#like girl where is he ... what happened ... no mention of what happened to him he just not here ...

[iamactuallysocute]

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER

PLOT: So here you are, the sweet little assistant to HUNTR/X. Not anything like Bobby, no. You’re the only human they let in on their secret of being hunters, and your job is to help them out the best you can. Fetching the weapons, patching up wounds, memorizing demon looking ppl, preferably without fighting because you’re ass at that. You’re smart, sweet, know what will the girls do next.

Which is exactly why the Saja Boys decided to kidnap your ass.

Oh, they still look like a wet dream, don’t get that twisted. But they deadass snatched you up because you know too much. You know how the girls work. You know where they’re going, what they’re planning, how to hurt them.

Except, you won’t talk. Not even when they tried. And oh, they tried. Little threats. Little games. Little moments that left bruises.

Now? You’re a guest in their fancy-fancy high-rise apartment in the human world that they have so they don’t have to go back and forth between worlds. More like their prisoner, but the fridge is stocked and you’re not chained anymore.

cw: implied female reader, kidnapping situation, a shit ton of cursing, Romance being a flirt, a boner, mentions of sex, Mystery being curious about your body, boys being boys and fucking with you

You stand at the sleek marble counter, a knife in your hand, slicing through a peach.

Behind you, Romance’s laugh fills the room, deep, as Mystery literally tackles him over the back of the couch. They hit the floor with a heavy thud, limbs tangled, and Mystery growls.

Romance? He’s grinning. Loving every second.

“Damn, if you wanted to get me on my back you could’ve just asked.” he purrs, voice smooth.

Mystery’s response is to sink his teeth—actually sink his teeth—into Romance’s shoulder.

“Fuck—ah, yes, harder!” Romance groans dramatically, shoving at Mystery’s face but clearly not trying to get him off.

You just keep cutting your peach, the juice sticky on your fingers.

Abby’s sprawled in an armchair, bouncing a stress ball off the wall hard enough you’re certain he’ll crack the plaster. He’s wearing a tank top that shows off his arms and his attention span is shot to shit. He’s been drumming his fingers, cracking his neck, muttering to himself about needing to do something.

Baby’s on the floor, cross-legged, looking at his phone what he grew to love so so so much since they figured it out. He actually looks like he has no idea what’s going on but doesn’t care anyway.

Jinu is in the kitchen, not far from you, sipping tea like none of this is happening. His hair’s still a little damp from a shower, and he looks… normal. Calm. Like he could be your neighbor, the guy who helps carry your groceries.

He notices you’re out of reach of the fruit bowl and slides it closer without a word.

“Thanks.” you mutter, not looking up.

Not forgetting that you fucking HATE his guts!!

“You’re welcome.”

And that’s the thing with Jinu. He’s nice. Too nice.

You slice another piece of peach. Try to pretend you don’t hear Romance moaning as Mystery bites him again.

Baby snorts quietly, still scrolling.

You just keep slicing fruit, silent, petty, waiting for the moment they let their guard down. Not happening.

Romance walks over eventually, leaning against the counter next to you. His scent hits you—fuck you in the ass it’s good. Why does it have to be good?

“Need help with that, angel?” he murmurs, voice like velvet, fingers brushing a piece of peach off your plate and popping it into his mouth.

You don’t look at him. “Fuck off.”

“Alrighty.”

He doesn’t move though.

Mystery, now perched on the arm of the couch, watches the two of you , you’d guess. You can’t see those fuckass eyes.

You remember the first meet.

God. The girls just finished, you gave them all the luxury they could ever need then went back to your apartment. Exhausted. Filthy. You got home, peeled off your clothes, stepped into that shower, and thought—finally. Finally, you could breathe.

Then, a bold whistle from behind you.

You turned your head, soap stinging your eyes, and there was….

Drumroll…

🥁🥁🥁

Romance.

Yes indeed, the fucker whistled.

You froze. Completely naked, completely vulnerable. He moved fast—too fast—hand over your mouth, body pressed up to the shower glass.

“Don’t scream. We’re just gonna have a little chat.”

You wanted to kick him. You really did. But he had you pinned, all casual, like this was just another Tuesday for him.

“Options.” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek like he was trying to soothe you. “You tell me what I wanna know. Or—and I like this one better—I take you with me.”

You glared at him. You hated him.

(Since your girls did too and know he’s a demon but anyway)

But what could you do? Naked, trapped, outmatched. So you nodded. Let him hand you a towel. Let him grin when you dressed in whatever you could grab. Let him walk you out of your own damn apartment like he was your date for the night.

You snap back to now, slicing that peach a little too hard. The knife hits the cutting board with a sharp thunk.

Romance notices. Of course he notices. He always notices.

“Careful, baby. Gonna hurt yourself.” he teases, snagging another piece of fruit from your plate like he has every right.

You don’t answer. Just cut another slice, the peach juice sticky on your fingers.

Then there was the time you tried to run.

You’d waited until late. Until they were sprawled out, arguing over anything, distracted by their own bullshit. You’d crept to the door, so quiet. Almost made it.

Baby caught you. Not with strength. With a simple:

“Hm?”

And then Jinu was there. Calm. Closing the door gently. Taking your arm, leading you back.

“Don’t do that, okay?” he’d said, as if you’d just made a small mistake. Like it wasn’t a big fucking deal.

Romance had clapped you on the back when you were forced to sit back down. “A+ for effort, though.”

Slice. Slice. Another piece of peach.

Mystery’s watching you now. Not saying anything, just watching. His head tilted, into your direction.

You finish slicing the peach. Set the knife down.

Romance steals another piece, grinning at you over it.

Mystery growls under his breath at the whole thing.

Abby’s already forgotten about you, too busy flicking Baby’s ear to annoy him.

Jinu’s watching you quietly, you’d guess. Don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

You remember that time you bit Romance.

God, the nerve of him. You were done—so done—with him always getting too close.

D-O-N-E.

That time, when he cornered you to get things out of you. “C’mon, angel, just tell me a little secret. Just one. I’ll owe you.” He’d said. “You’re so tense. I can help with that…”

And you just snapped. Lunged in and bit his arm as hard as you could.

And the fucker?

The fuck?

He winked at you.

Didn’t pull away. Didn’t cuss you out. Just grinned like you’d given him a gift. “Easy, girl.” he said, voice low, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of him. “Didn’t know you liked it rough.”

You wanted to scream. Instead, you glared and tried to yank free, and he let you—only because he felt like it. Not because you could have escaped him.

You organize the little peaches on your plate. They looked quite cute.

You tried to stand your ground once.

Told Abby to back off, to leave you alone. And what did he do?

He laughed. That easy, bright, warm laugh like you’d just told him a joke. Then he slung his arm around your shoulders and practically dragged you down the hall like you were his best bud.

“You’re funny as hell.” he said, ruffling your hair like you weren’t glaring daggers at him. “C’mon.”

Asshole.

“Where you think you’re going, superstar?” he’d teased last time, when you made it to the elevator and thought, for one sweet second, you were free.

You’d fought. Kicked. Swore.

And he’d just laughed, hoisting you up like you weighed nothing. Carried you back down the hall like you were some drunk friend at a party, not a prisoner.

“C’mon now. You know you’re not going anywhere. Let’s not make it weird.”

Baby shifts where he’s sitting, lazy as ever, glancing up from his phone just long enough to take a sassy look at you.

Then there was time they played good cop/bad cop on you.

Mystery had you cornered in the kitchen. Not even saying anything—just standing there, too close. You’d tried to sidestep him. He’d mirrored the move, blocking you without touching.

And then Romance walked in. All relaxed, all casual. Slid in between you and Mystery, arm around your waist like it was his right.

“Ease up.” he said to Mystery, but his hand tightened on your side. “She’s not gonna run. Are you, angel?”

You bite into a piece of peach now.

Or there’s the night you tried to lock yourself in a room.

Abby broke the door down. Just… busted it open like it was made of cardboard.

“Don’t do that, babe.” he said, happy af, picking you up like you weighed nothing and carrying you back to the main room. “You’re gonna make us feel bad, hiding like that.”

You’d pounded at his chest. Tried to fight.

And he’d just laughed again, so warm, so easy, like you were play-wrestling.

You put the cutting board back, close the cabinet a little too hard.

There are also mind games. Oh, the fucking mind games.

Like how Jinu always helps. Always so polite, so considerate. Slips a glass of water into your hand when you’re too angry to ask. Pulls out a chair for you. Puts a blanket over you when you fall asleep

(and yeah, you pretended to be asleep that time. sue you, you were cold).

And it gets in your head. Makes you second-guess your hate. Makes you wonder if maybe he’d let you go if you just asked nicely enough. Makes you forget, for a second, that he’s the one who seals the doors behind you.

Or how Baby never speaks to you unless it’s to cut you down.

That time you begged, just once, just quietly, just to Baby because the others were too busy fucking around, you asked him to help you slip out.

And he’d looked at you. Just looked. And smiled that tiny, mean smile of his.

“Cute that you think anyone here gives a fuck what you want.”

Yeah, when he doesn’t currently not give a fuck about what’s happening around him, this is what you’ll get of him. Allat pretty face is a waste, fr.

You wipe down the counter, scrubbing too hard, like you can erase their fingerprints from your space.

And Mystery.

Mystery, who’s so feral you almost thought you could use that. That maybe he was the weak link. That maybe his violence meant he didn’t care about the plan, that he’d let you go just to spite the others.

But no.

Like the time you tried to sneak a phone off the coffee table, thinking no one was looking.

Mystery had crossed the room in a blink, snatched it out of your hand, and grabbed your jaw so fast your ears rang.

His nails had pricked your skin. His breath had been hot, his growl low.

“Don’t.”

One word. That’s all. And then he let go like you were nothing. Like you didn’t even matter enough to punish.

You open the fridge, shove the plate in, close it again like the slam of the door can drown out the noise in your head.

You turn, walk closer to them in the living room so you look more genuine, sweet like sugar because you can’t help it. That’s just how you sound.

“Can I use the sauna?” you ask.

No one says anything for half a beat.

Jinu the asshole the FUCKING asshole hums. “In exchange for some information, you know. Tell us a thing or two.”

You groan. Actually groan. And before you can stop yourself, you do the tiniest, most frustrated little kick at the air. Just a flick of your foot, like you’re trying to shake off the annoyance. Just a little kick. Adorable, really. A stupid, tiny burst of frustration because this is so fucking unfair and they know it.

And that’s when Abby, quick, grabs your leg mid-kick.

“Gotcha.” he says, voice bright. And the worst part? He doesn’t even look at you. He’s already turned back to whatever dumb shit they’re talking about, your ankle resting in his grip.

And now you’re there, balancing on one foot, arms out a little to steady yourself.

“Abby—let go—!”

But he’s not paying you any mind. His fingers loose but firm around your ankle, like he could crush it if he felt like it, but he’s just holding it.

As if you’re some toy he forgot he was playing with. Fucking asshole.

Romance sees the opportunity immediately. He slides closer, slow, a finger tapping at your knee, then your thigh, all innocent and infuriating. “Look at you. One foot. So talented.”

You swat at him, trying to push him away, but that just makes him laugh.

Mystery, meanwhile, is staring at your leg. Head tilted, curious. Like he can’t decide if he wants to pounce on it or just… study it. It’s been a while since he’s seen a human girl this close. That’s obvious in the way his gaze lingers too long on the shape of your calf, the flex of your foot as you wobble.

Baby is absolutely checking out your ass.

Not even trying to hide it.

One glance over his phone, those eyes sliding down, a little smirk ghosting at the corner of his mouth before he looks back at his screen like he’s the innocent one here.

You hop a little, trying to tug your leg free, still balancing awkwardly. “Abby—seriously!”

But Abby just laughs, chatting with Jinu, your leg still in his grip.

Romance pokes at you again. This time at your side, grinning when you squirm. “Careful, sweetheart. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

You try to stomp your other foot, frustrated beyond words, but you’re already jumping on one leg, and that just makes all of them snicker.

“Abby!”

“Hmm?” His voice is unbothered, eyes still not on you. “Oh. Right. Forgot I was holding you.”

Liar.

“Nah, c’mon—tell us a secret.” Abby says.

You tug.

He doesn’t budge.

“Abby.” you hiss.

But it’s useless.

Romance pokes you in the side, fascinated by the way your curves move.

“Stop it—” you try to swat at him, but you’re too busy trying not to fall flat on your ass.

Romance laughs, brushing your hand aside easily. His fingers brush your free ankle lightly, just to mess with you, and you nearly lose your balance again.

“Seriously, let go.” you snap, hopping on your one foot, trying to twist free.

But Abby’s grip is firm, not tight enough to hurt, just impossible to break.

He still isn’t looking at you. Instead, he’s grinning at Romance. “Hey, look at this—” he lifts your foot slightly, turning it in his hand like he’s inspecting it “—her foot’s like half the size of yours.”

Romance, of course, is lining his foot up next to yours while you’re still caught there, balancing. His grin is all teeth. “Tiny.” he says, delighted.

You’re burning up with embarrassment now, face hot, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. You’re jumping a little, trying to shake your foot loose, but all it does is make Romance poke at you more, fingers brushing your calf, your ankle, your side.

“Stop it!” you snap, swatting at him, but you can’t even aim right on one foot.

Baby doesn’t even hide it anymore. He leans back, arms crossed, eyes flicking between your legs, your ass, your face, enjoying every second of this humiliation.

“Alright, c’mon now.” Abby says, finally glancing at you. “Give us a little intel, and you can go steam yourself all you want.”

You’re about to lose your balance for real—arms flailing slightly, heel of your standing foot sliding on the polished floor—when finally, finally, Jinu’s voice cuts through the mess.

“You can use the sauna.” he says simply, with a small nod, like it should’ve been obvious all along.

“There you go, superstar.” Abby lets go, laughing under his breath as if this was all in good fun. You stumble, catch yourself on the couch, heart pounding, face flushed.

Romance grins, hands up like he’s innocent. “See? All you had to do was ask.”

Baby smirks, looking back down at his phone as if he wasn’t just ogling you.

Mystery sinks back onto the couch arm, still watching, but at least he isn’t about to lunge anymore.

You straighten, brushing your hands down your sides, trying to regain a scrap of dignity.

“Thanks.” you mutter, shooting a glare at the rest of them before turning on your heel and heading toward the sauna.

Romance leans back, hands up like he’s innocent. “Enjoy yourself, angel.”

Baby gives you one last look, and Mystery’s head follows you until you’re out of reach.

You huff, fixing your clothes, dignity in shambles as you stomp toward the sauna.

God, you hate them.

God, they’re fucking hilarious.

God, you hate that you almost laughed too.

Alright, so there you are. Finally. Finally in the sauna.

You thought maybe—maybe—you could steal this one small victory. After all the shit they put you through, the teasing, the games, the constant pushing and pulling, you’d gotten away.

The heat envelops you, thick, fogging up the glass as you sit there, knees tucked up, towel clutched tight to your chest.

Your heartbeat’s just starting to slow. Your breathing evens out. The sweat begins to bead at your temples, trickle down your neck, and for a blissful minute, you think:

peace.

And then.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You freeze. Eyes snap to the glass door.

Abby and Romance.

Side by side, standing just outside the sauna with the most shit-eating grins you’ve ever seen.

And god help you,

they’re in nothing but towels.

Romance has his slung low on his hips, arms crossed behind his head. Like he knew what this would do to you. His eyes meet yours through the steam, and his grin somehow widens.

Abby’s hitched up carelessly at his waist, and he’s leaning against the glass with both hands, forehead pressed against it, breathing patterns making little clouds on the surface.

And because he’s Abby and he’s got no shame, he leans in further until his abs are smushed up against the glass too, leaving perfect imprints of his ridiculous physique.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Romance’s knuckle on the door this time, slow and rhythmic, like they’ve got all the time in the world.

These bastards have nothing but time. And you? You’re the best entertainment they’ve had in centuries. Three hundred years of whatever suffering Gwi-ma put them through, until you.

And you can tell. You can see it in their faces, the way they’re lit up like kids on Christmas morning. The way they’re making a game out of this. The way they’re not just keeping you prisoner, they’re enjoying every second of it, like you’re their favorite new toy.

“Baby girl.” Romance calls, voice muffled through the glass, drawing the words out like a slow melody. He knocks again, forehead resting against the glass, leaning down a little so his eyes are level with yours. “Come on. Don’t be like that.”

(Guys I don’t mean baby girl in a weird way I promiseeeee)

Abby starts whining. Full-on whining, dragging out the vowels like he’s the one being tortured here.

“Pleeeaaaseee. Let us in. Don’t hog all the steam. You know it’s rude.”

Your grip on your towel tightens. You shake your head, glaring, but that just seems to make them more determined.

Romance is flattening his palms against the glass, leaning his weight forward, so casual.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” he purrs. “It’s not safe to sauna alone. What if you pass out? What if you get too hot?” His voice drops lower, dripping with mock concern. “We’d hate for something bad to happen to you.”

You point at them through the foggy glass. “Stay out.”

They’re having the time of their lives.

Abby’s face is smushed against the door now, nose flattened, grinning so hard you can see the crinkle of his eyes even through the fog. He slides down slightly so his chest presses up too, leaving an actual print on the glass that you’re sure you’ll see in your nightmares.

“Come oooonnnn.” he drags out, hands sliding down the glass with exaggerated despair. “It’s lonely out here. It’s cold.”

“Yeah.” Romance chimes in, knocking his knuckles lightly again, rhythm playful. “So cold. We’re shivering.”

Neither of them looks the least bit cold. They look like gods, golden and gleaming in the low light, all muscle.

Abby presses his forehead right next to Romance’s, their faces squished together, two idiots united in their mission to annoy the living shit out of you. His abs are still plastered to the glass, leaving sweaty smudges in their shape.

Romance starts dragging out words like he’s dying of heartbreak. “Weeeee just waaaant to reeeelaaax.”

And then, before you can stop it, the door creaks open.

Romance’s hand is already on the handle. Abby’s pushing through behind him, grinning.

“You—” you start, clutching your towel tighter, scooting back like that’s going to help.

Romance plops down way too close, towel barely clinging on, stretching his long legs out. He leans back, hands braced behind him, turning his head to look at you with that maddening, lazy smile.

Abby flops down on your other side, sighing like he’s just found heaven, spreading out. He stretches his arms up, rolls his shoulders, all muscle.

“This is much better.” Abby says cheerfully.

“Yeah.” Romance agrees, eyes glinting with as he studies you, watching the way you clutch your towel like it’s the only thing saving your dignity. “See? Cozy.”

You glare at them both, heart hammering so loud you’re sure they can hear it over the hiss of the steam.

“You could’ve waited.” you mutter, trying to inch away without actually standing and risking… well, anything.

Romance leans in slightly, close enough that you can see the bead of sweat trailing down his temple, the curve of his smirk.

Then, these assholes giggle.

Giggle.

Big, strong, terrifying demons who could rip a man apart in seconds, sitting on either side of you, legs sprawled, water dripping down their ridiculously perfect bodies—and giggling like schoolgirls who just found a crush’s diary.

Romance leans forward, glancing at Abby, his grin wide and boyish and so fucking irritating. His hair’s still damp, little droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw, catching in the hollow of his throat before disappearing below that towel hanging far too low on his hips.

Abby snorts, eyes crinkling, that same big, bright grin that makes it impossible to stay mad at him for long—no matter how much you want to. He’s got one arm thrown over the back of the bench.

“I feel relaxed already.” Abby teases, voice low and warm.

And the giggling starts again. Little bursts of it, like they can’t believe their luck.

You press your back against the wall, eyes narrowed, clutching your towel so hard you might leave permanent wrinkles in the fabric. You feel the heat rising higher in your cheeks now, but it’s not from the sauna.

Because they’re close. So close you can feel the heat coming off them, not just the sauna’s heat but theirs. Like being caught between two furnaces.

Fuck them.

And they’re not just sitting there politely, minding their business. Oh no. Their gazes slide over you, undressing you with their eyes without a single ounce of shame.

Romance lets his gaze drop, lazily, from your flushed face to the slope of your shoulders, down the curve of your towel-clad body, he’s imagining exactly what’s under there. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

His mouth quirks up at the corner like he’s thoroughly enjoying the view.

Abby’s no better. His eyes trace you all the same. Like he’s taking mental snapshots, adding to whatever collection of moments he’s tucking away for the next time he’s bored at 3 a.m.

And it’s not subtle.

They’d hit that. No question. In a heartbeat.

Hell, Romance would have you against the sauna wall the second you blinked yes—if you blinked yes. The man has no shame. His lust, so open, so easy, it’s like breathing to him.

But that’s the thing about Romance—he knows the difference. Knows the difference between wanting to get you under him and wanting something real.

And somehow, that second thing? That’s creeping in now, too.

It’s not just the game anymore. Not just the fun of teasing you, seeing how red they can make you go, seeing how long they can keep you flustered before you snap.

It’s that you feel different.

You’re not like the other fleeting amusements they’ve found across centuries of boredom and bloodshed. You’re not just a pretty face they can toy with until it breaks.

You’re the most fun they’ve had in so long they’ve almost forgotten what fun is.

It’s growing. Quietly, steadily, in between all the teasing.

Romance, for all his shameless flirting, knows it too. His desire’s loud, sure, but this other feeling? This is different. It’s not about the chase, or the win, or the thrill of the moment. It’s about the way his heart kicks up when you roll your eyes at him, when you snap back, when you don’t fold.

And Abby? He’s the same. He laughs and plays and pokes, but somewhere in the cracks, something real’s settling in.

Something that isn’t just about keeping entertained.

You’re fun. You’re alive.

And in their endless stretch of centuries, that’s fun.

Because now, it’s not just about keeping you around for what you know.

Now, it’s about keeping you around because they want you around.

All those feelings for them, while just now, you had enough. Enough.

So you stand.

You push yourself up off the bench, clutching your towel, heart pounding, cheeks blazing, ready to make your exit.

But the second you straighten, the second you think you’ve reclaimed a scrap of dignity, Abby decides otherwise.

Big, warm hands catch your wrist and waist at once, and before you can so much as yelp, he drags you right back down into his lap.

“Ah-ah. Where you goin’, babe?” he says, voice all smooth, like you’re a kitten trying to escape bath time. His grin’s wide, eyes sparkling with that boyish light that makes you want to slap him and maybe kiss him just to wipe it off his face.

And there you are—your much smaller frame hauled back against him, towel still clutched to your chest, your legs draped awkwardly over his, skin burning where it meets his.

You squirm.

You kick and wiggle and slap at his arms, trying to peel yourself free, but it’s like fighting a brick wall that laughs at you.

“Let me go!” you snap, voice high with frustration, but you might as well be shouting at the wind.

Because Abby’s laughing now. Genuinely laughing, head tipped back a little, like this is the funniest shit he’s seen in decades.

Romance is no better. He’s doubled over, palm slapping the bench, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. That rich, boyish sound fills the sauna, echoing off the wood, making your cheeks burn hotter.

You kick again, trying to shove at Abby’s chest, trying to slide off his lap, but he’s holding you tight, like it’s nothing.

Abby leans in a little, his grin crooked now, voice low and warm, the kind of tone that makes you want to hide.

“You’re makin’ this real hard for me, sweetheart.” he says, and there’s no mistaking the double meaning.

Your heart lurches.

And, oh—you feel it. You definitely feel it.

Right there, under you.

A huge fucking boner.

And instead of stopping—instead of being sensible—you kick more. You squirm harder. Your face is on fire, but you’re determined to break free, determined to make him pay for putting you in this position, even if it’s making everything so much worse.

Abby groans low in his throat, but it’s laced with laughter, like he knows exactly what you’re doing and loves it. Loves that you’re trying. Loves that you’re flustered and mad and completely powerless.

Romance is laughing so hard he can’t sit upright, folding over himself, practically wheezing, tears streaming down his cheeks, pointing at you both like he can’t believe how lucky he is to witness this.

You give one more valiant wiggle, slap at Abby’s arm, and finally—finally—he lets go. Though maybe because he’s too worked up to keep playing

“Alright, alright.” he says, laughing, lifting his hands in surrender. “You win, babe. Go on.”

You shoot up like your life depends on it, clutching your towel so tight your fingers ache, hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, chest heaving. You glare down at both of them, cheeks blazing, trying to regain a shred of dignity.

Abby is the picture of innocence now. One leg up to hide his hard on, arms draped across the back of the bench, looking for all the world like he’s just a guy enjoying a sauna and not someone who just very nearly got dry-humped into oblivion by a squirming, furious human girl.

But of course, the second you’re upright, Romance leans forward, grinning wickedly, fingers grabbing for the edge of your towel.

“Just one little peek.” he says, and his hand shoots out, fingers hooking the edge of your towel.

You shriek, twisting away just in time, slapping his hands, stumbling toward the door. The towel stays on—thank god—but barely.

Romance collapses back onto the bench, grinning, breathless from laughing.

“Worth a shot.” he teases, voice low and sinful. “Next time, angel.”

You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re too busy marching toward the door, heart hammering, body burning, swearing to yourself you’ll never trust a sauna again.

And behind you, the sound of their laughter chases you all the way out.

You storm out of that sauna, towel clutched so tight it’s a wonder you haven’t shredded it by sheer force of will. Your heart’s hammering in your chest, skin blazing from more than just the steam, and you’re done. Done with Abby’s lap. Done with Romance’s bullshit. Done with them probably high fiving each other as you’re walking. Done with all of it.

You stomp barefoot across the marble floors, steam still rising from your skin, water droplets trailing behind you.

And then you hit the living room.

Jinu’s perched on the edge of the couch, looking every bit the composed, gentlemanly demon he always pretends to be—except for the fact that his eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight of you. His lips twitch at the corners, like he’s trying not to smile.

“You went in there with clothes on.” he says, voice mild. “I’m pretty sure of it.”

You don’t even slow down. You wave a hand at him, dismissive, furious, embarrassed beyond belief but way too stubborn to show it.

“Not now, Jinu.”

“Just pointing it out.” he says, and you can hear that gentle, teasing lilt in his voice now that somehow makes it worse. Like he’s the only one in this house capable of being nice to you, but he still can’t help poking at you when you’re like this.

You glance down just in time to see Mystery crouched slightly, head tilted, attention fixed on the hem of your towel.

His hand twitches, like he’s fighting the urge to just lift it and satisfy his curiosity.

“Mystery—”

You swat at him, fast, instinctive. Like shooing off a cat who’s about to knock over a glass.

He tries again.

“Mystery or whatever your fucking name is!”

Your voice pitches higher. You swat at him again, and this time he dodges.

Baby’s watching the whole thing from the arm of the couch, shoulders shaking as he laughs quietly.

You and Mystery keep up this ridiculous dance—him darting, trying to sneak a look, you batting him off.

Every time you think you’ve shaken him, he circles back around, silent, predatory.

“Mystery, stop it!” you hiss, stomping your foot, cheeks burning so hot you’re sure they must be glowing.

He actually listens. Pulls back just a bit, but not before giving you this tilt of his head—this weird, almost innocent curiosity, like he really, genuinely wants to know what’s up there. Not because he’s trying to be a creep. Just because he’s Mystery.

He leans back, hands up, like he was just wondering, like you can’t blame a guy for being curious.

You tug your towel tighter, shooting him a glare that promises violence if he tries it again.

Baby just tips his head back and laughs, soft and delighted.

You storm the rest of the way across the living room, muttering curses under your breath, knowing full well this won’t be the last time they pull this shit.

Because why would it be?

You’re the best fun they’ve had in centuries.

You slam the door to your room shut with more force than necessary, your heart still thundering in your chest.

The room’s quiet now. Blessedly quiet.

You take a deep breath, forcing your legs to move, crossing to the dresser where they’d dumped your things they got from there and there. You let the towel drop, pulling on fresh clothes.

But as you tug your shirt down and run a hand through your damp hair, the questions start creeping in.

Will you ever get out of here?

…Maybe.

You want to believe it. That there’s a crack in their plan, a way to slip past their too-quick hands. That somehow, the girls will come for you. That you’ll find your moment and take it. But looking at how they watch you, how they enjoy keeping you close? It’s hard to be sure.

Do the girls miss you?

Yes.

They have to. You’re not just some assistant with a clipboard and a coffee order. You’re the one who kept them safe, who watched their backs when they were too busy saving the world to watch their own. They have to notice you’re gone. Right?

Do the boys actually like you as a person?

Yes.

And that’s the most confusing part. Because it’s not just the teasing, the poking, they see you. Under all the sweet voice, the petty little kicks, the glares and the stubbornness, they see you. And somehow, they like what they see.

Is Romance always trying to get in your pants?

Yes.

But he also respects the game. And maybe, just maybe, he likes more than just what’s under your clothes.

Does Abby really think you’re cute when you fight him off?

Yes.

You see it in his smile, in the way his eyes soften when you kick and squirm and glare up at him.

Is Baby secretly rooting for you?

Absolutely so fucking yes.

He won’t say it. Won’t even crack more than that smirk. But you catch it, sometimes—in the tilt of his head, in the glint of his eye. He enjoys you. Enjoys watching you give them hell.

Is Mystery curious about you in ways he doesn’t understand?

Indeed.

It’s in every glance, every tilt of his head, every quiet lean-in. You’re new, he likes it.

Does Jinu really care?

Yeah.

The only one who treats you normally. The one who talks to you like you’re a person. The one who always seems to step in right before the others push you too far.

Are you actually safe here?

No.

Not really. Not from their games, their teasing, their endless curiosity about what makes you break. Not from the way they make your heart race, in anger or fear or something more dangerous you don’t want to name.

Are you in danger of falling for them, even a little?

…Maybe.

You flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, clothes rumpled and hair still damp, wondering how the hell you’re going to survive this. Wondering how you’re going to keep yourself from softening toward them when they look at you like that, when they laugh like that, when they treat you like this.

Will you ever stop hoping for a chance to escape?

No.

Not ever. Not even if they keep making you laugh when you shouldn’t. Not even if they’re the most fun you’ve ever had.

You’re getting out.

Somedays

But god—if they don’t make it hard to want to leave.

You lay there on that stupid, too-nice bed, staring up at the ceiling, the city lights leaking in through the blinds, casting stripes across your skin. And you think—fuck.

Because damn your empathy.

You should hate them. Every single one of them. For snatching you away from your life. For laughing at you when you fight back. For treating you like a kid. You should be plotting their downfall, hating the sound of their voices, the way they look at you, the way they keep you here.

But you don’t. Not really. Not deep down where it matters.

Because it hits you, lying there with your heart still racing and your body still warm from the sauna

They probably don’t know any better anymore.

It’s probably been hundreds of years since they had anything like this. Since they saw their mothers. Since they were boys, real boys, not demons, playing at being human on a stage with bright lights and screaming fans.

When was the last time they got tucked in at night, you wonder. When was the last time somebody made them soup when they were sick?

When was the last time they did human shit?

Jumped on a trampoline, if they ever had done that.

Had a snowball fight.

Built a fort and camped out in it.

Splashed each other in a pool until they were breathless with laughter, not because they were trying to drown each other but just because it was fun.

Ran barefoot through wet grass on a summer night, chasing bugs.

Sat on a rooftop with their best friend, eating about the future like it was some big, beautiful thing waiting for them.

The last time someone baked them a birthday cake and sang to them, even off-key?

God, when was the last time they had that?

You think about Romance, all charm and heat, with that constant flirt in his voice—when was the last time someone kissed him because they loved him, not because they were enchanted by his face?

You think about Abby, always teasing, strong enough to crush you but never does—when was the last time someone hugged him just because?

Baby, with not giving a fuck at anything—when was the last time someone gave him something with no strings attached?

Mystery. Ferocious, curious—when was the last time he felt safe enough to just exist?

Jinu. The only one who looks at you like you’re still a person, like maybe he remembers what it felt like to be one, too—when was the last time someone sat with him in silence, not because they wanted something but just because they liked him?

And you feel that damn softness bloom in your chest, that aching empathy that’s going to get you killed or worse.

Because you don’t blame them. Not really.

They’re lonely.

Lonely in a way you can’t even imagine, in a way that sinks into your bones and makes you hungry for anything real.

You’re not just a hostage, not really—not to them. You’re a spark of humanity in their endless dark, and they don’t want to let go.

And yeah, it’s selfish. It’s cruel, in its way. But can you really hate them for it?

Can you hate them for wanting to keep you close when the world left them behind centuries ago?

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face, trying to shove the thoughts away, trying to remind yourself—they kidnapped you. They’re using you. They’re playing with you because it entertains them.

But still.

You see the way they look at you when they think you’re not paying attention.

You see the way they light up when you kick back, when you glare, when you curse them out, when you fight—because maybe you’re the first thing in forever that’s real to them.

And goddamn it, you understand.

You don’t forgive. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But you understand.

Boys who laugh too hard when you fight them off because they don’t know how else to show they like you.

So yeah.

Fuck your empathy.

Because you see them. And you can’t unsee it.

[nanamisbbygirl]

best tutor ever :)

includes: geto x reader x nerd!gojo

summary: your boyfriend, geto, thinks its only fair if you find a way to say thank you to your nerdy little tutor for helping you ace your midterm.

cw: college au, threesome, kinda cuck geto, unprotected p in v, voyerism?, inexperienced gojo, established relationship (geto x you), oral (m. receiving), praise kink, pet names (pretty girl, baby, sweetheart etc), bimbo-ish reader, cream pies <3

"satoru!" you beam, opening the door for him. the white hair boy blushes, taking a step into your dorm room, thinking it was just another study session. which is why he's surprised to see your boyfriend sitting on your bed, leaning back, arms resting behind his head.

"hey, man." geto raised his eyebrows, greeting your tutor with a bit of a cheeky grin. "y/n wants to tell you something, don't you sweetheart? tell gojo what you got on your midterm."

you look back towards gojo, a smile painting your face as. you shyly tell him, "96%, apparently it was the highest mark in the class!"

gojo can't help but smile alongside you, pulling you into a hug, forgetting that you're boyfriend was right there. "great work! i knew you could do it!" he praises.

"and what do you say?" geto interjects, causing heat to creep up your neck and onto your face.

"thank you, satoru." you say softly, hands tracing over gojo's chest, making his heart skip a beat. he knew it was wrong, but you were so cute, all smiley and giddy. his core swirled with excitement knowing that he had helped you out.

what happened next made gojo think that he was day dreaming, seeing how you got onto the tips of your toes, giving him an innocent kiss. your eyes had closed, your cherry flavoured lips brushing against his. he was in awe, before panic set in, seeing how geto was right there.

yet, geto remained unfazed, chuckling to himself. "what? never been with a girl before?"

gojo shakes his head and geto seems assumed. "figured as much."

you went back in for a second kiss, but this time gojo had to stop you, looking back at geto who was more than relaxed on your bed. he cocked his head to the side, hoping your boyfriend would speak up and scold you. instead, he only laughed.

"whose idea did you think this was, hm?" he paused, "besides, look how eager she is to thank you."

both sets of eyes trailed back to you, as you stood with your thighs pressed together, doey-eyed and inching towards your tutor. you nodded, "please satoru, let me say thank you."

gojo felt his words getting stuck in his throat, especially as you began lowering your body to the point where you were kneeling in front of him, biting your lip in anticipation.

"okay," he breathed out, helping you take off his belt, his fingers getting shaky at the thought of what was to come. you softly smiled, unzipping his pants and carefully tugging at his boxers.

"look su he's already so hard!" you say, looking back at your boyfriend who is stuck in between a concentrated expression and a smile. "but he's not as thick as you." you giggle, not realizing how red your comment made gojo.

geto laughed dryly, starting to sit up a little, giving you some instruction: "c'mon baby, play nice. put him in your mouth, but not all at once, okay? satoru isn't used to it, you don't wanna send him into shock, do you?"

"hehe, no." you giggled while shaking your head. you then grabbed a hold of his shaft, taking in how pretty it was. like you mentioned, it wasn't as thick as geto's, but it was definitely still big. veiny too. with a pink flushed tip that matched the colour of his flustered cheeks. sliding it up and down in your wrist, gojo huffed out in relief.

taking a second to stop and spit on your palm, the white haired man let out a pile of curses, head starting to tilt back as you continued. when he looked back down to see what you were doing, he braced himself for the electric feeling of your lips sucking on his tip. your glossy lips did just that. cupping around his cockhead, your tongue grazing over the slit.

"oh my god!" he moaned, hands at his sides in fists, not sure what to do with them.

that's when he felt geto standing beside him, taking a hold of one of his hands. gojo hadn't even noticed the other man getting up. geto unballed his hand, guiding it towards the root of your hair.

"grab her hair like this—she's into that shit." gojo nodded, taking a fistful of hair into both his hands, holding you securely in place as you gave little kitten licks to his now leaking dick.

"your tongue feels so good-" he whined, letting you widen your mouth, easing himself into your mouth, gagging slightly as he felt the soft plushiness of your throat.

to describe what he felt would be practically impossible, as every moment you were blowing him was pure bliss. his eyes were shut, panting out as he buckled his hips forward, deeper into your mouth. he could feel geto's eyes locked onto him as he defiled his girlfriend.

"m gonna cum, fuck y/n—can i cum in her mouth?" he quickly looked to geto, pleading for permission.

the black haired man has his hands crossed over his chest, shaking his head. "not yet." with his words you stop and he can feel himself becoming desperate to orgasm. "wouldn't you rather cum in her pussy?"

gojo's convinced he may have creamed himself at that question, but when he flickered his attention down to his dick, it's throbbing to the point where it hurts. geto sits himself down on the bed, guiding you over and kissing your head. he reminds you to be a good girl before calling gojo over as well.

"take off her clothes."

gojo tries to regain control of his own body, reaching forwards towards the hem of your shirt. nervously, he strips you of your top, revealing your baby blue bra. he memorizes the lace pattern, and the little bow that sits right in between your two breasts.

"she wanted to wear it for you, said blue was yer favorite." so pretty, he thought, not realizing he had let those thoughts slip out of his mouth in real life.

you laugh coyly, letting his hands fall to your waist, looking for the zipper to undo your little skirt. he finally finds it and in doing so, the skirt falls, bunching up at your ankles. gojo's mouth hangs open looking at your matching set—and how your panties are crotchless.

geto helps take the skirt away from your feet before beckoning you to give him a kiss. his fingers look for your cunt, as he carefully traces your sticky wetness, looking back at gojo.

"bend over, baby, let satoru take a good look at your pussy." you lean onto geto, bending over as you’re told while giving gojo a clear view of your dripping cunt.

"i just wanna fuck you so bad," he admits, stumbling on his words.

"c'mere baby," geto coos, maneuvering himself on the bed so that his back is to the bed frame, and his legs are spread, leaving enough room for you to lay in between. you rest there, letting your boyfriend's strong arms hold you in place, providing some kind of comfort.

you send gojo a dazed look, "c'mon satoru, aren't you gonna fuck me?"

he thinks he's starting to taste colors, your voice is just so entrancing. he feels like he's floating over to you, trying to shuffle down his pants even more, loosing his breath over how sensitive the tip of his cock is.

gojo puts it right along your sticky fold, you're so wet, just for him. he would have never thought this would be his first time with a girl— especially when her boyfriend was right there. but both of you seemed to be watching him with such intensity that it didn't feel wrong or dirty, just lustful.

his throbbing dick pushed forward, entering your hole, stretching out your walls. he studied your reactions; how your toes curled, your body tensed, mouth opening. your head tilted back onto geto's shoulder, looking at his eyes before returning your gaze back to geto. he was fully inside, his own body recovering from the tsunami of relief and pleasure that was washing over him.

he was pulsing.

he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold out, his face flushing at the thought of cumming so early.

"go on." geto ordered, "fuck her like she deserves."

the other man's words set gojo off. he couldn't hold back, his hips jutted forward, rolling into yours. you let out little whimpers, sighing at each lewd motion.

his large hands found your inner thighs, gripping into them with such strength he was sure he was going to leave marks. he too, let out soft moans, closing his eyes, feeling every inch of your warm insides. your body reacted to him so nicely, clenching around him like you needed him to survive.

"you're being such a good girl," geto whispered into your ear, and at that you clamped around gojo's cock again, making him crazy. "look at poor satoru, he's basically melting over your pussy."

you flashed a crooked smile, bracing yourself with geto's arms as gojo's strokes quickened. he could hear your quiet panting, how you moaned with your eyes closed, yet, he also couldn't ignore the stares your boyfriend was sending him.

"she's being so good for you, and you're not even gonna touch her clit?" he question, a bit of a scoff lingering in his tone. gojo gulped, feeling embarrassed for ignoring the most sensitive part of your body.

he inched his fingers closer to your cunt, touching the precious bud, massaging little circles into your body. the way you reacted to it was making him dizzy. you were just so tight, sucking him in, shivering over having your intimate area touched by him.

geto rubbed the tip of his nose against your ear, continuing to feed you quiet praise, "you're doing so good, look at how well you're taking him. you look so pretty like this, baby."

even gojo was gawking at the way your pussy seemed to devour his cock. he bottomed out again and again, each time as spectacular than the last. your velvet walls clung to his veins, embracing his greedy tip. he didn't want the moment to end.

he felt himself snap out of it as he heard geto's voice call his name: "tell her how good she is, satoru, she'll be gushing over you in no time... isn't that right, baby?" he got distracted by your flushed face, bringing you into a sloppy kiss as gojo's cock went deeper and deeper.

"you look so sexy like this—in those panties. fuck." he feels like he's babbling like a broken record, he'd never been a sexy talker, he'd never even gotten this far with a girl before. his words start slurring together as he continues: "all fr'me."

you nod your head rapidly, gojo's fingers increasing their speed, making sure your clit is anything but neglected.

"yeah, fuck, are you gonna cum on my dick, pretty girl?" he hears your tiny little respond, barely able to manifest any words, fucked dumb by your tutor, who was equally as ruined in that moment.

"fuck. cum. on. my. dick." he grunts, meeting each word with a thrust. he feels himself becoming weaker and weaker, his own orgasm creeping up as well.

that's when he feels the full effect of your high—your cunt radiating with energy, squeezing him for everything that he's got. your eyes clam shut, and it takes your boyfriend's strong arms to hold you down, your legs attempting to shut closed around gojo's body.

"yeah, that's it good fucking girl, yeah fuck—me too, i'm fucking cumming, i love this pussy—ohmygod-" he choked, feeling how the final throb in his cock let out, causing him to let his white liquid paint your insides, filling up your little hole, making him feel so warm.

your pussy is so comforting, he's ready to die in there, feeling the way your precious sex is attached to him. his dick softens, surrounded by both your cum, ignoring the way it's leaking out of you so slowly.

geto is kissing your cheek, whispering who-knows what to you. gojo doesn't care what he's saying, he's in a state of euphoria. you look so good, so compliant, so soft and lewd. he doesn't want to pull out, he wants to stay like that forever.

"what do you say, baby?" geto asks again, and you look at him with wide, teary eyes.

"thank you, satoru," you say, voice still shaky.

"fuck you don't have to thank me," he can feel the way his hair has stuck to his forehead, sweat rolling down his body. the high is finally wearing off, and he realizes if he doesn't pull out now he never will.

he watches the way more cum rolls out of you, decorating your pussy as well as his balls. he's too busy catching his breath to hear what geto is telling him, that is until he feels a tissue box hitting against his arm.

"i know you're unexperienced but you gotta clean up the mess you made, don't ya think?"

gojo blushes, taking the tissues from him, trying his best to wipe up his cum. your legs are trembling as he spreads his seed over your sensitive slit. he winces too, when the brings the tissue over his tip, but he figures it's only right to clean up.

when he's all done, he sees the way you and geto are feverishly making out. he awkwardly gulps, zipping his pants back up. you pull away from your boyfriend, looking at him with innocent eyes.

"thank you satoru," you repeat, "i had lots of fun, maybe we should do it again sometime!" he nods, wanting to add something to what you said, but it's too late, as geto has regained your attention, his hands fondled your breasts, feeling up your entire body.

at that point, he thinks it's best to leave, embarrassment filling his brain at the thought of what he just did. he doesn't say anything else, quietly slipping out the door, counting down the days until your next study session.

[simpforrooster]

i fucking knew it.

aaron hotchner x f!reader

summary: you and aaron have secretly been dating for a while—and the team is starting to suspect it.

t/w: 18+. MDNI. light smut (plz don’t come for me, it was my first time writing something like it), a mention of an age-gap, some cursing, mentions of criminals. i don’t think there is too much gender identifying language, but i did imagine a female while writing.

a/n: i had no idea where this one was gonna go. i hope you enjoy!!

aaron hotchner catches your gaze over the manila folder he’s holding. to the average person, they wouldn’t think twice about this action.

but, you know better.

his eyes hold yours for a few seconds longer, before he resumes reading the details of the case.

the lowlights of the jet’s interior mask the flush that’s appeared on your cheeks. hotch feigns a stretch, his shoe tapping yours slightly as he crosses his leg.

“sorry,” he mumbles, not taking his eyes off the folder.

you wave him off, knowing your voice would betray you.

i saw that, your phone buzzes with a text from jj.

it was an accident, you reply.

yeah right, emily shares.

what! what’s happening? gosh, i hate that i’m stuck in the lair, penelope adds.

hotch smirks at his folder, affirming he knows exactly why your phone is blowing up.

the two of you have managed to keep your relationship under wraps for the past couple of months, but the girls have started to suspect something. rossi too, but you can’t be certain.

aaron caught your eye as soon as you started at the bau. you’d learn that you’d caught his almost instantly. but he was your boss, and there was the age difference.

several late nights of him helping you with your reports and chinese takeout, you fell for one another.

oh, nothing. just hotch thinking he’s being subtle, jj tells penelope.

~

“three rooms?” hotch asks the tired man behind the desk.

“take it or leave it, man. it’s 2 am,” the clerk says on a yawn.

“i call reid and rossi!” derek sticks his hand in the air. emily reaches out to jj’s arm and pulls her into her side.

rossi shakes his head and exchanges a look with aaron. “which one of you boys are sleeping on the floor?”

hotch looks at you apologetically, but you see the underlying want behind those brown eyes.

“i guess that leaves us,” hotch murmurs to his bag, trying to remain unbothered. he grabs your duffle and starts toward the elevator.

your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

one bedroom trope! emily sends to the group.

epee! penelope replies.

he grabbed her bag, pen! jj shares.

aaron has never once carried anyone’s bag to a hotel room. his gaze catches yours over his shoulder telling you he realizes the implications. his stoic expression returns as you all enter the elevator.

~

the girls, reid, morgan, and rossi get off at the third floor, leaving you and aaron in the elevator alone. not before jj shoots you a wink. hotch visibly relaxes, and gives you one of those smiles he reserves only for you and jack.

"we're on another floor? that's really going to set the girls off," you comment. aaron shrugs like the duffle bag gave it all away and yall should just fuck the secrecy. he takes a step closer to you. back-to-back cases have kept the two of you from any quality time that wasn't outside of a police precinct and the tension radiates off him.

aaron leads you down the hall once the elevator doors open on the fourth floor. his giant hand engulfs yours, and you can't wait to get into the room.

"this is us," he gestures toward the door. dropping your hand, he pulls the keycard from his pocket. swiping y'all in, he pulls you into the room.

as soon as the door closes behind you, you're being pushed against it.

"god, I've been dying to get my hands on your for days," hotch groans against your mouth. you answer him with a small moan you tried to keep in.

you push his suit jacket off his shoulders, then grip his tie. using his tie, you pull him completely flush against you. his tall body is all over you. there is no spot where his body isn't touching yours.

“tell the criminals to take a break,” you breathe. “you almost blew it at the precinct in the last case.”

aaron moves his kisses along the side of your neck. “that officer was getting a little too friendly with you.”

“but a couple hair flips had him on our side, yeah?” you’re breathless with the work aaron is making of your neck. at the mention of your harmless flirting, his arms tighten possessively around you. his mouth moves lower along your collarbone, sucking lightly. he’s learned where most of your shirt collars lie so he can hide the marks he leaves on you.

aaron pulls you from the door, kissing you like you’re his lifeline. he walks you back until the back of your knees hit the bed. “no more work talk, baby,” he says against your mouth. heat pulls in your lower belly at the pet name and a sigh escapes.

the first time aaron called you anything but your last name, you could have climbed him right then. he still uses your last name, or just agent, in the field, but it’s softer than it used to be.

as aaron pushes you back on the bed, you make quick work removing his tie and dress shirt. the white shirt he wears underneath pulls across his chest. your arms move over his biceps reveling in just how nice they are.

“you like what you see?” aaron smirks, his hand slipping under your top.

you answer him with a hand on his chin, guiding him to your lips. “always,” you breathe.

he smiles against your lips. “why don’t we get you a little more comfortable,” he says, pulling your top off and throwing it to the other side of the room. you’re pretty sure it lands on the lamp. this earns a laugh. aaron checks over his shoulder and chuckles along with you.

“i told you, i need to get my hands on you.” he reaches behind you, unclasping your bra. which follows the same trajectory as your shirt.

“hmm, this isn’t quite fair,” you murmur. you push aaron back until you’re sitting up in his lap. your thighs settle on either side of his, and his hands fall to them, giving them a light squeeze.

“tell me.”

“you still have your shirt on,” you tell him, running your hands along his chest. aaron reaches back with one hand and pulls the undershirt from his body. it’s so insanely sexy, your mouth drops open. how is this guy real?

aaron chuckles again. “you never cease to amaze me.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re practically an adonis.”

he rolls his eyes and pulls you flush against him. “you’re talkative tonight.” he presses a kiss under your ear. you crane your neck to give him more access.

“i always talk a lot when i’m nervous,” you admit. truthfully, there is nothing to be nervous about. you and aaron have slept together plenty of times since you’ve gotten together. this is, however, the first time while you’re on a case.

aaron pulls back and studies your face. “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, baby.” his brown eyes search yours. the want in his is palpable. you’re certain the same is reflected in yours. your hands knot in his hair and you guide his mouth to yours.

“no, i want to. i need to,” you say, rolling your hips into his, his erection has your cheeks flushing. “i just still can’t believe it’s happening. you and me,” you admit.

aaron kisses you. it’s full of wanting and urgency, as if he’s afraid you’re going to disappear right beneath his fingertips.

“you and me were destined the moment i laid eyes on you,” he says, laying you back and settling between your legs.

~

the next morning, there is just enough time to grab some continental breakfast before meeting the local pd. normally, you don’t like to waste time on something as menial as breakfast, especially with a serial killer on the loose, but you and aaron had a lot of time to make up for and you’d built up quite the appetite.

you left aaron with a chaste kiss on his cheek in the room, before joining everyone in the lobby sans duffle.

“well, you’re glowing,” jj comments as you join her and emily at the table. derek turns from where he’s sitting with rossi and reid. “what’s that?”

emily points to you with her fork. “look at her. a literal ray of sunshine.”

“she looks normal to me,” reid comments. “if not a little worn down. are you feeling okay, y/l/n?” your eyes fall closed, trying to keep your emotions regulated.

“that, reid, is post-coital bliss,” derek says.

“yall have no idea what you’re talking about,” you tell them, praying your cheeks haven’t turned pink, because they’re exactly right.

rossi jumps in to save you. “come on boys and girls. let’s not make claims of our unit chief breaking fraternization rules on a case unless we’re sure,” he chides. he gives you a knowing look. aaron has definitely let rossi know what’s been going on. hell, if you didn’t know any better, rossi was probably the one who pushed aaron to finally make a move. you shoot him a grateful look.

“who’s breaking fraternization rules?” a deep voice sounds from behind you. just the sound of his voice has you wanting to drag him back up to the room. “baby, you’ve got to have more than that,” aaron comments on your lone piece of toast.

your face jerks towards him at baby. aaron curses lightly under his breath. a rare slip up from mr. professional himself. he stands there with both your duffels in his hands, his shoulder slumped in defeat.

derek smacks the table, cause the front desk workers to look over. “i fucking knew it!!”

your head falls into your hands. aaron’s laugh reverberates through the lobby. his real, earnest laugh. “well, i did good for a while there, huh, babe?” he says to you. leaning back in your chair, you tilt your head back to see him. the grin on his face could cause world peace. it’s not everyday the team gets to see aaron’s real emotions.

“you did,” you agree. he leans down and places a quick kiss on your lips before walking over to the desk to turn the room keys in.

as you reface the girls, their eyes are sparkling.

“i fucking knew it,” emily echos derek under her breath.

masterlist.

[morganbritton132]

Tommy has three brothers.

You may think that this would have taught him how to share, but it didn’t. It taught him that if he wanted something to grab it quick and hold it tight.

Which is to say that he does not like Carol.

He is not thrilled when Steve asks their teacher if Carol can sit with them during snack time because Steve is his best friend. He found him first and he’s not letting go of him.

Especially not to some dumb girl that plays with dolls.

“Mr. Whiskers isn’t a doll. He’s a cat.”

“Mr. Whiskers is a dumb toy,” Tommy grouses, pulling on Steve’s backpack strap so he follows him. Steve says he likes toys and Tommy concedes because he likes toys too just - “Not dumb toys. I have cool toys. I can show you.”

And Tommy does. He drags Steve onto the bus with him. None of his brothers mention it when Steve gets off at their stop.

In fact, no one mentions it at all. Especially not to their mother so it’s something of a surprise when she turns around to find a boy in her kitchen. Not one of her boys but - “Hello?”

The little boy looks away from the pot boiling on the stove and asks, “How come you don’t have a microwave?”

“Mama says that I can’t use the stove ‘cause I’m not big enough,” He continues while Maria stares dumbfounded at him. “Tommy’s not big either and you don’t got a microwave. Does he just eat cereal?”

The boy blinks at her, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Steve,” She says slowly, connecting the name to Tommy’s friend from school. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“I know I’m here.”

“Anyone else?”

“Tommy knows,” He says. “He’s in his room. We’re playing nascar.”

“That sounds fun,” She says, slipping into mom mode. She crouches down so they’re eye-level and smiles, “Why don’t I call your mom and let her know that you’re having fun?”

She can see the clogs turning in his head before Sleve slumps his shoulders. His bottom lip juts out and his eyes get shiny. She’s about to ask him what’s wrong when Tommy slides into the room on his socks and Steve tells him in a sad little voice, “Your mama wants me to go home now.”

Tommy promptly bursts into tears.

He doesn’t want Steve to leave. He’ll miss him and he hasn’t even showed him his GI Joe yet.

It takes a lot of soothing words, many reassurances that she’s not kicking Steve out, and the recruitment of her husband before the situation was calmed down. It’s only then that Steve - dry-eyed now - suggests, “I can call my mama.”

This is what Maria was trying to accomplish in the first place.

She takes Steve into the living room where their landline was. He dials his phone number carefully as her, her husband David, and Tommy watch. He gives her a reassuring smile, holding the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Mama! It’s Steve,” He says into the receiver. “I’m at Tommy’s. He’s my best friend and his mama said I can stay the night. Love you. Bye. Love you.”

He hangs up the phone before Maria could ask for it and informs her, “Mama is a super busy lady. She’s goin’ to the - to the store. She says she loves you.”

The boys run off to continue playing while Maria processes what the hell just happened. She’s still processing when David picks up the phone and presses the same buttons Steve had.

He holds the phone to his ear and gets the answering machine for, “The fucking Harringtons?”

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 27

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 26 | Series Masterlist | Part 28

Chapter Word Count: Almost 4k

Chapter Summary: An idea comes to you regarding part of your future and Bucky has a few choice words for your parents.

Chapter Warnings: Confrontation, bonding of sorts, inner turmoil, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: I don't know what happened to the original post. Let's try this again! More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought it would feel strange with Curtis hanging out in the kitchen while you baked the brownies, but it wasn’t as bad as you thought, and it was something you’d have to get used to since he would be around you going forward. He didn’t try to fill the silence with small talk unless you asked him a question, likely trying to remain in the “shadows”. You did wonder what was on his mind since he mentioned being trapped, but it wasn’t any of your business. He was your bodyguard and that didn’t mean he’d be your friend. 

“Smells delicious,” he said, standing when you took them out of the oven. 

“Don’t worry. I won't burn myself,” you said, nodding for him to sit back down. “And thanks. I hope you like them.”

“I'm sure I will.”

Ray walked into the kitchen the moment you set the brownies out to cool off and looked between you and Curtis who settled back in his chair. “A treat for breakfast?” he guessed.

“A treat for Curtis,” you said, making your bodyguard smile a little.

Ray blinked hard and slow. “I see,” he said, pushing his glasses up. Did that upset him? 

“Well, that batch is for Curtis. You have first dibs on the other batch,” you clarified. 

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” The blonde raised an eyebrow. “And what about the boss?” 

“He’s third. He knows what he did,” you said unapologetically. They were your brownies. You could do what you wanted with them.

Curtis hid a smile before Ray asked, “And how are you feeling?”

You put your hands on the counter and shrugged. “Hard to say since I’m seeing my parents today and still dealing with…”

“Everything,” Ray finished for you. 

You nodded. “I appreciate you asking.” It felt like you hadn’t talked to him in days and you admittedly missed it. Like Curtis, keeping you safe wasn’t a bore or chore in his eyes. He believed you were brave and part of you was starting to believe it, too. 

“We’re all glad you're safe now,” he softly said.

“Careful there. You might be showing emotion,” Curtis said, earning him a glare from his colleague. 

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked. 

“He sulked for a minute when you kicked him out of the kitchen,” he said, making Curtis snort. Again, Bucky knew what he did. “But he’s in his office. Called Steve and Natalia. He also got an update on Lois.”

“How is she?” you asked, hoping that things were still looking up.

“She’s recovering well,” he assured you. You were glad to hear that. “From what we know, she’s stubborn and strong and it’ll take time, but she’ll be fine.”

You let out a breath. “I really need to see her, and I need to talk to Natasha,” you said. A woman you could hopefully help heal and move forward and a woman who was going to help you in some capacity. Both receiving and paying it forward. As that thought settled in your mind, an idea washed over you, making you stand up straighter and look at Ray again. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“I have a thought,” you answered, trying not to get too excited. “I need to talk to Bucky.”

Curtis jumped from his chair when you walked out without another word, his footsteps behind you nearly silent. He really was going to be a good bodyguard for you. Ray followed, too, likely curious about why you rushed out so quickly.

Bucky looked up from his desk when you walked into the office, a smile on his face when he stood up. “Brownies ready?” he asked, holding his hand up to keep Curtis and Ray from walking in. 

“Yeah, but that’s not what I came in here for,” you said, taking a seat on the sofa. Bucky immediately went to join you. “I have a bit of a crazy idea and I wanted to get your opinion on it.” 

“You want my opinion?” The subtle shift in his posture showed he was touched. “And I’m the crazy one, Kotyonok, so nothing you could say would ever sound crazy to me.”

You didn’t dispute that he was crazy. “So, you know how one of the things that attracted you to me was helping your mom and my generally kind nature?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“And you helped Natasha however long ago so she could give the women who work at her hotel a better life, right?” you continued. You remembered Natasha telling you if it wasn't for Bucky she wouldn't be where she was. 

“Yes, I did,” he confirmed, not elaborating on how or why.

“What if I do something kind of like that? What if I try to help other women who have…” You swallowed and tried to find the right words, suddenly nervous to ask for his opinion. “Been through stuff, like Lois or me.”

He tilted his head. “You want to help women who have been hurt in some capacity?”

“Yeah. Assault. Abuse. Trauma,” you said. You thought of your own situation, not just Clark's attack, but Bucky systemically making his way into your life. He wasn't out to harm you, but some stalkers did try to harm their victims. “And it's not like I’d have to quit being a florist. I just… I don't know. I want to do something.”

It could've been a means to take back some more control of your life. Being by Bucky’s side, you didn’t want to lose who you were in your core and wanted to continue putting good back into the world. Perhaps you wanted to pay it forward even more since others didn't have the kind of money and protection you now had. 

“It’s stupid, isn't it?” you asked when he stayed quiet. 

You were a florist. Yes, you volunteered when you could and wanted to help people, but it wasn’t your area of expertise. An endeavor like that was out of your depth, wasn't it? 

Bucky framed your face, his eyes flashing with a mixture of pride and fury. “Don't you ever say an idea of yours is stupid. I won't stand for that,” he said, his gaze softening considerably. “Especially since that’s a great idea.”

You studied him, looking for any sign that he was joking. He wasn’t. “Really?” you asked in a small voice.

He kissed the tip of your nose with a smile. “Really. Money won’t be an issue. We can sketch out a plan and figure out what exactly you want to focus on, start local and small. Or you can sketch out the plan and I’ll give input if you seek it out,” he said, a hint of his businessman tone coming out. “If this is really something you want, we’ll make it happen.”

“So, just like that?” you asked. He was really supporting this?

“Of course. It’s admirable that you continue to look out for others and I’m going to support whatever you want to do,” he said. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. You didn’t want to admit how nice it felt that he was backing this up, especially when you had no set plan yet. 

“It also means a lot that you asked for my opinion.”

“Well, we have to talk through these things. It’s what couples do,” you said. 

His smile was brighter than the light in the room. “So, you really see us as a couple now.”

“I guess so,” you said. What choice did you have?

He sighed before he kissed your lips, featherlight and full of promise. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, suddenly standing and helping you to your feet, too. “You’re still in your robe.”

“I’ve been in the kitchen this whole time,” you reminded him, your mind going back to Curtis and wondering more about his past. 

Bucky checked his watch. “Why don’t you get ready for lunch? I think Curtis and Ray have seen you in your robe enough for one day,” he tried to tease and checked his watch. 

“And what about the day I’m walking around in nothing but my underwear?” you blurted out without meaning to.

Darkness crossed Bucky’s eyes, but it was more lust than rage when he put his hands on your hips. “I’d hate to have to hurt my own men, but I do love the thought of you walking around our home so… freely.”

“I’ll bet you do,” you whispered, knowing he’d probably chase you around or drag you to bed if he had the chance. “But for now, yes, I should get dressed.”

“Don’t want to keep your parents waiting,” he said, letting you pull away to get ready. “I hope I make a lasting impression.”

You shivered, wondering just what kind of impression he wanted to make. “I’m sure you will.”

Curtis leaned against the wall outside of the office while Ray stood on the other side. “You want to help others, huh?” your bodyguard asked.

You stopped to face him. “Yeah, I do.”

Curtis didn’t say anything else, but he looked impressed. So did Ray. You didn’t have time to dwell on that. You had to get ready for a lunch that you didn’t want to go to. 

But your whole life as of late had been a series of events you had to participate in without much of a choice, so what was one more?

Bucky held your hand the entire drive to the restaurant and didn’t force you to talk, which you appreciated since your stomach was in knots. You found yourself playing with the diamond necklace, which he had put around your neck before you left. Your mom would no doubt stare at it or make a comment since you had never had such a nice piece of jewelry. Was this going to be a disaster or were you overthinking it?

“We’ll get through this quickly,” Bucky told you once the car stopped, his lips brushing the top of your hand. “Long enough for me to meet them and send them on their way.”

The knot in your stomach tightened more. How exactly was he going to send them on their way? “And after that?”

“Whatever you want,” he promised, helping you out of the car.

You didn’t pay much attention as you were escorted to the private table, but you knew Ray and Curtis weren’t far behind. The place was bright and airy, but sophisticated. It would've been a nice place to go on a date. Would this lunch sour that idea?

“I’m here,” Bucky whispered, pulling out your chair for you.

Considering the way he burst into your life you never expected to lean on him for anything. You had since your attack and now this, looking to him for support without meaning to. You even asked for his opinion on your idea to help other women, which you did seek out. Who were you becoming?

“Why do I care so much about what they think?” you asked when he sat down beside you.

“Because they’re your parents and it’s natural,” he replied, taking your hand under the table. “But you don’t need them.”

You were about to argue that you did need them before you caught them in your line of sight, your back rigid as they moved closer. They didn’t look overjoyed to see you, which broke your heart a bit. Bucky squeezed your hand before you realized you had squeezed his hand first. This was going to be a long lunch.

“It’s good to see you,” your dad said when Bucky released your hand only to pull your chair back to help you stand. “And you must be-”

“Bucky, her boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, shaking his hand and smirking when your dad winced and turning a critical eye on your mom. Neither of them hugged you before they took their seats and you quickly sat back down to hide your embarrassment. “You two raised quite the woman,” he added, daring them to say something.

“Thank you,” your mom said, looking over the menu. 

“Since the menu seems to be more important than greeting your daughter, please, pick whatever you want,” Bucky smiled like a wolf getting ready to strike while you gaped at him. “I spare no expense when it comes to her and her… loved ones. Just look at her necklace. I purchased it for our first date.”

Your mom’s mouth fell open and you felt a bit of satisfaction when your dad squirmed in his seat. Did that make you a bad person? “I’m sorry. I meant nothing by it.” Your mom cleared her throat. “We’re thrilled to see you. It’s just with our accounts being frozen…”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” you filled in the blanks. You were used to it.

“Yes, I’m sorry about your accounts,” Bucky said without sounding sorry at all and pretended to look over his menu. “Interesting how you always think of others first even when you have a lot on your mind, Kotyonok,” he said loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Makes me wonder what that came from.”

Your mom’s mouth didn’t drop again, but you heard her sharp inhale on her next breath and your dad squirmed again. They weren’t used to subtle insults like that, especially for someone who had just met them. But as Bucky took your hand, you very much felt like his queen and he was defending you as such.

“Aren’t you going to compliment her necklace?” Bucky asked, turning his head to smile at you. “It’s as beautiful as she is.”

Your face felt hot when your parents stared and admired the diamonds. “They don’t have to say anything,” you mumbled.

“But I don’t understand. What kind of parents don’t compliment their child, especially when they haven’t seen them in some time?” he asked. Once again, it was loud enough for them to hear. He was digging the knife in and twisting it in the most passive aggressive way.

“It’s beautiful,” your mom said enviously, avoiding looking at Bucky. 

“Thanks,” he said, flagging the server down and putting a hand to his chest. “Like I said, whatever you want. It’s on me.”

You picked a light meal, knowing there was a high chance you couldn’t stomach something heavy. Your mom chose the highest priced meal, which Bucky merely smiled expectantly. Your dad had the good sense to not do the same. It would’ve been nice if they asked how you were or gave some sort of indication that they cared.

“How did you two meet?” your dad asked to break the tension, which only made you nervous all over again.

“My club, and I very much fell for her first,” Bucky answered easily and leaned over to kiss your temple. “I knew she was the one the moment I laid eyes on her.”

“Club?” your mom questioned. “Since when do you go to clubs?”

“It was for Addison’s bachelorette party,” your boyfriend answered for you, smiling again. “You know Addison, don’t you? I would hope so. She’s practically family to her.”

You took a sip of your water and said nothing as your parents looked more uncomfortable with each passing second. The air was awkward to say the least.  Bucky, on the other hand, looked over the moon one second and was ready to kill the next. It had to be giving your parents whiplash.

“She’s a good friend,” your mom said, her smile shaky. “How’s the shop?” she asked, changing the subject.

“The shop’s great,” you said and found yourself smiling since you did love the place and your job. “Mrs. Crandle is still a great boss and-”

“And you’re still just a florist,” she cut you off dismissively with a shake of her head, wiping your smile away. “You could’ve been so much more.”

Your eyes glossed over, but you held your head high. “There’s nothing wrong with me being a florist, and I am more.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Ease up,” your dad whispered to your mom, shocking you both. Since when was he not on her side? Or was it because Bucky glared at them?

“Just a florist.” The man beside you chuckled, a dark and empty sound. “Tell them about the idea you told me about earlier today.”

The knot filled your stomach so much that you feared you’d get sick. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you said, not wanting to hear what they had to say since they never backed you up on anything.

“But it’s a great idea,” he assured you, giving your parents a smile. “Wait until you hear it.”

Your dad leaned forward and appeared interested. Was it for show? “What is it?” 

Bucky nodded, encouraging you to speak up. “I went through something recently,” you said carefully, not wanting to blurt it out. “And it made me realize I want to help others and build a support system for women who have been through things.”

Your parents looked at each other as you held your breath. “That sounds ambitious,” your dad said just as carefully as you. “I realize you have good intentions, but…”

“You can’t just up and decide you want to run a charity,” your mom said, laughing and tapping her finger on the table when Bucky gripped his water glass. “You need more than just good intentions. You need experience and funding, which you have none of.”

You sighed. It was exactly what you expected. They wanted you to be more, but offered no encouragement when you tried. 

“Aren’t you even going to ask what I went through?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion. For the first time, your mom looked worried. “Someone-”

“They don’t deserve to know.” Bucky took a sip before he gently set the glass down, making you eye him warily. He looked like he was ready to explode. “She isn’t just deciding, by the way. She has volunteer experience and she’s going to formulate a plan. And what she may lack in other ‘experiences’, she has passion, heart, and drive. It’s a shame you're too blind to see that.”

Your mom shrank back in her seat, looking as small as you felt. “I didn’t mean-”

“And as far as funding, I’ll be helping her with that since I don't expect either of you to lend her a thing. She has her own money, too. You just didn't know it,” he explained, bitterly laughing again at their shocked expressions. “Jesus Christ. You’re her parents. You should be proud of her. She’s loved by everyone she meets and she has thrived without your support.” He let that hang in the air before he continued. “She has more character in her finger than you two have in your entire body and I will back her up on anything and everything she needs because I believe in her.”

You placed a hand on Bucky’s thigh to ground him, your eyes welling with tears again. You were torn between not wanting him to cause a scene and for him to keep speaking because it just felt nice to hear. It felt pathetic and empowering, a strange combination. 

“I just wanted you to support and love me,” you whispered, your chest aching at finally saying the words. “Why didn't you?”

Why did it hurt so much that you didn't have the love you needed?

Your dad leaned back like you slapped him while your mom didn't move. “We did and do love you,” he swore, looking to his wife for help when Bucky scoffed in disbelief. “Tell her.”

He shouldn't have to tell her that.

“We just wanted you to have direction,” your mom said, flinching when Bucky leaned forward with one elbow on the table. She couldn't even say she loved you. 

“She has always had direction. You just never bothered to look where she was going,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous. “Though I guess your lack of support helped build her into the woman I love, so I almost wonder if I should thank you for not being who she needed.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you continue to insult us,” your dad said since your mom was rendered speechless for once. 

You almost warned your dad that Bucky wasn't the kind of man to mouth off to, but didn't. 

“You know, I think I know now why you wanted to become a florist,” Bucky said as if he didn’t hear him. “You’re surrounded by warmth and brightness and you get to watch things bloom and grow and thrive because you never had that.”

You blinked away your tears. Bucky saw what they didn’t. You didn’t have to point it out.

“We do love our daughter, even if we didn't show it in the best way,” your dad argued, trying to take your hand across the table, but Bucky pulled you back. It was another brick added to the wall to keep people he didn’t want near you out.

“You didn’t love her enough and you never will.” He took his wallet out and threw some money on the table, more than enough to cover the meals that hadn’t yet arrived at the table. “Thank God I love her enough for all of us and I always will.”

Your mom sniffled. You hardly ever saw her cry. “I…” She trailed off when your boyfriend tossed more money on the table. 

“That should cover the rest of your time here in the city. Take it. Or don’t. But I’m not going to sit here and play nice with people who make my future wife feel low about herself.” He pushed himself up and let your parents see just how large and imposing he was. “Just leave her alone the way you always have.”

They were good at leaving you alone. 

“Please,” your dad begged, making you pause. “We’re sorry.”

“Empty apologies mean nothing,” Bucky said, his eyes narrowed. “Oh, and as it stands, I don’t want you at our wedding, but maybe your loving daughter will change my mind.”

“Wedding?!” your mom exclaimed. 

“Yes, she’s going to be my wife and have a wonderful lifetime with me.” He smiled when you didn't disagree. “Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

Bucky helped you up from the table and led you away, not even letting you look back when you heard your mom choke on a sob. They didn’t chase after you. They never would.

Your steps felt heavy. Your head spun. It was a relief that they knew how you felt in some capacity, but you didn't feel much better. Why not?

“They’re the past and I’m your present and future,” your boyfriend whispered, slipping an arm around you when you bit your lip. “I’m the family you need.”

“Thank you for sticking up for me,” you said, making him preen. 

“I’ll always defend and stick up for you,” he promised, his grip possessive. “And I'm proud of you.”

What was there to be proud of? No, you wouldn't think like that. You were a good person, and a survivor. Your parents and their lack of support and care wouldn't take that from you.

“But I didn’t even get to tell them what happened.” What if they had wanted to help? They weren’t loving, but you were still their daughter and your mom had looked worried for a second.

“You don’t need them. Not when you have me,” he said, leaving no room to argue when he nodded to Ray and Curtis who hovered nearby. “And I won't let them hurt you ever again.”

You should’ve known lunch with your parents meant Bucky would close the door. You would have no choice but to move forward. And you didn't know what that meant except that you were now one step closer to being entirely his. 

This chapter took a lot out of me! As a mom who wants to show nothing but love and support to my babies (and protect them), I want to wrap Kotyonok in a huge hug. Where do we think they'll go from here? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[sarahroutldge]

caveman.

a/n: I wrote this for the brilliant 'make rafe great again' campaign by @zyafics!! It's a bit of a mess and unedited but I hope someone enjoys it!

summary: you may love rafe cameron, but that doesn't mean you have to love his borderline toxic possessiveness and jealousy.

word count: 4k

warnings: angst, fluff, creepy guy behaving creepily (nothing graphic), violent rage on rafe's part (what else is new), alcohol, weed, smoking, mentions of past messy relationships, I'm lazy so I didn't proofread this... uh I think that's it. lmk if I forgot anything!

Parties at the Boneyard are practically rites of passage for the kids who grow up there; whether you’re a kid from the cut or the heir to a multi-million-dollar fortune on Figure Eight, you’re probably spending those summer Friday nights getting drunk or high—most likely both—at the Boneyard. In high school and college, those nights are treasured, rare moments where the parents and grandparents aren’t eyeing their kids, waiting to see them fail. 

And sure, maybe, on occasion, things get messy. The Pogues and the Kooks are never quite at peace for long, but usually it blows over before anything truly terrible can happen, as the Kooks involved know that once Deputy Shoupe gets notified, so will their parents. And for the Pogues, one run-in with the police is a future discarded—a scholarship taken away, a college acceptance thrown out, a job opportunity lost. 

But it’s hard to care so much about that when you’re a bit tipsy, a bit high, and dancing with your friends under the moonlight. Your boyfriend is just across the beach, drinking with his friends, and you can almost swear that the winks he sends you every once in a while feel like a jolt of electricity. Truly, they’re almost as intoxicating as the weed and the alcohol.

Kiara spins you around, and the two of you twirl across the makeshift dancefloor (which is really just sand), as you enjoy a drama-free night. The wind is just strong enough to provide an extra breeze to what would usually be a much hotter, much more humid Outer Banks night. And the music has mellowed from Top 40 hits to some softer, bedroom pop. You don’t know the words, but you’re having too much fun to care.

Unfortunately, though, nothing in the Outer Banks is ever truly uneventful. The bliss you’ve taken for granted is shattered without warning, when you feel a sweaty, unfamiliar hand grasping at your midsection. Immediately turning around, your hand drops from Kiara’s, and you make eye contact with the tall, unfamiliar man before you (a Touron, if you had to guess). Not wanting to make that much of a fuss, you simply shake your head, hoping he’ll get the message. But he’s either too wasted or simply doesn’t care, and he reaches for your waist again, and this time his grip is strong enough to pull you back into his chest. 

“What the hell, dude?” Kiara bites, before pushing him off of you. “Get off our beach if all you’re planning on doing is acting like a perv,” she adds. You grab her hand, squeezing it in thanks. 

The man raises his hands up as if he’s totally innocent, and you just scoff. Thankfully, though, he seems to finally take a hint, as he turns around. Kiara looks up at you, and opens her mouth as if to speak. But unfortunately, before she can, you hear the familiar but worrying shout of your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, from behind you.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rafe starts, before shoving the man’s back. 

You can immediately sense where this is going, and frankly, you’re not up for it. “Rafe, it’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Rafe turns around. “It’s not fucking fine. He’s scum.” 

And just as you’re about to grab your boyfriend’s hand and pull him away, the stranger turns around. “Hey man, it was an honest mistake.”

“Yeah? Well, next time, ask a girl before you put your fucking hands on her, especially when that girl is my girlfriend.” 

“Rafe, please, let’s not do this. I just wanna go home,” you chime in, hoping that you’re loud enough for him to hear over his rage. 

“You didn’t want to go home until this prick put his hands on you,” Rafe argues.

And while you were annoyed before, now you’re irritated. “Rafe, let’s go,” you say, colder. 

He stares at you for a minute, and then looks around, noticing that the man who touched you has walked away. He huffs, his fists balled in anger, and then he walks away from you. You watch as Rafe walks across the sand, away from the crowd.

“Do you want to go after him?” Kiara asks, feeling awkward about the obvious tension between you and your boyfriend.

“No. He just needs to blow off some steam.”

Kiara nods. “Are… are you okay?” she asks, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… That was gross. And I’m mad at that guy, but unfortunately, shit like this happens. And I’m tired of having to deal with Rafe’s temper tantrums every time we go out.” 

“Any other time, I’d get it. Believe me. But this wasn’t just a guy getting too close—he wouldn’t back off. That piece of shit deserved whatever punch Rafe was gonna give him.”

“It’s not about what the guy did. Trust me, I’d be happy to see him get punched. It’s the possessiveness that bothers me. It’s like Rafe thinks I’m helpless without him,” you explain.

“I promise that’s not true,” Kiara assures you, but even she seems a little unsure of the words she’s saying. “Look, I’m not Cameron’s biggest fan—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes.

Kiara chuckles. “But this time, I think that guy deserved what was coming to him. And it’s so obvious that Rafe loves you. Maybe your anger is a bit misplaced.”

You shake your head, trying to get her to understand your point of view. “Shit like this has happened before, Kie. And with guys that were way less upfront than that one. It’s not that I’m mad he defended me; I’m mad that he sees me as some damsel in distress, someone who can’t function without him as a bodyguard. I just wish he’d have a bit more faith in me.”

Your friend considers your words for a minute, ultimately giving you a tight smile. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. You can hang with us at the Chateau while your man figures his shit out.”

She tosses her arm around your shoulder, and your mouth curves into a reluctant smile. As the two of you make your way off the beach, your head turns behind you, looking out for your troublesome but usually well-meaning boyfriend. He’s far away now, but you can still sense the frustration radiating from him in waves. 

A few days pass before you see Rafe again. You’ve texted a bit back and forth, putting some space between the two of you. You know you’ll forgive him eventually, but you need time to consider how to move forward. Rafe’s issues with anger and jealousy span far back into his childhood. And it might not be your job to “fix” them, but you can’t help but want to. 

Rafe is complicated, always has been. From his issues with his father to his struggles with hard drugs and history of getting into fights, there’s a lot of darkness swirling around in that brain of his. For the longest time, he struggled with asking for help, lacking the attention and care of a parent who could teach their child how to deal with the toughest emotions. But you won’t deny that he’s gotten better at it. He’s matured in a way that his younger teenage self would never have imagined, and the responsibilities of adulthood combined with the weekly therapy appointments (that only you and his sisters know about) have helped to mellow him, giving him the tools with which to face his demons. 

And that’s why you won’t give up on him. 

Midsummer’s is just around the corner. Though balls and galas in the name of “charity” are certainly not rare on Figure Eight, Midsummer’s is always one of the grandest and most important (at least in the minds of the Eight’s parents and authority figures). For the teenagers, it’s a time to converse with adults about the future, hopefully landing connections that will help with the process of college applications and even internships later on. For the parents and grandparents, it’s the perfect time to show off the family unit; those who live on the island year-round and the families that stay just for the summer all come together to brag about the past year’s “achievements.” For those in their early twenties like you and Rafe, it’s a time to take advantage of the open bar and see the friends from high school that you haven’t seen in a while.

This year, however, is the first year that Rafe and you are attending as a couple. Your table is a mix of the Cameron family (plus Sarah’s boyfriend John B. who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else), your own family, and a few singles. Normally, this would be an occasion for pressure, but your families have known each other throughout the years, as the Figure Eight scene has always been a tight circle.

After the main courses have been served and the parents have swapped conversations about business for the latest gossip, the band’s music starts to slow. The sun has set and the moon looks stunning over the country club, reminding you of just how lucky you’ve been to grow up in a place so beautiful. And even though you and Rafe are a bit rocky, you almost forget it. The tipsiness from a few too many unclassy shots behind the bar with your friends has set in, and Rafe’s hand on your thigh feels almost too hot for a night like this. He squeezes the bare thigh uncovered by the slit in your dress every once in a while, as the two of you shift in and out of conversations with your family. It’s almost going too well. 

That is, until your father mentions your cousin’s upcoming marriage when he speaks to Ward.

“She’s the first of my nieces to get married. We’re all thrilled, and the wedding is only two months away.” He shifts a bit, seeking your attention. “Y/N, honey,” he says, and you turn your head to face your father, away from the pleasant and lighthearted conversation you’ve been having with Sarah and her boyfriend.

“Yes, Dad?”

“I still need to book the tickets for your trip with your cousin, so please send me the dates tomorrow at the latest. Or else you’re going to have to find your own way to pay for them,” he adds, laughing at himself like it’s the most ludicrous thing in the world. 

“Will do, Dad,” you add, and as soon as the words have left your mouth you go back to the conversation with your friends. 

But before you can speak, you feel the hand that’s been on your thigh move to your hand, squeezing to get your attention.

“What trip was your dad talking about?” Rafe asks, unsure of why this hasn’t been mentioned before.

“Oh, Rafe, I’ve told you about this. I’m going away with my cousin and a few other girls in a few weeks for her bachelorette party.” 

Rafe considers this. He knew you’d mentioned a vacation, but he could’ve sworn it was a family trip up to visit your grandparents. His jaw clenches, though his tone remains the same. “Where is it?”

“Miami. We’re all staying in one large suite at a beach resort that I can’t remember the name of.”

He nods. “Why can’t I come?”

You hesitate. He did hear the word bachelorette, right? “Rafe, it’s a bachelorette party. You’d be the only guy there.”

And yet he doesn’t seem to get it. “Exactly. Babe, you’ll be going to bars in Miami without me or any other guys. And as much as I love you, you’re the clumsiest drunk I know,” he adds, with a smirk. Clearly, he thinks you’ll find his comment funny. Though you normally would, he says it with a condescending tone that makes you drop the hand you’ve been holding.

“I can take care of myself, Rafe.”

“Can you?” he asks, not yet sensing the change in mood.

“Yes!” you respond, more sternly but without raising your voice. “I’ve taken care of myself drunk way longer than you and I have been together. I think I can manage a few days in Miami with my cousin and her friends.” His eyebrows furrow in confusion, not understanding where your anger is coming from.

“I know you can take care of yourself, babe, but you shouldn’t have to. I’m a guy—I know how guys behave. And you’re nice—sometimes too nice—and it makes me worry about you.”

“I am a grown woman, Rafe. I’m not helpless.” 

“I never said you were helpless, and you know it. Why are you fighting with me over this? It’s like you think I’m the bad guy, and not whatever perv is gonna start groping you in a sticky Miami bar.” 

Frankly, you’re stunned, and a thought comes to your head. Is he really worried for me—or does he not trust me? But you don’t feel like voicing your opinion out loud, and you need to cool off. You stand up out of your seat, and shove your chair in. The action draws the eyes of your family, but you ignore your mother asking where you disappeared to. You need fresh air.

Taking the path you and every other Figure Eight kid knows from the time they’re fifteen years old, you follow through the winding hallway of the club that leads out back, to where the waiters and other club employees take their breaks. The immediate gust of wind feels refreshing on your face, and you walk to the edge of the parking lot. 

Your feet take you to the abandoned dock that, for whatever reason, was never taken down when the country club was renovated a few decades ago. It’s hidden behind overgrown trees and weeds, and you breathe in relief at the absence of anyone else there. Though from here you can still faintly hear the sounds of the event behind you, it’s quiet enough to where you can also hear the swamp waters crash against the dock, and the night bugs buzzing around you. 

The edge of the dock is too dirty for you to sit down on—your eagle-eyed mother would immediately notice any stain on your dress and berate you for it—so you simply stand there, thinking about the boyfriend you left at the table. The look on Rafe’s face just makes you let out a harsh chuckle. It occurs to you at that moment that your boyfriend is either an idiot or really entitled. Maybe he’s both. 

You’ve dealt with this shit before, and Rafe knows that. He knows that your most recent boyfriend before him was controlling and overprotective in a way that made you feel uncomfortable. It’s why you broke up in the first place.

Does he not even listen to me?

The small but effective cardigan that covers your shoulders begins to itch, and you reach to take it off, only to stumble upon something in the left pocket. When your hands grasp the item, you immediately sigh in relief, pulling it out. 

The pack of cigarettes is old, of course; you haven’t worn this sweater since high school, but it was the only one that even somewhat went with your dress tonight. And Outer Banks summer nights have always had a bit of a chill to them. Your fingers carefully open the pack, pulling out one of three cigarettes left, before setting the pack down next to your feet. You drag it to your lips, holding it there as your fingers naturally reach for the lighter in the opposite pocket. 

It takes a few flicks before a flame is successfully lit. You draw it to the end of the cigarette, an inhale.

About halfway into your second cigarette, you hear the sounds of footsteps on the creaking dock. 

“You hate when I smoke,” he says, and though the immediately recognizable voice of Rafe Cameron should be comforting, in the aftermath of the argument it’s only agitating.

“I don’t want to do this now,” you say without turning around to face him. He nods, though you don’t see, before walking a few more steps.

He’s about a foot away from you, and you still haven’t turned. “Look, Y/N, I only—”

And his insistence on talking only adds to your irritation. Turning around your heel, you look him right in the eyes, meeting his blank face. “No, Rafe, you don’t get to speak.”

“But I—”

“No,” you say, and he finally seems to understand. 

A beat passes, and he nods, encouraging you. 

“Rafe, I love you. I really love you. But I don’t love you enough to deal with distrust that clearly comes from a place of insecurity rather than genuine concern. I’m not saying that you don’t have any concern for me; I’m saying that whatever your little interrogation was back at the table felt more like an insult than anything else. And you know the shit I went through with Noah. So don’t act as if my rage is misplaced or coming out of nowhere. I’ve done this shit before and I know I deserve better, Rafe.” 

You take an inhale of the cigarette, before exhaling right in his face. He rolls his eyes at the action, but you remain unbothered. “Can I say something now?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

He looks hesitant, but he proceeds anyway. “I’m not great with words—you know this. I’m not good at expressing myself eloquently, and one of the things I like so much about you is that I don’t ever feel like I need to. You know what I’m feeling even when I can’t find the words to describe it, and you don’t push me to.”

He waits a bit, eyes searching your face to ensure that you’re paying attention. When he finds at least a bit of interest in your eyes, he continues. 

“I’ll be honest. I didn’t get why you ran off before.”

“I can tell.”

He ignores the snark in your comment. “But it doesn’t matter whether I get it or not. What matters is that I love you and I trust you. And I did sound a bit like a dick.”

“Just a bit?” you ask, and he tries not to smile at your question. Clearly, he’s headed in the right direction with his speech if you’re willing to even joke with him.

“Fine, I deserve that,” he accepts. “I mess up a lot. Like a lot. I don’t always say the right things and I don’t always express my feelings in the most polite way, but I’m working on it. I promise.”

“Rafe, that’s just the problem. I’m tired of hearing you say that you’re working on it—I want to actually see the change. I can’t do the possessive caveman shit again, I can’t. And I don’t like feeling like your teacher. I’m your girlfriend; as much as I care about you and want to help you with shit like this, it can’t be all our relationship is.”

He nods. “I know, babe. You deserve better than that.” And something in his tone makes you want to lean into his sincerity, trusting that he actually gets how you feel. You drop the butt of the cigarette, and he stomps it out with his foot. “Your mom would go insane if you ruined those heels.”

You smile… just a bit. Testing the waters, he brings a hand up to your face, and your body reacts by leaning in, craving his touch. Even when you’re mad at him, he’s the one you yearn for. But before you can get swept away in the magic, you need to make sure that he gets your point. Your hand reaches up to his and pulls it down. He immediately frowns at the action, and it takes all the willpower you possess to not abandon your speech when his lips pout in that adorable way that they do. 

Instead, you squeeze his hand in assurance, and his pout morphs into something less worrying, more hopeful. 

“Rafe, I don’t mind that you get worried sometimes. I don’t even mind that you get a little jealous. They’re your feelings and you’re entitled to them. But you’re not entitled to talk to me the way that you just did. I love you and I would never, ever do anything to risk that.” You punctuate your declaration by bringing your hands to his face, pulling him down to meet you. He settles into the familiar action, and leans in.

“I’ll work on it, I promise,” he says, only an inch away from your lips. 

You nod, sensing the truth in his words. “Thank you.”

His blue eyes look into yours with a gleam of hope. With the natural habit that comes with almost a year of dating, his lips come to press against yours, as his hands fall to your hips. The moment is picture perfect, and your hands run down his tux-covered chest. It’s gentle at first, almost hesitant—just like when you first started dating. But then it moves into something deeper, as you feel his hands squeeze at your hips and his lips move against yours, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. What started out as something soft and romantic quickly becomes something much more crazed and heated, with whines and sloppy kisses drowning out the noise of the waters behind you and the country club in the distance.

You make out like teenagers, hidden away from everyone else as if you’re not both grown adults in a serious committed relationship. It’s thrilling and messy, filled with passion and earnestness, as if he’s trying to convince you of his promise with the kiss. And you love it.

But unfortunately, the fog of youth can only last for so long. Your immature but intoxicating makeout session is too-soon interrupted by the sounds of your boyfriend’s closest friends, Kelce and Topper. 

“I told you they’d be making out,” Topper says, and you and Rafe immediately jump apart as if your parents have caught you. But he refuses to drop you entirely, instead pulling you with him as he turns to face his friends. 

His mood quickly shifts from slightly annoyed to severely unimpressed when he sees Topper take a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet, passing it to Kelce. “Really?” he asks. You roll your eyes at the juvenile bet. He pulls you in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hey, you have no reason to be mad, Cameron. You’re not the one with twenty dollars less in their pocket,” Kelce bites back, and Topper just snickers.

“Not really my problem and also not my fault,” Rafe retorts. You can’t help but giggle at the petty argument, and Rafe’s heart swells knowing that your argument has been resolved. Maybe not completely, but he knows the two of you will move forward. You always do.

As the two boys in front of you begin to bicker more about God-knows-what, Rafe leans down to your ear. “You reek of cigarettes by the way.”

“And since when does that bother you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t care less. But your mother—”

You huff, not letting him finish. “Don’t even go there. Let’s sneak out through the back parking lot.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth. Come on.” He grabs your hand, tugging you forwards. The two of you shove through Topper and Kelce, but Rafe couldn’t care less. You quickly make your way across the parking lot, hand-in-hand. 

“And maybe since I won’t be joining you on the Miami trip, you could give me a little show of all the bikinis I won’t get to see,” he adds with a smirk. 

You gasp in mock agitation, but the mischievous glint in your eyes tells him that you’re back in tune with him. “Only if you’re on your best behavior,” you tease back. 

I'm soooo bad at endings so apologies for that - but otherwise hope y'all enjoyed!! and here's a reminder that requests are very much open :)

also again - shoutout to zyafics for this clever campaign!! I loved participating and I encourage y'all to read the other great fics written for it <3

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

A Puppy's Place

RATED NC-17. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

➾In Which: Mingi finally gets his puppy to realize her place. Or — you finally break.

❥Song Mingi x fem reader

"I don't want you to touch me!"

"You'll get over that soon."

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere. dead dove homie, wouldn't eat that if i were you

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: 403 possessive yandere, 413 'training' /conditioning (not depicted, only mentioned / described) : time outs + shock collar worn but not used + sensory deprivation, humiliation, 418 forced pet play: reader made to get in a cage + wear a collar, leash, and ears + be hand fed. captive reader, mind breaking, insecure min jumping to conclusions, touch starved reader finally breaks. pet names: puppy + pup (like, a lot), doggie, love, pretty, good (girl)

"Haven't you figured out yet? Struggling gets you nothing but trouble."

➯a/n: requested by anon <33 a bit different from my usual style of story telling, let me know what you think !

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

18+, MINORS GET OUTTA HERE.

"I don't want you to touch me!"

You remember screaming that at him as you backed into the cage you had woken up in; you remember kicking at his hands as he reached in.

You were so adamant that you would never let Mingi touch you without putting up a fight.

But here you are, a handful of months after that fateful night when Mingi decided he'd had enough of sharing you with world, kneeled in front of him obediently.

You'd been well behaved for a few weeks. You hadn't bitten or cursed at him. You hadn't ripped off the ridiculous clip on ears out of your hair. You've stopped disobeying every little thing he said. You've forced all of the humiliation that comes with his treatment of you deep, deep down.

"Are you full, puppy?" He asks as you hesitate to take the food from his fingers — having gotten lost in your thoughts. You've been doing that more lately. Like an easily distracted puppy. He thinks it fits you perfectly.

You tilt your head, blinking a few times before opening your mouth again with a soft, "ah."

"Still hungry?" He hums, slightly amused.

Despite everything Mingi has done to you — he still claims to love you. He still treats you like he does, along with his demeaning handling of you. It makes you beyond confused. Well, it does now. Before, it just made you mad.

You nod your head a bit, eyes daring to look away from the food in his fingers and up towards him. "Ah," you open your mouth slightly wider, shuffling closer between his spread legs.

He's kind enough to place a soft bed underneath your knees before he makes you get on them — especially since you've been so well behaved.

"Here you go, pretty puppy." He places the bite in your mouth gently. His fingers hardly graze your lips.

You chew quietly, looking down at your lap where your own hands sit folded together nice and neat.

He's glad the days of you trying to bite his fingers have passed. He hated when you did that. And you hated it when he put you in the corner as punishment.

"What do you say?" He urges you softly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

You swallow thickly. "Thank you, Mingi."

"Good girl," he smiles, instinctively moving to pat your head when he stops himself and lets his hand fall with a sigh.

That's one ongoing... not punishment, per se. More like a way to condition you to seek him out first. Humans need physical touch. You'll cave one day.

"I don't want you to touch me!" Is what you had yelled at him the first time he tried to do so.

"You'll get over that soon." Is what he said back, already plotting out ways to make it happen.

Over the past months — Mingi has never touched you. Not in any meaningful way, anyways.

To shove you into the corner and hold your head in it until you stoped fighting him. To take your collar off before your nightly bath. To force you into the large shirts he made you wear before you eventually put them on without a fight. To sit on top of your hips as he pulled the paw-printed socks onto your feet before you started doing the same with them.

You look so cute in them. In the shirt that essentially swallows you up, the little pink paws peeking out behind you as you sit on your calves.

He wants to touch you so badly. He wants to pet your head and hug you and he wants you to sleep in his arms — not your crate.

But he needs you to break even more than he needs to dote over you.

So, he keeps his hands to himself as he hand feeds you the rest of your meal.

Then he does something new.

"Lick them clean, pup."

You look up at him with big eyes. And you quickly decide you don't like new.

Shaking your head, you go to back up when he yanks you forward with the leash you've forgotten was even attached to you.

The weight of it, the weight of the snug collar, the cold metal of the tag that reads his name — it all feels like a second skin at this point.

You pout. The cutest, most precious pout you can muster. "Mingi..."

"Be a good doggie and I'll leave your bed uncovered."

You perk up a bit at that. He always covers up your- the cage with a blanket after you get in for the night.

You hate it. You hate not being able to see what's going on around you. You hate it even more when he shuts off the lights and you're left in complete darkness; not even able to see inside of the small space.

"Promise?" You ask slowly, hesitantly.

"Yes, puppy," he smiles again — sincere and internally cooing at how sweet you look at the moment. "I'll even leave the lamp on for you."

Humiliation be damned, you lean forward and lick his thumb; willing yourself to ignore the grin he wears. There's a knot in your gut that hasn't gone away since you woke up in his home that makes itself known in times like these — twisting and turning in a way that makes you want to cry.

Just as much as his soft, "what a well-behaved pup," makes you want to sink into the floor.

He lets you curl up on the large pillow in front of the couch when you're done, letting you disappear from sight as he leans back against the cushion; satisfied.

You keep your noise quiet because you don't want to be forced to bed early — even if he's promised to let you keep your vision for the night.

It breaks his heart when you cry. He wants you to be the happiest puppy in the world, and he'll make sure of it... whenever you decide to accept that's what you are; his puppy.

He lays across the couch and watches the television, peeking towards you occasionally as you silently soothe yourself, wrapping your arms around yourself. He would love to do it for you, but you still haven't sought out his touch.

"Are you going to make it, love?" He whispers, fingers twitching with the urge to pet his puppy's back comfortingly. "You did well. You don't have to cry, you get a reward."

He means his words to be reassuring and the worst part is — they are.

They make you feel stupid for crying, like you don't need to.

"I'm sorry." You blurt out quickly, nudging the leash out of the way so you can rest your head semi-comfortably.

You are never allowed to touch it. The one time you did; tried to tug-of-war it with him — he had easily overpowered you and replaced your regular collar with a shock one for a week. He never activated it. He didn't need to. The fear and the prongs digging into your neck was enough to keep you in line.

"Take your time and calm down, puppy. Then we can go to bed."

He can go to bed. You? You can go to your cage.

You do take your time. You take more than it. You stay deadly silent, hoping he's just fallen asleep on the couch and you can eventually do the same on the pillow on the floor.

Even with the promise of not being covered up — you find yourself dreading bedtime. You want to stretch out while you sleep. You want to be in a bed. You want to be held-

"Come on, doggie," he leans over and grabs the leash before you even realize he's gotten up; lost in your head again. "Up."

His one word commands used to bother you much, much more. Now, though? They're all but carved in your brain. You don't have time to feel embarrassed before you follow them subconsciously.

You stand up fast. And you thank whatever in the universe is listening that he's stopped making you walk on your hands and knees.

"Bedtime, pretty girl," he says like every other night as he unclips the leash from your collar; his fingers tracing over the tag with a glint of pride in his eyes at the sight of his name around your neck.

"Mingi?"

He looks up and meets your eyes quickly, "yes?"

"Can- maybe, just for tonight... I could sleep in bed?" The words near burn your tongue, but you have to ask.

He scans your face slowly. Looking for something — you don't know what.

"In my bed, puppy?"

His voice is even, but it's edged. And you don't like it. "Y-yes?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

Your jaw drops a bit, and you shake your head quickly, "what? Why-"

"Get in your bed, now." He grabs you by the back of the neck and tries to push you to your knees as you fight against him, confused. "Quit it. Don't make me put your cage back in the living room."

That was even worse. No light and no sound. Not even his soft breathing.

"Wait! What did I do?" You yell as his pushing finally makes your knees buckle. "I j-"

"Haven't you figured out yet? Struggling gets you nothing but trouble." He crouches down to your level, forcing you to look at him, "were you planning on running away, is that it? Going to leave me, puppy?" He frowns, his grip tightening.

"No, no," you cry, hands placed on his knees quickly, "no, Mingi."

"What then?"

You sniffle, eyes downward as you answer carefully, "I w- thought you could hold me."

His eyes widen, his grip loosens. "Really?" He asks with his voice full of hope. "That's really why you want to lay in my bed?"

"Yes... Really, I swear! I just w-" You sob freely, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Oh, puppy!" He beams suddenly, dropping to his knees and hugging you tightly. "Sweet, sweet, girl," he kisses the side of your head and leans back with the widest smile you've ever seen.

He's been craving touch just as much as you have. And he knows you well enough to know you aren't lying. Besides — if you do decide to try and run, you won't get very far at all. The door is locked with a deadbolt that you don't know where the key to is.

"Of course," he pulls back and helps you up in your shocked state; whiplash from his behavior. "Of fucking course, pup, I'll hold you. Here, get comfy."

You crawl into his blanket quickly, knowing better than to question a good thing when it decides to come your way.

He reaches into your cage and gets your favorite pillow before joining you, "here, love." He tosses it onto the bed and rubs the back of your neck softly; other hand rubbing up your side. "Are you my good puppy?"

"Yes, Mingi." You respond; quick and practiced. Then you add something of your own, something he didn't teach you. "I'm your good puppy."

His heart feels like it's about to slam out of his chest. He can barely hear you over it as you say, "will you snuggle with me?"

He falls onto his back and pulls you on top of him, and you immediately melt into his warmth; sniffling quietly with your face buried in his chest.

You stretch your legs out, your arms wrapping around him before you can stop them.

"I love you, puppy."

And you're starting to think you mean it when you say, "I love you, Mingi."

❝A Puppy's Place❞

[angelkiyo]

you had intentions of finding true love here; that was its pitch line after all. you met a nice guy, his name being kento. he was 28, a salaryman, and worked in the city. life would be stable and serene.

however, when the bombshell came, you couldn’t help but simply feel drawn to toji fushiguro. it was like a tropical storm hit you.

he was the oldest one in the villa, definitely older than you by a decade or so. he was 36 and a dad but he sure as hell didn’t look it. he worked out every day, worked in private security, and his body appeared to be sculpted from a renaissance artist; the cliché tattoos of snakes and such were etched on his sun-kissed skin.

you felt his eyes on you the entire time and you stare at him. you could only wish you hadn’t.

“damn, he’s such a dilf,” your fellow housemate commented.

you remember laughing at her words, “no, he’s just fucking old.”

for some time, the tension between the two of you felt grand, despite your thing with kento. winning challenges together didn't help either and the fact that he let it slip that he wasn't looking to mess around yet stared at you like you were a meal amplified that.

however, it isn't until one of the girls got a text where it showed that others saw your tension too:

🔔 “islanders, the hideaway is open tonight. the couple chosen by the public to spend the night is...y/n and toji. #SheLikesItRoughApparently.”

you felt the rest of the house go into chaos, with some people catcalling, laughing, and screaming in glee.

your gaze went over to toji: smirking like he just won the damn lottery, and then over to kento, whose expression looked rather solemn.

"comin' or nah, princess?" and while you meekly walked over to him, you heard someone yell out "use protection!"

yeah, you had plenty of that at the hideaway.

it was big and mirrored a suite from a five-star hotel. the room had a king-sized bed littered with rose petals and candles. not to mention the mirrors everywhere and the big box of condoms in the drawer of the nightstand.

the silence captivated the both of you until you spoke: "you're awfully comfortable for someone who didn't want anything with other people, old man."

he turned around at you, his gaze almost predatory. "let me clarify. i never pretended i didn't want you."

"i'll show you what this old man can do, sweetheart.”

fuck.

what happened next was a blur, but what you do know was the quick whirlwind of clothes on the floor, you being pushed onto the lavish bed, and the lack of care for hidden cameras. you just didn't care anymore, and that was the mindset that engulfed the two of you for nearly an hour.

the sound of skin slapping filled the room while you clawed at the silky satin sheets beneath you. you had tears brim under your eyes as you felt toji's calloused arms hold you in place in front of the myriad of mirrors in front of you.

you couldn't fucking take it anymore. the way he rolled his hips and thrusted into you with such incredible speed knocked the wind out of you.

"ah—fuck!" you mewled, arching your back as much as you can. toji hit all your sweet spots without trying and the fact alone irked you. it irked you that he had a reason to be so cocky and relentless.

the sensation of his cock made your eyes roll: filling, fast, and sure as fuck rough.

"goddamnit ma. your pussy is milking me dry," he let out a guttural moan as he bottomed out in you, "fuck, doll-face. letting me fuck you so good."

the wolfish grin on his face stayed there on his face as he examined the mirror and how your ass moved while he thrusted into you with finesse. the way the skin where your back tattoo was, moved drove him crazy. however, the little milky white ring where he thrusted into you and the sound of your slick and moans drove him crazier.

“think your prissy little salaryman can fuck you like this? hm?” he maneuvered your hips like you were a doll and kept his pace.

toji could give two shits about the damn cameras, because all he wanted at this moment was you.

and proving that he isn’t old.

[yoiisa]

Can we get a pt.3 of wbk reacting to you getting beat up by another gang, with Sugishita and Umemiya? Maybe Endo too if you feel like it?

AHHH YES OFC OFC!! I love how this is turning into a little series :)

wbk reacting to you getting beaten up by a rival gang .𖥔 ݁ ˖

w/ SUGISHITA KYOTARO, UMEMIYA HAJIME, AND ENDO YAMATO

Tags: mentions of injuries and blood (nothing to graphic), mentions of fighting/violence, angst, hurt/comfort this is part 3!! part 1 (w/ suo, kiryuu, and kaji) and part 2 (w/ sakura, togame, and uryu) are here!!

SUGISHITA KYOTARO ⋆˙⟡

Sugishita is always draped over you like a blanket and always holding your hand. He purposely orders more food than necessary so that you would never go hungry. He's always lending you his hoodies and jackets if you were out somewhere at night. After all, he would rather freeze to death than let you shiver for even a second.

All that being said, his favorite way to show you he cares is by giving you things. He doesn't give you anything overly expensive or flashy, but small items: smiskis, rings he finds in thrift stores, or tiny ceramic keychains of your favorite foods. You have a whole drawer in your dresser dedicated to the trinkets he gifts you.

One day, he was out with Umemiya and Tsubaki when his eyes zeroed in on a small poster card with artwork from your favorite anime. He froze, causing the older boys to bump into him.

"Sugishita-? Oh," Umemiya grins when he sees what Sugishita is staring at. "You should get it for her."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Tsubaki says, pulling something out of his purse. "I found this bracelet she might like as well. Here, here, take it to her as well."

Sugishita takes Tsubaki's bracelet and nods, before walking over to pick up the poster card. After checking out, he parts with his seniors, heading over to your home. He twirls the bracelet in his hands, watching the charms on the chain catch and reflect the sunlight. A tiny smile graced his face as he imagine holding you hand while it jingled on your wrist.

He gets to your front door and knocks, but he's met with no response. He tries again, but still nothing. She must not be home, he thinks, turning on his heel. However, just as he does, a giant crash sounds from inside your house. Sugishita whips around and starts pounding on your door again, calling out for you.

"[name]? [name]? Are you okay? Are you home?"

The door lock clicks and the door swings open. Sugishita's eyes widen as he takes in your appearance. You have a nasty gash on your forehead and your hands are all scraped. Your ankle is swollen as all hell, he's wondering how you're even upright.

Despite it all though, you still look up at him and with a small smile and a tiny voice you whisper, "Hi, Kyo."

"What the hell happened to you?" he asks, his voice hoarse. He walks inside and instantly picks you up, carrying you to the couch. He lays you down, then rushes into your kitchen, looking for a first aid kit.

"I was walking home," you say sleepily, "and someone . . . jumped me? I was wearing your Furin jacket and they thought maybe I was a student? I don't know. Once they realized they got a girl though they ran away."

"Where?" Sugishita asks, kneeling in front of you and working quick to bandage your hands and head. You shrug and your eyes start to droop but he shakes his head. "Hey. Stay awake. You might be concussed."

You watch him through lidded eyes as he works. When he's done, you grab his hand and lace your fingers. "I came straight home after it happened. I haven't seen a doctor. Can we go?"

He nods and you beam. "Thank you," you say as he moves you onto his back.

UMEMIYA HAJIME ⋆˙⟡

You gotta keep walking, that's all you really know. Every single muscle in your body is screaming at you to just collapse on the floor and get life over with, but no. If you did that now, you'd be done for. You need a doctor. You need a hug.

Pothos can't be too far from here now. If you could just drag your feet another few blocks you'd get there for sure.

Your side from where you got kicked in hurts and your head is pounding, but finally, the sign comes into view. It's refreshing, and gives you the last little bit of energy you need to make it into the cafe.

"I'm sorry, we're closed- [name]?!" Kotoha cries as she looks over the bar counter. "What the hell?"

"Don't tell Hajime," you say as you collapse onto the tiles, the warmth of the cafe completely draining you of any leftover energy you have.

"Don't tell me what?" a voice calls out from around the corner.

"Shit, hide me!" you whisper shout to Kotoha. She's quick to try and shove you under a table, but not fast enough.

Umemiya shows up a second later, his face bright and cheery. He looks ready to hug you, but then he opens his eyes. His face immediately falls.

"Umemiya-" Kotoha starts, holding her arms up to try and calm him.

"Hajime-" You mirror Kotoha.

"What are you doing on the floor?" he asks, his voice hard as steel. His jaw is tense and you stiffen as he approaches. He helps you up and sets you on the cushioned seats in the booths. He turns to Kotoha and says, "Get the first aid kit."

She rushes off and he turns back to you. His blue eyes are icy as he says, "So what was this about not telling me?"

You sigh and lean forward, resting your head on his shoulder. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Not worry?" he asks incredulously. "You look like someone sent you through a meat grinder!"

You whimper and you feel his frame relax a little. He's trying to become softer for you to be more comfortable and you smile. He's sweet . . .

"Kotoha's back," he whispers, reaching up to pet your head. "Lemme bandage them at least."

"In a minute," you whispers.

Kotoha sets the kit on the table next to you and says, "I'll really quickly make you some food. Y'know, to help you get your strength back."

You nod, but then your body erupts in shivers as exhaustion settles in on you. Umemiya's breath catches as tears touch his neck.

You choke out, "Hajime . . . I was so scared."

He furrows his brow and kisses your temple, where a bruise is beginning to form. "It's okay, you're here now. I'm here now."

ENDO YAMATO ⋆˙⟡

"Hey," Endo growls as he stands at the entrance of the alleyway. "What the hell is this?

The four men who were looming over your body freeze as they hear his voice. You have an arm up over your face, but drop it when you hear Endo talking. You turn your head and see him with Chika too. Oh fuck, these guys are screwed.

"What's it to you?" One of the boys ask, trying to feign bravado. "We're just having a little fun with her."

Endo smirks, but it's void of any humor. He takes a few steps forward, quickly eating up whatever distance is between him and your attackers. Without a second thought, he smashes one of their faces into the wall.

"Hmm? What's it to me?" Endo asks, before tightening his grasp in the boy's hair and punching him. "Not much, right? Only- oh wait! That's my girlfriend."

The boy Endo had a grasp on crumples to the floor, and your boyfriend fixes his gaze on the remaining three. "Now," he says. "Let's have some fun right?"

They scatter like bugs, and Endo at first doesn't seem like he'll give chase. He turns to look down at you, and his smile turns from malicious to loving. He pats your head and says, "Wait here, okay? I'll be back in just a sec~"

You watch as he darts off after the trio. Chika walks up to you and you flinch back. The boy is silent as he picks up the knocked out form of your assailant and drags him out of the alleyway. Chika dumps him on the sidewalk before coming back to your side. He slides down the wall next to you and stares at you, assessing your injuries.

"It's not bad," he says. "Didn't get much 'fun' in before we got here."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "if it's a bother."

"Endo's the only one bothered. That's why he's off running after them," Chika explains, before opening a bottle of peach juice. He takes a sip and then holds it out to you. "Want some?"

"No thank you."

He nods.

A few minutes later, Endo's back. He's panting slightly, but he has this glint in his eyes that only ever comes out after a fight. His nose is bleeding and his knuckles are scratched, but aside from that he looks completely fine.

"They can run, the little fucks," he says, wiping his nose.

"D-did they hit you?" you ask shakily.

"Nope," he grins, crouching in front of you. "I was running after them and slipped in some trash and crashed against the wall. But I'm fine, don't worry."

Endo looks over at Chika, then back at you. "You don't want Takiishi's juice?"

You shake your head and he chuckles. "Okay, let's get some food then."

He draps his jacket over your shoulders and pulls you into a hug. You close your eyes and sigh as Endo kisses your shoulder, before pulling the jacket on tighter.

"Come on," he whispers. "There's a good bar not too far from here. I'll carry you."

a/n: idk why these got progressively shorter, but oh well lol

[hanasnx]

anal w fuckboy!clark bc he’s never done it before and you’re sooooo desperate to differentiate yourself from the other girls on his roster you’ll give him anything

ANAL — c.kent

“ i heard from a friend of a friend, that dick was a ten out of ten ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | dc comics. NOTES: fuckboy!clark nsfw twitter porn link video reference, must be logged in to twitter with age to see it. disclaimer; fuckboy!clark is my au, do not use it without explicit permission. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ au; fuckboy!clark ノ established relationship; fwbs ノ mention of reader having hair ノ allusions to unprotected sex ノ explicit sexual content ノ anal (f receiving) ノ anal virginity.

It’s a dangerous slope, you know. Having a little thing on the side with FUCKBOY!CLARK KENT was bound to end in flames. You’re not entirely sure how it happened, one day you knew him as your classmate, and then you were hitting each other up in the AM to come over for a quick one. There’s a sort of effortless charm about him, he acts strangely gentlemanly in a way a modern man can. Unfortunately you know you’ve hit rock bottom in standards because you think it’s sweet when he buys your Plan B, or stays a little longer than he needs to watch something with you until he’s gotta head home. It’s almost friendship, in a way.

The worst part is, you’re catching feelings way too quick. Sure you were attracted to him initially, but now your heart actually skips a beat when he says your name. You wait by your phone trying to catch a text from him to see what you’re up to. It’s pathetic, you think, brushing your hair back over your forehead. You’re not even the only girl he’s seeing right now, and you told him he’s not the only guy on your roster… yet you dive for your cell as soon as you hear it ring.

“You mean it?” Clark reaffirms, smoothing a hand over the cheek of your ass you’re presenting to him. Back at his place yet again, you’re in a familiar position, yet you’re offering up something new. His parted lips in quiet awe enclose so as drag his bottom one through his teeth, tilting his head at how you glisten in the dull light, pretty pussy all open while you await his answer. It’s like you’re getting wet just talking about this. “You’ll let me fuck your ass?” It’s such a crude way of saying it, and it makes you surge forward with the pillow still hooked under your hips. Thick fingers slot in between the fat of your pelvis and thighs, adjusting you right back where he wants you.

“Are you gonna do it or are you just gonna stare?” you challenge, resting the side of your face on his mattress so you can look back at him. From your peripheral, you can see his meaty dick fill out to full attention until the base is grasped by his hand. He gives it a couple of healthy jacks. You’ve been prepping for this, you did a bunch of boring research and you stuck stuff up yourself to loosen the virgin muscle. Just because your little asshole hasn’t been fucked before, doesn’t mean you can’t make it as comfortable as possible for yourself.

He doesn’t waste any more time, bringing the flat of his fingers up to his mouth so he can spit. A fat gob of it drips down, and he gently brings it to your puckered hole, massaging the natural lube in. His callused thumb swipes up and down until it visibly relaxes, when he gets cheeky the tip of it dips in. If you could see his face right now, you’d see stars in his eyes and a slack jaw. You lean into his touch, stowing your nervousness and crossing your arms under your head. The cold air hits the moistened tissue, and you hiss. It’s nothing compared to the clumsy bump of his mushroom-shaped head, the velvety skin coming into contact. You suck in a breath just as he exhales a throaty groan, shoving the whole tip in in his enthusiasm. “Oh, fuck…” he drags out the curse, tipping his head back as his hips lazily chase the feeling. You whimper in turn, but there’s a pleasurable sting in your belly coursing through you from his reaction that acts as more than enough payment for your sacrifice. “For me, baby? This all for me?” he asks, and you nod even if he can’t see it.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum back, clutching tighter onto his sheets as more and more of him is introduced to the new hole.

Once again he bites down on his lower lip hard, inclining his great body to the side to lean on his fist, the mattress dipping with his weight. His other hand palms your tailbone, pushing you down onto his dick as he surges, forcing himself into your little asshole. It hurts, but it’s a different pain than the ache of your neglected pussy. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to relax into the experience while he presses on. “You’re so- fucking- tight.” reverently, he sings your praises. His pre mixed with his spit helps to lube up the entry, but because it’s an entirely different feeling than what you’re used to, you’re not sure what change could help it feel better. It’s not bad, it’s just hard to wrap your head around. It’s probably because it’s your first time. “This your first?” He read your mind.

Once again, you can’t speak, so you nod and hum in confirmation. A grin breaks out onto his face, eyeing you with a dark hooded gaze as he laughs a little breathlessly… the kind that makes your knees go weak. “Yeah? Givin’ me your anal virginity? You want me or sum’n?” he taunts. At the sound of his assumption, he bottoms out, and all the air is pushed from your lungs in a keen. It’s a soreness in your stomach you can’t explain, but you don’t want him to stop.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[malereadermaniac]

(;¬_¬) "Maniac" - Bryce Callahan x Male Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Plot: Bryce will proudly say he dated you "for laughs" and call you a "psycho", a "stalker", or a "maniac". But it's the ginger who shows up at your door drunk and spam texts you; not the other way around...

Note: Inspired by Conan Gray's 'Maniac' AND 'Wish You Were Sober' ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ Also sorry if he's ooc - game isn't out yet and I haven't played the demo!

Warnings: m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI Some nsfw mentions but no smut!

You and Bryce started out as friends. All in all, he was pretty chill with you being gay, but he still had his homophobic tendencies and would always make comments. You put up with it, though. You could see through the wrestler's act; you knew that deep down he was having some sort of internal conflict and displacing it onto you.

Your friendship got to the point where Bryce would invite you out to parties. It wasn't that you weren't ever invited before; you just never really had a reason or a desire to hang around a bunch of your drunk classmates in a dirty frat house. You were quite content chilling with your small group of friends. But nonetheless, now that Bryce was inviting you, you were given a reason to go. Could be fun... Right?

Slowly but surely, over a couple months' worth of frat parties, you noticed a pattern in Bryce's behaviour. Your theories and guesses of what made the ginger so insecure and homophobic were answered. The night would always start with Bryce picking you up in his car and pulling up to the function. Sure, near the start of each night, the two of you would hang out, but it took very little to separate the two of you; you would mingle with whoever came up to you, and as soon as Bryce had a drink in hand, he would try to get with girls. Of course, you noticed this. And yeah, it irked you a little, but you didn't really have the right to get annoyed or angry with Bryce; it's not like he was your boyfriend. Bryce, on the other hand, usually didn't even wanna get with whatever girl he was flirting with that night. The insecure man would never admit that he never really felt some sort of spark or even attraction, but he felt obligated to flirt and get 'bitches'.

'trade drinks, but you don't even know her'

The next thing that you were certain would happen is Bryce getting absolutely plastered. For him, that is. You could tell from your first look at the massive hunk that he could handle his drink. So, though the amount Bryce drinks at every party would be enough to put someone into a coma, it just gets the wrestler to a comfortable drunk. Words slurring and knees buckling. You can always tell when Bryce is drunk, and you always notice it. He gets nicer, more honest, and he starts to lose that 'alpha-male' act he always puts on.

'knees weak but you talk pretty fly, wow'

Then, without a doubt, once Bryce spots you in his drunken state, he's all over you. He's slurring every couple of words, he's complimenting you a lot, and he always gets way too close for comfort. You always end up in the corner of some busy room, music quietly playing amongst other people's chatter, as Bryce keeps sipping on his beer and talking to you as if he's trying to chat you up. "Bryce... I think you've drunk a bit too much haha..." You always try to laugh it off. The first few times he did this, you gave Bryce the benefit of the doubt. You assumed he was too drunk to even know it was you, or that he was just being a dick n joking around. But the more he did this, the more he slurred your name specifically, the more he drunkenly mumbled about how shitty he feels and how he feels fake, you realised that wasn't the case. Over time, Bryce would get more confident; his attempts at wooing girls would get shorter and shorter, he'd get drunk quicker and quicker, and he'd flirt with you for bigger chunks of the night. His confidence could also be seen in the moments he shared with you; he'd start to try kissing you (successfully most of the time), and you could swear that one time he was stone-cold sober and just acted drunk so that he could remember everything the next morning. You felt bad, though, like you were taking advantage of the ginger, or even that he was taking advantage of your kind-hearted nature and the way you'd bend to his will whenever you pitied him or took care of him.

'Don't take a hit, don't kiss my lips, and please don't drink more beer'

After most people had cleared out, you would have to peel Bryce off of you and take him to his car to sober up a little. As more parties passed, you noticed that Bryce would drink more and more. You didn't know why he was doing this, and Bryce didn't either, at least consciously; subconsciously, he was drinking more to be drunk for longer, so that he could have an excuse to spend time with you and be himself. But this meant that you would have to deal with a very drunk Bryce; it also didn't help that you were also quite drunk by the end of the night. What would start as lying down in the backseat and drinking water to sober up would always, without a doubt, quickly turn into making out in Bryce's car. He was always the one to initiate it; overpowering you and lying you down beneath him in the backseat, though you never really fought against it. And though you enjoyed every second of it, enjoyed what felt like an answer to the unspoken chemistry between you and Bryce, enjoyed what felt like genuine flirtations and romance, you couldn't help but wish that Bryce was sober during all of this. You could feel that Bryce was letting the mask of his douche personality slip whenever he was drunk, but you knew that he would never do this when sober; he'd never fully take the mask off.

'Save me 'til the part is over, kiss me in the seat of your Rover - real sweet, but I wish you were sober...'

Eventually, after at least an hour of making out and even going a little further, you would pull Bryce off of you and emphasise that you two had to get going. Obviously, the man couldn't drive in his state, so it was always up to you to walk Bryce home. And it was no easy feat. You'd trip and stumble down the road, Bryce's massive arm swung 'round your shoulder as you practically lugged the hunk down the street. Once you'd get to his place, like clockwork, Bryce would always kiss you again, pulling you in close and begging you to stay over. You always felt that it was too late in the night for Bryce to still be drunk enough to be saying stuff like that, but you never questioned him about it.

'trip down the road, walking you home, you kiss me at your door. Pulling me close, beg me "stay over"'

Yet by the next morning, Bryce is always back to how he was before. Acting as if he hadn't flirted with you for hours and let little things about himself slip. Acting as if you two hadn't shared your most intimate selves with each other. Acting as if he doesn't live for and crave your touch. It was a constant loop. And you were getting bored of it. Though, bored's not exactly the right word. Maybe you were tired of it? Exhausted even? Sad? It doesn't really matter. You were done.

'But I'm over this rollercoaster. Honestly, you always let me down. And I know we're not just "Hanging out"'

You stopped putting up with Bryce's shit. Originally, you tried talking to him; you went 'round his place and confronted him about his very polarising behaviour. Bryce, of course, got defensive very quick. He started out by trying to play off his advances and the intimate moments between the two of you as friendly gestures. But when you wouldn't have it, he started shouting and accusing you of being weird. He, of course, threw out a couple of homophobic comments. He called you gross. The man even told you to 'fuck off, don't wanna see your face, scared I'll catch fag-atitis or something'. That really did it for you. You could handle Bryce's obvious displacement and refusal to confront his own emotions and sexuality, but outright insulting you? Oh yeah, that ginger can fuck off.

So, you put some distance between you and Bryce. Well, more like a lot of distance. You stopped texting him back. You stopped talking to him and seeing him in person. And you stopped going to parties with him; you didn't stop going altogether, you just made a point of not going with him or talking to him throughout the night. As you'd expect, Bryce didn't like this. Though they were buried deep, deep down, the wrestler most certainly had some strong feelings for you. But instead of working through his own shit, Bryce of course kept displacing his turmoil and anger at himself, towards you.

The pattern you had noticed and become accustomed to with Bryce had slightly changed. He'd still try to get with girls at the start of the night, but as he drank, instead of going over to you and flirting with you, he starts shit-talking you to all of his guys. He calls you 'crazy', 'some gay guy [he] was nice to and then [you] fell for him', calls you a 'stalker' that he always catches staring at him and says he 'wants you dead' for that.

'You were with your friends, partyin', when the alcohol kicked in. Said you wanted me dead.'

But for all the smack that Bryce would talk to his friends about you, calling you 'desperate' and many other things, you weren't the one yearningly and achingly trying to get back with him. You weren't the one spam texting, you weren't the one drunk-calling, you weren't the one showing up with roses at Bryce's front door. He was. He was doin' all that to you.

When sober, Bryce would go through moments of spam-texting you under the guise of being stressed that you'd 'expose' him for being gay; though in reality, he just needed you to talk to him, to stop ignoring him, to stop treating him like he was nothing. If it were late at night, the texts would get a lot less agitated and a lot more pathetic; mainly single-word texts of 'sorry' that would be deleted by the morning, or if he got real desperate, Bryce would literally beg you to respond. Again, when drunk, Bryce would constantly shit on you around his friends. But once the party's over? He's at your front door, holding a single rose. It's too late to slam the door on the wrestler; his foot already in the door. You listen to his drunken words, apologies, excuses; really, he's just digging his own grave deeper and deeper.

'But you show up at my home, all alone, with a shovel and a rose. Do you think I'm a joke?'

Whilst you do listen to him, you never actually care for Bryce's desperation. He was drunk when he would tell you he loved you, and would take it back the next morning. What's stopping him from doing the same now? You were also well aware of the amount of shit he was chatting on your name, and that didn't really help his case. After every drunken apology and profession of love, you would send Bryce on his way. It hurt you just seeing him around. Having to hear all this? It was killing you. So you would always just tell him to fuck off back to his friends and to keep up his 'alpha-male' shit. It was the truth, after all.

'cause people like you always want back what they can't have. But I'm past that, and you know that, so you should turn back to your rat-pack, tell 'em I'm trash.'

So he does go back to his friends. And the cycle continues. Bryce keeps calling you 'crazy', says that you 'drive [him] mad', calls you a 'psychopathic watcher ', and says that he 'fucked with you just for laughs'. The polar opposite of what he was saying to you the night before. And the polar opposite of what he'll be telling you later that very night, and the night after that.

'Tell all of your friends that I'm crazy and drive you mad. That I'm such a stalker, a watcher, a psychopath. And tell them you hate me and dated me just for laughs.'

'So why do you call me and tell me you want me back? You maniac.'

This wretched cycle went on for a while. But it came to a very abrupt stop when you got a call late one night. The sound of your ringer and the light of your phone screen woke you up. You saw the caller ID and sighed, but you answered anyway; you had already woken up, and Bryce never called this late; he at least had some sense.

He'd wrecked his car. Crashed it into a tree. He sounded really panicked, hyperventilating and sounding like he'd been crying. Bryce discombobulatingly explained that he didn't know who to call, and that he's sorry if he woke you up, and that he gets it if you don't wanna help him, etcetera, etcetera... You felt bad for him; you couldn't deny that. So, against your better judgment, you drove over and picked him up.

You took Bryce home and thought that would be it. Oh, how wrong you were. The ginger begged you to come in, arguing that he was still shaken up; and though you knew you shouldn't, his strong grip on your wrist and the way he looked with desperate eyes into your, it convinced you. You wiped the tears off of Bryce's face and calmly rubbed your thumbs across his pudgy cheeks. You brewed the man a tea and stroked his auburn hair. It was domestic. It was sweet. It didn't last very long.

'You just went too far, wrecked your car, called me cryin' in the dark - now you're breakin' my heart. So I show up at your place right away, wipe the tears off your face; while you beg me to stay'

The sweet moment slowly escalated into an argument. One in which Bryce was calling you 'crazy and dramatic', arguing that you're reading too deep into things.

'psychopathic, don't be so dramatic'

But you argued back. Like usual; you weren't one to take Bryce's shit.

"I thought we had something, Bryce. You told me that it was nothing, and I STUCK BY THAT! I left you the fuck alone. Like you asked! You're the one whose gone fucking manic now. You're the one who keeps coming back!"

That struck a cord. Mostly 'cause it was true, and Bryce really didn't... no, he couldn't hear it right now.

"Oh just fuck off, (name). I'm so done with your gay shit." Bryce mumbled.

You couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Fine. I'll do as you ask. Again. You need to deal with all that internalised homophobia, Bryce. No one gives a shit if you're gay. It's not the fucking 80s!" You get another jab in before you slam the door shut and head back to your place.

Damn. Why did you always say exactly what Bryce couldn't bear hearing, like you could see right through him?

'We had magic, but you made it tragic. Now you're manic, honestly, I've had it.' 'Listen to yourself, think you need to get some help'

And that was it for a while. Like before, you kept your distance, but this time, Bryce also kept his distance. You were honestly shocked. You expected him to at least go back to his desperate self when he got drunk, but no dice. Radio Silence. And you hated it.

Did that make you toxic? Maybe. You didn't exactly care. You hated that Bryce wasn't spam-texting you. You hated that he wasn't desperately trying to get your attention again. But at the same time, you had to be glad; at least this way, he wouldn't use you like some sort of experiment and then pretend like nothing happened the next day.

But after another month or so, a knock at your door grabbed your attention as you were getting ready for bed. The thought of it being Bryce flashed through your head as you unlocked the door. Why were you hoping it was that dickhead? You rolled your eyes at yourself as you swung the door open, but then ate your words when your wide eyes locked with Bryce's sad ones.

"............ugh" You broke the silence with a scoff. "Lemme guess: you're drunk, you hate me, oh but wait you wanna kiss me, oh wait you're not gay. Did I get it right? Can we just skip all that?" It was snarky. Sure. But by this point, Bryce's behaviour pattern was ingrained into your brain.

"I'm totally sober... Please. I wanna talk." Bryce's eyes remained sad and tired.

The sincerity in his voice was jarring. He wasn't slurring. He was looking you in the eyes. It felt totally different to the song and dance you were used to. So you let him in. You let Bryce talk. And holy shit were you left speechless. It was like a completely different person had taken Bryce's body over. He'd grown, or more like he'd self-reflect, so much in the time you two hadn't spoken.

Bryce explained himself. He didn't make any excuses; in fact, he told you that he didn't want to make excuses for himself and that he didn't deserve your benefit of the doubt. He told you how he felt a pressure to conform, to be what his parents and friends and everyone in general expected him to be. He apologised a lot, and told you many times that you didn't desrve all the shit he put you through and how much he regrets playing with your feelings. But what shocked you most was that at the end of Bryce's mini-speech, he came out to you. Sure, it was reluctant. And it was the way he said it with an upwards inflexion near the end that made it sound like a question, as if Bryce was still unsure. But it was still a massive step forward.

This little chat lasted most of the night. Bryce talked a lot, and then listened a lot when you said your part. But all in all, it was definitely productive; Bryce had fully put down the mask and just spoke to you without any sort of act; it was refreshing. It was 4am by the time the ginger left your place. You allowed him a hug before he left, one hug which lasted at least two whole minutes and was incredibly tight. Seriously, you felt like you were being suffocated... in a good way. The way Bryce's massive, muscular body wrapped around you, you felt cozy, safe. You told him that you couldn't move past all his shitty behaviour just because of one apology, and he completely understood; told you that no matter how desperate he was to make things right, he didn't wanna rush you at all. And honestly? That made your heart pitter-patter just a little faster.

[darthannie]

By Way of Louisiana

Remmick x f!OC (mixed oc!!!!!)

word count: 4,019 tags & warnings: (JUST IN CASE) (JUST IN FUCKING CASE) DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Dark fic!!!, mention of a dead loved one, grief, discussion of pregnancy/infertility, mention of infidelity, dubcon due to extenuating circumstances, inappropriate use of a cemetery, blood, lots of blood, choking, spit, p in v sex, death, but also living eternally a/n (plz read if you can xoxo): I really (x3) wanted to practice writing in first person instead of second person so this is a product of that want. I don't know if this is going to have a second part. I kind of like it as a stand alone, but I do have a half written part 2 that's banter and smut written in Remmick's pov. This was VERY fun to write. I would LOVE to explore his character more. Also, my blog is a space is where I go to explore the parts of me I can't explore in real life. And, that includes a hot southern/irish vampire with very sharp teeth, glowing eyes, and razor like nails. Sorry! Sue me!! Send me to the rack!!! Don't care, argue with the wall. Morally corrupt vampire I need you apologies to the ancestors.

The rich, black fabric that hung on my body felt exceptionally heavy. I entered my quiet home and laid back against the wooden door. My shakey breath rang through the room as the tears welled up and up and up, before finally spilling over, blurring the reminance of my late husband that was strewn around. His favorite hat hung by the door along with the coat he wore when it got too cool at night. I dragged my feet to my bedroom. His handkerchief laid on his bedside table along with a book he never got to finish reading. 

This new life I had to undertake was not one I was ready for; one did not prepare for widowship as they prepared for motherhood. Me and Charlie wanted to start trying for a baby. We had no luck, but perhaps that was for the best. Maybe it was why he started becoming distant. I did not want to bring life into this world alone. I wanted to do it with Charlie. We had met years ago when he had just started practicing law at Louisiana’s top law film, making more money than my family had ever seen. Charlie gave me everything. The home I sat in, the food in the kitchen, the clothes on my body. It was all because of him. My closet was full of pieces he bought, insisting I looked the best in clothing he bought me. “Come on, what’s one more dress for my pretty girl?” He’d seal the sentiment with a kiss. Oh, how I’d miss his kisses. His lips felt like they were made for me. 

Sitting on his side of the bed felt wrong. I grabbed the hankerchief off the bedside and fiddled with it in my hands, snaking it between my fingers. I chuckled as I dried my tears with it, remembering a silly moment where he’d spilled a glass of milk on himself one morning because the glass was too slippery. I laughed again, remembering how we danced on our wedding night. Our limbs moved in dissonance with each other as we danced. There were moments, beautiful moments, where our movements finally matched. A humourless chuckle followed as I remembered his lips on my body later that night when we were finally alone.

My only wish was that he not treat me like glass, but he did. He always did. Whenever we had sex, the sole purpose was to have a child. Tender, yes, but boring all the same. I wanted him to bring me to the same conlusion I always brought myself to, but he thought it better to focus on brining an heir into the world. Part of me resented him for it. The rest of me wanted to peel my skin off in shame for ever questioning his treatment of me, especially when he had given me everything. 

I looked down at my black dress, grappling with the impulse to take it off and pretend like this was not happening. I didn’t like this lonely feeling. This emptiness was familiar, but it wasn’t welcome. I sat frozen, evaluating myself in the mirror that stood in the corner of the room. My face no longer felt hot, my eyes slightly red from their agitation. I sucked in a deep breath and watched as the air filled my body. I felt it fill up my belly, reach around my ribs, and rope it’s way up my back. My exhale helped me send enough signals from my brain to my muscles to start moving again. I walked out the room and paced down the stairs, wrapping my shall around me in the process.

There was no need for anything heavier in this weather. The warmth left over by the setting sun wrapped me up and guided me down the path, helping me haul my legs towards the cemetary where my husband lay. I stood at the closed gates. “Go home,” it said. “You saw him today, no need to torture yourself further,” it continued. But, I could not listen to the closed gates plea. I pushed passed the it, not bothering to close it behind me, and hedged forth. 

I quickly became aware of an oppressive weight that I was not meant bare. The heaft of death followed me everywhere. It would not leave me and time has proven that I could not escape it. I wondered when it would be my turn, when death would finally end up at my doorstep and take me away from this excuse of a life. I held my breath and released it when I could no longer restrict my lamentation. I moved quickly, gaining speed as I careened left and right. My cries and tears unfurled over unexpected raised stones and exposed roots. My shoulders began to lead me. My arms extented out towards his headstone before it was even in reach. I fell into it and wrapped my arms around it, letting gravity take my knees to the ground. 

The stone was cold to the touch, no longer warmed by the afternoon sun. My cries contined as the moon hung itself high. I laid my forehead against the headstone and kissed it. “Please come back to me. Please, for the love of God, come back to me.” No answer. I shut my eyes kissed the stone again. “You said you’d stay. You said you wouldn’t leave me,” I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled with a groan, “and you can’t. You just can’t! I can’t be alone again!” My cries got quieter and quieter until I silenced. The graveyard surrounding me was completely empty. The sky was so wide it seemed like it could swallow me whole. The stars above me didn’t twinkle or dance in the sky. They stood still, observing my grief. I let go of the stone and laid against it, resting my eyes. My shall hung off one shoulder and I didn’t bother to tug it back on. Eyes shut, I sniffed and did all I could think to do. 

I wiped my nose and began singing the words I had sang since I was a kid. 

“Will the circle be unbroken by and by, lord, by and by? Is a better home awaiting in the sky, lord, in the sky?

My eyes flew open wide when a sweet voice and a banjo that were not mine joined in. 

“There are loved ones in the glory Whose dear forms you often miss, When you close your earthly story Will you join them in their bliss?”

My eyes slid up his body and I realized I should be level with him if I wanted to seem any kind of intimidating. I marionetted myself upright before he finished singing. I was unarmed, a silly mistake. I could throw a punch but that was about it. When he finished the verse, he laid the banjo on the ground and held his hands in front of him. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just heard some hootin’ and hollerin’ and saw the cemetery gate was open. Decided to investigate.” I stepped behind the stone, expecting it to offer me protection. The man read the headstone and saw the dates etched into it. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ve lost a lot of people too,” he relaxed his arms next to him. You avoided his question to proceed with your own interrogation, “What are you doing here? It’s late,” I stammered, “and the cemetery is closed.”

“I could ask you the same question.” He chuckled. I was unsettled by his levity, feeling so very dark as I stood behind my dead husband’s tomb. His face was sad when he spoke again, “Sometimes I feel a bit like a ghost myself.” I cocked my head to the side, “Why?” He ignored me. I changed the subject. “When did you learn to play.

He whistled, “Ooo, a while back. I met a man who played and taught myself.” 

“The man didn’t teach you?”

“He didn’t need to.”

“Hm.”

I got a better look of him in the moonlight. His dark eyes caught the light and made them shimmer in an unnatural way. Odd. His hair was short, but laid shaggy on his forehead. The ends at the nape of his neck started to curl upwards. I leaned forward on Charlie’s headstone and hid my face in shame. I thought the man was fine. Not only that, I thought he was damn fine. I felt like a whore, looking at another man before my husband was even cold in his grave. I lifted my head and he offered me a shy smile before he said more, hooking his thumbs on his suspenders and pulling them. “If its any consolation, based on my experience, I know that grief is firm and steady. But, it does get better… I just don’t know when.” I hummed in agreement this time and for the first time all day, I cracked a smile. “I’ll drink to that.” I kicked a rock at my feet, dusted myself, and returned the shaul to it’s rightful shoulder.

“Well, I guess I’ll be leavin’. Thanks for the talk, stranger.” 

“Remmick,” he said closing the gap between the two of us by a few feet, “pleased to make your aquaintance.” He held out his hand and I did the same. He grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles, right over my wedding band. I pulled my hand away and sucked in air through my teeth like I had just burned myself on hot cast iron. “Um-”

“Oh, I’m sorry, darlin’”

“It’s fine. It’s just…”

“Look, I still wear mine. It’s okay.” He held up his hand and pointed at the gold band that laid on his finger. “I know she’s gone and I should move on, but it’s a nice reminder that, at one point, I wasn’t all that alone.” It wasn’t until his thumb wiped the tears on my face that I realized I was crying. “It feels nice knowing you’re wanted. Feels good to know you have someone to go home to.” All I could do was nod. 

“I met a man named Charles recently, but his friends called him Charlie.” He smiled at me, closing the gap further as I met his eyes. “Me and Charlie… we got to know each other. He told me he had a wife back home. That’s you, ain’t it? Yeah, he told me how much he loved her, how beautiful her voice was. Though, I have to say, that didn’t stop him from sampling all that joint had to offer.” I blinked water away and refocused my gaze on Remmick. “He what?”, it came out of me as a whisper. He kept going, “Even after being with a couple different women he still gushed about you. “She doesn’t sing like a songbird.” He said, “She sounds more like a wolf howling in the night.” And, lo and behold, guess who I find howlin’ in the night? Charlie’s wife.”

I could not digest what he was feeding me. There was a lack of acknowledgement on my part. I wanted to ignore everything Remmick said to me, but all I could think of were the reasons Charlie would sleep with other women. Can’t get pregnant, I thought. I can’t get pregnant. He didn’t want me because I couldn’t get pregnant. My skin burned hot at Remmick’s confirmation, “Such a shame you couldn’t have his child.” 

It broke me out of my trace. I leaned back. “Fuck you!” Remmick only chuckled and I found it in me to place both of my hands on his chest to push him away with all the force I could muster. “You come out here, start talkin’ nonsense about my husband. Damn liar, that’s what you are.” My mind was eddying with the information he fed me.I felt sick as I thought of being relegated to housewife with a husband who snuck around because I couldn’t give him a child. I didn’t want it to be true but what good would it be for a man I had just met to lie? Remmick closed the gap and pressed his body the other side of the tombstone again. He got so close to me our noses almost touched. His hand reached up to my face and wiped the tears off my cheeks again. He skated the back of his right hand against my face, stroking me like one would a frail bird. I swatted his hand away before he could speak, scoffing and making my legs move in the direction of the cemetery gates. “Unbelievable son of a bitch,” I muttered. 

Remmick yanked me back forcefully. It took me all of two seconds to notice that his eyes now more resembled red jewels. Then, I saw the drool dripping out the corner of his mouth. “I got to know Charlie very well. Briefly, but I knew him well all the same. His memories became mine. I know you like to sing in the mornings and read in the garden. I know he bought you that shawl you’re wearing at your favorite shop in town. I know that your family was dirt poor and was picked off one by one. Family of consumptives, picked off one by one, but that wasn’t all was it? Your ma and pa were keepin’ a real big secret, keeping you safe, right? No one had to know. But, that dramatic wave in your hair used to be a dead give away.” I gasped and felt something poke my arm.

Remmick’s nails had formed into claws half the size of my pinky. “We don’t have to bear our crosses alone. We could do it together.” He dragged an open hand down my arm until he reached my wrist. He pressed his thumb down on my arm to create a small cut. He lifted my arm, turned his head, and licked the blood that flowed from my wrist. Remmick moaned, “We don’t have to be alone,” as my blood touched the tip of his tongue.

His other clawed hand reached for my waist as he put my arm around his shoulder. I laced my fingers though his hair, half tugging him away. The fear coursing through my nervous system coiled itself with my desire. This was no man. He was something else, and that excited me as much as it disgusted me. I tested my luck by pulling his hair harder, making the distance between us grow. He bared sharp fangs at me and sucked air through his saliva covered teeth. 

I gawked at him, my lips parting open slightly. He regained his composure and strengthened the grip on my waist. His claws broke skin and left nasty cuts where they impailed. I winced, the pain sobering. This was not right. My husband laid directly under us, likely rolling in the casket I buried him in. I tried to imagine him fighting his way though six feet of earth to get to me. Instead, I saw Charlie staying late at the office with his secretary because he could not stand being with me. I saw Charlie getting drunk and kissing a younger woman. I saw him tossin’ some coin at a man and getting keys to a room for him and a woman liked more than me. I could not get a handle on my thoughts. I wanted to deny him. I wanted to run and escape. I heard my voice before I was able to move, “I don’t think you knew him at all. You don’t know what he wanted. You don’t know how he viewed me, and-”

His voice lacerated mine, “I know what you look like when you’re laying down.” I swallowed hard, closing my eyes. “I know that Charlie came home quietly on some occasions so he could watch how you touched yourself. You never caught him lookin’. Or, maybe you did and liked being watched.” I swallowed hard, my heart attempted to break through my ribcage. “I do know for a fact that he loved seeing that little pussy take him in deep…” He dragged the last word as he slowly pulled the shawl off my shoulder. “I know that you have dark desires you’d rather take to the grave because you told him. He never paid it any mind, assuming you’d grow out of it when you got pregnant. But, you never got pregnant. And, you never lost those needs, huh?”

He pressed me flush against him and my grip on his hair loosened. “I know how you like to be touched, licked, and used. I know more about you than you think.” The hand on my waist moved to my head, guiding me to look up at the sky as he licked from my collarbone allllllll the way up to my ear. “But, I still think I could know you more. We could get to know each other. Isn’t that what you want? To know and be known?” I gulped, “Not like that. Not by you.” 

Remmick sighed, “Let’s fix that then.” 

The second his teeth broke my skin, sweet grunts and hums of appreciation reached my ears. “I sure like the taste of you.” I choked as my blood spilled over my chest in gentle streams. He unlatched from my neck in order to indulge in my body. We made eye contact as his hands traveled down my sides, riping my dress in the process. The thin fabric gave easily to the pull of his sharp nails. He slid his hand under my dress and used his nails to lift the edge of my underwear. He wanted to feel the warmth of my skin against his and the a wild look in his eye told me he was holding back. He cautiously ran his tongue over the swell of my chest, tasting the blood mixed with the salt of my skin. I felt his fangs slowly sink through the skin that protected my heart. He let the blood trickle into his mouth. He drank piously, honoring my body as it slumped against him. I struggled to speak, “Remmick, please… St… stop. Fuck. Ple…Please…” 

He guided me onto the ground, onto my husband’s grave, and kneeled in between my legs. It was difficult to feel much fear when Remmick’s movements mimicked care. My eyes shut too long for his liking, prompting him to tap lightly on my cheek. He cooed “Oh, no, no, no, baby, we’re not gonna stop. You don’t want me to stop. And, right now, I need you awake. I need you to remember this.” He pulled me in for a kiss with a bloodied hand. I wanted to fight him. “Find a way out”, I thought. “This is wrong,” I told myself. It was not enough to convince me. I shut my eyes tight and didn’t feel Remmick against my lips. I felt Charlie, or at least the feeling of when I was with Charlie. It felt like Remmick’s lips were made just for me. He nipped at my bottom lip when he pulled away. The taste of copper was strong on my tongue. I licked the new wound on my lip and reached for Remmick’s suspenders. Sloppy, but determined, I moved the straps off his shoulders and fiddled with his belt buckle. I pulled his pants down and shimmied my dress up, laying back. I needed him to indulge in all my urges. I needed him to take me the way I’ve always wanted to be taken, and I think he could tell. 

Remmick’s body alined with mine as I led him into me. I felt everything. I gripped onto his shirt and he pulled out slowly and entered me again. “I have been waiting for someone like you for a while.” I reveled in the way he stretched me. It was difficult to keep my moans in. He was bigger than Charlie was, and I’d only ever been with Charlie. My sounds were as involuntary as my arms were when they wrapped around Remmick’s shoulders. “Open your mouth.” I did as I was told and dropped my jaw. Remmick let his saliva drip into my mouth, savoring the taste of it mixed with my blood. My head leaned back as his hand ran across my neck and down inbetween my clothed breasts.

He grunted as he handled my body and our movements ended with me on top of him. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I don’t expect you to ride me. Just let me do all the work.” My arms settled on the sides of his body as I laid against him. He cradled me against his chest as I grabbed the sides of his shirt. The absense of his heartbeat registered when I felt mine slow. The arms wrapped around me tightened. He bucked his hips up repeatedly. Over and over again, he hit the right spot inside of me. I was a mumbling mess. “Remmick, I- Plea- Fuck!” The sentence was never a fully formed thought, just an acknowledgment of him and what he was doing to me. He put his forehead against mine as he barrled up into me. He pressed his lips against mine as he consecrated my body. His cock hit every right spot, making me gasp and whine each time he sunk inside me. 

“Look at me,” he begged. His eyes were still red, but softer. No soul in them, but a tenderness still lived there. “We will be beautiful together. I swear it,” his hips moved quicker as his forehead pressed to mine, “We’ll be unstoppable, darlin’, you and I. Okay? You and I. Forever.” My whines continued and I could not quell them. “Forever?” It came out like a plea. I wanted him to promise that forever. I was tired of the temporary nature of every person in my life. For once, I wanted the promise of forever. Remmick grined at me and I smiled back. He was giving me the chance to never be alone. I would always have someone in my corner. I’d finally escape the life I lead, and for that, I would do anything. 

I had heard stories and suspersitions about creatures like him. I should be terrified. I should want to fight back, get away from his grasp and make it til sunrise. I ignored the more sane thoughts by kissing him again. My moans and his grunts formed a symphony that bouncing off nearby headstones, filling out the night sky. My hips tried to meet him half way, but his pace was so solid, and I was so weak, there was no point in me even trying. I began feeling the pressure build up in me. “We’ll never be alone again,” his voice was heavy and sincere. My stuttered moans came to a stop as my orgasm ravanged my body. I grabbed Remmick’s sides as he helped me continue to ride out my orgasm.

His moans and grunts became frantic until he slowed and kissed my lips. He shuttered as his cock twitched and he emptied inside of me. After a moment, his hips moved again, slowly, as he enjoyed the gentleness of my whimpers and the sensitivity of our bodies together. Once our movements and convulsions stopped, he pulled out. We laid still for a while, I was too weak to do much else. He caressed my body and smoothed his hand over my head. He sat up with me still in his arms.

“It won’t hurt too bad. I don’t bite too hard,” he vowed. I nodded. His divine intervention may save me yet. “Now. Please. I’m tired and I-” I gasped as I felt his teeth bite down harder than before. So much for not biting hard. He was relentless. I heard the slurping and drinking as I felt the blood drain from my body. The hands that gripped onto him went limp and my arms fell to my side. I felt cold and empty.

And then, I felt nothing at all.

[brunettemarionette]

Hi! I was wondering if you had the time to do a request; SOA’s reaction to their s/o wearing a dress or wearing something revealing?

Thank you! Love your blog!!

Thank you! I'm glad you like my work :)

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

☾‧₊˚ ⋅ ― female reader. no description of features. no mentions of size, race or age.

🇲​​🇦​​🇮​​🇳​ ​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ | ​🇸​​🇴​​🇦​ ​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ | ​🇳​​🇦​​🇻​​🇮​​🇬​​🇦​​🇹​​🇮​​🇴​​🇳

𝗝𝗮𝘅 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

The clubhouse is buzzing, but when you walk in wearing that tight black dress, the world slows down for Jax. His piercing blue eyes lock onto you, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leans back in his chair, cigarette dangling between his fingers. “Darlin’, you tryin’ to start a riot in here?” he drawls, voice low and smoky. He stands, sauntering over, his hand finding your hip, fingers grazing the fabric like he’s already imagining it on the floor. “You look good enough to make me wanna ditch this meeting and take you out back. Don’t tempt me too much, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

𝗢𝗽𝗶𝗲 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

You step into the garage in a flowy sundress that hugs your curves just right, and Opie’s wrench clatters to the ground. His dark eyes widen slightly, taking you in as he wipes grease off his hands. “Jesus, babe,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you wearin’ that just to mess with me?” He closes the distance, towering over you, his large hands settling on your waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin where the dress dips low. “Gotta be careful lookin’ like that around here. Might have to keep you close so no one else gets any ideas.” His lips brush your ear, promising trouble if you keep teasing him.

𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

You walk into the clubhouse in a red dress that’s all legs and plunging neckline, and Happy’s dark gaze snaps to you like a predator spotting prey. He’s leaning against the wall, toothpick in his mouth, but it stills as he takes you in. “Fuck, girl,” he growls, low and dangerous, pushing off the wall to stalk toward you. His hands find your hips, pulling you close, his breath hot against your neck. “You wearin’ that for me or to make me lose my damn mind?” His fingers dig in, possessive, and you know he’s already thinking about dragging you somewhere private to show you just how much he approves.

𝗝𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗲 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

You saunter into the clubhouse in a short, sparkly dress, and Juice nearly chokes on his beer. His wide eyes scan you, a grin spreading across his face as he sets the bottle down. “Yo, babe, you can’t just—damn,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flustered. He steps closer, his hands hovering like he’s not sure where to touch first. “You look… unreal. Like, I’m gonna have to fight half these guys to keep ‘em off you.” His fingers finally settle on your bare shoulders, sliding down your arms, his gaze hungry. “How ‘bout we find somewhere quiet so I can appreciate this properly?”

𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗯𝘀 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

You slip into the bar in a sleek, backless dress, and Chibs’ whiskey glass pauses halfway to his lips. His dark eyes rake over you, a slow, appreciative smile curling under his scars. “Lass, yer playin’ with fire,” he says, voice thick with his Scottish burr as he sets the glass down and beckons you closer. His hand slides down your spine, resting just above where the dress cuts low, his touch warm and deliberate. “Lookin’ like that, ye might not make it out of here in one piece. Lucky for you, I’m good at keepin’ what’s mine safe.” His lips brush your temple, teasingly close to a promise.

𝗧𝗶𝗴 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

You strut into the clubhouse in a leather mini-dress that clings to every curve, and Tig’s head whips around so fast you swear he gets whiplash. His blue eyes gleam with something wild as he lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit, doll,” he purrs, already on his feet, circling you like you’re his next meal. His fingers trail along the hem, teasing the bare skin of your thigh. “You wore this to drive me insane, didn’t you? ‘Cause it’s workin’.” He pulls you against him, his lips grazing your neck as he murmurs, “Let’s see how long you keep this on before I’m tearing it off.”

[callme-naomi]

Loving You is My Cup of Tea

"I told you we'd find her here!"

Your attention was broken from your book as Nobara plopped onto the bed, followed by Maki's graceful sitting. You eased yourself into a sitting position, expectantly looking at the other two for an explanation of their arrival.

"Keeping secrets from us now, are you?" Nobara began, a look of hurt on her face, and you were fairly surprised.

"What's this about?"

"We found out you're... a 'thing' with my nephew," Maki rolled her eyes, and she found her answer by you immediately turning away your face.

"How'd you know?"

"I have my sources," Nobara tossed her hair, and you immediately knew who it was. Panda, I swear to god- "So why'd you hide it from us?"

"It was because-"

"I thought you had a better taste," Maki wrinkled her nose, and you pointed to her.

"That's why."

"But she has a valid point," Nobara put her chin on her hand. "What'd you see in Fushiguro?"

"How many points do I have to include in my answer?" you smiled innocently, and the two groaned.

"What made you like him anyway?" Nobara pressed. "Come on, i need to know how high to raise my standards."

"A cup of tea."

Silence prevailed. "A...cup of tea?" Maki finally managed. "And I thought Mai was the stupidest person I've met."

"Well yes."

"You sure you're not confusing Itadori for Fushiguro?"

"Whose dorm did you find me in?" You raised your eyebrows. "And I'm sure Fushiguro has spiky black hair and green eyes."

"Anyways, tell us about that cup of tea."

"Well, you remember that one mission where we two went together? When we came home, Gojo-sensei called us to his room for a report, and then he asked for cups of tea. Tsumiki brought the tray but her foot got caught in the carpet, and she nearly tripped. Her hand lost balance, and the one cup tipped in my direction."

You enjoyed the look of interest on their faces.

"But before that cup could even touch me, he extended his hands and while he caught the cup, he also got burned in the process." You slightly winced at the memory of your gasp as you saw blisters forming on his hand while he brushed it away, telling everyone not to worry.

"He told me not to mind, and he's fine, but I will not forget that he let himself burn by a scalding cup of tea to protect me." It was your turn to smile now. "How many people do you know that will let hot tea fall on their hands to protect you?"

Right on cue, you saw him enter the room with a cup of tea for you, slightly stopping at the door seeing the two intruders. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh nothing, just here to talk to your girlfriend," Nobara dusted her skirt and stood.

"She's not my-"

"Oh of course, you caught the tea for her but she's just a friend." Maki patted his shoulder. "Accept it, Fushiguro. Not everyone saves a friend from accidents."

"Because not everyone is Megumi Fushiguro," you smiled at him, after Maki left, who looked at you with all the adoration of the world.

Hi! Thought I'd mention this, but in here I imagined Tsumiki would sometimes visit the school, so on that day she happened to be there and she offered to make the tea. However poor girl tripped and then-

[cositanuestra]

ℐ 𝓅𝓇ℴ𝓂𝒾𝓈ℯ ໒꒱༝༚༝༚

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 SYNOPSIS. thomas, who you’ve been separated from when WCKD takes you all in, hes extremely worried and paranoid about the establishment, but most of all of your well being, being reunited with him while actively escaping from frightening wckd guards and being thrown into a deserted scorch wasn’t your desired reunion, but you were satisfied knowing thomas wouldn’t let a thing happen to a little hair on your head.

THIS INCLUDES! no established relationship between y/n and thomas, slight angst if you blink, comfort, and is implied to be on the smaller/more submissive(ew) side. Thomas’s raging hero complex, thomas being the og jeff buckley and yearning like crazy, no mention of teresa, reader is not a replacement of teresa, thomas just being the hero he is and being protective of reader, subtle use of y/n and petnames

𝜗𝜚𝜗𝜚

Thomas didn’t know what to think when he first came up in that box. He had no recollection of his childhood, who he was, his favorite things, where he was from; hell, he didn’t even know his own name. From the moment Thomas layed his eyes on you he knew that he would never forget the sight of your face, bandaging up gladers and looking out for Chuck. there was no mistake about how he felt for you, of course, thomas wasn’t the only who had the [y/n] experience, being the only girl in the glade, a beautiful girl at that, it was no strange feeling. All the gladers loved you, wether that be platonic or romantic, a close friendship to newt and gally, a big sister to chuck and caring to any person who came to you about anything, you were the glade’s sweetheart, safe to say.

thomas knew from the very beginning he would go to the end of the world to make sure you were okay, never wanting to see that toothy smile wiped off your face, breathy giggles and sparkling eyes that were utterly contagious and made thomas’s clothes tighten. As selfish as it was, thomas wanted that sparkle to be all for him, nothing more did he want to hold you and hide you away from everyone where he could have you all to himself and not share a single glimmer of your heart with anyone else. But obviously, he wouldn’t do anything to dim that light that you so wildly radiated.

“Thomas?” He recalled, his name coming out of your mouth like honey, sounding perfectly sipping out of your lips. “How can you be so sure of this? When we have everything we need here in the glade..?” You asked, doe eyed and staring up at the boy when convincing everyone that they needed to escape, and he and minho were finding a way out of the maze. Thomas put his hands on your shoulders, your eyebrows knitted together. “I promise you that whatever’s out there, it’ll be better than staying here. We need to find the people who trapped us here, and without the monthly supplies staying in the glade won’t be safe, I promise that you wont get hurt out there, I won’t let it happen.” Of course it didn’t take much convincing, you’d go anywhere the honey eyed boy would tell you to go. the slight upturn of your lips leaving a satisfied grin on Thomas’s face. “okay, if you say so.”

the moment minho sent that spear through gally, thomas watched how your heart dropped. Of course you knew gally was being unreasonable, the group was being held at at gun point, a victim to his irrationality. But you, being the only girl in the glade, were close to gally and although you and him clashed, you all cared about one another. You didn’t see some deranged, anxious boy holding you at gunpoint, you saw gally, the cocky and annoying leader who you couldn’t help but understand that he just wanted the best for everyone. He knew from that moment he would never want to see that look on your face again, even worse when chuck had taken that bullet; your baby boy who you had always looked after. A rude awakening to the group when jansen’s guards grabbed you from thomas’s embrace, grabbing your hair and arms. “thomas!” You screamed, hot tears staining your cheeks, not wanting to be seperated from the only people you had left in your life. “[y/n]!” he screamed, his hand still in yours , his palm a bright red color from the pressure of holding on to your own hand, his slightly overgrown nails scratching your fingers accidentally, he was ripped from you, watching you get handled by anonymous guards, as he, and the rest of the group went the other way.

that was the last time he had seen you, and since then, his mind hadn’t left that scene. While newt, minho, winston and frypan were trying to enjoy the hot showers, daily food and fresh beds, Thomas’s mind ran wild thinking about you. What were they doing to you, were you in a separate girls facility? were you being kept confined in a room, all by yourself, locked away? Were you even alive? thomas was growing more paranoid by the second, not being able to enjoy the new facility. He had the feeling that this place was off, nothing about it felt safe, like a hologram meant to allude everyone that it was all okay. Surely enough, with the help of Aris, of course his intuition was correct; all of this was a trap. The people who got chosen to leave, they weren’t leaving to paradise, they were being drained, the soul being sucked out of them. Thomas’s heart skipped a beat once he saw those people hooked up to machines, thankfully, you weren’t one of them, but if that’s not the case, then where were you?

thomas ran through the halls with the group, screaming and adrenaline high, fighting off wckd guards, gun in hand shooting guards left and right. He banged on each door, figuring out which one you would be in. He banged on a door, kicking down when he saw a frail body, layed down on a bed. You looked over your shoulder, quivering. The sight twisted his heart, relieved he had found you, however his blood running cold as he saw the state you were in. You were on a hospital bed, heart monitor hooked up, he hadn’t remembered you getting hurt in that crossfire with gally, so why are you here? thomas quickly ran to your side, the boys barricading the door whole thomas unhooked you from the machine. you were in a nightgown, your body frail and you looked exhausted. He felt your forehead, his hands cradling your face. “thomas..” you whimpered, tired and in pain. you were freezing, watching you cradling yourself made the boy’s heart hurt. The banging in the door only got louder. “Thomas we gotta go!” Newt yelled, “cmon baby, you got this.” thomas said, ushering you to jump into his arms, he cradled you bridal style, your arms wrapped around his neck weakly. “tommy..” you let out, as everyone ran through the hallway. “[y/n], I need you to run, can you do that for me? do you think you can do that? yeah?” he said worrisome, letting you get out of his arms. You nodded tiredly, thomas cradled your face, brushing stray pieces of hair out of your face, your eyes locked onto his.

your heart was beating out of your chest seeing thomas barley make it under that door, undeniably it being incredibly hot how he did so, flipping off jansen. the first thing he did was look for you, immediately grabbing you into his embrace, thomas cradled you into his arms, his hands running down your back, the new warmth making you nuzzle your face into his chest, he felt the thin material of the nightgown, palming your lower back, needing to feel you. “tommy!” you cried out, something you didn’t even know you were holding in. “I was so scared,” you sobbed quietly, thomas eyes closed, trying to warm you up, his rested his cheek on your head. “listen to me, listen to me, you’re fine. remember what I told you? see look, you’re fine. I promised you it would be okay, would I lie to you baby?” thomas wiped the sweat off your face, hairs sticking to your forehead, the sheer layer of sweat in thomas’s face making your heart melt, your senses coming back to you. “no, no, you wouldn’t.” you agreed. thomas nodded, “I promised you.”

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 . A/N! first fic on this acc ooooo! i hope u guys enjoyed this bc i like loooove writing for dylan characters , thomas my cutie pie!! feedback AO very much appreciated and my request r open!

[gingerylangylang1979]

I knew it was going to be bad.

I only watched the first episode, got season three vibes, checked spoilers and then dipped out. Same as season three, I will finish it eventually but it def lost the must see tv urgency I had for the first two seasons.

I’m not even sure why I still considered this my favorite show after season two, TBH. I didn’t like that season as much as everyone else and could already feel a slide in quality and direction. I guess I still had hope they could get back to season one magic but they never did and never had intentions to.

I truly believe Storer did only want three seasons. Four seasons was a stretch and season three was total filler. Think about it, what was gained in season three that couldn’t have just been skipped and pick up right where season four does? The Claire romance plot line still feels like an afterthought to me. You’re telling me she was mentioned zero times in season one but she is so integrated with the Berzatto family? I would not be surprised if they just decided to give Carmy a generic romance to ride the popularity of Jeremy as a sex symbol. I could have invested if it felt earned but they literally gave him the bland girl next door that heals him trope. At least have it be someone who challenges him and adds depth to the story. But that would be Syd, so nope. They literally went we just need the “sweet girl” to steal his heart (and half his brain cells since he ignored the restaurant with her on his mind for two seasons).

This show went way too typical Hollywood and I felt it happening season two. The whole aesthetic style changing and including a TS song signaled it to me. Storer got a big budget and accolades and sunk what made this show work in the beginning.

People aren’t even really giffing it. My Discord is silent. Ooof. Didn’t think it would be worse than season three but here we are.