#self-soothing behavior i see you

[snail-day]

This is Love, Right?

Part two of Can My Friend Join?

Next part: It's all your fault, isn't it?

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

Sum: You're starting to grow used to Suguru, maybe evening learning to accept his love.

TW: Yandere Behaviors (Cameras, Obsession, Manipulation, trapping), Really toxic relationship, dubcon, oral (F and M receiving), Brief smut, Reader is going through it. SatoSugu (Just a warning in itself), Angst

WC: 4.7k

A/n: Listened to a random Mitski playlist and it lowkey made me depressed while writing this, expect some fluff after this one.

This is love.

You keep telling yourself that, don’t you?

Even as silent tears streak down your cheeks in the furthest bathroom—the one tucked away from the master bedroom, the one even Satoru’s Six Eyes can’t reach.

This is love.

The way Satoru leans down, his snowy white hair falling across his forehead in that effortlessly tousled way, pressing a fleeting kiss to your lips before heading out on a mission. His crystalline blue eyes, so striking they feel otherworldly, linger on you for a moment too long before he straightens up, a lopsided grin pulling at his lips. Suguru follows, his dark hair tied neatly back, though loose strands frame his sharp, beautiful face. He gives you a casual wave, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint, teasing smile as he murmurs, “I love you.”

You’ve never seen Satoru happier than he’s been since Suguru joined your relationship. Happier than back when it was just the two of you, curled up on the couch, his long legs stretched across the cushions while you laughed at some cheesy anime. Back then, his laugh was unrestrained, carefree. The way his shoulders would shake, his hand coming up to push his blindfold up and wipe away a tear—it felt real.

You miss those days.

You didn’t cry as much back then.

But they love you, don’t they?

They still pay your tuition, still ensure your life is cushioned and cared for. Suguru, always measured and composed, suggested once, “Maybe you should switch to online classes.” His voice was soft, his tone coaxing. It made sense, didn’t it? His reasoning was sound: “There was a special grade curse at the school the other day. We just worry about you, baby.”

Suguru always seems so calm, his velvety voice soothing and warm yet guarded dark eyes giving him an air of quiet authority. You begin to find comfort in that. However, the weight of his presence feels heavy, suffocating even some days.

Satoru, on the other hand, radiates energy. His presence fills the room like sunlight—blinding, inescapable. His tall, lanky frame always seems so relaxed, but you know better. Behind the teasing lilt of his voice and his constant grin lies a man who rarely lets his guard down. The way he looms, leaning just a little too close, reminds you of the distance he refuses to let exist between the two of you.

They worry about you so much. Yet whenever you voice concern for them, they hush you. Suguru’s deep voice reassures you, as if he’s talking to a child, while Satoru’s lips curl into a too-bright smile, his hand patting your head like you’re something fragile.

They love you. They take care of you. It would be selfish to leave them, wouldn’t it?

And Satoru—he’s never been this happy.

He’s working less, smiling more. Suguru’s return has lifted a weight off his shoulders. He’s not carrying the burden of being the strongest alone anymore. You can see it in the way his smile softens when Suguru speaks, in the way his gaze lingers on him longer than it ever lingers on you.

And yet, you tell yourself:

This is love.

Still, you wonder… wasn’t Suguru supposed to be going to therapy? You think back to his promises—vague, half-hearted reassurances—but did he ever actually leave for a session? Ever join a voice call?

You don’t recall.

You try to push the thought away, like so many others. Ignore the red flags. Focus on the green.

The relationship has its moments. You’re growing used to Suguru.

Especially your drunk self—the one that gravitates toward him, curling up on his lap like a loyal dog, seeking out his touch and the warmth of his arms. He always accepts you, his large hands stroking your back or brushing through your hair with a tenderness that feels almost too loving, almost cruel. You wonder what side of yourself that is, the part that craves his affection so desperately, the part that lets the lines blur between love and dependency.

You might even say you’re learning to love him—or at least the version of him that exists in the quiet of the night. The version that pulls you close under the weight of darkness, his voice low and unguarded as he whispers, “I love you.”

It’s in those moments that he feels human, almost fragile. A man with calloused hands and a broken heart trying to mend himself through you.

And it’s hard not to wonder—are you really learning to love him, or are you simply surrendering to the inevitability of it all?

Satoru, though… he never used to cuddle at night. Even before Suguru entered the picture, he always sprawled out in his ridiculously expensive sheets, claiming restlessness from the constant hum of his cursed energy. He needed the space, he said, and you told yourself he deserved it.

Suguru, however—Suguru surprised you.

At first glance, he didn’t seem the type for soft affections, but you quickly learned otherwise. Every night, his arms would find their way around you, wrapping you in a firm but gentle embrace. His warmth seeped into you, grounding and comforting, as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His lips would brush your skin with soft kisses, a tenderness you hadn’t expected from him.

Sometimes, his deep voice would murmur, “Sorry we came home so late,” heavy with sincerity. Other times, his words were more vulnerable, whispered just above a breath: “I love you,” spoken in the dark when he thought you were asleep.

It’s hard not to love him in those moments. Hard not to feel your resolve slip as his presence surrounds you. His breath fans against your neck, steady and warm. His rhythmic breathing eventually syncs with yours, as if his body is learning the cadence of your every inhale and exhale.

For those fleeting moments, you almost forget the cracks beneath the surface.

Other good moments were the intimate ones, the kind that left no room for doubt about how thoroughly they possessed you.

Suguru’s lips would meet yours in slow, deliberate kisses, his touch soft and coaxing, as Satoru’s tongue worked between your legs. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room, clouding your vision and overwhelming your senses. Satoru’s tongue moved with precision, his mouth relentless as he lapped at your cunt, delving deep until your mind felt as hazy as your breathless moans.

Suguru’s fingers never faltered, rubbing tight circles around your clit in perfect rhythm with Satoru’s ministrations. Their combined efforts dragged you over the edge again and again, your body trembling and giving in to the relentless waves of pleasure.

It became impossible to think of anything else—impossible to care about anything other than the bliss they brought you. Their hardened cocks stretched you beyond your limits, filling you completely, their stamina nearly too much for your quivering form.

Suguru would cradle your face in his hands, his dark eyes soft yet intense as he cooed sweet nothings. He’d murmur praises, soothing and possessive, as Satoru pressed the tip of his cock into your overstimulated, leaking cunt. The stretch made you gasp—a sound Suguru captured with his lips, his kiss slow, methodical, leaving you no room to shy away.

Satoru’s hands gripped your hips harshly, his long fingers digging into your flesh, ensuring you stayed exactly where he wanted you. You could already tell the marks would bloom into bruises by morning, a physical reminder of their claim. Suguru, ever attentive, would turn your face gently toward the camera, his voice a low murmur against your lips. “You’re such a good girl,” he’d praise, his thumb brushing your cheek before pulling you into another kiss.

When they were finally spent, when your body gave out completely, Suguru always carried you to the bath. His embrace was steady, grounding, as the warm water soothed your trembling form. You’d lean against his chest, your body limp, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing.

Sometimes, Satoru would join, his tall frame slipping into the water beside you. Their voices would soften as they spoke over you, discussing mundane things or recounting their mission. Occasionally, a kiss would press against your temple—a fleeting gesture, tender and claiming all at once—as you drifted in and out of sleep.

For a little while, it felt like you belonged.

And then, when he thinks you’re asleep, Satoru murmurs, “I knew you’d come around.”

You’re never sure who he’s talking to—Suguru, the man who swore to eradicate non-sorcerers? Or you, the girl who’s finally learning to love the monster who holds her at night?

It’s in these moments that you find yourself slipping out of bed, mumbling an excuse to use the bathroom. Suguru always lets you go with a teasing “Come back fast, or I’ll come get you.” You never linger long enough to see if he’s joking.

Once inside the furthest bathroom, the one that feels like your only sanctuary, you clutch the edge of the sink and sob. Quietly, so no one hears. Until your knees give out and you’re on the floor, shaking and clutching yourself.

This is love. Right?

They loved you. So why were you crying in the bathroom?

Why did each love bite feel like a brand, etched into your skin with every lingering gaze in the mirror? Why did their cum, warm as it seeped down your thighs, burn like it was searing itself into you, a mark you couldn’t erase? Why did the blank, soulless stare of the camera lens feel like an accusation, making you flinch away from any piece of technology?

Before too long, you would wipe your tears, force a smile to your lips—steadying it just enough so it wouldn’t wobble—and return to Suguru’s waiting arms. His hum would vibrate against your back as his dark hair tickled your neck. He’d cradle you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Goodnight, baby,” he’d murmur, and you’d close your eyes, pretending his embrace felt like comfort instead of confinement.

But mornings brought their own discomforts.

You found yourself rifling through the master bathroom, searching the countertop with rising panic. Where is it? The nagging thought ate at you.

Satoru, brushing his teeth beside you, glanced over with those striking blue eyes. His tone was soft, almost too casual. “What’s up, baby?”

“I can’t find my birth control,” you admitted, the words trembling as much as your hands.

“Did you misplace it? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” He walked over, his long arms wrapping around your waist. A kiss brushed the top of your head, his voice gentle but firm. “Go ask Sugu. He’s the one who organizes everything.”

So you did. Suguru was at the desk in the living room, working through a report. From over his shoulder, you could see the numbers—charge rates, payments for missions—enough to know your schooling costs barely amounted to a fraction of what they earned in a single week.

“Your birth control?” he repeated absentmindedly, his tone light, almost dismissive. “You’ve been misplacing that a lot, haven’t you, baby?”

His words felt condescending, like you were a child searching for a lost toy.

“Where is it?” you asked, voice still soft but with a growing edge of desperation. You were five minutes late—exactly.

“Ah-ah, no need for that tone, baby,” he chided, his eyes still glued to his paperwork. “Check the kitchen counter. Your purse? Maybe your school bag.”

It took thirty agonizing minutes of searching, panic simmering under your skin, before you found it—perched on top of the fridge.

You stared at it for a moment, unmoving. You would have never put it there.

Suguru’s behavior had become harder to ignore. There were moments when his touch lingered, his eyes softened, and his voice carried a wistful tone. He had baby fever—you could tell. Maybe it was tied to the twins he lost.

You’d asked him about them once. His face shuttered, dark and unreadable, and he didn’t respond.

You tried asking Satoru, but he had simply glanced away, his usual bravado vanishing for a moment too long.

You decided not to ask again.

Some questions weren’t meant to be answered. You had a sinking feeling the truth lay buried somewhere with the higher-ups, in a place you weren’t allowed to tread.

Suguru’s baby fever didn’t fade, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

When the three of you went to the store, you’d catch that soft smile tugging at his lips whenever he saw a child. It wasn’t the type of smile he gave just anyone—it was warm, tender, hopeful. And it was always followed by a kiss pressed to your temple. A gesture you used to pull away from, but now, you found yourself smiling through.

Sometimes, he’d suggest wandering into the baby section, his tone casual, almost playful. “Just in case. Want to see what’s out there.”

The words always made your skin crawl.

Because no matter how innocuous they sounded, your mind couldn’t help but spiral. It always went back to the hidden birth control, the misplaced pills, and the monthly pregnancy tests he insisted on. He’d stand there, watching you pee on the stick, his arms crossed but his expression almost serene—waiting, anticipating. He wanted to know right away.

You tried to shove those thoughts into the furthest corner of your mind. Tried to convince yourself it was all harmless.

Satoru, by contrast, didn’t seem to care much for babies. He never lingered in the baby aisle and rarely commented on Suguru’s behavior. But he’d hum softly, his hand clasping yours, and flash you a loving smile.

You liked to think that as long as everyone else was happy, Satoru was happy.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Occasionally, when they left for long missions, the apartment felt suffocating in its emptiness. You’d pad softly through the vast, cold space, the silence amplifying every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet.

Your eyes darted around, searching for the hidden cameras you knew were there. You weren’t sure where they all were, or when they liked to check the footage, but you’d found one blind spot: the hallway closet.

You moved slowly, deliberately, ensuring you didn’t do anything that might raise suspicion. Even though you were alone, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

All because they loved you.

Slipping into the closet, you nestled yourself on the floor, silky yukatas hanging above like a shroud. Your laptop glowed faintly in the darkness as you opened it and began your quiet rebellion.

You searched for apartments—something small, something within your budget. Each listing felt like a whisper of hope. You lingered on them, imagining the freedom they promised, before methodically deleting your browser history. Clearing the cache. Erasing every trace.

It was a silly idea. A foolish one, really.

But for a few stolen moments, it was yours.

It didn’t seem so silly after the heated argument with Satoru when he got home.

He was already overstimulated, frustrated, and teetering on the edge of losing his patience. Those moments were the worst—when the teasing lilt in his voice faded, replaced by something sharp and mean. His cerulean eyes, usually playful and glinting with mischief, turned cold and calculating, the glow of his Six Eyes adding an eerie sharpness to his gaze.

All he wanted was release. That was all.

“It shouldn’t be a big deal,” he said, his tone flat but brimming with expectation.

Except you weren’t in the mood.

“I’m sorry, Toru, I just—”

“I do everything for you, and you can’t even provide me with a little comfort?” His words came out harsh, the grin curling his lips into something too sharp to be soft. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over you. His presence always felt overwhelming—broad shoulders, perfectly sculpted face framed by stark white hair, and a lean body that seemed to hum with restrained power. You swallowed hard. Did he get taller?

“I just got off my period, so it’s—”

“It’s what?” His voice cut through your hesitation, his hands flexing as if he were trying to leash himself. “Come on, baby. Just a quickie. Or let me use your mouth.”

The fight drained out of you before you even realized it.

You ended up on your knees, the cold tile biting into your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your flushed face. His long fingers twisted tightly into your hair, guiding your head as if you were nothing more than a puppet for his pleasure. His pale chest rose and fell steadily, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin catching the light, glinting like cruel punctuation to his earlier frustration.

The tip of his cock pushed past your lips, the stretch almost unbearable as he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts. His head tilted back, exposing the sharp lines of his jaw, tightening with every wet sound that filled the room. A low groan rumbled deep in his throat, vibrating in the space between you like a growl of satisfaction.

Your throat burned, gagging and gasping as you struggled to adjust. Your hands clutched at his thighs for balance, fingers digging into the hard, taut muscles beneath his impossibly smooth skin. His hips began to move with more force, his breaths growing heavier, the faintest smirk curling on his lips as he reveled in your struggle.

His moans grew louder, rougher, until with a sharp tug of your hair, he pulled out. Hot ropes of cum painted your face, the heat of it stark against your flushed skin. You blinked through the haze, barely catching your breath, the sting of humiliation bubbling up in your chest.

Before you could even reach for something to wipe yourself clean, the sharp click of a camera shutter echoed through the room.

You didn’t need to look up to know what he was doing. You could already imagine him grinning at the screen, tapping a few buttons with casual ease. You could picture the caption as clearly as if he’d whispered it into your ear:

"Our girl is so beautiful, isn’t she? <3"

The thought sat heavy in your chest, a mix of shame, anger, and something else you didn’t want to name.

And then, as if nothing had happened, Satoru turned sweet again.

He brought you a towel, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he wiped your face. “Come on,” he coaxed, his voice softening. He guided you to the bathroom, his fingers lacing with yours, and drew you into the shower.

Under the warm water, he washed your hair, his hands threading through your strands with care. His crystalline eyes softened as he began to tell you about his mission, his lips quirking into a small smile. From the counter, he produced a small box of mochi, your favorite snack.

“You’re everything to me, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. His arms wrapped around you, his broad chest pressing against your back. “I’m going to marry you one day. You know that, right?”

And just like that, the storm passed, leaving behind only his affection.. 

Your heart sank at the mention of marriage. With them, you knew they’d find a way to make it happen—the three of you, bound together, no matter how impossible it seemed.

After the shower, you slipped into bed, craving the comforting warmth of the sheets. It was a small solace, a fleeting moment where you could envelop yourself in something soft and familiar.

Satoru liked to cuddle during naps, and true to form, his lanky arms found their way around you. He pulled you close, his chest pressing against your back as he nuzzled into you. His kisses came next, peppered across your lips with deliberate exaggeration, loud and obnoxious.

You used to giggle when he did that. You used to squirm and laugh, batting him away as he grinned and pulled you closer.

But now, you stayed still, letting him press his kisses and settle into a nap with you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d giggled like that. Or the last time you’d laughed at all.

On their next mission, you had exactly six hours.

Exactly six hours for a stupid idea. A fleeting thought. 

You’d planned this carefully, down to the second. When they asked where you’d be, you made some excuse about a doctor’s appointment. It was believable enough—Suguru always asked to see the summary of your visits when you got back, a habit you knew was less about care and more about control.

But this time, you lied.

There was no appointment.

Instead, you booked a one-way trip. Far, far away from Tokyo. Far enough that they wouldn’t be able to find you, at least not right away.

The States. It was the only place you could afford with the small stash of cash you’d scraped together over the years—birthday cards, Christmas cards, anything you’d managed to squirrel away without raising suspicion. You even bought a prepaid flight gift card, ensuring it couldn’t be traced back to you.

No suitcases, no sentimental keepsakes, nothing but the clothes on your back.

Before you left, you scrawled a simple note, placing it where you knew they’d find it. Just three words:

"I love you."

Ironic, isn’t it? 

As you sat at your terminal, the minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. You told yourself a 14-hour flight wouldn’t be so bad. It was freedom, wasn’t it? The first real breath you’d taken in months.

But then, a familiar figure caught your eye.

Megumi.

He wasn’t alone—the other first-years trailed beside him—but it was Megumi’s gaze that stopped your heart. His dark eyes widened when they locked onto yours, a flash of recognition that made your stomach churn.

Your anxiety hit you like a freight train, crawling under your skin, seeping into your every bone as they walked past. Megumi glanced back at you one more time, his lips parting just enough to mouth the words: “I’m sorry.”

And then you saw it—his hand reaching for his phone, his fingers already dialing.

You didn’t have to guess who he was calling.

Your heart sank, but you told yourself it wasn’t his fault. You knew Megumi had his reasons—his own happiness to protect, his own precarious balance to maintain. He was trying to survive too, wasn’t he?

You understood. You really did.

But understanding didn’t make the fear any less suffocating.

You cried the entire car ride home, your sobs tearing from your throat, raw and uncontrollable.

Satoru didn’t even glance your way. His icy, dull gaze stayed fixed on the window, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. The silence between you was deafening, broken only by your muffled cries and the hum of the car engine.

In the passenger seat, Suguru sat quietly, his expression unreadable. His hands rested on his knees, fingers drumming absently, as if the tension in the car didn’t weigh as heavily on him.

Poor Ijichi-san gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, clearly caught in a situation he didn’t want to be in. He glanced at you through the rearview mirror—sympathy flashing briefly in his eyes—before he quickly looked away, the moment shattered by Satoru’s cold, piercing glare.

The car felt suffocating, like the air had been sucked out, leaving only the weight of your despair and the oppressive silence of the two men who claimed to love you.

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched the familiar sight of your apartment complex slip past the window. Panic prickled at the edge of your already frayed nerves, your grip tightening on the fabric of your clothes. A small sniffle left your nose, your voice coming out hoarse and broken.

“Where are we going, Toru?”

You turned your gaze to Satoru, hoping for an answer, for anything—but he didn’t look at you. He didn’t respond. His profile was cold, distant, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Your stomach twisted, guilt clawing at your insides. You must have hurt him. He always clung to your love like it was his lifeline. You must have broken that lifeline, snapped it in two with your attempt to run.

You shifted your gaze to Suguru, hoping for some clarity, but his face gave nothing away. His dark eyes flickered toward you for the briefest of moments before returning to the road ahead, his expression as still and unreadable as ever.

The car veered away from familiar streets, the urban sprawl giving way to the shadowy embrace of the woods.

Your chest tightened.

Every nerve in your body screamed as the car crept deeper into the forest, the tall trees looming like silent sentinels. Your mind raced with grim possibilities. Were they planning to leave you here? Like an unwanted dog, cast into the cold for daring to run away?

But then, just as the panic began to claw at you, your gaze caught the sight of something familiar—something that made your heart sink even further.

The tall, imposing torii gates emerged through the mist, their vibrant red striking against the muted greens and grays of the forest.

Oh.

The Gojo Estate.

“I don’t think I can trust you enough not to leave again,” Satoru said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically calm, almost detached.

He wasn’t usually the one to chide you—that was Suguru’s role. Suguru, who would dole out punishments with a sharp tongue or a chilling, parental tone, as though you were a misbehaving child. But now, Satoru’s words held a gravity that made your chest tighten.

“So,” he continued, his crystalline eyes fixed ahead, “I figured here, you could have a few more eyes on you. Maybe even enjoy it more. Who knows? You might even come around to the idea of being Mrs. Gojo or Mrs. Geto. Your pick.”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“We already filled out the documentation. You’re married.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, the weight of them crashing into your chest. Your mind spun, unable to comprehend the sheer audacity of it, the sheer finality.

You felt chained.

Like a dog, tethered to their will, stripped of freedom, and locked away under the pretense of love.

They didn’t say anything as they walked you through the grand, silent halls of the Gojo Estate, and for that, you were almost thankful. The air was heavy with whispers and disdainful glances from the servants. A non-sorcerer? Their murmurs carried through the air, sharp and cutting, as though your very presence was an affront to their world.

When you reached the bedroom, Satoru’s hand guided you forward with surprising gentleness, his fingers brushing yours as though nothing had changed. He led you to the edge of the plush, sprawling bed, and you forced a small, trembling smile to your lips—a weak attempt at peace, at hope.

His bright eyes softened, and for a moment, you thought maybe, just maybe, you could reason with him.

But then his hands caught your wrists.

A light kiss brushed your lips, so soft you barely registered it over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. The faint click of the cuffs was almost lost in the quiet, but the cold metal digging into your skin was impossible to ignore.

He stepped back, his expression unreadable.

It was Suguru’s voice that filled the air next, low and calm, like a lullaby that promised nightmares.

“You’re going to provide us an heir,” he said, his smile almost serene, even as your eyes widened in horror. “It was Satoru’s idea, actually.”

His smile deepened, almost teasing, as though he enjoyed the shock and betrayal etched across your face. “And you’re not leaving this room until you’re safe and pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating you.

Suguru’s tone carried a quiet, unmistakable happiness, as though this was something he’d always wanted. Maybe it was—he’d always longed for a child, hadn’t he? You turned your gaze to Satoru, searching for something, anything.

But all you found was the lovesick smile he gave Suguru.

Not you.

Your chest tightened as tears pricked your eyes, the overwhelming urge to scream, to sob, to lash out building inside you.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you sat there, the cold metal biting into your wrists, the weight of their love crushing the last sliver of hope you’d held onto.

You had grown numb.

Must be from all the love, right?

[deadsetobsessions]

Hera stood, waiting for her turn at last. The Queen of the Greek Pantheon traced the lines of neon green, its light reflecting against her true form in a soothing way. She’s no stranger to patience, to waiting. But there were little of those that had the gall to make her wait, and even smaller of that number that she would tolerate such behavior. Regardless, this was the one being she could not afford to offend and so, she waits. Her many forms, her divine self, perceived the room and compared it to her own halls of residence.

Olympus was much more intricate, carved of noble marble and inlaid with countless of priceless metals and gems and divinity. Twelve seats of power atop an engineering wonder, halls adorned with the brightest of the original flames, an hearth that was roaring at Hesta’s skillful hands.

In comparison, this throne room had been changed much since she was last here. Gone were the spikes of terror and screams of the damned. Now… it looked like the most bare throne room she’d ever bore witness to.

And yet, as she waited for the Boy King, Hera could feel the subtle thrum of impossible power. The new king did not flare his will and might like the previous tyrant, and for that, Hera approved. She has had quite enough of living with and under tyrants who cared only for themselves… and their bed achievements whilst failing spectacularly in their marital roles. Zeus was not a good life partner and Hera regretted ever saying yes to him many times in her immortal life. And yet… she loved him still.

The doors opened, and a small figure floated in, flanked by the previous King’s Knight. Perhaps that is what makes this Boy King so dangerous, Hera thought as she dipped into a bow, because he can turn the loyalest to his side.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted, in ghost speak.

“Heya, Hera!” The Boy King greeted her back, before waving the Knight away. Hera marveled, a bit, at the sheer confidence he had to dismiss his knight in her presence. Even the last king kept the knights around to ensure his power was always in display, always unchallengeable. The Boy King could destroy her with a snap of a finger and he knows it. He knows that she knows it.

“What did you need?” The Boy King asked, grin still on place as he floated to her instead of seating himself on his throne. Hera masked the bit of confusion she felt in pursuit of her goal.

“I have come here to ask of you a favor,” she began. “I am aware that… you are fond of this, the earth in which I reside in?”

Hera carefully picked her word. Everybody knows that the new King Phantom had laid claim to not only the Infinite Realms as is normal of his station, but an entire Earth as his haunt. He had the power to do so, she could finally see, now that she was standing before him. It would not do for Hera to get her strings cut because she claimed what is his.

“Sure. Why?” The Boy King tilted his head, narrowing that predator green upon her true form.

“Do you know of the Justice League, my lord?”

“Phantom’s fine,” he waved a hand. “And yeah, sure do! Why?”

Hera tilted her many forms in acknowledgement of the command. She bowed.

“My daughter, of a sort, is Diana Prince. Wonder Woman. She is… in grave danger. We can not exert our influence over a land that does not have our history. I can not interfere and aid her.”

“Oh, you want me to help her?” His tone was exasperated, and Hera spoke even more carefully in fear of offending him.

“Yes, if it pleases you. And it would be most gracious of you should Your Majesty have time to watch over her. I fear the danger will not leave her so quickly.”

There was a brief period of silence before King Phantom sighed. “And if it does not please me to do so?”

Hera looked up and locked gazes with evaluating green. “Then I am afraid I will be breaking a fair bit of cosmic law, King Phantom.”

He laughed. “Okay, yeah, I’ll check up on Wonder Woman.”

Hera blinked her many eyes, peacock feathers spreading in shock at how easily he allowed her favors. She did not even have to beg.

King Phantom turned to leave before pausing. “Hera, if you need help, just ask. Preferably without beating around the bushes next time. Also, Pandora misses you. You might want to hang around for tea later.”

Hera regarded him with the might of her divinity, which was but hardly a spec of his own kindness. The last one had not had her respect. Fear, yes. But never respect But this one…

“Yes, my King.”

“It’s just Phantom.” He shot back as he left, the Knight returning to his side once more.

Hera transformed into a more mortal form. She had not seen Pandora in a long time, the young woman had made quite an impression on her. Perhaps her old friend could be convinced in helping her punch Zeus and ruin her beloved husband’s day. Hera hummed, the green that used to flicker acidly against her divine form now only soothed. A reflection of its owner.

King Phantom is worthy of her regard.

——

Holy shit, a goddess asked him to check on the Justice League! She was super weird about it and talked in a really old way of speaking, but Danny hadn’t had anything to do for the past few days while entering the zone for his annual check up.

Danny waved away Fright Knight and dived into the portal that would take him directly to the Justice League and Diana!

He floated down from the portal, blinking at group of disheveled and injured superheroes surrounded by a group of demons. Belial?

“King Phantom.” Belial rumbled. Danny waved, not noticing the standstill his presence forced.

“Shite.” The British man cursed, drawing on his magic once more.

“King Phantom?” Diana Prince, Wonder Woman, said quizzically.

“Who?” Batman, Batman! That’s actually Batman, rumbled.

“High King of the Infinite Realms. We’re buggered if he decides to help Belial.”

“Wait, like the god of gods, that King Phantom?” Captain Marvel asked. Ancients, why are all of them electrical based? Danny hates electricity.

Danny floated closer to them, grinning in a friendly way before frowning as they tensed up.

“King Phantom. May I ask why you have graced us with your presence, my King?”

“Hey, Wonder Woman! Your mom asked me to babysit you!” He grinned, sharp and mischievous.

“What…?” The Flash asked, zipping to their side. “Her mom? Queen Hippolyta?”

“No, Hera,” Danny said, and watched Wonder Woman straighten at his words.

“The Goddess Hera.”

“Yep!” Danny rocked back on his suddenly formed legs instead of the whisp of a tail he usually kept in the Zone. He was also still floating. Danny sent a wave of ice and froze the rest of the demons in one fell swoop.

“The rest of you can take care of clean up, yes? Diana has to get some snacks, dinner, and then go to bed.” He pushed gently at Diana’s shoulders, nudging her towards the plane. She went willingly, respectful but amused.

——

Bruce, intellectually knowing that’s a king but only seeing a superhero teenager: *fills out mental adoption paperwork*

——

Hera, a goddess, terrified of misspeaking and dying as a result: he’s so strong even though he’s young omg powerful and could end my immortal existence

Danny, an unserious king: golly gee why is she speaking like a Shakespeare novel

——

Hera, thinking Danny’s gonna be dignified: pls watch over my daughter

Danny, who has a clone he sees as a daughter and therefore has no issues babysitting a grown woman: lol snacks, dinner, bedtime

Diana:… usually I’m on the other spectrum of this but it’s from a higher up so… okay?

——

Danny, terrifying gods and ancients: they’re my friends! The power of friendship!

[mournthebird]

Shower Suds.

summary: You give Soldat his first bath out of captivity.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Non-sexual nudity | Mentions of scars and injuries | Self-Harm mention | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior

a/n: This wasn't supposed to be so long, but somehow it always happens when I write about him. Something sorta comforting with some recovery thrown in there. Unedited because I worked on this for so long lol ignore mistakes please! ;; wc: 5.8k

Filthy. You felt bad, really.

There was a lot of problems to tackle with Soldat's condition, but first thing's first...the soldier needed a bath. Badly.

He was dirty, his hair knotted, matted, greasy, his skin was covered in sweat and dirt, probably blood under the black uniform he still wore. The poor man stunk, and he didn't seem to even notice. Or care.

You found yourself in a bit of a hard situation, unsure of the best approach to cleanse him. A bath seemed problematic; he would essentially be marinating in his own grime, which was far from ideal. Would he sit for that long? Would he fight you? You weren't entirely positive.

On the other hand, a shower presented its own set of challenges. Your observations over the past days had revealed his struggle with prolonged standing. He didn't seem to want to stand for very long and often sat or laid down when he could. The majority of his time was spent either huddled in the furthest corner of the room or barricaded within the confines of the small closet, as if seeking refuge from an unseen threat.

As you mulled over the options, weighing the pros and cons of each, you ultimately figured a shower would be better in terms of cleanliness…if anything, you could have him sit in the bottom of the tub. Better than sitting in dirty water with the increased possibility of infection.

But there was one problem. How the hell would you get him into the bathroom in the first place?

You took a breath in, preparing for the worst, and went to the room he stayed in. It was the spare room in your apartment you barely used, but had been furnished as a bedroom in case someone you knew needed a place for a night or something. Not that you ever figured your friends would want to stay with you, you didn't have many to begin with. When you came in, your eyes scanned the room until they landed on him, spotting him huddled up in the corner like expected.

He didn't look up at you when you walked in, his gaze fixed downward and obscured by the curtain of his long, unkempt hair. The stillness that enveloped him was almost unnerving. Only when you took a few steps closer did he react, his head snapping up at you. His eyes bright blue against the dark, messy ink that surrounded them, like he tried to smudge off the black paint but failed.

You took another step forward, your movements slow and deliberate. You could see the change in his demeanor immediately with your approach, even as careful as it was; his breathing became more rapid and shallow, his chest rising and falling at an accelerated pace like he was preparing to be harmed.

"It's okay," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand extended slightly, palm open to try to soothe him. Carefully, you lowered yourself to his level, bending your knees until you were crouching before him. This position, you hoped, would make you appear less imposing and more approachable.

In the few days he had been in your care, you had begun to discern patterns in his behavior, learning to recognize the subtle cues that indicated his comfort level. You had started to understand which actions he perceived as threatening and which ones helped him feel more at ease. It was a delicate balance, one that required patience and constant observation, but you were determined to create an environment where he could begin to feel safe and secure.

"I think...a bath sounds nice. Doesn't it?" You asked him softly, smiling slightly to show you weren't intending to do any sort of harm. "It will feel good to clean off all that dirt...nice and warm water too...you've been shivering." You noted how cold he appeared to be, he was still latched in his cold clothes from when you found him. You were surprised the uniform kept in water.

He remained motionless, prompting you to reluctantly take a step backwards to leave him alone, you’d try later. As you turned away, the faint sound of movement caught your attention. Glancing back, you saw the soldier had risen to his feet, his eyes fixed upon you with an air of expectancy. "Would you like to come and shower?" you inquired, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Да." His voice was a harsh, grating sound, reminiscent of shattered glass scraping against parched earth. It was as though he hadn't uttered a word or tasted a drop of water in an eternity. Despite the brevity and roughness of his reply, it carried a weight of affirmation. You found yourself oddly relieved by this simple acknowledgment. It wasn't much, but in that moment, it felt like a significant step forward. The fact that he had agreed seemed like a small victory.

You had him in the bathroom. That was a good thing.

You pivoted slowly to face him, your gaze carefully scanning his imposing figure. For behaving so meekly, he was an intimidating body to be this close to. Your eyes meticulously traced the contours of his suit, lingering on the intricate array of tactical belts and buckles that adorned his outfit. Each piece seemed to serve a specific purpose, hinting at the dangerous nature of his profession. Your hand tentatively reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they approached one of the sturdy buckles.

Your action was met with an immediate and startling response from the soldier. His metal hand shot up with inhuman speed, grasping your wrist tightly, the cold metal a stark contrast to your warm skin. His hold was firm and unyielding, like a vice grip, yet it wasn't painful.

As his hand clasped around your wrist, his entire body tensed, transforming into a living statue. You couldn't help but flinch slightly at the abruptness of his reaction, your body instinctively recoiling even as his grip held you in place.

"I-It's okay, I promise," you managed to say, your voice deliberately calm and steady to avoid startling him further. You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "I'm just going to help you undress for the shower... I promise I won't hurt you or do anything you're not comfortable with. We're just getting you cleaned up, that's all."

Your words didn't seem to have much effect at first. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and his jaw flexed with tension. You remained patient, maintaining a soothing tone and open body language. "Take all the time you need," you added softly. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. It’s just you and me." His eyes scanned you intently, searching for any hint of deception or ill intent. You met his gaze steadily, allowing him to see the sincerity in your eyes. After what felt like an eternity, his grip on your wrist slowly loosened until he finally released you completely.

Second time's the charm. You reached out with steady hands, your fingers finding the first buckle on his tactical suit. With careful precision, you unfastened it, the metallic click echoing softly in the bathroom. Then, you moved to the next one, and the next, methodically working your way through each fastening. The process was slow but deliberate, each buckle giving way under your patient touch until, finally, the last one came undone. You paused, surveying your handiwork as the suit lay open, no longer confining him.

With the buckles undone, your attention turned to the decked out belt encircling his hips. You grasped the front, feeling the sturdy material beneath your fingers. You pulled the belt free from the thick buckle, the black leather sliding smoothly through the loops. As you removed the belt, you took care to lay it gently on the floor beside you, the heavy belt colliding with the tile was bound to make him jump and you didn’t want that.

The belt now removed, you returned your focus to the suit itself. Your hands found the straps, and you began to loosen them, pulling them out slowly and methodically. His uniform reminded you of a rehashed straight jacket, the uniform nearly acting just as one. When the tight suit gradually relinquished its grip, you noticed an immediate change in the soldier’s demeanor. The restrictive pressure eased, and you could see his chest rise and fall more freely. It was as if a weight had been lifted, allowing him to breathe deeply for the first time in who knows how long.

You watched, a mix of concern and relief washing over you, as he took in several deep breaths. The realization hit you then, a jolt of disbelief and worry. The suit had been so constricting that it had barely allowed him to breathe properly. The thought was infuriating. What kind of protection was that? What twisted logic had led to the creation of gear that endangered its wearer almost as much as it shielded them? You found yourself shaking your head in disbelief. What the hell...

"There we go...good..." You praised calmly, your voice a soothing whisper in the quiet room. He stood before you, now shirtless, his muscular frame tense with anticipation as he awaited your next move. Your eyes couldn't help but linger on his exposed torso, taking in every detail of his battle-worn body.

His skin was a canvas marked by the harsh realities of his past. Bruises in various stages of healing painted his flesh in a morbid palette of purples, yellows, and greens. Fresh cuts, angry and red, intermingled with older, silvery scars, creating a chaotic tapestry across his skin. Each mark had a different cause, accidental, intentional, self inflicted.

Your gaze was inevitably drawn to the most prominent feature: the junction where flesh met metal at his shoulder. The scar tissue surrounding his prosthetic arm was a sight that made your heart ache. It wasn't a clean, surgical line as one might expect, but rather a jagged, angry border that spoke of crude methods and little regard for the body it was attached to. The metal seemed to dig cruelly into his flesh, as if it were trying to consume more of him. You couldn't help but wonder about the pain he must have endured during the procedure, imagining how they had torn him apart with brutal efficiency, prioritizing function over comfort or aesthetics.

Despite the visible evidence of his suffering, he stood tall and stoic, awaiting your next move with a mixture of trust and trepidation in his eyes.

You offered him a gentle, comforting smile, you were acutely aware of his attempts to appear strong, but the reality of his fear was unmistakable. In that spare room, his demeanor reminded you of a cornered animal, flinching and retreating whenever the door creaked open. He cowered from you, even when you tried to give him water to drink. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, you didn’t know much of what happened just yet, but you knew whatever it was must’ve been utterly horrific.

"I'm going to help you out of your trousers now," you explained in a soft, reassuring tone. "Then we'll get you into the shower. The warm water will help you feel better, I promise." You paused, giving him a moment to process your words before adding, "Is that okay with you?"

He remained motionless. His lack of response was telling - not a nod, not a word, not even a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. He simply stood there, statuesque, as if bracing himself for whatever was to come next. The stillness was almost eerie, so you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was going to come. You truly hoped he wouldn't begin to put up a fight randomly, you knew you couldn't take him if he did.

You grasped the zipper of his pants and slowly pulled it down, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet room. As the fabric loosened, you gently tugged at the waistband, shuffling them down his muscular thighs and allowing the pants to fall around his ankles. Without a word, he stepped out of them, his movements controlled as he jerked his foot to get the leg of the pants off completely.

His gaze remained fixed on you, his expression betraying no hint of discomfort or self-consciousness at his state of undress. You found yourself averting your eyes, a mix of respect for his privacy and your own sudden shyness causing you to look away.

Turning your attention to the shower, you reached out and adjusted the taps, your hand testing the water until it reached a comfortably warm temperature, you could always adjust it upon request. The sound of cascading water filled the bathroom, creating a soothing ambiance. Once satisfied with the water's warmth, you looked back towards him, your arm extending in a welcoming gesture towards the bathtub. "Come on," you encouraged, your voice soft and inviting, "it's nice and warm." A gentle smile played on your lips, your expression meant to convey comfort and reassurance.

But even with your efforts, he remained motionless, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot where he stood. His lack of movement prompted you to maintain your encouraging demeanor, your smile unwavering as you waited patiently for him to make a decision.

The steam from the shower began to fill the room, creating a misty atmosphere that hung between you, yet he showed no signs of stepping forward or retreating. He just stood there, planted like a tree. You frowned, seeing that he wasn't going to budge.

"Hey, it's okay," you said softly, "It's just water, and it's nice and warm. I promise it will feel so good. You've been shivering for a while now, and I bet the warmth will be really comforting for your cold skin. There's nothing to be afraid of." You continued to encourage him, your tone patient and understanding.

The soldier's reaction was tense and wary. His metal arm plates made a series of soft clicking sounds as he shifted his arm and adjusted his stance, his body language radiating discomfort and distrust, maybe even a hint of growing agitation. The way he eyed the water, you could have sworn he thought you were about to subject him to some form of aquatic torture. His entire demeanor screamed of deep-seated fear and suspicion.

"It's alright, really... Look, see?" You demonstrated by reaching out and touching the water, letting your fingers trail through the warm liquid. You made sure he could clearly see that the water didn't cause you any harm or discomfort. Could he be afraid of the water? The concept seemed strange, but then again, you didn't really know or understand the full extent of his experiences or traumas. You had made so much progress with him already, and now all that remained was for him to sit under the water and allow you to wash him. It seemed so simple, and yet you could see the monumental struggle playing out behind his eyes.

He finally seemed to respond when he observed that you remained unharmed by the water, and he cautiously approached, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes wore wariness with a flicker of curiosity, carefully scanning your form and ensuring you made no abrupt or threatening gestures. As he inched closer, his body language betrayed a conflicting desire for comfort and an instinctive need for self-preservation.

Once he had convinced himself of a relative level of safety, he gingerly stepped into the bath. The warmth of the water seemed to catch him off guard, and with an almost childlike lack of grace, he unceremoniously lowered himself into a sitting position with a loud thud and for a moment, he appeared startled by his own actions.

Now fully seated on the bottom of the tub, he allowed the soothing warmth of the water to cascade down his dirt-encrusted body. The grime that had accumulated over time began to loosen and swirl around him, running down his body and creating murky patterns at the bottom of the textured bathtub.

He sat motionless, gradually acclimating to the comforting warmth of the water cascading down his back in a gentle, soothing shower. It was foreign to him, a luxury he had been denied for far too long. His time with HYDRA had been bereft of such simple comforts; the organization was a cruel and unforgiving entity, more akin to a heartless taskmaster than a nurturing presence.

His experiences with something as harmless as water was vastly different to what you were treating him with now - he was subjected to harsh, icy streams forcefully directed at him, the intense pressure through the hose so severe it felt as though it was stripping away layers of his skin.

He remembers being forcibly submerged by his handlers, a cruel and twisted game that shattered his expectations of a simple, cleansing bath. What should have been a moment of respite transformed into a nightmarish struggle for survival, where he was forced to submit to their ruthless whims.

The memory of sharp, abrasive bristles tearing at his skin and the application of painful, saline substances lingers. He didn’t want to think about the unnecessary groping he encountered either, something he wished he forgot along with his life during the chair’s wipes.

These traumatic encounters left an indelible mark on his psyche, turning what should have been a basic human necessity into a source of fear and anxiety. The handlers' sadistic approach to something as fundamental as personal hygiene served as a constant reinforcement of their control over every aspect of his existence, even the most intimate and essential.

For him, the act of bathing became synonymous with vulnerability, pain, and the complete loss of autonomy, a far cry from the soothing, rejuvenating experience it was meant to be.

This gentle treatment you were providing was so different from the abusive handling he had endured in HYDRA, it almost caused him to panic, the feigning comforts he were offered by handlers before tricked him too many times, and he refused to let his guard down.

His glacial eyes gazed up at you, the poor man looked absolutely pitiful under the steamy water, his once greasy hair now thoroughly soaked as rivulets ran down the contours of his entire body. You took a breath and exhaled out a soft sigh, your hand slowly reaching for your own body wash. You didn't have any products specifically designed for men, so your expensive shampoo would have to suffice until you went shopping.

You pumped the bottle twice, watching as the clear, slightly viscous shampoo pooled into your open palm and the refreshing scent of cucumber and mint permeated the humid air, filling your nostrils with its crisp, clean aroma. You turned and addressed him softly, "Alright, I'm going to wash your hair now. Just try to relax and sit still for me, okay? This might feel a bit cold at first, but I promise it'll feel good once I start massaging it in."

The soldier regarded you with an inscrutable expression, his eyes betraying only a hint of that fight-or-flight instinct, his mind was reeling as he battled the urge to respond to your presence. You knew he had the strength to easily break your arm if he chose to, so you tried your best to be as slow and careful as possible. Your fingers delicately threaded through his hair, methodically working the shampoo into a rich lather. You watched as the suds multiplied and foamed, the soapy shampoo pure white on top and slowly stained the closer it was to his scalp.

You noticed that every so often he would flinch ever so slightly or instinctively pull away from your hands. You wondered if he had hidden injuries or tender spots on his scalp, or bruises or cuts concealed beneath his hair, or maybe knots of tension that had formed from prolonged stress or blunt impacts. His hair must’ve been yanked around, his scalp was extremely tender and while you did your best to soothingly massage, he didn’t enjoy it as much as you hoped because of the discomfort there.

"It's okay, I understand it might be a bit uncomfortable. I’m just getting all that pesky dirt and grime out." You spoke in a gentle, reassuring tone, moving a little bit quicker so you could rinse and move on. After thoroughly rinsing his hair, you applied conditioner in the same manner as the shampoo, and then rinsed it out again. He looked much better now, his hair was now clean, wet, and sleek, with a smooth texture and a noticeable shine. It was so much better than before, and it had to feel better too.

Your hand extended under the rain of water, dampening a soft, handheld washcloth and applying a generous amount of body wash to it. You worked the cloth until it produced a rich lather. The soldier moved which caught your eye, you looked up at him and saw he had recoiled, his gaze fixed warily on the washcloth. He became noticeably slower and more hesitant, his eyes widening slightly as he regarded the cloth with apparent apprehension, as if it posed a threat. You furrowed your brow at his reaction to the cloth, he looked at it like you held a weapon of some kind.

"Hey, it’s alright…this won’t hurt. It’s just a cloth, see? A cloth with some soap," you said softly, you felt so torn up about his reaction to the simplest of things. "I won't hurt you, I promise, I'm just going to wash you a bit...get all that dirt and blood off you." You raised your hand holding the washcloth in a placating gesture. “It’s warm, it will feel good scrubbing off all that dirt, you’ll be nice and clean.”

Gradually, he relented and shifted backwards to where he had been sitting, permitting you to gently glide the damp cloth across his skin, meticulously removing every trace of grime from his body. After a few minutes of washing him, you noticed he was beginning to find comfort in the experience. His eyelids drooped, and his head dipped down slightly, a tired expression settling over his features as he succumbed to the soothing sensation of your ministrations. He wasn’t exactly serene, but he was too drowsy to focus on much else other than the feeling of the rag gliding over his back and flesh arm.

You adjusted him and you tended to his metal arm, diligently working the cloth between the intricate plates and joints of titanium, ensuring that no speck of dirt remained. You weren’t exactly sure how the arm was cleaned prior to finding him, but clearly there wasn’t a worry about rust or anything of the sort. The soldier remained motionless, allowing you unhindered access as the warm water cascaded over his back, leaving a rosy tinge in its wake. He enjoyed the hot temperature, he hadn’t felt hot water in decades.

Your focus then shifted to his lower extremities, concentrating on scrubbing his legs and feet. As the rag moved up to a more sensitive area, you paused, pulling the rag off his skin and slowly extending the washcloth to him. You pointed towards his privates, you softly instructed, "You can…get right there, I’d rather not touch you in that spot."

The furrow on the soldier's brow gave away his visible confusion, his eyes darting between you and the offered rag with a mixture of uncertainty and hesitation. It was clear that he was contemplating with the decision of whether to accept your gesture or not, if there was an ulterior motive, or if this was some sort of test. After what seemed like an eternity of internal debate, he finally extended a trembling hand towards you. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he were approaching a wild animal rather than a simple cloth.

He grasped the rag from your outstretched palm, his fingers curling around it slowly. Once in possession of the cloth, he set about the task of cleaning himself. His actions, though quick, lacked the assurance of someone accustomed to such basic self-care. Each motion seemed so carefully calculated, as if he were relearning a long-forgotten, essential skill. It had been so long since he was allowed to clean himself. His movements were unsteady, his hands quivering slightly as he went about his ablutions.

It had clearly been an extensive period since he had been granted even this small measure of independence. The concept of autonomy was a luxury he had been denied for far too long.

When he was done with his hurried cleansing, the soldier's gaze immediately sought yours out. His eyes, still holding the rag, were filled with expectation, awaiting your next command. His posture tense and ready to respond to whatever instruction you might provide. The rag remained clutched in his hand, as if he were unsure whether to return it or continue holding onto this small token of independence.

"Good, you're all done," you offered a warm smile to him. Despite the wounds still visible on his body, you felt a sense of accomplishment knowing that at least the layers of dirt and grime had been washed away, your work getting him clean would pay off and be better for the both of you. You reached over and turned off the water, the sudden silence broken only by the soft dripping from the showerhead. "Let's get you dried off," you said softly, gesturing for him to step out of the shower.

He complied wordlessly, his movements careful as he stepped onto the bathroom mat. You couldn't help but notice how vulnerable he looked, standing there dripping wet, his eyes never leaving your face, his body completely littered in discoloration. Reaching for a large, fluffy towel, you unfolded it and wrapped it around his shoulders, enveloping him in its warmth to fight off the rapidly cooling water droplets all over him.

As you began to slowly dry his body, you noticed a change come over him. His softened expression now returned to its usual blank mask and the brief relaxation he showed in the shower was long gone by now. His body returned to the stiffness he had before he got in. His eyes remained fixed on you, following your every movement with an intensity that was almost unnerving.

You worked in the quiet calm of the bathroom, carefully patting dry each part of his body, mindful of his injuries. The soldier remained motionless, allowing you to maneuver him as needed, but offering no assistance, like a doll. It was as if he had retreated back into himself, leaving only an empty shell for you to tend to. You wondered what he was thinking behind those watchful, guarded eyes, they were pretty up close. Glacial, stormy blue irises that had been glued to you since you started to tend to him.

After drying him off, you were lucky to find a pair of boxers in your apartment and helped him into them, where they came from wasn’t something you could remember at the moment, but you were glad you had them. He cooperated as you dressed him, then stood there clutching the towel around himself like a security blanket.

His gaze fixed on you with a mixture of expectation and vulnerability, as if silently asking for further guidance or comfort. His wide eyes blinked languidly, and his soft pink lips formed an almost imperceptible pout, giving him an endearing, slightly lost appearance.

Lost. He embodied the word entirely. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

Taking in his disheveled state, you smiled a little, "How about we get your hair detangled, hm?" Your voice was warm and reassuring as you reached up, your fingers lightly brushing against the damp strands, feeling the water practically seep out of the ends.

The soldier's reaction was a mix of acceptance and hesitation. While he didn't outright reject the idea, there was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in his demeanor. However he didn’t dare reject the idea, worried about any kind of retaliation. So he made his way to the stool nestled beneath the counter and lowered himself onto it. As he settled into position, maintaining a stoic silence, his eyes continued to convey that enigmatic expression, hinting at unspoken thoughts or emotions.

You positioned yourself behind him, your hands instinctively reaching for a comb and a bottle of detangling spray already sat out from your use earlier that day. You recalled how your fingers had encountered numerous knots and tangles when you washed his hair, and thinking about how knotted it looked dirty made you sigh outwardly.

The fine mist of the detangling spray settled on his hair as you applied it methodically, you guided the comb through his locks, working patiently to untangle any knots you encountered. You tried to be as gentle as possible, knowing not only were there a ton of knots, but you remembered his scalp was especially sensitive and sore.

Soldat remained still as a statue, his posture composed and unwavering. His disciplined demeanor allowed you to work unimpeded, your movements careful and unhurried. He maintained a firm grip on the towel draped securely around his body, the fabric acting almost like a barrier and protecting him from the world. You continued to work the comb through his hair, encountering tangles and knots that spoke of recent exertion or neglect.

The process of detangling was slow, your touch continued to be gentle yet purposeful, muttering soft apologies when you ran into an unexpected knot. Teasing apart the snarls with patience and skill, the resistance lessened, and you found yourself able to run the comb smoothly through his hair, the strands falling into neat alignment.

"There we are... much better," you praised softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The sight of his hair, now brushed out and free of tangles, felt like a monumental achievement. You couldn't help but admire how the clean, detangled strands caught the light, a stark contrast to their earlier disheveled state. Your fingers ran through his locks, gently ruffling the hair from being so flat against his scalp.

You couldn't help but notice the angry red lines marring his skin, peeking out from beneath the towel. The blotchy colors on his skin that ranged from purple to blue, it made you frown. Your instincts as a caretaker kicked in, and you found yourself wondering if he would allow you to tend to those wounds. Hesitantly, you reached out, your fingers barely grazing the edge of the towel just wanting to get a better look at them.

In an instant the soldier suddenly sprang to life, standing with such force that the stool he had been perched on skidded across the tile floor, the harsh scraping sound shattering the previous calm. He retreated to the far corner of the bathroom, his body language screaming defensiveness.

His eyes, which had been closed or downcast for most of your interaction, now bore into you with an intensity that made you freeze. They held fear, yes, but also a raw, primal aggression that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the look of a cornered animal, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

You immediately backpedaled, not wanting to trigger any aggression from him. "Okay, okay... no wound checks," you reassured as you raised your hands in a gesture of surrender. You took a step back, giving him more space, silently cursing yourself for pushing too far, too fast. The fragile trust you had built over the past few minutes seemed to hang by a thread, you didn’t want to snap the little you had.

Your words had a calming effect on Soldat, who clutched the towel tightly in his fists, ensuring it remained securely wrapped around him. His gaze drifted down to his soiled attire, prompting you to shake your head in disapproval. "No, those definitely need to be washed," you explained, your voice dropping to a thoughtful murmur, "And to be honest, these can hardly be called proper clothes. I'll make sure to get you some suitable ones tomorrow, alright?"

Soldat's eyes met yours once more, his gaze still carrying a hint of coldness and wariness, but he managed a brief, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. You gathered his discarded garments and deposited them into the washing machine, silently hoping that the combination of leather and other materials wouldn't prove too much for the aging appliance. The damn thing had to be ran twice already, you just couldn’t afford to buy a new one right now.

As you busied yourself with setting the appropriate wash cycle, Soldat seized the opportunity to hastily retreat to the room that had been designated as his temporary living space.

He immediately gravitated towards the floor, as he had been the past few days. You hadn't seen him use the bed at all, rather stay cuddled in the corner or inside the small space of the closet. The towel long forgotten and laid splayed out on the floor, he ripped the blankets off the bed in one fluid motion and proceeded to wrap himself up in them, burrowing beneath the layers of fabric for comfort and security. The blankets having replaced the towel's symbolism for safety.

You wished he’d rest on the bed rather than the floor, but you knew better than to try to alter what he was doing. Leave him to be comfortable on his own, that is the best thing to do in this situation. And if Soldat wants to sleep on the floor in a huddle of blankets, then fine.

You approached the doorway, peering inside to see him nestled in a cocoon of blankets. His exhaustion was written on his face, yet there was a noticeable improvement in his appearance. The layer of grime and perspiration that had clung to his skin was now gone, you knew he had to feel somewhat refreshed.

You cautiously stepped into the room and made your way towards him, acutely aware of how his body tensed at your approach. In response to your closer proximity, he burrowed deeper into the thick comforter that enveloped him, seeking refuge from your presence.

A soft, reassuring sound escaped your lips as you placed a water bottle within his reach. As you anticipated, he remained motionless under the comforter, offering no acknowledgment of your thoughtful action. He stayed hidden beneath the layers of fabric, like a child seeking shelter from imaginary monsters lurking in the shadows.

"Get some rest, Soldat..." you whispered gently, your voice barely above a murmur. "I'll be down in the other room if you need anything. Don't hesitate to call for me, even for the smallest thing." With that reassurance, you slowly stood back up and turned to walk out. A faint noise suddenly caught your attention, causing you to pause mid-step.

The gentle rustling of the comforter drew your gaze back towards the floor, curiosity piquing your interest. The soldier cautiously peeked out from under the blanket's edge. His tired, weary eyes met your inquisitive ones, there was a beat of silence.

"Спасибо," the soldier rasped out, his voice meek and slightly hoarse from disuse, but still loud enough for you to hear clearly.

"You're welcome..."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

[tbaluver]

Hi, Can I request short fic with Lads boys (or only Zayne if you want ). They turned into cats for one day, and MC took care of them.

It would also be interesting to know what breed and color they would be, how they hinted that it was them, etc.

and then in the morning they turned back!

(^˵◕ω◕˵^)

Love ya

When They Turn Into Cats- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: silly a/n: hi anonnie! sorry this took so long to make but this was so cute and fun to write ฅ/ᐠ. ̫ .ᐟ\ฅ ! i love love cats but i don't own one yet so i'm soso sorry to any of the cat owners out there if i miswrote what it's like ! i hope you like and enjoy it! i love ya too anonnie have a good day/ night! ^•ﻌ•^ฅ♡ edit: heres the version of where you turn into a cat! When You Turn Into A Cat any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier /ᐠ˵- ᴗ -˵マ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 :

You begin to stir from your sleep, reaching out for your lover only to find the space beside you cold and empty. Your eyes flutter open to see a fluffy ragdoll cat with white and light brown fur. The cat curled up peacefully beside you, unaware of the turmoil unfolding around it. Panic and confusion surged through you as you sat up abruptly. 

Where was Xavier? Did he bring this cat home with him? Did this cat wander through an open window?

Your mind raced with questions as you quickly scanned the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of him but he was nowhere to be found. You moved through the house, calling out his name and looked in every room, only to return to your bedroom with no sign of him. The cat remained undisturbed on the bed. In a last attempt, you grabbed your phone to text Xavier, a notification chimed from his phone- right beside his bedside.

As you stand there, taking in the sight of the cat, it begins to stir. It stretches its fluffy paws kneading the bed spread. A soft meow escapes its mouth and tilts its head in confusion. It lets out another meow, as if it’s trying to speak but only produces feline sounds. The cat looked down at its paws, its eyes wide with confusion. With a clumsy roll, it flopped onto its back, its tiny belly exposed in full display. The realization to Xavier of his feline form seemed to down on him and let out a resigned meow.

Determined to you show, he darts around your home trying to show you that this cat is in fact him, your lover. He runs to the kitchen, pawing at his favorite snacks and when you're still confused until he runs to his sword. He paws at the star keychain on the sword's hilt, hoping you would get the idea.

The connection clicks in your mind as you watch the cat meow again, although it’s not just any random cat, it was Xavier. You sink to the floor, settling yourself at Xavier’s cat level as he crawls into your lap and curls comfortably as if he’s always belonged there.

You don’t know how Xavier turned into a cat or how to reverse it so the best you could do for now was to take care of him, hoping that he’ll be okay when he randomly turns back into a human. When you tried to leave the house to get him cat food, he persistently cried making it impossible for you to leave him behind.

In this cat form, Xavier’s behavior was oddly just like his human self. He was calm and gentle and found often sleeping contentedly  on your lap or nestled close by. The warmth of his tiny and fluffy body was a comforting presence and his soft purring was a soothing background in your home. He also seems to really love it when you scratch behind his ears.

Anytime you laid down, he would knead any parts of your body. Anytime you ate something, he would paw at your food or try to steal a bite. And anytime you didn't let him have a bite, he'll stare at you with sad cat eyes. He would even follow you around even to the bathroom to do whatever business you had in there. It felt as if he was just guarding you in his cat form- even if he fell asleep again.

When night time falls, he curls up beside you, something Xavier would always do during your night routines. You reach out, your fingers gently brushing through his fur, and Xavier response with a content sleepy "meow", pressing his head against yours.

When you woke up, you felt a warm presence beside you. Blinking sleepily, your eyes widened in surprise to find Xavier back into human form, still curled up beside you. His hair tousled and his face relaxed as he sleeps peacefully. With a gentle smile, you kiss the top of his head and pull him closer, drifting back to sleep together. All your worries melt away and was replaced by the comforting presence of your lover.

Zayne /ᐠ - ˕ -マ :

You were supposed to meet Zayne an hour ago for a date after his shift, but despite your repeated calls and texts, he never responded. Concerned, you decided to check on him at the hospital. As you navigate the familiar hallways, you make your way to his office. When you opened the door, you were surprised to find no sign of Zayne- only a gray Scottish Fold cat curled up on his desk, peacefully asleep on top of a messy stack of papers.

You called out his name, but the only response was the cat’s slow stretch as it blinked awake. The cat rubs its eyes with its paws, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how cute it looked with Zayne’ glasses perched on its nose.

The cat’s eyes widened in confusion as it glanced down at its feline form. It meows softly, then looks up at you with an almost desperate expression. It paws at you, as if it were trying to get your attention but you mistook this as a request for affection and scratched the back of its head. The cat seemed to enjoy the attention for a moment, then abruptly shook your hand away and started pawing at the glasses.

Confused, you picked up their glasses and the cat seemed to become even more agitated. It started patting at the name tag on Zayne’s desks with urgency. Realization has finally hit you and you looked back at the cat and the name. The cat let out a resigned meow, and you laughed softly as you tried to process this strange situation.

You settle into his office chair, and he curls up o your lap, resting his head against your chest as if surrendering to the situation. Gently, you scratch the back of his head, offering a soothing reassurance that you'll find a way to restore him to his human form.

Before you leave, you tidy up his desk so it is ready for his return one day. You carefully carry him through the familiar hospital hallways. As you pass by Greyson, who reaches out to pet what he thinks is just a stray cat, Zayne swats his hand away, not in the mood for affection from others, only you.

Once you get him back home, you opt for cat food, concerned that giving him his favorite human food or treats might upset his stomach in this new feline form. You couldn’t tell but he would be really sad watching you eat your shared favorite food and treats without him. He would just stare at you as you eat it all. 

Being a cat does not stop him from being a doctor to you. He'll gently headbutt you or paw you if you indulge in too much junk food, concerned about your health and your disregard for his medical advice.

You offer a stick and string for play and at first he seemed indifferent about it but a few minutes later he was swatting and pouncing with enthusiasm. You were definitely gong to tease him about this later.

He was a very observant cat. He doesn't do much other than explore around new corners areas of your house he hasn't seen before due to his smaller form. Other than that he takes keen interest in watching you go about your day as he sits on your windowsill.

He loves it when you pet him and he purrs contentedly in response. He's read somewhere that cats purr as a form of healing, and he hopes that maybe just maybe that it'll heal your heart. As your stroke his fur, hell give you slow, deliberate blinks. It's his cat version of saying I love you.

As you prepare for bed, he follows you to the bathroom, quietly overserving you as you brush your teeth and go through the rest of your nightly routine. When you make a cozy spot for him on the bed, he disregards it and instead curls up right beside you. As you both settle into bed, you run your fingers gently through his fur, and together you drift off to sleep, wrapped in each other's warmth.

As the light settles through the curtains, you gradually wake up, feeling arms wrapped around your waist. Your heart racing with a mix of joy and disbelief, you see your lover back to normal and already awake. He looks down at you tenderly, gently brushing the stray strands of hair from your face. You gently cradle his face, savoring the precious moment before drawing him into a close embrace, filled with gratitude that your lover is finally back in his true form.

Rafayel ฅᨐฅ :

You visit his studio, only to find the room he usually paints at messy. More messy than usual. Paw prints were scattered all over the canvases, the floor, and the furniture. As you call out for Rafayel, a distressed orange cat darts towards you, urgently trying to climb up your leg and practically crying.

"MYEOWWWW" "MYEOOWWW"

You giggle thinking Rafayel must have scared the cat. As you bend down to soothe it, the cat tries to climb onto you, continuing to meow loudly and seek comfort.

"Did Raf let you in? Did he scare you?"

The cat steps back with a huff, it's ears going in airplane mode as it shakes its head in disapproval. You were amused by the cat from how it looks like it just responded to you. "Let me go find him."

You call out for him again, but the only reply is the cat gently tapping your feet. As you look down, you see the cat jump onto a stool, giving you a clearer view. To your surprise, you notice it's wearing Rafayel's locket- the one that matches your bracelet, something he has gifted you a while ago. The realization hits your hard, your lover has turned into a cat.

You approach him, gently petting him to offer reassurance. Your aware of how much he fears and dislikes cat and now somehow he transformed into one and you're not sure how long this curse will last on him. You stifle a snicker, finding the situation oddly amusing, but your determined to take good care of your love in his new feline form.

"meow."

Even as a cat, he chatters endlessly, trailing after you wherever you go. You clean up the studio from the mess he made as a cat and the ones he probably made in his human form. "meow. meow. meow. meow. meow."

You attempt to wash the paint off his paws yet he hisses at the water despite him being a Lemurian- perhaps it's due to his feline nature. He also rejects the healthy cat food you offer, hissing and retreating to a corner in disapproval. He tries to sneak and steal his favorite food but he gets caught by you every time. You had to give him positive reinforcements and praise him for him to eat the cat food you fed him.

Anytime he passes by a mirror, he would hiss at it. Anytime you wouldn't give him attention, he would bite your leg or your arm depending on what you're doing. When you scold him for doing that, he'll have his tail and brush against your leg while meowing at you. "myeowwww. myeowwwww."

You attempted to play with him on the bed, but he suddenly stood up on his hind legs. In a playful misstep, he ends up flopping onto his back and tumbling off the bed.

After a long day, you prepare for bed, with him trailing behind you, his paws making soft pattering sounds. He leaps into the space right next to you, settling in comfortably. You gently scratch the back of his head, and he purrs softly, secretly enjoying the affection. You kiss the top of his furry head and wish him a goodnight before you both drift off to sleep.

It wasn't the sun that woke you up by your lover who was right beside you gasping when he finally realized he wasn't a cat anymore.

"Maybe true love's kiss? Pfft. You should've kissed me sooner cutie. Was I not adorable even as a cat?"

Sylus ≽^-˕-^≼ :

You wake up to the heavy weight of a cat sitting on your stomach. A Burmese with dark, fluffy fur is perched comfortably on you, staring at you with a piercing gaze. The intensity of its stare is a bit unsettling and you're left wondering how this cat appeared or what it's doing in Sylus's home.

"meow."

You shift to a sitting position, causing the cat to hop off your body. However as you settle, it immediately climbs back onto you, finding a comfortable spot once more. Instinctively, you reach down to pet it, and it closes its eyes, purring contentedly. As you reach for your phone to call Sylus, you hear his phone from the opposite bedside table right next to you.

Confused, you get up from the bed and start searching for him, with the cat following you and meowing persistently. "meow. meow." You check every room, calling out for him, but he's nowhere to be found. You even asked Mephisto where Sylus might be, only to remember you don't speak crow. You eventually asked him to fly in the direction Sylus might have gone, but the crow remains still as the cat stands right beside you.

Not understanding the clue right away, he paws at you and meows insistently. As you glance down, you notice the red, shiny necklace Sylus always wears. Suddenly it hits you that all this time it was Sylus who had been the cat.

Finding his new form both adorable and amusing, you reach down to pet him. As you let out small laugh, he playfully wrestles with your arm. You didn't want to admit it but somehow even in his cat form, he was still strong as he playfully dominated your arm with ease.

He eats any cat food you give him without any fuss. He has a lot of fun playing with Mephisto though you think it seems one sided, as Mephisto quickly flies away in fear whenever he jumps up to chase him. He also enjoys playing around with Mephisto's feathers and becomes even more engaged when you join in as you hold up the feather for him to catch.

He purrs contentedly whenever he's on your lap or curled up right beside you. His purring continues as you brush his fur and nearly drifted off to sleep as he finds it so soothing.

He follows you everywhere around the house, not giving you any space at all. Even when you're in the bathroom, he trails after you, watching every move with whatever you do in there.

As you prepare for bed, he tries to settle on you again, but he feels a bit heavy with the weight on your stomach so you gently lift him to curl up beside you instead. He doesn't mind being moved, as long as he's close to you. Once he's settled, he makes himself comfortable and you both soon drift off to sleep together.

You haven't woken up yet, still unaware that he's already returned to his human form. Propper up on one elbow, with the other arm around your waist, he watches you sleep with a soft smirk, finding your peaceful sleep adorable. As you stir, you might wonder if the previous day's events were just a dream and he would one hundred percent try to make you believe that.

[frmisnow]

BORDEAUX !

summary. after you realize that the man you had a drunk one night stand with, was in fact your new ceo. you settle on avoiding him as best as you could- but why do you feel so drawn to him?

notes. welcome to a new verse (aka. series), usually most of my series are more fluffy w a touch of smut (besides two whores, one job lol) but this one is gonna be a lot more angsty and smutty! so i hope y'all are into that kinda jam 🍷⭒⋆｡˚

warnings /includes. (1.7 k words / suggestive!) non idol! ceo! jungkook x non specified! reader, alcohol, shitty ex :/, jk is an alcohol nerd?, reader kind of uses him to kill bad memories ?, making out

the air was heavy with the scent of alcohol and smoke melted with the faint music somewhere in the background: jazz, how unfitting for this kind of environment. the enviornment which people go to specifically to escape reality, for a few minutes, maybe a few hours.

the alcohol wasn't bad, at least judging by the wine and it offered a sense of peace or rebellion, stupid fucking rebellion. your ex used to despise wine with all of his heart, he hated the scent of it, didn't want you to drink any of it near him.

he didn't like when you drank alcohol over all, he was stern on the idea of keeping you innoccent. you chugged down the glass like a shot at the sheer memory of the behavior you used to put up with.

the glass hits the table with a dull thud and you could almost hear his voice, scolding you for how reckless you were. you reach out for the bottle, pouring yourself another glass. and this time you savor the taste on your tongue, the rich flavor.

you feel eyes burning into your face, no- not burning, observing. it didn't feel uncomfortable but you could firmly feel them on you. the man's presence cut through the fog of alcohol and self-pity that had settled over you, and for a moment, you simply stared.

you should have looked away, but you didn’t. instead, you lifted your glass to your lips, taking another sip of wine, feeling the liquid slide down your throat, heavy and warm. he watched you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never leaving yours.

he stands up making his way to you, and suddenly the crowd and all the shitty memories fade away, it was almost like he had a bigger effect on you then the alcohol did and that said a lot.

finally, he spoke, his voice low and smooth, like velvet draped over steel. “mind if i join you?”

the question was formal, did he work in business? no, that would be stupid to assume based of just a question. you nod, slowly but surerly, motioning towards the chair next to you.

he takes the seat next to you, signaling for a nearby waiter, requesting another glass, before turning his attention back to you. his gaze is intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to see straight through to your soul.

“rough night?” he asks, his tone conversational but his eyes still focused intently on you.

his thigh touched yours, the proximity with somebody you didn't know should make you feel uncomfortable but it strangely didn't. "yeah," you mouth. the whole truth was too complicated, too raw, to lay out infront of a stranger.

a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, before he speaks again, his voice was soft, almost soothing. "you're downing that glass like it's water."

you look at the almost empty glass that your fingers had been circling around while talking to him, he was right. you didn't even remember how many glasses you had, three perhaps?

"you have a pretty voice," you mumble, finshing what was left of liquid in the glass.

he raised an eyebrow at the compliment, surprised by the sudden comment from you. he can't help but chuckle a little, amused by the drunken confession. "thank you," he replies, sounding sincere.

you both barerly talked, you were two strangers in a cheap bar, why bother talking about boring jobs? the night was young.

the music in the background shifted, a slower, bluesy tune now. the more you looked at him, the more you could firmly feel his thigh pressed into your own. his fingers, tattooed, why hadn't you noticed that earlier? took the wine bottle from earlier, tilting it around to look at the label. he seemed to know the brand, humming in approval.

"it's a good vintage." he says, still holding the bottle but his eyes are on you, studying your face in the dim light.

and this actually managed to crack a smile out of you. it wasn't meant to be a funny comment, in fact he seemed serious about it. was he an alcohol expert? the fact that you knew absolutly nothing about wine made it better.

he takes a sip from his own glass, his eyes never leaving yours. he can't help but find your lack of knowledge about wine oddly endearing.

please, talk me stupid about alcohol. i want to know what rebellion tastes like. the words linger on your tongue but you don't cave into the urge of saying them. i want you to teach me what he was so afraid of showing me.

"i have a whole collection of rare and expensive wines back at my place. some you would never find even in the best bars," he pauses, his hand brushing slightly against your arm.

"are you trying to make me come home with you?" you ask though it's not a question you necessarily need an answer to, you knew what he had meant.

"and if i was?" his eyes stay on yours, tilting his head, "would you come with me?"

stupid fucking question.

the second you step into his apartment, the door closing behind you, he is already on you. his hands are on your waist, holding you firmly in place as his tongue invades your mouth, tasting the mixture of your saliva and the rich flavor of the wine.

when you both take time to breathe, you ask, "so where is the wine you were talking about?" your tone is clearly intoxicated, your eyes a little hazy as he doesn't let go of you and you both stumble towards his living room together. the action seeming strangely domestic.

"it's right there." his voice a tad bit breathless, he motions towards a large display of alcohol, his eyes scanning the selection before settling on a particular bottle.

he reaches for the bottle, the arm around your waist still keeping you close to him, the alcohol clearly making the both of you more touchier then you would be sober.

jungkook holds up the bottle, letting you get a good look at the label. it was an expensive brand, even you could tell that, the words written on it swirling in an elegant script.

you hum, "italy," leaning into his touch sub counciously whilst he drew little circles over the clothed skin, twisting the bottle, "when did you get this?"

"i have a guy who brings me the good stuff from time to time."

your eyes wandered over the display, you wanted to kneel forward to look over the bottles but didn't want to get out of his embrace either.

it felt good, doing everything your ex would scrutinize you for. he'd be disapproving off even letting you look over all of these.

his head made a little motion towards almost like a silent 'go on' like he could firmly hear your thoughts.

the bottles seemed rare, visably very espensive and whilst you looked over the alcohol, he looked at you.

"what do you think?" he asks after a few minutes, tone soft and quiet like he didn't want to disturb you.

"i think i've had enough to drink already but it's all really pretty," you trail off, "you're really pretty"

jungkook smiles at the comment, reaching forward to run his fingers through your hair, the gesture seemingly absentminded yet surprisingly tender, "is that the alcohol talking?"

you shrug, grinning, "i honestly don't know"

he studies your face for a moment, his eyes roving over your features. he reaches out, his fingers grazing your jawline, the touch light and gentle. "you know, you're very pretty yourself," he says, his voice almost a murmur.

the color of the red wine in your hands is now the exact color of your cheeks and your mind is empty as you lean forward to kiss him once more.

this time when your lips meet, it was rather delicate and slow. as you both sat on the ground next to the large display and kissed eachother like it was the end of the world.

and you don't stop when you felt like you couldn't breathe, placing your hand on his chest, feeling the pulse beneath the shirt. this was what drowning memories was all about.

your ex didn't kiss like this. he didn't hold you like this and he most certaintly will never get the chance to redeem himself ever.

you find yourselves sinking to the floor while jungkook craddles your face as if you were something precious, something worth cherishing.

your ex kissed you just to check of the foreplay box, jungkook kisses you because he wants to.

"i want you," you mumur against his lips as you both take time to breathe.

you wake up to harsh sunlight filtering through the blinds, you realize you're lying on a coach. his coach. the cool leather fabric is a stark contrast to your bare skin, that's when you notice — you’re only in your panties. red lace with little bows.

the rest of your clothes are scattered on the floor, your shirt draped over the armrest, your skirt crumpled beside it.

you try to piece the events of last night together, did you sleep together? ... you can't quite remember. you sit up slowly, your head pounding with the dull throb of a hangover.

jungkook's presence was no where to be found, the apartment was dead quiet. he left you here, naked and confused: what a dick.

you do your best to gather the clothes, slipping into them, you search for your phone, finding it next to the alcohol display. you take another look at the various bottles, now sober.

you shake your head at how easy you were yesterday, checking the time on your phone until your heart drops — the meeting. the meeting you could not afford to miss.

you let out a groan of frustration, fighting the zipper of your skirt, great- you were going to meet your new ceo looking and feeling like a mess.

you step into the large building with your heart still pounding, why did the metro station have to be so far away from your job? running as fast as you can had been your only option.

you push through the glass doors of the conference room, instantly sitting down, you did not want the people to look even more then a second at the wrinkled skirt of yours.

the important man stands facing away from you, writing something down on a white board. he seemed pretty tall, confident posture.

and then he turns around.

your expression drops. it's him. it's the man from last night.

🍓 tag list — @chansloverr , @marimarvelfan , @bxcndd

[trashytracktales]

Okay i don’t know if you’re still receiving requests so 😭 but i absolutely ADORED inked and it actually inspired me for a request and you’re literally the only one who could give it justice. hopefully😔

so imagine reader not being able to cum for the past few times they had sex, maybe because she was stressed for work/exams/adult life and she hasn’t told lando because she feels bad for it and she doesn’t think it’s his fault. so when he finds out there’s a lil discussion and he PROMISE he SWEARS he will make it his mission on earth to help her to get out of her head and relax and enjoy herself and what they’re doing and he’s like WHATEVER IT TAKES you will orgasm again i promise, even if it takes all night!!

so he’s a man on a mission and when he succeeds they have their best sex ever and she’s having the best orgasm of her life! fireworks !!!!! 🥹🥹

The finish line | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── So… ✌🏻😗 I usually go with the flow when I’m writing, and for this one, it felt right to leave it at THAT (you’ll see). Don’t worry, there are fireworks and Lando achieved his goal. However, I felt it in my bones to keep this one leaning more on the emotional side, because sometimes, less is more. Enjoy!!

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⤿ PREVIOUS LN⁴ ONE-SHOTS: Inked, Winning hand, Seasons change.

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. ݁₊ ⊹ summary ──── While Lando is sound asleep after a passionate night together, she wakes up restless and frustrated, unable to ignore the weight of her own insecurities.

. ݁₊ ⊹ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ rating ──── explicit

. ݁₊ ⊹ category ──── F/M

. ݁₊ ⊹ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, mentions of sexual frustration and insecurity, emotional vulnerability such as crying and self-doubt, masturbation, obsessive behavior, fingering, swearing, use of praise and mild dominance, begging & desperation, overstimulation.

. ݁₊ ⊹ word count ──── 4.5k

. ݁₊ ⊹ date ──── Jan. 29, 2025

. ݁₊ ⊹ a/n ──── I know I sound like a broken record, but I don’t want you guys to think that I’m lying. THIS is the current state of my inbox:

Just know that I am trying, but at the end of the day, I’m literally just a girl 🎀 If I didn’t post your request yet, thank you for your patience, I’ll eventually (hopefully) get to it.

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THE BEDSHEETS ARE rumpled, and there is a faint scent of sweat and sex that lingers in the air. Lando sleeps peacefully on his stomach, his arm draped lazily over her waist. His soft snores are the only sound that animate the room, but inside her head, her thoughts are louder.

It’s late, and she should be exhausted; well, she is, but mostly on a mental level. Her body feels heavy and restless, the glow of their earlier intimacy only temporarily satisfying a more deeper need that refuses to fade, no matter what she does. Her skin feels hot, especially where he touches her, and her mind races with thoughts she can’t control.

At this point, it’s been too long.

She shifts in different positions, and when it gets too much, quietly, she slips out of the bed, careful not to wake Lando, and pads her way to the bathroom. The cool tiles under her feet send a shiver down her spine as she closes the door behind her with a mellow click.

She splashes cold water on her face, hoping that she’ll wash away every little doubt that way. The shock of it is prickling her skin, but it does little to cool the constant heat simmering beneath the surface. Involuntarily, her thighs press together in a failed attempt to soothe the ache that refuses to dissipate.

Small droplets of water slide down her cheeks as she raises her head, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her lips are parted, her breathing uneven, and her eyes betray the storm churning inside her. It’s become an obsessive ritual, one she can’t seem to give up until she gets all the answers. The shame coils tight in her stomach, a mix of desperation and anger at herself.

Why couldn’t she just let it go?

Why couldn’t she figure out what was wrong?

Her reflection doesn’t offer any of those answers — only a silent, maddening reminder of how close she always gets before it slips away, like sand through her fingers.

She lets out a frustrated exhale, while grabbing a towel from the rack with trembling hands, shaking it out before folding it in half and laying it on the floor. Carefully, she lowers herself onto it, her back pressing against the cold porcelain of the bathtub. The chill bites at her skin, but it keeps her guarded. She pulls her knees up slightly, legs spreading just enough to give her the space she needs, the vulnerability of the position making her heart race. Her fingers tremble as they trace the edge of the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing, closing her eyes to gather the remaining pieces of her patience.

The bathroom is tenderly lit by a single lamp above the mirror, casting a silver glow on her flushed face and the sheen of sweat clinging to her skin.

Weakly, she starts circling her fingers with increasing desperation, her slick heat betraying the arousal that never seems to reach its peak. Her breaths grow shallow, her movements frantic, but no matter how hard she tries, the pleasure stalls, hovering just out of reach. Irritation claws at her chest as her thighs tremble, the pressure building only to evaporate moments later, like a cruel joke.

Tears blur her vision as she slows, finally giving up, her head falling back. A sob escapes her lips, her mind spiraling into dark thoughts, and she pulls the towel tighter around her as if it can shield her from her own failure.

Back in their the bedroom, Lando stirs. His hand instinctively reaches out to her side of the bed, but the cool, empty sheets pull him out of his catatonic state. Half-asleep, his head lifts as he scans the room, his hair mussed and eyes hazy; it’s the faint, muffled sound that wakes him up completely. A muted cry, that he’s easily able to recognize.

His heart lurches, and he’s on his feet instantly, tugging on a pair of boxers. He follows the sound to the bathroom door, pressing his ear to it. The cries are clearer now, but they’re not purely sad — they’re mixed with hushed panting.

His brows knit together, and without thinking, Lando knocks. “Everything okay, love?” his voice is thick with sleep and worry.

She doesn’t answer.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Lando insists, tightening his grip on the doorknob.

Inside, she’s too caught up in her own world to hear anything else. Her hands finally drop to her sides as she lets out another defeated sob, the tears spilling freely on her cheeks. She feels raw and vulnerable, unable to understand why her body is betraying her like this.

Sounding more concerned now, Lando knocks harder this time. “Babe, I’m coming in, alright?”

The door creaks as he steps inside, and the sight before him makes him stop in his tracks. She’s sitting there, legs spread, flushed and teary-eyed, her chest rising and falling in erratic breaths. His mind takes a second to catch up to what’s happening, his gaze flickering from her damp cheeks to the towel beneath her and then finally to the source of her breakdown.

Her eyes widen when she realizes she’s not alone anymore, and she quickly moves to close her legs, her face burning with embarrassment.

“Lando—” she begins, but her voice dies in her throat.

He’s frozen for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, but then he steps closer, crouching down in front of her. His hands reach for hers, gently prying them away from where she’s trying to cover herself.

“Don’t do that,” says Lando in a tender voice. “What’s going on, babe? Talk to me.”

She looks away, the shame too much to bear. “I don’t know,” she stammers, her voice a small whisper. “I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” he prompts gently, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.

She lets out a shaky exhale, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve been trying so hard, but I just—I can’t finish,” she admits finally, her voice breaking.

Lando’s expression softens, and he cups her face, tilting it up to meet his eyes. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, his voice low but laced with concern.

She laughs dryly, “And say what? It’s fine, Lando. I didn’t want to bother you,” she replies, sniffling. “You were sleeping so peacefully, and I thought I could just handle it myself.”

His lips quirk into a tiny, understanding smile. “Baby, you’re never a bother to me,” he murmurs, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. “You know that, right?”

She nods weakly, her lips trembling as fresh tears threaten to spill. Lando doesn’t hesitate, sitting down beside her on the bathroom floor, the cool tiles pressing against his bare legs.

His hand moves tentatively to her knee, but he stops just short, his eyes searching hers. “Can I touch you?” he asks patiently.

Her nod is almost imperceptible, but it’s enough for him. He places his hand on her knee, his thumb tracing soothing circles over her skin. He’s quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to approach the situation, but his concern outweighs his uncertainty.

“Come on, baby. It’s just us,” he says, his tone earnest. “What’s really been bothering you?”

She hesitates, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her — his — old t-shirt. The weight of the truth feels too heavy, but his steady presence makes it easier to breathe.

Finally, she exhales shakily and confesses, “I… I haven’t had an orgasm in three weeks.”

Her words hang in the air, and Lando blinks, his brows furrowing in concern. “Three weeks?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows in surprise, as if he’s trying to wrap his head around it.

She nods again, her eyes fixed on the floor. “Look. It’s not you, Lando. I love being with you, and I love the way you make me feel,” she pauses, her voice trembling, and the tears come again, “I think something’s wrong with me. I’m so—I’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Her shoulders shake as she cries, and Lando’s heart breaks, seeing her in such distress. He shifts closer, wrapping his arms around her gently, his hand resting on the back of her head.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” he says in a soothing tone. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I promise.”

“You don’t know, Lan,” she sobs into his chest, her hands clutching his bicep. “I... don’t know what else could be wrong. I just. I feel broken. Every time we’ve been together these past few weeks, I’ve tried so hard,” she trails off, the weight of her words crushing her.

Lando feels something dark coiling in his chest as the realization settles like a heavy weight in his gut. Weeks. She’s been suffering in silence for weeks, lying beneath him, taking everything he gave her, and still unable to let go. His fingers twitch with the need to fix it, to wipe away every trace of frustration she’s felt, to drag her into a pleasure so deep she forgets this ever happened. But on the outside, Lando stays calm; he can’t let his frustration show, because this isn’t about him. This is about her. And he’s going to make damn sure she never has to feel like this again.

But… how could he have been so clueless?

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asks in a weak tone, pulling back just enough to look at her.

“I didn’t want to ruin things for you,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “You’ve been so busy lately, and I didn’t want to add to your stress. But it’s not your fault,” she reassures him. “It’s not. It’s me, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Her words cut through him, and he shakes his head, his hand cupping her cheek. “Stop saying that, you’re not doing anything wrong,” says Lando firmly, his voice filled with conviction. “God. Whatever this is, it’s not on you, okay?”

She sniffles, her lip trembling as she looks up at him. “But it feels like it is. Like my body’s just failing me all of a sudden.”

Lando’s jaw flexes, and he feels a sudden pang of anger — not at her, but at himself for not paying enough attention. For being so blind.

“I’m sorry I was so busy and distracted. I should’ve known something was off,” he sighs, voice filled with regret. “I feel so bloody stupid for not noticing how much you’ve been struggling.”

“You’re not—” she says quickly, but he cuts her off.

“No, baby. I should’ve seen that you were hurting.”

Her breath hitches at the sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t want you to see. It’s fine, just… I don’t know what am I supposed to do now,” she whispers, her voice losing intensity.

Lando’s words come out so determined next time he speaks, “We’ll take our time, and we’ll work through it together.”

She looks at him, wanting to believe him, but she’s too caught up in her own head. Without thinking, her hands start trembling as they push against his chest, desperate to get some distance.

“No,” her voice is cracking. “No, you deserve better than—gosh, this so unfair. I’m always so close, and then I lose it. This never happened to me before.”

She covers her face with her hands, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping that next time she’ll open them, everything will get back to normal. But she knows it’s not that simple, so she stays like that, pressing the bridges of her palms on her eyelids until she sees white, sparkly dots.

Lando stiffens momentarily, the weight of her words sinking in. Her pushing him away stings, but he doesn’t let it show, and he doesn’t let it deter him, either. Instead, Lando leans forward, wrapping his arms around her from behind, holding her close even as she tries to fold in on herself.

“It’s okay. We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he whispers, “Just, please. Don’t shut me out.”

She feels his steady embrace, his scent and warmth enveloping her like a protective blanket. “I don’t know what to do,” she admits again and again, hoping that she’ll eventually find an answer.

Lando presses a kiss to the top of her head and tightens his hold. “Is there something I can do? Right now? Something to make you feel even a little better?”

The question hangs in the air for a few seconds before she exhales shakily, attempting to lighten the mood with a weak, joking reply, “I’d like to have an orgasm,” she mutters with a sad laugh, but the vulnerability in her voice betrays her attempt to make light of the situation.

Lando pauses, his lips parting slightly. She feels his chest rise and fall behind her as he takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says simply, his tone laced with quiet determination.

She turns her head to look at him, confused. “What?”

Instead of answering, he adjusts his position so that she’s sitting between his legs. His hands come to rest on her arms, and his touch is light on her skin, as if silently asking her to put her trust in him.

“Just relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Her shoulders tense at first, but as his hands begin to move, caressing her arms with deliberate care, she allows herself to calm down.

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” the girl tells him, tilting her head slightly to meet his eyes. Her hand comes up to cup his jaw, her thumb brushing over his cheek. “You’re always in my mind, Lando. Always.”

Her words make his stomach flip, but he shakes his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “That’s good, baby. But I can’t stand the thought of you feeling this way. Not when I can do something about it. So, let me try.”

He dips his head to kiss her neck, slow and measured, his lips warm against her skin. She shivers, goosebumps spreading across her arms as his hands travel up her sides, cupping her breasts lightly through her shirt. His thumbs brush over her nipples, teasing through the fabric, and her breath hitches.

“Lando…” she breathes, but her protest is weak.

“Shh,” he whispers, his lips still moving against her neck. “Let me.”

With a gentle tug, he pulls her shirt up and over her head, tossing it aside. Her bare back presses against the heat of his chest, and she leans into him instinctively, her body relaxing further. One of her hands reaches back, resting against his thigh, while the other remains on his jaw, her thumb tracing his skin absentmindedly.

His kisses grow lazier, deeper, taking his time to savor her, his hands still exploring her body with quiet reverence. When his thumb brushes over her bare nipple this time, her breath catches, and a soft moan escapes her lips.

“Better?” asks Lando quietly, the question laced with affection and a hint of teasing.

She doesn’t answer with words, only nodding as her eyes flutter shut, her body leaning fully into his.

“You’re safe with me,” he assures softly. As his lips linger on her shoulder, his hand moves lower, tracing the curve of her stomach.

Her body tenses momentarily before melting into him again, exhaling sharply when his fingers trail lower, featherlight, until they dip between her legs. He feels the slight tremble in her thighs as her body reacts, and she instinctively parts her legs for him, granting Lando all the access he needs.

Her gaze drops to his arm, watching as the veins stretch under his skin with every movement. The strength in his hand contrasts with the careful way he touches her, and she can’t help but marvel at the sight. Almost instinctively, her hand moves to cover his — not to stop him or to slow him down, but to ground herself in the moment, to feel the reality of him there with her.

“Don’t think too much, yeah?” Lando instructs her, his breath warm against her. “Focus on me. I’ve got you.”

Lando’s fingers part her folds, and he has to close his eyes at the heat and wetness he finds there, evidence of the frustration and need she had been battling. When his thumb brushes against her clit, he feels it pulse under his touch, sensitive from what she had been doing before he walked in.

“Wanna see how responsive you are?” he asks with a teasing smile, pressing his thumb firmly against her clit without moving it.

She gasps silently, but he keeps his hand steady, his other arm holding her securely against him.

“Easy, baby,” he says, his tone as soothing as ever.

He holds the pressure for a few seconds, then finally rubs slow circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Her breathing deepens, her legs shifting as he repeats the motion: firm pressure, then slow strokes, over and over. The rhythm he sets is almost hypnotic, and he feels the tension in her begin to ease as her arousal builds.

Once a new wave of wetness slicks his fingers, his lips twitch into a satisfied smile, “See that? Such a good girl,” he praises gently.

She whimpers at his words, her hips bucking slightly against his hand. He adjusts his grip, keeping her in place as his fingers move lower, teasing her entrance. He doesn’t push inside just yet, only circling the sensitive area, feeling the way her body squirms and trembles in anticipation.

“Relax for me,” he reminds her, his tone almost pleading, “I’m not going anywhere until I make a mess of you.”

She does as he says, but a soft, desperate cry still manages to escape her lips. Her arm wraps tightly around Lando’s neck, pulling him closer, her lips ghosting over his jaw as her breathing grows uneven. He presses a kiss to her temple, whispering words of encouragement, while his fingers explore her with dexterity.

“That’s it, feel me,” he soothes, his tone gentle yet commanding. “Don’t think.”

He finally pushes a finger inside her, but only the tip, teasing her repeatedly. He feels her walls soft and pillowy as he pumps it in and out, and she feels the stretch on her hole somehow differently. When he pulls out completely, her pussy clenches around nothing, instinctively trying to keep him there.

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he presses his lips against her hair, smiling. “There goes your needy little hole,” he says, his voice filled with quiet admiration. “Told you there’s nothing wrong with you, baby. It’s all in your pretty head.” Lando pauses, his hand still as he tilts his head closer to hers. “Let me clear it for you.”

With that, he pushes his finger all the way in this time. Her sudden gasp hits his jaw, her hips jerking forward at the sensation. He knows it’s not enough, though the way he feels her walls fluttering around him, tells Lando he is on the right path.

“Look how perfect you are,” he praises, his voice a warm caress. “You were made for this, weren’t you?”

Without warning, he adds another finger — just to prove his point — stretching her and going deeper than before. Her moan is breathless, her head tipping back as her hips grind into his hand. Lando groans, feeling the slick warmth of her around him, and the way she reacts to every little movement.

“There it is,” his low voice catches her attention, “Feel that? That’s all you, my love. You just needed to be reminded of how incredible you are.”

He finally sets a rhythm, curling his fingers just right, and her cries turn into something more profound, a broken whimper of relief and pleasure as he works her open with care.

Leaning in, Lando is capturing her lips in a urgent kiss. His tongue slides against hers, coaxing soft moans from her as his fingers keep pumping in and out of her slick heat. He spreads her wetness over her puffy folds, his other hand moving to her chest, teasing and pinching her nipple until it hardens under his touch. He’s deliberate in his movements, having one clear goal in mind: to overwhelm her senses, to pull her away from the pressure of the finish line and make her fall in love with the journey.

His fingers scissor inside her, stretching her further, before curling again, brushing over the spot that makes her cry in pleasure. He presses the bridge of his palm firmly against her clit, applying just enough pressure to have her legs trembling against him. Her breathing turns erratic, her chest rising and falling quickly as the excitement starts to blur the edges of her thoughts.

Lando’s hand never falters, burying his fingers in and out of her with just the right amount of force, the wetness between her thighs making everything slick and obscene. But then, just as the wave begins to crest, he stills. His hand stops and she cries out, her walls protesting around him, as if trying to pull him back into motion.

“It’s okay, you’re doing so well,” he continues with his praise. “We’re close, yeah?” asks Lando rhetorically, waiting, feeling her body tighten and then gradually relax.

Then he starts again, the rhythm maddeningly slow.

Her moans grow louder, more desperate, but just as she teeters on the edge again, he stops once more.

“Fuck, Lando. Please,” she chokes out, her hips jerking against his hand, trying to create some friction. “I can’t—please, let me have it,” her voice is drenched in frustration and need.

He hums against her neck, savoring every sound she makes. “You know I will, baby. But you need to trust me,” he says, voice steady, his fingers suddenly resuming their pace. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you, pretty girl?”

Her whole body shivers, her thighs trembling around his hand as she shakes her head frantically. “No,” she whimpers, “I won’t—please, please. I’ll do anything, just don’t stop again.”

The desperation in her voice tugs at something deep in him. He feels guilty, seeing her so wrecked and desperate after holding this pressure inside for weeks, but when her slickness grows, coating his fingers and hand, he knows she’s on the brink. He can physically feel it.

Smiling, Lando leans over, pressing soft kisses to her flushed cheek, talking tenderly against her skin, “Make me proud,” he whispers, his voice thick with affection and lust.

And that’s more than enough.

Her release comes in a rush, hitting her like fireworks as she cries out his name, her body spasming uncontrollably around Lando’s fingers. He keeps working her through it, whispering praises against her skin while her nails dig into his forearm, anchoring herself to him as the weeks of frustration dissolve into pure, blinding pleasure.

“Beautiful,” says Lando, dipping his head to kiss her.

He bites her lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before soothing it with a soft lick. Then, with a sly smirk, he shoves his tongue back into her mouth, tasting the soft gasp she lets out.

He attacks her senses from every direction — his hand between her legs, the other on her chest, his lips consuming hers. The pressure on her clit, the way his fingers still curl and stretch inside her, the heat of his body pressed to hers — everything feels right again. She’s finally losing herself, over and over, her mind emptying of everything but the way Lando feels, and the way he’s making her feel.

Just like he promised.

Her lips part against his, and the only thing she can think to say it’s his name, that escapes in a broken, breathless cry.

Her cheeks are flushed, the heat spreading through her body like wildfire. The wet, slick sounds of his hand working her fill the bathroom, blending with her breathless moans and the occasional low rasp of his voice. She feels the telltale pressure building once more in her lower abdomen, the one that makes her toes curl and her thighs tremble. And then, like clockwork, the fear starts to creep in — the same fear that’s stolen her release before.

Sensing the shift in her breathing, Lando reminds her, his voice impossibly soft, “You can,” he encourages her, “One more, baby. Look how well you take my fingers.”

Her chest heaves as she finds the strength to glance down, her half-lidded eyes catching the hypnotic way his hand works between her legs, his fingers disappearing into her again and again. The sight is enough to make her stomach tighten, and when her gaze lifts, she meets Lando’s.

He’s already looking at her, his eyes dark with desire but impossibly gentle, filled with reassurance and love. That’s what does it — their unyielding, pure connection. Her second orgasm crashes over her without warning, the intensity pulling a cry from deep within her chest.

“Lando, yes!” she moans, her voice breaking as she clings to him, her body shaking uncontrollably. “Oh my—”

He doesn’t stop, his fingers working her through the overwhelming waves of pleasure. She’s crying, tears slipping down her cheeks, but these are different — they’re tears of relief; liquid euphoria.

The towel beneath her is soaked, her release spilling out in waves, and Lando lets out a low, approving groan as he feels her gush against his hand. “That’s my good girl,” he says proudly, kissing her temple as her cries fade into breathless whimpers. “Look at you. So perfect, baby. You fucking did it.”

She collapses into his chest, her body utterly spent, her mind hazy from the high of finally letting go. And for the first time in weeks, she feels nothing but peace.

Lando keeps her close, his lips brushing against her temple in the softest of kisses, waiting for her to come back to herself. She exhales shakily, the steady thrum of his heartbeat calming her.

Lando tilts his head down, his curls tickling her cheek as he insists, “Next time you feel like this, come to me. Don’t keep it in, baby. We’ll work it out together like we did now,” his words are definitive, the weight of his love for her wrapped around every syllable. He leans back slightly to look at her, his eyes soft but unwavering. “The perfect fit, you and I, right?”

She lifts her gaze to meet his, and he smiles, his dimples peeking out as his hand brushes a strand of hair from her face. “Thank you,” she says. “For knowing me better than anyone.”

“That’s because I love you, silly,” says Lando, his lips grazing hers in a featherlight kiss. “And loving you means taking care of you. Even when you don’t know how to let me.”

Hearing Lando’s words, a flicker of shame creeps in. She realizes she should have told him sooner. They’re a team — they always have been. And yet, she let herself spiral alone, convinced this was something she had to fix by herself.

Before she can dwell on it too much, Lando peppers more kisses to her temple and cheek, his voice deliberately teasing, but laced with something undeniably serious, “Let’s go back to bed,” he says, helping her up. “I’ve got three weeks to make up for, and I don’t plan on wasting a second.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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© trashy track tales, 2025

[gladiatorcunt]

- # LEMON SUGAR !

flew like a moth to you (sunlight)

cw: weird pet play, reader has a vagina, large age gap (reader early 20’s & logan is…. not), HEAVY PISS KINK, dirty yucky icky gross vibes, xmen 2 coded logan, dad (father figure) bf talk and behaviors (old man, kiddo, dad, essentially lifestyle dom-ing you) anal plug mention, praise kink but one usage of ‘bitch’ and ‘toilet’, reference to a canon scene with jean but in this au she was just clowning on him as a friend, scogan crumbs, mentally ill & unhinged!reader, self objectification/dehumanization (?), reader: “i wish a/b/o was real :(”, pt.2 to . bc the dynamic might be confusing, implied unaware mutant!reader

do not copy, translate, or feed this work to ai

1k event. / please consider commissioning me

Logan doesn’t slap his tip against your cheek more than a quick initial love tap (if a tight awkward handshake from a man decades older than you was a sexual act) but he loves to force your head against his crotch and really massage it into your skin. His other hand holds his dick like he’s aiming to piss, a slight scowl twisting his lips because he’s trying to concentrate. His cigar hangs out of his mouth and his bulky hips swivel as he grinds his precum into your face, cheeks, around your eyes, lips, check check check.

He doesn’t even necessarily want you to suck him off that bad and he’s not even trying to cum. orgasming is a slower pursuit for him these days anyway. He just wants to dirty his puppy up a little, enrichment and whatever the fuck. Maybe you can make a game of trying to catch the salty droplets on your tongue, see if you can spot them when they’re about to gush out and trickle down.

An activity can both be a perverted parlor trick and a form of indulgent self care that trivial things like ice rollers or under eye patches couldn’t replace.

“There we go, atta puppy.” Logan chuckles and ruffles your hair when you manage to lick away a bead of precum before it can drip down out of your reach.

“Daddy, don’t tease. ‘m trying to focus, that’s rude.” You give him a good shake, smiling wildly.

You’re already drunk and loopy just huffing the pure musk emanating from his uncut cock. You hum as the salty tang of his juices taint your tastebuds, luxuriating in the aftertaste like you were chowing down on a dainty macarron. He doesn’t really believe in eating or drinking anything special to make his crotch and the things it produces taste better. You couldn’t be more happy about that, the whiskey sour twang riding on the flavor notes were much more preferable than some biblical concoction of milk and honey. If only it was more acidic, that way it could burn a hole through your tongue and your cervix. Marking you so thoroughly from the deepest parts of your soul, you’d always be empty and every pang of pain would call for the man that caused it to soothe your burns with his saliva.

Intimacy with Logan feels like you’re reconnecting in whatever version of the garden of Eden can exist on Earth. Why can’t it be here? With you on your knees so close to barking into the skin of your old man’s cock, a fancy cushion settled under you with little golden tassels hanging off the corners. You are always so willing to be the best you can be for him, but he’ll never allow your service to come at the price of individual pain. Your eyes flutter and you take one of your many breaks to plunge your nostrils into his thick bush.

Wooden and spicy, your favorite perfume that is undeniably raunchy yet sensuous and romantic. Natural. You never thought you could be so in love with how a man’s pubes smell, but you can’t say that you thought that any part of this would have become your life’s purpose in more ways than not. Logan chuckles and pats your cheek, enamored with how clearly you seem to be enjoying suffocating yourself in his groin. He sharply inhales through his nose when you move up to trail your tongue along his happy trail, lapping at the thinner hairs because you adore each one just as much as every part of him.

“Bet you wish you could live off my dick, don’t ya, bunny?”

Of course you nod and moan as you let yourself be pulled back to where you’re supposed to be, the mothership calls you home and you answer happily with your phantom tail wagging all the way.

You pant, digging your nose bridge into the crease where his hip bleeds into his inner thigh, “Mmfh- hah… tastes good, Daddy. I could die here…”

You wanted to cut your voice break of ‘Daddy’ short, but you haven’t arrived at that particular station in your subconscious to shed your skin entirely. You’re having trouble forming a coherent line of thought and finishing your sentences now, but you feel sheepish about how easily he can box you into going nonverbal, so you clamor to stay afloat.

You forget that Logan knows your game by now, every step and caveat and every miniscule and complicated rule. It’s cute how you’re still ashamed of letting your dear old dad see you in all of your bunny-puppy-deer-kitty pet glory, when he clocked that shit the minute your shaky eyes fixated on his truck’s glove box rather than make a second of eye contact with him. You’re fucked up, there’s something fractured deeper in you that you keep under a diary shaped lock and key, but all these jagged edges have bows teetering on their precipices.

You’ve let him put them there, with a fond eyeroll and heaps of head pats. Thank your lucky stars that there’s something fucked up with his psyche too, buried under all his other baggage, because that first ride home with you didn’t end in tears and your nipples caught in his canines. You got to be a bunny settling down in their deserved cozy den instead of a rabbit relying on their prey instincts to throw the predator chasing them off their twitching fuzzy cotton tail.

You don’t get to hide and shrink in yourself. Not when the curled up needy angel hidden under the layers of you makes his jaw ache so ferociously that it’s borderline bestial.

Baby, you’ve gotta know that if he could, he’d pick you up with his teeth by your scruff so your feet would never have to touch the ground and grow ripe with callouses.

He takes a puff from his cigar and shakes the excess ash over your shoulder, out of your view because he also knows that you’d try to swallow the unhealthy specks down too. It’s a constant thing on his mind, the never ending job of pulling your leash enough to wean you off of engulfing whatever weird shit into your mouth you can see out of the corner of your eye. And if it comes from him or was in contact with him? Hell, the stuff might as well be damn catnip to you.

He thinks he feels the same way about you, that’s what he gets for being stupid enough to have an inch of his heart unguarded. You found a way and wormed your way through his arteries, and now he’d rather go sober cold turkey than let you squirm away. Which is what you try to do by pulling back and settling soft hands on his hairy and beefy thighs.

He’s got you hook, line, and sinker when he clasps a burly hand around the base of his thick cock in the poor imitation of a knot. He even squeezes in short pulses, bringing to mind what it would look like swelling up and pumping you full of potent cum. Breeding you with all the love of a man who wants more of you in the world because that might make him believe in it again. He wags his length in his hand to you, wordlessly offering you your favorite snack because you’ve been so very good for your old man.

“Come on, hun, want your treat? I know my puppy wants this big dick in their cute fuckin’ mouth.” He grumbles, stubbing his cigar out on his arms without even flinching or gritting his teeth and tossing it on the floor.

The burn’s already healed by the time you’ve gotten yourself and obediently let your tongue hang out of your mouth. He grunts, pleased, and dabs his sticky tip on the center of your tongue. It gives you the taste you crave while simultaneously depriving you of having your mouth filled like you desperately need to be able to get through the day.

You whine, Logan’s lips split on a wry smile but he doesn’t laugh this time. Nah, he’s too busy feeding his throbbing cock into your mouth, cutting off your whining and reducing a thunderous sound to a muffled crack of lightning.

“Theeeeeeeeere we go, kiddo, relax.” He says a few inches in, because your gag reflex is already tickling the back of your throat.

You breathe through your nose and distract yourself by playing with the hairs on his legs, drawing little hearts and stars as you take more of his length. Tears well up in your pitiful eyes but you brave through it. They eventually bubble over as your lips are forced to stretch, but Logan’s rough thumb dutifully wipes them away just like how you’d attentively cleaned his tip.

His head falls back with a slight crack and his sweaty pecs heave, “Drank a whole lot for you today, ‘m all nice and backed up just waitin’ for a pretty lil’ thing to relieve myself with.”

Suddenly you’re a bunny hopping off on a mission, no god could pull you off of Logan’s musky cock as you swallow around him. You don’t really feel like bobbing your head and humming today, you’re tuckered out from how late he kept you up late last night. He’s not going to just fuck your mouth without being asked, as much as he cares about you, you’re impossibly cute when you’re forced to do the tiniest bit of work.

If your mouth wasn’t so stuffed full of dick you’d pout, and the raised eyebrow Logan gives you means he knows that. You’re a good pet though, so you work yourself off of his length, take a deep breath, and immediately slide back down to the hilt. His full balls press against your chin and you rub the heavy sacks with both hands.

“Oh, fuck.” Logan groans, his fingernails dig into your scalp like he’s the one that needs to stay grounded. “Your gonna make your old man jizz his pants too quick if you keep fuckin’ playin’ with my balls like that.”

You don’t mind that at all, but there's still something else you’re after. You didn’t think much of how many bottles of water and glasses of alcohol he had thrown back today, maybe it was some sort of mutant thing that you just didn’t understand. Super dehydration or whatever, but the fact that he had been preparing a little surprise for his piss thirsty puppy made you want to give him your bloody heart right out of your chest.

His moans and growled promises of rewards and declarations of the rawest form of love a person could feel fade into the background. You hollow your cheeks and go for gold, wet ‘schlop!’-ing sounds bounce off the walls as you fuck your throat with his girthy cock. Not the longest in the world, another one of your blessings (you’ve heard mutterings about mission showers and some guy that shoots lasers out of his eyes taking that prize), but the way it fills up the space in your mouth to the point it could burst gives your clit tachycardia.

“Yeah, fuck, are you ready to drink up, bitch? ‘m gonna use you like a toilet, gonna cum too- god fuckin’ damn-”

You give his balls a solid squeeze as the golden shower pours down your throat and past the seam of your lips to the floor. You don’t stop your ministrations, you actually speed up your pace and bring your wrists into it. Your hands bumping against his imitation knot-hand as you move them in circles, jacking him off while your plush lips glide up and down his cock.

You’re rubbing your pussy against the cushion, it has corduroy buttons that send a tingle down your spine when they catch your clit. The emerald green fabric drags and moves as you hump it while you put your all into making your dad-boyfriend-everything cum. You’re outright bouncing his heavy balls in your hands now, they’re so full you know that one load isn’t going to be nearly enough. So you tell yourself to lock in and hum, sending vibrations down his dick.

Determined puppies get extra treats, and you’ve never gone without them. So you push yourself to make eye contact, flicking your eyes up to stare at Logan as you ruin your own throat via his dick like it was nothing more than your toy. You think it’s the sheer and essentially licentious mannerisms and the glaringly obvious truth that there are men who are not immune to watching a pretty pet posturize themselves on an altar of their own making just to paw at their owner’s legs.

“My baby bunny, too damn sweet to me, yessssss-” His mouth wrenches up almost in pain as he clings to the back of your head and pounds your throat on his own for the next minute.

“Drink it all up, let me feel you swallow it down f’r me.”

You purposefully yank yourself off of his mid stream and duck down to bob his balls on your tongue, lathering them in that pungent scent. You rotate your wrist around his tip, coaxing him to empty everything he has in him and give it all to you. Your hand becomes just as scent marked as his balls and the divots in your collarbone where drops of his piss and cum are forming tiny pools.

He groans at the sight, “Doing so fuckin’ well, collectin’ Daddy’s juices and hoardin’ ‘em all for yourself.”

Your mouth envelops his twitch dick once more, most of what Logan keeps cooped up for you belongs in your growling tummy.

“You better not hiss at me when I have to wash your mouth out later, baby.”

Thus, your perfect record remains intact, you beam around his still hard dick as you float in a starless sea of white and yellow. A coat rack for cock fulfilling its duties.

His piss isn’t too orange-y, you’re glad you don’t have to nag him about cutting back on the booze this time.

Sadly there’s no blood sticking to your scalp from his nails, but you embrace the sting their indents leave behind. They’re almost as breathtaking as the plug buried in your ass, Dad always likes to keep your holes stretched out and ready.

—————————————————————————

“Girls flirt with the dangerous guy, Logan. They don’t bring him home. They marry the good guy.”

With you, he was that good guy. Whatever it meant to be one after all these years and invisible scars. It’s indescribable, how much meaning you can find in having to gain the strength to take care of someone else completely. Be their Atlas and shoulder the world so they can waltz around you, their wings spread wide. He’s glad, deep down, that your wings don’t extend past the small house he’s stuffed you in.

Logan Howlett deserves a nice thing or two every once in a while, and he already got a bottle of scotch from Scott. Fucker thinks he’s so clever. You’d do just fine being the second nice thing. A shame that the nicest thing you probably have is that slick stained cushion, he’s not anybody to write home about. But you seem to have stitched your sides together when he wasn’t looking, sewn your identity into his until you had emotionally fused into one being.

It happened way too fast and when he thought he wasn’t meant for loving a little pup like you, but he’s tired of being some old grump about it. You’d probably snap and try to beat him to a pulp with the bats he keeps in the closet (for you to use in emergencies since you don’t leave), and he’d have to hunt you down through the

Anything else other than you meant about as much to him as a pile of cigarette butts.

And some time later when the dam bursts for the first time and you’re trying not to fall off that cliff, sisyphus-esque struggling through recurring hoarse sobs because Logan is uncomfortably stroking your back gently as if you were a person and not a corpse, you’ll start to feel the molten hot gold seeping in and filling the cracks.

Maybe one day you can tell him about the v-shaped scars on your back, the ones that look like they were created when something was ripped away from you. They’re slanted craters, almost, hard material resembling bone jutting out from your back. Hooks lacking their ornaments.

Hell snatch up your old fashioned grocery list (written with an almost completely dried out ink pen from the bank on a flimsy college ruled sheet of paper) and make a quick run while you heal more than just your body, submerged in another acid trip of a dream.

You wanted to make a lemon cake before the summer ended, it’s always been your favorite.

[gf2bellamy]

Hey, can I please request some jealous! Spencer, who is experiencing extreme jealousy over the reader let's say she gets hit on by an officer or something, and Spencer obvious as ever gets super confused on why he's feeling like this, and Morgan or Emily had to spell it out for him

jealousy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: officer flirting with reader , mentioned that reader is not flirting back / uncomfortable , lots of teasing from morgan and emily a/n: hiii !! hope you like this <3

Spencer narrowed his eyes. 

He didn’t even realize he was doing it at first, not until his grip on the file in his hands tightened, the papers inside bending under the pressure of his fingers. His focus was locked on the scene just outside the conference room—on you. 

More specifically, on you and the police officer standing a little too close, talking to you with a cocky smile that made Spencer’s blood heat in a way he didn’t quite understand.

He barely noticed Derek and Emily sitting at the table, as he zeroed in on the way the officer leaned toward you, the way you gave a small, awkward smile in return. 

That smile. Spencer knew that smile. It was the one you used when you didn’t know how to get out of a conversation. 

So why wasn’t this guy picking up on it? 

Spencer’s jaw clenched. His fingers dug into the file again, creasing the edges. 

“Uh-oh,” Derek muttered, his voice laced with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, watching Spencer with knowing eyes. “Pretty Boy’s got that look.” 

Emily smirked, following Derek’s gaze to where Spencer sat, practically glaring a hole through the glass wall. “Reid, you okay?” she asked, raising a brow. 

Spencer blinked as if snapping out of a trance, forcing himself to look away and meet Emily’s gaze. “What—? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” He nodded too quickly.

Derek’s grin widened as he pointed to the crumpled papers in Spencer’s hands. “You sure? ‘Cause those files say otherwise.” 

Spencer’s eyes darted down, realizing how badly he had crumpled them, and immediately began smoothing them out, his ears burning. “I just—” He hesitated, clearing his throat before trying again. “I just don’t think he should be talking to her that much.” 

Emily and Derek exchanged a glance, their smirks growing. 

Spencer didn’t notice. He was still rambling, eyes flickering back toward the glass as the officer laughed at something you said. 

“I mean, she clearly doesn’t want to be talking to him,” he continued, gesturing slightly. “She keeps shifting her weight from one foot to the other—classic sign of discomfort. And see how she keeps tucking her hair behind her ear? That’s not flirting, that’s self-soothing behavior.” 

Derek snorted. “So what you’re saying is, this guy should take a hint?” 

“Exactly!” Spencer exclaimed, throwing a hand in the air before realizing how worked up he sounded. He cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “And besides, she has work to do. He’s just distracting her, and he—” 

He stopped abruptly, biting his lip. 

Emily tilted her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “And he…?” 

Spencer’s mouth opened and closed. “And he… should just go away,” he finished lamely, shifting uncomfortably. 

Derek let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “Damn, kid. That’s rough.” 

Spencer frowned. “What’s rough?” 

Emily leaned in, her grin sharp. “That is some textbook jealousy, Reid.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. “What? No, that’s not—” 

“You are so jealous,” Derek cut in, laughing. “Man, I’ve never seen you look that mad before.” 

“I'm not mad,” Spencer argued, though the way his voice rose slightly didn’t help his case. “I'm just… concerned.” 

Emily chuckled. “Concerned about what? That he'll ask her out and that she'll go out with him?” 

Spencer hesitated. Too long. 

Derek and Emily exchanged a glance, their smirks deepening as they watched realization flicker across his face—like a puzzle piece slotting into place, but one he didn’t want to acknowledge. 

“Just accept it, genius. You’re jealous,” Derek said, amusement laced through every word. 

Spencer barely looked up from his crumpled file, his ears burning. “No, I’m not,” he muttered, but the words lacked conviction. 

Emily leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “Spencer.” 

That got his attention. He finally glanced up, still slightly red, eyes darting between them like he was searching for an escape route. 

Emily didn’t let up. “You like her.” 

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it again. His silence spoke louder than words. 

Derek let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin. “Wow. You really do like her.” 

Spencer huffed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Emily smirked. “Oh, come on. Don’t try to outsmart us, Reid. You might have the IQ, but we’ve got the experience.” 

Derek nodded in agreement. “And the eyes. And the ears. And the ability to read social cues—which, by the way, you suck at when it comes to your own feelings.” 

Spencer scowled. “I am perfectly capable of understanding my own emotions.” 

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. So if I asked you for the real reason as to why you’ve been glaring at that officer like that, what would you say?” 

Spencer stiffened. “I wasn’t glaring.” 

Derek chuckled. “My guy, you were about two seconds away from burning a hole through the glass.” 

Emily leaned closer. “Face it, Reid. You like her. And you don’t like that she’s talking to another guy.” 

Spencer groaned, running a hand through his hair. “This is ridiculous.” 

“Oh, is it?” Derek shot back. “Then say it.” 

Spencer blinked. “Say what?” 

Derek gestured toward him. “Say you don’t like her. Say you don’t care if that dude asks her out.” 

Spencer opened his mouth—ready to argue, ready to say whatever he needed to just to shut them up. But the words wouldn’t come out. 

Emily grinned, victorious. “That’s what I thought.” 

Spencer exhaled sharply, looking down at the file in his hands as if it could save him. 

Derek clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, kid. Admitting it is the first step.” 

Spencer shook his head, grumbling under his breath before finally muttering, “Fine. Maybe I do.” 

Emily gasped dramatically. “Sorry, what was that?” 

Spencer muttered a small. “You heard me.” 

Derek cupped a hand around his ear. “Nah, I don’t think I did. Sounded like you said something, but it was real quiet—” 

Spencer let out an exasperated sigh. “I like her, okay?” 

Derek leaned back with a satisfied nod. “There it is.” Emily beamed. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Spencer buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.” 

Derek just laughed. “Buddy, your nightmare is just beginning. Now you actually have to do something about it.” 

[maypiles]

But I'm very homesick for arms that have never hold me🎀🪞

PICK A PILE: What Do You Need to Hear, What Do You Need to Know?🦢🩰

You guys are not ready for this one, because let me tell you—Spirit decided to wake me up with a Chihiro x Ariana Grande mashup blaring in my head like an alarm clock, and I just knew. This isn’t a coincidence; this is a channeled message, loud and clear. I mean, who else gets spiritual downloads with a side of TikTok trends? Clearly, I’m favored. Anyway, grab your coffee, your crystals, or whatever you need to ground yourself, because today’s reading is about to serve you layers of spicy revelations, unexpected clarity, and a sprinkle of divine chaos (because why not?). If you're feeling hot flashes, dreaming in metaphors, or noticing all the crows in your neighborhood suddenly staring at you like they’ve got something to say—this one’s for you. Let’s get into it, shall we?

❗This is a collective reading so please take what resonates and leave what does not❗ Please be careful of scammers, I'll never reach out to you and ask you for money or personal readings❗

Pile One🦪

My gorgeous Pile 1, let’s talk, because Spirit came in loud with this one—and I mean literally. The crows wouldn’t shut up, the downloads wouldn’t stop, and my body? On fire. Hot flushes, all over, like Spirit turned the heat up to make sure you get this message. So, let’s break it down.

Signs & Synchronicities

Right off the bat, notifications could be huge for you right now—check your messages, your DMs, your emails, whatever. Something important is trying to reach you, and you don’t want to miss it. Chocolate? Perfume? These are connected to sweetness and self-care, but also attraction and indulgence. Are you finally indulging in yourself, Pile 1? Or are you craving something—or someone—that feels just out of reach?

And crows? Let me tell you, they are not just random birds hanging out. They’re messengers, carriers of divine justice, and omens of transformation. If you’ve been hearing or seeing them, this is your wake-up call. Spirit is saying, ‘Listen, babe. We’re talking.’ And that crow sound? It’s sharp, like a reminder to stay alert, to notice what’s unfolding around you. This message has layers, so stay with me.

The Energy—Hot, Spicy, Intense

This whole reading is laced with heat—those hot flushes all over your body? That’s Spirit igniting a fire within you to finally heal. And when I say "heal," I don’t mean just dust off old wounds. No, this is deep, soul-level healing from something that cut you hard and left you spinning. You’ve been carrying this pain for too long, and Spirit is here, loud and unapologetic, telling you it’s time to let it go.

The Cards

Queen of Swords upright with The Star—This is your clarity and your hope. You’re stepping into your truth, cutting through the nonsense, and reclaiming your voice. The Star says healing is happening, but don’t expect it to be gentle. It’s the kind of healing that burns before it soothes. You’re being guided to dream big, even if your dreams seem out of reach right now.

Queen of Swords reversed with Three of Swords—But let’s be real. You’ve been here before, haven’t you? Trying to heal, only to slip back into old cycles. That reversed Queen shows me there’s still some bitterness, some unresolved pain. Spirit is asking you to look directly at your heartbreak without flinching. The Three of Swords is raw, but it’s also a turning point. Acknowledge it, cry over it if you must, but know that it’s not your forever.

Eight of Wands with The Hanged Man—Once you face that pain, things will move fast. Communication, opportunities, and clarity will flood in, but you need to shift your perspective first. The Hanged Man is here to remind you that sometimes, the only way out is through. Let yourself sit with the discomfort—it’s temporary, I promise.

Seven of Swords reversed with Eight of Swords reversed—Oof, someone’s lies or sneaky behavior might have trapped you in your head before. But no more. These cards are about releasing deception, both from others and yourself. Stop lying to yourself about what you want, Pile 1. Stop pretending everything’s fine when you’re screaming inside. You’re freeing yourself from this mental prison, and let me tell you, it’s about damn time.

The Hermit with Knight of Cups—This is where it gets juicy. After all this introspection, someone—or something—new is coming in. The Knight of Cups is a romantic, a dreamer, someone who stirs your heart. Whether it’s a person, a creative project, or an emotional awakening, this is the spark you’ve been waiting for. But it only comes after you’ve done the inner work.

Nine of Pentacles with Five of Swords—You’re stepping into independence and self-worth, but beware of those who might try to sabotage you. The Five of Swords is a warning: not everyone will celebrate your glow-up. Some people are better left in the past.

Ten of Pentacles reversed with Page of Wands—This could indicate a shake-up in your foundation. Maybe it’s family drama, a breakup, or a financial reset. But the Page of Wands reminds you to stay curious and optimistic. New beginnings often feel messy before they feel right.

Knight of Swords with The Devil reversed—Your determination to break free from toxic patterns is unmatched. The Devil reversed says you’re cutting cords, ditching bad habits, and stepping out of cycles that no longer serve you. You’re unstoppable, babe.

Strength reversed with Ace of Cups—Here’s the emotional release. You’ve been holding it together for so long that you’ve forgotten how to let go. The Ace of Cups is your emotional renewal, your fresh start, your permission to feel everything again.

The High Priestess reversed with Queen of Cups—Spirit is saying, ‘Stop doubting yourself.’ Your intuition has been screaming at you, but you’ve been ignoring it. The Queen of Cups is here to remind you of your emotional depth and wisdom. Trust yourself—you already know what’s right for you.

Eight of Pentacles with The Sun—All this hard work you’re putting into yourself? It’s going to pay off in ways you can’t even imagine. The Sun is your ultimate happiness, your reward for all the effort. Keep going; you’re so close.

Five of Cups with Justice—Justice came out right as I was saying, ‘You’re getting your justice.’ Spirit does not play. This is karmic balance, the universe setting things right. Yes, you’ve experienced loss, but it wasn’t in vain. Everything you’ve endured is leading you to this moment of divine justice.

Bottom of the Deck: Temperance—Patience, my love. Healing isn’t a straight line, and balance takes time. But you’re on the right path.

Split Deck: Four of Cups reversed—You’re waking up, finally seeing the opportunities Spirit has been placing in ront of you. Stop dwelling on what didn’t work and focus on what’s possible.

The Message

Pile 1, you’re in the middle of a transformation so profound it’s practically radiating from your cards. You’re healing, releasing, and stepping into your power. Spirit is here, crows and all, to remind you that justice is on your side. Keep pushing through the discomfort—it’s leading you to a life that’s brighter, freer, and more aligned with who you are.

And those notifications? Answer them. Something important is trying to reach you. Stay hot, stay spicy, and stay open to the blessings heading your way.

Pile Two🥀

The Vibe is Magnetic, and Spirit is Dancing With You

Oh, Pile Two. You didn’t just stumble into this reading—you waltzed in, spinning, singing, and twirling with a vibe so contagious it practically leaps off the cards. Let’s talk, because Spirit is loud and clear with this one. There’s a rhythm here, an undeniable flow, and the details? Oh, they’re dripping with significance.

Signs & Synchronicities

Dancing is huge for this pile. Whether you’re on the dance floor or grooving in your kitchen, there’s something about movement and rhythm that feeds your soul. Singing could be just as vital—expressing your voice, your truth, your essence. You might be someone who loves to accessorize—colorful bracelets that jingle with every step, or those stunning braided hairstyles adorned with beads.

The energy here screams personality—vibrant, unapologetic, and undeniably you.

But there’s a competitive streak too, isn’t there? Whether it’s proving yourself to others or loving that rush of pushing boundaries, there’s a fire in you that thrives on standing out and shocking the world. You don’t back down from a challenge—you lean in.

Now, let’s talk about itchiness. An itchy nose, a sudden rash—it’s like your body is reacting to this energy shift. Spirit is saying, “Pay attention!” These physical signs are nudges from the universe, reminders that something big is brewing.

And then there’s the time zone difference. Are you in a long-distance situation? Maybe you’re straddling two worlds—north and south, winter and summer (Timezone difference, Australia mentioned. HELLO?). But what stands out? Spring. A fresh start, a rebirth, a blossoming.

Also, Aries energy is coming in strong—bold, fiery, determined. Maybe it’s in your big three, or perhaps it’s just the vibe you’re stepping into: courageous, unstoppable, and unafraid to take the lead.

The Cards—Breaking It Down

Nine of Wands & The Devil—Let’s start with the tension. You’ve been through the wringer, haven’t you? The Nine of Wands shows resilience—standing tall, even when life keeps throwing curveballs. Paired with The Devil, though, it’s clear there’s something or someone trying to hold you back. Old habits? Toxic patterns? This card combo screams, “Break the chain!” You’re on the verge of freeing yourself from whatever’s been binding you.

Nine of Swords reversed & Five of Pentacles reversed—Here’s the good news: The worst is over. Those sleepless nights, those feelings of lack and abandonment—they’re lifting. You’re stepping out of the shadows, finding your strength again.

Three of Pentacles & Page of Swords reversed—Collaboration is key, but Spirit is warning you: not everyone in your circle has your best interests at heart. The Page of Swords reversed suggests miscommunication or even gossip. Keep your guard up and trust your intuition about who’s really in your corner.

Four of Swords reversed & Queen of Pentacles—You’ve rested long enough. Now, it’s time to get back in the game. The Queen of Pentacles shows you stepping into a nurturing, abundant energy—balancing your hustle with self-care.

The Star & Ten of Pentacles reversed—Hope is your guiding light, but don’t get stuck chasing someone else’s idea of success. The Ten of Pentacles reversed suggests that your “happily ever after” might look different from what you originally envisioned—and that’s okay.

Queen of Cups & Page of Pentacles reversed—Emotionally, you’re in tune, but don’t let small setbacks throw you off course. The Page reversed is a reminder to keep learning, growing, and experimenting without fear of failure.

Seven of Wands reversed & Seven of Cups—You don’t always have to fight. Sometimes, stepping back and reassessing your options (and there are many, trust me) is the best move.

The World & Six of Cups—A cycle is coming to a close, and it’s paving the way for something deeply nostalgic and fulfilling. Whether it’s reconnecting with a person or rediscovering a passion, there’s a sense of coming full circle.

Strength & Judgement—You’re stepping into your power, answering Spirit’s call. This is a rebirth, a reckoning, a chance to redefine yourself. Don’t shy away from the reflection staring back at you.

Knight of Pentacles & Queen of Swords reversed—Slow and steady wins the race, but don’t let impatience or harsh self-criticism derail you. The Knight is reliable, and you’re building something that lasts.

The Bottom of the Deck

The Lovers—Ah, the heart of it all. This is about choices, connections, and alignment. Whether it’s romantic or not, you’re calling in something—or someone—that resonates with your soul.

Split: Nine of Cups & Justice—Wish fulfillment is on the horizon, but Justice says you’ll get exactly what you deserve. This is karma balancing the scales, so trust that what’s coming is meant for you.

The Message

Pile Two, you’re in the middle of a transformation that feels like a dance—sometimes smooth, sometimes chaotic, but always moving forward. Spirit is asking you to embrace your unique rhythm. Let go of what no longer serves you, lean into the things that light you up, and trust that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

That Aries energy? It’s your cue to be bold, fearless, and unapologetically you.

Pile Three🎀

Traveling Through Love, Fireworks, and a Deep Connection

There’s something sparkly and electrifying about this pile, isn’t there? You’re stepping into a story that feels like a whirlwind—like packing up everything in your bags and rushing toward an adventure. Travel is on the horizon, either you’re coming back from a trip, or one is definitely in your future. And it’s not just any trip. There’s a sense that this one will change you, shift you into something more you than you’ve been in a while. But it’s not all about the destination. Oh no, this is about the journey—one full of love, fireworks, lace, and that breathless feeling when you know your heart is about to explode.

Signs & Synchronicities

So many things stand out. First of all, broken earbuds or earphones? That’s a message right there. A reminder that some things, or perhaps even relationships, just don’t stay in one piece. They break, but in the breaking, there’s a deeper connection waiting to be made. There’s an underlying theme of things falling apart to make space for something new and beautiful.

And let’s talk about pink. Baby pink specifically. It’s soft, it’s delicate, but it’s also powerful. Maybe you’ve been seeing pink lately—whether in your wardrobe, decor, or in the most random of places. This is an invitation to open your heart, embrace vulnerability, and trust that love is not only possible but waiting for you.

Then there’s the theme of bags—packed bags. You’re not just physically packing up, though; you’re preparing for an emotional journey. Some of you could be making big moves soon, whether in relationships or lifestyle choices. It’s like Spirit is preparing you for something big, and you’re already subconsciously getting ready.

And fireworks—boom. There’s something that’s about to explode into your life in the most magnificent way. Maybe it’s a relationship, maybe it’s a moment of self-discovery. Whatever it is, it’s going to leave you breathless. Lace could also be significant—delicate, but intricate and deeply meaningful, like the threads of connection in your life.

Travel? I know we’ve mentioned it, but there’s something special about it. You could be reconnecting with someone from your past, or maybe you’re about to meet someone who feels like a past life connection. Someone who’s going to be incredibly dear to you.

The Cards—Breaking It Down

King of Wands & The Devil—The energy here is intense, fire-burning, and possibly a little addictive. The King of Wands is bold, confident, and passionate—someone who knows what they want and goes after it. Paired with The Devil, though, it’s clear that there’s a magnetic attraction here. Maybe there’s a person in your life or someone coming in who embodies this energy—a powerful force that could sweep you off your feet. But beware: there’s something about this connection that could be a little...dangerous. Will it lift you up or leave you craving more?

Three of Pentacles reversed & Eight of Pentacles—You’ve been trying to collaborate, work with others, and build something lasting. But right now, it feels like things aren’t coming together as smoothly as you’d like. Don’t let that dishearten you. The Eight of Pentacles is here to say that your hard work will pay off. Maybe it’s time to focus on yourself for a bit—hone your craft, perfect your skills, and let things fall into place.

Nine of Pentacles & The Chariot—Ah, independence and drive. You’re stepping into your power, learning how to stand alone, but there’s also a rush of energy—like a burst of momentum carrying you forward. The Chariot says go. Whatever it is you’ve been hesitating about, it’s time to take the wheel and drive. You’re unstoppable now.

King of Cups reversed & Seven of Cups—The emotional confusion here is palpable. There’s a lot of energy, but not all of it feels grounded. Is there someone who’s emotionally distant or unstable around you? The King of Cups reversed could indicate that someone close to you is struggling with their emotions, and the Seven of Cups adds to the fog, making everything seem unclear. Keep your heart open, but trust your instincts to cut through the illusions.

High Priestess reversed & Seven of Swords—Don’t let secrets or lies stand in the way. The High Priestess reversed is asking you to trust your intuition, but the Seven of Swords is a warning. Someone may not be telling the truth, or you might be withholding a truth from yourself. Pay attention to what’s hidden—whether it’s in a relationship or in your own actions.

Knight of Cups & Queen of Cups—Here comes the love, or at least, the potential for it. The Knight of Cups is a dreamy, romantic energy, and with the Queen of Cups, this is a deeply emotional connection. Someone is about to step forward—perhaps they’re already in your life—who sees you for who you are, someone who feels like home.

Queen of Pentacles & Four of Wands—Stability, home, family—this is what’s on your mind. You’re looking for something grounded, something that feels like it lasts. The Queen of Pentacles is practical and nurturing, and with the Four of Wands, there’s a sense of celebration. Could this be a wedding, a reunion, or a coming together with someone from your past? Whatever it is, it’s building toward something beautiful.

Strength & Ace of Pentacles—You’ve got the strength to make this new beginning happen. The Ace of Pentacles is all about tangible, grounded beginnings—whether it’s love, work, or both. But it’s going to take courage. Do you have the strength to face what’s ahead? I know you do.

Five of Cups reversed & Six of Cups—Letting go of past hurts, emotional releases, and embracing the lessons. The Six of Cups is all about reconnection—could it be that someone from your past, someone who means the world to you, is coming back into your life? Or maybe it’s just a new love that feels like it’s been years in the making.

Three of Cups & Eight of Swords reversed—Celebration and release. The Eight of Swords reversed is a reminder that you are no longer trapped by your thoughts or circumstances. It’s time to embrace joy, to surround yourself with people who lift you up and support you.

Ace of Cups & Page of Wands—A new emotional beginning is coming, and it’s going to ignite that spark in you. The Page of Wands suggests excitement, curiosity, and exploration—there’s a sense of newness in your emotional journey, and it’s one that’s going to set your heart on fire.

Page of Swords reversed & Star—Communication could be a little off, but don’t let that stop you. The Star brings hope, healing, and renewal. Even if things aren’t perfect right now, there’s a beautiful future waiting for you.

Moon reversed & Two of Cups—Truth is coming to light. The Moon reversed uncovers secrets, and the Two of Cups brings balance, a true partnership, or union. This is about clarity in love. Whether it's someone from your past or a new, deep connection, this relationship is unfolding just as it’s meant to.

The Bottom of the Deck

Ace of Wands reversed—There’s a delay in the beginning, but it’s coming. This is a slow burn, not a flash fire. When the Ace of Wands comes in reversed, it’s a reminder that sometimes, the most powerful sparks take time to ignite.

Split: The World—A cycle is coming full circle, and you’re about to experience completion, closure, or a new phase. The world is a powerful card of achievement, success, and finally coming into your own.

The Message

Pile 3, you’re entering a chapter full of excitement, love, and undeniable fireworks. Whether you’re about to reconnect with someone special or embrace a brand-new relationship that feels like fate, the energy is palpable. Love is coming in hot, but it’s not without its twists and turns. This journey will be full of moments that make you feel like you’re traveling the world, discovering pieces of yourself along the way. Stay open, stay grounded, and let the universe unfold its magic for you. You’re ready.

And there you have it, my darlings. Another reading, another wave of energy to sift through. I hope you caught those messages—whether the fireworks, the lace, or the truth that’s just waiting to spill out. Remember, the universe doesn’t speak in straight lines; it whispers through synchronicities, songs stuck in your head, and moments of undeniable connection. Keep your eyes open, your heart even more so, and let things unfold as they should. Until next time, you know where to find me when you need clarity, a nudge, or just a little dose of cosmic truth. Stay fiery, stay fierce, and always keep a little mystery, darling. Xoxo, May.

[dorealis]

Series Title: Pound of Flesh

<-pt.1 pt.2 pt.3->

Summary: Simon has always wanted something soft to call his. The problem is that he's always had issues with women. When he stumbles across a dark website that traffics people, he knows he should tell someone. But that thought goes out the window when he sees her.

Content Warning: non-con. Reader is a trafficking victim. Stockholm Syndrome. Simon is not a good man here.

Simon is almost certain that his Lovie hates him. She cries a lot and shies away from him. She won't look at him, and she has picked up the habit of screaming bloody murder when he touches her. He knows it must be scary being ripped away from everything and everyone that she knows. He chalks it up to it being a symptom of homesickness. Maybe she's just scared and her feelings are too big for her.

No matter. He can relate. He too has been a victim of feelings that are too big for his own body. He wants her to want to be near him. Wants her to seek him out on her own. So he turns the heat completely off in his home. He's been in freezing temperatures before, dealt with frost bite, shivering bones and harsh angles since his childhood. When he breathes, nothing but frost expells from his lungs. He's always known cold, ice even, and is comfortable with the numbness that accompanies it.

His Lovie, unfortunately, is not acclimated to such harshness.

She's shivering and the thin and short tee-shirt he gave her only stops just below her chest. Arms wrapped around herself, trying to self soothe or keep warm. He thinks it's cute, precious how she rocks back and forth. He has her perched on the couch, and he sits down next to her, legs spread out so that his thigh touches hers. The flinch she gives off melts into another shiver.

"Simon...I'm cold." Her teeth chatters on her words. Those sweet and dangerously attractive doe eyes get turned to him. "Can I at least put on pants?"

"Did you earn the privilege of pants?" He says to her. "You've been on your worst behavior all day."

She doesn't say anything and just rubs her arms. Tears, his second favorite part of her, spring into her eyes. He loves when she cries, it does something to him. The sight stirs the blood in him and makes his cock hard and already he can feel himself chubbing at the sheer thought of tasting her tears. He prompts her to answer with a raised brow.

"No sir...I haven't." She whimpers.

"What are you willing to do to earn your warmth?"

Her eyes widen in shock. Body trembles as she forces out her next question, "I don't understand."

He chuckles and pulls her into his lap, another thing he likes to do. He enjoys just moving his Lovie whenever he wants, however he wants. She naturally fights him and stills like a deer in headlights when she feels his cock pressed against her. He watches her breathing pick up, her chest heaving hard, on the verge of panic.

"You're such a little dummy." He kisses her temple and the grips the back of her neck. "It's okay, I normally hate having to explain things, I do that all day at work." He nips at her earlobe and she draws in a sharp gasp, she squirms. "You just have to be trained is all. The more you love on me, the more I will give you."

She stares into his eyes, horror etched on to her face. She's weighing her options, he can see it in how she shifts her eyes away from him. "You- you promise?" Such a small and sweet voice. Everything about her sweet and he could eat her alive. Swallow her whole, crack her bones wide open and drink the marrow. Consume her, devour her, infuse her soul into his.

She doesn't know it but yet, but he is utterly enchanted by her. In love with her since the day he saw her photo on that site. Enamored by the way the camera had caught her in just the right light, her hair a halo on her head, smile brighter than the sun itself. When he reached out about her that night in the world's most shadiest chat room, he was given a price and asked if he wanted her delivered or if he wanted her corralled for him to hunt. He obviously chose to hunt her, all he had to do was give the preferred venue and everything would be set into motion.

"Will I get to have pants and a blanket?" She asked him, pulling him from his thoughts, "I'm cold."

"This isn't a two for one sale Lovie." He glances down at her chest and see her nipples are hard and poking through the fabric.

Lovie takes a deep breath and she places her soft hands on his cheeks. She's crying again, but it's not the hysterical crying, it's the adorable silent type. With a lick to her lips, she leans in, eyes sliding shut and presses her lips to his. It's the first kiss she initiates, and it makes Simon's heart skip a beat. The kiss is gentle and a bit clumsy, and he loves it. His hands drift down to her hips and gives them a squeeze in encouragement.

But it's not enough. The sick monster in him is growling. Maw opening in a twisted stretch, itching to snatch more than what his sweet Lovie is giving him. He holds back though and tries his best to kiss her back in the same fashion. He isn't sweet, he's more like vinegar that's soured, and he's surprised that she hasn't jumped back in disgust. All too soon she pulls away and looks pleading.

"What does that get me?"

He smiles, "It gets you shorts."

She closes her eyes and slowly trails her hands down the plains of his chest towards the drawstrings of his sweats. He watches the fine tremble of her hands. His Lovie is so shy, meek, it's a wonder she lasted so long in life without him.

"Your mouth gets you pants. Cunt will get you a blanket. So both and you get both. Your ass gets the heat turned back on for the night." He explains as she pulls his cock out and holds it. There's already pre-cum pearling at the tip and he's enjoying how he feels in a hand that has never known hardship. "Well Lovie?"

She slips off of him, settling between his legs, and moves to place her lips on the red and rudy tip of his cock. He grips her jaw though and gives her stern look, "You bite and I break your jaw." He smiles sweetly at her but it comes off menacing.

Lovie nods once and kisses the tip before sliding her mouth onto him. He knows it must be uncomfortable for her jaw, the stretch too much. But the inside of her mouth is warm and wet, almost as good as her cunt. He sighs and places his hand on top of her head and encourages her to take more into her mouth. She does her best, the soft sound of her choking makes him groan.

"You're okay Lovie, you're doing fine." He restrains himself from fucking up into her mouth. He imagines breaching her throat and feeling her panic and jerk trying to breathe. Sucking in a sharp breath, he relaxes as her hand squeezes the base of his cock lightly. It makes him shiver in anticipation.

Lovie pulls back and plunges herself down again and he helps along, finding a rhythm that he likes and that she can maintain. Watching his love, his girl pleasure him through lidded eyes almost makes him blush. The way she sucks and her cheeks pucker up on each pull, makes him twitch. Her spit begins to drip out of the corners of her mouth and it's a bit messy and he likes it. Without warning he bucks his hip and she gags trying to pull away.

"Look at me sweetie." He rasps. He wants to see her eyes, and Jesus fuck. With the angle she looks up at him, the dried tear tracks on her face and her still watery eyes, he loses his patience. She yelps when he grips her hair tightly and yanks her off. He's on his feet and shoving his cock harshly back into her mouth. Panicked hands swat at his thighs as he forces all of him down her throat. It's just as he though it would be.

Tight. Warm. Euphoric.

He fucks her mouth like it's her cunt. Suffocating her when his wiry hairs meet with her nose. She's crying again, fat crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks. When she clamps her eyes shut, he jostled her head.

"Eyes open, look at me." He pants out. She complies and it's everything he didn't know he needed. "Fuck, good Lovie, good girl."

There's vibration in the back of her throat from the muffled crying. The tip of his cock feels it and that sensation zips and zaps up his spine. It's going to Pavlov him into getting hard whenever she cries and it's really her fault. It will be her fault when every little thing she does makes him insatiable.

But it'll be a feedback loop.

He'll train her, her mind, and her body, to crave him just as much. Every little need she has, will be linked intrinsically to him. She wants to be warm? She will look for him for warmth. She wants a little bit of comfort? Her first instinct will be to present herself to him like a bitch in heat. She wants something that he considers to be a luxury and a privilege? She will be wet and dripping at the thought of doing whatever to have it.

Simon can't wait, and he knows he's going right to hell for this, but he's ecstatic for when she wants comfort and love. When she wants that she will seek him out.

Lovie gags and whimpers as he pistons out of her mouth. His pace is feverish as he squints down at her through his lust induced haze. She looks like an absolute doll like this. Her slaps against his thighs have lessened and she grips onto the fabric of his sweats tightly. Desperate to hold on, and the sound of her struggling to breath even through her nose is too precious. He has her very being in his hands and it makes his need for control thrum wit satisfaction.

"Oh Lovie, my sweet Lovie, youre too sweet to me." He grunts and shoves his cock impossibly far down her throat. She won't taste his cum this way but he doesn't mind. There will be other times for her to savor the taste of him, to memorize it. He feels her throat and body tensing as he cums. The pure idea of all of his spend collecting in her stomach makes him twitch. He grinds his hips into her face, basking in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He guides her mouth off of him carefully. She coughs and breathes deeply, trying to get as much air into her lungs as possible. She sniffles and stares up at him, the look is pure heaven. She seems as if she's ashamed of her actions. He can't let her feel that way.

"Oh Lovie, you sweet sweet thing." He wipes some of the drool from her lip. "You did such a good job."

Her voice is raw, "Can I have my pants now?"

"Sure Lovie." He said as he put himself away, his mind already thinking about what elese he withhold from her. He takes off his sweats and offers them to her. She tries not to scrunch her face up in disgust, but she takes them.

"Thank you." She ties the drawstrings tightly.

"Oh my lil' Lovie. I'll always give you the clothes off my back. You need only ask."

[charliemwrites]

Part 4

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl is, somehow, now the official title. Congratulations you little shits (affectionate).

Content: Toxic Behavior, Brief Weight Shaming, Hurt/Comfort

You didn’t expect to see Johnny much after that one night - or possibly ever again. Kyle introduced you two, it was a lot of fun, but you figure that’ll be the end of it. Like introducing a new man to your girlfriends (not that you can really introduce Kyle to yours) you passed the vibe check and now Kyle will keep you and Johnny separate.

That’s how it’s been with Brandon’s friends. (Granted, you don’t really care for Brandon’s friends. And you figure it’s mutual based on the “uptight” comments they pretended to think you couldn’t hear.)

You’re starting to realize that Kyle is always going to subvert your expectations.

Johnny becomes a fixture - a welcome one. While you and Kyle still have your date nights and privacy, Johnny joins you two at least once a week for movies, drinks, dinner, or just silly adventures out and about.

You’re surprised that you don’t mind. Johnny is fantastic company, always respectful, funny, and friendly. Whenever the two of you are left alone, there’s no dead air. In fact, sometimes you could almost swear there’s electricity. Which is… well. It makes it hard to look him in the eye sometimes - and looking at Kyle even harder.

Guilt nips at your stomach until one of them distracts you with another story you’re 70% sure they shouldn’t tell you.

You and Johnny play a game with pub napkins, doodling something on one folded half, then passing it over for the other to scribble on the second half. The trick is not cheating and seeing the first half, then unfolding it to a complete (and usually silly) picture. Gaz always gets to name whatever monstrosity has been created.

You get a month of that good company. Then Kyle sighs at his phone one night.

“Shipping out again,” he explains when you glance at him.

“Will you be gone long?” you ask, shifting.

His brow furrows. “Not sure. They can’t tell us much over the phone.”

You hum in understanding. Still new to this whole military thing, the redacted danger of it all, but you think you’re getting the hang of it. At least, Kyle never seems annoyed when he can’t answer you, only apologetic.

“Is it gonna be the whole team?” you ask.

“Nah, just me and the cap.” He rubs his palm along your calf, a gesture that you suspect is self-soothing rather than for your benefit. “Probably not too dangerous, then.”

You make a noise of protest, nudging at his thigh with your foot. “Bad luck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the wooden end table. “You’re right.”

You crawl from your side of the couch to his, nuzzling up under his arm. He trails kisses along the side of your face as you snuggle in.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble into his neck. Still a little embarrassed to be so needy, but you want him to feel appreciated.

“I’ll miss you too, chickadee. I’ll call if I can, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, squeezing an arm around his middle.

“While I’m gone, if you need anything - even some company - you ought to call Soap,” he adds.

The idea is tempting but… “I don’t want to bother him.”

“I promise you won’t,” he laughs. You don’t know what’s so funny, but hearing his voice rumble in his chest like this is always a treat.

“Maybe,” you allow.

“We’ll take it.” Before you can ask what that means, he loops an arm around your waist and scoops you into his lap. “Now then, about my send off.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as his mouth slants over yours.

Kyle’s only been gone three days. You’ve occupied yourself with cleaning up the flat you share with Brandon. Dust has been collecting since you’ve been out and about so much - and god knows Brandon hardly does more than load the dishwasher. Besides, a good bit of spring cleaning is a pleasant enough distraction, humming as you toss out old things to make more room for the new stuff you’ve been collecting.

“Good to see you getting back to normal,” Brandon says cheerfully. You glance up from the laundry you’re folding. He continues, “I was worried with how behind you got on things, but I knew you just needed some time. I told you this would be better for us both.”

You try not to let that sting. Even if things are better now, and continuing to get better, you can’t forget the pain that lingers from the beginning.

“Tell you what,” he adds, hands in his pockets. “When you finish cleaning up, I’ll take you out to the pub, yeah? Put on something pretty.”

You perk up, pleasantly surprised, though hesitant.

“We could leave earlier if you helped,” you point out, hoping for more than just dinner. “Maybe we could walk in the park or something before eating.”

He gives you a weak smile. One you recognize more than his real one by now. It’s almost apologetic, but not quite.

“I would but I’m bloody exhausted from this week, ya know? Big projects coming up at work.”

Your smile freezes. “And some late nights, I’m sure,” you try to joke.

He doesn’t laugh like you expect, but gives you an odd look. “Why would you say something like that?”

Baffled, you shrug. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take a nap, come wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

You manage to finish the majority of your to-do list by 5. Shower, get dressed, do your hair and makeup with Brandon snoring in the background until 6. By then, he still hasn’t woken up from his nap, so you perch on the edge of the bed and gently nudge at him until he stirs.

“I’m ready to go, babe,” you murmur.

He scrunches up his face - you spare an affectionate thought for how cute it is. You’ve always found it cute.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

You laugh a little. “It’s getting late, we should probably head out.”

He groans. “Five. Minutes.”

You huff in amusement and reach for his phone to set an alarm, but pause at all the notifications from dating apps crowding his screen. There are… a lot. And as you’re looking, a new message pops up, just labeled “blonde” with a peach emoji. Gross.

You set the alarm and slip away to the living room.

It takes him another half hour to finally rouse, shuffling into the living room with a groan.

“C’mon,” he yawns. “It’s going to be bloody crowded by now.”

You follow him quietly to the car, knowing he’s not chatty when he’s just woken up. Hunger only adds to his mood; you can practically see a cloud forming over his head. By the time he pulls up to the pub, he’s downright grumpy. He grumbles about shit parking, and the milling people outside. It looks busy.

“We could go somewhere else?” you suggest.

“This is fine,” he says.

He parks a block away and starts at a swift pace. You try to hold his hand, but halfway there, he pulls away to check his phone and doesn’t take it again.

Surprisingly, it’s only a twenty minute wait for a table - but Brandon sneers something like “of course it is” under his breath. You smile apologetically at the hostess and usher him away.

He doesn’t talk during the wait, at first. Until suddenly he blurts. “We wouldn’t have to wait if you’d woken me up.”

You blink at him. “I did. You asked for five more minutes.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I set an alarm?”

You don’t know why he’s so irritated, just that he seems tired and hungry.

“You know I don’t listen to alarms,” he complains, scowling at the sidewalk.

“Okay… I’ll wake you up next time,” you offer.

“Yeah, next time.”

Thankfully, the two of you are called a little early. The pub is indeed loud and crowded, and you’re definitely overdressed. But at least you know what you want - Brandon’s taken you here a million times before.

Wisely, you wait until he’s downed the texmex rolls before trying for conversation again. He hums along as you talk about work, about the books you’ve been reading, about the new movie you saw last week. You think it’s going pretty well, catching up on each other’s lives, when he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“Where was this?”

You frown. “At the grocery store…?”

“You’re still on that? Thought we moved on from that story.”

You don’t bother finishing it, just ask him about his work. It’s like pulling teeth. A lot of “good” and “busy” and “same as usual.” By the time your entree comes, you’ve given up, not sure if you want to cry or just walk away to see if he even notices. He keeps checking his phone. Your fingers twitch to text Kyle, but you don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

The end of dinner can’t come sooner. You decline dessert when the server asks.

“Probably for the better,” Brandon tells you lowly when they’re gone to get the check. “I think you’ve put on a bit of weight. You know how you get.”

You probably have - Kyle has a sweet tooth and practically begs you to split desserts with him. Johnny’s shares his food with you now too, grinning when you express approval for whatever high-protein dish he’s picked and shoving more at you.

As for “how you get”… Brandon’s mentioned in the past when you were heavier that you get mopey, aren’t much fun to be around.

(A small part of you wonders how that would even effect him at this point. He doesn’t spend enough time around you to notice if you’re mopey. Is that why tonight has been such a disaster…?)

You just collect your purse and lead the way out of the pub. It’s a quiet walk back to the car, even though Brandon seems to be in a better mood. He’s still texting, nearly bumps into an elderly couple along the way.

Back at the apartment, he runs his hand down your side, tugs at the lace hem of your shirt.

“Careful,” you chide.

He sucks his teeth and drops his hand. “I’m just trying to be playful.”

“I know, but I like this shirt.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve got three just like it.”

You don’t answer, know it’ll lead to more useless bickering. Just tug the stupid thing over your head, ready to go to bed.

“Hey now, that’s more like it,” he drawls, fingertips running down your spine.

You jump, surprised, but play it off that his hands are cold. He makes some crass comment about warming them up, reaching for your breasts, and your stomach churns.

“I-I think I ate something bad,” you lie, all but sprinting for the bathroom.

You close the door behind you - but don’t lock it. Just sit on the floor, the wall cold against your back, while you try to breathe through your spinning, conflicting thoughts.

He’s finally giving you attention, affection. Why aren’t you jumping at this opportunity to spend time with him? Not long ago, you would have been weeping with joy to have an iota of your normal relationship back. Maybe you really did eat something bad.

“Hey,” Brandon calls through the door, “I’m gonna stay somewhere else tonight.”

You stare at the blank white wood, aghast. “But I’m sick.”

“It’s not like I can do much, is there? Except listen to you be sick all night,” he reasons. “And who knows. Maybe it wasn’t something you ate. Maybe it’s contagious. I don’t want to spend the weekend ill.”

Your eyes burn. He didn’t even open the door to check. “Yeah,” you agree, voice robotic, “you’re right.”

Not even five minutes later, you hear the front door close. That almost, almost does you in. You manage to keep your lackluster dinner down, but not the tears.

You let yourself be pathetic for a few minutes, crying into your arms, folded over your knees. When you finally manage to get yourself together, it’s not Brandon you ache for. It’s Kyle. It’s not possible, you know. You just don’t want to be alone even though the nausea is dissipating.

Sighing, you remove your ruined makeup and wash your face, climb into one of Kyle’s jumpers. At least it still smells like him. It’s only as you’re trying to decide on a comfort show, huddled into a ball on the couch, that you remember his advice.

It takes all of fifteen seconds of debate before you scramble for your phone.

I know it’s late, but are you free, you text Johnny.

A response comes almost immediately.

Always for you, lass. You bite your lip on a tiny smile, already feeling better. Your phone buzzes again. What’s up?

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment as you figure out what to ask - then how to ask it.

Would you want to come to mine for movies? I don’t feel good…

He answers instantly again. Ice cream not-good or Theraflu not-good?

You sniffle when you remember that being sick was a dealbreaker for your night with Brandon.

Ice cream not-good, you reply.

Say no more, hen. Be there in fifteen. Pick a good one.

You watch TikTok’s until there’s a knock at the door. Upon answering, you’re swept up in a bear hug that lifts you off your socked feet.

“Johnny!” you cry, laughing a bit in shock.

“There she is!” he crows, swinging you around. “Been missin’ my best girl!”

You tell yourself the thrill in your stomach is just from him setting you down. (It’s a harder sell when it happens again seeing his wide smile and warm blue eyes.)

“You're ridiculous,” you huff, “I’m not your best girl.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh, yer keepin’ track, are ye?”

“C’mon, you must have a partner or something?” you prod as you usher him inside.

“Kyle must’ve told ye, hen, it’s hard in this line of work,” he explains, shrugging. “Tried before but… usually they just end up feeling neglected, ya ken.”

You hum. That’s why Kyle said you and he would work so well with the open relationship - that you’d still have someone at home while he was out. That you wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him.

“Anyway, this is no kinda talk for a cozy night in, now is it?” Johnny says, cutting your melancholy musing short. “Come look at what I brought ya!”

You only notice then the two grocery bags in one hand. He herds you to the couch and sets them on the coffee table for you to root through.

“My favorite!” You exclaim when you extract the tub of ice cream.

The grin Johnny shoots you is proud. “Kyle said so.”

“You two,” you sigh happily.

He’s also brought a squishy stuffed animal, crisps, popcorn, soda, candy, and a small collection of self-care items. You hold the face-masks up with a questioning smile.

“Heard somewhere that it’s good for ye, when yer feelin’ down.” You try not to giggle when the last word comes out sounding like “doon.” He continues, blissfully ignorant. “Hope that’s the right shite, there was a lot to choose from.”

You throw your arms around him, chest warm. “Thank you, this is perfect, Johnny.”

He circles his arm around your waist, holding you close. “Anytime, bonnie,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze his shoulders as you pull away, waving one of the mask packets with a wicked little smile.

“Wanna try this ‘shite’ with me?” you tease.

You expect a resounding and masculine-heavy no. Instead, Johnny tilts his head consideringly for a moment, then shrugs.

“Eh, why the hell not?”

You wake up the next morning to a mess of candy wrappers, discarded moisturizers, and an empty carton of ice cream. And the smell of eggs. Cartoons are playing quietly on the telly. When you yawn and sit up, you’re greeted by a cheerful Johnny at the stove, wearing your pink apron.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he calls.

You flush and smile back, glad that you called him. “Mornin’!”

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Masterlist

[w1ll0wray]

LET’S RUN AWAY ft. jinx x fem!reader

⊹₊⟡⋆ summary: after hearing the news of her escaping prison, you finally find your girlfriend in desperate need of comfort.

⊹₊⟡⋆warnings: mention of suicide, minors or men dni, jinx almost attempting, mention of other characters.

wc. 1.4k

𐙚 note | I’d really appreciate it if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you:)

You ran for god knows how long. Pushing over people— you had one target in mind.

Jinx.

She got out. She got out of jail. She somehow got out and now you were determined to find her. You knew what she was planning— after Isha’s death, her one goal was to end it all. You didn’t want that to happen. 

Caitlyn gave her a chance— a chance to restart. But all Jinx did was escape, without even seeing you. The look on her face when the explosion dissipated, Isha nowhere in sight, it broke your heart to see her surrender. Thankfully, you had sneakily got out before anyone could arrest you— sharing one last look with your girlfriend. It’s been a week since you’ve seen her.

Enforcers flooded Zaun, surveying the areas— surveying the areas to catch you. Right now, you didn’t care if your hood had fallen and revealed your face. 

You had to get to Jinx.

Catching a sniff of fire, you swiftly took a turn, eyes widening at the Last Drop lit up in flames. 

“Oh no.” You scrambled around the building, taking a few turns until a door finally came into view. Barging in, you skipped a few stairs down, almost falling onto your face until another door appeared. Hurrying, you slammed the door open to her hideout, heart leaping out of your chest at the sight of Jinx dangerously standing by the edge. 

“Jinx!” You called out, prompting her to turn her head towards your panicked self. Sighing in relief, you bolted to her and flung your arms around her. 

She remained frozen, eyes not meeting yours as you explained how relieved you were, arms still tight around her. Noticing her absent behavior, you raised your head up, eyes filling up with tears.

“I’m sorry about everything, Jinx.” You sniffle out, slowly moving her away from the edge, hand coming up to cup her cheek, “I’m so sorry.” 

Her rosy eyes remained on the ground, face emotionless. Your arms were around her waist and shoulder, holding her incase she’d disappear again, “Please, Jinx.” Your finger caressed her cheek, searching for any sign of emotion. 

When she doesn’t budge, you burst into tears, tucking her head into the crook of your neck as you hugged her, “I love you so much,” Letting your fingers thread through her short hair. 

“I’m with you, always.” You whispered through sobs, hand on the back of her head, “It’s not your fault—I promise.” Tightening your hold around her, you felt defeated at the thought of her enduring torture in that cell alone. You should’ve never run away— you should’ve surrendered alongside her. 

Maybe then, she wouldn’t have been so alone. Repeating your soft hearted words, you silently hoped that she was indeed listening.

 Lost in tears, you unexpectedly felt the fabric of your shirt turn damp. Pausing, you slowly pull away, eyes searching hers, only to freeze. Your chest tightened, and it felt like your heart had cracked in two as tears streamed down her cheeks. 

A faint whimper slipped from her lips, bottom lip quivering as her gaze finally met yours. Eyes glistening with tears, she grit her teeth, trying to hold back her sobs. Noticing her restrain herself, you lifted her face with your hands, “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.” You swept her into your embrace as soon as she faltered, causing her crumble into a flood of tears. 

Once you both met the floor, you pulled her into your arms without hesitation, hand resting on her shuddering body. It was like old times— when she used to crawl back into your arms when Silco scolded her or kicked her out of a mission. 

Running a soothing hand over her hair numerous times, you felt her body soften into yours. 

Without warning, her hands tremble as they wrapped around you, “I can’t live like this anymore.” Her voice was quieter, as if she’d fall apart any moment. 

You frowned, lips pressed together, “We’ll find a way, I promise.” Whispering, you cradle her face, tired eyes meeting yours, 

“It’s not your fault.” She knew you meant Isha and…Vander. 

Though, in the blink of an eye, a gust of wind came from behind you. You whirl your head around, eyes widening at the sight of an old friend. 

Green sparkles enveloping him as he took steady steps towards you both, “I just want to talk.”

“You think she’ll be alright?” You mumbled, finger rubbing your eyes, glancing at Jinx snoozing beside you in Isha’s fort. Ekko only sighed, “We have two choices,” 

You quirked up, watching him get up, “, we join in the war or…” He stares at Jinx’s body laying into yours, “We run away.” 

He knew the answer, there was no way you’d let Jinx go kill herself. No one knows what she might do if she sees Vander again— or even Vi. Raising your head to meet his eye, you said the words , “We run away.” 

Later that night, Ekko had gone out to make sure of things, leaving you to take care of Jinx. She had woken up shortly after his departure, her emotions all over the place. 

“I don’t deserve to live!” She cries out, tears starting to cascade down her face, trying to avoid your touch, “I need to die.” 

You tried your best to stay calm, hands landing on her bare shoulders, “You think you’re the only one with all the guilt?” Cupping her face, you nuzzle her closer, 

“Everyone in this world has done something they regret.” You reassured, gently planting a kiss on her forehead, sensing her tension ease. Afterwards, you tried feeding her some fruits that had been out in the abandoned stalls. She only ate three pieces before commenting that her stomach hurt. 

Thankfully, Ekko had returned, a smile spreading across his face, “I managed to get us a ride.” A surge of relief blossomed in you, prompting you to turn your attention back to Jinx, a soft smile etched on your face.

“We can get out of here.” Her eyes widened, a sign of life returning. That night, Ekko helped Jinx cut her hair, shaving signs of her past life. You were secretly upset about her beautiful locks but accepted it eventually. 

You all decorated each other in marker, Jinx cracking a smile for the first time. She even had the full course meal Ekko had given you both, her face a bit fuller. Once it was time to sleep, she snuggled into you, craving your warmth. 

In a blink of an eye, it was morning and the streets felt emptier. You all absorbed the undercity one last time before departing from your childhood home. Jinx had her hand in yours, trembling when signs of places she’d been in came into view. You reassured her with a squeeze, “We’re almost there.” Nodding, she let you both guide her out and into the shining sun of Piltover. 

War was near, all the enforcers were gone in some parts, guarding up in town square. Finally reaching the station, you pulled Jinx alongside you as Ekko gestured to the airship.

“It’ll get you out and into another city.” You frowned as he stayed on the ground, not entering with you both. 

“Are you not coming?” You asked, noticing his saddened expression. His gaze lands on the hextech building before meeting yours again, “I need to save my people.” 

Jinx tensed up beside you before running towards him and engulfing him in a tight hug, “Are you insane—?” 

“—Find happiness, Powder.” His voice cracked, eyes glistened as she embraced him, his bottom lip quivering, “Try to send me a message when you can.” He sniffled out, patting her back once she let go. 

You nodded, watching as Jinx slowly walked towards you, “Thank you for everything, Ekko.” Wrapping your arms around him, you then let go, shoving his shoulder with yours, “Stay safe, our boy savior.’” 

He chuckled, guiding you into the airship, a tear escaping down his cheek, “Fate will bring us back together.” 

Jinx held onto your arm as the airship started departing, her cheek resting on your shoulder as you waved goodbye. Feeling her gaze on you, you tilt your head down, a brow raising, “Hm?” 

She pouts, eyes innocently gazing up at you, “We’re in this together,…right?” 

You giggled, gathering her in your arms tightly as if she’d disappear any minute, 

“Together.” 

wanted to write a different one. Hope you enjoyed! ps. thank you sm for the wonderful requests I’m trying my best to reply to them all ! but for the ones asking for part 2 there’s a high chance I won’t reply depending on the one shot :) but continue with new ideas I luv it.

[mncxbe]

✧˚ ༘ Falling asleep next to him ft. Tsukishima Kei

⇢fluff, alcohol consumption (reader is tipsy), written this with post-timeskip Tsukki in mind, your honor they're idiots in love, they want each other bad. anyway, self indulgent short drabble

Tsukishima thinks his heart is going to explode from how close you are to him. The room is silent and you're haf-asleep in his bed, wearing his t-shirt, smelling of his shower products and he almost doesn't mind the sweet, lingering trace of alcohol on your breath.

When you invited him and Yamaguchi to a party that night to celebrate the end of exam season he initially wanted to refuse, but the thought of you going only with his friend, getting hit on by random guys at the club didn't sit right with him. So he tagged along and watched you dance and chat up whoever was willing to spare you the time of day. To say he was irritated would be an understatement but Tsukishima knew better than to comment on your behavior; he knew how easily you sulked and pouted until you got your way. And you always ended up getting your way with him– he liked you that much, though he never found the words to tell you. He had to basically drag you home that night, helping you take off your makeup while you sat on the edge of the bathtub, complaining about your headache. It was Yamaguchi's idea to let you stay the night at their flat considering the state you were in. Tsukishima wanted to point out that you weren't in fact that drunk, just tipsy, but he held his tongue. He couldn't waste an opportunity to keep you by his side just for a little longer. So after you showered and joined him in bed, he was finally faced with the reality of it all.

You're here, pressed up against him, your nose nudging against his jaw as you shift around, trying to find a more comfortable position. He feels warm, too warm, his palms sweaty as he adjusts, rolling on his side to give you more space. His hand comes up to your waist to prevent you from completely rolling over him and the little breathy hum you let out at the touch is a low blow. Tsukishima has always been analytical, trying to make sense of the world through logic and his sharp mind almost never failed him. But what can he do when his brain is basically mush, heart thumping so fast he's afraid you'll hear it if you lay your head on his chest? He tells himself to go to sleep, just close his eyes, take a deep breath and calm down but he can't— not when you're so close and fit so well against him.

And then you speak, a breathy, barely audible whisper of his name and his resolve crumbles. "Yea?" he says back, pressing his forehead against yours, thumb rubbing circles on your hip.

"d'you have some water? My throat feels dry."

He nods as you cough, slipping out of bed and heading to the kitchen to bring you a glass of water. By the time he returns you're already propped on your arm and he can see you blinking slowly in the soft moonlight.

"Here you go. Drink up." he mumbles, fingers brushing against yours when you take the glass and bring it to your lips, emptying it in a few greedy gulps. "Jesus... slow down, it's all yours." You give him a glare and set the glass down as he joins you under the blanket again.

"I was thirsty ok? Plus my head hurts so bad. Can't you give me some paracetamol?"

"Not when you've still got alcohol in your system, dummy. I'll give you one in the morning." he huffs, slipping his hands into your hair to massage your scalp before you get to complain more.

Kei's thumbs rub against your temples, soothing the dull ache and you finally relax, your protests melting on your tongue as you close your eyes again. "There, better?" he whispers and you nod, cuddling up against his chest. "Yea, thanks Tsukki. You're a saviour."

"A saviour, really?" he teases and you chuckle.

"You know what I mean."

And Tsukishima knows– at least he hopes he does. Hopes that behind that little sleepy smile and content expression of yours lays a feeling akin to his. But he pushes down those thoughts, leaving them for tomorrow because he's finally starting to fall asleep and as his breath settles and his eyes flutter shut, Tsukishima promises himself that one day he'll get you to sleep by his side every night.

[kkanabel]

co-pilot mischief ✫ both broken ✫ chapter tres ✫ finale

captain curly x teasing!reader

it’s been a month since your epiphany that Captain Curly has a sweet little crush on you, and you’ve been teasing him the entire time. what happens when you push him even closer to the edge? you asked that question, and here we are: Curly has officially broken.

directory/m.list ⇦ previous chapter

words: ~6.1k

t/w: sex, minors dni, overstimulation, fingering, REALLY OVERSTIMULATION, multiple orgasms, curly being a lil shit, so much yucky, gn!reader who wears a bra, no specific genitalia mentioned for reader (if i fucked up & did somewhere, pls lmk), any other things i should mention?

a/n: hi. been obsessed with this video game recently—well, especially with Curly (go figure. i like fictional men). i needed to make something self-indulgent bc i just like this man way too much. and because i just want to make a world where none of them have to suffer. enjoy~ 

~jeremy does not exist in this world~

Planned Shipment Duration: 382 Days Elapsed Transit Time: 342 Days

Since the incident, you’ve noticed Curly’s behavior shift from his usual awkward-but-adorable responses to something else entirely—avoidance. Every conversation with him feels clipped, every interaction rushed. This avoidance comes to a head when you have to discuss the ship's fuel readings.

“Captain, can you double-check the fuel calibration?” you ask, stepping into the cockpit with a tablet in hand.

Curly is already seated at the console, his back stiffening at the sound of your voice. “It’s fine,” he mutters without looking up, his fingers flying over the controls.

You narrow your eyes. “Fine? It’s been showing inconsistencies for two days now. Can we be sure it won’t cause an issue later?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “I’ll… take care of it.” Still, he doesn’t glance at you, his gaze fixed on the screen as if the fuel levels are the most riveting thing he’s ever seen.

You step closer, placing the tablet on the console in front of him. “It’d be quicker if we checked it together,” you say, deliberately leaning over just slightly to try and catch his eyes.

But he shifts, pulling back as if your proximity physically burns. “I’ve got it,” he says tersely, still avoiding you.

The clipped tone stings more than you expect. You hesitate, studying him. His hands grip the edge of the console, the veins in his forearms standing out as though he’s using every ounce of willpower to keep his composure. He looks tired—no, exhausted—but there’s something else in his expression, something tight and defensive.

You pull back, watching him with a frown. There’s an ache in your chest you weren’t prepared for—a pang of guilt mixed with frustration. You liked teasing him, pushing his buttons just enough to see the cracks in his armor, but this? This feels different. It’s like he’s shut a door between the two of you, and you can’t help but wonder if you pushed too far.

You bite your lip, torn. Was it the water incident? The shirt? Or maybe it’s been everything—the touches, the flirtation, the unspoken tension you’ve been toying with for weeks. Whatever it is, the wall he’s built feels higher than before, and it leaves you restless, your stomach knotting with something that feels a lot like regret.

That night, sleep refuses to come. You lie in your bunk, staring at the dim ceiling of your cabin, your mind replaying every moment from the cockpit earlier. His stiffness, his avoidance, the way he couldn’t even look at you—it all swirls together, making your chest feel heavy.

Was he angry with you? Embarrassed? Or worse—had you made him so uncomfortable that he didn’t want to be around you anymore? The thought makes your throat tighten, and you sit up, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

The hum of the ship’s engines fills the silence of your cabin, steady and soothing, but it does little to calm the turmoil in your chest. You’ve been lying there for hours, staring at the ceiling, your blanket pushed to the side as your mind cycles endlessly.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The look on Curly’s face earlier had been… different. It wasn’t just the usual exasperation you’d grown fond of teasing out of him. It was heavier, like he was carrying something you couldn’t quite name, something you weren’t sure you should have pulled at.

You close your eyes and groan quietly into the darkness, guilt and frustration twisting in equal measure. Sure, it’s fun to watch him squirm, to push his buttons just enough to see the cracks in that carefully constructed exterior. But you may have gone too far—even if the water spilling on your shirt was a complete accident. His jaw had set so tightly, his words clipped in a way that left no room for your usual playful retorts.

The memory sits heavy in your chest now, pressing down like a weight.

You roll over for the hundredth time, but the ache of regret and the nagging spark of curiosity keep you pinned wide awake. It’s not just the teasing, is it? Not really. It’s the way his silence speaks louder than his words, the way he looks at you like he’s bracing himself to lose something he doesn’t even have yet

You sigh, sitting up and running a hand through your hair. You know you should leave it alone, let him come to you when he’s ready, but patience has never been your strong suit.

Sliding out of the bunk, you glance at the reflection of your sleepwear in the metal panel across the room. The skimpy fabric makes you hesitate, but only for a moment. If you’re honest with yourself, part of you still wants to provoke him. But another part—the part twisting in your gut—just wants to be able to speak to him normally again.

The ship feels colder at night, the air biting against your bare skin as you make your way down the narrow corridor. The faint glow spilling from the cockpit confirms your suspicion: he’s there, just as you expected.

You pause in the doorway, your heart beating harder than you’d like. He hasn’t noticed you yet. His head is bowed, his fingers raking through his messy blond hair as he leans over the console. He looks… defeated. The sight sends a pang through you, sharp and unwelcome.

Taking a breath, you step inside, keeping your voice soft as you speak. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He straightens abruptly, his shoulders stiffening as his chair creaks under the sudden movement. His eyes meet yours for a moment before flicking downward and darting back up, his jaw clenching. You catch the faintest flush across his cheeks, but his expression is unreadable.

“What are you doing here?” His tone is flat, but there’s a strain beneath it, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You try to smile, but it falters. Stepping closer, you cross your arms, suddenly feeling more self-conscious than you expected. “I—” You stop, unsure of how to begin. “I just… I wanted to check on you.”

His brows furrow, suspicion flickering across his face. “Check on me?”

“Yeah.” You force a small laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears. “You seemed… off earlier.” You hesitate, glancing at the console to avoid his gaze. 

The silence that follows feels heavier than when the ship’s gravity went haywire and pushed down on you all. You risk a glance at him, only to find him watching you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. His hands grip the armrests of his chair like they’re the only thing anchoring him, his knuckles pale.

“It’s fine,” he says finally, his voice tight, controlled. Too controlled. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

The way he says it makes something inside you crack. You know that tone, the one he uses to push people away, to keep himself locked behind walls you’ve only just started to glimpse behind. And it hurts.

“Curly…” You step closer. “That’s not what I—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, his voice sharper now, his eyes flashing with something you can’t quite name.

But you don’t back down. Not this time.

“Don’t what?” you challenge, leaning closer to him. You keep your voice soft, almost hesitant, but there’s no mistaking the edge behind it. “Don’t worry about you? Don’t care?”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might not answer. He just stares at you, his stormy blue eyes locked on yours, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he finally says, but there’s no conviction in the words. They’re a shield, flimsy and cracking.

You tilt your head, your voice dropping lower. “Why not?”

“Because…” He looks away, running a hand down his face, and you see the way his fingers tremble. When his gaze snaps back to yours, there’s fire in it, raw and unfiltered. “Because I can’t keep doing this, alright? I can’t—”

He stops himself, his voice breaking on the last word, and your heart stumbles in your chest.

“Can’t what?” you press, taking another step closer, your bare feet brushing against the cool floor. Your voice softens, and this time there’s no teasing, no game. “Curly, just tell me.”

He lets out a frustrated sound, somewhere between a growl and a groan, and rises abruptly from his chair. The suddenness of it makes you flinch, but you hold your ground.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice is louder now, but it’s not anger—it’s desperation, raw and bleeding. “You waltz in here in your—” His eyes flick down to your barely-there pajamas before snapping back up, his expression torn. “—your… whatever that is, and you look at me like that, and you think it’s funny, don’t you? Messing with me, pushing me, like it’s all some game!”

You blink, stunned by the outpouring of words. “I—”

“No,” he cuts you off, his voice cracking. “You don’t get to talk right now. Do you know how hard I’ve been trying? Trying to keep this… whatever it is… locked down? To keep things professional, to not…” He trails off, shaking his head like he’s trying to dislodge the thought.

“To not what?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“To not ruin everything!” he bursts out, and the words hang in the air between you, heavy and unrelenting. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, waking up every damn day and seeing you, knowing I can’t—shouldn’t—feel this way?”

His chest heaves, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He’s closer now, the space between you shrinking with every ragged breath.

He leans in closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of hesitation before he barrels on. “Do you know what it’s like to sit next to you every day, to have you so close and know I can’t touch you? Can’t tell you?” His laugh is bitter, almost self-deprecating. “God, I can’t even think straight when you’re around. You’ve got me walking into walls, screwing up flight routes, forgetting my own bloody name half the time.”

“Curly…” You reach out, but he grabs your wrist before you can touch him, his grip firm but not painful.

“Don’t,” he says again, but this time it’s a plea, his voice breaking. His gaze locks on yours, his eyes glassy with an emotion you’ve never seen from him before.

And then, before you can say anything, he moves.

In one swift motion, he pushes you back against the console, his hands braced on either side of you, caging you in. His face is inches from yours, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, the unsteady rhythm of his breath.

“I can’t…” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it, but you don’t move, don’t dare to break the fragile moment hanging between you.

“Then don’t,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His eyes search yours, and for a heartbeat, everything stands still. Then, with a groan that sounds like defeat, he closes the gap, capturing your lips with his in a kiss so fierce it steals the breath from your lungs.

The kiss is not soft or measured, but raw, desperate, and full of everything he’s been holding back for months. His lips crash against yours with an intensity that makes your knees go weak, and you gasp into him, feeling the weight of all his pent-up frustration pouring out into this moment.

His hands, rough and calloused, grip the edges of the console beside your hips like he’s barely holding himself together. You feel the tension in his arms, the way his muscles cord and flex, the sheer power of him caging you in.

And then, suddenly, his hands shift. One moves to your jaw, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, while the other slides down to your hip, pinning you firmly to the console beneath you. The cool surface bites against your skin, grounding you as his fingers wrap around you with just enough force to keep you there without hurting you.

He pulls away for a moment, searching your eyes for any hint of rejection, finding none.

You open your mouth to speak, but he doesn’t give you the chance. His lips crash back down onto yours, more insistent this time, as if he’s trying to erase every teasing word and playful glance you’ve ever thrown his way.

His body presses closer, and you’re keenly aware of every inch of him—the strength in his broad shoulders, the solid weight of his chest against yours, the way his body is being held between your thighs (which you’ve just realized that you wrapped around him), keeping you and him firmly in place. His free hand trails down your side, his touch firm and possessive.

“Curly,” you keen, eyes fogged from the kisses he just gave you.

“Don’t,” he warns, his voice low and rough. “Not unless you’re ready to take responsibility for what you’ve started.”

The words send a shiver through you, and you meet his gaze, your breath catching at the unrestrained emotion in his expression—anger, yes, but also longing, vulnerability, and an aching kind of need that makes your chest tighten.

“I’m not sorry,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling but steady enough to hold his gaze.

His lips curl into a gentle smile, and he shakes his head, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours. “I expected such,” he murmurs, his voice softer now but no less intense.

And then he kisses you again, slower this time, but just as overwhelming. It’s less about frustration now and more about everything else—the want, the need, the relief of finally letting it out. His hand slides from your hip to thread his fingers through yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if to soften the moment, to remind you that despite the force of it all, he’s still Curly.

Even then, as he pulls his lips away to trail his kisses down that delicious neck of yours that he’s been fantasizing about for the past couple months, he bucks his hips into yours subconsciously. 

His eyes widen at the realization of what he just did, and he’s just about to apologize when he hears your soft groan, your hips grinding back into his. 

You’re going to be the end of him. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his mind goes entirely blank while reaching his hands to grab onto the mounds of your chest as he places wet kisses all over your neck. 

The sensation makes you gasp—his warm lips suckling all over the crook of your neck, trailing slightly further down as his large, warm hands grasp at you, fingers gliding against the thin fabric over to the tips of your nipples. He teases it over the fabric, each graze sending a jolt down your core as his pants get tighter.

You watch as Curly’s eyes glaze over while looking at the thin fabric of your shirt, watching your nipples peak and harden under his ministrations. One of his hands pulls away from a breast, brushing down your body until he pulls the skimpy fabric of your shorts and your underwear to the side and places his fingers right onto your heat at just the right spot, rubbing at it.

Your gasping, arms tightening around his neck, and your hands gripping at the hair on the base of his neck only serves to spur him on. His eyes are still hazy with a sheen of lust as he brings his fingers to his lips and licks them lasciviously before easing a finger inside your hole, slowly massaging at your walls until he finds your most delicious spot. 

When you tense up and you let out another gasp, his tongue darts out to lick at his lips, knowing that he’s found it. As you reach up to capture his lips with yours, he slips another finger in. 

As you’re kissing, you let out a choked moan as he only rubs against that little spot more, fingers starting to curl up rougher and faster. His fingers filled you up so well—so thick and long, pressing your insides in all the right places. 

When you clench and spasm around his fingers, you expect him to slow down, but his fingers only get faster through your orgasm. You squeak in response, and his eyes are hooded as he finger fucks you into oblivion.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growls against your lips, his voice thick with frustration and something darker. His breath fans hot against your cheek as he pulls back just enough to speak, his eyes blazing as they meet yours. “To push me until I couldn’t take it anymore?” 

His face is a storm of emotions, each one fighting for dominance. His jaw is tight, clenched as though he was holding back. His lips are red and slightly swollen from the kiss, a stark contrast against the stubble shadowing his sharp jawline. 

But it’s his eyes that leave you breathless—dark and blazing with an intensity that borders on feral. Those blue eyes, turbulent and unyielding, locking onto yours like they’re searching for every answer you’ve ever hidden. It combines with the feeling of his fingers pressing you in the right spot, making you see stars.

“You’ve been playing with fire, haven’t you?” he breathes, his voice rough and biting. His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile—a shadow of one, edged with frustration and disbelief. “All those looks, those little comments. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

His hand at the console shifts, and he presses a little closer, his body heat seeping into you. “God, do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you parade around like that? Laughing, teasing, pretending you don’t notice what you’re doing to me?” His words are a low snarl now, sharp with exasperation and tinged with lust as he drives his fingers deep into you, earning a squeal from your lips.

“Every time I thought I had it under control, you’d pull something new. A touch here. Showing off some skin there.” His free hand slides along your jaw, his thumb brushing deliberately across your cheekbone. His touch is gentle, almost a mockery of the fire behind his words and the intensity behind his fingers. “You really thought I would break eventually, didn’t you?”

His eyes flicker to your lips, and his fingers keep curling and thrusting inside you in a way that makes you squeak. The sound makes his gaze snap back to your eyes, his expression darkening further. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself from this onslaught of pleasure.

“Was this the plan all along?” he taunts, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “To push me so far I’d lose control? Or were you just so sure I’d never cross that line?” He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “Well, congratulations. You’ve got me right where you want me.”

He pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes again, his lips curling into a wicked smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “So tell me,” he murmurs, his tone both a challenge and a warning, “what are you going to do now?” Your gummy walls clench on his fingers as he works you undone again—with both his fingers and his words.

“Please,” you keen, voice breathless. “Just fuck me, Captain.” 

The use of his title in that pleasure-drenched voice of yours makes him sharply inhale. He leaned back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Not yet," he says, his voice low and commanding. "You're going to need to be ready for me. Really ready. So, I’m going to take my time." He knew the company regulations like the back of his hand—no personal items, especially not the kind that could be used for pleasure. And he knew you hadn't had anyone else in almost a year.

Your eyes go wide with shock as he speaks, and you realize what he meant. "But I... I've been... stretching," you protested, face heating up at the implication. 

Curly's smile grows, and he leans down, his mouth hovering just above yours. "With your fingers?" he asked, his voice filled with amusement. "That's not enough. Not for what I've got in store for you." You look up at him in shock.

"Trust me," he murmurs against your lips. "You'll thank me for it later. Especially when I break you like you tried to break me. I’ll have you begging, you little tease." His words send shivers of excitement up your spine.

With that, he slides his hand back down your body, his fingers slipping into you again. Your muscles are still contracting from the aftershocks of your two climaxes. He pumps his fingers in and out, watching your face contort with pleasure and overstimulation. But he knew he had to prepare you, had to make sure you could take him.

He leans in, whispering in your ear. "You're going to come again," he tells you, his voice a promise. "And then again. And each time, I'm going to make you feel so good that you'll forget your name."

Your eyes close, breath coming in short pants as you moan into his mouth. Curly revels in the feeling and the view of your hips moving in time with his touch. 

Curly slides in a third finger, curling them gently, feeling the slickness of your arousal. Your eyes fly open, and you look at him with a mix of shock and need. "Curly," you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand, hole stretching around his fingers. "Please..." He strokes you in a steady rhythm, watching your face contort with pleasure. You bite your lip, trying to be quiet, but the occasional whimper escapes. 

He pushes your tiny tank top up, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling it as he continues to play with you. Your hands pull him closer, urging him on. He can feel your body tightening, your legs starting to tremble. He knew you were close.

And then it happened. With a cry, you cum again, your muscles clenching around his fingers. He still doesn’t stop, though, instead curling his fingers deeper inside you, keeping the pressure on your sweet spot. Your orgasm went on and on, your body shaking with pleasure, legs giving out.

As the last of your tremors subside, he pulls his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He tastes you, watching as your face heats up. "So good," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “I’m going to push you until you can’t take it anymore.” 

Without warning, he slams his mouth onto your core, his tongue flicking you rapidly. You scream, hips jerking up. Your nails claw at the console, searching for any kind of purchase before gripping his blonde locks.

Curly feels the warmth of your orgasm wash over his hand and lips, juices coating his fingers and face as he watches you come apart in front of him. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you let out a guttural cry, body arching. 

He waits for you to open your eyes, to look at him with the same hunger he feels burning in his gut. When you do, there are tears in the corners of your eyes, and you’re panting. "Please," you beg, voice a whimper. "Please, Curly. I need you inside me." Your vision was already starting to go blurry, and you felt a slight twinge of dizziness from all the mind-numbing orgasms.

His only response is a shit-eating grin and his fingers continuing to work you open. The sound of your wetness fills the cockpit, and he couldn't help but groan. You’re so tight, so perfect. And all his. He watches your face as he works into you, his tongue circling you in time with his fingers curling up and down, thrusting in and out. You’re close, so close to breaking altogether, and he can feel the tension building in your body.

“Curly, please, I-” And then, with a scream, you cum again, gushing wetness all over his hand and face. He pulls away, wiping it from his cheek with a grin. 

"See?" he says, his voice filled with pride and eyes filled with darkness. "I told you I'd make you beg for it."

Your chest heaves, breath coming in ragged gasps. You stare up at him, eyes glazed. "Curly," you whisper with a needy voice. "Please... I need you."

He stood up, his cock straining against his pants. "Not yet," he said again, his voice firm. "We have all night."

He reaches down, helping you to your feet. You sway slightly, legs weak from the intense orgasms. He swiftly picks you up and carries you to the Captain’s Quarters. The crew is asleep. The only sounds are the steady hum of the Tulpar's engines and your two footsteps.

Once inside, he places you down onto his bed gently, your legs still shaking. He hovers over you, his eyes dark with hunger. He kissed you again, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you and your desire. You moan, hands reaching up to tug at his shirt.

He breaks the kiss, pulling his shirt off. Your eyes scrape up and down the sight of his bare chest, his muscles rippling in the dim light. He leans back in, his mouth moving down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle nibbles. You shiver, skin sensitive from the previous orgasms.

Curly slides his hand down to your hole again, his thumb pressing against you as he kisses his way down your body. You gasp, hips rising to meet his touch. He spread open your legs revealing you, all bare and wet. He took a moment to appreciate the view, your swollen hole and the glisten of your arousal—the glisten of your multiple orgasms.

With a groan, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking over you at the perfect spot. You almost scream, the sensation too much. He slides two fingers inside, desperate to continue stretching out your inner muscles.

He licks and sucks, his mouth a symphony of pleasure. You cum again, body bowing off the bed, hands tangling in his hair. He doesn’t let up, his tongue relentless, his fingers curling inside you, pushing you to the edge once more. Your cries grow louder, more frantic, until you’re almost screaming. And then, just as suddenly, you go quiet.

Your eyes roll back in your head, and you go limp beneath him as your body refuses to stop twitching. Curly pulls back, panting, his mouth wet with your essence. He watches your chest heave, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He knows you’re on the edge, just about to shatter into pieces.

He slides his fingers out of you, watching the way you quiver.

He stands, his own desire clear in the bulge in his pants. "You’re doing so good," he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Now you're ready." Curly chuckles as he watches your muscles twitch. “So cute,” he mumbles as he zips his jumpsuit down all the way and pulls his boxers down. It's massive, thick and long, standing erect and flushed with arousal.

You’re still unable to form words, eyes blank as you come down from the onslaught of pleasure. Your eyes flutter open when you feel him getting back onto the bed, chest heaving as you stare up at him. "Curly," you breathe, voice shaky. "I don’t… I don’t know if I can take it anymore."

He leans over you, eyes dark with need. "You can," he says, his voice firm. "You will. And you're the one who begged for it."

Curly lines up his cock with your slick entrance, the tip kissing you lightly. It's hot, and you can feel the pulse of his excitement. His reddened tip is so much larger than what you've felt before, veins standing out. Your eyes widen, looking at the size of him, and you feel your stomach flip.

Slowly, with a look of absolute focus, he starts to push in, watching your face as you bite your lip to keep from screaming. The head of his cock, that angry red tip, breaches your entrance, and you can feel your body stretching around its thickness. He goes so slowly, so carefully, that you can't help but trust him. The veins on his shaft stand out like roads on a map, and they feel like they're carving into you as he slides in inch by inch.

The pressure is intense, but you’re so wet, so ready for him. He slides in deeper, feeling you stretch around him. Your walls cling to him, and he knows he'd never felt anything so amazing. He pauses for a moment, savoring the sensation.

And to his surprise, you cum again, walls tightening around his cock. A keening sound tears from your throat, and you buck your hips against him, trying to push him deeper. He holds you still, watching your face, feeling your walls pulse around him. 

It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, a wave of pleasure so intense it almost brought him to his knees. “Fuck,” his eyes squeeze shut, voice hoarse. 

But he doesn’t stop. He couldn't. He pushes in further, feeling you tighten even more. You were whining now, a high-pitched sound that seemed to echo through the room. He knows he’s hitting all the right spots, that you were on the edge again. And he was going to make sure you fell over it.

You're so wet, so ready for him, that he's able to ease into you with surprising ease, despite his size. Each time he pushes in, you feel your muscles resisting before giving way, your body adapting to his thickness. Your walls clench around him, trying to get used to the feeling of being so full, so claimed. It's as if every part of you is being rewritten, every nerve ending remapped to accommodate his size.

His thumbs press gently against your pulse points, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. “You’ve been in my head for months. Twisting me up so bad I can’t tell what’s real anymore. Hell, I can’t even close my eyes without seeing you.” His voice has dropped lower, huskier, the edges roughened by emotion and strain.

The feeling of fullness is intense, almost overwhelming, but it's mixed with an aching need for more. You can feel your body stretching, adjusting to his size, and it's both slightly painful and incredibly arousing. He's so much larger than any toy you've ever used, and the thought of taking all of him sends a fresh wave of desire through you.

You glance up at his form, the dim artificial lights overhead casting a faint, bluish hue across his bare chest. His skin glistens faintly, a sheen of sweat highlighting the sculpted lines of his muscles—the curve of his shoulders, the sharp planes of his chest, and the ripple of his abdomen. Shadows deepen in the grooves between his ribs and along the flex of his arms as he shifts, his every movement purposeful, almost mesmerizing. There’s faint golden hair dusting his chest and trailing down his stomach.

The sight of him makes you coo, “Curly, you’re so perfect.”

His eyes never leave yours, and in them you now see a fierce concentration, a hunger that's been building for a long time. The head of his cock reaches deep into you, and you arch your back, the sensation overwhelming. You're so full you feel like you might burst. But then he pulls out slightly, only to push back in even deeper, and it's as if you've been hit by a bolt of lightning.

With one final, powerful thrust, he's all the way in, and you let out a cry that echoes through the cabin. Your nails dig into his back, your body shaking with the intensity of it all. His cock is so big, so hard, that you feel it in every part of you, filling you up in a way you never knew was possible.

Your hips are moving, rutting against him, urging him deeper. 

He starts to move, his hips rocking into yours, his cock sliding in and out of your tight hole. You moan, the feeling so intense that you don’t know if you can handle it. Orgasms roll through you, one after another, each one more powerful than the last. You couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began, they just blended together into a never-ending crescendo of pleasure.

Curly's movements then become more forceful, his thrusts deeper and faster. Each time he fills you, you can feel your inner muscles clench around him, trying to hold onto that delicious feeling of fullness. He groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he starts to pick up the pace.

Tears slide down your cheeks as he fucks you, each stroke hitting deeper than the last. Your eyes are now squeezed shut, and all you can see was the bright white light of pure ecstasy. You don’t know if you can take it, don’t know if you could handle his size, his strength. But you don’t want him to stop.

The room fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you. It's primal, animalistic, and you can't help but get lost in it—in the feeling of his body pressing into yours, in the heat of his breath against your neck, in the way your orgasms build and crash over you like waves.

Your body starts to shake, your muscles tensing as you feel another climax building. You look up at him, eyes pleading, and he leans down, capturing your mouth in a fierce kiss. It's as if he knows exactly what you need, and he's more than willing to give it to you.

Curly starts to hit that spot inside you with every thrust, the one that makes your toes curl and your vision blur. You moan into his mouth, your hips rising to meet his, desperate for more. Fuck, but you don’t know if you can take it anymore. He's relentless, his cock driving into you, stretching you further and further until you think you'll shatter into a million pieces. 

And then, with one final, powerful thrust, you do.

You push him away, just enough for his cock to pop out of you, and you squeal. “‘Curly,” you keen, twitching all over as you release all over yourself, him, and his sheets. His dick twitches as he watches you spasm all over his bed, coating both of you in your cum and slick. 

The corners of your eyes sting with tears of pleasure, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Curly’s gaze doesn’t waver, his lips slightly parted as he watches you, his chest rising and falling with his own labored breaths. 

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his voice hoarse and rough. Then, without hesitation, he flips you over with a strength that sends your pulse racing all over again. His hands are firm yet careful, a mix of desperation and reverence in the way he touches you.

“You drive me insane,” he growls, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The weight of his words settles over you, and you know this is far from over. His frustration, his need, his months of pent-up tension—all of it is unraveling here and now, and you’re the one holding the thread.

And with those words, you know it’s going to be a long, unforgettable night. The thought crosses your mind in a brief, hazy moment of clarity: How are you supposed to walk tomorrow? But the question is quickly swept away, drowned in the whirlwind of Curly’s relentless thrusting and the electric heat between you.

Hours later, when the two of you finally collapse into each other, exhausted and sated, there’s a rare, blissful quiet in the air. His arm drapes over you after he cleans you up, heavy and warm, pulling you against his chest. The steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you into a peace you haven’t felt in ages.

For the first time in years, Curly sleeps soundly. No tossing, no turning, no restless hours spent staring at the ceiling. In his dreams, as in reality, you’re there with him. And ever since then, he hasn’t had any insomnia.

And you? You have no regrets.

a/n: the finale~~ let me know what y'all think!

oh yeah.. smut.. neverending smut..

taglist is open! lmk if you want to be on the taglist for just curly/mouthwashing characters or if you want the news on alll my fics.

also might be accepting requests hehe! i can’t guarantee that i can do em, but i’ll accept ideas!

btw. not beta read, please let me know if there are any typos/inconsistencies stay safe & hydrated as always!

(and go to sleep if you’re reading this super late. don’t be a curly. take care of yourself!)

thanks for reading! <3

crossposted on ao3

taglist: @m-carriaga2021, @skyeconch

directory/m.list ⇦ previous chapter

[leighsartworks216]

Love Me, That's All I Ask Of You

Sylus x gn!Reader

Apparently my brain can only cope with angst if it has a happy ending rn @comatosebunny09 YOU DID THIS (/positive)

Inspired by this post

Title from "All I Ask Of You" from Phantom of the Opera

Warnings: blood, injury, self-destructive behavior, swearing, requited unrequited love, angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, kissing, ignoring the red string of fate, jealousy, soft Sylus

Word Count: 1,900

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The repetitive thwack of the punching bag keeps you going. Harder and harder, faster, more precise.

Your knuckles are bleeding. It stains the vinyl of the bag. They sting with every slight adjustment of your hand, with every punch. They’re probably misaligned, too. On the verge of breaking. But it’s not enough.

Sweat drips down your forehead and back. You’ve been down here for hours. You don’t want to leave.

It’s so fucking childish - you know that. But it hurts so fucking bad. Hearing the way he speaks to her, like you’re not in the room. The way he seeks out the banter and teasing conversations they share. The way he looks at her…

Is the only thing you’re good for your loyalty?

And it’s not like he hasn’t noticed the way you distance yourself. He’s brought up your over-the-top silence, saying he hasn’t heard your voice in a week. He’s tried asking what’s wrong, but you never answer. And when you stopped sleeping in his room altogether? He looked exhausted the next day, staring after you like he was working to decipher why he’d been left to sleep alone. The only company you seemed to seek anymore was that of Mephisto’s.

God, Mephisto. That crow had shown you their excursion to enhance her ability. You couldn’t deny the sick satisfaction you got when she still couldn’t Resonate with him, whether it’s because she found him “disgusting” or some other reason… But why did he have to look so offended by it?

You hit the bag so hard it rips. Sand pours out of the tear like water, draining onto the floor. You’re mesmerized by it. The slight hiss of the sand moving together, pouring out like a faucet and pooling on the floor into a steadily growing pile. It’s almost soothing.

Almost.

You kick the sand to the side. It fans out across the black floor in an arc of dappled white.

The prickle at the back of your neck puts all your nerves on high alert, but you know not to be afraid of it. You know the source. The cause of all your rage. The last person you want to see right now. You’d even take Little Miss Hunter over him.

You turn and meet his eye. Crimson, sharp with concern to match the furrow in his brow. It burns through you, all too familiar and, once upon a time, comforting. When he could look at you and so easily know exactly what you were feeling, even before your deal. They flicker down to your hands, crusted over with blood.

“It’s not like you to hide away when something bothers you,” he states, shifting his weight to his other foot as he crosses his arms. He’s right, too; for a while now, if something - anything - bugged you, he was the first to know, usually seconds after it started grating on your nerves. Still, you don’t say anything.

Sylus sighs. You’re nothing if not stubbornly persistent. He holds a hand out, motioning toward your own.

You think about obeying. Ever since Little Miss appeared, you haven’t really touched him. It was of your own volition - a sacrifice to pull yourself away and watch from afar - but you can’t deny how much you miss it.

His frown deepens when you stay exactly where you are. “So it’s something I’ve done.” Your face remains set and unemotive. His hand returns to its crossed position, finger tapping against his leather jacket. “Something so terrible you’d rather hide away from me.”

He looks you up and down, studying every small tell he can find, any twitch or involuntary muscle spasm. He doesn’t find any. Another frustrating skill of yours. The only thing he can latch onto is the state of your hands. He’s not used to seeing your own blood staining your knuckles. If you used your bare hands at all, the only blood you’d be covered in when all was said and done was that of your prey.

“And enough to harm yourself.”

He meets your eyes again. It almost feels familiar. That intense insistence on knowing you, on wanting to know every single thing about you even if it takes eons. But now it’s not out of an innate desire to unravel the secrets you wrap yourself in. It’s prying. It’s grabbing bolt cutters and breaking away each chain link one by one.

He takes a slow step forward, testing the waters.

You don’t move.

He takes another, dropping his arms to his side.

You study him in return. He’s tense. You see it in the set of his shoulders.

He’s five feet away when Mephisto appears in a whirl of smoke on your shoulder. He caws twice before projecting a video on a little holographic screen.

Little Miss Hunter, searching for the brooch. Yesterday, Mephisto had snuck it off Sylus’s body and brought it to you. You’d had a brief moment of fun teasing Little Miss with it, silently taunting her as you twirled it lazily between your fingers while she threatened you. You have no doubt after hiding it that it found its way back to Sylus.

You watch his face as he watches the screen. The intensity leaves his eyes, replaced with the calculating stare of a businessman in his trade. He watches her frustratedly try to break the lock on a cabinet, determined to check behind every item on display to make absolutely sure the brooch isn’t hiding behind them. When she turns to the bookshelf in a huff, she pauses. Sylus’s eyes narrow a fraction. She runs over to the shelf and starts emptying it out book by book, fanning through pages for any sign of a secret compartment to hide something inside. There was one book of such a nature; you’d hid the brooch inside of it, just to see if she would be hell-bent enough to search through every single one.

He looks away from the projected images, eyes softer than before. He’s figured you out, you’re sure of it.

“Search me,” he says. It’s not a demand, it’s an offer. Your expression falters for a millisecond, but he catches it. Of course he catches it. He opens his arms, inviting you in. Mephisto’s video feed disappears from view as he flies up to sit on the broken punching bag. “Find the brooch.”

You glance him up and down. There are plenty of places for something that small to hide.

Hesitantly, you step forward. His eyes follow you, but he remains still. This close, you refuse to look at his face. You haven’t been near enough to feel his radiating heat like this in so long…

You feel his sides first. The pockets of his leather jacket, both inside and out, are empty. There’s nothing concealed in his waistband. You don’t look at his face as you reach up to feel along his collar and lapels.

You pat along the length of both his arms. Aside from muscle, you find nothing. You reach into his pants pockets, but the only thing you pull out is his phone. You slip it back in before feeling down the long length of his legs. You pull up the bottom hem of his pants and check the top of his socks that peek out of his shoes, but there’s still nothing there.

You stand up, hands falling back to your sides. You meet his eyes. He doesn’t have the brooch.

Mephisto caws again. You turn to look over your shoulder. Little Miss Hunter, surrounded by a pile of books, triumphantly holds up the red-jeweled brooch, dropping the book you hid it in into the mess. Gentle fingers glide along your jaw to turn your face back to him.

Sylus looks at you in a way you never thought you’d see again. He’s leaned down to reduce the strain on his neck and be closer to you, but there’s still about a foot of distance between you. Even the way he touches you is reserved, like he’s waiting for you to pull away or punch him.

“I’m sorry.”

Your breath hitches. He… apologized? Of all the things he could have said, you never expected that.

“Whatever binds me to her,” he whispers, “it holds nothing to you. I should have made that clear much sooner.”

“What binds you to her?” Your voice is raspy from disuse. His shoulders relax, just so relieved that you’re speaking to him again.

He shakes his head slightly. “A past I should have buried a long time ago.”

It’s vague, he knows it. You wish he would tell you more, tell you exactly what happened that has him so inextricably connected to Little Miss Hunter. But he never pried into your own past, for better or worse. Maybe you both need them to die, buried at least 12 feet under and covered with a block of cement.

You lift your hand to trace his cheek. He sighs, leaning into the touch. Your fingers are rough and cracked, blood drying on your knuckles. The copper twang is hard to miss. He turns his head to kiss your palm, eyes closing in reverence. You fully cup his cheek and draw him in, kissing him softly at first.

Your lips tremble with overwhelming emotion. The anger that burns in your heart is slowly snuffed out by the soothing balm of his quiet sigh, a hushed whisper of your real name, not your moniker. You wonder for the first time since this began if he felt the same loss you did when you began distancing yourself from him. When you went back to your old room instead of sleeping in his bed, if he looked so tired the next night because he couldn’t sleep at all without you there beside him.

You get your answer in the way he desperately pulls you into kiss after kiss, burning with passion and trying to catch up for the time lost. In the way his hands hold your face, tangling with the hairs at the back of your neck as he keeps you close. In the way he sighs and gasps so longingly, savoring everything you give him.

He feels how much you missed him in much the same way. In the way you step closer until your bodies are pressed together. In the way you grab onto his jacket’s lapel. In the way you dig your bloody fingers in his white hair.

You’re both panting when he finally pulls away, breaths mixing in the centimeters between your faces as he refuses to move back any farther, forehead resting insistently against yours. Neither of you say anything for a moment, basking together in the quiet aftermath of the storm.

His hand is warm and gentle when he pulls yours from his hair. He turns it over to press featherlight kisses along your busted up knuckles. “Let’s take care of you, sweetheart, hm?” His eyes are half-lidded with affection when he looks at you. “The auction is tomorrow night. I need to show everyone just who I belong to.”

Your heart skips in your chest as you draw him in again by his leather jacket, biting down sharply on his lower lip. He hisses at the sting, but groans with want when you pull away. His eyes are drawn to his blood on your lips. “I’ll make sure they never forget.”

---

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[astrobydalia]

September Observations

This post has a TW I do not allow the repost on any others platform

© astrobydalia

Something I forgot to mention in this post about 8th house synastry!! I've noticed for some reason this overlay tends to manifest more positively when the house person already has 8th house placements in their natal chart (not a guarantee tho). I feel like its because this makes the house person be more naturally in their power and the planet person no longer feels like they can have control over the house person. In these cases instead of envy the planet person feels admiration and "positive" obsession over the house person like "Im obsessed with you, queen!🥰​😍​🤩​" kinda vibe

If Libra Moons didn’t have the ability to detach fast they could easily pass as water moons 100%. They are such hopeless romantics and love having someone to love be that friends or partners. And yes they can be codependent but only to an extent imo. I’ve seen Libra Moons actually detach surprisingly fast specially if they feel like you don’t match their energy

Im sorry but Libra Suns are not people you can count on imo. They have this very elitist/opportunistic mindset when it comes to people. They treat people based on some kind of unspoken social hierarchy they have in their minds like how successful or intelligent or interesting you appear to be for example. They'll be loyal for as long as they see benefit from associating themselves with you, otherwise they'll be distant, elusive and flighty af. Socially they appear to be super chill but they aren’t like at all, they’re very passive-aggressive and extremely judgmental of others

If you have Venusian MC/10th house (Libra or Taurus MC/10th or Venus in the 10th house), I've noticed people care what you think of them and really feel the need to make a good impression on you, specially the sex you're attracted to romantically. This placement makes people feel like your love and affection is a privilege to have, that’s why a lot of trophy wives have venusian 10th house/MC

Jupiterians (Pisces/Sagittarius but specially Sagittarius placements) are just the best people to be around tbh. Even when they have other toxic placements/energies in their charts, I’ve noticed they are ultimately all about the ✨vibes✨. They detach from negativity quite fast and avoid getting too deep into drama and controversy cause really all they want is to chill and have fun. The “no worries, bro” kinda people. The negative side of this tho is they tend to turn a blind eye when they get called out on their own issues and/or have a tendency to be dismissive when it’s time to take things seriously

^^^You’d say Venusians relate to this peaceful description too but tbh I didn’t include them cause Venusians tend to have a lot of repressed shit and are secretly all about drama (but watching it go down from afar tho)

I’ve noticed water mercury tend to be more diplomatic and charming with their words, the way they speak about things tends to be more soothing yet nebulous/confusing/cryptic. However earth mercuries are more direct and critical which makes them more prone to openly talking shit LMAO

There's a lot of posts victimizing and romanticizing Lilith in the 1st house/conjunct the ASC but I've seen this placement a lot in bullies and genuinely fraudulent people?? I've seen Lilith energy is commonly prominent in the charts of criminals too. Like​ idk why people act like the hate Lilith gets is ALWAYS unjustified 💀 They can truly be really dark and shady individuals that’s literally what Lilith signifies (this does not apply to everyone of courseeeeee)

Furthermore, I'm sorry to say this but prominent Lilith natives have a habit of living too much in the victim mindset and constantly make everyone else the problem as a way to justify their shitty behaviors

What I’ve noticed with Lilith natives who are not sketchy people (so just normal decent individuals) is that they have huge self-destructive and self-derogatory tendencies. They tend to become very cynical of the world, lose hope in their own value and humiliate themselves behaving in ways that are rebellious to them but make other people think the native has no self-respect

Libra/7th house Lilith tend to assume the worst in others. Envy placement. They struggle finding genuine and healthy relationships

I've noticed MC ruler in the 12th house is common in the charts of sex workers since 12th house is related to bed pleasures, secret affairs, etc

The sign that actually behaves like a child irl is Gemini. That’s why I've noticed Gemini placements always want to be the 'cool and fun parent' just like Phil Dunphy

TW: mentions of c**** abuse and s******.

I've noticed Cancer energy (Leo too but mostly cancer) is very common in the charts of p*dos, gr**mers and s*xual predators. No placement will determine someone being this way!!!

Chiron in the 1st house/conjunct the ASC/Harshly aspecting chart ruler is common in the charts of people who have or have tried to commit s******

End of TW

An underrated god complex indicator is Sun-Mercury conjunction. I can't stress enough how much these people's ego revolve around their intellect. Their entire personality to them is being the smartest person in the room

When it comes to pride and ego (Sun) fixed and mutable suns are the most likely to have a superiority complex

Mutable Suns take the most pride on their own knowledge and judgment, deeply believe they know better or have most if not all the answers. They have a tendency to often dismiss, correct or contradict others

Fixed Suns take pride in their own ‘essence’ if that make sense. They LOVE the idea of being special and irreplaceable. Feeling like there’s something intrinsically unique about them

Cardinal Suns are okay tbh. They can have other negatives but when it comes to ego theirs is usually pretty balanced I noticed. They usually take pride in their ability to level-up and improve themselves which often makes them rather competitive or in extreme cases have this heavily predatory mindset when it comes to what they want

This will not be accurate for everyone of course but when it comes to future children if you have Water/Earth moon you are most likely to have girls whereas if you have Air/Fire moon you're more most likely to have boys

Air Venus people are the most open-minded when it comes to taste in general. I've noticed they're the type to enjoy almost every music and movie genre, they can appreciate different aesthetics.... They're also the most likely to date outside their race I've seen cause they can really find beauty in all sort of features as long as it looks overall good/attractive to them. It's not that they don't have preferences, but they're type be open to being impressed and mentally stimulated

EARTH and Fire Venus people are the most selective when it comes to their taste. They know exactly what they want and like. In the case of earth Venus this can be to the point of strong reluctance to try new things. Fire Venus appear open minded cause they have this attitude of trying everything once but the usually have a very hard-set type of things they will actually commit to

Water Venus people aren't that open about their tastes. They hide or repress them cause they really tend to be into obscure or hidden stuff. If you ask them what they like, they'll give you an evasive and generic answer, specially if it's in the context of small talk

I've noticed Capricorn and Scorpio Moons have an innate understanding of the uglier sides of human nature which is what makes them pretty cynical (scorpio) and pessimistic (cap). They are hyper-aware of how most people can be bought and corrupted. This makes them AMAZING business people tho.

Aries ASC natives embody the active, wild and spontaneous stereotype more than the other aries placements. They come across as pretty chill at first but there's actually very little they won't dare to do, they love adventures

I've noticed Venusians can do really good in anything related to sales or business counseling, because they are good at estimating and promoting the value of things

I know we relate Neptune to otherworldly and glamorous vibe but all the people that I've met who made me go "wow, girl, you don't feel real" were people who had air signs in their big 3. They’re not real people, they’re concepts, I swear that’s the vibe they give me💀💀

Also, air signs in the big 3 is an underrated fame/success indicator imo. Nowadays networking is everything in order to succeed and these natives naturally attract popularity and connections SO easily. They effortlessly use their charm and likeness to gain opportunities

I once saw an observation that said Gemini risings give off dumb blonde energy and Im here to confirm it’s true, specially when Mercury is also in an air sign. This happens cause they're up in their minds all the time but this makes them appear VERY disconnected from their environment so they really just be looking like this 24/7 😀​😃​😄​😁​😆​🙂​ and that's why they come across as empty-headed. They also often have this manic pixie dream girl energy which results in people not taking them seriously. This is enhanced when you see that they have a tendency to get talkative about superficial or random topics but their more intelligent or deep thoughts they keep to themselves for some reason.

Taurus Moons actually are actually very very very strategic??? Other earth moons look messy af beside them. They're so grounded that they know exactly what they want, how they wanna get it and they are so sure of themselves they have no issue taking their sweet ass time with it. Every single step they take is so intentional and "organized" if that makes sense, but they pull it off as natural and spontaneous??

Also this is an obvious thing to say but Taurus Moons are so emotionally stable. They work extremely well under pressure, will literally be the calm person admist a chaos or extreme situation. I've seen Cap/Virgo moons getting triggered many times but Taurus moons???? I've known some of them for years and I've never seen them triggered EVER no matter happened which as a water moon that's fucking insane to me 😭​💀​💀​ Like sure depending on their personality they can be more or less expressive of their feelings but its always on their own terms, they don't let other people or situations just get reactions out of them if that makes sense

I've noticed Mercury in the 4th house creates a divided and scattered family. Just like Mercury in the 10th house indicates traveling for work, Mercury in the 4th indicates traveling because of your family. The people I've seen with this placement have all of their family members scattered around the world living completely different lives

Sun-Neptune harsh aspects are very impressionable people and very easily influenced

Also, a lot of people point out Sun-Pluto aspects have like a hidden dark/toxic side to their personality but I've seen it's actually Sun-Neptune that match this description

Libra placements can potentially be very disciplined and do well in demanding and/or serious occupations like corporate, military or athletes since Saturn is exalted in Libra.

Venus in the 1st house can tend to only value the superficially good things in them (lovable, likabale, beautiful, etc) and are more concerned with the image they present rather than building a real personality deep down. This make them ignore or downplay their flaws thus not reacting well to criticism and/or when someone does not like them.

All the men that I’ve met who were actually providers and had this involved father and husband vibes always had VIRGO, taurus and cancer placements

Men with capricorn placements aren’t providers, they’re just controlling af😭😭 They will also be emotionally distant and manipulative af too if they do not have other energies in the chart to balance it out

Honestly water suns (sun in a water house natives too) fascinate me. They just go around life casually hiding who they really are like they don’t have the most intricate personality deep down. All of them have mysterious and intriguing vibes it's not just scorpio!!!

5th house placements (including vertex) will stay behaving like teenagers regardless of their age. The song "forever young" by alphaville really describes them

Neptune in the 1st house/asc are prone to attracting lots and lots of creepy individuals because they have this aura where people project all sorts of delulu and twisted shit on them. Mentally and/or emotionally unwell people feel very attached to these natives unfortunately

Leo MC/10th house really does indicate a career where you're some kind of performer. That’s why many celebrities (specially ACTORS and singers) are Scorpio risings. This can also apply to careers like politics, public speaker, standup comedian, etc. All of these involve some level of fame ofc

Cancer MC/10th house indicates being some kind of creator (cancer=birthing something new, bringing something to life). This a lot of times relate to some art form of course but it can be other things for example a friend of mine has this placement and she works in science and she told me she works in a lab with substances and materials she created herself (idk how it works but you get the idea)

Pisces Suns have a major in gaslighting from the university of never taking responsibility. This can be the case for any unevolved pisces placement but I’ve noticed the lying to your face and twisting reality is much more blatant in Pisces Suns for some reason. They make arguments in such a way that you can tell something of what they’re saying is off but you can’t exactly prove them wrong either so 🤷🏽‍♀️💀

Mercurial placements (Gemini/Virgo) and Venus in the 3rd house may really love wearing rings or lots of bracelets, big watches, etc. Accessories that bring attention to the hands essentially

Libra placentas may or may not want to be "liked" but Libra Moon is a placement I've seen is genuinely liked by everyone. They have this calming and loving energy to them. Celebrities with this placement are generally unproblematic (Anne Hathaway, Emma Stone) or if they are problematic they can easily recover from backlash (Ariana Grande, Leo DiCaprio)

© astrobydalia