderness that only you could give. He was absolutely done for, and he knew it.

When you pulled back, he was breathless—and not from the fight.

You cocked your head, letting your hands rest on his chest. “You’re lucky you’re made of steel sugar, them boys have been known to break an arm or too,” you said teasingly.

“I’m lucky to have you,” he muttered, still stunned by your care, your touch, your everything.

You hummed a sweet sound, brushing a finger over his lips. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Mark managed a crooked grin. “I think I’m good for now... unless you’ve got something with a little more kick than sweet tea?”

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curling into that mischievous smile that had been driving him wild all day. “Oh, I’ve got somethin’,” you purred. “But you ain’t ready for it yet.”

Mark chuckled, though he wasn’t so sure anymore. If you kept looking at him like that, he might just be ready for whatever you wanted to throw his way.

“Careful, darlin’,” you said, slow with heavy lids. “If you keep makin’ eyes like that, we might end up gettin’ in trouble.”

“Already in trouble,” Mark muttered, his heart pounding in his chest. “Think I’ve been in trouble since the moment I met you.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear just enough to send a shiver down his spine. “Well then,” you whispered, the words lingering in the quiet space, “guess we better get real good at bein’ in trouble.”

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

While you were gone||Dad!Max Verstappen x Mom!reader featuring Lydia Verstappen

Summary—While Y/N is away helping her sister with a new baby, Max steps into full-time girl dad mode with their daughter, Lydia.

Word count—1298

@vettelsvee

A/n — welcome to the return of Lydia Verstappen

The apartment is quiet—well, as quiet as it can be with a four-year-old tornado in a princess dress sprinting across the living room.

“Daddy, I need you to sit! You’re the dragon and you’re sleeping!” Lydia orders, pointing dramatically to the floor, a sparkly wand in her other hand.

Max raises his brows from the kitchen doorway, holding a juice box in one hand and a small plate of cut-up strawberries in the other. “A sleeping dragon? You sure I’m not the prince?”

Lydia gasps like he’s insulted her honor. “Daddy. You can’t be the prince and the dragon. That’s silly.” Then, thinking hard, she adds, “You can be the dragon now and the prince later, okay?”

Max can’t help but laugh as he puts the snacks down on the coffee table. “Okay, okay. I’m the dragon now.” He flops down dramatically onto the rug, arms out like wings. “Raaawrr,” he mumbles before fake-snoring loud enough to make Lydia giggle.

She tiptoes toward him, glitter shoes clicking on the hardwood, then lightly bops him with her wand. “You’re not allowed to wake up until the princess says so!”

“Mmmph. But the dragon’s hungry,” Max growls, peeking one eye open.

“No, Daddy! Stay asleep!” She throws herself onto his back to make sure he doesn’t move, and Max catches her easily, chuckling as she squirms and squeals.

“You’re strong for a princess,” he teases, turning just enough to tickle her sides.

Lydia howls with laughter, kicking her feet as he lifts her upside down for a moment, then flips her into his lap, where she giggles and leans against his chest. Her curls are wild, her face smudged with a bit of strawberry, and he thinks he’s never seen anything better in his life.

“She’s gonna be so proud of us when Mommy gets home,” she mumbles, breathless.

Max kisses the top of her head. “Yeah, baby. She really will.”

Hours later the kitchen smelled like vanilla, strawberries, and just a hint of smoke.

“Lydia, sweetheart, are you sure it needed that much flour?” Max asks, peering into the mixing bowl where their ‘special surprise cake’ now looks more like wet sand.

Lydia, standing on a chair with one of Max’s Red Bull t-shirts tied around her like an apron, shrugs with the confidence of a Michelin-starred chef. “That’s how Mommy does it.”

“Uh huh. Okay.” Max raises a brow, knowing full well Y/N doesn’t measure flour by the fistful. Still, he doesn’t correct her. Instead, he grabs the whisk she’s holding and gently helps her stir. “Alright, Chef. What’s next?”

“Sprinkles!” she announces, grabbing the jar with both hands and dumping it in before he can stop her. A full rainbow lands in the batter with a plop.

Max stifles a laugh. “Well. It’s colorful.”

Lydia beams. “It’s for Mommy. She’ll love it.”

And she will, Max thinks. Even if the cake is a disaster, even if there’s flour in the air vents and a pink handprint on the fridge, Y/N will love it. Because Lydia made it. Because they did it together.

They manage to get the batter into a pan and into the oven with minimal chaos. Max sets the timer and starts cleaning up while Lydia sings to herself at the kitchen table, drawing a picture in crayon. Halfway through wiping sprinkles off the floor, he glances over to see her tiny brows furrowed in concentration.

“What are you drawing, baby?”

She looks up, cheeks rosy. “Me and Mommy and you at the race track. But I put me on the podium too.”

He grins. “Of course you did. What place did you get?”

“First!” she says proudly. “And you’re holding me up ‘cause my arms were tired.”

Max freezes for a second, his chest tightening in the best possible way. “That’s a good drawing, sweetheart.”

She nods like it’s obvious. “When Mommy sees it, she’s gonna cry.”

Later, after the cake’s burned a little on the edges but still gets covered in icing and love, Max lets Lydia stay up a bit longer than usual. They cuddle up on the couch, her head tucked under his chin as he reads the same storybook they’ve already gone through three times this week.

“I missed Mommy,” Lydia mumbles sleepily.

“I know, liefje. Me too.”

“But I didn’t cry this time,” she adds, pride in her voice.

Max kisses her forehead. “You were so brave. She’s gonna be proud of you.”

She hums and falls asleep before he finishes the page.

Max sat still on the couch, barely breathing as Lydia slept soundly against his chest, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. Her warm breath puffed against his neck in soft little sighs, and he swore he could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat pressed to his. One arm was wrapped securely around her back, the other gently cradling her legs, and though his muscles ached from holding her so long, he didn’t dare move. Not when she looked so peaceful. Not when moments like this—quiet, weightless, full of love—were already slipping by too fast.

The front door opens quietly. Y/N steps in, bag on her shoulder, eyes tired from the week but heart already pulling her toward the living room. The apartment is dim except for the soft glow of a lamp—and there they are.

Max, leaned back on the couch, arms wrapped around Lydia, her cheek squished against his chest. The two of them are completely out, surrounded by empty frosting tubs, a crayon masterpiece, and what looks like a lopsided, sprinkle-covered cake on the counter.

Y/N smiles so hard it hurts.

She walks over, brushing a curl from Lydia’s face, then leans in to kiss Max’s temple. He stirs slightly, eyes fluttering open.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“You’re home.” His voice is groggy but warm. “We made you a cake.”

“I can see that.” She grins. “Looks like I missed quite the party.”

Max just smiles, eyes closing again, arms tightening slightly around Lydia. “Best day ever.”

Lydia’s tucked in bed, snuggled up with her favorite stuffed bunny and wearing one of Max’s old karting shirts that hangs past her knees. Y/N lingers a moment, brushing her curls from her forehead, before tiptoeing out.

She finds Max in their room, sitting on the edge of the bed in sweatpants and a hoodie, rubbing his tired eyes.

“She’s out cold,” Y/N says.

“She passed out on top of me mid-sentence,” he murmurs with a lazy smile. “Something about dragons and racecars.”

Y/N chuckles, stepping between his knees. “That tracks.”

“She missed you a lot,” he says, resting his hands on her hips. “Kept saying we had to make everything perfect for when you got home.”

Y/N softens. “She’s got your perfectionism.”

“She’s got your chaos.”

“Explains the cake.” She brushes a hand through his hair, laughing. “I saw the kitchen. It looked like a unicorn exploded.”

Max groans. “I was gonna clean it. But she fell asleep and… I didn’t want to move.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

He leans his head against her stomach. “She’s getting big, you know? She asked if I’d still carry her when she’s five.”

Y/N smiles, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “Will you?”

Max doesn’t even hesitate. “’Course I will. I’ll carry her when she’s fifteen if she asks.”

She kisses him, slow and sweet, then rests her forehead to his. “You’re a really good dad.”

“You’re the reason I know how to be one.”

They stay like that for a moment—just breathing, close—until Max raises a brow. “Tell me the truth.”

“Hm?”

“How bad was the cake?”

Y/N grins. “Honestly? It tasted like a rainbow ran through a forest fire.”

Max bursts out laughing. “Perfect.”

[jungkoode]

THE 25TH HOUR | O8

“𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐒”

"Your coffee is exactly the way you like it, though you do not remember having a preference over it, nor knowing Agent Min's. Just like you don't remember the coffee shop, or the barista. Or how, apparently, certain phrases trigger certain protocols."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 5,4k

content: coffee details, sugar slander, yoongi hiding the softness (i see u mf), him leaving in the worst moment possible (oh no can you believe that), a barista thinking he's john wick and yoongi showing him he's indeed not (why am i laughing at this i'm so funny), idk fleeing, superpowers, golden tendrils/tentacles/traces and they're sensitive bc i'm a horny slut who loves drama, yoongi explaining his abilities and basically both of them being somewhat stranded.

— author’s note

OKAY OKAY OKAY—wow. phew.

Lemme just say I had to speed write this chapter like I was being chased by CHRONOS itself because I was NOT prepared for y’all to hit the chapter goals in like… two days. TWO. DAYS. Both on Wattpad and Tumblr. Kinda insane honestly but also like… slay Kiki Nation, we are so back.

This was a severe underestimation on my part and it 100% reflects in the goal numbers I set this round. Don’t look at me like that. This is entirely your doing.

NOW. As for this chapter: WOAH. I was so itchy to finally get into some action-packed scenes!!! I know it’s not a full-blown Marvel throwdown or anything but ughhhh I love the way it’s parried with uncovering new truths, a little sprinkling of Yoongi’s abilities, and just the faintest nod at Noma’s. We’re getting there, babies. We’re cooking with unstable temporal gas.

Sci-fi + superpowers = my drug. Inject it directly into my brainstem. This fic is honestly just me going full feral in my favorite genre and I love that you’re all just vibing with the chaos.

And hey—just a heads up—those golden traces / tendrils / tentacles / whatever-the-fuck you wanna call them? Yeah. They’re important. Not just plot-wise.

Oh no. We’re going smut-wards. You remember that little detail about them being sensitive? YEAH. Narrative seed. Planted. You’re welcome, you horny-ass goblins. I love your deranged asses because they are as feral as mine and I respect that.

Anyway. I’m gonna make that man suffer through overstimulation and there’s NOTHING you can do to stop me. Whoops. Who said that??

Godspeed and love. <3

— read on

ao3

wattpad

You’ve never registered an aversion to coffee. 

Analysis confirms your preference: black, minimal dilution via milk, zero sweeteners. Sugar introduces an artificial variable, a taste profile your palate rejects as inefficient data. 

The cup sits between your hands now, untouched. Heat radiates outwards, a minor thermal signature registering in your system. You stare into the dark liquid, a reflective surface showing nothing but distorted ceiling lights. Your mind searches for a focal point, a problem to solve, but the what remains elusive, fragmented.

Beside you, Agent Min occupies the adjacent stool. His presence is a known variable, yet the proximity registers as… different. Static cling without the static. 

His coffee mirrors yours in its lack of sugar, but deviates in the absence of milk. Plain black. Stark. Your internal database flags this information, yet registers no 'new entry' timestamp. It’s data already logged, sourced from… where? 

The query returns a null set. 

Error. File not found.

“Good?”

The query comes from him. Low frequency, minimal inflection. You lift your gaze, meeting his across the short distance. Dark eyes, partially obscured by mint smudges of hair that have fallen across his forehead.

Analysis identifies a lack of direct eye contact, his focus aimed somewhere near your left temple.

A defensive posture? Or observational?

You tilt your head, a minor adjustment of 15 degrees. Querying his query.

The corner of his mouth flickers. A micro-expression, barely perceptible, suppressed almost instantly. He’s withholding an upward curve, a smile response. 

Why?

“I mean you,” he clarifies, voice maintaining its low, even tone. “Not the coffee.”

You redirect your focus to the cup. The brown surface ripples slightly as you shift your weight. You deliberately defocus your vision, blurring the edges of the ceramic rim.

Unconscious action.

Flagged for later analysis.

“Yeah, just…” The sentence terminates prematurely. Insufficient data to complete the thought. Or perhaps, excess data causing system overload.

He mirrors your earlier gesture, head tilting towards you. An eyebrow arches. A non-verbal prompt for continuation. Standard interrogation technique.

“I knew Robin.” The words emerge, low volume, clinical detachment coating the raw data point.

He nods once. A slow, measured movement. No verbal response. He allows the silence to expand, granting you control over the data flow. 

“And now he’s gone.” You complete the statement. 

Flat delivery. Fact confirmed.

His gaze drops to his own cup. He lifts it, takes a sip. The motion is fluid, economical. He places the cup back down without a sound. Four seconds pass. Five. 

“I got him erased.” The statement escapes as a whisper, approximately 17 decibels. 

A conclusion reached through flawed logic, yet carrying an unexpected physical weight. Something constricts within your chest cavity, pressure.

His response is immediate. No processing delay.

“No.”

The word is rough, textured like sandpaper against concrete. A rasp that cuts through the low hum.

“CHRONOS got him erased.” He pauses, intake of breath audible. “That’s what they do.”

"I mentioned the temporal anomaly to him." You mutter, the unidentified strain expanding behind your sternum. "Probability suggests that's why they targeted him."

"They were already watching him," he says, voice calibrated to exactly 40 decibels. "Your conversation may have accelerated their timeline, but he was already flagged."

You process this new data point, running probability calculations against known variables.

"How can you be certain?" 

His eyes meet yours—pupil dilation increasing by 7.3% in the 0.7 seconds of direct contact.

"Because I've been tracking their erasure patterns for longer than you've been alive."

The statement contains multiple logical inconsistencies. 

Agent Min does not look significantly older than you.

Yet your temporal analysis centers don't flag it as a falsehood.

Your glance moves back to the cup. 

"Robin kept succulents on his desk," you say, the information surfacing without clear relevance markers. "Three of them. Arranged by height. He watered them every Tuesday at 14:27."

Yoongi's face produces some series of micro-adjustments in 17 distinct facial muscles that combine to form something your pattern recognition identifies as... compassion? 

The classification feels incorrect, but alternatives rank lower in probability.

"You're processing grief," he observes, voice modulating to a softer cadence. "It's normal."

The diagnosis feels foreign. Incorrect. Your emotional processing centers operate at 98.7% efficiency. You would recognize grief.

Wouldn't you?

"I barely knew him," you counter. "We shared 17 lunch periods over 4.7 months. Total interaction time: 23.8 hours. Insufficient for meaningful emotional attachment."

Yoongi takes another sip of his coffee. The liquid level decreases by exactly 12 milliliters.

"Grief isn't always logical," he says after 2.3 seconds of silence. "Sometimes it's just... human."

The cadence in his last word triggers some unexpected response in you.

"I'm not experiencing grief," you insist. "I'm experiencing statistical anomalies in my cognitive processing."

His eyes meet yours again—0.9 seconds of contact that somehow feels heavier than its temporal parameters suggest.

"Call it whatever you need to. The result is the same."

Your fingers adjust on the cup again—pressure decreasing by 0.2 kilograms as your muscles unconsciously respond to his voice.

"What is the statistical probability that my conversation with Robin directly caused his erasure?" 

Yoongi's expression darkens—brow lowering by 0.4 centimeters, jaw tensing with 31% more force.

"You're looking for a percentage to quantify your guilt," he observes, voice edged. "It doesn't work that way."

"Everything works that way," you argue. "Reality is quantifiable. Causality is measurable. Effect follows cause at precisely calculable intervals."

"Not in the 25th hour. Not with CHRONOS."

Silence spreads as his thumb traces the rim of his cup-three precise rotations counterclockwise. Then, he speaks again, needing to make a point.

"Consistency matters now more than ever. CHRONOS is auditing behavioral patterns with 62% increased scrutiny since last quarter."  

You frown. "Source?"  

"Erratic temporal enforcement." His finger taps the ceramic once—sharp, percussive. "Fourteen percent spike in memory wipes. Thirty-three percent decrease in Outlier survival rates post-detection."  

The numbers land like ice chips down your spine. "Correlation doesn't imply causation."  

His eyes narrow by 0.3 millimeters. "You think they're redecorating parks for aesthetic purposes?"  

You ignore the rhetorical jab. "Recommended behavioral adjustments?"  

"Normalcy. No deviations from established routines. No unscheduled interactions. No..." 

His gaze flicks to your hands. 

“...idle curiosity."  

You follow his line of sight.

Your fingers have been tracing infinity symbols in condensation on the table.

A subconscious pattern emerging at 2.7-second intervals.  

"Noted." 

You wipe the moisture away with a napkin, friction coefficient registering 0.4 higher than standard paper stock.  

"They're cross-referencing biometrics with temporal signatures now. Elevated heart rate during routine scans triggers immediate audits."  

Your pulse spikes by 11.2 bpm at the implication. "You're suggesting emotional suppression."  

"I'm suggesting survival. Your body can't afford inconvenient truths right now."  

The phrase 'inconvenient truths' lodges in your cortex, sparking 37 simultaneous neural queries. 

All return access-denied.  

"Define 'normalcy' parameters."  

"Wake at 06:00. Work until 18:30. Consume 427 calories at designated intervals. Report all temporal irregularities except the ones we cause."  

"Compliance seems..." You search for the optimal term. "...counterintuitive to resistance efforts."  

“You think rebellion looks like fireworks and manifesto drops?" Leather creaks as he leans closer, mint and ozone sharpening the air between you. "Real resistance happens in the microseconds they don't monitor."  

Your retinas capture the exact moment his pupils dilate—3.2% expansion correlating with proximity increase. 

"Such as?"  

"The 25th hour. The only time they can't see us."  

Your watch beeps softly—temporal variance: 0.89%.  

He pulls back instantly, posture reset to neutral. "Stick to the numbers. The patterns. The lies they've programmed you to live."  

The coffee turns bitter on your tongue, pH shifting by 0.2. 

"And you?"  

“I'll be the ghost in their machine."  

Ghost.

The word settles in your chest, impossibly making it warmer.

Then, the lights flicker—a couple times—as CHRONOS agents pass outside the window. Their shadows stretch across the floor in elongated distortions, limbs warped by the glass's refractive index.  

You count their footsteps.  

He counts your breaths.  

A soft exhale from his lips—a controlled release of 1.2 liters of air over 2.4 seconds.

Rising from the stool, he stretches his neck 37 degrees to the left, then 42 degrees right. The vertebrae produce three distinct clicks at frequencies between 73 and 81 hertz.

His cup sits empty. Yours remains 73% full.

That same suppressed curve at the corner of his mouth does a reappearance.

Your pattern recognition flags it as the third occurrence of this specific micro-expression in the past 18 minutes.

“I need to use the restroom.” His statement is direct, efficient. “Wait here.”

You nod once—a 15-degree downward tilt followed by an equivalent upward correction. Optimal response to a simple directive.

He moves 1.7 meters toward the back of the establishment before pivoting 170 degrees. His eyebrows lift by 0.4 centimeters, creating three distinct lines across his forehead.

“You’ll be okay?”

The question registers as anomalous. Its premise suggests a concern disproportionate to the circumstances. Your brow furrows, creating a 0.3-centimeter depression between your eyebrows.

He shakes his head, dismissing the moment, and disappears behind the door marked RESTROOM—white letters, slightly chipped, 7.2 degrees off center.

You pivot on the stool, body angled toward the counter.

The coffee sits there, cooling. You sip. It’s gone tepid. Your thumb traces the rim, mapping the circumference for the third time.

The bartender approaches. Male, mid-thirties, dark hair, clean apron. Smile at 65% intensity.

“Not a fan of the coffee?” he asks, voice pitched for casual friendliness. “You’ve been staring at it longer than drinking.”

You blink twice. Processing. “No, it’s fine.”

He leans in, elbows on the counter. “You sure? Most people ask for sugar. Or something sweet.”

You shake your head. “I don’t like sweeteners. They distort the baseline flavor profile.”

He laughs, easy. “That’s… specific.” 

His gaze lingers, searching for something. 

“You come here often? I don’t recognize you.”

You hesitate, brain skipping. “Not that I remember.”

The words fall out, unfiltered. He goes still. Smile vanishes. His hand drops below the counter—movement too smooth.

Cold metal presses to your temple. Soft click.

You catalog the sensation. 

Barrel diameter: 9mm. 

Temperature: room. 

Pressure: firm, not shaking.

His voice drops, all pretense gone. “Don’t move. Don’t speak.”

You comply. 

Data input: threat detected.  

Output: unknown.

Your retinal sensors register gold first—erratic sparks at 11 o'clock, 43 centimeters from your focal point. 

The barista's weapon hand undergoes rapid cellular decay: skin desiccating at 3.7 millimeters per second, muscle tissue liquefying with 92% efficiency. His scream measures 114 decibels—pain response authentic, but temporal signature reveals 0.8-second delay.  

Agent Min's grip materializes around your wrist before the decay reaches radial artery. His fingers burn at 39.1°C, golden threads weaving through his leather gloves. The world blurs—not from speed, but temporal interference. 

Your internal chronometer confirms: local time dilation of 47%.  

"Move." The command vibrates at 87 Hz, bypassing auditory processing to embed directly in your motor cortex.  

Your legs comply before conscious thought engages. Adrenaline spikes—17.3% above baseline. The cafe exits warp as you pass, doorframes appearing to bend at 12-degree angles—an optical illusion caused by the temporal distortion field surrounding you.  

CHRONOS agents materialize in peripheral vision, their movements unnaturally segmented—3.1 frames per second versus standard 24. Their comms chatter fractures into your awareness:  

"—emporal breach Sector 4-Alpha—"  

"—arget exhibits Reality Shifter signatures—"  

"—containment protocol Theta-7 authorized—"  

Yoongi pivots 170 degrees, dragging you into an alley where air molecules vibrate at 0.7x normal frequency. His free hand glows faintly gold, pressed against the brick wall. Mortar ages backward then forward in precise spiral patterns—2.3 revolutions per second, creating a passageway exactly 0.9 meters wide.  

"Don't breathe," he warns as you pass through particulate matter suspended in his temporal field. 

Your lungs register 14% oxygen decrease.

Insufficient for hypoxia.

Sufficient for discomfort.  

The alley deposits you onto a street where Agent Min(?) has slowed time by 23%. Pedestrians move at imperceptible rates, their coffee cups appearing frozen at 37-degree angles. His temporal manipulation leaves gold afterimages—3.2-second persistence in your peripheral vision.  

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps erratically:  

TEMPORAL VARIANCE: 4.89%  

ANOMALY DETECTED  

His grip tightens—42.7 kilograms of pressure now, necessary to anchor you against increasing temporal distortion. Without his stabilizing touch, you assume your untrained body would suffer severe temporal drag. 

"Focus on my voice," he commands, words layered with harmonic frequencies that stabilize your inner ear fluid against the disorienting effects of his temporal field.  

CHRONOS drones breach the time dilation field behind you, their propulsion systems screeching at 17 kHz—the exact resonant frequency that makes your temples protest. 

They're designed to track and pursue through temporal distortions. You know this from your training, what they taught you. Or at least, what they wanted you to be taught.

But Yoongi never looks back; not even once.

Nature’s lumbar support leaves much to be desired.

The wall at your back is jagged, scraping through your shirt, stone biting into skin. Yoongi’s breath saws out next to you, sharp, furious. He rounds on you, eyes wild, voice pitched higher than baseline.

"What the fuck did you do?"

The question isn't a question—it’s an accusation wrapped in 87 decibels of controlled fury. You straighten 2.3 centimeters, ignoring how the rock tears at your jacket.

“I answered his query within established social parameters."  

His laugh is all sharp edges. "Parameters? You told a CHRONOS informant you didn't remember him!"  

"Statistical probability suggested—"  

"Probability?" He steps into your space, mint and ozone overpowering the cave's damp musk. "They've activated civilian reporting protocols! That bartender was required to log every customer interaction!"  

Your pulse spikes-+18bpm. "Unforeseen variable. You didn't brief me on—"

"I literally just said don't deviate from normalcy!" The wall cracks behind him, hairline fractures spreading at 3mm/second. "Normal people don't have memory gaps about coffee shops!"  

You catalog the wall damage—microcrystalline structure failure inconsistent with human strength.

Fascinating.

New data point: Agent Min's capabilities exceed known parameters.  

"My response was logically sound," you counter. "Approximately 72% of humans experience—"  

"Logically suicidal." Gold sparks dance in his irises now. "They train those informants to flag exactly that phrase."

The revelation triggers 23 simultaneous neural queries.

"Why would 'not that I remember' trigger—"

"Because Outliers say it when their memories glitch!" He's closer now, 47cm instead of 72. "Basic fucking tradecraft, Noma."

You flinch at the nickname. "You expect me to intuit unpublished surveillance tactics?"  

"I expect you to listen when I say CHRONOS is hunting us." The gold intensifies, threads weaving through his clenched fists. "That man wasn't armed until you turned him into a threat."

"Correlation fallacy." Your voice drops to 19dB. "You lack evidence that—"

The cave wall explodes.  

Not literally—just Yoongi's fist connecting with stone 3.2cm from your head. Dust cascades downward as he withdraws his hand, skin unmarred.  

"Evidence?" His breath ghosts across your lips, warmer than human biology allows. "You think decay patterns manifest spontaneously?"  

Realization crystallizes.

The bartender's rotting hand. The gold threads. The temporal distortion.  

Your eyes narrow. "You altered his cellular decay rate."  

"To save your statistically suicidal ass."  

"Without consent."  

"Without options.” 

The standoff lasts 4.7 seconds.

"You're an anomaly," he growls. "Stop acting like one."  

"Variables require data." You match his glare. "Which you hoard like a fucking dragon."  

His hands rake through mint hair, leaving it standing at precisely 47-degree angles.

"Because I have no other fucking choice!" The words explode from him, raw and jagged. "Every piece of information I give you is another potential trigger. Another way for CHRONOS to find you. To erase you. Again."

That word. ‘Again’. He keeps saying it, like it’s something he can’t lodge out of his throat.

Yet, for his incredible powers, he seems unable to prevent what he fears most.

What ‘again’ means to him.

Your eyes narrow, recalculating.

"So your ability..." You pause, watching his muscles tense. "Time manipulation?"

His eyes flick to yours, then away. A non-answer that answers everything.

"You aged his hand by 70 years, at minimum." Your voice steadies as you shift to analysis mode. "Accelerated cellular decay, targeted temporal field. Fascinating."

"83 actually." The correction is automatic. Petulant. He slides down the wall beside you, knees cracking at 73 and 81 hertz. "Time Anchor. That's the technical classification."

You catalog the term, cross-referencing against known temporal phenomena.

No matches found.

"I can't create or destroy time." His voice drops, rougher now. "I can only... redistribute it. Accelerate decay in one place, slow it in another."

Your fingers twitch with the urge to document, to measure. "Conservation of temporal energy."

"Something like that." He flexes his right hand, and you notice the faint gold shimmer beneath his skin—network of lines like circuitry, pulsing at 0.7-second intervals. "Every action has a cost."

"The gold." You gesture toward his hand. "Temporal bleed?"

His eyebrow lifts 0.3 centimeters. "For someone who claims to know nothing, you make impressive leaps."

"Pattern recognition is my primary function." You shift, angling your body 12 degrees toward his. "What's the cost?"

His laugh lacks humor, registering at 42% below standard mirth indicators.

"Depends on what I'm doing. Age someone's hand? Minor headache, maybe some joint pain. Stop time completely?" He taps his temple. "Migraines that would kill a normal person."

You process this, calculating energy transfer ratios.

"And the 25th hour?"

"That's different." His voice drops another 3 decibels. "That's not me. That's... a system error. Something CHRONOS never accounted for."

"That you exploit."

"That we exploit." He corrects, eyes meeting yours. "Some of us, anyway."

"How many like you exist?"

"Time Anchors?" He shrugs, the movement exact despite its casual appearance. "Only me, that I know of.”

The admission feels sad.

Terribly lonely.

"And me?"

The question emerges before your logic centers can evaluate its prudence; and his eyebrows twitch, eyes staring directly onto the ground.

"You're something else entirely."

"Define 'something else,'" you request, shifting your position against the wall to better observe him. 

The movement causes a minor increase in discomfort—rock surface irregularities creating pressure points along your vertebrae.

But they do not register as important in the face of acquiring new information.

Agent Min finally exhales—which suggests internal debate about information disclosure parameters.

"I can show you," he says finally, voice dropping. "But you need to understand that what I'm about to do is extremely detectable. If there are any CHRONOS agents within 400 meters, they'll register it."

You calculate risk factors, weighing variables against known CHRONOS response protocols.

"Current location provides approximately 87% concealment from standard monitoring," you observe. "Probability of detection: 13.2%."

His mouth quirks—almost-smile that never fully materializes.

"Always with the numbers," he mutters, but it doesn't register as annoyance—rather something warmer.

He extends his right hand, palm up, and focuses his attention on it with an intensity that alters his breathing pattern by 0.4 seconds per cycle.

At first, nothing happens.

Then—

Gold.

Liquid light emerges from his fingertips, tendrils of energy that move with fluidity. They spiral outward in clockwise rotations, creating phenomenons that defy any standard classification parameters.

Your pupils dilate by approximately 28%, heart rate increasing by 17 beats per minute.

"Temporal energy," he explains, voice steady despite the obvious energy expenditure. "Direct manifestation of my ability."

The golden traces move like extensions of himself, responding to minute shifts in his focus. They emit no measurable heat signature yet appear fluid, almost liquid in their movement patterns.

"Fascinating," you breathe, leaning closer to observe better. "How do they work? What's their composition? Can they interact with physical matter or are they purely energetic manifestations?"

Your questions tumble out in rapid succession, each one triggering three more in your mind. The analytical part of you wants to measure, catalog, understand—but something else, something less quantifiable, simply wants to touch.

He watches you cautiously, measuring your reaction.

"They're extensions of temporal force," he explains. "I can manipulate objects through their timeline states—age them forward or backward, freeze them in their current temporal position."

The golden traces curl and twist above his palm, creating complex patterns that seem to follow mathematical principles.

"Can I—" You hesitate, unusual break in your typically decisive speech pattern. "Would contact damage them? Or me?"

"No damage," he says carefully. "But they're... sensitive."

The word choice seems odd, triggering your curiosity further.

"Sensitive how?" you press, eyes tracking the golden movements.

He sighs—perhaps denoting exhaustion.

"They're direct extensions of my temporal energy. I feel what they feel."

You process this information.

"Like nerve endings," you suggest.

"Yeah… Something like that."

Decision made, you extend your hand toward the nearest tendril, moving slowly to allow him time to withdraw if needed. 

He doesn't.

Your fingertip makes contact with the golden energy.

The sensation is... unexpected.

The trace feels solid yet fluid simultaneously, warm without heat, substantial without mass. But what registers most prominently is Yoongi's immediate reaction—sharp intake of breath, pupils dilating by approximately 32%, micro-tremor in his left hand.

You pull back instantly, recalculating.

"Did that hurt?" you ask, cataloging his physiological responses.

"No." His voice drops by 2.7 hertz. "Not hurt."

No further clarification. 

Your own pulse increases by another 8 beats per minute in response.

Oh.

You reach out again, this time with intent, and trace your finger along the golden tendril. It responds to your touch, curling around your fingertip like it's greeting you.

Yoongi's breathing pattern alters—inhalation extending by 0.7 seconds, exhalation shortening by 0.4.

"They recognize you," he says, voice rougher than before.

"That's impossible," you counter automatically. "We've never interacted like this before."

His eyes meet yours, holding for 2.3 seconds—longer than his usual 0.8-second maximum.

"They recognize you," he repeats, simply.

The golden trace wrapped around your finger pulses slightly, the rhythm matching your heartbeat with 97.3% synchronicity. 

"What else can they do?" you ask, scientific curiosity temporarily overriding everything else.

He flexes his fingers slightly, and the traces extend further, creating a complex network of golden energy between you.

"They can interact with physical objects," he demonstrates, directing a tendril toward a small rock. 

The stone ages rapidly, crumbling to dust in 3.2 seconds. Another rock reverts to its geological past—crystallizing into a perfect quartz formation.

"Temporal manipulation at a distance," you observe, mind going through all possible applications, limitations, variables.

"Yes."

You watch as the traces move with increasing confidence around you, never touching without your initiation, but clearly... aware of your presence.

"And these are unique to Time Anchors?" you ask, testing another hypothesis.

"Each type of Outlier has their own manifestation," he says carefully. "Mine happens to be temporal, and in tendrils of different sizes."

You detect deliberate vagueness, information being withheld.

"What's mine?"

The traces flicker briefly, responding to some change in his emotional state.

"That's something you'll have to discover yourself," he says finally.

You frown, dissatisfied with the non-answer.

"More cryptic responses. Inefficient communication strategy."

His mouth quirks again.

"Some things can't be told, Noma. They have to be experienced."

You reach out again, this time allowing your entire hand to pass through the network of golden energy. The traces respond immediately, wrapping around your fingers, sliding between them.

Yoongi's breath catches, the sound barely audible at 17 decibels.

"These are... remarkably sensitive," you observe.

"Yes." The word emerges strained, tightly controlled.

A hypothesis forms. You test it by deliberately trailing your fingers through the traces with a bit more pressure.

His reaction is immediate—pupils dilating to 7.1 millimeters, pulse visible at his throat increasing to approximately 92 beats per minute, a muscle in his jaw tensing with 47% more force.

"Interesting," you murmur, filing away this reaction for future analysis.

"We should stop," he says, voice rougher than before. "Extended manifestation increases detection risk."

Logical. Rational. 

Yet you find yourself strangely reluctant to end the experiment.

"One more question," you negotiate, still not withdrawing your hand from the golden network. "Why do they move in clockwise patterns specifically?"

His eyes meet yours again, unreadable.

"Because that's how time moves," he says simply. "Forward. Clockwise."

You correlate with your observations.

"And if something moved counterclockwise?" you ask, the question emerging from some intuitive part of your mind rather than your analytical centers.

The traces flicker again, responding to something in his emotional state.

"That would be something else entirely," he says, echoing his earlier statement.

Before you can press further, he withdraws, the golden traces retracting into his skin. The absence leaves the air feeling strangely empty, lacking some vital element you hadn't noticed until it was gone.

Your fingertips tingle with residual sensation—a ghastly feeling you don’t know how to categorize but for some reason find yourself missing.

"We need to move," he says, voice returning to its normal cadence. "We've stayed in one place too long."

He is right. 

You don’t know why you still want to touch those golden traces.

You rise instead, calculating the most efficient exit route while your mind continues processing this new data point: Agent Min’s golden traces recognize you, despite having no logical reason to do so.

Another anomaly to add to your growing collection.

He presses his right wrist with two fingers, applying precisely 2.1 kilograms of pressure to the outer edge of his Chrono-Sync Watch. The device responds with a soft sound—around 17 decibels, so barely perceptible even in the cave's acoustic environment.

A holographic display materializes 4.7 centimeters above the watch face, projecting a three-dimensional map of Sector 4 with pulsing red markers scattered across its surface.

You lean forward, immediately registering the discrepancy: standard Chrono-Sync Watch models lack holographic projection capabilities.

"What is that?"

Yoongi doesn't look up, his focus entirely on the floating map as he rotates it 37 degrees with a precise finger movement.

"Modified," he says simply, the explanation as efficient as always. "I told you."

You study the hologram, cataloging design parameters and technical specifications with automatic precision.

"Quantum-projection module integration into a Chrono-Sync interface would require bypassing at least seven encryption protocols," you observe, mind already mapping the engineering challenges. "The power requirements alone would necessitate a modified lithium cell with 347% increased capacity. Not to mention the spatial compression algorithms needed to maintain holographic integrity without..."

Your analysis trails off as your eyes meet his over the floating display. The corner of his mouth twitches once more.

"You helped create this," he says quietly, fingers still moving through the projection.

The statement registers, but fails to connect with any accessible memory database.

"I did not." Your contradiction emerges automatically, precisely calibrated to express certainty.

He doesn't argue. Doesn't press. Simply continues manipulating the map with those agile, gloved fingers, eyes occasionally flicking to your face as if contemplating your reaction.

Silence expands between you for exactly 4.3 seconds before your curiosity overrides caution.

"Where are we going?" you ask, redirecting the conversation away from memory discrepancies that trigger uncomfortable neural responses.

"I'm mapping our closest access point," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

His index finger traces a route through the holographic streets, calculating distances with the same analytical precision you recognize in yourself.

"We need to reach one of the travel spots within the next 37 minutes. Our temporal signature trail is too fresh after that... incident."

"Travel spots?"

You catalog the unfamiliar terminology, cross-referencing against known CHRONOS lexicon.

No matches found.

Yoongi's fingers pause at exactly 23 degrees northeast of your current position. His throat works—a slight contraction suggesting hesitation.

"I..." 

His voice hovers over the simple noun. He swallows once, recalibrating.

"Travel spots are access points," he continues, voice modulated in a way that suggests internal editing. "Strategic locations throughout the city that allow direct transport to the 7th Hour headquarters."

"Teleportation technology? That's theoretically impossible given current quantum limitations."

"Not teleportation. Temporal-spatial warping." His finger taps a pulsing blue marker on the map. "These portals use existing weak points in CHRONOS's reality grid."

Theoretical models. Probability factors. Energy requirements.

"The energy necessary to maintain stable reality tunnels would exceed—"

"That's why they're not tunnels," he interrupts, eyes still fixed on the map. "They're more like... doors. Open only when needed, closed immediately after use."

You lean closer, studying the blue markers. Their distribution follows no discernible pattern—a deliberate randomization algorithm to prevent predictive tracking.

"Why can't CHRONOS detect them?" you ask, probing for weaknesses.

"They can detect the activation," he answers, voice tightening slightly. "But not follow through. The portals are specially calibrated to recognize Outlier temporal signatures. Anyone else attempting to pass through would trigger an immediate collapse."

You frown, recalculating. "But my temporal signature is registered in the CHRONOS database. Wouldn't that trigger their defense systems?"

His eyes flick to yours briefly—0.7 seconds of direct contact.

"Your official signature is a fabrication. The real one..." He pauses, choosing his words with unusual care. "The real one is already authorized in our system."

Another anomaly to catalog.

Another fragment that doesn't fit your accessible memory database.

"So we access one of these points, and it transports us directly to your headquarters?" you confirm, redirecting toward practical logistics.

"Yes." He closes the holographic display with an easy gesture. "But we need to be careful. After what happened at the coffee shop, they'll be scanning for temporal disturbances with heightened sensitivity."

You tilt your head, considering.

"And why haven't you contacted your team? Surely they could provide assistance or extraction."

His eyes flicker to you. Presses his lips together. Then, answers.

"Communications are compromised in this sector," he explains. "Any encrypted transmission would register on CHRONOS monitoring systems. They'd triangulate our position within 3.7 seconds."

"Your golden traces," you observe, connecting variables. "The temporal display at the coffee shop would have triggered every sensor within 1.5 kilometers."

"Precisely why we need to move quickly." He cracks his neck again, just like he did back in the coffee shop. "Our window is closing. That display was necessary but costly from a strategic perspective."

Your mind reconstructs the coffee shop incident—the bartender's decay, the golden traces, the immediate pursuit.

"You risked substantial exposure to extract me," you state, the realization forming fully. "Statistically, that decision carried a 78.3% probability of compromising your entire operation."

He doesn’t explain. Doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t try to correct you. Just lets silence stretch for three seconds.

"Some variables outweigh probability," he says finally.

"I still don't understand why you can't simply use your temporal abilities to transport us directly. If you can manipulate time—"

"I manipulate time, not space," he sighs. "I can slow it, accelerate it, even stop it briefly. But I can't move through it. That's..."

He hesitates again, that same weighted pause.

"That's a different ability entirely."

You catalog this limitation, updating your mental model of his capabilities.

"And these portals combine both temporal and spatial manipulation," you deduce, connecting data points.

"Yes." The confirmation is clipped, efficient. "They were designed specifically to compensate for the limitations of individual Outlier abilities."

"Designed by who?"

His eyes meet yours again—1.4 seconds this time, 75% longer than his usual pattern.

"By us," he says simply.

The pronoun registers with unexpected weight.

Us. Collective. Collaborative.

You and him.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps softly: Temporal variance: 1.07%.

"We need to move," he says, already turning toward the cave entrance. "The nearest travel spot is 1.7 kilometers northeast. If we maintain optimal pace while avoiding main thoroughfares, we should arrive within the acceptable window."

You follow, legs automatically adjusting to match his stride, body responding to cues your conscious mind hasn't processed.

Another anomaly. Another piece of the puzzle.

You catalog it alongside all the others, building your database of inconsistencies, contradictions, and inexplicable familiarities.

Someday, you'll find the pattern that connects them all.

But for now, you follow the ghost with golden traces, moving through a city that feels increasingly like a simulation with every step.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

goal: 250 notes

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— taglist

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[civilbucky]

I saw thunderbolts today 🥹

NON SPOILER OPINIONS!

i think for starters the casting was done BEAUTIFULLY!

lewis pullman did an amazing job as bob and i would actually die for him. 10/10

this movie was such a breath of fresh air. marvel i feel like actually listened to what fans wanted and did a great job.

laughed way more than i expected??? had my ass giggling so much omg.

i feel like people saying this movie sucked or was mid missed the point IMO

it was sooooooo nice seeing accurate super soldier strength and little details pertaining to them being super soldiers. *chefs kiss*

THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS AHEAD

I WAS SO FUCKING FERAL I CANT BELIEVE HOW MUCH SCREENTIME BUCKY HAS

YELENA AND ALEXEI???? OH MY GOOOOOOOOD WHEN ALEXEI SAVES THAT LITTLE GIRL AND IMMEDIATELY GET SMOKES WAS SO FUCKING CRUEL HE SAW YOUNG YELENA AND I COULDVE SWORN SHE WAS GONNA DIE LIKE SOME TWISTED ASS FORESHADOWING 😭 their relationship in this movie actually hurt me so much i loved getting more from them!!! also the thunderbolts being named after her soccer team was so sweet. alexei was such a dad and SHOWED UP! even after being torn into by yelena.

i loved wyatt russell. i think hes such an amazing actor and i feel like we get so much more walker that shows his true color. i love that marvel doesnt try and make him a hero nor do they try and make him "redeemable". he truly is himself and selfish in ways where he puts himself first and then others second. his wife leaving him and taking his child are the consequences of his own actions, and we can empathize with him without feeling like they were trying to make us love him. he is such an interesting character and i loved him in this movie.

WHY WOULD THEY KILL TASKMASTER SO EARLY ON?!?! SHE HAD SO MUCH POTENTIAL AND IT WOULDVE BEEN AMAZING TO SEE!!! i get its more comic accurate but she was such a fascinating character. wish i couldve seen her more.

i feel like ghost didnt have as much depth in this movie compared to quantumania. i still loved her character in this movie and she was quick as shit on her feet talkin mad shit to john which KILLED ME they were all so funny 💀 she was so useful and brutally honest and i could gush over her all day.

and now to bucky... my main MAN 😫 PERSONALLY WOULDNT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO HANDLE HIS VOID I WAS CRYING ENOUGH IN THAT MOVIE!!! i wouldve loved to see it but it was so nice watching a movie where he wasnt constantly suffering. he is such an amazing character and i was sobbing at the fact that he never truly wanted to fight and was always thrown into wars, and now he was saving people and working with a team to try and help people rather than killing them. their faces when people were cheering for them had me losing it in the theater. i feel like to a point valentina did rope him in to be the new avengerz (hehe thank you alexei) but he seemed genuinely happy and i feel like itll be so good for him to feel like he can do good and prove it to himself.

alSO HIM AND SAM FIGHTING AND BEING BORDERLINE ENEMIES???? COME FUCKING ON NOW!!!!! i feel like sam shouldve been supportive but i completely understand the anger about the name. but my baby is doing so good leave him alone!!! he wants to do good!!!! (i dont truly believe they are enemies. i think they have such a solid foundation they will come back from this but it broke my heart)

personally could talk about bob all day. the way his back story was set up and his home life??? DAMN!!! he was an anazing character with such a range and depth that lewis pullman really hit it out of the park. sentry was so haunting to see and the void really had me crying in the club. showing how much it can help you to just lean on your friends around you was such an amazing touch. after the post credit scenes of him not being sentry/the void anymore i am so excited and curious for what they do in doomsday!!! GAHHHHHH BOB I LOVE YOU!!!

all in all 100000000/10 the mental health and leaning on people for help was so beautiful and well done. yelena taking responsibility and telling bob that she was wrong about shoving it down was something to BEHOLD. i absolutely loved this movie and i think all characters being their authentic self really made it.

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we? Chapter Seven

Paige stepped into the hotel lobby, her eyes immediately locking onto her dad, little brother Drew, and Azzi, who were standing by the elevators. Drew practically jumped up and down when he saw her, his excitement almost contagious.

"Paige!" he shouted, rushing over to give her a big hug.

"Hey, little man," Paige said, laughing as she hugged him back.

Azzi smiled from a few feet away, her arms crossed casually. "Look at you, Drew. Already stealing all of Paige's attention."

Paige flashed Azzi a grin. "Can't help it. He’s adorable."

"Yeah, well, he’s not the only one," Azzi teased, her eyes locking with Paige's for a moment longer than necessary.

Paige smirked, but Drew was already pulling her away to show her something. "Come on, Paige! I’ve got something awesome to show you!"

They headed to one of the hotel rooms where the rest of Paige’s family and Azzi were hanging out. The room was cozy, everyone relaxing and catching up while grabbing some snacks. Paige felt a familiar ease being around them, even though there was an undercurrent of something she wasn’t ready to admit to herself yet.

After a while, Azzi stood up, stretching. "I should probably head to bed."

Paige watched her for a beat, then stood up to walk her to her room. “I’ll walk you,” she said, giving her dad and stepmom a quick glance before slipping out into the hallway with Azzi.

Azzi’s room was just down the hall, right next to where Paige’s dad and stepmom were staying. Paige wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet, though.

“You sure you’re not gonna stay for a bit?” Paige asked, glancing at Azzi with a mischievous grin. “Drew’s been begging to show you his new... genius idea. It’s, uh, totally not weird or anything.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow but didn’t move. “Is it really a good idea to subject me to Drew's creations this late?”

Paige chuckled, nudging her. “It’s kind of the only entertainment we’ve got at the moment, Azzi. Plus, I know you love hanging with the family,” she added, her voice taking on a teasing tone.

Azzi hesitated but eventually sighed. “Fine, but only for a few minutes.”

They made their way back into the room, where Drew was eagerly setting up his “big idea,” which was some elaborate action figure plot that only he could truly understand. Paige sat next to Azzi, leaning back on the bed as she watched Drew excitedly narrate the story.

Azzi, clearly growing a little tired of the constant chaos, leaned toward Paige. “I swear, you and Drew are something else,” she muttered with a small smile.

Paige laughed, but her eyes gleamed with that playful glint. “You know, Azzi, you’d probably have a lot more fun if you stopped pretending like you’re not into it.”

Azzi glanced at her, her brow furrowing as she shifted slightly. “Seriously, Paige?”

Paige leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Come on, you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. You and me? Maybe? Just a little?”

Azzi’s expression turned flat, her patience starting to wear thin. “Alright, that’s enough. You’re starting to cross a line.”

Drew, still oblivious to the tension between them, babbled on about who knows what, but Paige noticed the shift in Azzi’s mood. With a sigh, she sat back, her teasing tone softening.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop,” Paige said, glancing at Azzi with a look of apology in her eyes, though she wasn’t entirely convinced she was done yet.

Azzi gave her a tired but knowing look, her frustration easing a little. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

"I guess you’re heading out, huh?" Azzi asked, her tone just a little softer now.

Paige nodded. "Yeah, I think I’m gonna call it a night. Got an early start tomorrow."

Azzi hesitated for a moment, then said, "Well, I’ll walk you to the door."

Paige raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You don't have to."

Azzi shrugged again. "I don’t mind."

They walked down the hallway together, the soft sounds of their footsteps filling the silence. When they reached the main door of the hotel, Paige turned to face Azzi, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

"Thanks for the walk. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?" Paige asked, though she didn’t really want to leave just yet.

Azzi nodded, but there was a subtle hesitation in her expression. "Of course. Take care, Paige."

Paige paused, her gaze lingering on Azzi for a moment before she nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle between them.

"Goodnight, Azzi," she said softly, her voice quieter than usual.

Azzi smiled, but there was something unspoken in the way she looked at Paige, something that lingered in the air between them.

"Goodnight, Paige," Azzi replied, her voice just as soft, but with an edge of something else—something Paige wasn’t ready to confront.

As Paige turned to head out, she glanced back one last time, catching Azzi’s gaze for a brief moment before stepping into the night.

Paige lay in her hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling, her mind restless. The championship game was just hours away, but no matter how much she tried to focus on the impending match, her thoughts kept drifting back to Azzi. It wasn’t just that she’d been with Azzi and her family for the night—it was something else. The way Azzi made her laugh, the subtle way their hands brushed against each other when they sat close, the way their eyes would meet and hold just a second longer than necessary.

Paige had always been good at focusing on the game, at blocking out distractions, but Azzi had become a different kind of distraction—one that made her feel things she hadn’t expected to feel. She rolled over and checked the time on her phone—2:30 AM. Her team would need to be up in just a few hours to start preparing for the big game. But sleep wouldn’t come.

The hotel room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning, and Paige tried to shut her eyes, to clear her head, but all she could think about was the way Azzi had looked at her when they said goodnight. It was a soft smile, but there was something more in it—something that made Paige’s heart flutter in a way she wasn’t ready to confront.

She tried to push the thoughts away, but it was like they had a mind of their own, and the more she pushed, the more they crept back in.

The next morning, Paige had the weight of the championship on her shoulders. She had always thrived under pressure, but there was something different in the air today. The intensity of the game was heightened by her own internal battle—her focus was split between her team and the whirlwind of emotions Azzi had stirred in her.

She met up with the rest of the team—Aaliyah, Aubrey, Nika, Evina, and Christyn—in the hotel conference room where they gathered before heading to the stadium. There was a noticeable energy in the room. It was game day, and everyone was gearing up for the final push.

Geno and CD stood in front, giving last-minute speeches. Geno’s voice was steady, the tone commanding, and it was clear that he expected nothing less than their best performance. CD, always the motivator, added a bit of humor to lighten the mood, but everyone could tell the stakes were high.

“Alright, team,” Geno said, pacing in front of them. “You’ve all worked for this moment. Nothing is going to be handed to you, but I know you’ve got what it takes. Leave everything on that court. We’re playing for each other. We’re playing for this program.”

Paige nodded, her jaw set. She was ready—ready to push through whatever was ahead.

But as the game unfolded, Paige found it harder than usual to focus. Her mind kept wandering, distracted by the flashes of Azzi’s face in the crowd, the warmth of her smile. Every time she made a play, she caught herself glancing to see if Azzi was watching. The game was a blur of pressure and missed opportunities. Despite their best efforts, the team couldn’t pull ahead, and as the final buzzer sounded, Paige felt a sinking weight in her chest.

They had lost.

The national championship slipped through their fingers.

The locker room was heavy with silence. The sting of the loss was sharp, and no one knew what to say. Geno stood at the front, his usual strong demeanor faltering just slightly. CD offered some words of comfort, trying to lift their spirits, but it was clear that the disappointment was too much to overcome in the moment.

Paige sat on the bench, her head in her hands. She couldn’t believe it. They had come so close. So close, and yet it felt like they had failed. She could hear the quiet murmurs of her teammates, Aaliyah’s deep sigh, Aubrey’s soft curse under her breath, and Nika’s frustration as she paced.

“We’ll get ‘em next year,” Aaliyah muttered, though there was no real conviction in her voice.

Paige could barely look up. She felt the tears threatening to rise, but she refused to let them fall. This wasn’t about tears—it was about the game, about the loss, about the weight of failing when they had all put so much into this moment.

She took a deep breath, standing up and shaking her head. “I can’t... I can’t let this define us. We did everything we could. I... I don’t know what happened. We deserved it. We worked for it.”

Evina came over and put a hand on Paige’s shoulder. “Hey, we win as a team, we lose as a team. It’s not the end.”

But the words didn’t reach her. Paige couldn’t shake the feeling of defeat, the feeling of coming so close but falling short. 

Paige’s feet carried her down the hotel hall before she realized where she was heading. Her heart pulled her toward Azzi’s room, where she knew she’d find at least a bit of comfort. When she knocked, the door opened almost immediately, and there stood Azzi, her face softening when she saw Paige’s expression.

“Hey, are you okay?” Azzi asked, stepping aside to let Paige in.

Paige shook her head, her throat tightening. “We lost. We worked so hard, and we lost.”

Azzi’s expression softened further as she closed the door behind them. “I’m sorry, Paige. I know how much you wanted this.”

She didn’t need to say more. Paige collapsed onto Azzi’s bed, her face buried in her hands. The tears finally came, and Azzi was there, sitting beside her, offering silent comfort. Paige could feel Azzi’s presence beside her—warm and solid.

“It’s just not fair,” Paige whispered, her voice muffled. “We were so close, Azzi. I don’t know how to get over this.”

Azzi reached out, gently placing a hand on Paige’s back. “I know, it hurts. But you’re stronger than this moment. You’ll bounce back. You always do.”

Paige took a shaky breath, looking up at Azzi. “I don’t know. I just... I don’t know what to do with this.”

Azzi smiled softly, brushing a lock of Paige’s hair out of her face. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once. Take it one step at a time. And remember, you’ve got people who care about you.”

Paige felt a calm wash over her at Azzi’s words. It wasn’t an instant fix, but it was a moment of peace in the middle of her turmoil.

​​As the night stretched on, Paige found herself lying on Azzi’s bed, talking about everything and nothing. They shared stories from the past, laughed about old memories, and slowly the heaviness in Paige’s heart began to lift.

Azzi did most of the talking, making Paige laugh with her quick wit and teasing banter. The tension that had been there earlier seemed to dissipate, leaving only the comfort of being with someone who understood her in a way that few others did.

Eventually, Paige sat up, looking at Azzi. “Thanks for letting me crash here. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Azzi shrugged. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re my friend. I’ll always be here.”

Paige’s heart swelled at her words. She had known Azzi for a while, but tonight, something felt different. It wasn’t just friendship anymore, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to admit that to herself yet.

As Paige stood up to leave, Azzi walked her to the door. They lingered there for a moment, the silence between them comfortable but charged.

Before Paige could step out, Azzi pulled her into a hug. The embrace was soft, warm, and everything Paige needed in that moment.

“I’m sorry about the game, Paige,” Azzi whispered into her hair.

“It’s not your fault,” Paige replied, her voice muffled against Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Paige with soft eyes. “I know. But still… I’m here.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat. She wanted to say something more, but the words didn’t come. Instead, Azzi leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s cheek, a sweet, lingering gesture that sent a flutter through Paige’s chest.

When Paige pulled back, she looked at Azzi, her thoughts racing. “Thanks, Azzi,” she said softly.

Azzi smiled. “It’ll all be okay, Paige.”

As Paige stepped into the hallway, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. There was something there between them, something she wasn’t ready to figure out just yet, but for the first time in a while, Paige felt like things would be okay.

April 1

PaigeI can't believe it's already April. Time is flying by so fast. 😩

AzziI know, right? It's crazy. Feels like we just started talking about UConn, and now I'm almost there. I can’t wait for next year.

PaigeSame! But first, you've got prom and graduation, so we have a bit of time. I’m glad we have a little time before everything gets real. 😅

AzziTell me about it. And then you’ll be wrapping up your finals and it’ll be all about UConn after that. I’m so ready for us to start this next chapter. 😎

April 5

AzziOkay, so I’m getting major prom dress anxiety. I can’t decide between this sparkly gold dress or the classic red one. What do you think?

PaigeI’m leaning toward the gold one. It sounds like it would totally make you stand out! Plus, you deserve to sparkle. 😏

AzziI’m starting to think I can pull off sparkly. Maybe the red dress is a little too… predictable?

PaigeExactly. Go with the gold, and trust me, you’ll look amazing. Plus, I want to see you shine. ✨

AzziAlright, gold it is. Thank you, Paige. You’re always the best at helping me with this stuff. You’re my personal fashion consultant. 😆

April 7

PaigeI’m seriously stressed over finals. How do you manage to stay so chill through all this? 😩

AzziHonestly, I think it’s all about finding balance. I study, but I also give myself breaks. Like, I can’t be stuck in a room all day. You need to let your brain breathe too. You’re going to crush it, P. I believe in you.

PaigeI need to take your advice. I’ve been staring at my textbooks for so long I’m starting to forget what day it is. 😂

AzziHaha, okay, maybe that’s a sign to take a break! Go outside, get some fresh air, and then hit the books again. You’ve got this, I promise.

April 10

AzziOkay, so James just asked me to prom. 😂 I had a feeling he was going to do it, but still. It’s happening.

PaigeOmg, what did you say?! I can’t wait to hear all about it!

AzziI said yes, obviously. How could I not? But now I have to actually dance. 

PaigeYou’re going to look so cute together! And don’t worry about the dancing. You’ll be fine, I promise. You’ve got that confidence.

AzziI hope so. If I trip over my own feet, though, I’m blaming you. 😂

April 12

PaigeI just turned in my final paper for history. One down, a million to go. 😓

AzziYou’re making so much progress, Paige. Seriously. You’re killing it.

PaigeUgh, I hope so. There’s so much left to do, though. But I’ll be done soon, and then we can finally hang out. I’m looking forward to that more than anything right now.

AzziSame here. And once your finals are over, we’ll do something fun. I think we both need a break.

PaigeI’m taking you up on that. Beach day, here we come. 😌

April 15

AzziMy dress for prom came in, and it’s perfect. Like, I can’t stop staring at it.

PaigeI knew it would be! You’re going to look at fire. 😅

April 18

PaigeOkay, I’m starting to get excited about prom. I’m not even going, but I feel like it’s all happening at once, and I just want to be there for you.

AzziI swear, I am so stressed.

PaigeStop. You’re going to look perfect. Just let me know when you want me to hype you up again. 💁🏼‍♀️

AzziI might need all the hype. It’s like everything is coming at me so fast—graduation, prom, then UConn. It’s a lot, you know? But I’m so excited.

PaigeI get it. But you’re going to handle it all like you always do—perfectly. I know you’ve got this.

April 22

AzziSo, prom’s in two weeks. I don’t even know how I feel about it. I’m excited, but also nervous. I’ve never had this much attention on me before. 😬

PaigeYou’re going to crush it. I know it. Besides, you’ve been getting attention since the first time you stepped on the court. This will be a piece of cake compared to that. 😏

AzziHaha, okay, you might be right about that. I just want everything to go smoothly. And I’m low-key excited to hang out with James and everyone else.

PaigeIt’s going to be great. Just enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it.

April 25

PaigeI’m almost done with pre-finals stuff!! One more paper to go. Then, I’m free. 🤩

AzziYES!! So proud of you. You’ve been grinding through this whole process. Once you’re done, we’re doing something fun. No excuses. 😎

PaigeA beach trip sounds perfect. I just need to get through this last one and then I’m all yours. 😌

AzziThat sounds like exactly what we need. We’ll both be able to relax and take a breath. After everything, we deserve it.

April 28

AzziI just had my final prom fitting. I’m feeling like I’m finally ready. It’s all starting to feel real now. I can’t wait for you to see the pictures.

PaigeYou’re going to be stunning. And when I see those pics, I might cry. But I’ll be cheering for you from here. You’ve got this, Azzi.

AzziThank you. That means the world to me. I’m just glad to have you in my corner through all this. You’ve been with me through everything, and I’m so grateful.

PaigeAlways, Azzi. You’re my best friend, and I can’t wait to celebrate with you once all this craziness is done.

It was the evening before prom, and Paige found herself at Azzi’s house, sitting cross-legged on the floor of Azzi’s bedroom while Azzi moved around, picking through a pile of dresses that had been sent to her by various designers. The excitement in the air was palpable. Azzi had been talking about prom for months, and now, here they were—just one day away from the big night.

Paige had come over with a bag of snacks, and the two of them were supposed to have a relaxing sleepover. They’d made plans to watch movies, eat too much junk food, and spend some quality time together before Azzi’s big night.

Azzi stood in front of her mirror, twirling around in one of the dresses, unsure of whether or not it was the right one. “Ugh, I just can’t decide,” Azzi muttered, pulling at the fabric. “I mean, I love this one, but I’m not sure it’s the one.”

Paige looked up from her phone, a playful smile on her face. “You know, I think it looks amazing on you, though.”

Azzi paused and caught Paige’s eye in the mirror. “You really think so? I’m just so worried about everything being perfect tomorrow. Like, I want to look good, but I also don’t want to feel like I’m trying too hard, you know?”

Paige stood up and walked over to where Azzi was standing, inspecting the dress closely. “Azzi, you’re always going to look good, no matter what you wear. You’ve got that effortless vibe. You don’t need to worry about ‘trying too hard.’” She grinned and added, “Besides, you’ve got the whole ‘I’m a star athlete who could break your heart’ look down. Just own it.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. Maybe I will just own it. Thanks for the confidence boost, though.”

As the night wore on, the two of them continued to chat, with Paige helping Azzi pick out accessories, teasing her about prom pictures, and watching ridiculous YouTube videos. But as the evening came to a close, the playful mood began to shift into something a little more subdued. Both of them were aware that the night was ending, and it was bittersweet. There was a certain sadness in knowing that Azzi’s prom night would mark the beginning of a new chapter in her life.

By the time they were winding down to go to bed, the lights were dimmed, and they both lay in Azzi’s bed, talking quietly about their hopes and dreams for the future.

“I can’t believe we’re already here. You’re going to prom tomorrow. This is it. High school is almost over,” Paige said, her voice quieter now.

“I know. It’s kind of surreal, honestly,” Azzi replied softly, turning over to face Paige. “It’s like everything’s moving so fast, and I’m just trying to keep up. But I feel like I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

Paige nodded, though she couldn’t help but feel a pang in her chest. She’d always known this time would come—the time when they would both start moving in different directions. She was proud of Azzi, of course, but it was hard to imagine her friend stepping into such a big, new world.

“I’m proud of you, Azzi,” Paige said, a gentle smile crossing her face. “You’ve worked so hard for everything. You deserve all of it.”

Azzi reached out and gave Paige’s hand a soft squeeze. “Thanks, Paige. I don’t think I could’ve done any of this without you by my side.” 

Paige looked at Azzi, her thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and anticipation. She wasn’t sure what to say, how to process the sudden shift in the air between them. Before she could find the right words, Azzi scooting closer, her hand gently cupping Paige’s face. In one fluid motion, Azzi closed the distance between them, her lips meeting Paige’s in a soft, tentative kiss. They were now lying together in Azzi’s bed, the weight of the moment hanging between them. Paige’s gaze lingered on Azzi, watching her as though she were trying to make sense of everything that had just happened. The kiss had come so suddenly, so naturally, but now, in the quiet aftermath, everything felt heavier. Paige opened her mouth to say something, to break the silence, but then she stopped. She wasn’t sure what to say, and part of her didn’t want to say anything that could change the energy between them.

Azzi shifted slightly, her eyes locked on Paige’s, as if waiting for her to speak, to make sense of the mess of emotions that were swirling around both of them. But Paige just lay there, her fingers tracing patterns on the bed sheet, unsure how to navigate the space between them.

Azzi, sensing Paige’s hesitation, reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, her touch gentle. “Hey,” she whispered softly, her voice reassuring. “It’s okay.”

Paige looked up at her, feeling a tightness in her chest, the emotions she had been pushing aside now surfacing all at once. “I don’t know what this means, Azzi,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Azzi smiled gently, her fingers still tracing small circles on Paige’s arm. “You don’t have to have everything figured out right now. We don’t have to rush anything.”

Paige took in a shaky breath, feeling the overwhelming pressure of the moment. She wanted to say something, to explain how confused she felt, but the words felt tangled in her throat. Instead, she shifted closer to Azzi, letting her head rest on Azzi’s shoulder, the familiar comfort of her presence helping to calm her racing thoughts.

“I just… I don’t want to mess things up between us,” Paige murmured, her voice small and vulnerable. “You mean a lot to me.”

Azzi’s hand came to rest gently on Paige’s back, her touch warm and steady. “You won’t mess things up,” she reassured, her voice soft and sincere. “Whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

Paige closed her eyes, a sense of relief washing over her at Azzi’s words. For a moment, the confusion and tension melted away, replaced by a quiet sense of trust. She didn’t have to have all the answers right now. She didn’t have to know what would happen next. All she knew was that Azzi was there, and that felt like enough for now.

“Okay,” Paige whispered, feeling her body relax against Azzi’s. “I think I’m okay with that.”

Azzi smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Paige’s head. “Good. I’m here. Always.”

The morning of prom arrived, and the energy in Azzi’s house was electric. Azzi woke up early, excited and nervous, and immediately began getting ready for the big day. Paige woke up a little later, still groggy but unable to shake the emotions stirring inside her.

“Azzi?” Paige mumbled as she stretched and rubbed her eyes.

Azzi turned around and flashed a bright smile. “Hey! You ready for the big day?”

Paige yawned, still not entirely awake, but she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face at the sight of Azzi already glowing with excitement. “I can’t believe you’re really going to prom tonight. It feels like just yesterday we were talking about it.”

Azzi grinned, glancing at her phone and sending a quick message to James. “I know, right? It’s crazy. But it’s here, and I can’t wait. I’m so excited. James and I are going to look so good together.”

Paige’s stomach did a little flip. She knew Azzi was thrilled about going to prom with James, and she was happy for her friend, but it was hard to ignore the tiny pang of jealousy that crept up. She quickly pushed it aside, trying to stay upbeat.

“I’m sure you two are going to look perfect. Seriously,” Paige said, forcing herself to sound as enthusiastic as she could. “You deserve this night.”

Azzi turned to her, giving her a big hug. “You’re the best. Thanks for being here. I’m going to miss you when you’re at your dad’s.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Paige promised. 

Azzi smiled. “I know you will. And I’ll text you lots of pictures, okay?”

After their brief but heartfelt exchange, Paige left for her dad’s house, but something lingered in the back of her mind. She tried to push it away, tried to tell herself it was silly, but it was hard not to feel like she was on the outside looking in. Watching Azzi’s excitement about James, the night ahead—it made her feel like she was losing something she didn’t quite understand.

As she got in the car and drove to her dad’s place, her thoughts kept returning to Azzi, and she found herself replaying every moment from their sleepover the night before. They had been so close, but now it felt like everything was about to change.

It was past midnight when Paige’s phone buzzed. She picked it up, a little groggy, and saw a message from Azzi.

It was a video.

Paige hesitated for a second, her thumb hovering over the screen. But then curiosity won out, and she opened the message.

The video was shaky, and Azzi’s voice was loud and slightly muffled in the background, but it was clear she was having fun. “Hey, Paige! This is so fun. James and I are having the best time!” Azzi laughed, her smile wide and carefree.

The camera panned, and Paige could see James sitting next to Azzi, his arm draped over her waist. Azzi was sitting on his lap, her hair tousled by the wind from the bonfire, and they were both laughing, clearly in the moment.

Paige’s heart sank. She couldn’t help it—seeing Azzi like that, all smiles and carefree with James, made something twist inside her. She knew this was Azzi’s night, but part of her couldn’t ignore the jealousy that bubbled up, irrational as it was. She quickly closed the video and set her phone down, trying to shake the feeling that had taken over her.

The morning after prom, Paige woke up and checked her phone. A text from Azzi. She smiled faintly, even though a part of her still felt conflicted.

“Good morning, Paige! Last night was amazing. I had so much fun with James. We really did look good together, didn’t we?”

Paige replied, her fingers a little slow as she typed. “You did. You looked amazing. I hope it was everything you wanted.”

Azzi texted back almost immediately. “It really was. But I missed you. I’m so glad we’re doing this whole UConn thing together. I couldn’t imagine this next chapter without you.”

Paige smiled at the message, but the knot in her chest didn’t go away. She was happy for Azzi—really, she was—but it was clear now more than ever that things were changing. And she wasn’t sure where she fit into the new version of Azzi’s world.

[notarmedandnotdangerous]

+18 mdni! reader finds out bucky has been hiding a secret (vibrator) all along

cw: sub!bucky, dom!m!reader, forced orgasm, overstimulation, use of vibrator, reader has a thing for hair pulling, new pet name guys bucky calls reader 'babydoll'

word count: >1.6k

bucky was sitting on the couch, staring into the ceiling as his phone charged at the coffee table next to him. you walked out of your shared bedroom, letting him watch as you held something that looked way too familiar for his own good.

“found this under the pillow, wanna explain what you’ve been up to?” you held a small bullet vibrator in your hand, it was small, yet strong. this finally explains the buzzing you’ve heard during bucky’s ‘workout sessions’

“uh.. nothing?” he looked at you, feigning his innocence. he knew you wouldn’t believe him, but he could at least try.

“and you’re telling me ‘nothing’ involves a vibrator?” you dropped the bullet vibrator on his lap, watching in enjoyment as his body tensed up while his face burned with embarrassment.

“i.. might’ve used it on myself a few times..” he admitted, looking away from you.

“there’s a perfectly healthy human being here, who happens to be your boyfriend, and you’re resorting to using a vibrator? really, buck?” you watched as his fingers twitched, not daring to pick up the bullet vibrator laying in between his thighs.

“well.. i didn’t think you’d be interested..” bucky slowly but surely tilted his head upwards to look at you. his cheeks still flushed from your teasing.

“never assume, buck, trust me. honestly speaking, i’m curious as to how you use this on yourself.”

“you.. wanna watch me use it?” he swallowed hard, his heart racing as he couldn’t believe you were actually interested.

“maybe. or maybe i wanna overstimulate you with it. you’d like that wouldn’t you? being forced to cum until you’re sobbing?” he let out the quietest whimper, just loud enough for you to pick up on it. “gonna record a video and save it for later, you’d let me, right?”

“i wouldn’t mind that..” he bit his lip, feeling a rush of excitement.

“god, you’re so painfully honest about everything, i love that.” you got down on your knees in between his thighs.

“up.” you signalled for him to lift his hips up, and he did. you slid his pants and boxers off, leaving him in just his shirt. you grabbed his cock, and teased it for a bit, running the vibrator all over, not turning it on just yet.

“don’t.. don’t tease..”

“you think you deserve this, buck? after hiding this from me?” you put his thigh on your shoulder as you kissed his inner thighs, pulling your hands away from his cock.

“please?”

“not enough, buck. keep going.”

“please, need you to touch me..”

“i am touching you.”

“mm.. not enough.”

“desperate.” you sighed, turning the vibrator on the lowest setting and gently running it up and down your cock, making him shiver.

“fucking finally..” bucky hissed when you dragged the vibrator along a vein on his cock. his back arched, while his hands reached out to grab onto your shoulders, needing something to hold onto.

“he’s so desperate for me, isn’t he?” you traced it up and down before settling on torturing the tip. you abruptly turned it on to the highest setting, chuckling as his hips bucked frantically.

“please.. i can’t take it.. feels too good..” bucky practically whimpered as his voice cracked.

“ah ah, you can, and you will.” you dragged the vibrator around his tip, making him whine before cumming hard. his entire body shuddered as you kept the vibrator pressing tightly against his tip to let him ride out his high. the moment he came back to his senses, his body burned with overstimulation, as he rambled for you to stop.

“wait- oh, fuck, too much..” he panted. his voice was cracking as he struggled to think straight. he looked down to see you with your phone, recording yourself playing with him.

“you’re okay with this, right? just miss you too much sometimes, need some.. ‘material’ to keep me busy, you know?” you moved the vibrator down, giving his tip some relief. you dragged the vibrator down to the base, making him squeal out.

“didn’t know you made these kinds of noises, buck.”

“i.. didn’t mean to.. just felt too good” he blushed, looking away from you after realising you had caught it on camera.

“don’t worry” you kissed his thighs lovingly, before mischievously dragging the vibrator back to his tip.

“oh- oh god..” his body tensed up as he neared his orgasm.

“i know, baby, i know.” you blew cool air on bucky’s cock, and he came almost immediately. his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he cried out. his fingers tugged at your hair roughly, making your brain short-circuit for a bit.

“i- i can’t anymore.. two is.. a lot..” he panted heavily, his free hand grabbing onto your wrist tightly as he tried to push the vibrator away.

“no.. you.. fuck..” you were losing focus the more he intertwined his fingers in your hair. his plan worked though, your hand absentmindedly moved itself away, while you were in your daze. “let go..” he let go immediately, blushing.

“sorry, didn’t mean to.. just couldn’t control myself..”

“ah.. no it’s okay.” you realised you’ve already taken the vibrator away from his tip now, so you pressed it back, making him scream out. his brain was almost mush now as sweat dripped down his neck.

“i- i can’t..” bucky gasped, his thighs shaking in an effort to hold himself back. you traced light circles around his tip, making his eyes squeeze shut as he came once more.

“you cum so much.” he was just about to speak, before you cut him off mid-sentence. you turned the vibrator to the lowest settings and pressed it to his balls. you leaned forward to lick the cum off his body.

“b- babydoll, please..” he groaned, his body still trembling from the aftershocks.

“you’re nasty, you tell me it’s too much for you, but you’re still here taking it.” you slapped his cock playfully, the sensation making his hips stutter.

“can’t help it, just feels too good..” he blushed, looking away from you. he tilted his head in curiosity as you sneaked a hand into the drawer next to you. you grabbed a small roll of medical tape, taping the vibrator to his tip. thank god it was on the lowest setting, or bucky would explode.

“take it.” he was so fucked out now, he wanted to speak, but the words had died down in his throat. “aw, too fucked out to speak?” there was no response from him as he writhed.

“i- i can’t, oh, please..” he whimpered, he was on the verge of another orgasm. he could easily tear the vibrator off of himself, but he chose to let it stay, let it torture him.

“gonna do you a favour.” you tore the vibrator away and jerked him off quickly. bucky’s hips jumped and bucked away from you. “no, no, you’re gonna stay here, and you’re gonna cum.”

“i.. babydoll, please..” his body tensed as he came for the last time that night, he couldn’t take any more. even if he did, he’d pass out, probably.

“woah, you’re shooting blanks? that bad, huh?” bucky’s entire body shuddered, so you backed away and gave him some time alone.

“didn’t.. didn’t know i could do that..” he panted heavily, hands reaching down to brush the stray hairs from your face.

“trust me, i didn’t know it was possible either.” you kissed his forehead, not wanting to clean him up yet, as it would be too overstimulating. “feel better, handsome?”

“yes, fuck, feel.. so much better..”

[jacksonekennedy]

"You don't have to hold me to anything. I already know what dress I'm gonna wear for dancing."

Oh. She knew what dress she’d be wearing. Jack tried imagining it, but before he could get too far, his mouth blurted out:

“What dress?”

He’d asked the question before the words had even formed in his brain. It had been a selfish, impulsive thing, and he regretted it as soon as he’d asked.

Jack snapped his mouth shut, as if to make a point that he’d spoken before thinking. He offered a sheepish smile, before thinking about his words a little more cautiously.

“Don’t answer that. I want it to be a surprise, actually.”

It would be torture. Who knows when they’d go dancing? With Alice’s schedule, and Jack set to return to D.C. in the next few weeks for a (likely) disciplinary or investigative hearing. He’d do whatever it took, though. Spend the thousands of dollars just to fly to New York. Just to dance for one night.

Just to see her in that dress, whatever it looked like.

It would definitely be a date, Jack thought. He would make sure to clarify as well, the closer the time came. Or, well, he’d ask. Surely he wasn’t reading this whole thing wrong.

For some reason, the realization that Jack and Alice were both aware of where this was heading was … exciting. A little embarrassing, but in a sweet way? Maybe embarrassing wasn’t the right word for it though. It felt very … innocent at times. The exciting part of meeting someone new and realizing that the feelings go both ways.

If Jack had any doubt, well, Alice had put those fears to rest by suggesting that maybe they hold hands.

“Oh, one hundred percent. It’s probably worse than plastic surgery and the dentist. I really don’t know if hand holding will be enough, but we can give it a try.”

What else could there be?

The promise of a kiss, maybe?

Jack didn’t want to push it though. It was late, and talking about kissing Alice would only make him wade through the water until he was staring up at her, silently pleading for her mouth.

His phone buzzed again. Jack sighed. It was his mother. Was that the third or fourth text of the day?

“You have no idea how badly I want to stay out here and keep spending time with you, but I promised my mom that I’d call her tonight.”

Jack realized how … stupid that sounded. And childish. He felt the need to offer up an explanation.

“I’ve kind of been ghosting her. Everyone, really, since you’ve been here, but before that, too.”

Jack was sure that she could guess why. Things hadn’t been good, but they felt so much better now. At least, in that moment they did. Jack was on a high that no one could bring down. Maybe he’d even make plans to see his mother the weekend after Alice left. That would make her happy.

“She threatened to drive up tomorrow if I didn’t. So.”

Jack offered an apologetic smile. He felt like it was a good place to end the night, though. The promise of seeing each other after the week was over. Already, Jack felt a bit of relief that he’d see her again. He’d see her in that dress, in that Yankees hat — or even a Yankees t-shirt… but maybe that was pushing it.

“I had a really nice day with you though.”

Jack smiled. He really meant it. Enjoying coffee together, swimming, the trip to the falls, dinner. Getting to learn about Alice’s family and their little traditions. Her parents dancing in the living room. And Alice’s voice. Her beautiful, perfect voice that he was certain he’d dream about.

“One of the best I’ve had in … a really long time.”

God. It was really good that there was a body of water between them. Jack wanted to kiss her goodnight.

“It was really perfect, actually.”

Okay. Okay, he could stop talking now. The more that he hung around, the more difficult it would be to leave. The more he talked, the more he'd be tempted to ask about the dress again. Jack didn't want to spoil anything.

“Alright. If I don’t leave now … anyway.”

Jack stood, legs dripping from the water. He scooped up his shoes with one hand. He paused for a second, and his mouth almost did that thing again. There was almost an offer to walk her up to her bedroom, but ... that wouldn't have lead anywhere good. Jack was glad he managed to regain some self control (but not really, because he still turned around).

One last look. He smiled at Alice, very softly.

Isn't this what had turned Lot's wife into a pillar of salt? Or what had condemned Eurydice back to the underworld?

Jack was glad that there was no biblical punishment for this. And, even if there was ... fuck it.

"Sweet dreams, Alice."

Alice bites her lip for a long moment while observing his smile— a part of aims for composure, but, alas.

She's fairly certain it's a losing game.

Jack simply looks too handsome like this. He looked too happy, about the prospect of seeing Alice again.

It makes her neck hot. Her hands feel all fidgety too, like they're too flighty to rest in her lap, too twitchy to skim the water. Like she needs to touch something. No. Not something. Jack. She really just needs to touch Jack.

And there was flickering between them right now too; something bright and new and exciting, but it wasn't flimsy, it felt, especially now ... substantial.

What she felt for Jack felt substantial.

'I’m gonna hold you to this. The Yankees game and the dancing,'

'Like, the day you leave, I’m sending you a calendar invite with different days to pick from.'

Alice shakes her head and smiles.

"You don't have to hold me to anything. I already know what dress I'm gonna wear for dancing."

It was black— not too long — and the hem of it had layers, pretty ruffles that moved like rippling water. She hopes Jack will see her in it and feel something. She hopes Jack will see her in it and feel compelled to twirl her, to dip her, maybe even pull her close to her chest and rest his forehead against hers and—

Well.

Alice would really like a kiss.

More than anything, she wants piano music to float above their heads as they stand on weathered hardwood, nicked by years and years of footsteps and dance steps, and she wants Jack to kiss her, and she wants to feel that fire rear up in her belly again like from tonight.

She really wants Jack to want that too.

And when it does happen, she wants Jack to want it again, and then there's another Yankees game, and another dance night on the calendar, and then another set of those, and another, and she's Scheherazade, extending their time together in a never-ending story of stadium seats and slow dances.

Again and again and again.

'We should go to the museum anyway. Get it out of the way so you can’t threaten me with it. And — well, there’s no way you could’ve known this, and if you repeat this … I’ll be very hurt by it — but dolls creep me the fuck out. So… apple dolls? I don’t know. I’m willing to go though. Face my fears.'

Alice smiles like the cat that got the cream.

Willing to face apple dolls for her? Willing to go this creepy ass muesum all because she'd suggested, jokingly?

"Apple dolls are scarier than normal dolls, I think— they look extra wizened."

"It might be a dentist or plastic surgery kind of situation. Where you might need to hold my hand."

Yeah. They definitely should hold hands there.

[gaycragula]

Happy Birthday, Babe

Pairing : Masc!V x Male Reader Warning(s): NSFW under the cut yeah that's right new fixation and you guys are gonna deal with it. also why is there so few x m!reader fics for cyberpunk </3 sos

Warning(s) : Porn with very little plot, sex toys, first time sex toy usage, technically birthday sex, use of feminine terms for v (i.e princess), use of good boy towards v, praise, multiple orgasms, slight dom/sub undertones i think Word Count : 4722 AO3 Link Masterlist

Leaning against the hood of your car, you check your watch again. V was already ten minutes late. Nothing new. Plus, you knew it’d take longer considering you’d told him to leave his car and walk. You wanted to be the chauffeur tonight.

You pull yourself up to actually sit on the hood of your car and lean back on your palms to look up at the darkened sky. The lights of Night City blocked most of the stars out but you could make out the faint twinkle of a couple. It’s pretty quiet out tonight. Rare for NC.

A few more minutes pass before you pick up the familiar pattern of V’s footfalls. Your attention shifts to him as he approaches you. 

“Took you long enough, V,” you tease once he’s close enough. He stops between your legs and shares a chaste kiss with you. He cups your face when he pulls back, the pads of his fingers pressing against your pulsepoint. He’s told you it’s to feel your heartbeat, feel you’re still alive. It’s sweet.

“Got caught up. Sorry, baby.” He always sounded so remorseful when he apologized. You could never stay mad at him. 

“No worries, babe,” you hum in response before jerking your head back towards your car and out of his hands. “Get in.”

V goes for the driver’s side of your car and you tut to catch his attention. “Passenger seat, princess. I’m driving. You get to sit back and relax.”

You hear V huff but he doesn’t verbally complain. He walks back around to the passenger side of your car while you slip into the driver’s seat. A press of a button and your car revs to life and the doors slide shut. 

“Thought you didn’t like driving at night,” V comments as you pull out onto the road. 

“Mm, I don’t,” you respond easily. “Why’re you bringing it up? Scared?” You tease. 

He scoffs again. “Course not. Was just curious why my boyfriend was switchin’ it up tonight.” He chuckles softly. He turns to look out his window, watch the city go by. “Somethin’ important going on today?”

You hum in acknowledgement. “There is, actually.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his head snap to you and a bit of color drain from his face. You can already guess what’s going on in that pretty head of his. He forgot your birthday or maybe your anniversary. You see him shake his head. No, he knows it wouldn’t be either of those things. You wouldn’t have waited til the end of the day to say something to him. 

“What is it?” V finally asks. 

“Your birthday.”

“No it’s— Oh. Yeah.. it is.” You both share a quiet chuckle as the realization sets in. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” He asks, his head subconsciously tilting to the side. The action reminds you of a puppy. 

“Figured you were busy today,” you tell him with a small shrug. “Johnny bothered you at all today?”

“Nah, he’s been quiet.”

“Bet that was his birthday present for you,” you joke. V laughs quietly before looking out the window again. You keep one hand on the steering wheel and set the other on V’s thigh, rubbing the inseam of his pants with your thumb. 

V sets his own hand on top of yours and you both fall into a comfortable silence as you drive. Though you preferred not to drive at night, you couldn’t deny how pretty NC was at night. The lights and colors were gorgeous.

“Thought you said we were going out,” V comments once he notices you were heading to your apartment. He’s looking at you again, pretty green eyes reflecting the passing lights at you.

“Said we were gonna eat,” you correct him. “Nothing about going out.”

V groans softly and you see him roll his eyes. “Same thing. You’re buying dinner then?”

“You could say that.”

“You’re speaking in riddles.”

“It’s a surprise, babe. You’ll see when we get there.”

A quiet huff is all you get in response. 

Once in the parking garage of your apartment, you step out of your car and help V get out. Before he walks away, you hold up a blindfold for him to put on. 

“Seriously?” He sighs. 

“C’mon, babe. For the experience,” you insist, adding a little emphasis on the final word. You think he’s gonna say no before he begrudgingly nods. 

“Fine.”

Before he can change his mind, you’ve got him blindfolded and your hands linked together. “Can you see?”

“Pfft. No.”

“Good. Now come.” You can’t help but smile when V’s hand tightens around yours as you guide him to your apartment. It’s a nice little reminder of how much he trusts you. 

You direct V down the hallway, making sure he doesn’t trip over any of the trash and other items people leave. All he hears is the quiet tap of your feet against the concrete floor before the quiet click of your door unlocking and opening. 

He’s hit with the scent of food almost immediately. “You cooked?” He asks as you pull him into your apartment.

“I did,” you confirm, sitting him down at the bar. “Tried something new tonight. Hope it’s to your standards,” you add as you slide a plate in front of him. A plate of actual food. Carne asada to be exact. You don’t even want to think about the eddies you’d spent on the stuff.

“So can I take the blindfold off?” You hum in confirmation and V undoes the blindfold. His eyes widen a bit as his optics lock onto the food in front of him. “Woah,” he breathes out, clearly surprised. “How did you get your hands on this?”

“Eddies,” you chuckle nervously. “Lot’s of ‘em.”

“Babe, c’mon. I can’t eat this,” V says, turning in his seat to look at you. “How much?”

You shake your head and turn V back towards the food. “It’s your birthday. Price isn’t important. Eat up.”

He reluctantly does as you say. Though his face lights up as soon as he takes the first bite and he’s quick to dig in after that. You feel a pleasant warmth in your chest as he eats. It was a gamble making it and it paid off wonderfully.

“Got these for you too,” you hum once V is finished with the food. You hand him two presents you’d wrapped nice and pretty. “One of them is for both of us.” You add as you lead him to sit with you on the couch.

“What do you mean ‘both of us’?” V scoffs softly as he begins to unwrap the gift on top. 

“You’ll see,” you say with a grin. 

You see V side eye you but he doesn’t say anything more as he sets the wrapping paper to the side and opens the box. Inside was a brand new enhancement for his optics. Something he’d been talking about getting for months. 

“Whaat?” He laughs, pulling the optic out of the box to look at it properly. “Babe, how’d you get your hands on this? God.. these are worth—“

“Some friends owed me favors,” you interrupt with another grin. “You’ll just need Vik to install it for you. I’ll give you the eddies for it.”

V turns his head enough to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “Always know how to make me happy, don’t you babe?”

You chuckle softly. “Happy input, happy life. Now open the other one.”

He excitedly opens the second box. You almost feel bad when he gets it unwrapped. Almost.

 The box opens and you get to watch V’s face redden in a flush as he looks inside. He lets out a quiet breath and closes the box before looking at you expectantly. 

“You said you wanted to try toys out. Thought it was the perfect day to introduce them to the bedroom,” you explain. “Figured we could start easy, yeah?”

“With a cock ring?!” V scoffs incredulously. 

You chuckle nervously. “It vibrates?”

“Oh, yeah, cause that makes it soooo much better.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm. You lean in to catch his eyes. They won’t lock onto you. His blush travels from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and down to his neck. You can almost feel the heat radiating from him.

“V,” you say. He finally looks at you and you see his pupils blow out a bit. It surprises you but you brush it off quickly. “You don’t wanna try it? Don’t wanna pressure you into anything, babe.”

V swallows audibly and looks away from you again. You say his name again and when he doesn’t look at you, you grab his chin and force his head to turn towards you again. You swear you hear a soft gasp escape him. It goes to your dick and you have to shift on the couch a little bit.

“Answer me, princess,” you egg on. He mumbles something incoherent in response. “V.”

“I do wanna try it,” he repeats clearly. 

“Good boy.” It slips out before you can even process the words and you both just stare at each other for a couple seconds. V’s blush deepens further and you have the mind to glance down. He’s chubbed up. He’s quick to use his hand to hide it. If only he was a little faster.  

“Like it when I call you that?” You tease him, brushing his hand away from his groin so you can replace it with yours. Your palm presses against the small bulge in his pants and you start palming him through the fabric. He fills out quickly.

V groans and pushes his hips forward to give you more space to work with. His head starts to fall back against the couch before he changes direction to rest his head on your shoulder. 

“Yeah..” he mumbles into your shirt. He won’t look at you again. “Like it a lot.”

This was something you could use a lot. You tilt his face up enough so you can kiss him and he melts against you. The kiss is slow, matching the pace of your groping. You encourage him to open his mouth so you can deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue against his lazily. 

“Here or the bed?” You mumble against his lips. You apply a little more pressure to his dick and V groans, his hips twitching into your hand. It sends a bolt of heat through you and right to your dick.

“Bed,” he manages back in a pitched, needy rasp. “Please.”

Fuck, he sounds so hot. You stand, pulling V up with you and connecting your lips again. This kiss was more rushed, teeth knocking together and tongues sloppier. You walk him back until the back of his knees hit the bedframe and he falls back. You go with him, never breaking the kiss. Your hands slide up his shirt and you part long enough to catch your breath and remove V’s shirt before leaning down to kiss him again. 

His hips meet yours as you settle between his thighs and his arms wrap around your shoulders. A hand tangles in your hair and V tugs on the strands to get you to part again so he can catch his breath. You’re both panting softly, sharing the same air. 

V’s pupils are blown out and you can only assume yours are too. His chest heaves slightly with every intake of breath and you have the sudden desire to give it some attention. 

The moment V’s grip in your hair loosens, you dip down to plant kisses down his neck. An action that has V’s head falling back against the mattress and his back arching off it. His chest bumps into yours and his hips jerk up again. You suck a multitude of marks into his skin and you know he’s gonna wear them like badges of honor. He loves it when you mark him up.

You move down his neck to his chest which he graciously holds up for you. You latch onto one of his nipples, laving the flat of your tongue over the bud before pulling it into your mouth and suckling gently. V squirms, a quiet groan catching in his throat while his hips try to grind up into yours. 

“Stay still,” you mumble against his nipple, bringing your free hand to his hip to hold him down.

V groans in complaint and you feel his thighs tense as he fights to stay still. He tries so hard to be good for you, it’s so cute. You give his nipple a nice love bite and switch to his other to do the same. Once both are sporting teeth marks, you continue down his torso.

His tummy quivers under your lips as you kiss, suck, and nuzzle against him. You make sure you leave a couple marks on his tummy. His breath is hitching above you and his hands tangle in your hair again and urge you to continue down. You relent, allowing him to guide you to the bulge in his jeans. 

You mouth over it, running your tongue along the outline of his dick and soaking the fabric with your saliva. His hips try to jerk up again and you push down harder on them to keep them in place. Another annoyed huff leaves him and his hands tug painfully at your hair.

“Ach, easy,” you hiss out. 

“Stop teasing!” He hisses back. He manages to get his knee angled to knock you in the ribs. “It’s my birthday,” he pouts. You can tell it’s fake but god does it look cute on him. “Be nice to me.”

You roll your eyes but indulge him. “Fine, fine. I’ll be nice to the birthday boy.”

V smiles smugly at you and you curl your nose back at him as you work to undo his pants. He lifts his hips up so you can pull them down his thighs and then off completely. You ‘accidentally’ take his boxers with them, leaving V completely bare. His cock stands tall from the neatly trimmed bush he’s got. “Oops. Sorry babe,” you grin at him. 

“Whatever. Jus’ touch me already.”

You get up to grab the cock ring from the gift box and V makes room between his legs for you. You settle them, pushing his thighs apart with your own so you can get the ring onto his dick. “Let me know if it hurts, okay?” You tell him, glancing up at him through your lashes. He nods and you carefully slide the cock ring down his cock to settle just above his balls.

Your optics connect to the toy with a quiet click and you nod to yourself after making sure it was in place. “Comfy?” You ask him, glancing at him again for a moment. Long enough that you register that he’s staring at you. 

“What? Do I have something on my face?” You knew exactly why he was staring. V thought it was real fucking hot when you used your optics for one big reason. The red glow they emit when in use; especially in the dim light of your apartment.

“You’re fuckin’ hot, babe,” V mutters. 

You smile at him and activate the toy using your optics. His eyes widen in surprise and he’s unable to hold back the moan that escapes him. He bites his lip soon after, muffling himself for the time being. A shame, truly.

“You know you make the prettiest sounds. Don’t know why you try so hard to stay quiet,” you murmur to him as you wrap your hand around his dick to stroke him. You pull the skin around his head away with the downstroke and use your other hand to tease the sensitive tip, circling around the head and swiping at the gathering precum. “Shy?”

V shudders at the touch, his eyes rolling back into his head for a moment before they refocus on you. “Sh- shut up..”

You chuckle softly but do as he asks, instead leaning down a bit to plant some kisses along his neck and jaw, nuzzling into his stubble a bit as you do. V tilts his head back for you. “Good boy,” you praise softly. 

The whine you get in response is absolutely sinful. It goes straight to your dick and you can’t bite back your own groan. V’s hips push up with every stroke of your fist, muffled whines catching in his throat as you tease the exposed tip or the sensitive flesh of his balls with your free hand. You squeeze and fondle his sac, feeling how nicely they fit in your hand. 

“Babe-“ V practically whines out, his hips jerking up with each vibration sent down his dick and each drag of your hand over it. “Baby, please.”

He grabs the back of your neck, forcing your face closer to his so he can hold eye contact with you. His eyes catch the reflection of yours and the proximity casts his face in a soft red glow. 

You use the eye contact to up the intensity of the toy. V tenses, his lips parting in a silent moan and he bumps his forehead against yours. “Gonna- so close,” he pants out. His hand moves up to tangles in your hair and he angles his face to pull you into a kiss. 

It’s all tongue and teeth and sloppy as hell. He bites your bottom lip harder than he means to and tries to soothe the sting with his tongue. You press a little closer to him, your hand on his dick picking up the pace. The quiet schlick of your hand grows louder as do the sounds V is making. 

You break the kiss to listen to them. He moans and whines your name, too gone to care about staying quiet now. You give his dick a little squeeze on the upstroke and it’s all he needs. 

Nails dig into your scalp and V throws his head back, hips bucking up as his orgasm hits him. A pretty whine of your name leaves his lips as the pearly strands paint his stomach and your hand. You work him through it, milking his dick until he starts writhing from overstimulation. “Enough,” he gasps out. “Babe!”

You pull your hand away and reach for a tissue to clean your hand and his stomach off while he takes a breather. When you finish cleaning up, you slip off the cock ring and flip V onto his stomach. You use a pillow to prop his hips up. He lets you, still trying to recover from his recent orgasm. A soft groan escapes him when you press a kiss to his nape and he tries to prop himself up on his elbows. “Stay down,” you tell him quietly. “Relax.”

“Mmm.. Okayy,” he slurs back, doing as you said without a fight. He always listened better when he was tired like this. 

“Good,” you praise, trailing your lips slowly down his spine. “Good boy, V.”

V whines, long and drawn out with the praise again. You stop at the small of his back, nuzzling and kissing for a long while before V pushes his hips back. “Don’t tease,” he whines at you. 

“Since you’re asking so pretty,” you coo, moving down further to his perfect ass. You pull back and grab both his ass cheeks with your hands. Nice and muscular. Just the way you liked them. “Been working out? Your ass is perfect, baby.”

“A little bit,” V admits. He knew you liked his ass, went out of his way to work out to keep it nice and tight. He groans quietly as you squeeze his ass, kneading and pulling them apart to catch a glimpse of his pucker. Perfect as always.

You lean down to nip at the small of his back again and, before V can complain, you give his ass the same attention. He yelps as your teeth sink into the muscle there and you see him jerk his head around to glare at you. “What the hell?” 

“Couldn’t help myself,” you grin back at him. You soothe your tongue and lips over the bite mark in a half assed apology. V grumbles something incoherent before pressing his face back in your pillows. When you pull back, you take a moment to admire the marks your teeth left behind, tracing the mark a couple times with your finger. His ass gets one last squeeze before you get up to grab the bottle of lube from your nightstand.

You settle back on V’s thighs and use one hand to spread V’s ass open to expose his pucker. You uncap the lube with your free hand and squirt a bit directly onto V’s entrance. He shivers with the temperature and you see goosebumps rise to the skin of his back and thighs. “Warning next time,” he grumbles, voice muffled from the pillows.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” you say, kissing up his spine while two fingers circle his entrance. You press a kiss behind his ear and he hums quietly. “Ready?” You ask him.

He gives you a small nod and you sink your two fingers into him. A low, pleasant moan rumbles in V’s chest and you see his eyelids flutter before they close. Good. “Feel good?”

“Mmmhmm,” he hums back, the sound hitching slightly as your fingers start slowly pumping into him. You’re just barely aware of the movement of his hips pushing back to meet your fingers. You take your time opening V up, scissoring him open in preparation for your dick. And he is making the prettiest noises. Moans and low, drawn out whines catch in his throat each time you hit that small bundle nestled inside him. You continue to sprinkle kisses over his shoulder blades, his neck, and crown, all while telling him what a good job he’s doing, how good he’s taking your fingers. 

He whines when you withdraw your fingers, finally pulling his face out of the pillows to look at you. V watches you undress, practically drooling at the sight of your skin. He rolls onto his back before you rejoin him and settle between his legs again. V’s thighs drape over yours and he bats your hand away from your dick when you go to lube it up. 

“Let me,” he insists, squirting a generous amount of lube onto his hand before wrapping it around your dick. It draws a groan from you and you roll your hips forward into his hand while he spreads the liquid over your dick. 

The bedsheets rustle as V sits up, leaning forward to litter kisses all over your neck and jaw while he jerks you off. He returns the favor from earlier. You feel the gentle suction of his mouth as he sucks a handful of hickeys into your skin. You close your eyes and sigh softly. You’d both be wearing each other’s marks after this.

You let V indulge for a few seconds before pushing him back with a hand on his chest. “Alright, babe. Lay back, let me make you feel good.”

V does so, settling back against the pillows while you line your dick up with his entrance. You slot the tip against him and grab his hips to steady him. As V inhales slowly, you push forward. 

You both moan in unison as your tip presses into him. There’s a short pause before you continue, slowly sinking into V inch by inch. V clenches around you with every movement, his eyes fluttering and thighs tensing up. You rub circles in his hips to try to keep him relaxed. 

As your hips press flush against V’s, he relaxes again. He props himself up on his elbows to get a better view of where you’re connected. His hips wiggle a bit and you sink just a little deeper inside him. V is grinning almost drunkenly. 

“Still good?” You chuckle softly, shifting to lean over him a bit.

“Amazing, baby,” he grins up at you. He wraps an arm around your neck and urges you down a little more so your foreheads are pressed against each other. V always liked proximity like this. Liked being as close as humanly possible to you. 

You remain like that for a moment before you start to slowly roll your hips into his. It draws a low moan from V’s lips and you watch his eyes flutter before shutting. “C’mon, V,” you coo at him. “Eyes on me? Please?”

V groans, his eyes squeezing shut harder before he opens them to hold eye contact with you. “That’s my good boy.”

You feel his dick twitch against your abdomen in response to your praise. Before you can comment on it, V is pulling you in for another kiss. Your hips roll into him faster as you swap spit. His tongue pushes into your mouth, licking over yours and tracing your teeth sloppily. Just the way you liked it. 

You push V harder into the bed, pressing your lips harder against his while his hands move to your back. Nails drag up the length of your back and you hiss at the following burn that comes with them. You know they're gonna leave marks. 

Teeth catch your bottom lip as V pulls back, bringing your lower lip with him before releasing it with a grunt. You lick where he bit you and taste blood. The prick. He’s got that smug smile back on his face even as your hips punch out choked moans from him. 

You huff quietly at him. You grab the firm flesh of his thigh and hoist his leg a little higher on your hip. The new angle lets you hit that sensitive bundle inside him. It’s quick to wipe that smirk off his face. 

V throws his head back, his lips parting to let a stream of moans and whines out for you. You grab his dick with your free hand, jerking him off sloppily while you practically fuck into him. The sound of skin slapping skin can be heard under the sound of V’s pleasure and your own grunts and groans. 

You feel the familiar tingle in your abdomen as your orgasm approaches and you bite your lip as you get closer. You can tell V is close again too. His moans have pitched and his dick is twitching almost constantly in your hand. Still, you ask. “Close?” You pant out. V just manages to nod in response. HIs tongue felt too heavy to speak coherently. “Good. Me too.”

V locks his legs around your hips and you know what he’s trying to say. He wants you to cum inside. And who are you to deny him on his birthday? 

His nails dig into your shoulders as your pace grows sloppy and you swear you feel them break skin. “V- shit. Shit shit shit–” you cut yourself off, slamming your lips against his as you press your hips flush against his. You grind forward as you empty yourself inside him and V is quick to follow, his cock pulsing in your grasp as he makes a mess of your hand and his tummy again.

You pant against his lips as he pants against yours. Neither of you move to separate even after both your cocks have softened. You only part when V mumbles something about being sweaty. And he was right. You were both sweaty as hell and it’d probably be wise to wash up before you guys went to bed. 

You sit up, ignoring the way your back and thighs complain with the movement. “Alright, let’s get cleaned and then sleep, yeah?”

V nods in agreement, stretching his arms above his head. It gives you a nice view of the muscles in his chest,, the nice jiggle his tits have, and the evidence of your coupling on his stomach. You also get a good view of the bite marks you left on those perfect tits. “Damn babe,” you chuckle. “You look fucking great like this.”

“Hush. Go start the shower,” V groans, pushing you up and off the bed with his foot. 

“Yeah, yeah. Love you, princess.” 

“Love you too, jackass.”

[wickwoods]

𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜-

Virgin!Sex worker!Eddie Munson x AFAB!Married!Older!Reader-

I found the divider on Pinterest! Creds to original poster <3

Word count: 2.5K

Summary: After your husband bailed out on your anniversary, you finally take your best friend’s crazy idea of getting laid by a new man into consideration.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Reader cheats on husband, Virgin!Eddie, Sub!Eddie, Soft!Dom!Reader, First time meeting, Unprotected sex, Eddie cums inside of reader, Reader has boobs and Pussy, ANGST towards the end with NO HAPPY ENDING…These are the main warnings i’m not sure if I missed any…Please let me know! Happy reading! <3

Your heels clacked against the pavement as you made your way to the hotel you were supposed to meet ‘Kas’ at. ‘What a stupid name.’ You thought to yourself. ‘This is so stupid, what the fuck was I thinking?’ The thoughts kept coming at you full speed.

You were on your way to meet up with a random guy for sex. At a hidden hotel. While your husband (soon to be ex-husband) was at work. ‘The guy had it coming….whatever.’ You thought to yourself. The relationship was at its wits end anyway. You directed your gaze to the sky above you and thought back to the moment that led you to do this.

…………

“Adam, where are you? I’ve been waiting here for almost two fucking hours. Pick up the damn phone.”

This is ridiculous. It was your fifth anniversary. You’d been waiting at home all dolled up, and for what? He didn’t deserve it. You’d even put on your pretty matching sage green set just for him. You heaved out a long aggressive sigh and started making your way up the stairs of your home. You opened the door to your shared bedroom and changed out of the uncomfortable elegant clothes into your favorite pajamas. You grabbed your phone from the purse you had packed up to take with you and flung yourself on the king sized bed. You opened up your phone and started scrolling through your notifications. You clicked open on the messages that came from your best friend.

Len🐞: BABYGIRL LOOK AT THIS (link)

Len🐞: go get dicked down by a new man babes, Adam is so not gonna do it for you 🙄

You let out a small chuckle at your best friend’s words and started typing..

Me: Jeez, hello to you too bitch 🙄

Me: What is the link? You trying to give me a virus?

Len🐞: press on it and check it out…I’m sick and tired of hearing you complain about Adam’s 🦐 you deserve a good one💋

Me: Then give me yours 🥴🥴

Len🐞: ha ha bitch, go check it out

Me: Fine!!!

You shook your head at your best friend’s antics and finally pressed on the link. The link sent you to a website page and you were immediately bombarded with red colors and a ton of men’s faces. There was a large heading at the top of the page that read “Looking for a quick fuck for cheap? Book one of our sexy workers now!” in big bold letters. ‘What the hell did this girl send me?’ You started scrolling through the page and stopped when you saw a singular face. He was so handsome. He had deep, brown eyes that stared into the camera as if he was physically there, looking straight at you. He had a big smile on his face and curly brown ringlets of hair framing it. He sported a black crew neck shirt that gave a peek of his pale neck covered in black ink on the left side. You scrolled a bit further and saw a small description below the picture. It read:

“Kas, 24, available Monday-Wednesday. Book now! (phone number)”

You ran your eyes over the number three times and exited the web to open the phone app. You quickly dialed the number and hovered your finger over the green call button. ‘What am i thinking? I’m a married 32 year old woman. I need to get it together!’ You quickly turned off your phone and turned over to your side. You shut your eyes and tried to forget about the sexy stranger only one call away. You turned from side to side at least five times before giving up and picking up your phone again. You quickly dialed the number again and pressed the green button before you lost your newfound courage.

…………

That night, you had booked ‘Kas’ for the following week on a Tuesday. Now, you were on your way to meet him. You made the final turn on the Maplewood street and finally stood in front of the hotel. You let out a sigh and pulled open the door. You walked up to the counter and gave your best smile to the lady behind the desk. Her name tag read: Daisy and you wondered if that was her real name, or a disguise one.

“Hi there, I booked an appointment with Kas last week.”

“Alright! The total amount for the time you booked is $80, will that be cash or card?”

No way were you gonna risk Adam seeing the charge through your shared bank account.

“Uh, Cash.”

You reached into the small purse you brought with you and pulled out the money. After the payment was finalized, Daisy handed you a key to room B23 and gave you directions.

“He’ll be there in just a couple of minutes, feel free to get yourself comfortable waiting for him! Have fun!” she said with an oddly joyous tone.

“Oh, thank you.” Your cheeks burned a cherry red as you made your way to the room.

You opened the door and walked in. It had a single queen sized bed in the middle and rolling cart right next to it. The cart had a bottle of cheep champagne and a single champagne glass next to it. There was also a small box of chocolates with a note that read: “Help yourself to any or all!” You poured yourself a bit of the champagne and drank it sip by sip. It definitely soothed your nerves a bit. You sat on the edge of the bed with your legs crossed and waited. About five minutes later, you heard a small knock. You looked up and finally saw him. Your heart skipped one or two beats. He was so pretty up close.

“Hey… I’m Kas.” He smiled and walked up to you.

You greeted him with your own name and stood up.

“Um…I have to be honest with you, I’m new to this. You’re my first customer.” He spoke with a soft tone as if he was scared you might change your mind and walk out on him.

“That’s okay.” you smiled. “I’ve never done something like this before.”

His eyes widened a bit. “Like-like you’re a…a virgin?”

Your own eyes widened a bit too and you giggled at his response. “God, no! I just mean that i’ve never had sex in a random hotel with a random man that I paid for.” There was a small tease in your words and his shoulders eased up before tensing up once again.

“I guess i should tell you that uh…I myself am a v-virgin.” His voice was so low you almost missed the last part of his sentence. “I understand if you’d like to change me with someone else, just uh give me the word and i’ll walk out and talk to Dai-“ He was cut off with your lips on his in a soft peck. You pulled away and reassured him,

“Calm down, I still want this.” You leaned in once again, slower this time to give him enough time to pull away, but he didn’t. He leaned in too and met your lips in the middle. You turned him around without letting his lips go and pushed him onto the plush mattress. You finally let go and gave him time to catch his breath.

“Tell me baby, how far have you gone?” He looked down between your bodies, avoiding your eyes, and said,

“I almost,most got a blow job once…”

You looked at him and smiled a bit. ‘Cute’ You thought to yourself.

“Alright. We’ll take it slow.”

He nodded before you leaned in and pressed your mouth against his neck this time. He let out small sighs of pleasure and you couldn’t help but smile against his neck.

“My lips feel good on your skin, baby?”

You pressed a kiss right on his tattoo that you realized was a skull with twenty sided dice as eyes and gave it a small lick. “Mhm..” He had his eyes closed, basking in the feeling of your soft kisses. You slid your hands down his chest and tugged on the hem. Feeling the small tugs, he raised his upper body and pulled his shirt off. You noticed small works of art scattered along his torso but quickly moved on to kissing his chest. You kissed around his collarbones a bit before abruptly stopping. He let out a noise that resembled a whine and opened his eyes to look at you.

“Hey, tell me if it ever gets to be too much alright?” He nodded his head and responded,

“Yes Angel” he smiled.

You raised an eyebrow in amusement and asked him, “What’s with the nickname?”

He continued smiling and answered, “You’re pretty like one.”

You smiled with your teeth and made a pathway down his chest and stomach with kisses. You got to his torso and ran a single finger along the hem of his black jeans. You took note of how his lower stomach twitched when you touched a certain spot and began to unbutton and unzip his jeans. He lifted his lower half from the bed and you pulled down his pants along with his briefs. You glued your eyes to his dick as you stuttered out,

“Oh, wow…” He started blushing profusely and looked down at you. His dick twitched as he took sight of you between his legs, but he ignored it.

“Is- is it bad? is it ugly? i’m sorry.” He felt like he wanted to cry or jump out the window. Maybe both. “No! no, not at all baby…jus’ bigger than i expected” You smiled up at him. “Oh..” You wrapped your hand around his length and let a drop of spit fall from your mouth onto his raging tip. “Such a pretty cock. It’s a shame no other person has seen it.” He let a small whimper drop from his lips and threw his head back before quickly picking it up again, not wanting to miss the moment.

“Thank you Angel…fuck..” He was aching so bad, his tip was a deep red. You maintained eye contact as you leaned down and slowly took his tip in between your lips. You suckled on it for a couple of seconds making him let out a rather loud moan. He couldn’t believe it. You were so fucking perfect. So pretty, so nice, so sexy- fuck. You stopped your motions all together and stood on your legs in front of him. You began to take your blouse off, and then your pants. You were left in your sexy sage green set. He felt like he could cum at that moment.

How were you so fucking perfect!?

You reached behind your back and undid the clasp of your bra then quickly spun around before the garment dropped. He let out a small groan of disapproval before quieting down the minute you grabbed each side of your lacy underwear. You let your bra fall off and felt the immediate hardening of your nipples in the cold air of the room. You then reach for your underwear and pull it down while bending over with the motion to reveal your glistening cunt to him. He felt his cock twitch and spoke, “Please..please Angel…I need you so bad. I feel like i’m gonna explode.” You made a tsking noise at him.

“Aht Aht, patience is key baby.” You smiled at him and walked up to him to straddle his lap. He could feel your leaking juices on his cock and he felt like the biggest horndog on earth. You leaned down and began giving him sloppy kisses on the mouth. You both let out matching loud moans as you began to do forward and backwards motions with your hips. He lest his arms wrap securely around your waist as you reached behind you and guided him into your wet hole inch by inch. He let go of your mouth to let out a loud groan as his hips bucked up in pleasure. He looked straight into your eyes and a strange feeling of reassurance came from his gaze. His face was scrunched up with pleasure, as was yours. But his eyes held a story of admiration and he looked at you as if you’d hung every shooting star he ever made a wish upon. You forced yourself to look away and shut your eyes. You picked up your pace and opened your eyes again as you began to hear the bed squeak.

“Fuck baby! oh shit mmm….fuck, tell me you love me..” You regretted your words the minute they left your mouth and you prayed to any higher power that he didn’t hear anything over the lewd noises your sexes were making. But of course….

”Mhmm, fuck Angel. ‘’love you. love your pussy. So good ah…” he let out a string of small gasps as he came deep in you. You felt his legs twitching beneath you and couldn’t hold yourself back. “FUCK!” you screamed out as your orgasm hit you like a thousand bricks at one time. your top half toppled over and you laid on his chest. He held you close with his arms still wrapped around you as his slowly softening cock slid out. You felt his hot seed spill out of you and shut your eyes in pleasure.

“Wow. That was- woah.” He cut himself off as he felt you quickly roll off of him and rush to pick your clothes off.

“Are you okay?” He looked genuinely concerned and that made you feel even worse. “Yeah” you gave him a fake smile. “I gotta go, sorry.” He looked like a kicked puppy and it made you want to cry even more. The guilt was appearing rapidly and Adam’s face kept popping up in your head. “Can’t you stay a bit longer?”

“No. I-I have to be somewhere by four.” He looked over to the clock on the wall and it read that it was just about to be two o’clock. He didn’t understand….everything went so well…didn’t it? You told him to tell you he loved you. Didn’t that mean something to you?

“Can I at least have your number?” The sides of his lips lifted a little as he thought of taking you out on a date one day. “My real name is Eddie by the way…if you’d let me…I’d love to take you ou-“

“I can’t! I can’t, alright!? I’m fucking married for crying out loud! I don’t know why I did this. None of it is your fault and I am so fucking sorry that I didn’t tell you before we…” There were hot tears running down your face as you avoided eye contact with his chocolate brown eyes.

“But you told me to tell you i loved you.”

“I know! I know what I told you to say and I’m really sorry Eddie. I just- I have to go. Goodbye.” Now fully dressed, you made your way to the door before reaching into your purse and walking back to him. You pulled out $50 and handed them to him. “For the troubles.” You let out a sob and walked out the hotel room. You stopped in your tracks as you heard a loud smack against the wall and a shout,

“I DON’T WANT YOUR FUCKING MONEY!”

You were about to turn back to comfort him but the image of Adam slipped back into your mind…

“I am so screwed.”

Note: This is my first story on here! It was heavily inspired by the song ‘Trash Magic’ by Lana Del Rey. I’m so excited to have people read it and I’d appreciate any feedback! Thank you so much for reading loves <3 Bye bye!

[holyblonded]

more of an idea I think would be cute than a straight out request, what if during Olga’s last weeks of pregnancy, Alexia gets sick and stays in bed for a few days. Azulita and Estrella are good chaos keeping everyone alive but being their usual annoying, over protective and proving some faults in their cleaning and cooking abilities

okay yes i love this! your brain is beautiful

it starts with alexia coughing during breakfast, trying to play it off like it’s nothing. olga squints at her over her orange juice like do not. estrella and azulita look up from their food in tandem, already suspicious. by the afternoon, alexia’s got a fever and is grumbling in bed, insisting she’s fine while olga glares at her and tells her she’s officially benched.

with olga about to give birth any minute and alexia in bed, the household enters a new era of chaos. the estrella-azulita temporary co-parenting arc. and god, they try. they really do.

they post a schedule on the fridge like it’s a war map. azulita’s got cooking duty, estrella’s in charge of cleaning, they share laundry and making sure olga eats enough. sounds simple. in theory.

except estrella has a very loose understanding of what “cleaning” actually means. she vacuums aggressively but somehow misses entire corners. at one point she tries to mop with floor cleaner and accidentally mixes it with something she wasn’t supposed to, and the kitchen smells like citrus and regret for two days. she swears she saw a tiktok say it was fine.

azulita’s cooking isn’t bad, per se. but she’s intense. she’s got measuring cups and timers and is yelling “estrella, you can’t just eyeball garlic!” from the kitchen while estrella’s trying to do laundry and keeps forgetting which settings are for towels. one of alexia’s favorite hoodies ends up shrunk to baby size. they have a moment of silence for it.

meanwhile, olga is stuck between wanting to help and wanting to rest, waddling around and trying not to laugh at how seriously her girls are taking their roles. she finds them in the living room at one point having a full-on argument about which pasta shape cooks faster. “you two are both wrong,” she says, sitting down heavily and putting her feet up. they bring her juice immediately.

alexia, for her part, is grumpy as hell in bed. she hates being still. hates being sick. she keeps trying to sneak out until estrella catches her mid-escape and physically drags her back to bed. “you’re not gonna die,” azulita mutters, fluffing her pillows. “but you will if olga catches you walking around.”

they rotate shifts sitting with her. estrella brings her a sketchbook and makes dumb faces until she laughs. azulita reads next to her in silence, occasionally handing her a tissue. they both bring her food with way too much effort on the plating, it looks like a michelin-star meal and tastes like a weird combo of overcooked rice and underseasoned eggs. alexia eats it anyway, she doesn’t have the heart to tell them.

by the third day, the house is… surviving. messy, loud, weirdly sticky in some places, but still filled with laughter. olga walks into the kitchen to find estrella scrubbing something on the counter with intense focus while azulita dances with a spatula to bad bunny playing off someone’s phone. they both look up like guilty gremlins.

“we’re doing great,” estrella says confidently.

olga looks at the smoke coming out of the toaster and nods slowly. “sure.”

but they are doing great, in their own way. they’re keeping things afloat, loving loudly, showing up. they bring alexia her tea, rub olga’s feet when she’s tired, and argue constantly over the best way to fold baby clothes.

when alexia is finally better, she finds a note taped to her door in estrella’s handwriting: “we kept everything alive. mostly.”

she walks into the kitchen to find olga asleep on the couch, azulita covered in flour, and estrella wearing sunglasses and stirring a pot of soup like gordon ramsay. she smiles. she wouldn’t trade them for the world.

[janiahloveswwe]

So addicting.

Rhea Ripley smut

NOT PROOF READ

author notes: this is a very fast launching smut so yeah it's smut RIGHT away. I'm sorry in advance 😔

Warnings: smut, mommy kink, rough smut, use of mommy, use of a dildo, light choking, slapping, breeding kink. I think that's all.

Rhea Ripley x coquette bimbo! Reader

"on the bed now" Rhea says. She was MAD after her match at wrestlemaina. She needed release and so did you after seeing your Mami so sweaty.

"yes mommy" you say quietly trying not to set her of To much.

She went up to your clothed pussy the sheer silk underwear not helping to hide the wetness. She ripped your underwear off,

"I'll buy you new ones" Rhea said

He went straight to attack your pussy, you bucked you hips up, gripping your fluffy pink pillow Rhea got for you after you begging.

"hmmm mommy to sensitive" you mewl out barely.

"be quiet and take it understand we are just getting started" Rhea groans on your pussy.

The vibrations of her talking was felt so good you were starting to be ate out dumb. You loved when she took control, fuck you dumb with your light pink dildo, eating you out till your eyes were connected with your brain. You lived for it. And loved for seeing you like this your pussy in her face, you not being able to contain your mewls and moans.

"Mami I'm gonna-please can I cum" you say with a breathy moan stuttering just a little.

"cum. Cum all over my face mk baby you can do it" Rhea said teasing you almost shaming a little.

"ohh yess mommy" you moan so loud, you usually would feel embarrassed. Not right now you felt good and Rhea loved when you expressed that.

She laps up your juices on her tongue, she loved how you tasted. So sweet. So good. So addicting.

She licks you clean, then she pulls out your light pink dildo. You saw it and moaned, her pace while fucking you with it was so good. Better than any man. Any woman. She was just better.

"Come here baby" Rhea whispers quietly as she goes up to the headboard of your light pink, bow themed bed.

"ok Mami" you said quietly still going thru after shocks of your powerful orgasm earlier.

You claimed in her lap, she grabbed your hips sinking you down on the 9 inch dildo, it stretched you out so good. You moan quietly, she goes to your neck, kissing it giving you marks your gonna have to cover up later.

She thrusted up into you, hard thrusting. You could barely take it, soon moaning and skin slapping were all that filled your shared pink room with Rhea.

She kept hitting that g-spot right in you, you were so close, and when she felt that she pulled out. She was being mean and you had to take it.

It has been 30 minutes and your legs were burning clit was puffy, core was aching for a release that she wasn't giving you. You needed it. Needed it now.

"aww does my baby want it' Rhea says mocking you as she slaps your face hard. Leaving a mark. you loved how controlling your mommy was.

"mhm please I need to cum" you said core was burning

"cum now" Rhea yells at you.

"ughhhh mommy yesss fuckkkk" you moan loud, probably too loud, but you didn't care you've needed this and she finally gave it to you. You squirted all over the dildo all over your pink silk bedsheets and you and Rhea.

"I love you baby you did so good" Rhea whispers in your ear. Picking you up and starting a bath.

"stay here I'm gonna change the seats ok baby?" Rhea says to you softly.

"ok baby" you say to her.

She goes and changes the sweaty sheets and puts them in the washer. And gets you out the tub. She put your favorite pj's on for you, along with your show. And you went right to sleep next to your girlfriend with whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

[munkussy]

As much as he regretted not asking about her wellbeing in the past, it was something he couldn't change. Perhaps her answer would have been different if he'd inquired at the time, but perhaps not. She seemed lost on the matter -- but The Lion Camel King noticing her absence right away didn't seem like something that she needed to hear. Maybe they could talk about him more down the line.

Monkey King knew what Chunhua really wanted to discuss, as she'd brought it up twice: the matter of her staying. But it was a complicated matter.

"I understand you want to stay." He crossed his legs and set his cup down.

His air of dignity returned - this was again the words of a leader with responsibility on his shoulders. "I've made a safe haven here," he gestured towards the world around them, at the flora and fauna of the Flower Fruit Mountain inhabitants. "And that's only possible because of the exclusivity I keep. Only my troupe is allowed here. No exceptions." Chunhua seemed to hate eye contact, but Sun Wukong met her gaze with true sight once more. It was a necessary evil: they needed to understand each other.

A bit more conversational, his head tilting. "Now you being a monkey does help things, even if you are a demon. And you did decide to have a conversation with me, even if it took you a while."

His head tilted the other way. "But I also can't overlook the way you tried to avoid me. And the way my troupe knows more about you then I do."

"So here's what I'm thinkin'. My thinkin' noggin thinks this would be a good time to set you on a probationary period. That means some new rules and boundaries. I know that doesn't sound too fun, but stay with me for a second."

"One: ya gotta stay on my side of the mountain. If you're gonna be here interactin' with the troupe, that means you gotta act more like one of us. It lets me keep an eye on you to make sure things are going smooth. Two: don't avoid me. I get that may be hard for you cause you think I'm really scary," he paused for a moment here, closing his eyes to let himself feel that hurt and let it go. "But we need to be on amicable terms if you're gonna stay here. And that means -- three: both of us need to make an effort to get to know each other."

"And lastly, four: if there is ever trouble on this island, I'm the boss. You listen to me, and you help our troupe."

"Obviously, if you break the rules I can't let you stay. But, if things go well? Then you'll have a lot less to worry about. Hypothetically."

"I understand." He did understand what his reputation meant, even if he was hurt by the assumptions. "But I'm..." He paused. "I'm not some angry, murdering monster."

He winced. Quieter, he said, "Anyway... I try not to be."

"Ol' El-cee-kay." Monkey King cleared his throat, leaning back. "He... talked about you a lot, actually." He tried to keep his voice light. "Said you were his most... valuable possession."

He remembered drinking to Lion Camel King's words, happy to cheer on his friend's relationship. He considered his past, swirling the cup in his hands and looking at his own mis-matched reflection. "Looking back now, it was problematic, but at the time... well? I didn't know as much as I do now about people." He took a sip of his drink. "I don't know if you were happy. I'm sorry for never asking."

[arsenicflame]

awww yeah its time to feel emotions again! (rearranging my room)

[puppppppppy]

Why are ppl scared to call it what it is and say we’re still going thru covid on top of seasonal illness. Like. That’s pretty important right. I was watching the news and they were like oh yeah we have an unprecedented number of flu cases “as well as other sicknesses” without actually saying Covid. No announcement abt vaccinations or masking or anything. Also if I hear someone joking abt “war flashbacks” for mentioning covid I fucking hate u