#and that can put him in an entirely new light

[kurooh]

★ EPISODE 02. SLOTH

SUMMARY. a certain producer has been bothering shinsou since before the set up with hanta—you’re urgently wanted in a video with UA bombshell todoroki shoto! how exciting and nervewracking; he’s only one of your biggest fantasies, right? oh, and it looks like it’s shower scene too . . will he live up to your expectations?

WARNINGS. 18+ content, mdni. fem! reader, shower sex, oral, unprotected sex, awkwardness. wc / 6.1k

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shinsou calls you when the sun is sinking below the horizon and its colors are bleeding through the sky in picturesque streaks. you’re standing in front of the window when you pick up your phone, body thoroughly relaxed since returning from a trip to a nearby spa. tokyo is still very new to you, but it was hanta who’d kindly given you the recommendation.

“hey. sero told me the shoot went well. is that accurate or is he pulling my leg?”

his voice crackles through the phone and you just laugh at the idea of hanta playfully messing with people. it suits him, and makes him all the more attractive.

the shoot did go well—actually, that’s an extremely mild way to put it. your debut shoot had gone much better than you could’ve expected it to; your co-star is just being modest. still, even hours later, you can feel him on your skin.

not the grip of his hands on your waist as he positioned you on his lap, nor the pleasant sting of his teeth grazing along your lip in the middle of a graceless kiss.

once the cameras had stopped rolling, hanta helped to sit you up so that you could be comfortable against the cushions. instead of collecting his clothing off the floor and getting dressed, he’d just walked butt-ass naked around the whole room to find a pack of baby wipes. he tore them open and sank to his knees in front of you, as if to worship. gently, without haste, he began to clean the mess away from your inner thighs and pelvis.

when you flinched from the coolness of the wipe, he only ran his fingers along the curve of your hip and apologized, reminding you to stay still nonetheless. in comparison to the shoot, it was soft. entirely genuine and completely caring.

and it surprised you more than you expected it to. such a simple act of respect and compassion, and yet it’s all you can feel hours later. oh, and he was close—so close that you could see the light freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose.

“he’s just being modest,” you’re trying to think of a way to explain that you really liked hanta without divulging too much about the shoot. if he wants details, he can watch the video when it’s uploaded to UA’s website. “we actually connected right off the bat. he really helped me to get past my nerves, and it was a perfect introduction to UA.”

shinsou hums thoughtfully, “i’m happy to hear that. since i’m still in my office, do you want me to add him to your yes list? if you’re still thinking about it, i suppose i can do it another—”

you don’t mean to cut him off, but you do. filming with hanta in the future? where can you sign up? “yeah, put his name down. thanks, shinsou.”

the clacking of a keyboard makes itself heard on his end as he adds hanta to the list. 

“oh, i’ve gotta ask. are you up for a shoot the day after tomorrow? i know it’s kind of fast to be scheduling you, but there’s a producer that wants you in a video. he’s been asking since before i scheduled you with sero.”

“do you have any details on it? or should i just show up and find out?”

“never do that,” shinsou chuckles, checking his inbox on his work computer. it doesn’t take long for him to find the email he’s looking for. “producer wants to pair you with todoroki shoto. the set isn’t at the studio, like it was today. you’d be filming at a condo in koto-ku.”

it isn’t very far from your apartment or UA studios, but the detail about the off-studio set isn��t what catches your attention. it’s the name of your potential co-star, todoroki shoto. you know him as well as any thirsty fan does. he’s a fucking knockout, and you’ve always wanted to meet him in person. even just meeting him at an adult trade show and shaking his hand would give you enough masturbation material for an entire year!

you try to keep the earnest excitement out of your voice by reminding yourself that this is a professional phone call with your manager about your job, not an invitation to join love island.

“sounds good. send me the details once you have them and i’ll do it.”

.  .  . 

you’re so keyed up you nearly scrape the side of someone’s car when you’re parking at the condominium. in all fairness, you’re filming with the todoroki shoto! UA’s pretty boy and easily the catch of the century—how could anyone even act normal about this?

luckily, you have some time to gather yourself when you’re ascending the stairs. shinsou forwarded you the information he’d received from the producer, and the cringe of what you’d be filming didn’t bother you one bit. the provided information about the loosely scripted, caught in the shower scene absolutely did not register in your mind. all that stood out to you in the email was shower sex and todoroki shoto—the only things of importance in the block of text.

this must be some sort of divine intervention.

someone upstairs must’ve witnessed your struggles and experiences at shiketsu, and decided to pay you back with interest. all of that workplace bullshit, those lousy fucks—maybe all of that was worth it, if this is what you get in return. an invitation to be at the top, a decent manager, and some hot co-stars. could this even be classified as working anymore? this feels more like living a dream shared by thousands of people, all of which would kill to have this chance.

according to shinsou’s directions, you’re right where you need to be. you knock on the door and quickly step back, practically vibrating with anticipation. what if your co-star has been practicing positions in the shower and answers the door shirtless? you’re drooling at the thought!

the door swings open, and less than a second later, you’re standing face to face with a middle-aged man. he offers you a friendly smile and extends a hand, skin visibly wet.

“you got here just in time! we’ve been working to prep the set, but it’ll take a little while before we get to filming. one of our mics got wet, so two of the guys are out getting another from the studio.”

part of you deflates a little inside, but your hopes were just too high. in fact, the director answering the door only adds to the amount of butterflies in your belly—the wait means that everything will be made absolutely worth it. he lets you in, and you follow him to the set while he goes on about where you can set your purse down during filming and how the kitchen fridge is actually full of food and drink. apparently, the producer personally owns this condo for filming and uses it regularly, only ever swapping out the talent. you’re way more focused on when you’ll be meeting your co-star and how well you’ll mesh together, but you still nod or say something periodically so he knows you’re somewhat listening.

at long last, your prayers are answered.

todoroki shoto stands in the middle of the bathroom, wearing more clothing than he needs to. he’s holding onto an old shower curtain, expression blank, but then his eyes land on you and his lips press into a small, almost imperceptible smile. 

and, bless his heart, he waves. “hi. nice to meet you.”

you manage to control the impulse to scream and say that you’ve been dying to meet him, schooling your pounding heart into submission. so, to match him, you wave back. “hey. are you replacing the shower curtain?”

“yes. it seemed pretty dirty.”

without elaborating, shoto folds it up and slips past you, out of the bathroom. the director is fiddling with a camera to make sure it’s still on when he glances over at you, feeling the need to assure you.

“he doesn’t talk much. it’s nothing personal, he’s just really quiet.”

“i thought that was the case,” you set your purse down on the counter, pushing it far away from the sink. “i don’t really mind. i’ve filmed some stuff with quiet co-stars, it’s no big deal.”

who the hell cares if he’s quiet right now? you’ll be able to draw him out of his shell once you’re both stripped naked and the camera’s rolling. 

you can hear commotion and the opening of a door. the director steps back, clapping his hands. “okay, the boys are back. you can help yourself to the fridge while we get this set up, and then we’ll be ready to start rolling.”

.  .  . 

“go ahead and turn around so that your back is facing us. yes, there you go. once we’re recording, you’ll strip, get in, all that business. todoroki, you went through the notes? you know when you’re supposed to step in, yes?”

your co-star nods, the packet of notes on the shoot in his hand. his face remains neutral despite all of the conversation filling the room, and he’s looking at the freshly replaced shower curtain—or maybe he’s looking at you. the director says something, gesturing to the camera mounted on the shower wall, but you’re too caught up in following the direction of shoto’s gaze to register what’s said until your name is said.

“everybody good to go?” the director looks around the room, making sure that everyone nods, including yourself. “in that case, action!”

with as much sexiness and grace as you can muster, you slide your top up and off of your head without any struggle. your shorts are next to go, leaving you in your matching bra and panties. they’re not the same as the ones you’d worn with hanta; you hadn’t been able to find those even after the shoot wrapped up, so you just assumed they’d been thrown away. after all, he’d absolutely shredded your panties.

you unclasp your bra and shrug it off. the packet of notes on the shoot didn’t give you much information about each scene, looking like it had been torn away from the writer while they were still brainstorming. messy bullet points with complicated annotations were scrawled below every titled scene—one of the things that had you furrowing your brows was a nondescript bullet point reading sexify soap bottle highlighted in both yellow and blue. who the hell is the producer behind this? yes, you’re thankful that they set you up with shoto, but they need to get their shit together when it comes to giving actors material to go off of. it’s either a neat, legible packet or nothing at all!

emphasizing the slight recoil of your asscheeks as you pull the panties down is a little bit awkward. actually, it’s very awkward, but you have no choice but to push through it. you rush to kick the underwear off and hop into the shower; the camera has seen enough of your ass when you’re undressing. whoever isn’t skipping the slow, teasing removal of clothing scene in the beginning of most porn videos has some serious patience!

anyway, you step under the warm spray. the water pressure is just wonderful, as nice as a hotel shower, and all you can smell is the fresh, new shower curtain. colorful bottles of shampoo and body wash line the shelves, just begging to be grabbed, so you give in, selecting a sweetly scented wash. it pours smoothly into your palm with a soft squirt, and fragrance curls through the air as you start to soap up your legs.

you don’t realize the minutes have gone by until you’re in the middle of spreading the suds all over your tits, and the shower curtain is unceremoniously pulled to the side. the culprit is grasping the plastic, which is printed with rubber duckies all over it, and he manages to look smoking hot rather than unserious. oh, if this was for real, you wouldn’t mind having a roommate like him walking in on you in the shower. hell, you’d make sure your apartment is outfitted with a glass shower if it meant he could watch you get all sudsy!

shoto’s cheeks are the lightest shade of pink as his eyes shamelessly dart from your soapy tits to your face. it’s clear that he doesn’t know where to look—you barely manage to keep the smirk off your lips, remembering that you’re supposed to feign surprise.

“i thought i heard a noise, like you slipped . . or something.”

fuck improv. shoto’s done with having to come up with ridiculous porno lines. he doesn’t watch nearly enough stuff by his lonesome to get creative. like, if you’re a producer hiring him for a shoot, why does he have to come up with dialogue for your video? and for the love of god, any scripts or note packets given must be neat and legible, with useful details or annotations!

the gray and turquoise of his multi-colored eyes look like precious gemstones. how is it possible for someone to hit the genetic lottery like he did? shoto’s skin is clear and smooth, in the kind of way that doesn’t come from just expensive and high quality skincare. behind you, the water falls onto the tile, hitting it like rain, and you realize it’s time to deliver your line.

“i’m pretty sure i locked the door,” then you raise an eyebrow at him, glancing meaningfully at his grip on the curtain and how far he’s pulled it back, “don’t tell me you broke in, roomie.”

shoto’s face darkens with embarrassment, and all you can think to yourself is wow, he’s really such a good actor! with the curtain drawn back, the spray makes its way out of the shower and onto his dry clothing, dampening the fabric. naturally, your eyes begin to wander, raking down his body until you spot the lump of his half-hard cock in his sweats. 

“i didn’t break – alright, i did,” he submits easily, chewing on his lower lip while his gaze flicks from your face to your chest. “but shouldn’t you have made it so i didn’t have to?”

suds slip down your chest, mingling with water and pouring down your slippery body. they mostly dissipate on their way down, but a few traces of soap catch in the hair at your pelvis. you swish your body from side to side, setting a hand on your hip for your next line. he looks up, catching the slightest twitch of your lip—are you holding back a laugh or a smile?

“you’re blaming me for not making a move? don’t think i haven’t seen you skulking around every single day. you’re my roommate, and you’re acting like you wanna be my boyfriend or something.”

again, fuck improv! this entire genre of unscripted hot roommate porn needs to die immediately, but he pushes it out of his mind in favor of thinking useful thoughts. it feels like it’s too early to call a cut, but what if—no, he’s got it. what does any not-so-good actor do when they’re struggling in the middle of a scene? they think of their co-workers and dive into the scenario to better understand it. you are his hot roommate that he’s been lusting after, and he needs to act like it!

you don’t expect him to pull back, and clearly, neither does the director—the man is squinting in confusion from behind shoto, whispering profoundly to the guy opening a laptop.

he clears his throat, suddenly stepping back. “you never once stopped me or called me out. i’m, uh, sorry for misreading the situation.”

before shoto can fully turn around, you do the first thing that comes to mind. 

you reach out and grab him by the dick. that definitely gets his attention; his eyes widen a fraction, and genuine surprise just looks so good on him that it makes your thighs squeeze together. he stares at you, a vehement mixture of both arousal and incredulity buried in his eyes, and you’re still holding him in place. it’s too early to let go, so you squeeze, reeling him in like the catch he is.

“i never said you read things wrong . . and maybe—maybe i liked the attention too much to stop you.”

shoto kisses you right then and there, pressing himself against you so that he’s halfway in the shower. the shower water hits him like rain, soaking his hair, and you realize that if you weren’t completely naked and working to tug his pants down, this could almost be a scene straight out of the notebook. his hands wander to your bare ass and he kneads the flesh there, more for himself than you.

“cut! cut before anything goes further!”

the director is quick to stop recording, holding a hand up as he gets to his feet. he looks toward a member of the camera crew, who is opening tabs and programs on the laptop. “hold on for a second, we just have to make sure the camera in the shower is recording correctly.”

shoto looks like he’s in pain when you let him go, but he doesn’t say anything.

“so,” you smile warmly, reaching out to brush your fingertips along his arm as you talk. “i liked your improv. you really brought the idea of the video to life with all of that.”

yes, it’s a totally regurgitated compliment from your shoot with hanta. you made sure to say it with as much charisma and friendliness as he did, and yet, shoto remains placid. he nods, his lips pressing into a straight line. for a moment, you think he’ll strike up a conversation, but he only says, “thank you. you too.”

oh, so he’s shy. it’s not completely shocking, considering your line of work—it’s easy to be bold and sexy on camera, but actually talking? it can be more difficult for some actors and actresses. although, if you were being completely honest and not just understanding, you had somewhat expected this shoot to go as well as your last one did with hanta. you’d hoped to hit it off initially, then explore the chemistry on set, but he’s just too damn polite. could you break him down in the shower?

at shiketsu, he was a fan favorite among many of the girls. (actually, if you’re thinking back far enough, you’ve definitely heard one or two men talking quietly about him too.) many of them would watch his videos and swoon over the way he’d handle his co-star in it or talk out loud about what they’d do if they got the chance to film with him. now you have the chance to do something with him—and you’re going to make it count.

“you got everything synced up? okay, check this so you can make sure it’s—yeah, that’s good,” the director looks toward you, your co-star, and the mounted camera in the shower. “we’re rolling in five! if you could resume kissing like the last scene, that’d be easier for the editors.”

“hey. should i rinse off all the soap so we don’t risk slipping? it’d be better visually if i left it, but it’s up to you.” shoto hears your whispering and nods, leaning in so that the microphones don’t pick up his response.

“yes, we could turn around so that you can rinse. i don’t want either of us to slip or fall, especially with the shower being as small as it is. it’s an emergency room visit waiting to happen.”

as of right now, the camera is rolling. shoto moves fast, nearly headbutting you when he crushes his lips against yours; the kiss is warm, silently eager, and not at all what would be shared between two yearning roommates. if this video was about thanking your partner after some good sex, maybe it’d work. but it isn’t; you take the reins and crank the heat all the way up.

shoto gasps into your mouth when you hike your leg up and around his waist, dragging him into the shower like you plan to devour him. you’re also not holding onto anything aside from him, so he has no choice but to go along or risk dropping you. by the time he gets under the steady steam of water, his shirt and boxers are entirely soaked; his sweatpants are a gray heap on the floor, the only article of clothing that remains dry.

the mounted camera undoubtedly zooms in on shoto pressing you against the wall, and you grabbing at his cock through his boxers. against the column of your throat and in between quick kisses, he emits the softest of sounds, letting you know to keep doing exactly what you’re doing. the water washes away much of the soap and significantly lowers the possibility of slipping, allowing for easier movement—he leans back to undress, making quick work of his shirt and boxers.

now, it’s just you and one of your favorite pornstars.

you’re minutes away from making a longtime fantasy become reality.

before you know it, he’s on you again, but this time he’s fitting a hand between your thighs. you open up for him like a flower in the moonlight, expecting to hear a moan or even some filthy praise, but there’s nothing. not a word, not even a sigh. you fill the silence for both of you with a breathy moan, spreading your legs wider in hopes that he’ll touch you more.

the tips of his fingers glide against your pussy and come away slick with your arousal. while staring directly into your eyes, shoto raises his hand to his lips and proceeds to lick his fingers clean, like he’s just spilled something sweet while cooking. it’s hot as fuck to watch—you feel the throb of need right in your clit. catching a glimpse of his tongue as it curls around his finger does not help either.

while he’s focused on giving you a show of sin, your eyes leave his to inevitably wander down his body. his chest is all lean muscle and sharp edges, the strength and hard work obvious in a single glance. someone’s voice mixes with the sound of the water and turns to static; you only hear your co-star when he tilts your chin up, bringing your eyes to his.

“i said, bend over.”

it’s only a simple command, but it does so many complex things to your body.

in only a fraction of a second, you’re already bent over and ready. water rushes over your back, much of it sliding off, but some pours down your ass and against your pussy. without looking behind you to check, you know his eyes are on you, and so is the camera—in fact, it’s probably zooming in right now.

there’s a hushed thud as shoto drops to his knees, promptly grasping your hips to draw you back. he doesn’t give a damn if it causes you to lose your footing, but he might just do it again if it means he’ll be able to hear your gasp of surprise again.

fervent and excruciating, a tingling heat surges through your body once he gets his tongue on you. slowly, like he’s savoring a meal, he licks a stripe from your clit upwards, dipping the tip of his tongue past your folds like a fucking tease. it’s good, so good that you gasp out a moan and press back into his face, palms sliding down the wet tile. it’s only just begun, but you’re already wondering what he’ll do to you. what if he overstimulates you, licking your clit like it’s a lollipop, until your knees are buckling? maybe he’ll make out with your pussy, french kissing it in a way that’s a lot less shy than how he’d kissed your lips . .

your back arches when his fingers slide into you without any resistance; he buries them to the knuckle and exhales at how god damn tight you feel around him. after a beat, he begins to flick his wrist, setting up an unwavering rhythm with an ease garnered only through experience.

his tongue slides against your clit and it’s like a match to gasoline—your reaction is immediate and irresistible. it’s no secret that shoto’s currently rock hard, his cock hanging neglected and untouched between his thighs, but it doesn’t distract him in the slightest. right now, it’s only your pleasure that matters, and honestly, he’s not inclined to pause if it means you’ll stop making those pretty sounds.

“fuck, you’re good with your tongue,” you gasp, almost choking on the words, “j-just keep licking me like that, baby.”

baby? baby?

the casual petname slips out of you easily, even if the rest of what you were saying didn’t, and shit, it really does something to him. shoto remains silent, even though his heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s possible he could faint; even so, he decides not to say anything at all. doesn’t make any noise. doesn’t let himself breathe too loudly. doesn’t look affected.

you’re too caught up in the sensations of his devastating fingers and the way he uses his tongue in just the right way to notice his silence. right now, it’s just the splashing of water, your breathless moans, and the squelches of your soaked cunt as his fingers plunge in and out, repeatedly hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

“oh my godddd,” an almost-sob tears out of your throat, and shoto’s eyes roll back. he’s licking your clit like the whipped cream on a sundae, his mouth watering at the taste of you. to be honest, he actually regrets fingering you right now—it’d be so much better if he could use both hands to hold you against his face while he drinks in everything you have to give him.

when his agent had let him know the details about the shoot and who the producer wanted to pair him with, shoto dug through his safari tabs to find the shiketsu studios website, the library of alexandria’s filthy counterpart. the website was open on his very favorite video of you, the one where you were giving some bum a handjob and talking him through it. thank god the actor had the sense to stay silent, even though you were giving it to him good.��

that is exactly the kind of porn that shoto likes. if he’s sitting down to watch something either for dialogue inspiration or to jerk off—something that happens once in a blue moon—he prefers the man in the video to be quiet. many of them tend to let out these nasty, animalistic grunts that they mistakenly believe are sexy, and it just ruins the mood. everything about your video was top tier—he could only see you working the guy’s cock, only hear you talking to him, and god, it was perfect. shiketsu was a lot of things, but never sloppy when it came to your videos; during your early days, whoever had been in charge was setting you up in some hot videos left and right, making sure that those angles were nothing short of flawless.

it was posted over two years ago. he still watches it to get himself hot before shoots and in between takes to keep himself hard, locking himself in the bathroom to stroke himself to the sound of your voice. the audio plays in his head, mixing with your pitched moans and occasional whines; shoto’s unconsciously reaching toward his cock, pressing his face flush against your pussy.

“hnngh, shit,” he licks you harder, thinking about how much you deserve this. for accepting this shoot with him, for helping him not get fired, for helping him get off for the past two years.

his hand wraps around his leaking cock, and fuck, it feels like sweet relief. 

“‘m close, baby, you’re gonna make me cum,” frantic desperation makes its way through your words, and shoto’s fist strokes upward, his grip tightening at the tip. part of him wishes that you were filming a video where you were the one leading or controlling the situation . . maybe the opportunity will come along sometime in the future. 

you fall off the edge and into overwhelming euphoria with a sob. all you can do is pant, trying your hardest to breathe against the water rushing over your face. shoto does his best to help you through it by kissing at your clit, his fingers curling deeply against that soft spot inside of you.

he does it until you squirm away, bothered by the overstimulation. he sneaks a peek at the director, who motions to keep going. when he pulls his fingers out of your cunt to hold your hips, you turn, throwing him a heated look over your shoulder.

without saying anything, you’ve communicated what you really want.

shoto straightens, cock still in hand. just to draw it out, he rubs the tip against your swollen clit, trying to be sensitive to the fact that you literally just came a minute before, but the contact is still as electric as a shock. it’s torture at its finest—you’re pressing back, eager to feel all of him.

he exhales shortly when he slides his cock into you, his eyebrows drawing together. there’s no simultaneous moan or words of filthy praise; shoto bottoms out and pulls you a few inches closer. as the post-orgasm bliss begins to ebb away into something more kinetic, you moan a few times, trying to sell the scene. this is supposed to be the heated climax (pun intended) between two yearning roommates, and he doesn’t seem to be engaged. 

as much as you want to see his pretty face, you’re actually grateful that you’re bent over instead. it’d be more awkward making noise if you were looking into his eyes, unable to hide the embarrassment that comes along with doing so. it’s one thing when you and your partner are both making noise, but this is clearly not the case.

it feels good when he starts to move, leisurely rocking his hips into you like he’s taking it slow just to map out your body, maybe commit the details to memory. skin against skin, tip to cervix—the tempo is comfortable as it builds upon itself. there is a certain sense of detachment in the movement, like maybe you’re not on the same page, or perhaps your sexual preferences are very different. the hot fuck me look over the shoulder has worked on your co-stars in the past—there’s something about the wild eye contact right after an orgasm that gets people moving faster than saying the words could.

you’re buried in your head, wondering what you’ll eat for dinner tonight and why he’s so god damn quiet. shoto’s got complete access to your body and he’s fucking you like he’s half asleep; his lower lip is tugged between his teeth, and he appears to be concentrating intensely. how are you supposed to feel comfortable moaning and making noise when it’s just you making an effort to do so?

shoto’s eyes narrow, his heart kicking against his ribcage. he’s raw inside your pussy and able to feel every agonizing squeeze of your walls as you get tighter; he wants more than anything to let himself succumb to your body, the pleasure you’re giving him, but he holds back for the camera. his jaw clenches with effort as he holds his tongue, thinking of what’ll be the best for your budding reputation and the viewers of the UA website. but if he really focuses, listening closely, he can hear you getting quieter now.

so, he murmurs your name and starts to move faster, with more passion, and that seems to get you going. you’re letting out these hushed moans and occasional whines of that’s good or harder, and he actually has to bite at his cheek so he doesn’t get too loud. a faint, iron-like taste gathers on his tongue, but he doesn’t let up. instead, he bites down harder.

the dirty smacking of skin against skin fills the room, giving the microphones half of the noise that they need to make this video a good one. shoto deciding to go a little harder makes it a little bit easier to moan, even though you’re still feeling a little less hot than you’d expected to.

“fuck, right there,” you gasp, hoping that it’ll encourage him to say something back. you really don’t want to call cut and explain why silent sex is a turn-off, then continue filming for however long to get it right. the possibility of offending him—perhaps he’s naturally quiet—and then having to continue afterward is one of the things that bothers you the most. “g-give it to me, babe.”

no response. a slight chance in pace, an adjustment of the angle of his cock, but not a single noise.

you let it go on for about three more minutes, until you can’t deal with it anymore. since orgasming, you haven’t been in the frame of mind to have sex—there’s no haze making your thoughts fuzzy, and not enough arousal to keep you going. even thinking of hanta doesn’t help! you throw your ass back onto him a few times before you bite the bullet, mouth falling open.

“oh my god, oh my god,” and your back arches to make it more believable, “i’m so close, i’m gonna cum.”

you squeeze around him as hard as you can, still flexing the muscles even when you let go, and it actually works. shoto pulls out of you, choking out something under his breath, and spills white and messy across your lower back. the water washes all of it away, and you let your head hang, feeling the disappointment like a freight train. this entire shoot was the complete opposite of what you’d so badly wanted, and you just faked an orgasm to get it over with.

“cut!”

shoto helps you up and turns off the water. much of it has gotten outside of the shower, forming cold puddles on the floor that you’re careful not to slip on. the director comes forward with towels, offering one to you and one to your co-star.

“you can get dressed in the bedroom right across the hallway,” he explains to you, handing you your folded clothes, “and we’ve got a few extra shirts and boxers—uh, what size are you?”

you walk to the bedroom, wiping yourself dry without looking back. as you get dressed, you can’t help but wonder what you’ll tell shinsou. he’d probably picked up on how excited you were to do this shoot, and now you’re coming away from it feeling unsatisfied. but you’re a pornstar! pornstars don’t always have good sex, and that’s fine—sometimes the hottest people in the industry aren’t always the best lays. this was only a trial run with him, right? if you get paired with him in the distant future, it’ll probably be a lot better. maybe his problem is that he doesn’t let loose enough, but who knows?

someone knocks on the door without announcing themselves.

assuming it’s the director, you unlock the door and pull it open, only to come face to face with a shirtless todoroki shoto. it feels like what you wanted to see upon arriving at the condo—damp hair, barely dry muscles on display, gray sweatpants. he’s a god damn wet dream and quite the sight to behold.

he gives you a sideways hug, and okay, you’re ready for a do-over. one bed, no cameras, and a locked door. the camera crew needs to step aside—you’re more than capable of handling this.

“i, um, just wanted to say thank you. for a good shoot. it was very nice to meet you today.”

“of course,” you smile at him, folding up your wet towel and heading to the bathroom. the camera crew is busy breaking everything down while the director works with the laptop to save the footage for editors. “thank you for the towel. is there anything else you’ve got for me before i head out?”

he sets down the laptop and stands to shake your hand. “if you could just drop that into the basket near the washer and dryer before you leave, that’d be most appreciated. we’ll be finished editing and touching things up by this time tomorrow, and then we’ll contact your manager with any additional information.”

shoto doesn’t follow you to say anything more when you step out of the bathroom. just like when you’d first met, he waves again, but this time, a happy smile spreads across his face.

[draftbeerbibi]

Heyyyy how ya doing~? How's the new job~? I had a request and you don't need to write it if you don't want to but can I request Sylus x reader?

But the reader has these anklets that ring when she moves. The anklets have these very tiny bells which cause the ringing sounds.

That's it! You can write the story anyway you want!!

Thank you!!!

Hello Anon!! My job is going very good! It’s quite the shift from what I’m used to but I’m enjoying it a lot, thank you for asking💕 I love this idea so much, sorry it took so long to write lmao, finding the inspiration to write has been hard lately :(

Genre: Fluff!! A bit suggestive at the end

Not proofread, sorry :(

You look around the stalls.

Sylus and you had finally found the time to go to the biggest summer market of the year. Albeit you cleared your entire schedule for this if you’re honest. And his.

Your eyes shone like a kid seeing Christmas lights for the first time, so many trinkets everywhere! As you scan the market you hold on to Sylus’s hand a tad bit tighter. You hear him chuckle softly and look up to find his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“See anything you like, kitten?”

You playfully roll your eyes as you squeeze his hand a bit.

“Well pardon me for enjoying myself big boss man, but I for one love me some trinkets.” That earns you another chuckle and you pull him along the stalls.

You spend hours at the market, hopping from stall to stall, applying copious amounts of sunscreen in the meantime, as both you and him were prone to getting sunburns. He bought you this cute sun hat, which was comically large, saying it ‘suited you’ so naturally, you bought him a matching one.

But then you see something shiny across the towns square, the stall basically beckoning you to it. As you divert Sylus’s attention to getting you a drink, you b-line to the stall. It’s a cute red ankle bracelet with some cat charms and small bells. You think it’s perfect so obviously you immediately buy it and shove it in your bag, excited for his reaction.

Once you reunite with him he spots your shit eating grin, and raises his eyebrow, but you feign ignorance. Finally, after a few more stalls, and way too much stuff now all carefully wrapped and bagged, both yours and Sylus’s arms are draped in bags with goodies, trinkets and food. Mutually deciding it’s been enough you carefully put everything in the car and drive home.

It doesn’t take long before you two arrive at the base, and immediately Sylus orders the twins to help unpack. The copious amounts of bags now litter the table but before unpacking anything, you make your way to the bathroom to take a shower. The weather had been lovely today, but very hot. You look in the mirror and despite the religious applying of sunscreen, you see some red spots on your back making you hop in the shower just a but more careful.

You slip into your pyjamas after rinsing yourself off and grab your bag with a giddy smile. The bracelet softly jingles as you pull it out, and you carefully wrap it around your ankle. Once it clicks into place you admire it in your mirror. It was fitting. His favourite petname he’d like to call you had always been kitten. Kitten this, kitten that, so when you saw this, you knew you had to get it.

You wiggle your ankle softly and when you hear it softly jingle in response you just know it’s perfect.

You slowly step out of the bathroom and immediately his eyes are drawn to your ankle.

He stares for just a second before his face is adorned with a smug grin of his own.

“Ah, so that’s what you were hiding. I must say, kitten, it suits you.”

You smile as you twirl, eliciting another soft jingle from the bracelet.

“I saw it and made me think of you, so obviously I had to buy it.”

He kneels down, grazing his fingers across the bracelet revently, touching some skin in the process. His fingers softly flick against one of the bells, causing a soft ring to bounce across the room.

A blush creeps up your face and when he looks up at you, you know it’s over for you.

“I would be a foolish man if I didn’t accept this gift so graciously given to me, let me… show my appreciation.”

You were not allowed to wear it again after that night, because when Sylus heard the jingles of your bracelet, best believe everyone was hearing them the entire night.

[karikitdemonrp]

As the group exited the forest and back into the open Kari relaxed, looking around to get her bearings. Shippo huffed at Inuyasha's comment about the fox fire but let it be, putting the flame out once they were safely out in the open.

In the clearing was a simple yet sturdy looking hut. There was fire wood stacked up along the side and a small pond that connected to a weak stream with a few small fish, maybe some small frogs and water insects as well as an assortment of plants and moss. It was well kept and the fish were well fed enough and healthy, thriving even. Their scales shimmering in the light and their behavior seemingly playful.

Kari sighed and looked at the house, staying close to Inuyasha as Kagome led the group to the entrance, calling out; "Excuse me, anyone home? We're looking for someone named Akimitsu. We were sent by Lady Iori in hopes of you helping us." There wasn't much of a reply for a brief moment, only for some rustling to be heard and rapid foot steps approaching the entrance. Eventually a male slid the front door open with a frantic expression, a bit of smoke covering his face from an experiment gone wrong. The man had silky blue hair that went just past his shoulders and was tied into a low pony tail and hazel eyes. His clothes were a bit unkempt, having smudges of dirt and some grass stains on them. "I'm Akimitsu, may I ask why you're here?" The demi-god gave an exasperated smile only for his gaze to land on Kari, immediately sensing what she was now that he was paying attention. He opened his mouth to speak but Kari stopped him.

"W-we have a letter from Lady Iori. Please, have a look before you say anything." She spoke quickly, as if she was warned before hand that Akimitsu might spill too much information. Akimitsu snapped his mouth shut and took the letter and read it to himself. He looked at Kari then Inuyasha, then Shippo, then finally Kagome. He smiled kindly, catching his breath.

"I see... Please come in." His voice was a bit more grounded as he spoke, leading the group inside. Scrolls of varying kinds as well as varying science equipment was scattered all over varying desks and tables but thankfully nothing was on the floor. Research notes and hypothesis and so on. "Sorry for the mess. I wasn't expecting company but I'm happy to hear from Auntie Iori."

"Auntie?" Shippo asked with a tilt of his head.

"Ah, well, we're not related. It's just my mother and Auntie are super close. Mother's a goddess of water and the two often met in certain situations, that's how it started. Now mother goes and meets Auntie when she has free time. Anyway, Auntie's letter mentioned a seal, mind if I have a look?" He asked, looking at Kari while setting Iori's letter down.

Kari looked up at Inuyasha then held out one of the ends of her scarf. "Y-you can look but don't touch it."

Akimitsu hummed and gave a nod while approaching. Shippo held up the charm he was given and revealed the seal so Akimitsu could actually see it. "It's cracked a bit." He noted. "Some parts also look weakened but not cracked. Not the worst thing but it's telling."

"Wait, Iori didn't say anything about weak spots." Kagome mentioned and approached to have a look. "... Those are new." She mentioned, noticing that some areas in Kari's seal looked to be visibly weaker.

Akimitsu glanced at Kagome then back at the seal. "Interesting. The way it surges... It's not like any normal seal, but I'm guessing you knew that already." Kagome nodded while Akimitsu continued to inspect the seal. "I'm guessing a few more cracks will form soon, though from what I read it's not entirely time based but more so situational. Tell me, when was the first time she used her abilities?"

"I'm right here!" Kari grumbled. "The first time I used my abilities I... We were ambushed and I used a barrier." Akimitsu looked at Kari and gave a nod.

"How did you feel doing that?"

"Huh?" Kari tilted her head in thought for a moment. "I felt like I was gonna be really hurt but I didn't want it. I... I was kinda scared cuz at the time everything was happening so fast... I also felt really warm and like my stomach was in knots, like I was gonna be sick."

Akimitsu nodded and sighed. "I see... Have you tried to use these abilities since."

"Not willingly. They just... Happen." The child responded hesitantly and Akimitsu nodded. "B-but I've been trying to, I just can't get it on my own all the time. Sometimes I can make a barrier when I try but other times they just don't form." Akimitsu nodded, taking mental notes.

The demi-god straightened and sighed in thought while Shippo put his charm away. "I need to talk to you two really quick. Um," Akimitsu looked at the children.

"I'm Shippo and that's Kari." Shippo chirped while gesturing to Kari, who waved and went back to holding Inuyasha's haori.

"Oh, I'm sorry we completely forgot to introduce ourselves, we were so focused on the task at hand. I'm Kagome Higarashi and he's Inuyasha. Shippo already introduced himself and Kari." Kagome gave an embarrassed expression, rubbing the back of her head nervously and Akimitsu nodded.

"Shippo, Kari, why don't you two go and check on the fish. Don't worry about the forest I check the area daily and make sure some special talismans aren't damaged." He informed and Shippo nodded, moving to lead Kari out.

"C'mon, we can try some training so you can work on those barriers." Shippo smiled and Kari nodded, moving to leave only to look over her shoulder at Kagome and Inuyasha briefly before she left. Kagome waved at Kari then looked at Akimitsu, waiting for him to say something.

"There's no easy way of saying this so I'll just get to the point." He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose once he was sure Kari and Shippo were out of earshot. "The reason Auntie couldn't fully understand the seal and why you can't mend it is because it's made of souls. Two souls in particular." The demi-gods voice was low, kind of somber. It took Kagome a moment but she put the pieces together kind of quickly. "And they're, for lack of a better way of putting it, picking and choosing what parts of the seal weakens and break first. What abilities Kari gets and when. At least to the best of their abilities." He muttered, moving to look through some of the scrolls on his desk, then on his table, then the ones on his book shelf. "Where did I put that scroll." He grumbled.

It took a moment but eventually he came back while opening a scroll. "There are a lot of speculations on a being like Kari, I'm sure you're aware. One of which being if she loses her power like a half demon or a demi god." He informed. "I'm sure you're aware but at certain points a half demon loses all demonic ability. Same goes for demi-gods like me. It depends on the individual when and how long that time is. But when it comes to Kari, she might have two moments like that. One where she loses her demon abilities and one where she loses her deific abilities. Leaving the other side. I'm pretty sure that seal has been doing a good job at keeping those moments at bay since, from what I've read she has no idea what she is but with that seal weakened like this... There's no telling what could happen and when."

Kagome shivered at the thought. She remembered what it was like when Inuyasha lost his demonic abilities and when he completely lost control. Imagining such a fate for Kari only served to make her worry, but the teenager sighed and did her best to keep herself calm. "Is there anyway we can figure out what demon she is and what rank deity she is? I'm not sure we can specifically figure out who her parents were right now, but if we can figure something out to help give us any insight as to what she is capable of then maybe we might be able to prepare." She muttered and Akimitsu hummed in thought.

"If I had a few strands of hair or some blood or something I might be able to run a few tests but I can't promise anything." He informed and Kagome nodded.

"Right, give me a moment." She muttered, moving to go outside. Akimitsu looked at Inuyasha and sighed.

"Has she displayed any other abilities or is it just the barrier?" He asked, moving to get something to write on so he could take notes, already noting down what he knew. "What about incidents where it looked like she wanted to use an ability but didn't?"

Inuyasha let out a quiet grunt as he walked beside the kids, amber eyes never stopping their steady sweep of the surrounding trees and shadows. Every sound—a rustling branch, the whisper of wind through the leaves, even that rabbit’s hop—his ears twitched toward it, sorting harmless from dangerous in the span of a heartbeat.

He didn’t say anything while Shippo made that little flame or when Kari clung to his sleeve like a lifeline. But he didn’t pull away either. Didn’t make a single complaint about her grip or how her knuckles were going white.

Instead, he just kept walking—solid, steady, dependable.

When Shippo stepped in and lit the space up with that gentle teal flame, Inuyasha gave him the briefest glance and a soft huff that might’ve been approval. Maybe even a little bit of pride.

“Feh,” he finally muttered under his breath, tone more gruff than annoyed. “Took ya long enough to remember you can do that, runt.”

His gaze flicked downward to Kari for a moment. Her voice had dropped to almost nothing earlier, that scared little whisper muffled into that rabbit of hers. He didn’t comment on it. Just made sure to stay close, to keep that solid, protective wall on one side of her while Shippo covered the other.

"You're right to be on edge," he said low enough that it wouldn’t carry too far. “It’s not the dark that’s the problem—it’s what hides in it.”

Then he flicked his ears toward Kagome as she called back to them. “Finally,” he muttered, straightening a bit. “Maybe now I can stop listenin’ to your heart tryin’ to beat outta your chest.”

[saycheeeese]

It's been 281 days since you last saw another human being. You couldn't risk staying outdoors for long - that is, unless you want to run into a zombie. Those mutilated creatures now practically roam more than half of the world, and in only the 2 years they've been here, they've gotten way stronger. By raiding countless shops, they've enhanced their artillery and population, and the death rate drastically goes up daily.

Now, you're crouched on top of the run-down building you've been living in for the past few months, peeking over the edge, ears perked for any sort of noise. You ran out of rations a week ago, and you've managed to scrape by, occasionally coming across a god-forsaken convenience store, the lights fused and the entire area reeking of dust and wet carpet, a few canned foods edible in the midst of rotting perishables. So you finally got the courage to venture into the gloom and snag something to give you some kind of nourishment.

You almost deem the area safe when you hear the noise of rock crunching. Your breath catches in your throat and you drop to your knees, daring to look over the edge. Your eyes strain and water against the dark and pollution, trying to find -

There!

You lower yourself a bit, your knees popping, and you hiss. Three dark figures approach the street, moving stealthily. The middle one turns to the left one and whispers something, to which the left one slaps the first one's head. You cock your head. They certainly don't seem like zombies, you swiftly put two and two together. As they sidle into sight, the fluctuating, muted streetlight sluices them in a green glow.

On the left is a boy with spiky hair - really spiky - and his hair color is hard to determine in the colored light. You decide it's either a dark blue or black. He's standing straight and tall, hands in his pockets, mouth in a firm, straight line. The middle one is yet another boy with pink hair. You narrow your eyes. Pink? His eyes have some sort of markings under them, and you tense. But when you see him say something and grin, elbowing the tall boy, you conclude he might not be a zombie. Something warms in your heart to see the cold, tough circumstances haven't taken away his joy, even if it seems a bit subdued. The one on the right is a girl, thankfully. Her brown hair gleams in the ghostly light, and she bites down on her lip to stifle her smile. She also seems a bit serious, but not as much as the spiky-haired boy. In one blink of your eye, she has the pink-haired boy in a headlock. Seems like an ordinary teenage group, you nod to yourself. No danger, but I'll scout the area once they're gone.

You sigh, and lower yourself to the ground, but fate isn't on your side as your elbow hits the the rusted metal can on your left, and it crashes to the ground. You manage to grab it at the last moment, but it still created a whole lot of ruckus. You grit your teeth, heart in your throat. Their voices abruptly cease, and the echo still rings in your ears - why did this place have to be so quiet?

"Who's there?" Someone sternly says from below. You lay down on the roof, hiding every inch of your person from sight. There's a gap between the once ornate edge and the roof, seemingly a drain, and you squint through it. The tall boy signals to the others, and they stiffen, shifting closer to each other and taking up a defensive stance. The tall boy points to the roof, exactly where you were a moment ago, and the others look up there too.

"Who is there?" The tall boy asks again, his voice sharp and commanding.

You contemplate blowing your cover, but you still haven't decided if they're working for the government or some new kind of twisted thing the zombies have created. Or, maybe, you don't want to talk and explain yourself.

"Whoever is there, come out this second," the girl steps up and orders, one hand on her hip and the other clutching a dagger. Where did she get that?

"Or we're going to come up there and drag you out ourselves," the pink-haired boy says, his voice more serious than before. His bubbly expression is gone, and he's warily staring at the aforementioned spot. The three of them palm their weapons and advance toward the building. You groan, deciding it's better you show yourself. At least you know your stealth and fighting. Thank the heavens for the training you had and the zombies you beat.

Before they can react or shout, you hoist yourself to you feet, knees cracking noisily, almost glide over the edge and scale the building, feet lodging onto any kind of purchase before you reach the rusted pipe and jump onto it, shimmying down and landing on the ground with a thud. You wipe your grimy hands on your black tights, previous residues of dirt, blood and whatnot concealed by the color.

A sharp intake of breath has you sharply looking up, the three of them staring at you as if you're a zombie. You bare your teeth, spreading your feet apart and raising your hands. They might think you're in a defensive stance, but you're doing it so they can see you don't have any weapons on you. That they can see, of course.

The tall boy ignores the pink-haired boy as he says something to him and takes one step forward. "Who are you?"

"Nobody of importance," you shrug. You didn't realize months of not using your voice would turn it so raspy and hoarse, and you almost cringe as they shrink back.

"Who are you," he repeats, eyes assessing you deftly.

You repay him the courtesy, scanning them thoroughly with your eyes. "Not a zombie." Something in you wants to mess with them, act like an ass - purely because you've seen too much to act sweet and kind and like the girl you were before it all went to hell.

The pink-haired boy subtly grins. "I like her," to which the girl jabs him in the ribs.

"I don't aim to harm you or anything," you drawl, "but if you have those intentions, then please get the hell away from me."

The tall boy narrows his eyes at you. "You live here?"

"I don't have a permanent abode, but this is where I've been hiding since the past three months," you shrug. You notice the other two's shoulders relaxing. "What about you?"

"Different city," is all he says. He turns to his group. He must have something in his expression, because the others shrug, tilting their head. He sighs and turns back.

"What's your name?" You ask them, dropping the defense and placing your hands on your hips, lifting your chin.

"This is Megumi," the pink haired boy answers, pointing to the tall boy - whose hair is definitely blue. "This is Nobara, and I'm Yuuji. Who are you?"

Merely because his risk level is low, you answer, "(Y/n)."

Nobara eyes your clothes. Her eyes quickly dismiss your tights but stay on the baby blue jacket, which is now stained with grime, dust and coal. She steps to Megumi's side.

"Cute clothes," she grins.

"Th-"

"Where'd you get them?"

You're taken aback by how swiftly she took out her dagger and is now a few steps away from impaling you. Her face is serious and assessing, eyes glinting in the streetlight as her breath fans your face.

"An insignificant shop, down there," you point, "I got it just a few weeks ago."

"Liar. There are zombies infiltrating every nook and cranny - how did you get it? You're working with them, right?" The cold tip of her dagger rests on the hollow of your neck. The others tense - you wouldn't blame them, her accusation is logical.

You reply calmly, although every muscle in your body is locked. "I studied them. from behind a rusted-out car: one had a missing leg, one was too bloated to move fast. One was tall; top-heavy. Weak ankles. Then I moved. I cracked open a can of cheap soda and rolled it. It hissed across the pavement and two of them followed the sound. I grabbed a piece of rebar and slammed it into the cement at a slant as a tripwire. Then I whistled, and the noise brought one straight toward me. But I crouched, rolled, and let it stumble straight into the rebar. It tripped. I stomped the back of its skull before it even hit the ground.

"Then, I kicked a rock at the bloated one’s head, enough to enrage, not kill. It flailed toward me, unbalanced, arms reaching. I timed it. Sidestepped. And it crashed into a shattered window frame. The jagged glass impaled it through the chest. I used her boot to shove it deeper and bashed its skull. I climbed the awning above the door quietly, not even breathing., waiting for one to walk under. Then I dropped. My knees slammed into its back. The weight snapped its spine like dried bark. I ripped a shard of metal from the signpost and dragged it across its throat and drove it into its head." You stop to take a breath, a haunted gleam on your face.

"I remember them snarling. The last three rushed at me and I ran, baiting them toward a power pole draped in broken wire. Luck was on my side, I guess. I ducked under, but they didn't. The tallest one slammed into the live cable. Sparks snapped and two of them were lit up like birthday candles, shrieking, unaware as I decapitated them. I faced the last one, with no weapons. Just cracked knuckles. It chased me, and I went there (you point to an alley), cornered it between two dumpsters, and gruesomely beat the crap out of it. Their heads crack open easily."

Nobara backs away, a corner of her lip lifting in a smirk. "I like her."

"Thanks. I guess some violence is necessary."

"Wait - so you can fight?" Yuuji gapes at you.

" 'Course I can," you beam at him, the foreign action hurting your cheeks. It had been a while since you last smiled.

"You did all that for ... a shirt?" Megumi asks, though you notice he's not as tense as before.

You shrug. "If I'm gonna die in this world, I'm not doing it in a tank top with holes in it."

Nobara and Yuuji grinned, and Megumi raised a brow. Guess that's all the appreciation I'm getting, you wonder. Though it's a lot coming from this serious boy.

"Are you sure we can trust her?" Megumi says under his breath to Yuuji.

"I guess so, yeah," Yuuji cocks his head.

"I think so, too," Nobara offers, striding over to them.

Megumi looks at you for a moment before nodding, the tension seeping away from his shoulders. The two of them whisper something in his ear, and he sighs, glancing at you.

"Are you happy where you live?"

"Do I look like I am?" You raise a brow. "I mean, I'm alive. That's fine. But - happy? In this world?"

"You could be, if you lived with people," Yuuji supplies. "Though you sound like you were the one who created the alphabet."

"You sure you didn't hear the Big Bang?" Nobara suppresses her grin.

"Come on, it's obvious she saw the dinosaurs go extinct," Yuuji nudges her.

"Though, girl, you look like the last time you ate was at the Last Supper," Nobara appraises you.

"Guys," Megumi groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Stop it. We don't tease people who witnessed the fall of the Roman Empire." He chastises them, although his lips lift imperceptibly. It takes you a while to understand he made a joke, too.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny, coming from the people whose expiry date expired," you roll your eyes.

"She has humor!" Yuuji whoops, and Nobara hisses.

"Just because we met a human doesn't mean the zombies are gone," she snaps, and Yuuji pouts.

They glance at you and shift on their feet.

"You could ..." Megumi began, biting his cheek. "Join us, you know?"

"Yeah, if you wanted to, of course," Nobara intervened.

"You'd help us a lot, and we could give you our food and clothes - we know how to fight, too," Yuuji shrugged, excited.

You smile. This offer might change your life ...

And maybe, just maybe, you were looking for a change of events in this world you knew no longer.

★ please tell me if you want another part or a fight scene where you four encounter zombies ★

[buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger]

“I don't want to see him”

Bucky x GN!Reader

Description: After the events of Thunderbolts*, Bucky needs to stop seeing the Soldier in the mirror.

Warnings: Angst, Sad Bucky, vague mentions to Bucky's Shame Room, Thunderbolts spoilers

A/N: I wasn't entirely sure how to end this one, tbh I'm not sure how I feel about it overall, but I couldn't get the idea of Bucky shaving his head after the events of Thunderbolts* because his shame rooms dredged up WS memories out of my head, so I wrote about it. This is Buzzed's angsty brother, so if you need a pick me up after this pop over there!

((18+ only below the cut please and thank you!!))

“Bucky!” You called as you entered your shared suite in the (New) Avengers Tower.

Silence.

Worry started to settle in your gut as you padded through the space. Where was he? You calmed slightly when you entered your bedroom and saw light shimmering under the door to the bathroom.

“Bucky? Sweetheart?” You knocked gently on the door, not wanting to startle him, “can I come in?”

There was a long pause, followed by a soft “yeah”.

You found him in the bathroom, shirt off, face hidden by his dark hair, hands gripping the counter so tightly you thought he was going to Crack the marble. You sighed softly. In the two months following the fight with The Void Sentry Bob and the Team's moving into the Tower, Bucky had been…off. He tried to act like everything was fine. But you saw the smiles that didn’t reach his eyes, the constant glances over his shoulder that he thought no one noticed, the way his jaw clenched at any loud, sudden noises, the fact he almost always kept his hair tied up in a small ponytail, off his neck and away from his face. The others didn’t know him well enough or long enough to catch that something was wrong. Or if they did, they didn't bring it up, but you did. Even though he attempted to assure you that everything was fine and that ‘nothing’s wrong, Doll. I'm okay’, meanwhile he kept coming to bed later and later and flinching if you reached out too quickly when touching him. Now, finding him like this, he knew he couldn't avoid it any longer. You smiled sadly and entered, keeping your movements slow and deliberate.

“Yelena wanted me to let you know dinner is in an hour,” you kissed his bare shoulder, trying to put him at ease, “she's cooking, so I'm willing to bet money it's mac and cheese again.”

Bucky let out a little exhale, not looking up. You gently slipped in between him and the counter, taking his face in both hands.

“Talk to me, Baby,” you whispered, “what's wrong? And don't say nothing.”

“I see it, all of it. Every time I close my eyes, I see it,” for a man so large his voice sounded uncharacteristically small. You wrapped your arms around Bucky, pulling him close. You knew that what both you and the rest of the Team had seen in the Void had taken a toll on him. All of his trauma, all of the things he had been working so hard to recover from, all of the memories he'd relived in his nightmares, laid bare for him, you, and this group of people you'd only met a few days ago to see. It was traumatizing, and had dredged up a million memories he'd spent so long and was working so hard to recover from.

You ran your hand over his hair, pressing kisses to his temple.

“And I keep seeing Him,” he whispered, “he's there every time I close my eyes. Every time I see my reflection.”

“That explains this,” you gently played with his ponytail, earning you a tiny chuckle.

“It kept brushing on my neck and getting in my eyes,” Bucky murmured, “I hate it.”

“Do you want me to cut it?” You tucked a loose strand behind his ear, “I’m not a professional, but I can at least make it shorter.”

He nodded, allowing you to slide out and grab a pair of scissors and a set of clippers while he sat down on the closed toilet lid. You draped a towel around his shoulders and undid his ponytail with a kiss to his temple.

“Alright, Sweet Boy,” you ran your fingers through his hair, “what do you want me to do? I can't do anything hyper-specific, but I could do a basic crew cut, or like you had it when you were campaigning–”

“I want it gone.”, The hand in his hair stopped short.

“Are you sure, Buck?”

He nodded, those steely blue eyes you'd fallen so deeply in love with looking up to meet yours.

“I'm sure,” he said, “I don't want to feel it on me anymore. I need a change.”

You nodded slowly.

“Alright, Honey. If that's what you want.”

“It is.”

You gave his shoulder a squeeze, turning to grab the scissors.

“I'm going to cut off some of the bulk first and then finish with the clippers, if that's okay?” he nodded, and you took your spot behind him, “alright, can I cut your ponytail?”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft, strained. You leaned forward and kissed his temple.

“You're doing great Buck, take a deep breath for me,” he did as instructed, and you carefully severed the small ponytail. Bucky looked up at you, his remaining hair falling in loose, uneven strands around his face, “good job, Honey. First one's done. Can I keep going?”

He nodded, bowing his head and steeling his nerves, “please. I need this.”

Slowly, carefully, you cut away his long hair. Bucky said nothing, but watched the brunette piles gather at his feet. Occasionally, you would stop cutting for a moment and run your fingers through the messy cut, earning a small sigh. When his hair was finally to a more manageable length you placed the scissors down and faced him. His hair was significantly shorter now, erupting out of his head in short, uneven chocolate strands that you couldn't help but run your fingers through one last time.

“I'm gonna plug in the clippers now, okay?” Bucky nodded, “and you're sure you want to do this? I could still just trim it up a bit.”

He nodded again, more sure of himself.

“This is something I need to do.” The man straightened. He flinched when you switched electric razor on, but straightened in his seat.

“I'm gonna get started now, okay? We'll take it nice and slow,” He swallowed thickly, but nodded, “hold still, Darling.”

Bucky felt the clippers start at the base of his neck, slowly working over his head. Occasionally, your free hand would gently run over what was left of his dark locks, brushing bits of severed hair away from his scalp. Bit by bit you carefully shaved away what was left of his hair, gently shielding his ear when you went to trim the hair around it, sometimes pausing for a moment to kiss his cheek. And Bucky, he was doing his best to stay in the present, to focus on the warm hand on his shoulder and the soft hair tickling his skin as it fell down his back. He stayed as still as possible for you, his head bowed, flesh and Vibranium hands resting in his lap. He hadn’t realized he'd closed his eyes until you switched off the clippers and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“You're all done, Baby. Take a look.”

Slowly, Bucky peeled his eyes open. You were smiling at him, hand on his cheek, those bright eyes he'd fallen hopelessly in love with staring down at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. He ran a tentative hand over his head, the bit of fuzz left on his scalp tickling the skin of his flesh palm.

“What do you think?” Bucky asked, meeting your eyes. You reached out and ran your fingers over his stubbled head, gently rubbing against his nape.

“It's going to take some getting used to, logistically speaking,” you kissed the tip of his nose, “but you look so good, Bucky. Long hair, short hair, no hair, it doesn't matter. You'll always be the most handsome man in the room to me.”

Bucky broke into a smile, a genuine smile. The first you'd seen in a long time. You hugged him tight, guiding his head to rest on your stomach and tenderly stroking your fingers along the brunette bristles.

“You ready to see yourself, Sweetheart?” you asked after a few long moments and he nodded, allowing you to help him stand and lead him to the bathroom mirror. Bucky stared at himself in wide-eyed silence for a while, running an exploratory hand over his buzz cut once again.

“What do you think, Buck?” your hand found his and you gently kissed the back of his palm.

“I…I see me.” his voice was soft, unsteady. Bucky shook his head, pulling himself from his thoughts, and wrapped you in a hug as he pressed little kisses to your hair, “thank you, Doll.”

“Always, Baby.”

[dxpaa]

The smell of heavy cigarette smoke was in the air. It was so strong and intense that it can gave someone a headache. Even opening the windows wide open didn't help to remove this heavy odor. The entire penthouse from the first to the second floor was filled with the smell of Shiu's cigarettes as he sat behind the white leather sofa in the guest room, slowly sipping his cigarette and sorting through the paperwork on another new case.

Everything was a mess. Literally everything. The coffee table was littered with papers and various pictures of the new target the client had given. On the edge of the marble table stood an empty whiskey glass with a leftover ice cube inside. In the middle was an ashtray with more than five cigarette butts inside.

The wall clock strikes exactly midnight.

You open the bedroom door and, wrapped in nothing but a white silk robe, walk downstairs to the first floor. You cough a few times on the way down and cover your nose and mouth with the palm of your hand. Stepping barefoot on the cold tiled floor, goosebumps arrive on your skin.

Stopping at the penultimate staircase, you see Shiu sitting in the semi-darkness, concentrating in his work. Everything around him was dark aside from the chandelier above and the light of the moon from the window.

You watch your husband take another drag and exhale smoke into the air. A little bit of ash falls down.

Right on the white, expensive couch. The most expensive piece of furniture in this huge penthouse.

"What the hell, Shiu?!" You quickly run up to him and sweep the ashes off the couch.

You frown your eyebrows and bend down to look over to see if the ash left a mark on your favorite couch. You turn to your husband who stares at you silently and exhales smoke.

You cough and wave the smoke away with your hands. "Doll, don't worry about that couch. I'll buy you ten more of these if you want them" He smirks cheekily at you, but you didn't care about laughing or his stupid jokes right now.

"Ughhh, it's not funny, baby."

Your man sighs and finishes his cigarette and puts it out in the ashtray. He reaches for his glass, but seeing that it is empty, he reaches under the table and pulls out a bottle to pour himself another drink.

When you see this, you quickly snatch the bottle from his hands and put it behind your back.

"Alcohol won't help you with your work. Neither will cigarettes." You try to soften your tone so you don't sound too harsh. You've seen how tired your husband has looked lately and you didn't want to push him even harder.

"I don't like having that disgusting smell in our house all the time" You sit down on the soft rugs and look up at him. Shiu looks down at you too, sitting on the couch and remains silent. Though knowing him, he'd say something right now to tease you. But he just doesn't say anything. You lay your head in his lap.

"Let's go to bed, dear."

He runs his rough hands through your hair, looking at the mess on the table.

"I've got more shit to deal with. The customer has been very generous this time and if we get this bastard out as soon as possible, the payoff will be fantastic. I can't just let it go now."

He removes his hand from your head and reaches for the stack of papers to go through them again. You lift your head, feeling useless because there's no way you can help your lover.

"I can help you if you need it."

Shiu smiles snidely and looks at you out of the corner of his eye "So what are you going to help me with, doll?"

You run your eyes over the whole mess and remain silent.

Really, how are you going to help him?

"I can sort the papers. Or find information that will be useful to you." You look at him hopefully, but he doesn't even listen to you, leaving the two of you in silence.

"Shiu?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah, you said you wanted to offer me your help" He sets aside the first stack of papers and picks up the second.

"Yes baby, I said I could sort your papers for you or find useful information for you." You say it again and get a short “mhmm” in response.

Your man didn't seem interested in your help. He doesn't even look at you. His eyes are scanning for more important things than your help. You sit down next to him on the couch and rest your chin on his shoulder. Your gaze falls on the photos of the man, taken surreptitiously in various locations.

"Is this your victim?"

After a few seconds of silence on his part, you hear a simple “yes”.

After a little more time, you ask the question again. "And what's his offense that he needs to be killed?"

"I don't give a fuck about what he did. I was given an assignment, I took it." Shiu gives out sharply irritated. He's never spoken to you so rudely.

You realize that he obviously doesn't want to be in your company right now, so you sit away from him a little. You both sit in silence for a while longer again. You glance at clock. It's almost 1. am in the morning.

"I can really be of use to you, baby. Just give me an assignment and I'll-"

"It's getting late, go upstairs and go to bed. I'll join you later."

You press your lips together with an incomprehensible sense of resentment. You don't want to be listened to and are considered a burden.

"Shiu?"

The man clenches his teeth, trying to even out his tone.

"Yes, doll?"

It still sounds fake. Like he's holding back aggression.

You gently take his hand.

"Love, let's go to bed. You don't need to stress yourself out with this work. This case and the customer can wait. You can finish everything tomorrow too. Let's just-"

"What the fuck are you saying that for?! Do you realize what kind of shit yer saying right now? No, the job and the customer can't fucking wait! Don't you realize how important this is to me?”

You recoil fearfully from his harsh tone. You look at his angry face and the expression he's literally yelling at you with. You silently rub your hands together to calm yourself down somehow.

"Why can't you just fucking go to bed alone?"

"I can't sleep without you. I'm cold and I feel lonely." your voice treacherously shakes, giving away the anxiety coming up to your throat. One foot begins to rub the other. Your fists rub together so hard that your knuckles start to turn red.

Shiu swallows. He slowly begins to realize what he has done. With just his words alone.

"I just don't like to see you get tired." You slowly get up from the couch and walk backwards away from your husband. "I feel just awful when I see you working all day, killing people and coming in at night covered in someone’s blood."

Your husband looks at your trembling hands that can't stop rubbing against each other. You don't even look at him. Your gaze is downcast.

"And me... I'm just sitting at home. Alone. Sometimes I go shopping and cook us dinner. I feel like a useless trophy wife. And I really… really want to try to do something for you."

"Fuck" The man lowers his face into the palms of his hands. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…"

But you don't stop. The words pour out of you like a flood. "Shiu, I don't know why it happened today. I really didn't mean to piss you off. Maybe I'm just too clingy. I hate seeing you working hard for us and me just sitting back."

You stare off into the distance at the kitchen cabinets. Specifically the outermost upper cabinet. That's where the last shelf on top holds your tranquilizers, which you stopped taking a long time ago after Shiu came into your life. But you always knew exactly where the medicine you needed was, and even with your eyes closed you could get to it from the other side of the house.

You swallow and close your eyes, trying not to think about the pills you've been addicted to for years. Anxiety was starting to come up your throat again and it was making you feel nauseous.

"I can sleep on my own tonight if I need to, it's fine. I-I... I mean y-you..."

You started gasping for breath from the sudden lack of air and rubbed your fists even harder until bleeding wounds appeared.

Shiu Kong, one of the most violent men in criminal organizations, abruptly drops to your lap and presses his forehead into your stomach. His arms hug you tightly and soothingly stroke everything he can touch. Your legs grow weak, but you try to stand still. Your trembling hands run through your husband's dark hair. You take his face in your hands and lift his face so he can meet his gaze with yours.

You see his red tired eyes that were wet with tears. The male hitman who brutally killed everyone was kneeling in front of his wife, resting his head on her stomach and crying.

"My love, I’m so deeply sorry. I don't fucking deserve you" He kisses your flat stomach and gently strokes your back.

You're still breathing hard, but you're trying to count backwards from a hundred to at least calm yourself down.

"I need the pills, Shiu. Otherwise I won't be able to calm myself down..."

"No, please, I'm begging you, love. Please forgive me for my words. I completely forgot about your fragile health. But please don't touch the pills."

Your husband rises to his feet and puts his hands on your shoulders. He's a whole head taller than you and you have to raise your gaze to him.

"No, I can't do without them. I need my meds" You say helplessly.

Shiu pulls you to him and bumps his nose against your neck. Your pulse races frantically, but begins to slowly return to a normal rhythm.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...Fuck… I’m so deeply sorry…"

You close your eyes and remain silent, letting yourself be hugged. Your husband's hands are still stroking your back through the silk robe.

"Please forgive me. I don't know what came over me, my love."

"It's allright, Shiu."

"No, it’s not. I caused you to have another panic attack after all these years. And I'm very sorry about that. I shouldn't have said those words to you."

"Oh, dear..."

You pull away from him and look at his crying face. It was obvious that he was very sorry for what he had done.

"Y/n, darling, what can I do to make you forgive me?"

"It's not your fault, Shiu. It's okay, I'm perfectly fine. The only thing you can do for me is to put off work and go get some rest."

Your husband returns his gaze to the stack of papers lying on the coffee table.

"Seeing the way you work yourself to your limit and fuel your stress with alcohol is hurting me."

You stare at your knuckles, blood dripping from them. Shiu brings them to his lips and kisses them very gently. A trace of blood remains on his lips.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me in my life. I'm often a bastard to you-"

"No, Shiu, you're perfect. You're the best gift fate could have given me. You're someone who works for both of us and our future. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have what we have now. If it weren't for you, I'd be on tranquilizers until I die.”

"Y/n, please..." Your husband looks at you exhaustedly again, begging for you to stop saying things like that after what he did.

"What happened is just the stress accumulated on you over the past few days. So you just need to rest."

You stroke your husband's cheek. While his casual words caused you anxiety, you healed him with your words.

"I don't fucking deserve you, doll."

He reaches for your lips for a kiss that carries all his deep feelings and apologies to you.

[sunn-mechanic]

holding movie zane closely and lovingly he is my son boy

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

Limbs completely intertwined, Xavier’s legs weave between yours, creating an intricate knot of warmth beneath the sheets. His arms encircle your waist, pulling you so close that your chests rise and fall against each other with each breath. Face to face, his nose nearly brushes yours.

The weight of his arm draped over your side anchors you firmly against him, while his other arm slides beneath your neck, creating a living pillow. Your foreheads touch, creating a small pocket of shared air between you. His fingers absently trace your spine, the light pressure a silent communication in this cocoon you’ve created together.

When you shift slightly, his body automatically adjusts to maintain the connection, legs tightening their gentle hold around yours. He pulls you impossibly closer until your heartbeats seem to synchronize, the steady rhythm vibrating through the minimal space between your bodies.

His breathing gradually slows against your face, eyelids growing heavy even as he fights to maintain this moment of consciousness with you. The battle was lost, his muscles relaxed slightly, but his hold remained secure—his body curled entirely around yours, every limb connected, every point of contact preserved even as sleep claimed him.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

Your head rests perfectly in the hollow of Zayne’s shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek creating a gentle, lulling motion. His right arm curves firmly around your shoulders, hand splayed protectively across your upper back. The weight is there yet comfortable—present without being restrictive.

He shifts slightly, adjusting his position to better accommodate you, his movements careful not to disturb you too much. His left hand reaches across to brush some hair from your face before settling on your arm, completing the circle of his embrace. The warmth from his body envelops you completely, his chest radiating heat like a furnace.

His chin rests atop your head, fitting perfectly in the space as if designed for this purpose. When you nestle closer, his arms tighten slightly, a subtle adjustment to your new position. His cheek presses against your hair, the light pressure a constant reminder of his presence.

Your bodies align—his longer frame curved exactly to complement yours, creating perfect contact from shoulders to feet. Even his breathing eventually synchronizes with yours, his chest rising as yours falls, then reversing, creating a peaceful counterbalance beneath the weight of his encircling arms.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel’s head nestles against your chest, his ear pressed directly over your heart as though listening to a favorite melody. His arms snake around your middle, fingers interlocked behind your back to complete the circle of his embrace. The weight of him draped across your torso is notable but comforting, like a living blanket.

He adjusts frequently, small wiggles and shifts as he seeks the perfect position—head nudging under your chin, then sliding to rest in the center of your chest. His legs tangle with yours beneath the sheets, one thigh thrown casually over yours. His hair tickles your neck and chin with each subtle movement, a constant sensory reminder of his presence.

His arms squeeze randomly in bursts of affection, momentarily tightening their hold before relaxing again. His fingers remain in constant motion against your back, tapping out rhythms only he can hear. When you breathe deeply, his head rises and falls with your chest, and he sighs contentedly at the motion.

Each time you attempt to create even the smallest space between you, he instinctively puts an end to it, pressing closer with a small noise of protest. His entire body molds against yours, claiming every available inch of contact as though trying to dissolve the boundaries between you.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The solid heat of Sylus’s chest presses firmly against your back, fitting perfectly against your spine with not even a whisper of space between you. His arms encircle your waist, one wrapped securely over your midsection while the other slides beneath you, completing the embrace. His fingers splay possessively across your stomach, occasionally tightening their hold as if confirming your presence.

His legs align with yours, the back of your thighs cradled against his in a perfect fit. When you shift, his body moves with yours as a single unit, maintaining the connection. The warmth between your bodies intensifies where you touch, creating a cocoon of heat that envelops you completely.

His breath falls in measured rhythm against the nape of your neck, stirring the fine hairs there with each exhale. The subtle press of his lips occasionally replaces the breath, lingering briefly before returning to the established pattern. His chin occasionally hooks over your shoulder, bringing his cheek alongside yours in a moment of increased closeness.

The entire position forms a protective shell around you—his larger frame curved precisely to encompass yours, his arms locked in their secure hold, his chest rising and falling against your back like a living fortress that has claimed you as its sole occupant.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Caleb positions himself facing you, his head placed slightly higher on the pillow so his chin can rest protectively atop your head. Your foreheads occasionally touch when he ducks down to catch your eye before returning to his watchful position. His legs weave between yours, calves hooking behind your ankles to close any possibility of distance.

His arms create a complete circuit around you—one curved beneath your neck and shoulders, the other wrapped securely around your waist, hands meeting in the middle of your back. The embrace envelops you entirely, his larger frame curving to accommodate yours while still maintaining his slight height advantage.

When you breathe deeply, his hold adjusts automatically, loosening and tightening in perfect response to your movements. His fingers trace idle patterns against your spine, occasionally pausing to spread wide and pull you fractionally closer, eliminating even the suggestion of space between you.

The position places your ear near his heart, its steady rhythm a constant backdrop to the rise and fall of his chest against yours. His chin occasionally rubs affectionately against your hair before settling back into place, maintaining that protective angle.

Based on this request.

[cosmictheo]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 | bob reynolds

(gif credits to @tomundsen )

—summary: it's the first time you're wearing your new suit as an official (new) avenger and bob is a little too excited about it. —pairing: bob reynolds x female!avenger!reader —word count: 7k (oops) —content: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, p in v sex, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, some porn with some plot, fingering, he talks to you through it, really passionate sex, a lot, lot of body worship, praise kink goes brrr, sub!bob, bob just loves his powerful strong girl too much. confident and self-assured bob is so dear to me.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

“H–hey, here's your milk— woah,” Bob interrupted himself when he finally lifted his gaze from the floor so he could look at you. His eyes fell on your figure, roaming up and down shamelessly, scanning in wonder-struck silence at the way you looked in the new suit. 

You were in front of your full-length mirror, analyzing with squinted eyes the way the suit that had just arrived, restyled and upgraded, looked on you. All the details you had mentioned were fixed now.

It looked good on you, you thought. It fit your body like a second skin though. But the fabric was pretty much perfect, it was comfy and flexible, it was designed to match your abilities and fighting style, without excessively exposing you.

And you still had to put on the cape, a feature Valentina had insisted on adding to the final look, that way you would impose more respect and appear more intimidating, according to her.

Bob stood frozen at the entrance of your room, in his hands he was carrying cups of milkshake he had ordered not too long ago, one of them probably meant for you.

Even though you had told him many times that you didn't like to eat or drink before a mission, he did it anyway. He cared too much about you to not to. So every time he ordered himself something, he had to order something for you as well.

“Thank you, Bob,” you offered him a kind smile nonetheless in appreciation, turning your head so that you could face him. His countenance was all flushed red and the content of the cups swirled a bit with the tremor of his hands.

“Can you help me with the cape?” you then asked, watching him as he awkwardly set the cups down on the small coffee table in the center of your bedroom before making his way towards you with swift steps, as if you were the center of gravity of the entire universe, of his universe.

He couldn't control how his eyes drifted down from your face and swept along your back, drinking in every curve, every outline of your gorgeous, perfect figure, relishing in the way the tight black fabric clung to your body like a second skin. 

Bob's gaze traced a very slow scan across your lower back, through the shape of your hips, the curve of your ass, the complex of your thighs—

“Isn't it too much?” you wondered out loud, making him flinch. Your eyes were looking at him through the reflection of the mirror as Bob stumbled to set the cape where it supposed to be, hooking it onto your shoulders very carefully, with trembling fingers. 

You could catch a glimpse through the mirror of the way his eyes were glowing under the soft yellowish light of your room, you could see your own reflection within them, melting into all the darkness of his particularly dilated pupils. The darkness in his eyes surrounded you completely.

He finished settling the cape on your back and Bob took a couple of steps back from you, permitting himself to gaze at you in awe, his mouth falling half-open.

“You're— you look nice.” He responded to you, in a stammering but entirely truthful voice, nerves racing on his tongue as he pronounced one of the many compliments that were flooding his head as he ogled you with big eyes. “L–like, really nice.”

He nodded his head in a short frenzy, approving the words from himself. Then his eyes searched yours through the reflection of the mirror and he found himself swooning as you spun around to face him, your cape twirling in the air with the effortlessly graceful motion.

You raised an eyebrow as you saw how Bob held his hands out in front of him, fingers clasped together casually. He kept an innocent visage, though his cheeks were flushed, nervous eyes dropping to the ground as he saw you walking towards him in all your glory and beauty, like a goddess stepping down from the heavens. And you didn't have to coax him into surrendering to you, he already stood in the palm of your hand, wrapped around your pretty finger.

You flustered him so much it was silly. Every step you took stirred an earthquake inside him.

He was as yours as the sun is to the moon, as darkness is to light, as craving is to love.

His heart raced as you stood in front of him, gazing at him from all your power and majesty. And Bob knew he was long gone.

“Are you okay?” you asked him in a tone that conveyed raw concern, just as much as what your eyes shared with his in their familiar, heart-warming silent intimacy.

You had your head slightly tilted and your brow just barely furrowed in worry. You looked so beautiful, so cute, that you had him speechless for a few moments.

“Y–yes, I—” Bob stuttered, jerking his head gently, dismissing any sign of worry he might spark in you. “I'll s–see you after the mission—”

Immediately after that, he rushed to grab his beloved milkshake, flashed you a lopsided smile all crooked with nervousness and stormed out of your room, almost tripping over the box full of vinyls you had yet to organize on the shelves.

Shortly before he left, Bob turned once more to look at you, with that sheepish little grin curving his lips and you noticed how he struggled to hold his cup of milkshake now low in front of him, trying to cover up the prominent bulge that had grown painfully harder the more he watched you in that suit.

And then he just disappeared.

You stood in silence, dumbfounded, staring at your door with puzzled eyes and gaping mouth. Then you glanced down at yourself, searching around for something wrong, something that looked ugly maybe, something that would cause such an outburst in Bob. 

But there was absolutely nothing wrong with you. In fact, you looked perfect. 

When you came back from the mission, the first thing you looked for in the living room once you stepped out of the elevator was Bob, naturally, eyes flicking to the couch where he usually lay down to read or gaze at the cityscape.

Yelena and Bucky were talking animatedly beside you, exchanging a single knowing glance as they both caught a glimpse of disappointment surfacing on your face, still a little sweaty from all the physical exertion the mission had taken. It had not been difficult. The guys had especially relied on your skills to accomplish it successfully.

For that, you were a bit tired, your mind and body had given up a lot to the energy of your abilities. You were still buzzing. Adrenaline was throbbing in your veins. And normally when you were like this, you reached for Bob's comfort to anchor you back to earth.

Your cape fluttered behind you as you made your way towards the hallway to the bedrooms, looking defeated.

Yelena huffed a small chuckle at you, taking a sip of water from the glass Bucky had offered her, “I can't believe that less than thirty minutes ago you were at full power, levitating off the ground, with your eyes glowing and all, and now you go crawling back to your boyfriend like this.”

You just shrugged, offering them both a small tired smile before continuing to walk towards Bob's room, needing to see him and hug him. You didn't even care that you were still wearing your suit.

You stopped in front of the door and as you were raising your hand to knock on it, it swung open with a ‘wooshh!’, revealing a very distressed looking Bob. His hair was a bit messy, he was still wearing that black shirt that looked so good on him. He had changed his pants, though, now wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, hanging dangerously low around his hips.

He looked like a hot mess. In every good sense of the term.

“You're back,” he breathed out, as if he'd been holding his breath all this time in your absence, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he gulped loudly. His eyes took a quick journey across you and widened as he noticed you were still in your suit. He pulled them back, forcefully, painfully slow back up to your face.

You looked at him strangely, realizing how you were both still standing in his doorway. “Yeah... are you okay, Bob? I feel you... closed off.”

“Yeah, it's just— I didn't want to distract you— before the mission and all that,” he explained, sounding more like a cheap excuse.

“Distract me?” You raised a single eyebrow, repeating his own word, noticing perfectly how his gaze wandered to your chest for just a split of a second, but nonetheless, you managed to catch up with it. A hint of an amused smile tugged at the corners of your lips, leaning against the threshold of his door, and he closed his eyes tightly, ducking his head in shame, knowing full well that he had been caught. Nothing could ever get past you. Not when it came to him.

“Looks like you're the distracted one here, Bob.”

“I'm not—” he stammered, his hands raised to his flushed face, “S-sorry, I don't mean to be like like a wacked out pervert— I don't want you to think less of me. It's just a s-suit.”

The last part seemed to be speaking more to himself than to you, as he grunted it under his breath, verging on a scolding.

But it wasn't just a suit.

It was you.

Your body, your naughty smile, your gaze, your lips tinted with that deadly crimson red.

A couple of beads of sweat led a wet trail down your neck. Bob could smell the saltiness oozing off your sweaty skin, mixed with that exquisite scent of your perfume. He could hear your heart pounding, the throbbing pulse in your jugular vein. Demonstrating that you were real, that you were breathing, that you were right in front of him, dressed like that.

You were devastatingly beautiful. And he was completely at your mercy.

Your hand rose to his face, making him stop his babbling with himself and lift his gaze slowly. His cheek felt warm under your palm, you didn't know if it was because he was a blushing mess or because that was the effect that your touch brought upon his skin.

“It's okay to feel desire, Bob, there's nothing wrong with that,” you reassured him, lowering your tone to a softer, more sympathetic one. “It makes me feel good that you desire me, actually.”

That got a reaction out of him, his lips quivered, hesitating whether or not to speak, until eventually, he made up his mind, “It makes you feel good?”

You nodded your head, your smile morphing to one of a little more shyness, “I thought you didn't like the way I looked in my suit. Since you just ran off without saying anything, I thought that—”

Bob interrupted you right there, shaking his head repetitively. You felt his jaw and flesh move under the palm of your hand as he spoke.

“What? No,” he blurted, huffing air as if it were the most obvious subject in the world. Regret passed over the expression of his face and he uttered your name in that adoring, soft way he did, “You look perfect. It drives me crazy, h-honestly. I haven't been able to stop t-thinking about you. You look so beautiful it makes me want to—”

He forced himself to shut up, suddenly feeling his throat constrict and his face grow even more red. One of his hands ran through his hair anxiously, looking really tense.

“You want to what?” You urged him, your breath feeling warm against his face, your thumb caressed his cheekbone, making him shiver under your touch, “Say it, Bob.”

Bob looked into your eyes again, struggling to maintain eye contact, his hands trembled at his sides, so desperate to reach out to you, to touch you, to grasp you. To hold all of you.

“Make love to you” He mumbled against your lips just before you kissed him, breathing in his air and devouring his words, covenanting them as a mutual yearning. A promise.

Bob kissed you as if you were the air his lungs depended on to breathe, his lips moving with yours like an old habit, like second nature.

“Jump,” he urged you between kisses and shaky breaths, his hands finally being set loose to reach out to touch you and hold your waist.

And you immediately complied, bouncing up and wrapping your legs around his hips. He lifted you up and held you so effortlessly. Sometimes you forgot that this man was the strongest among all of you. The strongest on the planet, most likely.

Without ever stopping kissing you, Bob locked you tightly against him with one arm while the other one stretched out towards the door, closing it behind his back once he started to walk with you in his arms over to his bed. 

Both of his hands grasped your body at the bottom of your thighs, squeezing and cupping your warm flesh through the fabric of your suit.

Promptly you felt the bulge press against the underside of your thigh, so desperate for attention, for you.

Bob broke the kiss, the noise of your mouths slipping apart from each other swept across the interior of his room, so filthy and hot. He looked at you with half-closed eyes, gaze darkened by desire and raw adoration.

He was breathless and feeling so flustered and anxious he was trembling, you could sense it as he held you close against him.

“I-I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel pressured into anything. It—” he mumbled, closing his eyes in ecstasy as he felt your fingers sinking into his hair at the back of his skull, “It just... pops up. It's inevitable when it comes to you. You drive me crazy.”

He was referring to his erection, of course. His big erection. He was ashamed of it. Bob didn't want to appear desperate —although for you, he certainly was—; someone who was unable to control himself. He was striving for control.

“Just shut up and make love to me, Bob,” you murmured, pleaded, right against his lips, your tongue grazing across his bottom lip, pulled outward, his countenance turn into a pout. “I need you inside me, now. Please, baby”

“S-shit,” he hissed a lot of cursing under his trembling breath. He was buzzing, “I-I need you too.”

Bob kissed you one more time as he laid you down on his bed very gently, careful not to trip or get tangled up in your cape.

His lips traced a path of kisses across your face, down your chin, along your neck. Your body quivered as you felt his tongue run across your skin, wiping away a bead of sweat.

Your legs were still on either side of his hips, one of his hands was running up and down the outside of your thigh and the other was supporting his own weight on the side of your body.

You arched your back for him, grinding against his crotch. Bob groaned lightly into your skin at the friction.

“You drive me crazy— you don't know what you provoke in me,” he uttered, rasping out against the skin of your neck, like an unhinged man, blinded by lust and longing. “This fucking suit— shit. You look so good, so pretty for me. I need you so bad, baby. All the time.”

Rarely did Bob call you by pet names, but every one of those occasions elicited the exact same reaction out of you. Your gaze would darken and your eyes would squint. You didn't have to tell him anything at all. Your body spoke everything to him, calling out to him in silence, in complicity.

With you, the intimacy, the complicity spoke for itself above the silence.

He knew the power he had in you. He knew exactly how to use it.

“P-please... ah—” yet he still begged you, whimpering just from friction and touch alone, pulling his head out of your neck and bringing his face closer to yours. He kissed your lips once more, just as your legs squeezed tighter around his waist, pulling him closer to you and making him pant against your mouth. “I dreamt of your legs wrapped around my waist. Just like this...”

Even Bob couldn't fully recognize himself. He was in some kind of deep lust trance, everything was blurred, except for you. Just beneath him, your beautiful body squirming, flushed against his.

To think that not so long ago you had been out there, in your nice suit, in full super-heroine mode, helping and saving people. Protecting kids from the bad guys, fighting for them.

They all probably looked up to you with adoration, everyone would most likely be jealous of him if they knew how he had you now.

None of them could ever see you like this. Only in their dreams. 

“Only in their dreams,” a voice murmured at the back of his mind.

“Bobby...” You breathed out his name, pleading for mercy, for him to do something, anything at all. One of your hands was curled around his forearm at your side, squeezing it to attract his attention. Your fingertips absentmindedly traced the veins outlined against his skin trough his arm. You could feel his throbbing pulse on them. Desperate and hepless. Craving. 

“Let me taste you, baby, please” Bob cooed, his voice coming raspy and desperate out of his throat, “I need to taste you, yeah?”

“Y-yes, yes,” your mouth moved faster than your mind, gazing at him with eyes glazed over with lust. “W-wait, I have to take off my suit first, let me—”

Bob cut you off with a sloppy little kiss, pressing his forehead affectionately against yours, his nose nuzzling yours just before he pulled away, “I-I got it.”

He patted your thigh gently and you unwrapped your legs from his waist, following him with your gaze attentively as he settled over you carefully so that his fingers reached around your neck, in search of the zipper of the suit. When he found it, he began to pull it down, looking at you with ravenous eyes, blinking so slowly that it seemed like he wasn't blinking at all.

“Turn a little and lift your hips up, baby.” He said to you once the zipper trail was almost reaching your lower back. As he unzipped the bottom of it, you took off your top to help him, leaving your bare chest on full display for him. “That's it. God...”

Bob shakily exhaled air as he became aware that you weren't wearing any underwear at all, he had to be extremely careful not to tear the zipper into a thousand tiny pieces with the force he squeezed it, pulling it further below your hips.

“You don't wear anything under it? Should I be worried about this?”

His tone of voice was so confident and borderline playful that for a moment you felt like he was someone else entirely. He really wanted to look confident for you, he wanted to provide you that security and comfort. You were stripping naked for him, for God's sake. Bob had to make an extra effort to appear confident and self-assured.

“Just for you, baby,” you assured him, shifting your legs slightly just once to help him pull the suit off completely, tugging it delicately down your thighs. The distinctive noise of the zipper, which this time was reaching your ears like the most arousing noise on the planet, ceased at last, reaching its end.

“J-just for me,” Bob echoed, leaning into you again like a magnet to a gravity core. His lips latched onto your naked thigh, kissing the side considering the position you were lying on his bed now. His wet, leisurely kisses awakened shivers on your skin. He could smell how aroused you were. He practically could taste how wet your sex was. Thinking about it made his mouth water.

“So pretty, so beautiful, my God,” he babbled, his trail of kisses reaching your lower stomach, tickling you in a way that made you sigh. Bob looked up at you for just a moment, his pupils blown out with pleasure, “How could someone like me deserve something like this?”

It all seemed more like a conversation with himself, like if he was walking through a daydream.

Your hand came to rest on his face, cupping his cheek, and he leaned against your palm instantly, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Bobby, please,” you pleaded.

And he gave in immediately, kissing the palm of your hand, “You don't have to beg me for anything. You already have it.”

His kisses trailed back down your stomach and you arched your back so beautifully for him. When he pulled away from your hand, it fell to the side of you on the bed. You clenched in a trembling fist all the fabric of whatever you could catch hold of.

“Are you— are you sure about this?” he looked up to you for consent, his fingers soothingly caressing your thighs, hands pressing them to either side of his face and settling them on his shoulders. When he saw you nodding your head, too much overcome with lust, he brushed a kiss on the inside of your knee, attempting to get your full attention back, “I need words, baby.”

You hurried to answer, babbling, gazing down at him, kneeling so pretty in between your legs as if they were the gates to heaven, “Yes, Bob, baby, please.”

He kissed your other knee now and then licked his lips, hungrily.

“I want to see you fall apart under me,” his hot breath brushed against the skin of your inner thighs, spreading your legs a little wider with a delicate but assured grip. “You're soaking wet, baby,” he marveled, in awe watching your pussy dripping with his adored honeyed water, yet his voice sounded disappointed, “you're wasting my meal.”

The mere sight of how his eyes sparkled with adoration as he gazed at your pussy could have made you cum right there if you started to think about it too much. Bob looked at you as if you were the center of the universe, the entrance to paradise, the sun he orbited around. 

It all made sense when you were there. Your presence in the room shifted the whole gravity of his being. His everything was for you. He was all made for you.

All the sense he could possibly envision now was to devour your pussy as if it were his last meal. He devoured it like a starving man, like reaching an oasis in the most arid desert, drowning and sheltering into it.

The sloshing sounds that spread with each stroke of his tongue between your wet folds made you flush all over, throwing your head back against one of his pillows and squeezing your eyes tightly shut, muttering and moaning his name out like a prayer.

To Bob, that noise was the most beautiful melody he'd ever heard. He sucked particularly hard onto your slit, pushing his tongue just barely into your gushing hole, pulling a loud, raspy moan from your throat. Oh, that noise...

His name sounded like the utmost hopeless and religious chant out of your pretty mouth. At that moment he was loving his name, loving the way you moaned it and kept murmuring it, as if it was yours, holding it close to your heart.

Amidst all the acoustic thrill of raw passion, mingled with his own soft whimpers breathing out into your core, Bob could nearly hear the stars themselves just above his red, hot ears. 

Your cunt was pulsing all around the tip of his tongue and Bob sensed, tasted your heartbeat through it. 

To feel that close to you nearly made him cum right there in his sweatpants.

One of his hands unclasped your leg, crawling up through your skin, his digits drawing a smooth path up your stomach, through your ribcage, all the way to reach your chest, cupping one of your breasts with a possessive hold.

“Bob— uhh—” you croaked out his name, glancing down at him with half-closed eyes, searching for his gaze in desperation.

Your back curved into such a perfect arch, your body squirming up against him as you felt his tongue flick your clit, his fingertips gently caressing your nipple. The stimulation would soon knock you into fucking heaven.

“Yeah, baby,” he responded to your call, disconnecting his mouth just an inch from your pussy, feeling lust-drunk enough to hold your gaze. His whole mouth was drenched with you, the slickness glistening under the dim light of his bedroom. His other hand sneaked between your legs, just barely brushing your pulsating cunt, “I'm here, hm? I got you, angel.”

Angel. That one was new.

You looked as close as he could ever imagine to an angel; sprawled on his bed, your body, magnificent, perfect, damp with sweat and arousal, your gaze searching for his in longing. There, in the shadows, Bob saw the whitish gleam of your energy flashing through your orbs, your power lingering in the air, pulsating along with your heartbeat.

You were so powerful, so strong and marvelous.

And you were all his to break apart.

“Are you going to cum for me?” He asked right before passionately kissing your pussy, his fingertips teasing your clit as he plunged his tongue deep into you, knocking all the air out of your lungs. “I got you, I got you.”

Bob felt you clench impossibly tight all around the two fingers he had thrust into your warm, fluttering hole, barely pressing against the spongy walls of your insides. He sucked your clit just right, breathing your name against your hot flesh. That's what pushed you over the edge, making you cum, falling apart so devastatingly beautiful against his mouth.

He slurped and drank in everything you had to offer him, lapping at your cunt as if he was drowning and it was the oxygen he needed to keep afloat. 

He paused to gaze at you attentively as he made you cum, your whole body buzzing, squirming so beautifully under his touch that you resembled some ethereal, otherworldly sight.

His name rasped out of your throat, as if it were your own religion.

“There you go...” Bob cooed, his eyes hazy with adoration, licking his lips clean and kissing your twitching pussy once again. “So good to me. So good...”

His lips kissed a trail upwards, swiping his tongue occasionally across the scars and freckles that decorated your skin as a constellation that appealed to him to adore. Eventually, Bob reached your face, looking down at you with pure love and a glimpse of that gentle shyness of his natural mannerism.

“A-are you okay?”

Bob watched your soul slowly crawl back to the ground and to your body, right back to him, finally snapping out of your post-orgasm trance. He propped his weight against the bed on the side of your waist with one hand, his thumb brushing against your bare skin and he brought the other to your face, caressing your cheek reassuringly. 

Your response was your mouth seeking his to join in a deep, loving kiss. Bob closed his eyes, kissing you back, his hand cradling your face.

You could taste yourself through his lips and tongue. And that managed to turn you on even more. 

Wrapped in an adrenaline surge of lust pumping through your veins, you rolled both of you over on the bed, laying him underneath you now. 

It was nice that you had much more stamina and energy than a normal human. Although there, you didn't feel like a human at all.

You were animals driven by their own instincts.

Bob gasped against your lips, his eyes barely opening so he could visualize you on top of him now, grinding your ass down on his rock-hard erection as you sat so prettily on his lap.

“Shit,” he croaked out your name, his hands grabbing as much of you as they possibly could, sliding past the curve of your waist to your ass, pressing you harder down onto him in urging. “If you keep doing that— I-I'm going to—”

You stopped all movement of your body and sat perfectly motionless on his lap. Bob whined hoarsely in protest, but you didn't let him utter a word, your finger pressed against his lips, silencing him instantly.

“I want you to cum inside me, Bob.” You purred against his ear, your tongue lazily stroking his earlobe. He froze speechless, just staring at you flabbergasted, still delighting in the way you had said those filthy words, so softly and lovingly. He strained himself to keep strong and not burst into his boxers at your words alone. “Let me take your clothes off, okay? Can I see all of you, baby?”

“Yes, p-please, just take everything of me— it's all yours” he promised you, helping you take off that black t-shirt he knew you loved to see on him so much. Exactly why he had put it on that morning.

When his naked torso was fully exposed for you, you bent down to kiss his neck, his collarbone, his pecs, your tongue spent some extra time fondling his sensitive nipples and Bob's legs twitched under your thighs.

The light in the room flickered for a split second and you just grinned against his flushed skin.

“I-I'm sorry—” he apologized with his voice lowering sheepishly, embarrassed. Then he closed his eyes when you raised your head to hush him with a kiss that was more tender than anything, reassuring him in silence.

Then your lips specifically grazed the spot where his heart was, beating maniacally on the other side of his skin.

He was so perfect, effortlessly perfect.

Bob was the most powerful man on planet Earth and yet, he was crumbling beneath you, bowing to the mercy of your touch.

You might as well just tear his chest apart and take his heart, it was already lying open for you, so full of you.

It was yours to take, to hold, to shatter.

You took your time to strip off his gray sweatpants, kissing his thighs, his knees and his calves, gently tugging at the hem of the gray fabric until you eventually slid it off his body and tossed it on the floor, forgotten alongside your scandalous suit.

Bob stared at you with a blushing, timid face as you rose again up through his body, your fingers lightly fiddling with the hem of his boxers now, fully ruined by all the pre-cum he'd been spilling. And you lifted your gaze, searching for his, silently asking for his consent.

He nodded tremblingly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

With wobbly hands he helped you take off his boxers, lifting his hips so you could slide them down his body and toss them into the pile of clothes lying on the floor as well.

His cock sprung free and you looked at it in awe.He was so big, bigger than you had ever had before. It was long too, hard, powerful and desperate for you, just like him.

It's head was furiously red, throbbing and oozing pre-cum incessantly. You found it impossible not to bend down to his groin and swipe your tongue along his slit, scooping up every essence of him and savoring it delightfully. Your tongue lolled along the prominent vein that bulged all along his shaft.

Bob's eyes rolled back and in a blur of bliss, he had to struggle to guide a hand to your head, fingers brushing across your cheek to get your attention. You looked up at him with big, lustful eyes, swallowing everything you had slurped out of him. The taste was bittersweet, hot, familiar, like him.

“No— don't do— don't do that, p-please,” he begged for your mercy in a raspy, cracked, breathless voice. “Come here.”

His hand gripped yours as you took it and carefully, but hurriedly helped you to position yourself on top of him once again, his digits latched onto you your waist, holding you as you squatted just above his lap, straddling him.

You grabbed his cock and held it up against your pussy, the swollen tip slowly sliding in between your wet folds, pushing achingly slow through your entrance.

Both of you sighed at the contact. Wet, hot, shaky and desperate.

Slowly you began to sink down on his cock, hands pressed on his shoulders, clenching them more and more with every inch he pushed inside you. 

Bob whimpered shudderingly, choking back the deep, heavy moan that crawled up his throat. He could feel his whole body shivering, squinting his eyes as he leaned his sweaty forehead against your shoulder, struggling to steady his breathing. It was like his soul was slipping out of his body and merging with yours.

No one had ever been so close to his soul. And he didn't think anyone else would, either. No one did it like you. 

His veiny hands at your waist gripped your flesh, yet they never pressed you hard enough to push you lower any faster, no, he would wait for you so patiently, giving you the pause to accustom yourself to his size.

“You do it so— so good.” Bob praised hoarsely into your shoulder, his wet lips grazing across your skin, drooling all over you, “you take it so good, you take me so good. There's n-no one like you— no one.”

Heavenly, him pressing against you, his lips laying softly upon your neck, marking you on the outside and inside, his mouth felt like heaven, his kisses falling upon you like stars, shaping a constellation of raw adoration. 

Your pussy fluttered around him, squishing him deeper inside. 

One of his hands wandered down to your back, fingers tracing your spine reassuringly. He just took the time to reassure you amidst all the blissful trance of pleasure you made him feel.

“Just a little more, baby,” he murmured, his hand caressing your ass appreciatively. Your warm, spongy walls clamped down tight around his cock and Bob's voice cracked. “Oh— S-shit—”

You moaned so loudly against his forehead that your whole spine seemed to twitch, finally feeling your ass pressed down on his lap. He was so deep that you easily thought his tip was almost reaching all into your guts now. 

“You're so deep, Bob” You whined, just barely pulling away from him so you could look at him. His eyes were already locked on yours and you caught a glimpse of that golden sparkle flashing through them, his irises glowing like two suns in the twilight. “Bobby—”

Your words struck him to the core and his eyes flashed golden once again, utterly starting to lose control. 

“I'm here,” he hissed, panting your name breathlessly, his hands caressed your skin, scoring his imprint on it. He kissed you sloppily, “I got you, I always got you.”

As you began to move on top of him, Bob suddenly felt like he was in heaven. He could no longer envision a life where he didn't feel this way, where he didn't feel you. He shall be yours in every life.

He dropped back on the bed as your hand pushed against his chest, bending down with him and bouncing your hips so lusciously against his that you actually could see his eyes filling with tears, looking up at you riding him in pure adoration. 

Bob whimpered your name endlessly, crying it out in a hoarse, broken voice, his hands squeezed your waist, your hips, your ass, anything they could possibly grope out of you.

“My God—” his eyes rolled back, arching his back as you delivered a particularly hard bounce down his cock, so deep that he saw the stars twinkle in the darkness right behind you. 

The constant filthy noise of flesh slapping against flesh soon merged with the pornographic acoustic medley of moans, shattered sighs, slurred whispers of names and nonsense words.

You kissed his lips lazily, then his nose, and his chin as you cooed, “You feel so good, baby.”

The bed was beginning to creak beneath the ruthless sway of your hips, ass bouncing up and down heavy against his thighs, so deep that every time you bottomed out you felt him in your throat. His heavy balls were pressed hard against your ass, throbbing, so ready to give you everything they had, to fill you up to the brim, as if it were his sole purpose in life. 

“You're perfect— perfect,” he croaked out so pathetically to you, thrusting his hips up to meet yours, plunging into you as if you were his nest, engulfing himself within your soft, warm, spongy walls, pressing against that squishy spot that knocked the breath right out of you.

He kissed your lips once more and in a fragment of a second Bob flipped you over on the bed, rutting into you so good that it made you gasp between kisses. 

Bob began to set the pace just as your legs wrapped around his hips, pressing him impossibly close to you.

“Right there?” he whispered, burying his head down on your chest, nuzzling your sternum. “You feel perfect— so tight, my God—”

He kept on praising you endlessly, kissing you, grasping you, breathing in the air you breathed out, sharing the same oxygen, the same time-space that existed between you, that little inches that belonged to both of you and no one else.

“You feel like heaven.”

That was enough for him to have you cumming again, in some way even more earth-shattering than the last orgasm. Your body started to wobble, your pussy squelching and clenching so tightly wrapped around his cock. 

The light voltage in the room lowered and raised, matching the racing beat of your heart.

Bob sensed the energy sparking off your body and blending with his own, merging and intertwining as one. 

After feeling that, after feeling you so close, so inhumanly close, beyond the physical plane, beyond anything he had ever felt in his life —it was euphoric, overwhelming—; he was cumming too, picking up the pace to reach the apex of his high. 

He buried himself in you to the hilt, sobbing out a ragged whimper as he leaned his forehead against yours. 

The atmosphere shifted and the light in the room flickered once again.

His load felt hot and thick inside you, coloring your insides with his color, spurting what resembled an ocean of him inside your womb. His hips jerked, his cock shooting out ropes and ropes of hot seed, marking you from the inside.

Bob remained motionless on top of you, panting up against your face, keeping his eyes closed, buried to the fucking hilt inside your overwhelmingly stuffed pussy, making sure nothing could spill out.  

And even though his body was drained and succumbing to post-orgasm limpness, he was careful not to collapse his full weight on you, supporting his hands on either side of your shoulders. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him close to you, hands soothingly caressing his back. He sighed against your lips, slowly opening his eyes.

Until then you hadn't realized that the room was completely dark now. 

“I think we just blew out the voltage of the room.” You uttered after a comfortable silence, your throat felt scratchy and though you were still in the haze of the afterglow, your voice came out rather playful.

Bob glanced lazily away from you, finally noticing that there was, in fact, no light. He was grateful for that in a way, that way you couldn't see the blushing, tear-stained mess that was his face, snuggling it against your chest. 

“I'm s-sorry,” he stammered in his own raspy voice as well, embarrassed, as if he wasn't balls deep inside you, his seed gushing out of your pussy. “I think— I think it was me.”

“I think it was both of us.” You smiled lovesickly as you kissed his sweaty forehead, fingers tracing his shoulder blades. “Don't worry, we'll fix it. Just give me a few minutes.”

Bob placed a couple of kisses on your chest before he began to reluctantly push himself up, carefully pulling out of you. You both sighed lightly at the over-stimulation and the loss of connection. Although, even when he had already slipped his cock off you, you could still feel him inside, leaking out of your gaping pussy, trickling down your thighs.

Bob rushed off in search of a washcloth, stumbling over the pile of clothes you had tossed on the floor. The sound of his feet walking clumsily back to you made you grin.

Then he swiped the cloth in between your legs, very delicately, wiping you clean. The contact made you shiver from the sensibility.

And even through the shadows of the darkness, you could see him frown slightly, very much focused on taking care of you, sensing how the fabric of the cloth felt uncomfortable against your sensitive skin, “I'm sorry.”

“You apologize too much, baby” you tried to reassure him, already in need of him close to you again. “Come here.”

Bob instantly flopped down on the bed next to you, careful not to crush you, but with your arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him tight against you it was complicated.

In between hugs and caresses, he ended up being the little spoon, happy to be able to feel your chest pressing against his back, arms embracing his torso.

“Did I— I do okay?” he asked after a brief silence, anxious.

“You were perfect.” You assured him, tenderly kissing his shoulder.

“You too” Bob whispered back, grabbing one of your hands on his chest and bringing it to his mouth, planting soft kisses on your knuckles. The words raced up his throat even before he could think, “I love you.”

He let the words carry up into the silence of the darkness and held his breath, already considering that he had ruined everything.

“I love you too, Bob.”

If it hadn't been for you holding him, his limbs tangled with yours, and because well, you were there, Bob had jumped out of his bed in joy.

But, because you were there, he stayed still, perfectly still, and smiled, utterly in love, savoring the way you had said the three words to him.

You were closing your eyes, drifting off in exhaustion when, through your super-hearing you heard steps approaching through the hallway, of more than a pair of feet, mixing with the voices of your teammates.

“What could have happened?” You heard Ava's voice ask, her tone hovering somewhere between worried and annoyed.

Yelena sighed. “I don't know. Some power failure?”

“A power failure in the whole city?” John remarked, as snarky as usual.

Your eyes opened wide and Bob halted his cute kisses on your hand, turning his head so he could look at you like a deer dazzled by lights.

[monstersholygrail]

Yandere!Work Colleague

Male Yandere x Fem!Reader ||

Your colleague forms a new crush on you once you tell him you like his special coffee and now he won’t stop giving you more. He’ll give you everything

Yandere!Work Colleague tries to act normal but is way too shy to ask out his office crush. He’s seen them around the office, always looking so confident. But he can never get up the nerve to talk to them, ask them out. Even when working on a project with them, the most he’ll say is, “Here’s y-your tea— your coffee, I mean!” And hand it to them before scurrying off. Of course making sure to put his ‘special cream’ into the drink beforehand.

But only now as he heads back to the tray of drinks, his brows furrow, not seeing your drink in the tray. He swore he had just moved it a second ago. His face drops as he realizes there must’ve been a mix-up. He whirls around only to watch in horror as you drink the coffee with his personal ingredient in it.

He swears he’s not breathing as you take a few long gulps. He hopes to every God there is that you won’t notice anything off about it. Sweat dots at his brow as you place the coffee down and lick your lips in a way that curiously has his cock twitching.

“Hmm. This is better than usual, thanks,” you comment, so casually, as if you hadn’t just turned his entire world upside down.

Everything was different now, he saw everything in a new and shiny bright light. And all those lights always came back to you. His whole world now revolving around you. The way you talked to him so effortlessly, smiled at him, acknowledged him. He’d never experienced anything like it before. Not from his old office crush or anyone. You were… special.

Since that day he’s been chasing after you like a dog with a bone. Always offering to carry your stacks of paperwork from meetings to your desk. He makes sure to linger so that everyone in the office will gossip and wonder if you two are together. If he’s asked he’ll say yes, if only to live in the possibility that one day you will be.

He does everything he can for you during group assignments. Getting done work you might’ve not gotten too. You were tired and you needed your sleep. And he just so happened to glance at your computer as you were signing in one day. So signing in himself to get some work done for you was simply just a kind thing to do from one colleague to another. Of course he’d never do it for anyone else besides you. No matter how much his coworkers complained about all he does for you around the office.

Most of all though, he still always makes sure to bring you your morning coffee every day. The way your face lights up at the sight of him with the cup, your smiles and happiness just for him. No one else would dare, they know by now you’re basically his. Besides… no one else can make it like him. You’ve said so yourself.

He makes sure every morning to prepare his special ingredient with extra care. Images of you flashing across his mind as he slowly pumps his cock. Imagining how you’d look all pretty and split open on his length. How you’d call out his name and ask why he didn’t do this sooner. Squeezing his cock and pretending it’s you milking him for all your worth.

When he finally cums straight into your coffee he fantasizes it’s his thick ropes of cum shooting straight into your womb. A low raspy groan rips from his throat, his hips jerking as he just keeps coming to the thought of you. The coffee is nearly overflowing by the time he’s done.

He knows you’ll be grateful for the extra bit of drink, your lips pulled into a bright smile. He wonders how bright it would look wrapped around his length and he shudders as he hands it to you.

If he didn’t have to get to his desk, he’d watch you drink every last drop of it. Relishing in the fact that for now, at least, he’s inside of you in one way. Knowing soon he’ll be inside you in every way humanly possible.

But for now he’s content to simply bring you your coffee every morning and anything else you need handled. He’ll gladly take care of you in any way possible. Someday he’ll take care of you in every way. And nobody will be able to stop him.

[lynxgriffin]

Mightier Than The Sword

Gerson had one regret, but now Alvin has many. A fancomic about my thoughts and theories and who -and what- the Knight is!

While not directly connected, I'd say this one is in the same vein as the Deal With The Devil series! Hope you enjoy!

Alt text for this comic under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide shot of the interior of the Boom household. Several monsters are gathered in a clean-looking hall, dressed in somber clothing and talking quietly in small groups. The monsters include QC, Cat Mom, Toriel, Asgore and Mayor Holiday. Father Alvin stands waiting at a door in the hall as his sister, a red-headed turtle monster in a pink dress, exits through the door and speaks to him. “Alvin…he’s ready for you.”

Panel 2 - Mid shot as Alvin prepares to enter the room. Ms. Boom steps out of the way, and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Both of them look somber. 

Panel 3 - Alvin enters the room, mostly dark and lit by a few candles on a nearby desk. Gerson Boom is lying on a bed ahead of him, watching him enter. Alvin closes the door behind him and says, “Father, I’m here.”

Panel 4 - Alvin approaches his father, lying in bed. The bedroom has a few amenities, including a footstool set off to the side, a large rug bearing the delta rune, and a massive bookcase filling the entire back wall. A few books and papers litter the ground. Alvin bows his head, and says, “The hammer is ready for…for afterwards.”

Gerson just smiles, and responds, “Wa ha, is it? Well, it’ll do fine, I suppose.”

Panel 5 - Closer shot of Gerson extending his right hand towards Alvin. He’s smiling still, content with where he is. “Come here, son.”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin takes his father’s hand in his own, and clasps it tight. “Whatever you need…I’m here,” he says from offscreen.

Panel 2 - Alvin kneels by his father’s bedside, still clasping his hands. Gerson says, “Of course you are. Wa ha…you’re such a good and kind man, Alvin.”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Alvin as he just holds on to his father’s hand. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Panel 4 - Focus on Gerson as he holds up a hand to conspiratorially whisper to Alvin. “And I know I can trust you with a secret, right?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Alvin as he looks back up, face earnest. “...Of course.”

Panel 6 - Gerson holds up one finger as he speaks to Alvin. “I told your sister I had no regrets, but that was a BIT of a fib! I’m afraid I have one regret…”

Panel 7 - Side view of Alvin as he learns closer, his face now worried. “Father?...”

Page 3

Panel 1 - Focus on Gerson as he leans back on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “I wish I had started earlier. Writing stories, I mean. Seein’ you an’ your sister’s eyes light up whenever I read you a new chapter…and then seeing all that joy from so many young folks after those stories were published!” he says, looking wistful.

Panel 2 - Alvin watches on sadly as Gerson continues, “It was the greatest feeling in the world, Alvin. It’s what life’s all about, y’know. Helping the young folks grow.”

Panel 3 - Gerson closes his eyes and looks back towards the ceiling again, still wistful. “So, I wish I’d started writing stories sooner.”

Panel 4 - Closeup on Alvin as he bows his head, still holding Gerson’s hand. “I truly do cherish those times you read to us, father…” he says.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Gerson as he closes his mind with happy memories. “Me too, Alvin. It’s a shame…I’ve still got so many tales to tell! But–”

Panel 6 - Gerson is interrupted by a round of hacking coughs. His time is fast approaching.

Panel 7 - Gerson settles back in to his bed and says, “The Angel’s given me SO many good, happy years. Doesn’t seem fair to ask for more.”

Panel 8 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to hold his father’s hand tight. “This doesn’t seem fair, either…” he says, tears still pricking at his eyes.

Page 4

Panel 1 -  Insert closeup of Gerson as he smiles at his son. “That’s life, Alvin!” He doesn’t seem bothered by his imminent passing.

Panel 2 - Side view as Gerson leans in closer to Alvin again, hand raised, back to sharing his secrets. “But, knowin’ my secret…there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

Alvin faces his father with seriousness. “Anything,” he replies.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Gerson, as he looks hopefully at Alvin. “You have a good heart, Alvin. I want you to know this joy, too.”

Panel 4 - Gerson continues in the next panel: “Please try writin’ stories of your own, alright?” Closeup on Alvin as he looks shocked and a bit worried by the request.

Panel 5 - Mid shot as Alvin holds up a hand to Gerson in protest. He says, “Father, I…I have no talent for writing fiction. Not like YOU.”

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson as he refutes his son: “Hogwash! I know you can.”

Panel 7 - Wide shot as Alvin stands up, and looks around the room. “No, I…”

In the foreground, there’s Gerson’s desk, currently showing some lit candles, some paper, an inkwell, a notebook, and his favorite fountain pen.

Page 5

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin grabs two objects off of the desk: the small notebook and the fountain pen. Offscreen, he says, “If you just…”

Panel 2 - Back at Gerson’s bedside, Alvin pulls up the footstool and puts the pen and notebook in front of him, intending to use it. He faces his father, and says, “Tell me your ideas, I could write them down, and–”

Gerson interrupts him: “‘Fraid it doesn’t work that way, Alvin!”

Panel 3 - Gerson holds up both of his hands and smiles as he explains: “My tales are between my soul and the pen. You’ll need to make your own.”

Panel 4 - Gerson watches as Alvin, tears in his eyes, looks down at the notebook and pen in hand. “I–I cannot…” Alvin starts, looking despondent.

Panel 5 - Side view of Alvin as tears continue to stream from his eyes. He says, “Not without you!” In the background, in grayscale, there is a scene from Alvin’s memory: Gerson reading a book to his two children by the fire. Gerson looks happy, and both kids are enraptured, with Alvin clinging to a cat doll that looks like Seam.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson, his face now more worried and pleading towards Alvin. Gerson says, “Y-you can… It’s all I ask…”

Panel 7 - Gerson turns away as he’s again interrupted by a round of terrible sounding coughs. Alvin stands holding the notebook and pen in the foreground.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Horror comes over Alvin’s face as his father continues to cough loudly, clutching his chest. He realizes that his father might be close to death now.

Panel 2 - Wider overhead shot as Alvin turns away from Gerson, looking frantically around the room. “No! Not yet!--” he says desperately. Gerson is still racked with coughs.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin grabs the candles from the desk–

Panel 4 - And then pulls a book from the bookshelf, with the delta rune on the front –

Panel 5 - And then finally pulls out what appears to be a beaded rosary, with the delta rune made of beads at the end of it.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Alvin places the objects in front of him, candles to the side, holy book in front of him. Gerson can only lay there as he does so, trying to catch his breath.

Panel 7 - Front view of Alvin as he clasps his hands together in front of his face, the rosary threaded between his fingers. He closes his eyes and bows his head in prayer. “Angel…Angel above! Please, heed your servant’s prayer!”

Page 7

Panel 1 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to pray, the candles glowing around him. He keeps his eyes shut even as tears well in them. “I know you call back my father’s soul, but please! Please refrain!”

Panel 2 - Gerson desperately reaches a hand out towards his son, shaking, but unable to reach him. In the foreground, the fountain pen sits on the footstool between them. “A-Alvin…” Gerson’s voice is shaky now.

Panel 3 - Aerial shot as Alvin prays over the book, and Gerson is still confined to the bed, only able to watch. “This world still NEEDS his gifts!” Alvin says. “I pray to you, don’t take them from us now!” The shadows around Alvin start to grow strange, not matching the candlelight.

Panel 4 - Gerson continues to hold out a hand, now not looking well. “No…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on the candles as they spark to life, now glowing stronger.

Panel 6 - A strange bright glow begins to emanate from Gerson. Behind him, the books in the bookcase all rattle and shift as if in a localized earthquake. The colors of the room grow brighter and stranger.

Panel 7 - Still reaching out a desperate hand, Gerson lets out a soft breath. His soul, an upside-down white heart, comes up from his body. On the footstool in the foreground, the fountain pen also begins to levitate, as if by magic.

Page 8

Panel 1 - Front shot of Alvin as he continues to pray desperately, his head bowed and hands together. “Grant us the love shown between his soul and the pen!” Behind him, the colors have grown stark and bright, and a shadow resembling the angel looms behind Alvin.

Panel 2 - Alvin looks up to discover something amazing and terrible: Gerson’s soul has been drawn to the fountain pen, and begins to flow down into it.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Gerson’s soul is completely absorbed into the pen, hovering high over the bed.

Panel 4 - The candles turn strange blue and pink colors, and the books in the bookcase shake and rattle relentlessly.

Panel 5 - Extreme closeup on Alvin’s eyes as he sees this miracle; the light of his father’s soul reflected in his eyes.

Panel 6 - Closeup as the pen suddenly drops, and clatters back on to the footstool.

Panel 7 - Wide aerial shot as the room very suddenly goes completely dark and silent, the bright colors and lights now gone. Alvin stands up and backs away from the bed, still clutching the rosary, his face filled with horror. Gerson now lies unmoving in his bed, having passed away.

Page 9

Panel 1 - The same shot as the first panel of the first page, with the other monsters waiting in the hallway. No one says anything as Alvin emerges from the bedroom, leaning on the door for support, his head bowed. Everyone in the room knows that Gerson has just passed, although they don’t know the rest.

Panel 2 - An establishing shot of the forest and mountains surrounding Hometown…the skies are a dark, gloomy gray.

Panel 3 - Above shot of Gerson’s newly dug grave. At the bottom of a small pit lies Gerson’s hammer, covered in his dust. Politics Bear stands over the grave, holding a shovel. 

Panel 4 - Closeup as the shovel begins to dump dirt over the fresh grave.

Panel 5 - Another closeup of Gerson’s headstone, with bundles of fresh funerary flowers laid in front of it.

Panel 6 - Wide shot of Gerson’s funeral. Alvin stands over his father’s grave, reading last rites from one of his books. Lots of monsters are in attendance, including Alphys and Undyne, Napstablook, the Holiday and Dreemurr families, and more. A very young Kris, Noelle and Asriel are present, but Dess is not. Everyone is dressed in dark mourning attire.

Panel 7 - After the funeral, Toriel approaches Alvin and puts a hand on his shoulder. She says, “Beautifully said, Alvin. I know your father is watching proudly by the side of the Angel.” Alvin looks distant and mournful.

Panel 8 - A closeup of the fountain pen laying forgotten on the desk in Gerson’s room. Gerson is, perhaps, not actually with the Angel right now.

Panel 9 - Back at the funeral, Alvin bows his head, eyes closed. “You are too kind, Toriel,” he says.

Page 10

Panels 1-3 - We see the seasons pass through the changing of the trees…from the barren white trees of winter, to colorful pink blooms for spring, to the bright oranges and reds of fall.

Panel 4 - Sometime much later, Alvin again enters his father’s old room, alone.

Panel 5 - Much of Gerson’s room has remained untouched. The fountain pen still sits on his old writing desk in the foreground. Alvin steps inside, and carefully turns on the overhead light. “It’s been years,” he says.

Panel 6 - Alvin cautiously approaches the pen, which seems to loom large ahead of him. He hesitantly picks it up.

Panel 7 - Alvin places some blank pages on the writing desk. “Surely…”

Panel 8 - Alvin sits in front of the blank pages, still holding the pen cautiously. “Surely by now, I can do it.” He’s going to try writing.

Panel 9 - Closeup as Alvin dips the pen in the inkwell, and it comes away full of ink.

Panel 10 - Closeup as Alvin holds the pen over the blank page. The pen trembles slightly in his grip.

Panel 11 - Alvin tries to put pen to paper, but he’s still trembling. He looks down with great anxiety. “I…I…”

Panel 12 - Closeup on Alvin’s face as he looks more panicked, shaking and sweating. In the background, his memory of his father’s soul being absorbed into the pen plays back at him. This is still his fault.

Panel 13 - Closeup again as Alvin’s hand shakes uncontrollably, and the pen with it. Ink spots begin to dapple the blank page–

Page 11

Panel 1 - Alvin’s shaking hand accidentally knocks over the inkwell, and it spills black ink all over the blank page.

Panel 2 - Alvin picks up the ruined paper and folds it in half to try and stem the ink spillage. He quietly curses to himself. 

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin holds his head in his hand. It’s clear that this isn’t going to work. “I can’t…” 

Panel 4 - Closeup as Alvin puts the ink-stained paper back on the desk, and quickly grabs up the pen and inkwell.

Panel 5 - Taking the pen and inkwell, Alvin exits his father’s room again, head bowed and expression sad.

Panel 6 - Left behind, the folded paper slowly peels apart and unfolds…

Panel 7 - To reveal that the spilled ink has created a rorschach ink blot image of a titan. 

Page 12

Panel 1 - Wide shot as Alvin trudges down the streets of Hometown, alone. His head his bowed, and he’s still clutching the articles he took with him. It’s almost nighttime, and the sky is dark. “I cannot bear this kind of burden,” he says to himself.

Panel 2 - Shot from behind Alvin as he approaches the school building. It’s dark, and no students or teachers should be there. “Maybe you belong where you always have…”

Panel 3 - Now indoors, Alvin continues down the empty hallway towards a particular destination. “With the youth.”

Panel 4 - Alvin opens the door to the storage closet at the end of the hall. It opens with a soft creak. “Teaching. Telling stories,” Alvin continues to say to himself.

Panel 5 - Alvin places the fountain pen and inkwell on a small shelf in the storage closet. The closet is almost completely black. 

Panel 6 - The inkwell and pen are left on the shelf as Alvin closes the door behind him. His expression is mournful as he locks these reminders of his father away. “Inspiring someone better suited,” he says, hoping this is a suitable escape of his responsibility.

Page 13

Panel 1 - But in the storage closet, the objects are subject to something else already there: the grand Dark Fountain. The pen, ink and papers all fall into the darkness of the fountain–

Panel 2 - And start to change, the pen seemingly turning into liquid itself–

Panel 3 - As the pen falls deeper and deeper into the dark, the liquid begins to reshape into something new, something resembling a person–

Panel 4 - Until it lands on empty ground, now a person in knight’s armor, knelt over and holding his head in his hands.

Panel 5 - The Knight comes to, and starts to become more aware. He’s dressed in armor resembling the dark metallic sheen of the fountain pen, his mask resembling the pen tip. A bright deep red cape flows from his shoulders, and a single red-orange feather tops the helmet. “Where…am I?”

Panel 6 - The Knight again touches his helmet with both hands, as if not sure exactly what he is.

Panel 7 - Interior shot of the helmet, which reveals a figure much like Gerson…but much younger, more idealized-looking, with colors not matching his actual self. A Dark World interpretation. “WHY am I…?”

Panel 8 - A closeup of the Knight’s hand, slightly trembling.

Panel 9 - The Knight stares down at his own hands as realization begins to flood him, or at least something that looks like realization. “Wait. I see why. I KNOW.” he says.

 Page 14

Panel 1 - The Knight holds up his hand, and a sword appears in it in a flash of lights. The sword resembles the tip of a fountain pen, almost split neatly in two. “I serve the Lightners! That is my purpose!” Says the Knight. 

Panel 2 - The Knight draws the sword back with great fervor and determination. His thoughts echo around him in strong letters: “A purpose so bright, so clear…”

Panel 3 - In the final panel, the Knight drives the sword into the ground, causing an eruption of black ink-like material to spew from the ground…the creation of a new Dark Fountain. In the fountain itself, words reflect his purpose: “I EXIST TO GIVE THEM STORIES FOREVER.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tesla accused of hacking odometers to weasel out of warranty repairs

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND on May 2, and in WELLINGTON on May 3. More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

A lawsuit filed in February accuses Tesla of remotely altering odometer values on failure-prone cars, in a bid to push these lemons beyond the 50,000 mile warranty limit:

https://www.thestreet.com/automotive/tesla-accused-of-using-sneaky-tactic-to-dodge-car-repairs

The suit was filed by a California driver who bought a used Tesla with 36,772 miles on it. The car's suspension kept failing, necessitating multiple servicings, and that was when the plaintiff noticed that the odometer readings for his identical daily drive were going up by ever-larger increments. This wasn't exactly subtle: he was driving 20 miles per day, but the odometer was clocking 72.35 miles/day. Still, how many of us monitor our daily odometer readings?

In short order, his car's odometer had rolled over the 50k mark and Tesla informed him that they would no longer perform warranty service on his lemon. Right after this happened, the new mileage clocked by his odometer returned to normal. This isn't the only Tesla owner who's noticed this behavior: Tesla subreddits are full of similar complaints:

https://www.reddit.com/r/RealTesla/comments/1ca92nk/is_tesla_inflating_odometer_to_show_more_range/

This isn't Tesla's first dieselgate scandal. In the summer of 2023, the company was caught lying to drivers about its cars' range:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Drivers noticed that they were getting far fewer miles out of their batteries than Tesla had advertised. Naturally, they contacted the company for service on their faulty cars. Tesla then set up an entire fake service operation in Nevada that these calls would be diverted to, called the "diversion team." Drivers with range complaints were put through to the "diverters" who would claim to run "remote diagnostics" on their cars and then assure them the cars were fine. They even installed a special xylophone in the diversion team office that diverters would ring every time they successfully deceived a driver.

These customers were then put in an invisible Tesla service jail. Their Tesla apps were silently altered so that they could no longer book service for their cars for any reason – instead, they'd have to leave a message and wait several days for a callback. The diversion center racked up 2,000 calls/week and diverters were under strict instructions to keep calls under five minutes. Eventually, these diverters were told that they should stop actually performing remote diagnostics on the cars of callers – instead, they'd just pretend to have run the diagnostics and claim no problems were found (so if your car had a potentially dangerous fault, they would falsely claim that it was safe to drive).

Most modern cars have some kind of internet connection, but Tesla goes much further. By design, its cars receive "over-the-air" updates, including updates that are adverse to drivers' interests. For example, if you stop paying the monthly subscription fee that entitles you to use your battery's whole charge, Tesla will send a wireless internet command to your car to restrict your driving to only half of your battery's charge.

This means that your Tesla is designed to follow instructions that you don't want it to follow, and, by design, those instructions can fundamentally alter your car's operating characteristics. For example, if you miss a payment on your Tesla, it can lock its doors and immobilize itself, then, when the repo man arrives, it will honk its horn, flash its lights, back out of its parking spot, and unlock itself so that it can be driven away:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

Some of the ways that your Tesla can be wirelessly downgraded (like disabling your battery) are disclosed at the time of purchase. Others (like locking you out and summoning a repo man) are secret. But whether disclosed or secret, both kinds of downgrade depend on the genuinely bizarre idea that a computer that you own, that is in your possession, can be relied upon to follow orders from the internet even when you don't want it to. This is weird enough when we're talking about a set-top box that won't let you record a TV show – but when we're talking about a computer that you put your body into and race down the road at 80mph inside of, it's frankly terrifying.

Obviously, most people would prefer to have the final say over how their computers work. I mean, maybe you trust the manufacturer's instructions and give your computer blanket permission to obey them, but if the manufacturer (or a hacker pretending to be the manufacturer, or a government who is issuing orders to the manufacturer) starts to do things that are harmful to you (or just piss you off), you want to be able to say to your computer, "OK, from now on, you take orders from me, not them."

In a state of nature, this is how computers work. To make a computer ignore its owner in favor of internet randos, the manufacturer has to build in a bunch of software countermeasures to stop you from reconfiguring or installing software of your choosing on it. And sure, that software might be able to withstand the attempts of normies like you and me to bypass it, but given that we'd all rather have the final say over how our computers work, someone is gonna figure out how to get around that software. I mean, show me a 10-foot fence and I'll show you an 11-foot ladder, right?

To stop that from happening, Congress passed the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act. Despite the word "copyright" appearing in the name of the law, it's not really about defending copyright, it's about defending business models. Under Section 1201 of the DMCA, helping someone bypass a software lock is a felony punishable by a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine (for a first offense). That's true whether or not any copyright infringement takes place.

So if you want to modify your Tesla – say, to prevent the company from cheating your odometer – you have to get around a software lock, and that's a felony. Indeed, if any manufacturer puts a software lock on its product, then any changes that require disabling or bypassing that lock become illegal. That's why you can't just buy reliable third-party printer ink – reverse-engineering the "is this an original HP ink cartridge?" program is a literal crime, even though using non-HP ink in your printer is absolutely not a copyright violation. Jay Freeman calls this effect "felony contempt of business model."

Thus we arrive at this juncture, where every time you use a product or device or service, it might behave in a way that is totally unlike the last time you used it. This is true whether you own, lease or merely interact with a product. The changes can be obvious, or they can be subtle to the point of invisibility. And while manufacturers can confine their "updates" to things that make the product better (for example, patching security vulnerabilities), there's nothing to stop them from using this uninspectable, non-countermandable veto over your devices' functionality to do things that harm you – like fucking with your odometer.

Or, you know, bricking your car. The defunct EV maker Fisker – who boasted that it made "software-based cars" – went bankrupt last year and bricked the entire fleet of unsold cars:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/10/software-based-car/#based

I call this ability to modify the underlying functionality of a product or service for every user, every time they use it, "twiddling," and it's a major contributor to enshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

Enshittification's observable symptoms follow a predictable pattern: first, a company makes things good for its users, while finding ways to lock them in. Then, once it knows the users can't easily leave, the company makes things worse for end-users in order to deliver value to business customers. Once these businesses are locked in, the company siphons value away from them, too, until the product or service is a pile of shit, that we still can't leave:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/26/ursula-franklin/#franklinite

Twiddling is key to enshittification: it's the method by which value is shifted from end-users to business customers, and from business customers to the platform. Twiddling is the "switch" in enshittification's series of minute, continuous bait-and-switches. The fact that DMCA 1201 makes it a crime to investigate systems with digital locks makes the modern computerized device a twiddler's playground. Sure, a driver might claim that their odometer is showing bad readings, but they can't dump their car's software and identify the code that is changing the odometer.

This is what I mean by "demon-haunted computers": a computer is "demon-haunted" if it is designed to detect when it is under scrutiny, and, when it senses a hostile observer, it changes its behavior to the innocuous, publicly claimed factory defaults:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/18/descartes-delenda-est/#self-destruct-sequence-initiated

But as soon as the observer goes away, the computer returns to its nefarious ways. This is exactly what happened with Dieselgate, when VW used software that detected the test-suite run by government emissions inspectors, and changed the engine's characteristics when it was under their observation. But once the car was back on the road, it once again began emitting toxic gas at levels that killed killed dozens of people and sickened thousands more:

https://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/29/upshot/how-many-deaths-did-volkswagens-deception-cause-in-us.html

Cars are among the most demon-haunted products we use on a daily basis. They are designed from the chassis up to do things that are harmful to their owners, from stealing our location data so it can be sold to data-brokers, to immobilizing themselves if you miss a payment, to downgrading themselves if you stop paying for a "subscription," to ratting out your driving habits to your insurer:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

These are the "legitimate" ways that cars are computers that ignore their owners' orders in favor of instructions they get from the internet. But once a manufacturer arrogates that power to itself, it is confronted with a tempting smorgasbord of enshittificatory gambits to defraud you, control you, and gaslight you. Now, perhaps you could wield this power wisely, because you are in possession of the normal human ration of moral consideration for others, to say nothing of a sense of shame and a sense of honor.

But while corporations are (legally) people, they are decidedly not human. They are artificial lifeforms, "intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic" (as HG Wells said of the marauding aliens in War of the Worlds):

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/14/timmy-share/#a-superior-moral-justification-for-selfishness

These alien invaders are busily xenoforming the planet, rendering it unfit for human habitation. Laws that ban reverse-engineering are a devastating weapon that corporations get to use in their bid to subjugate and devour the human race.

The US isn't the only country with a law like Section 1201 of the DMCA. Over the past 25 years, the US Trade Representative has arm-twisted nearly every country in the world into passing laws that are nearly identical to America's own disastrous DMCA. Why did countries agree to pass these laws? Well, because they had to, or the US would impose tariffs on them:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/03/friedmanite/#oil-crisis-two-point-oh

The Trump tariffs change everything, including this thing. There is no reason for America's (former) trading partners to continue to enforce the laws it passed to protect Big Tech's right to twiddle their citizens. That goes double for Tesla: rather than merely complaining about Musk's Nazi salutes, countries targeted by the regime he serves could retaliate against him, in a devastating fashion. By abolishing their anticircuvmention laws, countries around the world would legalize jailbreaking Teslas, allowing mechanics to unlock all the subscription features and software upgrades for every Tesla driver, as well as offering their own software mods. Not only would this tank Tesla stock and force Musk to pay back the loans he collateralized with his shares (loans he used to buy Twitter and the US predidency), it would also abolish sleazy gimmicks like hacking drivers' odometers to get out of paying for warranty service:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/08/turnabout/#is-fair-play

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/15/musklemons/#more-like-edison-amirite

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tesla_Model_S_Indoors.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[bi-writes]

deranged ex husband!ghost thoughts:

he lives up to his nickname. he's not ex husband price who simply Does Not Stop and shows up all the time to demonstrate to your new partners that he is fundamental anatomy to your life.

he haunts you. tampered amazon packages, a room slightly altered when you return from work, he's in your phone, he's in your inbox, he fixes things while you're away just as often as he breaks them.

is there someone in the other room? you bought a travel door lock and replaced every piece of home security tech with something new but you can swear you can hear a window shimmied open, a door lock whirring. you think you're losing your mind. who do you call when you think you're being stalked? when security is your greatest fear? your ex? his friends?

a wriggling and primal part of your mind warns you this is a bad idea. but you unblock his number, you text simon to see if he's still in the area. how are you doing? i know it's been a while, but i need a favor.

oh my goodness............................. (18+)

he says nothing as he does a walkthrough of your new divorcee flat. one bedroom in a nice-enough neighborhood, but you saw the twitch of his eye when he noticed the front lobby doors could be jimmyed open with the edge of a credit card.

the cat greets him like she always does. slender, grey thing that slithers between his thick legs as he moves through your space. you notice his gloved hands ghosting over divots in entryways that he made, flicking the useless lock of your window that he's already broken himself twice. you follow him like a puppy into every room he studies, rocking back and forth, wet eyes and trembling lips realizing as he moves just how unsafe you are.

he says nothing when he stands in your foyer again after doing his thorough once-over, turning to face you silently, where you're already crying. he just stands, not touching you, tilting his head to the side as he watches those glassy, salty tears fall down your puffed cheeks as you sputter through soft breaths that you don't know what to do.

ghost just kisses his teeth and stands there. he's an asshole—he's not going to do anything unless you ask him to. he's mean like that, likes to be wanted. he wants you to open your pretty, wet mouth and ask for it like a good girl. he's not going to assume you want his help; he wants you to put your hands on his thick chest and ask him all pathetic that you need him to do something about the thing that's been breaking into your house.

ghost is not your husband anymore though. when he was, he would've gladly fixed all your things for you. he would've gladly spent the entire day installing cameras, fixing your locks, getting you proper deadbolts, but he's just some man to you now, and his labor isn't for free.

he wants to feel nasty about it, but he can't. you don't even have to ask what he wants—you know what it is. you sniffle, blubbery and whiny, as you put your thumbs into the gusset of your sleep shorts and pull them to the side as you bend over the kitchen counter.

he keeps a big hand tangled in your hair as he fucks you. he yanks your neck back, bending you at the hip, an angle so sharp that your back arches uncomfortably as the edge of the counter digs into your tummy sharply. he barely makes a sound himself, but the slick between your bodies makes up for it.

slap, slap, slap—you're soaked between the thighs, all wound up and hot and breathless after watching ghost be so capable and confident and smart. he's so intelligent. he's so big and brawny and brave. you'd trade anything to feel safe again after living on your own after so long, and honestly, paying for fixed locks for a wet shag with your ex-husband isn't the worst price at all.

the problem between you two was never the sex, that's for sure. in fact, you think the connection alone kept you around longer than you meant to be. ghost would light a cigarette and stick a thick hand down his trousers, and you'd all but fall onto his dick just to placate the heat of attraction that always wound you like crazy.

your eyes roll back in your head when he cups your pussy with a big, hot hand. you grip the counter and grind against his palm, sticking your tongue out as he pounds into you deeper, more forcefully. he's close, you know it by the falter in his breaths, and you can't help yourself.

you just can't.

"inside—" you whine. "don't pull out—"

ghost laughs—why the fuck would he ever pull out?

maybe if he breaks a window next, you'll let him try for a baby.

[inkskinned]

it became like a point system, i guess.

it wasn't that he never did anything romantic or wonderful. he would do these things for me on occasion almost ritualistically - after i'd exhibited about four or five different breakdowns. he would finally book tickets to the symphony. we would finally spend a weekend in the mountains, drinking wine and listening to audiobooks. we would finally go on some serious expedition somewhere - no longer than a week, but it was felt. and those things would be 500, 700, 9000 points.

(at the time, as you know, i hadn't realized yet that it was always things that pertained to his interests. we did not go to poetry slams, we went to long and weird contemporary music festivals. we did not go to my places or be with my people - it was his places, his people. as ashamed as i am to admit it now: when he did begrudgingly allow me to cart him to my things, it still somehow became a point in his favor. that i brough him to the beautiful, sacred place of Acadia National Park earned him the 500 points - for his patience. for his willingness. for his sanctimony.)

and then he would cash in on those points and do virtually nothing. meanwhile, i'd buy dinner or send a card or call first or send a loving text or bring him little gifts. and these were all small things. they were 100, 200 points. i'd do this stupid, feminine, evil little domestic labor: the socks off the floor or getting groceries or remembering to turn the lights off or putting the seat down or whatever. the small "oopsie" partner things that you are supposed to accept. and those were all valued very low, as if i was in some kind of emotional arcade game. they'd be 5, 10, sometimes (in particularly rough moments) up to 50 points, if i was very generous with my cleaning and/or emotional supporting and/or romantic effort.

but the whole time, like clockwork, he'd call in on the points. remember when we went to new hampshire? or babe i just planned a date for you last month. on one very sweet moment, i remember him saying, without irony - why would i plan your birthday. i got you what you wanted for christmas. i am born in july, on the first. it had been 7 entire months. i had sent him the gift i had wanted - on reflection, had i not wanted him to "claim points" on something he hadn't put effort into? or was i just scared i'd be confronted with that same knowledge we've all had when opening a lackluster, terrible gift - this is fucking nothing. he claimed the points anyway, and i let him.

i don't know why i allowed it. i'm a feminist. i was already actively writing about emotional labor, all of that. but when you are raised in a house that loves anger, your whole body becomes an echo. you can't hear your own pain over the ache of your history. maybe it's just that it did feel - through catholic guilt or though my past or through my own passive and stupid fawning nature - like it made sense. yes, he did take me on a date last month! so what if he said i looked like a sausage in that dress (fully knowing of my eating disorder)? he had taken me on the date, which was kind of him.

i keep remembering how confused he was each time, holding up these little points in front of me. other men do it too sometimes - the men who assume they've earned enough "friendship" points to fuck me - but he was just so earnest about it. he didn't need to support me or hold me or be kind to me - he had already been kind, at one point, and now that job was over.

and i would stand in that little arcade of our lives and see my own score, bright and blazing above me. millions of points ahead of him, somehow, just because i was constantly trying. and i'd try to point it out to him and i would feel sort of dumb and obvious doing it. who can say i do your laundry is equivalent to we went to disney. but there it was, and there we were: him asking to win the biggest prize. the bright green monkey. and me, begging him - i just need you to show up for me consistently.

[celabi]

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

shidou + sae + kaiser + ness + nagi + isagi + reo + rin x f reader

throws this at you and runs away giggling

shidou thinks he’s god’s gift to women.

even when he’s standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom in nothing but crusty spiderman boxers with a hole near the waistband, hair an untamed and wild mess, and that signature smug little smirk tugging at his lips.

there you’d be, lying in bed like a goddess in some delicate, sheer lace nightgown, white and silky, barely clinging to your figure, looking like you had just walked out of some teenage boys fantasy. like some playboy magazine cover model come to life.

and him.

he’s standing there like he’s the main fucking event. arms flexed slightly, hip cocked to the side, trying to give you the look, the one where he raises one of his eyebrows and puts on a sexy smoulder he learned when you both watch tangled the other night and won’t stop doing—

“you like what you see, babe?”

he winks, digging his thumb beneath the waistband and drawing back, only to let it slap back against his hip with a loud snap. “it’s your lucky night. spider man’s feelin’ real naughty...”

you blink.

he climbs into bed like he’s about to change your entire life, and the scent of his body spray (which smells suspiciously like the high school gym locker he confessed to you in all those years ago) hits you almost instantly.

you shuffle an inch away, a small grimace on your face which he immediately takes notices of. “what? awe, don’t act shy now, sweetheart,” he purrs, throwing an arm around your waist and pulling you back in, those fucking children’s boxers brushing up against your thigh. “you didn’t marry all of this for nothin.”

you sigh, a hand dragging down your face.

yes. you did marry him. you just didn’t know the spiderman boxers would come with the deal.

sae loved stuff like this.

you were practically bouncing with excitement, eyes sparkling as you dragged him through the zoo with the excitement of a small child.

“monkeys first,” you told him, clutching your camera to your chest. “the little ones that look like they’re judging everyone.”

sae gave a tiny smile, the kind he only ever gave you. “mm.”

you made a beeline for the primate exhibit, and he followed, hands in his pockets, steps a little lazy as he stayed behind.

and yeah, the monkeys were indeed adorable. tiny, scruffy, wide eyed little creatures that climbed all over each other and made judgmental little faces when people threw banana’s into the den. you cooed and laughed and snapped like fifty photos while sae leaned on the railing, watching you as if you were the attraction instead of the small animals.

and then, out of nowhere, he softly slips his hand into yours.

“honey, look.” he murmured, pointing behind you somewhere. you turned, expecting maybe a new baby monkey or something cute.

but no.

seagulls.

plain, loud, not even part of the zoo seagulls, strutting around like they owned the place. annoying visitors and making a mess of the trash can.

“…seriously?” you blinked. “the monkeys are right there and you’re watching birds?”

sae just shrugged, totally serious. “they’re smart.”

one of them squawked and stole a french fry from a kid who began to cry, and you swore you saw his eyes light up.

“see?”

you stared at him like he’d lost it. “you brought me to the zoo for cute animals and you’re impressed by street birds?”

he nodded. “they’re intelligent creatures.”

you sighed, but your lips twitched.

and when he took a sneaky photo of you next to a monkey doing the exact same unimpressed face, you let him.

kaiser was thriving.

lights flashing, fans screaming, reporters yelling his name from every direction, but none of it mattered. because you were on his arm, and you looked so fucking good it should’ve been illegal. and maybe it was, on his poor heart.

you, in a dress that made people double take. and him in a designer suit which basically screamed ‘look at me!’ but still refusing to let go of your hand for even a second.

“look this way, kaiser!”

“over here!”

“pose with the ball!”

“kaiser, who’s the woman with—”

“yeah yeah, i know, i’m hot,” he waved dismissively at the cameras, tugging you closer. “but have you seen her? look at her. look. she’s the star. me? i’m just her soccer groupie.”

you barely blinked, and shielding your eyes from the countless flashes. “you dragged me here.”

“because the red carpet needed flavor,” he grinned, nudging you playfully. “and you’re the whole meal. i’m just the bowl you sit in.”

“what does that even mean—”

cue the camera clicks exploding like fireworks.

someone handed him a microphone and instead of answering questions about his match performance, he started bragging about your skincare routine.

“she does this thing with, like, snail goo or whatever? and her face? glowing. radiant. i tried it once and got a rash.”

you quietly nodded beside him, giving the cameras a blank expression like this was just your normal tuesday.

he kept tugging you in for selfies, making sure they got his good side where his jawline was razor sharp, while you stayed poker faced the whole time, slightly turned away by the dozens of desperate faces trying to get some material of michael kaiser and the new woman on his arm.

“god… i love how mysterious you are,” he whispered in your ear over the raving crowd. “like people are gonna think you’re a secret agent.”

“…i’m literally an accountant.”

“mm, yeah, schatz… the hottest accountant i’ve ever seen.”

he didn’t even look at the photographers when they asked for solo shots. just kept gazing at you like you were the only thing worth capturing.

ness had never liked eating out.

not because the food was bad, no, he’d happily devour three servings if you let him, but because he couldn’t stand the idea of other people talking to you. looking at you. breathing near you. especially men.

and today?

you were barely five minutes into your meal when a cheery waiter stopped by your table, leaning just a little too close for ness’s liking.

“would you like some ketchup with that?” the guy asked with a smile.

you didn’t think much of it, just nodded politely and said, “sure, thank you.”

but across from you… ness stiffened.

his fork hovered mid air, his eye twitching, lips pressed into a thin line. he didn’t say anything right away. just… stared down at his plate like it had killed his entire family.

you glanced over when he doesn’t react to your foot softly rubbing against his ankle. normally you’d get a ‘yippie!’, so it was a little concerning.

“lexis…what’s wrong?” you raise an eyebrow.

“…ketchup.” he muttered.

“huh?”

ness turned to you, his voice a dramatic whisper, “so that’s what you’re into now, huh? ketchup guys?”

you blinked. “…what.”

he pointed his fork accusingly. “he asked if you wanted ketchup. and you said yes. to him.”

“…because he asked?”

“but why him?” he leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “if i asked, would you have said yes too? or was it his ketchup you wanted?”

you just stared. “alexis, he’s a waiter.”

ness huffed, angrily stabbing at the fries on his plate. “i’m watching you. and your stupid ketchup.”

he sulked the rest of the meal, still feeding you bites of his burger, still playing footsie’s with you under the table, but glaring daggers at the ketchup bottle like it personally insulted him.

and later that night, you found your phone filled with photos of you and ness under an album label “the mustard to my mayo <3”

nagi had a problem.

you had a shiny umbreon. his favorite. it sparkled, it looked cool, and worst of all, you wouldn’t trade it to him, no matter how many shitty common pokémon he tried to offer you for it.

“it’s my favorite. i evolved it at midnight on purpose.”

nagi, who was laying upside down on your couch with his phone resting on his face, mumbles out a small, “i need it though.”

you didn’t budge, and so… phase two began.

nagi turned into the laziest scammer known to man.

he’d send you trades labeled “ultra rare secret glitch ‘mon” with the sketchiest lineups. rattata, rattata, rattata, shiny magikarp (nicknamed ‘definitely umbreon 2.0’).

“you renamed a magikarp and thought i wouldn’t notice?”

he yawned, rolling onto his tummy. “worth a shot…”

he got more elaborate. once wore sunglasses and a fake mustache, made a fake trainer profile called “pokechoki” and messaged you from across the couch like

“hello i am collector of rare pokémon. would like your umbreon. will give 4 bidoof.”

you turned, deadpan, and nudged his thigh with your fuzzy gengar socks. “nagi, you’re in the same room as me.”

“huh? don’t know of this ‘nagi’ person. i’m seishiro.”

eventually, he climbed into your lap like a giant sleepy cat, nuzzled into your neck, and tried to guilt you with his classic, “if you loved me… you’d give me your umbreon…”

you didn’t fall for it.

but you did catch him later, holding your phone while you were brushing your teeth, trying to sneak trade himself the umbreon while you were distracted.

his defense?

“…is it really stealing if ‘what’s mine is yours’?”

isagi has been so strange lately.

you’re in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone and sipping your coffee when you hear a thud in the hallway.

“i’m okay!”

his voice echoes from somewhere down the corridor.

you raise an eyebrow, not even surprised anymore. your husband had been on a mission lately, a weird mission to prove that even though you’re already married, he’s still “hot husband material.”

his latest phase? doing push ups shirtless whenever you’re nearby. flexing his biceps whenever he opens a jar. winking dramatically when handing you anything.

today was worse.

he strides into the kitchen moments later, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a face filled with determination. a towel thrown over his shoulder like he’s in a men’s health shoot.

“babe,” he grins, “check this out.”

he goes to do a one armed push up right then and there on the kitchen tile, except his hand slips, and he faceplants so fast it sounds like a cartoon slap.

you sit up straighter and raise an eyebrow.

“…honey.. are you okay?” you ask, holding back a laugh.

he stays face down on the floor for a second before mumbling, “still hot though… right?”

you roll your eyes fondly and get up to sit on the floor next to him, nudging him with your knee.

“…you’re lucky i already said ‘i do’.”

he peeks up at you, grinning with a busted ego and a red forehead. “i’d marry you again if it helps my case.”

you kiss his forehead and shake your head. “let’s just keep the seduction off the kitchen floor, yeah?”

reo always had expensive taste.

in cars, in watches, in clothes.

but his favorite luxury? you.

he spoiled you when you were just his high school girlfriend. snuck designer bracelets into your locker, filled your dorm with roses during exams, flew you out for weekend getaways like it was nothing. the other girls were jealous, always whispering, “what does she have that we don’t?”

reo never gave them the attention they wanted. he just kissed your cheek and made you show off the shiny chain around your neck.

now, years later, not much has changed. except you now wear a ring on your finger, and his last name behind yours.

you wake up to breakfast already made, gifts by the door “just because,” and his card in your hand with a small, “go get yourself something pretty.”

he comes home from practice and scoops you up into his arms like a lovesick idiot, still obsessed, still whipped.

and when you pout? even a little? he acts like it’s a national emergency.

“what do you want, baby? tell me. shoes? a trip? my kidney?”

reo’s love language has always been excess, and when it comes to you, there’s no such thing as too much.

girlfriend or wife, high school or forever, spoiling you was always part of the plan.

rin itoshi, even as a fully grown man, was still… rin itoshi.

he might’ve been a world class athlete now, a stoic genius on the field, cold and composed in interviews, but at home? at your home?

he was still that emotionally constipated, socially awkward, emo haired boy who never knew what to do with his hands.

he sat stiffly at your parents dinner table, trying not to breathe too loud, trying not to make eye contact with your dad, silently praying the chair would collapse and swallow him whole.

you, sitting beside him, casually spooning mashed potatoes onto your plate, looked as chill as ever. like you weren’t dining with two parents who were grilling your boyfriend with every polite smile and every “so, rin, what are your intentions?”

you kicked his ankle under the table.

“sit up straight.” you whispered.

he was slouching like he wanted to vanish into his hoodie. and the worst part? he wasn’t even wearing a hoodie. he was wearing a button up shirt, with sleeves, rolled up.

also, you had brushed his bangs behind his ear before dinner and told him he looked cute like that so now his emo fringe shield was gone and he had to make full eye contact with your mom while she passed him the salad bowl.

“thanks.” he mumbled, voice barely audible.

your mom blinked. “sorry, sweetheart?”

you leaned in. “he said thanks.”

rin looked like he was about to throw up from how clenched his jaw was. then, as the cherry on top, your dad broke the very uncomfortable silence and said, “you know, itoshi, she’s quite a handful. you sure you can handle her?”

and rin, already clinging to life by a thread, nodded stiffly and raised a glass of water to his lips.

you patted his back with the most innocent expression in the world. “oh come on, rin. don’t act like you don’t worship the ground i walk on.”

he glared at you. cheeks pink. ears red. small frown.

still the same awkward, emotionally stunted guy from his blue lock days.

but your fingers brushed his under the table, and you smiled at him softly. and maybe, maybe, he could handle dinner with your parents after all.

as long as you didn’t make him talk too much.

[selunefae]

Your special day (+18) - Caleb (Love and Deepspace)

You're tired of Caleb putting your needs above his own. So, on his birthday, you decide to give him a very special gift.

masterlist | rules

rating: +18, MDNI

word count: 2,777

tags: caleb (lads) x reader, smut, fem!reader, afab!reader

content warnings: shameless smut, oral sex (male receiving), PnV sex, unprotected sex, creampie, praise kink, sensory deprivation, blindfolds, dom/sub undertones, use of petnames (baby, babygirl, princess)

notes: I know his birthday is in a few days, but oh well, early present. This oneshot doesn't follow the storyline of the new card. It's also written with the MC in mind, but it's ambigous enough to be interpreted as anything. I wanted to try something new, but I don't know how it turnt out, so tell me what do you think! (English is not my first languages, the work is neither proofread nor betaread, sorry for any mistakes).

You enter your apartment first. There's a flash of desperation in your step; the day hasn’t gone quite as you planned.  The click of the door behind you barely registers until you hear the faint hunk of Caleb closing it, and then it hits you all at once -

“You’re always taking care of me,” you abruptly turn around to face him. You fold your arms, trying to sound stern but landing somewhere between exasperated and pouty. “Caleb, it’s your birthday, and I’m still the center of everything. You’re more worried about what I want than enjoying your day.”

His expression changes when he sees you. That quiet softness creeps into his face - the way his eyes narrow like you’re the most precious thing in his world, and the way his mouth tilts like he can’t decide whether to smile or apologize. It’s not condescension, you’re well aware of it. It’s just fondness.  He opens his mouth to speak, and you already know what’s coming. Some lame cheesy line about you being his joy, his light, and the only gift he needs. 

So you cross the room and shut him up with a finger to his lips.

“Don’t say it!” You cut him with a frown. “I don’t wanna hear it!”

Caleb laughs (or as much as he can with your finger still pressed firmly to his lips). His lips curl into a wide smile beneath your touch, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, like he’s watching you throw a tantrum instead of being genuinely annoyed. He’s not taking you seriously!

You blow out a harsh, dramatic sigh and let your hand drop from his face with a light little slap against your leg. Your shoulders sag as if he’s worn you down by doing absolutely nothing, which, somehow, he has.

“Look,” you start, voice pitched somewhere between a sigh and a command, “since you’re clearly incapable of thinking about yourself for even one second of your entire life -” you shoot him a look, “ - just let me have this moment to give you something. To show you how much I love you.”

That brings his attention, but he still doesn’t say anything.

“So just this once… let me be the one who takes care of you,” you continue as you turn and cross the room toward a nearby drawer. You open it up and slip something out. Caleb’s been observing, but it’s impossible to identify what it is from his angle. Next, you hide it behind your back and turn to face him again with wide eyes and faux innocence. “Okay?”

Caleb tilts his head, that grin never fading. His gaze flickers down, trying to sneak a look at the hand you’ve tucked behind your back. He leans just slightly to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse, but you shift with him, stubborn in your effort to keep it hidden. After another couple of futile attempts, he gives up. “Okay.”

You step closer, letting your fingers brush the fabric behind your back. “Good,” you murmur. “Now, turn around.”

His brows lift in amusement. But again, no questions. He turns.

You close the distance between you in a few more steps. Then, with the same care he always shows you, you lift the soft black fabric and raise your hands. You pause for a second, your voice quiet behind him. “Do you trust me?”

He nods.

And so, you tie the blindfold in place, snug and careful, over his eyes. He seems confused at first, lashes fluttering against the blindfold while he gets used to the sudden absence of light. However, the hesitation fades the moment your hand brushes gently down the center of his back.

He exhales, muscles relaxing beneath your touch.

“You good?” you ask, voice low beside his ear, your fingers tracing the line of his spine with just enough pressure to be reassuring.

“Yeah,” he’s calm even without seeing you. He knows he can trust you. “I’m good.”

You smile at the answer, then reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. “If at any moment you feel uncomfortable,” you whisper,  guiding him carefully through the hallway, “you tell me. Okay?”

He squeezes your hand. “Yes, okay.”

You reach the bedroom in silence, the only sound the soft creak of the floorboards under your feet and the occasional brush of your shoulder against his arm. You lead him with care, fingers still laced with his, until his knees make contact with the edge of the bed.

“Sit.”

He lowers himself onto the mattress with the same composed ease he carries everywhere, not nervous at all. He hears your feet padding away from the bed. The blindfold doesn’t let him follow your movements, but he waits eagerly. And then, just when he starts to lean forward to say something, you’re back. You approach from behind, and he feels the bed dip with your weight. Before he can register what you’re doing, he feels your lips graze the sensitive skin just below his ear. You press feather-light kisses along the curve of his neck, following the slope down to the place where it meets his shoulder. You take your time. Let him feel the heat of your breath and the press of your mouth. He inhales sharply, shoulders twitching as he tilts his head to grant you better access. 

You linger behind him for a few moments longer, pressing one last kiss before your hands begin to move. Your fingers slide over his chest, and you find the hem of his shirt, slipping your hands beneath it as your palms meet warm, smooth skin. He lets out a soft breath as your touch glides upward. His arms lift, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head and off in one clean motion. 

The shirt falls to the floor, forgotten.

Now, with his torso bare and waiting, you shift your position on the bed, circling to his side so you can have a better view. From this angle, it’s impossible not to stare: his chest rises and falls in slow beats, the last golden light of sunset casting soft shadows over him. It traces the lines of his body - his broad shoulders, the strength in his arms, the defined cut of his abs, and the faint flush spreading across his pale skin. You reach up and cradle his jaw with a gentle hand, bringing his face towards yours. The blindfold is still on his eyes, but his body has a lightning-fast response. Your lips meet in a soft kiss. It starts simple and sweet, but it doesn’t last much. He leans into it almost immediately, kissing you back with the kind of hunger that makes your heart beat too fast. His hands find your waist, grounding himself in the naked curves of your body, while the other reaches up the back of your neck, urging you closer. 

You smile into the kiss and bite.

Just the lightest pressure on his lower lip, to remind him who’s in control today. You feel the moment his composure starts to slip, and before he can catch it, you deepen the kiss. You slip your tongue inside his mouth, moving with flexible, rough strokes.

He groans against your mouth, low-pitched and full of lust. His hand tightens on your hip. 

You shift your weight and climb into his lap. His breath hitches, and his hands instinctively move to grab a handful of your ass, but you catch them before they reach their goal. 

Your fingers wrap around both of his wrists and lift his hands over his head.

“Ah-ah,” you murmur between kisses, “let me be in charge tonight.”

He exhales a laugh, biting down. “Or what?” He asks, grinning.

You lean in close, brushing your nose against his, your voice just above a whisper. “ Don’t make me tie you up too. ”

He relaxes completely beneath you, hands still in your grasp, head tilted back with a smile that makes your pulse thrum a little faster. You take your time. Let your lips find his cheek, then the curve of his jaw. From there, you trail kisses down his throat until he exhales a shaky breath that catches halfway through. You keep going. Down across his chest, the space between his ribs, his abdomen… He can’t see you, but every soft press of your lips feels magnified in the dark.

As you slide off the bed and sink to your knees before him, you hear a gasp. 

Your hands move to his belt, and you feel the way he shifts under your touch, muscles flexing in anticipation. You make him wait, slowly undoing the buckle and sliding the fabric free. As you begin to lower the rest of his clothes, your gaze lifts briefly to his face. He looks wrecked already - lips parted, chest rising, and a single drop of sweat sliding down the column of his neck.

When you finally pull back to take him in fully, you lick your lips, heat building low in your belly.

Oh,  he is hard. And you’ve barely done anything.

Your fingers curl around his cock, making some experimental strokes. His hips twitch in response, and his chest starts to rise harder with each passing second. You lean in, close enough that he can feel your breath ghosting over him. His hands spasm wherever they rest, retrained only by the weight of your earlier words (although you know he has the strength to take your face and fuck it if he wanted to).

“Fuuuuuck, baby - you’re gonna be the death of me.”

Your lips graze over the sensitive skin of the tip at last, dick pulsing and impossibly hard in your hand. You start to give him kitten licks as your hand continues stroking, pulling more hard breaths out of his lungs. 

You take your time, but eventually, you wrap your lips around him. 

Caleb’s jaw clenches, a soft, choked sound escaping him as your mouth closes over the bulbous head. His whole body tightens, and the hand that had been hovering by his side finds the back of your head, but he doesn’t push.

For the first time, he is the one melting beneath you. 

“God, princess,” he praises. “You’re so good for me.”

You hum in response, and the vibration alone has him cursing under his breath. You continue sucking audibly, dipping your head a few times with a fist around the base to help you. You pump and lick, feeding him deeper, inch by inch, down your throat and moaning every time his cock twitchs inside you.

Time stretches. His soft praises turn to loud moans, his voice broken and low. He’s not restraining his sounds anymore, hand gently caressing your hair as you suck heartily.  

After some more time, you feel his body tense, his grip more rigid on your scalp, and that’s when you pull away.

You let his cock slip from your mouth with a pop , your breath unsteady as you wipe the slick from your lips with the back of your hand. Caleb groans and collapses fully onto the bed, one arm flung above his head, the other clutching at the sheets. You climb onto the bed and straddle his hips, your bare cunt brushing agasint his hard in a way that makes you both gasp. You shift forward just enough to let your clit graze his length, teasing him. You move slowly, rolling your hips in tight circles, dragging soft moans from your own throat. His hands reach for you on instinct, fingers grazing your thighs, finding your waist -

“What did I tell you?” You lean down so your mouth brushes his ear, guiding his wrists back above his head and pinning them with a grin.

His fingers flex under your grip, testing the invisible boundary you’ve set - it’d be so easy to just snap and have his way with you. “You’re really not gonna let me touch you, huh?”

You shake your head, smiling against his skin. “Not tonight.”

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “You’re evil,” he says, not even trying to hide the lust in his voice. “Beautiful and evil.”

You decide to put on a show. Since he can’t see you, every movement becomes even more electric. You roll your hips again, this time with more purpose, letting the friction soak his dick with your fluids. Your lips stay close to his ear as you begin to whisper dirty promises of what you’re going to do to him.

He lets his head fall back to the mattress, a soft curse slipping from his lips. He’s enjoying the little contact he has with you, even if his cock is eager to fill you up.

“You feel so good and big,” you whimper, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “And you’re not even inside me yet.”

That draws a shudder from him. His jaw tenses, and he tilts his head toward the sound of your voice. You lean back, your hands dragging down his chest, nails leaving red lines over his milky skin. And then, you reach between your bodies, lining him up your entrance.

His whole body stills.

“Please,” he begs.

And what kind of person are you to deny him?

Without further preamble, you sink onto him with a tremulous cry.

You pause, taking in the pleasure. He feels just so good inside you, with a cock thick enough to split you open, and long enough to fill you up to the brim. He reaches the deepest parts of you, and though your gulping little hole aches and stretches to accommodate him, you snuggle with your head in the space between his neck and shoulder and shower him with kisses. 

Once you’re used to his size, you start to rock your hips exactly how you like it, letting your clit grind against his pelvis with every thrust. 

Caleb’s hands curl into fists. He’s doing everything he can to let you have control. But the way your pussy squeezes around him and your moans fall, it’s a miracle he’s still managing not to fuck you stupid. 

You pick up your pace, making his cock hit that spot inside you perfectly every single time. Your walls tighten around him. Every shift sends a jolt through you, pleasure sparking brighter and sharper each time. You're getting close, oh so close, and your strength is beginning to falter.

Caleb must have felt it, because without a word, his hands find your hips. In one swift motion, you’re beneath him. The mattress dips under your bodies, and a surprised gasp escapes you as he takes over completely. Even blindfolded, he knows exactly how to move - he knows every inch of your body and what you like. He sets a rougher rhythm, and his cock reaches deeper from this position. Your moans come quicker now, rising in pitch as the pressure builds. His fingers slide down the length of your body until they find your aching spot. He rubs circles on your clit  matching the speed of his thrusts. All coherent thoughts leave your head, and you can only think of his hard length impaling you.

“Are you gonna come, babygirl?” he pants agaisnt your neck. “C’mon, baby, come for me.”

Your body starts to tremble as you fall apart, eyes rolling to the back of your skull and mouth gaping in a silent scream.

“That’s it, baby. Good girl,” he praises as he continues to rub slow circles in your clit to help you come down of your orgasm.

After you finish, he pauses. You start to get up to complain, thinking he might stop, putting your pleasure first, like he always does. But then, without a warning, he tightens his grip on your hips and thrusts back into you with sudden intensity, dragging a gasp from your lips.

“Not done,” he grits, voice thick with need.

The rhythm he finds is harder now, more desperate. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, panting against your skin, the squelches of your cunt and his moans filling the room. Your legs cling to him, letting him chase his release, your name falling from his lips between gasps. His pace grows uneven and then - he stills, thrusting as deep as he can. 

You feel his cum spilling deep inside you.

He collapses above you, trying not to squeeze you with his weight. You reach up and brush his damp hair from his forehead. Neither of you says a word for a long moment, just holding each other, hearts pounding in sync. 

Wrapped in his arms, you press a kiss to his temple.

“Happy birthday.”