#<- said while seething in jealousy

[shivapvoid]

and the storm lifted.

[chryzuree]

chrysijacks arguments get MEAN in the way that only childhood friends’ arguments can get… they know each other’s greatest weakness and they’ll drag it out of hiding, kicking and screaming, just to win an argument. chrysi always wins btw.

[chanandlersstuff]

Three times where Anakin’s jealousy was harmless, even fun, and one when it wasn't.

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Reader/OFC.

Summary: Every time he sees her across the room and forgets to breathe, forgets that damn code that complicates his life. She knows exactly what she’s doing, she’s beauty, power, and temptation wrapped in one impossible woman, and everyone wants her, but she only burns for him. Every time he sees her with someone else, Anakin’s composure cracks a little more.

Word count: 7.141

Warnings: Anakin, a warning itself. A little bit of smut, not graphic, there, toxicity there, jealousy, a creep, violence and blood. (let me know if i miss something).

Author’s note: Hiii, two times in one day, count yourselves lucky. First time writting for our sweet beloved Ani.

This is inspired by hours and hours of clone wars and this tiktok. It goes without saying that all this is fictional, I don't want to upseat anyone, this is for fun.

With that being said, enjoy, hope you like it. Lots of love, ME.

(gif credits to the owner)

The air was thick with expensive perfume, velvet words and politics. Senators with fabricated smiles moved like currents through golden light, their laughter overlapping with the soft strings of the Nabooian quartet tucked into one corner of the ballroom. Glasses clinked. Conversations sparkled. 

Anakin felt her before she even entered the hall properly. The soft tug in his chest told him she was close, and when she stepped into view, adorned in metallic green robes that kissed the floor, hugged her curves and shimmered as she moved, he nearly forgot to breathe. 

And so did everyone else. 

She looked like a whispered sin.

Men turned. Women glanced. Senators whispered. Generals approached her. Every damn set of eyes in that room followed her. Of course they did because she looked like the brightest star of them all. 

Anakin could feel them, sense their intentions as they approached her with too-wide smiles like the itch of static across his skin. Their attention wasn’t polite, it was hungry.

His eyes saw her having polite smiles, he heard her laughter, rare but dazzling, curved through the air like sunlight on water, and it struck him, standing across the room in ceremonial Jedi robes, how damn bright she was.

And how many men wanted to bask in her glow.

She was the kind of woman people gravitated toward. A quiet sun in the middle of a storm. A cathedral in a world of shacks, commanding awe. 

He stood across the ballroom, robed in Jedi formality, a guest and a ghost. His hands stayed folded behind his back, his expression neutral. But inside, he was seething as yet another advisor leaned just a little too close, whispering something into her ear that made her smile, and his fingers curled into a fist.

For hours, she moved like light across the floor, drawn into every orbit. People hoarded her attention, called her name, asked for things, fed off her warmth. She smiled, laughed, and even joked. All while never looking at him. Not even once.

Then it happened, some Republic attaché leaned in to say something, too close, and she turned her head to hear him better, her shoulder brushing his chest. His hand hovered just behind her waist. Not touching, not quite.

But Anakin felt it, felt the heat surge like a detonation in his chest. A sharp, hot pang hit low in his gut.

He hadn’t touched her in weeks, some mission in some Outer Rim dustbowl, he couldn’t even remember the name now. All he could think about in that moment was the ghost of her skin under his callus fingers, soft, smooth, velvet-warm and seared into his memory like a brand.

And now others were close enough to smell her perfume.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, willing the fire down, but it simmered. Oh, it simmered. Another man stepped up to her side, clearly emboldened. Flirting again. Anakin’s knuckles whitened behind his back.

She plucked the flower the man offered her, twirled it between her fingers, and, finally, looked up. Across the room, past every other face. Right at him and her smile changed. Slow. Private. Not for anyone else. She knew what she was doing and she loved it. He could feel the pulse of her amusement, soft and golden behind her ribcage, glowing just for him.

And that was enough to cool the burn. For now.

She excused herself a few moments later, slipping away with the tail of her gown floating behind her, weaving through polished diplomats and oblivious senators. He waited precisely ten seconds before following, every step practiced restraint.

The cool night air of Coruscant swept over the balcony, a quiet haven away from the noise and glitter of the gala. The hum of air traffic and muffled music were distant, irrelevant things. All Anakin saw, all he ever saw, even in his dreams, was her.

She leaned against the railing like she owned the city, like the stars were her playthings. The wind caught her hair just enough to make him ache.

“You looked cozy in there,” he said, voice low, sharp at the edges. “Your... fan club seemed enthusiastic tonight.”

She didn’t turn. Just let the silence stretch, knowing it’d get to him. It always did.

“Fan club?” she echoed at last, tone light, teasing. “Sounds like jealousy, Skywalker.”

Anakin scoffed and folded his arms. “Interesting choice of company tonight. You always did like the dramatic types.”

She turned, one brow lifted. “You mean politicians?”

“I mean men who seem to forget that you are clearly out of their league.” He stepped closer, boots nearly silent, heat radiating off him in waves.

“You know,” she continued, tilting her head slightly to the side, “if I do have a fan club, I’m pretty sure you started it. That whole brooding stare-from-across-the-room thing? Very compelling.”

His jaw ticked. “Right. I’ll remember to blink next time I watch you let half the Senate fall in love with you.”

Her eyes glittered as she turned to face him. “You were watching.”

“You knew I was.”

“Practically vibrating,” she teased. “If you glared any harder, you’d have ignited the Chancellor’s carpet.”

The Force crackled faintly between them, quiet, intimate, like the brush of fingers on bare skin. He didn’t have to reach for her emotions; they poured into him like sunlight and wildfire. She was amused. Charged. Testing him.

She took a step closer. Barely there, but it was enough. “Maker, you’re jealous,” she murmured, delighted at how much tension it was in his jaw and arms. “That’s adorable.”

That did it.

In one smooth, sudden motion, Anakin pressed her back into the shadows of the balcony, out of sight. Her breath caught as the cold stone met part of her spine and his body followed, flush against hers, every line of him pressed with unrelenting intent, the warmth of his palm burning the small of her back. His metallic hand caught her jaw, tilting her face up, not rough, but firm.

His eyes burned gold in the dark as the shadows wrapped them in silence, covering their secret. 

“Do you know how hard it is not to touch you when they do?” he hissed, breath hot against her cheek. “Not to shout that you’re mine?”

She smiled slowly, challenging. “You don’t need to shout.”

He growled softly, teeth clenched. “Right, because you’re the one who loves to be loud.”

She didn’t deny it. “I love to shout your name,” she purred as her fingers found his belt, tugging him even closer.

Their mouths crashed together in a kiss that had no business being soft. It was hot, messy, desperate, brutal in its restraint. Tongues sliding, biting, fighting for dominance, hands gripping wherever they could, pulling the other deeper, like the weeks apart hadn’t worn their restraint down to shreds.

He groaned into her mouth when she bit his lip, and she gasped when he pressed his big leg slid between hers with sinful precision, and Anakin swallowed the sound greedily.

The world outside didn’t exist. There was only this, this fire, this want, this ache they weren’t allowed to name. And the Force around them swirled, tight and humming, their shared emotions tangling like limbs in the dark. Possession. Desire. Frustration. Love, blistering and untouchable. 

They kissed like they were starving. Like they might not get the chance again. Like it wasn’t enough to be his in secret, she wanted to be his in blood, in breath, in everything.

When they finally pulled apart, panting, her lipstick smudged, his hair a mess, and her dress rumpled, he still didn’t move.

He leaned his forehead to hers, eyes closed, hand on her cheek now, softer. But the tremble in his chest hadn’t gone.

“You are mine,” Anakin whispered.

Somewhere inside, he knew this was dangerous.

But her hand running in his hair, tugging softly, her lips swollen and smirking beneath his, and the feeling of her emotions bleeding into his own, her heart thudding against his. “Always.”

It all made him reckless.

Made him Anakin.

The halls of the Jedi Temple bathed in a golden wash of sunlight that stretched through high windows. It was a sanctuary, quiet and disciplined, above any kind of distraction. 

Anakin stood with his arms crossed, flanked by a line of teen knights finishing saber drills under his supervision. The hum and clash of practice blades echoed through the open-air courtyard, mid morning sun painting golden light across the pale stone floors.

He was focused, they all were. Until he wasn’t anymore.

A tug. It started like a subtle itch in his chest. That familiar flutter of energy in the Force that only she caused. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly. Then came the whispers. The laughter. The telltale shift in attention that shouldn’t be happening in a Temple. 

Anakin turned and there she was. She had always made a mockery of Jedi rules just by simply existing.

She moved through the courtyard like a comet, bright, elegant, entirely out of place and somehow right there. The sun kissed her skin and made her glow. Hair swept back, face glowing, wearing that rich blue gown that fitted her like a globe and stole breaths left and right. 

Poor young Jedis, they barely stood a chance.

He watched, arms still crossed, as they began to trip over themselves for her, far too eagerly.

A taller knight stumbled forward, lightsaber already off, bowing too low. “Senator, would you care for a demonstration?”

Another, younger, grinned, straightening his robes with unnecessary flair, puffed up his chest and opened his mouth to talk, but was cut short by a third that stepped in beside her, charming and overly familiar. “Senator,” he said, smirking, offering his arm. “Perhaps I could escort you to the Grand Hall? The Temple’s layout can be disorienting, after all.” 

“Actually,” another interrupted, “I was just about to take my morning walk, can I show you the gardens?”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. The younger knights, barely past their trials, surrounded her like moths to flame. Soon, he was sure the entire practice floor was about to break in spontaneous combat displays.

They were all smiles and flushed cheeks, tripping over each other for a chance to impress her but all she did was smile politely, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. 

Anakin moved, dangerously calm, all coiled control and silent warning. The kind of movement that sliced through space like a saber unsheathed, needing no sound to be final. He stepped into view like a storm rolling over a bright sky. Shadows clung to his silhouette, jaw set, blue eyes hard. He towered over the young knights who were still mid-stammer and mid-swoon.

Her eyes found his instantly and a smile, bright, amused, knowing exactly what this was, appeared on her tempting lips. “General Skywalker,” she greeted, honey-smooth and just this side of smug.

“Senator,” he said, voice all clipped politeness, but there was a glint in his eye only she could read. “You’re expected elsewhere. Please—come with me.”

It wasn’t a request. Not really.

She tilted her head, clearly entertained, and followed without protest. Behind her, the poor knights stood shell-shocked and heartbroken.

Anakin took her the long way, through narrow passages and shadow-laced halls that only he would know. Hidden corridors carved into the Temple’s bones, tucked from sight and sound. No one followed. No one dared. No one ever did when he didn’t want them to.

The tension thrummed between them. Unspoken. Electric. She could feel it through the thread they never dared name. That quiet, intimate current that pulsed like a live wire between their hearts. It made her skin prickle and her mouth curl.

“You’re brooding,” she said lightly, brushing his hand with hers.

“They were drooling,” he replied, jaw clenched, walking too fast.

She laughed softly. “You’re a menace.” Force humming quietly between them in familiar warmth. 

He didn’t deny it. Just opened the door to his quarters and tilted his head towards the inside. His eyes burned hotter than the twin suns. “They were idiots.”

“They were children,” she said, shrugging off her shawl. “It was flattering, sure. But harmless.”

She stepped into his space and reached for his tunic, smoothing invisible wrinkles just for the excuse to touch him.

His hands found her waist like magnets, urgent, desperate. Like his world only started spinning when she was close. Like he’d been starving for the feel of her. “You’re mine,” he muttered, voice rough, low.

The second she pressed against him, the tension snapped. His shoulders dropped and his breath hitched. She always did this to him, only she ever could.

The smile she gave him lit up every star in his chest.

“Possessive much?” she teased, lifting her gaze beneath her lashes. Her hand rested against his chest, gentle pressure just over his heart. “You’re lucky that’s sexy.”

“They don’t even see you,” he growled, lips brushing the edge of her jaw as he inhaled her. “Not really. Not like I do.”

Her fingers slid into his hair, threading through the waves of it, soft and slow. His anger began to dissolve under her touch.

“I know that,” she whispered, grounding him. “You don’t have to prove anything, Ani.” Her lips brushed his, featherlight. “I only have eyes for one Jedi Knight,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

A sharp breath left his lungs, forehead pressed to hers. He didn’t speak. Just stood there and felt her. Let her presence, her truth, her kiss soften all the edges. As it always did.

“You’re the only one,” she said, voice softer now, brushing her lips against his. “The only one who gets to take me home.”

He said nothing. He just clenched his jaw and looked at her like she was the entire galaxy, beautiful, untouchable, and he didn’t know how to protect her from it without claiming her. But Anakin was ready to go to the end of time to keep her safe, even if it meant destroying himself in the process.

She kissed him, soft and slow, with reverence, her thumb brushed along his jaw and his hands finally moved. One slid around her lower back, the other tangled in her hair, cradling her like something both sacred and dangerous.

“You were planning to come early,” he said, voice rasping low. “Just to see me.”

She smiled against his lips. “Took you long enough to figure it out, my love.”

He kissed her, deeper, hungrier. Less about proving, more about having. Reverence disguised as hunger. Possession disguised as devotion.

They didn’t speak again for a while. Not when she tugged him toward his bed. Not when his hands ran down her back like he was mapping out the constellations of her skin. Not when his mouth marked her skin like scripture. Not when she gasped his name like it anchored her. Not when he murmured her name like a prayer. And definitely not when the Force pulsed around them, holding the world at bay.

She had come early and now, thanks to him, she’d come more than once… and would definitely be late to her meeting, with love bites and traces of him in places only he could see later in the night.

But that had always been the danger, with her, time bent, it didn’t really matter. The world waited. Only she existed.

And if anyone asked, well, he was General Skywalker. And no one dared question him.

She was trying to work. Key word, trying. Because trying didn’t stand a chance when Anakin Skywalker was in the room. Her focus kept going to him.

He wasn’t even doing anything, not really. Just existing, sprawled across the soft seating like it was his throne, golden and smug. His presence filled the space like a storm fills the horizon, vast and crackling, impossible to ignore. She could feel him under her skin, behind her ribs, humming through her bloodstream even with five feet and a desk between them.

And he knew it, of course he did, he could feel the effect he had on her.

“You know,” he said casually, leaning back and resting the back of his head in his intertwined fingers, “we should go away.”

She didn’t look up from her datapad. “Go away?”

“A vacation.” He was already picturing it, voice wrapped in sunlight. “Just the two of us. There’s a place, far, far from here, remote, beautiful, where no one would recognize us.” He looked at her. “It will be like we are an actual couple instead of Senator and Jedi.”

Her fingers paused above the screen, the weight of the idea pressing into her chest like warmth. She could see it too, for a moment. Feel it like a dream she wanted to believe in.

“I would love nothing more,” she said honestly. “But I can’t, Ani.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” he sat up, affronted, like she’d personally insulted the sun. “It’s two weeks. The Senate can survive without you. Miraculously, I know.”

She sighed, still not looking at him. “I’m sure it can. But I have propositions to review, bills to finalize, votes to prepare. Important meetings—”

He stepped around her desk and popped a dramatic hip like the galaxy's most petulant god. “More important than me?”

She narrowed her eyes, slow and sharp. “You know exactly what you mean to me.”

“Do I?” he said dramatically, crossing his arms and turning around like a tragic holo actor. “Because right now it feels like my heart is being shoved to the bottom of your schedule.”

She let out a breath and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands across her stomach as she studied him.

“Our love is everything to me,” she said carefully. “But my work matters too. It matters for people who don’t have the luxury of sneaking away. Our work matters, Anakin. What we do matters.”

“To me there’s nothing more important than you,” he said standing there with his back to her, arms crossed like a storm cloud, radiating disappointment in dramatic waves.

She stared at his back, lips twitching. “That better not be a pout.”

“No,” he grumbled, “it’s… noble heartbreak.”

She laughed softly, Maker help her, she adored this ridiculous man. “You’re such a menace.”

“And yet here you are,” he said, not turning around. “Still not on vacation with me.”

She stood, walked towards him and slid her hands around his waist, resting her chin between his shoulder blades. “What can I do to prove to you that you matter the most to me?”

“The damage is already done,” he said with great theatrical flair.

A laugh almost escaped her lips, but she pushed it back, and in a swift motion she stood in front of him. Her fingers found his jaw, warm, strong, and tilted his face down to hers.

“My sweet sweet Ani,” she whispered, her lips slow, hot, reverent, against his, making him melt, just a little. “If you want proof,” she murmured, “then let me show you what you mean to me.”

She kissed him, soft and deep, hands threading through his hair possessively, it silenced every protest he thought about making. 

The kiss was heated, frantic, like they’d been starving for each other and finally allowed to feast. It was instant combustion. No slow burn, no delicate teasing. Just raw need, all fire and ache and knowing. He exhaled into her mouth, his hands tangled in her hair, then moved down to her waist, clutching like gravity itself had shifted and he was grounding himself. 

She tasted like stars and defiance. He kissed her like she was air and flame all at once. The fire she lit inside him was hers alone to command.

When her mouth grazed his neck, what was left of his composure unraveled like silk and his lips met hers again. He walked them back, blindly, not breaking the kiss, not once, her mouth still pressed to his, until she hit the bookshelf. He pinned her there, one hand cradling her head so she wouldn’t knock into the shelves. Books toppled behind them like falling stars as his mouth found her throat, her collarbone, her name falling from his lips like a prayer he’d been dying to say.

She gasped, breathless and burning, and he kissed her harder, like he needed to brand himself into her soul.

Then he moved again, his hands were already back on her, mapping the lines of her body like sacred territory. He knew every curve, every reaction, how she’d shiver when he kissed just below her jaw, how her breath caught when his fingers traced her spine. They collided again, lips bruising, hands insistent.

But it wasn’t just need, it was knowing. The kind of knowing that came from worship and war, from battles fought side by side and promises whispered in the dark. 

When the desk hit the backs of her thighs, he lifted her onto it, his free hand shooting out to sweep everything off the surface in one violent motion, datapads, files, a stylus, a small potted plant, all crashing to the floor as if the whole galaxy could wait while his was mouth still on hers, and she pulled him in like gravity had given up and left only them.

They moved together in a rhythm as old as time, sharp gasps, soft moans, whispered names, a symphony of want and devotion echoing off polished wood and walls that had seen too much and still not enough.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, her heels locking at the small of his back, pulling him into her, into this, and he thrust into her, the sound she made shattered him. Her head fell back, exposing her throat, and he kissed it reverently, like a knight bent before a goddess. 

She was wrapped around him, tangled in his body like ivy on stone. Her hands were in his hair, his tunic, her voice in his ear, guiding him, worshipping him. His mouth dragged over her neck, her chest, every place that made her tremble.

His hands moved over her body like he knew every inch of her in his bones, because he did. He didn’t fumble. He didn’t guess. He knew her like he knew the hilt of his saber, like breath, like instinct. He knew what would make her gasp, what would make her moan, what would unravel her completely. And she gave herself to it, to him, because she knew him just the same.

When the desk groaned in protest, he lifted her into his arms, and she laughed breathlessly against his mouth as he carried her to the little velvet sofa, limbs tangled, breathing ragged. He continued to worship her there, whispering her name like it was a secret spell that bound the universe together. She pulled him in with her eyes, with her hands, with the soft, broken sound she only ever made for him.

Every movement, every sound, every glance between them was instinct, history, devotion. They didn’t have to speak. They knew.

And when they finally collapsed on the floor, sweaty, undone, breathless and wrecked and more whole than ever, he hovered over her, brushing damp hair from her face, his heart pounding against hers.

“You are everything to me,” she whispered, cupping his cheek.

His lips curved into a crooked smile as he pressed his forehead to hers. “No,” he murmured. “We’re everything.”

The gala was crowded, loud, and glittering with too much fake gold and not enough sincerity. She floated through it like she always did, charming, gracious, intelligent. Every word laced with purpose and diplomacy. She was dazzling, magnetic. Untouchable.

Anakin had been watching her from across the room, he always is, with admiration, with love blossoming in his chest, but tonight his jaw was clenched so tightly it could shatter in any moment. 

Senator Vanto of Andosha was practically glued to her side, as he had seemed to be lately. He had been circling for weeks like a blood-slicked nexu. It started with a look across the Senate, followed by sugar-drenched pleasantries echoing in marble halls and smiles that lasted a second too long, then a fleeting compliment with a lingering hand on her back. Then he started to get more bold, a too-close whisper over a datapad, every time she laughed the man leaned in closer, taking every possible opportunity to have a hand on her, his eyes devouring her like a predator savoring the kill.

Anakin had seen it all, every touch, every glance from the Senator over the last few weeks, and it burned through him like acid, each and every single time, and she didn’t see it. Or worse, she refused to.

Now, in that glittering cage, every time he even breathed close to her, every time she flashed that too-perfect public smile, Anakin’s vision blurred at the edges. And when the senator started parading around with a hand on the small of her back, his filthy hand on her smooth velvety skin, fingers grazing the open back of her gown like he had the right, like he could, Anakin’s blood boiled.

And she, she laughed, not her real laugh, the one she gave him in quiet moments beneath tangled sheets, but the polite one she wore in public. It didn’t matter. It burned all the same. 

Without a word, he turned on his heel, strides clipped and purposeful. He didn’t care who saw. Let the whole damn Senate speculate. Let them whisper. He didn’t care. He launched his fighter and left.

By the time she got home, the apartment was dark. Cold. But not silent. Anakin was there, pacing like a caged animal, shoulders tight with barely restrained fury.

She didn’t even get her shoes off before the storm hit. “Something wrong Ani?” she asked, the door barely clicking shut behind her.

He turned, the heat in his eyes sparking like wildfire. “You really have to ask?”

She blinked at him, confused, tension curling at the edge of her spine. “I don’t understand.” She frowned, “If you’re upset about something, say it. Don’t just, brood,” she said, unwinding the earrings from her lobes. 

“I’m not brooding,” he snapped. “I’m trying very hard not to explode.”

She scoffed. “Well, you’re doing a terrible job.”

“Just like you were at keeping Senator Vanto’s filthy hands off you,” he said, sarcasm dripping like venom. 

Her breath caught. “Are you really going to start again?” she snapped, looking at him through the mirror in the room, pulling the pins from her hair, letting it tumble over her back. “I’ve told you, he’s a colleague. That’s all.”

Anakin stood dead center in the room, arms stiff at his sides, fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white. “A colleague who practically breathes down your neck every time you’re in the same room. And you let him!”

Her laugh was cold, sharp. “Let him? You think I let him?”

“I don’t think,” he said, voice jagged. “I saw you with my own eyes!”

“I was doing my job!” she said loudly, turning towards him. “Talking, negotiating, building rapport, which is what I’ve always done. What do you want me to do, Anakin? Be rude? Push him away in front of the entire Senate chamber just to make you feel better? Throw a drink in his face and declare I belong to you?” 

“I’m asking you to see it,” he bit out. “He touches you like he owns you.”

“I don’t belong to anyone!” she yelled, sharply and coldly. 

“I thought you said you were mine,” he said, lower now, his voice breaking at the edges.

“I’m not a possession, Anakin.”

“No,” he said, quieter, rawer. “But you are mine, just as I’m yours, because we chose each other. Because what we have is real. And he’s trying to take you from me,” he said, touching his chest.

Her laugh then wasn’t cold, it was shattered. “You sound insane.”

He stepped closer, too close. “And you sound blind.”

The room froze.

Her face hardened, voice tightening like she was holding back something sharp. “Do you hear yourself right now? He’s not the problem here, Anakin. You are.”

That cracked something in him, clean through the middle, cracking his chest open.

“No,” he said, voice rising. “I’m the one who’s stuck waiting while he gets to stand beside you, hover over you, touch you. Me, the man that has loved you since the first time he saw you, who would burn the galaxy down just to keep you safe, gets crumbs behind closed doors! So excuse me if I’m sick of pretending this doesn’t bother me!”

Her heart stung like it had been slapped. “You think this is easy for me? Hiding, lying, splitting myself in two just to make this work—”

“Then maybe it’s not worth it,” he snapped.

She flinched, like he’d hit her. Her mouth opened, then closed, her voice caught behind the pressure building in her chest. 

The silence that followed was instant and total. The air turned to glass between them, fragile, sharp, suffocating, waiting to shatter.

Her voice dropped to just a whisper. “Is that really how you feel?”

He faltered. He didn’t mean it. But pride, stupid, stubborn pride, held his tongue hostage and wouldn’t let him soften. “Maybe it is.”

Her breath hitched, then turned away from him, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “Then go,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, holding herself together with the last thread of her control she had before shattering.

Anakin didn’t move, said nothing. His jaw ticked, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. He stared at her back for a long moment, at the way her shoulders rose and fell like she was holding it together, barely.

He wanted to take it back. Maker, he wanted to. He wanted to cross the galaxy that appeared between them and fix it, he wanted to hold her and not go.

But he didn’t, and instead turned on his heel and walked out, again. Jumping on his fighter and going away, leaving her in the quiet wreckage of their home.

The silence echoed through the apartment like a thunderclap as she stood there, still in her gown, her earrings in her hand, hair loose caressing her back, and shaking. The lights hummed softly above her. The room felt cavernous without him in it.

And all she could do was stand there, alone, tears pulling in her eyes, surrounded by the wreckage of what they’d built, and wonder, maybe this time, they’d broken something they couldn’t fix.

A full day passed.

She hadn’t moved much, buried under blankets, curtains drawn to shut out the light that mocked her with its warmth. Her datapad buzzed every few hours with messages and alerts, unanswered. The Senate could wait. The galaxy could wait. For the first time in years, she let herself unravel. The senator, the leader, the unshakable voice of reason, reduced to someone wrapped in silence and tears. There was the steady hum of sorrow beneath her skin and the raw ache of something lost, sobs coming and going in waves, breaking through moments of numb silence. She tried to hate him. Tried to hate herself. Neither feeling stuck. Only grief for what might already be gone did.

By late afternoon, the tears had run dry, replaced by something hollow. She pulled herself out of bed, her muscles aching like she had fought a war in her sleep. The shower steamed the mirror, the water was hot, steady, cleansing, grounding her just enough to feel like maybe she could start over.

Maybe.

But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

She was wrapping her robe around her when the knock came. She frowned, confused. No one was supposed to visit. The few people who might, had the good sense not to.

When she opened the door, Senator Vanto stood there.

Concern painted across his features like a poor artist’s attempt at sincerity. “You weren’t at the Senate today,” he said, stepping inside uninvited. “People were asking. I was worried that you perhaps were ill.”

She blinked, unsettled. “I... wasn’t feeling well.”

He smiled, taking a slow, familiar step toward her. “I figured as much. I thought maybe I could help. Maybe you needed someone to talk to.” His eyes dragged over her, landing on her exposed collarbone where the robe dipped. “Or just someone.”

A chill slid down her spine and she tightening the piece of clothing around her.

She moved toward the sitting area, creating distance, hoping he’d take the hint. “Thank you for your concern, but really, I’m fine.”

“I know,” he said smoothly, following her, “but maybe it’s time you stop pretending you don’t need anyone.” He looked her over, the flush skin, her bare legs, her wet hair. “You need someone who can take care of you,” he reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. 

She stepped back, discomfort. Her skin prickled, but not the way it did when Anakin touched her. There was no warmth here, no tenderness. Just a creeping, nauseating wrongness.

“I said I’m fine.” Again, she rounded the sitting area and tried to put as much distance between them as she could. 

But he followed, again, too closely, too comfortably. With every inch she gave, he took more.

“You’ve always kept yourself surrounded by politics, war, rules, men who are never really there for you. Jedi who disappear when it matters most.” He said it with meaning, with venom. “But not me,” he sat and pushed her to sit with him. “I wouldn’t leave you alone, not even for a second.”

Her knees hit the cushions before her mind registered what had happened. Her stomach turned. “Vanto—”

“I mean it.” His voice dropped. “You need a man who’s strong enough to handle you. Someone who knows what to do with a woman like you.” His eyes drifted down. “Someone who knows how to touch you.” His hand landed on her thigh, firm, possessive. 

Her blood froze. The hand was not delicate, not gentle. It burned. Her skin crawled under it.

“I can give you what he never could.” His voice slithered around her. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

She tensed, tried to inch away, but his hand gripped tighter. “Let go of me,” she pushed his hand away. “It’s time for you to go,” she said, standing sharply.

He stood too, moving in close, cornering her. “Come on, darling,” he said with a twisted smirk on his lips. 

She backed up. Her robe slipped slightly off one shoulder again, she yanked it up with trembling fingers.

“You can stop pretending now. No one’s watching.” His hand caught her arm.

She yanked back. “Don’t touch me.”

But he didn’t stop and his grip tightened. “I’ve seen the way you look at me—”

“There’s no way I look at you,” she snapped, breath catching. “Let go of me.”

“No more playing game,” he smirked again.

“Stop it—” she twisted, trying to break free.

“No more hiding.” His other hand gripped her side, fingers digging through the thin robe like claws.

She gasped. “Please, no.”

The fear started creeping up her throat like acid.

Her skin was on fire where he touched her, not in the way Anakin lit her nerves with heat and reverence, but like poison seeping into her bones.

“You’ve got no one here but me.”

She whimpered, voice cracking. “I said no—please don’t—”

He leaned in, tried to kiss her.

She twisted, shoved against him, her voice shaking, heart in her throat. “I said no—!”

And then—The door burst open with a crash.

A wind tore through the room as if the stars themselves had followed him in.

Anakin stood there, eyes burning, jaw locked, the fury of a thousand suns radiating off of him. His voice was low, guttural, animalistic.

“Get. Away. From her.”

Vanto startled, letting go just long enough for her to stumble back. She shoved him hard, scrambling to the other side of the room.

And before she could even breathe, Anakin crossed the room in three strides. The Force lifted Vanto off the ground like he weighed nothing, like a ragdoll, choking him mid-air. His feet kicked helplessly as Anakin stalked forward.

“You dare to touch her,” Anakin growled, his voice was cold. Controlled, but barely. 

He threw him against a wall and with his free hand, took his lightsaber and ignited with a snap-hiss of blue death. “You hurt her.” His face was carved in stone, his rage blistering, terrifying, as he pointed with his saber at him.

“Try fighting like a man,” Vanto stood up, coughing. “Without your Jedi tricks.”

Anakin’s lips twitched. A slow, dangerous smile, not at all kind. “Oh, it would be my pleasure.”

The saber shut off with a snap, and he launched forward.

The fight was brutal. No rules, no honor, just raw and animalistic fury unleashed in the flicker of a heartbeat. 

She stood frozen, robe clenched tightly around her trembling frame, breath caught in her chest as she watched the man she loved, her sweet Ani, unravel.

Anakin was a storm, all fire and anguish and vengeance, striking with the kind of force that only came from years of buried grief, unspoken heartbreak and possessive love in every strike. Metal met flesh with a sickening precision. Blood splattered. Vanto swung wildly and desperate, landing a few hits, but they barely registered. 

Anakin was relentless, built for combat. Designed for it. He wasn’t born like that, for war, but he was made into it. War had carved him into a weapon, he was honed by pain, but underneath the fury still lived the boy who once only wanted to protect the people he loved. And now, seeing her hurt, that boy was screaming and the man he had become answered with rage.

“Anakin, stop!” she cried, breathless, panic bleeding into every syllable. “Don’t—please, he’s not worth it!”

In the chaos, as she tried to break them apart, to stop the devastation, Vanto’s fist swung. It wasn’t meant for her. But it found her anyway. It hit her, colliding with her cheek, sharp and brutal.

The sound, sickening, wrong, echoed through the room like a thunderclap. She gasped, stumbled, a cry of pain tearing from her throat as she crashed into the side table and fell. The thud of her body hitting the floor split the air.

Everything stopped. He punched her. She was on the ground, pain flashing in her glassy eyes, blood on her hand and a cut in her porcelain skin.

The sound she made, that wounded sound, more raw than war, more real than anything he’d ever heard, broke something in him so violently that his breath left him in a single, strangled gasp. 

The world narrowed and all he saw was her, his word had fallen hurt and all his anger turned to something worse. 

She was hurt. Because he hadn’t stopped it. Because he hadn’t been fast enough. Because he had left and was almost too late, again.

That was it, he snapped. 

Anakin tackled Vanto with everything he had, not as a Jedi, but as a man who had seen the only thing that kept him sane, the source of his happiness, hurt and afraid. There was no humanity left as he charged. The punches came fast, the anger white-hot. He didn’t hear Vanto’s protests, and didn't care because all he saw was a danger to her. He threw him across the room, pinned him again, and hit him harder.

All he felt was heartbreak made flesh, striking out at the thing that dared hurt what mattered most to him.

Every hit said: You don’t touch her. Every hit said: You don’t get to make her afraid. Every hit said: She is mine to protect.

Only when Vanto was unmoving, groaning, bleeding, broken on the floor, did Anakin stop.

He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, fists trembling with fury. His eyes were wild, dark with something primal, something unbearable. A small whimper reached his ears and he turned around. She was still on the floor, broken and shaken.

The door opened again. Security. Too late.

Anakin rushed to her side, kneeling, hands shaking as he cupped her face. “Are you okay?” His voice cracked, desperate. “Look at me. Tell me you’re okay, please.”

He touched her cheek, gently, like she was made of light and grief and might vanish or shatter if he pressed too hard, and she whimpered at the contact. It wasn’t fear this time, nor pain. But because something in her had broken open, and he was the only one who could hold it together.

“This is all on me,” he breathed, horror and panic folding into his voice. His eyes burned, rimmed red. “Maker, forgive me—” His breath stuttered. “I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve—”

Her wide, tear-glossed eyes met his. “You came back,” she whispered, voice so small it broke him. Her trembling fingers touched his cheek, catching a tear as it slid down his face. “You came back right when I needed you.”

His face twisted with emotion, grief, relief, love that nearly broke him in two. “Of course I did,” he choked out. “I’ll always come back.”

Her lip quivered. “Don’t leave me again,” she pleaded. Her voice was broken, raw, but somehow softer.

He closed his eyes, forehead resting against hers, as if that could fuse them together and keep the world from breaking them again.

“Never,” he whispered, voice raw and aching. “My love, never.”

Behind them, security restrained Vanto’s broken, barely-conscious body. There was shouting. Movement. But none of it touched her. None of it touched him. But none of it mattered.

She leaned into Anakin’s touch, into the only thing that felt real, like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world. And maybe it was. 

“Just hold me,” she whispered. “Hold me like only our love matters in this world. Hold me like only you know how to.”

Even if the fire of his rage still clung to him like a second skin, he was hers, and she was his. He was the safest place she had known. 

He was home.

Without a word, Anakin gathered her into his arms, carefully, reverently, as if she were made of sacred things. He held her like she was the only truth he’d ever known, the only fight that ever mattered.

And in that moment, with her curled against his chest, with her tears soaking his tunic and his heartbeat steady against her ear…

The galaxy could’ve ended, and neither of them would have noticed.

[mellowyellow236]

How would the TWST boys act when they’re jealous?

This is Heartslabyul and the Misc Characters section- Links are all here: Savanaclaw/Octovinelle, Scarabia/Pomfiore/Ignihyde, and Diasomnia. All characters are meant to be interpreted as romantic. The reader is gender-neutral. There may be mild spoilers as to who overblots and other facts. Some of them might have Yandere tendencies, though nothing graphic or descriptive and always very mild, they’ll be marked with a ‘Y’ if they do. Mainly because sometimes the boys are calm and talk through their feelings… And sometimes they go down possessive insecurity-included spirals. If anyone has anything to add or any questions, please leave a reblog or comment! Requests are open if anyone wants.

Heartslabyul:  

Riddle Rosehearts - Y (For pre-overblot section only) 

Pre-overblot, Riddle manages to fit a lot of jealousy inside his tiny body. 

Talking with someone he doesn’t like? He’s declaring that it’s off with their head because they broke a rule. Someone else is flirting with you? Oh no, the hedgehogs aren’t in order, he needs you to come help him fix them. Is someone doing anything in your presence that he dislikes? THE RULES STATE THAT ONE MUST NEVER TAKE THE KING AWAY FROM THE QUEEN! 

He’s willing to make up new rules just to keep you there with him. He’s lost so many friends because of his mother, but this is a feeling just for him. You understand, don’t you? You know what he feels and you’re willing to stand by his side? Forever? You’re the only one who can. You need to promise you’ll be his king, you’ll never leave him. 

Post-overblot and he’s much more calm. At least, he’s calm by his standards. He’s still… A bit over the top at times. He wants to make sure that you actually love him, that you’re not going to leave. 

But more than that, he’s worried that he’s too clingy. Are you tired of him focusing on you? Are you thinking secretly that he needs to grow up? Do you think he’s sidetracked, as his mother does? Do you think that he needs to change again? Is he too lax this time, is he boring? Is it a chore to entertain him? Are you planning on leaving? 

Just reassure your poor redhead. He wants to be the best he can be, and he wants to be that with you. He just needs to be told that you really do love him and want to be around him. Maybe give him some kind of signal so he can tell you how he feels without needing to outright say it and listen to his concerns whenever he comes to you. 

Trey Clover - 

Trey wouldn’t get jealous under normal circumstances. He trusts you, assuming he’d like to or is dating you, and that’s that. He’d only get jealous if someone was genuinely hitting on you, and you just… Didn’t notice or care. 

While he prides himself on his ability to keep a cool and level head, the moment he sees you with someone else, watching them touch you on your arm and compliment you the same way he does. No, he compliments you even better! 

“You’re so pretty…” He can call you beautiful, jaw-dropping, stunning, or awe-inspiring! “My dear,” You’re his sweetheart, his life, his heart and head, his darling cookie! “I think we should go somewhere more private…” Okay, maybe he’s too much of a gentleman to tell you that- he believes you should take the relationship st your own time and he’s never said that to you around others where you could be pressured- but he could at least say it with more class! 

Trey’s annoying, maybe even seething. But still, tell the person you’re uninterested and take a step back. Even punch him in the face, if you’re that pissed! Trey would do it if he weren’t vice-housewarden! Just don’t tell Riddle and it’s all good! 

If that doesn’t work, or if you don’t do anything, he’ll easily swoop in to ‘save you’. He’ll hand the guy a treat, wrap his arms around you, and pull you off to the kitchen with him to “help with some baking.” He will even use his unique magic on the guy if he doesn’t get the hint- Well, on the treat he gave them. No one likes gross-tasting foods, especially ones catered to the thing you hate the taste of the most. 

Cater Diamond - 

Outwardly, he’ll come up to you and chat. Who’re you with? Hey, Cay-cay’s got a quick Magicam post to take, could ya come over here real quick? Just take the photo, you don’t have to be in it or anything! Unless you wanted to! 

He’s calm and collected and barely bothered. Why would he be? He’s got nothing to worry about and he knows you like him and that you’d never do anything to cheat or be with anyone else! At all! 

Internally he’s curled into a ball and crying. Is he not good enough? He can be. He promises! He’ll be whatever you need, whatever you have to get! Please, just stay with him! Don’t leave! 

He needs some reassurance. Don’t let him sweep it under the rug, no matter how hard he tries. Please, just tell him it was all a misunderstanding. Thank him for being there with you. Please. 

Cater’s terrified you’ll leave him. Is it slightly unhealthy? Yes. Maybe. Totally. He’s been begging for crumbs of your attention every chance he gets, in his own way. But if you find it in yourself to be charitable… Please, just put up with him? 

Ace Trapolla - 

If nothing else, Ace is a brat, in every sense of the word. He’s a bit rude, obnoxious, and naive to certain social cues. He doesn’t follow rules and he’s not interested in learning them. He’s selfish, too. But especially selfish with your time. 

Ace will try to call you away at any time if you’re with someone else. What do you mean, Jamil needs some help preparing dinner? You’re going to need some help getting out if things go like they did last time! So, you better invite him along, too. He’ll be a great help! Besides, Jamil’s in the basket with him, they’re wonderful friends! There’s no way that you two will get kicked out with Ace here, considering how you’re a major klutz with anything sharp and would get totally sent away without him. 

He’ll come up behind you if you’re talking to someone. Snaking an arm around your midsection, dipping his hands to clutch your hips, and watching the person who was once talking to you. He might be laughing, but he’s also squeezing you and subtly insulting them. Or, he thinks his being subtle, but if you weren’t being held by him, the other guy would have punched him by now. 

His fingers dig into the skin around your hips as he pulls you away from them, the smirk on his face slightly darker than the lighthearted boy you normally know. Once you’re all alone, he stuffs his face into your neck, taking a deep breath. No matter what you tell him, he only savors you for a second, before giving you a little push and telling you to thank him for saving you from such a jerk. 

But if you were to pull him back in and thank him… Maybe he’ll tell you what’s bothering him- If you’re lucky. Maybe. Or you’ll just get an extra long and tight hug. 

Deuce Spade - Y 

Duece is a sweetheart who tries his best not to get jealous. Really, he tries! He’s on track to be an honor student, and honor students can calmly talk about their feelings with the person they like. So, that is what he will do… After he roughs up the perpetrator a bit. 

Just a little! Or a lot… Or just until you stop him, or Riddle’s nearby… Don’t worry, he wouldn’t hit someone just for flirting! They were trying to touch you… They had a hand on your waist, and were pulling you closer… It looked like they were even trying to kiss you! What was Duece supposed to do? Let them? He couldn’t bear it if anyone did anything to you! 

Deuce is protective. You can handle yourself, he knows that! But he used to fight a lot, so he could do it better. Besides, you’re new to this world! You might not even be able to tell when someone’s flirting with you until it’s too late! He has to be there to protect you, or else what could happen? Could you be hurt? Emotionally or physically harmed? He can’t bear to think about it! 

He’ll pull you away, much like Ace, if he can’t control himself most of the time. But the moment you’re touched? He’ll fight whoever does it. Tell him not to and he’ll tone it down, yes, but the glare from a former delinquent is still enough to send most people back with their tails between their legs. Of course, when you’re looking, he’s all smiles and rainbows. He’s your guard dog, don’t worry about it! He’s just making sure no trash gets close to you! 

Besides, you have him, and all of your friends! Like Ace, Deuce, Trey, Cater, and maybe even Riddle! You two share a friend group, isn’t that great? If anyone ever bothers you, he’ll always be there to stop them! No one will take advantage of you while he’s here! 

RSA+NBC: 

Neige Leblanche - 

It all starts when Neige sees you at a shared event. He’s been so excited to see you, but before he gets there, he finds Vil’s there with you. He bites his ruby lips and his hands are shaking as he watches the other man wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close enough to whisper something in your ear. Normally, when you laugh he’s so happy, but now it feels like there’s something yucky about it. 

It takes a while before Neige even knows what he’s feeling. It’s like something is slithering around his insides, pitting at the bottom of his stomach and sometimes threatening to come out his throat. Even when he goes up to talk to you, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

It isn’t until you pull away from Vil to hug you himself that he realizes it’s jealousy. Only once it’s away does he know that your affections were its only cure, and its cause was always when what he so desperately wanted was flung off to be given to someone else. 

He stays very close to you for the rest of the night. He tries to make sure those feelings that he knows but doesn’t yet understand how to tame don’t come back. He gets your number and whatever social media you’re willing to give over, and he’s overjoyed from it. It’s his own little prize, his own little gift from the world now sitting in his pocket. 

He doesn’t get jealous often after that- After all, he knows that you’ll take care of him if he needs it. He can trust you, after all, you’re his one true love. The royal he was always looking for, the person to rescue him like a knight in shining armor, riding in on a snow-white horse. He can trust you, right? 

Rollo Flamme - Y

Rollo gets jealous very, very easily. He’s seething, filled with rage and misplaced care, attempting to tie you down or up or any other way. Trying to tie you to him, no matter how much you kick and scream. 

You know that he needs you, don’t you? Well, he does. Honest to the god he worships, he does. He’d swear on his name faster than yours, if only because his honor means nothing while yours is a pure as mountain snow. He’d write you name into his skin if only you let him, he’d steal every inch of you away and keep it all pure, forever and ever. 

So when he sees you with a mage, he can’t help but get jealous. How could he not? You’re wondrous. Illuminatingly stunning, bursting his heart as fireworks do in the sky, filled with beautiful, burning passion. And he is merely a magic user. He is no more worthy of you than they are, but for them to think otherwise… He will not turn a blind eye to those who desire to do something horrid to his darling.

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[baby-yongbok]

Cat & Mouse

Lee Felix x Afab!Reader

✦ Genre - Friends to Lovers

✦ Word Count - 2.8k

✦ Summary - Felix is fed up with your game of cat and mouse and decides to flip the script for good. ✦ CW - Unprotected piv, Breeding kink, Degradation, Spanking (for like a second), Possessive Lix, [let me know if I missed anything♡ ] ✦ A/N - Writing jealous dom Felix was a bit harder than I thought. I hope I did it well! I've had this in my drafts for soooooo long. It's time to let her be free... even if I'm nervous asf. + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ ✦ ´-Requested - Yes `♡´ No

✦ Masterlist✦

You have a bit of a bad habit. It started towards the end of high school and followed you through college all the way to now. What is it?

Felix. 

Being around him, teasing him, edging your connection and tittering between giving him more and nothing at all is a thrill that you’ve grown addicted to.

He’s been by your side through it all, pinning for your undivided attention and you feed into it just enough to get his lips on yours. You get him to your bed but never in it. You don’t let him have that. 

He falls for it every time, leaning into your trap and getting high off of the taste of your tongue against his just to watch you stick it down someone else's throat the next day. Just like tonight. 

It’s Chan’s annual holiday shit show that he dares to call a party and you’re on Jeongin’s lap, kissing him and pulling into the same trap you’ve perfected with Felix. Your best friend watches, seething and throbbing in his jeans. 

His mind comes up with excuses for your actions by default. He blames the alcohol, the atmosphere, himself. Everything but you and the game of cat and mouse you’ve been using against him. 

When Jeongin’s hand grips your ass you pull back for air and whisper something that the man under you barely recognizes as a lame excuse to go find your next innocent victim.

You head to the kitchen, looking for something strong enough to inspire your next hunt but then you see Felix. He’s already looking at you, his blonde hair is pulled back under a black beanie, he wears a white tank tight over his body that’s partially hidden under his varsity jacket. 

How could you resist?

The answer is, you can't. 

You saunter right up to him and he watches you. His grip on the glass bottle in his hand tightens and you smirk at the faint twitch of his muscles. 

The intent in his gaze is like cold water to your tipsy state. He sobers you up, gets you hot despite the chill of his undivided attention. You smile, planting your hands against his chest and he lets you, while he takes you in. His eyes follow the curve of your jaw, down the length of your neck and reverse back up to your lips. Then they flit back down. Is that a fucking hickey?

You take the bottle in his hand and gulp down a long swig, not bothering to ask. He doesn't stop you. His eyes are still fixed on the dark mark. His eyes trail down then up and over, looking for more and his fists tighten when he finds them.

"Jeongin?" Felix is asking a question, not stating the obvious. “You let him do that?” his gaze shifts from your neck to meet your eyes and suddenly you feel pinned. 

This look on his face is new. dark. 

"Yeah." You smirk, tilting your head and feigning your usual carefree act. "He's pretty good."

Felix grits his teeth. His jealousy is obvious, it always is but his anger is a bit harder to read. It’s rare that you ever see it. You know him well enough to recognize it though. The subtle clench of his jaw, the stiffness in his posture. And his gaze, hardened and unrelenting. Exposing.

“Shut up.” The bottle is snatched out of your hand and on Felix’s lips in an instant. He downs the rest of it and discards it onto the messy table beside him but you're still caught off guard by his response.

“What?” He tsks, staring back at you.

“I said, shut up.” You laugh. It comes out nervous, awkward, and forced. What’s going on?

"Lix..."

"No. Don't 'Lix' me, you can't keep doing this." His eyes are aflame, a dangerous glint and you shiver. Fuck, he’s actually pissed? “You're just giving attention to anyone who looks at you twice, huh? Anyone but me."

"It's not like that-"

"Bullshit. I see you. You’ve been playing this game for years. You wind me up then let me spin out of control while someone else gets to taste what I’ve been so patient for." Your eyes meet his. The tension between you is thick and you swallow, your mouth feeling suddenly dry.

"That's not-" 

“Don't act stupid. This isn't fair.” What happens next surprises you and pushes Felix over the edge. You grin. Your lips turn up in a way that’s not playful or coy. No. It's smug. You're proud. You've gotten him to break and finally crack, his true feelings exposed. He's done being ignored. 

"Well, you should've spoken up. I would've stopped." He's about to open his mouth, his temper growing and his neck shading a hot red when you press yourself closer. The game is shifting right before your eyes, you can see it in his. 

“Stop playing with me.” His voice is low, husky and deep.

“I can’t.” You bring your hand up to push a fallen strand of hair back from his face but his hand grips your wrist, pulling your attention back to him. 

"Can't? Or won't?" 

"Both." You mumble. “I can’t help myself.”

"Don't bullshit me." His tone is low, eyes blazing and half-lidded and you can't tell if he's challenging you or warning you. So you make it a challenge.

"What are you gonna do about it, Lix?" He pulls you closer by his grip on your wrist. Your chest is flush to his. The tight fabric of your shirts are all that’s separating you from him, the only thing prolonging your inevitable spiral. 

"Don't start anything you can't finish." He whispers but you can hear him loud and clear over the music. 

"Why not?" You ask, grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling him closer, "Don’t you not want me, baby?" Your lip gloss stains the rim of his collar. Your perfume clouds his senses and he’s pulling you through the party and over to the stairs.

"Wait! Wait, wait." You're giggling, a giddy sound as he pulls you up the stairs. You're stumbling over his feet, your own, and the steps, "Lix, what’re you-"

"Shut up." You can't stop laughing and smiling, your heart racing. He's finally snapping, getting the balls to put his money where his mouth is. 

 “Felix, I am not fucking you at a party.” He's annoyed, his grip on your wrist is too tight and the hallway is dim. Felix leans down, pressing you against the wall at the top of the stairs and pushing some random drunk guest to the side to make room for you. His forehead to yours, locking your gazes.

“Where do you want me to fuck you then? Cause I’m gonna have you. I’m gonna wipe that pretty smile off your face and I’m gonna do it tonight. So, where do you want me?”

Your breath catches, your words lost in the sudden heat. The game is changing, you're the one losing control now. Your confidence is wavering. 

"Speak up." His nails bite into your wrist and he presses himself firmer against you. "Tell me, princess." 

You can't think, he's got you backed into a corner. Literally. This is all new, this side of him, a dark and dominant one that has you squirming and aching to get a taste of his lips again. The side that you’ve created.

"Tell. Me." You swallow. Your mind is foggy and he's looking down at you with that cold sharp gaze that has you sure that he’ll choose for you if you don’t act fast. 

"Home." You manage. "Take me home."

You've never seen him move so fast. He's practically dragging you out of the party and to his car, your heart pounding and mind racing. The entire drive back is silent. Neither of you can think. He can't decide how he wants to do it. Hard and slow, gentle and quick. All of the above.  

Felix parks his car, it’s crooked and he couldn’t care less. When the two of you get inside he gives you a second, just a second to kick off your shoes before he’s pinning you to the wall by the front door.

His lips are on yours, swallowing your gasp and taking away the breath you were holding. He’s never kissed you like this before. It’s possessive, wild, and so hot. The way he handles you is rough and quick. His hands grip your waist, pulling you forward then moving to cradle the back of your head with one hand while he walks you over to his room. It’s clumsy and messy but you make it.

The back of your knees hit the bed frame and Felix watches as you fall back. He takes it in for a second - the way your chest rises and falls with the rush of him. The way you look at him, trying to guess his next move.

"Are you nervous?" His voice is a whisper, his question almost a taunt. 

"No." There’s a waver in your attempt to be confident and he catches it. He smirks. 

Felix rids himself of his jacket then pushes his tank top up his torso just enough for you to see more of him. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip and his smirk turns into a smile. He’s definitely taunting you. 

"Liar." His hands find yours and he holds them above your head. His lips attach to your neck, kissing down the curve of it and biting his own bruises on top of the ones that Jeongin left. 

"Fuck, Lix." You moan. "I’m sorry." 

"Now she’s sorry" His hips rock forward, pressing his hard-on against your thigh. You try to hide the whimper that leaves you but it’s no use. He’s zeroed in, he’s in charge now. "Tell me why I should believe you. After everything, after all the times you've had your tongue down someone's throat and not mine." 

You groan, rolling your hips. "I’m sorry, I-" 

"I'm the only one that can have you, right, baby?" He whispers, his tongue runs along the shell of your ear and your breath stutters.

"Yes." You resign to the electricity coursing between the two of you and buck up into him, desperately chasing the charge of your bodies. 

 “Do you think that you being sorry is going to stop me from ruining you?”

“I don’t want you to stop.” The admission leaves you before you can really think about it. Your brain is fuzzy with thoughts of Felix, it always is but you’ve never given in this far. You can feel him smile against you, his tongue grazes over the bruises he’s created then he pulls back to get a better look at you. 

“That’s good, princess.” His voice vibrates his chest and through you before resonating in the space around you. “Cause we’re gonna play a little game.”

You’re losing it.

“You can do better than that, come on.” Felix’s grip on your hips is bruising as he guides you back against him. His idea of a game is much more cruel than yours or at least that’s what your brain is telling you.

He’s been building you up, chasing a high with you just to make a surprise turn when you’re seconds away from the pinnacle you’ve so desperately fucked him for.

“That’s it, that’s fucking it, baby.” He lets you go, letting you fuck back onto him while he runs his fingers through his platinum locks. You’re drooling at both ends, burning to the bottom like a forgotten candle with the way your orgasm is flickering into view with each stuttered roll of your hips against him.

“You’re not gonna get my cum like that, baby.” The sound of his hand coming down on your ass hits your ears faster than you can react. He spanks your other cheek right after, palming the flesh with a groan. “I should fuck a baby into you. I should - fuck - I should knock you up, keep you as mine forever, yeah?”

A sob is all that you can offer in return, a moan so lewd that it nearly doesn’t sound like you, “Please… let me.. Felix, please…”

 He can’t decide if he likes the sounds of you begging or moaning more. He leans over your body, holding you down so that you're full and still while he takes your hair into his fist and pulls back. Your eyes drift to meet his and it’s then that Felix feels real pleasure. When you look at him like he’s looked at you for years. Like he holds the key to everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“God, you’re so pretty, baby.” He rolls his hips and your eyes go with it. “Beg some more.”

“Please let me cum.” You whimper, fisting the bedsheets and curling your toes. “I wanna cum for you.”

Felix hisses a curse that you take as confirmation just before he starts moving again. He sits up, his fist still in your hair while his other hand grips at your hip. He thrusts into you a way that’s too neat to be reckless. It’s practiced and lethal and it’s tearing you apart. 

His grunts are so deep that they barely register beyond your gasping moans. You tremble and drip and grab at the mattress like it can save you from the fall you're taking. You clench and throb and Felix drinks it in with his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Finish for me.” His voice is strained, his own orgasm flickers just out of view as he burns to the bottom. But he doesn’t want this to end. 

He lets go of your hair and reaches around to rub at your clit. You fall forward, your arms give out and your vision blurs as he prolongs the burn. “F-felix, fuck fuck, c-can’t..” His practiced pattern turns into something more wild as he gets closer to his own release. 

His hips slow and his thrusts shallow into a rhythm that has tears rolling down your cheeks and his jaw hanging slack. “Oh, fuck, look at me. Look at me, please.” You turn your head and press the side into the mattress to look at him. There’s a subtle tremble to your body. A vibration that Felix recognizes as raw unfiltered pleasure.

“Who knew you’d look so pretty crying under me.” He groans, bottoming out and pulling back just to do it again. He’s edging himself, using you to keep him right at the tip of it all while you ride his. “Doesn’t this feel so much better than your little game, baby?” 

You can feel it coming, your second or third orgasm. You’ve lost count. The minutes blur together and your words abandon you, your tongue is unstable and caught between your teeth. But Felix is relentless, too far gone in the moment that he’s waited forever for. 

“God, look at you, fucked out, you’d say yes to anything right now wouldn’t ya?” His voice is hoarse, deep. “Want me to fuck a baby into ya? You’re such a slut, listen to you. You want it.” It’s not in your control, or at least that’s what you convince yourself when his words pull a drawn out moan from you. Loud and pornographic.

“Say it. Say you wanna be swollen with my fucking baby and I’ll give you every last drop, princess. All of it. Say it.” His hips falter and his thighs shake against yours as his practiced thrusts turn into messy rutting. You moan, he moans and somewhere in between you two fit whimpers of each other's names. 

You’re gone. 

“Y-yes, yes, I wan’ it.” Tears are falling and your vision abandons you, going from blurry to white as another orgasm peaks. You take a breath, deep like him and you’re falling all over again, screaming and drooling and cumming so hard that Felix has to hold your hips up.

“Holy shit, that cunt ‘s gonna make me cum. Gonna fucking cum.” Now he’s lost it. He chases his high while you fall apart around him and he groans when it finally catches up to him. 

He’s finally got it. He’s got you.

He empties himself inside of you with every intention of pulling out but none of the control. His knees threaten to fold beneath him but he keeps himself up through the duration of his orgasm before collapsing onto the mattress. 

You’re panting, dumb with pleasure as the aftershocks surge through you. You want to say something, anything but nothing feels right. What do you say to the man you’ve finally fucked after years of teasing?

Felix decides to fill in the silence with something better than words. He pulls out of you with a small moan and turns you around. You’re barely settled in his arms before his lips are on yours, hungry and hunting. There’s a passion to it, something that you can only recognize as longing. The taste is something that you can only describe as Felix. 

You let yourself go, you let him have you and he moans once he feels the chain snap. The hold is gone. 

It’s game over.

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[yanadolls]

preying on u tonight

18+, mdni ୨୧

jealous!nagi x fem reader, unprotected sex, degrading, praising, overstimulation, size kink, sending ur nude pics to reo

part one

part two of this req <3

at first, nagi was overjoyed to be with you. after all, this was the girl of his dreams we were talking about. you were perfect- so sweet to him, always giving him a smile and cheering him on during his games and spending time with him when nobody else wouls. then, when he had asked you out and started dating you, it was only going uphill. you made him feel special and loved, always making sure he felt cared for and even making meals for him whenever he was too lazy to eat. nagi was sure he was in love with you from the very start.

so when he eventually found out that you had been sleeping with his best friend for MONTHS, it made his heart drop.

nagi felt betrayed for the first time in his life- both by reo who he trusted, and a bit by you. the white haired boy had gushed over you for god knows how long and the other man who was always supportive; how could reo have been fucking you while encouraging nagi?! then..there was you. after confronting you about this entire situation, he did understand that it was just a friends with benefits thing, and nothing more. he knew you had no feelings for reo and he really did believe you when you said you had loved nagi all along. you were just doing it for stress relief.

however, just because he understood didn't mean he wasn't seething with jealous, blood boiling the entire conversation. nagi didn't hate reo per say, he was just very angry with him at the moment. it was a normal reaction to discovering the fact his best friend was sleeping with his crush for half a year, and had even called you over to fuck the night prior to nagi's confession to you. it made his stomach twist in an uncomfortable feeling, and maybe even causing him to feel anxious.

what if you got bored of him, and went back to reo? what if he couldn't pleasure you as good as his best friend could? nagi needed to prove that he was the right choice, not the other rich man.

"hah..s-shit sei! aah, too much! slow down!"

nagi clicked his tongue at your crying, holding you down by your wrists with one of his larger hands which entirely covered both of yours, thrusting brutally in and out of you. nagi wasn't one to get so worked up emotionally, but this was different. he was jealous and angry, so what better way to make himself feel a bit less bad than burying himself deep into your pussy and showing you who you belonged to? you always took it like a good girl, anyway.

"shut up." he growled against your neck, "sluts like you don't get to command. take all of it and stop complaining."

he didn't intend to be so mean to you, but could you blame him? multiple feelings were bubbling in his chest, primarily jealousy and lust. his intense gaze locked onto your fucked out face, before bringing his vision down to your sopping little hole which had cum leaking out. this was, what- maybe the third time he made you cum already? you were so sensitive it was overwhelming, yet it felt too good to stop. your boyfriend's hand grabbed your face and squished your cheeks, slamming his lips down onto yours with a heated passion.

"do you even understand how it feels to find out- shit.. t-that my girlfriend was fucking around with my best friend before all of this? what are you, some hooker? were you with other men as well?"

he moved his hands to your thighs, pushing them up to your chest so he could dick you down even more. your mind was clouded at this point, and the only thing you could babble out unconsciously were apologies that fell from your lips like a chant, and cries of his name. you really were sorry- you felt awful about it.

"m'so sorry sei! f-fuck, so sorry!!" you choked a sob, trying to bring your eyes to meet his. "was only reo- m'so sorry, baby! please please, w-wish i never did it..!"

nagi's eyes softened at the way your dolly ones were filled with fat tears, guilt written all over them with a hint of lust from how good he was fucking you. he knew that you couldn't have known about his feelings for you while sleeping with reo- if you had, then you definitely wouldn't have been going to him instead of the lazy genius. the purple haired man was the one at blame.

"mh.. such a cute thing, aren't you? can't believe fucking reo got to see this as well."

the mere thought made him feel jealous all over again, although he wasn't mad at you anymore. if he was gonna be angry at anyone, it was 100% going to be his best friend who went behind his back knowing how much nagi liked you.

"m'sorry, so sorry sei! i-if i knew you liked me-"

"shh, love. i know, i know."

with another kiss to your lips, you felt more reassured. nagi wasn't really good at expressing his feelings, but he was starting to feel a bit bad for being so mean during the entire night you two were having sex, even if being a bit more rough with you was turning him on secretly. while the fact reo slept with you still would be on his mind for a month or so.. nagi couldn't find it in him to stay frustrated at you, even if he wanted to.

"you're mine now, yeah? reo could never fuck you the way i do, only my dick could make you get like this.."

nagi was confident in his words for once as he intently watched your expressions, slamming his heavy, fat cock into your overstimulated cunt over and over. you were squirming under him, smaller body bucking up into his larger, much more muscular one without even meaning to. the mere size difference between you and him made his dick throb in your gummy walls, groaning at the bulge his length made every time he thrusted inside you.

"i'm all yours, sei! love you so much..! haah, love your dick s'much.."

"such a cute little thing, aren't you? so tiny and easy to manhandle.."

he pressed deeper into you, tip kissing your cervix and stretching out your walls so deliciously. he didn't miss the way your walls clenched around his dick when he mentioned how small you were compared to him, silently noting that reaction. you felt so full, so connected to him on an intimate level- something you never felt when you were fucking with reo. you never wanted nagi to feel insecure or jealous again- you just loved him too much.

"aah.. g-gunna cum again! oh sei, please please please-"

nagi moved his head back to yours, pressing more gentle yet passionate kisses to your lips, tongue clashing with yours. his rhythm became more sloppy as he buried himself deep inside you, dumping his load into your tummy once more while you cried out and came on his cock.

looking down, the messy sight made his dick twitch again. your hole was leaking with both your cum, dripping onto the bed- and your sweaty, fucked body was just the perfect sight; eyes rolled to your skull, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling quickly, hips still bucking a bit from how stimulated you had been..it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

"stay still, babe."

nagi reached out and grabbed his phone from the nightstand, snapping a photo of you (and you were far too delirious right now to even acknowledge what he just did), before opening a certain someone's messages..

nagi: attachment: 1 image

nagi: you jealous, reo? ur never fucking her again lol

would he regret sending that in the morning? probably. however, he was far too tired now to care. with a lazy clean up and a kiss to your forehead, he held your tinier body in his arms and fell asleep, happy you were only his from now on.

AN; new layout! i hope yall like it xoxo i loved writing this sm ugh jealous nagi is so hot <3

[greengoblinswifey]

Entangled

pairing— nicholas alexander chavez x bimbo!nanny!reader

summary— after his wife’s jealousy and argument, nicholas sends her away to continue his escapades with you in peace

warnings— age gap(reader is 19, nicholas is aged up to be 40), infidelity, ass slapping, hair pulling, choking, begging, slight degradation, possessiveness, jealousy, praise kink, fingering, cunnilingus, oral(m), voyeurism, unprotected sex, creampie, cock warming, aftercare.

The house had been a bit tense since the Golden Globes. Victoria had seen everything—the pictures, the speech, the way the camera had panned to you at the exact moment he thanked a certain woman. She had confronted him about it, voice angry behind the bedroom door while you sat in the play room, braiding Madison’s hair and biting back a smile.

“She’s the nanny, Nicholas,” Victoria seethed. “Not your date. Do you know how humiliating that was? People sending me pictures, asking who she is, why I wasn’t with you—”

“The cameramen do that sometimes, V,” he interrupted. “It’s not that deep.”

“It is that deep when your wife isn’t there but she is,” she snapped.

You caught Madison’s curious glance in the mirror and gave her a reassuring smile, as if this argument wasn’t cracking you up. As usual, Victoria stormed out, too furious to even look in your direction.

Nicholas didn’t stop her.

By evening, you had put the kids down for a nap, and the house was quiet—except for the soft hum of Nicholas’ voice coming from his office. You hesitated for only a moment before pushing the large door open.

He briefly looked up when you stepped into his office. He was leaning back in his chair, one hand resting against his temple as he scrolled through scripts on his laptop. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, and the top buttons were undone, revealing a bit of his muscular chest to make you stare for a second too long.

“Kids down?” he asked, glancing at you briefly.

“Fast asleep,” you nodded, walking closer.

He hummed in approval, still focused on his screen. That was fine—you weren’t here to talk.

As you reached his desk, you spotted a pen lying on the floor near his chair. Perfect. You let it slip from your fingers, watching as it rolled under the desk.

“Oopsie,” you murmured, dropping to your knees.

He didn’t react at first, too absorbed in whatever work he was pretending to do. But the second he felt your hands sliding up his thighs, his muscles tensed. His jaw clenched.

“Y/N,” he warned.

You just smiled, fingers grazing over his belt. “Hm? Keep working,” you whispered.

His breath hitched as you made quick work of undoing his belt, your touch slow as you felt him harden. He exhaled sharply, shifting slightly in his seat as your hands moved with practiced ease. You took him out of his pants, and he sprang free, hard and veiny before you. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrests, his other hand lowering to tangle into your hair when your mouth made contact with his thick cock.

And then—a knock at the door.

You froze.

Nicholas cleared his throat quickly, his grip tightening in your hair, but not to pull you away. No, he wasn’t stopping you. He just needed you quiet.

“Come in,” he said, voice perfectly even.

The door creaked open, and Victoria stepped inside.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” she sighed. “I just—I don’t know. I needed to cool off.”

“I know,” Nicholas exhaled slowly, his cock stiff beneath your hands as you took him deeper and deeper into your throat.

She lingered for a second before stepping closer, her arms crossed. “And for the record, I’m not jealous of Y/N. Just because she’s young and—”

“Victoria,” his voice was strained, cutting her off before she could finish.

“What?” she frowned.

He was getting close. You could feel it in the way his fingers twitched against your scalp, the way his cock throbbed in your mouth as you glided your tongue across his long shaft and caressed his balls.

“I think you should take a day at the beach house,” he said quickly. “Relax. Clear your head.”

She hesitated, studying him. “Y-you’re sending me away?”

“You know it helps you,” he reasoned. “And I have shit to do.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. I’ll go in a few.”

She turned and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her. The second she was gone, Nicholas’ entire body shuddered, his head tipping back against the chair. A low, breathy moan slipped past his lips as he came in your mouth, his fingers tightening in your hair for just a moment before going slack.

“You’re such a bad girl,” he muttered.

You giggled, wiping the corner of your mouth as you crawled out from under the desk.

“Your bad girl.”

Victoria left for the beach house in the morning, just as Nicholas had suggested. She didn’t say much before she left, just a tense nod and a quick hug for the kids. You had expected her to throw you a glare on her way out, but she barely spared you a glance. Maybe she was finally learning to pick her battles.

With her gone, the house felt quieter. Lighter. By bedtime, you had the kids settled into their routine. Madison clung to you as you read her a bedtime story, her tiny fingers curling around yours as her eyelids drooped. Alexander, on the other hand, was more resistant to sleep.

“Stay,” he mumbled as you tucked him in.

“Only until you fall asleep, okay?” you sighed, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead.

He gave a tired nod, already snuggling into your side. You lay beside him, running your fingers through his hair gently until his breathing evened out.

Once you were sure he was asleep, you carefully slipped out of bed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before making your way out of the room.

You didn’t expect to find Nicholas waiting for you.

He was standing at the end of the hall, watching you with a look that made your core throb. His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves rolled up again, and his hands rested loosely in his pockets. He didn’t say a word, just tilted his head slightly—an invitation.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up. He walked ahead of you, leading the way down the hall. Not to your room. Not to his office. Not to any of the other rooms. To his bedroom.

The one he shared with his wife.

You hesitated for only a second before stepping inside like you owned the place. The door shut with a quiet click, and suddenly, it was just the two of you.

His eyes flickered over you, dark with something you recognized all too well. “You’ve been looking so fucking beautiful all day,” he murmured.

You smirked. “And?”

Instead of answering, he reached out, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt, brushing against your ass.

“You know exactly what,” he muttered.

His hands skimmed higher, slow, like he had all the time in the world. You shivered, tilting your chin up as his mouth brushed over yours, hovering so close but didn’t quite close the distance.

“This bed,” you whispered, glancing past him at the neatly made sheets.

He hummed, his lips brushing against your neck. “Mine tonight,” he murmured. “Ours tonight.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you let him pull you onto the bed, onto the same sheets where, just like the night he took your virginity, you weren’t just the nanny sneaking around the house.

You were his. And he was going to make sure you knew it.

He kissed you deeply as his hands traced down your sides, fingers pressing lightly against your hips before sliding beneath the fabric of your skirt.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” he murmured against your lips.

“Do I?” you smiled, breathless.

“That stunt you pulled earlier,” he continued. “Under the desk. Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep a straight face while you choked on my dick?”

You let out a soft laugh, but it quickly faded into a gasp as two fingers thrusted into your wet heat.

“I could barely focus on what she was saying,” he admitted, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down to your throat. “All I could think about was you.”

His thumb focused on your clit, moving in slow, teasing circles, and his fingers curled inside your pussy. Every thrust was meant to build you up, to unravel you piece by piece.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dark as he watched your jaw fall agape. “So beautiful.”

You shivered at the praise, gripping onto his shoulders as the coil in your abdomen began to tighten.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he continued, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You like it when I tell you that, don’t you?”

You nodded, barely able to find words. He chuckled. “Then cum on my fingers,” he whispered. “Let me see how much of a good girl you are.”

His words, the way his fingers moved with such precision, the way he knew your body like the back of his hand. It all sent you over the edge and your fingers dug into his muscular biceps as you shuddered, your orgasm ripping through you.

His lips captured yours again, swallowing the soft sounds you made as he guided you through every second of it, his fingers squelching in your pussy.

When the high finally melted away, leaving you breathless beneath him, he brushed his thumb over your cheek, his gaze softer now.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured.

He kissed his way down your body, his gaze locked with yours as you panted, savoring every inch of you. His hands ran over your body, removing the rest of your clothes and leaving you naked.

“You’re so fucking stunning,” he murmured against your skin, pressing kisses right below your navel piercing.

His lips finally pressed against your clit, kissing and sucking and you shivered at the heat of his breath. He was completely focused on you, on every little reaction you gave him. The praise kept coming, whispered between each long lick that left your pussy quivering.

“So sweet,” he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs just a little tighter. “Nothing, no one could ever compare.”

You felt the pleasure spread through you at his words, a rush of something intoxicating. Your fingers curled into the sheets as the feeling of his tongue lapping at your juices overwhelmed you, your body trembling beneath him.

“You’re so good for me, sweetheart,” he praised. “So beautiful like this, such a pretty pussy.”

The pleasure built, pushing you toward the edge all over again. But it was his next words that completely undid you.

“She never tastes this good.”

A soft, helpless moan escaped you, your body giving in entirely to the overwhelming of his mouth engulfing your clit. He groaned in response, clearly pleased with how easily you unraveled for him.

“That’s my princess,” he murmured, pressing slow, soothing kisses to your pussy as you came down. “So fucking naughty.”

And as he kissed his way back up your body, claiming your lips in a slow, heated kiss, you realized the night was far from over.

Nicholas stood over you, shedding his clothes and stroking his hard cock. You squirmed, hips bucking slightly, wanting him closer.

“You’re so eager, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice a low murmur. “Say please fuck me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the bead of pre cum that had collected at the tip.

“Say it,” he instructed.

You gasped, eyes meeting his with a desperate longing. “Please fuck me,” you breathed, the words tumbling out of your mouth, eager for his touch.

A soft smile tugged at his lips. “Good girl,” he praised. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”

You nodded, feeling a wave of anticipation wash over you as he moved behind you. You lowered yourself onto your stomach, arching your back, your heart pounding in your chest, your body trembling with need.

His hands rested on your lower back, gently caressing the tattooed skin, as he whispered praises, his breath warm against your ear. “You're so fucking sexy like this. Every little thing about you drives me wild.”

Slowly, he dragged his cock along your folds, collecting your wetness as it squelched. He slapped your ass making you giggle but it quickly turned into a strangled gasp as he pushed into you. His cock took your breath away, stretching you out in a way you had desperately been needing.

He moaned, giving you a minute to adjust before sinking deeper into you. “So fucking tight for me, sweetheart.”

You shivered at his words, your pussy reacting to his every touch as you fluttered around him. His fingers tangled in your hair, using it as an anchor as he thrusted, each movement sending a ripple of pleasure through you. “Taking this dick so well,” he continued, his voice shaky.

He fucked you with long, deep strokes, each one tipping you over the edge and slamming against your g spot. He left only the tip in before sending every inch of him into your cervix making you cry out into the sheets.

“Too hard baby? That’s too bad, you asked me to fuck you, sweetie. Now you have to take it,” he cooed.

He wrapped his hand around your neck, bringing you to arch off him and titling your head to the side to capture your lips in a needy kiss. You kissed him back with equal desperation, reaching around to grab his hair and run your fingers through it. You still couldn’t believe you had the married man you had needed so bad.

“Rub that clit for me, sweetheart. Need you to cum on this dick,” he whispered into your ear.

He squeezed your neck firm but gentle as you rubbed your clit, your pussy clamping around him.

“That’s it, baby. God, I need you to cum right fucking now,” he said, voice trembling.

Your hand went to the back of his head, pulling his lips into the back of your neck as your whole body shuddered. Your pussy gushed around his cock, soaking him and the sheets below.

“Good fucking girl,” he praised. “I’m so proud of you, but I’m not done with my pussy get.”

He swiftly positioned you so you were on top of him, his awaiting cock hard and throbbing. “I need you to ride this cock like you own it because sweetheart, you do. Fucking ride your cock.”

His words sent a rush of something through you. You were playing a dangerous game, but he was in charge and you knew—you’d win over her. The way he said it, so confident, so certain, made you even wetter. There was something primal in the way his words reached you.

Immediately, you lowered yourself onto his cock, placing your hands on his firm, muscular chest. You both moaned, his cock stretching you and practically splitting you in half as you sucked him in, inch by inch.

“You’re so tight baby, so wet,” he moaned, voice low and gravelly.

At his words, you lifted yourself and fell back down, his cock immediately kissing your cervix. Your nails dug into his chest and you began bouncing at a steady pace that made you feel him in your guts.

“So so big,” you cried out.

His hands went to your ass, grabbing it and guiding you as it clapped against him with each bounce. You could feel every vein, every throb and it had your mind empty. No thoughts, just his cock sliding inside you.

His jaw fell agape, his gaze moving from your pussy swallowing his cock to your tits bouncing wildly in his face. “Riding my cock so fucking well baby.”

He leaned forward, lips wrapped around your nipples and biting gently as you rode him like your life depended on it. As soon as you began circling your hips, grinding, finding a rhythm and circling again, you knew you had him.

“Oh my fucking God,” he moaned, fingers gripping the sheets. “Where the fuck did you learn that, I- I’m gonna cum.”

You moved your hips in a circle as you bounced, your precise movements having his toes curling and his fingers tangled in the sheets. “So fucking hot baby. You’re going to fucking kill me.”

The sight of him unraveling at your mercy beneath you and the feeling of his cock ripping you apart was enough to send you over the edge and your nails dug into his firm pecs as you squirted on his raw cock. You shuddered above him, but you kept bouncing and following your orgasm, you felt ropes of his warm, sticky cum filling you up.

He wrapped his big arms around you, finally regaining control and holding you in place as he thrusted inside you, making sure your tight pussy milked him of every last drop of his cum.

Nicholas gently pulled you down and you rested your head against his chest, your breath still coming in soft, steady breaths. He didn’t pull out, just held you close, his hand gently caressing your back.

“That was amazing, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re so hot, so perfect. Every moment with you feels so right.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you responded, your voice equally soft, “You were incredible, too. It felt so good.”

He kissed you, slow, his lips tasting yours, savoring the connection. You began to shift slightly, trying to get off him to grab the covers.

But before you could fully pull away, Nicholas’ arms tightened around you, pulling you back to his warm body. He nuzzled your neck, a gentle sigh escaping his lips. “No, baby. Me and my girl are staying like this all night,” he said, his voice calm. “I’m not letting go of you just yet.”

The words sent a warmth through you, a sense of belonging that made your heart swell. You liked the sound of that. The idea of staying wrapped in his arms, feeling safe, wanted, and cherished, was more comforting than anything else.

“Mmkay,” you whispered, letting yourself relax again in his embrace, enjoying the quiet comfort of just being with him.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @emluvsuxo @hopefully-saturn @iamsebastiansstan @jennieonline @girldisrupted @nicholaschavezslut69

[lynbels]

!prompt!! jealousy finally makes sunghoon act and fuck, even with him in denial

please please please - psh (m)

sunghoon x f reader

synopsis: Sunghoon always played it cool—until he saw you with someone else, and suddenly, he wasn’t asking for you, he was taking you ✉️ wc2757 ‼️ jealousy, possessiveness, sexual content (oral sex, rough sex), language, slight exhibitionism, emotional tension, minor angst, heavy making out, marking (hickeys/bites)

💌 didnt understand a word said there hun but hopefully this works <3

It had only been a few weeks since you and Sunghoon moved in together. Things were still new, still soft around the edges. Boxes half-unpacked, routines not quite settled, kisses traded in the middle of lazy afternoons. It wasn’t official-official—no labels, no big confessions—but everything between you had felt right. Comfortable. Safe.

So when you casually mentioned your friend would be staying the night—“just for a bit, promise, he’s passing through”—Sunghoon didn’t think much of it.

Until he opened the door.

Jake.

Tall, sharp-jawed, with easy charm in his voice and pretty-boy eyes that lingered a beat too long when they met yours. His duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he said, “Hey, Hoon. Thanks for letting me crash.”

Sunghoon didn’t remember saying yes.

And you—fuck, you looked excited. Lit up, like this was someone you hadn’t seen in a while. Like this wasn’t just any friend.

Jake pulled you in for a hug, his hand resting low on your back, his mouth brushing close to your ear as he murmured something that made you laugh. That laugh again.

Sunghoon didn’t say a word.

He just watched.

Watched Jake sit next to you on the couch after dinner. Watched how your knees touched and you didn’t move away. Watched how Jake handed you his hoodie when you said you were cold, like it was second nature.

Watched how you wore it.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal.

But by midnight, when Jake was still up with you, flipping through old photos on your phone and laughing like he belonged here, Sunghoon was seething.

You eventually got up to grab water, leaving them alone in the living room.

Jake leaned back on the couch, glancing at him. “You’re quiet tonight,” he said casually, like they were just two guys catching up.

Sunghoon gave a tight smile. “I didn’t know her friend was a guy.”

Jake raised a brow. “She didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Sunghoon muttered. “She didn’t.”

Jake shrugged, completely unbothered. “Well. Nothing to worry about, man. Y/N and I go way back. Totally platonic.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked toward the hallway, where you were still out of earshot.

His jaw clenched. His voice dropped.

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Jake only grinned, like he could smell the tension in the room and was enjoying the hell out of it. He stretched his arms over the back of the couch, relaxed, confident, completely at ease in a space that wasn’t his. “Man, she’s changed a lot since we last hung out. Got hotter somehow,” he added with a little smirk.

Sunghoon didn’t even blink.

“Right. Real glow up,” he said flatly, taking a sip from his water bottle, eyes fixed on the TV even though it wasn’t playing anything.

Jake chuckled. “You two are roommates, right? Just roommates?”

Sunghoon’s grip on the bottle tightened.

You walked back in just then, Jake flashing you that stupid, too-pretty smile. “We were just catching up. You didn’t tell me Hoon was so protective.”

You laughed, sliding onto the couch beside him, not noticing the way Sunghoon’s eyes tracked how Jake shifted closer, thigh brushing yours.

“We’re not roommates,” you said, glancing at Sunghoon with a teasing look. “We live together.”

Jake raised a brow. “Same thing.”

“It’s not,” Sunghoon said sharply—too sharply.

You blinked. “Hoon?”

His jaw flexed. “Doesn’t matter.”

You and Jake kept chatting, the conversation picking up again like nothing happened, but Sunghoon barely heard a word. His head was loud—too loud. He kept telling himself he didn’t care. That you could be close with whoever you wanted. That he didn’t need to say anything because it wasn’t like that between you two.

Except it was.

Except the way Jake touched you made his blood boil.

Except the way you laughed at Jake’s stupid jokes made something burn low in his stomach.

And when you stretched your arms over your head, hoodie riding up just enough to expose a sliver of skin, Jake’s eyes dropped to your waist and didn’t come back up right away.

Sunghoon stood abruptly. “I’m going to bed.”

You looked up, surprised. “Already?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t look at Jake. “Have fun catching up.”

Then he turned and walked down the hallway, hands clenched at his sides, breathing harder than he wanted to admit.

He shut the bedroom door behind him—but he didn’t sleep.

He lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding in his chest as your voice carried faintly through the walls. Soft. Sweet. His.

You were his.

Even if he’d never said it. Even if he was too much of a coward to admit it out loud. Even if he was still pretending it didn’t mean anything—this thing between you.

But Jake?

Jake wasn’t pretending anything.

And that was going to be a problem.

The clock hit 1:14 a.m.

You were still out there with him.

Sunghoon rolled onto his side, arm tucked under his head, eyes trained on the door like it might open at any second. It didn’t. Laughter filtered faintly through the wall instead—yours and Jake’s. Low, intimate. The kind of laugh you gave when you were completely at ease. The kind of laugh Sunghoon heard in his dreams, usually when you were curled up against his chest in the early morning, half-asleep and warm.

He hated that Jake was hearing it now. Hearing you like that.

His fingers twitched against the sheets. He kept telling himself to let it go. That you’d chosen to live with him, not Jake. That you came home to him, not Jake. That Jake was just a friend.

But something about the way Jake looked at you tonight…

Something about the way you looked back…

He didn’t like it.

And he really didn’t like that he couldn’t stop picturing Jake sitting closer. Testing limits. Making some slick little comment that made you blush. Maybe brushing your hair behind your ear. Maybe daring to touch your thigh the way only he should.

Sunghoon sat up. Too hot. Too tense. His jaw ached from clenching so hard.

Then he heard your voice. Closer this time.

You were walking down the hall.

His heart thumped.

A moment later, the door creaked open and you stepped inside, Jake’s hoodie still hanging loose around your frame, swallowing your body in fabric that smelled like him. Not Sunghoon.

You smiled sleepily. “Hey… I didn’t wake you, did I?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to the hoodie. His hoodie—the one he gave you a few nights ago when you were cold—was lying untouched on the desk chair behind you. Abandoned.

“No,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t wake me.”

You crossed the room, clearly unaware of the storm under his calm. “Jake says hi. He’s crashing on the couch now.”

Sunghoon hummed in response, barely a sound. You were already climbing into bed, pulling the covers over your legs.

“You okay?” you asked softly, glancing at him.

“Fine.”

You gave him a look, like you didn’t believe him—but you didn’t push. You just curled up on your side, facing away from him.

Silence.

His eyes dropped to your waist. The hem of the hoodie had ridden up just slightly, exposing the curve of your hip, your bare thigh peeking out. He knew you weren’t wearing anything under that. Not when you’d been lounging in the living room all night in it.

Wearing his hoodie like that would’ve had him touching you already.

But this? Jake’s?

“Take it off,” he said suddenly.

You blinked, turning back toward him. “What?”

Sunghoon’s eyes were sharp now, burning into yours in the dark.

“That hoodie. Take it off.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“Because it’s his,” he said, voice low and tight. “And I don’t want to see you in it.”

You stared at him, surprised by the edge in his tone. “Sunghoon…”

He looked away. “Forget it.”

“No,” you said, sitting up slowly. “Say it.”

“I did,” he snapped, then lowered his voice. “I said take it off.”

You studied him in the silence that followed. The clenched jaw. The barely restrained tension. The heat in his eyes that didn’t match the coolness of his words.

“…Are you jealous?”

He scoffed. “Why would I be?”

You smirked just a little, like you knew exactly why.

That made it worse.

Sunghoon lay back down and turned away from you, teeth gritted, fists curled into the sheets.

He wasn’t jealous.

He wasn’t.

He just didn’t want Jake looking at you like that. Touching you like that. Making you laugh like that.

That wasn’t jealousy.

That was… something else.

Right?

The morning after was quiet.

Too quiet.

You were making coffee in the kitchen, hair still messy from sleep, dressed in one of Sunghoon’s old tees—thankfully his again this time. Jake wandered in behind you, yawning, stretching, acting like this was his place too. Sunghoon sat at the dining table, nursing a mug of black coffee he hadn’t touched, eyes following every move you made.

He watched as Jake leaned casually against the counter beside you, close—too close.

Watched as you laughed at something Jake said.

Watched as Jake’s hand slipped to your shoulder, fingers lightly brushing the fabric of your shirt. “God, you’re still the same,” Jake said, chuckling. “Always trying to make people feel at home, even when you’re half asleep.”

You smiled. “Well, you are a guest.”

Sunghoon’s knuckles went white around his mug.

Jake’s hand didn’t move.

It stayed right there on your shoulder, fingertips warm, possessive, easy like it belonged there.

Sunghoon stood up so fast the chair scraped harshly against the floor. You and Jake both turned to look at him—but before either of you could say a word, Sunghoon was already moving.

He crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed your waist with both hands, and pulled you in without hesitation.

Then his mouth was on yours.

Hard. Hot. Unapologetic.

You gasped, hands bracing on his chest in shock, but he didn’t stop. His grip tightened, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair as his lips crashed over yours again—claiming, tasting, devouring. Like he’d been starving.

You barely had a second to react before he broke the kiss, just enough to speak against your lips.

“He doesn’t get to touch you.”

Your eyes widened, breath caught in your throat. “Sunghoon—”

But he kissed you again—this time slower, deeper, like he was trying to burn the taste of you into memory. Like he wanted Jake to see exactly what you meant to him.

Jake cleared his throat awkwardly behind you. “Dude, seriously?”

Sunghoon pulled away just enough to turn his head, his arm still locked around your waist.

“Yeah,” he said flatly, eyes cold. “Seriously.”

Jake looked between you two, lips parting like he wanted to say something smart—but for once, he didn’t. He just blinked, muttered something under his breath, and grabbed his mug to leave the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, you turned back to Sunghoon, dazed and breathless.

“…What the hell was that?”

His eyes searched yours, like he couldn’t believe he just did that either. But the flush creeping up his neck said everything he wouldn’t.

“I’m not just your roommate,” he said hoarsely. “And he’s not just a friend. Not when he looks at you like that.”

You stared at him, stunned.

Then a smile tugged at your lips.

“Took you long enough.”

You barely made it to the bedroom before Sunghoon had you pinned against the door, mouth already on your neck, hands roaming with a desperation that had been building for weeks—months, maybe.

“Fucking knew he wanted you,” he growled against your skin, nipping hard just below your ear, “but he’s not the one you come home to, is he?”

You shook your head, breath catching. “N-No.”

“Say it.”

“He’s not,” you gasped. “He’s not you.”

Sunghoon kissed you again, rough and possessive, tugging at the hem of your shirt until it was over your head and on the floor. His eyes dragged down your body like he was seeing it for the first time—like Jake’s hands on you had flipped a switch he couldn’t shut off.

“You’re mine,” he said lowly, pushing you back until your knees hit the edge of the bed. “Mine to look at. Mine to fuck. Not his.”

Then he shoved you down.

You bounced lightly against the mattress, eyes wide and lips parted, heat pooling between your thighs at the sight of him stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside. He crawled over you, caging you in, and leaned down until your noses were nearly touching.

“Bet he thought about it last night,” he whispered. “You in that hoodie. No panties underneath. Just walking around like that.”

You whimpered, his hand sliding between your legs, pressing through the damp fabric of your underwear.

“He doesn’t get to know what you sound like when you beg,” he murmured. “But he’s about to hear it.”

He yanked your panties down, tossing them somewhere behind him, and spread your thighs wide open with a firm grip. His eyes were dark, wild, hungry.

“Say my name,” he ordered as he dipped his head between your legs.

“Sunghoon—!”

You cried out the second his tongue touched you, hot and wet and unrelenting. He licked into you with long, slow strokes, groaning against your heat like he needed it. One arm hooked around your thigh, keeping you locked in place as your hips bucked up toward his face.

Every gasp, every moan, every yes, right there, echoed loud and clear through the thin walls.

And Sunghoon made no effort to be quiet. In fact, he made it louder.

He pulled off for just a second, voice thick and soaked in pride.

“Think he’s listening, baby?” he panted, licking his lips. “Think he knows I’m the one making you cum?”

You could barely answer before he buried two fingers inside you, curling just right, and sucked your clit back into his mouth.

You shattered.

Your thighs clamped around his head, back arching off the bed as you cried his name like a prayer—over and over again.

Sunghoon didn’t stop until you were shaking, flushed, completely wrecked.

Then he climbed up your body, kissing your collarbone, your jaw, your lips—messy and deep and full of everything he hadn’t said before.

“You think he can make you feel like that?” he whispered, lining himself up at your entrance. “Let him listen to what he can’t have.”

And then he pushed in.

Hard.

You both moaned—loud, shameless, hungry. The bed rocked under the force of his thrusts, the headboard slamming against the wall. You couldn’t stop the sounds he dragged out of you even if you wanted to—whimpers and cries and broken sobs of please, more, don’t stop.

Sunghoon gritted his teeth, gripping your hips tight. “Yeah… that’s it. Louder. Let him fucking hear how good I make you feel.”

He angled his hips and hit that spot—your voice cracked.

“Sunghoon—fuck—!”

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear.

“That’s right, baby,” he growled. “Scream for me.”

[nhmkhnh]

SERIES 08 ─────── CHAPTER I.

PAIRINGS: VIOLET “VI” X FEM!READER

WARNINGS(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni)

TAGS: fratgirl!vi ;; college!au ;; arcane

CHAPTER INDEX. || NAVIGATION.

vi didn’t even see you the first time—it was the guy’s laugh that made her head snap up. loud. confident. way too close to you.

you were at the quad, leaning just slightly toward him, grinning with that sly little smile she used to think was hers. he said something stupid, probably, and you laughed—not politely, but openly. the kind of laugh vi hadn’t earned in weeks.

she blinked once. then again.

you were wearing your hoodie. not hers. not the one she left at your place with her initials on the tag and a faint smell of weed and sex. you’d given that back—folded, too. no note. just clean rejection.

her fists clenched.

vi stood under the frat house awning, flanked by two of her brothers who were already watching the scene like it was a damn show.

“bro. ain’t that your girl?” one of them asked.

“nah,” vi muttered, teeth grit. “that’s my ex.”

but the possessiveness in her voice said otherwise.

she hadn’t just lost you. you hadn’t just blocked her on everything—her number, her burner, her twitch. you didn’t even leave a trail. just cold silence and a bag of things that used to live in your apartment: boxers, phone charger, that stupid lighter you always stole. her shit, returned. your hoodies, reclaimed. like you were erasing her.

and now?

now you were laughing at men.

fucking men.

the audacity.

her jaw tightened. “you seein’ this shit?” she mumbled to herself, not even hearing the reply. her gaze didn’t move. couldn’t. she was locked in.

you tossed your hair over your shoulder, clearly sensing her watching. you didn’t look her way though. didn’t give her the time of day.

vi’s breath left sharp through her nose. she could feel the rage curling in her gut—white-hot, possessive, unfiltered rage.

she pulled out her phone.

blocked or not, she knew you still checked that second insta account.

fine.

two can play petty.

you didn’t reply.

of course you didn’t.

vi refreshed the fake account three times. nothing. no story views, no like backs, no “read” on her last message. you hadn’t even opened it. you were busy. smiling at some other guy’s joke on the campus lawn, your legs crossed like you were royalty and these boys were lining up to kiss the ring.

and maybe they were.

vi stood by the bike racks, hoodie over her head, fists in her pockets like some delinquent on parole. she’d been here twenty minutes, pretending not to care, pretending she didn’t skip her group project just to catch a glimpse of you.

you leaned against the table, phone in hand, scrolling like nothing was wrong. like you didn’t know her eyes were burning holes into the curve of your waist. like you hadn’t just yesterday had some guy’s hand hovering dangerously close to your thigh while you threw your head back laughing.

vi’s jaw tensed.

she hated this.

not just the jealousy—but the you. this version of you. all soft skin and sharp apathy. cold. dismissive. you didn’t cry. you didn’t post vague quotes. you didn’t beg her back like she thought you would.

no. you iced her out.

unbothered. untouched. unfazed.

and fuck, you were so hot like that.

vi gritted her teeth and muttered to herself. “she wants me to lose it.”

but you weren’t even looking her way.

you didn’t care.

and that made her seethe.

she pulled her phone out again, typed something angry, deleted it. again. again. then finally:

you done playing yet?

nothing.

you didn’t even glance at your phone.

she was losing.

you weren’t sulking. you weren’t mourning. you were glowing—getting prettier, smugger, bolder by the damn minute. wearing shorts that showed off your legs and laughing like you’d never been under her, arching your back, crying her name like it was gospel.

“fuck this,” vi hissed and started walking.

her boots hit the pavement with purpose.

you didn’t see her coming. not yet.

but you would.

oh, you would.

and when she had you alone, when she pinned you against the wall and made you remember exactly who ruined you first—then you’d stop pretending she didn’t matter.

the call came in at 1:03 am.

your phone buzzed twice on the nightstand before going silent, the screen flashing that familiar contact photo—vi, grinning stupidly in a backward cap, her arm slung over your shoulder like she belonged there.

you let it ring out.

again, a minute later.

then again.

by the fourth time, you picked up. not because you missed her voice. but because you were tired of her not getting the message.

you didn’t even greet her. just let the silence drag out.

vi was breathing heavy. not panting—furious.

“pick up your fucking texts,” she snapped. “what the hell’s your problem, huh? you think ignoring me’s cute?”

your voice was cool. unmoved. “didn’t ask you to call.”

vi laughed bitterly. “you’re out here flirting with every guy who blinks at you like you’re single.”

“i am single.”

that shut her up for half a beat.

“i see you, y’know,” she said, lower now. “acting like you don’t remember who had you drooling on my strap not even a month ago—”

you cut her off.

“uh-huh. and i remember you pushing up on every girl at your stupid frat party the night before that.”

vi scoffed. “they didn’t mean shit.”

“oh no, i’m sure they didn’t. just like i didn’t, right?”

silence.

you leaned back, cool as ever. “what, they get boring already? thought you had options. what happened to that brunette in the cheer skirt? she finally realize you moan my name when you’re drunk?”

that hit.

you could hear the shift in her breath.

she growled, “i didn’t call to fight.”

“no, you called because none of them hit like i did. or maybe they don’t beg the way i used to, huh?”

“don’t fuckin’ do that—”

“you miss me?” you asked, mock sweet.

vi exhaled sharply. “you know i do.”

you smiled. cold. cutting.

“well that’s your problem,” you said. “nobody told you to call me.”

then, twisting the knife:

“should’ve stuck with the girls who were lining up for you. oh wait—none of them could take it like i could, huh?”

click.

you hung up.

and vi? vi stood in the middle of her room, phone still pressed to her ear like she hadn’t just been destroyed. she stared into nothing, pulse hammering, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

she deserved that.

didn’t mean it didn’t burn.

[shy-writer-999]

How many dreams to say "I love you"? (iii)

Summary: Zoro hasn't been able to stop having dreams about you, his best friend and crewmate. When he goes a few days without one, he thinks he's in the clear. Surely, realizing that he's in love with you is enough to make the dreams stop entirely, right? Right?

Part 3 of 4. ~3.6k words. (read part 1 here!) CW: Equal parts smut and plot. Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Sex! Love-making! Mentions of death, danger, and blood. NSFW content - minors stay away!

Part 3: Scattered polaroids.

Zoro had three whole nights of solace after he realized he was in love with you—three nights of no dreams, three nights of long and restful sleep.

After the third night, he was under the impression that the dreams had ceased entirely. The realization that he loved you was the cure for his sickness, he told himself. Now, he could pine after you from afar during the day and sleep peacefully, minding his business at night.

He did just that. For those three days, during his waking hours, he tried to calculate how to get closer to you. He put together nonsensical equations in his mind over how, why, and for how long he had been in love—he could, and would, keep doing this all day until he returned to his bed, savoring each smile from you.

Evidently, the conversation he overheard between you and Nami was the catalyst for the chain reaction of psychological warfare he had withstood for over a week—the end result was a euphoric crescendo of emotions, his realization that he was capable of romantic love and that his heart had been screaming for attention for months.

But what was there to do about it?

More importantly, did you feel the same?

Zoro needed to find out. He wanted to get to the bottom of everything—the conversation, who you had been talking about, why you were having a hard time being lonely around them, and how you felt about him.

While the swordsman did the mental math of what that discussion may look like between the two of you, he felt sick. He had fought dangerous foes of every kind and been on the verge of death many times before, but nothing ever gave him nerves like this.

If you had feelings for someone, would you tell them? He wondered about you, the sorts of decisions you made, how you would act and feel. If he got to the bottom of this situation and discovered that you had feelings for someone other than him, would he be able to cope with the jealousy?

Jealousy.

The emotion started to seethe when he thought about someone other than himself being with you. It boiled inside when he watched Sanji fawn over you, touch the small of your back, and whisper compliments in your ear. Every bashful smile and flutter of your eyelashes in Sanji’s direction twisted some dial inside of Zoro. Too many twists would prove troublesome. Explosive, even.

He knew that that this emotion, envy, had been there for ages before he recognized how he felt about you. It didn’t feel good, and he knew it was unhealthy. Various images and memories flashed through his mind as he recalled instances in which he felt this same burning envy frequently coupled with a fierce desire to protect you.

Zoro tried to comfort himself with the knowledge of what sort of person you were—if you had a problem with Sanji, or with any other person, you would have said something, no? He was certain that you wouldn’t hesitate to stand your ground.

But that thought was less of a comfort than he initially thought it would be, because you hadn’t ever reprimanded the blonde for his advances (that Zoro knew of), but you did shoo him away sometimes. Your smile felt restrained and reserved whenever it was sent in Sanji’s direction. It looked different than the smiles you gave Zoro.

Well, there was no point in getting himself worked up over the dynamic in question. Nothing would change, probably, unless he did something about it.

It had been a while since you and Zoro last spent time together, one on one. And he thought you had been a bit quieter than usual, recently, so… might as well catch up. Maybe spending some time with you would soothe his heart—it felt like it was aching any time you weren’t around, and when you were around it felt like it was on fire. He didn’t know how to cope other than find ways and excuses to spend time with you.

His solution was… lunch. Practical, at the very least, if not the most effective.

On the morning after his third night of restful sleep, Zoro asked you if you’d like to have lunch with him under one of the trees on the deck of the Sunny. This was nothing too out of the ordinary. He grabbed food, some drinks and some napkins and brought them out to you.

When Zoro handed you your plate, you smiled up at him from where you sat and he felt like he would pass out. He had absolutely no clue how to handle this recently unlocked feeling—the feeling of love—and he was trying to act as normal as possible. He was, all things considered, succeeding. 

He didn’t have much trouble acting ‘normal,’ per say. He was simply hyperaware of how beautiful you were, how fast his heartbeat was, and how blisteringly intense your eye contact was. He had noticed inklings of this before, but he was reminded, strongly. Every moment that your eyes met his, his heart fluttered. He was trying not to blush. It felt very out of character.

“How have you been recently?” Zoro tried to start the conversation casually.

“I’m fine,” you responded with a smile, like usual. “The same as ever. What about you?”

Zoro wondered if that was worth pressing you on, since you seemed a bit sad, or distant, or something along those lines. He decided it was worth it. Ignoring your question to him, he followed up.

“You sure you’re fine? You’ve been a bit quiet recently.”

You tried to brush it off. You had been quieter recently, and for good reason. You thought he didn’t know the reason, but he did. At least, he knew the bare bones of it. Something along the lines of feeling lonely.

“Ah, yeah. I guess I have been a bit down recently.” You responded, trying to hold your smile and pretend like your heart wasn’t crying inside. He studied your face closely, and you could tell.

“Why’s that?”

You had a brief internal battle over whether or not you would be candid with him, but you didn’t have it in you that day and the scenery wasn’t anywhere near private enough. You lied. “No reason, really. I’m not quite sure why.”

“If you ever want to talk about it, let me know.” Zoro smiled sweeter than you had ever seen and then dropped the subject. His smile was uncharacteristically sweet. Heart-stoppingly sweet. Painfully sweet. It was like a dagger.

You told him thanks and the conversation moved on. As a whole, lunch was enjoyable. Afterwards, you both felt significantly more at ease. To spend time together always brought your respective spirits up. It was a great dynamic—no wonder Zoro was in love with you.

Zoro told himself that he should just keep checking on you and go even more out of his way to spend time with you. He’d double down. Maybe it was lunch today, and then tomorrow it could be dinner. And after that, he’d ask you to watch the sunset with him in the crow’s nest. Or would he whisk you away and confess his feelings in his cabin? He was scrambled in the head, confused by that classic paradox of choice, where there are so many options that you’re incapable of choosing one. Was it even the right call to tell you how he felt? Would it screw everything up?

“Oh, Zoro?” Your voice stopped him in his tracks down the hallway after lunch. “Want to have some drinks tomorrow night? It’s been a minute since we caught up. You stood me up last time, remember?”

You were joking, but it was true. Last time Zoro asked you to have some drinks with him after a hard training session he completely forgot and fell asleep. You both laughed about it afterwards, and you used it to poke fun at him sometimes.

He agreed. "Yeah, drinks tomorrow night. I promise."

That was one problem solved.

DREAM 10: Un-solved

That night Zoro dreamed about you. It broke up that momentary peace he had of three nights with no dreams—it seems the internal turmoil of the day was enough to evoke a vivid and striking dream, unlike any others he had before.

Zoro found himself in a dimly lit bedroom lying on a big bed. The sheets and blankets were smooth and plushy. He could hear someone breathing next to him and he knew that you were there.

Turning his head, he saw that you were lying on your side facing away from him, completely nude, hair sitting perfectly on a silk pillowcase. The sheets were pulled down, so he could see your whole silhouette. In the dream, Zoro could feel himself compelled by something, reaching out a hand to pull you closer to him so your bodies were flush.

He smelled your hair, felt how soft your skin was, and ran a rough hand up and down the side of your body, trying to memorize every inch. He ran a palm over your hips and down your thighs, felt your back, shoulders, and waist; he was drinking up every second that his hands wandered over your skin, like your body was an oasis and he was dying of thirst.

You let out an indistinct noise. He couldn’t hear it well enough. It sounded like a sigh. As his hands moved, you stirred, turning your shoulder into his, giving him more access.

The faint sound trickled out of your mouth again, this time audible. Your voice sounded sleepy, sweet and faint. “Zoro.” He could feel his heart trip when his name fell from your lips.

Your hand groped back to grip his thigh and you whispered his name again. “Zoro. More.”

He snuck his hand from your hip to your front, starting to knead and cup your breasts. His fingers elicited another hushed entreaty from your lips. “Zoro. More.”

Suddenly aware of his hard-on pressing on you, his hand lingered on your chest and he began to kiss you. He started with you shoulder blade, marking a trail of kisses up to your neck, taking in deep breaths of your hair and skin. His kisses were soft and loving, coaxing more pleasant sighs from you.

He wanted to taste every inch of you, to draw out those sounds and muffled noises that he was starting to become acquainted with (at least, in his dreams).

Zoro lavished your skin with affection and care for a few moments, and you said his name again. Every time you said his name, it felt like every nerve in his body buzzed.

“Zoro. I need you.”

The dream fogged up and transformed. He was leaning over you from between your legs, missionary style. You were looking up at him, eyes pleading, hair ruffled just right.

Zoro’s erection was positioned right at your entrance, precum beading and pooling around his red, angry tip. The scene was vivid—his mind replicated every facet of what this would look and feel like in real life, down to each atom of detail. It was absurd.

He gawked at you, eyes jumping between your needy face and pouting lips and your glistening core. One of his hands was stroking his shaft leisurely, and the other gripped your waist.

“Please, Zoro.”

As your begging reached his ears, he slowly pressed into you, letting out a hiss of air through his teeth when he bottomed out because it felt so good. You gasped and the sound felt heavenly in his ears.

“Fuuuccckk, Zoro.”

He leaned in to kiss you, bringing a hand to cup your cheek. Your lips were still locked when he started slowly rocking his hips into yours, dragging his cock in and out of you slowly.

You felt amazing, so warm and wet around him, squeezing him perfectly. He sped up, finding the perfect pace. As his hips rolled into yours, you began to moan his name, mewling it into his mouth as he explored yours with his tongue.

Zoro reached a hand and pushed one of your thighs down, allowing for the deepest angle possible. He wanted to hit your g-spot just right; he wanted to make you feel good, wanted to see your eyes roll back in your head and hear his name as many times as possible.

The dreamscape transformed again, just slightly. He was in the same position, but your faces were centimeters away now. You were holding his cheeks in your hands, making eye contact as he thrusted into you, deep and slow.

“Zoro,” you panted. “Feels good, Zoro. You feel so fucking good.”

He could feel your legs wrap around him, could feel you grinding down on his cock, trying to fuck yourself with it deeper.

A moment later, you were holding hands, fingers entwined. You moaned his name and only his name. He could feel himself about to let go. Your eyes were entrancing.

“Zoro,” you keened, arching your back up and squeezing his hands tightly. “Tell me you love me, Zoro.”

His heart stopped again and picked up at a rapid pace; his hips did the same, moving haphazardly, stuttering and shaking. He was seconds away from cumming in you, pleasure building into one massive cliff that he was about to free fall from.

“I—love—you,” he thrusted between each labored breath and grunt. The words tumbled out of his mouth and on the last one he orgasmed. He reeled with ecstasy, convulsing in pleasure as his cum painted the inside of you a hot, milky white.

Zoro collapsed on your chest panting. One of your hands traced circles on his back and the other petted his head, which rested in the crook of your neck. You cooed “good job baby” in his ear and kissed his shoulder.

He woke up, and even though he wasn’t shaking or sweating this time, he felt extremely unwell. It took him a moment to realize that he came all over the inside of his underwear while he was asleep. While his return to consciousness was gentler this time in comparison to his other dreams, he was still disturbed. It was a scarily realistic and wildly intimate dream.

He tried to get his thoughts in order. There was no point in feeling any shame here, he told himself, because you didn’t dream about that on purpose. But really, what the fuck was going on? A wet dream? How long had it been since he had one of these?

The frustration he felt upon waking was agonizing. Three whole days and nights of a clear head. He thought that since he realized he loved you, the dreams had stopped—the realization of his feelings had been the cure to his lovesickness, after all.

Evidently, he was wrong. One intense dream snapped Zoro back into the insanity he had lived in for a week. He felt like he was going to go crazy.

Wasn’t the realization that he loved you enough to make the dreams stop? If that wasn’t enough, then what would be?

Did he have to do something about it?

Fuck.

He really had to do something about it. Perhaps he’d do something about it when he had drinks with you.

But those promised drinks never came.

The next day, the Strawhat crew ran into a hostile pirate group. The skirmish lasted a handful of hours. Lucky for the crew, there were no truly formidable opponents, but it still ended up being a pain in the ass. The crew got separated, and Zoro got lost and left behind—an experience he was well familiar with.

Finally making his way back to where the ship was docked, after hours of wandering around aimlessly on the island and defeating some random mid-tier power user, Zoro returned to the ship. He was met with a startling sight.

The Sunny was ransacked. On first impression, the crew was nowhere to be found. Your absence was starting to agitate him more than usual when he realized the ship was most likely empty. His latent realization of his love was certainly contributing to that.

As the swordsman explored the ship and went room to room, his distress mounted.

There were blood splatters on the walls of some of the hallways—a pattern that looked like someone, gravely injured, was dragging themselves around the ship. In addition, it looked like every inch of the ship had been turned inside out. The kitchen was a mess, pots and pans everywhere, and even the chairs and table were flipped over at odd angles.

In a rising panic, he dragged himself to your room. He was sure it wasn’t you who was injured and struggling, but… what if it was? Might as well check.

As he suspected, your cabin was plundered and empty, too. His heartbeat was through the roof, his vision started to go red in agitation.

Where were you?

In your room, the pirates rifled to their hearts’ content, searching for money, treasure, whatever they could get their greedy hands on.

Your mattress had been ripped off the bed. The drawers on your desk were pulled out and emptied, the sparse contents littered around the floor. Your closet was ravaged, too. Clothes were in piles and tatters on the floor. Your lamp was knocked over, and the bulb was shattered.

Geez, what the fuck were they doing in here? Zoro wondered. He took in the view for a brief second, noting that you weren’t here, and that he needed to move on. If the crew was in a tight spot right now he ought to go help them out instead of dawdling around on the ship in a frenzy searching for you.

Maybe you were with Luffy or the shit cook—maybe you had your snail, maybe he could call you and check if you were okay.

He had only felt this level of panic a couple times in his life so far. A thought cut through his worry—what if I lose her? What if I lose her before I’ve said anything?

He felt like he was sinking. His vision started to tunnel, his hand jumped to rest on one of his swords, getting ready to cut someone down at a moment’s notice. As he turned to leave your room, a lightning bolt of clarity struck him. Scattered across the floor carelessly was a messy tornado of polaroid photos.

Your camera was crushed to bits in a corner, but the photos, which you’d been taking for ages at this point, had been torn from their little box in your closet and thrown everywhere.

Most of the photos, he realized, were of him. His heart panged. He had never seen this many photos of himself in one spot. His memories with the crew slipped through his fingers every day as they happened, but when recorded and hoarded like this he noticed how happy he looked in the photos. Was it because you were taking them?

When did that light start coming into his eyes?

His stomach flipped. You weren’t here. Your room was destroyed. You were in danger.

In a panic, Zoro pocketed a handful of them and darted out of the room. He hurriedly checked the rest of the ship—completely empty, ransacked and pillaged. Luckily, the pirates didn’t find Nami’s stash. But aside from that, almost no corner of the ship was left untouched.

His heart started to feel like it was seizing—if he didn’t find you fast, he was going to snap.

Would the photos you took of him be the only relic of your shared moments of happiness?

He ran onto the deck, out of breath and sweating, and looked at the shore. Time froze.

A wave of relief crashed over Zoro as he took in the sight—the crew was now strewn around the beach. Some were laying on their backs in exhaustion from the battle, others were huddled up, talking, and still, some were injured, getting briefly triaged by Chopper. Nothing looked too serious. His eyes darted around, searching for you.

You were standing next to Luffy, holding your side and wincing. A pool of blood saturated your shirt, radiating outwards from where you pressed your palm to stop the flow of blood.

You were alive. Injured, yes, but alive. He released the tension in his body and a preliminary feeling of relief coursed through him.

It seems like Zoro had forgotten that life on the seas wasn’t just sunshine, lunches on deck, pining, and exploration. Death and danger were key elements of the whole experience.

Not only had he been lacking on his training, but he was lacking on being an attentive and good friend to you, let alone a crew mate that could protect you. In the lapse and haze he had been in for the past couple weeks, he had let his guard down somehow.

Ever hard on himself, Zoro had a ‘come to Jesus�� moment. He needed to sort shit out with you, fast. He didn’t want to have any regrets. He couldn’t lose someone that he loved again.

Taking deep breaths and internally cursing himself out, Zoro made his way down the gangplank and onto the beach. He decided that when the ship was cleaned up, and everyone was bandaged and fed, he would confess.

This love was festering in him. It had festered for far too long before forcing him to acknowledge it. He couldn’t cope anymore. The next chance he got, he would tell you how he felt, no matter what.

< previous part | masterlist | next part >

taglist: @riftmage27 @eggrollforyou @imhwajaez @wiyenspanel @xxmysticxxx @moonmaiden1996 @chibinasu @theilluminatidragonqueen @becca-oak @my-name-is-heartache @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @adamwarlockislife-blog

a/n: happy valentine's day, everyone! thanks for your patience waiting for this one :) the next part won't take as long ❤️❤️ edit: it took a month lol im so sorry

[lotusunique]

Kiss & Makeup

The reader and Nicholas get into a petty argument they decide to squash one way or another.

Nicholas Chavez x Fem! Reader!

Smut Warning, Praise Kink!

You silently held your breath ,seething with rage. You knew Nicholas could tell you were pissed off. The silence that consumed the black suburban truck on the ride to you guys shared house was obvious enough.

“Are you gonna talk or just continue with the silent treatment ?”, he asks following you into the house.

“Depends. You gonna pretend like you weren’t eye fucking the waitress back there?”, you say, not looking at him and placing your bag onto the counter top of your kitchen .

“Oh my god. Here we go with the jealousy.” , He rolls his eyes. “So I’m jealous because you like to eye fuck waitresses while I’m sitting right across from you?”,You let out a loud cackle. Stunned at the audacity he had.

“Y/n. She was taking our order. All she did was bring out our food. You’re always acting crazy”,He groans. “Now you’re saying I’m a crazy bitch. Got you”,You nod before giving a tight lipped smile and grabbing a bottle of wine from your liquor cabinet. The only thing that might make you calm down was a glass of red. He lets out a scoff

“I am so sick of this petty bullshit Y/n.”,He yells over at you. “And you don’t think I’m sick of your bullshit. You think cause you’re soooo’ fine you can do whatever the fuck you want”,you yell back before chugging the wine.

“I never said I can do whatever I wanted. You really think that just because girls flirt with me that it means I’m gonna go be with them?”, he runs his hands through his hair, obviously stressed by the conversation.

You make your way over to him, “And I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”, you step into his space. You see him go to open his mouth with a smile on his face before he closes it. “Don’t”,you warn him.

“All that jealousy shit is just rooted in the idea that you don’t think anyone can love you.”,he fires back. You eye him, letting your mouth drop open.

“You know what Nicholas. Fuck you”, the bitter words drip off your tongue . “No, Y/n. Fuck you.”,he shouts. It only takes a second for you to realize how attractive he looks. You forgot he was sexy when he’s mad.

The air thickens as the tension between you two surrounds you. Within an instant he smashes his lips against yours, your hands making their way through his hair as his make their way down your body.

You feel his hands at the brim of your thighs and a loud rip at the bottom of your dress. You pull away from his kiss before raising an eyebrow.

He leans into you, his lips brushing softly against your ear and cheek.“Don’t worry pretty girl, I’ll buy you a new one”,He says before making a trail of soft kisses down your neck while ripping up the dress again.

He softly rubs his fingers against your pussy lips before entering two into you, causing you to let out a loud moan. He quickens the pace, watching you become a mess all at his hands.

He picks you up, and lays you on the granite kitchen island before starting the process all over again. “Mannn nobody eating on here for weeks”, you think to yourself, internally chuckling.

This time he attaches his mouth to your clit, sucking whilst putting two fingers into you like before. It drives you crazy and causes you to scream out in pleasure. “Fuck! Yes oh Yes!”,you yell out as your orgasm comes to a crashing high.

“You okay baby?”,he laughs at the state your in. “Un huh. I’m great”,you breathe heavily. “Okay good”,He smiles a mischievous look spreading across his face.

He lines himself up at your entrance, flashing you a look to make sure you’re ok with this.

You nod, giving him an “I’m sure” look.

He traces his tip up and down the opening your pussy.

“Please stop teasing me”,You plead, impatiently wanting him. “You’re so pretty when you beg”, he smiles looking down at you. “Let me hear it one more time gorgeous and I’ll consider it.”,he flashes those perfect teeth of his down at you.

He enters you slowly at first before picking up the pace,causing you to let out multiple moans as he lets out a few groans.

You arch your back as the pulsing sensation overtakes your body, your pussy clenching at the rough yet amazing feeling. The feeling seemed to be over taking your body as every inch went further and further inside you.

“This is what you wanted right baby?”,he says sensing you’re getting closer and closer. “Yes Baby.”,you struggle to voice. “It’s okay gorgeous you can let it out”,he smiles down, watching the sight of you.

“You look so pretty when you take it”, He places a kiss upon your lips and that’s all it takes to send your orgasmto screaming high.

His does the same as the two of you pant and attempt to catch your breath.

“Whew”, you sit up, hugging him tightly. “Bet you the waitress wishes she was me just now because damn”,You laugh aloud.

“Would you hush and kiss me woman.”, Nicholas smiles at you before you lean up to kiss him.

Hey guys! I have 2-3 more coming out! I hope you guys liked this one ♥️🙂

Taglist: @penny44224 @luv-alicia @syraxnyra @piscesprincessworld @vdotcom @aaliyahsroses @tragicdiary @scknights @aegonsslxt @kingdomswifft @jaylalolz @elthoughtzos

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

✨ We listen, and we don't judge ✨

I'm thinking yan!Thangyu x reader x yan!Inho where after "Young-il" dogwalks Thanos and Nam-gyu for disrespecting him the way they did, the reader would start hanging out a lot more with In-ho as a means of security. Even if Players 230 and 124 get reader alone with them (i.e. the 3-person Mingle round) the Front Man still has a way of making Thanos behave himself (as seen in the show when he lets go of Myung-gi upon seeing the guy who kicked his ass without breaking a sweat)

So how would Thanos and Nam-gyu react to seeing their girl cozying up to the top dog? And how would In-ho react knowing that reader really liked seeing him put those boys in their places like that?

Ooo, now that's a good one! >:)

Flower among them

Squid Game masterlist

Yandere!Thangyu x fem!reader x Yandere!Hwang In-ho/Young-il

Cw/triggers: Yandere themes, jealousy, possessive behavior, dead dove do not eat.

Thanos and Nam-gyu sat at their corner, both looking at you from afar. Nam-gyu had his gaze set on Young-il, while Thanos eyed you. The effects of his drugs slowly wore off and he didn't seem as enraged while high, but he still was angry.

"I fucking hate this guy, bro." Thanos said, cracking his neck.

Nam-gyu tore his gaze off of Young-il. "Yeah me too. This asshole won our girl over."

Both of them watched as Young-il gave you his milk pack, Thanos had a neutral expression while Nam-gyu seemed to be almost seething.

Then came the speaker announcement for lights out, and the two laid down in their beds.

Meanwhile you still sat across Young-il, having just finished the milk. As you looked at him, you saw him already staring at you with a hint of a slight smirk.

"How are you feeling by the way?" He started softly.

"Good. So far."

Young-il scooted closer to you. "You don't have to worry about those two anymore. I'll make sure they behave." He smiled.

You hummed. "You really showed them their place earlier. They must feel so humiliated." You chuckled.

Young-il gently waved it off. "It's nothing. I... get like that when it comes to respect."

You smiled. "I liked it. Shows you got spirit."

Young-il gave a small cocky grin. "Well then you should stick close to me from now on."

In-ho noticed how vulnerable you looked and how easy you are on the eyes. He noticed you before but now the close proximity had his mind snap and he wanted to keep you all to himself, even if it means killing others.

Later that night, you woke up, feeling the need to pee. You made sure to be as quiet as possible. Once at the door leading to the bathrooms, you suddenly heard a familiar voice behind you.

"Hey Señorita." Thanos saundered towards you, with Nam-gyu beside him.

You ignored him, speaking to the triangle guard to open the door.

Nam-gyu leaned against the wall beside you while Thanos did on the otherside.

"Where is your protector?" Nam-gyu taunted, not caring about a second triangle guard appearing next to the other.

"Looks like he's giving you back to us." Thanos chimed in with a smirk.

You did not want to hear another word coming from them. You have Young-il now and they behaved like shit and still do. So you simply ignored them, stepping into the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

Both Nam-gyu and Thanos didn't like your ignoring and went after you.

"Hey don't ignore us, flower, we just want to talk!" Thanos gripped your arm and Nam-gyu grabbing your shoudlers to turn you around.

Just then both of them tensed up and loosened their grip on you.

"Player 124 and 230, let her go."

Came the voice of one of the triangle guards as they had their rifles pointed at Nam-gyu and Thanos' back.

Nam-gyu didn't want to let you leave. "Hey why are you so attentive towards other players so suddenly? Aren't you the ones killing them?"

"Let her go. Now." Came the last warning and with that, Nam-gyu and Thanos stepped back, giving you space just as Young-il stepped through the door.

Young-il just stood there, you saw him giving the guards a cold glance over before looking at you.

"Is everything okay in here?" Young-il asked innocently.

Thanos and Nam-gyu said nothing and made their way out as if they were scared of another beat up.

"Are you okay?" Young-il asked, stepping close to you and giving a worried look.

"Yes," you nodded "how did you know I was here?"

Young-il motioned outside. "I saw the light and your bed was empty. I wanted to make sure you're alright." he lied expertly. Of course he was awake the whole time, seeing you slip out of bed and the two junkies crowding you.

"Thanks for coming." You smiled weakly.

Young-il stepped even closer, putting his hand reassuringly on your shoulder.

"No big deal. But for now I think it's best for me to keep an eye on you just incase."

You gently shook your head. "You don't have to."

Young-il leaned closer. "I'm afraid you have no other choice. Either it's me keeping you safe or those two assholes." He said in a low, almost threatening tone.

"You will come to see how safe with me you are. And I'm the only one here capable of getting you out of here alive..."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wished to be tagged :) : @i-might-be-vanny

[w1ngriddenangel]

jealousy | chris sturniolo

in which . . . angel!reader is jealous because dealer!chris is getting too much attention ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

pairing | dealer!chris x angel!reader

warnings | smut, DOM chris, praise kink, mirror sex, referring to women as bitches (ily guys)

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

you were bored to say the least. this was the biggest party chris had ever brought you to, and there was nothing for you to do. it’s not like you had friends to be around, considering you knew nobody at this party. but chris needed to make money, and this is how he did it. chris loved to spoil you, and this helped him be able to do so.

as soon as you walked away from chris to let him work, you saw girls in the party giving him the eyes. you six months ago would’ve never realized, but with how much chris has taught you, now you know.

they were looking at him the same way you looked at him. every girl at that party wanted access to him the way you had access to him.

it didn’t bother you much at first, because you knew he only had eyes for you. but as the night dragged on, more and more girls were going up to him and even buying from him, but there was more to it.

the little glances, the smirks, the way they were staring at him, even brushing their hands together.

he wasn’t doing anything about it either. he hadn’t checked on you in over an hour, and he was letting the girls practically throw themselves at him. you were getting more and more upset by the minute, and your patience was growing slim.

you were never an angry person, and it took you a lot to get to that point, but it happened the minute you saw her.

she was pretty, nobody could deny that. but the way she was acting towards chris made you hate her.

chris was finally making his way towards you before he was stopped by her. he was closer now, so you could see everything. she was looking up at him all doe-eyed with a flirtatious look on her face. she was twirling her hair when she talked to him, and chris just took it.

oh, you were fuming.

you were far beyond the point of sad, and you just stared at the pair, practically seething.

chris handed her the bag of weed, and her hand brushed against his, lingering for a moment.

you were done.

chris awkwardly pulled his hand away, immediately turning his head and looking at you. once he saw the pissed expression on your face, he immediately made his way to you.

“hi, mama,” he greeted you. “you doin’ okay? i’m almost done.”

“almost done enjoying the attention all the girls are giving you?” you scoffed. chris’ eyebrows furrowed as he stayed silent.

he was usually extremely patient with you whenever you were upset or had an attitude, but he didn’t even feel as if he did anything wrong.

“what’re you talking about?” he asked you. you rolled your eyes in response, not even responding. he raised both of his hands and grabbed your face. “cut it the fuck out.” he gripped your face in his hands tightly, giving you a stern look that repeated what he said.

despite his warning, you did just the opposite. “they’re basically eye fucking you!”

his patience was quickly running out. he came here to make money, not to deal with you being a brat. “what did i just fucking say?” his voice is sharp and his jaw was tightly clenched. “you mad cause you’re not gettin’ all my attention?”

“i’m mad because you’re enjoying all the attention you’re getting from all the girls,” you complained. “you’re not even making it known you have a fucking girlfriend.”

his eyes narrowed out of frustration. you never cursed at him, and you weren’t going to start now. he was going to make sure of that. he grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the spot you were sitting in. “let me make one thing fucking clear,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “you’re not gonna start acting like a fuckin’ brat while i’m trying to work. i love you, y/n, but i need you to shut the fuck up and sit down while i make money for us.” you stayed silent, narrowing your eyes at him. you angrily sighed, rolling your eyes at him.

“you fucking kidding me?” he scoffed. he turned around, yanking you towards him before dragging you across the entire party. chris didn’t even care that be was practically shoving everyone who was in his way, receiving dirty looks in the process. you made it to the bathroom as he opened the door and shut it behind you, quickly locking the door. he grabs your hips and lifts you, placing you on the counter. “you want some fuckin’ attention? that’s what you’re gonna get, and you’re gonna shut the fuck up and take everything i give you, got it?”

chris feels a sense of relief when he sees you nod in submission. he smashes his lips against yours and holds onto your hips excruciatingly tight. you let out a needy whimper and chris can feel himself get hard instantly. the pretty sounds you made were his weakness. he pulls away and leans into your ear before whispering, “gonna ruin your tight little pussy and show you that you’re the only one that gets me like this..” he slides his hands up and down your thighs, eventually sliding up your skirt before stopping right where you needed him the most. he pulled his hands away, earning a desperate whimper from you. “shh.”

he pulls you into a brutal and sloppy kiss, causing you to gasp in surprise. his hand slid under your skirt again, moving your lace panties to the side and immediately feeling your wetness. “you gonna apologize for being a brat?” you shook your head, causing him

to smirk before shoving two fingers harshly inside of you. you cried out, clawing at his shirt and rutting your hips against his hand, needing some sort of friction. “such a sweet little sound… but no apology?” he pulls your tank top down before attaching his lips to one of your nipples, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. you let out a moan, your hands moving to tug his hair. “gotta be quick, baby. got more money to make.” he grabbed your hips again, removing you from the counter and quickly turning you around so you were facing the mirror. from behind you, you heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. “daddy’s gonna make you feel so good.” he immediately shoves his entire length inside of your soaked pussy, not even giving you time to adjust before thrusting in and out of you brutally. a guttural moan escapes from his throat as you were repeatedly crying out. he brings his hand from behind you to your neck, squeezing harshly and bringing your head up so you can see yourself in the mirror. “look at that baby,” he cooed. “watch that you’re the one i’m fucking, not those bitches out there.”

he set a punishing pace, staring at your fucked out expression in the mirror. he was fully inside of you with every thrust. “everyone in here saw me walking in with you wearing that pretty little skirt,” he angled his hips a certain way so he could hit your g-spot. “take that fucking dick, baby. you love this shit don’t you?” when you didn’t respond, he grabbed your hair and yanked your head back. “you better fuckin’ speak when you’re spoken to.” he punctuated each word with a harsh thrust of his hips.

“yes!” you squealed. “love it s— ahh! so much.”

the lewd squelch of your pussy fills the air as he pounded you mercilessly. one of his hands grabbed your waist while the other still had a fistful of your hair, yanking just enough to

leave you lightheaded. “fuck! you feel so fuckin’ good,” he praised. “tight little pussy was made for me. squeezin’ me so good.”

“daddy!” you cried out. it was all too much for you. “i-i can—“

“don’t fuckin’ say you can’t. you asked for it. you gonna apologize?” he taunted.

“i’m sorry— oh my god, fuck! i’m sorry daddy.”

“that’s a good fuckin’ girl,” he let go of your hair and ran his hands down your body. “all you had to do. you gonna let daddy fill up your pretty pussy?” he felt his release approaching, and he wanted you to cum so badly. he ran his hand down even further until he reached your clit, rubbing aggressively in circles. he felt you cum immediately, the sensation was too much, and seeing yourself getting fucked roughly im the mirror didn’t help. as soon as he felt you cum, he buried himself

completely inside of you, stopping his hips and releasing inside your pussy. hot ropes of cum

filled you as chris threw his head back and let out breathless groans.

he pulled out of you, your sensitivity making you whimper. “i know, baby…”

he flipped your skirt down and turned you around. his hands came up to your face and he pressed a gentle kiss against your lips, the complete opposite from the way he was fucking you. “i love you, angel. you’re the one i love, not them, okay?” you nodded in response before tiredly mumbling an “i love you too.”

“and if you sit pretty and be good ‘til i’m done, i’ll eat your pussy when we get home.”

[dejwrld]

⤷‧₊˚ could you imagine having a wet dream about your hot neighbor?

┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — female anatomy described, her/she pronouns, written with black reader in mind, pet names (good girl), oral fixation, oral (f.receiving), dirty talk, biting kink, backshots/doggystyle position, spanking, anal play (i mean he put a thumb in it that's it), marking kink, profanity, i think we should write smut about men in explicit mangas some more, mentions of a wet dream, wet dream is in italics, slight pervert!reader, repost from old account, mdni

You couldn't help but stare at him when you saw him. You remembered how your eyes lit up with curiosity seeing him move into the apartment next to yours. An apartment with many tenants who moved in and soon quickly moved out. A rumor traveled around that a ghost resided in that apartment, but you never cared to gossip about said rumor. You just went to work and came home. It was a sad cycle that you’ve done Monday through Friday. Occasionally when you would be leaving for work, you'd see him. The bags under his eyes are as heavy as he’s taking his trash out to put into the apartment’s trash bin. His whole demeanor oozed sex appeal even though he would be the type of man your parents would usher you to stay away from. 

He was a handsome man, and when you laid down to sleep, you only seethed in jealousy, hearing faint moans through the thin walls. A regular neighbor would march over and bang on the door to tell their neighbor to keep it down—but with you, it felt like your body was stuck. You stared at the ceiling indulging in the sound of the way he pleasured this woman. That jealous pit twists in your stomach, realizing that you have most likely been crushing on a taken man this whole time. But it didn’t make sense, you hadn’t seen a woman enter or exit his place when you were around. Either or, you still thought that it should have been you to have the privilege of cooing out his name the way this woman was. 

You could do better. You know you can. 

You may have been in a significant drought, but you were positive your plush lips could kiss him better. Your mouth could wrap around his cock better. You could move your hips while riding him better. But then again, this woman had to have something you didn’t if he was making her feel like this every night. 

You took your pillow over your head to scream into it. The heated feeling between your thighs caused you to roll over on your side to force yourself to sleep. You were only torturing yourself by continuing to be a pervert and listening to him pleasure another woman. Before you could utter a string of complaints to yourself, your body finally relaxed for you to fall into a deep slumber—a poor attempt at ignoring the walls through the paper-thin walls. 

Your body stirred in your sleep as you felt something under the thin lilac-colored duvet that covered your body. You felt something wet upon your thighs as if somebody was nibbling on the flesh on the inside area of your thighs. You attempted to squirm tiredly, but the grip upon you grew tighter. With your hand rubbing the sleep out of your eye, you lifted the duvet, and your eyes nearly bulged out your head seeing him. His eyes filled with so much hunger it sent a chill down your spine. With the oversized t-shirt you usually sleep in pushed up to your waist, you watched as the flat of his tongue glided upward and downward on the clothed part of where your pussy lips were. Even though your underwear was blocking the pleasure feeling of his tongue—you still felt yourself grow wet at the feeling. 

Your next-door neighbor Totsumoto Yuushi didn’t waste any time dragging your fusion-colored panties down your smooth legs to get a taste of you. The flat of his tongue dragged across your puffy pussy lips just to finally relinquish in the taste of you. His darkened eyes met with yours through the little light that shimmered through the window from the moon. You relaxed in his touch as soon as you felt the first flicker on your clit. Your breathing hitches in your throat before you cough up moans and your fingers tangle into his black hair. Before your eyes lolly in the back of your head, the last glimpse you got was of Totsumoto’s eyes shifting close as he finally wanted to focus on his main task. 

Totsumoto’s tongue glides around the entrance of your drooling cunt, and he even could feel you clench, feeling him teasing you. Your thighs were seizing close due to the intense feeling of him between your thighs, but he just pinned them back open. You even heard him moan as he continued to eat his meal. He didn’t leave a drop of slick for him not to savor. The blood rushing to his cock with each kitten lick he’s making on your pussy or each flicker and suck on your sensitive bud. Your juices stained his face, but he could care less when it was a mouthwatering meal right before him. 

Your body arched off the mattress as you failed to run away from your pending orgasm. Your stomach began to form the most satisfying knots for Totsumoto to untie, but he pulled it away. He shortly let his lips drag kisses and bites on the inside of your thighs. He removed himself away from your pussy with a satisfying pop. 

“I want you to cum on this dick, Y/N.” His voice rasps. “I know you want the same thing, right?” Totsumoto tilts his head to the side slightly as if he’s letting his head rest on your bite marks-covered thigh, and his eyes never stop looking at you. 

Totsumoto’s words hit you like a truck with each continued kiss and bite. Your brain felt like complete mush as you realized he snatched your orgasm away from you in the blink of an eye. With his cock on hard, he kisses up your body until his face is just inches away from yours. Him being on top of you but also sure not to squash you. You could feel his cock on the inside of your thigh. Just by how it felt—you could tell it was fat. You’ve had your perverted thoughts during a hot morning imagining how his cock looked. Was it long? Was it girthy? Was he circumcised? How pretty was the tip? You’ve asked yourself that constantly. 

He’ll inch closer to your lips. Through your stare of desperation for him, you watched him lick his lips—savoring in the aftertaste of your pussy before he spoke once more, “How’d you want it? Since you’ve been a good girl while I was between your thighs….” 

Teasingly, he’s letting his teeth nibble on your plump lower lip instead of giving you the satisfaction of a heated kiss. 

“I’ll let you choose.” He adds. 

And that’s how you whine up on all fours with a perfect arch and your cunt eager to swallow Totsumoto’s cock. You figured that if you were to do missionary, you’d become cock drunk for the gentleman immediately. His callous hands grabbed at your waist, dragging you closer to him; you could feel the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance. “Just relax, pretty, sure you fit around me perfectly,” Totsumoto assured.

He’s collecting saliva in his hand to coat his girthy cock with, even though he could see how wet you were for him through his dark locs that fell in his face. His hand gripped your waist, similar to how a person would with some bike handles. He completely braced himself for the waterfall he was about to experience. First, he’s shoving his tip in—slowly, just so you can get used to it, savor it. A wonderful feeling he could get used to. Second, he’s gradually shoving move of his cock inside you. This time he’s taking note of how your manicured fingers grasped at the sheets. 

“I thought you could take my cock, hm?” He’ll teasingly ask. 

You couldn’t even answer his question before he’s immediately plowing forward. No regard for getting used to his size when the wet cunt in between your thighs was enthusiastic for more. You’ll moan out his name like a song you knew from heart. The lewd sound of heated skin slapping against each other adding on to your tune of moans. It created a sweet melody that Totsumoto enjoyed hearing. It motivated him to fuck just a little better, a little harder. 

Your pillow was beginning to stain with your salty tears with each ram of his hips. You only had the opportunity to let out broken moans that bounced upon the thin walls of your bedroom. Your hand went back behind you to slow down his abrupt thrusting, but that only led to him swatting your hand away as if it were a fruit fly flying around a garbage can. At this point, you had lost count of how many times the two of you had cum. The sticky mess that imprinted your thighs didn’t stop Totsumoto from continuing what he was doing. The white ring that decorated his cock only turned him on even more. His eyes lazily droop to gaze at your pussy, swallowing his cock. It was an intoxicating feeling how you were clutching around him. Which each pull back on his cock—he could feel you tremble. Hurriedly, wanting to run away from his jabs but ever so eager for him to fill you up some more. 

“You were waiting to feel my cock weren’t you?” He growled lowly. He noticed you didn’t answer his question, only purring out desperate moans. The dark-haired male took that as a challenge. His large hands that once were on your plush love handles would press down your back, ensuring that you wouldn’t break the perfect arch. 

Totsumoto’s fingertips trace alongside the flesh of your ass. His hand slaps at it, and his actions' ripple effect causes his cock to twitch inside you. His body felt like he was running a fever so hot that he could most likely faint. His jet-black strands of hair were sticking to his sweat-coated forward, but even if his hair drooped low in front of his intoxicating deadpan eyes—he still couldn’t take them away from the mess between the two of your bodies. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy as his body finally overheated due to his lewd actions. 

You knew that the older gentleman was so close to cumming. His grip on your waist tightens, completely entrapping you from running away from his brash thrusting. It took you by shock feeling his thumb insert instantly into your asshole. Your body tensed up, and he leaned down to place the sloppiest set of kisses on your back. “It’s just a thumb unless you want it to be something else.” He hungrily said. 

His words sent a frightening yet exhilarating chill down your spine. Your fingers grasped the crumpled sheets on your mattress as you met his thrusting halfway until the both of you were a cumming mess. You’ve had your fair share of sleeping with men. From horrible hookups to the best lovemaking, no one ever made you feel like this when you were orgasming. You felt like you were on the highest cloud attempting to climb down all by yourself. Your limbs quivered with each sloppy cum coated slam upon your ass, and your moans became so frantic that someone would have thought you were speaking in tongue. The messy mess that imprinted the two of your skin wasn’t as bad as the mess when his cock hesitantly removed itself from you. Totsumoto’s thick cum dripped out of your cunt as he let your body collapse on the mattress below you like a personal used fleshlight. You could hear his breathing returning to normal as he let his fingertips drag alongside your sweat-coated body parts. 

“Sleep tight. You’re going to need it for when I return.” His words came out like a whisper.

When his fingertips left your body, you felt cold without his touch. You were utterly addicted to his touch, and you needed more. However, your shaken limbs and depleted body said otherwise.

Exhaustion overcame your body as the only thing that could be heard in the room was the sound of you trying to control your breathing. Your eyes became droopy, and you realized that he just gave you the best dick you could imagine, that you instantly fell into a deep slumber.

The annoying sound of your alarm caused your eyes to open instantly. Your phone was practically yelling at you to get up to start your day. When you pressed the snooze button on your phone, you glanced at the time. You still have a couple more minutes—perhaps you can attempt to fall asleep to continue the dream. Your panties already were damp, and your nipples hardened in anticipation due to it, but no matter how comfortable you got or how tightly squeezed shut your eyes were—you couldn’t fall back into that deep slumber. There you were, staring at the ceiling, thinking about him, and once again, the horrible feeling of him not being able to pleasure you outside of your perverted wet dreams swirled around in your mind. 

A knock could be heard from your front door, causing your thoughts to disappear— just like the dream you had last night. You climbed out of bed to answer the door, mumbling coherent words about who could be visiting you so early. It was most likely another salesman that wanted to sell something. You opened your front door, and all the annoyance in your body disappeared. There, your neighbor Totsumoto Yuushi stood at your door holding a box. 

Your words were stuck in your throat as your fingers toyed with the ends of the oversized t-shirt you wore to bed. Totsumoto’s eyes traveled down your body, staring at your boobs, and he took a mental note of how your nipples poked through the thin fabric of the t-shirt you were wearing. He cleared his throat to clear out the tension in the air. 

“The delivery guy put this outside my door, and it belongs to you.” Totsumoto’s deep voice croaked out. 

“Thank you.” Your arms extended for him to drop the package in your arms.

Instead, he wiggled past the small gap between you and your cracked door and directly placed your package in your house. He walked out of your apartment and glanced down at you. The scent of him went by you, and you could feel your knees weaken. 

“I’m going to get going now. If you need anything, just knock on my door.” His lips form a sly smile before he walks down to his apartment. 

You closed the door when he was no longer in your eyesight. Your back pressed upon the door as you slowly slid down it—if only he could get you the one thing you wanted the most. 

And that was for your wet dream to come true vividly. 

[golddustwomanwins]

BUSY WOMAN

Part 1

Patrick Zweig x Reader

18+

After Patrick dropped you high and dry, he sees you again at a fundraiser with Art. Seething with jealousy.

It took you a while to get used to this new feeling. Not having short cut texts light up the screen of your phone at nights, with Patrick wanting to come over. Not having that anticipatory flutter in your stomach every time you thought about him calling you.

To your surprise it only took Art knocking at your door with a pint of strawberry ice cream one night and the hole in your heart didn’t mend itself but it was like a warm blanket got thrown upon it, hiding it from the public eye.

Still, Art only could be with you for a certain amount of time and when the door shut behind him, dorm room painted in darkness the thoughts crept in. Why wouldn’t he let you have more of him? What was it about you that he didn’t feel you were worthy of him?

Art could see you spiraling and the good friend he was he invited—forced—you to this fundraising gala for the tennis team.

“Come on. It’s free food and champagne,” Art lured you in.

“I don’t feel like going out,” you said, cuddled into various blankets, eyes and nose red from crying.

“I don’t wanna go alone and you need to get out of this depressing room, sweetheart.” He tugged at your arm again but you groaned.

“After we can hit McDonald’s and go for ice cream,” he suggested with a half smile and you contemplated his offer. You could stay in and wallow in self pity or put on a nice dress and spend the evening with your friend.

Art could see the gears shift inside your mind and he leaned down with an enticing smirk. “I’ll pay.”

Thirty minutes later your body was clad in a long, black silk dress, back cut low. Your necklace dangled on your back, dragging against the dimples in your lower back. A slit ran up your thigh, your curls pinned in an updo.

Art stood beside you under the chandelier light, doing all the talking with other tennis players as you nipped at your champagne flute, looking around the room. Chrystals glistened on the chandeliers throwing little rainbows across the ball room. Arts hand found your back once again, assuring that you still had enough energy to stay upright.

You were feeling cozy and warm, the liquor streaming through your veins and lessening the aching pain persisting in your chest.

You raised the flute back to your lips and just when you took a sip it caught in your windpipe. Blue yes met yours over the room and you started choking as the liquor ran down the wrong pipe.

Art gently nudged your back until you calmed down enough. He ducked down whispering in your ear. “You all right?”

You nodded, doing your best not to glance back to where Patrick was standing. The walls seemed to be closing in on you, chandelier light too bright, the dress too revealing. Arts touch too overpowering even if he only wanted you to calm down.

“I’m gonna go outside for a minute,” you told Art and he shot you a worried look.

“Want me to join?”

You quickly shook your head. “‘M fine. I’m gonna be back in a minute.”

Art took your glass and you dashed elegantly past the guests, trying not to rouse any attention. You weren’t as fast in your heels as you liked, your calves burning as you pushed your body towards freedom. You needed air.

The click clack of your shoes echoed against the marble floor until: freedom. You rushed through the double doors and the cold slab of air made your eyes water. You slumped against a marble pillar outside, breaths coming fast as you tried to calm your rapidly beating heart.

Closing your eyes you counted breaths. In. Out. It would go away. You just needed to stay outside long enough.

Another pair of steps broke through the pounding in your ears. Soon followed a familiar scent. You heard him light a cigarette before soft smoke trailed your way. Your eyes fluttered open and you found a cigarette offered in front of your face. You turned your head away from Patrick not wanting to see him. Not wanting to see his perfectly tailored suit, curving around the body you knew like the back of your hand.

The carefully curated curls arranged perfectly. Freckled skin that had seemed more tan under the lights of the chandelier.

“What?” Patrick asked, “ignoring me now?”

“I’m not ignoring you.” You shivered slightly, hugging yourself. You felt far too exposed and it didn’t have anything to do with the way you were dressed. The wound was ripped open, gash bleeding furiously.

“Never said no to a smoke before.”

You looked at him then, familiar smirk parting his lips. God was he gorgeous. You could feel him pull your string again, stomach flipping with desire. No. Not this time. Not ever again.

You shrugged. “Creating new habits is quite easy.”

He raised a brow. “Old habits die hard, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you spat but it only fueled the glee in his eyes.

“Sure about that? Loved it when I called you that before,” he took the cigarette between his tempting lips, taking a drag. Almost enchanted, you watched the smoke pass his lips softly, caressing his flesh like you did once.

“What are you doing here, Patrick?” You asked, turning fully towards him.

“What am I doing here? This is a tennis fundraiser.”

“I’m not talking about the fundraiser,” you huffed. “I mean here. Outside. With me.”

He took another drag before letting it fall to the ground, expensive shoes sniffing it out. “Saw you leaving,” he shrugged.

You hated this. He hadn’t changed a bit. Walking out here with all the arrogance as if nothing had happened. But to him nothing had happened. He’d be happy to just fuck you again, for the sake of it, and leave again.

“What are you doing here with Art?” He asked, something glinting in his eyes that he carefully kept in the dark.

“We’re friends. He didn’t want to go alone,” you hated how you sounded so defensive. Even if you were interested in Art, it was none of Patrick’s business.

He shifted a little closer, a cloud of smoke and champagne hitting your skin. You stared up at him defiantly. You wouldn’t cave.

“And he couldn’t ask anyone else beside the girl who—“

“The girl who what, Patrick?” You challenged him. You watched his jaw clench as he looked away from you. “The girl who what?” You took a step closer, raising your chin. An idea sparked in your mind as you saw what was clearly painted on his face: jealousy. How could he dare to be jealous?

“The girl you fucked?” You kept going, anger and hurt fueling you with fire. “The girl you could only take from behind because what? Because you were scared?”

He stayed quiet, smirk now long gone as he stared down at you. Whatever it was that was showing in his eyes, it kept you going.

“The girl you couldn’t even kiss because you thought it would be too good? Because you were scared that one taste of me would ruin you for every other woman?”

His hand found your waist, not pulling you closer but also not pushing you away either. The highs of his cheeks were slightly flushed as his eyes dipped down to your glossy lips.

“Tell me, Patrick, how many women did you fuck until now? After me.” You chuckled lightly. “Could you even get hard?”

Your hand found his chest and slowly travelled down to the obvious bulge in his trousers. This time it was your turn to smirk. “Don’t have a problem with that when you’re around me, do you? One look from me and you’re rock hard, cock straining against the fabric.”

He hissed when you rubbed your hand over his aching dick.

“What did you do, huh?” You pressed yourself closer against him, his eyes rolling almost back into his skull. “Did you think about me? To get hard?”

Your hand moved slowly and he dipped forward, nuzzling your neck with a soft groan. “Imagine it was me you were fucking so you were able to come?”

“No,” he breathed against your neck and you chuckled, “Liar.”

The door to the bathroom banged against the door as Patrick pushed you inside, his lips not leaving your neck in the process. Your ass bumped into the marble counter as you tugged at his curls, making him groan.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he groaned as he licked a path up the column of your throat. His hands gripped your waist, bruising your skin as his pelvis connected with yours.

“Leaving you was the worst decision ever,” he mouthed at your nipples over the fabric of your dress and you arched your back with a sigh.

Your hands quickly worked at pulling his shirt out of his trousers, nails scratching along his toned stomach. “Yeah?” You breathed as he bit your skin, rutting his hips desperately against yours.

“Yeah,” Patrick gripped your cleavage and tugged it down until it revealed the soft pink of your nipples, hot mouth closing over one. “Fisted my cock every night to the thought of you.”

You desperately worked at his belt buckle, pushing trousers and boxers down. His cock slapped against his stomach, tip almost purple. You both looked down.

“Condom?” You asked and he quickly shook his head before pushing your dress up to your hips.

“Never again after you let me fuck you raw,” he huffed.

He gripped your hips ready to turn you around but you stopped him.

“Don’t be a coward, Patrick.”

Some strange emotion flickered in his eyes and then he eased you up on the counter, pulling you to the edge. You watched him with a small smile as his fingers found your soaked panties, groaning.

“God, this wet and we didn’t even kiss, huh?” He mumbled into your neck. You tugged at his curls to make him look at you.

“You wanna talk or you wanna fuck me?”

“Fuck you,” he said eagerly and with expert fingers he ripped your panties, slipping them sneakily into his trouser before he lined himself up. His tip glistened with pre as he pushed inside you.

His eyes flew upwards as he watched your face when he entered you and he almost came from the look on it. He waited for a moment buried to the hilt.

“Mmh missed this,” he breathed. “God, I’d kill for your pussy.”

He slowly started to move, cock brushing along your walls as you cling to his shoulders. He watched his cock disappear inside you for a few moments before looking back up at you, his eyes getting stuck on your face.

Pressure built inside you as his thrust grew harder, a white ring building around the shaft of his cock but he couldn’t look away from your face.

Your glossy lips parted on a soft moan and his eyes got stuck there. Not a moment later his lips met yours.

You shivered in delight as his tongue delved messily into your mouth, saliva mixing a concoction that made you both go mad.

Patrick was a messy kisser. Lip gloss smudged along both your lips and it felt like he was trying to crawl into your soul as he pounded mercilessly inside you. With every trust his pelvis pushed against your clit, driving you higher and higher.

“‘M gonna come, baby, you there yet?” He huffed and you’d be surprised if you didn’t feel like your body was short from exploding.

“Keep going—aah—don’t stop,” you moaned and he tilted your hips going deeper than before. The wet sounds echoed in the bathroom as you clawed at his back.

“Patrick,” you moaned his name before your walls clamped shut on him. He thrusted harder, guiding you through the pleasure, his pelvis hitting you just right and then it happened. You didn’t think your body was built like that but with the angle he kept and the speed you came again.

Spots danced in front of your eyes, your body ascending as you felt him spill warm inside you with a long groan, teeth finding your neck desperately. “Never gonna leave you again—you fuck me so good,” Patrick mumbled desperately.

You came to yourself first, feeling his cum already dripping past where he was still buried inside you.

Patrick was breathing heavily against you, forehead pressed against your chest. You were tempted to stroke his curls gently but instead your hands found his chest.

Pushing him off of you, he almost whined as his cock left your heat. You hopped off the counter grabbing a few paper towels to clean yourself up. Straightened your hair and lip gloss in the mirror you ignored him staring.

“What are you doing?” He asked still breathless. His lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed. His cock was still out, even now still half hard.

“What does it look like?” You smiled innocently before straightening your dress to leave.

His hand clamped on your wrist like a vice. “I just made you come twice back to back and you’re just leaving?”

You arched a brow at him and chuckled. “Come twice? In what world do you live?”

His lips parted on an angry frown. You leaned up on your tip toes to whisper in your ear.

“Next time you fuck a girl make sure she really comes. Seems to be easy to fake an orgasm with you.”

“Wait—“

You slipped out of his hold and out the door with a viscous, “gotta go. Got bored.”

You hoped he didn’t see the way your legs shook desperately as you made your way out.