#this may be just a slip and if so I’m sorry for pointing it out but I’m DEEPLY 👀👀👀 at the change in perspective from ‘he’ to ‘I’ near the en

[artemisiasmuse]

rafe cameron x sweet virgin!reader

she told you she celibate but she told me I can nail her shit

cw: mdni 18+, virgin!reader but has some other experience, lowkey a freak tho, toxic rafe, corruption kink : >, size kink, first times, rafe goes a lil crazy, sweetie pie reader x insane yandere bf rafe is lowkey my favorite trope

~ 6k words

a/n: happy valentine’s day my loves <3 i didn’t read this over and i’m so sorry if there’s hella mistakes i will fix it later! this may or not be self-insert yes even that part

the trouble all began with sarah cameron and her big mouth. well really both of you were to blame, but you’d think she would be quieter when her older brother was lurking around. you were older than her by a few years, closer to his age than hers, not that it mattered though, rafe treated you like you were practically wheezie’s age. you didn’t let it sting you any more you had long gotten over trying to be seen as a woman in rafe cameron’s eyes. or maybe you just stopped watching him, he’s always noticed you but you felt out reach, until now. when he overhears his sister’s words he almost breaks the glass of water he’s holding.

“a virgin at 19 looking like you do is insane” sarah looked you up and down as you tried on the dress you’d bought together at the mall. you got shy at her words, you knew she wasn’t judging you but instead genuinely in disbelief that men weren’t throwing themselves at you. you had long mastered the art of looking unapproachable and uninterested after too many bad experiences.

“stoppp is it so hard to believe, you know how bad it’s been for me?” he really hopes no one sees him leaning against the wall next to his sister’s door, he’d look like such a weirdo. wheezie would never let him live this down, she’d barely held back on letting his little crush slip before. if sarah ever found out he’d be in another hell.

“fuck you’re right, if they can’t make you come what’s the point?” rafe winced at his sister’s words, willing away the temptation to gag. he was trying to focus on the fact that no guy had made you come before instead.

“you’re awful, but i’m done with men for a long time. im gonna focus on college and not waste time on them.” he relished in the twisted feeling that no one could touch you, even if the losers before had a chance they clearly couldn’t cut it.

“righttt being in a dorm filled with horny guys is gonna make that easier.” sarah deadpanned and you shoved her, seeing her point. you hadn’t thought about it like that.

“okay leave me alone i’ve been successful so far”

“oh my god speak of the devil, john b’s calling me over, can you cover for me? i’ll be back in like two hours max, promise.” you were a little disappointed she was leaving you but you knew how difficult it was for her to see him without someone covering for her. you nodded and pulled out your phone.

“fine but i’m ordering pizza,” rafe didn’t know if he should be terrified or elated that you two would be home alone for two hours. why did it have to be today that the rest of his family fucked off? was this divine intervention?

“save me a slice!” rafe could hear his sister rustling around, getting ready to go, so he did the same.

“you’re gonna be too busy eating di-“ rafe promptly ran off at that. he’d heard enough, his imagination would run wild with this new information.

it was half an hour later when, like clockwork, rafe made sure to be near the front door for the pizza delivery. he paid and tipped the guy, while you were making your way down at the sound of the doorbell. he hurries back upstairs, nearly running into you on the stairs. your eyes trace his pretty features and then land on the box in his hands, shock and horror cascading your face. rafe can’t believe that you look so good even now, you’re wearing a crop top with seemingly no bra underneath and high waisted sweatpants. to him you look like a model.

“hey! that’s my pizza” rafe laughs and continues up the stairs, you turn on your heel and follow him up. you’re kinda hangry and your pizza being held hostage is not helping your mood.

“i just paid for it so i don’t think so.” you both reach the top of the stairs but rafe isn’t stopping, he’s going to his room instead. this won’t do, he’ll lock the door and slam it in your face, you quickly move to stand in front of him blocking the path to his doorway. rafe thinks it’s cute that you think that would stop him, he feels a bit stir crazy over how small you look gazing up at him

“i’ll pay you back!” your hands shoot up against the doorframe, blocking entry even further. he wants to tease you a bit more but the idea of sharing a pizza in his room is way more tempting.

“nah it’s fine just let me have some.” you release your blockade and let him move past you, still with his-your pizza in his hold, following him mindlessly. if you were less hungry you would’ve realized eating pizza with your longtime crush and best friend’s brother in his room sitting on his bed was in fact not a great idea. but that fleeting concern is out the window when he opens the box and you climb onto his bed like it’s second nature. rafe does his best to stay concentrated on the present, it’s difficult when your shirt rides up and a sliver of your stomach is displayed, it looks so soft and untouched and he really isn’t hungry for pizza, he never was.

“i was gonna offer anyways for the record.” you say it while picking up a slice and rafe mirrors your action, laughing at your tone.

“yeah sure you were princess,” you ignore the way his voice sounds, the way he says your name, the way his room smells like him and it’s making your head spin.

rafe watches you eat transfixed when you lick the tips of your fingers, he can’t believe that he’s struggling to control himself over pizza but your words are ringing in his head.

“rafe do you have any napkins?” you hold up your greasy fingers and he nods his head dazedly, getting up to grab some for you and taking the pizza box off his bed with him. you move to get off then, looking around his room, you knew he wouldn’t appreciate if you snooped through his things so you just look at the pictures on the wall, the books he has. rafe finds you standing near his desk when he comes back, wordlessly handing you the napkins.

“i always forget you have a motorcycle.” your head motions towards the helmet resting on the surface of his desk.

“i don’t use it as much now.” he leaned back against the footboard of his bed, arms crossed against his chest as he watched you look at his stuff. he couldn’t figure out why you were still in his room, were you that curious?

“can i ride it? i’ve always wanted to try.” yeah rafe might just pass out now. you don’t even know what you’re doing to him, head cocked to the side looking at him so innocently he can barely hold back much longer.

“sure but i gotta teach you the basics so you don’t crash.” rafe is proud of himself for even stringing a sentence together in response. you notice a slight flush to his cheeks and ears.

“okay that’s fair.” you turn towards him, mirroring his form and leaning back against his desk. there’s a few feet between you but rafe thinks it would be so easy to lift you onto the mahogany and kiss you until you can’t breathe. his shorts feel so restrictive and he’s grateful he’s wearing black. he can’t hold back any longer, he has to know.

"is it true?" the words come out rushed, unsure of if they should even be said in the first place. but rafe’s not a quitter and he doesn’t shy away from anything really, even if the past few hours feel like a dream he would have in middle school.

"is what true?" your head does that thing again like a puppy and he nearly keels over, you’re too adorable for your own good. his gaze flits away for a second, he has to commit. your trusting expression and your airy tone make it all the more hard.

"no guy's made you come before?" you blink in shock twice before covering your face with your hands. this must be the most embarrassing moment of your life.

"ugh you heard that?"

"yeah you guys aren't exactly quiet" you might have to kill sarah cameron in her sleep, if she even comes back that is. you don’t know why you answer him, you could have just ran away but the magnetic pull of rafe cameron coaxes you to answer.

"yeah it's true" you sound defeated and rafe has to hold back a snicker, he watches you peer through your fingers at him, watching his expression.

"well i can rectify that..you know for the sake of mankind and all" there’s a smirk on his lips as he says the words that will haunt you forever. you’re sure he’s just messing with you and you huff a breath of disbelief. did he know about your little crush? you’d been hiding it so well for the past few years!

"don't tease me, rafe" you step away from his desk, moving to leave his room. even if it was just the two of you in the house you’d much rather sit in sarah’s room or watch the tv than be ridiculed.

"i'm not, it'd be a shame if a pretty girl like you gave up on men, especially for me." it’s almost as if someone dumped a bucket of cold water on your head when rafe cameron speaks. pretty girl the first time he’s called you anything that might suggest you’re not just his sister’s friend. the world spins on its axis and you try to grasp onto his words, try to understand that he might be genuine but you can’t. there’s still that voice of doubt telling you he’s just messing with you. rafe watches your expression go from shock to disappointment, you don’t believe him. he supposes it’s not that believable when he’s been purposefully avoiding you for a while. you must think he’s just messing with you, but he’s dead serious. he’ll just have to prove it.

“whatever rafe i don’t have time for your games.” you mumble it and leave his room, slamming the door a bit harder than you intended. the next few hours are torture. rafe cameron planted an insidious weed in your mind and it’s growing exponentially.

of course it’s not the first time you’ve imagined it, you’d often thought about what his long thick fingers would feel like. or how his biceps would feel under your hands if you held onto them for support. you’d fantasized about every part of him, even the tip of his nose. so the idea that it might just be within your reach had you spiraling. you took a cold shower, not that it helped, your underwear was still soaked after. no guy you’d been with had made you so wet, let alone before even touching you. it was as if the universe was testing you. a sick thrum in your body had found its way into your bones, vibrating with need and you paced in your best friend’s room thinking over all the consequences.

when you’d reached the conclusion that even if he was sincere it was still a bad idea, your phone pinged. a text from sarah that read: “i’m gonna be staying the night here, if you’re already asleep i’ll see you in the morning 🤍” with all your internal turmoil you hadn’t realized it was past the two hours she’d said. she would be out all night. you and rafe were home alone, all night. you swallowed down the lump in your throat, your heart pounding your chest. your feet were moving faster than your head, the pitter patter of your footsteps almost as fast as your heartbeat, and before you knew it you were in front of his door. you hesitated for a second breathing in deep once before knocking, the light was still on so you knew he was awake.

“yeah?” rafe did his best to hide the satisfaction he felt seeing you twitchy and shy in front of his door. you swallowed down again, looking up at him with as much confidence as you could. there was a few seconds of silence, he gave you the time you needed, looking down at you with bright inviting eyes.

“is your offer still on the table?” his face split into a grin, moving aside to let you in like you’d done before and with no hesitation you pushed past him. even the small graze of your shoulder against him set his skin ablaze. he was going to lose his mind.

“‘doesn’t really have an expiration date.” your mind was blanking at his every advance, you tried not to think about his words, you couldn’t afford to fall deeper for him.

“just don’t like tell anyone about this?” you murmured, watching him close the door behind you two and getting a bit nervous. if sarah found out you’d be in for hell. losing your virginity to your best friend’s brother wasn’t exactly a great conversation to have.

“i’m not topper don’t worry.” you believed him, rafe despite his other faults, was always respectful.

“can i kiss you?” you nodded fervently, rafe held back a laugh at your enthusiasm. he walked up to you slowly as if giving you the chance to run and slid his hands from his hips to the curve of your waist. you stood on your tiptoes, your arms going around his neck and rafe couldn’t believe this was real. maybe if he pretended it was a dream he wouldn’t be so nervous. he’d have to do just that. one of his hands cupped your face, thumb stroking along your cheekbone and your eyelashes fluttered closed at the touch. he pressed a tentative kiss to your lips.

his lips felt soft and you breathed out in relief after, as if some sort of spell was lifted. rafe kissed you again, this time letting himself breathe you in. you felt so small and delicate in his hold, he wanted to take his time with you. you had other ideas. kissing rafe cameron felt even better than you’d imagined, when he pulled back you surged forward this time, biting his lower lip making him groan into your mouth. another chill of desire wracked your body at the sound and you tested the waters by licking the seem of his lips. rafe pulled you even closer and bent down to kiss you deeper. his mouth opened and his tongue met yours. you tasted so good to him he couldn’t stop himself from sucking on your tongue slightly, making you whine in his hold. the sound flipped a switch in his mind, he wanted more of the sound, he needed to hear you say his name in that airy desperate sound again. a string of saliva connected your lips and snapped off in the middle, your breathing was heavy and his was too. you caught your breath all the while looking up at him, he held your gaze. the furrow of your brows grew deeper the longer you looked.

“we don’t have to do anything else.” him asking for consent again drew in another crushing wave of arousal, you were a lost cause. okay maybe your standards were in hell. even his cologne was better than any other guy, something woodsy and heavy, mature, not like the shitty ones you’d had to smell before.

“no-no i want to,” he’d have to ask you later why you looked so mad after kissing him, right now he had too much else to do. you could only watch as he lifted you by the grip on your waist, your legs going around his hips in fear of falling. he’d done it so casually you couldn’t process it in time. rafe set you down gently on his mattress, his weight pressed into you and your legs tightened around him. he kissed you again, already missing the taste of your lips, and leaned back. you realized what he was about to do as he sat back on his knees.

“no i-can you just come up here?” you felt far too shy for him to eat you out and although rafe respected your wishes he was a bit disappointed. he’d just have to make sure there was a next time. there were other ways to taste you anyways. he followed your lead, leaning back over you and kissing you again, tongue and teeth clashing together in need. one of his hands moved from your waist up and under the hem of your shirt, traveling up slowly until he reached the fat of your breast. the feeling of his fingers on your nipple jolted your body. usually you didn’t get anything out of a guy touching your boobs but him you were arching into his touch, huffing into his mouth. rafe loved how sensitive you were, reacting to every touch of his. he massaged the tit in his hand, reveling in how you squirmed underneath him. if you kept moving you’d feel how painfully hard he was in his shorts.

after giving up on kissing you he peeled off your crop top, trailing kisses down your neck. he bit at the skin and sucked, surely littering your neck with hickies. you smelled so sweet to him and he couldn’t get enough, biting hard in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. you squeaked at the feeling, shocked at how pleasure blurred the lines of the pain you should be feeling. being marked by rafe was transcendental.

“look at you, so fucking pretty.” you met his gaze, his eyes raking down your chest and back to your face. the compliment made your head even cloudier, you’d let him do anything he wanted already, and it didn’t even scare you. his mouth trailed lower, biting at the tops of your breasts before latching onto your nipple and sucking, biting and laving over the sensitive nub with his tongue. you writhed under him, desperate for some friction between your legs. you huffed out a breath in frustration. he took his time bruising your chest with his marks. everyone should know who you belonged to. he leaned back to admire his work, his eyes finally meeting yours and seeing your waterline filled with unshed tears. god he was being so cruel, you just wanted to come and here he was doing as he pleased.

“rafe can i have your fingers please?” he was about to take pity on you anyway but the desperate sound of you begging was too delicious to give up. he looped his fingers through yours, hands intertwined against the silk sheets next to your shoulder.

“fuuckkk when you ask like that how can i say no?” his eyes nearly rolled back in his head from your voice, he might just come from it alone. ��how d’ya want them?” he knew, of course he knew, he just wanted to hear you say it. your lips were swollen from his kisses and you still managed to look so innocent under him, he wanted to mark every inch of your body so no one could touch you again.

“you know!” you huffed out, a pout on your lips that he kissed away, you still looked at him with frustration. your underwear was practically sticking to you now, you felt so warm and uncomfortable between your legs, desperate for friction. you’d never felt like this before, completely wrecked with need, unable to think about anything besides addressing your desire.

“spell it out for me, i can’t think clearly right now.” he kissed under your ear coaxing you into submission, a purr curled through you at the feeling. his lips were featherlight against you, soft and adoring and you couldn’t remember why you were holding back.

“‘wan you to fuck me with them.” it was a small mumble, slipping past your lips but rafe caught it nevertheless. his free hand hooked into your pants and pulled them down, you kicked them off and let him settle back between your legs. at least being out of your pants gave your legs some reprieve but the cool air only illuminated how drenched your underwear was. rafe’s large hand skimmed past your breasts to your stomach and rested against your waistband. he looked to you for admission and you nodded your head. instead of dipping underneath the band he trailed downwards, over the flimsy material. the ghost of his touch near your clit had you jerking under him, your hands flying to his shoulders. two large fingers pressed against the fabric, right above your opening, his fingers felt moist and he clicked his tongue at the feeling.

“baby you soaked through your panties, whose got you so worked up?” you whined, a pretty throaty sound that you’d been holding in and he vowed to pull more from you. his fingers were skimming along your opening, teasing the fabric and not quite touching you. your legs wanted to close on his hand but your hips moved closer, trying to make him touch you.

“you!” you screamed out, eyes squeezed shut as he removed his hand completely. you’d start leaking through them if he didn’t do something soon.

“that’s right me, not those fucking losers, just me.” his free hand, closed around your chin making you open your eyes and meet his. he looked crazed, pupils blown and overshadowing the blue with hooded eyes and a satisfied grin curling his lips. when you met his gaze he finally dipped his fingers beneath the band and pressed his thumb against your clit. he found it with such ease your eyes rolled back into your skull, gasping at the feeling of finally being touched. “i got you baby,” your legs spread wider for him, pulling him into you as his fingers slid through your drooling folds all the while his thumb ground against you. his fingers were so much larger than yours you could feel him everywhere. he prodded your hole with his index finger, grunting at how tight you were. streams of arousal kept pouring out of you, you needed him to do something. you squirmed under him again and rafe acquiesced, shoving his finger in. you were so tight and warm around him, slippery and soft walls hugged him as he stretched you out with one finger alone. “f-fucking tight,” he was gonna start soiling his shorts from the way you felt around his finger alone. he fucked you slow and deep, feeling along your insides for your sensitivity. he knew as soon as he found it because you screamed his name, hands clutching his arms tightly.

“feels weird,” he let you get used to the feeling, his thumb grinding against your clit. you were already feeling close and he’d barely started.

“poor pussy probably never felt this good huh?” you whimpered at his words, he was being so filthy and usually it turned you off. nothing about rafe could do that at this point. you shook your head, affirming his suspicions and his middle finger circled your opening. he was gentler this time, moving his fingers in inch by inch until you stopped clamping down. the pressure of him stretching you wasn’t unbearable but you didn’t know how you’d ever take more than his fingers at this rate. he accurately hammered against that spot, out for blood, while his thumb circled your clit. you were dripping onto his hand, coating him with your juices and the squelch of his fingers fucking into you filled the room. the sounds were so obscene you tried blocking them out with your pathetic little whines but rafe was determined to hear your soppy cunt crying for him. it wasn’t long before you felt the encroaching of your release and he knew it he could feel it in the way you clenched around him and whined when his fingers pulled out completely. one more carress of the sensitive gummy spot inside you had you seeing white. your vision blurred as you shook in your release, holding his wrist so he’d stop his motions, shivers wracked your body as you came the hardest you ever had. your walls fluttered around him, more of your release dripping down your cunt and soaking the sheets below. he was sick enough to leave them like that for the night, you smelled so sweet and he bet you tasted even better.

his fingers dipped out of your underwear and your eyes opened to watch him, probably a mistake on your part because just the vision of rafe cameron licking his fingers clean and groaning at the taste made you ready to go again. his eyes rolled back in his head at the taste, his eyes ground shut at the sugary flavor coating his tongue and teeth. he really hoped you’d let him have more later because now that he’d had a taste he wanted the full meal. you shivered at the way he reacted, your whole body on high alert from your orgasm, but even as sensitive as you were you couldn’t help but be greedy.

“rafe, can we go further?” his heart might just give out, you look nervous even now after he’s already addicted. he moves back slightly, pulling his shirt over his head and your eyes are drawn to his chest.

“thought you’d never ask.” you’re not even trying to hide how you ogle him, seeing him at the beach is one thing but in front of you, when you can touch him is another. rafe watches you reach a hand out, slightly out of range and moves closer to you, letting you touch him. your smalls hands traverse the expanse of his shoulders, his pecs, and trace the outline of his abs. when they reach the tuft of hair above his waistband, rafe has to stop you. the tiny fleeting touches make him twitch in his pants. he moves your hand to rest against his shoulder, pulling your underwear all the way off and looking down at how he completely drowns your body out.

“fuckkk can’t believe im the lucky one who gets to break this little pussy in,” he kisses along your neck, hands squeezing your waist and marveling at how diminutive you feel. he can’t wait to be inside you, he wonders if you’ll even be able to take him.

“s-so dirty” his words are heating up your entire body and you’d feel embarrassed if you weren’t arching into him. rafe moves to pull down his shorts, waiting a beat before he does.

“you sure you want this?” while taking your virginity was something he could only dream about before he needed to be sure.

“yes i want it to be you, i trust you.” you say it as normally as you can.

“we can stop whenever you want, like i said ‘offer’s not gonna expire.” you hope you can take it up even after this, maybe not even once or twice. if he could make you feel like this why would you need anyone else? then he pulls his shorts off and you start to regret your decision.

“oh-is th-that gonna fit?” his cock sprung out and slapped against his stomach, long and thick and way too big for you. you could barely take his fingers this would never fit. it looked so angry white precum dribbling down stark against the flushed pink curling along the veins and curving with him to the right. you wouldn’t survive this.

“you’ll do your best right?” you nod enthusiastically, you wanted to take as much as you could. “good girl.” oh, you’d have to explore that later. you nearly moaned at him calling you that. rafe caught it though, he knew your reactions well by now. he lined it up over your stomach, seeing how far it would go and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. your belly button was completely covered, not that it mattered he was halfway up your torso. rafe’s grip on your waist tightened, he’d ruin you for anyone else, stretch you out and mold you just for him. no one would feel as good as him and he nearly drooled at the sight.

despite how feral he felt, he made sure you were still wet enough for him to slip in, you were. his tip pressed against you, he let you drool onto him, juices swirling with his and making a sick plap plap plap sound as he tapped against you. he’s far wider than his fingers and you tried to relax. you motioned for him to come closer, his lips out of reach and you kissed him sweetly. when he could feel you relax he pushed in, instantly being shoved out. so tight he couldn’t even get the tip in. “fuuckkkk gonna have to marry you.” you don’t even process his words and he doesn’t really know he’s saying them out loud either. he tries again, pulling you slightly onto his length and you gasp at the stretch. you’re gripping him like a vice and it’s nearly uncomfortable but being inside you breaks something inside of him and he’s drooling into your mouth. you don’t even care you want more. “doin well angel-hah-taking me so well.”

the pain is an afterthought now, you want him to stretch you and fill you until you can’t breathe. you don’t know if you’ve wanted anything more in your life. so you do the unthinkable, you try moving down his length. rafe can’t be held responsible for his actions after that.

he gives into your silent plea, skewering you on his cock and pushing past your gooey rings of resistance until he’s halfway in. you held your breath the entire time as he curved into you, tip smearing precum along your walls as he molded you to him, his veins catching on your entrance and making you jolt at the feeling. you push at his chest, the pain making you scream his name as he lets you adjust. there’s tears trailing down your cheek that he licks away. he kisses you until the ache between your legs becomes distant, it’s salty and sloppy but it distracts you enough. rafe makes the mistake of looking down, sees the way you’re gaping for him and how it looks like he’s splitting you in half and he bottoms out. the snap of his hips against yours makes you moan, he’s filled you up now and you can feel him in your throat. you swear you feel him get bigger when you whine his name pathetically, his dick twitching inside you.

it’s too much and you try running from it, shoving up the length of the bed but rafe just pulls you back down. “t-too big hng can’t-“

“come on i thought you were-fuck-a big girl,” he groans into your ear, you shove against him once more and he slips out a few inches, just enough for you to relax. you can still feel him nestled against your cervix, he’s leaking into you and your thighs are coated in both of your arousal. you tap his shoulder for him to move again, pulling out until his tip is the only thing inside and then spearing all the way back in. the feeling makes you cross-eyed, his throbbing tip bumps along your sensitive spot until it nestles against you, as far high up as it can and you think you might be coming on every thrust because you’re so obscenely wet more slick just pours out of you every time. rafe knows it’s because there’s no space for anything but his cock and he can’t help but grin, watching your pussy engulf his length despite how small you are under him. every thrust sends your whole body upwards but his grip on you keeps you close, he’s almost fucking you back onto him.

“feels good hah,” you finally murmur into his neck, wrapping your legs around his hips so he can drill into you better. his thrusts are deep and slow, letting you get used to the feeling but you don’t think you like it like this. if he’s going to ruin you he might as well do it properly. “h-harder.” rafe moans your name at your request, his voice sounds so wrecked you clench down at the sound alone.

“turned this pussy into a slut, ‘couldn’t even take-hah-two fingers now look at you.” really he’s proud of you, proud that he made you like this. although he wants to tease you he can’t hold back much longer either and it’s your first time so he’s gonna be nice to you. rafe pulls out and slams back into you setting a faster rougher pace, your skin is slapping against each other and you think he might bruise your hips. your head is shoved up the length of his bed until it threatens to bump against the headboard, he puts his hand between you and the wood, his other hand holding onto the frame for support. your legs are being bent and pressed to the sides and the new angle makes him hit that spot with blaring accuracy. a sick ring of white forms at the base of his dick and his balls are slippery from your arousal. you still have a vice grip around him, something he won’t get used to but is definitely get addicted to. the room smells filthy and the sounds of you chanting his name combined with the squelch of your cunt is pornographic.

“gonna be a good girl and come around my cock?” your walls flutter at his words, like his permission has you ready to come. you come undone with one more thrust, your cunt is milking him as if coaxing him to come. “fuck fuck fuckkkk.” he pulls out just in time to come onto your stomach, shooting thick gooey ropes onto your soft skin. the white contrasts the blue and purple that is starting to bloom around your neck and tits.

you blearily watch it happen, disappointed he didn’t come inside, but warm and fuzzy from your release. there’s one thought nagging you though as you rest comfortably on his sticky soaked sheets. “it wasn’t a one time offer right?”

“no fucking way, i’m never letting you go.” rafe looks at you like you’re crazy, he’s ready to propose. there’s no way in hell he’s making this a one night stand. after all he’s broken you in, now it’s the fun part.

taglist: @ggraycelynn

[mercy-burning]

Greedy

PAIRING: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: You give Spencer head for the first time as he guides you through it.

CONTENT: (18+) Blowjob. Praise. Crying. Gagging. Bon Appetit.

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: this is totally formatted weird because i did this on a whim in my car at work without my laptop. i also didn’t proofread, sooooo if you see any typos, no you didn’t ❤️

*************

"Do you like having your dick sucked?"

Spencer is silent for approximately seven seconds before you continue, shock rendering his brain utterly useless.

"Sorry. That was a stupid question."

"N—no, it's not at all, I'm just... I didn't expect you to say that out of the blue."

You shuffle your position next to him, coming up to lean on your arm as he looks up at you. You bite your lip and avoid his eyes, his hand coming up to stroke your arm as you consider your words. "Well, I just... I've been thinking about it. I mean, we've been sleeping together for a while now and I've never done it, and I didn't know if it was something you actually cared about or... or what..."

Hearing you ramble and trail off makes him laugh to himself, his hand trailing up to lock your fingers with his. "Do you want to?"

It's your turn to laugh, the breath laced with worry, and regret for even bringing it up. "I'd love to, but... I'm not good at it."

Spencer pauses again, far less than seven seconds this time, the pieces slowly starting to come together. "I doubt that's true, but even if it is, there is not a single thing you could be bad at, in bed or otherwise, that would make me like you any less."

Still, you're relentless in your insecurity over the matter. "No, you don't understand, I'm astronomically bad at it— I can't even brush my teeth without gagging and crying!"

Somehow, despite the laugh that tumbles from him, the brief image of your pretty face flushed and puffy, eyes wet with tears, causes something wicked to stir in him. Still, he aims to comfort you first and push it aside in the meantime—perhaps forever if it would mean your contentment and happiness. To reiterate this point, he leans up and kisses your jaw. "Well, I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to until you're ready. Or at all.”

Your body relaxes a little, though your voice remains unsure and small as you ask him, “Can I try?”

Spencer kisses you again, pulling you on top of him and letting your lips bring him one step closer to Heaven. You kiss him softly, sensually, and his body reacts to it with such visceral need that he wonders how he’s lived so much of his life without you.

“Do anything you want, my love,” he whispers against you when you pull away for air. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

You melt at his words, literally, as your body comes down over him. It’s like a tidal wave, trust and love and desire all crashing into him at once. There isn’t a single ounce of him that isn’t set alight at the mere phantom of your touch. So, when you’re on him in full force, a careful methodical mission to please him, he may as well be a living embodiment of the sun, burning and blinding and hot.

He watches you intently, trying not to let his eyes close as you continue your descent down the length of him. Your lips are slow and molten, each and every kiss sending a shockwave of excitement coursing through his body. Every so often, your tongue darts out to taste his skin, and the closer it gets to his waist, the harder it is for him to focus.

God, he thinks with a grin, you haven’t even undressed me and I’m already a fucking mess…

Your hand comes up to trace along the seams of his underwear, occasionally slipping underneath, teasing, as you nip and lick at his lower abdomen. And then, when you finally press your palm to the hard and aching weight of his desire, he can’t help the sound that escapes him—desperate, low, and downright pornographic.

Spencer half-expects you to laugh and tease him for being needy, but his need for you only builds your confidence; You gently squeeze him through that pesky thin cotton layer and swipe your thumb along where the underside of his tip is. Your mouth moves lower, teeth tugging at the waistband of said cotton, and he thinks you might actually be the death of him.

Watching you intently and steadying his breathing, Spencer lifts his hips as you tug the fabric down, at first with your teeth and then, finally, with your hands. The slight whimper that leaves your mouth at the sight of his flushed cock is a sound he never wants to forget, though the sound you make when you finally press your warm, welcoming tongue to his shaft is even better.

You moan and lick, slowly and all the way up to the tip, like you’ve just tasted Heaven. Your tongue explores and swirls, and your lips occasionally close around his balls, never fully taking him into your mouth but making him wet and aching all over.

Your exploration is slow. Deliberate. Sultry. Your eyes flick up to meet his every once in a while, never faltering your movements, but Spencer can tell every time that your body is physically crumbling under the weight of his gaze. The pure unabashed lust swimming about in his entire being is at a level that is new and overwhelming, threatening to sweep him away in a tidal wave and take you with him.

He wants to be greedy, but for now, he will wait.

You seem to sense this, pausing the movements with your mouth to talk while you strike him gently in your hand.

“Can I confess something?”

Even if he had an answer, he couldn’t have given it, his ability to speak rendered utterly useless when your fist squeezes firmly over his tip. His mouth falls open in a silent sigh of pleasure as you continue.

“The thought of choking on your cock is making me really wet…”

You punctuate your confession with a gentle, searing kiss to his belly. Right where his greed is pooling and aching to be set free.

All he can do is groan, throwing his head back and clutching at the sheets below him.

“Would you like that? Fucking my throat and making me take it until I’m crying?”

Spencer’s hips jerk involuntarily, and he barks out, “Yes. Fuck.”

You do laugh this time, but only for a second before bracing yourself. Your mouth parts, taking the tip of him between your lips and getting yourself used to having him inside you this way. Your tongue finds a comfortable way to caress him as you go down slowly, lower and lower, until—

You tense and retreat, barely making it down his cock half-way before you’re choking, a line of drool following your poor, pouting lips.

At first, Spencer thinks maybe you’ve changed your mind, and he’s ready to tell you it’s okay and that you can stop.

And then, you’re going again, your eyes never leaving his as you take him in your mouth once more. Slowly, and this time more relaxed. Your tongue glides around him differently, trying something new, making more room for him, but it’s still not enough to keep you from gagging.

Your eyes gloss over and your throat contracts, but you make yourself stay for two seconds longer before you’re audibly gagging, going back up and blinking away tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, catching your breath. “I’m trying.”

Spencer reaches and caresses your jaw with the back of his knuckles, his dick practically throbbing in your fist.

“I know, pretty girl. And you’re doing such a good job.”

The words are merely meant for comfort and reassurance, not to make you keep going, but they seem to encourage you anyway. Your watery gaze rises to lock with his, and you start to lazily stroke him again.

“Really?”

“Yes. You’re so perfect. I mean it.”

“I can’t even make it halfway down,” you whine in protest, but he’s immediately shaking his head.

“So what. You still feel incredible.”

You look up at him like you don’t believe him, but you’re determined to keep trying anyway, shifting yourself and bringing him to your lips one more time.

His hand is there for comfort at first, cradling your jaw, but then he finds himself guiding you, lifting your head back up once you start to go down too far. He keeps you right on the edge of your limit, feeling your throat tense every once in a while, but not enough to overwhelm you.

Spencer can feel your excitement, your movements getting more rhythmic and your tongue finding a perfect mold to the intruding length of him.

“That’s it,” he coos, trying to keep his breathing even. Both of his hands are on your face now, keeping you steady as you look up at him. “You look so pretty like this.”

His words are fuel, something darkening in your eyes as he expels them, and then you’re taking the reins, gripping his waist and plunging yourself lower onto his cock in one swift motion.

“Fuck!” he yelps in surprise, still holding your head as you hold yourself to the base of him and gag, for one, two, three seconds before lifting.

It’s not long before you’re going down on him again, finding a new, quick and sloppy rhythm that takes him deeper down the back of your throat each time. You choke, you gag, you drool, and you cry.

God, do you cry…

Spencer’s thumbs catch your falling tears, a steady stream that paints your cheeks beautifully and fulfills that deep-brewing greed thrashing around in the pits of his belly.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cry,” he rushes out, close to orgasm.

At this, you whimper, which causes you to choke, which causes Spencer to finally let go, and he holds your head and thrusts up into your mouth. Over and over again.

He praises you through it, swiping lovingly at fresh tears and feeling his cum trail down his cock with your saliva, because of course there was no way you’d be able to swallow it all.

“That’s my good girl,” he chokes out, his thrusts softening. “Taking my cock so well… Just like I knew you would.”

Eventually his orgasm fades, and your mouth finally has reprieve. Still, Spencer cradles your face in his hands as he studies the aftermath.

He hadn’t been aware that you were wearing any mascara, but now it’s evident, watery black streaks cascading down the slopes of your cheeks. Your face is red all over, eyes puffy and lips even more so. You smile faintly, exhausted but happy—proud—and he can’t help but think—

“God, you’re beautiful…”

And right then, looking at him look at you, with adoration and wonder in his eyes, the thin fog of lust settled like firework smoke around you, you can’t help but think back—

“Mmm, so are you.”

[woniedarlin]

I love the bf! enha yapper x listener. May I request bf! enha where the reader is sulking and the members are consoling her

Sulked and Soothed

pairing: boyfriend! enhypen x fem! reader

caution: This fic contains excessive amounts of sulking 😙

author's note: Thank you for the request anonie!! I’m so sorry it took so long. I hope you all enjoy it. Happy reading! ♡

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

HEESEUNG

You were upstairs, curled up by the window, and sulking….no, wallowing. Because Heeseung, your boyfriend, who was supposed to understand you the most, had ultimately dismissed your feelings earlier. You had been genuinely upset about something, and instead of taking it seriously, he had just laughed. You were so frustrated. So, to prove a point, you kicked him out of the shared house. Dramatic? Maybe. Justified? Absolutely.

Now, you sat by the open window, arms crossed, refusing to acknowledge the traitor currently standing outside on the lawn. Because, of course, Heeseung didn’t just leave. That would be too easy. No. Instead, he had decided to stand dead center…

With a boombox.

And he was singing.

“AND IIIIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUUUU”

Your soul left your body.

“LEE HEESEUNG, WHAT THE ACTUAL-”

he was belting.

loud.

painfully and purposely off-key.

“Oh my god,” you groaned and yelled. “Please tell me you’re not doing this!”

‘’CAN’T HEAR YOU, BABY! THE MUSIC’S TOO LOUD”

“YOU’RE WAKING THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD.”

“Good!” Heeseung grinned. “They need to know my suffering.”

You wanted to disappear. Your window was wide open. You could feel the judgmental stares of imaginary people at you. And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse…It got worse. Because then? He switched songs. A slow, romantic ballad started playing, and before you could even process it, Heeseung, your insane boyfriend,

sank to one knee.

and sang-

“CAUSE ALL OF ME! LOVES ALL OF YOU!”

You grabbed your pillow and launched it out the window.

He dodged. Smirked. “Missed me.”

“I AM THIS CLOSE TO ENDING YOU.”

“Then come down and do it.”

Oh.

Your eye twitched.

Heeseung, still kneeling, gave you that lovesick gaze. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brushed you off. I get why you’re mad. And I swear I’ll listen properly next time.”

You glared. “Next time?”

“I mean-” He coughed. “There won’t be a next time! Because I’ve learned my lesson!”

Well…you were tired of sulking. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, stomped to the door, and went downstairs.

“EVEN WHEN I LOSE, I’M WINNINGGG”

You ripped the door open. “I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE.”

He cut off mid-note. “Oh, thank God. My knees were starting to hurt.”

You pointed at the boombox. “And what even is that?”

He turned it off and set it down carefully. “Found it in the garage. Thought it would be romantic.”

You let out a long sigh before finally meeting his eyes. Heeseung was still kneeling on the ground, looking up at you with the softest, most adoring expression you’d ever seen. “…You do sound good when you sing,” you muttered.

Heeseung’s grin widened instantly. “I knew it.” He got up in one swift motion until he could slip his arms around your waist and pull you into him. “Forgive me?” he asked and kissed your temple.

Fine. He won this round.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” he murmured while nudging his nose against your hair.

“…Only if you promise to never, ever do that again.”

“No promises, babe.” He reached past you to grab the boombox. “This might come in handy next time.”

You shot him a glare. “If you bring that thing inside, I’m locking you out again.”

Heeseung laughed and threw an arm over your shoulder as he led you back in. “Noted. I’ll hide it somewhere you won’t find it.”

You rolled your eyes as he shut the door behind you and pulled you closer.

You knew this wouldn’t be the last time this would happen.

JAY

It started with betrayal. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. Jay had done something…something unforgivable. (Okay, maybe not that unforgivable, but still.) And now, in your fury, you had stolen his prized possession.

His beloved leather jacket.

You strutted around the house in it, arms crossed, chin high, making a point of looking better in it than he ever had. Meanwhile, Jay was sprawled out on the couch, watching you. “You’re committing to this, huh?”

You huffed as you flicked your hair over your shoulder. “I deserve to wear it after what you did.”

His lips twitched. “Right. And what exactly did I do again?”

Your eyes narrowed. “You know what you did.”

He bit back a smile. “Oh, of course. My bad.”

You shot him a look before flipping the collar up dramatically. “Well, since I’m suffering here, I’m keeping this.”

Jay tilted his head,

And then, he smirked.

“Damn,” he said and stretched his arms behind his head. “You look good in it. Maybe you should keep it.”

You froze.

That was not the reaction you had planned for.

“What?”

Jay shrugged. “I mean, it suits you. Almost like it was made for you.”

Your brain is short-circuited.

This was supposed to be revenge. You were supposed to be tormenting him.

Not… whatever this was.

Suspicious, you added. “You don’t even care that I took it?”

“Nope,” he said quickly. “I kinda like seeing you in my clothes.”

Your cheeks burned. “That’s not the point, Jay.”

“Isn’t it?”

Ugh. Why was he like this?

Still sulking, you plopped down on the couch, arms crossed. Jay watched you for a moment, then, with an annoyingly soft chuckle, wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You done being mad at me yet?” he murmured.

You let out a sigh. “TBD.”

Jay laughed as he pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips. “Alright, take your time.”

And just like that…

You almost forgot what you were mad about.

JAKE

It started with a mistake. A thoughtless mistake. Jake had forgotten something important. And now, you were sulking.

Correction: you were sulking so hard that you had locked yourself in the bedroom.

Jake had knocked at least ten times.

“Babe?”

Silence.

“Okay, I know you can hear me.”

More silence.

Jake sighed. “Fine. If you don’t talk to me, I’ll just-”

A small slip of paper suddenly slid under the door.

You reached for it and unfolded it.

In his messy handwriting, it read:

“I’M SORRY :(”

You scoffed. Does he think one sad face is enough?

You placed the note aside and went back to sulking.

Five minutes later…

Another note.

“I REALLY MEAN IT :(((”

Another five minutes.

“PLEASE FORGIVE ME? :((( I WILL DO ANYTHING.”

You rolled your eyes. Anything?

Still, you stayed silent.

Jake sighed. “Okay. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Then, music started playing.

Sad music.

You perked up, recognizing the song. Through the door, Jake sang along, pouring his entire heart into the lyrics. You hated to admit it, but… his voice was pleasant. Still, you weren’t ready to forgive him just yet. Another song started. But this time…It was cheerful.

Too cheerful.

And then-

You choked.

Was he rapping Eminem?

“His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-”

You covered your mouth to keep from laughing.

“There’s vomit on his sweater already, mom’s spaghetti.” he rapped horribly, adding the worst beatboxing noises known to man. It was so bad, so stupidly bad, that your body betrayed you.

A giggle slipped out.

Jake immediately stopped.

“Wait. Was that… was that a laugh?”

You cleared your throat. “No.”

“Yes, it was,” he sang. “I heard that.”

“…No, you didn’t.”

“Baaaabe,” he whined. “Come on, I made a fool of myself out here.”

You hesitated, and then, finally, you unlocked the door. The second it clicked open, Jake pushed inside and engulfed you in a hug. “I missed you,” he mumbled into your hair.

You sighed. “I was only gone for, like, thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, but that’s like ten years in boyfriend time.”

You rolled your eyes, but your arms found their way around him anyway.

Jake grinned. “Soooo… I’m forgiven?”

You huffed. “No.”

But with the way you were smiling into his chest?

Yeah. He was forgiven.

SUNGHOON

Sunghoon messed up. You hadn’t spoken a word in the last ten minutes of the car ride. Not a sigh. Not a hum. Complete silence. And Sunghoon, being Sunghoon, knew he was so screwed. Then, the worst thing happened. You turned to him blankly and said, “Pull over.”

His hands tightened around the wheel. “Wait. What?”

“Pull. Over.”

Sunghoon panicked. “Babe, listen, let’s just talk-”

“NOW.”

Okay, yeah. You meant business.

With a resigned sigh, he turned toward the curb and parked the car.

But what he wasn’t expecting…

was for you to swing open the door, step out, and start walking away.

In heels.

Sunghoon’s jaw dropped. “Are you…baby!”

You didn’t even spare him a glance. One foot in front of the other, heels clicking against the pavement, eyes fixed forward. Sunghoon, still in shock, leaned over to the passenger seat, watching you go. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

Again, no response.

His head thudded against the steering wheel.

And yet, here he was. Driving at a walking pace, following you down the street with his window rolled down.

For fifteen minutes.

At first, he tried apologizing.

“Okay, okay, I get it! I messed up! But baby, PLEASE get back in the car!”

Nothing.

Then, he tried reasoning.

“Look, I swear I didn’t mean to. Can we talk about this inside the car? Where there’s air conditioning? And no chance of you breaking an ankle?”

Still, nothing.

Then, he threatened.

“I will physically carry you back inside.”

You kept walking.

Sunghoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god.”

People were staring.

A group of teenagers stood at the corner, pointing and whispering to each other. Even an older man with a dog shot Sunghoon a disapproving look. This was officially the worst day of his life. And yet, he still wouldn’t leave you alone. “Okay,” he pleaded. “You win, alright? Just… please, baby, let me drive you home.”

Silence.

“…I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

Nothing.

“I’ll let you pick the next date.”

Nope.

“I’ll never steal your fries again.”

…Okay.

You stopped.

Sunghoon held his breath.

You turned slightly, just enough for him to see your raised eyebrow.

“…Swear?”

Sunghoon nodded immediately. “On my life. On my ancestors. On my future children’s inheritance.”

You eyed him for a second longer. Then, you turned around and walked back to the car. Sunghoon, relieved, unlocked the door so fast he nearly broke the button. The second you slid into the passenger seat, he exhaled deeply and gripped the wheel.

“…Are you still mad?”

You crossed your arms, looking out the window.

“…Maybe.”

Sunghoon gulped. “Okay. Cool. Great.”

This was going to be a long ride home.

SUNOO

Sunoo had never known actual suffering… Until today. You were mad. Not the fake pout kind of mad, where you just wanted him to baby you. Not the playful, sulking kind of angry, where he had to smother you with affection until you caved.

No.

You were the worst kind of mad. Silent treatment mad. Sunoo had never experienced this before. And frankly? He hated it. You hadn’t spoken to him all day. Not one word. This morning, when he greeted you, you walked past him. At lunch, when he sighed, “I’m starving,” just to get a reaction, you didn’t even blink. And when he poked your cheek, flashing his sweetest smile…you swatted his hand away.

That was when he knew-

Oh. This is serious.

But Sunoo wasn’t one to give up so easily.

If you were going to be stubborn, then OK. He’d have to outdo you.

Phase One: Puppy Eyes

First, he tried his biggest weapon.

The Puppy Eyes™.

You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, pretending he didn’t exist. So Sunoo sat across you, propping his chin on his hands. He stared. Big, round eyes. Mouth slightly pouted.

But you ignored him.

What.

You didn’t even spare him a glance?

Unacceptable.

Okay. Fine. Time for Plan B.

Phase Two: Physical Affection Attack

Sunoo launched himself onto your lap. He wrapped his arms around you.

You froze. But you still didn’t say anything. Not even a “Sunoo, get off.”

Sunoo gasped. “You won’t even insult me?! Do you know how serious this is?”

Silence.

Sunoo groaned. Okay. Fine. Time for the final stage.

Phase Three: Ultimate Suffering Mode

If words wouldn’t work, and affection wouldn’t work-

Then, it was time for desperate measures.

Sunoo stood up, took a deep breath, and collapsed onto the floor.

“Goodbye, world,” he announced loudly.

Huh?

“I can’t go on like this,” he continued. “She won’t even look at me. What is the point of life?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose.

Sunoo’s eyes snapped open.

Was that a laugh?

He sat up immediately, hope rekindled.

“BABY!” He grabbed your hands. “You still love me, right? Say it! Say it, or I’ll keep going!”

You rolled your eyes.

But then

Finally

You broke.

“…Act normal for once,” you muttered.

Sunoo gasped. “YOU SPOKE TO ME!” He threw his arms around you, hugging you so tight you nearly fell over.

You groaned, trying to push him away. “Okay, okay! Get off me!”

“NEVER!” Sunoo is clinging harder. “You’re stuck with me forever, baby~”

JUNGWON

It started as a joke. Jungwon had the audacity to side with someone else during a ridiculous debate if pineapple belongs on pizza was acceptable. And even though he was clearly wrong (in your very justified opinion), he doubled down just to mess with you. So, naturally, you retaliated. By blocking him. On everything.

Phone? Blocked. Instagram? Blocked. Messaging apps? Blocked. Even his email (just to be extra.)

Jungwon figured you’d cool down in an hour or so, but when the sun set and he was still blocked? Okay, this is serious. Since he couldn’t text or call, he had to get creative. The next morning, you woke up to an unexpected email from an unfamiliar sender. Subject line:

“A Plea for Mercy”

Your curiosity got the best of you, and you clicked. Inside was the most dramatic apology letter you’d ever seen, complete with excessive formal language:

“Dearest and Most Magnificent Love of My Life,”

“I come before you today a humbled and regretful man. It has come to my attention that I have deeply wronged you, and as such, I have been stripped of my most valued privilege: direct contact with you. I write this letter in desperate hopes that you will hear my plea and grant me the mercy of unblocking me.”

Attached was a PowerPoint presentation titled:

“Why You Should Forgive Your Loving Boyfriend”

You opened it, and the first slide simply read:

Slide 1: “Because I Love You. Next Slide.”

The next few slides were just ridiculously cute pictures of Jungwon with captions like:

• Would you really abandon this face? 🥺

• Think about all the funny memes I could be sending you right now.

• You’re literally my entire world. How can my world block me?

The last slide just had three words:

“I’m sorry, baby.”

You stared at the screen, fighting back a smile. Ugh. He’s so annoying. But also… really sweet.

You sighed, picked up your phone, and unblocked him.

Not even a second later, a call came through.

“I KNEW IT!” Jungwon’s voice rang out the moment you answered. “I KNEW YOU COULDN’T RESIST ME.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it, Jungwon.”

“I’d never,” he said, not even trying to hide his grin. “Now… about that pizza debate-”

You groaned. “Do you want to be blocked again?”

His laugh was loud. “Okay, okay! I take it back! Pineapple belongs wherever you say it does, my love.”

Yeah. He knew exactly how to win you over.

NI-KI

You had been too nice for too long. For weeks now, you had put up with Ni-ki’s competitiveness.

At video games? He crushed you.

At basketball? He blocked all your shots.

At board games? He won, then did a full victory dance on the table.

At just dance?

Oh, he didn’t just win.

He humiliated you.

Not only did he perfect every move, but he dared to turn to you mid-song and go-

“Babe, you good?”

That was the last straw. So, naturally, you did what any reasonable person would do. You stole all of his shoes.

Every. Single. Pair.

And when Ni-ki went to get his shoes before heading out

He found nothing.

Just an empty shoe rack.

Immediately, he froze. Then, he whipped around, eyes wide. “…Babe?”

No answer.

Ni-ki searched the whole house before finally finding you on the bed, surrounded by all his shoes.

Ni-ki just stared.

Then, very slowly, he exhaled. “Okay.”

He walked in and flopped down next to you. “Alright, I get it. I deserved this,” he admitted, throwing an arm over his face. “I have been humbled.”

You huffed.

Silence.

Then-

“…But can I have my Jordans back?”

You turned and glared.

Ni-ki immediately sat up. “Wait, wait! Actually, no. You know what? Keep them. I’m a changed man.”His lips pressed together. He tried to fight back a smirk. “Wow. This must be what true defeat feels like.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now you understand?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yep. It’s all so clear now.”

You squinted. “You’re just saying that to get your shoes back.”

Ni-ki gasped. Fake betrayal. “I would never.”

You held up his Jordans.

Ni-ki immediately sat up straighter. “Wait. Be careful-”

You smirked. “Maybe I should hide them for another week.”

His eyes widened in panic. “Okay, OKAY! I SURRENDER!”

Without warning, Ni-ki lunged. You shrieked, trying to escape, but he was too fast. He tackled you onto the bed, trapping you under his arms as he snatched his Jordans back. Then, he started tickling you. You burst out laughing, kicking and writhing. “NI-KI, STOP!”

Ni-ki grinned. “Say I’m the best boyfriend ever, and I’ll consider it.”

Through laughter, you shoved at him. “NEVER!”

Ni-ki smirked. “Wrong answer.”

And so, you paid the price.

[moonstruckme]

hi mae!! may i get a poly marauders x reader where reader just completely becomes quiet and stuff around negatively raised voices? like if two of the others (not necessarily reader) are arguing and suddenly theyre arguing in raised voices and reader has grown up in that kinda household so she js makes herself absolutely scarce in fear of one of them snapping at her or smth? sorry if this is very specific or if its not something ur comfortable with lol have a great day :)

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: implied trauma around shouting/aggression

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“You didn’t think to look for a sign?” 

“I didn’t see any sign.” 

“There was a sign less than ten feet away.” 

“Okay, I saw that one.” Sirius reaches up into your cupboard, shuffling things around until he gets to the sleeve of biscuits in the back. His attention is noticeably not on Remus. “I thought it was only for the spot it was posted in front of. They ought to make those things more clear.” 

“The rest of us always manage to interpret them fine.” There’s no bite you can find in Remus’ tone. He’s not standing stiffly, or crossing his arms. But deep in your chest, there’s a small coil of tension brought about by something in your boyfriend’s demeanor you can’t identify. It has you lingering at the edge of the room. You think Remus is more upset than he’s letting on. 

Sirius seems to sense this, too. “Oi, it’s nothing to get your knickers in a twist about. It’s being handled, isn’t it?” 

“It is being handled,” Remus says. He rubs his thumb into his temple. “I’m beginning to wonder how many times it’ll have to be handled before you learn how public parking works.” 

“I did think after three tickets we’d be done with it,” James jokes, oblivious to the rising tension. “Surely at some point the towing company must start giving us a discount.” 

Sirius pops a biscuit in his mouth. He folds his arms, speaking around it. “I’m taking care of it, alright? I’ll pay the ticket. I’ve already paid the towing company and gone to the lot to get the car back—which ate up a good chunk of my day, by the way, so I don’t really fancy coming home to be lectured about it.” 

“Sirius.” Remus sighs harshly, eyes closed as if this is all giving him a headache. “Do you really want me to feel bad for you about a mess you got yourself into?” 

“I just don’t see what’s left for you to be pissy about!” 

“Right, well, you’re not the one who’s going to have to go to court for it, are you? This is our fourth parking violation, and the car’s in my name. I’m going to have to use a sick day for it.” 

“Just let me go instead, then.” 

“That’s not how it works, Sirius.” 

You find yourself retreating from the room on silent feet, disappearing down the hall. 

“Would you stop saying my name like that? I can’t bloody well help what’s already happened. I’ve said I’m sorry, what else do you want me to do?”

“I’m not sure you have said that, actually.” 

“I’ve said I’ll go to court for you!” 

“Hold on,” James cuts in, “let’s just—” 

“Doesn’t sound quite like the same fucking thing, does it?” 

You shut the bedroom door with a soft click. It deadens the voices, though the sharp tones seem to pierce the wood. You push out a breath, forcing it around the tension in your chest. 

Everything is fine. Nothing truly bad is going to happen, not with these boys. You feel caught between pressing your ear to the door to hear every word and putting in your earbuds to drown it all out. 

It doesn’t take terribly long for the tones to soften into something safer. Not kind, exactly, but less jagged. James’ voice chimes in more often. You hear more sighs than scoffs. The feeling in your chest stays, primed. 

When Sirius comes to find you, you’re scrolling aimlessly on your laptop. 

“Hi,” he says, giving you a little smile as he slips in the door. 

You smile back. “Hi.” 

“It’s all clear out there, just so you know.” Sirius sits at the end of the bed, a gentleness in his features that makes you feel sheepish. “Safe to come back out if you want to.” 

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly. 

“We’re okay, baby.” 

“And you and Remus…” 

“He’s still a bit miffed with me,” he admits, “but we’re alright. I’m going to see if they’ll let me go to court for him since I was the one using the car.” 

You nod. The inside of your cheek finds its way between your molars. “I’m sorry you got a ticket,” you say. 

Sirius smiles, gray eyes soft with fondness. “Thanks, sweetness. It’s okay. It happens, you know?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Some could argue it might happen less if I was perhaps a bit more cautious.” 

Your lips quirk. “They could.” 

“But it’s all fine. Everything’s really alright, we’ve made up. Do you want to come have dinner?” 

“Oh.” You get up. “Yeah, sorry.” 

Sirius tsks. “What’re you sorry for?” 

“I didn’t mean to hide.” 

He hums, pulling you close to press his lips to the side of your head. “I don’t blame you,” he murmurs. 

James is stirring a pan of vegetables in the kitchen, his arm wound snug around Remus’ neck. They appear to be speaking quietly between kisses. When Sirius pulls out a chair for you at the table, James turns with a smile. 

“Hey, lovie.” His voice shines with affection. 

It’s not a scene you’ve always been used to after an argument. Smiles and a shared meal, all of you in the same room together without a sharp look exchanged. 

“Hi,” you say back, trying to smile in the same way. Your feet come up onto your seat, legs folding into a pretzel. 

Remus leans around James to see you better. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to drive you off.” 

“You didn’t drive me off,” you reply. You both know it’s a lie. Remus’ mouth slants sympathetically. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you say, honestly. Sirius rubs your thigh like he’s going to make sure of it. “You?” 

Remus smiles softly. “I’m alright. Thanks, sweetheart.” 

“I think we should institute a new system.” The vegetables hiss as James pushes them around in the pan. “Whenever two of us are having a row, the other two get to vote on who’s right, and that’s the end of it.” 

“But,” you hesitate, “there’s four of us? What if it’s a split vote?” 

“Then that’ll be the least of our problems.” You can practically hear the eye roll Remus is holding back. “Taking sides would never work.” 

“Agreed,” says Sirius. “I vote that James doesn’t get to institute new systems.” 

“What?” James sulks. “You always take Remus’ side.” 

“Clearly not.” 

“Well, you always do when it’s against me!” 

“I’m going to leave again,” you joke, gratified when James instantly apologizes and Sirius puts his hands over your ears. 

“You heard her.” Remus smiles, dropping a light kiss to James’ hair. “No more bickering, you two. Honestly, I’ve no idea what possesses you. Can you believe them, dove?” 

“Nope,” you say, smiling. 

Sirius fixes you with a look. “I’m going to start bickering with you next if you’re not careful.” 

[angelsforthenight]

screen babe, mean babe, guess who’s gonna cream babe! (pt 2)

camgirl!vi x reader (read pt 1 here, pt 3 here)

summary: after an abysmal night, you know who PinkSage really is. you want to loathe her, yet you can’t seem to escape vi’s agonising game, especially underneath the guttural heat of your city’s sun.

pre a/n: yaaawl if ur expecting smut in this chapter then i’m sorry but not yet 🙁🙁 i want to drag s.m.g out longer than i did with my last ellie series so you’re gonna have to wait until the next chapter. sometimes a slow burn can be so much better and worth it in the end, i promise! hope you guys still enjoy <3

content: AAAANGST, vi is really mean, very slight slut-shaming, cursing, crying, playful!vi, teasing! this entire chapter is a huge tease, vi is extroverted, difficult goddamn lesbians, some painful yearning, some cute moments, vi’s got one point up in this chap but we’ll see how that’ll go…

“i know who you are.”

your eyes persist in hers: as if trying to burrow yourself inside them and make yourself known.

vi, irritated as is, raises her brows and shakes her head; urging for you to elaborate. you have no idea where your boldness came from, but you find yourself continuing.

“PinkSage. y-you’re PinkSage, i watch you all the time i—“ vi’s face does a whole u-turn, the colour draining from her face.

“hold on, shut the fucking door first!” she hisses frantically. you flinch into obeying her. when you turn back around, your heart sinks at the disgusted look on vi’s face. maybe you hadn’t thought this one through.

“the fuck were you thinking? saying that shit whilst your parents are sleeping right there?” she whisper-scolds, storming towards you. you back away until you’re up against your door. yeah… what exactly were you thinking was going to happen? for your favourite cam-girl to immediately get on her knees and start eating you out? of course this moment hadn’t gone as you expected.

“huh? you just gonna stand there like a dumbass after revealing that shit? you of all people?” vi continues, her voice raising. she’s so enraged! as if it’s your fault that the woman you’re supposed to idolise happened to stay in your house. it’s only a fucked-up coincidence. your lips quiver as you find your voice.

“you— you’re being too loud.” are the only words that you can think of to say. vi stares at you in disbelief.

“… my parents are sleeping after all, right?” you mutter, looking away. vi is scowling so much she may as well pop a vein.

“hah. you’re a sick fucking freak.” she laughs dryly, shaking her head incredulously. though your gaze flicks up to her; bewildered and hurt, you’re not just going to let her talk down on you like this. not when what vi does is worse.

“you spread your legs for, like, a million pervs online. i don’t think you have the right to talk.” you snap whilst your voice trembles. here’s to thinking the world of PinkSage…

“pervs including your dull ass.” vi scoffs.

“watch your mouth, unless you’d like to sleep in the streets.”

“oh yeah? and what would you explain to your parents?” vi’s lips twitch into a grin, “mommy, daddy! kick vi out because i jerk off to her online but she’s being mean to me in real life!” she mocks, her voice lilting into a higher-pitched tone. your instinct is to push her in order to shut her mouth. vi only stumbles a little, but she glares at you as if you’ve thrown tomato juice all over her white top.

“fuck you.” you’re about to leave until something comes over you, feeling compelled to say one last thing. let her sit with this shit.

“and for your information, last time you streamed? you orgasmed to my name. your_user? yeah, that was me.”

you relish in the way vi’s expression mellows into one of astonishment. she’s dumbfounded and silent.

“sleep with that, bitch.” you spit, hastily slipping back to your room. you would’ve slammed the door if it wasn’t going to wake your parents up. your mother sleeps with one eye open and any noise would have her rising from her bed as if she’s a vampire.

once you make it back to your room, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. you’re trembling: entire body buzzing from head to toe with adrenaline and fury.

two steps closer to your bed and you feel a glob of tears swell in your throat, shooting up to your eyes. they are quick to rivulet down your cheeks like a torrent, and you intake a shuddering breath, coated with phlegm. afraid of vi hearing you next door, you immediately cover your mouth.

you jump into your bed, too arrogant to admit that the reason why you’re sobbing in your pillow is because you’re upset. you’re fucking pissed is what you are, embarrassed that you even said anything — and that vi had the gall to respond like that. whereas a week ago you would’ve praised PinkSage as if she were a saint, you’re sitting here wondering who the fuck this woman thinks she is.

of course famous people are dickheads in real life. you should’ve expected this. you fiercely wipe your tears, yanking your covers over your head. at least you were able to have the last word. you think about the look on her face, hoping she feels just as stupid as you do.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

it’s the morning that’s downright awful. you woke up too early, and now you’re forced out of your will to sit with your family and vi to eat breakfast.

your parents are trying so hard to impress her and you hate it. they’ve even gone the extra length of setting a table in your backyard, spread neatly over the stone ground. you don’t remember there being this much food in your house, let alone the gingham cloth fanned over the table. as if this breakfast is a special occasion. they must think vi is a goddamn prodigy! they find it to be groundbreaking how can she be oh so sweet volunteering for animals and taking care of them, and how she works out a lot and that tattoo on her face…

you chew your food slowly, glaring daggers at her as she compliments your mother’s cooking with her mouth full. meanwhile you would’ve gotten scolded for doing that! you’re being petty and stifling: insanely moody in this delicate summer morning. how could you not? you were in tears because of her audacity last night!

you bet if your parents found out what vi really does, your dad wouldn’t suggest playing basketball with her, and your mother wouldn’t be asking her all these stupid, prodding questions. ones like, “vi, do you have a boyfriend? o-or a girlfriend! if that’s what you prefer?”

you two make eye contact then. a split second, but it was palpable like an electric current zipping up your spine. you’re the first to look away; suddenly interested in swirling your fried egg around, smearing the yolk.

“nah. not interested in that stuff.” she replies dismissively, cool as a cucumber, because everything about her is cool! peachy! you prick your bacon with your fork hard, bringing it up to your lips as you flicker a glance at vi once more. since she’s not paying attention anymore, your eyes decide to fixate on the slope of her nose, shimmering from the light mixed with shadows that are dancing from the leaves above.

vi mutters something indignantly to your father, something you don’t hear because she suddenly steps on your foot under the table. hard. you accidentally let out a gasp that’s a little too loud, obliging everyone else to stop what they’re doing to glance up at you. they definitely forgot that you were even here. you glare at vi, who’s looking away as if she hadn’t just done that on purpose. are we suddenly little kids now? did she wake up completely overturned? ready to be an upbeat ray of sunshine after rudely shutting you down last night?

“everything okay?” dad raises a brow. vi only pretends to be curious, furrowing her brows and pouting, a faint jeering expression for your eyes only. what is she trying to play at? this isn’t just mere playfulness. this is something else.

“yeah, fine.” you murmur. you’re ready to push your chair back and leave until you hear your mother.

“oh, y/n can take you. she knows her way around the area better than any of us.” you freeze.

“what?” you brow quirks into a look of foul disdain. especially because vi looks like a grinning dog at your mother’s suggestion.

“you guys can even take the bikes!” dad chimes in enthusiastically. you want the skies above to open up and take you away. right here, right now.

“but—“

“i would love to go with you.” vi beams. that wretched look on her face, full of mischief and lies. the sun on her face isn’t exactly helping either. it’s all a cruel taunt: the way it kisses her face, the way it highlights her plush lips curved into that sweet, deceitful smile. she could be the sun herself… if she wasn’t so obnoxious. yet you find yourself relenting, giving a speck of yourself away to the woman who gets under your skin. you force yourself to stare at the wooden ridges of the table instead of the sunlight dancing on vi’s features.

“…fine. where to?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

the lazy july sun is beating down on you mercilessly. vi’s wearing a baseball cap, but you? you were too pissed off and stubborn to listen to your mother’s advice on wearing a hat. so now you’re suffering.

you’re steering down the tree-lined dirt track with your bike. though it’s so damn hot, you really do appreciate the beauty that summer brings along: how everything appears so bright and awake. you won’t pretend that it can’t be suffocating however, especially when you have a certain pink-haired someone riding a bike behind you, distinctly aware of her eyes boring down your back.

vi slightly quickens so she’s right beside you, you side-eye her.

“who says that theres space for the both of us?” your words may as well have a double meaning. vi grins. there is actually enough space, you just don’t want her next to you.

“i did. you’re so sweaty you’re glowing by the way.”

“aw, thank you.” you sneer at her before picking up the pace.

“hey, wait! i was fucking around!” she chuckles, following you down the road.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you guys ride until you’re in the city: bustling with people and markets. mothers are dragging their screaming kids, men are oozing with sweat; grumbling as they push past people. you’re jealous of those passing by that are able to fan their faces. vi parks her bike, but you don’t.

“well, it has been lovely escorting you.” you mutter sarcastically, gripping the handlebars.

“what? you’re not staying? what makes you think i know my way around?” vi counters. she looks so puzzled, like a puppy. you swallow, seeming to crumble just a little more when you look at her face for too long.

“um, i didn’t know you wanted a tour… but fine.”

you two walk along the markets. vi has quite some time before she’s called in for work so she wanted to familiarise herself with the city beforehand. at first, you guys hardly talk, simply following vi as she wanders about instead: watching as her eyes glint at the vintage trinkets and antiques they sell in stalls.

you feel like a clamshell stalling quietly behind her, as she eagerly chats with quite literally anyone. she’s so extroverted! it’s begrudgingly interesting watching her communicate, her delivery of words smooth and clear, making anyone hang onto her words like rope.

there’s too many people in this narrow path, and too much pushing. you don’t want to lose yourself in the crowd, so you helplessly tug on vi’s sleeve. vi glances back.

“you good?” she keeps walking with you continuing to use her sleeve as leverage. it’d be a mess if you guys were to randomly stop now, with this sea of people that have clearly got places to be.

“yeah, i just don’t wanna lose you.” you reply, realising too late how weird that just sounded. vi, jovial as she already has been, only smiles wider. you quickly back-pedal.

“m-my parents would kill me if i were to lose our guest, you know?”

“here.” you all but expected for vi to lace her fingers into yours, holding your hand as you continue to slink through the masses of people. why is she being like this? was last night completely erased from her head, or does she just not care that much? you stare at the back of her head, as if that’ll give you answers. you secretly enjoy the warmth of her hand, subtly pressing your palm further into hers. vi doesn’t notice. good.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you guys find yourself in a music shop. this, after all the other markets and shops you’ve visited, finally has captured your keen interest. you come here all the time, the main source of all your cds in your room.

your eyes sparkle when your fingers stumble across one you’ve always wanted. limited edition, and it has a holographic cover too! how sick is that?

however, the excitement quickly fades when you remember that because you were stuck in your cloud of fitful anger, you ended up forgetting your wallet at home. you palm your pockets, making sure it miraculously doesn’t just so happen to be there… but nope. nothing.

“boo.” you feel the hotness of her mouth hard by your ear before you even register anything else. you squirm away, glowering at her only to be met with a cheeky smile back. vi’s already got a whole bag of stuff! how nice that must be.

“you gonna buy that?” vi points her gaze at the cd in your hands. you slot it back in the genre section. “i don’t have money, left it at home.” you mumble.

vi snorts, “you’re a real smart one, ain’t ya?”

“shut up. go pay for that and i’ll wait outside.” you grumble, practically storming out the door. you’ve never met anyone quite like vi. she’s so playful, and stupid and sweet, hot and mean all at the same time: getting under your skin in the worst way imaginable. the memory of PinkSage feels like it’s slipping from your fingers like sand.

vi comes back a moment later, smacking a cd down in your hands and walking ahead like nothing happened. you stare at her confusedly, but your eyebrows quickly rest in realisation as you gaze down at the cd. it’s the same one you wanted. your stomach betrays you by fluttering and then churning intensely.

“hey.” you call out, making vi stop.

“what’s your deal? why’d you buy this for me?” you grip the cd, heart beating like a live wire. vi turns around and walks closer to you. branches are singing from the breeze, seagulls are cawing, but you can’t hear anything. not when your full focus is on her. not when she’s walking so close it’s as if she’s going to step right through you.

“‘cause i saw how much you wanted it. you were gleaming.” she shrugs. how casual she must be, whilst your heart is pounding to the rhythm of her syllables. vi-o-let. why must you treat me this way?

“it’s no big deal.” she stares at you blankly up and down. you point your view downwards, focusing on the ladybug that’s started to crawl on your shoe. a kind respite from vi’s torturous gaze.

“why… why are you being so nice? after wh-what happened last night?” curse your sudden nervousness.

vi might as well close the gap between the pair of you, gentle fingers tilting your chin up to direct your gaze on her. oh, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

“because you’re my biggest fan.” vi stretches out her words, soft and punishing. this godforsaken woman… you could quite literally die on her feet. your brain short-circuits and then switches off. especially when you witness vi’s gaze flickering to your lips. your breathing quickens, and it feels like your body isn’t yours anymore. you may as well be a floating bubble.

until vi takes her hat off and puts it on your head instead, patting it. “come on, let’s skedaddle. you don’t think our bikes got stolen, do you?” she jogs ahead, whilst you stand here like a dumbass, the cd lying limply in your hands.

this is a brutal penance worser than last night. vi did that on purpose, to see your reaction, and now that she’s got her fill, she’s going back to pretending as if nothing happened. how unsparing. how cruel.

you force yourself to drag your feet, one feet after the other towards vi. your head is lagging behind, still stuck on her touch.

chapter 3

taglist: @marvelwomenarehot0 @ghgygd @jupitism @reneesub @cotrill09 @itzsky82 @elliesbabygirl @adora-moonshine @maxinephobia @ch3sire-blu3 @krilara @perrzs @thankynext @zaunite-516 @eren-luvr @cpt-prices-leftnipple @goticapomposa @lolitalovess @moonchildcovenxx @spicedcherrylolli @mystar-girl57 @mar1posita @avonnimimi @kirajess @caitvisgirl @heyy-lovey @antobooh @jajsnjz @beachaddict48 @aceywaycy @sleepingwasp @elliezlils11utt @vincinnamontoast @runawaybaby3 @h0n3yf0rlif3 @iluvwomensm

[glamorizethechaos]

Fic inspired by my toddler being a toddler:

You and Jack sat on bench sharing ice cream, your legs draped over his lap. The air was warm and humid, his shirt was sticking to his biceps and his curls were especially defined.

“Wanna trade?” You asked after asking for a lick of his cone, cookies and cream was his go to.

“Not particularly?”

You flashed your doe eyes and he turned away “No! You should have thought about that before ordering honey pistachio, grandma.”

“I was feeling adventurous.”

“Okay, well stop that.”

“Fine.” You slumped back, taking your legs out of his lap and crossing your arm over your stomach. He wasn’t letting up.

The park was busy, the basketball and tennis courts full. Kids screamed and giggled on the swings. The two of you sat in silence, mainly because you were giving the silent treatment— when suddenly a boy no older than 4 screamed in passing:

“Mama, why does he got that?” Pointing directly at Jack and his prosthetic. The mother flushed and immediately scolded her son.

“Honey we do not point at others. Sir, I’m so sorry.” She apologized.

Jack motioned with his head for the pair to come over. He handed you his ice cream cone and bent down to the kids level.

“Don’t apologize, kid’s just curious. This is called a prosthetic.”

“A profetic?”

“Close enough— you know how you and your mom have two feet?” The boy nodded. “I only have one. So this helps me walk and run around. I put it on every morning when I wake up and take it off before I go to bed.”

Without hesitation, Jack slipped off his socket and showed the boy his missing foot. His eyes shot open tenfold and reached out to touch. His mother pulled him back a bit.

“Don’t touch honey.”

“It’s okay— go ahead buddy, you can touch if you want.” And the boy did. Tracing his fingers along the titanium.

“Why’d it fall off?” The boy asked innocently.

“Well, mine didn’t fall off. I was in a really bad accident and my foot got really, really hurt. The doctors tried to fix it but couldn’t. So they used special tools to remove it.”

“Like a hammer?”

“Probably.”

You chuckled at his sarcastic response, although he was probably not wrong, orthopedics is basically carpentry for your bones.

“But not everyone who has a prosthetic arm or leg got in an accident like I did.” Jack continued. “Sometimes people may get very, very sick, and their arm or leg needs to be taken off so they’ll get better again. Sometimes people are born with one arm or leg, or none at all. That’s called amelia.

“My sisters name is Amelia!”

You and Jack both belly laughed. The boys mother face palmed.

“Is it now?“ Jack wiped a tear from the inner corner of his eye as he continued to laugh.

“Can you run fast with that on?”

“Well, I have another one of these at home that I use just for running.” Jack stood up, “see if I jump on this leg” he began to hop on one foot “I kinda bounce a bit because my ankle bends. But if I try to jump on my prosthetic, I don’t really bounce, so that makes running with this one kinda hard.”

Jack demonstrated for the boy so he could see the difference.

“Thats why I have my running blade, It kinda looks like the letter J.”

“Jack starts with J! That’s my name!” The boy squealed.

“My name is Jack too! Good taste, mom. Unlike my girlfriend who got honey pistachio ice cream.” Your mouth fell open in offense.

He gave little Jack a fist bump before challenging him to a race. The two of them running up and down the walking path—big Jack letting little Jack win.

Your stomach fluttered as you watched him interact with the kid. The two of you had talked about children briefly, his fears of not being a good enough father weighed heavily on him. Clearly he had no issues on that front as you watched Jack answer all the kids questions and help ease his mother’s embarrassment.

The two of them parted ways and said their goodbyes. He sat back down next to you on the bench and you looped your arm around his bicep. He reached out to grab the ice cream cone he handed to you. When you handed it back his face fell.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You ate mine?”

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

 

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we��re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

[so6ncie]

Ohhhh may I request the Love and Deepspace guys with their MC who is more nonchalant and a bit more closed off romantically, only to find out by mistake that we had bad experiences with love. Like for example ( sorry its specific, thats basically my experience lol ) having a guy in the past confessing they liked us as a prank. And we don't want the guys to find this out about us because it was so long ago and " stupid " in our eyes.

Sorry, that's really specific as an experience, but I always wondered how would the guys react hearing about this. Thank you!

── 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 ! love and deepspace boys finding out you've been played before

The second 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒 realizes what happened in your past, his body stills, shoulders taut with restrained rage. His first instinct is to hunt down whoever hurt you, but he knows this wound is long-healed on the surface and raw underneath. “That wasn’t stupid,” he says firmly when you try to downplay it. His voice is rough, laced with anger he can’t direct at anyone but fate. He steps closer, forcing you to meet his gaze. “It’s not your fault they were cowards.” His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly as if to soothe something old and invisible. “I’m not him. I’m not anyone else. If I want you, it’s for life.” And he proves it, staying by your side through quiet gestures—watching your back in battle, lingering touches, words spoken only when you most need them. Sylus may not say I love you easily, but he makes sure you feel it in every action.

When you slip and reveal your past, 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 at first smirks, thinking you’re joking—until he sees the way your eyes avert, shame clouding your face. The amusement drains instantly, replaced by a sharp, cutting silence. “That’s why you keep pretending none of this means anything, isn’t it?” he mutters, brows furrowed as if piecing together a puzzle. He steps in close, his voice dropping into something serious, steady, uncharacteristically vulnerable. “You think I’d ever waste my time lying about you? About this?” His hand brushes your jaw, not playful this time, but grounding. “When I say you’re mine, I mean it. No tricks. No stage performance.” From then on, Xavier’s teasing carries a warmth beneath the sharp edges—playful words laced with genuine admiration, his way of showing you he doesn’t just want you for fun, but because you’re the only one he can’t let go of.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 rarely loses his poise, but the moment he hears, his usual sly amusement vanishes like smoke. He stares at you, eyes wide, as if someone had committed sacrilege against art itself. “How could anyone look at you and choose to desecrate instead of worship?” His tone trembles with outrage and sorrow. Slowly, carefully, he takes your hands, lifting them to his lips as though in silent apology for every cruelty you’ve endured. “I would rewrite your memories if I could,” he whispers, pressing delicate kisses to your knuckles. “So you’d only ever remember adoration.” That night, Rafayel doesn’t mock, doesn’t play—he simply stays near, brushing his fingertips over your skin in reverence, leaving trails of affection to drown out the echo of the past. His love becomes a constant, dramatic, unrelenting force, not just to heal you but to prove that beauty and devotion are what you truly deserve.

The second 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 realizes, he reacts on instinct—his voice booming with fury. “They did what?” His anger fills the air, fists clenched, eyes fills with protectiveness. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against his chest. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that kind of cruelty.” He rests his chin against your hair, his hold fierce but tender. “Listen to me: I don’t lie about what I feel. If I say I want you, it’s real. You’re mine, and that’s all there is to it.” From that point on, Zayne never lets you forget your worth—through protective glances across crowded rooms, warm touches when you least expect them, and words spoken in the dark that remind you he’ll never let you question his love.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁’s silence is the first thing you notice after you let it slip—his sharp golden eyes fix on you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, silken, deadly. “So, that’s why you hesitate. Why you hold me at arm’s length.” He tilts your chin up with a single finger, forcing you to meet his unblinking gaze. “How foolish of them. To treat you like a disposable amusement when you are…” his lips curl faintly, “irreplaceable.” There’s a venomous edge in his tone, but his touch softens as his hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking gently. “I don’t play with what’s mine. And you are mine.” That night, Caleb lingers closer than usual—wrapping an arm around you possessively, tracing lazy circles into your skin as if branding you with his devotion. His love is possessive, undeniable, suffocating in its certainty—but it leaves no room for doubt: you will never again be treated as anything less than precious.

— 𝐬𝐨𝟔𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞 2025: do not republish or copy any of my works. 𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 are open < request here >

[tacticalprincess]

your writing is literally incredible 💗 may I please request könig who puts his big warm hands on your stomach when you have ovulation cramps?? bonus points if he fucks you from behind at the same time because you’re so needy :((

cw breeding kink | i couldn’t write this without it... sorry

who needs heating pads when you have a mountain of a boyfriend with hands so big they engulf the entire expanse of your lower belly? that’s what könig thinks, at least, when you mention being too achey and sore to get up and heat one up in the microwave. instead of doing it for you like you requested, he’s reaching under you from behind where you’re laying on your tummy, leg perched to the side, as he wraps his hands around your womb, emanating heat from his body and soothing the pain.

“you know why this hurts, ja?”

“my ovaries hate me?” you complain sarcastically.

from behind you, you feel könig shake his head. “your eggs are being released. just right here.” he applies more pressure to the spot, the action making your cunt pulse between your legs. “your body’s getting you nice and primed to take a seed.”

you whimper involuntarily at his words, pushing your ass back against his broad body and feeling his hard dick twitch in response through his sweats. he reaches down with just one of his hands to feel inside your panties, cursing under his breath at how wet you are. it’s fascinating to him how you’re never not wet during this week.

“see, schatz? soaking. this pussy’s crying to get filled.” he hums nonchalantly, his thick finger gathering slick from your tight hole and using it as lube to rub at your puffy clit. “poor thing, and so empty. no wonder you hurt.”

you shamelessly beg for him, knowing his fingers won’t be enough to satiate the emptiness you feel in your pulsing hole. you need something bigger, something you know can stretch you out and fill you to the brim.

“don’t know if i should. could fuck a baby into you if i’m not careful…” he sounds contemplative, though his hips are grinding down against your ass, knees planted on either side of you. “it’s the perfect time for it, and my sperm tends to like it in here. won’t want to leave… might catch.”

“please, köni, don’t care. it’ll help the— with my cramps.” you babble for any excuse, grinding down against the fingers shoved into your soaked panties. you’re overheating at this point, and if you don’t get him inside you, you might scream.

a wave of relief temporarily drowns out your desperation as you feel his hands leave your body to pull his pants down, returning to pull your wet panties to the side shortly after.

“shh, that’s enough talking, hase.” he coos sweetly once he bottoms out, slipping inside so easily. he holds you up by your lower tummy until you’re hovering just above the bed to fuck deeper into you, his pelvis slamming against your ass on every thrust. “gonna give you what you need, ja? ein kind. make the pain go away.”

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

[jarofstyles]

uni enemies to lovers + overwhelmed, guilty, and longing <3

Oh absolutely, let me hop on that. Also I’m using American Football when I’m referring to it! This got looooong sorry. I may continue it at some point!

Check out our Patreon (sign up using your browser to save $$$)

Warnings- some angst, slight asshole Harry, destruction of property, mention of money trouble, anxiety, overstimulation (not the fun kind)

He’d fucked up and he knew it.

As much as he wanted to pass blame onto her, as much as he wanted to say she was being overly sensitive, Harry had been a real fucking dick and he knew it. He’d gone too far this time and he had to fix it.

Y/N was a little prissy and it had escalated. In all honesty, the leader of the photography club had always been said to be a ‘sweetheart once you got to know her’ but he had never in his life found someone who was so unbelievably hard to get to know.

Harry didn’t have a problem with confidence. He was on the football team, nearly promised to be a draft pick, he’d always been outgoing and had no problems with approaching people. When he’d seen Y/N in the kitchen after hearing Niall sing her praises, he had been on her quickly, asking about her photography, complimenting her outfit. She was a cute little thing, quiet, but he hadn’t minded. Or he hadn’t, until she slipped away and basically ghosted him.

Since then he had messed with her. Usually lighthearted stuff, in his opinion, but it had only been a matter of time until it had gone too far.

—-

It had been dumb, if he thought about it. Really stupid if he thought about it harder. Tossing a ball at a girl who didn’t seem to have the best reflexes and was only there to take photos for an assignment wasn’t a smart idea, but having her so close… it had felt like a prime opportunity.

“Y/N! Go long!” Harry called out to the girl as she walked the field. In hindsight, it was stupid. A dumb way to get her attention, to tease her, embarrass her a little and make her scowl at him- but he didn’t anticipate it happening. The spiraling ball he had thrown to miss her by a few inches knocking into her camera, knocking it out of her hand and watching it shatter onto the track. The lens popping out, the sound of crunching plastic, pieces scattering a few feet away from her her as there was silence on the field.

He hadn’t meant to. Honest to god, that had never, ever been his intention. He had wanted to spook her and make her jump, get a cute little squeak from her- but he felt his entire heart drop out of his ass and a sickly cold to hot feeling rinse through him as he clasped a hand over his mouth.

“Dude- what the fuck?” Niall called out from next to Y/N. He’d gotten there fast from the bleachers where he had been writing on a notepad. Harry could feel people looking at him. For the first time in judgement, nit a good way, confused as to why he had just ruined someone’s camera. Someone’s very expensive, very valuable camera.

“Styles, the fuck was that for?” Adam asked with a shocked face, taking his helmet off. “That was fucked up. You’ve been messing with her because you’ve got some fucked up crush but this isn’t a playground. You don’t treat the girls you like like shit to get their attention.” He shook his head. “Go help her. Stop this shit.”

That wasn’t what he was doing. Was it? He hadn’t thought about it that way, surely not trying to do anything like that, but he couldn’t help the sinking feeling as he ran over to her that maybe that had been exactly what he was doing. Harry had never considered himself to be bad to women. Cocky? Sometimes. A bit of a slut? Sure, depended on who you asked and what their idea of sexuality was. But mean? Nasty? No. So to have done something like that, even by accident, he felt like shit.

“I’m so sorr-“ he didn’t even get the full sentence out before she interrupted him. She didn’t even look up, looking at the remnants of her camera on the ground. There as no way of fixing that.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to make you do what you do to me.” Her voice was watery as she wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. “I’ve tried to stay out of your way and you keep finding me. I skipped lunch for 3 months, worked for 5 to afford that camera. And now you’ve ruined the one thing that I have to my name besides my shitty car and shitty laptop.”

And god, if that wasn’t a shot to the chest. Harry knew she was on scholarship and didn’t think much of it, but he hadn’t realized she wasn’t able to afford much. Let alone that it had taken her that long to get that camera. The universe was truly handing him his own ass today.

“Y/N, I swear I didn’t mean to-“

“But you did.” She whispered, the energy seemingly zapped out of her as she got down to gather what she could and placed it in Niall’s open tote bag. “This is why I asked to be taken off this assignment. I knew you’d find a way to ruin it, but I didn’t expect you to do this.”

Harry hadn’t expected it either. He wanted to vomit, really, because this wasn’t at all what he wanted to happen. He hadn’t been sure what it was he wanted, but he could confirm now this was the last thing. “I’m sorry.” The words escaped him. What else could he say? It wouldn’t take it back. Words wouldn’t put her camera back together.

“I’ve avoided you at every turn.” Her voice was more nasally and he knew it was because another bout of tears was starting. “You can’t stand that someone doesn’t worship the ground you walk on. I was trying to give you a chance, that first day. I was trying to see past the rumors of you being a fuckboy, of you being an arrogant son of a bitch, but they were right. And I want you to stay far the fuck away from me.”

—-

Harry felt heavy. The entire practice he had been off, he had been in his head to the point he was dismissed early. His own eyes burned as he took a shower, thinking about what he had done. Of course he was confident, but underneath it all he was sensitive too. Very sensitive. The image of Y/N walking away with her head low and Niall’s arm around her had haunted him.

Of course he had a crush on her.

Y/N was brilliant. Probably one of the smartest people he’d seen, and she was witty too- when you heard her. She was talented beyond belief, the photos she had published in the school paper having blown him away. When he lurked on her photography instagram, he had been even more impressed for the eye she had. Not to mention she was beautiful but that was obvious. Sparkling eyes and pretty lips, the slope of her nose, her cheeks, the curve of her neck- everything about her was pretty.

Being in denial for so long had been embarrassing to realize, because he had found every opportunity to get close to her. Not because he wanted to torture her but because he wanted to be near her. He wanted her to talk, unlike the first night they’d when she had awkwardly excused herself from their slightly one sided conversation and essentially ghosted him while he’d waited in the kitchen for her to never return back. She’d left right after that. His ego had been bruised a little but even more so, he felt rejection. A rare thing for him, but maybe he had needed a little slice of humble pie.

He knew she wasn’t going to want to talk to her, but with a brand new DSLR kit in his hand- Niall had hesitantly told him the model she used and he got the same one with extra lenses and memory cards and a battery charger, along with a travel bag- he knocked at her door anyway. It was going to eat him alive if he didn’t get to explain.

She had opened the door and immediately went to close it, but his foot caught it. “Listen- I’ll fuck off in a bit, I promise. If you want me to leave, I will, but I need to tell you that I swear to god, I didn’t mean to break your camera.” Her face was a little puffy and flushed from crying and he felt that guilt crawl up his esophagus for knowing he had been the one to cause it. The one time he had gotten a smile from her had felt like a lottery win, but he’d done the opposite now. Felt like he had gone bankrupt.

When she didn’t say anything and stood with her arms crossed, he took that as his cue. “I was an asshole. I’m an asshole because I think I’ve been upset internally that you didn’t like me when we met and I thought it was personal when you left that first night and I’d thought you were so cute and I’d heard a lot about you. I felt rejected but I still wanted you to pay attention to me and I went about it the complete wrong way.” His hands fiddled with the bag behind his back, anxiety making them want to sake.

“I realize that you’re shy, and I’m a lot. I’ve been messing with you because I want a reaction, it’s the only time you give me attention and… fuck.” He tipped his head back, running a stressed hand through his hair. “I deserve you to report me, or to not talk to me ever again and I know that. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to tell you that you didn’t do anything wrong.” He kept his stance in the doorway, throat thick. It was hard to talk, seeing her swollen, teary eyes. “It was pointed out to me that I treated you like that because I’ve got some sort of crush on you and I just wanted you to pay attention to me. As shitty as it is, I’m not used to people ignoring me and it’s…” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s hard when the one person you want attention from is nice to everyone else at first and seems to want nothing to do with you. And it was wrong, I went about it entirely too childish and I was mean- god, fuck, I was so mean to you. I didn’t mean to, and I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am. You are a great person and I have a lot of shit I need to learn, apparently.”

That was an understatement.

“Harry…” The girl sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “I never was ‘rejecting’ you. I was overwhelmed. You’re right, you’re a bit full on and I was already extremely anxious being at a house party. It was loud and hot, people kept brushing up against me… and then you came along. I knew who you were, I always thought you were cute- and yeah, you were cocky and I got a little nervous because you made me feel giddy so I left, I panicked. It wasn’t… I was going to talk to you again eventually to explain I felt overstimulated. I don’t think you know how overwhelming you are.” It wasn’t said in a mean tone, rather exhausted and that made him shift on his feet.

“It’s unacceptable to be mean to someone because you want their attention. That doesn’t work for me at all. You’d been really sweet that first night even if you were a little arrogant, you seemed interested in my photos and then you… I don’t know. You seemed to always hit some of my insecurities. Maybe it was teasing for you but it hurt my feelings.” The admission was quiet, almost like she was embarrassed for it.

If anything he wanted to tell her he should be the one embarrassed about it. The immature behavior… it wasn’t acceptable. At all. But knowing he had blown it because his ego had been fragile was a blow to the heart. He had let his insecurities get ahead of himself.

“I assumed because you were quiet and you left that you didn’t like me. That you were a little prissy. Everyone said otherwise though, and I felt crazy.” He admitted, taking a step closer as someone walked down the hall. “I don’t know your insecurities- at least I didn’t think I did. And I’m sorry that I hurt you. I don’t know fully what my intentions were other than getting you to respond t’me, but I want to try and make up for what I can.” He would do whatever he could.

“I’m not that guy, Y/N. I don’t know what I was doing. I take accountability for the stuff I did because it’s wrong and it hurt you. I know it did. But I don’t want to be that guy. You don’t have to forgive me, but I’d like a chance to show you I’m not like that. Without… the arrogance.” He swallowed, pulling the bag in front of him. “I know you’ll try and deny this but I got you the same model. It’s got extra lenses, chargers, I asked for the best accessory package. It’s part of your major and you saved up…. I couldn’t let you go without because I was an idiot.”

It took up a chunk of the money he’d been saving but he didn’t care. She deserved it.

Y/N’s lips pushed as she looked at the bag, pulling the box out and looking at it with teary eyes, taking a shaky inhale before putting it back into the bag. “That’s like, a couple grand.” She spoke, narrowing her eyes. “I… this isn’t a bribe, is it?”

“No!” He exclaimed. “No, no. Even if you say no to letting me get to know you, make it up to you, that’s yours. You can report me, like I said. You can file a complaint with my coach.” He hoped he wouldn’t but he would probably deserve it. “I just.. I couldn’t let you go without it, not because of me.”

Y/N picked at the hem of her sweater, nodding. “Okay. I’ll think about it. I would say thank you for the camera but you broke it, so…” she shrugged, making him want to laugh. She had a point.

“Okay. You know where to find me if you want to.” He pushed off her doorframe, placing his hands in his pockets. “I really meant everything I said, but you don’t have to forgive me yet. I’ll make it up to you.”

[daydreaminginmonochrome]

A Song A Day Keeps The Demons Away

Part One ||

Tags: Pre-Established Polytrix. Polytrix/Reader, Spirit Medium!Reader. Somewhat of a slowburn.

WC: 4000

You were something of a spirit medium.

To be more accurate; you were a mudang. A tanggol.

Born into a long line of shamans and mediums, tracing back for centuries. You spent your entire childhood learning and being groomed to become a spirit medium. Learning how to ward off creatures of evil, how to cleanse corruption, how to protect people from the things they couldn’t see, that they didn’t know were real.

Once you reached adulthood, once you had proven you were ready, you had gone out into the world and set about protecting people in your own way.

Sure, the trio of Hunters may be the most well-known and famous kind of hunter, and you could concede that they were the most important ones--after all, they were the ones who made and fortified the Honmoon-- that didn’t mean they were the only line of defense the human world had against Gwi-Ma and his demons.

Everyone had their own part to play in keeping the world safe. You included.

As such, you kept close track of where Gwi-Ma’s demons were most active, figuring out where the Honmoon was growing the weakest to let so many demons slip past, and would set up shop there.

Literally.

A street-side stand here, a small rented shop there, selling all sorts of little protective charms during the day to protect people from demons, and at night performing purification rituals over weak points in the Honmoon to help reinforce it until the current generation of Hunters could properly fortify the barrier.

You were no Hunter, you weren’t part of the offensive, you would concede to that. You couldn’t use the Honmoon to create magical weapons to kill demons with, couldn’t weaponize it. Your role was defensive. Preventative. To use rituals and charms to protect against demons. To keep them away.

But when those failed and you found yourself face-to-face with a demon, well, you did have a few tricks up your sleeves to deal with them.

Which is how you ended up meeting Huntrix under such…unique circumstances.

It was well into the night, the side streets of the city empty and silent‒‒save for the screams and sobs of the dokkaebi you had on the ground, curled up and arms flailing in a desperate attempt to protect himself.

You stood over him, the beads on one wrist burning warm in reaction to the demon, a simple squirt bottle in your other hand, and your expression impassive as you continuously sprayed the demon.

“Please, stop! It burns!” the dokkaebi begged, squirming on the ground as the droplets of water sizzled on his skin. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, stop! I’ll go back to the demon realm, I won’t ever come back here again, just stop!”

The other demons he had come with stayed back; they had already gotten sprayed and were clearly wary of getting too close and being doused a second time. You were still keeping an eye on them, of course, if they made one wrong step, you had just the charm to throw at them.

As the demon below you continued to cry, you paused, stopping for a moment in your torment of the demon as you pretended to consider his begging for a moment. Then you went back to squirting water on him.

Was it a bit cruel? Maybe. But you lost your takeout because of him and his friends. So as far as you were concerned; it was well deserved. It’s their fault for deciding to mess with a hangry mudang.

This went on for another minute or so before you pulled from your sleeve a yellow slip of paper and slapped the yellow paper onto the demon’s face. The red ink on it glowed as he let out a brief scream of pain before disappearing in a red cloud. Back to the demon realm, and hopefully not to return any time soon. All that was left was the same paper you had put on him, charred to the point of no return.

Now all that was left was to deal with the other two.

“That was sick.”

Startled, you whirled around, squirt bottle raised like a gun to point at your audience. You had been prepared for it to be one of the other demons who had finally spoken up.

You were not expecting it to be Huntrix.

It took you a moment to overcome the initial shock because, right, they were in the city for a concert. Of course they’d also come out if they thought demons were stalking the streets tonight.

Zoey was already bounding towards you, eyes wide in excitement and wonderment. “How did you do that?” she asked, quick and eager, “You weren’t using any weapons, you just put a piece of paper on him and poof, the demon was gone! And then the squirt bottle! What was in it? You had him crying!”

You blinked back at the girl. Was she being serious? You heard she had grown up in America, but surely as a Hunter she would know about talismans and spirit water… right?

“That was sweet iris water, right? I remember reading that it’s supposed to repel demons,” Mira said, giving you hope that they did know about your own tools as she stepped forward to join at Zoey’s side. Her arms crossed over her chest as she looked you up and down. “I thought that was all fake, didn’t know it actually worked.”

“It does, if you make it right,” you answered back on instinct. “Most people don’t make it right.”

After all, it wasn’t as if someone could make it by just tossing some sweet iris into a pot of boiling water and call it good. Like many rituals and charms, it had to be done right. Made on a specific day of a specific month. Boiled at the right temperature for the correct amount of time. It was little wonder that it was so easy to end up with a dud.

Not that most people who tried making it would actually know if what they got was a dud or not.

Zoey kept asking questions and as Mira knelt down to poke at the talisman laying on the ground. Through it all, it didn’t escape your notice that only two of the three had approached.

Your eyes flickered past the two women to find the third member of their group, the only one who hadn’t spoken up yet, who hadn’t approached like the others had.

Rather, Rumi stayed her distance from the rest of you. Her saingeom still held in one hand while her other was instinctively gripping her own arm, her expression pinched in worry and unease—

Oh.

Oh.

Well… that was certainly something.

You understood. Understood why she held herself like she was one wrong step from losing everything.

She held your gaze, however, and straightened her back after a moment. An attempt to hide whatever might have come to the surface. Securing her mask before it could slip, unaware it already had.

As the girls beside you continued to chatter, and the one across from you continued to stare you down, you let your gaze flicker past all of them.

Patterns flashed under the faint moonlight, and your attention drifted from the Hunters to the remaining two demons who were trying to sneak away unnoticed. 

Huh. You had almost forgotten that they were even there. Someone should probably take care of them before they hurt someone.

But… they didn’t have to be your problem anymore. Now did they?

“They’re getting away.”

The three girls snapped to attention, following your gaze as the two demons froze like a deer in the headlights.

It was kind of fascinating how the girls shifted gear so quickly, because in the next moment, they were on the two like feral dogs. Honestly? The fight was so one-sided it wasn’t even fair. But that was how things were sometimes.

Taking this as your chance, you made your escape, keen to get away before the girls could accost you with questions you didn’t want to answer.

So certain were you that you could just disappear. You’ve lived this life, done this job, for years without ever crossing paths with a Hunter before. Surely you could return to that after this fluke of a night.

Fate, the eternal bitch that it was, had other plans.

“Looks a bit… tourist trapy.”

“Are you sure this is the right place?”

Rumi’s question cut through the quiet buzz of the streets behind them as the girls stood before your shop. It was nothing more than a small little thing sandwiched between other buildings in a dingy alley. Easy to miss if you weren’t already looking for it. 

They had spent the last three days looking for it.

And could they be blamed for it? They’d never seen someone other than themselves and Celine taking down a demon. But then they saw you kill(?) one with the kind of ease that could only come from experience. They were curious. Rightfully so!

It had taken some top tier detective work, and maybe a few bribes, to find your little hole-in-the-wall occult shop. But here they were.

“I’m pretty sure this is the right place,” Zoey said confidently as she peered at the banner at the window that had your shop's name on it, she was holding on to the charred remains of the bujeok talisman you had used the night you met them. “It’s not like there are that many places in this city where you can get these things. And the description the guy gave me of the owner kind of matched.”

“Kind of,” Mira echoed. “We’re just assuming she actually works here and didn’t just, I don’t know, purchase a bunch of these from some temple or something.”

“In that case then maybe the store owner might know her, or know where to point us to find her,” Zoey offered back, though her words came with an uncertain tension.

Or the owner wouldn’t know who they were asking about, and they’d just make fools of themselves. That was also a risk, not that it was one they wanted to think about.

Mira sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “Remind me why we’re even trying to find her?”

“Because if she can fight demons, then it'd be good to have her as an ally,” Rumi said at the same time as Zoey saying; “Because she was really cute.”

All eyes fell on Zoey, and she leaned back under their staring, offering a nervous laugh, “I mean, because she’d be a good ally to have, that’s it," she said, adding under her breath, "We were all thinking it."

Right. This was absolutely off to a great start.

With one last shared glance, the three marched forward, pushing the door open and entering your store with the nervous energy one might have entering a lion’s den.

The bell above the door gave a soft, little chime as it opened, announcing their presence as they stepped onto the small red welcoming carpet at the door. The interior of the store was dim to lend support to the atmosphere of the place. Along the walls were several traditional-looking banners in red ink.

There were various shelves showcasing prayer beads, little charms carved from wood, paper charms, and incense sticks and burners. There were a few different books on the shelves as well.

Mira lifted one of the bead bracelets up from its rack, raising a brow, “Like I said, this feels a lot like a tourist trap.”

Zoey sniffed the air and made a face. “What is that smell?” she asked. It was an earthy, spicy smell, and pungent to boot. An incense, certainly, but not necessarily an appealing one. She sniffed again, trying to find the source.

“Girls, focus,” Rumi cut in, pointing past the narrow shelves towards a back room cordoned off with a thin red curtain. If you were here, they’d probably find you back there.

With silent steps, they approached the curtain, drawing forth their weapons from the Honmoon on instinct. They didn’t quite know what to expect from you, so could they be blamed for being cautious?

Just to be safe.

The curtain opened with a sudden pull, and they barely had time to jump back and out of the way, fumbling to hide and dismiss their weapons as a student came bounding out from the room with an armful of packaged incense and paper charms, looking pleased as punch.

To their relief, you were following after the girl.

You looked completely different from the casual wear you had been wearing the night you met them. Today you were dressed in a traditional red hanbok with the hat to match, looking a right fit for your job. 

“Now remember; these will help your concentration and memory, but they’re not a substitution for studying,” you were telling the girl as you followed her out, your voice soft, a bit stern, but warm overall. “You’ll still need to study to–”

You trailed off as you looked past your customer and saw the three of the, freezing for a moment at the sight of your unexpected guests.

Zoey offered you a smile and waved.

Snapping yourself out of it, you gave the three a glare before turning your attention back to your customer, all smiles and friendliness again before she could notice anything was wrong. “Now, let’s get you on your way so you can get back to preparing for those exams.”

It didn’t take long to finish up with the girl.

Once she was gone, you locked the shops door and flipped the closed sign. Whatever the three were here for, it was not going to be quick, that much you were sure of.

“Let’s talk in my office,” you told them, your tone mayhap a bit more snippy than you had intended, as you walked back to the room in the back. 

It wasn’t a big room, but it was cozy enough. You did most of your readings in that room, telling customers their fortune—or what they wanted to hear as their fortune, and working with them to find a more personalized experience.

You took your usual seat at the head of the table, while Rumi, Mira, and Zoey took seats across from you in the dim room. You took off your hat and laid it on the table between you.

“Okay… what do you want?” you asked, better to cut to the chase.

The three of them shared a brief look, as if silently debating what to say. Rumi began to lean forward in her seat, her gaze locked on yours, unblinking and unyielding. She opened her mouth to speak–

“What is that smell?” Zoey interrupted.

The question came out of nowhere and it took you a moment to process what was being asked.

“It’s mugwort,” you answered her, and after a pause where she continued to stare, you added. “Burning it purifies an area and repels evil spirits."

“Ooooh. Yeah, I can see why demons would avoid it; it doesn’t smell that great.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at the remark.

Rumi cleared her throat, bringing attention back to her as Zoey offered a quick and awkward ‘Sorry’. She was looking at you again, still dominant in her posture and gaze. “You’re a mudang, aren’t you?”

It was less a question, more an accusation. A demand.

You nodded, leaning back in your seat. “Mudang…shaman…spirit medium. We’ve got so many different names as of late, but the job description has mostly remained the same.”

“Huh,” Mira said, matching your posture as she leaned back, tilting her head up in a show of indifference. “Celine has told us about you guys, but this is my first time ever meeting one, though.”

“Not surprising,” you responded. “What we do isn’t nearly as flashy as what you do.”

Huntrix, and their predecessors could be considered the face of demons hunters. They were the ones people knew about, the ones people would think of when it came to demons. But you, and people like you?

The backstage crew. Working in the background, unnoticed but working just as hard.

“But what you do–it does work?” Rumi asked.

You let your gaze fall back to hers, taking in the tension in her posture, the unease and the undercurrent of restless energy. And again, you were hit with understanding. Understanding and sympathy.

Rolling your eyes, you raised your hand to make a flippant, loose-wristed gesture. “You literally saw me exorcise a demon with a talisman and spirit water. So; you tell me if ‘what I do’ really works.”

“She’s got you there,” Zoey whispered.

“Yeah, that was kind of pointless to ask ,” Mira added, just as quiet.

It was kind of cute how Rumi’s face started to turn red at their teasing, and cute still as she slapped both her hands on the table in her embarrassment. “You hunt demons,” Rumi said, unnecessarily loudly, and very pointedly, at you.

You nodded, “Among other things,” was your answer.

“We also hunt demons,” Rumi continued, looking to Zoey and Mira, and you nodded again, feeling that didn’t need an answer. She looked back at you, tension returning. “We’ve been thinking and talking, and…”

“We wanted to know if you would consider joining,” Zoey spoke up, an eager grin on her face as she leaning across the table towards you.

You blinked.

Well.

That was a thing.

You had been anticipating that they were going to ask if they could get a bulk order on charms and water or make you their supplier of demon-repellant items of the non-Honmoon variety. Maybe bother you into teaching them how to make bujeoks themselves or how to do purification rituals to make it harder for demons to trespass into certain places.

You were not expecting an actual invite to the group after one meeting.

Huh.

“You want me to join?” You repeated, pointing at yourself, uncertain if you just misheard her.

Mira nodded, confirming your question. “You have to admit; a partnership would make sense,” she pointed out, waving her hand to some of the talismans hanging from the wall. “From what we saw, you’re pretty good at dealing with demons, and don’t take this to assume we’re having trouble handling them on our own, because we’re not. But it never hurts to have some help.”

“It’d make taking them down easier and quicker for both of us,” Zoey added. “The more the merrier, you know?”

What they were saying made sense. These girls didn’t need your help, that much was obvious to anyone whose been keeping an ear to what’s going on among the demons. But as they say; there was strength in numbers.

Not going to lie; this proposition was interesting.

“Okay… say I agree. Then what exactly is in this for me? Why would I want to join?” you asked, folding your hands together as you straightened up.

You could see how this was going to benefit Huntrix; another hand on deck meant they weren’t spread as thin between the lives of Hunters and the lives of Pop Stars. But where did that leave you? Picking up the slack for them? Sure, exorcising demons was important to you, too. But if this was just going to be a one-sided arrangement, then that wasn’t going to be any fun.

After all, they’ve already made a point of how they didn’t necessarily need your help, and you’ve been doing just fine without theirs for these past few years. This partnership could hardly be said it was out of necessity. So. What reason did you have to go through with this?

The girls shared a look, and you wondered if they had expected you to just agree immediately. If so, you were sorry to disappoint, but they were going to have to work harder than that to win you over.

“Well, you’re going to make hunting demons easier for us, so obviously it’s going to make it easier for you to hunt demons, and you'll have someone watching your back in the fights, too,” Zoey looked to the others for help. “Isn’t that enough?”

You shook your head, grinning at her attempt. “I work primarily in prevention and defense, so I’m not on the frontlines as often as you girls are in getting rid of demons that have crossed the barrier,” you explained to her, “so, this won't make my workload any easier or lighter.”

She deflated a bit in her seat, and you felt a little bad at the sad puppy dog expression she had. But you pushed those feelings away as your attention fell to Mira, waiting for her offer.

“Obviously we can pay you if that’s what you want,” Mira answered, short and simple. “We can pay you better than whatever you’re making running this place. No offense, but you probably don't make much running this shop.”

No offense taken, and you didn't doubt that she could pay well.

It was hard to believe a pop group of their notoriety, one that had their own private of all things, didn’t have the funds to pay you a salary.

But while the money was certainly nice, you weren’t hurting so badly that you needed to be paid for your services in such a way.

So, once again, no.

Your gaze fell to the middle, staring Rumi down once again. “Well, Rumi. Going to aim for a strike three?”

Rumi said nothing for a moment, thinking her answer carefully. 

You’ve made it clear that you didn’t care about being paid for working with them, and you didn’t care about whether this partnership made your own work against the demons easier. So, what did you care about? That was the question she intended to find the answer for..

She watched you just as closely as you had been watching her and the others. Took in your amused expression, took note of the curiosity and interest that was barely hidden beneath the grin. You weren’t nearly as dismissive of their request as you were pretending to be, and she could see that.

Straightening her back, Rumi found herself matching your own grin with one of her own as the answer you were waiting for came to her

“Because we can protect more people working together.”

You raised a brow, a silent urging for her to elaborate as your grin fell.

Rumi snatched your invitation and kept going, “Like you said; the work you do prioritizes repelling demons. Keeping them from being able to enter homes and from get close to people through your charm, right?” she asked, and didn’t wait for you to respond. “Right now, unless you’re breaking into homes when no one is around, you can only do this to people who come to you. But what if we could change that? Ensure that your charms can reach a larger audience without having to wait for them to come to you, first? If we could get your charms to more people, then they could keep more people safe from demons, right?”

“...Right…”

She smirked as she held her arms out slightly, “So, that is what you get out of this deal; you’ll be able to protect more people,” Rumi declared confidently.

Huh.

You ought to clap.

“Well, congratulations, Rumi,” you said slowly, keeping your eyes on her as you spoke. “You nabbed a homerun.”

She got you. Impressive, really. You weren't interested in the monetary gains that came with working with popstars, or whether or not a partnership was going to lessen the work you had to do. But if working with them meant that more people would be safe?

Now that was something you were interested in.

Zoey perked up, grinning as she looked between you and Rumi. “Wait! Does that mean you’ll consider working with us?”

“It means I’ve considered, and I want to join,” you corrected, smiling at the way the excitement blossomed across her face. Even Mira looked a little relieved. You looked back to Rumi, relaxing in your seat.

“If you’ve got the time, maybe we can discuss the finer details of how this is going to work.”

This was going to be a wonderful partnership.

TAGGED: @rumiskimbap

If you want to be tagged in future fics, just let me know.

[melinoelliones]

Jax NSFW Alphabet

I don't even know how I managed to forget to do his NSFW Alphabet... So anyways here it isss

Jax - Heat Part 2 is coming btw!!! It's almost done. Click here to read Jax Heat Part 1 if you haven't read already!

What I think he would do may not align with what YOU think he would do! I have tried to make this mostly gender neutral but I fear I slipped a bit of x Fem Reader is there. Also sorry for the ugly banner, his png's aren't great lmao.

My writing skills have fallen off since I've been off for like what 2 months, but I am working on getting better!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jax is the type to talk over what you guys just did in bed, maybe mock you a bit but it always follows up with him smothering you in kisses and ass grabs. His large grin shows as he pulls you closer knowing you get embarrassed when he mocks you. 

“?!&% ?!&% ?!&%, feels so good” he moans out, mocking your previous words as you hide your head into his chest in hopes that you’ll disappear from this world. “I’m just kidding babe, you’re so hot when you do it. Lets me know i’m doing it right yanno” he jested, slapping his hand against your ass before pulling you tighter into his chest.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jax likes his hands the most. Them in contrast to your body drives him crazy, and seeing his fingers in you is insane.

His favourite part of you would be your stomach or thighs for sure. He’s a thighs guy, what can I say. When you and the guys are hanging out, he is 100% sitting with his head on your thighs or just between your legs like its nothing.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Anywhere and everywhere. He loves to cover you in it, your perfect body being defiled by his cum is everything to him. Only he gets to do that to you, you’re his property and he can do whatever he wants with it.

He also just likes filling you with it, after rounds and rounds he gets to watch it slowly try and seep out of your precious holes.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He enjoys watching you get off, he could sit and watch like it was a tv show. Bonus points if he can guide you through it, making you edge yourself until you ignore his commands and he has to come over and punish you.

His oral fixation comes in waves, having your tits in his mouth is like heaven. He will never tell a single soul that, even you, but we all know it. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A part of me wants to say that in the outside world he’s a raging virgin, now he’s in the circus so he can just go crazy.

But another part of me wants to say he’s super experienced, but he’s never been with someone like you. Not even in a stereotypical way, but he’s just not usually into you as a type.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Mutual masterbation where ya’ll are side by side. From time to time he’ll just slide his free hand over to your body and play with it too.

Doggy but he’s so unserious with it. He’ll put his foot up by your head to make sure to get as deep as he can into you.

Cowgirl/riding and reverse cowgirl for sure. His hands are so large that they can carry your body with ease, so being in these positions means when he wants me he can just place them above your hips and slam you into him. Then he gets to watch your stomach bulge out with each stroke and your face contort.

“?!&%, well would you look at that” Jax hissed, skimming his fingertips across your stretched skin as he took in the sight of the bulge protruding from your stomach. 

Jax let out a small chuckle before grabbing your hand and placing it over the hump, “you feel that doll? You feel how full you are hmm?”. Your glossy eyes glanced into his as he began to thrust into you, your palm rising and falling with each one.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can be humorous but most times I don’t even think it’s intentional.

Like if he was to say “woahhh, easy there tiger. If you go that fast you’ll cum before me, and you know that's not allowed”. I’d probably laugh but he’s dead serious.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Canonically… probably none.

To ME, he wouldn’t care to keep himself trimmed up nice. It’s a bit crazy down there but I don’t care.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be both super romantic and just zoned in.

“?!&% babe keep going, my cock feels so good in that pretty throat of yours”

“Oh you poor thing, are you tired? But I’m not finished with you yet, so looks like we have a little bit longer to go”

“You’re mine, my personal fuck toy remember? So come over here, let me use your body for a bit”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Why would he get off himself when he has you? You can fulfill every need and more at any given time.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dacryphilia for sure, he mocks you for crying but he want more always

“Are you crying?” he cooed, grinning as he looked down at your sweet face, your tears mixing with your saliva at the corners of your lips.

“Awww you poor thing, bit off more than you can chew did we? Better finish off what you started, you’re doing so well, I’ll make sure to paint that pretty little throat of yours white” Jax growled, caressing your damp lower face with his hand and sliding his cock deeper down your throat, your gargles slowly inching him closer and closer to ecstasy. That and the fact he could see you rubbing your thighs together for your own enjoyment.

Overstimulation and edging for sure, he’s the ultimate tease. There are days he will make you edge yourself over and over again until you can’t any longer, just to then take over and overstimulate you till your body is a mess.

Free use and CNC 100% You guys have nothing but spare time, so having you at his disposal at all times is perfect. He doesn’t care the location, who’s around or who could come around. If he wants it, he’ll have it, and everyone else will have to deal with it.

“B~But Gangle is looking for us J~Jax”, “So? Why the hell do I care? That crybaby won’t say a word regardless. I want to fill you up right here and now n no one will stop me from doing so” he vowed, unbuckling his overalls with one hand and leaning you over the railing with the other.

L = Location (favourite places to do they do)

Anywhere, he legit does not care where. He does enjoy public places though as he enjoys watching your nervous face when you hear the others roaming around, and he gets to feel you clench around him as they get closer due to fear.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You being a brat, he likes to fuck the brat out of you. 

Also just when you’re super needy, your body listens well when it wants something.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Toys on himself, he really isn’t into it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Is it bad if I say his preference is receiving? Not saying he doesn’t give, but he prefers to get head.

“Ugh fine, stop with the frowning already and come over here before I change my mind” Jax huffed, rolling his eyes as he gestured for you to go to him. Sometimes he would act as if he didn’t want it, but he thoroughly enjoyed having you on his face, your thighs encasing his face as he got to play with you. 

“Remember dollface, I’m the one in control here, so I’ll have you here until all you can focus on is my tongue against you”

He enjoys head, so much so that he just has to fuck you after every time.

“?!&% you did so good, so ?!&%ing good baby” he breathlessly huffed, tangling a large portion of your hair into his hand and sliding you off of his dripping cock, a mixture of spit and cum still connecting you to it as he yanked you up. 

Before you could even really comprehend what was going on, your lips met his, resulting in the neediest of kisses. You hadn’t even had a chance to take a breath before, both of your hands now roughly exploring eachothers bodies, you both wanted nothing more than to be one.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Both. Sometimes he just needs to be balls deep in you, crashing into you with no remorse. Other times he likes to take it slow and and make sure you feel every touch.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Daily. Not much else to do is there.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

All the time, again, y'all have endless time so why not?

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go like 4-5 rounds back to back, others just 2 but a load of oral in between.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

On you he loves them, especially the vibes. Making you have one on you while you guys are with the others is like entertainment for him. Having to watch you squirm in silence while the others stare, oblivious as to why you're so antsy. 

“Are you okay? You’re acting like Pomni right now?”, “They’re fineeee, aren’t you? Go on, tell them” Jax jested, turning up the vibe as you went to open your mouth, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to form a straight sentence with it that high.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

To the point that it could drive one insane.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He isn’t too loud but he likes to dirty talk, he knows it turns you on.

“Does my cock feel that good? You’re drooling”

“Go on, cum on this cock. Make sure everyone knows it’s yours”

“You think Caine can see us right now hmm? Lets put on one hell of a show for him, I know he probably has one hell of a filthy mind. If he didn’t, wouldn’t he have stopped up by now?”

“You’re so ?!&%ing lucky I can’t breed you in this place”

“Do you want the others to hear you? Because you aren’t too good at holding your tongue”

“I’m gonna fill you up nice and good, only I can violate this, it’s mine”

“Stop covering your mouth, I need to hear how well I fuck you”

W = Wild card (a random dirty headcanon for the character)

He wants to watch you fuck someone else, just so he can see how pathetic they are at making you feel good. Only he can make you cum, only he knew your sweet spots and what you liked. You’re practically molded to him, you are his and no one will compare, but he wants to watch someone try.

Jax watched as one of the NPC’s he had snuck in frantically fucking you, your fake moans only making him sigh heavily in the chair at the end of the bed. He was almost getting annoyed at the fact that this NPC was barely even trying, he was just using your body at this point. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll make sure you actually cum” Jax reassured, caressing your cheek before making his way to your legs, “A* for effort but you’re done” he scowled, shoving the NPC aside before he could even consider defiling your body any further.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Its girthy and long. It took you a long time to get use to, but now nothing else can satisfy you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It can go from wanting it everyday to just tired of it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

It can be pretty instant after the aftercare, but even while asleep his body still pulls you into him for security.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! Happy 10k!!

May I request blanket fort with the prompt “you haven’t been hearing anything I’ve been saying, have you?” with one or any combination of the marauders? Just reader positively turning to jelly and all that.

Thanks so much for what you do! <3

Thank you angel <33

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 844 words

Mostly you think Sirius is very aware of how pretty he is, but there are times when you wonder if he’s forgotten. He’ll get up close to your face, or tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, or flash you that irresistible Sirius Black grin, and it’s like he doesn’t even mean to do it, like he doesn't understand the power he has over you. 

It’s been all three tonight, so you think you can be excused for being more puddle than girl at this point. Sirius is standing between your legs, your knees bracketing his hips where you sit on your bathroom counter and he holds your cheek in his hand, trying to get eyeliner to stick to your waterline. You can feel his breath on your chin. 

“Say if I’m hurting you,” he reminds you, for no less than the fourth time. 

“Okay.” You’re trying not to move. “Sorry, I don’t know why it keeps going away.” 

Sirius hums. “I think you might just have watery eyes.” You hum back dejectedly. A corner of his mouth quirks up. “That’s okay, pretty girl. I’ll try one more time, and if it doesn’t work we’ll do something else, yeah?” 

“M’kay,” you murmur as he grabs a cotton swab. 

“Attagirl.” You widen your eyes so Sirius can dry your waterline gently, his mouth pursed in concentration. “You know, the only other person I’ve done this for was Reggie, and you’re much better than him. He’s not near as patient, and twice as big of a baby about it. There was one time, when he was thirteen and I’d just discovered what an eyelash curler was…” 

It’s not that you don’t like hearing about Sirius’ brother—in fact, the tone of grudging affection your boyfriend slips into when he talks about Regulus is one of your favorites—but your mind drifts away without you meaning for it to. With your eyes so wide open by necessity, it’s difficult to avoid the sweet curl of a baby hair against his temple or the way the mole on his cheek moves each time he speaks, so really, can you be blamed?

Sirius’ makeup is done already. He announced after dinner that he was bored and wanted to play with you, and you’ve been dating long enough to know that “play” means different things depending on Sirius’ mood; tonight it only meant that he wanted to sit you up on the bathroom counter and chatter at you while touching your face in ways that make it noticeably warm. You can never really decide which kind of play you like best. In any case, you’ll be washing this off at the end of the night, so Sirius has gone all out: black eyeliner with white layered on top of it, electric blue eyeshadow slashing out on both sides, and some glittery dust he has that makes the stars he’s drawn look like part of a galaxy. It’s all neater than he’d normally do his makeup to go out, less devil-may-care, but you like it. Sirius always looks like art to you; now it’s even more obvious. 

It doesn’t hurt that the glitter keeps flashing every time he shifts his gaze, eyes moving from one of yours to the other and lids catching the light each time. His pink tongue peeks between his lips for a split second, wetting them as he focuses on his work. The crook of his finger is absurdly attractive when he uses it to brush hair behind his ear again. You’re in an overwhelm of dizzying beauty. 

“Hey.” Sirius’ fingers tighten on your chin, getting your attention. You realize he’s no longer touching your eye and blink. “Sweetheart, is that okay?” 

Your mouth feels dry. You swallow, trying to catch up to the conversation—the admittedly rather one-sided conversation. The longer you don’t reply, the more Sirius’ cupid’s bow flattens out, lips spreading into a grin. That irresistible Sirius Black grin. 

“Sorry,��� you breathe, “what?” 

Your boyfriend gives your chin another little pinch, teasing. “You haven’t heard anything I’ve been saying,” he hums, “have you?” 

“You’re very shiny,” you admit. “I got distracted.” 

“Did you?” he murmurs. Still grinning like the cat that got the cream, only more fond now around the eyes. You know what he’s going to do before he does it.

The kiss is warm and sweet. Less sudden than the ones Sirius likes to surprise you with, less forceful than the ones you share in public. This kiss reminds you of the slow, thick drip of molasses. It leaves a heavy sweetness lingering on your tongue. Sirius’ hand slips down the curve of your waist to rest at your hip as he presses another, quicker but no less soft, to your top lip. 

“Yeah,” you rasp after moment, “I did. You’re distracting.” 

Your frankness is rewarded by a light flush across the tops of Sirius’ cheekbones. “Well,” he says, “I suppose I can allow that just this once. Do try to pay attention, though, lovely. I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.” 

[inseobts]

Can you do a gn but soft feminine reader where they get worried that Shanks and them are drifting apart (theyre married) and that Shanks now even seems like he may have started cheating, even being caught on an island in like the pleasure district or something. Super angsty the reader is suffering and stuff but im sensitive obviously so it turns out he had also felt like maybe he had been too busy and distant with stress and planning (this is close to the current canon time) to pay proper attention to reader so the "cheating" was him trying to find out a way to like get them a romantic place alone. Like the pleasure district girls were just teaching him about different gifts he could get you and the best hotels/resturants to go to for a date. He chose them just bc he could pay for their time so no bothering random people and they were knowledgable about the finer stuff in life. Pls end fluffy and they actually make up and get along and stuff and go on the date. You can add smut at the end if things get heated at the hotel but if it feels like it doesn't fit in the story youre writing you don't have to add it.

sorry if i sent this twice i have bad memory and i dont remember if i actually sent it or not so just in case im sending it again its not me rushing you or spamming

Driftwood Hearts

shanks x gn!reader

a/n: at some point I forgot I was writing it as gn!reader, I tried to fix it but I'm not sure I didn't miss any. I also forgot he has a missing arm...

words count: 3.5k

tags: mild smut, angst with comfort, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort, marriage struggles, pre-egghead

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The wind brushes gently across your skin as you stand at the railing of the Red Force, eyes fixed on the endless blue. It’s quiet except for the creak of wood and distant voices of the crew laughing below deck. But you don’t feel like laughing. You haven’t in a while.

The sea always feels colder without him by your side.

You swallow hard, fingers tightening on the rail. Shanks has been gone for four days now, anchored at a nearby island for “business”, but the way he avoided your eyes before leaving haunts you more than the distance itself. He kissed your forehead and told you he loved you, but it felt… forced. Or maybe that’s just your fear talking.

No. Something’s wrong. You feel it, you know it.

You haven’t slept well in weeks. Shanks has been distant, preoccupied, caught in whispered meetings with Benn or writing something behind locked doors. He touches you less, barely looks up when you enter the room, and when you reach for him at night, he turns away, murmuring that he’s tired.

But what scares you most is what Lucky Roux let slip last night over dinner.

“Yeah, I saw the captain heading toward the pleasure district. Guess he needed to unwind, huh?”

You didn’t ask for clarification. You couldn’t. The blood had drained from your face and you had excused yourself quietly, retreating to your shared quarters, where the bed still smelled like him.

You feel sick remembering it. You’ve tried to be reasonable. He’s a Yonko. He’s busy. He’s under pressure. But you’re his wife. And yet lately, it feels like you’re just… a fixture. A memory he keeps forgetting to look at.

Footsteps approach behind you. Your heart jumps instinctively with hope, but it’s Benn.

He gives you a small nod “He’ll be back before sundown.”

You just nod, eyes still on the sea “Thanks.”

There’s a pause.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine...” you lie, your voice soft but trembling.

He doesn’t press. He just gives a long sigh and leaves you be.

Later that evening you hear his boots before you see him. The heavy, slow step of someone who’s either dreading a conversation, or trying to steel themselves for it.

You sit on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in your lap, trying not to shake. Your heart pounds when the door creaks open.

“Hey,” Shanks says softly. His hair’s tousled from the wind, his cape half off his shoulder, and he looks… tired. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, your stiff posture, your swollen eyes, and something flickers in his face.

“You’re back” you whisper.

He closes the door gently behind him “Yeah.”

Silence. It stretches too long.

“I heard where you were...” you say quietly, almost apologetically, as if it’s wrong to admit you know.

Shanks doesn’t answer right away. He walks a little closer, but not enough. His jaw tenses.

“Is it true?” your voice breaks just slightly “Did you really go to the pleasure district?”

He flinches “It’s not what you think.”

You shake your head, tears burning hot behind your eyes “Then what is it, Shanks? Because lately, I don’t know where you are anymore. You’re here, but you’re not. You don’t see me. You don’t touch me. You barely even talk to me unless it’s about the ship.”

He stares at you, and his expression cracks “I know.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“I know I’ve been… distant.” He drags a hand through his hair “And I hate that I made you feel alone. That’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

“Then why?” your voice trembles “Why were you there?”

He takes a breath and crosses the room in two strides, kneeling in front of you “Because I’ve been trying to plan something. For us.”

You don’t understand “What?”

He smiles, but it’s bitter with guilt “I didn’t want to bother random people asking where to take my wife on the perfect date, so I paid women who know the best spots. Gifts. Food. Hotels. I asked them what someone like you would love. That’s all it was.”

You’re frozen. Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

He takes your hand gently “I was afraid I’d been too absent. That I hadn’t made you feel loved. And I thought… if I could find the right place, something just for us, maybe I could show you how much I still adore you. But I screwed it all up by not telling you.”

Your vision blurs “You weren’t cheating…?”

He looks devastated “No. God, no. Never. I love you. I love you more than anything. I’ve just been so stressed about everything. Egghead, the tension between the Emperors, the Marines breathing down our necks… I didn’t mean to push you away.”

Your body trembles, and finally you let go. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, and cry.

“I thought I was losing you...” you whisper, voice shattered.

He holds you so tight it almost hurts “You’ll never lose me. Never.”

The cabin is dark even though the sun has long since risen.

You haven’t moved from the bed.

Shanks had fallen asleep holding you last night, warm and solid, whispering apologies and promises, but the ache in your chest didn’t fade. If anything, it’s worse now.

Because you want to believe him. You need to.

But some part of you still hurts too deeply to reach for his words. That soft little voice in your head won’t stop whispering:

If he really loved you, why did it get this far? Why didn’t he notice sooner?

He’s gone again this morning.

You heard him slip out quietly hours ago. No kiss. No note. Just a hush and the sound of boots.

You stare at the door.

Was last night just guilt?

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, curling up in the center of the bed that now feels too big, too empty. You’re sick of crying, but the tears still come out. Quiet, desperate sobs that shake your shoulders as you muffle them into the pillow.

Why does love feel so much like breaking?

Flashback – A Week Ago “Do you need anything?” you asked him quietly, standing in the doorway of his study. He didn’t even look up “No.” You tried again “Even just… a few minutes? I miss you.” “I said I’m busy.” He hadn’t meant it harshly, you tell yourself. But the words had still hit like a slap. You remember standing there, fingers tightening around the edge of the doorframe, waiting for him to glance your way. He never did.

Present

You’re still trembling when you hear the door creak open again. Heavy footsteps. A pause.

Shanks.

But you don’t move.

He calls your name once, quiet. Then again, more hesitant “Baby?”

You don’t answer. You just lay there, eyes shut.

He walks closer, then sits on the edge of the bed “I went to confirm the reservation,” he says carefully “For the place I told you about.”

Silence.

He swallows “I want to take you somewhere beautiful. Just us. No crew. No stress. I wanted it to be a surprise…”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Your voice is raw.

He flinches at the sound of it.

“I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admits “I thought if I just did something big enough, maybe I could make it up to you. Instead of facing how much I’d already let slip away.”

Your breath catches.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees “I keep thinking about how I’ve failed you. You married me, and I still made you feel like you were second to everything else in my life. That’s on me.”

You finally turn your head toward him “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

The words land heavy. His shoulders tense.

“You’re everything I want,” he says hoarsely “I just forgot how to show it. And I was so damn afraid that if I turned around, you’d be gone.”

You sit up slowly, blanket still clutched to your chest “I wanted to leave. I started packing, twice. I kept wondering if I stayed, would it hurt worse than walking away.”

His eyes go glassy “You were gonna leave me?”

You nod, and it breaks him.

He falls to his knees beside the bed, burying his face in your lap “I deserve that. I deserve every second because of the way I made you feel.”

You stroke his hair, hands trembling “You don’t. But I was scared. You’re always looking out for the world, Shanks… and sometimes I wonder if you forget how small I am compared to it.”

He lifts his head, and the pain in his eyes is unbearable “You are my world.”

Then he reaches into his coat pocket.

A small, folded cloth. Inside some delicate jewelry, hand-crafted glass roses, a map with hand-drawn notes on the margins: circles around restaurants, sketches of views he wanted to show you.

“I went to the pleasure district because they know things, like what to buy, what’s romantic. I didn’t want to half-ass this. I wanted it to be perfect.”

Tears spill over your cheeks “You idiot.”

He chuckles weakly “That’s fair.”

“I don’t care about perfect.” You lean in, voice cracking “I just want you. Not a version of you that shows up with flowers once it’s already broken. I want you beside me when things start to crack.”

Shanks nods slowly “Then I’m here. From now on, I’m here.”

You’re both crying now. But this time it feels… healing.

When you lean in to kiss him, it’s slow. Deep. Raw. A kiss that tastes like sorrow and survival.

He presses his forehead to yours.

“Let me take you on this date.” he whispers “Let me try. Just one night, to remind you of us.”

You nod.

And in that quiet, your heart finally begins to piece itself back together.

The island air is warm as Shanks leads you up the winding path through the trees, fingers laced tightly with yours.

He doesn’t speak much, just gives your hand little squeezes now and then, like he’s afraid you’ll let go. You don’t.

You pass through ivy-covered archways and stone steps lit with lanterns, until you reach a quiet hilltop villa overlooking the sea.

It’s stunning.

Soft white fabric flows like waves around the open balcony. Candlelight flickers in tall glass lanterns, dancing over a table set for two. In the distance, waves crash softly against the rocks. But it’s the little details that stop your breath.

Your favorite flowers. A wine you once mentioned in passing, chilled and waiting. A pair of sandals that match the ones you lost on Dressrosa, placed by the door like a quiet apology.

“You remembered all this?” you ask softly.

“I never forgot.” Shanks murmurs “I was just too buried in my own head to show it.”

Your heart aches. But not the way it did before. This ache feels more like thawing.

You step inside the villa together. It’s private. Warm. Gentle lighting, music playing faintly in the background, a violin, lilting and slow.

Dinner is quiet at first.

You sip, you eat, you share pieces of food with soft smiles and hesitant fingers brushing. The air between you feels careful, like the two of you are still remembering how to breathe in each other’s rhythm.

And then, somewhere between the last bite and the second glass of wine, Shanks leans back and really looks at you.

“You wore that expression the first time we met” he says quietly, a ghost of a smile on his lips “Half curious, half like you already knew I’d ruin your life.”

You raise an eyebrow “You did ruin my life.”

“And you still said ‘I do.’”

You reach across the table and take his hand “Because even when you drive me insane, I know who you are underneath it. You’re not just a captain. Not just a Yonko. You’re the man who sits beside me when I cry and still calls me beautiful.”

He looks down, jaw tight “You scared me.”

You blink “I scared you?”

“You were slipping away, and I knew it, and I didn’t know how to stop it.” His voice is strained “I thought if I just held everything else together, the crew, the politics, the alliances, then we could get through it. But all I did was push you further.”

You let silence sit for a moment.

“Next time, just hold me.”

He nods, eyes glassy “Yeah. I will. I swear to you.”

Later, in the Villa bedroom the air gets softer. The light low, the sheets freshly turned, the balcony doors open to let the ocean whisper inside.

You both stand in the doorway for a moment, unmoving.

Then Shanks steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder “You still feel far away.”

“I don’t mean to” you whisper.

“I know.” He kisses your neck slowly “Can I get closer?”

You nod, turning in his arms.

The kiss you share this time is deep but it’s not rushed. Not lust-driven or demanding. It’s reverent.

His hands slide to your hips, careful, asking. And you melt into him, fingers curled in his hair.

Clothes fall away slowly. Like they’re being forgiven piece by piece.

Every inch he touches is a wordless apology. Every kiss is a promise to never let things get this broken again.

He looks so open, so bare... eyes soft, lips parted like he’s still trying to breathe you in.

Your hand finds his cheek “You look at me like that, and I’ll never be able to stay mad at you.”

“I’m counting on it” he says with a quiet smile.

The kiss you share is slow, lazy, lingering like you’ve both been starving for each other. And you have.

You sigh against his mouth as his fingers slide down your back, over your waist, to your hip. The weight of his touch is steady, but unhurried.

“Can I touch you?” he asks softly, breath brushing over your jaw.

You nod, already melting beneath him “Please.”

He shifts over you, body flush against yours. The feeling of his skin against your own is overwhelming, warm, grounding, real. Every inch of contact feels like a reassurance.

His mouth traces your collarbone, then lower, pressing gentle kisses over the parts of you he missed, like he’s trying to memorize you again.

His hand finds your thigh, sliding up slowly.

You gasp when his fingers brush where you need him most, already wet, already aching. He groans quietly against your neck.

“You’re already soaked.”

“It’s you,” you breathe “It’s always you.”

He sinks two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them just right. You arch, hand fisting in the sheets as your body trembles under his touch.

“You feel so good like this” he murmurs, kissing your jaw.

When he finally moves over you, positioning himself between your legs, he doesn’t rush it. He just looks down at you, brows knit in something close to awe.

“I don’t deserve you” he whispers.

“Then earn me...” you whisper back.

And he does.

He pushes inside you slowly, forehead pressed to yours.

It’s lovemaking, real and deep and raw. His hands caressing your face, your thighs, your heart.

You whisper his name. Over and over. And he answers with soft gasps, broken praise, shaky murmurs of “I love you” between kisses.

When you come, it’s with your forehead pressed to his, tears in your eyes and nails digging into his back. And he follows just seconds later, trembling above you, holding you like he never wants to let go.

You end up wrapped in the sheets, tangled in limbs and whispered vows and bare skin warmed by candlelight. It’s not even about sex, though the want is there, steady and sweet, but it’s more about feeling. Rebuilding.

Later, lying against his chest, you trace slow shapes on his skin.

“I don’t need fancy” you murmur “I just need this.”

His voice is low against your hair “Then this is yours. Always.”

The villa is bathed in warm dawn light.

The ocean hums beyond the balcony, and the silk sheets are tangled around your legs. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you remember every second of last night, every whispered apology, every kiss, every way Shanks clung to you like he thought you’d vanish if he let go.

You shift slightly in the bed, and Shanks stirs behind you, breath brushing against your neck.

“Mornin’ beautiful” he murmurs, voice still low and rough with sleep.

You hum softly, stretching “I didn’t dream that, did I?”

His arm slips around your waist, pulling you closer “No, sweetheart. You’re right here.”

Shanks brushes a thumb along your cheek, your lips, your throat “You’re everything to me,” he says “You know that, right?”

“I do now.”

You kiss his knuckles and tuck yourself against his chest, warm and sore and whole again.

And this time, when you fall asleep, it’s without fear.

The villa is quiet again, but this time it’s not tense, but just slow and peaceful.

You stretch out on the linen sheets, the morning sun warming your skin. The space beside you is empty, but you can hear him in the next room, moving around, humming softly under his breath.

You smile before you even open your eyes.

A moment later, the door creaks open, and Shanks walks in shirtless, hair damp, a plate in one hand and two mugs in the other.

“Look at that,” you tease sleepily “You can be domestic.”

He grins “Only for you.”

He sets the tray on the bedside table and slides in beside you again. You sit up, and he hands you your favorite blend of tea without needing to ask. The mug is warm in your hands. His shoulder brushes yours, bare and solid.

You take a sip “This is nice.”

“It’s more than nice” he says, voice soft “It’s… right.”

You glance sideways. He’s looking at you like you’re made of glass, but not fragile. Precious.

“You okay?” you ask.

“I am now,” he says, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear “I don’t want to go back.”

You smile faintly “You mean the ship? Or reality?”

“Both.”

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder “We can’t stay here forever.”

“I know. But I wanted one more quiet morning before I go back to being Captain Red-Haired Shanks, Yonko of the New World.”

You chuckle “You forgot ‘disaster of a husband’ in there.”

He nudges you with a groan “Ouch. Low blow.”

You finish your tea in companionable silence, then finally, reluctantly, start to move.

As you dress, he watches you from the bed, chin in his hand, that lazy grin creeping back onto his face “I’m going to be annoying about you for the next month, you know.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Mm. I’m gonna brag. To Benn. To Lucky. Hell, to Mihawk if he shows up. Gonna say, ‘See? That’s mine. I have someone who still loves me, even though I nearly fumbled it all.’”

You laugh, cheeks warm “They all already know that.”

He walks over, presses a kiss to your forehead “Yeah, but now I remember it again.”

Later on, the moment your boots hit the deck, you’re surrounded by the familiar sounds of the ship, the crew shouting to each other, seagulls overhead, the gentle groan of wood beneath your feet.

Benn is the first to approach, his expression unreadable “Welcome back, Captain. Y/N.”

You nod, trying not to shrink under his gaze. You’re not sure how much the crew knew… how much they saw before you left.

But Benn simply gives a short nod “Glad to see you two walking side by side again.”

Shanks smiles, hand settling warmly on your back “We’re more than side by side.”

Lucky Roux whistles from the helm “Damn right you are! Took you long enough, Captain!”

“You all knew?” you ask, half-embarrassed.

Yasopp grins from across the deck “We knew something was off. Man’s been moping like a kicked puppy for weeks.”

Shanks mutters, “I have not!”

“You were so depressing we started a betting pool” Bonk Punch adds.

Your eyes widen “A what?!”

“It ended yesterday,” Benn says, deadpan “Roux won. He bet you’d be back today.”

You cover your face with both hands while Shanks laughs, his arm tightening around your waist “God, I missed this dumb crew.”

“They missed you...” you say, a little quieter.

He leans down, presses his lips to your ear “I missed us.”

You look up at him, sunlight catching in the red of his hair, that boyish grin soft around the edges now, and suddenly you’re not afraid anymore.

Not of drifting. Not of breaking.

Because you both remembered how to reach for each other again.

That night, you’re wrapped in his arms in your shared quarters. The door is locked. The ship rocks gently beneath you. His fingers trace slow patterns on your back.

“I want more days like this,” he whispers “Not just now. Always.”

“You’ll have them,” you murmur “Just don’t shut me out when it gets hard again.”

“I won’t,” he promises “You’re my anchor. I only drifted because I forgot where shore was.”

You smile into his chest, heart calm for the first time in what feels like forever.

“I’m right here.”

And you are.

[raigash]

THE STARS COULD KEEP HIM SAFE MOST NIGHTS, BUT NO MONSTERS COULD EVER HOLD A CANDLE TO MAMA OR DADDY!!!!

FUCK Ruin, this was so beautifully and painfully and MASTERFULLY written to rend my heart in two and I will never forgive you for it /POS

Everyone can blame my discord friends for encouraging my royal AU brainrot, Prince Mariano is like seven years old here

TWs: break-ins/intruders in a child's room, a terrified child, talk of assassinations, like the child is okay physically but they ARE very very scared

Mama and Daddy said that there were never any monsters under the bed. They checked, of course, but the answer was always the same. After helping him put his hair up in a bun they'd kiss Mariano's forehead and lift him up onto his blankets. They'd tuck him in, and check one more time, and promise that there weren't any monsters to be found in his room.

The stars, dotted and crossed in magical paint on the ceiling, would keep watch. Daddy had painted them himself, he said. They had love pressed into every brush stroke. That was enough to keep any monster away.

Now, Mariano lay in his bed, eyes wide in the new-moon darkness as he was pinned under his blankets. A leather-wrapped hand he didn't know pressed his whimpers and shudders back down into his mouth. A figure he'd never seen before loomed, cloaked in darkness. Two golden rings bore down at him, the same color as the stars on his ceiling.

"Oh." The man said. "You're just a little thing, aren't you?"

Mariano tried to speak, only to be muffled by the glove. Fat tears started to roll down his face, the pat-pat-pat of them hitting his pillowcase deafening in the quiet. He struggled to take a breath in, head starting to spin.

"Shhh. It's okay." He said, an awful mimicry of how Uncle Luis would shush him whenever he dreamed about Daddy getting attacked again. "Don't scream. I don't want to hurt you." His weight was inescapable over Mariano. "But if you scream or shout, I will."

Carefully, like Mariano were a dog that might bolt away, he lifted his hand. He gasped, air flooding his chest and making him dizzier. "Are you gonna afassinate me?" He whispered. The one who hurt Daddy didn't do any of this, but Uncle Luis said that everyone did everything differently. Killing people probably fell under the umbrella of everything.

The man laughed, soft and low. He didn't unpin Mariano, the hand on his quilt feeling inescapable. The two rings disappeared for a moment before moving back and forth.

"No." He said. "They didn't say how old you were. I'm not a monster."

"What are you going to do?" Mariano whispered.

"I'm going to go make sure there's one less monster in the world." He spoke gently, kindly. He spoke like the rock-seller did during the last winter solstice festival, when Mariano had gotten separated from his parents in the crowd. The rock-seller's hands hadn't felt so scary, though. This man wouldn't hoist Mariano up onto his shoulders so he could try to spot his parents.

Mariano didn't know what this man would do.

The man reached into his pocket with his free hand, and placed a little scroll into Mariano's trembling hands. "I want you to close your eyes and count to one-hundred. Can you count that high?" Mariano nodded. "Good girl. Then after you count that high I want you to go to Mommy and Daddy and give them that."

He curled Mariano's fingers around the scroll and patted them. "Close your eyes, now." He said. "I'll be gone by the time you get to one-hundred."

Mariano did, more tears falling faster. He shuddered into a sob as the weight disappeared from his chest. "One, two," He stammered out.

He didn't hear any footsteps. I didn't hear his window close. By the time he got to the end, he still didn't dare to open his eyes. Blindly, he slid out of bed, still clutching the parchment. He wanted to scream, he wanted to sob, but he didn't want the man to hurt him.

"Your Highness?" The voice of one of the night guards made Mariano jump, a shuddering squeak escaping.

Mariano's eyes flew open, the blurry shape of one of the red-haired elves startling him out of his focus. Tears rolled down his face anew, and when he tried to speak he needed to try a few times to make his voice work. "Dame Annie," He finally managed, holding out the scroll. It was sealed with red wax, pressed with a seal that was different than what his parents used. "There was--there was a monster--there was a man in my room. I need to give this to Mama and Daddy."

"Oh." Dame Annie said, emotions flashing over her face faster than Mariano could understand. "Oh, Princess--" She hurried forward, armor clanking, and delicately scooped Mariano up into her arms. "I have you now, I have you. Let's get you to your parents, you're safe now."

Mariano clung to her, shivering like a leaf. He buried his face in her neck, letting her wrap him up in her cloak. He managing to stay quiet up until Dame Annie burst through the door of his parents chambers. He was good, he obeyed the man, right up until Mama lifted him from her arms.

The moment he smelled Mama's perfume and felt Daddy hug him tight, he burst into loud, cracking sobs. This was safe. No monsters could touch him here. Not ever.

The stars might keep him safe most nights, but no monster could ever hold a candle to Mama or Daddy.

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper

@bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @whumpbees @painful-pooch