#love a subtle threat but not threat going on

[kissesz]

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞

sevika x f!reader | modern au

warnings: see above. mdni. f!sub!reader. dom!sevika. car sex. public sex (but no witnesses). messy & needy & filthy. vaginal fingering. older woman/younger woman, age gap. praise kink. begging. emphasis on begging. teasing. dirty talk. developing relationship. first time together. resolved sexual tension. pet names. vulgar. smoking. sharing a cigarette. kissing. explicit sexual content.

summary: halfway between zero and sixty, ‘nice to meet you’ and ‘make me yours’. is it considered a hookup if you get laid on the first date?

notes: love and hugs, this is pure sex. again. always.

This woman was temptation with bared, carnassial teeth.

You watched, transfixed, as Sevika took another languid drag of her cigarette, ember painting her features in shades of burnished ochre beneath the flickering streetlight. Dusk bled the sky in streaks of bruised violet, casting the gritty outskirts of LA in stark, angular shadows—forged of unyielding chrome and gunmetal, as hard and uncompromising as the city itself.

"You coming or what?" Her voice, low and smoky, snapped you from your reverie. She leaned against her matte black, '98 Carrera Cabriolet, all long limbs and coiled strength, a panther in repose. The car suited her—powerful, sleek, with barely restrained danger. Not ostentatious, but undeniably commanding. Like her.

You shook your head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Depends. You gonna tell me where we're going yet?"

A ghost of a smirk slashed across her mouth. "Where's the fun in that?"

Rolling your eyes, you pushed off the graffiti-splashed brick wall, gravel crunching beneath your boots as you crossed the narrow alley. "Anyone ever tell you you've got a flair for the dramatic?"

She scoffed, twin plumes of smoke unfurling from her nostrils. "Pot. Kettle. Et cetera."

But there was a glint of amusement sparking in those inscrutable dark eyes, softening the usual implacable steel. For a fleeting moment, with silk tie loosened and crisp shirt unbuttoned at the collar, she almost looked approachable. Almost.

Possessed by a sudden surge of boldness that still surprised you, you reached out and plucked the smoldering cigarette from her fingers. Her scarred brow quirked, but she made no move to stop you as you took a deep drag, the acrid nicotine hitting the back of your throat like a sucker punch.

It tasted like her—bitter and earthy with a lingering aftertaste that clung to your tongue. Everything about Sevika was edged with latent threat, from the jagged scar slicing down her cheek to the cybernetic arm gleaming dully in the guttering half-light. She wore raw menace like others wore subtle perfume, an unspoken warning: look, but don't touch.

And yet, here you were. Touching. Toeing lines you'd never dared approach before. There was something about her—an inexorable gravity, a magnetic pull you were powerless to resist, no matter how hard you tried.

Maybe it was the way she looked at you—like she could see right through your bravado to the fragile thing beneath. Like she knew precisely how to break you, splinter you apart piece by piece, but chose not to. There was heady power in that restraint, in the tightly leashed tension coiling. It thrilled you as much as it terrified you.

"You're staring."

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks as you realized you'd been doing just that, entranced by the play of light across the cut-glass planes of her face. Her lips quirked in a wolfish grin—a quick flash of teeth that sent liquid fire rushing through your veins.

"Just admiring the view," you quipped, hoping she couldn't see you blush, even in the forgiving dimness.

She plucked the cigarette back from your suddenly nerveless grasp, taking one last deep drag before grinding it out beneath her heel. "Get in."

It wasn't a request.

The rich leather seat was cold against your bare thighs as you slid in, the heavy door thudding shut behind you with an ominous finality that made your heart skip and stutter behind the cage of your ribs. Sevika slid behind the wheel, all whipcord muscle and self-assurance. The engine growled to life like a hungry beast, the vibrations echoing the mounting tension singing beneath your over-sensitized skin.

With a squeal of tires, she peeled away from the curb, the lurid neon signs and sputtering streetlights blurring into streaks of smeared color as you gained speed, leaving the grime and decay of the city behind. The radio hummed low, jazz spilling from the speakers to curl around you—a bluesy croon extolling the virtues of bad love and worse choices that felt all too fitting, here in this charged liminal space.

"So," you ventured, the first to break the tingling silence, "is kidnapping a typical first date activity for you?"

Her laugh was a gravelly rasp, a sound that scraped down your spine like nails across a chalkboard. "You came willingly, doll. Hardly a kidnapping."

"Maybe I just have a troubling lack of self-preservation instincts."

"Nah." She spared you a penetrating sidelong glance, those fathomless eyes flickering over you in a way that made your skin prickle with tactile heat, every hair standing on end. "You've got instincts. Good ones. S'why you're here."

Your breath caught. There it was again—that uncanny sense that she could see right through you, deep down to the marrow of your bones, peeling back all your pretenses and posturing to lay bare the truth of you, quivering and exposed. It was unnerving. Terrifyingly vulnerable and viscerally, undeniably right.

As the minutes slipped by marked only by the purr of the machinery and the yellow dashes slipping hypnotically by, the city fell away. Towering glass and steel skyscrapers and seedy, decrepit apartment blocks gave way to low-slung suburbs lined with sun-bleached picket fences, then to long stretches of brush punctuated only by the occasional lonely, leaning streetlamp. Out here, away from the press of humanity and the choking exhaust fumes, the air tasted different.

With each mile marker that fell behind you, it felt as if you were crossing some invisible threshold, leaving the crushing expectations and familiar dissatisfaction of your life in the rearview mirror as you ventured into uncharted territory.

Wasn't that what you'd wanted, after all? What you'd been craving, yearning for with every fiber of your being? To escape the slow suffocation of the neat, narrow path that had been laid at your feet like a noose around your neck? Out here, with the asphalt of the open road disappearing beneath you and Sevika at your side, you felt weightless and unmoored.

Free.

Sevika took the serpentine curves fast and tight—your heart hurried along with it, caught up in the thrill of velocity, of speed, of her. The rushing wind snatched the air from your lungs and tangled your hair, but you welcomed the burn, savoring every stolen gasp as if it were your last.

She drove like she did everything else—with preternatural precision and wild, reckless abandon. But there was a fluidity to her movements, something that spoke of hard-earned mastery, the kind that came only from raw, unfettered experience. Watching her shift gears, quicksilver flashing in the sporadic light—you felt a sharp, sweet ache unfurl deep in your abdomen. It was the ache of longing to be handled with such surety and confidence. To be touched, tasted, known like that: body, mind, and soul.

As if plucking the unspoken want directly from your racing thoughts, Sevika reached over, her hand finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh—the touch searing through the denim of your jeans. Slowly, deliberately, she trailed her fingers higher, skimming with agonizing precision along the trembling expanse of your thigh, growing ever closer to where you burned for her most. There was a promise woven into her teasing caress, a whispered question. Goosebumps rippled in her wake, your nerves singing at her nearness.

"Sev..." you managed, the name escaping on a ragged exhale even as your body arched helplessly into her touch. "I'm trying to be good here."

Her answering chuckle was downright unholy. "Overrated."

But she withdrew her hand, returning it to the wheel, leaving you empty and bereft. You felt the loss of her touch, your flesh crying out for the intoxicating drag of skin against skin.

All too soon and not soon enough, Sevika pulled off onto a secluded little overlook, the car settling into an idle. Below, the sprawl of the city stretched out, glowing, alive with nightlife. But here, balanced between heaven and earth, breathing air untainted by smog or sin, it seemed to belong to another world entirely. You felt as if you had slipped into a hidden haven of stillness—population consisting of only you two.

The silence that rushed in to fill the vacuum left by the slumbering engine was heavy, expectant. When Sevika swung herself out of the car, you followed, as if drawn by some invisible tether.

She leaned against the hood, ankles crossed, dark hair stirring in the breeze as she gazed up at the sky. You settled in beside her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her, the rapidly-cooling metal still warm against your back. This close, you could breathe all of her in—a scent you'd learned to crave like the most insidious drug.

"It's beautiful out here," you said softly, not wanting to break the tentative peace of the moment, that spell holding the rest of the world at bay. "Peaceful."

Sevika hummed in agreement. "Sometimes you need to leave things behind. Get some distance between you and the bullshit to see clearly. Gain a little perspective."

You turned the thought over and over behind your eyes, a faint frown tugging at your brow. "There’s something you're trying to get perspective on?"

She was quiet for the first time in a while, seconds stretching into eons in the yawning space between each inhale. Long enough for the first tendrils of doubt to curl around your hammering heart. When she did finally speak, her normally brash voice was threaded through with an uncharacteristic note of melancholy.

"Lots of things. The whole fucked-up mess of my past. My future." She flexed her prosthetic hand, digits curling into a fist, servos whirring almost imperceptibly in the silence. Her next words were barely a murmur. "You."

You froze, trepidation tangling into an impossible snarl, threatening to cut you open from the inside out. "Me?"

Sevika turned to face you then, eyes snaring and pinning you in place. "This thing between us...it's complicated, doll. For a whole lot of reasons."

"Doesn't have to be." The words tripped off your tongue, propelled by the reckless certainty buzzing through you like a sugary rush, like the sting of good bourbon on an empty stomach. "Not if we don't let it."

One corner of her mouth quirked upwards, the expression more wry than somber. "You’re young, sweetheart. But me? Got enough baggage to fill this whole damn car and then some." She gestured to herself. "You sure you want to saddle yourself with all that?"

You captured her metal hand in your own. Slowly, tenderly, never breaking eye contact, you lifted her hand to your lips, brushing the barest hint of a kiss over the ridged carbon-fiber knuckles. An unambiguous answer. A consecration.

"With you?" you whispered. Unafraid and sure despite the wild tarantella of your heart, you pulled her closer, until you could see the faint sunray-like pattern of molten silver lining her blown pupils. "Yes."

She sucked in an unsteady breath, eyes widening a fraction. Vulnerability, you realized. More naked and exposed than you'd ever seen her, more honest. She searched your upturned face for any hint of doubt, any flicker of hesitation. Found only quiet certainty in the resolute lines of your body, only affection and burgeoning devotion in the sweep of your gaze.

"Fuck, you're gonna ruin me," she breathed finally, voice roughened by a tangled snarl of need and fear and disbelief, the words equal parts aching and awed.

You felt your lips curve upwards helplessly. "Promise?"

Sevika loosed a broken sound, low and guttural and heavy with want. Then, her mouth crashed onto yours, hot and urgent and so impossibly soft you nearly wept from the rightness of it.

You met her with desperation all your own, the empty echo behind your ribs finally quieting as she filled in all your broken spaces, soothing long-untended aches with lips and teeth and tongue. Your hands scrabbled for purchase on her leather-clad shoulders, seeking against​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ the onslaught of sensation, the sheer relief of having what you'd yearned for so long finally, finally within reach.

She gathered you close, arm banding around your waist, and everything narrowed, coalesced into this single, shining point of collision, of completion. Nothing existed outside the slick heat of your twined tongues, the eager exploration of wandering hands, the delicious drag of stuttered breath in starving lungs.

Overwhelmed, drowning in sensation, you wrenched your mouth away to trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of her jaw. She arched into the touch like a cat, a grunt catching in the back of her throat as you nipped at her pulse, soothing the sting with lips and tongue.

Her hands found the hem of your shirt, skimming the fever-hot skin of your waist and earning a full-body shudder. Those clever, devastating fingers inched higher, tracing the dip of your spine, the jut of your ribs, leaving trails of tingles in their wake.

"God, Sev," you panted, voice cracking on a gasp as her thumb dragged heavy and purposeful over the swell of your breast, the lace separating flesh from flesh somehow more maddening than no barrier at all. "I want...I need–"

She hummed against your throat. "What do you need, baby?" She nuzzled beneath your jaw, lips and teeth worrying the thin, delicate skin there, hard enough to sting, to mark. To claim. "Tell me. Let me give it to you."

You tangled desperate fingers in her hair, short, silken strands slipping like cool water between your digits—tugged just shy of too hard, just to feel her sigh, to know she was just as affected as you. "You," you breathed into the scant space between your mouths. Cupping the back of her neck, you pulled her down into another searing kiss, licking your way past the seam of her lips to tangle your tongue with her own. "Just you."

Sevika's groan was ragged, muffled against your eager mouth. "Shit. You're so–you don't even know what you do to me. How I've wanted–"

She broke off on a shuddering exhale as your hand snaked between your flush bodies, palming the swell of her breast through the material. The delicate silk was warm from the heat of her skin, the stiff peak of her nipple an unmistakable indent against your palm. You circled the pebbled bud with the pad of your thumb, marveling at the shiver that rippled through her frame at the intimacy of your touch.

"Show me. Want to feel you, Sev, want your hands on me, want–ah!"

Your stream of babbled pleas stuttered to a halt as Sevika ducked her head, fastening kisses to the column of your throat with single-minded intensity. Her hand carved a path downwards, your abdominals fluttering and tensing beneath her touch. In response, you clutched her shoulders, nails digging into firm muscles, desperate for an anchor against the wave of pure sensation threatening to sweep you out to sea.

She didn't stop there—of course she didn't. Sevika had never been one to do things by halves. Fingertips found your nipples, already painfully tight and straining against your bra, and rolled them until you were gasping and writhing against her, hips canting in wanton invitation.

"Fuck," she rasped against you, the word a fervent prayer and a filthy promise. "Can't believe I get to touch you like this. Can't believe you're letting me..."

Her words shredded off into a throaty sound of satisfaction as you hooked one leg around the backs of her thighs, the repositioning changing the angle of your bodies until she was pressed tight and perfect against the aching center of you, separated only by a few torturous layers of fabric.

"God, need you inside, need you to fill me up, I–" Your fever-pitched begging deteriorated into a mewl as Sevika rolled her hips just so, the delicious friction against your swollen clit sending starbursts of color exploding behind your eyelids. You were so wet already that you could feel it smearing onto your inner thighs, a cooling counterpoint to the molten ache throbbing low in your gut. "Sev, please, I–"

"I've got you. Gonna take care of you, give you everything you need, pretty girl."

The words were whispered against the fragile skin behind your ear, shivering over nerve endings already raw and screaming for more. Pinning you with her weight, Sevika fumbled between your sweat-slicked bodies, making quick work of the fastenings of your jeans and shoving the clinging material down your thighs with almost feral urgency. Immediately, the night air kissed your overheated skin, but the momentary relief was quickly replaced by a deeper, sharper ache as she trailed a single teasing fingertip over the wet spot darkening the cotton of your panties.

"Look at you," she breathed, and the sheer reverence in the tone made your heart stutter and clench. "You're so wet for me already, aren't you, baby?"

Your only answer was a pleading moan, head tipping back against the cooling metal of the hood, eyes fluttering shut as you gave yourself over fully to chasing the intoxicating feeling of Sevika's hands on your body. A single digit traced along the elastic waistband of your panties before dipping lower to slide along your cloth-covered slit. She traced the seam of you, touch firm enough to send sparks skittering up your spine but too light to offer any true relief, and your hips twitched traitorously, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"Please," you managed, the word garbled and wavering. Your hands scrabbled at the short hairs at the nape of her neck, anything to ground you in the sensations threatening to consume you. "I need–need you to–"

"Need me to what?" she coaxed, nuzzling the hinge of your jaw, painting staccato breaths against the fever-heat of your skin. Her hips rocked against the cradle of your pelvis. "Use your words, beautiful."

"Touch me," you panted, the shameless need in your voice nearly unrecognizable to your own ears. "Fuck me, Sev, god, please, I–"

She smiled against your neck, a slow curl of approval that you felt like a physical touch. And then, before you could draw breath to beg, she was pushing your panties aside, parting swollen, slippery flesh to press firmly against the aching bud of your clit. White flashed behind your clenched eyelids at the first direct touch to where you were most sensitive, and you keened high in your throat, hips juddering helplessly against the exquisite pressure. Sevika didn't tease you further, seemingly just as desperate as you; her touch was purposeful, two fingers dipping down to circle your entrance teasingly before swiping back up to rub maddening circles around your throbbing clit, spreading the slick evidence of your arousal from slit to hood.

You lost time then, lost yourself too, perhaps—hands clutching convulsively at her shoulders, nails carving bright-hot crescents into her skin as she wrung pathetic, gasping cries from your lips, each one filthier than the last.

When she finally slid one long, calloused finger inside you, the intrusion was a revelation. Your body yielded to her with embarrassing ease, greedy muscles fluttering and clenching around her digit, trying to draw her deeper.

A second finger joined the first, stretching and filling—you whined, high and heady, back arching to meet her on every upstroke. The lewd, liquid squelch of her fingers pumping in and out of you echoed obscenely, sending a fresh rush of arousal through you. Sevika seemed to revel in it, in how wet and open and ready you were for her, crooking her fingers until you were riding the edge of her hand, the heel of her palm grinding perfectly against your clit with every measured thrust.

"Fuck, Sev, oh god, just like that, don't stop, please please please...." The litany fell from your lips unchecked, words tumbling over each other in your desperation. Your orgasm was so, so close, pleasure winding tighter and tighter with each pump of her fingers, each swipe of her tongue against the column of your neck.

"Not gonna last," you sobbed, hips hitching erratically against her hands. "M'gonna come, fuck, Sev, please–"

"That's it," she rasped, the words hot and damp against your ear. "Wanna feel you come apart on my fingers, baby, wanna feel you shaking and tightening around me when I make you scream. Give it up for me, come on, you can do it."

Her voice combined with the relentless pressure of her touch was too much, an assault on your senses that you had no hope of withstanding. Your release crashed into you, making every muscle seize and spasm as it swept you under. Distantly, you registered the drawn-out, wavering moan torn from your throat as you shook apart under her hands, but you were miles away, lost to the pulsing waves of rapture radiating out from your core.

Sevika coaxed you through it, murmuring filthy praise against your skin as she gentled her thrusts, drawing out your pleasure until it bordered on pain. You clung to her, face buried in the curve of her neck. She held you through the aftershocks, digits still buried deep inside you, touching you with a tenderness that made your breath hitch for an entirely different reason.

"Sev," you managed finally, voice thin and reedy with spent pleasure, muffled against the damp silk of her shirt. "That was..."

"Damn right it was," she finished softly, nosing against your hairline, your temple. "And we’re just getting started."

Carefully, she withdrew from the clasping heat of your body, and you shuddered at the loss, tipping your head up to seek her mouth blindly. She met you halfway, slanting her lips over yours—slow and sweet and devastating.

Addicting. Irresisitible. Exhilarating.

©️ kissesz

[extinctlesspains]

OH MYYYY GOODNESS I JS READ THE YANDERE AXEL ONE AND IM FRFR OBSESSED LIKE WHY IS NOBODY ELSE DOING THAT IDEA BROOO

I NEED TO SEE JOHNNY AND ROBBYS REACTION TO OVERHEARING AXEL BLACKMAILING HERRRR 🙏🙏🙏

A/n: Lol thank you for reading lovely!! I had a lot of fun writing yandere Axel so here you go!! Also I loved your idea!! ♡♡

𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒... 𝑅𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡?[𝐴𝑥𝑒𝑙 𝐾.]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ , ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ! ᴀxᴇʟ ᴋᴏᴠᴀᴄᴇᴠɪᴄ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀxeʟ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ sɴᴀᴘs, ʀᴇғᴜsɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ. ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴅʀᴀɢɢɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴀᴄᴋ, ʜᴇ ᴘɪɴs ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ʜɪs ᴄᴀʀ, ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀʏ—ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇss ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜɪs ᴏʙsᴇssɪᴏɴ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴏᴘ, ʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ sᴍɪʟᴇs, ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ’s ᴊᴜsᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

You should’ve known it wasn’t over.

From the moment Axel let you go, from the way his dark, knowing smile followed you even as you ran to your brother’s side, you should have known.

But it wasn’t until the messages started—

Then the notes.

Then the warnings.

That you understood.

Axel wasn’t done with you.

He was just getting started.

At first, it was subtle.

A text. "You shouldn’t ignore me, Y/N. It’s not nice."

A note in your locker. "I did this for us. You’ll see."

Then, things started disappearing—your water bottle, your extra jacket, even your bracelet. And then, one night, when you went to grab your bag after practice, you found it neatly placed on the bench… but your phone was missing.

When you finally got it back, you realized why.

Because Axel had gone through it.

Your messages, your photos—everything.

And then, the final straw—

A picture, sent from an unknown number.

A photo of you, taken from behind.

From earlier that day.

It wasn’t a threat. There were no words attached.

Just proof.

Proof that he was watching.

You found him outside the dojo, leaning against his car like he had all the time in the world. He looked up as you stormed toward him, a lazy smirk already in place.

"Missed me?"

You slapped him. Hard.

His head barely turned from the force, but his smirk dropped.

"You’re insane," you seethed. "Stay away from me, Axel."

He let out a low chuckle, rubbing his jaw. "Come on, princess. That’s not how you should talk to your boyfriend."

"You are not my boyfriend."

Axel sighed dramatically, pushing off his car. "Not yet."

Your stomach twisted. "This isn’t a joke, Axel! You’re stalking me, stealing my stuff, threatening my friends—"

"Threatening?" He scoffed. "I haven’t touched them. Yet."

You took a shaky step back. His eyes darkened at the movement.

"You’re scared of me now?" His voice dropped to a whisper, something almost hurt in his tone. "You never used to be."

"Because I didn’t know what you were," you shot back. "But I do now."

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled. But this one was different.

It wasn’t cocky.

It wasn’t amused.

It was certain.

"You’re mine, Y/N," he murmured. "Even if you don’t see it yet."

You turned on your heel, shoving down the panic clawing at your chest. You needed to leave. You needed out.

But as you walked away, you heard his voice one last time—

Soft.

Confident.

Inevitable.

"You can run, princess. But I’ll always catch you."

You barely made it three steps before he grabbed you.

A yelp tore from your throat as Axel yanked you back, his grip iron-clad around your wrist. Your body slammed into his chest, and before you could shove him away, his free hand curled around your throat—gently, almost reverently.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Axel murmured, tilting his head as if you were some fragile thing he needed to fix.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. "Let go of me."

His fingers flexed, not quite squeezing—just enough to remind you that he could.

Could what? Hurt you? No. Axel wasn’t interested in breaking you.

He wanted to own you.

"I’ve been so patient," he whispered, dragging his knuckles along your jaw, his touch sickeningly tender. "So good. I gave you space, let you pretend you had a choice." His thumb traced your lips, and his eyes went dark with something dangerous. "But you keep running, princess. And that’s just…" He exhaled sharply. "So. Fucking. Rude."

You struggled, shoving against him with all your strength. "I don’t belong to you, Axel!"

He laughed.

Not the kind that was amused.

The kind that was off.

The kind that sent ice down your spine.

"You still don’t get it," he breathed, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice softened to a near-whisper, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"You always belonged to me."

Then, before you could even think—

The world flipped.

Your back slammed into the car, knocking the breath from your lungs. Axel's hands were everywhere—gripping your wrists, pinning you down, pressing his body flush against yours as he caged you in.

"Do you know what you did to me?" His voice shook—not with fear, but obsession. "You made me need you, Y/N. You smiled at me. You touched me. You looked at me like I was human." His lips curled into something feral. "But then you rejected me."

His fingers dug into your skin.

"And now," he murmured, "I have to remind you what happens… when people take things from me."

A cold shiver ripped through you. "Axel, please—"

"Shh, don’t beg yet," he crooned. "Not when I haven’t even started."

Your breath hitched. "Started what?"

Axel leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

"Taking you back."

And then—

Everything went dark.

[melatonindeficient]

i just hate how Mel and Jayce never actually broke up.

Like if they did, I would probably (not really but whatever) be less salty about the way their paths diverged. Their last conversation had an hollowness to it, as if in making Jayce's character arc about saving Viktor rather than him trying to be a truly good leader (subtle shade at how I wish there was a greater focus on the Piltover-Zaun conflict) they forgot about about the fact that he also had other relationships (I'm also referring to how it felt like he didn't speak to much of anyone this season (and yes I'm aware this is partially due to him being in a hole for half the season, I'm referring to the rest of it)). Just because their lives were going in different directions and they were changing didn't mean they didn't have love binding them (I mean that was literally the premise of jayvik, and vi and jinx).

When they first saw each other again, they were two people who had undergone immense amounts of trauma over the course of a very short period of time—that conversation was never going to go very well. And as much as I hated the way he spoke to Mel at first, Jayce's reaction to seeing her makes sense; I mean, he saw Salo, who wasn't particularly likeable, and took him out just because the voices said so. Plus, in addition to his head splitting in two, his best friend had just walked away from him and used Hextech—Jayce's lifelong dream and reason for living—for an immoral cause. If Viktor could betray him, who was to say that Mel—his lover, yes, but also a tactical politician—wasn't also playing some long game?

We see his sense return to him during their passenger conversation, but his uncharacteristic bluntness makes it almost seem like he was severing their relationship, but I think that's a crazy thing to assume when he was preoccupied with a rapidly approaching battle, and one in which he'd have to attempt to kill his best friend (again! And this time in a more stable state of mind where he'd actually be able to register it!).

Now for my glorious queen Mel; she doesn't seem to have much of a say in any of this. She spends years in control pulling the strings of Piltovan politics, only to have all of her control seized from her in an instant. Then she comes home and her boyfriend—this one unchangeable force in her life, this one person she likely thought would remain the same—had changed. They never even get a chance to understand each other, and unlike the majority of the conversations Mel has, she doesn't have the upper hand or even a level playing field.

(personal opinion leaking through here because whyyy why could they not have just one more soft scene before she lost everything and he got absorbed into the freaking cosmos)

Anyway, Mel doesn't just let things happen to her, and it's not like the Black Rose just took that trait away from her (which is established because she could've taken her mother's betrayal and done nothing, but rather chooses to fight for the city she chose rather than the one that molded her). So the way that their last conversations went makes it seem like either she'd been expecting them to break up (which she deadass had no reason to) or they were both holding on to a hope that that conversation was just unfinished, and they could scream and yell and comfort and console when they weren't facing an imminent threat.

It's unfinished. It's empty.

Obviously I would've loved to see them together and happy forever and ever amen, but if they had to split i wish they'd actually split. Some angst or something instead of that empty ass fucking conversation.

[deathfavor]

starter call. - @tsckcyomi​

   “  That’s not a very beautiful expression on your face you know. If you’re not careful, you’ll get wrinkles soon. Or end up like Saruhiko. “

   Yukari hadn’t been expecting to cross paths with the newest red king when he’d gone out today. Although Anna didn’t seem to have the usual loudmouth vanguard with her when he subtly glanced around. How strange. Conceal the traps and the deer wander out, a phrase that seemed too accurate for this moment.. Yet the beauty angel’s words had been the truth ; this was no trap ready to snare the unsuspecting prey. There was no need for the girl now that the silver king had finally made his appearance again.

   He holds up a gloved hand before she can potentially run.  “  There’s no need to worry. I’m not out for a fight or to cause trouble. Nor is Sukuna if you happen to see him running around.  “  Yukari gives a deep sigh, hands on his hips.  “  That boy is so full of energy. He was wanting some new video game that came out. It was rather unbecoming. “  He shakes his head for a moment before looking towards the king before him properly.  “  But that is to say that JUNGLE is not doing anything nefarious. We’re just having a pleasany shopping spree. And I don’t think you’d want to get innocent people caught in the cross fire if you decide to act rashly, do you?  “  

   He raises an eyebrow slightly towards Anna as further emphasis to his words. It wasn’t quite a threat, but it wasn’t a simple passive comment either. Especially not when Yukari’s infamous sword, Ayamachi, rested against his back. Shopping or no, Ayamachi was never far from his side. A few seconds pass, and then the beauty angel’s expression relaxes again into a pleasant smile. The J-Rank glanced between her and the bakery they stood outside before pointing.  “  You don’t happen to be here for the red blossom dessert debuting, are you? It’s quite beautiful. “

[qoldenskies]

FIRST DRAFT DEFEATED!!! its 54k words currently

[sttoru]

sukunas fav concubine being bullied by the other concubines?? maybe they push her into the fountain 👀👀👀

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. being bullied because you’re sukuna’s favorite concubine is nothing out of the ordinary. when sukuna finally notices the harassment you’re going through, he doesn’t hold back.

wc. 2.2k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. fluff, angst (hurt to comfort). heian era. bullying. one mention of d.ecapitation. vile language. reader gets called ‘brat’. beta reading? what’s that

“she’s got nothing going on for her,” “right? i don’t get what he sees in her,” “tch—he’s only using her for her body anyway,” “duhh. he can’t be pleased by her looks. i mean, she’s really ugly. i bet he thinks of her as just ‘nother hole to use. . .”

and the shushed gossips continue. the concubines hanging around the garden have noticed your arrival, though do nothing to stop badmouthing you. they couldn’t care less if you hear what they say.

you’re used to it by now. you’ve adjusted to this life of yours as one of sukuna’s concubines. his favourite at that—which automatically makes you a victim of verbal (and sometimes physical) harassment. the other women in the ruthless sorcerer’s harem can’t stand you.

your eyes are glued to the path you’re walking on. your lady-in-waiting doesn’t utter a single word as well, holding her head low as she follows behind you. you know that the concubines will immediately pick on you if you make eye contact with one of them.

it’s moments like these where you actually miss sukuna. his intimidating presence and (in)direct threats would immediately make the others fall silent. you wouldn’t have to hear them call you nasty names.

though, unlucky you, sukuna’s out on business. uraume is left as a temporary supervisor of the entire estate. to make sure nothing goes wrong. despite all of that, you still find yourself in an unfortunate predicament.

“hey. we’re talking to you,” a female voice rings from behind you. it isn’t your lady-in-waiting, but the brown-haired woman whom you recognise as one of sukuna’s concubines. her name. . . you can’t recall.

she forcefully pushes your shoulder with two fingers. you stumble backwards, nearly tripping over the material of your kimono. you look down at the hem and notice a subtle muddy stain on the cloth now that you’ve accidentally stepped on it.

you curse the woman out under your breath. the kimono is one of your favorites since sukuna had it made and tailored to suit your taste.

“my apologies,” you mumble politely. you do not wish to make a scene as much as you want to defend yourself. not in front of those poor servants who are simply minding their business and tending to the garden.

the lady scoffs. another one joins. soon, four of them surround you, leaving you no place to escape the situation. with every step you take back, they take one forward. it’s intimidating, though you try to make it seem like you’re not afraid of their words.

“tell me,” the blonde one speaks up and her hand trails up your arm. she twirls a strand of your hair around her index finger before harshly tugging at it. you wince, but she doesn’t budge, “tell me what sukuna sees in a worthless slut like you.”

it’s about sukuna every time. you’re getting sick of the way they treat you because of something you can’t control. you don’t know why he favors you out of all the other women at his service. the way you’re treated because of something that you cannot change is getting frustrating.

the brown-haired woman follows the other lady. she pushes you until the back of your shoe bumps against the edge of a fountain. the grande fountain in the yard that you always love to admire.

the tugs at your hair get stronger. your patience is wearing thin. you take some time to reply to the other concubines, hoping to silence them for now.

you look up at the group surrounding you—a grin tugging at your lips as you decide to taunt them. you scoff, “hah. you cannot blame me for satisfying my lord better than all of you could do together.”

audible gasps sound from the group of concubines. they can’t believe you had the audacity to talk back and be disrespectful about it. the comment you made clearly struck a nerve. or in this case multiple.

“oh, you slut!” the blonde one shrieks, clearly more than upset by your doubts about her services as a concubine. in a flash of rage, she gives you a firm push, sending you backwards until you fall into the fountain with a loud splash.

your lady-in-waiting is the one gasping this time. she looks at you with great worry in her eyes, not knowing if she needs to go fetch uraume or not. she doesn’t have much say in the matter either way.

you’re humiliated by this. you can feel the water seep into the robes of your kimono, staining the beloved material. your hair is wet as well, the water droplets falling off the ends of your locks.

“pah, you look pathetic,” one of the lower ranking concubines chimes in—giggling at the unfortunate situation you got yourself in. the others follow with their own high pitched laughs, “serves you right.”

you don’t even know what you should do. your body feels heavy because of the water wetting your clothes. your nails drag along the fountain’s surface, trying to compose yourself before you do anything irrational.

you grit your teeth and take a deep breath. you’re shaking, both because of the cold settling over your body as well as the anger simmering inside of you. you open your mouth to say something, only to be interrupted.

by someone you didn’t expect to see any time soon.

“enough.”

the deep tone sends chills down your spine. the volume of the male voice nearly shakes the ground. it’s powerful, dominant and quite aggressive. as if the owner of the voice is pissed. no, more than that.

the group of concubines freeze, not even daring to turn around and face the unexpected visitor. you notice your lady-in-waiting immediately falling to her knees, bowing at the man whom you know very well.

“my lord,” you stammer out, being the first to speak up and address him. you’re surprised to see sukuna back this early from his business trip. he normally stays away from the estate for days on end.

sukuna’s footsteps are heavy. his strides are menacingly slow. the aura surrounding him makes the others shake—one concubine being smart enough to bow to him. the king of curses is not one to be messed with, especially when he’s angry.

“tsk. have you lost all your respect while i was gone?” sukuna growls, seeing how the group of concubines are frozen in place with fearful expressions on their faces. the fact that they’re not bowing before him worsens his temper, “kneel.”

he raises one hand and they all knew what was going to happen. you squeal and shut your eyes, hearing that familiar and dooming sound of slashes around you. it doesn’t sound like they’ve hit anything, so you peek through your eyelashes.

you see how the group of women have dropped to their knees the instant sukuna raised his hand in that specific manner. everyone knew just what that meant; death to anyone who’s got their head held high in his presence.

you’ve all seen enough people get decapitated by that same action to know that the sorcerer was not playing around.

sukuna scoffs. he walks up towards you, ignoring the pleas of the other concubines that are begging for his forgiveness. his bottom set of eyes look down at them with disdain before focusing on your figure again.

he silently stands still at the edge of the fountain. his large frame looms over you and you find yourself struggling to get up from the water to bow at him as well. you keep your eyes on your lap, “i’m sorry, my lord.”

sukuna hisses at your apology. a warning for you to shut your mouth. you’re apologising when it’s not your fault and that irritates him more than anything. two of his strong arms reach down to pick you up from your vulnerable position.

the king of curses hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. he’s not bothered by the fact that you’re dripping wet. in fact, both of his left arms wrap around your torso in attempt to warm you up.

“stay. you’ll all be dealt with accordingly when i return,” sukuna harshly orders your aggressors as he turns around and walks away from the group. he carries you in his arms, not sparing a single glance at his concubines.

he doesn’t even care that he stepped on one of the women’s hands as he passed by. the high pitched shriek only serves to annoy him, which you notice by the way he squeezes your waist in response.

it’s silent between you two for a bit. sukuna steps inside of the estate, his ominous aura making you hesistant to speak. you decide to stay quiet for the sake of keeping the peace. for now.

sukuna’s breathing is a little heavy. he’s trying not to lash out or say anything hurtful. he doesn’t like raising his voice at you—but sometimes he feels like he needs to. especially when you land in situations like those.

“how long has this been going on?” sukuna asks through a heavy sigh. his red eyes are focused on the end of the hallway, where his chambers lay. the veins in his neck look like they could pop out any second now, “and don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me, y’hear?”

you gulp. you’ve never been so nervous to answer him, ever. you attempt to respond, “uhm, for quite a while, my lord.”

sukuna breathes in sharply at the revelation. the fact that you did not specify your answer only made him think that it’s worse than you’re making it out to be. he stops in his tracks, two hands on your waist as he forces you to face him.

your body dangles in the air as sukuna makes you look at him from up close, showing you that dangerous look in his eyes. you do not dare to avert your gaze from his as he speaks.

“you should’ve told me the moment they started disrespecting you like that,” sukuna grunts. another big hand grabs your jaw firmly, squeezing your cheeks together. you whine as it hurt a little. he scoffs and releases your jaw with a light push, “pathetic.”

you feel your body get thrown into your original position once more. your head is upside down and your legs hang limply over his shoulder. you try to defend yourself in a quiet tone, “i thought you were too busy. i didn’t want to bother you with such unimportant matters.”

it’s true. as much as you wanted to tell sukuna about the mistreatment you were receiving, you knew how busy he was attending to more urgent business. you didn’t want to annoy him with your own problems that you could easily solve.

if only you could stand up for yourself.

“nonsense,” sukuna raises his voice in a moment of weakness, though remembers that you’ve probably been through enough for the day. he doesn’t need to add to that by treating you like shit as well.

he simply sighs it off, “unimportant, huh? ‘s that how you think i view you?”

you raise an eyebrow at sukuna’s last sentence. you’re at a loss for words. you know sukuna values you more than any of his other concubines—it’s the main reason you’re getting bullied for—yet you never heard him speak to you in such a surprisingly soft way.

almost like he’s disappointed that you don’t realise the extent of his favoritsm. he cares about you more than you actually think he does.

“i-i’m sorry, my lord,” you stutter. you really do not have a clue about what to say. all you can do is apologise as you’re left overthinking that one little sentence he said.

“what a brat,” sukuna quickly regains his usual stoic and stern composure. he reaches his chambers and enters his personal bathroom before putting you down on your feet. he looks down at your short stature, feeling the warmth of your body leave his skin once you’re separated.

sukuna watches you shiver. he wants to get angry at you for not telling him about anything that’s been going on while he’s not present, though he simply cannot at the moment.

he’ll let you off the hook for now. but, he’s surely going to give you your own special scolding after he’s taken care of the other concubines. the man grabs a large towel from nearby and messily wraps it around your upper body.

sukuna turns around to walk out of his bathroom, looking over his shoulder once more, “get dressed into something else before you catch a cold.”

he calls for a couple servants to tend to you while he’s away to take care of those deviant concubines. sukuna watches the three maids rush to your service, preparing you a new set of clothes as well as trying to dry you off.

his gaze lingers on you for more than is necessary, his jaw clenching at the sight of you trembling from the low temperatures you’re experiencing. sukuna’s going to make sure those other women pay for what they’ve done to you.

he leaves the bathroom after that, though not without leaving you an order to follow;

“you’re staying in my chambers tonight.”

[morallysuperiorlips]

10 Ways to Ensure Your Villain's Evil Monologuing Dialogue is as Unsettling as Possible!

1.) Make sure you're mixing body language with the words themselves: You can have your villain saying the most twisted shit, but if they're just standing there like a cardboard cutout, their words probably aren't going to hit as hard. Have them touch your protag. Have them toy with a weapon as if they're going to use it. Have them pace. Have them put together the blood ritual they're ranting about. Keep them moving.

2.) Have them use personal knowledge as a tool: Does your villain have some deep dark dirt on your protag? Don't let that all go in one swoop. Let them hint at it in drops before they open the dam. Maybe they use that knowledge as a bargaining tool to get an upper hand, or use it to send the trapped protag into a frenzy because they love to watch them scream.

3.) When it comes to threats, certainty is key: A threat is a threat, but there's nothing like a threat being spoken as if the villain knows it's going to happen. Whether your villain has already caught your protag, or is in the process of doing so, everything they say they want to see happen to your protag needs to come with absolute certainty. Almost as if it's a certain warning, and not just something they’re saying to be scary.

4.) Contradictions are your friend: Nothing indicates a warped villainous mind more than some juicy contradictions. Your villain might be talking about how they're going to flay your protag's hide after catching them in their dungeon, only to throw in a subtle "but, you're probably safer here with me." Find ways to toss in twisted contradictions that also underline the crazy shit they might be saying.

5.) Mess with syntax: Unsettling dialogue calls for unsettling structure. Incomplete sentences, unforeseen pauses, longwinded explanations broken up by more unforeseen pauses. Whatever it is, keep the rhythm offbeat. Don't give your reader a chance to be able to tell what's coming.

6.) Expectations? Subvert those: Your protag and even your readers might be suspecting one thing from your villain, so throw them a curveball and hit them with the complete opposite. Perhaps you've reached a point in your story where it seems like the villain might kill your protag on sight. But no, have your villain mention exactly why they aren't going to do that, and why they want to wait it out.

7.) Mix quiet confidence and loud assertion: Some might say that the silent seether is scarier, while others might agree that the sudden explosive type takes the bigger unsettling prize. In my opinion, you can really capitalize on the eeriness of villain dialogue by tapping into both. A villain that speaks on with refined confidence before very suddenly exploding, without much warning, can really power up the dread behind their words.

8.) Sometimes, ambiguity is better than being straightforward: Whether it's obvious that your villain has a lot of tricks up their sleeves--or not--leaving things to the imaginations of your protag, and subsequently, your readers is great for building dread. You can use dialogue to make it clear that they're up to something, but never make them fully disclose what that is. They might show it instead of tell it, or it might just never happen. Either way, it'll likely have everyone looking over their shoulders.

9.) There might be times where silence says everything: You might be worried about penning the correct verbiage for your villain's big evil speech, but sometimes, silence speaks wonders. When used correctly, a long pause, or a bout of silence after your protag has said their piece can build a sense of uneasiness more than them actually speaking would have.

10.) Find ways for your villain to mirror the hero: A monologuing villain is better when they're throwing your hero's values and beliefs back in their face. A hero that believes in mercy? Well, have your villain talk about how they'll make them beg for it. A hero that believes in the greater good? Have your villain talk about their idea of a greater good.

As always, GO WRITE SOMETHING TODAY! <3

[luv-lock]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ PERFECT LIFE 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

☆ ── 𝘗𝘈𝘐𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘎 : Yandere Damian Wayne x Fem Reader

☆ ── HEADCANON : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥?

☆ ── NOTE : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

Marriage with Damian Wayne is not a fairytale—it’s an obsession disguised as devotion.

From the moment Damian slipped that ring onto your finger, he silently swore to himself that no force in the world—be it man, god, or monster—would ever take you away from him. You are his, and he is yours. Completely.

Damian is the kind of husband who worships you in his own intense, borderline overbearing way. He refers to you as "beloved" in private and "my wife" with a possessive pride when speaking to others. The word "you" leaves his lips like a prayer, filled with reverence and authority all at once.

He memorizes every single one of your habits and preferences. He knows how you take your coffee, the exact temperature you prefer for your showers, the kinds of books you gravitate toward, and even the way your breathing changes when you're upset. It’s all cataloged in his mind so he can anticipate your every need before you even voice it.

Damian rarely lets you out of his sight. Even when he's at Wayne Enterprises or patrolling Gotham as Batman, his mind is constantly on you. He has cameras in the house to check in on you, and you can bet he’s hacked your phone to keep tabs on your location. He tells himself it’s for your safety, but the truth is he can’t bear the thought of not knowing where you are.

You’ve noticed how Damian often hovers. At first, it felt sweet—your husband leaning against the kitchen counter, silently watching as you cook dinner. But after a while, you realize it’s less about affection and more about possessiveness. He watches you like a hawk, as if ensuring you’ll never slip away from him.

Damian is fiercely protective, to the point of paranoia. You’ve never had to lift a finger in defense because he handles every perceived threat with ruthless efficiency. Some guy at work who got a little too friendly? Fired and blacklisted within the week. A stranger who made you uncomfortable in public? Let’s just say they’ll think twice before crossing anyone again.

He insists on walking you everywhere, hand firmly clasped around yours. When you protest, he coolly reminds you, "The streets of Gotham are not safe, beloved. Allow me this privilege."

Damian is terrifyingly romantic in the most intense, Damian Wayne way possible. He fills your home with rare flowers imported from across the globe, but you’ll find out later he had the entire shipment rerouted because he didn’t want anyone else to have them. He writes poetry about you in Arabic, his handwriting bold and precise, and hides the pages in places he knows you’ll find them.

Arguments with Damian can be draining because he does not let go. He won’t shout or lose his temper, but he will dissect the situation until you either agree with him or admit defeat. And if you try to storm off mid-fight? Good luck. He’s faster, stronger, and determined not to let you leave unresolved.

His softer moments are almost disarming. You’ll catch him staring at you when you’re reading or brushing your hair, and he looks so boyish and in love that it takes your breath away.

Damian is obsessed with physical contact. Whether it’s his hand resting on the small of your back, his arm draped over your shoulders, or his fingers intertwined with yours, he’s always touching you. It’s both grounding for him and a subtle way to remind himself—and everyone else—that you’re his.

Your wardrobe slowly changes under Damian’s influence. He loves seeing you in luxurious silks and soft cashmere, claiming you deserve only the finest. He buys you dresses and jewelry that scream wealth and power, though he always insists that nothing could ever truly compare to your beauty.

He doesn’t tolerate secrets between you two—at all. If you’re upset, he’ll press and press until you spill your feelings, his voice gentle but firm. And if you ever lie to him? He’ll know instantly. He won’t get angry, but his silent disappointment will cut deeper than any words ever could.

Damian spoils you to the extreme, but there’s an undertone of control in it. He doesn’t say it outright, but you know he expects a certain level of reciprocation: your attention, your love, your time.

When he sleeps (if he sleeps), his arm is always around your waist. If you ever wake up in the middle of the night and try to leave the bed, he’ll instinctively pull you back, murmuring, “Stay with me, habibti.”

Despite his obsession, Damian loves you deeply and wholeheartedly. In his own way, he truly believes he’s doing what’s best for you—protecting you, cherishing you, making you feel adored. And in those quiet, tender moments when he presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers how much you mean to him, you can’t help but believe it too.

But deep down, you know: Damian doesn’t just love you. He owns you. And he will never let you go.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[milkbobatyun]

the dangers of a slipper

pairing: jingyuan x fem!reader

genre: fluff, crack

summary: slippers are a dangerous weapon, even more so when you're the one holding it

word count: 704

a/n: wrote this cus i was inspired by that one meme of the mom scolding the son and the father intervening, but both end up being scolded.

he should’ve known that he was going to be in trouble, the moment he let yanqing run off and go fight in such a dangerous duel. word travelled fast in the xianzhou, so it was no surprise that the moment yanqing and the general stepped into the house, they were in danger.

“yan. qing.” your stern voice calls from the top of the stairs. a shiver of fear runs down the boy’s spine at your tone. sure, he was the strongest swordsman of all of xianzhou, but even so, he was terrified of his mother figure.

hanging his head guiltily, yanqing steps forwards, not daring to make eye contact with you.

from the side, jingyuan watches yanqing get scolded by you, his eyes are filled with mirth and amusement as he relishes in the drama. yanqing, kneeling obediently at your feet, head bowed in shame, shoots pleading looks at jingyuan.

finally, jingyuan decides to step in, trying to save his trusted little aide from your fearful wrath. with a sigh and subtle shake of his head, jingyuan steps into the firing line your line of sight.

“now, now, love,” he began, voice smooth, though his hands were clammy with fear. “yanqing is quite capable. after all, his master is yours truly.” he boasted, puffing his chest out in confidence.

unfortunately for him, he doesn’t win the fight. instead, he finds himself a victim of the deadly slipper, a swift but light bop to his head sening him dropping to his knees, mirroring yanqing’s posture of submission. his joy has been knocked off into one of sheepish submission.

anyone who sees such a scene would find it hilarious. the most powerful swordsman and the dozing general of xianzhou, both quiet and docile as they listen to your scolding. the proud, young swordsman and jingyuan, fearless dozing general, forced into reflection under your watchful gaze and the threat of the merciless slipper.

jingyuan, who finds the courage to lift up his head, assuring you that it wasn’t a big deal. his only response is another ruthless bonk on the head from your slipper. silenced and cowed, he lowers his head again, quietly reflecting on his actions. to yanqing, jingyuan can only offer a meek smile, as his hand rubs the tender spot where your slipper had made its mark.

to add salt to his wounds, even the general’s ever-loyal companion had betrayed his trust. when jingyuan spots his lion overgrown baby, mimi, pass by, he shoots her a pleading look, hoping that she would bravely put herself between her owner and the threatening lady looming over them.

to his hurt and disbelief, mimi spares him a single glance of disinterest, before flicking her tail and plopping down beside your feet with a huff of disapproval, even going as far as shooting him a condescending glare. jingyuan’s shoulders slump, the fight fleeing his posture.

how heartwrenching. 

“mimi,” jingyuan groaned in exasperation. “what have i ever done to wrong you? did your mother give you more treats behind my back again?”

as though to mock him, mimi rubs lovingly against your leg, glee sparkling in her mischievous eyes. the large, white lion lets out a yawn, snuggling closer, as though saying, “you might’ve raised me, but boss lady here is better than you.”

letting out a dramatic gasp, jingyuan feigns a collapse. unfortunately for him, it doesn’t give him extra sympathy points. instead, he receives another repremanding whack from the slipper.

yanqing spares a single side-eye at his general, pity and suppressed amusement dancing across his face. it seemed that even the general was powerless in the face of big boss. with a pout, jingyuan sat back onto his knees, the duo casting looks of mutual pity at each other.

‘boss lady is scary,’ they telepathically communicated, determination etched on their faces. ‘next time, let’s not get caught.’

thwack. thwack.

“i know what the two of you are thinking.” you warned, slipper pointed at their faces. “don’t you dare, i’ll have mimi watch you and keep you out of trouble.”

tomorrow morning, the duo would have to explain why they have matching bumps on their head.

how embarrassing for them. well, maybe they should’ve thought twice before being stupid.

footnotes:

1. the image i was talking about:

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[yourlocalangeldoll]

*ੈ i had this this fucked thought about the recruiter/salesman and it wouldn’t leave my mind.. so here i am writing it

cw: fucking in a pool of bed near a murdered dead body lmfao, impregnating/babytrapping threats,

You’d be lying if you said that the ‘creepy’ saleman who’s been following you around wasn’t cute. He was, truly, however you weren’t one to hook up with random men, especially not when they were so adamant at getting you to play a silly game of ddakji. But something about his sly grin, subtle flirting and the way he seemed to always know where you always were managed to get your panties into a wet mess, even if it was big, bold, red flags.

But, again, you’d never go for some random guy you see and speak to a couple times. Especially not when there was a perfectly hot guy in your class who was interested in you.

What you didn’t know however, was that it wasn’t mere coincidences that the salesman managed to always find where you were, so he of course knew and watched your date with your fellow classmate. What you also didn’t know was that you already belonged to that same salesman.

Hence, your current position. Laying in a pool of blood while you stared at your dead, stabbed to death, failed date while one hand held up your hips. Cock ramming into you and against your cervix at an almost painful pace and consistency. The salesman free hand messily gripping a fistful of your hair as his hips continuously met with your ass that bounced with each thrust.

Your cheek was soaked in the puddle of blood and you could even taste the bit of blood that managed to make it’s way into your agape mouth, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Not when an absolutely beautiful man was fucking into you from behind.

“look so fucking pretty covered in blood, princess.” He teased tauntingly, sadistic smile on his face. His bloody hand that fisted your hair getting the soft strands sticky with blood. Moans begrudgingly spilled out of your lips as you lazily attempted to move away from him, mostly to be able to keep some of your own ego and for the added thrill.

Moans spilled from your lips as you curled your fingers into your palms, blood piling up between the cracks and crevices of your fingers and skin. He was fucking you so good it had you seeing stars, for such a fucking psychopath he sure knew how to fuck a girl.

“Don’t be shy, tell me how much you like it.” He taunted, tugging at your hair rougher and up before letting go and letting your head fall to the floor, blood jumping up as your head landed with a thump. The slight pang in your head was the least of your concerns as you let out a strangled moan at the harsh slap he places to your cheek. “Say it.” He demands in a firmer tone, his hand finding the back of your neck tightly.

“Yes! i love it i love it,” You rambled, toes curling and you groaning as his pace picked up and he pulled your hips both higher and closer to him.

“Knew you were a slut, getting so wet from some man you know nothing about fucking you in front of the dead body of your own date that the same man you know nothing about killed.” He continued to degrade, smirk gracing his features. So focused on your own pleasure that you weren’t even focusing on his words, just rambling continuous agreements. “Too bad you didn’t go to the games, you would’ve loved it.”

“But i prefer it this way, now you fucking belong to me. I’ll make you so dumb that you can’t even think of leaving. Yeah? Like that? Might even get you pregnant too.”

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 1

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Series Masterlist | Part 2

Chapter Summary: You encounter an unexpected visitor in your home.

Chapter Word Count: Over 2.8k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, breaking and entering, stalking, coercion, threats (not against reader), creepy and unhinged behavior, flashback, possessiveness, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: Welcome to the Turn It Up AU! Thanks to @starlightcrystalline for helping bringing this unhinged Bucky to life and @targaryenvampireslayer and @tavners for the support. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You yawned as you flipped on the light switch in your apartment and set the keys on the table. It was early, but you were ready to settle in for the night after a busy shift. Maybe you could make a cup of tea and curl up with a book to unwind after dinner. Or maybe even a nice, hot bath and a glass of wine.

If only Addison could hear your thoughts now. She’d tease you for not living it up and enjoying the single life. Nothing new.

Your mouth fell open as you walked into the living room, but no sound came out as you skidded to a stop. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest and plummeted to your stomach at the same time as your phone fell from your hand. It was like you couldn't breathe. Because a man was sitting on your sofa.

And you lived alone.

“What…” you exhaled, no louder than a whisper.

The man didn't speak as he stared at you. He didn't even blink. The staring contest gave you a moment to take in his appearance. Intimidating even though he was sitting, his dark suit looked tailored to perfection on his broad frame. Dark brown hair framed his face and matched the stubble on his face, with the exception of a few gray hairs. The dangerous glint in his hard blue eyes did little to put you at ease, but there was something soft there as well.

In any other circumstance, you would've said he was handsome.

You bent down to pick up your phone before he let out a tsk, a subtle warning for you not to try anything. “Who are you? Why are you in my home?” You asked as you straightened up, hoping your tone didn't betray how terrified you were.

Nothing looked out of place. If he was there to rob you, there wasn't much worth taking. While you weren't struggling, you were far from rich.

He smirked and leaned back further into the cushion, his eyes roving over your body. You hadn't noticed right away, but the hand draped on the back of the sofa appeared to be metal. Or was it a glove? He didn't have to stand for you to know he was larger than you. If things got physical, you wouldn't stand a chance.

“Okay…” If he wasn't going to give you any sort of answer or clue as to who he was or why he was there, you’d just leave. You could go to a neighbor’s place or Addison’s to call the cops. But he didn't seem to like it when you took a step back since he pinned you with a glare and crooked his finger, beckoning you to go to him.

Your legs wobbled with the first step, but you righted yourself as you continued to move forward. If he noticed your misstep, he didn't acknowledge it. You swallowed, worried that bile would rise to your throat from how sick you felt when you stopped in front of him. That feeling only grew when he leaned in to grip your waist and roughly pulled you toward him.

A scream escaped this time around, but his hand clamped over your mouth to smother the sound. The cold fear that trickled down your spine would stick with you for days to come as he pulled you onto his lap and shook his head with another tsk. There was no mistaking the evident lust in his gaze as his eyes bore into yours.

What was he going to do to you?

You put your hands on his shoulders to push yourself away, but the hand on your hip held you tighter. You squirmed in his lap before you brushed against the outline of his cock, your body stiffening when he let out a low groan. With wide eyes, you decided moving wasn't a wise decision.

“Keep moving your hips if you want, but don't scream again,” he warned, his deep voice rumbling from his chest as you breathed through your nose. “There’s time for that later.”

Blood rushed to your ears as your heart pounded faster. You wished you could've stopped the tears from filling your eyes, but you weren't that strong. Was he going to hurt you? Kill you? If so, why?

The brunette cooed as a tear slid down your cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? But I will gag you if I remove my hand and you scream again,” he promised, his tone lighter than a moment ago. “Blink once if you promise not to scream.”

You blinked, another tear falling from your eye.

A pleased look crossed his face when he removed his hand and you complied. “Good girl,” he whispered and you ignored the new kind of shiver that rolled down your spine. “I didn't mean to startle you, but I couldn't wait any longer to see you.”

You exhaled as he used his thumb to wipe the tears away, your body still stiff as you focused on trying to stay calm. Couldn't wait to see you? You had never seen this man before in your life. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“My name is Bucky Barnes. And don't worry. I already know your name.” He smirked as he rested his hand on your cheek. You managed not to flinch at his calloused touch. “Did you have fun at my club?”

Confusion flickered in your gaze. “What?”

“My club, The 107th. I own it. Did you have fun?” He asked again, looking at you expectantly.

The 107th was the most luxurious and expensive nightclub in the city. Chic and glamorous in design with a friendly staff who waited on people hand and foot, you felt like royalty as you hung out in the VIP section. The upscale venue wasn't one you frequented often. In fact, you had only been once.

For Addison’s bachelorette party.

“Y-Yeah,” you replied, still confused as to what he wanted. “It’s a nice club.”

He hummed, his thumb brushing across your trembling lip. “I’m glad to hear it, but you didn't seem to have as much ‘fun’ as your friends. Did you?”

You nursed your drink as you gazed out at the dancefloor from your seat. The place was packed, the strobe lights flashing over the crowd in various hues as they grinded to the beat. You adjusted the hem of your short black dress as you debated going out to dance. You decided against it since you weren't looking to hook up.

“Come on! Another shot!” Addison yelled, adjusting her tiara on her head. She was lucky the “bride to be” sash was still on straight. “Shot, shot, sh-sh-sh-shot!”

You giggled as she plopped down beside you. “I did a shot. I'm fine,” you hollered back.

Your best friend grumbled something you couldn't make out as she put her head on your shoulder. “But you aren't even driving.”

“I don't want to deal with a hangover tomorrow,” you argued, thanking the server as she brought another bottle.

“Ugh. If you won't drink, at least get laid,” Addison whined a little. “You're wearing a slutty black dress and everything.”

You looked around at the group. Addison was the only one in white since she was the bride. Everyone else wore black. They looked great, but you weren't dressed to get any sort of attention.

“Yeah! Get fucked!” Dana shouted.

“Is that encouragement or an insult?” You teased, glancing at the small blinking light in the corner of the VIP section. You didn't notice it before.

“Raise your hand if you think our girl should get laid!” Addison announced, raising her hand high and spilling some of her drink on the seat. “Whoops.”

The group raised their hands as you attempted to clean up the small mess. “I’m not hooking up with anyone tonight,” you said to their disappointment. “This night isn't about me and my love life.”

“Your love life? Babe, it doesn't exist!” Addison grabbed your left hand and held it up to stare at your bare ring finger. “I don't get it. You're the only one not engaged or married yet. And you're, like, the sweetest one in our group. And you're so pretty! It’s not fair that you don't have a man. You deserve one.”

“And sex!” Dana chimed in. “You deserve lots of sex!”

You gently pulled your hand away and pushed down the sadness that surfaced at the reminder that you were the only single one left of your friends. You didn't know why you hadn't met the right one yet. It wasn't like your standards were too high and you were a good, loyal partner. You wouldn't say you were supermodel gorgeous, but you were pretty. You knew how to have a good time.

Right?

Addison's lip wobbled when she saw the look on your face. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m sorry. I didn't mean anything by it,” she rambled, hugging you from the side. “I just want you to have what Brady and I have. I want someone to love you.”

Guilt crept in before you shook your head and flashed your best smile. You know she wasn't trying to make you feel bad and you didn't want to ruin her night. “And one day, I will. Someone will love me the way Brady loves you and I’ll love him, too,” you assured her, giving the other girls a shrug and wishing they'd stop with the pitying stares. “Shots?”

“Shots!”

Your eyes briefly went back to the blinking light before you put a small smile back on your face. Addison was having fun and that was what mattered. You could worry about yourself and your feelings tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, but did my friends and I do something wrong?” You asked, dodging his question. You booked and paid for the section well in advance. Your group danced around in the area, and behaved overall and kept to yourselves. The server got a nice tip at the end of the night.

So what was the matter?

“Not at all,” he said, tilting his head. “I’m just sorry I couldn't introduce myself to you that night.”

“I don't understand. You broke into my home just so you could introduce yourself to me?” You asked as he traced small circles on your hips, the motion making your head spin a little. “How do you even know where I live?”

He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, before he got serious again. “I have my ways. And I can be a little intense and forward at times, but you’ll get used to it,” he said, your eyes wide again. What was wrong with this man?

“Okay, Bucky,” you said slowly, seeing something wicked flash in his eyes when you said his name. “Being intense and forward doesn't excuse breaking into my home. And since my friends and I didn't do anything wrong at your club and you formally introduced yourself, I think it's time for you to leave.”

A second passed before he shook his head. “No, doll. It’s time for you to get the love life and man you deserve.”

Fingers brushed your throat as you struggled to take your next breath. “What did you say?”

“I'm going to take you out to dinner tomorrow so you can get to know me and you’re going to wear the dress I bought for you,” he explained as if he didn't hear you, nodding toward the hall. “It’s waiting for you in your bedroom and, yes, it’s your size.”

How did this man have the nerve and how long had he been in your place? “You went into my room? You-”

“And I bought you that perfume you recently ran out of. I know how much you love it. I know everything about you,” he continued, running his nose along your neck as your blood ran cold. “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun together.”

You moved back, desperate to get away as your stomach twisted. He didn't let you get far, easily yanking you close again. How did he know anything about you? How did you catch his eye?

The blinking light in the corner of the VIP section …

“And if I say no?”

Bucky pulled back, his eyes calculating as he studied you. “I’m not going to force you into going out with me. It’s your choice to say yes or no, but I want you to think carefully about that choice.”

Dread pooled in your gut. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I obviously know where you live and I can get in and out undetected,” he pointed out. You wondered now if this was the first time he had been in your place. “I also know where your friend Addison and her fiancé, Brady, live.”

A wounded sound escaped at the thought of anything happening to your friends. “Please, leave them alone.”

“And the shop you work at, I know where it’s located. Those floral arrangements you make are stunning. Your boss even gave you a raise recently. You should be proud,” he smiled.

Your eyes watered again. The man was certifiably insane. Maybe this was a sick joke or a bad dream. Soon you'd wake up in your bed.

But the iron grip on your body reminded you that this was very real.

He waved a hand dismissively. “But we both know you’ll make the right choice because you're a good girl… a smart girl,” he said like he hadn't just threatened your friends or livelihood. “Just take the night to think it over. Have a glass of wine and draw yourself a nice bath while you do.”

He surprised you by moving you from his lap to the sofa. His hands and eyes lingered on you momentarily before he released you and stood up. Towering over you, he gave you a tender smile as he buttoned his jacket.

“I’m going to lock the door behind me when I leave and I’ll be back tomorrow at 7pm so you can give me your answer. And if you try and tell anyone I was here tonight, I’ll know about it,” he said, grasping your chin when you tried to look away. “It’s taking all of my control not to drag you to bed, but I can wait a little longer.”

Fear prickled the back of your neck as you tensed up. “You couldn't just ask me out like a normal person?”

You almost regretted asking when he narrowed his eyes, but he huffed out a laugh. “Where's the fun in that?” He winked as you shrank back in your seat. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I won't hurt you. And you know what? I just thought of something. You still need a plus one for the wedding. I’m free. I’ll get a suit to match your bridesmaids’ dress. We’ll look perfect together. And Addison will be so happy that you aren't going alone.”

His tone was light and happy like it was a suggestion and not an order, but the ferocity in his gaze had you trembling. “Why are you doing this?” You asked above a whisper.

“Because I want you and I get what I want,” he said as a matter of fact, releasing your chin. “Like I said, it's time for you to get the love you deserve. And I know you'll give it to me in return.”

It was like your spirit floated out of your body as he bent down to kiss your forehead. You couldn't move or speak. Was this what shock felt like? Or was it complete and utter fear?

You stared ahead as he picked up your phone and unlocked it with your passcode. He knew that, too? “Can’t leave without giving you my phone number,” he smiled, putting his information in before he set the device down. You didn't respond. Once he was gone you could scream and cry. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of breaking down in front of him. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, 7pm. Get some rest. You'll need it.”

Even as he left you alone and locked the door behind him as promised, you didn't move from your spot as tears streamed down your cheeks. You didn't dare go to your bedroom to see the gifts he left for you, your hand shaking as you wiped at your face. The scent of his cologne lingered, as did his touch. It was like his shadow covered you, leaving you cold and afraid. Your home was no longer safe.

You weren't safe.

With his subtle threat looming over your head, you’d have no choice but to go out with him. Maybe he’d get bored of you quickly and move on. Or maybe not. You had no way of knowing. All you knew was that your average life was upheaved by the owner of The 107th.

And you were going to be his girl whether you liked it or not.

Bucky isn't wasting time. Where is he taking you on your first date? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[theorist-fox]

Promise rings

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Filthy. That's it. If you want some more humiliation kink I highly, highly, highly, highly recommend this by @/the-californicationist

Previous << || >> Next

18+

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: Simon fingers you in the rec room and you give him a promise ring. Or two—depending on how many fingers he's used.

CW: smut (fingering, finger sucking, squirting), humiliation kink, semi-public, Simon is a little mean but you love it so it's fine, dub con if you squint and mention of safeword

Masterlist 🦊 | Series Masterlist 🦊

“Don’ wan’ anyone to hear ya now, do we?” 

He hushes you, mouth to your ear. His hand is shackled to your hips by the waistband of your sweatpants, two thick fingers already slick and buried to the knuckle.

Simon holds you tightly in place, hand curled at the base of your throat as an empty threat he won’t fulfill unless you kindly ask. He has you tucked between his legs, aptly spread to accommodate your body in between, as he slowly pumps his fingers into your cunt. Your knees are conveniently hooked on each of his thighs, and they’re already trembling even if he’s just begun.

Sweat collects on your back, dampening your shirt and by extension his own too. You feel his heart rabbit in his ribcage, thrumming against your spine. Thick arms glue your back to his chest—just in case you want to make a run for it. 

As if, right?

Earlier that night, he’d caught you out of your room much past midnight, trying to sneak a cuppa in the common area. Told you something along the lines of how he should have you cleaning the toilets because you’re breaking curfew, and you bit back with a hefty dose of sarcasm about how that’s not your favorite punishment he’s ever given you.

And so, he’d grabbed you by the waist and dropped back on the couch with an arm still coiled around it. 

You’re ashamed to say it only took two fingers circling your entrance and his tongue licking wanton stripes down your neck to make you embarrassingly wet. Balaclava lifted to his nose, he’d murmured unholy things to your ear, like how he’d want to drill in your head that you can’t go and break base rules, how he can’t keep covering for you, how he’d love to teach you a lesson by splitting you in half on his cock until you can only part your lips to apologize for giving him a headache.

But alas, the location isn’t sex friendly. 

However, the notion hasn't stopped Simon from adopting a more subtle approach that would lead to a similar conclusion. Like swirling the tips of his fingers around the fluttering hole of your cunt. Or biting softly at the shell of your ear, while keeping you nice and still with a hand on your collarbones.

Doesn’t stop him now, as he curls the pads of his fingers until they press where the velvet of your walls gets rougher to the touch. 

You abandon your head back onto his shoulder, heavy puffs leave your mouth in tandem with the skilled work of his hand, one that knows every nook and cranny of you. Glossy lips start nibbling at his neck and you relish how his throat bobs each time your teeth sink a little deeper. His growing stubble scratches the tender skin of your mouth, but it’s more than fine because you like how it stings.

“Little more, please?” You breathe.

But it’s then that he stops beckoning his fingers, leaving your walls to clamp around them as they fall still. You protest by biting the tendons of his neck a bit harder, suppressing a groan into it.

“Maybe it went over your head,” he drawls, tugging the balaclava down his chin before returning his hand at the base of your throat. “But this is a punishment, love.”

He cruelly leaves your hole to desperately flutter around nothing, but ultimately uses those same fingers to wet the rest of your sex. Keeping quiet becomes less of an option when he starts rubbing idle circles on your clit. He’s neglected it all this time, making it swell with blood and causing its sensitivity to peak. 

You shudder when he first brushes over it. 

As if out of habit, you search for his lips, sure to add a nice make-out session to pair with his fingers. But your mouth only meets fabric, and you frown.

“Don’t be a bastard, Riley.”

He hums, turning away to press a kiss to your cheek through the balaclava. “Only way I know.”

You pout. “Just one.”

“Behave.”

With a sigh, you relent. There’s no use in begging for something he won’t give you. You’ve learned to recognize what you can get from Simon, and what will be out of reach for the time being. If he’s decided he doesn’t want to kiss you, you will not get a kiss. 

But it doesn’t mean that you can’t be a little petty about it. 

You tug at his mask with your teeth, catching his lower lip too, and sharply bite into it.

In response, Simon slaps your pussy. A wet thwack echoes in the silent rec room. It sends tingles up your spine, and you hiss and gasp against his lips. Your nerves are currently haywire, and they cannot discern whether that rush was due to pain or pleasure.

You pull back only to pout, but it's obvious to both of you that there is no animosity in your eyes. In fact, Simon’s gaze falls to your lips with lust embedded in his pupils, and he takes that slightly jutting lower lip of yours as a little plea for him to give you what you need. Which is why he brushes his wet fingertips to your clit again, and again, until he can feel you soften in his grasp with a sequence of breathy, surrendering sighs. Only then, when you feel like molten wax in his hands, he switches to more rewarding, steady circles.

His focus leaves your lips only to take in your eyes. They’re diligently trained on him, because you know he likes to look you dead in the eye when he’s making you tremble to the bone. Eye contact is the only means he uses to communicate with you in the fog that is your relationship.

He’s more absorbed than you are, your eyes getting glassier by the minute. You want to keep it up, to hold your own against his stare that defies you to crack him open and peel the layers and understand. But you and him both know that is the last straw for you. He’s made you sensitive and supple and dull. Your head rolls back against his shoulder, and you push back, once again, the discovery of Simon Riley.

You breathe softly against his neck, trying to give yourself some containment due to the location you’re in. Nails dig in his forearms until they mark pink crescents over his tattoos, hoping that releasing tension through touch would help you keep your mouth shut.

Simon knows you still have something up your sleeve to use against him, because his weakness is to have you yearning for him as much as he does you—to have you pleading for his words, his touch, his presence, like he internally does each time you walk into his same space. 

You’ve never had a problem begging. When you’re confident enough about your person, pride doesn’t even get involved—they’re just words, and if he likes them, then so be it.

As long as he makes you come until your head spins.

“Please, Simon.” You whimper, putting up that act he knows all too well. As if he’d believe you’re truly submitting to him—but it’s fine, to be honest.

He's never wanted you to bend for him. Simon likes that fire that singes your pupils when you’re on active duty, or when you fuck him. He wouldn’t dream of snuffing it out, not when he’s more than aware that it makes him glow, too.

“Bit louder.” He rasps against your ear.

And you oblige, going as far as to wet your lips and bat your pretty lashes at him. Minx.

“Please? I’ll suck your cock after.”

Simon huffs. “Sellin’ it alrigh’.”

He loves to feel the stiffness of your clit under the pads of his fingers, how the more he skims them over it, the harder it gets—as if he’s flipping a switch. Which he sort of is, isn’t he? You’ve turned from the snarky little minx that could make him crack a smile or two, into this soft clay molding under the warmth of his touch.

“Wanna cum,” you sigh sweetly against his skin, sucking tenderly at the exposed flesh on his neck. “Please, Simon, let’s go to my room.”

He tuts at you, slowing down with his hand only to get you annoyed.

“We’re gonna stay ‘ere,” he murmurs, softly shaking his head so that the fabric of the balaclava scratches your skin. 

Then, out of the blue, you feel fingers dig into your jaw and pulling your mouth away from his neck. He forces your eyes forward, where the door of the rec room opens to the dark hallway. 

“You’re gonna cum on my hand, yeah? Soak it nicely.” He rasps against your ear, “An’ you’re gonna be quiet ‘bout it.”

Your cunt flutters.

“Need you sharp. Tha' clear?” He says, commanding as ever. “Answer, Sergeant.”

It almost makes you unravel then and there. Your eyes roll back and your hips buck against his hand. But you still have bits of reason floating around that mush he’s turned your brain into. 

He leaves the grip around your jaw and returns his hand at the base of your throat, thumb and middle finger gently pressing at its sides. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder with blissful abandon.  

“Cameras,” you mumble, sounding a little stupid and definitely on the verge of surrender. “There’re cameras.”

His response comes swiftly. “Not pointin’ at the sofa.”

Your chest stutters. He feels it under the weight of his palm. Your soft moans quiet down, too. A telltale sign of your beautiful brain whirring its cogs again. How he loves it, more than your body. Outwitting his every move. A true opponent—or ally, if only he’d allow you a little closer.

“You planned this, haven’t you?” You whisper cleverly, face still hidden in the crook of his neck and chest still heaving under his hand. Still affected by him, and yet your voice sounds steady and smooth.

And you’re so right. He knows this place by heart and could walk around it blindfolded. When he saw you in your grey sweatpants and an old white t-shirt, fumbling lazily with the electric kettle, blood had rushed so quickly to his cock he thought he could have fainted.

There is something about you invested in this almost boring, domestic light that always strikes him breathless. When the outline of the pillow fabric is imprinted in your cheek. When your hair is tousled by the bedsheets.

You look good in uniform too, all safely cradled in Kevlar and padded in neoprene. But it’s when you look drowsy and soft that sends him spiraling.

With the calculating mind of the pathological control freak he is, he’d retraced the position of the cameras in his head, and promptly decided to have you then and there.

The silence following your question must not be as subtle as he thinks. In seconds, you go from pliantly soft, into a squirming mess trying to escape him. Simon manages to hold you still only because he overpowers you in strength.

“What is it, mh?” You hiss, pushing at his forearm. “Been following me, L.T.?”

He hadn’t. Truly, he’d just stumbled upon you. It wouldn’t be too odd—he’s a sleepless ghost, after all, oftentimes found wandering around base at ungodly hours. The fact that he’d found you in his usual haunting grounds had been mere luck—true, blessed luck.

“You are-”

“Shut up.”

“-Fucking obsessed, and you-”

“Don’t.”

“-can’t even admit it.“

“Sergeant.”

“Coward.”

He plunges those two fingers back inside, punching a gasp out of you, and he gives no time for your hole to readjust to the stretch. Simply, he starts dragging against the front of your walls with a voracity that could be mistaken for hate, if you didn’t know him better.

You stiffen suddenly, arching your back off his chest. Teeth catch your bottom lip in an almost bloodthirsty grip—as much as you want to scream at him, you don’t want to get caught either.

He rams relentlessly into you until you're melting once again. His mouth is painfully pressed against your ear, and if the balaclava wasn't in the way, he would be lapping at whatever piece of flesh he could land on.

“Y’re a clever little thing, uh?” He groans huskily. “Always got the fuckin’ answer ready.”

You laugh under your breath, perhaps because you’re getting exactly what you want, or perhaps because you’ve been reading him more keenly than he thought and you've finally uncovered some new information that has been shrouded in darkness up until now.

He doesn’t care, and he gives in to you.

“Oh, you love it, you bastard,” you bite back breathlessly, which only makes his cock twitch in the tight space of his briefs.

“Smug little cunt.” He breathes in your ear, but you swear there isn’t an ounce of hostility in it.

You turn your head to meet his eyes. The playful smile on your fucked out face is straight out of his dreams—he's seen it so many times and yet it never ceases to amaze him. Nor does the way your hair bounces off your face in recoil from the frantic work of his hand. Or how your cheeks turn ruddy for him. Or how your lashes cast heavy shadows down your face.

“You love this smug little cunt, too.” You breathe, smugly.

Just proving his words, really.

“Don’t get cocky,” he hums in your ear. “Might gonna have to prove ya wrong, then.”

The heel of his hand rolls against your puffy clit in tandem with his fingers, because he wants you to come undone impossibly quick now that you’ve caught him red-handed.

It’s enough to make you forget you’re having a battle of wits with him. Your eyes roll back again, and your head falls limply onto his shoulder.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you wheeze, and he takes that as a sign to not stride away from the pace he’s taken.

His hand at the base of your neck tightens slightly, causing your breathy moans to lodge in your throat. Your cunt clenches right then, and your lips tug in a smile—because you love it, and he knows.

His contorted little mess. His cunning fox, strutting around the base with so much confidence in her gait, looking seemingly untamable. But when you're in his clutches, you're nothing but his pet, the one who enjoys having her leash tugged a little more firmly than socially acceptable.

“S-Simon.” Yes. Yes. C’mon, sweetheart. C’mon. “Simon – oh God –“

You’re being too loud. He doesn’t care if he gets caught with his pants down. He dares someone to confront him about it. Simon doesn’t revel in fickle things like dignity, not after life has done its goddamn worst to strip him of it.

But you? Hell, not you. He cherishes your privacy, in spite of how this whole predicament might make it look otherwise. On top of that, he selfishly likes to think he’s the only one with the delightful honor to see you so flushed and breathless, moaning his name like it’s the only one you know.

“Told ya to stay quiet.” And he stuffs two fingers in your mouth.

You groan and suck them back to your throat, until his pads graze the soft palate at the back. You gag around them, and he almost comes in his pants, wishing it was his cock instead. 

“Bite, don’t shout.” 

And you do. You bite the flesh around the base of his fingers, while his other ones are bringing you closer to the edge. An edge you’ve touched plenty of times with him, but one you’d rather not reach in such a public spot.

Granted, it’s night. It would be a fateful event for someone to walk by—rare, if not unique.

But still.

“Simon,” you moan, voice muffled around his fingers. “Fuck’s sake, no’ ‘ere.”

He chuckles, because he knows.

And you confirm it, by getting all agitated in his arms, eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. Your hand curls around the wrist of his offending hand, still ramming deep into your sex.

“Simon, stop –” You croak, slightly pulling back to speak. “M’gonna cum—stop.”

He doesn’t. That’s not the safe word, is it? Say it, and he’ll stop stock still in less than a heartbeat. 

But you won't, right, sweet thing? No, you won’t. Because it feels too good, doesn’t it? 

“Red?” He rumbles, voice low and measured to give you the impression that he still has some semblance of control left.

You cry around his fingers until your brows touch. Tears prickle the corners of your eyes, and maybe, he thinks, you like this. The thought of getting caught. The thought of someone seeing you come for him, shaking and bucking your hips like you’re a fucking cat in heat.

His fingers don’t relent, because that tiny word still hasn’t left your lips.

“Red?” He insists, as he feels your cunt clench impossibly tight each time he speaks. “Answer.”

But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head with a sob, and Simon would bet his fucking right hand that it’s out of pleasure more than anything else.

He chuckles, low and deep. “Dirty fuckin’ slag.”

He’d recognize that fucked out look anywhere. As if you’re struggling to breathe, eyes unfocused and glassy, lustrous lips puckered right above the knuckle. He regrets refusing your kiss, because he's sure they’d look even more delectable after he’s bitten them to bits.

“You like this, uh?” He rasps against your ear. “Wan’ an audience all for ya, yeah? Wan’ the team to pop in to see you like this?”

You shake your head, muffling a cry around his fingers. 

He tuts at you. “Don’t lie to me, love.”

You squirm and moan, sniffling with your nose as tears travel down your temples and into your hairline. You nod, then, because you’re a good sergeant and you follow orders as dutifully as you hand them out—every time.

"Wan' em all to 'ave a wank as you cum 'round my fingers, don't you?" He croons, even if the thought of someone seeing you like this has his blood boiling.

Drool gathers at the corners of your mouth as you buck your hips to intensify the work of his hand. And you nod vigorously, once again, with your eyes rolled back. Heavy puffs leave your nostrils, shallow and quick.

Simon hums a groan deep from his chest. He loves to see you break, loves to see you crack so easily. Doesn’t care if your mouth is quieted by his fingers, because your cunt is so wet it’s making sounds of its own that are enough for his greedy, insatiable ears.

His forearm starts cramping but he'll be damned if he stops, keeping his ring and middle finger inside as he presses them to the front wall of your vagina, while rhythmically dragging them in and out in a dance he knows will make you shatter.

And then you tense, corded neck tilted back. A long, agonizing moan escapes your stuffed mouth, and your walls signal your orgasm before your lips do. You ripple around his fingers, initially making movements hard, if not impossible. He easily overcomes that obstacle and keeps fucking you raw with the help of your come collecting on his palm. You’re so wet he barely has to try.

He looks at your profile on his shoulder. At the fucked out look in your eyes, misty and unfocused. Keenly listens to the moans you're trying to contain, as they turn into wheezing mewls. Feels the vice grip your pulsating cunt has on his fingers, the indents left by your teeth on his other hand.

Fuck it, you're gorgeous.

You come back down from the high with a wet gasp choked by his knuckles. Your nose is stuffy and it’s probably a little hard to breathe—but he’s merciful and takes out his fingers. 

Or, at least, tries. 

Your head lunges forward before he’s fully pulled them out. You gag when the tips touch the back of your throat again.  

Simon’s eyes widen but he doesn’t waste a second.

He resumes the pace that has already made you come, watching with rapt attention how your face doesn’t even look like yours anymore. There’s spit on your lips, and tears down your eyes. He’s already seen you wrecked, folded in half on his bedsheets. But there’s something even more unhinged about having you panting in the common area of a high security military base. It feeds him a great deal of power—you’re doing this for him, you’re putting yourself on the line because of him. 

That, of course, requires a reward. 

“Look at you,” he croaks. “Gimme one more, yeah? One more.”

Your legs squirm and you kick your heels against the sofa in sudden overstimulation, the hold of your hands on his arm turns into a death grip that paints your knuckles white and his flesh red. You could be skinning him alive, and he wouldn’t stop the onslaught on your pussy. 

He can hear you heaving, sees your pebbled nipples brush against the soft cotton of your t-shirt. Your teeth are sinking into his flesh, and he will most likely be sporting bruised bite marks on his fingers for a few days. He rolls his wrist to cause fluctuations in the pressure on your swollen clit and against your walls. Your hips swing together with his hand. He knows where to touch, you know how to guide him—it’s an intimate dance, and it belongs to you two only.

Simon scratches his cheek against your temple to collect the tears that are falling into your hairline.

He flattens the heel of his hand against your clit, which is once again a stiff kink of nerves—he’s shocked by how far he can push you before he wrings you dry. 

Your eyes touch his own, but you’re not even looking. Still unsated, still greedy for more—you love this, don’t you? Too much on your shoulders: responsibilities, a haunting past and an uncertain future. This job gives you very few rewards for the effort you put into it. That’s why you love it, when he brushes away every fear and uncertainty with a simple roll of his hand. 

He starts beckoning his fingers inside of you, teasing and pressing against that one overstimulated spot that has already made you come. The squelching noises coming from your pussy are enough to make his cock leak as he keeps pressing and sliding against your ass.

“Leakin’ like a fuckin’ faucet.” He rasps against your ear.

You moan around his fingers, and it vibrates through his bones. Your eyes are hooded, lushes clumped with tears, and your body is completely abandoned and at his mercy. You trust him to ruin you in the best ways, and he can only comply.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he whispers in your ear. “Could cum just by lookin’ at ya.”

Feeding you this knowledge seems enough to tip you over the edge again.

He wishes he’d taken this to another room like you asked before, because you slip into a second orgasm with a choked “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck!” muffled by his digits that will haunt him forever.

A rushing flood invades his palm, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at the sight. You come spraying liquid, tense and quivering in his arms. The soft grey marl of your sweats first darkens with tiny speckles, and then it blends into a larger spot covering the crotch of your pants.

Breath is caught in your throat, and if he wasn't witnessing the strength of your orgasm firsthand, he'd be dead worried by the look on your face. Pinched and overwhelmed.

"There it is." He murmurs, low and gravelly, "Fuck, tha's a sight. Fuckin' lovely."

He leaves your hole to flutter emptily only to skim the pruny pads of his fingers on your clit to prolong your orgasm, watching mesmerized how your squirt keeps staining the fabric.

It’s impossibly hot and it makes something in his head tick at the sight, almost like a needle puncturing his brain. His cock twitches helplessly as he unconsciously keeps rubbing the swollen head against your plump rear, before an unexpected warmth floods through him and invades each one of his nerves. 

He tastes blood on his tongue for how hard he’s been biting his cheek. 

Fuck.

A ragged breath around his fingers tells him you’ve returned to yourself. You soften against him like a doll prettily placed on his lap. 

"Breathe," he says softly, watching keenly as you come back to your senses. "Slow n' steady, love. Deep breaths. Tha's it."

His fingers slow, guiding you down to earth. Your eyes are hooded, glossy and now apparently sated, blood collected in the apples of your cheeks. You’re looking at him too, now gently suckling on his fingers to keep quiet, nostrils flaring to breathe as he's instructing you.

You’re so beautiful he forgets he has to be a bastard around you, or you’ll come and try to steal the heart you unknowingly already own.

Simon takes his fingers out of your mouth, not without smearing the spit they collected all over your lips first. You pant and smile. And apparently, you don't care that he's wearing the mask, because you lean in and kiss where his lips would be. Just a peck. He can’t fathom giving you more, not now. Not when his head is so confused, thoughts and feelings twisted in an imprecise knot. He simply kisses you back, silently cursing the fabric separating your skin from his, but ultimately doing nothing about it. Then, he helps you stand. 

“Go on, now.” He murmurs, patting your thigh. “S’after curfew.”

You're looking a little out of it. Simon can't help but feel a brief moment of guilt for leaving you to fend for yourself, when your legs look like they're made of jelly and your head still swims in ecstasy.

You wobble to the table, flattening your hands on the faux wood to regain your balance. Head bowed and still panting, your hair falls to frame your face and hides it from his sight. You feel dizzy, blinking your eyes to center yourself. The pleasure ebbs away slowly, languid, like molten lava leaving the crater of a volcano, dripping down your quivering legs scorching hot, until it puddles at your feet.

Differently, Simon doesn’t move from the sofa. A hand comes to adjust his crotch, and he lifts his hips to get into a more comfortable angle. He stays like that, legs spread as the ghost of you still sits in between them. His thumb grazes the fabric of the sweatpants he uses as loungewear, and he looks at you. Bent at the waist, wet, messy and panting—his name is written over you with a big, fat indelible marker. 

You’re his, his, his. No matter what you say, or what he says—you’re his.

Simon’s eyes are dark and heavy with lust and a tinge of anger, and you can feel them like lasers drawing your profile as if he’s carving it into marble. Whichever thought about him was about to bloom, however, is smothered to cinders when you spot the huge wet patch between your thighs.

Your eyes widen and you turn, if possible, even more flushed. Your head snaps upward and to him in a flash. Your eyes are burning, and Simon can’t help but think he’d love for you to scorch him to the bone.

“Y-You fuckin’ bastard.” You point an accusing finger in his direction, walking awkwardly as the sodden cotton of your knickers sticks uncomfortably to your pussy.

“Go on, I said.” He murmurs in his usual, jaded way. “S’late, you’re gonna get caught.”

You’re infuriated. Incensed. He wants to fuck you all over, flatten your tits to that same table, and ram into you while you shower him with curses and come.

“How am I s’posed to walk around like I’ve pissed myself!”

You’re whisper yelling. Smoke is billowing out of your ears. Your eyes turn crimson and you’re growing horns and a pointy tail.

You look beautiful.

But he simply rolls his neck and keeps his big hand draped over his groin. 

“With your legs, love.”

And you stomp to him until you’re standing once again between his thighs.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Simon throws back his head onto the top of the couch and looks at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown into a black hole that sucks the light of his brown irises.

“Can’t kill a ghost.”

"Oh, shut your gob with that shit.” You spit with vitriol. 

“Not so smug now, uh?”

You suck in a sharp breath.

“You-you fuckin’ wanker.” You hiss, but the embarrassed stutter makes you look like a puffed up cat more than a viper. “I fuckin’ hate you.”

“Bet you do.”

“I’m a respected sergeant, I can’t go ‘round like I’ve piss-”

“That all?”

You glower at him. If he didn’t know you like the back of his hand, he would cower. Shame for you that he does, and the irate flame in your eyes only makes his hunger grow because he knows how voracious you are when you’re furious. 

“Told ya t’was a punishment, didn’t I?” He deadpans, “Jog on, now.”

Once again, you splutter. It would be such an entertaining sight, one he’d relentlessly tease you for, if he was in the mood. But he isn't, and in fact, he needs you to leave as soon as humanly possible.

You clench your fists, probably ready to strike him right in his mug. Totally deserved it, he’d let you get him straight on the nose. 

But then you huff and strike you don’t, stomping your foot on the floor like an angry child. Cleverly, you decide to put your hands to better use and tug down the hem of your oversized t-shirt instead—trying to cover, as best as you can, the wet patch on the crotch of your pants.

Scowling, you threaten him with a sizzling “I’m gonna make you pay for it, Riley.”

You turn around, marching away with ire in each one of your steps as if the soles of your feet could melt the linoleum of the floors by sheer, angry heat.

“Sure you will.” He murmurs to himself, knowing fully well he’s started a battle he’ll gladly let you win. 

Simon waits for the noise of your steps to disappear before he sinks into the couch with a defeated sigh. Tugging off the balaclava, he runs a sloppy hand across his face. He can still smell you on his fingers and something in his stomach knots.

Wearily, his eyes travel down his torso until they meet the hand covering the crotch of his sweatpants. With his thumb, he traces the purple indents left by your teeth at base of each finger. Tomorrow, he’ll wear them proudly. A weird promise ring, sure. But yours, nonetheless.

He lifts his hand slowly and scowls.

An incriminating stain stares back at him. Untouched, softening cock sensitive to the barest of movements he makes. 

Looks like you’ll meet again tomorrow in the laundry room, first thing in the morning.

[evilgwrl]

What abt 141xpregnant!reader (or not pregnant, ur choice, I dont mind!!) And someone gets into their house and reader is all alone so she calls the boys while they're out (somewhere idk)

can be angst or fluff <3

Thank you for this idea, I hope I did it justice for you anon <3

CW: Threats of violence (not against reader), break ins, fluff

You stared at yourself in the glossy reflection, soaked rag scented with the unmistakable smell of cleaning spray dabbing at the final fingerprint, a satisfied grin on your face. You hobbled to the kitchen, ankles slightly swollen as a hand rubbed against the plushness of your belly, a gentle kick answering you back.

You felt content. You were six months pregnant and surrounded by four incredibly devoted men (who were currently running all the errands you could no longer do). Gentle feet padded against the wooden floorboards, your back humming with a subtle ache as you groaned, your body flopping down against your comfiest pillow.

Wispy lashes fell over curled lids, the zip of a fan hushing you to sleep. You awoke to rustling, your window cracked open for fresh air.

“Stupid foxes,” you muttered, rolling towards the window to shoo the pesky creatures away from your vegetables. Your heart halted, however, face a pasty shade of terror as you watched a figure, much larger than a fox, break the glass to your back door, the stone floor of your patio humming against the shards of crystal.

Pesky fingers reached for your phone, a monotone strain coming from your throat as you phoned for Price, eyes now a glassy bowl of unshed tears.

“Hey love, you ok?” The normally comforting tone only spurred your anxiety as you choked out a sob, an instant call of your name blasting through the speakers of the phone.

“There’s someone inside the house,” you choked out, your voice a mere whisper as you huddled in the corner, fingers twisting the lock on your bedroom door.

“Call Gaz in the meantime; we’ll be home in 10 minutes.”

You were a whimpering mess, swollen body trembling in your ensuite as Gaz attempted to calm you down, telling you the police were on the way. There was a commotion downstairs, kitchenware clattering as you presumed, he was rummaging around. Timber creaked under a lead foot, stairs straining under the man's weight as he stomped upstairs.

“Kyle, he’s upstairs,” you trembled, your throat constricted with a coil of anxiety as your limbs tremored, a protective hand strung across the swell of your belly. The Sergeant’s voice brought you no comfort as you heard the door to the nursery swing open, the squeak of a baby toy rattling against the wood. Your gut was burning, tender hands clutching against the marble counter in a motion to hold yourself up, your knees locking up as you clattered to the floor.

Price’s hands were stained permanent ivory, his knuckles protruding from broken skin as he pulled down your street, head beams flickering at the cars before calloused tyres screeched down a turning lane, the bulky SUV swerving into the driveway. Simon had rummaged through the glovebox on the first ring of your call, massive frame bouldering out of the unparked car as his keys twitched in the door, the steady frame of Soap in toe.

Rough fingers wrapped around carbon steel, silent footsteps thrumming against wallpaper as you shifted in the bathroom, gentle sobs wracking through your body.

You were unaware of what was going on outside your bedroom, the faint sounds of a man’s voice, unrecognisable through the thickness of the walls only spurring anxiety shrill of terror through you.

You knew they would never let anything happen to you, but what if something happened to them in the process? Sure, they were trained for combat but that doesn’t make you invincible.

You clutched your stomach, humming to yourself in an attempt to calm down.

Simon was livid, they all were. The house you had built for them all years ago was now tainted. A place you should be safe in was no longer available.

Soap’s voice was sharp as he entered the nursery, enjoying the twisted satisfaction of watching the intruder still as the safety of the gun unlocked.

“You make a f’cking movement and I’ll put a bullet in ye head, ye hear me?”

There was a slow nod from the man as Ghost entered, slamming him against the wall with a crash, his hands tied behind his back as he lunged him down the stairs. There was a faint echo of sirens in the distance as you sheltered yourself, still unsure of what was happening.

There was a rattle against the door, a soft voice calling out to you.

“It’s just me, love. Open the door.”

The doorknob felt crumbly under your touch, fingers barely able to twist it. Price’s body was warm as he engulfed your shaking figure, wet cheeks staining his shirt in a soppy mess. Thick hands grabbed at the plush of your thighs, lifting you with ease into burly arms, the tickle of his moustache against your ears as he lolled a soft apology to you.

“Shouldn’t ‘ave left you alone dove, feel like I failed you.”

The captain’s heart was bleak, an ephemeral feeling of guilt worn on his shoulder before you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, soggy lips placing a feathery kiss upon the worn skin.

“It’s not your fault, John. Could’ve happened to anyone on our street.”

The night was slow, Gaz consoling the police as Soap and Price comforted you, tending to your every need as Ghost stood outside, dark eyes glaring into the back of the police van at the man. You assured them you were okay, delicate hands rubbing your belly as you cooed, your heart finally returning to its normal bpm.

Once the blaring of red and blue lights simmered to a halt, and Ghost had run out to get a replacement door (otherwise, he wouldn’t have slept from keeping guard all night), you could fully relax. Your body was flush against the comfort of your L-shaped couch and Simon’s calloused back, fingers running through the roots of your hair.

Your eyes succumbed to temporary slumber at the touch, scalp tingling from the simplicity of gentle tugs. You were carried to bed, arms balled at the soft cotton of Soap’s shirt you had stolen. You nestled quickly into the comfort of your bed, lashes flat against your cheeks.

They all watched you, hands folded as they watched the rise of your chest, a flutter of breath leaving your lips every time it fell.

“Beautiful, ain’t she?” Price mumbled, cerulean eyes lapping in the mere sight of you, a proud glow comforting him knowing you were theirs.

“Damn right,” Ghost grunted.

There was a creak against the floorboards as your eyes opened, your voice delicate with sleep, “Will you guys stay tonight? All of you? Please.”

“Shoot us in the head if we ever say no to anything you say,” Soap uttered, a gentle slap whacking around his head from Simon as Kyle leaned into the bed, heavy hands immediately wrapping around your swell belly.

The night ended with whispers of affirmation and one happy girl.

[always-just-red]

Hi! Hope this finds you well. Saw the request and wanted to ask for a Yandere Sylus with player reader. Like Sylus knows Mc is a player and he is a game character. When mc was gone for too long, Sylus gets impatient.

If you can do it, of course. If no, ignore this. Wish you writing ideas and inspiration

Hi! Hope you're well too, anon! Sorry for the long wait on this one, got really stuck with it and wanted to make sure I did it justice-- it was such a cool idea! (Also I know L&D has the microphone feature but I wanted to have fun with the limited communication of the player here, so no it doesn't, actually!! 🥰)

Fourth Wall

Sylus x Player!Reader 🩸

Summary: L&D is getting more and more real with each update. This is a new update... right?

Genre: idk really?? real world player x character

Warnings/Additional tags: yandere themes, player!reader, gender neutral, fourth-wall breaking, non-canon, swearing, mild threat, possessiveness, manipulation, Sylus is a little OOC here (we all know he's a sweetheart really!!)

| Word count: 1.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Your phone lights up with a notification.

Sylus: Are you in a good mood, sweetie? The weather’s nice, so let’s go out.

It makes you smile, even though you’ve seen it before. You haven’t played Love and Deepspace for two weeks or so, and you’re already thinking about how many dailies you’ve missed— more specifically, how many diamonds you’ll be short of going into the next event. You had a couple thousand saved, you think? It’s probably fine.

The truth is, you don’t really have time for it these days. Escaping reality with fiction is fun, but it’s just that: make believe. Reality’s still waiting for you on the other side, and recently? All that escaping has finally caught up to you. You have a real life. Responsibilities. Yay!

But you are in a good mood, and the weather is nice, so you’ll log in for old time’s sake. Your finger hovers over the app, but something makes you hesitate. You’ve got some emails you should probably get back to, first. Oh— and weren’t you supposed to call your friend, too?

Another notification:

Sylus: Take your time, kitten.

A new one? It’s just text on a screen, but you’re reading it— Sylus’s voice in your head—and you just know it’s dripping sarcasm. Before you have any time to dwell on it, your phone lights up with more notifications.

Sylus: I’m going to count to three.

Cute. He’s not actually going to—

Sylus: One…

Oh.

Sylus: Two…

Really?

Sylus: Three.

Ok.

You tap on the app, weirdly motivated by the time pressure given that it’s coming from a man who doesn’t actually exist. He smirks at you knowingly from the kindled moment you’d set as the loading screen, his crimson eyes playful. You’re not particularly patient either, so your fingers drum along the surface of your desk as you wait, your gaze caught between his and the slowly moving loading bar.

Come on… come on… It finally loads, and you enter the game with another apathetic tap. Sylus stands, waiting— a dark figure framed by the otherwise light and dreamy aesthetics of the Destiny Café. You smile to yourself; it’s just gone lunch, and you half expected to find him sprawled in the usual armchair, fast asleep.

He crosses his arms. “The countdown worked, huh? What are you— five?”

You scoff and give his head a flick. He chuckles, running a hand through his hair as though you’d struck him hard enough to ruffle it. It’s kind of cool that you get some unique dialogue when you’ve not logged in for a while, although… have you missed an update or something? The animation feels smoother. More lifelike, now you think about it.

Sylus stares back at you, his lips playing into a subtle smile. His arms are crossed again and he tilts his head like he’s enjoying your scrutiny. “Something wrong, sweetie?” he asks.

Not really. You zoom in with a practiced sweep of your fingers so you can get a better look at him. His eyes flit downwards, over you— equally shameless— and then he’s meeting your gaze as he steps forward, closing the distance. He can’t see you, but you still can’t bring yourself to look away from him, and you’re not really thinking about the animation anymore.

He lifts a finger to poke at the screen, as if he’s caught you daydreaming and wants you back. You poke him, too: a softer, more affectionate boop on the nose. You can’t help laughing to yourself as his face screws up beneath the touch. This game is getting a little too real.

With a sigh, you zoom out so you can set about collecting your daily log-in rewards. Sylus seems fine— standing idly by as your attention drifts about elsewhere. He knows the drill. He can wait. Speaking of waiting… it’s also been a while since you’ve seen the other guys, and you’re struck by a pang of nostalgic fondness. You might as well say hi while you’re here.

You hit the button to change who you want to meet in the café.

It doesn’t do anything.

Weird. You hit it again. Then again— no change.

Sylus is holding his chin as he regards where your finger aimlessly meets the screen. It’s like he’s looking at… the button? “Oh dear,” he sympathises, “that feature appears to have stopped working.”

You don’t really hear him, honestly. You’ve never had a bug like this, and you’re determined to overcome it with sheer, stubborn persistence. Is it your phone? You test the theory by jabbing Sylus’s chest, and he glances down, apparently feeling it. You try the button again. Then six more times.

Sylus wanders closer to you. “You’re hurting my feelings, sweetie. Am I not enough for you?”

Ok but why isn’t this working? You’re still trying the button; your hope has turned to frenzied disbelief.

“Stop.”

A single syllable, concise as a punch and just as effective. You do stop.

Sylus’s voice is lower. Darker. “Good,” he praises, but he doesn’t sound happy. “Someone’s gotten bolder in their absence, it would seem. I do hope you haven’t forgotten to whom you belong, kitten. Although—” his smile is different than before— “I’d be more than happy to provide a… reminder.”

It’s an innocuous word but not the way he says it. Threats are just intimate promises and he toys with the fact like a crow enamoured by something that catches the light. He’s not going to grow tired of it for a long, long time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, sensing you gawping. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out? What all… this is?” He indicates the space around him with a wave of his hand. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised the others still haven’t grasped it.” He reconsiders. Smirks. “I misspoke— I’m not surprised.”

Does he mean the game? The other LIs?  

“Honestly, kitten,” he continues with a tut and a shake of his head, “you’ve been far from a gracious host. I’m not a plaything, you know. Well…” He’s showing teeth with a sneer. “Not the sort you can throw away, anyhow.”

God, are you really being scolded by a video game character for having other responsibilities? The worst part is that you actually feel bad. You do care about him. You wish you could tell him you care about him.

“Are you even listening?” he sighs.

Shit. Yeah. You can’t say anything he would hear— as far as you know— so you give his hand a poke. He casts his gaze downwards, stretches his fingers with a contemplative flex, then raises his hand so it can be nursed by the other. Is he protecting it from you? Or is he protecting you from it?

“If we’re to keep playing this game of ours, I think it only fair we lay down some rules,” he states. “Firstly—” because it isn’t up for debate— “you will come here every day, just like you used to. I have nothing to do, you see, and if you leave me to my own devices I might just have to find a way into that captivating little world of yours. So I can… investigate what’s keeping you from me.”

Investigate. Another innocuous word he wields like a weapon.

“Secondly,” he continues, nodding towards the broken button on your user interface, “you had better stop seeing the others. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and we wouldn’t want to worry about them connecting any dots, now would we? Besides…” He approaches you again, leaning in close. “I don’t share what’s mine.”

Your breath is caught in your throat and you’re so glad you don’t need to speak. You don’t think you could; if you tried to get words out they’d be unintelligible.

“So,” Sylus drawls, filling your silence, “how about it? Still want to play?”

This time it is a question, but only because he knows your answer. You’re struck by a flash of inspiration, and you communicate in one of the few ways you can— navigating the in-game menus until you can get your message across.

There’s a ping. Sylus retrieves his phone from his pocket, and after a moment of scrolling, he smiles. You can’t see his screen, but you know what he’s looking at: a grumpy crow with an animated bead of sweat and a dispassionate gaze to go with it. That it? it asks.

He still looks far too smug, so you beckon him over with a relax time interaction, watching your character’s hand outstretch on your behalf. He steps forward, linking his fingers with yours, and this animation you know. You tug him closer, except… he doesn’t budge.  

His eyes are fixed to where your hands are linked, and he runs a thumb over your skin as though he’s savouring the touch.

Did they change the animation?

“Oh, sweetie,” he sympathises with a click of his tongue. He looks up at you— holds your gaze as he presses a deliberately slow kiss to your wrist. “This is going to be fun.”

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere! Game Show Host Hcs

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

A/N: I saw this request and was like this is such a cool request but what if we made him an evil game show host. Like one that would put contestants in deadly scenarios.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host who kidnaps all of the contestants and forces them to play this twisted game that he created for money. Don’t worry though, he rigged the entire game to be in your favor. It was discreet enough for the viewers not to really care but apparent enough for you to notice the favoritism. Did you care? Hell no!! As long as you were getting paid you and survived this whole ordeal could give a rats ass about what happened next. Even when you do manage to get certain questions wrong, he will just brush it off and pretend that it was just a warm up question. The contestants are definitely seething whenever they see this happening.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host is a psychopath by nature. In each round, he presents the contestants with morally ambiguous dilemmas, enticing them with promises of grand rewards while dangling the threat of dire consequences for failure. Whether it's forcing them to choose between betraying a fellow contestant or facing a treacherous obstacle, he revels in their anguish, relishing the psychological torment he inflicts.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host is doing everything in his power to make sure that you win the game. He can’t have his poor baby feeling upset if they fail to win the grand prize. He would absolutely give out the most insane questions that practically no one knows the answer to. The punishment for getting a few questions wrong is mutilation of certain body parts and if you get too many questions wrong then you’ll end up being sent to your death. While everyone is basically being tortured in their punishments, he’d never allow that to happen to you. At most he’d probably just flick your forehead and call it a day. I imagine that most of the people watching the show are people who paid for the contestants to be kidnapped and be brought there against their wishes. Everyone who is put onto his show is a horrible person, including yourself, and have done something to be warranted to be there.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host bends all the rules of the game for you, providing subtle hints or covert assistance to ensure your safety. Although he has a strong desire to see others in pain and suffering, his love for you is stronger. At first justifies these actions as preserving the "entertainment value" of the show, but deep down, he's driven by an inexplicable desire to protect you.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host would baby you during your time there. He’d make a fuss whenever you tried to do anything remotely dangerous or touch some blood. I could totally see him using a baby voice to try to convince you to stop what you're doing. He has no shame, and everyone is looking at him with utter disbelief/confusion on their faces.

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Oh No! Please don’t go over there! You might slip from all the blood on the ground! Come here let me carry you across.”

Viewers: “…”

The contestant with their leg cut off: “…”

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host thrives on the power he wields over his contestants, reveling in their suffering as they navigate his challenges. As the game progresses, his demeanor grows more twisted, enjoying the contestants' internal conflicts and emotional turmoil. He taunts them with mocking laughter, reveling in their discomfort and manipulating their decisions to heighten the drama. God forbid that you manage to develop a crush on someone while you are there. He’d absolutely lose it and do everything in his power to crush them. You best believe that he’s going to keep them alive for as long as possible and give them the worst punishments known to man.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host has cameras everywhere and when it's time for the contestants to rest for the night he’s going to be observing you. He’s a loser who doesn’t really know how to act around you without becoming a mess. In his spare time, he likes to just watch you through the cameras and imagine himself right next to you. He’s absolutely delulu about your feelings towards him and believes that you feel the same way. Even when you do manage to win this fucked up game, he’s not letting you go. There’s no way that he’s letting you leave after you managed to steal his heart. After this is all over, he’s taking you to his house and locking you there.

🌟 Yandere! Game Show Host holds pride in knowing how many people are at the mercy of his hand. Has a minor God complex and has this skewed mindset about how everyone else is beneath him besides you. Believes that you were made just for him and that you're his one true love. Would rather die than give you up or allow anyone to “take you away from him”. He’s like an annoying roach and almost impossible to get rid of. He’s making sure to stay with you for as long as possible.

—

Yandere! Game Show Host strides onto the stage with a wicked gaze, his piercing gaze fixed on the contestants. His voice, a chilling blend of charm and malice, booms through the speakers as he welcomes the participants with a mocking flourish. Thom who were strapped onto a table with heavy objects over their heads.

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Alright contestant number one, what is the mass of the Sun divided by Planck's constant in nanometers.

Contestant One: “HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT!?!?!”

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Unfortunately, that's not the correct answer. You’ll now be facing the consequences.” In a matter of seconds, the heavy object comes flying down with alarming speed. Upon impact, it mercilessly crushes against their skull, unleashing an overwhelming and unimaginable force that distorts bone and flesh. Yandere! Game Show Host then makes his way towards you and begins to speak.

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Alright, it's your turn now. No pressure, I know you’ll do great just take your time. Okay what’s 1 + 1?”

You: “2.”

Yandere! Game Show Host: "Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it."

Other Contestants: “What the hell!?!? How is this fair!?!!

[certifiedfreec]

i feel like there would be some subtle signs that ghost took an interest in you…

- one time you were showing him something on the computer, and he took that massive 6’4” body of his and leaned it right over your shoulder to read the screen. as if that wasn’t close enough, he rested one of his big ‘ol calloused hands on the desk beside you, effectively caging you into your seat. you could practically feel the warmth that radiated off of him when he did that. (he really likes the smell of your shampoo, by the way.)

- he watched you make your coffee one morning, memorizing your order down to the number of sugar packets you used. after that, you’d head down to make your morning cup and all the exact ingredients would mysteriously be laid out on the counter for you. he’d pick on you later about drinking coffee instead of tea, though. maybe he’ll make you a cup for you to try- back in his own office, of course ;)

- everyone in tf141 knows you’re a perfectly capable soldier, so they think it’s odd that ghost always finds ways to provide extra backup for you during missions. guarding you from danger, making sure your area is clear of threats…he can’t help but want to protect and take care of his fellow teammate, though he has a list of other ways he’d like to take care of you :’)

i feel like there would be some subtle signs that keegan took an interest in you…

- he saw your phone screen after training one day, immediately zeroing in on the artist you were listening to. later that evening he casually brings up the exact same band/person, because he’s coincidentally one of their biggest fans! maybe he’ll ask you to go to one of their shows when you’re off duty… looks like you’ve found yourself a concert buddy ;)

- he bullies you, but it’s with the best intentions. it’s more like him relentlessly nagging at you until you match his snarky energy and give him some sass back, which he loves to provoke from you. you always have the best comebacks when he uses his dry humor on you, and he thinks it’s adorable. he definitely likes to push your buttons, but he’d like to undo them even more <3

- ever since he revealed your “shared love” for your favorite artist, he sends you music recommendations for you to listen to (that will hopefully make you think of him whenever you hear them!). pay attention to the lyrics, because he might be trying to tell you something with them… :))

i feel like there would be some subtle signs that graves took an interest in you…

- if you have any snacks or candy on you, he’s nonchalantly stepping right beside you and doing that “underhand-behind-the-back” gesture for you to shake some into his palm. (sometimes he imagines that’s what your lips taste like- omg who said that???)

- he let you wear his jacket during an operation where you were in the freezing cold outside for an extensive amount of time. he watched you shiver through your orders, trying your best to be a good soldier for him :( he walked up to you and draped his shadow company jacket over your shoulders (which smelled deliciously like him) and flashed you that toothy grin. “you look like you’re ‘bout to get frostbite, soldier. take this.” (he was definitely thinking of some other ways that he could warm you up…)

- he took his time when he read through your file, and wow, it looks like your city’s professional football team rivals his. it’s the perfect way to initiate banter with you. he’ll be giving you a hard time about it for sure, and maybe he’ll make some interesting bets with you depending on how well the season’s going ;)