#Buying a Home Without an Agent

[first48offers]

Selling a house can feel like a mountainous task! But what if we told you it doesn't have to be that way. At First 48 Offers, our mission is to help you "sell my house fast." With us, you won't need to wait around for months or worry about endless negotiations. We work smartly to get you top-notch offers within the first 48 hours of engagement.

[clairenatural]

Dean doesn't like the word "boyfriend." He decides this the second time Cas says it–the first time it was new, shiny, exciting. The second time, he fights the urge to cringe.

It's not the "boy" part. It's not. It would have been, for a long time, but he's dug all that shit up and unpacked all the suitcases. They hold hands in public. They kiss goodbye in front of his coworkers at the garage.

It's just–not enough. Not nearly. Jack comes home from hanging out with his friends and fills Dean on the gossip and his boyfriend and her girlfriend and–that's not them. "Boyfriend" feels like a cheap mockery. Like how demons used to tease.

He's heard "partner." He's heard it from Sam, to Eileen, but he doesn't know how he can stomach it. He's said that word too many times. I'm Agent Tyler and this is my partner, Agent Perry. This is my partner, Agent Page. My partner, Agent Stills. All lies. Sam says he likes it, that he's making it mean something real. Besides, Eileen loves it.

Good for them, Dean thinks. It makes his skin crawl.

So he sticks with “boyfriend” and he shrugs off the funny urge to protest every time Cas says it. It makes him happy, and honestly, it’s not like he has an alternative.

It’s a Sunday when he realizes that somehow, Cas does. They’re at the farmer’s market, like Cas is every weekend, but Dean had picked up weekend shifts and missed the past few. Cas is excited the whole way there, telling Dean about how he’d manage to befriend the local honey vendor in his absence, how she’d invited him to a beginner’s apiarist group she helps run. They beeline (heh) to the honey booth as soon as they get there, and the woman--Judith? Janice?--smiles up at them both, hands Cas a jar of honey like she’d been expecting him, and says “Oh, this must be the husband! I’ve heard so much about you.”

Dean stares at Cas. Cas stares at the honey. Judith/Janice stares at both of them, smile fading as the silence goes on a beat too long. 

Dean clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. The husband, that’s me! Ha ha.” Beside him, Cas relaxes, just barely. In front of him, the woman breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Sorry,” Dean shifts. “Just didn’t, um. Realize I was such a hot topic.” 

The smile he gets is almost sympathetic. “Oh, only good things. Here,” she hands him a business card. “You should also come out to our meeting on Wednesday. Lots of people bring their partners.” She leans in, almost conspiratorial. “Beekeeping can be wonderful for couples.”

It’s at this point that Cas clears his throat and finally looks up from the honey in his hand, evidently giving up hope on escaping this conversation. “Thank you, Janet.” (oh. Janet.) “Dean works late on Wednesdays, but I’m very excited to see you all.” He’s pulling out money as he says this, apparently deciding to just go ahead and end the entire interaction. He hands her the bills, grabs Dean’s hand, and is already moving away from the booth by the time Janet calls “See you Wednesday!” after them.

Cas drags him all the way back to the car without stopping for tomatoes, or Sam's carrots, or the free-range eggs that are way too expensive but Cas buys anyway because you can taste when the hen is well cared-for, Dean (whatever that means). They slide into the car, still not talking, and sit in silence for several long seconds. Dean stares at Cas, who stares out the windshield at the parking lot.

"I can explain," Cas speaks, finally, right as Dean was about to open his mouth and say anything to break the silence.

Dean pauses. Can you? Cause I feel like I missed a few chapters, he thinks.

"I don't work late on Wednesdays," he says instead.

"Oh." Now it's Cas staring at Dean, and Dean staring out at the asphalt.

He turns the keys. He drives them home.

Later, making dinner, Dean rolls the word around in his head. Husband. He's making his husband pasta (It's missing the tomatoes. He's made more with less).

Husband doesn't feel like a costume, like an ill-fitting suit and scratchy tie. It doesn't feel like high school gossip, or a monster trying to hit him where it hurts. It settles in warm in his chest.

It's just the two of them that night, and they're eating in the comfortable silence of the bunker until Dean clears his throat and brings it up. "Why does Janet at the farmer's market think we're married?"

Cas pauses, fork of pasta halfway to his mouth. He puts the fork down and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," Dean hurries to clarify. "It's just that there's usually, uh. Steps, you know. Like a whole....thing."

"I'm aware." Cas sighs. "She assumed, seeing us around - the first time I spoke to her without you, she asked where my husband was. And I..."

"You didn't correct her?"

"...No. I, um." Cas is looking down at his plate again. He picks up the fork, still half-full of pasta, then puts it back down again. "I didn't want to?" He says the end of the sentence like a question but looks back up at Dean and squints just a bit, and Dean knows he's watching for a reaction.

"Uh huh."

"It felt trivial."

"To tell her we're not married?"

"To call you my boyfriend." For the first time, he stumbles over the word.

Dean blinks. "You--" he stops, brain processing too much information to finish that sentence. "Okay." He leans back in his chair. Sighs. Rubs a hand across his eyes and lets it drag down his face. "Okay, listen. I don't like boyfriend either, but we gotta...talk about it."

"We are talking about it. You don't like it either?" Cas leans forward as Dean slumps back, following him across the table.

Dean snorts. "No, man." He shakes his head. "It's been a decade. I've seen you die." Six times. But who's counting.

"I agree." Cas pauses, and then, as if it's the most natural conclusion in the world, "Will you marry me?"

Dean actually laughs at this. "You're asking me that now?"

Cas quirks an eyebrow at him. "I've grown quite fond of calling you my husband at the farmer's market. I'd like to continue."

Dean stares at him in disbelief. It's not how he'd pictured it going, but he also can't think of it going any other way. Slowly, he nods. "Yeah, okay. Let's be husbands."

Across the table, Cas grins at him.

"But we're getting rings," Dean points a finger at him, because something about this is going to be normal.

"If you'd like. Although I already told Janet that you can't wear a ring because of your work at the garage, and I don't wear mine in solidarity."

"Rings," Dean insists, and decides to overlook the rest of that sentence. For now. He stabs his fork into a pile of the pasta. "And let me stop for the damn tomatoes next time."

They get rings and wear them on chains around their necks. Cas puts a beehive on the hill, and there's a small ceremony in the summer - a "vow renewal" to Cas' beekeeping group, who all receive invites attached to little jars of honey. Janet gets the nicest one.

[luveline]

Hey jade!! i love your writing so much<3

Also what do you think of prison!spencer × Stripper!reader?👀

im not sure if this is what you meant but I hope you like it ♡ fem, 1.2k

"Too much," you murmur to yourself, tilting your head one way and then the other. The bags under your eyes have been dark lately from a severe lack of sleep, but all this makeup won't help make tips. "Way too much." 

You lean back to ask one of the girls for a wet wipe but the dressing room is empty. Swearing to yourself, you duck down for your bag. You have tissues, and they'll have to do it. 

Things have been hard since Spencer's… event. You don't sleep well without him, worse wondering what it is he's going through right now. His friends don't really know that you're seeing one another, and so being kept in the loop has felt akin to begging for scraps. You miss Agent Hotchner in times like this. He always had a soft spot for you. 

You hum a song under your breath as you rub the cakey makeup under your eyes. Washing your face would be nice. Going home would be better. You've been trying to make some extra money in case Spencer never comes home; you won't have his security to fall back on if things fall apart here. 

You don't want his security. You just want him to come home. Sighing, you pick up your phone and open the gallery app. It's a second hand thing you got at a pawn shop but it has enough storage to keep as many blurry photos of your boyfriend as you'd like. Pictures of him everywhere and doing everything, his big smile like a beacon. 

You stop scrolling when you find the one you want. It's favourited with a red heart at the bottom of the screen. Spencer took it, you remember —you were too busy kissing his cheek to navigate the settings. He looks happy. You could never understand how happy he is to be with you, how through everything, a long time of knowing one another and a hundred thousand acts of a kindness you didn't deserve, he's stayed by your side. He doesn't care that you're a dancer. He's proud of your choices. He loves you for you, even if he does get a little jealous every now and then. 

You lay your phone down on the dressing table, cheek flat beside it. "Time to come home, Dr. Reid," you whisper. 

Your phone pings and you ignore it. It pings again and you turn off your notifications. It's probably Spencer's nice friend Penelope, or one of the girls wanting to borrow something. 

You shed your robe to look yourself over in the mirror. The lingerie you're in tonight's not to your taste but a fan favourite, the bra and underwear both plum in colour with lace and black garters to be clipped. You turn to one side and narrow your gaze at a ladder running up your leg. 

You save a bottle of clear nail polish in your bag for this occasion. 

You're sitting on the floor with your leg out in front of you when someone knocks on the door. The girls don't knock. 

If it's a patron you have a taser, and besides, they don't usually knock either. A bouncer, then. 

"Come in, please!" you call lightly. 

You don't bother looking up, a creature of habit. It'll be the same thing as usual, insert man wants to buy insert dance from you for insert amount of time. Are you interested? 

You hum as you paint the rip in your garter. The nail polish will stop it from ripping any further, but you're going to need new ones. 

"You're prettier than when I left. How did you do that?" 

You tip the bottle over as you flinch, you don't care, you look up at the compliment and the familiar voice, and find Spencer standing in the doorway. 

You've pictured this moment multiple times a day since the day he was arrested, hundreds of reactions. In pretty much all of them you throw yourself into his arms and beg him not to leave again, but all those hours of missing him coalesce on top of you. You want desperately to touch him and you end up crying into your hands instead. Tears quicker than you knew they could arrive, hot and thick as your sob. 

"Hey," Spencer says, kneeling down in front of you. He takes your wrists into his hands. "Hey… don't cry." 

You can't help it. 

He wraps his arms around you and lets you sob. "I thought you'd be happy to see me," he murmurs. 

"I missed you," you say, the words dragged from you like agony on a hook. 

"I missed you too." He rubs your back. If he cares that you're in your underwear he doesn't have much to say about it. He eventually started making jokes about all of this stuff when he realised you wouldn't be offended, but he's never cruel about anything. He's far from it now, pulling your shoulder into his chest as he pats your arms. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm really sorry. It got out of control. But, on the bright side…" 

You sniffle and pull your gaze up to his face. When you see the hollows of his cheeks you almost start crying again. "What?" you ask. 

"Well, now I'm cool enough to be your boyfriend." 

You push him backwards and crawl into his lap, knees on either side of him, weight against his abdomen. Your arms weave behind his head and you push your cheek into his likely too hard to be painless. He just sighs in relief. 

"Do you have something in your pocket?" you whisper, your voice stuffy. "Or was prison very hard?" 

He laughs and digs in between you to pull the little box that had been digging into you out of his pocket. "It's for you." 

"Don't want it." 

"I don't care if you want it. I missed our anniversary." 

"I missed you," you say, clinging to him for dear life.

You can't stop hugging him long enough to look. 

Eventually, he peels you off of the floor and you get dressed to go home with him. It takes a long time —you keep stopping to hug him between items of clothing, checking that he's real, that's he's him, even if he looks different now. He has to take the reins or you'll never make it home, pulling your coat over your shoulders and zipping it closed. 

When he's done, he takes your face into both hands. "You've been safe while I was gone? No trouble?" he asks. 

"Nobody messes with me. My boyfriend's in the FBI." 

"Well, we're taking a vacation." He blows out a big breath. "Jesus, I'm sorry, but I really need to kiss you right now." 

"Even though I look junky?" 

"You look perfect." He kisses you before he's finished, his praise smothered by your lips. He kisses you so hard you can't breathe by the end of it. "I'm sorry," he says, pressing a softer one under your eye. "Prison was actually pretty hard." You lean in, lingering nose to nose with him. "I couldn't sleep without you near me." 

"You're only saying that 'cos you saw me in my underwear." 

"Yeah, that's exactly why." He practically giggles. "No, I just love you."

You couldn't sleep without him either. You get home and sleep for days, tangled with each other in bedraggled sheets. 

[botanyshitposts]

ok INCREDIBLY old content originally meant for this blog but in 2018 when i was just a wee lad with a little spinner propeller hat and big rainbow lollipop i went to a carnivorous plant convention in california and met a bunch of people who breed/collect/study these guys. one person was this collector who was slowly working on leaving the hobby or at least no longer growing plants, and he had a bunch of carnivorous plant related files he was charging like 50 cents for or something, and so i came into possession of these, which are examples of the kind of paperwork you have to have done to legally ship/trade endangered species of both plants and animals. functionally very boring paperwork, but something i found like, incredibly fascinating. i blacked out the personal id of the person and then immediately forgot to ever upload them, lmao.

these plants were bred and raised in a greenhouse and sold abroad, not taken from the wild, but because the species are endangered and often protected in their native countries (most of these are nepenthes, asian pitcher plants, a huge family spread throughout oceania and southeast asia), there's a lot more documentation that needs to be done regardless of their origin, both on the end of the seller and on the end of the buyer.

the rabbit hole on carnivorous plant trade is deep and kind of wild. there's plenty of common, non-threatened, greenhouse-grown pitcher plants on the market that people buy all the time, even non-collectors, but there's a whole debate to be had on if it's morally okay to be collecting the more endangered/rare of these plants in the first place. the big argument for breeding is that breeding them in captivity means there's more supply that's not poached from the wild, meaning poachers have less of an incentive to take the risk of taking adult plants from their habitats; from what i've heard, sometimes countries will issue permits for breeders to collect some wild seeds just to create a non-wild breeding pool to drive down the price. predictably, however, you also get people who are very much willing to pay a lot of money to get as rare of a plant as possible.

anyone familiar with the allure valuable plants have had over people throughout history can imagine the rest, but here's an article about a guy who started buying poached plants to enrich his private nepenthes collection, who then got busted by a fish and wildlife service agent embedded in his carvirorous plant circle. the plants this guy was buying were being sold to him without any CITES paperwork or declarations like the ones above; it was literally just a guy in indonesia taking rare plants from the woods around where he lived, selling them over facebook marketplace and ebay, and mailing them overseas as an undeclared 'gift' to get around customs. frighteningly small steps to take on all sides, to be honest.

(also, fun fact: another example of carnivorous plants that get poached are wild venus fly traps, which are only native to north and south carolina in the US. from what i understand it's a mix of people who genuinely did not know it's a native species and people who really are just going out into the woods and digging up plants to sell online. sometimes poaching is closer to home than you'd think!)

anyway. wild and interesting times in the land of plants recovered from a hard drive lmao

[pseudowho]

Thinking about Takuma Ino, who becomes a father so young when you fall unexpectedly pregnant. Thinking about the fear in your eyes, the shaking hands going to hold each other's, the positive test clasped between them. The way Takuma reassures you; "it's okay, it's okay, I always wanted to be a dad...sure, not this soon-- but we'll be fine. Better than fine, we'll be great."

The way Takuma goes for a walk that night, after you've cried yourself to sleep, crouching down in an alleyway with his beanie'd head in his hands, wondering how he could possibly ever be a good father. Wanting to marry you, to do things 'right', but afraid you'd think he only wanted to marry you because of the pregnancy.

The way Takuma arrives on his mother's doorstep (the mother who raised him alone, young, single) in the dead of night, pale-faced. The way his mother holds him as he cries and apologises at the dining room table, his face in her robed chest. The way she cups his face, and stares into his eyes; "we can do this, together, the right way. You're a good boy. Now be a good man."

The way Takuma learns to be a father, from his mother, who was his whole world. The way Takuma works himself to the bone, squirrelling money away, booking in with estate agents to go and view your first home together in a way that makes your hormonal heart clench.

The way Takuma's head hits the pillow, weary after working all night, then comes straight up again as he hears you vomiting in the bathroom, kneeling behind you to stroke your hair back, holding you gently round the waist on the tiled floor; "attagirl...it'll be better soon, right? Toughest girl I know. Doin' such a great job."

The way Takuma takes up embroidery, buying cheap plain clothes for the baby, because he can't afford much, but adding small artistic touches of beauty; a frog with a toadstool hat, a little trailing succulent vine, a shooting star.

The way Takuma is bright and excited; there for every scan, every class, every milestone. The way Takuma puts on a brave face. The way Takuma hides in the staffroom at work, his head in his hands, creaking under the weight of responsibility. The way he feels a strong hand clasp his shoulder, a beige suit, a blue shirt, a leopard print tie at the corner of his eye; "I know you're going to say no...but I'd like to buy a gift. For both of you. For the baby."

The way Takuma feels so ashamed for accepting help; the way a crib, a beautiful buggy, a snug and safe car seat, all gradually arrive at your new home. The way he tries to insist on paying Nanami Kento back. Nanami naturally refuses, pretends to be inordinately interested in his newspaper.

The way Takuma can't help but buy the baby a few beanies. The way you retaliate by buying an outfit that looks just like Ino's. He is thrilled.

The way Takuma's embroidery has advanced so well, he makes four little Auspicious Beasts to hang from a mobile above the crib.

The way Takuma paints beautiful, geometric, zany black and white shapes on the wall in the baby's bedroom; "They only see black, white and red at first babe. Neat, right?"

The way Takuma is pale throughout your labour, his eyes feverish, your pain so much harder than any battle he's ever been to. The way his tears hit him in a huge whooshing breath, a head-holding groan of relief when his baby son is placed on your chest, wet and crying, a little angry clenched face. The way Takuma rests his cheek on his arm at the top of your bed, gazing down and sniffling as his son holds his finger.

The way Takuma takes you both home, proud, woefully in love, still wondering how he's ever going to grow up and be a man, without realising he's already so much more of a man than so many others in this world.

Thinking about young dad Takuma Ino.

[ohcorny]

so! it's been a year since i put never satisfied on hiatus, and 9 years since i started posting it, and rather than make you read everything if all you want to know is "when's it coming back?" the answer is still: don't know! but the answer has also shifted closer to "it isn't" the longer i've spent on break, and i think it's worth being up front about that.

i talked about it a little here a few weeks ago, but the long and short of it is that between taking on better paying work, writing better stories, and looking back at what i'd already done for never satisfied... i just don't think i want to continue it? the year off has been incredibly good for my mental health, and i can't see myself wanting to go back after the two-three years still ahead of me on my current project. that's not to say i never want to return to the characters or the concept, but if i did, i imagine it would be with something completely new, in a different form. after all, i started this comic when i was 21 years old, a lesbian, and a sophomore in college. i am now just shy of 30, a bi man, and overall a completely different person than i was, back when i was writing without a plan and putting all of my insecurities into the comic--insecurities i don't identify with anymore. lord i'm closer to rothart's age than i am to lucy's. hate that

anyway. you have all been extraordinarily kind for following never satisfied for as long as you have, for supporting it as much as you have, and being as patient as you have. whatever form never satisfied takes in the future (god willing, with a more cohesive story structure and A PLAN FOR THE ENDING, WHICH BY THE WAY I NEVER, EVER HAD) i hope to see you there!

in the meantime, as an update on where i'm at with the thing that made me stop working on NS: i finished it! all the pages for Hunger's Bite (if you remember it with a different title: no you don't) have been turned in and now it's just revisions and covers and then........ waiting a year until it can come out. because that's how it is in traditionally published graphic novels! nothing releases for a full year after you finished it! and you're even getting it earlier than was originally planned, because i'm a creature and finished it like three months ahead of schedule. i've also already started thumbnailing the sequel book which i can't talk about whatsoever and will now be working on that for the next two years and then HOPEFULLY the first book will have done well enough that i can sell a third! so you better buy it when it comes out next february!!!!!!

to ease you all into it, i wanted to do a little crossover to introduce the main characters. we have emery, whose design is fully and unintentionally just Seiji Again down to his color palette (but seiji would bully him if they met. like so hard. he's a wimp). then we have neeta, a girl who dreams of travel and cares deeply about worker's rights, and wick, a vampire agent investigating the mysterious and sinister new owner of the 1910s ocean liner emery and neeta call home. he's also gay. but sorry lucy, you aren't his type. you're not mean enough.

the best place to keep up with me these days is probably here, as this first book gets closer to release, i will probably be posting about it a lot. and i will certainly post about it here when there's an official release date and cover reveal! i hope you'll go read it. i really think if you liked never satisfied and its themes, you'll like hunger's bite!

thank you again for reading!!

[leonw4nter]

Through Thick and Thin, Always and Forever

Husband!Damnation!Leon x F!Reader

No one is spared from that stupid blond baby and his arrows, not even two seasoned agents who are were certain that their hearts would never learn to feel something other than guilt, fear, and hopelessness.

After 5 years of dating and now 17 years married, your marriage with him has faced its ups and downs but you two always managed to make amends and continue on smoothly. Lately, it’s been more of a down: minimal talking, less intimacy, and Leon in worse moods. After a particularly big fight regarding his alcohol consumption and the distance he’s been keeping from you, you two refused to talk to each other. The most you two did in interaction with each other is telling each other “good night” before turning to the other side of the bed, backs turned and “good morning” without meeting gazes. Although things between you too are a little cold and tense, you two still held respect for each other and didn’t do anything that meant to harm the other.

You got up earlier than Leon, your husband still sleeping soundly from his side of the bed; eyes still shut, strands of dark hair that fell over his forehead with his arms crossed and small snores leaving slightly chapped lips. You drank in the vulnerable sight of him, sighing and wistfully hoping that things would go back to normal between you two again. After fixing your side of the bed, you head over to the kitchen to start on breakfast. Taking out the left-overs from last night’s takeout from the fridge, you take a pan and add a small amount of oil before putting it on the stove. You decided to opt for reheating using a pan and stove instead of the readily available microwave since you were feeling a little more diligent than usual. While cooking, you realize that the non-stick coating of the pan you’re using is peeling away. There’s some bits of food sticking to the part of the pan that is bare, those bits burning up. The handle is also a lot more loose, the pan being older than 4 years. I’m going to have to look for a new pan I guess, you think to yourself. After a few more minutes of reheating, you plate the food and place them on the dining table.

“G’morning.”

“God you scared me.” You reply with a small jolt of electricity flowing through your body. You place the plates down, Leon getting up to help you with the others. Instantly, your day gets better now that Leon is doing things like these but you don’t push your luck, knowing that Leon is still a helpful guy no matter what and this could be him being friendly but still upset at you.

He waits for you to take a seat before he takes his, scooping some food onto his plate before he takes a bite. You two have breakfast in silence, him reading some article on his phone while you go looking through Amazon for new non-stick pans. Unfortunately for you, you don’t find any pan that looks good so you put your phone down with a small sigh. Breakfast ends silently with Leon doing the dishes and you sweeping around the house. This time, Leon is speaking up more but he’s still closed off but you’re happy that he’s begun to be a lot warmer to you. You thought about going out to buy the pan but your laziness said no, causing you to opt to stay inside and be curled up with a good book.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

I should’ve bought that damn pan yesterday.

Unfortunately for you, your period started today which meant cramps that you swore was just your uterus doing crazy acrobatics. Of course you were extra cranky, all your emotions upped a notch by a hundred but a tiny part of you was thankful for this because Leon began to warm up more. Just this morning, he offered to change the sheets and wash the old one when you bled into it; it’s as if you two had never fought days prior but you aren’t complaining. Now, you are curled up and buried beneath the sheets while clutching at your lower abdomen while waiting for Leon to come back home. You had sent him on an errand to go get you cheese fries and boba tea which should only take him 15 minutes max but he took a little longer than that. You poke your arm out of the sheets, feeling around for your phone before you finally feel it and drag your arm back inside the sheets. You look for Leon’s number, phoning him to hurry up and get home because you needed his company more than anything.

“Leooonn…” You weakly groan.

“Hm? Yes, sweetheart?” He asks on the other end of the line.

“Got me my food?” You quietly ask.

“Yeah. I’m on my way home, just stuck in traffic. I promise I’ll get there soon baby, hang on,” He responds.

“Okay… I’ll hang up now, the screen is giving me a migraine.”

You press the ‘end call’ button, groaning even louder now that you feel a migraine incoming. Can this day get worse?

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Leon finally arrives home with the fries and boba tea but he makes you drink water and take Advil before you have your snacks, hoping to alleviate the migraine you have going on. He also got a heating pad to help with cramps and offered to give you leg massages since your cramps caused spasms in your thighs as well. After giving you messages and looking after you, he slipped out of the bedroom to go show you something. He comes back with a pan, a non-stick one too.

“Baby is that…” You softly whisper, vision getting blurry with the tears in your eyes.

“Yeah. I saw you going through pans on Amazon so I thought I’d pick one up for you instead,” He explains. He goes on to explain his shopping process, going through the nitty gritty of the features of the cookware.

“The salesman told me that it’s made of stone too so it doesn’t retain strong odors like fish and is oven-safe. You’ll have crispy edges and browned crusts too– honey, are you crying?”

You take a big gulp of the boba before setting it down, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater. Hormones were everywhere, your emotions are a mess, you’re going to be bleeding for the next 5 days and here is your husband: an absolute sweetheart, the only man there is for you. You walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tight while trying to keep the tears down.

“Thanks, honey. I appreciate it. A lot. Tons, even.” You softly mumble. He brings a hand to the small of your back, giving you small pats as well. You feel a content rumble from his chest, smiling because you know that your fight is now a thing of the past.

“Anything for my girl,” he responds. “Name it and I’ll get it for you.”

“What if I want cuddles right now?” “Your wish is my command,” he agrees. With a pleased smile, he wraps you in a fuzzy blanket before laying at your side and hugging you like you’re a teddy bear. Well, he’s your teddy bear but today you don’t mind having the roles reversed.

NOTE - Today's fic is a little short because I am (1) tired and (2) not having a nice time rn!!! Yeyy!!! It's Valentine's Day today (as of writing) and not to sound like a salty person but everyone getting gifts from either their partner or friends made me feel a lot more alone 😭😭 Like a relationship is not what I'm looking for right now but it won't hurt to yk- receive something, even if it's just chocolate or candy. Anyways, I hope your Valentine's Day went great and if you confessed then I hope your feelings were reciprocated and if not then it's not the end of the world yk, you'll find the right one in the right time <3 Tysmm for reading my fics and I <3333 UUUUUUU (also this fic is inspired by that one reddit story)

[kittyscupcakeandbunny]

Crazy over you x Min Yoongi

[HYBRID AU]

FINAL

18+

The last bite

Side Characters: Namjoon/doctor, Seokjin/doctor, Taehyung/Hybrid Tiger, Jungkook/Bunny Hybrid, Hoseok/assistant.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, sharp objects, rut, beast behavior.

Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut.

SUMMARY》 Yoongi is a black mamba hybrid one of rarest species of hybrids, who’s about to be put down due to his lack of interest in living. But everything changes after the new medical assistance (y/n) takes a liking to him. Meeting after meeting he realise his feelings for her are not the only thing growing.

Authors Note: okay that’s a lot to unpack here!! First of all, I’m sorry for any grammatical errors, second I hope you guys like the last bite of this story, truly I cannot thank you guys enough for waiting and being here with me in this journey!! Let me know what you all think in the comments and see you guys!! 💖

🩸My master list 🩸

< Previously

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Everything felt so unreal ever since we left the clinic. I had went through all the documents already, Jin and me signed all the forms for Yoongis adoption and we had already meet before taking our leave.

I couldn’t believe it even tho me and Jin were heading to my new apartment, taking the snake hybrid to my home where he would live for the rest of his life from now on. With Jin being his brother he wanted to be in charge of the entire process - and he wanted to see Yoongi finally free and in a comfortable home. I was glad Jin was there the whole time, i felt like i could lean on him if i felt nervous and i was only able to carry on with this process because of him.

We exchanged many smiles on the way, both of us shared the same fellings of excitement right now. Yoongi was in a different car behind us to accommodate him better, the white van was spacious and was safer for him to be transported to his destination.

It has been two weeks since i finished setting my knew apartment and making new adjustments to ensure it would be a comfortable environment for a hybrid Snake to live in, things i never once considered for myself i was now buying for him. I felt so nervous about the whole situation i made the decision to get a new place entirely for him, i feared my old small apartment would feel like a cage for him and immediately stared looking for a new place for us. This time he would have his own room, the apartment was simple but spacious i made very clear that a bigger place was a must when I meet with the agent.

I took some time off my work so I could be there for the first few weeks with Yoongi and help him adapt, I knew that with drastic changes he would be at his most sensitive moment for him and I was glad to have Jin by my side. He was so polite with everything, I couldn’t ask for a better friend and on top of that Yoongi was his brother. I could trust him and so could Yoongi.

When we had started the adopting process, Jin finally decided to talk things out with Yoongi and come clean about being his brother. It was a lot to unpack for Yoongi and unfortunately he didn’t liked the facts that much but, they’ve been trying. It wasn’t going to be an easy or quick thing to fix, I can’t blame Yoongi too. He has been living his whole life alone without family and now Jin appears to be his brother, both males were mature enough to know better then push a relationship they never had.

So far I knew they’ve been doing their best at being friends with each other, but they still need time.

When the car stopped in front of the building, my heart was almost coming out of my chest I felt an immense pressure the entire drive but even now it was like I was about to burst in all directions.

I shared one look with Jin before the both of us got out of the car, the van parked right behind his. I made my way around it towards the back as the staff opened the back doors to get Yoongi out.

For safety reasons he had to be on his collar but other than that he was completely free.

The weather today was nice, I felt great knowing it.

I watched as Yoongi came out of the car on his own, eyes wide open watching every little thing around him in complete awe, the sun shined over him making his scales noticeably lighter. I reached my hand out for him, his eyes immediately turning to mine as he walked towards me.

I geve him a small nervous smile, he looked me up and down before closing his hand around mine. This was the first time we were seeing each other outside the clinic, the first time he saw me as just me. Not his doctor.

I couldn’t decipher what was going on in his mind in that moment, he had a neutral expression. But he kept looking at every corner of my face, maybe wondering if this was truly real. That he was here.

Jin walked right behind with us as we entered the building, no one said anything but the silence was comforting in a way.

As the elevator begin to go up Yoongi stood closer to me, hand sneaking around my waist making me turn to him to give him a smile. This time he shyly smiled back, looking down at our hands still intertwined. I have been thinking about how our lives would be from now, what we would do together and how it would feel to be so close to him everyday. At first i was nervous, it is something the two of us never experienced before and i kept thinking: this is much different then being with him as his doctor. That thought made me nervous, but now, as we stand so close to each other i don’t feel nervous anymore. I don’t have to be someone else with him and i can just be myself. Not long after the doors opened and we all left at the same time, a few feet away in that long corridor was my new apartment, I was excited for everything that would come after we cross that door.

Yoongi must’ve notice, because I felt his hold in my hand slightly tightened. Immediately feeling his presence putting my nervousness at ease as I looked up into his eyes, his thumb caressing over the back of my hand the whole time.

The door had a smart digital lock, it was fancy and i wasn’t used with that knowing how forgetful I could be at times I made sure to have the pass code writing inside my wallet and after pressing the password in it feeling the snake hybrid eyes fallowing my every move, the door opened.

I let both Jin and Yoongi get in first standing behind to close the door, while i put my things on the small table beside the shoe rack stealing glances at the two. I watch as the brothers look around the entrance room.

The living room was the biggest part of the apartment and as soon as I entered i’m welcomed by simple but modern atmosphere of the living room, the apartment had a glass wall and we could see the entire city from the living room. I catch Jin looking around amazed as Yoongi looks around the white couch running his hands over the fabric.

- this view is incredible - Jin said, turning to face me.

- please, Jin we both know your house is much bigger than mine - i said, walking up to him.

- yeah…. But i don’t have this view. Is almost like a 3D movie screen.

- I know right, I fell in love with it and I knew I had to get it - I tell him - at night is even more beautiful.

- I can imagine… - he says - you gotta invite me sometime for dinner sometime.

- oh yeah… besides Yoongi could use a friend- I said, pointing out were the hybrid has been this whole time.

My eyes instantly turning back to Yoongi, he seemed to be lost in thought looking around the room and touching everything. Anything i learned about snake hybrids is their sensitivity towards certain fabrics, their dopamine levels rise up around comfortable fabrics. Yoongi looked the happiest naked in a nest of velvet covers at the clinic, i still remember the day i wore a pencil black skirt with said fabric and he couldn’t stop touching it. With his words: it scratched a part of his brain he never knew. It was like giving catnip to a cat for the first time, for that reason i had to pick all the house furnitures very carefully. I can’t have a overstimulated snake hybrid walking around the apartment.

- what do you think? - I ask him, walking towards him - I change some things around for you and I also did some research for your room.

He didn’t answer at first, eyes shined brighter taking in every part of the room before focusing on me. He still wore the clinic uniform and it was hard to believe he was mine like that, i was eager to see him in the clothes I bought for him. I wanted for him to experience all of the world, things he was never able to before.

He was still probably processing everything that was going on in that moment, i knew for a fact that it would take some time for him to adapt fully to this new environment. He has a lot to learn.

- this all is just for us? - he softly asked, as if not believing - just us?

- yes, just you and me - I assured him, taking his hand in mine running my thumb over his knuckles - is our home.

He smiled, looking down to hide the soft shade of pink on his checks. Not being able to hold much longer I close my arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug which he immediately fell into. Holding into me just as tight and almost tripping us over.

A sight of relief left my lips, he was finally free and he trusted me enough to be here with me. One thing about our clinic adoption process is mutuality, it has so many layers but the most important one is how both the hybrid and potential owners feel about each other. Once you apply for adoption, two meetings are required. One with the director and doctors of the hybrid and one with the hybrid, that way both parts get to know each other better. Not every clinic works this way, but now that Jin was fully in control of the clinic he made sure all the procedures regarding the hybrid’s adoption were done correctly and with much care.

Letting go of Yoongi slowly I pull him by the hand to the other side of the room, towards the kitchen.

- let’s continue the tour.. - I said, as the two fallow me.

I show him and Jin around the house properly, starting with the kitchen on the right side of the apartment, the dining table was what separated the living room from it, highlighted by the chandelier above the round dining table.

The laundry room was close to the kitchen, everything here was simple and neat. I didn’t try to get any extravagant items or forniture it hasn’t been long since I moved here anyway, and i wasn’t really a fan of colorful and expensive things. The apartment was minimalist but comfortable, although the apartment did came with a billiard table from the last owner.

On the left side of the apartment was where our rooms were in a small corridor after the space where the billiard table had been placed, in a place like this usually people would put a piano there but i was sure the last owner was a men. Who would leave a billiard table behind and put it in there?

- don’t tell me you got that? - Jin asked pointing out the said table, a tone of mischief on his voice as he stared at me with a grin.

- it came with the apartment… those things are expensive and as much as I’m the best when it comes to this game, I wouldn’t buy a pool table Jinnie - i said, the three of us stopped in front of the table.

- yeah, you wouldn’t…. But now you definitely need to envite me for dinner - he said, walking around the table.

- said the guy that literally has his own play ground at home - i tease.

- but i dont have you to lose to me there - he teased back.

- don’t go there… you know i never lose - i said.

We would continue on arguing jokingly, but i felt Yoongi pulling on my hand turning me fully towards him.

- what’s this game thing? - he asked, almost innocently but i saw how he would look behind me at Jin earning a chuckle from him.

They are brothers. And i was here thinking - more like hoping, praying for the gods - that his jealousy would disappear once he finds that out, but now both males keep getting on my nerves with that. Jin knows how possessive Yoongi gets and he teases his brother in every chance he gets, using that against him and then Yoongi does the same thing and so on i have to stand between the two as they carry on arguing about who’s the best and the list goes on. To think they both are adults.

- is a fun game… i’ll teach you when we are alone - i tell him, which earned me a smirk from the hybrid. I feared the game was his least priority once we’re alone.

With that i carry on the little tour on the last rooms of the house, first showing Yoongis room which was in front of mine. I made sure to get him a spacious bed with his favorite covers, the silk and velvet were a dream to sleep on he wasn’t wrong about that. So much i got those for my room as well.

- this is your room - I tell him, opening the door for him to enter - I made sure to make is as comfortable as possible but if there is anything you would like to add or change you can just tell me.

He stood in front of the king size bed, eyes roaming around every corner of the room attentively. I didn’t add much decoration for his room, not knowing what he would like i thought it would be better if he choose what he wants.

I watched him carefully wanting to catch all of his expressions, sharing a look with Jin who seemed to be just as excited as i was in that moment i could swear i saw tears under his eyes.

And i understand him, he was watching as his brother finally got a home of his own. Despite everything he got his brother the freedom he always deserved.

- I like it… - Yoongi said sitting over the bed.

I exchanged a smile with Jin, chuckling as the he turned to wipe the tears off his face and so on I continued with the last part of the tour.

[…]

…. 3 days later ….

I had made the decision to take a few weeks off from work to focus fully on accommodating Yoongi at home, it was something new for the both of us and I was so nervous at the beginning i didn’t get any sleep the first night but now that three days have gone by I felt like my nervousness was all for nothing.

Yoongi was adapting so well it was almost as if he had lived here his whole life, he learned so fast and without even asking for help. It was like watching a drama unfold right in front of me, I was there insisting on helping him at every second but all it took was one glance and he managed everything by himself, I thought the first days with him being in the same space as me would be the hardest ones but it was truly so peaceful. I was worried over nothing when it came to Yoongi, three days out of the clinic and he already learned how to cook.

Three days again before Jin left ha and i had made the decision to stop giving Yoongi suppressants, now that he’s in a safer space having his own space helps ease the situation for his heat. It would take some time for it to come back so i would have enough time to prepare myself for it, the two of us haven’t really talked about it yet. None of us mentioned what happened at the clinic and i was too nervous to say anything now, busying myself with his adaptation here trying to get away with it. We needed to talk about that, i knew that, but things weren��t as easy. We were so different from each other deep down i was just afraid I wouldn’t be able to give him what needed.

Before anything three days ago Jin and I had a talk with Yoongi about all his protocols from now, he agreed on the stop of the suppressants and for the future exams and check ups it would only be needed to take twice a year every six months, to ensure his health is good.

Everything aside, I couldn’t lie even if I wanted to.

For the first time in my life I was waking up in the morning every day for more then just doing my duties, I had reason to wake up with a smile on my face every morning knowing I would see him there.

The past days Yoongi created a routine of his own, he would usually wake up before me and make us coffee. Stand behind the kitchen counter while he stared at the window wall as the sunlight shined through, making the entire room look like a golden dream.

Every morning my heart was filled with so much happiness, just the sight of him made any worries disappear completely and today it wasn’t any different.

I made my way to the kitchen while closing my sleeping robe, fallowing the sweet scent of hot coffee.

- morning… - I said, gaining his attention as i entered the kitchen.

I walked around the counter where he stood, eyes locked on his as he put the mug down closing his arms around my body in a tight hug. The smell of coffee filled the entire apartment deliciously.

- morning… - he mumbled raspy over my ear, moving just enough to plant a kiss over my lips. Quick and soft.

- how did you sleep last night? - I ask him.

I watched as his features immediately changed into a bitter one as soon as the words left my lips, I knew exactly what was coming after that but the way he scrunched his nose was so cute I couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped my lips, which I immediately tried to hide the moment he tried to move away from me. Immediately holding his waist tighter pushing him against the counter.

- awfully…. So terribly uncomfortable I nearly had any sleep and is all your fault - he said, hands falling over mines.

- I know, I know… - i blinked cutely, fallowing his face at every turn he made to avoid my gaze.

- no, im not taking it anymore… - he said, a pout forming on his lips and I had bit my own lip to hold back another mischievous giggle.

He’s been acting so cute lately it was making so hard for me to resist, it was like the old grumpy snake hybrid I once knew was gone and was replaced by a cute pouty snake hybrid.

- i’m so sorry my pookie… - i watched as his ears immediately turned red over the nickname i gave him, even the slightest and most innocent nickname was enough to make him turn red and hide his face shyly. I was at the point of bursting watching him.

- no… i’m not your… whatever that is you said - he turned away to the side, his scales shined like golden petals over the sunrise coming through the window.

- all of this because I didn’t let you sleep with me? I thought you liked your own room.

- I do… but I thought that now that we are both alone here, you wouldn’t be away from me - he turned back, staring down at my eyes.

- we’ve been through this already…

The truth is that ever since we’ve been here, we only went as far as a few kisses on the couch while we cuddled. Our nights just as our morning were spent completely stick together on the couch, the tv would play some aleatory movie the we never payed much attention to honestly.

He would usually fall asleep over me while I run my fingers through his hair not so long after i would fall asleep, until one of us wakes up hungry and the kitchen becomes a playground for the curious snake hybrid.

- I just want you to have some space to figure things out, especially now that you’re clean from suppressants it could be a bit overwhelming and I don’t want you to have a hard time - I tell him, running my hands over his waist down his hips.

- you care too much for me - he says, finally giving in and smiling softly.

- always - I said, leaning towards his chest to plant a quick kiss the the exposed skin.

- don’t think you’re free from this discussion… - he said, voice sounding much lower this time.

I looked up at his eyes our faces bearly centimeters away, noses brushing softly against each other.

- what discussion? - I pushed innocently, making him scoff over my lips.

- you’re gonna make me lose scales, y/n.

I felt his smile grow the moment i closed the distance between our lips, warmth rising up all over my body the second his hands traveled over my back up and down, softly scratching over the fabric of my robe.

Until the growling of my stomach interrupted us.

- what are hiding in there? - He teased poking my belly and my cheeks burned shyly like wild fire.

- funny… - I dry laughed makings the snake chuckle even more.

- well let’s give it some food before you eat me for breakfast - he teased.

I hit his shoulder playfully and we begin with our morning routine, making some breakfast for the both of us while he seats there watching me.

… 6pm …

We’ve been entangled on the couch the past two hours, binge watching a new drama. Earlier Yoongi decided to spent almost two hours in the bathtub, he used three bottles of bubble bath and made a mess all over his bathroom saying it was my fault for not letting him shower with me. But in the end he cleaned up his mess so i wasn’t mad about it anymore, craving popcorn i was ready to make some butter popcorn when Yoongi said he would made them for me and I shouldn’t have left him alone in the kitchen to pick a movie. He managed to burn it and almost set the fire alarm of the apartment, i was speechless. But i just couldn’t get angry at him, he looked so devastated after burning the popcorn he had the biggest pout on his lips.

I took the charge of making the popcorn again and told him to wait in the living room but he stayed and said he would watch me so he could learn, I thought nothing of it and just continue my business to focus to notice the snake hybrid sliding closer the moment i turned to place the now done popcorn into a bowl.

A gasp leaving my lips in instant surprise the moment the snake holds me from behind, i giggle feeling he sink his face a the curve of my neck. He’s been doing that a lot lately finding amusement on catching me off guard just to tease on my weak spot, i held on his arms turning my face toward his kissing the tip of his nose. He smiled holding me tighter.

Yoongi has been gaining some weight since he left the clinic and i was trying to keep my composure at how fast he was getting stronger, he wasn’t the small snake hybrid left to die at the clinic anymore. Yoongi was growing muscles and eating better then he was before, he looked much healthier now and i was happy for him.

I leaned against his chest, feeling the woody scent surrounding us. After three bottles of bubble bath he at least gonna smell nice for days now. I chuckled at the thought turning to face him, never letting his touch slide off my body he smirked at me.

- is this… - i leaned closer to his face, smelling alcohol on his lips - is this whiskey?

- is that what it is? - he asked, innocently.

In that moment i was hit by a wave of shock, i was completely at loss for words, looking closer at him i realized he was fully drunk. Cheeks red and eyes bearly open not to forget the smell of whiskey on his breath. Just when did he drink so much? I turned my back for three seconds?

I wanted to curse myself for being such an alcoholic in that moment, maybe i should’ve hidden my supply of alcohol in my room and not right beside the pool table. What was i even thinking? Yoongi is free now and just like a kid, of course he’s gonna take a taste of everything new to him.

- how much did you drink? - i asked, worried. This was the first time I heard of a hybrid drinking alcohol, god knows what kind of side effects that could have on him.

- a cup? I dont really know - he mumble.

- a cup? Shit… how did you drink that? - i was so utterly worried.

- with my mouth? - he said, sarcasm dripping down his lips like the whiskey in his breath.

- no way Sherlock…. - i held my temples leaning away from him. Just what am i gonna do with a drunken snake hybrid now?

- why? Was i suppose to drink from yours….? - he chuckled drunkenly, making me look up at him with red cheeks.

This kind of side effects is what i was trying to avoid.

- you… - i didn’t even knew what to say, he just stood there laughing as if this was the funniest thing to him.

And for that small moment i laughed with him, i don’t think ive ever seen him this happy. Gummies out at how big he was smiling, chest moving up and down faster he could bearly hold himself up while laughing. Jin is gonna love this.

- okay dunk boy, eat - i shove some popcorn on his mouth - i need you less drunk now.

He nodded while eating. I took the bowl of popcorn with me in one hand and the snake hybrid with the other to the living room, the movie was playing on the TV but failed to catch my attention. As i put the popcorn on the coffee table i made a small run for the bar beside the pool table, looking over the bottles i found one still opened and in that moment i wanted to kill Yoongi - he drunk half a bottle of jack.

- you drunk half a bottle! - i gasped, turning to him.

He sat on the couch legs crossed with my bowl of popcorn watching me as if i was the crazy one.

- you have so many…. - he mumbled, throwing one popcorn on his mouth - also i wasn’t gonna drink much… but it was so weak, i had few more gulps.

Weak.

Half a bottle of jack was weak for him.

- this movie sucks… - he said, getting up.

- what?

My mind was failing to comprehend anything that was happening right now. Maybe i should call Jin.

- I’m calling your brother… - i said, making a turn to go on my room get my phone.

Before i could take even a single step towards my room i was pulled by the hand and turned towards the snake hybrid, he had a drunken smile on his lips while he looked down at me. Mischief shined through his dark eyes like never before - note to self: hide all the alcohol under my bed.

- lets play instead… - he suggested looking over the billiard table - if you win against me, you call Jin.

I scoffed.

- and supposedly if i don’t? - i said, closing my arms over my chest.

- i get to decide that later…. - he said.

- careful Yoongi…. - i warned - you learned this only yesterday.

- but i learned from you - he teased back.

- and i never lose…. - i said taking one cue stick, smothing the tip with the chalk.

This was going to be quick.

- who starts? - i asked, watching Yoongi fallow my moves getting a cue stick and smothing the tip with chalk.

- you start… pookie - he said.

I chuckled at the nickname. This snake hybrid has no idea was coming.

I position myself over the table aiming at the white ball, striking it quick at the color balls i put two whites on the wholes. A confident smirk rising up to my lips.

- sorry… looks like I’m wining already - i tease, walking around the table eyes looking straight into his.

If he was nervous or not i didn’t know he seemed to be focused on me only, but I couldn’t blame him. I was gonna win this in no time.

I position myself once again aiming for a ball closer to a corner whole and in the corner of my eye i notice Yoongi moving to the other side, now focusing back at my aim the cue stick slides between my fingers and just as I’m about to strike Yoongi corners me from behind hands over my hips making me lose completely my chance.

I scoffed turning to look at the sly snake behind me.

- ops… you missed that one - he smirked, pointing at my missed move.

- i wonder why?

- maybe you’re not that good after all…. - he mumbles, walking around the table to strike his move.

I wasn’t expecting him to get it on the first try and that was my mistake, he did learned from me after all.

He gets four balls in without missing after that, I swallowed hard feeling my pride hurt bit by bit. He just learned that how is he doing it as if he was born in a billiard table, i couldn’t believe it..

When he strikes another one I’m already moving towards the mini bar besides the tale, filling myself a cup and drinking all in one gulp. When I turn back Yoongi is watching me with a cunning smirk.

This sly snake was getting on my nerves - i never lose.

- is hot out of a sudden, don’t you think? - i say, playful. He stared the game going dirty and so will i.

Opening the bottoms of my blouse one by one I quickly take it off, keeping on the white crop top i wore to sleep. Putting my hair to the side to expose more of my shoulders.

- aren’t you gonna play? - i press, smiling innocently.

There was another minute he didn’t move, eyes staring me up and down while he licked over his bottom lip. He cleared his throat before positioning himself to strike, but just as i expected he missed.

- ops… - it was my turn to tease, positioning myself right beside him in strike my move.

Once i get my hands on to strike i never miss a single ball, i grew up playing this no one can beat me at my game. Right now i was almost finish, glancing up at Yoongi every now and then i notice he was starting to grow nervous. I wasn’t gonna call Jin anymore, after the first cup i drank another and another cup. I wasn’t weak for drinks, but i was having so much fun with Yoongi now i had long forgotten why i was even going to call Jin.

Two more balls in and i would win, so I position myself to strike the last colorful ball of mines.

- i could mate with you over this table…. - Yoongi mumbled more to himself but i heard exactly what he said.

It made me lose completely my chance to strike.

- maybe i should do that when i win this game - he looked up at me, smirk dancing in the corners of his lip placing the cue stick over the table.

He walked around the table towards me, like i was his prey in that moment and he was ready to take me as his victim. Yoongis words were like his poison, infiltrating my mind with thoughts I wouldn’t ever consider myself.

Like him bending me over this billiard table right now and doing everything he wants. Maybe I should let him win this time.

Once he was right there in front of me, he took the cue stick of my hand and placed over the table. Pushing me against the table with his body he rested his forehead over mine, hands falling over my hips he drew small circles with his thumbs.

- you win… - he whispered - but don’t call my brother, i feel like throwing up.

- that’s not because of Jin - i chuckled - you drank too much, come on… lets get you some meds pookie.

I caressed his face softly before taking his hand in mine to guide him back to the kitchen, my guess was that hybrids were much weaker for alcohol and it affected them much faster then for us humans. So i was quick to him some medicine before taking him with me to the couch and let him rest some more till he sober up.

It didn’t took him much longer before he was back at being his usual cute self and i finally found a movie to pass time, the popcorn was cold now but i still ate half of it.

The bowl of popcorn half empty sat on the small table in front of the couch, Yoongi was half asleep between my legs while I run my fingers thought his hair caressing the back of his neck every now and then.

I had a mind full of thoughts about today, i was sure that his het would start soon and after tonight that thought was rotted inside my head. Maybe the mention of mating tonight set that alarm in my head and I remember all what i was preparing myself for.

- you should tell me when you feel your heat coming - I tell him, quietly.

- what if I don’t? - he teased, lifting his head from my belly watching me attentively with a tired smirk over his pink lips.

- I’ll just found out on my own then - i shrugged.

- like you did before? - he chuckled.

- hey!

- for someone who knows so much about us it took you so long to find out i was in heat - he said.

- only because you were the first snake hybrid on my care - I explained - and you lied to me about it, remember?

- yeah… but I didn’t lied about yours - he says, eyes suddenly turning darker.

- well, I’m not… I mean, now… - I stumbled on my words, it felt so weird trying to explain him how different it happens for humans especially since is different from woman to men.

- I know, I can smell on your skin… - he said, making the curiosity go wild on my head.

- how? What does it smell like? - I ask - I truly can’t tell.

- humm… - he purrs lowly, supporting his hands at both sides of my head to pull himself up.

He leans down burring his face on my neck, taking a deep breath in.

- when your in heat, you smell like… lust - he whispers - and when you’re not, you smell like…

He moves away slowly, looking into my eyes eyebrows furred in concentration as if looking for the right words, lips half open over mine, the more seconds that went by the more he seemed to get lost in a maze.

- warmth… - he whispered - it makes me want to be completely stuck around your arms and never leave.

[…]

… 2 days later …

I could tell his heat was getting closer to a start after the two days that went by. Yoongi became insanely clingy the last couple days and It wouldn’t be a problem of course, but the snake hybrid simply decided to steal the keys of the apartment just so i wouldn’t leave and so far I wasn’t even able to step one foot out in the past days.

I searched the entire apartment already and I couldn’t find the damn keys, if only his behavior had stuck with the clingy part but he also became annoyingly a tease. In every sense.

His heat had already started and he could’ve taken me as his so many times, but i wasn’t ready and i kept pushing him away and not letting him sleep in my room. For that reason he’s been acting out on me ever since.

The mornings we used to share with innocent kisses and a light delicious breakfast, turned into make out sessions over the kitchen counter and nonstop teasing while i try to cook, our afternoons of binge watching dramas turned into marking and scenting sessions for him. But it was just the beginning, Yoongi could still control his rut pretty well and he used that against me every morning.

The first time he started to scent me was when everything went down hill and i knew it would only get harder for him to control it.

I trusted him to tell me when his heat begin to show so i could help him and I was confident it would take at least a few more days, that was my mistake. And again I didn’t notice the signs.

A few days ago when the weather had changed so drastically, it had been raining since late that morning. So the two of us decided to just cuddle on the couch for the rest of the day, i was usually the bigger spoon when we cuddle but the cold weather made me seek warmth on Yoongi. Not knowing what was going on with his sudden quietness i just brushed off as him being tired and held him tighter, every minute that passed I grew more sleepy from his soft caress on my back, hugging him and burning my face on the curve of his neck.

My body was just seconds before completely falling asleep when he moved, i groan against his chest in disagreement while he pulled me down with him between his legs.

He stared to softly place kisses over my cheek, down my jawline and brushing my hair away with his fingers to expose the skin of my neck. Kisses slowly fading into more needy touches while the second passes and I was complete unaware of it, until soft kisses turned into deep and wet ones.

I was fully alert and ready to lean away from him, my wrist was closed to his neck placed beside his head to support me up but he was quick to stop me as if predicting what I was going to do, he held my hand towards him to pull me back.

- just a little more…. - he murmured over my ear, voice soft but low and raspy as if he was drunk - I won’t do anything… just, stay a bit more like this….

He didn’t move until every part of my body fully gave in, he took his chance in that moment and bit into the curve of my neck. Not enough to sink his poison on me, just enough to leave a red mark on my skin for days.

After that he did let me go, but things were different now that his heat has stared. I wasn’t one to complain, i loved every minute i spent under his touch. He wanted to torture me for not letting him sleep beside me, but his ways of torturing consisted only on teasing me till I can’t take it and then leaving me all flustered.

It was late a night and i was getting ready to sleep already when i decided to questioned him about his heat. The door to his room was always open, i watched him from the corridor moving side to side before entering his room.

- are you okay with you heat? Do you think is gonna get bad any time soon?

- no… I can control it right now - he said, while picking a change of clothes to shower.

- okay… - I murmured looking around his room seeing as how neat everything looked - you didn’t make a nest?

He scoffed before turning around to fully look at me.

- i would… but someone doesn’t wanna let me sleep with her - he said, making my cheeks run hot.

Before I could even let another word leave my lips he was pulling his silky shirt off, making a mess of his hair and exposing all his torso to my eyes.

It was not something new to me but it always made me go insane how beautiful he looked, every time it felt like i was seeing him for the first time. His scales looked much healthier and shiny now, i notice how they seemed to have grown even more towards his v line. Shiny lines almost unnoticeable at how delicate they were on his milky skin, making he look like a diamond.

- wanna watch me undress? - he teased.

- is my house - I said back, eyes rooming every centimeter of his body shamelessly making him chuckle.

He walked towards me quickly closing the distance between us two, using his own body to push me against the wall.

Just like that all the air was gone from my lungs, the heat radiating from his body so intensely it felt like a warm blanket surrounded me. And again those dark glossy eyes were focus on mine like they used to at the clinic, making chills run wild down my spine.

Every part of my skin knew his touch so well and urged for him.

- I need my keys - I blurted nervously, finally remembering the reason why I came here.

- no… - he said.

- please Yoongi, I can’t be stuck here anymore… - I plead, finding the courage to look up into his intense eyes filled with darkness.

He didn’t say anything at first, the snake switched looks between my eyes and lips in that moment. Maybe calculating his options? Or just thinking about how he’ll tease me later for it.

- let me sleep with you from now on and I’ll tell you where they are - he said, a smirk filling his lips teasingly.

I took a deep breath before deciding on what to do, it had to happen sooner or later. I knew that. I just wished I could’ve prepared myself more for what was to come the moment i decided to let him in, the two of us kept saying it was all just for sleep but deep down it was obvious. The moment we are alone over that bed we wont be sleeping anymore.

- okay.

I needed the keys and in that moment I had no idea where that would even lead me, he said he had his heat under control and o trusted that. But far way in my mind something keeps telling me he was far away from any control.

- keys? - I asked, making his smile grow even more.

- my back pocket - he said, as if it wasn’t anything.

- no way… - i was not believing but he just shrugged at me still smirking - it was with you this whole time?

- put your hands inside it if you don’t believe me - he dared.

I swallowed hard blinking a hundred times - his back pocket, he meant his ass my keys were in his ass this whole time - before slowly moving my left hand towards his back pocket, face burning like a damn volcano about to explode. I couldn’t even look at his face in that moment, he knew exactly what he was doing.

I bit my bottom lip the second my hand slide down his ass, feeling the skin over the thin layer of his silky pants. Sucking in a breath as my eyes looked anywhere but the snake hybrid in front of me.

- oh… - i exale, looking straight back at him. It was empty.

He smirk grew wider, leaning even closer to me.

- wrong pocket.. - he whispered over my lips.

I swallowed hard again, looking down between us too nervous to stare into his dark glossy eyes but inhaling fast at the sight of his deep v line covered in scales so close to me.

No, i used to treat his wounds. I shouldn’t be nervous right now. This is nothing.

Body burning in nerves I reach for the other pocket with my right hand, feeling his minty breath brush against my face teasingly. Sliding my hand one more time down his ass, reaching inside his pocket.

He leaned closer making my attention go back to his face, this time he looked as nervous as I was. Eyes bearly open, bottom lip caged between his teeth.

The more my hand moved down his bum the harder he bit into the flash and just then I felt the cold metal of the keys and quickly grabbed them.

His expression changed fast after that, leaning away from me as quick as he could.

- we’ll sleep in your room… - he said, before turning away to leave for the bathroom.

[…]

After a long bath I went to check on Yoongi to see if he was still in his room but i didn’t find him there, going straight back to my own room while i tried to massage away the pain on my neck only to find the snake hybrid shirtless all spread over my bed.

- where your clothes? - I asked.

- don’t look at me like that…. - he said sitting up - everything felt itchy on my scales.

- oh…. Should I take a look at them for you? - I said making my way towards him, when my thumb pressed a painful spot on my neck i groan out in discomfort.

- no is fine… - he slides towards the end of the bed were I stood - what’s with your neck?

- I don’t know, i think I’ve slept in a bad position last night it’s hurting a lot now…. - I say - are you sure you’re fine? I can….

- I’m fine, come here - he interrupted me, pulling me by the hand making me straddle his waist.

- Yoongi….

- shh… - he smiled softly, pulling the hair away from my neck - let me take care of you, hum?

I blink nodding, watching his attention drift to my shoulder as he pulls the shirt slightly down to expose more of my neck. He begins to carefully press at the curve of my neck with his fingers, my body was immediately filled by relief as he worked his way around my neck and shoulder.

- I can feel some tension here… - he murmured pressing a bit harder at the curve, and my eyes rolled back in relief.

He chuckled lowly at my reaction, holding my hair away with his free hand to continue his work.

- if you had been sleeping with me you wouldn’t be sore like this… - he teased.

It was my turn to chuckle.

- lies… - I said, staring into his eyes.

He looked back with the same amount of dirtiness on his mind and I decided it was my turn to make him red.

- where’s my nest? - I asked, holding myself from bursting out laughing the second he catch what i said.

He looked extremely worried and embarrassed, almost chocking at his own words.

- oh my god…. - I laughed out, closing my arms around his neck - sorry pookie… I was just teasing.

I kissed his forehead.

- I’ll wait for you to make one for us… - I whispered to him.

- I thought you didn’t like them… - he confessed.

- what do you mean? I like it - I assure him, caressing the back of his neck. Resting my forehead on his.

In just seconds he had me pulled against him and turned us over the bed, hovering over me between my legs. A gasp had left my lips at the sudden movement, holding into him tighter until his eyes opened again staring down at mine in complete lust.

I didn’t expected him to act so quickly after asking for a nest jokingly, it was stupid of me.

He got up lazily eyes still glued in mine, I watch as he made his way towards the closet getting back with three more covers.

He was going to make a nest for me.

He dropped them at my feet before taking one at the time and laying them around me until he was satisfied with it, he had a focused expression on his soft features and then when he was finally done he looked me up before saying anything.

- I wanted this ever since I first saw you at the clinic… - he said, hovering over my body slowly - I want you for the rest of my life, y/n.

Staring into his glossy dark eyes once again, I’ve never felt more out of breath. Every moment with him had been so intense lately, as if all the cells in my body were anticipating this moment knowing what would happen, urging it to happen.

- bite me… - he whispered over my lips - like you did last time.

It was different than last time, at that time us being together was completely forbidden but now we are free, we have each other.

Pulling him closer I kissed his lips, not taking any more seconds. Groaning into his mouth every time his skin came in touch with mine, feeling shivers burning down my body never failing to drive me insane.

I was so high already and we had just stared, trailing my fingers down his back and earning a few groans from him. He bit into my bottom lip, leaning away just enough to stare into my eyes.

There was a different glow around him this time, something I haven’t seen before.

His chest moved against mine, hands sliding up and down my sides each time heavier and sometimes scratching over the layers of my clothes, teasing us both by dragging his own need to touch my skin.

The cold tip of his nose delicately moving against the side of my face, his hot breath slowly seeping through his lips over mine. The minty scent from his tongue danced over my lips deliciously but he didn’t do anything. He continued his soft tease, waiting for me to make his wish come true.

I slowly started to feel his back muscles, softly touching over the scales on his body. They felt so soft to touch just like the velvet we were surrounded by, each time I caressed them softly I would feel Yoongi swift over me slightly. His scales were one of his very sweet spots and he continued to squirm and sigh over me at every little touch, making me grow confident and needier.

He was starting to pant against my neck, groaning lowly making the need in me to tease and play him grow more and more. Remembering his little trick with my keys earlier, I let my hands travel down his spine and past his hips. The moment my hands slipped down his ass he squirmed harder, body falling completely over mine and a groan escaped his lips.

In that moment I bit into his shoulder, my teeth and tongue sliding over his skin sinking into his flesh harder just to licking over it. Carving a mark of my own on him.

- mine… - I whisper breathlessly over his ear.

- fuck… - he moaned over my neck, lifting himself enough to stare at my face.

He was biting his own lip, bruising himself enough to draw blood out of it. If it wasn’t now I would be worried for him but, he looked so handsome in such state of lust. I was completely lost in him, capturing his lips in a lustful kiss.

This time his hands had no mercy over my skin and i was completely sure I would find a few bruises here and there but I couldn’t care any less for it, I wanted them and I wanted him.

- mate with me… - he whispered over my lips completely out of breath - be mine y/n… I wanna do this with you, y/n.

I softly caressed his cheeks before nodding, he smiled before leaning down again leaving a long peck on my lips trailing down my jawline and towards my ear, bitting softly at my neck.

I knew what would come for me in that moment, it was a one way trip with no way back.

- make me yours… - I whispered in his ear.

Feeling the harsh bite over the skin under my ear, he sank his poison into it. The feeling was immediate, the first time the snake hybrid had bitten me was so painful and his poison was sickening but tonight it was completely different, I’ve never felt so high before like this before. Completely drunk on him so much even the smallest touch was enough to make me squirm and moan, just looking at him made me drool and needy.

He smirked knowingly traveling his kisses down my chest, hands sliding past my waist and stoping on my hips to grip into the flesh before sliding up inside my shirt.

Ripping off the fabric of my body with his hands, I breathed out lost in his arms. At the same time he was rough his touch was full of love on my skin, every part of me he gripped into he left a kiss over it.

He stares into my eyes with fondness, fingers running along my face pulling my up by the waist with his other hand, that way I’m sitting up with him on his knees between my legs.

I take the chance to run my fingers over his sides, feeling the scales under the tips of my fingers.

He cups my face kissing my lips hungrier, growling over my tongue. His raven hair is mess now, sweat drips down his neck and my fingers as I grip at his locks.

Bringing him closer I bite into his neck again, Yoongi gasp holding waist tighter and probably bruising the skin. But I couldn’t feel any pain, only the burning sensation all over my body driving my out of sense.

He stops the kiss, eyes locked over mine, seem to slightly go out of focus, a pool of stars all for me to stare into.

I push him down against the bed forcing him to lay down, slipping off my last piece of clothing before doing the same to his pants.

Crawling on all fours back to him, I watch as he stares at me in complete awe, Yoongi gulps down biting his on lip while he savor me with his eyes.

- you’re so fucking beautiful… - he murmurs. Eyes glued on me.

I chuckled at his reaction, running my fingers over his tights seeing how his dick twitches at the slightest touch before finally claiming his lips in a kiss.

He moans deeply pulling me closer.

- Mine… - he moans.

- all yours.

He pulls me by the thighs making me straddle his waist, feeling his hard dick press against my pussy deliciousy, sending us both into an overheated state.

I watch as Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut biting his lip as a groan escapes his chest, finger tips rubbing over my thighs leaving marks.

The burning sensation of the pain makes me move my hips against his instinctive, Yoongi’s eyelids flutter and his head tilt back as gasps make his chest heave up and down quickly. Another growl comes out of his chest and he moves his hips forward, the waves of pleasure seeping through my whole body making me shiver and lose control over my upper body, using my hands to keep me up against his chest, feeling how he breaths deep.

My eyes fluttered open to watch his lustful eyes in complete bliss, he squirms underneath me moaning out my name.

The sound of his voice sending shiver down my body, the feeling sends butterflies through my stomach. I let out a deep moan, grinding my hips into his. He growls, digging his nails into my thighs. Then sliding them upwards gripping my boobs, my own hands covering his for support as a continue to move against him.

Yoongi pulls me back against his chest, claiming my lips into a messy kiss. Stopping my hips from moving so he could slide inside me more easily, the feeling of his cock filling me up so good was making my head pound in arousal.

Yoongi moans loudly, trembling under my hands, lips searching for mine desperately, biting into the flesh of my shoulders sinking his poison into me while he moves his hips against mine, I pull the back of his hair biting my own lip in arousal moving my hips with his.

The pleasure is almost unbearable, so good every time I close my eyes I see stars, running my fingers through his raven hair holding him tight against me.

- breathe y/n…. - he whispers against my neck, sitting up in bed with me over him.

His hands grip my hips harder, his poison on my system was sending me into a frenzy of pleasure, each time, more.

- breathe… - he continued to whisper - just like that…

Not so long into that I feel my whole body shaking on top of him, knees starting to hurt from being like that for to long, but even the pain felt insanely good in that moment. Making me crawl into him more and more, he held me tighter before turning us around once again.

Hovering over my shaky body, Yoongi gripped into my hands as he pounded into me harder, throwing my head back while my knees are shaking in weakness, I moan out his name. Felling the dizziness claiming my body as he continued to pound at an animalistic force inside me.

- yoongi…. Fuck - I moan out, as he slides one hand between our bodies working his fingers over my clit.

- Y/n… fuck cum for me - he groans over my ear, circling over my clit with his fingers ripping a deep orgasm out of me.

- Yoongi…

But he doesn’t stop, even after he fills me so deep, I feel his cum dripping down my pussy. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, claiming my lips into a messy kiss he trails down my neck, leaving marks down my chest, sucking on a nipple.

- Yoongi… too much - I moaned out breathlessly.

I couldn’t make a single thought in my head and I loved it, my legs were shaking from his fingers circling over my clit nonstop, body aches tiredly but it felt so insanely good.

Yoongi growls, forces you closer pulling my thigh with his free hand as he he worked his way down my body with his tongue, leaving wet kisses everywhere.

- fuck… - it escapes my lips once I figure out what he was planning.

How he wasn’t tired after almost fucking me into oblivion, I didn’t know, but I was so grateful.

Ending his trail over my pussy he leaves a long lick down to the bottom of it, making me instantly arch my back.

Yoongi forcibly pulls on my thighs against his shoulders, locking me completely down and starts his feast on my pussy.

- fuck, Yoongi… - I cry out name, fingers gripping his hair.

The feelings is so insanely good, I moan and mutter words uncontrollably, words that make no sense to me, but feel so good, screaming his name out loud, shit, the neighbors will definitely file a complaint against me.

The sounds he was making driving me to the absolute bottom of the hill, gripping into his hair, myself and digging my nails over my skin.

- too much… fuck - my knees were shaking again and he didn’t stop, holding me closer.

Yoongi is sucking on my clit so harshly I started to fear he might bruise it down there as well. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it my body started to convulse, the delicious sensation began again to fill me up and I’m cursing and squirting all over him.

Yoongi sits up with a groan, he touches his own face, picking up the remains of my orgasm of his face, licking his fingers as I watched him completely fucked out.

Chest rising up and down tiredly, he hovers over me, hooking his fingers behind my neck just to pull me closer resting his forehead over mine.

- fuck me… - he moaned out, making me look up at him.

- You’re crazy - I tell him breathlessly, we both chuckled.

- Please… - he plead, pulling me in to claim my lips in a desperate kiss.

Yoongi grips my waist pulling me to the side as he lays down on his, he whimpers against my lips in a sloppy kiss, hands gripping every inch of skin.

He tugs me closer to his aching cock, holding my hips firmly to move against him. The friction is insanely good.

- you smell so fucking good…. - he mumbles - please, y/n, fuck me…

He buries his face between my boobs planting kisses over them.

- fuck you’re insane, Yoongi - I moan, gripping his hair.

Yoongi whimpers pulling me tighter against him, holding my hips to make me rut against his cock. I pushed him down while fixing myself between his legs, hovering over his body a begin to plant kisses over his neck, leaving sloppy licks over his scales.

His chest started to move up and down rapidly, he purrs deeply when I wrap my hand around his cock, feeling how he throbs under my touch.

He squeezes my hips, sweet whimpers leave his lips and I watch with pleasant eyes the snake hybrid squirm in front of me as I start jerking him off quickly, making he growl my name before returning to the slow peace of before.

He whines, throwing his head back.

- is this good my Yoongi? - I tease, watching he squirms as a reaction.

- So good… oh, so good y/n - he groans, barely keeping his eyes open - please, fuck..

- What is it baby? What do you want? - I taunt moving my hand terribly slow over his cock.

- Wanna… fuck, wanna cum… - he moans, trembling when I start jerking him off quickly.

His pretty cock spits pre cum, the sounds of my hand moving around his throbbing head driving us both insane, the moment he started squirming I knew he was getting closer.

- yes, yes… y/n you’re so good - he moans, hands gripping the covers.

- Cum baby, make a mess for me.

He starts to moan my name repeatedly, bitting his own lip until his legs are shaking, cock throbbing under my fingers while leaking his cum all over himself.

I run my hand over his belly covered on his milk, spreading it on his abs before moving closer, pressing my lips against the curve of his neck.

- such a good boy… my Yoongi - I praise, leaving kisses alone his jawline.

- - that was so good… - he mumbles, closing his arms around my body in a hug.

- Humm… you are insane - I said against his chest, running my fingers over his shoulder.

- I’m yours - he state, making me look up into his eyes.

- I’m yours too - I whisper over his lips, softly claiming his between mine.

He pulled me over his chest and we cuddled together, finally letting the tiredness begin to kick and let us get some sleep.

And tomorrow I would wake up happy, knowing it would be in his arms. Forever.

Taglist: @yoongiwantsme @effielumiere @danielle143 @dragons-flare e @awanderingangel @blue-and-grey-army @crystallizedtime @fairywriter-oracle @rosquilleta @m4gg13-g @unadulteratedlyunique e @kpopmultistantrashsstuff f @anaspectoflife @younhakim29 @yoongislatinagff @kimsonlyluv @slut-4-yourmom @illnevertrustmyselfagain @bangchanbabygirlx @itsskyvoltage @welcometomyworld13 @momnomnom @honsoolgloss @kimtaehussy @amariemoore @starrlo0ver r @whipwhoops s @glosstwn @i-have-no-life-charlie @kooslilhoe e @catlove83 @tarahardcore e @liveyun @4ukiyo4 @sukonsukuna a @passionandsuga @missroro @btspurplesky @watermelon2319 @mukeovernetflix @lopprhe e @acquiescence804 @locket-hrt @myspi2010 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @armydgirl l l @jaxyy219 @viankiss @shycreationdreamland @the-reas0n-is-y0u @nothingsreal420 @sckalykoko @lucis-noctiana

[miserycanary]

MISSION: LOVE KILL  ᡣ𐭩 [trailer]

pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: the trailer to my very first full-length series set in a soulmate AU. 

pairings: (applies to future parts) angst, smut, fluff, mutual pining, misunderstandings, rivals to lovers to rivals, featuring Ghost's inability to communicate, graphic mentions of violence, might hint to sexual violence, BARELY PUT TOGETHER, torture, one bed trope, i-will-wait-for-you trope, loving-you-is-like-breathing trope, slowburn (unless I get bored and rush this), poor poor attempt in crack, will add more as we go on

The subtle searing pain on the back of his neck is enough reason for Ghost to hate the idea of soulmates existing. It wasn’t just the fact that he has lived up to his 30s feeling like a fire wasp is buzzing under his skin, it was that the government fully developed their system with pairs in mind. You mean to tell him that he has to have found his partner—who’s probably cities or even continents away—just so that he could fucking own property? Utter fucking bullshit, he calls it. 

‘Nutjobs! The lot of them’

It was also the fact he had to watch his mum’s so-called soulmate almost beat them up to death each day. How could someone whose single purpose in life is to torment them be his mother’s soulmate? Fate either has a weird take on the concept of love and the whole shenanigan or it’s fucking wicked. Either way, the S-word has left a bad taste in his mouth—and memory. He would rather die, not having property—or anything really—to his name if it means that he wouldn’t comply to the fucking standards of pairs. 

Or so he thought because, once again, life is fucking wicked like that. 

When he first broke the news that he would be retiring from the army, he expected his future days ahead full of smooth-sailing lounging. Maybe a cup of tea in hand or even some biscuits if he was feeling fancy. Imagine his shocked face when he inquired with a real-estate agent to finally have something to call home, no longer needing to stay by some cheap hotel with what his little pay could afford, that he cannot fucking do that! 

“Yeah, this would be good. Really nice stuff here,” Ghost gruffs. “Yeah? Well, let’s get started then. Um, here are the paperworks that you need to fill out. Uhh, you just need to input your government code and your partner’s. It is policy that you bring your pair in with you when it comes to legal documents, but I’m sure that we could make an exception for our veteran here,” the agent smiles; one that Ghost did not reciprocate. “I ain’t got a missus with me. Haven’t found them yet.” 

It was a simple explanation, not wanting to dwell too much on his reasons. Before he could even take the papers in his hand, the man retracts. Confusion etched on Ghost’s face while pity is on the man’s. “Oh, I am really sorry but you are legally required to have a partner before you could own property—or anything for that matter.” Ghost looked this agent for a good few minutes, anticipating the ‘sike’ that he desperately wishes to hear but only dead silence echoes. “Surely you could, say, make an except for a veteran?” he nervously chuckles out, trying to weasel his way into a fucking home. Nothing. Dead fucking silence that’s heavy with pity. Ghost loathes it.

Without even saying a word, he turns his back and starts walking towards the car he rented today, because you can’t even own a car in this government! He should have flagged it as weird when the lady in the car shop insists that he should rent first before buying something. So, now he sits in the dingy bar that Soap has dragged him into after he informed the force that he would not be settling anytime soon. After explaining his circumstance, he expected them to react like he did before, but no. They all replied like they knew this. Even saying stuff like, “you didn’t know?” Of course he didn’t! It wasn’t like Ghost was invested in property or anything for that matter while he was serving. All he cared about was surviving each day, and that is it. 

“Aye, cheer up, lad. Life ain’ that bad. Ya’ just gotta get them lassie, and all yer problems would go away,” the Scot on his right drunkenly offers advice—a shit one at that. Did he really think Ghost hasn’t stepped foot on every land they got deployed with heavy hopes that he’ll find whoever he needs to find there? He fucking hates it here. He should have not retired this early if he knew this would happen. Now he needs to go around the world and search for the lassie whose presence—or her lack thereof—is the root of all his problems. 

If finding a needle in a haystack is hard, imagine finding a lady that’s probably moving countries as he speaks with Soap. “Yeah, like that’s fucking easy,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes before lifting his mask just enough to down his shot of whiskey. The fiery burn of the alcohol down his throat is nothing compared to the one on his neck. He would rather have it cut at this point than to go on about this miserable lifetime any longer.

“Should I just cut and peel it off?” he mumbles to no one in particular; probably to Fate if that shit is listening. Seeing that no one else in the rundown bar is really paying attention to him, Soap takes the honour in replying to him instead. “According tae what I’ve seen, jobby pain is hee haw compared tae th' pain ye will feel in yer heart. Doctors say that th' pain goes tae th' heart instead while tripling”. Unprompted, Ghost curses like a fucking sailor. Saying stuff that will probably get him on the government's watchlist if he wasn’t part of the military serving this goddamn country. He risks his life daily and this is what he gets? Ungrateful bastards.

With a slam of the glass on the mahogany table, he stands up with a new profound determination. “Fuck it, I’m finding that missus if it’s the last thing that I do”. “Eyy, that’s the spirit, matie,” Soap drunkenly encourages him, which should have been the first red flag on this idea. Any idea supported by Soap is an immediate botch.

Well, what could go wrong? He’s retired anyway. 

Turns out, many could go wrong. Well, here’s to the fucking shit-show of his life.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: please give this love!!

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! @hotvinimon

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[roseglazedlens]

Okay let's forget about all the agents Kennedy, alcohol and trauma in RC, Ada...ect,and turn to Leon s Kennedy as Your husband's policeman 36years is receiving a promotion to Chief Police Officer cuz I can't see my bbguy suffer more :(,you can add some nsfw if you want to

thank you for requesting lovely! i'm sorry i write so much angst hahhaha, but here is a change of pace! i've never written anything purely fluff (lol) and so many characters, so this is a challenge! i hope you enjoy!

⦑ take me home ⦒✶.*

pairing(s): leon kennedy x gn! reader synopsis: you throw a surprise party for your boyfriend's last day at work after his job promotion. content: pure fluff, established relationship, flirting, alcohol, leon is tipsy, but he's cute & not depressed ab it. claire, rebecca, jill & chris works in RPD. « 1 k words┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreciated! »

Today is an unusual sight for the usually hectic police department in Raccoon City. The office is adorned with balloons, garlands, and laughter, celebrating not just the promotion of a well-loved officer, Leon S. Kennedy, but also his farewell as he relocates to a new precinct.

You should be happy for your boyfriend – and you are – but part of you will miss watching over his figure from your desk, casting flirtatious grins back and forth in attempts to distract each other from the rigorous paperwork.

A banner suspends between the light fixtures, observing the lopsided words ‘CONGRATULATIONS’, strings twisted into the knot. The culprit of this handiwork, Chris, puffs out his chest proudly, while Rebecca looks at him in disbelief.

“Chris, leave the decorations to Rebecca, please.” You break apart the squabble forming between them. Rebecca smirks as Chris descends the ladder, defeated. “Don’t forget everyone, this is supposed to be a surprise.”

“Claire, where is the card?” You interrogate the next person in your line of sight, who happens to be Claire. All whilst you signal Rebecca to tilt the banner slightly upwards. “Has everyone signed?”

“Yep. It’s just you left.” She hands over the card, before resuming to the case files on her computer.

The card scrawls with heartfelt blessings from your team, a lot of ‘good lucks’, ‘we’ll miss you’, and nostalgia when he was just a rookie. He worked hard for ten years to be a sergeant, and you know he deserves this.

You pick up your pen – contemplating the words to express how amazing he is, how you will love him forever, how you will miss the sneaky make-out sessions in the work janitor’s closet.

…Marvin will be so proud of you. Yours, ....

The vibration in your pocket cuts you off mid-sentence – Jill. She is supposed to be on the case with Leon for another thirty minutes. You read the text out loud.

“I can't hold him back much longer, we're on our way. ETA in five minutes!!”

The floor scrambles in panic to finalise their positions. Rebecca quickly secures the banner with some tape. Claire is passing party poppers. Chris is putting away the ladder to the storeroom.

As Jill enters the space with Leon following behind, all the confetti releases at once.

The rainbow plastic ribbons catching in his hair like stardust in sand. You catch a glimpse of surprise in his reaction, following with a light on the corner of his lips.

“To Leon!” your team lifts their glasses high in the air, sipping beers and cocktails all night. Leon is the star tonight – you can barely talk to him without two other people buying him drinks all night along.

You catch him a whole two hours later in the circle booth, after some of the crowd has dispersed, his cheeks redden from the many drinks consumed all in a few hours. You squeeze yourself through three different people to sit yourself next to Leon.

“Having fun?” You try to get his attention by nudging at his forearm. “Don’t get too drunk though, I have to take you home.”

Leon lifts his gaze, when he sees you right by him, a grin tug at his face almost immediately. His cerulean eyes somehow more glazy than usual.

“Thank you for doing all of this. You are so good for me.” Despite the scent of beer merging with his breath, the grin on his face remains childlike. One that you only see in his drunkenness, which he lets down his guard to show more of his emotional side.

“Everyone helped. Not just me.” You are thinking how cute Leon looks when he’s drunk. “You are well-loved in here. I’m just the facilitator.”

“How about you work for me?” Leon brings the back of your palm to his lips. “I can pull some strings, now that I’m sergeant.”

“Sergeant Kennedy, using your influence for personal goals? It’s not even your first day.” You quip with a slight chuckle.

“And what if I am?” He peppers kisses from your palm to your fingers, the faint heat from his lips sizzle through your nerves. “Sure you’ll enjoy less time on the field, and more time in my office.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” You decide to let this banter go on a little further. “I expect to be well-compensated for my extra duties.”

“That will depend on your performance.” He raises a sassy eyebrow, pulling you closer until your noses touch.

“Good thing I always hit my KPI’s.”

“I do like a hardworking employee…”

Eyes fluttering shut slowly, you smile into the kiss. His lips lay gently on yours, sucking slightly at your cupid’s bow. Your bodies move closer, so close that you rests your hand on Leon’s thigh for support. The kiss deepens further, sloppier, tongues intertwined until…

“Ahem.” Chris clears his throat loudly, snapping you back to the present.

You open your eyes to find the whole table staring at the two of you. Your gaze finds its way to Jill, which she immediately, most awkwardly, rolls her eyes to the ceiling as if there is something to see there. Claire is nonchalant, sipping her beer and simply enjoying the scene.

You retract the tongue that is still shoved in Leon’s mouth. A hint of pink is running up your cheeks, you don’t need to see it to feel it. Leon, however, is unphased by the attention from his coworkers. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, perhaps it’s knowing that he won’t be seeing these guys next Monday.

“So… next rounds on me. Who’s in?” Chris attempts to diffuse the awkwardness, which earns a few curt nods from the table.

Leon holds you by the hand, picking you up from the seat. “Sorry Chris, we’re gonna call it. It’s been a long night. Thanks for the party, everyone.”

You two shuffle past Chris and Jill out of the booth, after a round of hugs with everyone, you can practically feel Leon sprinting out the bar.

“How ‘bout we continue where we left off at my place?”

Your cheeks turn a deeper red. It seems like he will be the one to take you home tonight instead.

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose. tags: @carlosgf @sporeghost (pm me for tags) © roseglazedlens - please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[rottenrosethorns]

Hi! Saw that your request is open and jump straight in to request lol.

Can you make a Leon x reader fluff, where Leon is this big tuff government agent (which he is) who is respected and look up to by people around him. But around reader he's just this big puppy who loves to cuddle and be in her arms, and he's so whiny whenever the reader needs to get up to go to the bathroom that he'll just wait for her outside the bathroom, once she gets out, he just scoops her back into his arms and off to cuddling session they go~ Can be any Leon you want!

Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x gn!Reader 

Genre: Fluff 

Synopsis: Tough government agent by day, soft puppy boy by night. Leon recounts the highlights of his week spent with you. 

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: None! :)

A/N: i just love a good puppy boy yum. now, obvi RE2 takes the cake for soft boy, but in my head, i dream of old leon being the biggest baby, like he has so much trauma, let me be your therapist – hope you like this anon! <3 

__________

- masterlist - 

_________

Saturday & Sunday  –

Leon adored the weekends. He got to spend all his time with you after all. He loved leaving work as early as possible to pick you up from your work, taking you out for a nice dinner, and maybe watching a movie or TV show afterwards. He loved staying up as late as possible, hoping that the sun never rose so that he could relish being in your comfort under the heaps of blankets because you always complained about being cold. Eventually, the stress of work and lack of sleep would forcibly pull him into slumber as he snuggled closer into your body. When he woke up to the sounds of the birds chirping and the morning sun rays peeking through the crevices of the curtains, Leon sinked into the mattress, holding you as close as possible. You were a heavy sleeper, so he often took advantage of that to kiss your temple and get up to make you breakfast. 

Leon was such a giver, loving that he could be a caretaker for you. While he was gone at work, you were always the one to take care of things at home and make sure he had a clean space to relax and recharge. So, he’d always repay you for being the one to service you on the weekends. He knew your favorites, likes, and dislikes. And, even if he wasn’t the perfect cook, he still knew how to make up for it with weekly flowers delivered to the house. After breakfast, he’d be with you wherever you stepped. 

You like reading in the den? He’d sit next to you while he answers emails and finishes reports, hating that your eyes were following words and not on him. 

You like gardening outside? He’d start working out outside with his shirt off, definitely making sure to distract you and hating that you smiled more at the flowers than at him. 

You like going out to brunch with your friends? He’d drive you to and from the restaurant, pretending to leave after kissing you goodbye and wishing you to have fun before sneaking back to sit at a reserved table. 

He couldn't spend a second without you. So, that’s why he always hated the work week, because for forty hours, he had to resist quitting his career to be in your arms. And unfortunately, tomorrow was Monday.

…..

Monday – 

Leon already started off the week to a bad start. Somehow, he’d forgotten to take the lunch you always packed him to work and he didn’t have enough time to drive back and grab it. It wasn’t that he minded skipping lunch – he missed many meals from harsh mission conditions already – or was incapable of buying his own lunch from a nearby food chain, it’s just that he was upset that he would be missing out on your little sticky notes you accompanied with each lunch. From when you started dating, you made it a habit to sneak in notes of affection and motivation to cheer him up throughout the day. He even made an effort to save all your sticky notes in the corner of his desk drawer with his favorite ones displayed on the edge of his monitor or overlapping on pictures frames of you propped up on the corner of his desk. 

“Mr. Kennedy?” 

“What do you want?” Leon all but glared at the assistant, standing near the door. She’d been a new addition to the team, meaning she was trying her chance to catch his eye. Arguably, Leon enjoyed the attention during his rookie days, using his looks for his career’s advantage; however, nowadays with you in his life, Leon treated every woman with a cold shoulder and a sneer. Unfortunately, some women were into cold and sneering men. 

The assistant fluttered her eyes, pushing her chest out as if she had a spinal injury, “There’s some here to see you.” 

Thinking that she was talking about herself, Leon grit his teeth in annoyance, “Get the fuck out of my office.”

“Leon!” You unexpectedly appeared through the door of his office with a disappointed frown, “That was so rude, apologize to her now.” 

Leon’s jaw slacked in surprise, not expecting you to show up at his workplace. He stumbled out of his chair, quickly making it over towards you to give you a kiss only to meet the side of your face instead of your lips. Leon pouted from you avoiding his kiss. You gave him a glare, eyes flickering towards the assistant. Internally groaning, Leon knew he didn’t have a choice as you were the most stubborn person he’s met. But he was a pleaser – he was your pleaser – so he’d do anything you ask him to. 

Turning towards the assistant, Leon begrudgingly muttered an apology, “I shouldn’t have sworn at you. That’s my fault.”

Although he didn’t mean it, Leon looked at the assistant with harsh eyes. From his height, you couldn’t see his disingenuous expression and gullibly believed in his fake act of remorse. His glare hardened, a warning for the assistant to leave before he kicked her out physically. Leon would never put his hands on a woman, but if they were threatening his lover, then all those morals went out the window. Getting the hint, the assistant finally made the move to leave, but not fast enough for Leon to grab you in his arms and essentially make out with you in front of her. 

You pulled back from the kiss with a blush, “Leon!”

Leon smirked, loving to see the flush on your face and being the reason for it, “I missed you.”

“You saw me this morning,” You rolled your eyes at Leon’s dramatics. 

“So?” Leon snuggled into you closer, sniffing you as if your scent was home to him, “What are you doing here? Don’t you have work?”

Leon heard some rustling and looked to see his forgotten lunch bag in your hand, “Hungry?”

Leon nodded like a puppy with a wide smile on his face before guiding you to sit on his office chair while he sat on his desk. He happily waited as you unpacked everything on his desk and advised him which foods to start with. And, although he didn’t receive a note that day, your presence made up for it. 

…..

Tuesday – 

“Conference is ready for Eagle, I repeat, Conference is ready for Eagle.”  

Leon raised his cuff towards his mouth, “Copy that.” 

Leon buttoned his suit jacket, securing his pistol, and gestured one arm towards the Oval Office’s door, “Mr. President, we’re ready for you.” 

Leon received a curt nod before leading him out the Oval Office and towards the press room. Like routine clockwork, his eyes were constantly scanning for danger. Even though they were only moving from one end of the White House towards the other, Leon was never too careful. Once at the doors of the press room, Leon held the door with one hand while the other went back up near his mouth, “Eagle’s entering the press room.” 

When he received the green light, Leon pushed open the door and followed the President towards the stage. Again, he scanned the room, looking for any suspicious activity or possible threats. Just as he made his way towards the edge of the stage where he was usually stationed during these boring politically vague press conferences, his eyes happened to catch a familiar figure, causing him to stumble over his feet and loudly crash into the American flag flagpole. The noise caused each reporter to inspect the situation as they watched Leon fumble. With quick reflexes, Leon caught the pole before it fell over and placed it back upright before awkwardly shuffling towards his post. Normally, Leon wouldn’t have made such a mistake, but the sight of you sitting with the audience of reporters caught him off guard. How could he forget that you worked in a very reputable news station? 

Leon avoided everyone’s lingering stares, pretending that what just happened didn’t happen. Well, everyone’s but yours. Once he met your twinkling eyes, your face broke out into the most adorable smile as you tried to hide it behind your notepad and suppress your giggles. Leon let out a barely audible chuckle as his face flushed. You were the only one that could have him feeling embarrassed. But technically, this was your fault, because you looked too good for him not to stare at you the whole time. If any of his colleagues was watching his view, they’d definitely think you were some sort of threat waiting to take their chance. 

Normally, Leon couldn’t wait for these conferences to be over. But now, he found this one particularly excruciating. The whole time he kept wondering how the hell he was supposed to control himself when you were in work mode. Just the way you asked the most intelligent questions, being so focused when writing your notes, and the way you brushed your hair out of your face whenever it fell into your vision sent him into a state of blissful insanity. The things he’d do to just leave his post and jump into your arms was unthinkable. But he had a job to do, and he was the best at it. Plus, he wanted to show off how cool and handsome he was while on the job. 

“Thank you. We’ll be taking no more questions at this moment.”

Leon snapped out of his daze, moving to escort the president off the stage. Turning towards a secret service member, Leon gave the orders to guide the president back to his next destination before breaking away and practically skipping towards you. 

“Nice fall there, Romeo,” You teased, can’t help but giggled as you recanted the fresh memory. 

Leon scratched his head with a crooked smile, “I saw the most beautiful person in my life.”

You shook your head giggling before giving him a quick kiss, not wanting to get him in trouble at work. Leon excitedly accepted your kiss, smile widening even more as his lips tingled. 

“Kennedy! Debrief!” 

Leon looked over to see his colleague waving him down from across the room. Instantaneously, his stoic expression returned as he gave a quick nod of acknowledgement. Once out of sight, his features soften, looking at you apologetically, “Gotta go, I’ll see you later. Love you!” 

It took him almost a minute to actually say goodbye and leave you, but the skip in his step made up for his tardiness. 

…..

Wednesday – 

Leon was starting to get tired of these meetings. His job was to fight bioweapons, did he really need to sit in the geeky science side of things? If there’s a monster, kill it. Easy. 

He sighed, as his eyes bore into the papers, yet not reading any of the content written on them. Every word said by the scientists and researchers went in one ear and right out the other as they continued through the robust slideshow. Didn’t he skip college for this exact reason? 

Just as they were about to continue towards the next slide, Leon’s phone rang, interrupting everyone from their concentration. Usually, Leon would apologize for forgetting to silence his phone, but seeing your caller ID flash on his screen had him running outside the meeting room as the group decided to call for an intermission. 

Picking up, Leon piped up, “Hello?”

“Is it a bad time?” 

Leon looked back to the meeting room without a care, “Nope, wasn’t doing anything important, what’s up?” 

“I was just going to ask what you wanted to eat for dinner for Friday’s movie night. Do you want to order in or make something ourselves?” 

“What’s wrong with both?” Leon chuckled. 

“That’s too much!” You laughed.

Leon smiled, loving the sound of your laughter and being the one that made you laugh, “Okay, okay, let’s get something easy to make. We’ve got some other shopping to do too.” 

“Perfect, we’ll go tomorrow, okay? Come home early.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, “I’ll be there.”

“Okay, I gotta go now. I love you!”

“I love you too,” Leon kissed into the phone before hanging up. 

He was about to turn around and head back to the presentation room before being face to face with the Redfield siblings. Chris raised his brow while Claire did her best to hide her snickering behind her hand. Leon’s stoic persona returned, pushing past them as he muttered, “Shut up.” 

…..

Thursday – 

“Salsa”

“Check.”

“Chips?”

“Check.”

“Anything else?”

“Sour cream,” Leon read the grocery list, “That should be it.” 

You nodded, heading towards the condiments aisle, “Right, can’t forget the sour cream.”

Finding the location, you were about to ask Leon for help as the bottle you wanted was placed on the top shelf, but Leon was quick to understand and had already reached up and placed the bottle in the cart. You smiled and attempted to pat his head, “Thank you! Ready to go?”

If Leon had a tail, it would be wagging faster than a boat propeller. Leon perked up at the praise, basking in the good words you had for him. He could never get over how well you treated him and he lived to impress you everytime. Just as he went to answer, a certain sibling duo appeared again. Was this his bad luck? 

Once you saw Claire, you immediately rushed over and enveloped her into a hug and gushed about where she’s been and what she’s been up to. Knowing you well, Leon knew it’d a while before you realized you’d been talking for a bit too long. Chris seemed to know this too as he went over to Leon and struck up some small talk. He looked in your cart, analyzing the collected ingredients, “Taco night?”

Leon let out a gruff noise with a scowl on his face to indicate that Chris guessed correctly. Leon crossed his arms, impatiently waiting for you to finish so that you both could go home and cuddle on the couch together. 

Chris scoffed, “You don’t have to hide that you love them, you know? It’s not like everyone doesn’t know you’re head over heels for them already.” 

Leon pressed his lips together, “I’m not hiding anything.” 

“You’re not?” Chris pressed, “So, yesterday, on that phone call, you did send a kiss through the phone, right?” 

Leon met Chris’s eyes with a glare, not willing to admit he’d ever do such a thing. Although it was the truth and it would’ve hurt his pride to admit, Leon hated denying it in case it made you sad, so he chose to use silence as his answer. Chris found this particularly amusing as he laughed, “It’s okay to have feelings, you know? In this field of work, it’s nice to have someone – someone human – to remind us that we have lives outside of the virus.” 

Leon’s tough demeanor slightly cracked as he watched you laugh and joke with Claire. He hated to admit, but Chris was right. You were his everything. You made all the bad memories and nightmares go away. You reminded him that he’s just a guy trying to live a normal life. And, he’d do anything to keep you in his arms forever. 

Without thinking, Leon admitted, “I love them.” 

Chris smiled in triumph, “You look good together.”

Just as the men finished their chat, you looked over at Leon to which Leon softened his expression to meet your gaze, “Hey, you won’t mind if Chris and Claire come over tonight, right? They can even stay over if they want! Come on, let’s go!”

Even if he wanted to, Leon couldn’t bring himself to argue with you. Sure, he wanted you for himself tonight, but he couldn’t ever say no to you. Thus, you collectively left the grocery store with Leon grumbling in tow as Chris snickered at his demise. 

…..

Friday – 

Fridays, oh Fridays. They were Leon’s favorite day of the week. It was the majority of the population's favorite day of the week actually. But, Leon’s reason wasn’t mundane like getting off work early to celebrate the weekend or other adjacent reasons. His reason was because he was to come home to you and destress the woes of the week in your arms. He didn’t care what movie or TV show was playing, he just wanted to bury himself deep into your neck and press loving kisses as if he was thanking you for your existence. Even though your focus was solely on the drama of the cinema, Leon was just happy to be included. That’s all that he needed. You were all that he needed. 

“I gotta use the bathroom,” You started to untangle yourself from Leon’s hold, “You can keep watching though.”

Leon mewled in protest. He didn’t even know what was playing anyways, so it didn’t matter to him. The hold on you shifted, so that Leon was encircling your waist and holding your body flush against his. He buried his face into your chest and his muffled, “Don’t go.”

You patted his head, brushing your fingers through his hair as you cooed at him, “I’ll be back in a bit, okay? Keep the blankets warm for me?”

Leon pouted, squeezing you one more time before reluctantly letting you go – extra emphasis on the reluctant part. Leon was basically an octopus suction cupping you on him as you struggled to get out of his hold. Once you were finally freed, you huffed before sending him off with a quick kiss and running towards the bathroom. Leon laid on the couch, lifeless. He didn’t know what to do without you. He tried to tune into the TV, but his lack of attention to plot confused him on the premise of whatever was playing. He laid back with his hand on his stomach, fiddling his fingers as he stared at the ceiling. He shifted his body left and right, suddenly feeling like the couch was made of concrete and blankets knitted with the itchiest yarn known to man. 

Annoyed, Leon decided to abandon the couch and shuffle his way towards the bathroom and paced outside as he waited for you to finish. Thankfully, you weren’t that long before you unlocked the door and stepped out. You hadn’t gotten far before Leon scooped you up in his arms and swiftly took you back to the couch and buried your bodies in the mountain of pillows and blankets. Only now did he feel comfortable, like sleeping on clouds. 

You giggled, taking his face in your hand and holding him to look at you. Leon’s eyes widened, waiting for you to say what you wanted to. You booped his nose, “Were you waiting outside for me?”

Leon pursed his lips like he was asking for a kiss. You shook your head, not willing to kiss him until he gave you an answer. Once realizing this, Leon’s lips turned into a pout, “I missed you.”

You giggled, pressing a rewarding kiss to which he passionately accepted, “You’re so cute.”

Leon snuggled back into you as your fingers entangled themselves back into his hair, “I love you.”

“I love you more.” 

[chowadoe]

so more on that role reversal au...

Shadow (created as a Weapon Against Humanity) who was eventually raised, and exploited, by G.U.N to become Humanity's Ultimate weapon and Sonic, found by Robotnik

some more expanded thoughts below ^_^

SHADOW - G.U.N AGENT

Shadow was initially created with the intention of being a Weapon Against Humanity. after a life-altering incident, G.U.N. takes Shadow into their custody, raising him to become one of their top agents, exploiting him.

he's constantly under government surveillance... inhibitor rings (developed by G.U.N.) are clamped onto him like a shock collar so he is unable to tap into his full power. (Shadow has neither tested nor does he know the extent of his strength.. he has never tried removing them. G.U.N. is the only one who can remove them.)

the hypocritical method in wanting their weapon (cough trained dog) to exercise and develop restraint on his own terms, and yet forcefully acclimating him.

Shadow’s aware of his past. Definitely struggles with Existential dread about why he’s on Earth and what he was made for. he wants to (and feels like he should) do good, but if he was initially made with destructive intent… is he compensating this way? is this what he really wants? no.. he shouldn't think like that.. Maria would want him to be good..

If not to make the world the better a place, if they still treat his kind as inferior and sometimes, even a threat to the whole human race, does humanity and this planet still deserve its rite for redemption? What is humanity? Is that something he’s capable of, as a weapon of mass destruction?

what is he trying to prove here? His docility? His ability to be obedient and be, by human standards, good? what does that mean in a world that may never accept them, and much less him- a synthetic and all-unnatural organism forged from humanity’s worst and an alien race only capable of Evil and wrongdoing. a being so perfectly suited for any and all forms of persecution. Humankind’s scapegoat. He thinks about Maria.

Maria remains a guiding light. Back then, she would sneak Shadow out to gaze upon the Earth, her former home. She misses it, the lush greenery, the sun, the people. she hopes that Shadow will get to experience what it’s like.

au shadow is emo edgy in a sad wet adult 40yo cat leon kennedy kind of way. au sonic is emo edgy like a 14yo that found out you could buy a tattoo gun on amazon without a license. I know nothing about resident evil

when he's not on a mission, he's usually in his "room" (extremely generous word for containment chamber/training facility.) he's like a hamster in a cage with toys to play with . (treadmills. race tracks. dummy robots. Ak-47s.) He's allowed to freely roam HQ from hours 6am-10pm, and if not, he is usually escorted by a guard, unless its Rouge sneaking him out. But beyond that, it's not like the ultimate lifeform needs that much sleep, and it'd be bad to have their ultimate weapon roaming the halls without supervision. but let's say there's the occasional nocturnal scavenger providing him a bit of nightly mischief that even the most complicated most difficult to navigate ventilation system cannot keep a natural-born burrower out..... (haha)

SONIC - ACCOMPLICE

Robotnik’s “accomplice” (adoptive son?)

Sonic goes along with Robotnik’s schemes but has his own ulterior motives .. after all, working under someone is still infringing on his sense of freedom, independence, and pride.

He only rlly helps out Robotnik out if it helps him… robotnik makes some new tech that tickles his , esp if smth that happens to enhance his existing abilities. sure he’s more than capable of doing things on his own but what’s better than to play with his new toys with his already existing toys (GUN. shadow.)

and if he manages to break them in a day then he’s found an issue that robotnik needs to troubleshoot immediately. eggman should really be Thanking him!

his only known goal atm is to find things that stave off his boredom. from what Shadow's gathered at least. but maybe there's more...

has a very bad No Good Fixation on shadow's inhibitor rings for whatever reason. wonder that could mean.

Still fucking around with roles and nothing's rlly set in stone. Im just kind of giggling kicking rocks and throwing pebbles in the water to see what lands ^q^

Rouge is still there! A contractor for G.U.N. A Recovering/reformed Jewel thief who joins the task force (maybe?) 

the gang is also there! still brainstorming roles though. emrmmm

[lacontroller1991]

Feo, Fuerte y Formal (The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x F!Reader)

Main Master List || Misc Master List

Summary: Cooper sees you again for the first time in over 200 years

Warnings: 18+ Strong Language, Sexual Suggestions, Divorce, Canon Typical Violence

----------

Feo, Fuerte, y Formal. Words Cooper Howard spoke over 200 years ago back when he was at the height of his career. Back when he had a profitable career, a beautiful home, and a beautiful family. He had fame, wealth, and a future. Until it all came crashing down. When Vault-Tec had initially dropped him from their promotional team, he was relieved, glad to be done with the corporation that was planning the destruction of the world, but with Vault-Tec dropping him, Barb did too. Once Barb found out why her Pip-Boy was acting strangely, she had it double checked by the science division to confirm her suspicions before taking it to Cooper to confront him. His mistake was that he denied he had anything to do with it. If he had lied about this, what else has he been lying about? Yet, it was mutual. Both were caught destroying the very core of their marriage, trust.

The divorce was quick to follow. Despite having the best lawyer he could find, Barb had Vault-Tec, and Vault-Tec could buy out anyone, leaving him with a whopping sum of $30,000 - compared to his net worth of 2 million - and Roosevelt. 

Of course with the biggest name in the country dropping him from their team, his agent promptly dropped him, blacklisting him from Hollywood, ending his career. His one way of making money was no longer profitable. In a way, he was relieved. Hollywood wasn’t what it used to be. It used to be a beacon of hope, a place for everyone, the American Dream. What a load of bullshit. 

If there was anything to make it all tolerable, it’s the time he got to spend with Janey and you. You had come into his life when he wasn’t looking for it. Your bar had practically become his home, but when you got tired of seeing him drunk as all get out and passed out on the bar you quickly offered him a couch to sleep on at your place, and the rest was history. 

Until the bombs dropped, and everything changed. Again. Cooper doesn’t know exactly how he survived. He doesn’t know if it was sheer rage keeping his heart kicking, or if it was the drive to find you or Janey. He knew Janey was somewhere in a vault, safe with Barb, but had you been lucky enough to secure a spot in one, or were you part of the 90% that didn’t have the means to afford a spot.

200 years later and he still doesn’t know. 

Feo, fuerte, y formal. He has ⅔ of them on his belt. Ugly and Strong. Long ago are the days where he was dignified, not that he gives two shits. He did initially. His handsome features quickly hollowed out with his hair coming off in chunks, giving him a ghastly appearance. It took some time to get used to, but after 50 years, he learned not to care. Not like there were people lining up to be with him anyways. If anything, his ghoulish features gave him an edge in everything he does. No one really tries to mess with a 200 year old bounty hunter who has zero qualms about skinning you and eating you, alive or dead. Still, it’s lonesome walking the wasteland without anyone by his side, whether he likes to admit it or not.

The town is quiet by this time of night. From his best guess of the moon in the sky, it’s a little after 1 in the morning. Walking along the streets, he eyes the closed vendors, save for one on the corner. Piquing his interest, he stalks over to the stand, eyes focusing on the elder woman in a pair of dirty coveralls.

“Get lost Ghoul, before I kill ya.” It’s a threat that he doesn’t doubt that she’d act on. Taking a step closer to the stand, he raises his hands, eyes trained on the way she inches closer to the gun undoubtedly hiding below the counter. 

“I ain’t here to cause you any trouble. Was wondering if you had some vials.” Slowly, he places some caps on the counter. He still has four vials, but having more never hurts.

“I done told you,” the lady cocks her gun, pointing it at his head but he’s unfazed, “get lost ghoul.”

“Now Janet, is that any way we talk to customers?” The additional voice causes Cooper to freeze in his spot, his blood turning to ice. That voice, it sounds familiar. A woman moves from behind him to next to him, leaning against the counter. You’ve got to be kidding me. If his heart hasn’t beaten since everything went to shit, it sure is now. 

“We have strict rules, just because you’re special doesn't mean you can tell me what to do.”

Watching from the corner of his eyes, he rakes your body up and down as you sigh. You don’t look a day over the last time he saw you and you still have that radiant aura about you. He surely has to be hallucinating. 

“It’s your store, but wouldn’t you like more money? He’s obviously not feral, just help him out. For me?” Cooper watches as you bat your eyelashes with a smile while the older lady grumbles ‘fine’ and reaches into a bag, shoving vials onto the counter. 

“You owe me big time missy.” With a smile, you take a hold of the vials, nodding your head in appreciation.

“Of course Janet. Just let me know when you want to cash in that favor.” Grumbling again, Janet scowls at Cooper before slamming the window shut and turning off the light. “Here you are. Don’t normally see new folks around this area.” Cooper tilts his head lower, allowing the cowboy hat to cover his eyes as he takes the vials from your hands, your soft looking hands. Oh how he misses those hands. Without a word, Cooper shoves them into his coat pocket and turns around, wanting to get the hell out of there before you try and make more conversation. There’s no way it’s her. She’s been dead, long dead, he thinks to himself, footsteps making a quick pace but you catch up to him, stopping right in front of him with a hand to his chest, causing him to growl. “I understand you probably want to carry on for the night, but why don’t you rest for the night? I have a couch in my living room and some fresh water. I don’t know if ghouls drink water, but I have some.”

He halts for a minute, his hat still covering his eyes and he sincerely hopes that your hand can’t feel his heart beating through his chest. She’s still too pure for this world. “Ain’t you scared imma eat ya?” 

“Pfft no. If you do then oh well. If there’s anything I’ve learned in this world, it’s to take things as they come.” With each passing moment, he feels his resolve breaking. He’s spent years looking for you, and here you are, offering him a place to crash like the first time. Is he going to deny you this time? “Just for the night?”

Sighing, he thinks about it for a moment. He’s ugly now and burnt, there’s no way you would remember him. “If it’ll get you to shut the fuck up.” 

----------

“Welcome to my humble abode. It’s not much, but with how shitty this planet is, I say it’s pretty nice!” Cooper takes a second to look around. It’s not like your previous apartment with sturdy colorful furniture and plants in the windowsill with Cash playing on the radio, but it’s still oddly, you. Barely noticing your disappearance, your reappearance in front of him causes him to lightly jump. How the hell did he not hear you? “Sorry to startle you. I brought some blankets.” “I don’t need blankets,” he grumbles, eyes still hiding behind his tipped hat, one that you wore from time to time when you would roleplay with him. From behind the rim, he watches as you shrug your shoulders, setting the blankets down on the couch before clapping your hands.

“Don’t blame ya. It’s hot as hell out there. Can I get you any food? Water?”  His eyes follow your frame as you pull out a chair from underneath the table, gesturing for him to sit while you grab food from the cupboard, fixing him what seems to be a PB&J? 

“Why are you being nice? Nice people get killed up here.”

“Believe me, I can handle myself. I’ve killed. It’s hard not to up here.” You set the plate down in front of him, taking the seat to his right. Picking up the sandwich, he inspects the bread, hesitantly taking a sniff before taking a bite, moaning softly as the creamy texture of peanut butter balances out with the fruity jelly. Did PB&J ever taste this good?

“Where the hell did you even get this stuff?” You shift in the seat next to him, crossing your arms while he munches on the sandwich. Fuck, he misses actual food. “Stole it from a vault.”

“A vault?” It’s abrupt. She’s been in a vault this whole damn time? 

He can tell that he struck a sore spot, but now he’s too intrigued. Seeming to notice that he won’t drop the subject, you let out a sigh, cracking your knuckles. “Yep. I was there when the bombs dropped. Went to my dad’s house to check on him but he dragged me with him to a vault and put me in a cryogenic pod. Woke up two years ago, found out some fucked up things, left with a shit load of food and weapons, never looking back. I mean… the stuff down in the vault… FUCKED up.” 

Cooper leans forward, swallowing the rest of his PB&J. “Go on.”

“Well, different vaults have different experiments. Mine was an interconnected vault but something always seemed off. Now I get being nice to your neighbors or whatever, but there is no reason the people in that vault were that nice. It’s like they were overly optimistic. So weird.”

Cooper huffs out a laugh, memories of you always supporting him no matter what flooding through his brain. “You were always optimistic.” The words slip out of his mouth causing the both of you to freeze. Internally cringing, Cooper wishes that he was strapped to the tip of a nuclear bomb and exploded, 20 times over.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” He can feel your eyes raking over him, trying to make a connection and he wonders if you have yet or not.

“Not until today.” Shoving the plate aside, he quickly gets up and makes a move toward the door but he has to give credit where credit is due. You’re fast and standing in his way, gun cocked and aiming at his head.

“Not so fast cowboy, who the fuck are you and how do you know me?” He avoids making your gaze but you’re unrelenting. 

“I ain’t no one, you’d be wise to let me leave.” He tries to move past you again, but you block his path, using your gun to knock off his hat, revealing all of him to you, his hazel eyes meeting yours, causing you to gasp. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. She knows. “I can explain.”

The gun decocks with a soft click and drops to the floor, a pair of arms flinging themselves around his shoulders, dragging him into a soft body. She’s even softer than I remember. It takes everything in Cooper to not sink in your grasp. It takes everything in him to not take you in his arms and make up for lost time. 

“I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were too. You still making it a habit of inviting strangers into your house?” His arms hang by his side, not daring to return the hug, afraid of what would happen if he did. Seeming to take the hint, you let go of him and he doesn’t miss the hurt in your eyes and he wishes he can take it away, but it’s better this way. You don’t want to mess with him. He’s a monster. It’s all he’ll ever be. The Cooper Howard that you know is long gone like the world that you both knew. You deserve someone who doesn’t eat ass jerky. You deserve someone who isn’t addicted to drugs. You deserve someone who doesn’t have one foot constantly in the grave. You deserve someone who is handsome, not ugly.

“Only handsome cowpokes like yourself,” he would smile at your jest, but now he’s insecure. 200 years of living on his own forges him to be as tough as steel, removing any feelings he may have had, but one hour in your presence? It has the old him rearing his head, but a thought creeps in his mind, and he runs with it. Surely you’re mocking him.

Sneering, he takes a step toward you, opening his posture to make him appear larger. “You can’t really mean that. You think it’s funny making fun of me?”

“What?”

“Calling me handsome? I ain’t handsome.” He can tell that you can see right through him and his bravado. He knows that you can see his feelings behind his mask. 

He hesitates as you take a step toward him, hands reaching up to take his face between your palms while his breathing hitches. He hasn’t had tender affection in a while. “Cooper, it’s clear that time hasn’t been kind to you, but if you think that I really care about looks then you’re not as smart as I remember you. When have I ever cared about your appearance?”

“You digged my hair if I can recall.” He tries to play it off, but fails and you know it, so you call his bluff.

“If your skin is this rigid now, I can imagine how the rest of you must be.” He blushes, hard. “I’ve missed you.” He moans softly as you place a lingering kiss against his lips, his arousal growing rapidly in his pants. The kiss ends too soon and you’re pulling away, eyes blown wide as he gets a good look at you. 

“I’ve missed you too. More than you could know. What say we use that couch for reasons other than sleeping?”

“Sounds mighty fine.”

[1800titz]

Chapter 11 of TDIAG ٩(◕‿◕)۶

CW for this one: p in v, semi-public sex, alcohol

WC: 9.4K

PREVIOUS PARTS HERE | WATTPAD EDITION | patreon here

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When Isla crumples into her bed, over sheets tucked tight, edges to corner, her sandals are still on her feet, unshed. They dangle over the edge of the mattress. It entirely slips her mind that she was meant to send Harry a text that she’d gotten home.

You’ll text me when you get home. 

Safe and sound. She feels something wedged between her molars — seaweed, maybe, and the bitter tang of unease. A faze that washes over her tongue as she prongs it out from its enamelized prison. She’s safe and sound, sprawled over linen, and somehow the churning behind her ribcage doesn’t simmer away. 

She’d been instructed to send a message, actually. It’d been a command. The first time is an accident, but she begins to wonder if she’s breaking some unspoken, unagreed upon rule when she airs Harry Realtor’s Good morning text the next day, sidling out of bed to haphazardly attempt taming her mane of sleep-mussed hair for the workday. 

She thinks, it must stipple more into a morally ambiguous territory, rather than a simple sex-rule-disappointment thing, when she notices his Everything okay? message a few hours post her lunch break… and opts to silence his notifications entirely. 

She doesn’t know what she’s running from. Seeing his texts surge through the aether and light her LED alive makes a raw panic curdle her bloodstream, but she’s known for weeks that the leather and chains — an alter ego she’d become well accustomed to — was entwined with the seemingly sweet real estate agent, masquerading. 

Metathesiophobia. That’s what it’s called on the internet. A long word for a throbbing affliction. Harry doesn’t text again. Dissecting the root of the discomfort feels like discomfort in and of itself. 

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There’s a thin partition between girl’s-night-woo and stuffing an empty chasm in your chest with agave tequila. It slides down into a cavity that already burns on its own, incinerated muscle in the vale of her décolletage — her own consequences, skin muggy over the surface even under the flits of the fans hanging overhead. Karmic misfortunes. Isla’s skin would sear if he was here, but how the vug between her ribs seethes without his touch. Pay the dues. It’sa tardy bill tucked under a creaky mattress — there’s a smoldering hole burnt through the center, and springs stick from its charred flesh. 

Salut. 

She takes a swig, sets the glass down, and thumbs at the salt on the rim. The charms on the bangle sway. Miryea wiggles her eyebrows. The void sizzles. The recipe: one part unrequited longing, one part margarita. Isla misses cherries and scorching kisses. 

She’s moping. Probably, she should find a nice guy — kind eyes burnished in bar lights, twinkling, one button undone under his collarbones. The kind of grin that could get her, half-lidded, to forget all about that wallowing hole. She should let him buy her a drink, smooth the pads of her fingers over his warm knuckles when he passes her something citrusy and strong. Kiss him like there’s a mask sealed to his eyes, let him skim her incisors with his tongue. She wouldn’t bite. Good girl. Sir for the night. He’d slot between her thighs, but it wouldn’t mend that rotting lacuna — a bandaid, skin glued to flesh over sweaty bed sheets. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” 

Isla looks. Bandaid isn’t talking to her. He’s tow headed, and leant against the bar, one elbow on the soapstone, wedged in the liminal void between the stools. Miryea does that thing she does, then, that slow, charmingly bemused blink — little old me? She never sleeps with them, but she’ll watch them pull their wallets out and pass cash across the bar, then take their drinks with a friendly curl to her mouth. Miryea doesn’t even bring her card to the bar. 

Isla nearly, actually contemplates finally texting him back. 

It’s funny, the way liquor bottles melt to orbs, glinting in the light when she focuses on the broad array behind the bartender, traipsing and bantering, and lets her eyes rest, lids open. I’m sorry. Blue Moscato, bleary, is a glowy Neptune. Her eyes gloss salty. I miss sleeping with you. She blinks and cobalt reshapes. I miss you. Blue Moscato. It’s just a bottle. 

It’s just sex. 

Isla spares another glance. Bandaid’s choice of shirt is eclectic and unbuttoned just enough to showcase the faint dusting of snowy chest hair adorning the space between his swarthy pecs. 

She thinks they start talking, then. Lime has never felt so glum. He buys Miryea a drink. Isla thumbs more of the salt off, just until the tip is tacky with simple syrup.  

“—Hey.”

She twists her chin. Miryea’s cradling a glass of something green in her palm. 

“Let’s head over there.” 

Free drinks. 

There’s a wall behind the wrought iron staircase — tongue and groove cedar climbs behind the railing, paneling in vertical slats to the ceiling. It splits off a secluded booth. 

It’s a Friday night. All she wants is to be bracketed by Harry’s warm, massive biceps. She wants to nip into the sinew of pumped, onyx etched muscle, at the anatomically accurate sketch of the heart there, and she wants to feel the top row of his front teeth latch on the cartilage of her ear in response. She wants to feel the mirthy rumble in his chest against her back before she hears him hum over gristle; this soft, muffled roll grounding with the same energy of bare toes wiggling at the edge of a muddy littoral. Instead, there’s a pending hangover. And anyways, this nightlife does little satiate her nightlife penchants. The gaping hole between her ribs throbs. It’s still sort of burning from the margarita that she holds onto. She imagines it’s unlikely that she’ll find a bandaid big enough to paste over the ache. Probably, she’ll end the night sobbing into her pillow. And maybe Isla needs a good fucking cry. 

She always needs a good fucking cry — that’s the entire basis of her membership, of masks and mean hands prodding at her skin, pinching, twisting, smacking, fill the void. Fill the void. Fill the void. 

He’d wedged into that gap, curling, pried her ribs apart and stuck his hands in. It’s just empty now because she’s pushed him out. 

Isla blinks hopelessly at the little circle of Bandaid’s friends, a plait of lively camaraderie coiled around a steatite tabletop. The stem of the glass nearly splinters in her fist. There’s something pleated into the coterie — it’s got hands the size of baseball mitts with elegant piano fingers and the shading of an anatomical heart on its sleeve. Those colossal hands cushion a lowball glass in a new coat of red. 

Harry’s head is turned to the side. 

He’s loose. Lax. A trio of buttons in linen undone — which is one more than Blond Bandaid. In good spirits, if the blithe smile cresting his pink mouth — in response to something a friend has said — and the serenely planate state of his brow bone is indicative. At least, just up until the point where her silhouette catches in his peripherals, hanging fire like a stunned deer in the middle of a one lane road with headlights veering from behind a thicket. A clangor echoes in the depths of the cavern, bleedy.

Two weeks is enough, apparently, to forget what it feels to be the focus of those eyes. The revelation is enough to punch breath from her lungs. They’re sizzling. 

If her presence is enough to throw him off kilter, he’s absolutely perfected the art of not letting it show. Green roams, but there’s nothing insightful in the breadcrumbs. He regards her in the way a stranger ogles a pretty thing that he’ll never approach from across the room in a fuggy bar — a one-over that loiters on shapely hips from a distance, a piece of patchwork in the quilted night, before the stranger’s eyes retire. It nearly makes her bristle. She’s earned apathy. Her phone is a brick in her pocket. 

Harry looks …well. Suspiciously, which spurs the bristling. Unaffected, nearly. Expecting something different feels selfish, but it doesn’t appear that he’s been moping nearly a fraction of the amount Isla has. Is. He takes a slow slip of clear liquor, and the ice bristles in the glass, clinking as it sloshes, in her favor. 

Bandaid clears his throat. He’s initiating introductions — motioning past an awestruck Isla Cleery. Her counterpart is much more in the element to milk free drinks.

“Miryea.” 

And he lists names, clockwise. Isla doesn’t catch any, doesn’t particularly care to, besides the name she already knows so well. It lives on the tip of her tongue, burning hot, waiting for the opportunity to fly off the muscle at every inconvenient moment when they’re donning masks and fucking. 

Miryea teeters on her heels and waves, chin dipping with the acknowledgement of each man, and Isla only recognizes she’s still ogling Harry when Bandaid motions to her. There’s an awkward pause when his tone wears this dubious edge — an implication that he’s in need of her assistance that’s mottled by her inattention. 

“Isla,” she supplies, mouth melding into that midway forced, polite variation of a smile. Close-lipped, the kind she’d share as a kid at cocktail parties with a parent’s palm pasted over her shoulder. 

Harry’s eyes don’t wander, then. Not even for a second. It’s a peculiar kind of gravity; she to his eyes and his eyes to …her. 

“Isla,” Bandaid parrots, like he’s tasting the emphasis of her name. 

He sticks a hand out. It dwarfs her own in its grasp — she settles into something firm; habitually professional. And then—

Bandaid raises the back of her palm to his mouth for a chaste kiss.

“Sam. Very pleased to meet you.” 

Her eyes skirt. He’s watching, but his features speak nothing. Instead, he brings the glass to his mouth and tips. Seal it with salt. In her peripherals, Harry disengages into conversation. The line rends. 

Sam isn’t inherently a heinous looking guy. In fact, most would deem him conventionally attractive. Sharp, chiseled. Symmetrical, and all that. Attractive on the biological scope, where the sake of attraction depends on indicators of good health. He’s got symmetry, she thinks. And he doesn’t fit Sir.

If Isla had anticipated that girls night would involve tucking into a booth with the source of the gnarled cavity in her chest, she’d have opted for wine coolers over Love Island reruns in the safety of her living room.

She doesn’t quite know how it happens — the way Miryea strays from Sam’s arm to opposing eye candy. This one’s more her type, with dark, close set eyes and a perennial brooding to the shape of his features. She curls up in his corner, batting her lashes as precedent to every word out of his mouth, and as consequence, Sam sets his sights on the only other sweet, pretty thing seamed into the booth. Quiet, hands in her lap with this gaze that roams off in what’s nearly a flighty panorama. 

He tucks his cheek into his palm, and drums the back of a short nail over his tumbler. It clinks. 

“What do you do, Isla?” 

She looks up and blinks like the precipitous glare of the spotlight has stunned her back, tethered from floating in the aether. 

“I’m a paralegal.” 

His eyes crest — almost like intrigue, and sallow lashes sweep when he blinks and stirs, “Paralegal. You’re a …sophisticated woman.” 

Sam plays it nonchalantly. He doesn’t stare at her tits — doesn’t linger in the naked flesh that sunders dark fabric, the bare vale that starts at her neckline and peaks above her navel. He doesn’t even try to look. But she can see it in his face. Like he can be the balm to the wound. Let me in. 

It only takes a second, a fleeting glance to find a different set of eyes. Jade boring from across the soapstone. They’re sharp, flinty like talc. A hide of green snakeskin and fingers perpetually flexing over an invisible, clandestine whip. Or, maybe, the neoprene padding of a leash handle. He’s practically tugging on the phantom of it across the table.

Isla swallows. 

Envy. 

He’s jealous. 

The tick in his jawline, like a vicious maw waiting to bite — the way his thumb smears over the rim of his glass and his forefinger taps the crystalline body. One, two. 

Three. 

The way he pastes his gaze to his drink — a crick in his neck like he’s wryly amused. 

It dawns on her, then. The searing from across the table dissipates any prior nonchalance so suddenly, Isla wonders if she’d been entirely imagining that Harry was ever distant or carefree. He’s stewing over the flame of this show — Sam toeing at the hedging, an islet that bears the imprint of another man’s teeth. He raises the glass to his lips and rolls a mouthful of something bitter and sharp. Contemplating. Isla can’t tell if the grimace that comes after is the result of liquor heating his taste buds or the sight of Sam, half-lidded in flirtation, anticipating her response. 

He spits it like barreled oak turned sour behind his lips, but it’s light. Easy, like jabbing at a friend. A man doesn’t tell a friend not to piss where he pisses with a foaming snarl, after all. 

“She doesn’t want to fuck you.” 

Sam raises his eyebrows, almost stunned by the insert. It flees quickly, though. Stains over with smarmy indignation. The kind from a friend to a friend. His laughter catches on a scoff. 

“Fuck off.” 

Harry is the wingman of the century. 

She sets her three-quarters nursed marg onto the table, jaw set when her gaze splits to the emphatically apathetic shaping of Top Tier Wingman’s features. He runs the tip of his index over the lip of his glass like he’s smug to cockblock. She hopes his choice of company has no interest in spiking her beverage. 

“I’m going to— go. I have to…” Isla settles on nothing, lamely. It sort of miffs her more. 

Her face crinkles as she stands and makes a beeline for a hallway where she knows she’ll find a restroom. It’s a single use, and the blessing of her night comes in the form of no line. Two doors parallel each other, and she slips in through the screeching crack of one, doused by borderline desperation. 

It’s quieter here. Still loud in her head, but quieter. The same sensual track leaks from covert speakers, bumping with bass. Tinny, like it’s played through the other end of a phone — and the high’s worn off, the depths of her buzz quelled by him. It still spumes through her veins, but Harry always was a sort of sobering experience. Except, he made her float. Her lungs feel like they’re sinking, shrinking into the boundless black hole of the cavity. Isla stares back at the madwoman in the mirror and opens the Calm app. 

Breathe. Hold that breath. A knock seeps, stemming from the opposite end of the heavy-set door. Four seconds. She eyes her reflection. There’s a knot of emotion in the pit of her tummy — she thinks her innards are coiling, sloshed with tequila and margarita mix, and it’s a brutally nauseating combination. 

“Occupied.” 

It might feel strange at first, but it’ll feel more natural with practice. Someone raps their knuckles against steel, more purposeful. She sets her phone onto the sink and screws her eyes shut. The guided meditation is still playing when she sniffs, twists at the knob, and tugs open the door, half-expecting to tell a drunk person off for their lack of patience. 

The animation of a sun rocks happily over the LED, riding the blue wave of symbolic inhale, like twisted irony. Hold that breath for four seconds. In her loose-gripped balk at the sight that greets her, Harry slinks through the crack like rain through a gutter. 

Words fail. They’re useless, substanceless things that do little to salve over the chasm when he leans back against the door, slipping it shut under his weight. His arm skulks behind, with little subtlety, and clicks the lock back into place.

Hold. Let it go. 

Isla scrubs a hand over her face and launches another frantic one in the direction of the smartphone, still blaring the script of a mucked up, guided meditation. Harry blinks, sticks a ring-adorned hand into the pocket of his slacks, and unveils a little pin of a key. His eyes are still serpentine — whetted like the scales of a viridian snake, and somehow, they’re softer than they’d been. They flit from her face to her wrist and back. She’s still cuffed in golden love shapes and emblematic adoration cleaved. 

“Do you want this, or are you just opting to get it sawed off?”

That’s— not the conversation started she’d been expecting. Her cheekbones teem with a parabolic warmth. This shame doesn’t feel good. 

“Um. Yeah, I’ll take it. Thank you.” 

She’s guarded the way acreage is girdled by barbed wire, post to post, its razor sharp teeth spearing to a soft touch. Harry notes it in the way she tenses when he prompts, taking a step, “Let me help you.” 

She does stick the joint out in his direction, though, almost hesitantly; at first like a testy child, and then with the energy of a flighty, cornered mammal. Instead of hissing from her corner, there’s silence as her eyes roam everything in the space but his stature. 

“Was the date that bad?” Harry tries, eventually, fingers curling over bone. 

The pin turns in the keyhole. Clicks. Green flickers up, then back to the bangle as he wrests it apart. A crinkle forms between his brows — the void between her ribs expands and falls, as if making room for something breathing in the depths. Hibernating. 

“Because I thought it went well, but if I did anything to offend you and I misunderstood, I’m sorry.”

Her voice would be wet, probably, if she wasn’t still so riled. It comes out quiet, the next thing — under her breath, face tipped down like a kid mid-chastise. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

Despite the weight of the words, her voice is low, almost like a sinner whispering in a confessional. It’s rage soft spoken — the blistering sear. She does her best to curb the tremble in her fingers; his warm digits brush her skin in a way that she hasn’t felt in weeks, and the small contact feels like the nostalgia of diamorphine. He could pry her ribs apart with his hands, traipse over trails of veins wandering in a two-fingered saunter, and still find home. 

Harry pauses. His eyes are sharp again, that bladed edge whittling. He peers up from his handiwork. 

“Pardon?” 

“The— you know what,” Isla looks at him. Really looks at him. “You pretend you don’t even know me, and then you try to— what? Mark your territory?” 

Metamorphose. Something smugly sneering rears, something ugly and viridian, probing out; it starts in the shapes of his brows, crinkling them until they’re reborn in a self-satisfied smoothness. It lingers to his mouth; a flash of teeth. His eyes. 

“He wanted to get his dick wet. Did you wanna help with that, sweetheart?” 

Inhale. Isla blinks. It dissipates, curdling back like an eel that’s met a wall of halite. His face softens, sours, downturned to quarry tile. 

“You stood me up,” Harry reasons, wagging his head in denial, “You did that, not me. Why would I act like we’re anything more when you…” 

Hold that breath for four seconds. It’ll feel strange at first—

“You’re playing games,” Isla argues, hands motioning wildly before raking back through her hair — the bracelet is grasped out in his palm, now, and he’s watching her, expressionless, before the features there twist, “You’re— you— blending the lines, into— into—“

The richness of the insult is practically gilded, Harry thinks wryly. He imagines it entrapped in a tomb of gems. “Games? I’ve always been upfront, darling. You wanna talk about games? 

Isla sets a hand onto the sink, uncuffed, and watches where the bangle is fisted by knuckles that aren’t quite white. Yet. 

“—Like the ones you played — crossing limits with no prior discussion. Kissing me? You want to talk about blending the lines?” 

Her face creases.

“Oh, Christ, Harry. Okay,” she feigns placating, hands motioning as if to counteract the seething spitfire of her cadence, “I’m so sorry I broke the contract—“

“Oh for fuck’s sake, this isn’t about the bloody contract—“

“—Without being your good, little pet and asking permission, first.” 

Isla’s always been like spitfire — a cannon biding, full of soot and char. It’s always been a welcome development; the burn was always a pleasant warmth radiating. Somehow, he’s always felt like the carbon dioxide to her flame. This, though, feels like kerosene, and Harry’s no idea when her pellets grew fangs. 

She watches it in live action — the way his topography alters like colorful emblems sifting through a slot machine. Appalled. Sore. Detached. There’s an impasse in the space between their atoms, slick over the tile like dirty mop water. 

He barely looks her way when he outstretches the bangle and its companioned key, and he sounds like defeat personified when he tells her, eerily calm, “Alright. This is yours.” 

Isla doesn’t take it. Not at first. Harry doesn’t say a word. The words rot in his throat.

“It’s yours,” she counters, instead. 

She’s never seen the man so pacific, not to canon balls kissing his skin, as when he wrenches her loose fist apart with his own fingers. Hands it off like she doesn’t belong in his warm palm. Not any shred of a remnant. 

“Pawn it if you want.” 

Her lungs crackle. The torrid pit hisses as the tip of the blade twists. She slumps against the wall. The bracelet and the pin dangle in a loose grip crossed over her front. She can’t even manage a flimsy smile, and this feels like a poignantly hysterical margin to their chapter. A last page in a poky bar restroom. 

“So. This is it?” 

His mouth is a line — straight and unwavering. It parts to parallel. Seams together. There’s the coppice of an all consuming forest fire in his gaze (something left to smolder) when Harry declares (it’s an answer), “…I never treated you like that.” 

“…You’re right,” Isla says. She ogles her sandals, dipping her chin in agreement.

Harry rests a hand on the knob. He doesn’t swivel the lock. 

“You didn’t. I’m just—“ Isla nods. “You didn’t.” 

Harry gnaws into his cheek, nods back all slow-like. 

“…It was a good date.”

“I’m glad you had a nice time.” It’s not clipped. Just tired. Impartially …adjusted. The chasm heaves, bleeding over. 

The cavity could swallow her whole. She imagines it eating away at her from the inside-out as the door clicks and she peers up to find emptiness as her company; suckling at her marrow and gnawing at soft tissue as the tips of her digits judder over her phone for an uber. Her tongue draws over her lips. Saline mingles with credence. 

“I was scared,” Isla blurts. She’s not nodding anymore — she shakes her head down at the toes of her copper leathered shoes. 

She searches for the words in the gap — a pregnant pause that stifles his patient palm, curled at the door. Her shoulders heave on the nervous breath that her lungs expel, so much so that the words seep out saturated by the tremor. “I was scared— about. Blurring the lines. I was scared because the club is one thing, Peitho is one thing, and… I’m so different. When there’s no masks, there’s… feelings. And, I don’t know.”

The bare shapes of his face soften; the plush of his mouth, the chisel to his jaw. She misses it, still trembling down at her slip-ons like gearing to wrack with sobs; shedding denial. It wades up her vocal chords. Flees its prison. Every word she’s managed to swallow down for a long duration of two weeks bobs gracelessly from the depths. 

“I was wrong. I was so wrong, I’m sorry I did that to you. But I have feelings for you, and I can’t stop thinking about you, and seeing you here—“

He bleeds around her like watercolor smearing through the bounds of predetermined charting — a warm orange weeping into azure; chilled ring bands contouring a warm brush at the crest of her cheekbones. Slinking up her jaw, the pad of a thumb under her eye socket, a forefinger at her scalp, tucking hair. 

“—It’s— it—“

“Hey,” Harry croons, “Hey.”

He doesn’t tell her he hates to see her cry. 

“I’m—“

“Hey. S’alright. It’s okay,” he laves at the palpable symptoms of the wound; her broken visage where a thumb swipes over a crinkle in her brow bone, a lash line globbed with frantic emotion, smearing makiage. 

He scorches her veins with his touch — it spumes through like his warm press is a catalyst for a sweltering wave of dopamine. Words morph as a strawberry mouth ghosts over her cupid’s bow. Okay, it’s alright, hey. She purses her mouth against a thumb sweeping over a wet frown; mouths at it. Chiaroscuro is this — soft pledges, the pad of a thumb grazing a front tooth in the top row. It’s okay. Rolling into the gap until it wrests apart. Hey. Pressing to her taste buds. There's thunder behind her ribcage. He could lick up her pulse point and feel it; probably senses it in the tip of her tongue. A mid-spoken kiss on salt when his thumb meddles out, daubs the edge of her lips, slicks over her cheek with spit. 

He could strum her like a guitar, Isla thinks, crawl up her ribs with his fingers, coddle the column of her throat with his hand and she’d sing the prettiest tune. He knows it; a string snaps when her hands roam up the firmness of his torso. Come here, little thing. You’re already marred by my teeth.

They traipse from the wall, each step slotting toe to toe like puzzle pieces sticking into notches and grooves where they fit, mouths meshed with his broad hands splayed over either side of her skull. Those belong, too. 

“Are we doing this?” Harry sighs against her mouth, stirred heady like he already knows. There’s fingertips toying at his belt buckle. She nods into his grasp, hedonistic when she stuffs the bangle into his pocket. 

And then—

He tells her, “Beg.” 

His eyes are sharp again; the swinging tip of braided kangaroo leather. It wags, ominous; talc skates feature to feature, drinking in the falter the way he’d been sipping on Casamigos.

“I—“

“Beg—” Harry parrots, cool fingertips curling over the nape of her neck, thumb smoothing up at the little space of skin under her ear; a minor affection. Her eyes mingle on his mouth. “—Me to fuck you. Beg like you deserve it.”

Isla swallows. Garbles a plea out, riding the rail of a mewl. The fond graze under her ear mutates, a light scrape with the butt of a blunt nail first and then tenebrose squeezing at her jawline. The cup of his hand draws divots into the flesh of her cheeks, makes something burning slosh in the trench of her belly and claw up her chest when her breath catches. Harry tips his head, and despite the stifling firmness of the motion, the polarity of his tone makes her lashes flutter. Lighter, softer. 

“Come on, pet. Better than that. Convince me.” 

Her mouth parts. She leans into him like his words have given her a headrush, and the brush of his lips to her own will mend and stabilize. He lets her, but he doesn’t meet her in the middle, cocking his head back. The space between them wanes. 

“Please fuck me. Please.”

It’s a poor kind of attempt — wouldn’t pass in the Dungeon where his eyes would skirt, in slits, and shapes of muscle would wallow in the jaundiced light of a single lantern overhead. It works well enough, though, here. 

In a split second, they’ve rearranged. Spun like cards passed counter-clockwise over a table. Eros meets her in the mirror. Unveiled, he basks in a yellowed glow from the light, chin tucked over her shoulder. Isla watches emerald embers caper from the echoes of their profiles, to the side of her face as he eases hair back behind her ear, and back. 

“Look so pretty,” he murmurs, low against her cartilage, and the plume of his breath makes her bones ache. She’s pliant, a marionette in his grip; there’s a rather large hand that fondles over her throat like a meaty collar. The other trails up her torso, skimming at the bare flesh hungry fingertips find. A set of eyes flickers to the mirror. She meshes with them in the reflection. Drowns. “Look at you. All dolled up. Pretty, pretty girl.” 

His grip over her windpipe isn’t harsh — not to the extent she’s felt the same grasp linger there before. Despite that, the headrush from it, like oxygen atoms simmering down from her veins on their poor uptake, spurred by his words, feels like he may as well be carrying her by the neck. 

“Who’d you wear this for?” 

It’s grit out through the cracks of his teeth, a cheek flush to her hair when he smooths his free hand down her tummy and climbs back up to finger at the hem of the plunging vale. “Not for me.” 

Her lashes flutter back at her from the mirror on a heavy inhale. He admires the two of them. A perfect match, lit aflame. His fingers slink and dance over a sliver denuded as he wrenches the valley, between fabric, down her diaphragm wider. 

“Wanted to look all pretty for someone? Some nameless, walking cock?” Harry murmurs, pleased when he sees the twitch in her brows — disagreement — and feels the jut of her chin all the way from the base of her throat where his hand rests, a minute side-to-side. “Hm? Have them fuck you in the bathroom like a dirty whore?”

Her next swallow catches, cornered by his palm in its esophageal prison. 

“Maybe… Sam?” 

“No,” Isla spurns. 

“No?” It’s soft condescension, glazed in it and unconvinced, “But that’s what you want, isn’t it? You kiss me—“

An achy roll welters up her spine, ridging up through her rib cage when he tweaks a budding nipple poking through polyester and linen. 

“—Put your hands all over me, like you’re desperate,” Harry tells her, a smooth baritone of molasses that permeates her eardrum, and his voice grows quieter when he smushes closer, like he’s desperate himself to croon the filth. Nearly grazes the gristle there with his blocky teeth, “Like you’ve wanted to get fucked in the bathroom all along. Did it make you desperate, baby? Missing me?”

His slacks (Italian wool blend) feel grainy against her backside when he shimmies the hem of her dress (bodycon) up and over — just up the side to its lopsided demise, one hip sweltering out bare for a peek of a black thong and the other still clad in a sloping border. Like fibers that shouldn’t coexist with skin, shouldn’t cumber flesh on flesh. He wedges a thumb under the patent string of the thong, tows it back like the digit is a lever, and smooths a plane of four fingers tucked together, bumpy nooks, down the puffy bud of a nipple sticking through fabric. Snaps. Like rubber braced to her wrist, the elastic piece at her hip sends a tremor through her knees. Harry traces the outline of her cunt, over her panties, with a middle finger and wrests back one side of her neckline. Then, the other, to scrape the nail on his thumb over a bare nipple. The reflection that meets her in the mirror is in sordid tatters — partly denuded, a half-dressed doll in his big hands. He toys with its soft skin. 

The hand that’d mounted over her throat meanders to her jaw, jams a thumb in to the edge of her mouth, stretching one corner, gripping bone and snaking over wet teeth. She puffs warmth into his palm; his skin tastes like kismet. 

“Could’ve spent so much time bouncing on my cock by now,” Harry tuts. Sighs. “Open.”

Then — Good girl. His lips smear over the crest of her cheekbone before he turns to the mirror and sloppily burrows a set of three fingers against her tongue so unceremoniously, she nearly gags posthaste, brows pinching and eyes skirting up to the ceiling. He’s a steady plinth — unwavering nonchalance painting his features — when she rocks back in jarred reflex, neck craning. A sloppy sound crawls from the depths. His eyes flicker, chin pivoting from the mirror to the side profile of pliant acceptance, three fingers deep to the hilt of his rings, a micromosaic goldfinch, a pearl nestled by an aerie of gold. He draws them out, sleek with saliva. 

“Good girl,” Harry tells her again, sounding nearly impressed. Almost.  

There’s a tang on her tongue — regalia, ornaments coiling his digits, tequila, and a top coat over sanguine lacquer. A nakedly ruddy streak of skin by her mouth, where the foundation has blotched away, catches her eye when she folds over the sink with a hand at her nape, a muck of kohl beneath her eye sockets. Isla wonders what the real aftermath will look like. The hand smooths down the shuddery hills of her spine, then prises her dress to rest over the dimples etched into the small of her back. 

The plush of her thighs splays against chilled ceramic. He spreads her apart until she’s practically on display under the flimsy set of strings she’s deemed underwear, nearly everything intimate peeking for its lewd debut, and crushes a handful of flesh until it’s milky under the tips of his (still wet) fingers. Heat flares between her thighs at the bite. 

“What did you miss more, sweetheart…” Harry beckons, blunt cerise clawing into her skin as her brows pleat.

He drags the pad of his forefinger down the stream of tenebrose linen, where her littlest hole spasms at the pressure in passing. 

“…Having your clit played with—“ he toys at the seam of her gusset, pries it off just enough to feel the bare warmth of the bud pulsing under his singular tap. 

She thaws into the sink like tap water spouting when he pulls her panties back over and mingles, prodding a cotton-coated thumb against the rim of her cunt. “Or getting fucked?”

Her arteries thrum with fire. 

“Only enough time for one or the other,” he encourages, eyebrows climbing in the mirror — it feels like a ploy.

Isla’s brows crimp when she answers; he’s still fondling in monstrous callous, and she’s sure her skin will be branded with little crescents at the nip of his blunt, carmine-polished fingernails — sharp borders to a warm handprint over flesh. 

“Two-for-one?” She rocks forward and back, squinty, “…Package deal?” 

Harry hums. It’s mirthy; a paradox to the cruel linger of his touch before he peels off (eyeing the white imprint of bloodrush), and smacks in the same area. Isla tips forward, eyes screwing.

“Package deal…” Harry murmurs under his breath, smoothing over florid skin, sight flickering like a light. 

“You can multitask,” Isla reasons, and she muzzles a squeal with the roll of her lips when he pinches. 

Nothing’s new, Harry finds. It’s pleasant, like the kiss of cement to the wheels of an aircraft, or the view of blue aether and the plume of its clouds. Your feet will always find the same ground, soles shackled by gravity, and you’ll always rediscover the same sky in the roll of the sun. A pillow pasted to the same spot of a couch when the lock clinks open and you regress from a trip abroad. The pith of familiarity. 

“…Getting fucked,” Isla admits, soft like a sinner whispering secrets in a confessional. 

He meets her gaze in the reflection. She’s still squirming, a little, but it’s different now; little juts in response to an absent-minded, featherlight rake of his fingertips over the same area he’d tattooed with his palm. Harry wriggles her panties to the side. She chews into her bottom lip, watching the mirror, all the way up until the precipice; he prods, sweeping a fingertip from her entrance to the hood of her clit, and slick tails it. 

“Then you’ll get fucked.” 

It’s marinated in the pit of her tummy, this sultry ache that teems from her inner thighs to her core and snakes up her midsection, stuffy, and hot. Wanting. Isla watches a backdrop of tile and meaty arms clad by linen work as the teeth of a zipper sunder apart and a button nudges through its slit. She simmers in that familiar broil when his leaky tip probes, slides and aligns. 

Harry feeds his cock into her with little warning, stretching the rim taut, and draws a soft sound that sounds nearly lodged back by her tonsils in volume. 

It’s a pleasant ache, familiar, emphasized by the poignant emptiness of two weeks; a chasm, bristling at her ribcage, born from that emptiness, starved. It aches enough for her jaw to tense as he eases in, sharply watchful in the mirror. Nirvana crackles up his spine — the bliss of this tight squeeze. 

“That’s it, baby,” he soothes, petting at her hip, flickering between watching her sloppy hole split apart over him and her own visage, tension reflecting straight ahead. 

And then—

He’s in to the hilt before she knows, a squelching heat that envelops to his base, nuzzled skin to skin. Isla doesn’t have the same view, but it’s lewd, this welcome sting that bores to her marrow, a deep pressure where he’s tunneled and stuffed his fat cock — the sight of his jaw pornographically unhinged on a soundless groan as he retreats a couple of inches, slick, wet, and nudges back in. Isla hangs her head. 

“Eyes up, Isla,” Harry demands.  

The weight of her name, as his cock bullies into her, prompts her to raise her chin and hone ahead like no other encouragement. Soft dialogue, something with a keen pierce, Isla, Isla, Isla — she’s never heard it before as he’d slotted in between her sticky thighs. She rocks back for more — more, more, more. 

He’s already threadbare in composure. Worn out by the blade of sordid impulse pressing at sutures. He’s being nice to her, petting at her hips, easing in like the spongy warmth doesn’t get his cock throbbing and weepy. Like the lustrous claws of temptation don’t curdle up the blood in his veins, coaxing to sink in and pound — it’s expertise in exercising self-restraint, this genial pace he’s set, inch by inch. 

And this greedy, greedy little thing grinds back against him, unsatiated and ungrateful. 

Then it registers. 

She’s still greedy, so he swats at her from behind (revels in her squeak), but smooths up under bunched fabric after to scrape at bare skin with the pads of his fingers. 

“Oh, you liked that, did you?” Harry cooes, burrowing in til the globes of her ass kiss the stems of his laurels — her pretty mouth pries open into a nirvanic o. “Hearing your name, stuffed full of my cock?”

He prompts, when there’s no response, “Answer me, Isla,” and drags a few inches out and pummels back into her sopping cunt hard. 

“Yes.” 

A whisper. A whine. Confession. 

He sets a pace when her irises are all loose in their sockets, climbing up behind her lids and a fluttery lash line. Drills in something mean, a cruel tempo that rocks her, skin smacking on skin. A resounding coalescence of flesh meeting flesh and vulgar squelches as Harry batters in, bouncing off the walls of a narrow single use restroom. 

She makes little sounds. Little oohs and unphs that he pounds out of her, partly spurred by the laxness of alcohol tiding her blood stream, and partly the way he mercilessly spears her over his shaft. 

Harry folds over her, cups a palm to her curved pout and smushes, hissing, “Be fucking quiet.” 

And still, he doesn’t stop rocking into her, little nudges that frantically jut up against spongy walls and scrape at the spots, deep inside, that she can’t reach on her own. Isla keens into his fingers. 

He stops. 

Only for a moment, posturing up behind her and dragging out all the way until only his tip kisses her rim, breaching only a tad, and then plunges in all the way hard. Brutishly, in a way that fosters a blunt kind of pang she feels to the depths of her joins, snaking plica and curves of bone. Grinding away. 

“You’re going to apologize,” Harry tells her slowly, nudging out, inch by inch, fraction by fraction, pausing midway to bask in the desperate pulse of her sloppy cunt. Don’t go. It ticks the left corner of his mouth up, has him tipping his face up to the ceiling. Smooths out the way he pets her, a clean slate, composed and sharp when their eyes clash in the mirror. 

Harry’s always had it. Lingering in the lull, kissing at the atmosphere between their atoms — a steely character in nonchalant hues. The kind that wordlessly controlled. He pistons in with a jab of his hips, and again, and again. 

He prompts, enunciated, with a pink mouth highlighting the syllables, “I’m sorry—“

A pummel forward and fingers curling over her shoulder — a notch for leverage. It’s a welcome pressure, like the hard kind that dispels a knot long ago lodged in muscle.

“I—I’m sorry—“

“I’m sorry for disrespecting your time—“ 

It’s strained. Vehement and pent. Porcelain digs into her pelvis, and it hurts when he grinds her into it, harder and harder with the momentum of his hips, like rocking forward over a boulder. 

“I’m sorry for—“ the breathy reprise melds with a high, soft sound that creaks from the back of her throat. 

It doesn’t matter — the vista of her ass bouncing over his cock, or maybe her lashline saturating in the mirror… some part of it all has him gnashing his teeth and doubling down. 

“Pardon?” 

Her eyes loll. 

“I’m sorry for disrespecting your— your time,” Isla manages, bobbing over the empty basin. 

“I’m sorry for disrespecting you,“ Harry prompts. It hitches on a soft breath, the kind that’s commonplace when her spongy walls are squeezing, but the flinty snakeskin doesn’t taper. It bores in the mirror, smoldering like viriscent bonfires dancing in his sockets. 

Something spalls. Isla hangs her head, pulsing helplessly over his cock when he bottoms out. Her clit throbs. The words catch in this wet limbo at the back of her throat, churning, either to be swallowed or spit back up. A soft sob climbs from the back of her tongue. 

In return, the hand that’d clawed into her shoulder melts. It’s still there; a gravity that keeps her fettered to porcelain, and epoxy resin, and slick cock between her thighs.

“Alright?” — something that spills out through pants, strained, and at first, it doesn’t even register that he’s asking a question. He’s checking in. Her fingers scrape over the escutcheon. 

It should feel pathetic — it does, when she responds to the sputter, like a slow roll over the brake pedal, in his pace with a low whine and a haphazard roll backwards, if it even counts as that. The nudge doesn’t earn her the same blissful stretch as when he pounds, but it gets him just that much deeper. Just enough to feel him burrow where he belongs. It spumes through every major artery — shame, and it spills into the crest of her cheekbones, ruddy and coated with mascara. He bottoms out— like, really bottoms out. The bleary reflection of a cinch tightens between her brows when he sloppily coils her hair into a makeshift pony over his knuckles, in almost immediate response, and yanks, craning her neck back. 

“Stay still,” Harry hisses. It’s dominion through the cracks of his teeth. Augury, promise, something wound tight. Submit. Her scalp tingles with a familiar sting. “I asked you a question.” 

There’s still hair wrung over one fist when the other hand cradles her throat. The chill of his rings bites. “…If you don’t answer, I’ll stop.” 

“I’m— keep— yes,” she whimpers, agreeing with her chin in juts that makes the throb at the crown of her head radiate.

A fizzle seeps from the unseal of her lips. He lures her head back harder just to sponge a kiss to her temple, another to the wet corner of her eyes. Tastes salt when he pulls off and licks out his mouth. His fingers unweave. 

“…I’m sorry for disrespecting you.”

She only meets green in the mirror for a moment before he angles his hips and sets a nasty tempo with his thrusts, like he fucking hates her, bracketing her hips with his meaty palms, tongue tucked to the backs of his teeth. 

“Yeah, you fucking are.” 

It’s an anchor; this brutality. These fingers sunk into her skin and muscle with iron, the way he spits filth, eyebrows pinched, with little hiccups of breathy grunts and groans splintering his speech. Like clandestine gyves fettering her to the cold press of the sink, his hard grip, her own body. 

She does look the part of a proper, dirty whore getting fucked in a public bathroom of some bar, just like he’d earlier suggested. A strand of frizzy hair dangles over her face — stitches gone loose where skin meets a hairline — swaying with every harsh plunge of his hips. Her eyes are watery, glazed by rapture, a conglomeration of chemicals surging through her bloodstream, coaxed by each and every hard pump from behind. What little residue of ink that’d slicked her lashes lingers in clumps and muddles onto the skin beneath, smoked in sullied smudges. Whore stares back in the mirror; clustered, sopping lashes, a ruddy-tipped nose, the shape of a mouth smeared and wide, tethered between holding his gaze and seeping back behind her skull. A doll that makes noise at the brush of a button when he folds over and his fingers slip between her legs to bully her clit. 

Someone knocks. 

“Be a good girl,” Harry huffs, face creased with fervor as his hips snap and his digits roll frantically sloppy circles over the bud, “and tell them that we’re occupied.” 

All Isla can manage, as he pinches between her legs and pummels in, is a wordless hum through a sealed pink pout, features twisting helplessly; a crinkle to her nose, a downturn at the edges of her mouth. 

“You wanna cum?” Harry sputters to a grind, something that rolls wall to wall and pins, fingers slotting to her clit in a V that runs slick and doesn’t quite hone where she needs it. He murmurs against the shell of her ear, “Hm? S’that what you want?” 

She takes a moment, maybe to process that he’s slowed his priorly cruel rhythm into something crueler, and as his balls grind against her clit, settle over a rigid V, Isla whines and nudges back against him in protest. Then, there’s fingers digging into a lovehandle, sharply, gone altogether as her head is wrangled ahead.

“Fucking look at me. You wanna cum?” 

Her eyes blink open. There’s something feral pasted to her back in the reflection. 

“Tell them we’re busy. Tell them we’re busy, or I'll stop.” 

Another knock from the door paralleling their shapes; antsy knuckles snapping over steel. Slowly, Isla nods. Starts. 

“It’s—“

Harry pulls off and out, snapping his hips forward with little warning. It jolts her into the body of the basin and stifles all progress of semblance. Before her eyes roll back into her skull, she manages to catch the vista of him, devilish, mouth curling in wicked ploy. Isla groans loud enough for the entire hallway to hear. 

“Occupied,” he slams his fist against the door. One knock back for two; no more follow. His eyes veer ahead, “Get yourself off. Want you gushing over me.” 

Her fingers reach her clit with wild hunger, parroting the filthy shapes he’d drawn into her flesh as he plunges in to the hilt, out to head, back — hungry, hungry, hungry. He chases it, the hot squeeze of her pussy tensing over every ridge of a vein, every millimeter he offers. How can he not, to such a sweet embrace? He could strum her like a guitar, his taut string to pluck by a fingertip. She tenses, scrabbling at the sink with one spasming hand, the other drawn where the tips of her digits can brush where they mesh. 

“Oh, fuck— please— can I—?”

Habit. Something he’s nailed into her, time after time, crushed through flesh. Please’s and Thank you’s, Can I’s and May I’s. And now, the sinew has healed around it; this new norm. It furrows in between his pecs, this nasty satisfaction. His. 

“Go on,” he spurs, tempo haywire as she jolts over the sink, like every muscle is washed in electricity, and throbs over his cock. He makes her watch; the way she tips, his fingers tangled in her hair and angling. 

And he chases it harder. Bounding. A precipice in the depths, between her legs. The tide rises, coils up in tsunami from between his laurels. His mouth shapes a gruff garble of her name when he spills, pulsing, burrowing in as far as he can get. 

“Shit,” Harry breathes.

Her head sways and sags when he lets go of her hair, shuddering over the sink and panting. When Harry tucks his way out of her, she clenches like she misses him again. Don’t go. Stay. A little rivulet in cream leaks out, and he brushes it back inside with the pad of a forefinger. 

“Hold it,” Harry demands, but it’s soft, like hands brushing her hair back. He pulls her gusset back over, pleased. 

She’s still shuddering and folded over the sink when Harry tucks himself back into his slacks, petting at the small of her back. He buckles up, pressing the fronts of firm thighs to the naked backs of her own, a sort of grounding to the foundation before he has the opportunity to stroke his hands all over her in gentle respite. 

“Feeling full?” he teases. Strokes his fingertips over her underwear, where the fabric’s begun to grow wet from his release. Isla rocks back in response. Like asking for more, like asking for anchoring. Pull the ship back to the shoreline. 

Harry rolls the dress that he’d bunched up back over her curves, smoothing and sorting her out. That’s what happens now; smoothing the crinkles with a warm press like a plugged iron. It starts at her waist, in the cinch, where he combs his hands up her sides to fondle at the ribcage and the bit of flesh there, and then meanders up her shoulders, thumbing at her nape. 

“Good?” Harry mumbles. There’s a twitch in his mouth at the way she rolls her neck, still silent over the basin, and nods. 

Good sex or good manhandling over her shoulders, thumbs drawing circles beside the vertebrae under her nape, Isla’s unsure. Good…

“M’proud of you,” he tells her. 

It’s a sudden compliment — shatters the silence and has her deltoids and traps stiffening under his palms. It’s like he senses it, probably feels it under his fingers. Isla imagines his brow bone furrowing as she raises her head to look back at him. 

“For what?” 

“For being honest with yourself.” 

She braces against the sink and unfolds into his back, twisting into the caress that climbs up the side of her throat. Harry doesn’t kiss on her, almost like he’s afraid, pending in limbo from the typical. He does drag up over the crest of her cheekbone, though. She eyes the onyx thumb pad that retires. 

“How fucked is my makeup?” 

“Pretty fucked, pet,” Harry tells her, rolling his lips into his mouth as if to muzzle back the beginnings of dimpled grin (she feels she’s been starved of for ages). 

“Fuck.” 

She swivels to catch a glimpse of the madwoman — now, makiage dismembered — in the mirror, but pivots back into the warm press of his hand over the fleshy margin of her cheek when he prompts by unceremoniously grasping at the bones in her jaw. He culls a paper towel, wets it with a flick over the faucet, and runs it over under a socket to catch smudges. Aftercare, in a manner. Something stirs on his face — trickles as a huff of laughter. 

“Fuck,” Harry echoes, sponging over warm, smeared skin, more, more, and then— “I don’t know that I can save this, Isla.��� 

She peers into the mirror. 

“Jesus Christ, what did you do to me?” 

“—Not that much,” Harry reasons, the frame of his arms serving as chocks for her to the basin. He plants his hands on either side from behind, and then raises one to roam up her tummy as she wipes, ruddy skin streaking in patchwork, “…Not even close to the usual."

A balmy heat murmurs through her at the implication and throbs when he tucks his chin over her trapezius, partly shrouded by her hair, and hums, “This is a sexy dress, by the way. Did I tell you that?” 

Isla leans into him. It’s the closest to normalcy she’s felt in the last two weeks. It tapers when she sets the sopped paper at the edge of the sink, scared to ask (splinter the rapture of soles on eggshells, crowding land mines). 

“…What now?”

Harry shifts. His palm no longer strokes over her stomach, but rests on the basin behind her own. Brushes at her wrist with the tip of his pinky when he declares, “I want to see you.” 

Isla doesn’t twist back to face him, or look into the reflection ahead. 

“See me …how?” 

“See you like this. I wanna see Isla.” 

There’s that foggy murk behind her skull, that smog that dazes words, all too familiarly. Harry breathes behind her. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” 

“I was planning to mope.” 

It’s simple. He rocks up behind her, and she imagines a close-lipped smile curling his mouth. 

“Any way you can find a couple of hours somewhere in that busy schedule to see me?” 

Isla blinks and meets him in the mirror. 

“Like a… date?”

“Like a date.” 

She keeps the hand with the towel on ceramic. Lets the mucky wad go to let him wheedle his palm over her own and slot his fingers in the webbed gaps. 

Harry tacks on, “If you’re comfortable with that.”

She wants to turn into his embrace, nuzzle into the broad expanse of his chest and scope the shapes of his features with her fingertips; the slope of his nose, the upturned corner of plush pink below. Ghost over a cupid’s bow. She tilts her head and squeezes over his digits. 

“And what… now?”

“Now, now?”

“Now, now.”

“Now… we,” fingers notch firmer into those gaps — the crevices between her digits longing for his touch the way the oozing cavity in her chest has pined, “—go out there, and you… sit there, look pretty. Pretend you didn’t just get fucked.” 

He swaths her wrist with the bangle; a missing limb, nearly — a piece of her that’d been rived with something the size of a thimble. A piece of him. 

Nobody says a word when they return to the booth. A kind of acceptance — knowing. A sort of respectful retreat in the sideline of Sam’s eyes when he skims and retires. Miryea talks with her eyebrows. Later. It’s even quieter when Isla slips into the nook under his arm, and then something flourishes in the lull. Normalcy. Stable footing. The conversation kicks back up.  

She’s wet between her thighs. Not a pulsating warmth that yearns, but a sticky film of his cum that’s sullied her, tucked up in her underwear. It weeps out over the course of the night. She crosses her legs. Uncrosses them. It seeps, and his hand roams down the small of her back. She coddled by the leather cushion of a booth and him. It purrs in the depths of her chest; something satiated and warm. 

He coils into the chasm with an outstretched offering; a manhattan stacked with a mountain of cherries.

[cumulo-stratus]

They're Ours

(GIF NOT MINE)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Description: My HC's around Spencer and sharing clothes over the course of your relationship.

Warnings: slight nsfw(mentions of sex and others), !!Spoiler warning for season 10!! lemme know if theres anything else!

Flufftober Day 7: Sharing clothes

At the beginning of the relationship (in like season 1/2) Spencer doesn't even realize couple sharing clothes is a thing

like if he would come home late from a case to find you asleep wearing something of his he is kinda confused but finds he loves it

And then in the morning he would ask you about and and you would say you missed him

"your wearing my shirt-"

"I know, I just missed you"

"oh."

I think after around a year Spencer would be super used to it and wears some of your clothes too

like he would totally sneak one of your old college hoodies that are too big for him at the bottom of his go back some times

its the only time he wears hoodies

sometimes he can't wait to just go back to his hotel room and put it on

he just misses you and feels comforted by the familier smell

and after while of things like this you would regularly wear clothes from each others closet, not for comfort- just because they go better with the outfit

And this helped Spencer explore more fun patterns and colors through your clothes without the commitment of buying new clothes

and if you're an agent he would totally give you his FBI jacket

like im imagining you get bashed in the head and get a gash on your forehead while catching the unsub

and Spencer rushes over searching for you desperately

only knowing your injured, but the extent

and when he does find you and sees the goosebumps from the cold breeze he doesn't hesitate to wrap his puffy fbi jacket around you shoulders while the paramedic works on your forehead

Another image I had in my head is like gag gifts

like It would be so cute if you get Spencer those boxers you can personalize with a collage of your your face on it so he can quote "always be close to you"

and he would blush a lot and think that this was his real gift until you pull out the real gift

I think post prison Spencer would absolutely adore it when you wear his clothes because he needs that reminder that your still there when he notices a shirt or a cardigan missing

and he just meds to feel loved so he starts almost preferring your clothes over his because he's been deprived of you for so long

also I think after prison he would also find your wearing one of his shirts rly hot and when first sees you wearing one of his shirts again he has to have you

he would approach you at the counter while your making tea

He would wrap his arms around your waist and whisper deeply in your ear

"you look amazing in my clothes.."

"oh really?"

he would only hum as he kisses your neck..

you know the rest ;)