#or something not really physically demanding

[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Chapter Six

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: A night full of games and surprising confessions.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!(18+ONLY!!!) swearing, fluff, slight angst, severe denial, meddling

AN: We've got a lot happening in this one! 😅 But we're still only dipping our toe into the complicated mess of these two. I hope y'all are still following along lol! Stay tuned for more to come 🫣

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here

The next few days in the lead-up to Christmas flew by in a haze of finishing up paperwork at the office, - so you could finally close a lid on it all for the next couple of days - last-minute holiday preparations. Oh, and Dean. 

After the party, it was like a switch had flipped between you. The magnetic pull had only grown stronger, the need to touch, to be close, becoming second nature. It wasn’t just the moments tangled up in bed—though those were frequent and mind-numbingly good—it was everything in between.

The stolen glances across the kitchen, the casual, almost thoughtless ways you found yourselves reaching for one another. Brushing against him when you reached for a glass, his hand ghosting over your lower back as he moved past you.

The way he always sat just a little too close on the couch, legs sprawled wide, his arm draped behind you on the backrest—an unspoken invitation, daring you to close the distance.

And you wanted to. God, you wanted to.

It was getting harder to pretend this was just about sex when your heart clenched every time he left after a night of passion, when you had to physically stop yourself from asking him to stay.

When all you really wanted was to curl up next to him, let your head rest against his chest, listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat while a movie played in the background.

When, during mundane errands, you caught yourself aching to lace your fingers with his, to make it real. To claim him, even though he was never meant to be yours.

But reality had a way of creeping back in, dragging you down from the daydream.

This wasn’t a love story. This was an arrangement, a deal struck between friends who knew better than to get tangled in feelings. You had agreed to this. You’d made your bed, and now you had to sleep in it. 

But it didn’t stop you from wondering if Dean ever felt the same, if he ever felt this torn.

There were moments—fleeting, almost imperceptible—where you swore, he did. The way he’d watch you sometimes, like you held the knowledge to the universe, like you were something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have but couldn’t stop wanting. 

The way his fingers would linger a second too long on your skin, his gaze tracing your features as if memorising them. Those quiet pauses where it seemed like he was about to say something—something important—only for him to shake it off with a cocky smirk or a teasing remark.

He never fought you on anything, never questioned the rules you both had set. If you brushed off a moment of tenderness, he’d go along with it. If you laughed off the way he held you a little too long after sex, he wouldn’t argue. He did everything you asked—never pushing, never demanding, never making it more than what it was.

And that had to mean something, didn’t it? If he wanted more, wouldn’t he fight for it? Wouldn’t he tell you?

The conclusion was brutal in its simplicity: it really was just sex for him.

Dean had never been the relationship type. The only serious girlfriend he’d ever had was Cassie. You still remembered how it had felt seeing them together back in college—how something uneasy and sharp curled in your stomach when you’d catch them holding hands or sneaking off together at parties. They had seemed happy. At least, he had seemed happy.

You ignored it. Pushed it down and smothered it beneath reckless distraction.

Enter Arthur.

A British exchange student with a devil-may-care attitude and an accent that made everything he said sound like poetry. It was wild, intoxicating, a whirlwind that consumed you for a couple of months. He made you feel desired, swept you up in grand gestures and passionate declarations. And for a while, he made you forget.

Dean broke up with Cassie not long after.

He never really talked about it, never offered much of an explanation beyond a casual shrug and a muttered, "Guess I’m just not the commitment type."

And maybe that should have been your first warning.

Because after Cassie, Dean never really had relationships. The closest to one you could think of after her was Lisa, but your thoughts didn’t linger on her for too long. Other than that, it was a few dates here and there, the occasional warm body in his bed, but nothing that lasted. Nothing that meant anything.

So why would you be any different?

The truth of it settled deep in your chest, heavy and inescapable. It wasn’t a matter of if this would break you—it was only a matter of when.

The night before Christmas Eve found you at the Roadhouse, upholding a long-standing tradition—one last gathering of friends before the whirlwind of holiday chaos swept you all in different directions.

You nursed a beer at the bar, lingering with Jo and Jess, the latter of whom you absolutely adored. You’d already threatened Sam with the dismemberment of his nads if he ever screwed things up, because Dean had been right—Jess was way out of Sam’s league. 

Dark blonde curls framed her beautiful face, soft and bouncy, and as stunning as she was on the outside, she was even more so on the inside.

Despite being a couple years younger than you and Jo, the three of you had hit it off like gasoline on an open flame. Jess had a sweetness to her, but her sharp wit rivalled yours and Jo’s, and best of all, she was fun. Up for anything, always game to partake in your antics. She’d even taken Gabe down a few pegs when he’d tried his usual charm on her, and that had been especially fun to watch.

Tonight was easy, full of laughter, making new memories, with the kind of bond that only deepened over time. The more you drank, the more relaxed you became, letting tension melt away as you soaked in the warmth of your friends, your family.

Of course, your situation with Dean still lingered in the back of your mind, a persistent hum beneath the surface. And the drunker you got, the harder it was to keep your eyes from seeking him out. Admiring him from a far. In your defence, why did he have to wear that maroon shirt. The colour made him look downright sinful.

You’d kept your distance most of the night—part of the agreement was that thing between you, stayed strictly between you. Charlie was the only one who knew, but she wasn’t here, and thankfully, no one else seemed suspicious.

Still, you had to admit, the secrecy added a certain thrill, the temptation of risk making it all the more enticing. And so, as you discretely admired Dean from your place at the bar, an idea took root—one you were more than eager to set in motion.

As the night wore on, you now found yourself locked in a game of pool—doubles, losers play winners. You and Jo had already wiped the floor with Cas and Gabe, which wasn’t much of a challenge, considering you and Jo had been slinging pool cues since childhood.

However, your next opponents were Benny and Dean. Now this was a challenge.

And the perfect opportunity for a little fun.

Benny broke first, the solid white cracking against the neatly racked balls and sending them scattering across the green felt. A striped ball rolled straight into a pocket, earning him another shot.

“Looks like we’re stripes, sweetheart,” Dean smirked, leaning against his cue as Benny lined up his next shot.

“You think you’re winning already?” Jo taunted, resting her hip against the edge of the table. “We’re just getting started, boys.”

“Famous last words,” Benny rumbled with a knowing grin.

The game was close from the start, both teams evenly matched, trading shots back and forth with neither pulling too far ahead. While the rest of the bar buzzed with conversation and laughter, the four of you played like something important was on the line, the stakes unspoken but fully understood.

The others had lost interest quickly. Sam, Jess, and Cas had settled at one of the tables, wrapped up in a discussion that, from the snippets you’d overheard, had already veered into something academic. You rolled your eyes. Of course Sam would find a way to bring up philosophy or some obscure literary reference when he was supposed to be out having fun.

Meanwhile, in the corner, Gabe had Rachel exactly where he wanted her—leaning in close, hanging on his every word. Typical. He always had a way of charming his way into a woman’s good graces. It was almost a shame, really. Rachel was one of Ellen’s better bartenders, and you just knew by the time the new year rolled around, she’d be handing in her notice—another casualty of Gabe’s love ‘em and leave ‘em ways.

Benny cursing under his breath, after missing his shot, brought your attention back to the game. It was your turn now, and with only a few balls left on the table, precision mattered.

Which is why, as you stepped up to take your shot, you made sure to position yourself just right.

Bending over slightly, you lined up the cue with slow, deliberate movements, the hem of your little denim skirt riding up just enough to be daring, but also to give Dean a nice view of your ass. You felt his eyes on you instantly, burning into your skin like a brand. It was subtle enough that no one else would take notice, but he did. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his grip tightened slightly around his pool cue.

A slow smirk tugged at your lips.

You made your shot—sinking a solid with ease—before stepping back and letting Jo take over.

Dean said nothing, but when he moved past you to take his own turn, you caught the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something heated in his eyes.

Perfect.

And just for good measure, when his turn came around, you plucked the cherry from your martini - not your usual drink but a deliberate choice - and popped it between your lips, sucking just a little too slowly, the tip of your tongue flicking over it before pulling the stem free.

Dean’s cue slipped slightly as he lined up his shot, and when he finally took it, the ball skidded just off course, missing the pocket by a fraction.

“Damn,” Benny muttered, rubbing his chin. “That’s not like you, man.”

Dean huffed a breath, standing up straighter and rolling his shoulders. “Just a bad angle.”

But the look he shot you told a different story.

The game continued much of the same, tension crackling between you and Dean like static. Every time Dean lined up a shot, you made sure to be just within his periphery—adjusting your low cut shirt a little too, purposefully, bending over just enough for him to take notice, grazing by him when there was plenty of room.

You didn’t need to look to know the effect it had on him. The way his breath hitched, the flex of his jaw, the subtle shift of his stance like he was trying to will away the tightening in his jeans.

Benny was too busy teasing Dean about his uncharacteristically sloppy aim to notice what was really throwing him off. Jo, blissfully unaware, was just thrilled to be winning. Meanwhile, the rest of the gang carried on, oblivious to the little game you and Dean were really playing.

And then—victory.

You and Jo erupted into cheers, jumping for joy when you sank the final 8-ball. Benny groaned, shaking his head good-naturedly as he clapped Dean on the back. “You’re off your game, brother.”

Dean muttered something under his breath, but when his gaze found yours, his expression was hard. Heated. You just smiled, all too pleased with yourself.

Jo swiped up the forty bucks in winnings, fanning them out with a triumphant grin. “How ‘bout a round on me? Mend those egos of yours.” She teased, flashing the boys a smug look.

Dean gave her a tight smile, but his eyes were already back on you, burning with something unreadable.

“You’re funny Cher.” Benny snarked with an amused shake of his head but followed her as they headed for the bar. Dean sidled up next to you as you began resetting the table for the next game, leaning in close enough that you felt the heat of him at your back, the scent of his cologne—spicy, with deep, woody undertones—wrapping around you.

“I didn’t take you for a dirty player, Singer,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp against your ear.

A shiver ran down your spine, but you masked it with a smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You kept your tone coy as you finished racking up the balls, then turned to squeeze past him, pressing your ass just a little more firmly against his front.

The low sound he made—half a groan, half a curse—was deeply, deeply satisfying.

You didn’t turn around as you sauntered off toward the bar, but you didn’t need to. You knew damn well he was watching, that he was still standing there, fists flexing at his sides, teeth clenched.

With fresh drinks in hand, everyone had congregated around the pool table again, this time for a match between you and Jo against Sam and Jess. However, Rachel asked if she could trade off with someone, more than likely to to show off a little for Gabe, you assumed. So, you let her take your place beside Jo, having plans of your own. 

As the game carried on, voices and laughter filling the space, you slipped away, weaving through the crowd toward the restrooms.

And sure enough, you weren’t disappointed when, moments later, you heard heavy boots following after you.

You had barely reached the dimly lit hallway leading to the restrooms when strong arms wrapped around your waist, and suddenly, your feet left the ground. A gasp spilled from your lips as Dean lifted you with ease, your back pressing against his chest as he carried you straight inside. The door of one of the cubicles swinging shut behind you, and then—click—the lock slid into place.

Your breathless giggle filled the small space, excitement thrumming through you. “Impatient, are we?”

Dean didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed you gently but firmly against the cool stall door, his hands braced on either side of you, caging you in without ever touching. His breath was hot against your neck, lips hovering just close enough that you could feel the warmth but not the contact. It was maddening.

“You think you’re real cute, huh?” His voice was low, rough—like gravel and whiskey, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

Your lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling a little too fast, but you tilted your chin, playing along. “I am real cute, Winchester.”

He huffed a quiet, humourless laugh, nose grazing just beneath your ear as he inhaled deeply, like he was trying to breathe you in.

“Playing these games,” he continued, voice dripping with something dark, something desperate. “In front of everyone.”

Your stomach clenched at the way he said it, like he had been barely holding himself together all night, like you had driven him just past the edge of his control.

Still, you bit your lip, feigning innocence even as heat pooled low in your belly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Dean let out a quiet, almost strained chuckle against your skin, but he still didn’t touch you. And that—the unbearable restraint—was what made you dizzy with need.

“You sure about that?” he murmured, lips brushing just slightly against your jaw before pulling away, making you chase the phantom sensation. “Because I think you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Your pulse fluttered, and you swallowed hard, your body already begging for the contact he was deliberately withholding.

Dean’s breath was hot against your cheek, his body so close yet still refusing to touch where you needed him most. The restraint was unbearable.

Then, without a word, he reached for your hand, guiding it down between your bodies until your palm pressed against the thick, straining length tucked up in his waistband.

Your breath hitched.

Fuck.

“That’s what you do to me,” he growled, the rough edge of his voice making heat coil low in your stomach. His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, making sure you felt just how wrecked he already was from your teasing.

You barely had a second to process before he was on you.

His mouth crashed against yours, all heat and hunger, his hands finally claiming your body like he was done playing, done pretending he had an ounce of self-control left. His lips were bruising, tongue sweeping into your mouth like he needed to consume you, like he was starved.

You moaned into him, hands scrambling at his belt buckle, fingers fumbling in your desperation to free him. Meanwhile, his rough, calloused fingers slipped beneath your skirt, dragging your panties down in one fluid motion. You barely managed to kick them aside before he was hiking your skirt up over your hips, gripping you like a man possessed.

Then, strong arms lifted you with ease, pressing you against the cold metal of the stall door.

A low, needy whimper escaped you as you felt him, thick and hot, rubbing against your entrance.

“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours, his breath uneven.

And then, with one sharp, fluid thrust, he was inside you.

You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as your body stretched around him, taking him deep.

Dean groaned low and guttural, his grip bruising on your thighs as he held you up against the door. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart… so fuckin’ tight.”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t tease.

He took.

His hips snapped forward with raw force, the stall shaking with each hard thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mixing with the broken, breathless moans spilling from your lips.

Dean’s teeth grazed along your throat before he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged. His pace was brutal, relentless, every thrust hitting deep, dragging you closer and closer to that edge.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, clinging, your body shuddering with every hard roll of his hips.

“God, Dean,” you gasped, barely able to form words.

He let out a rough, dark chuckle against your skin, his voice thick with lust. “Not so cocky now, huh?”

You whimpered, too far gone to respond.

Dean’s grip on you tightened, and he drove into you harder, faster, sending another violent tremor through the stall. The sound of metal creaking barely registered over the rush of blood in your ears, over the desperate, filthy sounds filling the small space.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he panted, lips brushing against your ear, voice wrecked. “So wet for me. Been thinkin’ about this all night.”

Your head tipped back against the door, pleasure winding tight in your core, heat pooling low in your belly. You were close—so fucking close.

And then—

The restroom door swung open with a bang.

You both froze.

Your eyes snapped open, locking onto Dean’s just as a pair of familiar voices filled the room.

“Oh my God, my feet are killing me,” Jo groaned, the shuffle of heels against tile signalling she wasn’t alone. “Why did I think these were a good idea?”

Jess laughed, the sound echoing through the small space. “Because they make your legs look amazing, that’s why.”

Panic shot through you, your whole-body tensing.

Dean’s brows lifted in amusement, but before you could move—before you could even think—his hand clamped over your mouth.

You barely had a second to register what was happening before he moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

The thick slide of him dragged against your sensitive walls, teasing the very spot that had you seeing stars just moments ago.

Your eyes widened in alarm; your muffled whimper swallowed by his palm. Your look screaming: What the hell are you doing?!

Dean’s lips curled into a devilish smirk. His breath ghosted over your cheek as he murmured, barely above a whisper, “Payback, sweetheart.”

Then he did it again.

And again.

The slow, deep roll of his hips was agonising, each measured thrust sending shockwaves through your trembling body. The pleasure that had been so close to snapping before was now drawn out, stretched taut, leaving you aching, desperate.

Jo and Jess kept talking, completely oblivious.

You, however, could barely hear a word.

Your fingers dug into Dean’s shoulders, your thighs trembling around his hips, betraying you. You were completely at his mercy, your body reacting despite the overwhelming torture of keeping quiet.

Your vision blurred, your breath hot and uneven against his palm as he continued his torment.

“…Dean’s been acting weird tonight, though,” Jess mused, her voice pulling through the haze, casual, clueless.

Dean stilled for half a second—then, with a smug gleam in his eyes, pushed deeper.

Your whole body jolted, eyes crossing for a brief, dizzying moment.

Jo snorted. “Dean’s always weird. That man wouldn’t know normal if it smacked him in the face.”

You barely held back a whimper, your head knocking against the stall door as another slow, perfect roll of his hips sent fire licking through your veins.

It was unbearable.

You wanted to beg—for him to stop, for him to keep going, you didn’t even know anymore.

Your body was a trembling, oversensitive mess, and Dean knew it.

Fucking bastard was enjoying every second of this.

Finally—finally—after what felt like a damn eternity you heard the door creak open and the sound of their footsteps and voices retreating, before the door clicked shut.

And then silence.

Dean waited exactly one second before tearing his hand away from your mouth, grabbing your thighs in a bruising grip, and slamming into you hard.

A strangled cry tore from your throat as all the built-up tension, all the torturous teasing, snapped like a live wire.

“All that fuckin’ teasing,” Dean growled, driving into you again, the stall shaking violently with the force. “You think you can just play with me like that? In front of everyone?”

You were too far gone to respond, too overwhelmed to do anything but take it as he fucked you with raw, punishing force, all the restraint from before gone.

The world blurred around you, everything fading but the feel of him, the way his body moved against yours, how he took exactly what he wanted.

It wasn’t long before your orgasm slammed into you, hitting you so hard your vision went white.

Dean followed seconds later, hips snapping into yours as he spilled into you with a rough, shuddering groan.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

The only sound was your mingled, uneven breaths, the only sensation the lingering sparks racing through your veins.

Then Dean exhaled a slow, shaky breath.

“…Yeah,” he rasped, lips brushing against your jaw. “That’s what you get for teasing me.”

His playful tit-for-tat attitude amused you, a breathless chuckle escaping your lips as he steadied you, helping you back to your feet.

Your legs trembled slightly, and Dean quickly caught you, his touch surprisingly gentle in contrast to just moments before.

Once you found your balance, he adjusted his jeans while you smoothed down your skirt. You noticed him picking up your discarded panties, expecting him to hand them back. Instead, he slid them into his back pocket with a devilish grin.

“I think I’ve earned this prize, especially since I was robbed of the other,” he said, winking at you.

You froze, stunned, as he leaned in close, adding: “Besides, I want you to feel me dripping out of you, coating your thighs for the rest of the night.” His voice was low, dark, sending a shiver down your spine. “Call it compensation for your actions.”

Without another word, he slipped out of the stall, leaving the restroom with effortless confidence, his words lingering in the air as you were left burning, wanting more.

When you finally left the restroom—after deeming it safe enough not to look suspicious—you slipped back into the crowd, keeping your expression neutral. But you felt Dean’s eyes on you instantly, heat simmering from across the room. That damn smirk of his was ever-present, watching with quiet satisfaction as you subtly clenched your thighs, your face barely betraying the discomfort of the lingering stickiness between them.

Smug bastard.

Thankfully, the last game of pool was wrapping up, and you could finally take a seat, seeking relief from both gravity and Dean’s relentless torment. Two tables had been pushed together to accommodate the group, and between rounds of drinks and laughter, new stories began to flow, just as ridiculous as the last.

Dean, of course, had taken the seat beside you, his body an ever-present, unshakable force. On your other side sat Gabe, fully immersed in another one of his exaggerated tales, hands waving animatedly as he pulled everyone into his nonsense. You shook your head, laughing along, but despite your best efforts, it was impossible to ignore the occasional graze of Dean’s fingers against your thigh or the slow, teasing press of his boot against your shoe beneath the table.

He was hell-bent on continuing this little game, it seemed. And just as you were considering ways to get him back, someone else beat you to it.

“So, Y/N, I’ve got a question for you,” Gabe announced suddenly, shifting his attention to you with that signature smirk that always meant trouble. “One I’m dying to know your thoughts on.”

You eyed him warily but leaned forward anyway, curious. “Okay?”

His grin widened, and Dean stiffened beside you before a single word even left his mouth.

“Have you ever had a sex dream about a friend?”

The question sent a ripple through the group, some chuckling, others perking up with interest. But it was Dean who reacted the strongest, his entire body tensing, his hand curling into a loose fist on his thigh. His eyes snapped to Gabe in silent warning, but Gabe, as always, ignored it, relishing in the chaos he was about to cause.

You frowned, as if deep in thought, before shrugging. “I mean, it’s none of your business, but yeah, I have.”

Dean’s stomach dropped.

His head turned sharply to you, but you were completely unfazed, oblivious to the way he was practically holding his breath. He didn’t even have time to process his own relief or frustration before Gabe pushed further.

“Who was it?”

Dean had been banking on you shutting the conversation down. You had to. There was no way you’d actually answer, not with everyone watching. His entire body braced; muscles coiled tight.

You let out a soft, nervous chuckle, shifting in your seat. “Well…”

Benny and Cas exchanged subtle looks of concern. Jo, Sam, and Jess were already snickering.

“Now, don’t laugh, but a long time ago—senior year in high school—I had a sex dream about Cas.”

The table went dead silent.

Cas, who had been peacefully nursing his drink, froze like a deer in headlights, his blue eyes wide with quiet horror.

Dean, however, was having an entirely different reaction. His mouth opened, then closed, his brow furrowing like you’d just spoken in another language.

“Cas?” His voice was louder than necessary, filled with disbelief, offense, and maybe just a hint of betrayal.

You glanced at him, unbothered. “Yeah.”

Dean looked from you to Cas, then back again, like he was waiting for someone to tell him he’d misheard.

“What?” You gave an amused shrug. “He helped me revise for my biology test, and I don’t know—maybe it was the subject, or maybe it was just the way he explained things—but yeah, that night, I had a super steamy dream about him.”

More silence.

“Cas?” Dean repeated, his tone bordering on incredulous.

“Yes,” you drawled, exasperated. “For the third time, yes.”

Gabe, meanwhile, was howling. Literal tears were forming in the corners of his eyes as he clutched his stomach, unable to contain his laughter.

“Oh, man,” Gabe wheezed between fits of laughter, clutching his stomach. “This was so much better than I expected.” His voice was breathless, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Dean shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut through steel. If looks could kill, Gabe would’ve been dead ten times over. “You’re a damn menace, you know that?” Dean muttered under his breath.

You looked between the two of them, your suspicion growing by the second. “Okay, what the hell is going on? Am I missing something?”

Dean was quick—too quick—with his answer. “No.” His voice was firm, final, as if that one word would be enough to shut the conversation down completely. He shot Gabe a glare, a silent warning not to say another word.

But Gabe? He just grinned, eyes dancing with mischief, but for once, he actually kept his mouth shut.

The night carried on, but Dean’s mood had shifted. The easy-going, cocky energy he’d carried all night was gone, replaced with grumbling responses and an almost permanent scowl. He barely engaged, only speaking when spoken to, and even then, his replies were short and clipped. 

Eventually, the group started to wrap things up, the night winding down as everyone exchanged their goodbyes. You went around, hugging your friends, saving Gabe for last. As you stepped into his embrace, he tightened his arms around you just enough to make it feel conspiratorial, leaning in so only you could hear him.

“For the record,” he murmured, voice teasing, “Dean wasn’t pissed about the Cas thing, not entirely.”

You pulled back slightly, brow furrowing. “What?”

Gabe smirked. “He had a dream about you. A very, very interesting one.”

Your breath caught for a split second before you scoffed, laughing it off even as warmth crept up your neck. “You’re such an ass,” you whispered, shaking your head.

Gabe just winked, giving you a final squeeze before stepping back.

Dean, who had been watching from a few feet away, narrowed his eyes at the two of you, suspicion flickering in his gaze. “What was that about?” he asked as you turned toward him.

You flashed him an innocent smile. “Nothing.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, shoving his hands in his pockets as everyone finally went their separate ways.

The walk home was quiet at first, the December air cool against your skin. Dean's hands were shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders drawn tight like he was bracing for impact. You could feel the tension rolling off him, could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

You bit the inside of your cheek, debating whether to push. Then again, when had you ever been one to let him off easy? Besides, if this dream about you happened before you two had started sleeping together, you had hope that maybe—just maybe, this did mean more to him.

“So,” you finally broke the quiet, voice light, teasing, “you gonna tell me what that was about back there?”

Dean didn’t even look at you. “What was what about?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, don’t play dumb. Gabe basically threw you under the bus before I even had to ask.”

That made him glance at you, expression alarmed. “What the hell did he say?”

“That you had a dream about me.” You nudged him lightly, smirking. “A very interesting one, apparently.”

Dean groaned, tipping his head back toward the sky. “I’m gonna kill him.”

You hesitated for a moment before taking some mercy on him, attempting to make it seem as not a big deal as it was. “It’s normal though, right? We’ve been friends forever; we obviously find each other attractive—it was bound to happen, right?”

You watched him carefully out of the corner of your eye, giving him the edge, waiting for him to contradict you, to say something—anything—that hinted this wasn’t as insignificant as you were pretending it was.

That it meant something.

That you meant something.

Of course, you were disappointed.

Dean just nodded along and let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, you're totally right.” You forced a small smile, trying desperately to hide your disappointment as you both continued your walk home.

Dean, however, was kicking himself. His agreement felt hollow, like an echo of what he thought he was supposed to say.

It should’ve given him closure, knowing you thought about it just the same.

But it didn’t.

Because now he knew this wasn't 'normal', and that it did mean something to him. However, your casual dismissal was just another reason as to why he had to keep his feelings in check.

For however long that may be.

AN: Okay so Gabe was a dick for that one! 😅 But then, is he maybe just trying to give Dean a little nudge? Again I can't apologise enough for these two! Believe me I want to smack them upside on the head myself 😅. I know it's a little bit more of the same, but we will be delving into new territory in the next chapter... As always, feedback is much appreciated ❤️

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Next Time...

“Hey.” You turned toward the deep, familiar voice, finding Dean making his way over. He was bundled in his leather jacket, but what caught your eye was the thick, dark blue scarf wrapped snugly around his neck—the one Mary had given him for Christmas. It was endearingly uncharacteristic, and the sight made you smile. He hopped up onto the hood beside you, the old metal groaning under the added weight. Only then did you realise just how cold you were, his warmth seeping into you from his proximity. Without thinking, you shifted slightly closer. “Knew I’d find you out here,” he murmured, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to say more—this spot held years of memories. The two of you had spent so many nights just like this, staring up at the sky until Bobby hollered for you to come inside. A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn’t need filling. But after a moment, Dean cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “I, uh… I got somethin’ for you.” You turned to him, brows knitting in curiosity as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, terribly wrapped package—newspaper and duct tape, classic Dean. Tilting your head, you took it from him, turning it over in your hands. “How come you’re giving this to me now?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice before a slow, teasing smirk curled your lips. “Is it something dirty?” Dean let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “No, no, nothing like that.” But then his amusement faded, replaced by a nervous energy as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s, uh… personal. Didn’t think you’d wanna open it in front of everyone.” That made your stomach flip, and you glanced down at the package, peeling away the layers carefully. Beneath the mess of tape and newspaper was a small, unbranded white box—the kind that usually held jewellery. The weight of Dean’s gaze made you nervous, his tension almost palpable. And then you opened it. Your breath caught in your throat.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Ry’s Requests!

Requested by: @isabella-2025

Prompt: Hey it's me again. This also just popped in my head. Reader is married to solo and is apart of his bloodline. Solo has been neglecting her needs and she really needs some physical connection again. She runs into solos sworn enemy Roman and you could cut the tension between them with a knife. Roman agrees to help the reader with her problem if she decides to betray solo and join his bloodline, reader says yes. The engage in passionate intimacy. While roman and reader are in the middle of it solo calls reader and roman answers so solo hears everything and he's not happy. You can end it however you wanna end it. Can't wait to see what you do. You write these scenarios so well. 🫶🫶

Solo/Reader/Roman - Torn

The room was surrounding her with lustful intentions.

She knew she shouldn’t be here.

Knew she shouldn’t have stepped into his territory, shouldn’t have let her eyes linger on him longer than necessary, shouldn’t have let that feeling settle deep in her stomach.

But she needed this.

Needed something.

Solo hadn’t touched her in weeks. Maybe months. The cold distance between them had grown unbearable, his focus entirely on business, on duty, on the Bloodline.

And now?

Now she stood across from his kryptonite—Roman. She was dressed in a pair of leather pants and a red corset top with a some black boots that gave her an extra four inches of height. He wore a black fitted T-shirt along with black sweats that left little to no imagination at what he was packing.

His dark eyes roamed over her slowly, as if he was computing what was happening right here. She could also detect something else, amusement.

“Look at you,” Roman murmured, his tone riddled with something she couldn’t quite name. “You must be desperate to come crawling to me.”

She swallowed, heat creeping up her neck. “I wouldn’t call it crawling.”

Roman smirked. “Nah? Then what would you call it, sweetheart?”

She exhaled sharply, clenching her jaw. She hated how easily he could read anybody’s energy. She also hated the way her body reacted to his presence, how just his voice was enough to make her knees feel weak.

Actually it was enough to make the world’s knees weak.

He took a step closer.

Then another.

“Solo don’t take care of you no more, huh?” His voice was taunting, but there was something real underneath it. “Left you out in the cold?”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Roman tilted his head, his smirk deepening as his fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You want me to fix your little problem, don’t you?”

Her heartbeat pounded.

His grip on her chin tightened just enough to send a shiver down her spine. “You know what it’ll cost you, though.”*

She knew.

Roman wasn’t just offering himself.

He was offering something more.

A new path. A new loyalty.

“You wanna feel wanted again?” His voice was velvet, dripping with a haunting promise. “Then say it. Say you belong to me now.”

Her pulse roared in her ears.

And then—

“I belong to you, my Tribal Chief.”

Roman’s smirk faded, replaced with something dangerous.

“Such a good little slut..”

And then he was on her.

His mouth crashed against hers, hot, demanding, claiming. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her against him, making her feel everything she had been missing.

She fell apart.

Because this was what she had been starving for.

Roman was everywhere, his hands rough, his lips scorching, his presence so overwhelming that she couldn’t think—didn’t want to think.

He shoved her against the wall, his breath hot against her ear. “Gonna remind you how it feels to be taken care of, baby.”

She let out a shaky exhale, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Please my Tribal Chief…”

Roman growled low in his throat. “Damn. You really been neglected, huh?”

She barely had time to answer before he was lifting her, wrapping her legs around his waist, his hands gripping her thighs possessively. She felt that impossibly large cock nudge against her and couldn’t wait to feel it inside of her.

“Mine now,” he muttered, dragging his lips down her neck, his teeth scraping just enough to make her gasp. “Ain’t that right?”

“Yes,” she whispered, breathless. “I’m Yours.”

Roman chuckled darkly. “That’s what I thought.”

Then—

The phone rang.

She barely registered it at first, too caught up in the feel of him, but then—

Roman grabbed it.

Her eyes widened as he turned the screen toward her.

Solo.

Her stomach twisted. “Roman—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, answering the call. “Let’s make this interesting.” Her legs released from him as her brain hardwired what was about to happen.

And her heart broke as it began to become real.

“Where the hell you at?” Solo’s voice was sharp, angry. “I been calling you all night.”

Roman smirked, his eyes locked onto hers as he moved against her, making her body react.

“She’s a little… tied up right now,” Roman said smoothly, his voice laced with pure sin. “Ain’t that right, baby?”

Her pulse spiked.

Solo froze on the other end. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Roman pressed his lips to her ear, his breath sending a shiver down her spine. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Let him hear you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, her body betraying her, a moan slipping past her lips as Roman shoved his free hand quickly down into her jeans. His perfect hands gliding over folds and clit. She let out another moan as Roman slightly rubbed the bead of nerves.

The sound of Solo’s rage was instant. “I swear to fucking god, I’ll—”

Click.

Roman tossed the phone.

He grinned down at her, dark amusement showing in his gaze. “Well,” he murmured, his hand continuing the slow ministration of her rubbing her clit, “guess we better make this worth it, huh?”

And with that—

He ruined her.

[gemmablue-blog1]

I recently started a brand new adventure of being a “shipper”. I believe this is karma because I judged those who were obsessed with Taylor and Travis. 😬

I have fallen hard into my shipping era and it is not for the weak. It is so mind consuming I at times worry for my mental health.

Hi my name is Gemma and I am a Lukola shipper. My god, the chokehold Nicola Coughlan and Luke Newton have on me should be studied. I cant help but be in complete awe of the relationship they have. These two humans share an undeniable other-worldly connection. I have never seen anything like it, the way they look physically different in the presence of one another is something else, their whole existence changes. They shine brighter, they appear more at ease and just blissfully in-tune with one another. Like they physically look different around each other (in a good way) it is wild, I am completely mesmerized. If they are not a couple or never become one, it is really unfortunate because what they have is rare and special. Many will spend their whole lifetime searching for what they have.

I was kind of late to the shipping game so I joined TT to assist in my obsession and do my research. It was fun to see all the edits of the WT and join in on some lives to dissect some clues Nicola was dropping that they could possibly be a couple. I have to admit at times the dissecting was a little “creepy”, but I was still watching! So obviously I wasn’t that creeped out, I was just letting others do the dirty work so I didn’t come off creepy.

But then the “adjacent” shippings began and it all just became a game of “who is right”. Don’t get me wrong, I want my ship to be right but the constant attacks between the different groups of shippers has become toxic and it is unnecessary. Why can’t we just stay in our belief lanes, we’ll be much happier. Isn’t it best to all stay in our own little ship bubbles and just have some light hearted fun?

Then there is this whole side of people preaching a moral high ground and demanding people to stop their shipping… why? Because you think that shipping is going to hurt/ruin Nicola and Luke’s relationship? I am almost certain fans views, beliefs, words, shipping etc. has no effect on Nic and Luke’s relationship, it will only affect how they share it publicly. We are not that important. Then we have the people who feel that they need to defend Nicola and Luke from whats being said or shared, is that needed either? Celebrities don’t need your defending and they don’t ask for it. And sometimes in defending it actually makes things worse. There is no such thing as the best fan award.

Personally, a lot of Lukola blogs I have seen on here have been as respectful as they can be in sharing their thoughts and opinions. They aren’t out there spreading hate towards Nic and Luke, if anything I see them just wanting the best for them. Even if I don’t agree with everything they say, I move past it, it is very rare for people to see things 100% the same, especially when we actually know nothing to be definite. What I do see is just plain hate in their ask calling them names and even demanding they “shut down this blog now!”… Why? Because they believe something you don’t? Notice when I talk about blogs I only have reference to Lukola ones, because those are the ones I read because I am a fan of Luke and Nic and their relationship. I don’t go to ones who are part of other ships and try to convince them of other things, there is no point, thats what they want to believe and be a part of and thats their right.

Anyway, I am in no way above sharing my opinions on the Lukola situationship, and would like to share some thoughts. If you have made it this far and are not a Lukola or will be offended by things I say about the “adjacents” stop reading because all it will do is anger you and most likely prompt you to send me a hate message. Nothing you say will make me stop shipping them.

My beliefs are:

Without a doubt Nicola loves Luke and is highly protective of him. This girl was ready take on a bee who was threatening her buddy Luke. She was not playing. I love that interview, she was so distracted because Luke was being threatened by a bee he is supposedly “allergic” to, that she even moves herself closer to him so she can defend him better ���... The interviewer is like “i feel like a third wheel” 👀. I can’t, could this be any cuter. We have seen many instances where Nicola has defended Luke directly and indirectly, because you fiercely protect those you love. I feel everything we have seen from her (non-professional) stems from that protectiveness she has for him.

Then there is Luke towards Nicola. I am sorry anyone who says this man is not completely infatuated by that woman is lying. He is an awe of her. Just look at the tapes for evidence, when I said earlier about looking physically different, Luke is literally night and day from what he physically looks like in the presence of Nicola to not. You can’t convince me that man is not madly in love with that woman.

Antonia. I am not a fan. Yeah, I have tried to take the mature approach and be like “oooh she’s young” “i don’t know her” “people hate her for no reason” “accept she is with Luke”… blah, blaaaah, blaah. No, Antonia wants to be noticed. She has done stuff to troll the fans of her supposed bf. The insinuation post are purposeful, with intent to rile up the crowds. Anyone who says otherwise is lying to themselves. All she has done is cause more harm than good to Luke, shouldn’t a good gf want to do the opposite? She should have used her extra social media exposure to her advantage of showing off her talents and work, but instead she chose to post pictures to prove she was in the presence of her famous bf. You shouldn’t have to try so hard to prove you are in a relationship with someone. Isn’t it interesting that any time Luke and Nic could possibly be linked together, an ambiguous pic drops to hint she is/was there. Why does she have to stay so hidden? Those who say it is to keep their relationship private, then why does she try so hard to publically prove she was there? I am done trying to be mature, the only things I have to go on for my decision to like people I dont personally know is the public image they present, and I don’t like hers.

Jake at times can seem to be stirring the pot, but he has used a lot of his extra exposure to highlight his career. Just through his socials I have come to realize that he is a very talented young actor. I do not believe Jake and Nicola are a couple, it is that simple. I think they were somehow linked together, and then just went with it because of certain cicumstances. I do get frustrated at times because I do feel the dating narrative is pushed by Nicola and it is frustrating to me because I have to read Jakola BS. But then I remember that Nicola is a sassy queen and that’s why I love her and move on. The fact that some can’t see the satire being shared by them of the relationship, is confusing to me. But, we all believe what we want to believe. I do think Nicola and Jake are good friends.

The parallels between Luke and Nic’s lives at this point are too coinsidental to make me believe it’s 100% truth. Both of them date young 20 year olds and receive hate for dating them. Not only do they receive hate for dating but for hanging out with them in their friend groups and get blamed for being immature or creepy because they choose to party or vacation instead of being a grown-up. 🙄. Nah, something just isn’t adding up for me.

Listen, I really know nothing about these people. I just love Luke and Nicola’s love, I just want them to be happy together forever and ever, is that such a bad thing? In the grand scheme of things is it really that bad to want people to be in a relationship that you feel will make them happy…isn’t that shipping? I will be rooting for them until i’m dead and buried.

Until the wheels fall off. Lukola forever ✌🏻.

[quinnophile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐕𝐈𝐈

pairing. emperor Geta x original character

synopsis. A honeymoon. Something usually so joyful, yet now makes Diana feel trapped in a completely different way. The Emperors seem to each be having problems of their own...

warnings. (general) violence, misogyny, infidelity, forced proximity, discussions of producing an heir, mental/physical abuse, forced marriage

word count. 4.5K

notes. *taps microphone* is this thing on? sorry for my absence, i swear i've been working on writing, just not this fic. I had to push through this chapter to get to what I really want to write, so buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

For the first time in what felt like forever, the empire seemed to feel the absence of one of its Emperors. 

Caracalla was nowhere to be found in the public eye. His generals, his senators, even his brother—none of them saw him. None of them heard from him. It was as if the crazed ruler had vanished. And in a way, he had. 

Because he was with her.

Diana had quickly learned the meaning of the honeymoon period—this strange, suffocating tradition in which a new wife was meant to spend her first month in seclusion with her husband, to indulge him, to devote herself to his pleasure and comfort. To be his and his alone.

She had braced herself for what that might mean. For what it might demand of her.

But what she hadn’t anticipated was this.

This… worship.

Caracalla adored her. Not just as a man loves a woman, but as a disciple worships a deity. Every moment was spent in her presence, every breath seemingly dedicated to her. He rarely let her out of his sight, as if the moment he did, she might disappear like a phantom.

“My star,” he whispered against her shoulder one evening, arms locked around her waist as they sat upon the lavish furs of their bed. He trailed his fingers up her bare arms, reverent. “My huntress.”

He left offerings at her feet—wildflowers, fresh fruit, jewels that glistened like stars. When she woke in the mornings, she would find him already watching her, his golden eyes tracing her features as if memorising her in every light, every shadow.

“Tell me what you desire,” he would murmur against her skin. “I will give you the world, Dea mea.”

And she would tell him. Small things, to start, such as certain exotic fruits in which to indulge in. He was eager to please, commanding the servants that what ever she asked for be brought to her, ensuring the quality was perfect himself before presenting them to her. 

And yet, despite his devotion, there was something deeper that lurked beneath. Something unpredictable.

Diana was beginning to learn that while Caracalla could be tender, his affection was volatile. It ran hot, all-consuming, but it was dangerous, too.

She saw it one afternoon, when a servant—a boy no older than fifteen—made a mistake.

It had been a simple thing. An accident.

Caracalla was already in a strange mood, with her grand request to explore the great city immediately being turned down, his reasoning having nothing to do with the desires of the flesh, but with his desire to protect her divinity. The boy had been refilling Dondus’ dish when his hands trembled, and the silver bowl clattered to the floor, scattering figs and honeyed dates across the marble. For a moment, all was still.

Then—

A sudden, sharp smack as Caracalla’s hand struck the boy’s face.

The air changed. Diana turned to look at him, and what she saw made her blood run cold.

His expression had darkened, his jaw locked tight. His golden eyes burned with something feral. The servant stumbled back, already trembling, already knowing he had sealed his fate.

“I should take your hands for this,” Caracalla said softly, too softly. “Would you like that?”

The boy fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to the cold floor. “Emperor, please—”

Caracalla didn’t hear him. Or if he did, he did not care.

“You would spill my Dondus’ food?” His voice rose, his hands curling into fists. “You would starve him?”

Diana had never seen a man so afraid as the servant kneeling before her husband. And then she realised… she was afraid, too.

She sucked in a breath, her fingers tightening around the small, furry body in her arms. Instinct had her shielding Dondus against her chest, as if somehow the monkey could shield her in return. It held on to her, clearly finding comfort in his hiding place.

Goblets scattered, plates smashed, food flew everywhere around them. Caracalla’s rage was like fire—it spread, uncontrollable, devouring everything in its path.

Diana could feel it. But she would not let it touch her.

She stood, slowly, carefully, and stepped between the boy and the emperor.

“My love,” she said, her voice steady, though her heart pounded.

Caracalla’s gaze snapped to her.

She did not flinch.

“You would maim one of your own,” she continued, tilting her head slightly. “Over spilled fruit?”

She watched the way his chest rose and fell, the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

He was considering it. Considering whether her words meant anything at all.

Dondus shifted in her hold, his tiny hands gripping the fabric of her dress, and something about the sight seemed to snap Caracalla’s focus. His gaze softened, flickering to the animal, then back to her.

He exhaled sharply. “Diana,” he murmured, as if remembering himself.

She took a step closer, raising a hand to his cheek. “You are married to a goddess, are you not?” she whispered, playing into his beliefs. “Would such a husband be so easily offended?”

Caracalla’s lips parted. His eyes searched hers, wild, frantic—then, slowly, his shoulders dropped. The fire inside him extinguished. The boy still knelt on the ground, barely breathing.

Diana turned to him, her tone even. “Clean the mess.”

The servant scrambled to obey, head down, hands shaking as he began gathering the food into his arms.

Caracalla exhaled again, dragging a hand through his hair before sinking back into his seat, his moment of wrath passing like a sudden gust of wind. Diana, still holding Dondus, sat beside him.

She felt his fingers brush over her wrist, tracing small circles over her pulse.

A silent apology.

She said nothing. Because as much as she wanted to believe she had tamed him, she knew better.

This was only the beginning.

———

For the first time in weeks, Diana would have the room to herself.

Caracalla had been called away for an important council meeting, something he had put off for as long as possible until even his most loyal advisors began to insist. He had left reluctantly, sulking like a child forced from his favorite game.

Diana had been unable to hide her amusement as she watched him frown, arms crossed, muttering under his breath about “pointless affairs” and “boring old men.”

“You are the emperor,” she had reminded him, lips twitching.

“Exactly. Which means I can do whatever I please.”

“And yet, here you are, leaving.”

He had playfully scowled at her, attacking her with a barrage of rough kisses.

She had only smiled, brushing her fingers lightly over his hand before he left. “I’ll be waiting for you when you return.”

It was not as if she had a choice.

And so, the day went on without him.

She sat curled on the chaise by the window, her cheek resting against the marble railing as she gazed out at the city.

Rome stretched beyond her, glittering under the evening sky, its streets humming with life. She watched the flickering torches, the people moving like restless waves, free to wander where they pleased.

She could not. The railings of the balcony were smooth beneath her fingertips, cool like iron bars, holding her in place. She had not left these rooms since the wedding night.

At first, she had not minded. Caracalla’s presence was consuming, overwhelming in a way that made time blur. He filled the space so completely that it was easy to forget how small her world had become. But now, in the quiet moments when he was gone, the weight of it pressed on her.

It was not unfamiliar—this caged feeling.

She had spent much of her life behind walls, tucked away, waiting. And yet, staring down at the city, she found herself aching to move. To walk through the streets. To breathe the same air as the people who called this place home.

But Caracalla would not allow it. She did not even need to ask to know that. The thought unsettled something in her, but before she could chase it further, the door creaked open.

Turning her head slightly, she glanced at Umbra’s emerging figure.

The woman had been tending to her since the wedding, quietly present in the mornings when she bathed, in the evenings when she dressed. She had a gentleness about her that Diana found oddly comforting, though she rarely spoke more than necessary.

Tonight, she carried fresh sheets, her arms full as she crossed the room toward the bed.

Diana watched absently as the woman pulled the old linens away, a daily routine now, working with quiet efficiency. It was only when Umbra hesitated that she took notice.

The servant’s hands had stilled over the sheets she had just removed.

Diana saw her brows pinch slightly, the faintest flicker of something in her expression—confusion, perhaps? Concern?

Umbra’s fingers smoothed over the fabric once, twice, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Diana shifted slightly. “What is it?”

The woman startled, blinking up at her. For a moment, she did not answer. Then, as if shaking something off, she quickly turned, moving to fold the sheets as if nothing had happened.

“It is nothing, my lady.”

Diana frowned. “You are concerned?”

Umbra shook her head, sending the girl a reassuring smile, though Diana did not miss the way she held the linens a little tighter against her chest.

The Empress let the silence stretch between them before saying lightly, “If you are worried about him, you do not need to be.” Umbra froze, just for a second. Diana offered a small smile. “I know he can be… difficult. But I am taking care of him.”

Umbra’s face did not change, but something in her eyes did. A shift, subtle but telling. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then stopped herself.

Diana tilted her head, watching her. The woman knew something. But she did not speak.

Instead, after a long pause, she lowered her gaze and resumed her work.

Diana decided to let it go. She turned back toward the window, running her fingers along the smooth marble railing.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips before she spoke again, softer this time. “I must ask you a favour.”

Umbra stilled, looking at her once more.

Diana did not turn, her eyes still fixed on the city. “A gift was given to me on my wedding night,” she said. “By Lady Lucilla.”

She finally glanced back, meeting Umbra’s gaze.

“I want it back… hidden from prying eyes.”

Umbra did not respond right away. Diana could see the hesitation in her, the careful consideration in the way she studied her face.

She did not ask why. She did not ask what it was. She only held Diana’s gaze for a long, unreadable moment—then, finally, nodded.

Diana smiled. “Thank you.” 

Umbra gathered the sheets in her arms, hesitating just slightly before she turned to leave.

And whatever had worried her before—whatever had made her pause—she did not speak of it again.

———

Caracalla stormed out of the meeting halls, rubbing his temples as if trying to physically rid himself of the headache the council had left him with.

Senators droned on and on about finances, military campaigns, the mood of the people—as if any of it mattered right now.

All he wanted was to return to Diana.

He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders, only to catch sight of his brother’s retreating figure. Geta had left the meeting hall with a quiet urgency, his stride quick, his face unreadable.

Caracalla watched him for a moment. It wasn’t unusual for Geta to avoid lingering after meetings, but there was something off about the way he moved. Something restless.

Curious, Caracalla asked a nearby guard if his brother often hurried away, now that he wasn’t around. The guard stayed solemn, careful with his next words as to not cause distress to his Emperor. 

Caracalla eventually found his brother in the gardens, standing among the statues, exactly where he had been told.

More specifically—standing before her.

Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting a silver glow over the statue’s chiseled form. Geta stood motionless before it, his face unreadable as he gazed upon the familiar figure.

Caracalla smirked, stepping forward. “Admiring my wife, brother?”

Geta turned at the sound of his voice, expression smooth as ever. “This one doesn’t talk back. It’s quite refreshing.”

Caracalla huffed a laugh, stepping beside him. “You always did like quiet things.”

“And you always did like ones that bite.” Geta’s eyes flickered to him, sharp with meaning.

Caracalla ignored it, leaning against the base of the statue, arms crossed. “What is it that’s caught your mind so deeply? I saw you sulking out of the meeting.”

Geta snorted. “I don’t sulk.”

“No? Then what do you call this?” He gestured vaguely to the way Geta stood, arms loose at his sides, expression drawn.

“I call it enjoying the peace, which you are so rudely interrupting.”

“You have missed me brother, admit it.” Caracalla grinned, nudging his brother’s arm.

Geta’s lips twitched, though his gaze remained on the statue. “Enjoying the married life, are you?”

Caracalla’s grin widened. “Beyond words. This past month has been wonderful.”

He hummed, amusement flickering across his face. “And how are the… duties of marriage?”

Caracalla scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “You ask too many questions.”

“Only because I find it strange you’ve actually enjoyed your time in retreat. There must be a reason…” his brother’s tone was playful, though it was unusual for him to pry. “Surely you’ve given her time to breathe.”

Caracalla tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I hope you’re not stretching her too thin,” Geta continued, his voice laced with something unreadable. “I would like to see her again, after all.”

Something about the way he said it made Caracalla pause.

He studied his brother, but if there was any deeper meaning to his words, Geta’s expression did not betray it.

Caracalla shrugged it off, smirking. “Eager to talk to our goddess again, are you?”

Geta gave a tight-lipped smile. “Something like that.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Marriage is fantastic, brother. You should try it. Perhaps I should have you wed soon.”

At that, something in Geta’s expression flickered. His jaw tensed, though he did not respond immediately.

The younger of the two didn’t notice. He continued, lost in his own musings. “A good Roman wife. Perhaps one of the senator’s daughters. She wouldn’t be as special as mine, of course, but I could arrange it—”

“I think I’ll pass.” Geta’s voice was flat, his gaze once again on the statue.

Caracalla frowned. “Why? A man of your station should have a wife.”

“I think I am quite fine as I am.”

Caracalla sighed dramatically. “You say that now, but wait until you find a woman who completes you, who consumes your every thought, who—”

“Spare me,” Geta interrupted, rolling his eyes. “I fear I may start weeping from all this sentiment.”

Caracalla barked a laugh, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. “You’ve always been difficult.”

“And you’ve always been insufferable.”

Silence stretched between them, before Caracalla chuckled, clapping his brother on the back. Geta shook his head, but there was something lighter in his expression. Something reluctant but real.

Caracalla smirked, crossing his arms. “You’re in a rare mood tonight.”

Geta glanced at him. “And you,” he said, “seem happier than I’ve seen you in years.”

Caracalla blinked at that, caught off guard.

He opened his mouth to respond, but Geta was already stepping away, hands tucked behind his back.

“Try not to get lost in your fantasy, brother,” Geta said over his shoulder.

And then he was gone, leaving Caracalla alone beneath the watchful gaze of the goddess.

———

The last night of the honeymoon was a quiet one. A bittersweet stillness hung between them, heavy yet oddly comforting.

Diana sat upon the bed, bare save for the golden bracelets that adorned her wrists, her arms wrapped around Caracalla’s trembling form. His head rested in her lap, his breathing uneven, warm against her skin. She ran her fingers through his damp curls, soothing him as she always did.

This had happened before. Time and time again.

He would grow restless, desperate, working himself into a fevered state—only for it all to slip through his fingers like sand. And then, like now, she would cradle him.

She knew better than to speak. Any words of comfort would only bruise him further, and so she simply held him, pressing her fingers lightly into the muscles of his shoulders.

Slowly, his shaking eased.

Slowly, his breathing evened out.

She had grown accustomed to this. The way he clung to her like a child, the way he sighed so softly when she touched him just so.

His goddess, he called her.

Diana wondered if this was what goddesses were meant to do—soothe their worshippers, quiet their storms, become their refuge. She gazed down at him, at the rise and fall of his chest, at the faint crease between his brows even in sleep.

What was she meant for, if not this?

Was this her purpose?

Diana turned her eyes toward the ceiling, toward the heavens she did not hail from. She did not know who she was praying to—perhaps to the gods, perhaps to no one at all. But still, she prayed. And when she finally laid back, pulling the furs over them both, Caracalla’s arms instinctively tightened around her, his face nuzzling against her ribs.

Diana said nothing. She only let him hold her. And in the silence, sleep took her, too.

It was almost a relief when the night of her release arrived with such grandeur.

Diana had expected as much—Caracalla loved a spectacle, and what better way to mark the end of their honeymoon than with a feast in their honour?

She could not deny she was… excited.

A part of her, at least.

She had always been more comfortable in the quiet, but there was something intoxicating about stepping into a room and feeling every pair of eyes turn toward her.

Her husband paraded her into the great hall, his hand firm on her waist, his chest puffed with pride as if she were his grandest victory. And perhaps, in his mind, she was.

The hall was alive with music and laughter, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. The nobles and senators in attendance erupted into applause as they entered, the sound filling the vast chamber.

Diana lifted her chin, keeping her expression composed, regal. She had learned how to do that well enough.

And then—

Her eyes landed on Geta. 

For a brief moment, the applause faded into nothing.

She knew this moment would come again. She had thought many times of how she would react the next time she saw him, still angry at his previous actions. Would she confront him, ignore him, act pleasant? And then, she grew angrier, more at herself and hating the fact that she had been thinking about him so much since their last encounter. 

He stood amongst the gathered nobles, his dark robes immaculate, his hands coming together in slow, measured claps. His gaze locked onto hers, and something flickered in his expression—something unreadable. Then, just as quickly, his lips curled into a knowing smirk, as if catching himself.

Diana exhaled softly, forcing herself to look away as Caracalla led her forward.

“Behold,” Caracalla’s voice rang out, dripping with triumph, “your Empress!”

The room erupted again, though Diana hardly heard it. Instead, she felt herself being pulled toward the throne.

No—three thrones.

There was now one for her.

“Do you like my gift?” Caracalla gestured toward it proudly. “It is only right,” he said, “that our divine huntress sits where she belongs—above all.”

Diana hesitated for only a fraction of a second before sinking into the central seat.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Geta shift slightly, his fingers idly tapping against the armrest of his own throne. When she turned her head, she found him watching her, an indecipherable look in his dark eyes.

A servant poured her wine, and she brought it to her lips, trying to ignore the slight haze creeping into her mind.

Everything felt distant. The laughter, the voices, the heat of the torches. She imagined she should feel powerful sitting here.

But instead, she only felt dazed.

Diana’s mind wandered as she swirled the wine in her goblet, staring down at the dark liquid as it rippled in the candlelight. She had barely touched it, feeling warm enough from the heat of the torches and the weight of her gown. Before her, the great hall pulsed with life.

Music swelled, strings and flutes weaving a melody that sent people twirling across the marble floor. The howling of nobles rang through the air, mixing with the clinking of goblets and the rhythmic pounding of the drums.

It was a vision of opulence, of celebration.

And yet—

Diana watched it all with a strange sense of detachment.

This was to be her life now. Seated above the masses, adored, revered, put on display like a divine relic.

Caracalla, ever eager, leaned toward her, plucking a glistening grape from a silver tray and pressing it gently to her lips. She parted them slightly, allowing him to feed her. The gesture was sweet in its own way, and she could see in his eyes that he delighted in it. The act of tending to her, playing with her, lavishing her with affection as if she were his most treasured possession.

And perhaps she was. His goddess, after all.

Diana chewed slowly, taking in the scene before her as Caracalla beamed. Something else caught her eye.

The concubines.

They lingered at the edges of the gathering, hovering like moths drawn to the flame of her husband’s presence. Their silken garments draped suggestively over their figures, their eyes never straying far from the emperor. She was not concerned by them.

Why would she be?

She had never known the depths of a man’s touch. She did not understand the pull of it, the hunger. To her, their presence was nothing more than an accepted part of palace life, like the guards who stood at attention, or the servants who flitted about with trays of delicacies.

Still, she could not help but notice something unsettling in the way they acted.

They giggled, they batted their lashes, they reached for Caracalla when he passed, brushing their fingers over his arms in ways that reminded her of the noblewomen who flirted with Geta.

It was that comparison that sent a slight unease creeping into her belly.

They behaved as subjects who wished to please. And Caracalla, even as he remained wholly fixated on Diana, did not send them away. He simply let them wait.

Diana did not dwell on it. She had no reason to. Instead, she smiled as Caracalla pressed another fruit to her lips, swallowing it down as the music carried on, filling the chamber with the sounds of revelry.

Soon however, her husband had momentarily turned his attention to a group of noblemen who clamoured for his favour, his raucous laughter carrying over the hall.

It was in this moment that another voice reached her ear.

“I see my dear sister has already grown tired of the festivities.”

Diana inhaled sharply before turning her head.

Geta.

He had drawn near, his voice lowered so that only she could hear him, clearly thought out. His usual teasing smirk graced his lips, though there was something softer in his gaze tonight.

She straightened her shoulders. “I am not tired, Emperor.”

Geta's smirk twitched, though there was a flicker of something in his expression. “No need for formalities. I would have expected to have moved past that given the current situation.”

“I thought so too,” she replied, voice unreadable.

There was a beat of silence.

Geta’s brows furrowed, and then it dawned on him. “You’re still angry with me.”

Diana said nothing, only lifting her goblet to her lips and taking a slow sip. But Geta knew.

Acacius.

His amusement dimmed slightly, and his gaze drifted toward the crowd, as if considering his next words carefully.

“Diana,” he said at last, voice quieter, more sincere. “I did not send him away to punish you.” Her grip on the goblet tightened. “I did what I thought was best for my brother,” he continued, his voice turning more serious now. “I know you may not see it that way, but I did not make the decision lightly.”

A concubine slithered up to his side, attempting to recapture his attention with a delicate hand on his arm. He barely seemed to notice her.

Diana did. And for some reason, it irked her. Perhaps because it reminded her of the ones that lingered around Caracalla. Perhaps because Geta was speaking to her with a sincerity that felt… unsettling.

“I am sorry,” he said finally.

It caught her off guard.

She turned fully to him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but she found none. And that was what confused her the most. Because she wanted to stay angry. She should stay angry.

Yet—

She exhaled, shaking her head lightly, forcing herself to maintain composure. “I do not know what to do with an apology from you,” she admitted.

Geta tilted his head slightly. “You could accept it?”

“I could,” she mused. “But what fun would that be?”

A breath of laughter escaped him, his usual ease returning. “There she is.”

Diana allowed herself a small smirk, though her mind still felt muddled. She did not know what to do with this man. With the conflicting thoughts that swirled inside her. Whatever this was, it was dangerous.

The moment did not last.

A sudden high-pitched screech shattered the air, jolting them both from their exchange. Dondus. The monkey, perched on top of Caracalla’s throne, flailed his small arms wildly, pointing toward the musicians.

Caracalla turned, grinning as if his pet had just shared some great wisdom with him. “Ah, Dondus demands we enjoy the music!”

And just like that, he reached for Diana, sweeping her into his grasp. She barely had time to react before he pulled her from her throne, leading her away from Geta and toward the open space where guests twirled and danced.

Geta watched them go. Watched as his brother wrapped an arm around her waist, as she was pulled further and further from him.

And despite himself, despite all the logical reasons why he should not care—

A bitter taste settled in his mouth.

[yume-writes]

hehe, I'm back with the thing that eating Blue Cop mental slowly, which I mentioned in the star guardian sleeping curse. Oh god this thing could even become an independent AU but I think that it might be better suited if it were the same universe with a fragment of god AU.

Firstly, we know that Blue Cop only got close to Flame Nova and according to Flame Nova's words, he said that after years becoming a star guardian Blue Cop was never really able to get along with his colleagues. This made me think of a scene when Blue Cop and Flame are getting close to each other, something might have happened to Blue Cop, the time of the event could be before or after he becomes a star guardian. And you know that Blue Cop also has abandoned fear, so I have been thinking, what if someone made him question his worthiness? 

In my opinion, the reason why a person has abandoned fear might be because of a toxic relationship where the victim had no idea that they were being manipulated and taken advantage of. Connect this with Blue Cop, we could see that it’s quite related. In the previous post of your ask about mcb x tfp headcanon, there is a post about that bot who is big = they’re very important if I’m correct. And Blue Cop being probably being the smallest star guardian at that time could cause some gossip about his true worthiness, about if he is actually strong and well-deserved or just lucky that he got through all of his competitors. Young Blue Cop probably soon hears about the gossip so he tries to use words to turn off the gossip, but a very small part of the star guardian at that time actually believes in Blue Cop’s worthiness. Then he changes to use action to prove his worthiness, but little did he know that at this point some of his mental disorder hints have started to show up. 

Blue Cop probably works very hard for the next few weeks, he actively accepts every job even if it's not his work he still does it, he does everything just for an approval that he shouldn’t care at all. But sadly, his colleagues not only didn’t approve his hard work but also shamelessly came to ask for help with paperwork. Slowly Blue Cop forgets how to refuse things he doesn’t want to do, if someone asks him to do something, he will accept it without hesitation. Without notice, he not only became a people-pleaser but overworked damaging his physical strength. At first it’s just him falling asleep on his desk without noticing, but it’s become to suddenly unconscious in the hall. He was so burned out, his frame had to shut him off just to save his life. 

Things eventually getting worse and worse, his health goes down so quickly that the medics have to warn him that he will die because of overwork. He has to obey the medic's words because, after all he still loves his job, but when he started to refuse helping other work the gossip started again but this time about how pathetic he is. Blue Cop hears about it and his mental start goes down more, even though the gossip COULD BE a pity on him but he still feels like he let everyone down. Both his mental and physical health didn’t improve but went down instead, it became so bad the medics had to keep him in the medical room until he showed some hints of being better up.

After like weeks in the medical room with no improvement, the medics have concluded that he has depression. Things kind of went worse after that, Blue Cop started to believe that he had been abandoned and no one cared for him from the start, which was kinda true. Meanwhile, the gossip had finally come to the higher ranks' ears and they demanded Flame Nova to come down and control the situation. At first, he was just gonna handle only the one who started the gossip but he realized that he should also handle the victim too so things could go back to normal. So he came to the medical room to take a look at Blue Cop’s status and after hearing Blue cop story in his perspective started questioning how he hadn’t crashed out yet.

Flame Nova did help Blue Cop after that, he helped Blue Cop with both physical and mental health and also turned down the gossip for him. No one dares to mess with Blue Cop after that, meanwhile, Flame Nova when he sees Blue Cop's health is improving so he thinks that his work here is done and he could go back to his lonely life. Sadly for him, Blue Cop wouldn’t let him go that easy. He literally follows him everywhere at work, Flame Nova tries to use lots of ways to be left alone but Blue Cop somehow still clings to him all the time. Don’t know since when but Flame Nova had finally given up and accepted his fate that now he has a pathetic clinging rabbit that would follow him everywhere no matter what. And yeah that's how their friendship started.

side note: Blue Cop did get rid of depression but anxiety and fear of being abandoned still haunted him even after he met Flame Nova.

A Fragment of God

Wow let me just, *runs away with a suspiciously asked shape lump in my throat*

But honestly what more can I add to this?!!

It's so good!

You know that Blue Cop would be a people pleaser, especially because of the height = importance thing. Being the smallest star guardian means not many think highly of him. God, I can just think of Blue Cop thinking he has friends only because they give him the smallest bit of attention to get him to do stuff. He does their work and gets, "This is why you're the best, Blue Cop." And he feels so happy at being praised that he ignores the cruel giggles from behind his back

Being pushed more and more still he passes out and slams his head into the floor. People start being so much more cruel to him after he starts refusing, it starts becoming physical, shoving and pushing him to get him to accept. The medics don't even have to keep him in the room, he doesn't want to leave, he doesn't want to face people

Flame Nova was like a light in the darkness, the only person who actually cared for him. He did everything to please him, to prove his worth, to make sure he wasn't abandoned

Which is why it hurts so much to see Flame Nova steal the memory core, to try to stop him, to feel him break his leg, to see a look of apathy on his face as he does it

He abandoned him too, huh

Also do you think Flame Nova starts calling Blue Cop a rabbit? He thinks about Blue Cop being a 'pathetic clinging rabbit' so much that it comes out, albeit in a nicer way

[lilyharvord]

The fantasy fiction trope of the chosen one being raised to die at just the right time is just so biblically horrific and disgusting, it literally makes me foam at the mouth over it. The fact that there are numerous instances where they should die, but there is always something in the universe that saves them; leaving them thinking that maybe they are either incredibly skilled at survival or just lucky, only to find out that it was never them?? They were being saved just to die when they have to? As seen fit by some higher power????? Furthermore, it's extra spicy if that chosen one was a reluctant hero who only realizes it at the end, right before they have to die... and they make the choice to go through with it anyway???? When they ultimately have something to die for now (read found family who tries to stop them and/or turns from fighting the big bad to fighting the fucking universe to save them)????? Geewhiz what a fucking TROPE.

[wizardofarles]

Survivor (Victim)

Did I survive? I breathe, I think,

but am I alive?

I did not overcome—I failed,

gave in, gave up.

I never fought, and never won.

I slayed no demons—I couldn’t

face them. I left

the door wide open, let them in, let them

change me, erase

me,

bury me cold,

six feet under their monstrous weight,

I laid down and was grateful

for the rest and how they allowed me to

hide. I closed my eyes,

but my mouth like a wound remains

open, waiting

for the right moment—for the right

words—to scream, waiting

for caring hands

to claw through the earth and tear my body

free—

waiting always, always choking

on the dirt that fills my lungs,

as countless bright full summers

pass above. Is this breathing?

Is this living? I fear I’m just a ghost,

a whisper

of what could have been, what once was

—tethered to this place

by a thin thread—

You have not found my corpse.

[thenwethrowitonthefire]

Shout-out to everyone who survived a "fun" easter with the family

[gatheryepens]

So I’m like 99.1% going to quit my job

[ohabeeeeeee]

.

[nochepsicodelica]

Bear Boyfriend Toji returns. ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ <- Hell yeah, that's the clingy thing <3

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Don't let him catch you wearing his clothes, unless you want him relentlessly tailing you for the rest of the day until you both go to sleep. It's one thing to put his shirt on to go to bed, but it's a whole other thing to wear it in broad daylight, while cleaning the house, cooking, folding and putting away your laundry, etc. He will follow you and try to corner you as you make your way around, trying to get all these things finished. You have to be very strong-willed in order to duck under his arms and escape him when he tries to seduce you by caging you against the wall. It doesn't deter him when you leave him standing there with his hands still planted on the wall. He laughs it off, mutters something under his breath about you being a tease and keeps chasing you, his prize.

Cooking is the hardest thing to do in his clothes. You're literally working with fire, sharp knives, and multitasking it up, while he's clinging to you and whispering in your ear all the filthy things he wants to do to you while you wear his shirt. You're crying your eyes out while you cut an onion and when you ask him to watch the pot, he Toji Taxes you. Says, "Yeah, sure, I'll stir... For two kisses and a squeeze." Unbelievable, but you need that help, so with a much called for roll of your stinging, bleary eyes, you make your way to him and let him take what he wants in exchange for his assistance. After one very long squeeze to your boob over his shirt and two kisses, he happily has a wooden spoon in his hand. Indulging him in his demands only fueled his desire to get you back in his grasp. It's that damn shirt, it fits like a short dress on you. Another thing he loves is that if you reach high enough for something, he gets a peek at the mere pair of underwear you're sporting under it.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ When it rains, good luck getting this bear of a man off of/away from you. It's hard enough to get out of bed on a daily basis because of how he constantly drags you back until he's ready to get out of bed, but rainy days are something else entirely. It's cold, the sky is gloomy, everything is wet, and worst of all... the chances of getting wet socks are much, much higher. It's not his favorite, but the one thing that makes it all better is you, so his clinginess is on another level—it's really like he's being powered by the storm.

He loves when your schedules align during this kind of weather. Neither of you has to leave the house for work, so there are no alarms set and you both wake up at your own times. Days like this transition from being wrapped up in each other until your stomachs start growling, to putting on big sweaters that smell like him, so that you can run to the car together through the heavy rain, to get something to eat. Once you return, you make that same run through the rain to get back to your home and you both head straight for the bedroom, where you are once again made his prisoner and caged in his arms for the duration of your afternoon nap.

He doesn't want to leave the bed anymore, and that extends to him not wanting you to leave either, even when you say you have to pee. "Hold it, mama. We're still sleeping." "I've been holding it for half an hour." "Shh... If you last the whole hour, we'll go make that coffee you were chirping about, earlier." He definitely chides you when you can't fall asleep later at night, but is more than ready to help you in any way that expedites the process.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ With how long you've been together, it's to be expected that you feel safe around Toji, but there are just moments where he stands back and thinks about the things you do that demonstrate how emotionally and physically comfortable you are with him. He's glad that you see him as your confidant and that you don't feel the need to dial down your feelings, just so that he can easily digest what is going on with you. He's a strong man, he can handle your tears of varying emotions, so, when you come home from a terrible day at work or you feel like you are losing your mind, because nothing is going right, he openly invites you to plop yourself on him and just lie there until you're ready to talk out what has you feeling the way you do. You don't have to say anything until you are ready, but if his presence comforts you and helps you relax a little more, he prefers that you seek him out for solace.

The physical aspect of feeling safe around him is shown in many ways, like when you fall asleep on him or even just fall asleep around him. You trust that he will look out for you during these moments of vulnerability and he does. He can easily tell when a nightmare is preventing you from getting good sleep and he does not wait for you to wake up in tears to comfort you, because what is being abruptly woken up, to enduring uncontrollable fear your mind creates?

When you go out together, even just being subtly maneuvered so that you are walking on the inside of the sidewalk, makes you feel protected. You already get automatic scary bear privilege with him, so you rarely feel like you are endangered by others, but the little things he does are very much considered and appreciated, too. Like, when you're walking through a large crowd and he holds your hand tight or he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, so that you don't get lost. Or when he switches places with you and becomes a barrier between you and the group of sketchy looking men walking by.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ This bear loves when you fly at him like a dart and tackle him or at least try to tackle him after a long day of not seeing each other. Sometimes he'll stumble back on purpose just to make you laugh when he says something along the lines of "woah there, pretty girl. We almost went through the wall." It's gotten to be a routine for whenever you come home from work before him. As soon as he shuts the door, he's silently and slowly turning around, throwing a smirk at you in anticipation of you jumping on him. Sometimes, he crouches down slightly and scoops you up before you even have the chance to try and knock him over. The way you laugh as he carries you back to where you were lying on the couch, while he rapid fires kisses onto your face, is everything. This is definitely one of his favorite parts about coming home to you.

Before anything, you read Toji's body language, because sometimes there are days that don't call for this kind of silliness. Like when the door shuts, signaling that he's finally home, but he lets out a tired, heavy sigh. You greet him in a much calmer manner, simply walking up to him and asking him how his day went and if he wants to freshen up before he eats dinner—questions of that sort—while still being mindful of not overwhelming him with too many of them. It's very much about reading his mood, but also attempting to lift it by doing things like reminding him that he's about to eat one of his favorite meals, even when you know he knows, because the entire house is flooded with the aroma, or telling him about a new little food spot that you saw on your way home from work and suggesting you go try it together sometime.

Most of the time, you're able to lighten up his mood, and if it's not before you go to the bedroom, it's while you're lying in bed together, getting ready to go to sleep. Quiet investigative murmurs reach his ears, while his head rests on your chest. You play with his hair to ensure that he feels calm and secure enough to talk this out with you, and he usually does cave and spills what's on his mind. It's mainly tiredness and work being a stressful hassle at times, inevitably preventing him from getting home to you when he's supposed to. He feels better once he gets it all off his chest and sleeps like a cub, attached to you, as always.

NSFW Below

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Dirty bear, dirty bear, dirty bear! He has more wet dreams about you than he would ever admit. It makes him feel ridiculous, given the consistency and then some, of the amount of times you and him have sex in a week. His mind is so greedy, already cluttered with images and moments with you, yet it continues to create more scenarios while he sleeps, giving him these "humbling experiences". Sometimes he has to get up in the middle of night—under the guise of going to use the bathroom—to change his boxers, because he ruined them with an involuntary overflow of cum and he needs to hide the evidence. It's something he gets all bashful and "c'mon, Toji..." about, while he's cleaning himself up, but when he catches you in the middle of experiencing a wet dream, he thinks it's the hottest thing ever. For a few seconds, it's just you grinding against the covers, quietly mumbling his name, before you still, again. And oh, he's a hypocrite. He will tease the living hell out of you about it when you wake up, his sleep ridden voice bombarding you with questions like... "How'd you sleep?" "Dream anything interesting?" "Who was there?" "What did I do that had you all riled up?" "Was dream me realistic enough to make you cum?"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ This enormous, "intimidating man"—in the words of others—does not mind at all if you wake him up in the middle of the night because you need him. Especially, if you wake him up by pressing soft, butterfly kisses to his lips. He's willing to do anything you ask of him if that's how you ask for it. All it takes is a sultry, whispered "Please," from you and he's sitting up, getting ready to fulfill your needs. He doesn't even need to ask you what you need, the way you flip over to lay on your stomach and raise your oversized shirt over your hips, revealing your panties to him, tells him everything.

Toji is sure that this is just going to lull both of you back to sleep, but he does it for your sake. He goes for the usual position that these spontaneous sparks of nightly desire call for—prone bone. Even during the early hours of morning, with both of you still half asleep, the act keeps its intimacy. His face is pressed close to the side of yours, his nose brushing your cheek as sloppy, lazy kisses meet your skin. His hands go to the backs of yours, interlacing his fingers with yours on your pillow.

Short, languid rolls of his hips against you are what you receive, and it's enough, because your body is so sensitive after having just woken up, that it tricks you into feeling like he's giving you way more. It's all quiet, shuddered breathing, until you release the cutest little whimpers and cries into your pillow, once you cum. The way your cunt clenches and spasms around his cock has him releasing deep groans into your ear, as he nears his own climax. Slightly more punctuated thrusts that jolt you into the mattress and heavier breaths, are followed by thick spurts of cum that brim your walls. For a second or two, you feel like he might break your fingers from how hard he's squeezing them, but the pain vanishes, and you're distracted from the fact that it was ever there when his arms envelop you and his lips smear wet kisses over the side of your face, again. A quiet check in is conducted, and when you confirm that you're fine and you feel good, he fully relaxes and just slumps on you. You both end up falling back asleep just like that.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ᕦʕ •`ᴥ•´ʔᕤ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ He loves having hush hush sex at least once a week. He takes you out to places where there are lots of people—a restaurant, for example—he'll move his chair so that he's sitting beside you, and he'll start touching you under the table. He relishes in the fluctuation of your composure, the way you nibble on your lip while nervously looking around, how your eyes shut tightly just before you shudder out a sigh and let your head hang, your knuckles protruding as much as they can without tearing through your skin.

The sight of you quickly spending all your grounding techniques, goes straight to his dick, and it's not long before things are moved to the bathroom. He won't do the whole, i'll meet you in the bathroom in five minutes, scene. He really doesn't care who sees you two, so he's dragging you along with him to the men's bathroom, hand in hand. He'll check to see if it's all clear, and if it is, he'll pull you into the bathroom and lock the door, immediately pinning you to the door. You're lured into the sloppiest make out session ever. While one hand is bunching up your dress, the other is going under it to feel up your chest and the rest of your torso. Then the bumping against the door begins and your moans are being shushed by him. "Your pretty moans are for me, right?" "Mhm." "Keep it that way. No louder than this, or i'll stuff my fingers in your mouth so no one gets to hear them."

Of course the people outside know what you did. It's a couple coming out of the men's bathroom together, and the woman is clinging to her man, while she walks back to her table with very obviously trembling legs. Once Toji helps you get back into your seat, he digs into his lukewarm meal, as if nothing ever happened. He smiles all lovingly as you pick up your fork with a shaky hand and start eating as well.

[ditzydoe444]

MDNI 18+

nerd! jason and bimbo! reader ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

part 1 (current) | part 2 | part 3

you approached nerd! jason after your lecture, you’ve been struggling to keep up with the content for the past few weeks, and after stalking him in the library you realised he was quite smart and a total loser. just what you wanted. you beamed, gently tapping his shoulders after class with the biggest smile you could possibly give that would make a man weak at his knees. and when you said he was a total loser, he was a total fucking loser. he became a stuttering mess seeing a pretty girl like you, jason was never popular or got any attention from women, so seeing a girl like you talking to him almost made him come on the spot.

nerd! jason who did not hesitate to accept tutoring you the moment you asked, he stuttered out a response, his cheeks and ears turning pink as he tried to avoid eye contact, the last thing he wanted was to get lost in your pretty round eyes.

however your tutoring sessions didn’t really go as planned.

you couldn’t help but to get turned on at the sight of him teaching you, the way he was so soft and gentle making sure you actually understood the information instead of rushing on made you unreasonably horny. your perfectly manicured nails drifted down to his thigh, gently caressing it as you watched him physically melt, stumbling over his words as his hand shaking as he held the pen. yes nerd! jason was a total loser, but he was also so god damn hot. the man was tall, 6’4 maybe? and god his muscles? his broad shoulders were prominent through the sweaters he would wear in class, the way they were rolled up in his forearms allowing you to see his veins and muscles made your eye roll. he had a slightly rugged face, sharp jawline and prominent sharp nose, but had the biggest shy boyish personality.

despite having absolutely no experience with women, he sure knows how to fuck. when you first gave him a handjob, his cock so god damn big to the point where it put the frat boys you hooked up with to shame. the way he moaned and tilted his head back, mumbling ‘don’t stop’ was enough to give you the biggest orgasm alone.

you didn’t expect anything in return, just giving him a hand job before he patted his thighs. when you refused his soft tone changed into a lower demanding one, saying though he was inexperienced he wasn’t a fucking loser to let a girl give him a hand job and not give something in return.

nerd! jason knew how to fuck, after giving him small tips and guidance, which unlike the frat boys he took no insult to the advices you gave, listening and following them made your knees weak. he’s never made a woman come before because he was a virgin, and well, seeing you come for the first time made him want to do it over and over again. he fucked you so god damn dumb.

[yeyinde]

slowly being led into a very (bad and) codependent D/s relationship with Price is all I can think about right now.

It starts off small, too. Casual touches. It's what he's known for—tactile; a man of raw, untempered physicality, and you wonder if the absence of touch makes his palms itch sometimes—and you let it happen. Let it grow. Evolve. Shift from a breath to a kiss. Morphing from a ghost to something substantive. Corporeal.

His knuckles grazing your forearm when he stands beside you. His hand on your lower back. Correcting your form with both hands. Smothering his chest against your spine. Then—

His hand on your thigh. Slipping lower down your back until his pinky lifts over the curve of your ass. Possessive. It reeks of ownership. But you don't tell him to stop.

It's grounding. You're not sure why. It just is. Like counting to ten. Focusing on some distant object. One, two. His hand on your wrist. His thighs pressed tight to yours. Hands on you, always, until it feels as natural as breathing. Three, four.

These touches usually accompany his voice. The low grit of a command dragging over gravel. Nails against sandpaper. Whispered demands just for you. Only you.

Or, at least, that's how they start.

Optional. Suggestions. Things you can prise apart with your own will. Agency still glueing to your throat but—

Not for long.

His touch finds its way there, too.

Fingers against your neck. Your jaw. Cheek. It feels natural to let them slip between your lips. And as strange as it is (isn't), there's nothing really dirty about it. It's not sexual. Not yet. It's just—

(there's a hole in your throat aching for his fingers to fill)

Five, six.

He offers another suggestion, but when you go to answer (agency, autonomy), his fingers find their way inside your mouth, snuffing out the protests between thick, grizzled knuckles. Something inside of you shifts, a subtle subluxation, at the raw, heavy taste of him on your tongue.

He lowers your chin with a slight pressure against your jaw until you're staring at his throat. Submissive. He groans, fingers twitching. Calls you a good girl when you keep your gaze there. Always. Even with other people around. Alone. Supplicant.

It becomes a routine, much like everything else, to have his fingers inside your mouth; pacifying. Stealing the voice from between your teeth.

And choices—so many of them, too. You hadn't realised how many decisions you had to make in a day until it was muffled between the salty, geosmin tang of rough, calloused fingers stroking your tongue. Freeing in a way that you can define in simple words. Can't explain to your friends when they ask why you're acting like you're feening for a cigarette whenever he's away from you. Jaw gnashing. Pacing. Skin itching. Burning. Unsettled. Raw. Nothing makes sense without his hands on your body. His taste on your tongue.

You try to replicate the feeling on your own by shoving your knuckle between your teeth at work when the noise, the choices, scream too loud in your ears. Your head. In your bedroom—two fingers down your throat, two sliding between your folds. A lit cigar burning, untouched, in the ashtray you bought. Perched as close to the edge of your end table as you could get it. Musk, leather. Something strong. Something that smells like him drenching your sheets. But it's not enough. It's never enough.

It isn't him.

You edge around this perverse neediness like its an open, infectious sore. Something has to give. Something has to break—

It doesn't take long until your mouth falls open at the sight of him, eager. So eager. You need it, and nearly sob when he peels his fingers away from your needy mouth, and tells you he has to leave again. But his gaze slants towards the case of cigars with a little grunt that makes your mouth water. A quiet good girl uttered as soft a rustling sheet, stuffing the hole in your throat for a little while longer. Soothing the ache.

Seven, eight.

Somewhere along the way, it just makes sense to sit on his lap instead of a chair. To keep your tongue tucked between two fingers, swallowing down the taste of him as he goes about his own routine. As if you're not even there. A paperweight against his chest.

Maybe he needs this as much as you do, too.

And that's good, really. Because you can't focus without him. The world is too much, too loud; too big.

It makes it easier to give in. Cut your lease. Let him pack everything you own into the back of his car.

(He groans like you've gutted him when you tell him you've already handed in your resignation two weeks ago.)

In private, in his office (your home now, too), you kneel on a satin pillow (when you're good), head bowed against his thigh, breathing in the heady musk of him. Gasoline. Iodine. Agar. Smoke. His hand falling down every so often to stroke calloused fingers against your nape. Tobacco. Worn leather. Fresh ink.

Your head is empty in these moments, forehead pressed against the cotton of his trousers. Deliciously so. You hadn't realised how much you think, either, until he cupped his hand around the back of your head and pushed your nose into his thigh. Mind reeling. Looping. Crowded. Loud. Until—

The scratch of a pen on paper. Metal sliding against wood. The hollow thunk of his hand dropping against the surface. Breaths. The whine of his chair when he shifts. A grunt. Empty, empty—

And when the catch of a zipper fills the air, you let his hands guide you to where you need to be, lips already parting at the slightest brush of his knuckles on your cheek. Open, willing. Empty.

He feeds you his cock without a word because none needs to be said. You know what to do. He's been training you for this moment from the onset. And the realisation of it settles around you like a blanket; that thing inside of you shifts again, sliding into place.

This is where you belong.

His hand on your crown. His growling voice in your ear. "Look at me when you swallow my cock, sweetheart—mm, that's my good girl."

(Nine, ten.)

[sleepyhoon]

TWO MOONS - L.HS

pairing. plug!heeseung x reader

genre. smut, 18+ content, one shot, drabble. MDNI!

word count. 4k+

warnings. drug & alcohol consumption, partying, swearing, sex while intoxicated, short smut [ dry humping, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), fingering ]

synopsis. based off of this hard thought! plug!heeseung who likes you so much that he's convinced himself that you're kinda evil.

a/n. sorry this took so long lol hope u enjoy regardless :) no part 2 so plss dont request it but maybe some drabbles!! also not fully proofread so pls disregard any typos or grammatical errors hehe

Never in his life did Heeseung predict he’d be getting bitched around by a girl arguably much shorter, physically weaker, and far less intimidating than him. And yet here he was, shirtless in his kitchen at two in the morning on his third attempt of baking edibles all because you were too scared to smoke a little weed. 

Fucking ridiculous.

It’s his own fault, really, he should’ve known that innocent, good girl persona you put on was all an act you use to control people – specifically men. Stirring the dessert batter in the mixing bowl, Heeseung shakes his head at the memory of you tilting your head and batting your eyelashes at him as you spoke, your perfectly manicured nails – that you probably got some desperate bitchboy to pay for – tracing and lightly scratching his bicep.

“So,” you started, dragging out the ‘o’, “how much do you charge for edibles?”

Heeseung shakes his head, tracing the rim of his half-empty red solo cup as he responds, “Edibles aren’t my forte. You don’t smoke?”

“Not my forte,” you say in a mocking tone, making Heeseung chuckle. “It’s just too much, you know? The smell, how quick it kicks in…not for me. But, uh, if you don’t make them I’ll stop wasting your time, then.” You give Heeseung a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning on your heels, fully prepared to disappear back into the party and find someone who actually meets your needs.

“Wait!” Heeseung stops you, tugging on your arm until you’re back to facing him. He can’t fucking believe this bullshit manipulation tactic you’re using on him is actually working, he’s literally pulling on your arm like a child so you won’t leave him.

You raise a brow at him as you wait for Heeseung to continue, taking note of his sudden nervousness, “Yeah?”

“Uh…are you into, like, brownies? Or…”

The smirk you gave in response said enough, you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

He’d spent the next few hours browsing the aisles of Target, checking his phone every so often and checking off each ingredient as he tossed them into the bright red shopping cart. To make matters worse, you hadn’t even requested normal brownies, you wanted some shit he’d hardly ever heard of before: blondies. 

It was bad enough that Heeseung already couldn’t bake for shit, and here you were demanding he’d make something he’d never even tasted before; you really are a master manipulator.

His third and final attempt at baking the blondies were a success, his three roommates taste-testing the fresh batch as a final confirmation.

“I can’t even taste it,” Jake says, his brows shooting up in delight, “you sure you’re not forgetting the main ingredient?”

“That’s the whole point,” Heeseung explains, cutting the remaining batch into neat squares, “YN doesn’t want the taste to be too strong, she likes when it’s more subtle and takes awhile to kick in.”

“Are you her wife or her plug?” Sunghoon jokes from his spot on the couch, taking a small bite of his own blondie.

“Neither,” Jay inserts himself into the conversation, taking a seat next to Sunghoon, “I’m sure he wants to be both, though.”

“Fuck off,” Heeseung snaps, momentarily narrowing his eyes at his roommates. “We just met, I’m just trying to get to know her.” He sets the knife down, reaching into the wooden cabinet to retrieve ziplock bags.

“You’re already her bitch, what else is there to know?” Sunghoon half-jokes, resting his feet on the ottoman.

“I am not her bitch.”

He totally is, if the way he’s hurrying to send you a picture of the freshly made blondies is anything to go by.

Heeseung * 2:47 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image] Yooo

YN * 9:06 AM

omggggg  ur the fucking best how much??

You didn’t respond until the following morning, causing Heeseung to nearly jump out of his skin once he woke up to your texts. He turns on his side, elbow propped up against the mattress as he formulates a response.

Heeseung * 10:31 AM

1 for 10 or 2 for 15. venmo or cashapp But lmk if you want more 

YN * 10:40 AM

no cash? :(

Heeseung’s about to go on a long winded explanation about how money transferring apps are quicker and more convenient than accepting cash when you interrupt him by sending a photo.

YN * 10:41 AM 

[Attachment: 1 Image] plsssss i don’t trust cashapp and ive been having issues w my venmo acc :(

It’s a photo of the bottom half of your face, lips formed into a cute pout with your camera angled low enough to show off your cleavage. You weren’t even trying to be discreet, setting your forearm underneath your chest to make your boobs sit higher, the cheetah print material of your bra peeking out from under your too-small tank top.

Heeseung swallows hard, staring down at the photo with his pupils blown wide as his trembling fingers type out a response.

Heeseung * 10:50 AM

Actually you know what don’t even worry about it lmao Consider it a gift When r u free for pickup Or i can bring to u Either or is fine lol

YN * 10:59 AM

omg :o are u sure?  don’t want u to lose out on money >.<

Heeseung * 11:11 AM

It’s fine dw about me baby U picking up? Or want me to drop off On campus is too risky

YN * 11:12 AM

thank u hee!!!!!!! im done with classes around 4:30 i’ll pick up around then if that works also u responded at 11:11…angel number u must be my angel :o

There you go again with your subtle manipulation tactics that Heeseung swears won’t work on him. If there really is angel out of the two of you, it definitely wouldn’t be you, but Heeseung’s not too sure he’d be considered one either. After all, in the twelve minutes it took him to respond to your message, he spent ten of them fucking into his fist as he stared at the photo you sent.

His mind conjured up countless scenarios; leaving hickeys and bite marks across your chest, slipping his dick between your tits as you held them together for him, cumming all over them, fucking anything. Desperate wasn’t even the word.

Heeseung * 11:13 AM

Must be :)

After a month and a half of being your personal baker slash bitchboy, Heeseung really is convinced that you’re using him, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything he’s grateful, fully aware that if it weren’t for him being your plug, the two of you likely never would’ve crossed paths despite attending the same universities.

There wasn’t an ounce of school spirit in his body, so he had little to no urgency to attend any of the sporting events you cheered at or one of the many school-sponsored events you were required to attend. Meeting you at that party not too long ago had been his first encounter with you ever, and you clearly left him with a great first impression on him.

Since that night, he’s found himself conjuring up a new batch of edibles for you every week; brownies, cupcakes, cereal bars, whatever the fuck you wanted, and half the time he’d do it for free if it meant he got to give it to you in person.

He still hasn’t convinced you to actually smoke, though, but maybe it’s for the best. The mere thought of getting high with you and how you’d stare him down with half-lidded eyes was enough to make his dick hard — in fact, it already has. Several times.

Enough time has passed to the point where it’s obvious to everyone, yourself included, that Heeseung has genuine feelings for you that go beyond a physical and sexual attraction. Sure, he’s still convinced that you’re a little bit evil and definitely manipulative, but he considers it part of the fun. He’s also deluded himself into having the “I can fix her” mindset that he’s been using to justify his actions of ignoring your red flags.

However, even if he can’t “fix” you, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. Red is his favorite color, after all.

“You sound…crazy, and she sounds crazier,” Jake leans against the kitchen counter, raising a concerned brow at Heeseung as he takes a sip of his drink.

“I’m not crazy,” Heeseung corrects, “and YN is…I don’t know, honestly. Leave her alone, dipshit.”

Jake throws a hand up in defense, glaring when a fellow partygoer accidentally bumps into him, nearly causing him to spill his drink. “Rather be a dipshit than a bitchboy.” He mutters loud enough for Heeseung to hear before groaning, “Wow, speak of the devil.”

Heeseung turns, following Jake’s line of sight until he spots you walking through the front door. Stunning as always, your khaki mini skirt and black halter top fitting as if they were custom designed for you and only you.

Despite extending you an invitation to Sunghoon’s birthday party, Heeseung was fairly certain you wouldn’t show up tonight, assuming you’d be consumed with cheer practice or one of your many extracurricular activities to attend. Yet, here you were, a wicked grin on your face as you made eye contact with Heeseung.

He gulps in return, eyes wide as he watches you walk over to him and Jake.

You stand beside Heeseung, shooting him a quick smile before directing your attention to Jake, “Sunghoon! Happy birthday, king!”

Jake side-eyes you, briefly glancing at Heeseung before responding, “I’m not…you know what? Nevermind, thanks.” He takes this as an opportunity to exit the conversation, giving Heeseung a light pat on the shoulder as he leaves.

“Didn’t think you’d be here.” Heeseung comments, leaning against the kitchen countertop.

You shrug, “Wasn’t doing anything else, figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by for a little. Besides, I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah?” Heeseung asks, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Yeah,” you respond, taking a step closer and resting your hand on his bicep, “got anything for me?”

Fuck, Heeseung knew he should’ve made another batch of brownies or some shit. He seriously hadn’t been expecting you to show up tonight, otherwise he would’ve been prepared.

He shakes his head, “Not this time, you should’ve told me you were coming; I would’ve made something.”

You groan, momentarily tilting your head back, “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised,” his hand lands on your waist, pulling your body until your flush against him, “why won’t you just smoke with me?”

You grimace, shaking your head in response.

Heeseung rolls his eyes, “Just once? I know your first time wasn’t that great, but, I really think you’d like it if you tried again.”

“I don’t know, Hee…”

“Tell you what,” Heeseung starts, clearing his throat, “smoke with me just this once, and your next few purchases are on me.”

It isn’t much of an offer considering most of the shit he gave you was either free or already extremely discounted, but your eyes light up regardless. “Really?”

Heeseung nods, “I swear.”

You think it over for a moment, the pros instantly outweigh the cons and lead you to accept Heeseung’s desperate offer. 

A few minutes later, you find yourself in a comfortable lounge chair with Heeseung in his backyard, grateful that the remaining partygoers opted to stay indoors, giving you privacy and alone time with him.

You’re sitting sideways on his lap, trying your best to ignore the feeling of his dick pressing right against your ass, neatly rolled blunt in one hand as he uses the other to fish a lighter from his pocket. “You’re nervous,” he comments.

You shake your head, “I’m not.”

“You are, I feel you shaking.”

“I’m fine, just kinda cold. Go on.”

Heeseung studies you for a moment, eye contact strong and intimidating as ever as he brings the blunt to his parted lips. You watch carefully as he brings the lighter towards the tip, focusing entirely too much on the concentrated look on his face as he lights it. Slowly, he begins to rotate it as the end continues to burn, taking a few small puffs here and there.

Satisfied with his creation, Heeseung takes a long, slow drag, inhaling the smoke into his lungs before titling his head away to exhale.

“Your turn,” he says, offering you the blunt.

You hesitantly stare down at it before accepting; it was intimidating to say the least, the scent alone strong enough to make your head hurt. Heeseung watches you patiently, eyes darting between your lips and the blunt in silence.

Deciding you need a little bit of encouragement, he brings his thumb to your lips, parting them slightly as his free-hand wraps around your wrist, “You’ll be fine, trust me.” 

Under the guidance of his calloused hand, you finally bring the blunt up to your lips and briefly inhale before immediately exhaling.

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head, “How’d that feel?”

You ponder for a moment, passing the blunt back to Heeseung, “I don’t feel anything. Literally nothing.”

“I mean, yeah, you didn’t even inhale it.”

You roll your eyes, “Why are there so many steps? This is why I prefer edibles.”

“I’m just showing you that you have other options, babe.”

“Yeah, well I’m sticking to my baked goods. You can have the rest of that, I don’t want anymore.”

Heeseung’s well aware that you’re a woman of your word, and the chances of you ever smoking again were a definite zero, so trying to get you to change your mind was pointless. However, there is one thing that may just work on you.

“Mind if I try something?”

You perk up, “Try what?”

“I do all the work but you still get high.”

You raise a brow, “That’s possible?”

He nods, “All you’d have to do is take deep breaths.”

Taking a deep breath, you accept Heeseung’s offer with a sigh, resting a hand on his shoulder as you adjust yourself on his lap. “Fine.”

Here goes nothing.

He guides the blunt back to his lips, taking a long drag as he holds the smoke in his mouth. He tilts his head upward towards you, taking your chin in his hand, signaling for you to part your lips. You follow his command and part your lips open, just enough for Heeseung to close the distance and allow the smoke into your mouth, his lips barely brushing against yours in the process.

You take in a deep breath, eyes closed shut and inhale the smoke, careful not to exhale too quickly and have a repeat of your previous attempt.

“How was that?” Heeseung asks, taking note of your sudden silence.

Truthfully, it wasn’t bad. The smell is still too strong for your liking and requires much more effort than biting off a piece of dessert and calling it a day, but it wasn’t bad. You’re certain that Heeseung shotgunning it into your mouth only added to the experience.

“Not bad,” you admit, “probably because you did all the work.”

He chuckles at that, “I’ll always take care of you, remember that.”

Heeseung is having the time of his life, thoroughly convinced that he finally has some power over you. Here you were sitting on his lap in his backyard letting him blow smoke into your mouth. Sure, it may have taken a lot of convincing and begging on his end to get to this point, but none of that matters; baby steps are still movement.

As if the night couldn’t have gotten any better, you’re asking Heeseung to shotgun more smoke into your mouth over and over. He’s careful to maintain a calm and nonchalant demeanor as he does so, not wanting to come off as too eager out of fear of scaring you away. Or even worse, giving you back that power you have over him.

On the fifth time, you swipe your tongue across Heeseung’s bottom lip when he passes the smoke into your mouth, a low groan escaping from him in the process. He’s fully hard in his jeans by now, and there’s no way you can’t feel his dick pressing right into you. Despite the cold weather, your entire body feels warm all over, Heeseung only adding to the pleasure.

You should’ve taken Heeseung a bit more seriously when he said you’d still get high from this; after a few minutes, your limbs were already starting to feel lighter and weaker. A delicate, cloud-like haze fills your head; your vision blurs slightly and it takes a few minutes for you to fully relax.

Heeseung, attentive as ever, remains silent and still has he watches you; primarily due to the fact that you squirming around on his lap is only adding to the uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. One wrong move, and he’d surely be cumming in his boxers.

You rest your forehead against Heeseung, pressing a firm hand against his chest when he moves to blow more smoke into your mouth. He hums, staring up at with a concerned look on his face.

You close your eyes, mumbling, “Heeseung…”

He hums again in response, still holding the smoke in his mouth.

You open your eyes briefly before closing them again, balling up the collar of his shirt in your fist as you lean down to press your lips against his. He opens his mouth on instinct, as if it were a second nature, parting his lips slightly and exhaling the smoke into your mouth once again.

Heeseung absentmindedly sets the blunt down, his hands moving to your waist to pull you closer to him until your tits are pressed right up against his chest. He groans into your mouth at the feelings, tilting his head to allow himself further into your mouth. 

You cup his face in your hands, hips moving forward as you slowly begin to grind yourself against him. “Fuck,” he moans in a low voice, “keep doing that.”

You grind down harsher this time, capturing his moan in your mouth in the process. With each movement of your hips, a shiver descends down your spine at the friction; Heeseung is painfully hard, and from what you could feel, he was definitely packing. Bigger than what you would’ve expected.

It all feels too good; you grinding against him, the state of his high, your tongue in his mouth. It’s all so overwhelmingly euphoric that Heeseung hardly realizes how close he is to literally cumming in his boxers.

His body was always overly sensitive whenever he got high, and often avoided any sort of intimacy that involved another person due to how embarrassingly quick he would finish, and tonight doesn't seem to be any different. What makes matters worse is the fact that Heeseung was already desperately attracted to you and had been dreaming of this moment since he’d first met you.

He pulls away quickly, cursing under his breath, “YN, h-hold on,” he stutters, “slow down, please.”

You don’t listen; in fact, you can barely even hear him with how caught up you were in your own head. “Hmm? Say that again?”

“S-slow – ah, fuck – slow down for a sec, baby.”

His grip on your waist tightens, and despite the urgency in his tone of wanting you to slow down, he makes no effort to still your hips move you off of him. Fuck it, it is what it is.

“Why?” You question, tilting your head, but you’re a few seconds too late.

Heeseung’s entire body shivers, hips jolting upwards as he comes on himself, making a mess of his boxers. While that alone was definitely embarrassing, Heeseung is more annoyed over the fact that you’ve regained your power over him. His priorities were definitely fucked, but he didn’t even care; he could clean himself up later, but the damage to his ego would take longer to repair.

Your hands fly to your mouth in shock, eyes widening as you process what’s just happened, “Oh, Heeseung…” you mumble into the palm of your hands.

He throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he runs a hand down his face, “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding.”

“It’s okay! It happens! No big deal!” You try to reassure him, but it goes in one ear and out the other.

Sure it happens and maybe it isn’t a big deal, but it is for Heeseung. He’s not the type to bust a nut over someone squirming around in his lap for ten minutes, this shit was fucking insanity.

“I’m seriously not like this, I’m just overly-sensitive when I’m high. I swear, I-”

“It’s fine, Heeseung,” you interrupt, standing from his lap, “if anything, I’m flattered! Why don’t you, uh, get cleaned up and I’ll see you later?”

“YN, come on, don’t do this.” He pleads, following you and you make your way towards the sliding door. 

“I told you, it’s fine! I’m not like,” you pause, opening the door with a loud grunt, “mad or weirded out or anything.”

You slip back into the living room, Heeseung hot on your tail with every step. “Let me make it up to you!”

You sigh, “Honestly, I don’t think you have it in you to do that right now.”

“I do! Just let me, please.”

“Heeseung, please drop it. I said it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, at least let me eat you out or something!”

“Heeseung!” Your eyes widen at his lewd, shameless offer, “Lower your voice! We’re in a fucking party surrounded by people!”

He smacks his teeth, “I don’t care. Please, YN.”

“You don’t have to make it up to me, you do not owe me anything.”

A beat of silence passes, then he says, “Then do it for me. Please.”

Even though Heeseung was the one literally begging to go down for you, there is a possibility of him having some sort of power over you; or maybe you just have a soft spot for him. Either way, you end up lying in his bed twenty minutes later, skirt bunched up around your waist as Heeseung’s wet tongue circles your clit, desperate attempt at coaxing a second orgasm from you.

He hadn’t even realized he’d grown hard again just from eating you out, and would likely end up cuuming in his boxers again just from doing this.

“Fuck,” he moans into your folds, pulling away slightly to pepper kisses on your inner thighs, “been waiting so fucking long for this.”

“Yeah?” You question, your grip on Heeseung’s hair tightening.

This earns a low groan from him as he nods against your skin, “You have no idea.”

Deciding he’s spent enough time away from your cunt, his lips make their way back onto you; his tongue falls flat against you, dragging your wetness upwards towards your swollen clit before wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud.

Your body shivers, a beam of sweat dripping down your forehead as your second orgasm approaches. You’ve been eaten out before, countless times, but never like this. It was almost as if Heeseung was doing it for his own pleasure rather than your.

He teases your entrance with his finger before sliding two of them in with ease, curling them upwards and immediately hitting the spot you needed him the most.

“H-Heeseung…hold on…”

He hums, but he’s not really listening, too occupied with kitten-licking your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you. The knot in your stomach finally snaps and you’re gushing against his hands and mouth, Heeseung only takes this as a sign to continue lapping at your cunt. You have to literally grab him by the hair and drag him away from you.

He stares up at you, pupils blown wide and his chin coated in your juices, but he definitely looks happy. “What?” he asks.

You struggle to catch your breath, “You’re hard again?”

He looks down at his crotch momentarily before shrugging, “I guess.”

“You…don’t you wanna do something about that?”

His eyes flash down to your cunt for a split second, “It can wait.”

You scoff, “Well, I need a minute.”

Heeseung nods in agreement, impatiently drumming his fingers on his bed as you flop against his mattress. “Ready?” He asks once a minute has passed.

“No.”

He sighs, then sighs again, and again and again until you let out a frustrated groan. “Go get me a glass of fucking water.”

“Okay!” He shouts while standing, exiting the bedroom in a hurry. Maybe you really do treat him like a bitchboy, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

[mv1simp]

The Take ♥️

Trainer! Max Verstappen x Midsize!Reader

I wanna put you in seven positions for seventy minutes, you'll get it babe (take you down, I really wanna take you down)

Everyone knows Max Verstappen hates having to workout out constantly. If it wasn't for his physically demanding career as a F1 driver, his choice of a workout would involve a weekly padel game with his mates and FIFA on his PS5. His trainer tries something different and gets Max to be the instructor for once - to you, a sweet and naive girl whose jerk boyfriend told her to lose weight. Max couldn't resist using a hands on method to help you get your confidence back.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dark max girlies rejoice we’re back in action, naive! Chubby! reader, dubcon, explicit cheating but reader’s boyfriend is an absolute jerk hehe, size kink, WC 2.7k

Rupert, Redbull's physical trainer that had been delegated to none other than the legendary champion driver Max Verstappen, was at his wit’s end with his client. With his 4 world championships, Max was very familiar with the intense workout routine an F1 driver needed to maintain. It was just, well, he was just sick of the same repetitive timetable over and over again. And his physical trainer could see the results reflecting in Max’s pre season testing, seeing how Max’s numbers were admittedly very good, they were not as high as they’d been in the past.

Everything Rupert had tried to brainstorm to inspire Max had fallen short. From different workout locations (Monaco is only so big, after all), to the most unique exercise techniques he had googled (Brazilian cold water immersive Pilates did not resonate with Max) - everything had come up short. At his wit’s end, Rupert decided to throw a last ditch resort at Max - training you.

You’re a pretty, pure hearted twenty something marketing executive in Monaco, with a narcissistic boyfriend who thinks he’s a top shot with the new money he’s raking in from making a new app. Such a top shot that he feels entitled to hire a personal trainer for his sweet girlfriend, demanding you look like a perfect Insta model. That’s what every man in Monaco wants! he says patronisingly to you, gaslighting you into attending the training. That’s why he reached out to Rupert, a very famous trainer - who consequently dumps you onto Max, stating that he needed a two week holiday from the Dutchman and he could take over his new client. You’ll survive, it’s the off season, he says to Max with a deadpan expression as he waves goodbye.

Max is pissed, of course. What the fuck was Rupert thinking, making a four time world champion F1 driver, multimillionaire, and just general degenerate gamer train some random goldigger chick? He’s rolling his eyes as he walks into his usual gym, where Rupert had told you to turn up. He’s ready to tell you to fuck off, all Mad Max and all, because no way was he wasting his time-

And then he lays eyes on you, and his heartbeat stutters. In front of him, oblivious to the predatory stares of men around her, is the cutest little thing he’s ever seen. You’re dressed in a matching workout set, tugging at the edge of your tight shorts a little self consciously, looking around with innocent wide doe eyes. Fucking hell, Rupert had most certainly not mentioned his new client had the body of a pornstar, all luscious tits and ass and chubby cheeks, and a face that looked like an angel. Max couldn’t wait to sink his big, bad teeth into the sweet looking lamb who stumbled right into his toned arms.

Smirking devilishly, he introduces himself as your new trainer. You gasp, eyes widening cutely, feeling butterflies swirl in your tummy at the tall, handsome and muscular blonde in front of you. Shall we get started? he murmurs, a gorgeous smile on his face and pretty blue eyes intently locked on you. I have to say, I’m surprised you signed up for such an intensive course, he says in an incredibly attractive, deep Dutch accent. You look like you’re in…great shape, if you don’t mind me saying, he adds, observant gaze flicking down to take in your curves. You flush, not minding the attention at all from such a hot trainer!

That’s so sweet of you to say! You say, blushing cutely and looking down, completely missing how Max’s heated gaze glances down your tight crop top, his taller height perfect to get an eyeful of your tempting cleavage. You tell him that actually, it wasn’t your idea, but your boyfriends’s…he thinks I’m too fat, you say with a pout.

What, Max says with a scowl that he quickly smooths when you peer up anxiously at the sudden spike in his mood. Honey was definitely a better way to win over something as sweet and innocent looking as you than poison. Well, ignore whatever your boyfriend wants. You’re here only for your own fitness and confidence, okay?

You beam up at him, nodding enthusiastically. God, Max couldn’t wait to have you for himself. Your boyfriend sounded like an absolute pathetic loser, telling someone as perfect and beautiful as you to change her body. Doesn’t matter, because it made it all the easier for Max to win you over. And he’d make sure to have his fun while doing it.

He’d started all your regular sessions with him with a good pre workout stretch, of course. Taking you into a side room to shield you from the hungry eyes of the other male gym goers, because only Max deserved to see your pretty body bent over for him. It didn’t stop others from walking past the glass door multiple times to ogle you, much to Max’s annoyance. But you remained clueless, twisting yourself in whatever position Max ordered you too like a good student.

And Max was such a nice instructor. He showered you with praise over the tiniest thing, making you blush up a storm, enjoying his reassuring and comforting voice. He was so different to your mean boyfriend! Max’s large hands settled on your soft body, helping position you perfectly, as he huskily whispered in your ear for you to bend forward, all the way like that, good girl. Can you touch your toes for me?

And when you can’t quite get there, he places a strong hand across your lower back to give you that extra push. His hand sometimes drifts lower, to your plump ass, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he instructs you. You gasp, and when he pretends to be none the wiser and ask you what’s wrong, schatje? in such a gentle tone, calling you darling in Dutch, you shyly stammer that you’re kinda sensitive down there…your boyfriend had said he wasn’t going to touch you until you lost weight!

Max’s brain temporarily short circuits at this information. Your idiotic boyfriend wasn’t fucking you every chance that he got? And judging by the way you’re shyly looking away and rubbing your thighs together, it had been a very long time since you’d been properly handled by anyone. Max would bet his multi story yacht that even when you had been sleeping with your boyfriend, he wasn’t making you cum. Leaving you so sexually frustrated that Max just feeling up your lush ass was getting you all hot and bothered. How cute, the Dutchman thinks, unable to hide the devious grin on his face at the new information.

He guided you back into position, his strong hips digging into yours from the back. The full wall mirror in front of you given Max a delicious view of your tits practically spilling out of your top as you lean forward. Good thing your ass is so fat he can easily hide his impressive semi erection behind it, he thinks cheekily. He can’t resist leaning forward and grinding himself against you, just for a second, leaving you gasping and looking behind you with a confused expression - only to find Max innocently looking at you. Something wrong, schatje? he says so sweetly that you feel embarrassed for even wondering what he was doing behind you.

He’ll have to do something about all the hungry states from the other gym goers though - he can’t have them even thinking about something which belongs to him. He glares at anyone who dares look at you through the glass doors, but he needs a more permanent solution.

So for the next session he invites you to his house, where he has a mini gym on his penthouse balcony. You’re unsure at first, but after Max tells you it’s just so hard for him to focus on your sessions at the gym, with the way everyone is always asking him for an autograph or a selfie…you say yes immediately, because you’d never want to make it harder for him when he’d been such a caring trainer! Soon enough he has you all to himself in his outdoor gym, wearing another one of your cute workout sets. Except he wanted to see more of your pretty body, so the next day he hands you a PR package - asking if you wanted to try on the gift from one of his sponsors. You beam at his thoughtful gesture, quickly getting changed into the slutty outfit he’s hand selected.

Max smirks wickedly as he helps stretch you out again, this time with your thighs bent up almost to your flushed face. The blue booty shorts are so tiny they’re practically underwear, slipping into your tanned asscheeks and giving you a cameltoe, much to your embarrassment. You squirm as Max’s keen gaze goes right to your pussy brushing up against his abs - separated only by a thin layer of spandex. Because of course, Max worked out shirtless at home - it’s far too warm! Getting better but still not flexible enough, sweetheart Max says with a disapproving tone that has you scrambling for his approval. Here, let me help you.

He pushes down on your thighs with his huge hands. Your tits almost spill out of the tiny cropped singlet he has you in when he buries his face into them. M-Max! you stammer, asking what he was doing, was it really needed, but he just reassures you that it absolutely was. After all, you didn’t want to pull a muscle and stop being able to exercise for two weeks, right? His deep voice is muffled against your plush tits as he pressed in deeper, making you squirm some more when his lips brush against your hard nipples.

He helps you cool down afterwards too, like the dedicated coach he is. You’re so grateful for all the deep muscle relaxation techniques he knows, moaning blissfully as you lay sprawled underneath him as he massages your sore body. He started with your legs and arms, and then your tense abs, and then one strong palm squeezing your lush tits and the other cupping your pussy through your sports set. You were always embarrassingly wet after your workouts, with all the close proximity to Max, and prayed he didn’t notice how soaked your shorts had become as he rubbed his palm encouragingly against your cunny. You couldn’t stop the contended moans as you arched into his skilled hands, finding the tension draining from your muscles completely.

Soon you’re over at Max’s everyday, working out longer and longer. To your delight, Max asks if you’d mind helping him with his workout! You’re so eager to return the favour after he’s been so considerate, taking time out of his busy schedule just to train you. All you had to do was sit on his back as he did push ups-

You insist that there was no way he could do that, you were way too heavy, what if he hurt himself? All it takes is one cocky smirk from him to convince you, and you climb onto his back, gasping in amazement as his muscular back flexes when he easily starts during push ups. You’re completely distracted by how attractive he looks, so much more broader and stronger than your own boyfriend who couldn’t even lift you up! You feel a bit guilty thinking that but don’t get time to think about it - because next you’re helping Max with his hip thrusts. You squeal as his impressive legs thrust you into the air with a bounce, making your sensitive pussy land on his rock hard cock each time. You stabilise yourself with hands on his abs, running over the taut, sweaty muscle, so enamoured with the sight that you don’t notice Max’s blue gaze fixed on your jiggling tits with each bounce. Mmmh-Ah! H-how many more do you have to do, Max? you say breathlessly, feeling yourself start to get more and more turned on with each thrust of his hips. You felt so dirty, practically dripping through your booty shorts onto his lower abs, feeling all horny while he was just trying to work out!

Just a few more, he says vaguely, grasping onto your thick asscheeks to steady you as he continues meanly grinding his angry, hard cock into your soft cunny. You end up cumming through your shorts, desperately biting down on your lips to keep silent but failing to suppress your slutty moans. You were so cute and naive that you had no clue Max was just dry jumping you to orgasm. Training your perfect body to respond to his, just how he wanted it.

He left you in your post orgasmic bliss on his outdoor couch to cool down as he ventured inside. He’d been planning on jerking off his raging erection in the shower, not wanting to scare you off with his impressive load. But when he caught sight of the protein powder on his kitchen counter top, he couldn’t resist. All it took was a couple pumps and the image of you riding him with your bouncing tits for him to cum, filling a good half of the glass he tops off with a protein smoothie. When he hands you his homemade drink, you thank him with wide doe eyes. You’re such a thoughtful trainer, Max! you say sincerely, eagerly drinking his gift. Mmmh, it tastes amazing, what ingredients did you use? He winks and tells you it’s a top secret world class athlete recipe.

Max is completely addicted to feeding you his thick load and has you equally addicted, asking shyly if he’d make you another one of his smoothies after each session. He figured he has you enamoured enough with him to take things to the next level when you start asking for seconds. The thing is, schatje, since I eat so much protein and supplements, my sperm is super high in nutrients…but it’s not safe for you to take so much protein directly as a girl! So that’s why I had to put it in your drink, okay? You nod with wide eyes, your jaw dropped open in shock as Max unties his shorts to show you his huge swollen cock that’s been feeding you for days. You dazedly ask if maybe you should be getting “fed” from your boyfriend instead, you weren’t sure if he’d be mad if he found out-

Max cuts off your worries immediately, promising you that only his cum would be able to provide you with what you needed. In fact, you shouldn't be going anywhere near your boyfriend's weak release. You nod quickly, wanting to show Max what a good student you were, completely willing to obey him. And when he asks if you'd help him out in making your smoothie today, since his hand was kinda tired after so many days, you eagerly say yes! Soon you're snuggled up by his side, letting him guide both your hands up and down his cock. You're in awe of how big and hot his shaft looks, you'd never seen one that size. You swallow back drool in your mouth, already craving your daily treat, and when Max slyly suggests that you could just drink directly from the source? you're on him in seconds. Dutifully sucking and jerking him off, making him hiss and grab your hair as he thrusts in deep and cums with a deep moan. He makes you stick out your tongue afterwards to make sure you didn't waste even a drop.

Good girl. Let's do your cool down massage in the shower today, hmm? It's so fucking hot out. Max's praise fills you with heady warmth and you giddily agree, letting him guide you into his luxurious shower to cool down, stripping out of your skimpy workout set.

Too bad you ended up doing a lot more cardio than cooling down behind the steamed glass. Max grins devilishly as you both watch his cock go in and out of your creamy pussy together, every thrust making you scream his name and hold onto him desperately. After all, fucking up against the bathroom wall was a much more effective workout, right?

[daemonbrain]

Part 1

3.5k, cw: ghosts a pervert and stalker, readers husband is a piece of work, brief mentions of sex, explicit, not proofread

Simon Riley wasn’t one for the romantics, he was a simple man. Wake up early in the morning just as he would on base, complete his training regimen, take a quick shower, and rot away in his one bedroom one bathroom apartment until he's recalled for a mission. A mundane life for the soldier who dealt with life-or-death circumstances just as many times as he’s brewed himself a cup of tea.

But even Simon had things to look forward to. After enduring the monotonous routine of his week he’d practically sprint to the butcher's shop, not for love of the finer cuts of meat one could find, but to see his bird. 

Still the fittest thing he had ever seen, your relationship evolved from standing with your back turned to his debauched stares to you actually saying hello to him. Slowly hello turned to little conversations. By conversations, it mainly consisted of you prattling on about one thing or another while Simon grunted out a short “yeah?” or “hm.” Sometimes he felt bad that his pretty little thing who always had endless things to say spoke to him, someone who was pretty much a brick wall in conversation.

But, ah well. He couldn’t think of you banging on the headboard while he fucked you and fully pay attention to what was said in his defense.

At times he didn’t know whether to scold or praise your ability to dole out kindness to even a cold bastard like him. A stranger was what he was, and you still managed to speak to him as if he were any other man you’d meet on the street.

He didn’t deserve it, he knew that. Not with the things he has done to others. Things that would send your pretty little head toppling off your shoulders if you knew. Not with the way he prowled behind as you shakily made your way up the slippery sidewalk, plastic bag with groceries in hand.

He didn’t deserve it, but he was sure as hell certain your fuckwit of a husband definitely didn’t deserve it. That prick left you walking alone and cold the whole way home, letting you know minutes before he was supposed to pick you up from the butcher’s shop. 

That pathetic guy didn’t want to take care of his wife? Didn’t want to pay attention to his girl? Well fine, he didn’t need to. Simon would. 

As if it physically pained him to watch you have to lift a finger, he sped up his pace and loudly cleared his throat from behind.

Whirling around in fright, your tensed shoulder immediately relax upon meeting Simon’s eyes. Your body shivered from the winds, yet you beamed at him with the warmth of the fuckin’ sun. 

“Simon! What are you doing here?” You chirped out in greeting, clasping your hands together as the bag dangled from your fingers. You waited for him to stalk up to you, broody as ever. 

His pretty little songbird, who tweets out her hellos even when the frigid weather demands a more mellow tone.

In his usual unsettling manner, he stops right in front of you. “I live up this way.” He lied. 

“Really?! I’ve never seen you coming up this way.” He was so close. He had to crane his neck downwards to look at your face, cheeks and nose probably frozen from the biting wind. Your brows furrowed in what he assumed to be suspicion, and he truly wondered for the first time if you actually had a semblance of survival instinct after all.

Raising a brow, he points to a random building in the distance. He picked something far enough away from your own home to quell any unease.You lived in that reddish-brown building about two blocks away. Though you’ve never told him that.

“Just righ’ up there. Usually don’t go this way, but the other route is closed off.”

Your furrowed brows quickly correct themselves at his words and you assume your resting expression, one much softer. “Well… we might as well head up together then!” You laughed in joy and Simon felt his cock twitch for similar reasons. It seems the concept of “stranger danger” wasn’t drilled into your head hard enough during your formative years. 

He’d never dream of doing something to hurt your cheery demeanor, but he couldn’t say the same for others. People can be nasty and, if you survived this long without that bubble being burst, he’d be more than happy to tear apart the prick who’d try. Pricks like your husband.

Wasn’t it a soldier's duty to protect the peace? Something like that anyways. 

He noticed the way your poor fingers stiffly held on to the bag, the weight harder to carry because of the chill in the air. His hands itched to help.

You quirked your head to the side due to his lack of anything to say and Simon merely jutted his head towards what you carried, “Give it ‘ere.” Your mouth opens to protest, but Simon doesn’t give you the opportunity as he easily plucks the bag from your hands. “Come on,” He began to walk again while ignoring his bird’s shrill whistles of objection to his help “You’ll catch a cold out ‘ere if we don get’cha inside soon.”

Catching up to his long strides, you approach from the right and sigh. You’re inclined to tell him it’s really not necessary, but the heat that bloomed in your chest as a result of his breathy chuckle interrupted you.

You didn’t even need to ask him to help... he just did. 

You couldn’t help the way your eyes wondered about his large frame, and he was huge. You had to admit the first time you had spoken to Simon you were a bit rattled when you stuck your hand out to shake his. It was maddening the way he never made a sound, the way his steps quietly padded along the floor when he went up to the counter at the butcher’s shop to pay. 

Occasionally you felt your skin prickle everytime he stood behind you. Whenever you gathered the courage to take a peek you would be met with the sight of him tapping away at his phone without a care, hood of his jacket concealing most of his face. 

Though you could’ve sworn his phone was upside down once?

Cars whizzed past and you shook away those thoughts. Simon happens to be a quiet type, nothing to judge him for. 

“... Thank you. You know, you’re a real nice guy.” Shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket, Simon slows his steps just enough to move behind you. “Simon?” You turn your head side-to-side in confusion as he nudges his way to your other side.

“Wha’?” He huffed while putting himself between you and the road. 

Odd.

The two of you got closer to the building and in a practiced stop you both pause at the entrance. About to speak again, you’re cut off by the loud ring of your phone. Looking down you see your husband's photo pop up on the screen. With a sigh, you hold up a finger to your companion and answer.

“Hey hun, is something wrong? You said you had a meeting?” You could hear the exhale of annoyance which escaped him before he responded.

“I’m working late tonight. I can’t make it for dinner. Make sure to leave me a plate before you go to bed though.” Of course. He was always late nowadays. One project or another he would say before rolling to face away when you asked him about his day before bed. 

You were his wife! You’d make time for him no matter what, and normally you wouldn’t want to be a bother, but the way tears threatened to bead your waterline in frustration caused your voice to harden a fraction.

“Again? Really? They’re working you a bit hard, don’t you thi-” 

“I have work. I’ll talk to you later.” 

You blink owlishly at Simon who looks back in silence. You hear the beep indicating the call has ended. Slowly, you pull your phone away from your ear both saddened by your husband's cold words but also the humiliation of your new friend witnessing the way you were clearly hung up on by your own spouse.

You wanted to turn heel and retreat into the privacy of your apartment. Cook up a meal which will grow cold on the counter and curl into your bed while incessantly tracking the minutes until you hear the door open.

Simon’s eyes narrowed as if he wanted to burn a hole through your phone, and he waited for you to gather yourself.

“I- um,” letting out an awkward chortle, you scratch the back of your neck. “Looks like I'm alone for dinner tonight.” You managed a disingenuous smile. Simon didn’t seem like the type to be able to pick up on subtle social cues like that, you doubt he’d think anything of your words.

“Well I better get back inside… it's freezing out here. Thanks for your help with my bags I-I just have to get started on cooking right now, so.” You reached for your groceries and saw the strange look in his eyes soften a bit. As you pivot towards the entrance, you hear a gruff call.

“ ‘m pretty hungry righ now.”

…How could you be such an idiot! He carries your bags for you, probably chilled to the point of numbness, and you don’t even invite him in for something to eat. Not even a hot drink. All because of your own selfish discomfort?!

“Oh gosh, that was rude of me. Simon, you wanna come in? I have enough to whip you up a plate if you’d like. A ‘cuppa’ as well. Is that what you say?” You asked.

Simon was a kind man. He was intimidating, but surely it was okay to let him into your personal space. After all, the only person who would object to his presence was currently holed up at his office.

“Brought it up for a reason. That’d be great, love.”

You couldn’t help the way your heart pattered in your rib cage at the endearing pet name. Kind words from a kind man. That’s all. You willed your heart to slow with images of your husband, to whom you had the utmost respect for.

The two of you made your way up to the spacious apartment. You bent over to unlace your shoes and take off your coat. It doesn’t go unnoticed how it took Simon a moment to follow suit. When he stood to his full height, a gentle warmth swelled within you when met with the sight of his broad build in the now seemingly small walls of your home. He looked as though he crowded the room more than any of the furniture.

You felt a bit hazy when you moved to the kitchen. You shouted back to Simon who stood put at the door, “Feel free to make yourself comfortable! Go ahead and sit down anywhere.”

Like a flower, you needed your fix of sunlight. You had lots of windows in your apartment to let the natural light in, a giant one looking into your living room. Simon would see you watching your silly shows, tapping away at your laptop while snuggled under a blanket in this very spot. Soon he’d show you the value of privacy, closing the blinds, locking everything before bed. 

There were shady people in the world. Those who’d feed off of your sweet carelessness like it was the best thing to touch their depraved mouths. That wasn’t fair to his bird. 

“ ‘m gonna go to the loo.” and before you even had the chance to give him directions, you watched the Brit make his way to the restroom unprompted.

It wasn’t fair, but he would make it fair. He would keep those bastards far away from you, guard your blissful paradise. Keep you ignorant.

So what if his methods were unconventional? So what if he’s followed you home dozens of times. It was to keep you safe. So what if he spent any free time he had watching you through the windows from the building across yours. 

Closing the door behind him, his lips quirked up at the sight of your things strewn about. Makeup, hair products, lotions taking up all the space on your side of the sink. In the mirror, his eyes caught on the laundry hamper sat in the corner. He had been here once before.

So what if he has come into your apartment during the late hours just to catch a whiff of your scent. Just to pull the blanket you had knocked off, deep asleep, while on the couch waiting for your prick husband. You needed someone. He could do good by you, or at least try his hardest to.

With practiced ease, he turns to open the hamper. Hands grabbing with the eagerness of unwrapping a present only to be met with a sorry sight.

“For fuck sakes”  He whispered.

You and your cleaning. The damn thing had been emptied out of all things with your lovely fragrance, tossed in the wash. With the quick roll of his eyes, he quietly puts the lid back on to the stupid thing.

He had been much luckier last time. After taking it upon himself to sneak in and close a window you left wide open, he had the urge to explore around. Fast forward to when he arrived at his treasure chest (the laundry basket) he was rewarded for his considerate act. He had nabbed a dirty pair of panties with sheer ecstacy. 

In the natural progression of things, his cock had hardened with urgency. He had stroked himself eagerly to the thought of your soft, snoozing breaths. A bead of pre-cum already poised to roll down his shaft. You drove him mad, only a few walls separating the two of you. He could walk over to you now, shove your legs apart and sink himself into paradise, in pure euphoria. He continued to jerk himself to the edge of his peak. He had taken in the sight of everything from your loofah to your robe to the pink toothbrush unobtrusively in the corner.

A shiver went down his spine as he looked at the very same toothbrush at present. He wondered how many times you had unassumingly used it since that night.

Images of his desperation flooding back, a hint of something akin to guilt. He had squeezed your panties to his face as if he was trying to suffocate himself, impatiently grabbing for anything else that could connect him to you when he felt himself begin to strain under the stimulation. He had grunted when your scent filled his nostrils, unlike how his balls emptied themselves, his release spurting all over your toothbrush.

When he came back to his senses, he had turned the coated thing over and over in his hand. You’d be none the wiser if he just… washed it off, right? No harm in something you wouldn’t know about. He couldn’t bring himself to do more than lightly run it under the tap.

“Simon! Food is ready!” You shouted. Breaking from his stupor, he steps out of the restroom and moves back to the counter overlooking the kitchen. You gave him that sweet grin while setting the food in front of him.

“Looks delicious, love. Thanks.”

You sat on the seat beside him with a plate of your own. You both tensed at the proximity for the same reason. Taking your first few bites, you look at Simon who blissfully closes his eyes and groans with satisfaction.

That warm feeling begins to simmer in your belly wrongfully so. You turn back to chew before breaking the silence. “I’m glad! It’s been a while since i’ve sat down and ate with someone… it’s a lot different to watch someone actually enjoy something you put effort into.” He didn’t miss the wistful expression you wore. He wanted to fix it, he never wanted to see that pretty mouth fighting stay curved upwards.

Whether it be unknowingly or not, you brushed your knee against and for a moment you both paused in that position. The touch was light but it felt as though Simon’s body was overloaded with only you. Your touch, your eyes, your everything.

It took himself a second to recompose himself, but when he realized your body stayed put; his heart just about soared. Taking another forkful of food, he casually glanced at you and nudged his knee unmistakably to yours. The sound of your cutlery clanging onto the plate gives him a degree of satisfaction.

You simply kept looking down to your plate, whatever was in front of you, anything except his intense stare. Simon was a stranger. Simon was unsettling. Simon was in your home. Simon was so strong, so large he could manhandle you in ways your husband could never.

Your husband. Your life partner who you’ve remained loyal to for years. This was so wrong. You should be leaping out of your chair and separating yourself by 3 meters at least in protest.

So how come you allowed his hand to grip your thigh? You frowned, yet surrendered to his fingers which tilted your face towards him. You didn’t know Simon, but you’d be dense to miss the dark glint in his eyes as he takes in your hesitancy.

How the tables have turned. It was always you who initiated interaction with the morose giant, but as he held you firm in his clutches, you could only sit in wait for his next move. 

Testing your reaction, he slowly brought his face closer to yours. Braving his gaze, you could only recognize want. He pressed a gentle kiss to your jaw as you tilted your chin upwards. You weren’t sure whether it was to avoid his lips or grant him better access to your neck.

“No no no come back to me. Come back.” He urged you carding his other hand through your hair, tugging you back. He had to see his bird's face, commit her to memory. Would her expression be like what he imagined? Better?

With a shaky raise of your arm, you caress his face with uncertainty. He needed to fuck you. The most depraved, wicked parts of his mind demanded it. His blood went straight down south at your gentle touch. He needed you to feel him, to feel all of him. 

He would protect you from all the perversions those other tossers had to offer, with only one thing in return. To corrupt you from the inside with his own special brand filth. His fingers tightened ever so slightly in your hair.

“I wanna fuck you,” he leaned closer to your ear and nipped it “and I have a feeling my pretty bird wants the same thing, yeah?”

Simon’s words sent a jolt to your brain to sink further into the daze. Your lips parted and you turned to him with round eyes hiding the temptation swirling behind them. Your eyes wildly roved across his face, searching

He carried your things, he called you pretty, he ate your food, he talked to you, he wanted you, he wanted to fuck you, he wanted you to want to fuck him, you want to fuck him, you want to fuck him, you want to fuck him-

His impatience got the better of him when he pulled you into a frantic kiss. His lips were warm and the feeling of his hands holding you secure and upright only added fuel to the fire. How would they hold you when he took you to your bed? Would he be so kind?

Had Simon known your phone would ring loudly moments before finally getting what he wanted, he would have broken it with his own bare hands.

Your eyes cracked open to only be met with the sight of your husband’s contact photo and all at once your guilt hurtled at you. Sensing you pulling away, Simon couldn’t help but try and keep you to him for even a moment longer. He knew it was over when you pushed at his chest to break the connection.

“I’m- oh my gosh. I… i’m a horrible person! Shit! Shit!” You spiraled as you hurriedly got up from your seat and backed away from Simon as if his touch had burned you.

“Hey, hey it’s okay-” He attempted to console you, but was sharply interrupted with a tone he had yet to hear from you.

“No, no! You need to leave. Get out, please!” You screeched in shame. As Simon once again tried to approach closer to placate you, you only put a hand up with a hard look. “Leave. We shouldn’t have done that, it was a total betrayal of trust!” 

“Okay. Okay. Don’t worry, ‘m gone.” His arms went up in surrender as he mirrored your own backward movements.

Your mind really went blank as you took deep breaths to calm yourself, Simon’s heavy footfalls receding and eventually fading from earshot entirely.

While you focused on calming yourself from your “mistaken” judgement, Simon could only think of one thing. 

If his bird couldn’t be happy because that fuckin’ asshole was still in the picture, he’d have to weed out the problem from the root.

He was a dead man walking.