#seeing him loose all his friends and go back to being all alone again

[noctiispiri]

The best feeling I experienced this week was, after watching Marble Hornets with a friend who's never seen it before, seeing their reactions as I say "and that's the end."

And then completely throwing it out the window and watching thac videos with them to cope with the ending

[misserabella]

sick love

spencer reid x fem! reader

pt2!!

synopsis;;

you catch your best friend spencer touching himself and far from being embarrassed, it only turns him on even more. if only you knew he had been dreaming about this moment for his entire fucking life and that he has even planned for it to happen…

cw;; (let’s act as if spencer and reader are the same age (consensual 18) in high school

really perv!spencer, dark themes, spencer uses readers body without implicit consent (i don’t know if it counts as cnc since later we find out she doesn’t mind), somnophilia (if you squint), INDECENT use of cum, stalker behavior, use of masculine sex toys, breeding kink, mommy and daddy kink, praise kink, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), sub and dom spencer, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum eating, cream pie, masturbation (m), voyeurism (?), dacryphilia, violence (not towards reader), dirty talking, hair pulling, blood… MINORS DNI OR I’LL COME FOR YOU!

@cafekitsune ‘s separators

Spencer was obsessed with you. Not in a lovely kind of obsessed —that too— but in a really perverted way. His sick infatuation commenced a warm summer, when you and him, best friends since freshman year, had ended up staying up late in your house for a movie night. Your parents were no where to be seen, and being scared of spending the night alone, you invited Spencer for a sleep over.

Everything was perfect. Little snacks, the newest film in D.C in tape and a cozy sofa in which the two of you silently rested as you stared at the tv. That was until you had fallen sleep on the other end of the sofa, loose and extremely short pijama pants letting your lace panties show and nipples erect due to the coldness of the night underneath your tight and white tank top. He found himself stating for far too long, instead of bringing up on your body the blanket that you both had been shared, his eyes taking in just how beautifully exposed you were.

Full honesty? He didn’t even remember how his dick had gotten that hard nor how it had ended on one of his hands, palm slick in precum as he thrusted in it, bottom lip in between his teeth and soft moans and groans scaping his lips. But he didn’t care. He came so hard that night that he swore he saw stars on your living room’s ceiling.

After that, he of course felt awkward and embarrassed of himself around you. Masturbating to his sleeping best friend, and just mere inches away from you? Jesus Christ. Though that remorse quickly went away when he found himself sinking deeper in that sickness under your name.

He relished in that pretty tears of yours when you cried about another stupid boy being mean to you and dumping you against his neck, your tits fully pressed to his chest and whimpers making his cock push against his jeans, even more when that same guys were the ones crying and begging for him to stop as he beat the shit out of them.

He liked to see you cry, but if it wasn’t because of him, he wouldn’t have it. He sent a couple of them to the ER, but they were too scared to get a couple more bones broken if they ever spoke up,— and also, who would believe them if they said that the slender nerd of their class was the one that beat them up— so he always got away with it. In no time, the guys were fucking terrified of even glancing at you, leaving you all to himself. Like it had to be. You were his, or you’ll be.

You were always complaining about things of yours disappearing, “Fuck! I cant found my chapstick.” him shrugging even when he knew that he was, in fact, the thug. Then, he’d go back to his house and open the last drawer of his desk — which he had under key— and take the same chapstick out of his pocket to push it inside along with the other things he had stolen from you: lipgloss, necklaces, bracelets… Panties.

He loved them. He almost had a collection of them, of all types; cotton, lace, thongs… He loved the ones that he stole from the dirty laundry the most, which’s crotch he could push against his nose and lick as he fucked his fist. Getting to taste and smell your slick always drove him crazy.

Another thing Spencer loved to do was take photos of you. He had albums and albums of polaroids for the two of you, being both on the pictures or just you. He loved to watch them from time to time: you smiling, you singing, you dancing, you blowing a kiss to the camera, jumping in the pool, petting a stray cat… Being simply you.

But he also had some photos that were exceptionally and just for him. Some of them were flashes of your body in those little and pretty bikinis you always wore in the warm summers, some other of your naked body —facing away from the door of your bathroom— when you changed, you eating ice cream with cheeks, lips and tongue stained in the vanilla treat, some of you sleeping, some others of the panties and little skirts that you’d wear. He even had one of you resting asleep on his lap, lips parted and against his hard cock. He saved some of them on his wallet in case he ever had to take care of a boner when he hung out with you.

He was in love with you. Sickly in love. Sickly enough to take some of those photos of yours and cut out your face just to tape them to his porn magazines. Some of the pages had even stuck together due to his cum.

And you were just so unbelievably oblivious of his infatuation that you always left the window to your room unlocked in case he ever wanted to sneak in in the middle of the night to stay with you if he ever felt lonely in his empty house. At first, before his infatuation appeared, he would sneak in from time to time when the loneliness became too strong for him to handle, cuddling with you and leaving first hour in the morning. Now? Now he snuck in almost every goddamn night. To cuddle, to watch you sleep, to be able to hold you close and even to take advantage of your heavy slumber. He had licked his cum out of your fingers when he had used your hand to masturbate, having to hold in his moans and whimpers. Other nights, he would get under your covers and part your thighs just to push his head in between them, face against your clothed cunt as his hips buckled against the duvet, tongue flattening against your heat and moaning when your thighs would unconsciously squish his head.

He loved it when you played with his hair, groaning when you’d pull from it when he’d tickle you, and laughing when you’d scream at him for using your good conditioner after a pool day. He was obsessed with your little lotions and expensive shampoos, using them as lube to fuck his hand while he showered in your house, using then his cum to fill the tubes, evening out the difference.

He would steal food from you in the cafeteria, using your own fork or spoons just to be able to have your spit in his mouth. You’d always whine about it, but he never stopped, so you eventually stopped caring, giving him full access to it when you were full.

Spencer considered himself to be a man with clear tastes when it came to sexual preferences. He would love to fuck you to his liking, to sink you into submission and to get you to call him daddy. He thought of himself as a dominant kind of person rather than a submissive one, but that changed when in one of his numerous wet dreams it was you the one who choked him and fucked him, using him like you’d use a fucking toy. He had woke up with a raging orgasm as from his lips fell the word ‘mommy’.

Was he a pervert? Absolutely. Would he ever speak up about his feelings for you? Absolutely not.

He’d prefer to die with a boner than ever telling you he loved you. He was just terrified of the thought of you pushing him away or ever hurting your friendship.

So after a day full of what he thought of ‘teasing’, since it always involved you dressing in one of those incredibly short skirts or staring at him for too long as you sucked on one of the lollipops that he always bought you, he would come to his house and enter his room with a full tent in between his thighs. He would pull out of the back of his closet his fleshlight and spray one of his pillows with those little bottles of your perfume that came as gifts with the bigger version just to bend his other one and push the fleshlight in it, fully lubed and ready for his cock to fuck into, just like that pretty pussy of yours. And that’s what he’d do, fuck his stupid little toy with his face fully buried on the perfumed one as he imagined you under him, ass up and chest pushed against his bedsheets. His pace was needy, harsh and deep, from his mouth, dirty talking spilling. ‘Yeah, take my cock you slut, fucking take it.’ ‘That’s a good girl for daddy.’ Those were always the best orgasms, making him fill the toy to the brim when he couldn’t found himself to stop. Too pussy drunk even when it wasn’t your pussy what he fucked in between whimpers.

He sometimes would leave his house’s and bedroom door open with the dream of you someday catching him red handed.

But they were all just dreams, they weren’t supposed to fucking happen in real life. Yet, there he was, and so were you.

That day he had come with a really painful bonner in between his thighs. You’d been sitting on his lap for a whole goddamn hour since your classmates from class B had borrowed most of your chairs to hang prom signals, leaving you without a place to sit and using your best friend as a chair. The problem was not only that, it was the fact that you’d be adjusting every five minutes and the fact that he had found himself being completely ignored by you as you talked with your best friends, laughing with them and jumping on his lap when the jokes were too good. Well, he was not being completely ignored, since one of your hands, had found his hair and slowly massaged his scalp, every now and then pulling at his hair when you played with his locks, his hands trembling on your thighs —which spread sideways across from his — thumbs circling your soft skin.

The fact that you were using him. The fact that he felt used by you and only you, was what had him gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to buckle against your ass. But Spencer was a good boy, so he just stood sit and went through that delirious torture with not a word coming out of his mouth. He felt like breathing once again when you got up from his lap when the bell rang, notifying the students that the day had ended, but still choking when he no longer could smell your cologne or felt you flush against him.

“Fuck…” he whimpered when he plopped on his bed, his palm pushing hardly against his pulsing and leaking cock, precum staining his jeans and underwear. He had pulled out from his closet his fleshlight, since he felt that his hand would not be enough today. He had to fuck himself. “Please, fuck me, please…” he was a babbling mess when his tip pushed inside the lubed toy. “Use my cock, baby… Use me…” he found himself whimpering at his mind scenario, in which you would ride him relentlessly, his dick reaching deep enough to hit that sweet spot that you’d torture to make yourself cum all over his cock. “Fuck, mommy, fuck, feels so good… Ah, faster.” he was a babbling mess, his hips rutting upwards against his hand movements to fuck his cock deeper in his toy.

“Spence!!!” you had called from downstairs as you opened his unlocked front door. Spencer always left it that way for you to come and go as you pleased. You were smiling, in between your hands a copy of a book he had been dying to read for months and for which he had cried after finding out that it had been sold out. After seeing just how badly he wanted it, you had been fighting with sharp nails to get a hold on one of the limited edition copies that had gone on sale in the city’s center, where you had rushed just as classes finished and where you had killed your savings in the dib. “I have a surprise for you!!” you chanted, locking the door behind you and jumping excitedly, frowning when you didn’t hear and answer from him. “Spencer?” you called out again, the soft sound of his voice reaching you from upstairs. You took off your shoes, a smirk growing on your lips when the idea of giving him a scare came to mind. Up the staircase, you were like a ghost, slowly approaching his room and mumbling, though you froze when a moan got to your ears. Your skin went pale and your cheeks heated up when needy whimpers followed up right after, as if all the blood under your skin had ended up pooling there.

“Fuck, just like that. Faster, please…” was he with someone? Your chest heaved at the thought of Spencer fucking with some random girl that wasn’t you. You’ve liked him for years on end, since the first time that he held you as you cried your heart out after your first breakup. But he never seemed to look at you in any other way that wasn’t friendly, so, at the end, —being too scared to speak up about your feelings in fear that it would break your friendship— you had decided to bury them as deep as you could inside you, believing that he had to be just what he was; your best friend.

Even though you knew it was wrong, you slowly approached his slightly open door, peeking in in need to see who was he fucking, promising yourself that you’d leave once you’ve taken a glance. But all that went to hell when you found out he was not fucking anyone but himself, back against the mattress, bare chest rising and lowering slowly as his hips fucked upwards, inside his clear flesh light. Your eyes widened and your legs trembled when from his lips new groans and moans fell. Spencer was fucking touching himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck… You needed to get away from there. Yeah, that’s what you’d do. You’d go back to your house and forget all about it… Or that’s what you thought, instead finding your feet glued to the floor as you watched.

He looked so hot and pretty all needy… Eyes closed shut and mouth agape in gasps, glasses crooked, eyebrows pushed together as his head fell back against his pillow, hair messy all over it. His hand was slow, pushing the toy down on his cock in deep and harsh strokes. You could almost perfectly see his long and thick dick, his thrusts making the lube’s wet sounds fill the room. “Ah, fuck…” his voice was low and so broken you felt your panties damp in your slick, you were so turned on that your free hand cupped your cunt, making you almost moan if you hadn’t bit down on your bottom lip.

Your fingers had started to push against the lace of your panties underneath your plaid skirt, freezing on your clit when a new babble came from inside the room and your best friend’s lips. “Fuck, y/n…, mommy…, please, fuck, fuck, fuck…” your eyes widened, not only because…, fuck, Spencer was fucking that goddamn fleshlight with you in mind doing so, but because he had called you mommy too. Surprisingly enough that only turned you on even more, a needy moan tearing your throat before you could push it down to your chest. Spencer’s movements stopped, his gaze moving to his opening door just to see you standing there, flushed cheeks, heavy breathing and book in hand.

He quickly pushed away the toy, cursing under his breath when he sat up, a pillow hiding his hard and leaking cock, which was twitching at the sight of your trembling legs. “Fuck, y/n, I…” he didn’t even know what to say. You had caught him, caught him fucking himself with his goddamn fleshlight, and even worse, caught him moaning your name. He felt sick to the stomach, but at the same, so turned on too. You had caught him… Finally. And who knows how much time you had been listening and peeking at him while he pleasured himself. He had to hold back a whimper at the thought of it. “How much did you hear?” he cursed when you didn’t answer, cheeks reddening and cock twitching under the pillow, leaking against his thigh.

“Mommy.” you said, making his head snap back to you, a frown on his face, eyes widening when you let the book fall from your hands as you stepped in, closer to his bed.

“W…What?” fuck.

“ ‘Mommy’. That’s what you called me.” you smirked, eyes falling to his lap when he pushed the pillow further down. “Who would think that Spencer, the Genius Spencer Reid, would be so goddamn dirty to even leave the door unlocked for anyone to see as he fucks himself. And even worse, have a mommy kink.” he stuttered as he shook his head.

“It’s not what it seems like, I…”

“You what?” you pushed, thumb and index gripping his chin so his eyes would find yours. “Are you gonna deny that you were touching yourself while thinking about me? That you were calling me mommy and whimpering for me to fuck you faster?” he moaned at your words, half-lidded eyes full of lust staring at your full and rosy lips. “Mmh? Answer me.” you ordered and he whimpered, your pussy clenching when he shook his head and cried out a ‘no’. “ ‘No’ what?” your lips brushed against his, teasing him to get out of him what you wanted.

“No, mommy.” you pulled his hair when he tried to kiss you, making him groan against your lips as you clicked your tongue. “Please…” he pleaded, hands rocking the pillow on his lap.

“Only good boys get a kiss, Spence.”

“I’m a good boy…” he was so gone that you almost laughed, so needy for pussy…

“Oh yeah?” he nodded, his tongue dampening his lips, hips thrusting upwards towards the pillow that covered his naked body. “The why don’t you show me?” he shivered when your lips latched to his neck, your tongue pressing against his skin in open mouth kisses that led to his ear. “Why don’t you show me how good you are and let me watch you fuck that pretty toy of yours, hm?” he moaned, muttering a ‘fuck’ as he nodded, making you smirk. “Then go ahead, baby, let me see.” you pulled away as he pushed the pillow off his lap, dick twitching below a pool of precum that dripped from his tip.

In the state he was… He would do anything for you. He would even fuck himself stupid if you said the word. Anything you asked, anything you wanted. Anything for you.

He moaned when you sat down on his desk’s chair, skirt rolling up and letting more of your soft and beautiful thighs show. His hands were shaking when his fingers gripped around the clear silicone or his toy, whimpering when he noticed your eyes on his twitching dick.

You had seen dicks before, but none of them was as beautiful as Spencer’s. It was big, with a great large and just the perfect girth, large and thick enough to have you limping for a few days after a good fuck. And you knew he could give it to you, that he would fuck your hard and needy, deep enough to have you drooling over yourself as you came over and over again. You would love to drool and choke on it too, outline the veins on his shaft with your tongue and take him so deep on your throat you’d need to swallow when he came in your mouth. “Aw, poor Spence…” you cooed at his twitching cock, red tip and tight balls. “Caught about to cum. It must really hurt, doesn’t it baby?” he nodded, tears on his eyes due to your teasing, chest rising in heavy breaths. “Are you gonna cum on that cup for me to drink, hm? Want me to drink your cum, Spencer?” he moaned a breathy gasp, and you smirked to his reaction. He liked that.

Dirty talking. Mommy kink. Praise kink. Notes taken.

“Yes, yes, yes…” he muttered, almost begging for it. The thought of you swallowing his cum making him go crazy. He whined when his leaking tip brushed against the artificial hole, his lip being tortured by his teeth when you parted your thighs, panties exposed and damped lace for him to see. “Fuck…” he cursed, bottoming out into the wetness of the fleshlight in a deep and large stroke, almost cumming at the sight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” your hands came down your body, your left resting on your breasts— hard nipples pushing against your shirt, which you pulled and pinched in between your fingers— and your right sneaking in between your thighs and below your underwear, whining when you felt just how wet you were. “Shit, y/n.”

His dick was twitching like crazy with every new and fast thrust of his hips, pleads falling of his lips. ‘I need you. Need you so bad…’ ‘Please mommy…’ ‘I’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum…’

“Oh yeah? You gonna cum?” You clicked your tongue when he nodded, chuckling at his behavior. “Look at how pathetic you look.” he whimpered when you had made your way back to his side, standing in front of him and making his head fall backwards when you harshly pulled on his hair, making his hips stutter and breathy whines rip his throat. “Hold it. I haven’t even told you where to cum yet.” he cried when you pushed down your thighs your panties. “Fuck, you are too fucking loud.” you said and he had to squeeze his dick to not come when you pushed your damped panties into his mouth, slicked crotch flat against his tongue. His muffled begging only made your pussy wetter, his eyes full of tears that seemed about to fall when he could take a taste on just how sweet you were. He choked on the lace when you startled his legs. His eyes fell just as your free hand did, straight to your core, where your fingers dug on your wet folds and parted them for him to see thin strips of slick connect them and just how swollen your little pink bud was, hidden under its hood. “Here. Cum on my pussy.” you said, leaning on the skin of his neck to suck a hard hickey on his flesh.

You didn’t even had to say it twice, his hand quickly throwing away the fleshlight to cum all over your folds and clit, muffled groans and moans filling the room when his white and heavy gropes painted your core in white, his mind all foggy and pussy drunk just by the simple contact of your cunt on his tip. You hummed as you stroked his hair, open mouth kisses being splattered across his chest. He was still fucking hard. “Good boy…” you cooed, loving just how fucked out he seemed, moaning when you sat on his cock, his length in between your wet folds and his tip bumping against your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck….” he cried out with your panties on his mouth when you rocked your hips against his. That’s all it took for him to cum for a second time, right after his first orgasm.

You moaned, feeling his dick twitch and nails dig on your ass, your pussy sliding too easy due to the amount of his cum that coated it. “You came again, baby?” he nodded, his cock quickly getting hard again to your humping. “Fuck, Spencer…” you pulled your panties away from his mouth, wanting to hear his groans. “Look at you, making a mess of my cunt.”

“Fuck, y/n…” your name sounded so wonderful falling from his lips… “Please, can I… Can I clean it for you? Let me clean it for you, pleasepleaseplease. I’ll make you feel good, I promise, I’ll be good…” you pulled his bottom lip with your thumb, warm skin under your fingertips. “I promise. I promise mommy…” your thumb brushed your own lips when he leaned in, pupils blown and need on his hazel thin irises. He looked high. And he was, high on his favorite drug: you.

You nodded, giving in, and gasped when he had your back pressed against the mattress in just a matter of seconds, lips all over the skin of your neck and exposed collarbones, his hands leaving your hips to bump against the bottom of your tank top, fingers so desperate to see your tits that dug too hard on the piece of clothing enough to tear it up. You moaned when you felt the fabric give out, his hands cupping your exposed breast and biting hickeys on its flesh in between groans, muttering a ‘The prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, fuck.’. You were tugging on his hair as he played with your tits, biting your nipples and teasing you for a couple of minutes before slowly lowering his lips further down on your stomach, bumping with your skirt, which he quickly discarded it away on his bedroom floor. He pulled away to look to your fully naked body, hair messily spread on his pillow —the same he had fucked multiple times while thinking about you—, lips swollen due to constant biting, half-lidded eyes and flushed skin. He moaned, dick twitching, ‘cause you were so goddamn perfect. Perfect for him.

He didn’t waste time in parting your thighs —which he took his time with, and of course he would, he had been dreaming about making them bleed for years now—, leaving open mouth kisses and sucking hard on the skin, making you whimper and tug on his hair. “Spencer…” you whined when he bit down on your flesh, making your back arch at the incredible pleasure the pain inflicted made you feel. He was so drunk on your skin… He could spend his whole life kissing it that he would never get fucking tired of it. But his teasing was making your pussy clench and tingle. You needed his mouth on it now. And he seemed to get it when you pushed him further against it, his hands taking your now fully marked thighs to pull them above his shoulders as he sunk on the mattress, stomach flat against it and fingers gripping at your flesh. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when his tongue pushed in between your covered in cum folds, flattening in a long strip and bumping against your clit. Both of you moaned, him due to just how much he had dreamed about the taste of your pussy —which he had tasted before, but only clothed— and you to how many times you had touched yourself with his mouth in mind. His name falling off your lips on a whimper had his hips rocking against the duvet as he ate you out sweet and slow.

It was only when his fingers found their way to your entrance that he started to eat you just like you needed and he always dreamed of: rough, needy and hungry. You were screaming his name when his fingers pushed inside you, quickly fucking the shit out of you and curving to hit your g spot as his tongue circled your clit. Spencer knew how to use it, really well. So well that he had you tipping the edge in less than ten minutes. He was like a starved man, burying his face in between your thighs unable to get enough of you and your sweet taste, of the mix of the two of you in his tongue. “Fuck, Spencer, I…” you babbled, thighs twitching as you pulled harder on his hair. He knew you were close by how moans fell of those pretty lips of yours over and over again. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum…” you cried out, Spencer crushing your sweet spot with every harsh thrust of his fingers.

He moaned, begging for it. “Please cum on my mouth, mommy. Please, let me have it, please mommy, please…” you whined when his tongue gave just one last stroke to your clit, dissolving in the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had, whimpers against your cunt as Spencer drank every last drop of it all, helping you ride out your orgasm as your sweet moans filled his bedroom.

You mewled when once you’ve come down from your high, his tongue licking you clean as hips rutted on his wet sheets, seconds away from coming when you called from him. He whimpered when you tugged on his hair, pulling him away from your pussy as you sat up. He looked completely gone. Half-lidded eyes unfocused, messy hair due to your tugging, swollen lips and wet chin. “Please, just a little bit more, mommy…” he begged, needing to go back in between your thighs. Needing to taste you and make you cum again on his mouth. “Please, I need it…” your eyes fell to his twitching and leaking cock, and then, to the dampness of the sheets where he had been rocking against. You clicked your tongue as you took him in your hand, making him gasp.

“I’ll let you choose where to cum next, Spencer.” you said, your other hand coming to his cheek to rub the flush on his skin. “I could let you eat me out again and let you cum all over the sheets all by yourself…” his balls tightened to the thought of it, feeling cold when the hand that cupped his face left him to fall in between your thighs, spreading you open for him to see. “Or you could cum inside of me.” his eyes rolled to the back of his head, hips thrusting into your hand in anticipation. “What do you say, Spence? Where do you want to cum, baby?” he was almost hyperventilating, whimpers falling of his lips as he leaned on you, eyes on your own.

“Inside.” he found himself to mutter, unable to think, not when you were offering him the chance to fuck you raw and fill you up. Just the thought of it had him reeling.

“Oh yeah?” you whispered against his lips, him nodding slightly, bewitched by your minty breath connecting with his own. “You wanna cum inside, hm? Gonna let me use your cock too?” you gave him a sweet smile when he moaned, furiously nodding. Leaving a little peck on the corner of his mouth, you fell backwards on your back once again. “Then come here, Spence.” he was fast to top you, your thighs parting to receive him there, hands on his neck when he leaned in, eyes asking for permission to kiss you, which he didn’t even need since you were now entering your tongue in his mouth, making him groan. Fuck, he could come just with that. With your tongue on his mouth, your body against him and the thought that you were only letting him fuck you to seek your own release. He moaned on your open mouth when you took his dick to align it with your entrance, which twitched at the feeling of his tip. You needed him, and you needed him now. “Fuck, baby, please fuck me Spencer, please, please…” you whimpered, and he didn’t wait to push inside in a deep and fast stroke. You both moaned, foreheads against the other’s as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, so tight, mommy, so tight… Shit. I’m gonna cum.” your head had fallen backwards in gasps, giving him full access to your neck, which he kissed and sucked, leaving new marks. He was so big you felt like splitting in half, but not in a painful way. His stretch had you delirious, his tip brushing against that sweet spot that would make you come in a matter of seconds. Your nails dug on the skin of his back, making him groan. The two of you were taking your time, him getting used to the feeling of your tight and warm walls trying to milk his twitching dick and you to the feeling of his heavy and big cock sitting inside your wet cunt, spreading you to edges you’d only dreamed of getting to. He groaned against your neck when you started to unconsciously rock against him. “Please y/n, can I fuck you now? Let me fuck you mommy, please? I need to… I need to…”

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good boy for me and let me use your cock, alright?” he whimpered at your words, and in less than one second he had you gripping to his back for dear life and losing yourself in between moans. “Oh fuck, yeah Spencer, just like that baby, shit, fuck me, fuck me…”

He was just feral. Thrusting in you with just cumming in mind. His hips were pushing against yours in a hurry, hitting that spot inside of you that had you whimpering as you thrusted yourself on his cock, just as desperate as him. He was too pussy drunk to even kiss you straight, spit dripping down your chin at the messy made out. “Fuck, y/n, mommy, shit, so good, feels so good, fuck, I love it, love your pussy, ah shit, love you mommy, loveyouloveyouloveyou…” he was a mess. Both of you were. His thrusts had you drooling on the pillow, back arched and eyes squeezed shut, too lost in the pleasure, in him. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release with every new deep and harsh thrust, making your nails dig up on his back, probably leaving marks.

“Fuck, Spencer, fuck, I’m close, shit, I’m gonna cum…” you whimpered on his ear, making him fuck you harder.

“Cum on my cock, mommy, please, please… Use me. Use me…” he begged, and then you could only feel yourself cumming over and over again. It was all too much, but too good at the same time. So good that had your soaked cunt gushing all over his dick as he fucked you dumb, his hands pulling on your nipples and teeth digging so hard on your neck that draw blood. You were seeing fucking stars in the ceiling.

The only thing that you seemed able to coherently form was his name, which you chanted like you sang your favorite summer song. “Spencer, Spencer, Spencer…”

“Shit, Imma cum, I’m cumming so fucking hard… Gonna fill your pussy mommy, gonna…, fuck!” his thrusts became sloppier. “Im gonna cum, i’mcummingi’mcummingi’mcumming.”hips thrusted one, two, three more times before his dick twitched inside of you, filling you so full you choked on air, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when some of it spilled out. He was whimpering ‘mommy’ over and over again in between cries against your neck, thick gropes of cum painting your insides in the purest white.

“Shit, fuck, Spencer. So good…” you moaned, rolling your hips at the feeling of fullness. You were fucked out, brain dead on the cock that had just gave the best sex of your life. You were trying really hard to come down from your high and calm down your breathing. “Spencer!” Though you really couldn’t even do that, since you found your head being hardly pushed against his pillows and back arched with your chest against the duvet when he pulled you up from your ass, his newly hard cock ramming inside of your full of cum pussy. You cried out when his hand came down on one of your cheeks in a hard spank that had you whimpering.

“You didn’t think I was done with you, were you, ‘mommy’?” you could hear the teasing in his voice. “I’m sure you really enjoyed having your way with me, didn’t you?” you couldn’t really comprehend how his mentality had switched so drastically fast, but you were no one to whine about it. If a submissive Spencer had you cumming so hard on his cock, how would a dominant fuck you out? You felt your pussy clench around his dick in anticipation. “Well, I hope you did, ‘cause now is my fucking turn.”

-

i needed to.

[navybrat817]

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[xob1tchs]

just thinking abt older miguel x younger reader (smut 17+)

age gap! dark concept!

𖦹꙳࡛࣪⋕ ˚.✦ ⵢ₊˚.

you’re his best friend’s daughter, who he watched grow from an awkward teen to a young woman.

until puberty hit, and everything changed. no longer wanting to be around miguel or your father, prancing around like you’re better than that – than hanging out with family.

you grew up much faster than he’d hoped you would and sooner rather than later he’s loosing you to parties and dumb college boys (not like you were ever actually his) that he obviously thinks aren’t good enough.

no more wanting to spend Friday evenings snuggled on the couch, watching a scary movie. no more splashing around in his pool, shrieking out when he tosses you from the ladder. it all came to a stop.

you smiling at him or wishing him a good day coming to a halt, and he begins hearing your father complain of your behavior almost everyday. he’s getting sick of it, wishing you’d just be a good girl again. he tried to tell your father that you need punished, but he’s not having it – he swears it won’t do any good. that you’ve grown up too much.

miguel isn’t oblivious to what a young woman in college does. he was your age once, he knows. knows that your frame filled out, and that your legs grew longer, eyes got shiner, pouty lips got poutier. he just tries not to think too hard about how other men know that as well. and don’t get miguel wrong either – he feels like a creep for staring too long, looking where he shouldn’t. you look up to him.

or atleast you did.

but he’s also not an idiot, and he knows that when he’s not looking at you – you’re looking at him. chewing your lip, thinking things you probably shouldn’t, because that would just be wrong. it would be so so wrong.

it’s miguel who knows that it will do good. a simple plan really, to catch you alone, corner you and scare you into being a better daughter. miguel knows he’s a scary guy, that not even you can see past.

a late evening, one where your father is working late, and you don’t have to study. miguel is going to do it then, slipping in through the front door quietly, padding up the stairs to your bedroom.

that’s when he sees you doing something you definitely shouldn’t be.

your bedroom door is cracked, because you think you’re alone, and it’s just enough for him to see you – pillow lodged between your thighs, face screwed tight in pleasure, hips jumping and squirming. Your shirt is longer than it should be, but it’s caught on the curve of your bare ass, revealing it to his wide eyes.

He knows he should just silently retreat, go home and try to pretend like this hasn’t happened, he really does know it. but he stays put.

in a trance, length growing hard in his boxers with every stupid little incoherent plead you let out, squeaking and whining. you’re begging into the air, please wanna cum, please please. frail frame shaking and twitching. he just can’t seem to stop watching, drool pooling at the back of his throat, swallowing thickly.

you gasp out, thighs clamping tighter around the pillow, clearly approaching an orgasm, but you force yourself to stop, chewing your bottom lip. miguel thinks for a moment that maybe you can see him somehow, but that thought diminishes when you toss the pillow to the floor, falling forward, pressing your face into the mattress, legs spread wide, ass high in the air.

he can’t breathe when he sees it – your soaking pussy, screaming for him, creamy and puffy as if you’ve been at for hours.

you slip two fingers in your hole, moaning out, toes curling. the noises you make when you start thrusting your small fingers in and out, gushy and obscenely loud, make him hot. sweat building at his hairline, cock twitching in his pants.

and as if it can’t get any worse, you say it. what he’d been imagining you do.

“miguel please, need it so bad mi vida” you croon, muffled by the bed sheets, but clear as day in his ears.

“hmmm what does my sweet girl need” he coos, clicking his toungue, sucking a breath between his teeth to suffice the nerves building in his stomach.

you pause, face twisting around to see him as he trudges into your room, glowering down at you with shame. your pussy clenches around your fingers, wetness seeping out around the knuckle, and you whine.

your fingers spread your folds, letting him see your greedy hole as his hands come to spread your cheeks, shuddering at the sight up close.

“want you to fuck me, want it so so bad”

he hums, fingers ghosting over your slit, flicking your clit “since you’re begging so sweetly” he smirks.

you behave better the next day.

𖦹꙳࡛࣪⋕ ˚.✦ ⵢ₊˚. severely unedited! pt.2 here

[shushmal]

Steve watched Eddie's van turn the corner and shut the front door, closing himself away from the outside world so none of his neighbors could see him as he rested his forehead against the painted wood.

"I'm not going to cry," he told himself.

He said it even as his eyes began to burn and his face began to twist, teeth grinding and throat closing. He wiped quickly at his face, again and again, as he stumbled to the couch to sit, drying each tear as it rolled down his cheeks, clinging to his jaw.

"I'm not going to fucking cry," Steve choked, and then doubled over into himself, arms around his thighs, and he began to sob.

So what if he was twenty-two, living in his parent's house alone, working the same dead-end job with a sixteen year old manager. So what if all his friends and family were in college, spread out from New York to Chicago to Los Angeles. So what if his boyfriend was moving to Seattle for his band and they broke up, because Steve was never going to be his parents, resenting and being resented for keeping his partner from his dreams. So what if he was too scared to ask Eddie to stay, to ask Eddie if Steve could go with him. So what if everyone moved on and Steve couldn't?

Steve grew up lonely. He could get used to it again.

He didn't realize how hard he was crying until the front door burst back open and Eddie hurled himself at Steve's feet, long limbed and clumsy and babbling.

"Baby, oh fuck, I'm sorry," he said, already untangling Steve from himself, tying all his loose ends back up together with his until they were a knot of their own. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Stevie. I never should have— I wanted to—"

"I'm sorry," Steve sobbed back. He gasped and swallowed it all back down. Eddie had already gotten them raveled up again, it would take forever to pick it back apart. Steve knew it would hurt worse this time. "Fuck, Ed, you didn't have to— I'll be okay, I don't want to hold you back—"

"Come with me," Eddie burst.

And Steve couldn't help himself, and began to sob again.

"Please," Eddie begged over Steve's crying, his voice shaking and his face wet enough to match Steve's. "Please, sweetheart, honey, please just come with me?"

Steve took a shaky breath, embarrassed and now too full of hope and fear. "You sure?" he whispered. He pressed his face into Eddie's neck, breathing him in again for what might be the last time, again. "Eddie, don't—"

"I'm so sure," Eddie said. "I'm so fucking sure, Steve, please."

"Okay," Steve breathed. Eddie had always been the braver of the two of them, especially when it counted. Steve leaned back so he could look at him, red faced and watery eyes. He tried to give Eddie a smile, but he knew it was wobbly and weak. "Okay."

All of Steve's fears meant nothing as he watched the happiness break like dawn over Eddie's face.

[rafesslxt]

slytherin boy‘s | how they get turned on

headcanon - this is my opinion, you do not have to agree with what i write

contains: mattheo riddle, theodore nott, draco malfoy, enzo bershire

— Mattheo Riddle —

everywhere and any time!! The list is long!

when you two are in class and you start concentrating so you slightly chew on the end of your pencil

when you smile and laugh - he would be so happy when you are carefree

when you wear his favorite color. Underwear or normal clothes, it doesnt matter. It makes you look so good in his eyes that he just wants to rip them off

when you get mad - damn, espacially when you talk in your native language

when you wouldn‘t talk to him so he would try and apologize while slowly kissing up and down your neck and shoulders

when you sat on his lap when no seats would be available. You all sat down in the train to hogwarts and as your friends saw that there was no space for you they started to scoop togethet but you would just let your ass fall down on mattheo‘s lap, smiling innocently at him

when you got turned on somehow while the two of you would stand seperated at a party, talking to your friends and he could see your desperate gaze at him

when you got drunk – he would never do anything with you under the influence but still he would get turned on on your loose tounge and words plus your touchy hands

when you do something sexy but smile innocently. Like you would bend over in class when he sat behind you, picking something up and then look over your shoulder back to him, smiling. Or you would make a ponytail, taking your time with it and again – smiling at him innocently, reminding him of how you got ready before –

when you got jealous. It wasn‘t just the fact that you got mad and that alone already turned him on, but he felt how much he meant to you and that he‘s important to you making him go even more ferral

when you took control – he was alway used to do things on his own, being tense all the time so when you did he felt so under your control it turned him on – especially in the bedroom

when you got into a fight with someone talking shit about him being the son of voldemort so you would come back with a bloody nose knocking on his door – just the tought of you hitting someone for him

— Theodore Nott —

when you talked to him a lot or read to him so he could stare at your soft plump lips moving

when you‘d come back from some sort of training, all sort of sweaty, out of breath and red face - got him going crazy

when you corrected him. The two of you would study together and after already staring at your lips he would raise his eyebrows at you correcting him. "oh so you‘re all smart and all shit now yeah? Let‘s see what you can use your smart mouth else for."

you touching him softly so he would get goosebumps all over his body

when you wear his clothes – especially after waking up and you just wearing his way too big shirts with only underwear under it but also when you would wear his hoodies on the weekends so everyone could see you‘re his

— Draco Malfoy —

when you wear his initials on a necklace he bought you or on your ring so everyone could see you belong to him

when you are confident in your own skin, chin always up. Showing everyone not to mess with you – he would be so proud too

when you would whisper gossip in his ear but not because of the gossip but because of the whispering and your hot breath on his ear

he always felt touch starved even If he‘s not so any kind of touching him would turn him on. Even something like you two laughing and joking and you touching his arm

— Enzo Berkshire —

to me he is the most shy of the group I‘m sorry ya‘ll i know there is a lot discussion about it

when he hears you ask him If you can be on top, riding him. His breathing would get heavier at the tought

generally when you are more dom and he‘s more sub – it would turn him on so much seeing you in control of hin

when you get touchy in front of his friends on a night out, party or just a little gathering – his cheeks would flame up so badly but at the same time it feels like a forbidden fruit to him in front of people

when you massage his scalp – he would get goosebumps all over his body and bite his lip while trying to control himself – failing of course

when you come back from some kind of training too like Theodore but also If he watches you and hears you groan in frustration – voice kink

when you kiss him – yes, so that‘s often. And no matter where you two are also.. in class, with his friends, his or your family

when you do things like grabbing his shirt to pull him in to kiss him, whispering and nibbling his ear, getting him flustered on porpuse with saying dirty things in his ear while friends are around

but also If you let him take completly control of you all tied up giving you to him

thanks for reading 🫶🏻

xoxo sarah <3

[unluckilyimnot]

fixing the other's hairstyle to let their hands run through their partner's hair

Characters : isagi, reo, karasu, yukimiya, hiori, sae, rin, kunigami, nagi

Fluff

m.list || rules

Note: Charles being friends with shidou is really no surprise 😭 they're both menaces

isagi

is a smiley little pookie

never do your hair ‘cause he’s gonna ruin it and he doesn’t even intend to and he's SO sorry when he does

he wants to touch your hair all the time, brushing it away, make sure you don’t get it or eat it

he’s so oblivious about the fact that he KEEPS touching your hair

it’s always some “wait I’ll help you out” when you want to tie it (if you can), or “wait” and he brushed it away from your eyes

All. The. Damn. Time.

If your hair is long/shoulder length, he wants to brush it for you on windy day so you’re all pretty again

karasu

I see him as a gentleman who tease a little

so I think he tends to play with it a lot, twirling it around his fingers and then say it was to fix the strand

even more if you have curly hair or curl it yourself, it was losing its bounce a little, he helped :)

he doesn’t do it much outside, but when it’s just the two of you he likes it

ruffling it, putting a falling strand behind your ear/out of your view

he just loves the softness

nagi

it’s easy, he’s taller than you so it’s his favorite part and he doesn’t even try to find any excuses

he just touch it, even pet your head as if your a damn cat

he loves it if you have long hair, he can play with the end easily when he’s out of energy for the day

he can lay his head on top of yours and that’s generally, if needed, his excuse to touch your hair – inside, all alone or outside with people

he’s the type to brush your hair away of your face if it bothers him and he can’t see your eyes

kunigami

his best excuse is that he knows how to style hair thanks to his sisters so he can help effectively

he does your hair for you, I don’t make the rules

that’s his favorite part of getting ready, doesn’t matter where you’re going or if you stay at home

he LOVES breaking the curl when he just done it to make them look loose – plus you look amazing

tie your hair for you just to feel it between his fingers

and always has a hair tie to do so

he’s the best, he can do anything and if not : he’ll learn to

everything to see you smile

sae

he’s too serious for his own good when he’s in public, you like to mess with him

he freshly cut his hair and you can’t help but want to run your hands through it all day, it’s all soft and nice and he smells as good as always and –

he had to glare at you for you to stop your move, rolling your eyes, you left to get a drink

a hand find it’s way on your smaller back again and you roll your eyes

“Stop that would you”

“Cut your hair after next time” it’s his time to roll his eyes

“You’re impossible” and you returned him the compliment, this time ruffling his hair for good before fixing it and smiling

“I love you though” he narrows his eyes at you, taking a look around him before leaving a peck on your cheek

“Me too”

rin

you like to fix his bangs to bother him

putting it a little on the side to get a better sight of his eyes even if he hated it

or ruffling it until he can’t see anymore

annoying Rin is your favorite job on earth

this end up in a fight half of the time – and he always win, be for real

but deep down, he loves it a lot

this boy is touch starved, so you playing and touching his hair a lot make him feel better and loved

reo

he’s a tidy man, he knows what he’s doing and big gathering, brands and companies or not ; he just has to be perfect

and he’s glad to have someone around him ready to fix his look if needed

but you two haven’t left yet that you already fixed his hair a few time

“You can’t act like that tonight you know that ?” he chuckled as you, very cautiously, fix it once again

“I will if needed.”

“Was it needed all the time for the past half and hour ?” he asked in a smirk, tilting his head to the side

you blush at his comment and pout. “Maybe not…”

he doesn’t mind tho, you’re sweet and you love him sm you can’t help it

he feels the same, don’t you worry

hiori

casual date but he’s always making sure he looks cute for his pretty s/o

you two leave when the time is still clear and warm yet knowing that’s a windy day

by the time you arrive at your destination, a cute cat café that opens recently, your hair is a mess and you can’t help but whine

he’s quick to help you out, brushing his fingers through it to ease it before his own hair – not that it moved much

yet you brushed your fingers through his as well, giggling when you’re done and him thanking you, not knowing it wasn’t needed at all

his hair is so soft, you can’t help but push it away gently or hold it before a strand falls in his mouth while he’s eating.

“What’s up today ?”

“Nothing, I just don’t want you to eat your hair !”

yuki

you attend an official thing, like regarding commercials he worked in with some brand

he’s : on fleek, hair perfectly done, makeup on top, he looks handsome and that’s your man ? Damn

you have to be serious the whole, contain yourself, smile a lot but you really can’t help yourself, from time to time, to make sure that his outfit and hairstyle stay perfect

that’s your job right ?

It’s like the ninth time your hand keeps a stand of hair out of his sight, or to make sure it stays put together, it makes him giggle.

“Done ?” he asked in a whisper in your ear, his smile so easy to imagine on his face.

“What ? It’s in your face. I’m helping out.”

“You’re not. You’re clingy,” he pecked your temple. “but it’s fine.”

yes, he knows you just can’t keep your hand for yourself but he still finds it cute and endearing

[antiwhores]

(Dubcon at first)

Alpha!Bakugou in rut whispering “‘M sorry” to you, the Omega who wants nothing to do with him, as he dry humps you from behind.

He knows its wrong but he just cant stop his hips from rutting into your ass. He’s always been attracted to you, beyond normally. That’s probably why he bullied you in middle school. He just couldn’t handle the fact that he’d go crazy over your scent.

That had been years ago but he still thought about you.

He saw you at a coffee shop one day and immediately recognized your smell. It was almost like he was destined to be with you again.

You, however, were less than pleased. As soon as you made eye contact with him he winced at how your scent changed. It went from a calm, delicious scent to a scared sour.

You practically ran out of the door.

He couldn’t let you get away. He had been thinking about you since the day he graduated middle school. No way was he about to loose this opportunity to rekindle the relationship with HIS omega… well, soon to be his.

“Wait y/n!”

The sound of your name caught you so off guard you tripped on your own feet into the grass. He never said your name, it was always a mean nickname. You hadn’t even thought that he knew it.

You started to shake, “Leave me alone!”

He put his hands up beside his head, “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just wanted to talk.”

As you sat there, fisting the grass, he apologized. He told you about how he wanted to show you that he had changed. He wanted to be friends.

But you wouldn’t have any of that. Even though it was middle school, it was still traumatizing to this day.

You got up, brushing off the grass as you told him that you could never be friends. You told him off for everything that he did to you. He stood there and took it.

After that day, you started to see actual effort from him. Somehow, he found out your address. It was probably in some documents that can be accessed by pro hero’s.

He started sending flowers to your house. Food during lunch either at home or at work. He would show up randomly at different times to talk to you. He would even pay for your groceries. He dropped them off at your door before ringing the doorbell and walking away.

At first, you didn’t trust it at all. No way was the man that bullied you trying to court you into befriending him. But after a while your guard started to come down.

You would engage in conversation the tiniest bit instead of sitting in silence with him when he’d come sit at any table he found you at. You would even look him in the eyes when he spoke.

Everything was going well until his rut.

He was supposed to go home immediately after he felt the first heat wave surge through his body. Unfortunately, a villain decided to attack on his way back. And it also just so happens that you were on the scene.

He almost killed the villain for even being around you. The rut wasn’t letting him think clearly. All he could think was “protect mine.” He only stopped hitting the poor dude when you yelled his name.

He didn’t even realize the guy had passed out.

Bakugou looked sickly. His face red, sweaty and strained. He was breathing so heavily he was getting light headed. You could tell something was wrong. But you were ignorant to the fact it was his rut. Pro hero’s were required by law to use scent blockers. You couldn’t even smell his rut.

You took him to your house to help him since it wasn’t too far away.

As soon as he entered, his semi-hard cock went fully rock hard. He was trying to control himself on the way here. He barely managed to. But being surrounded by your scent, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He snatched off his scent blockers and in a quick movement he had you pinned against the wall.

He was humping you, fully clothed, before he even comprehended that he moved.

He wanted to cry, it hurt so bad. This small bit of relief felt heavenly.

“Bakugou? What are you-“

You had to shut your mouth when a moan came out of his. You knew that if you spoke any longer you’d have let out one of your own.

“‘M sorry, I cant-“

He groaned at a particularly hard jerk of his hips against your ass.

“‘M sorry…”

As he humped you from behind, your knees weakened. He was the only one holding you up. You were falling into a heat of your own from his scent.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry. Im ruining-“

He couldn’t even speak in full sentences without moaning into your neck.

“‘M almost done… Just- fuck… let me…”

He started to grind against you harder and faster. You couldn’t breathe, all you could inhale was him. Your mind went foggy, you could hear your own moans mixing with his. Even without the stimulation you felt so fucking good.

He stopped grinding against you as he came. He pushed himself hard against your heated body as he dug his nails into your hips.

His orgasm was strong. Leg shaking, eyes rolling back strong. He came ropes in his pants before he slumped against you.

You both fell to the ground, heavily breathing.

His mind temporarily cleared enough to know that he fucked up.

He was trying to cook up a worthy apology before he was interrupted by your voice.

You reached for his belt as you spoke,

“Take it off.”

[nadvs]

home before dark (part seven)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, smut, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Rafe feels like he’s come undone. The string that just barely keeps him composed has unravelled. There’s no use in trying to tie it back together. Not when you’re holding him like this.

You’re standing in your bathroom as he cries into your shoulder, your breaths intertwined. His knees are weakening and it’s getting harder to hold his weight as he leans on you.

Your arms are loosely encircled around his neck and you collect every bit of strength you have in you to hold him up. You can feel the moisture from his tears dampening the fabric of your shirt, hear the gasps of breath spilling from his mouth. You can’t help but cry with him.

When you slowly glide a hand up the back of Rafe’s head, stroking his hair, he cries harder, his body thrown off center even further after being touched so gently. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you in closer.

Rafe’s chest is burning, his hand still aching from nearly punching the life out of your ex-boyfriend. His legs are giving out and he realizes just how much he’s bearing down on you.

“Shit,” he grumbles, angry at himself for hurting you. “Sorry.” He straightens, pulling back just a bit, your cheeks touching.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice sounds just as fragile as the atmosphere between you. You’ve never wanted to take care of someone more than you do right now. “Let’s go to my room.”

You keep all the lights off as you pace upstairs. When you reach your room, Rafe sits on the edge of your bed, sniffling.

You watch his darkened figure angrily swipe at his tears. You settle beside him, your heart stinging, the side of your thigh pressed against his.

“I…” Rafe’s voice is hoarse. His heart is racing. He’s failing at choking down his sobs. “I can’t stop.”

“You don’t have to stop,” you say. You watch him helplessly, eager to do whatever you can to ease his pain, to make him more comfortable.

You wipe one of your own tears away and rest your hand on his shuddering back, feeling how damp the cotton of his shirt is, surely from sweat.

You can’t get how he looked leaning over Ty out of your mind, the way he struck him over and over. When his friends pushed him up against the wall, he looked so angry and lost.

“Are your pajamas in the other room?” you ask.

Rafe nods. You rush away towards the guest room.

He feels completely powerless to his own body. He’s lost every bit of composure he thought he had. He can’t believe he’s doing this right now, sitting in your room, crying this hard in front of you.

He should’ve known being around you long enough would wear him down. His mother may be gone, but the weight of losing her never will be, and every time he looks into your eyes or feels your skin on his, he remembers that he’s carrying that weight everywhere he goes.

When he’s in this state, he takes whatever he can get his hands on to get wasted enough to forget. But he doesn’t have anything to numb his agony.

You return holding Rafe’s sweats and t-shirt and see him hunched over your bed, his head in his hands. You sit next to him again, his clothes bunched up against your chest. His breaths are short and uneven.

“I can help you get changed,” you say, words faltering between your tears. “And I can ramble or I can be quiet or whatever you need to fall asleep.”

Your chest aches even more at the desperation in your own voice. It reminds you of being ten years old, standing at Rafe’s bedroom door, offering to do anything just to carry a piece of his pain for him.

He rejected you then. He’s rejected you a thousand times since. But tonight, he lowers his hands from his face and turns his head just enough to catch your gaze.

“Okay,” he murmurs, throat thick with tears.

He remains sitting as you stand and lean over him to bunch the bottom of his shirt in your hands.

You pull the fabric up over his torso and he lifts his long arms for you. Your eyes are better adjusted to the dark now, allowing you to see the way his chest is rising and falling as he breathes through his cries.

In any other scenario, undressing him like this would feel suggestive, but the intimacy between you is innocent. You’re helping a friend in pain. At least, you hope he considers you a friend now.

The cotton of his pajama shirt is soft between your fingers as you draw it over his head. He finds the strength to pull his arms through the sleeves and then shuffles to unbutton his jeans. You help him take his jeans off and replace them with his sweatpants.

Rafe still doesn’t get why you think he deserves your unconditional kindness. But then he remembers what you said downstairs. You said he’s good. When was the last time someone called him good?

It’s been years since he thought something positive about himself. But maybe you’re right. Maybe whatever good you see in him really is there.

He pushes himself up to his feet to brush his teeth in the bathroom down the hall and you quickly change into your pajamas in the dark and get ready for bed.

When Rafe comes back into your room, his strides are slow and his shoulders are hunched as he settles into your bed.

“Do you need ice for your hand?” you whisper. “Or some water?”

“No,” he responds. He shifts, head resting on your pillow, and swallows hard, never having had a harder time saying what he wants before now. “Just… come to bed.”

It’s jarring. The same man who’s spent years averting his gaze the second you walked into a room, who found the quickest way to end every conversation you tried to start, doesn’t want to be apart from you for even a minute.

You sink into the mattress next to him, bodies turned towards each other. His breaths continue to hitch with his cries. It’s like he’s letting out all the tears that he’s repressed tonight.

You find his hand and stroke it gently, fingers running over his swollen knuckles.

One of the last times someone tried to help Rafe was when the paramedics arrived on the side of the freeway. They were asking him if anything hurts. If he could slowly get out of the car.

The rain was falling from the dark sky in hard, heavy drops and he had to shout for them to hear him. He kept telling them to check on his mom. They told him someone was already with her. He told them they should all be checking up on her and not him because he was fine but she wasn’t breathing.

“What are you thinking?” you ask. After a moment, he answers.

“It never gets easier,” Rafe says, his tone teetering on whimpering. His grief is still eating him alive. It never stopped.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, your tears hot against your cheeks. “Did you… ever get any help? Anyone to talk to?”

“No. At the beginning…” His mind flashes through how much the therapist he saw after it happened reminded him of his mother. Since he was ten, all he’s done is run from every reminder. “No. I couldn’t.”

You inch closer to him, holding his hand tighter, your legs tangling together.

“How about your family?” you ask.

Rafe can’t do this.

“Distract me,” he whispers. “Please distract me.”

You scramble to find something, anything to talk about. You think back to the start of the summer and the hopes you had before your ex started tormenting you both in and out of your relationship.

“I haven’t been off the island as much as I’d like to,” you begin. You press your hand against his chest to feel his heart, gauging if your words are helping. “I was thinking to go into the mainland some more this summer.“

You start to talk about how you’ve daydreamed about seeing what kinds of things the world has to offer across the water.

Rafe shuts his eyes, letting your sweet voice permeate the air, filling him with a quiet warmth like it always does.

You chase away the demons when you speak to him like this. You short-circuit the painful thoughts that rush through his head. You blur the terrifying images he sees. And it’s so much better than any drug he could ever take.

Slowly, you feel the pounding in his chest recede into softer, further apart thumps. His breaths are still sharp, but his sobs aren’t as hard. You comforted him like this when you were kids and it grants you a sense of pride that you can still soothe him.

Minute after minute, Rafe’s crying loses its intensity, and finally, he dozes off with your hand pressed against his sternum.

Your eyes gently flutter shut. The sound of his deep breathing alleviates you after what may have been one of the worst days you’ve ever had. You fall asleep feeling the pulse of a boy who lost his innocence too soon.

Rafe can’t remember the last time he slept so deeply. He drifts into consciousness feeling rested for the first time in ages.

You’re facing him, your hand cupped around his, his knuckles up to your lips as you sleep. He watches you in awe.

At some point in the night, he remembers shuffling awake and feeling your lips press against his sore hand, kissing him and calming him in your dazed state.

Rafe looks at the way your eyelashes curl over your closed eyelids. You were so patient with him, letting him cry as hard and as long as he needed to.

Can he actually do this? Can he have you in his life in a real capacity, instead of just inside this arrangement to keep you safe? Can he let you in while keeping something so painful from you?

You still don’t know the whole of it. He never wants you to. He’s not sure what to do, so he slowly shifts out of your soft bed.

It’s a few minutes past nine when you make your way downstairs. Rafe is sitting in the front room. You had hoped he’d stay in bed with you this time.

“What time are you meeting the lawyer today?” he asks once he sees you.

“Ten.”

“I’m going with you,” he says. He told you he wouldn’t leave your side and he’s not breaking his promise.

You nod, staring at him. It feels like there’s distance between you again. Does he regret last night?

“How are you?” you ask quietly, leaning against the wall.

Rafe’s eyes flit to you. When he sees the sorrow in your expression, he tells you the good instead of the bad.

“Had a good sleep,” he tells you. He looks away again. “Thanks for…”

“Of course,” you say once you realize he won’t finish his sentence. “Any time.”

Rafe rubs his knees, his hands running over the denim of his jeans, remembering how you took them off for him last night. It’s embarrassing to think about how he broke down in front of you.

“I need to go home,” he says, “to shower and get some clean clothes. I’ll come back.”

You watch him leave and you lock the door behind him. Maybe he’s just uncomfortable after everything last night. You try not to let it get to you. But it gets to you. Because it’s Rafe and his effect on you has always been to impossible to avoid.

You arrive at the lawyer’s office in your car with Rafe in the driver’s seat. You asked not to take his bike simply because driving out in the open like that was daunting. Your nerves are sitting heavy in your stomach. It still feels unbelievable that Ty has gone so far that you had to get the law involved.

Rafe asks you if you want him in the office with you. You do.

You settle across the desk of the kind-faced lawyer, your hands clasped tightly together. She tells you how sorry she is about your circumstances and that your court date has been set for a week from today.

She explains the process of getting a permanent protective order and goes through the evidence you have. Rafe looks over at you every so often, his chest pinching from how worried you look.

“Do you have any questions?” she says.

“The police told me that if he violates the order, I should report it,” you say. “Is there someone on the case I can call? Or should I go to the station? Or the courthouse?”

She shakes her head in disappointment, looking genuinely sympathetic of your situation.

“What happened?” she asks. “I can relay it to the police. You don’t have to worry about going to them. I’m here to make this easier for you.”

“Thank you,” you say. “He ran up to me last night, yelling about how I went to the cops. I think he was going to…” You look at Rafe, your lips twisting. “I think he was going to hurt me but my friend stopped him.”

You wonder if friend is a generous title for what Rafe is to you. Or maybe not generous enough.

“He knew you went to the police last night?” she says. “I called them before our meeting. Your ex-boyfriend was informed of the temporary order this morning.”

Your body flushes. Ty didn’t know about the court order last night. But he knew you went to the police.

“He was probably following me yesterday and watched me go to the police station,” you realize, eyes darting to Rafe again. “I didn’t… I didn’t see him. Did you?”

“No,” he says. He was extra vigilant yesterday. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“The parking lot wasn’t that full,” you stammer. “I didn’t notice a car following us or anything. How did…”

It hits you. Maybe he hasn’t been tailing you like you thought. Maybe he’s had another way to know where you were without having to be there.

“What if he’s… tracking me somehow?” you ask the lawyer. “That’s illegal, right?”

“Yes,” she tells you. “He’d be criminally charged.”

You look down at your lap. Just like yesterday, fear makes you feel like you’re leaving your own body.

You pull your phone out of your pocket. It’s the only thing you have with you constantly. He could’ve put something in it. You stare at it in your shaking hand.

But why did you find footprints in front of your house a few nights ago when a tracking device would have told him that you were at a party down the street? What reason would he have to be creeping around your empty home?

Unless it isn’t in your phone. It has to be in something else you own. Your mind is racing. Your car was parked in front of your home that night. You walked to the party. Maybe Ty thought you skipped out on it. That you were home alone.

The footprints never made sense. Until now.

“Could it be somewhere in my car?” you ask her.

You struggle to keep your composure as the lawyer talks you through what would happen if they find something and link it to him. Depending on the judge, it could mean jail time.

You thank the lawyer when you leave, taking her advice to drive your car to the police station and have an officer search it.

It all happens so fast. You watch two cops inspect your car. You hear one of them mumble “I think I found something” to his coworker. Your stomach drops.

Rafe is standing next to you the entire time and when he sees the small, white box dropped into a plastic evidence bag, he has to step away for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose in anger and disbelief.

There was nothing, nothing you could have done to deserve any of the shit this creep put you through. Learning that he was aware of your every move for who knows how long makes Rafe’s skin crawl. Beating the shit out of him last night wasn’t enough.

You’re silent when you leave the station. Rafe keeps looking over at you as he grips the steering wheel.

You’re gazing ahead, your stare distant, your body curled like you’re trying to make yourself smaller so nobody can see you.

He’s livid that the cops didn’t think to investigate further. You had to come to the conclusion yourself that your ex was tracking you.

“It’s their job to figure this kind of shit out, but you had to do it for them,” he mutters angrily. “And they seriously told him to stay away from you just this morning?”

“Yeah,” you say flatly. You’re in a fugue state. Your heart is racing. It’s hard to breathe. Your skin feels cold.

“Did you eat?” Rafe says.

You shake your head no.

“You need to eat.”

“So do you.”

“Don’t worry about me right now,” he says with a huff.

“I’m always going to worry about you,” you say absentmindedly. Your words are so simple, but they make his stomach go numb.

You approach a red light. Rafe taps his thumb against the wheel. He needs to make things better.

“We’ll pick some food up, alright?” he says.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. When you see you missed a call from your dad, it’s what pulls you back into reality.

“I have to call my dad back,” you mumble. You rub your forehead in frustration. You can understand why Rafe always wants to be distracted. It’s so much easier than dealing with a scary, painful reality.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” he asks.

You almost tell him he doesn’t have to. But he knows he doesn’t. Finally, you accept that Rafe isn’t just looking out for you only because he feels like he needs to. He wants to.

“He’s not going to believe that we’re…” you trail off.

In this second, Rafe decides having you in his life is worth reliving any echos of the past. He’ll just bury the truth deep enough that he’ll forget it exists. He can do it.

“Friends again?” he says.

You meet his eyes and when your lips pull into a small smile, so do his. You don’t have to wonder if he’s still stuck in the idea that this will only be temporary anymore. It’s a ray of light in the darkness that’s become your life.

A car honks impatiently behind you and Rafe looks ahead to see that the light turned green. At the same moment he groans “shut up” to them, you mutter “relax”, and you both chuckle at your shared frustration.

Rafe pays for the takeout and when you arrive home, you sit at the kitchen island together to eat. You don’t have much of an appetite, but you take as many bites of your lunch as you can to gain the courage to call your dad.

“I think I can do it,” you say, picking up your phone. Rafe nods and watches you with softened eyes as you put the phone on speaker. After a few rings, your father answers.

“Hi,” you say. You take a deep breath. “First of all, I’m safe, so you don’t need to worry. But I ended things with Ty after you left and he’s been taking the break-up really badly. I… had to get a restraining order yesterday. I know it sounds crazy-“

“What? Are you alright?” your father asks.

“I am.” Your eyes meet Rafe’s. “I found a lawyer. And Rafe’s been helping me through all of it. I’m with him right now.”

“Cameron?”

“Yes,” you say. You’re not sure what your dad may say about who he knows to be your estranged childhood friend, so you rush to your next sentence. “Can you come home?”

“Of course. I just told your mom to start looking for flights,” he responds. “Are you… a restraining order? How - what has Ty been doing?”

You suddenly don’t feel as capable to speak as you did minutes ago. Retelling it yet again feels agonizing. You look at Rafe in desperation. He holds his hand out to you and you pass him your phone.

You watch as Rafe speaks to your father, addressing him as sir, reassuring him that you’re not alone or hurt. He walks back and forth through your kitchen as he speaks.

You watch his tall figure pace in front of you. He has the sense to give your dad a watered down version of the past few days. He mentions how Ty has tried to get into contact with you and the tracker the cops found, but he leaves out things like last night’s fight.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” your dad eventually says with a worried sigh. Rafe’s eyes find yours.

“It’s no problem,” he responds.

After your father says the earliest flight they could find would have them arrive home at eleven p.m. tomorrow, he tries to reassure you, telling you it’ll all be fine.

You hang up and go back to trying to eat. Rafe sits beside you.

Curiosity starts to prick at Rafe. If you’re really going to be friends again, he’ll see your parents around more often. Your dad sounded appreciative on the phone, but maybe he was just being polite. He’s not so sure they like him.

“Do your parents ever ask about me?” Rafe asks.

“They used to,” you say. “But I asked them to stop a long time ago.”

His eyes remain focused on you. He’s waiting for details.

“I just said we grew apart,” you add. “I didn’t want to tell them you wouldn’t talk to me.”

Rafe looks away in shame. The fact that you haven’t told them what really happened reminds him of what he heard the day you were in Sarah’s room. You never let anyone say anything bad about him. She always knew you liked him.

Rafe’s heart-rate quickens at the idea of you having those kinds of feelings for him. While his sister probably only said that because she’s under the impression you’re dating, the thought of you feeling the same thrill he does when you touch won’t leave his head.

It feels good to imagine you liking him like that. And he’s used to chasing whatever feels good, so he’ll allow himself to feed the delusion.

“I’ll be different,” Rafe says. “I won’t act like that anymore.”

You smile. Things don’t feel as cold as before. Not even close.

“Good,” you say. “I don’t know how we can be friends if you do.”

Rafe’s dimples dip into his cheeks when he smirks, relieved but not surprised that you’re being so compassionate.

The sight of his smile makes your problems feel a hundred times lighter.

After the takeout containers are empty and in the trash, Rafe cocks his head as he looks at you, more nervous that he thought he’d be to propose this.

“You said you wanted to get off the island,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” you say with a laugh.

“Now.”

You recognize Rafe’s family’s boat bobbing in the gentle water when you reach the docks after a quick drive to the marina. The afternoon sun is hidden by clouds, adding gusts to the warm summer air.

Rafe is quick getting the boat ready for departure. You sit on the bench behind the helm, watching him start the boat and navigate into the dark blue sea.

After a few minutes of quiet, the only sound being the rippling water and humming motor, you stand beside Rafe, seeing the coast in the far distance.

“We don’t have to dock anywhere if you’re cool with that,” you tell him. “Honestly, it feels really good to be out here.”

“You don’t want to go to the mainland?”

“No,” you tell him, an uncontrollable smile on your face. “This is better.“

You step out to the bow, leaning over the point of the boat. Rafe can’t keep his eyes off of you as you stand ahead of him. In this moment, finally, he’s not in the past. He’s living in the here and now.

You look back at him every so often, the smile on your face so beautifully genuine that it makes him swear he’ll do whatever it takes for you to smile like that as much as possible.

It’s nearing sunset when you get back to the docks. It feels so easy to be with Rafe. It’s like you’re kids again, no discomfort or sorrow or anger between you, just two souls that don’t need to second-guess if the other wants to be there.

“I’m exhausted,” you say as you both enter your house.

“From what?” Rafe teases, watching you reset the security system as he shuts the door. “I drove the whole time.”

“Does it have to be a competition of who’s more tired?”

“Yeah. It does,” he responds, stepping close to you as you punch in the numbers.

“You really haven’t changed at all,” you say with a happy shake of your head, turning to face him.

“What’s that mean?” Rafe asks, his tone low and amused.

“It means you always wanted to win at everything.” You cross your arms and tilt your chin to look up at him, taking in the way his windswept hair has fallen over his forehead. You want to brush it back.

“What’s so bad about that?”

“It’s just an observation.”

“What else have you observed?” Rafe asks.

He lifts his arm to lean against the wall, tilted over you. Your eyes drag over the planes of his handsome face, wondering if it’s just you that feels like you’ve been angling towards flirting with each other all day.

“About you?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, squinting in a self-assured way.

Just a few nights ago, it still felt odd having him in your home, standing right here, but now, it feels natural. Rafe slipped back into your life, nearly effortlessly. You’re sure it’s because you’ve always held a place for him in it in case he ever wanted to come back.

“You’re just as protective as you were then,” you say. “No. More protective, actually.”

You don’t think the Rafe you knew before the accident would have ever resorted to violence. But you don’t tell him that.

“You’re honest,” you say, a grin on your face. “And fun. And I think you have a ridiculously strong sense of responsibility. How am I doing?”

Rafe looks down, his tongue jutting beneath his cheek as he huffs a chuckle.

“Only for you,” he says solemnly.

“What?”

“I only feel a sense of responsibility for you,” he says. He gazes at you again. “Before you came asking for help, I really didn’t give a shit about anything.”

You almost have to steady yourself. Your playful smile drops, your lips parted even though you can’t think of anything to say.

You stand in the moment together, facing each other, eyes locked.

A few nights ago, he snapped at you, saying that you don’t know him. But you think you do. Because the way he’s staring right now, almost slack-jawed, looks like he’s looking into a mirror for the first time.

You’re frozen, but if he makes a move, even leans forward an inch, you know you’d close the distance.

He doesn’t, though. So, you step back.

“I need to shower,” you say with a short laugh. “I smell like the sea. Do you wanna have dinner after?”

Rafe nods, offering you a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

You replay the day in your head as you shower. Mostly, you replay the moments you caught Rafe looking at you. You knew you always had love for him in your heart, and over these past few days, you can’t deny that it’s grown stronger.

And you wonder, and hope, that maybe the friends thing isn’t an official title. Because you want more.

You change into fresh clothes in your bedroom and head out into the hallway. When you round the corner, Rafe is coming up the last few steps of the staircase.

“Hi,” you say, approaching him to stand only a foot away for him. You place your hand on the bannister, mostly just to have something to do while your stomach flutters.

He stares down at you, the smell of your shampoo now committed to his memory. He’s been overthinking downstairs, aimlessly striding around, unsure if you feel the pull between you too, but so damn willing to take the risk.

Maybe you’ll shoot him down. But not knowing for sure actually hurts at this point.

“What?” you ask with a smile. “You okay?”

Rafe’s eyes search your face.

“I…” he begins. Rafe steps forward, mainly to see if you tense up and move away. But you don’t. “I can’t stop thinking about…”

“About what?”

“When we kissed the other night.”

The air goes thick, your throat suddenly dry. You remember how intoxicating it was kissing him. How it was just a tactic to chase away his friends. How hard it was accepting that it was all for show.

“I have to know,” he rasps. “Did you feel anything or was it just me?”

Your eyes fall to his lips. You’ve gotten used to things not feeling real by now, but not in a good way. This is like you’re living in a dream.

“It wasn’t just you,” you find the courage to say.

It’s all Rafe needs to hear. He leans forward. His lips brush against yours. Your breath catches.

You’re floating in the feeling of him on the cusp of kissing you. Finally, he closes what little distance remains, capturing your lips softly, gently, alleviating the years of pain you both held for so long in a way words never can.

His mouth is hot, his hands skimming over your hips as your lips weave together. Your heart pounds even faster when you feel his tongue dip into your mouth, running over yours.

You pull him in closer by his shoulders, impatient. Rafe can’t stop his groan when he feels your torso curve against his. He needs this. He needs you. A fire in him has been set alight and he’ll go as far as you’ll let him.

“Can we go to your room?” he mumbles, his nose nudging yours, the weight of his words not missed by either of you.

“Yes,” you whisper. You begin to step backwards, pulling him with you.

You settle on your bed, the hallway light spilling into the room, and lie on your back as he hovers on top of you.

Your kisses are growing deeper and hungrier. Rafe can’t believe this is happening. He feels nothing but fortunate right now, and he hasn’t felt like luck has ever been on his side.

He dips to kiss your neck and you run your hands through his soft hair, realizing your breaths have become short and eager. It feels so right to have him on top of you like this.

Rafe’s lips are soft as he trails kisses over your skin. Your arms hook around his body, drawing him in closer, allowing you to feel him growing under his jeans.

He stills for a moment in case it’s too much for you, but you roll your hips beneath him, and the fact that you want him as badly as he wants you makes sparks erupt through him.

One arm holds him up while the other moves over your side, fingers hooking below the hem of your shirt.

“Is this okay?” he huffs against your neck as he starts to drag his hand up under your shirt. You nod and your skin blooms in goosebumps when he reaches your chest, gently palming you.

He sharply inhales as he feels over your bra, starting to rock against you.

“Am I going too fast?” Rafe whispers. He couldn’t forgive himself if he made you uncomfortable, even for a second.

“No,” you say. “Don’t stop.”

His lips find yours again as he caresses you. Your hand trails down his firm body and when you close your fingers around his length over his jeans, he kisses you harder.

“How’s this?” you ask when you pull back, starting to stroke him slowly.

“Fuck,” Rafe says shakily. “That’s good.”

He captures your lips in his again as you touch each other so tenderly, both your chests heaving.

You feel his hand drag down your stomach and rest on your inner thigh, gently squeezing. The anticipation, the thirst you feel for him is overpowering.

You arch your back, inviting him to touch you where you need him most. When his palm grazes between your legs, the feeling makes him twitch in your hand.

He brushes against you with languid, sweet movements, kissing your lips over and over again. Slowly, his fingers go to the band of your pants.

“Yes,” you whisper before he can even ask.

When Rafe feels you completely, no barrier in the way, it’s like he’s drunk. Moans spill from your mouth as he caresses you, his fingertips moving with gentle glides. Everything about you is perfect, down to the sounds of pleasure you make.

You shift to unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper, feeling him buck up against you. You finally wrap your hand around him and he groans.

You kiss each other over and over, lips moving eagerly while your hands move slowly. When you start to stroke him faster, he follows your pace.

You’re panting into each other’s mouths now and you finally let go, writhing beneath him as you meet your peak. Rafe is shuddering seconds later, euphoric in the climax you’ve given him.

You’re blissed out, skin covered in sweat as you lie next to him. You feel so weak and tired and happy, resting your head on his shoulder.

You wake up in darkness. You search for him next to you, but he’s gone.

When you go downstairs, you find Rafe sitting in the kitchen. Your eyes meet and you smile, albeit a little nervously about what just happened upstairs, about how you took your friendship to a new level you can’t come back down from.

“Another observation I’ve made,” you start to joke, “you always leave me to wake up alone. How long was I asleep?”

He cracks a smile, but you can see it’s disingenuous.

“Sorry,” he says. “Not long.”

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Rafe responds. The faraway look in his eyes tells you otherwise. You come closer, standing across from where he’s sitting.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“I can’t.” Rafe shakes his head. It’ll reopen a wound in him and cut open a new one in you. He should never tell you.

But your words from earlier ring in his head. You called him honest. And he’s not. He’s a liar. And now he’s derailing.

“Do you…” you begin. “Should we not have done that? Do you regret it?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Then, what is it?”

“Don’t…” Rafe looks away. “Don’t push. Please.”

Normally, you wouldn’t. You never have. But you feel painfully vulnerable. What you just shared was so meaningful. At least, to you it was. Why is he closed off again? Why do you deserve this?

“What’d I do?” you ask, your voice starting to tremble.

Rafe stands from his seat, raking his hand through his hair. He was sure he was strong enough to repress this. He’s always been an expert at escaping reality.

But being around you weakens him. He’s starting to panic, starting to feel his blood go hot.

Giving into his physical impulses upstairs made him lose any power he had left. He’s in love with you. He knows that for a fact. But how can you love someone while you also blame them for the worst thing that ever happened to you?

“I… I can’t,” he whispers.

“You can’t what?” you ask. “What’s wrong?”

“I never… I can’t tell you.” Rafe’s breaths get shallower. “I can’t tell you.”

You step in front of him, your hands softly resting on his chest.

“You can tell me anything,” you say.

“We can’t do this,” Rafe mutters.

“What do you mean?” you ask. Your heart breaks all over again. “Don’t go back to treating me like this. Please.”

“We can’t do this,” he repeats.

He’s losing it. He can’t leave the house. He’s here to keep you safe. But he doubts he could even drive right now if he had the opportunity. And he has no substances running through his veins, dampening the pain.

He has nothing.

“Why?” you ask, dread filling you, tears starting to form. “Why? Whatever it is, we can talk about it and fix it.”

“You can’t fix this.”

“Why?”

“Because it already happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Your tone is frantic now.

“It already happened!” he shouts.

Rafe’s stomach twists with self-hatred when he sees you falter, your eyes widening with shock. He startled you. He’s scaring you, just like your ex does.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. His hands find your face, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. “Let’s forget it, okay? Let’s have some dinner and forget it.”

But you’re already crying.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“What already happened?” you ask. You’re not sure if it’s just anxiety crawling up your body or a painful sense of intuition. But something tells you that whatever he has to say will shatter you.

“Rafe,” you say. “Please tell me.”

He drops his hands. You’re begging now. He’s infuriated that he couldn’t just keep it together. The loss, the heartbreak, the regret fills him all at once.

“We were…” He looks away. He can’t bear to see your face when he says it. “We were in the car because of you.”

(part eight)

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[miya-rin]

imagine being the miya twins older sister who has had suna rintarou fully enamoured with your existence since he first met you at 15 years old.

he has tried to make many moves on you over the years to no avail; sneakily trying to place his arms around your shoulder before one of your brothers notice and throw the nearest object they can grab his way. not letting you carry anything while hes around, claiming how “youll never have to lift a finger again” if you give him a chance. hell, even dropping down to the floor to tie your shoelaces the second he realises the laces have come loose, taking his time to stand back up afterwards as he slowly rakes his eyes over your figure so he can fully take in every inch of you. every attempt of his to make you swoon for him is met with “sorry sweetheart, still not into minors” and a small ruffle of his hair which gives him a dopey smile. you would think he would start to back off eventually but to your dismay every rejection you have handed to him has just made his desire for you grow stronger - he takes your words as “try again when youre 18”

which is exactly what he does. on his 18th birthday his friends decide to throw him a massive party - being the twins chaperone you had to come along and when suna set his eyes on you, you knew there was no chance of you escaping his antics. you catch him glancing at you multiple times throughout the night before he gets pulled away by one of his guests, a disappointed look in his eyes every time he had to look away from you.

after a couple of hours you decide to step outside onto the balcony to catch some fresh air seeing as there was no sign of the party dying down anytime soon. you’re outside for maybe 5 minutes when you hear the door slide open, you already know who its going to be seeing as he has been trying to catch you alone all night, you turn around to finally face the boy and he looks as ecstatic as ever.

“happy birthday suna.” you swear you can see his soul leave his body the second those words leave your mouth, its not the first time youve said it to him tonight - youre not that cruel as to not wish the poor boy a happy birthday on his special day - but everything that comes out of your mouth looks like it sends him to heaven and back.

“thankyou yn, i appreciate you being here, but then again, i know you cant spend more that a week away from me because youre just so obsessed with me.”

“wow, am i that easy to read?” you chuckle along with him, noticing the way his gaze doesnt stray away from your face while you face forward, “so, how does it feel finally being legal?”

“incredible, it means you can finally give me a chance.” he doesnt miss the way you sigh at his words.

“suna we’v-“

“i know that we’ve been over this, but i don’t really think you mean it,” this gains an eye roll from you, “plus, my one wish when i blew out my candles was that you would give me a kiss.”

“really? well i guess your going to have to go without this year.”

“it was my birthday wish, youre not gonna deny me that are you?”

“yknow if you tell your wish to someone it doesnt come true right?”

“yn…please,” his voice is barely above a whisper, he sounds desperate, “i have been waiting for three years, all i ask for is one kiss, just one.”

“i think youre forgetting that im 22 and you are freshly 18.”

“im still 18 though.”

“hm… you make a good point,” you see the way he perks up slightly at your evaluation, a hopeful look becoming more prominent in his eyes, “one kiss. let it be my official gift for the birthday boy.” you might have well as told him he had just one the lottery, anyone who walked past the sliding door would think you had due to the way his smile was so wide.

“thankyou” is all he can muster up before he is snaking his hand up your body and with a hand tangled up in your hair he leans down until his lips touch yours, you can feel the shit eating grin spread across his face as he gently moves his lips in sync with yours, pulling away slightly to whisper “best birthday ever” before leaning back in <3

[luveline]

Jade I’ve been WAITING and HOPING for you to ask about spider verse and/or Miguel requests. He is the epitome of grumpy love interest falls for sunshine reader, would you maybe write something where he’s like in the midst of being scary and intimidating and then when reader walks in he is trying to maintain that image in front of whoever else is there but she just like totally ignores it and basically exposes how soft he is?

Obviously feel free to take or leave whatever parts of that you like I just love grumpy x sunshine

SPOILERS FOR SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE BELOW

thank you for your request! for you my love, grumpy (lovesick) miguel x sunshine spidergirl!reader, 1.5k

Miguel spends a lot of time arguing with Peter B. Parker, or as you've so fondly nicknamed him, Sweatpants-Man. Well, Miguel spends a lot of time yelling at him. It stopped for a while; Peter B. Parker took some time away from the Spider Society, but eventually he returned with a brand new spider. A baby girl. 

You linger at the door, startled to find him in company, but pleased when he isn't yelling as loudly as he could be. He looks desperately as though he wants to shout, and is holding back through sheer force of will, his eyes widened and his hair falling in unruly waves over his forehead, strands of it curled into his eyes. 

Miguel is a worrier. It isn't his fault. He's a great man with responsibilities beyond his control, and he may not always react how he should, but he tries his best. You don't agree with everything he does, but you like him. You adore him. For all of his goodness, his bravery, and the smile he gives you when you're alone. 

He's clearly troubled by something. 

"I don't really see the harm, I won't tell him a thing," Peter B. Parker says.

"Why do you refuse to listen to me? No. End of discussion." 

"I think we should reopen the discussion," Peter B. Parker says. 

He and Miguel are friends, you think. They would have been best buddies by now if Peter could abide by Miguel's rules. Then again, you ignore the rules often and indiscriminately, and Miguel likes you.

He's scraping his hair out of his eyes now, a fierce glare fixed on Peter's face, and you have the urge to go in there and try to persuade him to give Peter whatever it is he's asking for. You're almost certain you could do it. 

Not through your sheer mastery of the persuasive arts, though you have mastered them, but because Miguel O'Hara has a soft spot for you. He tries to hide it and you refuse to let him. You haven't tried to kiss him or anything (you secretly aren't that brave) but you run circles around him for fun, only letting him boss you around every now and then to keep things loose. You could be much meaner about the whole thing: what is so humiliating as falling for your lackadaisical subordinate? But you don't hold it against him, because he likely isn't finished falling yet, and because you really do like him. 

You pull your mask off of your face and then your gloves, shoving them into a concealed pocket on your thigh. 

"Miguel," you murmur, knowing he'll hear you no matter the volume, "what's wrong?" 

Miguel doesn't glance your way. 

Peter B. Parker's shoulders sag in relief at your appearance. "Thank god you're here," he says. 

You hadn't realised Peter knew who you were. "I'm here," you repeat mildly. 

"Tell Miguel that the risk involved with visiting Earth-1610 is super, duper small." 

"Well, it is negligible," you murmur, though Peter's quest isn't your prerogative. 

Miguel groans loud and unapologetically. 

You stand near Miguel and look up at him. He's ridiculously tall. You’d have to crane your neck if you stood at his feet. You maintain some distance and look him over from a gentler incline, cataloguing the dark circles under his eyes for the hundredth time. They don't look too bad today, but you wish he'd get more rest. 

He has a very fierce face, but you know how it softens when he laughs. It's hard to find his glaring intimidating when you've witnessed the white flash of sharp teeth as he smiles, the way his eyes light up and his eyebrows relax from their stern set when you bring him something to eat on late nights. It's almost always smothered as soon as it happens, but it does happen. 

"The risk involved is not super small," he says, still not looking at you, "the risk involved is actually incredibly big, and it isn't worth it." 

Peter puts his arms out just as Mayday drops from the rafters above. You huff a laugh at his coordination and Mayday starts to laugh, her knitted beanie drooping into her eyes. 

"Hi, baby," you say softly, reaching out to hold her hand. She squeezes your fingers. 

"It's worth the risk. Absolutely, it's worth the risk, and I would argue that me visiting would actually strengthen the state of the multiverse–" 

"In what scenario–" 

"–and, like, make your job easier." Peter stops Mayday from climbing up your shoulder. 

"If there's one thing you've never done, Peter, it's make my job easier. I can't believe you're asking me again," Miguel says, taking a big breath, like he's going to pop. 

You step away from Peter to catch Miguel's attention. When his eyes lock onto yours, you smile as fondly as you're able, the kind of smile you know he likes. Your eyes widen just a touch and your eyebrows rise, the corners of your mouth not quite dimpling. It's a smile that says all the same stuff you love to say aloud. Hi, handsome. What's got you so stressed today? 

"Don't be like that, Miguel," Peter says. 

You tilt your head to one side. "You don't look very well," you say. 

"I'm fine." There's a thread of gentleness there, almost indistinguishable from his serious tone. "Or I would be, if Peter would listen to me for once." 

"I'm listening, man, I just think you should see sense." 

Miguel's face flickers like he wants to correct him, but he keeps getting caught on you. Nothing specific, just that his gaze lands on your face or your shoulder or your arm before he looks at Peter, and all the steam rushes out of him. He’s trying not to smile at you.

"I see sense," Miguel insists. It's like he wants to be angrier than he has, gritting his teeth weakly. "It's not feasible right now." 

You smile at that. Right now. You're not sure he's ever said something that could lead to a compromise. You are sure that he hadn't meant to. Peter is understandably thrilled, hiding his own smile as he puts Mayday back into her carrier. 

"Alright. Well, I've gotta take her home. But I'll see you both again soon," Peter threatens, wiggling his eyebrows. "Thank you," he adds, nodding at you. 

You laugh as he leaves. Miguel is nowhere near as pleased. 

"You did that on purpose," Miguel says. 

"I did what on purpose?" 

"Coming in here." 

"Yeah, of course. I come to see you all the time on purpose. Did you think I was drifting in here on the breeze? That would be difficult, considering." You gesture to the entrance of his office, which is far from easily accessible. 

Miguel looks at you, unimpressed, with his hands on his hips. You wonder what it would take to make him put his hands on yours. 

"Don't even think about it," he says. 

"About what, handsome?" 

"You think I don't know what that look means?" He sounds fond rather than angry. It's a win. 

"I bet you know, but I'm in the dark, so if you'd… illuminate it for me, that would be greatly appreciated." 

He checks that no one's about to enter his office. You feel your heart jerk in your chest, and if his super senses are anything like the other Spider People, he can hear it. 

"You really can't come in here when I'm trying to set people straight," he says. 

"Why?" you ask. You could pout at him, but you think that might be too much. 

"You know why." Somewhere between words he drifts closer, soundless, his face inching down toward yours with a surprising swiftness. "You know why," he repeats.

You lift your chin as much as you dare, which isn't much, but enough that your giggly confirmation fans over his lips, "Yes, I do." 

He nudges you away, and it isn't without affection. His warm, big hand lingers on your shoulder, even as he says, "Go, go do something." 

"Miguel, I came to see you." 

"I know, and I have a meeting with Jess in a minute, so you can't be here. It'll undermine my authority." 

"What will?" you ask, smiling, because you already know. His fondness for you. 

"Go away. Come and see me later," he says. 

You sigh and spin away from him. "I will, but not because you told me to!" you call, leaving the office with an awful sense of victory. 

Miguel scrubs his face with his hands as you go. He's really not sure what he's going to do with you. His plan to hold you at arm’s length isn’t working anymore, and honestly? He doesn’t think he could stand it a minute longer. Thank whoever’s watching over him that you actually do as he asks for once and leave. 

Miguel was one sweet smile away from kissing you up against the wall.

[cyn-write]

“From the First Time that You…”

Prompt - NRC is in upheaval. A video of Yuu singing a song has been circling around the school about her being "bewitched," and everyone is trying to figure out by who. Yuu is embarrassed and upset about her private song being the subject of gossip, so she decides to hide from everyone only for her crush to find her and reveal he has been "bewitched," by her...

Pairings - Heartstyble x F!Yuu

Warnings - Very Shy Yuu, Stagefright (Yuu again), Fluff, Fluff, and More Fluff

Song - “Bewitched” by Laufey

Prologue - Heartsyble (Here) - Savannaclaw - Octavinelle - Scarabia - Pomefiore - Ignanhyde - Diasmonia

Riddle couldn't get Yuu's song out of his head. He found himself humming it at random moments in the day. Trey and Cater noticed this as well, and they also knew about Riddle's feelings towards the Ramshackle perfect. After Cater pointed it out at Breakfast, Riddle stopped and shook it off. He tried to ignore the fluttering in hie chest when he heard the lyrics or even though about them, but it didn't work. He confessed this to his friends, and they encouraged Riddle to go to her. To sedate their pestering, he agreed to go later with her work.

He was also more defensive than usual as he heard his classmates gossip about his dear friend. He had collared more students than usual for gambling and breaking the most minuet rules. His dormmates worried that he was slipping back into his old habits after making and trying so hard to change.

At the end of the day, he found himself walking towards Ramshackle. He told himself it was to give her the work she missed, but his heart was pounding in his chest. As he stood outside her door, he stole himself for a moment and dared to hope.

"Yuu... I just want you to know you've bewitched me too..."

When Yuu opened the door, Riddle could see it in her eyes. Relief. Relief and hope for returned affections.

"Really? D-do you mean it?" She said, her notebook clutched to her side. She was just as nervous as he was.

Riddle nodded and said, "Yes, I have for a long time now. I just..." He took a deep breath to steady himself, but never looked away from her eyes, "I didn't want to risk loosing you, but now, if you will have me, I would love to properly court you."

Riddle held out his hand to her, and for a second, he thought he made a mistake, but she broke that tension with a tight hug.

"Yes," she whispered into his ear.

He wrapped his arms around her, and all their tension disappeared. They sunk into each other and nearly fell to the floor. Riddle was able to keep them up, and when they parted, he could see the relief in her eyes. He couldn't help but smile and the beautiful rose who held his heart.

"By the way, you have a gorgeous voice. Like the White Roses of the Queendom courts," He said and cupped her face in his hand, "with the mind of the rhyming hatter."

This made her giggle. He had never seen her shine so bright as she did now. Her laugh made him do something crazy but that is what her spell did to him. He leaned in and kissed her in a sweep of passion.

And of all things, she kissed him back.

He may be the Mage, but she truly was Bewitching.

Weeks later, after building up a lot of courage, she asked, her now boyfriend, Riddle to come over. When he did, she sang him a song he saw in her notebook, a song for the Queen of Hearts from his White Rose: "La Vie En Rose"

Ace knew the song was about him. From the lyrics to the way she had been acting recently, he just knew! He had to tell her he felt the same. He tried to tell her that night, but Grim and his dormmates said she wanted to be alone. He tried calling and texting her, but received no answer. The next morning, he waited for her like he and the rest of the first years did every morning, but she never came out. He then waited for her in class but she never appeared. He started to worry as all his text and calls were ignored as well as everyone else's.

His mood also soured as he kept hearing his classmates bet and gossip about his friend. He snapped at almost everyone, and his temper was worse than Riddle's. He was so mad that he almost got into a fight at one point with an Octavinelle student who was collecting bets. By the end of the day, after a grueling Basketball practice, Ace had enough. He had to talk to Yuu NOW. He ran out of the Locker room, hair still wet from the shower, and darted to Ramshackle. He made it to the door, out of breath and wet, and the ghost finally let him in. He made it to Yuu's door and paused. What if he was reading this wrong? What if he was betting on feelings that were not there?... well there is no other way to find out.

He knocked on the door and paused, "Yuu. It's Ace. Open up!" He waited for a second, his confidence waining as he poured his heart out, "Please... I... I need to tell you. Your song, I... I don't know if I'm reading this wrong, but I need you to know, you've Bewitched me too..."

Ace was about to leave, thinking maybe his assumptions were wrong, but before he could turn away, the door opened. Yuu looked at him with doe eyes and he knew. She loved him to.

Wet. Exhausted. And Relieved. Yuu and Ace embraced. They stayed like that for a few moments before Yuu muttered.

"Thank you for showering before you came over..."

Ace chuckled at his shy friend turned crush finally breaking out of her shell. A side she reserved for those closest to her and the side that made Ace's heart swell.

"Jamil shoved me in the shower. Since someone has been ignoring my calls and text all day, I nearly ran over sweaty and in uniform." He pulled away to look Yuu in her lovely eyes that scared him all day, "If you ever do something like that again, I will cover you in sweat and not shower for a week."

That made her laugh for the first time all day, "You'll be punishing Heartsyble more than me. Riddle and Deuce may chase you with a hose and soap if you do."

"I'll tell them it's your fault," he said, ruffling her hair, "Then you'll have to deal with my stink!"

Yuu couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Fine, Fine, I won't do that again!" When she got the giggles out, she looked at her notebook and said, "I-I just didn't know what to say, I was-am so embarrassed."

"Why? You have a great voice!" He said and his hand moved from her head to her cheek, "I can't believe you've been holding out on us,"

She looked up at him and a blush spread across her cheeks. "I write songs to help figure out my feelings. It felt like everyone was hearing a secret I wasn't ready to tell."

He leaned into her and placed his forehead on top of hers, "Well, when your ready, I can't wait to hear all your hearts secrets, and when you do, I'll tell you mine."

Yuu smiled and placed her hand on his cheek, "One day..."

"One day... but today, I'm happy I get to finally call you mine~" Always One for taking chances, Ace titled his head and kissed her.

After relentless asking and patient waiting on Ace's part, Yuu finally felt ready to sing for him. One night when Ace was sleeping over, Yuu brought out her notebook and opened to a song she wrote about her trickster - "Golden Hour"

Deuce had been in guard dog mode all day. Anytime someone made a comment about Yuu or her song, he would flip back to his old self. Ace and the other first years had to hold him back from decking two second-year Pomefoire Students debating whether Vil or Epel were the song's subject. It reached the point where Crewel let Deuce leave class early to deliver Yuu her missing work because he "looked like a caged hound about to attack." On his way out, someone said something that got him thinking: "Why's he all worked up? Not like he likes her or something." This got him thinking. As he walked to Ramshackle, he started to think about Why he was so protective beyond she was "just a friend." Whenever he thought about his feelings towards Yuu for more than two seconds, it made his heart pound and head feel light. He described this feeling to his mom to try to understand what was happening, and she asked him if he had a crush. He brushed it off at the time, but now he thought about it seriously. Did he have a crush on Yuu? Did he have feelings for her? Is that why the song made his stomach flutter and cheeks burn? Yuu seemed to blush as much as he did when their hands brushed against each other so it had to be... Oh Sevens. Then suddenly it hit him - He was Bewitched by her and She him and he had to tell her. Before heading over to Ramshackle, he stopped at the botanical gardens and picked some flowers. He remembered his mom saying something about bringing someone flowers when they are sad and people in movies did it enough that it had to be a standard. So with a messy bouquet of flowers in hand, Deuce stood outside Yuu's door. Shaking from nerves. Heart pounding in his ears. and determined to confess his feelings. He knocked on Yuu's door, took a deep breath, and said, "Yuu, I... I don't know if you feel the same but I want you to know. You've bewitched me too..."

It took all of Duece's control not to crush the flowers or shake all the leaves off them. After a few shaky breaths, Yuu opened the door. Neither spoke out of nerves, but they didn't need to. They stared into eachothers eyes and knew.

They both felt the same.

By complete accident and unbeknownst to both.

They had Bewitched each other and fallen in love.

Deuce was captivated by her and was mentally kicking himself for not realizing this earlier. He tried to speak, but his words kept getting caught in his throat. "U-um... ah..."

Yuu looked at the flowers and blush crept onto her face, "a-are those for me?"

Deuce looked down at the poor flowers he was using as a stress ball and nodded ferriously, "Y-yes! For you! I mean aaah..."

He was redder than Riddle on a bad day, but this only made him more endearing to Yuu. She gently took his flowers and brought them to her nose.

She smiled as she smiled them, "Thank you, I needed this..." she looked at him then looked away, "I-I needed you too..."

Deuce didn't know what to say, so he just hugged her. He was incredibly gentle as he wrapped his arms around her and she him. He found it easier to speak when he didn't look directly at her.

"I need you too..." He rested his head atop hers and finally found the words he needed to say, "Yuu, I know I am not the smartest, the best looking, or wealthiest person in the school. There are so many better choices than me... but I... I will give you everything I can. I'll protect you. I'll support you... and I will work ten times harder to be an Honor Student and be worthy enough to stand next to you." His arms tightened around her slightly as if this hug solidified the promise.

"Deuce, you don't need to prove anything or change a single thing about you." She pulls back and places a hand on his cheek and forces Deuce to look into her eyes. "You are incredible already. You're so kind and dedicated. You try your hardest at everything you do and are so earnest. I want to work harder to be more like you..." she gently strokes his cheek with her thumb and smiles at him, "I-I know we both have stuff to work on, but I am willing to work with you and support you... if that's what you want too?"

Deuce was enraptured by her and found himself swept up in emotion and passion. All fear and embarrassment pushed aside - he kissed her.

And to his suprise and delight, she kissed him back. When they separated, all Deuce could do was smile, "I want nothing more!"

For a moment, Deuce didn't feel like an awkward ex-delinquent pretending to be an honor student. He felt like a Card Knight with the Queens Singing Flower in his arms.

Deuce respected Yuu's privacy and was overjoyed with any bits Yuu was willing to share. And the more they spend time together, the more comfortable Yuu was sharing her songs with Deuce. Then, one evening, while relaxing in Ramshackle, Yuu was perusing her notebook, showing Deuce some of the songs. When they crossed one song, as he read the lyrics, she started to sing for her Spade Knight - "What Love Will Do to You"

Trey hated confronting his own feelings, but Yuu's song made him do just that. He usually baked to clear his head, but he had to get through a day of classes first. Every time he heard Yuu's name or mention of her song and it's subject, Trey's heart panged with a hollow feeling, and his patients was tested. And by the time clubs rolled around it nearly broke. At the beginning of the club meeting, a few of his clubmates were discussing one of the many betting pots and he heard his name thrown around.

"... you see the way he treats her, it has to be Trey!" One of the Heartsyble students in his year said.

"Eeeh, I think it's more brotherly than romantic. Besides why would she pick Trey when she has literal Princes interested in her? He's just a Baker." A Scarbia student remarked.

Just a Baker.... Just a Baker... why dose that hurt so much?

"-Clover! Watch what you're doing!" Rook took the beaker out of Trey's hand and pulled him away from the caldron before it spewed yellow smoke that smelled like rotten milk. Trey snapped out of it and didn't even register that Rook called him his actual last name.

"Sevens, Thanks Rook." Trey pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "I don't know what came over me..."

"Rose Chevalier, why don't you retire early?" Rook suggested, "You are suffering from La maladie d'amour,"

Trey shook his head and nodded, "Thanks Rook..."

Taking Rook's advice, Trey left club early. He went straight to the Heartsyble kitchen and began to do what he did best, bake. As he rolled out dough and mixed strawberry filling, he began to think about Yuu. He has had feelings for her since Riddle's overblot, but pushed them aside for the sake of their friendship... and out of fear. Despite how angry it made him, his clubmate was right. He was just a Baker. Not a Prince or a Model. A simple Baker... but he loved her, and that had to mean something. As the tart baked, Trey listed to the song once more. Her voice was truly angelic... it reminded him of the Singing Flowers of the Queendom Court. But the closer he listened, the more his heart swelled. By the end of the end of the song, he decided to at least go check on her... and tell her his feelings.

Now Trey found himself outside her door, and his heart was pounding again, only this time it was with anticipation.

He took a deep breath and let his heart speak for once, "I don't know if you feel the same, but I need to confess... you've Bewitched me too..."

After a few moments, Trey felt his heart deflate. He kneeled down to leave the tart at the door, but it opened before he could place it. He looked up and saw Yuu in all her glory. Despite being in her pajamas and exhausted in more ways than one... she was beautiful.

He stood up and tried to speak, but he didn't know what to say.

She looked up at him and asked, "Do you mean it?"

Trey nodded and smiled, "I do... I've had feelings for you for a while now. I just didn't say anything since I'm well... just a Baker." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the tart he made, "I thought I'd be okay with just being your friend, but after hearing your song... well I guess you can tell."

Trey stared at the tart, too scared to look into her eyes. Then he felt a hand on his cheek and dared to look. Her eyes sparkled, and she was smiling.

"You're more than a Baker... your sweet, have the paitents of a saint, are an incredible scientist and mage... your Trey." She stroked his cheek with her thumb as she spoke, "and I can't get you out of my head... but I was too scared to tell you yet," now she looked down and he could see the worry steep into her brow, "but I guess everyone knows now..."

He stepped inside, put the tart on the dresser, then pulled Yuu into a hug. "I'm sorry... but for the record, you have a beautiful voice."

Yuu buried her head in his chest and he stroked her hair. "...thanks..." she muttered into his chest and he could feel her smiled.

"And just a heads up, Cater is going to try and recruit you for the Pop Music Club," He swayed as they talked.

"Yeah, he has been texting me all day," she turned her head so she was listening to his heart. "I can't, though... anytime I try to sing in front of people... I freeze and feel like I'm about to vomit."

Trey rubbed her back and said, "I'll tell him if you want, I'm sure he'll understand. The real problem will be getting Kalim to back off."

Yuu chuckled and shook her head, "I have no clue where to start... he's so... Kalim."

"Don't worry, I'm sure he'll understand," Trey closed his eyes and basket in her warmth. They swayed to non-music and enjoyed the moment.

Eventually, Yuu's stomach rumbled, and she buried her head in his chest again. Trey leaned back and used one of his hands to lift her chin up to look at him, "Im guessing you didn't eat dinner yet?"

Yuu shook her head and said, "No... actually, i dont remember when I ate last.."

"Well, let's go down to the kitchen and fix that..." He didn't move from the position, and neither did she. He looked into her lips and decided to do one more thing He has wanted to do for a long, long time.

He leaned in and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss but held so much unspoken emotion. When they parted, they both smiled.

He may be just a Baker, but he was the luckiest baker in the world, for he had the most beautiful flower in the world right in his arms.

Trey understood Yuu's insecurities, so he never pushed her to sing and was content looking at the notebook when she was comfortable. But one day, while Trey and Yuu were waiting for cookies to finish baking, Yuu started to sing one of her songs to her beloved Baker - "Sweet Nothing"

Cater knew Yuu was special from the moment he met her, but he never expected THAT. When Cater saw Grim post a video of Yuu SINGING... he the flood gates opened. He knew she was super shy and knew from the way the video was filmed, that this was done without her knowing. He texted Yuu to try and check in on her, but the betting comments started immediately. That night and the next day, he spent trying to trim the comments and keep them positive. He knew the pressures of social media far too well and wanted to keep her away from it if he could. While he played media knight, he saw many comments about him and Yuu. Some of the second years and heartstyble students were defending the song being about him, and some of them had decent arguments, but others simply pointed out his gaping flaws...

These comments haunted him all during class and into the club meetings. His facade faltered quiet a bit that day and he didn't notice till Lilia approached him and poked his forehead. Both of his clubmates knew about Cater's crush, it was easy to see once you knew what to look for. The fact that KALIM noticed these tells was very telling. What really broke the ice was when Kalim let it slip that he knew Yuu had a crush on Cater.

"... what if she rejects me and it makes everything weird? I can't risk that." Cater Repeated.

"But she WONT!" Kalim emphasized.

"How do you know that?" Cater bit back, his agitation getting the best of him, "This could break everything, I-"

"BECAUSE SHE TOLD ME CATER!!!" Kalim exclaimed then covered his mouth. "Sevens I said too much." He looked like a puppy that knew it did something wrong... which ment he was telling the truth.

"S-she what?" Cater said softly.

Kalim slouched his shoulders and said, "No point in hiding it... Yuu has a crush on you. She told me and Jamil on accident when I took her shopping two weeks ago and made us promise not to tell!"

Upon that admission, Cater ran to Ramshackle, leaving Kalim to Lilia, who made popcorn and thanked the boy for some quality entertainment.

It started to rain as he ran to Ramshackle. His heart pounding and resolve strong. If she liked him back then, what was he waiting for? She was the one person who looked behind the masked and accepted him! When he has a bad day, she would bring him a sandwich cut in cute shapes. Make him put his phone down and enjoy a view. Reminded him that he didn't have to be Cay-Cay all the time, but Cater.

By the time he made it to Yuu's door, he was soaked. He knocked on the door and asked Yuu if she was alright. When she didn't answer, he hesitated for a moment but decided to be brave for once and not shrivel back to his phone.

"Yuu, I need you to know... I don't know if you meant this but... I'm bewitched by you too."

When Yuu opened the door, instead of the Cay-Cay on magicam who sheilded his heart behind a diamond smile, she saw Cater, a scared boy who let down his guard and placed his heart on his sleeve.

Cold water dripped down his face and he was very disheveled. But he looked at her with such warmth. When she saw him, her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Cater! You're soaked!" Yuu fretted over him, taking his hand and pulling him inside. "Take your blazer off. You'll catch a cold!" She pulled him in front of the fireplace and had him sit on the rug. She lit the fire with a match and grabbed a few towels. Cater took his blazer off and watched as she wrapped a towel around his shoulders. He smiled at her as she took a smaller towel and dried his hair. He came to help her and her she was caring for him. She whipped the diamond off his cheek and he took the opportunity to place his hand over hers. She looked into his eyes and gently stroked his cheek.

"Do you mean it?" She asked, her voice trembling and earnest. "You... you feel the same?"

Cater nodded and gave her a soft, genuine smile, "Yeah, for a while now, actually." He leaned into her touch, "But I was scared you didn't feel the same."

Yuu chuckled a bit and said, "Same here... I didn't want to lose you by making things weird."

"Well, you haven't... if anything, this is feels more like a dream come true than reality." He chuckled and reached out to stroke her hair.

"What if it is?" Yuu asked tentatively.

She looked ethereal, the fire illuminating her silhouette. He decided to do one more brave thing today. She was worth it. "Well, there is one way to find out."

Cater leaned in tenitivly to Yuu, his heart pounding in his ears, and he felt like the White Rabbit, fearing what was to come. Before him was the most beautiful flower, and this was his chance to be with her. The Card Soldier pressed his lips to the White Rose's, giving her a delicate kiss that ensured them both this wasn't a dream. This was real. He loved her, and she loved him. And that is all they needed.

When they separated, Yuu smiled. Cater pulled her into his lap and held her close. As the rain tapped on the windows outside, two lovers embraced by the fireside.

Cater understood stagefright and never pressured Yuu to sing, nor did he ever post anything about their relationship or her on his account without her permission. But he did invite her to every pop music club meeting and event. He was her protector from the nosy Magicam monsters who tried to pressure her or pry into her life. He was her personal Card Soldier. Weeks later, after one of these meetings, Cater and Yuu stayed behind to clean up since Lilia and Kalim had to leave early. As they cleaned up, Yuu picked up a gautair and started to strum mindlessly. Then she began to sing for her Diamond Knight - "Lucky for Me"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[chenlesfavorite]

Arriving at the race and seeing your ex after being over with him for so long, your heart plummets, like a weight dragging it deeper with every beat, the heartache growing stronger.

Despite your friends calling after you, you run, you can’t bear to look at Jaehyun, not after he did all of that to you and treated you like shit 99% of the time.

But, why was he here? And why exactly tonight? You know that he’s a fan of Chenle, but... why did he have to show up tonight? Where you’re dressed up all pretty for Chenle?

You keep running, your footsteps pounding against the pavement in rhythm with your racing heart— to the burn inside your chest. Why now? Why him?

Memories of Jaehyun flood your mind, his empty promises, him only talking to you if he needed money or if he messed something up. Him being here is the absolute worst, tonight was supposed to be you having fun and cheering Chenle on, but how could you do that now when Jaehyun is here?

Your running comes to a halt when you bump into someone, their hands immediately latching onto your shoulders to stop you from falling onto the floor. You inhale sharply as you look up at the mysterious person who caught you and it’s...

“Yuta?” Your voice comes out like a breath, your eyes widening as you examine his face carefully and you’re right, it is Yuta. The same Yuta who stood you up and made you cry over him. But, you remember him saying he doesn’t plan on coming to the races anymore so... why is he here?

“That’s right, pretty. I’m surprised you still remember me.” Yuta laughs, a not-so-friendly smile creeping up on his face as he lets go of your shoulders. You see his eyes looking at you up and down— you gulp, unsure of what to do as your eyes dart to the ground.

“Who are you dressed up for? You look...” He pauses, biting his bottom lip. “Breathtaking.” Yuta smirks. You don’t know if you should thank him or push him and start running again, although the second choice is sounding mighty better right now.

“Oh, she’s here?” You turn around once you hear a voice behind you, and well, it seems like everything is against you today. Jaehyun. Myung fucking Jaehyun has found you. You’re basically stuck between the two of them. You can’t run anywhere.

“Y/N, baby, how much I’ve missed you.” Jaehyun says but in an almost taunting way, taking your hands into his. Your fingers trembling, a tight knot forming in your stomach. “Haven’t you missed me at all?” He adds on, his face inching closer to yours— but you back your head away, not wanting him to be close to you.

“I... no, I...” You fail to form a sentence as your breathing becomes more shallow as if you don’t have enough air in your lungs. This feels like hell on earth, you don’t know what to do. You don’t want him near you, and you certainly don’t want Yuta near you either! These are the two men who’ve practically ruined your view on love.

But you can’t escape because there’s no doubt one of them will grab you and keep you at bay here. You swallow hard, your eyes looking away from Jaehyun— you slowly take your hands back, and to your surprise, Jaehyun lets your hands escape his.

“Come on, Y/N, he won’t kill you. Tell him you’ve missed him too.” Yuta whispers in your ear from behind you, making fun of you in a way. The two of them laugh, making you feel smaller and smaller. Your mind was yelling at you, telling you to push them away and run away but you couldn’t. Your feet were glued to the ground. You can’t bring yourself to do anything.

“Leave her the fuck alone.”

You recognize that voice, you know it very well. It’s Chenle.

As if it’s a reflex, you shove Jaehyun to the side and run to Chenle, immediately embracing him. He accepts your embrace and wraps his arms loosely around you. “It’s okay, I’m here now.” Chenle murmurs, gently rubbing your back.

“What the fuck, Y/N? Get away from him!” Jaehyun shouts as he stares at the two of you, his hands clench into fists. “Yeah, let her be with her boyfriend, besides, don’t you have to get ready for the race, Zhong?” Yuta says, crossing his arms as he giggles.

“She’s not going anywhere near the two of you— and let me correct you, she’s not Jaehyun’s girlfriend anymore. She’s my fucking girlfriend.” Chenle spits, his eyebrows furrowing.

You don’t know if your ears are playing tricks on you but... did Chenle just... call you his girlfriend? You feel his grip on you tighten, and your stomach starts to ache, but in a good way, there’s no doubt that the pain in your stomach is butterflies.

“Your— what?” Jaehyun glares at Chenle, letting out a scoff. “Was I not clear enough, Jaehyun? Should I repeat myself?” Chenle’s voice is low as he speaks.

“Why the hell are the two of you even here?” Chenle asks as he slowly releases you from his embrace. You stand near him, holding his hand and letting your fingers intertwine with his— you look at Jaehyun and Yuta.

“I—”

“Finally, this is where I come into play.” Yuta cuts off Jaehyun, giving him a smile that’s definitely a message for ‘keep your mouth shut.’ “Chenle, I challenge you to race against me. Nobody else on the racetrack but me and you.” Yuta drops what he’s wanted to say.

“You sure you wanna go against me, Nakamoto?”

“Positive, Zhong. The one who reaches the finish line first is the better racer and the loser has to quit racing. Sound good?” Yuta suggests.

This idea doesn't seem smart, and there’s tension between Yuta and Chenle. It's as if there's some unresolved issue between them, but you don’t know what it is.

“Sounds good to me, let Ten know that there’s a change in plans... oh and Y/N will be with me as we race.” Chenle says his final words to Yuta before walking away with you, leading you toward the racetrack.

Once there, he settles you onto the seat of his motorcycle. “Are you okay?” His gaze softens— though, just hearing his voice brings you comfort. “Yeah... I’m okay now. Thanks for stepping in for me. I was really scared.” You reply, giving him a weak smile.

“You don’t need to thank me. God, those assholes...” Chenle’s words trail off as he sighs deeply, clicking his tongue. “I had no idea they would be here, but goddamn, I’m getting them blacklisted from here.”

“I didn’t know either, I was so surprised... but, Lele, are you sure you can beat Yuta in this race?” You ask, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You’re nervous for Chenle, because what if he doesn’t win? What if he has to give up racing?

“Oh please, he’s nothing compared to me. You just sit tight behind me and look pretty as we race, this is gonna be an easy victory.” Chenle reassures you, a confident look on his face.

He was going to win, no doubt. There’s no way he’s gonna lose this race, especially not to Yuta.

“Okay, everyone! Seems like we have a different plan for today. I’m pretty sure you all know the ex-king of racing, Nakamoto Yuta. Well, he’s back, and guess who he’s racing against?” Ten’s voice booms throughout the racetrack, gathering everyone’s attention.

“It’s no other than our current king, Zhong Chenle! Chenle, who stole the title of ‘king’ from Yuta. How exciting, isn’t it? We’re gonna see the two best Neo racers go against one another today, let me hear those cheers!” Ten exclaims, hyping up the crowd for this race.

The bright start to shine on the starting line, where you’re sitting on Chenle’s motorcycle. The crowd starts to yell Yuta’s name as he makes his appearance on the starting line, walking confidently toward you and Chenle, with a smirk on his face.

Yuta stops at his motorcycle, his gaze landing on you and Chenle. “Ready to finally lose, Chenle?” He taunts, sounding way too sure of himself. “We’ll see about that, Yuta.” Chenle rolls his eyes, taking his helmet and securing it on his head before doing the same to you.

“Hold on tight, angel, ‘cause this is gonna be a wild ride.” He says and you nod to his words, taking a deep breath. Chenle sits at the front of the seat, his hands gripping the handlebars. You wrap your arms around his waist, nervous, but also excited.

“Seems like our racers are ready, and in 3... 2... 1... Go!” Ten shouts and the race officially begins.

Keeping true to his style, Chenle starts fast immediately, getting himself into the lead. The world blurs around you, the rush of wind and the intense acceleration creating an exhilarating sensation, to say the least.

Every single one of Chenle’s movements is controlled with such precision, every lean into the curves of the race track executed perfectly. You can feel his confidence just from the way he’s riding the motorcycle.

But Yuta starts speeding up as well, starting to close the distance between him and Chenle. Chenle glances in his rearview mirror, seeing Yuta start to catch up with him but Chenle remains relaxed, not bothered by Yuta at all.

The two of them are neck and neck— there’s another curve approaching and Chenle is going to use this to push his limits and his bike’s limits, he’s gonna beat Yuta no matter what it takes.

“Gonna speed up now, angel. Hold onto me as tight as you can.” Chenle gives you a heads up— you tighten your grip around his waist, and thank God he gave you that heads up because the way he sped up was insane.

Reaching the curve, the motorcycle goes low, it feels as if both of you are going to fall off of it but, no. Yuta falls behind Chenle, slowing down his bike once he gets to the curve.

Chenle is now much more in the lead, practically leaving Yuta in the dust. Instead of Chenle slowing down, now that Yuta’s out of sight... he keeps that same quick speed. But you can swear he’s going even faster.

“Lele! Can you slow down?” You exclaim, feeling the wind become harsher by the moment. “No can do. I told you it was going to be a wild ride.” Chenle replies, letting out a laugh.

The finishing line starts to come into view and Yuta’s nowhere to be seen. It’s almost unbelievable how easy this race is. That’s who they claimed as the ‘king of racing’? It’s no wonder that Chenle got that title instead.

He’s much more skilled, knows how to handle a motorcycle better than Yuta, and just has better tactics than him. Just how bad were the previous racers for Yuta to be named ‘king of racing’ when he’s terrible at it?

And it’s just as expected— Chenle passes the finish line first, stopping his motorcycle and taking off his helmet, running his fingers through his hair. He gets off the bike and turns to you, taking off your helmet.

But what you didn’t expect to see at the finish line was Jaehyun, waiting there. He looks pissed, most likely because Yuta hasn’t made it yet. You can feel Jaehyun’s gaze on you and Chenle and Chenle was going to use this to his advantage, to make Jaehyun jealous and let him see what he lost.

Because Jaehyun is nothing more than a forgotten chapter in your story, so why should Chenle or you care about him or what he feels?

Chenle gently places his hands on your waist, looking right into your eyes before taking a quick sneak at your lips. You know what he wants, and you want it just as badly as him. “May I?” He whispers, and you nod, without hesitation.

Chenle closes the distance between the two of you and places his lips on yours. Letting everyone at the race know that you’re his, and he’s yours.

You respond to the kiss, making your hands find their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer. Deepening the kiss, a fire lit inside the both of you. You don’t care that there’s hundreds of people watching you, the only thing you’re focusing on right now is Chenle and he’s the only thing you’re thinking of.

Chenle slowly pulls away, resting his forehead on yours.

That kiss is what confirms everything for you.

“I’m taking you back to my place tonight, angel.”

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NIGHT RIDER : chapter 35 — king of racing

back — masterlist — next

! author’s note : well guys… what do we think? 🤭

✮⋆˙ taglist: @nanaxwi @neocrashed @404tytrack @connormurphynation @dudekiss3r @injunnie-lemon @chenlesfeetpic @neozon3nha @morkiee @doughyk @i03jae @haechology @foxy-kitsune @fullsunbabe @polarisjisung @beommii @soobiverse @onlyhyunjin @lostinneocity @yyangj3lly @junviadinho @miyawwn @marvelahsobx @starfilledgaze @nosungluv @gukuwii @bitchzitschimi @whoooootf @nneteyamss @theandypark @urslytherin @xcosmi @taroddori @winwintea @iamsimplyasimp @ckline35 @yutarot @sunghoonsgfreal @roseangelxfuma @thegracerammy @nctjunie @do-you-remember-summer-127 @cosmic-marauder @tanjanro @myouthles @nctrawberries @octubreuno @galacticpurpl3 @voikiraz @defzcl @silvsie @the-swageyama-tobiyolo

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[runa-falls]

reciprocation

part 1 | part 3

pairing: best friend!steven grant x reader

cw: smut (18+), fwb relationship, PWP, face sitting, mutual-pining but their idiots so..., 69, cumming untouched, cum eating.

w/c: 3.4k of SMUT AHHH

a/n: ignore how this is suddenly typed with capital letters :0. THIS ONE IS FOR MY FAVORITE STEVEN ANON WITH THE 69 REQUEST FROM A MONTH AGO -- i'm sorry it took so long 🫠

also special shout out for @whatthefishh for reading over it like half-a-month ago 😭🙏🏻 i was going through a major writers block :^)

masterlist

----

“Are you sure about this?” You watch him warily from a few feet away, shifting from side to side.

Steven is laid back on the bed patiently waiting for you, hair fluffy and soft under him. You can tell he’s been thinking about this for a while now, eager to start. 

His voice is soft as he appraises the timid energy surrounding you, “I’m sure. I want it–you. I promise.” For once, Steven seems to be the least nervous between the two of you. You're not used to him being in charge or even initiating anything remotely affectionate, let alone sexual. “Do…you?”

You can already see the prominent outline of his erection pressing sweetly against the thin fabric of his sweatpants. No matter how loose and comfortable he dresses, he can never manage to hide his need for you. 

“I do, but I just… don’t want to accidentally hurt you.” You wring your hands together, still unsure if you should approach him. 

Steven looks at you with trusting eyes, “You won’t hurt me, darling.” His comforting words help you relax a little, almost making you forget what you agreed to, what you’re so apprehensive to attempt. He offers you a hand and you take it, letting him pull you closer and guide you onto his lap.

His voice lowers as desire drips from his lips, “Though, even if you did,” His dark eyes look up to meet yours, pure need bleeding through the gaze. You eagerly drink it in, body buzzing on top of him with flustered energy. “I think I’d be okay with it…” Your breath hitches.

You know it’s true. Steven has never shied away from pain; he even invites it in the heat of the moment. He likes to be under your control, letting you use his body to drive him crazy, even if it means teasing and denying him until he’s sobbing under you.

He loves seeing the possessive marks you leave when he wakes up in the morning, fingers ghosting over them as the night before replays in his mind, or feeling the residual sting of scratches down his torso when he takes a shower, letting the warm water draw out the sensations until he’s hard and aching for you again, and he has to seek you out, hoping you'll notice him.

You regularly get carried away, so desperate to have all of him, that you don’t even realize how intensely you devour his eagerness to please you. But Steven is more than happy to indulge your hungry advances.

He especially loves it when you soothe him after, lightly kissing each bruise and mark as you whisper sweet words, apologizing for how rough you got.

He takes it with a shy smile, basking in your affections and your gentle touch, sighing as he’s surrounded by your energy, by your undivided attention. 

Sometimes he likes to pretend like you're his, like you're doing this because you love him, not because you think you're being a good friend.

It's not hard for him to imagine it when he closes his eyes, especially when you're moaning around his cock or grabbing his neck to pull him into a desperate kiss.

But when it's all over, when he's pulling his jeans back on -- still thrumming with heat -- the spell breaks and you go back to being just friends.

Now, he's going to pleasure you. Make you feel the euphoria of his mouth, so you'll want him just as much as he wants you. This is his form of reciprocation for all the favors you've given him. And he hopes it will convince you that he'd be a good lover for you. That you could be more than just friends with him.

He lets out a hushed, “Please,” as he leans into you, enticing you to follow him and capture his lips hungrily.

Steven knows exactly what he’s doing when he uses that tone, that soft shade of himself that can bring you to your knees even when he’s falling apart harder and faster than you are. 

You moan against his pouty lips, feeling the softness, his gentle press, you pull him closer, eager to deepen the kiss. He lets you have control over him, merely following you as you slide your tongue against his, delicately tasting you, tenderly holding you by your waist.

Steven is always gentle with you, no matter how clouded his mind gets during these heated moments, no matter how lost in pleasure he gets or how desperately he needs you, he always handles you with delicate care.

You nip at his bottom lip, drinking in his soft mewl as you start to roll your hips against him. His grip on your waist tightens, holding you more insistently against him, letting you feel how desperately he needs you.

His lips are pink and plump when you pull away, parted ever so slightly as he stares between your bodies, working your body over him. His eyes are glazed as he cants his hips to chase the exquisite feeling of your soft center against him.

You tease him, lifting yourself just enough that he can’t grind himself against you. He whines when he can’t feel you anymore, gripping your waist with frustration.

“Love, please!”

You break the kiss and climb off of him, appreciating how ruined he looks from a few kisses and light grinding. He huffs out a breath in frustration, hands fisting with the need to touch you. To have you close.

You stand next to the bed, hair in disarray, fiddling with the hem of your large shirt to garner his attention. His bronze gaze soaks over you, flashing dark when it meets the short hem of your pajama bottoms.

“Your shorts, p-please, take them off.” It’s not a demand, Steven doesn’t make demands, it’s a request, a plea, one that you’ve heard time and time again, and have seldom refused. 

Your fingers find the waistband of your shorts and drag them down until they’re pulled the rest of the way off with the help of gravity. A breathy sigh can be heard under you when you step away from the pooled clothing, leaving you in an oversized t-shirt that barely brushes at the top of your thighs. 

It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time – he’s always like this.

His eyes sparkle as you shuffle closer to the bed. “Come’ere, darling.” He pats his chest, “Right here.” You timidly crawl over him, delicately straddling his chest, legs parted just above his ribs. Your knees pull in towards each other, trying to hide what your shirt can’t cover, but you don’t get far before warm fingers pry you apart. 

“Show me.” It’s a bare whisper, as light as his touch gliding over the outer sides of your legs.

You reluctantly let yourself relax on him, hands gripping his soft shirt, wrinkling the fabric. Heat prickles under your skin as he cranes his neck to look at you, lashes nearly brushing the tops of his cheeks with how lustfully heavy his eyelids are. He takes that moment to breathe you in, devouring every inch of what you’re offering. 

His touch disappears from your thighs, and you hear quiet ruffling behind you, then a broken groan under you. You look over your shoulder and spot his hand pressing desperately against his covered hardness. 

“S-Steven…” He doesn’t stop his actions when he meets your eyes, utterly shameless with his need for you. 

“Beautiful.” 

His breaths become heavy, and his chest moves deliciously under you, right against your hot center. You attempt to squeeze your legs together, hoping to abate the intensifying sensations, but you can’t, his chest keeps you spread, open, and quivering just for his eyes. 

Steven is barely touching you, but even the slightest hint of pleasure has you craving him.

You can’t help but close your eyes as you subtly shift over him, drinking in his soft grunts as he continues to touch himself under you. It makes you throb with heat. 

Steven watches you suck your lip into your mouth to hold in wanton moans as you experimentally slide against his firm chest, hands pressing into him to support your movements.

Your initial timidness crumbles as you roll your hips over him again and your head tilts back as you begin to lose yourself in the way your clit presses so perfectly against him.

Steven’s gentle voice cuts through the carnal fog infesting your brain and pulls you back to reality. “Sit up higher for me.” His hands are back on you, urging you to scoot up. “Let me taste you – L-let me fuck you with my tongue.” You press your dripping center to his shirt-covered torso with a soft moan, feeling the small spot right in between his ribs where you’ve soaked through. “Please, baby?”

You nod wordlessly, letting him guide your body until you’re hovering over his face. Your body shivers as you feel his warm breath brush against your center. 

It’s a bit daunting looking at Steven from here. His face is nestled right in between your thighs – which is not an unusual sight – but this time you are on top. You can barely see his eyes since your shirt is so big it practically drapes over half of his face. What if you suffocate him or break his neck?

“Maybe… we should rethi-” A gasp falls from your lips as strong arms pull you down to his face. “Steven!-” Without hesitation, wet heat laps at the seam of your cunt, greedily dragging over any slick that threatens to drip down your inner thigh. 

Your words are effectively stuck in your throat as Steven begins to eagerly nip and suck at your softness, drawing out deep whines instead of coherent sentences. You can only hold on to the headboard to support yourself, holding back your urge to grind against his supple lips. 

You moan as Steven tentatively nudges against your entrance, laving his tongue over the sensitive opening just to tease you. When he finally pushes into you, you have to hold yourself back from grinding against him like you’re riding his cock. He licks and thrusts his tongue into you, humming at your taste as you drip over his lips, down his chin. 

Your hips uncontrollably buck against him as his tongue flicks at your clit. A hand drops into his hair, tugging frantically at the ends before pushing him further against you, begging – no, demanding for more. He gets the memo and focuses on your most sensitive bud, delicately suckling it until your thighs are trembling by his ears. 

A ball of heat quickly blooms in your lower stomach and flushes under your skin. Familiar sparks of energy thrum up your spine, enticing you to clench around nothingness with promises of unspoken bliss and ecstasy. 

Calloused fingers lift you away from the molten heat of his mouth just as you were reaching your climax. You’re gasping for a breath as Steven holds you back from toppling off the edge. 

You can feel it, his breath, barely ghosting a sigh over your center, and somehow, even that slightest brush of air has you pulsing helplessly over him. He’s breathing as hard as you are, mouth glossy and plump as he stares back up at you, face flushed, and eyes glazed. 

Utterly pussy-drunk. 

Your grip on the headboard tightens intensely and your eyes roll shut. You can’t stop it. 

A stilted cry rips from your throat as your orgasm suddenly rushes over you in full force, crashing over you like a wave. Steven can only watch, lips parted in awe, as you shatter completely untouched right above him.

His fingers grip harsh bruises into the skin of your thighs as he feels himself throb dangerously close to his own euphoric end. You moan harder at the tender marks he paints on your trembling legs. The sharp feeling travels up your legs and straight to your center.

His hands rub your thighs comfortingly, apologetically, before he starts to drag his tongue over your messy center with a hum, doting on you with kitten licks that make you shiver. 

He cleans you up slowly and methodically, making sure to avoid your most sensitive area. Your body still thrums from your unexpected and intense orgasm, and his soft licks quickly become too much, even with how light and sweet he is being. 

You lift yourself away from his tongue, “S-steven…no more. It’s too much!” 

“You can do it again, darling…” He coos, trying to pull you back down onto his mouth. “Just one more. For me, please?” 

You're head is fuzzy as you steady yourself on top of him, gripping the headboard tightly to ground yourself from the lingering sparks of mind-numbing pleasure.

Steven groans as he watches you struggle to get a grip.

“C-can’t. It’s too much…” You get off of his face and sit next to him on the bed, squeezing your legs together to suppress the bout of overstimulation that almost overtook your senses.

You look down at him when one of his hands wraps around your thigh and squeezes, a simple act indulgence that drives you crazy. Your lips part as you take in the view. 

Puffy lips and glassy eyes, blown out with lust, meet your stare, begging you to climb back on, but you're still shaking where you sit. He's drenched in your slick from his chin to his neck and the collar of his shirt is soaked through, sticking sweetly to his chest.

Your eyes drift down to his sweatpants, to the prominent bulge that throbs under your gaze. He palms himself, whining lightly at the feeling of his neediness and desperation. He's so hard, begging for your touch without even saying a word.

“Okay, now it's your turn.”

His shakes his head, “No, I want more.”

“Steven…”

“Please, I want to taste more of you."

"But--" Your eyes dip down to his covered erection that you've been neglecting all night.

"Just...come back, we can do it at the same time if you want.” 

Your face heats at the implication. You don’t know why you’re so coy, you just came right above his fact. You've just never seen Steven like this: so insistent and hungry.

“S-sure, ok.”

You whimper when he eagerly tugs you closer, urging you to straddle his face again. Careful to not knock your knee into his cheek, you swing your leg back over his body, but this time you situate yourself so you can take care of him at the same time.

He immediately dives back in, tongue thrusting into your sensitive channel before you're even settled on top of him. You falter and almost collapse over him, hand grasping at the bottom of his shirt for support.

"Steven! Gentle, please!" You groan out, eyes already threatening to roll back as he continues to drink you in. He hums in response, but doesn't actually let up, if anything, he becomes more insatiable, suckling every stimulus point until you're shaking above him.

You struggle against your pleasure to pull his sweats down, freeing his cock from the restraining fabric. Your mouth waters as his tip weeps for you, spilling silky precum with every breath he takes.

You've always loved Steven's cock. How responsive it is when your breath ghosts over it and how it desperately throbs for you as you swallow around him. How perfectly it fits in your mouth and how deep it can fuck your throat when he allows himself to let go.

Sucking his cock was the furthest you allowed yourself to go. You convinced yourself that these one-sided interactions would keep you from revealing your feelings, that you could deal with the friends-with-benefits bit if you didn't have an actual 'relationship'.

So you deemed actual sex as too intimate and barred letting him touch you (you just weren't sure you could handle it).

But then one thing led to another...

You failed to reject his soft kisses and couldn't resist marking him up like he's yours. And now here you are barely able to handle it as he fucks you with his tongue, hands gripping marks into your thighs as his nose nudges against your wet center.

You don't know if you could go back to just being friends when he's given you unfathomable pleasure. When he talked to you like this. Looked at you like this.

You're a mess and you're struggling to hold on to your original plan.

You try to block these thoughts from your mind as your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing it gently just to get a reaction out of him. He groans against your cunt, movements stuttered as your touch distracts him away from his task.

You unconsciously sit up on your knees and lift your hips off of his mouth to get closer to his cock. Steven barely notices, too focused on holding his orgasm off as you diligently taste him, one lick at a time.

You drag your tongue up his shaft, licking the precum that slowly cascades over his silken skin. You feel his body quake as you lave and kitten lick against his tip, gently coaxing shortened breaths and whimpers with every touch.

You dip down to engulf him into your hot mouth, enjoying the slick feeling of his cock gliding easily against your tongue and the top of your mouth.

His hands frantically latch onto your upper thighs, unintentionally pulling you back onto his mouth as he squeezes at the softness, desperately attempting to control himself.

He has to actively keep his hips from snapping against your face, you just feel so sublime, so soft and hot.

Steven cries against your cunt when he reaches the back of your throat. He can't help it when he feels you struggle to swallow around him, so tight, wet, and hot. He's just so sensitive -- especially when it comes to you.

You keep laving your tongue against the underside of his cock as you suck him in, ignoring the your jaw begins to ache as you open wide for him.

"Uhh!" His stomach tenses under you and he twitches against your tongue.

He can't be cumming already...right?

Fingers grip into your hair and you're suddenly pushed down, forced to take him down your throat. You choke slightly, eyes watering, before letting yourself relax against him.

He's lost in pleasure, grinding and thrusting his cock into your mouth like it's your cunt, shoving it deeper than you're usually comfortable with and you let him.

Steven spurts warmth at the back of your throat. You try your best to swallow it down before it dribbles from your mouth and makes a mess. He whimpers as he fully lets go, thighs tense and trembling under your touch.

He's still cumming when he tugs you back onto his mouth, feverishly lapping through your center before taking your clit between his lips. You orgasm explosively as he avidly sucks you in, already half-way there from the mere feeling of him spilling in your mouth.

Even after he has emptied himself, he continues to gently fuck your face, not yet ready to leave your warmth. His hips stutter and his breaths become uneven but he ignores the overstimulation, too attached to this closeness, to this illusion of mutual affection.

He also continues to lick you clean, despite your whines of discomfort. He lovingly places gentle kisses against your inner thigh, wishing he could stay in this position forever.

He huffs out disappointedly when you climb off of him, even tries to lock his arms around your legs to keep you there, but you were adamant to get away from his insatiable mouth.

"One more?"

You gape at him, "Steven, we already did 'one more'." You shiver, suddenly cold without his body against yours. "What has gotten into you? I've never seen you so...horny before."

He looks at you sheepishly, "I dunno. I guess, once I got a taste I wanted more." He sits up, hand wiping your slick off his face. "How 'bout later?"

"You're already thinking about later?"

He nods, "I'm always thinking about you."

Your heart thumps painfully in your chest as blood heats your face. You try to ignore it. Try not to look directly at him. Try to pretend like he didn't just say that because he probably doesn't even understand the impact that his words have on you.

He's always thinking about your favors. That's it.

"Later, then."

[star2fishmeg]

quinn and 178 since that's how he looks all the time

Thank you for requesting <3

SCENARIO #178 We both don't want to be here

📞 dialling…

Sometimes being Captain was great and gave Quinn a sense of fulfilment and responsibility. He had a team of guys who believed in him and relied on him, their leader for success and looking after them. Other times, he wished he could be a rookie all over again, so he’d be void of so much weight on his shoulders. Like now, when he’d arrived at the press event two hours ago and had enough of his suit, answering questions, talking about the same things but worded differently and being asked those outright stupid questions that stumped him speechless. 

He swirled the liquid in his drink, head resting in his hand as he enjoyed having a few moments of peace before he jumped back into the jungle. His stomach sank slightly when he felt a presence slip onto the stool next to him. 

“Well don’t you look handsome tonight?” she purred, watching him sit up straight. He failed to bite back his smile, that uncontrollable giddiness running through him like he was a teenager again.

Y/n hadn’t joined the Canucks team long after Quinn, while he finished his time in Michigan earlier to join the professional league, she’d completed school entirely and then landed a job in the Canucks social department. They weren’t complete strangers, she and Quinn had been friends during university, friends who definitely could’ve been more if they’d had enough time.

“You never fail to impress either, even at your first event. You looked gorgeous. Still do.” He grinned, taking the final sip of his drink before turning towards her. He remembered it crystal clear. Her hair was styled perfectly with cute little clips that shimmered under the lights, an outfit that hugged her curves and her skin glowed, not an ounce of nerves in sight but amongst the crowd, she still looked for him. Seeing her then brought back a plethora of UMICH memories at once, from orientation, their first interaction at Yost when she held the door for him, to the first party they attended all the way through to his last day, where they bawled their eyes out outside gates and kissed with tear-stained cheeks and bittersweet smiles. 

“Oh, stop it, you flatter me,” she leant closer, Quinn’s ears tinting furiously pink, and she tucked a long, loose strand of his hair back, “I remember that event too. You still cut your hair short, had your baby face and fumbled over your words when I said hi. But I still found you cute as the day I met you.”

His chest rumbled as he chuckled with embarrassment and he glanced around the venue, not a journalist or manager in sight, all occupied by his teammates, “This is the least exciting part of going pro, if I’ve answered the same question once, I’ve answered it hundreds of times. Bed sounds really nice right now. Anywhere sounds better than here right now.”

“I agree with you there, when I saw you sitting like you were gonna kill somebody, you have no idea how relieved I was.” Y/n slumped into the bar, her gaze meeting Quinn’s. How she missed that look, his face, his voice. Looking around the venue, she turned back to him, a smirk across her lips, “Wanna ditch this joint?”

“I do not look like that,” Quinn protested, scoffing playfully. He wasn’t thinking like a Captain anymore, being with her again, alone at a bar turned the clock back to being in the kitchen of some frat party, Deja vu of discussing where they should sneak off to since they’d become tired of the noise, the people. Quinn slid off his stool, standing above y/n and taking her hands into his, relishing in the way they still fit perfectly, the way her entrance just straight-up shifted his mood and now he was excited, “but we could make out in the bathrooms, that’s sounds like fun.” 

“Ooor,” she hopped off her stool, pulling his arms around her to set his hands on her hips before sliding her palms up his chest, neck craning to peer up at him with a wild glaze in her eyes, his favourite kind of frisky, half-lidded look that lit a fire inside him, triggered his raging adrenaline, “you could take me on that arcade date you owe me from, what? Four? Five years ago? And then we could head back to mine and make out?” 

Quinn Hughes didn’t need to say anything for her to lead him out the back door, the pair giggling like rebellious teenagers with hands grasped in each other’s and their inner university selves finally having the opportunity to live wildly and freely as they ran through the car park to her car. This time they’d be leaving together, even a Captain needed a break once in a while.

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | When You Call My Name

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Decades after the events of 1973, Logan finds himself drowning yet again at the bottom of the Potomac River. Luckily, you're there to help pull him out of his nightmare.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: depictions of drowning, mentions of death, discussion of nightmares, Logan's claws make an appearance, mentions of religious trauma and biblical imagery, mentions of abuse (it's on sight when I see you, William Stryker), mentions of self-deprecating thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, not really a warning but set after the events of Days of Future Past, loosely based on "Like a Prayer" by Madonna, Logan's POV, gender-neutral reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Author’s Note: So this one got away from me and my own religious trauma may have taken over a tad bit — sorry in advance (If you find comfort and solace in religion, more power to you. This is simply written from my own perspective and lived experience.) This came to me while listening to "Like a Prayer" by Madonna for the thousandth time since seeing Deadpool and Wolverine. Intended this to be shorter, but then I got possessed by some fanfic phantom and this was created. Super proud of the finished product though — hope you all enjoy.

As Logan’s eyes shoot open, he’s only got one thought running through his mind: his lungs are on fire. He attempts to move but is met with a sudden searing white pain shooting through his veins. His eyes, still adjusting to the eerie darkness surrounding him, search for the source of his injury. Panic rises in Logan’s chest as his gaze follows the metallic glint of rebar weaving through his body. He attempts to draw in a shaky breath, and his chest burns as water fills his lungs. 

No. 

It can’t be.

He’s drowning at the bottom of the Potomac River.

Logan wants to scream out of frustration, but it’s impossible. He has no more air left in his lungs, and he has no hope of reaching the surface to take a much-needed deep breath. Even if he could endure the agony caused by his body’s movements, the weight of the rebar Erik impaled him with is pinning him to the riverbed. He’s going to die here. 

Cold. Alone. Suffering.

And yet, a sudden tranquility washes over his body and mind as he realizes that maybe he can finally rest in peace. He knows he placed his trust in the right people — somehow, Charles and Hank will find a way to stop Erik, and finally, the world will see that not all mutants need to be feared. He did his part — he brought everyone back together against all odds.

Logan knew the risks before Kitty sent him back in time, but there was no other choice. Because he also knew what the future would hold if he did nothing — he’d watch the sentinels eviscerate the last of his friends until he was the only one left. And that’s not a future he can live with. But what he can live with is no one remembering his life before 1973 as long as they’re safe — as long as you’re safe.

His body relaxes at the thought. He may not have a future with you in this new timeline, but knowing you’ll have the life you’ve always dreamed of puts Logan’s mind at ease. You’ll finally be able to live a peaceful life teaching at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters instead of being forced to play the part of a loyal soldier. Although Logan is deeply saddened by the fact he won’t be a part of this new life, he has more than enough memories of you from his timeline to keep him content in the afterlife.

Logan’s eyes flutter closed as he begins to feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. His regenerative abilities may be able to keep the rebar from killing him, but it cannot save him from asphyxiation. But before he can completely drift off, something grabs his body, pulling him towards the surface. Once free from the river’s grasp, he begins coughing up water. His body desperately gasps for air, and it feels like his lungs cannot get enough oxygen. 

Logan finds the strength to open his eyes and takes in his surroundings. It’s bright — too bright. He blinks several times to adjust his vision to this sudden change. His attention gets drawn to the sound of several men talking in hushed voices. And as he looks up at his rescuers, the panic in his chest starts growing like a wildfire through his body. Logan might have let out a dry laugh at the sight if he wasn't in excruciating pain. Because instead of being met with any type of salvation, Logan seems to have been cursed with eternal damnation, no matter the timeline,  in the form of William Stryker. Some things never change.

He’s younger than when Logan met him in his timeline, but as Stryker smiles down at him, Logan knows this is the same man — the same sick, twisted man he knows all too well. Panic turns into terror as he realizes what he’s about to endure. Agonizing years of torture and torment that he’ll be burdened to forget. He can’t do this again. Not after knowing a life full of not only hardship and loss but also friendship, laughter, and love. He can’t let Stryker take that from him — all those years of happiness. He can’t let him take you.

Stryker opens his mouth to speak, but instead of his condescending tone, Logan hears your voice call his name. Logan’s brow furrows at the sound. Maybe his extended lack of oxygen caused some sort of brain damage. But then he hears it again — a voice he’d recognize in any timeline. Your voice.

And suddenly, it hits him. This isn’t happening. There’s no river, no pain, no Stryker. This is a memory — a nightmare. 

His eyes snap open, and his body jolts forward until he’s sitting up. He coughs hoarsely, as if his body is still trying to expel imaginary water, as he attempts to catch his breath. A layer of sweat has formed over his toned body, and his muscles flex as he rolls his shoulders back. He shakes his head roughly, trying to get a grip on reality.

And then you say his name again. 

His head snaps up, and he looks at you with wild eyes. You’re standing across the room — arms wrapped around yourself tightly as you watch him worriedly. You take a hesitant step toward him. Logan’s brow furrows at your unsureness, concerned about what he might have done in his sleep. But then he follows your gaze to his extended metal claws, and your hesitancy becomes understandable. This isn’t the first time Logan’s claws have come out in the middle of the night. His eyes nervously scan over your body for any injuries he may have inflicted as he retracts his claws. 

“Did I hurt you?”

You immediately cross the room as he speaks. Logan watches as you climb onto the bed and sit crisscross before him between his legs. You gently take both of his hands in yours and pull them onto your lap — the hesitancy long gone in your actions. 

“No, Logan. I’m okay.”

He lets out a relieved sigh as he leans forward until his forehead meets yours. He takes a moment to simply relish in the warmth of your touch. Logan relaxes his tense shoulders and melts further into you as you draw lazy circles into the palm of his hand. 

“Where’d you go?”

You pull away slightly to meet his eyes, and his breath hitches. Regardless of how many lifetimes he spends by your side, he’ll never get used to the fondness in your gaze as you look up at him. He remembers waking up in this timeline, thinking he actually did drown at the bottom of the Potomac River. Because this had to be heaven: having you tucked neatly into his chest, legs tangled up with his, steady breaths fanning across his neck. But as he felt you stir in your sleep, arms tightening slightly around his waist, he realized that this was real. He’d come to terms with his own death because at least his two hundred years spent suffering on this earth would mean something. But then he woke up from that nightmare, and he’s spent every day since then wondering when he’d inevitably be pulled out of this dream — waiting for history to repeat itself yet again. But he’s still here — and so are you.

“D.C., 1973.” 

You hum quietly before bringing his hand up to your mouth and placing a tender kiss to his palm. Logan waits for you to ask another question about his nightmare, but you silently return to tracing circles into the palm you just kissed. He shouldn’t be surprised; you know him better than anyone by now — better than he knows himself. You know not to push him. And he appreciates it more than you’ll ever know. After years of having his autonomy stripped away, you wait for him to come to you — allow him to open up at his own pace. Soothe him whenever he feels that he is sliding backward instead of moving forward. Healing isn’t linear. This has become your mantra for him on the nights when he’s sure that he’s slipping back into the past — when he longs for the familiarity of his vices and self-destructive tendencies. And you sit next to him with relentless patience through the highs and lows as he continues to navigate and grieve the fifty years he lost.

He’s come a long way since he first woke up. And he still has a ways to go before he can say that he’s processed everything he’s lost. Truth be told, he’s not sure he’ll ever truly heal entirely from his past. But you tell Logan that it doesn’t matter. Every time he begins to think that he’s too damaged — too broken — you reassure him that you love him as is. But he still tries to piece himself back together, for your sake. Tries to open up — to show you that he trusts you more than anyone he’s known during his two hundred years across two separate timelines. And so he continues, letting you into the depths of his tortured mind.

“I was drowning. Again. And it all felt so real. I couldn’t breathe, and I was sure I was slipping into the darkness, but then Stryker was there…”

As Logan trails off, he notices how your body tenses at the mention of Stryker’s name. Your hands tighten ever so slightly around his, and Logan lovingly sweeps his thumb over your knuckles. He knows that name holds as much weight to you as it does to him. He knows about the years of abuse you endured at the hands of William Stryker. He vividly remembers when you confided in him. After months of running into each other in the middle of the night, Logan found you silently crying with your back pressed against the railing of your favorite balcony in the mansion. Without a second thought, he slid down next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He didn’t know you — not like he does now. You’d recounted how you first met on Three Mile Island when Scott and Jean brought him to the mansion. And he was thankful for the small piece of his past that you gave back to him. But under the dim light of the night sky, you revealed precisely what you endured during your years of captivity at Stryker’s facility. And that night, Logan made it his life’s mission to get revenge against the man. Not for his sake. No — for you. He would tear Stryker apart limb from limb for what he had done to you. 

“You aren’t there. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Although the words are directed towards him, he knows you’re equally trying to convince yourself of that fact. He knows that even though William Stryker is long dead — after Logan made good on his promise to you — he still haunts you. Unlike Logan, your trauma does manifest in the form of nightmares but insomnia. He thinks maybe this is why the two of you work. After years of feeling alone in this world, Logan finally found someone who understands him and what he’s been through. Although your torment isn’t identical, the similarity in your stories bonded the two of you together. You help him piece together the shared fragments of your past as you heal alongside him. 

“I know, you pulled me out.”

Your brow furrows at his confession. He lets go of your hands and gently holds your face. Your face flushes as he openly admires you. The faint light of the single side table lamp that Logan had left on softens your features, making you look damn near angelic. Logan isn’t a religious man, but his mother was. He was a sickly child before his mutation restored his body. His mother would often sit by his bedside with a bible in hand. And on the nights when he wasn’t delirious from his fever, he would listen to his mother read to him. One verse always stood out to him: “God is faithful, and He will not let you be tested beyond your strength but with your testing He will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” She meant for the words to comfort him, but the words only angered him. 

He remembers finding himself down on his knees multiple times during his years as Stryker’s mindless, faithful soldier. Praying to that same God that his mother once trusted to save her baby boy from the illness slowly degrading his frail body. He begged Him for salvation — to be given the way out that was promised in the bible verse his mother once recited. But instead of an answer, Logan was met with silence. So if the years of physical and psychological abuse he endured were nothing but a test from the Lord above to prove his faithfulness, then that’s no God worth following. 

“I heard you call my name, and it brought me back home.”

God never did anything for him. He didn’t bother protecting the innocence of a broken, misguided child. He refused to provide respite from the harshness of humanity. He never offered him any form of help or guidance during his times of greatest need — but you did. Without even knowing, you came into his life like an answered prayer.

Seemingly at a loss for words due to the intensity of his gaze, you grab onto the front of Logan’s t-shirt and pull him into a tight embrace. Your hands slide under the white fabric and slide across the contours of his back. He melts into your touch — finding relief in the direct contact of your skin on his. He’s never considered himself desirable, but you hold him like he’s something to be coveted. And then you murmur his name again. It’s barely a whisper, but the sound rings in his ears because your voice is heaven-sent.

“You’re a goddamn saint, you know that?”

A melodic laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head at his words. You pull away from him slightly and tilt your head up to meet his gaze. 

“I’m nothing special, Logan.”

You don’t mean it in a self-deprecating way. Logan knows that — knows that you simply see yourself as ordinary. But you couldn’t be more wrong. Because you might not actually be a saint or an angel, but you are the only person in two hundred years who’s managed to restore his faith in what this world has to offer. 

“Well. You’re special to me, sweetheart.”