#i’ve seen it and started on it a little!

[slutty4jk]

KISS ME! | JJK › PART 1

Summary: You and Jungkook have known each other your whole lives. Childhood best friends turned almost something more. He’s charming, popular, and scared of commitment. You’re ambitious, guarded, and tired of being a maybe.

After one kiss changes everything, you realize wanting him isn’t enough if he won’t choose you back. But walking away is easier said than done.

University brings distance, jealousy, and new people. You’re ready to move on. He’s finally starting to realize he can’t. Not when it’s always been you.

pairing: childhoodbestfriend!jungkook x (fem) reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, kinda toxic but delicious, mutual pining, fluff & eventual smut

rating: 18+ (mdni!!)

word count: 3.4k 💌

warnings: emotional whiplash, jealousy, possessive behavior, fear of commitment, unresolved tension, mutual obsession, brief mentions of sex, hurt/comfort, pining, lots of yearning

A/N: I finally hit post!!!! AAAAAAAA I’ve always been anxious about sharing anything I create, so I really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it hehe. This is my first fic (kinda), so please be gentle with me. I’m also lowkey new to Tumblr, so I’m just going off what I’ve seen other fanfic creators do, hopefully I’m doing this right. I don’t have too many solid plans for this story yet, but I truly hope you stick around. Also hope this lives up to the hype the teaser got heheh 🤓 Happy reading! - Ivy ₍^. .^₎Ⳋ

Taglist: @akirawhore @amarawayne @jahnaviii @crazyovayou @niniythv @dollyunjinz @yungies @caaally @aestheticalime @flaneuseonthestreets @goldenko-97 @lachimolalajeon @buckylov3r @labbbaaa @bts123746 @chxiosworld @amarawayne @qu3t @littlecherri @alessiamargaux @lokislittlemouse-library @enchantingeagleengineer @jeoncasino @minnie-mouser22 @tinytangerineangel @yourlittleslutcums @httpjeonlicious @uaremyserene @intro-bts @glossyxiaoting @cdllevantae

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KISSME!MOODBOARD | KISSME!PLAYLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST ⭑.ᐟ

(One Year Ago)

You’ve known Jeon Jungkook since the day he was born. Your moms were best friends before either of you even existed, girls who grew up together, fell in love with life side by side, and then raised their kids side by side too. You were born in February, and just like fate, Jungkook followed in September, just six months behind you, and from that moment on, it was the two of you. Always.

You were inseparable. Friends before you even understood what friendship meant. Sleepovers, scraped knees, shared snacks, birthday candles blown out together, all of it.

And then high school happened.

You drifted. Slowly, painfully. The way people sometimes do when the world starts asking more of them.

You went to a top-ranked all-girls private school, the kind with uniforms pressed to perfection, essays that weighed as much as bricks, and girls who competed to see who could have the best grades. Jungkook ended up at the local public school. It was louder, messier, freer. His parents wanted him to have a social circle outside of the snooty prep school one.

You started moving in different circles, living different lives. And somewhere along the way, your daily texts became weekly, then monthly, and then… nothing at all.

So when he invited you to a house party at his friend’s place, you were shocked. And maybe a little bit hopeful. Maybe this meant something. A bridge being rebuilt.

You dressed carefully that night. A pale pink tweed dress with gold buttons, white stockings, and shiny Mary Janes. Definitely overdressed for a house party, but you didn’t care. You wanted to look good. Maybe even wanted him to notice.

He didn’t.

He barely looked at you when you got in his car. Just a casual nod. No compliment. No hug. No "I missed you.” Or just a simple “How’s life?” To catch up.

It stung.

You quickly realized the only reason you were even invited was because his mom insisted he bring someone she trusted in order for him to go, and that someone was you.

As soon as you got there, he ditched you, disappearing in the crowd. You stood awkwardly by the drinks table, sipping a Coke Zero, the cold fizz sharp on your tongue. You didn’t know anyone. Everyone else seemed to know everyone. Loud laughter, inside jokes, bodies swaying to the beat.

You felt overdressed, overlooked, and completely out of place. People stared. Girls whispered. But you held your head high like your mom taught you.

You searched the crowd for Jungkook and when you found him, your heart sank.

He was on the couch, some girl straddling his lap, his hands gripping her waist, her fingers tangled in his hair. Mouths moving like they were starving. Oblivious to everyone else in the room.

Your stomach twisted so hard it felt like it was trying to fold in on itself. A bitter sting crawled up your throat, sharp and sour, like you’d swallowed regret.

Suddenly, the air felt too thick. You weren’t supposed to be here. You should’ve said no. You just wanted to spend time with him.

That’s all.

You pushed the patio door open, letting the cool night air wash over you. Arms wrapped tightly around yourself, fighting off the chill and the burn in your chest. It felt like stepping into a different world, darker, quieter, with the distant thump of bass bleeding from inside. You leaned against the railing, trying to relax a bit.

“Hey,” a voice said behind you, soft but close. You jumped, your spine going stiff as you turned.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the guy said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. His lips quirked up, amused. “Though… I’m starting to think you scare easy.”

You startled and turned fast, your pulse kicking up.

“You’re real smooth,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

He grinned. “Smooth’s better than sleazy, right?”

“You always approach girls like that?”

“Only the ones standing alone in expensive shoes.”

You glanced down at your Mary Janes.

“And what if I’m just lost?”

“Then I guess I’m lucky.”

You tried not to smile, but failed.

“What’s your name?” He was handsome and looked like the type that would break your heart. Why not let him entertain you for a while?

“Eunwoo,” he said, shifting closer. “And you’re…?”

“Y/N.”

“Pretty name,” he said, leaning one elbow against the railing beside you. “Let me guess. St. Michael’s?”

You blinked. “How’d you know?”

“You’ve got that energy,” he said. “Put together. Fancy. But kind of annoyed to be here.”

You let out a dry laugh. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone who’s also pretending to have fun.”

You smiled. He was disarming, in that effortlessly flirty way that made you want to roll your eyes and lean in closer.

“You don’t seem like the house party type either,” you said.

“Not when half the people here still think fart jokes are peak comedy,” he replied but you could tell he only says that to impress you.

You let out a soft laugh, for real this time. “You’re not wrong.”

He tilted his head at you. “So, what’s your deal? You here with someone?”

You hesitated. “I got ditched the second we got here.”

His expression flickered, just for a second. “Ah. That makes sense.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re way too pretty to be standing out here alone if you weren’t.” The compliment caught you off guard.

“Do you always flirt like this?” you asked, half teasing.

“Only when I mean it. I can keep you company, if you want.”

You hesitated, then smiled faintly. “I’d like that.” You were done feeling lonely at this dumb party.

You chatted for a while, nothing too deep. Just a little bit of distraction from the ache in your chest as you sipped on your drink.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” he asked suddenly, eyes searching your face.

You shook your head. “No.” You could have but going to an all girls school made that kind of social circle a bit more difficult.

“Really? That’s hard to believe.”

You laughed softly. “I’m not interested in that sort of thing right now.”

He tilted his head. “Interesting.” He just wanted to know if you were single or not.

You looked up at him. “What about you? Do you have anyone special in your life?”

“Got dumped this morning.” He admits.

You look surprised as he says that, you would have never guessed with the way he was talking to you right now.

“Oh. Sorry.” Your tone is a bit regretful. You hadn’t expected him to respond with… that.

He shrugged. “We didn’t click. Guess I was meant to be alone.”

You echoed his earlier words. “I can keep you company, if you want.”

He grinned. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“And how would you do that?”

You didn’t know what came over you, but you said it anyway.

“What if I said you could kiss me?”

He blinked, then smirked. “I'd ask if you were serious.”

“Does it look like I’m joking?” You lean in.

He leaned in, slow, deliberate. “You’re trouble,” he murmured.

You tilted your chin up. “Do you like trouble?”

“Depends on the kind.” he murmurs and then he kissed you.

He kissed you. Gentle at first, then hungrier. You kissed him back, maybe out of loneliness, maybe out of spite. You weren’t sure. But for a brief moment, it felt nice to be wanted.

You didn’t notice the group of boys by the pool bar watching.

Didn’t see the money exchanging hands.

Didn’t see Jungkook stepping out on the patio.

Jungkook stepped outside just in time to see it. The way your hands clung to Eunwoo’s collar, how his fingers were brushing the hem of your dress lowering to your ass like he had every right to. The kiss was already too far gone. His pace slowed down, eyes narrowing.

A group of his friends stood nearby, some grinning, some groaning, throwing bills into a baseball cap at the poolside bar. His gaze flicked to the hat full of crumpled bills.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asked, his voice low, guarded.

Mingi didn’t even look up. “We bet Eunwoo he wouldn’t be able to kiss the rich girl in under an hour.” They were watching as if to see what would happen next, ready to add more money into the hat.

“He did it in 45 minutes, he a real sweet talker,” Mingyu added with a chuckle, popping a chip in his mouth like it was just another Friday night. "I wonder if she'll sleep with him.." he thinks out loud.

Jungkook’s nostrils flared.

They made a bet for a kiss and now he might take you to bed?

His eyes flicked back to the hat stuffed with cash, to the smug look on Eunwoo’s face, to your soft smile, the one you used to give him when you were kids.

It reminded him of summers in your neighbourhood, you in your silly sandals and ribboned braids, waiting for him on the porch with two popsicles, always saving one for him.

That smile used to be his.

He remembered it like a favourite song, sweet, familiar. But now? Now you were smiling like that at someone else. And it burned.

You weren’t the girl on the porch anymore; you were all grown up, and now someone completely new got to see that side of you. Someone else got to make you laugh like that. And it made his chest tighten in a way he hated.

He felt something shift in his chest, like his heart had just dropped straight into his stomach. Was it jealousy? Was it disgust? At them or at himself? For leaving you alone? For bringing you here in the first place?

He couldn’t even name what it was, but it felt wrong.

He was moving before he even realized it.

He stormed across the patio, clearing his throat loud enough to slice through the moment.

You broke the kiss first, startled. Eunwoo smirked, the kind of lazy, satisfied grin that made your skin crawl. He knew exactly what he’d done. He had gotten under Jungkook’s skin. He had won the bet, he kissed the girl.

“Y/N,” Jungkook snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through the noise. He’s standing stiffly just a few feet away, strong arms crossed over his chest. "Let's go."

You blink at him, lips still parted, confused by his sudden intrusion. “What? I was just starting to have fun.” You grumble like a child.

His jaw tightens. “Kissing strangers is fun?” There’s something biting in his tone. Not just judgment, jealousy, too. Thinly veiled and barely contained.

You scoff, heat rising to your cheeks. “You do it.” You just saw him. That girl on his lap, his hands all over her. You didn’t know if they had history or if they were dating but he never mentioned her to you, he never even brought up having a crush.

He’s one to talk.

His eyes flash. “No, I don’t.” It’s not a lie, not exactly. But the way he says it, quiet and defensive, you know he means something else.

“Remind me. Was that your girlfriend or just your entertainment for the night?” Your voice is cold, sharp as glass. You're not just asking. You're accusing.

He knows exactly who and what you're talking about. You saw him back there. Hands all over her like you weren’t even there.

His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even look surprised. “Trust me,” he mutters, voice tight. “I know her.”

You laughed bitterly. “Yeah. That makes it better.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

“Can you just leave me alone?” you muttered, voice tight as you brought your arms up around Eunwoo’s neck. Maybe out of spite, maybe out of pain.

If Jungkook could ditch you for some random girl, then why shouldn’t you do the same thing to him?

“No.” Jungkook grabbed your shoulder, firm, pulling you back to face him again.

Eunwoo chimed in lazily, “She’s fine with me, man.” His hands slid to your lower back, hands lowering a little too low for Jungkook's liking.

That did it.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened as he stepped forward, closing the space between them. “Get your fucking hands off her,” he growled.

One arm moved around you, yanking you out of Eunwoo’s grasp and behind him like you were something to protect and to claim.

Eunwoo smirked. He liked this. Getting under Jungkook’s skin like it was part of the game. As if he knew Jungkook had the hots for you.

But wasn’t it already obvious?

“Stop,” you snapped, louder this time, your voice cutting between them. “Both of you.” You didn’t want to cause a scene. Especially since you already stood out in this crowd.

Jungkook turned to you, jaw tight. “Y/N. Go to the car.”

It wasn't a suggestion, it was a command. He was pissed.

You didn’t argue this time. You were tired. You wanted to leave anyway. You turned, heading out to the driveway without sparing a glance at either of them. You probably wouldn’t see Eunwoo ever again, so you didn’t even bother saying goodbye or give him a chance to ask you for your number.

Once you were out of earshot, Jungkook took one threatening step closer to Eunwoo, voice low and sharp. “If I ever catch you making bets about her again, I’ll break both your fucking legs. Got it?”

Eunwoo rolled his eyes and lifted his hands like he was innocent. But the message was clear.

He didn’t move. His fists stayed clenched, like holding on could stop everything else from slipping. He was angry. At Eunwoo. At you. Maybe at himself.

But beneath it all, shame was twisting in his gut.

And something else he didn’t want to name.

Something that felt a lot like heartbreak.

Jungkook found you outside, standing by his car with your arms wrapped around yourself, the cool night air brushing against your legs.

That dress, as pretty as it was, wasn’t built for cold air, or this party.

But you already knew that.

And now someone else had touched you. Kissed you.

His stomach turned.

What the hell were you thinking? Letting some stranger put his hands on you like that? Letting him taste you like it meant nothing?

You weren’t like that. At least… you never used to be.

You weren’t just some girl. You were his best friend. Or… you had been.

So why did it feel like he was already losing something he never even got the chance to have?

You didn’t look at him when he approached.

“What was that about?” he asked, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the pavement. “What?”

“Kissing that guy?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, voice quiet. “Maybe I just wanted to have fun.” Your tone was sarcastic.

He let out a sharp breath, stepping in closer. “Eunwoo’s not a good guy. He cheated on his last girlfriend like six times.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” You grumble, hugging yourself from the cold.

Jungkook scoffed. “Well, he’s not. They were making a bet to see if Eunwoo could kiss you and probably take you to bed right after! Are you that easy, Y/N?”

His voice was laced with anger, sharp and bitter, the words cutting before he could stop them.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Wow. So now I’m easy? Is that what you think of me? Just some spoiled girl who jumps at the first guy who calls her pretty?”

He clenched his jaw. “Well, it seems like it, doesn’t it?”

You took a step back, your voice rising. “What’s your problem? Why are you getting so mad that I kissed some guy? I don’t care if it was a bet, I was having fun. I wasn’t even supposed to be here, was I? Your mom needed me to keep an eye on you, huh?”

His eyes widened slightly.

You hit a nerve. You read him like an open book.

You turned away, angry, pulling at the handle of the locked car door.

He exhaled, voice lower now. “You weren’t supposed to come… but I brought you anyway, didn’t I? You were supposed to hang around me. Not those other guys, you don’t know what their intentions are.” He scolds you.

That made you snap your head toward him. “With you?” you repeated. “You invited me, then ditched me the second we walked in. I didn’t know anyone. You knew that!” You exclaim angrily.

“I didn’t think—”

“Exactly,” you cut him off. “You didn’t think.”

You blinked at him, heat rushing up your throat. “I looked for you. And I found you with some girl practically dry-humping you in the middle of the living room.”

He dropped his gaze, jaw clenched.

You shook your head, laugh bitter. “I felt so stupid. I thought maybe you invited me because you wanted to see me. Like maybe we’d talk. Catch up. I dressed up and everything—”

He interrupted you. “I noticed.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did, Y/N.” His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it made your breath catch. “You look beautiful.”

Your arms dropped from around yourself. “Then why didn’t you say anything?” you huff, your voice vulnerable.

It wasn't about the compliment. It was about him acknowledging you, him making a stupid comment about how you were overdressed just like he would before.

Jungkook looked at you then, really looked. And there it was.

That flicker in his eyes. That quiet ache.

The one that said everything he didn’t know how to say.

You shook your head, voice softer now. “I felt like you didn’t even want me there. Like you were embarrassed to be around me.”

He stepped in. “That’s not true.”

“Then what is?” you say, staring at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. He didn’t answer, though. Instead, his hand reached for your arm, just lightly, just enough to ground you both.

You let out a breath. “We used to be best friends.”

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. “We’re not little kids anymore, Y/N. That whole best friends thing? It doesn’t work like that.”

Your jaw tightened. “No, it does… you just stopped knowing how to be one.” Your words hung in the air, sharp and defensive.

“You’re the prettiest girl here,” he added, softer now, like that would change the ache between you. Even he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. He said it suddenly, quietly… like it slipped out before he could stop it. Like he was only just realizing it himself.

You scoffed, stepping back. Your voice rose, raw. “Pretty? Please. Is this a bet too? You invite me out here, ditch me, get pissed when someone else kisses me like it matters, and now you call me pretty like that makes it okay?”

He flinched. Your words hit harder than you knew, because he’d already asked himself those same questions. What the hell was he doing? Why was he so mad when he was the one who messed up first?

Your voice cracked, and your hands shoved at his chest. “Tell me, Jungkook. Are you doing this just to see if I’m really that easy? Or do you mean it? Do you really care about me?”

You hit his chest again. Once. Twice. You hit him again, and he didn't stop you, not until the ache in his chest became unbearable. Then, gently, he caught your wrists. His touch wasn’t rough. It was careful but cautious.

He swallowed, his jaw tight. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt. And then, when your eyes finally met his… it hit him all at once.

The fear. The guilt. The jealousy. The truth.

He was afraid of this… of you, of what this could mean, but more than anything, he was afraid he’d already lost you.

His gaze dropped, unable to hold yours.

His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.

“I mean it.”

It wasn’t slick or charming or sure of itself. It was broken open and vulnerable, scraped raw and trembling with something too big to name.

You froze.

Something in you shifted.

He lifted his eyes again, slowly, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the boy who had always been your best friend. The boy who still cared, the look on his face stole the breath from your lungs.

Regret. Longing. Fear. Hope.

All tangled in one unbearable glance.

And then, like everything in the world had been building to this, he kissed you. Not like a mistake. Not like a dare. Like a promise he was too scared to speak out loud.

And you kissed him back because despite everything, part of you had been waiting for this your whole life. It was sudden and deep, full of everything neither of you had the guts to say.

His hands cradled your jaw, warm and trembling slightly, like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go. His lips tasted faintly like spearmint gum and bad decisions, and your knees nearly buckled.

When you pulled away, lips tingling, you whispered, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to kiss random boys.” You teased.

Jungkook leaned in again, his forehead pressed to yours. “You know damn well I’m not a random boy.”

The second kiss was messier. Needy, deep, slow, desperate. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

One moment you were in the driveway, the next, in the backseat of his car. Your heart was racing. His touch was careful but confident, his fingers memorizing every line of you like a secret only he got to know.

And even though it scared you, how fast it was happening, how much it meant, it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like the beginning of something you didn’t quite understand yet. But it was yours. His, too.

That night, in the backseat of his car, under the streetlight glow and distant hum of a party you didn’t belong to, you gave yourself to him for the first time. The windows fogged. The car rocked gently. And for a while, nothing else mattered except the quiet gasps, the whispered names, the fingers grasping for something real.

And for a moment, just one, it felt like maybe he belonged to you too.

Or at least… you hoped he did.

[sereia4skz]

Hey hey can you make something hurt to comfort with chan plss?? Like yn and chan get into a tiny argument maybe just a misunderstanding going on not a big fight but some broken hearts but at the happy ending🥹🤝🏻😭🫰🙏🏻

oneshot | don't walk away

pairing: chan x reader

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: mild argument? chan being busy

word count: 1.1k

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

It starts with a quiet kind of disappointment. The kind that builds slowly, unnoticed at first, like a draft slipping under the door. You don’t even realize how tightly your chest’s been wound until the key turns in the lock.

He’s home. You’re still on the couch, dinner long cold on the table, your phone lying silent beside you. You’d checked it too many times. The battery’s nearly dead from all the hope you kept feeding into it.

Chan steps in, looking exhausted, hoodie pulled up, eyes slightly red. His studio bag sags off one shoulder. “Hey,” he says softly.

You look up. “Hey.”

It’s all you say.

He toes off his shoes, glancing at the couch. “You didn’t eat?”

You shake your head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

A beat passes. He blinks, takes in the untouched meal, the candle you’d lit two hours ago, now a pool of hardened wax. Realization creeps across his features, slow and unwelcome.

“Shit,” he breathes. “Baby, I’m sorry. I lost track of-”

“Of time,” you finish. “Yeah. I figured.”

Your tone isn’t harsh, but it’s not warm either. It lands somewhere in the middle, brittle and tired, and Chan flinches before he can catch himself.

“I should’ve texted,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to leave you waiting. Everything ran over and I just-”

“I get it,” you cut in. “Work happened. It always does.”

That hurts him. You see it. You didn’t mean it like that, not really but it’s been weeks of this: missed dinners, short calls, canceled plans. You’ve smiled through most of it, understanding as best you can, but tonight… you cracked a little.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you add, softer now. “I just- I made dinner. I was excited to see you. And then I waited. And waited. And it just… I don’t know. It felt stupid after a while.”

Chan sets down his bag and walks closer. Not too close. He’s reading you carefully, like he knows one wrong step might send the whole night spiraling.

“I never want to make you feel like you’re waiting alone,” he says. His voice is steady, but his eyes shine with something tender, or maybe guilty.

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” you murmur. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

He exhales and sits beside you slowly, his hands clasped between his knees.

“I’ve been messing up,” he says quietly. “I’ve been running around thinking I can juggle everything, the group, the deadlines, and… us. And I thought if I could just keep pushing through, eventually I’d have time for everything. For you.”

You look down at your lap. “I don’t want to be the afterthought that gets your leftover time, Chan.”

He flinches again, visibly this time. “You’re not. God, Baby, you're the part I miss most. The part I feel most guilty about when I mess this up.”

Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them.

“I was staring at my phone like some idiot,” you whisper. “Kept telling myself you’d text. That I mattered enough for you to think of me.”

“You do,” he says instantly, but there’s panic now, like your sadness is suffocating him. “You do. I just… I got so in my head tonight. I felt like I couldn’t stop working or I’d lose momentum. But I lost you instead. At least for tonight.”

“You didn’t lose me,” you whisper, even though the words burn. “I just needed to feel seen. Like I’m still a real part of your life, not a calendar event you keep pushing back.”

That’s when Chan cracks. He doesn’t sob. He doesn’t even make a sound. But his eyes fill, and his hand reaches up like he doesn’t know what to do with it, whether to wipe his face or reach for yours.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and now his voice is trembling. “I hate that I made you feel like that. You’re my home, Baby. I’ve been running around trying to keep everything afloat, and I forgot that none of it means anything if I don’t have you to come back to.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m not trying to make you feel worse. I just- I needed you tonight.”

“I know. And I wasn’t here. Not in the way I should’ve been.”

You both fall quiet. The air between you is thick, not with anger, but with heartbreak. Like you both want to reach for each other, but you're afraid the hurt still lingers on your skin.

But then Chan shifts forward. He reaches out, cautiously, and takes your hand in his. His thumb strokes your knuckles, soft and tentative.

“Can I… hold you?”

Your bottom lip wobbles, you nod, and then you’re in his arms, clinging to him like a lifeline. The tears come harder now, yours hot and breathy, his quiet and broken against your temple.

“I hate crying,” you whisper against his shoulder.

Chan huffs a soft, wet laugh. “Me too.”

“You’re really bad at texting.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’ll get better. I promise. Just… don’t give up on me.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is flushed, eyes red-rimmed, but even now, he’s still looking at you like you’re everything.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say. “I just want us to do better. Together.”

“We will,” he says immediately. “Starting now. I’m going to be better, not just for you, but with you.”

You nod, and for a moment, the world feels quiet again.

Then, in a much smaller voice: “I reheated the rice like three times.”

He lets out a real laugh this time, and you feel it vibrate through his chest.

“I’ll eat it cold,” he says. “I deserve cold rice.”

You swat at his chest weakly, laughing through your tears. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m in love,” he says simply. “It comes with the territory.”

Your heart swells painfully, and you kiss his cheek, the bridge of his nose, his eyelids, all the places his tears had touched. He kisses you too, soft, slow, apologetic. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just… real.

That night, you eat together at the table. The rice is awful. The chicken’s dry. But the air between you is warm again. Softened. Mended.

Later, in bed, he tangles around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. His thumb traces circles on your hip. His breath ghosts across the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna set reminders,” he mumbles sleepily. “Daily check-ins. Morning voice notes. Alarms that say ‘Text her, you idiot.’”

You laugh quietly. “You don’t have to set alarms to love me.”

“No,” he murmurs, “but I’ll do anything to make sure you feel it. Every day.”

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other, still a little raw, still a little tender, but whole again.

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[binmeister]

Hello, I hope you're doing well, I really love your work❤️. I wanted to request what if reader was humming to soda pop and when it got to their s/o parts only then did they sing the lyrics, to see what the boys reaction like?? Would they be giddy about it, or smug, I just find it a wholesome idea. Feel free to reject my idea if you're not comfortable, again I love your works and I want to remind you take care of yourself and stay hydrated and safe!! Byee

Soda Pop

Saja Boys x S/O! Reader

This is a super cute prompt, I’ve injected it with some other stuff but I hope this works still ! Thinking of a demon s/o reader for this because it’d be funny to see their usually demonic boyfriend doing all this aegyo and cutesy fanservice stuff.

A/N: brain shortcircuiting when tumblr autocorrect tries to swap my British Eng to American Eng and im like but i spelt it right---

CW: may have some mistakes, some fluff to heal the soul, established relationships

Setup - Demon S/O! Reader who had tagged along for their debut performance, seeing the performance live and then a few days later when they’re catching up with their partner they start poking fun at his signature move during his part as they sing his line.

Jinu

He was relieved to catch up with you again, his head had been a mess from the plan actually working and the information of one of the feared demon hunters being part demon didn’t help him either. His feet lead him to your usual meeting place, a secluded little back street a little ways out of the main city.

His ears perked up as he heard your voice, humming softly to yourself and he internally groans because it’s that damn song that’s been in his head for weeks on end now - he’s tempted to tell you to shut up but he freezes when he sees you. In your human form. It’s been a while since he’s seen you in it, your skin was smooth and you were dressed comfortably in a simple shirt and some jeans but you looked gorgeous to him.

He doesn’t realise you’ve noticed him approaching, your second loop of humming the song meant that you were about to be at his opening line again and then he watches as you turn and dramatically reach your hand out to him as you jokingly sing at him.

“Dont want you, need you, yeah I need you, to fill me up-” You sing his dumb line at him, hands making the same pulling motion he does when he starts the song and he feels his face heat up at that. He turns on his heel when he makes eye contact with you and hears your laugh, then the approaching sounds of your footsteps as you chase after him before he feels your arms wrap around his waist.

“Where are you going, my little soda pop?” You teased him and he groans as he tries to take another step away from you but not enough effort to break your hold around his waist. 

“Actually I forgot I was busy tonight.” He says and you only laugh more as you squeeze his waist before letting go of him, letting him slip out of your arms and he stops moving at that as a slight grumble escapes him before he turns around and forces your arms back around him as he drops his head on top of yours. 

“..thought you said you were busy.” He hears you pipe up and he squeezes you lightly which makes you squeak before he replies. “Busy dealing with you.”

"Am I all you can think of-" "Please stop."

Abs

You had asked him to meet with you on the surface, at some cafe you apparently really wanted to go to. Despite being a demon the entire time he’s known you, been part of your life, you’ve always loved food and watching people even though you’d become a pawn of the underworld too. Which leads him to where he is now in his human illusion as his eyes scan through the crowd to catch you and his ears pick up on the sweet familiar sound of you humming a tune. A tune he’s unfortunately too familiar with. Soda Pop.

He spots you finally and he feels his chest burn because you look adorable in your human form. You catch his eyes and that’s when he realises that the song had been playing from some cafe’s speakers, not too loud to disturb the crowd but loud enough that he could hear the pre-chorus playing and he just watches as you mouth the lyrics to him now. Then he sees your body shift slightly in his direction and your right hand raises up and grabs the collar of your shirt, and you pull slightly to reveal some skin to him as you mouth ‘so refreshing’.

His body moves before his mind or mouth can and he’s dashed over and picked you up by the waist, burying his face in your neck to hide the embarrassment and all he hears is your laugh as you playfully smack at his back. You’re stuck now, legs dangling a little as he keeps you in his embrace and then he finally places you back on your feet - not without ruffling your hair to your dismay.

“Hey watch it soda pop boy.” You grumble up at him but there’s still warmth to your tone as you look up at him with a little smile on your face, he rolls his eyes at you as he fixes his shirt from its dishevelled state. Playfully responding back ‘careful, I might drink up every last drop of you’ and you smacked him again as he laughed heartily.

It’s times like these where he forgets that you’re both demons pretending to be humans, because it feels human to him. The way your eyes still light up over cute things or little desserts you come across, the way you drag him along excitedly when you spot something. He’ll just deal with Soda Pop being one of those things since you seemed so happy.

Mystery

He’s recovering and recharging energy after a long day of pretending to be normal and human, violet skin littered in dark purple patterns and his teeth that he’s had to hide are back in their demonic form. Misshapen and hanging out of his mouth. But he was comfortable as he melted into a puddle on the couch of some human apartment the group had invaded and taken over.

You’re nearby, he knows it because he can sense that you’re a few steps away and then he hears your soft humming of the groups’ debut song before he can pinpoint that you’ve steadily moved closer. Your arms slipping around him as you hug him from behind.

“When you’re in my arms, I hold you so tight.” You sang out quietly as you rest your head on top of his, your arms are covered in the same patterns his were and he watches as they vanish to show your smooth human skin and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze. “So tight.”

He pauses as he realised what you did, as he gets up to turn and look at you he feels you hold him tighter and he can see a glimpse of your human face now even with the glint of gold in your eyes. “Can’t let go, no no-” you continue to sing out and he shifts his body forward so you come toppling over the back of the couch and into his arms as he growls and pins you to the seat cushions.

You look up owlishly at him, feigning innocence before your shoulders start shaking and little snickers and giggles escape your lips as your patterns and demonic form return. He sighs as he morphs his form enough so that his enlarged teeth are gone, pressing a quick peck to your lips before he releases the illusion again and cuddles into you.

“...my little soda pop.” He groans again but lets you off when you laugh and run a hand through his hair.

Romance

He’s amused at you humming to yourself, starting to hum along with you as he watches your shoulders shimmy against your will and he’s enamoured because you’re beautiful. Hell is cold and he’s glad he doesn’t have to keep up the pretence of a dreamy prince when he returns, but when he’s with you there’s a sense of warmth and familiarity - like home that makes it all worth it. You’re seated on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the underworld and all the demons cheering and waving their little light sticks as you continue to hum the song as souls shine and shoot down from above while he’s standing behind you.

Your demonic patterns cover most of your exposed skin but despite them being a curse to you and to him, he finds them beautiful on you. He continues to watch you as you sway a little side to side and continue to hum and do your little dance, then you turn to look up and catch his eye as you lift a hand up. Like you’re reaching out to him and right as he’s about to lift his hand to meet yours, he watches as you dramatically bring your hand back to your chest to hold your other hand that’s resting there as your marks disappear for a moment and he realises what you’re doing.

You’re making fun of him.

He’s surprised and his eyes glint dangerously as you peer up at him, hands still held against your chest and your face innocently human as if you’ve just confessed a heartfelt and sentimental sentence to him before he rolls his eyes and plops down beside you. Lets you laugh at him as you release your form and though your human disguise was cute, he enjoyed seeing you for what you are as you grin at him - sharp teeth and all. He finally settles down beside you after you finish your little laughing fit, enjoying the ways your eyes crinkle from your joy.

“You need to work on your dreamy look.” He finally comments and you lightly smack his shoulder as he chuckles, quickly morphing into his human form to show you what he means and you roll your eyes at him. “It might work on the people up there, but no thanks.”

You reach up and pinch his cheek, waiting for him to release the disguise and quietly confess to him. “I like you better when you’re you.”

Baby

He couldn’t fathom that he was somehow still in hell despite not physically being in hell. He tagged along with you one day when you’re up in the human world, human disguises on and he’s had to deal with you humming that dumb Soda Pop song for a majority of the time that you’ve spent walking around exploring. Though he wanted to complain he kept it to himself because anytime he would open his mouth he catches the way your eyes twinkle, your human form was beautiful and he still couldn’t fathom that he’d never actually seen it in the entirety of knowing you.

So he simply deals with it. Listens to you humming as you lead him around the different stalls and vendors in the street market you’d come across, you giddily picked up snacks to examine what ingredients had been shoved into the teeny tiny morsels of food and then you come across a stand that was selling soda cans from a little ice filled esky. Then you pause and turn to look at him, he’d been trailing behind you and his eyes were bored as he looked at the displays of food and various hand made crafts decorating little plastic tables.

Muffled speakers were now playing Soda Pop as well and the hell that was listening to you hum to yourself was amplified but he managed to tune it out enough, though he did like the way your shoulders would subtly dance to the song as you continued on ahead of him. Then an idea pops into your head, you stop walking when you get to a more secluded area where less tables were set up.

You wait for him to look up at you so you can make eye contact with Baby as his singing line comes up in the song and he watches with a blank expression as you move a hand up to do the little can drinking motion as you sing his line in time with the speakers nearby, “My little soda pop.” A cute little wink accompanied with the line.

His eyes widen and his jaw drops, before he can say anything to you - you’ve turned on your feet and started walking again. He wasn’t sure if his heart was functioning before that moment but it definitely was now as he tries to recover from your little cute stunt.

[quietstormxr]

No Feelings

Garrick Tavis x f!Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Garrick is tasked with getting closer to her. He didn't expect everything else that came with it.

A/N: Violence, Swearing, Angst, no real spoilers in this one!

Word Count: 10.6k

Happy @empyreanevents Garrick Week!

“Are you always this charming? Or did someone put you up to this?” Her eyes bore back at him, both question and accusation. 

Garrick is unfazed, its not the first time a woman has questioned his interest, it just proves that she isn’t just a capable fighter, but also perceptive. 

“No one put me up to it, I’ve watched you fight and seen you converse with Emetterio, just thought you could show me some of those skills.” The lie rolls off his tongue, both truth and challenge. There’s a slight bite on his tongue at the sharpness of it, but he shakes it off. It isn’t the first time he’s started here and he’s certain it won’t be the last if Xaden has any say. 

If he wasn’t someone who enjoyed casual hookups, he would question why he was the one always assigned to leave broken hearts in his wake, but between Basgiath and his parents death, settling down isn’t in his personal vocabulary any longer. 

She stares back at him a moment longer before he’s caught off guard when her melodic laugh shoots straight through him. 

“You’re telling me, Mr. Can’t Keep It In His Pants, is just trying to be nice?” The incredulity on her face makes her eyes sparkle, something he hadn’t ever noticed before. She cocks an eyebrow, obvious challenge to the tale he’s spinning.

“I mean I wouldn’t be oppos-“ His words die on his tongue as a dagger he didn’t even see her grab slices through the air next to his neck, the bite of the blade grazing his skin and landing with a decisive thunk behind him. 

Garrick just stares – blinking. Of course he had been told no before, some women just didn’t bed hop, though those were few and far between since entering the rider’s quadrant. But this, this was new, and he didn’t know if he was mad or exhilarated by the sight. 

“Did you just throw a dagger at me?” The words are incredulous, almost as if that had never happened. But of course, plenty of daggers had been thrown his way, just not for this reason before. 

“If you want to flirt or get in my pants, you can move on Tavis. I’m not here for your good time.” Her voice is dismissive, turning back to the supply paperwork she had been working on keeping inventory of the weapons. 

The feistiness of the challenge heats his blood in a way no other woman has in the last two years. What’s the harm if there’s a little satisfaction along with accomplishing his mission? As long as he can get the numbers that are close enough to touch each week, anything that comes after would just be a bonus. 

“Well I’ve never backed away from a dare before, why start now?” His eyes light up as the annoyance sparks on her face. “Look, I’m trying to get another weapons proficiency and you’re apparently the only one who has it.”

It isn’t a total lie, but it’s definitely not the truth. Garrick is more than proficient with every single weapon available at Basgiath, but its no secret that she's the master when it comes to lances. A weapon not common in the school, not common in battle, but when wielded can extend the reach needed. 

Her quirked eyebrow is the only indication she gives that this is even a consideration. 

“I promise no flirting or trying to get in your pants. Just a student and a master.” He says while pointing between her and himself. 

A loud sigh of exasperation leaves her, and he can’t help the quirk to his lips as an adorable look of inconvenience passes across her face.

“Fine.” She says with exaggerated slowness. “But if you start getting any ideas, this is off.” She says gesturing between the two of them. 

As he walks back to the dorms, satisfaction settles in his chest, maybe this entire endeavor will be easier than he thought. 

___________

“Why the fuck does he always get to be the one to do this?” Bodhi whines as he looks between the other two boys.

“Because you don’t know how to operate when I tell you no feelings involved.” Xaden snaps back, irritated to have to explain this to Bodhi once again. 

Garrick sits on the chair, looking entirely too smug for his own good. “Last time we told you to do something like this, you ended up confessing in the first week.” Garrick’s snark is smart, though he isn’t about to pass the chance up to entertain the newly appointed logs master for Emmetterio. 

“But I was only eleven! And she’s way out of Garrick’s league.” Bodhi continues in protest. 

Garrick’s nose wrinkles, a look of aggravation stealing across his face. “She’s not out of my league. She’s beautiful and you’re just jealous.”

They all know this conversation is ridiculous. Are more than aware they shouldn’t be speaking about any woman this way, but this isn’t just for sport, it’s for survival. 

“She’s more than out of your league considering the display that she made in the dining hall two months ago.” Bodhi points his finger to both accusatorily. 

It doesn’t take much to drum up the memory of her walking up to Railan and slamming his face into his mashed potatoes, completely unprovoked. Or that he ended up in the infirmary with a broken wrist after she challenged him to a spar. Only for everyone to learn later that he had cheated on her with a scribe. 

“That’s different. I’m not going to cheat on her, just make her think I’m interested, get to know her and break up eventually – nothing more, nothing less. I just need her to trust me, if I get to bed her while at it, so be it.” The confidence radiating off Garrick coming in thick waves, assured that this whole plan will be easy. His earlier achievement with her solidifying his bravado.

“Quit the fucking bickering.“ Xaden commands, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “You flirt with her, train with her, get her to bring you to the faculty offices and check the logs. We only need the information every two weeks. No one needs to be in a relationship, garner feelings, learn about childhoods or share secrets. This is just meant to be a simple transaction.”

Bodhi and Garrick look at Xaden and exchange their own glances, his entire description clearly hitting on something he’s done before. 

“She’s not fucking Catriona, Xaden. I’ve spoken to her before, and she doesn’t deserve to be used like that.”

“Maybe not, but we didn’t deserve our fate either, yet here we are.” With the words out of Xaden’s mouth, they all go silent. There isn’t any arguing with that, no way to brook a rebuttal when no one bothered to do it for any of them at the respective ages of sixteen and seventeen. 

“I already spoke with her today. She’s going to train me with lances and I’m going to get the weapons proficiency. If we train enough, there’s no way not to break her down at some point.” The plan seems simple enough, train and get the information they need. Besides, Garrick has enough women banging on his door, having to settle for a friendly relationship won’t be an issue. 

___________

“You’re late Tavis.” She calls as the lance sails through the air landing square in the mat at his feet. The version of the weapon a crude one compared to the intricate piece standing tall next to the woman who is currently glaring at him. 

“Didn’t know that it was imperative to be here at the exact moment asked.” It’s a ridiculous comment, he knows well enough that if someone says a specific time, it’s always abided by. However, he couldn’t help the run to the forge that kept him longer than he was hoping. 

“You are a soldier, aren’t you? If nothing else, you should know by now punctuality is not a request, it’s a demand.” Garrick’s blood continues to heat, the forceful nature of her words and her air of confidence lighting a fire he isn’t here to stroke. 

“Well then I guess you’ll just have to punish me with some grueling drills I suppose.”

She doesn’t even wait, words that were meant to be playful striking a chord he didn’t know there was to stroke, before slicing forward with the triple blade at the end. Garrick staggers back, caught off guard by the ferocity of her reply to his teasing words. 

“I told you before, I’m not here to flirt. If you want to work, then fine, otherwise, don’t waste my time.” Her words cut as sharp as the blade she wields. Garrick nods in acknowledgment, the challenge to focus singing the song of battle in his blood. 

“Grab the lance and take your fighting stance. Let’s see exactly what you have down already.” 

As she retakes her stance, the fight in her eyes burning, Garrick can’t help but think how impossibly attractive she is. Battle lines sharp, eyes even keener, yet posture relaxed, as if she’s been fighting for her life far longer than she leads on. He can’t help the way his eyebrow quirks, its possible they have more in common than he thinks.

___________

Days turn into weeks, and Wednesday evenings begin to be his favorites. The routine one he dares to hope for, a lesson with a woman not afraid to claim her readiness for war. A weapon in both her sharp edges and even sharper tongue. Though he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit it was the cooling off after weapons practice that was truly his favorite. 

Her eyes that once only studied him in suspicion begin to soften, a recognition and appreciation of their time spent together. Perhaps it was because he was an eager student, always latching on to each lesson and trying to perfect the technique before their next session. Or perhaps it was the way in which she began to reveal the softness that still resonated under the sharp exterior. 

Another Wednesday, another day when he pulled his strength, reining it in so she always had a slight upper hand. 

“When are you going to use your full strength?” She asks breathlessly.

Garrick can’t hide his surprise, brows shooting up as he turns back to face her again. She gives him a look back that screams please, you don’t think I noticed, come now. For once in his life, Garrick feels sheepish. Most girls he’d been with never thought much about his power or his body as a weapon, well everyone except Imogen, but they’d known each other since childhood. 

For a moment he’s speechless, how can he explain that he’d been going easy without explaining why he was there in the first place. But even then, was that why he continued showing up every Wednesday?

He blinks, clearing away the surprise before falling back to his usual teasing. “Didn’t think you were ready to handle all of me?”

He watches as her brow rises in surprise and sarcasm. She’s less than impressed with his retort, he can read that plainly on her face. Though he doesn’t even have the chance to reply when she rolls to the side and swipes the lance under his feet, blades slicing through the leather of the mat. 

She doesn’t stop there either, letting the weapons arc and come full circle, blunt edge heading straight for his head. Arms raise in instinct to block, reverberations shooting through his arms as the weapons clash. Though it’s the crack that suddenly begins that has him looking up. Without warning, the wooden shaft splinters and fractures in too many directions. 

“Shit!” She calls as he stumbles back trying to clear his vision from the shards. Falling on his backside, the impact rocking the cuts now marring his arms. 

“Fuck.” Garrick groans out as he tries to still his eyes, a shard clearly roving uninvited in his eye. Eyes still closed, he can feel a tentative hand land on his shoulder, making his head turn.

“Hey, it’s just me.” She calls out in a soothing voice he’d never heard from her before. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

“There’s a shard stuck in there somewhere. Having a hard time opening it.” He responds in the direction of her hand that still rests on his shoulder.

“Okay. Can you lay down and I’m going to get some water to try and wash it out.” Her hand leaves him; a sudden coldness meets the skin where it was resting. 

In seconds, he hears the familiar click of boots and the squeal of leather as she kneels next to him, the unmistakable slosh of water greeting his ears. 

“Is it both eyes or just one in particular?”

Garrick moves both, and the right sings in pain. “Seems to just be the right side.”

“Try to open your eye just a little so the water can wash through. It’s cold so it may sting a little, and I’m sorry for that.” She says as one arm rests on his face, cradling it towards her and the sounds of water.

A sudden gasp leaves him as the icy water begins to meander down his face and over his eye. A finger begins idly stroking his cheek, a move he’s unsure if she even realizes she’s doing. Minutes later, the feeling of water sluicing over his face fades and he feels her palm drag down the side of his face. 

“Can you try moving your eyes again and see if that did the trick?” Her voice is tentative, apologetic in a way he’d never heard from anyone. 

Through closed lids he tentatively moves them left and right, there’s still discomfort in one, but the worst of the pain has dissipated. 

“I think you got it out.” Garrick replies as he begins to flutter his eyes open, readjusting to the brightness of the sparring gym. 

Vision focusing, his eyes find her face, concern painting her features from above and he thinks it might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His eyes flare in shock at his own thoughts, a mental reprimand – no feelings he reminds himself. 

“Does it still hurt?” Her voice doesn’t raise, the concern still peaked through every word. “We should probably get you to the healers, just in case.”

Her hand moves down his arm, a gentle coaxing touch, before she grabs his hand and begins to pull him forward. Garrick opens his eyes in a squint while watching her actions carefully. As soon as he’s standing, he pulls his hand away feeling scorched by the heat of her hand. 

“Sorry.” She says as though she takes the blame for the entire incident. “Do you want me to help you to the healers? I understand if not.”

He can’t believe the way she has seemed to curl into herself, her usual commanding presence turning unsure. A pang surges through his chest, and he rubs at it without understanding why. 

“You know that wasn’t your fault, right?” His words are quiet, holding the hope to soothe the discomfort that seems to run through her.

“Well, either way, I am sorry.” She repeats as she begins to pick up the shards that litter the space around him.

Garrick is unsure how to move forward. He tries to wrack his brain for moments like this, but soon realizes that no one has apologized to him, especially not in Basgiath. Why apologize to the son of a traitor? A traitor himself. Why apologize to someone who moves from bed to bed, never staying long enough to matter?

Gods. Has he really just forgotten how to be human?

Instead of acknowledgment, he just moves. Walks towards the doors of the sparring room only turning for a second to look back as the doors close behind him. 

______________

“What did you do to her?” Bodhi’s voice greets Garrick as he continues towards the battle brief room.

“What the hell are you on about? Who her?” Bodhi gives him an unimpressed look in return as they both enter into the room. 

Without trying, his eyes roam the room, looking for a woman who showed him more compassion than the average person here. Garrick can’t help the way his shoulders tense when his eyes finally land on her. Instead of her usual proud stance, her shoulders curl in slightly, and he doesn’t miss the white bandages that wrap tightly across her knuckles. Eyes narrowing as they finally clock the blood that has begun to seep through the white cloth. 

“You know damned well who I’m referring to.” Bodhi’s head cocks to the side as he follows Garrick’s line of sight. “Heard through the grapevine that her squadmate found her in the gym beating the punching bag like she has a vendetta against it.”

Garrick turns looking at Bodhi, expecting to see the laughter in his eyes and the lie, but it’s not there. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Well since you were the last one, she spoke to and she told her squadmate that she just lost track of time while training, I’m just assuming.”

Garrick’s eyes swing towards her again, not believing that she would punish herself for something that wasn’t her fault. But, he understood the compulsion better than most. What was there if you didn’t punish yourself for the one’s you couldn’t protect? Gods, he, Xaden, and Bodhi were walking advertisements for doing just that. 

For the second time since he was tasked with this, he felt his chest tighten, the thought of inflicting more pain on you tearing at his insides. 

“Regretting your assignment yet?” Bodhi prods as he studies Garrick’s face. 

Garrick just scoffs in response, but they both know he agrees without even speaking. He needs to move this along and get in and out of it as fast as possible. The last thing he wants is to inflict more pain than necessary. 

He tries to concentrate through battle brief, but he can’t get her bloodied knuckles out of his mind. His fist closes around the pen that he has poised on parchment, the creaking of the force on it dragging looks from Xaden and Bodhi. 

Taking a deep breath, Garrick adjusts himself, letting his eyes slide shut to get away from the incessant want to look her way. Bodhi’s snicker makes his eyes open and he glares back at him while he feels Xaden lean closer.

“Should I have Bodhi take over?” The question is quiet, but it causes Garrick’s heart to race erratically. 

“No.” He says, almost too quickly to be casual.

Xaden doesn’t ask anything else, just sits back in his chair. 

As soon as Devera closes her lecture, Garrick is on his feet, striding to the nearest column. He watches as cadets file out, unaware that he still stands there. When the familiar fall of hair passes, his hand shoots out and wraps snugly around her wrist, halting her movements. 

She whirls, dagger raised in defense, blood beginning to drip from her hand at the pull of the action on her wounds. Garrick isn’t surprised, he doesn’t try to defend himself, he knows that she’s used to being hunted. It’s showcased in the way she trains, how she constantly battles to be better, to perfect every movement. 

He watches as her eyes widen in shock, moving quickly to apology and remorse, to finally settle on irritation. “Is there a reason you go grabbing people like that?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” He rushes out, knowing that if he doesn’t push through it, he’ll never give her what he should have yesterday. “I shouldn’t have left like that after you helped. It wasn’t your fault, and I never thought it was.”

Garrick is mesmerized as he watches her ire soften, the ridge of tension in her shoulders easing as he continues to talk. 

“And I wanted to see if you’d like to hang out after dinner.” Her eyes are now narrowing again, but this time trying to read exactly what he’s trying to say. “No weapons. No flirtations. Just talking to smooth over everything and get to know each other outside of the shattering of weapons.”

She continues to study him, clearly trying to parse out if he is lying or not. Garrick doesn’t move, his facial expressions don’t change, every single thing is as neutral as it possibly can be. After moments, she sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose.

“Fine.” She huffs out before pointing her finger at him. “But no funny business, or I walk.”

With that comment she turns and heads back towards her squad, her closest friend wrapping her arm around her and pulling her away. Garrick watches as she walks away, appreciation lighting up his features as she moves farther from view.

“How hard are you going to try to flirt with her now?” Xaden asks as he follows Garrick’s line of sight to the two girls heading to their other classes.

“Not at all.” Garrick turns his head to Xaden and quirks an eyebrow at his best friend. 

“You mean to tell me that she truly got you to keep it in your pants?”

The words are all accusation, and Garrick wants to deny it, but he can’t, his own reputation warranted. 

“She asked me not to, so I won’t. I just need to get back on equal footing after yesterday and this is the best way to get into her good graces again. Besides, if we start hanging out, maybe she’ll finally drag me to see those logs.”

Xaden shakes his head in agreement as they both begin walking to their next class.

___________

“You’re lying.” She says, though the amusement dancing in her eyes and the smirk on her lips belies her words. 

“No, I’m not.” Garrick chuckles as he leans his head back on his forearm. Gone is the hard and stoic soldier, the constant tease, and he’s peeled back the veneers and let her see him. The real him.

“You mean to tell me that you ate an entire chocolate cake yourself, in less than an hour, just because you didn’t want to share with Xaden?” She repeats, still incredulous.

“You, my dear, haven’t seen Xaden with chocolate cake.” The minute the words leave his mouth, her head tilts back, a harmonizing melody of laughter slipping from her lips. 

The smile of amusement plastered on his face falls, though it gives way to something softer, a look of complete adoration. A look he’s never given any other woman. The sound reverberates through his bones, lighting up the hollows of his chest that have been vacant since losing his mother. 

As her laughter begins to fade, she looks back at him, a question in her eyes.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” The words roll off his tongue, the truth lined in every word. The smile that tugs at his lips is impossible to hide as he watches her face flush, pink dusting her full cheeks. 

She falls onto the grass next to him, hands trying to hide the flush still rising on her face. “Are you sure you aren’t flirting?” Question coming out muffled from the fingers covering her mouth. 

“I promise.” His own laugh answers as he goes to move one of her hands. “You asked me not to and I’ll always respect your wishes.”

She finally brings her hands away from her face and faces him again. 

“Thank you.” She whispers as a soft smile curves her lips, both of them falling in a contended conversation. 

____________

“I feel like I’m going fucking insane. The numbers were correct a week ago and now we’re short another thirty.” She grumbles as she sits at her desk, Garrick making himself at home on the floor of her room. 

A month of trading stories, sparring, and general friendliness has turned into nights together. 

“Bring it down here and let me take a look.” Garrick says, his voice coated in a lazy nonchalance.

She looks between him and the sheet between her fingers, a dip creasing between her brows. “I’m not supposed to show this to anyone other than Emetterio.” She comments worrying her bottom lip.

“I won’t say anything to anyone.” Garrick hopes his tone is comforting, because the lie is beginning to make his own throat constrict.

“Fine.” She concedes before adding. “But if you do, you have to promise to never eat chocolate cake again.”

Garrick gasps at her, his hand covering his heart. “How dare you threaten my favorite dessert!” The mock exasperation paints his voice and expression, but her own is serious.

“Fine.” He grumbles finally. 

She sits on the floor next to him, scooting to meet his own shoulders. The touch sends a shiver skating through his body; he looks over to find her poised over the paper trying desperately to reconcile the numbers correctly. 

For an hour they pour over the numbers. His eyes roam the entire report, soaking in every bit of information he can. 

“Are you sure they didn’t miscalculate the raw material available or utilize too much? That could explain the lack of weaponry, correct?” He tries to explain away the missing daggers, full well knowing they are sitting in a bag in Xaden’s armoire. 

“That may be true, it seems like the smiths are getting a little heavy handed in their weapons skills. This has been happening since I was assigned to help Emetterio. It’s the whole reason that I was given the assignment.” She ponders, giving him more information that he’d ever thought he’d get from her. 

They sit there looking over the numbers more, but neither comes up with any other explanations, both eventually returning back to their own assignments. The guilt that wasn’t there before begins to gnaw at Garrick’s thoughts, he knows the true answer, is aware why the logs will never be correct, but his lips remained sealed. 

Her yawn cuts through the companionable silence that had descended on them, the only other sound the scribble of pens as they both continued to work.

“I think I’m going to head to bed.” She says as another yawn slips past. 

Garrick rises, gathering his things into his own pack. As he rises to his full height, he sees that she’s stepped closer and his eyes get caught on her lips. The sudden urge to capture her soft pink mouth with his own. 

He turns, the thought still lingering. As she opens the door, Garrick turns back, in his mind intending only to say good night, but without thinking he leans down and softly touches her lips with his own. It isn’t anything like the usually stormy kisses, ones exchanged in passion and desperation, just looking for release. 

This is sweet, caring, and the opposite of every single thing he should be doing. Garrick pulls back, apology sitting on his tongue. But, before he can speak, her hand threads through his hair and yanks him back towards her. Their lips meet again, it still isn’t hot, still a little tentative, but there’s no denying the fire that has begun to spread in every vein. 

When they part again, her face is flushed, a beautiful blush rising to her cheeks and a sweet smirk crosses his lips. 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She asks tentatively, as if dreading the response.

“Of course, if you want to.” Garrick replies, before bending down and stealing one more kiss. 

The only response she gives is a shy smile as she slowly closes the door to her room. A smile tears at his face, dimple on full display as he revels in this turn of events. Boots clicking through the stairwell as he returns to the third-year floor.

Though the minute he opens his own door, it drops as Xaden sits in his chair, clearly waiting on a report. 

“Getting in too deep there, Tavis?” His smirk is dirty, a knowing look that Garrick hates. 

Garrick refuses to answer, to play Xaden’s game. He tasked him with finding out information, and he will, but he wants to keep her too. There must be a way to keep both.

“They’re aware of the discrepancy between the ore their producing and the weapons that are fired. Though it seems like the smiths are being blamed for being heavy-handed.” Garrick report, monotoned. He refuses to give anything else but the facts he learned, Xaden doesn’t need to know he kissed her.

Xaden doesn’t need to know that the minute she pulled him forward that Garrick knew he was in trouble. Knew that he was treading a wire he never wanted to be put on. 

“Probably should hold off on pilfering anything for a week or so, let the numbers wash out correctly.” Xaden nods as Garrick continues, they have to be practical in order to operate under the noses of the Basgiath cadre. 

“Agreed.” Xaden says rising from the chair. “Keep it up, seems like your little project is starting to trust you.”

���Don’t call her that.” Garrick snaps as Xaden walks into the hall. 

Xaden’s brow quirks at the response. “It wouldn’t be good to get involved, you know. Things like this always end badly.”

“Says the king of no feelings.” Garrick grumbles as he turns and closes the door in his best friend’s face.

He’s aware this isn’t ideal, that he’s going to have even more secrets to hide, but gods, he doesn’t want to give you up. Not just yet.

 ______________________

“Hey there.” Garrick greets as he opens her door. 

Her smile in response lights up every tired part of his heart. Stepping in, he takes in the simplicity, not just in the décor of the space, but also the ease that she exudes. His body begins to sag in exhaustion.

How long has it been since he’s had a good night’s sleep?

She rises from her chair, hair loose and swaying, light training clothes hugging each curve of her body as she strides quickly towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him down to her level. 

“Hi.” She breathes after she kisses him quickly. 

She takes his hand and brings Garrick further into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

“Glad to be back from being pulled to the midlands?” She asks as Garrick sinks down on her bed, slotting herself between his parted legs. 

The lie hits him in the chest and he drags her forward, burying his guilt into her stomach. His own stomach turns sour, churning at his own lies. Calloused hands splay across her back, anchoring himself to her, desperate to chase away the lies and demons clinging to his skin.

“Glad to be with you.” He breathes as he hugs her tighter, the tension from the drop finally releasing from his shoulders.

“That bad?” Her words are soft, her voice the only real thing in his life. 

“At this point, I think anything that involves days away from you may just be the worst.” Garrick grumbles as his thumbs trace circles into her lower back. 

The sweet sound of laughter greets his ears, and he pulls himself back, every ounce of hardness melting at the musical reverberation. His eyes light up at the sound, warmth pouring back in after days without her. Garrick can’t help himself, can’t stop the need to erase any distance between him. 

He pulls her down, a shriek of giggles following as she lands on top of him in the bed. In a flash he as her back to the bed and leans over her, head resting on his palms.

“Never stop laughing.” He whispers as he pushes hair from her cheeks, pink with the remnants of happiness. 

“Are you getting sentimental, Section Leader?” The question is meant to be teasing, but the smile on her face makes it all too real. 

“I don’t know about sentimentality, but I’m not sure if the sun would be quite as bright without that beautiful sound.” 

Their eyes meet and Garrick can barely breathe around the tightness in his chest. Her eyes are a beautiful mélange of adoration and love, emotions that he’s never thought would be directed at him. Her hand rises and she cups his cheek, the tenderness causing him to melt into her touch. 

“Let’s get some sleep. You’ve been out a while and need it.” She says as she continues to map his face with her hand. He leans into her, head resting on her chest as her hand moves through his hair. 

Garrick’s arms tighten around her as the precarious situation with the woman underneath his cheek begins to plague his mind. 

“Please stay.” The words are barely a whisper, but no less a plea. Want wrapped up in utter desperation. He isn’t even sure she heard him, her heartbeat steady and hand tangled in his curls.

“Always.” It’s returned on barely a whisper as he hears her breathing even out. At that, his arms wrap around her, impossibly closer, clawing desperately to hold onto something he feels like he’s already lost. 

________________

“How’s your new toy, Tavis?” Imogen questions as she appears in the training gym, the smirk on her face indicating there’s more to the question than just face value.

“What are you on about Imogen?” His words are curt, being up since dawn on leadership meetings cutting his patience thin. 

“Didn’t know if you’ve seen her today. She seemed to be on a warpath of sorts when she stormed through the dining hall earlier.” Garrick’s eyes narrow, suspicion growing uncomfortably. 

He studies Imogen’s face, the too-satisfied smirk, the eagerness to engage in whatever this question entails causing his hackles to rise. Without waiting on Imogen’s convoluted skirting of the topic, he storms out of the training gym, sure-footed steps taking him to the familiar door that he’s spent so many hours behind. 

Before reaching the handle, his hand is moving, lesser magic working to click the lock, but as Chradh’s magic flows, nothing happens. The door, the very same door he opened yesterday, stays stubbornly closed. He swallows hard, heart tightening as if a fist has been wrapped around the organ, uncertainty weaving through every breath he takes. 

Garrick knocks, three times, a fourth, and still nothing. The door remains stubbornly closed, not a hint of movement on the other side. 

“Don’t think you’ll find her in there. And even if you did, I doubt she’d let you in.” Imogen’s words are filled with satisfaction, the kind that means his own world is breaking. 

“What the fuck happened?” Garrick snarls, worry and fury melding equally wrapping a fist around his throat.

A snarled chuckle is returned, Imogen straightening in the doorway across. “I believe Xaden may be the one who should be answering your question.” Her only words before opening her own door and disappearing through the threshold. 

Garrick doesn’t stop, taking the staircase, two at a time, pace frantic. He doesn’t knock, doesn’t wait for Xaden’s command to enter, no that is for civilized conversations, and this one is decidedly not.

“What the fuck did you do, Riorson?” Garrick’s furious gaze takes in the room. Xaden sat in his chair at his desk, Liam hovering behind, and Bodhi comfortable on the bed. 

Liam and Bodhi turn when the door slams open, eyes widened in shock, but Xaden doesn’t even turn his head. 

“I did what you were supposed to do two months ago.” Xaden’s tone is flat, a finality to the words that has the panic in Garrick’s throat tightening. “Or let her overhear it at least.”

Garrick’s entire world stops. The words clanging in his brain but making absolutely no sense.

“Overhear, what?” The whispered snarl drips venom, fury rising faster than the ocean tide. 

“Bodhi, Liam, go.” Xaden orders to the two other men, but Garrick doesn’t trust himself.

“No, you stay.”

Xaden lifts a challenging brow, but it’s the only emotion revealed before he turns back to his desk. 

“I let her overhear Bodhi and I discussing the shortages that were on the logs. Let her realize that the secret she told you to keep wasn’t a secret at all.” The explanation is blasé, every word rolling off Xaden’s tongue as if he’s only discussing the weather. 

Red. Everything is fucking red. 

Garrick’s temper flares and he turns and pounds his fist into the door, splintering the wood in several spots. Breathing ragged, he turns back to the men in the room, eyes narrowed in a deathly glare.

“When the fuck will it be time for you to keep the fuck out of everything in our lives? You can’t dictate the people we choose to be with. Fuck, Xaden! Just because you want to be fucking miserable and pine over the General’s fucking daughter, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to!” 

Xaden shoots out of his chair, both men facing off, fury radiating in a wave of heat the temperature of dragon fire. 

“I’ll keep out of everything when the scars rest on your back, Garrick.” The words are low, in tone and threat. 

Garrick’s nostrils flare and eyes widen. This, this is what it always boils down to. The threat that will forever hang over their heads. 

“How about you two settle this like normal, in the sparring gym?” Liam suggests as he slowly approaches the two men.

“No. I’m tired of this. Of this looming threat every time we don’t fall in fucking line.” Garrick presses, rising to his full height, making use of the inches he has on his best friend. “I’m your best friend. I’ve always listened, followed orders, gotten you out of scrapes, helped move along plans, but when is it fucking enough, Xaden? When will our debt to you be paid?”

“Do we all have to be miserable and alone, hopping from bed to bed for the rest of our lives because something worth dying for is dangerous to you? You sit here and dictate Liam to follow around Sorrengail. You say its for protection, but hell, we all know you’re in love with her.” Xaden’s shock registers for only seconds, the emotion gone in a blink.

“Even if Liam’s interested in someone, how can he compete with the schedule you gifted him? She has an entire fucking squad and every single one of your circle constantly protecting her, at what cost? Living, Xaden, at the cost of living!” Words begin tumbling out, the grief of something Garrick may have lost pushing him past restraint. 

“And you do what? Take away the one thing I had that didn’t feel like a burden, that brought back a little bit of peace. Why? Because for once, I was happy? For once I didn’t have to rely on flirtation and sarcasm to feel something. Godsdamnit, Xaden – just why?” The fight has drained. 

Fury giving way to resignation and sadness. Garrick turns, not giving any of them to speak, and walks out the door. His steps don’t falter, each one beginning to fill his boots with lead. The threat of what he expects to find burying itself in worry. 

But as he searches every single nook and cranny of Basgiath, he comes up empty. It’s as though she has disappeared. At the dining hall in the evening, he searches again, his heart in his throat as he waits to face the punishment for the way he used her. Frantic responses roll about in his head, any way that he can possibly rectify the situation. 

_______________

Words and ideas are wasted as days pass and there is still no sign of her. Her door still inaccessible, her form missing every battle brief, the sparring gym bereft with no logs being taken regarding weaponry. The walls scream as they seem to shrink with each day that passes.

Garrick watches her squad, noting the way they even search for the familiar face. A gnawing unease begins to eat at his very being. It isn’t just their relationship, but what if someone else heard Xaden, heard that she had broken protocol.

Worst cases begin to swirl in Garrick’s mind, closing his eyes, all he can see is her bloody and broken, chained because of his choices. 

‘Is Cois in the Vale?’ Garrick questions Chradh as the third day of nothing comes to a close.

‘Your human squabbles are not my responsibility.’ The grumpy brown replies, though there’s no real bite.

‘Please Chradh. I need to find her.’ The words are an appeal to the brown’s loyalty. 

‘Cois is in the Vale. But she will not share any details, unless you want her to continue trying to snap my neck.’ The response does nothing to soothe the worry in Garrick’s mind. 

Garrick breaks out into the courtyard, steps desperate to find something to settle his mind. Before he makes his tenth stride, pacing across each stone, light footsteps skirting rocks along the cobbled path. His eyes rise and his heart stops. 

She stands there, bloody from head to toe, hair mussed with dirt and grime, leathers torn and barely clinging to her form. Her steps continue, slow and overly measured, trying to push past pain. One of her eyes so bruised, it is sealed shut, cuts marring her beautiful face. 

When awareness finally hits again, Garrick is moving, strides eating up the distance in seconds, but a panicked voice makes him stop. 

“No.” The word leaves her lips, but pain and fear are etched across her face. She tries to straighten, stand up to her full height, but Garrick doesn’t miss the small hiss of pain. 

Garrick’s hand rises, his palms itching to hold her, to touch her and make sure she’s truly standing in front of him. 

“I said no.” The words are more forceful this time, malice sliding into her voice. 

“I asked you to keep what I told you to yourself. Didn’t think I needed to explain that I would be punished if anyone else found out about it. I trusted you, thought giving you my trust meant something in return.” She shakes her head, as if disappointed by herself. “I didn’t know that I was just a fucking project for you to pretend with. Just a little plaything for whatever you and Riorson have going on.”

Her eyes land on a point behind her, but Garrick can barely breathe, let alone focus on anything else.

“So, I hope you enjoy what your little game cost. Maybe next time you and your best friend will consider the people that will have to face the consequences of your actions. But I should commend you, Tavis, I truly thought you cared about me. Thought all the rumors of the quadrant were really a lie.”

An indignant huff leaves her lips, the split on them opening back up. “More fool me, I guess, just another pawn in whatever game you enjoy playing. So bravo, I hope you enjoyed every minute of it.”

Her eyes move, a form coming and stepping up next to her.

“Let’s get you to the healers.” Her squadmate says while glaring at Garrick. 

Everything comes crashing down. Her words settling into every broken crevice. Garrick swallows, trying desperately to give voice to anything, but the words are stuck in his throat. Every apology, every damn wish to make it better, to take her place, burning like bile as it sits, not making it past his lips. 

Instead, he watches as she limps away, watches as she drags his heart along with her. Wild energy coils inside him, the force making his entire body vibrate. Before he can blink, he’s entered the training room, walked up to the nearest punching bag, and the next sound that greets his ears is skin hitting leather as he blasts each bag past its point. His mind races as the skin on his knuckles begins to burn, fingers fracturing the only feeling that can get past the barriers of his anger, his misery. 

Garrick doesn’t know how long he stays there, how long he lets his blood pool on the floor, skin torn from his knuckles. It isn’t until exhaustion begins to settle, reality clawing its way back in, but the pain from his split skin is nothing. Nothing compared to the pieces his own heart has fallen into. 

“You should get those bloodied knuckles mended. Doesn’t look good for a Section Leader to let anger get the best of him.” Xaden’s words float to him, Garrick turning to see him settled on the wall closest to the door. 

Garrick scoffs, ire still burning between them. He walks towards the door, intent on ignoring Xaden like they have been for the last few days. But before he crosses the threshold, he turns, eyes hard.

“I pray to Amari that you never have to see the woman you love beaten and bloodied for your actions. For all the things you never told her. Eye swollen shut because you’re just another traitor. Beautiful face full of cuts and bruises, that even when mended will leave a mark on your soul.” He pauses, letting his words settle between them. “Because no matter what you do, no matter how much time passes, no one and nothing will be able to take that mark away. The mark that your love left on her, and not one of gentle compassion and devotion, one that mars you both.” 

Garrick walks away then, lets their choices settle between them. The true cost of rebellion, the cost of war.

________________

Garrick tries desperately to seek her out. To plead his case and tell her that she was never a project, that his need for her was never something he faked. It was the only real thing he had for himself.

Every time, she is surrounded by squadmates, by loyal friends that help pick up her pieces when they learned of his betrayal. He knows that he isn’t worthy, he never may be, but it doesn’t change the way that his entire being cries out for the chance to be with her again. To feel her nimble fingers tangle in his curls, her melodic laugh reverberate through his chest. All the quiet ways in which she showed him love. 

The older years gather in the sparring gym, challenges resumed on a higher level, skills expertise being analyzed by the professors. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her. 

Garrick’s hands fist when her opponent is called. 

Oswyn. Fucking Del Oswyn. The man that had been trailing her for months after she slammed her ex’s head into the table. The smile that lights up Oswyn’s face is the very definition of sinister, the gleam in his eye pleased amusement. 

Garrick watches as she walks to the mat, posture rigid, but held with power and purpose. She wasn’t quite as aware of Oswyn’s attempts, especially since Garrick gave him a black eye when he found him watching her through the door of the sparring gym one night. After that Oswyn backed off, clearly not willing to mess with the threats Garrick had levelled.

But now, now he wasn’t there, wasn’t a barrier to all the other men that would seek to use or hurt her. It didn’t matter; he would do anything to make sure that Oswyn played by the rules. There was no doubt in Garrick’s mind that she could take down Oswyn, but he was also aware that Oswyn wasn’t beyond playing dirty. 

They circled each other, the familiar dance of sparring, opponents sizing up each other, looking for weakness, any way to gain the advantage. He only caught it because of the scrutiny, the slight hitch in Oswyn’s stance, the indicator that something was hidden, a weapon he didn’t normally keep there. 

She lunged, fist aimed squarely for his jaw, but a quick step to the left and he was out of reach. She countered, body swerving quickly to follow his retreat. Oswyn’s boot came up, the glint of metal streaking and before anyone could react, it swiped through her ribs. 

Garrick could only watch as the pain stole across her face, hand gripping her side, blood seeping through her fingers. She didn’t fall. With her left hand, she grabbed the curved dagger at her side, a weapon clearly made solely for its wielder. The blade cut across his boot, hidden dagger falling to the ground. 

A scream tore through her lips as she sliced the blade across his knee, bringing him to the mat. Oswyn tried to swipe for her feet, but a dagger was flung, holding the sleeve of his arm to the floor. 

“He yields.” Emetterio announces. 

She turns; familiar eyes meeting Garrick’s with triumph. Before she can spin away, her face crumples and everyone around them erupts. Garrick looks down at Oswyn and a malicious look runs across his face, before she falls to her knees. 

Garrick’s eyes widen as he sees the handle of the blade slotted through her back. Panic ceases his lungs, before his feet move. Anger turning him into a weapon, meant only for destruction, to inflict maximum pain on the ones that seek to hurt her.

Her squadmates rush to her, two lifting gently and quickly rushing out towards the healers. As soon as the doors swing shut, Garrick’s fist wraps around Oswyn’s throat, his other hand twisting and pulling the air from his lungs. Distant orders sound in his ears, but his focus is on the bastard in front of him. The one who may have just cost the life of the girl he would willingly trade his own for. Garrick’s face closes in on the fear filled eyes in front of him, a glare as sharp as the daggers strapped to his ribs.

“If you dare to lay another fucking hand on her, your life is forfeit. Challenge or not. You. Will. Die.” The last words are punctuated, a wrath of righteous fury running through his veins. 

As the last word leaves his lips, he closes his wielding fist and releases his grip on Oswyn’s throat. He steps back two steps, the picture of control, though the hazel in his eyes has hardened to a molten gold. Walking away from the mat, he slams the doors open and walks out, steps firm and steady, but his heart beats wildly in his chest. 

Approaching the bridge to the healer’s quadrant, he sees the shadows move, whisps beginning to drag over his feet. His steps halt, head turning slightly, finding Xaden standing a few feet behind. 

“You need to go back to your post.” Xaden’s words are command and directive wrapped into one.

“No.” Garrick replies, finality sweeping through the word as he continues to look over his shoulder. “I’ve let you decree enough of my life. I’ll always be there to stand by your side and help in every way I can, but I will no longer let it be at her expense.”

With that, Garrick moves, steps continuing to carry him forward to the healer’s quadrant. Opening the doors, he’s met with chaos, light blue robes fluttering in every direction. He scans the hall, looking for any sign of black and continually comes up short.

The next time a healer passes in front of him, his hand shoots out, blocking her from escaping. “I’m looking for a rider that was brought in with a knife in her back. Where is she?”

He doesn’t even register the words he says, the actuality slicing through his own heart.

“I believe she’s in with Nolon. They aren’t allowing anyone in, you can wait outside with the other two that brought her in, if you stay out of the way.” The healer recites before flitting away to another duty.  

Garrick’s boots clip against the stone floor, footsteps heavy, echoing the dread that has clawed up his throat since he watched her face crumple. Wrath and fury turning to panic and dread. 

The familiar forms of her squadmates come into view, both turning to observe the newcomer. 

“If you’re here to drive the knife in further, you can turn around right now Section Leader.” The honorific slips from the man’s lips like a slur, Calvin or Caylin, he can’t remember. 

“I’m here to make sure she’s alright, Cadet.” Garrick isn’t afraid of him, but he won’t spit in the face of the way her squad cares for her either. “She can tell me to leave once she’s healed and awake.”

_________________

Minutes turn into hours, the agony of waiting pulsing under Garrick’s skin. He’s unsure when he started, but the dagger continues to twirl end over end as he waits outside the door. The hall is too quiet, no sound reverberating from outside the door, healers walking in and out, somber expressions plastered to their faces, bloodied sheets wrapped in their hands. 

As he focuses on another set of red stained sheets, his throat works, trying to swallow down the chance that he may never see her open her eyes ever again. But just as he begins walking the line of worst case scenarios, Nolon walks out. Every inch of the older man is sunken, tired from the toll of mending, shoulders hunched, exhaustion pulling at every feature. 

“She’s – stable.” The words are soft, meant to be reassuring, but the pause between says there’s more he isn’t saying. 

“She’s going to be unconsicious for some time.” He continues, his eyes turned down. “She lost a significant amount of blood and the blade knicked her kidney.”

Nolon looks up then, face somber, straight to her two squadmates. “If you wouldn’t have gotten her here when you did, I’m not sure she’d still be alive.”

Those words cause Garrick’s lungs to cease. The truth that he almost lost her a second time collapsing his carefully crafted control. He wants to rush to her, to beg her to wake up, to hit him, scream at him, hate him – anything. 

“You’re welcome to see her, but I’d suggest you all get some sleep. She’ll most likely be out for a day or so, if not longer.” Nolon’s words are supposed to be a comfort, to soothe the worry, but it does nothing to tamp the frantic nerves that still course through Garrick’s body. 

Nolon turns and walks towards another wing of the infirmary, but Garrick’s eyes stay on the door of her room. He can feel her squadmates look to him, they want to push him away, to make him leave, but he won’t, not until he can see the sunlight hit the familiar orbs that have been haunting him both waking and sleeping. 

“I’m assuming you aren’t going to leave her to rest, are you?” The words are inquisitive, the sharp edge that was there before dying slightly. 

“No. I’m not leaving until she’s awake.” The words are out of Garrick’s mouth as he steps forward, his hand resting hesitantly on the doorknob. “You both can rest, I’ll be here.”

He doesn’t wait for them to respond, hesitation finally wiped away as he pushes the door wide. Eyes settling on the form on the bed, all the blood rushes from his face. There, laid in the middle, is his girl that looks smaller than she ever has before. All color has leeched from her face, the normal warmth of her skin tone faded to a sickly hue. Her eyes are sunken in, deep purple bruises underneath her dark lashes. 

Garrick’s jaw tightens, his jaw feathering with held tension, every inch of his body locked. He wants to say it’s because of his control, because he can never let things slip, but it’s truly because the guilt is surging faster and harder than before. The woman he loves hurt because he wasn’t by her side.

He hesitated, didn’t move when he should have, didn’t predict the threat, even when it was right in front of him. The only thing moving him forward is the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the one thing holding him in the room and not running to kill Oswyn. Fuck the useless threats. 

His chest begins to match hers, her steady breathing dragging his feet closer and closer, until he’s next to her bed, his larger fingers curling around her own. It’s that contact that brings the control crashing down. 

Tears that he hadn’t shed since he watched his parents burn falling down his face in sheets. The truth behind every missed moment with her crashing all at once, the possibility that he would never be able to hear her beautiful laugh or watch her smile. Loss, grief, and heartbreak tumbled into hot tears that he wouldn’t dare show to anyone else. 

“Please, come back. Please.” Garrick can only plead as his forehead comes to rest on your intertwined hands. 

“Make me cross a gauntlet, fight ten opponents at once, bleed every ounce of blood I possibly can – just please come back to me.”

In the quiet of the room, tears still falling, words whispered in fierce desperation, Garrick’s heart cracks open. The organ that he had chained crumbling underneath the reality that she was never leaving the space. 

So, he sat there, day after day, until on the morning of the third day, her breathing picked up. Eyelids beginning to flutter, he rises from the chair, the ache of being in one spot too long stretching through his entire body.

As her eyes flutter open, the fear that never settled finally dulls at the edge, the recognizable color letting him finally take a full breath. 

Eyes squinting at the bright lights, he moves closer, hand ghosting over hers as to not frighten. 

“Welcome back to us.” His words are soft, the relief flooding through each word. 

Her head turns slowly as her mind begins to work again, she blinks fast and then realization must dawn, because he can see the walls rising in her eyes. 

“Wh – Why are you here?” The words are a rasp as she begins to cough lightly.

He turns and finds a glass of water, handing it to her while helping her sit up. As she sips the drink, she doesn’t move her eyes from his, clearly not wanting him here.

“I’ve been here since your fight. You should know that I’m not going to let anything hurt you.” Garrick’s words come out, his own eyes widening as realization dawns.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Unless it comes directly from you, right?”

Garrick can’t help the flinch. She hasn’t even been awake for ten minutes and already his own actions are biting back at him. 

“I never meant to hurt you.” His words just seem hollow, even to his own ears.

“For some reason I think that’s exactly what you expected to do.” Her snark isn’t unexpected, it’s warranted even. 

Garrick clears his throat trying to gather his own thoughts, he can admit to himself, this isn’t exactly going the way he wanted it to.

“Let me ex-“ Before he can even finish, her hand shoots out, stopping his thoughts.

“I don’t want your explanation. You broke my trust. You used me to get something and accomplished your task. How about we just leave it at that?”  As she turns away from him, Garrick wants to turn her back to him, to force her to listen. But he knows that she won’t give in or hear him if she doesn’t want to. 

Still, he refuses to leave without showing her that he truly does still need her. Damning the consequences, he leans down, breath ghosting over her temple and kisses her there. Not with heat, or passion, just with the gentle care that he’s determined to give her. To make her understand that it was truly real.

___________________

“Garrick, get up. Someone’s going to see you.” She says in a forceful whisper, eyes flitting to the left and right.

“No. I’m going to kneel here and beg until you let me at least explain myself.” The reply slips easily from his lips, he’s not above groveling and begging, not at this point. Over a week has passed since she returned from the infirmary and he can't stand it. He refuses not to be able to protect her any longer, for her not to know how important she is, how loved.

“You can’t let just anyone find one of the most feared riders in the quadrant on their knees.” She huffs as she steps forward and grabs the arm of his flight jacket, wrenching him to his feet.

“I don’t give a fuck who sees me. All I care about is you.” He says as she pulls him into her room and closes the door behind him. 

Not giving her a second to think, he’s on his knees again, this time his arms are around her waist bringing her to him. 

Gods. He’s missed her smell. Missed the way her body molded in his arms. Missed the way her hand fists in his hair as if its muscle memory, the place where it has always belonged.

“Please let me explain.” His words are muffled as he tries to bury himself in her stomach. Desperation mingling with a small slice of hope.

“What is there to explain? Xaden knew I was there, he knew I would hear everything he said. Your faithful leader showed your hand, what else is there?” Her words are clipped, forceful and too damn true.

“What you heard is true. Even if I want to take back every single ounce of them, you’re right.” Garrick gets out as he looks up at the woman he so desperately needs. “But there’s one thing that Xaden never accounts for. Fuck, something that I didn’t either – until you.”

“The reason for getting close may have been bullshit, but the minute you began to pull me into your orbit, it became the opposite – the excuse. The excuse for all the others to stay away, to let me get close to you. And as the days went by, I fell, I never intended to – but I did.”

“And I could have fucking killed Xaden when I found out, when I realized that he blew up every single thing I had because it wasn’t part of his plan.” Garrick rises, his hand coming up to cup the soft skin of her cheek. 

“You were never part of the idea, but gods, now you are my only plan. The only thing that makes sense in this death sentence. The one thing that keeps me wanting to come back home from war, to not be lost to dragon fire and battle.”

Her eyes searched back and forth as she looked up at him. Garrick didn’t know what she was looking for, but he hoped that she found it, hoped she believed how much he needed her. 

“Are you ready to scale the insurmountable mountain of proving that you’re really here because you want to be and not because of some directive?” She challenges, fire lighting up her eyes.

“I will scale anything you put in my way. I refuse to let a stupid fucking directive derail the one thing in my life that’s been only mine. And gods I hope you are still fucking mine.” 

Control is lost as Garrick surges forward, arms lifting her from the floor, wrapping around her waist and tugging her to him. His face gets lost in the crook of her neck, her familiar scent settling him in a way he hasn’t experienced in months. 

"And I'll keep my word, I promise no chocolate cake until you trust me again." Garrick can feel the way her lips quirk in his hair, the one indication that maybe, just maybe, she'll forgive him - eventually.

In that moment, he knows that he’ll protect Tyrrendor, his Duke, the continent, but never at the cost of her. 

.

.

Taglist: @ilovetomtailor@nevermoresworld@nastylicious@iambored24601@mysticalfuncollectorus@sadpieceofbread@alwayshave-faith@bestillmystuckyheart@luvly-writer@yuelhua@mitziix

[bananabreads]

Dad!lads with their children while they're exercising!

(⁠?⁠・⁠・⁠)⁠σ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier — Requests are open :)

Tumblr was lagging so bad.. i had to rewrite THIS WHOLE FIC four times before it finally posted.. TT

RAFAYEL —

Rafayel stirred awake, the warmth of your body against his was a temptation to stay in bed forever, and for a while, he did, just resting there, arms gently curled around your waist, nose brushing your hair.

But eventually, he had to get up and go have his exercise.

He carefully untangled himself from you, moving like a whisper so as not to wake you. After a kiss to your temple and a soft brush of his fingers against your cheek, he made his way to the closet, pulling on his usual black joggers and a black compression workout sleeveless shirt.

Before leaving the room, he returned to your side to whisper softly, "I'll just go for a morning jog, I'll be quick," planting another kiss on your forehead as you sleepily hummed in return.

The hallway was quiet and dim as he was just holding his bottle of water, but just as he passed by your daughter's room, the door creaked open.

Tiny footsteps padded toward him, and there she was, Seraphina, rubbing her eyes with one hand, the other reaching toward him.

“Daddy..? Where you doing..?” she asked sleepily, arms lifting for him to carry her.

A soft chuckle escaped him as he bent down and scooped her up.

“I’m just going for a quick morning jog, sweetie,” he said, brushing some hair away from her face as she nestled against his chest.

“Can I come..?” she mumbled, already melting into him.

He chuckled again, gently pinching her cheek. “Mhm, well, aren’t you still sleepy, sweetie? You won’t be able to run in that condition.”

“I’m awake!” she immediately perked up, suddenly squirming out of his arms and darting back to her room. “Wait for me, Daddy!"

He blinked, still holding his half full water bottle, and soon heard the sound of frantic rummaging and closet doors banging lightly. Two minutes later, she came rushing out proudly, wearing a white t-shirt with a cartoon fish, her favorite jean jumper over it, and mismatched socks. She lifted her arms expectantly.

“Button me, Daddy.”

He knelt to button the front of her jumper, pressing a kiss to her forehead when he finished. “Perfect. You’re the cutest jogging buddy I’ve ever seen.”

Their "jog" was more like a slow stroll around the neighborhood. Rafayel kept his pace slow, his long strides shortened just so his daughter could keep up. She held his hand the entire time, skipping a little when she had energy, giggling at squirrels, and occasionally stopping to examine flowers or pebbles like they were the most fascinating things in the world.

But ten minutes in, she started to lag. The energy that had burst out of her earlier now dimmed as she tugged on his hand.

“Daddy, I’m tired…” she pouted, lips trembling slightly as she dramatically started lowering herself down the pavement.

Rafayel quickly scooped her up before she could sit on the dirty sidewalk.

“Hey now, we don’t sit on the street, little guppy,” he said, lifting her into his arms with ease. “Did you overestimate your stamina, hm?"

She rested her head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. “M’not tired… just… my legs are.”

He laughed softly. “That’s what tired means, sweetie.”

He adjusted her comfortably against him and continued walking, his jog long forgotten now. As he moved, she helped herself to his water bottle, nearly finishing it in a matter of gulps.

He raised a brow, amused. “Remind me next time to bring two bottles if I’m training with you.”

Seraphina, cheeks puffed from the water, gave him a cheeky grin.

“You’re the best exercise,” she mumbled sleepily. “You carry me.”

Rafayel smiled, pressing his lips to her temple. “Of course I do. Always.”

And as the sun finally rose higher, father and daughter strolled through the soft morning sun, not quite jogging, not quite working out, but very much in sync.

CALEB —

You were in the living room folding some laundry when the soft shuffle of tiny footsteps approached. Your daughter came into view, clutching her little container filled with colorful hair ties, clips, and sparkly accessories like it was the most sacred thing in the world.

She looked up at you, messy strands of hair falling into her face, and asked in a soft voice, “Mommy, where’s Daddy?”

You reached over to gently brush her tangled hair back with your fingers, smoothing it as best you could.

“Why, baby? Daddy’s in the spare room. He’s exercising right now.”

She gave a little nod. “Oki, Mommy. I will go to Daddy!” And with that, she turned and toddled off, still holding her container like a tiny trick or treater on a mission.

The door to the spare room was left slightly ajar, and she didn’t bother knocking, just pushed it open with her little hand and entered.

Caleb was in the middle of stretching, preparing for his push ups when he heard her voice, “What are you doing, Daddy?”

He turned his head and smiled when he saw her by the doorway, her hair in a cute mess, her arms wrapped around the plastic container she now set down beside her feet.

“I’m exercising, baby,” he said as he sat up on the mat, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow. “Getting stronger for you and mommy.”

She nodded seriously, then sat cross legged beside him. “Can I stay with you? And… can you fix my hair first?” she added, pushing the container toward him.

He chuckled and leaned forward, pulling her gently into his lap. “Of course I can. What kind of hairstyle do you want today, little lady?”

She placed a small red apple clip in his hand. “This one. And two ponytails. Like bunny ears!”

Caleb smiled as he carefully combed her hair with his fingers, untangling the knots with gentle precision. He used two colorful bands to tie twin ponytails, then added her favorite clips, small paper crane clips, butterflies, even a tiny apple slice. He made sure everything was symmetrical, as symmetrical as you could get with a squirmy child, and once satisfied, held up a pretend mirror with his hands.

“There. All done. Look at you, the most stylish and cute bunny I’ve ever seen.”

She giggled, pleased, then stood up and dusted off her little pajamas before saying, “Okay! Now I exercise with daddy!”

Caleb just chuckled, “Oh? Gonna do push ups too?”

She simply climbed onto his back like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Caleb laughed under his breath, adjusting his arms as he lowered himself into position. “Well… i guess that works too..”

As he began doing push ups with her riding along, she pulled out more tiny clips from her container and began decorating the back of his head, carefully clipping them in place with intense focus.

“Daddy, don’t move too much,” she scolded gently, trying to balance another pink lotus flower clip on his hair.

“I’m literally doing push ups with a tiny human backpack,” he grunted, smiling despite himself.

She leaned forward, resting her little hands on his shoulders. “This exercise is easy, daddy. I'm having abs now too" she said while she was just sitting in his back.

And as his daughter kept talking and his back slowly turned into a walking hair clip display, Caleb smiled through every rep, because honestly, he wouldn’t trade this workout partner for the world.

SYLUS —

A It had been a full, laughter filled day in the house. Your daughter had spent hours with the twins, Luke and Kieran, who had gladly taken up babysitting duty from morning to late afternoon. You could still hear their voices echoing through the halls earlier, playful yells, scattered giggles, and a few loud thumps that were always followed by one twin yelling, “Mini boss won!”

Now, however, things have calmed down.

She was finally at Sylus' personal gym, the space tucked neatly into the back of your home, sitting cross legged on a mat while watching her dad with full concentration. The steady sound of fists hitting leather echoed in the gym, accompanied by the low, rhythmic thud of Sylus’ punches slamming into the heavy bag. His muscles flexed with each strike, sweat trailing down his jaw as he kept his focus sharp, or at least, it looked like he was fully focused.

But he felt it the moment she stepped in.

He didn’t have to look. The moment his daughter peeked into the room, he caught the soft shuffle of her small feet against the floor. Her presence had a weight he could always recognize, no matter how quiet she was. After all, she was his only daughter, and Sylus always knew when she was near.

Without a word, she stood up, waddled over to the smaller, child sized punching bag you’d gotten for fun a while ago, and started mimicking him, her little fists pushing awkwardly at the bag, grunting softly with every “punch.”

He finally glanced over his shoulder, softly smiling as he spotted his daughter, cheeks flushed from playing with the twins all day, hair a bit messy, her grape juice box on the floor as she was mimicking his actions with the punching bag.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he dropped his gloves and made his way over.

“Hey, princess,” he said, kneeling beside her. “You trying to beat up that bag, too?”

She looked up at him, proud and slightly flushed. “Like you, Daddy!”

“Well, you’re missing some technique,” he teased as he gently took her hands and showed her how to make a proper fist, adjusting her stance, and explaining the difference between a jab and a cross. She listened intently, nodding seriously at every instruction, as if she was training for a championship fight next week.

And for the next twenty minutes, she was completely absorbed in learning how to throw proper, yet gentle, punches at the bag. Sylus guided her softly, his big hands covering her tiny fists when demonstrating a move. He never corrected too harshly, only with praise and a proud smile.

By the time training ended, your daughter had one mission.

'show off to mommy and big bros(luke and kieran)'

Now every time she saw Luke or Kieran pass by, she’d leap up, throw a pretend combo into the air and yell, “BANG! Look! I’m strong like Daddy!”

And when you walked into the room with a towel and water for Sylus, she rushed over to you next. “Mommy, look! I punch like this now!” she demonstrated with exaggerated form, accidentally almost punching your leg.

Sylus sighed, standing behind her, already anticipating the chaos and softly chuckling.

“She’s been punching air non stop,” he said with a small smirk, towel now over his shoulders. “She's been trying to use her tricks with the twins.”

Your daughter looked up at you with an adorable grin. “Daddy said I got perfect form!” she beamed, hands on her hips.

Sylus knelt beside her again, pulling her into his arms as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

You chuckled and softly reminded her, “You do have perfect form, baby. But punching is for training. Not for attacking your big bros, yeah?”

Your daughter grinned, wrapping her arms around her dad’s neck. “But Daddy said I got fighter blood!”

Sylus just chuckled in response and stood up, still carrying her.

You shook your head, hiding a smile as you watched the two of them, one who's literally the Onychinus's Leader, and the other… his proud little baby girl.

ZAYNE —

A The soft hum of music played from Zayne’s speaker in the corner of the room, but he was focused, both hands gripping the pull up bar, arms flexing with each controlled lift. His face was calm, only the faintest crease of effort on his brow as he powered through his set.

But he wasn’t alone today.

Just a few feet away, sitting cross-legged on a mat, was his daughter, happily munching on a tiny box of macarons. She was mid-bite into a pink one, watching her dad with the kind of wide eyed curious look only a child could manage.

After a few seconds of silent observation, she tilted her head and asked, “Daddy… is that like the monkey bars?”

Zayne stopped mid pull, then dropped down with a light thud. He turned to her, amused.

“Monkey bars?” he repeated, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands. “it's quite similar, i guess.”

She stood up, brushing a few crumbs off her shirt. “But why don’t you swing?” she asked, walking over to him and looking up at the pull up bar like it was some grand playground structure. “You’re just going up and down.”

He crouched to her level, brushing a macaron crumb off her cheek. “It’s not for swinging, sweetheart. I’m doing pull-ups, it’s an exercise. Makes Daddy strong.”

She looked skeptical. “…But I think it’s monkey bars.”

Zayne chuckled softly, then stood and gently picked her up with ease. “Alright then. Let’s try it your way.”

Her small hands reached up to the bar as he lifted her, and she immediately started kicking her legs in the air, trying to pull herself up with all her might, but of course, her arms weren’t quite ready for that kind of effort.

So Zayne took over.

He supported her by the waist and gently moved her up and down, mimicking the movement of pull ups. “There. You’re doing it very well, sweetheart.” he said with a soft smile, watching her squeal in delight.

“I’m strong like Daddy now....!” she declared, still hanging on as he lifted her again.

“Stronger,” he whispered with a smile, planting a kiss on the side of her head as she lightly giggled. “You’re definitely stronger.”

Soon they weren’t really doing pull ups anymore. She just wanted to swing back and forth, and Zayne gladly held her, gently swaying her in the air as she laughed and begged to go higher.

He was supposed to be training, counting sets, burning muscle, but in that moment, with her tiny fingers still gripping the bar and her laughter echoing through the room, he figured this was the best workout he could ask for.

XAVIER —

The low sound of the cycling machine filled the corner of the room, the soft rhythmic clicking of gears blending with Xavier’s steady breaths. His hands rested on the handlebars, one earbud in as he cycled through his usual routine, nothing too intense today, just enough to keep the momentum going.

Across the room, sitting on the floor with his legs sprawled out and spaceship toys surrounding him like an orbit, was his four years old son.

Xavier glanced at him between at least 3 minutes, just enough to make sure he wasn’t sticking a toy into an outlet or trying to sneak and play with the ipad again.

Then came the inevitable.

“Daddy?” his son piped up, standing and wobbling over in his socks, a little spaceship toy clutched in one hand. “Why are you biking without moving?”

Xavier slowed his pace slightly, pulling the other earbud out with a raised brow. “Hmm?”

His son looked at the cycling machine with visible confusion. “You’re biking but… you’re not going anywhere.”

Xavier gave a soft laugh, ruffling the boy’s hair. “It’s called a stationary bike, buddy. It’s for exercise. Kinda like biking in place.”

“…So it’s pretend biking..?”

“Exactly.”

His son squinted at the machine, thinking very hard. “Can I pretend bike too?”

Xavier smiled and tapped the handlebars. “C’mon, climb up.”

He reached down and carefully lifted his son onto his lap, making sure he was sitting safely, feet dangling way too short to reach the pedals. He adjusted the seat a bit, holding his son in place while the little boy clutched the handlebars like he was about to race in a championship.

“Ready?” Xavier asked.

“Go...!” his son declared, softly giggling.

Xavier began pedaling slowly, just enough to keep the wheels spinning without jostling him too much. His son squealed as he bounced slightly from the movement, pretending to steer with dramatic turns and sound effects.

“Vroooom! Zoom! We’re going to uncle Jeremiah!” he said.

Xavier leaned closer, playing along. “Left turn, captain. Don’t miss the ice cream stand.”

His son cackled, twisting the handlebars and yelling, “I’m going super fast now!” even though Xavier was moving at the slowest pace possible to keep things gentle.

They biked “around the world” in circles of imagination, racing through invisible cities, dodging flying dinosaurs, and somehow ending up in space at one point.

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Laundry mix up”

Eddie Brock x Neighbor!Reader

Masterlist here

Summary: Due to a laundry mix-up, your neighbor Eddie ends up with one of your thongs—and he has no intention of giving it back.

WC: 6k (This shit is way too long for all smut, Jesus Christ, there must be something wrong with my brain)

Warnings/Tags: smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, masturbation, lingerie kink?, oral (m!receiving), female!reader, venom being venom, set between the first and second movie, awkard eddie.

The first time Eddie saw you, you were wrestling with a box twice your size in the hallway, one bare shoulder pressed to the side of it as you struggled with the lock to your new apartment.

Eddie had been on his way out, hoodie half-zipped, takeout menu folded in one hand, and Venom growling in the back of his mind about how humans eat garbage. But then he saw you, in that tank top, those shorts that clung like sin, messy hair, and he abruptly stopped.

“Uh—hey, need a hand with that?” He heard himself say.

You turned, eyes flicking over him for the briefest second before smiling. A proper, slow, flirtatious smile, the kind that made his heart skip a beat.

“No thanks. I’ve got it,” you replied, voice low and warm, a little teasing. “But good to know someone around here is actually nice.”

Eddie chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Venom whispered inside his brain: “She smells good. Can I eat her?”

You were only his new neighbor, and that quickly became a problem, because Eddie wasn’t exactly a man in control of his own mind. Especially not with Venom in there.

You two started talking in small doses, it was only elevator conversations, jokes in the laundry room, a few lingering glances that made him wonder if you could feel it too—whatever this was.

“You want her,” Venom said one night as Eddie stood by the kitchen window, half a beer in his hand.

“No. No, I don’t,” he mumbled.

“Liar.” he said. “I’m tired of you being a pussy, you should take her. Just pick her up. Tell her she’s yours. She wants you.”

“Whatever, V.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re still mourning over Anne,” Venom roared. “We are so over Anne.”

“It’s not about Anne!” Eddie snapped. “Don’t bring Anne into—”

“Then tell me,” Venom growled inside his skull, “if Anne got Dan then why we can’t mate with the hot neighbor?”

“Because this ain’t the goddamn law of the jungle, pal. And ‘mating’ doesn’t work like that!”

“I don’t know what the hell happened to you, Eddie,” Venom grumbled in his head. “I’ve seen your memories— you used to have some game, pal. Now you’re just… floundering. Pathetic.”

“Yeah, well… life happened,” Eddie muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You seen her? She’s insanely hot. Like, melt-your-brain hot. She’s probably got a whole damn waiting list of guys dying to buy her coffee, and I’m over here forgetting how to talk when I see her.”

“We could eat the others.”

“Still not helping, buddy.”

The dryer buzzed. Eddie was already regretting leaving his laundry till the last minute again, he was down to his last pair of clean boxers.

He opened the dryer door and started pulling the clothes into the basket, not really looking. A hoodie, some socks, a t-shirt, and then… something small, black and lacy caught on the edge of the drum and fell into his hand.

Eddie stared, it was a thong.

Not just a thong. The thong. Tiny, with a little bow, and so delicate it barely weighed anything, the kind of thing he’d imagined you in before. The kind of thing that didn’t seem like it could possibly be functional, the kind of thing someone wore when they wanted to be seen, when they wanted to tease, to ruin someone else.

The fabric dangled from his fingers like it knew what it was doing.

Venom purred. “Ooooooh. That’s hers. I can smell it.”

Eddie’s stomach twisted, his throat went dry and his pants got tighter.

“Oh no.”

“Oh Yes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered, tossing the thong toward the basket like it burned. It landed softly on top of a towel—mocking him still.

Venom huckled darkly. “Definitely hers. And she wore it recently. Mmm, bet I can still taste her.”

“Shut up.” His voice cracked, rough with arousal and shame. “Shut the hell up.”

“Do you think she left it here on purpose?” Venom hissed gleefully. “Marking her territory? Begging you to find it? Wanting you to react to it?”

Eddie let out a strained noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

“Christ, you’re insane.”

“I’m not the one hard over a pair of panties,” Venom sneered, amused.

“I’m not—fuck off.”

Eddie dragged his hand down his face again, his pulse thundering. He couldn’t stop picturing it—you pulling that thong up your thighs, the way it would hug your hips, disappear between your cheeks, the way it would smell after you wore it all day. He leaned against the dryer, eyes shut tight, trying not to let the fantasy spiral.

Venom growled low and hungry. “Take it home.”

“I am not.”

“Sure.”

…

He stood frozen in his apartment, the thong still in his hand.

His brain was doing somersaults, because obviously, this was an accident, a simple mistake, you’d probably tossed in a load late at night, mixed it with his by mistake. It happened, it was a normal honest mistake. But he couldn’t stop looking at it, at how tiny it was, how soft, how impossibly intimate.

“She wore this.” Venom’s voice slid through his chest. “It touched her. We could smell her on it if you let me—”

“NOPE,” Eddie snapped aloud, shoving the thong deep into his hoodie pocket like it might explode if he looked at it one second longer.

He started pacing.

“This is wrong. I’m not that guy. I’m not some creep who—who sniffs his neighbor’s—Jesus, what is wrong with me?”

“You want her,” Venom growled, low and matter-of-fact. “You’ve always wanted her. And now, after a whole year of celibacy, blue balls and sad showers, you’re losing your mind like some horny teenager.”

“No. I’m gonna go over there and return it to her. Tell her it was a mistake.”

“We have a trophy, Eddie! A GIFT! why would you want to throw it away like a coward?”

“Because I’m not a goddamn pervert!”

“No, you’re just a hungry, touch-starved, pathetic little man.”

Eddie dragged a hand through his hair, then sat heavily on the edge of his bed. The thong was burning a hole in his pocket, his mind was spinning in the worst kind of way—fast, filthy, uncontrollable. Images flickering like wildfire, images of you, naked, bent over a counter, hips rocking, that little scrap of fabric on the floor.

“God. I need help.”

“She would help. If you asked nicely. If you growled a little. She’d love it.”

“Christ, man. Stop. I mean it.”

Eddie didn’t move to return the thong to you.

…

It was just after 1 a.m. The city outside Eddie’s window was buzzing with low life and sirens, he was lying in bed, shirtless, the covers pushed down around his hips. His skin was hot. His thoughts, worse.

That damn thong was next to him. He’d tried to forget about it, he really had, tried going for a run, watching old movies, reading the newspaper, even did the dishes, anything to keep his hands busy, anything to distract himself from the way his cock had been aching—throbbing—for over an hour.

But his dick was still hard, he could feel it drooling at the tip. Painful with the kind of need that didn’t just settle in his body, but in his bones.

“Touch it,” Venom whispered, low and guttural inside his head. “You know you want to.”

Eddie groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“This is so wrong.”

“She wants you to. She probably left it for you.” Venom’s voice was dark silk, soaked in hunger. “She wants you to lose it. Wants you to wrap it around your cock while you think about ruining her pretty little throat.”

Eddie didn’t answer, instead, his hand slid beneath the waistband of his boxers. Just to ease the pressure, he told himself. Just to take the edge off, just to stop his cock from leaking precum onto his stomach like some fucking teenager.

The second he wrapped his fingers around his aching cock, a sharp breath escaped him. It was hot, heavy, the head so sensitive that even the glide of his palm made his hips jerk.

His mind began to wonder. You—on your knees in his kitchen. Eyes wide and innocent, but your mouth so filthy, stretched around him, drool running down your chin.

You—straddling him, mouth parted, voice whispering his name like it was yours. Grinding on him slow, panties pulled to the side, slick soaking him as you whimpered into his neck.

You—laughing as you dropped that tiny scrap of black lace in his lap, telling him “you’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

His hand moved faster over his thick length. Fist tight, twisting at the top, every stroke dragging a shiver down his spine, smearing the leaking precum from his tip down to his shaft, letting it get all wet. He reached in the dark for your thong, and wrapped it around his knuckles, dragging it up his cock, imagining it was your tongue instead.

“That’s it,” Venom hissed, delighted. “Think of her. Think of her wet, begging for you—”

“Jesus—shut up, get out of my head,” Eddie gasped, even as his hips rocked into his fist, chasing that release with desperation he hadn’t felt in years. His body was tight, every nerve on fire, all of it focused on you.

“Look at you,” Venom snarled, delighted. “Sweaty, moaning her name, fucking your fist like it’s the only hole we’ll ever get. Tragic.”

“I don’t need a narrator,” Eddie growled through clenched teeth, thrusting frantically into his fist. “Just—just shut up. Let me have this. Just one goddamn minute.”

He ignored Venom and imagined your thighs wrapped around his waist, your fingernails dragging down his back, your voice, high and breathy, “Harder, Eddie—God, don’t stop—”

He came hard, so hard his whole body seized, cum spurted over his hand, hot and thick and endless, leaking between his fingers and onto the sheets. The orgasm was so intense it made his eyes roll back, his back arch off the mattress, his chest rising and falling with ragged, uneven breaths. His stomach was a mess, his thighs shook, his mouth hung open on a silent moan.

His hot, sticky cum coated his fingers as he collapsed against the pillows, shaking with the aftershocks of it, it was slowly dripping down his wrist but he didn’t even have the strength to clean it up.

“You’re an embarrassment,” Venom purred. “You should’ve gone next door. Told her how you feel. Pushed her against the wall and fucked her like you wanted to.”

Eddie groaned.

“Man, we should be fucking her,” Venom barked, “not your hand. You’re a disgrace to horny men everywhere.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you more. I’m stuck with a pathetic excuse for a man who’d rather jerk off instead of banging his hot neighbor.”

Eddie lay there, heart still pounding, sweat cooling on his chest, hand limp on his stomach. The thong was still wrapped around his fist, soaked, reeking of sex, shame and everything he couldn’t have.

“Please,” Venom groaned, equal parts disgusted and amused. “Go wash your damn hand. I swear, if I wake up glued to the sheets again, I’m eating the mattress.”

Eddie let out a broken laugh, still breathless. “Jesus, you’re so fucking dramatic—”

“No, you’re disgusting.” Venom snapped. “And if she ever finds out what you just did thinking about her—oh, the shame, Eddie. The shame.”

…

Eddie swore he was going to return the panties. The next morning, he almost did, got as far as your door, the thong folded neatly in his hoodie pocket, hand raised to knock, but he turned around, went back inside, and jerked off so hard it made his legs shake.

Now, it was like a routine. Midnight, lights off, apartment quiet, and there he’d be, in bed, fingers curling around your thong like it was sacred, holding it to his face, inhaling the faint, lingering trace of your scent, stroking himself slow, then faster, like it hurted not to.

He wrapped it around his fist and fuck it with the kind of desperate, aching rhythm that left him gasping, grinding his hips up into the fabric, fucking it like he’d fuck you—deep, needy, filthy.

He started talking to you in the dark, whispering into the sheets.

“You’d take it so good, baby. God, I’d split you open on this cock. You’d beg for it. Cry for it.”

Telling you how tight you’d feel, how soft your skin would be, how long he’d make you take it—slow, then rough, then slow again until you were shaking and begging and—

But tonight a different thought crept up behind it. A dirtier one, a ridiculous idea, one that he couldn’t take out of his brain..

“Try it on.”

His face flushed instantly. “No. Fucking no. That’s—no.”

“Just do it.”

“Venom, get out of my thoughts.”

“Just once. I know you want to.”

His hand shook as he brought it to his waist, like his body was already making the decision for him before his rational thoughts had any chance to say otherwise. He stepped out of his boxers and bent slightly, lifting one foot, then the other, sliding that little black thong up. The band stretched tight around his hips, it was way too small for him, he had to pull the fabric carefully to keep it from snapping.

When it was in place it dug tight between his asscheeks, pressing snug to the curve of his aching cock and balls, he let out a strangled sound, something between a whimper and a moan.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

It looked obscene on him, it hugged everything, making his cock look bigger, more sensitive somehow. His balls were spilling out the sides, the tiny scrap of fabric was doing a miserable job at holding anything in, barely stretching over the thick girth of his cock.

“You’re so pathetic,” Venom purred. “But you look surprisingly good in that.”

He palmed himself over the thong, his cock throbbed through the fabric, twitching with every rub, the tip already soaking the black lace with pre-cum. Just the mental image of you wearing that same thing, hugging your ass and cunt the same way it was now hugging his cock, made him throb in anticipation.

The friction felt surprisingly good, the lace rasped over his swollen cockhead, catching against the veins down the shaft. He could feel every seam, every thread. He pulled the fabric aside to free the thick length of his cock, just enough to stroke himself properly, but he kept the rest on, tight around his hips, and in between his cheeks. He could feel it every time he moved, and it made his whole body feel like it belonged to someone else. Like he was yours in some fucked-up way.

The lace rubbed under his balls, ruthless against the sensitive skin, and he rocked into it like he needed it. His orgasm hit him hard and fast. He arched off the bed, cock shooting rope after rope of cum that painted his stomach, the thong, the bedsheets. His hand didn’t stop moving even as his vision blurred and he choked on a moan that turned into a laugh. A fucking laugh.

“Pathetic little human,” Venom crooned, low in Eddie’s skull. “You’re addicted. Obsessed. Do you think she’d be shocked if she knew? Or turned on?”

Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed, cum cooling on his skin, your thong still wrapped around his cock.

He hoped to God the answer was turned on.

One night there was a knock on his door.

Eddie flinched like he’d been caught doing something illegal. Which, in a way… he had. Last night. With your underwear. In his bed.

“Open it,” Venom growled in his chest. “It’s her. She smells…sweet tonight.”

Eddie swallowed hard and cracked the door open. You were standing there in little denim shorts and a tank top that clung to your curves like it had been painted on, hair loose, lips glossed. You leaned on the doorframe like you owned it.

“Hey, neighbor.”

His mouth went dry.

“ACT NORMAL. NO, WAIT, DON’T ACT LIKE YOURSELF. ACT COOL.” Venom yelled inside his mind.

“Uh… hey.”

You smiled, one side of your mouth twitching like you could smell his panic.

“Sorry to bother you. I forgot my phone charger at work today. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare one, would you?”

“Y-yeah,” he managed. “Yeah, I’ve got a spare one.”

“LET HER IN,” Venom practically moaned.

Eddie stepped back, heart thudding like a drum. You walked past him, slow and easy, he couldn’t help but watch the way your hips moved—graceful, lazy, like a cat in the sun.

The same hips he’d imagined bouncing on his lap.

Focus, man.

“Uh… Sorry it’s a little messy,” Eddie muttered, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced around the apartment. Messy was an understatement. There were plates stacked in the sink, half-drunk beer bottles on the table, takeout containers shoved everywhere, and—were those feathers on the floor? Yeah. Definitely feathers. Remnants of whatever Venom had called “dinner” the other night.

You stepped inside carefully, eyeing the organized chaos. “It’s alright,” you said, lips quirking into a grin. “It has personality.”

Eddie blinked. “That’s… a nice way of putting it.”

“Your bed has personality too, Eddie. Show it to her.”

He fumbled through his desk drawers, his fingers trembling slightly as he searched for the charger.

You watched him. “You always this nervous when a girl is in your place?” You teased gently.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, trying to play it cool. “Only when she looks like she belongs on the cover of something I can’t afford.”

You laughed—low, real—and Eddie felt like someone had punched him in the chest.

“Well, well,” Venom purred, amused. “That wasn’t so bad, Casanova. Almost sounded like a functioning adult.”

“Smooth,” you said, taking a step closer. “And are you always this charming?”

“No,” he muttered, too honest, too quick.

“Tell her she smells good,” Venom said. “Just don’t make it weird. Wait, never mind—you will.”

Another step, and now you were just a few feet away, he could smell your perfume—warm, something sweet layered over your skin.

He felt Venom stir, curious and hungry.

“She wants you. Say something. Do something. Pin her against the wall. Fuck her like—”

“Shut up,” Eddie whispered.

You blinked. “Sorry?”

His eyes went wide. “Oh, no—I wasn’t—I wasn’t talking to you. I, uh, I have this... brain injury.”

You laughed again, this time with a raised brow. “Right. That explains a lot.”

You took the charger from his hands, but didn’t head straight toward the door. Instead, you lingered there, just a couple feet away, eyes fixed on his face.

“Why do I feel like I know you from somewhere?” you said, eyes narrowing as you searched his face, trying to place him.

“From your dreams!”

“Yeah… I get that a lot,” Eddie replied, his voice a little stiff.

Then your eyes lit up. “Oh! I know—you’re Brock. Eddie Brock.”

"AND VENOM."

He gave a sheepish shrug, scratching the back of his head. “That’s what it says on my ID.”

You grinned. “I knew you looked familiar. My grandma used to love your show—you know, The Eddie Brock Report?”

“Your grandma…” Eddie grimaced. “That doesn’t make me feel old at all.”

“It was a great show.” You laughed, nudging him. “Anyway, thanks for the loan,” you called over your shoulder. “I’ll return it. Maybe tomorrow.”

The door clicked shut behind you and Eddie stood there, brain fried, heart pounding, hard as a rock under his sweatpants.

“Lame,” Venom purred. “She wants to climb you like a tree. She’s like a cat in heat. And you just stood there. Pathetic.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re soft.”

“Yeah.”

“You are a coward, Eddie.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie sat on the couch, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms while Venom was pacing inside his skull like a caged animal.

“She came in here,” Venom hissed. “She was close. She smelled like want. And you let her walk out.”

“I’m not… I’m not ready for that,” Eddie muttered.

“There we go again.”

He pressed his face into his hands.

“She’s younger. Hotter. She probably thinks I’m a loser. Look at me, man—I look worse than I’ve ever looked, I don't have a steady job, I pay a rent I can barely afford. I’m not some—some smooth guy she’s waiting on. I’m the weird neighbor who talks to himself.”

Venom snarled.

“Yes, you’re insignificant, lame, and puny. But you’re not gonna do anything with all that self pity. You’re the man she wants. You smell what I smell, her body’s on fire when you’re near. She’s thinking about it. Fantasizing. Just like you.”

Eddie swallowed hard. “I’m not the same as I used to be,” he said quietly.

And that was true. Before everything fell apart—his job, Anne, the whole alien symbiote situation—he’d been confident, charming, even. He’d had purpose.

Now?

He jerked off with your underwear clutched in his fist and then pretended not to stare when you stopped to chat in the hallway.

“You are so weak. It’s sad really. She wants to mate with you and you’re here like a virgin.” Venom said, voice curling through Eddie’s skull like smoke. “I can’t believe you used to have sex daily, and honestly? From your memories? You didn’t even suck most of the time. Shocking, really.”

“Okay, first of all, she doesn’t want to ‘mate’ with me,” Eddie hissed under his breath, glancing over his shoulder like you might somehow overhear him from two rooms away. “And secondly, thank you.”

Venom huffed. “We should be out in the world. Eating heads. Getting head.” Venom laughed, low and rumbling. “Giving head too. ‘Cause we’re gentlemen.”

Eddie dragged a hand down his face. “You are not a gentleman.”

“Excuse you—I opened the door for her last week. That counts.”

“That was me, you jackass. You just screamed in my brain the whole time about how her jeans were ‘a work of sinful textile engineering.’”

“They were! You’re the one who got all shy and ruined it. You could’ve devoured her right there in the stairwell.”

“Not everything is about sex and consumption,” Eddie gritted.

“Oh but it is, Eddie. It is. We’re basically a walking wet dream. I’m a lethal, throbbing apex predator with a six-pack… and you… well you have your anxiety. I’m sure some women find that attractive. We should be doing something with that.”

Eddie groaned, rubbing at his temple. “Please shut up. You are so fucked in the head.”

“And horny, Eddie, don’t forget horny. I can fix this,” Venom growled. “Let me take over. We’ll go to her. Push her up against the wall. Make her beg for us.”

Eddie’s gut clenched. “Jesus, no.”

Venom cackled. “Then grow a spine, Eddie. Do something before someone else does.”

That last bit landed hard. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned his head back against the couch, jaw clenched.

“You think she’d really…?”

“Yes,” Venom hissed. “She’d let you fuck her until she can’t stand straight. She’d moan your name until the neighbors know. All you have to do is act.”

Eddie groaned. He was hard already, the ache too familiar, and without even thinking, his hand slipped beneath his waistband—again. And just like that, the routine began, but this time, the shame was louder.

“There we go,” Venom purred, watching through Eddie’s eyes. “Stroke it like a pathetic little pervert. Oh wait—you are one.”

“Tomorrow,” Eddie breathed.

“What?” Venom hissed.

“I’ll talk to her. Tomorrow. I swear.”

“No more jerking off like a teenager.”

“Okay.”

“No more hiding.”

“Okay.”

“You will fuck her or I will do it for you.”

“V, please—”

“Deal?”

Eddie shut his eyes, hand still moving, breath picking up. “Deal.”

“She’d be riding our face by now if you had an ounce of dominance in that soft little meat body,” Venom sneered. “Instead, you’re over here moaning into your hand like a loser.”

Tomorrow, he told himself.

But tonight?

Tonight, he came hard, moaning into the dark, with your name on his lips.

The cookies were still warm when you tucked them into the little tin. You didn’t usually bake, it wasn’t your thing, but you’d been restless all day—thinking about last night, about the way Eddie looked at you like he wanted to devour you but didn’t know how. You liked it, you liked him. The quiet awkwardness, the softness under all that scruff and shyness.

And now you were standing at his door again, bare-faced, hair loose, wearing a big old sweatshirt and tiny shorts underneath—just short enough to show your thighs just right.

You knocked. A pause. Footsteps. The door opened a crack—and then wider.

Eddie blinked at you, staring at the tin like it might explode.

“Hey,” you said, all casual. “Peace offering.”

“I, uh—what?”

You smiled. “Cookies. I made them. To say thanks for the charger last night.”

“You… baked?” He looked skeptical, then immediately apologetic. “You didn’t have to”

“I wanted to,” you held it out, and he reached for it like it might vanish.

“THAT’S WIFE MATERIAL OVER THERE, EDDIE!” Venom bellowed, rattling around in Eddie’s skull like a drunk frat boy on a megaphone. “ASK HER TO COME IN. NOW.”

“Wanna come in?” he asked, stepping back.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Eddie closed the door behind you and stood awkwardly while you made yourself at home—again. You popped open the tin, plucked out a cookie, and held it up to him.

“C’mon. Be honest. If it sucks, I’ll pretend not to cry.”

Eddie took it—your fingers brushing—and took a slow bite.

His eyes closed. You bit your lip.

“…Holy shit,” he mumbled, mouth full. “This is actually—this is really good.”

You grinned. “Told you.”

“EDDIE,” Venom thundered in Eddie’s mind. “KEEP HER. MARRY HER. GIVE HER BABIES. ALSO—GIVE ME ANOTHER COOKIE.”

Eddie coughed and nearly choked.

“Y’okay?” you laughed.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just, uh—brain injury.”

“Right, I remember.”

You took one yourself, leaning back against the counter, licking melted chocolate from your thumb. Eddie looked like he might combust, his sweatpants weren’t hiding a damn thing now, the huge bulge under them was clear as the day.

“SHE IS DOING THAT ON PURPOSE,” Venom growled gleefully. “SHE KNOWS YOU���RE A WEAK MAN.”

You met his eyes and he didn’t look away.

“You can’t even talk to her without getting a boner,” Venom muttered. “Pull yourself together. You’re embarrassing both of us.”

“So,” you said slowly, “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” he said, before he could stop himself. He made his way to the couch, maybe if he sat down, spread out and casually pulled a cushion over his lap, you wouldn’t notice the way his cock was throbbing, straining against the thin fabric of his sweats.

You raised a brow, grinning. “Okay, smartass. I was gonna say… I’ve been thinking about another way of saying thank you.”

Eddie’s throat bobbed. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, stepping between his knees, where he’d sunk onto the edge of the couch without realizing it.

“DO SOMETHING,” Venom snarled. “NOW. SHE IS IN FRONT OF YOU. GET ON YOUR KNEES, EDDIE—NO, WAIT, GET HER ON HER KNEES—”

And then you were doing it for him. You dropped to your knees slowly, purposefully, hands trailing up his thighs. He sucked in a breath like you’d punched him.

You spread his legs a little wider with your palms, your nails dragging lightly through the soft fabric, your breath ghosted over the bulge in his sweatpants, you felt the tremor roll through him.

“OH MY GOD,” Venom practically moaned. “I AM SEEING THROUGH YOUR EYES. I LOVE THIS. I LOVE HER.”

Eddie’s breath hitched as your fingers grazed the bulge in his sweatpants. It was thick, and it twitched under your touch, hot and heavy and aching for attention. You could feel the shape of him through the cotton, you could already imagine how he’d feel against your tongue.

“Fuck—” Eddie whispered, his pupils were blown wide, his mouth slack. “You’re really… doing this.”

You dragged your fingers along the outline—slowly, deliberately, like you were unwrapping a gift, earning a strangled, wrecked noise from him.

“Is this okay?” you murmured.

He nodded, voice lost.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whispered.

He reached out—like he didn’t know whether to stop you or pull you closer—but he stopped himself when your lips brushed over the thick outline of him, teasing with every slow drag of your mouth. You nuzzled your nose against the heavy bulge, humming softly like you were getting to know it, testing the weight, the girth, the way it twitched for you even without skin-to-skin contact.

Eddie couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. You, on your knees, mouthing at his cock through his sweats like it was the best thing in the world, that was the most glorious sight he’d ever seen.

“I—Y-you…” Eddie stammered, his words breaking apart as his brain tried to keep up.

Your only answer was another slow press of your mouth against his cock, your tongue dragging along the fabric now, a wet spot blooming as you licked him through the cotton.

Before he could say anything else, you were already sliding his waistband down, already pressing a kiss to his thigh. His cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, beautiful and so hard it looked like it hurt, you kissed just beside it, inhaling the scent of him. His tip was already glistening with precum, and you made a soft, appreciative sound in your throat, like you’d just been handed dessert.

“You looked like it,” you said, smirking as you leaned in just a little.

Eddie blinked. “L-Like what?” he asked, voice cracking just enough to betray the panic brewing beneath his skin.

“Like you had a huge cock.”

Eddie’s breath hitched, eyes going wide.

“DO NOT COME LOOKING FOR ME—I’M DEAD,” Venom wailed dramatically inside his head. “I HAVE ASCENDED. I AM GONE. BURY ME WHERE I FELL.”

You licked a slow stripe up the side of his cock and his whole body jolted like he’d been electrocuted, you soothed him with a kiss to the head, one hand stroking his shaft while the other pressed gently on his thigh to hold him still.

“SHE HAS NO BUSINESS LOOKING THAT GOOD WITH YOUR DICK IN HER MOUTH!” Venom snarled, somewhere between horrified and deeply impressed.

Eddie clenched his jaw, trying his hardest to drown out Venom’s relentless voice echoing inside his head, all he wanted was to focus on the wonderful, intoxicating feeling of your mouth on him, so warm, wet, and impossibly good.

You moved your tongue with just the lightest pressure, just the tip of it tracing up and down his swollen head. His cock was so sensitive, leaking more precum every second, and every time your tongue swirled over the slit, his whole body shook

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he mumbled breathlessly.

“I’m just getting started,” you whispered.

“HA. She’s going to kill you. You’re going to die from horny.”

Eddie twitched in the seat, knuckles white as he gripped the edge, eyes barely open and glazed with need.

“You’re so sensitive,” you cooed. “Is this too much?”

He whimpered. “Yes—No—Maybe—don’t stop, please.”

You kissed him again, licked the precum off his slit, and wrapped your hot and wet mouth around him. Eddie’s whole body shuddered, his hand flew to your hair, not to push you down or guide your movements—just to hold on, to anchor himself. His knuckles turned white in your hair, his jaw hung open, he made a sound like he was dying.

“SHE IS GLORIOUS.”

“Ff-fuck—” he whispered.

He was sensitive and desperate, you could tell, every flick of your tongue made his thighs tense, every sound from your mouth made him tremble. You moaned around him like you were the one getting head, and he cursed again, hips jerking like he couldn’t help it.

Venom was purring like a damn engine. “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’VE DEPRIVED ME FROM THIS FEELING FOR SO LONG. THIS IS BETTER THAN BRAINS. WE ARE NEVER LETTING HER GO.”

“Shut up, just—shut—” Eddie started muttering to Venom under his breath, eyes squeezed shut.

You looked up at him, cock still warm and wet in your mouth, brow furrowed in confusion.

“I-I said—I said it feels so good,” he stammered again, trying to recover, but his voice sounded rough and desperate.

You sucked him in inch by inch, tongue working along the underside, feeling every twitch, every pulse of heat. He was thick, stretching your lips, hitting the back of your throat before you pulled back to swirl your tongue around the tip.

You pulled back just far enough to speak, breath hot on his spit-slick cock. “Good?”

He nodded, frantically, not trusting himself to speak. His whole body was a twitching mess, like he couldn’t stop his body from reacting.

“Marry her. Now. While she’s still gagging on your cock. Best time to ask.” Venom demanded, while Eddie was already dying inside.

His grip tightened, his hips bucked the tiniest bit, chasing the heat of your mouth. You let him, you wanted him wild, you wanted him wrecked. Your mouth was taking him with purpose, pulling off just to spit on the head and swirl your tongue around it, looking up with eyes that borderlined on pornographic.

Your mouth slid down over his balls, licking one and then the other, before sucking them into your mouth one at a time. While your mouth showered one with attention, your hand massaged the other one softly.

"Jesus Christ—That's—"

You moved back to his cock, which was in need for attention. You shoved it deep in your throat until your nose was buried in the hairs that decorated his pelvis. You held yourself there, letting him feel the heath of your throat clenching around him as you bobbed your head in long strokes.

“Shit—I’m gonna—”

“NO. DON’T YOU DARE, EDDIE. BE A MAN AND HOLD IT. I WANT TO KEEP FEELING IT.”

You didn’t stop, didn’t want to, you wanted to swallow every last drop, and so you sucked him deeper, letting spit drip down your chin, your eyes locked on his as you kept taking him to the hilt, hands cupping his slick balls. He cursed so loudly it echoed, and you just stared up at him hungry, needy, desperate, like you were begging him without a single word. Begging him to give it to you, to give you that hot, aching load straight down your throat.

“Don’t blow it, Eddie. Just a little more,” Venom pleaded, his voice thick with urgency and hunger.

"Holy shit—I ca’nt—I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t hold it!"

But Eddie was already too far gone, every nerve screaming, every muscle trembling, completely unable to hold back even if he wanted to. And when he came—hard, shaking, gasping your name—you swallowed his cum down like he was the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. Hot and thick on your tongue, your mouth full of him, your hands holding his trembling thighs steady while he came undone for you. You didn’t let a drop escape, you kept sucking until he whimpered.

He collapsed back, dazed and ruined like he’d never been before.

“SHE SWALLOWED IT! DID YOU SEE THAT?” Venom roared triumphantly inside Eddie’s head, practically bouncing with excitement. “THAT WAS SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOUR NASTY HAND, EDDIE.”

You kissed your way up his chest and curled beside him on the couch, lips brushing his ear.

“OH HOLY GOD,” Venom howled in his mind. “SHE’S PERFECT. SHE’S A KEEPER. WE ARE CLAIMING HER. CLAIM HER NOW. MATE FOR LIFE—”

You looked at him—lips swollen, eyes dark, smile lazy and warm. “Was that good?”

Eddie stared at you. Still panting, still stunned.

“Y—yeah. Jesus. Yeah.” He blinked at the ceiling. “What year is it.”

You chuckled softly, “I was thinking,” you whispered, “maybe next time… you could return the favor.”

Eddie made a strangled noise. His cock gave a sudden twitch, still half-hard.

Venom roared. “YES. YES. NEXT TIME IS NOW.”

A/N: Sooo, this was my first Eddie fic, hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please consider showing some support🫶🏻🩷

Eddie Brock girlies, get behind me🤺 this one was made especially for you. I’m planning to write more Eddie x Neighbor!Reader one-shots for that 20% who wanted Eddie fics.

Felt like I needed to give @mani-pedro a shoutout for suggesting the idea of Eddie wearing the thong (genius).

tag: @katssecretdiary

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics‬

[dr3amybunny]

I’ve talked about this before, but the concept of taking a cock still escapes me.

which is a strange way to start this off, but seriously. I get squirmy trying to take even one of my fingers, so. it’s true.

I can’t imagine how whiny I’d get, how deep it’d be, sinking down. someone would have to press my hips into it, I know I wouldn’t be able to take the overwhelming stretch otherwise.

I wonder if my eyes would get that dumb, hazy look I’ve seen before on some people. I want that, envy the mindlessness of it.

and I think the cockwarming aspect makes this meaner. not only am I stretched open and stuffed full, but I don’t even get the relief of someone moving? I just have to take it, like a little cocksleeve. can’t get up, can’t beg, can’t do anything but squeeze around the length filling me and whimper. helpless but to be a good toy for cock.

wanna sit you in my lap and play with your hair as you cockwarm me. stretched too much and pushing too deep for you to get comfortable.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Libidinous

DOFP! Logan Howlett X F! Reader

He just can't stop thinking about you

A/N: Nothing to say

Warnings: SMUT! M! masturbation. A lot of it. A lot. 4k of it to be exact. Sexual fantasys, logans a perv, he's also incredibly, unbearably, insanely horny, unprotected piv, fingering, f! recieving oral, creampie, logans a BIG perv, panty sniffing? Reader is able-bodied, clothes described

There she goes again

He watched you walking down the hall. Heels clicking against the floor. Your hair bounced with each step. You were distracted by the books and folders and papers gathered in your arms, hand searching through trying to find a specific paper.

You had on a pencil skirt and a blouse. The outfit simple, professional- but fuck it looked good on you. The shape of your curves drove him wild.

 Your legs- all he could think about was having them wrapped around his hips. 

He imagined ripping open your blouse while you chastise him for it, because it was your favorite.

 Your perfect makeup, smudged as he kissed the living daylights out of you. 

“Shoot!” 

You tripped over your heels, dropping all your papers and books to the ground.

“Ugh!” 

Logan didn’t waste time coming to your rescue. 

“Careful.” His voice sounded hoarse, and he quickly cleared it as he gathered your papers.

“Thank you,” You sigh. “I’m a mess today.”

I’ll show you a mess.

“You’re alright sweetheart.” He reassures. “Why in such a rush?” 

“Ugh I’m late for a meeting with the professor.” You groan. “He wants to go over the seniors final papers together so he could compare them with their first year papers. I had to dig through years of stuff in my closet to find them. At least I had them unlock Scott who shreds everything.” You shook your head, continuing to gather papers that have scattered towards the farther parts of the hallway.

He made a pile and looked up at you, noticing how you were on your knees, bent over- the back of your skirt was riding up your thighs. 

He looked away when you turned to look at him. 

“It took me nearly 2 hours. So I’m starting to think Scott has a point.”

Logan merely grunts. He wasn’t going to be vocal about it- but he did agree with Scott. He tossed most papers away unless it was something to give back to students.

Instead his mind thought about you being bent over, all frazzeled and flustered.

Finishing cleaning up the papers, he held a stack while you held another. The papers were all separated unfortunately, but you had to deal with it. 

“Thank you Lo.” You stood up, brushing dirt off your legs with your free arm, and gave him an appreciative smile. “You’re a life saver. You can stack those on here-”

“No, no, I’ll walk with you.” He says. “C’mon.” 

“Oh!” You beamed, “Such a gentleman…”

Later that night, he stroked his cock to the memory of you. 

He pictured bending you over his desk. Your skirt pushed up to your hips. His mind race, what would he find? 

The pink lacey pair of panties that looked perfect against your skin, or maybe a nice regular pair of cotton, so he could see how wet you were. He’s seen your laundry, your dirty panties that sit in the basket unattended, knows what you wear.

Maybe you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

That made his hips thrust into the air, as he squeezed the head of his cock. 

Not yet, he thought. He didn’t want to cum just yet. Not until he can imagine ruining you perfectly. He slowed his rhythm over his cock, he always unconsciously speeds up when something turns him on.

Maybe you’d have on the panty hose- so he could rip them apart and see his prize. Like unwrapping a gift.

You’d whine under him. Begging him to hurry up, to fuck you. He will- but he wanted to tease you a little bit first. He’d grab ahold of his shaft, and rub his tip against your folds, tease your clit and your hole. He pulls away and sees the way you’re dripping for him.

“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He imagines saying to you, mumbling it quietly under his breath as he paused his stroking, thumb rubbing over his slit to gather the pre-cum leaking and using it to lube himself more. 

“Logan…” You would whine. Arching your back against him, standing on your tippy toes and pushing your bare pussy towards him. Like a damn cat in heat. You’d wiggle your hips- like you’re trying to entice him. He’d smack your ass, and teach you a lesson in patience, then fuck you like there’s no tomorrow. 

His hand gripped his cock tighter, hissing as he imagined it was your cunt he was dipping into. You must feel fucking amazing, all warm and wet, tight around him like you’re trying to keep him inside. He stroked faster, with each thrust he imagined into you. He pictures you screaming his name, repeating it over and over as he brought you closer and closer to your peek. 

Logan!

He could picture your sweet voice, he could picture the moan that leaves your lips. 

Suddenly- he wants to see your face.

He pulls out, flipping you over before sinking back into you- resuming his brutal thrusts. His hips smacking against yours. Lewd noises filling the room- He imagined them sounding similar to his hand on his cock. 

You’re squirming all over, unable to sit still with your approaching orgasm- you’re close- he can feel it. Fuck you’re squeezing him tight. Your hands are everywhere, grabbing the desk, into your hair, grabbing him. He loved your touch but he needed to focus- he needed you to focus- focus on how good he was making you feel. 

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them at your side. 

“Take it-” He grunts, his hips thrust into the air, picturing him pounding you, your tits bouncing, your face- pure bliss. 

He feels you come around him, soaking him, your so tight he can’t pull out- so he doesn’t. He cums deep inside you. He cums with a shout of your name. He can only imagine how it must feel, as he clenches his tip and pictures his hand as your tight pussy. Ropes of cum cover him, sticky and messy- but he doesn’t care. 

With each harsh pant, he thinks about pulling out. You’re ruined- with a fucked out expression, your clothes and hair a mess- legs spread, and he’s watching himself leak out of you onto his desk. 

He pulled up his briefs, wiping his hand off on a discarded shirt. Grabbed a pair of sweatpants and pulled it on, nearly stumbling as he reached the door and opened it.

“Sweetheart-” He mumbles to himself, only to be drawn out his daydream when he heard several knocks on his door. For fucks sake- He glanced at the clock on his bedside table, it was late. Who was knocking on his door?

There you were.

Shit, was I loud?

Your expression had more concern than anything. “Lo, I heard you shouting, are you okay?” You asked gently. “Did you have a nightmare?”

His heart softened, anxiety easing. That would be his best excuse- sure, a nightmare. 

“Uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes grazing over your sweet face. Your hair was a little messy, probably from lying in bed and you were adorning a cute little nightgown. Falling down to your knees, with little straps. In your favorite color. He could feel his cock twitching again. “Yeah, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh, Lo, you don’t need to apologize.” You say gently. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

His heart softened. God you were so damn sweet. You didn’t need someone like him in your life.

That only made him ache for you more. 

He smiled, leaning against the door frame, bracing an arm against it. He noticed a flicker in your eyes- the way it darted to his arm, his biceps, and then to his chest. 

“With you near? I’m perfectly fine darling.” 

He heard the small hitch in your breath, and you looked away with a shy smile on your face. 

“Lo…” You let out a small laugh shaking your head. You looked at him past your pretty lashes, and he felt his heart stop. “Do you need anything? Some water?” You ask gently.

“I’m alright.” He nods, resisting the urge to reach out and tip your chin up. His hand still had some cum on it- he simply couldn’t touch you, as much as he liked too.

He’d loved to watch you clean him up. See those pretty lips smiling up at him, painted with his creamy essence until you lick them clean. He’d pull you in and kiss you dizzy after- addicted to tasting himself on you.

You chewed on your bottom lip, and nodded. “Okay, well if you do need anything…Even just to talk. I’m right down the hall.” You offer sweetly. 

“Yeah, thanks.” He says. You turned away, glancing back at him one more time, he sensed apprehension from you, like you had something more to say, but you seemed to decide against it. 

“Goodnight Lo.”

“Night darling.” 

He watched you return to your room- admiring how your nightgown flowed over your form. The satin left little to imagination, the way it seemed to almost cling to your skin. He could make over the perfect curve of your ass. Your hips swung side to side and if he didn’t know bother he’d think you were doing it on purpose. 

When you disappeared into your room, he snapped out the spell you seemingly have on him. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt his cock get hard again. 

Maybe this time he’ll think about you riding him in that little gown.

The next few days were torture. Something about you had been driving him crazy. Every moment you’re together, your scent, your body, your pretty little face, made him feral.

Logan was good at pretending. 

He ran into you outside. He was smoking a cigar, trying to get away from some of the kids that’ve been bugging him. 

You came back from a jog- wearing a tight little outfit. Spandex leggings and a sports bra. 

It wasn’t the way the spandex was fitting over your curves- although it certainly didn’t help. It was seeing you all sweaty and out of breath. You smiled at him when you came to a stop, grabbing your water bottle that was sitting nearby. 

You took a long swig. He watched your throat move, the sweat that beaded on your skin rolling down your neck, to the crease of your breast. 

Fuck

Not to mention your scent. You smelled amazing- Stronger than usual. Even the lotion and deodorant you wore couldn’t hide you from Logans nose. 

His cock throbbed painfully in his jeans and he just hoped that it wasn’t obvious. 

“Hey Lo-” You finally greeted him when you finished taking your drink. “Nice day?” 

“Now that you’re here.” He hums, ashing the cigar before sticking it between his teeth, squinting at you against the bright sun. 

You beamed at him, before bashfully looking away and messing with your water bottle. You took another sip, before setting it down and beginning to stretch. 

“Any plans later?” You asked. 

“Nah.”

“Wanna go see a movie?”

He stared at you- not initially understanding your words. Mainly because you decided to bend over as you asked him this. Your perfect ass on full display for him- if he looks close enough, he could see the outline of your panties. He quickly looked away when you straighted up to look at him. 

“Yeah, sure.” He says with a casual shrug, reaching up to grab the cigar. He blew out a big puff of smoke, not catching your little smile. 

“Anything you want to see?”  You asked, turning to lift you leg, stretching it on the brick halfway.  You leaned foreward, hands touching your toes, before twisting your side to stretch more. Logan watched you intently. 

“You pick. I don’t keep track of what’s coming out.” He says. “Just uh…Don’t get something cheesy.” 

“Aw c’mon! The cheesier the better!” You turned your head to beam at him. You moved to switch legs, turning towards him as you continued stretching. “But fiiiiine, I’ll pick something with lots of action, speedy cars, and ninjas.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just don’t pick a chickflick.” He puffed on the cigar again, eyes raking over your form. His cock has been throbbing uncomfortably in the confines of his jeans. His patience low resulting a low rumble of his voice. 

He needed relief. 

You continued stretching in silence and he watched- not very discreetly, but you didn’t seem to notice. 

His mind wandered to what he could do to you in that outfit. It’s so tight, he could get you off without pulling a single piece of clothing off. You’re all sweaty, probably be uncomfortable- but he won’t listen to your whines. 

You let out a deep moan as you finished stretching- His cock throbbed painfully at the sound. 

“I’ll uh..” He quickly tossed the cigar to the ground stomping it out. “I’ll find you when I’m ready.” 

You smiled and nod, “Okay!” 

He quickly turned and walked away, 

fuck fuck fuck

He needed somewhere quiet, somewhere private. Making it to the privacy of his bedroom wasn’t an option. He found himself in a broom closet, acting on instinct as he undid his belt, pushing his jeans down to his thighs.

He hissed when his cock popped out, bouncing in the air. His tip red and swollen, a thick vein that throb with his heartbeat, precum had smeared over his tip and onto his boxers. 

He spit onto his hand and took his cock in hand to slowly stroke it, falling back against the door, his head tipped back and his lips parted in relief as he did slow steady strokes. 

His mind went back to you again. 

What would he do to you now?

He’d pin you down, and rub your cunt against the spandex of your leggings. 

“Logan- I need to shower!” You’d squeal in his ear.

He’d clean you up. He’ll lick every inch of sweat off of you. He pushes his fingers against your clothed cunt, the fabric added extra stimulation against your clit. His tongue runs over your midsection, tasting the saltiness of your skin, then running it over the fabric of your sports bra until he reaches you chest. He sucks hickeys into your skin. 

You smell so damn good, taste good too. He can’t get enough. 

He strokes faster, thinking of taking his hand off your clothed pussy. He forms a fist, and

Snikt!

He felt his claws pop out, his cock jumped in his hand from the sting. Letting out a muffled groan, he didn’t bother to retract them as he continued in his fantasy. 

The sound of cloth ripping, your soft gasps.

“Logan! I liked these pants!”

He chuckles to himself. Ignoring your complaints he forcefully spread your legs. Still clothed- but a perfect rip, to show off your pretty pussy. He carefully pushed the cloth aside to expose you more. Brushing his fingers through your folds, you whimpered at his touch. 

“Like that gorgeous?” 

He begins rubbing your clit, at the same pace as he strokes his cock. You’re moaning, begging for more. He gives it to you. 

Sliding two fingers inside, he lets out a soft moan- quickly covering his mouth when he remembers that he’s inside a damn broom closet. He bites down on his hand, letting out quiet grunts as he strokes himself faster.

His tongue is on your clit, playfully flicking it- riling you up, making you sensitive. He wondered how’d you react? Would you squirm and try to push him away?

He’d only make it worse. He’ll continue teasing you, making your bundle of nerves so sensitive it would send electric shocks through you with each gentle touch. Never letting you feel that finish. He’d pin you down and make you take it. 

He wanted to make you scream, wanted to see you- all soft and gentle and sweet become ruined by him. 

He’ll eat you out, stretch you open with his fingers. Taste every single inch of you and savor it. Make you cum on his face- 2, no 3 times. He’s needs it, he’d drink from you everytime you came. He’d love to make you spray all over his face- and then kiss the air out of you and make you taste yourself on his tongue. 

When it’s all over- you’re shaking, a filthy mess, babbling nonsense as you try to regain your strength. 

That’s when he’ll have his way with you.

He let down a choked grunt, biting down on his hand as he spilled over his hand and onto the floor. He kept stroking himself, not stopping even to the point where his legs shook. He tipped his head back, panting as he quietly mutters your name. 

When he came back to himself, he looked at the mess he made.

“Well fuck…” He mutters.

A little shame hits him. How desperate he was to get laid- no, he could get laid. He could go to a bar and find someone willing. He wants to be with you. He wants to feel you underneath him, to have your hands caress his face and kiss him like he matters most to you. He wants to share intimate moments, make you feel good- he knows he could.

He also wants to bury his cock inside you.

You, who always plague his thoughts night and day. 

You have no idea the dirty things he thinks of you. The fantasies he indulges himself nightly at this point. 

He woke up in a cold sweat one night. Not a nightmare- just another dirty dream. That one had you tied up, arms bound behind your back, your legs spread, ankles tied to the bedpost. Completely at his mercy. 

He needed a drink.

He made his way to the kitchen- only to find it wasn’t empty.

You were standing by the counter, looking at your phone, eating cookies that Ororo had made earlier. He stood there watching you for a moment- deciphering if it would be a good idea to chat when moments ago he was just dreaming about-

Fuck it.

He cleared his throat, and you glanced up and smiled.

“Hey Lo,” You greeted in that soft voice. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that.” He mumbles as he walks in, keeping his eyes to the ground. You’re wearing that stain nightie again, and the way you’re leaning against the counter made your breasts on full display. 

He seated himself across you anyway. 

“Want one?” You offered him but he waved it off. “You’re missing out.” You smiled at him. “I heat them up in the micro-” You stopped yourself, remembering his distaste- or rather hatred for microwaves. “Um… They’re just really good and goey and all.” 

He quirked a brow. Glancing at the glass of milk you had next to the plate. “I’m good. But thanks.” 

What I really want to eat is you

You shrug, the strap of your slip on fell off your shoulder, making him swallow hard. You finished off your cookie and taking a drink from the milk. A small drop spilled from the corner of your lips, rolling down to your chin. 

His mind went wild. 

Now he’s picturing you on your knees, giving him a sinful smile before you kiss the tip of his cock, smearing pre-cum onto your lips. You’re stroking him, your tongue dipping into his slit. 

His hand grabbed his cock behind the counter, squeezing it through his sweatpants. 

Your wiped your face clean after setting the milk down on the counter. Then look at Logan- he couldn’t look you in the eyes. 

“Lo?”

“Yeah?”

“Has something…Been wrong?” You tilt your head. He raised a brow, quickly dropping his hand. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You just seem distant lately. Like you’re always distracted.” You gave him a soft smile. “I just want to make sure things are okay with us?” 

He parted his lips. “Yeah, yeah of course sweetheart.” He says gently. “I just been distracted with the damn finals coming up. Damn kids left and right bugging me with questions.”

You laughed. “Yeah tell me about it….” You traced your glass with your finger. He’s picturing you tracing that vein on his cock. 

“It ain’t you though.” He reassures. “Honestly you’re the only thing thats keeping me from going off into the mountains.” 

“I’d come with you.” You teased. 

“Oh yeah?” His hand gripped his cock again. He wants to fuck you in the woods.

“Yeah. It’d be fun.” You say, a gleam in your eye. 

There was silence between you both. He can’t do this.

“I uh…Well I’m going to go back to bed.” He says quickly, hopping off the stool. “Don’t stay up too late sweetheart.” 

“I won’t. Night Logan!” 

“Night…” 

He practically booked it out of the kitchen and back to his room. 

Once he reached it, shoving the door closed behind him, he went to his bed and pulled out something pink from under his pillow. It was one of your panties.

Fuck does he feel guilty for taking them from your laundry. 

But not really.

They were right there- he wasn’t even thinking. When he took a sniff, and found they were used he didn’t waste time stuffing it into his pocket. He’s kept it under his pillow since, could faintly smell it even as he lays down. Fuck it was addicting. 

He shoved his sweats down, freeing his cock that was pulsing with need. Not wasting time he began stroking- long even strokes that didn’t bring relief- just more need. He jerked himself faster, bringing your panties to his nose and taking a deep sniff. 

He moaned, loud, and a soft whimper of your name as his hips bucked forward.

“Logan?” 

He froze. Eyes not daring to look at the door- but he could sense you there. He didn’t close the door all the way- and you must have heard him walking by. You caught him with his pants down. Literally.

“Shit!” He turned his back towards you- aware his bare ass is still visible but it was better than his dick in his hand. He tossed your panties to the bed, quickly pulling up his sweatpants. “Fuck- I’m sorry you weren’t meant to see that-” He turned around, unable to look you in the eye. 

You were silent, and he felt sick- Wondering if he just ruined a good friendship. Did you recognize your panties he was practically stuffing into his mouth? Did you hear him whimper your name?

A creak of the floorboard as you stepped closer. He looked up and there was this look in your eye….

Not disgust, repulse, anger-

Something else.

Desire?

“Why’d you stop Lo?” You asked in that soft voice again, and his cock jumped in his sweats. You noticed, a teasing laugh escaping you. Your hands touched the hem of his sweatpants, fingers hooking into the waistband with your nails softly scratching at the skin of his belly, teasingly stretching them out. “I wanted to see more….”

His mouth went dry. 

Holy shit? Is this real?

You stepped closer, looking up at him, fluttering your eyelashes. 

“Please?” You asked, tilting your head. 

He blinked, finally coming back to himself. “Go on.” He nods for you to continue. You pulled his sweats down, eyes brightening at the sight of his cock, you chewed on your bottom lip.

“So…” You smile, looking back up at him, a confident expression on your face. “This is what you’ve been doing every night, moaning my name.” 

“Heard that huh?” His voice turns quiet, shy. His ears turned red, the color spreading to his cheeks. 

“Mm. It’s a nice sound.” You hum, stepping closer, the tip of his cock pressed into your satin nightie, against your belly. “Lo, did you really think I haven’t noticed?” 

He smirked. “Sorry sweetheart…” He leans into you, “I was just in my own head, thinking bout you all the time.” 

“I think about you a lot too y’know…” You say quietly. You batted your eyelashes at him, suddenly your shy self returning. “Can you….Show me what you’ve been thinking about?”

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: your next confidence-improving exercise

Hello and welcome to this new reading of mine! In here I will give you an exercise you can do in order to better your confidence and become more confident overall. I hope you enjoy and find this useful!

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for the extended version of this reading and 90+ exclusive and extended pac's check out my patreon

Pile 1:

Okay, this might sound a bit weird at first but stay with me because it works. You’re gonna stand like a superhero, literally. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands on your hips or arms crossed with your chest out, chin slightly raised. Just hold that pose for 2 minutes. While you’re holding onto that pose say a few short and strong affirmations out loud. Nothing dramatic—just things that have to do with your situation like:

“I’ve handled worse.”

“I’m allowed to take up space.”

“I don’t have to be perfect to be confident.”

“I’ve got this.”

Even if you feel awkward, just say them anyway. It’s not about sounding impressive, it’s about training your brain to hear and feel strength. Your body language literally affects your mood. When you physically take up space and stand tall your brain will start thinking you’re safe and strong. You are basically hacking your own mindset.

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Pile 2:

You’ve probably heard of a to-do list, but we are calling this one differently,it’s a done list now. At the end of the day, instead of focusing on what you didn’t finish, or where you think you messed up, you just write down 3 things you did do. Big or small, it doesn’t matter. The goal is to notice and appreciate your own effort, even when your brain tries to convince you you were lazy or useless or anything else remotely negative.

Some examples of what you can write down are:

“I texted that friend back even though I didn’t feel social.”

“I cleaned up a little, even if it wasn’t everything.”

“I got through the day without quitting.”

This exercise is about building up self-trust essentially. Confidence isn’t just about how you look or how loud you are. It’s about how much you believe you can rely on yourself. And if every day you’re like “ugh I didn’t do enough,” your brain starts to believe that’s true. The done list interrupts that spiral and gives you facts to work with.

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Pile 3:

This exercise is about showing up like the version of you who already feels confident. Not fake, not forced, just small actions that reflect the energy you want to grow into. It’s also known as “acting as if,” and it’s actually really powerful for many people. You basically ask yourself, “What would confident-me do today?” Then do one little thing in that direction.

Here are some things you could do/what direction to think in:

Walk with your shoulders back and head up, even if you feel awkward.

Say your opinion out loud, even if your voice shakes a little.

Wear something bold or fun just because you like it.

Ask a question in class or at work.

Do that thing you’ve been overthinking.

It doesn’t have to be big or dramatic. The key is consistency. You’re building evidence that you can be seen, heard, and take up space, and survive it. That’s what grows real and unshakable confidence. You don't pretend to be someone else, but prove to yourself that you can do the scary or bold things, even if they're in small ways, day by day.

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[nomoredying]

saturdays

sevika x reader

tags: modern au, explicit sexual content (fingering, use of strap-on, oral sex, pegging), dirty talking, bratty reader, hurt/comfort, a little angsty maybe, is it still a slow burn if they have sex on the first day, reader has Issues™, sevika is such a softie, emotional vulnerability  a/n: english is not my first language — please feel free to correct me, thank you

it started simple.

it’s saturday. you just moved in to place of your dreams — see, mom, working in a film industry is not a total bullshit — and found a bar not that far away. just what you needed after another day around annoying agents and celebrities who think you owe them.

you sit at the bar counter and order your usual whiskey with ice, when you hear laughter coming from one of the tables. you turn just out of curiosity and see a woman, possibly in her early forties, smoking a cigar playing cards with her friends, buddies or whatever they call each other. and winning, seems like it.

“rotten luck, boys,” you hear her deep voice saying, as she leans against her seat. your eyes meet.

you turn away. not surprisingly so, a moment later she appears sitting beside you and ordering whatever you’re drinking.

“please, don’t start with i haven’t seen you here before," you say, eyes up at her now that you can finally get a closer look.

her grey eyes are surprisingly expressive. you like them. in fact, you like everything about her — at least about how she looks — and you don’t hide it. neither does she.

“but i haven’t, have i?” she raises an eyebrow. you introduce yourself, “sevika,” sevika says back.

“sevika. is that hindi?”

she nods, her lips curling up in a slight grin.

“how much did you win today, sevika?” 

“enough for me to pay for you and for them,” the older woman gives you a simple reply, 

that makes you chuckle. “you’re so generous,” you say in a mocking, seductive voice, after taking another sip.

“and you’re a brat,” sevika says, narrowing her eyes, tapping the cigar against an ashtray.

you don’t disagree. “do you know of any hotels nearby, sevika?” 

she smirks. 

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

as soon as the door closes behind you, you find yourself pressed against it.

sevika doesn’t kiss you gently — she kisses as if she’s been starving in a desert and you’re both her first sip of water and first meal. her tongue against yours, rough and wet.

you don’t pull away until you need to grasp for breath. “the bed is not that far,” you tease.

you knew her hands were strong by the way she held your hips but when she lifts you to throw you on the bed, that’s when you know it for sure. 

she has to physically restrain herself from licking her lips like an actual hungry animal when she looks at you spread on the bed underneath her. 

you don’t even have time to say something before she pulls down your trousers and then unbuttons your shirt, tossing them both somewhere aside. at the moment it’s the last thing you care about. 

“enjoying the view?” you ask, when sevika stares at you in your pretty underwear set which you only wore today because you felt like wearing it, but you guess that god works in mysterious ways.

“aren’t i lucky to notice you first,” she muttered, her voice hoarse, and she leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss once more. 

while she does, your fingers deftly help her get rid of her tank top (the jacket was lost somewhere on the way to the bed). she’s not wearing any bra. your hand eagerly reaches to caress one of her bare breasts. she bites your lower lip. 

as soon as her mouth shifts from your lips to the rest of your face and then your neck, you instinctively bite your lips, but sevika doesn’t approve.

“if you stop yourself from making noises, i’ll stop too,” she warns you, and you let out a hoarse chuckle.

“bossy,” 

the older woman’s hand slides down your stomach, “spread your legs,” she says, and when you do, she grins, smug and mocking. “you’re already soaked and all i’ve done is kiss you. is this why you came to that bar? to let someone take care of your greedy cunt?” 

when you don’t answer, her hand applies slight pressure. a warning.

“answer me,”  her raspy voice sends shivers down your spine.

a breathy sigh comes out of your mouth when you admit, “yes,”

you came to relax. you haven’t done it in a while. with the help of a drink, sex or both, doesn’t really matter.

you find your back arching, grinding against her hand. just to feel more. needy. oh, you’re so needy and she knows it.

“sevika,” you say.

“yes?” 

“be a big girl and fuck me already,” you practically demand it now. she can’t help but laugh.

how can she resist such a straightforward, sweet demand? 

her hand finally pulls down your panties and her fingers circulate around your clit, rubbing it hard enough to get a gasp from you. her second hand comes up to play with your nipples.

then, with no hesitation, her two fingers entered you and you almost yelp, your hands griping the sheets. 

at first, sevika doesn’t rush, “feels good?” you mumble something unintelligible and the older woman takes that as a yes. 

her pace quickens, and she adds another finger, stretching you out even more.

“fuck. fuck,” you moan, and she smirks.

“that’s what you asked, isn’t it? no, eyes up,” sevika says when your eyes look somewhere in the void.

her fingers move in a pulsing motion, turning you into nothing but a flustered mess with only one thing in her mind.

when you reach the climax, they’re still deep inside you. she fucks you through your orgasm and then falls beside you on bed. 

you let yourself lie there for five minutes or so before you sit up and move so now she’s the one pressed against the bed. your cunt is not that greedy. 

“what are you doing?”

“returning you the favor, of course,”

she lifts her hips, helping you to take off her trousers. you start by leaving a trail of wet kisses. on her neck, collarbone, chest, — especially chest, biting and kissing it, playing with nipples (you have your favourites) — and stomach. your hands go up to clutch both of her hips. you nip and kiss her inner thighs, teasing her. 

“don’t play with me,” sevika grumbled, clearly unamused.

“if you ask nicely—“ you start, but her hand grips your hair, guiding your head now where she wants it most.

you roll your eyes. your tongue finally meets the throbbing heat of the older woman’s cunt when you rid her of her last article of clothing. sevika presses your face against it even harder.

you eat her whole in the earnest. sucking. nipping. your tongue runs across her pussy. you look up at her through your half-lidded eyes only to see how she looks like when you pleasure her. 

sevika’s trembling. you can feel that she’s close. 

she lets your hair go as she explodes. groaning low, chest rising.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

an exact week later at approximately same time you’re sitting at the bar counter in that very bar and she is gambling on the same place with same guys. or not, their faces are a blur to you. don’t have to be a genius to guess how the night ended?

and the next week after that too. 

on the fourth night that you two spend together, you bothered to ask where she works. 

“zaun corporations,” sevika replies. she exhaled, putting her cigar out.

the company is big enough for you to know about it, so you raise your eyebrows in appraisal.

“well, aren’t you a careerist?” you watch her, still lying on your back, “what do you do?”

“stuff that gives you a headache. coo,” she shrugged carelessly, turning to you, “what about you?”

you smile lazily, “i work in a film industry,” 

most of the time people start chuckling, — that’s nice, sweetie! — in that condescending voice, asking what type of movies do you do or where they could have seen you. 

“what, an actress?” 

you look at her with feigned offense, “what, aren’t i pretty enough?” 

“you’re pretty alright. you know that. what i meant was that you don’t seem the type—,” sevika paused, choosing her words.

“to ham it up in front of the camera?” she nods, “well, that’s because i’m not. i’m a creative producer,” although you would like to add that actors don’t just ham it up in front of the camera, as you just said, you don’t. it would turn into you yapping about creativity, ideas. and you don’t need to bore your sex partner into death.

sex partner? is that what you are? you’re not so sure. you decide that there is no need for any labels because it doesn’t matter.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

at some point you get tired of going into the bar every time when they don’t have anything you actually want in their menu. you exchange your contacts so that you can meet in the hotel room itself. 

[sevika] are you coming? she texts you in the evening of a saturday.

i’m already at the hotel. they have a great driving range. come. [you] you reply. she rolls her eyes, but you don’t know that.

sevika asks a worker about the golf course. walks. sees you, standing on the line with a golf club in her hands. approaches.

“do you find this entertaining?” 

you squint your eyes, watching the ball fly. 

“i like hitting things. i play tennis too,” you turn and hand her the golf club, “your turn,”

sevika takes it reluctantly and hits the ball. hard.

“you’ve got a great hands,” you take the turn, and your fingers brush against hers as she passes you the club. deliberate, lingering.

“you would know,” she says, her tone casual. but sevika’s already pulling the club back, and you stumble forward a half-step, laughter catching in your throat. the distance between them collapses.  

your lips meet not quite by accident. the taste of tobacco from her smoking, something sweet beneath. the club drops into the grass, forgotten.

sevika’s hands finally settle, fingers curling into the fabric of your polo shirt, pulling you even closer.

you finally part. sevika’s thumb swipes at the smudge of light lipstick now staining the corner of the your mouth. you’re a mess.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

you close your eyes. hot steam of water falls down your bare body. you can’t stand warm or cold showers — you need it to be boiling hot. which is unhealthy and you know it, but it’s so addicting you can’t stop. or maybe you can’t stop because you intentionally cause yourself harm, but you wouldn’t go that far with digging into it.

it’s saturday and you’re in hotel room again.

this particular day of the week became your favourite soon enough. before it was tuesday you waited for due to the fact that it was the day the new episodes of your favourite show came out, but now that it’s over you had to find something new to feel good about, right?

sevika makes breathing — which is something humans do automatically — easier. being alive easier. you find something about her presence, raspy voice and smug grin calming. probably the sex part.

of course, it’s the sex. she’s good in bed. if that were her allegations and you would have to be the lawyer defending her, you wouldn’t even bother yourself. 

finally, you came out of the shower in a velvety bathrobe (one of many reasons you stayed loyal to this hotel).

she’s standing with her back to you.

“sevika, did you know that—“ you’re sure you wanted to tell her something, but now that you’ve seen itit doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

it is a strap-on that she wore on her thighs, adjustable by harnesses. you knew the older woman liked wearing belts, but this is your first time seeing this one. it’s not that you never saw dildos before, you have. this one is just.. slightly bigger. 

“wanna try it?” she looked like a little preteen, showing you their new toy. well, it is a toy. fair enough.

yes.

instead of answering, you let your robe fall on the floor. sevika grinned, amused.

“lay down,” she said, gesturing at the bed. you did, but she shook her head. meaning — on your stomach, not your back. you narrow your eyes, but obey. 

soon enough sevika looms behind you.the lube is already in her hands, and she lavishes it all over your hole with her thick fingers. 

“you’re already dripping just at the thought of me pegging you, aren’t you?”

“do you want me to say yes, mommy?” you mock her, and her free hand pulls your hair back. you lips part.

“such a brat,” sevika sighs, as if she’s not enjoying this, “say it. what do you want, hm-m?” 

“sevika,” you start, but she doesn’t let you finish, stopping you with another tug. 

“do you want me to fuck you in the ass?” sevika helps you with your answer.

you murmur something unintelligible. that’s not what she’s looking for. you know it.

“say it,” she insists. strap-on becomes more tangible.

“i want you to fuck me in the ass,” you finally say it. no reason to be ashamed, the only thing stopping you was her arrogant smirk her lips curled in. 

you can’t see it, but you can feel it in her voice as she speaks, “good girl,” 

letting go of your hair, her calloused hands slide possessively over the curve of your bare ass, fingertips tracing the flushed skin before pressing just enough to make you shiver. the cold, slick silicone of the strap nudged against your hole, glistening with the lube, teasing before she pushed in with one brutal, delicious slide — stretching you open, forcing a ragged gasp from your lips as your spine arched off the mattress. 

"fuck—,” sevika growled, her voice rough with want, her hips snapping forward to bury the dildo to the hilt in one smooth stroke. your fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles white, as she didn’t give you a second to adjust, already pulling back only to slam in again, the thick ridge of the toy dragging against your walls in a way that made your thighs tremble.

you groaned, your ass jiggling with each thrust, the obscene slap of skin on skin filling the room. sevika’s free hand fisted in your hair once again, wrenching your head back so you could feel her breath hot against your ear. "you’re so good. taking everything i’m giving you," she punctuated the words with a sharp grind. you whined, your hips canting back desperately.

her chuckle was hoarse, filled with lust as her fingers dug into your thighs, controlling your movements as she fucked into you harder, faster — the pace relentless, the bedframe rattling with every brutal snap of her pelvis.

then she pulled out, flipping you onto your back, your legs hooked over her shoulders before you could say anything. the head of the dildo pressed against your soaked cunt this time, her smirk wild as she watched your face. 

“i want to know how loud you can really scream when I fill this tight little pussy instead."

you didn’t bother yourself with trying to give an answer. she slammed into you, your slick walls clamping around the intrusion as a broken cry tore from your throat. her hips rolled in slow, deliberate circles, grinding the strap deep inside you, the stretch burning in the sweetest way.

"fuck, look at you," she snarled, her metal hand tracing the outline of the dildo pushing up against your stomach, her other hand pinching your nipple hard enough to make you jerk. "all stuffed full, twitching around me like a desperate slut."

“sevika,” your orgasm crashing hard, your walls fluttering around the strap as you came with a shuddering whimper.

she leaned down, her lips brushing against yours in a maddening kiss.

“let’s see if we can make you come again before I’m done with you,”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

it’s raining.

you sit on the floor of your bathroom, in some tank top and shorts, damp hair sticking to your cheeks, your back against cold tiles. you don’t remember how you ended up here — you were brushing your teeth, maybe? maybe not. who cares.

something happened. nothing serious, not to the outside world at least. a passive-aggressive email, someone raising their voice during your sixth meeting this morning, an overdue call from your mother with one of those phrases that always leave a scar no matter how many times you’ve heard them.

it happens, it always happened and it will happen. never bothered you before. you thought you were fine. then you weren’t.

you tried breathing. drinking water. pacing around the apartment, opening windows, shutting them. screaming into a pillow. didn’t help.

you need to talk. you need someone to talk to. not someone who’ll coo into the phone and tell you you’re strong. not someone who’ll pity you or try to fix it. you just need to not be alone in your head for one fucking second.

you open your phone, scroll through contacts. you hesitate at a few names. delete one. almost call another.

then, without thinking, you click call.

“…hello?”

her voice is husky from sleep, low and raspy. you glance at the time. 2:41 AM. of course it is. you’re surprised she answered.

you don’t say anything at first. your throat is tight, aching from trying not to cry, but sevika hears your breath. 

“why are you calling me?”

not what’s wrong, not are you okay — just why are you calling me? blunt and steady. exactly what you need.

“i didn’t know who else to call,” you whisper, your voice cracking like cheap glass.

you hear the rustle of bedsheets on her end. “you don’t have to explain,” she says. she’s more awake now. “you want me to come? just send the address,” 

you squeeze your eyes shut, tears slipping out anyway. “no. no, just— just stay on the line, okay?”

“i’m here.”

you don’t say anything for a moment. your breathing is shallow, hiccupy.

“i’m losing it,” you admit. “i’m losing it and i don’t even know why. nothing happened. or maybe everything happened. i just— i don’t know how to be anymore. i’m tired all the time and when i’m not tired i’m angry and when i’m not angry i’m empty and i feel like i’m screaming underwater and no one can hear me and—”

“breathe.”

you do. slowly. shakily.

“again.”

you obey.

“good.”

you let your head fall back against the tile. “sorry.”

“don’t be,” sevika replies immediately. “you don’t have to make sense right now.”

it’s quiet for a beat. just the sound of rain hitting your window and her steady breath in your ear.

“you know, when i was twenty-six,” she starts, and her tone is calm like smoke curling in a cold room, “i broke a guy’s nose just because he called me a disappointment. i mean, he was my father, but still.”

you let out a breath — half-sob, half-laugh.

“i didn’t even feel better after that,” she continues. “just sat on the curb after and smoked. my hand was shaking so bad i dropped the lighter three times.”

“you’re telling me this to make me feel better?”

“no. i’m telling you this so you know you’re not the only one who falls apart sometimes. we all do. some of us just pretend better.”

you pull your knees to your chest. your voice is small when you say, “i don’t think i’m pretending well anymore.”

“then don’t,” Sevika says. “take the night off,”

the silence that follows feels different now. not so crushing. not so alone.

you sniff. “are you always this good at late-night phone therapy?”

“i’m usually better with my hands,” she mutters, dry. you hear the faint clink of a lighter. “but i manage.”

“thank you.”

“don’t mention it.”

“no, i mean— really. i didn’t want someone to coddle me. i just needed someone who… wouldn’t freak out. and you didn’t.”

“i’m not the freaking out type,” sevika says, taking a drag. 

“i know,” you lean your forehead to your knees. exhale. the tile isn’t so cold now. maybe your body’s just going numb. “can we just… stay like this? for a while?”

“i’m not going anywhere.”

you don’t talk for a long time. sometimes you hear her smoke. sometimes she hears you breathe. once, she says something about needing to clean her balcony. you tell her you bought overpriced grapes that don’t even taste good. you argue over whether they’re red or purple.

your chest still hurts. but less.

you talk until the sky starts turning blue.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

you didn’t mean for it to turn into this.

it was supposed to be simple. one night — well, maybe two, three, four — just sex. good sex. sure, really good sex. and then you started talking. really talking. not the lazy banter between orgasms, but the type of talking that leaves your chest all too soft. raw.

she could’ve ignored the call. just blocked your number after. she didn’t. instead, she chose to be on the other end of the line when you were a mess on your bathroom floor. why? you don’t know.

but you know that something’s changed.

you feel it in the silence between her sentences. in the way your fingers hover too long over the screen before typing something stupid like what kind of coffee do you drink anyway. in the way you catch yourself replaying her laugh — the real one, not the sarcastic snort — in your head, like a favorite scene from a film you don’t want to end.

you text her.

are you busy tonight? [you]

[sevika] tonight’s not saturday.

you roll your eyes so hard you nearly see your brain. shame she can’t witness it.

thanks, calendar app. i’m cooking. come by if you want [you]

a beat. then another.

or don’t. i’ll just eat my culinary masterpiece alone [you]

the typing bubble appears. vanishes. appears again.

[sevika] text me the address

you do.

and just like that, you’re setting the table in your penthouse. the one you dreamed of when you were a broke, wide-eyed assistant fetching oat milk lattes for directors who didn’t know your name. now your place looks like a walking moodboard. framed movie posters lining the walls, warm lighting, tall windows. a kitchen you barely use but pretend to know your way around.

you did cook. sort of. technically. with help. fine, you ordered from a semi-obscure place and transferred the food to your own plates and pans. your hands did something.

when the doorbell rings, your stomach flips. you curse yourself for that quietly before answering.

sevika’s there, wearing what they call an effortless outfit — leather jacket, plain tee, that smug little expression she always brings like a plus-one.

“so,” she says, stepping inside, surveying the apartment, “you really leaned into the whole ‘i work in film’ thing, huh? what’s next, an oscar in the bathroom?”

“shut up,” you grin, “those are tasteful posters.”

she smirks and shrugs her jacket off, hanging it on the back of a chair. “sure, sure. very tasteful. and the table setting? what’s this, a date?”

you don’t answer that. instead, you motion for her to sit.

“i cooked,” you lie, serving with flair.

sevika raises an eyebrow. “really?” she picks up a fork, inspects the dish. “this smells suspiciously professional. no offense.”

“i’ll take none, because you’re right. i ordered it. but i plated it myself.”

“you shouldn’t have,” she deadpans. “i love lies with my dinner.”

you both laugh, and suddenly it’s easier.

you eat. you talk.

not just what do you do or what’s your star sign or how do you like your eggs in the morning. it’s more real. more layered. like the parts of her that don’t come out during sex. the parts she keeps close to her chest. although you do like your eggs in a oddly specific way, but you decide you’re not that close for that level of deep talk.

you learn she has a niece. doesn’t see her often. “family stuff,” she says, and you don’t push.

you learn she listens to old records when she’s stressed. mostly rock. sometimes jazz.

you learn she used to fight a lot when she was younger. “i still do,” sevika admits, “just more metaphorically now,”

and you’re asking these things because… you want to know. not because you’re trying to get close — whatever that means — but because you already feel like you are.

you’re not friends. not lovers. not a one-night thing. not a thing at all. and yet, here she is, sipping your wine, making fun of your poster of the incredible shrinking man, telling you about the scar on her wrist from a kitchen accident no one ever asks about.

and you listen. all of it.

something warm blooms in your chest, unsettling in the best way.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

“and then he just— died. mid-scene. the actor didn’t know what to do, he just kept monologuing like a lunatic. it was kind of beautiful, though. tragic, but beautiful,”

you’re perched on the kitchen island, legs swinging, a glass of wine in one hand, fork in the other. sevika’s standing near the open window, smoke curling from her lips.

“so what’s the title?” she asks.

you pause. “the ashtray fell first. working title. you don’t like it?”

“bit pretentious,” she smirks.

“bit accurate,”

sevika steps closer. “you really think death mid-monologue’s a metaphor no one’s used yet?”

“says the woman who quotes bukowski unironically,”

that earns you a curl of her lip. then a long inhale. she walks up, and as she exhales, she deliberately blows the smoke into your face. you hate that. she knows it.

you recoil. “you’re a dick,”

“yeah,” she says, already leaning in, lips brushing against yours, “so what?”

you kiss her back. it’s hot and lazy and perfect, her hands spreading over your hips, sliding under your shirt. you drown in this heat until a vibration on the counter buzzes right through your spine.

your phone. you don’t even get a chance to check it. sevika’s hand reaches out and flips the screen down, silencing it.

“rude,” you murmur between kisses.

“not really,” she replies, kissing down your neck, “just considerate,”

what follows is the usual. sharp breaths, gasps, tangled limbs. she fucks you with her hand again, and your thighs are still trembling when she finally falls beside you on the bed.

your phone buzzes. again. you groan. sevika turns her head lazily to glance at the screen. her face unreadable.

“that same number tried calling before,” she mutters, voice low.

you freeze for a moment. sigh. reach for the phone. “it’s— whatever,” you wave it off.

sevika raises an eyebrow.

you answer, when it doesn’t stop buzzing, “hey,” your voice drops into a slightly strained politeness.

you roll onto your side, back to sevika, as the voice on the other end starts talking. she can’t hear all the words, just enough to get the tone: familiarity. a kind of old, strange closeness.

“no. yeah, i got your message, i just didn’t have time— no, i’m not ignoring you, i’ve been working. some of us do that full-time.” you force a laugh. fake. “what do you want?”

sevika watches. silent. her metal fingers curled slightly, the light from your bedside lamp catching the dull sheen of steel.

you finally hang up and sigh, tossing the phone aside. “ex,” you say, sitting up a little. “she’s directing some indie mess and wants me to help with post. she’s out of budget and out of her mind,” 

sevika’s voice is flat. “and you’re thinking about it.”

you shrug. “i could. it’s not the worst offer.”

she scoffs, reaches for her cigar pack “sure. sounds great. help out the woman who once said your ideas were ‘too commercial to matter.’”

you look at her. “you remember that?” the older woman doesn’t answer. you pull your shirt back over your head, irritation growing like static in your jaw. “it’s just business,”

“is it?”

you snap. “yes, sevika, it is. not everything’s about feelings, or grudges, or— whatever it is you’re doing right now.”

she leans forward, lighting the cigar. doesn’t meet your eyes. “i’m not doing anything,”

“oh really? so this isn’t about the fact that my ex just called me and asked for a professional favor, and i didn’t immediately throw my phone out the window like it’s a plague?”

sevika finally looks at you, sharp. “you think i’m jealous?”

“aren’t you?”

her silence says everything.

“well,” you huff, crossing your arms. “you don’t get to be,”

her jaw clenches. “and why the fuck not?”

“because i told you. i don’t want any labels and everything that comes with them,”

it’s quiet. then sevika stands. pulls her jacket off the chair.

your chest tightens. “seriously?”

she doesn’t answer. just slips her arms into the sleeves.

you stand too. “you’re leaving?”

“you said it yourself. this isn’t about feelings. so what’s the point of staying?”

“don’t twist my words,”

“i’m not,” she says, walking to the door. “you made yourself clear,”

“i didn’t mean it like that,”

sevika pauses with her hand on the doorknob.

“then figure out what you do mean. because right now it sounds like you want to keep me at arm’s length until it’s convenient to let me in.”

she doesn’t slam the door. doesn’t yell. just leaves.

and you’re left in your too-big penthouse, with the flickering silence and the leftover scent of smoke and sex and something else, something you can’t name — something that had the chance to become real, and slipped right out your door.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢ 

it’s been three weeks. twenty days, technically, if you count like a lunatic. which, at this point, you do.

you haven’t seen her. haven’t texted. haven’t gone to the bar. but you’ve thought. obsessively. rewrote the last night in your head, again and again. your words and your pride. 

and still, you didn’t move. until tonight.

you don’t know what snapped. maybe it was the silence, maybe the half-drunk glass of wine, maybe the storm outside your window. but suddenly you’re putting on shoes with shaking hands and grabbing a jacket and searching for the address you swore you deleted but didn’t. of course you didn’t.

the drive is messy. you get lost once. the rain smears across your windshield like a cliché. your hair sticks to your forehead. you ring the bell. once. twice.

the door opens.

sevika’s standing there in sweatpants and a faded shirt, no bra, cigar still lit between two fingers. her hair’s tied back, damp at the ends. eyes dark.

she stares at you. you stare back. soaked. “i—” you start.

“get in,” she says quietly. not kindly. not unkindly either. just… inevitably.

you step inside. warm air hits your face. the place smells like ash and tea. she disappears into another room, returns with a towel and hands it to you without a word.

you wipe your face. your shoulders. she sets a mug on the coffee table. sits across from you. the tea smells like chamomile. you take a sip, warming your hands as you hold the cup.

“i’ve been thinking,”

sevika raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t interrupt.

“about us. if that’s even a word i get to use.” you take a breath. your heart’s pounding. “look. i’m a rational person. i overthink everything. i dissect my own feelings before i even feel them. and i told myself that what we had was sex. and then it became something else. and i didn’t know what to do with that,”

the older woman says nothing. just smokes. watching you.

“i thought you didn’t want anything serious. you don’t act like someone who wants it. you keep people away,”

“and you don’t?” sevika mutters, low.

you smile, bitter. “i do it differently. i make sure everyone thinks i’m too busy, too cool, too whatever to need anyone. i play the part,”

you swallow.

“i had this girlfriend. years ago. the director. you remember,” a dry laugh slips out. “she told me i was too much. said i made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. like i was always waiting for something she couldn’t give,”

her eyes narrow, ever so slightly.

“after that, i stopped trying. i just— worked. stayed impressive. impressive people don’t get left behind, right?” you meet her gaze. “and then you walked in. blowing smoke in my face. laughing like you didn’t care about anything. and i thought, finally. someone who doesn’t want anything from me. someone safe,”

the irony twists in your throat.

“but you’re not safe,” you whisper. “you’re so not safe. you make me feel like—” your voice catches. “—like a shaken bottle. like someone just lit a match in my chest and left it there. sevika, you are addictive. and i have a very bad self-control,”

she doesn’t move. but something in her eyes shifts. flickers. you sit up straighter.

“i want you,” you say, and this time your voice is steady. “not casually. not on weekends. i want all of it. the mess. the silence. the ‘don’t text me during work hours’ bullshit. the cigars, even,” and there it is. the pause.

sevika stubs out the cigar. slowly. deliberately. then crosses the space between you in three quiet steps. her hand brushes your cheek, thumb catching a drop of water still clinging to your jaw. your eyes flutter shut.

“you’re still wet,” she mutters, voice rougher now. “you’re gonna catch a cold.”

“i’ve had worse.”

she sighs. low. tired. fond. and then pulls you into her arms. you fold into her like you’ve been trying to do since the first fucking night. 

she smells like shampoo. her breath warms your temple. her metal hand presses against your back.

you’re shaking. not from the cold. from relief.

“you’re a pain in the ass,” sevika murmurs.

“i know,”

“but you’re mine now,”

“i know,” you repeat, nose brushing her collarbone.

tags: @riotstemple29

[dawnkiller08]

Omg thank you TwT and so sorry for my account being full of so many reblogs. I’m working on moving my art to a different blog so it’s easier to find it all lol. The tagging never annoys me :3 I love being tagged into things. We did meet on TikTok, you’re the reason why I’m on tumblr too. Thank you for helping me get out of my comfort zone and bringing me here. It’s been really great. I’m slowly beginning to live my dream of becoming a well known artist and I like to credit you since you’ve been supporting me :) Ik we don’t really talk but you hold a special place in my heart. Again thank you so much for the tag. You’ve made my day.

@snowysoong SNOWYYYY! You’re one of a kind man. I love all the convos we’ve had and all the crazy stuff you send me. I’m so glad I reached out because you’re an amazing friend. I also gotta say I don’t think I’ve seen someone so dedicated to a character before XD I don’t think anyone loves Lore more than you. Your art is also amazing. Sometimes I wanna go on a liking spree but I feel that could be annoying XD I don’t wanna spam your notifications. Oh also thank you for introducing me to that comic site I think I would’ve died without it. I also really hate the time zone difference because I’d love to game with you or just call often. When the day we finally call comes around we should watch stuff during it. Maybe an episode of TNG with Lore in it *wink wink* You always make me laugh and smile. Whenever we talk it makes my day a little better. Trust that one day we will hang out irl. Never change Snowy <3

@dream-castt HEY DUDE! You’re a new mutual and friend but I already hold many treasured moments with you. The start of our friendship will always be a funny story to me. Thank you for info dumping lore of your oc on me the first time we talk lol. Another thanks to you for introducing me to VR chat. I still can’t believe my dumbass thought you had to have VR to play XD. Playing with you is hella fun. You always got some oc lore to drop and you’re really good at impressions. Your Scout impression is my favorite it’s really good ofc alongside your Connor impression. Sorry I’m kinda bad at roleplaying lol Oh also I love the random pics of your cat you send. I’m looking forward to the next time we call :) *sending you virtual ravioli*

Anyone else I would’ve tagged were already tagged lol Most of you are in the discord server. You people are crazy XD You guys make me laugh. I’ve also read most everyone’s fanfics. Top notch stuff I gotta say. Especially yours @dataentryspecialist. To the rest of my mutuals ily guys. I don’t really interact with you but I see your posts and smile. Hopefully you know all of you are dear to me. Wishing everyone a wonderful day/evening :)

favirote moots?

(People you tag have to reblog and say their favorite moots)

Okay wait

@ibrokeurheartbcuzubrokemine @foliverfalls @allyeilishh @addisonraesbaby @emiliesblohsh @bilsslut @noodleswashere @bilsbabyy @bitchesbrokenpromises @billsdollie

[thatonegrimm]

To the anon who asked for this: I couldn’t find your original request again, but I hope you enjoy this all the same! 💖

Saja Boys x ADHD Reader—When They Join You

Continuation of “When They Notice You Masking”

They saw you. They didn’t flinch. They didn’t laugh. They didn’t tell you to be still. And now, one by one, they step into your rhythm — awkwardly, quietly, sometimes a beat behind — but always with care.

It’s not about dancing, really. It’s about choosing to meet you in a space you didn’t think anyone wanted to share.

--------------------------

🧿 Jinu

You’re moving through the living room in wide, swooping steps, letting the soft beat of your playlist guide you. The kind of movement you only do when you feel safe. Eyes closed. Arms loose.

You don’t hear Jinu enter. But when you spin, you catch him at the doorway — frozen mid-step, eyes wide, like he stumbled in on something private.

You stiffen. Start to apologize.

“Don’t stop,” he says quickly, voice low but earnest. “Please.”

You hesitate, uncertain.

He takes a slow step forward. Then another.

And without asking, he mirrors your movement — just once, with stiff arms and a slight bob of the head. It’s terrible. It’s adorable. It’s Jinu.

“I’m not great at this,” he admits, a little pink in the cheeks. “You don’t have to be,” you whisper.

He smiles. You shift again — small steps, arms gliding — and he follows, every movement a little more confident than the last.

“You look lighter when you move like this,” he says, eyes soft. “I feel lighter,” you admit. “Then I’ll learn to move too.”

--------------------------

💪 Abby

Abby crashes your alone time with a dramatic entrance — speaker in one hand, apron still on from kitchen duty.

“Okay,” he says. “Stretch first. I don’t want to pull a muscle.”

You blink at him from the couch, half in a blanket burrito.

“Stretch for what?” “Flailing,” he grins. “We’re flailing today.”

Before you can protest, he blasts your playlist. It’s loud, bouncy, borderline ridiculous. He immediately starts bouncing his knees and rolling his shoulders like a bad backup dancer. It’s chaotic. He’s so serious about it, it’s impossible not to laugh.

“You’re the one who said dancing makes you feel better,” he says between dramatic kicks. “I also said I didn’t want to do it in front of people.” “Good thing I’m not people. I’m Abby.”

He pulls you up — not with force, but with that warm, expectant smile.

You join him. And it’s messy, uncoordinated, fun.

He collapses beside you after, both of you breathless.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he pants. “You lit up.” “I looked ridiculous.” “Yeah,” he grins. “But you looked happy.”

--------------------------

📚 Mystery

You don’t mean to draw attention. The apartment’s quiet. Lights dimmed. Everyone’s off in their rooms. You’ve got headphones in, body swaying gently as you hum under your breath. Arms loose. Fingers flicking.

You don’t see Mystery until he sits beside you.

Just—suddenly there.

You startle.

He looks at your hands. Then your knees. Then your face.

“Is it okay if I…?” he asks, lifting his hand slightly.

You nod.

He copies your rhythm exactly — down to the micro-movements of your fingertips. No words. No questions. Just presence.

“I didn’t think you danced,” you murmur. “I don’t,” he says. “But I thought maybe you’d feel less alone if I did.”

You watch him — all long limbs and soft expressions, so careful not to overstep.

“You don’t have to match me.” “I’m not,” he says. “I’m keeping tempo. You’re the melody.”

And somehow, that makes your chest ache — in the best way.

--------------------------

💋 Romance

He shows up in the doorway holding a Bluetooth speaker above his head like he’s serenading you 80s-movie style.

“Mood music,” he declares. “You made a playlist?” “Specifically for you. Songs I’ve seen you bounce to when you thought I wasn’t watching.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. He sets the speaker down and offers his hand.

“Let’s be embarrassing together.”

You laugh, half-horrified. But you take it.

He leads you in a slow, swaying rhythm. Not quite dancing — more like floating. Then he twirls you. Badly. You nearly fall.

“That was not graceful.” “You’re right. Let’s do it again.”

You do. And again. Each time worse than the last — and yet, somehow better. He’s giggling now, chest pressed to yours, breath warm against your cheek.

“You shine when you let yourself go,” he murmurs, voice barely above the music. “You make me feel safe enough to try,” you whisper.

He brushes his thumb under your chin.

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

--------------------------

🔥 Baby

He doesn’t even knock. Just barges into your room with a grumble.

“Your vibe is off.” “What?” “Fix it. Pick a song.”

You stare at him, bundled up in a hoodie, phone already open to your music library.

“What’s happening?” “We’re moving. You’re overthinking again.”

You pick a song. He nods approvingly and hits play.

Then — with zero shame — starts stomping in place. Bouncing. Head rolling. It’s like a dance battle between him and gravity.

“Come on,” he says, eyes sharp but playful. “This your thing, right? Get weird.”

You laugh. Join him. And in seconds, you’re both caught in the chaos — spinning, stomping, crashing into the edge of your bed.

You collapse together, laughing and panting.

He turns his head to look at you, expression soft.

“That thing you do when you hold it all in? Don’t do that around me.” “I’m just trying to be normal.” “You’re not. You’re better.”

He nudges your shoulder.

“I’ll dance with you anytime. Just ask.”

--------------------------

M-List

[jiminsafairy]

hit record - jungkook (roomate!jungkook, OF creator, furure fwb? hit pause prequel)

summary: your roomate asks you for help to film a video for his OF, and you agree

pairing: roomate!Jungkook × reader

wc: ~3.1k

warnings: sex on camera, tit sucking, tit play , unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it !! ), blowjob, yn rides him! he calls her baby and beautiful and that makes her feel funny

a/n: I thoght I could give our hit pause couple a bit of background! what do you think? As always, english isn’t my first language, so please be kind!

The second you open the door, Jungkook’s already calling out from his room.

“Hey, Y/N, you home?”

You kick your shoes off, drop your bag, and yell back, “Yeah! Why?”

His door swings open. He’s shirtless, wearing just some loose shorts, and his messy hair looks like he just woke up.

You’ve been living together for almost a year now. You found out through some friends that Jungkook was renting out a room in his place. You’d just gotten out of a relationship and weren’t looking for anything permanent – just somewhere to crash for a while while you sorted yourself out.

When you met him, he told you right away what he did for a living: he’s a content creator – making videos, streaming, all that stuff - the adult kind of content. But honestly? You didn’t care much. His job wasn’t that important to you, as long as you got along.

Living together just kind of happened, and you actually really like living with him. There’s something about how easy it feels around him, and sometimes, you get this little tingly feeling inside. But you usually push it down, not wanting to read too much into it or complicate things.

He leans on the doorframe. “Are you busy?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why?”

He grins. That one he pulls when he’s about to say something stupid. Or nasty. Usually both.

“So…” He scratches his neck. “I got this custom request. A subscriber wants a full POV of me sucking tits.”

You blink. “Okay… and you’re telling me… because…?”

He shrugs. “Mmmm…I have this silicone doll this brand sent me and… The tits are fine, I guess. But they don’t jiggle like real ones. It’s not gonna look real.”

You’re still waiting for the punchline. He gives you a fake innocent look. “I thought… yours would be way better,” he says, pointing at your tits.

You cross your arms. “You wanna suck my tits for a video?”

“I mean…” He steps closer, eyes on your chest. “You’ve got the most perfect rack I’ve ever seen. Big, round.”He makes a rough circle in the air with his hands. “Would look crazy on camera.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He smirks. “I’ve seen you in your gym stuff enough times. I noticed–” he drags his eyes down, then back up, real slow, and gives a small shrug “Anyway. It’s just for the video. No face, I promise. Just my mouth and your tits. You just lay back and enjoy it while I do all the work.”

You snort. “That 's all?”

He tilts his head. “Unless you wanna do more.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already smirking. “Mmh. Sounds good. I’m down.”

His face lights up. “Seriously? Fuck – thank you. You’re saving my ass. They paid extra for this request and I was starting to get pretty stressed.”

You lean on the wall with your arms crossed under your chest, watching him practically bounce with excitement.

“So… when do you want to do it?” you ask.

He gives you a look. “How about now?”

Your brows shoot up. “Like now, now?”

“Yeah,” he says, already stepping back toward the hallway. “I’ll head to the studio, get the lights and setup going. Just bring that black lace set. You know the one.”

You squint at him.“How do you know I own that?”

He pauses at the door, shoots you a wicked little smirk over his shoulder.

“I’ve seen your laundry. Those panties with the tiny bows? Burned into my brain.”

You head to your room, the door clicking shut behind you. For a second, you just stand there, staring at your dresser like... what are we doing?

Still, you’re already moving. You grab the black lace set he mentioned and toss it on the bed while you reach for your make up bag.

As you lean over the mirror, dusting some bronzer on your cheeks, you pause. “My face isn’t even gonna show,” you mutter. “Why the hell am I doing this?”

You slip on the lingerie, then throw a loose tee over it and then a pair of shorts.

You walk down the hall, heart thumping like crazy even though you’re just about to let Jungkook suck on your tits for his OF. At his door, you knock twice.

The door swings open right away and you see Jungkook. You see the camera set up on a tripod behind him and a few softboxes. You’ve been here before – the spare room turned into a studio. It smells like his cologne. The bed’s made with plain sheets, simple. He steps aside as you walk in.

“Mmm, you look good,” he smirks. “Did you put on makeup for me, pretty?”

You snort, feeling a little blush creep up your cheeks. “Shut up.”

He closes the door behind you. “Alright” he says. “Sit on the bed. Back against the frame.”

You nod and move over, climbing onto the mattress. Your tee rides up as you sit with your legs stretched out and your back against the headboard, hands resting behind you.

You glance up at him. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” he says as he reaches to adjust the camera angle.

Jungkook finishes adjusting the camera, checking the screen once more before turning to you. He runs a hand through his hair, then leans against the edge of the bed.

“Before we start – anything you don’t want me to do?”

You tilt your head, thinking for a second, then shrug. “Not really. I’m good with whatever.”

With that, he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off in one smooth motion. Now it’s just him and his basketball shorts, with his abs and tattooed sleeve on full display.

Your eyes drop without meaning to, tracing the faint trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband. He catches you looking and smirks again. “Your turn.”

You blink. “Hm?”

“Shirt. Off.”

He watches you almost as if he was waiting for any sign you’ll back out. But you don’t. You grab the hem of your tee and pull it off slow, knowing he’s watching. 

He stares, just for a second  “...fuck.”

You shift a little under his gaze, raising a brow. “What? Something wrong?”

Jungkook snaps out of it, shaking his head slowly. “No! No. That black really suits you.”

You chuckle as your fingers brush along one strap. He clears his throat, and glances back at the camera. “Okay – quick rundown.” You nod, sitting a little straighter.

“So, I’ll hit record,” he says, moving around the bed. “Then I’ll come close, say something to set the mood, get the audience ready.”

You hum in agreement. “Right. Then what?”

“Then I get to work.” He grins.

You nod again, glancing down at your cleavage. “Should I unhook the bra or…?”

He cuts in, shaking his head. “No. Let me pull the cups down. Waaaay hotter. Makes them look even fuller when they spill out like that.”

You laugh. “You sound like you’ve done your research.”

“I jack off to this kind of shit. Of course I have.”

That earns a grin from you, and then he’s climbing up onto the mattress, grabbing the remote for the camera. His knees press into the bed, positioning himself between your legs.

“Alrighty,” he says, looking at you one last time. “Ready?”

You nod, biting your lip. He hits record, then moves forward, kneeling between your thighs as his  face drops toward your chest. The red light on the camera clicks on.

Jungkook’s voice drops an octave. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Bet you’ve imagined this…”

You bite your lip, and your heart skips a beat. “Yeah…”

But then you realize – he’s not looking at you. He’s talking to the camera. You clear your throat, trying to play it cool as he starts kissing your collarbone, just above your bra where the lace meets your skin.

“Damn…” he mutters, pulling back just for a second to look at you. “You’re beautiful.”

Something tightens in your chest at that.

Yes, you’re used to him calling you pretty, yes – but beautiful? You don’t know why, but that just hits differently. You push the thought away before it sticks.

He leans in again. His tongue presses over your nipple through the fabric of your bra.You exhale, shifting slightly under him. He sucks gently, slow and wet, letting the sounds hit just right for the camera.

“Can’t wait to get these pretty tits out,” he whispers. His fingers slip under the bra and eyes never leave yours. Then he tugs the cups down, and your tits spill free.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, quiet. His eyes go wide, as if he forgot the camera was on. “They’re even bigger than I thought.” His hands move up, feeling warm on your skin. He rubs your nipples, then pinches them. You arch your back with a sharp breath.

“Ah. Fuck.”

He groans low, clearly loving the sound. “You like that?” he mutters, tugging again, this time slower, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers.

“Yeah – shit. Keep going,” you breathe.

“So sensitive,” he mutters, giving your nipples a slow tug. You moan, and he smirks. “Just a little touch and you're already making noise.” 

He groans as his mouth moves across your skin. “They’re so big, I bet I could fit them both in my mouth.” He grabs your tits, pulling them to his face. His mouth opens wide, sucking both nipples. You let out a moan.

He stops for a second and looks up at you. His mouth curls into a dirty little smile, then he dives back in.

“Shit, Jungkook…” you pant, thighs tightening around him without even trying, “I–I think I’m close…” you pant.

He pauses for a moment, watching your face as you squirm beneath him.

“Are you serious right now?” he asks. “You feel like you could cum… just from this?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Fuck, I feel like I could.”

That lights something in him. His mouth opens to say something cocky, but he stops. “Damn, baby…” That damn nickname again, making you feel all funny inside.

Jungkook groans, sucking your nipple hard. Your thighs tighten around him and your  fingers clutch the sheets. His other hand grabs your other tit, pressing them together as spit drips down your chest.

“God, yes – fuck! Don’t stop,” you whimper.

“You gonna cum for me?” he growls against your nipple. “Just from this? From me sucking on your perfect fucking tits?”

“Y-Yeah. Jungkook, I –” You come hard, grabbing his hair. Jungkook keeps licking, growling as you shake under him.

“Damn,” he mutters “You really came. All from my mouth on your tits.” He pulls back a bit. “You gonna tell your future hookups some guy made you cum off tit sucking alone?” he teases, raising his eyebrows. “’Cause I feel like that’s a flex.”

Still trying to come down from your climax, you let out a shaky breath.

“No – but,” you say, dragging a hand down your face. “That wasn’t just some orgasm. That was... the orgasm.”

“Yeah?” He leans in again and his nose brushes your breast. “Damn, baby. You’re gonna give me a god complex or something.”

You roll your eyes. “Mpfh. Like you don’t have one already.”

He smirks against your skin, and gives your tits with one last squeeze before he sits up on his knees. “Alright, I’ll stop the camera,” he says, reaching toward the remote.

But before he gets there, you notice it – the bulge in his shorts. He's hard and you bet he’s been holding back this whole time.  Your eyes move up to his face, and he catches you looking.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna walk around hard like this?”

He freezes for half a second, then chuckles under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean… wasn’t really planning to, but – ” He glances down at himself, then back at you, grinning. “Hard not to be when you’re sitting there moaning like that.”

You sit up a little. “So you’re telling me…” you start, playfull, “you made me cum… and you’re just gonna leave yourself like that?”

He licks his lips slowly, gaze flicking down your body like he’s rethinking everything.

“…didn’t say that,” he mutters. “Was probably just gonna go jerk off in the shower or something.”

You watch him for a second. He’s trying to play it cool, but that bulge says otherwise. Your eyes drag down to it again, and then back up. “Come here.”

He blinks. “Huh?”

You tilt your head, smirking. “I wanna suck you off,” you say.

His breath stutters, eyes darkening. “You wanna – yeah?”

You nod. He shoves his shorts and underwear down in one motion and his cock springs free, hard. His hand wraps around himself, stroking slowly as his thumb smears pre-cum across the head.

He drops back onto the bed and you move between his thighs, fingers curling around the base of his cock. He’s hot, heavy in your hand, and your grip tightens as you start to stroke him, watching his breath hitch.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely audible.

You lean in, tongue flicking out to taste him, dragging a slow lick from base to tip. His hips jerk. Then your mouth closes over him, lips sliding down his length, tongue working the underside. You take as much as you can, and your hand strokes what your mouth doesn’t cover.

“Shit,” he mutters, eyes wide, locked on you. “You’re actually— okay, fuck.”

You hollow your cheeks, pull back, then sink down again. 

His hand drifts up your chest and his fingers brush your skin before he finds your nipple. He rolls it between his fingers, slow at first, then pinches, watching the way your body responds. You moan around him, and his cock twitches in your mouth.

He groans as he keeps playing with your nipple with his fingers. His hips shift, fighting the urge to thrust deeper. Every time you pull back to breathe, you lick at the head, your tongue circling before you take him again. He’s panting.

His thumb wipes a streak of spit from your chin, then lingers at your lip, watching the way you take him. You suck him deeper making your jaw ache, but you don’t stop. He’s close – you can feel it in the way he tightens beneath you, the way his breath breaks.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Because I wanna fuck you so bad right now.”

You let him slip from your mouth to speak. Your lips are swollen, a sheen of spit glistening on your chin. “Yeah.”

He lets out a breath, “Thank fuck,” he mutters, already reaching for you.

He leans in, kissing you hard, and his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer. It stirs something inside you, a mix of wanting and nervousness, but neither of you says a word. One hand slides down to the waistband of your shorts, tugging them and your panties off in one smooth motion. They hit the floor somewhere behind him, forgotten.

His fingers trail slowly up your thigh, pausing just a breath away from where you need him most. Then they slip between your folds. You gasp into his mouth as one finger slides in, then another.

“God,” he mutters against your lips, “you’re soaked.”

His fingers move and his mouth never leaves yours.  “Jungkook” Your hips jerk up, chasing his fingers, trembling around them. 

Jungkook slips his fingers out slowly, and his lips brush against your neck as he pulls back a little. He moves lower, positioning himself at your entrance, feeling how wet and ready you are. 

He pushes forward, his cock stretching you open. You gasp.

“Shit,” you breathe. “You’re … big.”

He groans at that, and his head dips to your shoulder as he sinks deeper. “I’ll go slow,” he mutters. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”

You shake your head, panting. “No. Just – mmmh. Don’t stop.”

He stills when he bottoms out your walls clench tight around him.

“You’re so tight,” he growls, grabbing your hips as he drives into you. “Moan for me,” he pants. “I want to hear you”

“Jungkook!” you cry out.

His hands grip your hips tight, then with a quick move, he flips you over so you’re on top. You settle down slowly, riding him, grinding as his hands slide over your waist. Your hands grip his shoulders and Jungkook watches your tits bounce.

“I wish you could see how hot you look right now, riding me like that” he groans. “I love watching your tits bounce” He reaches up, cupping one, squeezing it tight, watching it jiggle under his hand.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he groans. His hips snap up to meet yours.

Skin meets skin as the rhythm quickens. You bounce harder, keeping up with his pace. Jungkook drives deep, each thrust harder than the last. You grip his shoulders. “Jungkook, I’m close,” you gasp.

His grip on your hips tightens, pulling you closer.  “Cum for me, baby,” he says.

Your body shakes, as you reach your climax, but Jungkook never stops thrusting.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” he growls. His hips jerk hard, driving deep as he spills inside you, groaning your name.

You collapse over his chest with shaky breath, and press a quick kiss to one of his pecs.

He asks softly, “You okay?”

You nod.

“Mmm, I like being like this,” he says. He stays still for a moment, then slowly thrusts again. You let out a low moan, feeling he’s still inside you, not soft yet.

“Jungkook!”

He chuckles, brushing his lips over your skin. “What? I like being inside you. Could stay here all day. Watch a movie or something.”

You giggle. “So… you recorded the whole thing? But you’re not going to upload everything, right? Like, the entire thing?”

He smirks against your skin. “Nope. What happened after you came the first time? That’s private content, for my eyes only.”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Good. Some things should stay between us.”

He wraps an arm around you tighter. “Exactly. And honestly, we could do this more often – with or without the cameras.”

taglist : @bammbi-jeon127

[vel-vet61]

pretend its me (short)

explicit 18+, stalky remmick masturbating, creeping, toys, dirty talk

—————————————————————

thinking of remmick being a filthy freak stalker and flying up to sit in the tree outside your bedroom window when he knows you’re touching yourself

pulls his dick out of his pants to start gooning, frothing at the mouth just by watching you from the back. licking his lips while he’s stroking it, getting lusty eyefuls of how hard you’ve always slid your pussy up and down on a plethora of toys

you unknowingly impress him, cumming and creaming on all the girthy ones so easily. with how sharp his hearing is, he gets to pull on his cock listening to the sloppy sound of suction while you fuck yourself on it like a rabbit in heat

remmick’s loads always end up painting the branches and the leaves beneath him a milky white, cum dripping down the trunk like it’s tree sap

his eyes roll back as he lets out an honest to god whimper while he peered down imagining your hips going at it on him while you’re clenching down on it and ripping that chubby toy right out of you, slathered in your shiny slick that he just wants to help you lick clean forever and ever

every night, without fail he’s got his stupid suspenders shoved off his shoulders and his twitching cock out like usual, like some lonely perverted nocturnal hillbilly with his thumb squeezing and torturing the head while he’s biting down on his lip to stay quiet

he smells it when you’re ovulating, especially notices how you make yourself cum triple the number of times you regularly do, kinky and sweaty porn playing on your tv, flicking your clit while you glide the tip of your biggest dildo yet in your entire collection, teasing yourself at the needy brim of your hole

remmick recognizes the smell of desperation dripping off of you, wondering if he just knocked on your door tonight of all nights and offered to give you a better fuck than any of those toys you’ve bought if you’d be horny enough to say yes and take it

take him, throw him around, sit yourself down on top of his fucking face and grind and grind and grind until his mouth and his jaw is slippery with your cum

imagines you getting rough with impatience on him, not taking any teasing kindly before you take everything you want from him

your pheromones are crowding his senses, even from outside absolutely driving him insane

he slips all his dirty little fantasies from his imagination and projects them right into yours, infiltrating your subconscious with flashes of images from your porn selections but replacing all the dick you craved with his own, now raising his hips up and ruthlessly fucking his fist when you start to bounce your drooling pussy up and down that long, thick piece of bright pink silicone

yeah yeah. you’re really givin’ that pussy what she craves tonight. mmm, naughtiest girl I’ve ever seen. sure that toy ain’t too big?

he sees you flip your head up and briefly check your surroundings like you sensed the presence that lingered, weary with those cute eyebrows furrowed. but still not worried enough to stop circling your hips and riding your dildo

nah, nah you want it to bust you open don’t you? leave ya walkin’ funny? we all have desires, honey, just take ‘em all out on me

remmick’s dirty thoughts only get louder, piercing right through you and interrupting any other carnal thoughts that float around in your head. with a shit eating grin he keeps going, eager eyes set on you while his flushed cock bobs in his fist and practically snarls and growls for him to keep going

imagine I’m under you instead, baby. filling you up. I can feed you a real load of cum, better than that stick a’ rubber

you lift your hips until just the head is peaking inside then slam your pussy back down, giving remmick the sights and sounds of how hard you grip and tease

taunts you with a yeah, mmhm. I seen you use those things plenty a’ times. bouncing so damn fast on ‘em, thought I’d witness you breakin’ that damn bed. y’sure do know how to take dick when ya need it. not as innocent as you fuckin’ look. take ‘em real good. really really fuckin’ good

your hips go wild while his hand barely keeps up, pretending his own palm is your warm wetness while he breathes hard, still hoping to worm his way into your fantasies

massaging that pussy so good. she’s creaming. can see all the way from over here how those hips just won’t quit movin’… keep on—oh f-fuck, ride that dick, take all that dick, keep pretending it’s mine

remmick’s unoccupied hand goes to find a grip on one of the branches, white knuckling it the same way his busy hand is squeezing down the girthy, sweaty base, gasping at how fast his balls are now scrunching up, so filled up and ready for you

you’ve scrunched up your own toes while speeding up your tempo, toy now filthy with the evidence of your milky juices

like a prayer of manifestation, he only focuses on you as he’s shooting ropes and ropes of thick cum right outside your window, stray drops splattering on the side of your home. his glowing red eyes never leave your hole as you’re gaping wide after letting the toy gently slip out onto the bed, messy and tired

one of these nights, you’ll be invitin’ me to come on in and be your new fucktoy. you can take advantage, ride this dick all night if ya have to. it’ll feel a whole lot better than that rubber piece of shit, won’t it?

[r66dusthewriter]

Coffee breaks before sunrise

Pairing: Simon Riley x reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: been writing so much lately for Ghost so here goes an extra fic this week! Enjoy!

Setting: Military base kitchen, early morning

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 1k

The base at 0430 was a ghost town. Most of the soldiers were still tucked in their bunks and those on the night shift dragged themselves to the showers like zombies.

You, however, were already in the kitchen, barefoot, hoodie hanging off one shoulder and glaring at the coffee machine like it had personally wronged you, because it had. Twice.

You jabbed the start button again, watched the little green light blink, then nothing. No sound, no drip, just a faint hum and your own caffeine-deprived frustration.

“You gonna try threatenin’ it next?” came a deep voice from the doorway.

You didn’t even need to turn around. “I might,” you mumbled, rubbing your temple. “Nothing else seems to be working. I think it’s possessed.”

Ghost, Simon, walked in slowly, his footsteps softer than they should be for a man his size. You could tell it was him even without watching. The way he moved was unmistakable, methodical and quiet, like he didn’t want to leave a footprint behind.

“I’ve seen you fight men twice your size with less aggression,” he added, voice dry.

“Yeah, well, those men didn’t stand between me and caffeine,” you muttered.

He let out a low, quiet chuckle and rare sound. You gave up and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. Simon moved past you to open the upper cabinet. He didn’t say anything, but you could see the corners of his eyes crinkling above the balaclava, amused.

“I brought my own,” he finally said, pulling a small tin from the shelf.

“Of course you did.”

He shrugged. “Base coffee tastes like regret.”

“And wet dirt.”

“You make a face every time you drink it,” he added, already heating water in a battered kettle he must’ve smuggled from somewhere.

You squinted at him. “So you’ve been watching me drink it?”

Simon didn’t answer, just pulled down a second mug, yours, because apparently he had been watching, then set it beside his without a word. You watched the muscles in his forearm flex as he stirred, silent and focused. He moved with the calm, practiced rhythm of someone used to routine, to quiet mornings and getting in and out without waking anyone.

“How long have you been awake?” you asked.

“Long ‘nough to know you’d be here.”

Something flipped in your chest. You didn’t respond and truly didn’t need to. There was too much unsaid between you both already.

Simon poured the drinks, slid your mug over without meeting your eyes. “Careful, ‘s hot.”

“Thanks.” You took a sip of real coffee, not sludge. Smooth, dark and strong making your eyes nearly roll back. “Holy shit.”

Again, you noticed that faint curve in his eyes, a smile you clearly weren’t supposed to see. You leaned against the counter again and took another sip, slower this time, watching him from over the rim of your mug. He was still standing, leaning one hip against the counter, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave…and like he’d made coffee for two with the intention of staying.

“You always up this early?” you asked, quietly.

“Old habit. Never stopped.”

You nodded. You got it, some of those habits never left, even when the war wasn't actively knocking at your door. Sleep was shallow, dreams were loud, and coffee was non-negotiable.

“Why bring enough for two?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

He tilted his head, gave you a look you couldn’t quite read. “Didn’t.”

You raised a brow at that and Simon hesitated, just long enough to make you notice.

“…Started bringing it a few days ago,” he admitted. “Figured you’d be here, eventually.”

The weight of his voice, quiet, honest and definitely far from teasing, hit you right in the gut. You opened your mouth to say something, maybe thank him, maybe admit you looked forward to these little shared silences, but then–

CLUNK.

The damn machine sputtered to life behind you and you both turned. Watched it belch out two drops of oily, burnt coffee into the empty pot.

You snorted. “Now it wakes up.”

He shrugged, sipping his mug. “Too late. I win.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t hide the grin his comment pulled out of you.

A few minutes passed in that comforting early-morning silence. You both just… stood there. Not talking and not needing to.

It was a strange thing…this quiet familiarity with a man you didn’t really know, not in the usual ways, but you knew the way he moved, the way he breathed heavier when the day ahead was going to be difficult and how he loosened his gloves by an inch or two when he trusted the room.

He didn’t hide around you, not really.

“Are you going to the briefing later?” you asked, your voice soft.

He shook his head. “Already got what I need.”

You nodded again. Of course he had.

He finished his coffee before you and rinsed out his mug, but instead of leaving, he hovered for a second. Then stepped close, closer than usual, and slid something small across the counter toward you.

You blinked. It was a travel-sized tin, the same one he’d pulled from the cabinet.

“You’re giving me your coffee?” you asked, surprised.

“Not giving.” He met your eyes. “Loaning.”

You smiled. “And what’s the return fee?”

His gaze held yours, steady. “Another cup. Same time tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help it, you just smiled again, this time slower, warmer.

“Deal.”

He gave you a nod and backed away without another word but just before he disappeared around the corner, he paused with one hand on the doorframe.

“Oh,” he said. “Don’t go gettin’ soft on me…just means I like good coffee.”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant.” You replied with a smile.

He muttered something about being too early for cheek and disappeared into the hallway.

You stood there for a while, staring at the tin in your hand, it wasn’t what warmed you, though. It was the fact that he’d been thinking of you, quietly, without needing anything in return, and that said more than any mission debrief ever could.

[formulafanfics13]

hii if it’s not too much could you do osc with a reader that has sh scars? like him proving to her that she’s still lovable with soft smut

every part of you - OP81 🔥

Masterlist

SUMMARY While undressing in the quiet comfort of your hotel room with Oscar Piastri, your old self-harm scars are accidentally revealed. You panic, but Oscar sees them and doesn’t flinch. His response is calm, kind, and grounded in love. He touches you with reverence and reminds you that your pain doesn’t make you unlovable. The intimacy that follows is slow, emotional, and deeply healing — a love scene built on trust and softness rather than lust. Oscar holds you like you’re sacred, and by the end, you believe him when he tells you you’re still lovable.

WARNINGS Themes of past self-harm, visible self-harm scars, emotional vulnerability, deep intimacy, body worship, soft and slow smut, crying during sex, aftercare, and affirming love. Emotional but healing. Please read with care if you're sensitive to mental health topics.

You hadn’t meant for him to see. That was the worst part. This wasn’t supposed to be a big moment. It wasn’t supposed to be anything at all.

It was just a hoodie. That was all. You were hot, the hotel room too warm even with the windows cracked open, the lights dim and Oscar half-asleep beside you. You tugged the sweatshirt off over your head, arms raised, the hem catching for a second — and that’s when he saw them.

The scars. Faint. Pale. Faded from time and saltwater and shame. But still there. Still visible in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. And you saw his eyes flicker. Just once.

You froze.

“Fuck-” you whispered, yanking the sleeves of your t-shirt down like that would change anything. “I didn’t mean to-shit, Oscar, I didn’t think-”

“Hey. Hey.” His voice was quiet. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

He sat up slowly, pushing himself onto one elbow, the duvet slipping low on his waist. His face was unreadable. Gentle. Serious. Like the weight of the moment had finally settled.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You stared down at your lap. The tips of your fingers dug into the edge of the mattress. “Because they’re still there.”

He reached out, slow enough that you could pull away. You didn’t. His hand wrapped around your wrist, turning your arm gently, like he was holding something sacred. His thumb brushed across one of the faint lines, not as a question but as a fact. A mark of truth.

“Yeah,” he said. “They are.”

You swallowed hard.

“But so are your freckles. And that little scar on your knee from when you fell off your bike when you were eight. And the one on your shoulder from when your cat attacked you that one time. They’re all part of you.”

“This is different.”

“Why?”

“Because I did this to myself.”

He didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch. His fingers tightened just slightly around your arm. “I know.”

Silence.

And then, “Doesn’t make you any less lovable.”

Your breath hitched.

“Oscar-”

“I’m serious.” His voice cracked a little. “I’ve loved you since the second you started talking to me like I wasn’t some driver with a media smile. Since the first time you called me out on my bullshit in the sim room. Since you showed up at that Melbourne dinner wearing your fucking hoodie inside out and didn’t notice for two hours.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

“I love every part of you,” he said. “Even the parts that hurt.”

You stared at him.

And then you kissed him.

Not the frantic, horny kind of kiss. This wasn’t about sex. This was about need. About wanting to be held and seen and not rejected. About being touched like you were still human.

Oscar kissed you back just as slowly. His hands cradled your jaw, his thumbs catching the edge of your tears as he pulled you into his lap. The t-shirt was still hanging off your frame, sleeves loose, fabric soft and worn. You weren’t wearing anything under it.

He didn’t say anything about that.

He just kissed you harder.

Your thighs settled on either side of his waist, knees tucked into the mattress, bodies pressed together with nothing but heat between you. His lips dragged down your throat, across your collarbone, over every inch of skin he could reach.

“Still okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“You can stop me anytime.”

“I won’t.”

He slipped the t-shirt off you, slow as fuck, like he was afraid to scare you away. Your chest was bare underneath. His eyes dropped, breath catching — not in lust, not really. In reverence.

He kissed one scar on your arm. Then another. Then another.

And then he whispered, “Beautiful,” like it was a prayer.

You pulled him closer. Pressed your chest against his, nipples brushing skin, heart pounding like it was trying to burst free. His hands skimmed your back, your waist, your hips. Always slow. Always careful. Always soft.

You reached down, tugging at the waistband of his boxers. He helped you, lips never leaving your skin, and when he was bare beneath you, it still didn’t feel real. It felt like something sacred.

He guided himself inside you with a low, aching breath. No rush. Just the stretch, the warmth, the soft gasp that left your throat as he filled you inch by inch.

Your forehead pressed to his. His hands stayed on your waist. You rocked together like the whole world had gone quiet.

No dirty words. No roughness. Just love.

You moved slow. Hips rolling, breath stuttering. Oscar whispered things against your mouth. Told you how warm you felt. How soft you were. How good. How perfect.

When you came, it wasn’t a firework. It was a wave. Gentle. Deep. Full-body. Tears slipping down your cheeks as your body clenched around him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He followed seconds later, arms tight around your back, body shaking with how hard he came, like he’d been holding everything in and finally let go.

Afterwards, you collapsed together in the sheets, tangled and breathless. Oscar pulled the duvet up over your hips, tucking you into his chest like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

He kissed your temple.

“Still lovable,” he whispered.

And you believed him.