#and sort of fall together at the beginning in a rush of not knowing what else to do

[navybrat817]

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[luveline]

BABE i miss badass bau!reader!!! do you feel up to write something about her and spencer? 🫣🫣

—Spencer comforts you, even when you think you don’t need it. fem, 1.2k

You’d think that agents and staff working for the Behavioural Analysis Unit would use a little subtlety when gossiping about their coworkers. It’s in the name. You’re a profiler, after all, but you wouldn’t need to be to know that the sudden quiet that falls over the kitchenette area when you walk in is for a reason. 

You’re determined to act unbothered. Only, it’s high school all over again, the whispering and the staring boring holes in the back of your head, and you’re thinking What are they saying about me? What have you done now? 

Flustered, you make a cup of herbal tea and forget it on the counter by the sink. Humiliated, you rush back to your desk. 

Spencer doesn’t look up as you sit. Your desks are together again for now, but who knows what whim will have Hotch separating you again. Last time it had been for ‘enabling bad behaviour’. 

So what if Spencer likes to talk? He’d only think all the things he’s saying to himself. You’re speeding up the process if anything by listening. Plus, whatever the others might think, he’s interesting, smart and funny and he deserves to be listened to when he wants to tell you things. 

“Hey,” you say, trying to push the humiliation brewing in your chest back to a quiet place. 

“Hey,” he says. He talks to you in a way he doesn’t with the others. He’s more relaxed, less exuberantly friendly and more like a true friend. 

He’s the only one in this whole office you’d ever want to sit next to every day. “Hi. What are you reading?” 

Spencer folds his novel closed over his hand, an answer on his lips that stutters and fades. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You look unhappy.” 

It’s that unfortunate moment that Morgan decides to arrive, a cup of coffee in one hand, a brown paper bag in the other. He shrugs out of his leather jacket, eyeing you both where you’ve stopped your conversation, the slight light of smugness to his eyes as he says, “Doesn’t she always?” 

“Around you, Morgan, yes,” you say, turning your body fully to your computer. “That would be accurate.” 

Morgan laughs heartily. “You love me.” 

Maybe. You certainly don’t like him. Or, you’re annoyed with him most of the time. You wonder occasionally if he and the rest of your teammates are emotionally blind, considering the way they treat Spencer. Everybody makes their funny ‘harmless’ jokes, you’ve never understood why. They’re profilers, aren’t they? Can’t they tell it hurts his feelings?  And they love to tell you that Spencer’s your soft spot, he is, but he’s also a nice boy who wants to be listened to above all else, so you’re a little bitter about it. You weren’t too sweet to begin with. 

Today, you aren’t in the mood. You ignore Morgan and open your emails. 

“You want tea?” Spencer asks, standing from his desk. 

“No.”

“You always have tea in the morning. I’ll make it. Sit tight.” 

You follow Spencer’s figure as he leaves. Morgan wiggles his eyebrows at you from across the divider. 

“Do you ever think about taking him out?” Morgan asks. 

“That’s an inappropriate question,” you say. You aren’t monotone, but you certainly don’t bustle with emotion either.

“You like him, he likes you.” 

That’s exactly what Spencer needs, you think bitterly, the moody girlfriend, another thing to make him an outsider.

“You make each other happy,” Morgan continues.

“You get the same blueberry muffin every day,” you say, clicking an email attachment Hotch sent this morning distractedly, the temptation to roll your eyes at an all time high, “will you marry the baker?” 

“I could. His wife might not like the idea.” 

You hold in a smile. You sort of maybe do love Morgan, even when he’s prying. Better when Spencer returns and Morgan asks about the younger man’s weekend trip to Quantico’s seven floor library. 

“It was awesome,” Spencer says, putting a mug down in front of your keyboard, his palm still warm from the mug taking temporary station on your shoulder. “There were more books about inmate crime than there were dictionaries. Is that okay?” 

You take a sip of your tea. “It’s perfect,” you confess once you’ve swallowed. How does he know how you like it? He must steep it just as you do. Even the water level. You’d think it were the tea you’d left behind if it wasn’t in a new mug, scalding hot. 

“Morgan, could you excuse us, please? For five minutes?” Spencer asks. 

Your eyes widen of their own accord. Morgan makes flirty winky faces to hide his concern and meanders up the steps to Hotch’s office, pointedly looking away from the bullpen and your mess of desks. 

“What’s going on?” you ask. 

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Spencer says. 

He’s wearing his glasses today, a rare sight these days, less so at the office when you’re sure there won’t be a case to go on. His hair curls at the base of his neck and flicks out under his ears, brown eyes like the flat of a mirror against the light, dark and deep. You wince when you realise you’ve been looking him over intensely, averting your eyes to the cup of tea warming your fingers. 

“You know you can tell me anything,” he says. 

“Sure.” 

“I’d defend you. Just like you would for me.” 

You drag your eyes to his. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I mean, if you want me to go fight your corner, I will.” 

“Who says I need that?” 

“It’s Madge, right? The blonde woman with the pearl earrings. She and Andrea monopolise the kitchen in the morning and talk about all of us.” 

You hate profilers, but you could never hate Spencer. You can’t find it in yourself to be upset that he’s worked out what perturbed you so quickly. 

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning back in your desk chair slowly. “There’s no point arguing with them, babe, you’d end up at Human Resources by the end of the day forced to write an apology letter.” 

Spencer looks like he wants to touch you again, hand heistant, fingers moving as though he’s typing curled into his palm. “I’ll stick up for you if you want me to. I don’t care if they make me write a letter.” 

“Can’t argue over silence,” you say.

It’s a kind offer, and he really is so handsome. Everybody else in the office might drive you up the wall but he’s a sweetheart, through and through. 

“I like when you smile. Doesn’t happen much,” he murmurs. 

If it were anyone else, you’d tell them to fuck off. “Thank you, Spencer. I like your smile too.” 

He leans down for a hug. Again, if it were anyone else, you’d wriggle out of reach and give a speech on boundaries, but it’s him. He folds his arms behind your head and back, encouraging your face into the crook of his neck as he bends to meet you, gentle even when you don’t hug him back. “Don’t listen to anybody,” he says, rubbing your shoulder with his thumb. 

“I don’t.” 

“Who cares if they’re talking about us?” Spencer asks. 

You touch his waist. “Not me.” 

[alchemistc]

"When was it for you?" Buck asks, chin tucked over the nice rounded edge of Tommy's left pec, turning his eyes up through his lashes because every time he does that Tommy's eyes do something soft and sweet that Bucks still a little obsessed with. Tommy's fingers continue twisting into his curls, but he raises the 'need more context' brow. Buck obliges. "The - the spark. Like - I mean you had to kiss me for me to get what was going on but uh - I mean subconsciously I was in it to win it from like, the moment I saw how smiley you got seeing Cap and Athena reuniting. So. I'm wondering. What was it for you?"

There's still times when Buck feels like he's going too fast, too hard, pressing and pushing and reverting back to the neediness of yesteryear, but Tommy does this thing - this insane thing that shouldn't comfort Buck at all but somehow manages to both bring him back down to earth and make him feel like he's not alone in this: he takes his time. A measured breath, a quiet look, pressure on his scalp as Tommy thinks the question through without looking like he's being rushed at all. Measured. Processing both the new information he's been given, the little snapshot into what had first drawn Buck in, and the question he's been asked. If Buck had realized thoughtfulness meant so fucking much to him he'd have learned some patience years ago.

Tommy tips his chin, scratches at his cheekbone, stares at Buck like he's measuring out each word in his sentence recipe and setting up the ingredients of his response before he starts mixing.

"The handshake," he says, with a bashful little purse of his lips, like he hadn't expected he'd ever have to admit to it but he doesn't want to lie. "Just couldn't get a read on you for a while after."

Buck sort of wants to hide his face in Tommy's chest in response to the feelings that bubble up in his chest - the right-awayness of it, an immediate connection Tommy had felt even before he did, it feels like there are a thousand little pipe bombs bursting in his chest. No one's ever given him butterflies quite like Tommy Kinard.

"So it was like a physical thing for you," Buck says, fully fishing because Tommy has dated actual models and no matter how many minutes he spends each time they're naked together admiring the belly Buck's unwilling to dehydrate himself to get rid of, he likes hearing that his boyfriend thinks he's hot.

Tommy surprises him, though. "No, actually. You could barely get your name out but you wouldn't let go of my hand while you gave me five facts about helicopters you'd clearly googled on the ride over. Sorta made me want to stick you in my pocket and keep you there so you could provide me a fact-of-the-hour for the rest of my life."

Buck can feel his face going red. It's a mortifying observation, but it feels a lot like all the affectionate teasing he gets on the daily from Hen and Chim. Feels like Tommy knows him well enough by now to know he likes being read for filth when it means he's being paid attention to.

"You want weird facts, I'll give you weird facts."

Tommy chuckles. The hand in his hair tugs, just a bit, like Tommy wants Buck's face closer to his face but doesn't feel like asking. Buck shifts his weight up into an elbow to oblige, gets a thumb sliding along his cheekbone for his efforts and a primetime view of Tommy's serious face as his eyes flit across Buck's. "I didn't expect you," he says, in the serious voice, the teasing edge falling away. "I didn't expect butterflies and second chances and -." He cuts himself off, thumb slipping towards the curve of Buck's nose. "I didn't expect any of it."

Which is a bit of a revelation, if Buck's being completely honest. Tommy'd taken his hand and smiled while Buck did his level best to break the sound barrier with the pace he set at the beginning of all of this. "You thought I'd be an easy lay?" he teases, and Tommy wrinkles his nose.

"Thought you'd be bored with me before I paid the check if I ever managed to get you on a date with me."

It's actually laughable, with the benefit of hindsight, how terribly wrong that assumption had been. Laughable that Tommy thinks he could ever be boring. Buck could spend hours just staring at the subtle changes in his expression in complete silence and still not be bored with Tommy.

"That's stupid," he tells him, and Tommy thumbs at his bottom lip.

"Well I know that now. You're easily entertained. I've told you the Yellowstone flyover story six times and you still laugh at the punchline every time like it's the first time you've ever heard it."

"Moon moon," Buck repeats solemnly, and has to bite his lip not to laugh about it again.

"I like you a lot," Tommy says, and - they've exchanged I love yous, but there's something about this particular phrase - like Tommy's dug into the very heart of all of Buck's insecurities and learned the exact phrase to burn all those question marks to the ground.

"Ditto," Buck says, because Tommy had been insistent on trying to find a romcom that Buck didn't fall asleep to and Ghost had actually kept his attention decently well. Or. You know. Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore had.

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Howie keeps giving me shit for all new movie quotes you keep bringing out at inappropriate times."

"Quoting Clerks at Captain Fuckstache is always appropriate."

"We'll watch Dogma next. See if you can find any gems in that one that'll drive that asshole into an early grave."

"Are there dogs in it?"

"Are there -." Tommy's expression is so offended Buck thinks his eyes might explode. "Evan, even if you don't know the movie I know dogma is one of those SAT words you've found yourself on a Wikipedia black hole about."

Damn. And Buck had been hoping he'd get worked up enough to rant about Buck's serious gaps in knowledge in regards to pop culture. He hams it up a bit anyway. "It's when all the dogs are trying to get into heaven."

Tommy digs three fingers into Bucks side, and if they dissolve into a tickle fight five seconds later, Tommy has no one but himself to blame for the elbow to the face that nearly breaks his nose.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Do you know that I love you? (do you know that you shouldn't?)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

warnings: jason's injured and there's blood but it's not too graphic, except that it describes giving stitches, sometimes people get mean when they get scared, biting like a misbehaved dog etc etc

a/n: there is a fatigue seeping into me that I fear is building a home inside my chest :) how are we all doing this evening do we like this are we excited for the dc event announcement on sunday

You hear another muffled curse from the other side of the bathroom door, Jason's voice tight with pain. The sound makes you press your lips together firmly, your jaw tense as you stand in the hallway of your shared home, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed.

"Jason -" you start again, but his voice cuts you off.

"No."

"Let me help you," you continue, an exasperated sort of fatigue in your voice. Somewhere in your kitchen, you know that the clock is ticking well past 4am. 

"You don't need to be here for this," Jason says stubbornly and you scowl at the closed door. You wonder, for just a moment, if he locked it - or if he simply trusts you enough to know that you won't go where you're not wanted.

"You can't put stitches in our back on your own," you say stubbornly, and a sigh is heard through the barrier between you as you thump your head back against the wall to stare at the dark ceiling. But then the door swings open slowly and Jason's face appears, haloed by the light pouring out of the bathroom.

"Help me, then," he says tightly, and you draw yourself up to a full stand, moving past him and into the small space. Jason sits on the edge of the bathtub and faces the wall while you rummage around the first aid kit, rolling his shoulders and wincing at the rushed, messy bandaging covering the slash across his back.

You don't say anything, of course - there's no need for an I told you so in a space like this, but you do click your tongue disapprovingly when you crouch behind him to pull back the bloody gauze.

"You don't need to be so stubborn about this, you know," you say softly as you begin to clean the damaged skin. There's no attack in your voice, no righteous demand that he become something that he's not.

It's just love… and the patience that comes with it. 

Jason sighs at your words, though, like he's being tried in court and found guilty. He shifts, his fists clenching as he hangs his head and stares down at the white porcelain of the bathtub and the bloody bandages that you've thrown in next to his feet, the red staining everything that it touches.

"I don't want you to have to see me like this," he says eventually, a tired sort of resignation in his voice. You huff out a breath.

"I've seen you dead, Jason," you point out flatly. "I'm not sure why you think this would be worse."

"Don't joke about it," he snaps before he can stop himself, something mean and angry flashing through him before regret begins to wash over him.

"Why do you think I'd joke about loving you?" You ask it quietly, pressing a needle to his skin as you begin to put him back together, as you smooth over wounds and blur out the scars that he's sure would bloom there without your help.

Jason sits quietly, lets his head hang as you work and listens to the slow rhythm of your breathing as you move your hands across his back, as you love him in the only way you know how.

"Sometimes, I just don't know what to do with you," he admits, his voice low and wavering. That makes you pause, makes your hands freeze for just a moment before they continue, slower now than before. 

"I suppose that was going to happen eventually," you offer softly. "Neither of us are really who we used to be… I'm not sure we can, I don't know, fall into step with each other the way we did before…"

"Before I died?" Jason supplies. You tap him on the back of the head with your knuckle in a reprimanding sort of way - just like you used to do when you were kids.

"Before we grew up, I was going to say," you explain dryly, and Jason laughs a bit, a huffed-out breath that he can't really find in himself to stop. You roll your eyes rather fondly and a quiet settles over the two of you, nothing but your breath mixing with his and the faint rustling of your working hands filling the space as he settles. 

But then you finish Jason's stitches, tying off the thread and taping down a new, clean bandage before tapping him on the shoulder lightly to let him know that you're finished. He swings one leg up and over so that he's straddling the edge of the tub and watches as you stand, wincing and letting your knees pop.

"You should've said something," he chastises gently as you lift one of your own legs into the tub, straddling the porcelain to sit face-to-face with him and let your knees bump against his.

"I don't mind," you say easily, and a frown tugs at Jason's lips.

"See, that's what I mean," he murmurs, smoothing his hands across your thighs to rub gentle circles over your knees where he's sure the tiled floor had been digging into your skin. "Sometimes I just don't know what to do with you."

"What do you mean?" You ask softly. Jason looks away, staring at the blood-soaked bandages sitting in the tub. You follow his gaze, of course, just enough to see what he's staring at and then look back at him with your head cocked curiously to the side.

"Sometimes you act like you don't care at all," he says flatly, his hands tightening their grip on your knees.

"When I act like I care, you act like it's killing you," you point out gently, watching as Jason's lips turn down into a scowl as he watches his own blood drip towards the drain.

"Sometimes I think it is," he says dully. You reach to brush a few of his curls back, his hair unruly and mussed from the night as sweat sticks to the strands.

"Then what do you want me to do, baby?" you ask quietly, letting your fingernails scratch over his scalp rhythmically as he sighs and closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

"I want you to let me see you," he replies honestly. "I want you to let me here there for you."

"Not sure you should be saying that," you respond easily. "Something about living in a glass house and all that."

"What do you mean?"

"You locked yourself in the bathroom to bleed out alone so that I wouldn't see it," you point out. There's no accusation in your voice, no cold, hard edge or betrayal to be heard. But Jason's shoulders tense all the same as he opens his eyes and takes your hand in his to press kisses across your knuckles. "You don't need to protect me from yourself," you continue gently. 

"Neither do you," he retorts, the same kindness and love coming back to you in waves.  

"I'm just…" you begin, letting your eyes flick around the bathroom as you feel yourself suddenly under scrutiny. "I'm trying to be there for you."

"That's my job," Jason says firmly. "You gotta let me be there for you." You sigh at that, something long-suffering and loving as you look back at him and lift a brow. 

"When are you going to learn that I love you?" You ask softly, and Jason looks at you like you've pointed a gun to his chest.

"When are you going to learn that you shouldn't?"

"I don't think you get to make that decision for me, Jay," you offer with a shrug. "I think I've earned the right to decide my own life." He sighs at that, looking at you like he loves you too much and doesn't know what to do with it, before he reaches for you.

"C'mere, baby," he says it quietly, a whisper pressed against you as he wraps his arms around your waist and hauls you into him, letting your thighs rest overtop of his as you settle into his lap. "You know I love you, too, right?" he asks softly, his lips pressing kisses over your cheeks.

"I know, Jay," you respond soothingly, tangling your hand into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Maybe we'd both… maybe we'd learn a thing or two from showing it more, hm?" Jason laughs at that, burying his face into your neck as he sighs and rocks the two of you back and forth gently.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours?" he offers, his voice muffled as his lips press against your skin. You tap your knuckles to his head in another chastising manner, but you also smile as you lean down to kiss the crown of his head. 

"I wouldn't mind that," you say quietly, and when Jason lifts his head to look at you, there's no hint of joking in your face. You smooth a hand over his cheek and he lilts his head to place a delicate kiss on your palm while you watch him, your eyes big and loving in a way that makes him feel a bit naked. 

"Yea?" his voice wavers as he asks, his hesitation festering inside him, but you just smile in that gentle, loving way of yours and smooth over the crease between his brows with your thumb.

"Yea," you say easily. "You're not hard to love, Jay. It just takes a bit of practice for us to learn how to give that love."

"And you'll stay with me long enough for me to learn?" 

"Long enough for us to learn," you correct gently, leaning into him to kiss him softly. "And hopefully a whole lot longer than that." He laughs against you at that, chasing your lips as his arms wrap around your waist a bit tighter.

"Well," he says as he pulls away just enough to let his lips brush against yours. "I'm sure as fuck not letting go." You laugh at that, something loud and honest and a bit more carefree than either of you are used to.

"Good," you say easily. "We'll do it together, then."

[hoshinasblade]

second best |1| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART THREE

DISCLAIMER: this fic has a detail that hasn't been mentioned in the anime yet. it isn't a big give-away but if you are sensitive about that kind of thing, please do not proceed. pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 3K trigger warnings: author's note: this fic has two parts - part 2 will be posted a week from today :) likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated but please do not repost or steal my writings. this is quite long, but i gotta make you guys work for it. i have also set up a taglist for the second part and the other fics or drabbles, please sign up if you wanna be tagged! as always, feel free to let me know what you think or give me a prompt by sending me an ask here!

hoshina soshiro can claim with extreme conviction that he rarely regrets the decisions he has made so far in his life.

from the time he has set his sights on taking the aptitude exam necessary to be recruited in the anti-kaiju defense force, to following captain ashiro mina to support her as the vice-captain of the third division, to religiously adhering to his daily routine of working out even during his off days so he can stay in peak condition - everything he's done is driven by soshiro's lone motivation: to rise and come on top.  

unfortunately, as he sees you walking in the hallway of the training building with his brother, soshiro realises that this is one of those rare occurrences where he hopes he gets a do-over.

it was barely 6 in the afternoon so there was still light from outside; the rays of the setting sun penetrating the transparent windowpanes cast an orange glow to the furniture in soshiro's office. it made him remember how he used to always be assigned as the student to clean the classroom back in junior high school: he would sweep first then rearrange the chairs before closing the windows and drawing down the curtains. he would rush up to the rooftop, in time to watch the sun dip below the horizon. he would stay for a few precious minutes, dreaming of a chance to get out of their town. he was fifteen then.

soshiro shook his head a bit. he decided that today - of all days - will not be when he will have a trip down memory lane. yes, despite the number of times he would get reminded of his past today, he refuses to get sidetracked.

the floor is eerily silent, save for the momentary opening and closing of doors; soshiro is aware that almost everyone has left, flocking to the local izakaya not too far from the base to celebrate. he had half the mind to prompt himself to hurry up in order to make it to the get-together on time. the long and gruelling application process took three months before the vetting could begin, but finally, the third division of japan anti-kaiju defense force honoured its new officers that morning. as the nominated head of the selection committee, he oversaw the entire thing, and at the end, he could not help but to feel confident that their force would become stronger from here - this year their roster of applicants boasts high-profile names like that of the very daughter of jakdf's director general and the young master of the prestigious izumo family.

okonogi, sitting in front of him at his office, was sorting the personal forms of the recruits, a big stapler in her right hand. "i can take care of this, vice-captain", she said to him, "they cannot miss you there."

soshiro smupled to his swivel chair, obviously fatigued by the task he and okonogi had been trying to finish for half an hour already. fighting and defeating kaiju is the main part of the job, but handling the paperwork proves to be as challenging. "right, make sure the headquarters get this by the morning along with the report of all their numbers -" the sound of footsteps nearby interrupted soshiro's train of thought.

there were three loud knocks and the door opened, a man with the same eyes as soshiro peeping inside. even okonogi glanced over her shoulder to identify who the intruder is. soshiro stood up.

"just wanted ta drop by before i head back ta himeji", hoshina soichiro's undeniable accent dripped. spotting the huge pile of forms littering the desk, he commented, "seems like ya are a little preoccupied though."

"hoshina fuku taichou, good evening." your voice was firm yet jovial as you greeted him, the kansai inflection rolling off your tongue. you appeared beside soshiro's brother, still wearing the same standard-issue uniform you wore during the event several hours ago when you were sworn in as a new defense force officer. the outfit is snug on you - soshiro had noticed at the ceremony earlier, but up close the top looked almost skintight, the skirt coming up a little above your knees. soshiro can be a high-ranking official within the force, but he is also a man. if only briefly, he stared. "aren't ya going ta the party?"

taken aback that you would drop by his office, it was out of his mouth too fast he couldn't stop it - "how about ya? what are you still doing here with him?" soshiro responded pointedly at you, throwing you the same query but not answering what you asked him. it was too late to take it back; he sounded like he was interrogating you about your presence with the captain of the sixth division. soichiro winced; soshiro pretended not to see. "i- i was just thinking ya went with the officers on the way there", he added, calmer this time.

"oh, i was just catching up with hoshina-kun", you replied without missing a beat. soshiro doesn't know if the accidental force in his question just seconds prior did not intimidate you at all or you simply ignored his tone. "i mean with soichiro-kun. considering ya are hoshina too", you chuckled. soshiro stole a glance at the man at your side while maintaining an empty expression. he found his brother smirking at him; soshiro willed himself not to picture soichiro as an ugly kaiju with a butt for a face.

okonogi who is now attentively eavesdropping on your conversation caught your attention. "pardon for the bother, hoshina-san. we'll be off now."

for an instant, it looked like you were waiting for soshiro to say something in response. to say what, he doesn't know. the eye contact between you and him held up for a moment but broke as quick as it began. tension prickled in the air briefly then ebbed as you turned away from soshiro. "i'll see ya at the party, vice-captain", you gave him a bow before exiting the room. soshiro wanted to stop you; he didn't.

soichiro sighed. "it was nice seeing ya, 'lil bro", he addressed soshiro, his hand patting the latter's shoulder once, twice. "i have paperwork ta worry about too so as much as i'd like to, i won't be able ta attend your division's party. just in case ya want ta know." soshiro didn't look like he had a crumb of interest to know about his brother's occupational responsibilities; he shrugged soichiro's hand off.

soshiro saw you standing outside, leaning on the wall, when he ushered his brother out. "i'll be driving her to the izakaya though", soichiro informed him. "ya should visit our folks when ya have the time. ya should come home sometimes", soichiro continued, a hint of concern evident in his voice. when soshiro did not respond, surprisingly the older hoshina did not look a tiny bit disappointed. instead, soichiro put on a charming smile and waved at okonogi. "okonogi-chan, see ya around!" he tossed a playful wink at her.

soshiro merely watched as you and soichiro walked together, your pace matching his. a few meters away, he saw you listening intently to something soichiro was saying - he is too close - and although he is not within earshot to hear what is being said anymore, he knows it is another one of his brother's bad jokes. it looks like you were trying to suppress it, but a smile was about to dawn on your lips. soshiro felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

the party was already in full swing when soshiro arrived - everyone is hungrily feasting on the expensive wagyu beef, drinks flowing endlessly from the bar. everyone is enjoying themselves; even captain ashiro mina can be seen having small talk with the newly sworn-in officers who were eagerly taking notes from her.

you had easily made friends with the other rookies who are now sitting next to you; it was thanks to your group that this event was planned - after enduring long sessions of strenuous physical training every day of every week, you all deserved a night of everyone just gathering to have a good time. soshiro seems to be exempt from the festive atmosphere though.

he picked the seat next to his captain, who greeted him with a curt nod. he proceeded to grab the mug of beer served to him; the first sip registered a sharp bitterness through his mouth but soshiro relished on the flavor as it overtook his senses.

"everything alright?" captain ashiro from his side asked without lifting her gaze from her own drink. "you are being -" she paused, carefully searching to find the right words, “uncharacteristically quiet.”

soshiro picked the glass of beer again, and when he was about to put the lid on his lips, he could sense someone’s intense stare locked on him. years of being the vice-captain gifted him with equal parts instinct and paranoia so he could not help but scan the room, only to find you, sitting across the room, watching him with a curious expression.

a rowdy group of rookies surrounds you; they are high-fiving each other, laughing at their silly pranks, not minding that all of you are squeezed together at a crowded circle. soft music in the background swelled as everyone cheered and clinked glasses.

soshiro's eyes remained fixed on yours, lasting for what he felt like forever. the buzz of chatter dulled to a distant hum, fading into an almost white noise. his heart raced as he felt his breath catch and his mouth go dry. the corner of your lips curved into a smile and maybe it is the alcohol in his system, but he is certain his cheeks are flushed now.

"huh", captain ashiro lowly exclaimed. soshiro quickly snapped a glance at her. "you talked to her yet?" she asked him. ah, she caught his little moment with you.

soshiro was on the verge of playing it cool and putting on an act; he was about to outright lie to his captain by saying "talk to who?" as if he had no idea what she was referring to. he settled with silence. he was grateful his non-response only earned him a sigh from the captain who did not press the topic any further.

 "to you newbies, congratulations!" captain ashiro raised her glass, still half-filled with alcohol. her voice rang out over the place, everyone's conversations immediately falling quiet. "may the third division always be victorious in our battles to come", she recapped her speech.

the party showed no signs of slowing down. hibino kafka, a recruit in his thirties has been the centre of intrigue that has spanned for weeks now. hibino ossan - as what the others nicknamed him - had revealed in a bathroom conversation with other male rookies that he grew up with captain ashiro. ashiro mina likes dried squid; ashiro mina used to raise pets in grade school - everyone consumed any and every tidbit of trivia hibino disclosed about the usually stoic and serious third division commander. soshiro was among those invested in the rumor and you knew why. for a while, you also wondered how he would react once the rest of the troops learned about your own past with their vice-captain. would he deny it? or would he brush off any potential gossip that may arise from the revelation? if everyone discovered your shared history with hoshina soshiro, would it make him want to reconnect with you?

“you lot will start duty monday next week, but tomorrow will just be another workday for vice-captain hoshina and i”, captain ashiro said, having stood up from her seat, preparing to take off. “no, you can stay”, she said to some of the newbies who have started to get up too.

“nah, captain, why don’t we bring them along to help us file all the tedious paperwork?”, soshiro interjected in his familiar upbeat tone. the crew bursted into snickers; captain ashiro gave soshiro a perplexed look, obviously puzzled about the sudden shift in his mood. testing her theory, she looked at your direction.

captain ashiro couldn't make out why, but you were giggling at whatever your seatmate had said, elegant hand covering your mouth, eyes crinkled. she understood soshiro then - she was not foreign to feeling uneasy inside when she sees someone so physically near someone she cares about after all. "let's go, hoshina", she tucked her pity for the vice-captain away.

"do you guys think they are dating?" a particularly tactless rookie sitting at your table had asked immediately after captain ashiro and hoshina were out the sliding doors.

"i bet they're not", you blurted out a little too soon, a little too sure. you did not mind clipping your accent, your kansai-ben thick and heavy. your fellow officers looked at you, expecting an explanation for your outburst. "i mean -" you stuttered, "that would be awkward, i guess."

"you know to think of it, you're from himeji too, right?" a few more recruits have started to listen in on the exchange. these people can smell the truth off me, you thought. you wanted to smack yourself in the face.

"we went ta the same high school together, that's all", you admitted, feeling backed in a corner. tomorrow when you get questioned for this imprudent behavior, you can probably blame it all on the alcohol. "and grade school", you continued, loose-lipped now.

you still liked wearing pink bows in your hair when you met him. an only child of kind parents, you never experienced having to ask for something you like; you were doted on and spoiled so you were reasonably upset when a young hoshina soshiro did not give you the time of his day. your family has just moved to hyogo shortly before that, and you were anxious to make friends; since your early age, you had made it your mission to make soshiro acknowledge you.

"you dun wanna play with me, because ya are stupid", you told soshiro-kun once. "oka-san said all boys are stupid", you had the nerve to elaborate after he pouted at you, his unkempt bangs sticking on his sweaty forehead, his clothes dirty from training all day.

"yer pretty", he responded and you felt the blush crept up on your cheeks. "pretty annoying."

"come on, spill some tea!" someone's palm connected with the table, jolting you out of your trance. "we have another hibino-senpai situation on our hands!" they declared, grabbing you by the arm and shaking you a bit. if it was meant to encourage you to tell more childhood tales between you and the vice-captain, it worked really, really well.

"he's always had that haircut even as a kid", you said, misinterpreting the kind of story your companions wanted you to tell, judging by their disappointed looks. “i- i don’t know what else to tell you guys”, you held up your hand in surrender.

“do you have a crush on him?” you choked on your drink, caught off guard.

vexed at his absent-mindedness, soshiro was walking back to the izakaya place alone when he heard the commotion. he is going straight to bed once he gets back to the base, but he would have to retrieve his uniform jacket first from his seat earlier.

“you totally do, don’t you!” it stopped sounding like a question and more of an accusation you could not deny. “you like hoshina-san!”

“i -i do, yes... but what of it, huh?" he couldn’t see you but he would recognize the soft timbre of your voice anywhere. soshiro felt like a victorian gentleman getting a glimpse of a woman’s ankle for the first time listening in on the uproar of cheers after your confession.

“the three of us attended the same high school, soichiro-kun was a grade ahead”, you said. soshiro froze. you are talking about his brother. “he has always been good at everything, t'was hard not ta like him.”

soshiro closed his eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. he always had his suspicions - for the ceremony earlier his brother even took a day off his busy schedule as the commander of the sixth division to attend as a guest. he should have known.

last year, soshiro’s squad fought a lizard-type kaiju with a fortitude of above 8. like the reptile, a cut made on any of its limbs was useless due to advanced regeneration. a fractured rib, extremely bruised arms, and a dislocated shoulder were what it costed soshiro to win against the monster. his bitterness threatening to consume him, he cannot believe that you confirming his worst fears would hurt more than that fatal experience.

of course, he said to himself. it’s not like he can fault you for liking soichiro - everyone did. as the firstborn son, their father always had favored him. soichiro has been the more skilled swordsman between them; he was the golden child, charismatic and talented with an effortless charm - like moths to a flame he would attract people, and even in his silence he would overshadow soshiro.

soshiro didn’t stand a chance against his own flesh and blood.

he was a teenager when he dreamed of running away from the constant but inevitable competition he had with his brother. scouted for the third division, he relished on the freedom. but how do you escape the reality of the one you love loving the one person you could never measure up to?

[sleepyangelkami]

Recently got into the walking dead and let me just say i’m obsessed with your carl fics. It’s alarming how many times i’ve read them lmao.

CLINGY c.grimes

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 2.4K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - being clingy was the most natural thing in you and carl's relationship after all the trauma you'd both endured. but when things get too much for carl, he shuts you out, leaving you to assume only the worst.

 ☆ WARNINGS - clingy relationship, crying, blood, gore, mentions of death, walkers, mean!carl, yelling, stress, mentions of violence, weapons, (2) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

clingy was a word you had much distaste for.

when the world literally ended, there wasn't much to do aside from survive and hold onto your loved ones. you'd been alone so long, people slowly falling, dying, leaving. before you knew it, it was just you and the group you'd found. well, they'd found you.

more specifically, he'd found you.

the boy with the sheriff's hat, eyeing you with his gun in the air. you made no sudden movements, eyes cast down on the ground as if you didn't care whether or not the bullet would fly from his gun.

it was just you in the house they'd raided. you didn't have a family, nor a group. just you, covered in blood, starved and in a kind of fetal position, knees pressed against your chest as you eyed the pool of blood surrounding you. some of your own, some from the ones before.

when you'd met the group, you had nothing. dead parents, dead siblings, nothing seemed to matter anymore. the world was gone, the people you loved either dead, taking the easy way out or leaving it to the walkers. or perhaps they'd left you, walking out when things got tough, leaving you and the remains of your family behind.

the screams from outside of the house would alert you of their soon fate afterwards.

you opened up, albeit it was slow.

you liked to believe there was an instant connection between you and the boy. he lowered his gun almost instantly, realising you weren't a threat behind the blood and glassy eyes. how he'd known, you weren't sure. he just did.

he rushed towards you, calling downstairs for his father in a panic.

you didn't speak much at first, staring when he'd offered his name. carl grimes. the boy you'd soon learn to love.

and with time, you made a new family. daryl dixon was a good idea for a father, you soon learned, carol sort of alike a mother when she snuck you an extra one of her homemade cookies.

you lost others, more fell. but you and carl never frayed.

rick and michonne would always catch you together, smiling and looking at one another knowingly. it was safe to say that it was no surprise when carl announced you were together. after all, you were practically joined by the hip.

this brings us back to the beginning. the word clingy.

you hated the word as much as you hated the death surrounding you. could anyone truly be clingy in a world like this? is anyone really too much? you liked to believe that there was no such thing as too much anymore. people died, left, separated. any day could be someone's last. you'd prefer to know that you'd spent all the time with them as you could.

if that was clingy, then so be it.

carl was used to this side of you, he catered to it, if anything, he matched it. he was used to the way you laid against him, talking lowly as he went about his tasks.

there was a grey cloud looming over alexandria at a time like this. the survivors were getting more powerful and it was plaguing carl's mind. you did your best to be as gentle as you possibly could, attempting to console the boy but it seemed no matter what you did, he would find himself bubbling over with anger.

"will you pass me the carving knife?" he cut you off mid-speech, ignoring the way your lips instantly shut closed, eyes searching your side of the table.

you weren't hanging from the boy as you usually were, picking at his hands and fingers, playing with them as though they were dough. you weren't snuggling into him while he placed his arm around you. your normal routine simply didn't exist with the past week or so.

but if space was what he needed, you were more than happy to offer that to him. "okay." you mumbled, picking up the knife you thought was the carving knife and passing it to him.

you didn't know much about knives and guns, usually sitting your head on your knees and listening to the boy speak about them. yet, every time he told you what was what and their intent, everything went in one ear and out the other. he'd often admire the way you asked a thousand questions over, one's he'd already answered. he'd only smile, answering them again.

now you realised perhaps you should have been listening.

apparently, you'd passed him the wrong one. you heard what you assumed was a swear pass his lips in a whisper as he placed the knife back to the table roughly. "what's wrong?" you questioned softly, watching him pick up a thinner knife, sanding it down with the block in his hand.

"got the wrong one." but his voice was anything but the gentle carl you knew and loved. this one was sort of mean, a tone of anger behind his words. "how many times have i explained all of them to you? i mean, you still don't know, seriously?"

it seemed as though the dark cloud over alexandria had moved into the room belonging to carl grimes. you found yourself sneaking your knees closer to your chest, just like the day he'd found you. "sorry." you mumbled, glancing away.

confrontation wasn't exactly your forté.

it didn't help that fighting with carl was a rare experience. "maybe if you just listened to me every now and again we wouldn't have this problem."

offence took over your face, brows knitting together. "I do listen to you." but when he talked about things like knives and guns it was sort of hard for you to keep up.

a scoff left his lips. "sure you do." angry carl never failed to show you a different side of the boy you loved.

you stared at him in shock, wondering where the sudden attitude towards you was coming from. you knew he was stressed, understood it even but you'd done nothing to deserve the hatred being thrown your way.

that was when the shaky, "why're you being so mean?" left your lips.

like i said, confrontation wasn't something you practiced often. you were sort of unsure of where to go in this situation.

carl breathed out a ragged breath, practically throwing the tools onto the table. you jumped slightly, staring at him with widened eyes. "maybe you're the one being too clingy." his eyes stared into yours but they didn't look like the ones you'd fallen for so deeply. "just..." breathing through his nose. "just leave me alone for a bit, yeah?"

clearly, he wasn't in the mood for any of this.

and neither were you.

you spoke no words as you quickly scooped up the bag on the ground, making a haste exit towards the door. the sound of a quick sniffle before you shut the door closed was enough for the weighing bricks to fall down on carl.

the sudden severity of the situation dawned on the boy.

he'd made you cry.

and he swore never to be the cause of your tears.

he didn't run after you, though, much too caught up in his own head. the stress of the entire situation of the saviours was weighing on him too. he crashed his elbows onto the table, shoving his head between his hands and groaning. he wondered if he'd ever get anything right.

before he could get too far with the self pity, his bedroom door swung open to reveal his father.

"what was that?" the older man questioned, not giving a clue to what he was talking about. but carl could guess. "y/n just ran out of here crying, you have somethin' to do with that?"

in a moment like this, disappointed dad gazing at him, carl would have done anything to wipe that look off his face. "dad, you don't get it―" about to explain himself, weave out of whatever this was.

"i don't care." was the answer he gave, having better things to be doing than sorting out this teenage relationship himself. "fix it." and finally slamming the door.

rick always taught carl how respect worked, he punished him when he was wrong, rewarded him when he was right. he didn't teach him to act like this.

it was night fall when carl finally found himself walking around the town of alexandria. he was sort of hoping you were out here instead of back at home for he really didn't feel like speaking to daryl at the door and asking were you home. however, he searched every nook and cranny, every place you usually went when you were upset and yet he walked back empty handed, realising you definitely hadn't been outside.

finally, he found himself standing on your doorstep, sucking in a breath before knocking on the white door, the light from above shining down on his face making him squint.

the door opened to reveal carol, thankfully not daryl. carl really couldn't imagine what daryl would have to say to him right about now. he just hoped he was out hunting somewhere or other, at least then he wouldn't get the urge to haul the boy off his front porch.

"y/n?" is all carol questioned, she was dressed in her own hunting attire and carl could only guess that she was on her way out too.

he pressed his lips into a thin line. "she home."

the woman nodded. "upstairs." before swapping places with the boy, making her way outside while inviting him in. "carl." he looked towards her. "don't make me regret leaving you inside."

he only nodded, allowing her to close the door from the outside.

finally, the silence of your house enveloped him.

you, carol and daryl all lived in the same two story house but sometimes it seemed only you lived here. all the decorations were your work, pictures and photo frames, some of before, some of now, everything screamed... you.

it was that cosiness about you that made him fall for you all that time ago.

his boots found the stairs, making his way up and finding your bedroom door, the last door on the right hallway.

your door was white, a brass handle leading him into the room he'd seen a thousand times before.

he'd imagine your room at the other side of the door, pretty pink bedsheets with matching curtains. he'd found the curtains for you on a separate occasion, you'd been over the moon. and the pretty lights that decorated your walls along with the picture frames and the stuffed animal he'd found tucked away in your bloodied back so long ago, now fresh against your bed.

a sort of comfort from the world before.

he knocked, receiving no answer.

"sweetheart? it's carl." again, he was met with the mere silence as his fingertips hung heavy against the door handle. "i'm coming in, okay?" it wasn't a question, more like a warning.

when he did walk in, he was met with a sight he'd seen before.

tears coating the edges of your eyes, sitting criss-cross legged on your bed in your favourite pijamas, pretty stuffed toy between your legs. carl had seen this before, held you through it, comforted you and swore that whoever hurt you would pay. what was he to do now when he was the cause of your sorrow?

"hey, baby." his tone was as gentle as could be, making his way to sit next to you on the bed. "missed you."

you two were so different.

carl had the stubbornness of a mule, when things got tough he found it awfully hard to apologise, not that he ever had to do it much. though, he'd much prefer for everything to disappear in a blink of an eye, forget everything ever happened and go back to the way you two were.

and when you were upset? you shut off.

"i was thinking..." still avoiding the two words that would seemingly make it all okay. "maybe next week we can go someplace? find somewhere to hang out for the weekend, like a night away." his words prodded no reaction from you. "how's that sound, angel?"

a shrug was the only thing he was met with.

your glassy eyes strayed far from his, not even attempting to look him in the eyes. he sighed, unsure of where to go. "look at me, sweet girl." long fingers entrapping your chin and turning it towards him.

there was a pang of guilt as he looked in your glassy red eyes, evidence that you'd been crying earlier that day. and he'd been the cause of it.

finally, the long awaited. "I'm sorry." and carl the stubborn mule grimes didn't just apologise to anyone. "shouldn't have talked to you liked that, c'mere." in a time like this, all you needed was comfort, that was what compelled you to move with his hands, climbing into his lap. the sound of your soft cries soon filled his ears. "i know, i know, 'm so sorry." hand rubbing circles against your back, holding you close.

you didn't mean to cry the way you did, but the weight of the day collapsing on you was enough for you to cling to the boy.

you buried your head in the crook of his neck, wisps of his own hair in front of your face, his hat steady on his head as he held you so gently, as though you were made of glass.

a wobble of your bottom lip as you pulled away from the boy, holding your hands up to your face as if to shield yourself. there was something so scary about him seeing you cry. "i didn't..." your own voice cracking. "i didn't mean to be clingy."

his heart quite literally shattered.

"no, no." his voice sort of high pitched as he pulled your hands from your face. "no, you're not, sweetheart, i promise you're not."

you sniffled at the boy. "but you said―"

carl couldn't dare to hear the rest of such a sentence. "i didn't mean it, baby, i promise." he pulled you back towards his chest, head finding his neck again only this time you didn't cry as hard, mere sniffles leaving your nose. "was bein' an asshole, baby, 'm so sorry."

it'd take a while for you to believe him.

but he'd do whatever it took.

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

[irrevocableloves]

gold rush

cedric diggory x fem!hufflepuff!reader

taylor swift series: part one

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ masterlist ₊ ⊹

summary: everybody wants him, everybody wonders what it would be like to love him, but he loves you. (inspired by taylor swift’s gold rush!!!)

warnings: lil bit of angst, self-pity, mentions of alcohol, FLUFF <3

words: 1.8k

what must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

cedric diggory. the prefect of hufflepuff. the captain of the hufflepuff quidditch team. your best friend. but that was all he was... a friend.

the secret you bore that you had fallen in love with him along the way of your friendship had burned a hole into your heart, believing that deep down that he was never destined to fall for you.

sure, you'd hoped things would slowly work out in your favor. but in your eyes, it didn't seem very likely.

but to (almost) everyone else, his eyes were only on you.

everyone knew from the moment you and cedric were seen running around the halls together on the first day you were both sorted into hufflepuff that the two of you were completely enamored with one another. it could be seen in many other ways throughout the years.

cedric was a gentleman to everyone of course, but to you? he was an absolute angel. the way he'd listen to every word you had to say even if it was the most ridiculous, hold your books for you in between classes, skip his classes and take care of you if you were sick, just the way he looked at you… you swore the glint in his eyes had felt so much different. but you’d also considered that you’ve just gone completely mad…

you noticed his gestures of course, but you thought that was just cedric's nature. he was a hufflepuff wasn't he? well, he was practically the face of hufflepuff. at hogwarts, mostly everyone wasn't 100% of their house, but you were convinced cedric was the only true hufflepuff.

the girls hoarding around cedric never helped, but you never noticed the way he acted around them. uncomfortable. and not so much entertaining them, but more-so feeling guilty for them (and also because he's a a major pushover). 

with the tri-wizard competition and with cedric as a champion, the crowds piled around him. not just girls, but hufflepuffs who wanted to bash around in his glory.

you missed him. you didn't even want him to put his name in the stupid goblet to begin with, but you couldn’t bare the look of disappointment on his face when you didn’t approve of it. he thought the world of you. he wanted to do this for you, to prove that he could finally make the house you shared worthy of the limelight, to make him worth of you…. but you didn’t know that yet.

but now, every chance you had to spend with him was always ruined by the crowds stealing him away. everyday for a week since then he’d been pulled away from you. his usual spot next to you in the great hall remained empty and no one else had come to claim it, your friends knowing it was his spot. well other people tried… like when ernie didn’t make it time to be cedric’s little side-kick, he’d try to squeeze himself in beside you, but everyone hollered him off when you didn’t have the heart to.

you’d seen cedric make the effort. every single time he did, but he would be pulled away by his growing posse. sometimes you’d just wish you were able to scream, yell, or even simply ask him to stay loud enough to be heard over the boys and their banter, but alas, it never worked in your favor. you also wished that he would tell his friends that he wanted to stay back and just have at least one second with you. just one conversation. but every time he managed to get out a word of retort, his cheeks had gone so red and his voice in a fit of stutters that he’d just let his growing group lead him elsewhere.

you noticed the girls. of course you did. how could you not?

it’s not like girls had never craved the attention of cedric diggory, but after his name shot out of goblet of fire, it’d almost been too much for you.

the girls, especially those from beauxbatons, stared and erupted giggles every time he’d passed by and sent glares at you whenever he’d try and stop to talk to you, but those were always quickly interrupted by his herd of new friends. even anthony, his bestest friend, had grown tired of the crowds and relinquished back to his normal spot the great hall, matching your sighs whenever you’d hear the crowd boast over him.

one night, when you had just managed to finish hours worth of work on a history of magic paper, once you were satisfied, you let yourself bury into the covers of your bed. it was a friday night and there was a party in the hufflepuff common room to celebrate cedric once again, but you were exhausted. you’d purposefully planned to be cooped up in your room all night while the rest of your school mates partied away. no one would miss me surely.

knock knock.

you were tempted to just lay there, pretend you were asleep in hopes they would leave you to your solitude, but the fits of knocks didn’t stop and they soon turned to mutters that would make your heart almost stop completely.

“y/n? y/n/n? you awake?” cedric. even in his slightly drunken state, he was soft-spoken, only gently knocking and whispering in case you hadn’t been awake.

any other time, you would’ve gotten up immediately. but after this week, you were hesitant. it wasn’t his fault. really, it wasn’t. you couldn’t help the built up insecurities and the fact that cedric didn’t have time for you anymore. he always did before, but this time, there was just too much in the way, too many people watching his every move and wanting every bit of attention just as you did.

just as you were sure he’d left, you heard a soft huff and an odd noise hitting your door.

when you finally made your way to open the door, you slid it open gently, seeing cedric leaning up against it, sliding alongside it while you cracked it open.

you gasped at the site, grabbing cedric’s hand with the two of yours and hauling him up. “ced?” you grunted, struggling as you pulled him. “why are you here?”

“wanted to see you.” his cheeks were flushed red. he’d been drinking. not quite a lot. you knew when he’d gotten to his breaking point. right now, he’d only had a couple shots in fire whiskey him, otherwise he would’ve been completely knocked out and unintelligible. “why didn’t you come down?”

his speech was hardly slurred, he just seemed really tired.

“um…” the paper excuse sounded lame. were you really holing yourself up in your dorm all because a boy hadn’t given you his undivided attention? that excuse would never hear the light of day, but even then, you knew it was pathetic. “was tired…” now that was even more pathetic.

you sat over on your four poster bed and he followed in suit, but instead of sitting, he fiddled with the curtains, as if he’d seemed more interested in the velvet fabric than you. no. he was distracting himself. he was just as nervous as you were.

your eyes went to his, then to your twiddling hands. a moment of silence had aired throughout your dorm. then you felt a dip on your bed.

“y/n/n ‘m sorry.” you looked up, his cheeks reaching even deeper level of pink. once your eyes met his, he was a stuttering mess. “it’s just—the tournament. i-i know you didn’t want me doing it and-and i don’t know i didn’t think i’d really get picked you know? then…” he made an explosion sound with his mouth and you struggled not to stifle up a giggle. you loved when he was so nervous that he just rambled on to no end and you didn’t dare to stop him just yet.

he continued on, “and i just got caught up in it? like i’d won a quidditch match, but times a hundred. maybe a thousand? and-and i didn’t want to disappoint anyone… even if the crowds are a lot. overwhelms me a bit… just wanted to hang out with you.” you looked up at him, debating whether to speak up yet. you didn’t.

“merlin, i feel horrible…” he got up from your bed and started pacing around your room. “you didn’t even want me to put my name in that cup to begin with, but my dad… he’d sounded so proud in his letter when i told him about it. i couldn’t let him down. but then you… i shouldn’t have put in.”

he continued on, “i just thought… that perhaps… i could make your proud. you always talk about how hufflepuff gets no recognition.”

me? but why?

“and i know that you didn’t even want me entering the stupid thing in the first place… but i didn’t wanna let you down.” he huffed, finally sitting back down, his fingers still fidgeting.

“you could never do that.” you simply said. it was true. there was nothing he could do that would ever disappoint you. it was quite infuriating.

“i feel like i-i already have.” that’s when you placed your hand on his, grasping his fingers to stop his nerves.

“it’s not your fault.” it really wasn’t. but you struggled to find the words as to why as you found as fingers playing with your own.

“it is. the crowds… i wanted to tell them to shove off, but i just didn’t wanna let anyone down. it’s stupid…” one of his hands found its way to his hair, tending to one of his nasty habits. once he nervously pulled at his hair and squinted his eyes shut, you finally found the words.

“it’s my fault too.” you said, he shook his head in defense. “no. i mean… i know how overwhelmed you get and i feel terrible for not realizing that soon enough. look at you! you’re a mess and i-i wish i could’ve been there. but the crowd and the people and i just-i just thought..” you felt even embarrassed to say it out loud. “you didn’t need me anymore.” you finally let out.

you could feel his eyes on you. that’s when he used his other hand to lift up your chin, bringing your wandering eyes up to his.

“i’ll always need you. look at where i’m at without you.” he chuckled, his cheeks flushing an even brighter red.

“yeah… drunk and crawling up the girl’s dormitory stairs.” you giggled. “how’d you even manage the counter-spell?”

his eyebrows furrowed, a look of confusion on his face. “i don’t quite remember…?”

“you’re not even that drunk!”

“and how do you know that?” he challenged.

“well, first of all, you managed to make it all the way up here. and second, you’re not completely incoherent.”

“yeah…” he admitted. “party’s no fun without you. i’d much rather stay here with you.” your cheeks reddened.

“well, then stay. i’ll make you a tea.” you were surprised you didn’t make a complete mess of your words.

you swiftly got up off your bed, grabbing a mug from your shelf and then a kettle, using aguamenti and then a simple water-heating charm afterwards.

“chamomile and honey?”

a/n: anyone up for a part two???? he was a lil drunk so i didn’t feel comfortable about any confessions and kissing </3 BUT I DO HAVE IDEAS FOR MORE SOOO !!!

tags: @measure-in-pain @brekkers-whore @rejectedbimbo @leilanileila @anothercoffeeblogx @cevans-winchester @trawberry-fire @nephilimsss @itszzmoon @astrovampie @cryingoverfictionalmen @boxofbadsenses @ttnaanj @iheartprettygurls @aoi-targaryen @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @mystifiedgrace @ladybirdbeetle7 @celi-xxmoon (i don’t rmr how many of u wanted to be tagged for cedric </3)

taglist ₊˚⊹♡

[rosemaze-reveries]

During an interview, the manor guests suddenly get a question about you.

this is def an experimental format!! i got this idea while reading the character letters. in the POV of an unknown interviewer (not reader). reader uses they/them.

🔗⚰️📰🔮❤️‍🩹💉🌪️✂️🍀🩰🔫🪡🤹🧲🦋🐍

Q. Could you describe your relationship with (Y/N)?

🔗 Ada - "Yes, that's my lover. I would say our relationship falls within the typical scope of that sort of thing. Of course, I believe we share something special, but everyone does when they're in love, don't they?" She covers all her bases in one decisive breath, leaving little room for me to comment.

⚰️ Aesop sits perfectly upright, fingers threaded at his knees. His eyes drift to the side and he seems to begin speaking mid-thought. "I had... cautioned myself not to upset their perception of me," he explains. "But they pried, and stayed, regardless of what they found... For that, I'm grateful."

📰 Alice has kept a sharp eye on me the entire time, but it's at this question that she drops the formalities. "I wasn't aware you would be prying into my personal affairs. Where did you learn that name?" Her frankness pins me in place. For some reason, I end up apologizing.

🔮 Eli can't help a sheepish smile from blooming across his face. "Well, truthfully... I don't use this term lightly, but they might be the love of my life." He has been consistently grounded with his responses, so I'm surprised to catch him flustered, however subtle it is. Personally, I'm touched.

❤️‍🩹 Emil considers for a moment. He doesn't meet me in the eye, instead pinning his gaze on nowhere in particular. A faint smile ghosts his lips. After a while, he answers, simply, "Safe."

💉 Emily's hands are folded neatly on her lap. At the mention of that name, her shoulders tense, but she otherwise maintains her composure. "Someone I trust." Her answer is vague and cautious, but acceptable. I'll try to uncover a deeper meaning behind that 'trust'.

🌪️ Ithaqua - "Mine." He is curt and to the point. Yours? I echo, hoping he'll elaborate. His head tilts to the side, and while I can't see the face behind his mask, a sense of dread suddenly overcomes me. I decide not to press further.

✂️ Jack stretches out his hand of blades, flexing each finger in front of him. I can't deny the cold sweat that drips down my spine just by being in his presence. "May I respond with a question of my own?" he says to me. "Suppose a butterfly loses its way, and winds up caught in a spider's web. Wouldn't you agree that the more it writhes and struggles, the more exhilarated the spider becomes?" I don't have the courage to hear out the rest of this analogy.

🍀 Lucky - "I've always been known as a pretty lucky guy, but the luckiest day of my life was when I met them! I remember it was the—" He drags me down a long-winded story about their life together. I get the idea. Eventually I'm forced to cut him off.

🩰 Margaretha twirls a curl of hair, a meek blush dusting her cheeks. "Have you ever been in love before? You're never prepared for the magic of it all. I feel a new rush with them everyday. I know, realistically, all good things come to an end, so I tried to remind myself to expect the worst, but they've proven over and over that... I'll never feel safer than in their arms." After rambling for some time, a look of surprise flashes across her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that. Oh, but I've just never met someone who feels so much like true love before."

🔫 Martha doesn't miss a beat. "Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name." I look down to double-check the name written in her file. Her watchful gaze follows my line of sight. Are you sure? I try. "Must've been some confusion somewhere," she insists. The next day, I realize all my files on her and (Y/N) have gone missing.

🪡 Matthias - "Wh-What?" he starts, but keeps going before I can repeat the question. "Oh, uh, an ally, I guess." Well, I gathered that much. When I press for more details, his head sinks low, fingers grasping at the armrest. "I don't know what they saw in me. Was it out of pity?"

🤹 Mike's eyes light up and he blinds me with a contagious smile. "(Y/N)'s a sneaky one, and I mean it—they've got me under the trickiest spell of all. Guess what happens every time I think about them?" Egged on by his grin, I take the bait. You get lovesick? I guess. Suddenly, he tosses a handful of butterfly glitter in my face. "I get butterflies!" Very funny, I sigh, exasperated with these carnies. Why did he have that on hand in the first place?

🧲 Norton leans back in his chair, scowling. "What's that got to do with anything?" He snaps a couple times in my face, urging me to "stay on topic." It's hard to say if this question struck a nerve, as he's been uncooperative for most of this interview, but my suspicions point me to prod further. After all, it'd have been much easier if he just said he didn't know them.

🦋 Vera's face contorts into a leery, hostile glower. "Why do you ask that?" Before I can say anything to mitigate the rising tension, she catches herself, and her expression softens slightly. "I'm sorry. That's... someone quite dear to me, so your question took me by surprise."

🐍 Yidhra's follower goes pale, clearly unnerved. "She won't answer that," she tells me through shallow breaths. "Th-This isn't my place to say, but I'd advise you not to involve yourself with that person." As if on cue, I get a sensation I can only describe as a hand slowly wrapping around my neck. It disappears when I move to scratch it. Must've been my imagination.

Part 2

[theoriginalkaminari]

Attention span of a squirrel

Shoto Todoroki with an S/O who is very silly

Also seriously pls do not repost or reblog

Warnings: swearing sorta? Uh reader is GN and stuff.

Also the reason I call this 'Attention span of a squirrel' is bc squirrels have the attention span of uhhhhhh

Shoto was hanging from a rope, ankle first and upside down. The rope made him spin around the room very slowly as he felt the blood go to his head.

To make things worse, Shoto was dangling over a pit. It was foggy down there, so he wasn't able to see the bottom.

You both were chosen to go against Aizawa for this project, to see how well you did in a real villain situation.

So far?

Not so great.

Shoto was beginning to feel lightheaded, so he called out to you to try and bring your attention back to the situation.

"L/N." He calls, making you jolt out of your distracted state and back at him. "Hm?" You look up at him. "Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot." You laugh nervously, scratching the back of your neck.

"Okay...so..." You tap your chin in thought as you stare at the rope wrapped around Shoto's ankle. "If I were me...which I am...then how would I get Shoto out of here?" You jut out your bottom lip slightly, narrowing your eyes as if it would make you think harder.

"I don't mean to rush you," Shoto begins in his usual monotone voice. "But Mr. Aizawa could be approaching." He says, spinning slowly as the rope clings to his ankle.

You don't seem to hear this, as you're staring down at the pit. "Aha! I've got the situation!" You grin confidently, stumbling slightly as you take off your right shoe. Shoto raises an eyebrow, confused to what you were doing.

Then you suddenly throw your shoe into the pit. "One..." And you begin counting. "Two...three....four.....five..." You continue. Shoto feels confused as he stares at you. What the hell were you doing?

"L/N. What are you doing?" He finally asks, eyes still trained on your every move.

After you count to ten, you beam proudly, like you made a shocking discovery. At least, you thought you did.

"Well my icy friend," You begin as you point down into the pit. "We have discovered a bottomless pi-" You were interrupted by a soft 'thud' of your shoe finally hitting the bottom of the pit.

"Oh. Nevermind. Not bottomless, just ten seconds deep."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Shoto asks, tilting his head as best he can. You just turn back and grin at him.

"Well, if I cut you down from there, at least I know how long you'll be falling for!" You beam, like you've solved all world problems.

"Okay, now hold still." You try to reach for the rope, but stumble and almost fall into the pit. "Whoa!" You yelp lightly as the dirt crumbles beneath your feet. Luckily you got out of the way in time.

"Okay! New plan." You clap your hands together. Then, to Shoto's dismay, you begin to pace around the pit. After a while, you grin. Its not an innocent grin, but a mischievous one. Almost Bakugo like.

You suddenly run backwards. Shoto sighs in disappointment, thinking you've given up on him. "How do I-" He stops himself when he looks back at you, now charging at him. "L/N! What are you-"

You grin as you jump off the ledge of the pit, jumping up to grab him. You use a pocket knife to cut the rope in the process so you both don't get stuck.

You and Shoto tumble onto the otherside, landing into a pile of eachother.

Sort of a 69 position.

Quickly, you both pull away and stand up.

Shoto feels embarrassed, looking away from you and not knowing what to say.

That is, until you clear your throat. "So...here." You hand him a small amethyst rock. Maybe you collected it a while ago, or you found it somewhere. Eitherway, you don't really remember.

Shoto tilts his head, looking at the amethyst in your palm, then back at your face. "Whats this?" He asks.

You smile softly, finding his confusion amusing. "A gift! See? Its pretty, like you." You beam. Shoto swears he sees light emitting from you as you smile at him. Shoto gives a small smile in return, and takes the amethyst. "Thank you, L/N." He says, his voice soft.

You laugh softly and place your hands on your hips. "And since I gave you a gift, we're friends now. Is that okay?" You say, even though Shoto doesn't have a choice in the matter.

Shoto puts the amethyst in his pocket. "Okay."

You grin and give him a small thumbs up. "Great! So you have to call me by my first name now, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay, Y/N."

"Atta boy!"

Shoto smiles softly. He feels a sudden feeling in his chest, snapping him out of his thoughts. He places a hand on his chest, suddenly very confused.

Did my heart skip a beat? Do I have heart problems? Perhaps I should see Recovery Girl after this.... He thought.

Eventually, the day ended, and everyone was heading to their dorm rooms to finally get some sleep.

All except Shoto. He stayed on the green couch in the lounge, staring blankly at the wall, lost in thought.

"We're friends now, so you have to call me by my first name!" Your voice rang in his head like a lullaby.

A week passed, and you and Shoto stared hanging out more. You would say things like:

"Shoto! Do you ever thinks ants get lonely?"

"Shoto! Did you know worms have an asshole?"

"Shoto! Whats your least favorite animal?"

Things that would make him smile, or things that would make him confused. Things that would make him think, or things that would make him surprised.

Every little thing you did made him have a soft and warm feeling in his chest. Shoto, completely oblivious to these feelings, decides to confront his friend, Izuku. One night, everyone is staring to head to bed, when Shoto approaches Izuku.

"Midoriya." He says, staring the conversation. "I need your help."

Izuku tilts his head, looking up at his friend. His green eyes fill with curiosity. "What is it, Todoroki? Is everything okay?" He wonders.

"I think I have heart problems." Shoto says, in earshot for Mina and Ochako to hear.

"WHAT?!" Mina gasps, suddenly very interested to Shoto's conversation with Izuku. Mina and Ochako rush over to them, their eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay, Todoroki? Should we get you to the hospital?" Midoriya asks, standing up as his expression turns to one of concern.

Shoto thinks for a moment, before speaking again. "No. I just feel a warm feeling in my chest, and sometimes my heart skips a beat. Sometimes my face gets hot, even though I try and cool myself down with my left side."

Mina and Ochako's eyes widen. The two beam, leaning ever so closely to Shoto. "Do you feel this way around a certain someone?" Mina says, her voice giddy and excited.

Shoto nods. "Yes, it happens around L/- I mean, Y/N."

Mina and Ochako squeal, while Izuku sighs in relief, glad his friend isn't suffering from any heart failure.

"What? What is it?" Shoto looks at them all, very confused. Did he really have heart problems...?

"Its love!" Mina grabs Ochako's hands, the two of them bouncing around in circles.

"Love..?" Shoto tilts his head. "Yes, Y/N is my friend. I care for them deeply." He nods, confused to why Mina and Ochako were makeing a big deal about this fact.

"No, Todoroki!" Mina looks at him in the eyes as she stops bouncing. "Romantic love." She corrects.

Something in Shoto's brain clicks. "Oh." He says quietly, a soft dusty pink tainting his cheeks.

Shoto began to hang out with you more, staying by your side as you ramble about silly things, or smiling as you show him silly things.

Until one day, Izuku encouraged him to confess.

Shoto asked you to meet him at the courtyard after school, and you did. Shoto took a deep breath, trying to gather his nerves before he spoke to you.

"Y/N." He says softly as he looks into your eyes.

Your beautiful eyes...the ones he could get lost in for hours. The ones he loved staring into.

"I have feelings for you. Romantic ones." He finally says after a moment of silence.

You, being the person you were, holds up a hand for him to high-five. "Dude, no way, that is awesome sauce!" You say.

Shoto looks at you in confusion and disbelief. You suddenly cover your mouth in embarrassment, muttering quiet apologizes.

"Oh god, I'm really sorry, Shoto! It just popped into my head and then my mouth talked and then it all fell apart but what I ment to say was..." You take a deep breath, and look at him in the eyes.

"I love you. Like a lot." You hold out your arms as far as they could go. "If I was able to, I would stretch my arms pur way further but this is as far as they can go. But I really do love you!" You beam.

Shoto chuckles softly at your antics. He suddenly feels...complete.

You smile as well, and lower your hands. Then, you slowly extend your hand out to him to take. Shoto's eyes light up slightly. He slowly take your hand, and you intertwine your fingers with his.

"Now I get to tell people I have my own furnace AND my own cooler!" You grin brightly, making Shoto chuckle again.

He kisses your cheek gently. "Your pretty." He whispers.

And so doofus and doofus 2.0 relationship begins.

[sturnprime]

SO WRONG IT’S RIGHT, chris sturniolo 🩵

from h ꨄ︎ ⎯ hi sooo streetboy!chris x richgirl!reader

i hope you enjoy 🩵 (join the taglist here)

chris doesn’t know how he ended up here. he doesn’t know how the two of you ended up with you situated on his lap, in your room of all places, when the two of you are utter opposites with entirely different ways of life. 

he’s the type to roam the streets, indulge in late nights with his friends that keep the whole city up. you on the other hand, you’re the pristine sort; the one whose dad forbids her from being close to boys exactly like chris and has done so since you were much younger. it’s an interesting dynamic and he can’t help the thrill rushing through him as you whisper for him to be quiet. it’s adorable, the panic flooding through you even with your bedroom door locked and your window wide open to simultaneously take away the smell of his cologne and provide a getaway for him if it gets to such.

his hands are wrapped around your waist, keeping you firmly in place as his lips travel the expanse of your neck and collarbone, his way of making his mark. not that it lasts long though because you’re instantly telling him he’s not allowed to mark you, telling him the sweet bruises forming on your skin like paint strokes across a canvas are only going to get you in trouble.

chris? chris doesn’t really care and when your pleading words escape your pretty plump lips, he can only seem to laugh, sucking harder. his hands grip you further and the moment a whine falls from your mouth, the corners of his mouth tug up into a smirk— a smirk that has your skin heating up within seconds. his teeth nip the skin below your jaw with purpose, his tongue quickly moving to soothe the slight sting.

“chris—“ you begin to speak but his right hand trails up to place a finger onto your lips, effectively shutting you up.

“shh angel, thought we had to be quiet, hm?” his words are laced in a mocking tone and you want to hate them, desperately want to hate even the mere idea of being with someone like him when your entire life you’ve been taught it’s wrong but there’s just something about him that throws every last one of your principles out the window.

he tilts your chin up with his finger, his calloused hand cupping your cheek as he forces your gaze to meet his. his eyes are blue, the shade you find in calming waters, but they hold a glint of fire in them. there’s a sense of challenge that dances in the pupils, almost urging you to deny him when he knows you can’t, knows he has your polished self wrapped around his finger.

his lips meet yours in a frenzy of adrenaline, his tongue parting your lips and sliding perfectly into your mouth to intertwine with yours in an erotic tango. his lips mould with yours, the slight swelling of his own locking your mouth into place as he moves you even closer, if possible. it’s as though even a small flutter of air wouldn’t be able to pass between the colliding of your chests against one another and he loves everything about it.

when he pulls away at last, his cheeks are slightly flushed and the sight serves as a reminder of exactly what you do to him. he would never have thought a girl like you could ever fuel his desire yet here you are, innocent doe-eyes looking up at him and your lips a touch bigger than when he first laid eyes on you. he wants to corrupt you, to take away every last bit of hesitance you have and crush it between his fingers until you’re begging him to prove your dad wrong, begging him to make you forget undoubtedly why this is a bad idea.

it feels so wrong yet at the same time, nothing has ever felt more right, especially not when your bodies slot together like destined puzzle pieces. it’s an invisible bond that forms between the two of you as you hear the sound of your parents’ voices from their room, a stark reminder of why this can’t be happening. none of this can be happening when they could walk in any minute, take away the soft feeling of his hips bucking up lightly. but then… why does the way his hands roam your body cause sparks of electricity to run through the course of your veins? why does it feel so fucking good if it shouldn’t be happening?

he notices your moment of slight reluctance and he wants to pull away, tell you that this isn’t what he wants so he can save the emotional turmoil that’s going on inside your pretty head but he’d be lying. he’d be lying if he claimed wanting to be apart from you now that he knows the way you whine when you’re needy or the slight gasps he can pull from you when you want more.

in an ideal world, the two of you don’t need to worry about your societal differences or just how complicated this new development is going to be. unfortunately, that world doesn’t exist but for a few fleeting moments, when he flips you onto your back smugly and you hit your bed with a little thud, it feels like any ounce of uncertainty leaves you. your only focus is on the way his fingers tug the hem of your baby tee until it’s completely discarded elsewhere. it’s not an ideal world but it still appears nonpareil.

TAGS 𖤐 @mattslolita @eyeliketoeatpoosay @chrissturniolossidehoe @middlepartmatt @raysmayhem-72 @conspiracy-ash !

[babyjakes]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | kinkmas 2023

prompt | mutual masturbation

pairing | best friend!ransom drysdale x reader

warnings | very innocent!reader, bordering on little!reader. soft!ran <333 specifically soft for reader. ddlg undertones tbh (no use of the word daddy but ran is daddy af and also tells reader to "be a big girl" multiple times.) reader is having orgasm troubles/anxiety. mutual masturbation (clit rubbing, jerking off through pants.) subtle humiliation vibes (not verbalized.) praise and encouragement. delayed orgasm. he steps in and helps/finishes her off. he also comes in his pants lol. they come together! :D

word count | 886

it all starts when he overhears you on the phone with your friend, admitting you’ve never been able to make yourself come 😭

it somehow leads to him laying you out on your bed, tugging playfully at your jean shorts. “c’mon, baby. i promise, i wont make it weird. i just wanna help you”

and he’s your beeeest friend, your very best friend in the whole wide world, and you know he’s got plenty of experience and knowledge when it comes to this sort of thing, so you try to swallow down your humiliation and go along with it

he kneels attentively in front of you as you rest back against your pillows, shyly pulling off your bottoms. he chuckles sympathetically at your cute little pastel panties with your favorite cartoon characters on them. if it were any other girl, he'd probably make fun of them, but you've always been a sweet innocent baby in his eyes so he can't help but find it endearing 💕💕

"c'mon, cutie. don't be shy, it's just me" you try to remember that he's right; it's just your ran, your safe, wonderful ran, who you've known your whole life

you squeeze your knees together as you pull off your panties. ransom's surprisingly patient with you, "let me see, silly. can you show me how you've been doing it? i can't help unless i know what the problem is"

it takes a bit more coaxing before your knees finally fall to either side of you, revealing your perfect little petals which instantly have ran giving you the biggest heart eyes 🥺💖 "oh baby, you're so pretty down there. aww, are you a little wet, sweetheart? it's okay, don't be embarrassed" as you're squirming softly in front of him

your hands are so clumsy as you try to figure out where to even begin. he's right: you're wet (though you swear this isn't turning you on!!!) your fingers fumble around as you lamely begin poking and prodding at your leaky hole

ran raises an eyebrow at you, not sure whether or not you're playing dumb or just really this clueless. "that's it?" he asks in disbelief, clearly not impressed. you sigh, trying not to hide your face in your hands from embarrassment. "what about your clit?" noticing how you immediately grow more squirmy at his question, he calls your bluff- "come on, y/n. be a big girl and show me" 🥲🥲

you finally bring one hand up to begin rubbing carefully over your little button. you fail to hold in a soft gasp at the sudden rush of pleasure, earning a smile from the man sitting in front of you. "there you go. keep going, princess," he encourages you

as the warm, fuzzy feelings grow, you find the courage to spread yourself out a little with your other hand, giving you better access to your swelling bundle of nerves. ran's grin grows as he watches it growing and pulsating beneath your rubs

"shit, sweetheart. so fucking cute when you play with yourself like that," he curses softly, bringing one of his own hands down to begin palming himself through his pants. seeing him getting worked up by you only turns you on more. you don't even notice when your juices begin leaking down onto your bedsheets 🥲

you become more vocal, holding back fewer of your sweet little moans and whimpers. the noises you're making are clearly driving ran crazy, his pace over his impressive bulge quickening as his face flushes red. "fuck, just like that. keep rubbing that pretty little button for me, baby. look at you, you're fucking soaked"

your fingers grow faster over your throbbing clit, your breaths becoming more labored as you feel pressure beginning to build in your tummy. as soon as you recognize what's about to happen, a familiar sense of doubt hits you as your motions begin to falter. "r-ran," you choke out, big eyes looking up at him for help.

he's immediately leaning down with a worried look on his face, quickly recognizing the problem. "no, no baby, it's okay," he tries to cheer you on, "just keep going, you're almost there"

"can't do it," you frown as your poor clit twitches helplessly after being abandoned so abruptly

"yeah you can, come on. let me help," you can't even think to speak up or stop him before he's reaching down, using his own fingers to resume the stimulation. for whatever reason, you lay back and take it. "spread yourself open for me, sweetheart. just like you did before, there," he hums in approval as your hands fumble to do as he instructed. he keeps his pace steady over your hardened nub, watching as you quickly near the edge once more

"now come on, baby. be a big girl and come for me," with him towering over you, one hand gripping himself shamelessly through his pants while the other works your burning button just right, he's able to coax an orgasm out of you with just a simple command

"there it is, that's my girl," he's beaming proudly as you're finally given your release. the sight of you losing control under his simple touch and order is too much for him to handle; he comes right there in his jeans with a loud groan 😌

[azrielsdove]

Don’t Blame Me: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Suggestive

(loosely based on the don’t blame me x LWYMMD mashup from the eras tour ngl)

***

You heard a desperate, strangled shout of your name as he went down. You screamed, anger and fear taking over. No, no, no, you chanted in your head, diving in the direction Azriel had fallen. This couldn’t happen, not to him.

The two of you were sent on a mission to investigate unknown creatures breaching the borders of the Night Court. Rhys wasn’t even able to tell you what they were, just that they were more dangerous than anything you’d dealt with before. You had been given explicit instruction to leave once you found where they were residing and report back the location. From there a larger team would be sent out to eradicate the threat.

You had been tracking them carefully for days, trying to find their home base. You were beginning to think they didn’t have one, that these creatures were nomadic. Until an hour ago. Azriel had practically dragged you as high as you could go in the sky, pointing to a cluster of trees a while away. “There,” he explained, “they reconvene there during the day.” You nodded, preparing to fly back to Velaris and tell Rhys. Azriel caught your arm, shaking his head. “I want to track them a little longer. Make sure I have the pattern right so when we come back we can have the best chance at taking them out.”

You didn’t have a good feeling about staying out, but you agreed anyway. It was important to ensure the information you had was as detailed as possible. That’s how you ended up here, wind rushing past your face as you free fell down to where Azriel landed. Please be okay.

You dropped to the ground and surveyed the area for any sign of life. There was nothing there. If you hadn’t seen Azriel fall yourself you would have assumed nothing was ever down here. You took off through the trees, heading in the direction of what you assumed was their camp. You listened carefully for any sound, whether it be danger or Azriel himself. You were nearing the clearing he had spotted earlier when you heard a slow hum, ducking back behind a tree and tucking your wings tight against you. You poked your head out to watch two of the creatures move farther in the area, Azriel dragged between the two of them. Your heart ached at the blood running down his face and his limp body.

You followed the creatures until you were at the edge of the camp, watching their moves intently. The tied Azriel to a tree trunk, moving and muttering around him. You were taking in how many you saw, estimating that about 30 of these things were living here. Your nose wrinkled at the sight of the insect-like beings, their long stingers the supposed most dangerous part of them. The creatures were roughly the size of an Illyrian soldier, resembling wasps more than any type of fae. Large, disgusting wasps. The hum grew louder as what you supposed was the leader approached Azriel. Your toes curled as you watched the way it yanked his face up, inspecting the unconscious male.

It turned to one of its workers, a horrible clicking sound coming from its mouth. The other responded in the same way, the language grating against your ears. They turned back to Azriel, continuing to talk about him. You wished more than anything you could understand what they were saying. You looked over Azriel again, noticing that his blades were still strapped to his body. Did the creatures not realize what they were? Or were they truly so deadly they didn’t need to worry about disarming their enemies? A chill ran through your spine at the thought.

The leader let out a loud screech and the others filed into neat rows in front of it. You paled at the sight of them all together. What were you going to do? You desperately called for Rhys in your mind, knowing he likely would never hear you. Even if he did, how long would it take him to get here? Azriel might not have that much time left.

The leader gave some sort of command, and you watched in horrified shock as they all opened their mouths. Long, sharp, straw-like tubes came out, heading straight towards Azriel. You didn’t have time to think before you ran out there, quick enough to take them by surprise and get in front of him. The creatures all stopped, taking in this new sight in front of them. Adrenaline was pumping through your body, the only thought you had was to save Azriel.

Don’t blame me.

You pressed your back to his front, reaching behind to grab on to one of the swords strapped to his chest. Your warrior eyes darted around the creatures, desperately searching for any sign of weakness.

Don’t blame me.

The leader moved towards you, that horrible straw coming straight to your face instead. In a split-second decision you ripped the sword from its place on Azriel’s chest, a loud scream tearing from your throat as you swung. Tense silence spread through the woods, followed by a sickening squelch as the creature split in half.

Don’t blame me for what you made me do.

The other creatures all swarmed towards you at once, your screams and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor echoing through the woods around you. You became feral, tapping into the deepest parts of your Illyrian training. All you knew was to not let them touch Azriel. One of those horrid straws sank into your thigh, a searing pain ripping through your skin. You yelled, the next strike aimed at the creature who attacked. The wound burned like acid had been poured into your bloodstream, and knowing the way these creatures worked it probably had. You couldn’t let that stop you, not when Azriel was in danger.

Look what you made me do.

You fought back with more anger, cutting down creature after creature. You were a force of pure power, midnight blue siphons a thing of deadly beauty. Another straw embedded itself into your arm, the sword clanging to the ground. You wrapped your uninjured hand around the pulsating thing, ripping it out of your skin. You squeezed your hand around it, harder and harder until you felt the satisfying pop of it breaking. The creature it was attached to howled and you shot it square in the chest with your power. You looked around, noting there were only three of these left. Even with your arm and leg out of commission, you felt you could finish these last few off.

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy.

Your uninjured arm slid down, pulling out a dagger you had strapped to your thigh. You surveyed the three creatures around you, deciding to go for the middle one. You roared, jumping forward and latching on to the nasty beast. Your dagger rammed into its chest and you slid down, your weight pulling the blade down its body. It screeched as you were showered with its sticky green blood, collapsing backwards. You turned to the other two, adrenaline dulling the pain of your injuries as you pulled out a second dagger.

Oh, Lord save me, my drug is my baby I’ll be using for the rest of my life.

The two convened on you at the same time and you swung out both arms, spinning in a death dance with the blades. You landed on one knee in front of Azriel, twin thuds from behind you letting you know you struck true. Your breathing was heavy as you looked up, up into his wide eyes. He murmured your name and you dropped the daggers, the adrenaline rushing out of you. You winced at the sudden pain in your arm and leg, spreading quickly from your intense use of them. You fell forward, body shaking while you tried to push yourself up. You had to untie Azriel, he had to get out of here.

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy.

You forced yourself up with a cry, fingers undoing the knots the creatures had used to keep Azriel trapped. He pulled out of them the second he could, catching you as your weakened body fell against him. “I got you, I got you,” he whispered, cradling you tight to his chest before shooting off into the sky. Far, far away from the carnage you unleashed on those creatures who dared to threaten him.

***

“No, Rhys, i’ve never seen anything quite like it. She took out all of them. Heavily injured on top of that.” You recognized Azriel’s voice, muffled as if he was standing behind a door. You tried to open your eyes, but your eyelids felt as if they were ten thousand pounds each.

“That can’t be. You’re certain no one else was around? I’ve never heard of one single person taking out 30 of them. I’ve rarely heard of someone taking out just one on their own.” Rhysands voice was contemplative, trying to understand how you could have pulled off such a feat.

“I know that. I saw her do it Rhys. She was a true force of raw power.” Azriel sounded…in awe of you. You forced your eyes open, blinking as you adjusted to the soft light pouring in from the windows. You looked around the room, realizing Rhys and Azriel must be standing right outside the cracked door. You tried to sit up, a loud gasp of pain ripping from you at the action.

The sound alerted the two males outside, the door flinging open as they rushed in. “How are you feeling?” Azriel demanded, immediately coming to your side. You tried to sit again, the pain knocking the breath out of you. “Let me help,” he said softly, gently pulling you into a sitting position.

“I think i’m okay. In a lot of pain. What happened?” Your throat was sore, voice gravelly. You assumed you had been out for some time. Rhys observed you carefully, like you were a specimen he was investigating.

“You took on a hoard of those creatures. Alone. Do you remember that?” His question was almost accusatory, as if he didn’t believe the story.

You nodded. “Yes.” The reminder of those horrible bug creatures made you shiver, the sounds of them dying echoing in your ears.

“Can you show me? How you did it?” Rhys’ eyes bore into you, almost a threat. You stared right back, not appreciating the doubt from your friend.

“Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.” A claw stroked your mental shields and you dropped them easily. The memories of the fight began playing, the anger you felt overtaking your senses. If you hadn’t been there you wouldn’t have believed the strength you showed to defeat all of them. The reminder of your wounds stung your healing skin, Rhys even wincing as he watched. He could feel your rage, your power.

He could feel the dedication and love you felt towards Azriel.

You threw your shields back up at that, not wishing to let him in any further. He had seen enough. Rhys blinked at you, eyes flitting between you and Azriel. “I see,” he mused. “Well, you certainly did kill them all. That’s quite some feat of power. I think perhaps I should tell Cassian to up your training.” He winked at you and moved to leave the room. “I’ll let the healers know you are awake. I will be back later to check in.” He left, closing the door quietly behind him. Leaving you with Azriel.

Azriel, who was looking at you like you were the most delicate flower he had ever seen. “Are you sure you’re alright?” His concern struck a chord in you, a hand reaching out for his.

“I will be just fine. How are you? Is your head okay?” Your eyes scanned his hairline, relieved that there seemed to be no permanent damage.

“I’m good. My wounds weren’t half as bad as yours. They knocked me unconscious once I hit the ground.” His eyes lowered and he ran his thumb over your joined hands. “I should’ve been there for you. To help.”

You squeezed his hand in your own. “You were attacked, Az. I’m just glad I was able to get to you in time. If I were a moment later…” your voice trailed off and tears pricked at your eyes. Those straws were so close to stabbing into his body, sucking the life out of him.

“Hey,” he said, looking back up at you. “You saved my life. That’s all that matters.” He gave you a smile, your heart squeezing tight.

“Yea,” you agreed, even though you wished to say more. You wanted to tell him you loved him, be honest about your feelings. You were so close to losing him, to losing any chance to be with him. The fear of rejection stopped you from continuing, the way it always did.

Azriel was looking at you intently, eyes seeming to read your mind. You put on a small smile, pushing your feelings back down. His eyes dipped down to your lips, gaze heavy. Your heart skipped at his expression of hunger. “Az,” you whispered as he leaned closer to you.

“Hm?” He asked, not taking his eyes off your mouth.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was a whisper, so quiet you weren’t sure he could hear you.

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago.” He ducked his head down then, pressing his lips to yours. You went completely still at the touch of him, mind in overdrive. He began to pull away when you came to, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back. You kissed him hard then, the way you wished you had when you thought he was going to die. When you thought you’d never get the chance to.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight to him. You ignored the protest of pain in your arm and leg, focusing on the feel of Azriel pressed up against you. Of his mouth on yours. The way one of his hands began traveling down your thigh, fingers running along the edge of your nightgown. He bit gently on your lower lip, a silent question to open your mouth. You obliged, moaning at the taste of him. His fingers dug into your thigh at the noise and you let out a cry of pain.

Azriel pulled away from you quickly, apologizing immediately. “Maybe we should wait until you’re healed.” You sighed at the statement, but unfortunately agreed. You wanted to enjoy your first time tasting, feeling, loving Azriel. You pouted at him as he readjusted you, laying you back down on your pillows. He brushed a stray piece of hair off your forehead, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your skin. “I love you.”

Your heart was going to thud out of your chest. “I love you too.” Your declaration was a tad breathless, trying to decide if you could actually ignore the pain long enough to get on top of the male. He laughed, sensing your thoughts and gave you a soft kiss. You had waited so long for this moment, to have your love reciprocated.

“You need to rest.” He moved to hover slightly over you, carefully moving his way down your body. His fingers found the edge of your gown again, eyes looking up to yours from between your legs. “There are plenty of other ways I can please you.”

***

I needed to write something that was a request or a series, so this is what happened. I hope you guys enjoyed it!!! <3

[bishopsbeloved]

the art of falling in love (part one)

natasha romanoff x fem reader (high school au)

You’ve been in love with your best friend’s sister ever since you first met her (who wouldn’t be?), and you were content to take these feelings to the grave. But when she begins to reciprocate, things get complicated, and you find yourself lying to almost everyone you know — including yourself.

best friend!yelena belova, aroace!yelena belova, internalised homophobia, found family trope, coming of age, angst, fluff (eventual happy ending)

part one (5k words) | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

read this fic on ao3!

You’ll never forget the fateful day that you laid eyes upon Natasha Romanoff for the first time. Even at the ripe age of seven, you knew you wanted her in your life forever.

Melina Vostokoff and Alexi Shostakov are your neighbours — they live right across the street, and they have done for as long as you can remember. On your fifth birthday, they came home from a trip to Russia with a daughter, Yelena. From the moment you laid eyes on one another, the two of you knew you were best friends. Neither sets of parents had any qualms on that (“oho, here comes trouble,” Alexi would say teasingly whenever the two of you came tearing into the room), and so even before Natasha’s arrival you spent more of your waking hours in their household than in your own.

One time, two years since Yelena entered your life and only a few weeks before Natasha’s arrival, you were playing in the sandy dirt down the back of Yelena’s house, and huffing in annoyance as it proved too fine to hold up as a sandcastle. You looked over at your best friend who was currently experiencing much more success in her own task, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as she carefully stacked twigs to build a bug hotel, and without even thinking you asked, “why did you pick me? To be your friend?”

Yelena blinked, surprised, but placed a leaf on top of her miniature structure to serve as a roof before responding. “What do you mean?”

“Weeeeell,” you narrowed your eyes in thought, trying to figure out what it was that you meant, “we’ve just always been friends. And I like it, but I was like, why?”

She was quiet for a good few moments, and if you didn’t know the girl any better then you would have missed the slight cleft between her brows that means she’s formulating her next words, and you would’ve thought she was ignoring you. But you did know better, because she was your best friend, and that thought filled your tiny frame with joy.

“Sometimes when you meet people, it’s special,” she said eventually. “Like a puzzle, you know when they fit together? Like — like that,” she mimed two things slotting together with her fingers, and you nodded. “It happened for us, I think. It happened when my mom and dad met, they tell me all the time that dad loved mom from the moment he met her,” she wrinkled her nose, and you giggled. “And it happened for me and my sister in Russia.”

With that last statement, she’d caught your interest. Often in passing she’d mention her sister from the orphanage in Russia, where she’d been before Melina and Alexi had sorted out her visa to bring her back to their home in Ohio. You never quite knew how to respond to it, and she never elaborated beyond throwaway comments such as these, so you were fairly certain that this sister wasn’t even real until the day she was brought home.

And what a day that was; one that turned your life upside down forever. As far as you knew, when you first woke up, it was a day like any other. Another sunny morning of summer vacation. You woke up as bright and early as children annoyingly do and rushed to get ready to spend another day at Yelena’s house, no doubt irritating the shit out of her parents (who, to their credit, were very tolerant of you and Yelena’s seven-year-old antics). But once you’d knocked and stood fidgeting eagerly on their front porch, it wasn’t Yelena, or her parents, who opened the door.

No, it was an unfamiliar girl you were faced with — only one year older as you were soon to learn, but already an entire head taller than you. She looked down at you, face stony, and you stared back in confusion. There was no way this was the wrong house, you’d been coming here every day for the last two years, and you saw it every time you looked out of your bedroom window. So what was going on?

You found yourself remembering a Slavic children’s story Alexi had told you and Yelena last winter, late at night when you were curled up by the fire together drinking hot chocolate, about an old lady who had a house with chicken legs. The Baba Yaga, Alexi had called her. During the night her house would stand up and run away, and be gone from its previous spot the next morning; you found yourself wondering if this had happened to Yelena’s house too. Could any house have legs, or just the Baba Yaga’s house? You’d have to ask Alexi — once you tracked down his runaway house, of course.

“Y/N,” a voice squealed from behind the unfamiliar girl, and Yelena’s face poked out from behind her. “Y/N this is my sister! From Russia, her name is Natasha.”

“You are Yelena’s best friend?” Natasha asked softly, a gentle Russian lilt to her words. “It’s nice to meet you.”

And just like Yelena had described to you, you looked up at Natasha and something just clicked. Something aligned; a puzzle piece you hadn’t even known you were missing slotted into place.

You knew even then that you wanted to be around her forever.

It’s been ten years now, since that day, and you’ve grown up alongside the two of them. You’re an only child with distant parents, and Alexi and Melina have taken you under your wing — so much in fact that Yelena’s room is referred to affectionately as the twins’ room, and you have your own bed in there. More of your stuff is at their house rather than your own these days.

But Natasha has always been just out of reach. Since the day you first met her there’s been this pit in your stomach whenever she’s been around, strange and foreign and somewhat scary to you, that has you reduced to a silent mess with trembling fingers whenever she’s around. It’s a feeling you’ve not always understood, but in more recent years you’ve come to accept you’re in love with her; something you will take to the grave.

You don’t stand a chance with her, of course. You’re her little sister’s best friend, a whole year younger than her, and where she’s popular in school you tend to stick to the shadows. You’re not really picked on, per se — no one dares to when Yelena Belova, who’s terrifying in her own right as well as the little sister of Natasha Romanoff, is constantly glued to your side — but you just don’t have the same social standing that Natasha does. Even if by some miracle you did, she’s your best friend’s sister. You know she’ll never see you that way.

So you’ve decided to yourself you’re going to keep these feelings under lock and key, and pray they’ll go away.

And it’s been going pretty good!… well, that is, until tonight.

Alexi and Melina have flown back to Russia for the New Year, leaving the household in the hands of you, Yelena and Natasha. You and Yelena were perfectly content with spending your days of freedom ordering takeout, bingeing awful reality TV shows and annoying the cat for hours on end, but Natasha was having none of that. The Starks can’t hold their New Year thrasher at their house like normal this year (something about a sick aunt on bedrest? You weren’t really listening, to be honest), so with her parents out of town, Natasha’s offered up her house.

“I don’t want a bunch of gross sweaty drunk people in our house,” Yelena had protested when it was proposed to her, nose wrinkling. “это отвратительно. No.”

“Aw come on, please,” Natasha groaned. “It’s just one night.”

“But it’s not just one night, because we will be cleaning up for days after,” retorted Yelena. “Last time there was vomit everywhere. That was a zero out of ten experience.”

Natasha snorted. “What are you, TripAdvisor?” Dodging Yelena’s half-hearted smack, she’d added, “See, why can’t you be like Y/N? They don’t mind. Right, Y/N?”

Sure, she’d probably played you, but with those eyes who could say no to her?

Well, evidently not you. And because of it, you and Yelena are stuck spending New Year’s Eve locked in her (your) bedroom, her TV on at max volume to even be vaguely heard over the music that shakes the bed with every beat.

“О мой Бог, it’s not even midnight,” Yelena whines, checking her clock for the sixth time in the last ten minutes. “We are going to be dealing with this for hours. Natalia owes us one.”

“She’ll feel guilty tomorrow and take us to a drive-thru,” you tell her, and she sticks her tongue out at you instead of admitting that you’re right.

She opens her mouth to say something else (something witty and uncalled for, you’re sure), but she’s cut off by an abysmally loud crash and scream from downstairs, followed by even louder cheering. The look that crosses her face next just makes you very glad you’re not on the receiving end of her anger tonight.

“Liho,” you remember suddenly, “where is he? Did we pick him up before the party started?”

She pauses. “Oh, shit.”

“He’s still down there?” you panic. “Fuck, Lena, you know how much he hates noise. I’m gonna go get him.”

“No, let me,” Yelena protests, but you wave her off.

“No, because you’ll come back with a kill list twice as long as it is now,” you retort and she scrunches up her face at you, because as always with her you’ve hit the nail on the head. You blow her a kiss before closing the door behind you.

Immediately, you’re hit by the overwhelming stench of sweat and alcohol. Okay, ew. You’d practically begged Natasha to dilute the jet fuel that the Russians call vodka before distributing it, but evidently she’s not taken your pleas into account tonight. (You’re all going to pay for it tomorrow morning come clean-up time.)

At least the universe isn’t totally against you right now, though — the household’s cat, Liho, has one place he will flee to without fail whenever he’s scared; the tiny gap between the washing machine and the wall, in the laundry room. With any luck, you can sneak in and out of there through Melina’s office without encountering too many partygoers.

Getting down the stairs proves a task in itself; they are absolutely soaking for some reason, something must have been spilled on them, so thank god they’re hardwood and not carpeted. It’s like a slip and slide on your way down, and you cling onto the banister for dear life, your task only made more difficult by the tens of other people who have no regard whatsoever for your Mission Impossible-level task currently at hand.

Miraculously, you somehow make it to the bottom of the stairs unscathed, and immediately wince as you straighten back up. The noise down here is even louder, the smell even stronger, and you want nothing more than to flee back upstairs and cower under the bedsheets with Yelena until everyone finally fucks off home. But you remind yourself that if this is the way you feel, tiny flighty Liho probably feels even worse, and as his self-appointed cat mother (which you have been ever since you and Yelena rescued him from the roadside and brought him home), it’s your duty to rescue him.

So you battle your way on through to the laundry room, which thank the lord is empty. You close the heavy wooden door behind you with relief, and lean back against it for a moment, panting to recollect yourself. Jesus fuck, do you hate parties. You’re not even trying to be difficult, it’s just something you’ll never understand — they’re so overstimulating, so overwhelming. You always leave them with such a depleted social battery that you won’t be seen again for the next week. How someone can enjoy these things, you’ll never fathom.

You’re distracted from your inner monologue by the sound of gentle scrabbling, coming from behind the washing machine. An involuntary smile spreads over your face as you instantly clock what that noise is, and you approach slowly, dropping to a crouch.

“Hey buddy,” you say softly to the black fur vaguely visible among the shadows. Its gentle movements freeze, and the scrabbling noise stops. “This sucks, doesn’t it? All alone down here.”

He blinks at you.

”Yeah, it does, huh?” you continue. “What do you say we get outta here? You can come upstairs with me and Lena. How’d you feel about that, bud, huh? It’ll be much nicer, I promise. It’s so lonely down here, isn’t it?”

Convinced, the kitten wriggles out of his hiding spot and trots into your waiting arms. You scoop him up, planting kisses on his head and giggling.

“Good boy. Sweet boy. We got snacks in our room. You just love Twizzlers, don’t you?”

“He does love Twizzlers,” says a raspy voice from behind you, scaring the absolute shit out of both you and Liho. He yelps in alarm, and alarm at your alarm, digging his claws into your shoulder in a way that makes you hiss out loud. You spin around to see none other than Natasha behind you (she must have been in here before you closed the door, you vaguely piece together in your state of gay panic), red beer pong cup in hand, looking fucking beautiful.

You’ve avoided her as much as you can today while she’s gotten ready for tonight, reasoning with yourself that you’re only torturing yourself if you keep admiring her from afar, but holy fuck you can’t believe you were depriving yourself of this. A pale pink, almost nude dress, with silver blossoms settled comfortably on her hips in the way that your hands itch to be, and eyeliner that could fucking cut someone. But she’s smiling at you so softly that even the knife-sharp eyeliner smiles with her, and even though she just gave you the fright of your life you’re almost shaking with the restraint it takes to not go absolutely feral. She looks so good.

Oh lord, you are hopeless.

“You and him are just as bad as each other,” she comments, still smiling, so you know she doesn’t really mean it. Desperately scrabbling to cover for your internal screaming, you fake a pout, dropping a kiss on Liho’s head (he rubs his forehead gratefully against your cheek in return).

“That’s so mean,” you grumble.

“You look really pretty tonight,” she tells you, and your heart actually stops at the compliment. It feels like a trick for a moment, that she’d say something like that, but she’s still smiling a smile that makes your insides go all woozy.

“I really don’t think,” you begin, looking down at your outfit, but then pause. What with the top secret CIA-level mission that retrieving Liho has become, you’ve almost forgotten that before all of this you and Yelena had been playing dress up — strictly within the confines of your bedroom, of course, but you’re wearing one of Mama Melina’s old college dresses and it doesn’t look half bad on you, even though it now probably has Liho hairs all over it. You vaguely recall Yelena begging you to let her do your makeup (“pleeeease, Y/N, I swear I’ll be serious this time no more penises I promise”) too, so maybe it’s not such a reach that Nat actually thinks you look pretty tonight. “Oh. Thank you. S- so do you, I —” You forcibly stop yourself there, for fear of real embarrassment.

Her lips twitch in amusement at your antics. “Thanks.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, a moment of silence, and you figure you’d best take your leave before you inevitably embarrass yourself in front of the love of your life. You step toward the door which she’s still stood in front of, mumbling something unintelligible, but Natasha remains firm and simply raises an eyebrow at you as she sips from her solo cup. Literally everything she does is so insanely attractive that you have to bury your face in Liho’s fur for a moment and inhale in order to ground yourself properly. How can one person be so lovely? It’s just not fair.

“I should go back upstairs, Liho doesn’t like the noise,” you tell Natasha.

“You know, it’s nearly midnight,” is all she replies. “They’re about to start the countdown.”

You nod, tight-lipped. Even when it’s muffled through the thick wood of the laundry room the noise is starting to get to you now, and Liho won’t sit still in your arms either, and you want to get back upstairs to the warm safety of your bed and Yelena’s company and the shit Kardashians show you were watching, away from the girl who it’s as torturous as it is wonderful to be around.

“It’s a romantic thing for a lot of people,” she continues, and you have to look away at that. It’s almost as though she, or the universe is dangling the fact that she’ll never be interested in you in front of your face tantalisingly — like a carrot on a stick. “To kiss the one you love when the clock hits midnight, and the New Year rolls in. You got anyone to kiss this year?”

Okay, wow. Ouch.

“Liho,” you reply with as much humour as you can muster. “He is my one true love. Aren’t you, bud,” you add a few octaves higher, and he perks up, recognising that voice that’s for him. When you look back up at Natasha she’s studying you with amusement in her eyes, as though she knows something you don’t. You can hear the chanting beginning outside of the laundry room now, preparing to ring in the New Year; twenty… nineteen…

Still, though, Natasha makes no move to let you leave.

“Do you have anyone to kiss at midnight?” you ask her pointedly. “Cause you should probably get back to them.”

She downs the rest of the contents of her solo cup in one before slamming it down on the counter beside her. “Don’t need to,” comes her gruff reply, “they’re right here.”

Your jaw actually fucking drops at that statement, and your brain shortcircuits. What? Even though your heart skips a hopeful beat, you shake your head quickly to clear it of the idea that she could reciprocate these crushing feelings you harbour for her. Instead, you hold Liho out to her, hands under his armpits so that his hind legs dangle below him and he stretches to look comically long — as though you’re giving him to her like a present (which he sends you a very unimpressed for). “O— oh,” you stutter, “well if he’s your midnight kiss, is that why you were in here? I don’t want to —” twelve, eleven…

She actually laughs out loud at that, and bats Liho away. “Not him, дурачок. You.”

Her hands are cupping at the side of your face, and despite the absolute bizarre circumstances you find yourself leaning into her touch, desperate to memorise the feel of her warm calloused fingertips against your skin — seven, six; she looks down at you, the blue-green outlining her wide dark pupils framing a silent question. You’re in absolute slack-jawed disbelief, this has got to be a prank, it’s got to be — four, three — but she holds your gaze with a kind of certainty that surely can’t be summoned to fool someone. You nod a trembling, single nod, and her lips press against yours just as the clock strikes midnight.

Her lips are so soft, so gentle against yours. Your eyelids flutter shut; you can’t help it. She feels like heaven. She’s tentative at first, but when she can feel you reciprocating, her hands begin to explore a little; one moving to tangle itself in your hair, the other to your back and pulling you in closer to her. One of your arms is busy still cradling Liho close to your chest, but the other is free to trace along Natasha’s skin wonderingly as she continues her ministrations. Her leg slides between yours, forcing you backwards against the wall, where her kisses trail down your jaw for a moment before creeping back up toward your lips and returning to kissing them instead. When she nips gently at your bottom lip, you let out a noise you’ve never heard yourself make before, a kind of high-pitched whine in the back of your throat that makes Natasha laugh quietly as she pulls away for air. Liho, who was nestled comfortably between the two of you throughout the exchange, is purring merrily (“talk, Valentina!” as your friend Darcy would say).

She looks down at you for a moment, eyes wide and dilated, hair a little less perfect than before, panting slightly. She’s always had a few inches on you, ever since you were kids, and that’s something she often teases you for but right now the way she’s towering over you is so fucking hot. None of this can be real, you think to yourself hazily as she leans back in to plant one more kiss, much more chaste this time, against your lips.

“Happy New Year,” she says lowly to you; her voice is a little more broken and raspy than it was pre-makeout and it actually sends a shiver down your spine. And then she’s waltzing out of the room, leaving you absolutely shaking against the wall she was just pressing you against; your legs give up on you as you slide down against it to the ground, trying to catch your breath and understand what just happened.

Because what? 

You wake up the next morning to a house that’s thankfully empty, aside from its usual residents. You’re absolutely terrified that last night was some kind of dream, or it was a drunk mistake. You’ve never felt so vulnerable in your life. You’re right in the palm of Natasha’s hand and she has all the power in the world to absolutely break you right now. She could shatter you into a thousand irreparable pieces and leave you in the dirt if she so wanted to, and that thought is one that had you tossing and turning last night.

Yelena can’t for the life of her fathom why you’re so jittery this morning. You’ve told her fuck all, of course. What were you meant to say? Hey, sorry, last night your sister who I’m kind of a little bit in love with cornered me and we made out? No fucking way. When you came back to the bedroom last night all shaken up and wordless, she just assumed that the party atmosphere had been that overwhelming. You were very grateful for her gentleness with you as you tried to figure out what the fuck was going on, and what you were meant to do now. You tried to Google it, but it would appear that not many other people can relate to the situation that you’ve found yourself in (the best thing you could find were some decade-old Quora threads about being in love with your straight best friend, and the idea of Yelena being straight was so funny to you that you had to close the tab before your laughing woke her up), and you ended up being so worried about Yelena somehow seeing your search history that you cleared the whole thing, which definitely is not suspicious. 

“Hey,” Yelena slaps the back of your head playfully as she passes you, knocking you out of your trance, “it is a new day. Party is over, the house is ours, leave the miserableness behind in yesterday, да?”

You nod as you follow her down the stairs.

Natasha, to your surprise, is already awake, and seemingly not even hungover as she bustles around the kitchen, preparing something.

Yelena seems to read your thoughts, as she often does, and nods in agreement. “What, you are not curled up in bed with four million painkillers?” she asks incredulously as she slides onto a stool at the kitchen island.

Natasha shakes her head good-naturedly at her sister’s greeting, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling like an idiot as she continues to cook. “No. I feel good this morning, actually. Really good.” The smile bleeds through her words and takes over her face again.

You and Yelena exchange a look. What is… happening?

“You are being weird,” Yelena tells her, and smacks her over the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper as her older sister walks past her to grab the butter. “What have I missed, did you get laid last night or something?”

Your blood runs cold at that, and you have to look away from Yelena so she doesn’t see the way your face drops. Is that true? Did she kiss you and then sleep with someone else? No, she wouldn’t do that to you, surely.

Your thoughts (hopes) are confirmed when she snorts to herself and shakes her head, her back still to the both of you as she pours batter into a pan. “No. No, I just — I had a really good time last night. That’s all. Thanks for letting me have the party.”

You watch as Yelena’s eyebrows furrow, her eyes tracking every one of Natasha’s movements intently, and she tries to figure out what’s going on. You’re similarly perplexed. Natasha is the silent, stony older sibling, the watcher, the one who hears everything and knows everything but doesn’t often speak of her own accord. Last night in the laundry room was the longest exchange you’ve had with her in weeks (and that was before she kissed you). As a kid you would mistake this for shyness, but it eventually became clear that Natasha Romanoff is not shy. She’s very far from it, in fact. She’s just observant, and doesn’t feel the need to speak unless she has something to say. You have zero clue what she’s feeling or thinking half the time — her poker face is so good it’s unsettling. So this is a weird occurrence. You don’t think you’ve seen her as happy as this since… well, since the day she was brought home.

“Well, it is not as though we had much choice in the matter,” Yelena retorts humorously. “Don’t forget we are not cleaning up. That’s on you, сестра.”

“I know, I know,” Natasha grumbles playfully, placing a plate in front of each of you before sliding a pancake onto each of them, right out of the pan. “I owe you one.”

Yelena looks from the pancake to her sister, and back again. “What is this?”

“A chocolate chip pancake.”

“They’re heart-shaped,” you observe quietly.

“Well done for having eyes. If you don’t want them —”

“Nope, it’s good, thank you,” says Yelena thickly, and it’s already gone. You let out a noise of amusement as you eat in a more dignified manner, humming your approval. You don’t think Nat’s ever made you breakfast. It’s nice, though.

Yelena swallows, and leaps to her feet. “I think it’s a Kardashians marathon on TV today,” she informs you, pointedly ignoring the noise Natasha makes whenever that show is mentioned, and she dashes off into the living room. You are alone with Natasha, for the first time since last night.

The nerves from earlier are back, swelling up inside of you uncomfortably, and you do your best to casually avert your gaze from her as you continue to eat. You have no idea whether to bring up last night or to pretend it never happened. Just thinking of the latter makes your heart ache, but it’s becoming a more real possibility by the minute.

Seemingly indifferent to your internal struggling, Natasha slides a pancake onto her own plate and ruffles your hair as she passes you on her way to the fridge. You flinch at the touch, and she giggles.

“You okay?” she asks you teasingly as she pulls a container of raspberries out of the fridge.

You swallow, and nod, trying your best to not embarrass yourself this morning. “Y — yeah. Uh, can I have some?” You gesture at the tub of raspberries.

She pretends to think for a moment, taking slow steps back towards you, until she’s right in front of you — towering over you even more so than she usually does, since you’re still sat down. You look up at her, filled with something not dissimilar to awe. Even in the mornings, when she’s fresh out of bed and still half-asleep, she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. She places her spare hand on your thigh, with the other still holding the berries, and you think to yourself with absolute certainty that you could die happily in this moment.

“Mmm,” she says thoughtfully. “Beg me.”

Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, your jaw drops. You look up at her, pleadingly, not even sure what you’re pleading for. Pleading her to go easy on you? Pleading her to stop? To keep going? But she’s unrelenting.

“Please,” you say eventually, quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please can I have some.”

Almost too quickly for you to process, her lips are pressing against yours. You gasp against her, every single emotion from last night swelling back up, with the added concern that Yelena is in the next room over. But she pulls away after a moment, winking at you as she retreats to her own seat, and as you raise a hand to your lips you realise that in kissing you, she’s left a berry between your lips. She laughs gently when she sees you openly staring at her, and the sound sets your whole body alight, the feeling only amplified by the fact that you’re the cause of her laughter.

Well, you wanted an answer and there’s not many ways to interpret that one.

And so begins your scandalous affair with your best friend’s sister.

[rafesapologist]

the set up — rafe cameron; part twelve

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

warnings: angst, swearing, SMUT

author's note: i hope you guys are enjoying the longer chapters! it feels really nice to be back and have everyone already showing just as much support for this series as you guys did prior to my hiatus. i was struggling with a huge case of writer's block (that i feared i was not going to overcome lol), so i'm really excited to be back writing on here. i do plan to keep updating this series more frequently as well, if you haven't already noticed, sort of to pay my dues for being away for so long. love you mwah

"I do love you."

Your words spilled out abruptly, escaping before you could rein them in. Heat surged through your body, a swift rush of warmth brought on by the sudden and unintended admission. The truth, though genuine, caught you off guard, leaving you reeling in the aftermath of your own confession.

As the reality of what you'd uttered sank in, a wave of regret washed over you, the weight of the moment pressing down with force. Shock etched across your features, a mask of surprise mirrored in your eyes as you grappled with the gravity of your admission.

The air hung heavy with anticipation as silence enveloped the room, your words lingering unspoken, a testament to the vulnerability of the moment. You stared up at Rafe, a mix of emotions swirling within you, uncertain and apprehensive about what his response might entail. In that suspended moment, you grappled with a swirl of emotions, still processing the weight of your confession and unsure of what lay ahead.

"You... what?" Rafe's voice carried a tone of disbelief, his features contorted in confusion, eyebrows knit tightly together. His expression mirrored the astonishment that had engulfed you moments before, leaving both of you seemingly dumbfounded by the unexpected admission that hung in the air.

The aura of disbelief seemed to permeate the room, an unspoken tension weaving between you, each moment stretching as you both grappled with the weight of the statement that had just been uttered, hanging in the air, unaddressed.

"I know I didn't say it before, but Rafe, I was just trying to protect you," you confessed, urgency lacing your words. "I didn't not say it because I didn't feel it or mean it. I just... I don't want you caught up with someone like me." Your voice carried a mix of sincerity and vulnerability, each word spoken with a weight that mirrored the depth of your emotions. The confession hung between you, a delicate yet heartfelt attempt to explain the unspoken, a raw honesty seeping through your words.

"I've fallen in love with you each day I'm with you, Rafe," your voice carried a poignant honesty, baring the depth of your emotions. "I couldn't stop myself from loving you even if I tried."

Rafe stood there, a myriad of emotions flickering across his features—surprise, contemplation, and a hint of something deeper, his gaze fixed on you. His mouth slightly agape, he seemed caught in a moment of contemplation, as though searching for a trace of truth in your eyes.

His searching gaze lingered, probing as if trying to unravel the sincerity behind your words. There was a palpable tension in the air, a pregnant pause, as Rafe grappled with the weight of your confession, silently contemplating his next words or actions.

"How could you possibly hurt me, Y/n?" Rafe's voice carried a mix of hurt and vulnerability, his eyes revealing the turmoil within. "Don't you think it hurts more, feeling like the person you love doesn't love you back?" His words echoed with a deep sense of emotional pain, revealing the ache that had been concealed beneath the surface. There was a rawness in his tone, a poignant vulnerability that laid bare the wounds of unreciprocated emotions.

"It's more complicated than you know, Rafe," you replied, a tinge of sadness seeping into your voice. The weight of unspoken truths and complexities lingered heavily in the air, underscoring the intricate layers of emotions that intertwined between you.

"Stop saying that, Y/n! Whatever it is, we could've worked through it! We could've— we could've made it work regardless of whatever the fuck it is, or was," Rafe's voice trembled with a mix of frustration and desperation. His plea carried an earnest longing, a fervent desire to transcend whatever barriers stood between you, a wish to salvage what seemed irreparably fractured.

Your expression sank into sorrow, mirroring the weight of the moment. "Could've?" you echoed softly, the word lingering in the air, heavy with a sense of missed opportunities and regret. The question hung there, laden with a tinge of realization, an acknowledgment of a potential future that now seemed distant and unattainable.

Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "All last night and today, I just kept replaying in my head what you said to me. When I told you I loved you, and you basically pushed me away? I mean, is it really that easy for you to just throw me away, Y/n?" Rafe paused, a mix of hurt and confusion etched on his face.

Before he could continue, you interjected with a resolute tone. "No, it's not like that, Rafe." Your voice carried an earnestness, a plea to convey the complexity of the situation. Yet, words seemed to evade you as the weight of the moment settled heavily upon your shoulders.

"Then why? Why was it seemingly so easy for you to shut me out like that?

"It wasn't easy," you responded softly, your voice tinged with a mix of regret and sorrow. "There's just... so much more to it than I can explain right now." The weight of unspoken complexities lingered in your tone, a hint of remorse underscoring your words.

Rafe shook his head in frustration, his movements agitated as he paced back and forth across the room. "You can't even be honest with me?" His voice cracked with exasperation, each step he took emphasizing the intensity of his emotions.

"I am trying to be honest, Rafe," you replied, your voice strained with the weight of the conversation. "But some things... they're just not easy to explain, especially when it's this complicated." You gestured vaguely, trying to articulate the tangled mess of emotions and circumstances that seemed impossible to unravel.

"Trying? You're trying to be honest? Do you hear yourself right now?" Rafe's words came out as a snap, causing you to startle, his tone sharp and cutting. The sting of his words pricked at your emotions, tears welling up in your eyes, a manifestation of the overwhelming frustration and hurt that filled the room.

"I-I'm sorry, Rafe. I didn't mean to hurt you; I was just trying to do what I thought was right," your voice faltered, cracking with emotion. The apology carried a weight of remorse, a desperate attempt to convey your intentions despite the unintended pain caused.

Rafe halted his pacing, his gaze softening as he noticed the tears streaming down your rosy cheeks. "Y/n... don't cry, please," he pleaded, a note of concern lacing his words. His frustration ebbed, replaced by a sense of empathy, as he reached a hand out, almost instinctively, aching to wipe away the tears that marred your face.

"I care about you, Rafe, regardless of if you think I don't," you confessed, your voice tinged with earnestness. "Truly, the only reason I didn't say it back was because I was scared. Because once we both admit that, this becomes serious, and that just opens more doors and ways for one of us to get hurt. I know that doesn't scare you, but it does me. So, I'm sorry."

"Y/n, you think I'm not scared too?" Rafe chuckled softly, a hint of vulnerability in his laughter. "I worry every single day that you're gonna get up and leave, that you'll change your mind and go. The closer I get to you, the more my feelings grow for you. It's terrifying, Y/n. My heart is right in your hands." He looked down, reaching for your hands, rubbing them gently with the pads of his thumbs, a silent plea for understanding and reassurance.

"You never show it," you observed, looking up at him with a hint of confusion. Rafe chuckled quietly, shaking his head in response. "Doesn't make it any less true," he murmured, his gaze meeting yours with a blend of sincerity and a touch of vulnerability.

"Rafe?"

"Yes?" Rafe turned to face you fully, his eyes fixed on yours with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. The room felt charged with emotion as he waited for your next words, a blend of hope and apprehension evident in his expression.

"I really do love you," you spoke quietly, the weight of your words hanging in the air. There was a fragility in your voice, a fear that your declaration might go unheard or misunderstood in the tense atmosphere of the moment.

Rafe's previously unreadable expression softened into a small, tender smile. His eyes glimmered with a quiet warmth, reflecting the sincerity of his feelings. "I love you too, Y/n," he confessed softly, the words carrying an unmistakable honesty and depth of emotion.

As the admission of love hung in the air, an unspoken understanding passed between you and Rafe. The room seemed to soften, the atmosphere charged with an indescribable warmth. Rafe gently cupped your face with his hands, his touch both tender and reassuring.

His lips met yours in a lingering kiss, a soft and sweet connection that spoke volumes in the silence. It wasn't just a meeting of lips; it was an exchange of emotions, a promise sealed with the gentle press of each kiss. Time seemed to slow as you shared this intimate moment, lost in the sensation of being close, of feeling the heartbeat that echoed the depth of your emotions.

The kiss held a tenderness that transcended words, conveying a shared vulnerability and a newfound closeness. When you finally pulled away, the air between you felt charged with a newfound understanding, a connection that went beyond spoken confessions. The small smile that lingered on both your faces spoke of a silent agreement, a promise to navigate the complexities ahead together.

Without a word, Rafe's lips crash against yours in a desperate, intoxicating kiss. Your mouths meld together, tongues entwined in a passionate dance. The taste of him fills your senses, fueling your desire for more.

As the intensity of the kiss deepens, Rafe's hands begin to explore, gliding over the curves of your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Piece by piece, fabric falls away, revealing your vulnerability and beauty. Every touch, every stroke, heightens the ache of longing.

With a gentle yet commanding touch, Rafe guides you towards the bed, a haven of pleasure awaiting your arrival. You surrender to the soft sheets, your bodies entangled in a symphony of desire. The room fills with the sound of your shared moans and whispers.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses along your collarbone. Your breath hitches as he moves lower, his hands caressing your breasts, his tongue flicking against your hardened nipples. Pleasure courses through you, urging you to arch your back and moan his name.

Rafe's hands continue to explore, his fingers teasingly tracing the sensitive spots of your body. A gasp escapes your lips as he dips lower, his mouth finding its way to your most intimate area. His tongue dances expertly, flicking and swirling, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

The intensity builds, and you find yourself craving more. You guide Rafe's body on top of yours, feeling the weight of his desire pressing against you. As he enters you, a moan escapes your lips, merging with his own sounds of pleasure.

Your bodies move in synchrony, a dance of passion and ecstasy. Each thrust brings you closer to the edge, your senses heightened by the intoxicating pleasure. The room fills with the sounds of your moans, mingling with the rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh.

Rafe's thrusts become more urgent, each one pushing you closer to the edge. He watches you intently, his eyes filled with a mix of raw passion and adoration. With each movement, you can feel the heat building within you, a coil of desire ready to explode.

Your fingers find their way to Rafe's back, digging into his flesh as you draw him closer, craving a deeper connection. The rhythm of your bodies becomes frenzied, the friction between you intensifying the sensations that ripple through your core.

Every nerve ending in your body feels alive, on the brink of complete surrender. The pleasure becomes almost overwhelming, a delicious ache that demands release. Your moans blend together, a symphony of ecstasy that fills the room.

As Rafe's hand finds its way between your bodies, his touch sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you. His fingers expertly explore the most sensitive part of your being, pushing you closer to the edge with each skilled stroke.

With your bodies intertwined, the sensation builds to an exquisite crescendo. It's as if time slows down, each moment stretching with anticipation. You can feel the wave of climax crashing over you, ready to engulf you in its blissful embrace.

As you reach the precipice, your bodies tense with anticipation. Your breath catches in your throat as you lock eyes with Rafe, a silent understanding passing between you. And then, with one final thrust, the dam breaks.

A surge of pleasure engulfs you, radiating from the depths of your being. The world around you fades away as you ride the wave of ecstasy, your bodies trembling in unison. You cry out in pure bliss, your voice mingling with Rafe's as you both reach the pinnacle of pleasure.

In that moment of release, time stands still. Your bodies continue to quiver with aftershocks, basking in the euphoria that washes over you. You lie intertwined, breathless and spent, knowing that you have shared an intimate connection unlike any other.

As the intense waves of pleasure subside, you and Rafe lie intertwined, your bodies still tingling with the aftermath of your passionate encounter. The room is filled with a sense of intimacy and contentment, your connection deepened by the shared experience. Rafe's arm wraps protectively around you, pulling you closer to his warm and comforting embrace. His touch is gentle, his fingertips tracing soothing patterns along your skin. You feel a sense of peace wash over you as you rest against his chest, your heartbeats gradually returning to normal.

Your breathing gradually steadies, matching the rhythm of each other's as you bask in the aftermath of your shared climax. A comfortable silence envelops you both, punctuated only by soft whispers and the occasional tender kiss.

As you look into Rafe's eyes, you see a mixture of love and adoration reflected back at you. It's a silent affirmation of the connection you share, a bond that goes beyond the physical realm. In this moment, there is no doubt that your love for each other is real and profound. Words become unnecessary as you communicate through simple touches and gentle caresses. Your fingers trace the contours of his face, committing every detail to memory. It's an unspoken promise to cherish this moment, this connection, forever.

"You're so perfect," Rafe whispered softly, his warm breath caressing your skin as his gentle fingers traced delicate patterns through your silken strands of hair. The tenderness in his touch sent shivers of pleasure down your spine, as you lost yourself in the intoxicating sensation of his presence.

In the tranquility of Rafe's words, you responded with a tender hum, feeling the weariness gradually seep into your bones. The comforting warmth of his bare arms drew you closer, and in the safety of his embrace, you surrendered to the embrace of sleep, your breathing steadying as consciousness gently slipped away.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You stirred from slumber hours later, the faint glow of the room revealing Rafe's silhouette. He sat beside you, immersed in the soft illumination of the TV, his attention captured by the flickering screen. As you awakened, he glanced over, a gentle smile gracing his lips at the sight of your awakening.

As your eyelids fluttered open, the room's soft ambiance greeted you. With a gentle stretch, you shifted, your voice carrying a hint of sleepiness as you asked, "Mm, what time is it?" Rubbing away the remnants of slumber from your eyes, you sought to orient yourself in the space around you.

"Midnight," chuckled Rafe, the soft glow of the room emphasizing the amusement in his voice. Your eyes widened as the realization hit that you had dozed through most of the day. "You were pretty much knocked out after we did it," he teased, prompting you to playfully nudge him away with a feignedly annoyed expression dancing across your face.

"Haha, very funny," you retorted, rolling your eyes playfully. "Has anyone come back yet?" Curiosity lingered in your inquiry, contemplating if the two of you were the only occupants in the house.

"Uh, no, no they haven't yet," Rafe responded, a casual shrug accompanying his words. "Dad said things got delayed, and he has some shit he has to do before he comes home, I guess." His attention remained fixed on the TV screen, his relaxed demeanor indicating a sense of ease and obliviousness in the moment.

"Got it," you murmured, settling back onto the bed. Thoughts raced through your mind, pondering if Ward had discovered anything about the gold and its disappearance. An undercurrent of concern mingled with curiosity, creating a sense of unease that lingered beneath the surface.

"Something wrong?" Rafe's voice was gentle as he turned his head towards you, concern etched in his expression.

You shook your head, a faint smile touching your lips. "No, no! I just... figured they'd been gone a while," you reassured, attempting to downplay the anxious thoughts that had surfaced.

"They usually are," Rafe shrugged casually, his tone holding a hint of familiarity with the situation. "Dad gets his mind set on doing something and doesn't stop 'til it's done, especially when it comes to the gold." His words held a mixture of nonchalance and understanding, reflecting a familiarity with his father's determined nature when it came to matters concerning the gold.

"Right..." You echoed softly, acknowledging Rafe's insight with a hint of uncertainty lingering in your response.

Suddenly, Rafe hit pause on the TV, shifting to sit on his side, facing you directly. "I want to talk to you about something," he started, prompting an immediate increase in your heart rate. You sat up slightly, anticipation coursing through you. "Okay, go on," you encouraged, your voice tinged with a hint of apprehension.

"Well, we haven't talked about it much, and it's coming up, so I thought it would be important to mention it now," Rafe began, his tone measured. "Midsummers."

"Oh." Your body relaxed, a wave of relief washing over you as your worst fears weren't materializing in that moment. "What about it?"

Rafe's expression softened into a gentle smile. "Well, I know dresses can be pretty... pricey, especially for an event like that. So, I'm gonna give you the money to buy whatever you need for it. I want my girl to feel and look like the princess she is," he beamed.

You sat there, stunned by his unexpected gesture, feeling a mixture of disbelief and gratitude coursing through you. "Rafe, this is too much, you don't have to do that," you insisted softly, your eyes meeting his in genuine surprise.

"I want to," he repeated, his voice steady and resolute. There was a sincerity in his eyes that struck you, a genuine desire to make this occasion special for you. The warmth in his gaze was undeniable, and his unwavering determination to see this through made your heart flutter with a mix of emotions.

You hesitated for a moment, torn between the overwhelming gratitude for Rafe's gesture and your own sense of independence. His unwavering determination was evident, and you knew him well enough to recognize that once he set his mind on something, it was nearly impossible to dissuade him.

"Rafe..." You sighed, looking at him with a mixture of emotions, trying to find the right words to express both appreciation and reservation. "I really appreciate it, but it's just... I don't want to impose," you trailed off, fiddling with your fingers, uncertain of how to gracefully accept his generosity.

Rafe's expression softened as he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "Y/n, it's not an imposition. It's something I want to do for you." His eyes held a sincerity that resonated deeply, his gaze unwavering.

You met his gaze, seeing the earnestness in his eyes, and with a small smile, you relented. "Okay, Rafe. Thank you," you finally acquiesced, knowing that he wouldn't take no for an answer, a mix of appreciation and a hint of amusement playing on your lips as you gave in to his stubborn yet endearing nature.

"Thank you," you whispered again, touched by his genuine effort to make you feel special. Rafe's smile widened at your acceptance, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, a soft and reassuring gesture that warmed your heart. "That's my girl," he murmured, his voice filled with affection and pride, his hand tenderly resting on yours.

As you sat there, basking in Rafe's warmth and his kind gesture, your phone vibrated on the night stand. Curiosity piqued, you furtively glanced at the screen, seeing a message from Kiara. The text's urgency was unmistakable, your friends possibly caught in some trouble.

Your expression shifted involuntarily, a blend of concern and worry crossing your features. However, even in your attempt to hide it, Rafe, perceptive as always, noticed the change in your demeanor. His brows furrowed inquisitively. "Is everything okay?"

You swiftly pocketed your phone, trying to compose yourself. "Yeah, it's just... something Kiara mentioned," you replied vaguely, trying to mask the unease in your voice.

Rafe's concern mirrored in his eyes as he reached out, gently placing his hand on your arm. "What happened? Is it serious?"

You debated whether to tell him or not, but the concern in his eyes made you reconsider. "I'm not sure yet," you said, attempting to keep the situation vague as you grappled with the balance of keeping him informed and not alarming him unnecessarily.

The shrill ring of your phone broke the tense air. With a glance at the caller ID flashing Kiara's name, you swiftly picked up. "Kiara? What is it?" Your voice held a tinge of urgency and concern.

Rafe watched you closely, sensing the gravity of the situation from your anxious tone. He remained silent, giving you space to handle the call, but his eyes spoke volumes, questioning and concerned about the sudden change in atmosphere.

"JJ's missing."

taglist: @ellesalazar, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday, @haroldpotterson, @i-love-rafe, @ellesalazar, @calmoistorm, @abundantxadorations, @fals3-g0d, @gillybear17, @oiiviagrande, @hockeybabe87, @augustlikesdeath, @wpdailyminimeta, @palmwinemami, @loxleys-blog, @ikisscline, @flyestvenustrap, @ilovesteveharrngton, @ijustwanttoreadlols

[bittencandy]

can you write nsfw alphabet... with manmon?? i'm begging please there is no alphabet with him

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓭𝔂 - 𝓝𝓢𝓕𝓦 𝓪𝓵𝓹𝓱𝓪𝓫𝓮𝓽

♡ ᴀ = ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴄᴀʀᴇ (what they're like after sex): He's admittedly, not the best. But believe it or not, he's actually improved since those first couple of flings you had with him in the beginning. Back then, the very concept of something like aftercare had been completely foreign to him. He was very much the sort of guy who'd pass out afterwards or resume whatever he had been doing beforehand: a phone call, watching trash television, a quick trip through a fast-food drive thru.

For the longest time you had thought that he was doing it on purpose. That he wanted to hurt you our make you feel unwanted and useless, but you were quick to gather that he really was just that out of touch when it comes to other people's emotions. His indifference didn't stem from a place of ill intent (not entirely), just pure detachedness. He's never truly considered another's wellbeing or desires before, and it's made him that clueless.

It took you turning the tables on him and leaving before he could shrug you off and ignore you for him to even understand a shred of what he had been putting you through for the last couple of months. And even then, it was still a bit of an uphill climb. It didn't click instantly. It wasn't a light bulb moment where he reflected and pondered about it for hours on end, but it did help to nudge him in the right direction.

He does still grumble when you all but kick him out of the bed to go get a warm cloth to clean up with, or when you tell him to carry you to the bathroom for a shower or bath. He hates having to move afterwards, when all of the endorphins are still rushing through his veins and his limbs are heavy and lax.

But you can usually sway him with some praising, and a few stokes to his ego. Offering him some physical doting of your own is a sure-fire way to get him all pliant and just as needy. Offering him something like a massage will have him like putty in your hands and he'll latch himself onto you all night. Not to mention that he has a little cabinet in the nightstand that's stock full of all kinds of snacks (all of it is absolute junk). He acts like you're taking a knife and stabbing him each time you reach a hand into a bag of his chips and take some for yourself, but it's all just bark, no actual bite.

The two of you will lay in bed for hours, with you curled up on the soft press of his stomach and chest while you catch up on the most recent episodes of whatever TV show you're currently watching together. He'll cling to you the entire time, keeping you secured to his body with a pair of his arms while crams food into his mouth with a free hand, swearing and making comments towards whatever is happening on screen, tossing insults around a mouthful of his snack.

♡ ʙ = ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴘᴀʀᴛ (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners): There isn't a part of Mammon that he doesn't love. It genuinely surprises you how he's the embodiment of Greed and not Pride sometimes with how he can admire and preen over himself. It's difficult to say which trait or part that he favors most. If he had to pick, it would most likely be his face. It's the image of his brand; posted along all corners of Hell, from hot sauce labels to perfume bottles, to the very currency that demons of all kinds use to buy said items with; there isn't a citizen or denizen in all of the Seven Circles who doesn't know who he is. From the wide, jagged grin on his face, the burning green of his eyes and the fool's cap on his head, it's all an easily recognizable facet from a simple glance.

It isn't a body part per se, but he also loves the sound of his voice. Not necessarily on a personal level, but the influence that it has on you never fails to make his body thrum with a heavy sort of satisfaction; ego and delight flaring whenever he sees you shiver or fall under the sway of that accented rumble of his. It makes you go all malleable and soft. And it's one of his first arms of defense against you whenever he annoys you or pisses you off. You hate to admit it, but he's gotten good at getting under your skin and twisting your emotions back into his favor with close to all but the sound of his voice.

For what he loves about you however, it might just be your mouth. He loves the watching the shape of your lips part open to talk to him, especially if you're speaking about him specifically - singing him praises and stroking his ego or saying his name. It might be a such a simple thing, but it never fails to have a shudder of delight skipping down his spine like a shot of electricity. But even better is when those same lips are stretched open and struggling to fit the thick girth of his cock down into your mouth. Forcing him down until you might choke on him with tears trailing from your waterline like diamonds, glittering in the light like flecks of silver and an iridescent shimmer.

No matter how many times you've taken him like that, there's always a bit of struggle with the difference in your sizes. And the strain of him in your mouth always has drool slipping down your chin and smearing and coating the length of him. It's filthy and messy, but it's a sight that he won't ever get enough of.

♡ ᴄ = ᴄᴜᴍ (anything to do with cum): He's an absolute degenerate with his cum. He's possessive and (of course- no duh) greedy, so there's always this consuming, almost ugly need to leave his mark on you. With his mouth, his tongue and teeth, and claws. He wants everyone to know who you belong to as soon as you enter a room, by sight and scent alone.

His possessive nature nearly makes him feral. He'll pump you full of his cum for hours, until you're completely dumb and useless if you let him, keeping you stuffed with his cock while he lifts you up and down on his girth like some kind of rag doll. Gripping ahold of you by the waist to work you around him until he's spilling what might be the third or eight load in you for the night while the rows of his sharp teeth clasp onto the tender flesh of your neck deep enough to break skin and leave marks.

Sometimes, he'll smear his cum over your body like some vulgar kind of lotion or perfume. Rubbing it in along the expanse of your abdomen and smudging it along your chest and throat like it's a fragrance. He wants it to stick to your skin. For your flesh to remember the scent of him, all musk, and ozone, and salt, and money; a subtle way to instinctually declare to anyone who may step near you that you're his.

There are some days, when the both of you have snuck away to slip inside a janitor closet or tucked yourselves away in some hidden corner between showings at his clown pageants or other performances that he'll cum deep inside of you until it's smearing and threatening to trickle down your thighs. And like some kind of pervert, he'll slip your underwear back over your hips and sweetly request that you walk around in your ruined undergarments for the remainder of the night. He gets some sort of sick thrill to know that underneath your clothes you're dripping full of him, and all of the strangers and fans around you and him are none the wiser to the fact that his cum is soaking your garments and defiling the fabric. But they can smell it on you for sure.

♡ ᴅ = ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ: Mammon doesn't hide many of his fantasies from you. He's pretty open about them, for better or for worse. Sometimes to an annoying degree. Annoying because of how jealous he makes himself with a particular fantasy of his. The possibly sharing you. It is completely a dream though. He could never actually stand watching someone touch you like he does. But he likes the idea of showing you off. Of letting people all see and experience what they're missing out on.

He's seen all of the tabloids and threads on social media platforms of people raving over Mammon's lover, simping over you and singing you praises and insults - the gorgeous demon who's always hitched to his arm at social events, and restaurants, and exclusive clubs. People want to be you. They want you. To hold you and fuck you like he does. But they never will. And that gives him a rush like no other. That the masses desire what he has - who he has - and that they'll never get it.

♡ ᴇ = ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ (how experienced are they?): Believe it or not, Mammon isn't very sexual. His libido is fairly low and the desire for sex is an urge the doesn't rise in him all that often. It's typically spurred on by a sense of possession or jealousy if he ever feels that someone is attempting to get too close to you. He can be extremely territorial, and he usually warns off potential threats to your relationship by warning them verbally or even the occasional physical confrontation every now and again. But usually just the sight of him alone is enough to get most demons to back off, unless they want to get on the bad side of the Sin and find themselves dead in a ditch in the middle of some toxic trash heap in Greed. And it's when all of those possessive urges rise up in him and build up that he needs an outlet. But even with all of his jealousy and avarice being such strong traits in him, his experience wasn't all that high when you had first got together.

He knew enough for it to be a pleasurable experience for the both of you, but he lacked overall skill and expertise. Though you didn't mind it all that much. It gave you plenty of room to teach him what you like specifically. What makes your mind draw a useless blank and your body become a writhing, burning mess. But you have made a bit of a monster with how determined he's become in reducing you to some dumb mess that only knows how to take his cock, or how desperate he gets for you to pleasure him until he's the one who's drooling and stupid.

♡ ꜰ = ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱɪᴛɪᴏɴ: Mammon has a penchant for being a bit lazy, and the air of important that he holds himself at makes him feel as though he was born with the right to be served. As such, he absolutely adores any position that has you doing the majority of the work. He loves it when you ride him, working yourself up and down on his cock while he reclines himself back along the cushions of the bed with a pair of his arms crossed behind his head and the other set roaming over your body wherever he pleases. Reaching up with greedy fingers to pluck at your nipples and slipping them between your thighs to tease where you're all hot and slick and smeared with his cum. It gives him the perfect angle to analyze your face and admire the almost drunken expressions that slip across your expression; pleasure tugging your jaw down to release weak moans while your eyes nearly go cross.

It's one of the reasons that he loves head so much as well. There's something about being able to just relax and lie back while you devout yourself to laving your tongue and the warm, wet grip of your mouth and lips over his cock that turns him on like nothing else. He loves peeking down at you from where he sits to admire you, choking and gagging on him while you scatter kisses along the veins that throb along the thick length of him; worshiping him in the way that he deserves.

♡ ɢ = ɢᴏᴏꜰʏ (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? Etc.): Despite being arguably the most famous jester in Hell, he isn't usually trying to be intentionally funny at the best of times. Though there have been plenty of occasions where he's said something in the heat of the moment that's easily garnered more than a few laughs from you - much to his chagrin. He always gets so pouty and offended if you laugh at him because of a mistake he might have made or something that funny he's accidentally said in the heat of the moment. Much like the time that he had managed to fall off of the bed nearly mid stroke and lost his footing. He tumbled from the edge of it with enough force to shake the room and make the floor tremble. But it had been the string of startled swearing the had caught you the most of guard with the series of curses squawking out of him in rough yelp of, "shit! Fuckin' cunt - fuck me, dammit."

When he's deliberately trying to be funny during sex, it's usually because he wants to try something different - experimenting with a new position or such - and is trying to sweeten the incentive or distract you with humor. But there is every so often or so that he does use his jokes in a genuine manner, such as when you've had a rough day and he's trying to draw you out of your internal conflicts and troubles.

♡ ʜ = ʜᴀɪʀ (how well-groomed are they? Does the carpet mat the drapes? Ect.): Mammon doesn't have much hair on his body at all. But he does have a sparse scatter of hair that trails down his stomach and leads down to his groin. It's nothing too wild or unmanageable thankfully, and it's naturally pretty scarce, which is probably a win. You doubt that Mammon would be the type to be very motivated on his self-grooming if it was the opposite.

♡ ɪ = ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ  (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): Intimacy isn't something that comes easily to him. It isn't a natural urge or instinct that he has, and it was very much a learned behavior that took him months to get a grip on. In the beginning, sex was just something to take the edge off. Something that he acted out on because he wanted it. It was purely a selfish act for him. All about his cravings and desires, and once he got his rocks off, he was always quick to leave or would dismiss you entirely. But with a lot of time, patience, and frustration, you were able to get him to soften up a bit and indulge in a bit of intimacy. Mostly through bribing him with massages, soft praises and gentle kisses after sex, and eventually he learned to adopt and translate that during sex as well.

He isn't the most romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but he has been improving in subtle ways by giving you tender compliments and sweeping, dulcet touches. He knows how big he is in comparison to you. How much strength he causally holds in his body. He could crush you like a twig with the brush of a single finger; and so, he's grown to be careful with the way that he holds you. Like you're delicate. A thing made of glass or porcelain that might shatter if he so holds you too closely. It makes him uncharacteristically gentle with you.

Mammon rarely cares for others in a way that doesn't stem from a personal gain. And honestly, he might not be able to truly care for anyone at all - not like you or other demons are able to. He's greed incarnate after all. He was born selfish. But when he clutches you close, stroking his fingertips along your spine and mapping out the shape of your face with curious hands, it truly does feel like he cares. It feels intimate.

♡ ᴊ = ᴊᴀᴄᴋᴏꜰꜰ (masturbation headcanon): He doesn't jerk off all that much. He doesn't need to. If the urge ever arises in him, he'll just find you. Though if you happen to be out of reach for whatever reason, perhaps in a different Ring entirely or busy taking care of personal affairs, he's quick to blow up your phone. He needs to hear you. Your voice, the sound of your breathing - anything will work while he grips his cock.

He'll absolutely spam the device if you don't answer. Calls, texts, DM's - it doesn't matter. Anything to get your attention onto him so that you can help him with his current predicament. It is technically your fault after all, it's the least you can do.

♡ ᴋ = ᴋɪɴᴋ (one or more of their kinks): Exhibitionism: He enjoys being watched - putting himself and you on display to show everyone just what they're all missing. What they'll never have.

Size kink: Even in terms of most demons, Mammon is quite tall. Towering over a decent amount of the population, and it delights him to no end that he's able to look down at you. To stand over you by several feet. Dwarfing your smaller form with his own. And that translates into sex. He could never tire of the way that you struggle to take him. Even after all of this time, it takes so much for your smaller body to stretch open around the thick girth of his cock for him to slip into your soaked warmth; tight walls fluttering around his length while they struggle to adjust to his size.

Breeding kink/cumflation: It doesn't matter if you're able to get pregnant or not, he's insistent on filling you up with load after load of his cum until you're both completely spent and gasping for breath and soaked in sweat and cum. Just the idea of him filling you up so much that your stomach is all swollen and heavy with him will have him hard in seconds.

And if you got pregnant, all round with his baby, then everyone would know that you're his. That it's his child that you're carrying. It soothes that rapacious nature in him like scratching an itch, but it's also like an accelerant on a fervent fire that'll have you both burning for hours.

Free use kink: It's one of those kinks, that even with his low libido, never fails to make him feral. The day that you had eagerly agreed - requested even - to be used for his pleasure had nearly sent him over the edge. It delighted him to no end to know that you make an effort in keeping yourself prepped and ready for him. That you're slick and stretched out, sometimes with a toy stuffed inside your hole to keep yourself nice and prepped for him. Especially on days when you know that he's going to be stressed and overworked. He loves that you'll happily take him when he needs it. That you'll let him bend you over the kitchen counter, or fuck you in the back of his limo, or that you'll let him take you backstage at one of his shows like a whore that he had paid.

♡ ʟ = ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (favorite places to do the do): He'll do it anytime, anyplace - everyone else be damned. He's perpetually torn between the desire to show you off to the masses - to let them see what they don't have, and to keep you completely hidden away and private for himself. But regardless of his internal debate, he easily lets himself get carried away and if you allow it, near public sex becomes a pretty frequent fixture in your life with him. He loves the thrill of it. The idea of possibly landing himself on a news channel or headlining all of the social platforms and tabloids because you two got caught has molten lust rushing through his veins.

But he also loves taking you within the safety of one of his webs. There's something so tantalizing about seeing you all strung up and vulnerable within the confines of his silk that really turns him on. Especially when he sees that excited glimmer burning in your eyes when your wrists and ankles are strung up and bound tight. You like being caught and at his mercy.

♡ ᴍ = ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (what turns them on, gets them going): Jealousy or a sense of possession. But on a more positive note, just stroke his ego. Praise his skills and ideas and successes and you'll have him rock hard in seconds flat. He also loves it when he can pick up his scent on you. He complains if you (use) steal any of his bodywash or cologne, but he practically salivates when he smells himself on you. Especially when it's his natural musk and not just his shampoo. It'll make him want to rub his scent on other much more intimate places.

♡ ɴ = ɴᴏ (something they wouldn't do): He won't ever share you. No cuckholding or threesomes or orgies. Just the thought of touching you can turn him angry and jealous. Sometimes he'll trigger himself with just the thought of it and walk around pissed off and angry with a nasty sneer on his face and venom in his voice. He'll get snippy and curt with you like you had actually gone out and had sex with someone else. But he won't communicate why he's upset. He'll just leave you to be confused while he grovels around the house until you finally interrogate him enough until he can't hold in the "betrayal" and all of his emotion come pouring out of him. It's gotten to the point that you don't even bother listening to his little rants anymore, you just let him stew in his own self-induced jealousy until he works through it.

♡ ᴏ = ᴏʀᴀʟ preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): Very unsurprisingly, he prefers to receive. He's a king after all. Royalty. And as such, he deserves to be praised and serviced. It's an honor to be able to share his bed, to be called his, to lie between his thighs. It's such a sight to watch you taking his cock between your lips. To observe the soft, wet drag of your tongue lap along the head to take the cum dribbling out like it's something to be savored. But he has come to enjoy giving as well. Definitely not as much as he likes getting head, but that's not exactly a surprise. He didn't have all that much experience with giving head in the past. It was a skill that he never bothered to acquire or refine until you had managed to spark his interest in it. Mostly by poking at his ego, but that's another story.

Although, he usually finds a way in making it about himself by dragging orgasm after orgasm out of your body until your brain is fogged and lost. And just to be cruel he makes you keep track of every single one. Let's hope you don't lose your count though, or else you'll have to start all over again!

♡ ᴘ = ᴘᴀᴄᴇ (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): It really just depends. As stated before, Mammon has a proclivity for being a bit . . . lazy, for lack of a better term. He wants to be the one being pleased, and worshipped, and loved. It makes his thrusts all languid and unrushed in a pace that's completely frustrating. It works you up, building up fire and heat in the pit of your stomach and dangling you over that debilitating precipice but failing to guide you over the edge. And it's entirely intentional. He does it so that you'll have no choice but to use him to get yourself off. To get him off. The lust searing through your body forcing you to bounce yourself up and down his cock to make you both cum.

But even he has his moments where his greed gets the better of him. It turns him into a slave of his own wants and hunger, until all he does is take and take and take in a frenzied pace that threatens to make you pass out. It's like he's starved. Using your body and his own to work the both of you into exhaustion; with both of your muscles quivering and thrumming weakly, lungs pulling in air with labored breaths, sweat and cum smearing your skin until you're certain that it's impossible to cum again. But he never fails to pull another orgasm from your spent body. And another. And another . . .

♡ Q = Qᴜɪᴄᴋɪᴇ (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): Isn't the fondest of quickie's. Once he gets started, it's difficult for him to stop, and being forced to pull away from the slick heat of your body can easily push him into a bad mood. Quickies are a tease. They require a restraint that he doesn't possess, and you learned a long time ago not to try and initiate sex with Mammon if you have a place to be or an appointment to get to. There's a very high chance that you won't be reaching it otherwise. Not unless you want to deal with a pouting, frustrated Mammon for the next few weeks. He tends to hold a grudge.

♡ ʀ = ʀɪꜱᴋ (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): Absolutely. Especially in terms of public sex and being seen. He loves to risk of other demons walking in on you two and seeing you all spread out and split open on him, stomach bulging from his girth while you moan and whimper helplessly. It's feels like he's proving to them that you're entirely his. That they'll never have you like he does.

Experimenting in general is always on the table. He loves finding new ways to take you apart piece by piece. And in turn, he loves discovering new things about himself. Of watching you find another way to please him and prove your devotion to him, just like he deserves.

♡ ꜱ = ꜱᴛᴀᴍɪɴᴀ (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): It really just depends. Mammon isn't the most motivated individual - not unless money is involved. But he is greedy. And once he gets worked up it can take a lot for the heat to get entirely snuffed out, and if he's in one of his rare moods, he can last for hours. However, that doesn't mean that he's going to be the one doing a good deal of the work. He'll have you bouncing on him. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from his spent body, even when the friction of your tight, sloppy walls gripping his cock is too much. Sparking something raw and tender along his nerves like an electrical current with every downstroke and grind from your hips. It's too sensitive. Almost brutal in a way that might make his eyes cross, but you can't stop now. You can't leave him like this. Moaning and whimpering and begging for another one - just one more - even though that's exactly what he had told you about four orgasms back. The sheets are beyond ruined now. Soaked with your shared arousal and sweat. It's a chore to breathe. It's no longer an automatic bodily response anymore, you have to constantly remind yourself to force in lungful's between each bounce. Your thighs are burning and screaming at you from the exertion, and there's no way that you aren't going to be sore tomorrow but Mammon's still begging. His claws are latched onto the meat of your hips, threatening to slice skin and leave you bleeding, but the blissed-out expression on his face takes precedence amongst all else. He still needs you. Crying out like a slut for you. And who are you to deny him?

♡ ᴛ = ᴛᴏʏꜱ (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): You'd think that the guy who produces sex robots in his company's name would be a bit more open to using toys in the bedroom, but Mammon's jealousy truly knows no bounds. He sees them as an insult to himself and his capabilities. What could you possibly need a dildo or vibrator for when you have him? Let's be honest, a toy couldn't satisfy you like his fingers, or tongue, or cock can. They'll always pale in comparison in terms of how easily he makes your eyes cross, and your jaw drop from the flood of pleasure seizing your body.

But every now and again you may be able to persuade him into using something on you. . . Though it typically ends up backfiring and bringing him more enjoyment with the way that he never fails to torture you with whatever device you had insisted on using. He makes you regret even asking to use a toy; making sure to wring every ounce of bliss from your body until you're pleading for him to give you a break.

♡ ᴜ = ᴜɴꜰᴀɪʀ (how much they like to tease): To an almost annoying degree. He downright tortures you with his teasing, playing with your body so carefully. Working you up until your muscles are drawn taunt and tight and it feels like something molten and sugared is thrumming through your veins; keeping you right on that almost agonizing edge like he might finally have mercy on you and tip you over it with the brush of his fingertips or tongue. All of that just so that he can pull away from you and leave you empty and unfulfilled. Sobbing mournfully and writhing from your ruined orgasm. But he never has any sympathy for your tears or pleads - no matter how much he delights in the way that you beg for him. He'll work you back up again to hear your desperate moans and whimpers, just to stop and repeat the process all over again. For the second, fourth, sixth time in a row.

But sometimes he gives too much. Using your body for his own pleasure until you're pliant and stupid and filled with cum; nerves burning and raw from use and ecstasy. He'll have you split between bliss and something that might just be agony - a pleasure that's almost too much. But he's greedy. Using you like a doll as he chases after his own satisfaction like the ultimate hedonist. And you're just the vessel that was created to grant him his pleasure. He's made you black out from cumming over and over again and being filled to the brim until it's smearing down both of your bodies and soaking the silk sheets underneath.

♡ ᴠ = ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): He can be very vocal. He mostly groans and grunts, swearing and mumbling underneath his breath in a guttural purr that always has an exited tremble skipping down your spine. But it also doesn't take much for him to get loud either until he's practically whimpering (he always gets so flustered and angry when you tell him that he whines); drool slipping past the corners of his lips while his brows furrow close from the pleasure burning through every inch of his body. When he gets like this, he rambles. Sometimes it's straight up nonsense. His words too slurred and garbled to understood, but every now and then he manages to make a proper sentence. And when he does its usually complete filth.

. "Just' gimme another one. Jus' one more, I swear."

. " Keep yourself nice and spread open for me. Fuck, you're so fucking sloppy baby, you should be ashamed of yourself. But you're too stupid for that, ain't ya?"

. "You're such a slut. But you're my slut, huh? C'mon, say it."

. "You look like a porn star. I wish you'd let me film ya, you'd look so good all fucked out on film."

. "You should feel terrible makin' me do all the work while you sit back droolin' all over yourself like a useless little toy. Nothin' but a hole fer me to use - oh, don' act like you don't like it. I can feel you squeezin' me."

♡ ᴡ = ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ (a random headcanon for the character): It's been said before that Mammon would never share you. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't maybe fantasize about it every now and again. He's far too possessive to ever truly indulge in the dream, but he does entertain the idea every once in a while. There's just something so tempting about imagining the both of you all sprawled out among a sea of writhing bodies while you're brought to bliss by the glide of hungry, wet mouths and tongues. Teeth nipping at your tender flesh and stroking at you until your whine and writhe and scream.

It's a nice though but he'd rip apart anyone who touched you limb from limb.

♡ x = x-ʀᴀʏ (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): An absolute monster. It was extremely intimidating the first time that you had seen him bare and fully hard - but who are you kidding, he's intimidating even when he's flaccid. You weren't even sure if he was going to fit the first time that you had fucked. And he didn't. It took week of stretching you out and training for you to be able to take him. Hours of working yourself open with fingers, and his tongue and toys for you to finally stretch out around his cock. The first few times that you had sex, all that you could manage was the tip. And there were times where it felt like it was ripping the air from your lungs and stuffing you full when it would finally slip past your tight walls with a filthy, wet pop.

Just the head of his cock would have you going dumb. All cross-eyed and slack jawed like one of those stupidly dramatic porn stars. And with the size difference, you were practically little more than a flesh light; all stupid and drooling while your body struggled to take him. But Mammon was remarkably patient for someone so stingy. Probably too caught up in his gloating and sickly-sweet cooing to be truly greedy.

Even now that your body has adjusted to him, he's still a lot to take, but it's always worth it.

♡ ʏ = ʏᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ  (how high is their sex drive?): Not the highest sex drive. The impulse for sex typically evades him, and as stated before, when the desire does spark it's usually triggered by a bout of jealousy or a sense of possession. But on the rare occasion that the two of you are separated by business meetings, family affairs or events, he has a tendency to set himself off by thinking of you. He tortures himself with the memory of you sometimes and it often leads to him calling you no matter the hour of the day or night and demanding that you help get him off. He just wants to hear the sound of your voice, all dipped low and saturated with lust as he works one of his fists over his cock until he's cumming all over himself with a ragged groan.

♡ z = zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep after?): He's usually out like a light. It's honestly a little fascinating (and irritating) how quickly he's able to pass out afterwards. One second, he's panting and heaving and catching his breath while he clutches you close and the next, he's passed out and already drooling on his pillow.

[sierra-r-a-e]

I have been absolutely CRAVING writing these past few weeks, so enjoy this little thing I wrote to quench my thirst!! ✦

MommyKink!Choso x fem!Reader

MDNI under the cut

Choso always looked so pretty, no matter what he was doing. Whether he was sitting there staring off into space or doing some sort of task— but he looked especially pretty when his lengthy cock was stuffed down your throat as he writhed in pleasure. His head was thrown back and he tried to keep his eyes open to look at you as you sloppily sucked him off. He looked down at you with lidded eyes, moaning and whimpering as if having neighbors were a foreign concept to him.

Seeing you kneeling between his legs, your mouth stuffed full of his cock, and your lips shiny with spit has him absolutely reeling. His mind was clouded with pleasure as he fisted the couch cushion, trying to keep it together.

A dark blush coated his cheeks as he begged, "Please, please don't stop, 'm so close~" You continued to suck him off, desperate to see him fall apart right in front of you. He held your hair up in a makeshift ponytail— just as you had taught him to do. Taking him as far down your throat as possible, then bringing your head back up to swirl your tongue around his ever-so-sensitive tip.

That's when he said it, "Mommy please, you're gonna make me cum~!" You moan around his length, heat immediately rushing straight to your core, making your knees go weak. You never knew that one word could have such an effect on you, yet here you are.

You pull off him with a soft 'pop', continuing to jerk him off with your hand. "Fuck, please call me that again-", you say breathlessly, looking up at him with hazy eyes, then going back to sucking him off just the way he likes it.

Hearing your plea nearly sends him over the edge, absentmindedly tugging on your hair, he whimpers out one more "Mommy, please~" Hearing that come out of his mouth has you over the moon. You moan around his cock once more, the vibrations sending him tipping over.

He finishes with a loud moan of your name, his hips involuntarily thrusting up into your mouth as he rides out his high. You swear that you could've came just from listening to the sounds he makes, or watching his eyes roll back into his head from the overwhelming pleasure he felt.

After pulling off of his now softening cock, you take a moment to catch your breath. You swallow every bit of his release as he stares down at you with both love, and lust.

"So, what was all that about, hm?" You ask in a teasingly, trying to get a reaction out of him. He immediately avoids eye contact and looks down, a pink color beginning to coat his cheeks.

"Aw, I'm just teasing," you say slowly standing up to press a kiss to his forehead. "I actually really liked it." You continue, moving to sit down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. Little did you know how much your comment affected him— in the best way.

Wc: 512

Thank you so much for reading!

This is the first thing that I've ever written and posted, so bear with me if it's absolutely atrocious. (´•̥ ᵔ •̥`)

Divider credits go to @ saradika-graphics