#me. the only one with the power to make content for them

[barleyo]

Frostbitten, Forbidden.

Hector Condicionado X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: another one shot with my favorite cretin. he's so lovely, i just want to eat him in one bite. hope you enjoy reading this!

Tags: dub-con, p in v, creampie, lots and lots and lots of dirty talk, sensory deprivation (eyesight)

Wordcount: 1.1k

Hector would do anything for you. He made it abundantly clear. From the moment you met him, or rather, from the moment he saw you, he knew he would make any sacrifice, any oblation, just to make you happy. No, he didn't want to make you happy—he wanted to keep you happy. A constant state of pleasure and contentment, all due to his own efforts. 

If you were tired, he would build you a bed frame with his bare hands. If you were bored, he would come up with a story to rival the telling of Shakespeare on the spot. Sad? Paw at his vent and tell him all about it. 

Fuck, he would slice his own palms and use the blood to write one of his novels for you if you wanted to do some light reading.

The only thing he couldn't do for you right now was turn up the heat. His only purpose, his one job, he simply couldn't do. Whether there was some sort of blockage in the air filters or a malfunctioning motor, nothing seemed to be working. 

Dead winter and not a single puff of air to ease your pain. 

It tore him up inside more than you would ever know, watching you toss and turn in bed, layering yourself in blankets that hardly helped. He tried for days to fix it himself. He borrowed tools from Tony, but hell if he knew what he was doing. Bang a wrench against the grate? Plead with the thermostat to co-operate? 

He felt like mold. Worse, actually. At least mold gave the world penicillin. What was he giving his beloved? Hypothermia? 

Your poor, freezing legs kicked under the thin covers in discomfort. He knew he had to do something, and he had an inkling of where his mind wanted to go, but it just seemed risky.

Then again, he'd take any risk to satisfy you. 

Your body was shaking inconsolably at this point. You were miserable. Days of straight ice and still air were starting to get to you. Truly, you were convinced it was colder outside your home than in it, but you wouldn't run the chance of finding out. You wanted nothing more than to drift into sleep, but it was too cold to even hope for a good night's rest. 

Just as you began to give up, you felt the bed dip beside you. That wasn't right. You lived alone. 

You tried to scream, but a quick hand covered your mouth. Was this the end? Jesus, why you?

"Hush, my love, it is I."

Oh. 

You slacked in Hector's grasp. You had heard his voice many times, and although it sounded a bit different outside of the vent, you still felt its comforting tones wash over you. That didn't change your confusion. Why was he out of the vent?

As if he could hear your thoughts clicking, he answered, "I couldn't stand to see you like this. Suffering, when I can do something about it."

You hummed against his palm in understanding. Your eyes flicked across the wall in front of you as you laid on your side. You wanted to flip over and see him. You tried to resist the urge, to respect his privacy, but your body acted on its own.

Hector quelled your movements sharply, firm hand turning your head to face the wall again. 

"You know I cannot have that." His calloused hand covered your eyes instead. He cupped his palm over them to keep you both literally and metaphorically in the dark about his appearances. "Don't focus on anything but my warmth. Let me help you, amor."

He hastily fidgeted with his belt, popping the buckle with overly eager hands. 

"Let me make everything up to you. Please."

"Don't you know what it does to me to have this power over you?" 

Hector had gotten much more into this than he thought he would. Obviously, a chance to get this close to you, to touch you, was heaven, but to have complete control?

This was the stuff of fantasy. 

Total domination, zero vulnerability. An opportunity to act on all the depraved things he had said to you in the vents without the fear of being judged for his looks? Sign him up.

"To have you at my mercy? To have all of your trust?" He bottomed out, pushing your face into your pillow. Gentle, as to not hurt his precious girl. "I've wanted this for so many moons. So much wasted time—god—if I knew it could be like this..."

You moaned a strangled little noise into the fluffy pillow. He hated not being able to hear the full extent of your pleasure, but there would be time for that another day.

"That's right," Hector said, voice syrupy and warm as he spoke to you, "I would've taken you much earlier."

His hands gripped your hips and forced them upwards. He dreamed about this. It nearly felt like deja vu, seeing as how he thought of bending you into these nasty positions many times before. It was almost too good to be true. 

"Maybe I would have snuck out of the wretched vent early in the morning to visit you." 

What a tease.

"Or maybe late at night. Late when you think nobody hears you, touching yourself in the dark." His hips stuttered. He didn't want to cum yet, not until you did. He wouldn't forgive himself if he messed up yet again. "I hear you. I hear every sound, every little noise you make. I turn the air up. Make it nice and loud, so nobody else gets to enjoy the show you put on."

Despite the slight uncomfortableness of the angle he put you in, you could see why he did it. He was hitting deep. Deep and purposeful. It was too much for you to handle, especially with his teasing. 

"If only you would have asked me for help. I would've been out in a heartbeat." 

A sexy, but flagrant lie. The sweet vent-dweller took to hiding deep in the vents when you masturbated, stroking himself recklessly while trying to silence his breathing. He was far too nervous to actually do anything about it and far too ashamed of eavesdropping. 

"Next time you need pleasure," he choked out, feeling your gummy walls flutter around him, "call for me."

If he had any shame in the current moment, he'd be horrified at how quickly he came after you. He was simply waiting for your body's permission before he blew.

"I'm always here for you, love."

[noirscript]

Inked Possession | part two

pairing: yandere artist x erotic book writer!reader description: At his exhibit, Eleazar’s jealousy ignites with a stranger’s laugh—and by nightfall, you’re blindfolded, bound, and painted in his studio, every touch a possessive reminder that you belong only to him. warning/s: Yandere behavior, possessiveness, explicit sexual content, bondage (restraints), blindfolding, jealousy, emotional manipulation, exhibitionism (implied), power dynamics, obsessive love, rough sex, worship/adoration, noncon/dubcon undertones. note: enjoy!!! the pre-order for Callixto's ebook will end next week (Monday) so make sure to reserve a copy of the ebook PLUS the exclusive freebies that comes with it! The freebies will only be available during the pre-order period.

It begins with a laugh.

Not yours. And definitely not Eleazar’s.

The gallery hums with polite chatter and soft music, all of it bleeding into the undercurrent of hushed awe and too-hungry eyes. It’s a private preview of Anatomy of Devotion,

Eleazar’s newest exhibit—his obsession rendered in brushstrokes. You. In shadows and warm light. Draped in his shirt, curled into his bed, arched across canvas like you belonged there more than in your own skin.

And you do, don’t you?

You feel exposed, not because of the nudity or the rawness of each painting, but because you know he painted them while you slept, dreamed, moaned. The audience doesn't see that part. But he does. And you do. And it burns beneath your clothes.

From across the room, you sense his eyes on you. He’s dressed in black again—casual in a way that still looks powerful, shoulders straight and jaw tense. His dark hair is slightly messy, a curl brushing the edge of his cheekbone. He watches you with an intensity that borders on unnerving. You offer a small, reassuring smile, a signal: I'm fine. I'm just talking.

He doesn’t smile back.

You turn to excuse yourself politely from the nearby crowd, but someone steps in.

“This one,” a voice says beside you, male, amused, too relaxed for your comfort. “Damn. That’s my favorite.”

You follow his gaze and immediately regret it. He’s pointing to the massive oil painting of you in Eleazar’s studio chair, one leg folded under the other, wearing nothing but his ruined, paint-smeared shirt. The same one that now hangs like a shrine in your shared bedroom.

“The way you’re looking in this?” the assistant says, sipping his champagne with a crooked grin. “Like someone just dragged you out of a fever dream. Fucking raw. He nailed it.”

You offer a tight smile, holding your glass a little too firmly. “He captures what matters.”

He leans in slightly, voice dropping as if you’re already conspiring. “If I had someone like you in my studio, I’d never stop painting. Or touching. I mean… ever considered posing for someone else?”

The comment slides across your skin like rot. You pull away a fraction, breath caught in your throat—but it’s already too late.

The man doesn't notice. “I’ve got a setup. Nothing big, but I can be a lot more fun than your guy.”

The flute nearly slips from your hand.

It doesn’t shatter. It doesn’t have to.

Because Eleazar is suddenly behind him.

The temperature of the room changes. The quiet turns heavy. The gallery’s background noise continues—oblivious—but here, where Eleazar stands, the world becomes razor-sharp.

The assistant laughs nervously, stepping back as if he’s only now aware of the storm forming inches from his face. “Oh—hey. Didn’t see you there, man. Just a joke. Your wife’s stunning, really. You must be proud.”

Eleazar’s smile is slight and sharp. It looks polite. It isn’t.

“I’m always proud of what’s mine,” he replies, calm and low, too calm. “But you strike me as the kind of man who doesn’t understand boundaries until he’s bleeding.”

The man blanches, and you can practically smell the fear start to rise off him. You reach out to place a hand on Eleazar’s arm, grounding, a silent plea not to cause a scene here.

He doesn’t need to.

He takes your hand instead and guides you through the crowd, slow and silent, his grip firm but not harsh. You follow without protest.

---

The drive home is quiet. Not cold—just sharpened into something that leaves no room for distractions.

Eleazar keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, flexing every now and then like he’s holding back something primal. His jaw is tight, his profile locked in shadow, and even the air feels afraid to stir.

You try once, softly. “Eleazar—”

“Don’t.”

You flinch. Not because of the volume—he doesn’t raise his voice—but because of the meaning behind it. He rarely interrupts you. When he does, it's because he's trying not to unravel.

“I could smell him on you,” he says after a while, his voice calmer now but laced with restrained venom. “Like a stain.”

“He didn’t touch me,” you whisper. “He was being inappropriate, yes, but I didn’t engage.”

“You laughed.”

“I didn’t mean to. It was uncomfortable. I was trying to be polite—”

“You laughed.” His knuckles tighten around the wheel, the leather creaking. “Do you know what that does to me? Hearing that sound, knowing it wasn’t for me?”

You stay quiet.

“I won’t punish you for his stupidity,” he says, more to himself than to you. “But I will remind you what your smile belongs to. What you belong to.”

---

He doesn’t even wait for you to enter the apartment. He leans down as he opens the car door, presses a soft kiss to your temple, and murmurs, “Studio. Now.”

You obey.

Inside the space where he paints you daily, the scent of varnish and oil hits you like memory. It’s thick in the air—intimate, private. You notice immediately the cloth and basin of warm water, the soft silk rope, and the blindfold folded neatly on his stool.

It’s not a punishment.

It’s a lesson.

He enters a moment later. Locks the door behind him. Doesn’t say a word as he moves behind you and begins unzipping your dress. It slips from your shoulders like surrender, pooling at your feet.

You don’t fight him when he lifts you into the studio chair—the one you’ve posed on countless times, the one he’s immortalized you in. He moves slowly, methodically, securing your wrists behind the chair with the silk rope, then spreading your ankles to tie them to the legs.

The blindfold is the last thing. He slides it on gently, fingertips brushing your temples.

Darkness falls.

You can feel the shift in the air as he steps back. The silence lengthens. Then you hear it—the sound of his fingers dipping into paint.

When his touch returns, it’s cold and deliberate. He draws a line across your collarbone, slow and thick.

“This one’s black,” he says near your ear. “Do you remember what black means?”

You nod, throat dry. “Mine.”

“Good girl.”

He paints over your chest, dragging his fingers in spirals around your nipples until they harden. Down your ribs, across your stomach, then along your thighs—everywhere but where you need him most. He avoids your core deliberately, punishing you without pain.

The next color is red. “This is for shame. For forgetting—even briefly—that your smile is sacred. That it belongs only to me.”

The red stains your inner thighs, the underside of your breasts, your throat.

Then comes gold. He doesn’t speak as he paints a streak from your heart to your navel, a line of reverence amid chaos.

You sit there—tied, blindfolded, dripping in black and red and gold. Helpless. Waiting.

And still, he doesn’t touch you there.

He disappears briefly, and when he returns, it isn’t with fingers or paint.

It’s with warm cloth.

He parts your thighs and presses the soft towel to your center, cleaning you with the kind of care that borders on sacred. Each pass is gentle, almost worshipful, as he murmurs, “You think I’d risk your body for a lesson? No. I’d never hurt what’s mine.”

The moment the cloth drops away, so does his restraint.

He goes to his knees, and when his tongue finally touches you, it’s not tentative.

He eats you like a starving man—devouring every moan, every shudder, holding your thighs in place as you buck and cry out against the ropes. He doesn’t stop, even when you beg him to, even when you sob that you’re close.

Especially then.

He forces it out of you like confession, like sin.

When you fall apart, trembling and sobbing, he rises slowly. His belt unfastens. His zipper follows. You can hear the scrape of fabric, the rustle of movement, and then he’s there—pressing into you, filling you with a single, brutal thrust.

Your scream echoes.

He groans above you, voice rough with need. “You’ll never laugh for anyone but me. You’ll never write another smile that doesn’t belong to me.”

“I won’t,” you cry, already breaking again.

“You’ll write me into every draft. Every kiss. Every fuck.”

“Yes—yes—only you—”

His pace is merciless. The chair creaks beneath your bound frame as he drives into you, each thrust branding, each moan a claim carved into your bones.

You lose track of how many times you come. It blurs into rhythm—him, you, the ropes, his voice, the heat. You sob out his name, not from pain, but from surrender.

When he finishes, it’s with a growl pressed into your neck.

He unties you slowly. Carefully. Then carries you to bed like something fragile and beloved, laying you down in clean sheets even as your skin still bears his paint.

You don’t need to speak. His hands say it all. So do the kisses he trails across each bruised thigh, each paint-streaked breast.

---

The next morning, your coffee is hot, the sheets are clean, and your laptop is open.

There’s a new document saved on your desktop.

Eleazar – Part I

Beneath it, in the document’s header, a single note:

“Only I get to read you, darling. Write accordingly.”

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya @yandereaficionado @pinksaiyans @ivantillenthusiast @missybabes

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Nick bends over, smothering your lips as he snarks. You still have your hand on him, moving it just like he said. He puts his hand over yours and stops you. 

He parts and hovers over you, “slow down, girl.” 

You exhale and stare up at him. His eyes crawl down and his hand follows. He traces along your throat and down to your chest. He cups the curve of your flesh and bends over you. He kisses each nipple and you twitch. 

He trails down your stomach and across your pelvis, then back up. He frames your chin and kisses you again. He glues his lips to yours and plants a hand next to you. He stretches his legs out and moves to hold himself in a plank above you. 

You reach with your fingers and graze his thighs. Slowly you explore his skin, up to his stomach, and finally his chest. He purrs and nibbles your lip. He lowers his pelvis until his dick rubs against you. He wiggles and you gasp. 

“You wanna put me in?” He rasps. 

Your eyes are foggy and your insides are bubbly. This is it. The moment. The point of no return passed so long ago but it’s all too real right then. Him gazing down at you; you beneath him, his skin against yours. 

“Sure... uh.” 

“Just do what you feel, princess,” he coaxes. “I’m all yours. Do what you want with me.” 

You drag your hand back down, feeling his muscle, and his tip twitches against the back of your hand. You shakily touch him and dip below his length. You slip down and grip him. He rests his knees between yours and lowers himself gently. 

You guide him along your folds. You flinch as he glides along the slickness. You hold your breath and push him further back. You line him up with your entrance and your eyes widen. 

“Baby, you gotta breathe, okay? Or you’ll be all tense,” he cooes and lowers himself onto an elbow. He pets your forehead, tracing your sweaty hairline. “You ready.” 

You blow your breath from your nose and tilt your hips. You nod and bite your tongue. He rests his forehead against yours, your noses flush. He pushes past your fingers. 

He stretches you with his tip. You press your palm to his chest and he pecks your lips again. He hums as you clench. You whimper. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he coaxes. “Alright, just a little at a time.” 

He pulls out of you. You groan. He prods you again, poking inside just as far as before. You whine again. He does it several times, each thrust easier than the last. 

“You can make noise, baby. No one’s gonna hear us,” he drawls. “Why don’t you touch yourself, huh? It will feel better.” 

You moan. You obey and roll two fingers between your folds. You swirl around your clit, the sparks it strikes sending a swell through you. This time, he pushes in a little deeper. 

He rocks his hips steadily. His lips covers yours and he delves his tongue into your mouth. His kiss stifles your rising voice. It hurts as he dives in just a bit more. 

You tremble as he eases in more and more. Each thrust he pulls back until he’s not even touching you, only to plunge back in. You can’t tell how much, it’s all a lot. It’s too much. 

You almost bite him before you rip your mouth away from his. You turn your head and whine through your teeth. Your fingers slide down your clit, your juices coating them. Your fingertips brush against him. 

“Princess, you want this, don’t you? You said you wanted this?” He smears his lips over your cheek. “You put me in. You want it.” 

“Y-y-yea,” you stutter. “Yeah, I... oh, god.” 

Your eyes roll back and your head lolls. He groans and you feel something change. He slides deep into you, as far as he can go, and he drones as he collapses onto you. He breathes heavily as he crushes you under his dead weight. 

“Baby, do you feel that? That’s all of me.” His lips tickle your temple. 

Your eyes bead with tears. You can feel it. All of it. You’re full in a way that makes you throb. 

“Nick,” you croak. “I...” 

He pulls back and you choke. He dips in again and you squeal. You push against your clit as your toes curl. You bend your legs higher, cradling him between them, and bite your tongue. 

“I told you, play with yourself, princess. It’ll be easier,” he pumps again. “Do it.” 

You hum and drag your fingers between your folds. You flick them around and your thighs quiver against him. He pushes into you until he can go no deeper. 

You hiss behind your teeth and arch your back. He raises himself and sits on his knees. He drapes your legs over his, scooping his hands under your ass. He looks down as he rocks, watching himself delve into you. 

You look down too. You lift your head until you can see him in you. Your fingers work faster and he matches your rhythm. You hang your head back and moan. 

The pain slowly recedes. Your fears with it. You squirm and spasm. Nick pushes your hand away and puts his thumb to your clit. He rolls it around and around, his pace quickening. 

You cry out as you cum again. You pulse around him, soaking him in delight. He slows. You drift into the afterglow but he’s not done. 

You shake and writhe as he keeps his tempo even. He runs his hand up your stomach and back down. He spreads your folds as once more he watches himself impale you, thrusting into you, over and over. 

He rubs your clit again. You babble as he plucks at your oversensitive nerves. It isn’t long before another orgasm rains down on you. 

He bends and slips his arms under you. He sits back, lifting you with him and kisses your lips. His breath encircles you as he lays a trail along your cheek and jaw. You sink onto him until you feel him in your stomach. 

“Your turn. Keep going,” he growls. “Fuck me.” 

Your insides churn with his command. You are enthralled by it. You sling your arm behind his neck and spread your other hand over the left side of his chest. 

You tilt your hips. You feel him so intensely. You buck again and whine. Again. Again. You can’t stop as friction warms between you, nestling in your clit. 

You roll your hips. You moan and run your hand up to his hair. You cling to his thick locks and kiss him. You want to eat him up. Devour him. 

He cups your ass as he helps you. Guiding you from below. Faster and faster. 

You twitch and cum again. You whine out shakily and hug him, paralysed by another sweltering ripple. You hang your head over his shoulder and whimper. 

He shifts back onto his rear. He unwraps your arm from around him, playing with your hand as he sprawls out beneath you. You can barely keep yourself up as sweat trickles down your spine. 

He frames your hips and guides them. He lifts you up his length and shoves you back down. Up. Down. Up. Down. He grits his teeth and growls, the noise rising from deep in his chest. You put your palms to his stomach and leverage yourself over him. 

“That’s it, baby girl. That’s it. I... I can’t hold out. It hurts.” He grits. “Please, can I cum, baby? Tell me I can cum.” 

“Y-y-you... can... cum.” You sputter. 

“I can?” He groans. “Princess, really?” 

“Please... please, you can cum. Please cum,” you beg, lashes fluttering, insides swimming. “Pl-e-easeeee.” 

He grunts and fucks up into you. He holds your hips in place as he hammers from below. You push your head back and your arms hang limp at your sides as he loses control. He bounces you wildly, roaring as you feel him gush inside you. 

He stills you. You sit on him, shivering in the sunlight. His hands fall down to your thighs, laying on them weakly. His eyes crinkle as he squeezes them shut and his neck strains. He puffs out and shudders. 

You put your hands over his and try to lift yourself. He groans and shakes his head. “Stay, stay,” he hisses. “Not yet.” 

You stay as you are. You rub his knuckles and watch his chest rise and fall. You’re drained of everything, ready to melt beneath the sun. 

He slips his hands from under yours and trails up your arms. He pulls you down, folding you over him. He hooks his arms around you and traps you against him. He kisses your hair and purrs. 

“Wanna stay like this forever?” He whispers. 

💜

Nick hands you another can of the sparkling citrus drink. You’re not sure if it’s the first one, the sun, or the physical exertion but you’re dizzy and a bit spaced out. You thank him as you sit on the cushioned bench in the shade of the cabin. You push the tab in and sip, cheeks pinching at the tartness. 

“Ahh,” Nick sighs. “How are you doing?” 

He’s forgone his shorts, instead, a towel slung haphazardly around his waist. You’re in only the coverup, the sheer fabric doing little to hide your nudity. You’re not thinking enough to care. 

“Good,” you smile behind the can. It wasn’t just once. He kept going even when you thought it was over. At least two more times, depending how you count it. 

The air cools as it sweeps through the open back of the boat. Nick rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. He slurps from his own can; pre-mixed whiskey soda. 

“It’s getting late. Don’t wanna be out on the water when it gets dark,” he muses. 

“Oh, we should head back,” you look out onto the waters. You can’t tell if you’re swaying or the boat. 

“Definitely close to docking time,” he agrees. “Baby,” he sits beside you. “You have a good day? You have fun?” 

You giggle and look at your lap. You rub your cheek as it singes. You shrug. “Sure I did.” 

He runs his knuckles up the front of the coverup and pinches your nipple through it. You squeak and look at him. 

“You’re still shy, huh? Even after you took me so good,” he smirks. 

Your brows pop up and you laugh again. You wiggle and glance down at the can. The condensation stains your fingers. 

“I... I guess.” 

“You did, you know?” He rubs your knee as he leans in. “You did so good, princess. And the noises—you sound as delicious as you feel, you know that?” He coughs and shifts. “I’m getting worked up again.” 

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry?” You bat your lashes at him. 

“Sorry? Baby, you’re amazing.” He kisses your temple. “But you can help... if you want.” 

“Um, help?” 

“Sure, I’ll drive us in and you can... take care of me. How about that?” 

“Take care?” 

“With your hand. Like before.” 

“Oh, sure, I’ll try,” your voice squeaks. 

“Baby, you’re too perfect,” he grabs your chin and turns your head. He kisses your lips, reluctantly drawing away. “Come on.” 

He stands, the towel tenting, and he heads for the front of the boat. You hesitate and get up to follow. He sits in the driver’s chair and you lower yourself next to him. You put the can in the cup holder beside his. 

He starts the engine and grips the wheel with one hand. With the other, he opens his towel. His dick springs up against his stomach. You stare and he stretches his arm across to rest his hand on your seat. 

“Here we go, princess.” He pets your shoulder with his thumb. 

He goes forward and you peek ahead. You reach over to him and touch his hard length. He twitches. You grab him and squeeze. It takes a moment for you to start. You stroke him from tip to base and back again. He groans and his knuckles pale. 

“That’s it,” he urges you on. 

He tickles the back of your neck as you keep going. You watch your hand, stunned at the sight, at the reality of what you’re doing. Even after everything else, it still feels so unreal. 

“Almost there,” he growls. 

You look up. It doesn’t seem like he’s been driving that long. You squint and peer around. This isn’t where you set off. There’s a dock but it’s much shorter. Behind it, just across a flat of land and behind a sparse row of trees, is a beach house. 

You glance at him in confusion. 

“Dad’s outta town for the week, isn’t he?” He clamps his hand around the back of your neck. “Too late to take you all the way back there.” 

You’re silent. You can’t argue. He’s right, you’re far from home, yet this doesn’t feel right. He never mentioned this. Never said you’d be staying out. Over night. 

“You finish me off and we’ll go get settled in,” he says. “I think you’re really gonna like the place.” 

[jaeyundazed]

SUMMARY: you find yourself in a daze, letting your feet carry you into a particular local bar. the unmistakable pull of something greater than you takes you directly beside jake sim, whose luring aura challenges your every thought.

TLDR: jake sim fucks you in a public restroom. oh, and he's a vampire.

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

ꨄ︎: hello everyone! ^_^ this may seem like my first rodeo on tumblr, but it is not. i've been posting for quite a bit now on my hockey account (@happilysmythe), but i decided that i was finally going to make another one to post my kpop fics! feel free to send in requests: as of right now, i'll only be taking them for enhypen, but hopefully i can venture out once i get the ball rolling <3 enjoy, and happy reading! xo

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw content, vampires, mentions of blood, gore, bruising, public sex, bathroom sex, fingering, degradation, name calling, consensual sex, biting, blood sucking, unprotected sex, reader is dangerously sick in the head (but regardless, real)

People often laughed at the mention of fate, an idea so fictional, yet held so much power over those who believed in it. Fate: the sole concept of an event bound to occur at the universe’s hand.

You laugh in its face. You believe in nothing of the sort. How could something so ridiculous possibly be truthful? You often think of yourself as a logical person who isn’t burdened by superstitions and ideas that can’t even be physically proven. Word of mouth isn’t strong, and neither is belief alone.

But perhaps, you think, it is fate that brought your soul to his tonight. Something deeper meddled with the course of your life, leading you to the exact moment you met him. Driving your feet, clad in deep red stilettos, towards one of the many bars local to your area, softly clicking on the pavement beneath them. There must have been ten, twenty, perhaps even thirty spots to have a drink within a ten-mile radius. But something drew you to The Lounge this time, the expensive tavern’s music drifting onto the sidewalk where you stood near the door as it swung open and closed with each person walking in and out. So you gave in and tugged at your leather jacket, stilettos click-clacking their way inside.

And there he sat, a man whose name you didn’t know, perched leisurely on one of the bar’s stools, minding his own business. The tips of his fingers pressed against the rim of his half-empty glass, its remaining liquid closely resembling the deep red of your shoes. He’s what drew you in. You were sure of it. You, who barely believed in luck, were willingly stalking towards a stranger with the most alluring, unfamiliar aura you’ve ever felt. And further, you sat directly beside him, opting to cross one leg over the other and lean over the bar counter to order your drink without taking a glance at him. Mysterious wasn’t your game, but tonight, you would play it.

“Hi,” he finally intrudes on your thoughts, his voice velvety smooth with the Brisbanian twang you’re accustomed to.

“Hi,” you echo with an innocent smile, turning your body to face him. The smile falters when you finally catch a real glimpse of him. His raven black hair is longer than average, swooping naturally behind his ears with the tips subsiding at the nape of his neck. His eyes, a dark brown, gaze intensely into yours. You glance at his lips, heart-shaped and unconventionally plump, pulled into a smile tinged with confidence, contrasting with yours. Heat rises in your core, but you suppress it, refusing to let him draw you in that close in such little time.

“I know it’s busy, but,” he glances around the bustling bar, “there are plenty of open seats that aren’t right beside me.”

You laugh, mumbling a soft thank you to the bartender as he hands your drink to you. “I’m here alone,” you shrug, taking a sip. His smile turns to a smirk, and he lifts his glass from the counter, swirling the undisclosed red liquid around.

“Mm, so you chose me.”

Your eyes narrow as you intently watch him finish off his drink. He looks familiar. You can’t place it, but you’ve seen that face before. You don’t know him; you know his face. You even recognize his voice, but still, you can’t find his name in the depths of your mind, knowing it’s there, somewhere.

“I know you from somewhere,” you finally say monotonously. “I’ve seen you.”

“I doubt that,” he laughs. “I’ve never seen you before.” He places his glass on the bartop and watches the condensation drip down, forming a ring around the bottom. “I don’t think I could forget a face like that.”

You know he’s lying, but you can’t prove it. There’s no sign, no perspiration threatening to break through on his golden skin, no nervous glint in his eye, and no tremor in his voice. He’s completely relaxed, and it irritates you even more. You know, but you don’t have the right to pry, nor the determination. You don’t have the energy to think much through, anyway, with how his gaze intensifies further. The way he stares, like you’re the only person in the bar. Like he needs you.

You grow irregularly nervous. You don’t like where your mind goes as you repeatedly glaze over his figure, filthy images of him flashing in your head. The same head that always keeps itself perfectly perched on your shoulders. Your perfect, innocent façade withered away when you crossed the line that separated the inside of the bar from the street and sat beside him. His presence alters your brain’s chemistry in a way you, for once, can’t rationalize. You hate the way your body shivers at his empty compliment, how badly it craves his touch when you haven’t even felt it before. Your moral compass is fucking shattered, and he knows. Much like every other mind-fucking aspect of him, you can’t logicize it.

You’ve never been one for one-night stands. They’re tacky. Useless. They’re for people who are so touch-starved that they’ll give themself to anything that breathes. And somehow, one look at him makes you throw your good girl reputation in the trash, alongside any semblance of levelheadedness left in your body. Suddenly, the idea doesn’t sound so bad.

“The doors lock in the bathrooms here,” he thinks out loud, but you know it’s anything but a thought. It’s a suggestion, an implication of what he wants with you and how he doesn’t even care to leave the bar to do it. You’re so weak that you just comply. No questions. You follow him straight to the bathroom like a fool, feeling the heat rise between your legs and letting it happen, because you need him to finish what he started more than you need your pride. You’ve never been more grateful to hear a lock click in your life.

When he finally kisses you, it’s bruising. He kisses you like he’s fucking starving. And yeah, he is. But not for that. For more. He tastes of red wine, strong and expensive and weakening. All he has to do is kiss you to make you so aroused, to get you this wet without even touching you. The way you give in so fast, how you kiss him back so fervently without even knowing his name, drives him insane. He licks into your mouth, hands digging into your sides and threatening to leave marks on your skin. You moan, dragging it out and letting it settle against his lips.

He slips off your leather jacket and throws it to the side, running his hands along your bare arms. You watch as he pulls back and yanks his buttoned shirt open with experienced ease, revealing his bare midsection and its toned muscles. You don’t have time to marvel before he’s kissing you again, humming against your lips.

Something tells you that you should know him, that you need to. He’s not normal, and if the way he’s practically devouring you is anything to show for it, then he’s not at all what he seems. As his hand dips between your thighs and pries them apart for him to feel how wrecked he’s already made you, you rack every corner of your brain to figure out where the hell you’ve seen him before.

And finally, it hits you. That stupid fucking boy group, and their dedication to “being vampires”. That stupid shtick that they can’t give up to save their lives. He’s taking it way too seriously, practically sucking the skin off your neck with his teeth.

“Jake,” you say, coming out more whiny than you intend as he hooks his fingers in your panties. “Jake Sim. From that—fuck, from that group.” Your eyes roll back when he dips a finger inside, letting your arousal speak for itself with how easily he’s able to glide it against your walls as they clench around it. You back up against the edge of the sink, the cold ceramic digging into your thigh as he hikes the other up to keep your legs open for him.

“Mm,” he whispers, feeling his warm breath fan against your ear as he laughs. “You got me.”

Yet still, something’s not right. Yeah, you figured out who he is. But something is still off, and you can’t pinpoint it, especially with the added distraction of his now multiple fingers getting you off.

And somehow, on cue, his eyes shift in a way that is so beyond human. You watch as they turn red, an unfamiliar glint buried deep within them surfacing instantly. He’s not committing to a dense gimmick. He’s not taking anything too seriously. It’s real. You, the innocent bore, have been letting a vampire fuck you with his fingers. But, for some reason, you just accept it. You don’t even fight it. You don’t even care. Actually, it makes you wetter. Like some perverse freak, you like it.

What a whore.

When you finally get close, so close that your walls practically strangle his two fingers, he pulls them away, and you whimper at the loss. You frown, but he gives you no room for complaint when his lips attach themselves to your shoulder, trailing kisses down your arm. He lifts your arm when he reaches your wrist and finally looks into your eyes, his grip tight. The eyes looking back at you aren’t the same intense brown ones from before and are instead red and bloodshot, dark veins seeping through the skin beneath them. His lips part, and you notice the sharp, long fangs in place of his canines. It all becomes real, settles in your mind that this, he, is so dangerously real.

His thumb lazily drags along the inside of your wrist, and his hungry eyes inspect it, watching the blood flow through the veins under your soft skin. You swallow, letting the nerves kick in, but not enough to make you leave. No, you’re far too under his spell for that.

“Do it,” you whisper, giving him verbal consent to suck your fucking blood. You don’t know why you’re so eager for it, knowing how bad it will hurt, but you don’t care, because he’s too tempting to give up.

He grins, so softly that you almost don’t notice, before raising your inner wrist and sinking his teeth into your skin. You whimper at the initial pain, shooting a hand out to tenaciously grasp the sink for stability. But his eyes don’t leave you. They remain trained on your face, twisted and beautiful as the sharp pain slowly subsides, and you focus your gaze back on him, eyes laced with desperation. He moans in satisfaction, and you watch, feeling the fluid exit your stream. It’s so erotic, watching him stare at you with such desperate, needy eyes as he finally satiates his craving for your sweet, addictive blood. Never in your life has anyone looked so gorgeous, so perfect. It completely distracts your mind from the immense pain, the pure rush and filthiness of it fueling you.

Finally, he releases your wrist and breathes out, watching the blood drip from the two small wounds in your skin, knowing it’s all his doing. Want settles deep within and shoots straight through him, making him strain even more in his pants, and you can see it. You stare at his lips, coated with thick, red blood as if it’s lipstick. You watch as it slowly trickles down from the corner of his lip. He studies your gaze and lifts a hand, wiping his mouth clean. As much as he’d love to take you right here, directly up against the cold sink, he holds off.

“We’re in public,” he notes, slowly rubbing your sides. “I won’t do this unless you want it.”

You do.

While keeping eye contact, you reach out and haphazardly unbuckle his belt. Impatiently, you slip it off and toss it to the floor, craving the release he deprived you of earlier, the evidence cascading down your thigh and becoming visible to him when he hikes up your red dress. He grins, knowing this, too, is all for him. You unzip his pants, and he quickly presses you against the sink, taking control from there.

You can still hear the muffled music and voices from outside the bathroom when he finally pushes into you, driving you up the sink with force you didn’t even know was possible. Any shred of logic or morality disintegrates as his hips grind against yours, and your nails slip beneath his shirt and dig into his back, threatening to draw blood of their own if he could shed it. His lips attach to your neck, and his sharp teeth pierce your skin again, forcing you to cry out, the sound a mixture of pain and pleasure. So much fucking pleasure. He’s big, huge, stretching you and hitting places you’ve only ever heard of existing, taking you higher with each thrust.

“God, you’re filthy,” he remarks, grinning. “Following a guy you couldn’t even name into a public bathroom and letting him fuck you on the sink like this?” He brings his lips closer to your ear, the warm breath fanning against it. “Letting him suck the blood from your body without a second thought?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

He laughs.

He’s right. You love it. The rush you get from him fucking into you with no relent. Countless people, ones you probably know, just a few feet away from the door that separates you from them. The thought of what they would do if they walked in on you. How they’d react. How their faces would contort in shock and disgust. The blood dripping down your wrist and neck being evidence of something far beyond their wildest imagination. But you’d laugh, because the way he fucks you is so worth it. 

His hands, their pink knuckles strained from the hold he has on you. How full you feel when he’s inside. The quiet grunts and moans in your ear, paired with the despicably heinous ones coming from your mouth, strings of profanities and whimpers of his name. How his teeth sink into your neck, the immense pain giving you a false sense of relief as you begin to see stars.

You moan loudly, hoping they can hear it. Hoping they listen to how good he makes you feel, and letting him continue his pursuit without an ounce of regret. He pulls back for a breath, and you see yourself in the mirror, the newly formed bruises meshing with the blood on your neck. You see how positively unreal it is, how unfathomable it looks. You don’t process it before he’s kissing you again, devouring your lips and letting you taste yourself on him, only it’s not the fluid you’re familiar with. Metallic and sweet at the same time, leaving a deep red stain on your swollen lips.

“You like it,” he mumbles, and you groan.

“And what about it?”

He pulls you closer and wraps your legs around his waist, gripping you so tight that your neck won’t be the only bruised part of your body later tonight. And again, you don’t care. Again, your sick mind loves it.

You come closer, closer, until finally, the invisible rope inside you snaps, and you let go, clawing at his back desperately. He feels your release, how your walls strangle him, begging for him to do the same. It’s all so dirty, so disgusting, yet so fucking satisfying all at once.

“Please,” you whine in his ear, letting him smell the fresh blood as it runs down your neck.

Your plea is enough to bring him over the edge, moaning deeply in your ear as the hot, white liquid coats your inner walls. Your chest heaves, and you suck air between your teeth as you try to catch your breath. His eyes align with yours, jaded and fucked out. The whole act was so raw, so intimate, yet devoid of real emotion all at the same time. It was different, so opposite from your typical experiences with guys, not that you often let them take you raw on top of a public bathroom’s sink. He carefully lets go of you, allowing you to set your foot on the floor to ground yourself and run a hand through your slick hair. You whimper when he pulls himself out and readjusts his pants, along with his wrinkled shirt. He bends over to grab his belt and picks up your jacket along with it, wordlessly handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you mutter, slipping it back on. He nods.

You open your mouth to speak again, but he abruptly interrupts.

“Save it,” he says. “Something tells me this isn’t the last I’m seeing of you.”

You don’t respond. You just accept it and nod.

With that, you unlock and open the door, finally walking out into the crisp air of the bar, still illuminated with vibrant magenta lights, contrasting with the dim white you became used to in the secluded bathroom. Looks are all you receive. The same looks of disgust and horror you fantasized about while he fucked you. The lounge’s patrons stare at you, watching as you stride by with bruises and dried blood decorating your neck and wrist, followed by the normal, humanized Jake Sim, whom nobody finds it in themself to recognize or acknowledge, with his brown eyes and a perfect array of dull, flat teeth on full display for them. Who would suspect him?

And you laugh. You laugh as you make way for the door, not bothering to care how absolutely fucked up it all is. How slutty and dirty you look to every last human in the bar, entirely classless. How they’ll all forget about what they saw once you leave the premises, and they’re all left alone with him. How he’ll make them forget. And still, even as reality sets in, as you sink back down to Earth and realize the weight of what you’ve done, you smile. Sick and fucking twisted. You, who always laughed in the face of fate, are finding humor in the sinful acts you committed with someone who isn’t even human.

You want it to happen again. You want it to keep happening. For him to keep making you feel that way, to give you the rush and the pain and the sinful pleasure. You want all of it. No matter how many times his gravity pulls you back to him, he’ll comply every time, because the reward is too delicious for him to refuse. He unlocked something deep within you, something you didn’t even know you had. And he knows. He knows you’ll always come crawling back, and he’ll always make sure it’s worth your while.

And as long as that happens, you’ll keep his little secret.

[voidpvllman]

freaks • bob reynolds

summary: the early days of a new team being assembled: the settling, the fighting, the dysfunctional dynamics that lead into a family, and maybe even something more. bob is desperate and pining, too awkward to say anything, or getting interrupted every time he tries or finally talks himself into it. you are angry at the world, now once again fighting for people that turned on you after you lost control. stuck living with people you barely tolerate, eventually like, and could maybe even love. training and fighting, being pushed to get your powers back, after swearing to never use them again; all while fighting off sneaking feelings that feel a lot like love.

content: angst, jealousy, void (almost) and sentry appearances! pining, anger issues, mention of self harm, self hatred, bpd, traumatic pasts, fluff, kinda family dynamic, kissing, slow burn, sexual themes but not explicit, desperation, a little makeout

[ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ʰᵃˢ ᵖᵒʷᵉʳˢ ˢᶦᵐᶦˡᵃʳ ᵗᵒ ˢʰᵃⁿᵍ ᶜʰᶦ: ˢᵏᶦˡˡᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵐᵘˡᵗᶦᵖˡᵉ ᵐᵃʳᵗᶦᵃˡ ᵃʳᵗˢ, ˢʷᵒʳᵈ, ᵇᵒʷˢᵗᵃᶠᶠ, ᵉᶜᵗ; ʰᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰᵃⁿᵈ, ᵃˡᵒⁿᵍ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵃᶦʳ ᵐᵃⁿᶦᵖᵘˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ

yelena flipped you over on the mat; leg wrapped over your hip, laughing as she pinned your face to the ground. you groaned, slapping the mat in defeat, “this is pointless! i’m not getting any better.” you hated how hard you were breathing; you hated how easily you had been beaten again. “don’t be so hard on yourself… most people can’t beat me. especially when you’re out of practice.” you glared at her at her subtle brag, “i’m just saying, you have only been training again for two weeks.” “and i don’t think i’m getting any better, yelena! i just- i don’t.. succeed at anything anymore. i can’t do anything…” yelena sighed, watching you sadly, “i know we haven’t known each other long… but from what i have seen, no one else here can handle a sword? and that’s pretty damn cool. you are our best brains, you keep us all on schedule and map out our missions and make the plans-“ “i don’t know what you saw on my file, yelena, but… i don’t even think i could lift a sword anymore. i haven’t… i’m retired.” you exhaled, laying flat out on the mat, “i got someone hurt, i lost control… ever since, it’s like everything is just… gone.” yelena watched you sadly, “that was ten years ago! you were a child...” you just shook your head, “i think i’m done for the day. i- i don’t think i’m ready. i may not ever be.” you crossed the gym floor, feeling much angrier and more frustrated than you had before you started. you ignored the grunts and swears coming from the mat, now that two competent people were fighting. you glanced over your shoulder as bucky sent walker flipping to the ground. john groaned, holding his ribs as he sat up, “damn,” “sorry.” bucky shrugged, “you’re lighter than you look.”

you turned your attention to the punching bag in front of you, taking all of your anger and frustration out in a punch. it felt good to hit something that didn’t fight back or send you straight onto your back. you felt a low growl come from your throat and suddenly all the frustration and anger became the bag’s issue. you relentlessly punched out, fists stinging as you made contact over and over. you ended up screaming at it, beating at it until you saw blood on the bag. you looked down at your knuckles; skin peeled back, blood dripping between your fingers. “damn it.” you should have wrapped your knuckles, you should have warmed up more. there was a cramp in your side, tears blurring your vision- from the pain in your knuckles or frustration, you weren’t sure but you just felt embarrassed now. the others were looking at you from across the room, concerned, worried, maybe judging slightly.

you felt anger surge in you again as you turned away, storming back to your bag. your knuckles throbbed, stinging as the open air tickled against the open skin. you swore quietly, hating how useless you felt, hating how pathetic you looked against the rest of the team, hating yourself for how you had let yourself get this way. “hey,” you jumped, pulled from your thoughts by the shy voice, “are you okay?” you held your breath, pushing away the pain and anger as glanced to bob over your shoulder, “fine,” you always made sure you kept your tone from reflecting your emotions, “i’m okay. just frustrated… and angry and…” you zipped your gym back up a little too roughly, cursing as the zipper tab snapped off. “damn it!” bob tilted his head slightly, eyeing you sadly, “are- are you sure you’re okay?” you sighed, finally looking up to to meet his gaze, “i’m just not having the best day, alright?” your tone sounded impatient, but there was still that hint of softness. “oh…” bob deflated just slightly at your change in tone, “sorry…” you rubbed your face, now angry at yourself for being cold to the one person here that didn’t push you in training, didn’t demand you try harder, didn’t wait for you to be better again. “i’m sorry. i- i don’t mean to be a bitch, i-“ bob looked up at you, eyes widening slightly; he wasn’t used to the others apologizing for raising their voices or snapping when he got in their way. “you aren’t-!” he had said it a little too quickly, “you… i don’t think you’re a-…” bob ducked his head slightly, shyly, as if he didn’t want to say the word. you smiled just slightly to yourself; he was charming, in his shy, awkward ways. “well, thank you. it seems you’re the only one that thinks that…” you hauled your bag over your shoulder. bob was muttering something to himself, before his voice finally came out loud enough to hear, shaking slightly, “hey, would you ever want to go—“

“nice job on the bag, time bomb!”

you tensed at the nickname, snapping your head to look at walker; he meant it playfully, but god, the anger that spiked through you made your hands shake. bucky looked at you darkly, sending a warning glare over to john, shaking his head just barely. “thanks walker, i was picturing your face!” bob snorted, face turning red as he tried covering it with a cough. you glanced at him just barely, eyes twinkling with something playful and kind. bob somehow reddened even more, hand coming to rest on his neck to scratch an imaginary itch. “i’m going on a grocery run. have a list ready when i’m out of the shower.” there were nods of acknowledgment around the room, though bob, thankfully unnoticed, was now struggling at the mention of you in the shower.

you dried your hair just enough that it wouldn’t soak through your shirt once you put it on. you stared at yourself in the mirror, towel still tucked securely around you. how did you get here? with these people, once again fighting everyone’s wars, once again fighting for people that had nearly called for your incarceration after saving them the last time. you grabbed the black t-shirt tossed beside you and pulled it over your fresh sports bra. it was hot out, but you hated shorts, so you decided on your favorite pair of jeans. they had holes in them, the denim was worn thin, but you couldn’t bare to throw them away. you were just going to the grocery store, and could have just thrown sweatpants on, but you felt that you needed the comfort of something familiar and sentimental- for emotional support- today. you tossed your towel in your laundry basket and grabbed your phone and keys. your boots were nearly as worn through as your jeans, and you swore within a month the soles would have holes in them. bob was sitting on the couch, nose buried in a book as you crossed through the living room area. you spared him a glance, small smile creeping on your lips. you heard what the others said about him, how he was unstable and dangerous. but you just saw you. broken, misunderstood, completely forgotten and abandoned by the world.

bob looked up, eyes widening as he caught you staring. “hi-“ his voice failed him, coming out as a squeak, then a cough to cover it up. “hey,” you held back your amusement at his shyness he still had towards you, even after living in the same house. bob kept his eyes on you, soft, expectant. waiting for you to say something else, because god knew he wouldn’t. “i’m just.. going to get groceries for everyone…” bob closed his book, stumbling to his feet before his mind could stop him, “do you need help? it’s..late.. and…the city can be weird at night.” you couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating, or see how much his cheeks had reddened, or feel the fact that he was about to throw up or pass out. “oh, no, i-“ you were planning to sulk all night, brooding with a murderous expression on your face— scaring off anyone who would approach you in public with your rbf alone. it could be nice to have someone for once, a distraction from your own friend, a break from hating the world, something like a friend… “sure. if you want to.”

bob’s knees almost buckled but he forced himself to play it cool. he wasn’t about to throw up. he wasn’t going to throw up on her boots… he wasn’t going about to pass out. he would not pass out every time she looked at him and collapse, tripping her in the street… “okay-“ his voice squeaked again and he felt his cheeks heat up. you just smiled at him softly, not laughing at his blushing, not making a joke about his damn voice crack.

bob didn’t stand a chance.

bob pulled on his shoes at a walk, nearly crashing into the table as he scrambled to pull on his sweatshirt and walk. you held back a laugh, propping the elevator door open with your hip as he caught up with you. “hi,” he was smiling again with those shy, anxious eyes widened just slightly, as they met your gaze. “ready to go?” he nodded, far too eagerly, trailing behind you as you stepped in the elevator and the doors closed. bob felt like the walls were closing in, the elevator heating up to a dangerous level. you glanced over to him again, your usual glare not present, “you okay, bob?” your voice was so soft and full of concern- towards him- bob almost melted. he swallowed quickly, forcing himself to nod once, “yes! yes. yes, i’m… i’m fine. i just..run hot.” the blush on his cheeks would be a nice cover for that lie. he did run hot, but he didn’t always feel like he was about pass out, throw up, and have his heart burst through his chest all at once.

bob’s eyes widened slightly as you clicked your car keys and a 1980’s mustang beeped in response. “you- you drive that?” he hadn’t meant to sound so surprised, he was just in awe of every aspect of you. “were you expecting something boring?” you met him with a playful smirk. “n–no! never! never from you.” he reddened even further, and almost matched the shade of your car. you kept a sparkling eye fixed on him until you climbed into the driver’s seat. bob climbed in beside you, slowly, head like a swivel as he took in the interior. you watched him and tried to fight the smile creeping up your lips. “do the others know this is what you drive?” you smirked devilishly, “nope. because i don’t want their food wrappers and crumbs in it.” bob’s eyes widened slightly, frantically patting his pockets incase he he had forgotten he had snacks with him. “bob, chill.” you laughed lightly, eyeing him in amusement. bob reddened again, sitting up stick-straight, “sorry, i- sorry-“ you laughed again, “relax...” you put your hand on bob’s shoulder and the heat on his cheeks now spread throughout all of him, rapidly. his eyes widened, snapping up to your soft smile and sparkling eyes. “it’s just us. you don’t have to be tense and…” you gestured to his fidgeting. bob breathed in deeply, “right. sorry.” being just us, as you had said, was actually even more nerve wracking and terrifying and dizzying. and relaxing around you was actually impossible because he was the only other side of conversation and felt like he couldn’t talk to you without sounding stupid or squeaking like a prepubescent child.

you passed your phone to bob as you backed out of the parking spot. he eyed you with wide eyes, feeling like he had been handed something sacred and very forbidden. “pick something,” he eyed you, glancing at the aux cord dangling between your fingers. the radio had been upgraded to connect to an aux, while everything else was authentic and classic. you caught him admiring and smirked, “i like older things, but i still need my music.” “i don’t- um- know…” bob scrolled through your spotify, feeling lost. “just pick something, robert! i’ll listen to anything.” “okay, uh-“ bob picked a random album, looking pale as he set the phone down cautiously. the first few notes started and you hummed, eyeing him quickly, “what-“ she say up straighter, “what did i do- did i not pick a good-“ you held your hand up, shaking your head, “it was a good choice. interesting…” bob felt like he was being tested and was terrified of failing it, “interesting good..?” “interesting, interesting. you didn’t pick anything modern, but you also didn’t just pick the first thing on my spotify. so you saw my music taste and picked accordingly. you didn’t choose journey, which is a classic choice, if not slightly basic. ac/dc was a good pick.” bob nodded, exhaled, breath shaking just slightly. you made his head spin. he loved it… “i don’t think i have the best music taste. i usually just..listen to whatever is on the radio. my dad would listen to older rock, but…” your eyes snapped to him and he nearly flinched, “does this remind you of him?” the way you looked at him, bob would never get used to. so intensely, so softly, so full of concern, like you really cared. like you saw him and not his mistakes. it was a softness, but it wasn’t pity; you looked at him like he wasn’t something fragile that needed to be tiptoed around. “i—“ god he had been lost in those eyes and his inner monologue about you. you had asked about his dad- had your music reminded him of his dad? no.. god, no. nothing about you could ever remind him of that monster… you were good and soft and light…the complete opposite of everything he grew up with and ever knew… “no, it’s- nice- i like it.” you eyed him again, looking for any tell in his eyes, “okay… good.” you smiled to yourself, silently making a note of how he looked at you. and at how much different you felt away from everyone else… with just him.

bob pushed the cart, trailing beside you, very aware of your hand resting on the handle of the cart, inches from his own. he had to remind himself to breathe, focusing so much on not moving his hand or twitching a finger that he didn’t hear you say his name. “sorry- i- what?” he looked to you with an embarrassed expression, cheeks flushing again. god, you probably thought he ran so hot that he was always inches away from overheating. “snack requests? niche brands you prefer?” “i-“ he couldn’t just request his very child like taste in food around you, even if he did really want the usual, comforting, favorites. “i don’t really…do snacks. i like…fruit and stuff…” you narrowed your eyes at him slightly, “boring. you sound like bucky and john.” he watched you grab a box of cereal— from the kids section, not the grown up protein cereal. you eyed it, picked up another one, compared them, grabbed a third box. “which one?” coco pebbles, captain crunch and apple jacks. “i-“ it was his type of comfort food; you had no idea what you were doing to him. you eyed them all again before dropping them all in the cart, “all of the above it is.”

damn it, you were perfect.

after entirely too long in the junk food isles, and a fit of inappropriately loud laughter over an unfortunately named generic brand of candy, the cart was looking like a preschool teachers’. “two twenty four packs of mac and cheese?” bob looked at you with a playful smirk. “yelena…” you eyed him playfully, “plus, it’s valentina’s bill.” bob laughed at this and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. he had fake laughed in too many scenarios; stiff and uncomfortable.

“in that case, we should get one more…”

you smirked, “i thought about it but i can’t reach it.”

bob cleared his throat, waved his hand dramatically and bowed. he reached over your head and grabbed the last box of yelena’s macaroni and cheese. you forgot he was six foot. he carried himself so small, like he was always scared to take up space. “why thank you, sir.” you smiled genuinely, feeling your face heat up- you had lost track of how many times you had laughed or sincerely smiled this evening… “hey, i think i’ll bring you on all my grocery runs from now on.” bob’s heart skipped at this, hiding his red face behind the box of macaroni and cheese, “please do,” it came out before he could stop it. bob stumbled over his words to try and save it, “i mean- you shouldn’t have to shop for a superhuman team alone. …a-lot of bags to carry..” you met his eyes and there was something in your expression- something behind the slightly narrowed eyes, the quirked up eyebrow, the barely there smirk. finally you spoke and bob could breathe again, “sounds good… it’s a date.”

bob could not breathe again.

most nights you spent alone, in your room reading, while most of the others were out on missions or training exercises. you and bob would occasionally pass each other on the way to or from the kitchen, nodding in acknowledgment with a small smile. you both were happy being alone, content in the silence, lost in a book or movie. lately, however, nights the others were gone, you had wandered out into the living room. bob was already there, half interested in his book. his eyes found yours immediately, a small, hopeful smile on his lips, a far too eager glint in his eyes. you sat beside him silently, shocking yourself that you had someone you didn’t mind keeping you company. bob shifted slightly, giving you more room as he turned back to his book in silence. this had become routine when the others weren’t around and the tower was quiet and void of stupid arguments or mission talk. each night started in silence, as if neither of you wanted to disturb the other, as if there was an invisible thing that kept you from getting too close or starting casual conversation. one night as you grabbed your book to head to the living room, you were stopped by bob, standing right outside your door. “hi-“ you exhaled, failing to hide the surprise in your voice. bob just smiled softly, “i was going to ask if you wanted to watch a movie…” oh? “okay?” you fought away the smile that wanted to spread across your lips and ignored the warmth spreading in your chest. “i um-“ bob looked at you nervously, not quite sure if you were agreeing to it or waiting for him to actually ask you. “so-“ he shifted slightly, already feeling stupid, “do you..want to?” this time you did smile widely, “sure,” you stepped aside and held your door open, to which bob’s eyes widened and he looked like he may faint. “oh- um-“ “you can come in, robert. i don’t bite.” bob looked truly ill, buy he stepped inside your room with his best attempt at a stable smile.

“unless you want me to.” you added with a playful smirk, watching as bob took in your room and then suddenly tensed. “i- oh- well-“ bob cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together and recover from your joke. bless your heart, you always tried lightening the awkward tension with playful jokes or sugestive comments. you couldn’t do things like that around bob; he physically couldn’t handle it and would now spend the next twenty minutes trying to calm himself down and remind himself that it was just a joke, no matter how much he really would have liked it if you- no. bob shook his head which earned a sideways look from you. “fine,” bob mumbled it, placing his pile of movie selections on the bed, hands resting casually against his waist. he had gotten himself all worked up and now was in an even worse situation. you had to force yourself to look at the bed, force yourself to ignore his twitching and obvious situation. you really should stop teasing him, after all it had started innocently and playfully… but now… no. no time for that. you picked the closest movie, not really looking through them, but recognizing the title. “my tv is better than the one in there. for some reason, smartly- valentina assumed we wouldn’t be using the living room tv for group hangouts.” your voice was playful but it was hard to ignore there was a man sitting on your bed, in your room. you sat beside him, and he damn near scooted completely off the bed on the opposite side. “robert.” your voice was soft and scolding, “you don’t have to sit that far away. please get comfortable…” you eyed him, putting your spare pillows in the space beside you against the headboard for him. “are you sure- i can sit on the floor?” “i didn’t offer my room so you could sit on the floor awkwardly and be uncomfortable.” or maybe he would be more comfortable away from you and your stupid jokes… he looked at you quietly, still waiting for you to change your mind. instead, you pulled your covers back for both of you, looking at him softly, “robert.” bob finally climbed in next to you, sitting down so painfully slowly you thought he was terrified to wrinkle your sheets. you looked at him incredulously, simultaneously trying not to laugh. he winced in embarrassment, finally settled beside you, pulling your blankets over his legs. he wasn’t breathing. you could tell he wasn’t breathing because of how tense and awkward he looked. “robert,” you sighed, looking at him softly, wishing he could just fully relax around you, “i won’t bite you.” bob exhaled, finally sinking deeper into the bed and pillows behind him, the smallest playful smile on his lips, “unless i ask you to?” your breath caught in your throat as you turned to look at him. his eyes had darkened, playful expression gone; replaced with something hungry and testing. you were holding your breath now, suddenly very aware of how hot it was and how close he was to you. bob didn’t look away from you, for the first time since you had known him, he was looking at you with such intensity…and desperation that you felt shy. you wanted to look away, make more distance between you and pretend you didn’t notice the heat and electricity in the room. “right,” you finally squeaked out, nodding weakly. bob actually smirked, darkly, in amusement, clearly proud that he had for once gotten a reaction from you. he looked away from you, head falling against the headboard with a smug smirk. his jaw was clenched, clearly struggling with similar feelings as you, clearly trying to force them away. damn him… you cursed yourself for breaking your number one rule. never ever let anyone get close.

you pummeled the bag again, kick, punch, attempt to jump and kick higher, swear when you failed. the music in your headphones was loud enough to drown out any thoughts and make you deaf. just how you liked it… upper cut, right hook, punch to an imaginary gut. you were still very aware of the eyes that would occasionally look up from behind the pages of a book, watching you sweat and suffer. hitting the bag harder forced your mind away from him, away from the weekly grocery trips— that had also turned into introducing bob to different music, picking new nicknames for the team, a few inside jokes, and most recently, ice cream on the way home– away from the very clear shift that had happened three weeks ago. more often than not, it was the two of you left in the tower alone, while the others were off saving the world- or more minor things. they weren’t liabilities. they were trained. they didn’t have powers that needed to be held back so no one died. your heart was pounding, muscles throbbing, sweat pouring down your forehead and into your eyes. you wiped your eyes, squinting as you opened them once again.

john walker took up your entire field of vision, directly in front or you. you shrieked, throwing out your fist before you could process who it was. “god—!” john stumbled backwards, hand over his nose. “shit-“ you pulled your headphones over one ear, rushing towards john who was stumbling back to his feet. “i’m sorry- i didn’t-“ john pulled his hand away, blood covering his hand and dripping through his fingers. “oh—“bob had looked up, looking pale at the sight of the blood. “bob, get a towel—“ “i’m fine.” walker waved bob off, pushing away from you slightly, “you act like i haven’t been punched before.” you returned with your crumpled shirt from your back, smacking john’s hand away to hold it against his nose. it was better for a shirt to catch his bleeding nose, than his hands that caused blood to drip all over the floor. “thanks.” john reluctantly took the shirt from you, with a slightly apologetic look as he realized it was your shirt. “i can find another plain white shirt, i’m sure.” that one had been your favorite, but you could find another.

“i have been punched before.” he repeated it, the slightest hint of amusement on his face.

“not by me.”

“i think you broke it…” john almost sounded impressed. “you broke my focus…” you responded with a playful smirk. “why were you standing there anyway?” “i was trying to talk to you. i had been yelling for a full minute, but you couldn’t hear me over your angry music.” you grimaced apologetically, realizing sleep token was still blasting from the headphones around your neck. “sorry about my angry music.” your tone was sarcastic as you turned to pause the music from your phone. “why didn’t you ask bob to get my attention?” bob glanced up slightly at his name. walker glanced over to him with an eye roll of annoyance, “i tried.” bob smirked just slightly at this.

“he didn’t want to bother you. he said you were focused.”

“i was focused.”

“he said you might hit me.”

“i did.” you smirked to yourself and heard bob cough behind you. walker laughed this time and you were positive it was the first time he had appeared genuine in front of you; laughing, instead of scowling or complaining. “that was a hell of a punch.” your eyes glanced back to him, playful, amused, almost smug. “i mean it. it feels like you’re getting a lot stronger. it looks like it too.” walker eyed the muscles up your arms and to your shoulder; obviously more defined than they had been weeks ago. you watched his eyes study you, tensing slightly. john wasn’t even saying it in a flirty way- he wasn’t even looking at you like he was thinking anything like that- he didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, but it still felt off, standing this close to him with just your workout bra, soaked in sweat, still breathing hard… “next time you punch…” john gently cupped your elbow, guiding your arm to a different position. he moved your thumb just slightly, “you’ll break it otherwise.” something shattered behind you, causing you both to jump apart, eyes wide. bob was standing, eyes glowing golden, glossy, expression far away. “what are you doing, bobby-“ you shushed walker, taking another step away from walker. bob’s eyes snapped to you, golden rings gone from his irises. he looked confused, glanced at the bench he has been sitting at, trying to remember why he got up. “sorry, i-“ walker had tightened his fists slightly, waiting. “what did i…” bob glanced at to the glass bottle you had been drinking of, now shattered on the floor, “are you okay?” his confused expression immediately turned to concern, “did you drop it? don’t walk by it…” walker’s jaw was clenched, his eyes dark, expression failing to hide the confusion, caution, maybe even fear. “i’ll clean it up…” john sent a final glance to bob; it was cold, warning. you exhaled, not letting your expression falter as you gave bob a small smile, “come on… you can borrow a new book from my room, while i take a shower.”

you rubbed your face with the towel, still feeling the sweat on you. still feeling walker touch your skin. still seeing the burning in bob’s eyes when you looked at him. you wrapped the towel around your middle, groaning to yourself. you had other things to worry about besides whatever the hell that was. you didn’t need to worry about unstable flares of power showing, you didn’t need to worry about your skin tingling when someone touched your bare skin for the first time ever- without it being punishment or violent. you opened your bedroom door and nearly jumped out of your towel. “holy sh— bob!” bob was stretched out on your bed, new book in hand, eyes widening to what should have been an impossible size, “oh-“ it came out as a squeak. bob scrambled off your bed, collapsed to the floor, mumbling something as he tried to stumble back to his feet. “i’m sorry- oh god- i’m so sorry-“ you would have laughed at any other time; the redness on his face made it difficult to even be mad at him. you did say he could get a book from your room… you had never specified for him to take it somewhere else to read. you bit back a smile, trying not to laugh as he just stayed on the floor, on the opposite side of your bed. he was still muttering to himself, damn near hyperventilating. “robert.” no response. he was clearly afraid if he stood up you would shoot him. you shook your head, turning to your closet to find clothes. “robert…” no response. you rolled your eyes with a slight amused smirk, closing your closet door behind you. you pulled on sweatpants and a sweatshirt yelena had cut the neckline out of and then decided she didn’t want. it was not what you would usually wear; exposing your entire shoulders, loose on the arms and slightly baggy everywhere else; but she was right, it was comfortable.

when you stepped out of your closet, bob was waiting on the bed again. he was looking at the floor. “hey,” you snapped by his head and his eyes locked up to yours. “you okay?” you pushed the book aside and sat beside him. “i’m sorry.” he was fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves, “i’m sorry for- being in here- for- you told me to grab a book, i-“ “bob, it’s fine. honestly. i said you could come in here.” you had to talk him out of it before he started spiraling. “hey,” you placed the gentlest finger on top of his hand. his eyes snapped to your finger tapping the back of his hand. he breathed in shakily, eyes wide, staring at your finger like it had shocked him. his hand felt hot under your touch, his pulse quickening slightly against your wrist. “you can be in here, alright? i said you could. if you want to read… or sit on my bed… or if you ever need to talk.” he looked up at you with glossy eyes. he didn’t say anything, just looking at you, “it’s stupid.” you furrowed your brows, “what’s stupid–“

“it feels safe.”

bob looked to the floor again, clearly embarrassed, secretly trying to fight the urge to just get up and walk out. “being in here. being with you… you.” you exhaled, the words tumbling around in your mind, making your head spin, “you think i- you feel safe in here?” bob started fidgeting again, “i told you it was stupid.” “no- hey-“ someone felt safe with you. someone wanted to be around you, stay close to you, sit in silence with you, hang out in your room reading, reading while you worked out, volunteering to go to the grocery store with you. “it’s not stupid. it’s not. it’s really sweet, actually… it’s nice being looked at as.. someone comforting. instead of…” you shook your head, not wanting to go there, “don’t be embarrassed. it’s an honor. and really. come in here whenever you want. even if i’m not here. just- don’t… don’t be weird.” you nudged him with a playful smile, trying to break the serious tone. “oh- no! no, i would never do anything weird. i- i promise.” “i know, bob.” you gave him that same playful look, trying to assure him it was only a joke, “i let you in my car, remember?” bob laughed just a little, sad eyes looking up at you with the faintest smile.

bob leaned back against your headboard as he read, the fidgeting stopped, he was no longer radiating heat, he was just still, lost in a book, content. you glanced over at him occasionally, trying to focus on your own book, ignoring how close you were to someone else in your bed. “you and walker, then?” the words startled you right into a sitting position, looking over to him, hoping you had heard him wrong. he didn’t look up from his book, though his hands shook slightly, knuckles white as he held the book. you just stared at him, waiting, trying to process why this conversation was happening. “walker?” bob tensed slightly. bob said nothing, glaring into the book, eyes not moving on the page. was he- no. was he jealous? of walker?

“because of—?“

“it was me.”

he closed the book, sitting up quickly, face close enough to feel his breath, “the glass.” you held your breath, not sure if him remembering was a good thing… yet part of you wanted to hear him say it. to tell you why it happened. “i don’t know what happened. i was just sitting there and then walker—“ his hand shook slightly, eyes flashing, the slightest shadow passing across his face. “stop,” you grabbed both his hands in your own, “it’s fine. it doesn’t matter. no one got hurt…” “but they could have. you could have…” you exhaled slowly, “but i didn’t. glass breaks all the time… it got cleaned up and it won’t get brought up again.” “but if something happened-“ “nothing happened. walker was there, he-“ bob shook his head, twitching slightly, “can we not- don’t say his name…” his voice was still soft, but it had deepened slightly. this was what the others feared. the instability in his movements, the shaking in his voice, the darkness behind his eyes. “okay… okay. we won’t.” bob looked at you softly, shy, haunted by something, “i’m sorry. i don’t- i don’t know-“ you took his hands again, trying to pull him back to you and out of his own head. “i don’t think you would ever hurt me.” you weren’t there- in new york, in the void- you heard the stories. the horrors. but you just couldn’t imagine… even still. “i know you wouldn’t.” bob shook his head, “i wouldn’t. but you weren’t the one i wanted to hurt...”

a chill ran down your spine, breath catching in your throat. you shifted, just slightly- not away from him, not letting go of his hand. bob looked up at you with a sad expression, “i’m scaring you…” he jerked his hand away, expression hurt. he looked angry, disappointed, betrayed…broken. “no.” you ignored your pounding heart and the twisting in your stomach. “i should go… it’s late…” “no.” bob uncrossed his legs and was walking to the door as soon as his feet hit the floor, “stop. robert-“

“i’m sorry.” he shook his head again, posture deflating slightly, “i really am, i—“

you forced yourself to follow him, grabbing his arm, “robert, stop. i’m not afraid of you.”

bob stopped, his tense body relaxing slightly at your touch. he took a deep breath, turning to look at you over his shoulder; his eyes glowed behind his hair- but they weren’t golden.

“maybe you should be…” his voice was too deep, too dark. he tugged his hand away from your grip, stepping through the threshold, door slamming shut behind him; never once touching it with his hand. you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. it came out in a sob. you hadn’t realized you still had the ability to cry, after all the years of playing cold, staying unattached, acting like the bitch and playing the character that no one would miss– until the tears started falling.

you were in the gym before bucky or john, after not having slept a single second. there was an energy drink and a cup of coffee sitting beside your gym back this morning. you would either be buzzing enough to complete a record length workout, or you would get a quick shortcut to cardiac arrest. you didn’t have a routine ever, just moving to whatever you felt would get the most frustration and aggression out. you hadn’t realized it had been two hours; and you hadn’t realized bucky, yelena and walker were all watching you, wide eyed. the bag broke free of it’s hook, slamming into the wall as you swore. you turned slowly, sweat soaked and lost in your own head; nearly falling over when you came face to face with john. you flinched and this time he held his arm up in case you struck with your fist first again. “picturing my face again?” you almost laughed, the smallest smirk twitching to your lips. bucky whistled, eyeing the bag that now lay helplessly on the floor, “that’s definitely more like your track record…” you eyed him, almost appreciatively, but instead of thanking him you tipped your water to your lips and drained it, “i’m going for a run.” yelena didn’t hide her surprise, silently wondering how you suddenly still had the energy. you nodded to her as you brushed past, head still spinning.

there had been a moment where you knew you should stop– that you were pushing yourself too hard. it was after your stomach muscles felt like they were going to tear, and before your vision had started going funny. your breathing had evened out, body realizing you must have been in a survival situation and convincing your lungs they needed to get over it. your head throbbed, your vision danced slightly, black creeping in around the edges. every time your feet hit the ground, your head felt like it was hit with a baseball bat. you were nauseous, stomach now demanding you to stop or else. you finally did, bracing yourself against a tree, taking in a breath so deep that it hurt. you swore again, letting your head fall against the tree. you closed your eyes, relishing in the overdue rest. footsteps behind you snapped your attention back; you lifted your head so quickly you felt whiplash, “yelena,” you had meant it to be friendlier, “i caught up with you- you’re fast-“ she was out of breath slightly. yelena hated running so the fact that she came after you was a compliment. “you okay? you seem kind of…” she gestured to all of you and then made a grumpy expression. you would have laughed if you didn’t feel sick or in pain everywhere, “fine.” you forced it out, holding your side, “sure, right.” she eyed you with a speculative expression, nodding sarcastically. “i’m fine,” you looked at your watch, only mildly concerned at how many calories you had burned before eating. “bob is looking for you.” your body betrayed you by it’s reaction. you tensed, eyes snapping up to her’s, widening slightly, “is he okay?” yelena’s speculation only grew, crossing her arms, “why wouldn’t he be okay? did something happen?” you hated how she could read people. she was asking, but she knew. “i-“ “walker told me bob looked like he wanted to rip his head off while you two were training. does that sound familiar?” you exhaled, “we almost had a visitor from a certain shadowy friend.” “because john got too close to you and was touching you.” she was amused. “no.” shit. yelena was smiling just slightly, lips tight, eyes scrutinizing you, “because john was touching you-“ “yelena-“ she waved her hand, “whatever. i’m not going to tell you what i see.” are you sure about that? “talk to bob.” she jogged past you without another word, and you swore you could feel the smug expression on her face. you groaned, silently cursing her as you turned, preparing to walk back.

you had not, in fact, talked to bob. but you also were not going to avoid him. he sat next to you on the couch, half reading, half glancing up at you when he thought you couldn’t see him. he was fidgeting- badly- worse than you had seen him in a while. his fingers tapped against the spine of his book, his foot wiggled side to side, and his knee bounced up and down. he was practically vibrating. “bob,” you finally forced yourself to look at him. he froze, eyes widening, cheeks flushing. he had been shaking the entire damn couch. “is something bothering you?” his foot was moving again, “sorry- i’m sorry- i just-“ he closed his book, turning to look at you, “did something happen last night?” oh. “i don’t… i don’t remember… i feel like.. something happened? between us? or…” your heart sank but you felt as if you could breathe easier, “nothing happened.” if he didn’t remember there was no point in reminding him, especially when it was nothing. he looked at you, nodded once, but behind his eyes he didn’t believe you, “okay…” you smiled softly at him, happy there wasn’t this thing between you. “we didn’t um…?” bob’s fingers traced his chin, a phantom brush against his lips. you hated the way your heart leapt at the thought, “oh- no… we didn’t.” shit, it was like you were running again. “you would remember.” you hadn’t meant to say it, but the shy smile and blush on his cheeks was worth it. he nodded, slightly struggling for words, clearly trying to pull himself together. “okay-“ it was quiet, shy. he wasn’t meeting your eyes.

“are you… getting groceries later?”

it was grocery night. john had offered to go with you. you didn’t want john to go with you. you wanted bob to come with you… god, you wanted bob to come. “i am.” please come. “okay. i’ll come.” once again, your damn heart acted like a frantic bird slamming into something, trying to break out.

you had ended up sitting in the park, stars trying to flicker past the light pollution of the city. bob sat next to you, shifting a milkshake between his hands. you held your own ice cream, watching it melt in it’s cup. your body still felt tense, frustration and irritation pulsing through you; now mixed with something else. bob was watching you, silently, foot tapping anxiously, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made you flinch.

“do you think they’ll ever fully accept us?”

the question hit you like a punch; leaving you feeling like someone had just punched you directly in the gut, taking all the air from your lungs and stolen your words. “i-“ you couldn’t remember if sentry had telekinesis abilities, but his eyes weren’t glowing, so maybe he was just thinking the same thing you had been. “no.” it came out as a sigh. bob’s expression saddened and you wished you hadn’t been so blunt. he nodded once, looking at his feet, “that’s what i thought.” the sadness in his voice made you recoil, cursing yourself for answering honestly. “i think yelena tries. she tries to understand and… include me. but i’m not like them. i can’t control it. i can’t fight… not without.. the other guy…” you felt yourself move closer to him on the bench, “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said-“ “no.” bob’s voice was soft, “don’t apologize. you’re honest. you’re one of the only people that have ever been honest with me.” you felt your heart swell at that, not used to someone appreciating your honesty. “i think they’re lucky to have you. even if you can’t control your powers… there might come a day when you need them. when they need you. one day it might not matter if you can control it, they might just need you.” bob looked at you again, eyes tracing your entire face, likely trying to figure out if you were just saying that to make him feel better. you wouldn’t do that. he knew you wouldn’t. you were the most honest person he had ever meant, even when it was harsh. you kept your eyes locked on his own, feeling that damn tug in your stomach again, ignoring the way your heart jumped.

“they should be happy to have you.” bob broke the stare again, shifting awkwardly, “you do everything for them… forget needing powers.” you scoffed, shaking your head, “anyone can get groceries and write things down, robert.” bob was looking at you again, sadly, “that’s not all you do. that’s- hey-“ he grabbed your hand and you may as well have been electrocuted. “look at me.” you did not want to. you were too scared to see the look he was giving you and what it would do to you. “you’re so much more than just their.. what? house keeper? manager? bullshit.” you looked at him finally, and god, it about did you in. his eyes were burning into yours, intensely, desperately, “you talk them down from fights, you defend me every time they…” his eyes dropped only for a moment, “you make me feel okay. no one has ever done that. yelena tries… she understands to a point… she- but not like you. you don’t treat me differently. you treat me like i’m more normal than they are. like i’m someone worth-“ bob’s jaw clenched and unclenched and you swore if he started crying you would really be out for the count, “i’ve never had that. you make it all okay. for all of us… they all respect you. they don’t say it… they should say it. but you’re so much more than just their housekeeper.” you weren’t completely buying all of it, but you nodded, “i’m glad i mean something to you too.” you hadn’t meant to say that. bob’s eyes snapped up again, listening, clinging to you with his eyes so he didn’t miss a single thing you said. “you-“ you looked away now, not able to handle the intensity and passion behind his eyes, “i’ve never been good for anyone. it’s usually just screw ups and getting people close to me killed.” bob had stood up now, “that was an accident—“ you shook your head, begging the tears to go away, “it wasn’t.” bob had seen it. in the void, in your shame room. he was there, but he still didn’t understand it. “you were a child. trained- manipulated… to be…” he was kneeling in front of you now, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the world. “i killed her, robert.” his hands found your knees, resting on them, trying to pull you back to him, despite still being scared to touch you, “stop.” his voice was pleading. “they told me if i went out there and found her and lured her back, i wouldn’t have to kill her. as long as i showed them i was strong enough to act on it-“ you couldn’t feel his fingers grip your knees tighter, “they promised… then they shot her.”

his hands moved to your wrists, holding them, pleading with you to look at him. he knew all about spiraling. about getting lost in your darkest thoughts and getting pulled down. he wouldn’t let that happen to you. he couldn’t watch you relive it again. “look at me.” warmth against your hands pulled you to him, bleary eyed, mind still far away. his eyes glowed a gentle golden, locked on you, not aware of anything else around him. “that wasn’t you.” “i should have just grabbed her and run-“ it came out as a sob and you wished you were just alone, that he wasn’t here to see you like this. “i’m not going anywhere.”

right, mind reading…

“you both would have died, then and you wouldn’t be here. and god, i don’t want a world where that’s the case.” your eyes snapped to his at that and you became aware of how close he was, then. of how he was looking at you, of his hands in your own, of the fact that he was kneeling between your knees. “i—“ he was slightly out of breath; you didn’t know if he was dizzy from your closeness, if he was using his powers to calm you and if it was draining him. or if it was something else. if it was the same feeling you had, a heat in your stomach, the lightheadedness, the roaring in your ears, the tension in you that begged to just be let out… the absolute desperation and need you felt for him that could no longer be ignored and shoved down.

his lips were on you, then; hungry and messy. you gasped as your hands found his hair, fingers tangling in it, pulling him further into you. his breath shook as he took a deep breath against you. “wait, i’m—“ bob’s hands shook slightly, eyes glowing brighter than the stars above you, “i can’t control-“ he was fighting to pull himself away from you, fists clenched as they shook. “i’m sorry-“ you found his lips again and he didn’t protest. his entire body was warm, radiating like a furnace against you. he melted into you, body trembling slightly, fingers shaking as they traced the outline of your shirt. your breath caught, the feel of his finger tips against the skin on your hips making your head spin. bob’s full weight was against you, practically sitting on your lap, melting into you, losing himself against you. his fingers traced your shirt, tugging up slightly on the fabric. “robert-“ you were breathless, lost in him, but also very aware you were on a public bench. “robert-“ you pushed him gently, almost laughing at his dazed expression and light drool on his lips. his eyes still glowed, but there was a darkness behind them. his nose brushed against yours, breathless, tilting his head just slightly to reach your lips, “robert, we’re still in public-“ you exhaled shakily, tilting just slightly out of ready of him. “right,” he breathed out, face reddening, expression still dazed.

bob shifted off you, groaning slightly, pouting as he did. “‘m sorry,” he smiled stupidly, grinning at you like he had just won the entire world. “don’t be sorry for that.” you smirked at him, letting him help you to your feet. god, he made your head spin. he dropped the groceries in the back of your car, climbing in the passenger seat with a sleepy smile. “so… home then.” he sounded disappointed; you felt it… “everyone might be asleep…” bob met your dangerous expression, “or gone…” bob placed a torturous hand on your knee as you put the car in drive.

you put groceries away with shaking hands, fully aware of how bob was looking at you like you were his next meal. he was reading from the couch, but his eyes were above the book, watching your every move. the others were either asleep or not home- you didn’t know, and you didn’t really care. you placed the final box of cereal in the pantry and turned around just to be nose to nose with bob. you exhaled, cursing your legs for growing weak. “i would like to finish what we started.” your breath caught, not at all used to bob being forward and confident. all you could do was nod, feeling pathetic and dizzy. he followed you to your room, watching with hungry eyes as you locked the door behind you. he sat on your bed, eyes softening as you joined him. “i don’t..” he hesitated as your hands found the bottom of his sweatshirt, “please don’t turn away…” your heart caught in your throat as he pulled his shirt over his head, hands gently placed over your own. your eyes dropped, shamelessly, to his ridiculous and dangerous abs. “turned off?” bob almost laughed, “i didn’t say turned off,” his shirt still lay around his neck, arms still in the sleeves, “that’s not what i was talking about…” you held your breath as he pulled his shirt over his head, pulling his arms out of the sleeves. you were still admiring his abs when his arm came to rest against you. your breath caught, choking on the air in your nose, “bob-“ “no…” his voice was quiet, he was no longer meeting your eyes, “please don’t treat me different now. you always call me robert. call me robert…” your eyes followed the numerous lines on his arms, not hearing him as tears filled your eyes. “bob, i-“ he was looking at you, guilty, broken, embarrassed, “please don’t treat me differently, i- they’re old.. most of them are old, they- i haven’t in a long time-“ you were already crying though, not sure how he could expect you not to react at all. to this. to him doing this. “i’m-“

“i’m sorry. i should have warned you, i-“

“why are you sorry?” your voice was flat, void of the usual softness it held towards him, shaking slightly, “why are you apologizing? i- i’m sorry you ever thought- i’m sorry it was bad enough that you-“ bob was looking at you again, still guilty, still trying to hold up his walls for you. you squeezed both his hands, trying to get the tears to stop, “if i had been there-“ bob actually laughed then, “you would have hated me back then.” he tilted your head up to look at him, “god knows i did…” you wiped at your eyes, hating that he was once again seeing you cry, but happy it was at least over him this time, “you promise you’ve stopped? completely?” bob nodded, looking at you shamefully, “i’m better now….. i- i didn’t want you to find out like this. i’m sorry. i didn’t think you would ever see them…”

you bit your lip, stroking his arms with the softest touch, “i’m sorry you thought you deserved this. you didn’t. no matter what you did.” bob’s eyes were on your face, even as your own traced up and down his arms, as your fingers ran gently along the uneven skin. bob was holding his breath, truly feeling like he could cry; knowing he had never felt such a gentle touch- especially on the darkest, most gruesome scars of his past. “i think i’m in love with you.”

you nearly tumbled right off the bed. you were sure your face reflected your shock, but hopefully not the way you were currently fighting for air. “you don’t have to say it back. i don’t even know what that means, really. i’ve never felt it before. not towards me, or directed at someone else… but i know how i feel when i’m with you. and how you make me feel. safe… happy, normal.. like i’m not a freak, or a screw up, or a total loser, or a burden… just.. that i’m me. something i’ve never really felt in a positive way. not really. but when you look at me… or laugh at something i say… being me isn’t…the worst thing ever.”

shit, now you were crying. how could he say those things to you and mean it? he knew what you had done… he knew what you were. what you had trained to be… “robert.” his soft eyes met yours and the look behind them made you nearly break, “i don’t deserve your love. i don’t care what your past was like. you are good. you are the best person i’ve ever met but, i-“ “bullshit.” bob was in front of you again, “absolute bullshit. i don’t want to hear that again. if you can see the good in me, then why the hell shouldn’t you deserve love and second chance when the two times you weren’t perfect were accidents?” damn. he had a point. but still- he was bob. you would never hold yourself to the same standard of the man you loved. “that’s the problem,” he was smiling just slightly, a playful smirk on his lips, “is that you will never see yourself as i do. and you will never see myself the way i do.” oh, damn him and that mind reading ability. “look at me.” you did, shamefully, embarrassed, guilty, “everyone i get close to dies. or i push them away before they can get too close…” bob squeezed your hand, “lucky for you, i can’t die. or even be injured. and i have been told that i am extremely annoying and clingy. so good luck with that other part.” you almost laughed, wiping at the tears in your eyes. bob let go of your hand, exhaling, “you don’t have to say anything back. i’m not expecting anything. i don’t need anything to change between us… as long as we can still be friends and-“ he stood up, a soft but sad smile on his lips, “please just don’t push me away. i’m sorry. i’ll give you time. i’ll go… just… please don’t push me away.”

you grabbed onto his wrist, stopping him before he could walk away. your mind had acted before you were caught up with the plan. bob looked at you wide eyed, eyes slowly moving to your interlocked hands. his skin was hot, always much too hot to the touch, always much more hot than the average person. he looked to you again, hopeful, expectant. say something, stupid. say something before he walks out, or before he starts another anxious rambling. what if you said something stupid and hurtful again? you tugged on his arm so quickly and suddenly that bob stumbled against you. his eye’s widened as he landed directly in your lap, stumbling over apologies as he struggled to get off you. your arms wrapped around his waist, tightly, holding him against you. bob’s breath caught, tensing against your touch. you pulled him in by the hair before he could mutter one more apology.

his breath hitched, inhaling shakily against your lips. he closed his eyes as he reciprocated, hotter, heavier, with even more passion. your own heart jumped, skipping entirely too fast to be healthy. bob melted into you, his full weight sending you gently against the mattress. his arms wrapped around you tightly, fingers tracing your skin softly beneath your shirt. your heart leapt, breath shaking, silently wondering who lit off fireworks in your stomach. bob pulled you closer against him, lifting your back off the mattress. you could have passed out right then alone, but then his other hand pulled your shirt over your head, as he continued to hold you against him. your head spun. the pair of you let out a sharp breath at the feeling of warm skin against warm skin. the room was spinning as his lips found yours again, messily, desperately. the room buzzed with electricity- or maybe it was just your head struggling to keep up with the rest of you. bob shifted down your jaw, to your neck, to your collarbone. you shifted, swearing that the room was sitting on top of a frisbee that had been thrown. his fingers against your skin sent electric bolts through your skin, heat spreading through you rapidly. his touch was soft and so full of love. his skin against you, comforting, the heat building all the way into your stomach. it was nothing like you had ever felt. it was gentle, careful, protective. nothing like hands that had been on you in the past; forceful, rough. no. you forced the memories down- refusing to ruin the moment. the perfect way he melted against you, the way he held you gently, but firmly. soft, but protective. bob was nearly gasping for air as he broke away from your skin. you would have smirked if you weren’t so pathetically out of breath and worked up yourself. he shook slightly, his eyes glowing a soft golden when he finally looked at you. “i’m sorry-“ he had a stupid smile on his lips, embarrassed, “too much-“ his hands shook and you were sure he was fighting for restraint, pulling himself together, not wanting to lose control. still, you grinned at him, foolishly and exhausted. “i’m sorry, i just-“ you stroked his hair as he collapsed into your chest, breathless and sweaty.

“too much…” he hummed against your skin, completely wrecked without even going further. completely lost to the world as soon as you started playing with his hair. “there’s no hurry.” you would have hated yourself if he did truly feel bad about needing to stop, “we have time.” there would be several nights of messy passion and tangled sheets. right now, all you wanted was to feel his skin against you, warm and soft- and his arms around you, firmly and protective.

“stay here tonight. with me…” it was not a question, but bob answered by pulling you closer to him, nestling your face into his chest, just under his chin. you breathed deeply, inhaling his scent, breathing him in. bob said nothing, breathing deeply, breath still shaky, holding you against him, “i’m all yours.”

—————————

a/n: this took me soooo long oml. im not sure i love all of this, but i wanted to post something and finally finish this since i started it june 7th😵‍💫

[kathryn-writes]

Fanfiction is the reason I'm not as worried about AI (as a writer)

If you've been reading the internet at all in the last few years, you know, according to the CEOs with a vested interest in this being true, that the next Tolstoy is lying in wait in a server farm currently guzzling up so much power it's changing the climate somewhere in Nebraska. AI is going to write books so well that there won't be any need for authors anymore! People will be able to just put in prompts and magically vomit out the stories they have always wanted to their personal standards!

There are not-so-outrageous claims that publishers are flirting with AI-genned and possibly people-guided stories already. And several publishing houses popping up to publish all those amazing AI-generated stories! And I'm not going to pretend that the writer in me didn't feel a twinge of worry.

Are they coming for my stories? Are these server farms going to replace the hours and days and weeks that I put into having an idea, constructing a plot, filling in ALL the words that connect the plot, editing to make the work cohesive all while paying attention to characterization, prose, voice, pacing, world building, realistic dialogue, humor, continuity, theme, and all the infinite little flourishes and details that go into creating a story? Apparently, so say the AI company CEOs who are totally not trying to sell you snake oil!

These insta-stories that people seem to think are a huge market have a really interesting testing ground: fanfiction. Because if there's any place where there is an instant audience voracious for reading stories that often repeat the same themes and tropes and characters, it's here. Look up the two cakes meme if you don't believe me. It's the perfect market for AI slop, providing an endless stream of soulmates fics featuring our favorite blorbos.

But what have we seen in practice? At least in the fandom I'm involved in, the few folks who have tried to make AI slop happen have... had trouble. Not only do the stories get flagged by members of the fandom as being suspicious, but they get very little to no engagement. People aren't interested in these stories. They avoid them. I want to remind everyone that fanfic is free. It's a click and sometime scrolling AO3. The prompts one would need to feed into ChatGPT are really narrow, since you probably already have the tropes you want in mind and the names of the characters. It's exactly where one would expect AI slop to have an audience, and it just doesn't.

If these models have already used the entire internet to train (which they have, even when people have told them to STOP using their content), and the only people who seem to be claiming we're within arm's reach of artificial general intelligence are the CEOs who are trying to keep the venture capital money flowing, then... do I fear that they are going to be able to compete with human creativity? I don't.

Because it can't even get people who've trawled the depths of AO3, of FFN, and even of Media Miner in a desperate search for a bazillion Destiel soulmate ABO fics to turn to the slop that ChatGPT makes.

[shijimasan]

having mokke as a president doesn’t seem such a good idea ... what a drag. school mystery number four, shijima-san of the art room, and my creator ... and we’re running for president, i suppose...

shh, other me!

together, we form two shijima meis, and we’re both running for president!

with our powers combined, we’ll make the best president(s) you’ll ever vote for! hey, can we even be counted as one being? we’re different, so i suppose shijima-chan could be my vice... but that’s not the point we’ll be making! vote us for president! here’s why!

we plan to promote creativity and inclusivity, which means no prejudice or discrimination allowed! of course, the lgbtq+ community deserves to be represented within the government, and this president loves women—

mei-chan.

alright, alright! besides supporting the gays—happy pride month!—

shijima-chan and i will personally have a hand in making spaces and content accessible for disabled people such as ourselves!

we’ll focus on eliminating discrimination,

giving and providing new systems of support to victims of abuse, neglect, and others,

as well as free healthcare and therapy as we’ve been subjected to this system before.

aside from that, we’ll also build new art spaces to give artists the tools they need to further their pursuit of their medium!

we hope to allow everyone a place where they can express themselves freely, where no one is subjected to unequal treatment or told that they can’t pursue their dreams, where no one would ever, ever, ever feel that their goals could only be achieved in another universe where everything was picture perfect.

if someone violates our laws, though, we can just send them to hell.

yeah!!! well, maybe not to hell, but with shijima-chan’s powers, we no longer need prisons, too! just trap them in any painting—

that way, we can use our budget and the space from tearing down prisons to help other people! the prison conditions will be nicer than ever been—and we’ll make hearings fair, too, since no. 1 set an example of one that shouldn’t be followed…

… additionally, as much as she is a little hyperactive, mei-chan is a kind soul who understands and has experienced the negative parts of being in minority groups, as she is part of many. her choices will be informed with the knowledge of the people she’s trying to help.

i’ll advise mei as her vice president—with our personalities balancing each other out, i do feel that we can make this country better.

so vote the shijima meis for president!

(lesbians for the win!)

As THE Teru Minamoto…. I would like to ask for your guy’s help… I would love to run for president next election. If you DO elect me as your president I promise to put chemicals in the water to turn all the homophobic people homosexual. I will also make peace with all country leaders by giving them homemade chocolate that my little brother oh so kindly made. Last but not least I will replace all the old white men in congress with awesome and cool women.

On July first I will post a poll and collect all of your votes. OTHER TBHK CHARACTERS FEEL FREE TO RUN AGAINST ME IN THIS PRESIDENTIAL DEBATE

#Tbhk Presidential debate

[ckret2]

Can you give us more Scaramouche/Aku content please? I crave this ship/their dynamic

With pleasure! have a bunch of headcanons

I'm currently working on a fic so I'm (mostly) trying to avoid headcanons that'd spoil parts of that fic. most of these are ideas I've left in comments or DMs but haven't put in an actual post, so the topics are all over the place.

this is one of those "this got so long that i'm unironically giving it a table of contents so i remember what's in it" posts.

a note on chronology

aku's (baselessly) worried jack could use scaramouche against him

once that's not a concern, EVERYONE'S gotta watch the wedding.

if aku's in love he's insufferable about showing off his beloved.

and insufferable about showing off for him.

scaramouche is the only bot in his line with a crush on the boss

his line was custom designed to meet aku's aesthetic tastes

scaramouche at karaoke night

scaramouche & his aku tattoos engravings

no matter who asks for the first date, it goes badly

aku's big on gift giving. like, 💰💰💰💸💳💎💍👑🔑

lot of people go "aku had a robot boyfriend built for him?? cringe"

don't use cute pet names on aku, it might kill him

"trading assassinations for dinner dates" romcom

1. some of these headcanons are pre-relationship, some are during a relationship. whenever I mentally insert scaraku into canon I never interpret it as "Aku & Scaramouche are having a relationship off-screen we just don't see." Instead, my interpretation is "Scaramouche has a decades-long crush on Aku; Aku would reciprocate if he knew, but he doesn't, and so it's never occurred to him that romance with a robot is even an option."

So any headcanons about them together as a couple aren't set in the canon timeline, but some alternate timeline where they get together (and obviously aku didn't blow up scaramouche's head.)

2. Aku's never struck me as bashful or self-conscious about his desires. If he wants something, it's everybody's business. he's telling the whole planet and if he isn't handed what he wants in five minutes he's stealing it. I imagine he'd be the same way about romance.

With one exception: when Jack's around. If Jack were to fall in love, Aku wouldn't hesitate for a second to use Jack's love interest against him (even, as it turns out, if that love interest is Aku's own flesh and blood), so he sort of assumes Jack would do the same to him. Even though Jack's a good guy. Like that would probably be one of those "for the greater good" things Aku's heard about.

Love is a weak spot. If Jack stabs Scaramouche through the chest, it'll be Aku's heart that feels it. (like, metaphorically—but I guess also literally since Scaramouche is powered with Aku essence? but we're talking about the metaphor right now.) I doubt Aku's been in love or whatever-close-approximation-passes-as-love-for-him very often, if ever before. He's not used to having a vulnerability like that. This little robot is a piece of Aku's heart that's much MUCH easier to kill than the rest of Aku is.

So as long as a guy eager and able to kill Aku is running around, Aku won't want the world to learn about this new weakness. Any relationship is top secret and Scaramouche isn't allowed to get anywhere near Jack.

3. But the second Jack's no longer a threat—OR if Jack somehow finds out about them so there's no point keeping it a secret—every TV channel on the planet is interrupted with a broadcast from Aku going "what's up bitches i'm getting married and you have to watch it or die" (he probably doesn't say it like that.)

if "Jack's no longer a threat" overlaps with "Jack's still alive" for some reason (truce? lost his sword again??), Aku's making a big deal out of inviting his daughter to the wedding and mentioning in the invitation that she can bring a +1. like, oh of course I'M not inviting the samurai, but I care about him so little that i'm not even telling you you can't bring him. that's how unimportant he is. double insult.

the wedding thing's a half joke. but like if it happened it'd go like that.

4. When Aku's got nothing to fear, he'd be SO annoying about being in a relationship. Only the greatest specialest little robot in the world could possibly have won the almighty Aku's attention, much less affection, and that means Scaramouche is the best and Aku's gonna show him off; disrespect this robot and you are disrespecting Aku (he will kill you). This is his Yoko Ono, his George Viliers. Half the world's gonna grow to really hate Scaramouche.

Scaramouche isn't bothered by this. They just hate him because he snagged the ruler of the world. Suck his hypothetical penis.

5. having a romantic relationship would just make aku even more over-the-top. Being in the same room as someone he feels loved by would puff up his ego like a helium balloon. Usually he has to keep that ego inflated by himself! Getting regular tributes from enslaved subjects can only do so much for him when he KNOWS they're only doing it on his orders; having just one person he genuinely likes who thinks the WORLD of him—not because he forced them to—would do more for him than a hundred dumb monuments in the ocean.

Scaramouche walks in and immediately smiles when he sees him and Aku knows he means it and instantly gets a little giddy, and now he's like I've gotta show off. kills the next person who walks into the room.

6. I've mentioned that I headcanon Scaramouche is just one unit in a line of robots designed & programmed similarly to him: same basic body, same initial skillset, same emotion programming—which means same preprogrammed loyalty to Aku.

Yet Scaramouche is the only one who developed a crush on the boss.

The rest of them are like "yeah of course i'm loyal to the boss to the end, but if the samurai ever actually kills him, either i'll keep working for whoever replaces him or go find some other job. i probably wouldn't even be sad about it." and meanwhile scaramouche is like "if the samurai ever kills the boss i'm just gonna kill myself too. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ no, wait. if the samurai kills the boss, I'M gonna have to go find a time portal so i can go back and stop HIM—" and the rest are like "what's wrong with you."

every once in a while he'll have a conversation with the other robo-assassins that ends with something like "what do you MEAN the rest of you don't think Aku's handsome?!?!" "WHAT'S HANDSOME ABOUT HIM??" "if he's not the standard by which you judge all other beauty, then i don't know how to explain it to you."

They're all painfully aware of Scaramouche's crush. They have all let him know they think he's an idiot. Somebody dropped a poll in the robo-assassin group chat, "DO YOU THINK AKU LIKE-LIKES SCARAMOUCHE?" 1 vote yes 11 votes no. The yes vote is a lie based on hope.

7. when Scaramouche's line was being built, the scientists told Aku that these were gonna be some super advanced robots—they've got programming for emotions and evolving personalities so they can continue to develop after they're built, they're designed to be able to survive with like 99% of their bodies blown up so that they can be rebuilt with their memories intact, these are the assassin bots of the future, these things will be usable for centuries if not longer.

And Aku went "well if i've gotta stare at these things for that long, then I at least want to like looking at them." so he told the scientists how he wanted them to look.

Which means that, without realizing it, Aku had these bots custom-designed to be particularly handsome according to his personal aesthetic standards. which shouldn't have been an issue, it's not the first time he's told his scientists "if I'm gonna be using these things then I want to like how they look," that's how he ended up with an army of beetles. except then one of these very pretty bots started hitting on him.

8. aku's in an interesting position where he basically defines "mainstream" culture—he's this world's government and god and has been for millennia, HE'S the one broadcasting propaganda, HE gets to decide what's on the airwaves; but at the same time he's also kind of the counterculture because, like… nobody wants this. nobody likes him being in charge. but in either case he's at the center of global culture. culture is defined by its orbit of him.

so people write songs about him, or songs using him as a metaphor for something else, as one does about major cultural figures. and songs about him might be:

part of mainstream culture: you know those christian rock songs that sing about jesus in a way that kind of makes you go "is the singer in love with jesus orrr—?" those, except about aku

part of the counterculture: you know how christian songs sing about the devil? those, except about aku. he considers songs about him being evil fine, but songs about casting him out/rejecting him/getting rid of him/him being defeated by some higher purer power are Not Approved, you're risking some trouble playing songs like that. but they're still written.

part of the counter-counterculture: you know how like tongue-in-cheek satanic metal bands sing about the devil? "he's awful he's terrible he's the worst yay yahoo hurray we love him"? those, except about aku. they basically loop back around to being mainstream in spite of somehow also being opposite of the mainstream songs.

"what's this got to do with scaraku?" never go to karaoke night with scaramouche because all you're getting is songs from category 1 and category 3.

9. Scaramouche has at least one engraving on his body dedicated to Aku. He possibly gets more. He's got like, you know those full sleeve tats that look like an oni or a dragon or whatever? Gets an engraving like that but it's of Aku.

To whoever does Scaramouche's engravings, he probably comes across as like,, one of those unhinged ultra-patriotic nationalists who gets a bunch of tattoos of the cult of personality dictator. Okay, creepo, as long as you're paying for them

tattoo artist doesn't find out Scaramouche is anything other than a crazy patriot until the day he comes in beaming looking like somebody used a jackhammer to carve the word "AKU" in his chest and asks for it to be filled in with gold. "It's kinda sloppy, you sure you don't want it cleaned up?" "Nope!" "Where'd you get this one done?" "Autograph from the boss himself!" "What." surely this robot means LITERALLY an autograph. Like at a meet and greet or something.

on some other engraving, "Okay, do you want the face filled in with gold like the other engravings, or do you want enamel so I can get it red and green?" "Uhhh… hold on." Pulls out his phone "hey Aku baby!!! Do you want your face in gold or enamel?" "Dude what the fuck, do you have his number?" They're like half a dozen engravings deep before the artist is like wait what do you mean you actually know him. What do you mean you're in love with him. Not sure if that's better or worse than the crazy patriot thing.

10. if Aku's the first one to ask for a date he's gonna unintentionally scare the shit out of Scaramouche. internal monologue: "should i ask him if he's free tomorrow? wait. why would i ask. i'm the one who gives him his jobs, i should know if he's free. i can make him free."

Scaramouche, talking to the robo-assassin group chat: "babes i think i fucked up :(" shares a screenshot with the group chat of a text from Aku that says "I'm canceling your next job. Report to my audience chamber tomorrow."

there are characters who are careful about navigating the nuances of a relationship with a significant power imbalance, and aku is not one of them. (Whatever Aku loves is HIS, and he'll take good care of them, treasure them, give them anything they want—but they don't get a say in the matter. If Aku's in love, the beloved doesn't get the option to say no.)

It's better for everyone if Scaramouche makes the first move—but he's been trying to make the first move for like the past twenty years and the hints fly straight past Aku. He's invited Aku to like five different public executions and every time Aku's turned him down thinking "well he just mentioned he was going to the execution and asked if I wanted to go too, only a fool would talk about their weekend plans in front of the lord and master of all and then exclude him, he only invited me to be polite."

11. Aku's INCREDIBLY grandiose with affectionate favors & gifts. he owns everything, he can do that.

like,, he approaches scaramouche like "hey i do a lot of business in this big city, i should get a permanent place to stay when i visit, you spend a lot of time in that city right? do my househunting for me, let me know which places you think are best. the budget is five million bucks—minimum." and after scaramouche gushes about a few places aku gets one and goes "ok here's the key." "wait, didn't you get this place so YOU'D have somewhere to stay?" "i did. this place has seven damn bedrooms, i'm sure you can keep one set aside as a guest room for me."

Scaramouche doesn't even want expensive stuff. expensive stuff is nice, but that's not what he's here for, he just wants aku. now he gets aku AND expensive stuff. he's the luckiest robot in the world.

he tries to return the favor, but unlike aku he's on a budget. he's not above stealing gifts, though. most common gifts he brings are jewels of various kinds—bonus if they're magical. the boss likes pretty enchanted rocks, and what the boss wants, he gets.

12. there are definitely some people who see Aku, who is the most single a person has ever been, get together with a robot, and assume "that guy's so lonely and so unpopular that he got some kind of sex bot built & programmed to be his boyfriend so he can pretend he's loved."

if Scaramouche overhears any claims like that, his response is generally "do you wanna see just what i was built & programmed to do?" 🗡️🗡️🗡️

"Aku's #1 assassin" isn't a SUPER well-known celebrity position—but it's well-known enough for a lot of people to instantly reverse their position on aku's new toy when they hear his name. oh you mean THAT scaramouche? scaramouche the merciless?? ohhh.

13. Aku is not designed to accept affectionate statements and terms of endearment. ZERO defenses against it. throwing a pet name at aku is like unleashing an invasive species on a delicate ecosystem: that thing does NOT belong here and it's gonna demolish everything in its path. aku has no antibodies for this virus. a single cutesy nickname can KO him for an hour.

Scaramouche calls him "hot stuff" and his entire face catches on fire and that's how Scaramouche learns what Aku's version of a blush looks like.

the latent leftover code from X-49 buried deep in Scaramouche's programming surfaces and he unthinkingly calls aku "sweet thing," and aku excuses himself from his audience chamber to melt in a puddle in his bed and stare at the ceiling. what is this nonsense. he is not a thing that is sweet. it's absurd. he's not thinking about anything else for the rest of the afternoon.

scaramouche is convinced he just keeps accidentally insulting aku.

14. In the IDW comics, in one issue there's a running gag about Aku upgrading Jack's bounty to "20 googolplex and a dinner date with Aku." in the depths of my DMs there's a serial killer romcom fic I'm never gonna write where Aku offers a dinner date as part of the bounty for various high-level targets, with the tacit understanding that what this means is more like "you get aku's attention for an hour to attempt to network with him or plead for your family's safety or whatever you want. and you get dinner out of it."

except scaramouche manages to take out one of these targets, goes on one dinner date, INSTANTLY falls in love even though aku did absolutely nothing to try to impress him, and starts knocking out one name on Aku's Most Wanted list after another to rack up these dinner dates.

the second time it happens aku goes "this bot again?" the fifth or sixth time it happens aku goes "this bot AGAIN???????" after the thirtieth time it happens he's going "it's been three weeks since scaramouche took out a target with a dinner date attached, what's taking him so long??"

after like the 10th date scaramouche is telling everyone he knows "yeah aku and i are definitely officially a couple" and simultaneously aku's thinking "i wonder if scaramouche would be interested in making things official. ... no, of course not, if he was interested he wouldn't only ask me out when he's collecting a bounty."

scaramouche's pals are trying to convince him that if he and aku were an item, aku wouldn't require him to kill somebody every time they go out—"he's a busy guy, that's just his excuse to make time for me!"—and meanwhile aku's sitting on his throne staring at his phone trying to telepathically command scaramouche to call him.

this idea is more silly than anything else. the idea of Aku, Shogun of Sorrow, Master of Masters waiting for a call from his kind-of-unofficial-boyfriend like a lovesick teen just amuses the hell out of me.

[saintormentor]

quickie m. s

in which . . . matt let’s you ride before work

content warnings . . . nsfw / explicit sexual content, dominance, clothed sex / partially clothed sex, tip teasing / penetration denial, forced edging / orgasm control, very light, verbal degradation, overstimulation, possessive language, power imbalance, creampie ( implied ), stuffing kink, public consequences, praise kink, manipulation via timing, mild breathplay elements ( face in collarbone/neck ), wetness/bodily fluids mention

he was already half-dressed—tie hanging undone around his neck, dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the light trail of hair down his chest. you sat on the edge of the bed, one of his button-downs barely covering your thighs, your eyes pleading, mouth parted, legs slightly spread like you were begging for attention without saying a word.

matt looked over at you with that mix of annoyance and hunger, eyes flickering to the clock.

“baby, i’m gonna be late,” he muttered, voice gravelly, still half-asleep but already hard beneath his tailored slacks.

you pouted, shifting just enough for the shirt to slip off one shoulder. “you’re always late,” you whispered. “what’s ten more minutes?”

he inhaled, jaw clenched.

“ten minutes?” he echoed, like it was a challenge. his hands gripped your knees and spread your legs wider. “you want me to fuck you in ten minutes?”

“don’t even need to,” you hummed, brushing your fingers across the bulge in his pants. “just… let me ride.”

his eyes darkened, and he tilted his head, like he was really considering it.

“fuck,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. then: “make it quick. we’re doing it my way.”

he backed you into the bed, yanked your hips closer to the edge, and sat down behind you, legs spread, forcing you between them.

“climb on,” he said, voice low, one hand already pulling his cock out of his slacks. hard. heavy. leaking.

you did as you were told, knees braced on either side of his thighs, chest rising and falling with anticipation. your hand wrapped around his length, guiding him against your entrance, soaking already from how badly you’d needed him all morning.

he didn’t let you sink down right away.

“hold it,” he commanded, voice a near growl. his hands gripped your waist, forcing you to hover with just the swollen head nudging at your slit. “this what you wanted, baby? to make me late?”

you whimpered, thighs already trembling from holding still.

“matt,” you whispered, rocking your hips just enough to let him slide in halfway.

“nah,” he hissed, yanking you back up so only the tip remained inside. “you get what i give.”

his hand shot between your legs, thumb circling your clit, teasing you right on the edge.

you tried to move again. he held you still.

“fuck yourself on it, then,” he whispered, finally loosening his grip. “make yourself come with just the tip.”

it was torture. maddening. every time you tried to drop lower, his hands forced you back up. you could feel the thick head stretching you, but it wasn’t enough. not even close.

“please,” you begged, hands gripping his shoulders, face buried in his neck. “matt, please.”

his other hand slid up your shirt, pinched your nipple hard.

“you made me late,” he growled. “you deal with the consequences.”

so you rode just the tip—hips rolling slow and shallow, clit dragging against his pelvic bone. your moans got desperate, breath hitching, body twitching with every tease of penetration.

“good girl,” he muttered, watching you fall apart with only the barest part of him inside you. “look at you. fuckin’ ruined from the tip.”

and just as you hit the peak, just as your body convulsed, thighs trembling, cunt squeezing down tight—he slammed you all the way down onto him.

you screamed.

your whole body went rigid, overstimulated, walls fluttering violently around him.

“there she goes,” he hissed, burying his face in your neck. “milking me so fuckin’ good—jesus—”

he didn’t even thrust. just held you there, pulsing inside, letting you clench and tremble until you were gasping into his collarbone.

when you finally slumped forward, boneless and wet and flushed, he looked at the clock again.

“…fuck. i really gotta go.”

you whined, head still spinning.

he gently tapped your cheek, kissed your jaw, and smirked.

“don’t move. keep me warm. i’ll finish what i started later.”

and then he pulled his tie tight, buttoned his shirt like nothing happened—leaving you stuffed full, aching, and dripping onto his slacks.

a / n . . . the tie mentioned is the dior tie, trust me.

[kira-okamoto]

𝕄𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤 | Jake Sim x fem! reader

➳ Warning!: public sexual tension, explicit sexual content, fem! reader, Jake x fem! reader, Jay (side character), mutual teasing, footplay under the table, public teasing, orgasm denial, bondage (wrists tied), dominance/submission dynamics, begging, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, praise kink, pet names (princess, little slut), mild humiliation, group dynamics, mention of third party unaware of sexual activity, consensual power play. Words: 1.5 k

➳ Pairing!: Jake Sim x fem! reader

N/A: Here goes my fourth Enhypen one shot! I really hope you all are enjoying them ^^ Ayyy Jakey, my man <3 Honestly, it took me a bit longer to update because I’m swamped with exams… Anyway, I hope I can keep posting more soon ^^

》｡･♡ﾟ• ｡♡ﾟ･｡ More under the cut

You had gone out shopping with Jay and your boyfriend. Not because sweet Jay was playing third wheel or anything like that, but simply because the three of you shared a mutual friend and had decided to go out that day to buy him a birthday present—Sunoo’s birthday was just around the corner.

So here you are now. Standing in front of a shop window, arguing about what kind of things Sunoo might like.

“Definitely something cute. A big, adorable plushie, just like him,” argues Jake, your beloved boyfriend, glancing at your friend Jay, who just purses his lips.

You don’t say anything and let them argue.

Suddenly, you tune out of the conversation and out of any thoughts about Sunoo, who had been your friend for many years.

However, now you can only think about Jake. About Jake and how good he looks in that casual plaid lumberjack shirt that looks so good on him. About Jake and the way he’s rolled up his sleeves to show off his muscular, slightly veiny forearms—perfect for maybe biting a little. About Jake and the way his fingers are playing with the fold of his shirt that covers a bit of his thighs, since he’s nervous while trying to win the argument against Jay.

You try to snap out of it when both boys look at you now, seeking your opinion. But you just mumble and pull your mind away from the sinful thoughts you’ve been lost in.

But your panties are already soaked, and you do your best to avoid rubbing your thighs together in front of the boys, in public.

“I… I agree with Jay,” you mumble after a few moments, not really sure what he had picked. But you trust your friend’s good taste.

Jay smiles victoriously and your boyfriend gives you a sad look because he thought you’d support him. You just shrug and look away.

You all go into the store and buy all the gifts Jay suggested, and you just bite your lip every time Jake moves in a way that makes the muscles in his back stand out more. Or when he turns to look at you with those bright, loving eyes.

You shouldn’t be horny in public. You shouldn’t, but you are. And you’re so embarrassed about it.

Finally, with a few bags hanging from your arms because you offered to carry them—not fair that the guys always treat you like a princess, you want to show them you can spoil them too—you head to a cute café to grab something before heading home.

You have something planned.

Jake sits first in some comfy armchairs tucked away in a corner of the place. Then you sit across from him. Normally, with a friend, you’d sit next to your boyfriend, but… You use the bags as an excuse so Jay just raises his eyebrows and sits next to your boyfriend without saying anything.

You settle into your seats and order some drinks, which are served to you right away. You grab your cold milkshake and start sipping innocently through the straw. Well, “innocently.”

Under the table, you discreetly slip off one of your flats and slide your foot toward your boyfriend’s legs. At first, he takes it as a joke and smiles and laughs before shaking his head and going back to chatting about unimportant things while sipping his green grape soda.

But you move your leg higher up his calf until you reach his knee. Jake shoots you a warning look that Jay doesn’t see, since he’s busy checking the gifts for Sunoo.

He quickly looks away, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. But he’s a good actor, because when your friend focuses on him again, Jake hides the situation perfectly.

Silently, acting as if nothing strange is happening under the table, you move your leg a little higher. Jake gets the message and, pressing his thick lips together—the ones you’ll make sure to kiss later—spreads his legs a bit more and scoots closer to the table edge like nothing’s happening, so your friend doesn’t accidentally glance over and see something he shouldn’t.

Jay suspects nothing. He just drinks and talks and relaxes in the armchair. Completely unaware of your wicked actions. Poor thing, maybe you should treat him to that coffee he’s drinking right now.

You press your toes lightly against your boyfriend’s groin and Jake chokes on his drink.

“Hey Jake, you okay?” Jay raises his eyebrows, looking concerned.

Jake just clears his throat and gives you a harder look. Then he turns to Jay and makes up a convincing excuse. You don’t worry about him, you just flash a mischievous smile.

You move your foot a bit more, finding the growing bulge in his pants. You apply just a little pressure, but you see your poor boyfriend tense up and clear his throat.

That’s enough.

You pull your foot away, but Jake puts a hand under the table and tries to catch you before you do. But you’re faster, and with a few giggles, you slip your flat back on and settle into your cushioned seat.

Jay raises his eyebrows and looks at you both.

“Is there something going on I should know about?” he mutters, but quickly changes his mind. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

You’re definitely buying him that coffee.

Meanwhile, Jake gives you a look full of fire. You decide you don’t want to decipher it right now.

When you’ve finished your drinks and get up, you have a little dispute with Jay because you want to treat him. Although he refuses, you’re stubborn and end up winning, so you pay for his coffee.

When you go to pay, Jake follows you and you leave Jay alone with the gift bags for a moment.

Your boyfriend comes up to you and discreetly grabs your thigh. He presses a little closer to your body, his breath brushing your ear.

“I’m not letting you sleep tonight, huh, pretty?” he whispers, and his voice is two tones deeper. You shiver. “Someone hasn’t behaved very well in public…”

And, as promised, that night he has you tied to the bedpost.

Your wrists are bound together with his tie. Your thighs on either side of his shoulders, and Jake just alternates between the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your groin, your swollen, desperate clit, and your navel.

You’ve been teetering on the edge of orgasm for thirty minutes, but every time you feel like you’re about to fall and drown in the best pleasure of your life, Jake grabs you and keeps you from going over.

He smiles at you wickedly.

“Where’s the bad girl you were this afternoon?” he asks in a syrupy voice, stroking you with false sweetness.

You moan and squirm and whimper. Jake can be very versatile in bed, but when he gets this dominant, he just drives you crazy.

You bite your lips when you see your boyfriend’s tongue lick the soaked slit of your little pussy. He looks you right in the eyes, mischief dancing in his gaze. He bites your clit lightly, just enough to make you hold your breath, but not to hurt you.

And you whimper again when he moves his teeth away from your center and drags them languidly against your thigh, now red from the abuse he’s put it through.

“Where is she, huh?” he asks again, closing his eyes as he sucks on the inner skin of your thigh with his plump lips. “My little slut, so brave outside the bed… Tsk tsk, that behavior needs to be tamed.”

You get so turned on by his words that you arch your back again. His tongue has left your legs and is now trailing up your navel, licking the sweat from your body, burning from his touch.

“Please, Jakeee,” you’re forced to beg. You’re desperate. Desperate to feel something more than just the superficial touch of his tongue that’s driving you crazy.

The pleasure ride he’s putting you through is turning into a rollercoaster of ups and downs of pent-up pleasure. You moan his name.

“Please what? Hmm?”

“Please, fuck me, fuck me. I’m sorry, I won’t act like that in public again, but please…” you’re practically crying as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling like a beggar for pleasure.

You feel him laugh against your skin and he straightens up.

“Who said I don’t like you being that daring in public…? My little rebellious princess.”

He stands up and you look into his eyes, where you can see he’s finally given in to your pleas. He wraps you in his arms for a moment before kissing your lips, your cheeks, your neck where he leaves some bites.

“All right, princess. Spread those pretty legs for me, hmm?"

[dog-bimbo]

explicit content, unprotected sex, power imbalance, casinos, gambling, transactional sex, drunk sex. eighteen and above only. minors do not interact. part one two

you didn’t think shiu was serious.

“are you free at 7?"

that was all the text said.

he usually tells you about the client, what he likes on a woman. sometimes, he sends over the clothes he wants you to wear.

as you were thinking, he sends a follow up.

"just us. is that okay?"

your heart skips a beat.

you cannot believe it. you send a quick "yes" and rush to get ready like it's prom.

you pick the dress he likes. not too flashy. it's a silky baby pink slip, the one that clings around your body, it also catches light when you walk.

you slip on your white pumps—elegant, narrow, something to make your legs look longer when you cross them.

tiny gold earrings, dainty necklace and bracelets. nothing clunky. you wear your hair down because he hates it tied. “ponytails are for little girls," he told you once, laughing at his own joke as you let it loose with a pout.

you’re still not sure you can call it a date or not. if it was a "motel" thing, he might as well carry you naked there.

his shirt is rolled at the sleeves, the green tie is loose around his collar and his brown suit jacket is discarded in the back seat. he doesn’t say much when you slide into the passenger seat, just glances once at your legs and smirks, “cute.”

you’re not going to a dinner meeting and that's confirmed.

you end up at a casino tucked downtown, not the flashy tourist kind. this one’s sleek and quiet. he flashes a member card at the door and they let you both in without a word.

your heels click against the floor as you follow him around the building. there were flashy neon games, men in suits huddling at poker tables, women draping themselves in designer dresses, smoking something rich.

you’re nervous.

you don’t belong here.

you don't belong anywhere he takes you.

he finds a quieter spot—the blackjack table.

he pulls a seat out for you and taps the one beside it. “watch first,” he mutters, loosening his cuffs. “then i’ll let you play.” you nod, legs crossed, trying not to fidget. the cards flick across the table fast, the dealer sharp-eyed and silent. he plays smooth. never overbets, never looks too eager. “count everything,” he says under his breath. “not just yours, know the table before you even touch it.”

after a few rounds, he hands you a chip. slides it over. “go on. show me what you got.” you smile bashfully, you're excited.

your gestures are clumsy. you hit when you shouldn’t have. he snorts when you lose. “you're lucky you're a pretty girl." you pout, but it only makes him grin.

next round, he joins in. leans close to whisper what you should do. you win, he doesn't. he doesn't mind it though. you play a few more rounds—he keeps the stakes low.

he doesn’t care about the money tonight. he just watches you light up when you get it right, watches you fumble and pout and fake confidence.

he watches your hands, your laugh, your lips. at one point, he plays against you.

he makes a big deal of it too—leans back and cracks his neck like it’s serious. you giggle and call him dramatic.

“don’t mock me,” he murmurs, tossing in a chip. “your rent depends on me.” but he's light-hearted with it. "can't win shit when i'm distracted. y'know?" his eyes trail down your body, landing on your tits. it makes you blush.

later, he gets a private booth. he orders a bourbon and you get something sweeter.

“you know, this one time…” it’s his third story tonight. you didn’t peg him for the chatty type—not unless there’s cash on the table. but here he is, sipping his drink and being loose lipped. “i used to go out with this girl. i was in my twenties—” “what about her?” you cut in, side-eyeing him with a knowing little smile. he pauses, smirks. “she was in her twenties too, doll. i wasn’t always this creepy.” he scoffed. "i was stupid about her,” he says, swirling his glass. “i used to do some real romantic shit. carrying photos, matching clothes, all that.” you blink, a little stunned. “what happened then?” he grins into his drink. “i got smarter.”

you don't think you've ever heard him laugh this loud. maybe it's because he doesn't have a client breathing down his throat. he even holds you closer as more and more alcohol enters his system.

"fuck, i think i'm gonna have to get us a driver. speaking of which, i gotta teach you how to drive a car, doll. remind me." you're actually head over heels for this man.

“didn’t think you'd actually take me out..." you say, your voice meek. "i'm a bit under the weather. couldn't drink alone tonight." he confessed. "then i remembered, i have a sugar baby." he snorts. you like him like this, tipsy and practically all over you—like an actual sugar daddy should be.

he's still got it going though. he lets you sit on his lap at the slot machine. he lets your hand guide his when he pulls the lever. he reeks of alcohol more than cigarettes. he doesn’t let you pay for a thing, of course.

“your job is to look good and bring me luck,” he says with a wink, handing you a stack of chips. “you’re doing both.”

you rest your back against his chest while the lights flash. the guy who doesn't even kiss you during sex presses his lips against your temple.

and then, he murmurs something in your ear with that low, deep, raspy voice of his, "there's a hotel upstairs... you wanna crash?"

and this makes you short-circuit. the second he closes the door behind him, he's got your back pressed against his chest.

he's never too personal with how he fucks, just mean. he doesn't even kiss you all too much. but tonight, it's different, it's more intimate—it's warm.

his warm hands are running up and down your body, cupping your tits, rolling your nipples with his knuckles, it's not too harsh. you could feel his warm breath fanning your face, his warm lips brushing against yours, warm tongue swirling inside your mouth... you're going crazy.

you don't believe what you're seeing right in front of you. his face is flushed red—partly because of the alcohol but you know he's not the shiu you know. "wanna be a good little baby and get on your hands and knees for me?" he smiles at you, it's not even a smirk. doesn't really carry that edge.

"y-yes sir..." he chuckles again "god, i love it when you call me that." you sink into the mattress foam—your face pushed softly against the pillows, your back arched.

he leans down against your back, his chin rested on your shoulder and his mouth against your ear. “i had been thinking about bending you over that slot machine...”

you're practically pressed down by his body weight, it's surprisingly not as uncomfortable, just hot.

he grabs your little dress by the hem and helps you out of it along with your panties. you expected the sound of his belt unbuckling and the unzipping of his pants. but then, you hear some extra rustling, is he taking everything off???

he's never gotten fully naked while fucking, neither have you on most days. now, you feel his skin against yours, chest hair and that happy trail brushing against your bare ass...

you wanna turn around but—you feel it. his cock pressing at your entrance, "alrighty then..." he drawls.

he doesn’t ram into you like he usually does, doesn't make you do the work either. not tonight. he pushes in gradually, inch by inch, one hand holding your hip steady, the other fisting your hair. you let out a ragged moan as he fills you full. he groans, he's done controlling himself. you press your face into the pillow, overwhelmed—by the heat, by the way he’s treating you like you’re something precious.

tears roll down your eyes, you've never felt this full. he slides in again and doesn't pull back until his tip kisses your cervix. the pace is just right... it's like your pussy was made for him. you feel his hand trail back up to your hip, fingers running along your side in this soothing motion. “want me to go faster? or slower maybe?” he murmurs.

you moan, your words slurring as you're nearing your orgasm. “'s jus' right... mmph..." he pulls your head back by your hair and kisses you desperate and messy. "'m close daddy, so fuckin' close..." you moan into his mouth. "do it, soak my cock baby..." and it hits.

it's slow, it doesn't flash away. it's something you feel deep in you. you violently clench around his cock before you fall face first into the pillows again. you've gone fully numb now, but he's still thrusting till he reaches his own orgasm. and when he does, you can feel his hot, sticky load filling up your sweet cunt. he doesn’t say anything after.

he just lies there, chest against your back, breathing hard, sweat mingling between your bodies. after a while, he pulls out slowly and collapses beside you. you roll over, half dazed, and he pulls you against him. he lights up a cigarette, takes a deep drag as you both recover from that high while laying down next to each other.

is this what "making love" is? just pure skin-to-skin action?

you wanna say so many things but your eyelids get heavier and you ultimately end up sleeping.

you're woken up by the sunlight seeping through the windows and hitting your face just a bit.

you feel empty now.

he's not next to you.

as expected.

you unlock your phone and find out that he has left you messages.

get breakfast and sleep in.

you looked tired.

driver's on the way at noon.

also, this is just a one time thing.

and just under that, a bank alert flashes across your screen. an obscene deposit. the kind of amount that makes your stomach turn—not because it’s too little. because it’s too much, just as much as your tuitions.

you dial for room service and fall back on the bed again, thinking about what a fun night you had.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Music flows from unseen speakers. The boat rocks slightly as Nick makes his way back. You crane to see him as you lay on the beach blanket, the sun beaming down on the lazy stir of the waters. 

He lowers himself next to you and sighs. He bends his arms behind his head. You can’t help but notice how the muscles bulge, not just his biceps but his chest. He’s so perfect. 

He slowly turns his head to look at you. You wince and give a sheepish smile. He shifts onto his side, keeping himself propped up on one elbow and tickles along your side. 

“Come here,” he moves closer, his hand crawling along your stomach. “You look so good, baby, you know that?” 

“I... do? I mean—You do too.” You flutter your lashes as you stare at him. “Sorry, I...” you giggle and it sends a flurry through your guts. “I’m sorry, I—I—don’t know what to do.” 

You cover your face, mortified at the confession. He grabs your left hand and gently moves it away. You drop your other and stare up at the sky, just below the glare of the sun. He guides your hand to his chest. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” he drawls. “You just chill. Be you.” 

He pets your cheek with his knuckles. He leans in even closer. You lock up as your eyes meet his. They are even bluer than the sky. You gulp and he tickles down your throat. 

“Princess,” his lips brush yours. “I need you so bad.” 

“Oh,” you bat your lashes. 

“Can I have you? Pretty please?” He begs. 

“Ummm...” 

“All of you? Please. It hurts, baby. You don’t want me to hurt, do you?” He rubs his thumb along the front of your throat, his breath fluttering over you. 

Your heartbeat pounds like thunder. You press your fingertips into his chest and nod. Your tongue sticks the roof of your mouth and you cough out your answer. “Y-yes.” 

“Yeah? You want me too?” He rubs his nose against yours. “Tell me you do.” 

“I... I want you,” you pet his chest. “Nick, really, I do.” 

“Mm, I’ve dreamt of you saying that.” He growls and slides his hand up to the side of your head.  

His thumb and index form a vee around your ear as he cradles your skull. He tilts your head and kisses you. He plunges his tongue past your lips and groans as you close your eyes. Your heart races as the noise of the slapping waters and the music fade to a drone. 

The world zeroes in on you. Your skin is on fire, your blood is ice cold, and your nerves vibrate. You slip your hand up around his shoulder and moan into his mouth. You’ve never felt anything like this. You can feel everything so much. 

He turns his body as he smothers you. He slides his arm under your head as he turns his chest parallel to yours. His fingertips massage your scalps as he drinks you in. 

His pushes his pelvis against you, rocking slightly. He hooks a leg around yours and pulls it away from your other. He trails his hand down your neck and tickles along your chest. He gropes you as you feel along his neck, the tendons taut with his hunger. 

He lifts himself and plants his knees between your legs. He holds himself just above you as his lips slip away from yours. He kisses your cheek and jaw, pecking along your neck as you squirm. His breath sends shivers over you as he descends. 

He traces your collarbone with kisses and buries his face in your cleavage. He kneads you through the fabric and teethes at your skin. You moan as a whirlwind swirls behind your rib cage. You can hardly breathe. 

He nuzzles you as he follows the strap of the bikini behind your neck. He tugs until the ribbon slackens. You gasp and try to catch the top before it falls away. You cover your self as he licks the curve of your tit. 

“Princess,” he rasps and you look down at him. His eyes blaze up at you. “You said I could...” 

“I... yes,” your arms are stuck for a moment. They won’t obey. Finally, you peel your hands away. He purrs and dives back in. 

He flicks his tongue around your nipple and you squeal. The sensation tangles in your core. You heave and arch your back. 

You catch the back of his head and urge him on. Your fingers twine into the thick strands of his hair. You look down at him, lifting your head higher to see him, the silver threads in woven through shining in the sun. There's a flicker of doubt though it fades into the flames of his touch. 

He nibbles on your pebbled bud before he parts and tends to the other. You moan and drop your head down. You bend one leg as your cunt clenches needily. He laps and licks and nips as you melt into the blanket. 

He fondles your other tit as he drags his mouth lower. He leaves a smear of saliva along your stomach, teasing you as he wanders back and forth, nibbling at those places that make you twitch or whine. 

He traces the edge of your bottoms with his nose then tugs with his teeth. You gasp and wriggle as he snarls. He pushes the tails of the coverup away from your thighs and loops his thumbs in the ties along the side of the suit. You quiver and reach to stop him as a glimmer of doubt fogs your eyes. 

“Nick...” 

He hushes you as he pulls until the knots loosen. 

“Nick, please... I’m... scared,” you puff out. 

“Baby,” he slowly drags the suit down. Your hands shoot down to cover your pelvis. He tuts and catches them, pulling them away. “Why you scared? Huh? I’m not hurting you.” 

“I... I...” you stammer. 

You shiver even as the sun beats down and speckles your flesh with sweat. Even as you feel flames consuming you from within. Even as his warmth floods into you. 

“Hush, baby, I got you.” 

He pushes himself back and gets on his stomach. He frames your pelvis with his hands, his thumbs petting the short tuft of hair along your vee. He hums and bows his head, inhaling your scent and exhaling it back on you. His breath dampens the wiry curls. 

He buries his nose into you, rolling his head, and tilts back as his tongue swipes along your lips. You gape down at him as his eyes flick up to meet yours. He purrs as he delves deeper, his cool tongue gliding between your hot folds. 

You bite your lip and drop your head down as you moan. The melding of hot and cold flows through you, unfurling from your core. You twitch and dig your nails into the blanket beneath you. 

He spreads his tongue wide and drags it up your cunt, tasting you with a hum. The rumble that rises from his chest stokes the swelter inside you. You arch your back deeper, pushing into his mouth and push your heels down into the floor. 

His mouth laps loudly as he groans and growls rise from him. He feels around blindly and takes your hand. He puts his on his head. Instinctively, you urge him on, clutching him as you rock your hips. 

His tongue flicks around your clit and he teases lightly with his teeth. He seals his lips around your swollen bud and sucks. You cry out and spasm. You heave and thrust your chest out, your body contorting like an ocean tide. 

You yank on his hair as he tends to you. His hand crawls up your thigh, his other slipping beneath your bottom as he gropes you. He tickles your leg up to the crease of your cunt. 

He moves his head in tandem with his tongue. He eats you up as he pokes along your entrance. He rubs you as the slickness glosses over his finger. He grunts as his finger dips into you, as if surprised by how easy it is. 

He pushes in, just the tip, then draws back out. He smears around your juices then delves back in. A little deeper. He pulls in and out, further with each plunge. You quake and clasp onto his head with both hands. 

His tongue circles your clit as the pressure pulses in that one spot. He curls his finger inside of you, rocking his hand slightly as the weight thrums. You gulp and gasp, fighting to catch your breath.  

You tear your hands from his head and slap your palms on the floor. You lift your head and shoulders and squeal as the tension bursts and spills from your core. He keeps going, guiding you through your orgasm as you writhe and whimper. 

You fall back down, panting, legs quivering, heart thumping. He turns his head back and forth, rubbing his beard against you as he hums. He drags his chin along your folds and slowly raises himself up to look at you. The dark hair along his jaw glistens with you. 

“Mm, princess, you’re so sweet,” he growls and licks his lips. 

He looks down, his finger still inside you. He pulls it out and flicks it between your folds. He trails back to your entrance and presses another fingertip there. He wiggles two fingers into you. You groan and reach weakly to stop him, barely grazing his forearm. 

“Please,” you murmur. 

He pushes in to his knuckles. You bend your legs as he kneels between them, watching his hand as he wiggles his fingers inside you. He turns his hand and puts his thumb to your clit. You squeak. 

He tilts his hand steadily, falling into a rhythm. He squeezes so the heat twists between his fingertips. He bends over you, hand still moving, and he kisses you. You can smell and taste yourself on his lip. You shudder and run your hands along his shoulders and down his arm. You squeeze his bicep and moan into him. 

Your walls clench him as you cum again. You nearly bite his tongue as the waves crash down and consume you. Your turn your head and he presses his lips to your cheek. He chuckles as he feels you clinging to his fingers. 

“Baby, you’re doing so good,” he slithers. “Huh, that feel good?” 

“Yessss,” you drone as your lashes flutter. 

“Mmm, good girl,” he kisses you before he sits up again. 

He slides his fingers out of you and wipes your juices down your leg. You lay weak and quivering, the coverup is wide open around your naked body, the bikini hanging below your chest, the bottoms crumpled between your thighs. Each breath rises and falls heavily. 

He raises himself on his knees and hooks his thumbs under his waist band. You stare. You can’t look away. He stretches it away from his body and around his rigid length. He pushes them down his thighs and stands to strip entire. 

His dick bobs before him as he looks down at you. You stare at it. It’s... well. You think it looks pretty big. You peek down at your body and put your legs together. You don’t think it will fit. That though makes your stomach ripple. Inside? 

He gets back to his knees next to you. He takes your hand and pets your knuckles. He kisses them as he caresses your palm. He examines it like something precious as he pushes it flat. 

He guides your hand down to his dick as he kneels beside you. His chest strains as he curves your fingers around him. Thick, firm, the veins swollen and hard against your palm. He pumps you down and back to his tip. He quakes against the motion. 

“Mmm, princess, do you feel how much I need you?” He growls. 

You blink and nod as he keeps your hand moving slowly; down, up, down, up. 

“Slow, like that,” he purrs. “You keep going, baby. Gotta make sure we’re both ready.” 

He drops his hand away from yours and looks down. He watches you play with him. You see how his stomach tightens as he braces his thigh. He groans and chews his lip. 

Your gaze falls to your hand. You’re enthralled by the sight of what you’re doing to him. You squeeze harder and he groans. His breath juts out of him in short puffs. His nails dig into the muscle of his thigh. 

“Yeah, like that,” he goads. “Just a little more...” 

[bloodandiron-if]

Who are the big spoons and who are the little spoons out of the ROs?

⚠️ LENGTHY CONTENT INCOMING ⚠️

- - -

OPERATIVE D-6

— Switch (but only with the MC)

D-6 doesn’t let anyone touch them without a feeling of tension—except you, of course.

Curling up as the little spoon or snuggling with you as the big spoon is one of the few times D-6 lets their body truly relax. It’s not about needing to feel protected—it’s about finally feeling safe.

They might flinch at first, still alert out of habit, but eventually melts with your body pressed against them, and their heartbeat syncing with yours in absolute silence.

A hidden softness wrapped in hard muscle.

- - -

DETECTIVE JUNO REYES

— Big Spoon

Juno’s whole life is about control, protection, and keeping people safe—even when they’re secretly falling apart inside.

They instinctively go for the big spoon position: one arm slung around you, one eye open, half listening for danger.

Being the big spoon lets them anchor you, unlike what they couldn’t do for the people they’ve lost in their life.

“I’ve got you. Go ahead and rest. I’ll keep watch.”

- - -

NICO/NIA RUSSO

— Little Spoon (but pretends to hate it)

They talk so much shit about being the little spoon—calls you clingy, accuses you of being needy—while shamelessly backing into your chest and grabbing your arm to drape over them.

Being held hits something that Russo won’t admit to needing: consistency, safety, and the warmth you give without questions.

“Ugh, you’re obsessed with me or something—hey, don’t stop.”

- - -

KIERAN/KIERA MYLES

— Big Spoon/Little Spoon (depends if you have Kieran or Kiera)

Kieran likes control. He likes being behind you, keeping watch, arm firm around your waist and his chest against your back like a shield.

He breathes slowly and deeply, matching your rhythm, grounding you both. For Kieran, there’s something possessive—but protective—in the way he holds you.

And while he may not vocalize his love for you all the time—his embrace speaks volumes, keeping you close so you don’t drift too far away.

Kiera on the other hand, will never admit it out loud, but she prefers to be held in your arms. In her mind, there’s a power in choosing softness—and she chooses it with you.

When she turns her back and lets your arms wrap around her, it means something. That trust, safety and intimacy that she so craves.

You might feel her tense at first—but the way she melts into your chest afterward is that wordless surrender to her dominate persona.

“You always know when I need you, and that terrifies me.”

- - -

ALEX/ALEXI MONROE

— Little Spoon (100%)

Monroe absolutely thrives as the little spoon.

It makes them feel wanted in a way that hits deep—real and unshakable. They curl back into you without thinking, like it’s their first instinct, like your arms are the place they’ve been missing out and the only place they ever learned how to fall asleep peacefully.

Their legs tangle with yours, their fingers find your wrist—and when your breath grazes the back of their neck, they let out this quiet little sigh—like everything in them just unclenched and fell into right place.

“You’re warm. Stay like this, okay? Just…stay.”

- - -

ROWAN/RHEA CARTER

— Big Spoon (unless their feeling vulnerable as hell)

Carter spoons like they carry the weight of the world—and don’t know how to stop.

They instinctively take the big spoon role, holding you like they’re afraid you’ll disappear if they don’t.

But on bad nights, when the fire in them flickers low, they’ll switch without a word—pressing into your arms like they’re trying not to fall apart.

“I don’t need saving—but let me be the reason you feel safe—just this once.”

[beevean]

Hey! Just wanna say I LOVED your short Tenna story. My characterization of him has been missing something for a while now, and you helped me realize what it was— he was WAY too nice. It’s difficult to balance a villain being manipulative and cruel yet tragic and sympathetic— and not only did you do it amazingly, you gave me a lot of confidence in trying my hand at it! Tenna and Kris make me oh so very ill and I’ve been wanting to write about them even before I watched the entirety of chapter three. Please keep writing if you so wish— it’s so good!

(also I loved reading your IDW Sonic deconstructions back in the day)

Awww thank you so muuuuuuch 🥺 I'm so happy that you sent me this ask!

I want to write something about Tenna, but I'm not really sure what (and ngl I'm intimidated by trying to imitate such an iconic character lol). My only thought was, I am in utter love with the Doom Board section, and how uncomfortable it is to witness Tenna's breakdown, and I felt the need to jot my interpretation down - my one mental image was Tenna noticing that Kris is not looking at him at all and feeling outright hurt at being ignored by his first watcher.

I think most fanworks nowadays paint Tenna too much as a lil flustered pathetic wet boy tragic babyboy bean. Which he is. But he's also a manipulative conman not above taking advantage of his employees, and a massive mood-swinging unhinged control freak not above hurting the kid he "raised" for the sake of soothing his own ego. I read a Japanese comment who called him a yandere, and yeah, that fits!

I think Tenna is the kind of person who does kind things for selfish reasons. His one desire is to feel loved and useful. The main way he has to get what he wants is to make people happy, so that they're drawn to him. This means that he's mostly a very nice person who genuinely enjoys entertaining others... but what he truly wants is the recognition that makes him feel worthy. And when he feels abandoned or shunned, when his Berserk Button over being called "old" (which to him means obsolete, worthless, to be thrown away) is hit, he grows desperate to prove himself, and starts putting himself above others, because he wants things his way, he needs to feel in control and in charge and like he matters.

But even he knows that force can only get him so far. If you keep playing his games in the Doom Board, eventually he gets to the point where he no longer believes you're honest. But he still won't let you go. That would be a defeat. The confirmation that you don't love him after all. And that would kill him inside. As Kris says if you CHECK him during the battle, despite his size, he's surprisingly quite fragile :)

One of Tenna's biggest strengths as a character is that he combines these villainous traits with not just a heartwrenching backstory that most of us can relate to, but a really lovable personality. Not only he's chipper and charming, but he really enjoys being a positive force in people's lives. The two sides don't cancel each other, but complement each other in a complex, compelling character, that personally I think it's almost unfair to reduce to the innocent sniffling babyboy lol

I guess this is the best advice I can give? Tenna is kind but self-centered. His ego is big but brittle, and inflated by making people happy. When angry, he gets high on his power and can get manipulative and violent, but deep down he's incredibly sad and doing the equivalent of saying "please tell me I'm good 🥺". It's like, he wants his audience to feel any emotion, even pain or sadness if it has to come to it. As long as he affects them.

Good luck with your writing! If you are posting it somewhere I'd be happy to check it out <3 I'm also so very normal about Tenna and Kris' relationship, I need all the "fun uncle shielding lil Kris from the Divorce and being hurt that his nibling has grown apart from him" content I can get my hands on <3

[strawberryysprite]

Eyes like that

Cw: This story contains explicit sexual content including oral sex and fingering, themes of emotional distress and heartbreak. Reader is dealing with the aftermath of a cheating boyfriend, experiences low self-worth and vulnerability. First-time f/f sexual experience, a friends-to-lovers dynamic and consensual power exchange.

Reader had a boyfriend previously if that’s not your cup of tea I understand.

Authors note: Hey idk about this one, but I do love Abby so I will post this. Abby haters are not welcome on this post 🤚 exit stage left.

Word count: 1,675

Tears streaming down your face as you fumbled with your key to your best friend’s apartment.

“Abby,” you sniffled through your tears as you stepped into the dark apartment. You made your way through the hallway, tripping over the black rug she had in front of her door.

“Abby, are you awake?” You knocked on the door while using your other hand to wipe tears off your face. You hear rustling before the door opened and Abby stood there yawning in boxers and a tank top.

“What’s wrong? Why are you cryin’?” she placed her hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip.

You mumbled out words she couldn’t understand, dropping your purse on the ground and crumbling into her arms.

“H-he cheated on me,” you sobbed into her chest.

You felt her body tense as she held onto you.

“What? That fucking idiot.” She hugged you tighter.

She led you to her bed, making you lay next to her with your head on her lap.

“Abby, I walked in on them. In my apartment.” You wiped your tears, as your crying slowed down from the soothing feeling of her hand in your hair.

She sighed angrily. “I’m so sorry. He’s a shitty person and doesn’t deserve you.” You could hear her holding back the ‘I told you so.’

Abby had hated him since you told her you were talking to a new guy, since he didn’t shake her hand when they met, and since he was too busy playing pool with his dipshit friends to drive you home after one too many drinks.

Abby looked at your outfit. “Do you wanna change out of your work clothes, love?” she asked, her hand on your head.

You nodded softly, sitting up. She went to her closet, grabbing one of her T-shirts and moving back next to you. You felt her hands on your face.

“Come on, go get dressed.” She put on a smile for you, hiding her anger.

You groaned, unbuttoning your blouse and sliding on the shirt before taking off your heels and work pants also.

You were in just your underwear and her shirt when you slid under her blankets.

“Abby,” you sniffled. “Maybe I’m a bad person, or I’m not doing enough in bed.” You looked up at her standing form.

Abby laid next to you, her hand on your cheek.

“Come on, you are a great person, maybe even the best, and I can’t answer that second part but I bet you’re fine in bed.” She smiled, turning onto her back.

“You know that asshole only made me finish once?” You huffed, tears in your eyes. The smile on her face dropped and her eyes widened.

“You were together for a year…” you nodded, a little embarrassed.

Abby snapped her fingers to get you to meet her gaze. She was almost at a loss for words.

“Are you fucking joking?” You shook your head, teary eyes fixed on Abby.

“Babe, that’s outrageous.” She couldn’t even understand why you’d stay with him.

“You can finish during sex, right?” You nodded—that was enough to explain just how shitty of a person he was.

“Wait, so like he just couldn’t find your clit or wasn’t hitting it right?” She sat up, looking at you.

You dragged yourself up, wiping the tresses off of your face.

“Yeah, I mean both. He would finish and just go to sleep or it just wouldn’t feel that good.” Abby placed her hand on your chin, lifting your head to meet her eyes.

“When’s the last time you had an orgasm?” She knew this was probably invasive but didn’t care at this point, not even thinking, just speaking.

“A month…”

“A month?!”

“Look, Abby, I’ve been busy with like… work.” You felt your face heat up, and since you and Abby had been friends for the longest, you’d told her everything—including the time you got too drunk and estimated the amount of times you masturbate in a week. She was surprised you’d gone that long in an unfulfilling relationship.

Abby wiped a tear from your cheek and her eyes brightened like a light bulb going off.

“Can I kiss you?”

You felt your body tense at her question and were frozen for longer than necessary.

You slowly nodded your head, hands shaking with every emotion under the sun. She leaned in, the kiss gentle, a little unsure, until you felt her hand buried into your hair—not yanking, but slightly pulling.

She smiled into the kiss, gaining more confidence. She pulled your hair a little harder, making you let out a moan, and she slipped her tongue into your mouth.

You whined into the kiss, her hand moving under the shirt she gave you.

You put your hand on hers.

“Abby… are you sure you want to?” Your voice trembling a little. She smiled at your hesitation.

“If you let me, then yes, I’m sure.” You nodded at her words before she pulled the oversized shirt from your body, leaving you in a basic black bra and panties set.

“Abby… I’ve only ever kissed girls. Are you sure you’re okay with that?” You looked down at your fidgeting hands.

Abby leaned closer. “Oh baby, I’d be honored to be your first time with a girl.” She smiled before softly guiding you onto your back.

Your heart beat in your ears like rave music.

“You look so pretty, baby,” her hands slid down your waist, hooking her index fingers in the waistband and pulling them down your legs.

“Fuck, and you’re wet.” She let out a low groan.

You thought about how she’d made a passing joke about having a sex playlist a couple weeks ago and giggled.

“What are you laughing about?” Her piercing blue gaze trailing up your body.

You felt your face heat up at being put on the spot.

“I just… you said you had a sex playlist.”

She laughed, crawling over your body. She looked down at you with that cocky smirk.

“That playlist is for… one night stands and people I don’t like.”

You pouted, rolling your eyes.

“Do you wanna make our own playlist later, love?” She leaned down, kissing your neck.

You nodded, feeling her lips trail down your chest while her hand unclipped your bra, pulling it off.

You felt the cold air of her room brush over your nipples. Abby kissed down your body, leaving hickeys just where your clothes would cover.

“You’re so pretty. That guy is a fucking idiot for not kissing the ground you walk on.”

She placed one of your legs on her shoulder.

“Please let me taste you. Please,” Abby whined, asking for permission.

“Please, it’ll feel so good. I promise, sweetheart.”

You felt all of it dawn on you.

Abby Anderson—your best friend—is between your legs, begging to eat you out.

“Yes.” You said, looking up at the ceiling, a rush of anxiety flooding through your body until you felt her tongue slowly slide over your clit, tasting your arousal.

“Abby—” you say breathlessly, sliding your left hand into her golden hair.

She was growing more confident, circling her tongue around your opening.

“Please, Abby.” You whined, getting impatient, wanting some sort of stimulation.

She smiled against you, sucking on your clit.

Whines falling from your lips as your hips rolled up, seeking out pleasure from Abby’s mouth.

Your hand threading through her hair, trying to get her to speed up.

Two strong, thick fingers slid into your wet hole.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your back arched off the bed.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. Tell me how he can’t make you feel this good.” Abby mumbled against your clit.

Your right hand flew to your mouth, trying to cover your moans. Abby pulled her mouth away but kept the pace of her fingers.

“Move your hand, baby.”

“Abby, please, I’m sorry. Don’t stop.”

You whined at the loss of some of your stimulation.

Abby resumed her position, sucking on your clit.

You felt yourself inching closer to the edge.

“Such a slutty pussy, ready to cum on your best friend’s mouth.” She mumbled around your clit, throwing you over the edge.

Her fingers working you through your orgasm while she kissed your thighs.

“You did so good sweetheart,” she said in between the kisses she planted on your inner thighs, moving up towards your hips.

“You are such a good girl.”

She pulled her finger away from you, making you groan at the sudden emptiness.

Abby licked her fingers clean before kissing you on the lips, letting you taste the salty-sweetness mixed with her mouth.

You just fucked Abby Anderson.

The same Abby who had a fling with most of the girls on her college basketball team.

The same Abby who explained in detail how she could make any girl finish on her tongue (she was not being facetious).

The same girl you’ve known for years—your best friend.

You could feel your mind swimming before Abby pulled away, heading to the bathroom and returning shortly after with a warm washcloth.

“You never told me about how sweet you are when it comes to aftercare.” You joked, feeling the bed dip as she hovered over your form.

“I wanted you to find out yourself.” She smirked, slowly wiping you off.

She pulled you into a sitting position and pulled the blanket wet off the bed.

“Thank you… you’re my favorite person.” You put your arms around her neck, pulling her back into the sheets.

The weight of her on you—not too much, but enough to feel safe and comforted.

“He didn’t deserve you… you’re so fucking perfect.” Abby said as you dozed off, her body keeping you just warm enough to fall into a deep sleep.

Falling asleep in her arms, and for the first time in months, you have a dream—a damn good dream.

A dream about Abby and you living together. A couple.

Happy.

[gamergirl929]

The Shower (Malia Tate x Reader)

After an extened after Lacross Practice with the pack, you head to the locker room for a shower as you typically did, unaware that you were being closely followed by none other than Malia Tate, the very woman you'd been spending the entirety of practice showing off for.

So everyone is aware, this story has a g!p reader, for those who aren't comfortable with that, I would suggest skipping it since it contains smut, if you're still here, please enjoy.

This is my first time writing and posting for not only Teen Wolf, but Malia Tate as well, so please let me know what you think, but don't be too harsh, I'm sensitive. 😅😅😅😅😅

You stretch your arms high above your head as you make your way towards the locker room, intent on taking a shower after a rigorous Lacrosse practice, your head on a swivel as you make sure the coast is clear before entering the room.  

Well, it hadn’t JUST been practice, it had also been what you and your pack mates would call, AFTER practice, meaning you Scott McCall, and Isaac Lahey had done your best to fire near impossible shots at goal, attempting to see who could stop what using the powers they had.  

Considering Scott was the True Alpha, he typically came first, but you were a close second, using your own Alpha abilities to your advantage, an unfair advantage as Isaac had pointed out, considering he was a Beta.  

Meanwhile, from the stands Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent, Lydia Martin and Malia Tate watched closely, the werecoyote unwilling to participate, knowing the three of you would easily dominate the game considering you knew it better than she did.  

You groan as you give the black hair tie holding your hair up a tug, grimacing when it unfortunately remains in your sweat covered hair, forcing you to extend one of your claws and slice it in half, the severed band falling to the locker room floor.  

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t go out of your way to show off in front of Malia, doing anything you could to impress her.  

In all honesty, you weren’t sure if it worked, only able to catch a slightly smile from the woman after you’d done a particularly move to score.  

You shed your clothes, tossing them on a nearby bench before making your way into the showers.  

The showers hot water nob squeaks loudly as you give it a twist, a growl rumbling in your throat as the hot water cascades down onto you. 

Your eyes flutter shut as the water runs down your face, a content smile stretched across your face. 

Your eyes flash open moments later when you hear the locker room door open and close, your throat bobbing. 

Your brows arch when you catch a whiff of who is entering the locker room, Malia Tate's scent wafting in the air. 

You move at lightning speed, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around you before peering out of the shower, your brows furrowed. 

“Mal?” You call out in confusion.  

You shake your head, thinking your mind must have been playing tricks on you, that is, until you turn around, coming face to face with the woman you were looking for. 

“Jesus, what are you sneaking around for?”  

Malia chuckles. 

“I saw you come in here, wanted to see what you were doing.” 

You shrug. 

“It’s easier to shower here than at home.” You say, about to turn the faucet off, that is, until you see the look on her face. 

“Are you okay?” You ask in confusion, the dirty blonde silently nodding. 

Malia's tongue swipes at her lips, her eyes flickering between brown to blue as she moves towards you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching as she sheds her top, your eyes widening.  

You turn away abruptly when she unhooks her bra; your cheeks stained crimson.  

“Mal?” You say, breath catching when you feel her tug on your towel until it eventually falls to the shower floor. 

You take a deep breath before slowly turning towards her, her eyes glowing bright blue, your eyes locked with hers.  

Malia guides you back towards the still spraying water, your back resting against the tiled wall. 

“You think I haven’t noticed?” She asks, your brows knitting in confusion. 

Your breath catches roughly in your throat as she buries your face in your neck, teasingly kissing your pulse point. 

“N-N-Noticed what?” You ask dumbly, the woman rolling her eyes. 

“The way you show off at practice.” She says, your eyes fluttering shut as she takes your skin into your mouth and gives it a suck. 

“The way you look at me.” She says, her hand splayed on your abdomen, her unsheathed nails dragging against your bare skin.  

You whimper softly when her hand starts gliding downward, towards you’re somewhat flaccid cock. 

Your hips cant forward when her fingertips drag along the underside of your cock. 

It’s at that moment that you trade places with her, pinning her against the shower wall. 

You surge in with no sense of hesitation, your lips meeting hers. 

Malia wraps her arms around you as you kiss hungrily. 

Your tongues eventually meet, the two of you moaning loudly when your tongues brush.  

You pull back with a groan when Malia’s hand wraps around your length, her tongue trapped between her teeth as she pumps it slowly. 

“Fuck.” You whine, the werecoyotee chuckling. 

“How many times have you imagined this?” She purrs in your ear, your eyes fluttering open to reveal your red irises. 

“How many?” She asks again, her thumb brushing against the head of you’d penis. 

“More than I care to admit.” You say, your voice raspy. 

You push your hands against the tile wall behind her as she pumps your now hard member, your heavy breathing turning into soft growls.  

“Maybe I’ve imagined it too.” She confesses, eliciting a groan from you, the sound making her smirk. 

“Maybe I’ve been trying to get the nerve to follow you into the locker room for a while now.” She whispers, her tongue swiping at your neck. 

The feel of Malia’s tongue against your skin, accompanied by the feel of her hand wrapped around your cock is enough to push you over the edge, but surprisingly, it’s Malia’s confession is what does the trick.  

Malia kisses your neck as you stiffen, your release running down her hand as she continues pumping your member, prolonging your orgasm.  

You hiss, grabbing her wrist, the blonde ceasing all movement.  

“Shit.” You pant, a smirk stretching across Malia’s face. 

“God, I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” She whispers, her breath hitching when you take her wrists and pin them against the wall on either side of her head. 

“For how long…?” You ask, ducking down to kiss the blonde’s neck, her eyes fluttering shut. 

You kiss her jawline, noting the rapid rising and falling of her chest, her pulse throbbing beneath your lips. 

Malia gasps when you nudge her legs apart, slotting one of your own between them, your thigh flush with her core.  

“Come, tell me how long.” You whisper, the blonde whimpering as her hips roll. 

“Since you got here.” She moans; her palms splayed on your back. 

“How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?” You growl in her ear, earning a whimper. 

“More than I care to admit.” She repeats your words from earlier and you smirk.  

You duck down, dragging your sharp teeth against her neck as she rolls her hips wildly.  

“Fuck.” She moans as you duck down, your lips wrapping around one of her hardened nipples, her fingers tangling in your hair, claws digging into your scalp.  

You knew she was breaking the skin on your scalp, the sting making you shudder as you lavish her breast with kisses before turning to the opposite one.  

“Y/N...” She moans, the sound making you moan against her breast, her hips stuttering slightly. 

Malia gasps when without warning your leg slips from between hers before you grab her underwear and tear them from her lower half, leaving her entirely bare, your eyes shining bright red.  

“Do you want to stop...?” You ask, your tongue swiping at your lips as your eyes drag down her front.  

“You think after you just tore my panties off like that, that I’d want to stop?” She asks and you smirk, the blonde giggling as you lift her into the air, her legs wrapping around your middle.  

She turns her head, nibbling gently on your ear, her nose brushing your temple.  

“I can’t wait to finally feel what it’s like for you to be inside of me.” She whispers, throwing her head back as you run your member between her legs; her core latching onto you with each pass of her entrance. 

“Are you sure you want this Mal...?” You ask, your throat bobbing as your red eyes lock with her blues.  

She cups your cheeks, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips, her thumb running back and forth across your cheek.  

“I’ve never been more sure about anything before in my life.” She whispers, resting her forehead against yours.  

You turn your attention back to the apex of Malia’s thighs, the woman whimpering, her forehead still resting against yours as you rub her clit with the head of your penis.  

“Fu-Fuck Y/N....” She whines loudly, her thighs starting to twitch.  

Malia throws her head back as the head of your cock slips into her, her walls fluttering around her.  

“Don’t stop.” She sighs, crying out when you slip the rest of the way into her, her walls pulsing around you.  

“Fuck.” She growls, her bright blue orbs locking with your reds.  

You press her bare back against the shower wall, slowly sliding out of her before thrusting back into her tight heat the woman moaning loudly.  

Her arms wrap tightly around you as you thrust deeply into her, greatly heightening her pleasure.  

“Ye-Yes!” She cries out, the feel of her walls fluttering around you spurring you on, your wet thighs slapping together as you pound into the woman, who’s unable to contain her cries.  

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” She chants, her claws digging into your back.  

Suddenly and without warning you spin around, placing the werecoyotee on the tiled shower floor before sliding back into her, her legs wrapping around you as you thrust into her.  

“Shit!” She moans, her back arching as you pound into her, the woman coming with a literal howl, her core clenching around you.  

You howl in response, giving one final thrust before you to orgasm, jets of your seed shooting into her, causing her to growl as she pants heavily.  

Her hands run gently down your back as you twitch and quake, panting heavily against her neck before you start gently kissing her pulse point.  

Fingers tangling in the sweaty hairs at the base of your neck, the woman’s opposite hand cupping your cheek as she pulls you into a soft kiss.  

Her forehead rests against yours as you lazily kiss, the woman’s lips splitting in a grin.  

“Was it everything you imagined it would be?” She asks and you chuckle.  

“My imagination could never do it justice.” You laugh and she giggles.  

At an inhuman speed, you’re on your feet, pressing Malia’s back against the tiled wall again, avoiding the spray of cold water.  

“Think you’ll be following me into the locker room more often...?” You ask, your lips splitting in a grin.  

“Absolutely.” She laughs, bumping the tip of her nose against yours.  

“You know, I have a car.” You suggest wiggling your eyebrows, her throat bobbing, her eyes flickering bright blue.  

“Why don’t you get dressed and you can show me the backseat...?” She purrs and you smirk.  

“Gladly.”