#clicked the keep reading part and immediately regretted

[uhhhj13iguess]

impossible to behave around

avenger! peter parker x fem!reader

part three to the initial one shot, but can be read as a stand-alone.

okay @jjlhb i come bearing gifts of a long-awaited part 3 smut! this is my first time fully fleshing out a smut fic, so everyone let me know your thoughts lol.

summary: peter can't behave himself when you look that good

cw: jesus, okay. 18+! MNDI! heavy making out, unprotected p in v (don't do this! wrap it!), fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), multiple positions, praise kink, cocky peter, also softdom!peter, multiple orgasms, creamp!e (hot but we HAVE to find a different word), just a lot of hot and heavy pining. full smut, little to no plot

wc: 3.6k

part one: oh my god, you, y-you look stunning

part two: go get her, kid

masterlist and taglist!

peter had a tight grip on your hand as he practically ran with you down the hallways of the complex, reaching his door in record speed. he nearly slammed his way through the wood, pulling you in behind him and shutting the door loudly. he clicked the lock shut and whipped around to face you, back to the wall and out of breath.

he took a moment to just stare at you, still absolutely wonderstruck from your first kiss. it was everything he could have wanted and more, and even now, he could feel his lips tingling from the sensation. he pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, a rush flushing through his system.

he took a step towards you, still hesitant. still unconvinced this wasn't just a dream.

"c-can I, I mean, can... we do that, again?" he let out in nearly a whisper.

you let out an exasperated huff of air in response, his courtesy towards you turning you on even more. you let out a whine, "god, please peter,"

peter didn't wait another second before grabbing the sides of your face and smashing his lips against yours, pulling your body flush to his against the door. his lips were hot on yours, only letting up from their attack for gasps of air, groans escaping from his throat as he kissed you harder than ever thought possible. you ghosted your hands over his chest and he was a moaning mess against you, his hands sliding down to your waist and holding you tight.

the feeling of your body was unimaginable, his hands grazing your curves over the silk draping your body. he was doing his best to keep his hands PG-13, not wanting to lose control and scare you away, but realizing just how thin your dress's fabric was made him ache for more.

he used his back to the door to his advantage, his hands on your waist pulling you even closer — so close that you could feel him hard against your thigh. the thought of you making him this hard elicited a moan to escape from your throat and directly into your kiss, sending a shiver down his spine.

the noises you let out gave him more confidence, allowing his large hands to wander around your sides more. he ran them up and down, spreading his fingers as he did so that each time he trailed up, the tips of his fingers would tease at the underneath of your chest, giving you goosebumps all over your body.

he was keen to the effect on you, smirking into the kiss as he used his thumbpads to lightly trace around the curves of your breasts. it was meant to tease you, however, he regretted the action almost immediately. his movements brought to his attention that not only were you not wearing a bra underneath the dress, but he now knew just how thin the material between him and your tits was. he let out a shaky moan, pained at the thought of your bare chest millimeters away from him. his fingers swiped upward, tracing softly over the outline of your hard nipples, earning a desperate moan from your lips.

and the sound to peter was earth-shattering.

he threw his head back as his fingers continued to graze your chest, relishing in the feeling of you in his hands. this new position grew quickly in your favor, using his exposed neck to press hot, sloppy kisses. he let out a filthy moan, and you reached your hands up to push past his own and take dominance, opening his suit jacket and finding his top button.

you worked them slowly, pulling away from his neck as you both watched your movements, whimpers flowing freely from peter's lips.

"god, (y/n), you have no idea what you're doing to me," he whined, the remnants of a pout traced on his features.

you popped his last button, not wasting a single second to place your hands on his bare chest, lightly tracing your nails up and down his torso.

at this point, peter was fighting for his life. your touch against him ignited his senses, and it felt as though he had electricity coursing through his veins. he's never felt this way before, and he was beginning to feel like he couldn't ever live without it. you were all-consuming to him, and he was losing control.

he grabbed your hips tightly, turning you around and swapping places with you pinned against the door. he kissed you hard, pressing himself against you so that you could feel just how crazy you were driving him. you groaned, allowing your fingers to hook on his belt loops, holding him just close enough to make him ache.

he pulled you back sharply, dragging you to the bed where he promptly sat down, pulling you in between his legs.

his hands rested firmly on your ass, kneading your plush curves through the dress as he pulled you into him and began planting soft kisses against your stomach. you felt his hot breath through the chilly fabric of the silk, goosebumps covering you as tangled your fingers through his lush curls.

"your hair looked so fucking good tonight, pete" you whined out, his kisses growing more sloppy against you as you praised him.

"i love these curls, y'know that? it's been so hard keeping my hands out of your hair, i just, i just want to—"

you tugged harshly, earning a low groan from peter, and he threw his head back, looking up at you with a smirk. the smirk sent more arousal south, and the look in his eyes made you the wettest you're sure you've ever been.

he latched back to your torso, beginning to trail his way down and kiss lower and lower on your stomach. you writhed against him and he took it as encouragement, slowly releasing his hands from your ass and lowering them to the hem of your dress down at your calves. he snaked his hands underneath the material, grazing his fingertips lightly up your bare legs and he hovered his lips over your core, heavily panting over the fabric as his hands reached their destination.

his fingers hooked your thong and you gasped, causing him to look up. he was trying to maintain composure, but he still could not believe he was in this situation. your legs began to tremble, the gratefulness in his eyes shining through and only turning you on more. the reaction he gained from you nearly short-circuited him.

holyshitholyshitholyshit — peter! focus!

he took a deep breath and winked at you, finally diving his head down where he wanted it to begin with. his lips wasted no time attacking your cunt through the silk, his hot breath against your core nearly dropping you to your knees. you let out another gasp as his fingers began to tug your thong down your legs under the dress, so slowly it was tormenting.

once he'd gotten the underwear to your ankles, he focused back on placing a kiss to your core, noticing your growing wetness through your dress with the new lack of garments. he pulled back and let out a breathy chuckle, skimming his fingertips over the forming wet patch on your dress.

"you want this so fucking bad, don't you?"

peter's words mere inches from your cunt caused you to clench around nothing, your entire body hot and needy. you whined a response to him, words already lost as he continued to practically eat you out through your dress.

your daze was quickly cut off, though, as peter pulled away sharply. he stood up to reconnect your lips, and you groaned into him as you could faintly taste yourself on him.

"i, fuck, i-i can't do this,"

you pulled back and stared at him, increasingly growing concerned as to where you started to misread the signals.

"what? i mean, no that's okay, i just—"

"if you don't want to go any further, that's fine. but we have to stop now before i can't control myself anymore."

you don't know if it's the words themselves or the way he said it, but you were throbbing. and by the look on his face, you were sure he knew it too.

a smirk graced his features, and suddenly it was as though all air had been vacuumed from the room.

he took a step closer.

"i mean, honestly. that dress? baby, you've got to be kidding me,"

another step, and his hand was on your neck.

"you like this, don't you?"

a measly whine escaped your throat as you failed to find words. it didn't matter. peters lips were back on yours, heavier and hungrier than they'd been yet that evening. but he wasn't done teasing you yet.

a kiss. "you're fucking impossible,"

another, "to behave around,"

a final, "when all i can do is fucking. smell you."

your eyes matched his darkness as you gasped at his words, his lips sucking the skin on your neck with no forgiveness. "please, i need you."

his hot mouth was attacking yours once again, and through the haze, you heard a faint ripping noise followed by a rush of cold air on your back. peter mumbled an apology and you realized he'd ripped your dress straight down the back.

"fucking zipper,"

his strength surprised you, and peter used your shock to his advantage as he strips you of the remaining fabric, leaving you in just a thong before him.

you grew shy momentarily, your vulnerable state reminding you it was peter you were standing in front of — a dream unfolding, but the implications daunting. you flustered, hands reaching up to cover you body.

peter immediately stepped in, grabbing your hands and pulling them back down to your side.

"baby, don't hide..."

he stood back to admire you fully, slack-jawed and in awe. he pulled you in for a kiss, one much sweeter than the rest. one full of limerence.

"you look like heaven,"

he kissed you again, desperation once again taking the main stage. he brought his hands to your bare breasts, a growl rumbling in his throat as he felt your flesh for the first time. he'd had enough playing around.

"i bet you taste like heaven too."

he pounced on you, pushing you onto the bed and straddling your frame. you used the position to your advantage, reaching down to palm him through his dress pants, and he was hard as a fucking rock.

peter was a moaning mess on top of you, the feeling of your hand on him sending him to another world.

you fumbled around to undo his belt, missing substantially one-handed. he grew impatient, leaving to take his pants off himself and standing before you in just in briefs. it was in this moment you got your first decent look at peter, and it's in this moment you took notice of just how big he was. he was straining in his blue briefs, a wet spot forming where his angry tip wouldn't stop leaking. the sight alone almost made you cum.

he smirked at your reaction and climbed over you again, not bothering to reach your mouth for a kiss this time. instead, he attacked you through your underwear, lips messy around your dripping cunt. he was quick to lose his composure as soon as he could taste you again, tearing the thong down your legs and licking a stripe up your heat.

you writhed underneath him, the heat of his breath on you driving pleasure through your whole body. he continued his work, getting absolutely lost in the way you tasted. with his tongue wrapped around your clit, he slid a hand in between your thighs, fingertips tracing lightly around your slick folds. you let out a pathetic moan and felt peter smile against your cunt, the vibrations from his chuckle sending your senses into overdrive.

he cautiously slipped one finger in, groaning desperately at the feeling of you warm and tight around him. he slid in with ease, your eager cunt ready and welcoming.

he took his time, drawing out your pleasure as he felt you shake underneath him. he added another finger, sensing your orgasm was close.

he increased his pace, fucking you senselessly with his fingers as his tongue attacked your clit, and you were right at the edge. you let out soft pleas, begging him to keep going. he curled his fingers suddenly, and it was enough to have you sent over the edge.

you felt nothing but pure, hot white power coursing through you as peter carried you through your orgasm. you took deep breaths to ground yourself, head still spinning as peter removed his fingers but continued the pace with his mouth. you gained enough consciousness to look down at the man between your legs, and you almost wish you hadn't, the sight bringing you over the edge once more.

between you, peter was eating you out with no care in the world, like a man starved. while doing so, his hips ground mercilessly into the mattress below him. he rutted himself down as his mouth slowed and stalled, his hips following suit as he let out a deep breath and chuckle, making eye contact with you for the first time in a while. his eyes were wide, a smile overpowering his cheeks as though he was a kid trying candy for the first time. the innocence of it all warmed your heart.

there was an emotion in the room neither of you could describe, but you both felt it. and it was strong.

after what felt like a lifetime of lingering, peter flashed you a toothy smile, nothing but love adorning his features. you were both still breathless as he climbed his way back up you, soft kisses planting themselves along your torso as he made his way finally to your lips.

he let out a chuckle, a blush apparent on his cheeks.

"what is it, pete?"

he sat up over you for a second, face bright red as he glanced downwards. you followed his gaze, a blush creeping on your own face as you noticed what he was referring to. the wet spot on his briefs had grown much larger, but he was still hard as ever.

"i um, i-i came as soon as i started cleaning you up. you just tasted so good,"

another wave of slick was sent to your cunt, the thought alone having you ready all over again. you gulped in anticipation and he let his shoulders fall as he noticed he had no reason to be embarrassed.

"spider-man has given me quite the refractory period, though, so,"

he began to pull his briefs down, his achingly hard cock springing free to let out a dirty slap against his stomach. he groaned at the sensation, throwing the garments across the room. "so, if you'll still have me..."

you whined soft pleas and he was on you before you could think about anything else, his kisses still messy on your skin. he hovered over you again, and you felt his cock hot on your stomach. you moaned at the feeling, desperately clenching around nothing as you begged for him to fuck you.

he sat up enough to grab hold of his length, using his burning red tip to slide through your slick folds and spread your wetness. the feeling was too much for you, peter towing a thin line between pleasure and overstimulation. you begged for more still, needing to feel him inside you. he harmonized with your moans as he continued.

"baby, if this is how good you feel on the outside, i've got absolutely no clue how i'm going to last inside of you."

you couldn't find words as he kept going, your nails digging sharply into his back. he smirked at your desperation, lining himself up with your dripping entrance.

“peter, please.”

an anguished sigh raked through his body as he began to push into you. he looked like he was at war with himself, torn between going slow for your comfort and wanting to absolutely ravish your body. though trying to go slow, he slid in with much more ease than he anticipated, growling at the sensation of your walls around him.

holyshitholyshitholyshit

he bottomed out, holding where he was as you both caught your breath. he locked eyes with you, hoping to find and ground you back to the moment. the second he had slid into you, you were washed in a wave of pleasure. meeting peter’s gaze, you held yourself back down on earth best you could.

“baby, you feel fucking sinful.”

clearly, he was not helping. you whined at his praise, feeling his cock twitch deep inside of you as he said it. he was driving you insane.

“pete, please. move.”

he chuckled at you, darkness flooding irises once again. “if you insist,”

he started thrusting into you, his pace steady and relentless. now that he knew this feeling, he was certain your cunt was all he’d ever think about again. he didn't mean to be going as fast as was, but he couldn't help it, the sounds coming from your mouth encouraging him like his own personal symphony. he looked down between the two of you, entranced in the way he was disappearing inside of you. and the noises coming from the two of you down there were downright filthy.

he grew restless, if that was even possible.

"god baby, please, flip over for me,"

"i need to feel more of you."

you started to sit up, gaging your surroundings as you did, but peter wasn’t patient enough for that. he grabbed your hips and flipped you over as though you weighed absolutely nothing. he gave you the generosity of situating yourself, digging your hands into the mattress as you steadied yourself on your knees before him. you stuck yourself out towards him, giving him a full view of everything he’d ever dreamed of. he almost came at the sight.

he lined himself back up and wasted no time, ramming himself into you even deeper than before. your arms trembled, causing you to fall and arch your back even more, a sharp cry escaping your throat as peter fucked you with no forgiveness.

he used one hand to steady himself on your hips, the other snaking its way around you to latch his fingers on your abused clit. another cry fell from your lips, tears pricking your eyes as you praised him.

“fuck, you feel so good inside of me, peter,”

your core was burning, build-up from a third orgasm igniting a fire in you as you tried to hold on.

"peter please, holy shit i'm going to cum, i can't— i can't hold it any longer."

peter felt you clenching around him hard, your pulse on his cock driving him to closer to the edge and much quicker than he'd hoped. a growl escaped from deep in his throat. "(y/n), i— fuck, i need to switch out. if— mm'ugh, shit,"

his hips didn't match the words he spoke, the merciless pace making your vision fade around the edges.

"fuck, no, i-i'm serious, i need— ah, fuck— my f-fingers. please. if i feel you finish around my cock, i-i'm not going to able to pull out in time."

the thought alone almost drove you off the edge.

"do it." you panted, pushing your hips further back to meet his thrusts.

"no, (y/n), i'm serious."

"no please, peter, stay,"

"please, i need you, i... i need to feel you finish inside of me."

and who was peter to deny you of something you needed?

"fuck it,"

he grabbed onto your hips and started fucking you with such force, you were positive you wouldn't be able to walk out of this room when he was done.

and that's when he felt it. he felt you snap and cum around his cock. the feeling was better than anything he'd ever imagined, a heaven he didn't know could possibly exist. it made him cum in an instant. he'd never felt such an amazing sensation before and holy shit he could stay here forever.

he came hard, holding your hips tight as spurt after spurt of the hot, thick ropes of his cum flooded inside of you. the feeling was indescribable, his cum filling you to the brink and then some. the sensation of his cock twitching in you was overwhelming, your insides hot and full. he pulled out, watching his cum drip out of your abused cunt with a glimmer in his eyes.

you collapsed from under him and peter followed, nearly falling on top of you from exhaustion. you both laid together, breathless as you tried to regain your composure.

"holy shit, that was—"

"—crazy,"

laughter filled the air around you, a comforting blanket that made your heart warm.

a beat of silence passed and you both sat and smiled at each other, almost in an air of reverence. he grabbed your hands in his and got quiet, a sheepish look overtaking his features. as if he hadn't just fucked you senseless.

"(y/n), i-i wanted to tell you that i really like you. like, really, really like you"

you give him a smirk.

"oh, is that what that was?"

[wordsofwhimsy]

ᴄᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ, ᴋɪꜱꜱ ʜᴀʀᴅ ʚ♡ɞ - Trading Places

Pairing: Lensless/No Goggles!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: FILTH, reader fucking wrecks this man, idk if you ain’t into that freaky shit don’t read lmao

Tags: Smut, fem!dom, teasing, masturbation, oral (f receiving), riding

Word Count: 3,238

Synopsis: Mark brags to the other variants about the baddie he’s bagged when you call, and you are NOT happy.

a/n: had to run it back cause of this anon - y'all like that freaky shit huh 🤪

Part One

Part Two – Brunch Edition!

The rooftop’s buzzing — not with conversation, but with static from the torn sky above and the low hum of multiversal regret. Three Marks, one bottle. Broken chairs. The faint smell of ozone and blood.

Mohawk Mark is sharpening a blade that hums when it moves. Shiesty’s tossing playing cards into a wormhole like it’s a trash can. Chill. Quiet.

Then, from the corner, Lensless Mark leans forward with a slow grin like sin warming up.

“You know what I been on lately?” he says, voice thick with that I’m about to say something unholy tone.

The other two don’t even look up. They know it’s coming.

Mark takes a long pull from the bottle, licks his lips, and lets the grin grow. “I’ve been getting absolutely destroyed by the baddest girl in any universe.”

Now Mohawk glances over. Shiesty lowers his cards. Mark keeps going, casual, cocky, obsessed.

“She’s got this walk that makes gravity trip. Like, I watch her leave rooms. Every time. It’s pathetic. She knows it, too. She’ll bend over just to make me lose a thought.”

“Go on,” Shiesty says, already too invested.

“She’s not sweet,” Mark continues. “Not soft. Got a voice like razor wire and hands like she owns me. She’ll dig her nails in and leave them there while she talks shit into my ear like I’m nothing — and I eat it up.”

Mohawk stares. “You’re in love.”

Mark scoffs. “Nah. I’m in danger.” He laughs, runs a hand through his hair, breathless with memory. “Last time? She made me wait. Told me to sit on the floor. Didn’t say a word for twenty minutes. Then she climbed on my lap and told me I better not finish ‘til she says so.”

“…You listen?” Shiesty asks, eyes wide.

Mark looks offended. “Of course I did. I damn near cried when she said ‘good boy.’ You ever felt a praise kink rewire your whole brain in real time?”

“...God damn,” Mohawk mutters.

“I’d kill for her,” Mark says, shrugging. “I have. I’ll do it again.”

Shiesty frowns. “You really out here monologuing like she’s not gonna ruin your life.”

Mark tips the bottle toward him, eyes gleaming.

“She already did,” he says, and smirks. “And I say thank you every time.”

Mohawk and Shiesty just sit there, stunned. Then Mohawk says, “Nah, I need one of those. Where you find her?”

Mark just shakes his head slowly. “You couldn’t. She doesn’t want you. She likes her men a little fucked up.”

“Guess that’s why she got you, huh?” Shiesty teases.

Mark smiles, slow and sharp. “Exactly.” He leans back like he just dropped the gospel when his phone buzzes against the table.

He looks down, sees your name, and immediately lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

“OHHH shiiittt, that’s her,” he says, voice dropping into something low and smug. “Y’all shut up, lemme take this.”

He swipes to answer, leans back in his chair like he’s about to get dessert again.

“Hey, baby—”

“Come here. Now.”

Your voice cuts through the line like a blade. No pleasantries. No softness. Just heat. And venom. And the promise of consequences.

Mark blinks, caught off guard for half a second. “Wait—where are you?”

Click.

You hang up.

No location. No context. No nothing.

Just fury and a demand.

Mark stares at the phone for a beat, then laughs — low and breathless, like he’s been punched in the chest by a dream he didn’t know he was having.

“Fuck.”

“What happened?” Mohawk asks, already invested. Mark stands up fast, pocketing his phone, that wicked little smirk crawling back across his face like sin.

“She’s pissed,” he says, delighted.

“You gonna apologize?” Shiesty teases.

Mark just shakes his head, already lifting off the ground, eyes scanning the city like a predator.

“Nah,” he mutters, voice full of anticipation. “I’m gonna find her.”

Then he's gone — a blur of motion, ripped air and reckless speed — chasing your wrath like it's the only thing worth catching.

—

You’re storming, like the kind of walk that makes people avoid eye contact or cross the street. The one that makes every space you step into feel different. And Mark? He’s always drawn to that storm.

He catches up easily, stepping into your path with that shit-eating grin of his, leaning in like he’s about to give you the world.

“There she is,” he says, voice smooth and dripping with satisfaction. “Didn’t even tell me where you were, but you know I’m always gonna find you.”

You don’t stop walking. Not for him. Not yet. But the moment he catches up, you can feel his eyes on your hand. The way you’re cradling it against your chest like it’s something precious, like it’s a secret.

He slows his pace, not bothering to hide the concern creeping into his voice. “What happened to your hand?”

You don’t answer him immediately, just keep your eyes dead ahead. It’s so fucking obvious, but you’re making him wait. Making him sweat.

“I decked Sadie,” you say, your voice colder than ice.

Mark’s brow furrows, then his eyes widen in disbelief. “Wait—what?”

“She was talking shit,” you say with a bitter smile. “Said maybe if I wasn’t so busy ‘babysitting’ you, I'd have time to notice someone worth my attention.” You scoff, still walking like you’re already miles ahead of him. “So I asked her if she wanted my attention too.”

You slow, and Mark steps closer, his voice low with disbelief and something else—admiration.

“And?”

You don’t miss a beat. You lift your hand and show him. “Then I gave it to her. Right to the jaw.”

For a second, there’s silence. Mark’s frozen. And you can see his brain trying to process the fact that you just punched one of your friends in the face for flirting with him. And that realization hits him like a fucking freight train.

Then, finally, he groans. It’s low, deep, like he’s in physical pain. “Jesus, fuck—you really hit her?”

“I think I busted her lip,” you reply with a devilish grin. “I hope I did.”

Mark’s body moves toward you like gravity’s finally catching up to him. He’s close now, breath hot against your skin, voice thick and desperate. “You’re insane,” he murmurs. “You really just—”

You cut him off, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him forward, your eyes blazing with something he can’t resist. “Shut the fuck up,” you snap, your voice like fire. “Don’t act like you weren’t praying this would happen.”

That’s when his control finally shatters. His voice drops, like he’s already lost the battle. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You look at him, wide-eyed and breathless. “That’s the idea.”

And then you’re moving. Fast. You’re already dragging him into your apartment, no room for hesitation  as you slam the door behind you. Mark barely has time to say your name before you’ve shoved him back against it, your body a storm pressed to his chest.

“Do you think this is a game?” you snarl, your voice low, dangerous, vibrating in your throat. “Do you think it’s funny that you have every bitch within ten feet looking at you like they could steal you?”

Mark’s chest rises with every word you spit, his hands barely grazing your waist, like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to touch you.

“I didn’t—” he starts, but you’re already grabbing a fistful of his collar and yanking him down to your level, close enough that your breath hits his lips when you speak again.

“I just lost a friend because of you.”

Mark swallows. Hard.

“And it didn’t feel good,” you hiss. “It felt awful. I hated it. Hated the sound her face made when it cracked. Hated the way everyone looked at me like I was insane. Why did you make me do that?!”

He’s panting now. Not from fear. Not from guilt. But from the way you’re saying it. Like you’re accusing him of lighting the match while you poured the gasoline.

You shove him backwards, toward the bedroom. Mark stumbles, smiling now — all teeth, breathless. “Fuck,” he says under his breath. “You’re so hot when you’re mad.”

You don’t even dignify it with a response. You’re pulling him by the collar again, throwing him down onto the bed like he’s nothing but a body for you to use.

“You think this is foreplay?” you growl, climbing over him. “You think this is me being cute?”

Mark’s arms spread wide against the mattress, his eyes wide and so ready.

“I don’t care what it is,” he breathes. “Just don’t stop.”

You slide your hand up his chest, nails dragging across his skin hard enough to leave marks. “You love this, don’t you?”

He nods, quick and eager. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

“You love when I lose my mind over you.”

“I love it when you own me.”

You reach his throat, fingers pressing down — not choking, not yet — just a reminder. A threat. A promise. “I should leave you here,” you whisper, leaning down, lips ghosting over his. “Hard and pathetic.”

He groans, eyes fluttering. “Please don’t.”

You smile, slow and venomous. “Beg me, Mark.”

“Please,” he pants. “Please—use me. Ruin me. I’ll be good, I swear.”

You grip his face, tilting his head to make him look at you. Really see you. Your anger. Your fire.

“Say it.”

His voice cracks. “I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!” he moans, hips twitching up into yours. “I’m fucking yours, please—don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

And that’s when you fucking hit him.

The slap echoes through the room like a gunshot.

Mark’s head snaps to the side, jaw slack, lip split just a little. His eyes flutter, and for one glorious second, he just sits there, breathing like you knocked the thoughts out of his head. You lean over him, voice sharp and trembling with rage. “Is that what you wanted?”

His head lolls back to face you, eyes half-lidded and glassy. “Fuck yeah,” he breathes, grinning like you just gifted him divinity. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

You don’t flinch. Don’t soften. You just say, flat and dangerous: “Take your clothes off.”

That grin? It twitches — falters — then turns desperate. He’s yanking on his suit, fumbling with the waistband like he forgot how buttons work. You don’t help. You just watch, every bit of his frantic movement feeding the fire in your chest.

When he’s finally sitting there — naked, flushed, fully hard, pupils blown wide — you turn your back to him. Grab a chair. Turn it around. Sit in it backward — legs spread, chin resting on your arms — and he doesn’t even breathe.

Until you slide your hand between your thighs.

He chokes on air.

Your fingers move slow, so deliberate it’s cruel. You dip them lower, gather slick, bring it back up with a shiver that you don’t bother hiding. Then you meet his eyes — and you smirk.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch yourself.”

Mark stills like he’s been shot.

His hands grip the bed. His jaw tightens. His whole existence funnels into watching you.

You drag your fingers up again, a little moan slipping out this time — quiet, breathy, dangerous.

“You want this?” you ask, voice soft and mean. “You want a taste?”

He nods, frantic. “Please. I want to be good—let me be good, I’ll do anything—”

You cut him off with a sigh — bored, disappointed. “God, Mark. Why do you behave so badly if you want sweet things?” He stares, trembling, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile. You lean back in the chair, dragging your hand slow and easy, fingers curling with purpose. You never take your eyes off him. “I lost a friend tonight,” you whisper. “Because of you.” Mark swallows hard. Shame flickers across his face, but it’s buried under hunger.

“You think you deserve this after that?”

“No,” he whispers. “But I want it.”

You let your fingers dip lower again, a shaky breath escaping your lips.

“Well, too bad.”

His mouth falls open. You tilt your head, licking your fingers slowly, smirking at the way he twitches.

“I taste so fucking sweet, Mark,” you purr. “Like candy. Like everything you’ll never get.” He lets out a noise — almost a sob — and grips the sheets like he might tear them in half.

“You like acting out?” you continue, dragging your voice like velvet across a knife’s edge. “Flirting with Sadie while I’m sitting right there? Making me hit someone I’ve known for years because I couldn’t stand the way she looked at you?”

His eyes shine. You lean forward again, voice razor-sharp. “Bad boys don’t get treats.”

“Please,” he begs, whisper-wrecked. “I’ll get on my knees. I’ll let you use me. Just let me taste it. Just a little. Just a drop—” You raise a single finger, coated in slick.

Mark freezes like a statue.

Then you bring it to your mouth, suck it clean, and groan softly — just for you. Not for him. Never for him.

“You don’t deserve a goddamn drop.”

His hips jerk. His body shakes. You’re watching him unravel from across the room, untouched.

And when he opens his mouth again, desperate to beg, you cut him off with one final word: “Sit there. Watch. Be a good boy. And maybe — maybe — I’ll let you lick it off my fingers when I’m done.”

You continue on until you think you’ve had enough. Then, finally, you slowly stand from the chair, wiping your fingers off on his already discarded suit like he’s not sitting there with his cock out, looking one whimper away from sobbing.

Then, cold and calm, you say: “Lay back.”

He scrambles like he’s under command, back hitting the mattress so fast it’s like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind.

You crawl over him. Not lovingly. Not teasing. Like a stormcloud rolling in with the full intent of drowning him.

You stop when your thighs are straddling his chest, and you look down at him like you’re about to devour him. “Open your mouth.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Tongue out. Wide-eyed. So fucking eager.

You hover. Just above him. Letting the heat of you sink into his skin, watching his tongue twitch like he’s trying to catch air. But you don’t give him anything. Not yet.

“See?” you coo, voice venom-sweet. “You don’t even know how to act.”

His breath hitches.

“You don’t get to taste this just because you begged.” You tilt your hips, dragging your slick folds just above his mouth without letting him have a drop. “You flirt with my friends. You make me fight for you. You make me bleed for you.”

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, eyes locked on the spot just above his lips. “I’m sorry—I’ll be good, please—”

You lower, just a little. Let him get one lick. And he moans, like he’s tasting salvation.

And then you sit. Full weight. Full heat. Full fucking disrespect.

Mark groans like he’s dying, his tongue instantly latching onto your slit like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. His nose bumps your clit and you roll your hips down on instinct, letting out a sharp gasp.

You grab his hair and yank his face deeper.

“Eat it,” you growl. “Like your fucking life depends on it.”

He moans — moans — like you just made his dreams come true. And from the way his tongue starts working? You’re starting to believe they were.

Long, slow licks. Then messy, filthy ones. Then sucks — greedy, unhinged, wet and loud.

You grind down on his face, using him like a toy — your toy — chasing your own high while he drowns in it like it’s an honor.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails digging into his scalp, pulling just enough to make him groan into you — the vibrations making your legs shake.

“God, look at you,” you breathe, throwing your head back. “You love this shit, don’t you?”

He tries to answer — can’t. You don’t let him. You just grind down harder, smothering him in wet, perfect darkness, the sound of your slick and his panting turning the room into a goddamn altar.

You roll your hips once—twice—And then you ride. Full motion. All control. No mercy.

It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s the kind of face-sitting that turns into a spiritual event.

You’re moaning. Cursing. Saying his name like it’s both a praise and a warning. And he’s taking it all — tongue shaking, jaw straining, letting you fucking use him until your thighs clamp down around his ears and your back arches with a cry that echoes off the walls.

You come with your whole fucking body. Legs shaking. Fingers digging into his scalp. And he doesn’t stop. Not for a second. Not even when your thighs squeeze tight around his head like you want to break him in half.

You finally lift off him — dragging yourself off his soaked face with a shaky breath — and his mouth is still open, lips shiny, chest heaving.

He’s smiling. The sick little fuck is smiling.

You wipe your slick from his cheek with your fingers and slap his mouth lightly with them.

“You think I’m done with you?” He shakes his head. Begging. “Good.”

You move down his body — mount his hips like you own them — and reach back to line him up.

He’s hard as hell. Leaking. Desperate. His whole body shuddering like he’s already close.

You don’t care.

You sink down on him slow and deep, hips rolling as his hands shoot up. You slap them away. “No touching.”

He nods, frantic, hips twitching, already so close from everything you denied him.

You start to ride him — not smooth and sweet — but mean. Deep. Grounding your hips hard, using his body like it’s owed to you. Like he should thank you for every time you bottom out.

And he does.

“Thank you—fuck, thank you—don’t stop—don’t ever stop—”

You slam down harder. Faster. Your thighs slapping against him. His mouth falling open in pure, desperate awe.

“Say it,” you growl, voice ragged. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he gasps. “I’m yours, I’m so fucking yours, I belong to you—”

You grab his throat with one hand, pinning him to the mattress, and ride him until his voice breaks into nothing but wet, messy gasps.

“You flirt with anyone else again,” you whisper, “and I’ll ride your face right in front of them. Make you cry. Make them watch you beg while I use you.”

Mark moans like he’s dying.

“Please. Please ruin me. I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll let you do whatever you want—”

You slap him again. Not enough to really hurt. Just enough to remind him what happens when he runs his fucking mouth.

“You’re mine, Mark.”

And then you grind down one last time, burying him inside you, hips circling with perfect pressure — and he fucking loses it. Arching. Shaking. Coming so hard it punches the breath out of him.

His voice cracks like glass. His body jerks. And you don’t move. You sit there. Locked in place. Letting him ride the high while you smirk above him, unbothered.

When it’s over, he’s twitching. Tears in his eyes. Mouth open, totally fucking ruined.

You lean down, voice in his ear, soft and cold: “Good boy.”

[skyguytoast]

Swipe Right for Trouble - Dilf!Anakin x you

SYNOPSIS: Dilf!Anakin joins a dating site and comes away with more than he bargained for.

WORD COUNT: 5k

WARNINGS: +18, infidelity, cheating, age gap (Anakin is in his 40s and the reader is of legal age), sexting, both masturbating over video call, daddy kink

A/N: Hello everyone, this idea came to me out of nowhere and kept on hammering in my mind until I wrote it. I hope you like it, comments, reblogs and suggestions are always appreciated, kisses ;) Dividers by @cafekitsune

Sexting isn’t cheating.

Anakin repeated the thought like a mantra as he filled out the registration form. Technically, this wasn’t even a dating site. From what he’d read, it was more of a… transactional arrangement—an online space where men could chat with young women, spoil them with gifts, and, in return, receive whatever favors both parties agreed upon.  

It wasn’t as if his marriage had collapsed overnight. That would have been easier to accept. No, it had been a slow, agonizing unraveling, a gradual drift until the distance between him and Padmé felt impossible to bridge. He couldn’t only blame her long hours at work or the way exhaustion made intimacy rare. He was just as guilty—guilty of giving up, of letting the silence stretch between them for too long, of resigning himself to wanting more but never asking for it.  

Regret was useless now.  

He exhaled sharply, scrolling through the feed. Most of the profiles were deliberately vague—faceless photos, silhouettes, glimpses of lips, collarbones, and hands. The usernames were just as cryptic, an endless parade of Kitten, Doll, and Baby designed to keep things impersonal.  

Then, one caught his eye.  

The photo showed nothing but a cascade of silky hair and a princess tiara perched atop it. Something about it—the soft, innocent playfulness—made him pause. Bunny. The name made him smirk. Cute.  

A second later, the screen blinked. MATCH.

Anakin’s lips parted slightly. That was… fast. His stomach twisted, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What the hell was he supposed to say? How do you start a conversation like this?  

A sharp ding cut through his hesitation.  

You had messaged him first.

Anakin rubbed his jaw, still slightly in disbelief that he had actually gone through with this. It wasn't like him to engage in such... base activities. Especially not now. But his marriage had grown so distant, and he needed something—someone—to fill that void.

Just take a deep breath and respond, he told himself as he clicked on your message.

Bunny: Hi there, stranger~

Anakin blinked at the casual greeting, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Stranger? He chuckled softly to himself, realizing that, in this context, that was exactly what you were. Two anonymous figures behind a screen, playing a game neither of you had fully defined yet.  

Hi yourself, he typed back, trying to match your easy tone. I like your tiara. It suits you.  

The response didn’t come immediately, and in those few seconds, doubt crept in. Was he being too forward? Too personal? Was this a place for compliments, for flirting—or just for transactions?  

Bunny: I like shiny things… and pink.

Short. Coy. Playful. The way you phrased it made something tighten in his chest. A flicker of amusement, curiosity, something dangerously close to interest.  

I’ll remember that, he replied, his fingers moving with a newfound ease. Do you have a favorite shade of pink?

It was a simple question, innocent on the surface, but it carried weight. He wanted to keep you talking, wanted the conversation to stretch just a little longer. This was a break from reality, from work, from duty. A moment that felt light, free.  

Bunny: Uhm… mostly pastel colors… ballerina pink, bubblegum pink. 

He was about to type a response when another message popped up.  

Bunny: Do you want me to send you the color hex so you don’t get my gift wrong?

Anakin laughed softly at the dig, shaking his head. So you had a sharp wit. He liked that.  

No need for that, he typed back. I have a good eye for color. And I’m not planning on buying you a gift just yet.

There. He had said it—acknowledged the possibility of yet, of something more. It was a dangerous game, but one he was suddenly very willing to play.  

Unless… He hesitated just long enough to let anticipation build. Unless you’d like to earn one first?

The reply came quicker than he expected.  

Bunny: And what exactly do you want from me to deserve it?

A slow smirk spread across his lips. He had a feeling this conversation was only just getting started.

Anakin swallowed hard, a pulse of heat rolling through him at your bold question. He could feel it—something deep and dangerous stirring inside him—but he didn’t look away from the screen. Instead, he leaned in, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he considered his next words carefully.

Well, for starters… He typed slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation stretch. Tell me more about you.

It was a simple request on the surface, but the words carried weight, unspoken possibilities.

What does a cute little bunny like you do for fun?

His lips curled into a smirk as he hit send, already wondering just how far you'd be willing to take this game.

But you didn’t answer right away. 

Anakin exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Damn it. Maybe that was stupid. Cringe—wasn’t that the word people your age used? The last thing he wanted was to come off like some awkward old man trying too hard. 

Before he could spiral further, his screen lit up with a new message. 

Bunny: I love going to amusement parks—feeling my hair fly on the roller coaster, the Ferris wheel, the carousel…

Anakin smirked, the tension in his chest easing. There was something so effortlessly sweet about that answer, something playful. Of course you liked amusement parks. He could almost picture it—the wind in your hair, the sparkle in your eyes as you laughed on a ride. 

And just like that, he wanted to know more.

Is that so? he typed back, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. I'll have to keep that in mind. Maybe I'll take you to a park sometime... among other things.

He paused, letting that statement linger on the screen. Let you wonder, let your imagination run wild. He certainly knew his was.

Tell me, do you have a favorite ride? he asked. One that really gets your adrenaline pumping?

Bunny: Probably the Ferris wheel, I love going there several times... I'm a little scared of the ghost train, however, I might try it if you promise to hold my hand.

A light blush crept across Anakin's cheeks as he read her message, a small smile tugging at his lips. Of course, a Ferris wheel was your favorite. He could picture it now—you sitting beside him, your shoulders brushing as you slowly rotated at the top, looking out over the park and the rest of the world spread out below you.

Don't worry, he typed, his fingers moving almost eagerly across the screen. I'd hold your hand through anything.

He paused, then added playfully, Besides, I think I'm pretty good at killing ghosts. Both the real kind and the fictional ones.

Your response was immediate.

Bunny: Oh, that’s good to know because I think my room might be haunted. Maybe you could come take a look?

Anakin sighed, shaking his head with a smirk. Gosh, you’re being so flirty.

Not that he minded. Not one bit.

Anakin leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to read your flirtatious message again. His smirk grew wider.

Well then, he replied, a playful lilt to his words. It looks like I'll have to schedule an investigation soon.

He paused, letting the innuendo linger for a moment. But he didn't stop there.

Of course, you know that ghost hunting can be quite...intense work. It may require a thorough search of every room. Every surface.

He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. There was something about you, a freshness and boldness that drew him in.

Bunny: in my bed too? even under the covers?

Anakin's heart raced as he read your brazen message, a flood of improper thoughts rushing through his mind. The image of you tangled in the sheets, perhaps already flushed and breathless before he even arrived, was too much to ignore.

Especially under the covers, he typed back, not holding anything back. You never know where a ghost might hide, after all. I'll have to search everywhere, just to be safe.

He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. Then added one final line.

And I'll make sure to check every inch thoroughly. For any...abnormalities.

｡･ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

As the days passed, your messages became more frequent, more daring. What started as playful teasing had turned into something else—something charged, something electric.  

The flirting was relentless, a slow, delicious game neither of you wanted to stop. Anakin knew he was toeing the line, but God help him, he didn’t care. You were intoxicating—the way you teased him, the way you played innocent one moment and wicked the next.  

And every time his screen lit up with a new message from you, he felt that same rush, that same heat pooling low in his stomach.  

You had him hooked.

He knew he should put an end to this, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. It was like a drug, a dangerous high he didn't want to come down from.

Tell me... he paused, his fingers hesitating for only a moment. What do you usually sleep in at night? Or out of...

Anakin's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as the image loaded. The dim light of his quarters cast an intimate glow across his face, a face flushed with a growing heat that had nothing to do with the temperature. He leaned in closer, squinting to make out every exquisite detail of the photo, his eyes roaming hungrily over the exposed skin of your shoulders, the way the thin strap of your nightgown clung precariously to your frame.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched, almost in slow motion, the strap slipping ever so slightly. He felt his mouth go dry, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as anticipation built inside him like a palpable force. And then, like a revelation, he caught sight of the swell of your breast, the tantalizing curve that promised so much more if only he could see just a little further.

Bunny: do you like to see more?

Fuck, he breathed, his voice low and rough with desire. I'd love to see more.

You send another message.

Anakin's heart raced as he stared at the image on his screen, his breath growing ragged. The sight of you kneeling there, clutching at the fabric of your nightgown, teasing him with a glimpse of the lace barely covering your butt, sent a jolt of lust straight to his aching cock.

Sweetheart, you're playing with fire, he typed, his fingers trembling slightly as they flew over the keys. Keep this up and I might just burn in the flames.

He palmed himself through his pants, unable to ignore the growing bulge that strained against the confines of his clothing. The urge to touch himself was overwhelming, but he resisted. He wanted to savor this moment, to draw out the delicious torture of anticipation.

What else do you want to show me? he asked. Where else would you like my eyes to wander?

Bunny: Uhm, I don't know, maybe you could buy me a lingerie set to wear just for you

Anakin's eyes darkened with lust as he read your suggestion, his mind racing with the possibilities. The idea of you modeling lingerie just for him, a matching set in a soft, delicate shade of pink, was almost too much to bear.

I think I'd like that very much, he replied. What color would you prefer? I'm thinking something soft and sexy, maybe a shade of pink to match your sweet smile.

He palmed himself more firmly through his pants, his cock throbbing beneath his touch. The urge to whip out his length and stroke himself to completion was strong, but he held back, wanting to make this moment last.

And maybe... he paused, letting the anticipation build. You could send me a picture of what you'd look like in it. Give me a little preview of what's to come.

Bunny: you know my address to send

Anakin couldn't keep the grin off his face as he hit the 'Confirm Purchase' button, his heart racing with anticipation. He had splurged on the most beautiful lingerie set he could find—the perfect shade of bubblegum pink, soft and shimmery, with delicate lace detailing. He couldn't wait to see it clinging to your curves, highlighting every inch of your gorgeous body.

I took your suggestion and one upped it, he typed, smirking to himself. It should be arriving at your doorstep tomorrow. I hope you like it as much as I think you will.

He paused, his mind already filling with the filthy images of your modeling it just for him.

Send me a picture as soon as you put it on. I want to see how stunning you look.

The next day, the first message was from you.

Bunny: Oh baby, I love it, give me a minute to put on my lingerie and we can do a video call

Anakin's breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he read your response. A video call—that would be even better than any photo. He could see you, really see you, in the lingerie he had bought just for you.

I can't wait to see you in it, he typed back, his fingers shaking slightly. Meet me on a video call in 5 minutes.

He ended the message with a winking emoji, his mind already racing with the possibilities. The room was dim, the lighting soft and intimate, perfect for a private show. He could already picture you, perched on the edge of your bed, the pink lace clinging to your curves in all the right places. 

Anakin took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He had to get his head in the game, had to remember that this was just a bit of fun, a distraction from his marriage's problems and the weight of his responsibilities. It didn't mean anything. 

But even as he told himself that, he knew it was a lie. This meant something, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on what. All he knew was that he wanted more of you, and he would do whatever it took to get it.

Anakin locked the bedroom door, exhaling slowly as he leaned against it. He mentally thanked Padmé for the extra shift—how ironic. Not long ago, her long hours had been a source of frustration, the widening gap between them something he resented.

And yet here he was, grateful for the distance.

Grateful for the excuse.

His fingers hovered over his phone, anticipation thrumming through him. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew this was dangerous.

But when your name lit up his screen, all reason faded.

Anakin took a deep breath as he tapped the button to accept the video call, his heart pounding in his chest. The screen flickered to life, and there you were—stunning, breathtaking, even more gorgeous than he had imagined.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight of you, clad in the lingerie he had purchased just for this moment. The soft pink lace clung to every curve, highlighting the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the tempting flare of your hips. It was everything he had hoped for and more.

“Fuck, you look incredible,” he breathed, his voice low and rough with desire. “That color was made for you.”

He couldn't take his eyes off you, drinking in every detail. The way the lace seemed to shimmer in the soft light, the way it hinted at the treasures hidden beneath. He felt his cock twitch and harden, straining against the confines of his pants. 

“Turn around for me, sweetheart,” he instructed, his voice a low command. “Let me see all of you.”

You smiled amusedly. "Like this" you said happily, turning to show every bit of your skin to him.

Anakin's breath caught in his throat as you spun around, putting yourself on display just for him. The way the lingerie clung to your every curve was mesmerizing, the delicate lace accentuating your breasts, your toned belly, the gentle flare of your hips, and the tantalizing globes of your ass. He couldn't look away, his eyes roaming hungrily over every inch of exposed skin.

“Fuck, you're stunning,” he breathed. “I can't believe I bought that just for you. You look good enough to eat.”

He palmed himself through his pants, unable to ignore the ache of his hardening cock. The urge to reach down and free himself was overwhelming, but he resisted—for now. He wanted to savor this moment, to drink in every detail of your heavenly beauty.

“Lie back on the bed for me,” he instructed, his voice low and commanding. “Spread your legs, and show me what's mine.”

"Oh, baby, you're so bossy," you retorted softly, before biting your lower lip mischievously, adjusting your phone before approaching the bed. "But, I kind of like your dominant ways."

Anakin felt a thrill run through him at your playful words, his cock twitching in approval. He loved seeing this side of you, bold and teasing, more than eager to obey his every command. It was intoxicating, addictive, and he knew he could easily become drunk on the power.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a low rumble as he watched you adjust your phone and get in the bed. “You're going to be so perfect for me.”

He drank in the sight of you settling onto the mattress, the soft pink lace a stark contrast against the white fabric. His heart raced as you slowly spread your legs, revealing more of your smooth, creamy thighs, the lace of your panties riding up to showcase the junction between your legs.

“That's it, sweetheart. Nice and slow,” he encouraged, his eyes glued to the screen, not wanting to miss a single second of your tantalizing display. “Show me everything you have to offer.”

Anakin's breath hitched as he watched you slip your delicate hand beneath the lace, his cock throbbing almost painfully against his pants. The sight of you touching yourself, your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure, was almost too much to bear. He could see the growing damp spot on your panties, evidence of your arousal, and it made him ache to be the one to bring you to the edge of ecstasy.

“You're so beautiful like this,”he breathed, his voice rough with desire. “Don't stop touching yourself. I want to watch you.”

He couldn't tear his eyes away from your hand moving beneath the fabric, imagining how soft and smooth your folds were, how wet and ready you were becoming. His own hand drifted down to palm himself more firmly through his pants, squeezing and stroking along the hard length of his cock.

“Tell me how it feels,” he commanded, his voice a low, urgent growl. “Describe it to me in detail. I want to know everything.”

"I'm so wet for you, my fingers are slipping so easily" you whimpered, touching yourself, sighs of pleasure escaping your mouth.

Anakin groaned as he listened to your breathy words, the sound of your pleasure shooting straight to his aching cock. He could picture your fingers gliding effortlessly through your slick folds, your body responding to your own touch, preparing itself for him. The knowledge that he was the cause of your arousal was intoxicating, fueling his own desire.

‘Is that so?” he growled, his hand drifting to the fastenings of his pants. “I can hear how much you're enjoying yourself. How wet you're getting just from my command.”

He popped open the button of his pants, freeing his straining erection. It sprang forth, thick and hard, the head already glistening with precum. He wrapped a hand around his throbbing shaft, squeezing and stroking himself in time with the rhythm of your breathy sighs.

“Touch your pretty pussy, baby,” he ordered, his voice a low, dominating rumble. “Rub those pretty little circles around it, nice and slow. Pretend it's my fingers touching you, pleasuring you.”

"Your fingers are so much bigger than mine, they would feel so good in my pussy," you whimpered.

 Anakin's breath grew ragged as he listened to the obscene sound of your fingers plunging in and out of your dripping cunt, your sweet little whimpers and sighs filling the air. His cock throbbed and leaked in his hand as he picked up the pace, stroking himself faster in time with the slick sounds of your touching.

“Fuck, I'd love to sink my fingers deep inside your tight little pussy,” he groaned, his voice strained with lust. “To feel your velvety walls squeezing around me as I pump in and out.”

He could only imagine how perfect you would feel, how hot and wet and ready you would be for him. His cock ached with the desire to plunge into your depths, to stretch you open and claim you as his own.

“Slick your clit with your juices,” he commanded, his breath coming faster now. “Get it nice and wet, just like your hungry little hole. Pretend it's my tongue, teasing and circling as I taste your sweet cum.”

You moaned, your hair spreading across the sheets as you rubbed yourself harder. "tell me what to do, tell me what your good girl needs to do?"

Anakin's heart raced as he watched you come undone on the screen, your hair splayed across the sheets, your hips rocking against your hand as you rubbed yourself with wanton desperation. Your breathy moans and whimpers filled his ears, spurring on his own desperate stroking.

"You're being such a good girl for me," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Touching yourself just like I told you to. So eager and obedient."

He could see how soaked your panties were, the lace darkened with your juices, your pussy aching to be filled. His cock throbbed in his fist, the head flushed a deep, angry red, leaking steadily now.

"Take off your bra," he ordered, his voice a commanding rumble. "I want to see your perfect tits bouncing free. Play with your nipples as you fuck yourself with your fingers."

Anakin's breath caught in his throat as he drank in the perfect sight of your breasts spilling free from your bra, the delicate pink of your nipples a perfect match to the lingerie that hugged your curves. They were even more beautiful than he had imagined, full and round, the peaks already hardened into tight little buds just beginning to be touched.

"Your tits are perfect," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "Even better than I dreamed they would be."

He tightened his grip around his throbbing cock, pumping himself faster as he watched you on the screen. The sight of you touching yourself, playing with your dripping cunt and your perfect breasts, was almost too much to bear.

"Pinch your nipples," he commanded, his voice a low, dominating growl. "Roll and tug on them, just like I would with my fingers. Imagine it's my mouth, my teeth grazing the sensitive flesh."

He could only imagine the taste of you, the feeling of your hardened nubs against his tongue as he sucked and teased, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. His cock throbbed in his hand, the pleasure building to a fever pitch as he watched you pleasure yourself just for him.

With one hand you squeezed your breast, pinching the nipple until it hardened completely, without ever stopping touching yourself. "Uhm, talk dirty to me, tell me what you're doing, what my body makes you feel."

Anakin groaned as he watched you touch yourself with wild abandon. "I'm stroking my hard, aching cock as I watch you. Watching you play with your perfect tits, squeezing and pinching those pretty pink nipples until they're stiff peaks."

"I can feel every inch of you, even from here. The way your tight little pussy clenches around your fingers as you fuck yourself, so desperate for more. The way your breasts bounce and jiggle as you touch yourself, just the way I want to touch them."

He pumped his cock faster, the slick sounds of his stroking filling the air. "I'm imagining burying my face between your legs, my tongue delving deep into your sweet cunt. Licking up every drop of your juices, fucking you with my tongue until you scream."

"I want to bite down on your nipples, to mark you as mine. I want to suck and tease until you're writhing beneath me, begging for more. Tell me what you want, sweetheart," he growled, his breath ragged and intense. "What does my good girl need?"

"I want to cum, daddy." You whimpered, confused in your haze of pleasure, taking a few seconds to realize what had slipped from your tongue.

"Daddy?" Anakin retorted, his deep voice filling your room and making you open your eyes, your cheeks flushing.

Anakin froze, his heart pounding in his chest as the words echoed in his ears. Daddy. It had slipped out, a moment of unguarded passion and desperation. For a moment, he felt a pang of unease, a flicker of doubt. This was wrong, he knew it was. He was crossing a line, one that he shouldn't be crossing.

"I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," you mumbled nervously.

But as he looked at you on the screen, flushed and panting, your gorgeous body on display just for him, he felt his resolution crumble. He wanted you, more than anything. And if you wanted to call him daddy, if that's what got you off...

"Shh, it's okay, sweetheart," he soothed, his voice a low, intimate murmur. "I like it. I like it a lot."

He stroked himself slower, more deliberately, putting on a show for you. "Tell me what you want daddy to do to you."

He wanted to hear you say it, to put voice to the filthy, forbidden thoughts running through your mind. He wanted to be the one to bring you to the edge, to make you scream and shake and cum harder than you ever had before.

"Beg for it, baby. Beg daddy to make you cum."

"Please, daddy, I want to cum so bad, I want you to guide me, let your voice take me to heaven" you whine, feeling the descent of your hips warming up.

Anakin's heart raced as he listened to your desperate pleas, his cock throbbing and pulsing in his hand. The way you said daddy, the need and longing in your voice, it set him on fire. He stroked himself faster, the slick sounds of his hand pumping his shaft filling the room.

"Fuck, I love hearing you beg for it like that," he groaned, his voice a low, approving rumble. "Like a needy little girl begging her daddy to take care of her."

He could feel your desperation, the way your hips were rocking and grinding against your fingers, chasing your climax. He wanted to be the one to give it to you, to feel your cunt clench and flutter around his cock as he fucked you into oblivion.

"Focus on my voice, baby. Let it guide you, take you higher," he commanded, his breath coming faster now. "Imagine it's my hands on your body, touching and stroking every inch of you."

"Fuck yourself harder, sweetheart. Shove your fingers deep inside your greedy little cunt. Imagine it's my cock, stretching you open, filling you up." Anakin murmured, his voice husky and engaging. "Let yourself go, baby. Cum for daddy. Cum all over your fingers like the good little girl you are. Let me hear you scream."

Anakin grunted and shuddered as he watched you come undone, your body convulsing on the screen as the intense waves of your climax crashed over you. The sound of your scream, raw and primal, filled the air as you cried out his name, your pussy clenching and fluttering around your fingers in ecstasy.

"Fuck yes, that's it! Cum for daddy, baby! Cum hard on your fingers like a good girl," he roared, his own orgasm surging through him as he stroked himself to completion. Thick ropes of hot, sticky seeds erupted from his cock, spurting onto his hand and stomach as he rode out the intense pleasure.

He couldn't take his eyes off you, drinking in every second of your pleasure, the way your gorgeous tits bounced and jiggled as you writhed and bucked beneath your own touch. He felt a surge of male pride and possessiveness, knowing that he had brought you to such heights of ecstasy.

"You're so fucking beautiful when you cum for me," he breathed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "Such a perfect, perfect good girl for daddy."

"And this is just the beginning, sweetheart. Wait until I get my hands on you for real."

"I'll wait, daddy," you whimpered, your eyes blinking back to focus on his face after your mind-blowing orgasm. "I'll count the days until it happens."

Anakin's heart raced as he heard your breathless promise, a thrill running through him at the thought of the forbidden future that lay ahead. The knowledge that you would be waiting for him, eager and ready, made his spent cock twitch and started to fill and harden once more.

"I'll be counting down the days too, baby girl," he murmured. "Already thinking about all the naughty, filthy things I'm going to do to this sexy little body of yours."

He took in the sight of you, flushed and panting, your skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat from your intense climax. The lingerie you wore, the lingering desire for you... it was all seared into his mind, a deliciously sinful memory to treasure.

"But for now, you should get some rest, sweetheart. Recover your strength. Because when I finally have you in my arms, I'm going to need you at your best. I'm going to fuck you in ways you've never been fucked before."

He reached out to caress the screen, wishing he could feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. "Sweet dreams, my little girl. Dream of daddy, and all the dirty, wonderful things we're going to do together."

"Until next time," he promised darkly, before ending the call with a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

[itostea]

care for me? (gojo x wife! reader)

——————————————————————————

in which you’re forced to share a bed with the husband you’re convinced hates you

warnings: there’s only one bed!!!! suggestive bc it’s gojo, they’re both a bit confused, pic from lving yamada kun at lv999

a/n: part of the gojo’s wife series (i recc you read the fic before this one to understand some things), also i’m posting this stuff on my phone now since i’m on vacay …meaning format will be extra ugly💀💀

——————————————————————————

“What exactly did you say to make the principal Gakuganji agree to us on a mission together?”

You think Gojo or rather your husband, doesn’t really understand how fast he actually walks. With the way he towers over every civilian in Japan and how much longer his strides are, you’re almost certain that his pacing is far from normal. It gets to the point where you’re jogging to keep up with him, a huff escaping your lips in exasperation.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that, ‘kay?” He gives you a lazy smile and with the blindfold wrapped around his head, you can’t exactly see the way he glances over at you–gradually shortening his steps for you to catch up.

You choose to ignore his comment about “your pretty little head” and instead sigh. “Sator–I mean ‘Toru,” you say carefully, gauging the way he gives a satisfied smile at your correction. After the moment you both had in the kitchen at a dangerously late hour, he insisted you call him a nickname.

He gave some recommendations: my hubby, my king, the strongest and most handsome husband. Naturally, you refused to call him those nicknames in public and even denied him the joy in private. So to avoid his needless whining, you compromised and decided on “‘Toru.” The way he brightened up that day made you feel giddy all over but you brushed it off with the fact that you were just glad he was actually talking to you.

“You didn’t do anything bad right?” You inquire, shooting him a glare.

“I think what I did was reasonable!” He chirps, reaching in a bag of candy to plop some in his mouth—the same bag he insisted on getting before you both went on the mission. You can’t help but feel a bit meek when his fingers inch towards your mouth and he gives a toothy grin, beckoning for you to open. You breathe out an annoyed huff, slightly parting your lips to let the sugary treat on your tongue.

He smiles, leaning forward to let his fingers linger in the plush of your lips. “Good girl.”

The way your breath hitches is visceral and you feel the pricks of embarrassment probe at your skin. Your eyes avert from his and you quicken your steps, trying your best to hide the fact that Gojo Satoru was having an effect on you. You miss the way his smile widens at your reaction.

You still avoid his gaze when he catches up. “You know I’m the one who cleans up after your mess whenever you piss the higher-ups right? It’s me who gets the scolding!”

“Scolding? Would you believe me if I told you stuff like that won’t happen again?”

You pause, analyzing how he flashed a coy grin. Immediately, your eyes narrow. “Gojo Satoru.”

“It’s ‘Toru to you,” he voices, chuckling at how your frown deepened. “Relax. I didn’t do anything that bad. Just did enough for them to stop annoying my wife.”

You choose not to linger on how easily the words “my wife” falls out of your lips but it’s hard when he went so far just for your wellbeing. Your mind drifts to his lips pressed against your forehead, instantly regretting it as you feel your neck growing warm. You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts from multiplying, earning a curious look from Gojo.

Before he can ask why you went quiet, you stop in your tracks, looking at him with an expression so cute he nearly feels himself fall over. You click your tongue. “‘Toru. You annoy me more than them.”

He whistles, looking at the sight of the abandoned hospital–the location where the S-grade assigned to the both of you curse lies hidden. “Harsh.”

-

The lady in the front trembles as she inputs the data for the two of you. Her eyes scan Gojo’s wide grin and your blank expression that seems even more menacing with the red splatters on your clothes. You blink, tilting your head. “It’s not my blood,” you try to reassure her but that only seems to worsen her fear.

“R-Right!” She squeaks. “One room for Mr. Gojo, correct?”

Gojo nods with a hum, taking the keycard from the lady’s trembling hands. He gestures for you to follow him, walking with so much bravado that any onlooker doesn’t even question the bloodied state of your uniform. “You should’ve been more careful,” he says. “You made a mess.”

“Not everyone has infinity you know?” You mumble, following him into the hotel suite. Your eyes scan the seemingly fancy interior and furniture, not paying much attention until your eyes lock onto an unmistakable sight.

“‘Toru. Why is there only one bed?”

His disinterested hum only serves to make you grow more baffled. He shrugs off his jacket, cracking his neck with a hum. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I said two beds. The lady must’ve messed up seeing you all bloodied up. Must’ve scared her real bad huh?”

You’re almost certain that this predicament has brought you more stress than any mission you’ve been sent. And you’re amazed–no bewildered, that Gojo’s not even batting an eye at this.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now that you’re sharing a bed with your husband.”

“We’ve never done that before!” You squeak out, dropping your bags on the floor.

That was partially his fault, he thinks. Even so, he keeps his mouth shut. “You have any extra clothes you can wear?”

Even in your frenzied state, you still process the question, blinking in recognition. “No…”

He shrugs. “Then you can wear my shirt,” he points to the white button-up. “Might be gross but it’s better than nothing right? Besides that makes us even now. I got to see you shirtless when—”

“‘Toru!”

He grins an easy-going smile. “Ya know if you’re not comfortable with sleeping on the same bed as me, I can always sleep on the couc–”

“No!” You say a bit too quickly, straightening yourself out when he raises a curious brow. “No I mean like, I don’t mind that much. Besides, I don’t want you to hurt your back on the couch…”

“That’s the only reason?” He smiles and it’s not hard to realize he’s teasing you.

You nod, resolute despite your sweating palms. “Yes.”

“Then…” he shrugs. “You can take a shower first. I’ll leave the shirt near the door. Promise I won’t look. Unless you want me to.”

You can only give another nod, shooting a glare at his shit-eating grin. You take off to the showers, clasping a hand over your mouth as you silently scream in embarrassment. The warm water makes your skin feel hotter to touch and you only try your hardest not to dwell on the details. It’s just a night on the same bed together. Nothing more, nothing less.

You wish you could have kept that confidence huddled in your blankets–watching your snow-haired husband crawl into bed. You try not to linger on his bare torso for too long to be considered healthy and have to physically restrain yourself from jumping when his hand grazes your thigh.

He’s not wearing his blindfold or shades, meaning you can really see how his eyes watch your every move in interest. He leans closer, making you bite a squeak down. “You’re hogging the blankets.”

“Huh? Oh yeah,” you laugh awkwardly, throwing the fabric off your body for him. Gojo Satoru doesn’t have a favorite art piece but you in his shirt might just take the spot. He licks his lips, seeing how you unbuttoned a few buttons near the collar for more room–how you avoided his gaze. Cute, he thinks.

He raises a brow when you lay on your side, covering yourself in the blankets until you’re a heap of fabric. His lips twitches into a smile when he sees the way you curl up into yourself. Then again, he chooses not to mention it when he feels himself growing drowsy.

You’re not sure how much time passes but you can hear Gojo’s gentle breathing fill the room. You bring a hand to your legs, trying to ease away the goosebumps forming on your skin. At first, you assumed they were from nerves but now, you’re almost certain it’s because the hotel’s blasting the AC. And oddly enough, Gojo seems completely unaffected, even able to sleep peacefully.

You sigh, turning to face him. You’ve always known your husband was an attractive man but it’s not fair for him to look so good even while sleeping. His lashes are long and you find yourself staring a bit too long at his lips. Again, your mind drift to the moment when he pressed those same lips to your forehead and instead of being filled with embarrassment, you’re filled with a feeling that squeezes at your heart.

Subconsciously, you’re reaching for his face, grazing a finger down his cheekbones to the corner of his lips. His skin is smooth against your touch and you’re almost jealous that his skin was perfect too. You continue to map your way to his jawline, mesmerized at the sight.

“Enjoying the view?” He mumbles, his eyes closed though a smile crosses his face. You’re about to retrace your hand away from his face but he’s quick to clasp one around your wrist. You nearly squeak when he leans closer to your palm, his eyes finally opening to peer into yours. “Eyeing me when I’m asleep? I didn’t know you were such a per—“

“I’m not!” You yelp, snatching your wrist away from you him with a flushed face.

He hums, propping himself on his elbow to watch you. “Hm? Now you getting all embarrassed on me after you felt me up?”

“I did not feel you up.”

He merely shrugs with a grin. “It’s all good. I think you’re pretty cute too.”

You didn’t know it was possible to be this flustered until you shared a bed with Gojo. “I only touched you because I was cold!”

That wasn’t entirely a lie either. When you felt Gojo’s face, his skin was warm under your touch and you wondered if the rest of him was like that. Naturally, you refrained from thinking even further or else you really wouldn’t sleep a wink.

To your surprise, you feel see him pat the spot besides him. Your lips fall apart as you continue to stare. He only shrugs with a lazy smirk. “What? A husband has to make sure his wife’s comfortable right?”

It’s hard to say no when you feel the cool air of the AC bite into your skin—your limbs trembling. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, sighing as you scootched closer to him. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your frame closer until you’re against his torso.

You try not to dwell on the fact that you can feel how his muscles move against your shirt—or rather his shirt; how he nuzzled his face in your neck, breathing in your scent that this scene felt so naturally domestic.

You squirm in his embrace, shifting your hips around to find a more comfortable position. His arms immediately squeeze you tighter, making you squeak. “Stay still,” he says lowly against your ear.

“You’re holding me too tight,” you whine, wiggling your hips again. This time, his hand squeezes your hip.

“Yeah? Well if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll have another problem to deal with.”

“What—“ You say before the realization hits you and you’re left spluttering like an idiot. Your head turns to face him and you immediately regret it.

His blues bore into yours and you see how his lips twitch as if trying to hold back a laugh. “I—“ You start, turning away from him with your stomach doing flips. “Okay,” you squeak, clenching your eyes shut at your response.

He only grunts in response, spooning you with his chin atop of your head. Minutes pass and you relax in his arms. “‘Toru?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you being so nice to me right now? I thought you hated me?”

“What?” For the first time, he sounds awake. He leans up so you can see his hues peering down at you. You watch bemused as a tortured expression crosses his face for a second. “(Name), I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”

Your bewilderment grows. “But you…you never talked to me.”

He smooths a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I don’t have some regrets about that.”

It’s the same like last time, when the two of you were in the kitchen. He’s looking at you so tenderly that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I care for you,” he continues, trying to pick his words thoughtfully. “Much more than I want to.”

He still peers down at you, so close that you almost think he’s about to lean in for a kiss. You observe him with a wide-eyed look, only letting out a little gasp when you feel his lips press against your forehead again—the feeling familiar to you. Gojo resumes his cuddling shortly after, squeezing your hip once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You widen your eyes, remaining silent. You’re at a list of words, momentarily left speechless. Even so, you reach down to press a hand over his on your hip, squeezing it lightly. “I know.”

Gojo thinks he sleeps the best when you’re besides him. You’re soft against him, fitting perfectly in between his arms. He thinks, there’s no way he was going to let this moment pass—and he was a man who kept true to his wishes. The next time he was going to sleep in his house, he was going to do it with you by his side.

BONUS:

“‘Toru…”

“What is it again?” He grumbles, though there’s no bite in his tone.

“Why couldn’t we just teleport home instead of going to a hotel?”

A brief silence follows.

“Go to sleep.”

[letstalkaboutshtufff]

Never a Burden Part 2

Neteyam x reader

Pairing: Neteyam x Reader Mate

Warnings: Mentions of injury, mild blood, kinda 18+ at the end.

Previous chapter

****************************************************

You waited for what felt like hours for your mate to return.

As soon as he walked through the entrance you shot up on your feet.

He released a sigh when he saw you and raised his arms out to you.

You immediately ran into his embrace hugging him tightly.

Seconds later you were pulling away to look him up and down. Your breath caught seeing his bleeding knuckles.

“Teyam…”

“It is nothing love, don’t be sad” he pulled you close again releasing a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry Neteyam…” you murmured into his chest.

“Shh don’t apologize.” He kissed your head and pulled you to sit down on his lap by the fire.

“Lemme get some salve for your hand-“ you attempted to stand but he pulled you back down with a click of his tongue.

“Leave it, it’s nothing..”

“…Neteyam… what did you do?” Fear was evident in your voice.

“I showed him what happens when someone messes with my family…” his tone was bitter.

Panic was clear as day on your face but Neteyam was quick to dispel your worries, “Don’t worry he’s not dead, as much as I wanted to kill him, I did not.”

“But he won’t be able to join us on raids anytime soon…” he muttered.

“W-wha, what did you do??”

Made his face look like a bowl of purple berries, Broke his arm for touching you, gave him a much worse bruise on his stomach, shoved him in the river and held his head down a little too long…

“Just roughed him a bit don’t worry..”

“But you just said he wouldn’t be able to-“

He shut you up with an abrupt kiss. It was slow and sweet, that is until he bit you.

“Ow what was that for.” You pouted and pulled back.

“For not telling me the moment someone was bothering you.”

“But Teyam-“

“No buts”. His eyes were stern.

“Since when do we hide things from each other hm?” You looked down feeling shame.

“I…I didn’t want to but I didn’t want to burden you with this Neteyam…” he sighed loudly.

“It’s never a burden, you’re never a burden…” he made sure you were looking in his eyes.

They held nothing but the truth. You weren’t a burden.

“Promise you’ll never hide something like this from me again.”

You nodded, “I promise”.

He kissed you again, “good”.

“How is your wound?” He readjusted you to look at your stomach.

“It’s alright, it looks worse than it is..”

You could read the emotions on his face, bearing himself up that he couldn’t protect you.

“Don’t Neteyam, don’t- I’m alright. I promise. It’s nobody’s fault except them.. and thanks to you I don’t think they’ll be bothering me anytime soon…” you kissed his bruised knuckles.

He smiled warmly but then suddenly furrowed his brows, “Wait they? What do you mean “they””.

You blinked up innocently, “didn’t I mention his friends…?”

Neteyam scoffed in exasperation, “No you did not mention his friends!”

“Ok ok calm down, they didn’t do anything just called me some names, Tu’Mey was the only one who hurt me-Ow Neteyam!” You pouted bringing a hand to your freshly flicked forehead.

“What did you just promise woman!”

“I-It it doesn’t count, I forgot about them, I wasn’t hiding it!”

“You-” you interrupted him this time with a kiss.

He let out the millionth sigh of the night.

“What am I going to do with you hm?” He said fondly.

“You’re the one who chose me Neteyam” you grinned.

“Yeah I did…”

“Do you regret it…?”

“Never” he smirked pulling you in for a much deeper kiss than before.

“I think I know how to keep you out of trouble…”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” You shivered when he nibbled on your ear.

“I’ll wear you out until you can’t move, you can’t cause trouble if you can’t walk..”

Eywa help you..

**************************************************

Short but sweet conclusion! Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading🥰

[nizhspo]

pairing: sukuna ryomen x f!reader

synopsis: you and sukuna are stuck in a windowless study room after hours—no ac, no lights, no way out. he swears it’s a fluke. you’re sweating through your gym clothes and trying not to kill him.

content: college au, forced proximity.

you’ve been in here for two and a half hours now, staring at the same shared doc on your laptop, your legs pulled up in the chair and tucked beneath you, the hem of your hoodie riding up over your hips as you lean forward and try to force yourself to give a damn about this joint research project.

the air is thick and humid, the kind that makes your skin feel sticky and your hair frizz out at the ends. it rained earlier, but the heat never left. it just got heavier.

sukuna’s across from you, lounging in the chair like he owns it, his phone resting on the edge of the table, his screen glowing while he scrolls through god knows what. probably not even reading, just killing time while you do the real work.

he’s wearing loose gray sweatpants, slung low, with the waistband of his boxers peeking out every time he shifts in his seat. his shirt’s some black cutoff tank that hangs low on the sides, wide enough that you can see the curve of his ribs and the tattoos that crawl across his chest and disappear beneath the fabric. he looks warm, but not sweating. just golden. tan from whatever intramural sport he pretends he doesn’t play. pink heat across his nose. lips parted slightly like he’s bored.

“it’s late,” you say, clicking save on the doc and closing your laptop halfway. “we should probably pack up before they lock the building or some shit.”

he stretches, arms lifting overhead, showing off a sliver of his toned stomach and that stupid little line that trails down into his waistband. “we’re good,” he says, voice low and a little dismissive. “security does a sweep before they close everything. we’ve got time.”

you blink at him. “you sure?”

he nods, already leaning back again, eyes slipping shut like he has not a single responsibility in the world. “positive.”

you eye him. “why do you even care? you’re not doing any real work.”

he hums. doesn’t even bother opening his eyes. “i am.”

“you’ve been staring at your phone for the past twenty minutes.”

“yeah,” he says, lazy. “while thinking.”

you snort. “about what, exactly?”

“you wouldn’t get it.” his mouth curls just a little, and when he opens one eye, it’s gleaming. “i’m a night owl. these are my peak hours.”

“so is being irritating part of your nocturnal routine?”

he grins wider. “only when you’re around.”

you sit there for a second, still too warm in your hoodie. the kind of heat that clings to your back and builds under your sleeves. your hair’s sticking to the back of your neck. you shift a little, frowning.

sukuna opens one eye. “you good?”

“it’s just hot,” you mutter, peeling the hoodie up over your head and yanking it off. static clings to your arms as you do, the tank top underneath sticking to your skin. “humid as fuck today.”

he hums, some amused little sound from deep in his chest, and doesn’t look away as you toss the hoodie over the back of your chair.

you’re already regretting the layers. you had just come from the gym earlier—still wearing your black nike pros, sweatpants over them, tank and sports bra layered underneath.

you hadn’t really planned to be here this long. just meant to do a quick outline. now you’re sweating in a brick box with a guy who keeps looking at you like he knows something you don’t.

“gonna hit the bathroom,” he says suddenly, standing. “don’t miss me too much.”

you roll your eyes. “wasn’t planning to.”

you watch him leave. and you’re tired, yeah, but your brain is still working, and it notices immediately when he turns left. the bathroom’s to the right.

you squint. “what the hell…”

ten minutes pass. still no sukuna. your hoodie’s off, but your hair’s up now too, and your sweatpants feel like a fucking sauna on your legs. you yank them down to your knees and then off entirely, kicking them under the table. the air hits the skin of your thighs and you sigh. better.

you crack the door and peer out into the hall. nobody’s there. the usual hum of the AC in the hallway is gone, and the air feels heavier now than when you walked in.

you frown, then close the door with a soft thud, shaking your head and moving back to your chair. the second you sit down and reach for your phone—

click.

the lights overhead buzz, and then you see them go out. not just feel it. see the sudden shadow that drops across the floor through the narrow gap at the bottom of the door.

you freeze. “what the—”

the doorknob spins.

and then sukuna’s back. standing inside the room, door closed, looking proud as shit. his arms are crossed, shoulders flexed, shadows cutting over his chest from his phone light in his hands.

“what the fuck did you do?” you ask, breathless.

he shrugs. “guess the timer’s off or something.”

you squint at him. “you turned the lights off.”

“technically, no.” he moves past you, kicks one of the chairs aside, and flops back into his seat. “the system did.”

you stare at him. “what the fuck does that even mean?”

he props one ankle on his knee. shrugs. “it’s on a timer. when the library closes, they shut everything down. lights, AC, door access.”

you blink. “wait. what?”

“yeah,” he says, casually tugging at the hem of his shirt like he’s adjusting for comfort and not slowly driving you insane. “the library’s closed.”

you stand up instantly. “no it’s not. you said we had more time—”

“and now it’s after nine.”

you’re already grabbing your phone. “no way. there’s no fucking way. they lock people in?”

“if they don’t see you during sweep, yeah.” he doesn’t even look at you, just leans back and folds his arms behind his head. “happens all the time.”

you don’t respond. you’re already halfway out the door, flashlight turned on. the hallway’s darker than it should be. none of the motion-sensor lights kick on.

you make a beeline for the main entrance first. push on the glass doors: locked. you try the emergency exit by the reference desk: locked. you check the staff-only hallway that sometimes leads to the basement archives: double locked.

your heart kicks a little faster with every door you rattle.

and the whole time, you can hear him behind you. sukuna’s footsteps are loud on purpose. he’s not even pretending to be helpful. just following you like a shadow. lazy pace, hands in his pockets, grinning every time you glance back.

“you finding anything?” he calls.

“please shut up.”

“just wondering. ‘cause we’re definitely locked in.”

you whip around, phone flashlight pointed at his chest. “this isn’t funny.”

he blinks at the light in his face. “you’re right. it’s hilarious.”

you groan, fanning yourself with your hand, turning away again as the heat clings to your skin like syrup. your tank top’s starting to stick to your back again, your sports bra already damp underneath it. you retrace your steps and push open the cracked door to the study room you’d both been in, moving faster now, footsteps echoing sharp across the tile.

sukuna follows, still taking his sweet time, like this is all one big joke that just keeps getting funnier.

you throw the door open, stomp back toward the table, and whip around to face him.

“and the thermostat?”

he raises an eyebrow. “what about it?”

“you’re telling me it’s not broken?”

he stretches, again, that obnoxious stretch, like he knows you’re looking. “system probably controls that too,” he says.

“you are so—” you stop yourself. breathe. it’s hot. you’re sweating again. your tank is damp against your skin.

you sit back down slowly, peel the hem of your tank top away from your stomach. fan yourself with your notebook.

he watches. “damn. you strip fast.”

“sukuna—”

“what?” he says, all lazy innocence. “not my fault you wore half your closet to a study session.”

“i came from the gym.”

“mmhm.” he leans forward, forearms on the table, voice dipping a little. “so what else you got under there, gym girl?”

you narrow your eyes.

he smiles. teeth sharp, gaze fixed on your tank top, your bare thighs, the way your chest rises and falls a little faster now in the dark.

“well—we’re gonna be here a while,” he says casually, like he’s just talking about the weather. “might as well get comfortable.”

you don’t respond. just shoot him a look, jaw tight, as you drop back into your seat at the table. your thighs stick to the chair. the air feels thicker now, like it’s hugging your skin, weighing down your breath. you tug the hem of your tank away from your chest, trying to get a breeze that doesn’t exist.

you sit there for a second. then reach for your phone.

you open your texts. nothing new. pull up the campus security number from your bookmarks and hit call.

nothing. no ringing. just straight to voicemail.

you redial. straight to voicemail again.

you mutter under your breath and hang up, fingers already tapping out a message to nobara.

before you can even finish typing, you’re already standing again. pacing back and forth across the tile floor, phone to your ear, holding your tank top away from your skin with one hand, sweat beading on the back of your neck.

“come on,” you mutter, pressing the phone harder to your ear. “pick up—”

she goes to voicemail too.

you groan and hang up, turning toward sukuna, who’s watching you from his seat like you’re the only show he’s ever wanted to watch. one hand is dangling between his legs, rings catching in the dim light, the other fisted against his cheek as he leans on the table.

“they’re not picking up,” you say, not even trying to hide your irritation.

“campus security?” he asks, looking fake-surprised. “damn. must be after nine.”

“it is after nine,” you snap. “which means we’re locked in here for the night.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

you shoot him a look. “you planned this.”

he just shrugs. doesn’t deny it. his eyes flick to your hand as you lift the hem of your tank top and use it to wipe the sweat from your forehead. the motion drags the fabric up your stomach, revealing a thin line of skin, the band of your sports bra.

he doesn’t even try to be subtle about it. eyes heavy. jaw tense. tongue flicking across his lower lip like he’s biting down on a comment.

you pause, noticing it. “do not say anything.”

“wasn’t gonna,” he says, holding up his hands like he’s innocent, but his voice is low and smug and way too pleased. “but i am gonna keep looking.”

you tug your tank back down and flop into your seat, letting your head fall against the backrest. your thighs are sticking to the chair. everything’s humid. your sweatpants are already off, but even your nike pros feel suffocating now.

“this is so fucking miserable,” you groan.

he kicks his legs up, spreading them wide, looking annoyingly cool despite the temperature. “you’re being dramatic.”

“you turned off the AC!”

“prove it.”

you sit up, pulling your hair into a makeshift bun. “you took the long way to the bathroom. came back sweaty as hell. and now the lights are off and the doors are locked. so—what, did you flirt your way past the janitor to shut off the breaker?”

“i don’t flirt,” he says with a smirk. “i convince.”

you give him a blank stare.

“look,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows, “you’re gonna keep overheating if you keep squirming around like that. just—i don’t know, lose the tank or something.”

“absolutely not.”

“c’mon,” he says, voice dipping, eyes gleaming. “i’ve already seen most of what’s under there.”

“sukuna.”

he shrugs again, like he didn’t just say that with full eye contact. like you’re crazy for reacting at all.

your phone buzzes in your lap. you lunge for it.

[nobara: busy rn can’t talk]

you scowl, thumbs flying.

[you: i’m LITERALLY trapped in the library room nobara HELP]

[nobara: girl i am also being trapped rn just not in a library iykyk xoxo]

you let out a groan. of course she is.

“no luck?” sukuna asks, sounding fake-sympathetic.

“i hope you die,” you mutter.

“aw, sweetheart,” he coos, “don’t say that. we’ve still got all night together.”

you close your eyes. count to three. consider how much it’d cost to get a replacement computer after beating sukuna’s head in with your current one.

but it’s so hot, and your skin is practically steaming, and this room is somehow holding onto every single degree of heat in the whole goddamn county. your tank clings to you like glue. your bra band is soaked. your thighs are damp.

you hook your fingers under the hem of your tank. lift it just high enough to press the fabric to your face. just to wipe the sweat. just for a second.

you hear him exhale through his nose, quiet, but sharp. his gaze snaps to you like a magnet.

“you keep doin’ that,” he says, voice rougher now, “and i swear i’m not gonna be able to keep pretending i’m chill.”

your brows pull together. “you’ve been pretending?”

he tips his head back with a low laugh, rubbing a hand across his mouth. when he looks at you again, his eyes are darker. lower.

“yeah,” he says. “you’re fuckin’ melting in front of me, and i’m sitting here tryin’ to be good.”

you swallow. your mouth is dry. your whole body’s warm, too warm, and your tank is still bunched in your hand, clinging damp to your chest, sticking to the swell of your bra and the curve of your stomach. you can feel the heat pulsing beneath your skin like it’s got a heartbeat of its own.

and maybe it’s the suffocating air. maybe it’s the silence of the locked library. maybe it’s the way he’s sitting there like that, spread out and smug, arms draped over the sides of the chair, like he’s watching his favorite movie in slow motion—but you feel something twist low in your stomach.

tight. heady. distracting.

you’re not thinking about him like that. you’re just overheated. that’s all. you’re just… dizzy.

he moves like he’s got all the time in the world. unhurried. no urgency in the way he stretches his arms above his head again, spine cracking lightly as he rolls his neck and finally stands to his full height. the chair creaks as he leaves it behind, but his steps toward you are almost silent, save for the quiet shuffle of his slides dragging against the tile.

you watch him the whole time, frozen in your seat. your tank top is still clinging to you like a second skin. your sports bra underneath is damp, a dark outline spreading at the edges. your thighs are sticking to the seat. the air is soupy and still, like a sauna with no relief.

“so,” sukuna says, dragging a knuckle across his jaw as he stops a few feet in front of you, “are we just gonna keep pretending you weren’t tryin’ to get my attention with all that squirming, or…?”

you scoff, but it’s weak. “i was trying not to die.”

“sure,” he drawls. “and the little show was just a bonus, huh?”

you roll your eyes, leaning back, trying to ignore the way your tank rises again with the motion. his gaze drops immediately. sharp. heavy.

he licks his lips.

you look away.

your voice is quieter now. “you’re annoying.”

“and you’re sweaty,” he says, stepping a little closer, grin tilting sideways. his eyes drag down the line of your collarbone, slow and lazy. “y’know what else makes you sweat like that?”

you laugh once. “you’re disgusting.”

he leans down, palms flat on the edge of the table beside you, boxing you in. “and you’re trapped in a room with me.”

you tilt your head, glare up at him. “whose fault is that?”

he shrugs, shameless. “mine.”

and then he steps back. again. like he’s not doing this on purpose. like the air isn’t heavy with it now, the weight of something shifting, something inevitable.

he flops back down into his chair, legs spread wide, arms slung over the sides like a king on a throne. “but hey,” he says, voice light, smug as ever, “i’m not gonna come onto you or anything.”

you stare. “…really.”

he nods solemnly. “wouldn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“you’re literally the reason i’m sitting in a sweatbox at ten p.m. with no way out.”

“mm,” he says, pretending to think. “yeah, but let’s be real—if i hadn’t had the AC turned off, you wouldn’t be sitting here all hot and bothered, practically peeling that tank top off like it’s begging to be torn.”

your thighs clench before your brain can even catch it. you swallow hard.

and he sees it.

he tilts his head, one brow arching up slow and deliberate. “ah,” he says, grinning like he just solved a puzzle. “so you like this.”

you don’t answer.

your hands are warm. too warm. you press your palm to your cheek, like it’ll help, like it’ll cool anything down, but it doesn’t.

your voice is soft. almost a whisper. “i hate you.”

“no you don’t,” he says, gaze dragging over your chest again, then lower, slow and deliberate. “you’re just mad you like the way i look at you.”

you shift in your seat again. your tank sticks to you. you glance at the door.

your phone buzzes weakly on the table again, this time at 5% battery. you set it down face-down, slowly.

and sukuna’s voice slides in, low and dark:

“go on then,” he says, eyes burning into yours, mouth twitching. “get comfortable.”

[alive-gh0st]

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ…

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⛨ summary: you’re here to teach, not manage a walking concussion with charm issues. but he keeps looking at you like you hung the stars—and asking questions like you owe him answers. it’s temporary. it’s professional. it’s absolutely not personal. right?

⛨ contains: sfw. slow tension. hospital-grade sarcasm. emotional constipation. accidental pining. reader being done™. mark being so not subtle. vending machine cameos. background bureaucracy.

⛨ warnings: mild language. cecil stedman. lingering looks. golden retriever energy. mild secondhand embarrassment. one scalpel-related flirtation if you squint.

⛨ wc: 2839

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: honorable mention to donald for surviving government-grade stress, doing 99% of the admin work and getting 0% of the appreciation. chapter three is happening. probably. don’t look at me like that.

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The hum of fluorescent lights should’ve blended into the background by now. So should the low thrum of activity—boots echoing against concrete, the shuffle of files, hushed conversations between medics and masked vigilantes. But somehow, everything still feels a little too loud.

Maybe it’s the migraine brewing behind your eyes. Maybe it’s the fact that he won’t stop staring at you.

You shift your weight, cross your arms, and resolutely pretend you don’t notice.

That Invincible is standing three feet to your left, burning a hole through the side of your head with an intensity that shouldn’t be allowed from someone who wears goggles.

You’ve been ignoring him for seven minutes and counting.

You’ve acknowledged literally everything else in this sterile, underground chaos bunker—someone called Sea Salt (you can’t be bothered to care enough to remember properly) pacing in the background, a superhero with a dislocated shoulder yelling about insurance coverage, the world’s most suspicious vending machine—but not him.

And still, he stares.

You exhale slowly. Sharply turn your head.

He flinches like you threw something at him.

“Can I help you?”

The words are flat, clipped. The tone you use when a patient insists they know better because they once watched half an episode of ’Grey’s Anatomy’.

Invincible stammers. Actually stammers, like he doesn’t know what to do now that you talked back.

Your brows lift. “You’ve been standing there like an underpaid mall cop—gaping at me like I’m the last donut at a police briefing. Do you mind?”

He fumbles for a reply. You regret asking immediately.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

A few days earlier.

You were on your fourth cup of coffee and hour three of mid-insomnia spiraling when the email came in.

A subject line so vague it practically screamed delete me.

“URGENT: National Heroic Outreach Program — Personnel Request.”

It sounded like someone stitched together LinkedIn buzzwords with a glue stick and a dream.

You almost deleted it without opening. Fingers already moving to close the laptop.

And that’s when your eye caught the numbers.

A full contract breakdown, bolded in crisp font at the bottom of the message. Enough zeroes to make your exhausted brain glitch.

You squinted. Re-read. Laughed.

Then read it again.

Field medics, trauma therapists, stabilization specialists…

Working directly alongside sanctioned heroic units. Teaching them.

Short-term. High risk. Higher pay.

You were already muttering “absolutely not” as you clicked Reply.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

And now here you are.

In the middle of a hidden operations center that smells faintly of iodine and military-grade deodorant, trying to keep your expression neutral while Invincible looks at you like you invented sunlight.

You narrow your eyes.

“Seriously man. What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” he says almost too quickly. “I just…”

Didn’t think I’d ever hear you again—he wants to say, but the words die in his throat.

You groan like a middle-aged man.

“Fine, whatever—keep your staring fetish a secret. But you’re still in my space.”

And somehow, despite the sarcasm, despite the walls you’re already rebuilding brick by brick—he smiles. Like you just handed him a sunrise.

Weirdo.

The silence stretches.

Finally—finally—he stops staring. You can feel it.

Like the sun setting. Like freedom on the breeze. You don’t know what bliss tastes like, but you’re pretty sure it’s this exact moment.

Invincible turns his head. Doesn’t say a word. For the first time in almost ten minutes, you can breathe.

The air tastes clearer. Your shoulders lower half an inch. You feel like Eren Yeager looking out at the ocean, finally glimpsing the other side of the fence—finally, the taste of freedom.

You close your eyes, let your arms fall just a bit looser, and begin to reach for that fragile, sacred—

“So… what’s your name?”

You shut your eyes tighter. Channel the serenity of that dog meme you saw once—some old lab basking in the light like he’s ascended to a higher plane. That’s you now. Resigned to whatever curse has chosen to follow you. Accepting the inevitable.

“…Hello?” he tries again.

You breathe in. Deep. Steady. And swallow a curse.

“It’s not important,” you finally say, voice flat.

He blinks.

“Uh—it kinda is? We’re working together, technically. It’s basic team-building. Knowing names builds trust. It’s psychologically proven—like in war movies or HR seminars. I feel like not knowing your name makes it hard to build rapport. Or connection. Or, you know, that dramatic tension where I save your life and you cry over me in slow motion.”

He’s rambling now.

You open one eye. He’s serious. Or, worse—he thinks he’s funny.

You tune him out.

Just completely power down. Close your eyes again, channel the dog meme—serene, resigned, ascended. Accepting your fate as a woman destined to be cornered by a golden retriever in a super suit.

But of course—of course—luck hates you.

Footsteps echo behind you. Measured. Heavy. Government-issued.

Invincible’s voice finally stops.

You open your eyes slowly, carefully.

Cecil Stedman stands a few feet away, looking like someone who’s been awake for forty-seven hours and hates it less than he hates incompetence.

He looks at the hero. Then at you. He exhales like he regrets every decision that’s led to this moment.

“Invincible,” Cecil says, deadpan. “It’s not your job to harass new personnel.”

You smile. A flicker of victory warms your chest.

But it’s short-lived.

“And you—” Cecil turns to you, voice sharp and gravel as he states your full name and last name, “…stop ignoring people when they’re trying to learn from you.”

Invincible’s head snaps up.

Your smile dies on impact.

“…yes, sir.”

You hate him now. Fully. With your entire soul. You will refer to this man as Sea Salt until the day you retire, but only behind his back (you have bills to pay).

Cecil nods. Done with this interaction.

“You’re both assigned to Medical Rotation C for the next three hours. Report to briefings on time, don’t destroy anything, and for the love of god—try not to bleed on each other.”

He turns and walks away like he didn’t just detonate a small emotional warhead and bounce.

You blink slowly.

The superhero grins. Way too close to you.

Invincible repeats your name. Softly. Like he’s trying it on. Like he’s going to wrap it around a sentence any second just to hear it out loud again.

You don’t look at him.

You stare at a crack in the ground and plot how to fake your own death.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

This is fine. Totally fine. No one has died yet.

Except maybe him. Internally. Repeatedly.

You’ve been working together for exactly twenty-three minutes and some change, and Mark is dangerously close to pulling a muscle from glancing at you too often.

It’s not subtle. He knows that. He’s just hoping you haven’t noticed yet.

Mark Grayson—Invincible, world-class puncher of bad guys and part-time public disaster—is on assignment. Medical rotation. One-on-one.

With you.

You haven’t said more than three words since you got here.

Okay—technically, it was four if you counted “Don’t touch that,” which he did. Emotionally. Spiritually. Like a prayer.

He glances sideways. Again. That’s… what? The fifteenth time?

You’re focused. Like laser-cut precision focused. You haven’t looked at him once since the briefing ended, and that alone is doing something catastrophic to his brain chemistry. Your sleeves are rolled up, fingers moving quickly as you sort through supplies and assess whatever half-broken med bay gear they shoved into this basement. And he—

Technically, he’s supposed to be learning. Technically.

He commits the angle of your jaw to memory. He might need to sketch it later. For science.

A cart wheel squeaks. He jumps.

Smooth. Reeeal smooth Mark.

Mark’s dropped the same tool twice. He’s reorganized the same three items five different ways. And when you leaned over earlier—just for a second—he forgot how to breathe.

He thinks he said something to you. Maybe. You didn’t respond.

You probably didn’t even hear him.

Which is fair. You’re working. This is work. He should be working too.

Instead, he’s cataloging every tiny thing about you like it’s the last time he’ll get to. The little crease between your brows when you concentrate. The way you tilt your head when you read a label. The way your lips move slightly when you mutter to yourself. It’s ridiculous. He knows it’s ridiculous. But it’s also—

He nearly knocks over a tray of syringes and freezes like a man in a minefield.

You just say, “Don’t,” without even looking up.

That’s it. One word. And he listens.

Like his soul has been stapled to your command.

He exhales slowly. Starts organizing gauze packets like they’re puzzle pieces and not the only thing keeping him from going absolutely feral with nervous energy.

You’re right there. You’re right there. And not in the middle of some catastrophic collapse or stopping someone’s bleeding from a stress wound. Just—here. Breathing the same recycled air. Wearing scrubs like they’re armor. Not looking at him.

Mark resists the urge to break something—anything—just to make you look at him.

He peeks again.

Yeah. Still perfect.

“Invincible.”

He startles.

You don’t even look at him. Just gesture vaguely at the scalpel in his hand. “That’s upside down.”

“…Right,” he mutters, flipping it. “Just testing you.”

“You failed.”

You don’t say it with heat. Not quite. But not nicely either.

He clears his throat and tries again, forcing himself to focus on literally anything that isn’t the fact that you’re within touching distance. That you smell like antiseptic and cheap gum. That you’re here, and for some reason—still kind of talking to him.

He wants to say something normal. Something clever. But everything that comes to mind sounds like it belongs in a YA novel or a fever dream.

Instead, he peeks at you again.

You don’t notice. Or maybe you do.

But you don’t look back.

And still—he grins.

Because this? Being close enough to reach, even if you never turn around?

It’s more than he thought he’d ever get.

It’s not enough.

Mark lied.

All that pretending—organizing, fixing, standing next to you for three and a half hours like it didn’t matter—like breathing the same air wasn’t scrambling his brain chemistry?

He thought it would be enough. Just this. Just being near you.

But now you’re packing up.

And suddenly, it’s not.

You toss a roll of gauze into your bag like it keyed your car in a past life. Peel off your gloves with the grace of someone absolutely done with today.

The neckline of your scrubs shifts when you move, collarbone catching the light, and he has to look away.

You’re leaving.

You’re actually leaving.

He thought he’d be okay with it. He’s not.

You stretch your neck like it’s stiff, roll your shoulders with a sigh, and Mark swears it’s the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.

Which is insane. It’s a shoulder roll.

But you’re doing it. And it’s happening five feet from him. And he doesn’t know when—or if—he’ll see you like this again.

Normal. Off guard. Not covered in ash and dust.

You zip your bag shut.

And that’s when panic hits him.

It spikes in his chest like a bad punch—jarring and immediate and almost embarrassing. Because if you walk out now, that’s it. You’ll vanish again. And he’ll be stuck wondering if he imagined all of this. You. The way you said his hero name like it was a dare.

His fingers twitch at his side.

He has no idea what he’s going to say.

He just knows he needs to say something before you’re gone.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You clear your throat. Loud enough to be polite. Dismissive enough to make a point.

“I’m done here.”

He blinks. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

You wait for him to move. He doesn’t.

You arch a brow. “Door’s behind you.”

Invincible stares at you like you’ve just committed a federal crime. “You’re—leaving?”

You frown. “Yes? That’s what normal people do when the job is finished.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns.

“I just—” The hero shifts, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “I figured we’d—maybe—uh, debrief?”

You blink.

He looks panicked now. “Not like a real debrief! I meant like… decompress? Debrief-light? Low-stakes post-mission rapport-building?”

You pause. Then snort. You can’t help it. It slips out before you can stop it.

He looks like he just won the lottery.

You sigh, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “If this is your way of asking to walk me out—”

“Yes.”

“…I didn’t finish.”

“Still yes.”

You stare.

He fidgets. “Is that okay?”

You hesitate for a breath. Then roll your eyes. “Fine. But if you get weird again, I’m tasering you.”

Invincible grins. “I’ve survived worse.”

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

A few days later.

You look like shit.

Not in a poetic way. Not in a cool, morally-gray antiheroine way. Just in the deeply human, overworked, underpaid, sore-back, I-haven’t-slept-since-Tuesday kind of way.

The ER lights buzz too loud. The coffee machine’s broken again. There’s a spot on your scrubs that might be blood or ink or maybe just your will to live leaking out.

It’s a Tuesday. Maybe.

You’re half-asleep at the nurses’ station when Carla walks up with a folder. She chews her gum like it’s keeping her tethered to this plane of existence.

“Room 9’s yours.”

You blink up at her. “Seriously?”

Carla shrugs. “Guy’s already in there. Looks like he could pay off my student loans in one go, but what do I know. File’s clean. Probably just here to flirt or die. Those are the only two kinds we get.”

You sigh. Take the clipboard. Totally miss Carla’s knowing expression and lazily stroll down the hallway.

Your pen’s already clicking as you push through the long corridor, shoulder nudging the door open without thinking.

You flip through the back pages first—vitals, allergy list, something about minor lacerations. The usual.

The door clicks shut behind you as you scan the first page for the name.

“Mark Grayson…” you murmur, before finally looking up.

He’s already watching you.

Smile crooked. Sheepish. And oddly familiar.

You blink. Shake your head. Tap your pen once against the clipboard.

“…What can I do for you today?”

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⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍��˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

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Before the bunker. Before the clipboard. Just burnt coffee and bad timing.

The room smells of government-grade stress and poor decisions. Fluorescents hum overhead. Somewhere outside the door, someone’s arguing with a vending machine again.

Cecil Stedman doesn’t look up from the file in his hands.

Donald stands nearby, half-glancing over his shoulder like he’s expecting someone to call out his name and ruin his night any second now.

“I don’t need someone who wants to save the world,” Cecil mutters, flipping a page. “I need someone who knows how to keep it breathing long enough to do that.”

Donald doesn’t answer at first. Scrolls through his tablet with the dead-eyed speed of a man two cups past his caffeine limit.

Cecil drops the folder on the table.

“Her.”

Donald glances down. Sees your name. Frowns.

“She’s not exactly—uh, team-oriented.”

“Good.” Cecil leans back in his chair. “We don’t need another idealist who thinks CPR is optional. We need someone who’ll tell a cape to stop cauterizing wounds with laser vision.”

Donald shifts. “She’s got a record of pushing back on authority.”

“Yeah. So do I.” He picks up the file again, thumbs through it like he’s reading between the lines. “Field trauma specialist. Surgical certs. Five years ER, three years private contract, and one particularly colorful incident involving Invincible.”

Donald raises a brow. “You want her for the hero-medical crossover?”

“Yeah. Not full-time. Just this once.” He thumbs through the file again.

”She’s not exactly a fan of the spandex crowd.” Donald reminds him.

“Which is why she’s perfect.” Cecil taps the edge of the folder. “She doesn’t worship them. She knows how they break. And better—how to keep them from bleeding out on asphalt.”

Donald crosses his arms. “You really think she’ll say yes?”

Cecil shrugs. “Send the contract. Let the pay do the talking. If that doesn’t work… remind her how many heroes think gauze solves internal bleeding.”

A beat passes. Donald exhales slowly.

“We’re asking her to train them. Teach them medical response. Basics. Field aid without powers.”

“Exactly,” Cecil mutters, eyes back on the file. “We’ve got too many weapons and not enough medics. Time we taught the kids how to stop the bleeding before they cause it.”

“And you think she’ll go for it?”

“Temporary contract,” Cecil repeats simply. “Send the numbers. Dangle the autonomy. No long-term commitment, no spandex worship, just her and a bunch of capes learning how not to be idiots for a few hours.”

Donald nods once and turns to leave.

Cecil stays where he is, flipping back to the front of the file.

A photo clipped to the corner. Dark circles under your eyes. Expression flat. Hands gloved, steady.

Unimpressed with the world and clearly not afraid to let it know.

He smiles, just barely.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t kill anyone.”

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[flowerandblood]

The Song of Promises (Sneak Peek)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ a little preview of the story that awaits you in February; it doesn't end my hiatus, but I'm in the process of writing and I see a little light at the end of the tunnel ]

[ description: Aemond's childhood is filled with loneliness and regret until Daemon arrives in the Red Keep with his first-born child, daughter of Rhea Royce. The fact that neither of them has a dragon of their own binds them together with a thread of understanding, and their slowly developing relationship gives birth in the young prince's mind to a plan of which she is a part. Slow burn, childhood companions to lovers, first intimacy, rude, insolent, arrogant Aemond with big ego. ]

_____

[...]

Just as she had done in their childhood days, to leave her rooms now she had to wait for the watch to change; only then would she slip out and take advantage of the moment to make her way down a dark, rarely used corridor through a side entrance to the prince's quarters.

She had no idea if anyone but her knew about it; presumably if they did, the guards thought the additional door remained locked. However, her cousin had left them open for her, and it was through these that she entered, stepping into his chamber, enveloped in the warm light of the fire.

She spotted his silhouette at once – he was sitting at the top of a long table, on which lay stacks of maps and letters, a thick, old volume in his hands.

When he heard her footsteps, he lifted a glance of his healthy eye to her, and then returned to his reading again, carelessly turning the page over.

She was not bothered by this; he was often in the habit of pretending not to see her at first. From her perspective, it was his attempt to cope with the fact that, although accustomed to solitude, he was hosting someone else in his private quarters.

She untied her cloak, placed it on one of the richly decorated oak chairs and, wearing nothing but her nightgown, took a slow, quiet step towards his bed. She knew she could do it, and that she was certain to stay with him anyway, so she simply lay back on the soft sheet and closed her eyes, listening to the pleasant sound of the sizzling fire.

For a moment, all she could hear was that and the rustle of pages being turned – the smell of him and the parchments pleasantly filled her nose, calming her.

The quiet creak of wood woke her from her half-sleep and she shuddered, opening her sleepy eyes – she spotted his silhouette heading lazily towards her. His hand rose to the belt of his tunic, undoing it with the quiet click of a buckle.

“Tomorrow. You must promise to obey me. Otherwise I will not fly with you.” He said calmly, looking at her with an expression on his face that pretended to show indifference.

“I will.” She said.

“Mm.” He hummed under his breath, finally pulling the leather material off his shoulders.

She made room for him and moved sideways on the bed as he sat on the edge of it and leaned over, pulling his boots off his feet. She watched wordlessly as he did the same a moment later with his eye patch, finally throwing it carelessly onto the stone floor. He sighed and hid his face in his hand, massaging the area around his scarred eye socket in some subconscious reflex.

Stress was causing discomfort to return to the left side of his face.

“You are in pain.” She whispered softly, raising herself up on her elbow.

He didn't reply, just swallowed hard and froze in stillness.

“Let me.” She insisted, and he finally looked at her and nodded.

She raised herself up on her knees and moved towards him, sitting down so that she could see his face. He looked at her silently with some kind of melancholy as her hands gently grasped his face and her thumbs began to massage his temples.

He immediately closed his eye and flinched as her thumbs moved over his brow arches and cheekbones – he twitched when she did it the first time, but relaxed more and more with each subsequent stroke, and his face took on an expression of relief.

“I wouldn't object if you did this to me all night.” He said quietly, his eyelid still closed. She smiled involuntarily at his words, running her fingers over his forehead, nose and cheeks, going back to the beginning – to his temples and brows.

“I can.” She said warmly, but he shook his head.

“We need to rest. Come. I want to sleep.”

[achilles-rage]

Bad Thing Turned Even Better

part one

summary: months after your encounter with buck at the bar, you confront him at his apartment about what he the hell that night was.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: y'all this is not the trope you think it is, i promise!! please don't click off when you read the first sentence of dialogue!! also, how the hell did a drabble prompt request turn into two parts?? i guess i'm just that feral over buck and hate fucking?? anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: mentions of previous smut (but no actual smut), talk about reader hating shitty men<3, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

It’s been a few months since you’ve last seen Buck at the bar, and you’ve been avoiding him ever since. 

You can’t exactly say that you regret it; he knew exactly what he was doing, but the more you thought about it, the more it pissed you off even more. Did he have to be so cocky, and smug, and overall infuriating? You can’t believe that you actually gave in to him, and then gave him the satisfaction of not seeing him for months, like some stupid one night stand. It’s probably exactly what he wanted to happen; to use you and throw you away like nothing.

Without thinking any further, you get dressed and make your way to Buck’s apartment with a frown etched onto your face. 

You pull into the parking lot haphazardly, barely putting the car in park before stomping up to his door, knuckles rapping harshly on the wood and your eyes narrowed. He’s in the middle of cooking dinner, so he drops his knife and makes his way to the front door, smirking when he looks through the peephole and sees you.

“I’m pregnant.” is all you say when he opens the door, pushing your way past him and into the apartment before he can react.

The smirk drops from his face as soon as the words register in his mind, and he turns on his heel as he closes the door, his brows furrowed in concern. 

“What?” Buck gets out, eyes travelling down your body, taking a moment to focus on your plush middle. He hates that possessiveness flares inside him at the thought; of you being claimed completely by him, as much as it scares the hell out of him.

“Okay, I’m not. But, did you even think about that possibility when you didn’t pull out?” you question, your arms crossed over your chest as you glare at Buck. You can see the sigh of relief he takes, but then almost immediately, the smirk is back on his face as he takes a step closer to you, eyeing you with a lustful gleam in his eyes.

“You didn’t think about it either, though, did you, sweetheart?” he questions, mirroring your stance and crossing his own arms, making his biceps flex against the tight sleeves of his t-shirt.

You clench your jaw at his accusation, because he’s right. When he was fucking you, all you could think about was him filling you up; you didn’t even have half of a mind to think about the possible implications of your actions.

“This isn’t about me. This is about you being completely reckless. You’re lucky I’m on the pill.” you finally say after a second too long, and he catches on to this. He tilts his head to the side, then takes another step closer to you, effectively closing the distance between the two of you and forcing you to tilt your head up to keep your narrowed eyes locked with his.

“Honestly, I think I would’ve done the exact same thing even if I knew you weren’t. And you wouldn’t have complained, either, would you?” he questions, running his tongue over the inside of his cheek as his eyes dart down to the way your arms push your tits up.

For a moment, you can’t even speak; you’re so angry and, you hate to admit, turned on, that all you can do is clench your jaw and stare up at him. 

Finally, you scoff, shaking your head once before standing up straighter, trying to get into his face.

“God, do you always have to be like this? The only person you think about is yourself!” He chuckles, raising his brows at your outburst, and he leans in even closer as his eyes dart from your lips to your eyes, letting you feel his breath against your skin.

He loves your feisty side. It’s never been something he’s necessarily gravitated towards, but you just look so good when you’re pissed off at him. He’s not exactly sure why you hate him so much, but he does know that he loves to see that look in your eyes. Almost as much as he loves how easy it is to fuck the attitude out of you.

“Actually, I was thinking about you. Being completely mine.” he says in a low, smooth voice, tilting his head further to the side as his eyes narrow slightly.

Your throat goes dry at his words, but you keep your gaze stoic, eyes searching his for a moment as you try not to let the butterflies deep in your belly rise to the surface. You’d love for him to actually mean it, but why would he, you think? You’ve seen the type of women guys like him go for; thin, model-like figure, and absolutely gorgeous. You know you’re pretty, but you know not to get your hopes up with men like him.

“What are you trying to do here?” you finally say, now less angry, and more exhausted. You’ve spent so long hating Buck, and you’re getting sort of sick of having your guard up when he’s around, which is quite frequently with him being in your friend group.

“I think it’s obvious.” he says, the corners of his mouth turning down as he shrugs. You scoff, rolling your eyes. Why does he insist on continuing to toy with you?

“What are you really trying to do? Because we both know it isn’t that.” you ask again, letting your arms fall to your sides. 

“Why are you so sure it’s not?” he questions as his smirk slowly falls. He can see that you’re at your wits end, so he uncrosses his arms as well, letting a sincere look make its way onto his face as he puts his hands on his hips.

“Because I know you! I know guys like you!” you practically yell, throwing your arms up in the air as if it’s obvious. You let out a sigh once you see his brows furrow in confusion, turning and taking a step back as you collect your thoughts for a second without him so close.

“You’re smug, and you’re arrogant, and you’re only nice to people that you think are attractive enough to deserve your attention, which by the way, isn’t all that special of a thing.” you list off, counting each thing on your fingers as you move to stand in front of him again. 

He still looks confused, and you’re not sure if you’re more angry or frustrated at this point. Now that you say it out loud, you feel a little silly, but it’s still what you believe; it’s what you’ve been proven many times in your life.

“Have I done anything to prove to you that I’m like that?” he questions, ducking his head down to better match your height. He brings one of his hands up to your arm in a way to comfort you, because he’s unsure of what else to do. Now that he knows why you don’t like him, he’s confused, and a little upset you think so little of him.

“You didn’t have to. I’ve known enough guys like you.” you say, shrugging away from his grip and taking a step back. You force yourself to look away from him; if you don’t, you’re sure you’ll just end up doing something stupid. Now that he’s not being so confident and cocky, all you want to do is kiss him again.

“Well, maybe that’s the problem. I’ve only ever been nice to you, and you’re acting like this because different guys have treated you like shit.” he tries to reason, wanting more than anything to close the distance between you again. He feels that surge of possessiveness fill his belly again at the thought of men in your past treating you badly enough to turn you into this. It’s cute, and he loves it, but he also feels his blood boiling as he thinks about you having to act like this in order to protect yourself from men.

“Come on, you’re too hot to not be like that. You’re just better at hiding it.” you say, mostly talking to yourself as you look up at him.

“So, you think I’m hot?” he says, the usual smirk making its way back onto his face. He’s not sure how else to show you that he wants you; he’s flirted with you for months. He fucked you for God’s sake, and you still think he’s not being serious.

“Do you always have to be like this? You were finally being a normal person.” you say, letting out an incredulous laugh, fighting back a smile as you look away.

He grabs your chin before your face is hidden from him, though, and he brings your face back up to his, letting his eyes study your face for a moment.

“You’re beautiful.” he murmurs as his eyes dart back up to yours. You feel heat rising to your cheeks at the sincerity behind his words, and the smile finally makes its way onto your face.

He can’t help but smile when you do, loving the sight. He’s sure now that he’d rather see you like this than like you were before.

“Stop.” you whisper, voice cracking and barely audible as butterflies swarm your tummy. He just chuckles quietly, grabbing your hip with his other hand and pulling you into him.

“No.” he whispers back before leaning down, his lips meeting yours in a dizzying kiss. He can feel your plush body against his front, and he hums softly, tilting your head further up into the kiss before his hand moves from your chin to the side of your neck and holds you in place.

He’s tempted to pick you up and bring you upstairs to his bed, but he knows he should take things slower than he did at the bar, as amazing as that night was. He keeps his movements slow, letting his tongue slip into your mouth when you part your lips, and runs his thumb over the sensitive skin on your neck as he holds you flush against him. 

After a minute or two, you try to deepen the kiss, raising onto your toes and grabbing the front of his shirt as your lips speed up, but he pulls back an inch, mumbling “slower” against your lips.

You try to do as he says, but your knees feel weak. Your head is spinning with how he’s kissing you, and all you want is more of him. He has to remind you a few times to slow down before you finally pull back breathlessly, your pupils blown and lips swollen as you look up at him with a pleading look in your eyes.

“Do you believe me now?” he asks softly, keeping you pressed tight against him as his hand moves up your side comfortingly.

You blink slowly, barely even remembering your own name as you stare into his eyes. You can’t even remember what you were talking about before he kissed you, so all you say is a gentle “what?”

“Do you believe that I want you now?” he clarifies, unable to resist the urge to lean down and give you a chaste kiss as your brows remain knit together in confusion.

“That depends.” you say, a small smile making its way onto your face as you shrug.

“On what?” he asks with a smile, his own brows furrowing. He thought the kiss finally got his feelings for you into your head, but now it doesn’t seem so.

“You have enough for two?” you tease, looking over to the kitchen where his half-cooked meal is sitting. He chuckles with a shake of his head. You’re going to be the death of him.

“Absolutely.” he purrs, pulling you impossibly closer, and you laugh softly, nodding.

“Good.” you say, then push him away and make your way over to the kitchen, looking over the ingredients spread across the counter. 

He stays in his spot for a moment, watching the way your hips sway, and he smiles to himself at how content you finally seem in his presence. You’re quick to make yourself at home in his apartment, and it makes his chest fill with pride that he’s finally broken through your walls.

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[darylbae]

Daryl and breath play <3

Imagine him choking you out from behind as he roughly fucks up into you after you fucked up yet *another* resource run; drool running down your chin as you babble incoherently as his thick cock splits you open so wonderfully!

there ain't no god here — daryl dixon🩰

in which you mess up on a run, and daryl has had enough

note: SMUT WARNING! do not consume this content if you are under the age of 18, i am not liable for you reading past this point.

warnings: rough sex, dirty talk, bad writing.

You and Daryl have never had a nice relationship. From the moment the pair of you met, you'd been at each other's throats. Always arguing, always antagonizing each other, but there was something sizzling between the two of you. Which neither of you had noticed. Maggie said it first. When you'd all turned up to the farm, she'd asked you if the two of you were a thing, to which you laughed in her face. "As if I'd let Daryl put his hands on me," you exclaimed. "Dream on, girl," he'd call out as he passed the two of you outside. When the farm had been lost and you'd all found the prison, the two of you were incessant on arguing. It was just a constant cat fight between the two of you. Glenn had even made a comment about it feeling 'weirdly sexual'. Rick had learned to keep you apart, for the sake and sanity of the group. He was surprised you'd made it this far without physically fighting or fucking. The long winter on the road, hunting in the woods, finally finding Alexandria, you two just never clicked. It had even become a game of sorts, to inconvenience the other one, to push them just that little bit off the edge. The two of you were so caught up in this game of riling up the other, that people within the community were beginning to assume there was a spark between you. And Daryl heard none of it, until Spencer had approached him once. "Hey," he spoke awkwardly, too afraid to look at the archer who was aggressively buffing his crossbow with a cloth. "What." Daryl grumbled, not even bothering to look up from his weapon. He could tell by the lanky figure it was Spencer. "I, uh," Spencer was rambling, unable to get to his point, "I wanted to know if anything was going on between you and Y/N." "Why do you care?" "I was gonna ask her out, well, I was gonna ask her over for dinner. There's not much in the way of dating anymore." Spencer faltered, looking anywhere except at Daryl. "But I didn't know if there was actually a thing between you two, so I thought I should ask instead of listening to rumors." Daryl finally stopped fussing his crossbow. "Why would I care? Do what you want with 'er." Just as Spencer had retreated down the porch steps, Daryl had immediately regret what he'd said. But why? You frustrated him to his core, you got under his skin, you knew just how to make him tick. And he hated it, at least he thought he did. All he used to worry about were walkers. Now, they'd been pushed to the back burner of his mind. He's been so swept up in this little back and forth with you, that he'd forgotten how terrible the world was for a moment. Did he really care about the thought of you spending time with another guy?

Daryl had watched in dismay as you spent less time winding him up, and more time walking the streets with Spencer. It was almost as if you were riling him up by walking past the porch he'd sit on. It was jealousy, and almost a sick possession to want you all to himself. You, unbeknownst to Daryl, had no interest in Spencer. You spoke to him and spent time with him purely as a friend and to make connections within the community. So when you'd been sent on a run with Daryl, it felt nice to not have to play a part anymore. To just be around someone you were yourself with. Of course you cared about Daryl enough to not see him get killed, but the two of you have always been at each other's throats. That was kind of your thing. "We taking a car?" You asked Rick, folding your arms as you stood beside Michonne. It was supposed to be the four of you, but Deanna wanted to see Michonne and Rick. "My bike." Daryl retorted. "I suppose it makes it easier to throw myself off," you reasoned, scowling at Daryl, and you could see Michonne chuckle into her hand. "Please," Daryl bit back, striding towards his bike, "gives me a break from you." You had your arms around Daryl, holding on tightly as you sped down a long, narrow road. The wind whipped your hair into your face, and every time you felt inclined to swipe it away, Daryl made sure both of your hands were around him. He'd gripped your hand and forced it back onto his waist as you tried to smooth your hair down. When you'd gotten to a small town outside of the area, Daryl dismounted and helped you off the bike. It was the least he could do. You did your usual sweep of each store, and taking the stock you needed, occasionally being annoying and getting a series of grunts in return. "Didn't ya ever learn to shut up?" He spat, waving you off as he entered another aisle. You rolled your eyes, shoving stuff into the backpack you'd brought along. "Didn't you ever learn to treat women nicely?" You had aggravated him the entire run. Instead of moving things out the way so both of you could pass, you'd just climb over it and let Daryl deal with it himself. Instead of listening to him, you'd go off and do exactly what you wanted to. Daryl felt like a babysitter. "Surprised Spencer puts up with ya." Daryl mumbled, shining a flashlight into a dark back room, only to find dead walkers and upturned furniture. "Excuse me?" "Ya heard me, girl." "Spencer doesn't have to put up with anything." You remarked, folding your arms. "So it's just me then? Ya annoy me and not ya own damn boyfriend!" Daryl's voice grew louder, the two of you so caught up in arguing that you'd almost forgotten the dead were out to get you. "Spencer's not my boyfriend!" Oh, Daryl thought. His heart lifted for a moment, until he'd seen a walker come out of the room behind you. Without hesitation, he shot an arrow through it's skull, and watched as you caught your breath. "Get in 'ere." Daryl demanded, grabbing your hand and leading you into a vacant bathroom. "Always messin' up the damn thing." "What?" You answered, voice small and still shaking with fear. You'd never come that close to death before. A walkers hands had grabbed your shoulders, it's teeth mere inches away from you. "Why don't ya listen to me, huh?" He whisper-yelled, his grip still firm on your hand. "Always runnin' off and doin' what ya want. Ya need manners, girl." "I need manners? When have you ever said a nice word to me? When have you ever thought about me in any positive way?" Daryl paused, was it the time for this?

"Every fuckin' day. Every mornin', every night. Every damn time I see ya, I can't not think about ya." Daryl admitted, frustration still laced in his voice. "All ya do is drive me insane." Both of you were breathing heavily, tension still clouding the air in this very small bathroom. You were almost chest to chest with the little space available in here. Daryl was thinking with the recently unlocked part of his brain that just contained you. Every glance he'd ever sent your way, every time he'd seen you stretch and show the hem of your underwear, every time he'd look down at you and see those innocent eyes staring back up at him. There was nothing that felt as right as this. His lips were on yours, and you'd moved against his like you'd done it regularly. Hell, you thought about it at times. When you were lonely in your cell, in your room in Alexandria, the hatred went hand in hand with passion, and you were so overfilled with lust that it had all blurred into one. Every bitter word the two of you threw at each other, it fueled the fire that you were both burning in now. He'd gripped at the clothes he wanted gone, and you'd silently obey him. His calloused hands swiped over your neck, and it had awoken a side of you that was powered off when the world ended. "Oh, you like that, huh?" He asked, his voice no longer containing it's usual gruffness. It was whiny, almost poking fun at how you were putty in his hands. You just sighed in response, giving up any self control you had. It was all his now, to do with it as he pleased. "Gotta teach ya a lesson, girl," he breathed into your ear, hands on your shoulders and spinning you round the other way. You hadn't realized the mirror facing you, your tinged cheeks and sleepy eyes clouded over with lust.

Daryl's lips grazed the curve of your neck, daring to place a kiss on your soft, pure skin. He wanted to toy with you, like you did with him every day. Sauntering around, giving looks you'd only give to him, leaving him to deal with his hard-on in the middle of the night. "Ya gonna listen to me now, hm." You could feel his hands gliding closer to the inside of your thigh, heat burning between your legs. You didn't just want it, you needed it. You arched your back into him, rubbing against whatever you could. Needed the friction, the look in your eyes almost primal. Daryl smirked at you in the mirror, holding your gaze as he spat on his hand. Your fingers squeezed the counter as he slid into you, the two of you completely in sync as you moaned out for each other. The feeling purely nostalgic. "God," you cried, your eyebrows knitted together and your lip quivering. "There ain't no God here, girl, just me." One of his hands gripped your thigh as rammed into you, jerking your hip bones into the counter. If you weren't so wrapped up in Daryl, it would ache. But you couldn't stop, not even to readjust, you needed Daryl to carry you to your high. His other hand snaked up your body, sensually rubbing at your breasts, of which he'd caught glimpses of for years. Finally seeing them felt... satisfying. All the times you'd fiddle with your shirt, exposing them just barely, and Daryl would have to be a gentleman and look away. His hand finally reached your neck and he'd gripped both sides with his fingers and thumb. He'd peered at you through the mirror, catching the whites of your eyes as you rolled them back. Seeing how delighted you looked, it made him feel good. He knew just how to make you tick. "Ya gonna do as I say from now on," he breathed, squeezing tighter on your throat, "you're all mine, girl." "Yeah," you croaked, Daryl's grip on your throat and him inside of you rendered you unable to speak, you were just allowing him to do whatever he wanted. "All yours." He'd suddenly stopped and you whimpered at the loss of contact. Daryl had turned you around again, hooking his arms under your ass and lifting you onto the counter. "Wanna see that pretty face." He'd entered you again, filling you up and you were back to seeing stars as he pumped into you. His grunts and moans were close to sending you over the edge. His hand found your throat again, squeezing on the familiar spot and Daryl's eyes flickered to your breasts as the bounced with every thrust. They were entrancing. He was close to finishing, but he wanted to savor this moment. He wanted this, you, over and over again. He could see the drool escaping your lips and running down your chin, some dropping onto your breasts. He almost finished at the sight of it all. "Let go for me, girl." He moaned, bringing you closer to him for the final few thrusts. "Come on. Good girl." Your body took over, sending you over the edge and quivering on him. Daryl held your body tight, careful not to let you go. His rhythm had gotten sloppier, he couldn't hold it, just knowing this was all with you, all for you, he let go himself and caught your gaze as he did so. There was nothing he'd change about this, the tiny bathroom, the argument beforehand, the relationship the two of you had before. It all led to this, and he'd do it again. Exactly the same.

[2amriize]

˚⟡˖ RIIZE when reader was a bet (part2)

click here to read part 1

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist genre angst, fluff pairing riize x reader

ᯓ★ SHOTARO

Your gaze lingered on him for a few more seconds before you looked away, eyes cast down as you whispered, "I don't know..." You had felt utterly betrayed by what Shotaro had done. You had never connected with someone so quickly, and realizing that it was all because of a bet broke your heart.

Still, there was a part of you that felt maybe his apologies were genuine. There he was, standing in front of you with an expression full of regret.

"I really... I don't know, Shotaro. I need time to think," you murmured, wiping away the traces of tears from your cheek. Shotaro stayed silent for a moment before nodding.

"Okay, I'll give you time to think," he said softly before stepping away, leaving you alone. After a few minutes, you decided to head home, falling asleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

For the rest of the week, Shotaro kept his distance, but he'd greet you from afar every time he saw you, always with a small smile. He also started leaving notes on your desk—little phrases he found funny, always ending with another apology. Each note made you wonder if you should forgive him. After all, he seemed genuinely remorseful. Why else would he try so hard and treat you like this?

By the end of the week, after spending countless hours thinking it over, you decided to give Shotaro a second chance. After class, you walked up to him, gently tapping his shoulder. He turned around, immediately focusing all his attention on you.

"Y/n, did you need something...?"

"Do you want to grab a coffee?" you cut him off before he could say more.

Shotaro's face lit up with a bright smile at your words, and after a moment, he nodded eagerly, quickly gathering his things.

ᯓ★ EUNSEOK

"I don't know, Eunseok…" You murmured as you turned to leave, but Eunseok stopped you by gently grabbing your arm.

Surprised, you looked back at him, meeting a gaze you'd never seen from him before. He usually seemed calm when you saw him in the hallways, always laughing with his friends about something or another. But this time, there was an anxiousness in his eyes, a clear sense of regret.

"I'm really sorry, y/n… What can I do to make it right?" he asked, his voice almost pleading.

You stared at him silently for a few moments. How did things get to this point? It was hard to believe that Eunseok was now begging for your forgiveness. While it had hurt knowing you were originally just a bet to him, you couldn’t deny that over time, you'd started to develop feelings for him. Seeing him like this made it even harder to stay mad.

“If you take me on 7 dates, I’ll forgive you,” you said, meeting his gaze. Instantly, his eyes lit up.

Eunseok let out a relieved sigh as he released your arm. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his reaction. Just then, the bell rang, signaling the start of classes. As the two of you hurried to your classroom, Eunseok turned to you with a determined smile.

"You're going to have the best 7 dates of your life. I’ll pick you up at 9 tonight."

ᯓ★ SUNGCHAN

"What...?" Seeing the smile on Sungchan's face, all the pride and confidence you'd had until that moment vanished.

Although you thought you were the one playing the joke, in the end, Sungchan had managed to trick you and win his bet. You stood there for a few seconds without reacting, processing what had just happened while Sungchan smiled widely. Finally, you gave him a cold look, then simply turned around and walked away. You didn’t want to see him anymore. You couldn’t understand how you had believed him.

“Y/n, wait…” you heard Sungchan call out from afar, but you decided to ignore him and keep walking.

You spent the entire week avoiding him. Sungchan kept trying to approach you to say something, but you always managed to escape or hide. You really didn’t want to see him, or rather, you couldn’t. You were too embarrassed about having kissed him, and even more so that it had all been part of Sungchan’s bet.

It was the end of the week, and you were exhausted. Luckily, the bus wasn’t too crowded, so you managed to find a seat. To your surprise, just a second later, Sungchan sat down right next to you, smiling as he looked at you. You couldn’t escape this time, so you decided to ignore him and reached for your earphones to put them on, but Sungchan snatched them from your hands.

“Sungchan, give them back.”

“Wait, y/n, please, just listen to me. It’ll only take five minutes…” He looked at you in silence, waiting for an answer, but you just stared back at him, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry for playing with you like that, and I’m really sorry for involving you in a bet. I truly regret it, and I mean it… The truth is, I’d really like for us to talk more because… well, I don’t know if you were serious, but I do like you. I know it’s going to be hard for you to believe me now, but please, let me prove it.”

You couldn’t believe what you’d just heard—Sungchan liked you? When did that happen? And more importantly… did you believe him? You could feel your cheeks getting warm, and butterflies fluttering in your stomach. How could you feel like this when he had tried to play with you? But in the end, you couldn’t lie; you kind of liked Sungchan too.

“How would you prove it?” you murmured, looking at him. Seeing that you were paying attention, he smiled.

“I’ll pick you up every day, bring you lunch, and walk you home until you agree to be my girlfriend.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at how determined he seemed. After a few seconds, you nodded several times.

ᯓ★ WONBIN

"Are you sure you're sorry? Because from the way your friends talked, it sounds like something you do pretty often."

Your words left Wonbin frozen, unsure of what to say. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Finally, you turned around and walked home, crying the whole way. How could you have been so foolish? Did you really think someone like Wonbin would talk to you out of the blue?

Whether it was from the emotional toll of what Wonbin had done or something else, you woke up the next morning with a high fever, forcing you to stay home for a few days. When Wonbin noticed you weren’t at school, he couldn’t stop thinking that it might be because of him, feeling even worse than he already had. By the end of the week, he decided to go to your house, just to check on you and apologize once again.

When you opened the door, you didn’t expect to see Wonbin standing there. You were in your pajamas, with a messy hairstyle, but you felt so sick that you didn’t care how he saw you.

"What do you want now, Wonbin? I don’t have the strength to argue..." you whispered between coughs.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Seeing you in that state, he couldn’t help but feel concerned. "I really am so sorry, y/n. I've spent all these days thinking and beating myself up about it. I know what I did was wrong, and I swear I’ll never do it again. Can we start over?"

You hadn’t expected those words from Wonbin, and they caught you off guard. You weren’t sure if it was because you were feeling extra emotional from the cold, but after thinking for a few seconds, you nodded a few times, extending your pinky finger to him.

"Do you swear?"

"I promise, y/n."

ᯓ★ SEUNGHAN

Even though Seunghan’s words sounded sincere, you didn’t know what to believe after learning what he had done. You stood there in silence, watching him, as he kept his head down, unable to look at you. Never speaking to him again? It wasn’t something you had really thought about doing. Truthfully, you had started to feel something for him too, but at that moment, you weren’t ready to keep talking, you were just too hurt.

“I just… I need some time to think, Seunghan. What you did really hurt me and…”

“I know, and I’m really sorry, y/n. I’ll give you all the time you need to think…”

After hearing him say that, you turned around and walked back to your house. You couldn’t help but think about his reaction the entire way home and the situation as a whole. When you got home, you told your friends everything, and they gave you their opinions on it. Even though he had initially talked to you as part of a bet, your friends saw that Seunghan was genuinely interested in you. “I don’t think a guy would show this much interest in someone just because of a bet…”

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. In fact, you spent the whole night wondering whether you should forgive him or not. But every time, you came back to the same thought—you missed talking to him, even though it had only been a few hours. You knew exactly why you felt this way, why you couldn’t stop thinking about him. That’s why, when you arrived at university the next day, the first thing you did was walk up to him. He looked at you in silence, waiting for you to say something.

“Seunghan, I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and… I can’t stay mad at you. But I need you to do something to prove you’re really not lying to me…”

“Anything. I’ll do whatever you want, y/n.”

“I need you to… ask me out. It doesn’t have to be now, but I need to know you’ll do it.”

Seunghan stared at you in silence for a few seconds. At first, you couldn’t quite read his expression, but then a small smile spread across his lips, and his cheeks turned slightly red.

“Of course… I’ve been dying to do that, but I want it to be special. Can I take you out to dinner tonight?”

ᯓ★ SOHEE

All you could do after hearing Sohee was lower your head and sigh. You couldn’t understand how someone who had made such a good impression on you had only started talking to you because of a bet, not because he genuinely wanted to.

After a few seconds, you lifted your head again and looked at Sohee, who still had his head down. You remembered his words and how he said he was embarrassed. You felt a bit bad seeing him like that, and honestly, all the anger and sadness you felt when you found out it was a bet had already faded.

“Hey, Sohee…”

“Yeah?” He lifted his gaze, looking directly into your eyes with a worried expression.

“I’m not really mad at you, but… I don’t know. I feel stupid for trusting you so quickly. I don’t know why I feel like this…” you murmured.

“I’m really sorry, y/n. I don’t know how to prove it, but I swear, I genuinely enjoyed talking to you from the start. From the first moment, I felt, like, connected to you, you know?”

“Did you feel that way too?” You were a bit surprised to hear him say that, but you couldn’t help smiling, and Sohee smiled back. You both stared at each other for a few seconds in silence before breaking into small laughs.

“So… are we good?”

“Well… maybe I’ll make you run a few errands for me as an apology.”

ᯓ★ ANTON

Once you two had walked a bit away from Anton’s group of friends, you pulled your arm out of his grasp, stopping in your tracks, making him turn to face you.

“Do you really think a simple apology is enough, Anton?”

“No, but-”

“You embarrassed me in front of them, and… Oh god, I’m so humiliated right now…” You covered your face with your hands.

Anton stood in silence, looking at you, unsure of what to say or do. Everything you had said was true, and he felt terrible for making you feel that way, but he didn’t know how to make it right. Slowly, he stepped closer to you and offered you his hoodie, since it was getting dark and colder outside. He didn’t give you a choice to accept or reject it, he just placed it over your shoulders as he began to speak.

“Y/n, listen… I’m really sorry for everything that happened. I know it’s no excuse, but I just wanted to fit in with them, and… I took it too far. I knew perfectly well what I was doing was wrong and how much it would hurt you, but… I don’t know why I did it. I’m so sorry, y/n, I really am. What can I do to make it right? I don’t want to lose you…”

You listened to Anton’s words in silence, looking at him. You could tell he was nervous, and you even noticed how his voice shook a little as he spoke, like he was on the verge of tears. You couldn’t deny that you were still upset, but after hearing him out, you could understand him a bit better.

“I don’t want to lose you either, Anton…” you whispered while still looking at him. He stared back at you, a bit surprised by your words.

“Does that mean…?”

“It means I’ll forgive you… once we start dating, so I’ll be waiting,” you said, walking away.

Anton stood there for a few seconds, processing what you had just said. After a moment, he quickly walked after you. “Wait, y/n, I have to walk you home!” he said with a big smile on his face.

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist

taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori

@enhacolor @ladylilith @electric-hearts @astrobymarwa @layluv123

@sunflowers1610 @nctrawberries

[lilia-calderus-pet-goat]

Found-Family headcanons for a³'s coven of chaos, part 3: (because they all deserved more time with each other)

(part 2, here.)

(part 1, here.)

There is, of course, a group chat. Billy initially named it, “Coven of Chaos💜” but Rio changed it to “sluts”

Jen immediately left the chat the second it was created, but Alice put her back in. There was a second escape attempt when they were all together, to which Lilia responded with an “🙁” expression, which was enough to convince Jen to reluctantly stay in the group chat.

Ironically, Lilia isn't even active on the group chat. She's terrible at texting & terrible at reasing messages. (“why is the print so small??”)

She is, however, surprisingly nimble with her phone outside of that. She needed to figure it out for business and stuff.

Sharon also doesn't know how to use the group chat. She had a flip-phone until recently—and only got a new one because Billy insisted she needed it. She keeps accidentally doing group calls by miss-clicking on her phone.

Sharon always calls Alice to “come fix her phone” because “it's broken again!!” Alice, each time, has to tell her that it's probably just out of battery.

Agatha is blocked on Jen's phone because she won't stop sending her spam, so they only ever text each other on the group chat, which Jen has muted.

Jen, Alice and Lilia have a separate group chat. Lilia hasn't even noticed, but they assume she has, because she leaves everything on read. In reality, she just thinks both group chats are the same group-chat and they always have to call her om the phone to make plans.

Alice wanted to add Billy to the second group chat too, but Jen told her that he'd probably be sad to not include the others so it's better that he doesn't find out.

Agatha claims she doesn't care what Billy does, but once she ran out of her house to his car because he forgot his jacket.

Billy made everyone friendship bracelets in prideflag colours, (like the ones agatha and rio wore in agatha's trial.)

“I hate bracelets” “don't wear it then” “fuck you, I'm never taking it off.”

“do you like it? :))” *chocked up* “it's fine i guess-”

Alice, Lilia, Sharon and Rio don't even play difficult, they just wear them immediately.

Agatha and Billy love doing matching Halloween outfits. Rio and Eddie would be offended, but like. They respect the slay.

Eddie would go as hulk (haha hulkling reference) and Rio would just wear a black t-shirt that says “BOO-bs” across her chest. And she'd draw nipples all over her body.

Billy makes them vote for best costume and he ALWAYS votes for Alice regardless of who actually has the best costume. Not because he's biased—just because hers are genuinely always his favourites.

Jen and Lilia will go shopping during the first weeks of October, when people start decorating for Halloween, and the moment Lilia spots a SINGLE pumpkin she starts bitching and moaning the WHOLE WAY HOME about how “the holiday industrial complex appropriates our culture through offensive stereotypes and absurd emblems and It's full of caricatures that stem from misogyny and female domesticity and villifying powerful women and AND there's so many racial micro-aggresions and it's all just exploiting us for profit and all these decorations and advertisements are just here to pressure people to buy products and--”

Jen stopped listening ten minutes ago. She SO regrets pointing and saying, “oh, that pumpkin is so cute!” as if she doesn't know who she's hanging out with.

So, obviously Lilia never dresses up for Halloween. Jen just dresses hot, so that Lilia won't be able to be mad at her.

Lilia has... No objections to that--

Rio's favourite thing during Halloween (but also just, always) is scaring the shit out of people.

They all have weekly movie nights :)

Rio picks “comedies” (Horror movies, psychological thrillers, slasher films, gothic fiction, dark comedies, survival horror, anything gruesome & grotesque & body horror & gore, post-apocalyptic fiction) Sharon “coincidentally” skips movie night whenever it's Rio's turn to pick a film.

Alice picked everything everywhere all at once during her last turn. Her and Lilia sobbed through it (for very different reasons) while hugging each other. Other than that, Alice usually picks action movies, crime films, and the occasional rom-com or coming-of-age.

Jen loves dramas. Any dramas. Unnecessary trope-filled miscommunication? Hit her up!

Sharon likes sitcoms and old hollywood productions with a romantic flair. She'll point at scenes and narrate stories about how, “me and my husband used to...”

Agatha watches a lot of reality tv because she loves to make fun of the people yelling at each other.

Billy will always pick musicals. (Lilia has forbidden a specific few—and I think we all know which few.)

Hilariously, Agatha uses her next turn to force Lilia to sit through Madonna's Evita.

Lilia herself hates historical movies and always points out the inaccuracies. Same with fantasy media, she just doesn't like it. She's the pickiest of them all with movies and she always chooses total obscure wildcards that nobody has ever heard before—and somehow they're always the best ones.

Billy's parents are very conflicted about these people. “How about you and Eddie just... Start hanging out with people your own age? Like!! Eddie's friend group!!”

Even when he starts hanging out with the Young Avengers, he still spends more than half of his free time with his coven of lesbian senior citizens. <3

[curiousnightly]

carbon copy - pt.two

a caleb x reader fanfiction

summary: although caleb is the type to eventually come clean about some of the awful things he's done, there's one thing he had never intended on admitting to honestly. part of him keeping quiet was probably out of selfishness, but deep down it was the fact that what he had done was utterly sinful and admitting to it would fill his heart with immeasurable amounts of shame and guilt. he planned to carry this secret of his to his grave, or so that was his plan until his horrible deed would come back to haunt him years later, inside your bedside drawer. 1.1k words

warnings: nsfw; mentions of toys; mentions of male arousal; hints to possessiveness & jealousy; mentions of masturbation

reader characteristics: she/her; mc!reader; caleb referred nicknames (pip-squeak, etc.)

a/n: thank you all for the response on part 1 of this short project. i can’t wait for you guys to read the next couple of part and hopefully this will tide you over until the real nasty stuff finally plays out in the final part. enjoy ~

masterlist

<<<pt.1 | pt.3 (coming soon)

The simple fact that this mold was still being used by you till this day made Caleb hard in an instance. How many times has she used it now? Has she orgasmed from it on multiple occasions? How does it make her feel? Caleb’s thoughts were in a frenzy at this new revelation that you still owned the damn thing and was struggling to keep his composure. His thoughts were so occupied that he hadn’t noticed you walk back into the room or your attempts to call out to him a few times.

“Caleb?”

Why the hell does she still have it?

“Caleb.”

I can’t tell her about this, if she finds out-

“Caleb!”

Caleb’s head snaps in the direction of your voice and finds you staring at him in the doorway with your cheeks dusted red. Upon seeing you, Caleb immediately slams the drawer shut and turns his back to the nightstand as if trying to hide the obvious fact that he’s been caught. No one says a word for a moment, both of you staring at one another as if unsure what to say next. Before you can finally speak up to yell at him, Caleb puts a hand up to stop you.

“I can explain-”

“Caleb why do you always go through my stuff?”

“I just happened to take a peek and that’s when I-”

“You have no self-control! Can you for once not be nosy and dig through my personal things?”

“I didn’t mean to come across…”

“I cannot believe you saw that!”

“Well I cannot believe you still have it!”

Caleb jolted at his accidental confession and inwardly cursed at himself as he saw the immediate frustration and confusion written on your face. You take a few steps towards him.

“What do you mean by that?”

Caleb remains silent. You take a few more steps towards him, making Caleb swallow hard.

“Caleb, how did you know that I’ve had that?” You question him but he remains quiet, averting his gaze away from yours. You push the conversation further.

“When did you find out about this? I’ve had it for a few years now and for most of that time I’ve lived here?”

Still no response from him.

“Caleb, answer me now-”

“I-I might’ve seen it before you even got to use it…” He finally concedes. It takes a moment for you to register what he’s implying, but it eventually clicks.

“You went through my packages!” You snapped.

Caleb finally turns back to you, guilt apparent on his features, “I’m sorry, it’s just that you never had anything delivered to the house before and you know better than anyone that my curiosity gets the best of me and-”

“Caleb, you really need to learn how to mind your business.”

“Kind of hard to do that when the walls between our rooms were thin and would’ve given yourself away anyways,” he scoffed, but quickly regretted his words when he saw your face flush with embarrassment. “Pip-squeak I was just kidd-”

“Could you really hear me back then?” The sudden timid softness of your voice threw Caleb off guard as it contradicted your previous tone. He hesitated before answering.

“Yes, I could hear everything,” he admitted, his eyebrows knitting together with worry as he watched your gaze drop to your feet. He turned away and cursed under his breath, but readjusted his attention back to you when you whispered something he didn’t catch. “What was that pip-squeak?”

“Did you-could you even hear me say,” you trail off, embarrassment laced in your words. Caleb shifts to face you directly.

“Hey I can’t hear you when you’re as quiet as a mouse and tripping over your words pip-”

“Could you hear me saying your name?” your words finally register even, but your attention remains towards the floor. Caleb’s eyes, however, were boring into the top of your head.

“What? No I couldn’t hear-what?” Caleb stumbles on his own words, completely dumbfounded.

As he cleared his throat to try and gather himself, you were quick to turn on your heel towards the bedroom door. However, Caleb quickly reacted by grabbing your wrist and slamming the door closed on you. The sudden proximity of him being pressed against your back and accidentally caging you between himself and the door makes him painfully aware that his erection from earlier was still present. Caleb shuts his eyes hard and loosens the grip on your wrist.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to grab you like that-”

“Caleb, what am I feeling against my lower back?” Your faint voice cuts him off and the implication of your question causes him to stiffen. Despite the innocent phrasing of your words, the lack of genuine unawareness in your tone leaves Caleb to dismiss your naivety. The absence of you being oblivious, mixed in with his already faltering resolve due to his arousal being stirred by the scent of your freshly washed hair and your earlier confession, makes his reply more calculated.

“I think you know the answer to that,” he leans in closer, lips barely brushing your red-tipped ear, “and what you’re feeling is something you’re already familiar with.”

“I don’t understand…” This time your voice carried a sense of uncertainty, further proving Caleb’s assessment of your previous question feigning ignorance. He can’t help the smirk that forms on his face, but it only appears for a brief second when Caleb thinks about what he will admit to next.

“Well,” he lets go of your wrist to wrap his arm around your waist, bringing you two closer, “back then, when I went through your packages, I didn’t just discover that little purchase you made.” He watches you as you turn to look over your shoulder, your eyebrows raised with curiosity in wondering where he is going with this. Caleb continues, “I might’ve swapped the original item out with something a bit more…personal.” He pauses to see your reaction, but when it doesn't register, he clarifies, “Something I made…myself, with my,” he looks down in between both of you briefly to gesture at himself before lifting his line of sight back to yours.

Caleb can visibly see the gears turning in that pretty head of yours, as well as the moment they click into place when you realize what he’s implying because your face turns bright red.

“You mean-you don’t mean that,” your eyes shift between Caleb and the nightstand as you trip up your words.

“Yes, that is a mold of my cock.”

˗ˏˋ ✈︎ˎˊ˗

⊹ ࣪ ˖✧˖°⊹ Reblogs are appreciated ⊹°˖✧˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[slytherheign]

A WALK TO REMEMBER | tasm!peter parker

PAIRING: tasm!peter parker x reader

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

SUMMARY: you take one last walk with the love of your life.

WARNINGS: illness (unspecified), HEAVY angst, insecurities, death. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by the movie/novel with the same title, but only slightly. THIS IS A GENDER NEUTRAL FIC BTW, but if you see something that pertains to specific gender then pls reach out so i can change it. also, i’ve planned another part for this focusing on their first walk but it’s still not finished. though when that part comes out, you can either read it as a one-shot or a prequel for this. EDIT: the prequel is out! READ HERE. again, i apologize for the lack of uploads, i just got busy with university and life in general. thank you for understanding and enjoy reading! you might want to get tissues before you proceed.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THINGS AWTR (reviews, commentary, etc. about this fic).

The scent of the hospital permeated the room, mingling with the soft whirring of medical pieces of equipment. You were lying on your hospital bed, your frail form engulfed by the sterile white sheets. Your family surrounded you, their faces etched with worry and exhaustion.

The doctor entered the room, his expression grave. You watched him closely, a flicker of hope dancing within your eyes. Perhaps there was still a chance, a new treatment or some kind of breakthrough medication.

But as the doctor spoke, his words fell like heavy stones, shattering your fragile heart and optimism. "I'm sorry," he began, his voice laced with regret. "But it seems the treatments have stopped working."

Your heart sank like an anchor in your chest. You felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you gasping for breath. Your family's hushed whispers filled the silence, their words a blur as tears clouded your vision. "I-I don't understand," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. "What does that mean?"

Your mother's trembling hand reached out to grasp yours, her eyes brimming with tears. "It means we have to consider other options, sweetheart," she said, her voice breaking with emotion.

But you knew what those "other options" meant. It meant more pain, more uncertainty, and the terrifying prospect of saying goodbye. You turned away, burying your face in your pillow as a sob wracked your body.

The doctor spoke with your family and discussed the other options. You listened to his words, but they felt distant, as if they were coming from the end of a long tunnel. You knew what he was saying, and you could grasp the gravity of his words, but you couldn't bring yourself to fully process them.

“What do we think?” he asked, looking at your faces for an answer. 

If you were being honest, a part of you didn’t want to try anymore. You didn’t want any more pain. You were already tired—exhausted, even.

But then you remembered him.

You remembered Peter.

And you remembered how you promised him that you would do everything to survive. You promised that you would keep trying until all was well. 

After a moment of unnerving silence, you spoke. “I think we should do it,” you breathed out, looking up at your parents and your doctor. “The other options… let’s do it,” you smiled weakly.

So, that was what you did. You kept trying.

Peter lightly traced the lines on your hand as you waited for your order. Every now and then, he would look up and gaze at you lovingly. You couldn’t help but chuckle. “What are you doing?” you said, smiling.

“Admiring you,” he smiled, intertwining his hand with yours atop the table.

The smile left your face almost instantly. “Even when there’s nothing left to admire?” you stated sadly.

He immediately frowned at that. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying…”

“Y/N…”

“Peter, I’m not the same as I was. I don’t look like what I used to when you fell in love with me.”

“Stop.”

“No, Peter. I’m pale as snow. I look so sick, I’ve lost my hair. This—” you pointed at your head. “This is just a wig. My real hair is gone—the hair that I know you loved playing with and twirling the ends with your finger. I’ve lost a lot of weight—I don’t have the chubby cheeks you loved to pinch anymore. I-I’m so w-weak,” you sniffed. “Look at me, Pete—I can’t even stand on my own feet anymore. I have to be in a wheelchair.”

A tear fell on Peter’s cheek but he quickly wiped it when he noticed the waiter approaching. You immediately turned your face at the window, pretending to look at the parking lot on the other side so the poor waiter wouldn’t notice the emotional distress you were in.

Peter smiled at the waiter. “On second thought, can we take these out?” he gestured to the food. The waiter smiled in return before picking up your table number and taking the food back to pack it up for the two of you. Peter sadly looked at you as you continued to stare at the window. He heard you sniffing and he cursed himself for not knowing the right words to say at the moment. God, if he only knew how to take this pain away from you, he would do it right this instant.

He thanked the waiter, grabbing the paper bag with one hand and placing his other on your cheek to turn your face to him. He wiped the tears with his thumb before moving his hand to clasp yours. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“To your favorite place.”  

He sat on the bench beside your wheelchair before opening the takeout bag and handing your food to you. The two of you ate in peace while admiring the sight of the beach in front of you, the cool breeze that swept off the ocean instantly finding its way to your bodies.

You remembered this beach. It was where Peter asked you to be his, and it was where you answered him “yes”. You remembered how it was snowing then, and how both of you thought it was weird, but beautiful nonetheless.

Moments after you finished eating and Peter threw the trash in a garbage can that was nearby, he cleaned his hands with an alcohol spray. He then went back to you, knelt down, and held your hand with both of his. “I have an idea.”

“A good one or a bad one?”

“A good one. A very good one.”

There was a glint of excitement in his eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh lightly at him.

“Well then, count me in,” you smiled.

He smirked before standing up and starting to carry you bridal style. 

“Peter—Pete! What are you doing?!”

“Just trust me, okay?”

You looked at him, searching his eye for some kind of clue to what he was planning on doing. Unfortunately, you couldn’t find a clue or anything. “Okay,” you forfeited.

He noticed the slight pout you made and he rolled his eyes jokingly. “You really know how to get me, huh?” he chuckled. “Fine, I’ll tell you what we’re doing,” he said, starting to move his feet towards the beach. “You and I, my love, are going for a walk.”

Peter carried you as he gently walked along the sandy shore, his footsteps leaving imprints that would soon be washed away by the tide. You stared up at him, memorizing his features just like you did every time you would look at him. His hair moved smoothly with the flow of the breeze, his mouth looking perfect as he talked about something you weren’t really paying attention to because you were busy paying attention to his face. And then you wondered how a man as beautiful as him loved you. You smiled, thinking you must’ve done something really good in your life for you to have him.

Seagulls soared overhead, their cries blending with the gentle rustle of the palm trees lining the beach. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air, a poignant backdrop to the bittersweet moment you were having.

Right. This was a bittersweet moment. There was something you haven’t told him yet.

“Pete, can we sit for a moment?” he frowned but did what you asked for nonetheless. He set you down gently on the sand, sitting beside you right after. 

You sat in companionable silence, the only sounds you were focusing on now were the sounds of Peter’s breathing and your heart’s beating. With each beat, you drew closer to the inevitable. You needed to tell him what he deserved to know.

“Pete—”

“Y/N—”

You laughed. “Okay, you go first,” you told him.

He smiled. “You were wrong,” he stated after a moment. 

“I’m confused.”

“You were wrong,” he said again. “You were wrong when you said that there is nothing left to admire about you. You were wrong because there is always something to admire about you. When I look at you, I question myself if you’re even real, because surely a person as perfect as you could not exist. The way you smile at the smallest compliments, the way you tilt your head back when you laugh at something, the way your brows knit together when you’re confused, the way your tongue sticks out sometimes when you’re concentrating—everything about you, big and small, I admire them. And I love them.”

“Surely, there are some imperfections in me,” you said.

“Yes, of course, we all have them. But those imperfections are what makes you perfect.”

“But I don’t look the same as I was before—”

“And I don’t care. Y/N, you are perfect in my eyes. Listen to me, I love you. I don’t care if you lost all your hair, or if you lose your teeth, or if you lose everything you have—I don’t care what else you lose as long as I don’t lose you.”

Oh.

As long as he didn’t lose me.

Your heart should’ve leaped with joy when you heard those words. But instead, it shattered like a plate of glass getting thrown into a wall. You hated this feeling. And you hated the feeling you would soon make Peter feel.

“Peter…” you called his name. “Pete—I love you,” you sniffed. “I love you,” you repeated. “You know that, right?”

“Of course,” he nodded, a tear escaping his eyes.

“And because I love you so much… I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“They didn’t work,” you cried.

“What didn’t work? I don’t understand.”

“When my treatments stopped working, my family and I decided to try the other options. Those other options,” your voice broke. “Those options didn’t work either, Peter…”

“W-What does that mean?”

“That means that I’m dying, Peter. And there’s nothing left to stop it.”

“No.”

You held both of his hands when you noticed them shaking.

“It’s inevitable,” you explained, looking at his hands instead of focusing on his face. You couldn’t look at him while he was crying. You couldn't do it. Your heart wouldn’t be able to bear it.

“No no no no no.”

“I love you, Peter.” 

“Y-you can’t—no. Maybe there’s still a chanc—”

You shook your head, lips trembling as you kissed his hands. “I love you.”

“What about our dreams, the future we would have? The family we would make? Y/N…”

“Peter, it’s getting cold,” you whispered. “We should go back.”

“But—please, Y/N. Y-You just can’t…”

“Peter, it’s getting really cold…”

“You can’t just leave me, I don’t think I can live without you. I already lost a lot of people—”

“I love you, Peter,” you repeated.

“I–I can’t lose you too…”

And in one frail movement, everything turned black.

As soon as you opened your eyes, the darkness from your eyelids was changed into the blinding white of the hospital room. To your left were machines that connected to your body, the only reason why you were still breathing. To your right was Peter, sound asleep on his chair while he held your hand in his.

If you were back in here, then that would mean one thing… you didn’t have much time left.

Your face was pale and the once vibrant eyes you had were now dimmed by the weight of your illness. Despite the pain that was evident in your features, there was a peacefulness in your expression. You had come to terms with your fate. 

You could feel it. Death. It wasn’t just at your doorstep, it was already beside you, just waiting for the right moment to touch you and consume you. You supposed you should be thankful, for the heavens did not take you yet.

If it would take you within this week, then so be it. But you hoped it would at least be merciful.

If it would take you today, then so be it. But you hoped it would spare you a chance for one more wish. 

One last wish.

To give you time. 

Not more time to live, but just enough.

Just enough time to say goodbye.

“Peter?” you said, squeezing his hand with all the strength you had left.

He woke up, eyes widening when he realized you were awake.

“You’re awake,” he smiled, you swore you saw his eyes tearing up at the sight of you.

Your features were drawn with pain and fatigue and your body was weakened by the relentless progression of your illness. But despite your frailty, there was a quiet strength in your eyes, a determination to make the most of the time you had left.

“I don’t think I have much time left,” you admitted.

Tears welled up in Peter's eyes as he stood up to lean in and kiss your forehead, his heart breaking at the thought of losing you. He sat back down again, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of love and sorrow. He longed to take away your pain, to make you whole again, but he knew that was beyond his power.

"I'm sorry, Peter," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wish things could have been different."

He squeezed your hand gently, his heart breaking at the sadness in your voice. "Don't apologize" he replied, his voice filled with tenderness. "You have nothing to be sorry for. We've shared so much love and memories together. Your time may be shorter than what we’ve hoped for, but I’m very lucky and glad that you decided to spend most of it with me."

A small smile played at the corners of your lips and you moved your hand to caress his cheek. "I love you, Peter," you whispered, voice trembling with emotion.

"I love you too, Y/N," Peter replied, his voice thick with tears. "More than anything in this world."

“My parents?” you asked.

“They’re outside.”

“Can you please call them for me?”

“Of course,” he said, standing up to fetch your parents. He stayed outside the room to give you and your family some privacy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your mother immediately ran up to you, stroking both of your cheeks gently with her hands. Your father stood behind her, you could tell by their faces that they’d been crying.

God, you hated seeing them like this.

“Mom, Dad,” you whispered.

“We’re here,” your mother responded, wiping your tears with her thumbs. “We’re right here.”

Your father reached out to hold your hand. “We’re always here.”

“I don’t know w-what to say… I can’t think of words that are nearly enough to express how grateful I am to each of you,” you stated. “Thank you for everything you have done and given me since I was a child. Thank you for reading me bedtime stories when I was little, for bringing me to school and then picking me up when it was done, for cooking my favorite meals, for hugging me when I was sad, for cleaning up my wounds whenever I injured myself while playing, for being there for me through my first relationship, first heartbreak—I am who I am because of you.”

You glanced at your dad only to see him crying, his grip on your hand getting tighter as if trying to see if the tighter he held you the longer you would stay with them. You never saw him cry like this before.

“We love you so much,” he whispered.

“We’re so proud of you,” your mother added.

Your father agreed, nodding. “You’re the strongest person I know. You’re even stronger than me,” he chuckled sadly.

“I love you both so much,” you cried. “I don’t want to leave, but the world has other plans for me… thank you for being the best parents I could ever ask for.”

And there it was.

You could feel death’s hand slowly reach for you. You closed your eyes, it was getting hard to breathe. 

“C-Can you please call Peter?” you breathed out.

With all your might, you opened your eyes again. Peter was now beside you, holding your right hand while both your parents held your left. You stayed like that for a moment, clinging to each other as if you could defy fate itself. But you all knew that you couldn’t.

Your breaths came shallow and labored, each one a struggle against the weight of your failing body. You closed your eyes, trying to block out the pain that pulsed through you with every heartbeat. But despite your efforts, you couldn't escape the truth that loomed over you like a dark cloud.

You could see and hear them crying, the grips they had on your hands getting tighter and tighter and tighter… afraid that if they held you loosely then you would slip away sooner.

But that wasn’t how it worked. A tight grip would not save you. There was nothing they could do to change the inevitable.

As the seconds stretched into minutes, your thoughts began to wander, drifting through memories of happier times. You thought of your childhood, filled with laughter and innocence, and of the love you had shared with your family, with your friends, and with Peter.

The memories faded as soon as they came. And then you felt death’s touch linger on your skin, its distance becoming closer to you than you could ever imagine. Like a distant echo growing louder with each passing moment, the realization dawned on you that your time was running out. You tearfully looked around the room, taking in the faces of your loved ones, each one bearing pain and sorrow.

Your strength continued to wane, your body growing weaker with each second. And as you lay there, surrounded by the ones you loved, you found a sense of peace in knowing that you weren't alone.

With a final breath, you closed your eyes. You welcomed death’s touch with a smile, surrendering to the darkness that beckoned you. And as your family and Peter wept beside you, you drifted away, hoping to have left behind a legacy of love and memories that would live on long after you were gone.

7 MONTHS LATER.

Taking a walk along the beach never felt the same anymore. 

Peter concluded that without you beside him, it wasn’t as fun as it used to be. The only fun thing for him, he guessed, was the fact that with each step he walked along the sandy shore, the memories with you played in his head and he would smile as he recounted them. Sometimes, he could even feel your presence somehow.

He ditched his shoes and played with the sand with his feet. It only took him a few minutes before he decided to wear his shoes again and leave the beach.

The next place he decided to visit was the cemetery. He stood across your grave, still not believing that 7 months had passed since you took your final breath. There was not a day that passed when he didn’t miss your presence or longed for your touch. He sat on the grass in front of your tombstone.

“You know…” he started speaking. “Walking along the beach used to be my favorite. After you died and I started doing it again, I wondered why I didn’t like doing it as much as I did before. But now I know why… I realized that it only became my favorite because I was doing it with you.”

He played with the grass with his hands, picking some of them as he tried to hold back his tears. “God, Y/N,  it’s been 7 months and it still hurts the same… I miss you so so much. I miss our walks, our dates—I miss everything about you,” he cried.

“I want to love walking along the beach again, but I know I only loved it in the first place because I was with you,” he continued. “To be honest, I don’t think I’ll do those walks again, at least not now… I don’t know… it’s just, without you, I can’t—”

Something just crawled and bit his hand. “Shit,” he swatted the spider, before facing your grave again.

“Anyway, I just want you to know that I will forever treasure those walks that I did with you,” he smiled weakly but genuinely, wiping his tears. “I will never forget them.” 

Especially that last one.

That last walk.

That was a walk to remember.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx @checo2011

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST: @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20 @the-quiet-observer @softiepeterpan @willowhaired @sflame15-blog @pompeygirl89 @remuslupinsdocs

[story-box]

ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN ON THE INTERNET | Matthew Gray Gubler | Spencer Reid

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairings: Matthew Gray Gubler x Reader | Matthew Gray Gubler x You | Spencer Reid x Reader | Spencer Reid x You

Summary: Matthew Gray Gubler discovers a fanfiction about Spencer Reid that hits too close to home, igniting an anonymous, irresistible connection with its talented author.

-

It started innocently enough.

He was on Reddit. Just scrolling.

...which he shouldn’t have been doing, frankly, because the comments there either told him he looked like a Victorian wet cat or a “fine wine, if the wine also solved murders.”

The latter, oddly, felt a bit too specific.

Was he wearing a cape in that particular edit? Because that one definitely could have been a thirst trap — if thirst traps came with footnotes about obscure 17th-century literature.

Matthew shook his head. One fan edit titled “Matthew Gray Gubler as a vampire, but make it cute” was more confusing than anything else.

How does one even make a cute vampire? Was he going to be sipping a smoothie in a Victorian parlor while discussing existentialism? It was just a lot to process.

But then a username caught his eye. A link.

Curiosity, his lifelong and possibly most problematic trait, pushed him forward, so...he clicked.

And then he read.

And then he kept reading.

For three hours.

Without blinking.

He wasn’t even sure how he got there. One second, he was Googling whether giraffes sleep standing up (they do sometimes, it turns out), and the next he was elbows-deep in a 20k-word Criminal Minds fic titled “Late Night at Quantico (And Other Terrible Ideas)” by someone named softestsidearm.

It was an x Reader.

About Spencer Reid.

And somehow, impossibly, it felt like it got him. Not just “him” the character — but him. Like whoever wrote this had cracked open his ribcage, peeked at the neurotic little sparrow-heart inside, and whispered, “Yeah. That tracks.”

He set down his phone.

Picked it up.

Set it down again.

Laid down on the floor for a while, like a Victorian woman recovering from scandal.

Then, at 2:41 a.m., Matthew Gray Gubler created a burner account.

Username: drfactsandfeelings

Bio: “probably overthinking it”

Profile pic: A blurry owl in glasses.

He didn’t comment right away. He couldn’t. He spent a full hour typing and deleting:

“This was really great. Your Reid is so in character.”

“Hi, I’m... a fan. Of this. Not in a weird way. Unless you think it’s weird. In which case I’m not.”

“Are you a time traveler?? How do you know what he’d say in literally every situation?? I—” (he deleted that one fast.)

Finally, he settled on something safe. Casual. Normal.

“This was lovely. Beautifully written. You really captured the heart of him. Thank you for sharing.”

He hit post.

Threw his phone across the room.

Regretted everything.

-

Within twenty minutes, he saw a reply:

“OMG thank you 🥺 comments like this keep me going. I’m literally pacing my room like a regency wife who just got a letter from war rn. Thank you thank you thank you.

He reread it four times. His ears turned red.

But then… curiosity gnawed at him again.

He clicked on her profile.

And that's when he saw it.

Age: 25

25.

Matthew blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Not because she was 25, of course — that was perfectly fine — but because he was 44.

He scrolled down, slightly distracted now. So she was close(ish)…well, not really…. to his age... but still, he shouldn’t be on Reddit at 2:41 a.m., really shouldn't.

Yet here he was, spiraling down a rabbit hole of fanfic, somehow emotionally invested. He tried not to overthink it, but his brain immediately started overanalyzing everything.

What was it like being 25 in this wild world of fanfiction and anonymous fandoms? Was she a professional writer?

Or just someone with an extraordinary ability to read between the lines of a fictional character?

Was this weird?

It didn’t help that the more he read your replies, the more he realized just how you understood Spencer. It was almost eerie. He couldn’t help but feel a little… flustered?

Like he was being admired in a way that was a little too... honest.

so, naturally, instead of sleeping like a person with functioning social instincts, he went back and read all your other fics. All of them.

By sunrise, he had developed:

A deeply parasocial crush on your brain.

An aggressive respect for your metaphor usage.

And a secret favorite line that he screenshotted and saved in Notes. (It was from the fic where Spencer couldn’t sleep, and Reader said, “Then I’ll keep watch. Someone should guard the genius.”)

He paced.

He spiraled.

He made tea and forgot to drink it.

And then he did something wild.

He DM’d you.

drfactsandfeelings: Hi. This is random, but I’ve been reading your work and I think it’s… really, really special. You understand Spencer better than most writers I’ve read — like you’re not just writing him, you’re listening to him. Sorry, that’s weird. I just wanted to say thank you. For putting something like that out there. (Also, you made me cry a little with the “guard the genius” line. Rude.)

He turned his phone screen-down on his nightstand. Turned it off. Put a hoodie over it. Just in case it glowed at him in the morning light like some digital Eye of Sauron.

(Which, in Gubler Language, translated directly to: "I'm catch up on sleep and pretend it never happened.")

...

He did not sleep.

But he tried.

And somewhere around 8:02 a.m., brain still fizzing and heart still chewing on the words “i literally based it on how i think you would play it??, Matthew Gray Gubler — actor, artist, author, former Vegas magician’s assistant — fell asleep mid-spiral, dreaming of owls in glasses and fictional FBI agents who knew how to say the right thing.

[captain-joongz]

so I'm thinking too much about it and I really want to share with someone

so if you feel comfortable, can u write idol soobin x staff gf having a moment alone (🔞) just before he goes on stage??

I have to admit i think about it too much

hello darling, of course i can! i'm so sorry for the delay, but i'm finally here to answer you <3 i hope you weren't too disappointed not seeing your ask here for such a long time, i owe you one my darling ;))

one Soobin x staff!girlfriend coming right up!

warnings: sex in a public place, oral (f. rec.), dating in a workplace

when you managed to get a job as part of the TXT manager team, you definitely didn't expect anything to come out of it except for friendly coworking relationship. you'd heard the boys were nice to their staff and fun to be around, and you were excited to start your career and get to know your clients

what you couldn't have foreseen was how you immediately just clicked with Soobin. at first you were friendly, than your relationship quickly shifted into teasing and playful flirting until one night the man came to you after a show and admitted to having real feelings for you

you were understandably hesistant at first - you were worried about it being unprofessional, about causing problems for the young idol and his group and also about having to sneak around. Soobin understood and gave you space, but you ended up caving after two weeks of painful silent stares and tension that wasn't lost on anybody

and you never regretted that decision - Soobin was sweet, he could be playful but he was loving, as the leader of the group he knew how to effortlessly switch between more youthful approach and sincere maturity when the situation asked for it, and he made you so so happy. and that was hard to hide

you did try to keep your relationship secret at the beginning, but how much could you two fools in love really keep from others - it was obvious to everybody around you two that you got together, but for the sake of the working space they said nothing - as long as you two kept it to time off and your relationship didn't get in the way of boys' activities, you were cool

the boys teased you two mercilessly, especially Yeonjun and Beomgyu just wouldn't shut up, something deteriorating all the way back to elementary humour with making kissy noises and faces around you two, but you always just laughed and let Soobin deal with it (read - start beating them up until they ran away in fits of giggles)

it was like a big unspoken open secret - everybody knew but nobody said anything out of fear it would get you into trouble

but you two were quite enough on your own to get yourselves into trouble. being around Soobin so much, seeing him before and after performances, helping him get ready and watching him return drenched in sweat with a glow of post-performance adrenaline... well let's say it was way harder to focus on doing your job (which was catering to the boys' needs anyway, so what if he needed to bend you over something, technically that counted as doing your job, right?)

remember what i said about everybody being okay with you two dating as long as it didn't get in the way? yeah that didn't last long, especially when Soobin looked soo pretty when he was getting all done up and he teased you mercilessly knowing you found him attractive like that, and the rush as he returned back-stage after resulted in several instances of you being pulled into empty changing rooms or having to smack away his needy wandering hands while he attempted to steal you from an actual task you had to finish

you two were quickly becoming hopeless and once Soobin actually managed to make you cum while hidden away like that between the wardrobe changes, it was game over for you - nothing would stop him now

and that's how you found yourself in the mess you were in that day - bent over a vanity table in an abandoned changing room, skirt pulled up and tights with panties pulled down, Soobin's face buried in your cunt makeup and all

not that you cared about that when he ate you out like a man starved, tongue pushed as deep into your cunt as it could go and moaning like he was losing his mind with the taste of you.

you knew something was about to go that the moment Soobin stepped out of the changing rooms and immediately booked it to you, the excitement of the big performance getting to him and his blood pumping wildly, discreetly pulling you away from your mindless task of organising table arrangements. you had a feeling others noticed, but thankfully no one commented on it, only grinned to each other and let you two go.

the makeup unnies were going to kill you though, there's no way his face was salvagable now that it was covered in your slick, mascara melting with sweat and tears of pleasure and lipstick smudged all around his mouth and your thighs

Soobin loved nothing more than to bury his face in your cunt, especially here at work where it became a point of pride with how fast he had you falling apart on his tongue, pushing himself to make you cum faster and harder everytime he managed to pull you away from the group

"y-you only have like two m-minutes left" you'd choke out in an attempt to remind him of his responsibilities, but it was all futile when he got his mouth on you - he heard nothing, saw nothing, only you and your pleasure

he'd hum in response, nothing more, and redouble his efforts, loudly sucking on your clit and slurping your juices, mouth alternating between that and fucking you with his tongue until you were a stuttering mess and clenching on the wet appendage, driving the man crazy

and once again he'd prove that two minutes were more than enough, when your orgasm broke over you and hit you like a fucking boulder, knees buckling under your weight while Soobin hungrily licked up your cum until you were whimpering in overstimulation, but you'd never push him away and he knew that

"fuck" he'd say elequently, breathless and turned on and you'd laugh at the desperate look on his face

"you can't go on stage like that" and he truly couldn't, not with pants tenting around his erection, the little wet spot where his precum soaked through masked by the dark colour of the fabric, face wet and slick with your lust and eyes crazed with arousal, pupils blown until he looked drugged on pussy

but he'd just smirk at you, wink and get on the way, immediately getting scolded by the makeup team the second he stepped out of the room. and you'd burn under their amused but scolding gazes for the rest of the afternoon while your boyfriend pushed all that unused energy towards a powerful performance, at least until he could leave and fuck you over the first flat surface he found

divider by @cafekitsune