#yeah. yeah that’s. good enough? i think. perhaps more tags to come

[acidxinxwonderland]

Adult Night at the Mega Pizzaplex

18 plus smut shot! Minors DNI!!!

Pairing: Glamrock Freddy x F!Reader

Summary: Adult night for the Mega Pizzaplex was something you were looking forward to, that was until you were stuck in the most boring party as Freddy's handler. You provoke him to have a little fun, and in doing so he puts you in your place.

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Robot/Human Relationships, Public Play (sorta), Female Reader, Top Freddy, Bottom Reader, Bratty Reader, Established Relationship, Vaginal sex, Dom/sub, No Beta We Die Like Afton, Praise Kink, Large Cock, Rough Sex, Thigh Job

A/N: WE'RE SO BACK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gender Neutral Reader

You thought it was a grand idea once you heard of it, adults being able to enjoy the wonders of the Pizzaplex without needing to worry about the judgment from parents and children alike. It was a time to allow their inner child to come out! To party and share drinks!

But little did you know that the excitement was going to soon wear off, for Freddy and you were stuck with one of the more boring tasks for the night.

A birthday party was what you were given, in one of the larger party rooms that held maybe 50 or so people. Those people brought all their money together to rent Freddy for the entire night. It would have been nice, if it wasn't the deadest crowd you ever witnessed in the entirety of your life.

You and Freddy stood near the wall, he gave his greetings and tried his best to engage with the crowd, but they did not bring a lick of the same energy he provided. It was, safe to say, horribly awkward… So the two of you decided it would be best to stand off on the sidelines, waiting for the guests to come to you for the time being, you did have all night after all.

Leaning back against the wall, your eyes roam around the room. They were indeed quiet, some clustered in small groups, others standing alone, drinks in hand, observing the colourful decorations with passive expressions. The flashing lights from the main Pizzaplex areas cast shifting shadows across their faces, making their stillness seem even more pronounced compared to the usual high energy of the building.

"Look at them," You say in a hushed tone, leaning towards Freddy. "They're like… Zombies. Just standing there, barely even talking. Giving me the creeps." 

Freddy shifts his gaze towards you, his modulated voice dropping to match your whisper. “Superstar,” He begins, a hint of reprimand in his tone. “I do not think it is kind to speak ill of our guests. Everyone enjoys things in their own ways.” His blue optics sweeps across the subdued crowd. “Although… Compared to the typical birthday parties we host, this is quite the difference. Perhaps,” he adds, a touch of vanity creeping in, “they are merely awestruck to be in the presence of a celebrity such as myself?” 

A snort escapes you, earning a slightly surprised tilt of his head. “Yeah, maybe.” You concede, patting his forearm affectionately. He really was far too charming, and not to mention almost impossibly handsome in this setting. 

Management opted to give the animatronics a more casual look for adult nights, you can only assume for a more mature atmosphere. You weren’t complaining. Freddy looked striking in a dark red sweater that hugged his broad torso, paired with fitted slacks… Damn, he looked good.

“Well,” you murmur, allowing your eyes to trail down his body with appreciation before flicking back up to his gaze, “at least I have some eye candy tonight.” Freddy’s mechanical brows lift, clearly taken aback by your forwardness. His optics dart around the room as if to ensure no one was close by before settling back on you with a sterner expression. You swear you are going to be the death of him, and funnily enough, he swears it too. “There is a time and a place for such comments. This establishment, during operating hours, is not it.”

Reprimanded once again, you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. “Oh, give me a break big guy,” you retort, leaning slightly closer. “I can’t point out the dead crowd and I can’t flirt with my favorite bear?” “Correct.” Freddy states plainly, his posture straightening. “We are working, and I am confused as to why you are being so… Feral. You are usually quite diligent and professional.” 

The word ‘feral’ coming from Freddy Fazbear’s mouth sends a ripple of laughter through you, equal parts amusing and irritating. You'd hoped he might loosen up a little during these adult nights, but perhaps that was asking too much of your eternally dutiful bear. "Hey! I am professional!" you defend, crossing your arms playfully.  

His brow arches, something akin to amusement evident on his metallic features. “Oh, you are, are you?” He repeats, a subtle challenge woven into his voice. “Then perhaps you’d like to do the honors of showing me?” It felt like some sort of trap, an attempt to nudge you towards proper conduct.

“Pfft,” You scoff lightly. “I’ve shown you since day one, Fazbear. You’re the one who doesn’t know how to have fun.” You puncture the statement with a light tap against his metal chest plate. Satisfyingly enough, one of his ears twitched in response.   

His optics flicker down to your finger, an unreadable expression settling over his features. His massive frame leaned closer, closing the distance between you. “I know how to have fun, Superstar.” 

The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile as the sound of his internal fans whirling louder hits your ear. You know this bear like the back of your hand, and you sure as hell know how to make him tick. He thought he was setting the trap? Adorable. “Mmm, no, you don’t.” You replied bluntly, the tease sharp but holding a kernel of truth. “We both know you wouldn’t know where to start, even if you tried.” Really, you were doing him a favor, trying to loosen up the poor, rule-bound bear even after gaining sentience. He should be thanking you.

“I…” Freddy paused, his large fingers twitching, his muzzle seeming to tighten. “If that is how you feel, then I shall simply have to prove to you just how much fun I can be.” He straightened, surveying the still lackluster crowd, gears visibly turning as he searched for inspiration. Finding none, his gaze falls back onto yours. “I am… Taking suggestions if you have them.” 

You bit your bottom lip, stifling a giggle that was threatening to bubble up. He couldn’t even devise his own fun! The amusement softens into adoration as you stare up at your sweet, clueless bear. An idea sparked. “Well,” You began, your voice dropping to a more suggestive tone, “If you really wanna have fun, you and I could always just… sneak off.” You drag a finger up his arm. “Find somewhere quiet… Private.” 

Freddy recoiled as if struck, taking a physical step back, his muzzle slightly agape. “S-Superstar!” The glitch in his voice was telling. “Are you… Have you lost your senses?” His raised tone attracted a couple of curious glances, prompting him to quickly close the distance between the two of you. As he now loomed over you, the previous sternness was nothing compared to the look he gave you now. “That is not fun, that is… That is just highly unprofessional. I work hard to maintain my composure when I am around you, it is unfair for you to not do the same.” 

As he scolded you, you felt both nervous and… Quite aroused. Hearing him confess - indirectly - that he actively tries to keep his composure around you? Thrilling. It was almost comforting, having the knowledge he lusts after you just the same. Perhaps that knowledge could be weaponized.

“I absolutely maintain my composure too,” You argue, stepping boldly into his personal space. “I just know when to take the chance to fool around, we clearly aren’t doing anything.” “That is irrelevant, Superstar. We are on duty.” He countered, his voice tight. 

“Mm, sounds like you’re just scared.” You murmured, tilting your head.

“I am not—”

“Pussy.” 

Freddy falls silent, and so do you, the word slipping past without much thought. Perhaps you have pushed far too many buttons, especially when you know how he feels about saying such words while on the clock. 

His stare was cold, his metallic hand snapping out to encircle your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. Turning briefly back to the party guests, he announced, “It appears I am having some minor technical difficulties. We will return momentarily, I assure you.” He doesn’t even spare you a glance as he pivots, dragging you out of the party room and down the hall. "Hey! Wait—" you gasped, stumbling to keep pace with his long, purposeful strides. A nervous chuckle escaped you; you knew you'd definitely overstepped. "Freddy, look, I'm sorry, okay?"

“Oh, I know you’re sorry,” He replies sternly, his voice dangerously low and even, the grip on your wrist tightening. “At the very least, you are going to be.”

Truthfully, you had no idea how this would play out. Despite receiving many things from the bear, the idea of him giving you an illicit punishment during work hours seemed ludicurious. A harsh lecture, maybe a figurative slap on the wrist, seemed far more likely. Still, witnessing him get pushed past his breaking point was undeniably exciting. 

With your mind whirling, you barely register him yanking you into a rather spacious maintenance closet. He releases your wrist, locking the door with a decisive *click*, then face towards you, his sheer size filling the small space. You offer him a weak, sheepish smile, taking a step back as you raise your hands. “Okay, okay, I know.” You admitted quickly, meeting his hard gaze, “I was out of line. Totally unprofessional.” the look he was giving you brooked no room for argument. Even you can acknowledge when it is time to lay down and submit. 

“You do, do you?” Freddy questioned, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, his imposing figure feeling impossibly large as he loomed over you. “If you are aware you went too far, then why did you persist?” His intense stare pins you in place, sending shivers down your spine that had little to do with fear.

You cast your gaze to the side, suddenly finding the rows of cleaning supplies fascinating. The intensity was overwhelming. “I-I don’t know.” You mumbled, your admission feeling inadequate.

You feel cool metal trapping your jaw, and the sound of your heart beat was clear as day in your ears. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” He commanded. Your eyes shot up to his face, and the proximity of his face was startling, “There you are.” He tilted your head further, his optics scrutinizing your features. “I think you do know Superstar,” He continued, his voice a low rumble. “You wish to get a rise out of me, to make me falter at work. But what is to happen when someone catches on? Hear your little comments? Is it your wish to be fired?” 

“I–” Your eyes widened at the very idea of being fired. Losing this job, losing him… Dread washed over you. “No! Of course not!” Your mouth felt like sandpaper, a stark contrast to the wetness accumulating between your legs. “I… I just wanted to have fun.” A deep, rumbling chuckle comes from Freddy’s chest cavity, “I am acutely aware of that, Superstar.” His clawed thumb brushed against your face, tracing a slow outline on your bottom lip with his claw. “But your fun is concluded. Now, it is time for mine.” He leaned closer, his presence overwhelming. “We are proceeding on my terms, do you understand?” Your gaze flickers between his eyes and maw, all words dying on your tongue. “Do. You. Understand?” He repeated, the sternness intensifying, his claws ever so slightly digging into your skin.

“Yes!” You gasped, finally releasing the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Yes, I understand.” A fraction of the tension left Freddy’s frame, though his stare remained hard. “Good…” The thumb tracing your lip pressed gently against them. You parted them instantly, instinctively, the cool metal gliding across your tongue. You began to suck on the large digit. “Look at you,” He murmured, a satisfaction within his tone. “How quickly you have fallen from grace. Already apologizing, already complying.” He made a soft tsk sound. Heat flooded your cheeks, you had to fight every urge to not bite back. He must be able to see it so obviously plastered on your face. “It’s because you want to be my good girl, is it not, Superstar?” An attempt to subdue, and in the moment, it worked.

He withdrew his thumb slowly, his optics half lidded as he deliberately smeared your saliva across your trembling bottom lip. You stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, caught completely in this sudden shift. This bear right in front of you was pure sex at the current moment. 

Before you could form a reply, or even fully process his question, his maw crashed down on your lips. The force of it nearly sent you staggering back, but a large, cool hand splayed firmly against the small of your back, effortlessly anchoring you against him. Your own hands flew up on instinct, gripping at his shoulders as you urgently kissed him back. 

His free hand slides its way lower, moving down your side before cupping the curve of your ass. A low, synthesized groan vibrated deep within his chest cavity, rumbling against your lips as he deepened the kiss. The sound was heavenly, and you in return let out a muffled moan as he consumed you. 

His muzzle parts, and the feeling of cool metal probed insistently against your lips. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as you yielded, parting your lips further. His metallic tongue immediately slipped inside, filling your mouth almost completely, exploring with confident, demanding strokes that almost made you choke. His grip tightened against your ass, pulling you closer against his frame as the kiss grew deeper, more possessive. 

You felt utterly weightless, your pussy throbbing almost painfully as he overtook you in every way possible. He gained the upper hand with ease, and you couldn’t help but kick yourself for it. You were never in charge, were you? 

Just as your lungs began to burn, Freddy withdrew his tongue, allowing you to gasp desperately for air. A thick string of salvia connected you and him as he parted. He looked entirely too pleased with the mess he’d made of you.

“Very good, Superstar,” He praised in a low register. His large paw slid from your back to your waistband. “My internal sensors are detecting an increase in your heart rate. You seem to be enjoying yourself.” He hooked his claws into the fabric of your pants, peeling them down over your hips and taking your underwear with him in one fluid motion. The large animatronic leaned back, and he paused when his eyes locked onto the sight between your legs. “The visual evidence is… quite clear.” You followed his gaze, and an audible gasp left your lips from the sight. You were obscenely wet, your juices coating your inner thighs. “Oh, wow.” The build up had been so intense yet you didn't realize how much of it paid off. It made you acutely aware of the effect he had on you, how it only took mere seconds to have you torn apart at the seams, needy and breathless.

“Wow is right. This wet and I’ve barely touched you, you truly possess no sense of shame.” His words were a teasing caress, laced with a degrading edge. “Did I not say this was to be my fun?” Your gaze flew up to his face after his remark, and suddenly your fiery spirit was no longer soothed. “So I’m not even allowed to be aroused by you?” You retorted, the challenge ringing sharp and clear, a foolish move you recognized even as you made it.

A low, primal growl rattled from deep within Freddy’s chassis, one that shook you to your core. He clamped down on your shoulder with a punishing grip, spinning you around with surprising speed. “Do you truly think it is wise to provoke me,” He snarled, forcing you forward, “when you are already on thin ice?” He shoved you the last few steps, forcing you to brace yourself against a metal shelf, bending you over at the waist.

“No…” You whine, head hanging in both shame and defeat. 

A simulated sigh left the bear behind you. “You are a source of constant fascination. You seem to understand the position you are in… You know your defiance is ill-advised” A large hand enveloped your hip, the cool metal made you shudder. “And yet you persist regardless. They should study you Superstar. Truly.” You internally scream at yourself out of frustration. All you wanted was a sexy getaway, to introduce a little extra spice into your relationship. Instead, it appears the only thing you are capable of is to dig a hole that becomes deeper and deeper with every word you sputter. “...I know.” You mumbled weakly as his claws dug into the flesh of your hip, a sharp, grounding pain. 

“At least you have some form of self awareness. But worry not, my pretty star,” He purred, his voice a low vibration against your back, “We will correct this… Behavior, one way or another.” As he spoke, the sound of a hiss and a panel sliding open hit your burning hot ears, and not before long, there was something solid and lubricated poking insistently against your inner thighs. 

You gasp at the firm pressure, and on instinct, your legs part. “F-Freddy…” You breathed, the thought of him sliding inside you consumed every corner of your mind. “Please.” 

Freddy chuckled, and never have you heard such a self absorbed laugh come from him. “Begging now I see, do you plan to pull out all the spots? In hopes to turn this escapade around?” His large paws tighten around your hips, and with startling ease, he suspended your lower half in the air. “Unfortunately for you, that is not the plan. Not today.” You braced yourself on the metal shelves with your forearms, and a long whine escaped your lips as his cock, long and cool, slotted itself between your thighs. “Now… Push them together.” 

You do as he commanded, pressing your legs together to create a tight warmth. The action earned a deep, satisfied groan from him. “Good, very good. You will keep them just like that for me, understand?” 

“Y-yes! I understand!” You gasp out. Your entire body was trembling with a strong desire to repent, to earn your forgiveness in any way he saw fit. 

You felt his thick, long appendage slide out from between your legs at a snail's pace before slamming back in with a hard, punishing thrust. You violently shuddered at the sensation, your shared fluids making for an easy glide. Your head fell forward, forehead resting against the hard shelf. There was no comfort to be found here, but you didn't deserve that comfort. Not when you were such a brat. 

Freddy clearly shared the same sentiment, he pushed your upper half further onto the shelf, shifting his hold. One massive hand slid from your hip to your stomach, keeping you in the air effortlessly while the other made purchase in your hair. His fingers tangled in the strands, making for a tight grip as he pulled your head back up. He used it to keep you in place, each thrust between your thighs now met with a painful reminder of how much control he held over you. 

A broken sob ripped from your throat, and he returned the noise with his own groan of pure delight. “Is this what it takes, Superstar?” He ground out, snapping his hips forward with brutal force. “Use you as though you were a doll for you to put away those claws?” All you can do is whimper in response, and it seemed your pathetic offering wasn’t enough. His grip tightened in your hair, a deep growl coming from his maw. “Answer me. Tell me how much you’re getting off to this.”

Your scattered mind used all of its might to form a coherent response. “I-I am!” You gasped, your cunt clenching around nothing, begging to be filled with those harsh thrusts between your thighs. “I love it, love it so much Freddy! I-I’ll be good,” You pleaded, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I promise, I’ll be good if it means I get to be your toy.” Freddy let out a low, content hum in response to your frantic reply. “Oh I know you will, Superstar, because my good girl is so easy to break, isn’t she?” 

He was right, even if part of you hated to admit. “Y-yes! I am.” You whined, a hot flush of shame hitting your cheeks. You can become so pliant in his hands, his hard, unyielding touch was your absolute weakness. 

“Then… Perhaps I should reward my good girl?” His hand untangled from your hair, finding your hip once more, tilting you up just a fraction higher. “Should I give her what she really wants?” Your eyes widened at the promise of more. The world narrowed down to the way his heavy thrusts came to stop, to the way the thick head of his cock pressed directly against your entrance. You didn’t dare say yes; it wasn’t your place to decide. This reward was his to give, not yours to demand. So instead, you let out a broke, desperate, “Please!” 

“Who am I to deny my sweet star?” He rumbled, that harsh edge to his words ebbing away, now in its place a tenderness reserved only for you. 

You didn’t have a chance to prepare yourself. With one hard snap of his hips, his large cock pushed through your entrance and didn’t stop till it was buried to the hilt. A strangled gasp, equal parts pleasure and pain, escaped you, the only thing you could do was weakly claw at the shelf underneath you. “F-Freddy, ah-” Whatever incomprehensible words that were going to spill from your lips was completely and utterly stolen as he immediately set a brutal, punishing pace. 

Your hand comes to clamp down on your mouth, your cries muffled as the feeling of his large, punishing cock glided in and out of you. His strength knew no bounds, any form of resistance he easily pushed right past. It was too much. It wasn’t nearly enough. His name came out as a muffled, wet, mantra, drool covering your hand as you worshipped the bear completely destroying you from inside out. 

“That’s it, Superstar,” He grunted out between groans of ecstasy, releasing all frustrations on your much smaller, much softer body. “Take it like the good girl you know you are.” The hand just above your aching cunt slid down, his thick, cold thumb finding your clit. He rubbed it with an urgency, finally granting you permission to have your own pleasure. 

Your body and mind overloaded. Every muscle trembled, every thought scrambled. You are thrown off the edge in a matter of seconds, and you sob into your hand as a powerful shattering orgasm wracked your entire frame.

“Good, very good.” He praised earnestly, his words absolute in his pride for you. He loved when you broke just so he could rebuild you all over again, to remold you in his image. He fucked you through your orgasm, letting off on your clit. “If only you could see yourself,” he growled, “So utterly breathtaking… indisputably mine.” 

His words were like a brand, a claim on your body and soul, and all you could do in that moment was bonelessly take his unyielding thrusts, your body still twitching with aftershocks. Your cunt clenched around his cock, your slick inner walls clenching around him in your own silent, desperate claim.

His groaning grew louder, his movements more erratic, and then with a few more hard snaps of his hips, he bottomed out. His massive frame sagged over you, his claws digging into your heated flesh as hot spurts of lubricant coated your walls. You let out an exhausted, strangled moan, your head lolling back as his spent weight pressed you into the shelf.  

You remained intertwined for a long moment, the sounds of your ragged gasps and the loud whirl of his internal fans cooling his system filled the room. Then, he leaned forward, pressing his maw against the back of your head as a tender, pseudo-kiss. 

“My perfect girl.” He rumbled against you, before finally, slowly pulling out of your wet, dripping heat. “Have you learned your lesson?” As the intense tremors begin to subside, and you are left feeling as though you were blissfully adrift, you hum out a content, “Mhmm…” 

A low, deep chuckle came from his voice back, vibrating the skin where his hands now reverently held you. “For the time being, I assume.” He lifted you up and away from the shelf, turning you around and bringing you up against his chassis into a sweet, fond embrace. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and you shove your face into the crook of his neck, panting against the cool metal. He rubbed a soothing circle against your back, and you felt infinitely more exhausted. “It is a shame we have to return to our duties…” He murmured into your hair, “Perhaps when we are done, we can unwind with ice cream.” “Yes… please…” You breathed, nuzzling deeper into his embrace. 

You were utterly content. As you both returned to the party, a dopey, satisfied smile on your face and the evidence of your punishment still slick between your legs, you accepted what had happened wholeheartedly.

Because it was never really a punishment, was it? In the end, you got exactly what you wanted.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。YEARS LATER — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy au!)

contents. you and your rich husband, sitting and eating sushi years later on your wedding day. the end of one chapter, but the start of a new one. enjoy your happy rich boy gojo ending. with love, tee bee <3

satoru’s eyes are pretty when the sun sets, almost green instead of that usual icy blue—you can’t help but stare. it’s shamelessly, even. you watch as he brings the sushi to his lips, pausing just before he can take the bite as he notices your eyes on him.

“if you’re so busy staring at me, you might not notice it when your food is gone,” he hums, grinning cheekily at you.

you snort, rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “oh yeah? then i’ll just make you buy me more.”

“first day and you’re already admitting to marrying me for my wallet?”

you laugh—it’s a free, bright sound that he has memorized from plenty of experience. and it’s his turn to stare as the sun settles in the crinkles by your eyes, years and years of laughter and smiles evident in the lines of your skin. beautiful, he think, you’ve always been so, so painfully beautiful.

your wedding dress is expensive. a pretty, flattering little thing. you buy it yourself, despite his protests. some years ago, you’d have stared wistfully at the price tag and considered the purchase in another life. you’ve come a long way since then—satoru is proud. so proud, he feels an ache building in his chest from the way things have changed as time crept past the two of you.

not a bad ache, perhaps. a dull throb of nostalgia that settles under his heart, in that spot he has saved just for you.

“i don’t need your wallet, you idiot,” you grin, reaching over with your chopsticks to steal from his roll. he lets you, just like he always used to when you were younger.

satoru thinks now, if he could, he’d love to pat his younger self on the back. the version of himself that used to watch you walk out of class without sparing him a glance, the version of himself that ached so badly for a chance with you, he’d collect stars from the sky to trade for an ounce of your love. he’d tell his younger self that he made it—that he’s sitting here, years later with his grandmother’s ring on your hand, eating sushi go after your wedding.

for old times sake, you’d told him when you asked to stop by, we always celebrated with sushi go when we were younger, remember?

as if he’d forget, he wanted to laugh. but he drives over anyway, parking the car in the same old spot as he used to. this time, there’s newly wed! written on the back of the window—and the words miraculously enough crossed out underneath. (he thinks that’s courtesy of shoko, but she doesn’t fess up, and suguru insists it doesn’t matter. soon enough, he’ll get to the bottom of it.)

“are you sure?” he hums, “you’ll have a lot of fun with it, i promise.”

“i think i’d rather have fun with you,” you hum, giving him a small wink as you take a sip from your soda, making his lips curl into a wide grin.

“oh, isn’t that sweet,” he drawls, “i’m a lucky guy.”

“maybe if you’re on your best behavior, you’ll get extra lucky later tonight.”

“yeah?” he chuckles, folding his hands as he sits up straighter and nods seriously, “i’m a good boy.”

“you’re anything but that, toru,” you snort. and then you soften, staring at him as you reach over and grab his hand. he lets you, lacing his fingers with yours as your thumb brushes over his knuckles.

years and years worth of love resides in between your skin. the first time your hands touched him, you didn’t want him the way he needed you to. then one day, they touched him hesitantly, carefully, slowly exploring him with cautious gentleness. eventually they touched him like he was the world pressed in your palms, heavy with the weight of being your everything.

he likes being yours. more than he likes you being his—he’s always had more than enough. but there’s something about giving himself that feels better than taking, better than wanting, better than having.

satoru has always loved you. he thinks the first day you glared at him, he was doomed from the start. he thinks right now, as you stare at him with fondness, he’s even more doomed now.

he doesn’t mind it, not even a little.

“hey,” he murmurs, making you raise a brow for him to continue, “i’m your husband now.”

“i know,” you nod in amusement, “we just got married…like two hours ago. i didn’t forget that quickly.”

“good,” he wipes his forehead in faux relief, “i was getting worried for a second.”

“you’re too much,” you roll your eyes, squeezing his hand delicately.

“now that we’re officially married,” he starts, grinning cheekily as he bats his lashes, “we should list all the things we love about each other. in alphabetic order. you go first, of course.”

“i don’t have to alphabetize it.”

“why? you numbered it or something? is it organized by importance? i’ll accept that too, i suppose.”

“well, there’s only one thing,” you tease.

he huffs, grumbling a petulant, “so mean. all these years and you can only think of one thing? can’t you be a little nice to me in our wedding day?”

“i’ve worked smarter, not harder,” you shrug, “i’ve condensed all my reasons down to one thing.”

“and what would that be?” he pouts.

“everything.”

“that’s cheesy,” he snorts, but there’s a flush on his cheeks that makes you grin, snickering as you lean over and poke at his cheek.

“you’ll just have to deal with it. you’re my husband, after all.”

“did you ever think about it? when we were kids?” he asks softly, staring off at a young couple in the distance with a tiny grin. the boy pulls out the chair for the girl, pushing her in and tripping slightly on his way to his own seat. satoru chuckles softly at the sight.

“think about what?”

“us,” he mumbles, “getting married some day. before we got serious, at least.”

“i don’t know,” you admit, “i didn’t even think i’d date you, to be fair.”

“you hated me,” he pretends to sniffle, “you wanted me dead. you wanted me to blow up into smithereens and leave my poor mother a grieving mess, didn’t you?”

“maybe not then, but i might now,” you sigh tiredly.

“well, i knew i was going to marry you since the first time you insulted me,” he nods proudly, earning a loud chuckle from you.

“you were a little freak back in the day,” you laugh, “i believe it. only you’d be romanced by degradation.”

“baby,” he huffs, glaring at you (his eyes are soft, playful, even. so sweetly affectionate, your teeth could rot), “you should appreciate a man seeing the best at you. even when you put him through the ringer.”

he almost regrets saying it when your hand pulls away from his, but then one by one, your palms reach over to cradle his cheeks, brushing a thumb along his soft, familiar skin as you stare at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

he is, you make him believe. he’s the only thing that matters. the center of your universe. he fought tooth and nail to get there, of course, but he has no intentions of leaving.

ever.

“i will always appreciate you,” you say softly, eyes watering as you swallow thickly, chuckling when a small tear slips from your eyes. “thank you for loving me, satoru. even when it was hard. even when you had to fight to do it. no one has loved me like that.”

“aw don’t start with the waterworks now,” he mutters, looking away and blinking suspiciously enough that you suspect his own eyes are just as teary, “we can’t have you crying for me already—that’s for later.”

“never any decorum with you,” you huff out a breathless laugh.

his thumb reaches over to swipe at your tear, pinching your cheek affectionately as he grins. it’s toothy, boyish, hopelessly and completely in love. even back then, and even right now. he’s always so in love. it’s you—always, from the day you first rejected him to the day you said yes when he got in one knee, it’s been you.

“thanks for loving me too, sweetheart,” he whispers, his own voice choking a bit as he swallows, “it can’t be easy. i’m a handful.”

“at least you’re self aware,” you snicker.

satoru beams—and he’s yours. your rich, spoiled, beautiful boy. all yours to love for the rest of your rich, spoiled, beautiful days.

i cried writing this. what a man he is truly

[remtrack]

loser (i don't want to lose her) ★ mark lee.

tags. mark lee x reader. hurt comfort. 1k words.

requested! i don't really like this one but i hope u like it nonnie <3

You were really looking forward to this dinner. It wasn’t anything special — just a homemade dinner for two — but you cooked Mark’s favourites, set up a nice ambience, and even dressed up nicely. It had been far too long since you two last went on a date — he was in the middle of a new comeback, so even to meet had become a near impossible task. On a rare day that you did, you decided to do something nice.

But Mark wasn’t getting the memo. 

Two hours since you last knocked on his office door, telling him to eat dinner. He hadn’t moved an inch, leaving you with no choice but to ask again. Once you pushed the door open, you were greeted by the sight of him sitting on his chair, pieces of crumpled paper scattered around the table as he gripped a pencil. Too absorbed in his lyric writing to acknowledge your presence. 

“Babe,” you said, tapping on his shoulder. He turned towards you, raising an eyebrow and offering a small smile. “You said you’d come eat two hours ago, the food’s getting cold.”

“Just a little more,” he said, smile stretching into a wider one. He tapped on your nose with his pointer, a small attempt to cheer you up. “The ideas will disappear if I don’t write them down now. I’ll be out in a bit, baby. Promise.”

You don’t remember much of what happened after. You only remember storming out of the house and to Jisung’s, leaving a note out of anger. 

★★★

“Just don’t get why he can’t just spare a fucking hour to eat.”

Between huffs and puffs, you rambled. You were slumped on the couch between Chenle and Jisung, who were laser-focused on the TV. The clicks of their consoles could be heard amidst your angry babbles. Haechan stood on a beanbag, arms crossed behind his head. 

“Hey, if you break up with Mark, I’ll date you instead,” Haechan joked, earning a smack on his head from Chenle. “I’m just joking, damn.”

“Not a good time."

You truly didn’t get it. You frequently had to bring your work home, spending hours on your laptop to chase a deadline but you’d never neglect Mark the way that he did. Plus, he wasn’t rushing against the clock — so was it really justifiable that he had left you hanging? It felt unfair. Huffing, you pulled your knees towards your chest and slumped your chin against your knees.

“Or am I being unreasonable?” you muttered, “Maybe it’d be better if he had someone in your industry, maybe we just don’t match.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jisung answered. 

In the blur of your despair, you failed to realize that Jisung’s words were half-hearted, impassive — that he hadn’t really been listening after all. You merely nodded, before excusing yourself to go home. 

“You shouldn’t have said that, dickhead,” Chenle said, slapping Jisung across his nape.

Jisung looked back at him, blinking his eyes confusedly.

“What’d I say again?”

★★★

“Mark, we need to talk.”

After days of pondering, you had come to a conclusion — that perhaps, letting go of Mark would be the best act of love that you could do. Upon seeing him lounging on the living room couch, you had finally mustered enough courage to speak. 

Mark placed his phone down, looking up at you. His gaze followed your figure as you sat beside him. Behind the placid look he tried to maintain, he panicked internally. He straightened up. 

“Okay, what’s up?”

“I don’t think that this is working out.” 

“What?”

Mark stared at you, trying to decipher your words — or rather, trying to accept your words. You could see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed the thick saliva pooling at the back of his throat, though you couldn’t see the anxiety pumping through his veins.

“What do you mean, YN? What do you mean by this?”

“This,” you muttered. “Us.”

“But we were fine a few days ago,” the raven retorted. He racked his brain for anything that could’ve upset you, all the memories rushing back to his head and it made him dizzy. 

“YN, please.” 

“I just,” the words slipped past your lips. There were an abundance of thoughts filling your brain — too much — and your tongue couldn’t quite catch up. “Just. Feel like you deserve better, Mark. Someone who gets you.”

“But you’re perfect,” he whimpered. Without him realizing, his lips were quivering. “You get me.”

“I don’t,” you shook your head. “I’m not… someone who does music, like you. There are things you talk about that I don’t get. You should find someone who matches you better. I’m sorry, Mark.”

You extended your hand on the sofa, grazing his knee. It takes a little more courage for you to give it a little squeeze. He gave you a pained look, shaking his head — and the look had done more than tug on your heartstrings — it wrung them. You never wanted to hurt him this much.

“But I don’t get all your stuff either,” he whispered. “When you talk about your work stuff, I don’t always get it. But I listen because I like listening to you… don’t you like listening to me too?”

The question rendered you silent. You bit the inside of your cheeks, thinking back to all the times when he’d tell you all about his music production, how he’d seat you on his lap and play with your hair as you listened to his songs. How your lips would be puckered out of focus and he’d kiss it. 

“I do.”

The words breathed relief onto Mark’s face. He grabs your hand, gently tracing along the veins on your palm.

“We don’t always have to understand each other,” he mumbled, “Sometimes, listening and acknowledging is enough.” 

Slowly, you nodded. Finally, the heavy beating of your heartbeat calmed down. 

“Can you please stay?” his voice was soft. He spoke as though you could break from the sheer sound of his voice.

“Yes,” you whispered back, “I’m sorry, I just got scared. I love you so much, I want the best for you.”

“It’s okay,” Mark answered. He pulled you into a hug, tucking you under his chin. “I love you, too.”

"Okay, but you really have to make more time for me."

"I'm sorry. Okay. I love you, I really do."

taglist: @ch3rryd0ll @jenohyun @untilthesunrises @raevyng @peachysoso @peartreegarden @iliveforsmut3000 @chenlezip

[babiebom]

bachelors and their weird kinks/turn ons perhaps 👀

A/N: it took a LOT for me to find weird things that arent gross(literally shit or dead people sorry if you’re into these) and even then I don’t even think these are weird but there’s only so many sites that I can go on to find weird kinks or even kinks in general. Fun fact there’s a kink for watching people fall down the stairs!! Keep in mind I’m talking about these fetishes and kinks from my own memory from looking them up lmao.

Tw:nsfw like all of it, cursing etc let me know if I should tag anything else!!

Bc: at least 4 for each? One for what the kink is and one for the explanation?

Stardew Valley Masterlist

Sebastian

Dacryphilia the kink or fetish for watching or causing someone to cry(positive or negative). A kink for tears if you will

I don’t know if I’ve talked about this before (I might’ve?) but dude has a major crying kink. Like he needs to make you cry while having sex. In this instance it’s a good crying. Like from how good his dick feels inside you. How good it feels when he moves, when he touches you. It’s like overstimulation but the crying is the main thing he wants.

Somnophilia the kink or fetish for having sex with someone while they’re asleep.

AGAIN this is all consensual but he likes the way you look when you’re asleep. You’re fully content and relaxed, no troubles or worries. He just wants to make you feel even better to send you to a new level of paradise. And the way that you are free in your reactions instead of holding everything back. All of your sounds and the way you move…it just gets him off in a different way.

Sam

Katoptronophilia the kink or fetish for watching yourself or others have sex in a mirror

I think this kink more so has to do with his partner. I do think he would get off with watching you or him fucking you in a mirror. Like you both can see your own faces and it’s just hot how you can see how good he’s making you feel and the other way around. It’s like his recordings kink but in real time.

Claustrophilia the kink or fetish for tight spaces literally the opposite of claustrophobia

I think he would like the whole stuck in a small closet together thing or the whole (if you’ve seen kdramas bc this is the only time I’ve seen it) hiding from someone in a tight space and being forced to be close or touching.

Shane

Shibari the fetish or kink of Japanese bondage. It’s more artistic than regular bondage and can sometimes be nonsexual(meaning it can just be for the act of being tied/tying someone up)

I do think Shane might have a artistic side to him, he loves his blue chickens and even though he hasn’t particularly shown that he likes art I think he’d appreciate this form. Like yeah it has bdsm tones and he likes that, but he likes the time taken to tie you up, the time it takes to make the ropes look pretty on you. It gets the both of you riled up so the sex might be more passionate.

Electrostimulation the fetish or kink to being stimulated or stimulating someone with electricity

Oh dude is definitely a sadomasochist. He wants to shock you, he wants to be shocked (partially because he wants to feel something other than mental and emotional pain). It’s never so much that it hurts too much but it’s a little stinging sensation that he can’t get enough of.

Harvey

Quirofilia the kink or fetish for hands, but well taken care of/pretty hands

Oh I think Harvey HAS to take of his hands. As a doctor I think he would be happy if someone complemented how soft his hands were or how clean they looked. And on the other hand(heheheh) he would appreciate how nice your hands look, how soft they feel, how good they feel when touching him.

Breeding/Pregnancy the kink or fetish for pregnant people or getting someone pregnant. It has nothing to do with the child itself but the person carrying the child.

NGL I think once you two come to an agreement about pregnancy(in this case you agree to start trying for kids) Harvey is absolutely going to go batshit insane with this new development. Before he would’ve never said that this is something he’s into but once you two agree he’s so pumped up and actually starts talking dirty if he didn’t before. It’s crazy how different he is during this time.

Alex

Anasteemaphilia the kink or fetish for extreme size differences so either a giant or a dwarf(I hope this word isn’t offensive it’s what the website used)

Dude would NEVER reveal this but actually would love a giant girlfriend. I think because of the lowkey misogynistic views he has he would like a bigger woman and a smaller man. He would LOVE lady dimitrescu from resident evil. Like bffr.

Food Play the kink or fetish of involving food during intercourse so either eating it off each other or involving it in some way

Oh absolutely would love to eat food off of you and would want you to lick stuff off of him. Like whipped cream and chocolate syrup are MUSTS if you’re having a particularly long night. He thinks it’s so erotic to eat and consume stuff off of each other that don’t really have anything to do with sex.

Elliott

Psellismophilia the kink or fetish for stuttering

One of the weird ones I found. I think he would think it’s cute and if you do have a stutter or happen to stutter when you’re nervous he’s going to have such a confidence booster because of it. Like YES keep stumbling over your words and stuttering it actually is cute to him and he feels like he’s in a book or a movie or something.

Podophilia the kink or fetish for feet

I think this one is obvious? I think he’d prefer beautiful people and that includes feet. In a lot of erotic movies and books and even in romance books feet have some sort of importance to them. Whether it’s used to dominate someone or to pleasure someone he likes beautiful feet. He wants you to step on him(not in a rough way) and tbh I could see him wanting to recreate the scene in that one tarentino(is this his name) movie where he casts himself in the role that drinks I think alcohol from that woman’s food after it runs down her leg.

[littlelordfuckler0y]

Bucky Barnes x wife!reader Instagram au

yellenna. This man is taking us somewhere against our will. Can’t believe democracy is in such hands. @congressman.barnes. +8 other government accounts tagged

john.walker I am also amongst the hostages but I’m here for their protection, not sure how long I can keep them safe alone.

-avastarr excuse you ????????

-yellenna. This is no hostage he cheered when he saw the congressman

-john.walker we have history together

r3dguardian There is no angle of him that is not badass.

-yellenna you can’t be serious

-r3dguardian jealousy is not good

congressmanbarnes 💪🇺🇸🙏

-comments are off

—

“Have you lost your mind?!” Her voice roared through the empty warehouse where Bucky had captured ‘Thunderbolts’. US pin and a well pressed blazer, perhaps Yelena’s post worked or Valerie sent someone to extract her dirty work.

“Oh hey hon-” before he could even finish that sentence the visibly angry woman turned her attention away from him and settled to the rest of them.

“I am so very deeply sorry…” she trailed off, somewhat extremely empathetic. A stark contrast to Bucky’s behaviour with them. “Oh this is just so bad” she took a deep breath when she saw their binds. “James.” She gestures towards their hands and asking him to free them.

He evidently didn’t want to but a stern look from her, not even a word just a look and he was on it. “Is she your boss?” Ava asked him, surprised at this shift.

“It’s Mrs Barnes.” John introduced her for the rest of the group. He knew she had a dislike him for a long while… “The political shark.”

“John.” She said with a curt smile, “Always a pleasure.”

“Do you prefer Mrs. Barnes or Potus’s right hand?” John snickered purposefully trying to irritate her.

“Do you prefer ex captain America or someone’s ex husband?” She shot back, unbothered as ever but still had to.

“You don’t have to get nasty” that smirk flattened off his face and he scoffed.

There wasn’t enough time to dwell in petty insults so she just shrugged, “Anyways, I’m so sorry you were all brought here this way. It was unauthorised and the administration didn’t know of it, I got here the second I found out about it” she explained removing her blazer to seem more friendly, walked over to Yelena, sitting next to her she took a deep breath. “All of you, you’ve had such a complicated hand at life. I’m deeply sorry.” She faced Yelena “I know your legend…you’re everything they say you are” she was truly in awe or was it just the political shark talking no one could tell. “If we were to delete the most recent post from your account…would it be an issue? It’s just to avoid exaggerated news headlines and you wouldn’t want that heat either would you?”

“Yeah yeah sure no worries…Miss-Mrs Barnes!” Yelena somewhat lost the plot of her words, the woman was extremely charming and her Instagram post of 6 likes was worth nothing.

“Please, it’s y/n.” She introduced herself like you would to a friend and placed a hand on her shoulder. Crisis resolved. Then faces Bucky again, “You.” She nodded at him to come to the side of the room. He knew he was in for huge trouble.

Instinctively he reached for her jacket and both her phones. Not his first rodeo. Every time he was in this situation he knew she moved her hands a lot when she talked her frustrations out. That’s why he took her stuff out of her hands so she could move her hands more freely as he’s getting an earful. “What were you even thinking?! You didn’t mention this at breakfast, This was your spontaneous thinking James? Your wonderful plan do you realise how bad your numbers are doing? No one’s going to account for congressman Barnes taking down Valentina they’re going to paint you out to be a Rogue agent? Not only that—”

“I messed up angel.” He admitted before she could go on, both of them knew that he didn’t exactly feel guilty about. His patience held no limit with her, because at times he’d barely register what she is saying because those wide stressed eyes, the fast words, the dedication and concern for him…he wasn’t used to it before her. Also how they first met through Sam, she was yelling at him for blowing up his chances for a meet with the mayor and he was just as captivated to listen to her as he is now.

“I’m not done” she held her hand out. “Your big tip is from that woman’s PA? I’m a third party person and I found this out do you think Valentina wouldn’t find out? Are you really risking someone’s well being this recklessly! And that picture Yelena posted-it is so authentically you no one’s believing it’s AI generated”

She was just going at him and he was just giving out soft and apologetic replies, the rest of them were really shocked to so say. “You’d be so viral if you posted whatever this is instead” John suggested with a snicker.

“He is so in love” Alexei looked at them in awe as he chuckled.

“I thought being a congressman would be a good fit for me and you got me there. It was wishful thinking and you made it happen. You have made a lot happen for me…you have made life happen. For me, us. I am sorry for letting you down like this I didn’t think it through” he gave a heartfelt apology taking her hands in his so she’d stop moving them, hands no longer moving equates to her calming down.

“I was really worried…” she trailed off with a sigh. “What’s even happened? What’s all this?”

“It’s a lab curated superhuman, one of Valentina’s test subjects actually worked right.” Bucky relayed the dreadful information.

“—So no aliens right?”

“Not yet”

“Please don’t say ‘yet’ that feels so bad, I shouldn’t even be knowing this I feel so stupid I asked there’s so much shit going on in DC and now there’s this nut job with an evil billionaire nut job-? Are you kidding me? Now this becomes classified information I can’t know about but I do know about, fuck—” hands were moving again as he got a hold of them.

“Hey, hey breathe.” He told her, breathing deeply to display it for her to mirror him. “It’s going to be alright. We will stop him.”

“I can’t know anymore about this because it links the Oval Office knowing about it and it’s already not a good mix, I’ve got to get back to DC apparently Potus accidentally quoted Kanye west in addressing the youthfest speech and because of my monstrous luck it just so happens that kanye’s tweeted 3 nazi tweets just last night.”

“You have to go?” He was a bit unease at the fact that she was away from him in such difficult times, wouldn’t be close enough in radius for him to protect her.

“I’ll be right back I’m using the chopper” she assured him taking her stuff back, leaning a bit close to him, caressing his face. “Promise me you’ll be safe?”

He nodded kissing the side of her hand and then pulled her close by her waist pressing a soft kiss onto her lips, “I promise” sealed with a kiss.

-

yourusername James is making a big deal out of farewell dinner for this apartment but I’m beyond glad to be out of the place you’ve to beat 2 hours of nyc traffic to get to…however… a great meal tagged barnesclickingstuff

yellenaa Welcome to the HQ

avastarr moving in with us HELL YEAH

john.walker Whatever to keep that museum jerk in line

r3d.guardian waaaitttt he has other account

*following are old posts*

barnesclickingstuff The missus is busy what do I do with my life :/

sam_wilson_ your dumbass always free

-barnesclickingstuff blocked

-sam_wilson_ that’s not how it works

barnesclickingstuff She won’t admit it but she’s afraid of manual cars

yourusername that is a lie and also makes no sense

-barnesclickingstuff then drive one

-yourusername Blocked

-barnesclickingstuff no thanks to you I’ve now figured out how blocking actually works

-barnesclickingstuff heyyy?

-barnesclickingstuff Did you actually block me

-barnesclickingstuff I was joking heyyy come back

barnesclickingstuff DC

yourusername bring your fiancé to work day!

sam_wilson_ hell no

barnesclickingstuff 🤍

barnesclickingstuff the actual view is defocused

yourusername aww

john.walker dear god he’s so corny

sam_wilson_ he can use outdated pick up lines…he was there when they were invented

barnesclickingstuff I pissed her off by packing her wrong shoes…I hope god smites me

sam_wilson_ How do you mess that up

yellenaa I can’t believe I’m saying this but this is so cute

r3d.guardian “Barnes clicking stuff” and all he is posting is his wife

-

Let me know if you guys want more parts w da thunderbolts arc? ;)

[sstrwbrryccke]

— bullying him pt.3 | sub soobin

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

tags: loser!nerd!soobin x bully!mean!reader, gn reader, possessive reader, mentions of possessive acts, pet play slightly, dubcon, tons of public humiliation, public sex, bullying, mutual pinning with heavy denial, both are obsessed for each other, unhealthy relationships, reader is pretty sadistic, foot on crotch, exhibitionism, handjob, multiple orgasms, public fondling, fluff at end

tag: @zuzuhasablog

you tapped an impatient foot on the ground, periodically checking your phone for the time. he was late by 2 minutes now, and you feel your irritation rise as you type snarky texts to him. how was it that you were the one who came early to the pity date? it was seriously ridiculous. shouldn’t he be on time to the date he looked forward to?

yn: where tf are you? loser: im sorry im sorry im so sorry im coming right now yn: im going to pull your hair out when i see you mutt. loser: im sorry please forgive me

if it turned out that he had stood you up, you were seriously going to rain hell on him. he’s going to get shoved into the locker, have his hair roughly grabbed and face thoroughly punched until he’s bloodied and bruised. though perhaps it wouldn't be that much of a punishment compared to your usual bedroom activities with him. he would probably enjoy the process too; as it meant all your attention was on him. you realised after a bit that he really was a desperate. masochistic. mutt. (or maybe he just craves your validation that badly)

just as you were cursing him out in your mind, you see a tall figure in the distance, stumbling and running towards you like the loser he is. you can tell he spots you as well because he quickly turns to the nearest reflective surface to fix his appearance and hair; even popping a mint in his mouth before running up to you. his face was pink, probably from the exercise— his plump lips pressing into an apologetic smile.

“sorry, i’m sorry i’m late.” he was slightly out of breath from running.

“sorry? fucking mutt. do you not respect my time? if you were any later i would’ve stood your ass up.” you shove him by the shoulder and he looks at you like a kicked dog.

he shakes his head profusely at your accusation, desperately trying to get back into your good favours.

“no— no! i’m, i, i’m so sorry. i respect your time, i’m so dumb i know.”

soobin degrades himself as he chews at his bottom lip, hoping he didn’t upset you enough for you to leave him. he had been thinking about this date all night, he could barely even get any sleep. if he messes up now he’ll never forgive himself!

“—you, you look amazing by the way.” he stammers, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sweater.

“i always look like this.” you deadpan, you didn’t bother to dress up more than you usually do in your school uniform. the most you did was pick out a simple, trendy outfit and brush your hair. bare minimum really.

“yeah you always look- i mean no, not that you don’t look amazing, always, because you do! but you look extra. amazing. compared to, usual…” he awkwardly stammers, making it worse for himself. he decides to just shut up before he embarrasses himself more and you ghost him.

“shut up and start walking, you loser.”

he follows behind you eagerly, glad you still want to hang out with him even after the most embarrassing stumble of his life. though to be honest, he stumbles like this quite a lot, and for some reason, you tolerate it (with only a few snide comments here and there). it was a few quiet seconds of walking, him being too afraid to speak up and you taking sly glances at him.

“why were you late?” you break the air, his head was lowered the entire walk, but he raises his head with your question. he was clearly nervous and sheepish as he averted his gaze.

“i… was picking an outfit.”

you give him a doubtful look and he continues, stuttering. “i— i didn’t know what style you liked. and… and i was trying to comply to your requests.”

ohhh... right, the request. you snicker to yourself. you forgot about that. it was just a small throwaway statement you texted him with no real thought behind it. you wanted to see if he would really follow through or not.

“so? show me.”

he’s nervous again, arms bracing himself as he glances around to check for people. soobin mentally hypes himself up before he pulls down his white turtleneck, showing you the silver collar around his neck. you cover your mouth with an audible pfft, laughing at him and he quickly rolls his turtleneck back up. god he was so foolish, but so obedient and cute.

“and? what about my other request?”

he looks at you wide eyed, stammering. “i, i can’t show you that!”

“did you do it?”

he blushes, hands clutching the edge of your hoodie, looking at you through his bangs. “please not here…”

he begs and you feel your heart soar. fuck, who taught him to act so cute? since when did the nerd know how to play sly? you clutch his crotch to feel for his cock and he silently whimpers.

“you didn’t wear any underwear, good boy.”

he trembles, moving away from your touch to look around, hoping no one caught you two. but his heart was in his throat and he was so excited about the praise you gave. so you liked what he did? he was over the moon. ‘good boy’, he repeated in his head. ‘good boy’.

it was unbearably adorable watching the cogs in his head malfunction, and you had to control yourself from ravaging him right here and there. you take the moment to appreciate his appearance, it was pretty obvious without him having to say so that he put a lot of effort into his outfit. he was wearing stylishly rimmed glasses, a jean jacket with a soft-lined collar, a white turtleneck and black pants. he also managed to get his hair under control, bangs carefully styled and curled.

you always thought he had looks, but this just proved how stunning he could look if he cleaned himself up. everyone else seems to agree too, and you notice the unsubtle glances thrown towards soobin. he stands out, tall and lean with a bunny-like charm. a few girls whispered and giggled, clearly blushing about him. but the attention twisted something dark in your chest, it grasped and dug its filthy nails into your heart. you wanted to lock him in your room and never let him see the light of day ever again. it was an insane thought process, deranged and unhinged. he wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a victim. you needed to get a grip.

you clutch his wrist tightly, pulling him along so he walks faster. he winces at the hold but lets you roughly handle him because it’s almost like you two are holding hands. he stares longingly at your hand and his, wishing you would interlock them again like you did yesterday. when you reach the mall, you watch with silent satisfaction as his eyes rake over the stores. there was a subtle pride you felt seeing him enjoy the choice you made.

“we have some time to kill before the restaurant reservation.”

he looks at you, eyes wide and plump lips smiling, you could almost see his irises sparkling. stupidly hopeful eyes. “you made a reservation for me?”

“don’t look at me like that. i just dont want to wait in line.”

he turns his gaze back to the front as you demand, but you can tell he is still giddy, ecstatic that you put even a sliver of effort into the date. it really didn't take much to satisfy him. even the slightest attention had him trembling. the two of you explore the mall, and naturally, soobin’s nerdy ass is drawn to the anime and manga stores. you tail behind him, mindlessly noting each thing he stares or geeks at.

while he was shuffling through the array of mangas, you pick out a shirt with a few familiar characters on it; you faintly remember soobin mentioning this show when you asked about his phone background. you tap him on the shoulder to get his attention, pointing to the shirt. “isn’t this your favourite anime?”

“oh! it’s limited edition!” he gasps out, excitement in his tone. taking the shirt from your grasp. his eyes widen in glee as he examines the details. the joy didn't last however, and soon he was putting the shirt back on the racks with a meek smile.

you raise an eyebrow “thought you liked it, nerd?”

he shyly looks at you, “yeah, but it’s too expensive.” he admits, clearly embarrassed. he feels like he was parading around his misfortune, look at this loser! no friends, no lover and now he doesn’t even have money. choi soobin, born on this earth and destined to be a loser.

“i’ll buy it for you.” your words cut through his thoughts. his cute hopeful eyes look up at you, and you interrupt him before he could utter out another word.

“but, you need to try it on for me first.” you continue, a pointed look on your face.

he pause for a second, the request was innocent enough, right?

☆★☆

he should’ve known, nothing was innocent with you. that's why he’s standing in the middle of the changing room with you sitting in the corner. a smirk on your lips.

“strip.”

he hesitates, but slowly shrugs off his jean jacket, he’s done this many times in front of you, and you’ve explored every nook and cranny his body can offer. but he never ceases to feel shy in his own skin, especially when you observe him like a collector would with a jewel. maybe its the setting that’s making him bashful, it feels borderline illegal to do such an act in the mall. even though many people have stripped down naked in the changing room, the way you make him feel is so sinful.

he takes off his turtleneck, exposing his bare chest, the silver collar complimenting his pale skin beautifully. it wasn’t much of a striptease and more of an activity he had to get over and done with, but it was still extremely arousing for you. watching him debase himself in his casual clothing. normally you only saw him in his school uniform (bruised, injured, crying, fucked out of his mind and all other similar variants), but watching him in his own clothing made you feel so much more powerful. like you had control and dominance over him even outside of school.

he awkwardly stands in the middle, half-naked. waiting for your next command. it didn't even take that much to train him! naturally so obedient.

“take off your pants too.”

he whimpers at this, clutching at his pants but not making a move. he begs you with his eyes, take pity on him please! not here!

“i’m… not wearing anything underneath”

“i know, take it off.”

“i, i, no, it’s.” he stammers, sweaty hands staining his pants.

“no? are you saying no to me?”

he shivers at your tone, nervously gulping. this didn't seem good at all. “i—!”his ears ring, reverberating in his chest. his right cheek was stinging red. “wh—“

you slap him again.

“mutts don’t talk.”

he shuts up at this, tears threatening to spill onto his glasses. you pull him forward by the silver collar and he helplessly stumbles as you tug him around. you observe the red slap marks on his cheeks, intertwined with his blush.

“you’ve been disrespectful since the beginning of the date. first you show up late and now you refuse to do something so simple? are you trying to make me mad choi soobin?”

he shakes his head desperately, a tear slipping down. he must be the lowest scum of the earth, because the rougher you treat him, the tighter his pants get. he isn’t a masochist he swears, but your attention (no matter good or bad) on him feels so good. he was so touch and attention starved, desperate for any kind of recognition from you.

“i’ll only repeat myself once, strip.”

he stumbles up, shaky hands quickly peeling his pants off his legs. his already hard cock embarrassingly erect and dripping the moment it’s exposed.

“look at that.” you coo, slapping his dick, making precum drip to the floor as he cries. “pretending to be so shy and innocent while you’re sporting a rock hard boner.”

he snivels pathetically, shaking his head and making his hair tousle around. the silver collar glints like a gem in the light. you chuckle cruelly. “okay, put your limited edition shirt on now.”

he bites back a whimper, he wanted you to touch him so bad. but he obediently slips on the shirt, it feels so dull against his skin, barely covering his cock. soobin rubs his thighs together, now more interested in you rather than the shirt. he wanted you to adore and spoil him, hell, spank him and hurt him too— just anything!

as if you read his mind, your hand reaches out, before you could even touch him, he starts trembling. you pull back with an amused smile and he immediately begins to cry and beg.

“no— no please touch me please touch me i’m sorry, i, i wanna, i wanna be good for you please!”

“bunny can’t even keep quiet?” you tease, putting your hands behind your back and he whines. the nickname thumping in his heart.

he starts again, though this time he tries to control his voice, suddenly aware that you two were still in public— only hidden away by a thin curtain. his bottom lip quivers as he moves closer to you, fingers meekly reaching out to grasp your hoodie. he leans his head on your chest and a small weak whisper escapes his pink lips.

“you already own me… so please just touch me…”

a shiver runs down your spine, holy shit this was dangerous. playing sly at first and now coy? he had an effect on you that you weren’t sure you liked. “i get it already so shut up and come here.” you lowly groan, pulling his body flush against yours. he tremors out a whine as you roughly grab his cock. he couldn’t complain though, because your warm hands were embracing him and touching him exactly where he wants. he melts in your hold, face comfortably nestled in the crook of your neck as you played with his cock. his groans and whines die down in your shoulder, and the way you thumbed his slit was almost domestic.

fuck what was this pathetic man doing to you? here you are in the changing rooms, letting this loser hug and sniffle into your shoulder as you jerk him off. the whole situation was bizarre and you were starting to feel lightheaded. weren't he supposed to be the one servicing you?

you press down on his cockhead particularly hard and he cries into your neck, biting the collar of your hoodie as you slide his cock underneath the limited edition shirt, rubbing him with the friction of the fabric. this sets him off, the motion just felt way too good, he keens into your fist, panting into your shoulder as he holds your hoodie tightly.

it was taking a little more than usual to make him orgasm, normally you would describe his orgasm speed as 'embarrassingly fast', but he seemed to be holding out for some reason. you give his cock an experimental squeeze and he just digs his face into your neck more. then it hits you, you haven’t given him permission yet. could he have been waiting for your verbal confirmation? maybe that's why he was squinting his eyes so tightly and biting down on your collar. just the thought itself sparked heat in your lower regions. it satisfied you more than you would like to admit.

so you lean down to where he was tucked, breath touching his ear.

“come for me”

it was a simple test on a guinea pig, cause and effect.

you eye him down as his body quivers, face flushing a thousand shades of red with an embarrassing amount of saliva wetting your hoodie collar. right after the command he releases, cock jittery and shaky as it spurts out come into the limited edition shirt. he finally lets go of your hoodie, taking a second to gain back his strength. when he comes to clarity, you can see the panic set in his throat. staring at the ruined limited edition shirt.

"what do we do? it's dirty now!"

"we buy it, what else?"

he hesitates and you raise a brow. "but, the, cashier she might, see this."

he vaguely gestures to the come stain on the shirt, right above his now flaccid cock.

"so? hurry up and change."

soobin seems troubled at your nonchalant response, but changes back to his outfit as you asked, timidly holding the ruined limited edition shirt. you shove the dollar bills in his hand.

"go up to the cashier, and pay."

somehow he summons up the courage to walk up to the counter, trying to ignore the feeling of his dick making contact with the rough jean fabric each time he took a step. it was all smooth at first, he let the cashier scan the item (making sure the stained patch was hidden), paid with the cash and felt the relief of freedom just as the cashier took the shirt to bag.

only for her to pause, soobin feels his palms clamber with sweat. she was staring at the shirt, an unreadable expression on her face before her eyes meet back with his.

"sir, it seems this shirt is stained."

god please just strike him down already.

"oh." he feels so dumb, only able to let out a sound in response. his tongue wasn't cooperating, how was he going to explain? what could he say? what should he say?

"ugh," the sound of exasperation makes him jolt. she's disgusted. she's definitely disgusted and he can never show his face in this store again.

"—it seems like the only one in stock. i'm so sorry for that sir."

she still doesn't know a thing. his heart was threatening to jump out of his throat. "it's, it's alright." his words came out weaker than he would've liked.

"are you sure si—"

"yes! yes! please give me that!" he couldn't help his sudden outburst, snatching the item from the poor lady's hands and running off in the opposite direction. he was dying from humiliation and his feet carried him like the wind over to you. he bit back tears as he faced you, bashfully showing you the receipt. it was times like this when he wishes he wasn't so tall, it would be so much easier to hide away in shame.

"what happened?" your introspective voice came through, he could hear your smirk.

"she saw the stain" he had to use all his willpower not to cry, hands clutching onto the shirt tightly. it was humiliating to admit, but a small part of him felt relief in his confession— as if the natural progression was for you to give him comfort and ease his anxieties.

"look at you soobin, so embarrassed and ashamed of your come stained shirt." you coo in your familiarly condescending yet comforting tone and he folds, nodding in agreement, tears brimming in his eyes. you rub his cheek, which was still red from the slap. it was such a surprisingly caring act that surprised both you and him, but he melted into your touch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"you were so obedient bunny, let's go to the restaurant." he dumbly bobbed his head at the nickname. all he could think was how the humiliation was so worth the reward.

☆★☆

the cafe was packed, but it wasn't a big problem in the private booth. you tap your finger on the counter as you watch soobin go through the menu for the fifth time now. indecisive was his middle name.

"hurry up."

"what do you want?"

he's asked this for a millionth time now, could he really not decide without your input? the waiter has been standing there for a good minute. "dude, just choose what you want already. i'm getting impatient."

he purses his lips in clear panic, pointing to a random food item on the menu. "i'll, i'll have this!"

"an extra spicy jjamppong coming up." the waiter escapes quickly, leaving soobin with an exasperated and intimidated expression after having his order read out for him.

"what? loser can't handle spice?" you tease. he looks at you with a frown.

"i can eat spice!"

"right." the conversation ends there, but you weren't just going to just let him off like that. the table was so nicely set up after all, such a thick tablecloth.

"soobin, pull down your pants."

he immediately widens his eyes, looking around rapidly to see if anyone heard. "i, i don't know i,"

"calm down, no one can see under the tablecloth. pull it down." you rest your foot on his inner thigh, signalling to him. he lets out a shaky breath. your grin broadens as his hands travel down, shuffling his pants down to his knees. still paranoid, he takes another glance at the other customers.

you focus on something else entirely, your trailing foot to his exposed crotch to be exact. when the leather of your soles makes impact with his naked cock he wails before slapping a hand over his mouth. his thighs instinctively clamp around your foot, shivering and shaking his head. "mean, you're mean."

his bottom lip was quivering, thighs still clamped tightly as you pressed your foot down harder. "please." he whispers.

"hm?"

"please please ple—"

"here's your orders." the waiter interrupts with both of your orders, soobin glances at the man with terrified eyes, looking over at you in a silent prayer.

you smile graciously (you press harder on his cock) as you take the plates (his thighs shake and you rub your foot ever so slightly), what a nice waiter, of course, you had to start a conversation! (he tried to control his panting but his face was a scarlet red), turns out the waiter was born in japan, how very interesting (you start going in a circular motion and soobin nearly keens), his father met his mother during a road trip! (you knew from his expression that he was already leaking onto your shoes), wow and he's fluent in three languages (soobin's thighs are spasming and you were rubbing him hard, you can tell he couldn't hold it in anytime soon).

"it all started when i encountered a multilingual tourist as a child."

the conversation was a little redundant now, wasn't it? you were talking to the waiter, yet staring intensely at soobin in the eyes, a snicker on your lips. "come again?" you press down, and his body shudders, thighs so tightly squeezed around your foot it could almost cut circulation, he was curled in ever so slightly. shivering in the aftereffects of his second orgasm today.

"huh?" the confused tone of the waiter piques.

"nevermind, thank you for your time."

the waiter leaves, slightly befuddled by the conversation. while you turn your attention back to soobin who is breathing heavily with red-tinted cheeks. "wow, orgasming in a public space again, what a perv."

the words hit him hard in his chest and tears drop from his eyes, he could only let out a small 'sorry' in shame before dropping his head down. his sleeves come up to desperately wipe at his eyes and save some face, at least it was all over now and he could enjoy his meal in peace, hopefully!

"can... can i pull my pants back up now?"

"hmm can you?" you tease, and he pauses, unsure of how to approach the situation.

"can i please?" some begging would do the trick, right?

"you can if you jerk yourself off."

he pouts, and more tears drop on the table as he squeezes his thighs around your foot. but he obediently slides his hands down to try and make himself hard again. his cock was so so so sensitive to the sensation, but limp in his hands. it hurts to stroke, it hurts to touch. the longer it took for him to get it up the more he frowned and panicked.

finally, you had enough, you were just playing with him anyway, so you slide your foot off with a chuckle. he looks at you in confusion. "i was joking dumbass, put your pants back on."

you dig into your food, and soobin follows suit right after he shuffles his pants back on, looking up at you hesitantly. though the moment the food touched his tongue, all he could think was—spicy! now he was crying for an entirely different reason, he was never the strongest spice contender, and this was another league of spice.

you notice his discomfort, laughing when he ducks his head down. "too spicy?" "no..." he responds, surprisingly stubborn on this matter. he pettily eats another spoonful of noodles (swiftly to regret it). you just roll your eyes, watching him eat in amusement.

☆★☆

the date ended smoothly after, nothing else notable happened (other than some pervy touches and teasing from your side), back at your room again (it was a common occurrence for the two of you to stay in your room, he told you once he didn't enjoy staying in his home).

you flopped onto your bed while soobin shuffled in, putting his things neatly to the side and closing the door behind him. he stared at you as you typed messages to your friends (they had been filling up your notifications all day because you were ignoring them), he awkwardly stood near the foot of the bed.

"uhm, i, thank you, for today. i had fun." he starts bashfully.

"so you don't have fun with me every other day?" you deadpan and he stutters, being caught off guard.

"n—no that's, not what i—"

"i wasn't serious, idiot."

he shuts his mouth quickly, silent again and unsure of how to start up another conversation.

"god you're such a loser. look in that bag over there." you break the air, pointing to a grey bag you had been carrying for the whole day. he was curious about it but wasn't brave enough to ask. so when you gave him the go-ahead he didn't hesitate to dig his hand in. when he pulled out a box containing a figurine from his favourite anime, clear confusion was evident in his face.

"i didn't know you liked—"

"no shithead it's for you."

his mouth drops open, bunny-like eyes widening as your words start to register in his head. instantly he lights up visibly, smiling uncontrollably as he admires the figurine in his hands. it wasn't anything crazy, was rather affordable compared to the prices of other figurines, but soobin's heart soared at the gift and he felt like he was on cloud nine. you didn't pay attention to his reaction, or that's how it seemed, because you were secretly staring at every differing expression on his face.

"thank you... i, thank you so much..."

"it's not even a big deal, you're so dramatic."

but it was a big deal for soobin, he tenderly held the gift in his hands. this was the first time he's gotten anything from anyone other than his parents and occasionally aunt and uncle. it really did feel like the two of you were dating, even if nothing is official and the most accurate label on the relationship was 'bully and victim'.

"can i unwrap it?"

"i don't care."

he slowly unwraps the gift, taking the figurine out of the box carefully as he begins to admire all the details of the sculpture. you, on the other hand, admire him, no matter how much you deny it, there was something so addicting about both his happiness and pain. it hooked you on like a drug.

"sleep over."

he knew what you meant, in a seemingly harmless phrase. it often happened like this, an insignificant and passing statement. strange in retrospect, you were his bully and the door was right there, if soobin wanted to, he could make a run for it.

but the both of you knew he wouldn't. your attention was almost an obsession to him, no matter how good or bad.

"okay."

[after-the-end-times]

Not Just A Townie

~This was not the drabble I set out to write at the beginning of the night~ Rating: T◈Words: 2,21◈CW: Steve has low sense of self worth, Robin's just now realizing how low ◈Tags: Platonic Stobin, Robin POV, Secret Relationship Steddie, Lots of Emotions, Lots of Hugs, Sibling-like bantering, Bitchy Steve, Bitchy Robin, Retail Personas For @steddiebingo Square: Family Video Ao3

Steve smiled a friendly retail service smile at the two girls walking into Family video. "Welcome to Family Video, let me know if you need help finding anything!"

"Thanks."

"Sure"

They headed straight back to the wall of New Releases.

Robin poked him. "Go talk to them. They're pretty."

Steve glanced sideways at her. "Yeah no. Not interested. I mean, they're clearly not interested."

"You got that from thanks? They're pretty girls and you're a... not bad looking guy. Two plus two equals four, ergo go talk to them."

Steve turned to lean his hip against the counter, crossing his arms. "You do know dating doesn't work like that, right?"

"Really." She gave him a highly skeptical look. "I'm pretty sure it does. Otherwise, why flirt with whoever walks in?"

"That's to feel out the vibe. See if you click. It's not just, oh pretty, let's date."

"You know what? No. I'm gonna go talk to them."

"Oh! Good for you! Proud of you."

"Not for me! For you, Steviepoo"

"Ew, Robin, no."

Robin flicked his ear, he lightly slapped her shoulder, she jabbed a finger into his ribs, he flipped her hair, she went to-

"Ok, enough! What does the post-it note say?"

Steve heaved a sigh and recited in monotone, "'No slap fights. That means you, Steve and Robin. I mean it. No more customer complaints.' With three underlines under 'no more'. But, can I just say, you started it?"

"So? You could just not retaliate!"

Steve gave her a flat look. "I can't believe I used to beg my parents for a sister. Shoo. Go talk to the pretty girls."

She started walking backwards. "Oh, I will. Just you watch me."

"Don't trip."

"What?" She tripped. "Ow."

She popped up and spun toward him, sending a 'I'm watching you' signal and a middle finger hidden by a movie rack.

Robin walked to the back wall where the girls were holding up a couple videos, debating which to get.

"I see you've picked a couple good ones there. Is there anything I can do to help you decide? I'm Robin, by the way, and I have to say I've seen the one in your right hand about five times now, so, good choice!"

The brunette girl held up the movie. "Yeah? We've been wanting to see it, but didn't know this one had come out already." She held up the one in her left hand.

"Well, how about you check out the one you've been wanting to see. And perhaps my friend, Steve, over there can check out the other one and you could watch it with him? He makes the best popcorn."

The girls looked at each other and back at Robin. The blonde girl spoke up, "Oh, uh, no, I think we'll just see if it's still here next weekend."

"Really? You don't think Steve's a good looking dude? He's also really nice." She failed to mention the tendency for slap fights.

"Sure, he's hot," Blondie said. "But we're dating college guys these days? No offense to your friend, but-"

"We don't date townies." Brunette stated, with a little smirk.

Robin, honest to god, gasped.

She didn't remember the last time she gasped in offense like some southern mama, but this, she thinks, warrants it.

How dare they think they're above Steve.

Her face fell flat, switching to costumer service voice. "I'm sorry, but I believe those two videos are on a wait list. I'll just take them, thank you. I need to let the next people on the list know they're available. It's just store policy, you understand."

She walked back to Steve, holding her captured videos. She slid the movies under the counter, making a mental note to put them back out once the girls left.

"Sooo, how'd it go? Two plus two work out for you there?"

She flicked a glare at the girls across the store. "They weren't good enough for you."

"Awwww Robiiin!" He grabbed her up in a tight bear hug, wiggling her above the ground a couple times, before lowering her back down.

She slapped at his chest once she was free.

"Robin, it's chill, seriously. I can't really compete with the college guys a lot of the girls my age are meeting."

Robin gasped. Again. She's mildly horrified at herself.

"You listen to me, Steve-Marie, you're just as good as any of those college guys. You've saved this town. What have they done? Gone to class? Ugh! Stop looking at me like that!" She flicked his nose.

Steve twitched his nose and just kept gazing at her, love and amusement shining from his eyes and smile, for anyone to see. "Nope! You loooooove meeee!"

"You're annoying."

The girls walked back toward the front of the store, movie-less.

Robin gave a little wave. "Have a nice day! Sooo sorry about those movies. Not sure when they'll be available for you. You know, since all the townies are already waiting for them."

She continued smiling until they were out the door, dropping it once they're back in their car. Steve was smirking when she turned back to look at him.

"That's what got you in a twist? They called me a townie? I am a townie. Townie. Tooownie. Welp, word's lost all meaning."

"No, you're not, Steve. You're gonna get out of here, do something awesome."

"Why can't I do something awesome here?"

"Because! Because, it's Hawkins, Indiana. You belong out there. Somewhere they'll appreciate you! Ugh! Stop it with the face!" She put her hand over his eyes. "Why are you making me say nice things about you! You're you! You're Steve Harrington. Why would you stay here? Here?!"

Steve's smile slowly dropped, suddenly looking too serious and resigned. "Where would I go?"

She pulled her hand off his eyes, suddenly aware the conversation just went serious.

"Steve."

"Would it be so bad? Staying here? Maybe get a job somewhere I actually like? Get a little house with a yard? And just, build a life here?"

"What about the nuggets?" That got a small smile out of him, at least.

"There's other townies." The smile dropped. "Besides. I don't know if that's for me. Not anymore."

Her chest started to feel tight; she started this, she led them down this conversational path. "Steve."

"Hey, it's ok." He pulled her into a hug. "It's ok. You're gonna go off to college and you're gonna see the world. Just, maybe come visit townie-Steve, every once in a while, yeah?"

Silent tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking into Steve's vest. How could he be so resigned? Yes, there were a lot of good people just living their lives here, but- but Steve was- they all were, meant for more. How could they be happy here? How could he think she'd just go off without him?

He just kept holding her tight.

Finally, she pulled back, swiping angrily at her wet cheeks.

"Ok. Ok. Here's the plan. I'm going to defer college for a year-"

"No, Robin. You're not. You're going to college in the fall."

"Ok, Dad. No, I'll defer. I got into a few that I applied to. We'll use this year to get you in, too. Where'd you apply last time?"

Steve just looked at her.

"Steve?"

"Nowhere."

"What?"

"I didn't send in the applications. Told my parents I didn't get in."

"What."

"Where would I go, Robin?"

She blinked at him, she was so angry and sad and confused. She couldn't even form a thought, let alone a response. He'd just- But he was always so- How could he-

"Ok." She finally said.

"Ok?"

"I'll defer and you're going to update and send in your applications. If you want to come back here after we graduate, fine. But, we're leaving for four years first. Got it?"

Steve just looked at her, expressionless, it was unnerving, but she figured he was processing.

"Why?" He finally said, looking at her like he'd never met her before.

"What do you mean why?" She grasped his shoulders. "Because, you deserve to get out of here and experience more than what Hawkins has put you through."

Somehow, he was still expressionless, still just looking. She could always read him, his face usually betrayed every emotion, every thought. This was something new and Robin didn't think it was something good.

"No. Why would you defer? I'll just come later if you want. Why would you change up your life for me?"

Robin's chest was tight again. "Why wouldn't I?"

"People don't do that."

And there it was.

She could hear the silent for me tacked onto the end of that statement and it killed her.

Robin wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to hurt every single person who did this to Steve, who left him feeling like he had to give everything of himself while expecting nothing in return.

"Well, it's what I'm going to do. Ok?"

Steve didn't speak, just nodded, eyes finally filling with emotion. Robin pulled back him into a tight hug.

The bell over the door rang.

"Get out, we're closed!" She yelled without looking. "Flip the sign on your way out!"

She heard the thwap of the sign hitting the glass as the person did what she told them.

She did not hear the bell again. She turned her tear wet face just enough to see the door.

Eddie.

From his position, he could see Steve's face and Eddie looked gutted at what he saw.

Robin motioned him with a hand to join them. He was there before she could even let Steve know. His arms wound around them both, his head pressed to Steve's other shoulder.

She rubbed Steve's back, big up and down swipes of her hand, taking slow, deep breaths. Her tears finally dried up.

She heard Eddie's voice murmuring to Steve, too low for her to really make out the words, but she felt Steve nod against her shoulder.

And finally, Robin felt Steve take a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out slow.

Steve gave her one last big squeeze and pulled back slowly. She kept an eye on him, watching for...something, anything, she didn't even know anymore.

Robin just wanted to make this better for him, whatever that meant. She just wasn't sure if she was helping or hurting him at this point.

This Steve wasn't one she had a mindmeld with, she couldn't tell what he was feeling, let alone what he was thinking.

She watched as he turned to Eddie. Eddie, who was...awfully close, who lifted a hand to Steve's cheek and gently, slowly wiped under Steve's eye with his thumb, catching a stray tear.

Robin gasped.

Silently this time, thankfully, but that was her third gasp of the day and she was tired from so many emotional revelations in so short a time.

"Steve?"

He smiled, lifting his head to look at her. Purposefully, he lowered his hand, slipping it into Eddie's.

She wouldn't gasp again, but her hand still came up to cover her mouth. "Oh, my god."

"Is that a good oh my god?" Steve asked, eyes soft and a small half smile quirked across his tilted face.

"What? Yes!" Robin felt suddenly thrust back into her body, jolting forward to grab Steve's other hand. "Yes, it's a really good oh my god. I had no idea you were- and my mind's still reeling, but I'm so happy for you! And you, Eddie, obviously, but Steve's- well, you know."

Eddie chuckled low. "Don't worry, I get it."

Robin sagged in relief. She hadn't even realized she was so tense. She wants to go home.

"Can we go home?" She looked up at Steve, when did she look down?

"Yesss. Let's get out of here." He used his grasp on Robin's hands to pull her against his side, walking her back to the break room to get their stuff.

Eddie was writing something on the notepad when they came out.

"Hey babe, what're you writing there?" Steve said.

Babe

"Writing up your excuse for closing early."

"Yeah?" He slid one hand low across Eddie's back and tried to peek around his shoulder. "So, why'd we leave?"

"Computer issues."

"Simple. I like it. Though, what happens when it boots right up for Keith in the morning?"

Eddie grinned over his shoulder. "Yeah, he's gonna have a problem with that."

Robin ducked down to look under the counter, cords hung limp, coiling all over the floor.

"You might not have work tomorrow if he doesn't know how to plug everything back in. Also, there's the computer virus you valiantly stopped that he'll have to deal with."

Robin's eyes met Steve's, he raised one eyebrow, and she doubled over laughing.

She was laughing so hard she couldn't breath, she grabbed onto the counter to hold herself up. Steve caught her just as her knees tried to give out.

She leaned her head against his chest, trying to slow the laughter, trying to breath. Weirdly, she felt better. Lighter.

And maybe they still had things to talk about, emotions to work through, futures to decide, especially now that she knew to include Eddie, but she knew they'd work it out.

They'd be ok. Together.

[cookies-after-dark]

FIRSTTT OF ALL, YHANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING THIS SIDE BLOG I'm a big Black Sapphire Fan and it got me giggling that last post,,,,

I'd imagine Black Sapphire is a biter, likely covering the reader with bites, maybe a bit of strangulation, degrading us as he mutters it all by our ear

SSORRY FOR THE RAMBLE, I FINALLY FOUND SUCH A PERFECT BLOG TO TALK ABOUT MY #FREAKY THOUGHTS (one day I'll be brave enough to get off anon)

additional tags: explicit content, yandere, stalking, obsessive behavior, jealousy, unhealthy dynamics, isolation, defamation, masturbation, degradation, strangulation, gender neutral!reader

ships: yandere!black sapphire cookie x reader, yandere!shadow milk cookie x reader

(author's note: I accidentally turned this into a yandere thing. what the fuuuuuck)

One thing that you can expect from cookies that serve under Shadow Milk is that they are all kinds of freaky. Candy Apple Cookie is... herself, but what about Black Sapphire Cookie?

Of course he has to be charming, smooth, and witty. It's much easier to get cookies to listen to all his rumors, but when he's behind closed doors and he sees his master fussing over ANOTHER cookie, he can't help but grit his teeth a little bit.

Master Shadow Milk Cookie's eyes tells him everything he needs to know (his words), and when Shadow Milk's eyes dilate to the size of balloons whenever he interacts with you itches Black Sapphire Cookie more than he'd like to admit.

At the very least, Pure Vanilla Cookie is his master's most hated (😉) nemesis. It was a little wird how Shadow Milk Cookie immediately offered up his bedroom to him, but whatever.

But you? You? You were just... a regular cookie! Some random plucked off the street! Just what the hell was going on, here!?

It's not shocking when Black Sapphire Cookie starts to follow you around. Not even discreetly, he will straight up approach you with an audacity and a swagger in his strut that makes you mentally prepare for what's about to come.

Shadow Milk Cookie just thinks it's soooo amusing. "Looks like you got a little admirer~!" he singsongs at you. Perhaps it's a good thing that he isn't pissed off, but you're not aure if his amusement settles your worries any less.

I think that Black Sapphire Cookie will start to change his viewpoint from 'outrageously jealous and silently sneering at you' to 'dangerously interested' once he sees his microphone's gaze snaps towards you whenever you're in sight. Well... how peculiar is that~? Perhaps there was something to you, after all...

When Shadow Milk Cookie finally allows you to leave- I mean when you finally decide to leave the Spire to visit your friends in the Cookie Kingdom, he tags right along! From afar. Secretly.

He's been watching you for weeks. He's even put on a cute, innocuous little disguise to blend in with the really bland and dull locals. He finds out who your friends are, those that admire you as a special cookie, takes notes the restaurants you frequent and all your interactions. Each day he tails you and leanrs more about you makes him more eager, makes his cock harder just imagining how he's going to ruin it all for you.

Well... uh, ahem. Let's ask Shadow Milk Cookie's permission first. You are, unfortunately for Black Sapphire Cookie, his pet.

"Sheeeesh, kiddo. Finally, I was beginning to think you'd never make the first move. I was getting tired of watching you limp everywhere." Shadow Milk Cookie looked actually very pleased, much to Black Sapphire Cookie's relief. "Yeah, go ahead with your naughty little plan. Just be extra sure our unfortunate little puppet runs straight back here when you're finished."

Currently, Black Sapphire Cookie was inside your home in the kingdom; he found a chance to slip inside right after you left for the day. This wasn't even a part of his plan, he just wanted to blow off a little steam before the grand show.

Black Sapphire Cookie happily plopped into your bed, lazily tossing a knitted doll he'd brought with him. It was adorable, it looked just like you! It was a little worn, but it was necessary to help him control his urges before he could practice on the real thing.

He slipped his hands around the doll's soft neck, and Black Sapphire Cookie didn't bother to stifle his moan. His cock was twitching with excitement; the mere thought of him doing something so perverted in your home behind your back made it hard to hold on for long. Black Sapphire Cookie thought of every friend he would turn against you, every admirer would glare and whisper as you walked past. You'd be vulnerable, alone, and confused, all upset and you would be none the wiser. It was just so incredibly easy to run in circles around you. Shadow Milk Cookie really had to choose the most fluffheaded, oblivious little puppet to manipulate.

Black Sapphire Cookie is hissing and growling in the doll's ear,humping your blankets andnpillow with a fervor that left him breathless. The moment you ran crying and sobbing back into his master's arms, Black Sapphire would be right there at his side, gleefully taking in all of it. Hell, how about he tear his pants off and whip out his cock right then and there for you to watch? He'd get off on it, knowing that you had nowhere else to go.

That last image made Black Sapphire cum; he arched his back and hot, electric shocks of pleasure shot through his entire body as he shot ropes onto his precious doll. He didn't stop gasping and crying your name until every inch of your likeness was covered in his seed. You never looked so beautiful.

Well, what a fun ride! Black Sapphire would use your bathroom to clean hinself up before shifting into his disguise (your bedhseets be damned. You probably wouldn't even notice.)

Time to make his fantasy a reality! It's showtime!

[leighsartworks216]

could I request it being the first time ur in a relationship for valentine's and youre not sure how to make it special for sylus because you've never celebrated before ? :)

My First Valentine

Sylus x gn!Reader

I wrote most of this today even tho the request came in a week ago 💀 sorry

Warnings: fluff, anxiety, nervousness, embarrassment, kissing, gift giving, flowers, Valentine's Day, insecurity, declarations of love, established relationship, pet names, reader is implied as being shorter/smaller than Sylus

Word Count: 1,922

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third LADS Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

'45 Fun And Romantic Valentine's Day Date Ideas!' '13 Fun Valentine's Day Activities!' '25+ Romantic Things To Do This Valentine's Day!'

You sigh, closing yet another tab of holiday ideas. You don't know how many websites you've looked at now, all of them promising fantastic gifts or experiences, sure to sweep your partner off their feet. But none of them felt good enough. Not for Sylus.

All your life, Valentine's Day was another lonely day. Your friends and their partners would be out and about or getting together at home, and you'd be stuck in pjs, eating ice cream and watching the same cheesy rom-coms as the year before. The most you'd ever gotten out of the day was in school, when you'd get those little themed cards with a heart-shaped lollipop poked through them.

Now that you have a partner, every single thing you come across feels too cheesy, or like something he wouldn't be into. Not to mention, anything you could possibly buy, he could get on his own with his gobs of money.

Go on a trip? He owns his own private jet; he could go anywhere anytime.

Buy him flowers? More likely than not, they'd wilt twice as fast in the darkness of the N109 Zone.

Dinner at a restaurant means you'd have to find some really fancy place to suit his tastes to make sure he has a nice time. Cooking something yourself could hardly compare to his professional private chef's cooking.

You could get him some vinyls, but you'd hate to get him a duplicate. Weapons? Well, he's got that covered; he deals them.

Asking Luke and Kieran is a non-starter when they're equally as likely to give you good advice as fake advice that would make you look foolish.

You can't fathom how your friends make it look so easy to make plans for the day and get gifts for their partners. Though, you suppose, none of them are dating a multi-billionaire (if not multi-trillionaire or more) crime boss.

You sigh and close your laptop with a snap. What does Sylus enjoy that you can treat him to as a special holiday treat? Something you can feasibly accomplish before the actual day rolls around? Something other than a cheap visit to the arcade or the cat cafe...

Wait... Actually...

Sylus knows you live in rather modest means. He always insists you pay with his black card so you're not stressing about going broke. Why would he suddenly expect you to dish out wads of cash now on a trip or gift? Anything you give him - even if it's a cheap toy from the dollar store - he'd cherish like a gem.

And that's when the idea forms.

With all the preparations written down, you text him, bubbling with energy.

Syyyy

You seem rather playful all of a sudden. What's got you excited, kitten?

You can tell all that from one word??

No, I can tell all that because I know you

Awe 🥺 stop being so cute

Anyway!! I actually wanted to tell you that I have Valentine's Day all worked out!

Oh?

But it's a secret!

Well now I'm interested. What do I need to do for these plans of yours?

Just show up at my place at nightfall on the day of :3

That's it? Why do I feel like I'm being lured into a trap?

Oh yeah the worst trap of all a doting partner who wants to pour all their love on you

Alright. I'll see you then, kitten

But don't think I'll be showing up empty handed

I'd be concerned if you did ngl

Ily <3333333 Goodnighttt

Goodnight, sweetie. I love you too

-

For how simple your plan is - or perhaps because of how simple your plan is - you've never been more nervous in your life. You've double and triple checked everything, made sure he'll be comfortable and not too disappointed with what you've come up with, and second-guessed yourself several times about whether this is actually a good idea.

Not that it matters. You'd be really down to the wire to come up with something new now.

You pace the living room, wringing your hands together, chewing your lip, fussing with your hair. You feel like a dog excited to see its owner when you hear a patterned knock on the door. So excited you nearly trip over the corner of a blanket in your haste to answer it.

Sylus is there to greet you, an easy grin on his face and softened eyes. A large bouquet that you'd drown in rests deceptively small in the crook of his arm. A bag hangs from his other hand, but he sets it down when you step into the hall to hug him.

He chuckles fondly, squeezing you tightly to him and kissing your head. "You look cozy," he teases playfully. His fingers tug at the back of your pajamas.

You laugh nervously as you step back. "Ah, yeah. It's part of the stuff I planned, actually."

He quirks an eyebrow. "I'm a bit overdressed."

"Don't worry! I got you some!" Your face grows hot. You feel like an idiot, flustered and inexperienced. "Come in, so I can explain better."

You take the bouquet from his arm. It's full of your favorite flowers, their delightful aroma tickling your nose as you carry them into the kitchen to look for a vase. You have to rely on your muscle memory to move around; they completely block your vision. Sylus follows in after you with his bag, peering around the little space of your apartment. He'd offered to get you a bigger one, once. Somewhere with a view, soundproof walls, and all the upgraded appliances you ogled in the stores. But you refused, and he respected that, even if it meant being inconvenienced by the lack of space for someone of his size.

His eyes land on the couch, covered in blankets of all sizes. Various DVDs cover the coffee table alongside a neatly folded pair of pajamas. It's cluttered, but purposefully so, as if the mess has been built into the experience.

You find a vase (bought after the first time he bought you flowers that you had to divvy up between various drinking cups) and settle the bouquet on the small dining table. There's no room left for two people to eat there. You come back out looking a mite more disheveled than before.

You smile awkwardly up at him, eyes flickering from his face to your setup as you rock back and forth on your feet. "So! Um, I've never actually had a partner to celebrate Valentine's Day with before, so I used to get a bunch of ice cream, maybe some takeout, and I'd just spend the night on the couch with a bunch of cheesy rom-coms. And now we're together and I didn't know what I could do because you can have anything you want at any given moment. But, um, I just thought, for my first Valentine's Day with someone, I could... share my 'tradition' with you." You exhale a shaky breath. "I know it's probably not what you were expecting..."

"Sweetie," he gently interrupts your rambling. He sets the bag on the couch, then closes the space between you, holding your face in both his hands, urging you to meet his eyes. They shine with something warm and sweet, like cherry wine. "It's not what I was expecting, but it's better than anything I could have imagined."

You scoff. "You're just saying that."

He shakes his head. "I can't buy a tradition, sweetie. This is something that means a lot to you. I'm fortunate enough to be the one person who gets to share it with you; no amount of money could do that."

Your heart feels light. It floats around your chest like a balloon filled with helium. Butterflies flutter in your stomach to join in on the fun. Is this how your friends felt with their partners? It's addicting. You try to blink away the incoming tears before they can form.

"What did you bring?" you ask suddenly, redirecting the conversation away so you can have a chance to gather yourself.

Fortunately, he lets you have it. With a knowing smirk, he kisses your forehead and steps away back to the couch. You miss the proximity immediately.

He pulls out each item one by one, holding it up to show you. "Wine. I can't say anything about how it'll taste, but the label was pretty, so I thought you'd like it." He sets it on the coffee table.

"You mentioned that you liked to go to the store the day after to buy the discounted candy. Well, it wasn't discounted, but I grabbed a variety." Those remain in the bag, but he has to shift it all around to reach something at the bottom.

He seems the most proud of - and the most nervous for - this one. He glances over at you before he pulls it out, as though double checking he has your attention. From the bag comes a hoodie, that he holds by the shoulders to let it unfold. It's nothing too special to look at, but the size is what strikes you. When he holds it up, it's clearly the perfect size for him. His ears tinge pink as he holds it out for you.

"You complained once that I don't have any hoodies for you to steal, like other couples do," he reminds you, voice soft and vulnerable.

He watches carefully as you step forward and reach out to feel the material. It's soft. So soft. You take it into your arms. The familiar scent of Sylus wafts up from the fabric; his body wash, his cologne, him. You hold it up to your nose to smell it better as you look up at him in awe.

"I wore it for a couple days," he admits. "If you don't like it, I can-"

"I love it." You really are going to cry now. You step forward, clinging the hoodie to your chest as he wraps his arms around you. "Sy, this means so much to me. I'm never gonna be able to take it off."

He chuckles. His arms squeeze you just a bit tighter, pull you a bit closer. "I'm glad. You're my first Valentine, too."

You pull back enough to look up at him. Your eyes are glassy, surprise to earnest on your face. "Wha- Really?"

"You sound surprised."

"Well, I mean, I just- You're so... you. That's a compliment, by the way."

"I was waiting for the right partner," he says with a huff of laughter. He dips his head down, soft lips capturing yours in a meaningful kiss. When he speaks again, it's in soft murmurs between kisses. "I'll go change... into the pajamas you got me... and then... we can watch... your movies."

The butterflies are back in full force. Each kiss has them flittering about, doing swoops and swirls in your stomach, wings tickling your insides. "Okay... Mm, but, stay here a bit longer..."

He smiles against your lips, hands sliding up your body to hold your face as he tilts his head, yearning to taste more of you, feel more of you. "Love you, sweetheart..."

You blindly set the hoodie on the arm of the couch to hold his fancy shirt in both hands, drawing him closer, knuckles brushing against the defined muscle beneath the fabric. "I love you, Sylus... Mm, so much... so much..."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman

[spencerreidenjoyer]

take care of you | spencer reid x reader

Sometimes, Spencer needs you to take care of him.

wc: 3k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: submissive!spencer, s2/glasses spencer, pegging, face sitting, face riding, cunnilingus (fem!reader)

a/n: couldn't stop thinking about spencer in glasses getting absolutely wrecked. i love him so much!!!! (you can also find this fic on ao3!)

You can tell how much Spencer needs this. He’s been stressed out from work – sure, his job is always kind of stressful, but he looks so exhausted that you feel it in your bones.

Spencer’s never been good at asking for help, either. But the sluggish way he’s been moving around lately, his eyebags somehow even darker than usual, even Penelope texting you after a rough case to take care of Spencer: they all tell you that Spencer needs you more than ever.

“Hi, my love,” you greet from the couch when he opens the door. 

Spencer jumps slightly, perhaps not expecting you to be home when he’d gotten to the apartment. He relaxes quickly enough, his tight-set features easing up as he sees you. He smiles, kicking off his shoes, and is quick to let you wrap your arms around him. He melts into your grasp. 

“Hey,” Spencer says in a soft voice, but he hugs you so tight you feel a little breathless. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, love,” you hum into his neck, nose ticklish from how his hair is growing out, curling beautifully at the nape of his neck. “Rough day?”

“That’s an understatement,” Spencer sighs. “God, I needed this.”

While you’ve been dating for more than a year, Spencer being happy to touch you always makes you feel proud – it reminds you that you’re special to Spencer, that Spencer trusts you. 

“I know, sweetheart,” you say softly, your hand petting his soft hair. “Do you want– Do you need me to take care of you tonight? To shut your brain off for a little bit?”

Spencer’s sharp intake of breath is loud in the otherwise silent apartment. He pulls away, wet, brown eyes looking into yours. “You– Really? How did you–”

“I guessed you needed it,” you say, reaching to hold his hands in yours. “Do you need that?”

“Yes, please.” Spencer’s voice is practically a whisper. 

“Come on, love,” you smile, tugging him into the bedroom.

You take care of him like this: taking off his tie, undoing the buttons of his shirt, kissing him as you undo his belt and push his slacks off. Spencer is laid on the bed for you, only in his underwear, laid out bare for you.

Spencer looks so cute wearing his glasses, and you tell him that when he moves to take them off. He blinks at you. “Do you want me to keep them on?”

“Yeah,” you say, grinning. “Makes you look extra fuckable.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, smiling, but Spencer’s mouth falls open in a gasp as your hand reaches for his cock, touching him through his briefs. His cock jumps at your touch. 

You sigh contentedly. “You’re so pretty like this, Spence.”

He whimpers, lower lip pulled between his teeth. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I just want to take care of you, love.” You hum, meeting Spencer’s eyes as you slip your hand down the waistband of his underwear, wrapping your hand around him. 

“Oh–” He moans at the contact, hips instinctively bucking up into your touch. “Mmm, please.”

“Want me to fuck you, baby?” 

Spencer nods, but you can tell he’s still on edge, attempting to give up control. He’s never been too good at that.

You lean forward to kiss him. He moans, kissing you back quickly enough, desperate and hungry. He needs you, wants you, and the attention makes you preen.

You’ve pushed Spencer’s underwear down by now, unabashedly stroking his fully-hard cock. He’s leaking all over your hand now, so the slide of your hand on him is easy. His moans against your lips turn you on to no end, getting him off while he’s like this almost feels like your duty. 

“Come on, baby,” you murmur as you pull away. You’re met with a whine from Spencer, like he’s too far gone to realise you plan to give him more, instead of just taking his pleasure away from him. 

This is good. His colleagues have always joked that Spencer’s IQ drops when he’s around a pretty girl. Maybe you’ll be able to stop his overthinking mind tonight.

“Oh, don’t pout, darling,” you coo, finding it amusing how Spencer is basically throwing a fit over how you’ve stopped kissing him, stopped touching him. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

Spencer’s face is red in an instant, like he’s shocked at the sudden brazenness of it all. He pulls his lips into a thin line, sheepish, but he nods. You smile and say, “Then let me get ready for you, darling.”

He finally lets you go, but his eyes are wide and wet as he looks up at you, as you stare down at him. He looks like he wants to ask you something, but can’t find the words. “Tell me what you want, Spence.”

“I want– Can I touch myself? While– While you get ready?” He’s tripping over his words, and you feel like screaming into your hands just because he’s so cute. 

“Yes, darling. Don’t make yourself cum just yet, though,” you hum. “Wanna see you cumming on my cock.”

Spencer lets out a whimper, nodding as he wraps his hand around himself in an instant. He’s desperate, needy, and you feel so crazy about him that you feel the adrenaline in your veins as you get your harness out. Your hands shake as you attach your pink, sparkly dildo to your harness, as you take your clothes off (Spencer stares at you, making you feel so desired), strapping your harness on tight. 

In your bra with a dildo strapped to yourself, you sit between Spencer’s legs, spreading for you as he lays back on the bed you share. Lube is squeezed into your fingers, you warm it up between your thumb and index. You notice the way Spencer isn’t fully out of it yet, not in the way you want him to be.

So, leaning forward, you take Spencer’s cock between your lips, enveloping him in wet heat inch by inch. You watch his face morph with pleasure, perfectly ruined by your mouth. He always gets like this when your mouth is on him, loses his mind a little, loses the words to verbalise his pleasure. (And he always has the words.)

Spencer lets out an open-mouthed gasp, delicate and needy. His large hand comes up to his face, pushing his glasses up like he needs to get a better look at you. Spencer is desperate, eager, hips stuttering up into your mouth. You push his hips down with a firm hand. He moans.

You take the lead as you suck him off, acting more of a distraction as you rub your fingers over his hole, slick with lube as you get him to ease up. Spencer’s always been stubborn, but when you have him like this, he gives in rather easily. 

“Fuck, please, please,” Spencer’s begging now, and you’re so turned on you feel your head spin, your heart pounding in your chest. You slip a finger in, giving Spencer the pleasure he needs, and he moans so sweetly you feel like you need to fuck him right now. 

Now that he’s a little less on edge, you pull off of him, focusing on fingering Spencer. You work him open rather meticulously, coaxing him open slowly. When Spencer’s in a headspace like this he gets needy and a little helpless, letting you take the lead (and not helping much). He whimpers and gasps as you fuck one finger into him, then two, hitting that sweet spot inside of him as you get him to relax. His cock twitches with every stroke of your fingers, leaking pathetically all over his soft stomach.

“Feels good, darling?” you hum.

Spencer moans. “Yes, so good. I– So good.”

“So pretty for me, Spence,” you sigh, smiling up at him. You slip a third finger into him and he cries out so pathetically you feel like you’re losing your mind. “You sound so pretty too.”

“Fuck,” Spencer gasps, as your fingers work inside of him. His face is pushed into the pillow underneath him, his glasses sitting awkwardly from the angle. He’s wiggling his toes, writhing, and you can tell that he wants more. He tries to say something else, but it comes out garbled. 

You pull your fingers out, and when Spencer whines from the loss, you coo, “Okay– Okay, darling. I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

You press a kiss to the soft skin of his inner thigh, and when you look up at Spencer, he smiles so wide. You want to kiss him. You pucker your lips at him obnoxiously, and he giggles. 

Getting on your knees between his legs, you slick up your strap with more lube. Spencer is sickeningly adorable as he watches you stroke the dildo, a perversion of the way it usually goes. Spencer looks enthralled, as if you stroking yourself is doing something for him, even if it doesn’t do anything for you. You smirk at him, and his cheeks flush.

You wrap your hand around Spencer’s cock and stroke his cock with whatever’s left on your hand. The extra slick slide aided by the lube makes Spencer jolt and buck his hips, your hand feeling particularly amazing on him. 

“Come on, baby,” you coo, as you press the blunt head of your strap to Spencer’s hole. “You’re gonna take me in so well, aren’t you, Spence?”

Spencer is all gangly limbs, but he’s so desperate that he feels so small underneath you. His cock is leaking, and his flush has moved from his face all the way down to his chest, which rises and falls as he breathes hard. His gorgeous, lovely eyes don’t leave your frame. No matter what, he looks at you like you hung the stars.

“I will,” Spencer says softly, adoration in his tone. He’s holding his breath, cheeks flushed, eyes wide as he looks up at you. You smile at him, before you press your strap into him. His mouth falls open and his eyes flutter shut, gasping as he feels you inside of him.

You press into him so slow, taking your time, your head spinning with how pretty Spencer looks under you. While you always enjoy the sight of Spencer on top of you, he’s gorgeous like this too. Spencer’s always a little timid, submissive for sure. You find it cute. Sometimes, taking care of him like this just makes sense.

You watch as Spencer swallows you up greedily, the length of your strap disappearing inside of him. He shudders as you press your hand down on his lower abdomen, the softness of his stomach grounding you as you start to piston your hips. “Is that good, darling? Feels good?”

He nods hastily with a whimper. The bottoms of his glasses have fogged up, with the gentle sheen of sweat on Spencer’s skin and how warm his face must be by now. He’s sinfully innocent, and you resist the urge to bite him. 

Instead, you wrap your hand around his cock. He moans loudly, eagerly. You curse, your own arousal heightening even with the lack of physical touch. You keep thrusting into him, getting off on the way Spencer squirms and whines. “You sound so pretty like this, Spence.”

“Please,” Spencer groans, his voice coming out whiny and broken. “I’m so close, I wanna–”

“Already?” You feign your disappointment, even though you can’t blame Spencer for being needy in the slightest, especially since you’ve made it so easy for him to let himself go tonight. “I’ve barely had my fun with you, baby.”

He gasps, hurried and desperate: “I– I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

To be fair, you weren’t planning on denying Spencer of an orgasm, but you’re more than happy to take Spencer up on that offer.

You grin. “Cum for me then, Spence.”

You watch his features scrunch up with pleasure as his orgasm hits him, his load splattering all over his stomach, dribbling down your knuckles as you stroke him through it. It’s adorable, the way his hips stutter, the way his mouth falls open in little, incoherent gasps as he orgasms.

You feel like you could admire him like this forever, the softness of his frame and features, the gentleness as he catches his breath. He’s gorgeous, and you can’t take your eyes off of him. Spencer smiles once he catches your eye, sheepish at your intense gaze and the attention you’ve given him. 

Sitting up, Spencer’s hands reach for your waist, fumbling to undo your harness. It’s adorable, and you rest your hand on his to get his attention. He looks up at you, hair messy, eyes wide. You kiss him softly, slowly, Spencer reaching up to cup your cheek as he kisses you back sweetly. 

You feel the harness loosening around your hips on the left side of your body, and it makes you pull away with a grin. “Multitasking, I see.”

“I want to make it up to you, my love,” Spencer says quietly, earnest. “I’m just in a hurry to get to it.”

You laugh, kissing the corner of his grin once more before you let him get back to undoing your harness. You take your panties off, tossed aside to be dealt with later, and Spencer dips his fingers between your legs. You feel his long digits swipe at the wetness that’s gathered there already. “You’re so perfect.”

“How do you want me, darling?” you hum, moaning softly as his fingers start to rub at your clit. 

“Like this.” Spencer lays back, pulling you forward by your thighs, until your body is hovering over his neck, just enough where you can meet Spencer’s eyes. 

“Oh,” you say. “You- You’re sure?”

“I’m positive. I want you to sit on my face,” Spencer says simply, and you feel like melting. Sure, you’ve been together a long time, but you can’t help but feel a little self-conscious, being close to Spencer like this. Will you be too heavy? What if you suffocate him, or worse, crush his neck? He can clearly tell you’re overthinking it, because he adds, “Come on. Please?”

“This is one hell of a way of making it up to me,” you laugh. 

Spencer’s completely serious about it, though, as he furrows his brows. “I mean it. You’re not going to hurt me. It’s statistically improbable that you’d break my neck or something. You’ll feel good, and I will too. I’ll be careful if you’re worried.”

“Okay,” you say softly, feeling slightly more comforted by Spencer’s words. He presses a kiss to your thigh, smiling up at you.

Spencer pulls you closer, urging you to sit down. You don’t put your full weight down on him at first, but the way he pulls you down onto him startles you, so you can’t even attempt to control how hard you sit on his face. He moans when you’re seated, as you feel his lips between your legs, his nose nudging at your clit. His glasses are askew on his face but it’s too late for Spencer to take them off, and it doesn’t look like he cares to, either.

Spencer’s a god at giving head – Lord knows where he learned that from – but it’s even better when he’s needy. The best orgasms you’ve had were after Spencer was particularly worked up, extra needy over you, and dove between your legs like his life depended on it.

Today is somehow even better.

Maybe he’s made pliant by the way you fucked him earlier, but it feels so right, the way Spencer coaxes your hips forward. With his glasses digging into your thighs and his arms hooked around your legs, Spencer pulls you towards him, letting you ride his face to get you off. It’s like he needs to make you cum, like he can’t carry on if he didn’t.

There’s an added desperation you feel, deep-seated in your bones, wanting Spencer to pleasure you like you did with him. It’s never been transactional with Spencer, both of you naturally wanting to please – but Spencer is so sweet and kind with you, and you’re turned on to no end because of him. 

You feel his tongue lap at you, over your leaking hole, over your swollen clit. You feel so loved, so taken care of, just like you took care of Spencer. You only see the rims of his glasses, his brows furrowed and his eyes presumably squeezed shut as he eats you out, but God, you adore him. 

“Please, Spence,” you moan. You feel like you can’t explain it, but you ramble, “Feels so good, you’re– You’re so good for me, baby.”

He moans, pulling you closer to him like he can’t get enough of you. You’re afraid he won’t be able to breathe, but he’s doing just fine burying his head between your legs, giving you everything you need. He pleasures you like he needs it too. 

Everything is just right, his eagerness to make you orgasm, coupled with the way your head is spinning from his lovely submissiveness from earlier. Spencer is perfect, and you think you should do this more often.

You rock your hips forward, letting his hands guide you through the motions. He’s got a one-track mind, only focused on your pleasure, and you’re shaking with your orgasm before you even know it. You cry out as your orgasm wracks through your whole body, your thighs clamping down on Spencer’s face. His own moans are muffled between your legs, which push you further over the edge. You ride out your orgasm just like that, with Spencer whimpering as you use him. 

You put Spencer out of his misery when your hips slow to a stop, pulling back as you roll onto the mattress next to him. He looks like he’s in bliss, like he could’ve died happy between your legs. He turns to look at you, the lower half of his face wet with slick, his glasses sitting skewed on his nose. He swoons, “You’re the love of my life.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “I know, darling.”

You lean over to rest your head on him contentedly. Unfortunately, despite how satisfied (and admittedly tired) you are from tonight, Spencer seems to have other ideas.

“You’re hard again,” you note, eyebrow raised curiously.

Spencer smiles sheepishly. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Let me take care of you, then.” With your hand skirting down his stomach, you press your lips to his, with his sticky chin and all.

“Happily,” Spencer grins.

[woantohae]

watch (bucky barnes x au! neighbour reader)

Summary: Y/N was attracted to her neighbor, the handsome and charming Bucky Barnes; better known as the man from 216B. She always tried to make their paths meet in the building; If she saw that he was going to get the mail, she would go get hers. She brought him cookies in the hope of winning him over. If she heard that Bucky was attending the neighbors' parties, she was always there. Admiring it from afar, as always. However, one day she overhears something she shouldn't have heard.....

Author's note: this is HEAVY angst (i think so), so i hope you're prepared.

《tags: angst, reader being a sunshine, heavy angst, bucky being an idiot, he realizes to late, mean comments; you know who's coming to make her feel deserved and loved👀》

Y/N had a crush on Bucky.

She was sure of what she felt for the man with black hair and blue eyes. That man who offered to help her with the boxes she was carrying the day she moved into the building. From that moment on, Y/N was under Bucky's charms.

She believed that after that day, a friendship would form between them; It was difficult for her to socialize with people, but that did not take away from the girl's nobility and friendliness.

Unfortunately for her, Bucky barely greeted her and nothing more. The girl thought that perhaps he was shy or had a hard time opening up to people, but seeing him chatting animatedly with the redhead a few floors above, that thought changed.

So she decided to try to start a conversation with him everytime she saw him go to get his mail from the reception. Y/N watched through the peephole in the door as he left his apartment and then went down to look for them. Y/N fixed her hair and let it fall in waves and sighed before casually approaching the man, who seemed to be interested in the mail.

"Oh, hello Bucky," she greets as if taken by surprise.

He looks at her and greets her with a nod.

Y/N looks through her mails while Bucky reads some letters next to her.

"Anything good?" She asks him "I received coupons"

"Uhh, not much. Actually" he says with a tight smile.

"Mhm, yeah. Sometimes I would like to receive one that says I won a lottery" she laughs to keep the conversation afloat, but stops as soon as she sees how Bucky just nods his head "Um, anyway.... how have you been?"

He sighs and grimaces, shrugging his shoulders.

"Everything's fine," he replies and clears his throat "I should probably go. I left the pot on."

She nods her head, and is disappointed that she can't stay by his side longer.

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Go, we don't want to end up with the building on fire," she tries to joke, and he just smiles to seem friendly.

"Goodbye....." he lengthens the word.

She is surprised to notice that Bucky doesn't remember her name. They had already introduced themselves and that time he repeated her name. Twice.

“Y/N” she says.

Bucky repeats it and turns to leave, leaving the girl a little embarrassed.

She didn't want that to stop her from trying to "win him over." Maybe she wasn't the prettiest girl in the building, but she considered herself pretty and enough, and that's what mattered. As she walked up the stairs, she had a conversation with herself. What else could she do for Bucky to be more open with her and start to see her with different eyes? Or even just see her.

She had a hard time talking to people. Every time she was in a conversation and it was her turn to speak, another person would intervene and she would be left with the word in her mouth. Or most people stopped listening to it. She didn't let it get to her, so she just smiled and stayed quiet for the rest of the talk until someone asked her back. She had never had a boyfriend. She had spent all her school and university years studying so that she could get a good job that she would like for the rest of her life, so she had never tried to practice chatting with boys.

Now she was paying the consequences for not being able to chat easily with Bucky.

When she arrived at her apartment, she took a sideways glance at door 216B, where the person she considered the love of her life lived. Pathetic, she knows that.

It's impossible that she could have fallen in love with him so quickly when they barely spoke to each other, or didn't know each other that well. However, she couldn't help but feel her heart skip a beat every time she saw him. She thought that feeling was the closest thing to love. And she would do everything in her power to make it happen.

Maybe baking cookies could help her think of something.

As she was looking for her keys, she heard someone complaining a few meters away from her. The girl turned to look and watched as a boy made an effort to keep the box in his arms while trying to open the door.

"Shit" he curses.

"Oh, do you want help?" She asks the boy whose face cannot be seen because of all the boxes he carries.

"Oh my God, yes. Please" he pleads and laughs lightly.

"Ok, let me see if I can...." The man stretches out his hand as best he can and hands her the keys to the apartment.

She opens the door and lets him enter the place first, followed by her.

"Oh God, thank you" he says leaving the boxes on the floor, then turning to look at her "Thank you so ... wow"

He stares at her and suddenly doesn't know how to continue. She smiles kindly at him and hands him the keys.

"No problem. I remember being like that the first time I arrived too." she doesn't notice how flustered the man is "I'm Y/N Y/L/N. And you are....?"

He reacts and moves his head.

He shakes his hand against hers and introduces himself. "I'm Bob. Well, Robert Reynolds," he says and she smiles.

"And I'm new here. Although... you already realized that." The man puts his arms on his waist and watches as the girl laughs at it.

"Well, Bob. It's nice to meet you," she says with a smile. "I live in the apartment next door. So if you need anything, or a friend, I'm here."

Bob nods with a smile plastered on his face. "Same here" he says, although he corrects himself instantly "Only if you want to, of course. Because we just met and i'm a stranger, so.... i better shut up"

Y/N laughs and finds him cute. "It would be a pleasure, Bob."

Y/N had spent all night trying to make the cookie recipe.

She liked to think she was good at baking, but she would be lying to herself. She had two trays of burnt cookies, which had been later throw in the trash. However, the third time is the charm.

The next day she had gotten up, taken a shower and spent her day completely normally until she decided to go to Bucky's door to bring him the cookies she had prepared. She didn't know what his favorites were, so she made a tray of oatmeal, chocolate chip, and butter cookies. Hoping that the blue-eyed man likes some of the baked ones.

With one hand she holds the plate of cookies, while with the other she fixes her hair and smoothes the skirt of her sundress. Every time she tried to meet him she wanted to look good and attractive, maybe that way that would captivate his attention too.

She sighs and tries to calm down before knocking on the door. "Just a second!" someone says on the other side of the door. Y/N bites her lower lip and smiles when they open the door, only for it to fall from her face when she runs into Sam, the man's roommate.

"Hello Y/N" Sam says with a smile "How are you?"

"Hi Sam, everything's fine. How are you?" Sam grimaces and nods his head.

"Everything's fine here, too. Thanks," he looks down at the girl's plate of cookies. "What do we have here? Baking day?"

Y/N laughs sheepishly and nods her head, waiting for Bucky to come to the door.

"Yes, I was trying out a new recipe and I made these cookies," she says, because they were specifically for a certain man. The girl clears her throat and asks: "Is Bucky home?"

Sam looks at her mischievously and shakes his head. He calls out to him with a shout and when the man appears next to him, Y/N feels her heart race at the sight of him. He looks handsome, like every day.

"Hi Bucky" she says nervously.

"Oh, hi" he says taken by surprise "What are you doing here?"

Y/N holds out her plate of cookies and offers them to Bucky, all while Sam watches from inside of the apartment.

"Um, I made these cookies last night and... I thought you might like them," she corrects herself immediately. "Well, you both might like them."

Bucky frowns slightly and receives his plate. "Thank you. I'm sure Sam will like them." Bucky says with the plate in his hands. "I don't eat sugar."

Sam looks at him from afar, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I... I didn't know. I'm sorry," she says immediately, while blushing. "But the oatmeal ones are sugar-free. You might like those."

"Yeah... i don't know. Honestly i don't like cookies" she feels a pang in her chest "But i'll try them"

Y/N smiles again and nods her head, feeling more hopeful about it.

"Well, i hope you like them. I can make another dessert next time, if you like" she offers while fidgeting with her fingers.

Bucky just nods and looks at her kindly, but it seems like he doesn't want to be there anymore.

"Thank you Jennie" he says and she frowns.

“I’m Y/N.” Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry. Y/N," he corrects himself and starts with his arm to close the door. "Have a good day, Y/N."

"You too, Bucky."

She didn't think this was what the interaction might be like when she brought him the plate of cookies. Bucky looked uncomfortable receiving them, and she didn't like that. The girl thought that he might have a different reaction—maybe fall in love with her on the spot (very ridiculous to even think about)—and he would be nicer to her. Or he would invite her to eat the cookies together. But none of that happened.

Even the thanks turned out to be a bit cold to hear.

Bucky had barely looked at the girl's dress, or at her. She felt disappointed every time she had these encounters with the man. Why did it have to be so difficult to talk to him?

That wasn't going to stop her though. She still had a chance to get closer to him.

Just wait and see, she told to herself.

It was common for the people in the building to have these small parties on the roof. The vast majority attended and brought their own meals and desserts to share among everyone.

Y/N didn't frequent those celebrations much, because she always stayed in a corner watching the rest interact. She hated that she had to be so shy in that way and not have the gift of socializing. The girl had tried, but when she didn't feel the other person's interest, she would simply withdraw. Tonight, however, she was going to attend one of those parties.

Perhaps the reason may have been the fact that Bucky would be attending with Sam. Plus there would be free food already prepared, so the girl wouldn't have to worry about cooking.

When Y/N was dressed, she grabbed her dessert, a sugar-free flan—since Bucky didn't eat sweets—and walked up the stairs to the roof. The music could already be heard with every step she took, but at a reasonable volume so as not to disturb the rest. When she saw the place, she tried to look for the black haired man, but she couldn't see him anywhere.

The only one she saw was Bob standing in a corner with a can of soda; he looked out of place and somewhat uncomfortable. She understood that, in addition to being new, it could be that it was difficult for him to open up to people as was the case with her. The girl left the prepared dessert on the table, greeting some neighbors out of politeness, and approached Bob, who smiled at her when he saw her.

"Hi Bob," she greets.

He stands up straight and waves his hand to accompany the greeting.

“Hello Y/N.”

"Aren't these types of parties your scene?" she asks him, tilting her head to the side.

He lets out a humorless laugh and looks down at his drink. "Parties in general aren't my scene," he replies and takes the last sip of his soda.

Y/N nods her head.

"Same here" they both laugh and immerse themselves in a conversation to get to know each other better.

Bob had told her that a long time ago he used to attend much more produced and crazy parties, but he had hit rock bottom and had promised himself not to go back to that past. Y/N listened carefully and understood his part of his story, making him feel comfortable and not judging him for it. They seemed to understand each other well and feel a genuine friendship forming. Although it seemed that the brown-haired man felt more than that for the girl.

The girl's attention that was on Bob was stolen by the man who had entered the party with a confident aura and style. Y/N subtly fixed her hair and excused herself from Bob to go greet Bucky. But just when she was about to touch his shoulder and greeting him, a blonde approached him and hugged him with a close and passionate complicity.

Y/N sighed and tried to clear her mind by eating a muffin.

A couple of minutes later, she tried to go to the bathroom before continuing to talk to Bob. She turned a corner and before she could knock the door to make sure no one was there, she was surprised to hear her name called.

"..... are you sure there's nothing going on with Y/N?" The blonde, named Sharon, asks.

There is a gap in the bathroom door. Y/N doesn't want to look, but she's curious to hear her name. Bucky has Sharon against the bathroom wall and laughs when she asks the question. Had the blonde asked him if there was something between her and Bucky? Does Bucky really look at her the way she expected him to and never noticed that before?

"Why do you ask me that?" He asks with an amused voice.

"Because I've seen you two being together these days. At the reception, her bringing you desserts, her asking about you and even taking packages to your apartment" Sharon explains, while Bucky's arms slip around her waist "And she looks at you like you hung the moon"

Y/N feels ashamed about that.

"I assure you that nothing happens between her and me. Nothing will ever happen" he responds confidently, and laughs sarcastically "I could never notice a girl who is so crazy about me. She annoys me every time she tries to talk to me or gives me desserts; the other day I had to tell her that I didn't eat sugar to make her stop, but she insisted on making me one without sugar" he laughs along with Sharon.

"I would never like her. She is so dorky and so childish, and i don't wanna sound like an idiot but i need a woman, not a kid" he says and Sharon laughs "Someone like you.... probably. Now, can we continue making out?"

Y/N feels tears well up in her eyes as she hears how cruel his words are, even though they might be true. However, she didn't deserved that.

Bucky Barnes has break her heart.

The next few days, Y/N stopped chasing him.

After hearing what he thought of her, she had promised herself not to lose her dignity and not to waste her time with someone who wasn't worth it. Obviously, she had a hard time doing it at first, but she had to get over her crush at some point.

Y/N tried to avoid going to get her mail, and if she did, she tried to be wary of being seen by Bucky. It wasn't like Bucky had seen her outside the bathroom that day, but she didn't want to have to face him after what he said about her. The girl no longer baked him cookies, desserts, or anything. She thought it had been a waste of flour and eggs on someone who didn't appreciate it.

These days she spent swallowing her pain alone, but not completely on her own.

Bob was there trying to clear her head of what had happened.

He had followed her that day when he noticed that she was taking a long time, and when he found her with her teary eyes, he thought about looking for the unfortunate guy who provoked that reaction in the girl just to take care of him. He thinks he knows who it was: Bucky Barnes. He had seen how Y/N's eyes had lit up as soon as she saw him arrive.

Right now, they were both in the living room of Y/N's apartment while eating pizza and watching a movie. It had become a routine for them, where every Friday they would get together after work and enjoy their free time. As friends, of course.

Bob kept sneaking glances at Y/N as she hummed the songs from The Wizard of Oz, and he couldn't deny how cute she looked. It wasn't hard to see that the boy had feelings for her since he met her, something he thought was impossible to feel just minutes after meeting her.

But love works in mysterious ways.

Bob couldn't keep his feelings quiet any longer, especially after seeing how hurt Y/N was about Bucky. He would wait as long as he has to wait for her to know what he feels.

After the movie ended, Bob felt Y/N's head on his shoulder and felt his heart race at the sight of her sleeping so peacefully. He didn't want to move so as not to disturb her, but he had to answer the door after hearing repeated knocks on it.

The man left the girl lying on the couch, covering her with a blanket up to her neck. Then, he walked to the door and opened it without looking at who it was, only to get a tasteless surprise when he saw that it was Bucky. The black-haired man seemed sure before his face fell when he saw Bob receiving it.

"Who are you?" Bucky asks with a frown.

Bob closes the door a little to cover his view of the apartment inside, where Y/N was sleeping. The brunette clenches his jaw and crosses his arms.

"What are you doing here?" Bob answers him with another question.

"I asked you first," Bucky says.

"I asked you second," he counters.

Bucky laughs unamusedly and shakes his head. "I brought Y/N the mail. She hasn't come for it in days and... well, I haven't seen her in a while" Bucky explains, showing him the letters in his hands.

Bucky gets defensive and crosses his arms.

"Now, tell me, who are you?" Bob looks at him without taking his eyes off him. "I've never seen you around; I'm surprised that Y/N has a man in her apartment."

Bob laughs at the audacity of the man in front of him.

"You're an asshole" he mutters for himself "You should be surprised at what an idiot you've been to her."

Bucky looks confused.

"I haven't been an idiot to her. Whenever she talks to me I respond and accept everything she bakes for me, that's not being an idiot."

"No, that's not" Bob interferes "Being an idiot is to talk nonsense about her in the bathroom during the party and say that she is dorky and childish because of the crush she had on you."

Bucky freezes at that.

"She had a crush on me?"

Bob laughs without believing this guy.

"She was pretty much in love with you" Bob shakes his head "I would think she would be crazy to have felt that way about you, having known you for such a short time and to you being an asshole to her. But I know it was true because I feel the same way about her, even having met her a few weeks ago."

Bucky swallows and feels ashamed of how he treated her and what he said in the bathroom that time. The man had no intention of letting her hear him, but he couldn't go back in time and change it. It was already done.

"You say you're in love with her?" Bucky asks.

"Is that the only thing that stuck out in your mind from what I told you?" Bob asks in disbelief.

Bucky shrugs, the cards forgotten in his hands.

"Yes. I like Y/N" Bob admits "That's not relevant now, because I want you to realize what a shitty person you were to her when she only asked for you to really look at her. She deserves better."

The black-haired man laughs. "And you think you're the best choice for her?"

Bob shakes his head. "I could never be enough for someone as beautiful, tender and dedicated as her," the brunette admits and clears his throat. "But for her, I would give my best to see her happy. Something you could have done, but you ruined it with your damn mouth."

Bucky is silent for a few minutes. He looks down, tensing his jaw, and then hands the letters to the brunette.

"I'm sorry," he admits and the brunette looks at him. "Tell her I'm sorry and that I won't be an idiot with her anymore. I'm willing to talk to her if she wants"

Bob nods.

Bucky walks away to go to his apartment and disappear from Bob's sight, who sighs and closes the door. He puts the cards aside and turns around to be surprised by Y/N, who is standing a few steps away from him.

"Y/N..."

"Is it true?" she asks him.

Bob blinks in confusion.

"What thing?"

"That you're in love with me?"

Bob opens his mouth to respond but closes it when he realizes that it won't help him to lie; She's already heard it come from his lips.

Bob nods his head.

"Yeah. I like you, Y/N" he starts to say "But I don't want this to change and you feel uncomfortable because of what I said and what I feel. I can...."

She hugs him and he puts his arms around her, closing his eyes.

"I can't say I'm in love with you, but I do like spending time with you and being around you, Bob," she smiles and he feels his heart race. "I like you, and I don't want you to think I'm doing this because just now you admitted it and Bucky was a fool. I really like you, and I'd like us to go slow."

"I would very much like that, actually" Bob agrees with her.

She smiles and kisses his cheek.

"Although, you still need to talk to Bucky" Bob says "He looked sorry for everything he did"

Y/N nods.

"I know" she says firmly "But right now i wanna be with you"

They both hug again, hoping to start something new between them.

[exquisink]

Make That Double, CH 1 - Yandere!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

Summary: Double the trouble, or double the fun? Difficult to say when you're unfortunately roped into the affairs of two powerful shamans who can't leave each other alone, either. Word Count: 6.7K Tags: for this chapter, blow jobs (between stsg)

“What a day…” you sigh, as you slump into one of the stools of your café’s bar. No one ‘s ever said maintaining these types of jobs are easy. You have lost count how many times you’ve been yelled at for accidentally fucking up people’s orders. You try to give yourself a little grace; you’re a newbie here and you’re still adjusting to your new job. It’s just something a little extra to help pay off the tuition while you’re going through graduate school. It’s nothing you can’t handle, and yet…the day’s not over.

You’re already so over it. You hate these kinds of jobs. Everyone does! But they really aren’t kidding about it after all huh? And it’s only been a month or so since you’ve come to this job.

And you still have a pile of assignments waiting to be completed when you get home, too!

Why do you put this on yourself? Aw, yeah, that’s right! You want to instill a little bit more of a disciplined lifestyle because you sorely lack in it. Without a doubt you do if you are already considering quitting cold turkey! Maybe the youth is more privileged these days…

You overhear tidbits of a distant conversation as you wipe down the countertop. You’re already perking up a little. Oh, you recognize the voices of some regulars!

“Mr. Geto! The café is still open!! Can we please get crepes?” you hear an over-excited customer request. She’s a regular here who always seems to be bouncing off the walls from all the sugar ‘Mr. Geto’ must allow her to indulge in—perhaps he’s a little too giving to these girls. In spite of yourself, you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. They’re among the more tolerable customers you serve, and you’re ever grateful for more civilized manners. The bell dings as they enter, and you return to the cash register with a beaming smile as you dab some sweat off of your forehead with a handkerchief.

“Hello, girls! It’s good to see you again,” you greet, before turning to Geto, ignoring the hairs standing on end as he stares down at you with those haunting violet eyes. “Geto, it’s always good to see you.”

He acknowledges you with a low hum, gesturing to the twins. “I’m sure the girls want their typical orders, isn’t that right?”

“Hmmm…” Nanako, the blonde twin, trails off, tapping her chin as she studies the menu hanging over your head, long and hard. “Mimiko, do you want to try something new?”

Nanako turns to the brunet.

“Sure,” she answers, turning to you, her expressionless face setting off some unease in you, but Mimiko is otherwise nice enough. Just seems a bit standoffish, much like Geto does. “What’s new to the menu?”

“Well, the Biscoff crepes have gotten pretty popular,” you suggest as you’re smiling wide, but you can’t help but feel a little intimidated whenever ‘Mr. Geto’ is in within proximity to you. He has a commanding sort of presence, weighing down on everyone around him. The kind that has people whipping their heads around to see if he’s a real big deal. Not only that, but you notice something else amiss in that piercing stare of his—disdain, perhaps? Or perhaps exasperation over his two lively girls who are so fun to have around?

Whatever the case, it’s not like it’s any of your business. You’re just here to do your job and they’re just trying to go about their day.

It’s not like you have anything to go off of about the guy, anyway. What you know most about him is that he’s a bit of a father to these girls.

It's endearing to watch unfold each time they stop by, though.

There has always been a part of you who wonders what has become of their real parents.

“Biscoff sounds delicious right now. I think you’ll like that one, Geto. Biscoff isn’t all that sweet,” Mimiko now turns to him, tone curious yet still drones in monotone. “I know you don’t like it when Nanako tries to shove any of those sweets into your mouth to get you to like them.”

“I don’t mind it,” he replies through a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. You don’t miss his lips twitching in disgust at the prospect. The things he does for these girls, and from what you understand, he’s definitely not the biological father. “I’m just not the one with the sweet tooth. That’s something you both have in common with Satoru.”

The twins exchange a look. That snags your attention. Trouble in paradise for Geto? Is this Satoru person a lover of his or something?

You frown at your own nagging, honestly intrusive questions. Why are you getting so invested in their lives out of nowhere?

Finally the awkward period of silence is broken.

“You keep talking about that guy and you never tell us anything about him,” Nanako pouts, before beaming at you. You return the smile in full force. “But hey! We’ll have the Biscoff ones then! And the usual ones like strawberry, Nutella, ooh….maybe lots and lots of whipped cream with one!”

“Nanako,” Geto chides with a deep scowl. “You’re going to get another terrible stomachache like last time.”

You can’t help but giggle to yourself, ceasing immediately when Geto eyes you curiously. Man, that stare puts the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ to shame.

What a family.

“Quite a handful you have here,” you comment as you ring up the orders. “I’ll have those ready for you along with your usuals. That sound okay?”

“Thank you,” he answers as he whips out his wallet, handing you cash as opposed to card this time. “And yes, believe me—I know. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He smiles down at the twins before patting their heads affectionately. They grin up at him and you’re still smiling yourself at the sight. They do make your day a bit brighter, just seeing them interact with each other.

You feel your heart warming to witness such pure love. You can even go as far as to say it makes standing through terrible customers yelling worth it.

You leave your post for a moment to instruct the chefs what to prep. You ignore the fact that you have picked up on Geto staring through your head; a shiver dances up your spine. That guy is nothing short of terrifying and yet he’s just here to indulge his girls in some of their favorite sweets.

After you present them their orders (and some bonuses on the house, because you just want to be nice), Nanako as per usual samples Geto all of the sweets they ordered before she and Mimiko dig in themselves. He has to admit you’re right—the Biscoff one isn’t as sweet as the other pastries, and he ends up ordering one for himself for once. If not for an excuse for you to swing by their table just to get another good look at you. Mimiko has been raving about your service to them since you started working here, and during one outing, Nanako proposes an interesting (albeit incredibly outrageous) idea.

“Why don’t you ask her out, Geto?” Geto opens his mouth to shut down the idea immediately, but she continues before he can get the chance: “Geto, what are even the chances you get to meet a partner who’s a sorcerer? We understand your position, but we also know you can easily land anyone you want. And we want a Mom!”

Mimiko shakes her head at Nanako’s rambunctious attitude but she is inclined to agree with her.

“And that lady is really nice to us,” Mimiko adds, ever the voice of reason and if she’s siding with Nanako on something? It means it’s something Geto should take a bit more seriously. As much as he loathes the very prospect of entertaining such a foolish plan. “Like sometimes she gives us free samples to try! And pays for our meals! She hasn’t even worked there that long. She seems like an actually nice person and not like the sort of people we encountered back in the sticks.”

“Well, I mean, the folks back in the sticks are pretty simple,” Nanako quips, “She’s from the bigger cities and came from overseas, too, I think. So she’s worldly! So that means she must have a more open mind. Don’t you think so, Geto? I mean, didn’t you come from a family of non-sorcerers? Not all of them were bad, right?”

“My history with my family is complicated,” he remarks, “And not exactly pleasant.” In fact, he can dare admit he was mistreated as poorly as these girls were. “But some family members I suppose aren’t all terrible.”

“So give her a chance, Geto. She’s not a monkey to us!” Nanako begs as her lips curl into that adorable pout. Even Geto can’t ignore that face. “We both really like her. And we don’t like people either! So pretty please, try it for us?”

He can’t refuse their request. No doubt these girls need a mother in their lives. He can’t deny the fact.

While in other circumstances, Geto might scoff at the idea of entertaining the thought of pursuing a non-sorcerer… he has to come to terms with a cold, hard fact: sorcerers as a whole are rare to come by. Nanako’s right. It’s illogical of him to assume that he can pursue a sorcerer partner who can fit the mold of a mother for the twins.

And Manami Suda is out of the question—the twins find her off-putting for a number of reasons, and Geto can’t blame them.

While he doesn’t mind, Suda is more of a kiss your ass kind of woman and lacks true character. Yuki is out of the question, and not just because she’s still affiliated with Jujutsu Tech; if she really wants an answer, she’s simply not his type of woman even if she is a powerful sorcerer. There’s one thing Geto can’t stand more than monkeys and it’s a sorcerer who can’t understand her duty and superiority.

And even he has to agree with Satoru: you have nice assets. You not only are his perfect match (monkey status aside), but the twins are already fond of you. They babble on and on about you. They like how you take an interest in their day, even if that might not mean anything to you. It’s just what you’re trained to do.

No matter the reason, you just appear to be the most logical option out of the limited ones he’s been grappling with since the twins can’t stop bringing up the topic of a mother in their lives. They also don’t fancy the idea of him being lonely, either…

And neither does he. He’s not particularly lonely (what a lie); he and Satoru still meet with each other, and it’s not like Satoru won’t have his fair share of you, either. Geto knows better than to leave him out of his affairs. They have a rule: they share everything. Including lovers.

Satoru does seem keen on knowing more about you, and he’s been kind enough to keep tabs on you for Geto’s sake. It’s all going to fall into place soon enough. Geto doesn’t mind the waiting game; he may have the patience of a saint, but he has the heart and mind of a scheming trickster. It’s why he and Satoru are still a match made in Heaven.

He must tread carefully. He doesn’t want to spook you; no, no, that won’t do.

Watching you shuffle around the café, going about your business as he’s secured in a corner with the girls, without a single care in the world—it’s better than most of those stupid sitcoms the twins force him to sit through and criticize.

Because he’s come to find, everything you do is a work of art, and coming from him, that’s high praise. He doesn’t deliver it so openly, and especially not to a member of a significant chunk to a species he otherwise believes is beneath him…

He’s ripped from his thoughts when he hears the light thud of a mug of piping hot coffee rested on his table. The nutty, aromantic aroma hits his nostrils, calming his nerves. It’s a blend curated by the café itself, unlike any other they claim. It’s all just gimmicky shit they sell to gullible customers, but he doesn’t mind it, if it means getting closer to you.

“You look like you need it,” and lo and behold, it’s you. The woman occupying his thoughts like an illness. You have infested his mind, a swarm of termites burrowing into homes. It’s maddening and yet you are as unsuspecting as ever that you are the cause of his turmoil.

“Thank you,” he grunts in response, moving to pull his wallet out of his back pocket before you stop him.

“We don’t charge for coffee,” you reply with a knowing glint in your eye. “Not to you guys.”

Ah. So you have begun to see him as someone special, huh? Or perhaps you do have a soft spot for the twins. No wonder they like you so much. You make them feel special, loved, cherished—the kind of thing a mother does, being nurturing. Kind.

You absolutely are a perfect specimen; he has to accept that. Sometimes there are exceptions to his forgo all monkeys rule.

“Thank you,” he says again after realizing he’s been staring at you—and notices you shifting in your spot. Discomfort around someone else is never pleasant, and it’s a feeling he knows well considering he has to endure being in the presence of such monkeys all the fucking time. It’s a necessary evil in some cases, like this one, but he’s much better off shoving some of his monkey devotees to keep an eye out. Not only here, but he’s already obtained your address through Satoru. Satoru’s already introduced himself to you—Geto may have overlooked that interaction from the sidelines somewhere—and Satoru knows how to keep himself from being tracked by the higher-ups. Though it’s not like there’s not much the higher-ups can do considering Satoru’s status.

It makes things much easier, indeed. Knowing Satoru is still with him in some cases.

“Right,” you reply, still smiling. It’s practiced. Fake. Appropriate in these environments where it’s a must to perform for customers. He wonders what a genuine smile looks like from you. He’s not even sure if he’s ever seen it before.

You whip around and attend to the few other customers who have populated the café. Since this café closes in an hour or so, there’s not as many. It’s a perfect time for him to investigate you further. He may have implanted some of his curses around this café to keep you in check.

And many other places, like your studio apartment.

It’s good to be thorough in this case.

“Hey Geto.” Ah. His thoughts are interrupted yet again. It’s Mimiko who addresses him. “Isn’t that one of your curses in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” he answers with a nod before resting his chin over intertwined fingers. “You both said you wanted to keep an eye on her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Nanako butts in, swinging her legs in her chair as she takes a fork full of her strawberry crepe. “It’s a good thing! So she’s safe in case anyone gives her trouble, right? She’s nice. She doesn’t deserve it!”

Geto hums, conceding to that statement. Well, not wholly. He still has yet to learn more about you. His eyes trail after you as you refill a customer’s glass of water, overhearing you question whether they want to order anything else. He perks an eyebrow—how can he get her attention? You already do seem to like the girls enough.

“Do you think you like her, Geto?” Nanako asks, her tone full of hope as her beady eyes follow his gaze to you. “She’d look really good with you too! You really are thinking about it after all, huh?”

“Only because it’s something you two desire so much,” he retaliates with a huff. “Otherwise I wouldn’t even bother.”

“We knooooow,” Nanako replies through a fit of giggles. “We’re just glad you’re finally doing something about your lonely love life!”

Geto scowls deep, frustration etching his features as he rubs his temples. Oh how can he have not seen this coming? These girls are always up to no good and not in the way he would have preferred.

“…Is that what this has been about?” he asks through a sigh.

“Nanako,” Mimiko scoffs, fluffing her hair. “He’s going to reconsider…”

“No, he won’t!” Nanako interjects. “Because he doesn’t back off from his promises!”

Well, even he can’t deny she’s right about that.

He doesn’t want to upset them. They’re lucky he’ll do everything for his girls if it means putting a smile on their face—like massacring an entire village who damned them to Hell.

So he’s going to try.

His gaze flits to you, still wandering around the café and treating the few customers here who arrive close to closing time. You look ready to clock out yourself.

Besides, you do seem…

…He’s caught off guard when you nearly lose grip on a tray you’re holding, letting out a breath in relief on your behalf as you catch yourself before anything tragic happens. You let out a sigh in relief as well before handing the order to another customer.

…pleasant.

Accountable. Nurturing. Kind.

Perfect, he dares to add.

“She seems appropriate,” he decides, relaxing his shoulders. “If she warms up to you more, you should ask her to drop by for a visit.”

“Why us? We can’t do the work for you, Geto,” Mimiko points out, ever the voice of reason. “You have to show some interest. Or have you forgotten how dating works?”

“Oh snap,” Nanako mumbles under her breath in a cheeky manner.

Geto shoots a glare at them both.

“I have half a mind to ground you both,” he grumbles as he idly sips on the coffee you have been kind enough to offer him. He averts his gaze to the window. The sun is beginning to set. The hour is drawing to a close soon. Meaning they should not overstay their welcome here.

He glances at his watch. 4:45PM. Yes, it’s time they take their leftovers and leave.

“Hey,” you swing by their table with a grin. Ah, perfect. “Need to go boxes for these?”

“Yes,” Geto answers, offering you a more practiced smile. He’s one to speak of genuineness yet he can’t bring himself to wear a real smile. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you, really!” you insist, tilting your head slightly. “Customers like you make my life better.”

As you whip around and saunter off to fetch those to go boxes and bags, he’s staring at you in a state of mild shock. When he finally snaps out of his stupor, his gaze flits back to the girls who have knowing grins on their faces, and he groans.

“That’s enough from both of you,” he chastises and maintains a blank expression as you return with the boxes and bags.

“Here you go! Have a great evening!” You wave before you go off to tell other remaining customers that closing time is nearing.

Geto freezes as he stares at you again. He’s stunned. Not only are you accountable, nurturing, and kind, you’re consistent. He likes that in a person, indeed. Sorcerer or not.

“Geto,” Nanako teases in a singsong voice, gathering the food. “Let’s go. You have some important meeting later, ‘member?”

Realization hits--that's right--and he downs the rest of the coffee because he needs the energy.

“Right,” he grunts, sauntering out of the café with them.

Not before sparing you another curious glance, twisting away when you stare back at him.

What a strange family…

It’s that thought that still lingers in your mind as you unlock the door to your studio apartment and step inside, the click of the lock behind you bringing you a sense of ease. You toe your tennis shoes off and toss your bag onto the couch as you shuffle into the quaint living room. You’re set free from the chaos of the café now and you are always comforted by the silence.

Soon you find yourself sprawled across your bed, sinking into the soft feathery mattress. You gaze up at the ceiling as your mind drifts back to the encounter with those twins at work. You remember their names this time—Nanako and Mimiko. And then you can’t forget a presence like Geto’s—calm, almost detached. You want to call him a fish out of water, but that’s not quite the vibe you get from him. Even so, something about him unsettles you to the very core. There’s something… off with his picture, and you can’t wrap your head around what.

You’re frowning, and you try to shake off the unease settling into your soul. It’s not like you haven’t encountered stranger things in your life. You should see him as just any other customer. Another customer who lives to indulge his twin girls who aren’t even his by blood, but that’s not even any of your business. You just can’t help but find that as endearing as you find him unsettling. Because how rare of a find that is—most men don’t even want to take care of their own kin let alone kids that aren’t their own. It’s not like you actually like him or something.

Right?

Another sigh escapes your lips as your muscles begin to relax. You shut your eyes for a moment. You promise yourself an hour of decompressing, setting a mental timer as you glance at your digital clock.

But even as you attempt to shove the moments with them at the café out of your mind, your thoughts keep bouncing back in full force. You have overheard some of their conversations as you worked your ass off in that last hour. You hear about Nanako teasing Geto about you. You do take notice on how they stay a little longer at the café than most customers do. Most of your customers are in and out, not much of the lounging types. You at times catch him staring—calculating, assessing you. His gaze is just as unsettling as everything else about him. You pull the covers up around yourself, as if to ward off that bad omen.

You try to tell yourself that you must be overthinking it all. He’s probably just thinking about the girls and getting lost in thought just like you do. That’s all. Yet the logic doesn’t quite add up in your mind, nor does it quell the fluttering in your heart.

That hour of decompression feels more like seconds to you as your alarm blares on your phone, which you switch off. It’s time to shift gears and bury yourself in schoolwork. You set a hard limit for 11PM because you need proper rest. You sit up, stretching your arms over your head before you hop out and fetch your bookbag, settling your textbooks and notebooks on your desk. Switching on your lamp. You find some comfort in the routine. It makes you feel like you really are working toward something better for yourself.

You flip through one of your larger textbooks for your heftier readings. Definitely not as bad as you expect—just a chapter or two to burn through. Some written assignments to complete that aren’t due until later in the week. Nothing terrible at all, and certainly nothing you can’t handle.

All you’re taking this semester is two or so classes. That’s the recommended work load for a graduate student anyway. Nothing unmanageable for you at all even with some part time work. Right? You try to keep some kind of balance. You aren’t going to let the work at the café and the coursework bog you down and you have been doing just fine thus far.

You can totally handle this.

As you pull out your laptop to begin typing the first few sentences of one of your assignments, you still can’t shake off the feeling of that unease. Something that you feel like you’re missing—and it of course involves that strange family.

Your mind flashes with the memory of the twins’ giggling faces and the way Geto’s eys follow you around the café.

There’s no way. You shake your head. Don’t entertain the idea.

But why does he even keep coming back? You can’t believe you’re asking that question as your fingers hover over the keyboard. Is it really just for those twin girls?

Why does he keep drifting back into your thoughts? Ever present, nagging. You try to focus on your task at hand. You have deadlines to meet. You can’t allow any room for distractions right now.

You ignore the sudden draft in your room, shivering as goosebumps rise on your arms. Blissfully unaware of the curse spirit latching onto your door, keeping watch.

“You seem really into this girl,” Satoru muses out loud, reclining on the couch with his legs splayed across it as if the world and all its trivial concerns don’t even touch him. His fingers swipe through the pictures he’s taken of you on his smart phone—moments when you were completely unaware of his hypersensitive Six Eyes tracking your every move. The grin on his face is mischievous, the kind that promises trouble’s brewing. “Not like I blame you, though—she’s really hot. And if your girls don’t seem threatened or scared of her, that must mean something, right?”

Geto’s eyes narrow into slits as he observes Satoru from his spot across the room, his arms folded over his chest. He lounges in a wooden rocking chair positioned by the window, where the rays of the setting sun streak across the floor, coating him in a warm, amber light. The soft glow plays on his sharp features, making him appear more and more like a God on his throne. Geto doesn’t answer immediately, allowing the silence hang between them as he contemplates the situation while gazing out in the window.

“Do you think you can handle the idea of another in our lives, Satoru?” the curse user finally asks, tone low. There’s a strange hint of softness to his tone, a contrast to his usual indifference he strives to hold. His fingers tap against the window pane absently, the subtle rhythm betraying the inner workings of his mind.

Never one to hang onto serious conversations, a lazy grin spreads across Satoru’s face, and he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as his sharp blue eyes lock on Geto’s violet ones.

“Of course I can! What kind of guy do you think I am? I mean, I like her too! She’s definitely our type.” He laughs, though the tone is a little off.

“Not to mention—” He flicks to a picture on his phone, pinching the screen to zoom in before turning it toward Geto. “Just look at those boobs! I bet you’re thinking of suckin’ on them until they're bruised all over, right?”

Geto’s jaw slackens, a faint blush colors his pale complexion.. He shifts in his spot, less from the vulgarity of Satoru’s comment since that’s practically second nature for him, but from the raw truth behind those words. His eyes flit to the image, ignoring the heat rushing to his groin before his gaze flits back to the setting sun outside.

“Satoru…” Geto begins, his tone laden in warning, but there’s no true bite to his words.

“Hey, hey, I’m just saying~!” Satoru teases, his grin ever present as light laughter bubbles up from his chest. He stretches his arms over his head, his shock white hair catching the dying sunlight and making it sparkle like the twinkling stars. His playful tone still lingers, though there’s a hint of curiosity in his words—always a hidden agenda with that guy. They’re alike in that way. “You’ve always been a boob guy, right?”

Geto drags out a long sigh, the drumming of his fingers ceasing for a moment.

“Sure,” he mutters in a snippy tone, more to entertain Satoru’s comment than actually conceding to the fact. Even if it is true, there’s far more to it than that which he’s struggling to accept. The truth is more complicated than it needs to be. You do have perfect assets Geto will gladly take advantage of when the time comes. But you’re more than just a pretty face and a body…a sentiment that unsettles him far more than he ever cares to admit to anyone, least of all to Satoru.

Satoru, still laughing heartedly to the point his shoulders shook with mirth, rests his phone on the arm of the couch as he leans back into it again, draping one arm over the larger back of the couch.

“So why her, anyway?” he asks as his tone softens a bit, that teasing tone melding into one more laden with genuine curiosity and sincerity—a side to him only Geto gets to see. His eyes now flicker with another rare moment of seriousness. “She’s not a sorcerer. Isn’t hating people who aren’t sorcerers your whole thing?”

Geto’s expression hardens. At this point the gentle warmth of the sunset fades, and the shift of the lighting mirrors the shift in his demeanor. His posture stiffens and he doesn’t respond right away, allowing the question to hang in the air as he ponders over what to say. His gaze flits down to his feet, as if in the middle of choosing an appropriate response.

“The girls insist I should find someone,” he replies through a sigh, his voice a bit distant and wistful. His words seem detached from the deeper conflict seeping into his bones like red wine. “And you know as well as me that the odds of me finding a sorcerer as a partner are slim.”

Satoru quirks an eyebrow at that, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He sinks further into the couch, his gaze still fixed on Geto. Geto flashes him a reassuring smile.

“You aside, of course,” he adds.

“Hey, I’m the only option you have,” Satoru interjects with a playful wink, his arrogance bouncing back as quickly as it deflated for a split second—very easy to miss if you don’t know him as well as Geto did. He straightens his posture, counting on his fingers as he tries to remember all of the lady sorcerers he knows well. “Of course, there’s also Utahime and Shoko, but I don’t think that’ll work, all things considered.”

Geto finds himself chuckling at the notion in spite of himself. Even the corners of his lips quirk up ever slightly. What a rare break in his stoic mask.

“No doubt about that,” he concedes with a hum.

Satoru adjusts his posture again, sitting up straighter as those brilliant sky blue eyes of him glimmer with mischief.

“Well, it’s good that you’re opening yourself up to the possibility,” he goes on, as his voice drops to a smoother, predatory tone. His fingers drum against his knees as he assesses the situation. “And I like that I get to have a taste of that ass whenever I want, too!” The grin he sports now is wolfish, devilish more than playful and light. “The lady isn’t nearly as nice to me as she is to you and it’s pissing me off a little. I think I may punish her for that when you finally court her.”

Geto flits his gaze back to Satoru, the amusement in his violet eyes fading entirely.

“Satoru,” he chides, his voice edging toward menacing this time.

But Satoru brushes him off with a laugh, unbothered as ever by Geto’s sudden shift in tone—the fucking brat.

“Chill out, Suguru!” He waves his hand in a dismissive manner before cocking his head, his expression melding into something softer again. “But seriously, though—why her? I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

Geto takes another deep breath, before exhaling slowly as he brushes his fingers through his long, luscious locks that he works so hard to maintain. As his gaze drifts back to the window, it’s not the scenery which holds his attention. Not that he’s even paid much attention to it—the view in Satoru’s penthouse isn’t something he’s not used to at this point. He sees it all the time. It’s you. You infiltrate his thoughts like an ambush. You are so kind to he girls. You don’t appear to even flinch at his presence, not that you know a damn thing about him. He finds you’re tolerable, much unlike the other monkeys running the circus out there.

And that sentiment, too, is unsettling.

“The girls are fond of her,” he admits quietly, it seems that’s reason enough for him. “She’s so warm around them.”

Satoru finds himself nodding along to Geto’s words, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess I get it. She does seem like someone who can help you.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Geto retaliates with a frown. Satoru raises his hand in mock defeat.

“I’m just saying you need someone to help you get some frustration out! That’s all,” he insists, “And other things. You kind of keep shit all bottled up all the time. Even with me!”

Silence stretches over them another time. The sky has faded into twilight. Satoru shuffles around to switch on some of those fancy ambiance lamps he keeps in different corners of the room before moving over to the small bar in another far corner, fetching a bottle of sake and two glasses and returning to the couch.

Geto rises from his seat, waltzing over to join Satoru on the couch as he pours them both some of that expensive sake.

“We’ll make some arrangements soon,” he announces, raising the glass to his lips.

“Just hurry the fuck up, dude,” Satoru mirrors his motion, hiding the smirk tugging at his lips behind his glass. “I’m starting to get real impatient, you know. I’m dying to find out how she might feel squirming on my cock.”

The curse user casts him a sidelong glance, with an unreadable expression. His mind flashes back to you, your smile, your ready hands as you attend to the girls. Sure, you have no idea who—or what—he is or what he is capable of, both he and Satoru. You have no idea that he’s been following you since you began working there for a myriad of reasons beyond mere curiosity. It isn’t just about him this time. The girls desire you as well. Satoru desires you as well.

Geto whacks him on the shoulder with his free hand.

“What?” he snaps, appalled, his sunglasses moving out of place from the sudden blow.

“Don’t be so crass,” he replies as he sips idly on the sake. “Save that for me tonight.”

Satoru snorts in response, wrapping an arm around Geto’s shoulder as he downs his glass of sake in one go.

“Besides,” Geto goes on, placing his half-full glass onto the low table. “You know how things can get when you pick on the weak too much.”

Satoru perks an eyebrow as his lips twitch into another smirk. “Seriously? Since when have you given a damn about that all over again? Then again, you’ve always been a little too righteous.”

Geto doesn’t have a straight answer for that. Something flickers in his gaze—something even Satoru Gojo knows better than to challenge. Geto is a patient, careful man, but he knows there are consequences to things like this. Treading into far more unconventional grounds.

“It’s something we need to ease her into,” he finalizes with a hum.

It’s not often Geto is concerned for the wellbeing of anyone who isn’t a sorcerer. It’s kind of…shocking. Satoru doesn’t know what to make of this change in his friend, however subtle.

“Come on,” Satoru sighs, resting a palm on his forehead. “She can take whatever we give her. She’s probably a lot stronger than she looks. Besides, why do you care so much all of a sudden?”

Geto grumbles, “I’m not so sure how much of ‘us’ she can handle, Satoru.”

“She can handle everything we want her to—no matter what we do to her! Sheesh. Stop worrying so much!” Satoru assures him with a pat on his shoulder. “Come on, Suguru! You’ll make the moves when the time is right. Besides, she’s kind of already ours, right? Not like anyone can interfere when the two strongest sorcerers have someone like her all to themselves, right?”

“Right,” he replies with a smirk. “It’s unlikely anything will interfere.”

Satoru beams. “There he is! There’s the Suguru I know—mphf!”

He’s interrupted with Geto’s lips plunging onto his; Geto’s arms resting on his hips. Satoru melts into the kiss—one thing that hasn’t changed is that Geto will always be his weakness. He will always bend to his will no matter what.

Geto pins Satoru’s body to the couch with his, kissing down his neck. Satoru purrs, rolling his hips into Suguru’s and smirking a bit when the other man hisses.

“Behave,” he chides as his lips slide down to Satoru’s pelvis, where he presses a kiss to the growing bulge there. Satoru inhales sharply, his hands flying down to grip Suguru’s hair.

“Be good,” he chides again with a string of chuckles as he unzips Satoru’s pants with his teeth.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he whines, tossing his head back as Geto removes his cock, stroking it gingerly as he peppers kisses around the tip.

“We need to make this quick, Satoru, or the girls will wonder where I’ve been.”

With that, he engulfs his cock in one languid motion and Satoru chokes on a gasp, fingers clawing at Geto’s hair.

“Please hurry up and fuck me!” he begs through another whimper, his eyes pleading. The other man can’t help but coo at the pathetic sight. Geto hushes him as he bobs his head, slurping on his length. He takes him entirely; his mouth resting at the base of his cock.

He moves back to the tip, swirling his tongue at the pre leaking from it.

Gojo’s flushed state is absolutely adorable.

At some point Geto yanks Gojo’s pants and boxers entirely off. Such pesky clothes, always making things more difficult than what is necessary.

“The only way you’re coming tonight is if you’re inside me, Satoru,” he growls, grasping the base of his cock as he plants kisses all around it. “I know you can hold it for me, can’t you?”

Gojo manages a nod before another moan escapes his lips. So he’s not the one bottoming tonight then?

Guess Suguru is in one of those moods…just needs to forgo reality for a bit.

Satoru’s eyes clench shut as Geto engulfs his cock entirely again.

This is going to be a long night…

After you finish typing up an assignment, you glance at the clock. It’s only 9PM, so that gives you enough time to spare for a little self-care. You let out a deep sigh as you feel some tension lift from your shoulders, slouching back in your chair.

Student life can get a little lonely. The job at the bakery helps in the sense that you’re around people a little bit more. But you haven’t made much of an effort to make any real connections.

Looks like it’s another solo night with me bouncing on my vibrator or something… you think, glancing at the drawer at your side table.

Shrugging, you slink out of your chair and pad to the restroom, yanking off the robe hanging on the door.

You really hate to admit it, but you can’t logic your way out of desiring companionship yourself.

That’s something for you to cry about in the shower now.

[getindumdums]

Ok so random thought. What if the rise turtles fed up with being treated as ‘odd’ by a couple of the other iterations, decided to pretend to be a ‘new’ iteration for a night. Just to see how’d they react.

Leo, wrapping his arms around his bros: “Say. I got an idea~. That’ll REALLY tell us what they think of us.”

*says idea*

Mikey grabs Donnie’s bandanna and wears it. “Ohhhh! I get to show off my psychology degree!” Bouncing on his heels.

*he will also be able to stretch this delusion on account that he knows how to weld and has helped Donnie make things.

“OH-HO HO!” Donnie grabs Raph’s bandanna excitedly, finger gun pose, “I’m gonna be the best RAPH ever!” Leans forward fists to his sides looking FERAL.

Leo grabs Mikey’s bandanna, posing, “Not bad~. I can make this work~.” Smiling coyly, eyes shut, sparkles.

*he will be Extra.

“Mmm… I don’t think Raph likes how the mask doesn’t cover my whole head.” Raph wearing Leo’s blue mask scratches his head as his brow furrow in concern.

Donnie waved his hand dismissively, “Don’t worry. I can make new adjusted ones for us.”

“Good! Cause I wanted my mask tails longer!” Leo called.

“We still have to look unrecognizable however.” Donnie typing on his wrist. “So maybe we should leave certain things. I —unfortunately— should forgo my eyebrows.”

Leo: “I still don’t know how you think you’re gonna pull off Raph! That voice is a dead-nerd give away!”

Donnie grabbed his chin, “Mmm… You may offer a fair point. Perhaps a ‘cool, silent bad boy’ type would fit me!” Grinning. “Practicing a deeper voice would help.”

His eyebrows perked up. “Raph should be fine as long as he stops speaking in the 3rd person.” Raph laughs nervously(?).

*Donnie will later be showing up a motorcycle and way too cool clothes.

“But what about Raph’s size?” Mikey leaned in worriedly

“Yeah what about my height?” Rafa repeated.

“Come to think of it. It is kinda dead-end give away.” Leo grabbed his chin.

“Hmm.” Donnie thought, “I could probably invent a shrink way, or something to temporarily change your build.”

*This may or may not go wrong later. Raph will still have his spiked shell. Possibly a much thinner build and tail (if we want) if we go this route.

*though it would be fun imagining them try to dress up Raph convincingly as his size. Maybe using Mikey’s craft skills. Other alternatives would be Donnie making a robot Raph speaks through. And a poorly constructed dummy Raph speaks for from behind a corner. Actually that robot might be a solid idea—

In the end they all look different enough, try speaking in (slightly) different voices boarding on bad.

?Mikey probably painted their skin to look darker/more consistent (more like Donnie’s blue-green skin maybe??)

But all in all it’s just believable enough.

Feel free to use I guess. I don’t think I have time to draw it.

Edit: My Tags

[o-sachi]

You're My Sunshine - Various Blue Lock

ᯓ blue lock characters with a cheerful and upbeat s/o ᯓ characters; various blue lock chars. ᯓ tags; fluff, sfw, gn reader, no y/n

[🐟]: Trying out a different format for HCs 'cuz I feel like this works better for this request.

Sunshine x Sunshine

This is perhaps the healthiest of healthy relationships. Being around each other simply feels light and easy because they understand each other by heart. Both of you have a positive outlook on life, wanting to pursue happiness together every step of the way. Most likely, this relationship was a result of a strong foundation of friendship.

You two are always playful with each other, finding ways to keep the spark alive by being spontaneous and adventurous with your relationship. You like randomly bursting into a duet in the middle of cooking dinner or going on picnic dates on a weekend afternoon.

There's a good line of communication between the two of you that keeps the relationship afloat at all times. Although, between important conversations would be a lot of laughter, inside-jokes, and flirty banter. There's never a dull moment between the two of you; that's for sure. And warning: HE WILL TEASE YOU A LOT.

He thinks you're the brightest and most beautiful thing in this world. He'll make sure that you never forget he thinks so. And he will compliment you like craaaazy. He's so downbad for you (wholesome-ly).

Affection—both verbally and physically—are expressed freely and frequently. Neither of you feel the need to hold back on it. You always make it your goal to express your appreciation for each other as you continue to support and push each other forward. It's pretty much a relationship that cultivates growth while being genuinely happy. The type of relationship everyone dreams of, basically.

Isagi, Bachira, Ness, Hiori, Niko, Kurona, Nanase, Charles, Lavinho

Sunshine x Sunshine Protector

Not exactly an opposites attract situation... most of the time at least. But it's more so that he likes to take on the duty to protect you and uphold your well-being at all times. He just thinks you're so precious—vulnerable to the cruelty of the world—and would gladly carry the burden of protecting you from all of that on his back.

It's a bit of mystery to you how he can be closed off to the world but so tender and loving with you. But, hey, why are you going to complain about that? Besides, if you do ask him, he'll just grunt at you and ignore it. Deep down he's having a crisis about it though. The tough guy facade is well-practiced after all.

He isn't the best with words, but he makes up for it through other ways—touch, quality time, acts of services, and so on. He'll gladly sacrifice himself if it meant making you happy. He's so deep down the rabbit hole (which is you), but will never admit it... unless you beg him nicely.

Although, he does offer words of reassurance. They come off as rather... stiff. Their words lack a bit of warmth, but they serve to provide you comfort either way. It's mostly because it sounds like advice—practical words. But sometimes all you need are sweet words to get rid of the fleeting worry. Don't fret; they'll get better somehow.

But there will be the rare times when you give him support and reassurance. Of course, he won't say so—you'll just notice it after being with him for so long. He'll be a bit averted to the idea at first, but will warm up to it soon enough. The strength of your relationship lies in this mutual respect and desire to uplift each other especially in each other's lowest moments.

Kunigami, Barou, Karasu, Kaiser, Gagamaru, Raichi, Sendou, Snuffy

Sunshine x Grumpy

This was one hell of a slow-burn. But was it worth it? Hell yeah. Your dynamic is almost the same as sunshine x sunshine protector, but he's a lot more subtle with his "protecting" and best belief he will deny all softie allegations because of it.

But that's exactly what he is—a big softie for you and for you only. But since he's emotionally constipated, he shows his love in... strange ways, but he swears it's normal. He'll act like he doesn't care most of the time, but he'll always have his eye on you. He'll always reject your silly requests, but will humor you eventually when you start showing those puppy dog eyes (his weakness).

THERE WILL BE TONS OF BANTER. But it will mostly be you laughing and him groaning. You like to tease him a lot, causing him to reward you with the nickname "brat". He says so affectionately, of course. Sometimes he'll even tease you back just to shut you up. It works like magic by the way.

One thing he hates the most is to see you cry and he hates it even more if he was the reason for those tears. As much as you don't want to fall apart in front of him—there are rare moments when his callousness gets to you. Suddenly, he no longer cares about keeping up his icy exterior; he'd drop it all for you. He'll scoop you up in his arms and tell you the sweetest things he had never uttered before in his life.

He sincerely thinks you're the best thing in his life. Even though he's so cold and detached, you managed to melt away some of that ice. You balance each other well and that's what keeps the relationship going.

Rin, Sae, Noel

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[twistedheartsclub]

Womb For You Male X Female Reader Part Two

Warnings: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, confinement, obsessive behavior, non-consensual touching, psychological abuse, forced domesticity, surrogacy coercion, subtle reproductive control, disturbing relationship dynamics, power imbalance, desperation, attempted escape, and implied sexual trauma.

PART ONE HERE

Y/N had just come in from her afternoon walk when she heard the soft clack of heels echoing through the front hall — not the gentle soles of Camille the maid, not the heavy boot-steps of Elias.

Heels. Precise. Purposeful.

She stepped into the hallway and froze.

Vivienne stood near the entryway, draped in a cream coat over a dark green sheath dress, sunglasses perched high on her sculpted cheekbones. Her platinum hair was twisted into a perfect chignon, not a strand out of place.

She looked like a magazine cover — aloof, untouchable, airbrushed in real life.

Their eyes met.

Vivienne slid the sunglasses off with a flick of her fingers, revealing pale gray eyes that didn’t betray surprise or warmth. Just… acknowledgement.

Y/N swallowed. “Hi.”

Vivienne’s lips curved into a tight smile. More reflex than feeling.

“Y/N,” she said smoothly. “You’re... showing.”

Her eyes dipped — not long, not fondly — but enough to assess the swell under Y/N’s sweater.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, voice quiet. “It’s starting to feel real.”

Vivienne nodded once, as if checking off a box.

There was no how are you feeling? No do you need anything?

No... connection.

“It’s good that the pregnancy is stable,” Vivienne murmured. “I’m only here for a few days — we have a gala next weekend, and the guest list is exhausting. I need to approve the caterers and dress arrangements. That sort of thing.”

Y/N said nothing.

Vivienne’s gaze flicked over her again.

“We’ll have someone come in to update your wardrobe,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “You’re starting to outgrow things, and I’m sure Elias hasn’t thought of it.”

A pause.

“You’ll look… better in something tailored.”

Y/N blinked, unsure if it was an insult, a gesture of care, or just a way to control how she appeared in public.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

Vivienne’s forced smile returned, thinner this time. She slid her sunglasses back on, already halfway turned.

“Rest well. I’ll be upstairs.”

And then she was gone — vanishing up the stairs with the grace of someone who had never been asked to clean her own home or speak more than necessary.

Y/N stood in the hall, one hand on the curve of her belly, staring at the place where Vivienne had just stood.

She didn’t want to be here.

That much was clear.

Not with Y/N. Not with Elias. Not with the baby.

Not really.

And suddenly, the lie in the medical chart — the one Y/N had tried to swallow — bubbled up again, sour and undeniable.

Because Vivienne hadn’t looked at her belly with wonder.

She had looked at it like a transaction.

The dining room table had never felt so long.

Y/N sat on one side of it — in her usual place, the soft light of the chandelier glowing against her skin and the curve of her now-visible belly. She wore one of the new dresses that had arrived that morning. Silky, fitted but modest. Soft blue. The tags had still been attached. A maid had cut them off for her.

Elias sat beside her, as he always did.

And Vivienne sat across from them — distant, silent, sipping white wine like it was water.

The meal was decadent: pan-seared duck, asparagus with lemon zest, and a delicate beet risotto. But Y/N barely tasted any of it. Every bite was a task.

The silence was unbearable.

“So,” Elias said at last, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin, “we should think about nursery design soon. I was considering the east wing, perhaps turning the old music room into a proper suite.”

Vivienne didn’t look up. “Do whatever you like.”

“I’d like your input, darling.”

She met his eyes. “No, you don’t.”

Elias smiled — that slow, gliding expression Y/N had come to recognize. The one that looked like kindness but felt like power.

“I think soft green walls,” he said lightly, turning back to Y/N. “Wouldn’t that be nice? With light wood furniture. We can have a rocking chair custom made for you.”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably. “That’s… kind. But I really haven’t thought about any of that yet.”

“Nonsense. We should spoil you.”

Vivienne set her glass down a little harder than necessary.

“You’ve already done that,” she murmured. “Haven’t you?”

Elias didn’t respond right away. Just refilled her wine for her.

“Isn’t it incredible,” he said after a long pause, “how nature finds a way?”

Y/N looked between them, her heart beginning to pound.

Vivienne’s fork scraped against her plate. “Let’s not pretend this is about nature.”

Elias’s hand drifted to Y/N’s — gently, warm — curling his fingers around hers with practiced affection.

“She’s part of our family now,” he said softly, not looking at Vivienne.

Y/N wanted to pull her hand away. She didn’t.

Vivienne stood without finishing her meal. “I have a headache.”

“Would you like me to bring you something?” Y/N offered quickly, just to break the tension.

Vivienne’s lips twitched. “No need. We have staff for that.”

And with that, she was gone.

Elias squeezed Y/N’s hand once before releasing it. “Don’t mind her,” he said smoothly. “She struggles with change. But she’ll adjust. Eventually.”

Y/N offered a tight smile. “Sure.”

But her stomach was knotted.

And she didn’t finish her food.

Later That Night

The house had gone quiet again.

Y/N couldn’t sleep. Her body was sore and restless. The baby kicked occasionally now — little flickers like static beneath her skin. She had started rubbing her belly without thinking, like she needed to ground herself in something real.

She wandered the halls with a mug of warm milk, hoping it might help.

Then she heard it.

Voices.

Muffled. Behind the closed door of Elias’s office. She crept closer, careful not to let her footsteps echo against the marble. The door wasn’t open, but sound leaked through — fractured, tense.

She recognized Vivienne’s voice first. Tight. Controlled. Angry.

“You said this would be temporary. You said I just had to smile until the child was born.”

“And you’ve done that, haven’t you?” Elias’s voice — calm, syrupy. Dangerous. “You’ve done very little, but still.”

“Don’t you dare—”

“You didn’t want the child. You didn’t want the responsibility. You didn’t even want me. You just wanted the optics. Now that your gala season is back in full swing, you think you can wriggle out of this?”

“I upheld my part of the deal. I let you have your fantasy. Your little domestic goddess.”

Y/N’s heart dropped.

“She’s nothing like you,” Elias said, voice lowering. “She’s warm. Kind. Innocent. She listens. She trusts. She’s not hollow. She’s not cold.”

“She’s your surrogate.”

“She’s more than that.”

There was a pause. Then Vivienne’s voice — clipped and colder than ever.

“I want out. When the baby is born, you’ll finalize the dissolution. That was the agreement.”

“And I’ve never broken a deal,” Elias replied smoothly. “After the birth, we’ll file the papers.”

“Then this is almost over.”

“For you, maybe.”

Silence stretched.

Y/N’s head was spinning.

She began backing away, breath caught in her throat — until she turned a corner and jumped.

Camille stood there, a tray in her hands, eyes wide.

“I—I’m sorry,” the maid whispered. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you… need anything?”

Y/N shook her head, heart pounding. “No. I was just…”

“Walking.”

They stared at each other.

Camille glanced back toward the hall, then stepped a little closer.

“You should go lie down,” she said softly. “You need rest. It’s better if you’re not seen wandering at night.”

There was no threat in her voice — just something almost like pity.

Y/N nodded, wordless.

She walked back to her room, shut the door, and stood there in the dark, one hand over her stomach.

She wasn’t part of a family.

She was part of a deal.

And soon… her part would be over.

But Elias?

He had no intention of letting her go.

The gala had begun two hours ago.

Laughter floated up through the walls, muffled and elegant. The clinking of crystal glasses echoed faintly through the stairwell. Music—something orchestral and soft—drifted like perfume through the halls. Even with her door closed, Y/N could feel it.

The house wasn’t hers tonight.

It belonged to people with pearls at their throats and art history degrees, men with gray temples and wealth that smelled like cologne and quiet violence.

She stayed upstairs.

Curled on the velvet loveseat in her room, wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweater, hair tied up, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. A bowl of sliced fruit sat untouched beside her, condensation pooling at its base.

She tried reading one of her fantasy novels—dragons, kingdoms, high stakes—but the words blurred.

She tried watching TV—some reality show rerun—but it all felt loud and empty.

The baby kicked once, and she sighed, rubbing her belly gently.

You're not missing anything, she told herself.

But curiosity tugged at her, the kind that builds like static in your bones.

She just wanted to look.

The hallway outside was quiet, lit in soft golden pools of light from the sconces. Her bare feet made no sound on the polished wood floors.

She padded slowly down the corridor, past her guestroom, past the quiet art gallery wall, until she reached the top of the grand staircase.

She stayed in the shadows.

The view from the second floor was almost cinematic. The massive chandelier glittered like a thousand tiny stars, suspended over a sea of silk dresses and sleek tuxedos. Waiters in white jackets glided between guests with silver trays. The air shimmered with perfume and soft laughter and secrets.

Vivienne was easy to spot—dressed in shimmering gold, standing near a marble pillar, laughing too loudly at something a man in designer glasses had said. Her makeup was flawless. Her posture rigid. She didn’t once glance toward the stairs.

Y/N’s eyes drifted through the crowd—faces she didn’t know, champagne bubbling in delicate flutes—and then landed on him.

Elias.

Tall. Commanding. Dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that looked like it had been sewn onto his body. He stood with two older men, nodding politely, but he didn’t laugh. His smile was the same one he always wore around investors. Measured. Calculated.

He hadn’t seen her.

She watched for a moment longer. Just a glimpse. Just a taste of the world below.

She was about to slip away when—

“Enjoying the view?”

His voice. Right behind her.

Y/N jumped, spinning to find Elias standing one step up on the stairs, just over her shoulder. He hadn’t made a sound.

Her breath caught. “I—how did you—?”

His lips curved into a soft, amused smile. “I always know where you are.”

She looked down at her clothes, embarrassed. “I wasn’t trying to— I just wanted to see.”

He tilted his head, studying her like something rare. His eyes dropped briefly to the round swell of her stomach, then back up to her face.

“You should’ve come down.”

“I didn’t think I was supposed to.”

“You’re part of this house,” he said, stepping down beside her. “You belong here more than most of them.”

She swallowed. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

He reached up, gently brushing a stray hair from her cheek.

“Next time,” he murmured. “I’ll have something waiting for you.”

The sounds of the gala continued behind them — music swelling, laughter blooming, glasses clinking — but up here, it was just them. Close. Quiet. Intimate.

Elias leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

“You don’t have to hide, Y/N. You’re not some secret.”

She looked away, suddenly cold despite the heat in the air.

“But I feel like one.”

He said nothing.

Just smiled.

And offered his arm.

“Come. You’ve seen it now. Let me walk you back to bed.”

The gala faded behind the walls like a distant memory. Y/N had long since retreated to her room, changed back into her pajamas—and washed her face.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

The house was too alive. Beneath the silence, she could still feel the hum of music, the ghost of clinking glasses, the perfume of strangers lingering in the halls.

She lay in bed, one hand draped over her belly, her lamp dimmed to a golden glow.

The baby gave a small, firm kick against her palm.

Y/N smiled a little despite herself.

Then—a soft knock.

Not on the main door.

On her bedroom door.

Before she could answer, it opened.

Elias.

Still dressed in his black tuxedo, jacket removed, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, the top two buttons undone. His hair was slightly tousled, the sharp edge of the night worn down into something looser, darker.

“Are you awake?” he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, heart already fluttering. “Yeah.”

He stepped in quietly and closed the door behind him.

“I just wanted to check on you. You disappeared so quickly.”

Y/N shifted upright against the pillows, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “The noise made it hard to sleep.”

Elias moved to the side of the bed and hesitated for a moment—then sat down gently beside her.

“You should’ve let me introduce you,” he said, looking at her with something like regret. “You looked beautiful, even just watching from the stairs.”

She glanced down at her lap. “I wasn’t dressed for it.”

His eyes dropped to her belly, softening. “You’re glowing.”

He reached out—without asking—and placed a hand over the curve of her bump.

Y/N froze for half a second.

But his hand was warm. Firm. Gentle.

The baby kicked once beneath his palm.

Elias smiled.

“She knows me.”

Y/N swallowed, unsure what to say.

He didn’t remove his hand.

Instead, slowly, Elias shifted—laying down beside her, turning onto his side to face her, his hand still resting protectively over the bump. They were barely inches apart.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly.

Y/N hesitated. Her body stiffened.

But something in his voice, in the way he looked at her—not demanding, but expectant—made her nod.

“…It’s fine.”

He exhaled, closing his eyes briefly, like he’d been waiting for that permission.

His palm moved gently in slow circles across her stomach. Tender. Reassuring.

“You’ve done so well,” he whispered. “So strong. So soft. I can’t stop thinking about how perfect this child is going to be. How perfect you’ve made her.”

Y/N’s muscles began to relax, almost involuntarily. The gentle pressure of his hand, the rhythm of his voice—it made something inside her quiet.

Like her body responded before her mind could fight it.

“You were made for this,” Elias murmured. “For creating. For nurturing. For being here.”

Y/N’s eyes slipped closed. Just for a second.

He kept rubbing slow, steady circles, the warmth of his body seeping into the bed beside her.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to think. You just have to be mine.”

Her breathing deepened.

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t want this.

But the way he touched her, the way he spoke—it lulled her like a song she almost believed in.

When she finally drifted to sleep, he was still there.

Watching her.

Smiling.

The moon had long since passed its peak, casting silver light through the sheer curtains of the guestroom. The house had gone utterly silent, the glittering remnants of the gala resting downstairs like the bones of some elegant beast.

And in the guest bed, Elias Locke slept beside her.

Y/N didn’t stir, her body curled slightly on her side, hands cradled beneath her cheek. Her breath was even, peaceful, lips parted slightly. The soft rise and fall of her chest mirrored the quiet rhythm of the baby within her — steady, safe.

Elias had one arm draped lightly across her waist, his other hand still resting on the swell of her belly, thumb brushing against the fabric of her sleep shirt even in dreams.

His face was calm. Content.

There was no rage. No calculation.

Just devotion.

Possessive. Unshakable.

Like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

For the first time in weeks, he slept without waking.

At dawn, the first sliver of light crept across the floorboards, and Elias stirred.

He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the soft gray glow of morning. Y/N was still asleep — lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, her lips trembling slightly in whatever dream she lingered in.

He watched her for a long moment, silent.

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Purposeful. A claiming more than affection.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“You’re mine.”

She shifted slightly in her sleep, but didn’t wake.

Elias pulled back and gently lifted the covers to tuck them over her shoulders. His fingertips lingered at her temple, brushing a strand of hair back with reverence. He watched the curve of her stomach beneath the blanket—his child resting safely within her.

The life he created.

The future she would give him.

He stood, rolled his shoulders, and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, still rumpled from the night before. There was no guilt in his steps as he walked across the room. No hesitation.

This wasn’t something shameful.

It was something earned.

Something fated.

He opened the door quietly, pausing once to look back.

She still hadn’t moved.

Still safe.

Still his.

Then he stepped out into the hall and returned to his own bedroom—just in time for the house to wake.

Six months.

Y/N was officially in her third trimester.

She had never been so aware of her body — the way her back ached constantly, how her ankles puffed by mid-afternoon, how her belly strained every shirt she wore. Even her thoughts felt swollen. Everything was heavier now. Louder.

But still…

People said she was glowing.

Even she couldn’t deny it. Her skin looked clear and warm, her hair thicker, shinier. Her eyes had a softness to them now — and Elias noticed every detail.

He noticed everything.

He was obsessed with her.

More than ever.

Always touching — a hand on her back when she stood, her elbow when they walked, the small of her spine when she paused mid-sentence. His palm rested constantly over her belly, as though he could feel the baby through sheer will.

And when the baby kicked, he looked like he could cry.

Y/N tried to keep some space. But it was hard. He was gentle. Attentive. Present in a way no one had ever been for her.

When her feet hurt, he rubbed them. When she cried for no reason, he sat with her quietly until the tears passed. When she couldn’t sleep, he read aloud from her pregnancy books or played music softly until she drifted off.

She told herself this was about the baby. Not her.

But Elias didn’t just look at her belly.

He looked at her.

Like he owned her.

Like she was already his.

Vivienne still came and went. Always brief. Always with a bag, a phone call, a schedule. She barely looked at Y/N anymore — but when she did, there was no hatred. No warmth either. Just cold distance.

She hadn’t once touched Y/N’s stomach. Or asked how she was feeling.

Y/N had started helping decorate the nursery — soft green wallpaper, tiny golden stars. Bookshelves. A hand-painted rocking chair. Elias insisted she choose the fabrics, the curtains, the crib sheets.

Vivienne had offered no opinion.

And the hormones?

They were ruthless.

Y/N cried over nothing. Over a cup of tea being too bitter. Over an ad about adoption. Over a duck waddling across a street in a YouTube video.

Worse still… she was horny.

Constantly. Desperately. Her body was begging for something she didn’t dare name.

She’d joked about it to Mariah over the phone one night, laughing through a pillow while curled on the nursery couch.

And her friend — bless her soul — had snorted and said:

“Girl, just sleep with the husband already. You’re halfway there.”

Y/N had hissed. “Mariah.”

“I’m just saying,” her friend teased. “The man worships you. If he didn’t have a ring on his finger, I’d be cheering you on.”

Y/N hadn’t laughed. Not really.

Instead, she had changed the subject and — for the first time in a while — confided in Mariah about the mistake. The doctor’s chart, the argument behind the office door, the chart that magically changed.

She told her everything.

Mariah had gone quiet at first. Then offered what Y/N wanted to hear.

“Maybe… it was just a lovers’ quarrel, Y/N. You said Vivienne looked checked out, right? She probably feels replaced. Like her body failed her. I mean… wouldn’t you be distant, too?”

Y/N had nodded.

She had to believe that.

She had to believe this was just complicated.

Not wrong.

But in quiet moments, when Elias brushed her hair and said things like “You were made for this,” and “She’ll have your heart,” and “I’ve never known peace until you,”—

Y/N felt it.

That creeping sense of something off.

Still… she reminded herself:

She was almost there.

Almost done.

She’d give them the baby. She’d get her final check. And she’d go back to her own life. Her own body. Her own choices.

Even if a small, quiet part of her might… miss this.

The luxury.

The comfort.

The being wanted.

It started with a wave of dizziness.

The baby had been kicking all day — stretching against her ribs like it was running out of space — and now, at nearly midnight, Y/N felt the ground tilt beneath her feet as she stood in the hallway outside her bathroom.

She clutched the wall, eyes closing.

Then, suddenly, Elias was there.

Strong hands steadied her waist, his voice low, firm, steady in her ear. “Careful. I’ve got you.”

She didn’t remember calling for him. But he was always there when she stumbled — like the house whispered to him when she wavered.

She was wearing a soft cotton dress. No bra. The weight of anything against her chest made her feel suffocated. She’d left on a pair of panties more out of routine than comfort, but lately, everything touching her skin felt wrong. Too tight. Too heavy. Too much.

“I feel off,” she murmured as he helped her into bed. “Everything feels… wrong.”

“You’re just tired,” Elias whispered, tucking the blanket over her hips. “The baby’s growing fast. You’re carrying so much.”

He lay beside her without asking.

He always did now.

At first, it was small things. A hand on her ankle. A rub on her back. A kiss to her temple before he said goodnight.

But tonight…

His hand rested on her belly again — warm, reverent — moving in slow, rhythmic circles.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, brushing strands of damp hair from her forehead. “So soft. So full.”

She leaned into the touch without meaning to. Her body ached, and his hand felt like balm. Familiar. Heavy and grounding. It soothed her fraying nerves the way warm sun settles over chilled skin.

She didn’t notice when his hand drifted.

From her belly to the curve beneath it… then upward.

Fingers grazing the underside of her breast.

She inhaled sharply — but didn’t move.

He paused, barely a breath of hesitation — and then his palm cupped her fully.

She almost moaned.

God, it was like scratching an itch buried deep in the muscle. Like heat blooming through bruised bone. That dark, hidden ache she hadn’t been able to soothe — he found it.

Her back arched slightly.

Her body, swollen and sensitive, betrayed her.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, mouth close to her ear now. “You’re trembling.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

But she didn’t stop him.

His hand moved again — down her side, tracing the curve of her hip, down along her thigh.

And then… between.

The pad of his fingers brushed gently against the fabric of her underwear.

She gasped.

“Shhh,” he murmured, stroking with slow pressure. “Let me help you.”

Her hips twitched.

She hated this.

She hated how good it felt.

How relieving it was — like slipping into a hot bath after holding tension too long. Like pressure releasing from deep beneath her skin.

He pulled the band of her underwear aside with slow, deliberate care.

And then his hand was there — gliding between her folds, stroking with practiced rhythm, like he’d memorized her already.

Her breathing picked up.

He didn’t speak again.

He just moved — slow, patient, relentless — like he had all the time in the world to unravel her.

Y/N gripped the sheets.

Some part of her screamed that this was wrong.

But another part — the part that had been aching for weeks, starved of real touch, stripped of her own body and given only service and care — that part welcomed it.

She turned her face into the pillow, tears burning the corners of her eyes.

Not from pain.

From shame.

From how good it felt.

The next morning, Y/N woke up alone.

The spot beside her was cold. Undisturbed.

For a brief moment, she convinced herself it hadn’t happened. That she’d dreamed it. That the pressure between her legs, the warmth that had bloomed in her core, the way she’d come undone beneath his hand — had all been imagined.

But then she sat up, and her body remembered.

The soreness. The softness of his voice. The way he’d kissed her temple before she fell asleep, like nothing had been out of place.

Her throat tightened.

She didn’t know what disturbed her more — the act itself… or how much she’d wanted it in the moment.

She didn’t cry.

She got dressed. Slowly. Quietly. She didn’t tell anyone.

And when she passed Elias in the hall later that morning, he greeted her with a gentle hand on her back and a murmured, “How did you sleep?”

Like it was just another morning.

Like nothing had changed.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

Time Skip – Eight Months

The baby was coming soon.

Thirty-four weeks.

Y/N’s belly was full and low now. Her back ached constantly, her feet were perpetually swollen, and it felt like she hadn’t breathed properly in a month. Everything was harder — sitting, sleeping, walking — and her mood shifted by the hour.

But the house remained calm. Too calm.

Elias was more attentive than ever.

He drew her baths. Bought her new pillows. Had the kitchen staff prepare specific cravings she didn’t even realize she had. He sat with her in the nursery every evening, rubbing her feet and talking to the baby. He whispered to her stomach like it was sacred. Like she was sacred.

But not once did he mention that night.

He didn’t have to.

The way he looked at her changed.

It wasn’t admiration anymore.

It was ownership.

Sometimes Y/N would catch Vivienne watching them — quiet and distant — from a hallway or staircase. Not jealous. Not even angry. Just detached, like she’d already removed herself from this chapter.

Sometimes Y/N caught herself envying her for it.

She still called Mariah, though not often. Elias didn’t stop her. But he always hovered nearby. Listening. Watching.

And she lied.

She didn’t tell Mariah what had happened.

She just said she was tired. That the baby moved too much. That she couldn’t wait to go home. That she felt… lost.

“You’re almost there,” Mariah always said. “Just hold on. Once the baby’s out, you’re free.”

Y/N clung to that.

Freedom.

Even if it didn’t feel real anymore.

Even if part of her wasn’t sure who she’d be once this ended.

Even if she wasn’t sure Elias would ever let her go.

It started with pressure.

Low. Dull. Like a stretch of muscle too deep to soothe.

Then came the pain — crawling through her back, curling into her hips, radiating through her belly in pulses that made her fold over the bed frame, gasping for breath.

She was only thirty-five weeks. Early. Too early.

But the baby was coming.

And Y/N was not ready.

“Elias!” she cried from the bathroom floor, sweat already breaking at her brow.

He was there within seconds — hands on her waist, then her face. Calm. Always calm.

“You’re okay,” he said gently, brushing hair from her damp forehead. “I’ve been preparing for this. Everything is ready. I’ve got you.”

He didn’t sound surprised.

She expected a hospital.

Instead, he led her down a hall she hadn’t seen before.

At the end: a heavy white door. Inside, a room already glowing in soft golden light. White walls. Medical-grade equipment. A reclining birthing chair. Monitors. A tray of instruments.

A doctor and nurse were waiting.

“I—I should go to a hospital—” she gasped, clutching her belly.

“No.” Elias’s voice was velvet-wrapped steel. “You’re safer here. The baby’s safer here. These are private doctors. People I trust.”

She whimpered as another contraction rolled through her, knocking the argument from her lungs.

The next hours were hell.

Sweat soaked through her gown. Her thighs trembled with every contraction. The world blurred at the edges as pain pulled her under, again and again.

Elias never left her side.

He knelt beside her when she collapsed. He held her hand, gripped it tightly through every scream.

“Breathe,” he whispered against her ear. “You’re doing so well, my love.”

She sobbed.

“I can’t— I can’t—”

“You can. You’re strong. You were made for this.”

Her vision swam. Every breath was a knife in her lungs.

The doctor gave instructions in a calm, crisp voice.

“Ten centimeters. You need to push.”

“I can’t—!”

Elias leaned in, forehead against hers, voice full of reverent awe.

“Yes, you can. You’re mine. And you were built to do this. Bring our child into the world.”

She didn’t want to hear it.

But she pushed.

Again.

Again.

Her body broke open — fire and tearing and pressure so immense she thought her spine would snap. She screamed until her throat gave out.

Elias kissed her temple, fingers brushing her soaked jaw.

“That’s it. You’re almost there. Just one more. You’re perfect. You’re divine.”

She hated him.

She clung to him.

The room spun.

And then—

A cry.

Shrill. Wet. Alive.

The doctor caught the child and moved quickly, checking vitals, suctioning, wrapping.

Y/N collapsed back into the pillows, body trembling, soaked in sweat and blood and tears. Her hands hung limp at her sides.

She couldn’t speak.

She couldn’t think.

Elias stood.

He didn’t go to the baby.

He went to her.

Kissed her soaked forehead. Brushed her hair back like she hadn’t just been broken open in front of him.

“You did it,” he whispered. “You brought her home.”

Y/N sobbed — not from joy, but exhaustion. Numbness. Disbelief.

And when the baby was handed to Elias, not to her—

When he held her, beaming like a man who’d just completed his masterpiece—

Y/N realized:

She was no longer needed.

Two weeks had passed since the birth.

The house had shifted.

Quieter now, but not in a peaceful way. Like something was waiting just outside of view. Like she was no longer the center of the home—but a ghost living in the walls of it.

Y/N was healing slowly. Her body still sore, her stitches pulling if she moved too fast, her hips aching every time she got out of bed. She had refused narcotics, determined to stay present, even as the pain whispered through her bones.

She spent her days resting in the sunroom or the nursery lounge, reading from her small stack of postpartum books. She had read somewhere that it was better not to hold the baby if you were a surrogate. That bonding could complicate things. Make it harder to let go.

So when Elias had first offered her the baby—his voice reverent, his arms full of warm, soft new life—she had said no.

It broke something in her.

But she knew it was safer.

She still pumped milk for the baby—twice a day.

At first, she had hesitated. It was intimate. Exposing. But Elias had asked gently, so sincerely, and she felt like she owed them that. Just a little longer.

Elias was always there.

Still doting. Still watching.

He brought her meals, placed her vitamins in her palm, refilled her water glass when she wasn’t looking. He rubbed her back when she winced, adjusted her pillows when she couldn’t sleep.

“You’re recovering beautifully,” he would say softly, fingers brushing her shoulder. “You’re still glowing.”

Sometimes, when she pumped milk, she caught him watching her.

Not sexually.

Not exactly.

Just… staring. Intently. Like she was doing something sacred.

Like she was still his.

The baby—a girl—had been named Josephine.

Not Josie.

Not Jo.

Josephine.

An old name. Stately. Proper. A name Elias said had belonged to his grandmother. He spoke it with reverence, pride, almost worship.

He spent hours with her—rocking her in the nursery, humming songs in a language Y/N didn’t recognize, reading poetry aloud with a softness that made her stomach twist.

And still, whenever Y/N asked:

“When will Vivienne be back?”

Elias would smile.

“Soon, darling. She’s resting.”

Or:

“She’s at a spa in the mountains.”

Or:

“She’s working through some personal grief.”

Always a gentle lie.

Until one day… Vivienne was just there.

Y/N was walking past the nursery, water bottle in hand, dressed in one of her loose loungewear sets. Her body was still heavier, her chest sore, her gait uneven.

She paused in the doorway when she saw her.

Vivienne stood at the bassinet in a silk blouse and pearl earrings, her hand resting lightly on the edge. Josephine slept soundly inside.

Y/N hesitated, unsure if she should leave.

But Vivienne turned.

And smiled.

Cool. Tight.

“You did well,” she said softly.

Y/N blinked. “Thank you.”

Vivienne stepped forward and gently touched Y/N’s shoulder.

The touch didn’t linger.

“You made it look effortless.”

“I… tried to take care of her. My body.”

“She’s perfect,” Vivienne said. “You should be proud. You did your part.”

Y/N looked down. “I’m glad she’s healthy.”

There was a pause.

Vivienne’s eyes wandered the nursery, her voice softer now, almost casual.

“You know, Elias always wanted a big family. Six kids, maybe more. He came from a crowded house. Full of love, he says. I think he wants to recreate that.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Six?

Vivienne looked at her—really looked.

“You were his favorite. I could tell.”

Y/N tried to speak, but her mouth was dry.

Vivienne’s fingers brushed a stuffed toy on the shelf. Her tone didn’t change.

“He used to talk about legacy all the time. Now he talks about warmth. Love. How your body—” she glanced back at Y/N “—was made for this. You changed everything.”

And then she said it.

Words soft as silk, but sharp enough to slice open bone:

“You won’t be the last.”

Y/N froze.

Vivienne smiled gently.

Then walked past her, heels clicking softly against the nursery floor.

Time passed.

Y/N healed.

Her body slowly returned to itself — or something like it. The bleeding stopped. The swelling lessened. Her hips no longer ached every time she stood, and she could walk longer stretches without needing to rest. She’d even started brushing her hair again. Sleeping without medicine. Eating full meals.

She’d survived the storm.

But she hadn’t left the eye.

It had started two weeks ago.

Josephine wouldn’t take the bottle.

She’d cry, mouth open, rooting blindly, refusing the artificial nipple like it offended her. They tried different bottles. Different formulas. Heated milk. Pacifiers. Nothing worked.

“She needs you,” Elias had said, voice heavy with worry. “The doctors said if she doesn’t feed soon, she’ll lose weight.”

Y/N had hesitated.

She knew what would happen.

She had read about it—the bond, the hormones, the heartbreak. Breastfeeding blurred every line she had fought to hold.

But she’d looked at Josephine’s face—red, wet, hungry—and her heart cracked open.

“I’ll try,” she whispered.

The first time hurt. Her body wasn’t ready.

But the baby latched like she had been waiting her whole life.

Y/N cried quietly. She didn’t know why.

It became routine.

Y/N nursing Josephine, hair damp from a quick shower, robe slipping from her shoulder. The baby tucked against her skin, tiny fists curled. Her heartbeat slowing.

And Elias was always there.

Helping.

Too helpful.

He’d press a warm cloth to her chest before she began. He’d stroke her back, whisper affirmations. Sometimes—too often—he’d reach out gently, carefully, and take her breast in his hand.

“Let me help,” he’d murmur. “She’s latching wrong. This is better—see?”

His fingers were steady. Tender.

But not neutral.

Y/N would freeze every time. But she never pulled away.

Because in that moment, she was focused on the baby. And he knew it.

The worst part?

Some small part of her felt good.

Wanted the contact. Wanted someone to care for her while she cared for Josephine.

Vivienne’s voice echoed in her head every time it happened:

“You won’t be the last.”

One warm afternoon, after Josephine had finished feeding and was dozing in her bassinet, Y/N sat in the sunroom, arms limp, robe hanging loosely around her body. Her chest ached. Her heart did too.

She stared out the window at the garden.

And then she said it.

Soft. Steady. Almost like she was speaking to herself.

“I’m ready to go home.”

Elias, sitting in the armchair nearby, looked up slowly from his tablet.

He blinked once.

And then… he laughed.

Not cruelly.

Not sharply.

But lightly. As if she’d told a joke.

As if the idea was sweet. And silly.

He set the tablet down and stood, walking over to her with a calm so heavy it chilled her skin.

He leaned down, brushed a kiss to the top of her head, and whispered:

“You are home.”

And then he walked out of the room.

Just like that.

As if nothing had changed.

As if she was never meant to leave.

Y/N didn’t wait.

The moment Elias walked out of the sunroom, she stood—her robe barely tied, her feet cold against the tile—and followed him into the hallway.

She caught up near the staircase, her voice cracking under the weight of days, of months.

“My contract is finished,” she snapped. “I gave birth. I did my part.”

Elias paused, just briefly. His back was still to her.

“I want to go home.”

He turned slowly.

There was no warmth in his eyes this time.

Not the man who rubbed her feet. Not the voice that cooed to Josephine in the nursery. No. This was someone older. Someone entitled.

“You think this was about a contract?”

Her mouth opened—but he cut her off.

“You want to go back to your moldy apartment?” His voice was low, biting. “Back to scraping change from the couch cushions just to buy ramen? Back to working two jobs and getting nothing in return?”

Y/N flinched. “I—”

“You want to take the bus at night again, walk home with your keys between your fingers, pray your landlord hasn’t shut off your hot water?”

Her heart pounded.

“You don’t need a degree,” Elias snarled. “You don’t need independence. You don’t need a résumé. Your job—” he stepped forward, slow, deliberate “—is here.”

She took a shaky breath, lifting her hand slightly as if to reach for him. “Elias, please—”

He caught her wrist mid-air, then released it only to grab her face, fingers pressing painfully into her cheeks as he pushed her back against the wall.

She gasped, the back of her head hitting the plaster.

Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re hurting me.”

His face hovered inches from hers, breathing heavy, voice sharp as glass.

“I’ll give you everything,” he whispered. “Anything you want. You want clothes? You want art? You want a fucking garden? Done. A car? A private wing? A team of nurses? It’s yours.”

His grip didn’t loosen.

“But you do not leave me.”

Tears rolled hot down her cheeks.

“You were made for this. For me. For them.” His voice dropped lower. “You think Josephine needs you now? You think she’ll let you go?”

Y/N shook her head, but she couldn’t speak. Her lips trembled. Her breath came out in uneven sobs.

“You’ll give me more,” he whispered. “Sons. Daughters. A legacy. A house full of life. That’s what I saw in you the moment you stepped into my office. You want freedom?”

His eyes searched her face—hungry, wild, worshipful.

“You can be free, as long as your feet stay under my roof. As long as you carry what I give you.”

And then—

He kissed her.

Hard. Possessive. His mouth crushed against hers like a brand. Her hands trembled at her sides. Her sobs hitched against his lips, but he didn’t stop.

He kissed her like a lover.

Like a man who’d won.

When he finally pulled away, her tears were smeared across his face.

He looked down at her, quiet now. Calm again.

“You belong to me, Y/N.”

And with that, he released her face, gently brushed her hair back behind her ear… and walked away.

As if nothing had happened.

Before she ever walked through his office doors, Elias Locke already knew her name.

Y/N L/N.

Twenty-three years old.

A liberal arts dropout. Worked part-time in a bookstore. Babysat on the weekends. Paid rent late more than once. No family. No romantic ties. No legal representation. No financial safety net.

Just enough kindness to make her likable. Just enough desperation to make her pliable.

He watched her for four months before she ever knew he existed.

It had started with Vivienne’s silence.

She had come home from another appointment—third failed IVF cycle—and tossed the file onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m not doing this again,” she’d said flatly, uncorking a bottle of wine. “Pick someone else. You want a baby, Elias? Hire someone.”

He hadn’t argued.

Vivienne was beautiful. Elegant. Cold. She’d married him because of what he could offer: power, name, protection.

He’d married her because it gave him time.

And time is exactly what he used.

He had teams, of course. Quiet assistants. Discreet lawyers. Men and women whose jobs were to find women like Y/N.

Girls no one would come looking for.

Girls who wouldn’t ask the right questions.

Girls who could be folded, softened, turned toward a purpose.

They’d given him twenty profiles.

But he only needed one.

He saw her photo. A blurry DMV ID from when she was twenty-one. Big eyes. Shy smile. Slight slouch in her shoulders.

She looked hungry.

Not for food.

For someone to believe in her.

To make her safe.

To tell her she mattered.

And that made her perfect.

The first move was subtle: an anonymous donor to pay off one of her utility bills. Just to see how she responded.

She wept.

The second: a customer came into the bookstore and suggested a local ad they’d seen for a surrogate company that offered bonuses for first-time carriers.

Y/N laughed, but she asked for the pamphlet anyway.

That night, she read every word of it.

Elias watched her through camera footage routed from the bookstore’s “security system.” He knew every book she shelved. Every late lunch she skipped.

By the time she filled out the application, he already had the position cleared for her.

They were looking for women with past pregnancies?

That changed.

Vivienne hadn’t cared to read the paperwork. She hadn’t cared to meet the girl.

She just said, “Fine. Let me know when it’s over.”

He did everything else.

The interview? Scripted.

He made sure to be the one to meet her. His assistant was “called away” at the last minute. That first coffee shop meet-up after the signing? Planned. The drink he gave her wasn’t just healthy—it was meant to induce softness, to increase oxytocin levels.

And every question he answered? Practiced.

He wanted her to feel safe.

He wanted her to believe he was the one person in the world who cared about her well-being.

Vivienne caught on eventually.

“You’re watching her too closely,” she said one night. “She’s the surrogate, Elias. Not your mistress.”

But he didn’t answer.

Because she already knew.

Because it had stopped being about just the child the moment Y/N smiled at him during the contract review and thanked him for the opportunity.

She had no idea he had hand-selected her.

That he had visited her apartment while she was out, walked through her bedroom, sat on her bed.

She had no idea her email, messages, browser history — all filtered through him. Logged. Observed.

She had never stood a chance.

Vivienne didn’t care until Y/N moved in.

That’s when she started leaving for “gala trips.” For “spa recovery.” Her way of saying: I see what this is, and I won’t interfere. But I also won’t stay.

She hadn’t wanted a child. She’d wanted image. A name.

But Elias?

He’d wanted a lineage.

A house full of warmth. Children who looked like her. A life sculpted in the image of devotion and obedience. Not cold perfection.

He wanted someone who could be shaped into love.

Someone who would never leave.

“I’ll give you what you want,” Vivienne had said on her final night home. “One child. Then you free me.”

Elias hadn’t answered.

He just watched Y/N from the hallway mirror as she rocked gently in the nursery, running her fingers along the edge of a mobile she hadn’t realized he’d handpicked himself.

She was everything.

Soft. Afraid. Beautiful.

His.

From the very first day.

And soon?

She would understand.

This wasn’t a story about a surrogate helping a couple in need.

This was a story about a man building his family from the bones of a dream.

And she was going to give him every child in it.

Y/N’s hands trembled as she shoved clothes into her old canvas bag — the same one she had carried when she first arrived at the estate. The zipper snagged. Her robe got caught in the teeth of it, and she hissed in frustration, tears blurring her vision.

She didn’t care what she packed.

She just had to leave.

Sweat clung to her neck. Her chest heaved.

Get out. Get out. Get out.

She tore open drawers, yanked things from hangers. A toothbrush. Socks. Something of Josephine’s she didn’t even remember keeping. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

She reached for her phone — the one she hadn’t used in weeks — but it wasn’t there.

It was always in the same drawer. Beneath her nursing bras. Always.

She ripped the drawer out completely, spilling its contents across the floor.

Gone.

Gone.

He had taken it.

A cry broke from her throat — raw, sharp, ragged.

But there was no time.

She grabbed the half-zipped bag, yanked it over her shoulder, and stormed out of the room barefoot, barely registering the sting of cold tile beneath her feet.

Down the stairs.

Through the grand foyer.

Out the front door.

She ran.

The air hit her like ice.

The sun was setting, casting golden firelight across the estate lawns. The gate at the end of the long drive rose like a wall of iron bones, two guards standing at attention beneath the stone archway.

Y/N sprinted.

Bag slapping her hip, breath ragged, tears smearing down her cheeks.

They saw her coming.

They did not move.

“Please—” she gasped, slowing as she reached them. “Please, I have to go. Let me out. Please—”

They didn’t look at her.

Not even a flicker of recognition.

Two men in gray uniforms, faces blank as statues, eyes forward.

Y/N dropped the bag, threw herself at the nearest one, clutching his arm with both hands. “Please, I need to leave—just open the gate—just open it—”

He didn’t even flinch.

She sobbed, pulling at his sleeve like a child, her voice cracking open.

“I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home. I want to go—”

And then she heard it.

Footsteps.

Measured. Calm.

She froze.

The guards shifted slightly — not to stop him, but to acknowledge him.

Elias.

Walking down the gravel path like he was heading to a garden party. Shirt sleeves rolled. No tie. No rush.

Just control.

He reached her slowly.

And when he saw her — tear-streaked, shaking, barefoot, clinging to a guard like a lifeline— he didn’t yell.

He didn’t scold.

He simply opened his arms and whispered her name like a balm.

“Y/N…”

She stumbled back, wiping her face, chest heaving.

“Don’t—don’t touch me—”

But he did.

He stepped forward and gently, tenderly cradled her face in his hands, thumbs brushing tears from her cheeks, brushing her damp hair back behind her ears like she was made of porcelain.

“Shhh,” he murmured. “You’re scared. I understand. I shouldn’t have left you alone. This is too much for you right now. You’re tired. You haven’t healed fully.”

She cried harder, turning her face away—but he didn’t let go.

“You don’t have to think anymore,” he whispered. “You don’t have to run. You’re safe.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead — warm, slow, deliberate.

Then, with one smooth motion, he bent and lifted her off her feet, bag forgotten on the ground, and held her against his chest.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t fight.

She was too tired.

Too broken.

He carried her like a bride.

Back toward the estate.

Back through the gilded doors.

All the while, his voice in her ear—sweet as sugar-laced poison:

“I’ll give you everything. You just have to stay.”

[syluses]

I was thinking, stepdad!Sylus had to deal with his stepdaughter bringing boys home? I mean, apparently Reader was a little bitchy growing up with her step-family, so she had her "fuck my stepdad, I'll fuck under his roof" rebellious period?

All I can think of is stepdad!Sylus chuckling at his stepdaughter's schemes until he developed feelings for her and he was more like "If anyone touches you inappropriately, I'm going to rip their hand off." 😭

Oh 😮‍💨 Nonnie, I fear once we get into jealous! stepdad sylus territory, we may never escape it 🤭

NOW OKAY HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE. so while i do have “virginity loss” as a tag on the fic, that doesn’t wipe out the possibility of mc having had a lil mischievous streak during her teen years, if you will…. 👀 in any case, if ur like 16+, it’s definitely normal for a girl to be having thoughts about boys, and despite the perpetual resting bitch face that being forced to live with the twins and their dad gives her, there’s still a few guys at school that recognize her pretty (but scowling) face for what it is and bravely ask for her number.

so yeah maybe mc starts to hang out with a group of guys that are interested in her. maybe the twins quietly notice and observe how its progressing. maybe they don’t like it. maybe they really really don’t like it— but they don’t report to sylus at this point to chastise or warn her on the wiles of boys her age. (I mean, what could he possibly do, anyway? he’s scared of her.) for now, they decided, they’ll just see how it goes.

it’s only when she starts breaking the curfew her mom set to leave in some douchebags car, kieran catching her in the act, that her whole family is alerted and she’s more or less banned from hanging with those boys.

“the wrong crowd” sylus says over dinner one night. perhaps they’re not on the best of terms, but he still cares for his stepdaughter obviously, and he can see her for what she is in her latter teen years: young, impressionable, and maybe just a little pressed for attention, whether that’s explicitly stated or not. of course, he phrases it as gentle as possible, and he thinks it more or less goes okay- if only because she doesn’t furiously bite his head off in response, instead opting for silence as she prods at her food with a cold glare thrown across the table. bold, he thinks with a slight quirk of his brow, she’s getting more audacious. but that’s it. it… went surprisingly well.

he didn’t leave the table shamefaced by a teenage girl and her scathing, hurled words, so that’s a good sign, right?

… right? 🤠

when monday comes around, she’s wearing a crop top and booty shorts.

and fuck if Sylus doesn’t know she’s a senior now and perfectly allowed to dress however she wants— a touch attention-seeking or not, she’s still responsible— but yeah, he gets a little frustrated. a little embarrassed, even, for thinking he got through to her and she was actually starting to listen and revere him for once. he knows he can’t really force her to change. not that he couldn’t succeed in doing so, per se, but because she doesn’t respect him enough to listen right away, and he doesn’t wanna get, well, scary with her. so he talks with her mother, and she gets mc to abandon the hot topic store, albeit with some resistance.

but this is the farthest her rebellious stage goes in regard to boys & “promiscuity” and all. she may be tempted to bring some guys or even her friends over (which, the latter would be completely fine), but just the knowing that the house wasn’t really hers wards her off it. in any case, her friends, crushes, etc, are special to her— so why the hell would she put them in a place where her detested stepdad can sniff around and use them to gain more info on his own daughter’s wants and true personality? mc doesn’t want him to steal that glimpse into her heart. 😒

now if present! mc tried to bring men around….?

different mothafuckin story 😬😳

man’s might’ve been exasperated before, but he was at least a little humored by her stubborn antics, you know? ... but now? that smirk is wiped RIGHT OFF. It’s a whole different game, whole different feelings. Even sylus is left a little stunned as he tries to navigate them.

but to be clear, no matter what, absolutely no boy man is making it any farther than the iron-wrought gate of sylus’s property.