#Sick and Twisted behaviour

[assorted-things]

Partway through my first playthrough, and it's absolutely diabolical that you can have sex with Meredith, who has someone punch you and point a gun at you, but Takemura isn't a romance option even though he saves your life, trusts you with his Sad Backstory, appears to be concerned for your wellbeing on multiple occasions, and texts you a cat picture... He is unreasonably charming and I need to be able to bring him on every single sidequest with me!!

(Also I am feeling Very Normal about the way he kind of steps in between V and Oda in that initial meeting once Oda starts getting more aggressive... Head in hands...)

[oneblckcoffee]

josh and donna from the west wing are making me lose my mind

[triquery]

I'm literally so useless how am I supposed to save her from herself if I can't even save her from all the evil men in her life

[organogeneticist]

i'm losing my mind my friend just read all of homestuck in 10 days. what the hell

[minxmut-cafe]

BEARLY CONTAINED

Pairing : Bear hybrid Namjoon x Ferret hybrid reader (established relationship)

Word count : 5.7 k words

Warning : smut, oral sex (f receiving), Sexual intercourse, vaginal penetration, inappropriate uses of honey, food kink, Namjoon being high, rough sex, mating press, knotting, animalistic behaviour, huge size difference, pussy spanking, fingering, feral Namjoon.

Authors note : Hello everyone I'm back from the little break I took. I'm sorry I haven't been posting much :/, two of my kittens died and multiple things have been going on in my personal life as well that have taken a huge toll on me, ofc that's not reason to abandon or neglect writing so I'll try to post more but it's really hard trying to focus when do many things are going on at once.

Synopsis : Namjoon decided to get high on honey and turn his pretty menace in a honey slick snack

You had always known Namjoon had a thing for honey. It made sense—he was a bear hybrid, after all.

So when he came home with a bag full of fresh honeycomb, you didn’t bat an eye. It was normal. Cute, even.

But what wasn’t normal…

Was the absolute feral way he was devouring it.

You watched in stunned horror as Namjoon sat on the floor, legs crossed, eyes half-lidded in bliss as he shoveled chunk after chunk of honeycomb into his mouth. His lips and fingers were glistening with honey, sticky trails running down his wrists, but he didn’t care. He was in the zone.

But then—then.

You saw him reach for the honey jar.

And you watched—in real-time horror—as he dipped a piece of honeycomb into more honey.

You gagged. “Oh my god, are you serious right now?”

Namjoon barely blinked at you before taking a slow, obscene bite, his jaw working as he chewed.

“What?” he mumbled, mouth full.

You stared at him like he had personally offended your entire bloodline. “You’re dipping honey in honey, Namjoon. That’s—” you shuddered, “—that’s some sick, twisted shit.”

Namjoon blinked. Licked his fingers. Took another bite. Moaned.

You dry-heaved. “OH MY GOD.”

Namjoon shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Let me have my moment.”

You pointed at him, voice shaking. “You’re disgusting.”

Namjoon only smirked, licking his lips. “You weren’t saying that last night.”

Your soul left your body.

You watched as Namjoon continued his absolute onslaught on the honeycomb, dipping each piece into even more honey before shoving it into his mouth like some kind of deranged addict.

At first, you were horrified. Then, you were repulsed.

Now?

Now you were concerned.

Because last time he went on a honey binge like this, he ended up glued to the toilet for an entire day, clutching his stomach and groaning in absolute misery.

You cleared your throat. "Uh, babe… you good?"

Namjoon barely spared you a glance as he shoved another dripping piece into his mouth. “Mhm.”

You squinted. His pupils looked a little… dilated.

“Are you… high?”

Namjoon hummed again, closing his eyes as he moaned around the honeycomb.

Your stomach turned.

You leaned in, whispering, “Babe. How much honey have you had?”

He licked his fingers and shrugged. “Dunno.”

Your eyes widened. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Namjoon let out a deep, satisfied sigh, tipping his head back against the couch. “M’just… feelin’ good.”

Your alarm skyrocketed. You knew that bears could actually get high off certain types of honey. And judging by the absolute state of Namjoon right now…

You grabbed the honey jar and read the label. Your stomach dropped.

Mad Honey – Raw, Unfiltered, Wild Harvested

You slapped your forehead. Oh my god. He’s fucking drugged.

You grabbed the honey jar out of his hands, holding it out of reach. "Enough. No more honey for you."

Namjoon blinked up at you, dazed and sluggish, his sticky fingers still curled like he was expecting another piece to magically appear. His lips wobbled, his brows furrowed, and then—

He whimpered.

Your jaw dropped.

Namjoon, your giant, grizzly bear of a boyfriend, whimpered like a scolded puppy, looking at you like you had just taken away his only source of happiness.

You stared at him, aghast. "Did you just—"

Namjoon blinked again, slow and confused, like even he didn't realize the sound came from him.

You took a step back, pointing a shaking finger. "You're cut off. No more honey."

Namjoon's ears flattened. "B-But—"

Oh, hell no.

You crossed your arms. "No ‘buts.’ You remember what happened last time, right?"

Namjoon pouted, looking far too soft and pathetic for someone who could bench press a car. "That was different."

You deadpanned. "You shit your soul out for twelve hours straight, Joon."

He grumbled, slumping over dramatically. "You're so mean to me."

You rolled your eyes. "You'll thank me later."

Namjoon huffed, eyes fluttering closed like he was dozing off mid-sulk. His big body sagged against the couch, syrupy and slow, his honey-covered lips parting with a dreamy sigh.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. Great. Now you had to deal with a high, sulky, whimpering bear.

Namjoon was still sprawled against the couch, heavy-lidded and syrup-slow, when his brows furrowed in deep thought. Then—like a lightbulb had gone off in his honey-drunk mind��his face lit up.

You immediately narrowed your eyes. "Why do you look like you're about to make a very bad decision?"

Namjoon blinked at you, lips curling into a slow, lazy smile. "Baby."

Your stomach flipped. That tone of voice never meant anything good.

"What?"

He reached for you, big hands warm as they slid up your thighs. "Lemme cover you in honey and lick it off."

You stared. Hard.

Then, you smacked his hands away. "See, that would be a normal request if you weren’t a whole-ass fiend."

Namjoon just grinned. "C’mon, just a little."

"No."

"Why not?" He leaned in, voice dipping low, lips brushing your jaw.

"Because you’re literally—" Your breath hitched as his tongue flicked against your pulse. "—on something right now."

Namjoon hummed against your neck. "I just think you’d taste good covered in honey."

Your fingers twitched. You were so weak. So, so weak.

"Joon—"

"Shh," he soothed, mouth trailing soft, sticky kisses up your throat.

Your resolve cracked.

Your fingers fisted his hoodie, trying to push him away, but he was warm and solid and licking you, and oh, that was a very good decision on his part.

You sighed, tilting your head to the side. "Just a little."

Namjoon smirked. "Mhm."

Yeah, you were so screwed.

you knew you were really screwed the moment Namjoon grabbed a fresh box of honeycomb and tossed it onto the bed like some grand offering.

Even more so when he hauled you up like you weighed nothing, slinging you over his shoulder as he carried you to the bedroom like a damn ragdoll.

"Namjoon—"

"Shh, sweetheart," he cooed, patting your ass like you were a petulant little thing.

Your brain short-circuited. Oh, this menace.

By the time he gently plopped you onto the mattress, you were torn between fighting for your dignity and letting him do whatever the hell he wanted. (That smirk on his face? It told you he already knew which way you'd lean.)

Namjoon cracked his knuckles, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Alright, baby—" He popped open the honeycomb box with practiced ease. "Let’s get you nice and sweet."

The second Namjoon told you to strip, you obeyed without question.

Because, let’s be honest—take-charge Namjoon? A rarity. A once-in-a-blue-moon phenomenon. And it was so, so, so hot.

You barely shimmied out of your clothes before he was on you, looming like a beast with one thing on his mind. His glasses had been tossed somewhere (a shame, really, because hot and commanding plus glasses? Whew), and his big, calloused hands were already palming the honeycomb.

You were ready—expecting teasing licks, slow drizzles of honey over your stomach, maybe even a cheeky little suck on your fingers.

But no.

Namjoon squeezed the honeycomb.

Directly over your boobs.

Cold, thick, golden honey dripped in heavy globs, plopping onto your skin with an almost offensive schlop.

"NAMJOON—!"

He blinked. Innocently. As if he didn’t just turn your chest into a goddamn honey-glazed feast.

"What?" he asked, brows furrowed, genuinely confused at your outrage.

You gawked at him. "What do you mean, ‘what’?! Do you see what you just did?!"

Namjoon definitely saw what he just did. His entire face lit up as he stared at your sticky, glistening skin like you were some kind of delicacy.

"Mmh," he hummed, grinning, "yeah. I see."

Oh, you were so doomed.

Before you could even process the mess he’d made, Namjoon doubled down.

With both hands, he smeared the honey across your skin, rubbing it in like some kind of primal body oil. His massive palms dragged over your stomach, your thighs, your everything, leaving no part untouched.

"NAMJOON!" you screeched, half-laughing, half-mortified as his fingers kneaded into your hips, your waist, your—oh my god.

He was grinning, completely unbothered, absolutely delighted with himself.

"Shh, baby," he murmured, leaning down. His lips ghosted over yours, breath warm and way too smug. "I’m making sure it’s evenly distributed."

Before you could curse him out, he kissed you.

Hard.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was the way his sticky hands groped you, squeezing your honey-covered skin like he owned it. Like he had all the time in the world to knead and stroke and tease, mapping your body like he was committing every inch to memory.

His thumb flicked over your nipple, and you whimpered—half from the sensation, half from the goddamn honey making everything ten times warmer and messier.

Namjoon chuckled against your lips, low and satisfied.

"You’re so sweet, baby," he mused, nipping at your jaw. "I could eat you up."

…And judging by the way he descended on you next, you had no doubt he was about to do exactly that.

Before you could even recover from the onslaught of sticky kisses and groping, Namjoon reached for the honeycomb again.

You barely had time to process before he gave it another firm squeeze, watching as the golden nectar drizzled onto your already-glazed skin.

"Joonie," you panted, half-heartedly swatting at his wrist. "Sweetie You’re making a mess—"

"Mhm." His hum was completely unrepentant as he dipped his fingers into the fresh honey, coating them thoroughly before bringing them between your thighs.

Your breath hitched.

Namjoon smirked.

"Let’s see how sweet you really are, baby."

And then, without warning, he used those same honey-slicked fingers to spread you apart—slow, deliberate, letting the warm, sticky sensation sink into your skin before he pressed in.

The stretch was torturous, the slow slide making you gasp as the honey only made everything more intense—more messy, more heated, more overwhelming.

"Shit," Namjoon groaned, watching the way you took him, the way his fingers disappeared inside you with an obscene, honey-slick sound. His free hand tightened on your thigh, gripping hard enough to leave a mark.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped. "Look at you—dripping and messy, all for me."

His thumb brushed against your clit, making you jolt, and he just grinned, leaning down to capture your lips in another filthy, honey-sweet kiss.

Namjoon groaned as his tongue dragged over your honey-slick skin, starting at your throat and working his way down. He was thorough—painstakingly slow—his mouth hot and wet as he licked you clean.

Every kiss, every bite sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. And he wasn’t just taking his time—he was savoring you, humming deep in his chest like he’d never tasted something so good.

"Joon," you gasped when he sucked at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, your back arching as a wave of heat surged through you.

His only response was a deep chuckle against your skin, his fingers curling inside you at the same time his palm rubbed against your clit.

The pressure was insane, the way his broad hand pressed against you, rolling his palm just enough to have your thighs shaking around him.

"You’re so messy, baby," he murmured against your collarbone before dragging his tongue lower, dipping between the valley of your breasts. "So fucking sweet."

And then—he bit down, just enough to make you yelp, before soothing it with his tongue, his fingers still pumping into you, still keeping that relentless pressure on your clit.

You were done for.

Namjoon groaned as he dragged his tongue down, his breath hot against your sticky, honey-coated skin. His favorite part of you—so soft, so fucking perfect—was right in front of him, and he wasn’t about to hold back.

His lips latched onto one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the already sensitive bud before he sucked, hard.

"J-Joon—!" Your back arched as pleasure shot straight down your spine, your hands flying to his hair, tugging—but it only spurred him on.

He moaned against your chest, his big hands cupping your breasts, squeezing them together as he left hickey after hickey, marking you up like he was claiming you.

Each kiss, each bite was relentless, his teeth scraping just enough to make your breath hitch before his tongue soothed the sting. Your nipples were already puffy and raw, but he didn't stop.

If anything, he got greedier, alternating between your breasts, flicking his tongue over your swollen nipples before sucking them deep into his mouth.

"You’re so fucking sweet," he groaned, his voice wrecked as he buried his face between your breasts, his tongue lapping at the honey. "Can’t get enough of you."

And then—his fingers tightened on your waist, his hips grinding into yours as he growled, his cock pressing hard against your thigh.

"Fuck, baby," he muttered, looking up at you with dark, hunger-filled eyes, his lips shiny with honey and spit. "I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet."

It was honestly concerning—and so fucking hot—to see Namjoon like this.

He was always so careful with you, so gentle, like he was afraid he’d break you if he so much as breathed too hard in your direction. But now?

Now he was feral.

His glasses were long forgotten, his hair messy from your fingers pulling at it, his lips shiny with honey and spit, and his eyes—fuck, his eyes—were dark with pure, unfiltered hunger.

"Joon," you gasped as he pinched your already swollen nipple, rolling it between his fingers before soothing it with his tongue. His other hand was still rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit, and it was making you squirm.

"You’re always so eager," he murmured against your chest, his voice thick with amusement and arousal. "So desperate. You love this, don’t you?"

Your breath hitched—not just from his words but from the way he ground his cock against you, hard.

"You're one to talk," you shot back, trying to sound defiant, but it came out as a whimper instead when he suddenly pushed his fingers inside you, stretching you with that same slow, teasing pace.

Namjoon chuckled, his deep voice vibrating against your skin. "Maybe," he admitted, curling his fingers just right to make you gasp. "But at least I’m not the one who’s already dripping all over my hand."

He was so smug. So cocky. And you should have been annoyed.

But you weren’t.

Not when he looked at you like that. Not when he touched you like that.

Not when he was finally—finally—letting go.

He kissed and sucked lower and lower, leaving no spot untouched, no inch of skin left unmarked. His tongue traced every curve, every dip, worshiping you with slow, deliberate drags of his mouth.

And then—

Then he finally reached his heaven.

Namjoon groaned, deep and needy, his breath hot against your slick folds as he spread you open with his thumbs. His grip was firm, his hands still sticky with honey, and the contrast of warmth and cool air made you shudder.

"Fuck," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "So pretty."

He didn’t waste a second.

His mouth latched onto you like he was starving, tongue pressing flat before curling just right, dragging slow, lazy circles around your clit before dipping lower. His nose nudged against you as he devoured you, humming like he was tasting the sweetest honeycomb in the world.

And maybe—maybe—to him, you were.

Your fingers flew to his hair, tangling in the strands as your thighs trembled against his broad shoulders. But Namjoon wasn’t having it.

He growled—low, deep, possessive—before throwing your legs over his shoulders and pulling you closer, until there was no escaping the relentless, messy way he ate you out.

"J-Joon—!" you choked out, the overstimulation making you arch, your body a livewire under his touch.

He only moaned in response, his grip tightening as he flicked his tongue faster, hungrier, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until you were begging—until you were a writhing, panting mess beneath him.

Namjoon was utterly feral.

He didn’t even need his hands—he just buried his face between your thighs and devoured you. Messy. Sloppy. Loud. The obscene slurping noises mixed with his deep, satisfied groans made your entire body burn.

The only time he used his hands was to grab another chunk of honeycomb, squeezing it over your skin, letting the golden nectar drip and pool between your legs before he licked it up like he was dying for it.

"Joon—!" Your breath hitched as he moaned into you, the vibrations making your toes curl.

His tongue worked you over ruthlessly, alternating between slow, deep drags and fast flicks, never giving you a moment to breathe. He was so into it, so consumed, so gone in the taste of you mixed with honey that you swore he wasn’t even thinking anymore.

Just acting on pure instinct.

Your hands fisted in his hair, but he ignored you, too busy lapping up every drop of honey and slick, groaning like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

Namjoon was obsessed.

He used his fingers to spread you apart, watching intently as the honey and slick mixed together, making an absolute mess of you. His breath was hot against your sensitive skin, and then—fuck—he pressed his tongue inside, trying to reach as deep as he could.

The stretch was nothing compared to what he usually gave you, but the sensation? The feeling of his wet, warm tongue pushing in, curling, licking you from the inside? It had your thighs trembling.

"J-Joonie—oh my god—"

His deep groan vibrated against you, sending shockwaves up your spine. He was so into it, so gone, his fingers tightening on your thighs as if he couldn’t get enough. He licked, sucked, and fucked you with his tongue, dragging more of the sticky honey over your folds, making sure there wasn’t a single inch of you left untouched.

And the worst part? You could hear how much he was enjoying himself—soft, muffled moans between every stroke of his tongue, as if he was the one getting off on this.

Namjoon didn’t even warn you.

One second, you were flat on your back, drowning in the sensation of his tongue, and the next—you were flipped over, knees sinking into the mattress, ass up, his big hands spreading you apart.

He groaned at the sight, low and guttural, before burying his face right back in.

"J-Joon—fuck—"

Your fingers twisted in the sheets, desperate to ground yourself, but it was too much. The way he squeezed and groped at your ass, the obscene way he kissed your clit, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before fucking back into you—it had you shaking.

And when he moaned—actually moaned against you, lost in his own hunger—that was it. Your vision blurred, your back arched, and you came hard, spilling over his tongue, soaking his lips and chin.

But Namjoon?

He just groaned again, gripping you tighter, and kept going.

Namjoon had never done this for so long before.

Sure, he’d eaten you out before—thoroughly, at that. But this? This was something else. Something almost primal.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down. He just kept going, dragging you through one orgasm, then another, until your legs were trembling and your throat was raw from crying out.

"J-Joon—please, I—"

You couldn’t even finish the sentence. Your body was shaking, overwhelmed, every nerve fried from the intensity. But Namjoon? He only hummed against you, the vibrations sending another sharp jolt through your spine.

His hands squeezed your ass, spreading you wider as his tongue fucked into you again, and you whimpered, nearly collapsing into the sheets.

You could feel his breath against your skin when he finally pulled back, lips shiny with your slick and the remnants of honey.

"One more." His voice was low, rough, almost a growl. "Give me one more, baby."

And fuck—how could you ever tell him no?

Namjoon was gone.

The moment he pulled back, his lips were still wet, his face flushed, and his glasses slightly fogged. But none of that compared to the way he looked at you—hungry, desperate, completely fucked out before he’d even gotten inside you.

Still in his daze, he flipped you, grabbed your thighs and hauled them up, pressing your knees to your chest as he settled between them, his favorite position—the one that let him see everything, that let him fold you into him like you were made to fit there.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he shoved his boxers down, and—fuck.

His cock slapped against your swollen clit, dragging slick and honey along your folds as he rocked against you. And then—he moaned.

Deep, needy, utterly wrecked.

You stared, brain short-circuiting.

"Did you just—?"

Namjoon groaned again, grinding against you like he was starving. His brows furrowed, his hips twitching, his voice almost whiny.

"Fuck—need you—"

Your stomach dropped.

Holy shit.

Namjoon gritted his teeth, his massive hands gripping the back of your thighs to keep you in place. His cock dragged against your slick folds, smearing a mix of honey and arousal over your skin as he rutted against you, barely holding himself back.

His chest heaved as he forced himself to slow down, to check—to be sure. You were already so stretched from his fingers, your hole still twitching from the onslaught of his tongue. But he knew his size. Knew his girth. And if he didn’t take his time, he could hurt you.

Still panting, he dragged his fingers through the mess between your legs, gently pressing two back inside, then three—watching how easily they slid in, how your walls clenched around them, already desperate for more.

"Shit—" His voice was rough, gravelly, wrecked.

You whined, shifting, trying to grind down, trying to take more—but Namjoon held you still, barely keeping control. His cock throbbed against your stomach, impossibly thick, his knot already swelling at the base in anticipation.

"You're ready," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Fuck—you're so ready for me, aren’t you?"

His fingers pulled out, leaving you empty—only for the fat tip of his cock to press against your entrance, teasing, stretching you just enough to make your breath hitch.

Namjoon looked up, locking eyes with you. His pupils were blown wide, his lips parted, his whole body trembling with restraint.

"Last chance," he breathed. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

Like hell you would.

Your answer was immediate. A sharp whine, your hips jerking up to chase the blunt head of his cock. As if you’d ever tell him to stop.

Namjoon chuckled, the deep rumble sending a shiver down your spine. His large hand smoothed over your thigh, warm and grounding—before suddenly slapping your clit.

You yelped, body jolting, but the sting melted into pleasure so quickly it made your head spin.

"So needy," he murmured, thumbing over your clit in slow, taunting circles. "So desperate for my cock, huh? You really want me to stretch this pretty pussy out?"

You whined, nodding frantically, grabbing at his wrist, at anything.

He hummed, pleased, teasing the tip of his cock against your entrance, barely pushing in, just enough to make you feel the stretch.

"Good girl," he praised, voice rich with amusement and something darker. "Then take me."

And with that, he finally—finally—began to sink in.

The stretch was insane, bordering on too much, your walls struggling to accommodate his sheer size. But Namjoon went slow, letting you feel every inch as he slid deeper, murmuring soft, mind-melting praise—

"So fucking tight."

"Taking me so well, baby."

"God, you look so pretty stuffed full of me."

His grip on your thighs tightened, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he fought to hold himself back.

"Almost there, sweetheart—fuck, just a little more—"

And then, he bottomed out.

Namjoon groaned, his forehead pressing against yours, his cock throbbing inside you. You barely had a moment to adjust before he reached for the remaining honeycomb, his movements slow, deliberate.

Your breath hitched as he squeezed the honey right where you were connected, the warm, sticky liquid dripping over your stretched entrance, down to his cock, coating both of you in obscene slickness.

"Shit," Namjoon cursed, watching with half-lidded eyes as the honey trickled down. He used his fingers to spread it, mixing it with your arousal, smearing it over your clit, over the thick base of his cock. "Fuck, look at you, baby. So messy. So fucking sweet."

You whimpered, body twitching, and then—

He pulled out just enough to thrust back in.

The slide was so easy, so slick, the added warmth of the honey making everything more.

Namjoon moaned, his deep, guttural voice sending a rush of heat straight to your core. He gripped your thighs tighter, his pace starting slow but deep, making sure you felt every thick inch dragging along your walls before sinking all the way back in.

"You like that, sweetheart?" he rasped, leaning down to suck your bottom lip between his teeth. "Like feeling me fuck all this honey into you?"

Your nails dug into his arms, your legs tightening around his waist as you gasped, "Yes—fuck—Joon, please—"

He groaned at the sound of his name, his self-control snapping.

"Then take it."

With that, he snapped his hips forward, hard, and started fucking you in earnest.

Namjoon was so fucking good, it was criminal.

He didn’t even hesitate—didn’t wait, didn’t ease you into it—just started pounding into you with slow, devastating strokes that immediately found your g-spot. Each thrust had his cockhead grinding against it, rubbing against that spot inside you that made your back arch off the mattress, your fingers clawing at his arms.

"Fuck—Namjoon—"

He grunted against your skin, his lips latched onto one of your nipples, sucking hard as his hips snapped against yours. The wet, obscene squelching sounds of honey and arousal filled the room, mixing with your gasps and the deep groans he let out against your breast.

Then, he did the worst thing imaginable.

His palm slid down, pressing right against your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles as his cock bullied its way deeper, slamming into your cervix like he owned it.

Your vision went white.

"You’re taking me so fucking well, sweetheart," Namjoon growled, biting down on your nipple, rolling the peak between his teeth. His other hand braced against the mattress beside your head, holding you down as he started rutting into you harder, faster. "So perfect for me—so fucking messy—"

You couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Could only feel.

Namjoon pressed his palm against your lower belly, right where he knew he was hitting the deepest, and groaned when he felt himself inside you.

"You feel that, baby?" His voice was rough, nearly slurred from how pussy-drunk he was. "Right here—I'm so deep inside you."

The pressure made your walls clamp so tight around him, your body trembling as you arched into his touch. It was too much, the way he owned every part of you—his cock stretching you open, his hand pressing down, his other palm still teasing your clit as his mouth devoured your tits.

"Fuck—fuck, Joon—"

He groaned at the sound of his name spilling from your lips, his hips snapping harder as he rolled his thumb over your swollen clit. The lewd, wet noises of your bodies slamming together mixed with your desperate gasps, his low, guttural moans, and the faint squelch of honey still smeared between you.

"God, you're so messy—so fucking tight—" Namjoon grunted, pressing harder on your belly, feeling himself bulging inside you with every deep thrust. His cock was grinding against your cervix, pushing into that soft, sensitive spot that made your vision blur.

He owned you in this moment.

Body, mind, soul—everything.

Your orgasm crashed into you like a brick, a violent, breathtaking wave that had you shuddering around him, walls clamping down so tight it was nearly unbearable. But Namjoon didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

Didn’t let up.

If anything, he fucked you through it—kept driving into your overstimulated body, dragging out the pleasure until it blurred into something sharp and endless.

The moment he buried himself to the hilt, you felt it—his cock pulsing, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside you, but he didn’t stop there either.

Didn’t pull out.

Didn’t even pause.

Instead, he groaned, voice wrecked, and rolled his hips to push himself deeper.

"Fuck—" he rasped, sucking a mark onto your already-bruised breast. "Gonna give you more—take it, baby, take all of it."

Your entire body convulsed, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

"J-Joon—too much—fuck—"

But he just hummed, hands gripping your thighs as he pinned you in place, keeping you open and helpless as he chased his pleasure.

"You can take it, sweetheart—just one more—give me one more—"

And God, you did.

You were so stupidly overstimulated, body trembling under Namjoon as he kept fucking into you, deep and unrelenting. Every nerve felt raw, every thrust sent another sharp jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

Didn’t help that he looked so fucking hot.

Didn’t help that he was huge, towering over you, muscles flexing with every precise snap of his hips.

Didn’t help that his eyes—dark, blown out with lust—were fixed on you like he was watching his prettiest masterpiece fall apart beneath him.

"F-fuck—Joon—" you choked out, eyes fluttering as another wave hit you, so intense it nearly knocked you out.

Namjoon groaned, leaning down to kiss you through it, all slow and deep, like he was trying to ground you. But even then, he didn’t stop.

Didn’t let you breathe.

Didn’t let you recover.

"I know, baby," he cooed, so fucking smug, like he wasn’t destroying you. "But you can give me another, yeah? Just one more—be good for me."

He shifted, pressing his hand against your lower belly, pushing down, and fuck—the pressure made you feel everything, like he was trying to ruin you.

"J-Joon, I—oh my fucking—"

Your legs kicked, body convulsing as you came again, sobbing through the pleasure, but Namjoon just chuckled, voice low and wrecked.

"That’s my girl."

Namjoon was chasing his pleasure, thrusts growing erratic, deep grunts spilling from his lips as he wrecked you. You could barely think, barely breathe, every inch of you raw from overstimulation, but then—

Something changed.

It was different, but you couldn’t pin what—

Until you felt it.

A slow, insistent stretch at your entrance, spreading you wide, locking him inside.

Your eyes flew open.

"J-Joon—" your voice broke, fingers scrambling at his shoulders, at the sweat-slick muscles of his back. "Are you—"

Namjoon groaned, forehead dropping to yours, panting, shuddering, his hips pressing flush against you. You felt it then, how deep he was, how he couldn’t pull out.

He was knotting you.

And in no way did you ever think the first time he’d knot you would be through his honey-covered haze.

"Fucking—shit—" Namjoon moaned, voice wrecked, like the knot locking into place was breaking him just as much as it was breaking you. "Tight—s’too tight—fuck—"

Your thighs twitched, brain scrambling to catch up. It was too much, so deep, stretching you in ways you didn’t think were possible, and—

And you loved it.

"N-Joon—" you whimpered, body melting under his weight.

Namjoon groaned, pressing his lips to your jaw, kissing soft, breath heavy. "‘M sorry, baby," he mumbled, voice all warm and slurred, like he was half gone. "Didn’t mean—couldn’t—fuck—"

Your fingers buried in his hair, tugging him down until his lips met yours, and you kissed him slow, letting him feel it.

"S’fine," you murmured, a little dazed. "I wanted this."

Namjoon stilled, then whined, a deep, broken sound against your mouth, and fuck—

The knot was pulsing inside you.

Namjoon’s breath hitched as the haze finally started to lift.

His chest was heaving, sweat dripping down his temples as he slowly—slowly—came back to himself. His knot was still snug inside you, locking you together, his cock buried so deep that you could feel the faintest pulse of it against your walls.

And then you saw it.

The realization.

His eyes widened, pupils shrinking as his brain finally processed the absolute debauchery he had just put you through.

He went still. Completely, utterly still.

You could see it, the way he was replaying everything in his head—the honey, the licking, the way he had practically ravaged you in a sugar-induced frenzy like some sort of feral beast.

His face was turning redder by the second.

"Oh… oh my fucking God," Namjoon croaked, voice hoarse with horror.

It was vindicating.

You lay there, twitching, body wrecked, filled and plugged to the absolute brim by your massive bear hybrid boyfriend—who had the audacity to look scandalized at his own actions.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.

"Joon."

"I—" he choked, looking everywhere but at you. "I—I did not—I mean, I did, but I didn’t—"

"You absolutely did."

His hands flew to his face, groaning into them. "Holy fuck, I knotted you. While high on honey. Oh my God—"

"You did," you said cheerfully. "And it was hot."

His hands dropped.

"DO NOT ENABLE ME—"

You giggled—only to immediately wince.

Yeah, teasing him was fun, but being knotted for the first time by this giant oaf definitely took its toll. Your whole body felt wrecked, every muscle sore, and the dull, aching stretch of his still-swollen knot made you keenly aware of just how deep he was inside you.

Namjoon noticed immediately, his mortification briefly overridden by pure concern.

"Shit, baby—are you okay? Did I hurt you? I—"

"Relax, you overgrown, pervy Winnie the Pooh," you grumbled, shifting slightly and feeling just how stuffed you still were.

Namjoon choked.

"WHAT—"

You grinned, teasing, despite the fact that you were currently impaled on him like a goddamn marshmallow on a skewer. "I mean, think about it. You got high on honey, lost all control, and stuffed yourself full like a greedy little bear—"

"I'M NOT LISTENING—"

"—except instead of a honey jar, it was me."

Namjoon whimpered.

You cackled—then winced again, immediately regretting it. "Okay, laughing is a bad idea."

Namjoon panicked, hands immediately coming to rub soothing circles over your thighs. "Baby, I'm so sorry, I should’ve been more careful—"

You sighed dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and pet me, you degenerate bear."

His lips pressed together, torn between guilt and exasperation. But then, he sighed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he continued rubbing gentle circles into your skin.

"You're terrible," he muttered.

"And yet," you murmured smugly, "you're still balls deep in me."

He made a pained sound.

It was vindicating.

[penny-anna]

Starscream being functionally unkillable really pumps the G1 Megastar dynamic up to another level.

Megatron did get sick of Starscream's shit once so he took him out for 'recon' and shot him in the back. and then stood over his body and made a speech to the other assembled Decepticons about how this is the price of treachery don't ever cross me etc etc

then the next day Starscream wandered back into base like WOW you guys really just left me out there huh. assholes. pass the energon.

and ever since then Megatron's been low key shitting himself like. i killed him. I know I killed him. i got him through the spark he should be dead. there were witnesses and they all know I killed him. how is he still alive

and more importantly, what sick twisted game is he playing with me, coming back here and acting like nothing happened after I murdered him? i murdered him and somehow he survived and now surely he's just biding his time until he enacts his terrible revenge but i can't dispose of him because that went so well last time. i shall just have to keep him close and monitor his behaviour so I can figure out what his plan is. he is mocking me. taunting me. i despise him so.

meanwhile Starscream is like wow I guess I tripped over and knocked myself out or something? strange that everyone just went back to base without me. bunch of dicks. Megatron's acting a little weird lately. wonder what that's all about.

[fandomscombine]

T-Shirt

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

BG: Coping with missing Aaron Hotchner. It hits harder when you’re newly engaged but barely had any time to celebrate when he gets sent off for Chief BAU duties. Angst, this whole thing is basically yearning.

A/N: Song fic since T-Shirt by Shontelle was stuck in my head for days.

WC: 1019

>>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<<

>>>CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST<<<

It’s been 16 days, 12 hours and 29 minutes since you’ve been in the loving arms of your fiancé.

No, you aren’t in a lover’s quarrel. In fact, you were at an all-time high, having been newly engaged just 18 days, 8 hours and 17 minutes prior.

But dating the unit chief of the Behaviour Analysis Unit meant that the job doesn’t come lightly. If there’s a case, no matter the time, no matter the location, the team would be on the jet within the hour.

Aaron Hotchner had been upfront with this even before officially starting your relationship, having learned that it was almost always the cause of his failed lovelife.

He had tried his best to keep his emotions at bay but even with his profiling skills, your bright personality and friendship slipped through the cracks and into his heart.

How could he not? You have managed to fit into his work and personal space. Something he himself has yet to perfect. It was the laughter and lightness you were able to bring out of Jack and fill his apartment full of warmth. It was the steady eyes and secret handwritten notes you leave in his Go Bag.

"Wherever you go, know that our love for you travels with you. Be safe, my love. Can't wait to see you soon. - Jack & Y/n "

Seeing Jack’s slightly wavy 6-year old penmanship with yours felt right. It’s these signs of a home to return to that recharges Aaron in rough cases.

But you’re only human. And it just so happens to be one of those days that an empty bed feels like an endless downfall.

The spark in your eyes dimmer and every bone in your body craving his touch.

Your phone lights up. <Hope you’ve got your dance moves ready. Will be there in 30 mins!>

It’s currently 7:43pm and you’re still in the middle of getting ready for the girls night. Officially, the goal of tonight was to reduce stress and let out an end-of-the-work-week frustrations. But you can see past the unusually early and long agenda for the night - the real goal was to get you to forget the past two weeks of “miss yous”.

The reflection looking back at you is a lady dressed to the nines - your dress was flawless, your shoes while slightly heeled, had a secret (as Aaaron likes to call them) foam cushion insoles - perfect to whatever the girls have planned and without the worry of blisters.

On the outside, you’re ready to go but the mood isn’t right. This felt like plastering wallpaper on the cracks.

Tryna decide tryna decide If I really wanna go out tonight I never used to go out without ya Not sure I remember how to Gonna be late gonna be late But, all my girls gon have to wait 'cause I don't know if I like my outfit I Tried everything in my closet

You know they mean well, but tonight is not the night. Slumping back onto your bed, twisting your ring idly. You don’t want to be the downer to their party nor are you in the mood to be hit on at the club so you text a quick apology.

Nothin' feels right when I'm not with you Sick of this dress and these Jimmy Choos Takin' them off 'cause I feel a fool Tryna dress up when I'm missin' you Imma step out of this lingerie Curl up in a ball with somethin' Hanes In bed I lay With nothin' but cha T-shirt on

Wearing Aaron’s shirt while he’s away on a case became a regular thing near your one-year anniversary. The team had gotten a case up in a fishing village in Alaska and was informed that there would be little mobile.

Since he won’t be able to update you as often as he likes, Aaron devised this deal.

“Here.” He had said, placing one of his home shirts on your lap. “It’s for when you miss me, wear it and it would be like I’m right there with you.”

“Aww, I didn’t know you could be this cheesy.” You say, smirking at him. “I love this side of you.”

Aaron helps you get your head through. “Miss me already?”

“Always” Pecking his dimple. “And this-” You continue, grabbing his phone from his back pocket. “Is something for you.”

That right there frozen in time, a moment of full domesticity, a scene filled with love - Just you and him, wrapped in each other’s arms. Aaron Hotchner, a man people rarely see smile - now has a lockscreen of lovestruck eyes and an infectious smile with you in his clothes reflecting the exact same expression.

Gotta be strong gotta be strong but I'm Really hurtin' now that you're gone I thought maybe I'd do some shoppin' But I couldn't get past the door an Now I just don't know, now I just don't know If I Ever really gon' let cha go And I couldn't even leave my apartment I'm stripped down, torn up about it

It was a dip of the bed that brought you out of your slumber.

“Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your eyes were still adjusting to the dark room, but you would know that voice from anywhere. “Aaron? I'm dreaming?”

“No, y/n. I’m really here, I’m home.” He whispers, pulling you close to kiss your forehead. Aaron missed your touch, your voice - he would want to hear about your days but seeing that it was 4am, he is fine settling for second best which is being wrapped around in your arms.

As he snuggles to your chest, the pattern of what you're wearing catches his eye. “So, my old academy shirt huh?”

“Shut up, it’s cause I missed you.”

“I missed you too”

Curl up in a ball with somethin' Hanes In bed I lay With nothin' but cha T-shirt on With nothin' but cha T-shirt on With nothin' but cha T-shirt on ('cause I missed you, 'cause I missed you) With nothin' but cha T-shirt on (said I missed you baby)

[sweetshuga]

Roommates 7 ✧ CS [Finale]

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

roomie!chris! Finding the truth about your roommate—his dirty little secrets.

Everything went back to normal after your confrontation. You decided to forget about it all and go on about your day without thinking about the weird feelings you had developed.

Even so, you couldn’t ignore the way he would look at you sometimes – like he was checking you out – which the rational part of your brain kept telling you it was just your imagination and that you were delusional.

All the ground rules swirled in your mind like a broken record.

You can’t help but feel a small twinge of guilt when you remembered all the times you’ve broken the rules—without him knowing.

Rule number 1: Do not fall for each other.

You felt that spark you shouldn’t have felt.

Rule number 2: Do not invade each other’s privacy.

You eavesdropped his alone time.

Rule number 3: Do not touch each other’s belongings.

You took his camo tee.

Rule number 4: Don’t invite guests over after dark.

You let your friend come over despite it being late.

Rule number 5: Respect each other’s boundaries.

You went into his room while he was out.

Rule number 6: Do not lie to each other.

You lied through your teeth about not knowing where his camo tee was.

Rule number 7, the final rule: Clean up after yourself.

The final rule is the only one you haven’t broken yet, what to say, you were a bit of a clean freak after all. Chris, too, always kept his room tidy and cleaned after himself around the dorm.

𓆩♡𓆪

One evening, as you lounged on the couch, you felt a sudden feeling in your gut. You tried to shrug it off, thinking it was just a light stomach ache, but the feeling didn’t go away, only worsened.

Annoyed, you stood up—determined to get rid of the feeling. And as you walked, you couldn’t help but peek into Chris’ room; he had gone out.

Your stomach churned with nerves as you slowly let yourself in his room, yet again. You had broken the rule already, it wouldn’t hurt to break it again, right?

Your gaze landed on his bedside drawer, curiosity sparked within you as you took subconscious steps towards it. You wanted to know if that thong was still inside the drawer you previously found it in, and there it was, the same peach coloured frilly lacy thong.

You let out a small gasp as you checked the size and brand—it was without a doubt yours. You stared at the scrunched up fabric in your hands, questions flooded your head, the loudest one being, "why?" You echoed your thoughts out loud.

Looking around his room, you stood up, the thong clutched in your hands as you hesitantly opened his closet—only to find various polaroids of you and a few more of your lingerie.

The sight was almost too much to handle and you closed his closet, leaning against it, you murmured quietly, "what the fuck..." Confusion etched on your features.

You took a deep breath and turned around, facing the closet door once again and opened it. Crouching down as you inspected the polaroids. They were of you sleeping, looking away, cooking– he had taken them when you weren’t looking or paying attention.

"Jesus..." You breathed out, "what is all this?" Your hands reached for the lingerie. Pink lacy thongs, blue frilly ones, black g-strings—every one of them yours.

𓆩♡𓆪

Closing his bedroom door, you headed straight into your room. You plopped on your bed – looking up at the ceiling – with a drop in your gut. You only now knew who you were living under a roof with. A sick fucker, disguised by his good looks and innocent behaviour.

Despite your thoughts and the fright you felt, there was a small smile on your face—as if you were relishing in the newfound attention.

You weren’t as scared as you should’ve been, instead, his obsession with you seemed to make your heart race, in a sick, twisted way.

𓆩♡𓆪

When Chris arrived back to the dorm, he noticed that his room door was slightly ajar, and as he entered it, his heart dropped to the floor.

The things he so desperately wanted to hide – his dirty little secrets – were scattered all across his bed and floor. Lingerie and Polaroids adorning his once tidy room.

His heart raced with fear and excitement as he looked back at your bedroom door, closed but with a note stuck on it.

"I know."

𓆩♡𓆪

Rule number 7: Clean up after yourself.

You had left it messy, on purpose.

𓆩♡𓆪

rule. 1 2 3 4 5 6 Origin

wc. 754

note. English is not my first language—if you didn't catch on with my poor vocabulary and writing skills.

Isa's notes. This is the last part of the blurb series! But spoiler? I'm writing the full length fanfic to the series! Dunno when I'll finish it, let's just say I got a writers block kinda situation going on right now, sucks ass but yeah... At least this one is the longest in the series. And as much as I want to continue this series, the rules are limited sooo... Here we are, saying goodbye to roomie!chris, for now ♡

Also, the fact that the blurb series started off with a cute little fluff kinda thing to this? Plot twist hoes 😋

Taglist: @certified-sturniolo @sturnioloszn @ashlishes @slut4brunettes @wpcne8sr @ribread03 @poolover123 @h3arts4nat @freakbob15

xoxo 𓆩♡𓆪

© sweetshuga

[kaisaerinlover]

dark content

tw: abuse

laying in bed with kaiser after an extra rough day, a day where he was so much worse than usual. a day where your whole body is left aching in pain. kaiser doesn’t offer you any help or care other than picking you up where you lay limp on the floor to toss you onto the bed so he can feel your warmth next to him.

you’re laid on the pillow trying your hardest not to move, every time you move it feels like a thousand bricks are being tossed at you nonstop. feels like hammers are beating at you. you’re so broken right now it hurts. but that’s what you get for dating someone like kaiser; you shouldn’t play angel with a guy like him. shouldn’t play the “i can fix him” game with someone who is more than just sad inside. someone who’s pain and hurt from the precious years of childhood manifested into a terrifying amalgamation of twisted morals and sick behaviour. you shouldn’t play those types of games with a man like kaiser, because he’s not like anyone you will meet or have ever met in your life. any therapist would truly have a field day with this boy because the amount of times he would have to be in their office is more than infinite, if it’s even possible. it’s impossible, but not for him. fitting for him. he could get better, but his mindset doesn’t allow this. he won’t change it anytime soon, that’s why you’re laid in complete and utter agony trying to bite back the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes. even breathing is painful.

he’s next to you, looking like nothing even happened at all. he looks beautiful, hair tied up into a neat little bun at the back, glasses on, face illuminated by the awfully expensive antique lamp you insisted he buy the other month. he’s reading something, your vision is too blurry to see what he’s reading. the sound of him flipping the pages every so often is soothing, you could almost forget about the burning pain you have all over your body. almost forget how he looked as he punched you over and over; screamed at you again. how terrifying it is to be beneath him as he gets so violent with you.

it’s not fair, it’s really not. it’s not fair how he treats you when you are so kind to him; so gentle. sometimes he treats you with the same sweetness you taught him, but it’s not common. but you are different; you would never react back to him with the same brutality his actions teach you. you are a good person, your heart is big and your compassion swells for him even after he treats you like this. you couldn’t explain why even if you wanted to, human nature of this degree is wordless, unexplainable and weird. it’s illogical, but that’s one of the most beautiful things about humans.

that’s kaiser’s opinion anyway, he has you wrapped around his pinky finger. he can hear your shaky breathing next to him; he smirks to himself.

you look at him when you hear him fold the corner of the page of his book so he can find it easier later, and place his book down on the bedside table. you’re waiting for him to turn off the lamp, but he doesn’t yet. your boyfriend clears his throat and looks forwards into the rest of the very luxurious bedroom you both share. “hey, engel” he doesn’t even bother looking at you as he talks. he obviously lacks respect for you. and you acknowledged this long ago. and you stay. you stay with him. you wait silently for him to continue. silence is the best answer after a day like this - he’s impossible to predict. whatever is inside of him follows no logical pattern, if you say the wrong thing you’ll anger him more. “do you know why i hurt humans?” he still isn’t looking at you. you don’t talk still, you don’t bother looking at him anymore. the bruise on your neck that’s darkening even now, hours after the beating, is hurting too much. you stare at the ceiling as you listen to him talk.

he’s smirking as he talks, looking out into the bedroom with his hands behind his head. he carries on again, his voice never lacks confidence “it makes me feel alive.” you never quite understood that about him, you’re still quiet, listening to him, but you extend your arm anyway and lay it awkwardly on his chest despite the pain that shoot’s up the entirety of your arm from doing so. he acknowledges your smaller hand messily splayed across his chest by bringing his own bigger hand to squeeze it tightly, painfully even. he bent your fingers back today a lot, they still ache.

he doesn’t look you in the eye still as he talks. and you don’t want to look him in the eye either. you just both stare into the dimly lit surroundings as you maintain some semblance of skin to skin contact. “i’ve hurt a lot of humans before” he laughs a little. you gasp a bit and jump as he squeezes your hand painfully tight, obviously intending to hurt you. “but hurting you makes me feel the most alive.” your chest is hurting and your hand is crushed so immensely between his much bigger one. you heard the sickening crack of your fingers. you sort of wish he wouldn’t let go, you don’t want to see the damage. purple is a pretty colour, but not when it’s on your fragile skin.

kaiser squeezes hard, he can’t feel alive in any other way than this. than checking his heart rate in a morning. than looking in the mirror and seeing himself standing there, seeing himself in the flesh and knowing he’s alive. he loosens his grip on your hand though and turns to lay on his side to face you. he looks pretty like this, you’re looking at him as well; head propped on his free hand, the other reaching out to caress your battered cheek. he likes seeing what he did to you earlier, likes when he can assess the damage himself. it makes him feel so alive. and even though you won’t admit it his battery makes you feel equally as alive as he does. “you know, prinzessin, i’ve never been hurt before though.” blatant lie, he knows it is, you’ll believe it. he chooses to push his childhood far far behind him. he doesn’t associate with that time of his life, any memory of it that replays will only be viewed in a third person point of view. he doesn’t know that weak child anymore. “wanna know why?” and you give him a response for the first time. you nod and look up at him with your big glassy eyes. you’re like a broken toy, but you know that someone like kaiser can appreciate a broken toy. poor kids who grow up with nothing will accept anything. wealthless kids, abused kids who grow up and enter society as sickeningly ill in the head adults will stop accepting anything, they’ll only accept the familiar brokenness they know best. and if it’s not there in the person they want, they’ll make it themselves.

“it’s because i’m not human.” kaiser doesn’t see himself as human, the opposite actually. having a superiority complex is fun, but it’s less fun when it’s to cover up the hideous truth beneath. he’s caressing your beaten face so tenderly right now, as you deserve. for once he’s treating you kindly. he’s subhuman. but he’s also something better, he’s above everyone else. his intellect is a mean feat in any terms of human endeavour. his talent is unrivalled. he can do things no one else can. michael kaiser can make the impossible into a reality. michael kaiser can give hope to those who thought they could never dream again. he looks at the tattoo on his hand instead of your eyes, the tattooed hand that’s caressing your face; the face he’s grown to both love and despise over the years. the face he wants to destroy beneath his rough fists. the face he wants to hold gently and leave a kiss on. his tattoo is a reminder he’s above everyone else, but also that he’s a piece of shit. he has narcissistic tendencies but it’s mostly a cover up. even he doesn’t believe in his delusions sometimes.

poor you has to bear the brunt of that, but whilst he’s caressing your face you can forget about all the burden you’re forced to carry because of the emotional baggage your boyfriend brings to the relationship. he sighs. he can’t even look you in the eye. he stares off into the window, the one that rain is trickling against now. the city is beautiful at night, but you’re more beautiful. you’re pretty. so cute. süsser prinzessin. but he can’t bring himself to look at you right now. “i’m not like the rest of you, and i never will be.” you can’t tell what he’s thinking when he says that; but you’ve always been an empath. your hand finds its way back to his and you push it from your cheek and intertwine it between the fingers he hurt so much.

you make him feel so alive, hurting you is the best thrill he could get in life. bringing any harm to you is also the most saddening thing. you’re so nice to him even now, someone like him doesn’t deserve it. he’s a subhuman piece of shit and you love him. he’s also a god, renowned by many. he’s a subhuman who needs to be loved and he’s a cruel cold hearted god who needs to be taught gentleness and kindness. he just rubs his thumb over the back of your smaller hand and sighs. he’s a confident guy, no doubt about it, but maybe you won’t be around forever. maybe you will pack up and leave one day - he’s tried every trick in the book to ensure you stay, not that he even has to do that, because you would undoubtedly, but he can’t help but be worried.

it’s shameful to admit that maybe an emperor does need a princess sometimes. he rubs your hand in circle motions and presses a kiss to your forehead. he’s sorry, he’s so fucking sorry for doing this to you. he doesn’t know why he’s like this; you deserve so much more than this. infinity times infinity more. you’re really his princess, he’s sorry. sorry that he treats you like this. sorry that instead of affection all you get most of the time is his fists bearing into you over and over, a barrage of attacks until he’s finally decided you learned your lesson.

you don’t have anything to learn. kaiser loathes you because you’re a perfect human. you’re beautiful and you’re compassionate. you have a big heart and a big personality and he likes your stupid jokes you tell. and he hates that you stay with him. you’re so perfect, you really are. you notice his eyes are glossy. he hates to cry; kaiser fucking hates crying. you also know your boyfriend hates crying, so you open your mouth for the first time tonight. “i love you, micha.” a sweet whisper of love. he feels your other hand, your other thumb wiping up the small amount of wetness beginning to form on his lashes. only you could notice that, god he fucking hates you. “i love you too” he confesses in a rare moment of vulnerability.

you fall asleep in his arms, and he falls asleep too. he’s squeezing you so tightly, he’s holding you so close like you’re something so precious; like a thief of the night might come and steal you from him. every inch of your body aches from his earlier barbarity, but you didn’t care whilst falling asleep and you won’t care when you wake up. your heart is so pure that you simply don’t have the capacity to care about anything other than your boyfriends wellbeing and happiness.

kaiser is thankful he gets to even lay next to you. you’re not one of the same at all. but sometimes he debates your humanity as much as his own; you’re an angel.

[nosyp]

Don't you miss me babe?

Warning = stalking, controlling behaviour, toxic relationships, toxic michael kaiser, manipulation

Pairing = Michael Kaiser x reader

Summary = Michael Kaiser begging for you to come back but you aren't having none of it.

Word count = 3.8k

A/N = I kinda hate this, maybe I'll rewrite in the future

The hum of the plane engine filled the cabin, a constant, soothing rhythm that masked the restless whispers of passengers and the occasional clatter of the flight attendants’ carts. You leaned your head against the cool window, eyes tracing the endless expanse of clouds below, their fluffy edges glowing softly in the sunlight.

The world seemed so small from far away up here. You clutched the boarding pass in your lap, the crinkled paper a tangible reminder of where you were headed… and what you’d left behind.

A voice crackled over the intercom, the pilot announcing the estimated arrival time, but the words barely registered. Your mind was elsewhere, replaying the moments that had brought you to this seat at 30,000 feet in the air.

The stranger beside you shifted, snapping the book shut in the process. "Long flight, huh?" he said, their tone light.

You still stared out of the window, surprised by the interruption and too scared to meet their eyes. The voice sounded so familiar, that scared you. There was no way right?

“Yeah," you murmured, unsure whether to continue the conversation or retreat back into your own thoughts.

“Why’re you flying?” he asks, looking at the clutched boarding pass in your lap.

You look up at him, meeting his eyes. Shit. It was your ex, Michael Kaiser. 

Your breath caught in your throat, your stomach twisted and turned inside your stomach. Of all the people in the world, why him? You’d worked so hard to leave Michael Kaiser in the past, but here he was, seated right beside you in the plane.

“Kaiser,” you bit out, your tone laced with venom.

His smirk widened at the sound of his name. “The one and only,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his seat as if he hadn’t noticed that you were staring daggers at him. “Fancy seeing you here. Guess it’s fate, huh?”

“Fate?” You scoffed, shifting away from him as much as the cramped airplane seat would allow. “More like a sick joke.”

He chuckled, the sound grating on your nerves. “Still so feisty. I missed that about you.”

Your fingers tightened around the boarding pass in your lap. “What part of I never want to see you again didn’t you understand?”

Kaiser leaned closer, his cologne annoyingly familiar. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. We had something special.”

“Special?” You turned to him, eyebrows raised. “If by special, you mean you constantly acted like the world revolved around you and couldn’t take no for an answer, then yeah, it was real special.”

His confident grin faltered for a split second before he recovered, brushing off your words like they were nothing. “You’re just angry because you know I’m right. Deep down, you still–”

“Don’t,” you interrupted sharply, your voice low and firm. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

For a moment, silence settled between you, giving you the temporary moment of peace you needed. Kaiser opened his mouth, probably to deliver another infuriating line, but you held up a hand.

“I’m not doing this, Kaiser. Not here, not now, not ever. So save your breath and just go.”

He stared at you, his smirk slipping into something more subdued, a softer smile, but you refused to let your guard down. The tension between you and Kaiser was so intense it almost felt real. He leaned closer again, his face now inches from yours, and this time, the smirk was gone, a dark smile now present on his face.

“I don’t think you understand, do you?” His voice low, almost a whisper, but still somehow able to send shivers up your spine. “You think you’re moving on, but I know you’re not. Not really.”

You stiffened, resisting the urge to shove him away. “You don’t get it, Kaiser,” you spat, your teeth gritting. “I hate you. I never want to see you again, I never want to talk to you again. So what the fuck are you doing here?”

He didn’t move, his presence suffocating. “Oh come on… just calm down. You can say that all you want, but I know you. You can’t just erase me from your life. We were good together and… I was the only one who could truly understand you.”

Your pulse quickened. He was crossing every line, and still, you couldn’t bring yourself to back down. He was right. No matter how much you hated to admit it, there was always that nagging feeling, that memory of the way he’d manipulated everything around you. He knew exactly what buttons to push and how to push it.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you managed to say, weakly.

Kaiser leaned in even closer, his breath brushing your ear. “You might think you’re over me, but I can see it in your eyes. You’re still looking for me. You need me.”

Your stomach churned. “Shut. Up.” The words were shaky, but you forced them out. “You have no right to talk to me like that. Not after everything.”

He chuckled softly, that familiar, infuriating laugh that always made your skin crawl. “What’s wrong, babe? You’re still mad about how I left? You’re still pissed off about everything? Do you think you’re the only one who’s suffered?”

The sudden rush of emotions hit you like a truck, all the feelings of anger, disgust, and hurt all blending together in a raw, overwhelming mix. “You’re unbelievable. I hope you know that.”

His eyes gleamed with that sharp, calculating look you remembered too well. “Maybe. But I know exactly how this ends.” He slid his hand closer to yours, his fingers brushing against your wrist, the touch making you recoil.

“No,” you hissed, shoving his hand away, a hot surge of adrenaline rushing through you. “You have no idea how this ends, because it ends now. I don’t owe you anything. Not an explanation, not closure, nothing. You lost that long ago.”

For a moment, Kaiser’s smirk faltered, finally. He was visibly frustrated from the words that you decided to spew out. “You’ll come around. You always do.” His tone was almost... patronizing. Like he was speaking to a child.

You stared at him, trembling with the effort to keep your anger in check. “You’re insane if you think I’ll ever forgive you.”

His eyes never left yours, unwavering. “It’s not about forgiveness, babe. It’s about me getting what I want.”

The words hit you harder than any of his previous ones, and a cold dread settled in your chest. He wasn’t backing down, not this time. He was going to make you believe that you owed him something. He was going to make you need him again.

And for the first time, you wondered if he really would win.

“Don’t touch me,” you warned, your voice shaking despite the rage bubbling inside.

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. “You know, you really don’t know how much you still care. But don’t worry, I’ll remind you.”

The way he said it disgusted you. It wasn’t a plea or even an attempt to reason with you. It was a command, words that were supposed to manipulate you into thinking you’d need him. He never understood the word no. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

“You really think you can book a seat next to me and just start talking to me as if everything’s fine?” You bit out, your voice sharper now, holding onto your anger like a weapon. “Like you didn’t tear me apart?”

Kaiser tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with that damnable amusement. “Tear you apart?” He laughed, a low sound that made your skin crawl. “If anything, you tore yourself apart. I just showed you who you really were. All those walls you put up? I broke them down. You didn’t know who you were before me.”

Every word hit like a slap. The guilt, the self-doubt that had been buried under the layers of anger and resentment you’d carefully built after the breakup, started to bubble to the surface. He knew exactly how to chip away at you, to make you question everything.

“I was fine before you,” you snapped, forcing your emotions to stay in check, but the crack in your voice betrayed you. “I was better before you. And you know what? I don’t need you to remind me of anything.”

His expression shifted slightly, the smirk faltering for a moment before it returned, darker now, colder. He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re wrong. You need me more than you’ll ever admit. And I’m not going anywhere, babe. You’re mine.”

That last word settled over you like a shadow, its weight sinking into your chest. There was no mistaking it now. He wasn’t just trying to get back with you—he was trying to reclaim you, to possess you again. The same twisted control he’d held over you before was there, lurking in every word he spoke.

“No,” you managed, barely a whisper, but firm enough to choke back the crushing weight of his presence. “You lost your chance. You can’t own me anymore, Kaiser.”

He stared at you for a long moment, eyes narrowing, observing every detail of you. Then, as if he’d come to some conclusion, his lips curled into a sinister smile.

“You’ll see. You’ll come crawling back. They all do eventually.” His tone was so confident it made you want to scream, to slap that smug look off his face. But you kept still, trying to hold onto whatever piece of sanity you had.

But as the seconds stretched on and turned into minutes, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he could be right.

And that thought… oh that thought… it was far more terrifying than anything you could ever imagine.

Kaiser’s smirk stayed on his face. The air around you started to feel suffocating now. Every word he spoke was like a jagged blade carving through your defenses, and despite every instinct telling you to fight, you felt a momentary crack in your resolve.

“You really think you can move on?” he continued, his voice calm but edged with something darker. “You think you can just forget everything we were? All the things we shared? All the things I gave you?”

The words sliced through you, and for a split second, a memory flashed. You’d suddenly remember the feeling of his touch, his words, the moments where he did make you feel like you were everything. And then, in the next moment, everything could change. Those sweet memories turning into something bitter.

“No,” you spat. “I’m not the same person anymore, and you’re not the same either. In fact, you’ve probably gotten worse. You were always the selfish one, always looking out for yourself. You can’t just come back into my life and pretend things are different.”

His eyes glinted with something that looked almost like amusement. “Selfish?” he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. “Maybe. But you’re no saint either. You’re a mess, and deep down, you know that. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

Your heart pounded harder, anger flashing through your veins. “Stop trying to manipulate me!” you hissed, your fist tightening on the armrest. “This is exactly what you did before. You don’t care about me… you care about winning. About controlling me. About making me need you again. I bet it makes your ego thrive huh?”

Kaiser leaned back in his seat, as if satisfied by the effect his words were having on you. “So what if I do?” he drawled, his voice lazy. “I’ve always had control over you, and I know you hate admitting it. But every time I’ve walked away from you, you’ve always come crawling back. You always do.” 

All of a sudden, his voice dropped to a whisper. “Just like I said. You’ll come to me when you’re ready. When you realize no one will ever love you the way I did.”

Your stomach churned, the darkness of his words wrapping around you and squeezing you. But even with the lump rising in your throat, something in you refused to give up. You weren’t the same person anymore, not the one who’d been caught in his grip.

“Not this time,” you managed to say, voice trembling but defiant. “You don’t control me. You never did.”

Kaiser chuckled again, but this time it was devoid of warmth. Icy. Like he was savoring something, like he knew you’d eventually break. He slid his gaze over to you, leaning forward again, too close for comfort. His breath ghosted over your ear as he spoke, low and chilling.

“I never needed to control you, babe,” he whispered, voice thick with unspoken threats. “Because you were always mine to break. And that’s the thing… no matter how hard you try, how many times you escape… I will always find a way.” 

His fingers grazed your wrist once again, with more force this time, gripping your skin with a cruel sort of finality. “You don’t get to walk away from me. Not again.”

The sound of the plane’s engines seemed to fade into the background, like the world was narrowing down to just the two of you. 

You fought back the tears about to burst from your eyes, clenching your jaw until it hurt. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, not again. This time, you wouldn’t let him win.

“You’re wrong,” you said through clenched teeth. “I’m done.”

Kaiser didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “We both know you’re lying,” he murmured. “And when you finally admit the truth, when you realize that you still… need me, you’ll come running. And I’ll be right here, waiting. Because I always will be.”

You could feel his hot breath on your skin, the pressure of his presence pushing in on you from all sides. His hold on you wasn’t physical, not just yet. But emotionally? Mentally? He was already in control, and the thought sent an icy shiver down your spine.

But as the plane hummed on, you took a shaky breath and refused to let him see how deeply he was getting under your skin.

This wasn’t over. And it never would be, not until you stopped letting him invade every part of you.

For the rest of the flight, Kaiser didn’t try to disturb you, luckily. Though, his presence still hovered in the corner of your mind, like a shadow you couldn’t escape, but he still kept his distance. Maybe it was all a game to him, or perhaps he realized that pushing you further would only make things more complicated. Either way, you were thankful for the quiet, for the ability to breathe without his voice invading every thought.

You tried to focus on something, anything, to distract yourself. The seatbelt sign flickered on and off occasionally as the plane made its way through the clouds, and you found yourself staring at the small plastic tray in front of you, as though it held the answers to all your questions.

But the longer the silence stretched between you, the more you realized how fragile it all was. What if he didn’t stop? What if this wasn’t just some twisted game to him? What if Kaiser really could find a way back into your life, despite everything you’d worked to leave behind?

The more you thought about it, the more anxious you became. His words echoed in your mind.

“You’ll come crawling back.”

“They all do eventually.”

“I’ll remind you.” 

“You’re mine.”

Each sentence was a poison, spreading through your thoughts, and you could almost feel yourself slipping. But you clenched your fists, dug your nails into your palms, and reminded yourself that no, you’re not going back. Ever.

You glanced out the window, the endless sea of clouds below you offering some semblance of calm. The gentle sway of the plane became a lullaby, coaxing your thoughts into a haze. But even in that moment of peace, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of Kaiser’s words.

Suddenly, a soft thud broke the silence. You turned your head to find Kaiser leaning back in his seat, eyes closed, seemingly relaxed. His arms were crossed over his chest, but there was something about the way he sat made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

It was like he was waiting for something, watching you out of the corner of his eye, studying your every movement. He wasn’t bothering you, but his presence was still suffocating, like a constant reminder that he was never too far away.

You forced yourself to look away, focusing back on the soft hum of the engines, trying to keep your mind from spiraling. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to engage with him, because you certainly didn’t. It was more that you knew that if you let him in again, even just a little, you might never get out.

The flight seemed to stretch on endlessly. Every passing minute felt like an eternity, and the closer you got to your destination, the more you felt that sense of oncoming doom closing in on you. You had no idea what was going to happen once you both landed. Was this just another round of his twisted game, or would he try to force himself back into your life for good?

The intercom crackled once again, and the pilot’s voice filled the cabin, announcing the final descent. You braced yourself, hands gripping the armrest as you stared straight ahead, trying to steady your breath. You couldn’t shake the feeling that once this flight was over, you would have to face him, face the reality of everything he had dragged you through, and decide if you were really strong enough to walk away for good.

But for now, you have to survive the next few minutes. The next few moments of silent tension, of being stuck in this small metal tube with someone who knew exactly how to hurt you.

And for now, you held onto one truth. That one small, defiant thought: You won’t let him win. Not again.

As the plane descended, the sense of tension looming above you and Kaiser worsened. The hum of the engines was no longer a soothing background; now, it felt oppressive, like it made the sound of his words louder. You could feel his presence near you.

Just when you thought you could breathe again, the silence was broken by the soft sound of him shifting in his seat. He moved, and you immediately tensed, instinctively turning your body toward the aisle, trying to put a physical distance between the two of you. But it was too late.

Without warning, Kaiser slid closer to you, settling into the seat beside you as if he had every right to. His arm brushed against yours, and your body went stiff at the contact. His proximity was unbearable, but you didn’t dare react. Not yet. You were caught in a limbo of wanting to flee and wanting to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm.

He didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching, studying. The air was thick with unspoken words, the weight of his gaze on your skin like a brand. You tried to focus on the window, hoping the world outside could somehow offer you escape, but he was relentless.

“Comfortable?” His voice was low, smooth.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to snap back. Instead, you forced yourself to stay still, to ignore the adrenaline thrumming through your veins. “I’m fine,” you muttered, the words clipped.

“Sure you are,” he said, his tone laced with disbelief, though he was oddly calm. “You’ve been quiet since I sat down. Very unlike you.”

The arrogance in his voice made your blood boil, but you kept your hands clenched in your lap, trying to keep your temper in check. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you react.

Kaiser let out a soft chuckle, the sound sliding under your skin like a snake, crawling its way into your thoughts. “You’re still angry,” he observed, eyes flicking over you in a way that made you want to crawl out of your own skin. “I can tell.”

You swallowed hard, refusing to give him an inch. The memory of everything he had done to you. You hated him. Hated him so much you could feel your chest tightening with it.

“I’m not angry,” you said through gritted teeth, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’m just… so tired of you.”

His smile didn’t falter, but there was something darker behind his eyes now. “You’ve said that before,” he murmured, leaning just a little closer. “And yet, here you are. With me.”

The distance between you seemed to close even more, and you felt the edges of your control slipping, like sand through your fingers. He was right. You were here. You were stuck on this flight, trapped beside him for the last stretch of the journey. You were stuck in this hell of your own making.

But then, something in you snapped. You couldn’t just let him keep twisting the knife, making you feel like you were the one at fault. You had fought so hard to get away from him, and now he was just waltzing back in, expecting you to fall back in line.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, suddenly turning toward him, voice sharp and low. “Don’t ever think you have the right to get close to me again.”

His smirk widened, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. “I don’t need your permission to be close to you, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “I’ve always been close to you. And I always will be.”

Your heart slammed in your chest, the fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. He was pushing, testing you, seeing how far he could take this before you caved. 

The plane began to shake slightly as it descended further, but Kaiser didn’t budge. He stayed right beside you, close enough for you to feel his body heat, hear his breath. His presence was suffocating, invasive, but you forced yourself to stay calm, even if your heart was pounding in your throat.

You focused on your breath, your pulse, the sound of the plane’s descent, anything but him. You weren’t going to let him control this moment. Not now, not ever again.

[pars-ley]

Hii i would like to request a drabble~

Mingi, Personal Assistant(reader), and prompt nr. 4 please?🥺🙏🏾

Title: Behind office doors

Pairing: Song Mingi (Ateez) X female reader

Summary: Getting caught saying inappropriate things about your boss doesn't have the outcome you expect.

Genre(s): Smut / office au / personal assistant au / slight angst

Rating: 18+ (NSFW) MDNI

Warnings: protected sex / choking / dirty talk / big dick Mingi / rough sex / sex in the office / explicit language

Word Count: 1.5k

Banner: Me

Beta: @anyamaris thank you for your endless support

A/N: Thank you for this one, I had to make this office au as it's one of my favourites! If you'd like to send in a drabble request, see the prompt game here

Song Mingi’s deep voice calls you into his office with such urgency, you scramble quickly to your feet to obey.

Striding in and stopping in front of his desk, you wait patiently for his request. “What do you need, sir?”

He glances up at you, with a look that's a mixture of amusement and something else, something you haven’t seen before. It un-nerves and excites you all at once, making your stomach flip.

He stands and slowly rounds his desk, like a predator closing in on his prey. He moves over to his office door, closes and locks it, then closes the blinds too.

“Are you sure it's not you that needs something?” he asks.

Your brow furrows, having no idea what he could be referring to. “Sorry, Mr Song, but I'm not sure what you mean?”

He stalks back towards you, waving his phone in front of your face. “Something was brought to my attention last night and I really wish you'd mentioned something sooner.”

You rack your brain, mind moving a mile a minute trying to determine what he could be talking about, but coming up empty.

“Sir, I really don't understand?” You reply, nervously clasping your hands together in front of you.

He smirks as he unlocks his phone and stares down at it. “I wasn't aware that there was an office group chat.”

Your stomach plummets through the floor, as realisation dawns upon you. You can feel your cheeks heat under the scrutiny of his delighted stare.

“And I must say…” he continues, “this, in particular, took me by surprise.” he clears his throat, “‘those pants he had on today fit him so good, I wanted to pull the zipper down with my teeth.’”

Listening to your own quote spoken back to you by him made you feel sick. Your eyes trained on the ground, unable to meet his eyes, as anxiety well and truly set in.

How does he have these messages? Where did he get them?

God, why are you so stupid!

“Sir,” you start, voice wobbly and barely above a whisper, “let me express my sincere apologies, when I sent that message I may have had a little too much to drink, not that it excuses my behaviour but under normal circumstances I wouldn't-”

“You wouldn't have said it, or you wouldn't have thought it?” He continues.

“I-I wouldn't have said it.” You panic, eyes looking all around the room except at him.

“Ah, but you still would have thought it?”

“Am I not allowed to have private thoughts?” you quip, finally meeting his gaze and are surprised to see him standing so close.

He smirks at you before turning and heading back over to his desk, casually sitting on the edge. “You know you're the best personal assistant I've ever had.” He remarks, eyes serious.

A furious blush heats your cheeks, feeling even worse for speaking about him in such a degrading way. “Thank you, Mr Song.”

“And I am always very insistent on professionalism in my workplace, which is why this has surprised me so much.”

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole, your guts warp sickeningly inside you.

“and I have to admit my disappointment…” he continues to twist the knife.

You attempt to brace yourself for the impact you know is coming. To hear the words of him dismissing you, along with the embarrassment of collecting your things from your desk with the rest of the office watching.

“...that you didn't express those things to me.”

Your eyes shoot up to him, those words not ones you were playing out in the scenario in your mind.

He stands and steps slowly towards you again. “I have never met someone as enticing as you,” he strokes the side of your face as he talks, then traces the edges of your lips. “If you do not want to cross this line, tell me. This will not affect our working relationship at all.”

“You mean, I still have my job?”

The hope in your voice is undeniable.

“Of course,” he smiles sweetly at you but with a stare so intense it's smothering. “what would I do without you?”

You cannot deny the way your core seems to have ignited under his gentle touch as you contemplate the weight of his words and what he's asking.

“If you want this…if you want me, it's yours. If not…” he shrugs, “I can respect that.’

You did want him. You've wanted him since you got this job three years ago but is crossing this line wise?

He bites his lip, suddenly seeming anxious as he waits for your response, and the sight has your sex throbbing with need.

Fuck it. Grabbing the lapels of his blazer you pull him down and crush your lips against his. He wastes no time in scooping you up and carrying you over to his desk, messily clearing a space with one hand, as the items drop with a thud onto the carpet.

Your fingers grapple at his belt along with his trousers, yanking them down and making him smile against your mouth.

“I gotta say, I pictured our first time to be romantic and sensual…” he teases.

Reaching into his boxers, and grabbing his insanely generous erection, you look up at him with hungry eyes. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Your wish is my command.” He says as he leans over you, reaching into his desk, pulling out a small, square foil packet and ripping it open with his teeth. He slides the condom over himself and you watch, fascinated by the size of him.

Slotting himself between your legs, he quickly pushes up your skirt and moves your underwear to the side, staring at your sex like it's the holy grail.

“Next time, I have to taste you.”

“Who says there'll be a next time?” You ask with a smirk.

“Trust me.” he responds, giving you a wink. The confidence of this man in every aspect is unmatched but, when you're packing like that, are you surprised?

He spits on his fingers and massages them around your entrance, before pushing himself slowly inside you. The stretch is like nothing you've ever felt, and it takes your breath away as he bottoms out.

“You ok?” He asks, so concerned.

Nodding rapidly in response he starts rocking his hips back and forth. A fierce heat travels all the way through your body, wishing you were both naked instead of these layers between you. Grabbing his tie you pull him back down to you, and he obliges your request with a hungry kiss that swallows the sound of both your moans.

Everytime he slides in and out of you it makes your toes curl, and brings you closer to your climax but it's not enough.

“Harder.” You plead.

He raises his eyebrows at you but you note the twinkle in his eyes from the challenge. He brings a hand up to clasp your throat and you can't help the whimper that leaves you. He rams into you hard and fast, making your hungry cunt clenches around him.

“Oh, you are a dirty girl.” He whispers through gritted teeth. “Yea, you like that? You like me fucking you like I hate you?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

His pace stutters a moment, “Call me that again.”

You can barely think as he ploughs into you, continuously hitting that sensitive spot inside. When he gently compresses your throat again your pussy responds once more.

“Please don't stop, sir. I’m so c-close.” you gasp, desperately grinding your hips down to meet his thrusts.

“You gonna come for me, baby? Let me feel you come around my dick.”

With his words, something inside you snaps and you unravel wildly around him. Your sex squeezes him until his thrusts grow sloppy and you milk him of his orgasm, grunting as he empties inside the condom.

“Do you think anyone heard us?” You giggle as you begin to come down from your high.

“I hope so.” He smirks at you, as he lifts you effortlessly off the desk.

You adjust your clothes and smooth down your skirt as he tosses the condom in the waste bin and returns his suit to its usual crisp, perfection.

“So,” you start, awkwardness setting in, “what now, sir.” You elongate the last word purposefully.

Amusement flashes in his eyes as he closes the space between you. “I'd really like to see you again,” he strokes your bottom lip, “but it's your decision on where you want this to go.”

“I'll think about it.” Leaning up on tiptoes you plant a chase kiss to his lips. “Back to work now, huh?”

He nods and catches your hand as you turn to leave. “Also, it was Jane who sent me the screenshots of the chat by the way, don't trust her, she's after your job.”

Your mouth drops open. That bitch. One of the people you are closest to here.

You nod your thanks to him and are determined to leave the office with a smile on your face and a swish to your hips.

[sylus-doll]

Synopsis: Sometimes, when spending time with him, you feel like he owes you something. You decide to tell him about it one day.

Warnings: References to Sylus's Myth.

Author's note: Was gonna post this earlier but I got sick and my period hit me real bad LOL. Comments and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy! <3

You loved spending time with Sylus. It's the most fun you'll have, no matter how ridiculous your ideas may be. He always finds a way to make it work. With him, the word “limits” has erased itself from your dictionary. Instead, you ask yourself just how far Sylus is willing to go for your sake. But the answer is simple, really. His resources and time seem to be unending when you are the focal point of the picture. Ask for the moon, and he will bring back the stars along with it.

Even if the two of you aren't going out, choosing to stay in and bask in each other's company. These domestically intimate moments are just as— if not more— precious. Just like now. You've dragged Sylus into his bathroom, an assortment of skincare products you wanted to try already sitting on the sink countertop. Grabbing a tub of facial mask, you twist open the lid, scooping some of it with two fingers.

“Bend down. And close your eyes.” Your words come out more demanding than you wanted it to.

“My... So bossy, sweetie. No magic words to sweeten the deal?” But Sylus doesn't even try to act like he's reluctant to do so.

Spreading the clay mask on his face, you take the time to admire his features. Tracing your fingers along his strong eyebrows, down the bump of his nose, over his prominent cupid's bow lips. For someone not blessed by the gods, he sure looks like one. Sylus is the kind of beauty that makes artists weep. One that you cannot capture within a still painting, a muse no one has the skill to recreate. So devastatingly beautiful, it aches.

“Are you applying a mask, or sculpting my face, kitten?” The deep timber of Sylus's voice breaks you out of your trance.

Looking away, you place a finger on his lips.

“Shush. It's a clay mask, you'll crack it.”

He hates when you do that. Looking away from him, avoiding his eyes— pulling away from him. Sylus doesn't understand where he went wrong. You were perfectly fine up until recently. The growing distance of your bond claws at him. Did he do something? He wants to know, needs you to tell him how he can mend whatever damage he made. He could not live shunned in your silence or knowing he hurt you in some way.

How tempting it is to give in. To want to surrender and melt in your lover's embrace. Yet still, you look away. It's something you have felt since the two of you first met, back when Sylus still gazed at you with disdain. You never understood it. Why you were consumed by the need to devour him. Something that, for some inexplicable reason, you knew bone-deep that this desire is something only he can fulfill.

Two fingers; pointer and thumb, take your chin. Sylus tilts your face toward him. An emotion you could not decipher simmering in his brilliant, scarlet eyes. His brows furrow, lips opening and closing again. He wants to ask you— the questions on the tip of his tongue ready to spill out. But he doesn't know if that will scare you away more. So he hesitates, wondering if understanding your recent behaviour is out of his reach.

“...Sy? Can I tell you something?” You ask, a little unsure. You aren't stupid, the tension is clear. You know he wants answers. And you won't let him live in doubt of your relationship.

Sylus's eyes widen a fraction. Only for a split second before masking with his usual suaveness. You want to talk, that's good.

“Of course, sweetie. What is it?”

Reaching out, you cradle the right side of his face, thumb just below his right eye. You don't miss the way he shudders, gaze following your touch. His lips tremble when you begin to stroke your thumb on his cheek. Such a sensitive man, always so attuned to your touch. Like your warmth is a hearth, like your hands are a shelter from the cold. One of his hands cup your own, making you linger on his face.

“Lately... When I look at your right eye, it feels like I want it. It's scary. I don't want to hurt you. But something in me gnaws desperately to take from you like it belongs to me.” There. The full, honest truth.

Sylus is stunned. He expected anything else. A problem with him, something to change— about himself or otherwise. Perhaps even you wanting to leave him. But no. Sweet, lovely you. What you were so worried about is a centuries-old desire of yours. A desire for him that you couldn't understand. Albeit, you don't know that, yet it still brings him relief. It seems you are the same soul he fell in love with ages ago, even if you will never remember it.

He leans closer, palms now cradling your face. “Have I not taught you to be greedy with me? If you simply wanted more of me, just say that.”

Although Sylus yearns to tell you what this truly means, he understands that you wouldn't believe him. And that's okay. He will wait however long he needs to until you come to terms with yourself or remember your past. Rest assured that you will never be alone in your journey. Sylus will help you clear the path, guide you along the way even if it may be deceitful of him. He just wants his beloved to come back home.

“Don't you understand that all I am is yours? There is nothing you could do to hurt me if I allowed it in the first place. Take whatever you want from me— take me. I am nothing if not yours to love, entirely, my beloved.”

[societyfolklore]

Dangerous Notes – Part 6

Title: Dangerous Notes – Part 6

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Singer!Female Reader

Fic Summary: Reluctantly agreeing to fill in for her sick friend at a prestigious jazz club, The Armoury, Reader finds herself thrust into a world of old- world glamour and unknown danger. The club’s enigmatic owner, Bucky Barnes, has set his sights on making her a permanent fixture on his stage- and in his life.

Chapter Summary:  Caught in a storm of jealousy and possessiveness when Bucky Barnes finally snaps. Tension erupts into an unrestrained confrontation backstage.

Word Count: 3.7K

Fic Warnings: // Explicit Content // Mature Themes.18+, Minors DNI,Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Possessive/Obsessive behaviour, Violence, Smut (eventually)  Chapter Warnings:  Possessive/obsessive behaviour, jealousy, physical tension, emotional manipulation, strong language, fear of implied violence, intense confrontation.

A/N: Updates Thursday bi Weekly  (Probably will be throwing up an extra update in March sine it’s Bucky Barnes birthday month!)   You knew something felt off the moment you arrived at The Armoury.

Maybe it was the lingering tension from the flowers Bucky had sent the day before, the way their presence in your apartment had unsettled you rather than reassured you. Maybe it was the way your mind kept circling back to his words from Sunday night-the way he had pressed you, watched you, tested you. It didn’t help that your coworkers had noticed, teasing you about your supposed 'secret admirer' You had dodged their questions, offering half-hearted shrugs, but the feeling had clung to you like a second skin.

Or maybe it was the way you were starting to feel the lines between your real life and this place begin to blur in ways you didn’t like. The Armoury had a way of drawing people in, wrapping them up in its shadowy embrace, and you were starting to wonder if you were letting it pull you in further than you ever intended. It was dangerous, feeling like this-like you belonged in a world that you knew you shouldn’t be a part of. But the thrill, the intoxicating pull of the stage, the whispers of curiosity that danced through your veins-it was getting harder to ignore.

Shaking off the unease, you made your way through the side entrance, the low hum of the band warming up drifting from the main room. The familiar scent of aged whiskey and faint cigar smoke greeted you, mingling with the subtle spice of expensive colognes and perfumes. You adjusted your bag over your shoulder, exhaling slowly as if the simple act of breathing could help steady your nerves. As you passed the bar, Yelena caught your eye, handing off a tray to one of the servers before leaning toward you.

“You look tense.”

You scoffed lightly, trying to keep your voice casual. “I think Barnes is trying to ruin my life.”

Yelena smirked. “You’re not the first to think that.” She tilted her head, studying you a little too closely. You didn't want to talk about it, but Yelena might have a better understanding, some insight.

"He sent flowers to my school. I was hoping to get out of telling anyone there I was here. You know? Keep things separate."

Yelena’s eyebrow went up. “Most women like flowers.”

Your stomach twisted. “I don’t know what they mean.”

Yelena hummed, pouring herself a short glass of vodka. “Barnes doesn’t do things without a reason.” She took a sip, setting the glass down. “But that doesn’t mean he knows what the hell he’s doing either.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yelena leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “These guys? They don’t do emotions the way normal people do. Emotionally constipated.” She let the words settle before continuing, her tone lighter but still edged with knowing. "Maybe you've ruffled his ‘eathers, now he's trying to do it back?"

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Well, that’s unhelpful.”

Yelena just chuckled, shaking her head. “I didn't say I was goin’ to be. But maybe you should start thinking less about what he meant and more a‘bout why you care?"

Bucky was watching. Again.

He could feel Sam was watching him with the kind of knowing smirk that made Bucky want to tell him to mind his own damn business as he got closer to the table Bucky had put himself at. 

Sam slid into the seat next to him with a low exhale, setting his drink down on the table. "It's quiet out there tonight. No movement from Stark’s people. Everything’s as it should be. Steve decided to stay up at the pool hall for the night with some of the commandos. Just to be safe. It’s the closest outpost we’ve got to Queens."

Bucky gave a small nod, still staring at you on stage. "Good."

Sam took a slow sip of his drink, following Bucky’s gaze before smirking. "You’re staring again."

Bucky didn’t respond, swirling the whiskey in his glass, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the stage. He was sure you weren’t looking anywhere near him on purpose. That annoyed him more than it should.

"She’s good for business," he muttered.

Sam scoffed. "That’s your excuse for glaring like she owes you money." 

Bucky’s jaw ticked. "She’s why we’ve got this many people here on a Tuesday."

Sam leaned in, voice dropping. "Sure. But I bet your can think of all sorts of uses for her right now outside of business."

Bucky said nothing, just took another slow sip of whiskey.

Sam let out a knowing chuckle. "I mean, I get it. She’s a fine-looking bird… soft, got that voice that makes a man wanna sit back and let her sing all night. Can’t blame the crowd for coming back. Can’t blame you either."

Bucky’s grip on his glass tightened. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"A little." Sam grinned. "I just like watching you squirm. It’s funny."

Bucky finally tore his gaze away from the stage long enough to shoot him a glare. "I don’t squirm."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you absolutely squirm. I’d put money on it. Just go talk to her after." 

Bucky huffed, shaking his head and looking back at you. "I talk to her."

Sam leaned back, stretching lazily. "Like a person, Buck. You remember how to be one of those dontcha?"

“Shut up and let me listen.” Bucky leaned back in his chair, eyes still locked on the stage, jaw tightening ever so slightly. He took another slow sip of whiskey, but it did nothing to cool the heat simmering just beneath his skin. He could hear Sam smirking beside him, the smug bastard enjoying this way too much.

“You’re really not gonna admit it, huh?” Sam pressed, stretching lazily in his seat. “That she’s got you twisted up.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, rolling the whiskey in his glass. “You done?”

Sam chuckled. “Alright, alright. Keep your shirt on."  Bucky ignored him, eyes following the slow movement of your fingers as they skimmed the mic stand. Every note that left your lips settled in his chest like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He clenched his jaw.

Sam leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You ever think about what you’re gonna do if she finds out?”

Bucky’s grip tightened on his glass. “Finds out what?”

Sam’s grin widened. “That you’re not just watching for business.”

Bucky shot him a glare, his voice coming out lower, rougher. “I said shut up and let me listen.”

Bucky walked through the backstage section heading for your dressing room. He told himself it was just a routine pass, making sure things were running smoothly. But he wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t lying to himself very well.

Sam had gotten into his head. For once, he’d actually listened. Just talk to her, Sam had said. Maybe he was right-maybe this was all in Bucky’s head. The paranoia, the constant years of looking over his shoulder, had made him see threats where there weren’t any. Maybe he was turning her into something she wasn’t-a variable to control, a potential risk to assess.

Then there were the flowers.

He hadn’t even been sure why he’d sent them. Maybe to make sure she came back. Maybe because he’d caught that flicker of hurt on her face when he’d questioned her integrity, the way her lips had pressed together, like she’d been about to say something but changed her mind. And that had done something to him.

It had made him feel like an ass.

There was a difference between being cautious, protecting what was his, and just being a prick. Maybe he’d overstepped. Maybe if he just talked to her, he’d be able to put this whole thing to bed. Hear her voice, confirm she wasn’t a threat-not to him, not to the club, not to his peace of mind.

Because despite the way she had his stomach knotted, he did like hearing her voice. He was so deep in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the sound of another's voice in your dressing room till he got to the open door and stopped. 

Pietro.

The bastard was standing too close. Too relaxed, too comfortable in your space. Bucky saw the way his arm rested behind your back, the way he leaned in just a little too much, fingers drumming along the back of the chair to whatever tune was coming out of your phone. He like he belonged there, next to you. Like you belonged there, tucked into the space he made for you.

"No! I like it."  Pietro was nodding along, his head. Your face lit up at his compliment, the slight blush in your cheek.    Bucky’s fist clenched before he even realized it, nails biting into his palm. He told himself to stay put, to observe a little longer, to let logic dictate his reaction. Maybe there was nothing to react to. Maybe Pietro was just being his usual flirtatious charming self. But then-

"So, coffee tomorrow?” Pietro asked, flashing his usual cocky grin.

You smiled. Smiled. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Bucky saw red.

His chest tightened, his jaw locked so hard it ached. Before he could even think, he was moving, his voice cutting through the air like a blade, low and dangerous. “Maximoff.”

Pietro turned lazily, entirely unbothered. “Boss.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to you, then back to Pietro. His gut churned, the possessive, ugly feeling twisting like a knife in his ribs. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way Pietro had settled so easily into your space. Didn’t like the way you let him, the way you smiled at him. 

“Get lost,” Bucky bit out, his voice even but laced with something lethal.

Pietro smirked, ever unfazed. “Relax, Barnes. It’s just music talk.” He turned to you, tossing a wink. “Call me.”

Bucky barely held himself back from putting Pietro through the damn wall as the white haired man stepped widely around him. 

Instead, he let out a slow, controlled breath, his jaw tightening as he turned to you. His voice was sharp, quieter but no less commanding. “Since when do you get coffee with him?”

You blinked at him, thrown by the intensity in his tone. “What? We're just going to talk about some new pieces, for here. Would of thought you'd-  Why is it a problem?" 

Bucky didn’t have an answer for that. At least not one he wanted to admit.

His fists remained clenched at his sides, his whole body rigid with something he couldn’t name. This wasn’t just about business. Wasn’t just about keeping things in check. It was something else, something deeper, something that made his pulse hammer against his ribs.

You barely had time to react before Bucky was in your space, radiating anger like heat off pavement. It wasn’t just anger-it was something unrestrained, something that felt too big for the room, too overwhelming for you to process. His chest heaved with each rough breath, his body taut, every muscle coiled like a predator ready to strike. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers twitching as if they ached to grab, to possess.

You had never seen him like this. Never seen any one like this. 

“What is your problem?” you managed, voice steadier than you felt, even as your back hit the dressing table.

Bucky’s eyes burned into yours, pupils blown wide, his expression twisted between rage and something else-something deeper, something raw. His chest heaved, breath sharp and uneven, his fists clenching at his sides before flexing open again like he couldn’t decide whether to grab you or hold himself back. The controlled, calculating man you had seen before was gone-this was something different. His movements were sharp, restless, his energy barely contained, each twitch of his fingers betraying the struggle to stay in control. His fingers twitched, his shoulders tense, and when his gaze snapped back to yours, there was nothing composed about it-just raw, unchecked possession. He looked like a man on the edge of something dangerous, like he had already lost whatever grip on control he had left. His jaw worked, muscles tense, his nostrils flaring slightly as if even breathing around you was difficult. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough around the edges, barely controlled. Like he was a second away from snapping. You swore he almost looked unhinged.

“You.” His voice was low, jagged, but it wavered, just slightly, like even saying it out loud made something inside him crack. “You’re in my head, even when you’re not here. I hear you in my sleep. I hear you when I’m alone. I hear you when I should be thinking about anything else. But it’s always you. Like a song I can’t turn off, like a ghost haunting every damn part of my life and you've only been here a few days!”

His fingers twitched, his stance shifting as if torn between pacing, seizing you, or forcing himself to leave before saying something he couldn’t take back. His breaths came uneven, rough, like he was struggling to force them out between clenched teeth. “I can’t turn it off. I can’t fucking stop thinking about you. You don’t just go away. You’re a song I on replay, a distraction I can’t afford. And it’s-fuck-it’s driving me insane.”

Your breath hitched, stomach twisting. Was it the break in his voice that rattled you, or the weight of his confession itself?

“Excuse me?” you whispered, stunned, pulse spiking in your throat.

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck working beneath his skin, like he was really trying to hold himself together. “It’s like you and that damn voice of yours are haunting me. Since you got here!” His voice was sharp, biting. “You’re making my life impossible. I hear you everywhere-when I’m in my office, when I try to sleep. You don’t fucking leave.”

Your heart pounded so hard it was dizzying. Me? You're saying this is my fault? I’m just here to do my job.”

Bucky let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. It was a stark contrast to the man who always appeared so in control, so calculated. His breath came uneven, sharp, as if his own words had unsettled him. The mask he wore so well-calm, cold, untouchable-was slipping, cracking apart right in front of you, and it left something raw, something unfiltered in its place. His hand raked through his hair too roughly, like he was trying to shake you out of his skull. His jaw clenched even tighter, eyes flickering with something raw, something bordering on unhinged.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me. Then I come in, and your both... Standing there, letting him touch you, letting him sit too close... Like he had any right to. Like he could just take what's mine and I’d be fine with it." 

Your stomach twisted. "It’s just coffee, to go over." Then your brain process what he'd said "Min- What?" Your voice trailed off, because you weren’t sure what else to say. It felt ridiculous. This didn’t make sense. None of it did. Why was he talking to you like this? Why was he this angry? You had seen Bucky cold, calculated, always in control. But this? This was something else entirely.

His fixation wasn’t about business. This was about you.

But why?

His presence felt suffocating, his eyes too sharp, too dark, filled with something you didn’t understand. Something you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.

“It’s not just coffee,” he ground out, voice dark, each word slow and deliberate. “It’s him looking at you like you’re something he can have. It’s your letting him.”

Your pulse stuttered, caught between fear and something more-something you couldn’t name, didn’t dare to. His voice, raw and unfiltered, wasn’t just laced with fury. It unsettled you, sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine. You wanted to move, to push back, to speak, but your body refused, frozen under the sheer weight of his presence.

“Letting him?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but there was no masking the disbelief threading through it. Who talked like this? Who acted like this? "I wasn't-" 

Bucky’s throat worked, his whole body coiled tight, like he was a second away from snapping. His breathing was ragged, uneven.

“Say that all you want.” His voice came out like a growl, low and dangerous. You watched his jaw tick, his muscles flexing like he was fighting some inner battle, one he was rapidly losing. “This is my place. These are my people. And I decide what happens here.”

Every syllable was laced with something possessive, something raw and untamed. “Everything in here is because of me.”

His blue eyes burned into you, demanding something you weren’t sure you could give. Did he want submission? Did he want you to agree with him, to acknowledge his insanity? Or was it something deeper-something unspoken that neither of you were ready to admit? Understanding? Acceptance? Something else entirely? You weren’t sure, but you knew one thing-this was no longer about business.

This was something else.

Something dangerous.

Your actions had set off something deep, something that had been lurking beneath the surface, just waiting for a reason to escape.

For a second, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. The space between you felt electric, charged with something volatile, something on the edge of detonating. His gaze flickered to your lips, and for a breath, it felt like the entire world had gone still.

The silence stretched unbearably between you, thick and charged with something you didn't know how to name. His breathing was unsteady, his fingers flexing at his sides as if struggling against the urge to reach for you. The weight of his stare felt suffocating, his pupils blown wide, dark with something far more dangerous than a tempers edge he was riding. 

“If you’re going to start sleeping with someone around here, it’s going to be me.”

You barely had time to process before he added, voice rough, guttural, “Not some white-haired bastard.”

Then he was gone, storming out, leaving behind air so thick it felt like it was pressing down on you, suffocating, charged with something you didn’t dare name.

The silence in the room was deafening after he left.

You stood there for a few seconds, stunned, your breath still shallow, your heart hammering against your ribs. The space where Bucky had just been still felt charged, suffocating, as if his presence lingered in the very air around you.

Your hands trembled slightly as they pressed into the dressing table behind you, grounding yourself against the solid wood. What the hell had just happened? What had you just seen? That wasn’t the cold, calculated Bucky Barnes you’d come to expect, -the one who always seemed to be five steps ahead, who always played the long game with a smirk and a low, knowing chuckle. Where was the Bucky one who had tried to get under your skin in his office. The side you'd just seen wasn’t calculated at all. He had come apart, unravelling before you in a way you never thought possible.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. Why did he act like that with you? What weren’t you seeing? He didn't even like you. 

The door creaked open behind you, snapping you out of your spiralling thoughts. Pietro leaned against the frame, his usual smirk in place, but when he saw your face, his expression faltered, he looked worried. 

“Songbird?” he asked, his voice softer than usual. “You okay?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if trying to shake off the weight of the last few minutes.

“I don’t know.”

Pietro stepped inside, his eyes scanning you, his usual cocky confidence dimmed with concern. “Did he-” he started, but you cut him off with a quick shake of your head.

“No,” you said, your voice quieter than you wanted it to be. “It wasn’t like that.”

But you didn’t know how to explain what it was like. Bucky hadn’t even touched you. But how do you explain someone unravelling in front of you? Someone like him?

Instead of processing it as anger, you felt something else creeping in-uncertainty, confusion, something you didn’t want to name.

Pietro shifted, stepping closer, his concern evident. "Let me get you home."

You shook your head immediately. "No."

If Bucky knew you had gotten in the car with Pietro after... You didn’t want to think about what would happen.

Pietro exhaled, holding his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay... just breathe. You're alright."

You swallowed, but the air still felt thick in your lungs. "He..."

Pietro ran a hand through his hair. "Sometimes the Boss gets... a little off his axis. Stress. Don't hold it against him. Just-let's get you into a cab and home, yeah? I'll get Yelena to call it for you." "Ok.." You felt weak now, drained and he got you into your chair. Pietro lingered for a second, watching you carefully like he wasn’t sure if you might fall apart the moment he left. You wished you could tell him something, anything to shake the feeling creeping over you, but you didn’t have the words.

Instead, you forced a small, tired smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

No. You weren’t. But you nodded anyway.

Pietro exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, I’ll get Yelena to call that cab.” He hesitated before stepping toward the door. “Look, Songbird… don’t let this get to you, alright?”

You swallowed. “Pietro…”

His smirk returned, but it was softer now. “Hey, it’s nothing you did. Just… sometimes, the Boss forgets we’re not all in his little world.” He tapped the doorframe, offering one last look before disappearing into the hallway.

Silence swallowed the room again.

You sank into your chair, legs suddenly too weak to hold you up any longer. The dressing room felt smaller now, suffocating, like the air had been pressed out of it by the sheer force of what had just happened.

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

Your fingers curled into your lap, gripping the fabric of your dress as if it could steady you. The memory of Bucky’s voice echoed in your mind, rough and unsteady-his words weren’t just an order, they were a claim.

You didn’t know what terrified you more-that he had said it…

Or that some part of you had wanted to hear it.

[abiatackerman]

Interrupted by brats

The air in the mess hall cracks with tension as Jean and Eren square off. Their fists fly, and the other scouts gather around, placing bets and cheering like it is some twisted spectator sport. Mikasa’s stoic expression betrays her amusement, while Sasha bites on a potato, her eyes wide with excitement.

But then, the doors swing open as Levi and you step in. The entire scene freezes. Even the birds outside seemed to hold their breath. Levi's glare can melt steel, and the room temperature drops by a few degrees.

"Brats......"

He mutters, his voice is like a blade slicing through the chaos.

"What the hell is this nonsense?"

Eren and Jean stumble apart immediately and you sigh. They straighten their uniforms, faces showing pure fear as they avoid eye contact with their captain.

Levi doesn't waste time. He kicks Jean's abdomen, since he was the one who started the fight. Then he kicks Eren's ass hard making him stumble forward.

"You want to fight? Fine. I'll give you a reason to regret it."

His knuckles crack ominously and you sigh.

Levi's really pissed today. You just told him that you're leaving for a week since your dad has become sick and you haven't visited your family for a while. He's pissed thinking that it's gonna be a damn long annoying week without you. Just when you two were about to kiss, Historia rushes to Levi's office to inform him about the fight.  Levi is pissed about the interruption and now here he is, beating them up.

"Captain, I...."

Jean tries to speak but Levi stops him.

"Shut up!" Levi snaps. "And you, Jaeger."

He turns to Eren, who stands there massaging his ass.

"You're not innocent either. Next time you want to throw punches, do it in private. Got it?"

Eren nods so vigorously that his head may detach from his neck.

"Y-yes, sir!"

Levi stares at him for a while then looks at you again. You can tell by his looks he's thinking about punishing them. Your face softens as you look at Jean's and Eren's nervous faces, feeling sympathy for them.

"Both of you will clean this hall everyday for this whole week. One more fight and I'll increase the area of your cleaning also add daily laps to your lazy assed routine. Now all of you, out!"

Levi orders in his pissed tone as everyone rushes out of the hall. They all are relieved that Levi has just punished Eren and jean. Not them.

"Don't you think you are being too strict?"

You ask as the cadets leave the hall.

"I mean this hall is huge... Cleaning it every day is tough by only two people."

You say softly as Levi walks towards you.

"Though their behaviours are shitty they have loyal friends. I bet they all will clean it together."

He says as he grabs your chin.

"You're just too kind, angel. They'll be fine, don't worry."

You nod and remove his hand from your face and hug him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"You know? You looked so sexy and hot when you were beating them up. Everyone was looking at you with fear and you were the strongest intimidating leader, also your commanding voice... I did feel bad for them but... Shit... I'm fucking turned on."

Levi chuckles as his face is pressed against your head and he sniffs your sweet smell. His one hand wraps around your neck and the other one plays with your hair.

"Tch... You have a weird choice, but I'm not complaining."

He speaks in an amusing tone and removes his head from your hair to look at your face. He cups your face, his expression is soft with affection as he kisses your forehead.

"Just be safe for the week, ok? And make sure to come back to me unscarred."

He speaks, his voice full of affection. You chuckle.

"Even if I get in trouble, I'll use the combats you taught me. I'll be fine, don't worry."

You say smiling cheekily as Levi's eyes soften again. Your smile is his greatest weakness, he can't help but melt every time he sees it. And when he knows he's the reason behind it, his mind overflows with ecstasy.

He leans down and presses his lips softly against yours. You hum and close your eyes as you grip his shirt, only to feel his thumping heartbeat against your palm. His thumbs caress your cheeks as your lips move in a slow, soft and rhythmic way.

Just when Levi's tongue gently brushes against your lower lips and you are about to part your lips, suddenly, the mess hall's door swings open. Sasha and Connie stumble in, revealing Eren, Jean, Armin and Mikasa behind them. They freeze, cheeks flushed, eyes wide, as if caught in a forbidden act.

"Errr... Captain... we..."

Sasha tries to speak nervously, her cheeks pink.

"We were just..... Looking for the potato Sasha left behind."

Armin speaks shyly, his face flushed red. You try to suppress your smile as you look at the pissed expression on Levi's face.

"You shits were spying on us? What were you brats looking at? Never saw a man and woman kissing before?"

Levi speaks in a calm tone but you know he's fuming inside. Everyone turns red at his words, even Mikasa blushes.

"Eren and Jean will clean this mess hall, alone! And you all shits will clean the whole field. I'll check your work in the afternoon. If I see even a single darnel picking out of the grass, I swear I'll kick your lazy asses. As for the girls, you all will run 50 laps and no food until you clean your shits up. Mark my words!"

Levi speaks firmly as their eyes widened. You look at them sympathically as Sasha seems like she is about to cry.

"OUT!"

Levi says in a slightly louder tone than usual making them flinch as they rushes out.

"Damn brats. What are they? 10? Bothering us like annoying bugs."

He speaks in a pissed voice as you sigh and hug his neck to calm him down.

"They are just kids, Levi. They probably got curious when Sasha came back here for her potato and caught us kissing. Forgive them."

Levi relaxes in you arms as he starts to kiss your neck.

"Tch, I shouldn't care for them like this when they're this annoying."

You chuckle and tilt your head to let him kiss you. You rub his back.

"You're a great father figure, Levi. They also knows it."

You giggle slightly at the tickling feeling as his breath fans over you neck and his lips keep caressing you skin.

"I'll try to be a good father to our brat too. I won't say shitty words and won't be harsh. I promise."

He mumbles in a low voice as his grip on your waist tightens.

"I know you will, love."

You say softly as he removes his head to look at your face.

"Tch, I'll miss you, smartass..."

He says softly as he kisses your forehead.

"Me too."

You say and he presses his lips against yours again. Though this time you two kiss each other for a long time without any interruptions.

And this time, no brats were peeking on you two either.

[princessbrunette]

stepbro!jj 😩😩😩😩 i’d be playing footsies with him at the breakfast table in the morning, acting all coy like he didn’t bend me over his bed last night

i rlly love the idea of reader being the horny sick n twisted one whilst jj is trying desperately to cling onto his morality <333:

•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•

jj was not nonchalant by any stretch of the word, but now sat at the breakfast table — your cunt still aching from the way he’d fucked you through the night, he was seeming to play it incredibly cool and collected. no trace of a knowing smile or secretive glances, just his regular behaviour, sat reclined in his seat wearing his usual get up and a backwards hat. the dismissal would have maybe hurt if it wasn’t turning you on a little.

“i’m headin’ downtown for that AA meetin’. load of horse shit but ‘least i’m tryin’.” luke maybank chats as he messily spreads butter on his toast at the counter, taking a moment to lick some off his thumb. your mother is also rushing around the kitchen ready to head out on her own shift at work— you’re avoiding eye contact with her the most, more shameful of the acts you’d commit under the shared roof only a few hours prior.

“well, we are all proud anyways.” she praises, looking around at you and jj for contribution. you nod, and jj clears his throat, shuffling closer to the table opposite you on his chair.

“yeah, real proud pops.” you can tell it’s difficult for him to say from the way he looks down at his food as he says it.

“don’t get sappy on me, squirt.” luke’s words come muffled through a cheekful of toast, and soon your mother begins to fire overbearing questions at him about the recovery course he’s taking. as they talk, you zone out — eyes flickering to jj who is spooning up soggy cereal onto a spoon.

things felt very familial during moments like this. the whole family going about their regular morning routines, jj and yourself sat opposite at the table like a regular old brother and sister duo. you knew you were sick in the head from wanting your step brother in the first place, and now you were secretly fucking him — the idea that he was able to sit opposite you without a soul knowing he was balls deep earlier on was turning you on once more.

you glance over at luke and your mother, seeing them wrapped up in their own conversations — and you toe at the entrance of jj’s jeans, running your foot along the inner side of his calf. when he looks up at you through a heavy brow, cheek still full with cereal you can tell he’s warning you to stop — but knowing he couldn’t verbally express this, and that any vision of your feet was obstructed by the long gingham table cloth — you felt obliged to continue. no one even notices when jj winces and you giggle, too stuck in their own conversation.

you manage to stretch your leg to get your foot in his lap, briefly rubbing at his cock before he grips your ankle and throws it off him, angrily licking his lips and tensing his jaw, doing a double take at the parents when they turn their heads, the attention attracted by your whiny and dramatic ‘ow!’

luke scoffs out a laugh, walking towards the kitchen exit, shaking his head and spitting into a tin waste bin by the door. you truly wondered what your mother saw in him. “kids, huh. who’d have ‘em.” he comments before exiting, making jj cringe at the general insinuation that the two of you were in any way related, or kids.

your mother is quick to follow, barely sparing the two of you a glance. “i can drop you off some lunch if you’re going to be all day, i finish early and —” her voice trails off before the two of you hear her yell out a goodbye to you and the door closes. jj barely waits for them to be gone to push heavily out of his chair, letting it scrape on the floor and wander over to your side, gripping your jaw from where he stands beside your seat, forcing you to look up at him.

“do you think this is funny? like — i’m almost certain you got some weird fetish for wanting to be caught but i don’t, alright — quit bein’ so obvious.” he scolds before letting you go, quickly lifting his hat to run a hand through his hair as he wanders to the counter to cool off and pour himself a coffee. he was already dressed, set to meet the pogues a little later whilst you wandered around in tiny pyjama shorts and a thin tank top that made him wanna slap you.

you giggle despite his sternness and push out your chair to follow him, poking him in the back as you speak. “oh c’mon jayj, s’just a little fun. no one noticed anyway. you’re acting like i got under the table n’made out with your dick. not a bad idea for next time actually.” you muse jokingly and he all but slams his coffee mug back down to whip around to face you.

“y’know i can just like, confiscate everything i’ve been doin’ for you. s’not hard to find pussy, and if you wanna keep actin’ like an actual annoying little sister i’m gunna start treating you like one.” he ticks his head, squinting in irritation and your eyes widen in faux offence and fear.

“aw, don’t do that to me jj. i thought you liked playing with me.” you pout, and oddly — despite knowing you were playing games with him, it makes him soften the tiniest bit, shoulders falling a centimetre or so.

“well, look— i do…” he rolls his eyes and you smile. taking your hands, you push your tits together, looking up at him with mocking babydoll eyes.

“yeah, just like playing with your lil sis too much, huh?” you coo and he yanks your hands off yourself, tongue in his cheek — clearly losing his patience a little.

“nah, keep it up. you’re not getting shit from me anymore i’m dead serious.” he raises his voice a little, that southern twang jumping out a little extra and you giggle elatedly at the threat. you spin around, pressing your ass to his crotch and looking over your shoulder.

“nuh-uh, you like this view too much.” you tease before your jaw drops, mocking quiet ‘uh-uh-uh-uh’ moans as you repeatedly thump your ass against him, the blonde watching with a deadpan, unimpressed expression and arms folded over his chest. he goes to say something, but the sudden banging of the front door closing wipes the amused expression off your face quicker than he can and you jump up straight, looking like a deer caught in headlights when your mother walks back through the door.

“forgot my keys.” she shakes her head before her eyes land on the two of you standing near eachother, jj looking smug and you looking guilty. “everything… okay?” she raises an eyebrow at the weird atmosphere.

“yes! yeah everything’s fine.” you squeak, sounding oh so innocent and afraid. jj snorts, turning back around to the counter and continuing to pour his coffee.

“well alright, see you guys later.” she smiles before disappearing once more, leaving you looking bashful.

once she’s gone, jj glances over his shoulder at you and pouts, barely concealing his grin.

“aw, that scare ‘ya, lil sis?”

•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING SNEAKY !!! LEWIS H. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: lewis was known for his year-end parties. the grid would be shocked to find out what else he was known for.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, pwp, lewis and reader on their sneaky link behaviour, p in v penetration, doggy or whatever pierre said, filthy, dom!lewis energy, fucking in a club bathroom vibes, utter nonsense— just lewis being filthy as fuck, drivers being drunk (max, charles and lando), bit of a twist at the end but not really???

rec music: disco tits by tove lo

note: shout out to @daaiissyyyyy for listening to my recent fever ramble at 11 pm— she gave me the thought to write for lewis after giving this music prompt eheh. i’m sick of sf23 and w14 so now i’m just writing ✨fuckall✨ enjoy xx

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if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out!

lewis was known for a lot of things: his sense of fashion, desire to make panty-dropping songs, his impressive record in formula one and of course…

the extravagant parties that never failed to live up to everyone’s expectations. 

now this was the first time he’s hosted a big party in his new york penthouse since his previous championship win before covid — 2019.

and 2023 was the most frustrating season for most drivers and lewis hamilton wasn’t an exception to that; after all, most teams splurged as much money as red bull did with their cars yet the crown was handed over to max and the austrian team in a gold plate. 

because of the same results every year, the brit couldn’t find himself to care much about it anymore.

instead, after the abu dhabi race he texted the group chat and invited them over for a party he was going to host after the prize giving ceremony. 

yet, when the drivers came over to his penthouse with their girlfriends and their peers — the host was found nowhere in sight. 

tove lo’s music boomed loudly as sweaty bodies hit the dance floor. the world champion - max verstappen - was chatting with the ferraris and lando about whatever the fuck he was planning to do during the break. most drivers were dancing and drinking. 

yet, amongst the sea of intoxicated and desperate people, none of them were lewis.

he was known for his parties. but what they didn’t know was that his parties were nothing but excuses to feel the adrenaline rush pump through his bloodstream without taking the drugs for it.

because he was upstairs in his room, thick cock spearing inside someone’s cunt as the woman screamed silently. her manicured nails clutching the sheets under her as drool escaped her mouth, her head down while her ass was arched up. 

lewis grunted as he lustfully traced down her spine and smacked her ass. “god, fuck! such a good pussy, doll.” 

“lew- lewis, fuck,” she cursed him in a foreign language that he couldn’t care to understand, her eyes rolling back as he continued to fuck her from behind. “i feel so full, oh~ god~ yes- yes- keep fucking me like that.”

“like this?” she let out a pitiful whine when he moved and roughly hit her sensitive spot with his cock.

her head was pushed against the mattress as she whined, his cock rubbing against the spot repeatedly while she inaudibly babbled. 

he demanded firmly, “you gotta tell me how do i fuck you, baby, otherwise i’m not gonna—“

“—fuck! yes, keep hitting that spot please,” she cried out, tears threatening fall from the pleasure she felt. 

in the moment of grunting and whining, no one downstairs could hear them as they fucked like rabbits in heat. thank god for the party that lewis had paid for. if anyone ever found out, they’d immediately assume that he only hosted this just to get her away from everyone. 

her walls clenched around him as he moaned aloud, “this pussy is so good— so tight f’me, princess.” 

the tip of his cock hit her cervix as she cried, “please lewis, please— wanna cum~”

“mmh~ god,” lewis groaned loudly, his deep lusty voice echoing inside the room alongside the slapping of their skins and her moans. “gonna cum soon, baby— gonna be a good girl and cum with me?”

“mhm yeah,” she nodded. 

“good because— ah~ keep doin’ that- i’m- ah fuck!” lewis grunted as his thrusting slowed. she came, too, her walls clenching around him still as she reached her climax and the sense of euphoria washed over her. 

lewis’ face was beaded with sweat and pleasure, leaning forward for a brief moment to keep his composure. his cock remained inside her as he pulled up her head and tangled his tongue with hers. 

he sighed, the sound of contentment covering up her quivering breath as he smirked mischievously.

this was a celebration, indeed.

this, however, was a celebration for the two of them only. this was how she rewarded him for putting up with this season, and lewis simply accepted her reward without hesitation.

after all, not everyone in the grid got to get a taste of her. if everyone found out, they’d be jealous. for one driver, they’d be furious— but lewis couldn’t find himself to care right now.

“lewis!” ten minutes later, charles, max and lando found the older british driver in his minibar. 

lewis looked at the trio with curious eyes as charles started, “have you seen max’s sister?”

lewis’ eyes narrowed for a brief moment, “max’s… sister?” he then looked at max with a questioning look.

“yeah, my eldest sister— i brought her tonight. you’ve met her earlier, remember?” the world champion asked lewis with the naivety that everyone else carried in the room. 

oh, lewis had met her, alright. 

he met her tonight. and the races before tonight. and the summer break. and almost everyday. not that the world champion had a knowledge of it. 

lewis let out an ‘ah’ as if he realized who the dutchman was talking about, “that sister! i think i’ve seen her—“

“mon sœur!” my sister! charles exclaimed, slurring out his words as he pointed at the direction of the staircase. “wait… max’s sister!”

there stood max’s sister, who looked less frazzled and fucked out than what she looked like ten minutes ago.

lewis almost chuckled. she’s quick to pretend like she hadn’t had a cock inside her just about now— that’s what lewis loved about her. she knew when to play pretend. 

max’s eyes narrowed at his sister while she approached the group. she immediately glanced at lewis, who merely smirked at the sight of her. max continued to pester her, “where the hell have you been? we’ve been looking for you for an hour!”

“bullshit,” lando called out with a laugh, “you were fucking singing disco tits the entire time! stop lying to everyone!”

the woman’s head cocked to the side as she smirked at her little brother. max’s face flushed red and shoved lando, “shut up.”

“well, i’m here now— and you’re drunk,” she pointed at max. “we’re going.”

“already???” max whined. “fineeee~”

“alright well,” lewis finally spoke. “it’s nice having you lots here. i’ll catch up with you soon, yeah?” but his eyes remained at the sight of her as he smiled. he wasn’t even talking to max or his friends— but her. 

she smirked too (not that the three younger men noticed) and nodded, “absolutely. we’ll catch up with you soon, lewis. thanks for the invite.” 

and it wasn’t even fifteen minutes later after the verstappen siblings departed when the knighted driver received a text.

the better verstappen 🥰: thanks for the invite, lew 💗 i hope the compensation paid off

lh 🫶: you know that times spent with you are worth more than one shitty season my love 😉

lh 🫶: def made things better after abu dhabi tho. what do you think about going to san marino and bora bora for the long break?

the better verstappen 🥰: for you? i’ll keep excusing myself from max’s family vacation plans baby

♡   moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1