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incognit0slut · 5 months

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The Last Laugh

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spencer is forced to share a room with his rival. This is part two of Lose Control but can be read as a standalone.

warnings: sexual tension, a lot of banter, female oral, edging, rough sex, unplanned creampie (is that a thing?) words: 5,3k a/n: someone requested a part two with a one-bedroom trope and since this is one of my favorite stories, I had to do it

...Thinkin' you're winnin' with all of your grinning but I got the last laugh...

"I'M NOT SLEEPING WITH REID."

The idea was absurd. Ridiculous. Insane. Out of all the people in her team, why was she paired up with him?

According to Garcia, the only choice she had to spend the night in this remote town was with the person she least wanted to engage with. Did Garcia not know how much she had been trying to avoid him? How much she had been attempting to act as if the mere proximity with him wasn't making her lose her mind?

"Why not?" Garcia asked, handing her a key. "He's not that bad of a roommate, well, if you overlook his tendency to share random facts in the middle of the night, then he's really not that bad."

"Do you not hear yourself?" She steadied her gaze to her friend. "You want me to share a room with the person I hate the most?"

Garcia rolled her eyes. "You guys really should stop with this nonsense. You're both grown adults."

"I'll treat him like an adult if he starts to act like one." Her eyes drifted toward the man of the hour, standing at the other end of this old-looking hotel that seemed too close to falling apart, engaged in conversation with Luke. She then glanced back at Garcia. "Why can't he share a room with Luke?"

"Because I'm sharing a room with Luke."

She shot Garcia an incredulous look. "You're rooming with Luke? Since when?"

"Since always. We're buddies, remember?" She cocked an eyebrow and Garcia sighed. "Don't look at me like that, we're just friends. Besides, you and Reid are the only ones left without a roommate. Consider this your opportunity for personal growth or whatever."

"Personal growth? More like a crash course in patience. And what's the deal with Reid anyway? Why does he always have to be the exception?"

Garcia leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. "Well, let's just say Luke and I enjoy our peace. Reid, on the other hand, is like a walking encyclopedia. I figured it's your turn to experience that charm up close."

She scowled, a mix of annoyance and resignation on her face. "Charm? That's a generous way to put it."

Garcia stared back with an air of nonchalance that only seemed to amplify her exasperation. "Look, it's only one night. What's the worst that could happen?"

She shot her friend a withering glance as if the absurdity of the situation needed no further clarification. "The worst is that I might end up committing another crime in this town before the night ends."

Garcia raised an eyebrow, her amusement evident. "You're exaggerating, Reid is harmless. Plus, all the other rooms are fully booked. Consider yourself lucky we even found a place to stay."

"Lucky is not the word I would use right now."

"Just try to survive the night without killing each other," Garcia chuckled, ignoring the glare shot towards her way. "Give him a chance."

Her incredulous stare intensified. "A chance? Garcia, the man tried to argue with me about the most efficient way to organize my desk. And you know what's ironic? His own desk is a complete mess."

Garcia sighed, her playful demeanor softening. "One night, Y/n, that's all I'm asking."

She pursed her lips together. She could go on about how bad it would be to share a room with him, but the thing was, it would raise questions she did not want to answer. There was a limit to how much her disdain could stop her from entertaining the idea, and her avoidance, she realized, was more than just mere hatred.

Annoyed that she couldn't do anything to escape the situation, she shot a disapproving glance at him, who was still engrossed in conversation with Luke. With a resigned shake of her head, she turned back to Garcia.

"Whatever." She sighed, begrudgingly accepting the key Garcia handed her. "But if he starts reciting facts about, I don't know, the history of dental floss or something, I'm blaming you."

Garcia laughed. "Fair enough." She shoved her shoulder playfully. "But who knows, maybe you'll discover he's not as bad as you think."

That was the problem. Spencer Reid, in her eyes, was starting to... change. And she hated that. Why was the man she had never bothered to befriend occupying her mind more than she wanted him to? Was it because she now knew what it felt like to have his body pressed against hers? What it felt like to have him grunt in pleasure right in her ear? Just because they had sex?

Nope. Nuh-huh. She wasn't going to think of him differently tonight—or ever, for that matter.

She gave Garcia one last glare before making her way across the creaky floorboards toward him. Noticing her presence coming close, Spencer looked up and a slight tension filled the air as his gaze locked with hers. She quickly shook her head.

"You're sleeping on the floor," she declared with a point of her finger when she reached him.

A small amused smile played on his lips. "We're sharing a room?"

"Unfortunately," she grumbled. She then focused her attention on Luke. "Do you want to switch roommates?"

Luke chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm stuck with Garcia. Besides," he patted Spencer on the shoulder, "Don't act like you're not eager to spend the night with him."

Her eyes went wide. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Luke simply shrugged with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and walked away, leavingher staring at Spencer with a mix of confusion and suspicion. "What did you tell him?"

Spencer frowned. "Nothing." He sighed when her stare didn't back down. "Nothing, I swear. Luke tends to have his own way of interpreting things."

She narrowed her eyes, not entirely convinced, but decided to let it go for the moment. She turned on her heels, not waiting for him as she walked to their destinated room. She felt his presence close behind her but kept her mouth closed.

Spencer, on the other hand, found the situation amusing. He really shouldn't find any entertainment in her visible annoyance towards him, but he did. He couldn't help but notice that despite being angry, she still looked unbelievably attractive. The scowl on her face, her pursed lips, her chest heaving in anger. He took a step closer.

"This must be hard for you," he commented.

"What is?" she shot back, maintaining her brisk pace.

"Staying the night with me when you've been avoiding me."

Her jaw tightened. "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Really? So you haven't gone out of your way to avoid looking in my direction ever since what happened?"

Her steps faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, refusing to show any vulnerability. "That doesn't mean I've been actively avoiding you. It just means I have better things to do than engage in pointless conversations."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Pointless conversations, or conversations you're trying to avoid?"

She shot him a sharp look but didn't respond. "You know," he began again. "You do seem to be acting differently ever since that day."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Spencer couldn't resist a faint smile at her denial. "You really don't know what I'm referring to?"

She huffed, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. The narrow hallway seemed to amplify the unresolved tension between them as they stopped right in front of their room. She could feel his gaze on her, and it only fueled her annoyance.

She tried to ignore him by unlocking the door, but as she pushed it open, she felt his presence looming behind her. His proximity was so close that she held her breath as he gripped the edge of the door in front of her. His breath brushed her neck and her eyes involuntarily fluttered close when his other hand slowly rested on her waist.

"Should I help you jog your memory back?"

Her eyes shot open. She shoved him aside and stepped into the room. "No funny business, Reid. Keep your dick in your pants tonight."

His laughter lingered in the air as he followed her inside, closing the door behind him. "The question is," he taunted. "Can you keep it in my pants?"

She scoffed. Who was he and what did he do to the Spencer she once knew? The guy she remembered lacked any humor and always kept his distance from her. It was hard to believe a simple encounter—could you call sex as simple?—had turned him so crude, or maybe, she considered, this was his true self all along.

She decided to ignore his words as her eyes scanned the cramped room, containing only an old dresser, a nightstand, and a queen-sized bed, which she pointed at assertively. "That bed is mine."

His brow furrowed. "Why do I have to sleep on the floor?"

"You want me to sleep on the floor?" Her hand gracefully moved to her chest in a dramatic gasp. "Where is your chivalry, Dr. Reid?"

"We could share the bed."

She simply stared back at him, her eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and incredulity. Spencer, unable to resist stirring the pot, shot back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, it won't be so bad. Did you know that the concept of sharing a bed has been a cultural practice for centuries? It symbolizes unity and—"

"Reid," she interrupted, shooting him a pointed look. "If you're trying to annoy me, you're doing an excellent job."

He grinned, clearly enjoying her irritation. "I'm just stating a fact. Sharing a room, sharing a bed—it's all deeply rooted in human history."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I highly doubt our situation is deeply rooted in anything other than poor hotel arrangements."

Spencer chuckled, undeterred, his laughter resonating in the dimly lit room as he took a step closer to her. The worn-out floor creaked beneath his feet, echoing the subtle tension that lingered in the confined space of the room. "You never know. We might be making history right now."

She shot him a skeptical look, her gaze unwavering. "I doubt historians will be interested in this disaster."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this skeptical, or is it just reserved for me?"

"It's just reserved for annoying people," she retorted, not missing a beat. She took a deliberate step closer to him, the air thick with a blend of tension and... something else. Her heart quickened as his gaze swiftly swept over her lips before dragging back to her eyes.

"Really?" He closed the distance between them, and she held her ground, tilting her head back to meet his gaze due to his towering height. A subtle trace of his scent hung in the air, his presence enveloping her. She felt a sudden shift in the air, her senses heightened, and her eyes traced the contours of his face—the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth reflected in his hazel eyes. She also could sense the initial surge of longing coursing through her body.

Shit.

"Believe it or not," he added, his voice a low murmur that resonated in the confined space. "I find your company quite fascinating."

"Fascinating?" She responded, but it came out more breathless than she had intended. She took a deep breath, trying to act as if his close proximity wasn't affecting her. Her pulse, however, betrayed her composure. And it was evident in her voice. "T- That's a stretch."

"Really?" His lips curved into a subtle smile, catching the shift in her demeanor. "I think there's a small part of you that's enjoying this."

"Enjoy what? Your random facts and annoying habits?"

Spencer leaned forward. A tension crackled between them, and it swam in his eyes and played on his lips. It pulled at her chest, making her heartbeat flutter in her throat, and to her surprise, he extended his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch left a searing sensation on her skin.

"Admit it, you're starting to see a different side of me."

She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge his point. "One night doesn't change anything."

"You're right." His hand made its way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. "It can change everything."

Before she could register what he was doing, he closed the distance between them, holding her still as his lips crashed on hers. A thousand things flooded her mind all at once—each of them revolving around him. The way she melted into him felt oddly natural. The way his hands began to roam her body, the way her mouth opened for his tongue, the way her kisses became hungrier, also felt natural.

Which was bad. Really, really bad. This wasn't supposed to happen. One time, she could call it a mistake. But allowing him to have his way with her for the second time... there was no one to blame but herself. She should push him away and set the boundaries she was supposed to set the moment he invaded her personal space. But it was hard to think rationally when he tasted so good.

It was hard to stand her ground when his teeth softly nibbled her bottom lip. It was hard to think straight when she was already pulling hard at the locks at the base of his neck as his tongue explored her mouth, blindly walking her back until her back was pressing onto the wall.

"Look at you," he laughed against her lips. "You're not pushing me away."

"Shut up," she hissed, trying her best to keep her tone icy. But then again, it was hard to stay angry when he was touching her like this. His greedy hand traveled up her thighs, massaging the plush flesh. His fingers finally found the hem of her pants, and he swallowed her moan when they dipped underneath the material, slipping right underneath her panties.

Her breath hitched when two of his long fingers slide between her folds, spreading her slick before finding its rightful place on her clit. Spencer didn't hesitate when he started rubbing at her nub, smooth and deliberate, it made her toes curl and her body jumped in a moment of surprised bliss.

Her sound of pleasure was music to his ears, urging him to satisfy her even more. He was quick when those same fingers dipped inside her core, her inner walls tensing at the sudden yet pleasurable stretch. There was a distinct sound along her needy whines, wet and slapping as his palm makes contact with her clit every time he was knuckle-deep inside her. Her head fell back to the wall, mouth agape, face flushed—a sight Spencer secretly wanted to commit into his memory.

Without even noticing it, her hips started grinding to chase his fingers, desperate to reach that familiar pleasure twisting in her core. Her movement didn't go unnoticed by him, an amused, deep chuckle reverberating from his chest while he pulled his fingers out of her, rubbing her clit aggressively, knowing it would make her reach her high faster.

"You're going to cum, aren't you? This quick?" She glared at him through half-lidded eyes, not giving him an answer. His smile widened at her resistance. "Do you think I should let you?"

Her heart quickened its pace, knowing well enough what he was about to do. He was going to tease her, or as she liked to think, he was going to torture her by not giving her what she wanted. Her theory was proved right when he leaned down, his face inches away from hers, a sly smile on his lips.

"Beg me."

She quickly shook her head. A hand snaked up her back until it found the base of her skull. His fingers brushed through her strands before gripping hard, sending a jolt of pain down her spine as he yanked her head back.

"Beg me."

"Fuck you—ah!" A sudden pressure of his fingers sent pleasure shooting through her, pushing a moan from her that filled the room like a ringing bell—a bell that signaled the fact that despite how much she knew she shouldn't, she was already surrendering to his touch.

"No?" He taunted, his breath brushing against her ear. "Then I'm not letting you cum."

And just like that, the pleasure rippling through her body was ripped away.

He swiftly pulled his hand from under her pants with a smirk she wanted to wipe off before turning his back to her, leaving her all flustered. She took a moment to collect herself, her mind racing to grasp the situation. She loathed him. She really did. She despised the way he was so full of himself.

With a determined exhale, she shook off the flustered feeling that lingered. He may have momentarily unsettled her, but she was not one to let her guard down easily. She was not going to let him get under her skin. If he could make her sexually frustrated, then so could she.

If he was going to play dirty, she was going to get filthy.

Her shirt was the first thing that came off. Then she unbuttoned her pants, pulling them down over her legs. Dear god, she was going to regret this, wasn't she? But she couldn't stop. Not when the rustle of her clothes echoed in the quiet space and Spencer turned around, jaw slacked, a startled expression crossed his face as he watched her.

"W-What are you doing?"

There. That was what she wanted. That priceless, wide-eyed, disbelief face. She had to keep going.

"Taking matters into my own hands."

Her hand reached around to unclasp her bra before she intentionally took her time sliding the straps down her arms, enjoying the way his jaw clenched as you did. Eyes still focused on him, she tossed it to the side. Her hands lowered afterward, and an audible gasp escaped his lips as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of her underwear, sliding them down her legs.

"You're always so smug," she murmured, taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Thinking you have control of me."

Right hand reaching up, her fingertips just lightly swept the length of his stubbled chin, just below his lips. The corner of his mouth only drew up further at her touch. She smiled at his reaction, and her fingers dropped down to grip his chin firmly.

"But I can satisfy myself just fine."

And then she pulled away, the smirk now missing from his lips as she backed out of his reach. She then settled on the bed, and with her eyes never leaving him, she spread her legs wide open. She watched as a breathless sigh escaped his lips and smiled triumphantly, especially when the bulge growing in his dark pants was impossible to ignore.

With her gaze lingering on his steadily growing erection, she trailed her hand down her stomach, the tips of her fingers paused just over her clit. "What's wrong, Reid?" She hummed out, watching his chest heave. "You seem to be speechless."

Because he was, how could he not be when the pad of her middle finger slowly started to lightly circle over her clit. He watched as she teased herself, fingers gliding between her folds, gathering her arousal before slipping a finger inside. She gasped, the wet sound was audible even to her own ears as she gradually pumped her finger in and out.

He took a step closer, and her fingers moved faster as his eyes raked over her body—her luscious breasts fully exposed, legs spread apart, fingers between her thighs. A faint moan fell out of her, her eyes partially closing all the while her fingers never ceased their movement, vigorously thrusting into her cunt.

She then proceeded to put on a show for him, throwing her head back and rolling her hips. He was standing close to her now, eyes focused on her body, his tongue sliding along his lower lip. Her cunt immediately clenched at the sight of him, a bulge straining at the fabric of his pants. The sight sent a surge of warmth through her body, spreading from between her thighs to her cheeks as her fingers quickened in pace and her legs spread farther for him to see.

He was trying to hold himself, it was obvious in the way he held his composure. But then she watched with satisfaction as he stalked towards her, and just because she wanted to fluster him, she couldn't help herself from letting out a needy whine as she slipped her fingers out before rubbing her clit desperately, her eyes boring into his.

"Spencer," she moaned.

That was precisely when he lost it. He didn't even hesitate. He marched straight to her, and her finger stopped in its movement as she watched him settle between her legs, sinking to his knees. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and roughly yanked her over the edge of the mattress, and she fell on her back with a squeal.

"You're a goddamn tease, you know that?" He sneered, his warm breath brushing over her heat. "Fine, I'll let you win this time."

A gasp escaped her lips when he wasted no time leaning in, burying his head between her thighs. He wasted no time as she grabbed onto the sheets, feeling his tongue draw circles around her clit before flicking up and down at a rapid pace. Her thighs tighten around his head. and her whole body trembled beneath him, encouraging him to move his tongue faster.

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding them apart as he took his time. Ever so slowly he licked up her slit, gathering her juices on his tongue until he reached her clit, groaning every second of the way until she was shivering beneath his touch. She was breathless, mind buzzing and the room spinning as he thrust his tongue into her warmth, face becoming so deep between her thighs that heat rushed through her body.

When her thighs trembled and threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag deeper inside her. With a roll of his tongue, he was lapping at her walls, swallowing every drop until the second he heard her begin to whine.

It was embarrassing, letting him hear how worked up she was. But she couldn't help it, not when she was losing control of her mind and body. Her hips were starting to buck to meet his tongue. Her jaw slacked. Low moans spilled from her lips as he continued to ravish her, and her fingers dug into the sheets beneath her to hold onto her sanity as waves of pure overwhelming pleasure took hold of her.

"Oh my god," she whimpered, voice two octaves higher before growing silent. She was so, so close to the edge, his tongue relentlessly sucking her clit, licking, swirling over her entrance until her mind fell blank from the bliss. The heat began swelling from between her thighs, tension tightening and all she did was screw her eyes shut.

But seconds before the pleasure was nearly too much to bear, he suddenly pulled away.

"Reid!" She hissed, looking down between her legs. "You're fucking annoying."

He looked up at her with a teasing glint in his eyes, then his mouth parted a second before his tongue swiped over his lip to taste the remnants of her arousal. "What?"

Unbelievable. After pulling that stunt, he had the audacity to feign innocence. She huffed and opened her mouth to retort something but when he started to undress himself, she couldn't think of anything. Her mind was too busy taking in his slightly toned arms, his broad chest, his slim waist, and that patch of soft hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing underneath his pants.

And that was gone too, and now he was standing without any shred of clothing, and it then dawned on her that they were both very much naked. Their first time in that dusty storage room happened too fast that they didn't bother taking off their clothes, but now she had the time to sink in the way he looked wearing nothing but a smirk.

"I didn't bring a condom," he said as he climbed onto the bed. Like that was going to stop them, it didn't stop them before and it most definitely won't stop them now.

"It's fine," she mumbled just as he settled between her legs again, but when his eyes lit up at her words, she smacked his shoulder. "But you're still not finishing inside me."

He merely hummed a reply. Then seconds later he was lining up the tip of his cock with her entrance. His eyes meet hers as he teased her, and she noticed the smirk appear once again on his lips. She pushed her hips toward him, gripping his arm irritatedly, and released a breathy 'hurry up' before she could change her mind.

He wasted no more time pushing himself into her without warning, earning a gasp while he stretched her completely. He pressed his body into her, allowing her lips to collide with his and moan into the kiss when she felt him pull away just enough to slam back into her with one harsh thrust. His hands suddenly reached for her wrists, and he gripped them above her head, pushing them onto the mattress.

His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, and she quickly shut her own as he pumped himself into her cunt over and over again. His motions were aggressive, sloppy, and wild. The moment a particularly deep and brutal thrust hit her at the right spot was the moment she finally gave in to weakness as she let out a loud moan, her mind going blank to everything but the pleasure he was giving her.

Then he pulled back again, and his thick cock slid out of her partway, glistening with her juices, splitting her pussy apart around it before snapping forward, his hips going at a brutal pace, making her whole body bounce from the contact.

"God, you feel incredible," he groaned out just as she gasped from the intense pressure of him inside her, head falling above her, jaw slacked, sweat dripping down his temple. Her eyes fluttered open before exhaling a heavy breath, feeling him tightening his grip on her wrists. "We need to do this more often."

Though she didn't say it, she agreed with him. And it pained her to even consider making this a habit. But it was tempting. It was so tempting that the thought of having him inside her anytime and anywhere had her clenching around his cock, earning a low grunt deep within his chest.

Then something snapped inside her. She had started off holding back, keeping herself in check against the rising wave of sensations. But then, in a moment that felt like a long-awaited release, she decided finally to let go when he continued to hit that perfect spot inside her, and she almost felt ashamed at the noises she was making. She wasn't as vocal when she was alone, nor with other men, yet the man she claimed to hate earned every whimper, every desperate moan.

Hearing her cries urged Spencer even more. He leaned over to her and pushed himself deeper, earning a gasp from her as her legs fell apart even further, letting him sink himself as deep as he could. He pushed her hands above her head and hovered above her, letting his temple fall against hers as his hips rutted violently.

The pressure rose and the tension coiled in the pit of her stomach. Sweats beaded over her skin just the same as him, crying out for him, moans mixing with filthy noises of him thrusting into her wet cunt. His powerful thrusts then quickened, causing her to grow weak her body began to quiver in his grasp.

She cried out, wanting to warn him she was growing close to the edge, her mind growing numb, everything around her fading into black. But didn't give her the chance to speak before he pressed his mouth on hers in a heated kiss, all sloppy and wet and desperate, latching on her lips with so much fervor.

She felt him everywhere. On her lips, biting on her soft flesh. On her breasts, his chest rubbing against her hard nipples. And between her legs, his cock stretching her deliciously, a pleasant feeling that had her whining against his mouth.

But before she could whimper anything else, the pleasure erupted inside of her, red hot heat unraveling to every limb. Her release was a fiery blast—white-hot and overwhelming, turning her into the image of destruction. Her hair stuck to her skin, her back arching off the bed, feeling overwhelmed as his cock hit her deeper. She succumbed to the bliss, eyes shut tight, and her furrowed brow as she surrendered through her orgasm.

He held her tighter, pumping himself into her as she finally let go, calling out his name in a breathless whimper. She came so hard her legs were shaking uncontrollably, but he didn't stop. He pounded into her harder, reveling in the way she fell apart for him.

"I-I'm close," he grunted. "Where... where do you want me to—"

"Inside."

He looked down at her, trying to hold himself to not combust right there and then. "Are you—" he groaned when she clenched around him. "Are you sure?"

She was already too deep in her climax that any worries faded away. It was like time slowed down, and all that mattered was the intense sensations taking over her body. It was wrong, but it was what she wanted. She wanted to be full of him.

"Yes. Please, just—please," she whispered. "Cum inside me."

It was enough for him to let go, chasing his own pleasure inside of her, hitting deep within her walls as her own arousal dripped out around him. The slick and messy noises mixed with his groans filled the room, heat continuing to rush to her face as her entire body became overly sensitive.

With one final, sharp inhale, the bliss took hold of him. His hips slowed as he began to release inside of her, filling her up with a few huffs and grunts, creating a bigger mess between her thighs. He thrust one last time as the last few drops spilled from him, continuing to press his body against hers as closely as possible.

Then everything went silent except the sound of their ragged breathing. He pulled out of her with a heavy sigh, just as spent as her, breathless beyond belief. He collapsed on the bed, his chest rising up and down as he tried to gain some sense of control, his mind trying to grasp on the euphoria that happened moments ago.

"Well that was—"

She quickly nodded beside him. "Yeah."

Spencer turned his head towards her, and she could already feel him gloating that before he had the chance to say anything, she covered his mouth with her hand. "Do not say anything."

His reply was muffled underneath her palm, and she didn't understand what he was trying to say. She didn't even bother wanting to listen to him anymore. So she got off the bed, wincing when she felt the mess dripping down her thighs as she walked over to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a shower," she called out. "I feel... sticky."

She then heard some rustling and she turned to see him hopping off the bed, following behind her. She narrowed her eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I feel sticky too."

"Spencer."

His lips twitched into an amused smile. "You called me Spencer."

She groaned and turned around. "We're not showering together, Reid."

"Why not?" He pressed, following her behind. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

She looked at him, assessing the way he was practically begging with his eyes. She was pondering whether it was a good idea to spend more time with him in an enclosed space. Probably not, but considering all the filthy, nasty things they had done, sharing a shower seemed harmless.

"Alright, fine," she caved in, letting out a sigh. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

He nodded eagerly, but she should've thought better when the spray of water finally hit their bodies and he closed in around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he held her waist. Then he pressed her against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, and it was safe to say that he could not, as a matter of fact, keep his hands to himself.

Not that she was complaining.

a/n: I know this was supposed to be enemies to fuckable enemies but they're really starting to grow on me, they kinda cute

Oneshot taglist: @simpingforharryandcevans @strawbeerossi @lightvixxen @dim-i-try @annabellexox @baby-banana @natarataca @wolfbeanpotion @nagemasstuff @alexander-arcturus-black @rosieee491 @s00dastereo @no-honey-no @donttrustlove @tylevx @kailey-rae @sailorholly @ducksong @infinitegalaxiesworld @dreamsarebig @brilliantreid @boimlers-gonna-boim

PLEASE READ: The crossed-out ones are blogs I can’t tag. And if any of you asked me to be added and you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I can see it. But make sure your blog can be searched by anyone or I can't tag you. Thank you :)

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namazunomegami · 4 months

Text

Mélange

Pairing: Okkotsu Yuta x gn!reader

Synopsis: Sometimes humans are not above animals. Sometimes they burn to fulfill the same basic needs and not strive for more in the moment. A full belly, safety, procreation. What happens when all three of them need to be satisfied? Tinged with spice. Under the influence of an unknown substance.

CW: aphrodisiac, dubcon, slight somnophilia, feral and animalistic Yuta, he has cannibalistic thoughts, licking, lovebites, scratching, biting, slight pain, handjob, premature ejaculation, fingering, Reader can feel Yuta’s ring during fingering, slight dacryphilia if you squint, implied multiple rounds, porn with feelings, good old unprotected sex + creampie, both Reader and Yuta are ultra possessive in their own toxic way <33

WC: 3.6k

Credits: my dearest @notveryrussian for proofreading this mess and doing a bit of rework on the tenses <33 the cannibalcore pics are from pinterest

Song rec: needles and pins by deftones and gibson girl by ethel cain both give a nice vibe to the fic as we slowly transition from Yuta's POV to Reader's POV

A/N: Can't believe I'm posting my first one shot here 🥹 After so many unsuccessful attempts to wrap up multichaptered fics, at least, this one messy smut got finished. My first ever finished fic 🥹 And the first to get completed in a relatively short time. Yes, a week is a short time for me. And happy holidays to y’all, this is gonna be the last fic in this year so expect only shitposts from me from now on lmao.

Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

Minors do not interact or else I'm gonna go apeshit, also a seperate warning for heavy dark content as usual. If there's anything mentioned in the tags that you're not comfortable with, this is not your fic.

Many sorcerers envy the title of special grade. Yuta thinks these people deserve a separate Naraka in Hell. They don’t realize the immense responsibility, they can’t fathom the challenges, the danger of the missions. The threat those curses pose. They only care about the power he carries.

During today’s mission, Yuta realized he’s not entirely an unstoppable force. Even someone like him is weak to certain fighting styles, he can’t counter everything with his wide range of copied techniques. This curse’s grade was well deserved. Whenever the katana slashed deep into it’s skin, a strange kind of gas was emitted from the wounds. Though he eventually exorcised the curse, he did breathe in the weird, sweet-smelling substance. The scent was hard to resist, it felt like the perfect mixture of all his favorite smells, inviting and comforting. However, he trusted his body to withstand the temptation, reinforced to near perfection with cursed energy and the usage of reversed cursed technique.

There was no problem until he finished reporting back to the higher ups and was on the way home. Maybe it was just the fatigue, the late summer heat, the humidity of the night but something made him feel weird. Almost sick. A thin veil of sweat glistened on his skin, his cheeks, ears and upper body were flushed. His chest was heaving, a burning, aching sensation tormented him between his legs, throbbing with a synced rhythm to his heartbeat. All his thoughts narrowed down to one single, inherently primal thing. A need. A hunger.

Shame and confusion swelled inside his chest. How can he lose his composure? How can he want it so badly? If he wasn’t so wired for monogamy, he would have fucked anyone who moved. And with every passing minute the feeling was getting worse. Descending slowly to the brink of madness. Hell, he was close to wheezing and growling like a rabid dog. He already had no patience to find the right key to the door. He could break that shit, he definitely could. He had no idea why, but he could stop himself from doing that. Maybe the insane price to get it fixed.

But the comfort of his home isn’t helping him. He can’t calm down, he can’t unwind. On the contrary, everything intensifies the strange urge in him to act territorial. But it’s only natural when he grew up feeling like he didn’t have anything he could call his own, whether it’s a material possession or a person. Every comprehensible thought vanished from his head. Leaving only the instincts. The need to claim. He immediately goes to the bedroom, not even bothering to have a quick shower or a light meal.

He gazes at your sleeping form, unknowing and peaceful. Innocent and vulnerable like a newborn lamb and he’s… he wouldn’t compare himself to a wolf, he’s a more vicious predator than that, all starved and keen on capturing its prey. Your limbs are thrown in every direction on the mattress, a thin, silk blanket barely concealing your body, but you’re hugging a some of it to your chest. Like you’re missing him, finding solace in the way the material is touching you. The windows are wide open, hoping that the night air can cool you down.

Yuta caught himself almost drooling at the sight. He can’t stop himself, he can’t fight the shameless thoughts plaguing him. The need, the want is stronger than what he deems right in the moment. His steps are quiet, that part of the floor that normally creaks is now completely silent. He looms over you, like a sinful, ungodly spirit, your very own kanashibari that’s bound to you. His weight is pressing down on the mattress ever so slightly, caging your form between his arms. He breathes in the smell of your freshly showered skin. A mixture of heady vanilla, milk and honey. He mindlessly licks a stripe up your thigh, wanting to taste you, to bite you, to tear out a big chunk of your flesh with his teeth to satisfy this torturous hunger he feels for you. More than anything he wants to devour you. Completely. Have you all for himself. The thought alone makes his dick so hard it’s outright painful.

He ascends towards your hips, leaving soft yet wet kisses that make you twitch in your sleep. Yuta swears that he’s more sensitive to all stimuli, his senses are working at their maximum capacity. He’s able to feel every morsel, every particle of you. The soft peach fuzz, the bumps, the ridges of your stretch marks, their pearl-like glistening texture flowing on the surface of your skin like a river. The material of your shorts, loose and thin, he can feel the seams on the band of your underwear through the fabric. Where the bones bend, where flesh folds. Your smell. Not just from the shower gel and the laundry detergent but your natural scent, so strong he believes it’s some kind of weird pheromone that’s driving him wild. To the point he almost considers nudging his nose between your legs, just like dogs do when they smell blood there.

Maybe it’s not entirely wrong to claim you this way. He can spare you from this more primal side of him, you won’t get to see it and despise him for it. It’s enough if he deals with the shame alone, self-deprecation is his ultimate talent afterall. But that can wait until after he finished soothing this excruciating itch. Because now the last remnant of his resolve goes out the window.

He pulls up your shirt all the way up to your chest. His shirt to be exact. It makes his heart flutter, a piece of him enveloping you, makes the boundaries between your sense of selves blend and blur. The thought of you using his stuff as your own feels so right, so promising.

He practically glues his face to the expanse of your stomach. The flesh is so soft between his teeth, feels so good to bite on it, so easy to suck on it until the skin turns a deep purple.

And maybe… maybe he can lower his crotch onto your knees. Just a little. Just for a little friction…

You stir, opening your eyes slowly, tiredness and confusion are still heavy on your expression. And then you feel teeth nipping at your stomach, fingers digging into the dips of your hips firmly, some wetness here and there along your leg.

Your first response is fear.

You start to squirm and fuss, kicking your legs up in the air, not even thinking about who’s doing this to you until Yuta grips your shoulders and pushes you back into the sheets, keeping you still by the weight of his own body, shushing you. You can feel his nails penetrating the skin, branding the crescent Moon itself into your flesh.

“It’s me, don’t panic.”

You’d recognize this voice anywhere, but you blinked a few times just to clear your vision. The striking white of his coat is easy to spot, even in the dimly lit darkness of the room.

“Yuta…?”

Your voice is an ode, a blessing. Even when it’s hoarse and faint after waking up. He bends down and kisses your temple, nuzzling into your hairline, breathing in your scent. His body feels oddly warm, almost overly so, radiating through you. Through your spine, to the very center of your being and that’s when you notice that you’re a little bit… hot and bothered. What has he done to you while you were asleep?

“I’m so sorry…” he whispers an apology. But his voice is just… it’s like his mind is not entirely here. Something is hurting him and he’s trying to conceal it. Barely. You can hear his voice is hitched from the deep breath he takes, in a futile affort to calm himself. “Have you been sleeping for long?”

He asks you for the sake of it, there’s no genuine interest behind it. Even if you were sleeping for hours, it wouldn’t stop him. He couldn’t stop. He genuinely feels like he’ll die if he can’t get it out of his system. He snuggles his face into the crook of your neck, listening to the rhythm of life coursing through your veins. The thought of puncturing your jugular with his teeth is so irresistible. He must do it… It’ll drive him insane if he won’t.

“N-not really.” your answer is weak, all your strength is used to move your arm freely, trying to locate your phone on the bedside table. The light coming from the screen almost blinds you as you’re checking the time. “I went to bed about… half an hour ago.”

He dips his fingers right into the hollow dips between your ribs, he kneads the skin in a way that has his nails slightly scratching you. And then you realize that you’re almost entirely topless.

He traps your earlobe with his teeth, sucking on the soft tissue.

“Y-Yuta…” your voice is more reprimanding that you want it to be. But your patience is starting to run thin. You want to know what the fuck is wrong with him, he never did anything like this before. Even if he’s horny as hell he would ask for your permission because that’s the way he is.

Instead of giving you an answer he bites your neck. Hard. It hurts, it makes you yelp. Shit, that’s gonna leave a mark. And he growls, just like a wild animal.

You squirm, you jolt, trying to get away from the source of your pain with a prolonged hiss. Only one hand of his is enough to stop you from fussing while the other fondles your chest. Your nipple is caught between his fingers, he twists it slightly. You can’t see it getting red, hard and swollen. His moves are awkward and tactless, but somehow they help with soothing the sharp pain in your neck. Your tensed body eases up a little.

He kicks the inner side of your knee with his own, creating a little space in between them, then forces your legs apart with one smooth movement. As he tries to settle right under your core, you feel him brushing the apex of your thigh.

He’s so painfully hard.

You’re sure he can read the instinctual reactions of your body. The rush of adrenaline, your pulse, how your heart is almost breaking your ribs with every beat. You’re getting more and more aware of your surroundings because you have no idea what will happen to you. He pins your wrists down on the bed. He doesn’t want you to escape.

What has gotten into him? Where’s your shy and gentle man, your sweet little angel? The one who needs so much guidance, who gets so awkward about his lack of experience compared to you. The one you need to encourage to talk about what he likes since you won’t judge him for it. Well, angels shouldn’t be benevolent and sweet, right? They’re the soldiers of god after all. And the depth of his psyche is still very much a mystery to you…

“I don’t want to hurt you… I just need you.”

He has no control over his own thoughts, everything on his mind gets blabbered out. Not just that he needs you, but that he wants to fuck you (he rarely uses that word so you’re even more baffled), that he wants to eat you up, bite for bite, digest you so nobody else can have you.

It sounds devoted yet utterly terrifying.

“You’re-“

He’s scary. Well, you knew this prior to crawling into his life. What people thought about him, one rumor more unhinged than the other and you have no idea how much truth there was to them. Everyone has some sort of admiration, respect for him or repulsion of him. You just tend to forget sometimes, how malicious his cursed energy feels, how his eyes never reflect the light, looking outright dead. But it’s all so contradictory to his personality… you know that you’re dear to him, he’s willing to risk everything for his friends, he’s so starved for connection, to carve himself a place within people’s hearts. You blamed the whole phenomenon on Rika. And you took pride in yourself, for taming a monster.

“I feel so…” he suspires, trying his best to contain himself. “… weird.”

And he’s a kind monster indeed, even now, controlling his impulses as he humps your thigh like a feral dog.

“I don’t know if I’m able to hold back, so I need to know….”

His voice is desperate, almost a plea. He’s afraid of himself too. With the last bit of his sanity, he wants to make sure that it’s alright for you, whatever he has in store for you.

You don’t protest.

His lips crash into yours in a violent, hungry kiss. Your teeth clang together, he shoves his entire tongue in your mouth. He grabs the hem of your shorts, peeling off anything that covers you below the waist. You hear the fabric tear. It’s the same with his own clothes too, in a few blinks of your eyes he’s already stark naked.

He takes your hand, pulls it towards him, you can feel him in your palm. So hot, hard and swollen to the touch. He closes your fingers around him and his hips start moving back and forth, fucking himself into your grip. You smear the precum along his length with your fingertips, squeezing lightly when you feel the base. It has him moaning, breathily, more vocal than he usually is. He’s so sensitive, his pace quickens and his voice is thinner, almost like a whimper.

And he groans. Unexpectedly. It bursts deep from his throat. You feel his cum pooling in your palm. Though you may be surprised, you don’t make a big deal about it. You search for tissues on the bedside table to clean your hand like nothing happened.

“Feelin’ okay?”

Your voice is calming, tender, it warms his heart but the mere sight of his cum on your hand makes the blood rush to his dick again.

You sit up to caress his face. You open your mouth to question him, but he won’t let you start your aftercare routine.

“It’s… not enough.”

He grabs your thigh, hooking your leg over his shoulder, giving him better access to your naked core. Your back falls onto the mattress again.

“I’ll take care of you.”

It’s a promise, you’re sure of it.

His fingertips sink into your folds, relief ripples through him when he finds them already wet. He goes all out on you, his thumb circles your clit and two fingers dip in at your entrance, waiting to loosen you up so they can be pushed inside. His nails gently caress your inner thigh, it’s a tickling sensation, goosebumps dot your skin, a sigh dies on your lips. Treating it as a sign, his fingers start stretching your walls. They curl and curl inside you to the point of the cold band of his ring touching your folds, your essence soiling the stainless metal. The symbol of the haunting spirit of his first love. Childish love that it is, unserious, all just a game. The promises… the word forever holds no weight. Or maybe it does but they have no idea how hard it is to maintain those vows.

Can you ever compare to Rika in his eyes? Have the same effect over him? You don’t dare to talk about it just yet. No, the nature of your relationship is not the same. Childhood love is not like adult love, you just want some reassurance. You want to feel important.

And your reassurance is soaking that wretched finger with your juices. Make that wretched ring yours. He spreads his fingers inside you, scissoring you apart, eagerly working to prepare you. You’re holding onto the sheets and the pillows desperately, your body feels so volatile you might as well float away.

When he pulls out you feel hollow, incomplete. But he won’t keep you waiting long. The head of his cock feels like salvation. Scorching hot and wet with the mixed arousal. And he completes you with one smooth thrust. You’re whole, fulfilled, a merged existence worth suffering over. He’s throbbing deep within your walls, pulsating through your nerves. You can’t tell if the noise coming out of him is a moan, a whine, or a growl, you only know that it’s bordering on bestial. Filled with need, an ache, coupled with something beyond your comprehension.

He drills into you, there’s so much strength and resilience in him, it almost makes you scared. But something else also swells inside your chest. An unknown kind of excitement, a thrill, it makes you feverish, wired. The dissonance between his absolutely feral state and the fact that he’d never hurt you. Or maybe he would, in a way that you’d like it. Nobody could bite through your throat with such force that your windpipe breaks, only him, him and no one else.

He holds you at the back of your pelvic bone, lifts you up in an utterly perfect angle. You mewl him that it feels so good, so perfect, so raw. You love this feeling so much. You get completely lost and immersed in it.

“…it?”

His voice is faint yet his broken self-worth shines through it. Poor soul… You didn’t pay attention to his most important desire. He’s a parasite living off of your kind words, but nothing can make him as blissful as knowing you love him, despite everything he despises about himself. And you’ll feed him. Prove it to him that he matters more than the things he does to you.

“Oh Yuta, my sweet…” the rest of the sentence gets stuck in your throat as you open your arms and he crashes into your embrace like a lost, lonely puppy. You hug him tightly, brushing through his locks with a free hand. The sweat makes the strands stick together. “Of course I love you, don’t be silly.”

He might as well have been a puppy in his previous life. And now your words eased his guilt about his temporary condition. He gained your forgiveness.

What he does next is much more instinctual. He folds you in half, where your knees bend, is pressed right against his traps, your heels graze the middle of his back. Now his thrusts have weight, uncovering spots that even you had no idea that existed inside of you. Tears of joy prickle in your eyes, calling upon whatever deity’s name you can think of, off the top of your head. You can swear his pace increases at the sight. It’s so intense a broken cry erupts from your throat.

He thrusts right into a sweet spot, which has you melting and trembling. Please is the only word your lips can form. At this point, you couldn’t care less about the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together or the squelching noises that make the whole act sloppy, shameless and primal, you only want to reach your peak, and you’re not far from it as you’re clenching around him with a rhythm that you have no control over.

It crashes, it ruptures, sudden, sharp and hot like an electric spark. A scream empties your lungs, but Yuta muffles it with sealing his mouth onto yours. You feel yourself getting filled as you’re convulsing around his length.

After he fucks you through your orgasm you feel yourself shaking, your whole body is limp, numb, drifting slowly to sleep. You’re both soaked in sweat, your bodies stick together but there’s a need to bond further in each other’s embrace. You plant a kiss between his locks, praising him, telling him you love him. Satisfaction clouds your mind, like a soft, pillowy pink mist.

However, his cock is still not soft.

“I have no idea what has gotten into you.” you tell him, marveling, as you’re still catching on your breath. “I like it though, but you owe me an explanation.”

He handles you gently, like you’re some precious thing, made from glass, fragile. Your body is like a ragdoll’s, he has you lying on your stomach, lazily, flatly, you might as well fuse together with the mattress. Calloused fingers are drawing nonfigurative shapes on your shoulder blades.

“I’ll tell you right after we finish.”

Your blood runs cold for a moment.

“Again? Yuta, for the love of god I’m exhausted.” you whine.

He apologetically kisses your spine.

“Just this one, okay? Please? I’ll do all the work, I’ll make it quick. You only need to relax, you can sleep even.”

You want to tell him that sounds a little bit creepy, but you don’t have the strength to talk. He kisses the two shallow dimples right above your tailbone. His gaze lingers on your folds, admiring how red and swollen you are.

“If you manage to make me cum again, you deserve a fucking award.” you comment, face nuzzled into the pillow, your voice is obviously snarky.

You can feel teeth sinking into the flesh of your asscheek. The mark that is burning on your neck found it’s pair. He presses down your overly sensitive clit with his thumb, balancing the pain out with pleasure. But it gets overstimulated so easily, you feel the need to bite the pillow.

You brace yourself with a deep breath through your nose. You’re going to pay him back next time, you promise yourself that you’ll make a begging, crying mess out of him, and the thought makes you chuckle.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #yuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #do not perceive me please idk how I came up with the whole cannibalcore pipeline #yuta okkotsu x you #jjk x reader #meesa writes

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cevansbrat0007 · 18 days

Note

There is a trend on some social media where the wife/Gf gives her man a full plate and only her self a little saying that is all that was left. How would Andy and Ari act in that situation?

What's Eating You, Mr. Levinson?

Summary: You decide to test your man's patience with a prank you saw on TikTok. CLICK HERE to read Andrew Barber's reaction to the same prompt.

Warnings: Mature Themes, References to Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, TikTok Hijinks, Brief Mention of Calorie Counting, Bickering, Manhandling, Threats of Spanking/Punishment, Discussion of a Sex Tape, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Prompt brought to you courtesy of a Reader Request. This fic features Ari Levinson from my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You weren’t quite sure what possessed you to do this. If anybody asked, you would claim temporary insanity. But right now you were about to get up to some mischief.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” You mutter under your breath as you adjust the position of the camera you hid tucked away behind a plant. Pleased with the angle, you make a mental note to revisit the world of Harry Potter sooner rather than later.

It was officially time for a reread.

Tonight you were gonna play a little joke on your bounty hunter boyfriend. One that you’d come across the other day after accidentally straying from the wonderful world of BookTok. You just hoped he would find it as amusing as you did. In fact, you were certain that he would.

Eventually.

Hands on your hips, you do an about-face and traipse back into the kitchen to get started on dinner. On tonight’s menu was a Tuscan pork roast, complete with red wine mushrooms and Haricots Verts – also known as French Green Beans. And for dessert, you’d decided to whip up your man’s favorite: key lime pie

So, even if he got pissed at you later, you were confident you had something that would soothe his ruffled feathers.

Fingers crossed.

Later that Evening…

The heady thrum of excitement hits you the moment you hear the open and shut of your front door. Having anticipated his arrival, you’d even thrown on a new dress and cued up a little music. While it wasn’t your usual style, you knew without a doubt that Ari would appreciate your efforts.

“Bird?”

The sound of your nickname has a smile forming on your lips before you even realize it. Smoothing your hands over your skirt, you make your way towards your mudroom, eager to greet your handsome bounty hunter.

His eyes light up the moment he sees you. He stands there for a moment, drinking in the sight you clad in your new black dress and wedge heels.

“Well, get a look at you.” He breathes, allowing his bag to drop at his feet next to his forgotten boots.

“You like?” Biting your lip, you give into temptation and do a little spin.

Confidence blooms when you hear his appreciative whistle. But that’s nowhere near enough for your man. Because now that you’d gone and given him a show, he wanted more.

“Oh baby, I love.”

Pulling you into his arms, his mouth quickly descends upon your own. His tongue wastes no time finding yours, exploring every inch, every corner of your mouth. He lets you know without words that he’s so unbelievably happy to be home holding you like this.

You cling to him, your hands roving beneath the soft fabric of his t-shirt to run along the sculpted plane of his back. When he finally lets you up for air it’s so he can nuzzle his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet, unique scent.

“You’re beautiful.” He rasps, pecking your lips once more, his large hands come up to frame your face. “So beautiful. Can’t wait to take this dress off you later, see what you might be hiding underneath.”

“All in good time, Beast.” Your lashes flutter closed as you lean into his touch. “All in good time.”

“What if I don’t wanna wait?” His husky growl rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest as he fiddles the material of your skirt.

“Well, you’re gonna.” Comes your cheeky response. “So go on and wash up for supper. We’re having something yummy.” You bat as his hands, intending to shoo him up the stairs.

The look that flashes across your man’s face makes it clear that he’d much rather have you for dinner instead. He boxes you in, slowly crowding you with his much larger frame as he backs you against a nearby wall.

However, you refuse to let yourself be swayed.

“I mean it, mister.” You repeat, poking him in the chest. “Now, be a good boy and go wash up.” Ari’s eyes darken at your words. His head dips without warning as he bites your finger, sucking the digit into his mouth, making you gasp.

“Alright, Duchess. Have it your way.” He growls once he finally deigns to release you. “You’d best be ready for me when I get back.” With that, he gives you his back as he strides off in the direction of the stairs.

“I ain’t scared of you.” You tell his retreating form, waiting until you hear his heavy footfalls sounding on the floor above you. Only then do you move, intending to finish setting up for dinner.

‘Alright, sugar.’ You think, taking a second to fluff your curls. ‘Time to earn yourself an Oscar.’

Fifteen Minutes Later…

You’ve just finished hiding away what’s left of your meal when you hear Ari make his way into your tiny dining room.

“Have a seat, Beast!” You call out, hoping that the act you were about to put on was at least mildly convincing. “I–I’ll be right in.”

Blowing out a breath you snag your bounty hunter’s plate, along with a glass of wine, and head into the next room. Although he admittedly wasn’t much of a wine drinker before he met you, he tended to enjoy whatever selection you paired with your meal.

Tonight you’d picked a lovely pinot noir.

This time when you see him, you’re treated to the sight of a freshly showered Ari lazily sprawled in one of your slightly too small chairs. His still damp hair is pushed back off his face as he waits for you, patiently biding his time while he plans his next move.

Or so you assumed, anyway.

“Here you are.” You sing as you approach. “Tonight I bring you an expertly roasted Tuscan pork loin, complete with a garlic and mushroom risotto and french-style green beans.”

“Smells good, baby.” He absentmindedly scratches at his jaw while he surveys the mountain of food on his plate.

“Hopefully it tastes good too.” You lean down to press a quick kiss against his temple. “I’ll, uh, be right back with mine.” The handsome brute smacks your ass when you turn to depart, making you yip.

“Hurry back.” He grunts, letting out a chuckle when he sees you trying to rub the sting out of your butt.

Seconds later you return with your food before quietly taking a seat at the table, all the while refusing to make eye contact. Picking up your napkin, you make a show of draping it across your knee, and then…

You wait.

It doesn’t take long for Ari to notice the differences between your respective plates, and it takes even less time for him to speak on it – much to your internal satisfaction.

“What the–?” Ari pushes his plate aside so that he can get a better look at your virtually empty one. “Where the hell’s the rest of your food, baby?” His deep voice comes out deceptively soft.

“Huh?” You cast him a sheepish glance, feigning embarrassment. “Oh this? It’s fine.”

“That’s not what I asked, Bird.” The quiet steel in his voice is impossible to miss.

“I know it wasn’t. But this was all that was left, so…” You trail off, averting your gaze in favor of using your fork to push food around your plate. “It’s fine.”

“There’s that damn word again.” You hear him grumble under his breath, his nostrils flaring in frustration. “I got news for you, Bird. It ain’t fine.” He grouses, reaching for you even as you shift away.

“But it is.” You sing, daintily fanning yourself with a napkin.

“No it isn’t.” He sings right back, clearly not understanding your game. Which was a good thing. It meant that you two could play a little longer.

“Look, if this is about you feeling like you need to start counting calories again…” Ari goes to rest his elbows on the table, his own meal all but forgotten. “Then please believe me when I tell you that you look phenomenal. And not just tonight, baby. I mean every night.”

You feel your cheeks heat as your body responds to his praise. That familiar warmth soon spreads, pooling in your belly while you mentally preen at his words.

“Thank you, Ari.”

“Oh don’t thank me, sweet girl.” His already husky voice dips another octave. “I just want you to eat.” You stifle a small shiver when the roughened pads of his fingertips lightly graze over your hand. “Now, do me a kindness and take your pretty little self back into that kitchen and fix yourself a proper plate.”

And there it was. He thought you were lying about there not being any leftovers. He was right, of course. Just not the way he thought he was.

“I would if I could, sugar.” You stretch out your legs beneath the table as you prepare to really sell the narrative. “Honest. But there really isn’t anything left. I…accidentally only bought one pork loin instead of two. And then I misjudged the recipe for the risotto, but that was most likely on account of the fact that I was in my feelings about the state of Herb & Twine’s green beans selection. It wasn’t very good.”

Ari doesn’t tell you this, but he’s actually impressed by your ability to speak that fast without so much as taking a breath. Instead all you receive is a gruff “uh huh” for your trouble.

“So,” You forge on, now fully committed to the bit. “I salvaged what I could out of the meal I planned and then gave most of it to you.”

“Why?”

Boy, he did not look happy. Which was great news for you

“Because…” You draw out the word, wincing when you belatedly notice the sudden tick in his jaw. “I just…felt like you shouldn’t have to suffer for my mistakes.”

“Oh.” He hums, pursing his lips as he mulls over your story. “Well, I reckon we’ll just have to fix that.”

Unsure of what he means, you open your mouth to keep talking, only to let out a shriek when Ari suddenly reaches over to grip the back of your chair to drag you, and it, over closer to him.

“Christ, Beast!” Your hand flies to your still-heaving chest as you will your heartbeat to calm down.

But your man’s not done yet.

You scarcely have time to catch your breath before you’re hauled into his lap. Immediately your arms go to weave themselves around his neck to keep you from falling. Not that Ari would’ve ever allowed that to happen.

Seemingly unbothered by your rather dramatic response, Ari seeks to balance you on top of his muscled thighs as he leans over again to retrieve your plate. You watch in confusion as he unceremoniously dumps the contents onto his own dish before setting yours aside once more.

“Hate to break it to you, Duchess.” He seamlessly adjusts your positions so that he can grasp his knife and fork. “But I don’t need all this food. So it looks like we’ll just have to share.”

Momentarily stunned by this turn of events you can only nod as he feeds you a tender bite of pork. It takes a moment for you to find your voice, but when you finally do, it’s to utter two simple words.

“Ari, wait.”

“‘Fraid I’m not really in the mood to wait.” Your impatient bounty hunter warns. But he does pause his efforts, his fork hovering mere centimeters from your mouth. “You’re nuts if you think I’m the kinda man who would even consider stuffing himself while his lady sits by and starves.”

“I know.” You assure him before rearranging your body so that you’re facing him, your thighs now straddling his hips. “And I think that’s awfully sweet.”

“Great. So how about you –”

“But since this is a prank…” The grin you’re sporting threatens to split your face in two. “It looks like you get to keep your food.”

Ari blinks back at you, his mouth briefly opening and closing in a way that very much reminds you of a fish. You feel positively giddy as you press your hands on either side of his bearded face so you can plant a kiss on his full lips while he tries, and fails, to make sense of what you just said.

“Run that by me one more time.” His quiet snarl is enough to have you soaking your panties.

“I saw this thing on TikTok, where these women all decided to prank their boyfriends by serving them this big ol’ plate of food, while pretending to give themselves only a little bit and claiming that was all that was leftover. They filmed their reactions and posted ‘em for everyone else to see.”

“What the hell is a fuckin’ TikTok?”

“It’s this app where you…” You pause as you try to find the right words. “Where people can, um–”

“Post dumb shit?” He quirks a tawny brow as he tries to remain serious, even though you’re also pretty sure that you just saw his lips twitch. “Come up with new and inventive ways to torture the men that love them?”

“I mean, that’s not all it is.” You take a moment to whisper kisses along his chiseled jaw. “But I guess that’s a pretty accurate description.”

“Hmph.” Your grumpy bounty hunter continues to glower at you, even as his large, warm hands move to settle on your hips. “And am I right to assume you’re recording this?”

“Maybe…” You giggle, not bothering to hide just how funny you found this all to be. “Oh – but I was never gonna post it. Promise.”

You hold up your pinky, trying your hardest to look solemn. But the look Ari gives you lets you know that he’s done falling for your act.

“I’m warning you, Duchess.” He grunts, lightly bouncing you on his lap. “I swear to God, if I catch myself on that fuckin’ tock clock…thing…you have my word that I’m gonna redden that ass.”

“I already told you I wasn’t gonna.” You reassure him once more, resting your forehead against his. “By the way, thanks for bein’ such a good sport about the whole thing.”

“No problem.” He flashes you a feral grin, revealing his pearly white teeth. It shoots straight to your core. “But the way I see it, you kinda owe me one. Don’t you?” He leans in close as his hands begin gently kneading your curves.

“Um…I don’t think–” You let out a soft whimper when he drags his nose along the delicate column of your throat.

“Oh, but I do.” He nips at your jaw.

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“Trust me, it is.” His sensual growl has you practically shivering with need. “Which is why you’re gonna show me where you hid that camera.” His lust-filled gaze drops to your cleavage as he openly begins undressing you with his eyes.

“Now hold on a minute, Beast –” You stammer once realization dawns.

“Aw, don’t fret.” Ari’s rueful chuckle lets you know that you will never win this battle. “You’ll have your turn to direct our little movie.” Ari suddenly stands without warning so that he can gently deposit you back in your own chair. “Especially now that I know how much you love performing for the camera.

Oh, the man had you there. Sometimes your Beast was a bit too cunning for your liking.

“I don’t think–” You try again, now feeling shy. “What we do in the dark has no business being on film!”

“Hm, guess we’ll just have to keep the lights on. But for now, let’s get you fed.” He drops a kiss on your head before picking up your empty dish and sauntering off towards the kitchen. “We’ll talk lighting and camera angles once you’re finished.”

Good Lord on high. What had you just gotten yourself into?

“Here we are.” Ari continues upon his return a few minutes later. He sets your down in front of you before taking your napkin and redraping it across your lap. “But I’d eat fast if I were you.”

“Um…why?” You ask, eyeing him warily.

“Because.” He winks at you before taking a seat and enthusiastically spearing a piece of meat onto his fork. “Tonight’s dress rehearsal starts in thirty minutes.”

END

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beauty-brains-braun · 3 months

Text

Blackout

18+ Minors DNI

A power outage leaves you alone with your best friend's roommate. You don't mean to use it as an opportunity to ask Megumi Fushiguru why he hates you, it just slips out. You really don't expect his answer.

warnings/tags: Smut, PWP, a little bit of praise-kink, aged-up characters, penis in vagina sex

Reader has a vagina, otherwise is non-descript

You and Megumi were alone when the power went out. You'd been in his and Yuji's shared apartment, waiting for the other man to bring you the house keys you definitely sort-of needed to get into your own apartment. You'd made it all of the way home when you realized he'd snatched the wrong set off the table when you were all having drinks earlier. Only when the key wouldn’t fit in your lock did you realize the almost matching keychains you and Yuji had gotten hadn't been the best idea.

Of course you then walked all of the way here only to find out Yuji had been called to exorcize a curse. You'd barely been here a minute when the outage happened. Now you were in the dark with a man who didn't seem to be able to stand you. This was not your night.

"Perfect" you muttered.

"What?" Megumi asked.

"Nothing." You told him. You took a couple of steps forward and ran right into him. "Shit, sorry!" You felt his hands on your arms as he reached out to steady you on instinct.

He didn't say anything, just sort of grunted and moved around you. His phone flashlight turned on a few seconds later in the kitchen area and you used the light to navigate to the couch. If you were sitting, you figured you wouldn't be able to run into anything.

He lit a candle and brought it over to the coffee table. “My phone’s almost dead, better conserve the battery.”

Yours was dead. That’s why you had made it all of the way here before you found out Yuji wasn’t even at home. You fought back a groan, letting your head drop back onto the couch behind you. You heard a clunk and looked up to find Megumi setting a bottle of wine and two glasses in front of you. Yes please.

You accepted a glass with gratitude as Megumi sat on the couch next to you and an awkward silence immediately enveloped you both.

It had been like this with you and Megumi for as long as you could remember. You’d tried befriending him the way you had Yuji and Nobara when you first transferred to Jujutsu High School but he would never stay in the same room with you long enough, always suddenly finding somewhere else he needed to be. On the occasions you were stuck together, you’d tried getting to know him but he would only give one worded answers and refuse to look at you. It quickly became more frustrating than it was worth and you gave up. All of this was made worse by how insanely attractive you found him, even now. Your skin felt like it was on fire from where he’d grabbed you when you bumped into him earlier but you were doing your best to ignore that.

Yuji had been bugging you lately to try again. Said that this was just how Megumi was, and to an extent you knew that was true, the man was pretty quiet. But he wasn’t quite like this with anyone else and you didn’t have the patience you used to have to just keep trying and trying.

“How did that Special Grade mission go last weekend?”

You almost dropped your wine glass, had he just asked you a question? You stared at him for a second too long before answering. “Uhm, it was good.” You drained the rest of the wine in your glass. “Pretty tough but not the worst one I’ve fault.”

He nodded and leaned forwards to refill your glass. You could see his eyelashes even in this dim lighting and had to make yourself look away. “What about you? Anything interesting lately?”

“Same old, same old. It's good that it’s been quiet, I guess. It’s just sort of..” Megumi trailed off.

“Boring.” You finished his thought.

“I feel awful saying that, but yeah.”

The awkward silence was back almost immediately. You racked your brain desperately for something to talk about. For anything to say other than “Why don’t you like me?”

“What?”

Holy shit you did not say it out loud. You looked over to see Megumi staring, sitting so still he could have been frozen. You had said out loud. What was wrong with you? You felt your skin heating from embarrassment but fuck it. It was out there, might as well commit.

“You’ve always avoided me, Fushiguru. Tonight is probably the most you’ve ever said to me in all of the years we’ve known each other. So yeah, you obviously don’t like me, I just have never known why.” Your heart was pounding in your chest as you watched Megumi drain his glass of wine and put the empty glass on the coffee table before answering.

“You think I don’t like you?” he clarified.

“Obviously.”

“You’re wrong.”

“What?” You hadn’t expected him to deny it. He wasn’t really the type of guy who would lie to spare anyone’s feelings.

“You’re wrong.” He said again, firmly.

“You can barely stand to be in the same room with me.” You pointed out incredulously.

Megumi sighed but didn’t deny it. Instead he shifted closer to you. “It’s not because I don’t like you, though.”

You blinked at him, confused. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It wouldn’t to you I guess.” He sighed again and moved closer to you again, raising himself so one knee dug into the couch and he towered over you a little. “You and Yuju got close fast. Instantly almost. It seemed pretty obvious to me that you would be end-game. That it was only a matter of time for you to get together and live out your happily ever afters in each other’s arms.”

You blink again at the bitterness in his voice, not understanding what one thing had to do with the other. “Yuji’s my best friend, I’ve never wanted anything more and neither has he.”

“Well, five years later, it’s definitely started to seem that that’s the case, but I’ve always waited for the other shoe to drop. Afraid if I was too close to you, I would break.”

He was even closer now, leaning down into your space, his gorgeous eyes reflecting the light from the candle. You swallowed hard. “Break?” you asked.

“Break.” He confirmed. And he did.

Megumi’s mouth met your own, gently at first until he felt you kiss him back. Until he felt you melt into him. Then he deepened the kiss, his hands cradling the back of your head.

You felt his tongue touch your lips and you opened for him, mind reeling in shock. Megumi Fushiguru didn’t hate you. He more than didn’t hate you, he was kissing you! He pressed against you until you lay back on the couch and followed you down, mouth moving down to your neck.

Everywhere his mouth touched felt like it was on fire and you felt an ache deep in your core. You shifted, raising a knee so he fit against you perfectly. His cock was pressed against you and another ache coursed through you when you realized how hard he was for you.

He pulled away from you suddenly and you let out a whine of protest.

“Tell me to stop” he said, searching your face for any hint that that was what you wanted.

“Don't you dare” you said breathlessly, pulling him back down to kiss you again. You felt him smile against your mouth and then his fingers were against your skin, pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra. You heard each one hit the floor somewhere across the room but forgot about them the moment Megumi’s mouth was on one nipple, his fingers tugging at the other until you were a dripping, quivering mess.

“Please” left your mouth before you even realized you said it and his eyes met your own in question. “Please fuck me” you begged, watching his gaze darken.

“Fuck, I’ve dreamed of tasting you but I’m not going to make it if you beg.”

“Later. Tomorrow, I don’t care, I need you inside me.” And you did. You’d never needed anything more, you’d never felt more empty. It felt like there was a drum beating deep inside you. You struggled to remove his pants and he moved to help you. Your hand curled around his cock when it sprang free and he let loose a his of pleasure. Moving just enough to remove your own pants while you pumped him in your hand.

He pushed one of his long fingers inside you and you gasped at the feeling. You had always been a little too interested in Megum’s hands and as he added a second finger, you realized it was for good reason. You were seeing stars from this alone. Tender kisses trailed your collarbone and you whined when he pulled his fingers from you.

“Shhhh” He soothed you and seconds later you felt his tip against you, gathering your wetness, before he slowly, too slowly maybe, started to push into you.

“Fuck” you breathed as he bottomed out inside you. The stretch of him almost burned but it still felt good. Felt right. He’d stopped, giving you time to adjust to his size and you groaned.

“Megumi, please. Please move.” You begged, not even feeling embarrassed at the smirk that pulled at his mouth.

“You beg so nicely”. He pulled out and thrust back in suddenly.

You tightened your legs around him as if you could keep him inside you forever. He pulled almost all of the way back out and thrust back in again, his mouth meeting yours when you moaned. He set a steady rhythm fucking into you and out of you, drinking in the sounds of praise falling from your lips. You felt something coiling tight in your lower stomach, so tight you knew it would snap soon.

“You feel so good. I couldn’t have imagined you’d feel this perfect” Megumi said in your ear. He changed the angle of his hips causing his cock to hit that one spot deep inside that made you see stars. He thrust in again and you were lost. That something deep inside you that had been winding up snapped and you came, crying out his name.

Megumi’s fingers dug harder into your thighs but he didn’t stop. He kept fucking you through your orgasm even as you tightened around him and he had to fight not to follow you just yet.

He leaned in to kiss you and muttered “good girl” against your lips, making your pussy clench and heart flutter. He pulled out and flipped you over quickly before thrusting back in.

A cry of pleasure left you as the new position allowed him to fuck you even deeper than before. You lost yourself in him, in the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you, in the small sounds of pleasure leaving his mouth, in the feeling of his skin on yours.

He pulled you up so your back was flush against his chest and he could kiss your neck. You could feel his thrusts becoming more erratic and knew he must be close. He wasn’t the only one.

Megumi’s fingers found your clit and rubbed circles until you were coming again, thankful Megumi’s other arm was still keeping you upright because you never would have managed it on your own. You hear him curse and suddenly he’s pulling out of you and you feel his release splatter across your ass and thighs.

The room is so silent without the constant hum of electricity that usually surrounds you so the sounds of you trying to catch your breath seem so much louder than normal.

“You okay?” Megumi’s voice was so quiet you looked over at him, the dim light of the candle reflecting off his eyes. “Was that too much?”

A huff of surprised amusement left you. He was nervous. He fucked you like thatt and now he was nervous. “Too much?” You asked. “That was amazing.” His mouth curved up in a small smile and he leaned in to kiss you, the movement so tentative compared to his actions from earlier. You leaned into him, kissing him back encouragingly.

A sound from outside the door made you both tense and he jerked away, blowing the candle out seconds before the door opened. You both sat frozen as Yuji entered the apartment, dropping something to the floor and calling your name on his way in.

You moved slowly, reaching for your clothes in the dark. Your fingers closed around the fabric you recognized as your shirt and you feel relief course through you as you pull it closer. Naturally that was the moment the power kicked back on. Light flooded the apartment suddenly, almost blinding you. A screech left Yuji’s mouth and you winced, rushing to pull your shirt on.

“Oh my god!” He yelled, hands flying up to cover his eyes. “Oh. My. God. Finally! But I mean, on the couch?!”

“Stop yelling.” Megumi groaned, pulling up his pants, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment in a way you couldn’t help but find adorable even as you prayed for the ground to open up and swallow you.

“You’re buying us a new couch, Fushiguru!” Yuji shouted, pointing accusingly in the other man’s direction, with his eyes still squeezed shut.

“Stop yelling!”

“Just wait until I tell Kugasaki! She’d almost given up. I am serious about the couch by the-” a pillow from the couch hit him hard in the face, cutting him off and knocking him on his ass.

Megumi looked over at you in surprise and you smiled at him and shrugged. “He’ll go all night if someone doesn’t shut him up.”

He smiled back at you and stepped closer, leaning in to kiss you again.

“Wait, was that one of your sex pillows? Gross!”

#jjk smut #megumi x reader #megumi smut #jjk fushiguro #fushiguro x reader #megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x reader

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khuzena · 4 days

Text

Waiting room

Pairing: Dr ratio, Aventurine, Sunday x g/n!reader

Summary: You can love, get on your knees and wait on a miracle. There are things that are for you and aren't for you, you should know. It's for the better.

Cw. Heavy angst, no comfort, 1% fluff, manipulative men, toxic relationships, insecurities, death?, unrequited love, breakups, them neglecting you cos…, no closure, what is love?

A/n: hi, time to make you cry. I'm getting writer's block as I'm making a new novel!! It has the ‘your guardian angel’ fics plot but w my characters. 🥳

Dr ratio

He's a simple man, really.

Drown yourself in endless textbooks, advanced literature and neglect every other thing.

Like his thirst for knowledge; love is endless, affection is abundant.

Is what you initially thought.

It has been the 4th time this week that he turned down your requests, “Dear, you know I have no time for that.”

He does not try to sugarcoat his words, he does not try to make his tone less harsh, “I don't have time for dates, such a waste of time.'' He says it like it is, he says it like it's true.

Your eyebrows creased, annoyed at his flippant attitude, “What do you mean waste of time?”

Veritas takes one glance at you, then back to his nonsense book. To him, it was useless wasting his breath on arguing with you.

“Veritas, you said we'll go, you promised.”

He is cruel, his words flinty. “I do not recall making any atrocious promises to you, are you perhaps going insane?”

Insane?

“Insane? Last week, you promised me.”

“I did not.”

“Yes you did.”

He scoffs, as if offended, “If I did, then I was not thinking straight. I have a thesis due tomorrow. A date can wait.”

Veritas is a man with priorities and out of all of them, it seems, you were not one of them. He'd rather his books kept him company, not you. It's obvious, his pursuit of knowledge was greater than loving you.

He lit his lamp, taking his pen and highlighting some paragraphs, what was so important with them? You could not help but come closer, skimming through the contents, it was just some theory some genius society member wrote.

“You're miserable,” it might've accidentally slipped out, but it was true; he is, in fact, the most miserable of all men.

Veritas rolled his eyes, pushing his reading glasses and annotating whatever statement was written. The candle light flickered when his heavy breaths fanned over it, not paying mind to whatever you say.

Your patience was thinning, how long was he planning to play this damned game?

“Veritas.”

You call out once.

“Veritas!”

Again, in anger.

“Veritas”

The last time, desperately.

He does not respond, he does not care. Yet your voice was ringing in his ears in an unpleasant way, “Is this about the date?”

You were taken aback by his curt reply, it wasn't just about the date. “Is that all? Do you think that's the only reason?”

“Hypothetically speaking, yes.”

“Cut the bullshit, veritas.”

Veritas glares at you, as if making a statement; a bullshit one at that. He does not have time for mindless topics, he's overworked, he's tired, he's unsatisfied.

For a moment, you have the urge to yell at him. This shallow bastard has done nothing but fool you with aureate words, he writes poetry about you and shows you off.

He loves you because you are all he has. He may be an asshole but he loves you the way he knows how to love you.

Tonight, however, you are done with his bullshit. You do not argue further, he is confused. When you leave this room with no more qualms, when you do not scream at him, he is bewildered.

“Where are you going?” It's strange that he noticed you for the first time. Only when you get dressed up and when he hears the keys jingle, does he notice every single detail.

You adjusted the cuffs of your blouser, “I'm staying at a friend's”

“Which one?”

“None of your business.”

Stunned, he drops his pen. Why are you acting so off? You're driving him insane.

“What do you mean none of my business? Stop acting so childish.”

That was your last straw, childish? Childish? The fucking audacity.

“You are more childish.”

“How so?”

“You— do I even have to explain it?”

Nothing could quell your frustration other than being away from him for the meantime, “Yes,” he loves you, he wants to know. But even if he does, he never learns; so much for a genius.

“You neglect me, you prioritise this,” it was tempting to crumple his papers, “—over me.” So you did.

He is indifferent. He does not understand how and why it hurts you. So he tries to understand it from a logical standpoint, “So you want to really go on that date?”

“I'm tired of asking”

Tired of begging him to treat you right, to love you like you want him to love you.

He stays quiet.

“I'm tired of begging for something so small.”

“You didn't have to destroy my goddamn book,” he seethed and pulled the book from your hands, too absorbed in the damage of the book he does not notice how much he has damaged you. Veritas is too blind to see you holding back tears despite wearing his glasses.

The force surprised you, “Is that thing much more important?”

“What?”

“Answer me Veritas Ratio.”

It was merely just a book, but it was precious. It was a rare one, it annoyed him to immeasurable depths when you crumpled it so recklessly.

He does not answer.

“I'm leaving,” he's not sure if leaving meant temporarily, he hopes it is. He hopes you come back again tomorrow night.

So he waits. Tomorrow came, but you did not come home.

Aventurine

He loves you, he really does.

His idea of love is adorning you with jewels, showering you with riches.

Too much that you suffocate, it hurts. You can't breathe, soulless eyes stare into yours.

It's when you realise, he's trapping you. Does he think you're stupid? What does he take you for?

“Darling! I got you a gift!”

The 22nd one this week… Aventurine makes haste and runs behind you, wearing the necklace on you, it looks… okay.

You look like a doll, his doll.

But you are not a doll, you are human.

And like all humans, we all wish to be loved and cherished as an equal.

“Do you like it?” It would be rude to say no, but it does not fit you. Sure it accentuates your neck, but it's too much.

“I…” you traced your finger over the gem, “I do.”

“Great! I'll get you another tomorrow!” It is tiring. As much as planets worth of gold and extravagant jewels excite you, you would rather be in his presence.

You do not recall the last day he's ever taken you out on a proper date, you do not recall any time where he's been open to you about his past because you know damn well his name could never just be ‘Aventurine’.

You were sitting on the couch, sipping tea with your eyes glued to your book. Before you knew it, soft lips grazed on your cheek.

“You're back earlier than expected,” he smiles as he pressed another kiss onto you, “I ditched the meeting, for you.”

Oh how you hate it when he does things in your name just to make you indebted to him. Aventurine loves you, but love is transactional.

“Is that so?” He nods, wrapping his arms around you. “I'll buy you something again, we have another business trip in Penacony.”

It makes you wonder, does he think gifts are the only thing that'll make you stay?

He could see the reluctance in your eyes, “Is something on your mind?”

You bit your lip, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

A deafening silence fills the room before he chuckles, he is everything but stupid. He knows, he knows you want to spend time with him, he knows you’d incinerate those gifts in a heartbeat just to trade even an hour spending time with him.

“Dear, I promise, next time,” he pressed light kisses on your exposed shoulder, but it isn’t enough: what truly is enough?

You want to push him away, with how ruthless he is with making empty promises so easily, “You said ‘next time’ last time.”

”I promise, I do.” Even he sounds unsure. You pick up on the hint of hesitation laced in his promises, he regrets it, but he thinks; he’s doing it for you, for the both of you.

“You said that too last month,” you scoff.

He tried to intertwine your fingers together yet to no avail, you rejected him, “Why are you acting up again?”

There’s only so many gifts can buy but he can never purchase the time lost that could’ve been spent in lazy mornings together yet he traded it all for credits. The second attempt, he forces a smile and even pulls a tiny ring for you, that gem you loved so much engraved in the centre. Words cannot express how much you despise these gifts because it was just a pathetic compensation for the neglect.

”Please, next month.” He took your hand in his and put the ring on your ring finger. “Okay?”

You cling to that possibility, to that sliver of hope when he is done with Penacony, he is relieved of his duties and he is finally free. That he no longer has to overcompensate for his absence and shower you with the time he’s lost.

You know next month won’t come, yet you are no different from a fool.

”Okay”

You wait upon endless tomorrows, two months have passed and none of his coworkers have any good news about his well-being. They’re sure he’s dead, but you still wait for that tomorrow where he is home to come.

Sunday

Love, what truly is love?

Is it when you praise your lover with endless ‘I love you’s?

Is it when you hold their hand and protect them for the impending doom to come?

or rather, is love just a fallacy built on a string of lies?

Sunday believes that he knows what’s best for you.

Before Sunday, you were allowed to make your own decisions.

Before Sunday, you actually had freedom.

The halovian swears he knows what’s best for you.

He makes sure everything you want or need, you get.

Sunday will kiss your tears away, even if he is the sole reason for them. ”It’s for your own good.” he says.

To strip you of freedom, to shackle you to him like a bird in a cage. His sweet kisses, his love, his everything; they’re all fucking poison. He does not hesitate to drown you in his poison if it means protecting you.

You cry out, “Sunday.” In desperate pleas.

But he will not listen, he’ll pretend he doesn’t hear anything.

He believes that if he gives you the taste of freedom, you’ll find a way to fly away from his grasp– he will not allow it. So he does what he’s best at, keeping you stuck to him.

”What do you want, dear?” He smiles at you like he’s never sinned.

You throw away the pathetic gifts he adorned you with, gold, diamonds and stones you could not name but they are not what you want, “I want to see my friends.”

”They’re no good, trust me.” Your friends once told you that you should go, that he’s toxic, but you were a fool to drown in him.

“What do you know about my friends?” He’s done everything to kill that flame inside of you, that hope that maybe one day you’d escape him and be free once again, you’re a fool, he thinks.

He clicks his tongue as he puts down his newspaper at the coffee table, ”They tried to take you away from me.”

”They did not, you know I would never leave you.” A blatant lie but it's stupid that you take him for a fool that’ll believe your words.

He only chuckles, your attempts to get away from him are futile, it’s pathetic it makes him laugh. “I admire your confidence, but you’re staying here tonight.”

Death has never been more alluring under his influence, but you can not die.

“Please,” you beg again, but he only presses his finger to your lips, “Shh…”

”One day you’ll thank me for taking such good care of you.” He gets down on his knees to kiss the back of your hand, “You’re safe here.”

He gets up to sit right next to you, he doesn’t flinch when you slap his face away when he tries to kiss you. The man only grabs your wrist when you try to push him away again. He kisses you with passion, in love but is it truly love when there is no trust?

There’s no use questioning his intentions, “This is for your own good.”

What good is there when there is no freedom? He thinks beautiful birds should be protected. Even if it meant being trapped in a cage, stripped of any sense of freedom, as long as you're safe, as long as you're here with him, he is content. "Dont give me that look."

Your eyes train on the way he rolls his eyes at your defiance, "Just let me go."

Sunday glares at you, his grip on your wrist tight, you're sure he's about to tear it off. "No."

When will you stop acting like a child?

The halovian is too far down the rabbit hole of self righteousness and his obsession with you that he if he needs to tear you limb by limb to keep you close to him, to keep you from rubbing away, he will do it.

His phone rings, it must be business calls again, Penacony sure is in a state of chaos when it's crumbling down. He lets go off you to take his phone.

"Yes yes... Sunday speaking."

You dont understand what they're murmuring about. All you could register is it's something about his sister.

His facial expression turned grim the more time he spent on the phone. The phone call ends and he puts it down, the life from his face drained but when he sees you, he is relieved.

You are still here with him.

He intertwined your hands together, you can feel anger and despair that he's exuding as he stares at you like a deer in the headlights. "Please, promise me."

"You'll never leave me too."

It doesn't sound like a question, it sounds like a statement.

You'll truly never know what freedom is, for that is only a privilege that you can never have. In his arms you cannot cry, because he'll drown you in his lies again and again.

On the bright side, you are never alone. You will always have Sunday, whether you like it or not.

Note: bye i got extreme writer's block at Sunday's part I had to take almost a 2 week break bc i rlly have no idea what to write for him oh my god. I absolutely did not give them justice 😥

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡

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bluejay757 · 7 months

Text

Lets talk about Simon and Betty

spoilers for episode 8

So a lot of people are throwing around some strong accusations about their relationship, some I can see where they're coming from, and a lot are really reaching.

As for the ones that I think are reaching, a lot of people are saying that Simon and Betty were a professor/student dynamic, except they weren't. Simon wasn't teaching a class he was a guest lecturer, and Betty, having read his work was interested. She was excited to meet him because she liked his research. Simon was constantly mocked in his field, if you actually read the newspaper clippings from "I remember you" you'll see that even after he found the enchiridion, he was made fun of. People were literally laughing at him and throwing things at him while he was giving his lecture. Betty likely was mocked too, it makes sense she was so excited to meet him, because this was her chance to meet one of the few people that actually shared her interest. She did not yet have a crush on him at that point in time.

I think after she got to know Simon on a personal level her fascination of him changed, as she no longer viewed him as a "celebrity" (I use that term loosely for a lack of a better word, I can't imagine his books sold that many copies, what with him being a laughing stock and him being genuinely surprised that Betty had read his work), but rather a colleague and equal. She even said that after their trip together she had grown to admire him as a person, so it's not like she had any kind of feelings for him prior to that. Now that's not to say her feelings towards him were completely normal, but there definitely wasn't a power imbalance between them.

A lot of people are saying Simon was selfish for making her stay behind, but he didn't make her. She chose to stay behind. She could have still gone on that trip, and continued to write to him and talk to him on the phone, but she chose to stay with him and go on different adventures. You're forgetting that Simon and Betty went on expeditions together all the time, it's not like she gave up her career for him, that would be a whole different story, but she made the decision to continue working in her field alongside him.

Also Simon couldn't have gone on that trip if he did want to because he wasn't offered to go, who ever it was that gave Betty that opportunity, wasn't anticipating on her bringing a friend, he also didn't have anything with him but like his wallet and keys you can't seriously expect him to go to another country with no luggage, no plane ticket, no money, no nothing. A whole part of Fionna's character arc is realizing that life's not a fairy tale, she was expecting something out of a romance novel and got a story straight from reality. Realistically the two options were for Betty to stay or to leave Simon. And I don't think her giving up her trip to Australia was a sacrifice, because there were other trips and opportunities after that, she traded that one trip for an entire lifetime of them, (or at least it would have been if war didn't break out)

And if you're gonna call Betty impulsive, call her impulsive because she went on a trip around the world with a man she had never met, not because she walked through a creek barefoot lmfao.

I'm not saying that Simon and Betty were perfect but there are other reasons to criticize them.

As for the actual problems with there relationship, none of them are their fault. Betty going literally crazy trying to bring Simon back was because of Magic Man and Patience fucking with her brain, a human being cannot handle the amount of magic she was given and it drove her to insanity. And Simon now, with risking everything to bring her back, she's literally fused with a chaos god and is going to live for eternity in that state, did you ever think maybe he wants to get her out of that for her sake? That maybe he wants closure and to say goodbye? Since he never got that chance. No it's not healthy for Simon to drive himself as far as he did to bring her back, but Jesus fucking Christ can you blame him for not wanting his fiance to suffer for literal eternity? They don't need to break up, they need therapy. I don't think their relationship pre-mushroom war was unhealthy, and I don't think it ever would have been unhealthy without Betty becoming Magic Betty.

Their relationship flaws are more so their own individual flaws that have bled into their relationship as opposed to ones caused by the relationship itself, that's an important distinction you have to see.

#petrigrof #adventure time #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #betty grof

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oneirophobic · 10 months

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hey!! i totally get it if you’d be uncomfy w this but is there any way you would write chris helping reader with like struggles around food but in a low-key/subtle way? i love ur writing but again if it’s not a topic you feel ok writing for that’s totally fine!!! thank you

patience - chris sturniolo

pairing : chris sturniolo x reader

genre : kinda angsty fluff

warnings : disordered eating, not very subtle, not proofread well

a/n : i am totally comfortable with writing stuff like this! almost anything you guys would like to see, i will be more that happy to write it for you! (i am so sorry this sucks, it was insanely rushed. also sorry for not posting it when i said i would.)

i had a bad relationship with food ever since middle school, thinking i was different because of the slightest pudge. and that stuck with me all the way to now, comparing myself to instagram models as if i had zero idea they were edited.

chris knew of my thoughts, and he was always the one to distract me from them and let me run.

i had been in one of those episodes of skipping meals, just downing bottles of water to suppress the grumbling that my stomach produced.

chris realized the absurd increase of water i was consuming and found the sandwich matt got me hidden away in the back of the refrigerator. that's when he took it upon himself to take action.

he shuffled around the kitchen preparing something i would possibly eat. the only thing he was able to come up with was buttery pasta, something easy to face.

he came waddling up the stairs with a small bowl in hand, to not scare me with the portions. "y/n/n," he said in a singsong voice as he walked into the room.

"whatt," i responded, marking the place in my book to flip onto my back and face him. "do you want some of my pasta?" he politely smiled, attempting to make himself less suspicious as he sat down next to me on the bed.

"i'm fine, i'm not hungry," i said softly, sitting up to place a kiss on his nose, "thank you though." chris was visibly hurt, "i know you didn't eat the sandwich matt got you," he said.

i became defensive, "what? i did!" i lied. "no you didn't, you stashed it in the back of the fridge," he spoke gently.

a lump had climbed its way into my throat, forcing tears to form. "hey, hey, hey, no no no no," chris said frantically, placing the bowl on the nightstand and wiping my tears.

"i'm sorry chris," i cried, leaning into his chest while his arms wrapped around me. "you're okay baby, i know it's hard for you," he whispered into my hair.

"can you at least try to eat a little bit of this?" he asked, picking up the bowl. i stared at the bowl and then looked at him.

"can you eat it with me?" i asked, looking into his deep blue eyes. "of course baby," he said, "be right back," as he ran downstairs to get himself a bowl.

when he came back, we both had pasta wrapped around our forks as he sat across from me. he counted us down before we both took the forks into our mouths.

he smiled at me as i put the fork back into the bowl and opened my mouth to show him it was gone. "you did it!" he cheered, "see wasn't so bad was it?"

i shook my head as he cradled my face with both his hands, "i am so proud of you," he smiled, leaning in to gently give me a buttery kiss.

#oneirophobic #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets

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avenging-fandoms · 1 year

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im not to sure how into edging and punishment you are and if not feel free to ignore. but joel miller trying to get a handle on his girl who’s just been sassing him all day. nothing to crazy but she’s being a little brat and it’s driving him up the walls to put her in her place. like his palms are itching to spank that pretty ass til she’s crying in submission. then he’ll edge her again and again and again. maybe he’ll let her come maybe he won’t. but best believe she’s learned her lesson. by the end of it they’re all cuddled up after he’s cleaned her up and given her some water like “has someone learned their lesson”

**set pre-outbreak** *really dirty?

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

"Yn, sweet girl, it's time to wake up" Joel's lips kissed your jaw, hand on your lower back. You groan and turn your head, Joel peeling the comforter off your back slowly and kissed your bare back.

"Leave me alone, let me sleep in" You whine and his smile slowly dropped, his hand making you roll onto your back.

"Baby it's 10, I let you sleep in plenty. It's time to start the day, you're helping me at work today" you roll your eyes and sit up, stretching and giving Joel a full view of your bare chest.

All day at work, you would gripe and whine and it drove Joel insane. And he couldn't do anything about it, because he was surrounded by coworkers.

Finally, 8 hours had gone by and you both got in the truck. "That was literally the worst day I've had in my whole life"

Joel started the truck, nearly breaking the key. "Yeah, I had a pretty shitty day too. The person who agreed to help me whenever I needed it, was whining the whole time about wanting to go home"

"I'm sorry that you promised me a weekend for us and your job once again ruined it. I asked for quality time at home, not your job" You rolled your eyes and Joel gripped the steering wheel, his hands wishing they were ripping your shorts off, leaving his hand print on your ass.

Joel pulled into the drive-way, putting it in park and shutting off the truck rather aggressively, slamming his door. He came around to your side and opened the door and you look at him. "Get out" Your eyebrows furrowed a bit and he huffed. "Damn it, Yn. I'm tired of your games. Get out of the truck"

You cross your arms over your chest and look forward. Joel moved his jaw to the side and grabbed you by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder and slamming the door.

Joel kicked the door with his foot and kicked it closed, your hands hitting his back as he took you to the room. Joel threw you on the bed, grabbing your jaw. "You have been so aggravating today, and I wanted to punish you for running your mouth so bad, but you got lucky. There was people around. But now," Joel flipping you on your hands and knees. "Now we're alone"

Joel's hand rubs over your ass and lays a hard smack on your right cheek, making you jump. He pulls your shorts and underwear off, spreading your legs a little bit as he spanks you over and over. "Look at this.. all for me" Joel's fingers rub up and down your folds, your teeth biting the bed sheets.

He slides his middle finger into you, groaning as he watches you react. You push your ass back and Joel spanks you hard again and you whimper. "Patience. You don't deserve more" he spanked you again, and you gripped the sheets. Joel's fingers moved slowly, pulling it out and moaning as he made you lick his finger clean. "Beg for it, baby. Tell me how bad you need me"

His fingers rubbed up and down your pussy, and you could barely form words. His hand repeatedly smacked your ass, tears pouring from the corner of your eye. "J.. fuck. Joel, please, I need you. I need you fill me up with your fucking cock, Joel, please"

Joel was satisfied. He pushed your hips down and flipped you onto your back, dropping to his knees and pulling your hips towards him. You whimper as his beard rubs against your thighs, pressing his tongue flat against your pussy.

Your fingers immediately grip his hair, Joel pushing two fingers into you as his tongue flicked your clit slowly. "Yes, Joel, oh my god" your hips move against his tongue and he pushes you down, holding you still.

Joel moved his fingers and tongue at a fast pace, and you felt your orgasm approaching. Joel could feel you tightening around his fingers, and pulled himself away. You let go of his hair and look at him with desperation.

"You think I would let you cum that easy?" Joel's hand slapped your pussy and you jump, Joel smirking. He flipped you back onto your stomach, ass perched in the air as he smacked your ass harder than he has before. "You embarrassed me today," smack. "In front of all my coworkers," smack, cry, smack. "You were such a fucking brat." smack, loud cry, smack, smack.

"Joel! Joel, please" you sob and he grabs your chin, making you look at him as you rolled to your back. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for embarrassing you" You were out of breath, voice shaking as Joel's eyelids were low with his hand softly touching your stomach. "I'll never do it again. I said I would help and I.. I.."

"Shh, I forgive you, sweet girl" He whispered and kissed you, your hand holding his face as you roll on top of him. Your fingers push under his shirt, sliding it off his body and scratching down his torso.

Joel slammed you back under him with a little chuckle from the back of his throat. "Not gonna happen, baby" Joel pulled away from you, standing up and taking his pants off. Saliva filled your mouth as you looked at his hard dick. You sat up and smiled at him, getting on your knees in front of him.

You open your mouth and Joel grips your hair, shoving his cock into your mouth. The sudden jolt made you gag, which made Joel go crazier. "Yeah, take it, I'll make you stop complaining" He huffed as he repeatedly thrusted his dick into your throat.

Foam forms at the side of your mouth, saliva sliding down your chin and falling in your lap. Joel pulled you away and you gasp for air, your boyfriend put you back on the bed and pushed your thighs, your knees against your chest. Joel sloppily took the saliva from your chin and slapped it on your pussy, pushing himself into you.

"Is this what you wanted? Huh? You wanted to be fucked so bad you can't form words?" His words were choppy as his hips pounding into yours, his fists directly next to your head. Your nails dug into his biceps, veins popping out of your neck as you couldn't catch your breath with Joel hitting every spot.

"Y-yes, fuck!" You scream and Joel pulls away, moving his four fingers flat on your clit back and forth. You scream his name, begging, pleading. "Please, Joel. Please let me cum, I'll be a good girl, I promise" You plead and he laughs in your face.

"You should've been a good girl all day," He flipped you onto your knees and palms. "You would've had all the orgasms you wanted" Your face buries in the pillow as he pounds into you, reaching back to hold his wrist while his left hand held your hips. His right hand spanked you a few times before grabbing your other hand, holding both wrists in his left hand down on your back as he pounded you further into the bed.

You were gasping, tears rolling down your nose as he fucked you better than he ever had. This gave you ideas to be a brat more, but the denial of orgasms and all the spankings were too much. This was definitely going to help your attitude.

"Complain some more, baby. Come on. You had a lot to say today" He taunted you and you could barely open your eyes that were rolling to the back of your head. "What's the matter?" He smirked devilishly, picking you up as he knelt on the bed, holding you to face him as he bounced you on his dick. Your tits moved with every bounce, Joel admiring you and kissing in between your breasts.

"Fuck, Joel, fuck. It hurts so bad, please. Please let me cum, please" You wrap your arms around his neck with your nose squished against his, choppy breath hitting his lips as he bounced you.

"You've been taking every punishment so well, I think you deserve it" Joel pushed you on your back once more, his hips smacking into yours so loud you were sure the house would start to crack. His fingers rubbed your clit rather fast, his left hand on your chest. "Cum for me, baby. That's it, I can feel you clench around me, so tight baby"

Joel was close, you could always tell when he was. His eyebrows would furrow, his top lip would twitch and his chest would puff out. "Cum in me, Joel. Fill me with your fucking cum" You look directly in his eyes, and it was like he was lit on fire from the inside. "Joel! FUCK!" You scream and push him away, Joel smiling in victory.

His fingers slide into you as he continues your orgasm, using both hands to work on you. You slap the bed, pull and bite the sheets, even slap Joel's arms.

But you never used your safe word.

You let out another scream as you orgasm again, only this time you were twitching and whimpering like you never had before. "Maybe I should deny your orgasms more often" Joel was dripping. He made you squirt.

Your cheeks turn red and he smiles, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed as he slides himself in again slowly. Soon the overstimulation went away and it was back to pleasure. Your fingers found Joel's neck and pulled him down, kissing him passionately.

"Fill me with your cum, Joel. I want all of you in me" Those words were enough to send him over the edge. He grunted lowly, pushing his hips deep into yours as he makes sure every last drop was in you.

"I'll be right back" You nod and he throws a robe on and leaves the bedroom. You head to the bathroom and do your business, freshening up a little bit before heading back to the room and putting on one of Joel's shirts and boxer shorts.

Joel comes back in as you sit on the bed, kissing your forehead as he gives you a glass of water then changes into his comfy clothes. His fingers fall under your chin, making you look at him as his thumb rubbed your jaw. "Did you learn your lesson?"

"Yes, Joel" He smiles, his thumb pulling down your bottom lip.

"What was the lesson?" He whispered and you lock your eyes with him. All he had in them was love.

"To not be a brat or I'll be punished like one"

"Thata girl" He smiles and kisses you soft and slow. You gulp nearly the whole glass and put it on the side table, Joel doing the same and meeting you in the middle with open arms. You smile happily as you snuggle into him, head on his bicep with your arm draped over his side as you both fell asleep.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #joel miller imagines #joel miller blurb #joel miller blurbs #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #smut #pedro pascal

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merakiui · 10 months

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Oh, pretty please consider writing a little story about the whole trapped in a room and you only get out with having sex. Like, maybe some twst boy that's been absolutely dying to get their grubby hands on you and just keeps going even though the door's been unlocked!!!! Gods, your post always get me!

My first thought was Azul because,,,,,, he’s so fun to insert into these concepts. orz but consider!!!!! Azul’s trying to get you to sign a contract and somehow he’s cornered you in a room, the door slams shut and locks, and now the two of you are magically trapped. In the midst of bickering over whose fault it is, words on the wall dictate a very clear, albeit highly embarrassing, message of what must be done in order to leave. In short, both of you must have sex if you intend to get out of the locked room.

Azul insists there are other ways, all red in the face and huffing. If someone (you) would have taken him up on his generous offer, he wouldn’t be in this situation. But then if he hadn’t chased you down in his very pathetic desperation, neither would you. T-T your phones don’t work either, so you can’t call for help and no matter how loudly you scream or knock on the door no one comes to rescue you.

So Azul decides that patience is key and you’re inclined to agree. The room can’t stay locked forever, right? Perhaps this strange curse will wear off with time? No offense to you, Azul explains, all haughty and arrogant, but he’s a businessman first and foremost and he has no interest in you or whatever you might offer below the belt (he’s lying). Of course just as he’s spouting this nonsense, as if the room intends to spite him, suddenly your and his clothes vanish and now you’re stuck in your undergarments. The glare you send him is so sharp it could maim. So much for “not being interested in what’s below the belt.” Now the two of you have no choice but to see one another showing more skin than you’d like to see.

The two of you spend more time arguing than strategizing. You try nearly everything to escape, even the most outlandish attempts, but nothing works and you remain stuck. So you decide to get it over with before Azul drives both himself and you insane with how much griping he’s doing.

“Please just cooperate. I’ll even sign an NDA if you want,” you beg, firmly pushing him down on the bed that’s conveniently been waiting ever since the door locked. Azul’s a sputtering, sweating, blushing mess; it’s almost silly to witness his silver tongue tied in knots. “You don’t even have to put it all the way in. The words on the wall never specified what truly counts as sex.”

He intends to complain again, but you’re straddling him and he’s left stupidly speechless as he stares up at you. He’s anxious because this is the one situation he can’t be smooth in, nor can he effortlessly predict and prepare for. There aren’t any strings to pull, but maybe he can take advantage of having you all to himself for however long this intimacy is meant to last. He doesn’t want to look foolish in front of you, but then he’s so infatuated that he might as well be a fool. And isn’t this what he’s always secretly hoped for?

Azul shrugs off his uptight inhibitions and gives in. But it’s only for the sake of leaving the room, he insists over and over despite having came inside you three times now and he’s balls deep and you’re weeping and moaning beneath him; and suddenly the two of you are tolerating one another. :) the door unlocks by the fifth round and your clothes appear, and the carnal sex comes to an end. The both of you leave the room in relief, but the states you’re in are disheveled and exhausted. You’ll both agree to never discuss this with anyone and go your separate ways. At least that’s one thing the two of you can agree on.

Ever since then, Azul keeps a closer eye on you. Just in case…

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #azul: we will never have sex >:(#the locked room: are you sure about that? 🤨

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saltofmercury · 1 year

Text

Horangi

Summary: You meet Horangi

A/N: This was supposed to be in response to that GIF I've been wet over the past weekend but instead I wrote this shit?

"Horangi"

It was such a long week. Never ending emails, traffic, and meetings you had been a part of. Rain had been plummeting down all week. This made you upset. What should’ve been a 15 minute drive became a 30 minute drive to work. The rain caused fear among other drivers. You enjoyed the rain at home, at peace, not gliding in the wetness of outside. Where you could stay dry, and admire how the water fell from the sky.

Your car approached the house at the top of the hill, his driveway collecting water, and excitedly pouring down the curb of the sidewalk. His window to the living room had the curtains pulled back, the candles you had lit this morning still on. Everything else was blurred due to the water.

Setting the car in park, you grabbed the umbrella in your backseat, your work backpack, and began to trudge up the driveway to his house. Cold wind hit, you fumbled with the keys, the water still spraying up above– down towards your umbrella, causing your backpack to slide off your shoulder. You dropped the keys in front of you, where the welcome mat had been thoroughly soaked with water. Fingers squished down on the mat, you shoved up the keys swiftly into the lock, and pushed yourself in.

Small chatter and laughter down the hall was cut short. You stepped in the house, the smell of lavender – your candles– hit you. Hearing his footsteps pick up as you set down the backpack near the door.

“Babe?” The door in the hallway opened, a figure walked, (ran) towards you. Hands smothered your face and brought you close. His body was warm, his fingers soft around your cheeks, as his tongue hungrily opened your mouth.

You moaned a bit into the kiss. It was your favorite welcome home.

“Is it over? The week is finally over?” König mumbled into your mouth in-between kisses. You nodded, eyes closed, you breathed him in, god he was so lucky he stayed home. He was worried after seeing a car accident on Tuesday that you might need to be driven to work, you rejected his offers feeling bad that he could be leaving soon at any moment, allowing him to stay home.

He grabbed at your backpack and hung it up on a rack, followed by your drenched raincoat. You always seemed to make things complicated.

“Why didn’t you just park in the driveway? Or even the garage? I could’ve moved my gym weights..” Looking over at your exhausted face, he felt bad that he could’ve done one thing that just made your day easier.

“It’s okay,” you hated feeling like you were prying yourself into his life or house. It was his house, with some small additions of you scattered everywhere. It was never “our” home, probably because you felt like maybe being attached to someone with a job so insane like his would be hard for you, or maybe because he never really made an attempt to call himself yours.

“So good news,” he began, leading you to the couch. He took over the side he usually lay on, and pulled you on top of him.

“MY fantasy football team is winning!” Peering up at him, you rolled your eyes and laughed.

“Oh are they?”

“Yes, you know, it took forever for Horangi to really grasp football, but my god the man is a genius at picking players.”

You side eye him, still unable to comprehend the whole concept of a fake league. Shit, the whole idea of football was still hard to understand. You tried your hardest to understand it the many MANY times you sat with him on Sunday’s, as he explained it to you, his patience never thinning out over the same questions you asked.

For you, it was much more fun to see him. The way he admired the players walking in, how they ran out onto the field, the passes and plays König called before the refs, or would call and then a ref would call something different.

“OFFSIDES?” he said as he stood up in disbelief. Hands both on his hips, as he trudged up and down the living room. “It’s stupid call schatz, very very stupid.” As his open hand waved in the air.

You climbed up off of him, walking over to the fridge to grab a drink.

“Horangi and you still meeting up tonight?”

“Of course, we have our weekly meeting for Sunday’s game.”

Horangi and König always met up a couple times online to discuss fantasy leagues or to play games. You busied yourself doing laundry, catching up on shows, or being on your phone knowing he was immersed with his long time friend.

There was very little you knew of Horangi. You knew he was on the team with König, they were instant friends like König said. Horangi just had his back. He was a very loyal man to König.

You sometimes saw him online, but never heard his voice. When you brought König a snack or water during his time in his game room, Horangi would mention things to König through the headset that would make him blush, then telling him to shut up. You figured it was about you, so you just waved politely and Horangi would wiggle his eyebrows and twiddle his fingers.

You tried to stop yourself from asking, but it was too late.

“How come, I’ve never met Horangi?”

König, pausing his game on his phone, looked over at you and walked over.

“You’ve met Horangi plenty of times,” he began.

“I’ve only really waved at him König, I don’t think he knows my name.”

“Of course he knows your name, I told him.” He was leaning against the kitchen island, his fingers tracing the edge of it. He looked at you, then confessed, with pink hues on his cheeks –

“I tell him a lot about you actually,”

You chewed on your lip, feeling a little better he brought this up, but you weren't satiated.

“Do you? I do feel that’s different than meeting a person.”

“I guess I didn’t really think about it,” he spoke quietly, a little ashamed and sad that he hadn’t properly introduced you two. The two of you were significant in his life, apart from his family back home. He did wonder why the thought never crossed his mind.

“Okay,” he said again, “Horangi is going on a small vacation next month, however he said he would stop by to see me, you guys can meet then.”

You beamed, “wait really, just like that? I thought I would at least hear his voice on the computer first,”

König rolled his eyes and stood up, “I give you so much, and you want so little schatz,” he smiled, pinching his index and thumb together. “We can start there.”

The month had rolled by, before you knew it, the day had come that Horangi was staying a couple days in the city you guys were in. König suggested having dinner at his house.

You chewed on your thumbnail, standing in front of your side of the closet, unsure of what to wear. God, have you ever been more nervous just to meet a friend?

König had stepped out of the shower, towel draped around his bottom half, as he dried his hair with another.

“You okay?” he said, his skin still pink from the hot shower.

“Yes,” you mumbled, sure that you were going to get distracted if you stared to your right. You had a lot of thoughts bubbling in your head, the less distractions the better.

He came up behind you, he still smelled of sandalwood and vanilla, smiling at you in the mirror.

“Are you… getting nervous?” he grinned so widely. The whites of his teeth showed, one corner of his mouth curved.

“Um, maybe a little,”

“What happened to–’I want to meet your friends’?” He teased you.

He wasn’t one to talk, especially when he smelled like your body wash straight from the shower.

“Well, there used to be one mercenary under this roof, now it's two...” you caught his eyesight in the mirror, he laughed.

“Guess you better watch what you say then?” He smirked, grabbed your chin and tilted your head towards his.

You both finished getting ready, as you went down to check on the dinner you had been preparing.

The doorbell rang, and König went out to grab it. He smiled his way to the door, excitement jumping inside him.

The door opened, and you heard Horangi’s voice. “Shit man, very nice place you got here.” König had reached out towards him, then picked him up. Cracking his back, eliciting a gruff sound from Horangi.

“Fuck! you could’ve warned me you damn gorilla!” He spoke, as König laughed out loud.

“Come in!” He was so happy, his voice had changed a bit.

You were still in the kitchen nervously folding the dish towels when you heard the small exchange from them in the hallway.

“So you’ve got a yeonin huh? That’s what's been keeping you from missions?”

König spoke in German, you were unable to understand what he replied to him. Once they had rounded their way to the kitchen, Horangi had been smiling at the response König gave him.

You made the first move toward them,

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you.” mentally embarrassed for how your voice raised a little higher.

“Hiya, nice to meet you,” he held his hand out. He was such a gentleman, he was smaller than König, but taller than you. He was dressed in all black, with some light orange tennis shoes. His hair was combed back neatly, and he had his dog tags sparkling around his neck. He instantly gave you the impression of the son of a mobster, the way his face was so serious, but looked so young.

König eyed you looking at Horangi up and down, smiling at how you were taken back on meeting someone from his world. He could see in your eyes how you were filled with questions, your eyes taking in his friend.

“.. schatz?” he said quietly, and Horangi laughed. “What's for dinner?”

Horangi was a drinker, as König had mentioned, but perhaps out of politeness, he strayed back from drinking too much. You on the other hand had already felt tipsy. König watched you as you slowly became intoxicated, liquid courage replacing the nerves you had.

Horangi had been narrating his latest mission, a mission you discovered König did not accept, making it difficult for Horangi to find a partner he trusted.

“Man,” he shook his head, sipping on the red wine you served him an hour ago. “Nobody has my back out there like you do.” He pointed his finger at König. He had told them that Hutch was explaining to them how to enter the house they needed to get into, his new partner for this job, Roz, was making it difficult for them to get into.

“Fuckin Roz,” König exclaimed, “I swear she’s so reckless, blowing shit up then blaming her teammate for the mess…” “You remember the mission in South America?”

‘I might have blown up 3 cars,” they both said at the same time, impersonating her.

Horangi’s eyes had filled with sadness, clearing missing his partner in the field. He looked at you, then that feeling went away. It sort of made him happy König was not out there.

Horangi had always teased König “swear you and I are going to end up together,” when they stayed up until dawn on missions. König would laugh and tell him “who’s the wife –you or me?” Horangi laughed harder saying “it's me, I am the wife, because you’re so crazy out there, and that leaves me nervous.” Both of them laughed at each other.

It was a genuine friendship, they had each other’s backs, and told each other everything.

He would tell Horangi about the bullies at school, then how he enlisted out of fear of being ridiculed like this his entire life, then enjoyed the dirty work of it all, even leaving the military to join KorTac where the dirty work wasn’t looked down upon.

Horangi loved the guy, but he knew there was always some emptiness to König though, like he longed for a partner, but couldn’t put himself out there due to his job, or social anxiety.

He looked at you, how your body positioned itself near König, how your hand rubbed König’s leg, how König snuck glances at you every couple of minutes, or smiled at you when you spoke.

He asked,

“How’d you two meet?” then sipped his wine again.

Your eyes widened, and you blushed, “At the grocery store.”

“Ran into me with your cart…” König corrected you. “I was shopping for produce late at night, remember Horangi, and that night someone hit me with their cart!”

“As if someone could knock you down.” you answered back, clearly never living down how you two first met.

“So this is shopping cart person?” Horangi had said, then his eyes widened at how bad that sounded, quickly explaining himself.

“König uh, told me about someone staring at him in the produce section, is what I meant.”

You quickly changed the subject, avoiding his comment.

“What’s König like? How did you guys meet?”

Horangi raised an eyebrow at you, then looked at König for an OK.

“You ever know about the time we were ambushed? In Russia?” Horangi leaned back into his chair. He begins telling the story, then pausing to look at König,

“This psycho runs out of the god damn building, throws a grenade at the group, while diving to stab one of their people.”

You looked shocked, this was an extent of what you knew König to be inside the four walls of his home.

“One time I tell you, our building we were in had been falling apart, this guy Mr. Jason Bourne, decides to run off and jump onto the other building, holding a shotgun.”

König sheepishly replied “It was faster to capture the enemy this way.”

“And he fuckin’ makes it!” “Of course with my help shootin’ people down.”

You leaned into the table, waiting for more from Horangi.

Horangi, lured you in. “Remember when we got that bastard from the human trafficking ring?”

König’s smile had faded, a bit unsure if you were going to be okay with what followed.

“So this piece of shit guy, we were after for like months. Kept finding his hostages, setting them free, but couldn't find the asshole. König finds the piece of shit hiding in an abandoned barn.”

“He was shaking, I was tired of playing cat and mouse.” König said seriously.

“All I hear in the coms is crying, begging, to please let him go.” “Our orders were to bring in dead or alive.”

Horangi looked at you, your head cocked to the side, inviting him to continue.

“By the time I got there, König had the guys guts spilling out of him.”

You gasped, making eye contact with König. Both of them laughed, maliciously and playfully.

“I’m just fucking with you, we brought the guy in, he’s serving time in hell.”

König looked at Horangi, thankful he had slightly changed the ending, and then at you, unsure if you were ready for the truth

“Let’s head outside. I’m sweating..”

Horangi continued sharing stories of them out of the field, König interjecting a couple times to tell him “that’s not how I remembered it exactly,” then retelling the story exactly how it was.

You weren’t sure if you were surprised by him or scared, König was so different from what you were used to. The Sunday football guy, the man who teased you and embarrassed you in public, or who had whispered his childhood past to you in the late hours of the night. You just couldn’t believe this was him outside of your bubble together.

König excused himself to go to the bathroom. Horangi put out his cigarette and came over to you.

“You.. uh… not bothered by the comment earlier right?”

You blushed, “No not at all, just um, curious as to what he is outside of here.”

Horangi nodded his head, looking like he was going to miss an opportunity, he spoke,

“I’m just glad you make him happy.. I’m glad he found his partner.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but you felt sad. König was your person, and as much as he didn’t say it, the evidence was clear. “I love this guy, and I hope you love him the way I do.”

König came out, seeing how Horangi and your knees touched. He hoped Horangi didn’t try to pull his “tiger moves” on you.

“Come here schatz,” he sat next to you, bringing your couch blanket, “I’ll start a bonfire.”

Horangi looked at you and smiled, his friend was really into you.

“Becareful with this guy… fuckin' pyromanic. Have I told you about how he set a jungle on fire?”

#könig #könig x reader #call of duty #könig x horangi #konig call of duty #konig x reader #könig mw2 #cod horangi #könig x you #cod könig #könig cod

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 years

Note

Was rereading the Naga!AU and pregnant Zookeeper MC, so what are the Zoo Moths reactions to pregnant MC?

Sans: Mc starts visiting Sans more and more as her pregnancy goes on. She doesn’t realise its because her body is craving his relaxing pheromones to relieve her of the constant aches and stress. When she sits with him, the pain in her back and feet slowly disappears, the nausea that accompanies her everywhere finally ebbs away, she feels like she can lean back and relax; she really shouldn’t... but when she’s having trouble sleeping through the night, a long nap in Sans’ enclosure is often too good to resist. Especially considering how soft he is.

... As for Sans... he’s euphoric. This is exactly what he’s been waiting for, he knows he’s succeeded. This is why he’s been so calculating, this is exactly why he’s spent months putting on fake gentle smiles and easy expressions, masking his possessiveness and instinctive aggression behind purring and preening. This is his patience and carefulness paying off. In (arguably) her most vulnerable state, she’s not only actively seeking him out, she’s then letting down her guard entirely. The other two can snarl and posture sulk all they like... at the end of the day, she’s coming to him for safety. For affection, for care. Because he’s her TRUE mate.

While she’s sleeping, he likes to put his hands on her stomach. He always wants to protect that part of her... and it’s nice to feel their the baby’s Soul.

Red: Initially, Red shows no difference in behaviour. When he first realises she’s pregnant, he just reacts by being very gentle and cute with her, pinching her cheeks and purring with a dazzlingly wide grin; Mc’s relieved, she was cautious, afraid the pregnancy might trigger his crazy state and make him unsafe to be around. But he seems calm, he seems like his normal teasing self, curious about her belly but with a noticeable cautiousness that definitely eases her fears.

Then she steps out of the enclosure, and a fellow employee gets a bit too close to her for Red’s liking. He goes nuts, charging the enclosure walls with the red of his wings glowing bright enough to be visible in daylight, steaming from the mouth and snarling so loud people in the next room over can feel it in their chests. The anger is worse than anything anyone’s ever seen, even in his most intense insane states; sometimes he doesn’t look like Red anymore.

The message is loud and clear. Red doesn’t like seeing anyone get close to her. He’s puppy-gentle with Mc, but he’ll attack anyone who so much as breathes too close to her.

Skull: The moment he realised she was pregnant was key. He was happy to see her and he put his face in her hair like he always does, but he seemed to pick up on a scent that confused him. He moved down and smelled her cheek, accidentally causing her to giggle... then he crouched all the way down, and carefully sniffed around her stomach.

... And just like that, his entire demeanour flipped. Shy, scared, clingy Skull disappeared. Whatever took his place has a steely stare, a dark expression, an eerie smile that says nothing and a touch that doesn’t give you a choice. Mc is understandably very nervous about his sudden personality switch- as soon as she can, she slips out of his enclosure and refuses to go back in.

He’s changed. When she’s nearby, he gets incredibly aggressive and territorial with other staff, even the ones he tolerated before. He’s massively agitated by even her usual routine disappearances. He starts concealing his food, glowing his wings and staring at her nonstop... but the thing that worries her the most is the fact that he’s stopped hiding. Now, rather than going back to his den, he paces back and forth in his enclosure on all six limbs, growling incessantly. If she’s outside his cage he’ll be right up against the glass watching her, and if she’s not there he’ll pace the length of it like a restless tiger.

Mc’s scared. This isn’t the gentle moth she grew to trust, this is a frightening creature whose eye tells her to come here but whose very presence causes her instincts to scream. Until he starts acting normal again, she’s not risking it.

#llamagines #moth sanses au #zoo moth sanses au #red and skull out here scaring her and losing cuddle privileges #meanwhile sans is like #[holds mc in one arm + cups of tea for both of them] tragic. alexa play ''lofi beats to kiss your wife to''

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shalotttower · 5 months

Text

Bound

Title: Bound

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Summary: It's been two months since you ended up in a bunker with Joseph Seed.

Word count: 1300+

Characters: Joseph Seed x Reader (female)

Notes: Bunker ending, soft (?) yandere Joseph Seed, forced proximity (non-sexual), character study, power imbalance.

What baffles you most is the conviction with which Joseph speaks of his beliefs. As someone who is used to doubt a lot of things and subject them to the most stringent analyses, it's astounding, and not in a good way.

It's not that you think the possibility of a superior, omnipresent, all-seeing being, capable of making miracles and influencing the lives of all men, is something unlikely or impossible. You simply don't think such a deity, if one existed, would waste time granting an individual the unique ability to hear their voice. And if you know something about god after a few years of Catholic school back when you were a kid, is that kidnappings, torture and mass conditioning are not on the list of virtues.

Joseph is eccentric. Even by cult leader standards. And the more he speaks, the more you want to bury your head under the pillow or chew on the bedframe until he stops. The problem is that Joseph doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon. He's been talking for about an hour already; a little bit of the Testaments, a whole lot of the Book of Revelation.

Your bed isn't exactly comfortable and the springs dig painfully into the small of your back, but at least it has clean bedsheets. It's the only one in the bunker; there're two more in the medical room, but Joseph is keeping the keys from it somewhere only he knows. Every time the topic of sleeping arrangements comes up, he reiterates over and over, like one of those broken tapes, that you're sharing. "God provides" and "the Voice is benevolent" and the bunker is "prepared for the future family of Eden". You do your best not to think about the latter. The fact that you're stuck with him for the next...how long in fact? Four years, five, six? It's enough alone.

"You're not listening," he says suddenly, startling you.

"I am," you lie.

"You're not."

"I am," you continue, knowing well that you'll never win this argument.

He sighs, like you're a student who refuses to learn despite all his efforts. "What was the last thing I said?"

You shrug, and he sighs again.

"Please, child," he says, placing his book on the bedside table. He always does that, uses the word like it's a term of endearment, not a mark of his condescension. You want to object. You have a name. And you're as far from a child as you could possibly be: a grown woman with a mortgage (which doesn't matter now) and a stable job (that doesn't exist anymore), and friends (you don't know what happened to them). You don't tell him that though. If there's one thing you're sure of, it's that arguing with him is a waste of breath.

"The Flood," you say reluctantly. Joseph nods, satisfied, and you roll your eyes.

He likes monologuing. Back when you were cuffed to the frame, in the very beginning of this mess, he'd sit by your side and quote scripture or recount the events from his life; and you had to listen, because there was nothing else to do. At least now you can walk around, though it still doesn't stop him from pestering you whenever he pleases. There isn't a single spot where you could be completely alone — he hovers behind you like a shadow wherever you go. Sometimes it feels like Joseph Seed is everywhere: in every crevice of the bunker; on each surface; seeping through cracks; crawling up your skin, unavoidable, suffocating.

You wonder what will happen first — you going insane or the nuclear winter ceasing outside. Or maybe Joseph will run out of his formidable patience and finally snap your neck. You doubt the latter though. Joseph Seed seems unfazed by everything: insults, threats, pleas, curses, silence. He strokes your hair when you're not on your best days or holds your hands while walking down to the kitchen area, like he genuinely cares about you, or believes that he does. His hands are calloused and stronger than they look, much stronger, in fact; they hold you firmly by arms to keep you still when you try to wriggle out of his embrace during the night, and they also tighten painfully on your wrist whenever you attempt to leave his lectures before he allows you.

"Are you done?" You ask, interrupting Joseph mid-sentence. "I need to pee."

He pauses, looking at you for another minute before closing his book. That's something he does too during these sessions: makes you wait until he grants permission for even the most basic things like relieving yourself.

"Yes," he answers after a prolonged moment of contemplation. "It doesn't look like you're paying attention anyway."

You stand up, ignoring this comment. Joseph follows you with his gaze as you cross the room and disappear behind the door. You wish the bathroom had a lock at least — there's none, he says that seclusion breeds danger, probably cautious of suicide attempts. He has decency not to follow you in though. At least in that regard, Joseph respects your privacy, even though the concept is probably foreign to him.

You despise it so damn much: his presence, his touch, your forced proximity and those cold, piercing blue eyes. Joseph Seed unsettles you on a deep level — there's something fundamentally off about him, something you can't put your finger on from the start, but it's there, in the way he stares without blinking; in how calm and collected he remains even when you scream and kick when he just can't fucking get it and give you a moment to breathe. Joseph is unnerving, and his voice...his goddamn voice now haunts you whenever you're not with him, even here, in the bathroom.

And you think Joseph knows it. Of course, he does. It's written on your face, clear as day. He is perceptive like that, observant like few other people you know. But it doesn't deter him. He sees through the wariness that permeates your whole being, straight to your heart where he's nestled comfortably already, making himself a permanent fixture. Joseph Seed isn't going anywhere. You're both stuck here together until the very end of it.

You wash your hands afterward and glance at your reflection in the mirror above the sink. A pale face greets you in response — it hasn't seen sunlight for almost two months. Your skin feels dry no matter how many times you massage the ointment Joseph brought from the storage in it. There are bags under your eyes too. You wish he didn't care at all. Just let you be.

"Are you hungry?" Joseph asks, when you step out of the bathroom. You shake your head; there're some food leftovers from lunch, but you aren't in the mood for eating. He frowns slightly. "Child..."

"Don't call me that," you snap. You're tired of it, and feel like the period which has been absent during the first month will soon catch up on you. "I have a name."

"I am aware," he answers slowly. Joseph tilts his head to the side, considering you for a minute or two. Then, with measured steps like one would come to a frightened animal, he approaches and reaches out with his hand. The touch is soft, careful; it sends shivers down your spine and you try to retreat, Joseph catches you with ease, pulling you closer. His arm wraps around your waist in a gesture that's supposed to be soothing. Well, it's not. You struggle to get free, but he is stronger, despite his lean build.

"Let go," you protest weakly. Joseph hushes you and puts his chin on top of your head. You don't want him so close, it also frightens you how fast his touch grows familiar, as well as this sense of false security. Like he's putting a blanket over your eyes. His hand stokes your back, up, down, repeat.

"God sends us trials," he murmurs into the top of your head. "We must endure them. And I'll be here to help you bear this burden."

You want to gag, but swallow instead.

"I'll make some soup," Joseph adds after another moment of prolonged silence. He lets you go finally and retreats to the kitchen area with unhurried steps.

#far cry 5 #joseph seed #joseph seed x reader #shalott fanfiction #fanfic #far cry 5 fanfiction

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shootybangbang · 5 months

Text

The Upsides of Property Damage [Part 4/5]

Authored by @verai-marcel and @shootybangbang

[Ao3 link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Mature

[Content Advisory]: light D/S undertones

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

[Author's Note]: Thank you guys so, so much for your patience, and so sorry for the delay! Most of chapter 5 has been completed and should be out soon. If you want to be notified when that comes out, go ahead and leave a comment down below and I'll make a taglist or something.

--------

The maintenance request form states: [Please give a brief description of the problem.]

for the past few days i've been so fixated on fucking the maintenance man that i've been having difficulty accomplishing basic tasks because every time i try to concentrate on anything even remotely meaningful all i can think about is him saying "maybe you just enjoy my company" and if this keeps up i'm fairly certain that i'm going to actually get fired from my job so clearly i need to either get laid or get evicted

This statement makes you look certifiably insane. It’s not even a request– it’s a confession . Sending this would be tantamount to seating yourself beside the grated window of a church booth and asking its captive priest whether he’d prefer you spit or swallow.

More importantly, it also exceeds the text box’s 250 character limit. You rapidly tap the delete key until the entire obscene paragraph disappears. Then you try again.

broken cabinet.

Hmm. Lacks an element of genuine contrition.

broken cabinet. sorry. :’(

[Your service request has been logged. Please allow up to one standard business day for a response.]

You glance at the time displayed on the microwave’s grease-spattered screen. 4:36PM. Morgan’s probably already packed up for the day– and taking normal operating hours into account, the earliest he could possibly show up tomorrow would be 9AM… which gives you at least sixteen hours to emotionally prepare yourself to confront him.

Morosely, you drag yourself out of your kitchen chair to pour yourself a glass of sparkling water. So this is what I’ve sunk to . Using service requests as a means of personal summons for the hot repairman. Pathetic. Shameful. And 100% necessary for the preservation of your sanity.

How many times have you pictured it now? Morgan, cornering you against the wall and wrapping his hand around your jaw… Or maybe , he’d rumble, caressing your lower lip with his thumb. You just enjoy my company . Then he’d fuck you silly, of course, in a series of lurid positions that grow increasingly obscene with each imagining.

And how many times have you pictured its inverse? Morgan, backing away in response to your hypothetical advance, his face contorted with faint disgust as he asks, “You know I was just joking, right?” Following which you’d get written up for sexual harassment by the leasing office and put on… housing probation, or something.

Being humiliated, you can handle. Albeit not very well— but you’re usually able to stay at least semi-functional. The same goes for flirtation. It’s this hopeless vacillation between the two possibilities that drives you out of your mind. Schrodinger’s boner: simultaneously fucked and unfucked. And like that quantum superposition, you’ve been plunged into a private hell of uncertainty until your reality can settle definitively on one or the other.

This has been predictably bad for your job performance. Earlier today, you’d accidentally deleted two entire spreadsheets of data whilst lost in competing visions of fornication and abject rejection, and then constructed a pivot table so incomprehensible that one of your colleagues had personally reached out to ask whether you’d recently experienced head trauma.

God. At this point, you really have no choice but to put the question to him directly. Plain and simple. Just a quick “are you hitting on me” and it’ll all be–

Your thoughts are interrupted by an urgent knock at the door.

Huh. Looks like Defying Your Blue Collar Dom is getting delivered a day early? It’s unusual for Amazon to leave packages at your doorstep instead of in the lobby, but it does happen, so…

…Oh.

It’s Morgan. What the fuck.

“But you were supposed to come tomorrow ,” you blurt, eyes wide with panic.

“That so?” Morgan asks, one eyebrow raised. He glances sidelong to the empty hallway, and shifts his weight uneasily from one leg to the other. With a shrug, he squares up his shoulders and turns back towards the stairwell. “Later, then.”

Shit. This is all going wrong. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I– I, uh…I’m… ”

He allows your stammer to run its course into awkward silence. Then the corner of his mouth angles upwards in a sly smile and he asks, “Or d’you need a minute to put away anything else your ‘friend’ mighta left out? I can wait.”

Somewhere in the realm of missed quips, there probably exists a clever response to this. Somewhere that is decidedly not here. “No,” you reply in a small, pained voice. “She, uh– she hasn’t been around, so… y’know…”

The sentence unspools like loose yarn. Jesus Christ, this is stupid.

“You alright?” Morgan asks, frowning down at you from where he stands. “You ain’t normally this incoherent.”

His comment implies that you’ve been operating thus far on an existing, baseline level of incoherence. Biting back the urge to query exactly what that looks like, you reply with a clipped, terse, “I’m fine.”

As you lead him towards your kitchen, you nearly trip over the half-packed suitcase parked beside the door. At this, Morgan again voices his concern. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this on edge before. Something botherin’ you?”

Yes , you think to yourself. My libido.

“Or is it some one that’s botherin’ you?”

He says the words with such a darkly implicative undertone that you actually turn around to stare at him, disarmed by the sudden shift. The warmth in his eyes has gone out like a blown candle. “Is it one of the other maintenance men?” he asks, and the whisper of lethality in his countenance surfaces so quickly that it speaks to a kind of practiced efficiency.

A mingled thrill of fear and intrigue runs up your spine, and you swallow hard.

“If one of ‘em’s harassin’ you— if anyone’s harassin’ you…” he says these words with slow deliberation, while curling his free hand into a fist, thumb tucked over his folded fingers in that characteristic manner of boxers and street brawlers alike, and god if he were anyone else you’d likely be shrinking against the wall in terror right now. “Then you come tell me. And I’ll handle it.”

You have a sneaking suspicion that his method of conflict resolution involves grievous bodily injury. “Nobody’s bothering me,” you reply. Then, because he still looks vaguely homicidal, you follow up quickly with, “Just had an off day.”

This placates him somewhat. The tension diminishes like a rope going slack, and you realize with a hot pang of humiliation that your underwear is slick with arousal.

It’s not until he’s crouched in front of your broken cabinet, which stands ajar with its wooden door peaked at a 45 degree angle, that you finally work up the nerve to confront him. “So. Morgan.” You lean against the edge of your kitchen countertop like the faux marble might offer you emotional support. “There’s, uh. Something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

He’s sorting through his tool kit and doesn’t lift his head. Picks through an array of silver chiseled pieces so deftly that you can’t help but wonder what else those hands might be clever at. “Yeah?’ he asks, selecting a screwdriver head. He slips it into the drill chuck, twisting it tight.

“Are you, um…”

Fuck. You can’t say it. Your mouth literally refuses to shape itself to the words. Instead, you hear yourself ask, “Are you thirsty? You want some seltzer?”

Morgan blinks, then turns to you looking predictably baffled. “That’s… what you’ve been wantin’ to ask me? Whether or not I’m thirsty?”

“Yes,” you reply weakly.

For once, it’s him who’s been caught off guard. “I– uh. Sure, I guess.”

He takes his drill and begins to remove the damaged hinge. Taking the door leaf and flipping it this way and that, he examines the damage.

The crack of aluminum when you pull back the can’s metal tab and the responding fizz of compressed air sounds a little like a rebuke. Scathingly, it hisses: what the hell are you doing?

I have no idea , you admit, pouring the can of sparkling water into a clean glass. You pass it over to Morgan after he presses the trigger on the drill twice and sets it on the countertop. He gulps down an absent mouthful, then immediately stands up to spit it in your sink.

Oh. He hates it.

Your voice is thin as a reed. “I guess you’re not a fan of sparkling grapefruit, huh?”

“It’s…” With the duty-bound reluctance of a dog given a loathed order, he takes another, tentative sip, and forces himself to swallow. “It’s fine.”

It is clearly not fine. “Do you, uh. Do you want a beer?”

“What, you encouragin’ me to drink on the job?”

You open the fridge. Good god, you might as well partake too. It’s not like you’re in any state to get any work done, stuck as you are in this miserable limbo . “In any case, I’m gonna have one. And I’m still on the clock.”

“Alright.” He sounds like he’s smiling. “So long as you’re complicit, why not?”

You end up downing half a bottle of 8% oatmeal stout in about three sips, then stand around blankly waiting for the roil of anxiety to abate. You’d attempt the precarious endeavor of small talk were it not for the fact that the only thing you can think of right now is “grapefruit”. Not the concept of grapefruit. Just the word “grapefruit”. This must be how computers feel when they spit out the same, continuous error message.

Mercifully, he intervenes. “You goin’ on vacation somewhere? Saw that suitcase by your door.”

“Catsitting,” you say.

“’…s’cuse me?”

“Catsitting. Like… babysitting. But for a cat,” you explain. “My friend’s going to Vegas the day after tomorrow, and her cat has anxiety.”

“Cats can get anxiety?”

“This cat takes cat Xanax . His name is Sebastian, and he’s the most neurotic animal I’ve ever met.”

Morgan asks, “Yourself included?”

You make a noise that bears no resemblance to any word in the English language.

He chuckles. “Well, go on, tell me how neurotic he is.”

Thank fucking christ, the alcohol is finally beginning to course its way through your blood. Your tongue loosens enough to tell him how poor Sebastian had spent nearly an entire day curled up under your friend’s bed the first time you’d tried to take care of him, how you’d ended up driving to the grocery on a Sunday morning to scour the shelves for the most pungent can of sardines they had in stock, and how only then , with the room saturated in fish fumes, had the cat finally dragged itself out of the boxspring to nose curiously at your offering.

Morgan laughs. A good sign, you think. “That’s nothin’,” he says, and describes to you his boss’ cat: a purebred white Persian appropriately dubbed “The Count”, so thoroughly spoiled that she won’t eat the same meal twice in a row.

You snort at the image of a prissy little fluff ball turning her nose at a gourmet cat meal.

“Though it’s funny, I never took you for a cat person,” he says.

“No?”

“Figured you’d prefer snails.”

“Look, snails… snails are…” This is a sentence you started with absolutely no knowledge of how it should end. “I like snails,” you say lamely.

“Oh yeah? Think I remember somethin’ else that you like.” He puts his hand around his jaw and pretends to look thoughtful. “What was that book called again? Somethin’ about… bein’ punished by blue collar doms?”

“I’m sure that my friend who left her book on blue collar doms here very much enjoys them, if that’s what you’re referencing.”

He merely chuckles indulgently as he continues to fix the cabinet. You watch his muscles flex under his shirt as he drills new holes into the wood and sets the new hinge in place. As he works the power tool with a soft grunt, you find yourself idly wondering if he’d make the same sound as he drills you —

“Y’know,” he comments, stepping back as he tests the alignment of the door. “I’m actually kind of impressed. This is the most work I’ve ever had to do for a single apartment, barring natural disasters.”

“Wow. Comparing a girl to a natural disaster. Are you this charming with all the tenants, Mr Morgan?”

“You gonna be jealous if I say ‘yes’?”

The alcohol makes you honest. “Extremely.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” He grabs the edge of the kitchen counter and hauls himself back to his feet. “If this is the amount of property damage you cause normally, then I’d hate to see you angry.”

He takes another step forward. You take a step back reflexively, but find yourself pressed against the wall. He leans his forearm against the drywall and he’s close enough now that you can smell sweat and machine oil. Your heart beats hard in your chest.

For once you’re lost for words. No quip comes to mind, for your brain is emitting sparks. “I, uh– I’m not–”

“You’re not what, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” you say weakly.

He raises his hand to your jaw, tips your chin up with two fingers. “The answer’s ‘no’, by the way,” he says quietly. “It’s just you.”

Morgan looks like he’s going to kiss you. The expression on his face is softer than you’ve ever seen it, all his gruffness melted away. You tentatively tug at the fabric of his jumpsuit and stand on your toes to–

But he puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you back down. “Goddamn,” he says, frowning. “You’re really red.”

Huh. What.

“Listen, I ain’t one for takin’ advantage of drunks, even if they got themselves into this mess.” He picks you up as if you weigh nothing at all and sets you down on the couch. “Now, I’m goin’ to get you some water, and yer goin’ to sit here and sober up while I finish this cabinet. Alright?”

“I’m not even that drunk,” you protest loudly.

“Yer about the color of a fire hydrant right now.”

When you press the back of your hand to your cheeks and forehead, your skin feels feverish. Begrudgingly, you sink down into your couch cushions and cross your arms.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, patting your head affectionately.

***

You slouch on your friend’s comfy couch with Sebastian sitting regally in your lap as if you were his loyal subject.

“Hey Sebastian, I think I did something really stupid.”

Sebastian stretches and yawns.

“I hit on the maintenance man.”

He meows. It sounds almost disapproving. Even the cat is judging you.

“It gets worse.” You loll your chin downwards until it touches your chest. “I was sloppy drunk.”

Sebastian tilts his head at you and blinks.

“Okay, one bottle drunk.”

He sniffs haughtily.

“Right? Pathetic, I know.” You move to pick up Sebastian, but he begins to arch his back and you stop, leaning back against the cushions again. He relaxes and maintains his regal position.

“Well, maybe YouTube will keep my mind off him for the next two days…”

***

You return from your friend’s place, having used her cat and your friend’s YouTube Premium as your therapy sessions. You feel better about things now, and life should return to normal. Right?

The washer’s inner mechanism gives a promising rattle as it swallows your last six quarters. There’s a low rumble of moving parts, the click of something slotting into place— and then silence. The drum of the machine sits sedately in place. Your dirty clothes sit inside in a quiet, unsoaked heap.

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter under your breath.

You try out a couple different methods: Turn the knobs to various settings without success. Jiggle the handle to try and unlock the washer door. Yell at the machine, call it a worthless piece of shit.

But where discourse fails, violence often prevails. It’s a lesson that has offered a decent measure of success in your dealings with vending machines, keurigs, and lawnmowers. So it’s not merely anger that guides you to kick the washer. No, this is… this is a strategic use of force.

The first kick yields no results. The second kick produces an interesting sputter. Perhaps , you reason, a more precise method is needed here . You raise your fist.

Before you can punch the machine, someone grabs you by the wrist.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Morgan asks, exasperated.

“Laundry,” you answer matter-of-factly.

“What part of laundry involves fightin’ inanimate objects?”

“The part where I get this piece of shit to finally work.” You attempt to give the washer a last parting shot out of pure anti-machine sentiment with your other hand.

Before you can continue to perform percussive maintenance, he grabs your other wrist too.

You tug on both your arms, but he is ridiculously solid; it’s like trying to break free of handcuffs.

Of course my mind goes there.

Looking up at him, he’s realizing at the same time as you of how suggestive this looks. His eyes widen a bit, and you take that as a look of surprise and embarrassment. Yet neither of you moves for a full minute.

“Well,” you say finally. “Are you gonna let me go? Or are you gonna make me submit?”

His eyes narrow for a moment before a smirk slowly grows on his face. “Sounds like that’s what you want.”

He pulls you away from the machine and instead pushes you up against the closest wall. You can feel the heat of his body through the thin linen of your sundress. He traps your wrists against the cold surface and presses his whole body against yours.

“Mr Morgan—”

“It’s Arthur,” he interrupts. “Call me Arthur.”

You whisper his name, beckoning. His expression darkens ever so slightly as his desire for you manifests in a slight twitch of his lips, a crinkling of his brow.

Then he kisses you hard, his tongue lashing against yours before lightly nipping your bottom lip. When he pulls back, his lips are wet and his pupils are blown out with desire.

Letting go of your wrists, he reaches for the hem of your sundress and hikes it up, his calloused hands stroking upwards from your thighs to your hips. He shifts his knee between your legs and nudges them apart before grinding against you. You can feel how hard he is, how big he is, and you moan softly. Burying his head between your neck and shoulder, he begins to suck on the delicate skin there—

The door creaks open. Mrs. Smith, the septuagenarian from down the hall, walks into the doorway with a hamper of laundry in her arms, then pauses when she sees the two of you.

For a second, everyone stands tense and still as participants in a shootout.

“Well,” Mrs. Smith says mildly. She doesn’t look surprised or scandalized. If anything, she looks mildly entertained. “I can see you two are busy. I’ll come back in an hour or so—”

“No! It’s fine,” you say before laughing nervously. You yank your skirt back down. Arthur immediately releases you and begins intensely inspecting the washing machine. “I was actually just leaving. This, uh, this machine’s broken.”

Morgan’s face is red as he makes a noise of confirmation and nods.

“That certainly seemed a novel means of repair,” Mrs. Smith says. The smile on her face is benign, but knowing.

“Anyway!” You pick up your empty laundry basket. “I really must get back. I have a…that is, I… I think I left my oven on.”

You barrel out the door, nearly knocking Mrs. Smith over in your escape. You run down three flights of stairs and into your apartment, slamming the door shut. Marching to your couch, you put a pillow over your face and scream .

***

Watching her leave, Arthur stands in shock at first, then glances over at Mrs. Smith and turns himself towards one of the washing machines, examining it with great focus.

A soft chuckle reaches his ears and he turns his head to look at the old lady, steadily pulling out one piece of laundry at a time from another machine. Under the pretense of examining all the machines, he notes that she also slowly and methodically loads the dryer.

“You should just go after her,” she says quietly, throwing a pair of large pink underpants into the dryer. “She’s a nice one, that girl.”

Arthur can only mutter, “I got work to do.”

“Come now, we both know that’s a lie.”

He sighs. It’s bad enough that John is on his case, but now 705 is giving him grief.

“Do you like her?”

He’s silent. He does not want to be having this conversation.

“Because a girl as pretty as her…”

“I know, I know,” Arthur grumbles. “I’m goin’.”

As he walks past her, Mrs. Smith grins knowingly.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #fic #modern au #verai-marcel #upsides of property damage

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leggerefiore · 7 months

Text

Opposing The Villainous Team Leaders

cw: angsty as usual, questioning of trust, sort of happy endings?

characters: Lysandre, Cyrus, Archie, Maxie

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ He was well aware of the trainer interfering in his team's plans. It was also known that they resembled you, his lover. Lysandre truly did not believe it was, however. There was no reason for you to do such a thing. You were, of course, a member of Team Flare yourself. Not an active one, no, he would not have you so deeply involved. Your membership was simply understood. At least, to him. It was mostly him trying to convince himself it was a misunderstanding or that some person had disguised themselves as you to harm him.

☕️ Which is why he felt confused when one of his admins had reported your presence at the Pokeball Factory. A picture was undeniable proof. Your pokemon party was something he knew well. A shiny Pyroar featured in the picture was a gift from him. His heart burned. It must have been a misunderstanding. You would never do such a thing. Your support for his creation of a beautiful world was something he had heard many times. Long conversations between the cusp of slumber and consciousness, or over a cup of coffee in his café. This must have been you thinking they were doing something cruel. Your heart was too fragile; exactly why you were not an active member.

☕️ Another image came to him of you in Frost Cavern, stopping Team Flare from taking a Mamoswine. His patience was growing short, but he understood your heart was in the right place. You were truly kind. It was a reason he had fallen in love with you. That was why he kept his true plans a secret from you for so long. The frustration of his scientists and admins was bleeding into him, however. Your interference could put you at risk. Lysandre subtly tried to distract you with assorted dates and meetings in Lumiose.

☕️ It seemed as if it worked. You were too busy to act out and kept in his line of sight for careful monitoring. He felt relieved that the misunderstanding had been resolved. It truly must have been an unfortunate case of your kind heart leading to you accidentally opposing him. You were a beautiful person who could be the one to claim Lysandre as a lover. It was why felt confident to release his message and truly begin his plans. The key was nearly his for the Ultimate Weapon.

☕️ Then, you showed up in his labs with a horribly aggressive expression. Your eyes landed on him as he stood in front of the elevator. Had something happened? He was about to ask when you snapped at him. “What in the world do you think you're doing?” you shouted and brought out a pokeball. He felt offended. What did you think you were doing? “I won't let you do this,” you continued and tossed out your pokemon. He stood in even more offence. You… You couldn't be truly intending to…? Lysandre sighed. He engaged you in battle with little hesitation.

☕️ Your victory made him more upset. What had got into you? This behaviour was simply unlike you. He watched as you stepped towards him. Your eyes met his. “... Lysandre, please stop this,” you begged him, “This is insanity! You truly can't intend to kill everyone but Team Flare!” Your kind heart again… Oh, how your hurt expression wounded him deeply. He shook his head. It was far too late to back out from his plans. You simply were fighting the inevitable, but having you in the way would be painful. The risk of you leaving a safe location was also something he considered heavily. Distracting you by letting you play the hero seemed best for now.

☕️ Which is how he allowed things to continue. The weapon would be used whether you wished it to or not, you just needed to allow him enough time to prepare it. He even let you make the choice in an attempt to appeal to your better nature. Unfortunately, you guessed the button to stop the weapon. He had already long gone from the labs at that point, however. The final phase was upon them. Lysandre knew you would follow after him, too. Your safety was still ensured. He would bide more time when you got here.

☕️ Your opposition grew more and more frustration as the end drew closer, yet closer. The way you argued with him about this, feeling more like a lover's quarrel than something of philosophical debate. The resulting battle failed to buy him enough time to activate the weapon, and his loss had him stand aside. His admins and grunts would have to be the one's to halt you, it seemed. Before you left down the staircase, he felt his stomach twist painfully. Of all people, you being so foolish was not expected. Your rejection of the beautiful world he wished to create was something that burned him painfully.

☕️ His already ruined mood was pure rage as admins alerted him that you managed to awaken and capture the legendary pokemon despite numerous attempts to stop you. He rushed down to retrieve it, tired of letting you play hero. They were ninety-nine percent done with the absorption. There was no more reason to let you keep playing these games. Lysandre would unfortunately have to crush the hope that had coasted you along thus far. He stood stiffly before you as you glared at him. “My love,” his voice was commanding, “Return the pokemon at once. This is for the best. I know you have your reservations, but I do not wish for this to become any more difficult than it already has been.” Your silent head shake spoke louder than words could have been shouted. When this was over, he would force you to see his plans were the right thing.

☕️ The moments after the battle were a mess of rage and pain. He screamed and threats were issued. You were unaffected by it all as you simply dragged him away from the darkened chamber of nothing but wire and ominous dull light. His contingency plan failed, as he watched the weapon's attack fall back toward it and destroy the hideout underneath. Lysandre wished he could have been smothered under the rubble rather than face the failure of his plans, but it seemed you were not for allowing that either. He ordered you and you to an isolated retreat as he recuperated from the ordeal. You had ruined everything he had so tirelessly worked for. Yet, he could not even bring himself to hate you. He stood beside you as you gazed at a lapping ocean from the sanctuary of a balcony. “... You have chosen a world of conflict and suffering,” he sighed, “This beautiful world will rot.” You just leaned into his side in reply, silently nuzzling into the soft fabric of his robe. Lysandre bit his tongue. For now, the topic would be postponed.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ The Galactic Boss had heard about the trainer who kept interrupting his team's activities. At first, he opted to ignore it. His subordinates failings were annoying, sure, but it was no actual hindrance to his plans. The trainer could keep playing hero, he did not care. His underlings complaints and descriptions did not even draw his curiosity. It was this apathy, in retrospect, that made the actual situation have such an awful impact on him.

☄️ Celestic Town was supposed to be an intel gathering trip. He still needed to confirm a few theories and possibilities before completely putting his plans into action. One of his grunts, there to assist him, was being loud suddenly. He came to investigate why and felt himself freeze. Of all people… His posture became horribly stiff. The Galactic grunt, an old lady… and you. He tried to maintain himself. So, what if you were here? You were free to go wherever you pleased. Cyrus was not restrictive towards his partner.

☄️ Your battle with the grunt was over in an instant. The moment your eyes met, he could understand everything. The grunt looking mortified to have been defeated in front of him to you staring at him with widened eyes. “… Beloved,” he said simply, “This is unfortunate. I had not wished to involve you in this.” It was obvious you were not listening to his explanation for why he was doing this, which worsened his now ruined mood. The battle that followed caught him off-guard, despite being the one to initiate. His loss must have been due to the affection his pokemon held toward you. Cyrus forced himself to ignore the discomfort your glare singed into him. Temporary, he reminded himself.

☄️ The stories of a trainer interfering in his team's work now haunted him as he headed back to Veilstone. Had you known it was him that lead Team Galactic before then? It did not seem so. Your reaction was that of genuine surprise. Every negative emotion this situation wrought forth from the both of you would be gone with the completion of his plans. Still, he felt strangely… upset. His chest felt tight in a way it had not for many years. It was not a surprise to find you had packed a bag and seemingly left the apartment you both shared. The tightness in his chest felt suffocating.

☄️ His commanders' frustrations about the trainer came through their lines of communication after the awakening and subsequent kidnapping of the legendary pokemon of the lakes. You were not making this easy. Everything was nearly done. His stress was already high enough as it were. All of his commanders being utterly defeated by you made him ponder what this was leading up to. The tightness in his chest grow painful. His hand grasped his shirt over it. The disgusting incomplete spirit forced inside was nothing but torment.

☄️ A last speech to his team left him with a dry throat and tired mind. Forcing himself to speak publicly was always exhausting, but even more so when he saw you attempting to hide just out of sight. Cyrus still was not entirely sure how the following confrontation would fare for you both. It was little surprise when you stepped into his office. Your face was fierce… Until, it was not. Part of him wished to mock the fleeting emotions, but another piece that he wished to suppress the painful expression that fell across your face.

☄️ The battle between you both was one of willpower on both sides. Your heart was entirely in the battle, desperate to stop him, but he could not back down. Not so close to the realisation of his ideal world. You simply did not understand the peace this world would hold. All your conflicting emotions would fizzle away into nothingness, allowing you to finally be at ease. He, too, would be at ease. His victory felt hollow. Your tears nearly made him hesitate. They would no longer matter, he had to remind himself. This new world was mostly for him… But he would not lie and say he failed to consider the benefits of it for you. He left the building with the red chain securely in his possession. You would understand.

☄️ Your opposition saw you even to Spear Pillar. Mars and Jupiter barely managed to buy him enough time to force both the legendary pokemon of time and space out. Your panicked yell could only echo out as a third shadowy pokemon emerged. Annoyance filled Cyrus, but he already prepared himself to call upon the power of time and space and make his perfect world. You would be forgiven for opposing him. Soon, this will not matter at all – The uninvited pokemon came down over him.

☄️ His upset and rage only led to more upset and rage. Emotions, vile and consuming, swirled inside him. His plans were almost finished. You had made everything worse, grabbing onto him right before it had dragged him here. He was going to initiate another battle when you grabbed his hand. The heat of it sank into him. Your eyes were big as you stared at him. His hatred of spirit only grew harsher when he saw you in pain. “Cyrus… Stop, please," you begged him, “Do… Do you truly want to live in a world where we can't even love each other?” He froze.

☄️ You battled the pokemon, Giratina, not long after. He turned away after you captured it and returned to his side. Cyrus would not leave this world yet urged you to. There was no reason for you to remain here. You refused, naturally, and found yourself pressed to his side. There was nothing he could say to make you reconsider, he already knew. A final message to Saturn to not look for him and do to what he wished with Team Galactic left you both together in the strange dimension. He had no intentions of stopping pursuing his goals. “I will not stop,” he had warned, and you just smiled. A tight embrace from you told him everything without saying a word – Neither would you.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 Truly, when he saw you battling his grunts at the Oceanic Museum, he just shrugged it off. Battling was fun, and maybe they had done something to frustrate you. No big deal. You just did not get what they were doing because he had not told you. That was on him. Which why he squeezed you into a tight hug and explained what they were doing. You would get it, he trusted. His Luvdisc knew he would only act with good intentions for the bettering of pokemon and the oceans. Your expression still seemed a bit sceptical. Well, that was fine. You would come around and let it go.

💧 Then… Mt. Chimney happened. The investigation was going well until Maxie decided to have his grunts interrupt. It was annoying, but not something that would stop him. No, what stopped him was you. Beating Shelly, you rushed over with a pokeball still in your hand. What, had you missed him? He had been a bit busy for you lately. Before he could start to apologise, you demanded to know what he was doing with the meteorite. His explanation did not seem to please you, unfortunately. What was up with you? The pokemon you sent out told him you wanted a battle at least. He engaged you instantly. Your victory left him confused, but the meteorite plan was left behind with a message from Matt.

💧 Well, he may have been a bit in denial still, but a third confrontation kind of sealed your intentions to him. Your harsh expression as you demanded he stop was haunting, honestly. You being upset was not a sight he particularly enjoyed. Which is why it felt worse with the nearing of his plan's completion. He told Matt to handle you as he made off with the Blue Orb, not wanting to be swayed over by your pout even a little bit. Did you not believe in him? It stung, but he supposed everyone was entitled to their own feelings. Archie just wished yours did not lead to you opposing him so fiercely. He had to dodge your hand reaching out for him as he ran off. Your expression became something of hurt.

💧 You showing up at the harbour and demanding he stop this finally sealed it. Yeah, you had entirely disagreed with his intentions to wake up Kyogre. That would make you the second person in his life to explicitly call out his plans and go out of your way to attempt to stop them. He and Shelly got away in the submarine, while he felt deflated. Come on, why did it have to be you? He could stand Maxie doing it, but you were just salt on the wound. You seemed to love his interest in helping save the oceans and pokemon before, but when he actually has a fathomable goal, you start going against him? He crossed his arms. Great, now you had him second guessing himself.

💧 He had wanted you at his side for this. You would stand with him, just like Matt and Shelly, grinning as he awoke Kyogre from its slumber to set this world back to a pure state. But, instead, he had you upset with him and demanding he stop. Archie knew you would feel dumb when his plans were completed and everything was better. He would forgive you without needing an apology and put this period behind you both. It would be a nice change. As it was, he hated this. Your support was something he craved. It was not needed, but it would be pleasant to have you smile at him and tell him he was doing something good.

💧 When you burst into the cavern right after he beat Maxie, he felt in between a blast of pride at beating his rival and getting ready to awaken Kyogre and upset. You were trying to stop him again! He was absolutely not letting you this late in the game. Alright, he did not want to have to crush you, but he could not let you even think of stopping him any more. Your battle was intense and full of clear emotions. No matter the outcome, he was awakening Kyogre. Your victory still stung, though. More of your opposition digging into his heart. Shelly suddenly turning against him completely caught him off guard.

💧 Archie was mortified by what followed. The heavy downpour coming down hard on the surface nearly brought him to his knees. This was not what he had wanted at all. A world flood? Absolutely not. He found himself holding you in a tight hug, and he apologised for not listening to you. Instantly, he worked with you to stop the super-ancient pokemon. The Aqua Suit was handed off to you, while he could only hope for your safety as you headed deep into the cave. His relief came when the clouds departed from the sky, and you returned alive and well with the beast captured.

💧 The both of you ended up at his room in the Aqua Hideout some time afterwards, exhausted from the insane events of the day. You laid down on his bed while he took a seat beside you. He felt a bit too lucky you were there to stop him. If you had not been so aggressive in stopping him… He shuddered. This world would not be in a liveable state for anything. “I'm sorry,” Archie said with little hesitation, “I got too caught up in everything… Guess I wasn't thinking straight. It should have been obvious when you AND Shelly started sayin' it was a bad idea.” You looked at him curiously.

💧 Pulling him down, you forced him into a cuddle. He eagerly gave in, happy to finally have some precious alone time with his Luvdisc. Your hands came to cup his face, burying themselves in his beard. He chuckled a bit, but your expression was stern. You squeezed his face. “Bad Archie,” you told him, “You wanting to protect the oceans and pokemon is a good, noble thing, but if you try to flood everyone again, I'll leave you for Maxie or something.” He gasped. You would not! He hugged you tightly. That threat held some heavy weight.

💧 While your opposition had been upsetting, he was ultimately glad that you had done it. There was some kind of madness he would admit having lost himself in, and you being constantly on him about it made him actually be able to realise the errors of his actions. Plus, it was always good to know his partner was fully ready to stop him from doing something stupid. Next time, he hoped for a discussion from you and him to actually sit down and listen, however.

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 When he had encountered you battling his grunts at the museum, he had thought little of it. His assumption was that you were confused by his intentions. Understandable, truthfully, as he had yet to sit you down and converse about the ultimate goal of Team Magma with you. Despite being his partner, he had yet to involve you. While he may have chosen to stay in his hideout with his team, you did not live there. He sighed and apologised for any ill behaviour from his grunts before explaining his goals. You had nodded along, so he assumed that you understood that he was not up to anything malicious. Maxie expected this situation to be a one-off thing brought on by confusion and misunderstandings.

🪨 That, however, proved to be a wrong assessment on his part. Your presence at Mt. Chimney was unexpected. The fact that you seemingly went out of the way to defeat every single grunt – with the annoying aid of Team Aqua – in order to stop him from using the meteorite he had taken as a possible way to awaken Groudon. He barely had time to question just what you were doing before you tossed out a pokemon for a battle. Was this truly how this was going? Why were you opposing him? Did you not understand? He supposed he would simply have to show his intentions with a battle. Your victory left him astonished. Maxie was not unaware that you were a trainer, but he did not expect to be bested so easily. The volcano plan was begrudgingly given up.

🪨 Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence… A third almost certainly shows purpose, despite how he wished to deny that possibility. Maxie truly did not want to consider the idea that you opposed his goals. Why would you? Surely, you must have understood how important they were to him and trusted him enough to make a good decision. He felt his face genuinely drop at the sight of you at Mt. Pyre. A determined look shined in your eyes. His stomach twisted. Why was this happening? He kept up his facade as he excused himself and ordered Courtney to instead battle you. His plans were nearly completed, and he did not to risk losing time or sanity here. The look you glared into him pierced him deeply as he walked away.

🪨 Your appearance at the harbour truly forced the complicated feelings to set in. Your voice calling out to him and shaming him made his breathing fall uneven as he and Tabitha departed in the stolen submarine. When he felt alone, he ran a hand through his red hair while pondering your intentions. You had not said a word to him about disapproval or disagreement with his interesting in evolving humanity and aiding in overall progress. Suddenly, as soon as he decided to express interest in expanding the landmass, you started harshly and aggressively standing against him. It made him falter.

🪨 Truly, Maxie had wanted to invite you to join Team Magma and stand beside him as he brought his ambitions to fruition. That was simply impossible as it stood. It hurt to lose yet another person in his life to his plans. You would forgive him and apologise for your opposition when he had finished his plans, however. He took off his glasses and sighed in the cramped space of the submarine. Your support would truly do wonders. Only you could make him second guess himself, even with the endless support of his scientists, grunts, and admins.

🪨 You showing up in the Seafloor Cavern was utterly tormenting. Maxie had just defeated Archie as you entered the chamber with an upset expression on your face. He sighed. This was not time for proper discussion, alas. The look in your eyes told him that you absolutely felt the same. Groudon was within his reach. He hoped this defeat would convince you to his side. His loss frustrated him endlessly as he turned away from you. The painful feelings were enough from just having you against him, much less being defeated by you. Apparently your opposition was contagious, as Tabitha then decided to oppose him, too.

🪨 He was not one to admit when he was wrong. Maxie was headstrong and stubborn. Described much like his favourite choice in pokemon, but he even he felt obligated to apologise when he saw the world-ending scenario he had brought upon the world despite your continued attempts to stop him. He did not feel the horrible feeling in his chest subside, even after you risked your safety in trying to quell Groudon. You even managed to catch it. He bit his tongue for so long.

🪨 When it was finally you both alone in his room in the Magma Hideout, Maxie felt his trained posture drop as he gazed at you. You sat on his bed with your arms crossed. He took a seat beside you. His eyes could not meet your own from the shame burning in his chest. “I apologise,” he managed to get out after an uncomfortable silence, “… I still wish to pursue my goals of bettering humanity, but I see that my intentions with Groudon were short-sighted and dangerous.” The redhead finally moved to look at you. You seemed less upset.

🪨 Your arms came around him to pull him into a hug, making him freeze for a moment. The affection was something he had missed during this busy and stressful period of his life. The embrace was returned slowly. “Maxie, I love you a lot,” you softly told him. He felt his heart race. The words were reciprocated instantly, desperate to show that he still cared for you, too. “Now, you're a scientist, right,” you moved to look into his bespectacled gaze, “How did you not consider the possibility that Groudon would eliminate all water through its drought? Or even what offsetting the current balance of the earth would actually do short-term and long-term?” Maxie felt his cheeks burn. You were unfortunately right again.

🪨 Thankfully, your opposition was mostly understood after the high of summoning Groudon subsided. You understood his heart was in the right place, but he somehow lost his critical thinking skills along the way. There were some slight concerns in trust, but a proper discussion between you both helped soothe the worries away. He felt glad, too, secretly. Maxie would come to trust that you would call out his bad ideas when others may hesitate.

#pokemon x reader #lysandre x reader #cyrus x reader #archie x reader #maxie x reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon lysandre x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon archie x reader #pokemon maxie x reader #lysandre/reader #cyrus/reader #archie/reader #maxie/reader

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