#I expected nothing and was still let down...

[buckyseternaldoll]

sergeant's magic mouth

🫦 based on this ask but I definitely diverted from the main plot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: You thought you were just his fling. He thought you were his girl. Then you overheard Steve teasing Bucky about his legendary skills in the bedroom—particularly his mouth. Bucky gets flustered. You get curious. A week later, he proved he’s still got it.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, oral sex (f receiving), pussy eating, misunderstanding trope, soft dom!Bucky, desperate!reader, overstimulation, slow burn tension, emotional release

Word Count: 3.5k

The compound was quieter than usual, the aftermath of a long mission settling in like a low, collective exhale. Somewhere in the common kitchen, someone clinked a glass. Distant laughter floated through the hall—probably Sam or Clint. But in the softly lit entertainment room, it was just you and Bucky. Again.

You’d flopped onto the couch hours ago after sparring, half-watching a movie you’d already forgotten the name of. Bucky had joined a little later, tucking himself into the corner of the cushions, red henley hugging the bulk of his arms, the silver glint of his metal arm catching the TV’s light like a low hum in your peripheral.

You hadn’t meant to end up in his lap. Again.

But like always, his palm was already on your waist when you slid over—grounding, warm despite the chill of the metal. His thighs were spread wide beneath you, relaxed and solid, and your legs naturally draped on either side like they belonged there. You leaned into him. He didn’t stop you. He never did.

It had been like this for weeks now. Maybe months.

Long after the dust from the whole Civil War mess had started to settle, you and Bucky had slipped into something wordless. Something sacred. You didn’t know what to call it—it didn’t feel right calling it just friends. Not when you could still feel the way he’d kissed you that first night after the team’s barbecue. The way he’d held you still while your hips rocked against his, slow and aching. Not when your heart stuttered every time he looked at you with that tired, hungry softness that made your skin burn.

The first kiss had been a dare. A stupid, tipsy game where someone dared Bucky to kiss you and no one—no one—had expected him to actually do it.

But he did.

He cupped your face with his warm hand, looked you in the eye, and kissed you like he’d been holding that breath in since 1943. And from then on… something shifted.

Now, he’d let you straddle him during quiet movie nights. His jaw would clench when your hips moved just right. You’d feel him through his jeans, thick and hard under you, and he’d groan—deep and strangled like he was holding something back. He’d mouth at your neck, hands gripping your waist, but it never went further than that. Never inside. Never under the clothes.

And you told yourself it was fine. You told yourself maybe this was just how it was going to be—this undefined, lusty thing. You told yourself it was better than nothing. Because it was Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. The man women used to whisper about back in the 40s—the charmer with the bedroom eyes and silver tongue. You’d heard the rumors. Everyone had.

And you? You were just… you.

He could have anyone. And maybe you were just the convenient body he used to push those urges away—a warm lap to grind into, a mouth to kiss when the nights got too long. You didn’t know how to ask for more. You were terrified that if you tried, he’d pull away.

Meanwhile, Bucky? Bucky thought you were his. Fully.

He thought you’d been his since the second time you kissed him—the night you’d curled into his lap after patrol and whispered “I missed you” like it meant more than just the day. And it had killed him not to touch you deeper, not to give you everything he had. But he remembered what you said at that same team barbecue, right after everyone settled down with their beers and ribs. Someone had joked about hook-ups and you, ever soft-spoken, had laughed shyly and said:

“I’m a little old school. I don’t really go all the way unless it’s someone serious… like, serious-serious.”

And Bucky? Bucky was from the actual old school. Back in the 40s, that meant one thing—you waited until you were married. And if you were the kind of woman who saved yourself for that, then goddammit, he wasn’t going to be the reason you’d break that promise.

So he held back. Every time your body writhed against his. Every time he could smell your arousal through your leggings. Every time he had to clench his jaw and bury his face in your neck just to keep from coming in his pants.

He never touched himself after. Not once.

Didn’t jerk off to the thought of you, even though he ached to.

Because he wanted all of it—all of you—the right way.

He thought the wait would be worth it.

He just didn’t know you were waiting for him to want you at all.

—

The late afternoon sun cast warm streaks of gold across the compound, tinting the walls and windows with lazy amber light. You’d just wrapped up training and were headed toward the balcony, drawn by the familiar sound of laughter—two deep voices rolling over each other in low, nostalgic waves.

Steve and Bucky.

You slowed your steps as you approached, the soft creak of your boots masked by the breeze curling in through the open doors. They hadn’t noticed you yet, and you paused just beyond the archway, hidden by the sliding glass panel, your eyes flicking over to them instinctively.

They were seated side by side on the wide balcony bench, drinks in hand—Bucky with his legs spread in that casual, careless way, grey shirt pulled tight across his chest, silver arm draped over the backrest. Steve had a glass of something dark balanced in his grip, laughing into it.

“Alright, Buck. Be honest with me,” Steve said, nudging Bucky’s boot with his own. “How’s everything with you and her?”

Bucky shifted a little, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the drink in his hand.

You froze, breath catching. Her? You?

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was soft, but sure.

“We’re doing just fine.”

Steve scoffed. “Just fine? Buck, come on. That’s not enough.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath, but there was a flicker of tension in the movement—like he was trying to ease discomfort off his shoulders. He rubbed his thumb along the curve of his glass and glanced sideways at Steve.

“I don’t think I should be talking about her when she’s not here,” he muttered. “That wouldn’t feel right.”

You blinked. Your chest tightened. He was talking about you like—

Steve laughed again, all good-natured and clueless. “God, you haven’t changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“You remember the 40s?” Steve leaned back, the bench creaking under his weight. “Every girl at the bar was looking past me, and straight at you. I couldn’t get a date to save my damn life. You? You walked in and the whole room turned to jelly.”

Bucky snorted, tipping his head back with a sigh. “Yeah, well. That was before the serum. Before your fan club started.”

Steve smirked. “Oh, how the tables have turned, huh?”

Bucky gave him a look—part fond, part annoyed—but didn’t deny it.

Then Steve added, with a smirk far too knowing:

“You know, I still remember the rumors. I wasn’t supposed to hear most of ‘em—but you know how dames talk when they’ve had one too many.” He grinned into his glass. “Word was, anyone who got lucky enough to sleep with Sergeant Barnes left with their legs shaking.”

Bucky groaned immediately. “Jesus, Stevie—”

“No, no, wait—my favorite was the one who said you had a magic mouth,” Steve continued, delighting in the way Bucky tried to sink into himself. “Swore you knew exactly what to do down there. Said it was like being—what was it—worshipped?”

Your heart skipped. What?

You stepped out, your voice too curious for your brain to catch up.

“Wait… Bucky was that good with girls?”

Both men looked up fast. Bucky flinched like he’d just been smacked with a brick.

“Shit,” he muttered, straightening up immediately, his metal fingers tightening around his glass. “How long’ve you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” you said, fighting a grin as you stepped toward them, trying to sound innocent even though your pulse was sprinting. “I didn’t know you had a magic mouth, Bucky.”

Steve glanced between you and Bucky, the corner of his mouth twitching with the kind of subtle amusement only a best friend could pull off.

“Well,” he said, rising from the bench with smooth ease, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

He set his glass down on the ledge, adjusted the sleeves of his shirt with practiced calm, and gave Bucky a pointed look that only made the other man shrink deeper into his seat.

Then, with a polite nod to you, he added,

“Try not to give him too hard a time, huh?”

And with that, Steve turned and walked back inside—composed, quiet, and absolutely smirking.

The silence he left behind was scorching.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, his skin already turning crimson beneath the ends of his hair. His silver fingers tapped against the railing like he couldn’t decide whether to escape over it or just melt into a puddle where he stood.

“That, uh… that wasn’t exactly how I wanted that to come up,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

You leaned next to him, arms crossed, brow arched just slightly. “You never told me you had a reputation.”

He groaned. “God. It was blown way out of proportion, I swear.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, pretending to think. “So you didn’t make girls’ legs shake?”

Bucky winced. Practically folded into himself.

“I mean—maybe a few,” he muttered. “But not like that. It wasn’t… Jesus, they made it sound like I slept with the whole borough. I didn’t. I wasn’t like that.”

You tried not to smile. “The whole borough, huh?”

His head jerked toward you, eyes wide. “Wait—are you… are you mad?”

“What? No,” you said quickly, brows lifting.

“You sure?” he asked again, more desperate now. “Because I never—look, I wasn’t just screwing around back then, okay? I didn’t sleep with that many people. And I haven’t been with anyone since and I’m not—I mean, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Your breath caught for a second. But you didn’t say anything.

Because your brain was not registering any of that.

Not the panic in his voice. Not the low, sincere way he said to you like it meant something.

All you could think about was what Steve said.

Legs shaking. Worship. Magic mouth.

You were still stuck on that phrase like a scratch on a record.

You let a beat pass. Just long enough to watch the flush creeping up his neck, the nervous dart of his eyes, the way he seemed to be running through every decision he’d ever made since 1943.

“I just didn’t know you were into that,” you said lightly, brushing invisible lint from your sleeve like you hadn’t just learned something that would haunt you tonight in your sheets.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearly spiraling. “I—I didn’t mean for that to sound like I was bragging or anything. I don’t know where Steve heard that stuff. I mean, yeah, I used to, but not—It wasn’t like I slept around. I didn’t. I swear I never—”

“Bucky,” you cut in gently, offering a little smile. “It’s really okay.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded once, calm and even. “No hard feelings.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, apologize again, dig his way out of a guilt hole he didn’t even need to be in. But you didn’t give him the chance.

You stepped back toward the door, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

And then you slipped inside, perfectly composed.

—

Your expression didn’t crack until you turned the corner, heat blooming across your face like a slow, wicked fire.

He used to love it.

He might still be good at it.

He thinks you’re mad about his past… and you’re just thinking about his mouth between your legs.

You pressed your hand against the wall, heart thundering.

Now all you needed was the right moment.

The right excuse.

Something casual. Natural.

Just a little something to get James Buchanan Barnes on his knees.

—

You kept your distance for six days.

Six entire, aching days.

Dinner that night? You smiled. Ate. Laughed with Sam. Passed the mashed potatoes like nothing had changed. Bucky sat across from you, silent and painfully upright, like he was ready for a cross-examination that never came.

The next day? You greeted him with a nod in the hallway. Kept your tone even, your posture casual. Bucky watched you like a man waiting for the world to fall out from under him.

And the day after that? You brushed past him near the weapons locker, arm grazing his on accident—only to duck into the training room before he could open his mouth.

He kept trying. Eyes lingering, mouth parting every time he got you alone for even a second. But you never gave him the space.

Because what were you supposed to say?

Hey, Bucky. You want to eat my cunt sometime? Because I’ve been thinking about it for many nights and I’m dangerously close to humping the corner of my pillow just to cope?

Yeah, no.

So you waited. And stewed. And tried not to fantasize.

But your body had other plans.

By day six, your hormones had you spiraling. You caught yourself grinding your thighs together during debriefing. Sweating during sparring. Biting your lip when Bucky scratched his jaw and muttered something under his breath, not even directed at you.

Day seven, you cracked.

Over lunch, with the team distracted, you leaned close to him—so casual—and said,

“Come to my unit after dinner.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes steady. “Just for a bit.”

And that was all it took.

—

He showed up at your door just past nine. Dressed down in a fitted black tee and dark sweats. Hair tucked behind his ears. Smiling.

Not smirking. Not flirty. Just… happy.

You didn’t know it yet, but he thought this was a date. A real one. The first of many.

You let him in and made small talk. Let him sit on the couch like always. Let him pull you into his lap the way he always did when it was just the two of you and there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Then you kissed him.

Slow. Familiar. But deeper.

His hands came to your thighs, dragging up under the hem of your oversized shirt as your knees bracketed his hips. He groaned softly into your mouth when you rolled against him—pressing down, grinding slow and needy right into the heat of his lap.

Then he froze.

You could feel it. The shift. The exact moment he realized there was nothing between you and his pants. No shorts. No panties. Just your bare, wet cunt dragging over the thick line of his cock through cotton.

Bucky broke the kiss, his hands halting on your thighs.

His voice came out hoarse.

“Doll… are you—are you not wearing anything?”

You blushed, chest rising slowly. “No.”

His eyes widened, hand clenching against your skin. “Since when?”

“Since before you got here.”

“Jesus,” he whispered, like it physically hurt him.

You pressed your forehead against his. Voice trembling now, but not from nerves.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Ever since Steve said that thing on the balcony.”

His brows lifted. “About… my mouth?”

You nodded. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You shifted your hips again. Let him feel the wet drag of your folds against his cock. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands locking tighter on your waist.

“Baby,” he rasped, “are you sure this is what you want? Not just—y’know, ‘cause you’re upset or… jealous or—”

That was the moment it snapped. The misunderstanding, the buried truth, the weeks and months of aching.

Your brow furrowed.

“Jealous? Bucky, I don’t have any right to be jealous. We’re not… together.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re just…” You swallowed. “I thought we were just fooling around. Friends with benefits or something.”

His face went still.

“Wait,” he said. “You thought that’s what we were?”

You nodded slowly.

“I thought we were dating,” he said quietly. “I thought we were just taking it slow. You said at the barbecue that you’re traditional. I figured that meant you were saving sex until… marriage or something.”

You stared at him, lips parting. “I—no. I just didn’t want to sleep with someone who didn’t take me seriously.”

Bucky’s mouth hung open for a second. Then he let out a short, breathless laugh—somewhere between disbelief and relief.

“We’re idiots,” you said, and started laughing too.

He buried his face in your neck and laughed along with you, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“You’ve been my boyfriend this whole time without me even knowing?” you teased.

He pulled back, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess that makes it official now.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Because now you’ve got even more reason to go down on me.”

His lips parted. You kissed him before he could speak.

—

What followed wasn’t fast.

It wasn’t wild.

It was reverent.

Bucky laid you back on the couch like you were made of silk and starlight, one hand supporting your back while the other guided your thighs open. He settled between them like it was where he was always meant to be—kneeling, breath shaky, eyes dark.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, thumbing along the inside of your knee. His voice was low. Full of awe.

You reached for him—but he kissed your thigh instead. Then again. And again. Slow, warm, deliberate. His stubble scraped lightly along your skin, the contrast enough to make you squirm, already sensitive from the slow grind you’d shared minutes before.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured. “Just wanna take my time with you. You deserve that.”

Then he ducked lower.

And when he pressed his tongue to your cunt—broad and unhurried—it felt like the world melted into heat and wet and sound. You gasped, hips twitching, fingers curling into the couch cushions.

Bucky moaned into you. Actually moaned.

“God, you taste like fucking honey,” he rasped, licking another slow, deliberate stripe between your folds. “So sweet, baby. Dripping for me.”

He dragged his tongue through your slick again, groaning like the taste alone could undo him. And then he slurped—an unashamed, filthy sound that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, voice thick and desperate. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

His tongue circled your clit—steady, patient, focused. Then he sucked. A low, wet pull that sent shockwaves down your spine. You cried out, thighs shaking already, but Bucky didn’t stop. He wrapped his lips around that swollen bud and sucked again, swirling his tongue in small, practiced motions like he’d studied every curve, every pattern of how your body trembled for him.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” he breathed. “So fucking soft. So warm. Look at this pussy, baby. Look how wet she is for me.”

You whined, head thrown back, chest heaving—and he didn’t let up.

He licked you like it was his only purpose. Like he’d spent years thinking about this. Dreaming of this. His tongue flicked quick, then slow, then down—dipping into your entrance, fucking in and out with soft, rhythmic strokes that made your back arch off the couch.

“Oh my god—Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, baby. Feels like I’m high off this fucking pussy.”

You could hear how wet it was. The obscene, slick sounds of his tongue lapping, his lips sucking, the gentle stubble burn brushing your inner thighs with every move. He kept you wide, kept you steady, like he didn’t want to miss a second—like this was something sacred to him.

And when your thighs started to tremble, when your hips bucked once—twice—he held you still with a firm grip of his metal hand on your stomach.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispered, licking up your slit with one slow, heavenly stroke. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

You shattered.

Came hard. Loud. Thighs clenching around his head while he groaned and kept sucking, kept licking through it, pushing you higher until your whole body was shaking.

He didn’t stop. Not until he pulled a second orgasm from you with nothing but his mouth and your name falling from his lips like praise.

When he finally eased up—mouth slick, lips swollen, beard shining with your release—he kissed your thighs again. Tender. Adoring. Like he still wasn’t done worshipping you.

Then he climbed up your body, settling over you slowly, his hands gentle where they cradled your hips.

His forehead pressed to yours. He was smiling—dazed and soft and breathless.

You blinked at him, heart still pounding.

“So that’s what all the rumors were about.”

Bucky chuckled, voice low and hoarse.

“They didn’t even know half of it.”

[casssmalefantasy]

LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER

| parings: paige bueckers x reader!

| synopsis: a physical game leaves you bruised and furious, and paige is the only one who can calm you down. back at the hotel, the tension that’s been simmering between you all season finally boils over.

| warnings: smut, fingering, oral f!receiving, praise kink, dominant!paige, tension, possessiveness, cursing, mentions of injury, game violence, and emotional intimacy,

| word count: 2.7k

| author’s note: yall wanted this one so here you go, also i wrote this like two months ago 😭.

──────────────────────

it’s been chippy all game.

it’s what you expect going against texas.

physical team, good shooters, shit refs. it’s the kind of combination that makes you want to put your fist through a locker.

they're ranked, scrappy and come to play.

and for some reason, their starting guard has had it out for you since tip-off.

the first couple plays, you let it slide. a shoulder here, a shove there. nothing new, but by the time you’re five minutes into the third quarter with a sore hip and a stinger in your arm, it’s personal.

still, you try to keep your head down. geno’s always on your ass about that, don’t lose your cool. don’t let them bait you.

but it’s hard. it’s so hard.

and when she bodies you again on a cut, this time full-on sending you to the floor, elbow to your ribs—you snap.

you’re on your feet before your ass even registers the hardwood.

"you got a fucking problem?" you bark, chest heaving.

she smirks like she’s been waiting for this moment all game.

"maybe i just don’t like how you play."

"yeah? how about i show you how i fight."

she steps forward, and you're stepping too, ready to shove her right back into the damn bleachers—

but arms are on you. pulling you back. not the ref, not your teammates—

"yo," a voice says low, right in your ear. “hey. chill. breathe.”

you glance back. it’s paige.

both arms wrapped tight around you from behind, holding you in place. her hands flat on your stomach, grounding you.

"she’s not worth it," she murmurs. "eyes on me. breathe, baby."

you do. barely.

the ref whistles again. offsetting techs. geno is pissed.

“you, out," he snaps, pointing to the bench. "cool off. paige you too. sub."

you don’t argue. not because you’re okay with it, but because paige is still holding your hand as she pulls you toward the bench with her.

"you good?" she whispers once you sit, leaning in close, hand covering her mouth like she’s telling you top-secret plays.

"i’m fine." your voice is clipped.

"don’t lie to me," she says. her gaze is soft, but locked on you like she can see everything you're trying not to show.

“they were calling everything until that," you mutter. "but when i get decked, it’s nothing until i stand up for myself?"

"i know," she says. “refs have been garbage since the jump, but don’t let it get in your head. you were cooking before that shit.”

you’re icing your arm. paige glances down at it.

“does it hurt bad?”

“i said i’m fine.”

she hums, unconvinced.

you both sit in silence. the energy between you is thick—electric, even in stillness. you look over at the same time. hold eye contact. her blue eyes are intense, like she’s still thinking about pulling you off that girl.

you look away first.

—

paige checks back in with three to play. you stay on the bench a little longer.

but you don’t miss it.

that girl—the same one who shoved you, says something as paige runs past her. paige doesn’t say much back. just a short sentence. firm. her jaw clenched.

you don’t know what she said, but whatever it was, it shut the girl up real fast.

and paige? she scores eight points straight after that.

—

uconn wins.

the bus ride back to the hotel is chaos. everyone’s talking shit, celebrating, arguing about calls.

but you’re quiet. sore. still buzzing from the adrenaline.

you almost don’t notice paige at your side until she nudges your arm gently.

"ice said she’d swap rooms tonight."

you blink at her.

"you wanna stay with me?"

"i want to check on you."

you nod. she doesn’t say anything else. she just grabs your bag for you and waits.

—

it’s quiet in the room, just the soft hum of the air conditioning and whatever random netflix show you landed on. something to fill the space.

you’re curled up with an ice pack again. paige is next to you, legs stretched out, close enough to touch, but not quite.

you haven’t said much since you got back. you’re still stuck in your head, still replaying the game, the fall, the look on her face when she held you back.

“hey," she says suddenly. “how’re you feeling?”

you glance over. her hair’s pulled into a loose bun. she’s still in her uconn hoodie.

"better," you say.

"you sure?"

"yeah."

she hums again like she still doesn’t believe you.

“you were good tonight,” she says after a second. “even when you were pissed. it was… kinda hot.”

you blink. then raise an eyebrow.

"hot?"

“what, i can’t say that?"

you glance at the tv, then back at her. "thought we weren’t talking about that shit anymore."

she shrugs. "maybe i changed my mind."

you smirk. “so now you think me nearly getting into a fight is sexy?"

"no," she says. “i think you standing your ground, playing through all that contact, being so in it, that was hot.”

you look at her. her gaze is locked on yours.

"you looked good out there," she adds, voice lower now. "like really good."

your breath catches.

"you looked good too."

she shifts a little closer. her knee brushes yours.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

you don’t know who moves first. maybe both of you.

but suddenly her mouth is on yours, and you’re kissing like you’ve wanted to for months. no hesitation. no pulling back.

it’s hungry. messy. real.

her hands slide up your thighs, under your hoodie, fingers splaying across your waist like she’s staking her claim.

"let me take care of you," she murmurs against your lips.

you nod. she pushes you back onto the bed, gentle but sure.

her mouth moves down your neck, sucking a mark just above your collarbone.

"still sore?" she asks, pulling your shorts down.

"a little."

"tell me if anything hurts."

you nod again, breath catching as her fingers trail over your inner thigh.

then her mouth is on your pussy.

slow at first, letting you feel every flick of her tongue, every kiss she places on sensitive skin.

you arch into her. she grips your hips, holding you steady.

"fuck, paige…"

"you sound so pretty when you say my name like that."

you’re writhing now, hand tangled in her hair.

"more," you beg.

she groans softly. "you want more?"

"please p."

she slides two fingers in, while her mouth keeps working.

you cum fast, body shaking, hips bucking up into her face.

she doesn’t stop until you’re whining from the sensitivity, pulling her up to kiss you again.

"jesus christ," you mumble, breathless.

"been wanting to do that since summer," she says, grinning.

you laugh, still catching your breath.

"what now?" you ask.

she leans in, kissing your jaw.

"now we sleep," she says. “and tomorrow, we do it again, just maybe without the fight this time.”

you smile.

"we’ll see."

—

you think you’re done. you should be done.

but paige doesn’t move.

she’s still lying between your legs, head resting on your thigh, arm draped across your waist. she’s tracing slow, featherlight circles over your bare stomach, and her breath is warm against your skin.

you glance down at her.

"what’re you doing?"

"thinking."

"about what?"

"how good you taste."

your entire body twitches.

"paige."

"mm?" she looks up at you, all sweet and innocent, but there’s nothing innocent about the way her fingers trail lower again.

"you already—i thought we were sleeping."

"i lied."

before you can argue, her mouth is on you again, slower this time, deliberate.

"fuck—"

you grab the sheets, back arching.

she hums like she’s enjoying a second course.

"can’t help it," she murmurs against you. “you’re too good like this."

you whimper when her tongue flicks a spot that makes you see white.

"shit, paige. it’s too much, i just—"

"no, you can take it."

her voice is soft, but firm.

"come on, baby. gimme one more."

you don’t know how she’s got you this wrecked this fast.

maybe it’s because you’ve been holding this in since summer. maybe it’s because she knows exactly what she’s doing. maybe it’s because she keeps talking to you like that.

“you’re shaking,” she says, dragging a finger through your wetness. “look at you, all fucked out already.”

you moan. it’s embarrassing how close you are again.

"i can’t—"

"yes, you can," she whispers, slipping her fingers back in, slow and deep. “be good for me.”

you cry out, thighs trembling.

"that’s it," she coos. "that’s my girl."

you cum again, this time harder, your whole body tightening under her as you moan her name like a prayer.

she doesn’t rush you. she kisses the inside of your thigh while you come down, rubbing soft circles over your hip, grounding you.

finally, when your breathing evens out, she crawls back up beside you, slipping an arm under your neck and pulling you close.

you don’t say anything for a minute. just lie there, curled against her, flushed and wrecked and warm.

"so," you mumble, voice scratchy, "you do this for all your teammates?"

“mmh yeah if they look like you.”

"you’re ridiculous."

"you’re welcome."

you pause.

"...i might not be able to walk at practice tomorrow."

"guess i’ll just have to carry you."

you look up at her.

"you’re insane."

"and you love it."

you try to glare at her. she kisses your forehead like she didn’t just make you see stars twice in a hotel bed.

"get some sleep," she whispers, already pulling the blanket over you both.

"only if you stay right here."

"wasn’t planning on going anywhere."

[whisperedmeg]

NAILED IT ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x girlfriend!reader

summary: spencer’s been away too long, your nails are too long, and you’re getting a little desperate. good thing he’s always happy to lend a helping hand.

genre: fluff, smut | w/c: 2.1k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, spencer calls reader sweetheart & sweet girl & angel, hand/finger/nail kink, masturbation (f; only attempted/discussed), fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, spencer cums in his pants lol, no use of y/n

a/n: based on anon’s request! loved this idea so much. couldn’t help making spencer the ultimate super whipped boyfriend lmao. enjoy! 💅🏼😉 p.s. if you zoom in on the far left photo you’ll see my sad photoshop attempt at the manicure I described lmao

You send Spencer the photo just before sunset.

It’s nothing fancy — just your hand resting on your thigh, fresh from the nail salon, skin still warm from the hot towel they wrap your hands in at the end of your appointment. The polish is indigo, with little gold stars forming teeny tiny constellations on each nail. They catch in the light when you move. You know he’ll appreciate that. You type out a quick caption and hit send.

You: new favorite set?

His response is almost instant, a flurry of three successive messages:

Spence: How do your hands keep getting more beautiful?

Spence: Also. Yes. Definitely a new favorite.

Spence: Wish I was there.

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering, debating what to send next. You want to say something clever — something flirty or offhand or designed to make him blush a little in public — but instead you just type:

You: come home soon, please

—

The TV hums low in the background, something forgettable you haven’t really been paying close attention to. You sit in the quiet for a while, curled into the couch like it might hold you tighter if you’re still enough. Outside, the sky is bruised and soft and growing darker by the minute. You keep staring at your hands.

Spencer always pays for your manicures. It wasn’t your idea — the first time you mentioned how expensive a full set was, he’d looked almost offended on your behalf and insisted you let him cover it from now on.

“Let me. You’re not just getting them done for you,” he’d said. “You’re also getting them done for me.”

And it’s kind of true. Spencer loves to watch your hands when you talk, like there’s a whole language he’s learning just from your fingers. He traces your knuckles during movies, plays with your rings when you’re standing in line, thumbs over the backs of your hands while you read, threads your fingers through his and presses them down into the mattress when he’s on top of you. He holds them like they’re precious artifacts. Like they’re rare.

You’d gotten this set done a few days after he left for a case out in Denver, and much to both of your chagrin, it ended up being a bad one that would keep him in Colorado for much longer than expected. You hadn’t realized how much of a problem your new nails would be until later that night, when you were wound tight and lonely and craving something warm and familiar. You’d lit a candle. Touched yourself under the blanket. Tried to make it quick.

But it hadn’t worked. You’d scratched yourself twice and gotten the angle wrong three times, and by the time you gave up, your whole body felt edged and annoyed.

You’ve tried again since. Twice, each attempt more frustrating than the last. You can’t say it out loud — I can’t get myself off because my nails are too long — without feeling ridiculous, so you don’t tell Spencer when he calls you each night from the hotel.

You press your hands between your thighs and exhale slowly, willing the ache to dull.

It doesn’t. You know it won’t.

Not until Spencer’s back, not until his hands are on you again, not until you can tell him in person how frustrated you’ve been — half-ashamed, half-hoping he’ll find it as ridiculous and kind of hot as you suspect he might.

But for now, you just sit with it.

The polish catches the light. The stars on your fingers shimmer. And you wait.

—

After a long ten days without him, Spencer finally calls you from the jet to let you know he was landing and would be at your apartment soon. You barely say anything on the call — just a soft “okay, baby,” because anything more might unravel you with want. The line goes quiet for a moment until he says he misses you, and you say it back, and then the silence stretches again like it always does when neither of you wants to hang up first. Eventually, he does. Reluctantly.

You don’t move until you hear footsteps approaching the door.

He lets himself in with the key you gave him months ago and drops his go-bag to the floor. You rise slowly from the couch and walk to the entryway, taking in how his messy curls framing his forehead, suit jacket slouched and travel-wrinkled, dark circles beneath his eyes like parentheses around something unsaid. You can see how the case wore on him, the heaviness of whatever weight he’s left carrying even after it’s over. But the second he sees you, his posture softens.

You don’t say anything at first. You just meet him where he stands and wind your arms around his waist.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since he left.

“Hi,” you murmur.

He hums it back into your shoulder. “Hi.”

You stay like that for a while, his arms tightening around your back and his lips pressed to the side of your neck, like he needs to confirm you’re really here — still warm and real and his.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to look down at your hands.

“Let me see.”

You raise them instinctively, fingers spread. You watch his expression shift — first curious, then sweet, then something that edges towards arousal before he tamps it down with a swallow.

His thumb grazes over your ring finger. “These are… unreal.”

“You picked the design,” you remind him with a soft smile. “Sort of.”

“I told you I like stars. I didn’t realize you’d get a whole galaxy just for me.”

You shrug. “You pay, I impress.”

He smiles and lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing each fingertip like a habit. You feel those kisses everywhere.

“How was the flight?”

“Fine,” he says as he shrugs his jacket off. “Mostly. There was some turbulence. I didn’t sleep.”

You nod, even though he doesn’t need a response. The closeness is enough.

But when he leans in to press his forehead to yours, when he closes his eyes and exhales like the hard part’s over, you don’t relax the way you normally would. You’re warm, and full, and grateful he’s home, but there’s still something tight in your chest. In your belly. Lower.

He senses it instantly.

His hands still at your waist. His brow furrows just enough. “What is it?”

You hesitate. You could lie, say you’re just tired or overworked or don’t feel well. But the truth is sharp behind your teeth and strangely tender at the same time.

“I’ve just been a little… frustrated,” you say.

He stills. “Frustrated how?”

You glance down at your nails, then back up at him.

“I, um, got them done right after you left. They’re a lot longer and pointier than usual. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but I haven’t…” You gesture vaguely. “Been able to… you know.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. “You haven’t been able to… to touch yourself, this whole time?”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s harder with longer nails. Awkward. I gave up. Maybe I should just give in and buy a vibrator.”

His mouth opens, then closes as he processes the words. “You waited?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t mean to,” you say quickly. “This isn’t, like, a guilt trip or something. I don’t want you to feel guilty.”

He blinks. “No, no, I’m not feeling guilty, I’m feeling… lucky.” Then quieter: “And, okay, maybe a little like a negligent boyfriend.”

You smile, a little sheepish. “Not at all. You were out solving murders. That takes precedence.”

“I would’ve solved them faster had I known.”

You laugh, and he wraps you tighter into his chest.

After a pause, his voice comes low, reverent. “Let me fix it,” he murmurs. His fingers tighten at your waist, and his eyes don’t move from yours. “Come on.”

He walks you backward to the bedroom, his palm warm over the back of your neck like he’s trying to keep you grounded. He kisses you once before you sit back against the pillows, and again after — soft, open-mouthed — as he settles between your legs.

“You sure?” you whisper, even though you already know the answer. “You’re probably so tired. It can wait, really. I’m fine.”

He huffs a breath against your collarbone like it’s laughable. “You, my sweet girl, are not fine. You’ve been walking around like this for over a week. Of course I’m sure. Let me do this for you, please.”

You lean back on your elbows as he lifts your shirt and kisses the newly bared skin, slow and thorough. The reverence in his hands makes your stomach tighten. Like he’s not just touching you for the sake of it — he’s reacquainting himself. Like he missed you with his whole being.

As he peels your underwear down, his gaze catches on the shimmer of your nail polish again.

He parts your thighs slowly. Kisses the crease of your hip before shifting again to kiss your jaw. And then, with a careful breath, he drags two fingers between your folds and lets out the softest, most ruined sound you’ve ever heard him make.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re soaked.”

You want to say yeah, no shit, Sherlock, I told you I’ve been frustrated, but then his fingers dip in and curl just right and your mouth goes completely slack.

He watches your face like he’s cataloging it. Each shift of your expression, every twitch of your hips. He keeps his fingers slow, consistent — long strokes that press deep and purposeful, curved just slightly until your thighs start to tremble.

“You’re so tight,” he breathes. “So wet, sweetheart. You needed this.”

You nod, helpless. “Spencer—”

“I know.” His thumb moves to your clit, light and rhythmic. “Let me take care of it. I’ve got you.”

The build is fast — shamefully fast. You’d almost be embarrassed over how fast it is if it wasn’t for how sure you are that Spencer loves it. His fingers never stutter, never pause, and when he leans forward and kisses you again, you whimper his name.

“Come for me,” he says, soft and certain. “That’s it, angel. Want to feel you come around my fingers.”

And you do.

Your hips jerk forward, mouth releasing a sound you barely recognize as your own, and you feel yourself clench. He slows the pressure and rides the rhythm through it, eyes locked on yours until you collapse back against the mattress, gasping.

But Spencer? Spencer doesn’t stop. He simply adjusts, changes his position, presses a few kisses to your stomach. Then lower. Lower.

You jolt when you feel his mouth over your center.

“Spencer—oh, fuck.”

He looks up at you from between your thighs, curls already messy, mouth flushed.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he says, voice low. “I know it’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

You groan. “You’re such a cocky—”

He licks a slow stripe through you before you can finish the statement, and your back arches clean off the bed.

His fingers stay inside you — deep, curling just right — and his mouth covers your clit with obscene dedication. Tongue and lips and hands and pressure so steady it borders on unbearable. Your second orgasm builds sharper, thinner, a frayed wire stretched between nerve endings. Your thighs start to shake again and he presses in deeper, sucks a little harder, moans loudly against you when your nails graze his scalp.

You feel it in your whole body — his hunger. His focus. The way he wants this for you more than anything. You’re not even sure if you’re breathing.

“I’m—” you start, but you can’t get the warning out in time. Besides, he already knows.

You come again with a cry that tears out of your throat, and this time it overwhelms you — your body writhing, hands pulling at Spencer’s hair hard enough to make him groan. You’re too lost in the moment to notice how lost he is alongside you.

And then, as your limbs shake and your head falls back to the pillow, you hear a low, choked sound that didn’t come from you.

You glance down, dazed.

Spencer’s still between your legs, breathing heavy. He looks completely boneless, cheeks red, eyes half-lidded and glazed, limbs trembling a little, a combination of his sweat and your slick glistening on his skin. Then it hits you — you’ve seen that face before.

“Did you just…” You blink at him. “Spence, did you just come in your pants?”

He rests his forehead against your thigh and nods, clearly trying to catch his breath, clearly a little embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to.”

You start to giggle. It bubbles up through your chest, soft and stunned and fond beyond belief. “Oh my god, you totally humped the bed. Does getting me off really turn you on that much?”

He groans again, this time in embarrassment, but he’s smiling. “You were… god, you were just so perfect. And the way you pulled my hair and scratched my head… What was I supposed to do, not lose my mind?”

You smile and comb your fingers through his hair again, gentler now, your nails grazing his scalp. He hums.

“So,” you murmur, “would it be cruel to say I might keep my nails like this a little longer?”

Spencer kisses your inner thigh, still breathless. “Cruel? No. Cruel would be not letting me do this every time you need it.”

—

At some point you end up tangled sideways across the mattress, half under the covers, one of his legs still dangling off the edge.

Spencer’s cheek is pressed to your hip, his eyes fluttering closed every few seconds, hair mussed beyond recognition. You’ve managed to wriggle your underwear back on — barely — but he hasn’t made any attempt to move.

“You good?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over the crown of his head.

“Mmhmm.”

“You sure about that? You came in your pants and then passed out,” you tease.

“I did not pass out,” he mumbles. “I’m resting. You’re comfortable.”

You smile and let your nails trace gently over his scalp again. He hums.

“You really missed this, huh?”

He opens one eye, gaze lazy and warm. “I missed you.”

His sincerity hits you. Your cheeks heat up, and you manage a soft hum in response — your chest is a little too full to find the words to speak properly.

He finally shifts, crawling up beside you and nuzzling into your neck. You wrap your arms around him and let your nails scratch lightly at the base of his skull, just enough to make him shiver.

“Seriously, though,” he says, barely a whisper now. “Keep your nails long like this. Please? I’ll take care of you.”

You kiss his hair.

“Anything you want, Spence.”

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

[xoxolaw]

Hi, how are you? I hope everything its fine. ✨

Can i request a fic about seong-je, where he's with the reader for a few weeks now, and the reader's friends (Baku ecc...) start to suspect that she's seeing someone and start investigating who It could be, since she's always try to avoid their questions, until one day they find out and don't take It well.

Thank you for your work, your writing is beautiful. 💕

+ 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗢𝗡𝗘'𝗦 𝗪𝗛𝗢 𝗗𝗢𝗡'𝗧 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪

in which her friends uncover the secret she's been hiding—only to learn that love doesn't always look the way they expect it to.

+ 𝗚𝗘𝗨𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚-𝗝𝗘 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

fluff

It started off harmless.

Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Just a few ignored calls. Some half-hearted excuses. A subtle shift in the way she smiled when they asked where she’d been.

It was nothing, really. Nothing they’d notice.

Except they did.

Because it wasn’t nothing to them. Not to Baku, not to Si-eun, and especially not to Gotak.

And that was the problem.

✮⋆˙

“You’ve been acting weird,” Baku said one afternoon, voice too blunt to be casual, too heavy to brush off.

They sat on the steps outside Eunjang’s gym, the sun throwing long, gold-tipped shadows across the pavement. Sweat still clung to his collarbone from practice, but his eyes were sharp—watchful.

She barely looked up from her drink. “Weird how?”

He didn’t blink. “Like… ghosting the group chat. Ducking questions. Sneaking off early every damn time we hang out.”

“Last Friday too,” Gotak added, his voice soft, almost reluctant. He was seated just below them, thumbs nervously picking at the damp label on his water bottle. “You said you had a call. Something about your cousin.”

A lie. A lazy one. Her stomach twisted around it.

Across from them, Si-eun flipped a page in his book but didn’t look up.

“You always say you’re tired. Or busy,” he said, voice even and cold. “Yet your phone lights up like a Christmas tree every time you turn it face-down.”

She tried to laugh, even forced a smirk. “Wow. You guys sound like jealous boyfriends.”

But no one laughed.

And in that silence, she realized just how thin her lies had worn.

✮⋆˙

It was getting harder to lie. Not just to them—but to herself.

Because every time she walked away from her friends, she was walking toward him.

Geum Seong-je. All smirks and bruised knuckles and a name that echoed through alleys like a warning.

With him, everything felt dangerous. Chaotic. Addictive.

But he looked at her like she wasn’t. Like she was something soft and untouchable. The one thing he didn’t want to ruin.

And that was worse. Because it made her want to believe this was more than what it looked like.

That maybe he wasn’t just the monster they painted him to be.

Even if he kind of was.

Even if they’d never understand.

Especially because they wouldn’t.

✮⋆˙

That night, Seong-je pulled her into him with lazy ease, his arms slipping around her waist like they belonged there. The hum of the city below faded as his lips brushed the corner of her mouth.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, voice rough at the edges. “Something up?”

Her head fell to his shoulder. He always smelled like smoke, leather, and the last thing she should want.

But there was something warm underneath it—something steady.

“They’re starting to notice,” she whispered.

He gave a low chuckle against her skin. “Let them.”

“They’re not going to take it well.”

He tilted her chin, thumb grazing her bottom lip. “They’re not the ones kissing you like this.”

And then he did kiss her. Slow. Possessive. Like he had all the time in the world and wanted to ruin it all on her.

She kissed him back, even as something inside her screamed not to.

Because he made her feel like the world stopped spinning when he touched her.

And she wasn’t ready to let go of that yet.

✮⋆˙

The truth didn’t just slip out. It detonated.

It was a Thursday. She’d promised to come study at Baku’s place—something routine. Familiar.

But at the last minute, she sent a half-hearted text: headache. can’t make it. sorry.

She didn’t know they’d follow her.

Didn’t know they’d track her.

And she definitely didn’t expect to get caught wrapped up in Seong-je’s arms in the alley behind Kanghak—his jacket around her shoulders, his hand curled protectively at her waist.

She heard the sound of footsteps too late. Felt her body go cold before she even turned.

“Y/N?”

Baku’s voice cracked like thunder.

Her spine went rigid. Her heart stopped.

Behind him stood Jun-tae, Si-eun, and Gotak—each of them wearing a different shade of disbelief. Betrayal. Hurt.

Jun-tae was the first to react, mouth agape. “No. No fucking way.”

Gotak’s eyes landed on Seong-je’s hand. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

Si-eun’s expression didn’t change, but the white-knuckled grip of his fists said enough.

Seong-je didn’t flinch. He just raised a brow, smug and unconcerned. “Ah. The rescue squad.”

“Him?” Baku’s voice was tight. Bitter. “You’re with him?”

Her throat closed. She tried to speak, but the words tangled.

“Since when?” Gotak asked quietly. Like he didn’t want the answer but needed it anyway.

“A few weeks,” she managed, barely above a whisper.

The rain started then. Soft at first. A drizzle that turned into a cold, unforgiving sheet.

Jun-tae took a step forward. “A few weeks? You’ve been lying to us for weeks?”

“She didn’t lie,” Seong-je drawled, clearly bored now. “She just didn’t owe you the truth.”

Baku lunged, but Gotak grabbed his arm, held him back.

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Baku snarled at her. “You’re dating him? After everything he’s done?”

“I’m not dating Union,” she snapped, voice cracking. “I’m dating him.”

“That is him!” Jun-tae shouted. “He is Union!”

Her chest heaved, vision blurring with heat and rain and guilt. She looked at each of them—boys she’d bled with, laughed with, leaned on.

None of them looked at her the same way anymore.

Only with disappointment. Disbelief. And something that hurt more than anything:

Distance.

✮⋆˙

That night, she sat on the rooftop of Seong-je’s apartment, knees tucked to her chest, hair clinging to her cheeks in wet strands.

She didn’t hear him arrive. Just felt the shift of the air as he slid down beside her.

“They found out,” she said hoarsely.

“I was there.”

“I think I lost them.”

He didn’t speak. The silence stretched.

“They’re like my family,” she added, quieter now. “They’ve always been.”

A long pause.

“And what am I?” he asked finally. The question was soft. Honest. It caught her off guard.

She turned to him, heart aching. “I don’t know.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He looked away, the mask slipping for a second. “Some phase, huh?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not a phase.”

He turned back to her. Leaned in. Pressed his forehead against hers.

“I know what you are,” he whispered.

“What?”

His hand reached up, brushing a rain-soaked strand from her cheek. His thumb lingered.

“Mine.”

And this time, when he kissed her, it wasn’t reckless.

It was full of everything they couldn’t say.

✮⋆˙

The next day, she didn’t show up to school.

Not because she was afraid of facing them. But because she didn’t know how.

How to look them in the eye when all she could think about was the way they looked at her last night—like she was something they didn’t recognize anymore.

She didn’t eat. Barely slept. Her phone buzzed with unread messages:

Baku [3 missed calls]

Si-eun: You okay.

Gotak: Let me know if you want to talk.

Jun-tae: …Seriously?

She didn’t respond.

✮⋆˙

It took two more days before she finally showed up to the old basketball court behind the gym. The one they used to hang out at after class. The one that still smelled like sun-warmed rubber and sweat and summer.

They were all there. Waiting.

The moment she stepped into view, silence fell like a blanket.

Even Baku didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at her, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, brows low and unreadable.

Gotak gave her a faint nod. Si-eun didn’t look up from his bench. Jun-tae folded his arms and looked away entirely.

She swallowed hard. “Can we talk?”

No one answered.

She stepped into the center of the court. It felt like standing trial.

“I know you’re angry,” she said. “I don’t blame you.”

Still nothing. Her throat burned, but she pushed forward.

“But I didn’t lie to hurt you. I didn’t mean to lie at all—it just… happened. One moment, it was nothing. And the next…” Her voice wavered. “He was kind. He listened. He never made me feel small.”

Baku let out a hollow laugh. “Seong-je? Kind? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“He is,” she said quietly. “Not to you. I get that. But with me… he’s different.”

“That’s the problem,” Jun-tae stated. “You only see the version you get.”

“I know what he’s done.” Her voice was low now, but firm. “I’m not pretending he’s perfect. I’m not stupid.”

“Then what are you?” Baku asked, tone biting. “Just blind?”

“No.” She paused. “Just… tired of being told who I’m allowed to love.”

That shut them up.

The words hung heavy in the air, soaked with honesty and hurt.

“He’s not what you think,” she continued, softer now. “I’ve seen him at his worst too. I’m not excusing anything. But he’s never tried to hide from me. Never lied to me. Never judged me when I broke down in his arms at 2AM because I couldn’t sleep. Because I thought you would hate me if you knew.”

Her eyes flicked to Baku. “He holds me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.”

To Si-eun. “He’s the only one who knew I’ve been having panic attacks again.”

To Gotak. “He makes me laugh when I forget how to.”

And finally, to Jun-tae. “He tells me I’m strong when I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Another beat of silence.

Then—quietly, like it pained him—Gotak spoke first. “Did you tell him about… us?”

She nodded. “All of it.”

“And he still…?”

“Still looks at me like I’m the only soft thing in his world.”

Si-eun’s voice was neutral. But it came with a weight. “What happens when that world swallows you whole?”

Her eyes met his. “Then I’ll fight my way back.”

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then Baku stepped forward.

He didn’t look angry anymore. Just tired. Conflicted.

“You love him?” he asked.

She didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Another pause.

And then, with a heavy sigh, Baku muttered, “Fuck.”

It wasn’t acceptance. Not yet.

But it wasn’t rejection either.

“Fine,” he said at last, rubbing a hand through his hair. “If he hurts you, I will kill him.”

“Me too,” Jun-tae muttered, still scowling.

Gotak gave a quiet hum. “I think I want to meet the version of him you see.”

Even Si-eun shut his book with a sigh. “You’d better not start showing up with matching jackets.”

And just like that, the ice cracked.

It wasn’t completely thawed—but it was enough.

She let out a shaky breath and stepped closer. “Thank you. For still letting me show up.”

Baku rolled his eyes. “We’re not that forgiving. We just like you more than we hate him.”

“But not by much,” Jun-tae added darkly.

She laughed—small, but real.

And for the first time in days, it didn’t feel like she had to choose between the boy who held her heart and the friends who held her history.

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

Hope you enjoyed this!!

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@sunnyophelia @atztrsr @snoopsyka @cayrelyra @symphonies-of-poenies @ghost-reine @ginaaaa29 @gacktsa @inom17 @coffee-ii @dna-black-and-blue @intoanothermind @satoru2716 @kyungjunnies @changbinkisser @mishh2728 @0waves2earth @ashayein @janjoonty @ineed-myspace @loveg4lore @itzcandy

[dareonclearwater]

The stench was horrible. Charred meat, burning hair, melted plastic. Smoke and ash and cinders. The amplified, distorted laughter of the towering, battlesuit-clad villain echoed across the empty square as the last panicked civilians streamed out. He fired a few flamethrower blasts into the air in celebration.

"This is Inferno's city now! Prepare to enter an era of pain unlike any you've ever known!"

"Mm, no, I think that's quite enough." Picking his way across the scorched pavement was a man in bright red tophat and tailcoat, crisp white gloves already besmirched with ash.

"You're... Toyman, aren't you? A small-time object controller. You can't possibly be making a power play? Against ME?"

Toyman stooped and picked something up off the ground. A charred scrap of fabric, metallic gold. A fragment of a cape. He closed his eyes.

"Did you know, none of my toys ever went to waste. After every fight, they were carefully swept up and donated. Children's hospitals, orphanages, thrift stores, foster agencies. I have to imagine every child in the city knows how to play jacks now. I started using other toys to get them some variety, but jacks and balls are just so versatile."

Inferno leveled one of his smoking flamethrowers at Toyman. The pilot light sparked and kicked on. "What are you babbling about?"

"Golden was the only one who knew my secret." he closed the scrap of cape in his fist. "He stopped in to see me in prison, said he'd been trying to track where I stole my toys from. Very hard to do, because I hadn't."

"Oh just die already, you're distracting me." The heavy trigger thunked. Nothing happened. Inferno pulled it again. The fuel line on the flamethrower ruptured, spraying jellied fuel down the side of his battlesuit. "...WHAT?"

"You see, I'm not an object controller, I'm a creator." Toyman held up a bright pink rubber ball that hadn't been there moments ago, and pointed to the one now lodged in the barrel of the flamethrower. "And I can put them anywhere."

"I can still just crush you- OW!" The massive arm swung forward, then recoiled as if stung, moving nearly randomly as Inferno's hand flailed inside the control gauntlet.

"Oh, did you run into a handful of jacks in there? Yeah, it's not great if you slip and fall on them either. You see, I like having fun, I like just playing with people. And the heroes were perfect, great fun, understood the game. But if you play too rough, if you break my toys, I'm going to get angry."

The battlesuit slumped to its knees, a strained choking sound coming from the speakers.

"I prefer rubber balls to marbles, but in this case it's easier to fit them in. I hope you have the space to cough them out in, but those suits don't have a lot of elbow room, in general."

The suit jerked, and a cheery horn played from the speakers.

"Oh, looks like you found the jack-in-the-box I put in front of the hatch controls. Sadly they always conform to real-world expectations, it would have been nice to be able to shove one up your- Well, no, let's keep this family friendly. I have a name to uphold."

Blithely, Toyman turned away from the twitching, gurgling battlesuit. He carefully folded the scrap of burnt golden cape and tucked it into his breast pocket. "I swear," he remarked as the battlesuit stilled. "If I have to go straight because of this I am going to be very cross."

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At worst, you annoy the local supers but your crimes never hurt anyone. All fun and games until things change when a truly sadistic super villain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Poseidon x Percy Jackson's Mother! Reader

For: @jeo20-ir

The Montauk air smelled like salt mixed with the thick feeling of horrible tension, as you stood on the porch of the beach cabin, arms wrapped tight around yourself, staring at the restless waves.

Inside, Percy was, preparing for his promised boat trip with you.

He had done it, your boy, your brave, sweet boy, had faced gods and monsters and come out on top.

And he saved you from Hades.

But even as pride filled your chest, there was a heavy feeling of worry.

It had been there ever since Percy's father had stepped back into the picture.

Poseidon.

You thought you had buried the memories of those stolen summer nights, when Poseidon had been just a man to you.

He had laughed, loved, and promised more than he could give.

And....

...then he vanished, leaving you with a warning about monsters, a promise to watch over Percy, and nothing else.

Or maybe something else, like the fact that he killed your friends and your ex-boyfriend.

That's why when he tried to contact you through Percy several times after Percy returned from Camp, you avoided him.

"I'm ready, let's go, mom."

You look at your son as he walks up behind you.

Despite Percy looking like Poseidon, his personality is nothing like the deity of the sea.

And you are thankful for that.

🌊🌊🌊

The boat rocked sharply, the waves suddenly restless and unpredictable, as if the ocean itself was throwing a tantrum.

You clung to the railing, your knuckles white as Percy shouted something over the roaring wind. He had insisted on this trip, a simple mother-son outing on the water to celebrate his latest victory.

You had agreed, wanting to share in his joy, but now your stomach churned with unease.

The sea wasn't angry, It felt like it was watching and waiting.

Another violent lurch sent you sprawling.

Percy's cry of alarm barely registered before the next wave struck, dragging you over the side.

"MOM!"

Cold water swallowed you whole, its icy fingers pulling you deeper and deeper.

Panic clawed at your chest as you kicked and struggled, but the currents felt alive, like they had one purpose.

And then, just as suddenly, the water stilled.

You opened your eyes, and there he was, Poseidon.

He stood like the ocean had shaped itself into a man just for him.

His eyes glowed an impossible shade of green, his expression unreadable.

"I knew you’d come back to me," he said, his voice carrying humor.

"Come back to you?" you snapped, despite the ache in your lungs.

"I fell overboard because of your tantrum!"

You don't know how you are breathing underwater and speaking, but here you are getting angry at your ex-husband.

He stepped closer, the water parting effortlessly around him.

"I had to get your attention, you have been avoiding me for too long, " His hands touching your cheeks.

Before moving down, and grabbing your arms.

"You still look as young and beautiful as you have always been."

You wanted to pull away, to remind yourself of the heartache he had left in you.

But his grip on you is tight, making it painful and almost impossible to escape him.

Before you could retort, a shadow cut through the water above you. Percy.

Your heart leapt, your son had come to you.

But as he swam closer, his eyes locked onto Poseidon, yet instead of the anger or confusion you expected, Percy's face softened.

He nodded once, a knowing smile tugging at his lips, as if this was exactly what he’d hoped for.

Then, with a quick wave and a mischievous glint in his eyes, Percy turned and kicked back toward the surface, leaving you alone with Poseidon.

"Seems our son approves."

Your face twists, knowing very well that Percy misunderstood the situation.

"I don't approve."

His grin didn't leave his face, the water around you pulsing, and insistent on making you stay.

"Come now," he murmured, tilting his head.

"You have read enough of my ancient stories to know I never take no for an answer."

[bueckersworld]

white mustang

synopsis: paige pulls up in her white mustang and invites you on a late-night drive, saying she’s been thinking about you. the two of you ride through the city in silence until you finally admit your feelings, breaking the promise you both made to keep things casual. your confession hangs heavy in the air, and paige, unsure and afraid, chooses to walk away — leaving you alone. days later, you run into her again by chance, and the tension between you reignites. you share a charged, intimate moment in the mustang, the same car that once drove you apart, and in the aftermath, paige chooses to stay — this time, ready to try for real.

warnings: angst, smut — mdni, dry humping (please bring ts back 🙏), fingering (r!receiving), desperate!paige, slight mean!paige

WORD COUNT: 2.9k info. masterlist. taglist.

the streetlights flicker on one by one as the sky bleeds into a dull purple. you’re sitting on the cracked curb, just watching the night settle around the quiet neighborhood. the air is thick and still, like the world’s holding its breath. you don’t know how long you’ve been here, but your thoughts are tangled up, twisting and pulling at something you’ve been trying to ignore.

the sound of a car engine pulls you out of your spiral—a low rumble that grows louder, then softer, until you see it. paige, in her white mustang, gliding down the street like she owns the night. she slows, pulls up beside you, and the window slides down with a smooth click.

“hey,” she says, voice calm but maybe a little nervous. “felt like driving. thought maybe you’d wanna come with.”

you don’t hesitate. something about the way she’s looking at you, like she’s been thinking about you too, pulls you in. you slide into the passenger seat, the familiar smell of leather and her perfume wrapping around you like a quiet comfort.

the engine hums to life, and the city blurs past in streaks of light and shadow. she doesn’t say much at first, just lets the car carry you both through the streets, windows down just enough for the night air to touch your skin.

“been thinking about you,” she finally admits, eyes on the road but voice soft like she’s sharing a secret.

your heart thuds hard, the words hanging between you heavier than the night. you swallow, then turn to look at her. “i’ve been thinking about you too.”

she glances over, surprise flickering across her face, but she doesn’t say anything more. instead, she takes a turn onto a quieter road, away from the glow of streetlights and the hum of the city.

you both sit there, the silence filling up with everything you want to say but don’t know how to say.

“i can’t keep pretending it’s nothing,” you finally whisper, voice shaking more than you’d like. “we said it was nothing. that it was easy. but it’s not. it’s always been more.”

paige’s eyes search yours, and you see that flicker of something—maybe fear, maybe hope. “you shouldn’t say that,” she breathes. “not when we both promised.”

“yeah, well,” you say, your voice breaking, “i’m done pretending.”

for a long moment, she doesn’t say a word. then she looks away, jaw tightening. “maybe some things are better left alone.”

the words hit harder than you expect. “so what now?”

she takes a breath, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “i think i need to leave you alone. for a while.”

your chest aches, and you don’t argue. the car becomes colder somehow, the white mustang no longer a refuge but a reminder of the distance growing between you.

when she pulls up to your place, you don’t say goodbye. the door shuts quietly, then the engine roars and she’s gone, leaving you alone with the weight of your confession.

days pass slow and hollow. you catch yourself reaching for your phone to call her, but you stop before you do. maybe some things aren’t ready to be fixed.

then one afternoon, you see her again. standing under the neon glow of a diner, rain slicking her hair, the white mustang parked nearby.

her eyes find yours immediately, and for a second, it feels like nothing’s changed.

“hey,” you say softly.

“hey,” she replies, a tentative smile tugging at her lips.

she steps closer, the space between you charged with all the things left unsaid. the rain starts to fall again, heavy and warm, and neither of you moves to go inside.

“why didn’t you call me?” you ask, voice cracking, barely holding together the storm in your chest.

she doesn’t answer. her eyes flicker down to your lips for a second, jaw clenched like she’s choking on everything she couldn’t say. then suddenly, she grabs your face and kisses you hard—like she’s angry, like she’s sorry, like kissing you is the only way she knows how to speak.

the rain is relentless now, soaking into your clothes, your hair, everything, but you don’t move. neither of you do. it doesn’t matter. not when she’s kissing you like she’s starving and you’re the only thing she’s ever wanted.

your hands tangle in the fabric of her soaked shirt, pulling her closer, closer, until there’s no air between you. her teeth graze your bottom lip, her breath coming hot and ragged against your mouth.

then she spins you around and presses you against the side of her car, her grip rough, hands sliding down your sides with a kind of urgency that sends heat spiraling low in your stomach. she touches you like she’s memorizing the map of your body—like she’s terrified she’ll forget it if she stops.

your hands roam across her chest, down her torso, fingertips slipping under the hem of her shirt, skin to skin. your gasp catches between her lips when her hands trail down your waist and slide over your hips, slow and sure.

her fingers dip beneath the waistband of your shorts, teasing just along the edge of your underwear. she leans in close, lips ghosting over your jaw.

“you drive me crazy,” she whispers, her voice ragged, full of frustration and need. “i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

you part your legs just slightly, inviting her in without words, but when her knee slips between your thighs and presses against you, you can’t help but let out a soft moan.

your hips shift instinctively, grinding down against the pressure of her leg. “paige—” you breathe, but she cuts you off with another kiss—deeper this time, wetter, full of heat.

“just—shut up, okay?” she mutters against your mouth. “i didn’t mean what i said. i didn’t mean any of it. i can’t hide this anymore. i can’t keep fucking pretending like i don’t love you. like i don’t crave you every goddamn day.”

her voice cracks on the last part. it’s raw. real. and it undoes something in you.

you kiss her again—slower this time, but just as desperate. your hands move to the back of her neck, threading into her damp hair.

“don’t push me away again,” she whispers against your skin, her voice smaller now, almost a plea.

you rest your forehead against hers. “i’m not going anywhere.”

she kisses along your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, her lips soft and reverent, and your body arches into hers like instinct.

her hand slides back down, this time with purpose, fingers undoing the button of your shorts, then the zipper. you gasp when she slides her hand inside, brushing over your underwear, teasing you gently through the thin fabric.

your thighs tremble when she dips past them, fingers finally slipping under and finding you wet and aching. you whimper, head falling back against the car. her mouth follows you, kissing along the side of your throat, breathing you in.

“fuck, you’re soaked,” she murmurs. “and not just from the rain.”

her fingers glide through your folds, slow and deliberate, spreading you open. she rubs lazy circles over your clit, drawing soft, breathless moans from your lips, your hips rocking into her touch.

then she slides two fingers inside, deep and smooth, curling them up just right. you cry out softly, your hand grabbing at her shirt, the other buried in her hair.

she watches you with hungry eyes, her breath caught in her throat. “wanted you for so long,” she whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth, then the hollow beneath your ear.

her fingers begin to move, a steady rhythm that pushes you higher, each stroke precise, like she knows your body better than you do.

your legs shake as she pins you against the mustang, the rain masking the quiet, needy sounds spilling from your lips.

“yeah, that’s it,” she growls, her voice gravelly, lips pressed to your ear. “give it to me. let me feel you fall apart.”

you’re close—too close—the knot in your stomach tightening with every thrust of her fingers. you press your hips into her hand, chasing it, needing it.

“c’mon, baby—come for me,” she breathes, her pace quickening just enough to push you over the edge. “please—i need you to.”

you moan her name, your whole body tensing before it releases, your climax crashing through you like a wave. she holds you through it, kissing you, whispering against your lips, grounding you in the middle of the rain and heat and everything you are to her.

she doesn’t pull away. she just stays there with you, forehead pressed to yours, fingers still inside you, her other hand holding the back of your neck.

“you’re mine,” she says quietly. “i’m done pretending you’re not.”

your breathing slows, your pulse still fluttering against your skin. paige’s hand gently slips away, but she doesn’t move far. instead, she wraps her arms around you, pulling you against her like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go.

the rain continues to fall, softer now, and you both just stand there—soaked, shaking, but finally still.

you bury your face in her neck, your fingers curling into the back of her shirt. for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest eases, replaced by something warmer. something whole.

“you meant it?” you whisper. “what you said?”

she nods slowly. “yeah. every word. i’m so tired of running from it.”

you pull back just enough to look into her eyes. “so don’t.”

her lips curve into a faint, wet smile. “i won’t.”

you both get into the mustang after a while, clothes dripping, hair stuck to your foreheads, laughter breaking through the silence when your soaked thighs stick to the leather seats. she reaches across the console, taking your hand again, lacing her fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

and maybe it is. maybe it always was.

because tonight, the mustang didn’t drive you apart.

tonight, it brought you back.

© bueckersworld

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ um, hi. i know this was supposed to be posted a while ago, but yk. shit happens, and a lot of it did. but i’m back, hopefully for awhile.. 😭😭 lmao

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟

taglist: @elswhore @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround @jaylie-bee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @mrsarnold @lol-12n @sayurireidotcom @slt4kavanagh @kl0verk @agnesblight @scarlett177 @syraxsbigfanfr @youmeandjennessey @asapeveryday @avvwritesstufff @rand0mmmgg

[creati-bunny]

“WHERE IS KENTO, YUJI?”

You say, your eyes hold nothing but an expected glint in them. Itadori Yuji flinched, his lips trembling, and his impassive expression slowly breaks. The kid stood still in your living room, having to watch your eager face turn confused and morph into a blank one; Yuji held back a sob, trying to be strong for you to tell the news.

“I—“

Suddenly, the lump in his throat becomes bigger. The oxygen he breathes in becomes thinner, the world around him seems smaller—unclear, made of black and white. His body weighs too heavy, like he had lost the sense of gravity. Yuji’s eyes widened, recalling the traumatic event of witnessing his mentor, one of the people he admired, shredded into pieces by the hands of his enemy.

The missing eye—the obvious structure of Nanami’s skull— invades the senses of Itadori. He lets out a choked whimper, his knees trembling and breaking down on the floor. Your mind resets slowly into seconds, seeing the reaction of your husband’s student. “Answer me, Yuji. Where the hell is my husband?”

Yuji stayed silent, images of the event flashing in his mind as it repeated over, and over, and over again—like an endless torture of his failure; the consequences for being weak, for being useless.

“ITADORI YUJI!”

You shouted with enraged eyes, your heart already breaking into pieces; the truth is right in front of your face, the boy does not need to say more. But you need to let out your voice, your feelings—you begin to breathe heavily, your vision became blurry with tears; your memories with your husband bitterly recalled back into your senses. His warmth, his scent, his love that pierced into your heart to keep you alive.

Your person.

Yuji whimpered weakly, tears dripping on the wooden floor. His body trembled, ears ringing loudly while his hands hung onto the floor for life. “He died,” he whispered, his voice cracking; a solemn look washed over his face. The light inside him was gone—replaced with pure sadness, grief, and fury. The loud impact of his knuckles punching the floor combined with his sobs. “He died right in front of me, and I couldn’t—shit.”

Your breathing stopped as you heard his words. Like someone had carved a hole in your heart, your husband died. Gone forever; you really do have a cruel fate. The love of your life, your reason to live, your pillar in your existence, just gone. “Kento promised me, Yuji. He promised me that we would go to Malaysia after his mission, and see the beach, possibly live there and adopt two to three kids to have a family. He is—“ You interrupted yourself with a bitter, shaky laugh, like you had just heard something ridiculous, before your trembling lips curled upside down. “What do you mean he is gone?”

Yuji sobs and breaks down in front of you. You, Nanami, and Gojo serve as guardians for him. And to see the life taken from your eyes, the light behind them dimmed; he failed all of you.

You cannot breathe, you cannot speak, your brain cannot even afford to contemplate the bleeding on your palm with how your fingers grip the glass of water so tightly—the glass shattered, the liquid mixed with your blood runs over your hand mournfully.

Your husband, Nanami Kento, is dead.

image is by @Deltanpopo on X

[hgfictionwriter]

Still Yours

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie spent years avoiding vulnerability, holding everything in and doing her best to meet everyone's expectations. When she finally cracks, it could cost her everything she holds dear.

Warnings: Cheating. Angst. References to sex (nothing explicit). Language.

A/N: This is the cheating fic. It exists in the G!P universe. It's going to be several chapters that show the aftermath of Jessie's indiscretion. She's aged up in this to fit the storyline I was picturing.

“That’s a wrap.”

The corner of Jessie's mouth turned up just slightly despite the heaviness in her chest at those words.

“In more ways than one,” she said wryly as she mustered up a more fulsome smile.

Put on a smile. It's what she always did. Even when she felt lost and hollow inside.

“You made it through.”

Jessie’s smile grew less burdensome at the comment. She turned her attention to the woman who was now dismantling the video equipment.

“I owe you thanks for that,” Jessie offered. "It's no secret I hate this kind of stuff. But," she shrugged, "this was about as painless as it could've been."

Mia, the videographer hired for this project, shot her a smirk.

“I'm hardly owed thanks,” she dismissed as she collapsed the tripod. She set her eyes on Jessie and gave a light shrug. “It's not every day you get to do the retirement video for one of the country's national treasures. You may say you hate the camera, but it loves you and the fans do, too."

"Hm," Jessie voiced as she offered a tight-lipped smile.

National treasure. The fans. The crowds. The energy. The adrenaline. The stakes. This sport had brought her to tears so many times over the years - tears of frustration, of happiness, of pain - she'd experienced every emotion, every high and low. And now, it was finally coming to a close.

Long ago, she'd said there was life for her after football. She'd been confident of it. But now it was upon her, she didn't feel nearly as sure.

Football had been something she sort of fell into in a way. She was a natural. She worked at it - damn hard, too - but before she knew it, she was getting call ups to the national team when she was in high school. Full-ride scholarships. Drafted to top-tier teams across the globe. Record-setting transfer fees. The captain's arm band. Inheriting a legacy and doing her best to carry it forward.

She didn't plan all of this, but it became her life nonetheless. It became who she was. Expectations upon expectations being layered on year after year. At this point, she could hardly remember a life - or an identity - outside of it.

The trajectory had been thrilling and a blur. She was on automatic in a lot of ways - her next steps laid out for her by her parents, by agents, by coaches. Success came on hard and fast. From a skinny, awkward little teen running onto the pitch for Canada, to quickly earning medals and lifting trophies. To now - to riding the bench, missed shots, missed passes. Her mind could visualize everything she needed to do, but the body was no longer willing.

She didn't want to retire like this. The hope was always to go out strong and on top, but instead, it felt more like a whimper.

After her missed penalty resulted in Canada having another early exit in a major tournament - one more thing in what felt like a too-long line of misplays and shortcomings - she made a decision.

It may have seemed a bit of a knee-jerk reaction, but deep down, this had been nagging at her. It felt a long time coming. The highs of her early, even mid-, twenties, felt like a lifetime ago sometimes.

She'd spent most of her early life being a prodigy. People had nothing but high hopes and expectations for her since she was a teen. Praise and accolades raining down even if she shied away from it all. Still, she did her damnedest to be perfect. It nearly killed her sometimes.

She had expectations to live up to. And they could be crushing. Not that she let on. Even when she could no longer meet those expectations. Working herself to the bone to be the best, to be all the things people said she'd be.

Sure, on paper she'd achieved a lot. But in many ways, she felt like she didn't quite meet the highs laid out for her. She'd spent all these years chasing those expectations. How could she explain that she'd achieved the things she did, but still felt like a bit of an imposter. A disappointment. Unsettled.

She couldn't explain it. And she didn't.

Not even to you. Especially not to you.

You'd sacrificed so much to support her and her career. The travel, the time away, uprooting your life as she moved from one team to another, concessions within your own career to give hers space. Giving her a family - two beautiful girls, and raising them and taking care of them while she travelled around chasing her dreams. And you did it all with a loving smile and tender words.

She hated disappointing you the most. The thought terrified her. She loved you so much and wanted you to see the best of her. For you to feel like all of your sacrifices were worth it.

So whatever anxieties clouded her mind - and no matter how much you inquired - she did what she'd always been good at, setting them aside and carrying on. She gave a winning smile, was steady, and kept moving forward.

“Hey-”

She nearly startled as Mia's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“-here’s that lens you asked about yesterday,” Mia announced as she handed it to Jessie.

“You should check out Wileton park before you go. There's incredible foliage and landscape there. Right up your alley, I think. You'd get some great shots," Mia went on. Jessie found herself giving her a smile of gratitude.

"That sounds great. I'll look it up," she said. "And, um, thanks. You know. Throughout this project. I appreciate, you know," she paused as she searched for the right words, instead just gesturing between the two of them, "this. It's been a relief to not have to dissect my career or next move every second."

"I got you," Mia offered with a quick wink as she swung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you in a few for the wrap party."

"Mm, can't wait," Jessie deadpanned with a facetious smile at the prospect of another big to-do.

The evening was about as casual as Jessie could've hoped for. Still, the crew made speeches about her and she had to speak as well. As kind and well-intentioned as it all was, it just felt suffocating. She may have grown more accustomed to attention over the years, but attention under this context stung worse than she anticipated.

She had a drink to calm her nerves. And another. And another.

She found herself gravitating towards Mia, yet again. And as expected, Mia just let her be. Didn't talk about retirement. About plans. About glory days. None of that. It was easy and the reprieve she needed.

"You know. This is your party. You don't have to sit through it if you don't want," Mia relayed with a smirk as she nudged Jessie with her knee.

"If I leave first I'll just disappoint the crew," she said with a brief chuckle, but dormant emotions and thoughts tugged at her in this state. Her smiled faded as her gaze grew unfixed.

"It's hard...having so many expectations." She gave a breathy laugh as sensations in her chest began to rise. "Yeah. It's hard. I don't...I don't like disappointing people," she finished with a smile that very much didn't reach her eyes.

Mia gave her a slight frown. "Who are you disappointing?"

"Mm. I don't know," Jessie with another small laugh. "Everyone, it feels like."

Jessie didn't know how it happened. All of a sudden, all of the worries that had been weighing on her that she'd kept so tightly contained started to spill out. The other woman just listened as Jessie began to vent. She didn't even get that far into it before she just stopped - emotions teetering on the edge. She felt fidgety. She needed to get away. To distract herself. Stop whatever these feelings were.

"Want to go?" Jessie asked, vaguely surprising herself with how much she wanted Mia to say 'yes' and to aid her escape.

"Oh, yeah, of course," she said as she quickly set down her drink.

Jessie hurriedly settled the tab, again, confused by her own unsteadiness - the way her hands shook as she paid. Must be the alcohol.

Before she knew it, they were heading upstairs from the hotel bar and were at Mia's door.

"Thanks for listening to me," Jessie said with a nervous laugh. Mia made a face.

"Don't mention it. I'm happy to," she said. "You're dealing with a lot."

"Yeah," Jessie replied distractedly, her eyes inexplicably drawn to Mia's lips.

Something was building inside of Jessie that was foreign to her, but tempting in a way. Some kind of pull that promised greater reprieve. Greater escape.

There was so much going on in her mind all the time. She just wanted it to stop.

Then, her lips were upon Mia's. A charge went through Jessie's body. It felt amazing. It was strange, it was dangerous, and it felt so enticing.

"I've been wondering what that would be like," Mia said with a smirk as Jessie pulled back. Another rush went through her at the encouragement and she dove back in for another kiss, now pushing Mia against the closed door and loving the way the girl subtly moaned into their kiss.

"I have to admit I wasn't expecting this from you though," Mia eventually said. This did nothing but egg Jessie on. It bolstered some kind of defiance within her.

"I don't always have to do what's expected of me," she countered.

"Are you sure about this?" Mia asked, eyes searching Jessie's. "You're married."

There was a cacophony of noise inside Jessie's head. It banged around inside of her until it nearly formed a dull ringing in her ears. Her heart was pounding. She couldn't think - didn't want to think. She just wanted to get away. Not be in this moment. In her own skin.

She kissed Mia again.

"I know."

--------------

Jessie woke with a sharp breath. Her eyes flew open to reveal a darkened room. Her heart began to pound and her breath grew deep and heavy, but it took her mind several moments to catch up.

Panic began to flood her system. Her breath quickened. She continued to stare up at the ceiling as memories and misguided decisions fell into place. Her stomach was in knots and her temperature spiked as she willed everything to just be a bad dream. But she knew it wasn't. She forced herself to turn and look.

There was Mia - some girl she'd worked on and off with over the past few weeks - a girl who was very much not her wife. There she was, fast asleep, naked and tangled in sheets.

Jessie's chest rose rapidly as she rubbed agitatedly at her face. What did she do?

She curled her fingers into her skin, nails digging in, but she couldn't even register the pain she was so entrenched in her thoughts.

Images of the past few hours filled her mind. Vivid. Graphic. She knew exactly what she'd been doing. She knew as she did it again and again. She remembered the feeling - some twisted kind of disassociative satisfaction - vaguely aware as Mia moaned in pleasure under her, how the girl writhed as she came.

It felt like an out of body experience at the time, but, there was no denying that she very much knew what she was doing.

Jessie climbed out of bed in a rush, but as carefully as she could to not wake Mia. She gathered up her clothes with jittery hands and slipped them on as silently as possible, fumbling several times over with how numb she felt.

Her legs hurriedly carried her down the hall to the elevator and to her floor. Her throat was tight and she sweat as her heart pounded violently inside her rib cage.

She fumbled with the key to her room, stumbling in and slamming it behind her. She unsteadily made her way to the bathroom and gripped the counter desperately as she began to gasp for air.

What little cognitive thought remained was begging and pleading for her to calm down, but her throat continued to constrict and her pulse grew stronger. She could hardly hear any thoughts above the rapid sound of her heartbeat and ragged breaths.

She clumsily turned on the tap, cold water rushing out and she pooled handfuls of it in her palms before splashing it onto her face. It felt good and she splashed more of it on her and rubbed her skin so roughly and vigorously that it hurt.

She finally looked - really looked - in the mirror. Her complexion had grown pale, but she had red splotches and welts from where she'd been rubbing. Her eyes looked bewildered and scared.

She hardly recognized herself. And she hated what she saw.

How did she get to this point? What had she done? And for what?

She pictured you.

Emotion crashed over her and she stifled a sob. She clutched her hand, desperately gripping and caressing the silicone wedding band she'd hardly ever taken off since she put it on 10 years ago.

She remembered worrying that you wouldn't like it, but instead you said it was sweet that she wanted to wear the band so much. She remembered clearly the way you smiled as you slipped it onto her finger that first day. She remembered the way her chest felt like it could burst she was so happy to be yours; how happy she was to put her ring on you, that you were hers.

Self-loathing began to course through her veins. How could she do this to you?

She loved you. She really, fucking loved you. If there were two truths in this entire world - one: she loved her kids, and two: she loved and adored you.

She'd seen so many relationships crumble. So many sputter and never really come to life. But you - your relationship, your love - it was special. And she was so grateful for it. You two built a beautiful life together.

And now...

She belatedly realized she was gripping the counter again, now with so much force that it left bright red imprints in her skin.

She stormed out of the bathroom and paced around the room. She grabbed her phone and clutched it in her hand. She couldn't think straight. It hurt to breathe.

All she knew right now is she wanted to hear your voice. She needed to talk to you. She needed you.

How fucked up.

Her hands still shook as she called you, lifting the phone to her ear and using every tactic she'd ever learned to coach herself to calm down.

The ringing of the phone stopped mid-tone as you picked up. Jessie's breath caught in her throat and her feet abruptly rooted themselves to the floor.

"Hey, baby." Your voice filtered through with a pleased laugh, sending goosebumps across Jessie's skin. "What are you doing up? Isn't it like 4 am over there?" You asked with another soft laugh.

A lump formed in her throat so large that when she opened her mouth nothing came out at first. She tried again.

"Oh, yeah, I-I couldn't sleep. So. I thought I'd call you," she said, attempting to laugh, but nothing more than a feeble huff came out.

"Aren't you sweet," you teased with a sweet laugh and it felt like a knife through her heart. Her jaw clenched painfully. "Any reason you can't sleep?"

Her eyes screwed shut as her mind snapped back to Mia beneath her, the girl's hands on her, her moans in her ear. She swallowed hard.

"I don't know," she responded quietly.

"Well, you have a quieter day today, don't you? Did you finish filming yesterday?" You asked.

"Yeah," she responded dully. Her hands shook again and she tried to will away the lump that persisted in her throat. She blew out a silent breath and forced herself to start walking around the room again.

"You finished and you didn't even tell me!" You said playfully. "You must've been celebrating too hard, you didn't even text me," you added with a laugh.

Jessie's gaze shifted up to the ceiling and she dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand in an ill-attempt to ground herself.

You legitimately were joking. There was no malice or resentment in your tone. And how did she repay you?

She racked her mind to come up with a response, but mercifully you went on.

"Hopefully you can rest a bit later today," you said.

"Yeah," she repeated quietly. She shook out her head. She needed to recover. Reset. "So, um, how was your day? How are the girls?" She asked, tone curious and anew.

"Well, I texted you earlier about Josie quitting. So. That sucked," you relayed matter of fact.

"Oh-right," Jessie said as she brought a hand to her face and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I remember now."

"It's fine," you said mildly. "I know you're busy," you offered graciously.

Another pang went through her chest.

"Ky presented her science project today. Ky! Come tell your momma how it went!" Despite the immense weight churning in the pit of her stomach, Jessie smiled as you called for their daughter. "Here, she's coming," you said more softly. The call muffled as it was handed over.

"Momma, I got an A! And Mr. Jensen said my project is one of the ones going to the finals!"

Jessie's eyes welled with tears immediately upon hearing her daughter's voice. "Oh baby, that's so great. I'm so proud of you."

"You helped me," Ky laughed.

"Not much. You told me what you wanted and I just helped put it together. You did the hard work," she insisted.

Kylen, her oldest - eight years old and wise beyond her years already. She had a knack for science and loved to learn. She was quiet around new people, but once she was comfortable she could talk a mile a minute.

She continued to regale Jessie with updates until another voice chimed in from the background.

"Is that Momma? Hey, I want to talk to her, too! Let me talk!"

Jessie smiled again. Harper. Her youngest at six years old. She inherited the creativity genes. She loved music and dance. And while Ky was a bit more internal with her emotions, Harper hardly ever was.

Jessie couldn't help but laugh as she heard the two begin to bicker over the phone until you interjected. Harper soon came on.

"Momma, will you be home for my recital this weekend?" Harper asked.

"Of course, sweetie. I wouldn't miss it," she said as she quickly wiped at a tear falling from the corner of her eye. She tilted her head back as she tried to stop herself from sniffling.

"Okay, good. I've been practicing every night like you told me to," she relayed very proudly.

"That's great, baby. I can't wait to see you on stage," she said.

"Mommy's going to do my make-up," she told you.

"Yeah?" Jessie said. "Sure you don't want me to?" She managed to tease.

"No!" Harper giggled.

As Harper talked, the weight of Jessie's actions continued to mount. Self-reproach was coming on strong and hard, polluting every second of what should've been a sweet call with her family. Instead, she felt sick to her stomach and the harsh voices in her head were growing louder and louder.

She had a beautiful life. And she knew it. She never doubted it. Yet she risked destroying it like it was nothing.

She was stuck in her head when she heard your voice in the background, drawing her attention back.

"-five more minutes and it's bedtime, okay?" She heard you say.

Both girls started to pout and complain, saying they wanted to talk more. You reminded them that Jessie would be home in a day.

Eventually, you came back on the line after she said goodnight to the girls.

"Well, that was certainly a nice way for the girls to end their night," you said. "They've missed you."

"I've missed them too," Jessie said, doing her very best to hold her voice steady.

"Kay, baby," you went on gently. "You should try to sleep again. You could probably still get an hour or so."

Her throat was dry and taut and she wiped at a fresh set of tears.

"Yeah," she said and failed at holding back a sniffle.

"You okay?" You asked, confusion and concern evident in your voice.

Jessie shook her head as her eyes fell shut. Her lip trembled and she pinched the bridge of her nose harshly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," she tried to reassure you, though she knew her voice betrayed her some. She sniffled again as her upset with herself grew greater. "I'm just missing you guys," she added.

It wasn't a lie.

"Aww. We miss you too, babe. But, we'll be getting a lot more time with you soon. Not too soon though," you said with a soft chuckle. Even if Jessie hadn't been forthcoming with you about her insecurities and stress, you at least knew it was somewhat bittersweet for her. As far as she ever let you know though, above all, she was ready and she was good.

"I love you," Jessie said, hating the way her voice quaked.

"I love you, too, Jess," you reciprocated. "Get some sleep, baby. You sound tired."

She didn't respond. Her body felt so heavy and she just stared blankly at the carpeted floor as her pulse pounded loudly in her head.

"Jess?" You inquired.

"Hm?" She voiced quietly, barely audible.

"Sounds like you're falling asleep already," you chuckled.

"No," she said simply, feeling inner resentment starting to boil again. She blinked back more tears, sitting up and steeling herself. "I just miss you and love you a lot."

You laughed softly into the phone and it was sweet and painful all at the same time.

"Someone's getting sentimental in their old age," you teased lightly.

Normally, she would've laughed. Cracked a quip of her own. Instead, it upset her.

"I've always loved you," she said resolutely, almost in defiance.

"Okay," you responded slowly, a bit of confusion creeping into your tone. "I was just teasing you, babe. I miss you and love you too," you said gently.

Jessie wiped irritably at her eyes. She was a mess. She didn't know what to do.

"Okay. I just want you to know that," she said simply, voice now timid and meek.

"Alright, love," you accepted. "Well, if you aren't going to try to get more sleep, I at least need to make sure the girls are getting ready for bed. I appreciate you calling though. It's nice to hear your voice. Keep me posted on everything, okay? And we can't wait until you're home."

Jessie had her head hung in her hand and her mouth quivered as she fought back more emotions. She nodded, working up the will and control to respond.

"'Course, baby. Kiss the girls goodnight for me. And have a good sleep tonight. Text me when you're up." She swallowed hard. "Can't wait to see you, too."

[superhoeva]

of course, simon riley would fall for someone with the most sensitive gag reflex in the world.

you poor thing–can’t even get the man’s cock a third of the way into your mouth before your body jerks and you’re coughing, already-glassy eyes peeking up at him. he just thumbs at you jaw with a quiet s’alright, jus’ try again before nudging his head into your lips.

only a little desperate to hear you choke on it again, simon tips his hips a little harder. 

mean, sure. but worth it.

you gag again, harder than before, lurching off of him only to leave behind a slinking line of spit that keeps the two of you attached. simon hisses and collects the drool, wiping it on your cheek while trying to hide the quirk of his lips. his cock bobs in the air for a short moment, heavy and aching, as you eye it with half uncertainty, half-determination.

“you wanna stop?”

you shake your head at simon’s question, interrupting his praise by grabbing him at the base and shoving him halfway down. you hold him there for longer than he expects, swallowing down the gags that attempt to force you off. gripping the back of your head, simon pushes himself even deeper, finally groaning when his tip grazes the back of your throat. you’re just barely able to keep yourself from coughing him up, hands hurrying to grip his thighs like they’re something that will save you.

“pinch ‘f it’s too much, yeah?”

you nod and simon grunts, holding you steady as he starts to fuck your face.

jesus, it’s a mess. you’re a mess and he loves it. there’s a gathering pile of spit collecting at your knees as it escapes your lips and drips down. his tip drags across the back of your tongue and pokes through to your throat. he doesn’t get as far as he wants but it still feels better than good. hot and tight and slick with all the spit you’re retching up.

“that’s good, pet,” simone seeps out, voice taught as he pants through his nose. simon doesn’t let go of your head, balls twitching when you heave with a wet gasp. “fuck, you’re a sight. keep gaggin’ on me, feels nice.”

you sweet, sweet, disgusting thing. dousing his dick in a coat of bubbly spit, wheezing whatever air you can around him and even trying to glide your tongue at the veins that lightning the entire way to his sack–which is just as filthy with the mess that’s tracked its way down.

when he cums, you spit it back up, slicking his member even more. then the man fucking coos at you because your eyes are red, your chin is soaked, and the voice you speak to him in is nothing more than a hoarse squeak.

“how was that? was i better?”

simon smears his fingers across your chin before reaching to push it into his mouth. his cock jumps at the taste, returning back to life with ease, just as he drags you back into your feet. he palms the nape of your neck to make you look at him, eyes staring back to scan your wrecked face. then softens with a tiny, pleased smirk.

“fuckin’ gorgeous, aren’t ya?”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[hyunles]

Overtime | H. HJ.

pairing: ceo!hyunjin x fem!reader word count: 3,7k genre: smut. +18, MDNI cw: no proofread, explicit wording, boss x employee relationship, kissing, couch sex, oral (f.), fingering, creampie, breast sucking, penetration, unprotected sex (pls don't), brief dirty talk, male whimpering, a lot of moaning. Let me know if I missed something! notes: hyunjin in suit always makes me go feral godddd, he's so handsome as always, english is not my first language, pls consider on giving feedback (in the kindest way possible) taglist and requests are open, feel free to ask! have a nice reading <3

It was time for you to fulfill another of your New Year's resolutions: Get a new job.

As a recent graduate, it was a little difficult for you since everyone asked for a twenty-year-old with thirty years of experience, but you always did your best at job interviews.

Today you were supposed to go to a job interview at a law firm. Your position? Nothing fancy, just the CEO assistant.

Naturally, you were nervous. He was the one interviewing you, so you really hoped to not embarrass yourself.

As you made your way to the entrance of the big building, you could feel your heart rate start to rise. No. You had to calm down.

Taking a deep breath, you got onto the elevator and pressed the needed button. Eight floor.

You reviewed your resume, which wasn't that impressive. You also reviewed a few lines your mother had said would help you a long time ago, when you were in middle school, but they could work now.

The elevator came to a stop and you got out, walking until you reached the office. His office.

You could hear people arguing inside, that made your brows furrow, but you decided to knock either way since it was already the time you were called.

The words stopped and a male voice said something inaudible before a guy about your age walked out, fuming in anger.

"Come in." The same male voice called you.

Your boss. Hwang Hyunjin.

You nodded and walked inside. "Good evening. I'm the applicant for the assistant position." You said and immediately handed him your resume.

He hummed, reading quickly but carefully. "Take a seat." He nodded to the chair across his desk, where you sat a few seconds later.

"A chef at a sushi restaurant and a barista at a cafe? How did you end up here?" Hyunjin said without tearing his eyes away from the paper.

"Everyone is asking for years of experience that are impossible for someone my age. And in your ad, you were asking for an assistant between 25 and 30 years old." You explained calmly, hoping he couldn't notice your nervousness.

"Okay, a 25 year old… Are you organized? Can you handle stress?"

You immediately nodded. "Yes sir, I can, totally. I'm very good at it."

"Good."

Silence again, just the sound of the CEO flipping through the few pages of your resume.

"I want you in my team. If you're interested, you start tomorrow." He said with his serious voice.

Your eyes widened a bit as you smiled ever so slightly. "Thanks sir, that really means a lot."

"It is full time. Monday to Friday from nine to five, an hour of lunch at two, I'd maybe need you to stay overtime but I always notify you in advance." He started. "You have social security and a month of paid vacation when you choose it, and a small bonus at the end of the year. Is that okay with you?"

You were immediately surprised. Was that really true?

"Definitely! More than I expected, actually."

"Good. You can start tomorrow morning. See you tomorrow." He nodded and stood up. "I'll take you to the door."

You’ve been working there for a few months now, and everything had been going smoothly. The office was well-organized, and you had made friends with some of the employees.

You've heard rumours about how Hyunjin had a reputation for being strict, cold, and downright intimidating when angry. And he definitely was like that with everyone. Everyone but you for some reason.

Of course, he was still firm, but there was something softer beneath his gaze when he looked your way, a glint of interest that left you wondering. He’d often call you to his office, offering a thousand excuses —small, irrelevant things that could have been handled over email.

Today started off as an average day in the office, any given Friday. You found yourself in the office kitchen, making coffee, when suddenly your phone buzzed. It was Hyunjin.

"I need you in my office. Now."

With a quiet sigh, you put your coffee down, feeling a slight tremor of nerves dance in your stomach. You knew it was never just a simple request with him. And you always were a bit nervous because of all the rumours even when he was softer with you.

As you entered his office, the air felt heavy. Hyunjin was seated behind his desk, his sharp eyes locking onto you the moment you stepped inside. The look on his face was one of irritation, though you weren’t sure if it was because of something you did or something else

“What took you so long? I asked you to bring me an important file yesterday." He said with the severe voice you've grown accustomed to.

"The files on Mr. Kim's trial? I left them on your desk and texted you at nine." You replied calmly but firmly as you always did. Careful.

He frowned, rummaging through the numerous files he had on his desk —or pretending to—, and quickly finding the folder.

You started to think he just called because he wanted to see you. But you immediately shook those thoughts aside.

"Right… Well, now that you're here, I have to ask you something." He said, gesturing you to sit on the chair across his desk.

"The lawyers' dinner is on your agenda, right?" He didn't even wait for you to answer. "I need you to go with me and take notes."

You frowned slightly in confusion but nodded anyway. "But it's tonight."

"Do you have something to do?" He immediately asked, leaning against his desk with a serious expression.

"Not really but you should've-"

"I want you there at six in the fanciest clothes you have." He said firmly, not leaving room for discussion.

You sighed quietly and nodded, standing up. "I'll be there."

He didn't say anything.

You stepped back.

"If you don't have anything else to say to me, I'll go." You waited until he nodded and walked out of the office.

It was going to be a hell of a night.

17:20

Of course you were ready. You needed to leave now if you wanted to make it on time.

The outfit wasn't very impressive. Just a black dress with short sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, knee-length. Also, some low heels and black, thin tights.

Nothing very revealing but not simple either. The few jewels giving it a plus.

You walked out of your house, where your taxi was already waiting. You got in and indicated the driver the address.

After a few minutes, you texted Hyunjin. Just a small message.

"I'm on my way. See you there."

A simple and concise message.

You started to organize your small notebook, getting ready for whatever notes you had to take as Hyunjin said.

That ruined the Friday night —that just implied drinking coffee as you stayed up late drawing or talking with some friends— you had planned.

Either way, you no longer had reason to complain if you were on your way to dinner. A luxurious meal at a 3-star Michelin restaurant. You always thought they were exaggerating too much.

After a few minutes, you arrived at your destiny. You paid and got out of the taxi, walking inside and asking in reception for the table, a big one in a private room.

You were the first, as always. It was 17:50 now, and you had to wait.

You started scheduling the tasks for Monday, both yours and his, killing time.

Suddenly, the door opened. There he was, looking neat as always, you dare to think he looks even better.

White button-up shirt, a black tie, black pants with the usual belt he loved —the one that camouflaged perfectly but also had a subtle golden buckle—, and the glasses he rarely wore and made him look even more professional. His black, short hair was also slicked back, some strands loose, falling perfectly on his forehead.

Hot, you thought. But you immediately shook your head slightly.

"You're early." He stated, taking a seat next to you.

"I like to arrive early. Arriving 10 or 15 minutes early is just in time for me." You explained as you kept writing.

"I like how punctual you are."

You blinked slightly, even stopped writing for a second, but you quickly recomposed.

"I lied to you. I didn't want you to come take notes. I just wanted you here." He said as if it was nothing.

It was definitely anything but nothing.

"Oh…" You mumbled.

"You make me feel more… in control. You help me so much." He continued. "I like it. You keep me grounded with that seriousness of yours. You need to loosen up a bit." He chuckled, leaning closer.

"I'm fine." You simply said, turning your face away just a bit.

He let out a quiet sigh and sat straight again. "Do you even drink?" Hyunjin asked like you were friends.

"I don't like the taste of alcohol." You kept writing.

He snatched your notebook away, smirking. "Leave this. This dinner is supposed to be a… party, so to speak."

"No."

"Come on, you can't be this boring." He teased.

You sighed, looking at your notebook in his hands. He had pretty hands, you've thought that since you met him.

When he was about to make a snarky remark, the chatter of people on the hallway could be heard, he looked at the door.

At least 20 people walked inside, laughing and smiling as they greeted the two of you.

You just smiled slightly and greeted back, memorizing everyone and remembering their last names in case you needed it.

Hyunjin joined the talk soon, his eyes going around the big table before the waiter started taking orders.

The evening reached its peak, everyone was already a bit tipsy, just a few were drunk. People kept coming, you even had to give up your seat to one of the lawyers because he said he was having knee problems.

There were at least 40 people cramped in that medium room. Unexpected guests, people walking around… A total mess.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was having a blast. He talked and talked about the stupid cases he got and won. Obviously, he was slightly tipsy, but he was very composed.

You sighed quietly and excused yourself, walking out of the room, already exhausted and feeling overwhelmed.

You sat down on one of the benches in the small garden outside. You felt calmer, You sat down on one of the benches in the small garden outside. You felt calmer, ready to go back.

But Hyunjin appeared again. It was like he had some magic trick to just pop up wherever you were.

"I'm leaving now. I'm tired. Do you want me to take you home?" He said, smiling. Weird sight, that really gave away the fact that he was tipsy, drunk even.

"You're not driving in this state. I'll take you home." You said, leaving no room for argument.

Hyunjin chuckled. "You noticed?"

"Obviously, you're all red, smiling, and even laughing."

"So you know me…" He whispered as you walked towards the parking lot.

You ignored that comment, shaking your head slightly. Focus.

"This is my car." He said as he grabbed his keys, opening it.

You walked towards the driver's door and extended your hand. He placed the keys on your palm and walked towards the passenger seat.

The drive was quiet, calm. He was very awake, looking out the window.

You were driving calmly, but your mind was going at an outrageous speed.

Thoughts like hot, or he's cute didn't leave your head, you were already stressed.

And his voice didn't help.

"I think I need to wear my glasses daily. My head isn't hurting."

"Funny because you're drunk." You smiled slightly.

He looked at you. "Hey… You're smiling."

That made your eyes go slightly wide. "Wait, you think I never smile?"

"Well…"

"I'm offended." You chuckled, driving calmly.

Hyunjin sighed and leaned his head against the headrest of the seat. Silence returning, slightly tense now.

"You loosen up when I'm drunk." He said.

It caught you off guard.

"You feel more human this way." You murmured.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You always look like a robot. Just work, work, work. I even have to remind you when it's lunch time."

He looked at you with a silly smile. "I need to keep everything in check."

"Not alone. That's why you have me and the other lawyers, the litigation team, everyone. It's not just your job. It's a team effort."

That shut him up, leaving him thinking.

"Text me that please, I want to remember that every day."

You rolled your eyes playfully, pulling over his house. "We're here. Can you walk for yourself?"

"I'm not drunk, just slightly tipsy. I just feel like chuckling."

"Okay." You murmured, getting off the car.

You walked him to his front foor, waiting for him to get inside.

But instead, he opened and leaned against the doorframe.

"How are you going home?"

"I'll take a taxi."

"No."

He didn't even ask when he pulled you inside.

You tried to protest but he quickly shot the door behind you and took off his shoes.

"You're staying with me tonight."

You frowned, taking off your shoes. You knew he wasn't letting you go.

"Where?"

"The guest room. It's spacious."

You nodded as you walked inside, looking around. The house was big, giant for just one person.

"Do you live alone?" You asked, sitting on one of the couches.

"Yes. I used to live with someone but she left. That was 6 years ago anyway." He felt the need to clarify. Why?

"I see."

You started to reorganize your schedule for tomorrow since it'd be difficult to return home in the morning in less than 30 minutes.

He noticed and sat next to you, taking your phone and placing it on the coffee table. "You need to sleep."

"I could say that to you."

"I'm fine."

"You're drunk."

A moment of silence before he looked at you with slight curiosity. "Are you single?" He blurted out.

Your eyes widened as you looked at him. "Why?"

"Just answer."

It took you a moment, but you nodded. "Yeah."

That seemed to please him, making him scoot closer.

Maybe it was the alcohol on his system or the liking he took for her these past months, but he felt bold enough to move his hands towards your waist.

"Hyunjin…" You started but he shushed you quickly.

"You're really pretty." He murmured, making your breath catch. Why was he doing this right now, when he looked so good?

He smiled slightly and cupped your face in his hands, getting closer. So close your breaths mingled together and you could feel the warmness of his body.

"Sir, we shouldn't do this." You murmured, but you didn't move.

"Push me away." He whispered. "Tell me to stop."

You couldn't.

He got closer, noses now brushing.

"I want you. Not just for tonight, but forever. You've made me feel things I never felt…" He murmured, a bit of vulnerability in his voice.

You didn't know what to say, it was like your brain just short-circuited right there and then.

So he took the opportunity and brushed his lips against yours, barely, softly.

"Can I?" Hyunjin whispered.

You nodded.

And that was all the confirmation he needed before kissing you. It was a soft but hungry kiss. You could notice he'd been thinking about it for weeks, months even.

His fingers tangled around your hair as you pulled him closer by the tie. He groaned and pressed himself against you, making you lay down.

Eventually, you broke the kiss in need of air. Quiet gasps and a slight chuckle escaped his mouth. "You're a better kisser than I imagined." He mumbled.

You smiled as your filter and your moral flew away. "Hyun…"

"A nickname? Where's the serious you?" Hyunjin chuckled quietly, kissing down your jawline and neck.

You shivered, tilting your head back as your hands undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

He groaned and helped you with his shirt and pants, already desperate.

"I want you so much…" He whispered, you sighed.

Finally, he started taking off your dress, very gently for his desperation. He was almost admiring you.

"You're so gorgeous…" He whispered, throwing your dress to the floor, kissing down your chest, feeling the texture of your bra with his fingertips.

You could just sigh and move your hands to the back of his head, pulling him closer.

He smiled and unclipped your bra, immediately taking one of your breasts on his mouth, grinding against you.

You couldn't take it and it was just starting. You arched your body, seeking more contact.

He grabbed your hips and played with the edges of your underwear. You sighed desperately. "Just take them off…"

He chuckled, kissing down your abdomen while pulling your panties down. You were already wet, drenched even.

You squirmed slightly when he kissed your thighs.

"God, so wet for me?" He whispered before licking once, his tongue flattening against your entrance. You moaned, gripping the couch.

He started to lick desperately, almost animalistic. He was so needy for you, like a starved man eating you out. And you could just moan and whimper, keeping his head in place.

He kept his ministrations, now moving his lips towards your clit, sucking gently and licking. You moaned his name like a prayer and buckled your hips up, seeking more contact.

Hyuniin decided to make this more interesting and delicious, since both of you were desperate.

He introduced his middle finger on your entrance, slowly at first, lubricating it. You moaned and moved your hips, begging for him.

"Hyunjin… G-God…" You could just say, it was like all thoughts just disappeared from your brain and the only reasonable thing was him, his fingers on you, his tongue on you.

He started moving his finger until it hit that gummy spot, making you let out a yelp, closing your eyes. The pleasure you were feeling was indescribable.

Hyuniin introduced his ring finger, moving both quickly, out and inside, curling them, making it messy.

His lips and chin were glistening with your arousal, and the sight turned you on even more if that was possible.

"Come on… Good girl…" He whispered as he moved his hand faster. The wet sounds making him groan.

"Fuck… You're so good for me…" He whispered, his other hand moving to his boxers, taking them off. His length was so hard it started to hurt, and he had to pump up a bit to relieve himself before aligning it with your wet pussy. "Can you take me?" He murmured, eyes filled with lust.

You nodded.

He pushed inside, stretching you slowly.

"Goodness…!" You moaned loudly, closing your eyes and throwing your head back.

He whimpered quietly, filling you up so good. His hips finally made contact with yours and he stayed still for a second, waiting until you grew accustomed to the feeling, the stretch.

"Please… Move…" You could barely whisper. Your mind was clouded with pleasure and your thoughts were only on how good he felt inside you.

His big length twitched, and he started moving, slowly out and suddenly in, that was his pace, making you moan loudly and stealing whimpers from himself.

You'd never expected him to be the loud type, but you weren't complaining.

"Please… Oh God… Please…" He whimpered, moving faster, causing wet sounds. You moaned, loving how he sounded. "Finally… I can have you…" He wasn't even thinking what he was saying, he got so carried away that he no longer thought straight.

With every thrust, you moaned and he whimpered, saying his pleading again and again, hitting that stop repeatedly, making your sight go white.

In a few more thrusts, his hips stuttered. He was close, and so were you.

"I'm gonna…" You whispered.

"Yes baby, come for me. Come with me…" He mumbled, letting out a soft moan. His head falling on your shoulder, kissing there softly.

And finally, you felt it forming more persistently down in your stomach. You were about to cum. Your moans were unstoppable, with absolutely no filter.

He bit your shoulder, moaning quietly but loud enough for you to hear and take you over the edge.

With that, you came, and seconds later, you felt his release filling you up.

Your legs trembled, your body felt weak.

That was the best sex you had in your life, and you were probably going to regret it in the morning. But who cares when your boss just gave you the best orgasm in your entire life, right?

You were panting, cleaning your sweat away. He stayed inside you for a second before sliding out carefully, he didn't want to overstimulate you.

"You're so good at everything, I'm impressed…" He murmured, kissing you again, gently now, lovingly.

You broke the kiss reluctantly. "You won't regret it?"

"No. Never."

You smiled, kissing him softly.

"Let's take a bath." He murmured against your lips.

Two months had already passed since that messy night. You two kept your professional facades but, outside of the building, you two went on dates, getting to know each other.

Obviously you never wanted a one-night-stand, and neither did he. He was an absolute romantic, lover of cheesy things. You could've never guessed since he always kept his serious facade, but you were happy that you were the one who got to see that side of him.

Today you were answering mails as always when you got a message from Hyunjin.

"Are you free today?"

"For you always ;)"

"Good. I need to see you at the park after work. 6:30, without delays."

"Okay, Mr. Mistery."

With that, you left your phone on your desk again, now a bit more nervous.

But you knew, whatever it was, whatever he wanted to talk about, it was going to be something good. You knew him better now, and you knew he was planning something romantic. He's been weird for days, not calling you after work, nothing, but acting like a highschooler in love.

You knew, whatever it was, you loved him, flaws and all. He was the perfect person for you.

And you were the perfect person for him.

ᝰ.ᐟ Reblogs and likes are very appreciated. If you liked this, please consider them!

Thanks for reading!

── 2025, hyunles ⋆ No translations, rewrites, or reposts allowed.

[lnracer]

my brain has been nonstop thinking of mafia lando ever since those suit pics dropped. anything mafia lando and my life is yours

➵ Pairing: Mafia! Lando Norris x Undercover Rival Spy! Female Reader.

➵ Warnings: Mild sexual content/suggestive themes, power imbalance, mild verbal degradation/humiliation.

➵ Word Count: 2.525k.

➵ a/n: Clove!! tysm for preaching Mafia! Lando, honestly 😫 I had a lot of fun writing it and got a little out of my romance comfort zone for this one...😶 I hope it turned out well and that you like it!! ☺️🧡

Also, please forgive me if the suggestive part is not so well written, it is not normally what I write, so it may have become repetitive, but I tried! 😓

She knew she looked out of place. Not in a bad way — no, she looked perfect for the role she was playing. Dressed in a silky champagne slip dress that clung to her in all the right places, her lips red, her hair loose. Effortlessly seductive. She looked like she belonged to someone rich and bored.

Which, technically, she did.

Carlos had given her the job, tired of Lando outmaneuvering him in territory deals and black-market shipments. There was something hidden in Lando’s vault, something Carlos wanted badly enough to send her.

He’d chosen well. She could melt into any room with mastery.

Lando’s mansion throbbed with bass and laughter that night. The guest list was all killers in suits and models with smiles too sharp. Men clinked glasses of vintage scotch while eyeing one another with thinly veiled suspicion. The women did the same, only with better posture.

She floated past all of them like smoke.

Her first objective was simple: get close to Lando. Closer than anyone else.

And it worked almost too well, he noticed her the moment she stepped onto the balcony.

She’d timed it perfectly — arriving late, alone, aloof. She sipped from her glass like she wasn’t watching him through her lashes, but of course, he was watching her.

She caught him smirking before he said anything.

“You’re not on the list,” Lando said, sliding right beside her, voice smooth like aged whiskey. “I’d remember someone like you.”

“That’s a shame,” she murmured, twisting her mouth into a small pout. “I was hoping to go unnoticed.”

He leaned against the railing, cocking his head. “Why?”

“Because I like to watch before I play.”

Lando liked that. She could tell by the twitch of his lips, the way his fingers tapped his glass once. He wasn’t subtle, eyes roaming over her figure like he was calculating something. She let him look.

“You have a name?” he asked.

She offered a fake one. "Estelle."

He didn’t believe her — that much was clear — but he let it slide. "Pretty name. Doesn’t suit someone who walks like she’s hiding something."

She almost laughed. Sharp.

And yet, when he took her hand and offered her a private tour of the house, she didn’t hesitate. That was part of the plan, after all. The office was her target, Lando was just the key.

They flirted down the marble halls, every step echoing with something dangerous. At some point, his hand found the small of her back and she smiled up at him sweetly — innocent even — as her eyes darted towards the door at the end of the corridor. The one with the biometric lock.

He caught the glance.

“You want to see that room?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “Should I?”

“I don’t usually bring party guests into my office,” he said slowly, “but I suppose I can make an exception.”

The door hissed open after he scanned his thumb and entered the code.

Inside, the room was cleaner than she expected — dark wood, shelves of leather-bound books, a decanter tray in the corner. The desk looked untouched — too untouched. Hidden beneath, there had to be a vault. She was sure of it.

He didn’t close the door. Instead, he walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses. She used the moment to drift toward the shelves, pretending to admire a sculpture while memorizing the placement of everything.

Lando walked up behind her, handed her a glass. “I still don’t believe you came here for the drinks.”

She turned to face him. “I didn’t.”

He took a step closer, the space between them shrinking into nothing.

“Then what did you come for, Estelle?”

She tilted her head, smiled — a soft, dangerous one. “Maybe I just wanted to meet the infamous Lando Norris for myself. See if the rumors were true…”

“And what do they say?”

“That you’re ruthless. Unpredictable.” She took a sip. “Hard to resist...”

Lando grinned, then leaned in and brushed a kiss just behind her ear, his breath hot and slow. “They forgot ‘paranoid.’”

Then, just like that, he pulled away.

Her heart skipped — she’d been caught.

But he didn’t confront her. Instead, he glanced at his phone and let out a small groan.

“Duty calls. Important guest just arrived. Try not to touch anything while I’m gone.”

She nodded with practiced calm. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then he was gone. The door closed behind him.

And she should have known better.

This wasn’t just any mafia man. This was Lando Norris. A man who smiled like a devil and played three steps ahead.

Still, she turned toward the desk. It was time.

She dropped to her knees, pried open the panel beneath Lando’s desk, her fingers trembling slightly as she bypassed it.

Carlos had said the safe would be hidden — biometric trigger, old-school mechanics behind high-tech glamour. She didn’t have much time, but her fingers were sharp and precise. Almost there. Almost—

Click.

Just as she started to feel the rush of access, to sense the adrenaline of unlocking something she wasn’t meant to touch, the door behind her shut.

Not slammed. Not loud. Soft. Purposeful.

Her entire body went still, hand frozen mid-movement. Slowly, she turned.

And there he was. Lando. Leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest, no more fake charm in sight — just cold amusement. The kind that made her stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with attraction anymore.

He tilted his head at her. That smirk was razor sharp.

“Told you not to touch anything.”

She straightened fast, trying to find an out. “I— I was just curious! Thought I’d—”

“Save it, Y/N.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t given him that name, not once.

He pushed off the door slowly, taking a few steps towards her, dress shoes heavy against the polished floor.

“Bit disappointing,” he said, voice low and cruel. “You were doing so well pretending to be someone you’re not. I almost believed you were just another party girl with a knack for eye contact and fake interest.”

Y/N’s eyes darted towards the window. No exit. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

“But you know what’s really disappointing?” he went on, now circling her like a wolf. “I was actually considering taking you to bed tonight. Could’ve made your little spy fantasy come true.”

He let out a dark, humorless laugh. “What a fucking shame.”

“Lando—” she started, panic blooming in her chest.

“No. Don’t ‘Lando’ me now,” he snapped, smile still etched on his face, eyes deadly. “Don’t pretend to be scared when you came into my home, tried to rob my vault, all for that bastard Carlos.”

He leaned in closer, whispering now.

“Did he promise you something sweet if you succeeded? Hm? Let me guess—” he dragged his gaze over her body, slow and mocking. “A week of being the one he fucks while calling you ‘mi reina’? Or just a few pathetic scraps of praise for doing his dirty work?”

She didn’t answer. Her silence screamed.

Lando grinned wider.

"God, you're good at looking guilty."

He reached behind her, opened the hidden compartment she’d been fumbling with seconds ago — so effortlessly it made her want to scream.

“I left you here on purpose, Y/N. You really think I’m that fucking stupid?”

Her knees almost buckled.

Before she could move, his hand wrapped around her wrist — not rough, but firm — and he guided her around the desk, right to the leather chair facing the vault. Her breath hitched as she realized what was coming.

“Sit.”

She didn’t. He shoved her — gently, but with finality.

“Don’t make this worse than it needs to be.”

And somehow, she listened.

The ropes came out of his suit pocket like they’d been waiting for her all along. As he tied her wrists to the arms of the chair, Lando kept talking — soft and venomous.

“You wanted to play a role? Fine. You’ll sit here and watch what real power looks like.”

When she tried to speak, his finger pressed to her lips.

“Shhh. You had your chance to lie. Now it’s my turn to enjoy the truth.”

He walked towards the vault. The air between them was heavy with humiliation, rage, and the bitter sting of betrayal turned personal.

She should’ve known. He was always three moves ahead.

But she never expected him to take it so damn personally.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖

The room was dim now, a single overhead light flickering faintly, casting long shadows over the walls like specters. She sat in his leather chair — the one behind the infamous office desk she’d been trying to hack into just minutes earlier. Her arms were bound to the armrests with soft rope — tight enough to restrain, but not enough to bruise.

Carlos had warned her. Told her not to underestimate Lando Norris. Said he was charming, sure, disarmingly polite even — “Looks like a fuckin’ altar boy with a gold chain,” he’d muttered with a bitter laugh. “But don’t forget, he plays the fool. He’s not.”

She should have listened, but she didn't. Now here she was.

Lando stood before her, sleeves rolled, black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, gold chain glinting against his skin. But it was the faint smear of red near his knuckles that made her stomach turn.

She hadn’t even noticed it until now.

She remembered the guest that had arrived — the one he left her alone for. He hadn't lied, just handled things his way.

"You really thought you could snoop through my office without me noticing?”

His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of quiet that comes right before something breaks.

She straightened in the chair, jaw set. “I wasn’t snooping.”

He scoffed — one dark laugh, sharp and short — and stepped forward, lazy in the way predators are when they know their prey isn’t going anywhere.

"You’re going to lie to me now, sweetheart?" He crouched in front of her, looking up with mock pity. “That’s adorable.”

His fingers grazed her knee, drifting up her thigh in a path that made her breath catch. She hated that her body responded. Hated it more that he noticed.

“You always breathe like that when you’re lying, or is it just what I do to you?”

He pushed her legs apart without asking, slow and methodical, like he wanted her to feel every inch of surrender. She squirmed against the ropes, but he only smiled wider.

"You’re not in a position to act brave, sweetheart," he murmured, trailing his fingers along the soft skin of her inner thigh. “You want me to stop?”

She hesitated. “No.”

His grin turned razor sharp.

“Didn’t think so.”

He rose and stepped behind the chair, looming. His hand wrapped lightly around her throat — a warning, not a threat — while his other slipped beneath her skirt, playing at the edge of her underwear. His touch was maddening, not quite enough, not quite nothing.

"I know why you were in my office," he whispered. "And you’re gonna tell me everything.”

He pressed a kiss to her neck — slow, almost sweet — then another, right below her ear. His teeth scraped the skin, sending a shiver down her spine. She was still trying to find her voice when his fingers slid over the thin lace between her legs, making her jolt in the chair.

“Still not ready to talk?” he asked, brushing the lacy fabric with the back of his fingers.

She bit her lip. “Make me.”

He let out a low, cruel laugh — one that made her entire body tighten.

“Oh sweetheart… you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

And then he moved.

Her underwear was shoved aside in one quick flick of his wrist and his fingers slid into her heat, dragging the digits through her folds — slow, deliberate, filthy.

She gasped.

“Mmm,” Lando hummed against her neck. “That’s better. Knew you’d sound good when you’re not lying through your fucking teeth.”

He didn’t rush. No, he took his time with feather-light touches that made her grind her hips into his hand without realizing it.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Tied up in my chair, squirming. How desperate are you, sweetheart?”

His fingers teased her entrance, then moved away. Teased again, never giving enough. Her thighs trembled.

“You wanted to stop me?” he taunted. “You think Carlos gives a fuck if you live through this?”

He slid two fingers inside her and she moaned — unfiltered, broken.

“Say it.”

“I—I wanted to find proof!” she choked out. “Wanted to stop you...”

That earned a laugh, mean and rich with satisfaction.

“Sure you did. And now you’re soaked in my chair, begging for me to keep going. Doesn’t look like you’re 'stopping' anything, sweetheart.”

He pressed deeper. Her head fell back, a gasp escaping her lips.

“You still want me to stop?” he asked, cruel and cocky.

She shook her head fast. “No. Please—don’t.”

“Oh, now we’re being polite.”

He drove his fingers in slow and deep, curling just right. She cried out. Her body arched as he worked her open, unraveling her thread by thread, dragging her right to the edge but never letting her fall.

Every moan from her lips only fed his ego.

He leaned down and whispered, “Moan for me again, sweetheart. Let Carlos hear how fucking useless you are.”

And she did, her release hitting like a storm. She came undone with a broken sob, legs trembling, chest rising and falling like she’d been dragged through a war zone.

Her head fell back, breath catching on the edge of something humiliating and euphoric, tied and helpless as he pulled every sound from her throat.

When her breathing finally slowed, Lando pulled back, slowly removing his hand like it was nothing. Like she was nothing. No softness. No warmth. Just smug quiet as he slowly untied her wrists, rubbing the marks like he was erasing evidence.

“Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over her jaw. “See? You’re better at moaning than lying.”

He stood, calm as ever, turned away and started walking towards the door.

She swallowed, barely able to lift her head. “Is that it?”

He paused, hand on the doorknob, then looked back at her, eyes gleaming with amusement and something dangerous, mouth curled in that wicked, cold smirk.

“No, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with dark promise. “That was just the first round.”

Then, with the sharpest grin he’d worn all night, he added:

“Gotta hand it to Carlos. After all the traps he’s sent me over the years, you’re the only good little gift he’s ever delivered.”

And when the door clicked shut behind him, she realized the truth — the gut-deep, bone-cold truth — as she sat in his chair, used, undone, and trembling in his territory: She hadn’t walked into the hands of a man. She’d walked straight into the lion’s den.

And Lando Norris didn’t return gifts.

Especially the pretty ones.

[whenstarsundress]

a request from a very special moot <3

the sliding door slammed shut. you barely got both feet inside the room before he was there. a blur of white and wrath.

“satoru—”

“where the hell have you been?” his voice cracked like a whip, and the way his eyes glowed—raw cerulean, blinding, furious—stopped you dead in your tracks.

you didn’t answer. not with the way he was staring at you, like you’d vanished from the world and just now clawed your way back.

“don’t even try lying to me,” he growled. “you think i wouldn’t notice you were gone? you think i wouldn’t feel it when your cursed energy flared in the middle of nowhere at 3am?”

your mouth opened, but all that came out was, “it was a minor mission. i handled it—”

“a minor mission? alone? you left without telling anyone. you left me.” he stepped closer, the air warping with his cursed energy. his infinity wasn’t up, but the fury radiating off him might as well have been a wall.

his shaking hands reached out and you expected him to pull you in, but instead, they ran up your arms, across your ribs, down your sides, searching. you caught his whisper then, almost too low to hear. “tell me you’re not hurt…”

“i’m fine—”

and then he saw it. the slice across your shoulder, the scratches on your hip, the blood-stained gauze peeking out beneath your sleeve. minor. barely worth mentioning to you. but not to him. he froze, his breathing stuttering. and when he looked back up, his eyes were blazing. no blindfold. no shades. just those furious, bright blues burning with rage and terror.

“you bled,” he whispered. “you bled, and i wasn’t there.”

“satoru—”

he grabbed your wrist, hard enough to shake. “don’t you ever do that again. don’t you ever sneak out. don’t you dare walk into danger without me.”

“it wasn’t—”

“i don’t care!” his voice broke, desperate now. “i don’t care if you think it’s nothing. if you’re capable. you are. i know you are. but you’re mine.” his hand moved to your cheek, trembling. “and if something happened to you, i wouldn’t survive it. you understand?”

your chest ached.

“i thought i lost you.”

you reached for him, cupped his face, brushed your thumb beneath his lashes. “i’m here, baby,” you whispered. “i’m here with you.”

and that finally did it. his head dropped to your shoulder, arms curling tight around your waist, clinging like he could fuse your soul to his and never let go.

“…next time,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin, “i’m coming with you. or i’ll tie you to the bed.”

“…you’d like that, huh?”

“don’t tempt me,” he breathed, his voice shook with equal parts fear and adoration. “i just got you back.”

his grip never loosened. even as the seconds ticked by and your heart slowed from the mission’s high, satoru’s arms only held you tighter, like he was afraid you’d dissolve if he let go.

you felt his breath stutter at your neck. “still mad at me?” you whispered.

he pulled back enough to look at you. and that look—god. those eyes, raw and unfiltered, glowed like flame-cut sapphires. no blindfold, no hiding. just the full force of his love, his fear, his obsession all storming behind his lashes.

“you scared the shit out of me,” he muttered, hoarse. “i don’t know whether to yell at you again or kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

you tilted your head, voice soft. “kiss me, then.”

and he kissed you like a man losing his mind. his mouth crashed into yours with a force that knocked the air from your lungs, teeth clashing before his lips sealed over yours in a demanding, desperate, furious kiss. his hands gripped your face, then your waist, dragging you flush against him until your spine hit the nearest wall.

the kiss wasn’t sweet. it was claiming. he kissed you like he needed proof that you were here, alive, tangible. not some half-breath hallucination conjured by grief. when he broke away, just for a heartbeat, his forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“you’re mine,” he whispered, eyes burning into yours. “you don’t get to die. you don’t get to leave me. you understand?”

you nodded, dazed. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“damn right you’re not.”

and then he was kissing you again, slower this time, but no less intense. one hand cradled the back of your neck, the other ran down your side, brushing over your gauze-covered scratch. he flinched.

“you’re bleeding under my hands and all i want to do is mark you deeper.”

you gasped against his mouth. “satoru—”

his tongue slid past your lips before you could speak again, swallowing your breath, your name, your apology. you didn’t get to explain. he didn’t want words. just you in his arms, safe, and never letting go.

when he finally pulled back, both your lips were kiss-bruised and swollen, and his voice dropped to something darker. “you want a punishment for sneaking out?” he murmured, ghosting kisses down your jaw. “because i have a few ideas.”

[dismalflo]

may i request a poly!wolfstar x reader where the reader adopts a cat without telling them? fluff please

thanks for requesting, love! <3

poly!wolfstar x reader who adopts a kitten ✩ 1.5k words

"You can’t be angry with me."

You catch both of your boyfriends just as they’re stepping into the flat. The door stands wide open behind them, letting a gentle breeze curl through the too-small entryway.

Remus’ shoulders rise, almost imperceptibly, as tension begins to gather between his brows. He sets his shopping bag down slowly, eyes scanning your face cautiously.

“Dove,” he starts, voice soft. “Why would we be–”

“I just need you to promise you won’t be miffed before I tell you,” you cut in quickly, holding up your hands.

Behind him, Sirius makes a sound that’s halfway between a click of the tongue and a sigh. He shakes his head in faux disappointment, and a few strands of hair tumble free from the bun he’s scraped it into. It curls around his cheekbones and he doesn’t bother brushing them away.

You glance at him, your usual partner in crime – the one who folds under a pout and melts under a well-timed smile. 

But not today.

The second your eyes meet his, he groans and tilts his head back toward the ceiling, as if trying to avoid being lured in by you.

“Oh my god,” he drawls, voice thick with mock exasperation. “What have you done this time?”

“Nothing bad!” you reassure him, maybe a bit too quickly.

Remus exhales through his nose and steps forward, calm and deliberate. “Can we please have this conversation inside?” he murmurs, gently placing a guiding hand on the small of your back as he nudges everyone away from the cold and toward the warmth of the flat.

The three of you drift into the living room. Remus moves with you, all soft hands and gentle touches. Sirius hangs back, arms crossed now, the tilt of his head saying I’m watching you.

You angle your body towards the hallway, intent on slipping off towards the spare room. Maybe it’d be easier to just show them, you think.

But you don’t make it two steps before Sirius catches on.

His hand clamps gently but firmly down on your shoulder. Not rough, not angry, but there’s no mistaking the intention behind it.

You're turned around before you can say a word, and Sirius plants himself right in front of you, eyes narrowed with mock authority and a little too much amusement for your liking.

“Start talking, trouble.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Sirius’s expectant stare makes the words feel heavier, like they’re all tangled inside your throat. You start, haltingly at first.

“Well, it’s just–um–okay, so, you know how I said I wanted to get a pet? And we’ve been talking about it on and off for ages, but I wasn’t sure if you would be–”

“Dove,” Remus interrupts gently, his hand reaching out to still your restless fingers trying to calm the panic that's spilled into your voice, “just breathe. We’re not angry. We just want to know what's going on.”

You nod quickly, swallowing hard, the words still darting away from you. “It’s not what you think. I mean, it is, but it’s not like I–” You trail off, exhaling nervously.

Sirius sighs, running a hand over his hair. “You’re killing me here, doll. Can you just say whatever it is? Please?”

You feel yourself flush and without another word, you turn on your heel and start walking down the hallway, shoulders slightly hunched.

“Baby, where are you going?” Sirius calls out, voice soft but laced with exasperation.

You don’t answer Sirius and just lift your hand in a vague “wait” motion as you shuffle down the hallway, heart hammering away in your chest.

You hear the soft creak of the sofa as Remus sinks down into it and the familiar thudding of Sirius pacing across the rug. There's some low murmuring that for the most part sounds light and teasing. The sound releases some of the worry gripping your chest.

You disappear into the spare room for a moment. There’s a beat of silence.

Then the softest sound,  a muffled mrrp.

And another, louder this time, Mrrrrow!

You return a moment later, carefully cradling a tiny black and white kitten against your chest. The cat is all oversized ears and twitchy little whiskers, with a splotch of ink-dark fur right over one eye and the kind of round, sleepy face that could melt even the coldest heart.

Not that your boyfriends are particularly known for their coldness. Thankfully.

Sirius stops pacing mid-step. His whole body sort of freezes as he takes in the image of you holding this tiny kitten. You watch the way he softens, as his eyes sweep over you. 

“What the fuck?” he breathes, eyes wide and unguarded. He’s already walking towards you before he even realises it. “You didn’t say it was cute.”

You press your lips together in a barely restrained smile as the cat blinks up at him, completely unbothered, then noses into your arm like she’s settling in for a nap.

“I did say it wasn’t bad,” you offer meekly, while trying to see around Sirius to gauge Remus’ reaction. His silence is concerning. 

Sirius gives a delighted little huff as he gently scratches under the kitten’s chin. “Hello, darling,” he coos, his voice turned embarrassingly soft. “Aren’t you just–bloody hell, look at you. Rem, look at her.”

You glance over at Remus, who is still seated on the couch, his expression unreadable. He’s got that pinched, thoughtful line between his brows that’s usually a telltale sign his thoughts are running at a mile a minute.

“She’s small,” he says at last, which is neither a compliment nor a complaint.

He’s still sitting on the couch, long fingers laced together between his knees, watching everything unfold with an expression that's far too neutral.

“She’s really small,” he says again, when you don't respond.

You raise an eyebrow at him, slowly lowering the kitten to the floor. She gives a soft, confused chirp at the movement, but doesn’t protest much. 

“She’s healthy. Just little,” you say, tone gentle, coaxing. “She was the runt. The rescue said nobody else wanted her.”

Remus’s mouth tightens minutely, and you can see the way that gets under his skin. Predictably. Of course it does. He’s always been softest for the ones no one else picks.

You’re already padding across the room toward him, ready to reach for him as if your touch can do all the convincing for you. Sirius just watches on, but it’s obvious he’s already convinced by this new addition by the way he keeps looking down at the cat, eyes full of affection.

 “I didn’t do it just to be impulsive,” you say. “I saw her when I was walking by and when I went in she came straight to me and I just–Remus, I couldn’t just leave her. She picked me.”

One of his eyebrows arches with the barest hint of skepticism. “Did she?”

You’re almost in front of him now. Your hand is halfway out, about to reach for his, when there’s a sudden, high-pitched mew at his feet.

Remus blinks down.

The kitten has followed you, trotted right up to where he’s sitting and is now circling his legs with a soft purr and a flick of her tiny tail. She mews again, louder this time, and then rises slightly on her hind legs, placing one little paw on the denim of his knee.

Your breath catches, and you can feel Sirius trying not to laugh behind you.

Remus’s brows draw together, not in frustration but puzzlement. He hesitates for a second, then reaches down – slow and careful – and curls one large hand under the kitten’s belly.

She makes a triumphant little chirp as he lifts her into his lap.

And Remus softens.

His shoulders relax, mouth easing out of its tight line as he carefully adjusts the tiny body, letting her settle against the crease of his arm. She stretches, gives a tiny sigh, and begins to purr loudly.

He looks down at her, then up at you, and something in his face shifts. All of his features become warmer and softer.

“Oh,” he says, barely more than a breath as he looks back down. “You are very sweet.”

Before you can say anything, a rough arm slings around your shoulders, and Sirius is suddenly there, pulling you close against his side.

“You’re such a little shit,” he says cheerfully, voice full of admiration disguised as complaint. And then he presses a big, obnoxious kiss to your cheek, loud and messy.

You laugh, trying and failing to squirm away. “Sirius!”

“Don’t Sirius me. You knew this would happen,” he says, nuzzling your temple with affection. “You walked in here with that face and a sob story about being ‘the runt,’ and you knew he’d fold like a wet paper towel.”

“I didn’t know,” you protest – but you’re smiling, warmth blooming in your chest. “I just had my suspicions.” 

masterlist <3

[dragoneyelashart]

naive ★⋆˙

smut ୨ৎ

warnings: cockwarming, strap on, slap kink, spit kink

you come home exhausted, sore, grumpy, muscles tight from a long day. you expect comfort. maybe to bury your face in sabrina’s neck and grind against her until she lets you cum. maybe get to fuck her if she’s feeling generous.

you don’t expect this.

you walk into the bedroom half-ready to whine about your day, still yawning, hoodie sliding off your shoulder, and stop dead in the doorway.

she’s waiting in the bedroom, in a black mesh lingerie set that hugs her tits tight and leaves nothing to the imagination.

sheer and strappy, her legs crossed, one hand between her thighs and the other resting lazily on her chest.

like she’s been waiting for you. like she knows what she looks like.

your throat goes dry instantly.

“holy fuck.”

she smiles slowly. “hi, baby.”

you blink, stunned. your gaze drags from her parted lips to the curve of her thighs.

she looks too good to touch. too good to deserve. but she’s smirking at you like she wants to be ruined.

“come here,” she says.

you do, fast. crawling over the bed like you’re dreaming. you reach for her thigh first, then kiss the inside of it. her skin’s warm under your hands, soft and electric.

“can i…?” you whisper, lips ghosting over her nipple.

sabrina hums, tilting her head. “you wanna touch me, princess?”

you nod fast. “please.”

“go ahead, baby. take what you want.”

and just like that, you think it’s yours. you lick her tits, suck marks into her skin.

your hips roll against her leg. you’re already dripping through your panties. cocky now, breathless, convinced you’re gonna get to ride her, maybe even make her fall apart first.

but then, she stops you. her hand tightens in your hair and yanks your head back, not enough to hurt but enough.

“you thought i let you touch me ‘cause you were in charge?”

your breath catches.

she sits up fully, grabbing your jaw, squeezing. her eyes are dark, locked on yours.

“you think i laid here in this fucking set just to let you fuck me like i’m yours?”

your mouth opens. closes. confused.

“no, baby.” she laughs. 

she grabs the back of your neck and flips you fast flat on your back in seconds.

her knee pushes between your legs, forcing them apart.

you’re panting, suddenly pinned.

“strip.”

you obey without thinking.

“stay still,” she purrs. “let me tie you up, mama”

you swallow hard. “wait—”

but it’s too late.

she already has rope. already moving fast. wrists above your head, cinched tight to the headboard. you can’t even squirm.

and sabrina?

kneeling between your legs like the devil.

two fingers already sliding deep inside your pussy, the strap-on heavy and slick, pressed against your inner thigh like a silent threat.

your chest is already heaving, body shaking.

sabrina’s kneeling between your legs, two fingers deep in your soaked pussy, the dildo resting heavy on your inner thigh like a threat.

you’re crying already, not sobbing, but messy enough to make her grin.

“what’s wrong, baby?” she purrs, slapping your pussy hard between thrusts. “this too much for you? ”

you whine, head tossing side to side.

“fucking brat,” she growls. “you came in here looking at me like you were gonna fuck me. like you deserved it.”

she pulls her fingers out. your body tenses. but then she spits on your clit and slaps it again and you yelp.

“you don’t get to decide shit, babygirl”

she uses the vibrator first on a low setting. 

“daddy—please—it’s too much—” your voice cracks, legs twitching, wrists pulling hard against the rope.

sabrina leans over you, eyes dark, sweat at her temples, the strap brushing against your thigh as she turns the vibe up.

“too bad,” she snarls. “you wanted to fuck so bad? you’re gonna learn what it feels like to get used.” tears run down your face. your voice is gone. you try to close your legs, but sabrina is quick to pry it open with her knees.

“daddy—daddy please—i can’t—i can’t—”

she leans down, finally pressing the strap against your entrance. not inside yet, just the weight of it.

“yes, you can.” she grabs your face your chin in her hands, forces your eyes open. “look at me while i break you.”

and then she fucks into you. the slap of skin so loud it echoes. your body’s jerking with every thrust, arms shaking, tears streaked across your cheeks. you’re incoherent and ruined.

and sabrina? she’s moaning low, eyes locked on the way your pussy takes her cock, her hand around your throat, just tight enough to make your eyes flutter.

“look at this messy pussy,” she growls. “fucked dumb already, and i’m not even close to done.” your body can’t stop, nonsense words flying out of your mouth. you’re wrecked. babbling. drooling. all for her.

“you belong to daddy,” she whispers, slowing just enough to drag her cock deep. you’re soaked under you, the sheets ruined. your wrists ache. your legs don’t even respond when you try to move them.

sabrina wipes your tears with the back of her hand, not sweetly. more like she’s cleaning you up. her strap is glistening, wet from the amount of times you’ve cum. 

she looks calm now, scarily calm. hair messy, skin flushed, but completely in control.

you try to speak but your lips barely part.

“shh.” she slides back between your legs like she owns them. “m’ not fucking you again.”

you blink up at her, dazed a pleading look in your eye.

“you’re just gonna keep my cock warm while i work.”

and before you can beg, or whimper, or try to explain that you’re too sensitive and your poor pussy’s all swollen, she’s already sliding back inside.

slow. deep. too deep.

“quiet,” she snaps, slapping your thigh once, hard. “you’re lucky i’m letting you keep it in. you wanna cry, cry around my cock.”

she’s sitting back in her desk chair, legs spread, robe on, her laptop open.

you’re still on her lap, her strap buried inside you to the hilt.

and you can’t. move.

she hasn’t touched you once since. no thrusts. no stimulation. just the constant, aching pressure of being stretched full, the kind of fullness that makes you lightheaded. you whimper once, the pleasure overtaking you.

she glances at you.

“is there a reason you’re making noise, or are you just a needy whore?”

you try to answer, but your jaw trembles.

“poor baby,” she mutters. “didn’t know don’t something this simple would be this hard, huh? be quiet and i’ll let you cum”

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[kxsagi]

Okay I'll leave you alone now but also a nagi x reader where he comes homw to her all sad and depressed because I hate the idea of nagi going back to his old and lonely life before Reo uhgghgggghgg

“𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭?”

a/n: title is a lyric from “space song” by beach house i LOVE that song with a burning passion

you hear the front door click open and close with barely a sound – no enthusiastic “i’m home,” no grumble about being tired, not even a sigh. just the soft shuffle of shoes being kicked off, and then silence. 

that’s how you know something’s wrong. 

you peek your head around the kitchen doorway and see nagi standing there, slouched like a shadow, bag slipping off one shoulder, staring down at nothing like it said something mean to him. he looks… small. not in size, but in that dimmed star kind of way. like someone pressed pause on his glow. 

“sei?” you ask, gently, stepping closer. 

he doesn’t look up. just lets his bag slide to the floor with a quiet thud, then walks past you without a word, straight to the couch where he collapses face-first into a cushion. 

you trail after him and sit on the floor beside him, resting your arms on the edge of the couch. “what’s going on?” 

he stays silent for a beat. then another. and then a muffled voice comes out from under the cushion: “i miss when everything was simple.” 

your chest tightens. not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. slow, tired, the kind of tired that isn’t about sleep. 

“before what?” you ask softly. 

he turns his head so one eye peeks out at you from the pillow. “before everything got complicated. before the pressure. before people started expecting me to be a genius all the time. before i had to be more.” 

he doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the echoes of something deeper in it – before reo, before connection, before love. before he let anyone into his world and had something to lose. 

you climb up onto the couch beside him and gently run your fingers through his messy white hair. “you don’t have to be anything more than what you are with me, sei. you know that, right?” 

he doesn’t answer. he just turns his face into your stomach and wraps his arms around your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself to something that won’t disappear. 

“sometimes i think i’d be better off just going back to how things were,” he mumbles against you, voice small and bitter. “just games, food, sleep. no feelings. no pressure. no… hurt.” 

that one hurts you. 

so you press a kiss to the top of his head and whisper, “then why does your voice shake when you say that?” 

he goes quiet again. and then, in the softest whisper: 

“because i don’t want to be that alone again.” 

you pull him closer, hold him like he’s something fragile and precious (because he is), and press your cheek to his head. “you won’t be. not with me here. not ever again. even if you don’t want to talk, even if you’re tired, even if you forget how to care for a while, i’ll still be here. i’m not scared of the quiet parts of you.” 

he exhales. it’s shaky. like the storm inside him just softened into rain. 

“… you’re annoying,” he mutters after a pause, muffled again. “persistent.” 

you smile, not letting go. “and you’re dramatic.” 

he doesn’t argue. just lays there, curled into you like a puzzle piece finally back where it belongs. and you sit with him, letting the silence stretch out – not empty this time, but full. full of quiet comfort. full of the promise that no matter how dark it gets, he doesn’t have to go back to being a ghost of himself. 

not when you’re here to remind him what it means to live. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢