#i just started typing and found i could not stop...

[really-fanny-longbottom]

bite my tongue.

reader x azriel | it's never a good idea to fall in love for your best friend's little sister.

warnings: suggestive language & curse words.

words: 7.3k

a/n: it's been sooo long. so much has been happening in my life right now but i'm trying be more active, but, for now, i leave this one here :)

masterlist

azriel.

the infamous shadowsinger.

the relentless spymaster of the night court.

the male who made your blood boil so easily like a snap of his fingers.

you hated him—you hated him with all your strength.

you couldn’t remember a single moment where the male hadn’t been part of your life. after all, the said male, had been taken in by your mother when he was nothing more than a small child.

your mother had raised him, along with your older brother, rhysand, and cassian, your best friend.

the three of them, growing up together, created an unbreakable bond, something that not even the gods would dare try to break.

but the same didn’t happen for you.

when cassian and azriel were taken in by your mother, you hadn’t been born yet, only arriving a few years later.

growing up, your relationship with your brother rhysand could be described as any relationship between an older brother and a younger sister—one where the older brother is overprotective and likes to be in the know of everything, one that involves laughter but also some yelling and a playful rivalry, but one in which love and loyalty were never lacking. 

and your relationship with cassian followed the same path, except for the fact that sometimes the two of you would get into trouble and both get punished later in result, something your mother later realized was not a good idea and started giving you punishments separately since you two only caused even more trouble when punished together. 

that was the difference between the two of them—while rhysand did everything in his power to protect you from harm or trouble, cassian would set the path and lead you to it. 

but not azriel. 

azriel was a different story—a very different story.  

while azriel had a very close relationship with your brother and cassian, the same didn’t apply to you.

reciting facts, you couldn’t stand each other.

the constant arguing and insults were the living proof of that, not to mention the two times things went from verbal to physical—one involving your knee and his crotch (one that rhysand found funny) and another involving your ass and his hand (and one that rhysand definitely did not found funny, expressing his dislike by coloring azriel’s cheek in a vibrant purple).

as if that wasn’t enough, azriel had the superpower of knowing how to perfectly irritate you, like for example, he knew how to say the right things to drive you to the edge and that stupid, arrogant, self-centered smirk.

that smirk alone would drive you insane, and when you thought things couldn’t get any worse. . . surprise, they did.

as the second in line to the throne and one of the possible heirs, your father, the high lord of the night court, demanded that you and your brother received the same type of preparation so that one day you could rule the court, whether together or individually. 

you never had the best relationship with your father, to tell the truth you didn’t even know where your heart stood before him, but you couldn’t deny that your father was a fair male despite his many flaws.

he gave you the same treatment as he did to rhysand, and not a different one because you were female and what many would do, was something you were always grateful for.

and so, just like your older brother, you were sent on your father’s orders to windhaven in order to receive your proper illyrian training, a birthright and an obligation as an heiress.

but of course, the camp, both its inhabitants and its lords, were not very pleased with his decision.

your residence during your stay in the illyrian camp would be none other than your mother’s cabin, and even though it was designated as off-limits to others, that did not stop a group of males from invading it and attacking you during the night.

luckily for you, rhysand and cassian had returned that night from the front lines of battle and were able to stop them, preventing their damage from becoming permanent. 

you managed to escape with a bruised cheek, some sore muscles and a small cut on your right arm, but these were ‘avenged’ by your father who visited windhaven the following morning and made an example of the attackers in front of the rest of the camp. 

azriel, who your father had kept by his side while he sent cassian and rhysand to the front line, had joined him that morning and before they left, your father confirmed that you were fine, aside from the new bodily additions, with a simple look and a squeeze on the shoulder.

but rhysand, being the great pain in the ass that he was, took advantage of that opportunity and suggested to your father for azriel to stay in the camp and watch over you since he couldn’t do it himself.

despite your several protests, your father ended up agreeing with your brother, stating that it was for safety reasons and that he refused to have one of his heirs taken from him and so, he designated azriel to accompany you at all times of the day until the end of your training. 

and that’s how you ended in this situation—sutcked with the one male who you hated the most in whole prythian.

••• 

weeks after the attack, your body still protested on occasion but the recovery was visible, as was your progress in training.

on a monday morning, you opened the entrance door of the cabin and found the tall, hazel-eyed male leaning against the wall with his muscular arms crossed around his chest and that smirk that always made you want to punch him.

“good morning, little one,” he greeted you, clearly pleased by your annoyance at seeing him there, even though it had been weeks since he had started accompanying you.

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. “shadowsinger,” you walked into the porch, closing the door behind you before locking it.

with a sigh, you walked towards the porch wooden stairs, starting to descend them without waiting for him.

azriel chuckled before pushing himself off the wall and following you, “ready for another day in my care?”

you had to grit your teeth to keep from cursing him with very inappropriate words, your silence eliciting a smile from him.

as he started walking down the stairs, about two steps behind you due to his long strides, his eyes glued themselves to your body, taking the opportunity to inspect you.

she looks better than she did last week.

he thought as he observed how your movements were no longer so restricted or rigid, starting at your arms and going down your back until they settled on your legs.

she is definitely walking better.

his eyes moved up your legs until they lingered for a few seconds longer in a certain area, tilting his head slightly to the side and letting the corners of his lips rise.

as if you felt his eyes on you, you stopped on the last step and turned to look at him, your eyes half-lidded and your eyebrows drawn down together “stop. looking. at. my. ass.”

your words made his smile grow, his expression changing from one of observation to one of amusement “i wasn’t looking, little one.”    

he saw you take a deep breath before you turned back around and continued walking, your boots digging into the snow as you made contact with the ground.

the male shook his head, the smirk on his face turning into a genuine smile, before continuing to follow you.

as much as he didn’t like you, he couldn’t deny that he loved to rile you up. 

in a matter of a second, the male was already walking beside you, a distance of just a few centimeters between you as you made your way to the tent where breakfast was served.

“you didn’t answer my question, little one. are you or aren’t you ready for another day in my care?” azriel asked again, his air of amusement still in place, intensifying when he watched your jaw clench before seeing the gesture being replaced by a smile full of irony and sarcasm.

“i don’t know, are you ready to have my knee in your crotch?”

azriel laughed, lifting his hand to wrap it around your braid and giving it a slight but firm tug, “what makes you think you can reach my crotch when you’re that short, little one?” he teased, emphasizing the nickname as his eyes sparkled with amusement.

the corners of your lips rose even higher at his words, your steps coming to a halt as you looked at him and azriel recognized the expression that now covered your entire face. it was one he knew all too well, one he had also witnessed on his brother cassian and it screamed ‘trouble’.

“is that a challenge, shadowsinger? are you forgetting that i’ve kneeled you in that spot before?”

“that’s exactly what it is, love. a challenge and let’s not forget that you only managed to kneel me because you were standing on the steps of that stairs.” he added, taking a step towards you and leaning down to be at eye level.

“is that so?” you asked, not giving the male time to answer as you moved towards him. what had once been your knee was now your fist and once again, you and the male found yourselves in the same situation as a few years ago.

oof.

azriel only had time to register what had happened about a second later when he was already doubled over and clutching his injured area.

“fuck,” he let out a sound of pain through his teeth as he continued to writhe, almost to the point where his knees landed in the snow “low blow, little one. low blow.”

“literally,” you said, followed by a laugh so loud that if you were near a snow-covered mountain, you would probably have caused an avalanche.

his knees finally touched the snow and the male brought a second hand to the injured area, forced to watch you almost cry from laughing at his expense.

motherfu-

“i’m not that little after all, am i?” you smiled, patting him lightly on the back before resuming walking, letting out another laugh in the process.

azriel struggled to straighten up, his face contorted in pain as it slowly subsided, needing a few seconds to breathe before he could stand up again and a few more seconds before he could walk.

“i swear to the mother, you are such a pain in the ass,” he muttered through clenched teeth as he walked behind you, quickly catching up with you with his long strides.

“you’re the one who provoked me, shadowsinger. you have no one to blame but yourself.” you said, your smirk still plastered on your face as you continued on your way.

azriel glanced at you through the corner of his eye and couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on his lips despite the situation.

he was impressed, to say the least, that you had actually done that. it had almost been funny to see him fall like that—almost.

“remind me never to provoke you again, or i will no doubt have permanent damage to the boys.” he chuckled. 

can't believe it she kneeled me two times, two fucking times.

the sound of your chuckle reached the male's ears, and he couldn't stop his head from turning in your direction. 

“yes, you will. and it would be such a shame since you're so pretty and would most definitely make cute little babies.” 

this would have been the case where azriel would have choked on his drink, or food, if he happened to have any. 

did she just-?

upon seeing his reaction, your eyes sparkled with amusement before you said, “i may hate you but i’m not blind, shadowsinger.” you said in the calmest voice ever. 

azriel cleared his throat, composing himself and forcing his surprised expression back into his stupid, arrogant, cocky smirk as you liked to describe it.

“don't worry, little one. even if you happened to permanently damage my pride and joy, i would still find a way to keep my handsome face intact and make those cute little babies.” he said, his stupid, arrogant, cocky smirk turning into a mischievous one.

you shook your head as you turned your face forward, seeing the edges of the tents and the smoke from the fires appearing in their field of vision, signaling that they were reaching the center of the camp.

“good, because in a world full of balthasar's, lord devlon’s and alastair's, we need more pretty faces to look at.” 

azriel couldn't help the genuine laugh that escaped him at your choice of not-so-attractive males.

did she just compliment me? hell must be freezing. 

“don’t say that, i’ll get a massive ego.” he said, but didn't deny your words. 

afterall, he knew very well how handsome and attractive he was. besides, it was one of the reasons that fueled your discussions over the years. 

“another one?” you raised one of your eyebrows as you looked at him “are you sure you have that enough space with your already huge, big, infinite ego?” 

“oh, i have plenty of space, love-” he grinned, his grin widening when he saw your wince at the new nickname he used, and continued speaking before you could interrupt him “and i'll have you know that ‘ego’ has not only gotten me a lot of girls back in my days at windhaven but also allowed me to be one of the best warriors pryhtian has ever seen.” 

he saw you as you scrunched your face in disgust, releasing a quiet ‘ew’.

oh, how he loved to annoy you. he would never admit this out loud but you were his favorite person to annoy, mainly because you were so easy to rile up and also because of your size, with you being a ‘little one’ there wasn't much you could do against him.

he could be having a horrible day, but the moment he saw your jaw clench or your hands closing into fists at something he said, everything got better. 

“oh, come on. why are you making that face? trying to hide how jealous you are?” he teased, pinching your nose lightly.

“jealous?!” you swatted his hand as fast as your slightly injured arm allowed you, an incredulous look on your face “jealous of what exactly? being another one of your conquests? pff, please, shadowsinger.” 

oh, look at her getting all nervous.

“i don't know, maybe of all of the girls i've-” he made a gesture with his hand to indicate a vague ‘slept with’ amount.

“maybe you'd kill to be on that list, admit it.” he pauses for a quick moment before adding “though you're not my type, love.” 

you stopped in your tracks, taking a step forward and tilting your neck up to meet his eyes “first of all,” you stretched your index finger, tapping his chest, “you're not my type either, ‘love’”. your mocking tone did not go unnoticed by him. 

“and second of all, the only one who would be killing, would be my brother and you would be his victim if he ever found out you touched me like that.” 

azriel let out a loud laugh at your response, pleased you were playing along with him. 

“touché,” he said before answering your comment about your brother “please, rhys is not going to kill me just because we-” his smirk widened and shrugged his shoulder “hypothetically, of course.” 

it was your turn to release a loud laugh, “yeah, right. you think just because you're his best friend, you're off the hook? keep telling yourself that, shadowsinger.” you patted his chest, your hand settling there.

azriel's breath hitched at the feeling of your hand on his chest, his smirk faltering for a split second before composing himself.

he was caught off guard by the sudden unknown feeling that rushes through him, the result of your touch.

what the hell. . .?

he cleared his throat as he pushed that feeling into the back of his mind as his smirk returned to his lips in a heartbeat.

“please, your brother has already given me a lifetime's worth of threats and beatings. i grew up with him, remember? what could possibly he do to me now?” 

those thoughts came back flooding his mind before he shook his head to push them back again. 

i'll get back to analyzing those later.

“and if he did find out, well, we’ll just have to run away together, get married and have those cute little babies we talked about earlier.” he added, trying to cover up his brief slip. 

fuck, i'm definitely going to explore those foreign thoughts later.

he heard you laugh and saw you shaking your head, your hands rested now on your hips “so, you have all of it planned out, huh?” 

“of course,” he said almost immediately, his confident posture returning like it never left for a second. he grinned, raising an eyebrow at you, “what? you don't want to have my babies?”

“repeat that sentence in front of my big brother, it will earn you a punch right here.” you said, touching the spot on his cheek. 

azriel grabbed your hand, scoffing at your comment though “do you think i have a death wish, little one? i'd rather keep my handsome face intact, thank you very much.” 

a thought formed on his head, making his smirk spread even more.

he tugged on your hand, pulling you forward until you were standing right in front of him and he lowered his hand to look you down.

“don't tell me you're jealous that i might say that to someone else, little one.” 

you scoffed at his words “please, i have no doubt that your conquests would trample over themselves at your offer.” 

azriel nodded slightly, his free hand coming to hold your chin and lift your head a little higher.

his hazel eyes studied your violet ones for a moment, something unknown passing through it and disappearing at the same moment his smile returned.

“you're not wrong about that, little one.” he said, his voice almost a murmur, almost seductive, at the same time his thumb came to brush your lower lip. 

azriel was caught off guard again, only realizing what had happened a second after it happened.

he didn't have time to react when you bit his thumb and resumed your walk. 

“oi-” he grunted in surprise at your bite, seeing you walk away as he rubbed the—another—injured area.

you've got to be kidding me.

“mother help me. . .” he muttered, wincing a little in pain as he continued to rub his thumb and went after you.

you turned around to face him and walked backwards, a proud, satisfied smile on your face.

oh, you little shit.

“think of this way, now you have three stories to tell those cute little babies of yours about how you got your ass handed to a girl.” 

“haha, funny. very funny, little one.” he dropped his hands by his side, continuing to walk behind you, “and i’d get to tell them why that happened,” the smirk returned.

“and why is that?” you asked, curious.

his smirk widened before pointing at you “because their mother was, correction, is a pain in the ass.” 

you barked out a laugh, your head tilted backwards with a hand over your stomach before looking back at him “and what makes you think that i would be their mother?”

“well, there's not really much options, little one,” he said as he fell in pace with you and you turned around again, “you'll either be their mother or their aunt.” 

a look of confusion made its way to your face before you laughed at the thought that filled your mind, falling in pace with him, “oh, don't tell me you're in love with my brother and he'll be the one carrying your babies.”

azriel's head never turned so fast to look at you as it did that moment. “what?! ew, no. no, absolutely not.” 

he slapped you on the back of the head as a warning to stop laughing. 

“ouch,” you said, rubbing it.

“rhys is my best friend. he's like my brother and that's where it stops.” he told you.

“are you sure about that, shadowsinger?” you asked with a smile as you continued to rub the back of your head.

azriel huffed at your words, not believing this was actually the subject of your conversation, “of course i’m sure. i’ve been with plenty of females to prove it.”

and there is that eye roll again.

he chuckled as he watched you. your hand returned to pat his chest and so did his foreigner's thoughts at your touch “then you have plenty of options for the mother of your cute little babies.”

he shocked his head again, before rolling his eyes at your comment and smirked, finding this whole banter amusing. 

“that’s truth, i do.” he stopped walking again and he brought you to stand with him face to face as his hand reached for your the back of your neck and the other one—the same one you bit a few moments ago—returned to brush your lower lip, “but somehow you seem the best choice.”

“you’re delusional,” you said and. . .surprise, surprise, you bite his thumb again.

“ow, you motherfu-ugh” azriel flinched once more as your teeth made contact with his skin, withdrawing his hand from your face.

oh, i swear to the gods. . .

he closed his eyes for a brief moment, annoyed with himself for underestimating you in biting him a second time.

however, his expression soon brightened, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “you’re a biter, aren’t you? are you into that sort of stuff?”

you reached the center of the camp, keeping your eyes forward as you made a turn for the tent breakfast was served “maybe, but you’ll never find out.”

azriel ran a hand through his messy hair, not being able to avoid a genuine smile at your reply. you always had an answer for everything and everyone.

“never say never, little one.”

“i do. never,” you parted the tent’s flaps, allowing you to enter, and stood in the line that was already in motion to receive breakfast. 

you grabbed one of the trays and surveyed the tent that was already packed with soldiers, officers, and lords eating—not a single female in sight, other than you. 

azriel followed your movements, grabbing a tray and standing behind you, just a few inches away so that no one could get to you. 

“you seem very confident, something that could be considered dangerous. especially around me.” he said as the two of you waited in line for your turn, his eyes sliding down to your waist. 

“you said it yourself, shadowsinger. i’m not your type.” 

azriel leaned forward, until his chest brushed against your shoulder and his lips were positioned right next to your ear. 

in a whisper, he said “that was before you started biting me, little one. now, i’m curious.”

however, the male was at a loss for words when he saw one of the chefs looking at him with a judgmental look, no doubt having heard what he had just whispered to you.

you hidden your face in the crook of your arm, unable to contain your laughter at the situation.

azriel rolled his eyes and slapped you again on the back of your head before pushing you forward with a hand on your lower back as the line was moving forward.

“laugh all you want, little one,” his eyes returned to your waist. “doesn’t change the fact that you have my attention now.”

“you know what, shadowsinger? you-” your sentence was cut off mid-sentence when a soldier in front of you, a young male, dropped his bread on the floor right at your feet.

without hesitation, you bent down to pick it up.

“me, what, you little-” azriel started to ask before stopping suddenly, his words dying in his throat at the sight of you, bent over right in front of him.

as you bend over to pick up the bread, you end up having to take a step back, causing your ass to brush against azriel’s front.

his breath got caught in his throat, the touch of your ass making his brain short-circuit.

azriel mentally thanked the mother for wearing his uniform pants, the material thick enough to hide the growing bulge there.

it took all of his willpower not to place his hands on your hips and to step away from you.

“here you go,” you said, finally standing upright again and delivering the bread to the young male.

azriel tried to focus on anything else that wasn't your ass or your face, eventually deciding to stare at his own boots instead.

he couldn't remember the last time he got so worked up like this, certainly it hadn't been with none of the females he had slept with.

he watched you out of the corner of his eye, still trying to avoid looking at you, managing to see you turn to your food tray and placing your breakfast and a glass of water in it.

but when you took a step back again, to pick up a bowl of fruit that was on his side, your ass brushed against his front again and azriel could have sworn he was going to lose his mind.

oh, for fuck sakes.

he almost whined at the feeling, his eyes landing on your ass again, noticing how well you filled out your pants.

azriel quickly darted his eyes away, clenching his teeth and doing his best to ignore the feeling of his cock straining in his pants.

fuck. rhys, yeah, think of rhys. rhysand. rhys. future high lord. your best friend. your brother.

azriel’s eyes followed you as you picked up your food tray and moved out of the line, looking for an available table to sit down.

rhysand. with a hot sister. she’s so beautiful, so stubborn, so- wait, no. fuck.

he shook his head, too busy trying and falling to clear his head to realize he was now at the front of the line, standing there like an idiot as his eyes followed you.

oh, i’m fucked. rhysand is going to kill-

“hey! are you going to stay there all day or what?”

a voice sounded from behind him, pulling him from his trance. azriel looked behind him at the soldier who had just made his presence aware and watched as the boy cringed when he recognized who he had just yelled at.

the boy swallowed hard as azriel stared at him, his throbbing hard-on long gone. for a moment, azriel pondered whether he should throw the boy's tray of food to the floor for talking to him like that or if he should thank him for the distraction, saving him from a great humiliation. 

eventually, when the boy had shrunk enough for his liking, the male then decided to opt for the second choice. 

he glanced at the boy with one last warning look before picking up his tray and leaving the line, heading to the table where you were already sitting and eating your breakfast.

azriel seated across from you—silently thanking the mother for the space.

without glancing at you, he kept his gaze on his breakfast as he started to eat and desperately tried to control his. . .big problem.

but, as always, his luck was short-lived.

“aham. . .what are you doing?” you asked him with a raised eyebrow.

his eyes moved to you automatically, your voice making his whole body—and especially a certain part—tense. 

azriel managed a strangled response, shifting uncomfortably under your violet eyes, “. . .eating?” 

“i can see that, asshole. but you always sit by my side,” you told him, gesturing with your fork to the available spot next to you, “why are you sitting on the other side of the table?”

“oh-” azriel froze for a moment as you pointed out his odd choice of seating, “i. . .um-”

you were right, he always sat next to you.

cauldron boil me, please.

he was starting to sound like an idiot—a horny idiot—and without any idea of what to say, he looked down at his breakfast, shoving food in his mouth until it was full.

maybe if he kept his mouth busy, he could still save what was left of his dignity.

“okay. . .,” you send him a confused look for his weird behavior, focusing on your breakfast as well.

azriel actually managed to breathe in relief as he saw you return your attention to your food, and he tried to do the same, focusing on eating and not at the way his cock was still pulsing in his pants.

but his luck could never last, could it?

the air in the tent shifted and as he looked up he was met with the sight of your brother and cassian walking in the tent.

yep, i’m dead.

azriel saw you waving at your brother and how the male’s expression immediately morphed from a harsh one into a softer one.

you leaned forward, the action capturing his attention back to you, and with a smirk plastered on your face you whispered, “the future mother of your babies is here.”

he clenched his teeth at your attempt at a joke, “shut up, you little shit,” he muttered, glaring at you and when he saw you opening your mouth again, he gave you a warning look, “drop it. now.”

your smirked stretched to the corners of your mouth and lowered your gaze to your breakfast once again.

rhysand and cassian arrived at the table with their trays of food in hand, sitting next to you on each side.

azriel saw you greeting your brother with a kiss on his cheek as the male returned it with one on your forehead, his eyes on his you before rhysand returned his attention to him.

“azriel.”

the shadowsinger tried to not shift uncomfortably under your brother’s gaze, he was already with one problem, the last thing he needed was another one.

azriel was still avoided looking at you for too long, but meanwhile, rhysand was simply. . .staring at him and he could swear he could see the cogs turn in your brother’s head, putting the pieces together of his weird behavior and realizing something was going on.

“is there something you need, rhys?” he asked, trying to keep his expression neutral.

“not really, no,” rhysand answered, still studying the scene happening in front of him, “you’re just acting weird.”

“he is weird,” you added, your smirk still plastered on your face.

rhysand’s gaze drifted to you, a smirk matching yours on his face, “oh, i’m very well aware of that, little sister.”

great. now it’s the two of them, this is just what i really needed.

azriel sighed in frustration, he couldn’t have a moment of peace. 

“oh! i have a question for you, brother” you told rhysand but your eyes were on azriel.

he recognized that smirk, it’s the kind of smirk that screams trouble. azriel shook his head, shooting you a warning glare and silently asking you for once in your life to keep your mouth shut but of course that only made you smirk even more.

“hypothetically, what would you do if you found out one of your friends slept with me?” 

rhysand’s head snapped towards you faster than the speed of light, cassian choked on his food and azriel’s mouth fell in horror.

she did not just- dear gods.

rhysand’s eyes fell on you before moving to azriel—who was now refusing to look at anything that wasn’t his breakfast—and his expression turned deadly. 

cassian could only lean back and cross his arms, traces of amusement covered his face as he enjoyed the show.

a tug on his shirt, broke his gaze from azriel and shifted back towards you, “what?”

“you didn’t answer my question,” you said, an innocent smile on your face.

“i-” he paused, his expression softening a little at you but still with a hint of annoyance and protectiveness in his eyes. his gaze flicked between you and azriel before settling back on you “why are you asking?”

“it’s a hypothetical question, i’m curious obviously.” your innocent smile never faltered.

rhysand eyed you suspiciously and made sure his eyes were on azriel as he answered, “hypothetically, i’d be incredibly pissed off.”

azriel shifted uncomfortably, moving slightly closer to cassian’s side. 

your brother narrowed at the male, not liking his reaction, and with his eyes still on him, he asked again “do you have a reason for this question?”

“azriel and i were talking and that situation came up. i said you would kill your friend and azriel disagreed,” you said casually as you took another bite of your food.

azriel’s eyes widened and he cursed himself mentally, begging you to shut up.

“is that so?” rhysand said, his eyes still trained on the male.

“he also said-” you started but were interrupted.

“shut up, you brat,” azriel said as his hand grabbed a handful of scrambled eggs and throwed them at you.

your mouth opened in disbelief, a shade of red creeping on your face and making your smirk disappear.

shit.

rhysand’s eyes travelled to you, taking in your appearance before he turn to look at azriel, he really was starting to not liking whatever was going on, “what the fuck is going on here?”

at the same time you tried to stand up, ready to throw yourself over the table and tackled down the hazel-eyed male, “you asshole!”

rhysand and cassian reacted simultaneously, both of them wrapping a hand around your arm to keep you seated. 

“no-” your brother warned.

“don’t-” cassian said at the same time.

“this isn’t over, shadowsinger,” you said pointing a finger at him.

while you were still glaring at azriel, your brother was freeing your hair from the scrumpled eggs.

“ah, it’s good to be home,” cassian chuckled as he took a bite of his sandwich.

rhysand managed a small chuckle as he pulled eggs from your black locks, he was still pissed off and suspicious about this whole thing, but it was impossible to deny the sight of you wasn’t funny, “so, you guys were just talking? nothing else?”

you turned your head slightly upwards, a puzzled look on your face “nothing else? what do you mean?”

your brother raised an eyebrow at you, meeting your eyes for a moment before returning his attention back to the task in hands, “i swear it’s like talking to a child sometimes,” he said as he pulled more eggs from your hair, “you know what i mean.”

“aham, no i d- ouch!” you protested when he pulled your hair instead.

rhysand rolled his eyes, “don’t play dumb. you know what i’m alluding to here.”

your eyebrows furrowed down together as your eyes met azriel’s before being drawn to cassian’s, who made a very inappropriate gesture, helping you get there faster.

your eyes widened, “me and the shadowsinger?!” you asked in disbelief before you started to laugh out loud that several heads turned in your direction.

azriel groaned as cassian joined you in your laughter and rhysand, meanwhile, was just staring at you with a deadpan expression as he removed the last few eggs of your hair.

“me and the shadowsinger,” you said between laughs, “that’s the funniest thing i have ever heard in my life!”

“you didn’t answer my question, little sister,” rhysand glared at you, not seeing how what he said was funny.

“you don’t have to worry, brother,” you said while patting his shoulder, “there’s nothing going on and i’m also not the shadowsinger’s type, he said it himself.”

rhysand’s head snapped towards azriel, wondering why he would have even said that in the first place.

“that’s not-” azriel started before stopping as he realized he would just be incriminating himself even more.

rhysand expression hardened, “‘that’s not’. . .what?”

“nothing,” azriel answered quickly, making rhysand raise an eyebrow, something he recognized as a warning to tell the truth.

“i-”

“shit, i’m late for training,” you said as you shoved the remaining of your breakfast in your mouth as you started to stand.

azriel let out a sigh in relief, gulping down the rest of his drink before standing as well.

thank the mother.

you wrapped an arm around your brother’s shoulders from behind as you planted a kiss on his cheek, making his expression soften.

when he opened his mouth to say something he was quickly interrupted by cassian, “have fun in training, lovebirds.”

earning a glare from both rhysand and azriel, the general managed to pull a chuckle from you, who grabbed his hair and tugged on it, undoing his perfectly bun. 

“son of a-” the general protested.

azriel guided you out of the tent with a hand on your lower back, not wanting to stay one more minute under your brother’s gaze.

you two fell into pace as you started walking towards the training grounds.

as his memory came back to him, he quickly looked down at his pants, only to see his problem had been solved during some of that chaos.

he could finally breathe again, “thank the mother it’s over.”

“what’s over?” you asked, looking at him confused again.

right. i forgot she was here.

“you know,” he said as he tried to disguise his slip, “that conversation with your brother.”

“oh, i don’t know what you’re complaining about. i loved it,” you said as you walked by his side and entered the training grounds, making your way towards where your class would be held.

“of course you did,” azriel muttered, “you’re so annoying.”

you reached your destination, several males already warming up for the next two hours of training.

“i know.”

“i know,” azriel mocked you, before pointing at your boots, “your boots.”

you knew the procedure, you crouched down and made sure the knots were well tied.

when you stood back up, azriel pulled you towards him and made sure your daggers were well secured and ready to be used at any moment you saw fit.

“turn around,” he said and watched as you turned around without protest. he reached for your braid and removed the hair elastic from where it had been held, starting to redo it from where stubborn strands were already coming free.

“remember what i told you. recite it. i want to hear it.” he asked, his fingers working through your soft black locks.

you rolled your eyes but complied, “never take my eyes off my opponent until the fight is over, use my speed and agility as an advantage against those who use their body composition against me and to use my feet work.”

“good,” azriel nodded his head as he finished doing your braid, “remember what i’ve been telling you from the beginning. just because they’re males and illyrians does not mean they’re stronger or more powerful than you.”

you nodded as you listened to his words, despite all the banter between you two, azriel never failed to support you, always being the first one to offer you his hand when in need.

his words of support weren’t just that, they were the reassurance you needed to get through this training, to survive in this camp—a camp ruled by males who saw females as their servants and inferiors. 

if azriel believed in you. . .so did you.

“alright,” his voice broke you from your thoughts as he finished tying the braid, giving it a slight tug.

you turned to look at him and he gave you a small smile, “go get them, little one.”

you rolled your eyes but chuckled, “yes, captain.”

a genuine laugh escaped his lips at your cheeky remark and he shook his head, “smartass.”

azriel watched you as you made your way towards the others, a mix of feelings invading his heart and mind.

some familiar, some unfamiliar, and some intriguing.

he couldn't tell them apart, but the moment he saw you step into the ring to face your first opponent and knock him to the ground in seconds with an incredible right hook he taught you, he knew the greatest of them all was pride.

••• 

the following afternoon, azriel entered your mother’s cabin for one more of your private lessons with him.

today he was going to help you perfect your sword technique, and he made himself at home while you finished getting ready.

he rested his sword against the doorframe and walked towards the living room, passing the kitchen table where a bottle of wine made itself aware.

azriel shrugged. it had been a while since his last drink, and the cauldron knew he needed it after that conversation with your brother yesterday morning.

relaxing his muscles in the comfort of your couch, the male opened the bottle and drank straight from the source.

minutes passed before you were ready, but something wasn’t right.

azriel heard you coming down the stairs, but something wasn’t right.

he heard your voice, but something wasn’t right.

he didn’t know what was happening.

all he knew was that he was so warm, his skin so hot that could rival the burning wood on the fireplace but he wasn’t on fire.

his clothes drenched in sweat that looked like he had run a marathon but he hadn't moved from the couch.

and his body, every inch of it, aching like someone had dropped a damn tree on top of him but he had been alone all this time.

“azriel!” your voice pulled him from wherever he was, your hands on his cheeks grounding him back into the present, into your living room.

“by the cauldron, azriel, you’re burning up. what happened?!”

it hurt, everything hurt.

“did something happened on your way here?”

“are you sick? is it the flu?”

“was it something you ate?”

“azriel!”

“were you attacked?”

“are you hurt?”

your voice was on a loop, ringing in his ear over and over again but azriel didn’t have the answer, he could only focus on hot his skin was burning, the aching of his muscles threatening to reach his bones, the drops of sw-

“was it something you ate?”

no.

not food.

but a drink.

the wine.

the fucking wine.

azriel’s eyes darted towards the bottle resting on top of the small coffee table, “. . .where. . .where did you get it?”

“get what, azriel?!”

wait, did she. . .

. . .she said my name?

my name.

she said my name.

“azriel! where did i get what?!”

right.

“the wine.”

your head spinned around, leading you to the bottle of wine and how it was opened.

you returned your eyes back to the male, “i didn’t. it was left on my porch, i found it this morning.” 

a trap.

azriel was breathing heavily, his body in more pain by the second. 

“how much did you drink?”

you reached for the bottle, seeing it about a half a palm empty, and inspect it from top to bottom in hopes to find something.

it was only when you smelled it that your eyes widened and panic invaded your heart, “oh my god.”

you stand up and run towards the kitchen leaving a very confused and aching azriel on the couch.

as you returned, you had a small vial in your hand, and the bottle of wine in the other.

azriel could see you were trying to remain calm, but he wasn’t liking your silence, “. . .what?”

“my brother gave me this before coming here,” you said, gesturing to the small vial, “it’s the breeding tonic some of the illyrian males have been working on. he gave it to me to learn to recognize the smell so i wouldn’t be caught off guard.”

no. . .

azriel’s eyes were on you the whole time, never once breaking eye contact. 

he knew what you were trying to say.

“they have the same smell, azriel.” you told him, no longer keeping the calm facade, “you drank breeding tonic.”

yeah, i really have no luck at all.

fuck.

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @littlelou22 @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @meul-a @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa @mrsjnalvarez @lively-potter @avajustreads @talesofadragon @circe143 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @dark-chaos-314 @tequilya @scoliobean @saltedcoffeescotch @charlotteintumbleland @agirlwithwifiandalaptop @987coley @mahiiis-world

*if you asked to be tagged and you weren't, it's because i couldn't find your blog.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[bewitched-hours]

Pre-saken 007n7 x reader (smut) 007n7 met the reader as he was exploiting in an pizza place he found the reader so he started flirting and accidentally made the reader into a flustered mess because we all know how he was back then so maybe that led to (smut) because 007n7 decided to be an dumbass and give them kisses so he pulled them by the (waist) and teleported to his house or hideout and yk..

Anon you frea- I love it-

Reader gets She/They pronouns~

Were you a goody-two-shoes? Nah

But were you as bad as- say- 007n7? Also no.

You did use exploits quite a bit but it was never anything for the admins to blink at. You just did minor things and never really bothered anyone needlessly so why should you be stopped?

And when the infamous hacker would start destroying a place you visited, you could teleport out to save yourself. If anything you could be considered a neutral party since you didn't mess with either hackers nor admins.

But today was weirdly... Different...

Your gut was telling- no... Demanding- that you get home or to your workplace or... Anywhere that wasn't Elliot's workplace.

You wanted to wait for him to go on break so you two could chat and continue finding a way to help ease his anxiety over 007n7 coming by so often... You felt bad for your friend but it wasn't like you could do anything with your exploits against someone with much more knowledge on them than you.

Ignoring your gut, you shot Elliot a friendly smile which seemed to ease his current worries temporarily as you stayed near the doors.

Even if your gut wanted you far away from this place currently, you couldn't leave behind one of the few friends you actually had. But you could at least keep a possible exit in reach in case your gut was right.

... And it was... Shocker...

Within a matter of minutes, the pizzaplace was set ablaze and chaos reigned like an apocalypse was starting.

The culprit? Take a wild fucking guess...

You could hear 007n7's cackling as you held onto Elliot and typed into your terminal to teleport you both out. You couldn't care less for the other people around but you could at least teleport your friend back to his home before you started typing the same command for yourself.

You felt a pit form in your stomach as you kept typing and focusing on your terminal. But it seemed the hacker was actually quite interested in your likeness.

Feeling yourself being pulled away from your terminal, you looked behind you with a glare until you realized it was him.

Well shit, this wasn't how you wanted to spend your time in his chaos.

But that smirk on his face frustrated you to no end.

Sure, you usually didn't care about his antics and were just glad Elliot was safe but seeing him so smug about inconveniencing you made you nearly seethe. "What? You want a fight?" You hissed at him, using your terminal to quickly summon a sword to your aid.

"Nah~ But I do recall seeing you more often. What's a pretty little thing doing, meddling in my business?" His words made you stop in your tracks as you felt confused and simultaneously felt a warmth spreading onto your face. You weren't used to compliments already but flirting? You weren't gonna get out of this unless you let your pride waver...

"Wh- HUH???" Your shock was showing, only fuelling his own pride further. "What's with the flattery?!" You asked incredulously and looked around to make sure he wasn't stalling you. Can't have yourself getting jumped by his buddy because you were busy being flustered.

"Besides- I'm not meddling with anyone, just helping out my friends and that's it." You huffed, trying to regain your composure as you realized he was alone this time. "I couldn't care less what happens otherwise so if you don't want anything, I'll get goi-"

You were cut off immediately when you suddenly felt yourself be pulled away from the terminal you summoned again by his clones. Oh yeah, you forgot he had those...

"Now whoever said I wasn't after anything~?" His chuckles only served to make you question him further as you were practically forced to watch him approach calmly.

If you pulled up your terminal, his clones would have you pulled away from it again and now that they were keeping you from even raising your arms, you couldn't exactly move much on your own or try to use the sword still in your hand.

Curiosity took over for a moment as you let him speak with a scowl on your face. "I just wanted to admire someone who's obviously throwing away so much talent for nothing~ Can't blame a guy for appreciating a beauty~"

There it was again, that warm feeling in your face as he put a finger under your chin to lift it up. Sly bastard just wanted to float for a bit to have you looking up at him like some kinda power move. Well... You could try to see if-

No. No no no- You weren't seriously about to consider flirting back, were you???

I mean... Maybe but- No! You were not falling for his plays!

As if sensing your inner turmoil, he pulled out his c00lgui to take away your sword and placed a kiss on your forehead. A gentle one that made all of your questions multiply tenfold. "It's fine if you don't believe me but maybe we can have a little fun at least? A little prize for me and I'm sure you've been quite frustrated yourself~" He teased, drawing a bright blush to your face as you seemed completely taken aback.

Was he seriously suggesting a hook-up when there was fire and screaming all around?! And did he seriously imply you were sexually frustrated??? What the fu-

Turns out he was right though. You had been rather pent up from stressing over your own work and worrying over your friends and with your drive, you could barely help yourself.

You did wonder if he may have stalked you or found you on that dating app you had installed a few months ago to look for hook-ups to relax for a bit but you never had any luck for one reason or another.

Wether it was an issue with condoms, the guy ignoring your entire bio to say he wanted a longterm relationship, maybe even some slut-shaming...

You couldn't exactly pretend like you weren't desperate to just get it over with...

"Fine... But no one will know about this and nothing comes from it." You deflated a bit in his hold, letting silence fall between you until your curiosity made you look up and-

He was flushed as well.

"Wh- OH COME ON-" You barked out, embarrassed now that he was seemingly taken aback by your agreement.

But before you could even think to call him out on it, you noticed the environment shift.

No longer were you at Builder Brother's Pizzaplace. Instead, he had you brought to his hideout where you were finally freed from the grip of his clones.

You stood there awkwardly, watching him grip his face and move away from you to grab a few things. Lube, condoms- Oh god, he was serious-

Though you didn't say anything, you decided to look around and admire how cozy he made himself despite the hideout looking... Less than ideal even for the standards of a college dorm...

You didn't even know what this hideout was supposed to be or where it was but you were pretty sure it wasn't anywhere nice. He was still a hacker after all. You barely even took notice of him still talking to you until the name of his little friend reached your ears.

"[...] Noli's out right now so we can even be as loud as we want!" Ugh, now you wished you could've tuned him out longer...

Oh well, you were already committed...

"Hey, I'm no virgin." You chuckled, deciding to play along for a bit since you figured he was probably underestimating you. "Only reason I even agreed was because dating apps suck and hook-ups are still somehow viewed as a bad thing."

You shrugged, sighing until 007 suddenly dragged you away and handed you some stuff he seemingly had stashed away.

A gag, some handcuffs- Why did he have a vibrator wand-

"Your reactions say otherwise~!" He spoke in a sing-song tune as he watched your face flush again. "Besides, I'm not a complete ass to force this shit~"

That one surprised you. 007n7, the infamous hacker wanted by the admins, not forcing you to go along with his wants? You would be dashing for the door by now if you weren't so fucking desperate because this was raising a lot of suspicions in your mind...

As expected though, most of the hideout was messy. You were starting to wonder if you were desperate enough to go along with this. Surely you couldn't be so starved for a way to get all of this frustration out that you would risk whatever this guy had in mind...

It was even worse with how excited he seemed... Surely he hadn't been planning for this-

"Don't mind the mess, I try to keep it clean..." He muttered as you stepped into what you assumed was his bedroom. It was... Actually surprisingly cleaner than you thought!

Sure, a couple boxes were still around but it looked more like a home than the rest of the hideout. You were actually a little impressed in spite of what you had expected.

You looked around curiously, setting the stuff he handed you onto a nightstand next to the bed as you thought... "It's by far better than most bedrooms I've seen." You admitted casually.

He didn't want to waste time though and was already stripping down to his boxes by the time you had taken off your shirt. You had to stifle your chuckling over this strange eagerness you seemed to have awaken in him as you kicked off your jeans and shoes. Your socks slipped right off with the shoes so you were pretty much left in your underwear already and throwing away all shame you may have had until now.

Apparently you were desperate enough to do this...

"I'm surprised you didn't try to get me drunk or some shit." You joked with a low chuckle escaping you. Though you weren't sure at this point if being drunk wouldn't have been better, considering you'd be able to just forget about getting some release from someone you really wouldn't want to be seen with in public...

He could only shrug, crawling over you as he was surprisingly gentle at getting you in the mood.

Neither of you spoke a word before his lips captured yours in an almost romantic gesture. It was really surprising he wasn't just gonna treat you like some toy even though he seemed so content on it when his chaos was running rampant.

You couldn't help but relax as he carefully began pulling off your bra and panties before deciding to lower his head and nip at your neck. "You're rather patient..." You muttered under your breath as you decided to hook your legs around his hips. He had his boxers already down to his knees which was more what you had expected with his sly chuckling.

"Hey, we've got a deal and I've been patient enough, might as well enjoy my prize~" Although you didn't have the slightest idea what he meant, any thought about it was quickly lost when you noticed the feel of rubber against your cunt. When did he have the time to put on a condom? AND lube it up??

A sharp gasp left your lips when he slipped in, startling you with the sudden arousal growing at your core. Man, you had been tense for too long and didn't even notice just how desperate you were getting...

An involuntary whimper escaped you as you got used to his entrance and he was clearly trying to tease you by waiting in place to instead mark up your shoulders. At least he knows not to leave anything showing...

You don't even want to imagine the kind of hellish scolding you'd be in for if Elliot found out about this... Ugh, it almost made you feel guilty...

But for now, you shrugged those thoughts off and tried to move your hips upwards a bit before feeling him stop entirely. "Patience~" You huffed, wanting to ask why he was being so slow before you suddenly felt one of his arms leave your side and grab something you couldn't see at first.

Turns out it had been the handcuffs he was aiming for. You didn't even need him to really ask with your body feeling like it was on fire practically. You simply let him place the fuzzy cuffs around your wrists and held them above your head by the small chain in the middle. You could at least feel that they weren't very sturdy so if the need arose, you could probably just break them and escape.

He luckily picked up the pace when you began quietly whining again and slid in smoothly. Your body involuntarily relaxed around him in anticipation as he began sliding back and forth inside you at a steady speed. It even brought out a sigh of relief you didn't know you were holding as your legs tensed slightly to keep him close. You'd be damned if you let him get his load out and leave you hot and bothered...

You quietly bit your lip as you felt blood being drawn at your shoulders. He was definitely getting a little overly excited but you figured you'd let him. It was just a sting and not like he was some rabid animal... Though you could certainly picture him as one with how he was pushing in and out of your needy hole.

"F-faster- fuck~" A quiet moan escaped your lips as you felt the pain of his bites melt into pleasure. It was a surprise for sure but not like you could think about much when you felt the knot in your stomach tighten like a warning.

Before you had time to react, 007 pulled his face away and momentarily released his hold on the cuff chain to grab your face and force you into a heated kiss as his hips worked their way against yours like a rabbit in heat.

It was all too fast but too good as you struggled to catch your breath between the muffled moans escaping you mingled with his. It seemed you were both nearing your high and maybe it was the lack of oxygen or the pleasure but you barely even realized how your hands managed to grab onto his hair and pull him down against you until...

The knot broke. With a sharp gasp and only slightly shaky legs, you let go and took deep breaths to collect your thoughts again. He came only shortly after you so you simply stared at the ceiling as he got off you.

Your body was sweaty, knees weak(moms spaghetti), you were dizzy...

Yeah, you really needed that though...

But you jolted in surprise as you felt something back at your cunt only to look down and notice he was cleaning you both up with a damp wash cloth.

"What? Just cuz I can be ass doesn't mean I don't know shit about aftercare." He chuckled at your surprised look.

It was almost... Flattering? You weren't sure what word to use but it was definitely unexpected. Pleasantly so...

"Guessing I should head home for a shower then." You calmly stated as you sat up once he was done. It felt so awkward being taken care of now but instead of waving you off, you got a change of clothes thrown at you.

"The bathroom's right across. Either you go in first or we go together." He bluntly stated with that shit-eating grin on his face again as you flushed at the implication. Although...

"I... Don't mind.." You sheepishly admitted as you took the handcuffs off. "But if you're thinking of another round, I'm not being pushed against any surfaces..." You quickly made your way to the door and headed to the room across from 007's bedroom, taking a look at a surprisingly clean bathroom with one of those shower-bath combos.

"Then we better run a bath instead~ Save some water and easier to clean~" He chuckled, following close behind you and draping an arm over your bite-covered shoulders.

You had a feeling this wouldn't be a one-time thing but you were hoping you could keep this from Elliot...

Gods, this was probably cringe to read because I had no clue what I was doing at first lmao

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[reiderwriter]

♡ The Meet Cute ♡

Part 1 of The Romantic Comedy

Next Part

Like any of the great creatives of our time, the reader has found themselves stuck in a writing slump to end all writing slumps. With a literary agent breathing down her neck, and an absolute refusal to download any dating apps, she stumbles upon one of the greatest untapped romantic resources of her lifetime: Spencer Reid.

Warnings: Fluff/ none? Future smut, slow burn, slightly suggestive etc. Mentions of inappropriate age gap romance (not reader and Spencer).

A/N: Here's the first part! I got carried away with a request and decided to make it a full series, so we'll see how well I do with remembering to post ㅠㅠ everyone please send whatever the opposite of a writing block is my way, I wanna make it through this one fr

The view of a blank screen illuminating your dark apartment was one that you were beginning to grow immensely tired of. You’d tried typing out paragraphs, and then deleted them, and then simply tried to go with sentences, and those had ended up being deleted, too. By the time you’d tried to force yourself to type out a single word, you’d given up. 

“I can’t do it,” you’d cried into your coffee a week earlier, meeting with the literary agent you knew was absolutely tired of your shit by this point. 

“Okaaaayyy. What exactly is it that you can’t do exactly? Because if you say "write" you'd be absolutely incorrect.” 

“I can’t write.” 

Taking a long sip of her coffee and trying her best to subtly roll her eyes - subtlety was the one thing she hadn’t managed - you squared your shoulders and repeated yourself. 

“I really can’t write,” you moaned. “I’ve tried and tried and all that comes out is thriller, horror, death, gore - the worst parts of a Christie novel tied up into a neat little Doyle novel with a splash of whatever new mystery writers there are. It’s not my genre but I started my new job at the FBI and it’s all that’s on the mind.” 

You really loved your job. You didn’t enjoy that it was becoming your entire life, but you’d been warned multiple times from coworkers and acquaintances that it was a lot to handle. 

“So quit.”

“I can’t quit, I love my job.” 

“Then stop writing.”

“I can’t stop writing, I love writing.”

 You would’ve screamed out your frustrations, but the franchise coffee shop you were stuck in was currently filled with stressed students and drone-like salary workers just trying to replace the blood in their bodies with caffeine, and you didn’t quite like the idea of zombified masses coming towards you. 

“I can’t write, but I can’t stop writing, and I can’t quit my job.”

Nodding, your agent took another sip of her coffee, then set it down carefully and leaned into you across the table. 

“I’m sorry to ask this but… when was the last time you had sex?”

“Oh my god!” 

“It’s a valid question in this line. Your books have been marketed so far as spicy romances, I need to make sure you’re getting the best inspiration you can in order to write. If you’re in a dry-spell, it could explain your difficulty writing.” 

“But-” 

Your agent stood up, cutting you off quickly as she began to pack her things. 

“But nothing, girl. Get back on the apps and give me at least 10,000 words, a synopsis, and some buzz words this time next month. I believe in you.” 

You sighed and downed your coffee, melting further into the table before another stressed looking student asked you to vacate it so they could write an essay while aptly caffeinated.

Apps were off the table after a rough internet stalking case you’d worked on a few months prior, so you tried bars, but drinking alone was depressing and none of the men were inspiration-worthy.

Instead you’d tried a change of atmosphere. Your apartment was dark and dingy, and at least your desk at the BAU had a lamp. And the kitchen provided as much free coffee as you deemed healthy enough to drink. 

You stared again at a blank document before deciding you needed to resituate yourself into the world of your novels. 

You’d published three so far, under a quite popular and rather famous pen name. They were all connected but followed different couples among them. You sighed looking through their GoodReads pages, avoiding the reviews with a desperate zeal. You remembered the feeling of writing each one. The first you’d finished while in your final year at college. 

You’d been with your high school boyfriend still, so the novel had been a sentimental pile of shit about how love was forever. You’d luckily had it published weeks before he announced that he’d got his female roommate pregnant, so at least you got a paycheck out of that heartbreak. 

After college you’d taken a year out to work on yourself, which obviously meant you’d been unemployed and living on your book royalties and the remainder of your savings from college. When you started dating an older man who bought you dinner and not your fellow somewhat broke peers, you’d been absolutely inspired to write another book. 

That one hadn’t ended well either, after you’d met the man’s adult daughter. So adult that she was in fact older than you. You did some therapy after that one. 

Your third romance novel had seemingly come from nowhere, even if you’d been casually seeing a few people the year it came out. But you found that working towards a goal had made you infinitely inspired, and you were trying your best to get accepted into a role in the BAU that year. 

Any ex boyfriend claiming to be the inspiration for that one was dearly mistaken. That dreamy man was tough to attain, high maintenance, required multiple qualifications, and a certain level of… physical fitness only parallelled by the FBI. 

Now with all your goals met, and a further two books of the three book deal you’d signed with your publisher still unfulfilled, you were in a slump to end all slumps. 

You were still sitting at your desk feeling sorry for yourself when you felt someone breathing down your neck. 

“Burning the midnight oil?” Spencer asked, leaning over your desk and clutching his own free coffee in his hands. 

“You know you probably shouldn’t sneak up on someone with a gun and a licence.”

“If I also didn’t have a gun myself, that might be wise advice,” Spencer replied, pushing in closer to read your writing.

You closed the document a second too late. The damned man was like a super computer. 

“What is ‘The Boss Breakdown?’” he asked. 

“It’s a book I think,” was the best you could come up with as you closed the tab. Which only unfortunately brought up the work in progress document you’d been not-working on and making no progress in earlier. 

“Untitled Project 4?” Spencer asked again, as you willed yourself to spontaneously combust. 

“It’s what I’m calling my paperwork. You know, to get it done quicker?” You said, hastily closing this tab, too. Google chrome chose that moment exactly to end your social life at work forever as your idea document popped up behind that one. 

“Friends to lovers. Enemies to lovers. Roommates to lovers. Friends with-” 

“Okay, please stop! STOP!” You screamed, choosing to just turn off the monitor, standing quickly. 

Standing too quickly as your legs got caught in the cursed government assigned desk chair, you found yourself quickly tumbling to the floor. A hand reached out to grab you, but your incredible luck meant that the both of you dropped to the floor together. 

Spencer’s arm hit just above your head as he grimaced feeling the pain of the fall reverberate into his arm. His legs fell either side of yours as you finally opened your eyes. 

Hands interlocked, bodies pushed together on the floor, both panting from the sudden adrenaline of the fall, you found yourself in the perfect rom-com compromising position. 

“Sorry,” you whispered as Spencer hovered centimeters above you, eyes locked with yours.

“Anyone here?” the voice of the security guard called out into the office as you froze up. You weren’t sure if it was embarrassment or fear of being caught up in an office scandal that stopped the both of you from making your presence known. 

“Call themselves Supervisory Special Agents, and not one of them is special enough to supervise turning the lights off. Damn…” the officer muttered before entrenching the two of you in complete darkness.

Spencer stayed atop of you, as though it were the most comfortable place in the world. 

“So what was that all about?” He asked in another whisper, even though no one else was near. 

“It was nothing,” you whispered back, trying your best to figure out where every part of his body was in relation to yours in the shadows.

“It didn't look like nothing.”

“Oh yeah? What did it look like then?”

“It looked like a book.” 

“Well… ding ding ding we have a winner,” you said with a huff and tried to stand, only to be forced down again by an unseen hand. 

“Y/N. Are you that author?” Spencer asked? 

“What? No. What author? That author? Why would you ask that?” you practically vomited the words out, still trying and failing to wiggle yourself out from underneath the apparently very solidly built man. 

“You’re writing a book, right? I heard you on the phone with your literary agent a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“You- what?”

“Rossi is an author too, you know.”

“Rossi writes non-fiction books about cases he has worked on. I write the book modern bodice-rippers. Not exactly the type of thing I want to tell the whole world, Spencer- would you move? God you are hard.” 

You couldn’t see the eyebrow raise, but you practically heard it. 

In a flash, something came to you. Whether it was the comment you made or a final willingness to listen, Spencer suddenly became easier to move as you jumped back up into your desk chair, turned on your monitor, and vomited up your brain onto the page. 

You felt Spencer once again at your back as you typed out every word that entered your brain, not stopping to edit or proofread once. It was messy, there was no plot, no character names, no visible progression so far, but there were words. 

There were finally words. 

After a solid thirty minutes of panting and the banging sounds of your fingers connecting with your keyboard, you finally pushed away from your desk and grasped at where Spencer, now illuminated by your monitor once again, stood. 

Grabbing his shirt between your hands and pulling him a step closer as you still sat, you practically screamed out your request.

“Spencer Reid, I need you.” 

[aluinwe]

elevator - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 988

The thing with working on the 52nd floor of a high rise building is that you have to be very comfortable with a number of things that Regulus was decidedly not comfortable with.

You had to like, or at least tolerate the shitty coffee provided - to get your own was a trip you could barely manage in your lunch break.

You had to get used to never being the right temperature - the air conditioning blasting too cold in the summer and too hot in the winter. With no windows to open, the air was always so dry you had to carry moisturizer constantly.

But the thing that made Regulus most uncomfortable, that almost made him reconsider accepting his dream job, was the elevator. The tight, enclosed space. The unavoidable pressure of strange bodies against him. The sounds and smells alone would summon nausea on a good day. The irritation of stopping at every. single. floor. The rare rides without stops, where it shot so quickly up or down that he felt his stomach left behind several floors away.

Taking the stairs wasn't an option. He'd tried once and made it to the 11th floor where, panting and sweaty, he'd accepted defeat and rode the elevator the rest of the way up.

All said, Regulus was not a fan of elevators even when they were in working order. What he was even less of a fan of was when they were not working, as he found out to his horror one afternoon, trapped between the 21st and 22nd floor.

When the elevator had come to a screeching halt and the lights flickered off, leaving only the emergency LED strip lighting the enclosed space in a sickly green haze, his first response had been a less-than masculine squeak followed by sinking to his knees on the floor, his breaths coming fast and shallow.

Fortunately, the only other occupant of the elevator was a bit more level-headed in his panic response - he'd immediately pressed the emergency call button and through the ringing in his ears Regulus vaguely registered a voice on the other end of the line assuring them help was on the way.

“You know, pretty boy, if I'd known it would get you on your knees for me I’d have pressed the emergency stop about 15 floors ago.” The voice was silky, like caramel, and slightly accented. Spain, or somewhere Latin American. Regulus raised his head and swept his gaze over the other man.

He was wearing tight jeans that hugged a perfectly sculpted arse, white shirt tucked in neatly but unbuttoned to reveal a patch of dark chest hair and a gold necklace. His sleeves were rolled up showing muscular, tanned forearms, a watch on one wrist and leather bracelet on the other. Face framed by a wild mop of riotous dark curls and warm hazel eyes behind a pair of wire rimmed spectacles.

Regulus was staring, he knew he was - he could feel his jaw slacken and saliva begin to pool in his mouth. But in the presence of this beautiful man whose first sentence to him had been a lewd joke, Regulus could hardly find it in him to care.

He was snapped out of his reverie when the man offered a hand to help him stand. When raised to his full height he noticed that this stranger, this gorgeous specimen of a man, was tall. So very tall. At least a full head taller than Regulus, who wasn't exactly a short man himself topping out at 5’10.

At the knowing smirk on the strangers face, Regulus realised he'd been caught in his ogling, and in an effort to gain some kind of upper hand in the situation he forced himself into the most casual posture he could manage, and remarked “Do you often proposition people you've just met, or am I special?”

“Hmm, no.” A light chuckle. “But it snapped you right out of that panic attack you were about to have, didn't it? James Potter by the way, I just started on floor 53.”

“Ah, the haircare company. Regulus Black, floor 52”

“Oh, so I'm right on top of you then? Good to know.” James winked cheekily and continued. “Publishing? You certainly look the bookish type.”

Affronted, Regulus snapped petulantly “Yes, well, you don't look like the haircare type at all. Do you even own a comb?”

James’ face lit up with mirth and a deep laugh escaped him. “You're not only beautiful but funny too?” Regulus felt his cheeks flush at the compliment. “And such a pretty blush on those cheeks. I will be sending my thanks to the universe tonight for introducing me to you.”

“Forgive me if I don't join you in sending thanks. We’re trapped, or have you forgotten?”

“Not really, we will be out of here soon.” As if summoned by the magic of his words, the elevator jolted and the lights flickered back on and they were again moving downwards. “See! Nothing to worry about.”

“Right.” Regulus shuffled on his feet nervously and carded a hand through his hair. “Thanks, by the way. For calling for help. I was useless.”

“Not useless, you certainly gave me something nice to look at.” Another wink and Regulus was blushing again, cheeks stained red. “Forgive me, but I think you enjoyed looking too?”

James produced a business card from his pocket and offered it to Regulus. “In case you'd like to do more than look. I was joking at first about getting you on your knees, but the more I look at you the more I'm thinking about it.”

Regulus took the card and tucked it into his breast pocket, right as the elevator came to a stop on the ground floor. James alighted first, and as he made his way into the packed lobby he turned to look over his shoulder and shouted “Call me!” before disappearing into the crowd.

[pretty-blkgirl]

W. E. A. Y [Ch. 25]

~ Masterlist ~

TW: Mentions of knife being used as a weapon

~~~~~|~~~~~

Every two minutes you heard a yawn, and then every five minutes, a new member was complaining about how tired they were. You weren’t exempt, as you complained about how ready you were to get into bed.

The promotions in Japan were amazing. You and your members spent time together, you had some great interviews, great food, and of course - you were able to see Skz every day.

It was a little awkward being around the seven members who didn’t know your true feelings, but Changbin loved every second of watching you squirm under the attention of him and his group.

Since you told him how you felt, you decided to also tell him about the dream. He, of course, loved knowing how much you wanted him and his friends. This led to frequent make-out sessions whenever you two could sneak away.

Your members also loved seeing how shy you were with the seven who were left in the dark. They and Changbin made it a point to tease you whenever they could.

Safe to say you had a time in Japan, but going back to Korea meant a full week of rest before having to jump right back into work.

The short plane ride felt like forever, but once you touched down in Korea, you could practically feel your pillows and weighted blanket already.

“I’m so ready to go to bed” You sigh, “I’m gonna sleep for a whole day”

���Same,” Says Jia, “A whole week off, sounds like heaven”

“I’ve been meaning to start binge-watching a show on Netflix” Lilly smiles, “I’ll only be out of my room to eat and go to the bathroom”

“I bought a bunch of snacks before we left and stashed them in my room” Sooyeon laughs, “You guys will barely see me for real”

“Oooh shit I can see the dorms” Kai squealed excitedly.

It was silly how much you guys wanted to get home, but the struggle was real. Having to put on a big, toothy smile for interviews and YouTube shoots, then going back and forth to Skz’s Airbnb to re-record if Chan asked you to do so.

You loved the work, but it was hard, and the rest is what you needed.

As soon as the car stopped, you and the girls hopped out with ample excitement. Your security grabbed your bags and walked behind you, very tired themselves.

Once in the dorm, you all thanked your security for bringing your bags and wished them goodnight.

“Time for fucking sleeeeeep” You yawn, going straight to your room, shedding off your jeans, and lying in bed.

Sleep didn’t take long to come over you. You were out like a light, bags still packed and phone somewhere in the purse you discarded on the dresser.

The sleep felt magical, but it didn’t last for too long, as you were woken up by the sound of something falling.

At first, you ignored it, then something else fell.

You rolled your eyes as you sat up, Kye was notorious for being clumsy. She was also notorious for not turning on lights before she went through the living room to try and get to the kitchen.

Her odd way of thinking cost you all two vases and a plant, which is why your dorm is barely decorated with things that can shatter.

“KYE, TURN ON A LIGHT” You yell, rubbing your eyes. You decide to get up and grab your phone.

The moonlight shining from your bedroom window gives you enough light to see your dresser, so you grab your purse and rummage through it to find your phone.

Once found, you jump slightly as you hear something else fall, this time a little closer to your bedroom door.

Just as you’re about to yell at Kye again, a message pops up on your screen.

Panic floods through you as you run to your door, locking it quickly.

Your thumbs move quickly as you start typing in the group chat.

You try to calm your breathing, not wanting whoever is in your house to hear you on the verge of a panic attack.

Looking around your room, you don’t see anything you can put in front of the door quickly, so the only thing keeping you from the intruder is a lock.

“Shit” you curse under your breath.

You decide to hide under your bed, bottom lip trembling as footsteps can be heard in the hallway.

A loud bang, one that landed right on your door. Any chance of being calm and collected washed away with every hard hit to your door.

If the banging stopped, the doorknob was being rattled violently. You couldn’t help but wonder who was out there. A fan? A stalker? Or a third person you didn’t even want to think about.

Your phone buzzed rapidly, so you took a breath and responded to your members.

Every second felt like 10 minutes. The banging only grew louder and angrier. Each hit to your door brought a new question to your mind.

“Who’s doing this?”

“Why are they doing this?”

“Are they targeting me?”

“What did I do?”

“Is Addison behind this?”

Soon your head started to bang just as hard as the ones on the door. You hated the feel of headaches, and you knew some painkillers were on your dresser.

It wasn’t that knowledge that made you leave your hiding spot though, it was the sound of your door being ripped from its hinges.

In a panic, you crawled from under the bed, an overwhelming feeling in your chest telling you to escape if you wanted to avoid being hurt.

You took a quick look at your door, just in time to see a butcher knife break through the door. Whoever this person was wanted to get to you, desperately.

You rush to your window, pulling back the curtains and looking down at the street. You were too high up, if you even managed to survive the jump, you’d have too many broken bones to count.

Against your better judgment, you take another look at your door, just in time for the intruder to stop their banging and look at you through one of the many holes they created.

All you saw was a masked person, eyes crazed with determination and frustration. That brief moment of eye contact must have been exactly what they needed, because a final kick to the door managed to get it open.

You scream, dropping down to your knees and shaking uncontrollably. The masked perpetrator gripped the butcher knife, looking down at you with absolutely no mercy.

Your mind was filled with so many memories at that point. Cooking with your grandparents, teaching your sister to ride a bike, meeting your members for the first time, finally seeing Skz as your equals and not competition.

And as you say on your carpeted floor, only underwear and a shirt on, tears and snot running down your face, and begging for help, you can hear many footsteps running to your bedroom.

Seemingly in half a second: the intruder was tased and grabbed, police crowded around you, Moni rushed to your side, and your members stood at the frame where your door used to be.

They were talking to you, but you couldn’t hear them. All you knew was that someone tried to seriously hurt you.

~~~~|~~~~

🏷️: @chuuyaobsessed @h0rnyp0t @prttyxbby @yukichan67 @hanniemylovelyquokka @xxeiraxx @loveforlee444 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @cunninglibrarian @holly-here @galaxy4489 @hyunmikim @yougottobekittenme @hyeon-yi @katsukis1wife @multi-fandom-nightmare @staybabblingbaby @kozumesphone @fuck-you-im-gae @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @champagneconfetti @juju-227592 @borahae-reads @reallychaoticwoo @hwangfrnd @fiest4plum @tsukiesimp @minniesverse @kpopnonous @estella-novella @fackeraccount @lezleeferguson-120 @bangchansgirlsblog @willfightforskz @savanaxblue @hanniesbubuwife @shuuporanglinos @leonkennedysslutt @honestlyjaee @strayk1ds143 @hyuneskkami @dessianna1 @elegant-face-tree @beppybeesnuggets @hash2013 @sammhisphere @lovelymindescape @certifiedchangbinlover @bokkiesluv @stayp1eceposts @boopoasaurusrex

[skmhlml]

Hey !! How about a burning spice cookie x wife insecure reader, like in their intier relation, she as been insecure about her body (like me) and start eating less... Burning spice cookie saw that but didn't want to make her more uncomfortable, but then it's Nutmeg tiger cookie who report him that she passed out for unwell nutrition du to her not eating enough.

Date requested:

Fandom: Cookie run: Kingdom

Type: one-shot

Note: you are desirable, touch-worthy, and so fucking sexy in ways no mirror could ever capture. Softness is sacred. It’s where love lingers. Don’t let the world convince you otherwise. 🫦🙏

More like this

Burning Spice Cookie x Insecure!Wife!Reader

The days had been quieter lately.

Not in the world—never in the world. The kingdom was as loud as ever, beast raids still rumbling through the wilds, and the forge still echoing with hammer-on-metal. But your shared home with Burning Spice Cookie… that was different.

More silence than laughter.

More excuses than meals.

And he noticed.

He always noticed.

But damn it all, he didn’t know what to say.

Burning Spice Cookie, the warborn, the iron-blooded, the muscle-bound chaos of flame and fury—he could shatter shields and tame beasts with a glare. But seeing his wife, the one person he’d ever allowed to touch the fire in his chest, slowly shrinking before his eyes…

It made him feel useless.

And worse—afraid.

⸻

At first, he didn’t want to bring it up. Every time he caught you poking at your food, every time your clothes looked a little looser, he bit his tongue. You were already so withdrawn. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes. Your hands, once so warm when they’d cup his cheek or run over his scarred shoulders, had grown cold. Fragile.

And when he reached for you at night, you’d flinch just slightly before curling in.

You thought he didn’t notice that either.

He did.

But every time he tried to open his mouth—to tell you you were still beautiful, to beg you to eat, to wrap you in his arms and demand you let him carry some of the weight—he hesitated.

He was terrified of making it worse.

So he started leaving little offerings instead.

He’d cook more, even though he didn’t usually have the patience for it. Lay out grilled meat, roasted roots, even spiced flatbread the way you used to like it. He’d leave a napkin folded on your side of the table and pretend like he didn’t notice when you didn’t come eat with him.

Sometimes he caught you chewing slowly at a tiny piece of something the next morning, as if to not offend him.

It wasn’t enough.

⸻

It all came to a head when Nutmeg Tiger Cookie stormed into the forge one afternoon, her usual grace gone, face twisted with panic.

“You need to come home. Now.”

He blinked, pulling the hammer back mid-swing.

“The hell’s goin’ on—?”

“She collapsed.” Nutmeg’s tail bristled. “Your wife. I found her in the garden. She barely had enough in her to speak.”

The world dropped out from under him.

⸻

He ran harder than he ever had. Not even in war had he moved this fast. His mind was screaming, heart pounding so viciously it drowned out all other sound. The door slammed open before he could reach for the handle, and there you were��

Lying in bed.

Still breathing.

But too pale.

Too still.

Too small.

“Sweetheart—” He knelt beside the bed so fast it jarred the wooden frame, rough hands gripping your wrist with more urgency than gentleness. “Why didn’t you say anything?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

You looked away.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

His stomach dropped.

“Bother me?” he echoed, voice raw and shaking. “You think I give a damn about anything more than you breathin’?! You— You’ve been starvin’ yourself, haven’t you? You’ve been—fuck—”

You covered your face with both hands, ashamed.

“I just… I don’t like how I look anymore. I’m soft. My thighs, my stomach… you married someone who looked better back then. I didn’t want to be a burden, or gross you out, or—”

“Stop.”

His voice cut through like a sword.

Burning Spice Cookie didn’t yell—not when you were already shaking like that. But the weight in his tone was enough to make the air go still.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

You peeked at him through your fingers.

“I ain’t ever gonna stop wantin’ you,” he said, leaning over the bed, bracing his arms on either side of your shoulders. His face was close—too close—and burning with a heat you hadn’t seen in weeks. “You hear me? I don’t give a damn if your body changes. You’ve carried pain, you’ve carried burdens, you’ve carried me. That body? It’s mine. And I love it.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “But—”

“No but.” His voice cracked, chest heaving. “You’ve been sufferin’ in silence, thinkin’ I’d hate you for gettin’ softer, when all I wanna do is hold you longer.”

His hand slipped behind your head and pulled you close to his chest.

“I failed you,” he whispered. “I thought I was doin’ the right thing by not bringin’ it up. Didn’t wanna push you. But now you’ve passed out, and I—fuck—I’m scared.”

You buried your face against him, letting yourself sob.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you whispered. “I just didn’t feel… good enough.”

“You’re more than enough,” he snarled, voice low but fierce. “You’re the only one who ever made me feel like I had a home. You gave me peace. You give me love. Don’t you dare think I’d trade that for a fuckin’ number on a scale.”

Silence.

Then—

“I need you to eat again,” he said softly. “Even if it’s just a little. I’ll cook, I’ll sit beside you, I’ll feed you with my own hands if I have to.”

A shaky laugh bubbled out of you.

“I’ll try,” you murmured, nuzzling into his neck. “I don’t want to scare you again.”

He kissed your hair.

“You already scared the shit outta me. You do it again, and I’m tying you to my hip with a forge chain so you have to eat when I do.”

You giggled wetly, hiccuping.

“You’d really tie me up?”

He pulled back with a wicked grin and wiped your tears with his thumb.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”

⸻

That night, he sat beside you on the bed with a bowl of warm broth in one hand, holding the spoon out to you with the other. He didn’t push. Just waited patiently.

You accepted it. Bit by bit.

His eyes never left you.

And when you were done, he wrapped you in a blanket and whispered how proud he was. How beautiful you looked to him.

And how he wasn’t going anywhere.

⸻

In the weeks after, he stayed close. Too close, really—he became your shadow, muttering threats to Nutmeg about “ratting him out, but thank you anyway,” and even moving a makeshift table into the bedroom for easier mealtimes.

You started eating again. Slowly.

Your body remained yours.

But his love?

It remained constant.

Because even fire needs fuel.

And you were his flame.

[ckret2]

inspired by ur aku flower post - how would aku react to someone getting flowers for him? random/scara/jack whoever u choose to answer for

lmao absolute worst character for anybody to end up in a "love me back or I'll die" situation with

for anyone who missed it, we're talking about this post and the hanahaki disease trope ("if you fall in love and [it's unrequited] OR [you keep it secret], you start coughing up flowers [until they love you back] OR [until you tell them]." I prefer the "keep it secret" version).

This is gonna get a lot of different answer variations.

We're going with vanilla hanahaki, not the "if you're evil falling in love AT ALL gives you hanahaki" one I made up in the prior post, that strain is Aku exclusive.

if it's Jack and if it's the unrequited hanahaki strain—

my first instinct is, if Aku found out that Jack was incredibly ill because he'd fallen in love with him and would eventually die if Aku didn't return the sentiment? He would be like LMAOOO FUNNIEST WAY FOR YOU TO GO BUT AT LEAST YOU'RE GOING. He'd start popping up to taunt Jack at random like "oh samuraaaiii〜♡ do you want some of thiiis〜? 😘 WELL TOO BAD BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANY! HAAA HA HA DIE FASTER."

On the other hand: there's a problem with that. why in hell's name would Jack fall in love with Aku. Jack hates him, for good reason, because Aku is literally the worst. Aku's not offering Jack aaanything to fall in love with. so in order for this scenario to happen, Aku would already have to be, like, 95% less evil. Aku's gotta be made a good guy here, whether via divine intervention or implausible redemption arc or amnesia or AU, whatever. Choose your own adventure. THE POINT IS: before Jack can fall in love with Aku, first Aku has to be, like, not a global tyrant, and also nice to Jack sometimes.

Which means in order for Jack to start hacking hana, Aku would need to not have the kind of relation with Jack where his first reaction is "then perish." We'll go out on a limb and assume maybe he likes and/or cares about Jack to some extent. We're assuming this isn't a jaku endgame scenario (because if Aku reciprocates, then like,, Jack wouldn't be sick from unrequited love, would he), and even a good Aku isn't gonna be the type to go "if you're dying for love of me then I shall selflessly try to love you back," so his first reaction is probably, "Well... stop it. Find someone else. Maybe someone your height."

After he finishes laughing at Jack. I feel like laughing at Jack would be a constant.

On the OTHER other hand: maybe it wasn't "Aku" that Jack fell in love with, but Ikra or Jill or some other Aku hot babe disguise. And if THAT'S what happened, we could still get the "try to kill Jack faster" route. Heck, it's possible getting Jack to fall in love and then killing him via heartbreak was his plan. Make him fall in love with someone who could never reciprocate because she isn't even real, then mock him with reminders of her everywhere he goes.

I'm typically not a fan of the "unrequited" hanahaki strain because i prefer it to be a disease you do to yourself, not something someone else does to you by not reciprocating. That makes it seem like the other person is a murderous bad guy if they don't return the victim's feelings.

But like, if the other person IS a murderous bad guy, doing it ON PURPOSE, that could be fun.

... fic where aku disguises himself and travels with jack for like a year, gets reeeally close with him, to trick him into falling in love so he'll die of heartbreak, but jack just goes "no, i can let go of my feelings for [ikra/jill/whoever], get over her, and move on," and goes on a little spiritual quest and he's fine; and aku's like "well damn, that didn't work, worth a try"; and then aku coughs up a rose and goes "oh no"

anyway—

if it's Jack and it's the unconfessed hanahaki strain—

it's more likely that this one developed naturally, since "get jack to fall in love and kill him by not reciprocating" is a lot easier to pull off than "get jack to fall in love and then let him kill himself by not confessing," because like he can't control whether jack confesses. so this is probably a scenario where Aku's on decent terms with Jack.

in order for Jack to have "didn't confess your love" hanahaki for Aku, AND for Aku to know about it (so he can, y'know, react to it), then he'd have to find out Jack's got hanahaki but not that it's for him. and if he's on decent terms with Jack he probably doesn't want him to die, so his most likely reaction is hollering at him for being the fool to end all fools, demanding to know who it is that's got him in this state (he refuses to answer), and commanding him to go confess to whoever-the-hell-she-is. "This whole world adores you, whoever she is she's probably already in love with you! It seems like everyone is." "Everyone? Even you?" "HAAA HA, no. But what does my opinion matter, go talk to your girl." "hm."

... fic where some-sort-of-non-evil aku's worried about jack dying and keeps trying to talk him into talking to his unknown crush or at least tell aku who she is or maybe just get over her, and aku realizes he's slowly growing jealous of this unknown person jack's romantically killing himself over, and then aku coughs up a flower and goes "ah hell. ... well, with everything else jack has going on, obviously i can't tell him about this" and

anyway—

Alternate evil Aku scenario where Jack fell for Ikra/Jill/whoever but that WASN'T Aku's plan, so Aku doesn't know it's for him, he just randomly catches Jack spitting up petals somewhere down the line—probably dramatically in the middle of battle or something—and Aku goes "OH?? YOU?? FELL IN LOVE??? AND HAVEN'T TOLD HER???? POOR, POOR, MISERABLE, COWARDLY SAMURAI! I WOULD NOT HAVE EXPECTED YOU OF ALL PEOPLE TO LET YOURSELF BE WEAKENED BY SUCH A SECRET—WHO IS SHE FOR YOU TO SO FEAR CONFESSING??"

and Jack's just standing there like 😡😡😡 trying to swallow down a whole daffodil while Aku laughs at him

Aku decides if he ever finds out who it is Jack's in love with, he's making her his queen. (it's purely a symbolic title, he's not sharing any power.)

if it's Scaramouche, first we're gonna talk about robo-hanahaki

Because what the hell does hanahaki disease look like in robots. if you assume it's a magic disease then sure fine a robot can cough up flowers, whatever, it's fine. but if you assume it's a biological, psychosomatic disease, then there shouldn't be all that organic matter inside a robot. And I prefer it being a biological disease. So what, is he coughing up tin foil flowers??

But Scaramouche isn't just a robot, he's also got a bit of Aku essence in him—it was probably pumped in the same way we see Aku fuel the ultra-bots. Maybe he's coughing up weird black smoke/goo flowers. You can even use that to justify why & how hanahaki disease works in him—he's coughing out blossoms made out of the same stuff as Aku because Aku's the one he's in love with, like the essence powering him is calling out to its source, trying to crawl back to Aku.

if it's Scaramouche and the unrequited hanahaki strain—

I'm already writing a whole damn fic with a setup of "Scaramouche is in love with Aku and Aku doesn't (initially) reciprocate" so I'll try to give an answer that doesn't overlap too much with it lol

I feel like Scaramouche, with his huge ego, thinks he has a good enough chance of wooing the boss that it's at least worth trying, so if he gets hanahaki he's not like "o woe is me, this is a death sentence, i shall die lovelorn—" no he's like "now how do I manage the symptoms til I charm the boss? 🤔"

We're assuming that all his efforts fail here because if they didn't fail then his hanahaki would be cured without Aku ever finding out. Instead he probably manages to keep the symptoms to himself up until it starts interfering with his work—if he's got flowers coming up his throat while he's singing or playing the flute, his effectiveness on the battlefield tanks, and a star performer like him is NOT putting up with that, babe.

So Aku's finding out because Scaramouche sheepishly confesses to him—because when this is affecting his work, Aku can't not know about it. The boss will know what to do about it! Maaaybe he'll even give Scaramouche a shot...?

Aku goes "hmmm... no. Reprogramming!"

Scaramouche is a very useful minion; but having a weird virus that takes out his two best weapons destroys that usefulness. Aku's not throwing away his #1 assassin if he can help it, but he's quite confident he's not gonna fall in love with Scaramouche, so the only option is for Scaramouche to fall out of love.

Luckily, Scaramouche is a robot. Problem solved!

if it's Scaramouche and the unconfessed hanahaki strain—

It's highly likely that Aku wouldn't even find out Scaramouche is sick. If hanahaki can be cured by simply confessing rather than seducing the object of your desire, Scaramouche would be inclined to confess much faster rather than let it become a problem—and once he confesses, he's not sick anymore, back to work! So as soon as he starts spitting out Aku essence flowers, Scaramouche is going, "aw, nuts. ... I wonder if Aku would like black bouquets made out of his own blood."

(He'd love that, actually.)

If the only reason Scaramouche is confessing is to stop coughing up flowers, Aku's going "Okay, well, are these feelings going to cause any problems with your work?" "No." "Good. Then get back to work."

Alternate scenario where Aku finds out Scaramouche is coughing up flowers before Scaramouche confesses, and he gets pissed. That's the problem with these new robots with emotions, they keep falling in love with things, last time it was some ugly dog, who knows what it is this time, Aku will NOT tolerate his assassin dividing his loyalties between HIS LORD AND MASTER and some cute sentient car or whatever it is he's found, and if that means Aku has to get Scaramouche's whole mind rewritten to completely forget about his little crush then so be it, whatever it takes to ensure he remains COMPLETELY loyal to Aku—

"I am, boss, it's you!" "Oh. ... Very well! Then that won't be necessary."

Scaramouche is hard to hanahaki via the "unconfessed" variety because I don't think he's, like, capable of shame or of dreading rejection. He'd only keep the secret for strategic reasons (like, "wait until I have a chance to polish up and get my coat dry cleaned") and only temporarily. He skips straight past The Agony Of Carrying This Sweet Heavy Secret that most characters would have in his situation.

if it's someone random and the unrequited hanahaki strain—

There are no other specific characters I'm interested in exploring this with, so this is just for any generic random person. Could be one of his scientists or some mercenary he regularly hires or a random citizen that fell for him via his appearances in the news or a cultist or minion or whatever.

If it's somebody that matters to him (read as: someone who's useful to him), like one of his top scientists or an assassin that does regular jobs for him, I think he'd be irritated—because, from Aku's perspective, "hanahaki disease over unrequited love for Aku" is simply a terminal disease. He doesn't reciprocate, he isn't interested in trying to reciprocate, he feels no guilt or personal responsibility for this. He's like "well, fall out of love, I have work for you."

But considering that Aku has so many red flags that if you stitched them all together you could make him a red riding hood cosplay that fits his full height, if his personality alone isn't enough to prevent them from loving him, he's not sure what the hell else could do the trick. "Would it help if I tortured you??" He's trying torture regardless of their answer.

If it's just some random citizen though, or somebody unimportant? He's fine with it. Just let it happen! He kind of likes it, actually! The thought of some poor, helpless, innocent person rotting to death from the inside over him—so deeply devoted to their lord and master that they'll die for it—their body, heart, and soul sacrificed as an offering to him and his dark glory—all that pain and suffering and despair, all of it for AKU...

Listen. listen. if there's anything, ANYTHING AT ALL, in ALL the universe, that Aku might consider a turn-on—it's probably that.

He finds out somebody's upchucking flowers over him, and he's asking them for the flowers. He wants to keep them.

Somewhere deep in his fortress he's got a centuries-old collection of dried and preserved flowers. Each one as valuable as any jewel in his vast stores of treasure, each as precious as a hundred statues in his honor. This is the ultimate display of submission to his rule.

(And it's also proof that not everyone despises him—but surely that doesn't matter to him, right?)

if it's someone random and the unconfessed hanahaki strain—

this would have to be another "aku finds out they're puking petals but not that it's over HIM" situation.

And if (he thinks) it's not over him, 1) he would once more be annoyed if someone useful is dying on him, especially in this scenario when the solution is so simple, and 2) no matter who it is, whether he knows them well or not, he would never, ever, EVER suspect that they're lovesick over him.

Because he's him.

Although, like in the "unrequited" scenario, he might still end up with a flower collection. If it's some random public citizen who's fallen in love with the ruler of the world, they might end up confessing just to save their own lives, and if they do confess he's still asking for their flowers. like, they're not dying over him anymore, but they were, and that's still kind of flattering.

And after long enough of that it probably eventually becomes public knowledge that Aku wants the hanahaki flowers produced in his honor. And some people—well, if they're into Aku, they're probably already some kind of "would totally marry a serial killer" freaks—they might also be big enough freaks to send him their flowers, anonymously. They won't tell him who they are so it isn't a confession, but they're still letting him know they love him enough to choose to die for him. Without having to write a single word, a combined love letter and suicide note.

Oh, Aku would covet those flowers.

(You could also apply the flower collection headcanon to the answers for Jack & Scaramouche, although I feel like it would feel different for Aku if he actually knows the person. It loses some of its romanticism. But Scaramouche's black blood bouquets would win beaucoup points for the aesthetic, and anything Jack produced would get a place of honor above all the rest of Aku's collection—what greater triumph could he possibly have over the samurai!—so, there's that.)

[lowkeyivory]

Since y'all wanted uncle five so bad, here are my headcanons of five being an uncle to his nieces and nephew. (Most of these are s4 or pre s4/s3)

Five lets Claire and Grace braid his hair/tie his hair up. He lets the girls put some clips or accessories to his hair. You'd think he'd hate it and get embarrassed by it, but his nieces are the only exception. And when the family comes and sees this, he glares at them and gives them a death stare saying, "one word to any of you, and I'm leaving."

He's mostly close with the twins, and the twins would always run up to him and beg him to carry them. Five doesn't know why they're so close/clingy to him, but he doesn't mind it and he likes it at the same time because they're his favorite. (Inserts a scenario I have played out in my head where the twins run up to him when he arrives at the birthday party)

Claire defo gives him dating advices even though Five doesn't need them.

Five is Claire's free tutor in math (having an uncle who's a genius in math and you suck at math??? Y'all can't convince me that Allison had Five to tutor claire about math)

Five was actually the first to want/agree to babysit Claire all the time when she was a kid (aka aftermath of s3) Since he wanted to spend more time and get to know his niece, he'd always look after Claire before Klaus. (Even though it's evident Claire and Klaus are close, meaning Klaus would've always looked after Claire, I think it'd make more sense if Five would be one of the first to be Claire's babysitter.)

Believe it or not, Five knows how to brush or do a hairstyle. Like if Grace wants to untie her braids and get her hair brushed, she'd go to Five because he knows how to do it. He learnt it while looking after Claire, Allison had to teach him because Claire's hair needed to get brushed all the time. So it took him a very very while to learn and do it right, but overtime he knows how to do it properly already.

Five gave his old toy train to Little Ben (Diego's son... just a fanon name I have for his little boy)

Five gets very overprotective when it comes to these kids. So, if you ever lay a single hand on them, you'll be dead for sure.

One time five tried letting Claire drive and taught her how to drive but Allison scolded him and now she never lets him alone with Claire when he's driving.

He's not the best at comforting but if one of them is upset, he'll always try his best to cheer them up. Claire is upset over something? He'll joke around and she always laughs at his jokes (just shows how close they are), Grace is sad? He buys ice cream for her. The twins are crying? He'll let them do whatever they want with him. (Because they always fight over him)

Five is the type of uncle to encourage/be proud of the kids if they did something violent to either defense themselves or to stand up to anybody. Claire gets detention because she hit a girl who was being a bitch to her? Five could never be prouder.

In s4, lila says "don't let the twins fight!" (When she leaves the train and her family in it). But five does the exact opposite and just let's them argue until they stop, but if they go too far and start hitting each other (or even biting each other), he draws the line and takes action to stop them. (A little reference in s1 where he just watches Hazel and Diego fight but when Diego bites Hazel, five immediately stops them and says "I draw the line at biting")

Grace is a sassy child because of Five.

When Grace was a toddler, she'd pinch Five's cheeks for no reason because she found it funny. If someone were to ever do this to him, five would be pissed. But, this time, Five just let's it slide and let's her do it because he likes to see his niece happy. (Someone draw this like I'm begging you)

Anddddd that's it! Hope you enjoy all this:)

[wildflowersandbarley333]

Scored a Date!

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Isagi x reader

college au first date with nervous sagi <33

wc: 850

From the perspective of a bleacher seat, you'd never guess that Isagi Yoichi gets nervous. The confidence he exudes on the field must translate to the rest of his life, right? Well, not exactly.

In fact Isagi has never felt more nervous than he feels right now, sitting at the table as he waited for you to show up. He arrived ten minutes earlier than the time he set for your first date so he could make sure he grabs you two a good table. However time dragged on he sat there, bouncing his leg under the table and checking his phone for the tenth time in the past minute, the same text message notification that arrived twenty minutes ago from his mom and Bachira wishing him good luck on his date staring back at him. 

"Hey Yoichi," you smile, voice snapping him out of the nervous thoughts spinning around his head. "Traffic was terrible, I hope I didn't keep you waiting long," you say as you take your seat in front of him, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as you pull the chair into the table. Isagi couldn't help but stare at you as you settled in, the reality of you two being on an official date fully settling in. It's not that you two never talked of hung out before, but this time it felt different. There was no yelling over loud party music or aggressively typing away at an essay due at midnight or friends sitting around you two. It was just you and Isagi, in your own little world today. And he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted to make you smile, make you laugh. Wanted to make you fall in love, maybe even make you fall for him as hard as he already has for you.  

"Whatca thinking about order?" you ask, picking up the menu and scanning the options. Little did he know, you were hoping you were doing a good job at hiding your own nerves for this first date. You had been crushing on Isagi ever since you two were assigned as partners for a project in your Econ 101 class. Not only was he smart and talented, but he was such a sweetheart. How could you have possibly avoided falling head over heels for him?

"U-ummm," you watched as he fumbled with opening the menu and couldn't hold back giggling at the way he scrambled to answer your question. It helped ease your nerves seeing him nervous too. Plus, it was a cute side of Isagi you'd never seen before. You rest your elbows on the table, resting your hand on the back of your hand and look up at him as he spoke about what dishes sounded good. The way you smiled softly, batting your eyelashes made him nearly choke on his words, quick to chug half of the water cup that sat inches away from him. He composed himself by the time the waitress arrived, taking both your orders before heading back to the kitchen. 

An awkward silence fell over you and Isagi after she left, the table shaking as he started bouncing his leg nervously again. You felt your own nerves starting to creep back up, so decided to ask a question you were sure would lighten the mood. 

"That game last night sure was crazy, huh?" You watched the way his eyes flashed with excitement, leg bouncing completely stopped as he begins speaking. The nerves seemingly left his body the moment he began touching on the game's highlights. He shared every play analysis he could think of, even telling you about random players from the opposing college team. That confidence you had seen him exude on the field was now back in his system as he rambled on. Though you didn't entirely follow everything he was explaining, you enjoyed listening to him talk. The way he lit up when talking about his passions made your heart beat fast against your chest, threatening to jump out onto the table. Isagi was just too cute for his own good.

And as the date continued, you were successfully able to change the topic maybe three times total. Somehow, the conversation always circled back to a goal he found amazing or a new formula that helped him defeat an opponent or which teammate was his missing puzzle piece in the second half. He didn't even realize this until walking you back to your car.

"And then when Bachira made the next pass I-" he stopped dead in his tracks as the realization washed over him, "AH I've been rambling the whole time, haven't I?" he asks a tad frazzled, scratching the back of his neck.

"Just a little," you giggle before leaning over to kiss his cheek. "But it's cute," kiss, "call me later?" you smile at him before getting into your car, heart glowing after spending the day with Isagi.

"Y-yeah!!" he stuttered out before smiling back at you, cheeks flushed cheeks and mirroring yours as it glowed from the joy of spending the day with you.

[divider by @/enchanthings]

[cheeseatlantic]

SLIP

Simon Riley didn’t do love.

Didn’t do second rounds.

Didn’t do names, didn’t do phone numbers, didn’t do breakfast.

He did bodies. Skin. Release.

Flesh warmed under his hands for a few hours, muffled gasps into motel pillows, fingers that clawed and gripped but never lingered once the sun rose. Then he’d leave. He always left.

It was easier that way. Safer. Cleaner.

Soap had stopped teasing him about it months ago. Once upon a time, Johnny made jokes—bad ones—about Ghost being some sort of secret romantic. About how maybe, one day, he’d actually keep someone around.

Simon had laughed at him. A cold, unimpressed exhale.

“Don’t be daft, Johnny. Ain’t that type.”

No one believed him.

Because nobody got close enough to know the truth.

⸻

It started stupid.

He’d been in the city on an intel drop. Civilian area, off-duty. A hoodie pulled up, jeans, his mask still in place under the fabric—habit. Always.

They bumped into him. Quite literally. Holding a takeaway cup with both hands, muttering something under their breath about traffic and late trains and broken headphones.

Simon had looked at them like he always looked at strangers. Blank. Cold. Silent.

You looked up, blinked. Paused.

Then smiled. “You okay?”

He’d said nothing. Just stared.

Because they didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Didn’t even hesitate.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, moving past.

You didn’t chase him. Didn’t try to engage. Just nodded like that was enough and kept walking. That should’ve been it.

But Simon looked back.

⸻

The first time was a fuck-up.

Or maybe the best mistake he ever made.

He hadn’t meant to follow you. He really hadn’t. But he spotted you later that night at some quiet bar tucked away behind an alley. Same drink in hand. Same quiet expression. Still alone.

You met his eyes again like they’d been waiting.

“Drink with me?”

He should’ve said no.

Instead, he sat.

⸻

You never asked what he did for work.

Never pried, never prodded.

You kissed like you meant it, slow and careful, like you weren’t just trying to get off. And when you tugged at his mask—gently, questioningly—he let you.

That was new.

Simon’s one-night stands never got to see his face. Not even in the dark. But this time?

This time, he didn’t stop you.

You looked at him like he wasn’t a ghost at all.

⸻

After, when their chests were slick and their hands were tangled and the sweat was still cooling on their skin, you turned to him and said, “You don’t have to stay.”

And Simon stayed anyway.

He stayed the whole fucking night.

⸻

The next time was supposed to be the last. Just one more. A goodbye.

But then they were on his mind. Constantly. Annoyingly.

He found himself watching the street corner where they’d met.

He remembered your drink. Your smile. The sound you made when you came.

He went back.

You let him in without a word.

⸻

Weeks passed. Then months.

He didn’t call it dating. They weren’t together. He didn’t do relationships.

But they knew what to keep quiet. Never posted photos. Never pried. Never asked for more than he could give.

He trusted them. Somehow.

And Ghost didn’t trust anyone.

⸻

“Still single, then?” Soap asked, elbowing him one afternoon during weapons checks.

Simon grunted. “I hate people.”

“Figures.” Johnny smirked. “You’re too grumpy to keep anyone alive around you, much less interested.”

Ghost said nothing. Didn’t even glance up.

Johnny laughed like he hadn’t just hit dead-on.

⸻

You were his secret.

His one softness. The quiet at the end of the noise.

You let him rest. Let him have silence without pressure. Let him talk, sometimes—about his brother, his past, his fear of waking up one day and forgetting how to care.

You just listened. Or held him. Or took his hand in yours and whispered, “You’re safe here.”

⸻

It was a morning mission.

Stupid, early, and the fog hadn’t lifted yet.

Ghost was running on maybe three hours of sleep after a week-long op. No time to reset. He was already dressed when you stirred in bed and reached out to him. your fingers skimmed his wrist.

“Don’t forget your mask,” you murmured sleepily.

“I never do.”

But he kissed you anyway. A rare thing. Gentle, brief.

“You’re coming back?”

Simon didn’t pause. “Yeah.”

⸻

The briefing room was freezing. Soap was already talking shit the second he walked in.

“Lt! Jesus, you look like death’s left nut.”

“Cheers,” Simon muttered, tossing his rucksack down and rolling his shoulder. The balaclava felt tight, uncomfortable today.

“You alright?” Johnny asked.

“M’fine.”

He wasn’t. Not really. There was a burn on his neck, a mouth-shaped bruise just under the line of his collar—where his partner had sunk teeth in a little too hard during last night’s goodbye.

They’d laughed after. “You’ll cover it up, yeah?”

“Always,” Simon promised.

But he was rushed this morning. Foggy. He didn’t double-check the seam of his mask.

And as he leaned forward, arms braced on the table, the hem rode up. Just a little. Just enough.

Johnny’s words cut off mid-sentence.

Simon didn’t notice.

⸻

Soap had seen Ghost with plenty of people. The man was a machine. No repeats. No names. No rules except for one—don’t touch him unless he says so. Don’t mark him. Don’t fucking try.

And none of them had. Not once. Johnny had seen him leave motel rooms with his shirt still tucked perfect and his skin clean.

But this—

This wasn’t clean.

There were two love bites blooming just under Ghost’s jaw. Half-faded bruises, kissed purple, small and careful but deep enough to show teeth.

One was old. One was fresh.

Johnny blinked. Didn’t say anything.

Yet.

⸻

After the meeting, he followed Ghost out into the corridor.

“Lt.”

Simon glanced back. “What?”

“You got somethin’ on your neck.” Johnny tapped his own jaw. “Right here.”

Simon frowned. “No, I don’t.”

Johnny lifted a brow. “Wanna bet?”

Simon brushed his glove over his collarbone—and froze. The edge of the balaclava had curled up, just slightly. He felt the bruise, raw and sore, and his entire body stiffened like he’d been shot.

He pulled the fabric down fast.

“Fuck,” he muttered, under his breath.

Soap just crossed his arms. “Well?”

“Well what?”

Johnny’s smile was smug. Too smug. “So. Who is it?”

“No one.”

“Don’t lie to me, mate.”

“I’m not.”

Ghost’s voice was flat. Controlled. But too fast. Too sharp.

Johnny tilted his head. “They yours?”

“What?”

“The marks. You let ‘em do that?”

Simon didn’t answer.

Soap stepped closer. “Because I’ve seen you throw someone across a bed for even lookin’ at your neck. So either you lost a bet—”

“I didnt.”

“—or there’s someone you don’t mind gettin’ close.”

Simon said nothing.

Soap whistled low. “Steamin’ Jesus.”

“Don’t.”

“Oh, I’m gonna.”

“Johnny—”

“You got a partner.” Johnny looked like it was Christmas morning. “You have a partner.”

Simon sighed. “Keep your voice down.”

“You kept this from me?! I’m your best mate!”

“That’s why I kept it quiet,” Simon muttered. “Didn’t want you actin’ like this.”

Soap grinned like the devil. “Actin’ like what? Happy for you?”

“Annoyin’.”

Johnny thumped a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, Lt. I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t be.”

“I am. You’re human after all.”

gta Simon rolled his eyes. “One word to anyone—”

“I won’t.”

“You better not.”

“Scout’s honour.”

“You were never a scout.”

“I was close enough.”

Johnny beamed. “Do they know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re…” He gestured vaguely. “You. Lieutenant Ghost. Mad bastard. Bloody legend.”

Simon paused. “Yeah. They know.”

“And they still stuck around?”

“They’re still there.”

Johnny gave a small nod. “Then they’re fuckin’ brave.”

Simon’s voice softened. “Yeah. They are.”

⸻

The next time Simon saw his partner, he didn’t mention the balaclava.

Didn’t say a word about Johnny seeing the bruises. Just pulled you close, kissed the side of your face, and breathed you in like air.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

He pulled off his mask. “Mhm.”

You smiled. “Did you cover the mark this time?”

simon smirked, eyes dark. “Don’t make new ones, then.”

You kissed his neck, slow and purposeful. “Where’s the fun in that?”

⸻

And for once in his life, Simon Riley didn’t run.

Didn’t leave before dawn.

Didn’t push away the hands that held him.

He stayed.

Because finally—finally—he had something to stay for.

[buckysouvenir]

the new uniform bucky’s new uniform got you feeling all types of way. warning: 18+ content! ps.: (thunderbolts* spoilers… kind of. idk marvel spoiled everything already)

The low hum of the coffee machine and the scent of strong roast filled the apartment, but neither of those things held your attention.

Bucky Barnes—your boyfriend, your weakness, your absolute problem—was standing in the hallway, zipping up the sleek new suit that hugged every inch of him like a secret weapon.

You’d seen him in a lot of things: bloodied fatigues, loose cotton shirts, towels (God bless towels). But this?

This New Avengers suit?

It was practically rude.

“You’re doing it again,” Bucky called over his shoulder without looking. “That thing where you stare like I’m the last slice of cake.”

You didn’t even try to deny it this time.

“Cake doesn’t make my thighs clench,” you muttered, not quite quietly enough.

That got his attention.

Bucky turned, his vibranium arm glinting faintly in the morning light, and smirked. “Clench, huh?”

You sipped your coffee, legs curled under you on the couch. You were in one of his shirts—big, soft, still smelling like him—and not much else.

“You look good,” you said, voice calm even though your heart was picking up pace. “Like… absurdly good. That suit should come with a warning label.”

He chuckled, walking toward you with lazy confidence. “You think the New Avengers want a guy who’s late on his first day?”

You leaned back slightly, resting your coffee on the table as he stopped in front of you.

“I think,” you said, tugging on the front of his suit, “they’d understand if you had to deal with… an emergency at home.”

“Oh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, but his voice had dropped a note lower. “What kind of emergency are we talking about, doll?”

You grinned, fingers sliding down his chest, tracing the grooves of his suit. “The kind that involves a very, very turned-on girlfriend… who woke up extra needy today and really wants to make out with her super-soldier boyfriend before he goes off to play hero.”

His breath hitched, subtle but noticeable. “Make out, huh?”

You were already pulling him down by the collar before he could tease you further.

The kiss started deep—hot, urgent, greedy. The kind that made your toes curl and your mind go blank. He tasted like peppermint and coffee and the kind of safety that still managed to get your heart racing.

His gloved hands found your waist, gripping tight even through the thick fabric of his suit, and you arched into him with a soft moan.

“I just finished getting dressed,” he murmured against your lips.

“You can get dressed again,” you whispered, already fumbling with the belt at his waist.

“Babe…” he warned, half-hearted at best.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” you smirked, slipping a hand between his armor and the waistband of his pants. “Use them wisely.”

His lips crashed back into yours.

In a blur, he had you laid out on the couch, his armored body hovering over yours like he was afraid to crush you—but desperate to be close. You could feel the heat of him through his suit, the tension in every controlled movement. It was sexy. Too sexy.

He kissed down your jaw, across your throat, mouthing at the sensitive skin just beneath your ear as your fingers tangled in his hair.

“You really like the suit that much?” he murmured against your skin, voice gravelly with want.

“I like you in anything,” you gasped. “But this? This is some next-level roleplay fantasy come to life.”

He laughed softly, his lips brushing your collarbone. “Remind me to wear it next time we’re actually alone for more than five minutes.”

You arched your back, pressing your body against his. “You’ve got five left.”

He groaned, rocking against you, clearly debating whether to keep his pants on or risk it.

You didn’t give him a chance to decide.

Your hand slid down, confidently, tugging at the waistband of his suit pants with enough urgency that it left no room for doubt.

“Y/N…” he rasped, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch beside your head, his body taut with restraint. “You really want to do this right now?”

You looked up at him, pupils blown wide, heat blooming low in your stomach.

“I need you,” you said simply. “Like this. In the suit. Right now.”

That was all it took.

With a muffled curse, he pulled back just enough to shove his pants down, his cock already hard and leaking at the tip. You reached for him, wrapping your fingers around him in a slow, practiced stroke that made him curse again, louder this time.

“Shit—doll, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’ll make it quick,” you teased, pulling him back down for a kiss, deep and hot, while you hooked your legs around his waist and guided him right where you wanted.

“Wait—” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye, breath ragged. “Are you—?”

You nodded, voice thick with need. “I’m good. I want you. Please, Bucky.”

He groaned again, and then he was pressing forward, sliding into you in one smooth, perfect thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs.

“Oh my God—” you gasped, arching under him.

He filled you so completely it was dizzying, and for a moment, neither of you moved—just breathing, tangled, shaking with restraint.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first, deep and steady, each thrust sending sparks shooting through your veins. The cool metal of his vibranium hand gripped your thigh tightly while his flesh hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so he could mouth at your throat.

You raked your nails down the back of his suit, helpless to stay quiet as your hips rocked up to meet his.

“Faster,” you whispered, breath hot against his ear. “Don’t hold back, Buck. I can take it.”

Something in him snapped at that.

He growled low in his throat and obeyed—his pace increasing, his thrusts rougher now, deeper, desperate. The couch creaked under the rhythm of your bodies, and the sound of skin against skin, broken only by breathy gasps and whispered curses, filled the room.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple. “So warm. So perfect.”

You tightened around him at the praise, a high whimper escaping your lips as your body started to tremble.

“Bucky— I’m close—”

“I got you, baby,” he whispered, angling his hips just right, hitting that spot that made you cry out.

Your orgasm crashed over you with a blinding intensity, your back arching, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure tore through you in waves. You clenched around him so tightly he nearly lost control right then.

“Fuck—gonna come—” he choked out, slamming into you once, twice more before he buried himself deep and spilled inside you with a groan that sounded like your name.

He collapsed against you, panting, both of you sweaty and shaking and completely wrecked.

For a long moment, you just lay there—tangled, trembling, hearts racing.

Eventually, he shifted enough to look down at you, brushing your damp hair back with the softest touch.

“Well,” he murmured with a grin, “guess I’m really gonna be late now.”

You laughed breathlessly, cupping his face. “Totally worth it.”

He kissed you again, slow this time, tender.

Then he glanced at the clock and winced. “They are never gonna let me live this down.”

“Tell them your girlfriend has needs,” you said with a smirk.

He stood reluctantly, tugging his pants back up, adjusting his suit—and shooting you a look that was part exasperated, part adoring, and entirely his.

“You’re insatiable,” he muttered.

You winked. “Only for you, Sergeant.”

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 1 ▷ || play next song?

summary : After another horny stream, you drop the bomb: fuck-a-fan fridays—seven weeks, seven fans, seven filthy videos. masks on, faces hidden, just you and one lucky subscriber tangled up on camera each week. All they have to do? strip down, get hard, and show you why it should be them. Auditions start now.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men

A/N : and so it starts!!! is everyone ready to see the submissions from your favorite horndogs? :) (also i hope you can tell whose who hehehe) i'm trying to keep the writing inclusive for every sort of female presenting person so let me know how i've done!

The next few weeks passed in a blur of lace, lube, and direct deposits that made your head spin. What had started as a desperate half-joke had morphed into a full-blown empire - your empire. The girl who once contemplated selling her underwear for gas money was now clearing rent, tuition, groceries, and still had enough left over to drop serious coin on clothes and silk bed sheets.

You’d gone to the next level. Your friends were of course benefitting from your suspiciously newfound wealth, you casually said you had found a better part-time job, never letting them know the truth when you decided to take them shopping. Not yet at least.

Private requests were your bread and butter. You weren’t just good anymore - you were a professional tease, a digital siren with a library of toys, outfits, and vocal tones that could bring grown men to their knees. They paid for everything; soft whispers, rough talk, slow stroking, filthy roleplays. Some just oddly wanted to hear your moans on loop. Others wanted personalized videos where you called them by username and told them exactly what you’d do if they ever had the balls to show up in person.

You were making big bank. Like “accidental tax bracket change” big. Like “should probably consult a financial advisor” big.

And the men?

Oh, the men were obsessed.

Especially the regulars. Their usernames lit up your screen night after night, tipping with reckless abandon, flooding the chat with unfiltered thirst. You didn’t know who they were in real life, yet, but their personalities bled through the screen in such vivid, chaotic little ways.

EmoWithaBoner was yearning. Desperate in a way that made your chest clench and your thighs twitch. His messages were usually soft, almost sweet - You deserve everything, You looked so beautiful tonight - until something cracked open inside him mid-message and he’d type something crazy like: I would lick your cunt until you beg me to stop. Now that had gotten a small “Oh.” out of you. He wanted to worship you and ruin you all at once.

SixEyesOnly was a fucking menace. Flirty, cocky, constantly sending emojis that were way too smug for someone probably watching with only one hand available. His tips were ridiculous, like, spend $300 just to watch you eat grapes in a bad wig slowly sort of ridiculous, and his messages read like he was trying to fluster you on purpose. You assumed it was some sort of control thing with him, throwing money at people and getting them to do it. No complaints from you.

TempleOfSin was smooth, a little poetic, a little filthy. He asked for long, descriptive videos where you described what you were wearing, how you’d touch him, how you'd taste. He liked to also order roleplay videos where you pretended to worship him like he was some sort of God. Sometimes he called you his loyal little follower. You didn’t ask questions.

daddyissuez was feral. No other word for it. His requests were blunt, primal, always toeing the line of what the platform allowed and your own, now lacking, self-control. He liked spit, degradation, and power games. His tipping was sporadic and a lot less compared to the others, though, it was enough to keep him in your attention.

OfficeAfterHours was different. Polite. Polished. His messages came like little business memos laced with innuendo. “You looked stunning tonight. That color suits you,” followed by a $200 tip telling you to buy more in the same color. Never crude, always composed. It made him stand out more, somehow. Like a man who didn’t need to beg. A man who expected what he wanted, and always got it.

And then there was KingOfRot.

Unpredictable. Crude. Arrogant. He dropped tips like they were nothing. $500 just because you looked at the camera in a way he said was like a ‘deer in the headlights’. Odd, but $500 was a good amount to keep your mouth shut. He called you “pet,” “whore,” “delicious little thing.” You should’ve blocked him. Instead, you kept reading his messages twice over with your jaw unhinged and in wonderment whether or not he actually said that. His energy was intense and you hated how hot that was.

Which brings us to tonight.

You were perched in your new silk sheets, ring light warm against your skin, wearing your most transparent slip where your nipples were clearly on display and a smug little smirk behind that now iconic mask of yours. You’d hyped this stream for days - teased it on your feed, hinted at it in DMs. The chat was already on fire and you hadn’t even said a word yet. Tonight was a big one.

EmoWithaBoner: god ur so fucking hot tonight SixEyesOnly: i logged in 15 minutes early and i still feel late :(( OfficeAfterHours: You’ve outdone yourself this evening. KingOfRot: Come on, get to the fucking point, girl.

You grinned, slow and lethal, dragging your fingers along your inner thigh and ignoring KingOfRot.

“Well,” you purred, “I figured since you’ve all been very generous lately… it’s time I give something back.”

SixEyesOnly: oh fuck You licked your lips, loving the short little power trip it gave you. “I’ve been thinking,” you said, voice sweet and dangerous. “Maybe it’s time to start a little… tradition.”

You paused for dramatic effect.

“Fuck-a-Fan Fridays.” You bit your lip. Boom. Chat detonation. SixEyesOnly had sent you $200 just for the phrase.

EmoWithaBoner: you’re joking SixEyesOnly: oh shit baby TempleOfSin: Perfect. KingOfRot: You say when and where, pet. daddyissuez: i’ll be first. fuck the line OfficeAfterHours: I trust you've thought this through..

You leaned in close. OfficeAfterHours was cute in the way he was concerned for you. “I mean, why stop at one, right?” You giggled, cheeks burning behind your mask as you kicked your feet a little bit out of the view of your webcam. “I was gonna keep it casual, but um… yeah. What if I made it a thing? Like, a series?”

Another pause. You leaned in even closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried heat.

“One fan. Every Friday. For seven weeks.”

You crossed your bare legs over one another, your slip rising on your thighs as you did so. “Seven Fridays. Seven people. Seven chances to fuck the brains out of a very nervous, very willing woman who cannot believe she’s actually saying this live right now.”

You sat up again, brushing the slip back into place like your nipples weren’t clearly on display.

“I mean..obviously, we’ll keep it anonymous. Like, we’re not stupid here. Masks. No faces. Just hands. Bodies. And my camera.” The chat was still in full meltdown, comments stacking so fast the shitty platform could barely keep up. Your heart was pounding, your skin warm and tingling from the high of it all—of watching them fall apart just from your voice, your words, the soft shift of silk and skin. You hadn’t even done anything explicit yet, and they were on their knees.

God, it was addictive.

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft sigh, the movement pulling your slip just high enough to tease your hips. A final little gift before the curtain dropped.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” you said with a giggle, feigning innocence even as your gaze sparkled with something much dirtier. “You guys are gonna give me a heart attack.” SixEyesOnly: no no no don’t leave yettt!! :(( KingOfRot: You owe me for the buildup, woman. You tilted your head, lips curving into a sweet little smile as you leaned forward, giving them just one more generous view of your tits before the curtains closed.

“But before I go…” you said, voice slipping into something quieter, softer, like a secret you didn’t mean to share. “If you’re serious about Fuck-a-Fan Fridays… I want you to show me.”

The pause that followed had its own kind of weight. You watched the chat stall for half a second. The anticipation was thick enough to choke on.

“Send me a message,” you murmured, “with a picture. No face. Just your body, and cock, obviously.”

You let your fingers trail down your own torso, to your hips, your thighs, hinting at what you wanted to see. “Let me see what I’d be touching.. What I’ll be fucked braindead by.” EmoWithaBoner: fuck i’ll take a hundred SixEyesOnly: don’t lose your mind too much baby KingOfRot: It’ll be mine you dream about when you touch yourself. OfficeAfterHours: Submission will follow shortly. No face. Clean framing. High quality.

You had to laugh—giddy and a little breathless. You honestly didn’t think they’d go this feral.

“Think of it as an audition,” you said, tucking your knees to your chest, playing sweet again. “Show me what you’re offering. How you’d fit against me. In me.”

You smoothed your hand up your own thigh, lazily now, teasing.

“And just so you know,” you added with a little grin, “I’m only really looking at the ones who’ve tipped enough to keep my attention. You know who you are.”

Oh, they most definitely did.

The seven of them were already scrambling—photos incoming, tips rolling, blood leaving their brains. You didn’t need names. Their usernames were burned into your memory. Their obsessions with you were paying your bills.

“Goodnight, boys,” you whispered. “Impress me.” The second you ended the stream, you collapsed backward into your pillows with a dazed little laugh, limbs spread like you’d just run a marathon and won a gold medal in filth. The glow from your laptop cast a soft haze across your legs, the screen already lighting up with the chaos you’d left behind—tips still pouring in, messages stacking, your inbox begging for attention.

And the photos?

Oh, they were already flooding in, from people you didn’t want, but it was there regardless - upping your activity.

You rolled onto your stomach, chin resting in your palm as you clicked open the first one with a half-curious, half-unhinged smile.

No face, just like you asked. Neck down. The guy was standing in front of a mirror, one hand wrapped tight around his cock, the other lifting his hoodie to show off his chest. His abs were flexed. His cock hard enough to cast a shadow.

You blinked. Let out a slow breath.

“…Damn.”

Another one came in. Different guy, different vibe—tattoos on his hips, hand slick and stroking himself in a dimly lit bathroom, captioned: Fridays look good on me. Want to see how I look underneath you?

“Oh my god,” you whispered, laughing as you pulled your legs up behind you. “This is real. I’m really doing this.”

And you were. One fan. Every Friday. Seven weeks. Seven videos. Each one getting posted to your feed, available for your hundreds of subscribers to watch, rewatch, tip on, comment under, and probably break their dicks to.

It wasn’t just a hookup. It was content. Premium content.

Still riding the rush, you opened your messaging panel and started typing.

New Mass Message Sent to All Subscribers:

Hey babes— If you missed the stream tonight (rip to you), here’s your official invite.

Fuck-a-Fan Fridays is happening. Starting next week, I’ll be choosing seven of you to spend one very intimate night with me. Every Friday for the next seven weeks, I’ll be posting a new video. One fan. One full-length scene. Just me… and whoever impresses me the most.

How to audition:- Send me a photo. - Neck down only. No faces. Masks will be worn on camera, so full anonymity will be protected. But I need to see everything. Cock out. Hard. Your body. Your vibe. The way you'd look on camera—underneath me, on top of me, behind me, inside me.

Show off a little. Or a lot.

Make me want it. Let the auditions begin.

xoxo,

—Your girl

taglist : @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @syubseokie

[minnie-movs]

“She’s my type! (homicidal)”

synopsis. deadpool!gojo pushes you till you break (him)

content warnings. semi-proofread, fem!reader, gojo’s annoying, blowjobs in an alley, oral f!receiving, car sex, hate-fucking(?), she hates him and he loves that, cumming early, dirty talk, cowgirl, gojo whines gojo whimpers gojo cums, seriously he cums a concerning amount of times, overstimming gojo, dumbification (him), lots of male crying, he calls reader mommy, threats of murder/killing, descriptions of intended violence

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Deadpool!Gojo is the bane of your existence, constantly annoying you with his smartass jabs, perverted comments, and terrible jokes.

Deadpool!Gojo hears the words “Fuck off, Gojo” at least 7 times daily from any given person, especially you. 

Deadpool!Gojo turns off Infinity around you. He wants to feel your touch even if it’s just a shoulder graze or a punch to the face (the latter is a daily occurrence).

Deadpool!Gojo punches the air in triumph when he finds out he’s been assigned a mission with you, sprinting through the halls of the X Mansion straight to your room and bursting in.

“Heyyyyy, partner,” he sings as he skips into the room and over to your bed, flopping down on it like a child, “Ready to fuck up some bad guys?” 

You groan, like you’d been doing a lot that day, ever since you found out the Infinity-wielding pain in the ass would be your mission partner. “Just my luck. Fuck me,” you mutter, packing your gear.

Lying on his stomach, he props his face in his palms, feet kicking in the air, “Oh, trust me, pumpkin. I’ve been trying. But let’s save that for after the mission, hm?” Even through his mask, you could practically hear his annoying smirk. 

“Although since you brought it up,” he continues, not letting your clear disinterest deter him, “Maybe we could sneak in a quickie before the ball-busting begins? Pre-fight sex helps me focus. Specifically, doggystyle— backshots are great for an ass-kicking mindset. Cleanses the soul. Realigns the chakras n’ all that good shit. It’s science. Look it up. P-O-R-N-H-U—”

You shoot him a venomous glare that screamed, “Shut. Up.”

He immediately holds up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling sheepishly, “Or don’t. You’re right, saving it for after is smarter. Sort of a celebratory homecoming. Speaking of cumming—“ 

Your fist cuts that comment short, meeting his face with a satisfying crack!

Deadpool!Gojo stares unabashedly at your ass while scaling the side of a building, even throwing in an “awooga,” much to your disgust. 

Deadpool!Gojo doesn’t let a time-sensitive situation like you defusing a bomb stop his sardonic commentary. 

The room is silent, save for the periodic beeping of the contraption in front of you. You sit hunched over the deadly-looking device, sweat creeping on your brow, trembling fingers clutching the wire-cutter, “Red or blue?”

The white-haired mercenary lounges nearby, doing nothing to help, “You ever think about how turtles could be doing more for this country?” 

“Red or blue wire, Gojo.” 

“I mean, they come with their own armor! But those weird little fuckers just choose to chill in a lake all day.” 

“I swear to god—“ 

“Imagine the damage you could do if you chucked one of ‘em at the enemy’s head, shell first.”

You grit your teeth, “They’d die. Just tell me the color.” 

“The enemy or the turtle?” He shrugs, “Eh, doesn’t matter. Point is, we underestimate those green snails. Didn’t one of them paint the Sixteenth Chapel?” 

“It’s Sistine, and that was Michelangelo.” 

“Exactly.”

Your jaw muscles tense with barely-restrained frustration. You open your mouth to retort before you decided the device, whose timer had jumped from three minutes to one, needed your attention more.

“Here, let me help—“ he starts.

“You can help by shutting the fuck up.“ 

“Ooh, someone’s cranky. Is it the bomb? It’s the bomb, isn’t it?” 

“It’s you, actually,” you hiss, jittery hands held over the red wire. 

He throws a hand over his chest and mock-gasps, “I resent that! I’m plenty helpful—”

You whip around, grabbing his collar and slamming him into the nearby wall, the wire-cutter now hovering dangerously over his crotch. You let it close slightly, the metal jaws just barely touching him, eliciting a low moan from him— half from pain, half from something else. 

A low, menacing growl leaves your mouth, tone dripping with threat, “One more word and you lose a testicle.”

“…hot.” 

And then you punched him in the face again. 

(You do end up defusing the bomb, with seconds to spare at that, no thanks to him.)

Deadpool!Gojo compromises your stealth when he leans against a very obvious “CALL SECURITY” button.

Alarms blare, red lights flash, and within seconds, a swarm of armed men flood the room. 

He rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish look, “Oops…? Hehe.”

Fucking idiot. You contemplate feeding him to the enemy. 

Deadpool!Gojo relies on his katanas and martial arts more than Infinity or other powers in battle—purely to impress you. He swings dramatically, flips unnecessarily, flexing his “raw skills.” It’s like he’s performing rather than fighting. 

Mid-battle, covered in blood (not his), he frantically waved at you, “Y/N! Did ya see the finishing move I pulled on that guy? Fuckin’ sick, huh?!” 

You do not respond. He pouts. 

Deadpool!Gojo wolf-whistles when he sees you nail a villain with a kick to the nuts.

“Ngh- oh yeah, me next.” he likes CBT for sure

You nearly drop your weapon, “What in the fuck—“

Deadpool!Gojo takes the time for a dance break, mid-fight. 

“I’m Every Woman” blares through the speaker system— when the hell did he get control of the comms— as he full-on belts the song, complete with hair flips and hip swings. (songs also on that playlist: tell it to my heart by t. dayne, wannabe by spice girls, 10 minutes by lee hyori, baby one more time by b. spears, love don’t cost a thing by j. lopez) 

You seethe, yelling from a far corner as you take down another guard, “GOJO, TURN THAT SHIT OFF OR SO HELP ME, I WILL RIP OFF YOUR DICK AND FEED IT TO YOU!”

He loudly moans from under his mask, “Hngh- oh yeah, keep talking about my dick, babe— I’m nearly there—”

Deadpool!Gojo is smug as hell after knocking out a final thug that had you in a headlock.

He drawls, self-satisfied, and points finger guns at you, “You’re welcome. I’ll take my thank you blowjob now.” To which you give him a murderous scowl.

Deadpool!Gojo makes it so you both have to abort the mission to escape. Turns out pressing a “CALL SECURITY” button brings, well, security. A fuck ton of it. 

“If we survive this… pant… I’m strangling you with your own mask,” you snarled, sprinting alongside him, dodging bullets and hellfire.

“Aw, babe, you’re so cute when you wanna kill me,” he pulls up his mask to flash you a grin.

You punch him a third time, mid-run.

At Sister Margaret’s, Deadpool!Gojo watches you dejectedly explain to the team how you fled enemy territory empty-handed. 

Deadpool!Gojo then pulls the very item you were after out of nowhere, revealing dramatically that he’d pocketed it when you were busy fighting. (vague ass mission, pretend “item” is sumn important pls)

He doesn’t miss your fuming face in the crowd— but pretends to.

Should he have said something to spare you the frustration? Probably.

Was his way more fun? Definitely.

Deadpool!Gojo has an innocent look but is internally giggling he’s dragged him by the collar to the alley behind the bar.

“Woah, easy with the threads, sugarplum. This stuff’s custom-made.” 

“You absolute pain in my ass,” you growl, yanking his mask off to reveal his annoyingly attractive face.

His piercing blues glinted with mischief, a smirk playing at his lips, “Oh, sweetheart. if you wanted me in your ass, you could’ve just asked—“

“You had the artifact THE WHOLE TIME?!” 

“Oh! Great twist, right? Did you see their faces? They were all ‘omg gojo! gojo’s so smart and cool, we love him! he deserves several blowjobs as thank you! and I volunteer to be first! no, I volunteer. no I voluntee—‘“ 

“SHUT. UP! You made me think we FAILED, asshole! You humiliated me in front of everyone, you insufferable, selfish, reckless, piece of—“ 

“Oh sweet, I love a good hate-fuck prelude.” 

You surge forward, crashing your lips against his, effectively silencing whatever bullshit would leave his mouth next. 

Deadpool!Gojo is speechless when he suddenly finds you on your knees, his cock halfway down your throat, and has to physically fight from cumming too quickly—your loud, wet sucks and gags not helping the fight at all. 

Deadpool!Gojo has extreeemely sensitive balls and is a congenital yapper. Not a good combo for when the person sucking his dick is also someone who thinks of ripping out his larynx every time he opens his mouth.

He groans, letting his head fall back against the brick wall, fingers fisting in your hair for support. True to his nature, he tries and fails to keep composure with sarcastic quips, “Ah, there’s my thank you blowjob. Cuz’ I was beginning to wonder— ngh!” 

He doubles over with a choked gasp, his cock jerking in your mouth when he feels your teeth graze the sensitive vein along the underside—deliberate and warning. The message in your eyes was crystal clear: Shut up or I will bite.

And he wisely obliged. For about ten seconds before—

“If you’re hah- trying to get me to ngh- apologize for the mission, you sure picked a hnghh- h-hell of a way, babe. s-shit- i did technically save your ass, y’know- oh wait no- not the balls- they’re sensitive- seriously, anything but the balls- wait wait don’t— fuck! shit! fuckshitfuckshitfuuuuuuckkkkk!”

He spills down your throat embarrassingly fast, his chest heaving, throat catching on a half-choked moan, “Ah- hah- t-t-told you- *cough*—“ 

But it’s fine because the sight of you gulping down every drop of his cum has him immediately hard again.

Deadpool!Gojo eats you out like a man starved— on his knees in the back of your Honda Odyssey, of all places.

Not that he’s complaining. He’s quite happy to be suffocating between your thighs, his nose buried deep in your pussy folds, licking and slurping like it’s his last meal. (mf the type to go “nom nom” or “gobble gobble” or sum shit while eating kitty)

The most pathetic whimpers and mewls leave him as he aches to touch his cock, which is dripping leaky faucet, globules of precum bubbling at the tip, but he can’t— courtesy of you tying his hands behind his back. 

He’s also a messy eater, slobbering and drooling all over your clit like a rabid animal. At one point, he tries to motorboat your pussy, the man is unhinged.

And somehow, even with a mouth full of pussy, he’s still.

fucking.

talking.

“Mmh- fuck you taste so sweet- *lick* pussy’s so delicious- *suck* could eat you all night- mmmh- shit you gettin’ close? yeah yeah cum for me, baby- cum on my tongue, pretty please? squirt all over my face with this pretty lil cunny- mmh pleas—“

You cringe. Christ, his dirty talk sucks. You’ll have to fix that for next time—

Next time? Why the hell were you thinking of a next time? 

On the brink of orgasm, you tighten your grip in his hair, yanking hard enough to make him groan, “God- ngh- do you ever stop talking?”

In frustration, you forcefully buck into his mouth, hoping to shut him up. Jokes on you though. That just made him cum. 

Hands-free.

Just from eating you out.

He shudders, a choked moan ripping from his throat as hot, thick ropes of cum shoot out onto the backseat carpet.

He doesn’t let up, however, making sure to take you over the edge with him, tongue-fucking you through your high and his own. Your gasps and moans are sweet music to his ears, your clit pulsing against his tongue as you drench his face.

And still, he doesn’t stop. He slurps up your juices, his tongue invading every crevice of your cunt, greedy for every last saccharine drop.

God, he fucking loves your pussy. 

Deadpool!Gojo cries and whines like a bitch while you ride him into oblivion. 

His blue eyes are locked onto your bouncing tits, pupils blown wide in awe. He’s drooling, hands roaming aimlessly—gripping your love handles, palming your ass, cupping your breasts—unable to decide where to settle.

God, he wishes he had more hands.

Your pussy is heaven to him. Hot, wet walls squeeze his cock like they were made to ruin him. It’s so good, so unbelievably good, his vision blurs with tears.

You’re so fucking beautiful. 

So so so beautiful… 

THWOP! 

And so fucking cruel. 

THWOP! 

You slam down on his cock with a cruel force, the skin of your ass slapping against his thighs. 

THWOP! THWOP! 

The lewd schlick-schlick’s of your pussy swallowing him echoes in his ears, mingling with his breathless, broken moans. 

He’d be well past his fifth orgasm by now—if you weren’t such a sadistic, heartless bitch who hates happiness.

…his words.

Because for the past hour or so, you’ve been fucking him like his dick owes you money, always stopping right as he’s about to cum. 

Like right now.

You hover over his swollen tip, eyeing him smugly. He’s a mess. Flushed cheeks, damp lashes, glassy azure eyes pleading up at you.

Oh, but the real sight is what’s below— his cock twitches desperately, every individual vein begging for friction. His balls? Overloaded. Heavy. Drawn tight. Concerningly big. How the fuck does he still have cum left to give? 

Gojo swears you hold his life in your hands. If you didn’t let him cum right now, he’s pretty sure he’ll die. 

Pride shattered and dignity obliterated, he wails, voice cracking, “Hnghhh- fuck- OKAY! ALRIGHT! I’M SORRY! I’m sorry about the artifact! I thought you’d think it was cool—I was wrong! I’m sorry for humiliating you, I’m sorry I’m a dumb fucking cock-for-brains idiot who only thinks with his dick— IMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRYIMFUCKINGSORRYYYY!!!”  

His hips desperately rut upward, chasing the last bit of movement he needs to finally, finally cum. “Now please! Let me cum! I need to cum! I NEED TO CUM! PLEASE LET ME CUM! PLEASE, MOMMYYYY!” 

You paused. 

…did he just say Mommy?

Oh, he is gone. 

You mentally file this moment away— prime blackmail material for the next time he gets smart with you.

For now, you’re content. You got what you wanted: an apology from the Merc with a Mouth and the pleasure of watching him fall apart. 

A Cheshire grin curling your lips, you give a single, permitting nod—then slam down onto his cock, hard. 

Gojo damn near ascends. 

Deadpool!Gojo moans like a girl when he cums in the loudest, sluttiest, most pornographic way.

His eyes roll back, mouth falling open. His entire body convulses, back arching off the car seat, muscles locking up as the orgasm annihilates him.

He cums harder than he ever had, the air ripping from his lungs as he shoots his creamiest load yet. His cock pulses with every desperate burst of sticky, gooey seed—your gummy pink walls now sprayed white. His abs flex violently, spent, while your greedy pussy yanks him deeper, intent on milking him dry. 

And then, the worst thing happens.

You keep moving.

Deadpool!Gojo pleads with you to stop fucking him, fully sobbing through the overstimulation.  

It’s too much. His nerves are fried, he’s slowly going stupid. Hell, he just might be already. His cock is helplessly quivering inside you and his whole body’s shaking. Pearly tears slip down his cheeks as he begs you to stop moving on his cock. 

“P-please—please! t-there’s n-nothing l-left! i c-can’t c-cum a-anymore! i-i’m f-fucking e-empty! i’m fucking shooting blanks! i-i’m begging, please don’t m-make me c-cum again! I’ll break- I’LL BREAKKKKK!!” 

He chokes on a sob before his cock pitifully spurts out another empty load. 

Having had your fill of his miserable begging, you generously oblige. You dismount, lazily glancing back at the wonderful mess you made. 

Deadpool!Gojo is left ruined, utterly destroyed after you’re done with him.

His head lolls to the side, tongue hanging out, drooling as he stares at nothing. His limbs shudder weakly, his cock now soft and limp, still giving the occasional pathetic shiver.

A stupid, cum-drunk grin stretches across his face as he meaninglessly babbles like an idiot, “c-cum… c-came… s’ m-much… ah… can’t f-feel my d-dick… love it… t-thank you…“  

Gone is the bravado of the cocky, sharp-mouthed antihero. 

Lying there, wrecked beneath you, is your broken little bitch—Satoru Gojo aka Deadpool. 

a/n. women bullying men during sex>>> originally wrote this with hawks from mha in mind then realized he n gojo are the same person in different fonts. it was tough writing this tbh cuz i had to balance both personalities. i still think he ended up more gojo than dp anyway sighhh. i hope people like it and if you don’t, that’s ok but please be kind :) 

[cathnospam]

Bakugo makes you laugh, A LOT and it drives him insane.

“It was not that damn funny.”

You try to conceal the snickers from your mouth, but fail horribly. All he did was mutter something about Mineta being a punk ass and it had you giggly.

At first he used to take offense by it, maybe you were laughing AT him and not what he says, almost like mocking him, that wasn’t until Deku quickly explained in passing that you laugh very easily.

But you don’t laugh this damn much with anybody else but him. At this point he thought you had a similar quirk to Ms. Joke, and he nicknamed you Giggles.

You both were studying in the library like you both usually do during exam week, and Bakugo noticed you haven’t been Miss. Cackle the past few days. Not even a smile actually and you’d think it would have been some relief for him from hearing your laugh obxonious laugh, but he’s actually more annoyed.

He looks up from his book and glances at you across the table, you’re typing away, with a less that neutral look on your face. Lips somehow forming a pout and eyes looking droopy. He scoffs going back to his work, but it was an itch he needed to scratch with you..?

“Who pissed in your breakfast.”

“What?”

“You been looking like a sad lost puppy all week what the hell is your problem.”

The corner of your lips cracked upwards a bit, almost as if you were fighting to smile, but instead you shrug, “‘Nothing you needa worry about. Why.”

It was almost concerning how calm you sounded. Your voice was more tame that you didn’t even sound recognizable which make Bakugo crease his brows, “You suck at lying. Is it, because of that shitty boyfriend you have pissed you off.”

He was referring to Shindo, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but he was a guy you got close with after meeting him a few years ago, but Bakugo was half right he was part of the problem.

You had a small crush on Shindo , but overheard him tell his classmates how he isn’t into you like that mainly because you’re not his type and how much he can’t stand how loud you talk/laugh sometimes.

It hurt hearing it, when he found out you heard he tried apologizing but you didn’t wanna hear it, so since then you’ve turn self conscious about speaking and laughing too loudly for the past week to avoid anymore issues that you have caused with people.

After slowly explaining to the Blonde he rolled his eyes, “You’re ganna let the walking vibrator dictate your life too? So stupid.”

“You hate my laugh too. What does it matter.”

Bakugo stayed silent for a moment while you went back to work. Thinking how could he word what he wants to say without sounding like an idiot, “I never said that, besides you never stopped even when I did tell you your laugh was annoying. If you want to cackle like a hyena who gives a fuck—“

You break into a snicker but end up covering it with your hand. He cracks a proud smirk, he almost forgot what you looked like with a smile, “I don’t wanna be loud. Just can’t help it.”

“We know.”

You giggle at his deadpanned voice, it really wasn’t your fault, you’re just so easy to please and Bakugo knows that, “Giggly ass, and I seen you almost laugh when Denki tripped at the lecture today.”

“Becauuseee he is always so dramatic when he falls.” You whined into a chuckle, sharing a small one with him.

It was a start of many more shared laughs after studying, Katsuki even tried to be just a LITTLE bit more funnier than usual when walking back to the dorms. When you finally cracked a real loud one out he felt himself grinning at you.

“Katsuki Alexander Bakugo are you smiling?”

“Don’t you EVER say my full name like that again got dammit I will blow you the hell UP!”

You almost fall to your knees of how funny his reaction was to you, it felt so good to smile again. You missed it, and so did everybody else the next day apparently.

Mina and some others thought you were depressed, Deku assumed you were sick, Denki outwardly blamed Bakugo which got him smacked, and IIda actually missed your loud noises as well.

Your classmates enjoyed your presence more than you thought they did.

But Bakugo missed it the most.

Your laughs drives him insane, because he loves to hear them.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Just a Picture | LN4

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° summary ━━━━━━━ After four days of silence, Y/N was drowning in heartbreak, replaying the fight that started it all—a photo of Lando in a club, looking far too close to another girl. It triggered every insecurity she'd tried to bury, and when she confronted him, things spiraled—accusations, shouting, even a panicked flinch that neither of them could forget. Then he showed up at her apartment, looking just as wrecked as she felt, desperate to explain, desperate not to lose her. 

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° word count ━━━━━━━ 10k

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f and m receiving), creampie?, slow sex, lots of 'I love you's

⚘.ᥫ᭡⋆˚✿˖° author's note ━━━━━━━ I guess this can be part 2 to The One He Couldn't Let Go if you squint a bit.

Based on this request.

It was late afternoon. Y/N was in her apartment, the dark clouds outside mirroring the storm brewing in her thoughts. She paced across the polished hardwood floor, arms folded tightly over her chest, her posture radiating tension. The living area—modern décor, a minimalist gray couch, glass coffee table, and tall bookshelves filled with novels—felt both too big and too small all at once.

Her phone lay face-down on the dining table, silent for the past three days. Not a single call from him since that explosive argument. She glanced at it again, half-hoping it would light up, but it remained still. She bit her lower lip, trying not to let the swirl of angst devour her. The image from that damned photo online had replayed in her head non-stop. Just a random snapshot—but enough to trigger months of tension that had been quietly building between them.

A year ago, when she first met Lando, she had never imagined she could be standing in this place—both physically, in her apartment, and emotionally, consumed by heartbreak so intense that it threatened to break her from the inside. And yet, she remembered how it all started. He had breezed into her life, courtesy of a mutual friend, with that mischievous grin and those unexpectedly soft, bright eyes that seemed to look right through her. At first, she’d tried to keep her distance. He was a playboy, or so all the rumors said. She had read the articles, seen the gossip, heard the stories from random acquaintances who claimed they knew him. She doubted he was the type to stay faithful. She doubted he was the type to take relationships seriously, given all that she’d heard about his partying, about the way he used to message random girls on Instagram. It was the exact opposite of everything she wanted or needed.

Yet he had pursued her relentlessly. Flowers would show up at her apartment every week—delicate bouquets of roses, peonies, lilies. Expensive gifts, random text messages in the middle of the day just to say he was thinking of her. He found out about her favorite authors and sent her limited-edition books. He discovered her love for certain designer bags and surprised her with them, even though she told him a hundred times that she didn’t want him to waste money on her. She had tried to play hard to get; she had shut him down over and over, telling him that she wasn’t convinced, that he’d break her heart. She had tried to remind herself that once upon a time he had been in a relationship, still rumored to be cheating, going to clubs, and partying with random women. All the gossip. All the pictures. She didn’t want that kind of heartbreak. She believed he would revert to his old ways at any moment.

But then, five months ago, she finally gave in. Five months that had begun the strangest, most wonderful, and most complicated relationship she had ever experienced. From that moment, everything between them had been intense, nearly suffocating in its passion, overshadowed by her lingering doubts and his determination to prove her wrong. Every kiss felt like a confession of how badly he wanted her to trust him. Every time he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, she glimpsed in his eyes a silent plea that she believed in him. And slowly, she had begun to let her guard down. She let him in further than she had let anyone before.

That is, until four days ago, when her phone blew up with messages and notifications from mutual friends, from acquaintances who had seen it on social media: a photograph of Lando in a club with an unknown girl pressed very close to him. The angle of the camera made it look suggestive, as if he were leaning down into her ear, or maybe even nuzzling her neck. The girl’s arm was around his shoulders, and it looked like she was whispering intimately to him. The moment Y/N saw it, her stomach dropped. She hadn’t known rage so pure, not since childhood memories that she tried to bury. And in that moment, every single doubt she’d ever had about him came roaring back. She confronted him that night in her apartment, the memory of that confrontation still burned into the walls.

–

Four Nights Ago – The Fight

The moment Lando stepped into her living room, Y/N’s hands were shaking from anger. She had texted him: We need to talk. Now. And he’d come over immediately, wearing an expression of anxiety mixed with confusion. He must have known the rumors were swirling online.

“What the hell is that?” she demanded, pointing her phone at him, screen displaying the offending photograph. She didn’t realize she was almost yelling from the get-go. “Care to explain, Lando?”

He swallowed hard. His cheeks reddened. She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or guilt or both. “It’s… nothing,” he said, raising his palms defensively. “That picture—God, I didn’t even know someone snapped that. It’s not what it looks like.”

Her words came out in a hot rush, unfiltered. “Oh, it’s not? Because it looks like you’re cozying up to some random girl at a club—just like the old days, right?” She breathed in sharply, unable to stop the venom streaming out. “I knew it. I always knew you’d go back to your old ways sooner or later.”

He stepped closer, frustration written on his face. “I wasn’t cozying up to her. She was a friend of a friend. I was leaning down to hear what she was saying because the music was too loud. That’s it. It’s a stupid camera angle.”

“Camera angle,” she repeated mockingly. “Right. Always an excuse. You act like I don’t know you have this… this history. Messaging random girls. Sleeping around. Even when you were with someone, the rumors said—”

“Rumors!” he interjected, voice cracking with frustration. “They were just rumors! I told you a hundred times, I never cheated on anyone. If I had a reputation for partying, it was because I was young, going to clubs, sure, but I wasn’t hooking up with every girl who came near me. And I’m sure as hell not hooking up with them now!”

Her face twisted with anger she couldn’t contain. “Don’t you dare lie to me. You know how insecure I already feel. You know what I’ve been through, Lando!” Her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to cry. “You should’ve been more careful. You should have thought about how that picture would look. How it would make me feel.”

He ran a hand through his curls, agitated. “For God’s sake, Y/N, I can’t control every photo or every rumor. I’m an F1 driver. People take pictures. I’m sorry that it happened, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure. Just like you never did anything wrong all those other times you got plastered with groups of girls, right? God, how am I supposed to believe you, Lando?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. She could see him holding back his own anger. “Because,” he replied in a voice that trembled with repressed fury, “I’ve been bending over backward for months trying to prove to you that I’m not that guy. Do you think I spend all this time showering you with gifts, messages, and time, just so I can go out and hook up with random girls? That’s not me anymore!”

he shook her head, her voice laced with contempt that came from the deepest pit of her insecurities. “We can never know for sure, can we? God, I can’t stand the idea that I let you in, and you do something like this.”

He took another step toward her, eyes flashing. “Don’t put this all on me. You came into this relationship—if we can call it that—assuming the worst about me. I’m always on trial with you, Y/N. You never truly trust me.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Well, if you want my trust, then don’t get photographed cuddling with random girls!”

He breathed heavily, exasperation rolling off him. “I told you, it wasn’t cuddling. And I can’t believe you’d think I would cheat on you. After everything we’ve shared.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other, hearts pounding, both of them caught in the throes of powerful, conflicting emotions. Then she lifted her chin, refusing to budge. “Get out,” she said quietly, but her tone was menacing in its finality.

He froze. “Y/N, please. Don’t do this.”

She shook her head. Her vision blurred as tears threatened to spill again. “Get. Out. Now.”

Lando’s expression turned furious and wounded. “Fine,” he spat. “If you won’t even listen to me, what the hell am I supposed to do?” In his frustration, he flung his arm up, wanting to run his hand through his hair, but in that split second, it looked like his hand was coming toward her in a fast, menacing way.

She recoiled instantly, a panicked flinch, arms defensively curling toward her face, eyes wide in fear. A rush of adrenaline spiked through her. It was so fast, so involuntary, as if a primal reflex told her that he was about to hit her.

His entire demeanor changed in an instant. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a haunting sorrow. “Y/N,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You think… you think I would—?”

She just stared at him, still trembling. She hated that her body had interpreted his movement as a threat. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, guilt mixing with the cocktail of fury and heartbreak in her chest. “I— I just… you moved so fast.”

He took a shaky step backward, heartbreak contorting his features. “I would never lay a hand on you,” he said, voice trembling. “How could you even think—?”

She pressed her lips together, her cheeks burning with shame. But the anger was still there, too, overshadowing everything. “Just get out,” she repeated.

He stared at her for a few long seconds, pain written on every line of his face. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel, storming out of the apartment. She heard the door slam behind him. It left her standing alone in the silent living room, her heart pounding loud enough that she thought it might burst through her chest. She sank onto the couch, tears finally spilling.

–

The Four Days of Silence

Now she was on day four without a call, text, or anything from Lando. At first, she’d been so angry she told herself she wouldn’t care if he never reached out again. But after the first 24 hours, the doubts crawled in. Had she overreacted? Was that truly just an innocent picture? She battled with herself over and over, replaying the confrontation in her head, fixating on the moment he raised his arm to push his hair back—how she flinched, how his eyes turned to raw agony.

Guilt ate away at her. Yet the betrayal—and the fear that he was still that same playboy—remained. She wasn’t sure she could handle being with someone who always had rumors swirling around. It was making her question everything.

But she also missed him. Terribly. She missed his laugh, that boyish grin in the morning when he’d wake up next to her, the way he’d wrap his arms around her waist from behind while she was doing something mundane like making coffee. She missed how he would gently brush his fingertips down her cheek while watching TV, how he was always so enthusiastic about introducing her to his friends—well, the few times she’d let herself be around his circle. She missed that warmth and attention, how being with him made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long while.

Late into the nights, she lay awake in her bed, staring at the city lights, tears wet on her cheeks, imagining him in Monaco or at his family’s home, maybe even with that unknown girl. The worst part was that she realized, in her chest, that she truly loved him. A truth she had tried to ignore because acknowledging it made her feel so vulnerable.

She hated herself for flinching, for letting him see that she thought he could physically harm her. She knew enough about him by now to know he wasn’t violent. That flash of panic had come from a dark place in her mind, shaped by her insecurities. She didn’t know if he’d ever forgive her for that. Or if she could ever forgive him for being so careless in that photo.

Day three passed. Then day four. She was pushing through work, eyes rimmed with dark circles from lack of sleep, snapping at her coworkers who asked too many questions, trying to bury herself in spreadsheets and emails.

–

The Afternoon of the Fourth Day

She had just gotten back to her apartment after another draining day at the office. She kicked off her heels by the front door, passing the large mirror in the entrance hallway. She lingered a moment, studying her reflection—searching for something she could never quite name. She tried to straighten her shoulders, to seem more composed than she felt, but the familiar ache of doubt had already settled in.

She always worried that Lando, with his flirty ways and well-known preference for a certain type, would eventually look at her and realize she wasn’t enough. It hurt that she cared so deeply about this. She hated that she cared. She wanted to be that fierce girl who didn’t need anyone’s validation. But with him, she felt so out of control sometimes—like all the confidence she’d tried to build kept slipping through her fingers the moment he smiled at someone else.

Letting out a shaky breath, she headed to her bedroom, planning to change into something more comfortable, maybe sweatpants and an oversized tee. She rounded the corner into her living room—and froze.

Lando was there, standing by the window, looking out across the glittering skyline of London. He had his luggage next to him, as if he had come straight from the airport or something. Her heart jumped to her throat. Anger, relief, love, and pain swirled inside her so violently that she couldn’t even speak for a moment. 

He turned at the sound of her footsteps, eyes meeting hers. She saw the exhaustion on his face, the shadows under his eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days either. His hair was disheveled, the curls an unruly mess, and he wore a fitted black hoodie and gray joggers. Under normal circumstances, the sight of him might have made her breath catch with desire, but now, there was only tension.

They stared at each other in silence. Her eyes filled with tears again. She loathed that she cried so easily these days. “How did you get in?” she finally managed, her voice cold.

“I still have the key,” he replied quietly. “You didn’t ask for it back.”

She swallowed. Right. She hadn’t. Maybe that was a subconscious sign she wanted him to return. “You can’t just barge in here.”

“I didn’t know how else to see you,” he said, voice trembling with raw honesty. “You wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. I kept sending messages the first two days, you never replied. I got scared you’d blocked me, or that you never wanted to see me again.”

She scoffed, though hearing he’d tried to call made her guilt spike. She had left her phone on silent, or face-down, ignoring the messages—convinced she had to remain strong. “And so you decided to ambush me at home?”

He clenched his jaw, taking a step forward. “I couldn’t stand the silence anymore, Y/N. It’s been killing me.” He paused, searching her face with a mixture of desperation and anger. “I’m sorry for everything. But you have to understand, that picture—it was nothing. And I hate that you believed otherwise. It feels like you don’t trust me at all.”

“Because you’ve given me reasons to doubt,” she snapped, tears threatening to spill once more. “I’ve seen the rumors, the pictures, the girls you used to be with. I can’t— I don’t know how to handle it. It hurts to even think about. I can’t stand the idea of being compared to those bikini-model types you used to party with.”

His eyes widened. “Compared to them? Y/N, I’ve never once compared you to anyone. I—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I know I made mistakes in my past. I slept around. I partied. But that was before. This last year has changed me, especially these five months with you.” He paused, voice trembling, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

Her throat was tight. She exhaled slowly, all the anger and hurt rising again. “Then why did that picture look so—so intimate?”

He rubbed his face. “I was talking to that girl. She was leaning in because the music was loud. I wasn’t even there for long. I’d gone out with some mates, had a few drinks, and left early. I swear to you, I wasn’t flirting or anything close to that.”

She folded her arms protectively, glowering. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

He looked at her with a heartbreak so profound that her stomach twisted. “I wish you would,” he whispered. “Because it’s true.”

She stared at the floor, tension coursing through her. The silence pressed down on them. She recalled the image of his arm moving up four nights ago, the absolute terror she felt, that flicker of fear that he might hurt her physically. She forced her eyes up to his. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, voice catching. “For thinking you’d hit me.”

His face contorted with anguish. “That… that moment,” he said, voice shaking, “I can’t even describe how it felt to see you flinch like that. Like you believed I could do something so horrible.”

She sucked in a breath, her lips quivering. “I just—I don’t know what came over me. It was a reflex. But everything else I meant. I can’t stand the way you have these shady pictures circulating. The rumors. And I hate feeling like I’m one in a long line of random women in your life. It eats me alive.”

His eyes were red, and he seemed to hold himself back from crossing the room to comfort her. “You’re not just another woman,” he said, voice brimming with emotion. “I would never see you that way. I love you, damn it. Don’t you get it? You’re everything to me.”

She swallowed, her heart thumping so loud it filled her ears. “You say that,” she answered raggedly, “but it’s so easy to say. What if you get bored, or you find someone else, or you want someone who wears skimpier clothes—someone who has the perfect body or an easier attitude?”

He scoffed softly, a pained look crossing his face. “Skimpier clothes? You think I care about that? Y/N, I love you for you. You can wear a shapeless potato sack, and I’d still think you’re breathtaking.” He licked his lips, stepping closer, but still leaving a couple feet of space, as if cautious not to invade her bubble if she didn’t want it. “I don’t want any other woman. I want you. I hate that all these rumors, these illusions, keep driving a wedge between us.”

She turned away, crossing to the couch. She rested her palms on the back of it, trying to steady her breathing, trying not to let the tears fall. “I can’t… forget. When I see pictures like that, it’s like a knife to the chest.”

He came up behind her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body. Very gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. “Y/N, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I could erase my past. I wish I could protect you from seeing that photo. But I can’t. All I can do is promise you I wasn’t cheating, nor do I ever want to.”

Anger still simmered beneath her skin, but she also felt the longing, the deep ache to reconcile with him. She wanted to lash out, to blame him, but she was so damn tired of fighting herself and him. She turned around slowly, looking up at him. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” she asked hoarsely, tears pooling in her eyes. “Why didn’t you show up earlier?”

He inhaled sharply. “I tried calling. When you didn’t answer, I was worried you’d blocked me or that you needed space. I also needed to cool down. After how we yelled at each other, I— I was afraid you wouldn’t even look at me.” A trembling laugh escaped him. “I didn’t want to drive you further away. But last night, I realized I couldn’t handle another hour without trying to see you. So I packed my bag and flew here this morning.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, fresh tears running down. “I hate you,” she whispered, though her tone was heartbreakingly vulnerable, betraying how she felt the exact opposite.

He grimaced, eyes moist. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I’ll do anything to make this right.”

For a moment, she couldn’t respond. She just stared at him through the haze of tears. Something inside her cracked wide open—the dam that had been holding in all the emotion. In one swift motion, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. She felt his heart hammering beneath her cheek.

He hesitated only a split second before he crushed her against him, his arms wrapping around her waist so tightly as if he was afraid she’d slip away at any moment. The tears she’d been holding back poured out, and she felt his body shaking too. They stood there, locked in an embrace that trembled with raw anguish.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hate that you made me doubt you,” she whispered, voice muffled by his shirt. “And I hate that I’m so insecure. But most of all, I hate that… I can’t let you go.” She let out a choked sob, closing her eyes. “I love you too. And it hurts so bad because I’m scared you’ll destroy me someday.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’d rather die than hurt you,” he said, voice cracking with sincerity. “I’d rather die than lose you.”

The tension and heartbreak in the air shifted palpably, turning into a different kind of electricity. They pulled back just enough to look at each other, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Their faces were inches apart, breath intermingling. Then, wordlessly, as if drawn by a magnetic force, their lips collided in a fierce, desperate kiss.

She tasted salt from her tears as he kissed her, but the urgency in the press of his mouth overwhelmed her senses. Her hands slid up around his neck, fingers tangling in his curls. He held her face between his palms as though she were something delicate—yet the kiss itself was anything but gentle. It was raw, intense, filled with the pent-up longing of four days of agony and an entire relationship’s worth of insecurities.

They broke apart for a brief moment, gasping for air, foreheads touching as they tried to form words. But no words came. Only that frantic hunger to feel close after so many days of pain and confusion. They resumed kissing, deeper this time, tongues and teeth clashing, breath ragged. She moaned softly against his mouth, her body igniting with the need to be consumed by him.

“Bedroom,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak. His eyes were dark with longing, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

She grabbed his hand and led him down the short hallway. The moment they entered her bedroom, the tension redoubled. Even the air felt charged. The blinds were half-drawn, letting in the golden glow of the late-afternoon sun. The duvet on her bed was slightly disheveled, and she had thrown some clothes on it earlier that morning. The entire room smelled like her faint vanilla perfume and the leftover anxiety of the last few days.

She turned to face him, breath quivering. He reached for her face, cupping her cheek. She looked up into his eyes, still rimmed with leftover hurt. She reached for his hoodie, and he helped yank it off, tossing it aside. The next second, he was kissing her again, guiding her toward the bed. He peeled off her blouse, his hands shaking with the intensity of the moment, exposing her skin to the cool air and his heated gaze.

His lips moved down her jaw, her neck, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh there, drawing out soft gasps. Her fingers fumbled with the waistband of his joggers, pulling them down. Every movement was frantic, desperate, as if they both knew that making up like this was both a healing and a reaffirmation of what they meant to each other.

She sank onto the bed, and he followed, settling above her. Their mouths found each other again in a searing kiss, tongues dancing as their bodies pressed together. She could feel his heart beating wildly. She let her hands roam over his torso, savoring the warmth of his skin, the muscle that flexed beneath her palms. He groaned into her mouth, his voice husky with need.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed. He lowered his head to kiss down her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin. “I was going crazy not hearing your voice.”

She arched against him, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by how much she had missed him too. Her nails lightly raked his shoulders. “Don’t ever disappear on me again,” she murmured, breath hitching. “Don’t leave me like that.”

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. The raw emotion in his eyes almost made her dizzy. “Never,” he promised, and he sealed the vow with a slow, deep kiss.

Their hands explored every inch of exposed skin, reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies as though it had been years rather than mere days. Slowly, carefully, they stripped away the barriers of clothes. Each article of clothing fell to the floor or was pushed aside on the bed, along with the tensions and fears that had weighed on them. He caressed her curves, pressing gentle kisses to her hip, her waist, then trailing his lips up to her neck. She whimpered softly, allowing herself to be lost in the sensations.

He loomed above her, completely naked, his body trembling with the intensity of the moment. His hands slid down her arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before he moved up her body again. His lips found hers in a searing kiss, hot and desperate, as if he were trying to make up for every second of the four days they’d spent apart. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his unruly curls, pulling him closer, as though she could fuse them together and never let him go again.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips didn’t stray far. He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her temples, each press of his mouth a silent apology, a promise, a plea. His breath was warm against her skin as he trailed kisses down her jawline, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear. She shivered, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her head fell back against the pillows, her body arching instinctively toward him.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he kissed across her collarbone, his hands moving down to her shoulders to steady her. His lips moved lower, leaving a trail of fire across her chest. He lingered there, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, his breath hitching as if he were savoring her. She could feel his hunger, his desperation, and it mirrored her own. When his mouth finally closed around her nipple, she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair.

He sucked gently at first, teasing her, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud until she was squirming beneath him. Then he sucked harder, drawing a sharp cry from her lips. She could feel the heat pooling low in her stomach, her body responding to him as it always did, as if it were wired to crave him and him alone. His fingers found her other breast, kneading and teasing, and she moaned, her back arching off the bed.

“Lando,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own ragged breathing.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen from kissing her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I can’t get enough of you.”

She reached up to touch his face, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of everything that had happened between them hanging in the air. But then he leaned down, capturing her lips in another kiss, and all the tension, all the doubt, melted away, replaced by an all-consuming need.

This time, when he pulled back, his hands moved to her hips, lifting her slightly so he could slide further down the bed. His lips trailed down her stomach, leaving a path of fire in their wake, and she shuddered, her hands clutching at the sheets. He kissed her hips, her thighs, his breath warm against her skin, and then his mouth was on her again, sucking and teasing, his tongue darting out to taste her.

She cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily, and he groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her still as he continued to worship her with his mouth, his tongue flicking over her sensitive flesh until she was trembling, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“Lando,” she moaned, her voice breaking. “Please.”

Lando didn’t lift his head, not yet. His hands tightened on her hips as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to trace the slick, sensitive folds of her pussy. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her, and she whimpered, her thighs trembling on either side of his head. He could taste her, her arousal, her need, and it drove him wild. He loved her like this, so open, so vulnerable, so completely his. His tongue delved deeper, exploring her, savoring her, and she cried out, her hands fisting in the sheets.

“So fucking sweet,” he murmured against her, his breath hot. “I could taste you forever.” His voice was rough, dripping with desire, and it sent a shiver up her spine. He pulled back slightly, his lips closing around her clit, and he sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. She arched off the bed, her moans echoing through the room, and he groaned, the sound muffled against her.

He lifted his head just enough to speak, his lips glistening with her. “You taste like heaven,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “I fucking love your pussy, Y/N. I love how you writhe for me, how you moan for me.” He kissed her again, his tongue slipping inside her, and she gasped, her hips bucking against his face. He held her steady, his hands firm on her hips, as he drank her in, every sound, every taste, every shudder of her body.

He loved this—he lived for this. The way she fell apart for him, the way her breath hitched and her cries grew louder, the way she trembled when he touched her just right. He loved the way she moaned his name, the way she clutched at the sheets, the way she surrendered to him completely. He loved knowing that he could make her feel this good, that he could bring her to the edge and push her over, that he could make her his in every possible way.

His tongue flicked over her clit again, faster this time, more insistent, and her moans turned into desperate cries. “Lando—please—I’m so close,” she gasped, her voice breaking. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. He sucked her clit into his mouth, his tongue working her relentlessly, and she came with a sharp cry, her body convulsing, her hands clawing at the sheets. He didn’t let up, drinking in every drop of her release, until she was panting, her body limp and trembling.

He finally lifted his head, his lips wet, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he said, his voice rough. He crawled up her body, his hands framing her face as he kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips. “I love making you feel good,” he murmured against her mouth. “I love hearing you moan, feeling you shake, watching you fall apart for me.”

She reached for him, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. “You’re incredible,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I love it when you worship me like that, when you make me feel like I’m the only thing that matters.” Her eyes were soft, filled with adoration, and he kissed her again, gently this time, savoring the way she melted into him.

“You are the only thing that matters,” he said, his voice low and earnest. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “I love you, Y/N. I love everything about you—your body, your mind, your soul. I love making you feel good, I love hearing you moan, I love watching you come. I love you.”

She smiled, a slow, sweet smile that made his heart ache. “I love you too,” she whispered. She pulled him down, her lips finding his, and they kissed, slow and deep, their bodies pressed together, their hearts beating in sync. For the first time in days, the world felt right again.

He pulled away from her lips reluctantly, his chest heaving, his cock throbbing between them as he hovered above her. “I need to be inside you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. “I can’t wait anymore.” His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he guided her closer to the edge of the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

But she shook her head, her eyes filled with need, her lips swollen from his kisses. “Not yet,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need you in my mouth first. Please, Lando. Let me taste you.”

He groaned, his head falling back as he fought for control. “Fuck, Y/N—I want to be in you. I’ve been waiting for this for days.”

Her hands slid down his chest, her nails lightly scratching his skin as she moved lower, her fingers wrapping around his hard cock. He hissed at the touch, his hips jerking forward instinctively. “I know,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “But I need this. I need to feel you in my mouth. Let me, please. I’ll make it good for you.”

He looked down at her, his eyes burning with desire and frustration. She was begging him, her voice dripping with need, and he couldn’t deny her. Not when she looked up at him like that—with those pleading eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered, his resolve crumbling. “Just—just for a minute. Then I’m inside you.”

She didn’t waste another second. Lando lay back on the bed, his head resting on the pillows, his chest rising and falling rapidly as she positioned herself between his legs. His cock was already leaking precum, the tip glistening, and she could feel him twitch in her hand as she stroked him slowly. She licked her lips, her mouth watering at the sight of him, at the thought of tasting him, of feeling him on her tongue.

Without hesitation, without teasing, she took him into her mouth, her lips wrapping around his shaft, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head. He groaned loudly, his hands fisting in the sheets as she sucked him deep, her head bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm. One hand rested on his inner thigh, her fingers digging into his skin, while the other stroked the base of his cock in time with her movements.

She looked up at him, her eyes locked on his as she sucked him, her lips stretched around his length. The sight of her—her lips wrapped around his cock, her eyes filled with hunger—was almost too much for him. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and she moaned around him, the sound vibrating through him, sending jolts of pleasure racing down his spine.

“Look at you,” he breathed, his voice rough with arousal. “Fuck, you’re so sexy like this. You love having my cock in your mouth, don’t you? You’re such a good girl for me, Y/N. Such a fucking slut for my dick.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t stop. She loved when he talked dirty to her, when he called her his slut, his good girl. It made her feel wanted, desired, and it only made her suck him harder, her movements becoming more desperate, more eager. Her hand moved from his inner thigh to his balls, her fingers gently massaging them as she continued to suck him, her lips and tongue working him relentlessly.

She could feel him throbbing in her mouth, could taste the saltiness of his precum on her tongue, and it only made her want him more. She loved the way he felt in her mouth, the way he filled her, the way he made her feel so alive, so connected to him. She loved the way he moaned her name, the way his hands tightened in the sheets as he tried to hold himself back. She loved the way he looked at her, his eyes filled with desire, his breath hitching as she sucked him.

For Lando, it was almost too much. The sight of her—her lips wrapped around his cock, her eyes filled with hunger, her hand stroking him, her fingers massaging his balls—was driving him wild. He loved seeing her like this, so turned on, so eager for him. It made him feel powerful, desired, and it made him want to give her everything she begged for. He loved the way she looked at him, her eyes locked on his as she sucked him, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. He loved the way she moaned around him, the way her body trembled with need. She was his, and he loved every fucking second of it.

But he couldn’t let himself come—not yet. He wanted to be inside her, to feel her tight, wet pussy around him as he spilled himself deep inside her. He gently pushed her away, his hands trembling as he gripped her shoulders. “Enough,” he said, his voice rough with need. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

She pulled back, her lips swollen, her breathing ragged, her eyes filled with longing. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. “Please. I need you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands moved with purpose, gripping her hips firmly as he manhandled her onto her back again, her body sinking into the mattress. She gasped, her hands instinctively reaching for him as he positioned himself above her, his weight pressing her into the bed. His eyes locked onto hers, intense, brimming with something deeper than desire—something raw, emotional, and unspoken. He hovered for a moment, his breath ragged, his chest heaving, before he shifted, guiding himself toward her entrance.

She felt the tip of him brush against her, hot and insistent, and a shiver of anticipation ran through her. He paused, his hands framing her face as he leaned down, his forehead pressing against hers. She could feel the tremble in his body, the way he was holding himself back, trying to control the primal urge to claim her. His breath mingled with hers, shaky and uneven, as he whispered, “I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

And then, slowly, achingly slow, he entered her. She felt every inch of him as he pushed inside, her body stretching to accommodate him, the sensation both overwhelming and electrifying. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady her breathing. It wasn’t just the physical sensation that made her head spin—it was the way he looked at her, his eyes never leaving hers, his expression a mix of reverence and desperation. It felt like he wasn’t just entering her body; he was reclaiming her heart, her soul, every piece of her that had been fractured by distance and doubt.

For Lando, the moment was equally intense. The warmth of her body enveloped him, tight and welcoming, and he groaned, his head falling forward as he fought to keep his movements slow, controlled. He could feel her trembling beneath him, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps, and it made him ache with a need that went far beyond physical. He wanted to lose himself in her, to drown in the way she felt around him, but more than that, he wanted her to know how much she meant to him. How much he loved her. How he’d do anything to keep her, to protect her, to make her feel cherished.

He stayed inside her, not moving, his body flush against hers, their breaths mingling as they stared into each other’s eyes. The stillness was charged, electric, as if the world had paused just for them. She could feel him twitching inside her, the way his body seemed to throb with the effort of holding back, and it made her ache with a need that was almost unbearable. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling, her hands clutching at his back. “Please… move. I need you.”

But he shook his head, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I want to take my time with you. I want to show you how much I love you, Y/N. How much you mean to me.” His words were soft, tender, but there was a fire behind them that made her heart race. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss, his tongue exploring hers as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m yours. Always.” His voice broke on the last word, and she could feel the sincerity in it, the weight of his promise. It was as if he were trying to pour every ounce of his love, his devotion, into that one moment.

She whimpered, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. “I love you,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion. “I missed you so much. Please, Lando… don’t let go.”

He kissed her again, his movements slow and deliberate, his hands roaming her body with a reverence that made her heart ache. He worshiped her with his touch, his lips, his words, as if every inch of her were sacred. His hands slid down her sides, smoothing over her skin, before he cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in slow, teasing circles. She arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as her body responded to him instinctively.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he leaned down to kiss her neck, her collarbone, the sensitive spot just below her ear. His lips were warm, his breath hot against her skin, and she shivered, her hands tightening in his hair. He took his time, exploring every inch of her with a patience that made her ache. 

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice pleading, her hands tugging at his hair. “Please… I need you. I need you to move.”

But he shook his head again, his hands sliding down to her hips, gripping her firmly as he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. “I’m not going to rush this,” he said, his voice steady despite the fire burning in his gaze. “I want to make this last. I want to make you feel how much I love you, Y/N. How much I’ve missed you.”

His words were a balm to her soul, soothing the raw edges of her heart, but they also made her ache with need. She could feel him inside her, hot and thick, twitching with every breath, and it was maddening to have him so close, so still. “Please,” she begged, her voice breaking, her hips lifting slightly in an attempt to get him to move. “Please, Lando… I need you to fuck me. I need you to make me feel good.”

He groaned, his hips jerking forward involuntarily at her words, but he held himself back, his hands tightening on her hips. “I will,” he promised, his voice rough with desire. “But not yet. I want to savor this. I want to savor you.”

She whimpered, her nails digging into his back as she tried to pull him closer, but he stayed still, his eyes locked on hers, his expression filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache. She loved this side of him—the way he could be so soft, so gentle, even in moments of intense passion. It made her feel cherished, adored, and it made her love him even more.

Finally, he began to move, his hips rocking against hers in slow, deliberate thrusts. The sensation was maddening, each movement drawing a soft cry from her lips as she writhed beneath him. He kept his pace slow, his eyes never leaving hers, his hands moving to cup her face as he leaned down to kiss her again. His lips were warm, his tongue exploring hers in a way that made her head spin, and she moaned into his mouth, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

For her, the slow, deliberate movements were both agonizing and intoxicating. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, the sensation building slowly, steadily, until she felt like she might explode. She could feel him inside her, hot and thick, filling her completely, and it made her ache with a need that was almost unbearable. She wanted more—needed more—but he held back, his movements controlled, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

For Lando, the slow pace was equally intense. He could feel her around him, tight and warm, and it took every ounce of his self-control to keep from losing himself in her. He wanted to savor this moment, to make it last, to show her how much she meant to him. He wanted to worship her, to make her feel loved, cherished, adored. And he knew that the only way to do that was to take his time, to draw out every second, to make her feel every ounce of his love.

He kissed her again, his lips moving against hers in a slow, deep rhythm that matched the pace of his thrusts. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, his voice trembling with emotion. “I love you so much, Y/N. I’m never letting you go.”

She whimpered, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as she kissed him back with a desperation that mirrored his own. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please, Lando… don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He kept his pace slow, deliberate, his thrusts deep and steady as he continued to worship her with his body, his touch, his words. He kept kissing her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders, his lips lingering on every inch of her skin as if he were trying to memorize her. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if he were trying to commit her to memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire as he leaned down to kiss her again. “I can’t get enough of you, Y/N. I never will.”

She moaned, her hands clutching at his back as she arched into his touch, her body responding to him instinctively. The slow, steady rhythm of his thrusts was driving her wild, the sensation building slowly, steadily, until she felt like she might explode. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “Please… I’m so close.”

He kissed her again, his movements never faltering as he held himself above her, his eyes locked on hers. “Let go, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”

And with those words, she shattered, her body convulsing as she clung to him, her cries muffled against his chest. He held her through it, his thrusts never faltering as he continued to drive her over the edge, his own release building steadily until he could no longer hold back. With a low groan, he pressed his face into her neck, his body shaking as he spilled himself inside her, his breath hot against her skin.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their bodies trembling, their breaths mingling as they held onto each other. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, the air thick with the weight of everything they had shared, everything they had overcome.

Slowly, he pulled back, looking down at her with an aching tenderness she had never seen so plainly before. He brushed damp hair off her forehead, trailing a thumb across her cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice a low rasp in the hush of the room. “I love you so much. And I’m so sorry for everything.”

She exhaled shakily, caressing the side of his face. “I’m sorry, too,” she murmured. “I got so consumed by anger and jealousy. I should have let you explain calmly. And I… I should never have doubted that you’d raise a hand to me.”

He shook his head, kissing her temple. “You have nothing to apologize for. Your fears come from a real place. I just want to do better for you. I never want you to think I could hurt you.” He swallowed hard. “I’m terrified of losing you.”

She stared up into his eyes, seeing the layers of heartbreak there. “Don’t do anything that makes me doubt you again, Lando. Please,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “I can’t take this kind of fight again.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I promise,” he said. “And if something comes up—pictures, rumors, anything—please talk to me before letting it build up in your head. I’ll tell you everything.”

She nodded, tears threatening once more, but they didn’t spill. “Okay,” she agreed softly.

They settled into a quiet embrace, his arm draped over her waist, her head on his chest. She could hear the steady rhythm of his heart, each beat reassuring her that he was here and that he wasn’t letting go. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in pink and orange hues that filtered into the room. For a time, neither of them spoke, letting the warmth of each other’s bodies and the lingering afterglow of their fierce coupling do the talking.

Eventually, their breathing evened out, and Lando shifted to lie on his side, propping his head on one hand so he could look at her fully. She blushed slightly, tugging the sheets up to cover herself, though he’d already seen every inch. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her lips felt tender from the rough kisses.

He reached out to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he said quietly.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “Don’t,” she mumbled. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he insisted. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Your body, your face, your heart… it’s all incredible to me.”

“Stop flattering me,” she murmured, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. His genuine admiration always made her heart skip a beat.

He gave her a half-smile, though there was still a hint of sadness in his eyes. “We have to talk, you know,” he said softly. “We can’t just… pretend the argument didn’t happen.”

She nodded, the smile fading as she remembered the fiery fight. “I know.”

He took a deep breath, shifting closer so their foreheads nearly touched. “I hate that my past makes you feel insecure. But it’s my past. I can’t change it, no matter how badly I wish I could.” He placed a hand gently on her hip. “I need you to understand that I’m not that guy anymore. Maybe I was reckless before, a little shallow. But I’m not the same person I was a year or two years ago.”

She chewed her lip, eyes drifting to where her hand lay over his on the bed. “I guess a part of me thinks that once a player, always a player,” she admitted. “Like, if you’ve done it once, you’ll do it again. But I know that’s not fair. People can change.”

His fingers squeezed hers lightly. “I don’t want anyone else. I know you might find it hard to believe, but it’s true. I’m not going to ruin this for some random stranger in a club.” He paused, voice growing thick with emotion. “I love you, Y/N. I love your fierceness, your shy smiles, your sarcastic quips, how you refuse to let me pay for everything even though I want to spoil you. I love the way you get all excited about a new book or a new recipe you learned. I love your body, every curve, every inch, how it feels like you were made to fit in my arms.”

She drew in a shaky breath, tears gathering again. “Lando…”

He nodded, blinking back his own moisture. “So trust me, please. Talk to me if you feel suspicious. Don’t bottle it up until it explodes. Because I can’t go another four days like this. It was pure hell.”

She closed her eyes, exhaling. “I’m sorry I shut you out,” she whispered, voice trembling. “And I’ll… I’ll try. I don’t want to go through this either. I just need reassurance. Because my insecurities are… they’re crippling sometimes. Seeing that picture brought back every fear I had.”

He cupped her cheek gently. “I get it. And I’ll do my best to reassure you. Always.”

They shared a tender kiss, a silent pact to communicate better, to lean on each other instead of letting the fear linger. After a few more minutes of hushed conversation, she excused herself to use the bathroom, to freshen up.

Stepping into the attached en-suite, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair in wild mess. She splashed cool water on her face, trying to calm the roiling emotions. She felt lighter somehow, as if her chest wasn’t as constricted. He was here, in her home, in her bed, and they’d just poured out so many painful feelings. But they’d also reconnected intimately, forging a new bond in the midst of all the anguish.

Yet a small flicker of doubt still lingered. She wondered if she could truly accept the rumors that might come in the future—pictures of him with fans, random girls in clubs, or women who found him attractive. He was an F1 driver, he was famous, and she couldn’t shield him from the outside world. She swallowed hard, telling herself that if she truly loved him, and if he truly loved her, they would find a way through it.

When she returned, dressed in a fresh tee and shorts, she found him sitting on her bed, having pulled on his boxers. The bedside lamp was on, illuminating the curve of his shoulders, the slight slump as he stared at his phone. He looked up the moment she stepped in.

“Everything okay?” she asked softly, noticing his phone in his hand.

He grimaced. “Max and a couple of the other guys are freaking out because I went off the grid. I told them I needed time to sort this out.”

She nodded, crossing to the bed, settling beside him. “I’m sorry if I caused you trouble.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t apologize for that. They were worried, but now that I told them I’m with you, they’re pretty much leaving me alone.”

She reached for his phone, pressing the lock button so the screen went dark, then set it aside on the nightstand. “You’re here with me now,” she said quietly. “Focus on that.”

He exhaled, nodding. Then his eyes flickered to the faint bruise on her wrist, a small mark she’d gotten from accidentally knocking her hand against a table the day before. She saw him stare with concern. “What’s that?”

She glanced at it. “Oh, that’s nothing. I bumped into something at work. I’m clumsy.”

He lightly brushed his thumb over the bruise, then lifted her hand and kissed the spot gently. The tender gesture made her chest tighten. His gaze moved up to hers, intense. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “for scaring you the other night. I haven’t gotten that out of my head. The way you flinched…”

A wave of guilt crashed over her. “Lando, I said I’m sorry. It’s not you—it’s my own fear. I just reacted.”

“But the fact that you could even think I’d—” He exhaled unsteadily, closing his eyes. “I promise I’ll never move that way again. I’ll be mindful. I don’t want to trigger that reflex or make you think—”

She slid her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “No. Don’t change how you move or exist in the world,” she whispered, voice thick with regret. “It was my own trauma or fear or something. But I know you’d never do that to me, logically. My body just panicked.”

He nodded, holding her close. “Okay,” he said softly. “But if you ever feel scared, tell me. I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel safe.”

They stayed like that for a long time, arms wrapped around each other on the bed, the soft glow of the lamp creating a cocoon of intimacy. She felt his heartbeat slow as he relaxed in her arms, his breathing growing calmer. She gently stroked the back of his neck, and he exhaled against her shoulder.

Finally, she drew back slightly, looking into his face. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”

He shook his head, giving her a wry smile. “No. I came straight here from the airport, then… all this happened.”

She offered a small smile in return. “I’ll order us takeout. Thai or pizza?”

He shrugged. “Anything you like. Though I’m kind of craving noodles.”

She nodded, picking up her phone from the nightstand, scrolling through her food delivery apps. Within minutes, she placed an order for a selection of Thai dishes. Then she set her phone aside again.

Lando let out a soft chuckle. “I can’t believe we went from screaming at each other to ordering noodles. My head’s spinning.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, it’s been a rollercoaster.” Her features turned somber as she looked at him. “Do you regret coming here?”

He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers. “Not in the slightest. I want to fix things with you more than anything.”

A gentle silence fell over them, broken only by the hum of the city outside. She cuddled closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Despite the leftover ache, a sense of relief washed over her. He was here. They were together, speaking, touching, and trying to heal.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: angst, toxic traits, somewhat bullying, breakup

♡ FEM reader

You’re his first girlfriend. He’d never bothered with anything serious before—it seemed too messy to trifle with. He doesn’t know why he suddenly decided. Suppose he’d been feeling a little bored, and something within him saw you as a fool-proof opportunity.

It wasn’t because you were anything special. Actually, it was more the opposite. You didn’t seem like too big of a risk. You were just a normal, honest, nice person—a bit of a loser, too, if he was being honest. He could do a lot better and pick someone of the same caliber as him, someone with a cooler style and presence, but then he’d only get caught up in the competition.

You were more to his appetite—a dorky, blushy lil’ nerd who giggled nervously at everything he said. In other words, no competition at all. You’d never dare break his heart because you frankly couldn’t afford it. And he found solace in that imbalance—knowing he held all the cards and that you could only be grateful he’d chosen you.

At least, that had been what he’d thought. But then, here you are, holding his hands from across the table in a cute little sundae café, telling him how this just can’t work anymore.

He’s confused for a whole minute before it sinks in.

You’re breaking up with him.

He’s confused afterward, too.

You’re breaking up with him?

That can’t be right. You must be joking. He almost laughs, almost cackles, but ends up staying completely silent. Something about that pitiful look in your eye makes his throat tight, and he almost thinks he’s going to cry instead. 

You’re breaking up with him. You, with him. His foot starts to tap. Have you hit your head or something? You’re dressed in a hoodie, for crying out loud, with not an ounce of make-up on—effortless, as if his perception of you wasn’t any of your concern while you’re fucking breaking up with him.

No way. There’s just no way. You must be confused about something, is all. There’s absolutely no way you’re doing this.

“What are you talking about?” It comes angry. Louder than he’d intended, enough to make you jolt in your seat. A couple of heads even turn your way. You wait for them to turn back before answering.

“I just think we’re a bit too different. And… I don’t know…” You were trying to find ways of telling him you weren’t in love with him but ended up deciding it was unnecessary—it wasn’t exactly something he needed to hear even though you had a lot you could say.

You’re rude and arrogant and treat me like some rescue pet you’ve nurtured back to health. You act like you’re embarrassed to be with me even though you’re the one without any friends. You’re selfish and spoiled and—

“If you don’t know, then there’s nothing to talk about. Quit being silly.” He has a furrow between his brows as he picks up the pink menu between the two of you, scanning the different types of milkshakes you could share and forget all about it. After all, you weren’t breaking up with him—that would just be absurd. “Let’s get strawberry.”

“No—”

“Guess we could get mango if you want that instead—”

“I’m not sharing drinks with you—”

“What? You tryna lose weight or something? Not like anyone but me is gonna see you when all you wear are those baggy hoodies all the time. Speaking of which, you should wear mine instead, they’d suit you better—”

“Listen.” You stop his rambling. “I’m not sharing drinks, and I’m not wearing your clothes. I’m not being silly, either. I’m being serious. It’s over—”

“No, it’s not.” His fist bangs against the table—the look in his eye on edge and twitchy. “I asked you why, and you had no good reason—so it’s not, not until you convince me.”

You had wanted to avoid it, but it seems he wouldn’t allow you the grace to spare him. That being said, you hadn’t meant to be so brutally honest…

“You’re a narcissist. You don’t treat me like a girlfriend. I’m more like a charity case or some type of experiment to you. Half the time, it feels as though you’re just playing a game with everyone in your life like pawns for you to shuffle around the board as you see fit.” You’re the one with the furrowed brows now, unable to bite your tongue as you’d kept it in all this time. “I think you should seek help and get your controlling tendencies straightened out before having any type of relationship. Or don’t. In any case, I don’t think I’m the right girl for you.”

There’s a silence. The chatter of the café seems distant. You feel half inclined to apologize as you look at him and stare down the glassy tabletop as if trying to find his reflection for comfort—but then he beats you to the punch.

“You’re right…” he starts softly, mustering the words, and you’re almost proud to see him take it so well, but then there’s a viscousness to his next words. “You’re not the right girl for me.”

When he looks up again, his face is warped—callous and seemingly disgusted by the sight of you. Something about it even seems to lash out at you, seeking revenge.

“I can’t believe I thought I saw something in you,” he sighs. “Turns out you’re exactly what everyone warned me you would be—just a plane-boring old Jane. What a joke—wasting so much time on something so worthless. Forget breaking up with me, I should have broken up with you a long time ago.”

He gets up in a rush and bears over the table, both palms laid flat upon the surface.

“Charity case?” he seethes, then conjures a fake laugh and an even faker grin. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Enjoy sitting here alone like the loser you are.”

And even though you’re the one watching him walk away while ordering a chocolate sundae for yourself, you can’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy… 

That had been the most emotion you’d ever witnessed come from him.

Obviously, he doesn’t take it very well, stumbling through the café before bursting out the door, but even he’s surprised by how disheveled it had made him. He’s hyperventilating when the fresh air hits him, almost sprinting to his car so that he can lock himself inside it.

But the car only makes it worse as he’s far from alone in there. You’re everywhere. On the hood, waiting for him with a smile. In the rearview mirror, waving at him. In the seat next to him with a pout, asking if you can stay over. In the backseat, naked with a coy twinkle in your eye.

He knows! He has some of your underwear at home—he’ll threaten to pass them around campus unless you beg him to take you back. No, what’s he thinking!? You’ll never come back to him that way. Fuck, what can he do, what’s he supposed to do!? He just called you worthless—what that fuck was he thinking?!

The tears startle him as they drip down and splash upon his whitening knuckles, where he grips the wheel for dear life even as the car stays completely still—safe and sound in the same plot.

There’s a light pink lip balm on the dash. Yours. You must have left it there—maybe on purpose? No… you don’t play games like that. You’d been honest in the café. The fact terrifies him—his heart seems to want to reject it at all costs, the way it tears in his chest.

He picks the slim pink stick up and rolls it around in his hand, which can’t seem to stop shaking. You’d sat on his lap in this very seat, laughing at something dumb he’d said while applying the very same balm on his lip—kissing his forehead while saying something sweet. He knows it wasn’t, but he imagines you’d whispered that you loved him.

When he smears the balm around his lips this time, he imagines kissing you and your soft lips and that everpresent smile he never bothered telling you was pretty.

He’s such an idiot. The birds in the parking lot take flight at the jostling of his car, but no one hears the roar.

And as he sits there in the following silence, wallowing in his own self-pity and regret, he can’t help but feel like the lead of some angsty teen romance.

And like the lead in an angsty teen romance, he swears… whatever it takes… he will win you back.

You will be his again.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Gojo, Naoya, some young type of Sukuna, or Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist