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swordgrace · 13 days ago

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❝ 𝐨𝐡, 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after a particularly rough mission, bob is insistent on taking care of you — though, you’re better at taking care of one another, instead.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: robert reynolds (sentry) x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.3K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: soft smut (mdni), mentions of past trauma/insecurities, mental health talk, tooth-rotting fluff/loving antics, sub!bob but he’s also a little assertive, body worship, bob has a praise kink, hair pulling, face-sitting, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, heavy kissing, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, descriptions of cum, cowgirl position, riding. heavy aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I am so obsessed with him that it actively eats away at my brain. 😭 Anyway, I love Bob & I love writing for him even more! I hope that you guys enjoy! Thank you for your support! 🫶

Scalding columns of water douse you from above, the shower threatening to burn your flesh if you didn’t adjust the temperature.

In the aftermath of another Avengers operation, it’s as if pieces of yourself are chipped away, healing with time, a pang of exhaustion reverberating through your marrow.

Even with an inhuman durability, the pain is raw, indents of fists and flying rubble interlaced into your flesh.

Each bruise is muscle-deep, knots made by hostile hands, peppered against your ribcage, threading along your spine; even searing water offers little relief from the dull ache.

Steam wisps in damp clouds throughout your bathroom, tepid, but it clears your senses, as if it’s washing away the mission you’d recently returned from. Exhaustion hasn’t hit you yet, merely looming in the background, a patient spectator.

Lungs expand with a shallow inhale, droplets cascading over your body, carrying with it a trail of copper, swirling into the drain. A handful of cuts mar your flesh, dried blood scrubbed clean when the water blankets you.

Through furrowed brows, your gaze screws shut, content to marinate beneath the shower’s intense pressure, knees folded, tucked near your chest. Tresses are soaked, damp and sticking to your skull, oozing with warmth.

Soap suds have long since dissipated, swallowed by rivulets of water, trickling through the chrome grate. The drone of water hitting the floor provides a gentle ambiance, accompanied by your breath — steady, shallow.

Reaching for the knob, you turn it clockwise, the spout beginning to sputter as you shut off the shower. There’s a hush that follows, save for the idle hum of the fan, an occasional buzz of the lights that flicker, casting your bathroom in an orange glow.

A fluffy towel awaits you, strewn over black, metallic rungs that match the general aesthetic of your room. Valentina made everything neutral, mute — the distinct lack of color made for an eyesore, and you’d taken to decorating your quarters with a pop of vibrancy.

Drying off, you rid yourself of slick skin, finding some relief afterwards, crawling into one of Bob’s sweaters and your pajama shorts. It smells like him — parchment and sandalwood, hints of vanilla that you’ve rubbed off on him, the scent of home.

As you clean up, you nudge the door open, letting billowing steam drift into your bedroom, releasing the caged heat. Bare feet cross the threshold into your quarters, bed barely made, but everything else seems rather organized.

A golden sunset crests upon the horizon of the New York cityscape, visible from your window, bulletproof glass tinted to banish any onlookers. Waning rays of orange pool through, glittering over your quarters, catching flecks of dust.

With a huff, you collapse along your bed, mattress foamy, downy to cushion your battered body. Tension unfurls from you in one wave, bleeding out as you allow yourself to relax, cradled within the comforts of home.

Gentle raps at the door ensnare your attention, and from pattern alone, you know who it is.

“It’s open.” You call, perched along the edge of your mattress, index finger drawing slow circles around the sheets. The door panel slides open with a soft whirring, a momentary hum that fades away.

Bob is constantly anxious to see you, especially after a mission, gaze glittering with ardor, a sentiment as gentle as springtime, a warmth that extends into his features.

He’s in loungewear, plaid pajama pants with a mismatched sweater, brunette tresses a touch disheveled. There isn’t a need for him to ask to come inside — your relationship dissolved those barriers long ago.

“Hi.” His greeting is soothing, nervousness placated by your smile, a pearlescent, sparkling thing of beauty. The fumbling, awkward tension has evaporated between the both of you, making room for affection, for the feelings you openly share.

Slipping from your bed, your feet carry you with a sudden haste, arms slithering around his middle, hugging him as if he’d slip through your fingers. He’s warm, his own sun, an everlasting plane of heat that thaws your bones.

Beneath the collar of your sweater, Bob notices the cut there, brows creasing together. With every mission you complete, his worry grows, and the thought of you being injured is a discomforting one.

Despite the tenderness of your flesh, it doesn’t take an ounce of coaxing for Bob to reciprocate your hug, arms caging you in against him, cheek nestled atop your crown. You’re damp, but he’s unperturbed, cradling you close.

His embrace feels like home, comfortable and easy, a sanctuary that the two of you have forged together. He holds you as if he might lose you too, body curling around yours, able to hear the excitable tick of your breath.

Bob’s hands idly caress over your waist, over your spine, able to hear the audible exhale of relief that slips through your nose. Hands smooth wherever he can reach, reverent, each embrace always echoing with affection.

There’s a hush that falls between, a solemn silence that shatters when your voice hums against his chest. “I missed you,” You murmur, adjusting your head enough to stare at him, lips curling into a smile. “Missed you a lot.”

Bob preens at the softness of your confession, hand dragging along your spine until it shifts to cup your jaw. “I missed you too, so much,” He missed you terribly, gaze oozing with affection. “Are you hurt?” Through furrowed brows, he gestures to the cut lingering near your collar.

“Scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious,” Reassuring, you tilt forward, absorbing the heat that radiates from him, basking within it. “It was relatively routine for a mission.” You hum, feeling his lips press against your temples.

Affection is something he lavishes you in freely, though you pamper him enough, Bob knows when to take care of you, too. Dark blues shift to admire you, finding you to be so beautiful, the light of his life, sun piercing a veil of cloud.

He’s still somewhat shy whenever you become heated, dancing around the fringes of intimacy, getting close but not fully there. You don’t mind, content to take it as slow as he wanted, but there’s always a flicker of want that stirs within your chest.

“I’ll take care of you,” Bob murmurs, and the sentiment makes you preen with warmth. He’s good, the epitome of a devoted partner, the river you’re wading through. “I—If you want me to.” He clarifies, sheepish.

You’re often the one taking care of him, a role that you’ve seamlessly melded into without complaint. It’s never perturbed you, never crossed your mind that the roles could reverse for once, but you don’t want him to feel obligated.

He wants to, more than anything — you’re good to one another, ardor all-encompassing, and Bob is eager to let you settle, let him dote on you.

“I want you to,” Hands slip from spine to abdomen, palms flush against his ribs. “You’re never obligated, though.” Despite the gentle reminder, Bob nods, brown tresses stirring with each jostle of his head.

“I know, I just … You mean everything to me,” Bob sighs, allowing sentiment to blossom, flourish within the heat of your shared affections. He loves you, loves you gently, kindly — loves you more than anything else. “I want to.”

There is something wonderfully uncomplicated about the way he loves you, unconditional; judgment is nonexistent, and so is the fear of falling. Owlish hues bore into you, as if searching for your heart, but it’s on your sleeve, plain for him to see.

Fingers cradle your cheek, thumb lightly circling over the cut that’s settled along your jawbone, and you turn, lips kissing his palm. A stutter forms within his exhale, scarlet curling around his features, snaking toward his throat.

When he’d first met you in the underbelly of Valentina’s vault, he thought he’d seen an angel — you were aglow, framed by the hum of garish lights. He recalled your gaze, even now; kind and gentle, safeguarding him from harm.

It almost felt so long ago, seven months, but no amount of time with you was wasted, nor insignificant.

He’d grown in his healing journey, at a point to where things had become easier to manage, easier to navigate his trauma. Meditation and counseling were crucial, and sometimes you joined him, ensuring that he had support.

“You are so perfect, Bob,” Not perfect in the sense of ability or strength, but his heart — a tender thing, one that you had found your serenity in. His lips twitched into a smile, besotted, growing accustomed to hearing you say it. “How did I get so lucky?”

Lucky wasn’t a word he’d use, but he was working on his self-esteem, attempting to squash the malicious insecurities, the whispers of doubt. It was difficult to extinguish self-loathing, but he was making progress, day by day.

A keening chuckle slipped from his lips, followed by a glint of pearlescent teeth, perhaps a twinge of disbelief. “I ask myself that, too,” Bob confessed, fingertips grazing along your cheek, his touch loving, and never anything less. “Very lucky.”

Flattered, your nose crinkles slightly, digits smoothing over his sides as you tilt forward to press your chin against his chest. His physique is lean, cut muscle, stature taller than you, hovering above as he meets your gaze, seeping with affection.

Lashes flutter in their ardent appraisal of you, lips pressing against the bridge of your nose. For a man who holds the power of a thousand suns within his palm, he behaves shrewdly, as if his capabilities lie far beyond his reach.

“Little lower.” Through a velvety croon, you watch as Bob’s features burn with crimson, though he’s delighted to oblige you. His lips skim over your nose, finding your mouth with seamless ease, eagerness entangled with clumsiness.

His heartbeat climbs toward a quick rhythm, an excitable thrum that reverberates through his sternum, singing your name. Noses brush over one another, kisses often exploratory, slow — it makes for a sweeter experience.

In the brief seconds where lips part, he exhales, a warm sigh feathering over your visage, as if you’re absorbing the sun’s soft rays. Bob often overthinks whenever you’re physical, not of any fault of your own, he simply wants to be the best he can for you.

Even still, your presence soothed him, a wordless lullaby, ceasing his constant barrage of nerves. His hands are unhurried, mapping your body with familiarity, caressing until they’ve settled above your hips.

Thumbs circle patterns through the fleece of your sweater, his sweater, draped over your frame as the fabric brushes the middle of your thighs. Each kiss evokes a wave of yearning from you, soul to soul, wrapped up within his splendor.

Undaunted, Bob’s mouth melds with yours, two pieces seamlessly fitting together, hearts joined in-tandem. A furrow forms within his brow, that of concentration as he pours affection into his kisses, listening to the hitch in your breath.

Between parted lips, nudging aside to seize the air, your hands dance along his biceps, skirting lower, holding steadfastly to his forearms. “I love you.” You hum, three words that he never grows tired of hearing.

Bob said it first, a month ago — when it tumbled from his mouth, you thought he was teasing, or perhaps speaking out of-turn. His sincerity manifested in the form of tears and a wistful speech about how much he loved you.

You made it a point to tell him every day, heart growing warm with a muted buzz, an ardor that blossomed through your chest. He liked telling you how much he loved you, too; he had someone to protect, someone to cherish.

A warm, half-chuckle escapes him, the sound scratching pleasantly at the back of your mind. Still, his thoughts are shrouded by doubt, by a shadowy snarl that plagues him, taunting; Bob has gotten better at blocking it out.

Lips press sweetly to his jaw, beneath his eye, whatever you’re able to reach whilst stretching up upon your toes. Sunset stretches over his features, blanketing him in burnished orange, catching upon his dark blue hues.

“I love you too.” Bob murmurs, abashed by the doting affection you lavish him in, unable to stop himself from smiling.

Happiness wasn’t a prevalent theme in his life, but after he met you, it became a constant — he wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Delighted, you crawl into bed, sprawled out upon your back, one arm tucked beneath your head. His sweater rides up along your hips, revealing the thin, cotton shorts that brush along your thighs.

Bob joins you, sitting criss-crossed at your side, tracing circles over your midriff. The soothing warmth of his touches makes your stomach surge with butterflies, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

“What are you thinking about?” A saccharine utterance slips past your lips, cadence tender as you tilt your head enough to peer up at him. Brunette tresses frame his face, chin bristling with a tiny hint of a growing stubble.

His mind is often a whirlwind — there’s plenty going on, from therapy and counseling to his own shadowed trauma, though his even days seem to eclipse the lows more often than not. Bob thinks about you the most, about your future together.

Sentry was supposed to be the pinnacle of good, the savior of citizens, the world’s mightiest hero; and part of him still wants it, to help, to be good. He wants to be a symbol of hope, of aspiration, of how brokenness can turn into something whole.

Though, with ascending the role, comes It, comes the darkness that haunts his silhouette, a penumbra of his innermost demons.

“A lot,” Bob confesses, noticing the twinge of perplexity that settles on your features. “Nothing bad, just … The future. Our future, my future.” He knows he can confide in you for anything — you’re his sanctuary.

“Our future?” Something hot snakes through your veins, an excitable heat that makes you preen. The fact that he’s given your relationship such consideration elates you.

“Yeah,” His timbre is soothing to you, a lower rumble that seeps into your bones, makes you feel entirely at-ease. “It’s the most optimistic I’ve felt about something in years.” Bob admits, digits nonchalantly toying with the hem of your sweater.

Reaching for his hand, you caress his knuckles, fingers curling around his hand, flesh and blood, tethering you together. “Me too,” You smile, your heart nearly bursting from your chest with joy. “You might be stuck with me forever.”

Bob’s gaze is heartwarming, raw — the concept of being with you forever is more of a comfort, no inkling of despair or discontent. “I’d prefer it that way.” He utters, voice barely hovering above a whisper.

Fingers squeeze together, and the beam you give him elicits another blush, scarlet blanketing his countenance, as warm as an open flame. He presses a hand against his chin, somewhat reeling with disbelief; he never thought he’d have this again.

“What about your future?” Feather-light, your tone is inquiring yet tranquil, noninvasive. With a soft groan, you manage to sit up, sweater ruffled around your middle. Bruises sit heavy within your muscle, soreness stretching throughout your body.

Leg-to-leg with him, you feel his fingertips circle over the top of your thigh, innocent instead of amorous. “With my powers and everything,” Bob murmurs, struck by a sudden wave of emotion. “I just — I want to help people, and I feel like I can’t.”

There’s a melancholy that swirls within his gaze, a thinly-veiled desperation to be useful, to safeguard — what good is he if he can’t even protect you? Tears prick at his eyes, glistening with a wet sheen as he attempts to blink them away.

Bob’s still working through the process of healing, but with that, he’s reluctant to use his powers. They’re there, he feels them — like waves before an earthquake, subdued yet powerful. He’s afraid of it all crashing down on him again, and you, the team.

“Bob, it’s only been a couple of months,” You soothe, hand caressing along his forearm. “Sometimes, the healing process can take a long time. I think you’ll still be able to help people — you help the team now, just as you are now.”

It’s reassuring, but he still feels a twinge of desolation, wanting to talk it through before it catalyzes into something worse. “I know, I just want to be useful. I want to be someone that people can look to for help.”

“You’ve no idea how useful and important you are, Bob,” In your eyes, he��s everything — he’s your heart. “If it weren’t for you, this team might not even exist. What we’ve built, the family we’ve become — it all started with you.”

He’s never looked at it that way, feeling a tear tumble down his cheek, one that he hastily wipes away with the sleeve of his sweater. You’re staring at him as if he’s moved mountains, the center of your universe, a sun whose light you stand within, even if it wanes.

Reassurance is something you’re good at; you’re soft for Bob, incredibly supportive, but you’ve never babied him. He doesn’t enjoy being viewed as helpless, and you’ve made sure that it’s never the case with your relationship.

Sweetly, your hands finds his again, lifting it to your lips as you press a kiss over his knuckles. Bob’s heart lurches, threatening to soar from his chest, mouth parting to make room for a tremulous exhale.

“I love you,” Bob murmurs, pearlescent teeth splitting through his forlorn expression like sunlight through a gray cloud. You have an extraordinary gift for knowing what to say, knowing how to keep him grounded. “I love you so much.”

Nothing short of genuine, he draws you closer, muscled arms caging around you in a hug that’s akin to a furnace. His temperature is inhumanly warm, often running hotter, but you’ve grown to adore it, especially on cold nights.

Without an inkling of hesitation, your arms slip around his middle, palms splayed beside his spine, rubbing his back in slow caresses. Bob finds solace in your embrace, as if you lessen the sting, rip his pain away and throw it elsewhere.

A pang of guilt follows when he realizes that he should be taking care of you, embarrassment settling onto his visage. “Sorry, I … I didn’t mean to make everything —” He stops when you shake your head back and forth.

“Don’t apologize, Bob. I want you to get things off of your chest, and your feelings are valid,” As if to cement your words, you plant a kiss against his cheek, still keeping an arm strewn over his midsection. “I’m always here for you.”

Melancholy and despair subside, and shadows dissipate with it, slithering away as they retreat from the corners of his mind. His chest expands with a shallow, concentrated inhale, breathing deep as he regains composure.

A comfortable silence lingers between, filling the void with affectionate smiles and longing glances, his hand tangled with yours. It’s a brief meditative state that he’s fixated on, something that he’d learned in therapy to manage negative thoughts.

You breathe with him; steady, lungs inflated with crisp air, stretched before you exhale. The process repeats itself, tangled together within the hush of your quarters, blood-orange sunlight twinkling through, turning his brown tresses to caramel.

Bob’s stare is fixated on you, as if he’s glimpsed something beautiful for the very first time, doe-eyed and yearning. He’s been teased for it before, but in the privacy of your bedroom, he’s unabashedly in love with you — no veil conceals his affections.

Melting beneath his gaze, you offer him a gentle smile, as if he’s kissed by summertime, lost within a world of warmth. Bob smiles too, canting forward, lower until his forehead brushes over yours.

Noses graze over one another, a subtle invitation for a kiss, which he initiates this time. He’s often riddled with nerves, but they seem quiet now, and the hush is comforting.

Lips meld together, seamless, and you’re floating, hands shifting to gather at the nape of his neck, carding through his hair. He’s exceedingly gentle, heart bleeding into your mouth, devoted — and you begin to lean backwards.

As you lower yourself down, back flush to pressed sheets and a thin comforter, Bob follows, one leg nestled between yours. Shrouding you with his body, the kiss resumes as if it hadn’t been broken to begin with, and he tastes of ardor.

Hands splay on either side of your head, sweater billowing from his musculature, offering you a glimpse of his abdomen. The serum had altered his physicality drastically — Bob sometimes didn’t recognize his own skin when he looked in the mirror.

He’d grown accustomed to it though, the muscle, the durability, inhuman stamina — exhaustion didn’t feel the same as it used to. Each kiss seems to elongate, mouths barely inching away from one another, entanglement crackling with embers.

When your mouth begins to still, gathering wisps of air to fuel your lungs, Bob’s tresses hang down, tickling your cheeks. “Hey.” You giggle, nose wrinkling slightly as you pull a laugh from his chest, body quaking above you.

“Hi,” Bob whispers, fingers reaching to caress over your cheek, extending into your hairline as he clears his throat. “You’re so pretty.” His murmur is low, a touch husky, stomach churning with butterflies as he shifts, leg ghosting over your core.

A subtle shiver grips your spine, lips parting as a sigh inhabits your throat, preening in the wake of his sweet compliment. “Yeah?” Swallowing the slight lump within your throat, your hand reaches to cup his cheek, thumbing across his jaw.

It’s present, the tension; a familiar burning that seems to crawl between bodies, amorous and wanton, lacking the hunger of lust. It’s thirst he feels, as if you’re a body of water, the lifeblood he needs to survive, to exist.

Bob exhales, warmth feathering over your features, the noise wrought with exhilaration. There’s a swell of sentiment dancing within his eyes, an amalgamation of adoration and something more.

Dipping lower once more, his lips brush over yours, missing by a mere inch, teeth dryly clicking together, eliciting a laugh from you. It’s bubbly, bright; he murmurs an apology, sheepish, but you’re drawing him back in.

Kissing him feels effortless, no expectation of performance, anxiety having bled away into nothingness.

It’s comforting, allowing your vulnerability to show, heart on your sleeve for him. Soft digits trace over his nape, other hand splayed flat against his shoulder blade.

Sunlight drains from the skies, the atmosphere infused with shades of mauve, an inky-black chasing after it. The orange glow dissipates from your bedroom, and with the coming of nighttime, the nightlight above your headboard flickers on.

Legs tangle within one another, a knot of limbs as he kisses you with such compassion, perhaps a twinge of something fervent. It’s as if he wants something, afraid to ask for it — there’s a hint of restraint in his kiss, even still.

“Are you okay?” A soft murmur echoes against his mouth when lips fleetingly draw apart, prompting another owlish stare from him. He’s flushed, thinking about you — everything he wants, pent-up in some knot.

“Yeah, I just — I love you.” Bob blurts in an effort to distract from what he’s really contemplating, turning over his desires in his mind, his incessant yearning. His lips twitch into a smile, one that’s still dancing with nerves.

“I love you too,” With a whisper, your fingers drift to sweep brunette tresses away from his eyes. “What’s on your mind, Bob?” You prompt, noticing his growing embarrassment when you pose the question.

Bob swallows again, flustered, but he decides to come clean about how he’s feeling. “You,” Spoken through a low, pleasant husk, it turns your stomach, bones lurching with butterflies. “I want to be with you, but I … I haven’t done anything in a long time.”

You know what he’s referring to without elaboration, feeling a pang of anticipation twirl within your belly. A brief exhale parts your lips, warmth spreading over your flesh. “That’s okay,” You assure, hand tracing his jaw. “I haven’t, either.”

You’ve been intimate before, in smaller steps — touching one another, half-undressed, sighing names into kiss-swollen lips. This is different, this is more; but you want him, want to give him everything that you can.

His past experiences were often muddled by drug-use, a haze of limbs that felt meaningless, something to extinguish the isolation. This was love, adoration — with you, things were different; each touch meant something.

Bob seems somewhat reassured, shoulders lighter, visage no longer wrought with stress. He relaxes, still poised above you, wondering how to start, how to naturally progress into the next step.

It’s you who closes the gap and initiates, lips softly tangling with his own. Passion festers, an active participant the more your mouths meld together, seamlessly molding to one another.

A soft groan echoes within his throat, swallowed by your mouth as lips clamor. You’re everything, everywhere; his heart beats a rhythm that only you seem to understand, fingers treading toward the hem of his sweater.

Each kiss was bruising, tender — wrought with such adoration that it made your belly pulse with a familiar heat. Exhilarated, your hand continued to caress over his muscles, dancing along his abdomen.

Heat radiates from him, as if he’s his own splendid sun, warm to the touch. You treat him so well, especially when intimacy arose, ensuring that he was always taken care of — Bob wants to return the favor tenfold.

With gentle coaxing, you begin to sit up, guiding him toward the pillows, letting him sit as you politely crawl into his lap. Thighs pin against his hips on either side, a pliant cage, feeling Bob’s hands shyly trace over your legs.

Mesmerized is a mere understatement; he’s bewitched, gazing at you as if you’ve moved mountains, doe-eyed and wanton. Love oozes from every fiber of his being, and you can taste it in his kiss when his mouth meets yours again.

Bob’s throat jostles as he swallows, exhilaration tangled with enthusiasm welling up inside of him. It seems to squash his initial anxiousness about it all, but only slightly. He feels your fingers card through his tresses, unable to his smitten expression.

The hem of your sweater, his sweater, ghosts over his fingertips, prompting him to take a gentle fistful of the woolen fabric. “May I?” Bob always asks — it’s the same sweeter cadence accompanied by a longing look.

With a nod, you lift your arms, stifling a laugh when the collar momentarily snags on your chin, gooseflesh clinging to your spine as the garment is removed. He sets it aside, a scarlet pallor invading his features; you aren’t wearing anything underneath.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bob is constantly awestruck by you, as if he’s seeing your body for the first time all over again. He feels fortunate then, fortunate now; he wants you to have all of him. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

His low, husky compliment makes your bones lurch, shivering in spite of his praise, your hands searching for the hem of his sweater. “You’re so sweet to me.” You murmur, gaze roving over his countenance, prompting him to sigh with elation.

Bob smiles, scarlet-faced as he moves to cradle your jaw. He’s relaxed, more excitable than nervous, stomach still coiled into an excitable, anxious knot, flesh bristling as he kisses you again.

Bodies twine together, and you’re slotted in his lap, hips occasionally urging against his own. There’s friction present, hot and familiar; he’s infatuated by the sensation. He feels your hand drag from his torso to chest, hovering over his heart.

Between tender kisses, hands fumble together, working in-tandem to peel his sweater away, musculature firm beneath your palms. His physique is godlike; sturdy, muscled, impenetrable.

Mouths became immersed in a mutual heat, a dance of hearts — you succumb so very quickly to it all, one hand clamoring to hold fast against his nape. Bob is easily vexed, flustered as his hands gently settle against your hips.

Fingertips trace circles over your waist, lips slow and passionate, savoring every sweet entanglement as if it might be your last. Bob withdraws, only to kiss your jaw, mouth climbing along your throat as it elicits a soft moan from you.

Arousal warms between your thighs, belly rolling into taut coils of excitement, bodies flush, the space between all but nonexistent. He’s considerate, layering your neck in kisses, no inch of flesh safe from his mouth as he finds your collar.

“Bob.” A moan is pulled from your throat, pitched with anticipation, your hand beginning to trail through his tresses. His arms cage you in, holding firm as he plants needy, wanton kisses over your chest.

There’s a sparkle in his eyes, softer, kind — he seems happy, less anxious than usual. His confidence is still shaky, leaning upon a cracked foundation, but there’s a progression in his self-esteem.

The heavy worry of disappointing you lingers still, a small constant within the back of his mind, but he pushes it aside as best he can. Bob continues to pepper kisses over your flesh, wherever he can reach, ending with your lips.

Tender hands roam his musculature, caressing him, ensuring that he’s doted upon. A warm scarlet invades his features, creeping over his skin like that of fire, stirring up inklings of arousal.

When Bob draws away, it’s to smile at you, predominantly sheepish, a boyish expression that oozes ardor. It’s his typical beam, one that you’ve grown to adore, pressing a chaste kiss to his brow, and then the corner of his mouth.

“I want to try something,” Bob murmurs, flushed at the mere fantasy of it. “If that’s alright.” Despite his lack of clarification, you are too curious for your own good, stomach churning with an excited anticipation.

“Of course,” Gooseflesh rakes over your spine when his fingers tease the waistband of your shorts, more assurance layered into his touch. Bob is still rather subservient, but he’s gotten better with initiating, too. “Want them off?”

Blushing, Bob’s head jostles in an eager nod, watching as you slip off of his lap in order to wriggle out of your shorts, socks coming with it. It leaves you in your panties, and you realize that this is the most exposed you’ve been.

With your back angled to him, his brows crease when he finds the scattered cuts laced into your flesh, the discoloration of skin. Wordlessly, he crawls closer, pressing a soft kiss to your spine.

The sensation makes you shiver, lips parting as a gasp splits through, feeling the warmth of his mouth kiss over a cut beneath your shoulder blade. Your body tingles with a pleasant ebbing, and you melt back into him.

Owlish hues bore into you, tracing along your form with a thinly-veiled appreciation, adoring, more like. Bob lets his back kiss the mattress, mussed tresses disheveled against the pillow, feeling you climb back into his lap.

Bending to kiss him, chests flush together, you feel his hands splay out along the small of your back, stroking your skin. Lips clamor together in another passionate collision, enough to draw a low groan from Bob’s throat.

His hands begin to drift lower, from the plush curve of your waist to your backside, gingerly kneading into the pliant flesh. He is cautious, painstakingly gentle as he lavishes kiss after kiss to your wanting lips.

It’s sweet, the way he touches you — always gentle, always loving. He marvels at you each time you part, as if he’s seeing you for the first time again, visibly enchanted. “You’re so pretty.” Bob murmurs, palm taut against your haunch.

“You are too — you’re perfect.” You whisper, managing a smitten smile as he huffs a light chuckle, fingertips brushing around the hem of your panties. He swallows thickly, as if silently asking for you to remove those, too.

With a nod, the exchange is left unspoken, but you understand what he wants through gaze alone. Your heart thrums violently beneath your breast, breath hitching within your throat as he helps you squirm from your underwear.

He’s getting nervous again, attempting to swallow it down as he appraises you in your entirety, awestruck. Bob’s hands relocate to your thighs, holding steadfastly to either, thumbs stroking circles into your delicate flesh.

Coaxing you closer, he inches you away from his lap, towards his chest; realization hits you, then. Before you can interject, Bob shakes his head back and forth, visibly flustered.

“I want to,” Insistent, his cadence oozed with warmth, a tranquility that eased your sudden bout of nerves. The both of you were anxious, wanting to expel that energy into one another. “I—I want to take care of you.” Bob murmurs, lips twitching into a placating smile.

Swallowing the lump within your throat, you’re abashed to confess that you want this terribly, palms steady against his shoulders. Even then, he’s holding you effortlessly, gazing up at you as if you’re the celestials themselves.

Bob doesn’t shy away, patient as ever, continuing to caress over your thighs. He’s done this before, a long time ago — it feels like some nonexistent memory, or one that he conjured up, but it’s there. His smile lingers, adoring, allowing you to move whenever you choose to.

“If you want to stop, just tap my thigh.” You murmur, belly churning with fire. You’ve never let someone do this to you before, but you trust Bob completely. He nods, waiting expectantly, unable to mask his growing excitement.

Shy, you inch forward, legs trembling beneath his touch as he gingerly nudges you closer, knees planted on either side of his head. Everything spins, the room spins, and you’re trying to steady yourself when his mouth warms your cunt.

Lips flush against your inner thigh, brief, drawing a shudder from your spine, feeling his mouth climb to the warmth oozing between your legs. His tongue raked embers across your cunt, nearly ripping the air from your lungs.

His ministrations are agonizingly gentle, rapturous, as if he might hurt you with enough pressure. Bob keens when you moan, the noise smothered within your throat as you try to keep from being too loud.

The tip of his nose brushes along your petals, tongue splitting deeper still, until he sluggishly laps at your core. Your taste permeates his mouth, a bittersweet ambrosia that draws him into some lovestruck haze.

“B—Bob,” His ministrations are wholly unexpected, thighs shaking, belly twisting into a heated coil as you press a palm against the wall. The other flies to the brunette crown nestled contentedly between your thighs. “Bob!” You squeak.

A myriad of moans shake your chest, fluttering through your diaphragm and into the cool air. The ministrations of his tongue are too good, as if this skill is something he’s practiced for some time.

Below, Bob is flushed, scarlet clinging to his features as he pleasures you, unperturbed by the lewd act. He loves it, and it’s making him squirm with how receptive you are to it, cock aching with a ceaseless throbbing.

The coil of taut heat within your stomach seems to tighten as Bob greedily laps at your cunt, like that of a man starved. A sharp groan blossoms throughout his sternum as you incessantly tug upon his curls, urging him closer.

Your hips accidentally jolt forward, and you sputter a swift apology, body feverishly hot as you attempt to regain your balance. Bob’s hands are holding steadfastly to your hips, caressing and molding to your curves.

Admittedly, he’s finding pleasure in this, wanting to seek some relief for himself, but he’s too absorbed in you, in all of you. The taste of your cunt permeates his tongue, and he wants more, lapping at your core as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

A tremor gripped your thighs, twitching around his head as your hips lurched forward. The friction that simmers between you both is more than enough to keep him wanting, chest reverberating with a myriad of throaty groans.

“G—God, you’re so good at this,” There is a noticeable pitch within your voice, higher, wrought with ecstasy. You’re moaning his name as if it’s some desperate prayer, a confession spilling from your tongue. “Please don’t stop.”

Bob groans again at the sensation of your fingers dragging through his hair, the feeling incredibly pleasant, mouth buried against your cunt. He kisses along your slit, gesture mingling with soft, passionate laps of his tongue.

It is then that he seeks the pearl of your cunt, pressing a string of wanton kisses to the sensitive clutch of nerves. A shiver of delight grips your spine, throat erupting with a moan as your back begins to arch.

Vocal, a string of whimpered praise tumbles from your mouth, legs shaking like leaves beneath his palms. Bob wants to whine, and the sound of you moaning his name is enough to set his body ablaze, bleeding with a radiant heat.

His name rolls from your tongue with such reverence, enough to bring him to heel. Another broad stroke of his tongue laps across your cunt, gathering with it a slew of your arousal.

With a twist of his mouth, he moves to the pearl of your cunt once more, pliant maw wrapping around it, stimulating you with his suckling. Everything feels fuzzy, as if you’re trapped in some white-hot haze, ecstasy burning through your bones.

Bob holds you aloft with an effortless strength, hands still smoothing over your thighs, caressing your warm flesh. Each brief urge of your hips into his mouth sends him reeling, wanting to be good for you, pleasure you in the way you deserve.

A rush of white-hot delight sears your bones, blanketing you in a wave of pleasure, stomach swirling with a violent heat. Dizzy from such overwhelming arousal, your body began to furl, a coil of heat pulled taut within your belly.

Again, he traveled to your clit, gently suckling upon the bundle of nerves. Your poor thighs rattled on either side of his head, twitching with throes of ecstasy as he toyed with your pearl.

In this state, you weren’t going to last much longer, crumbling through his fingertips as your release slammed into you with such intensity. Bob sighed into your core, content to stay there for an eternity if you allowed him to.

Slowly, you unraveled, having to ground yourself to any shred of composure, throat wracked with a choked sob. The coil of taut heat snapped violently, giving way to an overwhelming release, a white-hot tide of bliss.

His name rolled from your tongue several times over, spoken lovingly, body trembling from the blissful aftershocks. Admittedly, your thighs weren’t up to the challenge either, muscles burning as you stilled above him.

Even still, he unknowingly works you through your release, gently lapping over your cunt, the gestures feather-light. A neediness festers within him, still treating you to little jolts of pleasure in the aftermath.

Lungs expand and deflate with swift, shallow sighs, clawing for composure. Bob breaths with you, labored yet exhilarated, cheeks tinged with a permanent shade of pink. Lips seal themselves along your thighs, peppering over your soft skin.

Inching backward, you neatly untangle yourself from him, slotted within his lap again, flustered when you catch the glistening sheen of slick on his mouth. He seems elated, happy; it’s satisfying to know that he didn’t disappoint you with his ministrations.

“Was that good?” Bob inquires, brunette tresses disheveled, an earthy halo that forms around his visage. He sits up, propped back against one arm, musculature catching upon the dim illumination that spreads through your bedroom.

“That was amazing,” Admittedly, you are surprised by how vigorous he was with it, as if his shyness had been momentarily stripped away. He politely wipes his chin off with the heel of his palm, his smile doting. “You’re amazing.”

In the afterglow, your thighs continue to twitch, spiraling down from your orgasm as you trace your fingers across his abdomen. Bob is blushing, gaze half-lidded and adoring, though it’s fleeting when you shift atop his lap.

Something firm pulses against your backside, and you watch him writhe, neck taut with strain as he tries to alleviate some of the friction. “S—Sorry,” He fumbles, withholding a husky groan. “You’re so pretty.” His murmur makes you flustered.

“Don’t be,” You assure, heart nearly beating from your chest as gazes linger on one another, oozing with a thinly-veiled affection. “I love you so much, Bob.” The words are enough to make him shiver, hand shifting toward your hip.

Bob preens beneath your soft declaration, adjusting his position, erection shuffling against you once more. He’s nearly bursting at the seams, wanting to be inside of you, feel your body against his, listen to your heartbeat.

In a soft entanglement, you kiss him, able to taste yourself upon his tongue. He’s delicate, each caress, each touch born of adoration for you. Everything slows to a momentary crawl as your hands shift toward his pants.

“I love you,” Bob murmurs, as if it’s something sacred, a hush between old lovers. He shifts, breath hitching when your fingers skim along the waistband of his pajamas pants. “I want you.” He says it reverently, making you shiver.

There is something mildly assertive within his tone, as if he’s gaining a bit of confidence, hands caressing circles into your hips. His head jostles in an acknowledging nod, allowing you to take it further, prying fabric aside.

That is when you feel it, the proof of his arousal pressing into your lower belly, oozing with precum as he slowly ruts his hips into you. Bob shivers, flushed as he writhes, desperate to be inside of you.

To your surprise, he’s painfully well-endowed, a fact that he is acutely aware of. Your pupils expand, attempting to smother your twinge of nervousness, gaze fluttering elsewhere.

A sharp moan blossoms throughout your diaphragm, palms gathering at the nape of his neck as you coax him in for a searing kiss. Lips move in a tender dance, arousal coalescing between your legs.

A groan rippled through his throat, escaping into twined mouths as you moved against his erection, enough to nearly make him sputter. His lungs burn with want, needing you as one needed air.

Bob’s desperation bleeds into you with a blinding intensity, so poignant and so palpable that it makes your knees buckle. He can’t remember the last time he’d done something like this, and even then, he only wants to remember you.

“Are you sure?” His whisper is gentle, a strained timbre that sends shivers down your spine. Through kisses and the exhales between, he wants to make sure that you’re certain, as if you might change your mind.

Pressing another lingering kiss to his mouth, you answer with assurance. “Yes,” You sigh, lips curling into a gentle, placating smile. “More sure than I’ve ever been.” With that, Bob seems to relax, his breathing heavier, heady as you begin to shift.

Wandering hands smooth themselves over the swell of your hips, clutching at the pliant flesh, his erection pressing against your thigh. A sharp inhale passes through him as you gently adjust yourself, comfortable within his lap.

A taut coil of heat pulls tightly within his abdomen, making him squirm, a familiar heat licking over his flesh as the flushed tip prods against your cunt. He’s trying not to combust, afraid it all might be a short-lived affair.

Sluggishly, you sink yourself onto his cock, drawing a moan from your diaphragm and a breathy groan from his. Bob feels your forehead, flush to his own, hot breath pluming over his features as you continue downward.

The sensation of your hands skimming over his collar is intoxicating, eliciting another half-whimper from his throat. He clings steadfastly to your hips, thumbs tracing shaky circles into your skin as you allow the both of you time to adjust.

Your fingers thread into his hair, and he attempts to stifle a groan, eyes pleasantly half-lidded as your hips shift slightly. Everything hums, a muted buzz thrumming through his body, bliss warping into the fringes of ecstasy.

Scarlet paints his features, skin flushed with crimson, body brimming with pleasure; you’ve barely moved yet. His hands cradle you even still, and as you begin to move, he’s gentle in his assistance, holding you aloft.

“Bob,” You moan his name, dragging your hips up halfway before sinking down again, a push-and-pull that makes your muscles burn with exertion. Lips pepper themselves to his jaw, and you feel his grip tighten through trembling digits. “You feel so perfect.”

A myriad of throaty groans escaped him as you began to move, hips rocking forward, disarmingly gentle and sluggish. It was a perfect storm of sensations, between your hand in his tresses, lips beginning to trail toward his throat.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. Bob moaned, arms caging you in as you showered his neck in kisses, body vibrating beneath you.

“Please,” He huffed, continuing to caress along your thighs, digits clamping down whenever your hips lifted and lowered. Bob knew he wasn’t going to make it very long like this, cock aching for release. “D—Don’t stop.”

Everything felt so raw and sensitive, nerves set ablaze, arousal gripping him tightly as you continued to ride his cock, ensuring that you were still gentle. Your pace never became rough, nor demanding.

He thoroughly enjoyed watching you move, cautious and mindful of him, lips agape and visage one of sheer bliss. Sighs of passion tangled together, hot and fervent, breathing in the sweet air of one another.

Prying your mouth away from his throat, he’s moving in for a kiss, whimpering when your hips fall flush against his, cock buried inside of you. The pleasure is almost overwhelming for him, enhanced by you, by how much he loves you.

His name feathers from your mouth like a sacrilegious oath, repetitive, ensuring that he knows how good he makes you feel. The remnants of your previous orgasm still cling to you, thighs shaking like leaves.

Bob kisses you as if you might slip through his fingers at any given moment, unable to fully commit through wanton groans. His chest burns with a string of needy sighs, holding you tightly, feeling your skin flush against his.

Neither of you would last long in this state — him, in particular. He was dizzy, rendered stupefied by such wanton desire, his cock throbbing inside of you with an incessant need.

Drowning within ecstasy, Bob knew that he couldn’t cling to restraint any longer, seeing stars, body oozing with heat. His digits gripped you tightly, a choked groan emerging into the hollow between your throat and shoulder.

It only took one more roll of your hips for him to fall apart completely, in shambles beneath you, cum spilling inside of you. The rush of warmth soon flooded your insides, his spend sticky between your thighs.

Bob was shaking, groaning your name, embarrassed that it all seemed to end so abruptly, but he hadn’t done it in years — it would take some adjusting.

Foreheads pressed together, lips soon finding one another, disarmingly gentle as he allowed one palm to cup your cheek. His thumb danced over your jaw, the gesture unusually sweet as your hips began to slow to a mere crawl.

“Are you okay?” Gentle, you pressed a kiss to his brow, feeling him tremble beneath you, an amalgamation of heat and limbs. Bob nodded, swallowing thickly as he felt you move from his lap.

“Yeah.” Bob’s lips twitched into a smile, feeling content in the afterglow, less pent-up. His limbs felt like molten liquid, body recovering from the vast amount of pleasure he experienced.

In the solace that followed, his feet carried him over cold marble, clamoring into your bathroom, retrieving a glass of water. His stamina remained entirely intact, superhuman — the same couldn’t be said for you.

Retrieving his sweater, your tepid skin writhes into the wool despite the perspiration, finding your underwear, thighs shaking as you pull them back on. Bob returns, half-dressed, his throat flushed where your mouth had been moments prior.

Lounging along the corner of your mattress, your features warm when he steps closer, smile sheepish. “Here.” He hums, a low, blissful sound that strips away your tension, coming to sit beside you.

With several greedy swigs of water, you’re beginning to climb down from your peak, nudging the glass onto your nightstand. It’s an unspoken thing as Bob holds you, the both of you a tangle of bodies, laying down together.

“Was that good?” Bob asks again, soft, nervous that it might’ve been too quick for you. Your head presses to his collarbone, fingertips tracing indecipherable patterns into his skin.

“It was perfect,” Pleasant tingles flow through your body, soothed by his palm, caressing circles over the small of your back. “You are perfect.” The sweetness of your cadence makes his breath hitch, lips smoothing over your forehead.

A smile seems glued to your face, no disappearing in-sight, feeling his heart stutter underneath your cheek. It’s hushed, but it’s comfortable, merely basking in the presence of one another, and he’s still reeling from the whole ordeal.

Bob smiles, doe-eyed, gazing at you as if you’re the sun, his center of gravity. Keeping one arm around you, as if to shield you, the other continues to caress along your sweater-clad frame.

“I love you.” He utters, brows furrowing as if he’s swearing an oath to you, bodies leaving no trace of space, legs tangling together. As Bob holds you close, you’re almost drifting, eyes growing heavy as you cling to him.

You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

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sadiesdoll · 19 days ago

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sevika with a breeding kink. ♡

drunk!sevika x reader. | just sevika wanting to cum inside you. (mdni ♡)

sevika with a breeding kink. ♡ | 2 |

contains: breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, strength kink (kinda), possessive language, alcohol use (both parties intoxicated but consenting), & dry humping.

a/n: this was heavily inspired by this fic so please check out their original work cus it’s perfect

Enjoy ♡

You're giggling as you shut the door behind Silco and Vander, both of them high-fiving and stumbling toward their Uber like gremlins on a sugar rush.

"Text me when you get home!" you yell after them, already kicking off your shoes.

The apartment's a mess—beer bottles, takeout containers, someone left a single sock on the windowsill (???). You start gathering stuff in your arms with that tipsy buzz still in your veins, swaying a little with each step.

You make your way toward the living room to check on Sevika but stop in your tracks when you see her sprawled flat on the carpet, one leg bent awkwardly and an arm slung over her face like she's shielding herself from the world.

She groans, "Those fuckin' assholes cheated."

You try not to laugh. "Was this Vander or Silco?"

"Both." She slurs. "Fuck 'em."

You tiptoe closer, hands on your hips. "I warned you not to go shot-for-shot with literal tank-sized men! Well.. except silco.”

Sevika grumbles again, her voice deep and raspy, like gravel soaked in whiskey. She shifts slightly but doesn't open her eyes.

You straddle her hips carefully, wobbly from the alcohol, planting yourself right on top of her.

"Maybe next time you'll listen to me."

Her arm twitches. She finally cracks one eye open and peers at you. Her gaze drops low.

Her eyes darken.

You're sitting right on her lap, all soft and warm. You’re small compared to her.

She swallows thickly. Her thigh tenses under your ass. You can feel her reacting to you, and you smirk.

"Are you dying?" you tease, pressing your palms to her chest.

"Not yet," she mumbles, but her fingers twitch against the carpet. You bounce a little, teasing, light—just enough to make her groan through her teeth.

"Jesus," she growls. Her hands lift and land heavy on your hips. "You tryna fucking kill me?"

You grin, breathless. "I'm just keeping the winner company."

"I didn't win." She says, looking down at your thighs while rubbing circles on them with her thumb.

"You won me," you shrug dramatically.

And something snaps in her.

Her eyes flick up to yours, full of heat and frustration and some deep, stormy emotion you can't quite name. She shifts under you again, and it's not subtle.

You tilt your head, watching her eyes flutter between your face and your thighs like she's trying to decide where to die. She's flushed now—cheeks warm, chest rising and falling heavier with every second.

You smooth your hands over her stomach, up her ribs, watching the way her breath catches beneath your fingers. "You're really that fucked up, huh?"

"Mhmm," she mumbles, her grip on your hips tightening as you shift again, just slightly. You're barely moving, but it's enough to make her grunt softly—like the restraint is physically painful.

"I could move," you say softly, leaning forward just enough for your chest to brush hers. "Get off. Let you rest."

Her hands clamp down hard. "Don't." It's low. Barely a growl. Almost a plea.

You hum, dragging your fingers up into her hair, letting her body feel the weight of yours. "You're never this needy, babe..."

Her eyes flick up to yours again, this time hazier, darker. "M not needy."

"You are," you whisper, brushing your nose along her jaw. "Look at you. Clingy."

"I'm drunk," she mutters, as if that's a defense.

You giggle softly. "So you admit you need me?"

Her silence is loud.

Your voice dips, teasing, sultry. "What's got you all soft for me, huh?”

She exhales sharply through her nose—half-laugh, half-groan. Then her hand lifts, palm cupping the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair like she's grounding herself. Her thumb brushes your skin softly.

There's a tension in her body, but it's not sharp-it's aching.

She's quiet for a beat. Then:

"You don't get it."

You blink. "What?"

Her grip tightens, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't get how fuckin' lucky I feel just having you like this."

Your breath hitches. And then, that's when it happens—her voice going gravelly, slurred and wrecked:

"I wanna fuckin' put a baby in you."

You freeze. "...Huh?"

"I wanna-" she exhales harshly, like the words are scraped from her throat. "Wanna fill you up. Wanna make you all pretty and swollen. Fuckin' mine."

You open your mouth but no sound comes out.

Her hands slide rough and slow over your waist, your belly, your hips—like she's mapping it all out. Like she's already claiming it.

"You're so warm," she murmurs, breathless.

"So soft. I can feel your pussy through these little shorts, baby—fuck—“

Her voice breaks into a groan as she grinds up once, slow and heavy beneath you, and you feel allof her.

"I don't want stupid fuckin' plastic. I don't want fingers. I want you raw. I wanna stretch you out with my cock and keep you so fuckin’ full."

You shudder. "Sevika-"

"I want it to leak out of you for hours," she slurs, hips twitching again. "Want you to be messy with me. Want you to smell like it. Like mine."

Your breath stutters, thighs clenching. She feels it.

"Ohhh, fuck," she hisses. "That—do that again."

You try to say something smart. Anything.

But your brain is gone.

Her grip on your hips gets bruising. She's panting. Desperate.

"I'd be so fucking good to you," she growls.

"Rub your feet, your back, kiss that belly every night—l'd take care of everything, just let me—fuck—just let me cum inside you."

Her pupils are blown, her mouth parted in that open-mouthed, wrecked kind of awe like you're something divine. She looks up at you like she's praying. Worshipping.

"You'd look so fuckin' good full. Dripping. Cryin' because l'm too big and deep but beggin' me not to stop."

You gasp, nails digging into her shoulders.

She grins—sharp, unhinged.

"Say yes," she pants, pulling you down so her mouth brushes your ear. "Say yes and I'll do it right now—slow, deep—'til you're milking me for everything I got."

You grab her face to still her, both of you panting, burning up from the inside out. She looks feral. Her jaw clenches like she's holding back from flipping you over and doing it now. And then-

Click.

You both freeze.

The front door creaks open.

In walks Jinx, holding a grocery bag and a half-eaten lollipop, jaw instantly dropping.

Sevika, still fully seated with you straddling her, looks up, red-eyed, lip bitten, her arms wrapped tight around your waist.

Jinx blinks.

“…You good?"

part 2 is out now ♡

criticism and ideas are heavily appreciated (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

thank you for reading! ♡

#arcane #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #reader x sevika #sevika #fics

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pixelplushies · 1 month ago

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So I was recently tasked with a very well loved soft toy Flip the Frog from the 1930s to restore.

He was bought new for my great aunt-in-law when she was 10, and was gifted to her sister's children when they were young. My mother in law has memories of feeding him cornflakes and putting her hands in his mouth, which felt very soft and velvety.

He had been in the attic for a number of years, and had moths get to him. He had lost his eyes. Luckily there are some examples online which show what he was meant to be like!

I approached this project wanting to retain as much of the original plush as I could. I thought about doing a total restoration, but I would end up replacing so much I might as well be making a replica! I wanted to make sure I used fabrics that were sympathetic to the time period, so 100% wool felt and cotton velvet seemed appropriate. The only liberty I took was polyester thread, because that's what I had already.

I researched a lot of plush restorations and best practices. A lot of places recommended only surface washing, but poor Flip was so full of dust and the remains of moths, but his fabric body seemed rather sturdy still, I thought I would take the risk of un-stuffing him to give him a thorough bath. I very gently took him apart and unstuffed him. His stuffing material looked to be kapok. There was lots of moth poop.

I gave Flip a gentle bath with carpet cleaning solution, which is what is recommended for vintage plushies. It's designed to be used on lots of fabrics including natural ones like wool and doesn't leave a residue once it's done cleaning so won't degrade the fabric over time. Loads of grime came out of Flip, as well as some yellow dye from his feet.

Flip then had a good air-dry in the sun. He seemed to enjoy soaking up the sun, he was already looking a lot cleaner.

Flip's eyes (which once upon a time caused my cousin-in-laws nightmares) were particularly gross and moth-eaten underneath. I decided to re-cover the card disks that made up his eyes with velvet cotton instead rather than reuse the old eyes. His original velvet was really bright yellow but had faded over time. I decided to use a fabric that matched his more faded look, I felt the bright yellow would look out of place. I also got some wooden beads and cut them in half and painted them for his pupils, which I glued on.

When it came to restoring his feet, I tried to retain as much of the original material as possible. I enjoyed patching and repairing the felt, I chose a 100% wool yellow felt that was close to his old colour here. Highlights the age of the old parts, I feel like it draws attention to his history and age.

Time to put him back together! I bought some new kapok stuffing because I couldn't reuse the old dusty moth stuff. Luckily you can still get it. I wrapped his metal skeleton in felt so that if it got rusty it wouldn't stain him (he's already a little stained from it rusting). Then I slipped his limbs over the skeleton and sewed them back on!

Ta-daa!! Here's flip looking a lot better, even if I say so myself.

One of the things we noticed when looking at photos of these soft toys is that they seem to have pinkish or white bow-ties and this Flip was missing his! Looking at the character art, I believe they were originally red.

The orientation of the eyes also seems to vary because I think they were prone to falling off and being sewn back on. I chose to orient Flip's eyes close to how they were when I received him, but slightly more vertical to make him appear more friendly.

Flip was a very fun challenge and got me thinking a lot about restoration vs conservation of historical artifacts, he may not be super duper old or rare but I feel like I better understand the dilemmas and judgements that have to be made when working on objects like this!

#flip the frog #antique plush #vintage plush #soft toy #plush restoration

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tokkiwrites · 5 months ago

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Hi happy holidays! Can you please do a Sergei kravinoff smut x innocent female virgin reader “babe in the woods” trope. Sergei is immediately fixated on reader and wants her to be his grude & mother of his children. He immediately marries and later takes her virginity. He hopes to impregnate her from their first time together. Ty!

thank you for this request, anon! and sorry it took so long to post. I've had it written, but it just took a while for me to get the smut part going. i hope you like it!

Sergei Kravinoff × F!Reader ♰ themes of stalking, obsessive Sergei, kidnapping, Kraven is a weirdo and needs to be locked up, i would say innocent reader but more so an unbothered reader kind of, she is just confused, forced marriage, themes of Stockholm syndrome, loss of virginity, fingering (reader receiving), afab reader, unprotected p in v, Sergei wants to get the reader pregnant.

The woods were quiet, save for the whisper of wind threading through the branches above. You loved this time of day when the sun filtered gold and green through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the earth. It was your sanctuary, far from the clamor of town and the heavy, watchful eyes of others. Here, no one could accuse you of being strange, or sheltered, or too naive. You simply were.

The faint crack of a branch made you stop mid-step, your basket of wildflowers swinging lightly at your hip. “Hello?” You called, voice soft, hesitant. The forest had always been safe— or so it felt. until now, you had never had the need to question it.

He emerged from the shadows, and your breath caught. The man was massive. A towering figure, his broad shoulders draped in animal pelts and his chest bare save for the crisscrossing scars that marked him as something primal, dangerous. His face was angular, carved from stone, with piercing eyes that pinned you where you stood.

Sergei Kravinoff. The name would mean nothing to you, but to others, it struck fear—a hunter of men and beasts, a predator who bent the wilderness to his will. He did not speak at first. He only looked at you, as if you were some rare, delicate creature he had stumbled upon. The longer his eyes lingered, the hotter your cheeks burned.

“Who are you?” you asked, clutching the basket to your chest. His lips curved into a smile, though there was nothing warm in it. “I am Sergei,” he said, his voice low, thick with an accent you couldn’t place. “And you" he paused for a bit. " Should not wander alone in places like this. The world is not kind to lambs.” You blinked at him, confused. “Lambs?”

“You,” he clarified, taking a step closer. His sheer presence seemed to draw the air from your lungs. “Soft. Untouched. So trusting.” You took an instinctive step back, and his smile widened, as if he enjoyed your unease. “I—I’ve never seen you here before. Are you lost?”

“No,” he said simply, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “But perhaps I have found something worth staying for.”

It reeked of dangerㅡ death. yet you still came back.

Over the next week, you saw him again and again. Always in the woods, always watching. At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence. this strange man simply shared your love for the forest. But his presence became impossible to ignore. He never tried to speak much, yet his eyes seemed to devour you every time, as though he were committing every detail of your face to memory. You should have been afraid. You should have stopped going to the woods entirely. But something about him fascinated you. He was so unlike the boys in town, who stammered and avoided your gaze, intimidated by your quietness. Sergei was bold, unflinching. He seemed to look right through you, to the parts of yourself you didn’t even understand.

you little lamb.

“Why do you keep following me?” He tilted his head, his gaze softening though not entirely. “Because you are mine.” The bluntness of his words made your breath hitch. “I don’t even know you.”

“You will,” he said, stepping closer. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and though you should have flinched away, you didn’t. His touch was surprisingly gentle, reverent even, even if his rough fingers scratched your skin. “I have decided. You will be my bride.”

“Bride?” You echoed the word foreign and strange on your tongue. “But we’ve only just—” you laughed. surely it must be a joke. “You are meant for me, little lamb” he interrupted, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “I have hunted all my life, little one. I know when I have found my prize.” Suddenly, the world went dark.

maybe it was all just a bad and confusing dream. though his touch still lingered.

You woke in the morning to find yourself not in your small, familiar room. outside the window that overlooked the bed you were in, the forest. The air smelled of pine and smoke, and outside, the trees loomed tall and unyielding. Panic gripped you as you sat up, heart racing. “Where—” The door creaked open, and there he was, filling the frame with his imposing presence. “You are awake,” Sergei said, his tone calm, almost pleasedㅡ excited. He carried a tray with food: fresh berries, bread, and cheese. “Eat. Now."

“Where am I?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Why did you—” He set the tray down, cutting you off with a look. “You are safe. That is all you need to know.”

“I am not! This isn’t right,” you said, tears pricking at your eyes. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” he said sharply, though his expression softened as he stepped closer. “I have waited long enough. You do not understand, but you will. I will take care of you. Protect you. You will want for nothing, my little one.”

You shook your head, backing away from him, but he caught your wrist with startling ease. His touch was firm, yet not cruel. “Do not fear me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost tender. “I would never hurt you. You are too precious.”

Sergei did not wait long to make you his.

The days in the cabin blurred together, each one steeped in an odd rhythm. Sergei’s presence was constant, protective, and overwhelming. He would watch you eat, his sharp eyes softening whenever you complied. He brought you small gifts: wildflowers, trinkets carved from wood, pelts to keep you warm. He never let you wander far, always ensuring you were within sight. And though he never forced his touch upon you, you could feel the tension thrumming beneath the surface, like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.

In the evening, as the fire crackled and cast flickering shadows on the walls, Sergei sat across from you. He leaned forward, large hands resting on his knees. “It is time,” he said, his voice calm but unyielding. “Time?” you echoed, your throat dry. “For us to marry.” You stared at him, heart pounding. “I… I can’t. I don’t even know what you want from me. I—I never— You kidnapped me!”

“You were made for this,” he said, cutting you off. his eyes were setting you a-light, it made your skin prickle. “You think I do not see it? Your purity. Your innocence. You were meant to be a wife. My wife.” Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “But I’m not— I need to marry someone I love!"

“You are ready,” he insisted, his tone softening only slightly. “I have waited long enough. It will be done."

And it was.

The ceremony was simple, ritualistic. Sergei had prepared everything. rings made from woven silver, a bearskin cloak to drape over your shoulders as a symbol of protection. There was no priest, no people, only the two of you and the forest as your witness. He spoke vows in a language you did not understand, his voice deep and reverent, as though he were offering you up to some ancient force. When it was your turn, your voice faltered, but under his watchful gaze, you repeated the words he taught you.

“You are mine,” he said at the end, taking your face in his hands. His eyes burned with possessive fire. “And I am yours.”

but every wolf gets hungry eventually.

When night fell, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands clutching the thick wool blanket. Sergei entered the room, his movements slow and deliberate. He had shed his usual pelts, his bare chest glowing in the firelight.

“You are trembling,” he said, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. He knelt in front of you, his massive frame now not so intimidating. “Are you afraid of me?” You couldn’t meet his eyes. "I don’t know... what you expect from me? What you w-want...”

“I expect you to trust me,” he said simply, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You are my wife now. It is my duty to show you what that means.” Your breath stopped as he leaned closer, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “I will not hurt you,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “But you are mine, little lamb. Every part of you.”

His lips met yours— soft at first, testing, as though he feared you might shatter like porcelain. But when you didn’t pull away, his kiss deepened, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His hands cradled your face, his touch reverent, almost worshipful.

“I have waited for this,” he said against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Waited to claim what is mine.” You didn’t resist as he laid you down, his hands tracing over your trembling form. He was patient, guiding you gently, his touch surprisingly tender for someone so fierce. But his intent was clear.

oh, little lamb.

rugged hands make their way up and around your hips as his bearded face stays flush against your tender neck. he was ready to devour you. Sergei looked up into your eyes and for the first time you've seen him smile. and as if all of the things you felt caused you fears melted away, so did you into his embrace.

his lips meet yours, and it all finally made sense. you could feel the hunger, the will in him to give his all right here, right now. you wrapped around him like vines on a tree, his low growl of approval making you clench around nothing. it all felt so new, yet familiar, as if somehow, this wasn't the first time. the forest outside sung as your quiet moans filled the cabin. Sergei discards all of your clothes with ease, leaving you in nothing as you stayed splayed on the bed. the fur coverings under, pooled around your body, the moonlight dripped on you like dew in spring and you looked like a precious painting.

with no time to wait, sergei quickly gets naked. it wasn't the first time you saw him like this, but it was the first time you saw it. to say all that fear bubbled up into your stomach was an understatement. you gulped down as your glossy eyes looked at him up and down. "Spread your legs for me." it wasn’t a request, it was an order. and you obey. spreading your legs you give him a full view of you dripping cunt, and sergei throws his head back with a low groan. you finally speak up. "IㅡI am a...a virgin." it all seemed so silly to say now. "I know." he smiles in the corner of his mouth. "Smelled it on you the first time we met." and you whimper. "I will get you ready now." somehow, you knew what it meant. He kneels in front of you on the bed, pulling you so that you thighs are right over his, your puffy lips on full display. two of his digits make their way up to your mouth. "Suck." you comply.

after that was done, his calloused fingers make their way between your folds, gathering up the juices you've been dripping. You whimpered softly and Sergei shushed you, rubbing small circles on your plushy thigh with his other hand. He pushes one of his fingers inside, and you can feel it. It didn’t hurt, not yet, it was just strange and new. the second finger comes quick after and he starts pumping them, swirling them around as his lips made contact with your swollen bud. Your eyes jot open as this feeling washes over you, and you can't help but let your legs shake uncontrollably. The fire wave envelopes you whole before it comes to an agonizing stop. You open your eyes again and above you is Sergei, his shaft in his hand as he aligns it with your asking entrance. "If it hurts...yell. Scream as much as you want. Hurt me back. I am here to teach you."

and teach you he does. he pushes in slowly and the stretch is agonizing, the pain making all of your muscles tense. "It's alright, I'm here, little girl." you let out a sigh, the tears slipping past your lids when you open your eyes. the moon engulfed Sergei in It's beautiful light, his silhouette looking as if it was carved out perfectly. a couple of inches, then some more, and some moreㅡ until he is fully inside. you bite down on your tongue, but Sergei preps soft kisses along your jaw and you seem to forget about the pain. "You're doing so, so good. So good for me." he hums, taking in a big breath of your smell before he snaps his hips slowly. In a few seconds, the burn turned into a delicious feeling you couldn’t quite describe. And though it felt so new, your body fell in place right into Sergei’s touch, as if it were meant to be.

When he finally started to move faster, his groan was one of triumph, a sound that you know will echo in your ears long after. “You will give me childrenㅡ" he said, voice low and ragged as he moved inside of you. “Strong sons and daughters. Our legacy will begin tonight.”

your legs quiver around him, but he leaves no room for mercy. Above you, he looked just as a predator ready to swallow his pray whole. you weren't one to fight back, and you really didn't want to. you back stayed arched against the coverings of the bed, fingers clawing at his broad shoulders as he pumped into you. your tummy was churning, and your head was dizzyㅡ you were far gone, too drunk on the way he perfectly hit that spot with each thrust. "You were made for me, made to take meㅡ fuck, you are so beautiful." you whimper, feeling that fire wave starting to take over again. your velvet walls squeeze around him, causing him to growl. Sergei leans forward, propping one of your legs above his shoulder, the angle making you gasp for air. you look up at him, eyes glossy with tears. An animal. His eyes grew darker, lips crooked in a smile before he delivered his final blow.

you come undone right under his fingertips, writhing and shaking as small pleads fall from your lips. You can feel his seed deep within you, threatening to slip out around his cock that was still inside of you, pulsing. "Good girl."

he prays it sticks.

Sergei’s obsession with you only deepened—he barely let you out of his sight, his touch lingering whenever he could. Yet there was a softness in him, a desire to make you happy, even as he bent you to his will.

He began teaching you small things. how to tend the fire, how to skin an animal, how to defend yourself should a predator come. But you were never allowed to go far. “Why can’t I leave?” you asked one afternoon, your frustration bubbling over. Sergei turned to you, his eyes darkening. “Because the world is cruel, little one. It will devour you. You are too soft, too trusting. Here, you are safe.”

“Safe,” you repeated bitterly. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he cupped your face in his hands, his gaze softening. “I would rather you hate me than lose you.” you were beginning to see the truth of it. his love for you was consumin and obsessive, but it was real. He worshipped you, protected you, but at the cost of your freedom. And yet, part of you began to adapt. To find comfort in his arms, in the way he looked at you as though you were the only thing that mattered.

Perhaps you were.

#aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson characters #aaron taylor johnson x you #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson smut #sergei kravinoff #kraven the hunter x reader #kraven smut #kraven the hunter #kraven x reader #kraven x you

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quilliander · 8 days ago

Note

Alexander watched the way Isabella engaged in the same routine every single night, offering to help her before recalling that she liked to do everything on her own.

Smiling when he realised that she wasn’t still pissed at him, the young man piped up with a, “could say the same for you. We could haul in fish with those bags under your eyes.”

Pulling back the covers, Alexander patted the spot next to him before putting a pillow in the middle like he knew Isabella liked. Once she was settled did he finally add a soft, “he’s scared…he looks terrified to be somewhere new…the siren.”

Alexander never minded being the captain’s husband. He never craved command, never bristled at taking orders from the woman he adored.

He still knew the crew respected him, not for rank, but for the steadiness of his hands and the way he listened to the ocean like it spoke only to him. Alexander loved the water not just for its vastness, but for the secrets, those he wasn’t quite ready to even reveal to himself.

That night, as dusk slid into dark, he stood by the railing, watching the swell. There was a stillness in the air, a pause too long to be natural. And Alexander, ever the listener, felt something was rising to meet them.

There were some who joked behind Alex's back that he loved the cold ocean because it was warmer than his wife. The captain Isabella Rossi was not a loving wife to her husband, but to her career. She tried to be a good friend where she would not, or could not, succeed as a spouse but she found herself more than often glued at the helm. This night was one like that. Isabella could not be torn away from her post.

The silence over the ocean was louder than the siren's song that followed. It was less a song, to be honest, and more of a clicking noise in the beginning. It was curious, just curious and subtle enough to be noticed by Alexander.

@wavebf

#totally going to introduce an event or something that hardens Alex right up but enjoying writing a soft side of him for now !#+ if you’re open to another thread…i am as well

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gghostwriter · 10 months ago

Text

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #my own fics

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hoshigray · 10 months ago

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⊹˚୨ Too Sweet ✮NOT✮ to Spoil! ୧˚⊹ | jjk men

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ choso, kento, satoru, suguru, sukuna & toji × how their sweet sub is treated.

contents: JJK men x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size differences - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! + m! receiving) - Daddy/sir kink - sloppy kissing/making out - breast fondling + nipple stimulation - thigh riding - squirting - dry-humping/grinding - praising - sex toys - voyeurism (consensual) - face + throat-fucking - [un]protected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - more stuff specified in their respective perspectives - mention of drool/spit and tears.

word count: 6k (yikes, overkill, lol)

a. note: requested by an anon; yahooo, another one of these!!

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Kamo Chōsō ⋮ kissing/making out - breast fondling + nipple stimulation + sucking - dry-humping - masturbation (m! receiving) - cowgirl position - pet names (angel, baby, sweetie).

Choso loves to have you close to him, your soft lips meshed with his, his hands roaming inside your shirt to feel your skin while yours grip his tee.

“Haahh, Choso…please.”

“I know, sweetie,” he hushes you with his lips. “I’m right here…Hmm.”

You and your boyfriend were on his bed, two figures in a close space. Choso likes having you at his place, taking this time to enjoy you all to himself. Especially after you two spent time together today, going out on a little outing and enjoying each other to start their weekend. Now, after the sunset on your way home, the two of you use the night to spark more intimate moments.

Choso gropes your chest after sneaking his hands under your bra. The softness of your mounds has him sigh, his slender fingers sinking into the plumpness. The kiss breaks for him to observe as you lift your shirt, the sight having him gulp thickly from what he’s doing to you as you evoke cute noises by the tweezes of your nipples.

“Choso,” you whine, your hands finding his shoulders to grab onto. “Please, keep touching me…”

The brown-headed one nods and steadily descends his face, kissing gently on your exposed chest. You mewl at the contact of his lips on your skin, latching onto them for a second longer for you to shake. Your breath hitches at the feel of his mouth brushing your nipple, mouth agape at the feel of his tongue inching closer to your bud. Slow swishes have you ball your fists until he decides to take the tip into his mouth wholly to suck.

You cry, “Yesss…More, touch me more.”

Choso continues to keep sucking, pleasing you with the flick of his tongue and pushing the nip to the rough of his mouth. The other hand tends to the other breast, and he moans on your body as you sneak to touch the groin of his sweatpants.

Pretty fingers rub on him, feeling the stiffening limb sheltered within getting firmer by the second. You grab hold of it, palming his erection to hear more of his moans. “D-Don’t…!”

“I want it,” you purr as you sneak your hand into the hem of his sweats. “Pleasee, I wanna make you cum…Can I?”

How could he ever dismiss you when you’re asking so nicely? He releases your nipple and maneuvers to lay on his back. The gleeful smile makes him chuckle, watching you remove his sweatpants to throw down to the bedroom floor, along with your frilly skirt and panties.

Choso groans as you bring your bare cunt to his erect penis, pressing it down to his abdomen as you begin to rock your hips to and fro. He whimpers; the touch of your folds has him hanging by a thread. Chocolate orbs stuck to the display of him nestling between the lips of your lower region. Fuck, you felt too good, your slick sticking to him like goo and wetting his shaft.

“Fuck, he sighs deeply. “You feel…so good, baby.”

The comment makes you titter, placing your hands on his chest to steady yourself as your hips move a little faster. He holds you by the waist, sinking to the sensation of you pleasing him with just your labia sailing on top of him. You reach for the tip of his cock and grind your pelvis down, the movement making Choso curl his toes at the feeling on his most sensitive part.

His hips begin to jolt on their own, bucking to match your rhythm to a union. Complying, one of your hands comes around behind you to cup his balls, kneading the testes to evoke your partner to keen.

“Ghhhh, shit, shit,” he curses below you, his fingers clamping onto the skin of your waist as you hump faster. “God, you’re so good at this.”

“You gonna cum?” Your question with batting eyes, increasing the pace with the flex of your abs, a firmer grip on his scrotum. Choso nods hurriedly. “Cum for me, Choso; cum, cum!”

You pamper him with cheers as you go harder and briskly on top of his dick. You felt so fucking good, having shivers crawl up the poor pig-tailed man’s frame. All he can think about is how it would feel once he’s inside you, how tight and warm you’d sense at his solid length. Reminiscing about the familiar feeling of your snug walls swallowing him whole nearly has him choke on his spit.

“—Ahhck!! A-Angel, slow down a b—Mmmm!” There’s no point; you’re too into your thrusts that whatever happens after this is inexorable. Choso laments with quick arches, white substance evicting out of his urethra, falling with force and plaster onto the pale skin of his stomach. The shocks of his orgasm have his body jerking with pleasure.

You witness his crescendo, eyeing where every spurt of his semen is expelled. The raunchy image makes you lick your lips with a bite, your boyfriend catching his breath in huffs and pants.

“Hey, Choso,” he looks to you with such comely, dazed eyes. You remove yourself from him and lay on your back with legs risen, spreading your folds wet and sticky of your come.

“Cum inside me just like, yeah?”

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Nanami Kento ⋮ masturbation (m! receiving) - licking + nibbling oral (m! receiving) - ball fondling + sucking - facials - pet names (baby, honey, love, sweetpea) - cameo: Ijichi (phone call).

He groans. "Baby, not now..."

"Please, Kento, just one time..."

Nanami should've known what he was getting into when he waltzed into his shared apartment. Work is meant to be kept out of his home, his place to relax and bask in the comfort of his leisure. However, he had to hurry and take up a phone call with one of his peers about a pressing issue, only having enough time to greet you with a kiss before pulling out his phone and walking to the kitchen.

He should've foreseen you coming into the frey, making the scenario hard enough to deal with. "Kento."

"Shhhh, not right now, love." He places his hand to brush your cheek. "Gotta take this...Hey, I'm at home. Ready when you are."

That wasn't enough for you; your lips contorted to a tiny frown. Because you're walking to his proximity by the kitchen island, your hands snake around his waist, and he chews his lip as your fingers trim the edge of his belt.

“Ken,” you whisper as you unbuckle him. “You promised.”

“Honey, please, I can’t do it—Mmmm!” You push your hands inside his pants to palm his flaccid dick—not so soft once you start touching him.

“But you swore!” He doesn’t have time for your whining or fingers motioning around between his pants and boxer briefs. “You said I could suck you off the moment you come ho—“

“Not so loud!”

“Huh, Nanami-san?”

Shit! “Sorry, Ijichi,” the blonde man apologizes. “Give me a second.” Nanami presses the mute button on the phone and looks at you with warranted bewilderment. “You can’t be doing that while I’m on the phone!”

You hit him with a pout. “But you promised I could do it!”

“Yes, I know, but—“

“And you’re the one who texted me about having such a stressful day at work,” you cut him off, pressing your body onto his. “I asked if I could help you ease some stress, and you said yes, so…I’m just doing what I’m supposed to.”

“Baby—”

“Please?” You have him stuck to the kitchen counter, unable to leave your side as your hands find his chest. “I promise I won’t be too loud during your call.”

A huge sigh escapes through the man’s nostrils, groaning into his hands as if it’s a big enough shield from your pouting face. However, it’s futile once he sees your pleading eyes, beckoning him to grant you permission for this one thing you wish to do for him. You looked too precious to ignore, the twinge of his heart worsening just for even trying to go against you.

He shakes his head, “…Do it quietly. Understand?” Your facial expression perks to immediate glee, your partner wishing he had his goggles to sheathe you, blinding him. He picks up the phone and unmutes, “Okay, I’m back. What about the proposition brought by Mei Mei and…”

You quietly move on your virtue as he speaks to his colleague, his body still by the counter, giving the advantage to roam your hands around him as you please. The blonde flattens his lips to suppress any suspicious noises that could be caught by Ijichi, especially when your hand returns to his solid erection after pulling his pants down.

Short grunts evade him, making it difficult to stay composed. And you — so daring — decide to kiss the man on the lips. Oh, you were playing dirty, egging him on with a quiet moan that sounded so delightful. His erection gets firmer and firmer, practically sinking into your firm yet gentle touch.

A soft sound leaves your lips after the kiss, and you decide to slide down and attend to his dick and to leave the sand-haired man to concentrate on his call—or at least try to. His pink glans look inviting, feeling his shaft throb under your fingertips. You start by blowing on it, sending shivers up his spine.

“Mhmm, mhmm…Yeah, I agree,” he replies to the other side of the line, his eyes wandering around the kitchen to try and distract himself away from you stroking on his cock so attentively. But then, his free hand grips onto the counter when something wet whisk around the tip of his cock. “Has…Yaga ever told you about Gojo’s standing in this?”

You flick your tongue on his cockhead, slithering up from the underside to the frenulum and sucking the rough skin with smooches. You start slow by sucking in his cockhead, hallowing your cheeks, and loosening your jaw to introduce your warm orally.

The sounds you make to him aren’t avoidable, no matter how hard Nanami tries to focus on Ijichi’s voice; all it does is fade away and enhance your mewls as you suck him off. “Okay…Tha..That’s good. And what about the first years? The mission is sometime soon; should there be anyone—Nnnmph!”

Finally, his mocha brown eyes peer down to look at you—fuck, what a big mistake. You were too focused on him, slurping on his cock before coating him with your saliva and mixing in with the precum oozing out. Then, confidence fuels you to take more of him inch by inch, bobbing your head to form a rhythm where your lips meet the tippy top to the very hilt of his pubes.

“N-Nanami-san?!” Ijichi cries out from the other side. “Are you okay?”

“Gi–Give me a second,” he presses the mute button again to speak with you. “Careful with that tongue, sweetpea.” You peer up to him with hooded eyes, attempting a smile while your mouth is busy with his cock. Shit. “Sorry, I’m back.”

“Is everything all right, Nanami-san?”

“Yeah, I just…stubbed my toe on a chair.” Don’t giggle while you’re sucking on him; the vibrations feel way too good on his lower half. “Anyways, please continue...Hnnnn.”

You remove his dick from your cock and suck on the tip hard, Nanami’s free hand coming to your head to inaudibly warn you. You giggle, trailing down kisses until you reach his scrotum, playing with his testes with laps on of the tongue. Nanami’s barely hanging by a thread, even after you suck on one of his balls until it gets inside your mouth.

“—Khhh, haaah, uh-huh…Got it,” he answered aimlessly, knowing damn well he was not paying close attention to his subordinate’s words. The golden-haired man is too entranced with how you’re working on him, massaging his other ball while you kiss and suck the skin off the other. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Well, actually, there are things concerning the Kyoto School that need…” Poor Ijichi, his words drowning out from one ear and flying out to the next. You were clouding Nanami’s judgment effortlessly, returning one hand to jerk him off and your lips taking the tip for him to the back of your throat. Jesus Christ, your speed was increasing, and hold getting sturdier, his balls and shaft overwhelmed with this much enjoyment. Fuck! I’m close; his hips twitch increasingly, and his breathing is shaky.

“Kento,” your voice captures his attention. “Cum of my face, ‘kay?” You titter before opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out, a sign that you are ready for him. Nanami licks his teeth; you were too much for him.

Your hands irregularly jerk him off, not skipping a bit as you await his release. The golden-headed man bucks into your hands with your tempo, and his white seed spills out onto your face. He painted your face, sliding into your mouth or landing on your forehead and nose. But you voice no complaints, taking it with grace.

“….And that should be all on that matter. Sorry about having to call you after work about this,” Ijichi says while Nanami pants under his breath, his legs quivering through the aftershocks. “But I shall see you tomorrow, Nanami-san.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning to his touch as he caresses your cheek. You suck on his thumb after he wipes the semen that sticks to your lips, and he chortles hoarsely.

“See you tomorrow.”

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Gojō Satoru ⋮ fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping + pinching) finger-sucking - missionary position - unprotected sex (no release inside, tho) - pet names (baby, cutie, princess) - mention of saliva/spit.

Sweet things were undoubtedly Gojo Satoru’s most favorite thing worldwide.

“Ahhhnn!! Satoruuu, moreee…!”

And you, his sweet little thing, made his teeth rot the most.

If Gojo could get addicted to you, he most certainly would. And trust—he is already.

There are not many people in this world within Gojo’s proximity that he would consider “cute” or “gracious,” especially within his occupation as a jujutsu sorcerer, where hazardous dilemmas and death are nearly daily. But you, his partner, are the pure definition of perfection. He’s smitten, indeed, as you are the most treasured thing in his life with whom he wishes to share good moments and protect within his life.

He couldn’t resist you; if he could break the nation in half for you, he would surely try…However, there are times when he’ll try to break you instead. Why?

“Yeah, cutie, ya like it when my fingers go like this?”

Because you’re adorable—and that includes all sides of you.

Gojo removes his fingers out of your leaking cunt. For the past few minutes, he’s been playing with your folds within the confines of your home. The tall man has been away from you for a while, been itching to touch you—to feel you. That’s why he pulled you in and marched you to your bedroom, kissing you up a storm while unclothing you off your bottoms.

Your figure quakes at the abrupt removal of his digits. “Tahhhh, no!” You whine with scrunched brows. “P-Put ‘em baack!”

“Awww, what’s this?” He tilts his head with a sly smirk; the blindfold hiding the intensity of his gaze doesn’t help. “You like my fingers that much, huh?” A rascally chuckle is caused by how rapidly you nod your head, looking at his hand to see how much of your fluids coats his fingers. “Wow, you’re over here making a mess! Hehe, must feel that good, huh, cupcake?”

“‘Toruu, pleasee…!” You cling to his jacket. “I want them back inside!”

“Ehhhh, but you told me to stop too long ago.” Gojo then takes his fingers to your clitoris. You gasp sharply at the cold, slick-sheeted digits pressing down on your bud, sensitive from the other orgasms prior. “Said that it was too much for you.”

“Mmmm, y-yes, but I am—I was,” you whine at the pinch of your clit. He grinds it with the push and stir of his thumb. “I was…so close!”

He bites his lip; you look too cute when you’re honest, baby. “Well, make up your mind; tell me what you want.”

You gulp as your boyfriend tweaks your pearl, causing quick twitches in your thighs. “P…Please, put your fingers back inside, ‘Toru,” your hips jerk to rub his digits against your vulva and mark more of your essence on him. “I wanna cum on themm…”

Gojo uses his free hand to strip his blindfold off his face, finally letting his royal blue eyes free to view you. “Yeah? Gonna cum on my fingers one more time for me?” He teases your entrance with the prints of his middle finger.

Head pounds as you nod your head. “Yess, let me!”

But then, the snow-haired man lifts his eyebrows while straightening up a bit. “You sure? You don’t wanna cum on something else?” He unzips and discards his jacket before unbuttoning his pants. “Something…better?”

Your eyes misty with wanton blink to see what he’s referring to, a silent gasp when you see his erect cock spring out. The curve of his length makes your mouth water, and the precum leaking out of his urethra to the frenulum is breathtaking. You don’t even realize your lips curling into a smile. “Yes, Satoru,” the folds of your labia space apart from spreading the crevice of your ass. “Make me feel better, please?”

Holy fuck, you would be the end of him. Azure eyes narrow, “Such a good princess,” and he coos as he smacks the tip of his dick onto your vagina.

The tip of him taps onto the slit, pushing in with every inhale you take. Your come used as lube makes the introduction accessible, and you squeal once the cockhead makes it inside. As you take Gojo inch by inch, the left curve scrapes your walls, toes curling at the contact. And once he puts all of him inside, you cry at the brush of your cervix.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he coaxes you in hushes, yet he grinds his pelvis down to the hilt. He can’t help it, loving the endearing whines you let out when he touches up on your most delicate parts. “Just let it out, alright?”

He speaks for you as his hips begin to move at a mediocre cadence, not enough time for you to prepare for the onslaught of grazes to your sweet spots and feverish pokes to your womb. “—Nngaah! W-Wait, Sa’oruu; not t’faast—Ahaaa!!” Gojo doesn’t stop, though; he is just constantly snapping his hips with a salacious hum as your walls clamp around the foreign limb ravaging your insides.

Inevitably, you howl with eyes sewn shut as your orgasm comes caving in, your cunt puckering on Gojo’s shaft as you come on him for the third time in a row. He savors the feeling of you tightening around him, thrusting sluggishly to enjoy the moment before he removes to fist himself. Your sticky fluids sheathing his cock collects on his fingers.

“Say ahhh~,” and he brings them to your lips, where you eagerly lather his digits in saliva with your tongue and suck. “Good job, cutie!”

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Getō Suguru ⋮ voyeurism (consensual) - masturbation (f! + m! receiving) - sex toy; wand vibrator - squirting - clitoral play - sir kink - pet names (darling, pumpkin, sweetheart) - mention of drool/spit.

He loves watching you—his all-time guilty pleasure.

Geto sits on the armchair situated by the side of the hotel bed, where you lay with your legs spread and your panties rolled up to your thigh.

Lacy strips of material decorate your body, presenting your boyfriend with the newest lingerie you wish to spoil him with. Matching thigh-high stockings suspended by the garters keep the entire look together—a nice catch for violet eyes to consume.

But not as eye-catching as the commotion between your legs: tiny fingers are toying with your vulnerable cunt, sticking the middle one inside with the help of your slick. Pretty moans slip out of your puffy lips as the pace of your hand goes swifter.

You fingering yourself as your boyfriend watches with a glass of wine in one hand? Geto couldn’t be any higher on a cloud than now.

“Mmmm, ahhhhh,” your eyes flicker to where your man sits and observes. “Suguruu…”

“Mmm? Yes, darling?” He takes a sip of his glass. “You look so good, you know that?”

The comment has you giggling with a light breath, swirling your middle finger around. Geto sees you tease your forefinger inside, loving the way your thighs quirk as you push it in. His eyes are honed at how quickly your come soaks whatever comes in contact.

“Must feel good, too.” He inquires with a raised brow, sneaking a hand down his pants to unfasten his belt and slither into the dark to meet a hard boner. “You’ve been at it for five minutes straight like I told you; good girl.”

“So good,” you purr because of the acclaim. “But, it’s not…enough.”

Geto takes another gulp of the red liquor. “And why’s that?”

It doesn’t surprise him when you swig your head around to look at him properly, eyebrows knitted together. “Please, Sugu…”

“Please, what?” He stands up after setting the glass down, bringing his pants down a bit to have his erection breathe before returning it to his fisted grasp. “Can’t know unless you tell me.”

You ask with quivered lips and a soliciting gaze—you know he knows what you’re talking about, just taking pleasure in the circumstances where you have to beg. “Please, I want you to stick it in.”

Lips curl to a smile, stroking his cock faster. “Stick what in, sweetheart?” He loves your back-and-forth game, seeing your posture slipping with every question.

You point to his dick with your toes. “I want you…in me.”

Ah, yes, your reward. As his sweet thing, Geto promises to care for you when you obey him. And he’ll admit you have done your part exceeding well as always: adorning the lingerie set as a treat, pleasuring yourself in front of him, and wetting your fingers and thighs of your fluid. It all makes him so turned on that you deserve to be pampered.

…However, something was still missing. And Geto knows you’re aware of it, too.

“I don’t know,” he plays coy as he mounts on top of the bed to crawl beside you. “You still haven’t done that thing I always like.”

You plead more with watery orbs. “Hmmm…I can’t do it alone; you do it better…” Your fingers leave your aching slit sensitive and damp. “Please, help me.”

“Oh? You want my help?” Geto takes your digits into his mouth to suck them clean, the sight putting your breathing to a halt. “Ask me properly, then I might give you a hand.” Right as he says that, you jolt at the brush of his middle and forefinger against your unattended clitoris.

“…! I-I,” you swallow spit. “I want you to help me—gasp!”

“That’s not how you ask properly, sweetheart.” He scares you a bit with a threatening pinch.

“…Please, sir,” now that’s more like it. “Please make me cum like you always do!”

A proud scoff leaves him. “Thought you’d never ask,” Geto leaves the bed quickly to retrieve something next to the wine glass. He then requests once he proceeds, “Spread your legs.”

You follow his words with haste, distancing your thighs apart for him to position between. Licking your lips as he rests one leg on his shoulder and turns on the item he brought along, whirring vibrations have you bite your bottom lip.

“Ready?” You eagerly nod, and he descends the wand to your vulva. Your frame jolts at the contact of your clit, meeting the shaking toy surface for a flick of a second. You choke on air and Geto chortles. “Ehhh, but you said you were ready?”

“B-But that was a bit intense…!” Tears begin to pool at the corner of your eyes; your nerves heighten to a peak.

“I know,” he brings the want back to your clit. This time, he doesn’t stop at your screams. “That’s the point. You said you wanted my help, right?”

You knew this would happen, him using the vibrating toy so roughly that you can’t voice out your opinions adequately. Fuuuck!! It was too intense how hard he pressed the wand on your sore bud, circling and grinding to the point that your words transformed into incoherent babbles. Geto bends down, the added weight not making it any better for you to squirm away from him and his antics.

And yet…it feels so fucking gooood!! The added pressure hits your spot efficiently with speed and energy, pleasing shocks coursing through your body through every zig-zag motion. You howl when he brings the toy to your labia; the vibrating surface feels way too good that you’re clamping onto a void nonstop. Drool escapes your lips, as do the tears plummeting down hot cheeks.

“Heh, so fucking cute,” Geto comments to you before claiming your tongue to suck on for you to whimper desperately. Spit exchanged with wild tongues, teeth clashing amongst the muffled mewls and moans between the satisfaction. You slurp on his wet muscle in gratitude, head pounding from all the ecstatic commotion occurring.

Geto then flicks the wand up and toy, hitting both your folds and clit simultaneously, and your eyes travel up to your skull, almost choking on his spit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—you can feel it. And when it hits you, it hits you hard.

As your orgasm comes crashing down, so does the liquid you squirt out from the stimulation of your glands. The secretion goes around with the help of the toy, continuously gliding across, spraying onto your thighs and abdomen. Geto gets caught in the crossfire, the watery substance plastering onto the wand, his hand, forearm, and cock. Not to mention the sheets of the bed underneath you two.

The onyx-haired man smirks between smooches; there it is. His mouth leaves yours, spit connecting the two pairs of lips from the messy make-out session. Purple eyes take a good long look at the entire thing; your fucked out expression stuck with the trembles of your body—and he couldn’t be even more turned on!

“There you go, pumpkin!”

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Ryōmen Sukuna ⋮ size difference (true form! kuna) - breast fondling - thigh-riding - anal fingering (f! receiving) - cowgirl position - double penetration; anal & vaginal insertion - asking permission - pet names (little plaything, good girl, pet) - mention of pain.

He smirks. “Enjoying yourself?”

You nod your head with quivers. “You feel so…good, my Lord…”

“Hmph. I can tell, making a mess on my thigh like a real fucktoy.”

Sukuna enjoys your company—a hard thing for many to grasp or comprehend in link with the King of Curses. But yes, he seems to like to have you around him, especially when you’re desperate for him.

You were indeed his most precious thing — a rarity as the cursed man doesn’t have the time nor drive to indulge in such trivial items. Yet you seem to have been the exception for such doctrine. It didn’t happen overnight or months, but a miracle did happen for him to find something – or someone – worthy of his attention when he’s in the mood.

And that’s where you come in, his little cherished plaything summoned to his quarters to save him from boredom.

Sukuna lay on his futon with you atop him, straddling his massive thigh between your legs without your underwear on. You move your hips to and fro, gliding your cunt across his skin and covering him with your come. His lower legs kept to your legs so you don’t run away.

Your lips shudder as you sway. “Hahhh, Lord Sukuna…I–I can’t—“

“Hmm? Speak up.” His lips curl to a deeper, devious sneer. “Can’t what?”

��Nnhhaa…I can’t keep going; I’m too—” You exhale through your mouth as your spine jitters from the slight raise of his thigh. “T’ tender…”

“Oh? Is that supposed to swade me or something?” He raises his sole salmon brow in amusement, and your grip on your legs is tighter. “You stop moving when I say so.”

“Y-Yes, my Lord, but—Taahh…!” His upper left arm grabs for your wrists to keep them on his chest, the tongue from his abdomen lick your elbow. “I’ve been doing this for a while…any more, and I could break.”

His expression remains impassive. “What else am I having you do this for?”

“Mmmm, my Lord, please,” your eyes flutter to his comely face, all four crimson eyes fixed on yours. “I don’t wish to cum on just your thigh. I wish to c—oh God…To cum on your cocks.”

Sukuna scoffs; your meek honesty is a tiny bit reputable. “I don’t recall saying you have a say in where and when you can cum. You seem to enjoy my thigh for this long; you can keep it up.” You weren’t prepared for a hand to sneak up to caress your bum. “I don’t think you’re grateful.”

“B-But, I’ve been so good to you all this time!” Do you dare keep questioning him? You earned yourself a finger pushed inside your ass. You better plead your case incredibly. “I’ve come for you this long with no complaints, and I am honored that you gain pleasure from mine…Yet, I want you to feel the inside,” your ears burn from your confession, yet the truth is all you can say. “Rather than the outside.”

Now, he can’t lie; the way you phrased that did spark his interest way more than it intended. But he hasn’t said anything yet, so you continue begging.

“Please, my Lord,” your hips go faster for your sore folds to indulge in the friction, and the finger in your asshole has you sway even more. “Please,please,pleaseee!! I want you…Want nothing but you…!”

Hmph, so pathetic. Your hopeless pleas have the behemoth’s grin grow broader, the thick digit in your butt pushing in and out to the point of you humming. “What a wailing pet I have to deal with...However, you have been good.”His strong hands grab for you to pull you up closer, your stomach brushing one of the cocks standing erect. “Go on, don’t have me do the job myself.”

A curt nod is given to your master as you raise your lower half and crawl further for it to align where his groin is. Your hand grabs for the dick upfront while Sukuna grasps the one below it, and you slowly drop your lower region until his glans kiss your vulva. Inhales and exhales ease your nerves while you push down on the tip, gasping aloud once your chasm swallows it in as the initial pain diminishes slowly with time.

“Good,” A pleased purr rumbles his chest. “Now for the other,” he brings the other tip to your anus, your job maintaining a calm breathing technique as he pushes himself into you. The sting of something foreign entering lasts for a couple of seconds until the second cockhead makes its way inside your rear.

Your mouth is agape as you allow yourself a few moments for your body to accommodate their girthy lengths before Sukuna playfully smacks your ass to attend to him. And so you do, your ass falling sluggishly as your holes occupy with your master’s shafts, venturing deep inside your channels and rubbing on your walls effortlessly have you whimper.

“Little plaything,” he calls you once your butt lays down on him, rubbing his cheek on yours before licking your ear. He whispers, “What do you say to me after letting you have your way?” His gruff voice, so close to your eardrum, lowered to a hush, has your stomach doing knots.

You reply with a trembly sigh. “Thank you…my King,” You look into his eyes as you express gratitude, and his face comes near to claim your lips.

“Good girl.”

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Fushiguro Tōji ⋮ sloppy kisses/making out - Daddy pink - missionary + mating press positions - clitoral play (tweaking and swiping) - breeding kink - creampies - unprotected sex - pet names (baby, hun, mama) - mention of drool/spit.

“Ahhh, haaaahh, D-Daddy—Mmmph!!”

“I know, baby, I know…Fuck, so nice and tight.”

Toji loves the way you take in his cock. His sweet, little things grit their teeth as he stuffs his entire length into your insides, your gummy walls clenching around the girth, stretching you out to the point of toes curling.

Your back pressed down to the sheets of your shared bed, your legs wrapped around Toji’s waist as he plows into your wet cunt, excess come exiting from the union of your sexes stains not only the sheets but the base of his cock. The room is a bit dark yet warm, with only light from the television basking on your naked bodies. Sounds of plap, plap, fill the silence during your intimacy.

His scarred lips latch onto yours, steamy kisses dwelling into a plane of passion by the second with every mewl he takes from your breath. Stuffing his tongue into your mouth overwhelms your senses, orally stimulating your drive to euphoria. And to his pleasure, you suck on his wet muscle, rewarding you with more spasmodic ruts to your vagina.

Toji relishes the feeling of him wanting him, your body reacting to his every touch and soft caress while his lower half puts you through the most nerve-wracking pleasure. He then cruises a hand down to where your clitoris is, tweezing it with his forefinger and thumb. And the scream he drinks is just delectable.

“—Mmaahh! Ohhhhfuuuck,” spit from the kiss trails from your puffy lips to your chin. “T’ muuuch, Daddyyy!! I’m t’ fuuull…!!”

“Yeah? ’S too much?” He repeats with a chuckle, licking your cheek. “But y’re doin’ so well, hun, takin’ my dick like a good girl.” More swipes on your clit have your arms wrapping around his neck to his amusement. “Hnnnng…Wringin’ me out like crazy…”

You wail to his ear as he presses his forefinger on your vulnerable bud. “Ohhhh, feel shoo goood…Gonna cum.”

Words that have Toji’s emerald eyes darken licentiously. “What’s that, mama?” He rubs his hot cheek to yours; he heard what you said perfectly—but it’s satisfying to listen to your shy self repeat yourself.

“D-Daddyyy, pleaseee—Mmmfff!” An abrupt thrust makes you shrill. “Please make me cummm…!”

“Nnnmm! Shiiit, don’t do that,” he hisses at the clasp of your walls on his girth. “Gonna make me knock ya up…”

You whine. Your hand brushes through his nape onto his raven hair. “Give it to me; I want you to fill me up!”

He scoffs. “Yeah? Want Daddy to bust my load inside again,” he grinds his pelvis down to rub on your G-spot. “Gonna be good, and let me fill ya up til’ y’re all fat with a baby?”

“Yessss, Daddy, please, pleaseee” You kiss and suck the skin of his neck, and he whirs. “Make me all fhat with cum, please! I wanna cum—Mmmm!— and have yer baby!!”

“Heh, fuck, y’re driving me crazy…Stay still, baby,” he coos before arranging upright to unscrew your legs, bringing them to your chest before he cages you back with his added weight and pounds into your swollen cunt relentlessly. You howl and scream at the increased cadence, more come spilling down the crevice of your ass with every push of his cock, and his balls smacking your taint frequently.

“Ohhhh!! NnnooohmyGod!!” You throw your head back to the pillow, unable to do anything else but take him, forcing you into submission. The angle aids deeper penetration, having your head pound harder and your eyes stuck to the ceiling. “Yesssss…Harder, Daddy, please go hardeeer!!”

“Haaahh, I’m tryin’, mama,” he grits his teeth, pistoning his cock frantically to have you speaking in tongues. The sounds of skin slapping get louder and louder, furthering the heat exchanged and the erotic atmosphere.

“Ohhhfuckin’shiiiiit…!! I’m gonna cum,” scrapes to your cervix push you to the edge, threatening to shut down entirely as this keeps going on. “I’m cumming, I’m…Ohoooo!”

Black bangs stick to his sweaty forehead, “Me too, hun…! ‘Bout to bust my—Lllmmm!!” Jesus, your tight walls have him in a chokehold, his abs tensing as the inevitable takes place.

Your walls flutter on his cock as your climax comes first to lock you down, shrieking as the tremors rock you to your core. Toji falls second, releasing his semen into you once again and filling you up with his white seed with a groan. He pulls you in for another kiss, saliva traversing through tongues, dancing with each other with shared moans until both bodies relax after their respective highs.

The cool air brings you two back to reality, Toji dismissing his lips away from you to lick the saliva while withdrawing his length from your inner texture and watching the pool of essence exert your hole and slide down to the messy sheets. The sight makes the older man snicker, licking his scar in contentment as you murmur breathless ‘thank you’s for the reward.

“Y’re welcome, mama.”

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axstoria · 8 months ago

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Bruce Wayne kisses like you're the last thread of sanity holding him to this world. He'll cradle your face in his hands, lips making long, languidly slow movements over your own. By the end of it, you're pushed against some kind of furniture and panting, while he's already leaving to pull on his cowl. It hurts to see him go, yet you know that he'll be home again to kiss you senseless until the world makes sense.

Richard Grayson kisses like he'll be dead tomorrow. Little pecks along your cheek, forehead, neck—anywhere he can get those plush lips on. He'll kiss you until you're both breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed. He'll love you until the day he dies, and he makes sure that you know that. Every day, he spends like it's his last, and every day, he makes sure to give you so many kisses, you're drowning in his love.

Jason Todd kisses like he doesn't know how. Sure, he's had a few hookups, especially during his early days as Red Hood, but he's never kissed a person like you. He loves you, it's as simple as that. With others, he is rough and fast, not knowing how to slow down and just enjoy the presence of the person beneath him. With you, all he can do is be gentle, because you're the only person who has stayed and loved him as the broken man he is.

Tim Drake kisses you like he's trying to study you. He'll nip at your neck and jaw just to see how you react, just to grin to himself as he observes the way you melt into him when his lips meet yours. He'll let his hands wander to see what makes you relax, what makes your lips stutter against his. He enjoys every interaction like you are his subject and he is the scientist. He needs to know everything. Knowledge calls for him in his blood, and you, his love, are the doorway to it.

AgedUp!Damian Wayne kisses expensively. He starts at your jaw, making soft motions towards your lips until he finally claims them with his own. His wide hands hold you in place by the waist and his dark hair tickles your skin. He'll take his time, loving on you the way you deserve. He knows just how to kiss you like he knows just how to kill a man. He kisses soft and slow, because why would he have to rush? He has his beloved in his arms, whispering his name against his lips; what more could he want?

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whosashan · 2 months ago

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hello! good day to youuu, can i make a request for the lads men? in which reader is not the mc and here's the prompt: having to beg them to do something with you then seeing them doing it with mc willingly, sorry english is not my first language but pleaaaseeee 😭 i love some angst.

Bitter

Pt. 2

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: Watching the one you love partake in what you once pleaded to share—a quiet betrayal—feels like an arrow through the heart, swift and merciless. (angst, no comfort)

A/N: Thank you for the request, it came out more as a drabble. Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

What a bitter, gutting thing it was—to stand in the shadows and watch him shine for someone else. To see the light in his eyes, the easy laughter, the quiet devotion as he did for her what he had never done for you.

The one thing you once begged for. The one thing he had denied you.

But not her. Never her.

She was fate’s beloved, the one woven from the same celestial thread as him, bound to him in ways you never could be. You had always told yourself to be rational, to be understanding. Xavier came with a past. He came with baggage.

And inside that baggage, nestled close to his heart, was her.

The woman you would envy until the world turned to dust.

And yet—how could you ever bring yourself to hate her? When she was made of kindness, of soft edges and warm light? When she looked at you with nothing but affection, oblivious to the ruin she left in her wake? She was an angel. A blessing. A curse.

And fate, it seemed, had always been on her side.

So there they were, walking side by side, woven together so seamlessly it was almost poetic. Almost cruel. Her bags in his hands, the weight of them carried so effortlessly—as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And yet, when you had asked for the same—just a simple day together, just a moment of his time—he had sighed, shaken his head, told you he was too tired. That work was too much. That he simply couldn’t.

But now, watching him with her, you couldn’t help but wonder—did she take his exhaustion away? Did her presence breathe new life into him in a way you never could?

The answer settled deep in your bones, cold and unrelenting.

Your friend beside you said nothing, only looking at you with that quiet, suffocating pity that made your stomach turn. Because there was nothing to say. Nothing to soften the truth you had known all along.

You were not his first thought in the morning. You were not the name on his lips when he passed a garden of wildflowers. You were not the presence lingering in his mind when the world grew quiet.

And you never would be.

You had spent so long fighting against it. Xavier loves me. He chose me. The words had been your lifeline, a fragile, trembling thing you whispered into the silence. But even your friends never seemed convinced.

And now, neither were you.

So you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You turned away.

No confrontation. No desperate pleas for an explanation that would only come laced with half-truths and empty reassurances. What good was honesty when it had never been yours to begin with?

When he came home that night, his lips still curved with the ghost of a smile, he found an emptiness he had never felt before. Your things, your presence—gone, as if you had never been there at all.

And in your place, only a single note remained.

"I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Because clearly, it was never me."

And Xavier, poor Xavier, would stand there, reading those words over and over, grasping at the fraying edges of something he had never truly held onto.

But then again—

Xavier had never noticed his wrongdoings.

Not until there was nothing left but the weight of his own ruin.

Zayne

Zayne—or Dr. Zayne, as she called him—had always been a good man. A gentleman in every sense. Caring, affectionate, endlessly considerate.

But never for you.

His tenderness felt practiced, his affections routine. As if he wasn’t loving you, but fulfilling some unspoken obligation. A kindness given not out of devotion, but out of mere habit.

And you had tried to ignore it. Swallowed your doubts, convinced yourself you were overthinking.

Until you saw them together.

Her.

The one fate had tied him to. The one who never had to ask for his attention, because it had always belonged to her.

Her laughter lit up rooms before she even stepped inside. Her eyes gleamed like sunlight catching on water—brilliant, hypnotic, impossible to look away from. And neither could he.

And then, there was the picture.

A simple post, one she likely uploaded without a second thought, oblivious to the quiet devastation it would bring.

There she was, sitting in his office. Smiling. At ease.

Sharing lunch with him.

Something you had never been allowed to do.

You had asked once—just to drop by, to see him, to spend even a sliver of time together in the place he spent most of his days. But he had refused, brushing you off with a gentle but firm, “I don’t want distractions.”

And yet, there she was, sitting across from him, urging him to eat the food she had made, as if she had every right to be there. And maybe she did.

They had known each other forever. That was what you told yourself—Of course, they’re close. Of course, they understand each other in ways I never will. You had tried to accept it. To be understanding.

But then you saw the way he looked at her in the picture.

The softness in his eyes. The quiet, unguarded devotion.

Like she was the only one who could unravel him, the only one who could slip past his carefully built walls.

You had spent so long trying to do the same, but you never even made a crack.

And so, that was the moment you made a promise to yourself.

You would not be someone’s second choice. You would not collect the scraps of his affection while she—effortless, radiant, destined—was given everything you had ever wanted.

And Zayne noticed.

He noticed in the silence. In the missed calls that went unanswered, the messages left on read. In the bouquets left wilting at your doorstep, the petals curling at the edges.

Roses.

Her favorite flowers.

Not yours.

And that was all the confirmation you needed.

Zayne was never the gentleman you thought he was.

Or perhaps, he was. Just never for you.

Or maybe—maybe it was fate itself that was cruel.

Rafayel

Something inside you cracked, splintering like fragile seashells beneath careless hands—shattered beyond repair, beyond mending.

It wasn’t a sudden break. No, it had been slow, creeping in like the tide, eroding the edges of your love bit by bit, pulling pieces of you away before you could even notice you were unraveling.

And now, the final wave had come, and it had taken everything with it.

Because there he was—your Rafayel—kneeling beside her, smiling in a way you had longed to be the cause of.

The sight alone stole the breath from your lungs.

You had spent so long pretending not to notice. Ignoring the way his gaze always sought her out, the way his voice softened just a fraction when he spoke to her. You had swallowed the ache, told yourself it didn’t matter.

"That’s just the way he is," you had whispered, time and time again.

But it had never been the way he was.

It had only ever been the way he was with you.

And now, you knew why.

Rafayel hated cats.

You remembered the way his nose had scrunched when you had once tried to feed a stray by the docks, the way he had flicked his fingers as if to ward the creature away. “Little beasts,” he had muttered, half-amused, half-disgusted. “I don’t understand how you humans tolerate them.”

You had laughed then, nudging him playfully. “You’re just jealous they’re cuter than you.”

And yet—here he was.

Crouched beside her, cradling a trembling kitten in careful, delicate hands, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. His touch—usually teasing, fleeting, always just out of reach—was steady, warm, tender.

For her.

Not for you.

Something cold curled around your ribs, sinking deep, making it harder to breathe.

It was never about the kitten.

It was never about the things he couldn’t do.

It was about the things he never wanted to do for you.

And watching him now, so unguarded, so effortlessly kind, made you wish you had never met him at all.

Rage and sorrow burned through your veins, curling beneath your skin like a sickness. You wanted to rip that stupidly charming smile from his face, wanted to demand why he had never looked at you like that.

But there was no point.

So you turned and walked away.

Ignoring reality, just as you had once tried to ignore fate.

But fate never ignored you.

And something in the air told you—Rafayel wouldn’t either.

Sylus

Sylus had never been an easy man to love.

Sharp edges, cold precision—every move calculated, every word spoken with intent. He was not a man swayed by sentiment, nor was he one to entertain trivial affections.

You had known this from the start.

And yet, knowing had never stopped you from wanting.

So you learned to take what little he gave you—stolen moments in the dead of night, whispered conversations where he let the ice thaw just enough for you to believe there was something beneath it. But always, always, he kept his distance, his affections measured, restrained.

"This is who I am," he had told you once, when you asked why he never let himself soften. "I don’t have the luxury of being gentle."

You had believed him.

Until now.

Until you saw him, standing there in the dim glow of a high-rise restaurant, his head tilted ever so slightly toward her. The woman fate had written into his story, the one whose presence seemed to unravel him in ways you never could.

His fated one.

And in front of them, two untouched glasses of wine.

Wine.

The very thing he had refused to share with you.

"I don’t drink with others," he had said once, his voice clipped, final. "It's a pleasure reserved for my time alone."

But now, here he was. Sharing a glass with her. His fingers resting idly against the stem of his glass, his expression unreadable yet undeniably present. He was here. Fully. With her.

A man who never entertained distractions, utterly enthralled.

The way he looked at her—it was something different. Something you had never been granted. There was no calculation in his gaze, no careful restraint. No cold, distant amusement.

Just quiet acceptance. As if she had been meant to sit beside him all along.

And that was when you knew.

You could tear yourself apart, try to become everything he had ever wanted, and it still wouldn’t matter. Because fate had already made the choice for him.

And it wasn’t you.

Still, you lingered a moment longer, letting the pain settle, letting it carve its lesson deep into your ribs.

And then, without a word, you turned and left.

Because you, too, could learn to be cold.

Caleb

Caleb had always been warm. That was the problem.

He had a way of making you believe you belonged there—tucked into his arms, held close by quiet promises and easy smiles. He made you think you mattered.

But there was always her.

His childhood best friend.

Not bound by fate, not chosen by some cosmic force—just there. Always. In every story he told, in every old memory that made his eyes soften with something you could never quite reach. The one who had been with him before you, the one who had held his hand through storms you’d never even known existed.

And you told yourself it wasn’t a competition.

Until the night you saw them.

The neon lights of the karaoke bar cast the whole street in a soft glow, music and laughter spilling from inside as you walked past—until something, someone, made your steps falter.

Through the open doors, past the booths and glowing screens, you saw him.

Caleb.

Standing there, microphone in hand, singing.

With her.

The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.

"I don’t like singing in front of people," he had told you once, shaking his head with a sheepish smile when you begged him to join you for just one song. "It’s embarrassing. I just—I can��t, okay?"

But now, here he was.

Swaying slightly, smiling as their voices blended together in a song you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t perfect—his voice cracked in places, he missed a beat or two—but that didn’t matter. Because he was trying. Because he was enjoying it.

Because she made him feel safe enough to do what he had never done for you.

Your stomach twisted.

It had never been about singing.

It had been about you.

You should have walked away then. Should have swallowed the lump in your throat and turned back, should have spared yourself the cruel spectacle of watching them.

But you didn’t.

You stayed long enough to see the way he laughed when she nudged him playfully. The way he looked at her, unguarded, free. The way she reached for his hand without hesitation—because she knew it would always be there, waiting for her.

And for the first time, you realized—maybe you had never been holding his hand at all. Maybe you had only been grasping at the space he left behind.

Something cold settled in your chest.

You didn’t wait for him to notice you.

You just turned, and left, without a sound.

And Caleb, too caught up in a song meant for someone else, never even saw you go.

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