#cw: n-word used in-context

[cbeargyu]

7 minutes - jeno

cw: explicit sexual content, rough sex, dirty talk, spitting kink, spanking, domination/submission dynamics, power play, non-consensual elements implied (pressure/coercion in game context), oral sex, degradation, orgasm denial/edging, bodily fluids, language, public setting, alcohol use, breath play (light choking implied), emotional intensity.

wc: 1991

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 🔞

the party had been a mess from the start.

someone spiked the drinks, the living room was trashed, and half the people had already passed out on the floor, shoes still on. what was left was a circle of survivors, all flushed cheeks, glossy eyes, and dirty minds. and of course, someone had to say it:

“truth or dare.”

you had laughed, shaking your head, but ended up joining anyway — too drunk to care, too bored to leave. the dares had started simple. lick someone’s neck. take off a shirt. kiss your ex. harmless. stupid. messy. but then haechan decided to turn things up.

“y/n,” he grinned, leaning in with that look that never meant anything good. “dare.”

“of course,” you muttered.

“sit on jeno’s lap. and stay there for five rounds.”

there were hoots and whistles, someone fake-gasped. your eyes flicked to jeno — quiet, respectful, the kind of guy who always avoided eye contact too long. he looked... surprised. and kind of nervous.

you walked over and sat down anyway.

at first, it was stiff. awkward. your back barely touched his chest, your legs tense. he didn���t move, not even a breath out of place. you almost rolled your eyes. but with each round, something shifted.

maybe it was the way your hips subtly adjusted on his thighs.

maybe it was how his fingers twitched when your weight settled just a little deeper.

you felt it before you wanted to believe it — the way he tensed under you, the unmistakable hardening between your thighs. his jaw locked. you felt it when you leaned back a bit more, just to test.

oh.

definitely not as innocent as he seemed.

by the fifth round, the room had gotten louder, messier, hazier. your body was warm, buzzing with every tiny movement jeno didn’t make. his hands were gripping the couch now. his breathing was slow, deep. focused.

you didn’t dare turn to look at him.

then haechan stood up again, wicked and way too excited.

“alright, new game,” he announced. “seven minutes in heaven.”

you barely registered it before he pointed straight at you and jeno. “you two. go.”

before you could protest, someone grabbed your wrist, someone else opened the bathroom door, and suddenly you were being pushed inside, jeno right behind you. the door slammed shut.

click.

locked.

“seven minutes,” renjun yelled from outside. “don’t waste it!” jaemin added.

you turned to jeno, heart pounding.

“this is stupid,” you muttered.

“yeah,” he said quietly, leaning back against the door. “we’ll just wait. it’s fine.”

but just as the silence started to stretch, chenle’s voice rang out like a goddamn gunshot:

“don’t come out till you’ve fucked.”

the room went still. jeno froze behind you. you turned around slowly — ready to roll your eyes, maybe laugh it off.

but when you looked up, he was staring at you.

not nervous. not shy. not innocent.

his jaw was clenched, eyes dark and heavy, like he was holding something in for way too long. like he’d finally decided he was done pretending.

“you think this is funny?” he asked, voice low, rough.

you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could even form a word, his hand grabbed your throat and pinned you against the cold tile wall.

your breath hitched.

“you’ve been fucking teasing me all night,” he hissed, his body pressing into yours. “shifting your hips like that, grinding on my dick like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

you swallowed, lips parting, eyes wide. “i wasn’t—”

“shut up.” his grip tightened just enough to make your thighs press together.

“you knew what you were doing. you just didn’t think i’d do anything about it.”

his knee forced itself between your legs, spreading them, lifting you slightly until your back arched against the wall. the tile was freezing, but his body was burning — every inch of him hard, tense, controlled.

“so i’m gonna make it real clear for you now,” he growled, leaning down until his mouth brushed your ear.

“you wanted to play? fine. but this isn’t a fucking game anymore.”

his hand left your throat only to drag down your body, rough and fast, yanking at your waistband, fingers slipping under your panties without hesitation.

“i’m gonna ruin you.”

his fingers slipped past your folds like he owned the place. no teasing. no warning. just a low grunt from his throat when he felt how wet you already were.

“fuck,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “you’re dripping.”

you gasped, but his hand clamped over your mouth before any sound left you.

“don’t make a noise,” he growled. “unless you want them all to hear how much you love being used.”

his fingers thrust into you, deep, rough — two at once, curling just right, moving with no hesitation. your knees buckled, but he shoved his thigh between them again, keeping you upright.

“i’ve been hard since you sat on me,” he muttered, lips brushing your neck. “and you just kept moving… like a little slut who wanted to get fucked in front of everyone.”

you whimpered under his palm, hips jerking as he started fucking his fingers into you faster, harder, your whole body rocking with the rhythm.

“look at you,” he sneered. “you act all quiet. innocent. cold. but your cunt’s begging for it, isn’t it?”

he pulled his fingers out, wet and glistening, and shoved them into your mouth.

“suck.”

you obeyed without thinking — lips parting, tongue wrapping around them as he watched, eyes dark, hungry, like he was holding back a storm.

“good girl.”

jeno turned you around without warning, one strong hand on your hip, the other fisting your hair. he bent you over the bathroom counter, your cheek pressed to the cold surface.

you heard the sound of his zipper. the thick weight of him pressing against you.

“you’ve got seven minutes,” he growled. “and i’m gonna spend every second fucking the brat out of you.”

he slammed into you in one brutal thrust, no hesitation — just the full, overwhelming stretch of him filling you up all at once. you cried out, voice muffled by the counter, and jeno just grunted behind you.

“yeah,” he muttered. “that’s what i thought.”

his pace was merciless. hips snapping into yours, hard enough to make the counter rattle. your nails scratched at the surface, eyes rolling back as he fucked you like he hated you — like he’d been waiting too long to be gentle anymore.

every thrust was a punishment.

“take it,” he growled. “you wanted this. take every fucking inch.”

he yanked your hair, forcing you to look at the mirror. your eyes met his in the reflection — wild, dark, raw.

“look at yourself,” he hissed. “look how wrecked you already are. and i’m not even close to done.”

your cheek pressed to the counter, breath fogging the mirror as jeno slammed into you over and over — each thrust deeper, filthier, rougher.

you were shaking, moaning, barely able to hold yourself up.

and then he grabbed your jaw.

his hand wrapped around your face, forcing you to lift your head just enough to look at yourself. your eyes were watery, lips swollen, drool clinging to the corner of your mouth.

“open.”

you hesitated, lips parting slowly.

“wider,” he snapped.

you obeyed — eyes locked on his through the reflection, mouth wide open like a good little toy.

jeno leaned forward, spitting directly onto your tongue. the thick wet sound made your whole body jolt.

“don’t swallow yet,” he growled, pulling back just to spit again — this time on your face, the slick strand dripping down your cheek. “look at you. fuck.”

he gripped your jaw tighter, forcing your head back down as he thrust even harder into you.

“this is what you wanted, right? to be fucked like a filthy little thing in a stranger’s bathroom? to be used?”

you moaned, hips jerking back against him, needing more — needing everything.

“swallow it.”

you obeyed, the taste of him sliding down your throat as he slammed into you harder. the sound of skin on skin was loud, wet, disgusting. the room smelled like sex. your mind was a blur of pleasure and shame and need.

jeno reached down, fingers rubbing your clit roughly, circling fast.

“gonna cum?” he growled. “already? fuckin’ pathetic.”

you nodded desperately, sobbing out a yes, a please, anything.

he spat again — this time on your ass, then rubbed it in with his palm, leaving a hot slap in its place.

“then cum,” he ordered, voice low and dangerous. “cum all over my cock like the messy little whore you are.”

jeno’s hands didn’t just grab and push — they owned you.

as he fucked you hard against the counter, one hand slipped down to your ass, squeezing it firmly. you gasped, but before you could catch your breath, his palm came down hard, smacking your cheek with a sharp slap that echoed in the small bathroom.

“you like that, don’t you?” he growled, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulled your hips back to slam into him again. “how good it feels to be controlled, to be marked?”

another smack, slower this time, teasing. your skin tingled, heat flooding through every nerve ending.

“say it,” he ordered. “say you want me to keep spanking you.”

you bit your lip, words catching in your throat — but his grip on your hip tightened, fingers trailing down to pinch your skin.

“louder.”

“please, jeno,” you finally whispered, voice trembling. “spank me.”

a wicked smile spread across his face.

“you asked for it.”

smack.

your whole body jerked, the sting raw but delicious, like fire and ice all at once.

his hand moved fast, alternating between hard spanks and firm squeezes — building a rhythm that matched his thrusts. each hit made you shiver and moan, your pussy clenching around him tighter every time.

“you’re mine,” he said, voice low and rough. “marked. bruised. wrecked. and i’m not stopping until you’re begging.”

you cried out, the pleasure mixed with pain overwhelming, your world reduced to the feeling of his hand on your skin and his cock deep inside you.

“that’s it,” jeno encouraged, voice rough with need. “let it all go. show me how much you want this.”

the last hard smack landed on your burning skin, your body trembling, wet and sore in all the right ways. jeno’s thrusts slowed, but he didn’t stop — not yet. his fingers still kneaded your bruised ass, his grip tight, possessive.

“cum for me,” he growled, voice rough, eyes dark and wild.

you cried out, your walls clenching so tight around him it felt like your whole world shattered. jeno didn’t let up, pushing you over the edge harder than you ever thought possible — raw, dirty, demanding.

when you finally collapsed against the counter, panting, tears mixing with sweat, jeno pulled out slowly, lips pressing a bruising kiss to your shoulder.

“you okay, baby?” he asked, voice low but soft just for a second.

you nodded, barely able to speak.

he gave your ass one last rough squeeze, then grabbed your hand, pulling you up.

“let’s get out of here.”

you followed him out of the cramped bathroom, legs weak, hair a mess, cheeks flushed and red from his hands — totally undone.

but jeno? he looked calm, untouched — like he’d just stepped out for a breath of fresh air. his shirt was perfect, his hair neat, that cocky smirk still playing on his lips.

as the door opened, the room fell silent.

all eyes snapped to you — disheveled, flushed, breathless, vulnerable.

“what the fuck?” someone whispered.

“did they seriously just…?” another voice trailed off.

jeno caught your gaze, winked, then turned back to the group.

“yeah,” he said with a slow grin. “we’re definitely capable.”

you wanted to sink through the floor, but he just laughed, pulling you close again.

“don’t worry,” he whispered in your ear. “they’ll never forget tonight.”

[celuere]

prepare for trouble!

and make it double.

pairing: peruere x fem!reader x arlecchino

context: bored to death in a never ending meeting, your husband surely knows how to entertain you.

cw: arle uses her fancy domain trick on you, threesome, bossform arle, vaginal fingering, riding, bondage, cuckolding (kinda?????), squirting, degrading, size kink, a lil bit unrealistic but everything is possible in your husband’s mindscape, also capitano mention because i know he is a gentleman, not proofread

wc: 3k

art creds: drunken my boss

A/N: arle x reader tag has been so quiet lately… time for elise and me to change that. and i apologize for taking this long, lots of work drama this week and i really wanted this fic to be perfect and therefore rewrote a lot of stuff, added paragraphs where i thought we were moving on too fast, etc. because i didn’t want to look back at this work with regret albrkwnrbwkne

so i hope you enjoy!

twenty…

twenty-one…

twenty-two…

twenty-three.

that would make twenty-three windows, two doors, three chandeliers and thirty other attendees in this hall.

you and your husband not counted.

latter one was sat directly opposite of you, her attention actually focused on the conversation at hand rather than you, how you were practically melting into your chair the longer you had to listen to pierro‘s plan regarding… well, you would know if you cared to listen.

even childe was listening, usually he‘d be the first to play tic-tac-toe with you on a random napkin but tonight you were all on your own. and only celestia knows how much longer you will endure this torture.

you ran out of ways to entertain your mind long ago, counting the tiles on the ceiling, the doors, the windows, making up ridiculous stories between the present politicians, diplomats and generals and even going as far as to braid capitano‘s hair to your left. you were surprised he even let you, only sighing before he brushed his silky hair over his shoulder so your hands can have better access. you should really ask him about the conditioner he is using…

your eyes drifted over to your husband once more, red nails slowly drumming on the graphite surface of the table stretching over the hall. her tie was slightly out of place, urging you to bend over and fix its position or untie it completely. plopping the buttons of her black shirt open one by open as you worked your way down her body, letting your tongue glide over the surface of her abs down to the trail of black hair and-

crimson x’s piercing suddenly through you ripped you right out of your fantasy. of course she‘d notice your staring, an eyebrow propped up.

„everything alright?“, she didn’t need to speak those words out, but she only added to your frustration with how her eyes narrowed at your obvious flushed cheeks. you could have sworn her eyes lit up for the shortest moment, as if she‘d looked right into your head before the corners of her lips quirked up.

she really could read you like an open book.

yet her eyes weren‘t leaving yours. only sparing the cleavage of your dress a small glance.

and something shifted in the air around you when a snap echoed through the walls from somewhere far away.

you merely blinked before you found yourself no longer in the cold conference room but rather in front of the bright gloom of a crimson moon. 

with nobody present except your husband, seated on her balemoon throne and a smile so lethal plastered onto her face that caused your core to slowly melt.

„bored out of your mind, my dove?“, her voice came out as an echo, ringing through seemingly endless realm as she gestured you to come closer with a crook of her middle and index finger.

„i… arle, what happened? where did everyone else go…?“, with nervous steps you walked up to her, like a sacrifice about to get offered.

„do not worry about them, love. and certainly don‘t break your pretty little over head over it. think of this as a… secret room you‘ve found yourself in.“, she uncrossed her legs, spreading them right as you reached her, „you certainly found a liking earlier to my tie, didn‘t you?“

„oh, uh… y-yes… yes i did, it looked out of place.“, you reached out almost instinctively but instead of fixing it… your fingers got to work on loosening up the fabric. she did not seem surprised.

„hm? you want it gone altogether? i‘m not refusing, dearest. go on.“, black hands got a hold of your ass and pulled you right on her lap. 

your breath hitched when your clothed cunt came in contact with her crotch. seems like your shameless staring did wonders to her cock already. impressive if you happened to be a stranger. but as her wife, the knave always had little to no self control for you. 

you let the tie hang loose around her neck before you moved over to the buttons of her shirt. arlecchino did not stop you.

„my, are you in a haste?“

„no, i just-“

„hands off then. i‘d like to see if you‘re wearing the undergarments i bought you last week. go on.“, a black hand engulfed yours to stop you from proceeding any further and the sudden change in her tone caused your pussy to throb, oh you were so incredibly underfucked lately.

and it has only been two weeks since the last time she took you to bed.

but truth be told, you were in fact not wearing any pretty lingerie today when you pulled up the skirt of your dress because who in their right mind would think they’ll get pulled into their husband’s mindscape in the middle of a highly confidential meeting???

she only clicked her tongue, eyes displaying the obvious disappointment at the sight of your plain white panties. with a visible stain.

„a shame… i was looking forward to how the purple lace would compliment your pretty body, my flower… but alas…“, she wasted no time with rubbing her thumb over the damp spot on the cotton, tickling a gasp right out of your mouth, „i‘d take my wife wearing anything.“

those words were followed by your slip being pulled aside and caused your heart to set out for a beat, her fingers were quick to run through the slickness covering your folds.

„hah… a-anything…?“, you couldn‘t stop your hips from pushing further into her hand, fingers dancing around your aching hole. oh, she was teasing you. maybe even making you beg for it.

„ma cherie, i would show you seven different ways to heaven even if you wore a trashbag in front of me.“, tone as hard as a rock (also as something else…) and you knew she wasn‘t playing around. she was never playing around when you were involved. may the shogun strike her down if she ever lied to you.

her words caused your stomach to flare up, heat shooting up right into your cheeks at how serious she actually was before you felt her two fingers sliding into your pussy. 

„a-ahh… y-you didn‘t even let me answer-“, you bit down on your lower lip at the feeling of her digits feeling your insides up for that certain spot, yet her face was unmoved. observing you. a wolf stalking its prey right before the deadly bite.

„right, where did my manners go… it is almost like my wife hasn’t been undressing me with her eyes for the entirety of this evening.“, a shiver bolted through your body as arlecchino aimed for that neatly hidden spot, sending bolts of of ecstasy down your spine.

„it is no secret to me that that my dear wife secretly wishes for much more… filthier fantasies.“

you thought you were hallucinating for a short moment before you felt it. a pair two hands- much bigger hands- working their way from your shoulder down to your breasts. hands carrying a curse with bloody lines for skin that dragged the expensive silk of your gown below your tits.

oh god.

oh. god.

if you weren‘t already sitting in your husband‘s lap you would have surely lost your foothold. you would recognize that pattern anywhere.

„h-how-“, you gasped as her hands engulfed the soft mass of your tit, giving it a gentle squeeze.

„some questions are best left unanswered…  besides, i don‘t think you truly care about my reasoning.“, you almost overheard her words with how arlecchino‘s fingers were practically rubbing you into whimpering mess, nodding your head to her statement of which you only understood the first half. 

she was so twisted for that. so twisted and cruel for reading your fantasies like that. why did she always have to be so attentive to you??

„look at you trembling already, dove. say, does this situation arouse you, hm?“, an almost exhilarating whine escaped your lips as you felt her fingers giving your hardened buds a good pinch, only adding further to the knot in your abdomen. too much all at once. too many hands on you. too many words you have to process while arlecchino‘s fingers were working inside your clenching cunt, never missing a chance to go for that spot that caused your body to shiver and your hips to further press against her hand. 

„hah… i-it does- oh fuck-“, your first orgasm came crashing down on you like a bucket of ice water, straightening your spine and throwing your head back against what you thought to be your… other husband‘s abdomen as your walls grabbed onto arlecchino‘s fingers with no end. as if your body isn‘t already screaming for something more… filling.

like you weren‘t about to get the much bigger deal.

„so exhausted already after i merely used my fingers on you. i trained you to last much more longer than that, didn‘t i?“

the both of them hummed at your pathetic state. your exposed tits and their hardened nipples, your slick covering your husband‘s hand and sleeve and probably even her pants and yet you still looked… unfinished. as if as puzzle piece was missing. it was probably the lack of running mascara or your still very empty pussy that triggered their next action.

„i‘d like to allow myself the next turn now.“, a snap so crisp it could‘ve cut through time itself echoed throughout the bloody realm before fainting into a faraway whisper, when a yelp left your throat as multiple thicks string wrapped themselves around your limbs. especially your thighs, abdomen and both arms, lifting you off of your husband‘s lap who just… smiled at you. 

„now let me have a proper look at you, doll.“, and like clockwork your body was slowly turned around. breath catching in your throat, heart rate increasing and if your lungs weren‘t feeling too big for your chest right now you would have probably moaned screamed at the sight presenting itself to you.

you knew she was… bigger in this form. what used to be around one head taller than you now turned into around three whole heads. and you suddenly felt so small at the cursed hand working its way from your tits down to your tummy, her sprawled out fingers touching your underboob even tho she was pressing down a bit below your belly button. but most importantly was…

„wh-what is the meaning of this-“, suddenly you sucked in a sharp breath when you got moved closer to peruere, whose smile had something… sinister in it. yet it failed to scare you, only causing the painful ache between your legs to intensify.

you only heard their joined chuckles roaming through the mindscape, not mocking you. they seemed rather amused.

„my sweet doll.“, your throat bobbed when you noticed her other hand slowly unbuckling the belt, but what rather concerned you was what she was caging underneath, „you‘re not truly asking because you want an answer, right?“, she did not bother with removing the leather from its loops and only shoved the fabric just low enough to uncover her throbbing cock, the black tip already glistening with precum in the red gloom of the balemoon.

the strings kept you in a straight position as your left leg got pushed up to your chest to reveal your arousal running down your legs. the sudden exposure caused you to gasp and avert your eyes from the combination of her hard cock aligning with your drenched entrance.

your husband clicked her tongue in annoyance before a hand big enough to crush your skull with ease grabbed your face to make you look back down again.

„i want you to watch it disappear inside of you. i thought you were smart enough to remember that…“, she slowly pushed herself forward and therefore her tip right inside and holy mother on earth. 

„a-ah-!! o-oh shit!! that‘s n-not fair-!!!“, she was so big. you weren‘t even sure your poor pussy could handle that but you didn‘t even know if this was your actual physical body getting stretched out on peruere‘s cock in the first place. 

„shhhh… don‘t be so loud. we got someone to entertain after all. surely, you‘d want to do a good job for her.“, you moaned as you felt her sharp nails digging deeper into your muscles with each centimeter she further slipped into your greedy cunt. and you were losing more of your sanity with each of them, eyes darting around, unsure where to look. her stern expression? the noticeable tummy bulge? and why were you even still wearing your dress in the first place? that thing just hung loose around your waist for all it was worth. might as well just rip it off.

„oh, don‘t let my presence cause any distractions for you. i‘m more than satisfied with the view from behind here.“, her raw voice from right behind was laced with desire as thick as honey. you were honestly a bit afraid of what‘s about to come for *you* your pussy.

„goodness, she is tight… and so small compared to me.“, as if she wanted to undermine her statement, a black hand pressed down onto the bulge that formed on your, sending your mind down a spiral of ecstasy at the almost uncomfortable sensation. your mouth hung open, moans and whimpers freely leaving as they pleased before you felt the tip slipping past your g-spot and you probably never sounded louder.

a thumb rubbed circles over your aching clit as if in an attempt to further ease you around her cock.

„breathe, doll. we have done this plenty of times, surely my wife won‘t give into defeat this early on. i trained you much better than this.“, you could only imagine those crimson eyes roaming over your trembling figure, how the strings gently squeezed your flesh and kept you in place. the only ones that allowed you to mildly move around were attached to your arms, one hand currently grabbing for dear life onto peruere‘s neck to somehow anchor yourself. you knew she couldn‘t possibly fit all the way inside of you. but you wanted her to. you wanted her to use you like a fleshlight so bad, to drag you on and off her throbbing cock like you weighed nothing in her eyes.

„i think our pretty girl is pretty much at her wits end already… and i am barely halfway inside. but this will also do.“, a hand came up to tilt your head upward to face her when she carefully pulled back- to push herself inside again, „look at you, i just started moving and you are already threatening to tear up.“, she couldn‘t help but lick her lips at the pathetic sight in front of her as she brushed the salty fluid off with her thumb, only for them to grow glassy again when she turned the pace up once more. slick running down your leg as your vision grew hazy with her cock pumping in and out of your still adjusting pussy. you could barely hear arlecchino‘s words over the filthy sounds from your cunt.

„surely you want her to come inside of you. isn’t that so, lovely?“, she sounded way nearer than a few moments earlier before you felt a pair of soft lips planting themselves on your neck and two hands coming up to cup your pretty tits, massaging them, squeezing them. you‘re going to die of a heart attack here.

„i‘ll take that as a yes-”, she ended her sentence with a sharp hiss as your nail scratched over her neck hard enough to draw blood when you felt it.

it was a rare occasion. often it was caused by overstimulation or when arlecchino was actively trying for it, but squirting over her cock on your second orgasm when all she did was move her hips in a fairly medium-paced manner? it was embarrassing. the way you gushed all over her fat dick, pants and heels oh you will never hear the end of it.

„my, what a stamina you have today, dearest…“, long fingers sneaked from your breast down to spread your still leaking pussy apart, causing you to automatically grip onto your husbands biceps.

„ah-!! wait- i-i‘m still sensitive-!“, you started sobbing on the spot at how your poor cunt was only penetrated further.

but do you also wanna know what comes with a bigger dick? bigger loads.

with one last push of her hips and a low grunt emitting from her throat, peruere emptied herself inside of you, thick ropes of white painting your pussy and you were full of her. 

„mhm… get it all in there… gosh, look at that pretty pussy taking my cum…“, arlecchino pushed her two fingers inside as peruere retreated from you, a thick string of both of your juices connecting you to her tip before it snapped.

„p-please hold on- ah-!“, poor you couldn’t help but beg for a little break, you were just so overwhelmed with her fingers playing in your cum-filled pussy…

„what about your input?“

„huh?“

„your input, [name].“

you felt like somebody just straight up punched you right into the gut when you found yourself back inside the conference room. with all the attention suddenly focused on you.

„m-my-”, you quickly had to clear your throat with a few coughs, trying to ignore how beyond soaked you were, „my input on what exactly…?“, you masked it but you were fucking panicking on the inside. and your husband was merely raising an eyebrow at you. 

just then capitano leaned down to your ear, „it‘s about arlecchino‘s deployment in liyue for the next month, as her wife they want your opinion on the matter.“, and he still had that stupid braid in his hair.

„ah, thank you… i have no objections regarding the upcoming plans.“, that was all it took for everyone to take their eyes off of you. 

except for one person.

her x‘s were resting on you. piercing through your face as she crosses her arms.

that’s when you noticed the scratch on her neck. a fresh one.

[c0wboylikeharry]

BATHING SUIT SHOPPING (h.s)

(masterlist) || (taglist) || (requests)

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: after your luggage gets lost on vacation, harry agrees to take you out shopping to replace what was lost. but after you put on a little show, bathing suit shopping takes a different direction.

word count: 6.3k

cw: smut, dirty talk, penetration, oral, unprotected sex, spanking, exhibitionism

a/n: this is literally pure smut with a small backstory for context. enjoy!!

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

I’m going to strangle the person responsible for losing your luggage. The loss has threatened to ruin our vacation in Rome nearly five times—we’ve been here a total of 24 hours. They told us it’d take a few hours to locate the bag, and when they did, we found out it was heading to the US. Literally the furthest place it could’ve gone. But, hey, at least they tracked it down. Managing to get it back on a plane to us, you won’t have it until late this evening or tomorrow morning. But that just won’t do with you. Oh, no.

After your 5th breakdown, I had to come up with any kind of solution. Something to get you to take a breath and realize that this isn’t the end of the world. I’d already offered up the clothes off my back, but you grumpily refused. There was only one option left.

A shopping spree.

Only when those words left my lips did your whole attitude change. It’s not like you need to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe and makeup routine, your bag will be here soon, but you’ll take this opportunity to do just that. And my wallet is already cursing me out for it.

Walking down the small beach town, hand in hand, you’re practically skipping across the cobblestone. Shops litter the streets ranging from ice cream to jewelry and everything in between. I’m just glad you skipped right past that last designer store.

Wearing one of my old t-shirts and the sweatpants you wore on the flight yesterday, you look completely out of place. Adorable, yes, but also getting weird looks from locals dressed in their swimsuits and summer wear. You could care less, though, not even noticing their sideways glances as you drag me through the streets. And your careless nature is infectious, bringing a reluctant smile to my face when I’m supposed to be angry for agreeing to this.

Today was supposed to be a beach day, spent lounging on the sand and soaking up the warm sun. It wasn’t supposed to be spent wracking up credit card debt. I don’t even accept my fate until your skipping halts and you yank me into a store. It’s a small business with the smell of sand and sunscreen wafting in the air. With a mix of products in here, from tacky souvenirs to home decor pieces, I can’t seem to place why this is the store you chose. I mean, sure, there’s some clothes littered on sparse racks, but it’s not like the usual clothing stores we passed on the way. Doubting we’ll find anything of substance in here, you continue dragging me through the store until I’m proven wrong.

A wall full of bathing suits staring back at me. Men and womens, though bikinis are clearly favored here. So many different colors, patterns and sizes all thrown together in a dizzying mess. And you’ve already thrown yourself into the belly of the beast, scouring through the masses to find ones you like. In the matter of a minute, your hands are already full.

“Can you hold this for me, babe?” you ask at the same time as you drop the pile into my hands. And now my hands are full.

Searching through the bunch, I pull out what I assume to be is a string of floss. It’s thin enough to be just that. But, no, this is a bathing suit… Oh, Jesus.

“Sweetheart, you can’t be serious with some of these?” I speak up, dangling the dental floss bathing suit between my fingertips.

“What? It’s cute!”

You dutifully ignore my pained protests as you continue to toss more and more sets into my hands. Soon enough, I’ll be buried beneath them. Following you around like a puppy dog, finally—fucking finally—we leave the bathing suit section. But you only allow me to believe that we’re leaving for a fraction of a second. That hope is crushed when you steer us to the right—to the dressing rooms.

Great.

Now I’ll have to sit here for hours as you try on the mountain of stuff you picked out. This is definitely not how I wanted to spend our first 24 hours on vacation.

Plopping down on the uncomfortable wooden bench they have outside the curtained off rooms, I try to come to peace with my current situation. It’s hard. You seem quite pleased with yourself, though. Joyfully scooping up the hoard of things in my arms and walking your happy ass into the small room. I only allow the annoyed groan to leave my lips once the curtain closes behind you.

I pull out my phone to mindlessly scroll as I wait, hoping it’ll make the time go faster and help my brain forget about the back pain that’s sure to come. But I don’t get two scrolls in before the curtain is swinging open again.

Eyes glancing up, I immediately have to clear my throat at the sight. You’re standing there in nothing but one of the two piece bathing suits you picked out. It’s pink and white gingham with a tiny as hell top and scandalous matching micro shorts that leave absolutely nothing to imagination. You don’t even notice me staring with the way you’re too focused on adjusting the material in the far off mirror. If anything, it just gives me more time to lazily drag my eyes up your dangerously long legs, over the curve of your ass, and the swell of your beasts in that revealing top. Damn.

“What do you think?” You turn toward me, hands on your hips, clueless to my burning gaze from a few seconds ago.

“It’s nice,” I choke out, my eyes dropping down to thinly covered tits.

“You don’t think it’s too ‘cute’?” you ask that like it’s a bad thing.

“I don’t know what that even means, sweetheart. You look good, that’s all.”

You sigh like I’ve said the wrong thing and disappear back into the dressing room. Rolling my eyes at your attitude, I try to settle in on my uncomfortable seat as I listen to the sounds of rustling material from behind the curtain. Bouncing my leg seems to be the only thing that can keep me from going crazy out here. That is, until you drag open the makeshift door again.

This time, my groan stems from anything but annoyance. Now wearing a skimpy little bikini, littered with black and white polka dots, I’m surprised my jaw hasn’t dislocated and hit the floor. And when you turn—Jesus, when you turn—your whole, glorious ass is on display. It has me, literally, jumping out of my seat. Latching myself behind you, my hands grip your hips and use myself as a shield from anyone else seeing you like this.

“Jesus, baby, are you trying to kill me?” I practically growl the words, feeling your soft skin beneath my rough fingertips.

“Do you like this one?” you ask, acting innocent.

“Do I like it?” I pull away just just enough to land a good slap to one of your ass cheeks, watching the skin recoil. I physically have to swallow down a moan from the sight. Pulling you back against me, I squeeze the skin I just spanked. “I like it so much that I’m thinking about taking it off of you right now,” I drop my voice to a whisper so only you can hear.

“Harry!” you whine, digging your elbow into my ribs. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I!” I argue back. Grabbing your hips again, I align mine up against your ass, letting you feel just how much I truly do like this. “See?”

You scoff and pull away from my embrace. “You’re impossible.”

And then you just leave me hanging, sitting at half-mast in my pants, all alone in this shop while you change again. I sit back down and try to think of some not-so-sexy things to calm myself down. It’s uncomfortable enough sitting on this bench with no back support, but doing it half-hard is making it worse. Suddenly, I’m very eager to sit here and wait to see what you come out dressed in next. My knee still bounces, but for a whole different reason.

But you’re taking longer than usual. The sound of you changing has stopped, so I know you’re wearing a new suit, but you haven’t come out to show me. That almost angers me. I kind of liked this little fashion show we had going on. Well, more than liked it, clearly. Maybe that’s what’s keeping you closed up inside?

That just won’t do.

I stand up quickly, too on edge to care about how the bench skids against the floor from my abrupt movement. Making my way to the curtain you’re hiding behind, my heart speeds up as if it knows what lies behind it. As my hands slowly drag it open, I hold my breath, but it doesn’t last long. Expelling the hot air in one quick huff when I see you standing there.

Now this one has to be the best—or the worst, whatever way you’re looking at it. A tiny little thing, barely even there, showing off that body you know I fold for. Covered in scraps of leopard print like you know exactly what you’re doing. It’s torture even being just a few feet away.

“Are you trying to make me lose my mind?” I make my presence known, even though you probably already felt my eyes devouring you.

I’m quick to shut the curtain behind myself, blocking out anyone who dares to peek at you like this. Giving us some much needed privacy.

“Harry, what are you doing? I’m trying to change in here,” your voice sounds exasperated, like you’re tired of my antics. Like you’re not purposefully putting on this little show to rile me up.

I ignore your words and let my hands jet out to grip your waist, pulling you back against me. Just feeling your ass brush the front of my swim trunks has me hissing. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

My hands are frenzied against your skin, smoothing up and down your sides like they can’t get enough. And it’s true, I can’t. I never have been able to, and I still can’t today. You’re addicting.

I lean down toward your ear, watching you watch me through the dirty mirror.

“Now take it off,” I whisper, “slowly.”

“What? Harry, no—“

“Fine… You don’t want to listen?” I slide my hands up your ribcage, eyes locked on yours through the reflection. “I’ll do it for you then.”

In the blink of an eye, I’m cupping your breasts in my hands, feeling their weight in my palms like a reward. Squeezing, I feel you shiver against me, already giving into temptation. My eyes drift to watch my work, tweaking your pebbled nipples through the fabric of your bikini top. “God, your tits are fucking perfect,” I whisper my groan, not needing anyone else to hear what’s happening.

I grope and tease you some more before slowly pulling the top down, the fact that it’s strapless makes it easier. Your breasts come spilling out of the material like they’ve been eager to be free. I can feel your breathing turn shallow when my hands reach for your bare skin, and a shaky sigh leaves your lips when I squeeze your breasts possessively. I have you just where I want you.

My mouth finds your neck, pressing slow and sensual kisses to the skin. Licking and nipping as I continue to tease your nipples, marking you in every way as mine. One hand leaves your breasts, trailing down your body tantalizingly slowly. You’re practically panting now, right beside my ear. It only spurs me on. Reaching down between your legs, I cup your pussy, feeling the heat and wetness through the material.

“Looks like you have to get this one, sweetheart. You’ve made a mess in it already,” I tease, growling into your ear before taking your lobe into my mouth.

Your hips buck against my hand as a desperate whimper leaves your lips—the sound goes straight to my cock. I mimic your movements, thrusting my hips up against your ass, unable to stop the groan from leaving my lips. Leaving the warmth of your clothed center, and the weight of your breasts, I grip your hips in my hands again. Slamming you back against my front a few times, I watch in a daze, but I can’t get lost in it just yet. Instead, I push on your lower back, forcing you to bend at the hip and reach out to stabilize yourself with the glass. Just the sight of you bent like this, ready for me to do whatever I want with your body, could have me finishing in seconds. But for now, I sink to my knees behind you, holding your gaze through the mirror.

With a perfect view of your ass and covered cunt, right in my face, I’m a happy man. Leaning forward, I place two gentle kisses to each of your ass cheeks and then a few to the insides of your spread legs. All open and ready for me. Working my way up, my nose nudges your cunt, making you gasp and me smile. Your back arches, pushing yourself further toward my face, and my smirk deepens.

In one swift motion, my tongue darts out and licks a strip over your covered folds, front to back. Your unrestrained whine has me pulling back.

“You’ve gotta stay quiet for me, baby,” I warn, hands sliding up and down your calves.

I watch you through the reflection, nodding eagerly to my request as your hips move in a way that begs for more. Who am I to deny you?

I settle back in between your legs, reaching for the scrap of material you call a bathing suit, and pulling it to the side to expose you to the cool air. Forcefully biting back a groan, I focus in on your dripping folds, like they’re the bright light calling me home. With my free hand, I pull your lips apart, and I blow a cold breath against your throbbing cunt. Watching your entrance clench around nothing nearly sends me to an early grave.

I bring my mouth forward, my flat tongue swiping over your slit with no warning. You gasp against the mirror, and I have no doubt those dangerous lips of yours are now pressed up against the glass. Moaning again when I take another taste into my greedy mouth. A high pitched, needy little mewl that has all the blood in my body rushing south. Shivers wrack through your body when I circle my tongue around your clit, feeling it throb. My lips wrap around the bud and suck, just how you like it. Working you with a death grip on your hips to keep you stable.

The taste of you on my tongue has me feeling a lot less patient than I intended to be. I’m not sure how much more teasing I can give before I lose total control. My grip tightens as I pull you down closer onto my face, nose burying into your cunt as I lap and suck on your clit. I’m trying to get as close as possible, but nothing ever is with you. I’m not satisfied with just a little taste, I need more. More of you. I want everything. Having been craving you since we walked into this godforsaken store.

I pull back for a quick breath, muttering, “Fuck, you taste like a dream,” before diving back in for more.

My mouth is demanding against you, working your sensitive skin skillfully to make you feel nothing but pleasure. And with the way the mirror fogs up with your heated breath, I’d say I’m doing my job. I can feel the precum leaking from the tip of my cock in my shorts, making my own mess. But with your wet, little pussy pressed against my face, I have no plans to leave this spot anytime soon. Lips and tongue relentless as I eat you out the way you deserve.

Your legs are shaking in my firm hold, threatening to give out, but I keep you standing. Pushing my tongue deep into your folds, I circle your entrance with the tip of it, eliciting a harsh moan from you. I take no mercy, and your body is telling me you don’t want me to. But I also can’t have everyone knowing what’s going on in here.

Reluctantly, I pull back. “Baby, you know how much I love your sounds, but I’m not gonna let you come if you can’t stay quiet.”

You whine and whimper and everything in between to protest against the thought of me stopping. I reassure you by gently licking at your core just once. It has you shakily replying, “I-I’ll be quiet… I promise.”

“Good girl.”

And then I’m back to it. Sinking my tongue into your entrance with no warning, I lap up anything and everything you can give me. You keep your promise of staying quiet, biting down on your bottom lip with enough force to cause damage. Fucking you with my tongue has your hips writhing in pleasure, grinding against my face as you seek your release. “You’re a mess, baby,” the vibrations of my voice against your pussy have you jolting in pleasure. “Soaking wet and all spread out for me…”

I feel your thighs twitch and tense under my grasp, every muscle tightening up. Slowing my pace, I focus on the most sensitive parts of you. Swirling your clit and sinking into your entrance.

“That’s it,” I murmur, knowing you're holding yourself back. “You can let go, baby… Come all over my face like a good girl.”

My lips are back around your bud, sucking and teasing as my hands push your legs further apart. I flatten my tongue against you again and allow you to fuck my face how you want. Grinding your whole pussy along my nose, mouth and chin. Covered in your juices, the corners of my lips twitch upwards as you coat me. This is my happy place. Your hips move faster and sloppier, desperately gripping onto the flat glass with your hands to give you some leverage. Something to hold onto when your release crashes into you. I stay unmoving, letting you use me, other than the occasional flicks of my tongue. I can’t help myself.

Quiet cries leave your lips, too quiet to hear from outside, but loud enough for me to revel in. Soaking them up, my hands grip your thighs tighter, pressing my face as close as I can to your cunt. You’re so close, I can feel it. Teetering on the edge of madness, I do the one thing I know will send you toppling over.

Blindly reaching up, my hand smacks your ass with as much force as I can. Your hips jolt forward as a pained whine escapes you. So I do it again. Spanking the sensitive skin and then soothing the redness away. Over and over again until I feel your muscles contract, and your hips still. A muffled moan breaks free from your throat as you come undone. Moving again, I lap up all that you give me, tasting your cum on my tongue like a delicacy. My cock is straining to be buried deep inside of you.

I actually can’t take it.

I stand up abruptly, leaving you shaking and spasming, still obediently bent over. Not for long. Grabbing your hips, I force you up straight again and slam you against the too-thin wall next to the mirror. Facing each other now, I finally get a good view of your flushed face, still painted with your pleasure. Dazed eyes, blotchy cheeks, and swollen lips from biting them so damn hard.

I’d like to bite them too, I think.

So, I do.

Leaning in without any warning, I capture your lips in mine, letting you taste the remnants of your release on my tongue as I thrust it into your mouth. Swallowing up your moans, I bite down on the lip I promised myself I would. Soothing the sting with a graze of my tongue, my hands glide up and down your body without restraint. I can feel your pebbled nipples pressed against me, begging for some attention. Before I give in to them, I reach behind my head to whip off my ratty t-shirt, tossing it in the heap of clothes in the corner of the room. Chests pressed together, silky skin pressed against my own, and an exchange of heated breaths between our open mouths.

“You’re fucking perfect.” The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them, not that I would, it’s the truth. Cemented as I peer down at your breasts squished against my chest from our closeness. “One day, I’m gonna come all over your tits,” I voice my thoughts, making a shaky breath leave your lips. “But today I’m gonna do it in that sweet, little pussy of yours.”

You shiver and I smirk, reaching down to grab one of your thighs and hitch it over my hips, pressing my bulge against you. Your tiny little bikini has since taken back its residence covering your core, and the two layers of material are killing me. Not enough, though, to stop myself from rocking against you. I can’t get enough of how good you feel.

Feeling your arms wrapping around my neck, I push myself impossibly closer, grinding my clothed cock against your clothed slit. Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck, tugging on the strands to summon a groan from my lips. I need more and more.

Burying my face in your neck, my teeth graze the curve, scraping over your skin, as my hips grow desperate. I’m panting into your neck at this point, pathetically. Trying to get any and all friction against my aching length, my hips move faster, pressing you harder into the wall behind you. One hand on your thigh to keep you spread open for me, and one creeping up your torso to grip onto your breast like my life depends on it.

“You drive me crazy,” I mutter against your skin, gently licking a patch I know makes you feel the same. “Gonna make me come in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

Resting my forehead against your shoulder, I stare down at where our hips are making contact. Watching my bulge rub up and down your center, spotting the wet spot you're leaving on the front of my trunks; the hot sight has a shiver running down my spine. It’s so much, I have to grip your thigh a little tighter to keep my head on straight.

I need you. Need you on me. Need you around me. I need you in all the ways you could possibly give me. I’m not lying when I say you make me crazy.

“Harry,” you whine, bringing me back to the present. Only then do I notice how fast my hips have been grinding against yours and all the small moans that have been leaving my lips.

I lift my head from your neck to press my forehead against yours. “God, I love it when you say my name like that.” All you can do is whine in response. “Yeah? You need me that bad? Need me to fill you up, baby?”

“P-please,” you cry, tugging on my hair harder, until my resolve begins to show its cracks.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna fill you up so good. Gonna stretch you around my cock.” I’m working myself up more and more with my own words, slamming my clothed length against your heat. I’m surprised the wall behind your head hasn’t given away.

But the minute one of your hands leaves my hair to travel down my neck and over my chest, I lose all patience.

Pulling back just enough to grab at the waistband of my trunks, I unsteadily push the material down. Finally, my cock springs free, fully hard and throbbing with its own heartbeat. I grip the base of myself, feeling the heavy weight begging to have something warm wrapped around it. And I know just the thing.

As I pump myself, I use my free hand to slowly drag your bikini bottoms down your hips and thighs. Picking up speed as your cunt comes into view, I groan as I stroke myself, getting sucked into the sensation. My cock twitches in my hands, like it knows your pussy is near, begging me to speed up the process. Luckily, you help me by shimmying the bottoms down the rest of your legs and kicking them off to the side.

I grab your thigh again and hold it up against my hip, feeling the heat of your center aching for me. My hand never stills on my length, especially not at the sight of your glistening folds pleading to envelop me.

Gently, I drag my tip through those folds, spreading my precum and letting it mix with your mess. You moan unabashedly, letting your head fall back against the wall behind you.

“You feel that?” I say, keeping my body pressed up against yours. “Feel what you do to me?”

You nod, a whiney sound deep in your throat as you clench around nothing. I drop my forehead back against yours as I drag my tip up to your clit, feeling your sensitive jolt. I can’t help myself but to tease you, circling the bud with feather-like pressure.

You pull me closer, looping an arm around my neck and bringing me down for a heated kiss. “Please,” you beg against my mouth.

The pleading, desperate tone of voice has my hips thrusting up through your drenched folds, making us both gasp a moan. It shudders me, making me lose grip of myself and force me to hold onto the wall to keep myself up. You claw at my back, needy for more. So I don’t waste any time.

Reaching down between us, I grab my length again, wrapping my hand around it tighter. I moan low and loud against your open mouth, guiding my head toward your entrance. I’m shaking from how much I’m aching and holding back. My other hand slides up your chest, leaving its vice grip on your breast, and grabs your jaw instead, pinning your attention on me.

“You’re all mine, aren’t you?” I watch as every emotion passes through your eyes. Pleasure, lust, and adoration all swirled into one.

“Y-yes, baby,” you shakily reply, nodding against my restraint.

“Are you dripping for me? Aching?” I murmur, eyes dark and half-lidded as I stare back at you. Your chest rises and falls, brushing against mine, with every unsteady breath you take. You’re wrecked before I’m even inside of you.

“Always,” your voice is more confident this time. It has a wicked smirk growing on my lips.

I squeeze your jaw just a fraction tighter. “Such a good, good girl for me.”

The hand that’s on your thigh threatens to leave marks from its grip as I finally press my tip against your entrance, just barely pushing in. I watch as your eyes flutter shut as I feed my cock into you slowly, inch by inch. Gasping when you feel the first stretch, your pussy squeezes me the second I get just the head in. I curse under my breath, trying to keep myself from coming too fast.

“Sweetheart… You’re so tight,” I grit out between clenched teeth, holding myself back from just snapping my hips and burying myself deep inside of you.

Before you can get used to it, I’m pushing in again. My mind goes blank as I feel your walls milking and clenching around me. I trust you’ll keep your leg in place as I let go and move to press my thumb against your clit, hoping it’ll open you up enough for me to reach the hilt. You cry out and on the next flutter of your cunt, I’m sinking fully in. “Jesus,” I hiss.

I slowly pull my hips back, dragging out of you at a pace that has you squirming. It doesn’t last long. Not when my hips rapidly snap back against yours, making you jump and gasp. I do it again. And again and again and again until your gasps and whines are all that I hear. I drop my forehead to your shoulder again to get a better listen, feeling my deep moans rattle against your skin. It all grows when I feel your hips start to grind to meet my thrusts.

“Need…more,” you gasp, trying to get my hips to speed up. Your hands pull at me needily, doing anything you can to get me to comply.

I ignore your request, keeping the slow, languid pace instead. “No,” I say, fingers digging into your skin. “You take what I give you.”

But, despite my words, I do find myself moving faster. I can feel my pleasure building, feeling myself slipping into the daze, but I’m far from finished with you.

So, I pull out, just for a second. Doesn’t mean you aren’t crying out in protest, though. But I make quick work in scooping you up, forcing your legs to wrap around my hips and holding my hands under your ass to support you. I even give it a nice squeeze, so you should drop the pout.

I let go with one hand, easily holding you up with just the other, and reach between us. Grabbing my length again, I waste no time in lining it up with your entrance and sinking in deep. It’s a whole new angle, letting me hit deeper than before. Which means your cries of pleasure intensify.

Oh, we’re definitely getting caught in here. Might as well make the most of it while we can.

With you wrapped around my cock, I grab onto your hips again and hold you against me in the air, no more wall to support you. I take control of your movements, guiding you to pull off my dick and then take me back in. I do it slowly first, letting you get used to the movements led by my hands. Your whimpers tell me I’m doing good.

Losing control, I guide your hips faster and meet you with my own thrusts, slapping our hips together and definitely making our presence known. Your tits fly around right in front of my face, bouncing from the force of our movements. I can’t help myself from leaning forward to take one of your nipples into my mouth. Swirling the bud with my tongue, my eyes stare up at you to gauge your reaction. Your eyes pressed shut, brows knit together, jaw dropped with soft moaning breaths leaving your lips; I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

And I’m not sure how, but my feet find the purchase to move as I continue fucking you against me. Moving us around the small room until I’m facing away from the mirror and standing in front of a small seat.

A devilish and delicious plan forms in my head.

Pulling out, you whine and try to find friction against my abdomen. No words need to be shared to show my refusal, only actions talk as I unwrap your legs from my body and set you down on shaky limbs. With my hands on your hips, I flip you around, your back to my front again. And like deja-vu, I’m pressing your back down until you arch and take the hint to hold onto the stool in front of you.

Your ass is pressed up against my groin, wriggling around seeking attention and pleasure. I scold you with a fast smack against the needy skin, but it only spurs you on. Gripping both cheeks in my hands, I spread them apart, giving me the perfect view of the most intimate part of your body. I can’t help but to grind myself against you again, giving us what we both need.

“Are you gonna be good for me, baby?” I speak up, my eyes glued to your perfect skin as I smooth my hands up your back. Pressing you further down until you’re arched into perfect form. “Gonna stay nice and quiet?”

“Y-yes… Yes, baby,” you shakily reply, whole body shivering when I line myself up with you again.

I know how this position has you, so I doubt your promise. “We’ll see about that.”

With a bruising grip on your hips, I slam my whole cock into you in one fell swoop. And just as I predicted, you scream out. But I can’t find it in me to care. Not if anyone hears, or walks in, or—hell—if they call the cops. Being buried deep inside your wet, hot cunt makes every worry disappear.

“Fuck!” I groan. “You’re clenching me so hard, baby. So fucking tight.” I keep up a brutal pace, leaving my hips slapping against your ass.

Your ass that wiggles and grinds to meet my thrusts, desperate for anything I give you. My grip somehow tightens, guaranteeing fingerprints on your skin for weeks. It’s an effort to hold back and not just explode into you, release every bit of cum I know you’re desperate for, but I do. Though watching my cock disappear into your pink pussy probably won’t help my case.

Looking away, I catch sight of our position in the mirror, seeing your shaky legs and blissed out face. Not a good idea to look here either, but I can’t hear my gaze away.

“Look at yourself,” I demand, slowly my hips until I see your eyes in the glass, seeing what I’m seeing. “Look at the way I sink into your tight fucking cunt.”

My hips emphasize my words, picking back up where I left off so you can watch too. I’m entranced by the sight, like watching my own personal porno. It’s the best damn one I’ve ever seen. Eyes flicking to your face, I watch your jaw drop as you lock onto the contact of my disappearing length, watching me rock and slam into you.

“Oh my god,” you breathe the words, eyes glazing over and threatening to roll back.

So I smack you ass to keep you alert. Back arching from the painful pleasure, I sink deeper into your heat. Pants leave my lips as I force myself to tear my gaze away, staring at the wall ahead of me and trying to get my head on straight again. It’s impossible, though. With the way your pussy clenches around my cock, I know I won’t survive much longer.

“Shit, baby, you’re killing me,” I hiss out, succumbing to watching our hips connect again. “Feel me stretching you out?” You moan. “You’re taking me so well. Taking my big cock deep inside.”

“I-I’m gonna come!” You yell, far too loudly for my liking. It has me leaning over your body and clamping my hand over your mouth to keep you silent. But it also changes the angle once again, leaving me to repeatedly hit up against that spongy spot inside of you. You scream into my hand, hips meeting mine with a greedy desperation.

I’m losing myself here, leaning my forehead against your back as I try to keep myself from coming. At least until you do. Reaching between us and grabbing at your bouncing tits might not have been the best idea for that. A strangled groan leaves my lips as I struggle to keep my hips at an even rhythm. Groping and squeezing at your supple flesh, your hot breath hits my hand almost erotically.

And with one pinch of your nipple, you’re a goner.

I feel your back arch up against mine, straining your muscles as you come—hard. My hand isn’t enough to silence your screams, a mix of curses and my name tumbling from your lips as you’re overcome with pleasure. I feel it around me, pulsing and sucking and getting impossibly wetter as I continue to drive into you. It forces me to let out my own stream of curses against the skin of your back, my eyes pinched shut with immense pressure.

“Fuck, baby… So good. So fucking good coming on my cock like that—shit! I’m gonna fucking come. You’re so tight, trying to milk me, baby. Fuck!” the words tumble out of me without a second thought, slipping under the wave of pleasure.

You're still spasming around me as I pull out just before I come, and my whole body screams in protest. You whine from the abrupt loss, but with a clearer head, you’d be thanking me.

Taking my cock in my hand, I stroke myself to the same rhythm I was just fucking you with. Keeping my eyes trained on your cum dripping cunt, I pretend I’m still buried to the hilt. Streams of moans and grunts escape me as I watch your legs threaten to buckle and your juices drip down the apex of your thighs.

I did that, I think, I wrecked you.

That thought and this sight is what sends me over the edge, gasping out as I feel my muscles tighten. Transfixed by the sight of my hot, white, beaded cum shooting out of my tip and landing on your lower back and ass. I swear I could come again and again over that alone. Watching my mess drip down your body and paint your back like a masterpiece.

Fuck.

I take back what I said before.

I’d like to thank whoever is responsible for losing your suitcase, because without them, this wouldn't have just happened.

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taglist: @tpwkmr @alex-voiddome @butdaddyiloveh1m

[trevorsturnioloappreciator]

If You Want To

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

-matt and readers first date ends with her on top of him in his living room

cw: minors dni making out, dry humping, praise kink, pet names and use of “good girl”, a little dirty talk, no use of y/n, one mention of Matt knocking someone out and one mention of throw up and someone dying but its just a thought :D

a/n: continuation of Vigilante this one is very fluffy then it gets a lil smutty at the end, the blue text in the beginning are text messages, not many warnings this is pretty mild

also the title is from the beabadoobee song and the notes of cologne i described are versace’s dylan blue it’s one of my favs and gives Matt vibes

˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚ ˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚ ˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚˙༓࿇༓˙˚

A day has passed since your unexpected meeting with Matt, the entire time since has consisted of you typing out a message, rereading it, deleting all of it then promptly throwing your phone away from you.

It was sort of silly how nervous you were to reach out when it had been his idea to give you his number, but you were worried maybe it was simply a courtesy, he could’ve thought you’d need someone to recount how you got home, or you may have choked on your vomit, died in your sleep and the police would need him to explain his connection.

Your spiraling thoughts make you take a deep breath, you knew you were a bit of an over-thinker but even you found this train of thought to be utterly ridiculous. That small realization might have been the reason you crossed your room to where your phone lay on the carpet.

The text was nothing special- hey, Matt, it’s me, from the club the other night :)

You’d rather start off boring as opposed to overbearing and maybe reveal too much of your personality, more than you already did asking the guy to carry you to bed like a baby. Shaking the thought from your head and tucking your red face into your hands, you think about how different you acted that night, not different like you were playing a character, different in the way that you weren’t playing a character.

Maybe it should’ve concerned you how easily he endeared himself to you, if it wasn’t for the context in which you two met and the way the rest of the night played out, you would think he was just some serial charmer, working you over before moving onto the next one.

Something about Matt made you feel comfortable enough to let go of the barriers you put up when you’re with anyone else. Just as you start to lose yourself in your thoughts about the brunette boy, you hear your phone chime. He replied, he replied and for some reason you’re entirely shocked that he would even text you back.

Hey there, it’s good to hear from you! How are you feeling?

Reading Matt’s text makes you smile. To think that he still cared enough to check up on you, his character showed even through the phone. You reply back to tell him you woke up feeling disoriented, but you did at least remember the events of the previous night.

You also can’t help but let him in on how sweet and thoughtful it was of him to leave his number, you don’t let him know this part but you had fallen asleep, hearing him lock your door behind him, with the lingering thought of how foolish it was that you hadn’t asked for a way to contact him. Matt’s reply is swift;

I have to admit, I left my number for my own selfish reasons. I would’ve been kicking myself for the rest of my life if that was the last time i saw you.

This message has your face burning, cheesy smile splitting your face, you can’t think of a reply fast enough as you fall heavily onto your bed and roll to your stomach. Kicking your feet behind you and staring at the words on your screen, you feel emboldened by his admission.

i was too nervous to tell you, but after you left i regretted not getting your number, was worried i wouldn’t see you again… would you maybe want to go on a date with me?

Now you’re really feeling nervous butterflies, your blush moving to your chest as you await his reply, tucking your face into your folded arms. When the beep of a notification goes off a couple of seconds later, you can’t get yourself to look.

The fear of rejection when you first texted him paled in comparison to how your palms sweat and heart raced thinking of his response. After a minute of stalling, you finally pick up your phone to read the response.

I’m relieved you didn’t take me leaving my number the wrong way, I thought you might take me for a creep. I would love to take you on a date :) When are you free next?

A soft giggle bubbles out of you, a giddy feeling rolling in your stomach as you bite the tip of your finger, thinking about Matt on the other end of the line. Flopping onto your back, phone laying on your chest, you wonder if he’s feeling the same way you are, maybe he’s out driving around or he could be sitting at a desk somewhere diverting his attention between work and you.

Checking the clock you see it’s nearing 8 PM, but it’s a Friday so you text back to tell Matt you’re free all day tomorrow, asking if that would work for him. When Matt texts you back all he says is;

I’ll pick you up at noon tomorrow?

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Waking up around 8:00 is pretty unfitting for you but you’re absolutely buzzing for your date. After Matt’s text setting the time of your meeting you both continued chatting for a bit, agreeing together to go out for lunch.

You were excited that you wouldn’t have to wait around until dinnertime like you usually would for a date, anyways you were infinitely more excited for this one than any date you’ve been on before.

Thoughts swirl of what you’ll wear and how Matt will look when he picks you up (address still logged in his Apple maps, so it was the obvious option) while you make a morning coffee. You wistfully move around your apartment, performing your morning routine as if you’re in a fairytale, head in the clouds.

As the time nears closer and the nerves once again set in, you take a long, hot shower, spending time on your skincare regime, way more time than you usually would. You even decide to crack open the expensive body oils and tinctures you keep for special occasions. Slipping on your silk robe and wringing the water from your hair, you move to your vanity, clicking on the lights around your mirror.

You apply a light smattering of makeup; curling your lashes, lining your eyes with a neutral shadow and finishing off with your favorite lipgloss, before drying and styling your hair. Slipping off your robe, you spread on a lightly scented lotion, rubbing your everyday fragrance oil from your wrist to the pulse points on your neck as well as your hips and shoulders.

Deciding to keep your outfit casual, but still elegant, you pull a mini, lace a-line dress off it’s hanger. Pairing it with a slightly cropped cardigan, buttoning it just once before slipping on some chunky socks with your favorite shoes. You top off the look with your everyday jewelry and a thin cream bow in your hair.

Checking your phone, you see a text from Matt letting you know he’s leaving now and will be arriving in the next twenty minutes, you open your purse throwing in your keys, wallet, and a small bag of makeup for touch ups, along with some other essentials you like to always have on hand. Straightening out your dress, taking a last look in the mirror and adding a light spray of perfume before gingerly walking to your apartment’s lobby to wait for your dates arrival.

As soon as Matt’s contact lights up your phone screen with a call all the nervous jitters return to you, being slightly forgotten with how busy you were to perfect your look and make sure you felt as confident as possible before leaving your front door, they’ve now come back with a vengeance.

You clear your throat before bringing the phone to your ear. “Hi, I’m in the lobby, are you outside?”, you’re pleased at how steady your voice comes out, trying not convey just how much you had been overthinking.

“Hello! I’m actually walking up to the door right now, I’ll see you soon, okay?”, his words bring a smile to your face, of course he’s not the kind of guy to make you search for his car in the parking lot. Before you can even reply you see Matt pulling open the door to your building, a blinding smile and a wave of his hand greeting you.

“Matt! Hi, it’s really good to see you… I can’t lie I was sort of nervous, seeing you I feel a lot better.” Pairing your words with a shy smile, you walk over to meet Matt as he walks over to you, he looks incredible wearing a thick black sweater, falling just above the waistline of his dark-wash jeans, paired with a black fiddler’s cap. The sleeves of his top are rolled slightly to show off his scatter of tattoos, the entire look leaves you blushing.

As you take one more timid step closer to him, he holds open his arms, confidently coming to stand right in front of you welcoming you into a hug. All the tension you felt melted away as you accept his invitation, moving to wrap your arms around his waist, his coming to lock around your shoulders.

“Hey there, ya look beautiful, no need to be nervous. ‘S really good seeing you too.”

Your smile never leaves your face as you keep your face nestled into his chest, surrounded by the scent of him. It was something you hadn’t remembered until it was presented to you again, his cologne, it was slightly oceanic. Notes of something airy, but deep, a subtle spice while still having a citrusy freshness to it.

Feeling the side of his face pressing down on top of your head and the way his right hand sits heavily in between your shoulder blades makes you forget that you’re supposed to move from this spot, that Matt didn’t come here just for a long hug and that you two were supposed to be heading on to continue your day.

Matt slightly steps back, keeping his hands on your shoulder as he smiles down to you, “Ready to go?” You nod up to him and reach up to take his hand off your shoulder and lacing your fingers through his, cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling. Matt’s own smile brightens at your gesture, taking one last long look over your figure before gesturing with his head for you to follow him out to the car.

You’re now both seated at a quaint diner you always walked by but never stopped at. The short drive from your apartment had been filled with Matt’s playlist (you noticed the title; Soft) humming quietly through the car, the both of you exchanging shy smiles and fleeting glances, and still your butterflies persisted; but they had calmed from the anxious variety to a subtle, exciting, murmur.

“So… what made you finally message me, I was sittin’ around all that time, waiting for ya.”, Matt’s words are said with an impish expression, jovial smile playing at his features. Once again you felt that pull, like you couldn’t lie to Matt if someone paid you, if it was anyone else this might have annoyed you but something about this boy, and the spell it seems he’s putting you under, does nothing to deter you.

“Honestly? I was kind of embarrassed about how we met, I mean you carried me to bed.” Your words are followed by a sheepish chuckle which Matt enthusiastically returns,

“C’mon you don’t have to be embarrassed about that, I actually happened to enjoy tucking you into bed.” his words are teasing but the smile he’s flashing you is warm and sincere.

Leaning onto his elbows on the table between you, getting a bit closer to your face, he looks down to your lips as he continues speaking, “Carrying you to your room might’ve been my favorite part, wouldn’t mind doing it again… Y’know, if you ever need me to.” As he says this, he reaches out to take your hand into his own, “I’m glad it was me that night, I- I just mean… I’m glad I know you now.”

Listening to his words, entranced by the way he speaks, with only one thought running through your mind. Like your mouth has a mind of its own, you blurt out; “Can I kiss you?”

The instant heat to your face and the change on his face, mouth dropping slightly, still with the same smug smile, makes you widen your eyes.

What is it about this guy that makes me want to embarrass myself?!?

“I-“, before you can get a word out, Matt’s eyes soften. Examining you for a second, he puts his free hand to your jaw, leaning just a bit closer to capture your lips in a deep kiss.

It was incredible. Slow and easy, it’s not the kind of kiss that leads to something else, he’s kissing you like it’s all he wanted, like he could just do this forever, his nose brushing against you as he moves with the way you do, tongue just barely brushing your lips as if he’s introducing you to the way he kisses, it’s making you melt.

The minute he pulls away, you feel yourself tilting forward to chase his lips. You, as well as Matt’s large hand on your cheek, stops your movement. The look in his eyes is heavy, his thumb strokes softly against the apple of your cheeks, never breaking eye contact with you while you feel your head get fuzzy, focusing on the way he licks his lips.

“Y-you’re really good at that…”, you giggle as you say it, no longer concerned with feeling stupid around him. Matt moves the hand on your cheek up to your hair, smoothing down where your locks had fallen into your face, beaming at your words.

“How’d you guess flattery works so well on me?”, he’s now moving to the other side of the booth to sit next to you. Matt doesn’t let go of your hand, just lets your locked fingers rest on his leg between you two. Smirking down at the way you’re blushing for him, he leans down to whisper closer to your ear, “Wanna get out of here?”

Turning your head to face him, your nose brushes his face he’s that close. “Yes, please…”, you nod and squeeze his hand lightly. Matt stands up and leads you out to his car, holding the door for you on your way out.

Matt asks if you’d like to go back to his place, saying it’s only fair since he got to see your bedroom already. Of course, you agree. Your lips are still tingling from his kiss, the hand he was previously holding yours with, is now squeezing your thigh as he drives. You thought the feelings you had for him before were intense, but now you almost feel like you’re gonna explode if you don’t get your lips back on his.

Pulling into Matt’s garage, he turns to meet your eyes, “We’re here, my brothers are home, you can meet ‘em if you’d like?”, you nod at his suggestion, “I would love to.” You can’t seem to wipe the smile from your face.

The second the door shuts behind you a voice calls out from the top of the stairs, “Matt? Is that you?”, to which Matt responds back affirmatively. “How’d the date go, bro?!”, the voice nears, then a head of shaggy hair and a backwards cap pops over the banister, looking down to you two.

“Oh-“, the boy says as he now takes notice of your presence as Matt leads you up the steps. “Sorry, hi, didn’t realize Matt had company.” the boys look changes from surprise to a cheeky smile, wiggling his eyebrows. Matt scoffs and turns to you shaking his head, before shooting a look up at his brother, “Jesus, Chris have a little decorum, dude.”, as you reach the living room and come face to face with who you now can identify as Chris, Matt moves his free hand between you two, “This is my brother, Chris, he wasn’t dropped or anything he’s just like that.”

This sentence spurs Chris into a raucous laughing fit, you can’t help but join as he breathlessly says; “God, you are funny, isn’t he funny?”, Matt is now rolling his eyes, but he can’t deny the smile stretching over his face as he gently tugs your hand, leading you to sit on the couch.

Chris is on one side of the sectional sitting heavily into the cushions, still trying to catch his breath. Matt stands in front of you where you’re perched politely on the edge of the seat, posture perfect, like you’re trying to make the best first impression.

“You can get comfortable, take your shoes off if you’d like, want anything to drink?”, his reassurance is helping ease your nerves, it’s not that you’re uncomfortable, you just always felt a little awkward when in a new place with new people. Shooting a thankful smile to Matt, you slide back in the sofa to slump further against the backrest. “Yes, please, uhm I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

When Matt leaves your side to walk into the kitchen, you toe off your shoes, moving them to the side of the couch and out of the way. Chris sits up, resting his elbows on his knees and turns to look at you, as you tuck your leg under yourself, getting more comfy in your seat. “So how’d you guys meet? This kid doesn’t tell me anything.”

Laughing lightly you look over to Chris, “It’s sort of a crazy story, uh, he saw me outside that club downtown, uhm this guy was trying to get me to leave with him and your brother came up, knocked the guy out and ended up driving me home…”, you blush relaying the story.

Chris’ mouth drops open and he straightens up, looking behind you to where Matt is. “Okay so that’s why your knuckles were busted and you came home in the middle of the night, Batman! I’m telling you this guy is more tight-lipped than the secret service.”, he shakes his head in awe, “That’s insane, are you okay? Sounds pretty scary.”

You nod as you see Matt coming back to the couch, handing you a glass of water as he settles into the cushion right next to you, throwing his arm over the couch behind you. “Yes, yeah, everything’s fine now, just… probably shouldn’t go back to that club.”, you mumble out the last part and Matt moves his arm down to your shoulders pulling you closer into him.

“Nah, you should be able to go where you want to without freaks like that. Y’know our brother Nick really likes that place, if you ever need an escort. Plus he has the same face as Matt, but he’s way more vicious if you could believe it, that creep wouldn’t even look at you wrong.”

You smile at Chris’ words, finding out Matt’s brothers are just as kind and sweet as him warms your heart. “I guess you’re right, just, yeah it shook me up a lot. Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” you face your attention to Matt, who you noticed is already looking down at you, “Where is your older brother?”, the boy next to you shakes his head lightly, “‘M not quite sure, he’s always out, the total opposite of me.”, He finishes his sentence with a sheepish look.

Chris stands up while checking his phone, “Speaking of which, I’m actually about to bounce too, gonna get dinner with Sam.” Matt nods to Chris as he makes his way down the stairs, before refocusing his attention to you.

As soon as Chris is out of sight, you put your glass onto the table in front of you, with a new sense of confidence under Matt’s heady gaze, straightening up, you attach your lips to his, hand coming to rest on his knee thats bent on the couch between you. Your boldness must’ve caught Matt by surprise as he makes a soft gasping noise, instantly moving his hands to the sides of your neck and pulling you deeper into the kiss. This time it’s entirely more intense than your first kiss, which in comparison would be considered soft.

Matt’s kissing you like he’s hungry, like he has to kiss the air out of your lungs for himself. It’s messy and greedy, and you feel like you can’t keep up with his pace, but it’s turning you on in a way you’ve never been.

The feeling of being wanted so much feels so unfamiliar to you, the needy dominance he’s pouring into the kiss is making you feel lightheaded. Matt’s hands move from your neck down your back and to your thighs, he reaches under you and uses his grip to manhandle you into his lap.

Breaking from the kiss, you throw your head back, chest heaving as you try and suck in as much air as possible, before Matt is laying on his back, using one hand on the back of your neck and one on your waist to pull you on top of him and back to his mouth. A small whimper leaves you as you’re now sitting completely on top of him, chest pressed to his, and your panties are right on his belt buckle. You feel his hips rolling up into you, causing you to let out an embarrassingly loud moan, “Matt- Matt…”, he moves his lips to trail over your cheeks and jawline as you tuck your face into his neck, hiding the blazing blush over your face, “Fuck, so pretty…”, his voice is an octave deeper as his breath fans against your ear, his hands are all over you, rubbing up and down your waist, moving one hand to cup your jaw, pulling you back to look at him.

“So fuckin’ good, doll… Want you to grind on me, hm? Can you do that?”, your face is about two centimeters away from his, the way he’s looking up to you, his eyes pleading and your sparkly lipgloss shimmering on his lips and chin, you couldn’t possibly deny him.

Readjusting on his lap, moving to sit directly on his hard-on, causing Matt to let out the most delicious whine you’ve ever heard. “Mmm~ yes, yeah”, nodding frantically you sit up straight, hands on Matt’s chest as his lock tightly onto your hips, he doesn’t shift you, just holds on waiting for your move.

You start by circling your hips shyly, grinding down into him, feeling his jeans get tighter, it makes your whole body hot. Looking down, furrowing your brow and whimpering slightly at the sensation of him letting himself be used to get you off, “Fuck, Matt, so hot, feels so good, thank you~”, he groans deeply, squeezing your hips and bucking up into you. “Always so polite, huh? Good fucking girl, just how you need it, just take it from me, baby… Fuuuuck, got me so hard just from your lips….”

The way he talks to you makes your mind blank, hips stuttering as you feel yourself getting closer, “Can’t- Matt, ‘m gonna-“, your words cut off as you continue grinding down onto him, his hips still working under you, matching your rhythm even as it changes, Matt pulls you by the back of your head to kiss at your face, speaking in between each one, “‘S okay, baby, I want you to, want you to come undone, doing so good, f’me…~”

Your breathing picks up as you start to fist his shirt into your hands, hips speeding up as Matt grabs at you again, helping your movements by guiding you to grind deeper into him. “Uh huh, there ya go, sweetheart, are you gonna cum, baby? Just let go~ ‘s alright…”, his voice comes out right next to your ear as your face is tucked into his chest, muffling the strangled moans being pulled from you.

One last sharp thrust from Matt is what sends you over, letting out a loud whine, burying your head farther into him as you grip onto his sweater tighter. “Fuck yeah, good job, baby. Need ya to let it all out for me… thaat’s it… good girl~”, you feel one of Matt’s hands come to rest on the back of your head, soothing you.

Your noises don’t cease as Matt continues moving under you, your body going limp on top of him, “M-matt, too much, too good… please…”, the overstimulation on your sore clit makes you shake. “Okay okay, doll. You’re alright… Atta girl”, he smooths down your hair, patting your back as you come down from your orgasm.

You catch your breath while you cuddle into the side of his neck, your hands unfurl from his top as Matt keeps an arm wrapped around your back, sitting up with you still in his lap. “Y’okay, kid?”, he whispers into your ear, rubbing up and down the small of your back, using his left hand to push your hair off your face and tilting your chin up to look at him.

When you lock eyes with him, you give him a dazed look, smiling lazily. “M’okay, that… did- did you… finish?”, suddenly you start feeling shy again, which you know is stupid since you just rode this guy with all your clothes still on. Matt chuckles, his smile is sheepish as he speaks, “How could I not have, you’re a pro…” His teasing praise makes you laugh as you sit up a bit, playfully smacking his chest, “Stop.” you once again tuck into his chest, hiding your embarrassment.

“Okay, I’ll stop teasing. Seriously though you do not have to worry about me, ya looked so good, princess. I like seeing you all blissed out like that, you’re gorgeous.”, he leans into you, kissing from your cheek to your jaw, coming to kiss under your ear before whispering into it, “Can’t wait to see how pretty you look while I fuck you stupid.”, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his words.

part 3

[lucidrmss]

extra credit. I 3.3k armin arlert x reader

cw: 18+ explicit content minors dni, nerdmin x baddie reader, reader insert but no use of y/n, unprotected sex, female pronouns/afab reader, vaginal sex, oral sex, nipple piercing, possessive armin, bit of dirty talk. not all that in the first part tho

summary: No one saw it coming. Not your roommate. Not your on-and-off ex situationship. Not even the judgmental girl with a color-coded planner who’s clearly in love with him.

But somehow, the cardigan-wearing, note-taking, blushy boy wonder of your Comparative Politics class caught your attention. And that’s saying something, because you’re not exactly known for quiet crushes or gentle flirting — being a tattooed, sharp-tongued, braless baddie with a GPA just as high as your standards.

After a sketchy dude corners you at a party, Armin Arlert — the last person you expected — swoops in like a flannel-clad knight in awkward armor. That moment sparks a chaotic, and unexpectedly tender journey involving fake study sessions, thigh tattoos, jealous glances, and one painfully adorable nerd who may or may not be packing more than just a well-organized Google Drive.

Let them stare. Let them whisper. You’re not letting this one go.

notes: this is a repost from ao3 so if feels like you already read this before,, maybe u did,,,, just thought of posting here since tumblr is such a good community and as a reader many of my favorites fics and authors were here sooo.. heres my contribution. also english is not my first language and even tho i already read this so many times if u see a typo lmk. enjoy <33 extra note: i didn't have THAT NERDMIN in mind when i write this back in april but you can imagine him like this here or wtv but keep in mind it's a uni au.

You didn’t expect to end the night by almost punching someone in the throat. You also didn’t expect your knight in shining armor to wear glasses, a flannel, and smell vaguely like peppermint and academic pressure. But hey, life’s full of surprises.

The party is loud, the floor is sticky, and your ass looks amazing in these jeans. You know this because three different girls complimented you in the line for shots, and the guy you passed in the hallway nearly tripped over a beanbag trying to stare at it. Classic.

You're not drunk, not yet, but your buzz is kicking in nicely. Your hair is a little wild, eyeliner perfectly smudged, and your nipples might be piercing the air through your crop top. Not that you care — you didn’t come here to blend in.

"Tell me why the hell we're here again," you shout over the bass, dodging a shirtless freshman swinging a glowstick like he's summoning spirits.

Mikasa, holding her cup like it personally offended her, shrugs. “Connie said Jean might show up. I’m here to watch the drama unfound.”

“I’m not talking to Jean, I'm done with him” you scoff, because you are a woman of growth. Evolution. Maturity — and also because Jean ghosted you last week after asking for nudes. Again.

“Cool,” she says. “Then maybe flirt with someone else for once.”

As if on cue, your eyes wander — and catch on a very out-of-place figure near the kitchen.

Flannel. Glasses. Clean-shaven. Trying so hard to blend in and failing with Olympic-level dedication.

“Is that... Armin?”

Mikasa turns. Blinks. “No fucking way.”

Oh, but yes. It's Armin Arlert. the boy who sits three rows in front of you in Comparative Politics and types like the keyboard owes him money.

Armin who color-codes his notes and once offered you an extra pencil like he didn't get that you haven't brought one on purpose.

Armin who turned beet red when you answered a discussion question and said the word “penetrate” in a completely non-sexual context.

“Who dragged him here?” you ask with a little laugh, already sipping your drink like this is a nature documentary.

“Probably Connie,” Mikasa mutters. “He’s been trying to make Armin ‘social’ for weeks.”

And damn, you have to admit: it’s weirdly... working?

Okay, so the flannel’s still tucked too neatly, and his shoes are definitely orthopedic. But his jawline? Sharp. His hair? A little messy. And when he pushes his glasses up? you hate how hot you find that.

You're staring too long. you know it. Mikasa knows it.

“Oh no,” she says, grinning. “Don’t you dare.”

“Relax. I’m just admiring the academic aesthetic,” you say coolly.

Liar.

Ten minutes later, you’re separated from Mikasa, your drink is empty, and some dude with too much cologne and not enough social awareness is blocking your path to the kitchen.

“You come here a lot?” he asks, his breath hot with tequila and regret.

You smile politely. “Nope.”

“We should change that.”

Oh God.

You try stepping around him. He steps with you.

You’re mid eye-roll, about to hit him with your favorite line ("Do you come with an off switch?"), when a voice cuts in.

"Hey. there you are."

You blink.

The guy blinks.

Armin freaking Arlert slides up beside you like he’s done it a hundred times, placing a gentle but possessive hand on your waist like it belongs there. He turns to the guy with a smile so polite it might be a threat.

“She was looking for me. Thanks, though.”

The guy hesitates. Scowls. But Armin doesn’t budge — and something in those soft blue eyes says do not test me, I read about ancient wars for fun .

Creep backs off. Retreats. Gone.

Silence.

You turn slowly, Armin’s hand drops from your waist like it burned him. His ears are red. His pupils are wide.

“I’m sorry if that was weird,” he says in a rush. “You looked—he looked like—like you weren’t enjoying—uh—I thought—”

“You thought right.” you raise an eyebrow, letting your smirk play out slow. “Nice timing, Arlert.”

He laughs nervously, scratches the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to, uh, interrupt. I was just passing by and—”

“You weren’t interrupting. you were rescuing. Big difference.” your eyes travel over him, curious. He’s still blushing, but something about him is... steady. Calm. Kind.

Maybe you’re still buzzed.

Or maybe you’ve just developed a thing for quiet boys who do the right thing without needing a reward. Either way, your next move surprises even you.

 “So,” you say casually, leaning in just enough for him to smell your perfume — or notice your piercings. “Think you could help me with our next exam?”

He blinks, the song coming from the speakers ends and changes to a summer hit from last year, and the people on the makeshift dance floor cheers loudly.

“I... sure? I mean, yeah. Of course.” you pull your phone from your low-waist jeans, and stares as he types his number on it. shaking.

“Great,” you purr. “I’ll text you.”

And just like that, you turn and walk away, leaving him staring after you like you just recited the Constitution in a bikini.

Mission: Start Nerd Seduction — officially launched.

You don’t actually need help with the midterm. But you do need an excuse to sit across from Armin Arlert while licking the rim of your iced coffee like a menace to society.

so when he texts you back with a “Sure! I’m free Friday afternoon if that works?” you say

> Cool. I’ll bring my notes and wear something distracting.

You don’t expect a reply, and definitely don’t expect the little three-dot typing bubble to linger for two full minutes before he hits you with:

>Armin: Should I bring a calculator or holy water?

You giggle like a damn schoolgirl and toss your phone across the bed.

God help him. you’re gonna ruin that boy.

On Friday you’re in his room.

His actual dorm room, which smells like pinewood and clean laundry. There are three highlighters on his desk arranged by color, posters from Sci–Fi movies on the walls, little The Hobbits figures on some shelves and you swear the man owns more books than space on furniture to put it on.

“I like your room,” you say, setting down your iced coffee. “Very... untouched virgin energy.”

He pushes his glasses up. “Thanks?”

You’re already sprawling across his desk chair, legs crossed, skirt indecent. You watch his eyes flicker downward, then violently snap back up. Adorable.

“okay,” he says, pulling out a folder. “So, we’re reviewing chapter 5? The political theory section?”

You blink at him.

“Oh, right. Studying.” you lean forward, resting your chin on your palm, giving him your best wide-eyed innocent face.

Armin frowns like you’re a pop quiz he didn’t study for. “...did you even bring your notes?”

“Sure,” you lie, “they’re in my... bra.”

He looks like he might combust on the spot.

“Sorry,” you add sweetly. “too much?”

“Just a bit,” he mutters, already flipping open his book like it’s a shield. You let the moment hang in the air a bit too long — just enough for the tension to crackle — then settle back and pretend to pay attention.

But honestly? you’re watching him more than the textbook.

The way he twirls his pen. The way his voice softens when he explains a concept, you like how he ain't trying to mansplain it like you're actually stupid, just being patient. The way he blushes every time you hum in agreement.

You even catch him peeking at your tattoos when he thinks you’re not looking.

"So...” you say, leaning closer until your thigh brushes his. “Do you always tutor people like this?”

He freezes. “Like what?”

“Alone. In your room.”

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “N-no. I mean—no, I don’t. Usually it’s at the library. Or the lab. Or... never mind.”

“Cute,” you tease. “You're nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re literally shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

You pause. Smirk. “Want me to stop?”

He swallows hard. “...no.”

And there it is.

That glimmer. That tiny flash of something underneath the nerves — confidence? Want? Hunger?

You sit back, pretending not to notice your own racing pulse.

The game just got fun.

Ten minutes later, you both keep pretending to read the same paragraph while pretending not to feel the air buzzing between you.

That’s when the door creaks open.

“Yo, Armin—” a high voice cuts in, then stops. “Oh. Hey.”

You turn slowly.

She’s short. She’s wearing a pastel cardigan with two different shades of pink. A cute flower pin on her hair and an adorable smile that is slowly dropping. Terrifying.

“Mina,” Armin says, standing up so fast his chair almost flips. “Hey. sorry, I forgot to text—”

“It’s okay!” she chirps. “I just came to drop off the notes from last week.” Her eyes flick to you. To your skirt. To your thigh against his.

“Oh,” she adds, still trying to smile. “I didn’t know you had company.”

You smile back, a knowing smile while offering your name, “We’re studying.”

Her expression flickers. Just a second. Just enough.

“Nice,” she says. “Well... see you later?” trying to meet Armin’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Armin says, but he's distracted, his eyes trailing to you.

And when the door shuts behind her, he lets out a breath like he forgot how to.

“Friend of yours?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says too fast. “We’ve known each other since orientation.”

“Huh.” You twirl your pen. “She likes you.”

He chokes on air. “What?! No, she—Mina doesn’t—why would you—”

“Because she looked at me like I’m a pop-up ad that gave her computer a virus,” you say, deadpan.

He groans. “She’s just friendly.”

"Mm-hm.” You tilt your head. “You like her?”

Silence.

Then “I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

Interesting.

Very interesting.

You smile, wider this time. “Good. Because I’m very distracting.”

You do not need this men.

You’re not bored. You’re not lonely. You’ve got enough situationships to form a goddamn Avengers team.

And yet — here you are.

In the library. Again.

Wearing lip gloss and zero academic intention.

Armin’s already at the table when you arrive, notes spread out, glasses sliding down his nose. Like he didn't leave you wanting after last week's study date. You consider greeting him like a normal person. You don’t. Instead, you drop your bag, plop into the chair beside him, and whisper in his ear:

“Miss me?”

He jumps.

“Jesus —” he says your name like a curse, while holding his chest to calm his heart.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

He blinks at you. “I—uh—yeah. I guess.”

You grin. “cute.”

He coughs. You cross your legs, showing off your thigh tattoo. Half the guys at the next table almost fall out of their chairs. Armin doesn’t notice — or he pretends not to — but the flush in his cheeks says otherwise.

“Let’s start with Hobbes today,” he mumbles, eyes glued to his page. “You read the assigned chapters, right?”

“Define ‘read’.”

Armin eyes you, saying your name almost in a reprimand way.

“Relax, I skimmed it.” you pull out a pen. “Ready when you are, Professor.”

You don't absorb much of what he’s saying. Because he’s doing that thing again — the voice drop, the hand gesture, the “lemme explain this real quick” lean-in that gets unreasonably close. And he smells good today. Like fresh laundry and—god—was that vanilla?

You’re not okay.

“So that’s why Hobbes believes in the absolute power of the sovereign,” Armin finishes, looking up. “Make sense?”

You’re not sure what Hobbes believes in, but you do believe in Armin ruining your life. You nod.

He beams. “See? You’re better at this than you think.”

Oh. That smile. That pure smile. like he hasn’t noticed the chaos you’ve been trying to throw at him for days. Like he doesn’t know half the campus is whispering:

“Why is Armin Arlert hanging out with her?

“Did she lose a bet?”

“No way he could ever handle her.”

They don’t know that Armin looked you in the eye last Tuesday, tilt his head and said, “You should really stop doing that if you want me to focus.”

They don’t know that you’re starting to forget what flirting is supposed to feel like. Because this? This is more dangerous than your usual games.

And just when you’re about to lean in and say something stupid, like — you’ve got really nice hands – a familiar voice interrupts:

“Hey, Armin!”

You turn. of course it’s Mina.

Carrying two matcha lattes and an entire Pinterest board’s worth of optimism. she slides into the seat on Armin’s other side, all teeth and pastel and absolutely no shame.

“I brought you a drink,” she says, ignoring your existence completely.

“Oh—thanks,” Armin replies, startled. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” she chirps, and finally glances at you. “Hi”

You nod. “Mina.” A pause. You sip your coffee. She sips her matcha. Armin is sweating.

“So,” Mina says to him, voice syrup-sweet, “did you want to study together for the ethics quiz? We could—”

“He’s busy,” you say.

Mina blinks. “What?”

“With me,” you finish. Smile. “We’re reviewing Locke next. Very intense stuff.”

Armin opens his mouth. Close it. Prays for death.

“Oh,” Mina says, still smiling. “That’s... cool.”

You keep smiling. You’re both smiling so hard it might shatter the floor beneath you.

“I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow, Armin?” she tries again.

He looks between you. Her. Back to you. “Uh—sure. Yeah.”

When she finally walks away, you lean in close enough for him to smell your lip gloss.

“She’s in love with you.”

He rubs his face. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” you sing. “You could totally date her. She’s your type.”

He glances at you, then looks away. “You don’t know my type.”

“Don’t I?” You raise an eyebrow.

He hesitates. Swallows. look at you again. You hold the eye contact longer than necessary. Long enough to make him shift in his seat.

“I don’t think I like being studied,” he says softly.

“Then stop looking so interesting.”

—

On the weekend y'all at Jean’s apartment. Pizza boxes. Open textbooks. A Mario Kart tournament threatening to break a friendship or five.

Armin’s sitting on the floor, controller in hand. You’re on the couch, shamelessly watching him. the others are deep in a debate about which professor might be an alien, but you’re focused on the way Armin mutters when he loses a round.

“fuck,” he breathes under his breath. You almost drop your drink.

He catches you looking. smirks—just a little. and that is the moment you realize you’re in serious trouble.

because this boy? This nerd? With his quiet voice and his chaotic notes and his tragic sweaters? He might actually break your heart.

And worse — you might let him.

——

It's all fun and games until you start to have dreams about him. some very inappropriate dreams. involving library desks, a cardigan hitting the floor, and Armin’s voice in your ear saying “you asked for this study session.”

You always wake up hot and wet.

It’s barely 7 AM. You have a lecture in two hours. But your first conscious thought is ‘that mouth should be illegal’. Your second is to get it together. And your third?

You need to see him.

So you don’t bother with makeup. don't bother styling your hair. You pull on black sweats and a leather jacket and stomp onto campus with last night’s eyeliner and an agenda that has nothing to do with academic excellence.

Armin’s already at the student café, as usual — surrounded by books, headphones on, hoodie halfway swallowing his neck. He doesn’t notice you until you slide into the seat across from him.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” he says, blinking.

“That’s because I haven’t.” You point at your face. “Notice the sexy eye bags.”

Armin chuckles, soft and genuine. “You always show up like this?”

“Only for the people I’m trying to corrupt.”

He pauses. “So… just me?”

"Yup.”

There’s a flicker behind his glasses. You think it might be nerves. Or something darker.

You want to poke it. You will poke it.

“So,” you continue. “Tell me something nerdy.”

“...What?”

“Make me smarter. Ruin my street cred.”

Armin leans back. “Okay. Did you know sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart?”

Your heart makes a weird thump. “That’s… aggressively adorable.”

“And that an octopus has three hearts and blue blood?”

“wait, for real?”

“Yeah.” He tilts his head. “Still feel like corrupting me?”

You grin. “Oh, absolutely.”

It’s raining. There’s only one couch cushion between you and Armin. Your Netflix “study break” has now turned into a two-hour true crime documentary, and at least once every ten minutes you feel his thigh shift next to yours.

Your laptop is open. Your notes are not.

Armin stretches, arms over his head, shirt riding up just enough to expose that his damn V line. The one that’s haunted your sleep since last week.

You don’t mean to stare.

You just… don’t not stare.

And Armin sees it.

He lowers his arms, clears his throat, then glances sideways at you. “You keep looking at me.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I’m studying your anatomy.”

He says your name in a soft breath of warning, with big eyes, dilated pupils, lips parted.

You shift to face him. He’s closer than you thought. Close enough that the space between you feels like static — thick with unsaid things and half-bitten thoughts.

You should back off. You should laugh it off.

You don’t.

Instead, you whisper, “You ever think about kissing me?”

The silence stretches.

“Yes.” It’s so quiet you almost miss it. But it’s there.

“Yes?” you echo.

He meets your gaze. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t back down. “I’ve thought about it a lot.”

The air pulls tight between you. His lips are right there. He’s right there.

Your hand twitches, like maybe you’ll touch his cheek. Like maybe you’ll grab his collar and ruin every rule you’ve ever set for yourself. Because your mouth is five inches from his and it’s raining outside and—

A knock.

You jolt back like you’ve been slapped. Armin jumps up, flustered, knocking over a cup of pens. then race to the door before the moment can catch up to you.

“Oh, hey!” a feminine voice says too loudly. a voice you know well. How the fuck she always knows when you two are together. Mina has a fucking six senth for cock blocking or something? “I—I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop your USB from the group project. I checked and it has all the lecture slides on it— you left it in the lab.”

Armin takes it with a shaking smile, you could see how red he is from the couch. “Oh! Cool. Thanks.”

She peers around, eyes narrowing. “Is she here?”

“Yes.”

“Studying?”

Your eyes meet and you hold her gaze, while grinning “Eventually.”

she blushes and apologizes, giving Armin a rushed and tiny ‘goodbye’.

The blonde man closes the door with a sigh, and when he comes back to the couch, pretending like nothing almost happened, you start to think the universe is actually laughing at you.

Why can't you make out with your nerdy man in peace?

——

Later that night you’re alone again, lying on your bed, phone face-up beside you. You keep replaying his voice.

“I’ve thought about it a lot.”

You don’t sleep well.

And neither does he.

Because two blocks away, Armin is staring at his ceiling, hand in his hair, wondering how close he came to losing control — to kissing the girl with stormcloud eyes and tattooed skin and a laugh that lives rent-free in his skull.

The girl nobody thinks would ever want him.

Except maybe — she does.

part II>

[pencil-n-pen]

OVERWORKED

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

leon kennedy x fem! reader

summary: You’re still struggling with overworking. Leon shows you when it’s time to take a break.

master list | previous (not required but gives some context) next

cw: once again, female pronouns used but reader’s features are not described, some suggestive content, dom! leon much more heavily this time, very not subtle praise kink (use of good girl), pet names, tbh rating COULD be pg-13 but i don’t write nsfw so minors ur fine :) uhhhh non-sexual sub-space if you squint?

tags/tropes: once again hurt/comfort, cuddles, leon being touchy again (reader is just as touchy honestly) soft dom behavior (leon)

a/n: a little continued drabble for those of u who asked/liked the last one !! hope u like it @cherryandsugar <3

MY ELDEST DAUGHTERS WITH PRAISE KINKS MAKE SOME NOISE 🔥🔥🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️💯💯💯

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

You’re overworking again.

You don’t mean to, necessarily. It’s just always what you do. Work, work, work. It needs to get done, so you do it. No matter how tired you are, no matter how much you don’t want to do it. No matter how many tears get shed. It needs to get done. You have to do it. So you do it.

Leon’s been taking issue, with it though.

You’re not really sure what you are to each other, yet. He definitely finds you attractive —he tells you pretty much everyday, an almost overuse of words like hot, sexy, cute, amazing, and of course, his favorite; princess.

He occasionally comes over to the place you and a few other girls rent together and does his absolute best to be as distracting as possible. Sometimes he cooks, sometimes he gets touchy, sometimes he just sits on your bed and watches you work which is, in your opinion, by far the worst one.

When he’s not bothering you in the comfort of your own home, he’s sitting next to you in the couple classes you share, a distracting hand on your thigh that he squeezes when you get a question right— something that never fails to make you breathless and dizzy for a few minutes afterwards. Between the sight of his hand engulfing your thigh and the frequency of your correct answers, it’s a miracle you don’t asphyxiate during class.

You did come close, once. It was a week after what you’ve dubbed The Library Incident, and the professor had singled you out as one of his most consistent students when it came to turning in homework. Leon had leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and whispered, all low and rumbly:

“Good girl.”

You didn’t get a single thing out of the lecture for the rest of class.

(You’d then given him the silent treatment, but he made up for it by you sending you his rather extensive and detailed notes from the lesson with a single text: “Better learn to multitask, princess.”)

So yeah. He isn’t a huge fan of your studying habits. Something he’s made abundantly clear.

“When was the last time you got up?” He grumbles, walking into your room with your now full reusable water bottle. You’d abandoned it in the kitchen a few hours ago. He’s such a stickler about your water intake.

“Who are you, my mother?” You pause, looking up at the mischief in his eyes and the way his mouth is open, poised to say something, likely dirty. “Don’t answer that.”

You reach out with grabby hands towards your water bottle, which you know is filled with some delicious water combination, courtesy of Leon. Shit, he’s Pavlov-ing you into drinking water, isn’t he?

He rolls his eyes, handing you the bottle. “You know, you can make this exact same water yourself with the items in your fridge. Which I put there. For you. To use. Yourself.”

“You make it better,” You answer smoothly, ignoring his sarcasm. Ooooh. It’s minty strawberry today.

“Oh?” He says with a raised eyebrow, a signature Leon smirk on his lips. The same one he always gets when you admit to liking him in some way.

“You’re such an attention whore. Isn’t that why you came over here?”

“Ouch. So touchy,” He tuts, draping himself over your back and resting his chin on your head. “But no. I came over here to drag the lovely and beautiful and terribly stubbornly princess away from her desk because she’s overworking again.”

You tense. “I can’t, Leon. Not right now. I have to finish this.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“I get behind and then I can’t catch up and then I fail—“

“Woah, now,” He says, standing and spinning your desk chair so it faces him instead of your work. “None of that is going to happen if you take a break. We both know your work ethic is too good for that.”

You start worrying your lip between your teeth. “But—“

“Hey,” He says, a gentle, slow hand reaching out and brushing your lip away from your teeth. “None of that. Leave your lip alone.”

You wince. It’s a mindless action, the same way you pick at your hangnails and other parts of your skin when you’re stressed. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Just don’t want my girl hurting herself more than she already is.”

You ignore the latter part of his sentence and focus on the first. “Your girl?”

“Yeah,” He says, tilting his head and looking down at you with a small smile on his face. “My girl.”

You look down at your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. “I won’t be able to sleep or relax if I don’t finish this. It— I can’t.”

He takes the side of your face in his hand, thumb sweeping across your cheek and beneath your eyelid. “I know, baby. But you work too much.”

“But I have—“

“You have to, I know. I know you’re hardwired for independence and overworking. So how about this. Take a break, lie down in bed with me, and then finish only what you’ve already started.”

You start chewing on your lip again. “I—“

His fingers deftly move down to your jaw, grabbing it firm, thumb pressing on the edge of your lip and pulling it down, away from the merciless bite of your teeth. His grip leaves no room for argument, but you don’t feel frightened or scared. In fact, your stomach is doing flips at the careful, gentle control in the press of his hands and the fondness in his eyes.

“I know I phrased that very nicely, but this isn’t an argument, sweetheart. You need to rest. Your brain needs time to recharge. What happens if you get sick from all this working, huh?”

You decide now isn’t the time to bring up that you always work through every cold, flu, and fever you’ve ever had.

“Hey,” He leans down, catching your averted gaze. “Look at me.”

He could easily turn your head himself, his fingers still pressed against your jaw, but he doesn’t. He waits for you to muster up the strength to look over at him yourself, eyelashes fluttering.

His gaze is cool and deep when it meets yours. “I am not mad at you. I am not upset with you. I just want you to take care of yourself.”

His voice, gaining that low, rumbly edge when he ushers the words sends tingles up your spine. You sigh, letting the tension ease from your shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’ll try harder.”

“You’re doing just fine, okay?” He pulls you up by your hands, hand leaving your face as he tugs you over to your bed. Once you’ve sat down, he reaches back towards your desk, grabbing your water bottle from your desk and putting it on your bedside table. “You just need a little help sometimes. Everybody does.”

He motions for you to scoot over and you oblige, immediately slotting into what’s become one of your usual positions: arms wrapped around his torso, head pillowed on his chest.

“There we go,” He mumbles, hand sliding under your shirt, intermittently squeezing the place his hands always seem to find: the squishy, vulnerable stretch of flesh in between the top of your hip and the bottom of your ribcage. He rolls the skin there in his hands, a pleased hum rumbling from his chest. “Such a good girl for me.”

You shudder, hiding your blush by pressing your face further into his chest. A tingle spreads from your spine to the rest of your body.

He chuckles. “Aw, you like that don’t you? Did the same thing last time. Is that all I have to do? Is that what you need, baby?”

A small whine rip’s itself from your throat before you manage to tamp it down. Embarrassed, you try and hide your face further.

“None of that, now. Come on, let me see that pretty face.”

You shift, rolling to basically lie on top of him, bracing your hands on either side of him to lift your head, a small frown on your face and a not-so-small flush across your face.

He smiles, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “There she is,” He practically coos, “My pretty baby.”

“You’re baby-talking me.”

“Mhm,” He says, squeezing your cheeks. “You got a problem with it?”

“…No.”

“What was that?”

You drop back down, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your chin on his chest. “Shhh. I’m supposed to be resting.”

“Convenient that you’re listening to me now.”

“Shush.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t say anything more. He slips his hands under your shirt, palming the expanse of your skin. His fingers are hot where they press and linger, warmth spreading from the points of contact. You go limp in his hold, humming contentedly.

You’re not really sure how much time passes with the both of you like that— bodies pressed close, legs tangled together. It just feels so… nice.

You relax. You actually relax. A small part of you feels annoyed that Leon is your source of comfort and relaxation (muttered whispers in your brain whine about independence, about not relying on anyone else—) the bigger, louder part of you is so overwhelmed with how nice it feels to just… not worry. Even for a little bit. In moments like this your brain goes pleasantly blank: Leon will take care of it. You don’t have to worry, because Leon will take care of it.

The stretches of time you spend in what you’ve mentally dubbed Limbo have started getting longer. At first, you’d last five, maybe ten minutes before your brain would kick into high gear again; worries and concerns flooding your brain so quickly you usually jolt straight up.

But now? It’s easy to slip into it. To let yourself take a mental break. Check out from life for a half hour or so. And when you’re ready to get back to work, you do just that- usually a lot calmer than before Leon came around.

It’s addicting. It’s dangerous.

“How long has it been.”

“Five minutes.”

You blink your eyes open, frowning. “It has not been five minutes,” You reach for your bedside table, snatching your phone off and checking the time. “Liar. It’s been thirty minutes.”

“Is it so wrong to want to lay in bed and hold my princess?”

“It is when the princess has work to do.” You grumble, sitting off and rolling off the bed with a thud.

“It’s so unnerving when you do that. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No,” You say, hauling yourself to your feet. “It’s fun.”

“I don’t see how sustaining bodily injury is fun.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” You say, waving a hand in dismissal.

Loud shuffling and the thump of Leon climbing to his feet has you looking back. “You’re leaving?”

You can’t quite keep the desperation out of your tone.

He looks at you, surprised. “Usually you don’t like it when I stay while you work.”

“Yes,” You say, cheeks burning. “Um. Yeah. Right yeah. I have work to do. So.”

“Princess,” He says, his voice low and teasing, “You want me to stay?”

“No, no I have to work—“

“Uh-uh,” He says, crossing the room to stand in front of you, arms folded. “No lying. Do you want me to stay?”

You look down at your sock-clad feet. “Please?”

“Aw, well how could I say no to that,” He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “Finish your work. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“…Can we go get slushies when I’m done?”

“Of course, baby.”

You finish your work in record time.

˙⋆✮

[daydreams-after-dark]

Free Use Jail Cell, Part 6

MDNI // 18+ content

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 (final) | extra: Police Reports | extra: dinner date with Minho

full master list for additional installments

Police Officer Skz ot8 x female reader

Premise: you're arrested and held for 24 hours by 8 police officers at the local police station / reader has her fantasy play out.

Word Count: 3.8k approx (part 6)

Chapter Summary: You are at the mercy of Chief Chan and Officer Felix.

A/n: The time has come! Finally the Aussies have their way with y/n. I know so many of you have been hanging out for this chapter, sending messages and comments, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I know it was a long time coming.

Two things I need to mention, though. The first, I forgot Minho was a detective in the last chapter and called him 'officer' (do you think he'd be a dear and punish me for my mistake?), and two, I mentioned his clothes got soaked in the shower, but nothing about him changing into dry clothes. Let’s just pretend he did.

CW below the cut.

CW: where do I start? Frisking innapropriately, vaginal and anal fingering, photographing of injuries, pinching a nipple, spanking with a belt, handcuffs, bloody lip, hole inspection, crude language about how swollen and how much it's going to hurt, spit roasting, oral sex (m rec), cum eating, cream pie, size kink, name calling (cockslut, whore, babygirl, good girl etc, multiple orgasms, brief breeding kink, rough sex, soft dom moments from Chan and Felix, double vaginal penetration, color system (all green for go ahead), aftercare, angst (you'll see why).

>>>>>>>>

The time arrives for you to finally visit the chief and one his officers, Felix.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Minho says as he does up the last button on the oversized shirt he’d helped you into.

You nod. You’re ready, but nervous.

“Now, remember your color system, your safe word. You don’t have to do anything you don—“ he stops abruptly, coughing awkwardly as he realizes he sounds far too concerned than he should.

Flustered, he clenches his hands into fists and steps back from you.

Again, just like earlier, your heart flutters for just a brief moment, and you swallow hard. You can’t understand it. This is definitely not the context to be feeling things.

Detective Minho walks close to your side as you make your way to the Chief’s office, a protective hand on your lower back.

“Just knock and wait for them to answer.” He says stopping at the door. “Make sure you’re a good girl for them, okay?” He leans in to your ear. “I can’t wait to feel you again later.” Your eyes widen and your cunt clenches, but he walks away like he said nothing at all.

Knock knock.

You tap on the door and wait.

You only have to wait a brief moment before the door opens and you see Office Lee. Felix. He gives you a big, beautiful smile and ushers you into the office.

You’re taken by surprise when you’re immediately spun around and your chest is pressed against the wall beside the door.

“Gotta frisk you, love.” Officer Felix says sweetly. His hands are firm and deliberate as he pats over your shoulders and arms, the down the sides of your body.

“You’ll need to step a little wider, please.” He whispers in your ear.

You part your legs and his hand immediately drags up your inner thigh to cup your pussy, sending tingles through your body. You lean your head against the wall and let out a shaky breath.

“Need to do the internal now.” He says low and slips a finger deep into your heat. You squeak at the intrusion, but it turns to a low moan when he slowly drags his finger in and out of you. His fingers are expert, knowing exactly where that sweet spot is inside you. You rock back against his fingers and moan again.

“Hmm,” he says, “looks like you’re hiding a lot of creaminess here.” He reaches around, offering his cream-coated finger to your mouth. You open and let him slip it inside, pressing it against your tongue, and you suck it willingly.

“Now for the other pretty hole.” There’s a strain in his voice as he snakes his other hand underneath your shirt to find your ass. You whimper around the finger in your mouth as he presses his other against your hole.

The ring of muscle offers little resistance, and the tip of his finger pushes past the rim. Your eyes squeeze tight and your hands press into the wall to steady yourself as he begins to press his finger in further. Although your ass has already had plenty of things done to it in the last twenty four hours, the stretch still feels like a sweet mix of pleasure and pain.

With two fingers scissoring your ass, and a few shoved into your mouth, you’re on the brink of coming. You know that somewhere in the room Chief Chan is watching, even though you didn’t get a chance to see where he was.

Your moans are muffled from Felix’s fingers, and your cunt is leaking arousal down your inner thighs. You feel like a mess and they haven’t even started yet.

Your legs tremble as your pussy clenches around nothing, and you come, pathetically, just like that.

Felix removes all his fingers from your ass and your mouth, and wipes them on your shirt. “Good girl. Now we need to take photos. Come.” He grabs your arm and guides you to turn around.

This is the first time you see the room. It really does look like a Police Chief’s office, with a long, low coffee table surrounded by armchair couches.

At the far end of the room is a large timber desk, and sitting on the edge of the desk is the Chief. Chief Chan.

“Y/n.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling, his expression devilish. “Now you’re going to be a good little prisoner for us, yeah?” He stands up only to take a seat in the couch at the head of the coffee table. “Gonna let Officer Lee here take some good photos of your injuries?”

He settles into his chair. “Strip.” He commands.

Your hands tremble as you unbutton your shirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving you bare for them.

“Fuck.” Chan mutters under his breath. “So perfect.” He swallows hard. “Felix, get started.”

Felix pulls a set of handcuffs from his belt and secures them around your wrists in front of you. “I need you on all fours on the coffee table. Ass towards the Chief. He needs to see all of you.”

You climb onto the table, positioning yourself so Chan can see everything. He lets out a low hum, when he sees the red welts on your ass cheeks.

Felix retrieves a camera from a drawer to the side of the room, and begins to photograph and take note of your injuries.

“Those red welts would be from the paddling she received in the interrogation.” Felix says. Click. Click. “And this cut on her neck, was from Jeongin in the shower.” Click. Click. “Note, there’s also some minor marks on her wrists from various restraints.

“What about her nipples?” Chief Chan interrupts.

“Up on your knees, I need to check.” You rise to your knees and Felix reaches out to stroke your nipple, causing you to shudder under his touch.

“They’re a little bruised.” He tweaks the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then pulls away to take a photograph.

You look down at your nipples to see they are in fact bruised. You hadn’t realized how hard Minho and Seungmin had those clamps attached.

Felix continues to examine your body, photographing any marks or bruises he finds along the way.

“Chief. Would you like to do the honors? Y/n, back on your hands and knees. Its time for your ‘hole inspection’.”

Fuck! The words ‘hole inspection’ hit you straight in the pussy.

“Of course. Pass me your torch. Spread her ass wide for me.” Chan says gruffly, his tone laced with arousal.

You sense Chief Chan moving behind you, and the click of the torch. With a hand on each of your cheeks, Felix spreads you wide so you’re on display. You feel a surge of heat wash over you. You’re excited, aroused, and so fucking nervous. You’re loving being vulnerable like this.

You feel a pad of a thumb on your clit, rubbing harsh circles on it. You lean your head on the table, trying your hardest not to whimper. It’s difficult though. Especially how they’re talking about you like you’re nothing but a fuck toy.

“Fucking hell, Felix. Look at how used her cunt looks.” Felix leans in for a closer look, while Chan jams a finger inside your pussy. “Her lips are swollen. So red. Rubbed raw.” He says incredulously. “Chief? How’s she gonna take both our cocks. She looks too swollen.”

“Don’t worry, Lixie. We’ll make them fit. Every inch of us both.” Chan laughs like a crazed man as he tries to spread your hole wide so can try and see inside. “Look at that! She likes the idea of it being a struggle, she’s dripping wet.”

Chan runs a finger along your wet folds, gathering your creaminess. He’s not wrong. This is one of your fantasies. Taking two huge, throbbing cocks in your tight, abused little cunt.

You bite your bottom lip, willing the intrusive thoughts about how sick you must be away, and instead try to remember Detective Minho’s words. “You’re not a sick freak”.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when a loud harsh slap of a belt lands on your skin, hitting you where you were still tender from the paddling.

The sting is almost unbearable, and you bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood.

Another hit with the belt has you crying out, and the third strike has you sobbing loudly.

The fourth lands on your swollen pussy lips, and your knees buckle, causing you slip and land on your stomach.

Chief Chan doesn’t care, and he keeps landing more hits with the belt on your ass.

Felix gently pushes your hair off the side of you face and leans in, kissing your cheek gently.

“Remember you can use your safe word. What color are we on?” He stokes your back awaiting your answer.

Chan pauses his ministrations.

“G-g-green.” You sob. “P-please….need to c-come.” You begin to bawl your eyes out.

“Shh… it’s okay. We’ll take care of you.” Felix reassures you, continuing to stoke your back, and Chan rubs your cheeks gently, before landing three more strikes to your sore ass.

“Time to make the Chief feel good.” Says Felix. “Then we can make you feel good, yeah”. He helps you up but doesn’t uncuff you.

He turns you to face Chan who has resumed his seat in the armchair. He appears to like what he sees. You with tear streaks all down your face, and a bloody lip that’s beginning to drip down your chin, it seems to have an effect on him.

He exhales sharply, his jaw clenched and fists in tight balls on the chair arms. You know he’s going to absolutely enjoy this.

“Come. Down on your knees for the Chief.”

You kneel between Chan’s widespread legs and look up it him through your eyelashes. He leans down and wipes your lip, smearing blood across your face.

“You seem to enjoy pain.” He says low, cupping your cheek. You stare at him wide eyed, holding your breath. “Which is lucky, cos you should have seen your cunt just now. I promised Officer Felix we’d make it fit, but I’m not so sure you’re gonna be able to take it without it hurting.”

You gulp.

“Now,” His grip on your jaw tightens. “I need you to put this pretty little mouth to good use while Felix tries to pry you open a bit, yeah?”

He leans back in the chair waiting for you to begin.

You can already see he is big just from the bulge in his trousers, and when you release it from its confines you can’t help but gasp at the sight.

Enormous. So many thick, pulsing veins, and it's heavy. So fucking heavy looking.

You hold it tentatively in your still cuffed hands, giving it an experimental pump. He hisses loudly when you lean down and lick the slit of his cock head.

“I think you can do better than that.” He growls and grabs a fist full of hair on the back of your head, pushing you down over his length.

He pushes you too deep and you gag loudly around him. But he simply chuckles at your struggle and holds you there.

Felix positions himself behind you, kneeling and pressing his cock to your entrance. He holds your hips steady with one hand and pushes into you. Chan was right, you are swollen, and it is a big stretch just to accept the tip.

Chan loosens his grip on your hair, giving you the opportunity to show him what a good little girl you can be.

You sink back over his shaft, relaxing your throat to take him just that little bit more. He groans in approval and rests his head back on the couch.

Felix fills you inch by inch. It stings, yet it feels so satisfying to be stretched open. You groan, the vibrations from your mouth making Chan shudder.

Felix slams the last of his length inside you, taking you by surprise and making you choke on Chan’s cock.

He then thrusts slowly, allowing you to concentrate on pleasing Chan, but every drag of his cock inside you is bringing you closer and closer to another orgasm.

“I wish all pussies were this compliant.” Felix laughs. “This one’s opening up perfectly.”

He rolls his hips a few times, grinding against you deliciously, then snaps his hips hard, hitting your cervix brutally. He alternates between these actions, driving you crazy, sending you closer and closer to the edge.

Chan lets you do all the work on his cock, watching you drool all over it sloppily. Sucking, licking, gagging. You take as much as you possibly can into your throat. You use your hands where you can’t reach with your mouth. Every now and then he pushes your head down a little more, testing your limits.

“Fuck! She’s so tight, Chief. You wanna feel her? I’d love to come in her mouth if I’m allowed?” He thrusts into you hard. “I’m so close.”

“Mmm, yes, let me fill her little cunt with my cum, you fill her mouth.” Chan agrees.

You’re abruptly emptied of both penises and directed to straddle Chan on the couch with one foot on either side of him, and your back against his chest. He hooks his arms under your thighs and with Felix guiding Chan’s cock to your entrance, you’re lowered onto his length.

You whimper as your body stretches to accommodate him as he continues to fill you bit by bit.

You’re too full. There’s no way in hell you’re going to fit both of them at once.

Eventually, your ass meets his hips and you’re fully impaled on him.

“Fuck, yes. Such a good, tight, filthy cunt.” Growls Chan and he rolls his hips up against you while pulling you down as hard as he can.

You cry out.

“Shh now. Here.” Felix rubs the tip of his leaking cock against your check. You turn your head and open up to take him. He fucks your mouth a lot rougher than he fucked your cunt, pushing himself deeper and deeper into your throat on every thrust. It only takes a few minutes for him to cum down your throat with a pretty moan, his head thrown back.

It makes you clench hard around Chan. “Babygirl likes a belly full of cum? Good, cos she’s gonna be fed a whole lot when all the officers take her at once.” He says, pounding into you from below.

“Open up, love. Show me your empty mouth. That’s it. Good girl.” Felix is pleased when you stick out your tongue and show him just how hungry you are.

He removes the the remainder of his clothes and starts to fist his cock, working on getting it hard again.

Chan stands up, pushing you off his cock and laying you onto the coffee table unceremoniously. He folds you in half, pushing your legs up and then absolutely rams himself into you over and over.

The cold hard wood underneath you is uncomfortable on your back as you’re being fucked into it.

“You like this? You fucking little whore? Hmm? Love having a fat cock filling you up like this?” He leans down and kisses you. It’s unexpected, but you welcome it. It’s rough and harsh, just like his cock, and the pressure inside you becomes too much.

He pulls away and you look down to see just how thick and long he is, and how much he stretches and fills you. Your engorged, pink lips enveloping him as your cunt sucks him in. You whimper as your body starts to shake, and with a loud cry, you drench his cock, clenching around it, coming hard.

“That’s our girl. Yeah milk me. Milk Channie’s huge cock!” He demands as his eyes scrunch tight and he lets out an animalistic growl as he coats your insides.

He pulls away, panting, sweating, exhausted, and removes his clothes hastily.

Felix is quick to photograph the cum leaking out of you and you hold your legs up to ensure he gets a good view.

“So perfect.” He approves and sets the camera aside. “Y/n. It’s time. Let’s change positions.” He smiles and uncuffs your hands and helping you to your feet.

Chan produces a blanket from a drawer and spreads it out on the coffee table. He lays down on it and instructs you to straddle him.

Holding his cock steady, he pushes inside your still leaking cunt once again. It’s an impossibly tight squeeze, especially after your orgasm, but somehow he manages to fill you to the hilt. You both exhale sharply when he lifts you slightly and pulls you back down again.

“Come here, lean on me.” He invites you to lay against his chest and he wraps his arms around you. “You’re already choking me. I’m not sure I’m going to survive this.” He whispers against your ear.

He fucks you slowly for a few minutes, grinding up into you over and over. Meanwhile, Felix caresses your body, stroking your back, your ass and presses kisses along your back. He spreads your cheeks and curses low at what he sees.

You’re melting under their softer approach, which you know is all part of them relaxing you for what’s about to come.

“That’s it. Good girl.” Cooes Chan.

“Feels s'good.” You mumble.

“Yeah? You ready to take Officer Felix? Think you can do that for us?” He purrs.

You nod against his shoulder. “Wanna be a good girl.” You whimper.

Chan chuckles. “Yeah? I know you’re gonna be. You’re gonna take Felix like a good little cockslut.”

You feel Felix behind you, positioning himself. “Fuck, Chan.” Felix says uncertainly. “She looks so full already.”

“She’s okay, Lix. She’ll take you no matter what. Let’s fuck her brains out. Tear up her pussy.”

You moan and clench around Chan. You’re certain this man could make you come just with his filthy mouth.

You let out a low groan as Felix presses the tip of his cock at your entrance alongside Chan.

“F-fuck!” You cry when his tip pushes past the opening. “S’too much.” You pant.

“Color?” Chan says sternly.

“G-green. J-just slow, please! Slow.”

Chan holds you with one hand around your back, the other gently holding your ass, pulling the cheek aside to help give Felix access. “You guide us, yeah?”

“You ready to try for more?” Felix asks, a kindness in his voice. The man seems so kind, so considerate. You want to have him inside you too.

“Yes…more.” You pant.

Slowly, and under your direction, Felix squeezes in next to Chan. “So tight. Chan, how are you holding up?”

Chan’s voice is shaky when he answers. “M’not gonna last, mate. Pussy’s too good.”

“More…please…make me take it. Wannabe a good girl! Wanna come on two cocks. Just fuck me!” You ramble and nuzzle against Chan.

The stretch is nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Your walls are stretched further than they have ever been, and they’re so deep inside you, owning you, making you theirs.

You begin to drool, as they take turns withdrawing and thrusting in a beautiful rhythm.

The men growl and grunt as they work together, eventually deciding that instead of one thrust in while the other withdraws, they are going to thrust in at the same time.

“Oh god! Fuck!” You wail.

The both laugh at your reaction, pleased with themselves.

“Harder! More!” You demand. You need them to really give it to you like they promised.

“Make it hurt!”

Their reaction tells you it is music to their ears to hear that.

“Ready, Lix? You heard her. Babygirl wants it to hurt.”

You almost regret it straight away. Felix’s fingers dig into your hips hard, and Chan digs his feet into the table for leverage.

Together they don’t hold back, fucking you brutally. You feel like your cunt is about to split into two. It’s stretched to its limits, yet it craves more. Frantically, you seek more friction, more depth and your body automatically pushes back down against them seeking more.

Lewd sounds fill the office. Sweaty skin slapping skin. Moans, whimpers and curses of ‘fuck’. Then there’s the wet sounds of your pussy. It’s all so dirty and filthy.

You feel yourself so close to your another orgasm, and when both men move a finger to your ass, you know you’re a goner.

“Think you can take both our fingers?”

“Ngh…y-yes…give it to me.” You sob.

The moment you feel your rim give way, and their fingers slip inside slightly and pulling in opposite directions, stretching your hole wide, your body shakes uncontrollably, and you come hard with a sound that can only be described something raw, something primal.

“Fuck! You feel that?” Cries Felix, slamming into you as hard as he can.

“Y-yeah! Fuck, she’s gonna suck us dry. So tight…. Fuuuuck!!” He groans as he cums, releasing himself deep in you. “That's it, let us breed you like a bitch in heat. Gonna take Lixie’s cum too? Mmm yeah? Gonna suck the cum out of him with your tight, hungry little cunt?”

“Mmhmm… yess…need his cum too.”

“Wanna be bred, yeah?”

“Y-yes….please. Please. Need it.” You’re dribbling all over Chan’s chest, mumbling in confusion. It all feels so overwhelmingly incredible. So good you’re going to -

“I’m fucking coming again!” You cry, clamping down around the the two men.

“Oh fuck! Gonna give you my cum. Gonna-”

Felix’s hips falter as he cums, filling you so much that it begins to seep out around both cocks.

He slips out of your tired pussy, and you already feel far too empty, and then Chan pulls out too making you sob at the loss.

“You okay?” Felix wraps a blanket around you and Chan produces warm towels to clean you up.

You nod and smile, although you’re also bawling your eyes out from how euphoric the experience felt. “It was so good. Thank you for being so…considerate. You know, letting me set the pace. As you know, that was my first time.”

“Of course.” Chan kneels down in front of you. “We take our roles very seriously. Our client’s needs are our top priority.” He wipes a tear away. “Now. You need to stay here and rest. Felix will bring you food. And if you are still up for it, we will commence the final request of yours as soon as you're good to go."

>>>>

Minho listens from the other side of the door. That’s right, you’re a client. Nothing more.

He sighs.

Then why did he listen to that entire interaction? Why did he feel like he needed to make sure they didn’t take things too far with you? Or that they would honor your safe word?

He knows Chan and Felix wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with, yet he stood there, fists clenched, listening to you whimpering? Waiting for an excuse to barge in there.

Fuck! He cards his fingers through his hair.

Why did he feel jealous when he heard the sounds that your sweet cunt made when they were inside you? Why did he want to burst in there and rip them from your body and sink himself inside you?

Why the fuck does he care so much?

He settles his mouth into a thin line. He know why, and it's absolutely not ideal. Not to mention it's against the rules of the job.

He sighs again and forces himself to walk away. He needs to figure out a way that he's going to handle watching you get gang banged, and quick.

>>>>

a/n: Oopies, someone is struggling with some feelings it seems. How did you enjoy this chapter? I really wanted to make it a longish one and really give the the Aussie their moment. Please, if you enjoyed, consider a reblog or leave a comment. I love hearing your thoughts on this series.

>>>>

@jeonginsleftcheek @meilix @itgirlalisaa @linocz @boi-bi-ahaha @frozenpeasworld @grandma143 @milkypinkmimi @bangchansbbgirl @leefelixsslut @privhace @justforreaders @galaxycatdrawz @melochacco @jiwoos-babygirl @lunearta @kavifornia @chuuyaobsessed @iadorethemskz @hyun-hwanj @courtnort455 @brimarie0512 @dwaekkicidal @kibs-and-bits @txa-r @minh0scat @the-sweet-rose @chrizzztopherbang @velvetmoonlght @youcanstayyeah @skzswife @stephanieeeyang @withnia @kibs-and-bits @kayleefriedchicken @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @ihrtlino

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin@weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @jiminssluttyminx @dool-set-net @redstayrosie @mintymintmint251 @katsukis1wife @delulustardust @eastjonowhere

[misaerabl]

HAPPY ENDING - abby anderson

ex wife!abby x fem!reader CW: divorce, soft, emotionally charged smut scene,MULTIPLE SMUT SCENES, tender kissing, mutual undressing, gentle fingering, and implied climax with strong emotional context. (also sorry for the horrible cover lmfao, i can't for the life of me make it better, i swear i'll change this shit) SUMMARY: Two years after their divorce, Abby brings their son back home for the weekend. In the quiet of a shared kitchen and old memories, they talk, they touch, and they fall into something that feels like love again. Is this finally the happy ending that they always knew they deserved? A/N (MUST READ): I was debating whether to post this. I don't know if I'm just hormonal or it hits way too close to home but I legit cried (multiple times) while writing this. I wasn't really done with it yet but I couldn't bring myself to torture myself even more!

The last thing Abby packed was your son’s stuffed giraffe.

It sat on the edge of the crib like it always had, one ear chewed and stiff from months of being a favorite. Her hands hovered before grabbing it, slow, almost guilty. Like she knew this was the part that would wreck you.

You didn’t cry. You stood by the door, arms crossed and chest heavy, watching her zip up a duffel bag that shouldn’t have looked so out of place in the nursery, but did. The morning light painted the room in soft gold, but nothing about the moment was warm.

Your son, just barely two then, tugged on your sleeve, asking for a snack.

Abby met your eyes. She didn’t say anything. She never had to. You both knew what this meant. You both knew the ending was here.

Two years before that, you’d found the house.

It was snowing, the soft kind—quiet, almost romantic. You were walking back from the clinic, one hand in Abby’s and the other holding the test results. Positive. One embryo took.

You were pregnant.

You were laughing about something she said—something dumb and hopeful and laced with disbelief—and then you saw it. The house. White trim. Sloping roof. Just enough yard for a dog and a swing set. And somehow, as if by fate or miracle or whatever lesbians believe in when their IVF finally works, it was for sale.

You bought it two weeks later. The older couple selling it said they were moving to a quiet coastal town in Asia to retire. The woman said she hoped the house would hold joy. “It already does,” you’d told her, one hand on your belly, the other in Abby’s.

Everything was perfect. For a while.

Now, your son is three.

And Abby’s outside, strapping him out of the car seat like muscle memory. He babbles at her, one hand clutching the same worn giraffe. You watch from the window, arms curled around yourself, heart doing that irritating thing where it aches without warning. Like a reflex.

She carries the grocery bags in first, balancing the paper bag on one forearm while unlocking the door. She still remembers where you keep the spare key.

He bursts in a second later—small, giggling, snow stuck to his boots—and you kneel down to take off his coat. He throws his arms around you in the way only toddlers can, all weight and trust.

"Hi, baby," you murmur into his hair.

"Mommy!" he yells, like it’s the best word he knows.

Abby bought his favorite yogurt. The blueberry one with the dinosaur on the lid. She also got him socks with tiny planes, a new pack of crayons, and the exact brand of waffles he likes.

You notice the extra coffee creamer, the one you always used to grab. The spicy trail mix you like. A new copy of that book you never got around to finishing.

"You didn’t have to," you say, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while she organizes things like she never left.

"I know," she says, not looking up. “Just thought I’d save you the trip.”

You nod, chewing your bottom lip. You’re not sure whether to thank her or cry.

You tuck your son in after a bath. Abby sits on the floor beside the bed, holding his hand until he’s out cold. It's so natural, it stings.

When he’s asleep, she follows you downstairs. The silence stretches. You take the leftovers from the fridge—her favorites, coincidentally—and you heat them in the microwave.

She sits at the kitchen table. You pour her water.

"Have you eaten?" you ask.

"A bit earlier," she lies, because she always forgets to eat on long shifts and you know it.

You slide the plate in front of her anyway.

She eats. You sit across from her, your fingertips brushing the rim of your glass just to have something to do.

“You still hang the dish towels the wrong way,” she says, gentle, like it’s an old joke.

You shrug. "Habit."

There’s a pause.

“I miss this,” she says softly. “Not just the eating. All of it.”

Your heart clenches. You push the feeling down.

“I do too.”

You both talk for a while—casual things at first. How work’s been. How your son’s been asking about Christmas already. How the neighborhood got a new streetlight installed and your son insists it’s “his” star.

And then it slips in.

Like smoke under a door.

Abby wipes her hands on a napkin. Her voice is so quiet, you almost miss it.

“Do you ever think we gave up too early?”

The question lands like a weight across your chest.

You blink.

The sound of the fridge hums in the background. Your fork scrapes your plate though you’re no longer hungry.

You don't know what to say.

Because yes. God, yes. And also no. Not at all.

You finally speak. “I think we held on too long.”

She swallows. You see the hurt in her eyes, even if she tries to hide it behind a half-smile.

“I just…” she starts, then stops. “You know I never stopped loving you, right?”

“I know.”

There’s a pause.

“You still do?”

You look at her. Really look at her.

Hair tied back lazily. Dark circles under her eyes. That same sweatshirt from college. Her voice like a familiar lullaby you’d forgotten.

And yes.

You do.

But you also remember the shouting. The slammed doors. The tears in the next room while your son slept. The feeling of drowning in a life that was supposed to be perfect.

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

She exhales. Like she needed to hear it, even if it changes nothing.

“Then why couldn’t we fix it?” she whispers.

You don’t have an answer.

The truth sits somewhere behind your ribs, tangled in all the things you never said.

“I think we forgot how to talk to each other,” you say eventually. “We started fighting to win. Not to understand.”

Abby nods slowly. She looks at her hands in her lap like they’re guilty. “I hated how we were becoming strangers.”

You take a breath. “But we weren’t. That was the problem. You can’t be a stranger to someone who knows how you like your toast, who knows which songs make you cry and what brand of toothpaste you hate. We knew each other too well.”

She looks up at that, and for a second, you see it—the grief, the longing, the what-ifs.

“I miss being home with you,” she says softly. “Even when we were falling apart… part of me still hoped we’d figure it out.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s warm. Sad. Soft.

You rise from your chair and cross the room without thinking. Abby stands too. You meet in the middle like muscle memory. Your hand reaches for hers. She lets you.

And then she kisses you.

It’s cautious at first—like a question. Her lips press to yours with all the hesitation of someone who remembers how you tasted and how you walked away. But you don’t pull back. You sink into it, let her kiss you like she used to, like nothing ever broke between you.

The kiss deepens. Your fingers slide into her hair, and she exhales into your mouth like she’s been holding her breath for two years. Her hand finds your waist, warm and grounding, and her thumb slips beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against skin like she’s reacquainting herself with you inch by inch. She pulls you closer, the old familiarity settling between you so naturally that it almost hurts.

She breaks the kiss only to tug your shirt over your head, and you let her. Her hoodie comes off next, and you help her out of it like you’ve done a hundred times before. Your bodies fit the same as they always did, no hesitance, just instinct. You tug at the band of her sweatpants, her breath stuttering as she lets them fall. She kisses your jaw, your neck, her mouth moving with intention, slow and reverent, like she’s learning you again. Like she never forgot.

Clothes scatter quietly on the stairs as you make your way up. The hallway light is off, the moon doing the work instead. She pushes your bedroom door open without asking. It’s still half her room too, no matter what the lease says now. Nothing in it has changed much since she left. Same sheets, same low lamp by the nightstand, same quiet.

She kisses you again at the threshold, a little rougher now, her hands gripping your thighs as she walks you backwards toward the bed. You fall onto it, laughing softly into her mouth before she silences the sound with another kiss. She moves over you, the weight of her familiar in the best way. She touches you like she remembers exactly how. Her fingers trail from your ribs down to your hips, dipping below your waistband but never rushing. She watches your face, always needing to see, to know how you feel it.

She doesn’t speak much. She never did during moments like this. Just little exhales, quiet sighs of your name, the way she kisses your collarbone like it means something. And it does. It always did.

She slides your underwear down slowly, the pads of her fingers brushing your thighs as she goes, her mouth trailing behind. When she finally touches you, it’s careful. Gentle. She still remembers how to draw those soft, shaking noises from your lips. You arch into her hand and whisper her name, and it’s all it takes for her to lean up and kiss you again, deeper this time.

You reach for her too. Hands roaming the curve of her back, the stretch of her stomach, the lines you still remember tracing on early Sunday mornings when your son would sleep in. You pull her on top of you fully, wrap your legs around her waist, your mouths never parting for long. The friction is slow, delicious, and every movement draws out more need. It’s messy in the quiet way, the kind of mess you make when you’re trying not to cry. The kind where moans blend with breathless whispers of “I missed you” and “you still feel the same.”

You come like that—together, tangled in memory and sweat, her forehead pressed to yours, her voice in your ear, and the weight of everything you never fixed still lingering somewhere behind your ribs.

After, she doesn’t let go. She pulls you against her, chest to chest, your legs knotted together like neither of you wants to wake up alone.

You fall asleep in her arms.

And for the first time in a long time, it feels like home again.

You wake to the sound of small feet.

Your eyes crack open just in time to see the door swing open.

Your son stands in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, his stuffed giraffe in hand.

His gaze shifts from you to the other side of the bed—to Abby, still asleep under the blanket. His brows pinch together in the way they always do when he’s trying to understand something new.

“Mama?” he asks, voice soft and puzzled.

You sit up quickly, heart stuttering, Abby’s shirt slipping off your shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” you say gently, climbing out of bed and crossing to him. “Let’s go get breakfast, okay?”

He nods, still glancing back at the bed.

“Is Mommy staying?” he asks, tugging at your hand.

You don’t answer. You kiss the top of his head and guide him out of the room.

“I’ll make waffles,” you say instead, hoping he won’t ask again.

He doesn't. He hums something off-key, clutching his giraffe as you walk him to the kitchen.

Behind you, the bedroom door stays closed. Abby doesn’t come out right away.

And as you pour batter into the pan, your back to the hallway, you don’t know what this morning means. If it’s a beginning, or just another soft, temporary reminder of the past.

But for now, your son is laughing at bubbles in the batter, and you’re still wearing Abby’s shirt.

And Abby… Abby’s still upstairs.

Later that day, after Abby’s gone and your son is napping on the couch, your phone buzzes. It’s your sister. You pick up and barely get a hello out before she starts.

“So. You want to explain why your son told me, ‘Mama sleeped with Mommy and she had no socks on’?”

You groan and cover your eyes with your hand. “God.”

“I'm not judging,” she says, which is a lie. “He said, and I quote 'They were cuddling. Mama had no socks on.'”

You slide down onto the kitchen floor with a sigh, your back against the cabinets. “It was just... I don’t know. It just happened”

“Does she want to come back?”

“She didn’t ask.”

“But do you want her to?”

You don’t answer right away. There’s too much noise in your head—memories, pain, last night’s warmth. You press your palm against your chest like it might keep everything from spilling out.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I don’t think I’m ready to know.”

Your sister is quiet for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice has softened. “Just be careful, okay? For your own sake. And his.”

You nod even though she can’t see it. “Yeah. I know.”

Abby comes by again the next day, just to drop off some clothes your son left at her place. You talk more this time, standing on the porch after your son runs inside with his new truck.

You don’t look at her at first. You keep your arms crossed and your eyes on the chipped paint of the railing.

“What happened that night,” she says, and you can hear how carefully she’s choosing her words, “it wasn’t just about missing you.”

You glance at her. Her hands are in her pockets. She’s not wearing her scrubs today—just jeans and that old gray hoodie she stole from you when you were still dating.

“I still love you,” she continues. “I never stopped.”

You swallow around the knot in your throat. “I know. I love you too.”

She looks relieved, but there’s sadness there too, a kind of restraint that hurts to see on her face.

“But,” you add, because it has to be said, “loving each other didn’t save us the first time. It’s not going to be enough on its own.”

“I’m not asking to move back in,” she says quickly. “I’m not asking for us to pretend nothing happened. I just… I want us to try. Carefully. Slowly. I don’t want to confuse him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you admit. “He’s too little to understand any of this. If we try and we fail again, I don’t want him carrying that weight.”

“I’d never leave him hanging,” she says. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a pause. She steps a little closer, not enough to touch you, just enough that you can feel the heat of her presence again.

“I just don’t want to do this wrong,” you whisper.

“Then let’s do it right,” she says. “Whatever that looks like.”

It’s not a solution. It’s not a promise.

But it’s something.

You nod. “Okay. We’ll try.”

Abby doesn’t reach for your hand, doesn’t lean in for a kiss. She just smiles. A small, hopeful, quietly broken thing.

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

She steps down from the porch, gets into her car, and drives away. You watch her until the taillights disappear at the end of the street.

When you go back inside, your son is lying on the rug with his trucks, humming the same off-key tune from that morning.

You sit beside him, and he scoots closer without looking up, like he just knows where you’re supposed to be.

You think about what trying means. What it might cost. What it might heal.

You think about Abby’s hand brushing yours under the dinner table, about the old room, about how easily everything came flooding back.

And for the first time in a long while, the thought of a happy ending doesn’t feel like a lie.

One month later.

Things are quieter now—softer around the edges. The air between you and Abby doesn’t crackle as much. It stretches. Breathes. You still keep your distance in certain ways, still don’t sleep in the same bed or leave your toothbrushes tangled together like before. But the rhythm is new, and not entirely unwelcome.

Abby comes over more often, but it’s never framed as anything permanent. She brings takeout when you’re too tired to cook, lingers by the sink to help with dishes, joins you and your son on Sunday walks to the park. She still calls before she comes. She still asks if it’s okay. And you always say yes, even when you’re not sure what that means.

Your son has adjusted, like kids do. He doesn’t ask why she’s here more. He doesn’t question why some mornings it’s only you, and some nights it’s all three of you on the couch, your knees brushing hers, your son fast asleep between you.

You’re rebuilding. Not with grand gestures, but with little ones. The kind that can’t be undone with a single argument.

On a Friday afternoon, your son brings home a drawing from daycare. You’re in the kitchen, packing up leftovers, when he tugs at your sleeve and holds out a sheet of paper, crumpled at the corners, crayon lines jagged and bright.

“For you, Mommy,” he says, proud.

You smile and crouch to take it from him. “You drew something?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Us.”

The picture is unmistakably his—three stick figures, wide round heads and too-long arms. One of them has your hair. The smallest is holding hands with both adults.

But it’s the label that stops you.

He’s written one word across the top in big, uneven letters.

"Family."

Your hands still. You swallow hard, staring at the drawing, at the way he’s drawn Abby beside you without hesitation.

He doesn’t understand what’s happened between you. Not really. But he feels it—that she’s here again, that something has shifted.

You don’t realize you’re crying until he tilts his head, confused.

“Why’re you sad?” he asks.

You shake your head, laughing softly as you wipe your face. “I’m not. Just... happy.”

Abby arrives ten minutes later. You don’t wait. You hold the drawing out to her without a word.

She looks at it. And then she looks at you. And her face softens the way it always has when something knocks the air out of her.

“He made it at school,” you say quietly.

She holds the paper carefully, like it’s fragile. “He called it… family.”

The word sits between you. Not a question. Not an assumption. Just a truth that neither of you has had the courage to name.

Your son is on the floor, already pulling out his dinosaurs. “Mama, come play!”

Abby glances back at you. “Can I stay a little longer?”

You nod.

And she steps inside like she never left.

Things had been going well. Quietly, steadily—like spring thaw after a long winter.

Abby started staying later. At first, it was because your son asked for another bedtime story, or she forgot something upstairs, or she’d dozed off halfway through a movie. You let her stay on the couch those nights, a folded blanket draped over her legs, her hoodie pushed under her head. The first time you found her already asleep, you brought her a pillow. The second time, you asked if she wanted one.

She never asked to stay. But she never left early either.

Eventually, the excuses started shifting. She started saying things like, “I’ll just head out in the morning,” or “I don’t want to wake him by leaving now.” And once—just once—she said, “I like waking up here.” You didn’t respond, but you didn’t pretend it didn’t settle somewhere deep in your chest.

She made coffee before you even came downstairs. She packed your son’s lunch if she heard you hit snooze too many times. She still folded the laundry a little weird, but you let her. You didn’t correct her when she started calling the house home again.

You didn’t stop her when she started keeping a toothbrush in the bathroom drawer.

And one night—when the house had gone quiet and the lights were low and you were sitting together on the couch after your son had fallen asleep between you, curled against her side like it was second nature—you looked at her, really looked at her, and said, “You don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight.”

She blinked. Softly. Carefully.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I want you to.”

You changed into one of your old shirts. Abby wore hers—gray, loose, familiar. She waited until you got under the covers first before crawling in beside you. There was an inch of space between your bodies, at first. Respectful. Careful.

But you turned on your side, and she mirrored you. And before long, your face was pressed against her chest, your fingers curled into the fabric near her collarbone, her heartbeat steady and warm under your cheek.

You lay there like that, quietly breathing together. Her hand came up to rest at the nape of your neck, stroking gently, and your eyes fluttered shut, safety blooming like a slow ache.

She whispered your name once. You looked up.

Her eyes found yours.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

You kissed her.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, deliberate, aching. You kissed her like you remembered exactly how she liked it. Like muscle memory, like muscle longing. Her hands found your waist, grounding you, anchoring you in place even as you pressed your body into hers.

Her mouth never left yours. Even when your legs slid between hers. Even when her hand crept under your shirt to touch skin she used to know so well. She kissed you through the weight of every memory you both had buried. Every soft sound you made pulled her deeper. Every soft word she whispered steadied the space between you.

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, and she helped you pull it off. She looked at you like you were something familiar and holy all at once. Her hands found your hips, your thighs, her fingers tracing every curve like she still knew how you fit against her—how to make you melt, how to make you want.

When she touched you, it was with quiet reverence, like she was rediscovering something she thought she’d lost forever. Her fingers slipped lower, slow and careful, her mouth still pressed to yours as she made you sigh, then gasp, then fall apart. She murmured soft things against your jaw—your name, little reassurances, words that made your stomach twist in the best way.

You pulled her closer, dragged her down against you, skin on skin. The warmth of her weight made your whole body hum. You wrapped your legs around her hips, urged her closer, hips meeting with friction and heat. You moved together like nothing had changed and everything had.

It wasn’t desperate. It was deep. Familiar. It was the kind of intimacy that didn’t ask for permission because it already knew it had been given long ago.

When you came again, it was quieter. Slower. Your body arching into hers, your breath caught between a gasp and a cry. Abby held you through it, her hand tangled in your hair, her lips at your shoulder.

After, she stayed close. Your head on her chest again. Her arm around your waist. Her breathing steadied into something gentle and safe.

You didn’t say I love you. Not because you didn’t feel it—but because you did. And for once, it didn’t need to be said.

You already knew.

The morning after, everything feels softer.

You wake tangled together, sunlight pouring through the curtains in golden streaks. Abby’s breath is steady against your shoulder, her arm still wrapped loosely around your waist. She stirs when your son pads into the room, rubbing his eyes with one fist and holding his stuffed giraffe in the other.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands in the doorway, blinking.

Then, with a smile so casual it nearly breaks you, he says, “You sleeped here, Mama.”

Abby sits up slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, bud,” she says. “Just for last night.”

He nods, accepting that, and walks over to climb onto the bed between you. He curls up against Abby, resting his head on her stomach like he used to. For a few minutes, you lie there like that. The three of you. Quiet. Whole.

It doesn’t fall apart all at once.

It starts with a small thing. It always does.

It’s a Tuesday night. Abby had said she’d be home early—that’s the word she used. Home. You’d repeated it in your head after the call, tasting it again, trying to make sure it didn’t hurt. You made dinner. Not anything complicated, just stir-fried noodles, some chicken, the kind your son always picks through for extra carrots. You let him stir the sauce in, made it a game. He kept looking at the door every time a car passed.

But Abby didn’t show.

Not at six. Not at seven.

Your phone stayed quiet. The food went cold.

She came through the door at almost eight, still in her scrubs, her hair a mess, her face drawn tight with exhaustion. And you didn’t yell. You didn’t raise your voice. You just asked, “Why didn’t you call?”

Her eyes flicked toward your son, who had already fallen asleep on the couch, curled up with a blanket and his toy giraffe.

“I was in surgery. It ran long.”

You nodded once, but something in your chest twisted.

“I just… waited,” you said.

“I didn’t mean to be late,” she said quickly, toeing off her shoes. “You know I wouldn’t do that on purpose.”

“That’s not the point, Abby,” you replied, quieter, but sharper. “It’s not about what you meant. It’s about what you didn’t do.”

She straightened, the defense rising in her eyes before she even spoke. “What, you want me to step out of an OR with blood on my hands just to say I’ll be thirty minutes late?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

The edge in her voice made your jaw clench. You took a breath, tried to level it out, but it still came out cracked.

“I’m saying I need to know when you’re not coming. I need to know I’m not just… waiting again.”

Her face changed at that—softened and shut down all at once. Like a door quietly closing behind her eyes. And you hated how fast she retreated. How fast the walls came back up.

“I’m doing my best,” she said, and it wasn’t angry. It was tired. That was somehow worse.

You folded your arms across your chest, not out of anger but to hold yourself together. “I know. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like we’re on the same page. And I can’t go back to pretending everything’s fine just because we’re trying again.”

Abby exhaled sharply through her nose and turned slightly, like she couldn’t stand being looked at. “You think I’m pretending?”

You were about to answer when a soft voice broke through the tension.

“…Mommy?”

Your son stood at the edge of the hallway, barefoot, giraffe in hand, sleep still clinging to his face. His eyes moved from you to Abby and back, small and uncertain.

You dropped your arms. Abby went still.

You crouched down first, your voice gentler than it had been all evening.

“Hey, baby. Why’re you awake?”

He didn’t answer. Just rubbed at one eye and mumbled, “Were you mad?”

Your throat closed up.

“No, sweetheart,” you said immediately. “We were just talking.”

He looked at Abby, who hesitated only a second before kneeling down, opening her arms.

He walked to her slowly and climbed into her lap.

“You’re not mad?” he asked, quieter now.

“No,” she murmured into his hair, closing her eyes. “Not mad. Never mad at you.”

He let her hold him for a while, then looked back at you. “Promise?”

You sat beside them and reached out to hold his hand.

“We promise,” you said. “We just got a little frustrated. But we’re okay now.”

You didn’t look at Abby when you said it. You didn’t have to. Her fingers tightened around his back in silent agreement.

You carried him to bed together, tucked him in side by side like you always did. Abby smoothed his hair back and kissed his forehead. You turned on his nightlight and left the door open just a crack, the way he liked.

In the hallway, neither of you spoke for a long moment. The quiet stretched until it ached.

Finally, you broke it. Your voice was low.

“I don’t want to fight in front of him.”

“I don’t either,” Abby said, and for the first time that night, she sounded like herself again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

You nodded. “And I shouldn’t have snapped. I just… I got scared. Felt like before again. Like the slow slipping.”

“I know,” she said softly.

You both stood there, a few feet apart, shoulders weighed down by all the promises you never thought you’d have to make again.

Abby looked at you then. Really looked at you.

“I want this to work,” she said. “Even if it’s hard. Especially because it’s hard.”

You nodded again, slower this time. “Me too.”

Neither of you said anything else. But when you both turned in for the night, she didn’t head for the couch. And you didn’t stop her when she reached for your hand beneath the covers.

You tried.

That’s what you keep telling yourself.

You tried more than most would. You opened the door again, handed her a spare key, let her back into your routines, your silence, your bed. You let your son believe it might really be different this time. And maybe for a while, it was.

But cracks don’t disappear just because you stop looking at them. And wounds don’t close properly if they keep getting reopened every time something feels too familiar.

It wasn’t one fight. It was all of them.

The small ones, the tired ones, the ones that started with a sigh and ended in silence. The ones that happened in the kitchen with your son quietly watching from the hallway. The ones that echoed in the car after drop-offs, in the bathroom at midnight, in the way you both stopped touching each other when it wasn’t convenient.

You tried therapy. It helped, at first. You both showed up. Sat on the stiff couch. Said the hard things. Held each other’s hands when you didn’t know what else to do.

You talked about resentment. About fear. About how deeply rooted your exhaustion had become. You told her how afraid you were of being the only one carrying the weight. She told you she was afraid of failing you again.

Your therapist said healing wasn’t linear. That sometimes, love meant staying. And sometimes, it meant letting go.

You both nodded. Pretended that wasn’t a mirror being held up to your last thread of hope.

But the days stretched. And the cracks deepened. And even though neither of you ever said it out loud, you both felt it—the slow quiet death of trying.

She still stayed some nights. Still helped pack lunches. Still left notes in your son’s backpack and sticky reminders on the fridge. But her smile started missing her eyes. Her laughter stopped curling at the ends. She used to reach for your hand in the dark. Now she just turned her back when the lights went off.

You fought in therapy. You cried in the parking lot. You sat side by side in the car, unable to say a single thing because the words felt like weapons, and neither of you had the strength to draw first.

Then came the Thursday she forgot your son’s parent-teacher meeting. You waited outside the classroom with your arms crossed and a knot in your stomach, watching other kids run to their moms and dads, wondering if your son would remember this. Wondering if he’d tuck it somewhere deep, the way kids do, and let it fester years from now.

She showed up twenty minutes late, breathless and apologetic and full of excuses. But you didn’t want reasons anymore. You wanted change. And she just kept giving you intention.

You didn’t talk for two days after that. She texted. You didn’t answer. Your son kept asking when Mama was coming over again.

And then she did. Quietly. Without knocking.

You were folding laundry in the living room. She stood in the doorway like a ghost.

"We can’t keep doing this to him," she said.

You didn’t look up.

"We can’t keep doing this to us," you replied.

It wasn’t a dramatic conversation. No yelling. No crying. Just exhaustion. Just two people who loved each other too much and too badly.

She stayed that night on the couch again. Not because you told her to. But because neither of you could lie beside each other with the truth hanging so loud between you.

The next morning, your son woke up early. He padded into the kitchen with his giraffe tucked under his arm, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He blinked up at you, then turned to the living room. "Mama?"

She sat up slowly, eyes bloodshot, hair tangled. "Hey, buddy."

He walked over and curled into her lap.

You watched them from the doorway. Watched the way she held him like she was memorizing it.

That was the last morning she stayed.

The official decision came a week later. Not in therapy. Not with fanfare. Just two cups of coffee on the kitchen counter, and one long, hard breath.

"I think we need to stop trying," you said.

Abby didn’t argue.

She nodded once. Looked down at her hands.

"Okay."

She packed slow. Again. Her scrubs. Her hoodie. The books she never read. She didn’t take everything. She never does.

When she hugged your son goodbye, she didn’t say it was forever. You didn’t tell him anything final either. Just that Mama would be at her place more now. But she’d always come back. Always see him. That he didn’t do anything wrong.

He cried. Just a little.

You did too. But not until after.

The house is back to quiet.

You still keep the hall light on for him. You still fold his clothes at the end of the day, line up his little socks and mismatched pajamas. You still sit in the same spot on the couch after he falls asleep. You still wonder if you did enough.

Sometimes he draws pictures. He draws you. He draws himself. Sometimes he draws Abby. Sometimes he doesn’t. You don’t ask why.

She still picks him up twice a week. Still texts you updates. Still sends photos of him covered in paint, asleep in the car, giggling at cartoons. He still asks if she’ll come over sometimes.

You say yes. Even when you mean maybe. Even when you mean never.

Some nights, when it rains, you let yourself imagine the way her arms used to feel around you. The way she’d tuck herself against your back like a second spine. The way her voice could break and build you at the same time.

You let yourself miss her.

And then you get up. Close the windows. Check on your son. Crawl into a bed that feels too big and too small all at once.

You stare at the ceiling and whisper the hardest thing you’ve ever had to learn.

Love is not always enough.

Not even when you want it to be.

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

• B R RIGHT

Choso x f!reader x Yuki

Synopsis- Yuki comes home and finds her lovers in quite the unpredictable position.

cw- brat taming, spanking, mean!Choso turned soft!choso, daddy/mommy kink (used twice in singular context), dom!yuki, dom!choso, cum eating, fingering, clit play, pvssy eating, overstimulation (r!receiving), edging (mentioned once), multiple orgasms(reader), mostly Chosoxreader but don’t worry I have more to come

“I want my ass smacked, (legs wide),

front back, (side to side),

pussy wet, (slip-n-slide), yup everything’ gon’ be alright„

w.c.-1.8k

When Yuki came home she expected her lovers to be waiting patiently waiting for her, maybe even making dinner; cuddling on the couch. But, no. She found her two lovers in the bedroom, Choso seemingly punishing you, “You’ve been a bad girl.” Choso seethes, “A bad. fucking, girl.” jawbone flexing as he slaps your ass with every word, making them stick.

Yuki chuckles softly watching you wither beneath the man coming undone by an orgasm, one of many; noting the wet spot on the sheet. She sneaks up beside the both of you on the bed sitting up beside the both of you so nonchalantly as if Choso wasn’t plowing into your pussy right now.

Noticing the dip beside you, you crank your head to the side, body bouncing with every sharp, mean thrust Choso gives you. Seeing Yuki’s brown eyes taking you in like a full course meal, you cry out for her, “Yukiiii!!!, he’s so- ugh, fuck— being so mean.” You babble out, palming the sheets with sweaty hands, gripping them for the sake of sanity.

“Awww, daddy’s such a meanie, isn’t he?.” She teases, tweaking one of your peaked nipples, whining into her chest, your back arches off the bed; hips meeting Choso’s maddening ones.

Choso however scoffed at the scene beneath him laying down mean, precise strokes that would leave you shaking with painful pleasure.

“Tch, You don’t know how much of a brat she is when you’re gone Yuki, little brat needs dick to just behave.” He grunts out, but Yuki doesn’t listen to him absently playing with a piece of your hair smiling maniacally at the scene in front of her. Choso grunts out, angling his hips upward going ever so deep into your cunt. His nostrils flare, jaw and arms flexing in aggression. “See, that’s why she doesn’t. fucking. listen.” He enunciates his words with his mean hips rolling them so harshly just to get the point across.

Then he’s back to that brutal pace, heavy balls slapping against your spanked-raw ass, making obscene noises from how soaked he’s made you. Cum and drooling arousal leaks from you, dripping down your legs in the most disgustingly erotic way. “You’re too nice.” He eyes Yuki giving you one particularly harsh thrust. He pulls and pinches at your nipples receiving pretty little mewls from you, “and then you make me the bad guy.”

His hips come down like thunder, rough hands grasping your skin, sliding over your pelvis to your lower back yanking you down over and over again. “She thinks she can push me away, that she can lock herself up. Nuh uh.” Yuki just smirks watching how ruthless Choso is with you, she knows he just wants you to talk; much to his dismay, but to her amusement you don’t, pawing at his chest, you try to push him away; “T-too much.” You cry out, eyes pinching shut as he hungrily fucked your cervix.

Yuki laughs, “It’s too much now, but you were being so mean to poor Choso?” You cry even harder when she brings that up. Her nimble fingers find their way to that little nub between your legs rubbing so soft and so slow opposed to the rough, hard pace the man on top of you set. it almost drove you mad. as you babble out unintelligible apologies to her.

Choso sneers watching you suck up to Yuki trying to snuggle into the woman's chest. When he’s been the one all day to feed you, take care of you, make sure you’re alright, praise you for all your hard work. Only to have been met with the most terrible attitude: leaving the food he prepared all for you untouched, rolling your eyes at him for the smallest thing, and what really made him snap was the fact that you cursed at him. He would have been fine if you asked nicely for him to leave the room so you can focus on your work but no, you just had to say. What was it again?

“Just get the fuck out?” Choso snarls in your ear, his voice raw with pleasure going straight down to your core squeezing tight around him. “That’s what you said, remember. And I was being so nice, so fucking nice.” He was said with a touch of exasperation, groaning he pushes himself up, large hands grasping the side of your thighs, hiking you; holding your bottom off the bed he goes ever harder. “But, I think you like it when I’m mean, huh?”

He looks down at you, a small thing underneath him and beside Yuki. Tears begin to well in the man’s eyes thinking of your action earlier, “You were so fucking mean.” He whimpers as he fucks your greedy hole through another orgasm, Yuki pinches your clit all the pleasure and punishments they give you leaves you screaming; practically lifting the rest of your body off the bed. You look up at Choso through hooded eyes, vision hazy, more tears falling from eyes onto your already soaked cheeks seeing how close Choso was to breaking down into tears because you refused to communicate. It broke your heart.

You knew you were being unnecessarily rude today, you knew you should have listened to the rules. That you shouldn’t have pushed him away. But, sometimes it’s just so hard to speak up about how you feel.

He knows this, so does Yuki. They know just the right way to get you to speak up though, even if they have to fuck it out of you.

Grabbing his hands you cry even harder, trying to ignore how bad your pussy aches from Choso’s constant assault. “I-I’m sorry.” You sputter out, spit bubbling at your lips, face sweaty and due with exhaustion. “I’m so mean, so fucking mean.” You sob. “I-I’ll be good.” You mummer out incoherent apologies along with praise for how good he feels inside you, filling you to the brim. His cock pulses inside you, his cock quickly succumbing to the last few hours of edging. He looks at Yuki who looks at him with the same sharpness, she only nods her head, signaling for him to finish what he started.

He lets go of the back of your thighs, legs going limp on the bed without his support, soreness already spreading throughout them. Choso grabs your face, squishing your cheeks, making you look at him. And god, did you look like the perfect mess; hair sticking to the side of your sweaty face and neck, cheeks puffy from euphoria induced tears, and lips so red from Choso’s rough kisses someone might think you were wearing lipstick.

He faces you speaking gently this time, “No, no, no. Angel, you're not mean. You just need to listen and talk to us, okay?” Choso whispers as you nod your head in his hands. He smiles, kissing your forehead before going back to fucking you. There’s his good girl.

But this time his thrust weren’t mean and harsh, trying to teach you a lesson, but soft and full of love; love for you, your pussy, your inexplicable way of feeling things and the need to be put in your place, but at the same time reassured. His touches weren’t mean but as soft as a feather.

Then you looked over to Yuki who’s chewing on her lip with great need, gasping as you feel one of her hands slink down your body once more, you let out tumultuous moans; confused from the overpowering pleasure her fingers that work diligently on your clit and Choso’s cock that ruts into senselessly.

You grab her free hand with your other gasping as you feel Choso’s cock swell inside you, pulsating with urgency and together you cum.

You both cum so hard.

He dumps the load he’s held in all night; thick velvety ropes of hot white liquid that never seems to stop pouring out of him paints your walls as they contract around his dick. Milking him for all his worth. When he pulls out he elicits a hiss from the both of you forcing himself to push his exhausted frame onto the bed and not fall over on you. Both of you catch your breath; still holding hands.

Neither of you notice Yuki move from beside you until she’s between your legs, peeling you thighs apart to reveal the most beautiful work of art she’s ever seen. You pussy fucked raw and covered with cum. Settling on her stomach, as if in trance, she licks her lips leaning in closer till she touches your sensitive flesh.

Yuki audibly moans when her tongue makes contact with your scorching pussy, still red hot and aching from Choso’s use. Her eyes roll to the back of her head, back arching, hips rolling as she tastes the mix of yours and Choso’s essence.

Your mixed releases drip from your gaping hole, still stretched out from your shared boyfriends dick. Then, she stuck her tongue right in there, right where his dick used to be. Your back lifts off the mattress, feeling the cold wet spot of your own mess move against your ass. “A-ah.” Your mouth part open pained moans falling out from between your reddened, plump lips.

Choso whimpered while watching the pornagraphic scene in front of him, already tugging on his overstimulated length.

Right before you cum once more, Yuki lets up looking at you and the dark-haired man like a ravenous beast, breathing raggedly; “Hold her hand.” She whispers against your pussy before letting her jaw go back to work, slipping and sucking on you like you were her favorite lollipop; which you kind of were.

Choso immediately latched onto your hand, hips thrusting to meet his mean, rough hand that tugged harshly, pulling the skin of his cock over his tip; back and forth, back and forth. Your hands tighten at the same time, vision going dead white as you come upon the breaking point.

Choso cums at the same time, again. You both let out pitiful whimpers as the waves of another orgasm crash over. You let out a relieved sigh feeling her unlatch from your engorged, used clit. but that relief was quickly replaced with Yuki’s finger making embarrassingly loud sounds from your hole.

“Choso, get behind me.” She orders sadistically, fucking your cunt so hard with her fingers Yuki could swear she could feel it in her pussy too.

You look at her confused at why she’s continuing you’ve already learnt your lesson, haven’t you?

She sees your confusion slipping her finger out of you and shoving them in your mouth, the taste of the leftover cum you and Choso leftover. Then she speaks;

“Not yet, doll. Choso got to play with you. Now it’s Mama’s turn.”

She pushes her hips back against Choso grinding her clothed cunt against his semi-hard on.

And that’s when you and Choso both knew neither of you were leaving this bed, at least not until one of you passed out.

But it’s not like either of you minded ;)

[chimielie]

send flowers to my funeral

summary: Matsukawa x Reader. happy birthday FREAK

word count: 924

cw: no minors pls 🙏 suggestive content (scene starts immediately after mattsun and reader have finished having sex), no gendered terms or genitalia are mentioned but reader is pretty clearly. how do i put this delicately. getting fucked by him on the regular, fwb to lovers

a/n: my apologies for the incorrect characterization (mattsun and makki have a coffee table which is frankly unrealistic). also i insert a completely random rarepair headcanon with no context and then don’t expand at all

"My back hurts," you moan. "Get off me."

"One second," Issei says, his naked chest warm as his big body blankets you. "I'm tired."

"You're tired?" You can't even twist your neck up to look at him. You hope your tone betrays your incredulity.

"Well, I was the one doing all the work," he says, and you gasp indignantly.

"No, actually, get off of me!" You say. "All you have to do is," you back your hips up into his, where you're still connected. He groans, and you lose your train of thought for a split second. "You think those acrobatics are easy?"

"It was a mutual effort," he cedes. "Hey—"

"No," you say, aggravated. "I'm sore."

He shifts slightly, one thick forearm braced next to your head. You're bent over the arm of the couch, forehead almost touching the cushions. You say: "Okay, after I shower."

Showering together is one of those things you don't do, like kissing or staying the night. You'd put up emotional guards when you started doing whatever it is you and Issei do.

They hadn't worked, like, at all.

In the shower, you don't play music, just scrub yourself down and prod the red marks he'd left behind. On the hips, the chest, the ass. You never take long, afraid to use up his hot water or reveal something you don't mean to vis-à-vis the affinity for love songs you've developed.

After you've left the shower and the both of you drip water all over his covers, he puts the sheets in the laundry and pulls you back onto the couch, really on the couch this time, his feet up on the arm, his arms around you.

"It's my birthday today," he says suddenly, and you jolt. You hadn't known that. "My friends and I are gonna go for dinner. Come with?"

You stare at him with wide eyes.

"You should've told me, I would've been nicer to you," you say, still trying to wrap your head around the question he'd asked you.

"You're plenty nice to me," he laughs, "what are you talking about?"

"What are you talking about?" You parrot. "Do your friends even know about me?"

"'Course," you feel one shoulder move in a shrug beneath you. "I told them about the time you faxed nudes to the mortuary.”

You’d been particularly proud of that feat, right up until he’d called you and you’d heard it in his very voice that you wouldn’t be walking the next day.

“Wow, I had no idea that was what made me stand out,” you laugh. “I don’t have any plans tonight, anyway. How many others have you invited?”

“Oh, it’s just the guys from high school,” he shrugs. “Kawa and Iwa always have some other volleyball addict strapped to their backs, so there’ll probably be a couple more, but I don’t really like parties.”

Issei is the most low-maintenance guy you know. You admire his ability to go with the flow, to let life wash over him and appreciate the ride.

“No, I meant how many of the others,” you gesture to yourself, a tiny movement. “Like me?”

“You’re the only person who’ll be there that I’ve had sex with, if that’s what you mean,” there’s a little smile on his face, one that makes your heart skip a beat. “Crazy.”

“Didn’t you and Iwaizumi have a thing for a while?” You point out.

“Hooking up once in high school is not the same as having a thing,” he insists. His heartbeat is speeding up under your palm, you notice. Funny. “You and Iwaizumi, then. That’s it.”

“Huh.” You say, and then are quiet for a while. “Matsukawa, forgive me for asking—if this is weird—what are we?”

“I hate that you only call me Issei in bed,” he says.

“I called you that on the couch, like, an hour ago.”

“You know what I mean, don’t be difficult.”

“I am difficult,” you say. “I’m high-maintenance and I’m too much work for someone easygoing like you.”

“I like working on you,” he says, pinching your arm. “I like that you try to be low-maintenance ‘cause you think that’s what I want and you still take up half my day when you’re here and all my mind when you’re not.”

Your lips part, blown off-kilter by his sincerity.

“I think I’m trying to ask you to be official,” he finishes, “but I think I’m fucking it up.”

“You’re not,” you laugh, “don’t worry. I was just going to die if you asked me to come meet all your friends just as the one who faxed you nudes.”

“If you died, I’d do your funeral for free,” he promises. “Oh, shit! That’s what I forgot.”

He shoves you away rather unceremoniously and you struggle to catch your breath on the couch in the few seconds he’s gone.

Issei comes back, a cluster of flowers bundled in one hand, his hair sticking up on one side from lying on the couch. You’ve never seen something so handsome.

You sit up and kiss him before you think about it, his lips soft and warm and a little chapped under yours. For all the time you’ve spent with him, it has the same clumsy charm as any first kiss with someone new, the sparking romance as metal strikes against itself. His cheeks are hot under your hands when you pull away.

“It should’ve been me giving you a birthday gift,” you say softly. “Thank you, Issei.”

(The two of you are late to dinner.)

[magenta-malice]

Some fluffy Jax headcanons

A/N: This is my first time writing Jax fluff. I have nothing but shame and regret. Hug the bnuuy.

This is partly about Jaxy and partly Jaxy x Y/N (or at least how he acts with my OC after they get closer, eheheheh…), so I tagged it as x reader as well.

CW: none | couldn’t help sneaking the teeniest bit of angst in there BUT HE'S FINE SHHH

Word count: 729 | Masterlist

₊‧⁺˖☾ ─────────────── ☽˖⁺‧₊

Sleeps curled up, with his ears tucked down

When he’s sleeping, he curls up on his side, knees pulled up, arms folded close, and his ears naturally droop down over his face. It’s a weirdly small and vulnerable position, like his body is bracing for something even in sleep.

His eyes light up when you laugh at his jokes

He pretends like your reaction doesn’t matter, but if you genuinely laugh at one of his dumb jokes, his eyes actually brighten and he gets this smug little smile like he just won the lottery. He’ll pretend to shrug it off, but that moment stays with him all day.

Pretends he doesn’t like physical affection but secretly melts 

If someone ever casually ruffles his ears or leans against him, he’ll roll his eyes and act like it’s the most annoying thing in the world. But the second they stop? He suddenly finds himself lingering near them, making excuses to keep them close. He denies this need even to himself.

Gets sleepy when you play with his ears

Following the previous one: If somehow you ever get the chance to pet him or play with his ears while he’s lying down or curled up nearby, he’ll act annoyed and look around if someone else is there. If he sees you two are alone, he starts visibly melting. He leans into it, eyes half-lidded, basically purring to you to continue. 

Will stick to someone’s side he trusts without a word

It’s hard for him to actually get attached, but if he genuinely likes someone, he’ll become more relaxed near them. No teasing, no pushing buttons (maybe just a little, he has a reputation to uphold after all), just existing in the same space. 

If you sit on the couch, he sits next to you. If you need to pair up for an adventure, he stands next to you without saying anything. If he senses danger, his first instinct is to look your way. If he feels like you’re upset, he tries to distract you with stupid jokes until he sees a smile. It’s the closest he gets to admitting he feels safe around someone.

Carries things for you without saying a word

If you’re holding something heavy or look tired, he just… takes it from you. No snark, no jokey comment. He walks off like it was nothing, pretending it’s not a big deal – but if you thank him, he gets all fidgety and brushes it off with a “yeah yeah, don’t make it weird.”

Talks big but gets flustered easily

He’s an unbearable tease, but if someone genuinely flirts back at him? His brain shuts down and goes into panic mode. The second he realises someone is playing his own game against him, he either doubles down in an almost desperate attempt to stay in control (he usually ends up failing spectacularly), or completely shuts up for once.

Hoarder of small trinkets

If something catches his eye, he keeps it. Random objects, buttons, small toys, a weirdly shaped rock – he doesn’t even realise he does it, but his pockets are always full of little things he’s picked up from adventures. If he ever gives someone something from his collection, it means something.

Bonus: Sometimes he leaves you random gifts near your door or sneaks something into your pocket. No note, no context. Could be something useful, could be just a funny-looking rock. He never admits it was from him, but it always ends up being something you actually like.

Watches you while you talk, totally focused

If you enter the room or just talk to someone else when he’s around, he loses interest in whatever he was doing before. He’d look at you from the corner of his eyes every so often, ears tilted your way. He doesn’t say a word, just carefully listens. If you look over suddenly, he pretends he wasn’t.

Acts like he doesn’t remember things, but he does

He pretends to forget little things people say or do, but he remembers it all. He knows everyone’s favourite foods from their past lives, the memories they remember, what makes them laugh, what they’re afraid of. He just never brings it up because admitting he cares, even in the smallest way, is terrifying for him. He thinks of it as getting attached – something he swore to never do again. 

[harrywavycurly]

Almost Bumble Fumble: Ordinary

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

A/N: I have gotten asked for more of these two and I was very inspired by the song Ordinary by Alex Warren, it for some reason made me think of these two so 10/10 recommend listening to it! Enjoy!✨

Tag List: @georgiarose94 @maiajadestyles @fandomfreak404 @likea-silhouette @obsessiveenthusiast @thegr8estpuff @triski73 @amarenonamari @cloudyluun @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @mema10 @hisparentsgallerryy

Summary: Harry says something that causes a change in your relationship✨

You can feel his eyes on you as you stand at the sink washing the plates the two of you just ate dinner on, it’s a feeling you’ve gotten used to over the last few months ever since you ended up in front of his house during a mid morning walk. The two of you finding it just a bit odd that he just so happens to live only a fifteen minute walk away from you and yet you haven’t bumped into each other before but in true Harry fashion he chalked it up to the universe knowing just the right time to make the two of you come across each other’s paths, or dating profiles. You bite back a smile as you remember the first time Harry knocked on your door one Friday evening with a box of pizza and a bottle of wine, wanting to switch from your usual FaceTime hangout to an actual in person hangout and it’s as if the two of you haven’t stopped hanging out since. No words have been spoken about what exactly the two of you are doing, but at the same time you don’t think either of you need to explain it.

Harry while he was a little shy at first and needed you to be the one to reach over and grab his hand on one of your evening strolls around the neighborhood, now has no problem subtly showing his affection towards you with kisses to your forehead and a hand on you at all times if you’re within arms reach, he even holds your hand in public now and not just in the confines of the neighborhood and sometimes like now he will just stare at you with this far off look in his eyes that has the underlying hint of fondness that makes your heart want to burst. You on the other hand aren’t shy and have Harry laughing when you nearly cause him to fall over with how aggressive your hugs can be when you haven’t seen him in a day or two. Harry doesn’t ever have to wonder if you want him around because you simply drag him back to your side by his belt loop when he gets too far ahead of you while out at the shops or sometimes you just come up behind him and wrap yourself around him and rest your head between his shoulders and the sigh he hears you let out tells him you need his comfort just as much as he needs yours, the two of you just show it in different ways.

To the outside world the two of you might seem like an odd pairing, Harry being seen as somewhat quiet and reserved while you’re more on the vibrant and only slightly loud side and by loud it’s really just your laugh but Harry doesn’t mind because he adores the sound of it. Another thing is that Harry isn’t really online as much as someone his age is assumed to be, he prefers to have his head in a book and while you do enjoy reading you’re also more in tune with social media trends and quoting viral phrases to him that make him laugh or feel as if you’re playing a joke on him when he doesn’t quite get it but he tries and you appreciate his efforts every time he uses one of his newly learned phrases, even if it’s in the totally wrong context.

“I think it’s clean love.” Harry’s voice brings you out of your thoughts making the plate slip out of your hands and into the soapy water. “You okay?” You hear the smallest hint of concern in his voice as he slides a bit closer to you from him spot next to the sink where his drying station is set up.

“I’m fine.” You answer with a smile and you want to laugh at the faintest sound of what you know is a sigh of relief you hear come from Harry that without a doubt he tried to keep to himself but he can’t keep much from you given how close he managed to inch himself towards you while you were lost in your own little world.

“I just feel a little concerned.” You tell him with a slight purse of your lips as you reach for the plate that just fell back into the sink. Harry quirks an eyebrow at you as he watches you turn your head and look at the stack of dishes he’s already dried. “I mean honestly Harry have you never been on drying duty before? You can’t stack them.”

“I beg your pardon? You can absolutely stack dry dishes. How else are you meant to put them back on the shelf?”

“You can stack them after they dry overnight but not right after you run a rag over them. You’re going to make them all gross.”

“All gross? Really? The woman who has been using the same soapy water and nasty sponge to clean all the dishes is now worried my drying capabilities will be the reason they get all gross?”

“For someone who was standing there watching me like a hawk you clearly weren’t paying attention to what I was-”

“I always pay attention to what you’re doing.” It’s the softness of his voice that has you turning to face him. He has a hand on his hip while the other is down by his side holding the rag he was using to dry the dishes and his face has a genuinely sincere look on it as his green eyes stare into yours.

“That’s cheating.” You say with a huff making Harry let out a chuckle as he tosses the rag onto the counter before turning and placing his hands on your hips. “You can’t say things like that in the middle of a fake argument it’s-it’s rude Harry.” He just nods along while you speak as he pulls you closer until you’re resting your forehead on his chest and let out a dramatic sigh.

“I’d say sorry but I’m not.” He admits as his hands slide to your lower back. “And I know how you feel about lying and all that.”

“I appreciate the honesty.” Harry smiles when you lift your head off his chest so he can get a good look at your face. Your eyes have a sleepy little droop to them that could either be from the wine you had at dinner or the fact it’s nearing eleven at night, your cheeks have a faint pink tint to them that he feels happy to be the cause of and honestly Harry thinks you look adorable as you stare up at him.

“You’re pretty.” You say with a sigh as you bring a hand up and place it on the soft fabric of Harry’s t shirt and with that Harry has his answer that your little sleepy looking eyes are probably from a mixture of the wine along with the time of night.

“Thanks love.” He says with a chuckle as he leans down and places a kiss to your forehead. “But you’re the pretty one.” He argues making you roll your eyes as you reach up on your tiptoes so you can grab both sides of his face and pull him into a kiss that has his hand on your lower back tightening around you and pulling you closer into his chest.

“I still can’t believe you’re real.” You mumble once you pull away and turn to go back to washing the plates in the sink making Harry shake his head while dropping his hands from around you.

As he stands in front of the stack of dry plates he has to hold back a laugh because that little phrase is something he hears you mumble quite a bit to yourself or sometimes like now you let it slip out while still in front of him. He knows that you’re referring to him being real as in not some fictional human you’ve made up in your mind, it no longer holds the same meaning it did when you first saw him when you didn’t believe he was real as in the real Harry Styles.

“Harry?”

“Yes love?”

“You’re not really going to leave the plates stacked right?” You question as Harry turns his head just to see you looking at him with a look of minor concern etched on your face as you hold out a clean plate for him to take and dry off.

He can’t help but give you a reassuring smile to ease your worry since he can tell this is just one of those things you clearly like done a specific way. And since Harry isn’t a stranger to having certain ways of doing things he won’t argue with you this time, even though a small part of him does love the effortless way the two of you can go back and fourth without actually crossing any lines and turning silly bickering into a full blown argument.

“I’ll put them on the drying rack don’t worry.” You smile and give him a small nod of approval as he takes the plate from you.

“God we’re so domestic.” The statement makes a warm feeling wash over Harry because it’s true, the two of you often end up doing very ordinary and basic things such as grocery shopping and dishes together and now that he thinks about it, those moments are the ones filled with the most meaning for him. Because if he can have fun and enjoy every moment of doing everyday things with you that are usually a bit boring and feel more like a chore, than that has to mean he’s found something special with this relationship and with you.

“I’m not so sure about that one love.” You look down at the photo of the flower arrangement on your phone as Harry rests his chin on top of your shoulder. “S’a bit too orange.” He explains when you let out a huff and begin sliding through other examples the florist you’ve chosen for a party you’re hosting next week has on their website.

“Too orange? That’s not a thing.” You bite back making Harry chuckle as his hand on your waist gives you a little pinch. “It’s just for a little garden party oh-what about this one?” You hold your phone out so he can get a good look at the small yellow and pink arrangement, you feel him smile against your neck making a shiver run down your spine.

“That one’s nice.” He answers before lifting his head off your shoulder and reaching out towards your phone screen with his free hand so he can use two fingers and zoom in on the photo. “I like the pinks and the bits of green.” You smile as you briefly let your eyes glance up to check if your order has been placed on the little counter of the small cafe the two of you have become regulars at. A place that has Harry feeling more comfortable with showing his affectionate side while tucked away near the back with his back against the wall and you standing in front of him between his spread legs so your back can rest against his chest.

“I think I like it.” Harry notes the excitement in your voice as his hand drops away from your phone screen and lands on your waist.

“I love you-I mean it.” Harry’s words are a jumbled mess swirling around in his brain as he feels his face get hot and his hands suddenly begin to get all sweaty at his slip up. “I love it.” He reiterates as you slide your phone into your pocket and turn around so you’re facing him, his grip on your waist loosening ever so slightly as if he’s giving you wiggle room to run away and never speak to him again.

“Yeah? You love it?” Your voice is like a soothing tonic to Harry’s mind that’s running a mile a minute with things he should say to clear the air but when he meets your stare suddenly all those thoughts are gone. Leaving him with a pile of muddled words that only barely scratch the surface of how truly beautiful he thinks you are, especially when you’re looking at him like he’s the only person on the planet that means anything to you.

“Yeah.” Is all he can manage to get out and he feels a ball of anxiety form in the pit of his stomach as the thought of potentially just ruining everything with his stupid one word response but to his surprise, it earns him a grin as you reach up and place a hand on the side of his face.

“Good. I love it too.” His brain doesn’t have time to register what that means exactly, if you’re talking about the flowers or something else before you’re reaching up and placing a very quick kiss to his lips.

“Edward? Edward your order is ready!” You laugh and turn around as you hear the name you gave the barista for your order while Harry is still mentally stuck in the fog of not knowing if the two of you just told each other you loved each other in some weirdly yet very you type of way.

“I’ll go get our drinks.” You tell him over your shoulder and Harry just watches you walk away making his hands slip off your waist as you head towards the counter, leaving him standing there in a confused bubble while you’re just acting completely normal. But he’s brought back to reality when he looks up and finds you heading his way with your coffee in one hand and his tea in the other and a very sweet smile on your face.

“You think I should get two? Of the arrangements? One for each table?” You question casually as you hand him his tea. Harry can’t do much besides nod his head making you smile and reach up to place a kiss to his cheek. “Perfect.” You say with a smile as you reach for his hand and begin heading towards the door so the two of you can leave the cafe and continue on your morning walk that will eventually end at one of your houses just in time for a snack and some cuddles on the couch.

“Just focus on running Harry.” He thinks to himself as he rounds the corner at the end of his street.

It’s been two days since the cafe incident and ever since then something has been bugging him about this situation he’s in with you and this morning when he woke up he officially felt as if he’s going insane with not knowing where the two of you stand with each other so to clear his head he laced up his running shoes and hit the sidewalk. Normally this type of relationship is exactly what he likes, one that doesn’t need defining and the label of being exclusive because how could either of you really be seeing anyone else when all your free time is spent with him or your girlfriends and for him he doesn’t think a day has gone by in the last three or four months that he doesn’t either want to make plans with you or already has plans with you. But something about you has all of a sudden changed everything because he doesn’t think he would be able to handle it if you told him you wanted to see someone else while also seeing him, it would crush him.

“Oh those are nice. Are those roses? She likes roses.” He wonders as he runs past a front yard that has an impeccable garden with vibrant flowers and lush bushes.

As he continues down the sidewalk Harry begins to go back to the look on your face when he accidentally let those three little words fall out of his mouth. You didn’t look surprised or scared, you almost looked as if in that moment you were letting Harry decide on if he wanted to repeat them or not and whatever came out of his mouth you were ready to go along with. That realization makes Harry stop in his tracks.

“She loves me?” He pants as he tries to catch his breath in front of a random house in his neighborhood he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. “That’s what that means right? She-she was ready to say it back?” He mumbles to himself as he brings a hand up to his forehead while the other rests on his hip as he looks up towards the sky for a moment before a grin slowly begins to form on his face. “She loves me.” And with that he’s off running again but this time with a destination in mind, no longer needing to clear his head because he knows exactly what he needs to do or say in this very moment.

You’re standing in your kitchen holding a mug of coffee when you hear your front door open and then close, you don’t bother to check who it is because only two people have keys to your house and one of them is you and the other just so happens to be the flustered looking man standing before you in maroon running shorts and a black tank top. You silently watch as Harry slides his sunglasses off and tosses them onto the kitchen table behind him, he then puts both hands on his hips while taking in a few deep breaths and you wonder if he ran here on purpose or if he is just stopping by while on one of his more longer runs. When you set your mug down on your counter and open your mouth to speak Harry holds a hand up to you as if to tell you not to say anything just yet so you just close your mouth and give him the floor to say whatever it is he needs a moment to prepare himself to say.

“Are you my girlfriend?” His words come out rushed as if he’s still trying to catch his breath as he looks at you with bright green eyes and flushed cheeks. “Because if you’re not then I’d like you to be if that’s okay?” You rub your lips together as he nervously rubs at the back of his neck. “Because m’not sure I can go on without knowing how-”

“Three words.” Your voice is sweet yet serious as you cut him off mid sentence. Harry’s arms drop to his sides and his eyes to go a bit wide as he watches you take a step towards him.

“Three words?” He repeats with a quirked brow while running a hand through his hair.

“Three words. Eight letters.” You can’t fight the smile that wants to take over your face as you stand right in front of him, his face is a mixture of confused but also relieved that you’re not telling him to get lost or something worst. “Say them and I’m yours.” Harry tries to shuffle through all the random quotes he’s heard you say over the course of knowing each other as the last sentence hits his ears, he knows he’s heard it before and when he realizes where it’s from he can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him.

“I love you.” You have your hands on his face pulling him down towards you for a kiss before the last syllable leaves his lips. Harry’s arms instinctively wrap around your waist so he can pull you closer not wanting the kiss to end just yet.

“I love you too.” You mumble against his lips before capturing them in another kiss that leaves Harry feeling as if he’s floating on cloud nine when you finally pull away.

“Gossip girl? Really?” He asks with a breathy laugh that makes a grin spread across your face.

“I couldn’t just let the moment pass me by I mean how many times does someone get to say that quote? And it actually be perfectly timed? Besides,” Your hands travel down to Harry’s chest as you look up at him while his arms tighten their hold around you. “You know you love me.” Your voice is lower and more sultry than normal as you do your best gossip girl impression but it’s the wink you give him that sends the both of you over the edge and into a full fit of laughter

“I do yeah-I love you.” Harry placed a kiss to the top of your head as you rest your cheek against the fabric of his tank top. “So does this mean you’re my girlfriend then?”

“Yes Harry I’m your girlfriend.”

[aurmisery]

confessions unheard: sickening sweetness.

a ronin b. x gn! reader for 'My Fallen Valentine's.'

okay as you can guess this is going to be ronin x reader ! hope i did this prompt correctly? i just thought of really sweet (unhinged even) fluff.

cw // depictions of gore and viscera, this is ronin we're talking about LMFAO, violence, references to cat-calling/sexual harassment, drinking,

-and i'm sure that's it!

sorry if this is ooc, since this is supposed to be sweet n shit i tried making him more of a loser and uncharacteristically in love??? also i don't even know if he drinks and im sure it's probably not canon for him to be feinin this much 😭

idrk if i have a good grip on his character n all but i tried my best!! sorry for all the filler in this lol

good luck to everyone else participating!

(FUCKING FINALLY I GOT ALL THE WORDS BACK PLUS MORE!?! ENJOY!!!!! and if there's any errors....just ignore it...for my sake...)

word count: 5723 ❤️

something's...wrong, with ronin.

well- you technically could say that out of context and nothing would change, but no, something is terribly wrong with him. and surprisingly, it's not the fact that he's a serial killer with a kill count that rises practically everyday, nor is it the human remains aligning his shelves.

he's been out of it lately. constantly pacing around the reds and blacks of his room, all the while being more...fidgety than usual, unable to focus or parade his regular devil-may-care attitude around.

this is really fucking weird for him; ronin beaufort is the devil, and the devil doesn't change. he remains in the darkest pits of hell and slaps his knee at the idea of it, even.

he's unchanging, eternal, his punishment being no different.

so why couldn't he focus on his damn job and get this fucking filter replaced?

sweat beads down his forehead, grease coating his arms as he strained his neck further beneath the car, wrist flicking with each turn on the drain bolt and eventually...

it loosens, crust fluttering from the grooves of the screw, and the must of... whatever the hell's been sitting in this person's tank slowly infiltrating his nose.

it didn't have the strong petroleum scent, none of the chemical sharpness, and it didn't snake up his nose like new oil did either-

it smelled charred. ashy, even, and the must was evident as he turned the bolt and it did the rest of the work, a thick, almost black sludge filtering out of the tank and all over the concrete ground with a wet thud.

lacking a quick reaction, ronin's brows knitted low, letting a small 'fuck,' pass by his lips as he turned and reached around for wherever the hell he laid the oil catch pan.

he forgot to put it under the plug...somehow.

he's been forgetting to do a lot of things recently, matter of fact.

he shoves the thought down. he probably just needs to stop staring at a screen as soon as he comes home and get more rest, yeah, that's it.

speaking of a screen, when did you last text him? actually, when's the last time you two have held a conversation?

he slides the pan from beside him underneath the gunk-spewing tank, rolling from under the car and grabbing his tools and such off the ground, running his nails through the tips of his low ponytail.

...maybe he should check his phone.

it wouldn't hurt, just to see if there's a notification from you. he did get your number, finally. took a bit of convincing and some back-and-forth before you slid it, but now he has one of his best friends at his fingertips.

best...friends.

the collocation doesn't really fit with you, or at least the image he has of you. sure, you're his friend, a damn good one at that, and if he were to use it the way a normal person would, he would definitely call you his best friend.

but it doesn't feel right for him to call you that.

it's not like you're undeserving of the title, but it just doesn't fit with you. should he create a nice little title for ya?

he grins at the idea, and doesn't seem to notice the blackened oil trickling over his knuckles as he fumbles with his password.

you two are like... peanut butter and jelly? nah, overused, and stupidly corny. you two are like...thelma and louise! ehhh, he's not feeling it. cool reference, but maybe there's something else buried in that skull of his.

he leans against the car door, finally wiping his hand over the thin material of one of his plain work shirts. you can't really wear anything cool when you're working as a mechanic, after all.

tom and jerry? you two do bicker a lot. eh, not enough, also doesn't have that ring to it. bonnie and clyde? hard maybe, it'd be perfect if it was more platonic, besides, you two are just friends anyway.

friends- ugh, he cringes at that. he can't just dilute his partner in crime to a...friend.

naming you his partner in crime is very basic, but considering the underlying context between you two, it's rather fitting, right?

yeah, you're his partner in crime. plus, it doubles as a Set It Off reference in a way. fitting, veeeery fitting, actually.

"yo, beaufort! i'mma need this area in about 2 to 3, you finishin' up over there?"

a burly voice calls out- presumably one of his coworkers, and the twist in ronin's lips gives out- no notification from you.

he types out a quick message to you: 'still Alive?' as he slides his phone back onto the work table, he'll check it later- and only when he's done with this stupid replacement.

he lowers himself onto his creeper, rolling underneath the car whilst pulling the sludge-filled tin from underneath the ink-smeared tank and flushing the rest of the old oil out.

he grabs a wrench, tapping the rust and burnt oil from the plug and screwing it right back to its rightful place. he can do this quick, he's done this hundreds of times before, what's one more?

he's taking out the old tank when a high pitched chime rings out from his work table, his notifications alerting him of a new message.

weirdly enough, his motions freeze on cue and he's about to stand up and check it like it was instinct. but- well, he was still under the car.

a sharp, hollow crack rang through the garage as his head met the steel frame above him. a curse shot from his lips, low and snarled as the pain bloomed across his skull. eyes squeezed shut, he gritted his teeth, pressing a palm against the fresh ache.

for a moment he just...laid there, letting his arms fall flat on the concrete below him, exhaling through his nose and letting the pain settle before daring to move again.

what the hell's wrong with him? he told himself that he wasn't going to check his phone 'till he's done with this, and this is one of the easiest things to do in this field! why is it taking him this long?

through his wavering vision, he could spot two muddied boots slinking besides the car he's under, before they creased and the person sunk into a crouch.

"you okay there, kid?"

ronin rolled his eyes- 'kid', only one or two people here call him that, and the baritone of his voice paired with those boots must mean that the manager was doing his rounds and decided to check in on him.

"'m fine, just layin' on the concrete 'cause i wanna."

a thick rumble reminisce of a chuckle reins deep from the gut of the older man, before he cleared his throat and reached a gloved hand out underneath the car.

"need an ice pack?"

he eyed it- could help if there's any possibility of a bruise or a welt showing up, but as ronin ran a hand down his face, he gave a shake of his head.

it doesn't really hurt that badly anymore.

"nah, thanks though. just...lemme finish this and i'll be on my way out."

a grunt followed, the gloved hand retracting from under the car, and the raggedy pair of boots turned out of view.

alright, fuck it- let's just get this over with.

.

.

.

with a quick brush of his hands, ronin came out to the front, tapping on one of the various workers and letting them know that he was clocking out for the day.

slinging his bag over his arm, he was met with a calloused palm fixed onto his shoulder blade. he turns, and yep- the big guy.

"get some rest, you seem off your game."

the grouch's voice was unusually sincere, and it almost made ronin's gaze soften before the older man gave him an overly enthusiastic tussle of the hair.

"you're still young. sleep is important for you."

he's eyeing the light bags beneath his eyes and ronin could tell, but he only shrugged and gave a sloppy salute in return.

"yeah yeah, no kiddin', i'll be on my 'best' behavior next time. see ya later, old timer."

the gruff man stiffly nodded, immediately disappearing into the busy background as ronin turned and headed for the door.

as soon as the bell overhead chimed, he padded in his passcode and opened his messenger app, pleased to see the '3' icon bubbled besides your nickname.

[writer Darlin']

-'Sadly, my heart is still beating 😭'

-'agent's on my ass so I've been writing another piece for as long as I can whilst the hype is still high'

-'wouldja put me outta my misery?'

and there comes that feeling again, the staticky unease that bleeds into his cheeks, that flows in his chest and even shows through the light tremble of his fingers.

and then the obnoxious twist of his lips, the smile that weaves itself thick and heavy on his lower jaw that he can't seem to rip off, and he steps a bit slower through the sidewalk.

-'nah, i think I'll let ya Suffer a bit longer...'

-'besides, what's a devil to do Without entertainment?'

at this rate, you're probably rolling your eyes out of your own skull because of him, and he'd want nothing less.

[writer Darlin']

-'damn, cruel. shouldn't have expected the devil to be my savior anyway, guess I'll have to ask a sweetheart like Angel to smite me instead of your lame ass 🙄'

as soon as your reply dropped, he responded. no, not out of jealousy or anything stupid like that, but c'mon, be honest with yourself.

-'you've already got Lucifer himself staring over your shoulder, don'tcha think you're being selfish by hoarding all of the Divine power?'

he knows he's being a little shit, but that's just how he is when it comes to his best buds.

he's scrolling through your previous text messages, and it's enough to put a strain over his heartstrings. it's always a dance with you, and he wouldn't have it any other w-

...he nearly walks into a street light.

awkwardly shoving his phone back into his pocket, he decided to worry about getting home alive without some random slip-up ending in his death or worse.

yikes- yeah, he just needs a good kill and a few more hours of rest, and everything will go back to normal. that's all he needs.

...did you respond to his text yet?

.

.

.

maybe ronin was back to his usual self, because after going home and cleaning up, he felt like a new man.

it could've just been ridding himself of the grease and powder from his workplace, or maybe it was the thrill seeping its way back into his bones as he ran a finger over the cold, heavy iron of his crowbar.

changing back into his usual aesthetic helped too, reds and blacks with accents of silver coating him from head to toe, devil horns peeking atop the grey and black fabric of his beanie.

now that he's in uniform, pep flooded his step as he threaded his blackened nails through the silk of his hair, sliding out through his front door and into the night.

who's going to be his lucky pick for today?

.

.

.

he found his victim rather quickly.

greasy brown hair hung in uneven clumps around his sunken face, a pair of bloodshot eyes, watery and half-lidded, scanned the street with a predatory gleam, glinting with something both lazy and lecherous.

and each time a woman pedalled by, presumably hoping to get home before the night sky blackened further, his lips would curl into a crooked grin.

his targets were few and far between, but he made sure that every one of them knew that he had a mouthful of things to say about them right off the bat.

...no matter how young they looked.

it was almost funny, he wanted a victim and he found the best candidate as soon as he set out searching. who'd miss a scumbag like him? uptown needs their savior, after all.

it's more than enough to warrant bashing his head in for the night, and the perfect opportunity to clear his own in the meantime.

the narrow walls of the alley were slicked with grime and shadows. overhead, a single flickering street light was trying its' best to illuminate the corner with its green-hued flare.

its dying glow cast over the alley, draping its rickety textures in a haunting atmosphere- fitting, given that ronin had doused these walls with blood before.

the pavement was littered with crumpled newspapers, shattered glass, and puddles of murky water that reeked of decay. a nauseating stench hung heavy in the air- a blend of rotting food, damp mold, and something metallic and sour, like old blood.

scraping his crowbar along the exposed pipes decorating the filthy path, he tapped it against the dingy metal, once, twice- until finally, the scumbag turns his head, yellow teeth fixed into a scowl.

got him.

ronin's fingers flexed around the warming iron of his trusty weapon, before lifting it and raking its teeth against the brittle brick, a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard grating through the stale air.

"cut that shit out," a low snarl, warning, biting, even. the man's now leaning uneasily over his own two feet, glass bottle tight within the drunk's grasp.

ronin whistled out a long, sharp burst, dragging his tool against the cracked concrete, glass occasionally crunching under his platforms.

"you wanna go, asshole?" the pig snarled, vocal cords strummed with copious amounts of alcohol and mucus as his wrist wiped over his running nose.

the drunken bravado of this prick is more than enough to have ronin's fingers itching to burrow through his abdomen- to wreak havoc across this bastard's body and let him know what hell truly looks like.

the drunkard's now storming towards ronin, almost tripping over his own shoes as he slung slurred words and insults towards him.

little did he know, he was just luring him deeper within the emptied twists and turns of the alley, just to ensure that he gets enough time to hear him scream without any unneeded innocents stopping by and getting an eyeful of gore beyond their wildest nightmares.

eventually, the lone streetlight stopped its' flickering, dimming into a low hum buzz as its' glow grew weaker and weaker- and finally into pitch black.

how well can a drunk man see in the darkness?

.

.

.

it was the same routine. wash, rinse, repeat. mangle the disfigured body into whatever position he wanted and splatter the newly-killed man's innards all over the alley concrete for all to judge.

but the experience was....rather lacking. he barely had a taste of the rush, of the adrenaline rushing through his veins. it died out quickly, and he's right back to thinking of you as he slips through the night and right back into his sanctuary.

[goreboy] 04:06

-'hey Angel is cupid Also an Angel?'

[Angelic] 04:07

-'Well that's a lot of capitalization, especially with the A's but I don't think so? I think he's some god or something in Greek mythology, but I'm not too sure. Why?'

[goreboy] 04:07

-'you two have wings Good enough'

-'tell him to fuck off please and Thanks!'

-'and hey, you know i can't resist that Sweet sweet alliteration.'

[Angelic] 04:07

'How do I deal with you...'

'But wait wait wait, what does that mean? Cupid?'

he feels instant regret- he shouldn't be texting or ranting or whatever the fuck he's doing to angel right now. she's got her own shit going on, and he's skipping like a school girl in a field of daisies- well, preferably bodies, over the thought of...

you. god, it makes his heart hurt. why? how would he know?

he has to hunt you down for this- you definitely cast some weird spell on him to make him feel this strongly for whatever reason and it's absolutely destroying him.

sure, he cares about you, deeply. you're really close and he enjoys being around you, but he didn't know that hanging out with you a couple of times would amount to...this.

and now he's spiraling inside of his own head, falling apart at the seams so easily, and he doesn't even know why.

[goreboy] 04:13

-'oh god bless my bleeding Heart'

-'...'

-'it's Nothing.'

[Angelic] 04:13

'Ronin, is there something going on?'

being sardonically impulsive was a trait that rarely bit ronin in the ass, especially when his instincts were usually sharp, but when it did- it wasn't a fun time.

tucking his head in a bandage-draped palm, he dangled his fingers over the keyboard, only for them to hang motionlessly.

what does he even say to that? "i'm falling in love with one of my best friends and for the first time i'm too much of a pussy to admit it! woe is me!" give him a break.

[Angelic] 04:16

-'You don't have to tell me anything, but if there's anything going on, you know you have a safe place with me, no matter how irritating you are.'

-'Regardless, you really should sit down and just process anything that could be troubling you. Get some sleep in and see how you feel in the morning about everything, y'know?'

'-And if it's cupid related, I don't mind playing matchmaker. 🤍'

ronin couldn't help the smile creeping up on his lips. it helped, y'know? remembering that he had someone in his corner who he could confide in when things got heavy.

[goreboy] 04:17

-'Noted'

-'...'

-'thanks. for y'know, Everything.'

-'and that last bit seems rather Interesting despite the fact that you're basically a Lamer version of cupid'

[Angelic] 04:18

-'I hate you oh so very much 😭'

a dry chuckle vibrates through his chest, and he's shutting off his computer, letting the screen fade to black.

she's right, though. instead of moping in self pity, he should sleep on it, maybe even pray that he won't feel anything for you when the sun rises and he gets out of bed.

he lazily sets his phone on his nightstand, not bothering to plug it up before he had a double take, hitting the power button and reading the numbers in bold.

"4:20 AM."

didn't he say something about getting more sleep?

shit.

.

.

.

he wished he could say that sleep did something for him in the grand scheme of things...

it did little to nothing, especially with the time he went to sleep. now he's restless, maybe a tad manic, and driving himself absolutely mad at the thought of you.

god, it feels as though his teeth are about to fall straight out of their sockets- and not just because he's been slapping himself dumb around his room all night.

he's been thinking- way, way, way, way too much. thinking about his feelings, what he wants, if there's a possibility of you feeling anything too, if you want him too.

further in the day, he thought that perhaps a drink or two will smooth the rough edges, shut his brain up enough for him to do the usual, but after a glass, or two...maybe three, he wasn't getting any closer to salvation.

he still thinks about it- those rare times that you've two hung out and you would casually slink an arm over him or play with his hair as you two binged another horror franchise. the times where he'd turn to watch your reaction at a movie heavily relying on shock value and how you'd scoot a little closer to him after it.

was he just imagining that? did your heart beat no faster at the idea of being closer to him? was all of this normal for you? whenever you went outside to do something simple, like checking the mail, did you not spot something that reminded you of him?

because as he's trailing down the countless alleyways he has memorized like the back of his hand, everything he looks at sends his mind into a blurry fuzz of everything you.

he didn't even notice the storm clouds rolling in, and the low grumble of faraway thunder did little to dissuade him from traveling farther from home, despite his lack of jacket or umbrella.

he felt like a stray dog wandering the streets with a maw full of bleeding rot, looking for something to devour that'll push the feeling down.

but there's nothing to do to push it down, to cast it out of sight and out of mind, and he's too full of feelings that he doesn't know what to do with-

should he pick out another kill for him to waste his time on?

normally, that'd be something he'd consider, something he'd chase out and bide his time on until the adrenaline, the rush, the high- would hopefully push you out of mind.

but he knows it'll just fail, like it did the day before.

the sky's weeping heavier at this point, and he's just now wringing out the black fabric of his shirt, drenched beyond relief at this rate.

he shrugs it off like it's whatever, as if the thunder and fat raindrops pummeling down on him was nothing more than an inconvenience, and he decides to retreat back home for the day.

each stride through the darkening streets feel almost weightless as he trails down the empty sidewalks, and it's right there.

his sanctuary.

except he turns the doorknob and it's... locked.

a frown bags over his lower jaw, and he tries it again. nope, locked.

and then a hollered "i'll be right there!" muffles behind the door. wait, what?

he looks forward, noticing the unfamiliar 'welcome!' rug at the doors front steps, and the change in scenery around him.

the door opens, and before he can hot tail it out of there, you're peeking out from behind the frame, and your brows furrow.

fuck, he's so screwed.

did he really self sabotage himself so badly in his drunken stupor that he walked to your front door instead of his?

because now he gets to see you- in person. and he doesn't know if he can handle that right now, if he can stand face to face with you knowing how his heartbeat quickens at the sound of your voice, nonetheless seeing you right before him.

you're motionless for a second, eyes beading over his form in a vertical line before you craned the door wide open, a mix of concern and confusion etched onto your face and he sobered up at the sight immediately.

don't you see that you're opening the front door to the worst person right now? fuck, why did you decide to answer? you shouldn't have, you really, really shouldn't have.

it felt like he was dying of embarrassment, and death had never felt so foreign and uneasy in his chest as he gave you a nervous grin.

"uh, hey."

his voice was dry and nearly died out as soon as the words left his lips, a faint crack ending off of his awkward greeting.

and suddenly, he could feel the way his pants weighed more than usual and how his shirt stuck uncomfortably close to his skin, fat raindrops still pummeling him under the dark sky.

"is it...normal, for you to be standing in the pouring rain?"

it was a jab, a friendly one at that, but your lighthearted words were simultaneously laced with...shock? surprise? maybe pity?

he pulled at his collar, sheepishly rubbing at the nape of his neck as water trickled down against his spine, causing a shiver to stream through him.

"uh, yeah-yep. y'know, just, uh...getting some fresh air."

getting fresh air in the middle of a thunderstorm? yeah, right. he was hoping to lean into the dry humor of it all and maybe crack a smile out of you that would allow him to brush past the inevitable 'what the fuck are you doing here?' question, but fate said otherwise.

"well, maybe you should come inside? i mean-you're soaked and the night's only gonna get darker."

immediate no. he cannot let himself step through your doorway, he cannot delve between the walls that's everything...you. that's the LAST thing he needs right now, last thing he should surround himself with.

you tug at the wet fabric of one of his sleeves, as if trying to guide him into the warmth of your home, but he only nails his palms over the ridges of your doorframe, enabling him still.

"no, i'd rather stay riiiight here, thank you."

you side eyed the worsening weather at his back and grazed your pupils over to his, staring at him as if he said something funny.

"ronin-"

"'m fine where i stand, thanks darlin'."

you frown, your brow raised strictly as if you were about to scold him, but you held your tongue for whatever reason, as if you could tell that he really didn't want to step inside.

"fine, but if you get a cold and i have to take care of your ass, don't tell me i didn't warn you."

is it bad that the scenario doesn't sound too bad to him?

his heart's working against him in ways he never knew it could, and before he could shut himself up, he's leaning further towards you, eyelids heavy and irises locked onto yours.

"you'd take care of me if i were sick?"

he didn't realize how desperate he was coming across, but when he heard the immediate drop in his tone and the lack of crypt in his voice, he felt a flutter in his chest. fuck, you're killing him.

the attitude slathered all over your face phases over, shifting into light solemn as you cross your arms, giving a small nod.

"yeah, of course. i care about you,"

fuck, you're killing him!

"-you're one of my bestest friends, after all."

oh my god, put him out of his misery already!

he's never rolled his eyes harder, he could've sworn he saw the man on the cross himself for a moment and he could've set on his knees as a believer right then and there.

maybe he should ask for the lord to strike him down here and now, and hopefully with enough repentance he'll die on the spot.

unluckily for him, you noticed his reaction, the way his head turned and his x'ed out pupils narrowed and slid out of view. the way his head veered away from you and his nostrils flared momentarily.

now you're curious, and you already know what happens to those who question things they probably shouldn't. curiosity killed the cat, 'n all.

"well, you have something to say, yeah? this is the first time i've seen satan himself shivering, so should i assume that hell finally froze over?"

the jest in your voice was unmistakable, but so was the genuine undertone of your question. he wished he could turn you away and soothe your curiosity with a toothy grin that told you all you needed to hear-

but with how he's standing ahead of you like a deer in headlights, he'd reckon that it wouldn't do much to salvage this situation.

"i don't," he began, only to slap a hand over his face with his index and middle fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"i, i can't, it's..."

he drawls off, and he can feel it, the excuses longing to claw their way out of the confines of his throat, the overwhelming need to escape your gaze, and the hesitation churning in his abdomen.

"wow, whatever the hell you're going on about is really fucking you up, huh?"

you weren't wrong. this was definitely out of character, especially for ronin out of all people.

you clicked your tongue, rolling it over your teeth as you mentally noted the slight tremor in his body.

"are you...sure you don't want to come in?"

your voice falls on deaf ears, he's too absorbed in it all, in everything you do down to the smallest things. it's embarrassing, really, the dilation of his pupils following the view of your tongue running over the angle of your canines.

the sight should strike terror into his bones and he knows it. he should be running for the hills at this point - what can he even do to tilt the odds in his favor?

and yeah, he's fucking horrified. horrified at the way that his face doesn't pale in fear, but hazes over with the lightest pink. horrified at the way his heartstrings tense and pull, as if his heart was trying to ruthlessly beat itself out of its' bindings.

you're the scariest thing he's come across. the careless ruffle of your hair, the rosy pigment blotched over your bottom lip, and that...casual look in your eye. the way light dances and reflects in your irises like the prettiest firework show he's ever seen.

you're bad. really fucking bad for him, you're the worst thing he's laid eyes on, and he knows it once your head tilts in confusion and his gut wrangles high into his throat. what the fuck are you doing to him? do you know what the fuck you're doing to him?

you're probably deeper in the pits of hell than he is, and that's saying something. you're dangerous! akin to some monstrosity that the likes of man couldn't even fathom.

he was wrong for questioning your lack of survival instincts when you opened the door for him, he should've been questioning his own when he wandered to your front door like a lamb to the slaughter.

instead of having your aorta between his fingers, you have his wrangled between yours, and you don't even fucking know it.

the crackle of thunder right down the street is enough to wake him from his internal monologue, and he realizes that you're basically shaking him dry, snapping your fingers before him in a pitiful attempt to 'wake him up'.

"jesus christ," you heave, and you're grabbing him by the wrists, the heat of your fingers locking around his pulse burned his cheeks into a brighter shade of pink that, for once, made him look more alive than corpse.

"ronin, talk to me. tell me what's going on, please, you're not acting like yourself, and that says something."

the sound of his lifeline thumps heavy in his eardrums, even as he digs his teeth into the crackled, slightly bloodied mess of his bottom lip. he can feel the random, morbid variations of everything he's been feeling coursing through his veins.

they taste odd, unbalanced over the piercing on his tongue, and he doesn't even know how to describe it himself. fuck it, he's here right now, he needs to do something about these feelings while they're still fresh and bleeding, but all the ideas garble up into pathetic word vomit once he gets a hold of them.

he's eyeing the wet glisten of your lash line, and he notices you're now, too, partially in the rain. the hands holding his wrists now interlocked with his, fingers crisscrossing over one another.

he's thinking about it all; the times you've shared, ranging from your hangouts to your gaming sessions, and they all were...

perfectly imperfect.

yeah, the time you two went out for ice cream and not even two steps away from the truck, your scoops splattered all over the pavement. or the last time you guys hung out over at his place and blackjack- his pet rat, started nibbling on your fingers and you nearly dropped the damned thing.

nothing ever seemed to go as planned when your paths crossed. it was as if the gods themselves conspired to curse your time together, weaving misfortune into every interaction, a twisted, modern-day version of romeo and juliet. yet, no matter how things unraveled, the night would always end the same: with laughter, warmth, and the unmistakable feeling that none of it mattered as long as you were together.

the stupidest shit could happen on the days that you've planned to see each other on, and no matter what, you two would find a way to work it out, without fail.

standing here now, would telling you ruin everything that's been? divide you two back on your separate roads, the way fate wants it to be?

he's tired of guessing.

twisting black painted nails around the width of your hand, he moves your palm up to the plain of his chest, and your brows raise. he lays it close to his collarbone, but far down enough that the flat of your hand meets the rapid thudding in his body.

"feel how fast my heart's beating?"

you nod.

"would'ja drive a stake through it? spare me my autonomy, quiet the rhythm in my ears and leave me no longer breathing?"

he's closer to you now, the x's in his pupils trailing your every feature, taking in the way your cheeks flush and your lids lower.

"would you consider that mercy? no longer needing to confront your emotions?"

he gives you the slightest smile at your response, the void in his gaze sucking you in as he lays a thumb under the curve of your lower lids, brushing over your cheekbone, smearing a few water droplets across your cheek.

"who wouldn't? that's the beauty in being human, in feeling all these...things. gives us so many weaknesses, so many flaws, but so, so much to discover."

he's almost grinning ear to ear at the sight of your eye twitching irritably, a tight lipped smile spread on your face as you huff. he can tell you want him to get to the point.

so he will.

"ronin, stop all the cryptic talk. just, tell me what's going o-"

"i'm in love with you."

and the warmth pumping through your cheeks increased by tenfold, for a moment, the cogs in your brain just... stalled. you blinked, once, twice, staring at him like he'd just spoke in a language you didn't know.

"wait... what?" the words tumbled out before you could stop them, a mix of confusion and disbelief your words.

"you... you like me?"

"did i stutter?"

"no, no, i-i just...like, like like me?"

it was adorable; how doubting you were, your words almost frantic. and it wasn't in a 'ew, you like me?' type of manner, it was more of a 'oh my god, you like me? me!?' way.

he now has both of his hands cupping your face, thumbing along the corner of your lips and you're even warmer- or maybe it's just because he's drenched in rain water and you're only slightly damp.

"is there somethin' wrong with me for likin' you?"

and just like that, the tables turned. you're the one who's flustered and trying to explain yourself while he's just smug watching your panicked display with a grin.

"no! no, it's just- i'm...dumbfounded. i mean, i didn't really see it coming. are you...sure?"

he's more than 100% sure, but if you need some more convincing, he doesn't mind.

"want me to prove it to ya?"

his jaw's already nearing yours and a low timbre wedges in the tangle of his vocal chords, words sweet and curious.

his question was rhetorical- he knew you wanted him to, and your irises giving his lips a quick glance confirmed it.

"well? i'm waiting in the wings."

you give a slow nod, hands running up to the broadness of his shoulders before he dipped forward and...

the soft pout of your bottom lip met the cracked surface of his, and it couldn't have been more perfect, the trailing of your fingers rising through the soaked locks sticking to his skin. you're warm, really warm, and he doesn't want to let you go.

and suddenly he can breathe again, the tension compressed in his body releasing all at once, he, for one, finally feels free at the maddening press of your skin to his.

the faint taste of alcohol dances between you two, and your tongue gives a light swipe over his bottom lip in response to it, as if trying to get a better taste.

have you come from the abyssal sky above to grace him salvation? to save him from the endless pits of his own sin? to cut him apart with gentle hands, to dissect him with hushed promises of alleviating the burning ache in his chest?

because the warm cradle of your embrace sets his soul alight, and he's burning up like a dry weed catching the first sparks of summer's relentless rays.

it's been so long since he was last touched like this. since he's had someone to cradle, someone to hold, to kiss, to love.

he's been saved by you, and not in the biblical sense, no, he's damned no matter how you look at it. but he no longer feels lost, no longer yearning, craving something he thinks he can't have.

eventually, you have to pull away, his arms still slung over the dip of your back, and yours still around the nape of his neck.

"whaddya say? wanna be my partner in crime?"

you cringe, your nose scrunching in utter distaste at his title for you and you pitch a playful whack on his chest, a curl lingering on your lips.

"were you always this cheesy?"

he's about to respond with a teasing quip back, but then-

"ah-achoo!" his head pivots away from you and into the crease of his elbow, sneezing into his arm and he sniffles quietly.

"i uh, might have to take you up on that offer you proposed earlier?"

"see! i told you!"

----

hi teehee thanks for reading sorry this definitely sucks ass in some parts bc i rushed this last minute, lots of things here were just made up/headcanons about his character

i....i finished editing it....2000 words officially brought back from the dead...i couldn't have done it without the power of friendship ‼️

[webbluvrsugar]

Lie To Girls — Spencer Reid x exbau!reader

slightly based on the song sharpest tool by Sabrina Carpenter but it’s more like the song would fit them right (love me some angst, had to do it.)

cw: angst with fluff at the end, no use of y/n, passes a little bit after JJ confessed her feelings for Spencer. - this isn’t a jj slander, only serves for context.

Spencer sweared to you he was over JJ. The blonde had just confessed her feelings for him in a case, and really, you guys used to be fine, at least until he found out his crush of years actually liked him all this time that passed, that he could’ve had a chance all this time if there was no miss communication between them. God, he didn’t even want to tell you, not that he was afraid with the way you’d react but that he knew it was… wrong, in some way, it was. You took it pretty well, but then he confessed he’d been thinking about it more than usual and that just wouldn’t cut it. Which led to the both of you arguing in the living room of his apartment.

“I — I don’t know what you want!” You shout, a mess of tears, he’s been trying to explain that he didn’t really mean anything he said previously. “Sure, you had a chance, but am I not enough?”

It breaks Spencer’s heart to see you like this — so emotionally distressed because of something he said, something stupid and reckless, and it doesn’t seem like it will get better soon.

“No, I’ve.. I’ve never said that, you’re more than enough to me, I just thought—“ he tries to speak, but he’s cut off by you.

“Thought what?” You take a step closer, you’re so sad that he wishes you hadn’t done that. “She’s married! Jesus — she has kids!” You sniff, his head clenches.

“I know.” He admits, ashamed, head hung low.

“I don’t know what happened between you two but there’s no way of fixing it!” Your words are bitter, and they hurt, but he understands why you’re acting like this, he won’t blame you.

He doesn’t respond to that, you can see the look in his eyes, as if he’s heartbroken, and really you don’t know if it’s because of you or Jennifer, it’s hard to tell, and maybe that is exactly why you hurt him even more with your next words.

“If you want me to leave, I will.”

You take another step closer, Spencer gulps, and when he stays silent, you start crying incessantly, hands up to your face as if you’re ashamed of him seeing you like that — you shouldn’t be, he realises how much he really messed up. He’s hurt, confused, but he didn’t realise how this would affect you, and if anything, you’re both to blame.

Spencer’s a nice guy in your eyes, the perfect boyfriend even through his flaws, you don’t know if it’s because of his personality or really because you’re just madly in love with him, but even now, you can’t see malice in the way he acts. He would never need to lie to you the way he did when he said ‘I don’t love her anymore.’, he would always be a saint to you.

He approaches you finally, pulls you into a tight hug at his chest, places a kiss on top of your head and grips you like you’ll fly away if he doesn’t hold you.

“I’m sorry, okay, I just made a mistake,” he whispers, resting his chin over your hair. “I don’t need anyone else.” He breathes.

“Was just a stupid mistake.”

[emberphoenixisgoingtolive]

how the Nublar Six would swear

CW, swearing (no shit /hj) as in, the swear words are said. i know (??) there are kids here so like. if swearing makes you uncomfortable, scroll past <3

Darius:

mama Bowman did not raise him to swear. Brand taught him the cuss words and mama Bowman got mad at him when seven year old Darius randomly yelled “SHIT!” when he dropped something

was a literal kid in camp cretaceous, so he was partially scared to swear, partially willing to do so anyway to Fit In With The Older Kids

the result was swearing in the worst moments. someone confesses something bad that happened to them and Darius says, completely genuinely, “wow, i’m so fucking sorry that happened to you😥” and Kenji laughs so hard because he did not use it in the right context

by the time the camp fam get back to the mainland though he is better at swearing in the right places

chaos theory however has him cursing his mouth off, usually only when he’s alone but he is prone to a frustrated “what the fuck were you thinking?!”

also calls people a dickhead a lot (he picked it up from Brooklynn since it’s a word more commonly said in britain iirc)

Brooklynn:

swears like a brit (cos of all the time she spent in london and i headcanon one of her dads is british)

the other group tease her for saying shit like ‘wanker’ ‘twat’ ‘bloody’ as well as some words the others haven’t even heard of (wtf does bollocks/bugger/minger/bellend even mean)

however the joke is on the other campers when they call someone annoying a “bloody bastard twat” when they get back to the states and their parents look at them like 🤨

regular cunt user (and cunt server)

says bitch [reclaimed] a lot

Sammy:

refuses to swear

instead she’ll spit out every damn/darn/heck alternative imaginable

or start complaining in Spanish

the nublar six have heard her swear one (1) time and it was something like “what the fuck is wrong with [insert villain of the day, probably d*niel k*n]” or when Kenji’s not–father died and Sammy first heard the news, she whispered a discreet “fuck him” and Kenji momentarily felt better

Yaz:

swears like an absolute sailor but only around her friends

when things are not going their way she will probably start swearing at a tree or something. everyone stands in mostly fear and trepidation except Ben, who is mentally making notes of all the new words she’s giving him

when the nublar six meet Yaz’s mother, Yaz doesn’t swear At All around her and it unnerves them (her mum is fine with her cussing a bit (she’s earned it bfr) but Yaz prefers not to)

her use of ‘what the fuck’ got so out of hand that the others started a swear jar exclusive to Yaz saying that phrase which got her to cool it a bit

swears less in chaos theory; she’s learned to keep it in her head

Kenji:

was raised not to swear because it “tarnishes the kon family name”

of course, Kenji proceeded to swear whenever his dad was out of earshot in every other sentence

he went through that annoying era where people think it’s cool to say fuck every other word a year or so before camp cretaceous

has learned to moderate his level of swearing but will still drop an occasional “oh shit” or “fuck this”

canonically says stuff like “we’re cooked!” but would also say “well we’re fucked” when the campers come across a sticky situation

when brainrot words became a thing he was all over brainrot words for a solid week. someone would put something silly on their group chat and Kenji would reply “um what the sigma 🤓☝️” to be annoying. Yaz gives him three strikes and then boots him from the group chat

says he’s serving kont a LOT. he put it on a t shirt and wears it all the time

Ben:

terrified of swearing before camp cretaceous and all throughout season 1. one of the others says fuck or shit and he visibly flinches

however post jungle boy transformation, he says fuck easily, most predominantly “FUCK YEAH BABY!” when he’s exploded something

the first time he said fuck around the other campers, they all turned to look at him like 😲 and he just grins and says, “i’m a changed man”

goes back to the mainland with so much new vocabulary, he accidentally drops a swear bomb around his mother and she gasps so loud

[pushingdaisies1]

Nasty Dog . . . ♡ ↳ (part two of ''kinda hate you - kinda love you")

(✧ ˚.) PAIRING-> James "Logan" Howlett {A.K.A} Wolverine x "X-Man" Reader >_< (✧ ˚.) SUMMARY-> You kept on replaying that moment with Logan in your mind. Something small definitely put you on one hell of a roll. It made you think a lot more about what you two shared. Especially if it was even something to hold on to as much as you did. Antagonizing him over breakfast about how much of a show-off he can get, he complies to help you with your class. Specifically when he overhears you talking about your lesson plans. Hand-to-hand combat and you need another demonstrator? Sign him up big time.

(✧ ˚.) AUTHORS NOTE -> hi party people!! gonna make this part short so I don't fill half of this post with my yapping. like I've repeated over the last two(?) , tysm for all of the love. its funny x-men has reignited my writing hehe haha. i wanna write for logan more nd also do professor x?? james mcavoy my love? anyways , u and logan are so weird I'm loving it so hard. also might open up requests for x-men so I can write for the whole bunch. ESPECIALLY lolo , the honey badger of my eye 100%. Hope you enjoy and comment if you'd like to be on a taglist for my works!! (most likely will be doing a lot of x-men stuff until I run out of ideas.)

(✧ ˚.) CWS (?)-> again this is supposed to take place within the context of X-Men 97/X-Men animated series , second person pov , descriptions of combat/sparring, kinda alluded to you two being fwb?? lowkey more complicated but, YALL DONT FUCK SRRY but definitely some suggestiveness , you and Logan kiss n argue and not so makeup so idrk if that counts for hurt/kinda comfort???..

Like the night before that, you were pacing back and forth around your room. The place you would stay most of the time if you ever even had a day off. On your nearby desk would lay students' reports. Ranging on physical fitness and endurance, health studies, and so on.

Ororo sat crisscrossed on your bed as she watched you. Her expression was grim as she looked down into her tea. She was originally planning to go to bed. Though you came to her with troubles plaguing you. X-Men are like family to one another, so she spared you her time. Your worrying made more sense once you gave her the slightly skimmed-over details. You left bits and pieces out of the story for your own sake.

“So he.. and then you…?” She questioned, voice low and face absent in thought as she cringed in realization. You quickly nodded as you held your hands to your face embarrassed. "I know Ororo! It's really ... really bad." Storm couldn't help but crack a small chuckle seeing how frazzled you were over Wolverine. It looked like there was smoke coming right out of your ears with how huffy and puffy you were. "Wow, breath for me. The only thing you should be passing out onto is your bed, not the floor." She assured as she set her cup aside on your nightstand. She got up to look at you face to face. Gently taking your face in her hands. The most, and I mean the most you told Storm was a very cut-down version of the story. Nothing about the nights you were whisked away into his room. How you two used each other consensually as another body to rip into and hold when nights got long.

It's not like you two had nothing. There was a spark undeniably there. But to you, it felt like his eyes would always be for Jean. It's not like you couldn't see why he was infatuated with the redhead. You've known her long enough to know that she would always stick things through with Scott.

Logan was always a fan of the hunt, you were like a place where he could bury his bones. You were familiar, you never had plans to leave his side.

Besides, for the sake of your affair with Logan, it was best not to complicate things. That was before he decided to throw out some choice words. Words that made your chest tighten and sweat rise through the roof. She rubbed under your eyes with her thumb as she guided you to look back at her. "Whatever you and Logan have going on is truly none of my business. Nor the team's business at all." She explained, hearing her speak was so calming. Her tone was always so smooth almost ethereal. "As your friend and your sister, I can't sway your hand either." From the day she arrived in the mansion, Ororo was like your constant. You relied on your friends sure. But like her and Jeans shared kinship, you had something similar with her. Which is why it hurt even more with your dilemma. "Logan is not a perfect man. I know you are stronger than this. You know what's good for you. The X-Men will always have your interests at heart, yes. But it's you who has to make this call." She hummed as she leaned her forehead against yours. "Sadly the ones we yearn for sometimes, or even will always have their heart set on another. You are better than that. You and him can mess, sure. But one day it will end and he'll go back to pining over our Jean." She spoke sweetly with a sympathetic smile. She was right like always.

She looked at you once more, forehead still against yours. "It is you who has to move on to someone who will put you into perspective."

A comforting embrace from Ororo absorbed you. It felt as if you were embraced by the world. Clinging onto her tight, she stopped the storm weathering inside of you. Gently rubbing your back she'd let the silence ruminate inside of your bedroom for a while. "Take some time dearest, maybe speak to him if you can." She murmured into your hair. "Maybe you two just need some needed distance? Because he's definitely missing out on one extraordinary creature." A small smirk grew onto her features as she separated your hug, you complying of course. "All I know is that you deserve whatever honesty you can squeeze out of that man." She acknowledged with the smile you always related to hope. Ororo was your consciousness, she was pretty much one of the most level-headed of your team. You thanked the fate that brought Ororo into existence. Without her words of real wisdom, you would still be spiraling in your bed like a clown. "Thank your Ororo, truly I do mean it." You spoke with a humble smile as she chuckled softly. "We're family, I'll always guide you by any means necessary." She replied, giving you one final look of affirmation before reaching the door. She opened it gently, letting the air open it wider before her eyes wandered to you one last time. "Sleep well, don't let yourself run mad because of him." She purred, leaving you alone. You stood there with yourself. Sucking in a breath of air you knew what was needed. The haze in your continuous stream of thought cleared. With one more look around at your walls, your eyes turned to your bed. You fell right in under your warm and fuzzy blankets. You were practically knocked out as soon as your head filled the pillow. Tomorrow you should be fine, tomorrow will be a better day. Quickly night turned to day. You were awoken by the sound of the students playing on the nearby basketball court down below. Your shoulders eased some more once you saw the empty hall in front of you. No one to interrupt your morning stroll down to the kitchen, where you knew by now someone had to be in there. You quickly jostled yourself down the stairs as soon as you caught a whiff of food. By just a tiny sniff you knew it was Gambit cooking. Your stomach cheered and roared as you rounded the hallway. Coming into the kitchen, Gambit was already dishing some of his beignets up. His hair was up and swooped as he wore a cropped t-shirt, with a colorful display of artwork on it that you didn't really want to decipher. Surprisingly it was a pretty quiet morning. But then you realized why when looking at the clock. The biggest surprise was that even Gambit was up this early. Scott too, as he was sat down with a newspaper on and his regular shades. Gambit swung around seeing you, fresh beignet in hand. "Cher, good morning to you!" he greeted you with a sing-song tune. He stopped at no time dishing up the last batch. You cracked a sleepy grin as you rubbed one of your eyes. "Am I in heaven? I don't think I've ever seen you whip something up this early." You joked as you found a seat at the table. "Gambit is in a good mood this wonderful day, no?" He purred as he smacked on his final touches. Scott looked up from the paper with an eye roll. Only noticeable with the way his head tilted. "He accidentally charged his alarm clock, woke me and Jean up." He snickered, taking another sip of his mug. The sweet smell of sugar and cinnamon filled the air. If you had no self-restraint, he'd be having to remake that entire batch after five minutes.

"Alarm clock? I thought you said Gambit works on his own time?" You turned to Gambit with a raised brow as he leaned against the island counter. He looked away with a small smirk gracing his lips. "I listened to the missus." He shrugged carelessly as you couldn't help but hold back a laugh. His and Rogue's back and forth always made your mornings lighter. Soon the kitchen filled with everyone else. Jean happily greeted Scott with a kiss on the cheek, sucking your wandering eyes into conversation. Rogue soon followed, coming into the kitchen and stretching like a cat. Gambit was already climbing up her tree, given their whole "deal." Their coy and flirtatious banter always brought a smile to your lips , making you get all idealistic-y.

Jubilee and Storm were one of the last to follow. Jubilee of course decided to sleep in late, what teenagers do. Storm explained her absence due to deep talks with the professor.

She especially looked at you with a kind-eyed smile, peacefully soaking in the team's chatter as she too gathered herself food. Jubilee clung to you the entire breakfast. Not like at your hip, but you were one of the ones she got close to immediately. It made sense and you didn't mind her popping into your meal to ask about how this all was supposed to work. "I thought since I'm an X-Man, I didn't really have to DO school here?" She thought aloud, beignet and soft blueberries halfway in her mouth. You answered her question swiftly, relishing in your thirst diminishing.

"It's different since you are still a kid." You hummed, taking the last bites of your plate. "Besides, the extra training besides just on-the-field stuff could help. Danger room drills aren't the only thing a young X-Man like yourself should be going over."

She sighed while resting her chin on her knuckles. "I know, just feels so bogous!" She scoffed playfully, serving herself a big bite of food. Your heart rate was exhilarated by some once you heard Storm greet Logan a "Good Morning." The two of you haven't spoken much to each other. Outside of short-term missions and war room meetings. You weren't surprised when the both of you so quickly made and lost eye contact. He grumbled in response, you weren't surprised. You could hear his confused murmuring as he rummaged for a cup. You spoke up from where you sat at the table. "On the counter, got bored, and knew you would be hankering for a pick me up." You turned back to face him in your chair. You were even taken surprised that you made the first "move." In response, he flashed you a toothy grin. "Looks like someone kissing ass this morning." He gruffly spoke, making up his own hefty plate.

As usual, the professor stayed off in his study. Everyone at the table talked amongst themselves. You couldn't remember how you and Logan started pestering one another. No shocker Gambit with a shit-eating grin amped up the bragging. One minute it was lesson plans, another it was Logan talking about how he could easily show you up during your lesson. Chest puffed, his arms crossed somewhat. He picked scraps out from in between his teeth using a free claw. It gleamed in the shimmering sunlight escaping into the room as his mouth continued to run. "Come on! I'm always the one saving your ass." He chuckled with grit as he finally was able to get out of a piece of that egg. "The other way around Grandpa." You snickered with your teeth on full display. Jean tried to put a stop to your and Logan's childish spat. If you could even call it that. One remark after another and soon he was agreeing to help you in the dangeroom later on in the day. Just your luck, it was foolish to even think this would have no hiccups. You passed through the day doing regular tasks. When the professor wasn't alert about any new trouble, or the school wasn't in shreds it was pretty peaceful.

You spent your time diligently working over those same tasks you despised when you had your hunger for excitement. The quietness around the school was comforting.

Time swept you away before you could realize it was time for your class. Young mutants swarmed into your room, chipper and excited for what today brought. You never expected to enjoy teaching this much. Quickly as the chatterboxes chattered, you soon quieted down the bunch. Greeting your students, you stood up from behind your desk. Rounding up to the front to address the entire room. Diligently you went over the topic for today's lesson. Today it was time to focus on hand-to-hand sparring. Being a mutant did mean having powers at whoever's disposal. But just in case the situation arose of being unable to use those powers, there was always a "plan b" needed at the ready. Most of the students were either paying attention first row or loosely clueing into what was planned for the hour. You didn't really mind, hearing a teacher talk no matter how vibrant they were would never stop being annoying. In the middle of your rapid explanation, you were interrupted by the door swinging open. No thanks to a lot of the doors in the school being a lot more noisy. In the doorway stood Logan, posture steady. With the amount of flannels he wore you wouldn't be surprised to see them being eighty percent of his closet. "I was needed, so here I am." He announced with a bitter sound as he cleared his throat. His arms fell to the side of him almost like he was showing himself off. You immediately perked up as you forgot one small detail. "I forgot to mention, everyone to the danger room!" You instructed as your hands gestured to the doors. Soon bodies started to move as Logan sauntered up towards you. His hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Y'know, I'm gonna kick your ass demonstration or not." He blabbed with that same stupid smirk on his face. You always wanted to wipe it straight off of his face. You turned to him with a pointed look as you whispered to him a threat. Less of a threat and more of an invitation. "Oh sure, missed you pinning me down. Forgot how your hands felt." You hummed before pushing past him. It was only you two, as by now most of their students were already making their way towards or were already in the danger room. Faintly you could hear the slightesting crackling of a chuckle from him. You were going to wipe the floor with his stupid hair.

Finally, everyone was inside and ready. You made sure to wrap your hands since you and Logan were sparring. Given that it was only for demonstrating purposes. But if you really tried, packing a punch into Logan was a lot harder than expected. Can't forget the metal skeleton that lay behind that stupidly handsome rugged jaw.

You paired students off to see how they worked without any use of their powers or special abilities. As a sort of example to anyone up next. After a small mistake by two of some students, you brushed them aside without any pestering. They tried, but maybe now that teacher example should be coming in handy.

Setting up the room, you sequenced it before rushing downstairs to the room itself. Of course, Logan ran right in behind you. "Now - me and mister Howlett are going to give a demonstration. Please watch as that'll be needed for anyone else I haven't sent in yet." Finally, the command commenced as the room quickly shifted into place. It was the simple danger room. White walls and white flooring are suddenly the only things around you two. Finding your stance you stared Logan down. He, not surprisingly, brought back that same sort of fervor and even more. Fists were up and it was time to fight. It was like two predators trying to dominate the other into becoming their respective prey. Your fighting styles clashed in the best of ways. You were quiet when it came to making the first attack. You knew how to be stealthy on your feet. Especially quick when diverting oncoming attacks from enemies. Logan was very abrasive especially when it came to how he attacked opponents. Run in first and think about the consequences later. Quickly you were able to ambush him. Throwing him for a loop once the bottom of your feet met his backside. It was like landing on solid ground. He groaned as he fell back, but that smirk still lay smeared on his lips.

You knew his weak spots and he was the same. Every single point, the two of you could find without even a poorly timed guess. For only a demonstration you two went at it for a while. His knuckles met your frame and so did yours. It was a dance of dominance, as old as time still stands. You soon did realize how much time your sparring was stretching. You still needed to at least have four or more students go up. By the time you two escaped each other's limbs as you had him pinned to the floor only just moments ago, you looked up to see your students.

Some were either paying attention or again, too absorbed in the conversation other classmates were having. Jubilee stood there a little bit taken aback by how you and Logan went at each other. I mean that was brutal but was the huffing and puffing needed? You two looked as if you were about to do the finishing blow to another. "Alright!" You said with an exhale. "Now use that when going head to head with your partner. Treat them as a peer but also as another fighter. Going against a fellow student doesn't mean you cant test out what you learned." You threw out teacher voice , quickly announcing which kids were next. You and Logan made your way back to the observational area of the danger room. The ascend back up was pretty quiet between the both of you. It was the same when you made your way back up and observed the rest of the class.

Soon enough you dismissed your students. Then there was only two , you and Logan. You stood there looking over the empty dome down below you. Logan soon walked up behind you.

Silence was never you shared kind of vibe. So you were somewhat joyous when he snuck a small kiss from you. Pecking the nearest edge of your lips , you came back at him with an embrace of those same lips.

Hungry and desperate like the usual. Internally you fought with yourself. You and Logan as companions and friends didn’t make things any easier. This sneaking around made you feel dirty. You didn’t want to be second pick.

It was you who stopped the exchange. Logan looked back at you with a blank expression. He couldn’t deny that the consistent dynamic between you two did make him guilty. He respected you tons but Jean would always be something he could never get his hands on. Some bastardoues part of him knew he liked that cat and mouse game. He would always wait for her , you and him were a different story.

“I can’t Logan.” You mumbled as your limb’s disconnected once again for good this time. This time it wasn’t with such passion. “This , us , I can’t do this anymore.”

His blank expression stayed as he almost barked out. “What do you mean? Yah never really said anything before, this makes no sense.” He rasped as his throat cleared a little.

The way his hazel eyes looked back at yours was a sight to see.

“I don’t like this charade. I like you but.. this thrill is gone.” You sucked in a breath as you stood apart now. “I mean I don’t just like you. What I feel for you is like nothing I’ve felt for another man. But here you are , waiting like a frail dog for Jean to finally drop Scott.”

He scoffed almost in your face. A part of him knew his yearning for Jean was pathetic. That he didn’t have a chance ever with her. Almost like she subconsciously infected his thoughts with only her. He knew though that it was just him being a fool , for you and for a woman that would never truly reciprocate his affections.

“You should have just said that , bub. I didn’t mean to waste your time parading around like a joke.” He shook his head , hands going deep into his pockets just like how he arrived. He slowly started to walk away. Bordering on leaving , finally you were honest.

“I love you Logan! There I said it!” You shouted , hiccuping like an idiot as you held your chest. That same flustered sensation spread throughout your lungs. “I’ve been in love with you ever since the night we made this stupid thing official. Ever since I felt your lips on mine.” You gritted out , fate was twisting your hand.

“But I respect myself too much to be so blind. I respect you too much to let us do this back and forth. I want something real with you. I want your words of praise to mean something. I don’t want these lies , I want you to love me. Because I do , and this whole poor man’s game of checkers deal isn’t what I want.” All of the hot air was gushing out of you as you went on and on about how you were internally struggling.

He looked back at you for a good minute. Burning silence was in the air. Before he spoke the word that stabbed you right in the heart.

“It’ll pass.” Then soon after he left you alone. In a puddle of your own feelings. You crumbled to the floor like a child. You held yourself up as you wiped your eyes of any free falling tears. You hated that someone so flip floppy with your feelings made you like this.

The heart of a lover was now eaten in two. Now it was your turn to piece yourself back together. With gritted teeth you got up a while later and collected yourself.

You would always be his fool. That was the worst thing about your desire for the Wolverines affection. Just the corner of your heart set for him was now bruised and battered.

ꔫ✉ reblogs/interaction is appreciated <3 (im so sorry if the ending feels rushed , i was in the mood for Logan angst 😔)

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