#(upset enough to lash out)

[alsklingwille]

what are your theories for what they are fighting about?

[daedrabela]

i’m about to isekai myself don’t touch me

[kekewrites]

Tw. Insecure/bratty/tsundere reader, dark content, noncon, dubcon, obsession, sloppy blowjob, attempted breakup, manipulation, size kink, overstimulation, multiple creampies, cunnilingus, baby trapping, coercion, aftercare

***

Thinking about dating an angelic guy.

You always wonder why, out of all the pretty and influential girls chasing after him, he chose you. It doesn't help how of a unit he is. Your typical perfect guy, popular, rich, and body that's comparable to a Greek God... and his voice— how you love his gentle and warm voice, there's just something about it that hypnotize you.

He always compliments you, shower you with affection, and be an absolute sweetheart. It gets you pissy. You don't know why you're always in a foul mood around him, he's not even doing anything that could trigger you. He takes a breath and you're already fuming. Grumbling profanities that he would laugh at wholeheartedly, like you didn't curse his entire being.

You hate how perfect he is. Hate how much you adore him. Hate how much you love him, and inside your mind you always question if he genuinely loves you. Maybe he's just playing with you? Waiting for the day he'd humiliate you, telling how you're too idiotic to even believe someone like him could ever love you.

That's probably why you're always cautious around him, you don't believe him enough to love an average girl like you.

***

He can't believe he's dating the cutest in the world. Everytime you scowl, show that adorable pout, he just wants to squish your cheeks together and kiss you plenty. Like a little kitty hissing when you sneer curses at him.

It's adorable really.

You'd say you didn't want to go to the movies he chose. Yet, you arrived earlier than expected, wearing a hint of makeup in that cute dress of yours. Makes him want to crush you. You put in the effort, took the time, even gave him the watch he'd been talking about—his favorite.

He really loves you. Really really loves you but why are you acting like he doesn't? He's confused. Hasn't he done enough to show you, tell how much he adores you? It makes him sad. Don't you know how much he's holding back? There's only so much he could take, you know. He could just take you everytime you run that cute foul mouth of you, shove his cock to make you shut up. But he's so patient with you because he loves you.

So don't push him too much, ok? Or else you might not like it when he finally show you his desire.

***

"You're late," you grumble, sending him a glare. Your arms are crossed, and your foot taps impatiently on the ground.

He chuckles, a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips. "I arrived just on time, sweetie," he says, stepping closer. "You're just too excited for our date, no?" His voice is teasing, but his eyes are warm, sparkling with affection.

You huff in response, but you can feel the corners of your mouth betraying you, tugging into a smile. He notices and takes your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

"You're just so cute, you know? I really wanna crush— ow!" He hiss slightly as you swat his arm. He pouts a little, "You're strong, you're gonna leave a bruise."

You roll your eyes— as if that's gonna happen. Huffing you tug on his hand, "Let's go. I'm starving."

He smiles, looking at your back, "Ok, sweetie~."

Ah, you really are so cute.

He can't wait to fuck you.

***

"Why're you not eating, sweetie? Is the food not to your liking?"

Your appetite was gone the moment that waitress flirted with him, leaving you empty and bitter. This always happen. You're sick of it, sick of being jealous and feeling shitty for not looking like his girlfriend. Are you really worthless by his side? Do people not see you as his companion?

"Sweetie?"

You didn't want to lash out on him so you remained silent. Too bitter to talk. Even the food turned bitter, leaving you more upset.

He's such an idiot. But you're more of an idiot for being triggered by that stupid waitress, too much of a wuss to tell her he's taken, that he's yours. You're the idiot.

"I don't wanna eat anymore," you bitterly muttered, your face covered by the shadows of your hair, hiding that frown you wore he always seems to love on you.

He gets a sick twisted feeling in his guts, watching how jealous you get whenever some worthless wench tries to get his attention. It satisfies his urge, his sick thoughts hidden by his angelic face. You really love him, don't you? His lips curving into a sweet smile, eyes twinkling with desires. If only you know how much he gets off with you being jealous, you'd never doubted your pretty little self.

So… why are you saying such stupid things?

“Let’s break up.”

“Hm?”

“I said…” You take a breath, steadying your voice. “Let’s break up.”

For a moment, his smile wavers. Just a fraction. His right eye twitches ever so slightly, a crack in the carefully crafted mask he wears. But then, like a master of illusions, he recovers, his sweet facade sliding back into place, though something darker lingers beneath the surface.

“Now, now,” he says, his voice dripping with a saccharine softness that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. “What’s the matter?” His tone is gentle, almost soothing, but there’s a sharp edge to it—a venomous undercurrent that cuts through the air.

You don’t answer immediately, your chest tightening under his unblinking stare. It’s as if he’s waiting, watching every little twitch of your expression, trying to peel you apart without lifting a finger.

“I just think…” you start, your voice faltering as his head tilts slightly, his smile remaining unnervingly intact. “I-I think we’re not… good for each other anymore.”

His smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, his gaze sharpens, a predator sizing up its prey. He takes a step closer, the air between you growing heavy. “Not good for each other?” he repeats, feigning confusion. “Sweetheart, where’s this nonsense coming from? Didn’t we promise forever?”

The sweetness in his tone sends a chill down your spine, but you hold your ground. “Forever shouldn’t feel like this,” you say, trying to steady your trembling hands.

It shouldn't make you feel bad about yourself, shouldn't make you anxious, shouldn't make feel... pressured.

For a moment, he says nothing, his eyes boring into yours. Then, his chuckle breaks the tension, soft and low. “Ah, I see,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for you to feel the weight of his presence. “You’re upset. That’s all. We’ll talk this through, won’t we?”

But his words aren’t a question—they’re a command, wrapped in the guise of concern. And as his smile lingers, you realize leaving might not be as simple as you hoped.

***

Why is this happening?

You thought he would accept and move on.

"Mmm, that's it sweetie. Take it deeper." He coaxes, his grip on your hair tightening. He starts to push forward, forcing more of his thick length past your stretched lips.

So why?

Your eyes squeeze shut tighter as he pushes in deeper, your throat convulsing around his invading cock. He throws his head back with a guttural moan.

"That's a good girl. Mhm, your throat feels so good wrapped around my dick." He grunts, starting to set a steady pace. Fucking into your mouth, using your face like a cock sleeve.

It was gross. He never did that to you.

Lewd, wet sounds fill the office as he picks up speed, his heavy balls slapping against your chin with each rough thrust. Drool escapes the seal of your lips, dripping down your chin and onto your messed up clothes.

He looks down, taking in the debauched sight of you on your knees, choking on his cock. His dick is spit-shined and glistening, streaked with their drool. Shit. The sight makes him thrust harder, faster, chasing his pleasure.

"Look at me," He demands breathlessly, wanting to see the tears and desperation in their eyes as he uses their mouth ruthlessly. He's close, so fucking close already from the intense, vice-like grip of your inexperienced throat. He grunts and curses, slamming forward one last time before pulling out abruptly.

Thick ropes of cum paint your face and hair, marking you as his. Some of it even lands in your eyes, making them sting and water.

"You're so pretty... You look so pretty covered in my cum," he whispers lovingly, smearing the head of his cock across your messy face, pushing the hot seed into their skin like makeup. "The prettiest girl in the world."

You were supposed to break up with him...

How did it escalated to this?

***

It's not like he's losing a lot... you aren't that special. So why is he acting this way? There are a lot of better options for him, prettier, smarter, and richer girls. Someone who can actually match him, who doesn't embarrass him, worthier to stand beside him.

Why is he fucking you like his life depends on it?

Your eyes already hazy and unfocused, breathing hard as you couldn't count how many times you've already come.

One of his hands snakes up your trembling body, finding a soft breast. He squeezes the supple mound roughly, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he kneads and gropes. He finds a pert nipple and pinches it cruelly between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and tugging until it stands stiff and aching in the cool air of the room.

"Hm? Are you already tired? We're just starting," he coo, his hips slamming forward with renewed vigor. He leans down, his mouth finding your neck, sharp teeth sinking into the tender skin. He bites and sucks, determined to leave his mark on you, to claim you as his own. His. He can feel his orgasm building, his heavy balls tightening as he ruts into your abused cunt. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling fill the room, punctuated by the creaking of the bed and your cries. He's close, so fucking close to filling your cunt with his seed.

"Gonna... hngh... fill this pussy..." He grunts between clenched teeth, slamming home one last time. His cock throbs and pulses as he starts to come, thick ropes of hot cum painting your inner walls. He grinds against them, making sure they take every last drop as he marks your womb with his essence.

Finally, with a last shuddering groan, he collapses on top of you, his softening cock still buried deep inside your tender, cream-filled pussy. He pants harshly against the shell of their ear, his hands still groping and fondling your sensitive body.

"Y-You're an idiot..." You sniffle, "Why me? There's a lot of—."

He cuts you off, "You know, I would never cheat on you, right?" He whispers tenderly, kissing your ears as if assuring. "No matter who comes to me, I would never pay attention to them. Never. You're the only one I want." His other hand comes up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his intense, burning gaze.

It was the first time you ever heard his voice to be so... vulnerable.

"The only girl I want... So..." You can hear his voice shake, "Don't break up with me, ok?"

Your eyes glaze with tears, your heart tugging at his words. No, it wasn't supposed to end up like this. You made up your mind a few weeks ago, always nagging at the back of your mind. Ending your relationship would be the best for you two—.

He kisses you then, any doubts in your mind disappearing as his mouth claiming theirs in a brutal, dominating kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, plundering the warm cavern as he grinds his hips forward, rubbing his throbbing erection against your thigh.

Ah, you don't care anymore.

"Don't think anymore, ok? Just let me do it for you."

He starts to rub the broad head of his cock along your slit, coating himself in your combined juices. "Tell you what, sweetheart. I'll be gentle like the usual... for now." He promises darkly, his voice rough with restrained lust. "I'll make this first part nice and slow, nice and easy for you."

"H-Huh?"

With that, he starts to push forward, the thick length of his cock slowly sinking into your tight, clutching heat. He has to fight the urge to slam forward, to bury himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. But he resists, forcing himself to go slowly, to savor the exquisite feeling of your walls stretching around him.

"Ah, you're still so tight." He grits out through clenched teeth, his fingers flexing against your hips as he fights for control. "Such a perfect cunt."

"Too soon! I'm still... s-sensitive!" You cried out but he starts to move then, his hips rocking in a slow, sensual rhythm as he fucks into you with deep, deliberate strokes. Each thrust pushes him a little deeper, a little harder, until he's finally buried to the hilt inside you. He pauses for a moment, letting you feel the heavy weight of him, the way he's stretching you impossibly full.

"Hehe, sorry can't help it. Does that feel gentle enough for you, sweetie?" He asks, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, yet his angelic face covers it. "Or do you need me to be even more... careful?" He punctuates the word with a sharp thrust of his hips, grinding his pelvis against your clit.

Your brain short circuit by the overstimulation, all you could think about was him, and his big cock, "A-Ah, you— ish... so good~!"

He snarls in feral pleasure as he feels your pussy clench and ripple around his pistoning cock. The way you are moaning and crying out, begging him not to stop... it's the headiest fucking thing he's ever heard. It makes him want to ruin you, to fuck you so hard and so deep that you'll never forget the feeling of his cock splitting you open.

You came in surprise, your eyes rolling in the back of your head, chest heaving, "C-Can't too much..!"

"You can do it," He growls, his voice a dark, distorted rumble. He can feel his own release building, his balls drawing up tight as he fucks into you with wild abandon, "A-ah~ clench this greedy cunt around my dick, dollface. Milk it for all it's worth.

You never saw this side of him before, a more vulgar side to him. Spouting dirty words that's the opposite of his facade. Maybe, you didn't know your boyfriend that well? He was always gentleman to you in bed, always going with your pace and being mindful about his words but now...

"N-No~ I really ah! Can't!" You shake your head frantically, having enough of the sensitivity.

"Yes, you can! You will, sweetie~!"

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin as he chases his pleasure. He wants to mark you, to leave his claim all over your body for everyone to see. He wants the whole world to know that you belong to him, that you're his to fuck and fill and love as he sees fit. The thought of another man putting his hand on you makes him mad, you're only his and he isn't afraid to take that way for you to be officially his.

"I'm gonna cum, sweetie." He grits out, his hips slamming forward with sharp, brutal thrusts. "I'm gonna pump this tight little pussy full of my seed, gonna breed this fucking cunt until it's dripping with my cum."

Breed?

He reaches down, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing mercilessly at the sensitive bundle of nerves. "I want to feel you cum on my cock, sweetheart. I want to feel you shake and quake as I fill you with my my child."

Wait...!

His other hand slides up, wrapping around your throat and squeezing lightly. It's enough to make you gasp for air, pulse jumping wildly beneath his touch. It's enough to make you even tighter, body instinctively clenching down around him as he fucks into you with short, vicious thrusts.

Too much!

"Now, sweetie~ cum. Now." He commands, his voice a dark and sinful. And with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself balls deep inside her and starts to cum. His cock jerks and pulses as he paints your insides with thick ropes of his hot seed, filling you up just like he promised.

So full...

You gasp out, your skin flushed and damp with sweat. The room spins around you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as you struggle to catch your breath. Body aches all over, especially between your legs. The feeling of his cum painting your insides is strange, unsettling.

Your vision having black spots, your consciousness fading as you hear him murmur promises to you.

"I'll take responsibility whether we have a child or not, we'll get married and have a cute child."

You feel a warm kiss on your forehead.

"I love you. I love you more than anyone else, I only love you."

[wonsiwon]

s.jy

synopsis | after a big argument with jake, your clingy and overly sensitive boyfriend, aka golden retriever, finds it impossible to handle the distance. and let’s face it, who can resist a teary-eyed, overly affectionate guy who’s one step away from curling up in your lap?

pairing | clingyboyfriend! jake x fem! reader

genre | fluff

jake was the kind of person who felt everything too much. it wasn’t a bad thing, he just had a heart so soft it bruised too easily. he was sensitive in a way that made him beautiful, like he carried every emotion so deeply it became a part of him. and when he loved, he loved hard. clingy, desperate, like he didn’t know how to exist without the people he cared about.

he was clingy too, always needing to be close, to touch, to hold. he followed you around the house like a lost puppy, watching you with those big, pleading eyes. he never liked distance, never liked silence between you.

and right now the house was too quiet. not in a peaceful way, but in that heavy, suffocating way that settled after an argument. you both said things you didn’t mean, and he ended up crying. jake always cried during fights. he hated it, tried so hard to hold it back, but he could never help it.

you were sitting on the couch, watching a movie, one you had been watching with him before everything went wrong. your eyes were glued to the screen, pretending to care about what was happening on it, but really, you couldn’t focus.

then you heard the faint sound of footsteps coming from the hallway. you didn’t look up, keeping your gaze fixed on the screen, you knew it was jake. you already saw his messy hair from the corner of your eye, his face poking around the corner of the living room, just enough to make sure you saw him. he didn’t say anything right away, just stood there, watching you with those puppy eyes of his. you didn’t look at him. you couldn’t.

he sighed softly, so soft you barely heard it, and took a slow step into the room. his shoulders were slumped, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, clearly unsure of what to do next.

he shifted closer, then gently slid down to sit beside you, his leg brushing against yours. “i… i don’t like when you’re mad at me..” he mumbled, voice quieter now, almost a whisper. his head dropped to your shoulder, his hair brushing against your skin. you could feel the subtle tremble in his body, the way he leaned into you, needing your comfort, even though you were still angry.

you didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. your shoulder relaxed, just enough for him to rest there without feeling rejected. but even with that small gesture, he still felt uncertain, still felt like he wasn’t allowed to hold you the way he wanted to.

his fingers twitched against your arm before hesitantly gripping onto the sleeve of your shirt, his hold weak, like he was afraid you’d shake him off. he sniffled softly, his breath uneven, and when he spoke again, his voice was so quiet, so broken, it made your chest ache.

“i’m sorry..” he whispered again, barely audible, like he was running out of strength to even say the words. his face buried deeper into your shoulder, and that’s when you felt it. the faint dampness of his tears soaking into your sleeve.

he was still crying. maybe he never really stopped after the argument, just hid away in the bedroom, curled up and upset until he finally couldn’t take the distance anymore.

his body curled into yours instinctively, his arms hesitating before wrapping loosely around you, his grip weak, desperate. “please don’t ignore me…” his voice cracked this time “i hate the silent treatment. it makes me feel like… like i’m in time-out.”

his words wobbled, thick with tears, his breath uneven as he sniffled against your skin.

god, he was so pretty when he cried. his lips were parted, glossy from where he had nervously chewed at them, his big, watery eyes peeking up at you through damp lashes. his cheeks were flushed, his whole face soft and open, so heartbreakingly vulnerable.

you sighed, your fingers twitched before you finally gave in, reaching up to cup his cheek, and he melted instantly, his entire body going boneless against you like he had been waiting for that touch.

“you’re not in time-out, jake.” you murmured, still a little firm, but gentler than before. “but you did piss me off.”

he nodded quickly, his curls bouncing against your shoulder. “i know.” he mumbled, still sniffly, still so soft and needy. “but i don’t wanna be mad at each other anymore. can we just… can we be okay now?”

he looked up at you then, eyes big and pleading, so impossibly pretty, and you sighed, feeling the last of your frustration slip away.

instead of answering, you leaned down and kissed his cheek. just a quick press of your lips, light and fleeting. but then he made this tiny, breathless sound, like he couldn’t believe you were kissing him after all that, and it made something in you soften completely.

so you did it again. and again.

a little kiss on the tip of his nose. then one on his jaw, lingering just slightly. then another right at the corner of his mouth, where his lips were still wobbly from crying.

jake blinked up at you, dazed, his breath stuttering like he didn’t know what to do with himself. and then, without thinking, he surged forward, pressing his face against yours, clumsily chasing after your lips.

his kisses were messy, desperate, all over the place. he kissed your cheek, your chin, your forehead—anywhere he could reach. his hands were gripping at your waist now, still shaky but holding on a little tighter, like he never wanted to let go.

“i love you..” he mumbled between kisses, his voice still stuffy from crying. “i love you, i love you, i love you—”

you laughed softly, tilting his face up so you could kiss him properly, slow and sweet, until he sighed into your mouth and melted against you completely.

he made this tiny sound against your lips, something between a sigh and a whimper. his hands trembled where they clung to you, fingers curling tighter into the fabric of your shirt.

“missed you..” he whispered between kisses, his nose bumping against yours. “hated being away from you…”

“i was right here, jake,” you murmured, your fingers slipping into his curls, gently scratching at his scalp. he shivered under your touch, melting even further into you.

“no..” he sniffled, shaking his head against your skin. “felt too far.”

you sighed, kissing the top of his head, feeling the way he practically purred at the affection. he was always like this, too soft, too clingy, too desperate for closeness, especially after a fight.

“you’re so dramatic..” you muttered, but your arms wrapped around him anyway, pulling him even closer.

he let out a breathy, content little sigh, pressing a few more lazy, sleepy kisses along your collarbone. “only for you.” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

[witherby]

The Littlest Wayne

Or, the one where Bruce brings home a baby, and your adorable little face wins the heart of your new, big brothers.

Platonic!Reader and Batfam

"Bruce."

"Don't freak out."

"Bruce."

"You're freaking out. I can see it in your eyes, but don't do it."

"This is a problem. This is an actual addiction and you need help."

"You're overreacting. I need everyone to take a deep breath, in and out, and not freak out."

Dick crossed his arms and glared at his father, narrowed eyes shifting up and down in an extremely pointed manner. Tim and Jason were wearing similar expressions, looking either at Bruce himself or the bundle in his arms.

Damian walked across the room and peered down at the bundle, expressionless.

"Father, come on."

Bruce carefully brushed the edge of the blanket away from your face. You scrunched your tiny nose, disturbed, then settled back down without issue. The billionaire had found you abandoned outside the garage doors of the Gotham Fire Station, left there by some overwhelmed mother no doubt. Unfortunately, that particular station was closed on the weekends, because of course this damned city couldn't staff a fire station 24/7, and if he hadn't found you on patrol, you would have frozen to death on the ground.

"They were in danger!" Bruce insisted firmly, but kept his voice soft so as not to frighten you. "Look — they don't have black hair or blue eyes. You can tell I didn't do it on purpose."

"Why not take the baby to the GCPD, then? Or a hospital?" Jason piped up, unamused. "B, cut the bullshit. You can't keep 'em."

"I brought them here first to ensure they didn't need any immediate medical attention."

"Which is something a hospital could do," Tim said.

"An overcrowded and understaffed hospital, that doesn't have the time to spare to give them direct and undivided attention?" Bruce argued. "The med ward in the Cave is just as efficient as an emergency room, if not more so."

"And the fact that you aren't down there with the baby — the baby you are not keeping," Dick chimed in, holding out his arms for you, "means that they're perfectly fine and can be transported safely somewhere else."

"They're sleeping right now," Bruce said, completely deadpan, and made no move to relinquish his hold over you. "We can't put them in a noisy car and upset them. We can drop the baby off in the morning."

"He's getting dangerously attached," Dick hissed to his brothers. "We need the big guns."

"I'll alert Pennyworth," Damian declared, already ducking out of the room. Bruce scowled, aware the battle was quickly turning against his favor. But he could play dirty, too.

He dropped his shoulders and the furrow of his brow turned slightly down, weary and forlorn. He stopped looking at his boys and instead studied all your tiny features, tracing a finger down the bridge of your nose, gently across your lashes, and over your plump little cheeks. You were absolutely adorable. He was already thinking of names for you in his mind.

"You know, I never got to raise any of you from infancy," he stated, not in any pointed manner, just as objective fact. Just quietly enough that they could think Bruce hadn't meant to say it out loud. "Not that I would've wanted to steal that experience from your birth parents. I would never. But...I don't even know what Damian looked like when he was this small."

Dick's eye twitched. The glare was still in place, but his frown was less severe. One down.

"I'm sorry, boys," he sighed, acting as though he were giving in. "The Mission has taken up so much of my time, it's hard not to wonder what I would have been like as a normal father. Just the formative things, like... like changing diapers, and doing Tummy Time, and helping you guys learn to walk."

Tim's eyes grew distant, likely thinking of his own parents and the loneliness he felt growing up in Drake Manor all by himself. He was no doubt recalling how much he wished his mom or dad had been around, to play or to talk to or just to physically be there with him, instead of off traveling the world and leaving him behind to fend for himself.

Two down.

But Jason, despite all that had happened over the years, despite the strain on his relationship with Bruce, had always been the most emotional of his children. He would not be hard to win over.

"This would be a mistake," Bruce stated, looking his second oldest right in the eyes. "They'd be happier somewhere else, somewhere normal. Maybe...maybe one of you could hold them and I can go start the car? I can feel myself starting to get attached, and that's not fair to you, boys. I didn't mean to stress you all out. I wasn't thinking."

Jason huffed, lowering his feet from where they'd been propped up on the coffee table, and stood from the couch to come take you from Bruce. His arms carefully held you to his broad chest, your weight settling against him pleasantly.

He made the mistake of watching you scrunch your face and whine softly, itty bitty hands poking out from your blanket and gripping onto his shirt sleeve with all the strength your small body could muster.

Jason's expression dropped immediately, and he practically melted as he tucked you closer.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Damian and Alfred walked into the living room to find Bruce, Jason, Dick, and Tim all cooing and fawning over you, and the war was lost.

Welcome home, Littlest Wayne.

[mallory524]

the thunderbolts when you’ve been kidnapped

pictures from pinterest

tags- guilt, fear, angst, kidnapping, guilt, canon level action/violence, injuries, mentions of arguing, implied drugging/beating, mention of Void

notes- This all ended up being way longer than I intended. Oops. I need to keep writing or else I’ll explode. The fixation is strong

Yelena

When you’re with Yelena, she can be so tender and sweet that it’s easy for you to forget the life she’s lived and the things she’s capable of. The day you don’t come home from what should’ve been a 10 minute grocery run, that tender side is gone - and boy is it sorely missed around the tower. When Yelena's upset, she lashes out at anybody who gets too close to her, and it gets ugly pretty quickly. Her words are cruel and vindictive, as if each member of the team is personally responsible for what’s happened to you. She knows the people who took you are doing it to lure in the "new avengers", but it doesn't matter. It's working. She's going to find you, and she's going to march right in there, guns blazing.

You're in bad shape when the team finds you, but you are able to walk out on your own two feet with just a little assistance from Yelena. Pay no mind to what happened to your captors. It's not important.

Yelena can't go "back to normal". You're trying to, but it's clear you're still shaken, and so is she. You keep trying to laugh it off and say that you've survived worse, and she knows you're just trying to change the subject, but she doesn't push it. She's not going to force you to open up if you're not ready. All she can do is make sure you know that she's always there to support you and listen if you ever do decide you want to talk about it. You do know that. As everyone in Yelena's life knows, she might be a bit rough around the edges, but she will always be there for you when it matters most.

Bucky

Bucky tracks you down very fast. He knows these people are doing this to get to him, so he tells the Thunderbolts to stay behind and let him do this himself. Good thing they never do as they're told.

The people who took you thought they had laid the perfect trap for Bucky Barnes, but all they did was set themselves up to be pulverized by the Winter Soldier. When he does find you, you're unconscious and clearly injured. Nothing serious, but it doesn't matter; he feels more guilty than he has in a long, long time. The team covers Bucky as he runs back out to the car with you in his arms, and you're immediately rushed to the hospital. The press is already there, waiting to ask Congressman Barnes all kinds of questions about what happened tonight, but after a few choice words from Yelena and Walker, most of them leave immediately.

Even when things slowly start to go back to normal, Bucky is constantly reminded of what happened. You're sitting around and laughing with the group one night, weeks after, and he notices a bruise on your shoulder that he'd forgot you had. He wakes up in the middle of the night a lot of nights to you tossing and turning and shaking in your sleep. He holds you and repeatedly reminds you that you’re home and that you are safe. He’s reminding himself, too. This is all hell for him. Every nightmare, every scratch, and every bruise is a reminder to him that he couldn't keep you safe. He rescued you and brought you back home, but it's not enough for him. This never should've happened.

Ava

Ava woke up to the sound of alarms and glass breaking. She phased through the walls to your room right away to make sure you were okay, but you were already gone. Nowhere to be found. She’s immediately panic stricken. Who did this? Why would they take you hostage? Where did they take you?

Ava’s desperate. When Ava gets desperate, her sense of right and wrong gets very skewed. You’ve been kidnapped, and that’s wrong. Everything she’s doing in an effort to get you back is right. Or that’s how she sees it, at least. The rest of the team sees this as Ava spiraling out of control. This is a mess. These people who took you do not realize what their "leverage" means to the team, especially to Ava. They do not know what's coming.

Your rescue was not easy, and it definitely wasn't pretty, but everyone's just happy that you're home. Adjusting to business as usual after your rescue is tough, but she's there for you every step of the way. If you don't want to sleep in your room for a little while because it doesn't feel safe anymore, Ava offers you her room. She'll sleep on the ground, she'll sleep next to you, she'll sleep in the other room, whatever you want. She'll demand more security features in your room and around the tower to make you (and herself) feel safe again. If the people in maintenance and security were to question the necessity of doing this, Ava would install these features herself. Nothing like this is going to happen again, and she doesn't even want you to feel like it's a possibility. You're safe now.

John

It all happened so fast. An explosive had gone off during a fight, he’d lost sight of you for a minute, and when the smoke cleared, you were gone. He frantically searched the perimeter, but it didn’t take him long to realize what had happened. Bucky practically had to beg John to get in the car, saying they could figure out their next move back at the Watchtower. John didn't want to stop looking for you, but he knew it was the only choice he really had. Everyone's really worried about you, but John is losing his mind. His brain is plagued with images of you, scared and alone and hurt. He's snapping at the team even more than usual, but they give him a pass just this once. Ava walked by his room one night and she could hear the sound of him softly crying through the door. She never mentioned it, but she went easy on him for a few days.

Down in a dark, cold underground base, you're going in and out of consciousness. Your body aches and your head's spinning, but the moment you register that it's Walker gently taking you into his arms, you smile up at him weakly. He caresses your face, and you can feel that his hands are shaking as they trace every little wound, no matter how small. All of Walker's anger has been replaced with a weary, guilty sadness. All that aggression, replaced with a certain gentleness. He carries you out, and although you don't see much of your surroundings, it's hard to miss what remains of the poor souls who thought they could stop John Walker from breaking in to save you. It's not too shocking, though. You know he would've torn the entire world apart if he had to.

Alexei

Missions and fighting and hero activities in general are usually really fun for Alexei. This is not fun. It's so rare for the team to see him like this. He's downright miserable. Since the moment he lost you, he hasn't slept. He works alongside the team all day long to find you, and when everyone's asleep, he just paces back and forth around his room, which gets more cluttered with garbage and papers and files with each passing day.

When they find you, nothing and no one can stand in his way. He's a real sweetheart, but let's not forget how strong he is or how much damage he can do. Believe me, there's a lot of damage done in the name of your rescue. All of that is worth it for Alexei when he finds you. He gently wipes at the sweat and dirt on your face, a lot of which is dry and caked on after you've been sitting down there for nearly a week.

Alexei is so relieved to have you home, but he thought he'd feel better. There's still something... off. The illusion of total safety has been shattered. He's not able to keep you from ever getting hurt like he thought he was. If you were to try to joke about what had happened to keep spirits up, or spin it to sound like a cool story instead of the worst week of both of your lives, he'd try to go along with it. But everyone notices how his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's proud of you and he usually loves hearing you're cool tough stories, but this one is hitting a little too close to home for him to fully enjoy it. Maybe because he was there. Maybe because he almost lost you for real.

Bob

Bob's terrified. The team came back from a mission, but instead of you pulling him into a big hug while the team fills him in on what happened like usual, everyone is frantic and you're gone. He's never felt so helpless in his life. He breaks down the second he's alone in his room. Whenever Yelena tries to talk to him, he insists he needs to be alone, or he doesn't even respond and continues just rocking back and forth on the floor and talking to himself.

When the team tracks you down, they tell Bob to stay behind. He keeps telling himself that they're right and staying behind is the responsible thing to do, but he just can't do that. He has enough control on the Void now to use his powers, right? The team is slightly horrified when Bob shows up out of nowhere, doing everything they told him not to do, but this isn't the time to worry about that. They're definitely not going to try arguing with him right now. He's a bulletproof human shield, more powerful than any of them could ever hope to be, so it's good to have him there to help. He crashes through walls, busts down doors, and disarms everyone in his path without breaking a sweat. Then they find you. Bob rushes to your side and tears apart your restraints with his bare hands, and in a second they turn back into the gentle hands you think of when you think of your Bob. He helps you to your feet and slowly leads you back outside. As tears start to roll down his face, Bob smiles a soft smile at the others, thrilled that you're safe again. They smile back at him, but it's like they're all holding their breath until you're all fully out of there. Void may not have made a formal appearance this time, but they know now what lengths Bob will go to and what risks he'll take to ensure your safety. The man is not helpless, and he sure as hell isn't weak.

[satoblue]

“SHADES OF YOU” — gojo satoru

the different meanings behind satoru’s gaze, and more specifically — the shades of blue. | wc: 1.2k

f!reader, established relationship, this is quite self indulgent i fear, i love him BAD. | dividers made by me

satoru’s eyes change color.

you keep track. at first, you think your own are deceiving you. perhaps, it is the lighting overhead which perpetuates the subtle shifts in tones and shades. the beams of the sun caressing his lashes or the dim glow of your bedside lamp.

it isn’t hard to notice. not when your focus easily diverts at the appearance of those unique six eyes. but, you soon discover it is not the result of any externalities — in a way. after a while, you deduce they only ever fluctuate depending on his mood — an internal factor.

it varies from time to time.

on many casual occasions, they’ll appear a bright blue. bright, just like him. when he’s at his happiest, they seem to shimmer. what makes him happy? well, there is you — so, you guess for the majority of the time, they remain as such! or more specifically, when he’s engaging in a cheeky fit of banter with you, effectively firing you up by grating your nerves. and then there’s when he’s eating good food. whether it’s dumplings from his favorite food stand or a fresh batch of cookies made by anyone who is intelligent enough to be extra generous on the amount of chocolate chips.

it is involuntary and instantaneous. he can not control what he is — joy.

but then, there are moments when they’ll turn a faded blue, almost like steel. the reason? when he’s upset. at what exactly? satoru is quite the complex man, so it could be anything — big or small. maybe the new snack he was ecstatic to try wasn’t as good as he expected it to be — the excitement quickly dying down as he’s filled with disappointment, a pout on his lips as if the taste leaves him absolutely bitter feeling all over.

or it could be because you’re sad. this one seems to have an even bigger effect on his blues. satoru is the strongest, and yet, he can’t help but be a man struck down — struck in the heart when you cry. he loves to think he can stand tall against anything, always so sure and confident. yet, he finds himself crouching down, curling you up into his arms as if to protect you from your terrors because he simply can not bear the sight of you in pain — aching.

when you trip and fall, resulting in a scrape or when you mishandle a knife, nicking yourself on your finger. even worse — when someone hurts you . . . satoru has never been an extremely violent man unless absolutely necessary. but he supposes, when it comes to you, every act is necessary to keep you safe, be it mentally or physically. first, there is a flicker of worry. but then… he doesn’t typically lose his cool — but god help him for he can’t seem to control the visceral urge inside him to hollow purple anything that harms you. if his eyes weren’t a glowing dangerous cerulean blue — you bet they’d be on fire, seeing red from the amount of rage brewing inside him.

it is never your fault. the rock you didn’t see in your path (it should’ve never been there in the first place), the entire half of the kitchen where the cutlery is stored (he writes a scathing review on the website instead because he knows you’d kill him if he demolishes the penthouse . . . again. he’s furious that they’d make their knives so damn sharp — which is entirely out of reason since good knives should be, but satoru tends not to be logical when it comes to you), or the bastards who dare to disrespect you or lay a hand on you in anyway. knowing you belong to him should be a do not touch sign — a warning in itself.

it is rare for you to experience it, you’ve never been objected to his fury — you are only ever his love and desire. and it shines especially when those bright blue eyes turn a soft shade of baby blue — only for you, his baby. in your presence, they’ll remain that same vibrant hue you grew to adore — warm, like he’s hugging you with his gaze. and then, as the conversation consumes you both, you pick up on the way his lids will droop slightly halfway — a subconscious gesture. it is apparent to anyone who peeks your direction that you have enraptured him entirely.

at some points, you can’t tell if he’s truly listening. at all. those eyes of his seem to dilate, as if in a daze you’ve trapped him in. but then, he’ll speak up. it sends a shock to your system as he responds to you after a long moment of impossible quiet, something unnatural for him, yet — it comes easily when he’s with you. he doesn’t just talk for the sake of it — he listens and gives an answer. and god, he waits patiently, not wanting to interrupt you because if he does — you go quiet just for him when that is the complete opposite of what he needs. he needs to hear you — the sweet sound of your voice that is better than any candy or chocolate he’s had on his tongue.

the love is there — passionate, tender, and no where near red like his wrath but just as fiery. like when you shared your first kiss in the rain, or the very quiet, tense minutes where he’ll stare a little too long. this time, he won’t sit still with his fist to his palm, but instead, he’ll adjust in his seat — shifting uncomfortably because the straining in his pants right between his legs is too much to handle even for him. he grows impatient and can’t help but blurt out “let’s get out of here” — a statement, almost as if his body is operating on autopilot, driven by a sheer carnal need for you.

and that look — you know what it means before he even has to open his mouth: i need you right now… desperately, always. you’re aware what fantasies are playing through his head as the seconds tick by tortuously slow. impatient. greedy. with a dark hooded gaze, piercing and intense, dropping from your lips to your cleavage — the midnight blue is fitting, the dilated pupils, the delicate pink flush on his cheeks. all these aspects tie him all together, easily betraying his thoughts.

there is not a single meaning behind the way he acts which alludes you, his gaze like a book you’ve read an infinite number of times before and know by heart, one your fingers still reach for on the shelf because you can’t get enough — because there is nothing else quite like it. satoru comes in many shades, and you love him in all of them just the same — in joy, sorrow, rage, and passion. the eyes are known to be the window to the soul, and you just about know satoru’s better than anyone.

[lokissweater]

“i would never lie to you.”

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: inumaki’s always coming home to you from missions coughing up mass amounts of blood and completely overdoing it while fighting curses with his cursed speech technique. and no matter how many times you tell him to be careful, he just doesn’t, arguing with him, giving him the cold shoulder, and completely unaware of the reason behind why he fights so hard when he’s out there— that reason being of course… because of you.

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing, toge and reader have a lil argument but it’s more the aftermath, slight sexual mention but it’s literally once and nothing LOL, no smut!, toge thinks he’s not doing enough SNIFFF, angst with comfort, toge is DEVOTED to you, aged up characters, pet names, afab!reader.

word count: 2.3k

authors note: short n sweet one!! wanted to give you guys a break from my MLA format essays i always make y’all read LMFAOOO!! this one is SHO SOFT AHHHH :] i hope this keeps you guys fed in the meantime while i write the next one! i love you and i love you all ALWAYS MWAAHH <33

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toge inumaki hates it when you don’t talk to him.

as if he doesn’t do that enough already, toge absolutely despises when you both get into arguments or heated discussions and you turn a cold shoulder to him— needing space to unwind and prevent yourself from lashing out even more, to let the situation simmer down.

he understands it. believe him he does— you’re upset and angry and you need time to cool off… but toge is stubborn and needy and just doesn’t care, needing you and only you, him going absolutely crazy at the silence in your shared apartment that he was starting to hear random ringing in his ear drums.

so as he sat on the couch, eyes unblinking as they stared off into the darkness of the living room as the sun had already began to set, you upstairs locked away— he wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and let his cursed speech force you to come downstairs and talk to him.

but he didn’t, though the thought was definitely tempting, as toge vowed the day that he laid eyes on you to never ever use his cursed technique on you, even if it was harmless, an oath he wanted to carry with him until his very death bed and until he was six feet under.

his ears perked up then at the quiet sounds of the upstairs room door knob twisting and clicking open, soft padded footsteps making their way down the hall and closer to where he was, feet sticking against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

at the sight of you with your hair a little disheveled, your eyes so red and puffy, and an arm wrapped around yourself as you rummaged through the fridge looking for fuck knows what and not sparing a single glance at him— toge felt like a fifty pound gutting weight was resting on his chest and crushing his heart.

you had both argued about something you always seemed to circle back to almost every week. but this time, you were sick and tired and fed up, seeing as toge was never going to try and understand the situation at hand through your worried eyes.

every time toge was out for a mission, you would spend your days anxiously throwing yourself over the couch or trying to keep yourself busy with random activities like baking or scrapbooking (which you deemed later meaningless), all within the sole purpose of trying to get your mind off of your boyfriend and the recklessness he always seemed to pull while on missions, regardless of how much you begged and pleaded with him to be more careful and aware of his health.

toge inumaki had such a powerful and lethal cursed technique that frightened and astonished you all at the same time, a conflicting feeling to have when he had to leave you in the middle of the night or during the early hours of the morning to run around and fight curses… but always coming home to you warm and loving and safe.

but not right now.

not when toge had literally come home this morning with not even two steps in the door and he was already on his knees, coughing up strings and loads of crimson blood, it pooling on the floor as he had used his cursed speech to the highest degree today and had you a crying mess thinking he was dying.

and he always did that. always. today was just the worst of them all, him without a fault coming home with excruciating pain in his bruised and clawed up throat, the cough syrup medicine he usually downed like water having absolutely no effect anymore as you scrambled around every time trying to find a solution, toge brushing off your distressed and frightened rambling as if his health wasn’t a big deal, and as if how much it affected you wasn’t a big deal either.

upon you closing the fridge, toge slowly stood from the couch and carefully walked over to you, his throat still in pieces but his mind lurching and guilty over how upset you were at him.

he slowly raised a gentle hand and placed it on your shoulder, you shaking your head somberly in response— your back to him.

“i don’t wanna talk right now toge i’m sorry…” you mumbled, rubbing over your tired sore eyes.

he squeezed your shoulder, insisting.

but you only shook your head again.

toge huffed and placed both hands on your shoulders this time, physically turning you around to face him— his eyes soft and his eyebrows pinched together in pure concern for you.

you peeked up reluctantly, but the sight of his face and the events from earlier flashing through your mind only made your bottom lip wobble and the bottom of your palms shoot up to dig into your eyes, more stinging tears flooding in and slipping through the corners of your closed lids.

his heart fucking broke.

“why don’t you care toge?” you hiccuped. “i worry myself sick every time you leave for a mission and— and that’s fine because it’s what you do but you never take care of yourself!”

he gently pried your shaking hands away from your eyes and wiped your tears softly with his thumbs, caressing your cheeks after— wishing so badly, more than anything in this fucking world, to just be able to speak to you like a normal human being instead of resorting to words scrambled on a piece of paper or text messages on a screen.

he gently placed a little timid peck to your nose before releasing your face and fumbling around in his pockets for his phone, tapping it awake once he retrieved it and opening his notes app to write out a sentence.

he flipped and faced the screen towards you, the brightness making you squint a bit.

“i do care i swear. i just always forget when i’m in the middle of it and i’m sorry baby.”

“so you keep forgetting after what feels like the fifteenth time i’ve told you?” you wiped more tears from your cheeks. “how— how do you think it makes me feel when you come home and you’re coughing up blood all over your clothes and the furniture huh? all over me?”

he sighed softly through his nose and went to type again, but you continued.

“i get scared toge that one day you’ll push yourself way too far and then you just won’t come home. you scare me when you cough up so much blood like that!—”

toge tugged you in then with his unoccupied hand and wrapped his arms around you, pushing your head in and stuffing your face against his chest— the scent of his freshly washed t-shirt filling your nose as you cried softly.

fuck he felt like such a douche.

he typed for a moment behind your head, a pit in his stomach that only grew in size the longer he heard your little sniffles.

toge pulled back a bit, his arms still keeping you in place but just enough so that he could lower his phone and show you his message.

“please please don’t cry. i’m really sorry okay i really am and honest to god this won’t happen again.”

you nodded meekly and he flipped his phone back, quickly typing again and showing you once he finished.

“i feel like you think i don’t care but that’s not true at all. part of the reason why i try so hard when i work is because the more curses i fuck up the safer you’ll be when you’re out there without me.”

you laughed a bit at his wording, and he beamed at that, typing.

“i love you pretty girl. and im sorry i always get blood everywhere.”

“oh i don’t care about the mess baby, i care about youu,” you whined lightly and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him in tight.

“and i love you too, a lot… like an embarrassing amount that strips away my dignity.”

he chuckled boyishly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his body stuttering slightly as a single thought grazed his mind— the same thought that’s been in the crevices of his brain since he asked you to be his.

you felt his tension and pulled back.

“what?”

toge bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you, his weight shifting as he contemplated telling you something he didn’t want to burden or upset you with, the pad of his thumb softly rubbing over your chubby cheek.

you quirked an eyebrow. “what? are you cheating on me?”

he burst out laughing and shook his head, kissing your forehead before dropping his hand from your cheek and pulling out his phone again.

he typed for a minute then showed you.

“me not being able to speak to you like a normal boyfriend should or respond to you whenever makes me freaking useless. so i push myself out there to keep you safe because that’s literally the least i can do for you, since i can’t even do the bare minimum.”

you gasped softly. “toge huh? this is—”

he shook his head once more and you stopped as he typed again.

“i always try to make you laugh with the things that i do or whenever i text you because i’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me not being able to talk to you and you’ll leave. which is also something i would never blame you for and understand.”

your heart squeezed in the worst excruciatingly way possible, completely baffled and mortified to the fact that toge was thinking about things like this and wholeheartedly believing it without you noticing or him saying anything to you about it.

he typed again.

“that’s why i cosplay as gojo when i leave for missions and come back a dumbass with blood in my mouth. that’s why i forget when you tell me to be careful because the need to be something for you is way fucking greater.”

“togeee!” you sobbed, bursting out crying like a little baby as you were moved and haunted by his words simultaneously, your arms engulfing him as he desperately shot his hands out and quickly wiped your tears again, shaking his head frantically as if pleading with you not to cry.

“how could you ever believe that?” you nudged him away and hiccuped, your eyes serious. “why haven’t you told me about this? everything you just said is literally propaganda.”

he chuckled, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“toge, why do you think i’ve been with you for so long? do you think i’m just dicking around?”

“dicking around on my dick?”

you swatted his phone away. “no! not right now.”

you both shared a small giggle, twinkling eyes looking at each other.

“if i felt like you weren’t doing even the bare minimum, i would’ve been gone before you had the chance to put this ring on—”

his gaze drifted down to the black shiny heart promise ring on your ring finger that you held up for him, and he smiled softly.

“baby what you do for me everyday is above and beyond the bare minimum. i’m happy. i’m so happy to be with you that you not doing enough has never crossed my mind and it never will.”

you slid your arms around his neck and pulled him down a little, gently. “i’ve never cared about your ability to speak. i fell in love with you, who you are, and the fact that i did without you having to iterate words to me? olympic sport.”

toge rolled his eyes playfully at your comment, and you stood on your tippy toes and kissed the tip of his pretty nose then. “all men do when they talk is lie anyways…” you tilted your head. “but i know you’ll never lie to me.”

“never.” he mouthed silently.

he bundled you up in his arms and lifted you like you were nothing, him carefully leaning in and pressing his lips to yours as if you were a fragile little thing— kissing you so devotedly, warmly, his forehead resting against yours once he pulled apart after greedily getting his daily fix of you.

“i know your job as a jujutsu sorcerer pays the bills and comes with you putting yourself in difficult situations… and my job doesn’t even compare, but please don’t overdo it for my sake. i want you to come home, okay?”

you know it’s selfish… he should be saving lives no matter the cost.

but he was your man. was it so bad to just want to keep him for the rest of your days? to get the chance to grow old with him, and buy a little quiet house on the country side like you always joked about in the late hours of the night with him? drinking cool glasses of lemonade on the porch?

“please don’t always be the hero.” you whispered guiltily. “but if you must… just keep me in mind while you do it.”

you’re always on his mind. he hopes you know that.

toge breathed softly through his nose and smoothly set you back down, the pads of your feet making contact with the icy tile flooring as his hands dragged up from around your waist to the sides of your head, him pushing a hard kiss to your cheek as if to seal your request.

“do you promise?” you mumbled.

he pulled back and held his little pinky out for you, and you giggled, linking yours with his firmly.

“you can’t go back on it okay? you used your pinky it’s legally binding!” you warned, a silly smile on your face. “don’t lie to me and break it.”

toge grinned and leaned towards you as he bent down a bit— your gaze locking with his as he looked at you at eye level with his hands on his knees, him mouthing his next words, slowly.

words that made your cheeks buzz a cutesy pink, words that he took seriously, and words that tied you to him and the little house by the countryside he wanted so badly with you, as those words solidified how much he truly truly loved you— him hoping you always knew.

“i would never lie to you.” he mouthed.

taglist!! <33: @saebaey

[loonylupinblack3]

Go Slow

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: SMUT! p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), riding, (brief) dry humping

Summary: it's your first time and Logan tries to go slow, he really does, but some things just can't be helped

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: i'm not too practiced in smut so sorry if it's shit 😭

Logan knew you were on the shy side of things. During the start of your relationship he’d had to coax words from you, feelings and opinions you held until you felt comfortable enough to share them without being asked. You’d be nervous and fidgety when asking to see him, acting like he was an attractive stranger when he was your boyfriend. 

In all honesty though Logan didn’t mind. He enjoyed your shy, almost naive personality, and was more than happy to wait for you to be comfortable with him before suggesting going any further. 

Sure, it was difficult for him to wait, but not impossible. If his pants tightened slightly when you walked in the room with ridiculously short shorts and practically sat in his lap with them, you didn’t notice. When you were sleeping in bed together and would unconsciously rub yourself against him, causing him to have to leave the bed for a bit lest he did something he'd regret, you remained blissfully unaware. And if he was putting away your laundry and came across a pair of lacy black panties with bows adorning it, you wouldn’t even notice they went missing.

Logan was more than okay to wait.

You, on the other hand, were not.

It started with small changes in you and your actions, though Logan couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was. You were more flustered around him than usual, jumpier and shier than you’d been before. You were quieter too, staring at him with more intensity than before, as if trying to read his mind. Yet it wasn’t as if you were pulling away from him, because you were much more touchy and clingy than usual, always needing to hold him and often being the initiator of any make out session you two might have- which is as far as you’d gone.

It was during one of these sessions, having started when you both grew bored of the movie playing on the screen, that you started straddling Logan, kissing him with more fevor than you usually did. Surprised, though certainly not disappointed, Logan kissed you back, hands resting on your thighs and occasionally running up and down them when his control slipped.

When he felt you rock against him slightly he knew something was up. You were never this forward with him, and was always the one to stop Logan when he got a bit carried away. Yet there you were, gently rocking against him while you kissed, moving against his jeans almost desperately, rubbing against him until there was a rock hard bulge for you to move against and Logan had to gently push you off him.

Immediately you started apologising, looking at your hands nervously fidgeting with your t-shirt, refusing to so much as glance at Logan.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright Bub,” Logan said gently. “I just don’t want to do anything before talking about it first.”

You risked a glance at him, trying to find any lie in his face. “You’re not angry at me?”

Logan would have laughed if he wasn’t worried about upsetting you further. “‘Course not. I fucking loved that, actually, but we can’t do it, or anything like that, without talking about it first. I gotta make sure you’re okay with it.”

You nodded your head with such eagerness Logan’s cock twitched in his pants. “I’m okay with it.”

He smiled at your needy demeanour and had to hold himself back from gladly going along with it. “What exactly do you want, Sweetheart? I gotta know that.”

You bit your lips shyly, glancing up at him from your lashes in such a way Logan was tempted to be fucked with all of this and just take you. He’d been waiting for months, however, so he could certainly wait a few more minutes, and restrained himself as such.

“I want to feel good,” you mumbled quietly. “Want you to make me feel good.”

Oh fuck.

Logan wasn’t sure he could handle this. Desire was coursing through his veins, his cock was throbbing almost painfully against his pants as he watched you, shy and naive but so wanting for him.

“Alright Bub, we can do that,” he eventually said, because fuck he wanted to make you feel good too. He wanted you moaning and whimpering his name, whining and panting underneath him because of him.

Yet as soon as he had you undressed and under him he could tell it wasn’t what you wanted. You looked petrified, eyes squeezed shut as you waited for Logan to enter you, and that just wouldn’t do.

“I’m not doing this Sweetheart,” he said, moving away.

You opened your eyes, seeming both relieved and disappointed at the same time. “What? Why?”

Logan sighed, wrapping you up in his arms and kissing your neck. Even with both of you naked it was surprisingly not desire filled and simply comforting. “Because you obviously don’t want it.”

You shook your head and turned around to face him, straddling him in a similar position as before. “I do want it. Just… it felt a bit scary like that.”

Logan thought about her words for a moment before inspiration struck him. “Do you want to ride me instead?”

You actually gasped, your eyes widening at the suggestion, yet he could also see the desire radiating off of you- he could smell it too- and feel the slick coming from your cunt at the thought. He smirked, taking that as a yes.

“I’m going to lift you up and slowly place you down on me. You can stop me at any moment, okay?” he asked you, wanting to make sure you were comfortable with this.

You nodded your head, looking apprehensive but also excited, as you glanced down at his hard on, licking your lips slightly. “I don’t know if it will fit.”

Logan nearly groaned then and there. “It will.”

Hesitant but sure, you let Logan’s hands wrap around your waist and lift you up, positioning his cock at your entrance. He gave you a few seconds to back out, and when you didn’t, staring at him confidently, Logan sunk you down on his cock.

Fuck even just his tip inside you felt like heaven, your cunt squeezing against him. You let out a gasp and he hesitated, waiting, and you slowly nodded your head, giving him the go ahead to continue. He did so gently, making you take him inch by inch, stopping every so often for you to get used to the feeling of him until you’d finally taken all of him inside you.

The feeling of your walls squeezing his cock was heavenly. He could barely think, and all he wanted to do was fuck you hard and fast, chase the release he so desperately wanted. Yet he waited for it to feel comfortable for you, waiting for the pain to ease before he did anything.

“Okay… what now?” you asked in a timid voice.

Logan had to muffle the sound threatening to escape him at the sight of you blinking bashfully at him while he was inside you. It was too good to be true.

“Now you move,” Logan said roughly, because he didn’t trust himself to move and not fuck you viciously like he wanted to.

You thought for a moment before giving an experimental rock, gasping at the pleasure accompanying the action. You repeated the rock again, then again, creating a slow but sure movement that was slowly killing Logan.

Every sway of your hips, the way you rode his cock eagerly if not skillfully, was pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it baby,” he rasped. “Just like that, you’re doing so good for me baby.”

You rolled your hips, whining at the praise and closing your eyes but only increasing your motions, one hand moving up to cup your breast. You grounded onto him, gasping when he hit that perfect spot, whispering Logan’s name like a prayer

He swore at the sight, and couldn’t help the jerk his hips made, a small gasp escaping you. It felt so good, the spike of pleasure overwhelming and your readily response too much, and he did it again.

You moaned this time, a dirty, high pitched sound that was ringing in Logan’s ears, urging him on as he took your hips in his hand and lifted you up, only to slam you down on his cock again. Your moan was delicious, and you placed both your hands on his chest, moving forward to make him go deeper.

Logan did groan this time, and used your hips to continue moving you on his dick, his large hands squeezing the soft flesh of your hips. You were a whining mess, eyes glazed and body limp above him.

“Feel so good,” Logan grunted, thrusting into you. “So fucking good for me.”

You whimpered, gasping as your eyes fluttered closed again. Logan grinned.

“You like that baby? You like me telling you what a good girl you’re being, riding my cock so prettily.”

Your moans came more frequent, panting every second, and Logan could tell you were close. He increased his pace, wanting to see you fall apart in front of him, and wasn’t disappointed by the result.

“Come on baby, cum for me.”

With a cry you threw your head back, ecstasy painting your face as you came, your walls tightening. The feeling of them squeezing Logan’s dick, your cunt milking it for all its worth was too much and he felt himself fall after you, his load of cum shooting into your already stuffed hole.

“Fuck baby,” he cursed, helping you ride out both your highs, moving your hips over him.

You were still panting as you slowly came down from your high, boneless as you laid against Logan’s chest.

“You did so good for me darling,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

You let out a sound, nuzzling his neck, and he happily held you against him, pressing kisses to your face and neck till you were ready to move.

[seaweef]

SO , SO NOISY !!

synopis. he just wont shut up, wont he? i guess we'll have to fix this issue...

feat. choso, nanami, gojo

cw. smut, fem!reader, riding, gagging, sex in potentially public areas ( reader is afraid they might get caught ), satoru being a bitch

weefnote. i have NOT reviewed for my test but writing this instead of studying was so worth it ALSO PLEASE REBLOG + COMMENT I LOVE LIKES BUT REBLOGS AND COMMENTS HAVE MY HEART

# — CHOSO

"o-oh, ngh, fuck..." choso whimpers, his nails digging crescents into your hips, mesmerized by how his cock gets swallowed whole by that pretty pussy of yours as you snap down on him. "s-so good, haah,"

"choso, shh, we'll get caught..." you drawl while dragging a finger down his handsome button nose, watching as he scrunches his face up at the ticklish feather light touch, in contrast to the hypnotic smack of your hips against his. your words fall upon deaf ears, he makes that clear when you press that finger against his glossy, parted lips in an attempt to shush him, but to no avail.

sighing, you halt your movement. he stammers, and you get a good look of those soft eyes and the tears hanging from his dark lashes. "baby, w-why'd you stop?" he sounds so upset, it makes you giggle into your fist. just as he's about to start whining again, you shove the same pair of lace panties you had been wearing earlier into his mouth. "mgh-!?"

you feel his cock twitch inside you while you smile as if youre innocent. "better."

he lets out a broken moan into the fabric as you slam yourself back on his cock. the sight was heavenly, drool spilling out from the corner of his mouth as his eyes roll back.

yeah, you should definitely do that more often.

# — NANAMI

kento is often quiet during sex, a few occasional groans here and there. but today...

"oh, sweetheart," hes throwing his head back, his once neat hair all disheveled and his eyelids heavy. hes like an animal, ramming into you with no restraints whatsoever as youre scrambling to find something to grab on, fingernails scratching desperately at the wood of his desk. papers fly everywhere, but thats a problem for later. "hngh, k-ken'! t-they'll, ooh, hear us!"

"why? dont want them to- shit, dont want them to hear how good your husband's fucking you?"

"i-its not thahaat, but- keeen!"

"fuck..." he looks down at the sight, the creamy white ring forming around the base of his cock, and he hisses. hes well aware how noisy he must be, so one hand leaves your arched back, pulling his tie to bite on it.

you look back, pussy tightening at what you see, and he all but moans.

"l-love you, love you so much," his voice is muffled, but you bury your face into the crook of your elbow while sniffling. "i- hah- love you too,"

and all hell breaks loose.

# — GOJO

"yeaaah, let me use this sexy cunt," satoru drawls out his words annoyingly, annoyingly enough that you register it through how deep he was in you right now.

"shut the fuck up, you're s-ah, so noisy," you seethe. hes always like this when in charge, and he clearly enjoy the power he holds at times like these, when hes on top of you, hands on the back of your knees and folding you back.

he laughs, licking his lips afterwards. "yeah?" and his face is suddenly so close to yours. "whatcha gonna do if i dont? make me, sweetie."

you (try to) roll your eyes at the challenge, a shaky hand extending to grab at his hair, and the other hand-

"whatre you-?"

you push two fingers into his mouth, pressing them against his tongue. for a moment hes hesitant, but then his blue eyes crinkle at the sides, and he swirls his tongue around your fingertips.

"fhuuck," you mewl, his stupid handsome face somehow getting you even wetter and tighter than you already were, his cock throbbing.

when you take your fingers out of his mouth, a string of salive connects them to his lips, and he grins. "wow, that was hot."

before you can even reply, he pulls your own hand towards your neglected clit and guides you to rub yourself with the same fingers that were in his mouth earlier.

as you moan, he flashes a smug smile. "whos the noisy one now?"

[ode2rin]

new boyfriend rin would never ever, under any circumstance, admit that he likes the pet names you call him. well… unless you would stop doing it. (also me pushing the bffs to lovers pipeline)

You must be upset with him, Rin is convinced so. It’s the only logical and sensible explanation behind this unusual behavior. 

And he's going mad about it. Itoshi Rin is going mad any second now if he can't get to the bottom of this, he’s certainly convinced.

Every instinct screamed that your recent behavior was a reaction to something he'd done, but what? Was it the late replies to your text messages? No, you knew he was at practice and you told him you didn’t mind. Was it about the souvenir he brought back home to you from Paris? Sure, you teased him about its impracticality, but nothing that warranted this icy distance.

Or maybe it was something he said now? It must be, right? Everything boils down to his reckless poor choice of words, he supposes.

Slowly, Rin approached you by the couch you’re seated in. With your attention preoccupied by the selection of shows you’re browsing, you settled on looking at him briefly through your peripheral vision. Amused by how he’s slightly tiptoeing around, you let out a half-suppressed laugh to yourself. 

He looks like a cat sometimes, you thought from the sight. And acts like one too. Like a big black cat who would hiss at you if you looked at him funny, or one that would bite your hand if you stopped petting him to sleep. Funny how Rin could be like that too.

The moment Rin settles into the plush comfort of the couch, he gazes at you through lowered lashes, trying to read the play of emotions on your face, if there’s any. 

There’s nothing worth noting, and he doesn’t know if that should assure or bother him.

“Are we… alright?” he drawled.

What the fuck. He did not just sound like that. 

He did not just ask that and sounded like an anxious pathetic wet cat who just had a new home waiting for its owner’s permission over anything (highly specific because he’s a bit dramatic). Just what kind of loser have you reduced him into, really.

Oblivious of the internal turmoil in Rin’s mind, you turn to him, “Hmm? Yeah? Why’d you ask?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled. It’s enough that he already humiliated himself for the way he asked if the two of you were cool— doing it again by exposing himself that he thinks you’re mad plainly because he hadn’t heard you call him a pet name (like you always do) would be mortification in its final form.

“Okay, Rin.”

That’s it. This needs to end. Forget humiliation. He would rather choose to feel pathetic over any day than continue with this charade.

“Are you mad at me?” 

“Why would you think that?” you asked back instantly, shocked and extremely confused because of your boyfriend’s question. You’re literally just looking for a movie the two of you can watch— how is that any indication of being mad at him?

“Just answer the question,” he fumed, impatience settling on the furrow of his brows.

You said in the beginning of your relationship that you didn’t appreciate the silent treatment and guessing games, so don’t you think it’s hypocritical of you to do the same to him? (You’re not, but he just doesn’t know that.)

“I’m not mad at you, Rin.”

“You so are!” 

“I am not! But you, yelling and instigating it are making me right now!” you countered, voice hinted with irritation, “What is your problem, Rin?”

There it is again. Rin rose from the couch to face your sitting form, as if standing would better prove his point. “See? You’re calling me Rin!” he blurted.

“Well, maybe because it’s your name?!”

“Not to you, it’s not!”

A beat of surprised silence. Until your lips grew to such a wide smile that made Rin physically feel his heart melting. 

Yet, in Rin’s true fashion, he’ll never let you know how much air you knock out of him because of your beaming smile. Instead, he’ll say something along the snarky lines of, “Stop smiling like that.”

“Did my big bad grumpy Rinnie here thought we’re on a fight because I hadn’t call him baby?” you ask, purposely stressing out the words to disarm him more.

With a feigned exasperation, he comments, “I forgot how annoying you are.” 

“And I forgot how childish you can get sometimes,” you countered.

“I’m not childish.”

“You don’t mind me calling you Rin then?”

Rin rolled his eyes at you, but you know better than to put meaning to it. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you. With a swift tug, Rin pulled you closer, closing the distance between you effortlessly. His arm found its way around your waist, drawing you snugly against his chest.

“But I don’t see why you need to…” Maybe he could be a bit childish.

“I thought you didn’t like it,” you shyly muttered, drawing shapes in his arm. “The pet names, I mean,” you clarified, sensing the confused look he’s probably giving you behind.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He is baby. He is Rinnie. Fucking hell, that’s so loser of him to even voice it out in his own mind. 

“What? You call me by my name!” you defensively pointed out.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like your nicknames of me,” he mumbled, the words barely audible.

The pet names— they were more than what they served. It was important to him more than what he would admit. 

They were a secret language, a way you marked him as yours. A reminder that he wasn't just Rin anymore— just your friend.

He was now something more, something special.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Besides… I love your name,” he whispered, his voice velvet against your hair.

It’s tender— no, it makes him tender. Saying your name has been the softest, kindest, and most tender way he’s used his words for. 

Maybe it’s a little pathetic, feeling this undone by a name. But then it’s you. 

It was your name— a name he could whisper with adoration, a name that belonged only to him to claim. 

You melt to his words, leaning deeper into his chest. A contented sigh escaped your lips, the sound swallowed by the warmth of his embrace.

Looking up at him, your eyes held a softness he often found himself getting lost in, “I love your name too, but I also like calling you pet names. Is it okay?”

“Whatever you decide.” He’s yours, either way.

note. this is basically rin being "my nameeee is whatever you decideeeee and i'm just gonna call you mineeee i'm insane but i'm your baby!!!!" yeah that song basically.

[a-hermit-pining]

Making Up with LaDS Men

AN: So soft. Ugh, I love them so much.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Ingredients: 95% fluff, 5% angst.

My Fav: Rafayel's was the one that made me write this but Caleb is pretty nice too, if I must say so myself.

Rafayel:

He stares out his window and finds you perched on the pavement. In the rain. Right beneath his window, waiting for him to look.

And when he does, he nearly trips in his rush to get to you. He’s exasperated. Worried. And irrevocably touched.

By the tides, love made idiots of you both.

It had started as an argument about dishes. But it spiraled, into fights about living together, into complaints about time, into accusations about waiting too long, loving too little.

Until you finally stormed out, leaving behind one very outraged, very wounded fish. “Truth is, you’ll never choose me. Not even at the cost of my soul.”

He had yelled it at your retreating back. And he hated how hard he had to dig for words that would hurt. Hated how good he was at choosing the cruel ones. How stupid it was, wanting to wound you before you could wound him.

And when the tempers cooled and silence set in, you returned. But the door was locked.

So you sat outside, holding a bunch of slightly wilted flowers. And you waited. You waited until the sun disappeared. Until the clouds rolled in. Until the rain began to fall.

You stayed there, below his window. Because you knew how much your beloved fish loved the smell of petrichor. The scent of the world right after it breaks.

You wait, not as long as him, never that much but enough to make his heart melt.

Xavier:

He doesn’t stay mad for long. You know that. He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t slam doors. Doesn’t lash out. But when the fight ends, if it can even be called a fight, he just... gets quiet. And that silence feels heavier than anger ever could.

He still makes your tea the next morning. Still leaves your charger on your pillow. Still kisses the top of your head before leaving for work. But he doesn’t hold your gaze. Not the way he usually does. Not for long.

So you show up that night with his favorite takeout. The kind that makes his shoulders drop the second he smells it. You light a candle, put on that playlist you both pretend not to love, and pull him gently into your lap when he walks in.

He lets you.

You wrap your arms around him. You kiss his cheek. His temple. The corner of his mouth. Soft, lingering things.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

His voice is muffled, face tucked into your shoulder. “I know you are.”

You press your forehead to his. “But are we okay?”

He hesitates. Just for a breath. Then nods. “We’re okay,” he says. “I just, sometimes I wish you’d come back sooner. I miss you too fast.”

You close your eyes and squeeze him a little tighter. “You’re allowed to be upset, you know. You don’t always have to hold it in.”

He gives a quiet laugh, “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But if I hold onto it, I lose time. Time I’d rather spend like this.”

Zayne:

BAKE. HIM. SWEETS.

He’s not the one to start arguments, he rarely even realizes they’ve become arguments until they’re over. Too real, too blunt, too logical for his own good. So most fights leave him confused at first... and horrified once he understands he’s the reason you walked away upset.

And if you’re the one feeling bad? Baking is the way.

This man is powerless against soft banana bread and sincere apologies. Bring him a tray of kiss-me brownies, what-are-we cinnamon rolls, or a marry-me pie, and suddenly he’s the most forgiving man alive.

Drop by hospital with a wrapped container, and you’ve won.

The moment he sees you standing outside his office, holding Tupperware and fidgeting like you might flee, he’s already smiling.

He’s a big fan of how you tailor everything for him. How you swap sugar for dates. Add protein. Use almond flour because “it’s good for your brain.”

He won’t even bring up the fight. He’ll sit beside you, still in scrubs, tucking into banana bread like it’s a love letter. And listen as you explain how you got the texture just right.

“I’m sorry I snapped,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says, brushing crumbs from your wrist. “But this banana bread earns you forgiveness. ”

Sylus:

He has not learned to share his pain. It is sharp and biting, searing both you and him. Sometimes, it lashes out hard enough to damage the fragile thing between you.

And he knows it.

He pushes you away, offering you the trigger, daring you to run the bullet through his heart. Because that would be easier than being vulnerable.

So lost is he in his ancient ache that he can’t see clearly anymore. He hides his hurt beneath a cold, cruel mask, like a wounded animal, snapping before it can be touched.

But it’s your gentleness that undoes him.

It’s when you give him nothing but love in return for his lashing, when you reach for him instead of leaving, that he breaks.

Be there for him. Stay. Hold him. Let him fall apart in your arms. Kiss the pain away, slowly, quietly.

He doesn’t need fixing. He needs time. And love that stays soft, even when he can’t.

Caleb:

A grand gesture.

This man is all about belonging. Wanting to be yours. For you to be his. And for the entirety of existence to know it.

The fight had been devastating.

You’d blamed him. Walked out, left him waiting for weeks. No contact. No updates. He couldn’t find you. Didn’t know if you were safe. Didn’t know if you still wanted him.

And when he finally found you again, Caleb had been quiet. Distant.

He didn’t know whether to reach for you or let you go. Didn’t know if you needed him… or needed to be free of him.

So imagine his surprise when he sees you, at the Fleet’s Christmas party. On stage. At the grand piano. In front of everyone.

You don’t speak. You play.

A soft song. Gentle. Hesitant. An apology spun into musical notes. A lullaby between lovers. A plea for forgiveness.

And then, as the music shifts, it becomes the song of Penelope, the woman who waited for Odysseus, year after year, unwavering.

It’s not subtle. It’s not meant to be.

You are declaring yourself his. You are saying it in front of everyone.

And that is what wins him.

Not just the music. Not just the apology. But the audacity of loving him loud, after hurting him quiet.

He watches you under the stage lights, blinking like he’s afraid to breathe. And when the song ends, he doesn’t wait.

He crosses the room, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you like he never wants to stop.

[luveline]

Missing hotchner reader❤️❤️

hotch and spencer have to work together to look after you when things get really hard. fem, 3.3k

cw cptsd episodes and descrips of abuse

Adoption isn’t as permanent as people might think —they can give you back anytime they want. So when the oldest Hotchner started hitting you, it wasn’t that different to a previous placement, nobody was watching over you, and you were so afraid of losing your new brother that you didn’t say a word. 

You knew, reasonably, that if Aaron was to find out about how his father (your father) had been treating you, he’d report it to your caseworker or the police or somebody and you would be removed from the Hotchner household. And Aaron was the first person you’d ever met to care about you, really care, maybe even love, so you hid it all away and you told him that things were fine. You do it for years.  

You move out, you go to college. Aaron moves you into a nice apartment a few streets away from his own, and for a while, life is good. You meet his coworker, Spencer, and you get along. Spencer takes you on dates to cinemas and patisseries and he buys you cuddly plushies with hearts sewn into their hands at Valentine’s. By all accounts, things should be good. 

You can’t breathe, is the problem. Somebody has their hand raised to hit you again and you can’t do anything about it, you just have to take it, because you’re useless, because you deserve it, because you’re a drain on everything and everyone and you aren’t worth the trouble, you deserve the hit. You’re so sorry.

“I know,” someone murmurs quietly, a sensation on your shoulder. You wait for it to close around the back of your neck. “I know. It’s alright.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, barely, a breath of sound. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

But you did, you did, he was in a bad mood to begin with and you hit his glass of scotch right off the table, smashed glass and wasted drink and a bad mood made worse. He should’ve hit you by now. He’s waiting for you to sit up. He doesn’t like to hit the back of your head, but he will if you cower long enough.

“Honey,” the voice says, right by your ear, “I’m not going to hit you, do you hear me? I am never, ever going to hit you.” 

“I’m really sorry.” 

“I don’t care that you knocked the glass over. I don’t care at all.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Can you look at me? I promise,” —he emphasises until his voice burns— “I am not going to hit you.” 

Aaron sounds upset enough to force your gaze. You look at him through your lashes, ready to shut your eyes if this is a trick, but he has his hands flat in front of you and he’s completely still. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, so unlike himself, “I wouldn’t hit you over a glass. I wouldn’t hit you if you did it on purpose. I wouldn’t hit you if you smashed every piece of glassware in this apartment for fun.” 

He’s hit you for less. 

“Sweetheart,” he says again, waiting for a reaction you can’t give, “do you want me to go away?” 

It’s a good question. Do you want him to leave? Immediately, everything inside of you says No. He’s gonna hit you just like the last time you smashed his drink, out of the blue, ‘cos didn’t mean to doesn’t matter. But you don’t want Aaron to go. He’s the only person who’s ever loved you properly. 

“It’s okay, just hit me,” you say, staring at him, pleading with him not to even as you ask for it, “it’s my fault.” 

“Not gonna hit you,” he says, reaching for you now, even when you flinch, he holds you by the arms and he stares at you hard. 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“It’s not okay. It won’t fix anything.” 

“I deserve it.” 

“No, you don’t.” Aaron rubs your arms in tandem, shaking his head, a trace of panic in his eyes you’d missed until now. 

It’s Aaron. Aaron’s never hit you. 

“You never deserve to have someone put their hands on you,” he says, practically murmurs, “I’m sorry I let that happen.”

“I lied to you.” 

“I know. I know you did, honey.” He shakes his head gently. “It’s not your fault.” 

“I hit the glass over,” you say, And he hit me so hard I couldn’t hear right for hours. You still remember the way it shocked you, because you’d started to expect it but you were still surprised he’d bother with such a hard hit, that he could get that angry about it.

“I thought it was just me,” he murmurs, sorry, clutching at you like he needs you to listen. “I never should’ve left you in that house, but I thought it was just me. It was only ever… me.” 

You already know —you’ve had this conversation before. He’s apologised already. 

He cups your cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re not angry with me?” 

“No. I’m never angry with you.” 

You come to yourself in fits. You’re kneeling on the floor not far from the table, the mess of glass, half still intact and cupping a few sips of scotch. Aaron’s kneeling right next to you, still in his suit, hasn’t been home long, you were waiting for him. You used your key because you didn’t want to be home alone. Today’s been a bad day. You’ve felt stringy and strange for hours and you knew seeing Aaron would set it right. That Aaron would make you feel better through force of will. 

And then you’d knocked his drink off the table and both of you had startled, and he’d said, “Wait, don’t, you’ll hurt yourself,” but all your brain heard was You. 

You. What could be said to mean more than that? 

“You’re not gonna hit me,” you whisper. 

“Never.” 

“Can you help me up?” you ask, half apart from yourself. Your head is back, but your legs won’t cooperate. 

“Where do you want to go? The kitchen?” he asks, leaning so you can wrap your arms behind his head. He lifts you up with some effort on his part, adjusting you, and leading you together to the kitchen to sit you at the island bar. “Sit tight. I’ll clean the glass, okay? It won’t take long.” 

You don’t want him to go, but you don’t wanna say no. 

Time away from him is good, in a way. It makes you remember who you actually are outside of the bad memory. It hammers home that this is Aaron’s apartment, your big brother, your number one supporter. There’s a picture of you and Jack right there on the fridge stuck by an alphabet magnet. Aaron’s never hit you before and it’s not going to change now, because he is nothing like his dad. 

He’s never really seen you act like this, though, and you aren’t excited for what he has to say next. He has a penchant for seeing you at your worst and building you back up again. It shouldn’t be his problem, but it is. 

He brushes the glass into a dustpan and unloads it into a bag, which he trashes. You watch him wet a paper towel and wipe it across the floor for the shavings. 

When he’s drying his hands on a towel, you summon the courage to apologise. “Aaron, I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry.” 

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t look much like the other Hotchner’s. He’s dark-haired like his mother, and he smiles with all kindness. You never saw anything so soft at home, not unless he was there to visit. It’s a wonder he ever bothered getting to know you, already living his life very much outside of the household, and shouldn’t he have moved on? If it were you, if there were another kid in the house right now, could you go back? Knowing how you were treated? 

“I love you,” he says. “You know that?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you think you could understand why I don’t want you to say sorry, or be sorry, because of that?” 

You smile weakly. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah? Because if Jack were in here today, and he had hit that drink over, you couldn’t have hit him. Could you?” 

“Of course not.” 

He’s mildly guilty for the example, you can tell, but it cements the sentiment in your mind and he can see that. “When you love someone, you don’t hit them. We just can’t do it.” 

“I just… just– you– I got all mixed up in my head.” 

“I know.” 

“Thought you were him,” you say tightly, quietly. 

“I know. Is that the first time you’ve had something like that happen? Like you weren’t sure where you were?” 

Your face crumples of its own accord, heat clogging your nose and throat and lining the backs of your eyes. “No… but it hasn’t been that many times…”

“The bad panic attack at work a few weeks ago, was that like this?” 

“No, that was just that I couldn’t breathe right. I– I had one with Spencer.”

Aaron frowns, but he speaks kindly, “When was that?” 

“A couple of days ago…” You stare at your hands.

“We don’t have to talk about it. But I need to make sure you’re okay.” 

“He told me to tell you, but it– I thought he’d break up with me, after, but he hasn’t, so I’ve just been waiting.” 

“Honey, I don’t think this is the sort of thing that could make Spencer break up with you. He cares too much.” 

“You don’t understand, I– I begged him not to touch me, Aaron. I really scared him.” 

With Spencer, it was late. You asked him to stay the night on a limb, and you’d forgotten he was there sleeping beside you, met him in a dark hallway, where he asked what you were doing out of bed. It’s late. You shouldn’t be up. 

His hand had settled just behind your neck. He won’t touch you there anymore. 

“If there’s something you want to tell me–”

“I want it to go away,” you say. 

“It’s not going to be that easy.” He takes a big, deep breath. “You could’ve told me this was happening,” he promises. 

“I didn’t want you to know that I– lied so much. Sometimes I can’t believe I let him do it.” 

Your tone, quiet and calm and a juxtaposition to the ache in your chest, couldn’t hurt him worse. You're familiar with the pain on Aaron’s face, how it makes him do this sorry smile, how he tries hard not to give it away. “If anyone let him hurt you, it was me.” 

“What?” 

“I knew he was unkind to you. I knew he shouted. I didn’t try hard enough to get you away.” 

“Aaron–”

“If you’re going to blame someone, it has to be me.” 

It’s ridiculous. If you hadn’t had Aaron, you would’ve been completely miserable to the marrow of your bones. He’s the last person on earth you’d blame for the way you’re feeling now, so when a tear wells in your eyes, when it hits your cheek in a splash, you let him tut and wrap his arms behind you. 

“It’s my fault,” you insist, hiding your face in his shoulder. 

“No.” 

“It’s my fault, I hit the glass–”

“No, no, it’s not your fault.” 

“I’m really s–sorry.” 

“It’s gonna be okay, honey. Just breathe. Just take a deep breath for me. I promise you I’m not mad about the glass.” 

“Maybe you should be.” 

He holds your forehead to his chin, clutching you to him, reassuring and a little too tight. “I’m not mad at you.” 

You can’t make yourself believe him. 

—

Spencer isn’t expecting to get waylaid by Hotch at Rossi’s dinner party. He can’t think of what he did wrong. You’re happy with him, clingy lately, which he loves, and as smart and sweet as ever, and work is great. Spencer’s a good agent and a better profiler. 

Hotch looks so serious that he follows him in silence, squeezing his coke neck like a lifeline. 

“I want Y/N to be assessed for PTSD, and I need to know that you’re going to support her,” he says simply. 

Spencer searches the backyard for you. You’re laying down in the grass with Jack, Henry, and Penelope. It’s getting late, barely any sunshine left, but nobody’s wanted to ruin the fun and call it a night yet. You don’t fuss as Jack throws himself sideways across your chest. 

“Did something happen?” Spencer asks. 

“She had an… event. She told me about a similar incident with you the other night. That she panicked and got confused about who you were.” 

Spencer nods. “Yeah, I– yeah. I caught her by surprise.” 

“That’s the only time it’s happened?” 

“Yeah. She’s told me a little about it.” 

“About the episode?” 

“Everything. And it’s obvious?” He enthuses it with apology, worried he’ll offend Hotch if he says something too blatant, but desperate to be honest. “Most of the time she’s this– she’s amazing, she’s like this light, and then sometimes it’s like she thinks I don’t like her? Like I don’t want to be near her, or like she thinks I’m gonna hurt her.” 

Hotch lets his eyebrows rise a little. “Yeah.” 

“She cried so much that I didn’t know what to do.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that part, she already told me you made her feel better,” Hotch says quietly. Neither of them mention what they know, how you’d begged Spencer to stay after the episode, how sorry you’d been, how desperate Spencer was to calm you down. “But if you can’t do it in the long run, you need to know now. I can’t start this with her and have you duck out halfway through. I know,” —Hotch gives him a fond smile, half-knocking the wind from him— “that you care about her, and I know it’s not my place to come to you on her behalf, but I’m going to do it anyhow, and you know why I am.” 

“What do you mean?” he says, though he knows. 

“I’m saying I think she’s going to get worse before she gets better. She’s not well right now.” 

“I know she isn’t.” 

“I trust you, Spencer. I care about you, too. But she’s going to be my priority, and if you can’t be there for her then it has to be done now... I’m worried she’s going to get really low.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says genuinely. Spencer’s not defensive, only urgent. “Hotch, I more than care about her.” 

Hotch nods. “Okay. Good, because I need your help. You have to vet these doctors for me, I have a preliminary list. I’ll send it to you.” 

“Wait, have you talked to her about this?” 

“I said we’d talk to a doctor. I promised I’d talk to you about it. She’s… I don’t know, she’s scared.” 

Spencer straightens up. You have nothing to be scared of with him, not his reaction, not his lack of support. He wishes Hotch had had more faith in him, but none of this is about him. Someone hurt you, and now you have to put yourself back together again. 

The kids have disappeared. Penelope’s climbing onto her feet and offering you a hand, but you stay laying down in the grass. 

“I really care about her,” Spencer says. 

Hotch clasps his shoulder. “Are you going, or am I?” 

“I’ll take this one, please.” 

“Sure.” 

Spencer trudges around the side of the yard, past the bench and the tables and the string lights on the patio to where you’re laying in the bluegrass, eyes nearly closed. “Is this seat taken?” he asks, nudging your hip with his shoe lightly. 

“No, sir.” 

Spencer sits down in the grass. He finds your wrist to hold. 

“You okay?” 

“Did Aaron talk to you about the doctor?” 

“Yeah, he did. You want to go?” 

“What do you think?” 

Spencer rubs your pulse. “I think it’s good. If you were having headaches, we’d go to the doctor.” 

“Headaches that make me not know who you are.” 

“Especially that kind.” 

You turn a bit and give him an amused smile. “Sorry I was too scared to say more about it.” 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Spencer brings a cautious hand to your cheek. He sees the flicker of hurt it brings —you don’t like that he’s careful how, but how can he not be, remembering the way he’d touched your neck and the wound it seemed to inflict in the dark— but he tries to caress it away. “I’m with you,” he says, “I care about you. I want to take care of you, as much or as little as you might need that from me.” 

Your eyes fall closed. “It might be nice.” 

“What would?” 

“To be taken care of by you.” 

“I’ll try my best.” 

You cover his hand with your own. JJ laughs across the yard, and Jack and Henry shout battle cries. Hotch says, “Jack! Not so rough, buddy!” and makes you laugh. 

“Did he intimidate you?” you ask. 

“No more than usual. He said I have to decide if I can do this with you.” 

You squirm and attempt to sit. If Spencer weren’t nervous about touching you, he’d force you back down. “He shouldn’t have.”

“No, he should. But I already decided.” Spencer finds your fingers, lacing them with his. “It wasn’t really a decision, actually. I want to do this with you, but only if that’s okay with you.” 

You nod slowly. “I already said it’d be nice if you took care of me,” you whisper, letting your face dip downward. 

He chances a kiss pressed to your temple. 

You laugh under your breath. “I know you didn’t sign up for this.” 

“Did you?” he asks, giving your back a rub like a wave. 

“It’s different. I knew what was happening to me.” 

“Angel, you didn’t have a choice,” he says, so quiet he’s surprised when you hear it. “I know you’re… What?” he asks, perturbed when you shake your head. 

“You and Aaron…” 

You never finish. Spencer can’t make you. He holds your shoulder until the tension under his hand unfurls, relaxing his touch when you decide to lay down in the grass again, quietly asking him to lay with you. 

“Be ready for Jack to use you like a trampoline,” you warn, taking his hand. 

He has a feeling Hotch will keep Jack away for a while. 

Spencer traces the back of your hand with his thumb, over and over. He’s sorry he didn’t know you five years ago, sorry you were alone, sorry someone put their hands on you. He’s sorry you learned to anticipate physical abuse in the wake of mistakes. He’s sorry he can’t take it away from you, ‘cos from the second you took his hand at that park a street from his apartment he’s been a goner, all you had to do was jump up on the lip of the fountain and trust him not to let you fall. He remembers how that felt, the zinging sparks travelling from the palm of your hand into his, the romanticism of two arms stretched apart and your slow circle. And when you fell in, you didn’t blame him, you just laughed and scrambled back out, squealing excitedly about your wet shoes. 

It’ll get better, he thinks. Even if it gets worse first. You’ll feel better soon. 

He turns his cheek into the grass and beckons you forward for a kunik kiss, nose pressed to yours, wanting to kiss you like he would if you were at home together, and knowing this is enough too. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“It’s getting cold.” 

Spencer agrees, but neither of you attempt to move. 

[vampzity]

pretty tears | BC

★ DAY THREE : DACRYPHILIA WITH BANGCHAN ★

pairing: husband! bangchan x f! reader

did you really think it was a good idea to bug your lovely boyfriend at a sophisticated dinner of all places? to think that you’d actually get away with it just because he can’t react then and there? you’d be extremely mistaken. he’ll show you exactly what whining and teasing gets you— in fact, he’ll have you whining at his mercy.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+!!, literally no plot, dacryphilia, dom bangchan x brat reader, slight spanking, rough unprotected sex, cursing, pet names (slut, whore, baby, babygirl), hair pulling, some fluff at the end, chan is a whole different person in bed

word count: 1.7k

“I’m sure Bangchan buys you all the finest jewelry, isn’t that right?”

You raised your eyebrows smugly, glancing at Bangchan’s “you better not” look. You smiled at him, taking a sip from your glass.

“Well it has been a little long since I’ve received any jewelry.. you would know, right Channie?”

You bat your lashes at him, watching as his face turned red from embarrassment. Some of the guest at the table snickered, others staying silent at your response. You didn’t mean anything rude from it, in fact you knew the reason why you haven’t received anything from Bangchan in some time. You didn’t care for the jewelry or expensive gifts, as his love was enough to hold you over, but boy did you love to play with him like a toy.

Only because you knew what it would get you later on.

“Baby, you know why I haven’t..” he turned to look at you, holding your hand under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze.

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip from your glass. Chan gave a hesitant smile to the group, soon moving his hand to your thigh and giving it a tight squeeze.

“Why it shouldn’t be hard to provide for your lady. You make more than enough to sustain the both of you.”

You looked up at Chan’s right hand man in the business world, crossing your arms and nodding. Bangchan gritted his teeth, his nails digging into your thigh as you struggled to now hold back a yelp of pain.

“I say, treat her to something lovely, something containing 18 carat gold, with a pretty rock in the middle.” The younger looked at the woman next to him, admiring her beauty.

“As I always say, nothing but the best for my wife.”

Bangchan stood up from the dinner table, grabbing your coat and pulling you out of the chair. You furrowed your eyebrows at his sudden change in character, getting up from your seat.

“Well it has certainly been a nice evening with you all.” He helped you put on your jacket. “I’ll see you Monday, yeah?”

He waved goodbye to everyone, dragging you out of the house silently. He opened the car door for you, still nothing but silence between the two of you. You both sat in the car for a moment, allowing the quiet of night to engulf you two before you spoke.

“Did I upset you Channie? You know I was only joking, right?”

You ran your fingers across his cheek, making him turn away from you as he started the car. He refused eye contact with you, driving away from the house without saying another word to you.

“And I’m sure you know by now that this bratty behavior doesn’t reward.”

— ✧⁂✬ —

You both walked into your shared bedroom, Chan taking off his blazer and setting it aside in on the desk. He was still silent as ever even after what felt like the longest car ride of your life.

You kicked off your heels and placed them in the closet, turning around to be met with Chan right in front of you. You met his eyes as they were filled with both lust and rage. Bangchan was always good with hiding his emotions around others, especially when you were the cause of them, but being alone with you was a different story.

“Bed. Now.”

Your breath hitched for a moment, feeling a cool chill run up your back. His face was stern and cold, but it wasn’t unfamiliar to you. Bangchan never appreciated your brattiness, especially not in front of others, but boy did he love to put you in your place for it. You were sure that he knew you enjoyed it as well.

“Or what, I’m not scared of you Channie.” you crossed your arms, smugging as he furrowed his eyebrows.

He grabbed you by the waist, pushing you toward the bed and bending you over. His hands slipped beneath your skirt, attempting to rip your panties off only to find that you had a thong on. Bangchan sighed, pulling your skirt up just enough to show your bare ass to him.

“You fucking slut.” he gritted his teeth, smacking his hand against your ass. You yelped out in pleasure, hands gripped at the bedsheets as he fondled with your ass.

“Wearing this little thing for me? You must want me to mess up this pretty pussy of yours, yeah?”

Another rough smack rippled through the room, leaving a tingling sensation against your skin. He grabbed your hair, pulling you up to meet his level. He smirked at your painful expression, his other hand rubbing your reddened skin.

“Not so bratty now, huh? What happened to that necklace you wanted so badly?”

You attempted to turn your head away, only for Chan’s grip to tighten. You hissed in response, your cunt already leaking in arousal from how rough he was with you.

“Maybe if you’re good for me, I’ll think about getting you one.” he looked at your bare ass, tilting his head.

“What did he say? 18 carat? With a pretty rock?”

He let go of your hair, undoing the buckle to his pants and pulling them down with ease. He pressed his bulge against your ass, groaning softly as his hands squeezed your skin. You moaned quietly as he pressed himself against your clothed folds.

He pulled your thong off, letting it drop to your ankles and soon pulling out his cock. He rubbing his tip against your folds, throwing his head back at how wet you were.

“Since you wanna be a brat,” he shoved his dick into you without warning, watching as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Why don’t we get you begging over that necklace, hm?”

He pulled your hands behind your back, holding them down as he rammed into your aching cunt. Your whimpers filled the room, unable to get a break as he grazed your sweet spot over and over. Your face dug into the bed, letting out countless cries of pleasure as Chan manhandled you.

“Channie, fuck!”

His nails dug into your waist as he held you tightly, slamming into you with no remorse. He left go of your hands and grabbed onto your hair once again, pulling you back against him. You winced in pain as Chan came down to your level, kissing your temple softly as he continued to fuck you.

“You like that, baby? Huh?”

A loud smack rippled against the walls, your asscheek tingling once again. You yelped in pleasure, nodding your head as tears began to spill down your cheeks. You moaned aloud, not even caring to wipe the tears that ran down your face.

“Aw look at you, not so bratty anymore hm?”

He kissed your tears, pulling out of you and flipping you onto your back. You met his lustful eyes, a good kind of fear instilling within you as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He rubbed the head of his dick softly against your folds, groaning as his tip leaked. He leaned forward, kissing you gently before pushing himself back into you without warning.

“Gonna fill you so good..” his thrusts grew hastily with every push. “You’re so pretty when you cry baby.”

He leaned over your body as he fucked you roughly. His eyes piercing into you like a knife while he watched your helpless tears escape you. A smug smile painted his face as he held your arms above your head.

“Whose pussy is this, hm?” he grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Answer me when I talk to you, yeah? You know how I feel about you disrespecting me.”

He threw his head back and groaned as his tip grazed your sweet spot. You could barely take him in, let alone when he fucked you this roughly. All because you wanted to embarrass him in front of guests.

“Yours, it’s yours!

Chan smiled at you, his thumb coming down to rub against your clit softly. You let out a deep moan, back arching as he never stopped his harsh movements inside of you. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head as your climax reached an all time high, suddenly rushing over your body and spilling all over his cock.

“Fuck, baby.” he threw his head back, holding your legs up as he pounded into you.

Tears continued to escape you as you begging him to slow down, but unfortunately for you he was too close to stop now. His thrusts got faster, harder as he felt his own high approaching, desperate to release into you. His hands dug into your thighs as you whimpered, small marks being left on your skin as a reminder of the behavior that earned you this type of treatment.

“Gonna, gonna cum.”

He leaned closer to your body, his head burrowed in your neck as his final thrusts were aggressive. A loud groan left his mouth as he released himself into you, pumping his dick into you a few more times to make sure you were stuffed. He kissed your neck gently, wiping the stained tears from your cheeks as his body came down from his high.

He gently pulled out of you, kissing your stomach softly as he pulled your skirt back down. He fixed himself up and sat next to your limp body, his hand rubbing your thigh.

“You learn your lesson, baby?” you looked up at him with doe eyes, nodding quietly as the last of your sniffles came. Chan smiled at you, ruffling your hair and getting up.

“Good. Want me to start a warm bath for you?”

You met his kindhearted eyes, the ones you adored just as much as his piercing ones. You smiled and nodded, playing with the hem of your skirt. Chan took you by the hand, guiding you to the bathroom and helped you undress as the water ran. Once you sat in the tub, he offered to wash you up, also bringing you some company while you relaxed.

“Thank you Channie.”

He kissed your forehead softly as he grabbed a warm towel for you, laying it on his lap as you laid in the water.

“Anything for my babygirl.”

back to valentine’s masterlist

a/n: OUU railway still has the craziest chokehold on me to this day man… neways 🌝

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @jjongibears @h4untedgrl @rvereri @joonezra @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @mingtinysworld @tiredlittlevirgo @honeyhwaaa @evidive @inniesfanblog @bluesungology

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill out the form here!

[sobbingscripter]

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🪻wc. 5096🪻୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Awh, sick! It looks like the Coraline stone-thing!”

“Don’t,” You swats at Mark’s hands, “fucking spread it! You sick freak.”

“Caroline, Caroline.” Mark snickers, the edges of his lips curling as he pushes your thighs further apart, guiding them to rest on his broad, sinewy shoulders and his breath ghosts over your exposed cunt. His hands massage the softness of your legs, fingertips sinking into the plush before he presses a kiss against your sloppy folds.

Peering up at you through his lashes, seeing the way your neck does that little double chin from the way you’re propped up on your elbows, the edge of your SeaWorld T-shirt pushed up just above your navel and Mark’s brows furrow.

“We’ve never been to SeaWorld?”

“I punched a kid because he kept slapping the stingray on the back. So I took his T-shirt.” You hum quietly, lifting one of your hands to thread through Mark’s hair, watching the way obsidian strands slip from your fingers like fine grains of sand. And Mark snorts.

“That doesn’t explain why you were there?”

“I was protesting. Well, I protested for 20 minutes, and then, I went to go get a snack and like... I was escorted off the premises by security.”

“Is that why Omni-Man came home smelling like salt water?” Mark hums quietly, his chin resting on your mound, fingertips tracing idle patterns around the faint lines in your skin.

“Yeah, he came to come pick me up.” You respond with a huff of laughter, the apples of your cheeks turning rosy at the memory before you swallow, the room filling with a silence that’s just a bit too heavy for your liking. And your nails scratch at Mark’s scalp. Just to soften him up before you say something that’s... I gonna upset him.

“Mark... You can still say ‘dad’...” Your voice is soft. “He was still, you know, your dad.”

“He called my mom a pet.” Mark states, expression hardening as he meets your gaze, brows furrowing into a frown.

“Mark, me and you both know your mom walked him like a dog.” You let out a heavy breath. “The pet thing was probably just a—”

“You don’t know what it felt like.”

The room goes dead silent. Quiet enough for Mark to hear the way your breath halts in your lungs, quiet enough for him to hear the way your heart constricts the tiniest bit and you swallow.

“I didn’t mean i—”

“No, it’s okay.” You suck your teeth. “You lost your dad. It hits... Harder for you. Because like, the last thing he did to you was yell at you, and the last thing I got was a kiss on my forehead.” Your eyes begin to sting. “Like he wasn’t about to beat you to death afterwards.”

There’s the most uncomfortable pain that begins to settle in your belly, and before you know it, your thighs are moving from Mark’s shoulders, the warmth of your body eluding him and you shift.

“I— I’m sorry but I don’t think we should do anything tonight. I kinda just wanna be alone.”

Mark pushes himself up, his shirt strewn tightly across his broad chest, but right now, you can’t even properly appreciate the way his muscles flex with each of his movements. Not with the heaviness in your belly that seemed to drop onto your spirits like an anvil crushing glass, piercing shards sticking into your heart.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You nod your head, mustering a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Viltrumites are the bad guys. Aren’t they?” Your voice is tiny as you settle in the spot beside Nolan, your leg bumping against him just a little bit. Your hands still damp from the chilly condensation of the glass you had handed Nolan. The half empty glass that had dripped a little circle onto the varnished wood.

Nolan’s thick brows furrow, before he looks down at you. At the way you stare up at the sky with those wide eyes, flashes fluttering and chubby cheeks rosy from the slight frost in the air.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because sometimes, making things ‘better’, is like... Code for ass—as-assimil— ugh. Ass—smili—lation.” You respond quietly, sounding it out.

You’ve always been smarter than Mark. By a shameful longshot. You saw things for what they really are and right now, Nolan’s seeing firsthand.

“We’re not like that.” He hums.

“Promise?” You peer up at him with those doe eyes, innocence swirling along the flecks of light that reflect off the glossiness of your eyes and Nolan swallows.

“Promise.”

Your hands flip over the smooth ridges of the Omni-Man figurine, your lips curled into a frown, teary doe eyes focused on the painted face, that friendly smile and stupidly iconic moustache.

“I got you one of those... Boyband hoodies.” Nolan hums, tossing the thick, cotton at you, his gaze lowered to the letters in his hands as he continues to sort through the male.

“Which one?” You hum quietly, your nails tearing the thin, almost clingy plastic that protected the fabric.

“The Korean ones.”

“BTS?” Your lips curl into a wide gleam, excitement buzzing beneath your skin.

“Yeah, those ones.”

And you stare down at the hoodie in your hands.

“Mr Nolan, I think you were scammed.” Your brows furrow. “These are random Korean guy— who are these people?”

Your laughter bubbles.

“Are you sure?”

“Mr Nolan, these people aren’t even celebrities...”

Soft, choked sobs manage to escape you, mixed with teary huffs of laughter.

“Who the fuck’s that?” Mark questions, brows furrowed as he stares down at your hoodie, watching the way you remove all your stationery from your bag, setting your desk ready.

“They’re a super underground Korean group.” You hum.

“They look like BTS but not quite there.” William interjects, elbows braced on his desk.

And you gasp. “William! Not all Korean people look alike! I’d expect this from Mark but not you.”

“I’m literally half-Korean!”

You can feel the way the piercing pain in your belly gets worse and you can’t help but think of how lucky Mark is. The rug was ripped out from beneath him abruptly, paired with copious reasons as to why he can and definitely should hate Nolan.

You just… couldn’t.

Every day, the rug was pulled a little bit more and every day, it hurt more. Every day, you send the same ‘good morning’ text with the sunrise emoji, every day. You never fail to do it. Not even when you have a flu.

And every day, you can’t help but hope for that ‘morning kiddo’ at the top of your screen. But it’s never there.

He's never there.

And you have to get used to it.

“Your mom slipped Debbie a dollar, which she slipped to me so…” Nolan clears his throat, wiping those burly hands along his jean-clad thighs. Before he inhales sharply.

“When a man—”

“Mr Nolan, I know how sex works.” Your brows furrow, expression pinching into a distasteful grimace.

And Nolan gleams.

“Great. Pass the knowledge on.” And with a heavy pat on your back, Nolan pushes Mark towards you.

And you swallow. “Well. When your mom and dad—”

“NOLAN! MAKE HER STOP!”

“Yourdadplowedyourmathroughthemattress!”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Mark, what did you do?”

Debbie folds her arms across her chest, eyes hardened into a frown, and lips twisted.

She watches the way Mark shifts underneath his covers, a ratty GDA T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, fabric tight around the curves of his biceps and he pushes himself up, covers pooling at his hips.

And his brows furrow. “I didn’t do anything?” Mark answers, although, it’s more like a question than a statement.

“That’s the 18th time ‘No One Noticed’ has played since you left there.” Debbie huffs, her slippers shuffling across the floor before she sits at the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping just a bit beneath her weight. And she places a hand on his calf, the warmth of Mark’s body tangible through the thickness of his comforter.

And Mark swallows.

“I told her she didn’t get it.” His gaze flickers down towards his lap, shame visible in his expression. “When Omni-Man—”

“Markus Sebastian Grayson.” Debbie spits his name like a slur. “If I could, I’d slap the ever-loving shit out of you.”

Debbie brings a hand up to cover her face, in what Nolan would call ‘the Korean Shame’ cover and she inhales a sharp, shaky breath.

“Mark—”

“I know, m—”

“No, you don’t know, Mark.” Debbie interrupts. “You, didn’t lose more than her. Maybe biologically, but not more. You know her parents aren’t home a lot, and when they are, it’s like, nitpick nation.”

She shifts comfortably, powdery blue robe shifting as she crosses her legs, making herself comfortable, elbows braced on her knees and she lets out a low, exhausted huff.

“Your father—”

“Omni-Man—”

“Your father,” Debbie pauses, eyes narrowing as she waits for Mark to interject once more, before continuing, “did a lot of good. Yes, it was a literal pyramid scheme but, nowhere in that pyramid scheme, did he have to be that good to her. He wanted to be good, and she knows that.”

“But he wasn’t—”

“Mark, just because he ended up the way he did, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to miss the memories.” Debbie sighs.

“When you hit your first homerun, when you had your semi-formal, the pumpkin carving contests, trick-or-treating. When he took you to get your costume—”

“It’s a supersuit—”

“It’s gay. Your mouth and fingers are the only things sticking out. It’s a colourful gimp suit.”

“So, I’ve got notes—”

“No she doesn’t, sir. The suit’s amazing.” Mark grins at Art, before continuing to look around, examining the other suits that have yet to be coined and worn. Tracing his fingers along breastplates and gauntlets.

“What’re are the notes, girly?”

Your lips purse as you plop down in the seat beside Art, your gaze lowered to where withered fingers push fabric underneath the jittering needle of a sewing machine. Slow and controlled.

“Why’re the suits so tight?” You question.

“They’re aerodynamic, doll.” Art smiles. “Maximum movement.”

“Why don’t the suits have… prints?”

And he snorts. “Codpieces.”

“Then why does Omni-Man have a print?”

“Please stop talking about my dad’s dick, dude.” Mark interjects, his voice distant as he continues to wander around the shop, his footsteps quiet on metallic floors.

“He didn’t want a codpiece. Wanted to ‘show off’ for wife.”

And you coo, pouty lips tugged into an adoring frown. Before you glance towards Mark.

“How does your mom only have one kid?” You question. “You could not pry me—”

“Don’t finish that thought.”

You purse your lips. Letting silence settle in the air.

“—off with tongs and tweezers.”

“Ew!”

“You invalidated her feelings and her experience with mourning.” Debbie’s voice snaps Mark back from the memory, her arms folded over her chest.

“When you know she feels it just as much as you do. She’s a strong girl, Mark but she’s not….”

There’s a heavy silence, tension swelling in the room, anticipation builds with each passing seconds and Debbie lets out a quiet sigh.

“Invulnerable.”

“Invincible, mom!” Mark groans. “You’re supposed to say ‘invincible’.”

“Why? They’re basically the same word.”

“Because,” Mark motions to himself wildly, hands moving with emphatic gestures, before groaning, throwing the covers off himself before huffing.

“I’m gonna go work my jaw, before I get an ulcer in this house.”

And Debbie nods her head, before his words register, and her eyes widen.

“What.”

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Listen, I’m sorry and I know I was a dick and—”

“—Get out!”

“Are you masturbating?!” Mark’s voice is a loud guffaw, head tipping back as he lets out a bark of laughter. “You don’t even have your pants off— are— what are you even doing—!”

Mark watches as you pull your covers over your head, your body curling up and he can feel the embarrassment rolling off you in thick, shame-capped waves. And he snorts, shuffling closer to you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants and you feel the way your mattress dips under his weight.

And you feel the steady heft of his head resting on your shoulder, his chin digging into the soft flesh and you can feel him tilt his head.

“Do you forgive me for earlier?” He questions quietly. “You didn’t lose him any less than I did.”

“No.” You scowl under the blankets, brows furrowing and annoyance burns beneath your skin. “You made me feel bad, and then proceeded to laugh at the way I masturbate.”

And Mark snickers.

“You looked like you were trying to scratch in the glove compartment from outside the car.” He buries his face in the softness of your duvet and the scent of your fabric softener wafts over him, mixed with the faint smell of your lotion.

“There shouldn’t be that much concentration to it. It should be easy.”

“Uh-huh, because you’re the expert.” You bite back, eyes still narrowed when you poke your head out from beneath your cocoon, glaring at Mark. And those dimples in his cheeks deepen.

“Actually, yeah.” He shifts, sitting up just a bit. “I’m a professional Master Bator. Ask any of my socks.”

And you grimace. “Literally, ew.”

“I can show you.” He murmurs. “A free lesson, you know, to make up for earlier.”

And you swallow. You’re still mad but…

“Okay.”

You can be mad later.

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Over or under?”

“Over.”

Mark hums softly, shifting his body until he’s wedged between your thighs, broad shoulders forcing the supple flesh apart almost uncomfortably and he keeps his gaze focused on your panties.

A sticky gusset, a few shades darker than the rest of your panties and he brings a hand up, hooking a thick, muscular finger around your gusset, before shifting your panties, pulling them flush against your core.

“Lemme just… Pop the hood.”

He peers up at you through his lashes, a dorky grin plastered on his face, only widening at the way your eyes narrow slowly the longer your gaze is on his.

“Get it? Because—”

“Mark, I’m gonna stuff a sock in your mouth.”

“Fine.” He huffs. “No car talk.”

His pretty brown eyes lower to where your pussy is flush against the cotton, the visible outline of your velvety folds, tucked safely between plush, glossy lips has his breath stuttering in his lungs and he leans forward, pressing his lips against your clit. Feeling the puffy and already overstimulated bundle twitch against his lips.

And he swallows.

His cock twitching in his boxers, definitely leaking sticky precum and staining the front of the strained fabric, but it’s about you.

And you clear your throat.

“So, are you gonna teach me anything?” Your voice pulls him out of his pussydrunk reverie and he’s shaking his head, dragging a finger between your folds, brushing over your clit before coming to a stop at your slit, feeling the way you pulse against his digits. Slick clinging to his fingers, and he swallows. Hard.

“No.” He breathes out. “Fuck, no.”

“Then you don’t have any business down t—”

“Dude, I lost my dad.” Mark peeks at you, his cheek resting against the smooth flesh of your inner thigh, one hand cradling your thigh against his cheek and the other resting on your mound, pudgy thumb pressing against your twitchy clit through your panties.

“Bitch, I lost your dad too?” You retort.

“Exactly.” Mark breathes out. “Let’s find comfort in each other. Help me, help you.”

And the laughter falls from your lips with ease, giggles slipping free and your cheeks turn rosy. “Bitch, be so for r— shit…”

Your brain feels like it’s melting when Mark’s drags his tongue over your fabric-covered panties, the hand on your mound moving and resting against your inner thigh, a calloused index finger trailing over your slit. Pushing slightly, shallowly dipping into your cunt by barely an inch, but being pushed away by your stretchy panties.

And you swallow hard.

Feeling the way he laps at your stickiness, his brows bunching and his lashes fluttering as his eyes shit, fingertips pressing against your aching core, his tongue dragging over your pulsing clit. Pulling your folds and cotton into his mouth alike, before he frowns.

“S’not enough…”

Your panties are nearly soaked.

Pillowy thighs press against his ears, your belly dipping and twisting at the way he presses his face into your messy cunt, like he’s trying to paint his skin with the smell of your slick.

“How do you even—”

“Fingers, Mark.” You deadpan. “And like,” you let out a huff of breath, bringing up one of your hands to rake through his hair, pushing the raven strands out of the way before you sigh softly, “okay, if I take off my underwear, it defeats the purpose.”

“The purpose,” Mark hums, “is for us to heal. And to find inner peace.”

“You’re trying to find peace in my ‘inners’.” You scoff. “That’s not the purpose.”

“My dad left my mom and I. I’m being raised by a single mom.” Mark lets a heavy sigh, his forehead resting against the swell of your thigh, and he watches you from the corner of his eye.

“I’m gonna have to step up.” He swallows. “I’m the man of the house now… I’ll need to do taxes and—"

“If I take off my panties, will you stop talking?”

“Immediately.”

As soon as your panties are flung across your bedroom, Mark’s spitting at your cunt. Watching as the wad drips down between your already sticky folds, before he’s sliding his tongue between your puffy pussy lips, heat blossoming behind his flexing abs, hips shifting and twitching uncomfortably against your sheets before he’s sucking on your clit.

Needy and whiny noises leave him as he motions for one of your pillows. And with bleary eyes and fuzzy thoughts, you hand it to him with your free hand, your other buried in his hair, fisting obsidian strands and he mumbles out a muffled ‘thank you’.

As he wedges the cushioning between his thighs, and under his hips.

Mark laps at your cunt needily, hands braced on your inner thighs, keeping your legs spread as he drags his tongue along your puffy folds.

His chin and lips are smeared with slick, eyes hazy and pupils blown wide as he watches your cunt twitch, hole clenching around nothing and the sight makes his brain so fuzzy.

“Your pussy’s so perfect.” He breathes out, tongue outstretching before he’s ping the wet muscle into your spasming channel, moaning at the way your thighs tense and quiver beneath his warm palms. And Mark tonguefucks you like he gets paid to do it.

Like it’s on his vision board. Like he had it on his T-shirt for career day.

Your orgasm is rapidly approaching. That burning feeling in your belly, the way your tummy clenches each time his nose bumps clumsily against your clit, the way the edge of his tongue rubs against those sensitive, gooey walls.

“…fuck,” you gasp, “m’gonna come…”

You fist at his hair, your hips bucking and twitching against his mouth, and Mark feels like he’s drowning. You’re all he’s breathing in, you’re all he feels, his hips rutting against the pillow beneath him as he continues lapping at you.

And when you’re coming, he’s coming.

He’s creaming in his boxers while slobbering over your sloppy cunt, licking up every droplet of your cum, his hips rolling and when Mark pulls away, he looks like he’s walked through Narnia.

Dazed, confused and satisfied with how things ended.

“Did you do something different?” Mark smacks his lips just a bit and your brows furrow.

“What do you mean?”

“No, it just tastes different.”

And there’s a silence.

“Mark, why the fuck would you say that!” You fling a pillow at his face, and his nose scrunches, eyes shutting as it collides and he grins.

“M’just kidding.” He reassures. “It tastes good.”

And his hands bracket your hips as he leans forward, his chest brushing against yours, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

“You… taste good.”

Mark’s hips slot between your thighs, his still hard cock pressing against your core and he rolls his hips lazily, lips pressed against your thrumming pulse.

“Please, let me fuck you.” He breathes out, pressing sweet and soft kisses against the supple skin at the side of your neck, his hips rutting against you with no rhythm, hands pawing at your hips and waist.

“Uh… no.”

And Mark’s whole body freezes, before he’s pulling away, gaze flickering over your expression before he nods, sitting back on his haunches and he takes his fingers through his hair.

Pushing the strands back.

“I respect your decision to… not take it further. Do you wanna cud—”

“Mark, I wanna blow you.” You deadpan. “You can hit afterwards.”

Those big brown eyes widen as he stares at you for a moment, his brain rewiring and his heart pounding in his chest, before he holds up a finger.

“Give me like, a minute.” And he’s pushing himself from your bed, moving into your bathroom. “Don’t change your mind!” And you hear the sink running.

“What are you even doing?” You sit up, reclining on your elbows as you look towards the shut door of your attached bathroom.

“Washing… Something.” Mark calls back, his voice a bit lazy and its very, very clear that he’s preoccupied with something else and you let out a huff. “Don’t dip your dick in my basin.”

“You want these balls clean or not?”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Are you ready?” You hum quietly, lips pursed in contemplation as you sink to your knees, the soft tufts of your carpet tickle the skin of your knees and shins. And you’re chewing on your bottom lip, rubbing your hand over the bulge in his sweatpants, and Mark nods. Swallowing hard.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” His hands twitch nervously at his sides, fingers flexing as they twist and clench the bedding, fabric crinkling under his grip as he stares down at your hand. The way you palm him through his sweats, his ruined boxers discarded into your laundry bin.

And he swallows again, lifting his hips just enough for you to peel the waistband away, lowering it just enough and his cock springs, sticky precum glossing his tip and running down his shaft in little beads.

His breaths stutter when you wrap your hand around his base, your thumb tracing over a vein before you stroke him. One, tantalizingly slow stroke, and he feels the way your grip tightens, forcing out another droplet of pre and he whines.

“Mm—fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Already?”

“I’m sensitive!” Mark argues, and he gasps when he feels your thumb trace along his sensitive and nerve-packed frenulum, and his head tips back, his throat bobbing. Before he swallows, shaking his head and his hand moves to grasp your wrist, his palm’s sweaty and hot against your skin.

“I don’t—”

He’s in the middle of his sentence when he sees the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes. Your cheeks warm and reddened, big doe eyes focused on him and your lips are so, so fucking soft when you press a kiss against his tip.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

Mark’s tapping the head of his cock against your bottom lip, his brain going fuzzu when you make those sloppy spit bubbles, lathering his cock in saliva, before your lips are parting, wrapping around his flushed and leaky tip. And his eyes roll back his head.

“Holy— shit... Your mouth feels so good…”

Mark goes boneless when your cheeks hollow, a hand moving to cover his mouth but it’s pointless when it comes to muffling those moans, he whimpers like you’re touching his soul’s prostate. Your tongue dragging along the underside of his cock, tracing along the veins, your eyes focused on Mark’s expression, watching the way his brows furrow.

Watching the way his lips part and the way his chest heaves, deep, ragged breaths leaving him breathless.

“Fuck— I can’t— your teeth—”

You always wondered if Mark’s invincibility extended to his dick. And now you know it does. Because every time your teeth scrape him by accident, he whines. Lashes fluttering and hips twitching, pushing his cock just a bit deeper into your mouth.

And you inhale through your nose, before you lower yourself. Your throat bulging just a bit, your eyes watering and your lungs stuttering when you hear that pitchy whine Mark lets out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck— ‘m coming.” He pants, a hand fisting your hair as he comes, hot spurts of pearly cum painting the inside of your mouth and throat. Hips twitching, fucking into your mouth and your nails dig into your sheets, gripping for dear life and you honestly think you’re about to pass out before Mark’s pulling out of your mouth.

Cock slick and glossy, coated with cum and spittle, and he swallows hard, looking down at you with bleary eyes.

“How… lon—”

“Five minutes.” You hum quietly, wiping the mess away from your chin before you rest back on your haunches. “I’m not gonna lie, I lost a little respect for you. Quickshot.”

Mark scowls. “Fuck you.”

And he pants, wiping away the drool from his own chin before he lets out a sigh.

“Can I hit?”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

If Mark had told his younger self that he’d be watching your ass bounce off his carved hips, your face tucked into your pillow and your whines filling his ears, his younger self would say….

‘What ass?’

Mark’s hands grip your hips, pulling you back to meet each brutal thrust that has your nails digging into your pillow, your back arched like a ski slope and your bottom lip wedged between your teeth.

You’re basically a puddle beneath him, panted mewls and breathy praises fall from your lips with ease, your voice so sickeningly sweet while your cunt clamps down on Mark like a vice. Forcing him to push out sticky beads of precum, and one of his hands move to the small of your back, putting you a deeper arch and you moan.

“Holy shit—” You gasp, “—you’re s’fucking deep. Oh my God—!”

Your TV plays some stupid movie that neither of you’ve bothered to look at what it is, and Mark’s lips are parting, ready to spew some nasty bullshit before a moan echoes from your TV screen.

His hips halt just a bit, and you’re pushing yourself up to glance towards the TV, and you both forget what you’re doing.

“What? What— what is he touching?” Mark’s brows in confusion, one hand grasping your hip while the other rests on your spine and you look towards the screen.

“Haven’t you seen this? Okay, wait— So, this guy’s like, in another guy’s dick. He’s a Supe.”

“What’s a Su— Oh, holy fuck!” Mark’s fingers dig into your hips, his eyes wide and expression pulling into a disgruntled and disgusted grimace as he stares at the blood-clad man on your screen. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s The Boys.” You answer, looking at Mark over your shoulder. “You’ve never it before?”

“I think I’d remember seeing the inside of a dick.” Mark grimaces, before sucking his teeth. “Is it good?”

“Literally, so good. It’s so fucked up but like, it’s so good.”

And there’s a quiet, almost contemplative silence that fill your room, the flickering of your TV and the soft humming of your fan and Mark’s expression twists with thought.

“Raincheck on the sex?” He questions.

“If you can keep your boner, we can keep fucking.”

“I can keep it.” Mark reassures. “Let’s spoon.”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Aren’t— mm— aren’t you gonna watch?” Mark’s hips grind into yours, his elbow hiking up one of your legs, hooked under your knee while he fucks into you. Big brown eyes focused on your TV, moans bitten back into quiet groans and you shake your head.

Your face tucked into your pillow, biting down on your bottom lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve watched until like, season 4, I think.” You respond breathily, your eyes rolling back in your head as you’re pushed towards your fourth orgasm and you whine.

Mark’s fucking you lazily.

His attention entirely on the TV screen because once again, that nerd in him wins. And it’s as refreshing as it is frustrating. You’re rendered to a cockdrunk mess, drooling into your pillows and creaming like a whore, while Mark’s focusing on men in capes and heroic escapades.

All while stuffing you full of his cock.

“Black Noir’s supposed to be like, their Batman, right?” He whispers in your ear and you shake your head.

“N-no…” you breathe out. “Their Batman’s this —mm.. fuck— this other guy and he’s a fucking w-weirdo…”

You’re gushing, so much that you don’t know if or if you’re still coming. You’re so sensitive, and each twitch of Mark’s cock has your brain pouring out of your ears, feeling the way he grinds against that spongy spot, making your lips part to let out saccharine moans.

And Mark glances down at you.

You’re so weak against him. Curled up, face burning and drool soaking into your pillow, teary eyes and puffy lips, raw bitten and shiny with spit. And he swallows hard, bringing his free hand down. Calloused fingertips circling your clit and your brows pinch as you moan.

“Shhhh. Focus on the TV.” He instructs quietly, his head dipping to press a kiss against your tear-stained cheek.

You’re so dizzy. You’re so close to passing out and your heart’s beating like you did 4 lines of coke. And Mark’s lips are brushing against the shell of your ear, tugging at your lobe playfully before he’s whispering to you. So sweetly.

“You look so pretty.” He’s circling your clit like he’s got all the time in the world. Fucking you into another dimension and he inhales sharply when he feels you clench around him, rhythmic spasms milking his cock and he whines, his face tucked against your neck.

Hs heart’s pounding and he thinks that right now’s the time to ask you. When you’re barely coherent and you’re greedily sucking his cock into you.

Now.

It’s perfect. And Mark inhales sharply, lifting his head and angling it so those big brown eyes are focused on yours.

“Can I be your boyfriend?” He whispers quietly. “Please?”

T🪻A🪻G🪻L🪻I🪻S🪻T

@lucky-beheaded ; @queen-of-gotham ; @coldvirginbitch ; @wittyjasontodd ; @a-n-a-n-a1 ; @dearlyya ; @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @daydreams-and-peace ; @misstyy12 ; @fruticake ; @httpstes ; @waterflowersblog ; @glowinthedarkjellyfish ; @vm4879bb-blog ; @monaekelis ; @radlovesfics ; @allycat4458 ; @bigbodycity ; @feral010 ; @anesthesia-4rizzle ; @princesstrunkz ; @blackfox774 ; @sh1d0uryus31 ; @your-lovely-rose26 ; @slugstarzz ; @ripcolel0l ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @verysynical ; @kikiiguess ; @missam ; @luvvfromme ; @luvvcharxo ; @alma-ru3 ; @mxvoid26 ; @urfriendlyfrog ; @the-good-kooshe ; @troublesome-nara ; @secretaccountlol ; @syubseokie; @atanukileaf ; @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere ; @i-love-frensh-fries ; @lov3vivian ; @boyofroyo1 ; @tamaranblaze ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @etphonehome0623 ; @markgraysonlover ; @icanmeltanigloo ; @itzmeme ; @buckturd ;

[isasweetie]

hii my love! can you please write something about assistant!reader x rafe sneaking off to the kitchen pantry (like the one in the show) and making out? maybe it starts with rafe calming her down because she forgot to do something for sofia and rafe reassures her—and somehow they start making out. i probably wrote alot, but thank you anyway, and even if you don't write, i love your work so much!

love u angel bby <3

rafe is such a kind man, the least he could do to calm you down was give you a kiss ♡ (sirens!au)

you were a mess of a girl when you stormed into the kitchen, the staff instantly leaving the room to give you space. mascara running, nose sniffling and twitching like a bunny, eyes wide and glossy like a fawn… all because you had forgotten to pick up sofia’s favourite napkins for the upcoming gala.

rafe cameron hears your gentle cries from upstairs, instantly stomping down to see what the commotion is about. his muscles are a bit tense, the billionaire on guard in case there’s any danger.

it’s a bit of a shock when his eyes land on you, holding onto the counter with trembling hands. why on earth was his wife’s assistant crying all alone in the kitchen?

his shoulders soften underneath his polo shirt as he hurriedly walks towards you, going to hold your shaky hands and pry you away from the marble counter. “hey— hey, what’s goin’ on, sweetie?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and concern.

“sofia— she wanted polar bear white napkins for the gala and— and i forgot so now we’re stuck with the stupid cerulean blue napkins from last year!” you cry gently, squeezing his big hands back, too emotional to care that it’s rafe who’s comforting you. “she’s going to be so upset.. oh rafe, she’s already frustrated at me for not reminding the gardeners to water her tulips, she’s going to fire me!”

“woah, woah..” he sighs, trying to calm you down. “shh, don’t think she’s gonna give a shit, alright? i really don’t,” he assures gently.

it doesn’t seem to help, because you cry again and your eyes squeeze shut. “no, she’s going to fire me! cerulean blue is so last year, it’ll be so embarassing when her guests come and—“

he shuts your cries and complaints up with a gentle kiss to the lips, as if testing the waters. it seems to work, because when he pulls away, you’re quiet and confused. so he leans in again, giving you another, longer kiss. “better?” he asks gently after, minty breath kissing your face.

oh, how you love his kisses. you shake your head no, sniffling, possibly just wanting more. rafe is a gentleman and he senses your neediness, so he kisses you again. you’re brave enough to kiss back this time. he lifts you on the counter as you practically sit in your own tears, his lips not leaving yours.

one of your manicured hands goes to his bicep, the other on his scalp and scratchy buzz cut. his tongue pertrudes your lips, going to invade your mouth. every movement he does is slow, gentle … he knows you’re fragile right now, so he’s going to treat you as such.

when you pull away for breath and your wet lashes flutter as your eyes open, you ask, “didn’t you say we weren’t supposed to do this anymore?”

he displays a little half-smile, finding your question sweet. “yes, but when i see one of my workers upset, i’ll do whatever it takes to fix it. i’m a generous man, aren’t i?”

“yes sir,” you answer his question softly, confirming that he is generous. “but i’m not technically your worker, m’sofia’s,”

“y’get paid by me, though,” he explains simply, and you nod gently at his logic.

so when he leans in again, you don’t stop him. he’s just doing his job, after all.