#but oddly enough... they like it around her

[lipglossanon]

Sweets to the Sweet

Vergil x fem!reader (one shot)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dilf Vergil (need I say more 😉), au, I’m sure OOC Vergil (😞 i tried), kissing, teasing, dirty talk, praise, biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie(s), multiple orgasms, squirting, mirror sex, cum eating, slight breeding kink

over 7k worth of pwp lol

not proofread ✍️ enjoy!

editing to add: big thanks and shoutout to @ashlinxsloves and 💀 anon 💜 thanks to you two, i had the inspo to finish this fic 😭

Summer break could not arrive any faster. Your finals sucked the life and joy from you, but now it’s over and done. Nothing left except to empty your brain of concepts, formulas, and essays—and finally relax.

Nero, who you randomly met in the library trying to cram for an anatomy exam at the beginning of the semester, has invited you to hang out with him for a few weeks. I promise my dad isn’t going to care, a crooked grin in place, hell that's if he’s even at home. And I want you to meet Kyrie. Here, a dreamy look comes over his face. She’s the best.

So, you pack up and head out with Nero as soon as the last final’s finished (it’s yours, and it’s history). Then, after a short road trip—made easier by trading off driving until late the next night—Nero pulls up in front of a modest two story house. After parking, you both climb out of the car, stretching to work out the kinks of sitting in one spot for hours. You grab your bags while Nero grabs his and leads you up the pebbled foot path to the front door. 

Before he can stick the key in the lock, the door swings open into a warmly lit foyer. The hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life stands there, cool gaze flicking from Nero to you back to Nero. He’s well dressed to be at home, a dark blue cable knit sweater paired with soft grey joggers ending on bare feet; his spiked hair looks messy, like he’s run his hands through it, with several fallen strands highlighting his face. A strong jaw offset by a soft mouth draws in your eyes. 

“Son,” his raspy voice sends chills dancing down your spine. “Who is our lovely guest?”

Nero brushes his thumb against his nose, a nervous tic you’ve noticed about him. “Ah, well, surprise,” he hunches his shoulders, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

His dad’s glacial eyes snap to you. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Nero hurriedly introduces everyone, making you grin over at him once he says his dad’s name is Vergil. 

“You guys like to keep it classic, huh?”

Vergil’s mouth twitches, the hint of a smile trying to appear.  “Yes, quaint, isn’t it?”

You laugh outright and Nero scratches the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, Well.. we’re kinda beat.”

His dad nods, smoothly stepping forward to clasp your bags in his hands. “Follow me to your rooms.”

You sputter out a protest that is quickly shot down—“A lady never carries her own luggage”—Vergil’s raised eyebrow and dismissive tone makes your heart flutter. He leads the two of you further into the house and upstairs. Once you get settled in, you fall asleep in no time.

The next few days are filled with Nero showing you around his house and neighborhood. 

Oddly enough, whenever you and Nero hang out around his home, his dad is nearby. Nero offhandedly mentions a few times that that’s not his norm.

“He must be on vacation this week,” he complains to you under his breath, watching Vergil make his way through the living room to the kitchen. “I swear he’s never around when I’m on break.”

“Is he never around or are you always out with Kyrie?” You tease good naturedly. 

“Shut up,” he laughs, tossing a throw pillow at you before slumping back on the couch. ”It just feels like he’s hovering.”

You shrug, attention going back to the television. You’d never say it out loud, especially to Nero, but you definitely don’t mind seeing his dad hanging around.

Nero eventually introduces you to his neighbor and childhood friend, Nico—a rowdy young woman who you click with almost instantly. She razzes Nero about everything, and it never fails to make you laugh. The last person he brings around is the infamous Kyrie. She’s so kind and pretty, you understand why Nero is so smitten.

The four of you hang out a few times and it’s fun, but you're glad when you have a free day to yourself. Craving homemade scones, Nero is nice enough to run out to the store to grab some ingredients. It’s only until he’s back that you realize a few items are still missing, and he promises to run out and grab those, too. 

Alone once more in the kitchen, you decide to get a head start on the recipe. 

Humming, your brows pinch together, immersed in looking over the recipe you have saved in your phone. You’re ninety-nine percent sure you have everything added to the bowl, but you just want to double check before you start mixing. Too busy cataloging ingredients, you don’t notice Vergil standing near the kitchen entryway.

“Okay,” you say to yourself out loud, pushing the phone further up the counter so you can pull the bowl and whisk to you. “Beat by hand for two minutes.”

“What are you making?”

An embarrassingly high pitched squeal escapes you before you can stop it. Spinning around, you see Nero’s dad gazing at you in amusement although his face remains stoic.

“Oh my gosh,” you hold your hand over your heart. “I-I didn’t hear you come in. You scared me to death.”

“Apologies,” he lets his lips quirk up, a shadow of a grin. “It was not my intention.”

Blowing out a short breath, you shake your head. “No, I mean I know you didn’t mean to. And, uh, I’m just baking lemon scones. Nero picked up some ingredients for me earlier, but he’s off getting the rest right now.”

He steps closer, eyes dragging down your body before flicking up to your mixing bowl. “And do you require any assistance?”

His low tone has you biting your bottom lip, watching when his eyes catch on the movement. “Uh, s-sure, I mean if you don’t mind.”

He graces you with a half smile, “I would not have offered otherwise. Tell me how you need me.”

Your skin feels hot and a nervous sweat breaks out across your hairline. Aside from a few stuttered words, you’re able to explain to Vergil and in no time you both are working side by side in quiet harmony.

His hands catch your eyes; pianist hands, you think. Long dexterous fingers offset by pale skin with blue veins snaking their way from his knuckles up his forearms. You want to sink your teeth into his skin. It’s unfair how good he looks. 

You’ve only spent a little bit of time with Nero’s father; it’s mostly been with his friends and girlfriend. Vergil, you’ve noticed, is quiet—more prone to reading in the soft lamplight of the living room than loud conversation. Nico says Nero is much more like his uncle (“A loud mouthed braggart to paraphrase Vergil,“ Nico snickered). So lost in thought, you almost miss him speaking.

“This is nice,” he murmurs at you, side-eying you before glancing back at his hands.

Smiling down at the mixing bowl, you nod. “It is.”

“I am..” his mouth purses, like he’s tasting out the word he’s searching for, “glad Nero invited you.”

At his admission, you turn to fully look at his side profile. A straight nose with strong cheekbones—he notices you looking and turns to face you, shifting your view onto his sharp eyes and Cupid’s bow mouth.

His thumb comes up to brush against your cheek, hand cupping your jaw, and you gasp. Heart tripping over itself in your chest, you feel rooted to the spot, trapped by indecision and nerves. The heat from his hand draws you in, head angling toward his palm. 

“You have a streak of flour,” his low voice sends butterflies fluttering in your chest.

Your lips part and his eyes flick from your gaze down to your mouth. Before anything else happens, the side door of the kitchen swings open with a bang, Nero cursing under his breath as he steps through. Vergil easily slips away from you, turning back to the kitchen counter. Hands clenching at your sides, you try to calm your nerves, pulling in a deep breath before shakily letting it out. 

Nero drops a small paper bag on the counter next to Vergil. “Did she rope you into it, too?”

He grins at you and you flip him off. 

“Nooo,” you roll your eyes with a sigh. “He volunteered.” 

“More like volun-told,” Nero laughs, holding up his hands as you reach over to push his arm.

“Why don’t you make like a tree and beat it?” You grouse.

A soft chuckle meets your ears, and you shoot a quick look at Vergil and catch his amused expression.

Nero sighs, “Well, I know when I’m not wanted. I just came to drop off the rest of it, gotta meet up with Nico to look over some project.”

Nodding, you watch as Nero heads out the way he came in. “Tell her hi from me.”

“Will do!” He waves without looking, shutting the door behind him.

A slightly awkward silence rings out after Nero’s departure. Clearing your throat, you turn back to the work space. 

“Okay, so where were we?”

Vergil tilts his head at you, “I believe you were waiting on Nero’s delivery in order to continue.”

“Right,” you smile, embarrassment warming your chest.

You try to reach over Vergil to grab the bag Nero left when he shifts out of the way; nearly losing your balance, he braces your hips and twists the same time you step forward, leaving you pinned between his firm body and the counter. Nervous excitement has your palms sweating as you grip the countertop. 

“Apologies,” you can feel the rumble of his voice from where your back presses against his chest. 

A warm, woodsy smell encompasses you; the scent of bergamot and birch with an undertone of cloves. It sends a pulse of need through your core. Your fingertips tingle, arousal thrumming heavily in your veins. Belatedly, you realize he now has both hands on your hips. Where Vergil presses against you, he’s warm, the kind of heat that seeps into your bones and keeps you.

His lips brush across the side of your neck, as faint as butterfly wings, sending chills to race down your spine.

Lips touch the shell of your ear. “Is this.. okay?”

“More than,” you breathe out in reply. 

In one fluid motion, he turns you around and lifts you up, seating you on the kitchen counter. The gain in height only makes you a few inches taller than the older man in front of you. Running your fingers up across his chest, your hands come to rest on his shoulders. His lips quirk into a half smile and it makes your heart thud heavily in anticipation. 

His hands slide from your hips down to your thighs, palms a hot brand against the skin. Attempting to squeeze them closed, he clicks his tongue, thumbs digging into the dough of your thighs. 

“Relax,” he breathes out, stepping even closer—his clothes rasp against your bare legs and makes you shiver.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, and he leans forward with a soft groan. 

“Tempting me with this sinful little mouth,” his words send a pulsing throb to your clit. “Shall I sample a taste?”

“Yes, please,” you whisper, eyes dilating, fingers curling into his sweater to anchor yourself. 

Molten heat, like sun warmed honey, drips down your throat. Hungrily, he parts your lips, tongue slipping inside to taste you. Eyes fluttering closed, the dark may hide your sight but the feel of him surrounds you. His hands grip onto your thighs more tightly, a delicious bite of pain that makes your cunt clench around nothing. 

He whispers something against your lips when he pulls away, but kisses you again before you can ask what. Vergil’s tongue slides into your mouth like he owns it. He kisses slow and deep, taking his time to map out your mouth. You're swept up, unable to think outside of the litany of more more more drumming inside your skull. 

Hands slipping across the back of his neck, your fingers run through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp earning you a low groan. You greedily swallow it down along with the saliva from his insistent mouth. Rocking forward, you seek out more pleasure for yourself. The zipper on his slacks press against your cunt perfectly, clit swollen and questing for more.

Pulling you closer to the edge, he chuckles against your mouth. His lips drag across your jaw, lightly nipping the skin where it hinges. His tongue and teeth slowly map a trail across your neck. Slick saturates the gusset of your panties, pussy feeling hot. Your hand blindly reaches down and gropes him through his slacks and he grunts, fingers squeezing the fat of your thighs. 

“Let me take you to bed,” he mumbles into your neck, dropping a small kiss to your skin. 

“Okay,” you whisper against his hair. Lifting his head, he kisses you again, soft and wet. 

It seems like you only blink, and you find yourself in his bedroom. You don’t really take much in except for the bed, a large mahogany centered against the wall. Feeling him at your back, your trembling legs take you over the mattress. Laying down, a whiff of cloves and bergamot steals into your nose.

Recognizing the smell from earlier in the kitchen, his sheets are saturated with it, making you bury your face into them. Breathing in makes you dizzy with want. 

“Let me see your face, lovely one,” he coos, strong hands gripping your waist to flip you onto your back. “Such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“Vergil,” you whimper, legs parting, allowing him to slot himself between your thighs.

He kisses you, rough and heated, tongue slipping into your mouth before coaxing your own past his lips. Sucking the wet muscle, his canines press down gently, sending a pulsing want through your clit. Your fingers tangle in his hair and tug on the light strands. Whining, your hips roll up, grinding along the bulge pressing against the apex of your thighs. 

Vergil sits back, hands dragging down your body. The knuckles of one his hands rubs across the seam of your lounge shorts, rubbing soft circles against the material, pressing it into your clit. 

“I can feel how hot and needy you are,” he murmurs, blue eyes blown out in arousal. “May I?”

At your nod, his fingers slip into the band of your shorts and underwear, tugging them both down and off at the same time. Strings of slick cling to the gusset of your panties before snapping when he pulls them away. 

“Look at you,” he groans. “Such a slick little cunt.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, thighs twitching with the effort to keep them open.

Kneeling between your thighs, he drops a kiss at the bend of your right knee before slowly trailing kisses with the soft hint of teeth up your thigh. Skipping over your soaked slit, he presses kisses into your left thigh, leaving off with a gentle bite to your leg. 

Hands grasping at his sheets, you writhe and whimper, hips jumping up to tempt his plush mouth to kiss your dripping pussy. He smirks up at you, mouth nipping at the junction of your thigh and cunt. 

“Please, Vergil,” you pant, letting go of the sheets to run your hands through his hair. 

“So sweet.” His fingers wrap around your wrist and tugs your hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of your wrist.

His teeth sink into soft skin, lips and tongue roughly sucking a mark onto your wrist. Clit throbbing with the dull pain from his mouth, your free hand claws at his shoulder, head tilting back with a whine. Letting go with an audible pop, his tongue laps at the teeth indentations left on your skin. 

“Now, to taste that hot little cunt,” he murmurs, kissing the mark one more time before dropping his head back down to your thighs.

The breath leaves your lungs in a gusty moan. Vergil’s tongue glides along your slit, ending with a soft kiss to your clit. With a groan, he buries his face into your cunt, tongue parting your slick folds to lick into your drippy hole. His hands frame your pussy, thumbs pulling your lips apart, allowing him to lick into you deeper. You clench down on his hot tongue, eyes rolling back when he chuckles against your sensitive cunt. 

Pulling away with an obscene slurp, his tongue laps upward until he can circle your pudgy clit. Shifting one hand, he softly pulls back the hood of your clit, kitten licking the swollen bud until you’re scratching his shoulders and keening loudly. Humming, his blue eyes gaze up your body, and it makes your core burn hot. Flattening his tongue, he licks a broad stripe across your clit, and it sends more slick leaking from your pussy.

“Feels so good,” you gasp, nails sinking into his soft sweater. Tears clump your lashes together. 

“You taste good,” he mumbles against your pussy. “Like ambrosia.”

His tongue presses back inside, hungrily tasting your cunt, strong nose rubbing across your fat clit. Moaning, your toes curl from the pleasure humming through your body.

“Please, I need you,” you keen, “I need you inside me.”

“You need what inside you?” He pulls away with a suckling kiss to your clit. 

Blinking the wetness from your eyes, you tighten your grip onto his shoulders, lightly pulling him upward. 

“Your cock,” you whimper, lips parting when he presses his mouth to your jaw. You can feel his lips curve into a grin.

“Good girl,” his low voice washes over you as he kisses the apple of your cheek.

He sits back on his haunches, hands stretching behind his head to grasp his sweater. Tugging it off in one fluid motion, strands of hair messily falling around his face while he drops the sweater into the floor. Biting your lip, your eyes greedily take in his toned chest and stomach. Your hands unconsciously reach out to drag down his sternum. Eyes following your hand, they drop down to his lap, tracing the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric.

Flushed with heat, you bite your bottom lip, blown out gaze meeting his own. Palm pressing flat to his abdomen, you slide down to cup him through his slacks. A low sound escapes him from deep in his throat; it makes your clit throb. His hands quickly undo his pants, tugging them down his muscled thighs. Your mouth waters, a whine slipping out to see him bare before you since he’s not wearing anything underneath. 

“The way you look at me drives me crazy,” his raspy tone sends chills across your skin. 

He fists his cock with one hand while the other one moves up to your face, brushing a thumb across your bottom lip. Pressing forward, the digit slips into your mouth, pinning your tongue down as he cups your chin with his forefinger. Whimpering, you hollow your cheeks, sucking on his thumb softly, inner thighs trying to close but stopped by his body centered between your legs.

Letting go of your face, he swipes his wet thumb across his leaking tip before popping it back into your mouth. Salty musk floods your mouth and you moan, eyelashes fluttering as you run your tongue all around his thumb, lapping the precum up greedily. Tugging the digit free from your mouth, he smears your spit all across your lips. 

“I’m very eager to be inside you, to stretch you open until you cry,” his eyes are nearly black, pupils swallowing up the blue until it’s a thin ring.

Reaching down, you grasp the hemline of your shirt and tug it up. Vergil joins you in removing your clothing, nimble fingers undoing your bra and slipping it away from your body. His hands grope your tits, thumbs brushing over your stiff nipples and making you cry out pitifully.

“So sensitive, too,” he murmurs, more to himself; his eyes take in your naked body before snapping up to meet your gaze. “Aren’t you a sweet treat?”

A shadow of a smile flits across his face; if you had blinked you would’ve missed it. His head dips down and he drops a kiss to your sternum. Breath hitching in your chest, your hands drop to the sheets to grip them tightly. His lips trail across your breasts, taking his time to kiss and lick each one. Sinking his teeth into the underside of your left breast, you keen softly, thighs falling open even further. 

Suckling at your nipples, Vergil reaches down and grasps his cock, rubbing it across your soaked slit. The slick dripping from your pussy costs his dick, letting him easily grind against you. Fingers circling the base, he grips his cock and slaps it down onto your cunt, aiming the tip to graze at your swollen clit.

“Oh, please,” you gasp, hole clenching around nothing. 

Ghosting his teeth against your hard nubs, he continues to suck on your nipples. His wet lips grail from one stiff peak to the next, blue eyes slitted in pleasure. Using his thumb, he presses the head of his cock against your hole. 

“I can feel you trying to suck me in already,” his lips brush against the soft skin of your breasts.

Notching his cock at your fluttering pussy, he slowly pushes inside with a low groan. He buries his face into your neck, strands of hair tickling your jaw. 

“I-it’s too big,” you pant, hands moving to claw at his shoulders. “Oh, god, it’s so good.”

He growls at your words, hips rocking into you harder than before. Your breath slips from you, the total feeling of fullness overtaking your senses—cunt stuffed with Vergil’s thick length.   

He laces your fingers together, palm to palm, heart line to heart line; you can’t stop yourself from kissing him, helplessly, irrevocably ruined on his cock. 

“Doing so well, taking me so deep.” He licks the shell of your ear, and you shudder, clenching down on his dick. “Snug little pussy feels like she was made for me.”

You’re unable to stop yourself from babbling, “Please, please, feels so good, you’re so big, please, I need it, I need it so bad.”

“Hush,” he coos, kissing the corner of your eye, tasting the salt from your tears. “I won’t leave you wanting, my sweet.”

The heat is suffocating; the heat pulsing through your veins, the heat buried in your cunt, the heat from his body pressing you down down down into his bedding. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” His grip tightens around your hands. “I can feel this needy hole suckling at my cock.”

Whine smothered by his tongue licking into your mouth, your eyes roll back, climax washing over your body like a slow rolling wave. He keeps up the smooth rocking thrusts that have his pelvis grinding perfectly into your swollen clit.

“Good girl,” he drops kisses across your cheekbones and the corner of your lips. “Milking my cock so perfectly.”

Nails digging into the backs of his hands, your legs squeeze his waist, pussy clamping down on his dick, post climax tremors racking your body. He bites down on your neck, and you rock your hips, grinding his cock deeper into your pussy.

“I shouldn’t cum inside you,” Vergil whispers against your neck, voice wrecked. “It's not responsible.”

“Don’t care,” you plead with him. “Want it, want you to cum inside me.”

He groans, hips thrusting harder, cock easily slipping in and out of your sopping wet pussy.

“I’ll spill so deep inside you.” He drags one set of your clasped hands down your body to press into your abdomen. “You’ll feel it, so hot and thick.. my cum breeding your needy cunt.”

Your pussy walls flutter and squeeze down on his cock, slick coating his cock as his words fan your arousal from smoldering embers to a blazing flame. 

“Vergil, please.” Sounding like a broken record, you beg him for more. “You can cum in me as much as you want.”

He growls, teeth sinking into your shoulder. 

“Yes, fuck,” you choke out, tears beading your lash line. “Mark me up, do whatever you want.”

“You must stop offering me such delightful gifts,” he groans. “I’ll keep you full all night.”

He presses your hands more tightly against your lower abdomen.

“You’ll be dripping for days.”

With a low grunt that makes your cunt pulse, he flips you two over without pulling out. Now, his back is to the mattress with you sitting atop his lap. Your cunt flutters wildly around his dick, clit throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“Look at you,” his eyes are dark, drawing you in easily. “So lovely.”

Moaning, you eagerly bounce on his cock; Vergil laces your hands together again, helping you brace yourself. Biting your bottom lip, you roll your hips faster, grinding his cock along your g-spot and making your pussy gush so much slick it drips down his balls. 

You want to cum; you want to cum so bad. He feels so good inside you, you think you might go crazy. He’s thick, stretching you open on that perfect edge of almost too much and just enough. His fat tip keeps knocking into your womb, the pleasurepain skittering down your spine and making your eyes water. He has to cum inside you. 

You think you say as much out loud since he gives you one of those hidden smiles, wicked eyes promising you pleasure. He thrusts upward, cock rutting into your squelching cunt with deep, steady strokes. He bunches your hands together so he can clasp them in one of his, using the other to loosely grasp your neck and pull you down. Your noses bump before he nips your bottom lip. 

“Are you going to cum for me, dear heart? Squeeze me until I spill all sticky, sweet inside your perfect cunt?” He whispers against your lips, the words stealing into your mouth and settling deep into your core.

Pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips, his tongue slides into your mouth, flicking against yours. You whine, pussy clamping down on his cock, climax beginning to crest inside you once again.

“That’s it, let me feel you,” Vergil coaxes, voice low and silky. “Cum for me.”

His hand moves from your neck down between your bodies to lightly rub across your clit. Pussy clenching, your grind down onto his cock and whimper. A few more soft circles against your pudgy bud and you’re cumming again. Moaning his name, your body flinches and shudders, orgasm buzzing through your senses until all you can feel is him.

“Do you still want me to fill you?” He asks, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, tugging it slightly before letting go.

“Yes, yes, please, Vergil.” You nod, body still trembling. He groans and kisses you with fervor, hands gripping your hips so tightly it stings. 

Cunt dripping your cum and slick, Vergil’s cock fills you over and over until he buries himself inside your soft, fluttering walls. Groaning, his head falls back to the mattress, eyes clenched shut, his balls pumping rope after rope of cum deep inside your pussy.

Slumping forward, your nose presses uncomfortably against his collarbone. His hands loosen their grip and he runs his fingertips across your back and side, raising chillbumps in their wake. Humming, you tilt your head and kiss his neck.

“Such a sweet girl,” he rumbles in your ear.

Your eyes drift closed, and it’s not until you feel movement that you realize you have even fallen asleep. 

“I did not mean to wake you.” Vergil shifts you in his arms. You can feel his spend oozing from your puffy cunt sending a frisson of heat through your clit. 

Shaking your head, you ease yourself up onto your feet. “I need to go clean up.”

His eyes drag down your naked body to see the mess he left between your thighs. His cock flexes, but stays soft. 

“Shall I accompany you to the bath?” 

Feeling shy and a little intimidated, you nod. “That would be nice.”

He ushers you into his en suite bathroom, fussing over the towels and water temperature before finally settling you both under the shower spray. Vergil lathers you in his body wash, being careful to wash every inch of your skin. You hum, eyes closed and totally relaxed. Soft kisses are pressed into your shoulders and neck. Between the warmth of his body and the drumming heat of the water, you think to yourself it’s quite easy to fall for someone like Vergil.

Once he finishes with you, he sets to cleaning  himself. Vergil bats your hands away from helping him wash off. He keeps it perfunctory, just a quick and thorough cleaning before he’s pressing back against you in the water, lips seeking yours out. You look up at him, his hair beaten down by the water and making him look younger. Fingers running through his wet strands, you slick it back. 

“You’re really handsome,” you mumble, feeling embarrassed and juvenile once the words escape you.

He grasps the wrist marked by his teeth and drops a soft kiss to your palm. 

“And you are unequivocally lovely.” His blue eyes never waver from your gaze. “You have bewitched me quite easily.”

His hands cup your jaw, thumbs brushing across your cheek bones. “Would it be forward of me to ask for a courtship?”

You laugh, blinking the water from your eyes. “Kind of did things a bit backwards, huh?”

His lips tic into a half smile. “Yes, a bit backwards.”

Smiling, you slip your arms around his shoulders. “I’d love to go out with you.” Pausing, your eyes dart to the side, a frown pinching your brow. “You don’t think it’s weird I’m Nero’s friend?”

“As long as you do not find it odd that I’m his father,” he jokes, and it makes you smile up at him again.

“Then, it’s settled,” you stretch up on your toes to kiss his nose.

A huff of laughter escapes him before he kisses you sweetly. His hands still cup your jaw, keeping your head angled perfectly for him to deepen the kiss into something hot and heavy. After a few minutes of making out under the shower spray, you both begin to feel the water cooling off. 

“Let’s get out.” He kisses you one last time, a quick peck to your lips, before shutting the water off and stepping out of the shower.

Returning quickly, he wraps a towel around you and gently dries you off. Once you’re ready, he drops the towel and has you put on one of his bathrobes. It’s too long in the sleeves and the hem touches the floor, but it’s soft and comfortable. He towels off quickly, eyes never straying too far from you. You watch him, with a dopey smile on your face you’re sure. 

After cinching the towel around his waist, Vergil runs a hand through his damp hair, brushing it back from his face except for a few strands that stubbornly refuse to move. 

“Let’s find you something to wear.” He tugs the end of the robe’s sleeve. “But it seems like my clothes may wear a bit long on you.”

You shrug, following him back into the bedroom. “I can head back to my room and—”

“Nonsense,” he cuts you off. “Especially since you’ll be sleeping in here, there is no reason to leave the room for tonight.”

“Oh!” Surprise suffuses your features.

“Did you think I would have you leave?” A nonplussed look combined with an eyebrow raise leaves you feeling sheepish. 

“I didn’t think about it honestly,” you smile awkwardly. “But I’m more than happy to stay.”

“Good,” he tugs you in for a kiss before guiding you over to his closet. “I have a few items you can wear comfortably.”

Walking into the closet, he moves over to a built in wardrobe, leaving you to look around the space. You wander over to a tall mirror seated into the wall. Vergil turns with a shirt in hand and sees you admiring the ornate frame.

“It was a gift from my mother,” he says conversationally, stepping behind you.

“It’s gorgeous,” you smile at him through the reflected surface.

“Thank you,” he nods, then holds up the shirt. “May I?”

“Oh, sure,” you go to turn and he stops you.

One hand undoes your robe and lets it fall to the floor; his nostrils flare, eyes dragging down your naked body. Surprisingly, he doesn’t do anything more than help slip the shirt over your head. The fabric is soft and it smells like him, making your heart beat fast. He smoothes it down your body, hands resting on your hips.

Vergil pushes up against you and you bite your lip to feel his cock rutting against your thigh. 

“Like what you see?” You tease, lifting the hem of the shirt from where it falls against your upper thighs, barely concealing your naked cunt.

“Always,” he nips your earlobe, hands drifting under your shirt to pull it up over your breasts.

He pinches your nipples and your head falls against his chest. Mewling, you rock back against his chubbed cock. One hand groping your tits, he slips the other away to undo his robe. Vergil’s hand then grasps your hip, thumb digging into your lower back. Notching his cock at your pussy, he swipes through the slick leaking from your hole. 

“So eager,” his svelte voice fills your ears the same time he sinks inside your wet pussy.  

He pins you to the mirror, the cool glass almost too much for your hard nipples. He pistons his cock harder into you, smushing your tits into the reflected glass. Face turned to the side, your breath fogs the mirror with each gasping pant. Your reedy moans and his soft grunts fill the closet space; long deep strokes of his cock send pleasure surging through your body. You’re still so sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take long to push you to the edge.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Spread open and perfect. Taking me so well.”

“Vergil,” you whimper, eyes fluttering with every bump against your cervix.

“Do you know how delectable it is that you can cum like this?” He rumbles, raspy tone making you clench down on him. “I don’t even need to touch your pretty clit, just fill this slick cunt with my cock until you’re cumming around me.”

“Oh, god, I’m so close, please,” you babble, spit smearing against the mirror from your parted lips. 

He shifts his grip from your hips to your ass, squeezing hard enough for fat to dimple between his fingers. Grunting, he fucks into you even harder, cock splitting you open with every deep stroke. His drippy tip bumps into the opening of your womb and sends pleasure careening through your veins. Pressure builds up in your core and you twist your hips, trying to change the angle of Vergil’s dick. 

“W-wait, I’m—I think I’m gonna pee,” embarrassment makes your voice squeaky. “Vergil, please, I don’t wanna make a mess.”

He grunts, hips thrusting harder. “Let yourself go. I promise it will be fine. Your sweet cunt is just feeling good.”

Hands pushing at the mirror, you raise up but the angle only drives his cock in deeper, the head nailing your cervix and making your legs tremble. Clit pulsing, the tight band of arousal centered in your core finally snaps. Slick gushes around Vergil’s cock, nearly pushing him out of your pussy. Pussy walls flutter and pulse around his thick length, sucking him further into your soaked cunt.

“Perfect girl,” he groans, leaning forward to bite and kiss your neck. “Look at you squirting for me.”

Your watery eyes turn to your reflection and you take in your fucked out expression. Eyes moving from yours to Vergil, you watch him in the mirror. His eyes meet yours and he smirks.

“Didn’t that feel good?” He coos. “Now, rub that sweet, swollen clit. Let’s make you feel even better.”

Feeling wrung out, you sluggishly do as he says. Your fingers rub your clit in soft circles and your pussy flutters around his cock.

“Perfect,” he whispers, burying his face against your shoulder, teeth biting into the muscle. “So lovely.”

You whimper and whine, pussy swollen and sensitive and yet you still want to cum for Vergil, let him feel you squeeze down on his cock. He continues biting into your shoulders, breath hot on your neck when he finally raises his head to stare at you in the mirror.

“I’m close,” he murmurs. “Are you ready for my seed? Ready for me to spill inside you.. right here?” One hand slides up to press his palm flat to your lower abdomen. “Cum inside you so deep, you’ll be dripping for days.”

“Please, please,” you beg, tears clumping your lashes together. “I want you to cum inside me. Please, Vergil, please.”

“How can I deny such a sweet request?” He hums.

His hand joins yours, fingertips strumming across your clit and sending electricity zinging through your brain. He kisses a sensitive spot on your neck that leaves you shuddering, and he latches onto the skin, teeth and tongue working to leave a mark. Cock brushing against the spongy spot at the front of your cunt paired with his fingers playing with your pudgy clit sends you spiraling into another orgasm. 

“Utterly perfect,” he growls, letting your walls milk his cock as you slump into the mirror, climax wiping out your muscles. 

Reaching under your thighs, Vergil hooks your legs over his forearms and lifts you up. Too tired to care, he spreads you open, showing you both where he’s splitting you open. Grunting, he fucks you, cock barely pulling out before filling you once more. It doesn’t take long for him to drop you down onto his dick as he thrusts up, stilling with a low groan. Hot spurts of cum coat your pussy walls, making you gasp and clench down on his cock. 

“Such a good girl,” he moans in your ear and your hole clamps down on him even harder.

Grunting, he pumps his cock slowly in and out, spurting the rest of his thick, sticky load into your cunt. There’s so much, you can see some of it bubble out from around his cock. When Vergil finally pulls out, his dick is coated in your slick and his spend; a quick glance at your hole shows it completely stuffed with his cum.

Feeling self conscious, you squirm in his hold. “Y-you can put me down now.”

He chuckles and it sends butterflies through your chest.

“I rather like this view,” he noses against your ear before kissing the shell.

His half hard cock rubs against your ass and you whimper.

“Maybe we should call it a night, hmm?”

You nod, watching as Vergil continues to nuzzle against your ear. He turns his attention back to you, eyes locking on yours in the mirror. 

“So much for that shower,” you mumble, surprising him enough he barks out a laugh.

“Apologies,” he kisses your cheek. “Should we have another?”

Shaking your head, you turn your head to kiss his temple. “No sense. I have a feeling we’d only end up this way again.”

“I fear you are right,” he kisses you before slowly lowering your legs down to the floor. Clicking your tongue, you wince at the thick glob of cum oozing from your pussy. 

“Bend over,” he suddenly orders and you have no reason to resist. 

He spreads your cunt and slides his tongue into your messy hole.

“Vergil,” you squeal. 

“Hush,” he pats your ass and you bite your lip. “I’m cleaning up my mess.”

Overly sensitive, you moan quietly, feeling every swipe of his probing tongue as he licks his cum out of your pussy. Once he can’t taste any more dripping out of you, Vergil pulls away, dropping one last kiss to your lower back before standing up. 

Once more, he smoothes down the shirt he picked out for you to wear to bed, eyes warm in and otherwise stoic expression. 

“Now shall we head to bed?”

You laugh, legs shaky enough that Vergil wraps a hand around your waist to let you lean against him.

“Are we going to bed? Or are we going to bed?” You raise your eyebrows at him, amusement coloring your voice.

“Both,” he deadpans, and you snort before covering your mouth. 

“How is that funny?” He murmurs, grabbing your waist and manhandling you down onto the bed.

His hands brush your thighs and your hips, seeking out any ticklish spots. Laughing, you sink your hands into his hair and guide him up to your mouth for a kiss. He sighs against your lips, and you whimper to taste yourself on his tongue.

Pulling away, he glances down at your bare thighs. “Shall I procure undergarments?”

“No, thank you.” You run your hands down his neck to his shoulders. “I don’t think I’ll need any.”

His shoulders twitch under your hands as he breathes out a soft laugh.

“Are you suggesting that I cannot keep my hands to myself?”

“I’m suggesting,” you whisper against his mouth, “that I don’t mind if you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

He licks into your mouth, groans muffled against your tongue. Hot, open mouthed kisses simmer down to sweet, soft presses of his lips until he finally pulls back.

“As delightful as another round would be, we should attempt to sleep,” he sighs, forehead pressing against your temple.

“Mmm hmm,” you agree readily, your body starting to feel how tired you truly are. “No complaints from me.”

He hums, the sound tickling your face and making you giggle. Tossing the covers back, he helps you get comfortable before tugging the sheets back over your bodies. Sighing happily, you snuggle into Vergil’s chest, letting his scent and body heat lull you to sleep.

[r3starttt]

SUMMER FOREVER

PAIRING: Abby Anderson x reader

SUMMARY: This aint my first time but baby I hope that it's my last. Want this to last.

CW: Modern AU. Established relationship. Too cliche. first pride together. FLUFF

AN: @grotesquevi tagged me on a pride month writing challenge!!! I chose the 1st pride together + 2025 song (Summer forever - Addison Rae) and hates summer x loves summer prompts. Tried my best, sorry for this being so... ugh. But I need to start writing even if it sucks!!!! otherwise I will quit... again... hahan't. ANYGAYSSSSS enjoy(????

also yes... this is ODDLY specific. I'm healing, let me be.

TAGLIST: @twopeopleequalsfour-blog @greysontheidiot @sapphic-ovaries @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworldd @1-800-fantasy @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @abbys-muscles @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight

You had planned this forever. Always saw it in the movies, always saw it in the shows. Always on social media, people laughing and kissing and hugging and existing with huge smiles and flushed cheeks. All over the world, all over your screen, but never you.

First because you weren't even sure you liked girls, then because you were too afraid to tell others, then because you were afraid of going.

The what ifs ate you alive.

What if someone hurt you or followed you or you were too shy to make friends or have fun or enjoy.

Then, you didn't have someone to go with, and yes you could go alone, but all you wanted was to celebrate love, and you wanted it to be with the right girl, then the right woman.

It always made you smile tho, in between the heat of June, taking a few seconds from school and then job to look at your screen and see pride flags everywhere, to look at your favorite people having the time of their life's with their loved ones, safe.

And then you met her.

Blonde, long hair, freckles everywhere and the prettiest smile you've ever seen.

She wasn't even looking at you when you first noticed her– you didn't even know each other. Just a random girl who caught your attention while you hurried to your next class.

Then you saw her in front of you at the cafeteria, laughing about some guy's joke until he skipped line and made everyone furious. She groaned loudly and yelled his name before turning around.

You didn't know back then but eventually she confessed it to you, she never forgot your face after that. And she hoped and prayed to every god for you to show in her way again.

You didn't.

Not for years.

Yes you looked at each other from afar whenever you met paths again, but never too close, never enough time for any of you to turn around and notice the other staring or for you to ask for each other's Instagram or number or anything.

And years later you saw her again.

A loosen braid and a black shirt. Simple outfit, but you could never forget. The white sweater hanging on her shoulders caught your attention first. Then her pout as she looked down on her phone and typed gently on it.

Baby hairs brushing her cheeks as you opened the door, hurrying once again because you were late to the job interview.

She noticed you.

You didn't.

She didn't tell you back then, not even when dating. It was her father who told you how she had begged everyone in that office to give you a chance.

That's how you got your first job.

The second she saw you putting your apron at 8 am in the middle of summer break, she walked towards you and asked for your number. No excuse, no explanation.

"I'm Abigail. Call me Abby." Was all she said right after.

She always helped you to use the confusing coffee machines, and the weird oven, and was there to help you relax when there were a lot of customers.

You laughed at every bad joke she made, and let your fingers linger on hers for longer than you should've. Then, you started to come a little early and leave a bit too late just to talk with her for longer.

And when summer ended you found yourselves hanging out every single chance that was given.

Until she asked you to be her girlfriend. You cried and she panicked and hugged you, repeating how it was fine If you didn't want to. And you only cried more because she was so sweet and the hug felt maybe too nice. And you tilted your head back to look at her and cup at her blushed cheeks before kissing her lips and apologize back. "I do, I want to be your girlfriend." And she smiled with the cutest face you've ever seen. With puppy eyes and flushed cheeks and bright freckles. And you knew she had to be yours forever.

That's why summer had always been special.

This time, Abby dragged you to the prettiest hotel in New York and took you to the prettiest places and kissed you for every single picture. She matched your outfits and held your hand all the time. And made sure to take you to the fanciest most delicious restaurants ever.

And she would laugh at your angry face whenever you got too sticky or too hot. Just to then take out a small fan from her bag and give it to you in silence. "You look so pretty like that."

You frowned even more, looking at her as she held the fan for you. "Like what? sweaty and melting?" your tone a bit less hatred than before as you slid your phone in her bag. And Abby nodded, brushing your hair off your face. "Exactly. I love that frown you make." You unconsciously frowned even more, as if offended. "Yup, that one." And then you laughed, rolling your eyes before interwining your sticky arms together and walking back to the hotel.

You weren't her first, but her second. She had little experience in dating but definitely more than you, and yet she found herself amused at every single thing you did. Like no one had ever held her hand before or kissed her or looked at her.

And it was always the cutest to see.

Your Abby.

The same woman who would be rubbing your back as you cried at the sight of all the people around you. The young and old. The happy, the sad. The ones who came alone and with their friends. The ones who just like you came with their partners to celebrate love on its purest way.

Because you were once too young and scared to let this be. And now you had the woman of your dreams too worried at your quiet happy sobs. "You sure you're okay?" Her hand cupped at your cheek, brushing your cries away. Curved eyebrows and her usual pout.

You nodded, struggling to explain all the love and joy you were feeling. That until you leaned for the sweetest kiss. With loud music in the back and people cheering for you two as if they've known you forever. With the heat warming your bodies a bit too much.

You could only care about her, the sweetness in her lips and the smell of her perfume that somehow lingered in the huge crowd.

"Come on." She murmured against your lips. Holding your face for a forehead kiss instead before holding your hand back and guiding you. "You know." Abby speaks loud but gentle as you start to dance to the music again. And you tilt your head to look at her, nodding. "I hope we can fall in love every summer!"

You laugh at her, at the cheesy inside she has for you and you only. But agree with a silent smile. "I hope too!"

—

"Ugh come here!" You giggle, opening your arms for her to cuddle. And Abby seems surprised if not completely shocked. "But I'm all sweaty–" she then pauses, taking a long sip from the cold water bottle she had saved for when you two came back. Always prepared in advance. "You're all sweaty." Her tone innocent.

"And?" you frowned as if offended. "And? you hate being sticky. I can't believe you're even laying in that bed." Her chin tilted a little to where you were resting. Arms on your stomach and legs laying on the end of the bed, shoes still on. "Just come here. Please?" you insisted once again, widening your arms enough to fit her.

Abby didn't deny you, never. And like she did, she walked into your arms. Knee in between your legs in order for her to not sofocate you. And slowly she allowed her body weight to rest against yours. With her elbows on the sides of your face and her lips trailing kisses everywhere, followed by a silent "I love you." And then: "So much... you know?"

You moved your fingers behind her neck, not caring about anything but her body against yours. And then you held her messy braid, loosening her hair while combing your digits against her tangled blonde. "Oh I know..." You nodded to confirm her question. "I love you more, tho."

Her frown Inmediatelly met you. Eyes meeting yours and flickering gently. "No." She then paused. "That's impossible." And her lips met yours for the millionth time today.

You ended sleeping with the AC hums as your background. Arms around each other with your face nestled against her chest.

And maybe this is what life was always about.

Not pride, but the safety that came with it. With love.

[streamsofmoon]

vi x f!reader

synopsis: when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night/when you think about me all of those years ago...

a/n: i said i wanted to write something based on good luck babe by chappell roan and here we are :)

When you wake up in the middle of the night, it's with a gasp. A gasp so harsh that it leaves your throat sore for a second. Your heart's a thundering drum in your chest, and you try to calm it down—try to breathe in and out.

It almost doesn’t work until you feel your muscles start to relax. Until you're able to rest against the headboard with a heavy sigh, your soul weary as you look around the dark room.

Beside you, your husband sleeps peacefully. Unknown to the troubles that plague your mind and the woes that sit heavy on your spirit.

He makes you happy; he does everything for you—goes above and beyond for you. Out of all the men that have tried to capture your attention, he succeeded with his kind and soft nature. He is, what many would call, a dream.

But it's horrifying to find out when you don't love someone like that. When you don't love someone who is so startlingly right for you. Because love is a funny thing; it's unbalanced and unpredictable and inconsiderate with how it behaves. It's an awful thing to experience, especially when it refuses to go where you need it to.

Your wedding ring is oddly cold against the warmth of your finger. It's chilling when you rub your thumb against it; it provides a reason for you to take it off. There are other reasons, but those aren't ones you're able to conquer just yet.

Because love is the defining factor once more.

You're happy.

You're happy.

You should be—

"So you’re going to marry him?" Vi asks you on your wedding day. She's gorgeous in a two-piece suit that fits her like a glove. It's hard to take your eyes off her, especially with the way she's looking at you.

"I am," you tell her, fixing the necklace around your neck. It was a gift from your future husband, golden and covered in diamonds. "Isn't that what people do when they're in love? Get married?"

Vi scoffs and murmurs, "oh please," beneath her breath, loud enough for you to hear. Loud enough to have your hands still as you stare at her in the mirror, eyebrows furrowed.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" You question, a bit of anger injected in your tone. "And don't tell me nothing, we both know you're not shy with your feelings."

"Okay," Vi says, sliding her hands into her pant pockets. "You wanna know what I think? You don't love him."

Your heart drops a little despite knowing where this conversation is heading. "Not this again," you say softly, turning around so you can look at Vi. "Vi, you can't keep doing this. You can't keep dictating how I feel." You point towards the dressing room door, the one that leads out to where you'll say your vows. "I love him and I am going to get married to him and you need to—"

Your next sentence is cut off by Vi's fast approach, and her lips smashing against yours. You gasp in surprise, fighting back weakly for a mere second before you're succumbing to her kiss. Your mouth opens eagerly to welcome her tongue, moaning as she kisses you deeply. Her arms around your waist feel like home and the way she makes you feel with a single kiss...

Your future husband has never been able to achieve what this feels like.

And you doubt he ever will.

When Vi pulls back, it's reluctant, and she kisses you gently one more time, like she can't help herself. Then she's resting her forehead against yours, breathing you in as you clutch at the lapels of her suit jacket.

The moment stretches on for almost too long until Vi asks, one more time, "You're going to marry him?"

No, you want to yell. No, I'm not going to marry him. I'm going to run away with you and be happy with you.

But you don't say that.

Because you can't.

You aren't allowed to.

"...I am," is what you say, voice weak and thin with your pain. "I have to."

Vi doesn't reply, but the way her arms tighten around you says more than words can.

Her lips are light when she kisses your forehead, soft and lingering, before she's walking out of the room and she's...gone.

And you haven't seen her since.

You wish you could cry, but the numbness won't let you. It only offers you the hellish sanctuary of loud thoughts that shake you mercilessly, leaving your head ringing.

Your husband shifts beside you, the sheets shifting with him, and your heart breaks a little more.

And as you stare off into space, you can't help but wonder.

[romanticatheartt]

Dancing Under the Moonlight

Relationship: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand Characters: Feyre Archeron, Fem!Rhysand, background Morrigan Rating: Mature No. Chapters: One shot Word count: 4.8k Read on AO3

Summery: After Feyre confesses to Mor that perhaps her feelings toward her very hot and very woman cousin aren't just those of friends, she decides a little push wouldn't hurt. After all, what could possibly go wrong? Note: Happy Pride month🌈

The knock on the door startled her so that she almost dropped her color palette. She looked around and–

“Shit,” she said under her breath when she looked at the sky from the floor to ceiling window. It was almost night time. 

It wasn’t like the first time she forgot to take a break, drink water, and eat something before she passed out. She was lucky this time that she came back to earth before all that happened. She snorted to herself and then paused. 

What startled her again?

The knock on the door finally registered. 

“Oh,” she exclaimed, dropped her tools on the table next to her, and went to open the door. Before opening, she stopped to think who it could possibly be knocking? She has paid her rent, Ressina left a few hours ago, that much she remembered, and Mor is on a photoshoot in Adriata. Was it her sisters? It couldn’t be. Another knock brought her back to the present. 

“Feyre? It’s me, Rhys,” the melodious, velvety voice like a lover calling to her, reached her from behind the door. Her voice sent a shiver down Feyre’s spine, and goosebumps spread all over her body. 

Oh no. Feyre sprinted to her tiny bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Shit, she didn’t have enough time to fix herself before opening the door. She pulled the rubber band from the top of her head, which held her messy bun, and started combing her fingers through her hair. She couldn’t do much about the paint on her arms and face. Thankfully, her makeup from morning still held up a little and didn’t look half as bad. 

She cringed. How could she stand before her, the very Aphrodite on earth, while looking like this?

“I’m coming,” she shouted while trying to get rid of her apron. She almost fell when she tripped over the new box of paint that was delivered this morning, and then looked around. She wanted to cry. This place was a mess. Then again, everyone knew that, but it was Rhys’ first time being here, and first impressions matter. 

She jogged the rest of the way and opened the door, her college making a soft sound on the marble floor. She was oddly breathless, and when she finally set her eyes on the person standing in front of her threshold, her breath caught in her throat. 

Her beauty never stopped making Feyre’s heart skip a beat. Black hair that reflected midnight blue in the right light, styled in big volume with shiny waves like old Hollywood movies, cradling her oval, angular face. Light brown skin, sharp cheekbones, and plump, kissable lips that were always formed in a smirk. 

But none of them fascinated Feyre as much as her eyes. They were the deepest shade of blue that almost appeared violet, just like the color of galaxies, as if she held a starry night in her fox-shaped eyes. 

Rhys tilted her head, a soft smile on her lips, and Feyre realized she had been staring at her like a fool for far too long. She eternally cursed herself and shook her head a little. 

“Rhys,” Why did she sound so breathless? Get a grip! Her mind screamed at her. “What a surprise. I didn’t expect you here,” 

She didn’t even know she was aware where her art studio was. Rhys recently came back to Velais after finishing her education in Illyria. A couple of months ago, Mor invited her to one of their girls' nights at Rita with Amren, Ressina, and Alis and introduced her as her distant cousin. 

Feyre had been enchanted ever since. 

She perfectly fit in their group of friends. Funny, witty, and with a strong, independent character, she charmed everyone and was accepted easily. 

But she knew her feelings toward her weren’t as innocent as those of only friends. And that scared her. 

“Mor texted me,” she held up her phone, the text app already on screen. “She told me there was a big chance you forgot to eat because she’s been texting you since noon.” 

Fucking Mor. Feyre knew she wasn’t exactly worried for her, well maybe a little, but she could’ve called Alis or even Amren to check on her, not Rhys, whom she had a big crush on. She regretted telling Mor about it a week ago. She practically came out to her without realising it.

She checked her phone, and yep, over twenty notifications only from Mor. She could already guess the content of her texts. 

“And she’s right,” she huffed a laugh, a little embarrassed. “Where are my manners? Please come in.” 

She opened the door wider and let her pass the threshold while Rhys smiled at her and mumbled a thanks. Were her cheeks a little red? Was it hot outside? Maybe she imagined it. 

Her scent reached Feyre—citrus and the sea. It took everything in her not to bury her nose in her neck. Passing her, she dared look at Rhys’s form. She was an athlete, that much was clear. She had a powerful, lean body with curves in the right places. She was taller than Feyre and practically towered over her in heels. 

She felt her whole body warm. Yes, it was hot in her studio. Closing the door, she went straight to the window and opened it. When she turned from the window after taking a breath to calm herself, she found Rhys putting takeout containers on the counter of her small kitchen at the far end of her studio. 

“I didn’t know what you’d like, and Mor didn’t answer when I asked,” Rhys looked over her shoulder at her. “I assume she is a little busy with her shoot,” 

Well, she doesn’t seem so busy when she has time to be a busybody all the way from Adriata, she thought to herself. 

“So I bought a little bit of everything for you,” Rhys continued, and Feyre finally looked at the counter, and her eyes widened. It was full of plastic and paper boxes of Velaris' popular dishes. She came a little closer and inspected them closely. 

“You better stay and eat these with me; otherwise, I won’t be able to finish,” Feyre said. Then, she turned just in time to see her tip her head back and laugh heartily. It was a beautiful, contagious sound that Feyre had no choice but to join. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Rhys chuckled and handed her a plastic fork and spoon. 

It was easy to talk to her. Rhys was a good listener and seemed genuinely interested in what she said. Feyre specifically noticed this since in her previous relationships, she never had their rapt attention. It was refreshing for her and made talking about her interests less awkward, like it used to be when talking to her ex-boyfriend. 

She showed her some of her paintings and the one she was working on before her arrival. But she tried to pry her attention away from that corner of the room. 

It made something in Feyre’s chest sparkle when she complimented her work enthusiastically. It wasn’t the first time people told her she was good at what she was doing, but somehow, coming from Rhys was different. She preened every time she noticed little details and meaning behind each piece.

They talked about nothing and everything. Rhys asked about her studio, and Feyre told her about turning it into a therapeutic art class for children and adults after finishing her master's in art therapy. 

Feyre asked about her job. She vaguely knew about it, but she wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything about her. 

She had a younger brother who lived in Illyria with their parents until he finished his education. She turned back to Velaris a little bit sooner than the rest of her family to take the CEO position in her family jewelry business, which has been running in her family for generations. And that was exactly why she studied business. 

“I’m the first woman to take the position of CEO. And for obvious reasons, my uncle, Mor’s father, disagreed,” Rhys said while stabbing her fork into her chicken salad, sitting on a stool near the window. Moonlight cascaded on her, and she looked like a goddess of the moon. 

She had traded her Louboutins for comfortable slippers that Feyre kept around. She looked ridiculous in them with her silk black bottom down and midi indigo skirt, but somehow, she pulled it off. She was sure Rhys could make a sack of potatoes look good. 

“I was lucky to have my father’s support. Either way, I would’ve kept the position and would’ve fought anyone who tried to take what is rightfully mine from me, but it was nice to have my family's support,” 

“From what Mor told me about that vile man, his disagreement tracks,” Feyre replied a little furiously. She was there when the fallout between Mor and her family happened after she told them about her sexuality. 

Kind and passionate Mor, who was sunshine impersonate, went through the toughest stage of depression. It killed Feyre seeing her like that. She was like a sister to her, so she had made it her mission to help her pull through that stage of her life. 

“Thank you for being there for her,” Rhys almost mumbled, a little ashamed. “She didn’t tell us about what he’d done, and I was too busy with my college that we had lost contact at a time,” 

“You shouldn’t feel guilty for that,” Feyre said to her firmly. “She didn’t want anyone to know, and if she could, she would’ve also kept me in the dark, but we were living together and I couldn’t in good conscience leave her fend for herself,” 

Rhys looked at her in something akin to admiration. Feyre averted her gaze, feeling her cheeks warm. She should rein in her feelings, or her heart would start planning their wedding already. 

Wedding? Her mind screeched to a halt. 

“Either way, I’m grateful she had you,” Rhys continued gently, unaware of the war between Feyre’s heart and mind. 

After they finished, Rhys helped her clean up even though she told her several times that she got it handled. It felt awfully domestic, and Feyre’s heart was winning the war because of it. She could feel her stare from time to time, and she wished she’d stop; otherwise, she would start turning red from head to toe. 

Her stare burned, and even tho she tried to cross it as her delusions, she couldn’t help but think of the possibility of them. Was she even interested in women? Of course she was, and Feyre knew it. Her real question was: Was Rhys attracted to her? 

She’d seen how men and women gave her their numbers or bought her drinks. She understood them and would’ve asked her out herself if she wasn't a coward. She was alluringly beautiful, wealthy, and successful. Of course, people would willingly throw themselves at her. 

She had long stopped lying to herself and accepted that the emotion brewing inside her whenever she saw someone looking at her suggestively was jealousy. But she also knew she was way out of Rhys’s league. 

Feyre, who could barely pay her rent and university loans on time, had paint splattered all over her old sweater and overall jeans, had messy hair and a plain face, could never reach her status. 

While she was busy with her self-destructive thoughts and cleaning up the studio a little bit, Rhys's observation of her canvases and her heading toward the corner Feyre tried to keep her away from went completely unnoticed.  

There was a cover over the canvas; she finished it a few days ago and didn’t dare to show it to anyone. It was for her eyes and her eyes only. Rhys was already pulling the cover when she straightened from pushing the paint box to a corner and turned to look at her. 

“Wait–” Feyer almost shouted and ran toward her, but it was too late. Her heart pounded in her chest when she came to a halt a few feet from her, unable to speak. 

Rhys was utterly still. Feyre wasn’t even sure if she was breathing, which worried her.

“I–” she had nothing to say. Completely horrified and speechless. What do you even say in these situations? 

The painting under the cover was a sensual scene she witnessed during a night at Rita’s. Rhys was dancing in her little black dress, her long, beautiful legs on display, moving her hips against a red-haired woman. They were pressed against each other, their face so close together, absolutely wasted from how much they had drunk, but her moves were controlled. Her chest was pressed against the other woman’s, one of Rhys’ hands was placed against her lower back while the other was at her hip, making an absolutely lewd image. 

Feyre had been so hot and bothered, and with the jealousy burning her skin, she had left. But of course, Mor had noticed, and the next morning they had a heart to heart conversation.

The canvas was exactly the painting of the night. But there was no red-haired woman at Rhys’ arm. Instead, the woman in the painting had wavy, golden brown hair and wore a thin-strapped crimson top with black jeans. 

Exactly the outfit she wore that night. 

She refrained from completing the details on her own face so she could be anyone, really. But Rhys would know.

She couldn’t complete it for some reason and had a hard time imagining herself with her. She looked out of place in her arms. 

She didn’t know what she should say. Sorry? My hand slipped? I will burn it, and you’ll never see it again? 

Rhys's lack of reaction made her feel cold. She felt embarrassed and ashamed. She hated it, Feyre could tell. What would she have thought if a random man had painted her with himself sensually? She felt tears of humiliation and rejection gathering in her eyes, which was ridiculous. Without thinking, she passed Rhys and dropped the cover back. 

“I’m sorry, I–” She didn’t get to finish her sentence, which was just fine when she didn't even know where it would go. 

She felt hands on her hips and was spun so fast before she could figure out what was happening. Her back got pressed against the nearest wall, and her breath was knocked out of her lungs, and a tear fell from the corner of her right eye. 

She felt a hand under her chin, tilting her head up, and she met with violet blue. Her breath caught in her throat. Rhys’s face was so close she could see every single one of her eyelashes, long and thick. Her lush lips were an inch from hers. They were both breathing heavily, their breast pressed against each other just like the painting. 

Rhys circled her arm around her waist, pressing her even closer to her. Feyre could feel every soft and smooth part of her body beneath her clothes. She dared to put one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder, gripping them tightly to anchor herself on something before she felt herself levitating. 

Rhys’s face got closer and closer and then– 

Feyre whimpered pathetically in surprise before she could stop it and closed her eyes when she felt her tongue against her cheek, licking the tear away. Rhys pressed a kiss under her eye, and she pulled away, lowering her face to the left side of her neck and taking a deep breath. “Your smell. Lilac and pear,” she sounded breathless. That made the two of them. “It’s maddening,”

She dared to open her eyes again. Rhys’s pupils were dilated so that her eyes were almost black. The desire and hunger in them matched hers, and Feyre didn’t stop the shiver running through her body. 

“Rhys,” she breathed, unable to say anything else. She was surrounded by her scent, aura, and warmth, and she found herself addicted to it. Rhys tilted her head as if to kiss her, and Feyre felt the anticipation making her heart thud faster and faster in her chest. 

Instead of kissing her, Rhys slid her thigh between the junction of hers which made Feyre bit her lips and swallowed a moan when the seam of her jeans pressed precisely against her clit. 

“Don’t,” Rhys whispered, using her thumb to release her irritated lower lip from her teeth. The moan stuck in her throat was out before she realised. 

The hand on her hip began to move her against her thigh pressed between her legs, and Feyre moaned prettily for her. Rhys let out a satisfied hum and moved her own hips against hers. She could already feel her panties getting damp from her arousal. 

“Tell me to stop, darling,” she mumbled into her mouth. 

“Do not stop,” the end of her word was swallowed by Rhys when she pressed her lips to hers. Feyre knew it was coming, she had anticipated her lips on her, but it didn’t stop the zap of pleasure running through her body that made her arch into her. Using her tongue, Rhys pried Feyre’s lips open, thrusting her tongue into her mouth, and she moaned. It was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard, and Feyre wanted to hear it again. 

Rhys moved the hand from under her chin to her hip and began moving her against each other in earnest. Feyre slid her hand from her waist, brushed against her breasts, before she placed it on her jaw so she could tilt her head and kiss her better. As if she couldn’t help herself, she moved her fingers and ran them through her soft hair. 

Rhys’s long nails left stings on her clothed skin, but she didn’t mind. She hoped it left her marks on her body. 

Finally finding the right rhythm, she began to move her hip on her own. The pressure on her cunt intensifying, making her moan and whimper louder into the kiss. 

“That’s it, darling,” she breathed after pulling away from her mouth for air, a string of saliva still connecting their lips. “Let's see if we can turn those pretty sounds into a scream,” 

She flushed from her words, dug her nails into her scalp, and brought her lips to her again. She wasn’t a screamer during sex, or even a moaner. Her three-month relationship with Isaac was decent; he could get her to completion just fine. And the couple of years with Tamlin were good, perhaps the only thing they were good at. But none of them made her scream. 

She could feel that was about to change with Rhys. 

Rhys’ hand slided down and groped her ass, kneading the flesh all the while rubbing herself against Feyre’s thigh. Her other hand moved up to her hair, gripped the roots firmly but gently, and pulled her away from her lips. 

The moon loved Rhys so much with the way it shone on her. She made her look almost ethereal. Feyre couldn’t stop staring at her if she tried. Her hands itched to paint it on a canvas so she could never forget.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful,” Rhys whispered. Feyre preened at the words, a shy little smile graced her stinging lips from all the kisses. It felt like a joke coming from her, but she could see the sincerity in her face.

She called her beautiful, but she was a sight to behold. Put together Rhys, with her elegant clothes and jewelry, was gorgeous, but wild and free Rhys and the look of desire on her face might just be her undoing. Cheeks flushed, hair wild, and breathing through her swollen lips. Her blood colored lipstick smeared around her mouth from the kiss. 

She was unable to speak, her mind fuzzy from desire; otherwise, she would’ve told her how she was the most beautiful person she had ever seen.

“I imagined you,” she whispered, as if telling her a secret. She made sure Feyre was looking at her while she confessed. “I imagined she was you while I danced with her,” 

Shock went through her body, leaving her dizzy with this revelation. 

Feeling overwhelmed from the look of adoration and honesty in Rhys’ eyes and the pleasure heightening between her legs, she wrapped her arms around her neck while hiding her face into her throat, and fastened the movement of her hips. She was sure the slickness of her cunt had already leaked through the thick fabric of her jeans on Rhys’ skirt. And when Feyre looked down to confirm, she saw her lover’s arousal smearing on her jeans as well.

The sight of it sent a new surge of pleasure wracking her body, she moaned so loud it almost sounded like a scream. It only gave Rhys the confirmation she needed that Feyre was close. So she doubled her speed, and the hand in her hair pulled Feyre’s face away from her neck. 

“Look at me,” she said hoarsely. “I want to see you when you come,” 

She tried to keep her eyes open, but it became harder and harder with pleasure coursing through her. 

“Come with me,” Feyre said so close to her face, one arm still wrapped around her neck and shoulder, and her other hand coming to hold the side of her jaw.

“Always,” then with a rough thrust of her hip into hers, Feyre began free falling over the edge and in the back of her mind heard herself scream. She could feel the gush of cum exploding out of her, sliding down her legs while she tried to press them together but Rhys’ thigh between hers prevented her. 

She felt herself shaking violently, not sure whether to push Rhys off her or press closer to her. She tipped her head back, the hand in her hair prevented her from hurting her head. She lost her rhythm, but the hand still groping her ass helped her riding her pleasure out.

“You’re exquisite,” Feyre heard her moan. After a few rough thrusts, Rhys pressed Feyre’s head against her throat and moaned lewdly into her ear, her lips grazing the tip, and it made the skin of her ear tingle. Feyre felt her wetness, felt her pleasure possessing her body as intensely as hers.

After a few moments of holding and slithering against each other to ride out the pleasure, they stilled. Holding the other close and breathing their mixed scents with sex and sweat, it made Feyre shiver one last time and tighten her hold on Rhys, which she reciprocated. 

They were quiet, and the reality of what they’d done finally came down on Feyre. She didn’t know what to do, and perhaps Rhys realised her sudden stiffness, and she began caressing her hair and slowly rubbing her other hand on her back. 

She didn’t regret it, and that terrified her. What would that mean for them? What they just shared meant everything to Feyre. Did it feel the same for her?

“I assume you liked the painting?” Feyre would’ve cursed herself for her awkward attempt at lightening the mood, but hearing Rhys’ beautiful laugh made it worth it. 

She pulled away, her breathing returning to normal, and looked back at her with the most gentle expression and something else. Feyre’s breath caught in her throat, and her heartbeat began to speed up again. Rhys placed a gentle palm on her cheek. 

“It would’ve been perfect if you’d finish painting your face,” she said with an unspoken question in her tone. 

Feyre grimaced and looked down. She didn’t want to talk about her insecurities after what they’d just done, but she was trapped into doing so. 

“It didn’t feel right,” she whispered, and Rhys’ body stiffened. Feyre realised with a jolt how wrong it sounded. “No, I didn’t mean it that way, I–” 

She looked straight into the violet blue, willing her to understand where she comes from.

She hated that she doubted herself like this. She’d come so far since her previous relationship and how Tamlin made her feel inadequate. She was doing something great here, in this studio, and more importantly, something she loved so much. 

As if reading her mind, Rhys bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She lingered, moving her lips slowly against Feyre's, as if trying to make her understand her unspoken words through their kiss. 

She understood, and it made silver lining Feyre’s eyes. Pulling away, Rhys moved her thumb on her cheek soothingly. 

“What do you say to a date tomorrow night?” she whispered in the small space between their face. “I pick you up from here at seven?” 

Feyre’s throat bobbed, but butterflies began fluttering in her belly. 

“I’d say yes. I would love that very much,” she breathed, trying to restrain her smile, but surely it was unsuccessful. 

“Perfect,” she said softly. Pulling away, Feyre instantly felt cold, and if she didn’t have her scrap of dignity, she would’ve pulled her back, but she wasn’t that self-assured. 

Rhys held her hand as they entered the bathroom to clean up. Feyre felt embarrassed by the mess she had made on her skirt, but Rhys didn’t mind for one beat. If anything, she was smug about the whole thing. 

At one point, she stood behind her, helping her unbutton her overalls while she could do that perfectly by herself, her breath fanning the wisps of hair at her neck. She pushed the cloth down her waist when Feyre made a squealing sound of embarrassment and bolted to hide behind the bathroom curtain. Rhys didn’t follow, but her warm laugh did. Feyre put her hands on her cheeks as if to control her crimson cheeks. 

She picked through the curtain as Rhys straightened her clothes, hair, and makeup. She kept watching how at ease she was in her bathroom, and it stirred something new and unfamiliar in her heart, and she found herself easily getting used to it. 

Finally changing into spare pants she kept here since some days she just crashed in her studio instead of her shared apartment with Mor, and offering Rhys one of her black jeans so she could change into them, she walked her to the door while trying to peel off the paint from her hands idly. 

She felt nervous, and it seemed she had done nothing to hide it, because standing on her threshold, Rhys brought her hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles. Feyre blushed impossibly. It seemed like it would never go away when she was around her. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a date to plan,” she said with a meaningful smile. Then she pulled her against her by the hips, closing the distance. 

“Next time you want a live model, you can call me,” she said in a teasing tone that made Feyre blush, but she laughed nonetheless. “I believe nude would be best?” 

She swatted Rhys’ shoulder. “You shameless flirt,” she scolded weakly.

“What can I say? You bring it out of me,” she shrugged.

“You’re always flirty, Rhys,” not just with me, was left unsaid.

“Am I?” she squinted at her with amusement, but there was a meaning behind her words. Feyre swallowed at the realisation. 

“I’ll keep your offer in mind,” she replied instead.

Rhys smiled so widely that Feyre had no choice but to smile back. Silent laughter shook her shoulders at the taller woman’s satisfied expression.

“It’s settled then,” and as if she couldn’t help it, she pressed a light kiss to her lips. 

Watching her waiting for the elevator to arrive, Rhys turned back to her. Her signature smirk plastered on her lips. “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything,” 

“Can you finish the painting for me by tomorrow night?” she tilted her head with one arched brow. Feyre swallowed but nodded her head anyway. The implication wasn’t lost on her.

“Yeah, I can do that,” she said softly, a little emotional.

Rhys’s smile brightened her whole face. Feyre was so in awe of her that she forgot to breathe for a second. The ding of the elevator interrupted their moment, and she stepped in. 

“See you tomorrow, Feyre darling,” She winked before the door closed. 

Feyre took a deep breath and closed the door, leaning against it. She slid down and sat there for a minute. She looked at the window. Perhaps she was imagining it, but the moon and stars were shining brighter than before.

Pressing the palm of her hand to her chest, she dared herself to let hope sweep her heart. She had a feeling her life had begun to change for good since the moment she set her eyes on her, and instead of feeling dread, it calmed her. 

She closed her eyes, smiled, and let herself hope.

Special thanks to @littlest-w01f for helping me with the smut lol other tags: @edreavie, @gwyns<33

divider cr: cafekitsune

[theladyofshalott1989]

🌈️ Hogwarts Legacy Pride Week: Day Four!

Prompt: Crossover

"Rogue Ones, Found"

[ AO3 Link ]

Synopsis: Cassian Andor died for the Rebellion… or so he thought. Now, in a world far from any star he's ever known, he and his partner, Jyn, are faced with two teenage boys who, oddly enough, remind them a little too much of themselves. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1933

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Male MC (Damien Evans), Cassian Andor & Jyn Erso (from Rogue One)

Tags: POV Cassian Andor, Crossover, Cassian Andor and Jyn Erso Live, Hogwarts, Banter, Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Protective Sebastian Sallow, Protective Cassian Andor, Hurt Cassian Andor, Arguing, Chaos

Author's Note: While writing this one shot I realized that Jyn and Cassian have a very similar dynamic to Sebastian and Damien, so I, uh, leaned into that, obviously. As one would. LMAO.

@hogwartslegacyprideweek

Cassian Andor and Jyn Erso were still locked in their final embrace when something very strange occurred. One moment, they were literally on fire, engulfed in the scorching flames of a massive explosion on the beach of Scarif, the world crumbling around them. The next, Cassian felt a cool breeze ruffling his tangled mess of hair as a surreal calm settled in.

Kriffing hell, could this… could this be the afterlife?

Cassian was about to open his eyes when he heard a strangled shout.

"You're not D…" The voice trailed off, then said, "What are you two doing Apparating on my picnic blanket?"

Picnic blanket? Appa—what? Jyn's tight grip loosened on Cassian's shoulders. She was… laughing. And, apparently, so was he. They both collapsed to the ground, completely overcome. Who knew death could be so hilarious? 

Well, Cassian's eyes were open now. Amidst his guffaws, he somehow managed to process their location and the idyllic scene before them: a brisk day, a green mound of grass—a hill, definitely—flowers to the right of them, budding trees to the left, and a scratchy blue and bronze blanket under his very bloody knees. 

Ah yes, and Cassian's back and leg were still fucked. Very, very fucked. 

The voice spoke again. "Is this some sort of joke?" it said, sounding extremely out of sorts. 

Luckily for Cassian (and Jyn, he supposed), it quickly became apparent that the person speaking was a teenage boy, drowning in freckles. He was also quite short, at least in Cassian's estimation. If the boy attacked them—it was always a possibility, at least in his unfortunate experience—Cassian and Jyn could dispatch him easily, especially together. The boy looked laughably harmless. He was even holding a wooden stick in his right hand for some inexplicable reason. But you never knew. Appearances could be deceiving.

Another wave of laughter hit Cassian like a blaster bolt to the chest. Speaking of blasters… Cassian patted his side. Yes, he still had his blaster on him. He let out a slow exhale, his shoulders loosening a fractional amount despite the aching pain that radiated through every nook and cranny of his body, from the top of his head all the way down to his toes. Would he be able to stand in his current state? Debatable. And what about Jyn?

Out of the corner of his eye he observed Jyn laying on her back, clutching at her stomach, taking huge gulps of breath, likely trying to calm herself. Her laughter had died down, but every so often a soft chuckle escaped her lips. 

Cassian realized he was still laughing too. He needed to stop. They couldn't both be completely useless in a potential fight, even if he was correct and the boy had more bark than bite. 

Jyn mumbled something that Cassian didn't quite catch. 

"What?" he said, completely ignoring the teenage boy's earlier question—something or other about whether or not this was a joke.

"We're alive," Jyn rasped, while the boy huffed indignantly above them. His hands rested on his hips as he glared, a murderous glint in his eye. He looked like an angry Ewok. Less hairy though. 

"Is someone going to explain what's going on?" the boy asked. 

"I don't know, kid," Cassian replied. "We're as in the dark as you."

"You're the ones who Apparated here! Are you telling me you didn't know where you were headed?" He stomped forward. "You didn't visualize this location?" 

Cassian shrugged. There was that strange word again. Apparate. He debated asking what it meant, but ultimately decided against it as the boy's cheeks had flushed a brilliant red. Rage, most likely. He certainly didn't seem embarrassed.

Jyn eased up from the ground and completed her own careful inspection of their surroundings. As she did so, she drew her hair up in a small bun at the back of her head. Neat, out of the way. Good, they might need to make a run for it. If Cassian could run. 

He rose up, slowly, stifling a groan. Well, he'd definitely been in better shape, but at least he could stand. He took a small step forward with his injured leg. Shit. It was definitely broken. That wasn't good news. He may need to reconsider his response to the situation. 

As Cassian considered their other options, Jyn worrying away at the kyber crystal necklace around her neck—which Cassian assumed was a nervous tic of sorts—another teenage boy appeared, strolling down the hill directly ahead of them. 

"Sebastian?" he called out. He was larger—taller, too—with long blond hair tied back in a low bun, identical to the style Jyn arranged her own hair into mere moments before. Cassian blinked a few times, then shook his head.

So, the first boy's name was Sebastian. A good, strong name. Cassian could appreciate a name that ended in -ian. For obvious reasons.

"Damien!" 

Jyn snorted. "Sebastian and Damien," she said through a laugh. "Both your names rhyme. How sweet." The sarcasm was hard to miss, unlike a stormtrooper's aim. 

Cassian waved his arms at her, hoping the implication was clear: Be more discreet, dammit! It would be just their luck that Jyn's sharp tongue would get them in trouble. And anyway, couldn't she tell he was still attempting to assess the situation? It wasn't the best idea to anger the strange new kids, which was seemingly what she was doing.  

Kriff, was she doing it deliberately? He sighed as he raked a hand through his hair. He wouldn’t put it past her.

On any other day, Cassian could appreciate the snark, but not today, not after whatever they'd just been through. For the love of the Force, he was still recovering from nearly being blasted into stardust. Quite literally. 

Although he supposed he'd been through worse. Much, much worse. In fact, Cassian still winced whenever he caught someone mutter the words "on program." He was honestly shocked by how often it came up in daily conversation. 

Cassian clenched his jaw. He flinched as Jyn spoke again, this time addressing the boys. Unfortunately, she also had her blaster pointed directly at them. That didn't bode well. 

"Where are we?" she asked, her eyes narrowed. 

Sebastian and Damien just stood there, blinking back at her. They didn't look frightened at all.

Damien raised an eyebrow. "What's that?" he said, pointing at her blaster. 

Didn't he know what a blaster was? Either he was extremely dumb or Cassian and Jyn had ended up on some outer rim planet that hadn't reached the same technological prowess of the rest of the Empire. Perhaps a planet similar to Kenari, pre-Imperial invasion? It certainly seemed idyllic enough, especially with what Cassian just noticed seemed to be a castle in the distance. 

Well, wherever they were, he needed to do something. Immediately. 

Cassian stepped forward, blocking Jyn's sight line. "Nothing," he said. "If you don't mind, we'll be on our way."

Jyn mumbled something under her breath, but slipped her blaster back in its holster. Cassian wished he felt even an inkling of relief, but he definitely didn't. He may not have known Jyn all that long, but he already knew that that had been far too easy. 

Damien didn't seem convinced by Cassian's answer or Jyn's deescalation, but he didn't press further. Sebastian, unfortunately, had other ideas. He leaped forward, the stick in his hand outstretched, pointing it menacingly at Jyn. 

"That didn't look like 'nothing'!" he hissed. "Who are you people and why are you interrupting our picnic?" 

Damien threw out a hand, grabbed Sebastian by the shoulder, and yanked him back. 

Cassian sighed, again. Sebastian was far too much like Jyn. Argumentative, quick-tempered, too curious for his (their) own good. But at least Damien was acting appropriately. 

Jyn leaped forward. Cassian blocked her again, taking a page out of Damien's holonovel by making steady contact with her shoulders and shoving her back. "Don't," he hissed as she scowled at him. "Let me handle it."

Damien nodded at him approvingly. The two sensible males exchanged a look of exasperation. It was nice to know that at least one of the boys understood, and presumably, could be reasoned with. 

Did either of their two mischievous partners listen though? 

… No. They did not. 

Jyn squirmed and ducked, escaping from his grip, which, Cassian admitted to himself was somewhat hindered by the horrific pain still lancing through his body, while Sebastian did exactly the same, barrel rolling out of Damien's embrace and pulling out his stick, which he trained once more on Jyn as he shouted out some unrecognizable word, only for Jyn to immediately freeze in place. 

Wait. Wait one kriffing moment! 

Jyn was frozen in place.

"Jyn!" Cassian yelled, blaster in hand. Arming himself was so instinctual that he didn't even realize he had the blaster out until he glanced down. 

Damien spun on him, pulling out a stick very similar to Sebastian's, although it had a different design. Sebastian's was checkered, and Damien's was covered in what appeared to be a trail of... vines? 

Sebastian's stick had done something to Jyn! What were these powerful objects? Could they be imbued with the Force somehow? Was Jyn alright? Was there a way to counteract whatever Sebastian had done to her? 

"Why did you do that?" Damien barked at Sebastian, flicking his strange stick. There was no mistaking it; Damien was angry, and the look in his eyes was far more menacing than Sebastian's earlier expression. 

But! Jyn was suddenly returning back to life—thank the Force—although she was clearly disoriented. Cassian wasn't sure what to do. Sebastian had been the aggressor, but Damien had reversed whatever he'd done. Jyn seemed uncertain about how to respond as well. She still had her blaster out, but it was pointed down, and her hand was uncharacteristically shaking. 

It was a good thing Damien and Sebastian were currently distracted. In fact, they were arguing now ("I was trying to protect you!" "I don't need protecting!" "Right. Next time I'll let you handle it." "That's what I'm saying!" "That was sarcasm!" "I know! I'm not an idiot!"). 

Cassian and Jyn exchanged a glance with each other, assessing the situation through each others' eyes. Situation assessed, they nodded at each other, then… bolted. 

There was a lot more arguing as they ran off to who knew where. Unusual, really, but Cassian and Jyn didn't know that. 

("Look what you did! They're gone now!" "That's your fault! Don't you even think about blaming me!")

Well, no matter. Cassian and Jyn did not hear the rest of Sebastian and Damien's heated conversation, since they were too busy running away, but it went a little something like this:

"Wait," Damien said, his eyes narrowed. "Isn't their leaving a good thing?" 

"Oh," Sebastian replied, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I suppose you're right. Although—"

"We never found out who they were, did we?" 

"Correct." 

"Do you think they're going to be a problem?" 

Sebastian shrugged. "Who knows? If they are, they're not our problem."

(Cassian would have agreed, if he had still been there.) 

"Back to our picnic then?" 

"Yes, splendid!"

Damien clapped his hands and skipped over to the picnic blanket, plopping down with a grin. "What's for lunch?"

Sebastian dropped down beside him, pecked his cheek, murmured, "Marmalade sandwiches, but you're the appetizer," then tackled his partner to the ground with roguish delight, all thoughts of their earlier visitors gone in a flash. 

Rogue ones, lost? Oh yes, most certainly. But also: rogue ones, found.

[svt-ara]

𝓚 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 ���𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 '96 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴

꒰୨ 𝓜asterlist ୧꒱

'95 liners. , '97 liners. , makane line

⁺ ⑅ ꫂ ၴႅၴ 𝓙𝘶𝘯 ꕀ

# 𝗗𝗬𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗖 જ⁀➴ top 3 junhui supporter

# 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘 જ⁀➴ juara

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꒰ 𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒 ara wasn't sure what to think about jun at frist as he was one of that just ignored her esistence, or was extremely awkward around her. he was quiet, weird and didn't talk much unless he really had something to say. she used to catch him watching her pratice the same steps over and over— it wasn't judgmental, more like curiosity. for a while they just existed in the same space rarely talking, until one day out of nowhere, he finally decided to approach her.

how? he corrected her timing, leaving her stunned for few seconds and just as she was about to open her mouth, he spoke again "but your energy is better than mine", and he casually walked off like it was the most normal exchange ever. ara still remember this interaction and bought this up during insomnia-zero, teasing him.

from that moment, something shifted. jun started to approach her more often— still in a weird way but she founded it oddly refreshing. over time, she started defending him during group jokes or casually slipping in compliments when no one else noticed his hard work, making him blush. and just like that, she silently enjoyed the elite fanclub that was always rooting for jun. seungkwan and woozi had competition now.

# 𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦 જ⁀➴

jun always buying her favorite drink and giving it to her

pinching his cheeks when he get embarassed at something she says

have to do at least one night out per month where they share the most spicy food and lets her try chinese dishes

⁺ ⑅ ꫂ ၴႅၴ 𝓗𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪 ꕀ

# 𝗗𝗬𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗖 જ⁀➴ enemies to bsf to lovers

# 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘 જ⁀➴ hora

# 𝗣𝗢𝗣𝗨𝗟𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗬 જ⁀➴ 97%

꒰ 𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒 none rubber hoshi the wrong way quite like ara did back in trainee days. everyone could feel it from the cold galances to the snarky comments during pratices— he made clear he didn't think she belonged. to him she was an outsider added last minute to something they had been building for years, and everything was worse because she was good— really good. they were both among the strongest dancers in the group, they fought for attention in monthly evaluations and refused to back down. the debut was coming soon and they had to decide their performance unit leader— competition between the two was insane.

But rivalry has a funny way of creating respect. he started watching her more carefully— the way she corrected her own mistakes without a word, the way she stayed hours after everyone else left. ara watched him too, notcing the way he lowkey cared and how is passion wasn't just ego. slowly jabs turned into banter, to collaborations, late-night choreo and shared headphones.

by the time the debut finally came, something had definitely shifted between them. hoshi still rolled her eyes at ara but now he did it with a smile or while handing her a water bottle. ara, as the living tease she was, never missed a chance to tease his tiger obsession— she didn't approved his tiger agenda at all. their rivalry didn't vanished overnight but it softened slowly like ice melting on the sun. instead of outshine each other like they wanted— and used— to do, they just pushed each other to get better and better.

late nights in the pratice room became their thing. when the others reached the dorms, hoshi and ara stayed behind to run throught choreos over and over. and when they were tired enough, when their legs didn't answered to their brains anymore, they just layed down the floor side by side catching their breath. then a word came out of her mouth, she answered and it just happened to have the best convos, sharing their favorite songs or giving each other dance tips.

# 𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦 જ⁀➴

teasing him about his unhealty obsession with tigers

creating choreo togheter just to be forgotten the day after

his wardrobe is hers now

⁺ ⑅ ꫂ ၴႅၴ 𝓦𝘰𝘯𝘸𝘰𝘰 ꕀ

# 𝗗𝗬𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗖 જ⁀➴ grumpy x sunshine

# 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘 જ⁀➴ wara

# 𝗣𝗢𝗣𝗨𝗟𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗬 જ⁀➴ 74%

꒰ 𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒 wonwoo’s personality was similar to junhui's, he was quiet and in his own world most of the time. he didn't bother to approach her first and shamelessly avoided her at first.

ara, being super extroverted and loud, found wonwoo’s calm and distant nature confusing but also kind of intriguing. she was used to people reacting to her energy—whether they laughed, rolled their eyes or argued back. but he? he didn’t flinch. didn’t respond. he simply blinked at her like she was background noise. and yet, he never looked annoyed.

maybe that’s why she made it her personal mission to get a reaction out of him. loud greetings when he entered the room, dramatic sighs when he didn’t answer, or even sliding granola bars across the floor toward his spot during breaks. she thought he hated it—until she caught him hiding a small smile when he thought she wasn’t looking.

they never had a big turning point. no dramatic moment, no heart-to-heart at 3 a.m. it was all quiet shifts: the way he started saving her a seat during meetings, or how she always handed him her extra earbud during van rides. their energy was opposite, but somehow it worked—her chaos filled the spaces he left quiet, and his quiet grounded her noise.

# 𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦 જ⁀➴

pulling him in when he is too anti-social

when she gets too excited and caught up in the moment— like in gose, he hold her hand and pull her down

changes personality when he lays on her shoulder

⁺ ⑅ ꫂ ၴႅၴ 𝓦𝘰𝘰𝘻𝘪 ꕀ

# 𝗗𝗬𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗖 જ⁀➴ short king x skyscraper

# 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘 જ⁀➴ woora

# 𝗣𝗢𝗣𝗨𝗟𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗬 જ⁀➴ 82%

꒰ 𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒 woozi got some silent beef with the girl at frist— she was too loud, too bright, too tall. he was reserved, focused and permanently stressed about pratice and song arrangements, she was a distraction no one asked for. he rolled his eyes back everytime she bounced into the room, made faces when she interrupted rehearsals with her endlessy blanter with hoshi about some moves, avoided every attempt she made to talk to him.

anyway, she wasn't something he could ignore forever— they were going to debut in the same group and she didn't let all the bad things take her down, she was a tease. she joked about his height, called him "tiny producer-nim" and somehow she never took his deadpan expression personally. if anything, she founded him hilarious. it took time— long days, tiring pratices but most of all overhearing her defending his name to another traniee.

he never admited it outloud but, at one point, her presence stopped being annoying and even started to feel kinda necessary. he liked hearing her humming his demos under her breath, he noticed she was serious, hardworking— and kind when he didin't deserve it. at the point he wanted her being part of the vocal unit.

# 𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦 જ⁀➴

her lowering at his height beside him

lowkey compliments her about her vocal skills during recording, getting embarassed right after

always talking about how he hated her

[mel-ascending]

Reblogging your response since I’m saying more or less the same thing.

Kevin technically is the weakest so him doing worse than Gwen in fights is less of the writers having an agenda or anything, but more of something that’s bound to happen. Magic that serves as a deus ex machina at times plus green lantern powers>>>>absorption man, but with a drawback. That being said, he is by no means weak.

Everyone in the show takes Ls sometimes but it’s extra egregious with Kevin to the point it seems that whoever is writing the fights has something against him. Kevin losing a fight to 10 year old Ben wasn’t just odd, but served no purpose. You have scenes where he is running around concrete floors to try to find something to absorb instead of just absorbing the floor or just covers himself in the worst material possible. Most of the moments when he coats only his arms don’t make sense since his vitals are left unprotected. Sometimes, they have Kevin going into fights without even absorbing anything at all.

Adding on to your point about how Kevin doesn’t grow from his sexism. A lot of the other characters have their own flaws that aren’t really addressed, much less grown out of. But a lot of these characters also have episodes where their specific actions/line of thinking is wrong that ends with them realizing and even admitting they’re wrong. Granted, these lessons absolutely don’t stick all the time, but they’re still some of my favorite moments from the series.

Oddly enough, Kevin doesn’t really get an episode like this. Charms Way feels like it’s the closest but it still ends with Kevin only caring about Ben calling him a jerk only because he realizes Gwen has been doing exactly what he wanted her to do. It should’ve ended with at least a conversation between him and Gwen, but instead there’s no actual resolution to the episode and it’s never brought up again. Even in the episode where Eunice gets introduced, while Gwen realizes she should be more welcoming to Eunice, Kevin’s behavior towards her is only treated as a joke. There’s quite a few episodes that feel like Kevin should learn something, but it goes nowhere. Things that feel like stuff Kevin should grow out of are more like quirks that the other characters should just more or less put up with. I don’t want him to apologize or have a learning moment from every single hiccup, questionable or bad moment. That would be unrealistic, unreasonable, and unfair because nobody else in the cast is learning/growing from every single thing. I’m just saying at least once would be nice.

The way Kevin’s powers, intelligence, sexism, and growth is handled is partially a consequence of the writers leaning too much into him being the comedic relief. Don’t get me wrong he’s hilarious and I love him for it, but I wish it didn’t come at the expense of other parts of his character.

And since Kariachi brought it up: Kevin running away and not returning because he views himself as a burden to his family, especially since they don’t have the ability/resources to properly support him and his powers, after destroying his home seems to add up pretty fine imo. The show spells out why Kevin dislikes Harvey when he states “if ma really loved dad, she would’ve never remarried”. He feels that Harvey is replacing the father he’s still grieving. Nobody is the bad guy here (outside of Max/the plumbers, but that’s a conversation for another day), it’s just two people who aren’t in the right headspace coexisting under one household. My problem is that Kevin’s home and family life is very under-explored and his stepfather’s appearance feels very random and out of nowhere. We should’ve gotten an episode that focused on them instead of just having one scene. Also, kevin looks four years old at minimum in the picture with Devin but it’s not like the show ever cared about making his backstory make sense.

I have more problems with the way Kevin is handled but I’ve done enough yapping.

overthinking kevin hours

so it's no secret there's mixed feelings about kevin's development and characterization in uaf. (I still have my own pov on it bc i really like how the show did some things and not others.) I've heard some people say he's like "beast boy part 2" which lowkey has some truth in it.

I guess i wanted to ask other fans -- what do you think the show gets wrong about kevin? what characteristics do you think were truly out of character? what would you have done differently? i'm gonna make my own post with my views but i wanted to hear everyone else's thoughts first.

[eats-the-stars]

everybody who went to a private catholic school name the craziest personal belief an instructor lectured the class on.

i'll go first: mentally disabled people are free of original sin, just like animals, so they get a free pass to heaven

[seventh-district]

sometimes it’s late at night and you’re cleaning your room and you come across a few old black and white photos of a young girl and you stare at them for a long minute wondering how on earth they got lost in an old Kroger shopping bag with an unopened pack of cigarettes and a receipt dated 2017.

and you look at the girl in the pictures sat on the floor of someone’s home you don’t recognize, smiling and playing with a set of keys and a tiny part of you feels like it recognizes her but you aren’t sure.

and you flip the pictures over hoping to find some sort of annotation that would give you context and all you find is the year 1964 stamped in tiny font along the edge.

and you flip them back over and time stands still as you realize that the recognition you feel is because she looks so much like you once did and next thing you know your hands are sweating and shaking and you have to sit on the floor because you’re crying so hard because it hits you all at once that you’re looking at your mother.

[7hursday]

gojo likes watching porn.

not in that weird, pervy way— actually, let’s retract that statement. he doesn’t watch it to fuck his fist to the girls getting dicked down by some scrawny guy.

he uses it as a reference.

oddly enough, he gets aroused by the thought of doing it to you. he memorizes the way the girl’s legs were pushed up to her chest, the pillow placed below her lower back, the angle the guy was hitting it from… he just can’t wait to try it out with you.

gojo follows his usual routine— stuffing two fingers up your wet cunt and swirling them around in that torturous circular movement that had you squirming in seconds, squelching noises almost becoming louder than your own moans before shoving his dick into your needy hole.

his hands wrap around the back of your knees, spreading your legs just enough for him to slot himself in between them. the small tuft of hair at the base of his cock brushes against your swollen and sensitive bundle of nerves with every move of his hips, each thrust carefully thought out to maximize your pleasure. the tip of his cock constantly pushes against your g-spot, brushing against your cervix and causing you to gush all over him.

gojo’s never heard you moan this loud before— and neither has he felt you squeeze around him so good.

[syluses]

separation anxiety

⤷ caleb experiences a rut after a long time, and it just so happens that you’re in his path.

cw. 18+ smut, hybrid! caleb, knotting, dubcon if you squint, breeding, obsessive/possessive behavior, perv caleb, fem human! reader, ruts, size difference, also a lil breeding, 3.5k words because i physically struggle to write smut without a preamble, reader is ovulating and it triggers his rut this time for whatever reason

an. saw this trope going around & wanted to try it <33 he’s got that DAWG in him 💪 also i cant decide if hybrid caleb gives german shepherd vibes or samoyed vibes…. that moments post lives rent free in my mind tho idk (>_<)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, & 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅! (๑´ `๑)♡

Caleb would say he hates you for the time you’re gone, but it’d be a big fat lie. His love for you, big and bursting in his chest, deepens in the quiet windows where you’re present at work or running errands throughout Linkon before returning home to him.

There’s a permanence of you in his mind and being. He wants it no other way.

His devotion for you doesn’t necessarily drown him- no, you’re always there with a lifering waiting- but it certainly sweeps him up and threatens to.

He gets a bit ahead of himself sometimes, he’s aware of that; energetic, bulging at the seams with vigor; whether it’s an integral part of his personality or just a consequence of his breed, the pound he came from never quite knew. Your Gran never figured that out, either, and for as sweet and trying as she was, she soon realized she couldn’t foster him for long.

Because he was a big boy, hungry for attention and wired to please, well-meaning but oft over involved with personal space— and he brought a loaded package that your Gran just couldn’t sign her name off on, not after a few months, anyway. She tried her best before nudging him into your care, because she sure as hell wasn’t about to give him up to that squalid pound or the streets again- and besides, the mutt liked her granddaughter; all those visits she paid throughout the summer obviously endeared Caleb to her, and quickly.

You admit, it’s a mite difficult to juggle between long days at work, little tasks that drag you from point to point throughout Linkon, and your own personal life on top of caring for a hybrid stowed away in your shoebox apartment— but your grandmother was all but sapped of her energy then, turning to you for aid although she seldom ever did, and you’d always lend a hand where you could.

The mutt- Caleb, is his name (and you call it fondly even as he’s pawing at your thighs for attention or drooling on your collar)- has grown on you considerably in the past half year, anyway.

You won’t let him down or leave him at the curb. He’s yours. The red collar you bought him says as much, printed with your number on a silver plate, and he wears it not because you make him but because he’s proud of it.

He’s a good boy, he is. He always has been and for that you’re thankful.

Except, this week he’s… different.

As of a few days ago, it’s like he’s been testing the waters- and your patience- on just how far he can go before you tell him off or say bad dog. He must find them warm because he’s just been diving deeper as the week progresses.

You don’t know what to do. He’s oddly aggressive. It’s not rare at all for him to follow you all around your apartment, but he’s foregone the very last shred of respect for your personal space and nips when you try to push him away. Not hard enough to actually hurt- the yip you make is more surprised than anything when he pulls you back in and licks at the small red patch- but you look wounded at it.

Because Caleb doesn’t bite— he just doesn’t.

He wraps you up in seemingly endless embraces and breathes your smell in until he’s dizzy, laughing into your neck like a giddy child. He does this every time you try to leave for work and he’s made you late for it.

Maybe it’s just because you’re ovulating and a little hormonal, but it makes you quite sour and the mood stays even when you return in the afternoon. He’s never liked when you’re gone, sure, but he’s always been there to see you off at the door with a pout as you scratch behind his ear- more or less tame about it.

Your patience really frays at the odd uptick in his possessiveness, though. It’s hurtful.

You’ve always treated him less like a pet- a hybrid- and more like a friend, and you feel quite indignant for it when he growls and tells you that he hates the smell of other men on you, hearing none of your excuses that it’s ‘just coworkers’, glaring at you like some brainless extension of him. You feel less like a person and more like an object, a streetlamp in which he emerges from the shadows for just to piss on to show it belongs to him.

He’s touchy. Snippy. Glued to your side at all times. It’s concerning and frustrating and confusing all at once.

By the fifth day mark, on Friday night, you’re tuckered out by it and don’t question where he is when you return home early from a shift and he’s, uncharacteristically, not there to greet you.

A red collar however, laid on the floor, its tag glittering under dim hallways lights, strikes you as both curious and unsettling.

He never takes that off. No- says it’s his way of showing you and the whole world that he belongs to you, and— have you been too impatient with him lately? Brusque? Maybe you’re a little hormonal but it’s no cause to get short with him, even when he’s acting up, and what if he no longer wants you as his owner—

A gasp.

You find him in your bedroom, humping your pillow, yowling as he comes undone- unawares- and the walls spin as you nearly faint.

You drop your purse. “Caleb!” You shriek, and a visible shiver rolls down his spine as he turns around.

“Bad dog!”

✦

You sleep on it.

Well, you wash your sheet and your pillowcases- and then you sleep on it.

Maybe you overreacted. If anything, you should be grateful for what you walked in on because otherwise, he wouldn’t have known how to tell you he’s been going through a bit of a hot phase- the first of his you’ve experienced- and doesn’t know how to control himself.

You blush just thinking about it, shame knocking in your chest as your heart beats heavy. You feel awful for walking in on him for a number of reasons. One of them being he came all over your bed- and his tummy- and you had to clean both up through furious tears as you peeled your covers off the mattress and pointed him off in the direction of the bathroom, telling him to run the faucet and quick.

A pass of guilt, the fear of you being angry with him, made its round across his kicked expression but he held off on arguing.

For the first documented time in the whole week, Caleb appeared mellow- not agitated, restless, or tense- and rather crestfallen, and you noted it only vaguely as you irately turned on the washer.

Now, it’s in the forefront of your brain.

Well, if he’s been going through some kind of rut lately, it only makes sense he’d be all kinds of pent up, and that his release (albeit in an inconvenient way and place) would provide some relief.

It’s closer to noon when you finally exit your bedroom and meet him at the sofa- the same one you’d all but banished him to last night. He prefers to spend his nights with you, either curled up at your side or splaying his full weight over your back- a breed-relative habit, you’re sure. You’ve heard of some other kinds who enjoy a room to themselves or do just fine with the couch, on their lonesome— But not Caleb.

He looks tired but perks up when he hears you patter down the hall, violet eyes lighting when you timidly take a seat.

With a bit of hesitation, he inches closer until you sheepishly wave a hand and he barrels into your arms.

“Ah- Caleb-“

Before you can even apologize for your jumping the gun last night, he beats you to the punch. “M’ sorry. You don’t hate me for it, do you?” He sighs into your collar and you shiver, “I wish you could understand what it feels like- I wouldn’t have done it if it was somethin’ I could control, I hope you realize that.”

You swallow, digesting his words as you belatedly place a hand on his head to pet. He positively melts. “Y-Yeah,” you mumble back. “It’s okay. I actually wanted to say sorry too. I- I didn’t understand what was going on…”

A deep groan looses from his throat, his chest swelling with content as you itch that spot behind the furry ears say upright on his head. They give a few twitches as he leans against you and wraps his muscular arms around your middle, resting his chin by your shoulder.

“It’s my fault, though, not yours. I didn’t know how to tell you- I was worried you’d just end up scared’a me, or…”

His pause instills interest in you. Your fingers smooth back his brown locks, mussed from fitful sleep, and he sighs. “Or what?” You press softly.

You pull him back just enough to get a look at him, his cheekbones almost shiny with a dusting of pink. His thick brows furrow together.

“Or that you’d leave,” he whispers.

Your eyes widen. You lasso your arms around his neck and pull him to you, your head slotting above his shoulder as his fingers quickly move to support the position, one hand perched at your thigh and the other braced at your side.

“Nonsense,” you grumble at his ear, a bit angry at the suggestion. “I’d never leave you.”

Something hard, then, prods at your middle- too fleshy to be something in either of your pockets- and you stiffen at the realization as it comes a beat too late.

Caleb’s voice is breathy at your ear, low, his tail thumping on the cushion. “Yeah?” He murmurs, a pang of heat stirring in your belly at the sound. Suddenly aware, you gently go to push at his broad chest but he stops you with an imploring look- although the desire, brewing in dilated pupils, isn’t lost on you- and musters a pout.

It looks out of place, the wholesome gaze marred by hunger as it reshapes his puppyish look.

“Even when I am no better than a bad dog?”

Your brow quirks, “I didn’t mean it,” you whisper, wide-eyed as his eyes bore into yours. Every micro expression you make is being catalogued and noted with utmost care, his pink tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as they grow dry.

“It’s okay if you did,” he murmurs back. “I’m just glad I have you around to remind me of my place…” Long, slim fingers reach up and you watch, unseeingly, as they stroke your cheek, his other hand creeping dangerously close to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

He chuckles, but the humor wanes quickly.

“Otherwise, I’d always be misbehaving. Do you even know what you do to me?” His voice is meaningful, torrid, as he draws in and the tip of his nose brushes with yours. You can’t find it in you to move as your thighs- the ones he slithers a singleminded hand in between- begin to roil with unexpected warmth.

You plant a hand to his chest, shying away, “C-Caleb-“

“Don’t worry,” he says sweetly, “M’ not gonna hurt you. I just….” He lets out a sigh, long and perhaps just a bit exaggerated- but it has the intended effect on you. You purse your lips and feel a trace of guilt twist in your heart.

“You drive me crazy. Y-Your smell- I don’t know why this is happening, either. Honestly? I haven’t had a rut in a couple years. But this…”

Caleb lets out a soft noise of pleasure, lending his full weight to you when he breathes you in and shakes.

When he speaks next, his words come out raspy and so low you hardly register them as his breaths grow labored- they’re all you can hear as the living room space shrinks down to just him and the knuckles that dare to dip into your panties.

“This is just too unfair. You won’t leave me hangin’, pretty,… w-will you?” Breathy. With an undeniable streak of need. You can’t miss the lust that usurps the softer parts of him and makes him look less puppyish and cheerful and more wolfish, calculating.

And, well, when he puts it like that, how could you?

✦

He doesn’t fuck you on the couch. He takes you to your bed and fucks you there like a lover would.

He fucks you deep and fast- to his credit, he doesn’t hurt you, staying true to his word, but the possibility of bruises becomes a nearer thing when he folds your legs back and his grasp becomes constricting, plunging in and out of your cunt with rapt focus. Indigo eyes glow with something feral, like you’ve given him no choice but to claim his ownership over you through sloppy kisses and clinking teeth as he pounds into you, driven him into a corner- but his touch turns worshipful when he presses his forehead to yours and moans.

“Ah- y-you feel so good, so tight,” he compliments, words almost slurred. His pupils expand and he looks no different than a drunken, babbling man, his cheeks a rosy red.

His murmurs are wet against your lips as they graze and mush with his, Caleb’s face so close to yours that his lashes tickle your brow as he gawks at you, so entranced by whatever it is he’s seeing to look away.

A fluffy tail sways unevenly behind him and touches your leg on occasion, almost like it’s trying to curl around you, prickling and eager. Every part of him gravitates to you. You’re the ground beneath his feet. Fertile land.

“And you’re all mine, okay? Nobody else’s. I want you to wear my scent- to carry me with you no matter where you go. You have to promise me you will- mmph- That sound good-?

“C-Caleb—“

You groan when he stuffs himself deeper inside and you swear you feel his length throb inside your walls, stretching. The veins running along his shaft carve out a new pathway in you, one special and just for him, as his balls- heavy and fat, with a hell of a lot to give- slap against your ass. Slick oozes out from the squelching seam of you, coating his thick cock but you still struggle to accomodate his size despite the lubrication.

He’s made to make you feel as if you’re losing your mind. You snatch your jaw with your own hand to keep the flurry of high-pitched sounds from spilling out lest they embarrass you, but he shoos it away and cuffs your wrists with a hand splayed over them.

“Nah- I wanna hear you, baby. You can’t keep holdin’ out on me like this... I’m giving you my all right now, so it should be pretty obvious that you can do the same, yeah?”

A mewl punches out from your lungs half a second later and he seems quite contented at that. He sighs, closing his eyes, saying,

“I’ve been good all along. Can’t you play the part, too? I just want you to see how much I really love you,” his confession is by no means considered casual what with the passion in which its conveyed, but you can’t help but feel it’s a little sudden, said a little too quickly, and you wonder if he means what he says or if the rut is responsible for all these novel, amorous feelings in him.

I mean, he’s probably too wrapped up in the moment to even contemplate his own admissions as they all spew out—

“Caleb, too big—“ you gasp, cutting him off, and he lets out a strangled kind of noise when your walls clamp around him.

Holyfuck holyfuck holyfuck do it again, he wants to say, suffocate me, but nothing comes out and he realizes after a long second that his vision has whited completely. He can’t see anything; he’s in a fuzzy, dazzling world with the blinders on and all he can smell and feel is you- your scent, sugar sweet and about as inviting as a barstool pulled out, envelopes him and he can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

He fucks into you with reckless abandon, huffs you in like it’s his final breaths, and then lets it all go without care for anything else. Far as he’s concerned, everything he knows is defined by you. This is a give and take relationship: he actually gives a damn about your opinion of him and takes all you have to offer.

He’s in love, puppyish and clumsy but fuck you lead the way and lead him on.

“Shh, I know,” he rasps out, steaming up your neck like a fogged window pane as he insinuates himself there. Your whole body feels like a furnace, burning up for him as he opens you up and tucks himself inside.

“I know it’s big, but you gotta be ready for-“ he clips his sentence short, thinking better of it.

He wants to warn you of his impending knot- the one that’ll no doubt leave you yelping and writhing away from him- you certainly deserve as much of a foreword to it, but part of him is just so terrified you’ll reject him or deny him the priviledge of shoving it inside you and fuck he can’t have that.

Caleb’s nothing if not loyal. He’s also nothing if not selfish. That’s always been a wriggling bug he’s tried to stomp out but it remains in the baser part of him, only amplified by the intense rut that came right out of the blue.

He wants you singing his name and bonded to him (or as much of a bond the two of you can form), and so that’s what he’ll get.

He’ll apologize later, and you will forgive him. So all’s fine.

“Y-You can take it,” is the simpler thing he settles on, and you let it pass, because between the fat cockhead splitting you apart deliciously and the sweet, somewhat perturbing nothings he gushes at your ear, you’re deaf to most of everything.

But when you come- unexpected and sharp, overwhelming your senses as your hips ruck up and he has to pin you down in place and ride it out with you as you cream around him- the scream you let out rings in your ears and so does his ferocious grunt. It’s loud and you’re so numb as seconds pass that feel like eons; pointed teeth teasing at the squishy chunk of your shoulder, invoking a buried sense of alarm.

And then he’s biting down hard- not just nipping- the pleasure thankfully driving off the pain as he ploughs inside, muffling a string of curses as he picks up his pace. Caleb gets sloppier and sloppier and then he’s burning white-hot inside you and moaning like a pornstar, pelvis juddering as he comes.

“Mmh- f-fuck- Good girl!” he rewards with half a brain, fucked out into perfect oblivion, and for a second you wonder why his voice sounds more meant for comfort than praise- until you expect him to pull out but he doesn’t, something big and round forming at the base of his cock that has his eyes fluttering back as it pops in. He goes boneless on top of you as every limb of yours stiffens and coils around his broad back.

You scream his name. He shivers.

It feels enough to shatter your mind- the pain searing you, but the ghost of pleasure that creeps up along your nervous system makes you go like jelly beneath him, helpless to whatever he’s got planned for you.

“C-Caleb, you-!”

“Yeah, a bad dog, a bad dog,” he stammers, whimpering at your earlobe, “I know, baby, I know. Just- don’t shut me out, okay? I- It’ll be over soon, just- ah- loosen up around it, okay? It’ll feel so much better that way. Just… hold on to me.”

“I-It hurts-!”

“Ngh, shhh…” He trembles out, shifting to sample a broken mewl from your lips, cupping your jaw with all the love in the world and staring at you as if you told the sun to rise this morning. “Be a good girl and take it, mm? Your pussy’s squeezing me so tight, I think she wants it too, but she has to relax a little first, yeah? Mm… I could give you a whole litter of pups. Give your Gran a bunch of cute lil granbabies to drive her crazy.”

You choke on your own spit, the brunet letting out a near delirious chuckle at the idea and your reaction to it before his brow gives a wince, your walls instinctively trying to push his swollen knot out.

“Wha- Caleb, is that even-?”

“I don’t know,” he kisses your forehead tenderly, his tail giving a heavy, excited thump behind him on the bed as you grab the sheets for dear life and they wrinkle, pinched like your conflicted expression.

“But I’ve been dyin’ to try it out for myself.”

[tojicide]

JEALOU$Y. ☆ CALEB.

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦. at the end of the day, you and caleb are just childhood friends—nothing more, nothing less. so, when you mention going on a date, it’s totally logical that he wouldn’t care, right? if only that were the truth.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠. fem!reader, current!caleb, zayne mention, jealousy, pet names, praise, oral ( fem. receiving ), cowgirl, unprotected p in v, creampie. 𝑤𝑐. 5.4k.

𝑛𝘰𝑤 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔. jealou$y — the neighbourhood.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Doomsday has finally dawned upon Linkon City, though Caleb seems to be the only person truly affected by this catastrophe.

It was all his fault in the grand scheme of things. He hadn’t been clear enough, hadn’t shown the full extent of his feelings for you. But above all, he should have never offered Zayne those measly words of advice.

He should have known that the doctor had ulterior motives. Why else would he have called Caleb up one week ago to ask about you of all people?

It was a mean ploy, truly. Anyone and everyone knows about Caleb’s inability to shut up about you, his sole weakness was being exploited right in front of his eyes and he was none the wiser. The questions seemed harmless then. Posed as genuine curiosity, Caleb would have never been able to decipher the hidden intent behind each word that Zayne spoke into the receiver.

What are her days off? What does she do in her free time? You said that the restaurant around the corner from Akso Hospital was her favorite, yes?

In retrospect, he should have absolutely seen this coming. But then again, nothing could have ever prepared Caleb to hear those four life-altering words slipping from your lips.

“I have a date.”

A record scratches in his brain, forcing him to halt his steps for an abnormally long time before he slowly turns to face you. “You… what?”

Hearing the words repeated in that saccharine tone of yours only added salt to the wound, oddly enough. It physically pained him to ask for more information about your date, though he managed to hide his disdain with that boyish grin of his and a bit of lighthearted teasing.

But inside? That little green monster was stirring, and there was very little he could do to quell it.

Begrudgingly, he managed to get the key details before forcing himself to stow away in his bedroom and… think. Next Thursday. 6 PM. Maltosio Restaurant. With Zayne.

The next week passed by in an agonizingly slow fashion. It was as though each X that marked a passing day was a physical blow to his already aching heart, and those adorable images of the kittens on his calendar (the calendar that you picked out) did very little to help him.

Subtlety was never his strong suit, but then again, desperate times call for desperate measures. And believe Caleb when he says that he is very much desperate.

“Soo…” he’d drawl, leaning over the back of the couch to peer down at you. “I heard there’s a screening of that movie you’ve been wanting to see at the drive-in next Thursday. Wanna come with?”

You perked up like a ball of excitement, and for a moment, Caleb allowed himself to get his hopes up, but your frown quickly dissipated them. “Next Thursday? Oh, no, I can’t make it! I’m going out with Zayne, remember?”

Of course he remembered. That was exactly why he hadn’t let up—not even once—in his attempts to distract you just enough to make you forget all about your dinner plans. He could take you out for a nice dinner too. Say, that’s actually a good idea…

The next day, Caleb tried that one.

“Oh, pip-squeak,” he sang, his airy voice ringing through your apartment as he walked down the hallway. “I got us reservations at the restaurant in Skyhaven that you’ve been itchin’ to check out.”

You perked up, just like you did before. “Really?”

He nodded with a triumphant grin, internally patting himself on the back for his own good idea. “Mm-hmm. Next Thursday. Got us those window seats you wanted too—the ones that overlook the city.”

And once again, your gaze softened, and an all-too-adorable pout tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Oh, Caleb, I’m sorry. I’m busy that day.”

You really are too sweet for your own good. He can’t even blame Zayne for taking an interest in you, he’d be downright shocked if any man with two seeing eyes had the audacity to not think that you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Caleb sure does. He always has. He always will.

It wasn’t long before the day of reckoning was upon him. Thursday evening. Sunlight cut through the blinds in the living room, casting golden hues across the vast space. Much to his dismay, the trashy reality television you’d left on the screen did very little to soothe his worries.

He fidgeted with the dog chains you’d gifted him, his thumb brushing along the gift that you had so kindly given him. It was a testament to your bond. A bond that something as trivial as a single evening apart couldn’t tamper with… right?

“Caleb!” Your antsy voice cut through the air, forcing his wandering mind to snap back to reality.

He was up and down the hallway before you could even say another word, pressing a flat hand to your door to nudge it open. It was then that he saw you, all dolled up in your robe with your favorite dresses laid out on your bed.

Your hands grasp onto two of the hangers, holding them up side-by-side to help him get a better look at them. Though, his eyes were noticeably distracted, contorted in an unfamiliar lovesick expression as they pierced into yours. “Quick! Which do you think is cuter?”

Caleb blinks—once, twice, three times—until he forces himself to finally look down at the dress options in your grasp. He’d seen you wear them plenty of times before, and the thought of someone else seeing you in such beautiful fabric nearly made his stomach lurch.

He raises his forearm, leaning against the doorframe as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, c’mon, that’s an impossible choice. You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.”

It was a typical response, one that you were expecting, though his lack of advice made you hmph as you lost yourself in your thoughts. “Well… I hear polka dots symbolize happiness and stripes symbolize slipping between realms. Pretty interesting stuff, huh?”

“Very interesting,” he says, the corner of his mouth tugging up at the mere sound of your voice. “Is that why you buy so many things in those patterns?”

You quirk an eyebrow, confusion etching into your expression. “Huh? What else do I buy that’s…” It quickly dawns on you, and you can feel heat creep up your neck and reach your face. “You’re a jerk.”

Caleb can’t help but laugh, taking a few steps into the room so that he can properly look at each and every one of the dress options laid out on your bed. “What’s the matter? If I remember correctly, someone was beggin’ me to do her laundry. Somethin’ about the laundry machine being sooo far and your feet hurting sooo bad.”

Huffing and far too flustered for your own good, you shake your head. “Well… well I didn’t realize you were so observant.”

He clicks his tongue, absentmindedly pinching your side as he leans down to rest his chin in the dip of your shoulder. “Tsk. You know I’m always observant when it comes to you. Even if it’s remembering something as trivial as the patterns of your cute little undies.”

You swat him away. “You’re so annoying!”

To that, he can only chuckle, giving your sides a brief squeeze before taking a few steps back. “Alriiight, alright, I’ll leave you alone.” Before exiting the room entirely, he hangs onto the doorframe, giving you a soft smile. “I’m serious though. You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” His lips curve into a smirk. “But if you want my input—you know I’ve always been a sucker for seeing you in florals.”

And with that, he whisks away, silently hoping and praying that this date will fall through on its own. Plopping back down on the couch, his eyes are practically glued to his watch. 5:48 PM. It wouldn’t be long before Zayne would be knocking at the front door—punctual as ever. Oh, it made him sick.

How could he have done this? To you, to himself? Caleb should be ashamed. He should be the one sitting across from you later tonight, holding your hand and listening to you ramble about whatever your heart desires. It should be him. It would have been him if he wasn’t so damn afraid.

But the sound of approaching heels clicking along the hardwood floor quickly snapped him out of his pity party, prompting him to look over his shoulder. And there you were once again, now adorned in a floral sundress that had made him lose his mind more times than he’d like to admit.

Under his breath, he can’t help but mutter, “Yeah, you’re gonna kill me…”

It was his favorite dress of yours, too. You really were trying to kill him. A white dress that was littered with blue flowers, the fabric fit you perfectly, loose and fitted in all of the right places.

Zayne didn’t deserve to see you like this. Plain and simple.

Standing from the couch, he lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “There she is,” he says, taking your hand to spin you around a single time. His smile only widens as he sees yours. “You look gorgeous, just like I knew you would.”

You roll your eyes with a bashful smile, one that he has to physically fight the urge to kiss away. “Oh, you flatter me,” you say through a laugh.

He shakes his head, bringing a hand up to gently smooth down a pesky hair on the top of your head. “Can’t be flattery if I mean every word of it.”

A breeze wafted through the open window, blowing the fabric of your dress ever so slightly. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers infiltrates the living room, though the scent of your perfume and something that was uniquely you had his full attention.

“Y’know, you can be pretty nice when you want to be,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Chuckling, he simply nods, his large hands settling on your middle. “Yeah. When I want to be.”

You brush past him, padding over to the back door. Pushing it open, you step out onto the warm concrete patio, breathing in the fresh air that the backyard had to offer you. Spring in Linkon was always a delight, though the warmth that Caleb radiates behind you serves to be the most comforting thing about the entire scene.

His hand comes to rest on the curve of your shoulder, his fingers nimbly pulling at one of the straps of your dress. With his heart rate shooting through the roof, he forces himself to take a moment. He needs to get this right. This may be the last chance he’ll be able to do this.

“I… look, there’s something that I—”

But suddenly, the sound of rapping knuckles at the front door cuts through the tense silence. Both of your attention is drawn to the closed door, and having left the back door open, you both have a clear view of it.

You turn around to face Caleb, offering him a sheepish smile. “That’s probably Zayne.”

He only nods, forcing his hand to fall back to his side. “Yeah, probably.”

This was it. He was losing you. It stung to know that this was no one’s fault apart from his own. His inability to be honest about his feelings, his lack of forwardness with you… what was he expecting? That you’d never date? That he could keep you happy forever without offering you anything more?

It was a stupid fantasy, one that had earned him this spot. But when he saw you turn to leave, your eyes still locked on his, a surge of panic shot up his spine. His eyes flit around—the grass, the flowerbeds, the hose… that was currently filling up the pool…

“Be mad at me later,” he suddenly says.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Wha— ah!”

Before you could even begin to process what was happening, you were suddenly pushed back into the chamber full of chlorine infested water. Caleb watches with a wry expression as you shoot up from beneath the water, splashing aimlessly as you swim towards the edge.

“What the fuck was that?” you bark, perching one elbow up onto the concrete as you reach the other one out to him. “What the hell are you looking at? Help me out!”

Caleb can’t even protest, not with the incredibly irrational stunt he’d just pulled. “I’m sorry, pip-squeak, I just…” And so, he reaches down, his hand clasping around yours… until you pull him forward with all of your strength and send him tumbling into the pool too.

And when he comes up for air, you splash him the moment he opens his eyes. Serves him right. The chlorine will sting his eyes almost as much as your mascara is stinging yours right now.

With that, you pull yourself out of the pool, a trail of water marking your path as you wring out the fabric of your dress. After that, you disappear inside of the house, leaving Caleb to rub his eyes in utter defeat.

He gives you both a long stretch of alone time before he retreats back into the house like a kicked puppy, his head hanging low as he runs a hand through his wet strands of hair. You’ve evidently told Zayne that today wasn’t going to work anymore, judging by his lack of presence, and that thought alone makes Caleb more happy than he should be.

Sucking in a short breath, he knocks twice at your shut bedroom door. “Honey? It… it’s me.”

“Go away,” you retort without missing a single beat.

Caleb pokes his tongue into his cheek as he leans forward, resting his forehead on the cool surface of your bedroom door. “C’mon. Just… talk to me.”

It doesn’t take long before the door is swung open, revealing an incredibly angry version of you with a freshly cleaned face. He opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, to try and rectify the situation in any way he can, but you beat him to it. Quickly.

“How dare you?” you spit, jabbing your index finger into his chest. “What was that, Caleb? Are we ten years old again? Your method of communication is… is pushing me into the damn pool?”

He sighs, catching your hand to unfold your closed fingers. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I—”

“No!” you cut him off, sticking your other index finger into his chest. “It’s your turn to listen. You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, you’re all I’ve ever known, all I’ve ever wanted. Do you know how it feels to have everything you want dangled in front of you for so many years, and… and just torn away? Time and time again?”

Caleb is rendered speechless, his brows furrowed in both confusion and a sense of odd relief as you unleash all of the thoughts that you’ve kept hidden for so long. He doesn’t bother catching your other hand, instead, he allows you to repeatedly jab at his chest. It hurts, but he can handle it. Just like he can handle the words you’re saying.

“So, you know what? I decided that enough was enough!” you continue, your index finger pressing wildly into the hard planes of his chest. “I wasn’t going to wait around, I wasn’t going to pretend, I was going to move on! And… and I was going to!”

He tilts his head, his amethyst eyes growing fuzzy as he looks down at you. “Was going to?”

You huff, eyes narrowing as you jab your finger into his chest for a final time before turning away from him. “Well, I’m not exactly going on a date anymore, am I?”

Caleb nods, though you can’t see it. He leans against the doorframe, his gaze tracing your silhouette through the soaked fabric of your dress. Sighing, he straightens off the wall, but before he can turn away, you spin around to face him.

“And you know what else?” you huff. “You know the solution to this problem just as well as I do.”

He nods his head with a single jerk of his chin, beckoning you to continue. “Yeah? What’s that?”

You step closer, and for the final time, you stab your finger into his pec. “You need to grow a pair.”

Inhaling deeply, all he can do is smile. It infuriates you and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself. He takes both of your wrists and tugs you forward until your chest presses against his own, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek.

You’re slowly simmering down, the heat of your outburst dissipating as your skin cooled. With your eyebrows still furrowed, all you can do is look up at him, daring him to speak. To do anything.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip.

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “A little.”

He slowly nods his head, his fingers curving along your jaw before he cups your chin in between his thumb and forefinger. “Is there anything I can do to help with that?”

You can feel his breath fan along your lips, cool and minty and just about everything you could have ever fantasized about on your own. You part your lips to reply, but this time, Caleb is the one who beats you to it.

“We’re making puddles all over the floor, you know.”

Glancing down, you see the truth in his words. The pool water dripped from your respective clothing and gathered around the two of you, making a wry smile find your lips.

“Oh,” you breathe, “I didn’t even notice.”

“I like to think I’m pretty observant when it comes to you,” he murmurs, smoothing his free hand along your side until it grasps onto the fabric of your dress. “Need some help with this?”

You look up, meeting his gaze once more. “With… with what?”

“Well,” he drawls, his fingertips brushing along your outer thigh as he slowly drags the fabric upward. His movements are hesitant and cautious, his eyes flickering between each of yours. “You’re wet. I’m wet. Maybe we can… help each other dry off.”

Your eyelids falter as they flit between his, your gaze instinctively falling to the plush curve of his bottom lip. “Okay,” you murmur.

A smile tugs at his mouth. “Okay. Arms up.”

Slowly, you lift your arms above your head. His hands work together to slowly push the fabric of your dress up and over your head, letting it slip onto the floor with a wet plop.

His breath is nearly torn from his lungs the moment he sees your bare skin, so beautiful and soft and made to be his. Hesitantly, his fingertips trace the curve of your hips with a sense of reverence.

“Do you need help too?” you ask, your voice breathy from the restrained sense of need that has come over you.

Pausing his exploration of your bare skin, Caleb finds himself nodding, almost immediately lifting his arms over his head. “Please.”

And now, you take the opportunity to do the same. Slowly, you peel his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aimlessly into the laundry hamper near the door. Your gaze traces over the defining lines of his abdomen, your touch doing the same as it trails southward.

His lower stomach tenses up as your fingers brush against the hem of his jeans. He can’t help the way his eyes flutter shut, the way a touch so simple can nearly bring him to his knees. Breathing shakily, he leans down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Careful,” he breathes in warning, his voice taking on a raspy tone.

You almost startle at the unfamiliarity of his voice, though you push your hesitation aside as your thumb brushes over the button of his pants. “But… these are wet too.”

A huff of air leaves his mouth, the sound something between a low laugh and a groan. He forces his eyes open, his stare meeting your own. “Trying to get me naked before our first kiss? I have to say, you’re full of surprises.”

Faltering, your hands fall away from his pants. “You’re right, I… I’m—”

Caleb can’t help but chuckle, taking a hold of your hands to bring them right back to where they were before. This time, he guides your fingers through the motion of unbuttoning his pants. “Kidding,” he whispers against your lips. “Besides… we’re good at multitasking, yeah?”

You’re nodding before you can truly process his words. “Yeah.”

His lips crash onto yours with a groan that omits from deep within, the button of his jeans finally popping open from your ministry. The zipper went next, tugged down along with the fabric entirety until he was left in only his boxers.

His hands roam your curves greedily, eating up every inch of skin that he has deprived himself of for far too long. Your waist, your hips, your thighs—he needs to feel you in any way possible.

And you return his eagerness so well, wrapping your arms around his neck as you draw him in even closer. His hands worked quickly, hoisting you up until your legs wrapped around his waist as he walked the both of you over to your bed.

Laying you down on the mattress, he takes the initiative to deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip to gain access that you readily give him. He can’t help but moan into your mouth, the sweet taste of your tongue tangling with his own forcing his brain to short circuit in a way he’s never experienced before.

You kissed him like there was no tomorrow, and he was loving every second of it. Your hands fisted into his hair while your lips moved in tandem with his, a soft whimper leaving your mouth as his hands gave your hips a firm squeeze.

His lips trail down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck and the curve of your shoulder as he uses his grip on your hips to pull you flush against him. A gasp leaves you at the feeling of his erection pressing against your clothes sex, the friction so delicious that it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Caleb is so far gone, kissing his way along your arms, your neck, your sternum, all up until he reaches the valley of your breasts. He wastes very little time there, licking a trail to your nipple before sucking the peak into his mouth. His other hand palms at your other breast, kneading the soft flesh in his palm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your skin, his hips rocking forward as he switches sides, latching onto your neglected breast and giving it a hard suck. “So beautiful.”

His descent continues as he mouths at the soft skin of your belly, your hips, your inner thighs. His eyes depart from yours as they settle onto the fabric covering your cunt, and a grin stretches across his face. Polka dots.

You scoff, softly shoving his shoulder. “Don’t even say it.”

Chuckling, he leans in to press a kiss on the damp patch of fabric. “Wasn’t gonna say anything, baby.”

His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs and tossing them aimlessly. His lips press feverish kisses to your ankles, your calves, your inner thighs, and eventually, the mound of your pussy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispers into your heat, hiking your legs up and over his shoulders and he pulls your sex closer to his mouth. “So damn worth it.”

A cry leaves you as his tongue delves in deep between your legs, his eyes slipping shut as he lets out an unabashed whimper into your sex. His grip on your thighs only tightens, keeping your legs spread apart as they threaten to press in on his head.

He wouldn’t have that. He couldn’t. He needed to have you in the way that he’s dreamt of for so long, in the way that he’s thought of time and time again as he fucked his own fist to the thought of you. It was filthy, it was lewd, but it was honest.

You tasted better than he could have ever imagined, his tongue eagerly lapping at your inner walls before his lips sealed around your puffy clit, sucking hard enough to make your back bow off the plush mattress.

The stimulation is leaving you feeling overwhelmed, your hands pushing into his hair as your trembling thighs test the strength of his grip. You whine, eyes slipping shut as your head tilts back against the pillows.

“It— it’s too much—”

“Be good,” he finds himself saying, pulling you right back to his mouth as he continues to feast on your pussy like a man starved. “You can take it, baby.” Caleb cracks open his eyes, sucking harshly onto your clit before releasing it with a wet pop. “Go on, pretty girl. Say it.”

You whine, though you hardly have the brain power to say anything else apart from what he’s asked of you. “I… I can take it,” you breathe.

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your sensitive pearl before nipping at it. “There you go.”

It doesn’t take much longer for your legs to begin to tremble once more, your body writhing in his grasp as he sets you any way but loose. Your hips buck up, a final resort for reprieve as he works you over the edge.

Caleb redoubled his efforts, spreading your thighs even wider. Soon, the warmth pooling in your lower stomach was far too much to bear, far more intense than anything you had ever experienced before.

“I’m… I’m coming,” you gasp out, hands gripping tightly onto his dark locks of hair.

And when you do, his flattened tongue laps at your honeyed release. He works you through your high, his movements eventually slowing down as the twitching of your hips gradually calms.

He pulls off of you with a wet pop, pressing soft kisses to your swollen clit. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, pressing another peck on your mound before he moves back up your body once more to slot his lips against yours.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it only spurs you on further. Your hands grasp onto his shoulders, and in one swift motion, you flip him onto his back. Caleb looks up at you with a starry-eyed expression, but when you straddle his hips and sit in his lap, he has no words of protest. None at all.

“You really are full of surprises,” he says, running his hands along the warm skin of your thighs.

Tugging him free from his boxers, he helps you remove them from his body, leaving you both entirely bare together. He sits up, his back pressing against the headboard as he tugs you closer to him.

“I need you,” he whispers, pressing a longing kiss on your stomach as you shift to straddle him once more. “Please, baby.”

You gaze down at him, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Please what?”

He leans into your touch, his hands settling onto your waist as he pulls you lower, the head of his cock pressing against your pussy. “Make yourself feel good. Please.”

Caleb’s own cheeks were flushed with a rosy hue, both from the embarrassment that his own lack of experience brought upon him and the reality of finally having the love of his life in such an intimate way. His amethyst eyes search your face, as if searching for a permission that he didn’t know how to ask for.

Dipping your head, you press a soft kiss on his lips. Simultaneously, you swivel your hips until the tip of his length catches your entrance. You slowly lower yourself, feeling the way his cock stretches you out, filling you up in a way that only he can.

He smiles at you, cupping your cheek with his hand. Brushing a thumb over your bottom lip, he kisses you gently. “You feel so good,” he whimpers into your mouth, his other hand resting on your hip as you roll your hips in a way that has his breath hitching in his throat. “So fucking perfect.”

Your movements are timid at first, consisting of a slow and meticulous rocking of your hips. His cock stuffed you full, his tip kissing the deepest points of your inner walls with ease, earning a muffled whimper from your mouth that his lips swallowed up eagerly.

Caleb’s hands grasped tightly onto your hips, helping you set a pace that had the both of you losing your mind. He leans backward, his head tilting against the headboard as it slams against the wall with each intense grind of your hips.

“Good girl, give it to me how you like it,” he breathes, eyes cracking open to watch the way you look down at him as you work yourself on his length. “Use me however you need me, baby, there you go.”

Your fingers thread into his hair, pulling him in for a longing kiss. “I… you— you feel so…” you stammer, leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder as you lose yourself on his cock.

He nods his head in agreement, turning his head to press a kiss on your damp cheek as he gently pets your hair. “I know, I know.”

You lose yourself all together, your legs shaking as you tighten your hold on him. “Caleb!” you moan.

His hips help you the rest of the way, his grip on your hips keeping you firmly planted as he meets your movements with thrusts of his own. “I know it, baby, I’ve got you,” he pants through a smile, guiding you through a few more fleshed out grinds on his lap. “Atta girl, use those hips.”

His arms wrap around you entirely, crushing you against the hard planes of his chest as you slowly ride the both of you through your shared orgasm. In that moment, in your house, in this space that belonged to you and Caleb alone—the two of you became one.

Heavy breathing and hammering heartbeats is all that consumes the two of you for a long while, skin to skin with far too much bliss brewing in your chests for either of you to handle alone.

Huffing softly, Caleb runs a hand up your side. “You okay in there?” he asks, turning his head to pepper soft kisses along your cheek. “C’mon, I need some proof of life.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. “Shut up, give me a second.”

He merely smiles, wrapping his arms around your middle once more as he tucks your head beneath his chin. Thirty seconds after finishing and you’re already mean. “There’s my girl.”

Caleb’s hands smooth over the soft planes of your back, giving your hips a soft squeeze as he revels in the feeling of your heartbeat drumming against his own. He can’t help himself from pressing a few kisses on the top of your head, his arms opting to wrap even tighter around you.

“I love—” he cuts himself off, eyes widening dazedly. Would that be too much? A confession of his undying love not long after ruining your date and making love with you for the first time? After a stretch of awkward silence, he kisses your head once more. “I love… cuddling with you. You’re so soft.”

You smile, nuzzling even closer to his chest, your nose brushing against skin. “Mm, I love you too, Caleb.”

His eyes widened, though he knows that communicating his confusion is futile. You knew him so well, too well.

“You do?” he whispers, turning his head just enough to look down at you.

In response to that, you nod. “Mm-hmm. I’ll love you even more if you tell me that you didn’t cancel those dinner reservations.”

Caleb smiles, running a hand over your hair. As if he’d given up his last ditch effort to take you out. “You know I didn’t.”

𝑛𝘰𝘵𝑒. rip zayne i still love you king!!! also i actually don’t really know how to write for caleb… so… i hope this didn’t suck! this is the only fic that managed to break my intense writer’s block that i’ve had for the past two months. reblog/comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate you reading so much <3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[toasterkoi]

Still your jaded shadow was forced to look upon

Sights not even a ghost should have to see

And as he slumps so listed, he cannot bear to watch

And yet he cannot draw his gaze away and flee

The reason why there's a white baby fuzz Shadow there holding current Shadow's hand is because it went with my headcannon from that one post I did where he originally had that coat color before he was injected with Black Doom's DNA. (VERY briefly, though)

A homage to what he could've been without the impurity that attached itself to him, the alien dna. Which is ironic in a sense, as Shadow is who he is as an indirect result of Doom's influence.

I really liked a comment on that previous post about the headcannon that said something akin to how his white fur that was left over represented the only place Black Doom failed to corrupt: his heart. Like YES!!! PREACH!!!

And, he has all this chaos energy and some kind of alien power that has dangerous consequences if not kept in check (he didn't know this he was like...10 minutes old) Gerald, of course, was aware of this about Shadow, but paid no mind to warn the hedgehog of his capabilities, as he was sure he had the means to control such a consequence. A fatal flaw of his part. So maybe he had crafted the inhibitor rings beforehand but kept them as a failsafe of sorts.

I imagine that Maria was looking to spend time with newly-released Shadow on a regular morning where she was feeling better, show him some of her favourite songs, or create fun mischief around their space-home, but oddly couldn't find him anywhere. Gerald was probably off doing further research for how to link Shadow to Maria's illness. She found herself peeking into an old storage room where the lights were off, and the door slightly pushed open as if someone had entered but not returned. And then... there's a horrifying and mutated elderich horror in the corner that's growling in pain. It's Shadow, and Maria knew that despite the melting and mutating figure in front of her appearing nothing like a small hedgehog. Because, despite the horrid and dark goup, deep down, it was still Shadow.

She was awfully calm about the entire encounter, too, and managed to get Shadow the help he needed to come back to his hedgehog form. I feel like this says alot about their closeness and relationship, because I bet if a rookie, overworked, below minimum wage employee and scientist walked in on mandela catalog Shadow like that, they would've screamed, peed their pants, and run away. They are NOT getting paid enough for this. (Unless they're used to stuff like that, but idk I'm not a scientist on the ARK guys). Just my thought dump herherher

[yanderedrabbles]

Cheat on me please

How to safely rid yourself of a yandere

There's no easy way to get rid of him. He's too obsessive. Too controlling. Too bloody single minded.

You tried talking through it and he just scoffed and said you were being silly. That you were just too hormonal and would calm down in a few days.

You tried going no contact and he showed up at your door. Hammered at it until the neighbours called the cops and they dragged him away.

You tried being nice about it and all he did was grab your wrist so hard it bruised. His eyes like chips of stone when he said he didn't want to hear it.

You weren't breaking up with him. You had no reason to.

And the worst part? He was right. You don't have a reason.

On paper, he's the perfect man. Attentive. Generous. Handsome. He buys you gifts, he lavishes you with attention, he's funny and charming around your friends.

And he scares you.

Not because of anything he's done. (Perfect guy, remember?) But some instinct deep inside you tells you to be careful around him.

This one's a predator, he's got claws and fangs, he'll fill you with venom and never let go, some ancient part of you insists.

But try explaining that to him. He's so mindlessly logical. He's not going to leave you because of a silly gut feeling. Come on baby, what sort of shitty boyfriend would do that?

And that's why you're down to half thought out, borderline silly plans to get rid of him. Get your hot friend to sleep with him. Catch them in the act. Throw a tantrum and finally get to break up with him.

You can't try and excuse cheating. It's abhorrent. And his logical side will surely see that, right?

One little hitch though. He's actually loyal to a fault.

Part of you finds it hard to believe. Is he really turning down your absolute bombshell of a friend? The girl all your exes were just a bit in love with?

Maybe he's just being cautious. Maybe he isn't lonely and needy enough to risk it.

So you up the stakes. Decide to avoid fucking him as much as possible. And oh boy, does it drive him crazy. He gets irritable and needy and somehow even more horny the longer your dry spell lasts.

And you know that you almost have him. He's just a man, no matter how logical he pretends to be.

You pick a fight over nothing. Blow it all out of proportion and storm out to stay with your parents for a while.

Piss him off just enough that a revenge fuck seems like a great idea.

He ends up drinking at a shitty dive bar and oh what a coincidence, your gorgeous seductress friend just happens to turn up. The last text she sends you makes it seem like she's finally hooked him and you hurry over to her apartment, feeling just a little giddy. Your plan actually worked! You feel like a goddamn genius.

And sure enough, his car is parked at her front door.

For a second, you feel a little hurt. Yes, this is the outcome you wanted. Yes, you deliberately manipulated him to get to this point. But it still feels like betrayal.

When you make it to her door, it's oddly silent for a supposed drunken hookup. But you're too geared up to notice it.

She left her door unlocked like you agreed and you tiptoe inside, your heart going a mile a minute. Her bedroom door is cracked just a little and a shaft of light cuts through the dark of the hallway.

You swing the door open with a crash, getting to ready to cuss him out.

And you freeze.

There's no guilty couple leaping away from each other, no smell of sweat and cum, no illicit rendezvous.

Instead your friend is tied to a chair, her mouth taped shut with silvery duct tape and her mascara running in black streaks down her cheeks. Her eyes lock onto yours and she tries to scream something through the tape.

The door clicks shut behind you.

You turn slowly. Like putting it off will make the situation less horrible, less like a dissociative dream.

Your boyfriend looks ragged. His eyes are blood shot and his hair is an unruly mess.

But the worst part is the way he smiles at you. Paternal, almost. Like he's caught you doing something naughty but he's willing to overlook it.

"Come on baby, you didn't think I'd actually cheat on you, did ya?"

His voice is condescending, but under the surface you can hear a cold, terrifying anger.

You swallow. Those same instincts that warned you about him are screaming now.

"What the hell is going on?" You demand, trying to sound angry instead of just afraid.

He steps toward you and it takes everything in you to not step away. He picks up a piece of your hair and rubs it between his fingers. Proprietary, possessive.

"What's going on? You should know babe. You're the one who tried to set me up... As though that skank over there ever stood a chance."

He tsks. "I knew something was wrong the second you stopped sleeping with me."

He leans forward and whispers in your ear, his breath ghosting across your neck.

"I fuck you too good for you to give it up so easy."

You jerk away from him, your eyes burning like you're about to cry. How did this go so wrong?

"Are you insane? Untie her right now! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

He backhands you right across the face.

He's never hit you before and the shock is almost worse than the pain. You stumble, clutching your cheek. Your face feels numb at first and then a sharp, fiery pain blooms across your cheek.

He grabs your collar and shoves you toward the bed.

"Oh baby, you're lucky I love you." His bared teeth catch the light and he looks more wolf than man.

The edge of the mattress digs into your thighs and you fall backward. You're still reeling and he has you pinned under him before you can find the strength to scramble away.

"Thought about killing her, y'know. What kind of whore goes after her best friend's man? You deserve better than that."

His grip is unyielding. A part of you always knew he was strong, but until now you didn't realise how big the gap between you actually was. His knee is between your legs and he brings it up to press against your crotch.

"But then a light bulb must have went off. And I decided to see how things played out."

He laughs and there's nothing warm or welcoming in it at all.

"All I had to do was squeeze her throat a little and..." He grabs your throat and thightens his grip until you see stars. "And she was just fallin' all over herself to tell me about your little plan."

He let's go and pats your cheek with rough little smacks. "It was cute, baby. Really was. But fucking stupid."

He leans down and kisses you. His lips are rough and he bites your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The metallic tang of it makes you gag.

Your instincts were right. He's dangerous and you never should have tempted this monstrous part of him.

He tastes like cheap whiskey and you struggle to pull away. Your chest heaves and no matter how you buck and twist under him, he still keeps you pinned.

When he pulls away, something in your expression must please him because he hums and tilts your chin up. "But it's okay baby. We'll work through this."

He reaches down and tugs at your belt. "And I know exactly where to start."

[parfaitblogs]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your night out comes to an end, and your boyfriend has to try to keep your wandering hands off of him. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: alcohol consumption. reader is drunk. reader is a brat. spencer is so exasperated. but he loves you so bad. age gap probably. suggestive content. word count: 2.1k a/n: oh my god i miss having a man to pick me up and love me when im drunk #thisshouldbeme final boss level 1000. simple fun fluff i love when he's nice to us i should do this more often. circa summer 2024 ass title i'm rebuilding spencer reid tumblr brick by brick. 

You were never meant to be this drunk. 

Truly, you had grandeur plans for it to be a one and done night. Entertain the birthday girl — your best friend — with your presence and take care of her, for it is her night, and then go home and pass out early enough in dark green sheets and the sound of your boyfriend sleeping next to you. 

You'd even told him about these plans. 

Instead? He's staring down at his phone with a locked jaw, and four different messages from you glaring back up at him. Incomprehensible, if he weren't as smart as he were. If he weren't as attuned to you and your mannerisms down to the way you text. A man who doesn't even like texting, and he's memorised how you do. 

Something about him picking you up, maybe, if he wants. Another thing about you finding him pretty. Another with a photo of the — and he quotes — really good vodka coke the bartender made you (he's certain it tastes the same as the last three you mentioned drinking). Finally, a photo of you in the bathrooms, arms around your best friend, grinning at the mirror through your phone, showing off your outfit to him. As if he hadn't memorised, documented, the way the skirt looked on you when you left hours earlier. 

When he doesn't reply to a single message, you call him, and endearment for you grows, for he can hear the pout on your lips as you speak into the phone. 

"Why're you ignorin' me?" you mumble, which isn't much help considering how loud the world around you is, your voice nearly drowning out. 

"I'm not, honey," he says. "I only just checked your messages. I was about to respond."

"Liar. You're ignoring me. You hate me."

"I can assure you I don't," he's amused. He's so stupidly amused, you want to kick him for it. You don't. You can't. Instead, you let him keep sweet talking you out of your predisposed anger. "Are you having a good night?"

"Yes!" you brighten almost immediately. "Did you see the photo I sent?"

"Of your outfit? Yeah, angel. You look pretty," he's practically perfected how to talk to you when drunk. You're oblivious to it, always too intoxicated to register he is extra nice when you're barely able to hold yourself upright. 

"Thank you," you reply, and he can hear the fluster. "Look prettier in—in person."

"I know. I saw you before you left, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah," your cheeks heat, and you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. The bricks are a juxtaposing cold against your back. Rough, too. Oddly comforting. "Are you busy? Am I keeping you from somethin'? S'that why you were ignorin' me?"

"No," he replies. "I'm waiting for you to be ready to come home. Is that why you're calling?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, giggling to yourself because you remember he can't see that. He doesn't know why you're laughing, but he smiles at it nonetheless. "Jus' wanted to hear your voice. Miss you."

"I miss you too, honey," he says, and you can hear that smile in his voice. 

"What're you doin' then?" you ask, staring at the door to the club you had deserted, keeping an eye out for your friends to emerge. 

"Reading."

"Reading what?"

"Sofia Petrovna," he tells you, and, as if he can see the way your eyebrows furrow, he adds, "Russian novel by Lydia Chukovskaya. I'll find a translation so you can read it, I think you'd like it."

"You should jus' read it to me right now," you mumble, crouching down to the floor, resting your head on your knees. "Translate for me."

"You most certainly won't remember a thing I'm saying. Where are your friends?"

"In the club. It got overstimulating," you tell him. 

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and an excuse about how you can actually see your friends still — you can't — manifests on your tongue, preempting the scolding he's no doubt formulating. 

However, two simple, stern — but not too scary — words kill the faux reassurance immediately. "You're alone?" 

You hesitate. "...No?"

"Can you go find your friends, please? I don't want you outside alone."

"Yes, sir," you stand back up. His jaw clenches, biting back his reprimand. He doesn't have the energy to lecture you about the dangers of being this drunk alone, and he's sure you wouldn't appreciate it anyways. Or remember it. "I will call you back later! Bye! Love you!"

He continues to hear from you for the two hours following. A photo once you find your friends to assure him you're safe, a mistyped message about how you love him more than anything in the world, another asking if he's mad at you when he doesn't reply. Eventually, you're calling him again, chatter from the smoker's lounge you'd disappeared into loud, but he can faintly make out you asking him to pick you up. 

He finds himself in an empty enough street just a block away from the last club you told him you were going to, waiting. 

There were people everywhere, just past the corner of the street. Girls with their bags hanging limply down by their calves, fast food paper bags held up to some of their mouths. Never his scene, but he's shown up enough for you since you started dating to know what he's looking out for. 

He can see you before you spot him, but when you do, he can't fight the smile at the sight of you brightening up in an instant. Distantly, he hears you call his name, pointing him out to your friends and stumbling towards the car. 

"Hi!" you collapse against the passenger's seat door, window open and waiting for you, as you lean into the car. 

Recognising the offer for what it was, he leans across the console to kiss you before you can start drunkenly accusing him of not loving you. Or whatever you can come up with to start a baseless, completely harmless argument with him. 

"Hi, honey. Good night?" he asks as you finally pull open the door, settling into the seat with a sigh, head nodding as you peel your shoes off of your feet and curl up. 

"I think so," you murmur, hair covering your face as you drop your head, and a yawn stretches your mouth open. "I'll tell you all about it t'morrow."

"Can't wait," he muses. 

"You never answered me," you then say — which is generous, considering he could barely make out a word — looking over at him. "'Bout if you're mad."

"I wasn't mad," he reassures you. "Just worried. Thought we talked about not being out and alone when you're this intoxicated?"

"Yeah. I know. Sorry."

Tomorrow, as it turns out, follows a quiet drive home for you to collect your thoughts, and his helping hands at removing your makeup and getting you into the shower. A year old promise that he will always force you under the water before bed no matter what protests you come up with.

Now, here you are, rambling his ear off animatedly on the edge of the bathroom sink, as he brushes a wet comb through your hair. 

He's listening intently, soaking in every word you were saying about your night out, even if it entirely made no sense to him. Your attempt at stringing together your night's events was poor at best, and he's pretty sure you've re-explained four times that you went into then night with fake names and backstories to try and fool everyone.

"And then we went to... um... I forgot the name. But it was free entry, so we went in, obviously, and this guy bought us drinks because of the birthday sash she was wearing, so that was awesome. That was the vodka coke I sent you, it was so goo—can I have a kiss?"

Your request catches him off guard, and the comb clatters to the basin beside you when his hand drops from your hair. 

"Is that all you want?" he hums, leaning forwards. His lips brush against your own, and you smile.

"Yep. Just a kiss," you chirp, slouching your shoulders so you could look up at him with wide eyes you know all too well he can't deny. "Please?"

You just had to ask so nicely, and he was left with very little choice in the matter in the end. 

He kisses you for only a second, aiming to pull away and successfully get you into bed before you can take this any further. 

Ever so sneaky, though, you catch your fingers into his hair and tug him back into you, legs hooking around his waist to keep him locked. His hips knock the cabinets, but he's distracted by your lips back on his to fully register the hit. 

"Honey," he mumbles against your lips. A warning, you think. It sounds it. 

You don't listen. 

Instead, you inch closer to the edge of the basin until he's forced to roll his hips into yours to push you back, saving you from falling off. 

You whine, and the sound has him coming back to reality, deftly pulling away from your lips. You protest, quietly, and he's forced to tangle a hand in your hair to tug your head back, keeping you away from him.

"No," he says, firmly. If you were sober, maybe you'd back down under the demand. Then again, if you were sober, he wouldn't be saying no to you. Instead, his tone of voice only makes your smile widen, and your skin tingle. 

"It was just a kiss," you protest, slipping off the sink once he steps back, letting him guide you like a lost puppy back into his bedroom. "Spencer?"

"No it wasn't," he says, hand on your back as he navigates you over to his bed. "We've talked about this."

He sits down before you, and despite the scolding, lets you climb over him into the bed anyways, hips straddling his waist as he lays back on the bed. 

"Just a kiss. I promise," you affirm, breath warm against his lips. 

He gives in, as he always does, and lets you kiss him again. 

Hips square above his, chest pressing on his, fingers ruffling the sheets beside his head. You kiss him until you're out of air, and convinced he's drunk enough on your taste to let you go further. 

He isn't. 

"Behave," he quips when your hand drops to his waistband, his fingers catching your wrist and lifting it back up. You're too focussed on the way his hand fits around the joint to argue. 

"I am," you huff, tilting your head with a lopsided grin. "Didn't do anything!"

"Brat," he pinches your hip, and you squirm, bursting into a fit of giggles. "Go to bed."

"Can't. You've got me caged up on top of you," you jut your chin out. "Maybe you're the problem."

"Yep. Sure am," he confirms, letting his arms around you go slack, just to watch you fall off his chest and to the mattress beside him. "Sleep."

"Or what?"

He pushes air out of his nose, but it's all too difficult to stay frustrated with you when you're staring up at him with the hugest smile on your face. You know exactly what you're doing — and he's just letting you.

He thinks he will forever.

He pauses in choosing a response. "Do you want me to be nice when I wake you up tomorrow?"

"Depends," you study him, eyes narrowing; drunken skepticism. "What's your version of nice?"

"You're a smart girl. Figure it out," he kisses your nose, "and go to sleep."

"Are you being suggestive?" you sit up abruptly, and his palms find comfort in his face, running down it. "Spencer."

"I'm not answering that. Go to sleep, honey."

"I can't. Why would you say that? You're such a tease. Oh my God. I hate you," you moan, dramatically falling back down to the bed, head finding the space between his shoulder and his neck. "Do you promise?"

It's like he knows you're giving up, for his voice has dropped into a drawl, exhaustion he'd been expertly masking coming out as he speaks. "Promise what?" 

"To wake me up nicely?"

"If you're good and go to sleep now, yes."

"Pinky promise?" his eyes are now closed, but you still search his face with keen interest. He smiles. He can feel it. 

"Pinky promise," he affirms, and he finally — finally — fully relaxes as he feels you curl into him. "Goodnight, honey."

"G'night, Spence."

[munsonify]

admiring

pairing. bob reynolds x reader

summary. three times bob catches you staring, and the one time he confronts you about it

content warning. slight nsfw thoughts 18+ (very very brief/light detail), a little angst but mostly just a load of fluff, pining, new avengers!era and new avengers!r, mentions of insecurities (bobs), overthinking (both bob and r), non-established relationships

word count. 3695

a/n. i’m hardcore projecting myself into some of this my bad gang. also the dialogue kind of sucks so im sorry. not proofread

———

the briefing room

it had been an oddly quiet day for bob. he’d spent it alone, catching up on laundry that was 2 weeks overdue, finishing a book that’d been glued to his hand for the past couple days. there wasn’t a single interruption, not a single word spoken or an accidental run-in from anybody on the team.

bob hadn’t quite noticed until around 6 in the afternoon, lounging on his bed, staring at the ceiling. music played lowly in the headphones he had on, fingers thrumming against his chest in tandem with the soft bass in the back. normally by now, he would’ve had a knock at his door from walker, or a handful of missed texts from yelena claiming they needed him for something important.

he found that the word important meant very different things to these people.

the only person who seemed to have a grasp on what that was was bucky - who, by the way, was the one who interrupted his incredibly peaceful day. the thrumming of his knuckles against bobs door broke him out of his trance. letting his eyes roll into the back of his head, he pushed himself off of his bed, tugging his headphones off and letting it settle around his neck.

bucky was standing outside bobs door, visibly annoyed. and as if reading his mind-

“can’t let you rest for too long, kid. val wants us down in the briefing room in ten.”

“did she say why?” bob asked, scratching the back of his head. he really didn’t want to deal with her today.

“nope,” bucky told him, shaking his head in disbelief. “she barely ever does. just be there, got it?”

that’s how bobs perfectly fine day turned into a raging headache. val had practically nothing of value to say, and even if she did, he wasnt listening. after five minutes of sitting in those god awful office chairs, his mind began to wander elsewhere. specifically, it went to how comfortable his bed had been just 20 minutes ago.

what snapped bob out of his thought was the odd feeling that someone was staring at him. with furrowed eyebrows, his eyes began to flick through the room until they landed on you.

in the few short months that the team had been living inside of the tower, bob hadn’t quite gotten a read on you. he’d spoke to you briefly in passing, just a simple hello, but never anything more. that seemed to be how you were with everyone though. quiet. he never took quietness personally. needless to say, seeing you staring at him caught him by surprise.

bob saw the way your eyes grew wide the moment he noticed you. you quickly pried your eyes away from his, your fingers that were once fiddling with a pen grew steady, gripping it enough for it to bend and nearly snap in your hold. his eyes lingered on you for a long few seconds, trying to finally get his read on you, only to fall short.

he wondered if, by accident, you had zoned out just like he had. that’s happened to bob before - zoned out directly staring at someone he didn’t mean to be. he remembers how mortified he’d been when that’d happened. surely, that’s what you’d done. simply tuned out of the conversation at hand.

and while bob left it at that, your mind started to spin.

for the weeks that you’d known bob, you’d grown a raging sense of curiosity about him. even from the beginning, there was something about the man that intrigued you - it wasn’t the serum he’d stumbled upon or the powers he’d gained from it, no. it was the way he carried himself, awkward and lanky with a sort of sideways confidence tied in with it. the sharp features he had didn’t seem to quite fit him you didn’t think, though you couldn’t help but admire them, especially in contrast to his soft, round blue eyes.

you were simply admiring bob when he’d caught you staring. god you wished he hadn’t. despite how entranced you were with him, you’d barely spoken to him. you couldn’t quite bring yourself to hold a conversation with him just yet. eventually, you were sure you would.

———

the training room

training with walker was always exhausting. he’s a diligent, hardworking, relentless man who strived for perfection - of course that shines through when he trains. it was good practice sparring with him, and you always felt good about yourself after somehow managing through workouts with him. still, you were over the moon when you finally called it quits for the day.

“you did good, just remember to keep your shoulders back when you’re throwing punches,” walker commented, tossing a cool towel at your chest.

“thanks walker,” you mumbled as you searched around for your crisp water. neither of you were the best with words, so you kept it at that. simple. effective.

your knees nearly gave out on you as you bent down to grab the water you were in desperate need of. walker was somewhere across the training room putting away the rest of the equipment you’d used today. somehow, he still had the energy to do all of it. you simply chalked up to the super serum. it makes you feel better about yourself.

through the clanking of metal, you could hear footsteps approaching the training room. the sound of two voices slowly began to echo into earshot, one in which made your heart miss a beat or two. you looked down at yourself in agony.

with the towel hung around your neck to soothe your heated skin, you began to realize just how worn you looked. your thin tank top clung to your sticky skin, sweat dripping slightly down onto the floor below you. your knees were trembling still, something that only worsened the moment he walked into the room.

yelena strutted her way into the room with confidence, bob right behind her, nearly tripping over the foamy mat as he stepped onto it. you were quick to look at the man - tall and clumsy, wearing workout clothes you were sure he’d never wear out of this room. your mind was quick to move from your appearance at the sight of him.

while your confidence has grown the longer you’d been in the watchtower, you still couldn’t bring yourself to communicate properly with bob. you were beginning to be a little better with it, making small talk that eventually died down after a few minutes. otherwise, you fell short.

“i was just telling bob how you finally did the widow move,” yelena spoke out to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. a few awkward moments passed as you realized bob had caught you staring again before you forced your eyes away. “it was pretty badass.”

you hummed out in agreement with yelena, taking a nervous drink of your water as you started your way towards the exit. this was your time to leave before things became worse for you.

“yeah,” you chuckled nervously, small smile playing on your lips. your eyes glanced over at bob, who hadn’t let you out of your sight since he’d caught you. “‘s a pretty cool move. glad to finally master it.”

“oh, i didn’t say master,” yelena quipped, pointing her index finger at you sternly. “i just said you did it.”

“i’m sure you did g-great,” bob finally spoke, stuttering slightly on his words. he knew the widow move, he’d seen yelena do it himself. the thought of you doing it successfully had him choking on his words.

he was quick to move past your stare this time around, his mind otherwise preoccupied. that didn’t stop him from wondering on it later in the day, long after the both of you left the training room. he still chalked your gaze up to nothing but a coincidence, even if it did have him a nervous mess.

———

the kitchen

it was never uncommon for bob to stay up through the night. silence was hard to come by in his mind when he had so much to think about. when he became restless like this, he turned to quiet walks around the tower to try and clear his mind, or a book to read to try and suppress it all. unfortunately for him, none of his coping mechanisms quite worked for him some nights.

the coffee that just finished brewing was the first of many attempts bob made to keep his body going today, the late night turning into a very early morning. he could already see the sunrise on the horizon out of the corner of his eye as he poured the coffee shakily. his normal mug was sitting in the sink, the insides stained slightly by coffee he had drank the day before. the man settled on a mug with a garfield graphic instead.

bob glanced over at the stove, a huff of air coming out of his nose the moment his eyes found the time. 6:05. the grip he had on the mug tightened while he finished preparing it. with hunched shoulders, he shuffled over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair just enough for him to slide into it. he wanted nothing more than to rest in his bed, large and warm and welcoming. but alas, his mind still wouldn’t quiet down, not quite. a buzz rang low and steady in the back of his head.

that’s when you walked in. bobs head snapped up the moment he heard your quiet footsteps, eyes that were once unfocused on the table focused in on your figure as you stumbled into the large kitchen. he could feel his whole body tense, throat tightening up slightly as you glanced over at him and offering him a small smile.

bob noticed that he tensed up around you a lot. he was prone to nervousness around you. everything about you captivated him - the way you spoke, the way you looked, the way you carried yourself. even if you never really interacted with him, he couldn’t help but admire you. a part of him knew that he tensed up around you for another reason. that weird little staring problem you had, one that only seemed to be directed at him and no one else.

“g’morning,” you spoke, voice quiet and a little raw from sleep. bob gave you a half-hearted smile back, mumbling a good morning to you. his eyes began to dart between you and the open space that surrounded him in an anxious sort of way. he wasn’t quite sure where to put his eyes.

“mind if i have some?” you asked, thumb motioning over to the pot of coffee on the countertop. you were already grabbing ahold of a floral mug in the cabinet, though, like you already knew the answer.

“‘course,” bob nodded. he suddenly became aware of how he must look - hair a mess, eyelids drooping and bloodshot, a slump to him that he couldn’t straighten up to save his life. he tried to distract himself from his own appearance with yours.

not in a bad way, never a bad way. simply in a curious way. with your back to him, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, he noticed that your baggy shirt had a few holes in it. it reminded him of the clothes he wears to bed, old and worn and perfect to sleep in. as a matter of fact, there was a hole in the armpit of the shirt he was wearing now. most of his clothes were like that.

bob noticed that you poured an obscene amount of milk into your coffee, almost too much. he was well aware of the bitter taste, a taste he didn’t like much, but this was just absurd. he could excuse it though on accounts of you being so pretty. even fresh out of sleep, you caught his eye.

his gaze snapped back to the table the moment he noticed you starting to move again. you turned around, mug in hand, before waddling yourself over to a seat. you sat at a respectable distance from the man - far enough away so that you weren’t crowding his personal space, but close enough so that it didn’t seem like you were allergic to being around him. you sometimes wished you could consider being a chronic over thinker a hobby.

you found your eyes wandering off to bob again. it’s like they couldn’t help but gravitate towards him. the first thing you noticed about him was his eyes, and how tired they looked. you were aware he struggled to sleep. there had been nights where you had caught him walking the halls of the tower while you were in search of a glass of water or a late night snack. he truly looked exhausted this morning, though, like he was forcing his body upright.

your eyes eventually drifted down to his hands. bob had both wrapped firmly around his mug with two fingers slipped beneath the handle. if you hadn’t known there was a garfield mug inside of the pantry you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint what the orange peaking past his fingers was - bobs hands were large.

you blinked a few slow, hard times as you processed that thought of yours. you watched as a pointer finger of his traced the ceramic rhythmically, a grounding technique of his. you began to wonder what his fingers would feel like against you, dancing against your skin like they were that mug. you wondered what his hands would feel like against your face, warm and a little shaky. you wondered what they’d feel like against your hips, firm and unmoving as he held you close. the thought of his hands drifting further down your body has your head going a little fuzzy.

it wasn’t until bob let out a strained cough, shifting uncomfortably in his seat that you’d realized you’d been staring for far too long. your bottom lip that somehow traveled between your teeth was released from its confines quickly, eyes darting away immediately. now it was your turn to tense up.

while bob didn’t say a word, his mind began to swirl. of course, the moment he’d thought he’d had his mind under control, his thoughts began to betray him again, picking right back up at the speed from earlier.

why were you always staring at him? what he once thought was a coincidence was now quickly spiraling into something that had to be purposeful, personal. was he doing something wrong that was making you stare? were you upset with him? were you wanting the mug he was using? or was this all in his head? couldn’t be.

rather than asking you, bob chose to do nothing but sit in his uncomfortable-ness. this was something for him to deal with when he wasn’t so tired.

———

the common area

it was hard to find peace and quiet in the tower. between constant bickering, mission briefing and debriefing, and simply existing together, noise was something that was inevitable. while a fact, it didn’t make it any less frustrating. that’s why you appreciated any silence you were handed greatly. today was no different.

for the first time in two weeks, the common area was empty, motionless, and quiet. you were quick to occupy one of the squishy rocking chairs that inhabited the open room, resting into it and sighing in relief. the warmth of the sun spilled into the room through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, engulfing you perfectly. the sun wasn’t shining in your eyes, though it gave you the exact lighting you needed to get some reading done.

with your feet propped up on the now reclined chair, you did just that. in peace.

there were only two other members of the team inside of the tower. bucky was in his room, finally finding peace in the quiet tower just like you were. without walker and ava bickering, or alexei’s usual obnoxious demeanor, he didn’t have anyone to rope him into their bullshit. you liked bucky, and bucky liked you. you respected each others personal space.

bob was also inside the tower. though, while you respected each others space, you somehow always ended up within it anyways. at the beginning, you didn’t mind his company. he’s thoughtfully quiet, and you found that he made good conversation. but now? now all you wanted to do was crawl out of your skin and hide while he was near.

he made you painfully shy and insanely flustered and you hated it. the worst part? it didn’t even seem like he was trying.

it’s why you tensed up the moment you saw bob walk into the common area. you were sure that if you weren’t partially facing towards the entrance you wouldn’t have noticed him. the man was always so quiet on his feet. your eyes flicker up from your book, forcing a small smile on your lips to acknowledge and greet him.

bob offered up a small, toothy smile back at you, fingers wiggling slightly in a wave. if you weren’t so caught up in breathing properly you would’ve noticed the way he cringed at himself, nose crinkling up all cute as he overthought and instantly regretted his hello.

he went over to a chair closer to the windows, slipping on his headphones, before fumbling with his phone to find music to play. bob loved having this opportunity. it wasn’t often he could sit and listen to music, simply staring out the window and into the large city. sometimes he admired the sight, looking at what hustle and bustle he could make out down on the streets, scanning the skyline for everything and nothing. other times, he simply just stared, engulfed in his own thoughts or the music he had playing.

and, despite pressing shuffle on a good playlist of his, bob decided that thinking was the way to go today. especially since the thinking had to do with you, and how he desperately wanted to confront you. now would be the perfect time. you two were alone, and bob was sure bucky wouldn’t find his way in here anytime soon.

even if the man didn’t intrude on the conversation, bob felt like he was cornering you. you were so clearly enjoying your quiet time, engulfed in a book he couldn’t quite see the title of. he’d hate to interrupt you. that was until he caught you staring. again.

in your defense, you were also deep in thought. bob looked so cozy in his seat, a large black hoodie engulfing him in warmth, hair slightly disheveled. he finally looked well rested, too. you were simply admiring the man as your mind started to run laps, wondering how it’d feel to hug him, feel the warmth he felt right now. you didn’t even really notice you were staring at him this time.

“do you, like, hate me or something?” bob blurted out, breaking the silence between the two of you. he was quick to take his headphones off, placing it in his lap with a little too much force. your book that was once loosely grasped on your hands was in your lap in an instant, pages fluttering shut, losing your place.

“what?” you croaked out, eyes wide. you began to shake your head quickly. “no!”

bob couldn’t help but scoff. “are you sure? it kinda seems like you do!”

“yes, bob, i’m sure!”

“then what’s going on?” he asked you in a weak voice. his eyes were owlish as he stared at you, face etched in nothing but worry and anxiousness. bob looked like he could cry. “if you want me to give you space i can, i just… i wanna know why you’re always so weird around me. why you always stare.”

your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach as he spoke, guilt and anxiety filling your bones as you tried to think of a response. all this time, bob thought you didn’t like him, that your staring and your awkwardness was out of spite, not out of admiration.

“bob,” you let out, voice cracking slightly as you adjusted upright in the chair you sat in. “i’m sorry, i don’t hate you.”

a hand found its way to your forehead, rubbing gently as you let out a shaky breath. you couldn’t believe you were about to say any of this.

“i stare cause i think you’re really nice to look at. like really nice. and you’re always so kind to me. i just get so nervous around you and i forget how to act. im so sorry i made you think i hated you or something, i actually quite like you.”

those round blue eyes of bobs don’t leave you even after you’re done speaking. they stare into you like it’d hurt to leave, or like he’d miss something important if he didn’t keep staring. you noticed quickly that his hands started to mess with the headphones in his lap, anxiously feeling against the warm material.

he tried and failed to push down the adorable red blush that started to creep up his neck, the tips of his ears thankfully hidden beneath his hair. this way, he was able to spare some of his dignity. your confession had him flustered and at loss for words. which really sucked right now. you were staring at him again, this time expectedly. you’re patient, you always had been - that didn’t stop him from feeling like he needed something to say to you, and quickly.

“oh,” bob whispered, only barely finding something to say to you.

“yeah,” you whispered back, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it anxiously.

finally, bob had something meaningful to contribute. “i think you’re really nice to look at too.”

he let out a relieved sigh the moment he saw a small smile play on your lips. this time, when you looked over at him, bob didn’t overthink it. he didn’t question himself, or try to fold in on himself. he simply let it happen. he let himself stare back at you, eyes gazing into yours, smiling just like you were. it finally felt right.