#letting your walls that you've held for so long finally come down

[eru-vande]

Zutter || Kwon Jiyong x Reader

Summary: Jiyong's old friends visits him while he's being held cuffed in the cellar of his boss' rival's company

word count: 2,5k

warning: smut (hand job), knife play, low-key sub/dom interaction

A/N: inspired mostly by the MV, my first time trying to write sub/dom dynamic i'm not sure if it worked out lmao you tell me (no seriously, you tell me)

A/N 2: i'm rusty now i'm sorry i haven't written in 3 months... :(

✧✧͏✧✧

The blood was dripping to the ground, painting the dirty cemented floor of the cellar bright red under Jiyong’s feet. He would’ve told how many hours he had already spent there if the room had any windows, but the pain in his wrists were screaming it was way too long. His hair was damp, his lips chipped and broken, nose bleeding, he quite didn’t feel the fingers on his hands already and his shoulders became numb. 

Deep down inside? He was enjoying it. Everything, except his friend being knocked out and dragged into another room.

Jiyong knew this cellar. He knew it from his old days. And not a single person that was forced to pay this room a visit had a great life afterwards. Not after being hung by your wrists on the wall for hours, not after being beaten up until you feel it with your bones that the next punch would end everything for you. And not after they left you bleeding out for hours just to come back and beat you up again, trying to get the information out of you. Or just for fun.

But somehow, being the one hung on the wall, being the one who’s got beaten up, he was waiting for something with his heart beating a cheerful beat. As if he knew that something special was coming his way.

And something indeed came.

In the silence of the cellar Jiyong’s ears noticed a sound. A light clicking of heels on the ladder, the leather coat dragging on the floor, a still, cold laughter when the clicking of the heels stopped a few meters away from him.

“Who am I looking at? Kwon Jiyong himself…” 

Your voice ringed through the silence, rewarding you with a sly smile from Jiyong, who lifted his head just slightly enough to look at you.  

“And what are we doing here? Finally missing your old friends?” You took a step closer, wrapped your fingers around his chin and lifted Jiyong's head higher, squeezing his chin uncomfortably. “Bullshit, right? You were so happy to ditch us, suddenly getting so fucking upstanding…” your face shivered with disgust as you let go of Jiyong's face. “Betrayed us for good, and now what? Wanted to steal from us? Not so morally good again?” 

You wiped the blood on your fingers off with a piece of cloth, cleaning every inch of your fingers precisely as if his blood alone disgusted you.

Jiyong tried to laugh, but instead only a gnarly wheeze left his mouth. 

“You're doing better than your friend anyway.”

His eyes darted at you. “Where… is he?” 

“You know where, don't you? He'll be dealt with.” 

The coldness of your tone would send shivers down anyone's spine, but not Jiyong's. He got used to it long ago, years ago when you both were only starting to work with each other. 

Jiyong tried to move his hands, adjusting to the pain in his joints. 

“Why did you come?” his voice was barely audible, blood still dripping down his chin from his broken lip. “Why you?”

“Came to mess with you.” Looking him over, you moved his legs with yours so he wouldn't reach the floor, making him whimper from a sudden tug on his wrists. “You really thought you could just come and steal from us? Did it take you so little time to forget everything about this place?” 

Jiyong greened, laughing, his laughter mixed with silent wheezing. “No, I came to see you, Y/N. Missed your childish insolence.”

You haven't seen him for two years. You forget how unbearable he was, and how he used to annoy you being so damn hot when he was bleeding, his smile sly yet so captivating. 

“Did your friend come to see me too? So cute.”

“He came to take what you've stolen from our boss.”

Your razor sharp laughter ringed in his ears. “You think it's so easy to just take what you want from us?”

“Well, it was easy enough to take you back in the days.”

You huffed at him chuckling, placing your hands on his shoulders and pressing them down to make him cry out from the pain in his joints. “Don't fuck with me, Jiyong, you're not in the right position for that right now.”

“I'm always in the right position to fuck you.”

This brat. Even when cuffed, still toying with you. But it would be a lie to say his raspy voice didn't make you curl your toes. You did come there to mess with him, though, so maybe it's the right time to start. 

“I just know what you want most from me, you haven’t changed…” you said, coming up even closer to Jiyong, bending over right to his face. Too close but too far away. Your breath teasing his broken skin, you eyes piercing his with undeniable desire to fuck him up while he can’t do anything to you. Your leg pushing his crotch to the wall, giving him as much friction as you possibly could.

The challenge was accepted. He let his head hang loose, pressing his forehead to yours as he chuckled. “Try me.”

You pressed your palms flat to his chest, sliding them down until you felt the belt on his pants. 

“You’re gonna punish me by fucking me, seriously?” Jiyong’s voice resonated off the four walls, disappointment mixed with curiosity. “You can do better, Y/N.”

You smiled, tugging the belt out and throwing it away on the damp floor. One sharp glance into his eyes when you fingers undone his pants and let them fall loose to the ground made Jiyong weak in the knees. “Who told you i’m gonna fuck you?”

Jiyong was still smiling at you, but you saw a quick shiver of his lips as he drew the air in. “If you’re not, then you’re doing a weird thing going for my dick.”

The next thing he felt was your nails sliding up and down his dick —  the touch almost unnoticeable, the pressure was barely there, but his dick was twitching with every little touch of yours, getting harder.

“We all know what’s the purpose of fucking, right?” Your voice laced his ears like honey, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that this whole performance won’t end well for him. 

The outrageously smug smile that has been plastered on his face this whole time went blank as he watched you getting down on your knees, without any intentions to break eye contact. From all those years you knew it turns him on.

Your fingers were still running up and down Jiyong’s dick when you leveled with it. Your eyes plastered to his face detecting a twitching of his muscles, his Adam's apple going up and down slowly as he struggled with gulping, as you breathed out way too close to his sensitive tip. Your warm breath coated his head as he whimpered silently, trying to back off with zero success. 

You let one of your hands go up under his shirt tracing light circles on the skin of his stomach, feeling his abs tensing under your touch as you kept on blowing the warm air on his tip.

“You always liked to play games, yeah? With me…” A heavy grant escaped his lips. Jiyong’s mind couldn’t understand how to react to everything that was happening to his body: the excruciating pain in his arms that was driving him crazy for the last few hours, you, playing the touch game on his dick and stomach. The pain versus the pleasure. His mind was too busy going insane to detect your movement, but the coldness he suddenly felt on his abs sent him back to reality.

“Now, game’s mine, Jiyong.” You twisted a knife, the sharp point of it dancing on Jiyong’s skin, sending hundreds goosebumps running all around his body. “I like to see you like this. Helpless, but… what if?..”

And you dropped the knife lower, you slid the point of it down his shaft to his head, careless, not looking at it to be sure you won’t actually hurt him, but yet again checking his reaction. The way his chest heaved as he drew in a breath when he felt the knife touching his dick almost made you lose your sanity. He couldn’t realise if it was because of pleasure or out of realisation that you could chop off his dick, but he yelped, swirling around and trying to get away from the knife.

“You just have to ask me nicely, there’s no need to act like this, Jiyong.” You grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, trying to stop him from swirling. “Didn’t you want to play?’

Jiyong shrugged, sucking in air. “Y/N get the fucking knife away!..” He tried to scream but his voice cracked when he felt the wave of muscle tension going through his body as you pressed the cold blade of the knife to the hot flesh of his tip. “fuck…”

“Just accept that you like it.” Your little laughter filled the room mixed with Jiyong’s babbling and cursing as you started rubbing the blade on his tip. “Well…” Suddenly the rubbing felt easier and smoother and as you curiously checked the blade you chuckled, teasingly. “I already see that you quite like it, Mr Kwon.”

The blade was wet with his pre-cum. A few seconds later, Jiyong’s whole body spasmed and he bucked his hips forward, his body trying its best to find some needed friction, but you were fast enough to back off.

You hissed, stopping him midaction by pressing a hand to his hip and pressing it back. “Oh, no-no, Jiyong, you won’t get it. Only if you beg, maybe then I’ll think about it.”

You stood up carelessly, putting the knife in the pocket of your coat, and lifted Jiyong’s head just slightly by just barely tapping his chin. “Good boy.”

Your hand went up to mess with his damp hair, tangling your fingers in between his strands, you tugged on it, making Jiyong tilt his head back. His mouth fell open and you didn’t waste an opportunity. You launched on him aggressively, almost making him choke out of surprise. 

Jiyong didn’t back off, not that it was possible anyway, but he savoured your kiss as you were giving it to him. Passionate, wet, bloody from you biting his lips. You put your other hand back to his crotch, rubbing and tugging on his dick, playing lightly with the sensitive skin, eliciting the groan of pain from all the feelings out of his mouth. Your fingers were drawing light circles on his tip, coating itself in his wet sticky precum. 

“You want it bad…” You lulled, bringing your fingers to your mouth and licking the liquid off them, watching Jiyong visibly shake as the disappointment decorated his face.

Damn, the view turned you on. His head hanging loose between his cuffed to the wall arms, his chest muscles so tense you wanted to bite it, his dick dripping from your touch and body twitching in desperation. 

“Just say ‘Please’...”

He looked at you, something in his stare was animalistic and desperate, when his lips parted slightly he breathed out. “Please…”

His chest heaved a little when he felt your light touch on his dick. It was just a play for you, you only were teasing him, but it gave you so much power over the man that had all that power over you all those years. The way he toyed with you, making you feel so damn wanted and desirable, you could do anything he asked you to. And then he left. Without saying a word, he just left. 

You were rubbing his tip until you felt Jiyong breathing slowered and his muscles tensed. You won’t give it to him just like that.

“Y/N, s-stop, just…”

“Just what?” You pressed your fingertip to his dripping head again, drawing a low moan from Jiyong’s mouth. “Just say it, baby, it’s not that hard. I said it plenty of times to you.”

Jiyong gulped his pride down, the desire to stop this teasing and just cum was excruciating, it was tickling his skin painfully, swirling his stomach and curling his numb fingers. He wanted it. He needed it. But it was so hard to even mutter these words.

Jiyong heard you chuckle, watching him battling with himself for so long. “Okay, you can hang here. I’ll go visit your friend.” You took a few steps backwards, tapping your chin with your fingers. “What was his name again? TOP? Tabi? Whatever…” 

You almost turned around when the silence was interrupted with a breathy whimper.

“Y/N…” You looked at Jiyong, he was visibly waging war within himself. “Please… I…” he bit his lips in disgust, but the twitching in his stomach made him continue speaking, leaving all the male pride behind. “I beg you.”

“Damn? where is my camera? I should’ve captured this for future generations… mr. Kwon Jiyong begging me to let him cum.

You came closer to him, wrapped your fingers roughly around his chin and squeezed it tightly. “Okay, I'll let you.” You kissed him loosely, biting into his lower lip and tugging it away until you felt a drop of blood on your teeth.

You grabbed his dick again, firmly and started tugging on it in a quick rhythm, rubbing your thumb against his tip. The movements sent a wave of arousal up Jiyong’s body, his chest started heaving and dropping hectically, his stomach tying into a knot, as he panted heavily.

“P-please, tighter…”

He groaned on the way you tighten your grip around his shaft way too hard. “You think you can boss me around?” Hearing him groaning and squealing, you might have wanted to squeeze the living soul out of his dick, but with a few more rubs of your thumb against his wet tip, his whole body spasmed and he mellowed, coating your palm in his semen.

“Are you good now?” You wiped your palm on his shirt, slapping his cheek with another hand. “Now, it’s time to pay a visit to your friend. I didn’t come here exclusively to see you. Too much honor.”

You turned around on your heels, and walked away to the door, a smug smile shining on your face. “Maybe I’ll come visit you again if your friend bores me.”

When your hand was reaching the door handle, you heard Jiyong laughing. It took you a split second to turn around and dart a sharp look at him only to see him standing free on his feet, his hands uncuffed.

“So you could’ve stopped it anytime?” That man made you crazy again, putting a wicked smile on your face. “You’re really a sick weirdo, Kwon Jiyong. See you!”

The door closed on the other side of the room, locked.

Jiyong left standing there, in an empty cellar all alone. Why didn’t he stop you? Didn’t overpower you? At the end, he only toyed with you again.

On the other side of the door you’ve been thinking on how to recoup.

✧✧͏✧✧

Open ending i'm guessing it's a part 2 coming......

Event tag list: writers: @namsgyu @mashtatosworld @gds-daisy @gdinthehouseee @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @eru-vande @emmiesoverthemoon @petersasteria @breakmeoff @makeitworse

readers: @seungttttop @keiraryan @moontabi @mintandmuse @steponupbabe @heartubeatusalon @burningheartdetective @thanosspills @aizshallnotbefound @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 + personal tags! (comment to be added)

my tag list: @loveesiren @infinetlyforgotten @sevendaysummer

[kurikurikur1]

PT 2:; Hyperspermia on Sub!choso

(term—hyperspermia: a condition where the male has an abnormally large amount of semen; above 6ml)

an nsfwaudio of the inspo

"f- fuck me.." Choso whined—voice so high-pitched from how your hand's squeezing around him. "fuck m-me- ohh, p-please.. fuck me."

He didn't really expect for you to barge in the bathroom because of your worry on why he's so suddenly letting out loud noises in the room—nor did you expect him to be holding his semi-hard cock in hand with his cum splattered right down, making a large mess.

Annnnd, he also didn't expect for you to lock the bathroom door—make him a mess with your left hand whilst your right hand shoved your phone near his mouth to record his moans for 'later.'

And there he was—tired, you kept stroking the base of his dick, the tip becoming so red that it's redness is spreading to half the base from the many, many times you've edged him. Not to mention—the amount of pre-cum that's been coming out all over his dick and your hands, making it seem like he'd cum already multiple times though it's the opposite. The stickiness was so much—that he knew the recording would definitely hear those lewdly sounds.

He was tired—but fuck, did he just want your sweet pussy around him, fleshy walls tightening around his swollen cock.

"mommy—" he slipped, covering it with a following moan; "p- ppft- p- please.." Choso gasped, "fuck me.. p- please." His teary eyes widened as he looked up at you desperately, realizing his high is once again close—"s- sslow down.."

He begged—yet you continued your pace, stroking his cock up! And down, you held his chin as you pressed closer to him. You sighed his name; "Choso.. such a mess you're making." You teased, pulling his head closer to your's by his chin.

"haa- ha- haaa- fuck" he begs again—"Please.. I need- n- nneed your pretty pussy on me- p- please.." his sweaty hand desperately clinged on your wrist. "Fuck me.." he whispered. "I wanna feel like m' yours"

As his words spilled out his mouth—an abundance of his cum squirted out of his tip, white covering all over his cock and her hands—he squeaked; "t- too much"

"It's s- ssuch a waste, can you- can I have you n- now? Please? So- soo I can put it all inside you.."

Hello!! Finally, part 2.. though yes there's a part three, sorry, I cant freaking do a long ahh paged smut rn I'm busy but I hope this will feed you<3

Also, if you comment I'll tag you on the next part, thank you :c

Tags: @mythingsrhere @piixcelz @soozeu @psychobitchsyndrome @shinyfestmilkshake @namasaya

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141! (pt.2)

As the weeks went on, Gaz and Soap would constantly try to pull you into the walk-in. But Simon's stare made you stop dead in your tracks every time. You've resorted to going over to their place, it's always a surprise who's gonna end up on top of who. During breaks between rounds, you'll catch up on a show you were all watching or playing video games and eating snacks. It's light, fun, young, energetic.

"The boys keeping you satisfied?"

Price asks during one of your smoke breaks, he's leaning against the railing again. Your eyes dart to the floor, embarrassed.

"I could take proper care of you."

The words drip from his mouth and run up your legs, making you squirm. He chuckles, a deep rumble from his broad chest.

"I'll pick you up 7 tonight."

Flicks the butt of his cigar onto the wet cement before walking back into the kitchen. Your hand shakes as you finish your cigarette.

The outing was nice, he took you out on a real date. You wore a tasteful dress that he was obsessed with the moment he saw you in it.

Made you order something expensive from the menu.

"Gotta keep you well fed, hm?"

You couldn't argue with him, he held an air of authority even outside of the kitchen. Conversation was pleasant, he kept it appropriate. Actually, that whole time he was an absolute gentleman. Walked you up to your flat. You gave him an anxious kiss that made him laugh softly and you quickly slipped into your studio. You pressed your back to the door, heart pounding. You squinted through the peephole and watched as he turned around, walking away. As soon as you swung your door open, he was stepping inside your place and scooping you up. He gripped your ass while holding you up, his hands positioned in a way that allowed him to rub your folds through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Already wet? Knew you'd be a good girl for me."

You melted in his arms at those words. Gently laid you right on the bed, pulling back to slip off your heels and left kisses from your ankle to inner thigh. He moaned when you giggled from his beard brushing against your soft thighs.

"Fuckin dogs, markin you up like your theirs."

His lips grazed over the hickeys Gaz and Soap left on your hips and thighs. He pulled the dress up and over your shoulders.

"Those sexy fuckin eyes of yours, Christ."

He kneeled over you, taking you in. Your moans, touch, smell, all that was left was your taste. He sunk back down between your legs and had you coming faster and harder than Soap or Gaz. He was down there for hours, only coming up to briefly cram his thick dick into your tight hole just long enough to leave you being for more when he pulled out. So much restraint he had. Only reason he finally finished was because he had to get up early tomorrow. Painted your sore walls with thick ropes of his spend,

"G'na take it all like a good girl, yeah?"

He held your face to muffle your moans with his mouth while he finished pumping into you. Wouldn't even clean you up, just gently pushed whatever leaked out of you back inside. Then he held you close and fell asleep, effectively trapping you in his arms. He ends up driving you to work the next day, taking you in early so he can prep with Ghost. Simon seems more grumpy than usual (it's because he's the one who's supposed to drive you to work, creature of habit he is).

"I'll let you pick her up next time. Don't get mad at me for being a gentleman."

Price sighs while portioning out meat. You swear you see Simon huff.

The drive home was silent as usual, but there was a tension that wasn't present before. Sure, there's been an uneasy or awkward air in the car before, but this was different. You needed it to stop being quiet.

"...sorry for not telling you about John taking me today."

You sat on your hands, staring at the veiny hand gripping the gear lever.

"S'alright, he told me."

His tone was unreadable as ever. He parked in front of your building, looking at you with those dark, intense eyes. You shifted uncomfortably, about to open your mouth to say something.

"G'night."

He interrupted, you nod and step out of his car to your door. You fumble with your keys and turn around to invite him in, he's already locking his car door and headed towards you. Oh fuck.

He doesn't even let you take your shoes off, just flops you onto the edge of the bed and haphazardly pulls down your jeans and underwear, folding you in half.

"Open."

He grunts, shoving two fingers into your mouth, getting them slick with your spit. He roughly fingers your sweet spot until you are overwhelmed with pleasure, then he undoes his pants. You gasp. Literally gasp at the sight of his length.

"That's not going in me."

You blink at him. He looks at you, stroking himself.

"Alright."

He shrugs before slapping his shaft on your wet folds, then rubbing himself against you. He goes at this for what seems like forever, occasionally his tip catches in your entrance before he slides out and continues to grind against you. It's maddening. Finally, you break and beg for him to slide himself in. He does so with no hesitation or concern for your poor walls. Bullies his way inside you until you physically can't take anymore and pounds into you ruthlessly. He covers your mouth with a rough hand while the other toys with your nub. You squeal, yelp, moan. It's all muffled; only to be heard by his ears.

"Atta girl, takin it like a champ."

You were barely keeping it together, each hit to your cervix made you see stars. It hurt. It was heaven. Your eyes rolled back.

"Don't look away from me."

He grabbed your face, making you stare right into his brown eyes. That's what pushed you over the edge, he rode out your orgasm before reaching his. Your heavy breaths filled the room. That's when he finally decides to pull off your shoes and pants. He was surprisingly good at aftercare, made you both some tea (why did he know where everything was?), wiped you down, and put on some cooking competition show. He was into it. Very into it.

"How do you fuck up beurre monté?"

He says to himself, shaking his head while the contestant on TV cried about messing up a sauce. It goes on like this for a while, shitting on chefs choices and mistakes. Your stomach rumbles, he looks at you. Offers to make something. You remember how the food at the restaurant gets sent back. A lot. Decline politely. He walks to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. You'd say something, but you know you can't stop him. Twenty minutes later he hands you a plate,

"Shakshuka."

It looks...edible. He sits at the end of your bed, eating and watching his show. You take a spoonful into your mouth. Fucking delicious.

"Best I could do with what you had."

He made himself home, slept like he paid the bills, splayed out and snored louder than a Harley. Pinned you right under his arm, mouth right next to your ear. You barely get any sleep.

The next day you drag your feet back and forth from the kitchen.

"Fuckin hell Simon, you kept her up all night?"

John shook his head, burning another steak. Simon grunted, plating the meat and placing it on the window. You served the food to the customer and walked back to the kitchen.

"That's my hoodie."

Soap pointed at Ghost. It was obviously Soap's, they were both well built but Simon's arms and chest stretched the fabric.

"So?"

Simon shrugged, sweeping the floor.

"So? I gave it to her."

"S'fine, she has enough of your shit."

Soap looked at you, betrayed. You shrug, you were too tired to even notice what Simon was wearing.

"Didnae ye notice yer favorite hoodie was gone?"

He looked at you, eyes sad and blindingly blue.

"Give it a rest Johnny."

"'But it's 'er favorite. Right bonnie?"

You nod (you don't have a favorite, but obviously he needs this) and he sighs in relief, smile plastered on his face. Pesters Simon to give him back the hoodie.

"Keep it somewhere safe, aye?"

He hands it to you, holding it like it was a damn fabergé egg.

While Simon and you were walking to his car, Kyle and Johnny run after you, insisting on seeing your place,

"What, only they get to see your flat? It's not fair."

So puerile, Ghost rolled his eyes.

They oohed and aahed at your flat, fawning over your decor. You're thankful for splurging on a king sized mattress. Gaz slept like an angel, but Johnny? Even in his sleep he was restless, kicking and talking. You make a note not to have Ghost and him over at the same time.

Two days later, Johnny almost drops to his knees when he sees Simon in your 'favorite hoodie' again.

[gilbertscurls]

Taste ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: SMUT, virgin!matt, softdom!reader, unprotected p in v, heavy on praise and consent, oral!f!receiving, can't tell if it's cringe or not lmao

synopsis: on their first anniversary, y/n and matt finally decide to go all the way.

“I can't believe it's been a year already.” You let out a quiet sigh.

Matt nodded, the thought of their year together bringing a smile to his lips.

“Yeah. It feels like just yesterday we had our first date,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

He remembered every detail of that day, the way you looked, the way he'd been so nervous he felt like he might throw up. But he'd found the courage to ask you out, and you'd said yes. It felt like a dream come true.

Matt's gaze drifted from your face to the room around them. The soft, warm light of the lamp by the bed was casting shadows on the walls, the room cozy and intimate. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by their soft breathing. Matt couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment, a feeling of being right where he belonged.

“I can't believe how lucky I am,” he murmured, his voice low. “To have you, I mean.”

“I'm the lucky one,” you whispered.

Matt chuckled softly at your words, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

“Oh, please,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I'm the one who gets to hold you like this, to call you mine. I think I won the lottery.”

You giggled, a sound that always made Matt's heart skip a beat.

“I can't argue with that,” you conceded. You snuggled closer to him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “But I get to hold you back, so we're even.”

Matt's hand moved to your back, gently tracing circles on your skin. The feel of you against him, the sound of your voice, was comforting and soothing, but it also stirred a different kind of feeling in him. A feeling of desire and longing.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer, his fingers tracing your spine. Matt's heart thrummed with anticipation. The fact that you've never done more than kiss had been on his mind a lot lately. He wanted you, more than he could say. And tonight felt different, special. It was their anniversary, a milestone in their relationship. A part of him ached to take things further, to show you how much he loved you. But his insecurities and anxieties held him back. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he disappointed you? The thought was terrifying.

“Baby,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them. He swallowed hard, his heart beating a little faster. “Can I ask you something?” His voice was nervous, and he was suddenly regretting asking you anything at all.

At his anxious tone, you knitted your brows and turned to face him. “Of course. What is it?”

Matt looked down at you, his thoughts a swirling mess of anxiety and desire. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “It's… It's our anniversary,” he started, his voice a little shaky. “And I was wondering…”

He trailed off, the words failing him. He felt like a complete idiot. He'd never been good with expressing his desires, especially when it came to physical intimacy.

You gazed at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. You could tell he was nervous, and it made you worry. You reached up, gently caressing his cheek. “Yes?” you prompted, your voice gentle and encouraging.

Matt's heart fluttered at your touch, and he took another deep breath, summoning his courage. “I was just… I was thinking…” he mumbled, his words barely more than a whisper. “Tonight, I was hoping we could… Take things further.”

He felt a blush rising up his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Are you sure? Like, 100% sure?”

Matt nodded quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly. “I'm sure. I've been thinking about it for a while now. I… I want you, baby.”

Saying the words out loud sent a shockwave of adrenaline through him. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and wonderful all at once. But he knew he needed to be honest, to lay it all out on the table.

“I'm just... nervous,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I've never done anything more than kissing, and I don't… I don't know if I'll be any good.”

“It's okay,” you whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. “But are you sure? I don't want you to do anything you'll regret.”

Matt leaned into your touch, the warmth and tenderness of your hand calming him down a little. But your words also made him pause. Was he sure? He desperately wanted this, wanted you. But his insecurities were still looming, a dark cloud in the back of his mind.

“I'm sure,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “I want this. With you.”

“All right.” You nodded. “How… How far are we talking?”

Matt felt his cheeks flush even more, but he forced himself to keep eye contact with you. He appreciated your directness, and your willingness to talk about this openly.

“I, uh…” he began, his voice still a little shaky. “Everything, I guess. If you want that.”

He swallowed hard, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He hoped he wasn't pressuring you or coming on too strong.

You felt your heart skipping a beat and heat already pooling in your lower abdomen. “I do,” you said softly. “But I want to make sure you're completely comfortable.”

Hearing your confirmation sent a pang of excitement through Matt. He felt a mix of emotions, desire, affection, and a hint of fear. But overruling it all was a deep sense of trust. Your words, your reassurance, it was all he needed.

“I am,” he said, his voice a little steadier now. “I trust you, baby. Completely.”

A small, tender smile crept onto your face. “Okay.” Your voice was so soft, so sweet, so kind. “Do you… Want me to take the lead?”

Matt's heart leaped at your question, a mix of relief and desire coursing through him. The idea of you taking control was both frightening and exciting. He hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “I… I want you to take the lead.”

You put one of your hands on his cheek before slowly and gently pressing your lips against his.

Matt's heart skipped a beat at the feel of your lips on his. He'd kissed you countless times before, but this kiss felt different, more intimate. He let out a soft sigh against your mouth, all his anxieties and worries melting away as your touch filled his senses. He brought his own hands up to cup your face, his fingers gently tracing your jaw, his touch soft and reverent.

The kiss deepened, their mouths moving against each other in a slow, languorous dance. Matt could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, the desire for you growing with every passing second. The fear was still there, but it was muffled by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure. He pulled you closer, his hands moving to your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin.

Not stopping the kiss, You moved to straddle his lap, your knees on both sides of his thighs.

Matt felt a shiver run down his spine as you straddled him, your body suddenly so close and so warm. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, their bodies now pressed together in a way you’ve never been before. The feeling of your weight on his lap ignited a new wave of desire in him, his kisses growing even more intense. He wanted you, desperately.

“You okay?” you mumbled into his lips.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you spoke, the feeling of your words more like breath than a sound. He couldn't even form a response, his mind completely consumed by your touch and the taste of your lips. He managed a nod, a weak yes whispered against your mouth. He was more than okay. He was on fire.

Matt groaned involuntarily at the feel of your tongue against his lip, the sound more a mixture of pleasure and need than anything else. He immediately parted his lips, granting you access without a second thought. His hands moved to your thighs, his fingers gripping your flesh as he opened his mouth to her.

The kiss grew hungrier, more urgent. Their tongues tangled together, exploring each other without restraint. Matt was lost in the sensation, in the feeling of you in his lap, your body pressed against him. He could hardly think straight, his mind clouded by desire and need. His hips involuntarily bucked slightly, seeking more contact.

“Impatient, huh?” You teased softly, pulling away a little.

Matt let out a low growl of frustration as you pulled away, a mix of desire and irritation in his expression. He was getting so lost in the moment, he was aching for more. Your words, your tease only heightened his need.

“Baby…” he breathed, his voice a mixture of pleading and impatience. “Don't tease me.”

You smiled tenderly before grabbing his both hands and sliding them under your crop top, urging him to take it off.

Matt let out a sharp breath at the feel of your skin under his hands, your top soft and warm. Without hesitation, he moved his hands slowly up your stomach, his fingers exploring the planes of your skin as he helped you pull off your crop top. It fell to the floor, forgotten. His eyes went wide at the sight of your half-naked upper body, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Matt couldn't have looked away even if he'd wanted to. His eyes were drawn to your chest, his breath hitching at the sight. It was as if his brain was shorting out, his desire for you overwhelming everything else. He felt a mix of awe, arousal, and a hint of nervousness. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly very dry.

“You're… You're so beautiful,” he managed to whisper, his voice thick with want.

You smiled softly, your fingertips tracing his shoulders over the t-shirt. “Can I take it off, baby?”

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Once the shirt was off, his chest was now bare, exposed to your touch and gaze. Matt felt a mixture of vulnerability and excitement, his heart beating fast in his chest. He could feel your eyes on him, your fingers tracing soft patterns on his skin. He wanted you, all of you.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice ragged with need. “Touch me.”

Obediently, You ran your fingertips through his shoulders, to his arms, to his chest. “God, you're so beautiful,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as your fingers glided over his skin, your touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. He shivered under your touch, a small moan escaping his lips. Your words, your voice, your touch — it was all almost too much to bear.

“No, you are,” he breathed, his own hands moving to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "So beautiful. So perfect."

You were doing everything so slowly and gently, knowing that he'd never done anything like that before. You wanted to make it so good for him. Matt was both grateful and frustrated by your slow and gentle pace. Grateful that you were so patient, and so understanding, but frustrated because he just wanted more. He wanted to be consumed by you, to lose himself in your touch. But he knew you were doing it for his sake, to make it easier for him, and that only made him love you more.

“Baby,” he gasped, his voice pleading. “Please. More. I need more.”

You smirked before leaning a little closer to his face. “You want more?”

Matt looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, his expression a mixture of need and pleading.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice a little breathless. “I want more. I want all of you.”

He reached up to you, his hands skimming up your sides, his touch firm and possessive. He wanted to touch you, to feel you, to lose himself in you.

“Please,” he added, his voice a low, desperate plea.

You held his face as you kissed him once again, the kiss sweet and full of emotion.

Matt returned the kiss hungrily, his lips moving against yours with a mix of desperation and affection. He couldn't get close enough to you, his hands roaming over your bare skin, wanting to feel you, to touch you everywhere. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a new, more urgent fervor. He could feel his desire for you growing, overpowering everything else.

“Baby…” he breathed into your mouth. “Please, I… I need you.”

Matt swore, his head falling back on the pillow as you ground your hips with his. The feel of you grinding against him, the friction, the heat, and the pressure — it was almost too much. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, trying to pull you closer, to increase the contact. A low moan escaped his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Oh God,” he panted, his eyes squeezed shut. “Baby… That feels… That feels so good.”

“You sound so pretty,” you praised breathlessly.

Matt blushed at your words, his heart fluttering at your praise. He let out another soft moan as you rode against him, his body responding instinctively. He was completely lost in the sensation, the feel of your body against his driving him mindless. He tried to form words, to respond, but all that came out was another low groan.

“God… Baby,” he breathed, his hands still holding onto your hips. “Don't… Don't stop.”

His body was on fire, his every nerve alive with desire. He could feel his own hardness growing beneath you, a testament to how much he needed you. His hips canted upward, seeking more contact, wanting to be closer, closer, closer. He opened his eyes, looking up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of want and awe.

“Sweetheart… I… I don't know how much… How much longer I can last,” he whispered, his voice thick with need.

“It's okay, baby,” you cooed, halting your movements.

Matt let out a small, involuntarily whine as you stopped moving, his body protesting the lack of sensation. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire and frustration, but also with a hint of relief. He was so close to the edge, he didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

“I… I thought you would keep going,” he breathed, his voice a combination of disappointment and need.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you teased, your hand running down his chest, from his shoulder to his happy trail, before finally resting on the buckle of his belt.

Matt's breath hitched at your touch, your hand igniting a trail of fire on his skin. He watched as your hand moved down his chest, down his stomach, to the buckle of his belt. A wave of heat washed over him, making his entire body shiver with anticipation.

“Patience,” he echoed, his voice a rough whisper. “You're… You're killing me.”

You gently hooked your finger under the belt. “Can I?”

Matt nodded, his eyes locked on yours, his breathing shallow and ragged. He trusted you completely and wanted you to take whatever you needed from him. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “Do whatever you want. I'm all yours.”

“So good for me,” you praised before expertly unbuckling his belt and tugging his jeans down.

Matt's heart leaped at your praise, a sense of pride and satisfaction filling him. He lifted his hips slightly, helping you pull his jeans down. He was now only in his boxer briefs, the material doing little to conceal his arousal. He was completely exposed, both physically and emotionally, and he could do nothing but lay there and look up at you, his desire for you burning in his gaze.

“Only for you,” he whispered, his voice a quiet admission.

“Already so worked up for me, huh?” you asked breathlessly, a small smile on your face.

Matt blushed at your comment, the heat spreading across his cheeks. He could feel the evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He was so worked up, so needy, so desperate for your touch. He swallowed hard, his voice husky and raw.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on yours. “Only for you. I want you so badly, sweetheart.”

You sat back on his lap, caressing his cheek. “You want to try to take off my bra, baby?”

Matt's eyes widened at your suggestion, a mix of excitement and anxiety washing over him. He'd never taken off a bra before, and he was suddenly unsure of himself. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“Yes,” he rasped, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I… I want to try.”

His hands moved to your back, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached for the clasp of your bra. He tried to steady his breathing, but his heart was racing, his mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings.

“I… I'll probably be bad at this,” he admitted, his voice a hesitant whisper.

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I don't mind.”

Matt nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He fumbled with the clasp for a few seconds, his fingers feeling both clumsy and inadequate. But finally, with a soft click, the bra came undone. The cups fell loose, revealing your bare chest to him. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat.

“Oh… Wow,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and desire.

You smiled a little sheepishly.

Matt's eyes drank you in, every inch of your beautiful skin, every curve and contour. His hands were itching to touch you, to feel your flesh under his fingertips.

“You are… You are so exquisite,” he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and admiration. “You take my breath away.”

Noticing his hands twitching, your smile softened. “You can touch me.”

Matt couldn't believe you were actually giving him permission to touch you, to touch this beautiful woman who was willingly sitting on his lap, your body bare for him. He lifted his hands, his fingers hovering slightly above your skin.

“I… I want to,” he breathed, his voice a shaky whisper. He wanted to feel you so badly, but he was also afraid of doing something wrong, of upsetting you in some way. “Are you… Are you sure it's okay?”

“I am. Don't think so much. Just… Feel.”

Matt took a deep breath, allowing the words to sink in. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting go of the nagging thoughts and doubts in his mind. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, his expression relaxed.

And then he touched you.

His fingers skimmed lightly over your skin, slowly, delicately, exploring the soft planes of your chest. A shiver ran through him as he felt the heat of your flesh, the suppleness of your skin.

“God, you're so soft,” he whispered.

Sensing that he was still holding back, You smiled softly and grabbed his hand, putting it directly on your breast, and gently squeezing his fingers.

Matt gasped, his breath hitching in his throat as your hand guided his. The feeling of your flesh, your breast, under his palm was almost too much. It was so soft, so warm. He could feel your heart beating rapidly under his fingers. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “This… This feels… Incredible.”

His fingers traced a slow, tentative path over your breast, his touch firm but gentle. He could feel your own heart hammering against his palm, a perfect rhythm. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of desire.

“Is… Is this okay?” he breathed, his voice a low, raspy whisper. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I'll tell you if anything. Just… Touch me.”

Matt nodded tightly, the lump in his throat suddenly replaced by a wave of desire and need. He took your words to heart, letting go of any lingering doubt or fear. He allowed himself to really touch you, to move his fingers over your skin, to feel the contours of your body.

His other hand moved up to your other breast, gently kneading it in his palm. “Is… Is this good?” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible over the sound of his own heartbeat. “You feel… So perfect, so soft.”

You let out a shaky breath. “So good.”

Matt felt a sense of power and satisfaction wash over him, emboldening him. He could feel your breath catching in your chest, hear the hitch in your voice. He knew he was doing something right, something that made you feel good. He continued to caress you, his touch becoming more confident, more sure of itself.

His breath felt hot and heavy, his heart hammering against his ribcage. “Can I… Can I kiss these, too?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

You felt a sudden rush of so much love for this boy. “Of course. Anything you want.”

Matt's heart soared at your permission, at the way you were giving yourself to him so completely. You were so wonderful, so understanding. He leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on your breast, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He was gentle at first, his touch light and tentative. But then he began to kiss you more firmly, more hungrily.

And then, a moan of his name escaped your lips.

Matt's heart leaped at the sound of your moan, the way you said his name. It was like music to his ears. He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with a mixture of awe and desire.

“Did… Did I do something right?” he asked, his voice breathless and shaky. “The way you said my name… It sounded… It sounded like it felt good, like you liked it.”

“You're doing… Incredible,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt felt a surge of pride and satisfaction coursing through him. He couldn't believe this was actually happening, that he was pleasuring this incredible woman, making you feel this way. But the knowledge that he was pleasing you, making you moan and breathless, only fueled his own desire, his own need for you.

He continued to kiss you, his mouth moving across your chest, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. “More,” he murmured, his voice low and ragged. “Can I… Can I do more?”

“Anything.”

Matt felt a wave of heat and adrenaline wash over him at your word, your permission. Anything? The possibilities, the desires, raced through his mind. He wanted to explore you, to touch you, to make you feel things you'd never felt before.

His mouth moved down your body, his tongue tracing a path down your sternum, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of need. “Can I… Can I taste you?”

You pulled yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He looked so pretty, looking up at you from between your thighs. But it was his first time, and you wanted to make it special do him. “Are you sure? I want it to be about you. You don't have to…”

Matt paused, looking up at you. Your concern for him, your consideration, made his heart swell. He could feel your gaze on him, warm and gentle. He knew you would never force him to do something he wasn't ready for. But he could also feel his own desire burning beneath the surface.

He nodded, his voice steady and sure. “I'm sure,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “I… I want to. I want to taste you. I want to please you… If you're okay with that.”

You nodded shakily, before bunching up the fabric of your skirt in your hands, pulling it down and revealing your little lacy panties.

Matt's eyes widened at the sight before him. Your panties were a beautiful lace, delicate and feminine. He could feel his mouth go dry, his heart quickening in his chest. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with an almost reverent awe.

His hands tentatively moved up from your thighs, tracing gentle patterns on your bare skin as they crept closer to your panties. “You're so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice laced with need and desire.

He leaned forward, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His hands were still tracing feather-light patterns on your thighs, but he was now just millimeters away from your underwear. His heart was hammering, his mind a cacophony of emotions and sensations. “May I… May I touch you there?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

“Please,” you whispered breathlessly, your chest already heaving.

Matt didn't need to be told twice. With a mixture of nerves and confidence, he let his fingers graze across the fabric of your panties, just touching the soft material. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the moisture already seeping through. He swallowed hard, his own body responding to the feel of you.

His gaze flicked up to your eyes momentarily, seeking reassurance, before returning to his task. “Is… Is this right?” he whispered, his voice a little shaky.

“Yes,” you whispered breathlessly. “Perfect.”

Matt felt a rush of relief and satisfaction at your words. He was doing well, making you feel good. He continued to touch you, to move his fingers across the fabric of your panties, feeling the heat and the dampness beneath.

As his touch grew more confident, more assured, he found himself getting more and more excited. His own breathing grew shaky, his heart racing. “Can… Can I do more?” he breathed, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Whatever you want,” you mewled. “I'll tell you if anything.”

Matt's heart fluttered at your response. The trust, the permission, it was almost too good to be true. He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But all he found was love, desire, and a willingness to explore.

He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky. He moved his fingers down to the edge of your panties, toying with the thin strip of fabric. “I… I want to touch you without these in the way…”

He paused, waiting for your permission. He was already so close, already feeling the heat and dampness of your through the thin fabric, but he wouldn't do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire but laced with the need for your approval.

You nodded. “Do whatever you want.”

Matt felt a shudder run through him at your words. Your permission, your trust in him, it was like fuel for the fire that was burning within him. He gently pulled at your panties, guiding them down your legs, discarding them on the floor.

The sight of you, bare and fully exposed to him, was almost too much. His breath caught in his throat, and he had to force himself to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed. His fingers itched to touch you, to feel the smoothness and heat of your skin, but he waited, looking up for your nod of approval.

When you gave it, he moved quickly. His fingers traced a path up your thighs, moving closer and closer to your core. His own breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest, and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking as they got closer and closer to the most intimate part.

His fingers grazed over your skin, feeling the heat radiating off of you. He could feel the wetness there, the evidence of your arousal, and he couldn't help but shudder. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hungry, his tongue flicking out to moisten his suddenly dry lips.

“You're… You're so wet,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.

Your breath hitched. “Only for you.”

His heart leaped at hearing your words, at the idea that he was the only cause of your arousal. He could feel the power and the responsibility that came with it, and it only stoked the fire within him.

His fingers were now tracing gentle circles around your entrance, his touch light and tentative. He couldn't believe he was doing this, touching you this way. “Can… Can I… Can I put a finger inside?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Yeah,” you whispered shakily. “Please.”

Matt could feel his breath catch in his chest at your words, at the desire in your voice. His whole body was trembling, almost overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment. He nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes fixed on you.

He gently, carefully, eased a single finger inside, a choked gasp escaping his lips as he felt your warmth and wetness around him. As he moved his finger, You suddenly let out a gasp.

Matt was instantly worried, his finger freezing in place. “Did… Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice full of concern. He looked up at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

“N-No, it's just…” Your face flushed. “Your fingers are longer than what I'm used to.”

Matt felt a sudden rush of pride at your words, his chest swelling. He had to admit, he'd always been a bit self-conscious about his long thin fingers. But the idea that they were causing her pleasure, that they were giving her a feeling you weren’t used to, that felt incredible.

He curled his finger slightly, exploring your depth. “Is… Is this okay…?”

Your breath hitched as he reached that one spot, and you almost screamed out loud. “Oh my…”

Matt was surprised by your reaction, the sound you made nearly sending him over the edge. But he was determined to make you feel good, to make you feel better than you'd ever felt before.

He kept his finger where it was, gently applying pressure to that one spot, a smirk on his face. “Is this the right spot, hm?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Matt,” you mumbled in pleasure.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your reaction, at the way you responded to his touch. He couldn't believe he was doing this to you, causing you to feel these things. And he couldn't resist the urge to tease you a little bit.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with barely restrained desire.

“Add a second finger,” you instructed him softly. “And try to move them, curling them to hit that spot.”

At your instructions, Matt felt another wave of arousal wash over him. You were telling him what to do. You were guiding him, showing him how to please you. It was a new experience, but one he was more than happy to explore.

He obeyed, slowly adding a second finger to the first. The feeling was tighter, but also warmer. He began to move his fingers, just as you'd told him to.

The angle was a little clumsy at first, but then he felt that one spot, and he applied gentle pressure, curling his fingers at just the right angle. “Like…” he started, his voice a little breathless. “… like this?”

“Oh fuck…” you moaned, your back arching a little in pleasure.

Matt found himself breathing harder at the sight of you arching your back, at the way you were responding to his touch. He knew he was doing something right, and it only fueled his desire to please you more, to make you feel even better.

“Is… Is this good?” he asked, his voice a little shaky. “Does this feel good?”

“So good, fuck, so good…”

Matt's heart was racing, his breath coming in heavy pants. He loved hearing your praise, and the way you reacted to his touch. It was something he'd never felt before, and he wanted more, wanted to make you feel even better.

He kept his fingers moving and applying pressure, his gaze darting up to your face, watching your expressions. “I want you… I want you to feel… To feel so good,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of breathless and earnest.

Your noises of pleasure, your arches, and your moans, it was all driving him wild. He wanted to make you fall apart, to make you forget everything but him and whatever he was doing to you.

“You… You want to try to use your mouth?” you asked breathlessly in between the moans.

Matt's heart quickened at your request. He'd wanted to do that, too, but he hadn't been sure if you'd be okay with it. But now that you'd asked, he was more than happy to comply.

“Yes,” he responded, his voice hoarse with desire. “I… I want to. I want to taste you, too.”

He gently withdrew his fingers and slowly moved further down your body, his heart thudding in his chest. He settled between your legs, looking up at you as his breath came in hot, uneven pants against you.

As he tasted you, as he felt you against his lips, his tongue, his mind was overwhelmed. He hadn't expected this, but it was better than he'd ever imagined. You tasted sweet and tangy, and it only spurred him on.

He forgot about feeling out of his depth, he forgot about potential mistakes or awkward moments. All he wanted to do was pleasure you, to make you feel good. His tongue moved and explored, and his eyes fluttered up at you. He'd never seen you so undone, so lost in pleasure, and the knowledge that he was causing it only deepened his desire to please you more.

“God, you're so good at that,” you breathed out shakily.

Matt felt a wave of pride and pleasure wash over him at your words. He continued, his tongue moving over you, his lips applying gentle suction. Hearing your approval, feeling you respond beneath him, was intoxicating. But he was relentless, determined to bring you to the brink, to make you lose control completely.

His hands moved up, gently caressing your thighs and stomach, seeking to give you even more pleasure. He wanted you to feel good, to feel loved, to feel worshipped.

And eventually, your moans got even louder as you released on his mouth, his name on your lips like a prayer. Matt could feel your body shaking, could hear your voice as you cried out his name. It was a moment he knew he'd never forget, a moment that would be ingrained in his memory forever.

He slowly withdrew, crawling back up beside you. He couldn't seem to find his voice, his heart still hammering in his chest.

He was a little amazed at himself, too, he had to admit. He hadn't been entirely sure what he was doing, but he'd just seemed to know. He'd found a way to bring you pleasure, to send you over the edge, to make you sing his name like a song.

He found his voice again, his voice low, rough. “Was that… Was that good for you? Was I okay?” His heart was still beating fast, his body thrumming with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure.

“God, you're… You're unreal,” you panted out.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your words, the praise fueling his ego. “I… I am?” he asked, unable to hide the slight tone of smugness in his voice. He knew he should feel more humbled, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

He reached out, gently tracing random patterns on your bare stomach as you caught your breath. “I just… I wanted to make you feel good,” he said softly.

When you came down from your high, you sat up to rest their foreheads against each other. “Are you sure you're ready?”

Matt's heart raced as you asked the question, his mind suddenly flooded with thoughts and worries. Was he ready? He had wanted this, more than anything, but now that the moment was here, he felt a twinge of fear.

He looked into your eyes, searching for reassurance. But all he saw was love, desire, and a willingness to wait if he wasn't ready yet.

He nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Yes,” he murmured. “I'm ready.”

In response, you locked their lips in a passionate kiss, one full of love.

Matt responded eagerly, his body pressing against yours as their mouths met in a passionate kiss. Every thought, every fear, was pushed aside in that moment. All that mattered was you, your breath, your lips, your bodies.

His hands found their way into your hair, tangling in the soft strands, holding you close. He poured all of his feelings, all of his desires into the kiss, his heart hammering in his chest.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as he felt your fingers slide under the waistband of his boxers, the sensation causing a shudder to run through his body. He'd been on edge ever since you'd started, his desire already at a fever pitch. But your touch, your gentle caress, only served to drive him wild.

He pulled back from the kiss to murmur against your mouth. “Please…” he whispered, his voice ragged and pleading. “Please, don't tease me anymore. I can't take it.”

You let out a shaky groan before pulling his boxers down, seeing him fully exposed for the first time. You took a moment to really take him in, your eyes full of awe and love.

Matt's cheeks burned under your gaze, feeling suddenly very exposed and vulnerable. He'd never been looked at this way before, never felt this vulnerable. But he also felt a wave of affection at the awe and love he saw in your eyes.

He met your gaze, his own eyes full of a mixture of desire and trepidation. “Is… Is it okay?” he asked softly, his voice betraying a hint of insecurity.

“You're so beautiful,” you praised breathlessly. “So perfect.”

Matt felt his heart soar at your words, the insecurities fading away and being replaced with a wave of intense love. No one had ever called him beautiful before, and certainly not perfect. He'd always felt a bit too thin, too gangly, too nerdy. But to you, he was beautiful, perfect.

He drew in a shaky breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “So are you,” he murmured. “Perfect, I mean.”

You reached to gently caress his cheek. “Sit up against the headboard for me.”

At your request, Matt obeyed, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. He felt bare and exposed, but he trusted you and knew that you wouldn't do anything to make him feel uncomfortable.

His gaze met yours, his heart beating fast in his chest. “Like this?” he asked, his voice a little breathless.

“Perfect,” you praised before straddling his lap once again.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you straddled him, your body pressing against his in all the right places. His hands found your hips, his fingers gently gripping them, as if he needed something to anchor himself.

His eyes roamed over your body, appreciating every curve and contour, before coming back up to meet your gaze. “You… You look amazing,” he breathed, his voice a little huskier than usual.

The corner of your lips went up as you rested your forehead against his, just looking into his eyes for a few moments. You were so close now, the heat and electricity between them palpable. Matt found himself getting lost in your eyes, feeling a sense of calm and understanding wash over him. He could feel your breath against his lips, your body pressed against his, and it was almost too much to bear.

He reached up a hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers feather-light against your skin. “I… I love you,” he whispered, the words coming out almost involuntarily.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, and your eyes reflected just how much.

Matt felt your words wash over him, the depth and sincerity of your love sending a shiver down his spine. He'd always known you loved him, but hearing you say it, seeing it in your eyes… It was as if all his fears and doubts vanished completely.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in, letting himself bask in your love. Then, his eyes opened again, his gaze intense, and he wrapped his arms more securely around your waist. “Show me,” he whispered. “Show me how much you love me.”

“You ready?” you made sure quietly.

Matt felt a flutter of nerves mix with the desire he was feeling, but he nodded, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter. “Yes,” he breathed in response, his voice a little shaky. “I… I'm ready.”

“If anything… Just tell me, and we can stop,” you promised.

Matt nodded again, appreciating your thoughtfulness. “I will,” he assured you. “But please… Please don't stop unless I say so.”

He drew you closer, his hands sliding up to your back, gently tracing the line of your spine. “I… I want this. I want you,” he murmured, his voice a low, earnest plea.

Matt shivered slightly as your hand moved over his chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His heart was beating hard, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He'd never felt this alive before, this on edge, this desperate for your touch.

His eyes tracked your hand as it moved, a small, helpless noise escaping his lips. He knew what was coming, and he was aching for it.

Finally, your hand wrapped around him, giving him a few slow pumps. Your touch was like a spark to a flame, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't known was possible. He groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut as the sensations washed over him.

His hips involuntarily arched into your touch, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter.

“Oh… Oh God, that feels…” he gasped, his voice choked. “That feels so good,” he managed to stutter out, his words a raw expression of pleasure.

The feeling of your hand on him was overwhelming, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He could feel his body tensing and relaxing instinctively.

You positioned yourself above him, and you looked him in the eyes as if to ask for one last permission.

Matt's heart thudded in his chest as he looked into your eyes. He knew what was about to happen, and he wanted it, more than anything. He didn't want you to stop, he wanted you, all of you.

He nodded, his voice unsteady as he spoke. “Please,” he whispered, his breath ragged. “Please, don't stop.”

And then, you slowly started to sink down. The sensation was almost too much for Matt. It was like a wave of pleasure and heat overwhelming his entire body. He let out a low, guttural moan as you slowly sank down, inch by agonizing inch.

He clung to you, his hands gripping your hips with an almost bruising force. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted as he panted for breath. “Oh… Oh God,” he managed to say, the words a messy, incoherent jumble.

His mind was reeling, every thought driven out by the sheer intensity of the feeling. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, like nothing he could have imagined. You were warm, tight, and completely surrounding him, and it was everything.

He knew he was probably being too rough, too loud, but he couldn't help it. He was utterly lost in the sensations, losing himself in you. He was yours, totally and completely, and he loved every moment.

As you bottomed out, you rested your hands on his shoulders for support. “You okay, baby?”

Matt was trying to form words, to give some sort of response, but all he could manage was a series of ragged breaths and a nod. He was trying to ground himself, to stay in control, but it was nearly impossible.

He managed to open his eyes, his gaze meeting yours. “I… I'm… I'm okay,” he gasped out, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just… Just give me a second, please.”

You felt incredible around him, almost too good. He needed a moment to adjust, to find some sort of equilibrium, or he knew he'd lose himself completely.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to steady himself. “You… You feel so… So good," he managed to get out between ragged breaths. He was struggling to find his voice, to express how he was feeling. “Just… Just give me a moment, please…”

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” you whispered, your hand gently caressing his cheek.

Your touch was like a soothing balm on his over-stimulated body. He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand, drawing in a shaky breath. He focused on the feeling of your fingers on his skin, your body surrounding him, anchoring himself to you. Slowly, the overwhelming sensations began to recede, replaced by a calmer, more controlled sense of pleasure.

He opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting yours. “I'm… I'm okay now,” he murmured. “You can... you can move now.”

You leaned in to press your lips against his before slowly starting to move your hips.

The feeling of your lips on his was like a jolt through his system, reigniting the fire that had been momentarily banked. He responded eagerly, his mouth moving against yours, his tongue caressing yours with an urgent need.

And then there was the movement of your hips. It was a gentle, careful circling motion, bringing him closer and closer to oblivion. Matt let out a guttural moan, his hands gripping your hips even tighter.

It was all too much, but he couldn't get enough of it. He felt like he was drowning in you, lost in the sensations of your body, your touch, your scent. He knew he was being loud, almost embarrassingly so, but he couldn't help it. He was completely yours, completely lost in you.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked breathlessly.

Matt could barely respond, too lost in the pleasure to string coherent words together. All he could do was nod, his voice choked off by a moan that tore its way from his throat.

He tried to form words, to tell you how good it felt, how incredible you were, but all that came out was a ragged gasp. “Y-yeah,” he managed to stutter out eventually, his voice hoarse. “Feels… Feels so good…”

You pressed their foreheads together before starting to move a little faster, moans escaping your own lips.

The change in speed made Matt's head spin. He felt like he was on the edge of an abyss, his body tensing and coiling with each move of your hips. He was a tangle of sensations, pleasure, need, and love, all swirling together.

He kept his eyes open, locking them with yours. Your moans, your ragged breaths, only amplified the sensations. He knew he was close, too close, but he didn't want it to end.

His hands left your hips, moving up to cradle your face in his hands. He needed to touch you, to feel your skin under his fingers, to hold onto you as he rode the wave of pleasure higher and higher.

“I… I'm close… I'm gonna… Oh God, I'm…”

You understood exactly what he meant, the urgency in his tone clear. Your movements became faster and more purposeful, pushing them both closer to the edge.

“I know, baby,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. “I know. Just let go. I've got you.”

Your words sent a shiver down his spine, the mixture of love and reassurance hitting him right in the chest. He wanted to hold on, to make this last as long as possible, but he knew it was impossible. He was on the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

“Baby…” he gasped, his voice thin and needy. “I… I'm… Oh God, I'm… I'm…”

He couldn't say the words, couldn't form the warning. All he could do was shiver as his body went rigid, waves of pleasure washing over him. He held onto you, his fingers digging into your flesh, as he rode out the aftershocks.

At the sensation of him releasing deep inside of you, you reached your climax as well, your back arching, and you let out a loud cry of his name. He felt you clenching around him, your own release as you cried out his name, and it was too much. He felt like he was being lifted into ecstasy, drowning in the sensations that swamped his body.

His hands moved to wrap around you, holding you close, feeling the tremors run through your body. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Oh God… Oh God…” he managed to say.

“I… I've never… That was…”

He couldn't complete a sentence, his mind reeling from the intensity of it all. He held onto you, feeling the rapid throb of your heartbeat against his chest, the heat of your skin against his, and the sweat that had gathered on both their bodies.

After You finally caught your breath, you looked at him, still straddling him, as you ran your hand through his hair. “Are you okay, baby?”

Matt was still reeling, his body trembling slightly from the force of his orgasm. He leaned into your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and raw. “I'm… I'm okay. I just… I need a minute. That was… Wow.”

“You were perfect,” you said softly before lifting yourself from him and falling onto the bed next to him.

He chuckled weakly, still struggling to catch his breath. “Perfect, huh? I'm pretty sure I yelled louder than you did. I think the whole neighborhood heard me,” he teased, half-joking and half-not.

You chuckled breathlessly. Matt, however, could only stare in wonder at how his seed was leaking out of you.

Matt couldn't tear his gaze away, his eyes fixed on the sight in front of him. He had never seen anything so intimate, so erotic. Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers tracing the trail of his release dribbling down your skin.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered. “And I… I made a mess of you.”

Your breath hitched as he touched you, still oversensitive, but you didn't protest. He touched you delicately, his touch light and hesitant, as if he was scared to break the fragile moment. His gaze was filled with a mixture of awe and desire, staring at the evidence of what you have just shared.

“You… You look even more beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Like I've marked you as mine.”

“I am yours,” you whispered.

The words sent a wave of possessiveness through him. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a possessive growl. “All mine.”

He leaned in, pressing feather-light kisses along your jawline, his hands tracing aimless patterns on your skin. “I don't want anyone else seeing you like this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “I don't want anyone else touching you like I do. You're mine.”

He continued to mark your skin with kisses, his mouth moving along the length of your neck and down to your collarbone. He wanted to keep you like this forever, covered in his marks, in his scent. He knew he was being selfish, but he didn't care. You were his, and he wanted the world to know it.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tangling into his hair.

The feel of your fingers in his hair only served to make him more possessive. He continued to kiss and nip at your skin, leaving a trail of love bites down your neck and chest.

“Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a mantra. He wanted to keep saying it, as if by repeating it, he could make it more true. “All mine.”

“So… I take that I made your first time good?” you asked, a little jokingly.

Matt chuckled huskily, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good is an understatement,” he said, his voice still rough with desire. “That was… Mind-blowing. Life-changing.”

He paused, his gaze roaming over your body again, taking in the sight of you covered in his marks. “I think you ruined me for anyone else.”

“Well, I sure hope so,” you murmured before kissing him again.

He responded immediately, his mouth moving against yours with a desperate, needy hunger. He rolled you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, continuing the kiss with a fervor. He didn't want this moment to end, he wanted to revel in the feeling of your body under his, the taste of your mouth, the scent of your skin.

Between kisses, he managed to mutter, “You're the only one. The only one I'll ever need.”

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

Just Desserts - Chapter 1 (Sanji x Fem!Reader)

PHEW - I'm tired. I've been trying to work on this for weeks. One of those things where I started it as a smaller idea and it just kind of exploded, and then I was overthinking. I'm only planning two chapters for this, but it could expand into more.

Summary: Sanji left without so much as a goodbye. You've had to pick up the pieces, to have faith in your crew who've gone off to Whole Cake to retrieve him. It's not easy dealing with the loneliness, especially in a new and strange land like Wano.

CW: JEALOUSY; NSFW (fingers, light smut, heavy petting); Hurt/Comfort; Angst; (Heavier/full smut planned in Part 2); Established relationship

Check out my masterlist if you like stuff like this!

~4.7k

In the time that Sanji had been gone for Whole Cake, you had been left behind in Zou to travel onward to Wano, much to your disappointment. You wanted to come more than anything - of course you did. Sanji was your everything, your entire world - the oceans would cease their tides and the stars would halt their sparkling without him in your life. You insisted - really, begged - for Luffy to bring you with him. While he was fine with it, Nami had pulled you aside to convince you otherwise.

”If you come with us, all you’ll do is worry Sanji sick over your safety.” 

“But I could convince him to come back.” You pleaded, your eyes prickling with tears and voice thick with emotion. “I can—“

”Sanji will come back.” Nami smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear gently. “He will. And he’ll do it without worrying about you. Okay? Just let us handle it.”

You knew Nami was right. Not only would it be hard on Sanji to know you were fighting with your life on the line to bring him home, but the stakes alone would be enough to distract you. If you went off to Whole Cake - an Emperor’s territory otherwise unprovoked - there was no guarantee you wouldn’t throw your life away just to save Sanji from whatever fate he held so close to his chest. Nami knew that as well as you did. Whatever Sanji was going through, you’d have to trust in Luffy to snap him out of it. So, despite your reservations, you stuck with the rest of the crew to make the journey to Wano.

The sun had all but lost its warmth, and even the funniest jokes Usopp or Franky could provide did little to help. You’d smile, you’d laugh, but it’d only go as far as your lips, not lighting your eyes up in the way the crew had become familiar with. Eventually, you stopped laughing and smiling altogether. Robin had taken note of the way you kept your distance even in shared spaces, and if it weren’t for how quietly you cried yourself to sleep at night, she’d have stepped in herself to ask about how you were handling being separated from Sanji. You had made it clear that the topic was off-limits. Even just the mention of Sanji’s name would shut you down, so the crew found it prudent to give you the space to deal with it the way you saw fit.

Zoro didn’t have as much tact.

You were leaning against the cool wall of the Polar Tang, your eyes locked on the ocean that passed by a porthole. You weren’t sure if you were grateful for the Heart Pirate’s hospitality or dreading the fact that this meant you’d have to be miles below the surface until arriving at Wano. As romantically vain as it felt, not being able to see the same moon as Sanji only made things worse, and you were sure it wasn’t doing any favors for your mood. While you were lost in thought, reminiscing on memories you knew weren’t good for you, the swordsman took his place next to you against the wall. Your eyes were trained on a large school of fish swimming past the porthole, but you could see his large frame perched next to yours in the reflection of the glass.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Until your crewmate finally opened his mouth.

”Thinking about curly brows, huh?”

Great. An emotional conversation with Zoro was rare, and when they happened, they were never fun. You weren’t in the mood to talk about Sanji, much less talk to Zoro about Sanji. Of all people, this seemed like the worst one to finally address the elephant in the room. 

“You don’t have to-“

”Captain told me to look after everyone.” Zoro interrupted you, his tone gruff and leaving no room for argument. “It’s obviously bothering you. You’re not fooling anyone..”

You let out a huff at his words, trying to abate the indignation settling in your chest. You opened your mouth to argue that you weren’t trying to fool anyone, but your mouth shut almost immediately. Zoro’s stubborn nature and dedication to Luffy was going to draw some stupid, emotional things out of you that you really had been working to push down. You cast a sidelong glance at him before returning your eyes to the porthole. You didn’t respond, because there was nothing to say. Zoro didn’t speak, either. The two of you just sat in silence, until eventually you left your spot and the swordsman went his own way. 

After that point, you noticed how Zoro would almost…hover. It was unlike him. You’d go to the galley, he’d take a seat next to you; you’d try to distract yourself with reading, and he’d somehow find his way in the same room as you, cleaning his blades or taking a nap against a wall. Nothing was ever exchanged, and while you were sure it wasn’t a coincidence of a small ship and a larger-than-usual crew aboard, you refused to acknowledge it. Acknowledgment meant confrontation, and confrontation meant the potential to have your lofty mourning period interrupted.

The final straw was when you volunteered to do some tasks for Law around the ship, and Zoro had met you every step of the way. He had outright refused chores up until this point, so all subtlety of his following you had clearly gone out the porthole. You couldn't even pretend to ignore it anymore, because it was so irritatingly obvious. You were working on stocking some kind of cabinet with gauze and bandages when you heard Zoro enter the room, the clacking of his swords on his hip snapping any sort of patience you had maintained. An aggravated groan escaped your lips as he approached the bin of supplies next to you, his arm brushing against yours.

”What is with you?” You snapped, turning to look at Zoro with a searing glare.

The swordsman didn’t bother meeting your eyes, instead busying himself with putting away the packets of gauze. Rather sloppily, too. He was basically just tossing them into the drawers with a flick of his wrist and no care for where they landed.

”You keep avoiding everyone and moping around, and I’m not going to let you.” He replied.

He made it sound so…so simple. Like there wasn’t even a second thought behind it. For some reason, that kind of compassion set you off. Wasn’t it clear that you just wanted to be left alone? To grieve the fact that your boyfriend wasn’t here, could quite possibly never come back, and lament that you didn’t tag along to save him? You grit your teeth, snatching the gauze from him that he so haphazardly put away.

”Well, if you’re going to stalk me, at least do the damn chores you volunteer for properly.” You retorted, shoving the gauze into the drawers with more care than he had. “I don’t need a babysitter. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

Zoro huffed, and you could tell he was annoyed. Good. Maybe he’d leave you alone. 

He took a few steps back, leaning against a nearby desk as he watched you put away the rest of the gauze and bandages. Zoro didn’t bother disrupting your process. You seemed like you had it handled.

”I’m not going to hear the end of it from either my Captain or that shit cook if they come back and you’re a wreck.” He finally said, his hands resting on the hilts of his swords casually. “Talk about it, don’t talk about it - I don’t care. But you’re not going to isolate yourself from the crew.”

You were almost touched - almost - but that familiar pang in your chest rose up at the mention of Sanji. You were just grateful that Zoro never invoked his proper name, avoiding it like the plague the way he usually did. So, neither of you said anything after that, either. When the rest of the chores were finished, and you both walked through the halls of the sub, that’s when Zoro finally spoke up again.

”Wanna see about getting a drink?”

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Days that passed like molasses slowly started to feel less syrupy and more fluid. Jokes landed a little harder with you, and the swordsman took great care to make sure that smile reached your eyes. Franky and Usopp shared stories, Robin made morbid comments, and everything started feeling just a little more colorful again. Even when it was just you and Zoro sitting at a table, making idle chit-chat or opting to sit in comfortable silence, you realized his stable presence made you feel less lonely. Your crewmates were breathing some hope back into you. 

The last night on the ship, before entering Wano, you and Zoro had another night like this. Sitting in the galley, with your face resting on your palm as you read a book. He was sharpening his swords, the shing of the blades a sound that triggered a disheartening nostalgia. Reminders of being on the Thousand Sunny, sitting in the grass as Sanji served you and the other ladies tea permeated your brain. The rhythmic sound of stone clashing with blade would have been a welcome ambiance to your book if not for this. Your eyes trailed over the same text again and again, hoping to comprehend anything other than the stakes of what lie ahead. Tomorrow would mean entering a new country, an Emperor’s territory, and there was still no word on how Sanji and the others were doing. The only one likely as antsy as you was probably Zoro, but a face of carefully composed stoicism left you uncertain. It wasn’t until you were shutting your book for the night, giving up on the idea of reading when your brain couldn’t focus, that he finally let it slip.

”He’s coming back. You know that, right?”

It was the first time he’d tried talking to you about Sanji since you reluctantly accepted his presence nearly a week ago. You paused, your fingers trailing the edge of your book as you worked to bite back the tension in your gut.

”Of course I do.” You replied, and maybe you sounded too defensive, because Zoro huffed in response.

”Yeah. Right.”

You stared at him, distracted partially by the hypnotic way his hand sent the whetstone across the honed edge of Wado Ichimonji. It wasn’t a good enough distraction, though, because in its reflection you could swear you caught a glimpse of a blonde tuft of hair. It reminded you of the last time you saw Sanji - back in Dressrosa, before the crew had split off. Longer ago than you’d care to dwell on. You took a deep breath, your eyes studying the etchings of Zoro’s swords and the way they glistened with their new coating.

”They all are.” You affirmed, a feeble attempt to sound more confident. “Soon.”

”Yeah.”

It’s another stiff silence filled with a distinct discomfort that you weren’t sure what to make of. Conversations with Zoro these days always felt unfinished. It felt as though there were things left unspoken, thoughts neither of you dared to share, and it was difficult to decide if that had more to do with your desire to avoid the topic or Zoro’s. Emotional vulnerability was not something you thought the swordsman wanted any part in. It was growing increasingly clear to you, though, that Zoro felt the same concern for the crew as you did. Likely for different reasons. It'd be a cold day in Hell if you ever got the bastard to admit he was worried about Sanji. 

As you stood from the table, Zoro halted his movements on his blades, his head snapping in your direction. 

“Wait a sec.” He said, and he moved to grab at the bandana around his arm. Before you could say anything, he undid the tie and held it out to you. “Here. Want you to have this.”

You furrowed your brows, gaze flickering between the piece of cloth and the swordsman. Your fingers reluctantly touched the fabric as your hand reached out. It was softer than you’d thought, the fabric cool to the touch and shiny. It wasn’t lost on you how important this one piece of clothing was to Zoro. It decorated his head with every big battle, a jolly roger in its own right. It was the flag of death for any of his enemies. A symbol of his strength, focus, and dedication as a swordsman. Your hand twitched with indecision, but before you could reject it Zoro had firmly shoved the bandana the rest of the way into your grasp.

”We’ll probably get separated in Wano. Being undercover in the Flower Capital is fine and all, but knowing us, somethin’s gonna happen.” He stated, and his eye was trained on you, as if reading you closely. “I’m gonna want that back, so don’t lose it.”

Looking at the bandana, all words died in your throat. What the hell do you even say to something like that? It was a kind gesture, more thoughtful than you’d expected from Zoro, and all you could wonder was why? Was he so concerned about your well-being that he wanted you to have a reminder of the crew? Of his friendship? It was hard to decide what to do or say, but after a few moments, you closed your fingers around the bandana. 

“Thanks.”

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

The Flower Capital was more vibrant than you had anticipated, but most mornings, the colors still fell flat and the chirping of the birds were off-key. You understood now more than before why Zoro had worked so hard to make sure you weren’t isolated from the crew on your journey to the island. Aside from the few moments you could all safely convene or visit one-another, giving small waves and smiles passing by, you couldn’t spend time with them. Not without blowing your covers, and not without a good reason. Without your crew, and without Sanji, you were feeling more empty and numb than ever. A void had gradually opened up in your chest, and if you let your mind wander too far into memories, it threatened to swallow you whole.

In idle moments between you doing your assigned job in the Capital, learning to sew so you could fulfill your role as a seamstress, your fingers would fiddle mindlessly with the bandana Zoro had loaned you. It adorned the obi of your yukata, a hole that you had poked at the bottom so you could pull the fabric through and tie it into a small knot. It wasn’t proper, hardly even looked decent when you caught a glimpse in the mirror, but you didn’t care. It made you feel connected to your crew again - a physical reminder of the bond your friends shared with you and that things would go back to normal soon. Normal couldn’t come soon enough. 

Time was passing slower than it had on the first leg of the journey here. It felt like all you could do was wait. Work on clothes for the nobles, pretend like you had an inkling of what you were doing, and try your best not to think about the way your boyfriend smiled so carefree the last time you had seen him. It felt like a special kind of torture that your brain had concocted to make things worse. Laughs that sounded too much like his trilled in your ears, food that you were sure he’d make better burned your palette. Everything reminded you of him, and when you’d wake up in a cold and lonely bed, your fingers would fidget with the bandana like a lifeline. You were certain you’d rub a hole in the fabric by the time you gave it back to Zoro.

It was sometimes in these idle moments that memories of your boyfriend would invade your most private thoughts. Lying on your futon, your hands would wander, eyes shut as you tried to picture Sanji’s hands in place of your own. Guiding them over your yukata, you’d work it off in the way you imagined he’d do it, sometimes slipping under the fabric and exploring the skin. You’d touch over your clit the way Sanji would, moaning his name as if maybe doing so would summon him. Fingers would invade your slit, and you’d taste yourself the way you knew he’d insist. Mornings when your hands would accidentally brush Zoro’s bandana would leave a pit in your stomach after the act was said and done. It always left an odd feeling of awkwardness at you having unwillingly involved it in your fantasies. It was an incident that occurred few and far between, but enough to leave that unsettling feeling. What would Sanji say? What would Zoro say? Not only would it have a hole in it, but the damn bandana would be washed thoroughly when it was returned. Of that, you were sure.

Too much had happened in such a short amount of time, and that short amount of time felt like an eternity. You forced yourself into a routine, something to keep anything semblance of sanity in this separation from your crew. Wake up, get coffee, go to work, try to earn the trust of the royal seamstress, go home, sleep. Intel collection wasn’t going as well as you had hoped, so there was no proper way to keep your mind occupied. The local gossip the other seamstresses shared was of no interest, and even the morning news did little to help. 

One particular morning, about two weeks into your stay in Wano, you had managed to sneak away to the coffee stand on your break from work. The streets were buzzing, teeming with the same gossip you could hardly focus on for more than a few seconds. It wasn't until you had the morning newspaper pass by your eyesight, seeing the familiar face of your captain, that you felt your heart clench. Panicked, you let out a gasp and grabbed at a newspaper so you could look for yourself, earning a glare from the woman you snatched it from. An article about Luffy’s arrest, and a wanted poster with Zoro's face crudely drawn. Luffy’s arrest. Your heart had never simultaneously jumped and crashed so hard at the same time. If Luffy was here, what of Sanji? No chance that he’d have returned without their cook. It was a conflicting set of circumstances, bittersweet, because you couldn’t think of seeing Luffy’s face in the news as anything but a bad omen for the mission. Your Captain, who you adored and swore yourself to, in danger. Zoro, your friend, wanted for crimes you were sure he didn’t commit. And what of Sanji? The others?

Wandering through the streets of the Flower Capital gripping the cup of your coffee tightly in your palm, your mind was swirling with too many thoughts. They all lingered on your crew - Luffy and Zoro’s safety, Sanji’s return, what this meant fighting against Kaidou. Your head was aching, full of growing concern, and you were only snapped out of it when you felt a hand land on your shoulder.

"What-?"

The moment you turned your head, everything in your body buzzed with an energy you couldn’t quite place.

Sanji.

Your heart was in your stomach which twisted and lept, and you just stared at him in disbelief. You blinked, and you blinked again, and the apparition didn’t dissipate. Sanji’s hand rested on your shoulder, and the warmth of his touch was enough to assure you that this wasn’t a dream. He was here. Tears streaked down your cheeks and, before you could stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his waist and coffee splashed down into the street below. Face buried in his chest as you clutched onto him like he was a ghost. You couldn’t control the way your hands trembled and your body ached for him, scared that he’d disappear again, and this time for good. Cover be damned - you were sure that if you let him slip from your grasp this time, he’d vanish as suddenly as he had before.

”Hey, hey - it’s okay!” Sanji replied immediately, his arms enveloping you in return. You cried against him, and it was all he could do to rub your back and rest his chin against the top of your head. “I’m sorry I left. I’m here now.”

”You-“ You choked out, wanting to say so many things, but they wouldn’t leave your mouth. You wanted to curse, to shake him, to let him know how angry you were for worrying you sick. Instead, your arms tightened, and a sob broke through you. 

“Angel…” He sighed, and you swore you could hear his voice crack. 

He held you like this for longer than probably appropriate on the busy streets of the Capital. When you finally stopped crying, your body shaking from the adrenaline pumping through you, he slowly pulled your arms back so he could look at you. As your eyes met, his lips curled into a soft smile, and he reached a hand so his thumb could wipe any stray tears on your face. You had expected a lot of reactions from Sanji upon your reunion. Daydreamed them, in fact. His usual, dorky excitement wasn’t present like you thought it’d be, though. Instead, his eyes looked haunted, an unmistakable flash of guilt present and unshakeable. You leaned your cheek against his palm, a silent signal that you were happy to see him again.

“Let’s go somewhere private.” He murmured.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

It was a short walk to the quarters you had been staying in from where Sanji found you. Your hands couldn’t stop shaking, fidgeting with the piece of fabric at your waist. Your other hand clung to Sanji’s with laced fingers in hopes that it would chain him to your side a little while longer. You weren’t sure how much longer you’d have with him given the operation going on in Wano, but any time was good enough for now. It would have to be. 

“The head seamstress in the Flower Capital was gracious enough to give me a room,” You explained to Sanji, carefully selecting your words. “It’s got everything I could need. A kotatsu, a futon, a window. I’ve been spending most of my time there when I’m not working.”

Sanji didn’t say anything. It was unlike him, being so silent as he walked beside you. It didn’t feel like your boyfriend, but you elected to keep that observation to yourself. All questions and concerns would have to wait. The horrors of Whole Cake wasn’t something either of you would likely feel keen diving into over a cup of spilled coffee in the streets of enemy territory. You noticed as you walked with Sanji through the barracks of fellow seamstress’ the women that were present giving you sidelong glances. Knowing smiles and half-lidded eyes between Sanji and yourself. It would be annoying if not for the fact that it was maybe better for them to think this was just a gentleman caller rather than some kind of ally. The thought still made your blood pressure spike just a bit.

The sliding door to your quarters finally closed with a click, leaving you and Sanji in the morning light bathing the interior. Even then you didn’t let go of his hand. You guided him to the futon, taking a seat on the edge and tucking your legs under. Fabric from your yukata splayed out, floral patterns glittering in the sun and catching the eye of the cook. All you could focus on was the way his face looked exactly the way you remembered it.

Silence. This wasn’t right. This was far from the norm. Your fingers flexed slightly against his, and just as you were about to feel your heart palpitate, his thumb rubbed against the skin of your hand. It soothed the coming ache immediately.

“Sanji-”

“I missed you.” He interrupted, his eyes flickering from your joined hands to your gaze. Lifting his free hand, he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear that had spilled from your bun. “I didn’t stop thinking about you, angel. Not for one second. Not once.”

You swallowed back the swell of emotion caught in your throat. It bobbed, and you were sure your eyes were glassy. Taking a shaky breath, you shook your head.

“Me neither.”

Sanji shifted closer, his hand not leaving your skin. His fingertips lightly brushed against your flesh, as if testing it for himself, checking to make sure it was real. It lingered, his expression softening as his gaze flickered over your face. There was a fondness there that you had grown to recognize, come to miss, and it made the ache in your chest hurt even deeper. Sanji’s thumb brushed away a tear that you hadn’t even realized was threatening to spill, his lips parting slightly at the sight.

Silence again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sanji’s lips hovered near yours, brushing and threatening to press into them. Your breath hitched in your throat, your lashes colliding gently with his when your eyes fluttered shut. When his lips finally captured yours, gently latching and caressing, the dam that had been barely holding together finally broke loose. Your fingers finally unlaced from his, but it was so that they could grab onto the back of his neck. Sanji’s hands landed on your hips as you moved to straddle his waist, a kiss full of lips and tongue overwhelming in its desperation and greed. 

His hands on your hips guided you steadily, rocking your body down and against his. Even through your yukata, the way Sanji ran his hand over your thigh and waist made goosebumps rise on your skin. A moan into your mouth told you that he was just as affected, though grinding onto his hardening cock would have done just as well. His fingers ran over your curves, dipping into the overlapping fabric of your yukata, intent on pulling it apart. 

“Sorry…” Sanji gasped into your mouth between kisses. “Sorry, I'm sorry…”

You shushed him, your hands running down his shoulders and chest as you continued to grind against him. The heat was overbearing, and his lips trailed down from your mouth to latch against your neck. He sucked the spot beneath your ear in the way that you had been left to only dream about these past few weeks. He was savoring your skin, reminding himself of the underlying flavors of your flesh and sweat. With a groan, he turned you onto your back to hover over you. Your back landed against the soft material of the futon, all the while your boyfriend's lips didn't let up their assault on your neck. His cock grinded down against you, his hands worshipping and gliding over your body.

You whimpered his name, and he groaned again in response, whimpering yours in return. His hand traveled down and crept up your yukata, his other hand pushing your thighs apart. You shuddered beneath his touch, entirely too gentle and too warm for what you had been waiting for. Calloused fingertips inched their way to the junction between your thighs, testing the feeling of your already slick folds against your panties. Pushing them aside, they dove further, eliciting a breathless moan from your lips. 

“Missed this…I’ll never leave again, I’ll-”

Sanji paused, his fingers still poised against your clit. His other hand had crept up your yukata, landing on the unfamiliar material that poked through the hole you’d created. His curly brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, though you couldn’t tell from the way his face was still buried in your neck. His breath felt hot against you, the only indication of the way his breathing had become shaky. Your hands grasped at him, almost pleading.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” You whispered, but he didn’t respond.

“We need to talk.” He said, quiet and…detached.

Not verbally, anyway. His fingers moved away from your aching center, his nose brushing against your neck for a moment, just inhaling the scent he had missed so much. Your heart ached the moment he pulled away from your body, eyes landing on your obi. No, not your obi - the bandana that adorned it. The air was thick, weighed down by the need that ripped through you both, the love that you shared, and the clear betrayal that glittered in Sanji’s gaze. Wordlessly, he sat up on your futon, hair still mussed from your fingers. 

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

[j-jinxee]

[ ⟡​ ] — KEEP QUIET,,

NSFW under the cut! ⊹ Nijiro x Reader

[warnings — quickie, p in v, unprotected, swearing, cumming inside, semi public]

-,' syn – Nijiro needs an outlet for his adrenaline. Shooting fight scenes as Kazutora and then having to wait for others to shoot theirs, it's throwing him off more than usual tonight.

[AN] no cuz guys, Nijiro literally never shows his arms. Like bro is always wearing long sleeves, jackets, or yk just baggy shirts in general. So this 40 second clip of him (where he's literally just in his own little world on the TR set) WEARING A SINGLET like I can't deal fr, I feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman's ankles for the first time, like it's driving me up the wall.

─────

"mm-ngh! Niji, fuck" your small whines were quickly silenced by Nijiro's hand covering your mouth. He had previously swept you away from the set, you weren't acting in the Tokyo Revengers movie but since your boyfriend was, you watched from behind the camera with the rest of the crew. It was so cool seeing your boyfriend in his element, you usually weren't allowed to be with the crew since you don't actually work for them, but the TR production was pretty laid back and let you stay to watch. Which is what you were doing, until about 5 minutes ago.

Nijiro was frustrated with the way they were filming. Usually they'd film a single characters scenes all at once, so they wouldn't have their actors coming on and off constantly, but for some reason they changed it for tonight. The night where Nijiro had to film his biggest fight scene.

It was really pissing him off, the way he'd get fully committed to the character, and then be told to go off and take 5 because they needed to shoot someone else. Why would they change the formula? It was perfect the way it was, now the production will suffer.

And above all else, Nijiro was told to take 5 right when his adrenaline would reach its peak. Naturally, he needed an outlet, a way to keep his energy up. Luckily, his favourite thing to put his energy into was standing right infront of him.

"keep quiet f'me baby.." he whispered, gently covering your mouth with his hand. The only lighting in the bathroom being from the dim street lamps outside, increasing the secretive atmosphere. You were pinned against the bathroom wall as Niji buried himself in your cunt, practically imprinting his shape into your walls. Your eyes travelled down to his arms, fuck. You mentally thank the costume team for finally getting Nijiro to wear a singlet, he never wore shirts that showed off his arms, so you made sure to remember this session over the rest. His sweat gleamed in the faint warm light, decorating his neck and collarbones, your eyes fixated on his fake neck tattoo. Fuck, you'd have to convince him to cosplay or something after this, the sight mixed with the pleasure he gave you was making your head spin.

His arms and shoulders flexed with each thrust as he held you up by your thighs, fucking into you like this was the last time he'd ever get. It took everything in you not to scream out his name, along with a nicely crafted string of cuss words, letting everyone hear how good he fucks you. Small whimpers were the most you could let out, not wanting Niji to get punished for having a quickie mid set.

"You're so good f'me... fuck baby" His voice was intoxicating, his touch made you feel ways you've never felt before. Your arms rested over his shoulders, not that they needed to — his strong hold kept you up with no issue. You were sure that if he fucked you any harder, you'd end up bringing down the wall you were currently pinned up against. He felt the need to groan louder, feeling it build — his mouth soon found your neck, sucking on your sweet spots, only bringing you closer to the edge.

You felt Nijiro's hips stutter, followed by his teeth digging into your skin a little harder than before.

"m-mmh cum, cum with me baby" His hot breath laced your jawline as he rutted into you faster than ever. Feeling that familiar knot in your stomach about to snap, you couldn't stay silent anymore.

"mmh- cumming.. cummingcummingcummi- ahh!" You cried into his neck. Shortly met with the feeling of your walls being painted by Niji's hot white seed, filling you up, keeping you warm. You could swear you saw heaven for a second, his touch made you drunk, reaching a state of euphoria you could never get anywhere else.

His arms gently let you back down, still keeping you steady with your bodies pressed together as you could barely stand. Whispering sweet praises in your ear as his hand went down to fuck his cum back into you, not letting any leak out. You smiled weakly as his words laced your eardrums, almost forgetting he was in the middle of his job.

"Nijiro! Wherever you are, you're back on in two." The director shouted.

"Fuck, 'm sorry baby. I'll take care of you when we're home ok? I love you" He said, getting his pants back on at the speed of light. Not bothering to wash his hands, but instead resorting to licking your combined juices off his fingers, and with a quick kiss to your cheek, he was gone.

You knew he'd keep his word, now all you'd have to do was wait till you got home to recieve his aftercare.

can't wait.

[phossiii]

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter seven

synopsis: you get into some shenanigans while on the run, reminders of your past coming back to haunt you in the process. and phosphorus comes to a life changing conclusion about you.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, this one's a doozy, reader deserves the world, mahalat is just... mahalat.

The sound of soft panting forced you to slowly come to, a faint groan leaving your lips as your eyes fluttered open, greeted by the sight of an irradiated back and the visible spine underneath.

'Phos...'

You attempted to move, but winced, your entire body aching from head to toe, and your strength not yet returned to break free from his hold.

Not to mention your mind was exhausted from the mental battle you fought to regain control over your body.

Healing be damned, you felt like you'd been hit by an eighteen-wheeler...

"Morning, sleepyhead," Phosphorus sang, looking both ways before quickly running across a back-alley street, just barely avoiding a Pokolistani jeep. "Sweet dreams?"

"Where the hell are we?" you grumbled, weakly lifting your head and turning to face him.

"A town, I think," he answered, making a sharp right turn. "If I had to guess, I'd say it's the last one before we reach the castle."

"Where are the others?"

"Couldn't tell ya. After we got split up, and you decided to drop by, I high-tailed it. The police were on my ass."

"Still are," you scoffed with a chuckle, nodding to the faint sirens in the background. "This your first time dodging the cops, princess?"

"I wouldn't be so quick to complain, snoozy. I'm still waiting for when it's time for us to switch."

"Like hell I'm carrying you. By the time I get back to prison, I'll be on chemo for the rest of my life."

"Demons don't get cancer."

"Skeletons don't have dicks."

"You gonna keep bringing that up?"

"I—" "Shush."

Sliding between two houses, he effortlessly hopped a brick wall, dropping the both of you into a bush just as two more jeeps drove past.

Using his hands, he put you down and pulled apart a few branches, peeking to see if the coast was clear.

You, on the other hand, were starting to really wake up, realizing that you seemed to have a fresher injury on your backside.

"Fuck, why does my ass hurt, too?" you groaned, rubbing it in an attempt to soothe the pain.

"Well... I may have smacked it once," Phosphorus admitted, suspiciously. "Or twice... possibly three times... a little over four? Honestly, I lost count after tenth or twelfth time."

SMACK!

"You keep doing that. It turns me on more than you think," he chuckled, adjusting his jaw.

"Pervert!" you whisper-yelled, pissed. "We talked about this! Hooker rules!"

"No kissing on the mouth?"

"Stripper rules."

"What was I supposed to do? You've seen your ass, you should be proud I held out as long as I did," he defended, the two of you standing up and pressing against the side of the house, using the roof as cover from the helicopters.

"Oh, yeah? And how long was that?"

"Five minutes."

"You're impossible."

Managing to reach the front door, Phosphorus melted the handle, unlocking it and allowing you both to slip inside before the search-light could catch you.

Panting, the two of you finally took a moment to breathe, looking around to familiarize yourselves with your surroundings.

"Here," you sighed, pulling off his lab coat and tossing it to him as you headed toward the living room. "I'm changing."

'Fuckin' Christ...'

He could practically feel his pants tightening at the sight of you, naked as the day you were born—save for your boots.

You looked so sexy in the moonlight, and your unabashed confidence only added to the appeal.

"Y'know..." he cleared his throat, shoving his arms through the sleeves before rolling them up. "I think now's a good a time as any to take a nice break. Relax... kick up your feet... let off a little steam..."

"Save it," you scoffed, opening the hallway closet and rummaging around until you found a black trash bag. "We've got enough to worry about."

In the bag was a secret stash of clothes, ranging on a scale of scandalous to downright slutty.

'Perfect.'

Fishing around, you managed to pull out a pair of black, open-stitch, boot-cut jeans, a matching jean jacket, and a black, leather bikini top.

"And just my size," you grinned, quickly tugging them on.

"How'd you know that stuff was there?" Phosphorus asked, confused.

"She's a pretty woman in a European country. Nine times out of ten, she was a party girl at some point," you explained, nodding to the photos on the wall as you tied up the pants. "But she grew up. Got a husband... bought a house... had a kid. They can't see this filth, but she doesn't have the heart to throw away the memories along with it. So she shoves it in a garbage bag and stuffs it in the back of the closet."

The man turned, examining the pictures, quite surprised to see that your educated guess was correct.

She was pretty, and she had a husband and daughter.

A daughter... whose face reminded him so much of his son.

"M'catchin a few more Zs before we move on," you announced, adjusting the jacket as you plopped yourself down on the couch, closing your eyes.

"Uh huh," he answered, mindlessly, as he continued to stare at the photo.

A daughter... whose face reminded him so much of his son.

"Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat! Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat! Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat!"

"Please! Have mercy!" your mother wailed, frantically struggling against her binds as she looked around the room, searching for a kindred face past the velvet hoods. "I'll do anything!... Oh, God! I'll give you anything you want!"

But not a single one of them stopped, the entire room of cultists pressing on like she wasn't even there, continuing to bow in sync around the altar she rested upon.

"Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat! Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat! Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat!"

"M-Money! I have money! Say whatever number, I'll give it to you!" she begged, gasping and choking for air as she attempted to get her words out, tears rolling down her cheeks in rivulets. "My house! Take my house! It's all yours! Please!"

Out from the darkness, the Grand Master emerged—along with his two attendants—a silver tray in hand.

On it were only two things:

A wooden bowl... and a ceremonial dagger.

"Oh, God!" your mother sobbed, pulling violently against the ropes that strapped her pregnant self to the table. "Please! Have mercy!... I haven't done anything wrong!"

But he drew nearer still, one of the attendants taking the tray as they reached the table, the Grand Master taking the dagger.

The handle was made entirely out of human bone, its carvings depicting the souls of the damned and their infinite torture in Hell.

Reverently, he grasped it with both hands, carrying it over until the dagger's pointed tip was aimed directly for your mother's heart.

"Please..." she pleaded for the final time, unable to stop the second wave of tears from flowing down her cheeks. "Not my baby."

But her pleas fell on deaf ears, the Master's face stone cold as he plunged the knife into her heart, her screams of pain muffled by the raging thunder and lightning outside.

Quickly taking the bowl, the Master used it to catch her blood as it spilled from her chest, waiting until the woman lost consciousness before pulling away.

"Tekchau ma'at tu na ekk bay pavak!" he bellowed, dipping his two fingers in the blood before drawing an intricate symbol over your mother's pregnant belly.

"Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat!"

Suddenly, the satanic markings on the wall began to glow dark red, illuminating the room with a presence that would make any sane person turn tail and run.

"Sunuk zetam ma'ak kula baa nat su da Mahalat!"

"TEKCHAU MA'AT TU NA EKK BAY PAVAK!"

"SUNUK ZETAM MA'AK KULA BAA NAT SU DA MAHALAT!"

Roaring with passion, the Master stabbed your mother in the stomach, violently tearing it open as the followers mimicked the sound.

And with a deafening, other-worldly shriek, a malevolent shadow burst from the wound, instantly slashing the Master's throat before moving on to the others.

Blood-curdling creams of panic and terror echoed throughout the room as the followers were murdered left and right, unable to escape as the being had locked all the doors and windows.

Amidst the chaos, one of the attendants rushed to your mother's side, dodging flying limbs and splattering blood.

Sadly, your mother was long dead, but the attendant was quick to reach her hands inside her stomach, quickly fishing around before grasping onto the reason for this whole ritual.

You.

Carefully, she pulled your tiny body out, a smile breaking out onto her face at the sight of your reddened skin, pointed ears, and tail.

You were beautiful...

But her happiness was short lived, the shadow-being finishing off the last follower before zooming over to you, entering your body through your nostrils and successfully possessing your infant self.

Instantly, your tail whipped up and stabbed the attendant in the neck, forcing her eyes wide.

With a sickening slice, you slashed her throat, dropping her to the ground.

She died almost immediately... but not without uttering two final words.

"Praise Mahalat."

"Ladies and Gentlemen! It is my pleasure tonight to show you an act that had never been performed in the history of the world!" the ringmaster announced, his proud statement met with the starry eyes of hundreds of children and parents.

"Tonight... I debut the newest headliner of my show! A marvel by which the likes of you have never seen!"

Nervously, a six year-old you shifted on your feet, waiting patiently on the riser for your cue.

This was going to be your first time performing in front of an audience...

"We've pulled out all the stops tonight! Of course, for the audience, but also for a very special guest we have this evening! Everyone! Please give a big, warm welcome to Mr. Vice President [REDACTED]! And his lovely wife!"

The crowd roared with applause as the spotlight moved to him, the Vice President giving a proud smile and a strong wave before the ringmaster returned to his introduction.

"Now without further ado, I present to you the Hellish Wonder! The Monstrous Spectacle! The Flying Demon of Gotham! (y/n)!"

Quickly, you grabbed your bar, pushing off and swinging directly into the spotlight, earning loud gasps of surprise and wild roars of applause.

Using your momentum, you dismounted, performing three forward flips before Greta—a fellow trapeze artist—caught you by your ankles, swinging in the other direction.

The crowd ooed and ahhed at your display, watching intently as you performed moves that had never been done before—with about as much effort as wiggling your pinky toe.

"You are doing wonderful, (y/n)!" Greta encouraged as she swung over, catching you by your ankles before gravity took her back the way she came.

"Really?!" you asked, eagerly, relieved to hear that you were doing well, and that the crowd was loving the show.

"Ja!" she laughed, warmed by your excitement. "A few more moves and you'll be done! Make me proud!"

As she swung forward again, you let go, doing five backflips in a row before grabbing onto a rope, using it to swing yourself around to the audience.

There, you leaned over, giving high-fives to all the kids as you flew past.

"Cool!"

"Awesome tail!"

"Look at her horns!"

You were over the moon, baffled by all the overwhelming positivity you were greeted with.

In fact, you were so over the moon that you'd failed to pay attention to the last kid, your nail grazing his palm a little too harshly and drawing blood.

"Ouchie!"

The instant you got a whiff... it was all over.

"Time to feed!" Mahalat's voice cackled in your mind, forcing you to gasp and lose focus.

She took over in an instant, launching you at the boy and clamping your fangs down on his arm, tearing it from his socket.

The surrounding crowd let out screams of horror as you began to feast right then and there, tearing into the limb like a feral animal.

But the demon wasn't one to let food go to waste.

Opening your mouth, she flew into the air, spinning around as she blew blazing hellfire in all directions.

The crowds of hundreds trying to escape the big top were immediately set aflame, shrieks of agony and torture bounding through the air.

"(y/n)!" Greta shouted, swinging over and landing on your back, throwing an arm around your neck. "Stop this! You are hurting them!"

But it all went in one ear and out the other, Mahalat grabbing her by her face before effortlessly tearing her head off her shoulders, preventing her from saying anything else.

In a bout of irony, the demon bit her lips off, taking the head as she flew through the roof of the tent, leaving the countless families to burn to death as she soared through the night sky.

Enjoying her midnight snack.

"What the—? Where am—AAAAAAAAAH!" you shrieked, eyes shooting wide as they landed on the sight before you.

An absolute massacre...

Viscera flooded the closed off street, slowly sinking into the city sewers as the rain attempted to wash it away.

Half-eaten, dismembered limbs were strewn everywhere—in the punch bowl, on the buffet table, hell, you had someone's leg in your arms.

Your mouth and hands were covered with blood, the taste of human meat fresh on your tongue.

And all you had done was leave to go to the store...

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" you frantically threw away the leg, trembling violently as your hands moved to tightly grasp your hair.

Even the children weren't safe, a tiny hand with a Dora the Explorer watch sitting not too far away.

"These are the consequences of your rebellion, (y/n)..." Mahalat stated, coldly. "You forget your place."

Horrified, you turned around, utterly hysterical as you barfed up a bloody mess.

Eventually, though, you caved, racked with sobs as you crumpled into yourself, wanting nothing more than to be arrested and put to death.

But fate had other plans, the Dark Knight himself swooping in as your angel of mercy.

As he stood over you, surveying the scene, his expression dropped slightly in an uncharacteristic bout of pity.

Especially when you weakly grabbed onto his cape.

"Please..." you begged, voice barely above a whisper. "Kill me."

"Yana!" a voice shouted, snapping you out of your sleep.

Abruptly, you sat up, eyes frantically scanning over the room in search of Phosphorus.

But he was nowhere to be found.

'Shit.'

Jumping off the couch, you used your sense of smell, following his scent all the way to backyard.

The backyard... where he was playing with a little girl.

And the backyard... where her mother and father were less than pleased.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, carefully putting the girl down and letting her run back to her parents. "We were just... pretending to fly."

Sensing the sincerity in his voice, you saved the scolding, deciding not to ask questions.

'We gotta get moving.'

"C'mon," you sighed, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the fence as you turned to the parents. "Thank you for the clothes!"

You let him hop over first before following, waiting until you both got a good distance away from the house before you spoke up.

For the very first time since you'd known him, he was completely silent, not saying a word as you trudged over a grassy hill.

Not one pun.

Not one sex joke.

Not even a single pass at you.

Just... nothing.

It worried you, making an odd string to tug at your heart and force you to get to the bottom of it.

"Phos?" you started, softly, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

Lifting his head, he turned to you, eyes widening as—for a split second—your expression morphed into that of his late wife.

Right then and there, it felt as if his whole paradigm shifted, the jigsaw pieces of his life seeming to fall into place right before him.

Taking the shape of you.

Your laugh... your smile... your warmth—they were things he wanted to be in the presence of well-past the end of the mission.

He wanted you, past a friend or a fuck, but as someone to stay by his side, someone to hold.

Someone to care about again...

"Alex..." he blurted, unable to take his eyes away from your face. "Call me Alex."

Surprised, your eyes widened slightly, a familiar burn rising to your cheeks at his intense stare.

But the shock was quick to subside, replaced with understanding as you stopped in your tracks, smoothly taking his hand in yours.

Intently, he watched, your touch singeing his skin as you held his hand, flashing him a coy smile.

"Alright, Alex... let's go kill a princess.

[miedei]

mystery girl blurb bc i miss them!!

1k, new bf!spencer mirrors your physical touch (and learns some of his own)

It took months of barely-restrained small talk over your shared lab bench, a few more of stolen coffee breaks and lunches, but finally, you and Spencer Reid have something concrete. (Never mind that he was all but yours by the time you spoke to him for the fifth time.)

This is all new to him, having a person to confide in, to express his every emotion to. To be honest, it's rather intimidating. He's used to being reminded to reel it in, making sure that he's not coming on too strong with his often long-winded rambles. Despite that, he's come around to letting those walls down around you. It helps that you're always genuinely interested in what he has to say. Over the short time you've dated, he's quickly gotten comfortable with allowing himself to prattle on.

However, one thing about your newfound relationship that's still difficult for him to grasp is physical intimacy. Although Spencer adores physical touch, it's something he's never allowed himself to indulge in. At most, he will sit at his mother's side when she reads to him, but now that he's lived away from her for years, he's very unacquainted with the intricacies of that sort of affection.

At the beginning, he just held himself back from everything. He was never sure what was okay, and feared embarrassment if he stepped too far.

In spite of that, he quickly grows desperate for closeness, craving the rare moments when you initiate touch.

That's what leads him to this. Although he'd never admit it, he's been studying you (more than he already does). There's a little nook in his brain that's dedicated to you, and a small part of that consists of an extensive list. Every type of touch you've initiated, and his own observances when he does the same.

The first time was an accident, really. He'd been posted up on your couch, watching you putter around your living room in search of your wallet. He was supposed to be helping you look, but he found his eyes consistently drawn back to you, unable to look away.

"Aha! Found it."

You straighten up with a satisfied smile, striding over to where he's sitting. With you standing between his knees, he has to crane his head back to see your face.

"Ready to go? I think this restaurant's really..."

You must keep talking, he knows that, but he can't possibly register anything else. Not when your hands have drifted to the crown of his head, idly running through the sandy-brown locks of hair there.

He all but melts, pupils dilating as his eyes remain fixated on your face.

Later that same night, once you've returned from the date and you're both trying to find excuses for him to stay in your apartment for just a little longer, you're leaning softly towards him in the doorway.

"I had a great time tonight."

Your smile is so sweet, and your eyes so shiny, and he can't hold himself back from mirroring your earlier movements, his hand migrating up from your waist to your head. With slow, clumsy movements, he intertwines his fingers with your hair, moving slowly back and forth.

He's terrified of overstepping, but the low sigh that escapes your lips signals to him that yes, this is something he can see himself doing. Playing with hair is the first item to join the list.

He slowly ramps up in the following weeks. The list gets countless additions. Kisses on the cheek, hands cupping necks, quick hugs for no discernable reason.

Slowly but surely, he's learning to understand his own boundaries with touch, and gets comfortable enough to explore beyond what you've expressed.

Picking you up from university one day, he steels himself before going for it. As he walks up to you, he gingerly places his arm around your shoulders, his hand landing on your upper arm.

He braces himself for a response, a notification that he's being too much, but it never comes. Instead, you turn your head, flash him a smile, then lean into his chest.

His neck is covered in a blotchy red blush, sure, but he's happier than he's ever been.

[wrthzell]

hi! Could you write a Vander x male reader where Vander in his werewolf(?)/Warwick(?) form recognizes the reader, and reader also recognizes him, and is so so happy to meet his old lover again

Sorry any mistakes, English is not my first language!

𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 — (Vander/Warwick X Male Reader).

Note: Thank you for the request! No worries; English is not my first language either, and your request was very comprehensible. It turned out a bit short, but I hope it's to your liking.

Summary: The old memories of what could have been and what was haunt you, but after being called to the mines you once used to work on, you find that maybe your life won't have to be filled with regret and longing.

Warnings: Spoilers, don't read unless you've watched Arcane.

Key: (Y/n) — Your name. | (H/c) — Your hair colour. | (E/c) — Your eye colour.

Sickly green neon lights reflect on murky brown water, and a stomach-churning stench rises from the walls of the worn-down building; the grey impregnated itself in any surface it touched, like acrid sulfur. (Y/n) crouched in front of The Last Drop, (e/c) eyes squinting to make out any recognisable feature in what once was a haven to him.

He dusted off the dirt that had collected in the upper part of his pants and inhaled sharply, lungs long accustomed to the poisonous fog of his hometown. He pressed forward. The inside was empty—needless to check; he wouldn't find her inside. The paper felt like lead in his pocket, heavy and foreboding—a reminder of his failures and the grief that followed any Zaunite like a wailing shadow.

He hadn't gone to the mines in years, and he hadn't had to work there in such a long time that he wasn't sure what exactly they looked like after everything. The entrance was falling apart, and wood planks, detached and broken, littered the floor, and glass cracked underneath his shoes. He tightened his jaw and looked down, the pitch-black darkness of the cave illuminating with every step. 

Thump, thump, thump. The impact of his boots against the floor echoed—the caves amplified each sound closer than it truly was—and the faint noises of water dripping reached his ears along with a low rumbling. She was deeper there, had to be. His fingers rubbed the paper note inside his pocket, hope simmering inside his chest.

Thundering footsteps started to come in his direction; something metallic scratched against the walls. He raised his guard, crouching and aiming his gun at the origin of the sound. The walls illuminated in a quick flash, and a dark shadow moved too fast for him to brace himself for it, the thing colliding into his chest and throwing him to the ground.

Mismatched eyes looked straight into his, and a gaping maw with sharp teeth stopped just short of tearing his face apart. Shivers went down his spine, and his lips quivered, tears welling in his eyes as he raised a trembling hand to the creature's face. A sharp set of footsteps entered the place, the light going up again and illuminating the monster's face further. Greyish dark fur coated a familiar face and warped it into something recognisable but not completely. 

“Thought you'd want to see him.” Powder announced, her gun clanking against her belt. 

Vi stepped closer, opening her mouth and closing it before finally settling on explaining it. “It's...”

“Vander.” He held the man's face in his hands, tears falling down his eyes, a thunderous storm inside his heart. The man he loved. The man he loves. He holds him tenderly but strongly, as if afraid that when he lets go, it will all dissolve and morph back into his bleak reality.

Vander softens, resting his head against the crook of the other man's neck. A content sigh leaves his nose and ruffles the hair on the (h/c)-haired man's head. “(Y/n).”

“Sheesh, even he recognised him way faster than you did.” The blue-haired woman jabbed at her sister, the corner of her mouth pulled up in a teasing smirk. Her facade breaks as she sees a hand outstretched in her direction. 

(Y/n) reassuringly squeezes her hand, a wide smile on his lips as he unburies his head from Vander's fur and turns it towards his daughter. “Thank you.”

“You don't have to thank me. You love him as much as we do,” she laughs bitterly. Her hand, albeit hesitant, holds his tighter.

“I do. I don't know how you found him or what happened, but you brought me back to him. I haven't felt like this in so long.” His voice sounds choked, and he looks back at the pair of blue and yellow eyes, his hands caressing the rough skin. He feels Vander's strong arms curl around him, and the fur tickles his neck and arms, warm and comforting. “I love you,” he whispers in the man's ear, loud enough for only them to hear it.

“Love... you.” He answers back.

[natti-ice]

Reader catching eddie jerking off and moaning her name

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni,masturbation, blowjob, cum eating

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

You walk in the front door of you and Eddie's trailer after work and shut the door quietly, you toss your keys into the small bowl by the door and let out a sigh. You were so glad to finally be home after a long day and were looking forward to some much needed relaxation, you took off your shoes before placing them on the shoe rack. You tried to walk as quietly as possible as to not wake Eddie, he worked night shifts so he was normally asleep when you got home.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie was in fact not sleeping. When you walked into the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets to find something to make for dinner, you heard something. At first you assumed it was some animal outside making noise and brushed it off, you continued to search through different boxes of pasta and ready-to-make meals when the sound got clearer.

Your ears perked up when you heard your name, you knew that voice very well, the desperation laced in every syllable, you've heard it so many times it's burned into your brain. You stopped immediately what you were doing and started to walk towards the back bedroom, the floor creaked slightly under your weight making you stop and curse yourself for not being as stealthy as you'd hoped you would be. You held your breath for a moment hoping that Eddie hadn't caught on to your presence, when you heard another soft moan you knew you were good to keep going.

As you approached your bedroom you noticed the door was cracked open, that's why you could hear everything so clearly, the closer you got to the door, the more turned on you became. You were always a sucker for hearing your name escape Eddie's lips, no matter the situation, even when he was mad at you it still drove you crazy when he said your name. Once you made it to the doorway you saw him, propped up against his pillow with the blanket scrunched up at the bottom of the bed. Eddie's eyes closed as his hand works his cock with ease, you could hear the squelching of the lube that coats his shaft.

You covered your mouth as you hold back a giggle, he looked so good laid out on the bed like that, all vulnerable and desperate for release. You debated on turning away and letting him be but something about your man fantasying about you while jerking off really turned you on.

"Need a hand, handsome?" Your voice called out breaking the thick tension in the air, Eddie's eyes immediately shot open and his hand stopped mid stroke but he didn't try to hide what he was doing.

"Oh hey babe," he chuckles softly "I didn't hear you come in." he looks you up and down, admiring every line of your shape "I wouldn't mind a little help" you could see the smirk growing on his face, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of you pleasuring him.

You smile and walk into the room, you get onto the bed and position your face above his crotch. "Well, allow me" you say seductively before dipping your head down to his cock, you look up at him as you swirl your tongue around his tip, the saltiness of his precum coating your tastebuds. Eddie's body shuddered slightly as you took his sensitive member in your mouth, you slowly moved your mouth up and down his length, you could taste his favorite cherry flavored lube that he loved to use on you.

His hands gripped the bed sheet beneath him as you increased your speed. "Oh fuck, just like that baby" he praised your work, you could hear his breathing becoming more rapid as you sucked him off, soft groans and slurping sounds bounced off the walls of your bedroom. You knew he was close, the tip of his cock pulsating in your mouth was an indication of his approaching orgasm, you kept the same rhythm and before you knew it his cum shot into the back of your throat.

“Mmm fuck” he groans loudly as he drops his load in your mouth. His chest rises up and down rapidly as he takes his cock out of your mouth and pulls you up to his chest, you quickly swallow his seed and rest your head on his chest. You can hear his heart pounding as he comes off his high, “thank you, sweetheart” he whispers, his voice was scratchy from the intense pleasure you just gave him. He plants a soft kiss on your forehead and wraps his arms around you, holding you close as an appreciation for your service.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Tags: @tracymbcm @ali-r3n @thebiggestnaturaldisaster @canmargesimpson @nailbatanddungeon @queermaxwooo @zestychili @skrzydlak @supersmexyandhot @themadhattersqueen @arthurcerverogf @asimpforthe80s @yeaiamme2 @thepurplelovewitch @luv4peterba1lard @boa-hemian @thiccthighbby @jethro-mcgee-tony @keirasreplies @limerence-17 @mandies24 @tlclick73 @songbirdofthenight @evie-119 @spacedoutdaydreamer @emilyj444

Join a tag list!

[hockeyluvrr]

CONGRATS ON 100!!! TO MANY MANY MORE <33

I rolled a 4 with Luke Hughes and won prompt 13 !!

MASTERLIST

thank you meg!! thank you so much for requesting, hope you like it!!!

word count: 1,083

comfort prompt #13: "You've always been there for me, so please, let me be there for you now."

The silence in your room was deafening, your thoughts running wild in a way that made it almost impossible to focus. You could feel the weight of the day pressing on your chest, the things you hadn’t said, the worries you hadn’t shared—everything you’d kept bottled up for too long. It was overwhelming, suffocating. The tears that had come earlier were spent, but the heaviness remained, an invisible burden you didn’t know how to put down.

You weren’t the type to let people in easily. Vulnerability had always been a hard thing for you, especially with someone you cared about. But there was one person, one person who’d always seemed to know how to make everything feel just a little bit lighter—Luke Hughes.

You had been there for him through the highs and lows, offering support, comfort, and a safe space when the world felt too much. And now, as you sat alone in your room, you realised that maybe it was time to stop pretending like you had everything under control.

You needed someone. You needed him.

You grabbed your phone with shaky hands and hesitated for a moment before typing out a quick message:

“Hey, do you mind coming over? I could really use some company.”

Before you even had time to second-guess your decision, the reply came.

“On my way.”

The relief that washed over you was instant. Luke had always been your go-to person, your constant. It felt good to know he was going to be there, even if you couldn’t explain exactly what was going on.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at your door, and you quickly rose to answer it. When you opened the door, Luke was standing there, dressed casually in a hoodie and sweatpants, a concerned look on his face. Without saying a word, he stepped inside, immediately pulling you into a hug.

You didn’t realise how much you needed the comfort of his embrace until you felt it. His warmth surrounded you, and for a moment, you let yourself melt into him, your head resting against his chest.

“I’m here,” he murmured softly, his voice calm and steady. "I know you didn’t want to bother me, but you could never be a bother. You know that, right?"

You nodded against him, fighting the lump in your throat. But the words wouldn’t come. How could you explain everything you were feeling? How could you put into words the weight you had been carrying, the fears that had been building up for weeks?

“I know you’ve been through a lot lately,” he continued, pulling back slightly to look at you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “But you’ve always been there for me. Always. So please… let me be there for you now.”

His eyes held nothing but sincerity, the soft, caring look you knew so well. It was like he could see right through the walls you’d built up, and the thought of letting him in made your chest ache.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat, and instead, tears filled your eyes again. Luke’s expression softened, and before you could apologise, he pulled you back into his arms, holding you tighter this time.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to explain anything right now. I’m not going anywhere. We can take it slow, alright?”

You clung to him, your hands fisting the fabric of his hoodie as you let yourself feel everything you’d been hiding for far too long. The tears came again, but this time, they felt different. There was a sense of relief in them, like you were finally allowing yourself to release everything that had been weighing on your heart.

“I’m so tired, Luke,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. “Tired of pretending like I’m okay when I’m not.”

Luke’s hand gently stroked your hair, the simple gesture more comforting than you ever expected. “You don’t have to pretend for me. Not ever. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to not have all the answers. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face still wet with tears but grateful for his unwavering presence. “I just feel like I’m drowning, you know? Like I’m letting everyone down, like I’m not good enough.”

“Hey.” Luke gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears. His voice was firm yet kind, filled with an intensity that made you feel safe. “You’ve never let anyone down. You’ve always been there for me, for everyone. You’re one of the strongest people I know. But it’s okay to need help, too. You don’t have to do it alone.”

His words settled deep within you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe them. You weren’t alone. Not anymore. And you didn’t have to be strong all the time. It was okay to lean on someone else for once.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice quieter now, filled with a sense of vulnerability you hadn’t shown him before. “I should’ve let you in sooner.”

Luke shook his head, his gaze soft. “You don’t have to apologise. We all have our moments. I’m just glad you reached out.”

He moved to sit down on the couch, pulling you gently with him. You curled up next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you. His warmth was comforting, and his steady presence grounded you. You could feel the tension slowly melting away as you let yourself relax for the first time in a long while.

“You’ve got me,” Luke whispered into the silence, his voice a soft promise. “Always.”

You closed your eyes, the soothing sound of his heartbeat in your ear calming your nerves. “Thank you, Luke,” you whispered back. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he replied, his voice full of quiet conviction. “I’m not going anywhere. And whenever you need me, I’ll be right here.”

You let out a shaky breath, finally allowing yourself to fall into a peaceful sleep, wrapped in the safety of his arms. In that moment, you knew everything would be okay. You weren’t alone, and for once, you didn’t have to carry the world on your shoulders.

Because Luke was there, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

[oddity036]

UNCLE MIKE PT 2:

CW: DISPOSAL, (SAFE)

"Alright kid, your parents will be here in a couple hours... ready to hop out?"

Reluctantly, I said yes, not wanting to leave this warm, squishy heaven, but knowing I had to.

"Alright... well, I can really only get ya out one way..."

Confused by what he meant, I asked how he planned to let me out, though by that tone, I had my suspicions...

"Well, you've kinda gotta go the same way the rest of my food goes, y'know? You'll come out fine, albeit you'll smell a bit... Just let me work ya through, okay?"

Realizing what he meant, I began to think and panic before asking "Wait! How am i going to breathe through there?!"

Mike seemed to ponder this for a moment before asking, "Well, you ever heard of inflation?"

Cut to twenty minutes later, Mike had retrieved a pump and was slowly pumping air through his lower digestive tract for safe passage. As I began to slide through, the constant noise coming from his ass from the air being pushed back out was akin to a thunderstorm, almost loud enough to hurt my ears.

Before too long I was almost through the slimy chamber, but this whole experience had given me such a hardon, it was causing Mike pain.

"Kid, what are you doing in there? Something hurts like hell!"

I briefly explained it was my massive hardon, past the point of embarassment

"Well get rid of it! I aint pushin you any further till you do!"

I did as he instructed, but something was happening outside. As I took care of my own, I heard... moaning? Just then, the walls of the colon shrunk around me, squeezing hard. Was he... getting hard? I realized I must have been right at his prostate, so I felt around for it and... Bingo! I gently massaged the mass of tissue to help him. As I finished with my own hardon, I could hear Mike getting closer with his own, but every second he jacked off, I was losing more air. The only solution was to help him finish as soon as possible. It was too late, I took my last breath of the air that was still left, and held it as long as I could, but I started sliding back inside of Mike as he finished himself off... i began to pass out just as he gave one final push and expelled me from his now enlarged anus

Once I was fully out, he laid down on his belly, recovering, and pointed me to the shower to clean up. Once I finished washing all the... slime, off of my body, I got out and headed back to the living room where my parents were already waiting, with a fully clothed, albeit shirtless, (And probably hungry, now that I was gone) Mike.

"Ready to head home, champ?" My dad asked.

I replied- "Yeah! But uh, would yall mind if I spent a little more time with Uncle Mike?"

"Oh, uh, Sure!" My mom answered, and Mike gave me a sly grin

"Ohh yeah, He and I have are gonna get along just fine"

[onlyforsebastianstan]

Betrayal

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When a mission goes sideways, the Avengers are left reeling from what appears to be a devastating betrayal, yours. Believing you've turned on them, the team cuts you off. But the truth is darker than they imagined.

And when you came back, bleeding and broken to warn them of the threat coming… they still turned away.

📎 Genre: Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Betrayal & Redemption | Post-Canon | Found Family | Emotional Recovery

⚠️ Warnings: → Heavy emotional angst → Team betrayal / abandonment → Offscreen torture (non-graphic) → PTSD and trauma aftermath → Guilt / grief / emotional neglect → Slow trust rebuilding → Hospital recovery scenes → Regret-heavy

The static had long since faded, but the echo of your voice still lived in the compound. It had been three months since the mission. Three months since Bucky had replayed that final communication over and over, clinging to the dissonance between your words and everything he knew about you.

"Y/N, we're not seeing the files come through. What's going on?" with Natasha on the other end of the line she asks.

"…I was never on your side." The silence that followed was like the pause before an avalanche. "Hail HYDRA." The words crackled through the comms and shattered everything. Then nothing but static. You disappeared. No trace. The intel was never recovered. The facility was destroyed. And every trail went cold.

The team tried to convince themselves it was a trick, a ploy, a forced hand. But evidence piled up. Footage, grainy, but damning, of you walking through the ruins with known Hydra operatives. A bodycam snippet of you smiling. They tried to deny what they were seeing. Bucky didn’t sleep for days, then he stopped talking about it altogether.

No one ever expected you to come back. You stood outside the gates of the Avengers Compound three months later. No weapon. No backup. Just your hands trembling at your sides.

Your voice over the intercom was ragged, uncertain. “It’s me.”

There was a long pause before Friday replied coolly, “They don’t want to see you.”

“I need to expla—”

“They don’t want explanations.”

The gate remained shut.

You didn’t leave. You couldn’t.

They called you a traitor, though never to your face. You heard them whisper. Natasha’s cold stare sliced through you. Steve wouldn’t even meet your eyes. Sam avoided you entirely. But Bucky was the worst of them all.

Because he didn’t yell. He didn’t glare. He didn’t do anything. Just looked at you like he didn’t recognize the person standing in front of him. Like you were a ghost with a stranger’s voice.

You told them you never wanted to hurt them. You told them it wasn’t what it looked like. You begged them to let you explain. But every word that left your mouth just made the wound deeper. So eventually, you stopped talking.

And that’s when Hydra found you again. It happened fast. An explosion rocked the south wall of the compound. Sirens blared. Automatic lockdown failed. Hydra soldiers flooded the halls, and the team jumped to action. They thought it was a coordinated assault. A revenge strike.

Bucky spotted you first. You were dragged into the hangar, struggling against restraints, blood on your temple. Rumlow held the gun to your head, grinning with smug satisfaction.

“You’ve got one shot to back down,” he warned the team, “or I paint the floor with your little agent.”

No one flinched. Not even Bucky. You saw it in their eyes. That fractured trust. They believed this was what you deserved.

"You think we care?” Tony called, his voice sharp but unsteady. “She’s HYDRA. Your kind.”

Rumlow’s laugh was cruel, his gun pressing harder against your temple. You winced but stayed silent. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with mock pity as he looked down at you. “You tried so hard, didn’t you? Begging us to release you, fighting with what's left of your energy, and all those struggles to escape... for this. They really thought you turned.”

Steve’s shield lowered slightly. “What are you talking about?”

Rumlow’s eyes gleamed, still talking to you, his tone taunting. ascended “That little comms stunt? Wasn’t her. We had her locked up, screaming, while our mimic played her voice. You really think she’d join us willingly?” He shook his head, smirking.

"Hail HYDRA" a voice similar to yours was heard. but it didn't come from you. A woman Appeared behind the team as she chuckles. "My my, I guess my mimicking really pulled off." she said still with your voice.

Bucky froze. You weren’t the voice. You never were. His mind reeled. That voice he memorized, clung to, wasn’t even you. It never was.

Rumlow cocks his gun ready to shoot you as you look at Bucky. “And they bought it. Hook, line, and sinker.”

You don’t know what hits the Avengers harder. Rumlow’s confession, or the horror dawning in their eyes as they look at you with new clarity. The betrayal wasn’t yours. It never was.

Steve’s shield is already in motion before the Hydra soldiers can even raise their weapons. It slices through the air with a thunderous clang, knocking two operatives off their feet as if they were nothing more than bowling pins. In the space of a single breath, everything erupts.

Gunfire crackles around you, sharp and stuttering.

Shouts echo, orders, names, warnings.

Metal screams as it collides with metal, the high-pitched wail of blades meeting armor. Somewhere behind you, Wanda’s powers surge like a pressure wave, knocking another Hydra unit into the wall.

But none of it feels real.

The world fractures. Blurs. Tilts sideways.

Your hearing distorts until all you can make out is a high, keening ring inside your skull.

And then you felt the cold, hard ground.

A terrifying, creeping cold that starts in your fingertips and crawls up your arms, settling like a weight in your chest.

Your breath catches.

You look down.

There’s blood.

A startling amount of it. Blooming like a grotesque flower across your abdomen. You don't remember falling, but suddenly you're on your knees. You press a hand to the wound and feel the warm, wet slick of it soaking through your fingers.

So much blood.

Your name is being called, shouted somewhere. Maybe Sam? Maybe Bucky?

But the voices sound so far away now.

The battle rages on around you, but all you can see is the red soaking into the concrete beneath you. All you can hear is that endless, bone-deep ringing.

And all you can think is, they weren’t supposed to shoot.

Then darkness edges in from the corners of your vision, and the world begins to slip away. Spilling from your abdomen, spreading across your clothes, pooling beneath your body in warm, sticky waves. Your legs feel numb. Your fingers tremble as they try to press against the wound. They slide through blood instead.

You didn’t even feel the shot go off.

Rumlow must’ve fired just before Bucky got to him. Maybe on purpose. Maybe not.

But it didn’t matter now.

From the ground, you can hear the crunch of boots. The thunder of fists against armor. Someone screams. Probably Rumlow. You think Steve just knocked out three men at once. Maybe more.

But you can’t turn your head to look. Your body won’t obey.

Your vision tunnels.

You blink slowly, trying to hold on. The ceiling lights flicker above you, too bright. Your breathing is shallow.

You hear a voice, one that cuts through everything else like a sharp blade.

“Y/N?”

It’s hoarse.

Disbelieving.

Then it says your name again, more frantic this time. Closer.

You manage to turn your head just enough to see Bucky drop to his knees beside you. Blood stains his gloves. You’re not sure if it’s yours or someone else’s.

Maybe both.

His face is pale. Like he’s seeing you for the first time again. Like he’s realizing something awful too late.

“No, no, no—stay with me,” he breathes, pressing down on your wound. You choke on a gasp as pain explodes through your side.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, voice cracking.

You try to laugh, but it comes out wet. You can taste copper. “I did,” you whisper.

And you did. You tried. Again and again. They just weren’t ready to hear it. The others gather around slowly, cautiously.

Steve lowers his shield, his entire body tense with grief and disbelief. Natasha’s expression is unreadable, but her jaw is clenched tight. Sam curses under his breath, pacing like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Wanda sinks to her knees opposite Bucky, her eyes wide and shining.

“What the hell did we do,” she whispers.

And then, Tony. He pushes through the crowd, scans the scene, and when his gaze lands on you, everything shifts. His hand twitches like he wants to do something, build, fix, create, but this isn’t something blueprints or tech can undo.

“She needs a med team. Now,” he says sharply into his comm. But even you can hear the doubt in his voice.

Your fingers weakly brush Bucky’s arm. He catches your hand instantly, both of his closing around yours like he could will your blood to stay in your body through sheer force.

“I didn’t betray you,” you manage to say, your voice paper-thin. “I tried to come back.”

He nods frantically. “I know. I know now. Just hold on.”

You offer a faint smile, the kind that costs too much energy. “You hated me…”

He shakes his head hard. “No. No, I didn’t. I hated—what I thought happened. But not you. Never you.”

It’s enough. You close your eyes. Not to give up, but because staying awake is getting harder.

“You’re not going to die,” he growls, like he can order the universe to listen to him. His fingers tremble where they press into your wound. “You’re gonna wake up and yell at us. And I’ll take it. All of it. Just—don’t go now.”

Darkness curls around the edge of your vision. But just before it takes you, you hear the sirens of the emergency med team racing down the hall. You think maybe, just maybe—it’s not too late.

The med bay was quiet, dimly lit by the steady glow of monitors and the occasional flicker of diagnostic screens. The air felt heavy, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

You lay in the center of it all, silent, unmoving, pale. A tangle of wires and tubes connected you to machines that beeped steadily, marking the fragile rhythm of a life that was barely clinging on. The ventilator hissed every few seconds, a mechanical echo that filled the space between heartbeats.

Wanda stood at your bedside, unmoving, her eyes locked on your face. You didn’t stir. Not even a twitch of your fingers. The only movement was the rise and fall of your chest, aided entirely by the tube down your throat.

Behind her, Steve paced. His jaw was tight, arms folded across his chest as he walked the length of the room for the hundredth time. He didn’t speak.

And Bucky hadn’t left.

He sat beside you, hunched in a chair that looked too small for his broad frame, as still as a statue. His metal hand rested on his knee, twitching with restrained energy. But his other hand, his flesh hand, was wrapped tightly around yours. There was no mask on his face anymore. No stoicism. Just raw, open desperation. The kind that didn’t need to be said aloud.

No one had spoken in hours.

Until Wanda finally stepped forward.

“I can try,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced at the others, eyes wide with something like hope, but tinged in sorrow. “If I go into her mind… I might be able to see what really happened.”

Steve halted mid-step, turning to face her. “You sure you’re strong enough after the fight?”

Wanda nodded once, her gaze never leaving your face. “They can’t speak for herself right now. But her mind might still remember.”

Bucky’s voice broke the silence next, hoarse and low. “What if it hurts her?”

She turned toward him, slowly, and said, “I won’t push. I’ll be gentle.”

Steve looked between them both, then at you, and after a beat of silence, he gave a single, solemn nod.

Wanda stepped closer, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached down and placed two fingers lightly against your temple. She closed her eyes.

And the world shifted.

Inside Your Mind

The moment Wanda connected, she was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotion. Pain. Desperation. Terror.

There was no peaceful entry. No gentle memories or quiet landscapes to guide her in.

Just screaming.

Searing pain, hot and endless, ricocheted through the mental space like a wildfire. She staggered instinctively, feeling it almost physically, but forced herself to push deeper.

Through the chaos, images began to claw their way to the surface.

You—dragged roughly down a metal corridor by two Hydra agents. Your body limp, bruised, bloodied.

You—thrown into a dark cell, the clang of the door shutting behind you like a gunshot.

Then a room.

Bright lights seared Wanda’s eyes even in the memory. A metal chair. Restraints. You, strapped down.

And Rumlow.

His voice slithered into the scene.

“The comms are still active. Let’s give your little friends a message.”

Wanda flinched as she watched a Hydra tech approach you. A woman. The woman they saw during the fight.

“Target secured. Uploading the data now.”

The sound made Wanda’s stomach turn. It was uncanny. Flawless. There was no distortion. No artificial cadence. Just you.

“Y/N, we’re not seeing the files come through. What’s going on?”

The imposter responded again, using your voice, calm, steady, terrifyingly cold.

“I was never on your side.”

And then Rumlow stepped into frame, smirking as he delivered the final blow,

“Hail Hydra.”

From your position in the chair, Wanda saw your eyes go wide with terror. You tried to scream, but the gag was already back in place.

You screamed anyway.

But no one could hear you.

The team wasn’t listening to you. They were listening to your ghost.

Then came the torture.

Wanda felt it. Not just as an observer, but as if her own body endured every lash, every cut, every jolt. The Hydra agents kept the comms channel open, using the mimic to keep up the ruse. It was all planned. Coordinated. Cruel.

In your thoughts, Wanda saw you praying they'd notice the difference. That someone, anyone, would realize that voice wasn’t you.

But no one had.

Memory after memory cascaded around Wanda, too fast to stop:

You—curled in the corner of your cell, body broken, blood drying on your skin.

You—scraping at a vent cover with trembling fingers, whispering over and over, please… please…

You—dragging your mangled body through an air duct, escaping only to collapse in the snow outside.

You—waking in a stranger’s clinic, delirious, desperate to get home.

You—standing at the gates of the Tower.

Begging.

Screaming your name into the intercom in the pouring rain.

They never answered.

You waited outside all night.

And they never came.

Wanda tore herself free with a sharp gasp, stumbling backward from the bed. Her knees nearly gave out. One hand caught the railing beside you, the other pressed to her heart as if it might stop it from tearing itself apart.

“Wanda?” Steve asked, stepping quickly to her side.

She didn’t respond at first. Her throat worked silently.

Then she looked up, and when she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper.

“She didn’t say it,” she breathed. “That voice on the comm... it wasn’t her.”

The room went still.

Steve froze. Sam’s brow furrowed. Bucky’s hand on yours turned white-knuckled.

Wanda’s voice shook as she went on. “They were already captured. Hydra made a voiceprint clone. They listened to everything through the comms and used it against us. While they tortured Y/N… we were listening to a machine pretending to be her.”

No one spoke.

Not a breath passed between the others.

And then Bucky stood. Slowly. As if rising from the grave.

His face was unreadable, locked in a silent battle between anguish and rage. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles split, blood trickling down his palm.

He didn’t say a word. He just turned and walked out.

He didn’t make it far.

Just two halls down from the med bay before the weight in his chest crushed him.

Bucky staggered into an empty sparring room, the lights flickering to life with a soft hum. He didn’t even notice. His breath was ragged, shallow. His vision tunneled.

The door hissed shut behind him.

And then—silence.

It rang louder than gunfire.

Louder than that damned voice he’d replayed a hundred times.

"Hail HYDRA"

He slammed his fist into the wall.

The plaster cracked. Bone didn’t.

Again.

This time, the drywall caved. Dust rained down. The pain helped. For a second. But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing would be enough.

They’d told him to stop listening to the audio logs. Said it was messing with his head.

But he had to. He had to. Because he couldn’t believe you said those words unless he heard them himself.

Again. And again.

Because maybe this time he’d catch the lie.

Maybe this time he’d hear the hesitation, the wrongness.

But it never came.

So he believed it. He let himself believe it.

You were the one person who never flinched when you looked at him. Who never held the Winter Soldier against him. Who fought beside him and chose him and saw the man behind the metal.

And he threw you away.

Not with a fight.

Not with rage.

But with silence.

He didn’t say a word when they shut the gates on you.

Didn’t move when you begged for five minutes.

Didn’t look at you when you cried in the hallway outside his room one night, curled up against the door like maybe, just maybe, you’d get through to him if he waited long enough.

He waited.

And you stopped coming.

Bucky dropped to his knees in the center of the room.

His hands trembled.

His breaths came out in short, choked gasps.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the floor, forehead pressing into the mat.

He couldn’t breathe.

Not because of the guilt.

Not just that.

But because for the first time in decades, he’d trusted someone completely.

And when that trust was tested, he failed you.

He failed you worse than anyone had ever failed him.

He saw your face again, bloody, fading, your voice shaking with your last words before you passed out.

“You hated me…”

And he didn’t say the one thing he should’ve said.

“Never you.”

His fist hit the ground again. And again.

Until he was curled around himself, shaking.

Until the grief crawled out of his chest like a scream with no air.

He wasn’t crying.

Not at first.

But then, He broke. Silently. Violently.

And for the first time since the war, Bucky Barnes sobbed like a man who had nothing left to lose.

Time passed. He didn’t know how much. Minutes. Maybe hours.

Eventually, footsteps came. A pause in the doorway.

Steve’s voice, quiet. “Wanda told us everything.”

Bucky didn’t lift his head.

Steve stepped in carefully, kneeling beside him.

“You couldn’t have known,” he offered.

Bucky barked a broken laugh. “I should have known. I knew her. I knew her voice. How did I not hear it?”

Steve didn’t answer. Because what answer was there?

Bucky looked up at him finally, eyes red, jaw clenched.

“I didn’t lose her when she disappeared, Steve. I lost her the moment I stopped believing her.”

The conference room was too quiet.

Not the usual silence before a mission briefing. Not the kind of silence filled with anticipation or focus.

This was the heavy, suffocating kind, the kind that followed ruin.

No hum of computers. No tapping keys. No rustling papers. Just the cold, hard absence of sound, and the weight of everything they hadn’t said.

Wanda stood near the tall windows, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She stared through the glass like she could will time to reverse, like maybe she’d see your figure walking toward the compound, smiling, alive, not a ghost made of their guilt.

Steve sat at the head of the table, the spot usually reserved for leadership. But today, it felt like a place of judgment. His posture was rigid, hands folded tightly in front of him, eyes fixed straight ahead like he was bracing for a verdict he already knew.

Sam leaned against the far wall, jaw set, arms folded like a barrier against the blame, though it did nothing to hide the tension locked in his shoulders. His eyes flicked between the others, waiting for someone to speak first.

Natasha sat at the table, nursing a mug of coffee she hadn’t touched. Her eyes were dark, fixed on the faint ripples in the black surface, like they might reveal some alternate version of the past where they hadn’t let you down.

Bucky didn’t sit.

He stood just inside the doorway, arms stiff at his sides, his face carved from stone. The kind of stillness that meant he was barely holding himself together, that sitting still might shatter what little control he had left.

Tony was absent. Whether by accident or choice, no one asked.

No one wanted to say the first word. Because words meant responsibility. Meant facing it. All of it.

Then Wanda exhaled, a sound that broke the tension like a snap of wire.

“She was awake during all of it.”

The words landed like a blow.

Bucky’s jaw clenched.

“She heard Rumlow fake her voice,” Wanda went on, her voice trembling. “Heard us. Heard us believe it.”

Steve flinched visibly. “Wanda—”

“She screamed for us,” she said, cutting him off. Sharper than she meant to. Her breath caught. “She screamed. And no one came.”

Sam opened his mouth, stopped. “Because we thought—” His voice cracked. He didn’t finish.

“You thought she betrayed us,” Bucky said flatly, his eyes staring somewhere distant. “So did I.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor. His voice came quieter, tighter. “I listened to that comms feed every night like it was proof. Proof she lied. That she turned on us.”

A breath shuddered out of him. “I made myself believe it.”

Natasha finally spoke. Her voice was quiet. “We all did.”

Wanda nodded slowly, once. “We didn’t just turn our backs. We exiled her. Left her alone. Let her believe she deserved it.”

Steve’s head shook slowly, his expression tight. “She’s not dead. She’s going to wake up. We’ll make this right.”

Bucky let out a bitter sound. It wasn’t laughter. It was what you got when you tried to laugh with a broken rib, dry, painful, wrong.

“Make it right?” he echoed. “How? There’s no mission plan for this. No clean op. We left her bleeding outside our door. And she still came back to warn us about Hydra.”

His voice grew louder, rawer. “And the worst part? She didn’t stop trying.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged. He let out a breath, shaking his head slowly. “I heard her outside the hangar. That night after the mission. She was asking to talk. I turned up my music to drown it out.”

“You’re not the only one,” Natasha murmured.

Wanda’s gaze swept across the room. “Do you think she’ll want to stay when she wakes up?”

The silence returned, heavier than before.

Because none of them knew.

Because the version of you they remembered, the one who laughed in the kitchen, who stitched up Steve’s side mid-mission without blinking, who fought like the team’s safety was more important than your life, that person was gone.

And the one lying unconscious in the medbay?

They didn’t know if she’d come back.

Didn’t know if she even wanted to.

Steve finally stood, his hands braced on the table. His voice was steady, but low.

“We owe her more than apologies.”

Across the room, Bucky didn’t lift his head.

He just said, quiet and firm, “We owe her everything.”

Darkness wasn’t empty.

It pressed against you, not with silence, but with pressure. Thick and slow, like sinking into a dark ocean where sound bent and meaning vanished. You couldn’t tell which way was up. Couldn’t find the edges of yourself.

Then, a sound. Dull, distant, and familiar.

Beeping. Slow, steady, rhythmic. Life.

A flicker sparked in your fingers. A twitch. Then breath, shallow and dry against the raw scrape of your throat.

Voices emerged from the dark.

“…any change?”

It was rough. Worn thin. But you knew it. Bucky.

A pause.

“No… but she’s breathing on her own now.”

Sam. Steady. Tired, but hopeful.

You weren’t alone.

The darkness began to thin, shadows peeling back from your senses. You floated there, tethered by their voices, by the familiar sound of machines and distant footsteps and something soft beneath your spine.

A bed.

And then, a touch. Not pain. Not intrusion, just a hand.

Calloused. The cold edge of metal across your knuckles, softened by the warmth in his grip.

Bucky.

You didn’t open your eyes. Couldn’t. But your chest lifted just slightly, breath slow and steady beneath the faint weight of blankets and time.

You were alive.

And you weren’t alone.

When you finally stirred again, daylight filled the room.

The sun spilled golden through the wide windowpanes, painting the medbay in soft light. Your body ached. Not just from wounds and muscles unused, but deeper than that. Bone-deep. Soul-deep.

But you felt.

That mattered.

You blinked slowly, vision fuzzy.

The scent in the air was familiar. Warm, subtle. Aftershave. Bucky’s. He’d been there. Maybe only just left.

The door creaked.

Wanda stepped inside, the soft swish of her coat marking her approach. She froze the moment she saw you, your eyes cracked open, barely, but open.

Her hands flew to her mouth, tears rising fast.

“Y/N?”

You couldn’t speak, not yet. But your fingers twitched. Enough.

She crossed the room in a heartbeat, her movements careful but urgent. She reached you, brushing your hair back gently with trembling hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick and bare. “I didn’t see you. I should’ve. I should’ve known.”

You blinked once.

And still, she smiled, a sad, grateful thing through her tears.

“You’re safe now,” she said. “They’re all waiting. When you’re ready.”

She stayed a moment longer, her thumb brushing your cheek with the lightest pressure. Then she stood.

At the door, she paused.

“Bucky’s been here every day,” she said. “He never left your side.”

And then she was gone.

Time passed in fragments.

Moments of awareness. Fleeting conversations. Familiar faces hovering above you like dreams.

Natasha. Sam. Steve.

Each came alone, quiet and hesitant. Each one carrying guilt they didn’t know how to put into words, but they tried.

You listened.

You didn’t have the strength to answer. Not yet. But you heard them.

And every time they left… you waited.

Until one day, your voice cracked through the stillness like a match to dry tinder.

“Is Bucky here?”

The nurse didn’t answer. Just smiled and stepped out.

And within minutes, he came.

The door opened softly.

Boots scraped lightly on the tile, hesitant. Then he appeared, shadowed by the doorway, like he wasn’t sure if he had permission to step inside.

You looked at him.

His eyes widened at the sight of yours open, focused.

“Hey,” you rasped.

The sound shattered something in him.

His jaw clenched. He nodded once, stepped inside.

Closer.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Like guilt had been carved into his ribs and he’d learned to breathe around it.

You tried to sit up. Pain flared down your side.

“Don’t—no, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He moved instantly, metal fingers adjusting your pillows with a gentleness that nearly undid you. His other hand hovered near yours, waiting, not assuming.

When you finally settled, you turned to him.

“Everyone’s already said their piece,” you whispered. “I figured you were avoiding yours.”

He flinched.

“I wasn’t avoiding it,” he said quietly. “I just didn’t… I didn’t know if you wanted to hear it from me.”

You studied him, the lines in his face deeper than before. “I wanted to explain. The night I came back.”

“I know.”

“You wouldn’t even look at me.”

“I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Not because I hated you. I just… I couldn’t see your face and not think of that moment in the comms. Your voice. Telling us you were Hydra. That you’d been playing us.”

You looked away.

“I heard it too,” you said. “While they hurt me. While they let that voice pretend to be mine. I listened to myself destroy everything I cared about.”

His hand twitched.

“I kept hoping… someone would figure it out. That you would.”

He stared at the floor.

“I failed you,” he said, voice rough.

You looked back at him.

“I didn’t question it,” he said, breath hitching. “I didn’t ask for proof. I didn’t listen to my gut. I just assumed the worst.”

A pause.

Then you said it. The truth that still ached.

“You loved me. And you still didn’t trust me.”

His eyes shone, red-rimmed.

“I never stopped,” he whispered. “That was the problem.”

You looked down at his hand, still hovering near yours.

“If I had trusted you,” he continued, “then believing that voice would’ve broken me. I think I was trying to protect myself by not believing in you. But it cost you everything.”

Silence.

And then slowly, painfully, you turned your hand, laced your fingers with his.

“It’s not your forgiveness you need to ask for,” you said. “It’s mine.”

He looked up.

“Do I have it?”

You squeezed his hand.

“You’re going to have to earn it.”

He nodded, fiercely. “Then I will.”

And in that moment, something shifted.

No more silence.

No more pretending.

Just the truth, bruised and raw, between you.

A beginning.

Together.

See my other stories here >>> Masterlist <<<

[sweet3nerrr]

show me

- Jenna (cairo) is stressed about her writing and so you decide to help her

first fic :) based on the scene from millers girl KINDA LONG LOL

———-

you and cairo were sitting in her bedroom, rambling about how your days had been. she was working on an assignment, while you sat on her bed passing mindless comments. she took a long drag of her cigarette before letting out a sigh of frustration.

"you know even if you fail this class, youre still hot enough to marry some rich man babe", you winked leaning back on your arms. "you know I dont give a fuck about being hot, I give a fuck about being smart", she replied. she stared at you, letting her eyes linger on your face.

she looked visibly tense, like the project was causing her muscles to freeze every time she tried to type a word. blank. blank. blank. her mind was completely blank. "you need to relax", you said rolling your eyes playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. "is this why youre smoking by the way?, the stress?". she brought her cigarette up to her plump lips, inhaling as she held eye contact with you, a devilish smirk playing on her lips.

"you make smoking look hot", your tone low as you flirted with your best friend. "oh yeah?", her smirk even wider now. shooting each other looks, you leaned forward crossing your arms. "what's the subject?". she threw her head back, making a loud thud as her head hit the wall. "what's your greatest achievement to date?". she paused, glancing up at you with glossy eyes. "I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to say?". you watched as she swallowed, her neck outlining the frustration she forced down.

"well, youre gonna be valedictorian", "boring", she replied immediately. "you have a 4.6 gpa", "boring". "and, you've successfully...". her eyes widened as she shook her head waiting, desperate for an acceptable answer. "what?", her tone sharp. "and you've successfully, uhm, fuck well I guess youre just-", "fuckk", she replied closing her laptop forcefully and moved to lay on the bed next to you.

she ran her hands through her hair, eyes closed. "I think, I think you need to experience something", you mumbled, pulling at the fabric of her shirt. "oh yeah?, like what?". "something worth writing about", you trailed off, letting your hand creep along her stomach. "something I can help you with".

she got up, staring you dead in your eyes. she was so unbelievably pretty, to say she was hot was a severe understatement. "are you serious?", she finally said in that raspy tone that drove you mad. "dont fucking play with me right now", she added moving closer to you. you gave her a telling look, one that screamed to her you wanted her to fuck you.

within seconds she had you trapped beneath her, lips fighting against yours as soft whimpers escaped from both of you. her body snaked along yours, hips moving ever so slightly against you as she held herself up. breaking the kiss, you moved to her neck, feeling as her pulse beat out her throat. "fuck", she groaned as you sucked and bit at her skin, paving your way to her tits. one hand on her waist, the other skilfully undid the rest of her buttons, revealing her lace bra clinging to her toned body. "hid this from me?", you slurred as you took in the sight of her.

she sat up, taking the rest of her clothes off. you locked eyes momentarily, a dark hunger clouding her pupils. "turn around", she whispered, wiping her mouth. you were taken aback by how dominant she was being. "come on, turn around", she repeated flipping you over.

her lips met your back, biting into your shoulder blades as her hands ran the length of it. "so fucking pretty", she moaned before wrapping her hand around your thigh, inching closer and closer to your soaked pants. before you could process anything, her fingers shot electric through your body as they toyed with your swollen clit. "f-fuck", you moaned, gripping the sheets. you felt as she smiled against your skin, moving her fingers expertly. "so sensitive", you let out breathlessly as she sped up, increasing the pressure. "good, you can take it right?", her voice full of lust.

she pushed her fingers inside you, causing broken, dry moans to vibrate out of you, eyes shut impossibly tight. as she pumped in and out, her free hand came shamelessly around your neck, pulling your head up. "tell me how good it feels", she whispered in your ear, puling harder. you couldnt. the way she fucked into you, curling her fingers so perfectly on your spot had your mind completely shut off. pressure. fire. pleasure. the only things you could feel. "dont make me say it again", she growled as her teeth sank into your neck.

"fuckk, so good, im so-", your words were lost inside you. you were numb, numb all over. "fucking pathetic", she laughed as she released her grip from your throat and used it to torture your clit some more. the combination she gave you was blinding, youd never felt it before. clenching around her fingers, her pace only increased. "are you gonna cum?", she whined still so deep inside your pussy. "y-yeah is that-", "cum for me", she interrupted, moving her hand from your clit to your back, shoving you down into the bed.

"f-ukck oh my-m", was all she could hear as the sheets muffled your aching moans. she didnt need to hear how good she made you feel, the way your cum dripped off her fingers said enough. she held you there for a second before slowly pulling out and letting go of you. you turned around, showing her your fucked out expression. she let out a quiet whimper at how you looked, before licking her fingers clean. "you taste so good", she groaned before sitting next to you.

"that was definitely, my greatest achievement to date".

[bunji-enthusiast]

sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴛᴏᴘ

Summary || Change was always a weird process, and currently, that is what happened. Shit gets rough, sure. But atleast you have each other, right?

WC: 4k

A/N: snatched this absolute domestic fluff from this post. Also was starting to get way too long, so this is part 1. The idea will come to a head in a later part. Timeline is set during season 2 obviously. (Whaaat am I doing)

Part 1 (here) | Part 2

Surprised was not nearly enough of a word to describe the way you felt about Rex, it was, in every sense of the word —

Relieving?

Yeah, that. You weren’t sure what it was to have caused such a change, whatever it was that stirred. But if it was such a close brush with death that made him perceive things differently, then you rather wouldn’t try to understand that part, scary. Your own dance with death was terrifying enough, and you've been in these situations before! Yet the only difference that pertained to the truth was the fact you felt such an utter gut swirling incessantly in the pits of your stomach. Like it was telling you with everything it could muster to stay alive, stay out of the fight.

Don’t. Move.

You remembered the whole damn thing ever since you’ve gotten hospitalized.

Moreover, you were also a hero, and heroes unfortunately defend and fight. Which Rex managed to do a lot more of than you were able to, much to your self-chagrin.

Though it was more of adrenaline and a very pissed off Rex Splode that drove him to finally finish the fight with the Lizard League, which made you laugh. Because you couldn’t even manage to contribute much as you had been taken out of commission halfway through the fight, while later when you had awoken in your own room, the homely smell of sterilization and the wayward energies of death permeating the atmosphere made you come to a swift realization of what had happened.

[“Fuckin’ asshole..” You muttered, clutching the side of your abdomen. Suddenly in the midst of your own struggle, you got blasted sideways, slamming your body against another wall. You let out a pained groan, your eyes immediately settling on seeing the bodies of the multiple copies of Dupli-Kate laying astray, innards out for bacteria to invade.

You could hear both Rex and Rae shouting in disbelief, Rae more vocal as to Rex more evenly. Though you swore you could hear the hurt in their tones, which was exactly fair.

You swore with everything in you to not throw up, the smell was far too familiar. Yet coming from a fellow guardian, it just made you sick to your stomach. A problem you really didn’t need right now. None of the Lizard League members were currently paying attention to you, fortunately enough.

That sudden inability of gratitude made you uncomfortable, so you stood up, despite every muscle and bone in your body screaming at you to stay down. You moved, and you attacked the female member of the league; she struck back in retaliation, tearing her attention away from Rex. He gasped in pain as he held his side, stepping back twice, eyes weary with worry and precipitation.

Despite the worry — Rex figured you could handle her on your own, you always had a way with these things, so he turned his gaze to Rae to see how she was doing. Seeing that she had already killed the man dressed in black and scaled orange spots, he had a slight brief moment of relief. Then turned to the largest man in the room.

You on the other hand weren’t paying attention to the main part of the fight, keeping your focus on killing the woman in front of you. Your vision thrummed with blood, adrenaline coursing in your veins as you narrowly avoided her attacks, you didn’t prove to be lucky with every single dodge however. Wincing, you clamped down on your jaw, trying to despell the evidential reality of your condition.

“Just stay down already,” The lizard woman sneers, her confidence palpable as you two wrestle for control, arms interlocked in a vice grip. “And your death will be a quick one.”

You didn’t respond, you wanted to. But didn’t, you truly couldn’t muster the energy necessary. She also really was starting to make your blood boil. You shook your head, surging forward with energy, thrusting a punch to her face. Watching the way her expression shifted as she fell backwards within her surprise. “Looks like I'm not the only one.” You snorted with a half-smirk, heaving a heavy breath as you continued forward. Granted, you could’ve used your ability, but you needed a certain level of concentration for it to work.

And your concentration was beginning to falter in the midst of it all, that you were really hating on right now. You did not need your body giving out on you right now.

You staggered as you threw another punch, then another, not letting the woman have time to react to your attacks. She threw up right as you threw a gut-punch, good process you noticed. Anything for you at this point went, and anything would be good right now. “You bitch!--” The lizard woman gasped as she grabbed the neck fabric of your costume, yanking you back, trying to garner distance. But you struggled, straining against the force as you bashed any part of her body possible. Anything to turn her into mush, make her stop moving.

Your body began slowing down, your vision catching dots of blood spattering everywhere. For good organization red was a stylish color, but in the transparent eye of a human, not so much. The alive and the dead, it didn’t bode too well.

God everything hurts.

Then your vision swam in black dotted spots, feeling the way your awareness slipped away from you. Fatally unconscious.]

You winced as you grabbed the side of your head, the memories of it all rushing back to you as you regained your awareness. “Shit…” You hissed out.

The room was small to say the least, but not suffocating fortunately.

You tore your gaze away from your bed, shifting around as you looked for somebody. You were worried about the states of your teammates, though, now you had thought of it. It was likely that they were hospitalized as well.

Though you weren’t sure if you could say the same about Kate, her fate was spelled out loud and clear to all three of you back in that situation.

Suddenly someone came into the room, a nurse, maybe. She called out, alerting other staff to your now very awake status. Now apparently, from what you’ve heard coming from the few staff attending to you, checking your vital signs and health, is that you had been in this case — relatively well off compared to the others. Abdominal tearing to your muscle, multiple trauma fractures to your skeleton. You couldn’t retain all of it, but the explanation made enough sense. Soon enough, the clamor of the small group died down, seeing as that your vitals were satisfactory levels. Able to be monitored once in every little while without predominant worry.

Then, in the depths of your self-suffocating silence, a familiar voice of a very insufferable (but annoyingly reliable) old man cuts into your hearing.

It’s Cecil Stedman, the Director of the Global Defense Agency — the man who’s seen and done more than most could imagine. His grizzled, yet composed presence is unmistakable, a sharp contrast to the machine-like efficiency of the GDA’s medical team working behind him. His white hair, long and wispy, catches the dim light as he steps forward, his usual air of authority tempered with something else... maybe even a hint of concern.

"You're awake," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle, though with that characteristic coldness that’s always present in his tone. "I thought we might need to call in the whole damn hospital for you, but it seems you’ve got more fight left in you than I thought."

Was it really that bad?

You feel the sharp sting of movement as you try to adjust yourself, gritting your teeth at the pain coursing through your body. A sigh escapes you, a strange mix of frustration and relief. You’re alive. But at what cost? You glance over at Cecil, whose eyes, though steely, are focused on you with a keen awareness.

"Where… where are the others?" You rasp out, your throat dry.

Cecil offers a half-smile — an expression that somehow carries both reassurance and a sense of grim determination. "Rex Splode and Rae are both in stable condition. They were near death, but they’ll make it. A bit of a mess, but that’s nothing we can’t handle. As for the others..." His face darkens briefly, the air growing heavier. "One of us didn’t make it. Not sure what happened to her yet, but it doesn’t look good."

You nod solemnly. A lump forms in your throat as the weight of the situation settles in. Another fallen comrade. Another loss in a long string of them, you knew, hoped otherwise – but no. You clench your fists under the blanket, angry at the helplessness of it all.

Cecil watches you for a moment, his posture relaxed but ever observant. "I know you’re pissed off," he mutters, "And you have every right to be. But you did your part. You and the others did your best, and that’s all anyone could ask for."

You lock eyes with him, the words hanging in the air. Cecil always had a way of saying things that didn’t necessarily comfort, but at least they didn’t sugarcoat reality. "Thanks for the update," you reply, though your voice betrays the exhaustion that weighs on you.

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just the kind of quiet that only seems to exist between people who’ve seen too much — and have lived through it all anyway.

"You always seem to pull through," Cecil finally speaks, his tone almost reflective. "You’re a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for."

A small, self-deprecating laugh escapes you. "If it wasn’t for this damn hospital, I wouldn’t be here." You glance around, your eyes trailing over the sterile white walls again. "Why here though? The Pentagon?"

Cecil looks at you with a wry smirk, as though this is a question he’s been asked a thousand times before. "Where else would you want to wake up after almost dying? Besides, we’ve got the best medical team this side of the planet. It’s not just about the injuries. It’s about making sure you’re fit enough to get back out there when duty calls."

He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle in. "You’re part of something bigger now. Whether you want to be or not."

The truth in those words hits hard, and you feel that familiar twinge of uncertainty that always accompanies Cecil's philosophy.

"We can be the good guys, or the guys that save the world. We can’t be both," you repeat, almost by reflex, as if it’s something you’ve heard a thousand times before.

Cecil’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a quiet acknowledgment in his gaze. "Exactly," he says softly. "It’s a harsh truth, but it’s the truth. We do what we have to do for the greater good, even if it means making sacrifices."

You want to say something — argue, maybe. But the words don’t come. Instead, you let out a breath, staring at the ceiling. "I didn’t ask for this… any of it," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

Cecil’s response is calm, as it always is when it matters most. "None of us did. But it’s our responsibility now." He pauses again, his eyes narrowing with a subtle intensity. "You can rest now. We’ve got things covered. But when you’re back on your feet, I’m sure there’ll be more to do. There always is."

You nod, your thoughts clouding as you try to process the gravity of what he’s saying. There’s no rest for the weary in this line of work. Still, you have to admit that part of you feels a bit of relief that at least the people around you — your team — are going to make it through this. Even if it means facing the next battle head-on.

the days will stretch on, and you know you’ll get back in the fight. Because that’s what heroes do. They keep going, even when the world seems to be falling apart.

During the duration of your recovery, you were able to move around without the worry of pain stopping you. Initially you had been unable to, your legs limp as noodles. You had a quiet laugh about that part, but you hated not having the freedom of movement, however, you had to take it easy and listen to the staff. A familiar routine to be sure, but this was a much more devastating case.

God, you could actually remember right before the fight ensued, what Rex had said about pizza. You wondered, if the situation had gone different, that you all would’ve been sitting back at HQ — munching on that damn pizza, along with whatever else had been ordered.

Though today, before visiting Rex; you decided to visit your other friend.

Rachel.

You can’t imagine whatever the ordeal for her in that fight was, no doubt terrifying. Knowing her obvious ability to shrink in size, you could only imagine the details when you strode up to the window, clutching your stomach. There was a viewing window, easy enough for people to peer through if they wanted too, check up on their loved ones. One for every room obviously.

She was lying in a hospitable coffin, soundly asleep. The damn thing may as well have been one, considering her very prudent state. Earning your scars, willingly or unwillingly; was one aspect that any hero could be excitable for. But through the wisdom of the pain, it makes you very wise otherwise. Leaving you with some festering pit of depression, but unfortunately, it's something nobody is prepared for regardless.

You sighed, trudging forward despite your soreness, making your rounds – greeting some familiar staff here and there on the way to Rex’s room.

The room was quieter than it had been for days. Even the hum of the building’s usual bustle seemed to have taken a break, leaving only the sound of footsteps as you made your way to Rex’s room. He was supposed to be recovering, but you weren’t entirely convinced. After all, Rex was stubborn, and if anyone could push their limits just to prove they were fine, it was him. You knocked gently, not wanting to surprise him too much, but you knew that wouldn't stop him from blowing up in some sarcastic, Rex Splode fashion.

The door creaked open, revealing the sight of him sprawled out on his bed. His usual sharp demeanor was nowhere to be found—just exhaustion, but still, a faint, familiar smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth when he saw you.

"Great, here to tell me how much of an idiot I am for almost getting myself killed?" Rex said, his voice hoarse but laced with humor, his usual sarcasm evident even through the tiredness.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a moment before shaking your head. "I was more concerned about you, actually. You seemed like you were barely hanging in there after the fight." You shot back, noting the one of the few other times you’ve managed to visit him.

Rex waved a hand dismissively, propping himself up on his elbow. "I'm fine. You know me, never been better." He flashed a cocky grin, but you caught the way his eyes flickered to the bandages wrapped around his torso. Though the bandages were barely present despite the hospital dress, you could see it. A slight shift in the air told you that he was just trying to hide it behind bravado.

"You nearly died, Rex," you said softly, stepping further into the room, moving towards his bed. The tension between you both was always there, thick and suffocating, but lately... things felt different. You weren’t sure what it was, but something had shifted between you two after everything with the Lizard League. Maybe it was the close calls, the way you both kept ending up on the same team even after all the chaos. Maybe it was how, despite all of his flaws, Rex had found a way to matter in your life, in ways that were harder to ignore with each passing day.

Rex shrugged, not meeting your gaze, and rubbed a hand through his hair (whatever was there despite the headdress), his eyes glancing anywhere but at you. "Guess I’m not invincible. Wouldn’t be the first time I messed up."

The memory hit you like a sudden wave, and you couldn’t help but lean back against the wall as it flooded your thoughts. The mission—the mission. It felt like ages ago, but it still burned with a clarity that felt so vivid you almost imagined you could still feel the heat of it, the adrenaline, the uncertainty.

Not that he had entirely messed up though, this was something different. What it reminded you of.

[The two of you had been briefed about the mission at the Guardians' headquarters. A villain by the name of Kael the Tyrant had been wreaking havoc in the city, but it was more than just typical bad guy stuff. He had an entire crew of hired muscle—bounty hunters, mercenaries, the usual scum—and Kael had a plan that involved unleashing an ancient device that could cripple the city in ways no one could fully anticipate.

It was supposed to be a standard mission, you’d thought. You and Rex—just the two of you, no big team, no backup. They didn’t pair you up often, not for missions this high-stakes. But this time, the Guardians thought it was best if you and Rex could handle it yourselves. A test, they’d said.

At least, that’s how it felt when Rex shrugged, a cocky grin on his face. “Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way. Don’t get too used to it.” He flashed you that mischievous glint in his eyes, like this was just another run-of-the-mill mission, like the stakes weren’t as high as they actually were.

You hadn’t thought much of it then, but looking back, you realized how wrong you’d been

It started out as typical, with you both taking down the smaller henchmen in the streets. The crowd was thick, Kael’s mercenaries everywhere—civilians scattered, too terrified to help themselves. Rex’s usual boisterous banter kept things light, though he definitely looked like he was in his element, picking off bad guys left and right with those explosive blasts of his. You were doing what you always did—darting in and out of spaces they couldn’t track you, making sure no one got the drop on either of you.

But as always with these missions, things escalated.

Kael wasn’t just hiding behind his hired goons. He had something bigger planned, a huge contraption built into the side of a building—a machine capable of releasing toxic gas into the air, capable of scrambling the city’s tech for hours. When the mercs realized you were onto them, they launched a full-out counterattack—something brutal, and definitely not part of the original plan.

That’s when everything took a turn.

You were behind a stack of crates, your heart racing, trying to catch your breath. You had a few cuts—nothing serious. Rex wasn’t in much better shape, though his typical cocky smirk had disappeared, replaced with a fire that could’ve lit the entire city.

Then, without warning, one of the mercenaries caught you—his fist slamming into your ribs before you had time to dodge.

The pain was sharp, immediate, and for a split second, you thought you might not recover from it in time. The villain’s grip tightened on you, and everything around you blurred, except for the rush of panic building in your chest.

That was when Rex exploded into the scene, literally.

“Get your filthy hands off her!” His voice was a low growl as he tore through the mercenary like a hurricane. With a snap of his fingers, Rex launched one of his explosive bursts, sending the villain flying backward. You could see the fury in his eyes, that rage and protectiveness you rarely saw.

You’d never seen Rex quite like that before.

But just as quickly, another mercenary, this one larger and more armored than the rest, charged at him from behind, knocking Rex to the ground with a heavy hit. The force of the strike caused a crack in the pavement beneath him. You gasped, trying to make your way to him, but the pain in your side from the mercenary’s earlier blow had slowed you down.

And then it happened.

A massive explosion.

You felt it before you saw it—a blast so forceful, it knocked you off your feet. The impact rattled your bones, and the world spun. You barely had time to recover before Rex was back on his feet, his body tense with anger as he shouted at you, “Stay down! I’m not losing you!”

But it was too late. That explosion—one from Kael’s hired gun, one that had hit too close to you—had shredded the side of your armor. You could feel blood welling under your clothes as you staggered to your feet, barely able to hold yourself up.

Rex turned then, his eyes locked on you, full of concern—and it was there, in that fleeting moment, that something between you snapped. You didn’t have time to analyze it, though. The villain had already turned, heading straight for the machine.

“Rex—go!” you managed to gasp out, pain lancing through your side. “We’ve got to stop him! The machine!”

But Rex wasn’t listening. Not now. Not when you were hurt. Not when he was pissed.

“No,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m not leaving you.”

You couldn’t stop him, though, and at that point, neither could you really move to stop him. Rex charged forward with reckless abandon, the fury in his gaze blinding as he launched everything he had into the mercenary. It was explosive—not just in power, but in the sheer frustration that made every hit feel like it was landing for all the wrong reasons. Rex wasn’t just fighting to stop the guy. He was fighting to make them pay for what they’d done to you.

He didn’t stop until the mercenary was out of commission, and even then, Rex only paused long enough to check on you—his hand on your shoulder, his breath shallow from exhaustion, eyes filled with a protective fire you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re not dying on my watch,” he muttered, voice rough.

It wasn’t just the injury. It was the way he looked at you, like something inside him had cracked wide open, something neither of you had dared to acknowledge before.

“I’m fine,” you tried to assure him, but even you could hear the lie in your voice.

Rex wasn’t fooled. “No, you’re not. And I’m going to make sure it stays that way.”

He helped you up, half-carrying you to the machine after dispatching the rest of Kael’s men. The battle wasn’t over yet, but it was clear that something between the two of you had shifted. That recklessness, that protective instinct… It was like a door had opened.

And you couldn’t say you hadn’t felt it too.

The mission ended in victory—Kael’s device was shut down, the city was safe, but the cost had been more than just the injuries. It had been the moment you realized Rex cared more than he let on. Maybe even more than he was ready to admit.]

You blinked, the memory fading back into the quiet of the present, but it stayed with you—a constant reminder of how things had shifted, the beginning of everything. Rex, the way he had cared then, was still the same Rex that stood beside you now, even if he had trouble saying it aloud.

You could still feel the weight of it—the lingering tension between you, the unspoken words hanging in the air between your words, and just how much you were starting to care.

You sat on the edge of his bed, the space between you a quiet reminder of the unspoken things. There was always something there, lingering in the back of your mind. He had this ability to make you feel like you were too much and not enough at the same time, but right now, you weren’t going to let that stop you.

"Everybody fucks up, Rex," you said, leaning closer. "But you're allowed to care about your life. You don’t have to be so reckless all the time. You’ve got people who care about you."

A slow breath left his lips, the sharp edge of his usual attitude softened by exhaustion. "Yeah, well, you’re one of them, huh?" His voice was quieter now, less teasing and more... real. For a split second, you could have sworn you saw the barest trace of something more in his gaze—something uncertain, but earnest.

Your heart skipped a beat. You fought the urge to push it away, to say something witty and deflect. Instead, you simply nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "Yeah. I care about you, Rex."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, the room was still. The usual sarcastic comebacks, the way Rex would usually brush off anything sincere, wasn’t there. He didn’t try to mask the vulnerability that was creeping into the space between you.

"You know, I’m not great with... this stuff," he muttered, his voice almost vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. "The caring, the emotions, the... whatever this is." He looked at you, his gaze intense and searching, like he was waiting for you to confirm something, anything.

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his, a simple touch that carried more weight than either of you could probably express in words.

"I get it," you said, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. "I’m not exactly good with this stuff either."

Rex's lips quirked into that familiar grin, though it felt more tired than usual. "Yeah, well, maybe that’s why we're both a mess."

You smiled softly, feeling the warmth of his hand against yours. "Maybe," you agreed.

There was no grand confession, no dramatic moment, just the quiet understanding that hung between you both. But somehow, that felt like enough.

Rex stared at you for a moment longer before his grin returned, though this time it was laced with something deeper. "So, you planning on sticking around and making sure I don’t blow myself up again?"

Your smile softened as you leaned back, looking up at him. "Yeah, I think I’ll stay for a while."

The space between you two wasn’t quite so distant anymore, and as you sat there with him, the tension felt... different. More real. You weren’t sure where things would go, but right now, this—just this moment—felt like the beginning of something neither of you had been brave enough to face before.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a few words. l Joel Miller

Summary: words he didn't want you to hear

Warnings:  angst, unpleasant conversation, they move away from each other

A/N: nothing special. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

Tommy looked at his brother as if he was seeing him for the first time in his life. He hadn't expected this and was slowly regretting that he had shown up at the stables with a few bottles of beer that evening.

"You can't be fucking serious." he finally said.

The man who was sitting on a haystack by the wall seemed exhausted. His brown eyes were fixed on the horse in the opposite stall, the bottle in his big hands still full of beer.

"You slept with her?" Joel looked at him surprised. "What? Simple question. Did you sleep with her or not?"

Joel shook his head. "No."

"But you wish you did."

He looked down, but he couldn't lie to someone who knew him so well. Of course he thought about it. Most often when he was alone in the dark bedroom. Memories of every kiss, tender touch, moments when he held you in his arms - all of these haunted him like ghosts.

He was furious because he wanted more. He wanted to be alive again, to feel again. But should he?

"Joel, you've known each other for years, you live together. Why are you messing with her head if you don't want anything to do with her?"

"It's not like that, Tommy..." his voice was tired, barely audible. "Everything's different with her."

"So why don't you want to give it a chance?" Tommy took a sip of beer. "I don't get it. If you want to be with her, then be. Tell her how you feel and..."

"I'm too old for this!" Joel snapped. "She deserves better, and I can't give it to her."

"Bullshit!" Tommy muttered.

There was silence for a moment. The distant noises of the city settling in for the night drifted through the open stable door. Tommy sat down next to his brother, resting his arms on his knees.

"She's a really nice girl," he said. "I see how she looks at you, cares about you and Ellie. Do you really want to break her heart like that?"

"She's tough."

"Yes, she is."

"Are you going out?"

You were just putting a thermos with a hot drink and a couple of sandwiches into your backpack, you didn't even look up when Joel went down to the kitchen in the morning.

"Yeah. I'm going on patrol." you answered.

Joel frowned. "Our turn is tomorrow."

"I swapped with Paul. He'll go with you. You two get along."

An unpleasant shiver ran down his spine, his heart sped up. The backpack was almost ready, and you didn't seem in the mood for long conversations.

"I'd rather go with you." he grumbled, coming closer and clenching his hands on the back of the chair.

"A change will do you good. It'll do us good too."

"Have you talked to Tommy about this?"

You slung your backpack over your shoulder and looked him in the eye for the first time. He saw something strange in that look. A mixture of sadness, anger, and some kind of severity. You hadn't looked at him like that before.

"You'll probably talk to him yourself, right?" you said "I think..." your voice broke for a moment, but you quickly got back on track. "I think when I get back I'll ask Maria to find me another place to live."

"W-What? Why?"

"We both know why."

You adjusted your backpack and left the house. The world you had built had just collapsed.

"What the fuck was I supposed to do?"

"You could have not let her go!"

"She's an adult, Joel! She came last night, said she had already talked to Paul. I couldn't say no to her." Tommy put the crate in the storage room and looked at Joel.

He could see that his brother was furious and distraught. You usually went on patrols together, Joel didn't like you going out alone. Although he knew you would manage, he didn't fully trust others. Now he had completely lost control over anything.

Tommy looked at him with pity. "I think she must have heard us yesterday. Maria saw her in town, she was upset. Then she showed up at our place. I didn't ask, it's none of my business."

"You could have stopped her." Joel repeated quietly.

"And you could have kept her with you. But you chose not to."

He could.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist