#honey soaked promises

[coveholdenmyluv]

R. Braun - Honey Soaked Promises

Synopsis. In which you reminisce on your quest for revenge, irrigated with broken promises and fermented with betrayal, allowing you to act as the judge between life or death for yourself and the viper dressed in the skin of the love of your life.

— or alternatively, in which you make the stupid decision to fall in love with the wrong person on your journey to freedom…

Oh well, you’ll just have to kill him now.

Warnings. manga spoilers, angst, action, gore, lore, romance, fluff, unrequited love, lovers to enemies, follows cannon, aot warnings

Status. Ongoing.

wattpad link.

ao3 link

series masterlist.

I| Trepidation

II| From Stefan to Cielo

III| Honey

IV| Snowmen and Candles

V| Girlhood

VI| Promise?

VII| Mornings

VIII| Warmth

IX| Dandelions

X| The Battle of Trost

playlist.

thoughts/brainrot

And a huge thank you to my amazing HSP beta reader (and wife 🫶) @tenkobun

with so much love put into this story, arlo <3

[lxnarphase]

━━ ❝ come and put your name on it ❞

special treatment : lap edition

☾₊‧⁺...ft. : gojo satoru + geto suguru + nanami kento + fushiguro toji + hakari kinji

☾₊‧⁺...cw : cockwarming, somnophilia, dirty talk, grinding + dry humping, fingerfucking, overstimulation, praise kink, edging, oral fixation, satoru's silly pet names, suguru being smug, kento being a desperate man, toji being toji, kinji being a bully

✧ g. satoru : sometimes gojo knows he fucks you too good to the point you can't think after, something he brags about to you all the time. but when you snuggle up to him, still stuffed with his cock and warm with his cum, he can't help but run his hands all over you. and when he realizes you fell asleep on his dick, his heart squeezes and his cock throbs hard.

"pretty angel, did you fall asleep? oh, that's just precious...you're making my heart squeeze, i wish i had my phone, you look so cute like this." "did you say my name? dreaming about me? god, you're so precious, i could just fuck you like this...shit, don't fuckin' squeeze on me like that, are you having a wet dream right now? god, i love you so fucking much." "aww, my little mochi is so cute! look at youuu, you're gushin' all over the place. messy fucking pussy too small to keep my cock and all my cum inside you." "mm, fuck, pretty thing. you wakin' up? hi pretty girl...oooh, fuck, d-did you just cum? holy fuck, c'mon, baby, on your back, lemme fuck you, princess, let 'toru make you cum again, yeah?”

✧ g. suguru : suguru's softly cooing at you when you sleepily walk into the living room, whining to him that you had a dream and you wanted him to 'fix the problem he caused.' all he can do is just chuckle at how childish and bratty you can be as his hands are moving up and down your sides while he grinds up into you.

"you're such a brat, you know that right? always blaming me for your dreams. it's not my fault you can't stop thinking about how good i fuck you." "hmm? ooh, i see...you keep having dreams of me cumming inside you, hm? are you trying to say something, princess? d'you want me to start breeding you?" "i didn't say stop moving, did i? or do you need me to do all the work? heh, so spoiled, i've spoiled you absolutely rotten." "i know, but just cum once like this, won't you? if you do, i promise i'll fill your cute pussy with my cum, okay? mhm, promise, princess, i'll give you what you need."

✧ n. kento : nanami loves having you close to him, especially when you sit in his lap. it lets him nuzzle his nose into your neck, pressing little kisses where he can while your legs are spread over his strong thighs, his thick fingers leisurely pumping in and out of your needy hole, chuckling against your skin whenever you jolt.

"honey, have i mentioned how gorgeous you are? you look so beautiful like this...spread open and wanting, just for me." "you're sucking my fingers in so well. look at that...do you think you can take a third?" "it's so messy. look at what you've done to my fingers, honey, they're soaked. clean them off for me, i want you to taste yourself before i put them back in. maybe tonight we can make you squirt, hm? do you wanna try, darling?" "you think you're going to cum again? poor thing, your little cunt is so greedy, she just wants to cum over and over again on my fingers...is my cock not good enough for you, mm? aww, don't pout, i'm just teasing you, darling." "i know, i know, it's too much, but you can take it. be my good girl, just take it and keep cumming until you can't anymore."

✧ f. toji : sitting on toji's lap is, in his mind, an invitation for him to run his hands all over you. his cock is already hard in his sweats, but he's subdued the second you get comfortable and slowly grind against him, groaning when you press sweet kisses into his neck.

"tch, are you gonna let me fuck your thighs t'night? pretty please? yeah, that's right, i'm askin' nicely. why? don't play stupid, doll, you know what they do to me." "shit...keep moving those hips, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin' good like this." "god, i can feel that pretty pussy leaking through my sweats. big bad toji make you that fuckin' wet, mama? y'like grinding that clit on my dick through my pants? dirty fucking girl." "mmh, you keep tugging my hair like that and I'm not even gonna take you to the bedroom, i will fuck you into this damn couch, woman.” "listen here, wifey, I'll wreck your cunt until you can't think about anything but me inside you. hell, I'll ruin this stupid couch in the process, i don't give a fuck about stainin' it."

✧ h. kinji : when you sit on kinji's lap, it's when he's watching a fight on tv. you can tell it's not going how he wants it to go, the toothpick between his teeth being gnawed on. when you make eye contact with him, he just raises an eyebrow, one of his hands squeezing your hip.

"cupcake, do me a favor and get on my dick before i get up and give us a reason to get a new tv." "hey, hey, don't move yet, let me see if he lands this punch...don't whine like that before i put my fingers in that pretty little mouth t' shut you up." "you always squeeze so tight when i press down on your tongue like this...pretty thing likes that shit, doesn't she? go on, fuck yourself on my dick while you drool all on my fingers like a slut." "mm, shit, baby, i can't focus on that bullshit fight, lemme help you. yeah, thaaaat's it, let your boy fuck you nice and deep, make ya cream, juuuust like this."

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[dmitriene]

cw: hybrids, dubcon (?), trapping, knotting and things.

dog hybrid simon riley that tries to mount you, it's not his fault, it's his owner who's responsible for bringing a sweet, docile kitten in the house that already has a big dog, he's never showed his affection to any possible animals around, even to his own specie, how he should, but upon meeting you, soft, supple thing with groomed tail and fluffy ears, he remembers he has a cock to stuff and breed.

you expected him to scent you and then forget about you, after all, he's a scary dog, and the man that took you promised that he's lazy and wouldn't even bat an eye at you, but as soon as your feet touched the floor, simon bumped you down on the parquet floor with his whole, heavy weight, pressing his rugged mug between your legs, huffing out a terrifying, pleases groan, his tail wagging left and right.

it's led to you almost clawing his eyes out, hissing and scurrying as far away from him as possible, threatening that you'll slice his face if he'd try it again, defensive little thing, a sight that pulls a lopsided grin to his pale lips, making your fur stand up on your ears and body, forgetting about trying to make up friends, knowing best than talking to this horny mutt.

yet simon plays it off, acts as apologetic as he can, tucking his excited tail between his burly legs, lowers his ears down, almost manages to do these honeyed, puppy eyes when he passes you across the house, getting under your fur, by helping you, giving you his sleeping place while the owner orders a new one for you, even stoles some treats for you from the kitchen.

anything, just to lower your awareness of him, making you warm up to an unruly mutt and feel comfortable with and beside him, pushing his inappropriate behavior to pure curiosity, seeing that he ain't trying to do something like that again, even through there's a sleazy murkiness to his eyes you can't piece together, until your heat doesn't hits you.

you come to him willingly, padding from your bedding to his, where he's all sprawled out, deep asleep with rumbling snores, and your mind to hazy to comprehend what's happening, why it's so hot, why you're all leaky between your furry, supple thighs, plopping beside him with loud, needy purrs, as you rub against his whole body, ass perched out with your pretty, curving spine.

simon knew you'd come, waited for your heat to struck, for you to seek him as your comforter, nuzzle your adorable face with whiny mewls in his thick palm, he's not a patient dog, and he won't torture you by acting like he's asleep, so he rises and tugs you close, pressing you into his bed, making you arch sweet and sharp enough to present your needy, fluttering hole, messy with dripping slick.

he eats your pussy properly, messes his whole maw with your slick and creamy cum, nose pressed in your silken, soaking fur, while he flattens his rough, thick tongue against your puffy folds and bumpy, swollen clit, slurping down on you when he nudges at your slit, licking further to your clenching hole, stuffing you with at least something for a short time, preparing you for his knot.

you welcome his chubby cock properly, your hole tight, yet so slick that simon is able to sheathe himself along your rippling, pulsing walls in couple of squelchy slides, flicking his finger against your throbby, little bud of nerves, looking at the way you purr and meow in pleasure as he stretches you out, filling you so full your soft, little tummy bulges out from his girth.

simon will knock you up, knot your tight pussy nice, making you claw at his wide shoulders while he slobbers over your fluffy, plump tits, rough tongue torturing your perky nipples, suckling wet kisses on your tender body, that would be even more so after he'd make sure you're pregnant with his chubby pups, as you keen his name and plead him to breed you.

ears pressed tight to your head, flicking at each pound of his engorged, fattening cock in your leaking hole, rutting his thickening tip against your cervix, your spongy spot rubbing against his veiny shaft rapidly, making you writhe, turning his wide, muscular back in a mess of bleeding crescent scratches, as your long tail wraps around his leg, brushing against his thumping one, accepting simon's popping knot with pitchy meows and gushy hole.

your pregnancy would be an owners problem by the morning, when he'd stumble across you tucked against simon's solid chest, purring in your peaceful slumber after being sufficiently filled with loads of potent, thick cum, morning air filled with guttural, protective growls and clogging scent of sex, and it's seems like it's wouldn't be easy to make simon stay away from you from now on.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[sttoru]

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. nanami kento x pregnant wife!female reader. smut, pwp. cunnilingus. pregnancy kink kinda. not proof read. reader gets called ‘sweetheart, honey, darling’

kento nanami cannot leave you alone, even if you’re pregnant. he’s a natural provider and always wants the best for you. especially when you’re carrying his child—which he thanks you for every single day. one day he shows his appreciation through words of affirmation, the other day it’s with endless gifts.

this time it’s by relieving your stress underneath the table while you’re peacefully eating breakfast.

“fuck. . ken,” you tug at his hair with your free hand, the other holding the toast you’ve been nibbling on. your head rolls back and your breath comes out in short gasps as kento’s tongue flicks over your sensitive cunt.

you didn’t expect your morning to be like this, but you’re not complaining. kento always has to start off his day by worshipping your body in any type of way. he’ll rub your small baby bump while you’re cooking, whisper sweet nothings into your ear, kiss you all over while telling you how beautiful you look and even more.

this time his usual body worship had evolved into something more. from kissing your little pregnant belly and praising you for bearing his child, to him kneeling between your legs, slobbering all over your soaked pussy.

“i know, sweetheart. your dear husband will make you feel better, i promise,” kento coos, his voice muffled as his mouth collides with your glistening folds over and over again. he’s getting lost in your essence—the slick messily coating his lips.

his fingers rub your clit a little in the meantime, not forgetting to pleasure you to his best ability. your repetitive moans bounce off the walls of the kitchen, echoing in his ears. you sound like an angel and your body feels like one as well.

kento tries his best to keep his own grunts down. your cunt is dripping so much, amazing amounts of wetness cover his mouth to the point that it trickles down his chin. he’s without a doubt getting drunk on your essence.

the place between your thighs is considered a heaven on earth to the blonde man.

“mhh, are you feeling better, honey?” kento asks, opening his eyes halfway to look up at you, “am i pleasing my wife well?”

the sight of your husband kneeling in front of you, his hands holding your hips steady on the chair and his mouth ravaging your puffy folds makes you forget all about the morning sickness you’ve been complaining of.

“f-feels way too good,” your breath is shaky as you try to focus on eating. you can’t physically get that piece of bread to your mouth, your hand shaking from the pleasure you’re being granted. your pussy tingles and aches with each lick or suck—your hips trying to buck against kento’s mouth.

“that’s great,” kento murmurs, his nose bumping against the bundle of nerves that’s nestled between your folds. the place that makes you go wild, “that’s all i want.” you squeal and find yourself dropping your toast to place your other hand on kento’s head.

you tug at his hair and gain another groan from him. kento notices that you’ve stopped eating and he pulls away from your pulsing cunt for a second, kissing your inner thighs gently. “you need to eat up, darling,” kento’s hot breath hits your bare pussy as he stares at you with love and lust in his eyes, “you’re eating for two now after all.”

he taps your little bump and leans in to kiss your swollen skin. an affectionate smile appears on his handsome features, one that makes you melt immediately. you know kento won’t resume eating you out unless you take a bite of your food again.

“fine,” you pout and grab your toast. you take a small bite and at the same time, you feel kento’s lips kiss your core back. the tip of his tongue slithers up and down your slit, circling your pulsating hole before kissing your clit.

he’s taking his sweet time to make you cum. after all, this is meant to soothe and pleasure you. to take your mind off the negative aspects of your pregnancy. if there’s one thing kento can do as your man, as the father of your child, it’s to take care of you both mentally and physically, in any way you need.

“how about your breakfast, k-ken?” you ask through quick whines. your entire body feels like it’s on fire. kento’s large hands keep holding your body down on the chair so you wouldn’t have the chance to escape his loving gestures. your teary eyes look over the table, “your coffee is getting cold.”

kento chuckles at your worries. you’re selfless, even when he’s offered to pleasure you himself. he leaves a trail of kisses up and down your throbbing pussy, his saliva mixing with your slick and causing lewd strings of clear liquid to stick to his chin.

“don’t you worry. i got my breakfast right here,” kento answers softly while eating you out. every jaw movement is down with precision—it’s slow yet filled with passion. he slurps up any excess fluid every now and then, not caring if you’re making a mess on the chair or on his face.

kento smiles against your wetness when he hears you moan at his words. the way you look so ethereal, staring down at him with open lips, drooling a bit with bread crumbs staining the area around your mouth is absolutely endearing, “you’re so cute. keep looking at me, darling.”

you cannot believe this man. he’s so caring, so loving. you definitely chose the right person to marry and have children with. his rough fingers come up to rub your small baby bump again, not forgetting to show you his appreciation through subtle touches in the meantime.

“so sweet,” kento sighs as he swallows drops of your slick, “letting me take care of you like this . . . such a good wife.”

he’s getting drunk on you, definitely. the taste of your essence and the fact that you’re pregnant with his child right now—the fact that he’s the one who impregnated you and made you a soon-to-be mother—is driving him insane. his cock is dripping with pre-cum, ready to burst.

but, he’ll hold himself back for your sake. you’re going to be taken care of first since you’re his priority and always will be.

being pregnant is so worth it when your husband is kento nanami.

[chososrightnipple]

❝𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗽!❞ → c.k.

: ̗̀➛ overview: what starts out as a pussy job rarely ever ends that way. {1.5k words}

: ̗̀➛ tw; afab!reader w/no gendered language, pussy job turned more, praise, biting, choso is a liar but it's okay because he's choso, mentioned creampie.

── დ ──

"Please, baby, I jus' needa feel ya,"

Choso mumbled the saccharine words the second you had returned home from a mission. Honey coated tone luring you in, gentle touches draping a soft sense of security over you. A large hand grabbing at your waist and another cupping your chin. Tilting your head up and up and up until his pleading gaze was all you could see. Such a sight that it was almost impossible to deny him, his pleas, his promises.

"Just wanna feel your pretty pussy, don't even gotta put it in, just need'ta feel it," He had swore up and down, his half lidded eyes blinking lazily down at you. Lips ghosting over your pulse point and hands tugging at the waistband of your pants.

You were still so sore from the other night. But Choso had promised he'd give your body a break- if you just did this one thing for him, just this one thing. And you, stupidly, believed him.

And that's how you ended up were you are now.

Draped across his bed with your bottom half completely bare, the garments strewn messily somewhere in the hallway floor. Hands on either side of your head, fingers tensing and gripping at the wrinkled bedsheet. Your legs wrapping around Choso's waist as he thrusts upward, hips stuttering aimlessly.

His cock bullies its way between your soaked pussy lips, sinking into the pink flesh. Leaking tip just barely brushing your aching clit with every jerk of his hips. Your slick coats his cock so deliciously that he's practically vibrating above you, whines and soft gasps spilling from his lips like a mantra.

"Hah, fuck, so wet f'me, sweetheart." Choso whines against the crook of your neck. He licks at the bruised skin, sucking at various spots and sinking down his canines.

You groan at the feeling, torn between the subtle pleasure and the sharp pain. He brushes against your clit again and again and again. Choked exhales and small whimpers tumbling from your throat because even if he's not inside of you, his cock is somehow always hitting just the right places.

"Y/N," Choso gasps, and you can feel him twitch against you, "I.. Please,"

And now you're whining at that tone because you know that tone- and you know exactly what's coming next.

"Baby, 'm sorry, please," He pulls himself up from where he had been latched onto your neck, eyes glazed over as he coos, "J-Just the tip, I just- need it, need you,"

Choso's hand snakes down between your rutting bodies. Trailing down your chest, your stomach, your pelvis. Goosebumps following his touch, all the way down until his fingers are wrapping around the tip of his cock and lining himself up at your sopping entrance. The pressure feels fucking delicious.

"Cho', you promised," You smack a hand at his shoulder as his pointer fingers trails a faint circle around where his cock meets your skin.

He nods shakily, knowingly. He leans down, pressing chaste kisses across the expanse of your collarbones. An apology. "I know, I know, jus' can't take this, need more,"

You can feel the tremble of his hips against yours, the tense muscles of his thighs, the way his hand grasps at the bedsheet. He's like a man starved, and you're a buffet laid in front of him. He can't help but want more, more, more, more. Until he's taken everything you can give him and even then some.

The wave of desire that rolls over you has you nodding your head before you can think about what you're actually agreeing to. "J- Just the tip, okay?"

Choso damn near preens at the words. He rocks his hips into yours, a gleam in his eye that wasn't there before. "Pr- hah, ah- Promise."

He slowly, achingly, pushes past that ring of muscle, until you're squeezing around his tip- just the tip. His eyes fall shut, a shutter wracking his whole body. Fuck. You were going to be the death of him.

Choso stills himself for a few seconds. Forcing his hips in place as he sucks in a stuttered breath. He savors the feeling around him- you're needy pussy practically begging for him to sink in further, until he's balls deep inside of you and stretching you to the brim. The way you clench around the most sensitive part of him is terrifyingly addictive. He'll never get enough of it- never.

"Shit, gorgeous, y'feel that? Feel how tight your squeezin' me?" He purrs, and your walls clamp down around him even harder. You let out small ah! ah!'s that only spur the man on even further.

"F- Feels, hah, feels good, right?" Choso hums, and grinds himself into you. In and out, in and out, thrusts so small he's visibly shaking in the way he's trying to keep himself together. It's barely anything, but at the same time, it's too much- too much, you're pussy is too much, sucking him in too well, making him feel too good.

Choso's eyes swivel from your relaxed face to further down. Watching the way his head disappears inside of your walls, the way it pops out, only to greedily be pushed back in again. He watches how every thrust only gets you even wetter, to the point you're practically dripping around him.

He brings two fingers down, gathering the slick that pools around his cockhead. The sight is almost enough for him to cum on the spot. "S'wet for me, fuck,"

Choso slips his coated fingers past his lips and on to his tongue, sucking off your arousal like it's a drug and he hasn't had his fix in weeks. You watch the display with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, unwillingly to admit just how much he can do to you with such a simple gesture.

But that's okay, you don't need to say it- Choso groans as your cunt clamps down around him- he can feel it.

"You're so n- nasty," You stumble over the words. Your boyfriend laughs above you, bringing down his spit-slicked fingers and smearing them against your lips.

"All cause of you," He hums, languidly pushing the tip of his cock inside of you once more.

And he's content with this for awhile- really, he is, Listening to your hushed moans and stuttered words, eyes training on how hard you're pussy is clenching around him. It's enough for him, more than enough, he swears.

Until it's not.

Until you're hips are grinding down back against him and he's sinking inside just a little bit deeper- barely a centimeter, barely anything at all. But it's enough, god it's enough. For those floodgates to open and his thoughts to run wild and his cock to twitch at the mere ideas.

"Baby," He coos, and you're eyes are snapping open and looking up at him so pathetically that he could lose it right there, "Just- Lemme in some more, just- ah- Lemme make your pretty pussy feel good, baby, please,"

Choso is sinking deeper into your weeping cunt before you even have the chance to nod your head. It's like a switch flicking inside of him- finally getting a better taste of you, of how well you always take him, despite the burning stretch his cock always gives you. It drives him absolutely crazy. And despite the nails currently leaving red trails down his back, he's fully seated inside your perfect pussy in no time.

You always take him so fucking well.

"S'good baby, you're, hnngh- perfect," He babbles, back to licking and nipping and kissing at your neck. His twitching dick bullying its way inside of you over and over and over again, each time bottoming out just for a second before pulling back out again, only to slam back in.

And you know he promised, he swore just a touch, then just the tip. And if you were in your right mind you'd be scolding him for being such a liar- but when he's fucking you like this, it's hard to think of anything but his cock burrowing inside of you.

Stretching you to the brim, filling you up in ways that always leave you breathless and wanting more, more, more, until he's practically molded your walls to the shape of him.

"Cho!" You're grasping at anything you can, trying to find any semblance of reality. Tugging at his hair and scratching at his shoulders, pulling him closer and closer to you. A lifeline.

"I know, baby, I know," He soothes, apologetically pressing chaste kisses to your forehead. He feels so bad, turning you into such a mess on his cock. He just can't help it, he never can. You're too easy to eat up. And he's always hungry for you. "Takin' me- hah- so well."

Every clench of your walls against Choso is torturous. He can feel every curve, and inch of your pussy, clamping down around him so hard that he's practically being milked dry. It's dangerous- he's being dangerous, playing a dangerous game, he knows that, he really does. But your pussy is fucking heavenly, and it's enough to break a man. Break him.

"L- Let me... Hah-, darling, don't be mad," Choso whines against your skin, and it's enough for your pussy to start weeping, knowing what's in store, "Need to cum inside, baby, let me fill you up, please,"

[avocado-writing]

cutman

turns out I’m gonna keep being horny for hugh jackman. had a crush on him when I was 10 and I guess that hasn’t changed almost 20 years later. anyway here’s a fic where he’s in a cage fight and you’re his cutman xoxo

pairing: wolverine x reader

rating: explicit

cws: blood, injury details, smut (dirty talk, semi-public sex, rough sex)

The bell rings and Logan staggers back to you, the roar of the crowd meaning you have to get close in order to be heard. You grab ahold of his biceps and manoeuvre him into a chair. He goes without complaint, any effort to resist having to be reserved for the actual fight itself. Opposite him, the other guy goes to grab a glass of water and you are once again reminded of his sheer mass; he’s twice Logan’s size and built like a fucking freight train. He catches you watching and hits you with a greasy smile, and you turn in disgust back to your lover. 

“How you holding up, honey?” you ask Logan, quickly glancing him over, getting a grunt in reply as he tries to refocus. He looks pretty bad. Bruising is flowering on his face and there’s a nasty gash on his forehead which is bleeding freely. You know he’ll heal up quick on his own, but you still get to work - pressing the ice-cold enswell to the worst of the spreading purple and dabbing at the blood with an epinephrine-soaked cotton swab. 

You’ve been called the best cutman in the business. This is true, but the fact your primary patient can heal himself up is probably a bit of a bonus too. For Logan, you’re mostly here to soothe; soothe and observe. 

“Okay, you’ve fucking got him, Logan. He’s weak on his left. He keeps trying to lead with his right hand which isn’t his dominant, I think he’s holding back because you’ve fucked his shoulder. If you don’t let him distract you, you can finish him off. You hear me?”

He focuses up at the smell of chemicals, eyes hazily locking in on you. Silhouetted by the grimy lights of this place, his vision not quite sharp yet, you have the hazy glow of a halo around you. An angel sent for him. The closest to heaven he’ll ever be. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, a bloodied hand coming up to caress your face. You smile despite the smear of red he leaves on your cheek with his fingertips, clasping him close. You press a kiss into his palm.

“What did I say, handsome? Stay with me.”

“Don’t let him distract me. Go for his left.”

“Atta boy,” you say with a grin, one which Logan manages to mirror despite still feeling slightly concussed, your praise like a shot of adrenaline. You surge forward to kiss him and he meets you with enthusiasm. He’s drunk on the moment, on the fight, on you. You can taste the copper as your tongue slides against his, the roughness of his beard scraping your cheeks. The crowd cheers leerily but you both ignore it. You and him, that’s all there is, the pinprick of your existence in this vast world. 

“I fucking love you,” he growls against your mouth. You nip at his lower lip, catching it for a second between your teeth in a promise of what’s to come later. 

“Finish this guy off and take me home, Logan. I’ll fucking die if you’re not inside me tonight.”

When you pull back you will be wearing his blood as lipstick, warpaint; a reminder that you belong to each other. 

He snarls, half-feral, and you think he might just take you there in the cage, in front of everyone who’s come to watch him fight. But the bell goes again to signal the start of the final round, and Logan staggers back to his feet instead. 

He doesn’t even get you home. 

When the fight is won and you’re hoarse from cheering his victory, he drags you into one of the dingy little bathrooms. It’s dark and definitely not soundproofed but the two of you don’t care. You run your tongue along that delicious vein in his bicep, tasting the salt off of his hot skin, and he grips your thighs so hard you know that he will leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints. 

“Mark me up, Logan. Let everyone see who I belong to, baby.”

“Fuck, such a dirty little mouth,” he growls, but you can hear the gruff chuckle in there too. He lifts you onto the sink like you weigh nothing, tearing at your belt and jeans so that he can get proper access to you. He’s rock hard, cock straining in his hand as he pulls himself out, and you wonder if he’s been this turned on since before the last round. 

Usually you’d sink to your knees and encourage him to fuck your throat, let him bring you to tears before he made it up to you, but he has no such patience now. He needs to sheathe himself in you, find your tight heat and bury himself there again and again. He’s about to push inside when you grab his forearm. 

He looks up with a glint of worry in his eye. You know, just for a second, that he thinks he’s hurt you. He’d stop if you asked him to, sweet little puppy. Instead you give him another ferocious kiss. 

“I wanna turn around. Wanna watch you fuck me.” You nod to the dirty mirror over the sink and he makes a deep noise of agreement in the back of his throat, manhandling you so you can brace yourself on the porcelain. 

You moan as he fucks inside of you with one vicious push, throwing your head back to reflect the long line of your neck. You see mirrored the dual look of feral desire and total adoration in his face as he fucks you like he’s been challenged to make your legs stop working. Holding on the best you can, you watch his injuries from the fight heal slowly, wounds stitching closed by themselves, bruises receding from purple to brown to nothing at all. It’s that sort of regeneration that makes him beg for you to draw blood when you bite him as you fuck, just to leave the proof on his body a little longer that you’ve been there. That you’ve loved him. 

“Fucking love you, Logan,” you cry out as he slams so hard into you he threatens to break the fucking sink. He leans over and grabs you by the hair, moving your face so that he can kiss you with more teeth and tongue than lips. You love it. 

“Mine,” he chokes. You wrap your little hands round one of his, bloodied and rough. 

“Mine,” you echo back, sinking your teeth in. 

[chamomiletealeaf]

Thinking about big dicked Simon Riley who knows how big he is and loves to tease you about it.

It's always a hassle to get you ready for him, his tip and nearly a whole bottle of lube stretching you out for what seems like forever just to take him.

He's very patient and smug the whole time while you whine frustratedly wishing you could just ride him already.

"Aww it's ok love, I know. We'll get that cute, tight, little pussy all stretched for me. Promise I'll fuck you baby." He coos with a smirk on his face. He loves being so big and making you dumb for his fat, thick cock.

When he finally gets himself inside you fully, you gasp and whine at the sudden feeling of your cunt sucking the rest of him in, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He would definitely take pictures of how big his dick looks inside of your sweet pussy and how you take it so well for him.

When you can finally move, you start to ride him, finally being able to loosen up more than the death grip your cunt had on him not allowing either of you to move. You start to bounce on him and the two of you watch how his cock bulges your tummy.

He feels so fucking good stretching you out and hitting every spot no normal size dick, dildo, or your fingers ever could.

You bounce on his cock, eyes rolling back while tears roll down your cheeks from the pleasure while your cunt makes a sucking noise, sucking him right back in after pushing him out.

"Ooh yeah, that's a lot of fucking cock isn't it love. Taking it so well for me in that tiny little cunt." He praises with the most smug smirk on his face, watching as you near lose consciousness from how stupid his cock makes you feel.

Sucking him off and feeling the weight of him on your tongue is enough to soak your panties. He loves to tease you and smack your tongue and cheeks with his cock and how big it is making you moan.

When you finally start to suck him off you can barely even take it halfway he's just so thick, so you have to use both of your hands to take what you can't fit.

"Cock too big for that pretty little mouth? C'mon you can take it. That's it. That's my girl. Swallowing my cock down so good for me like that."

OR

Big dicked Simon Riley who is shy and self conscious about the size of his cock because he thinks it would be too difficult for someone to take :(

But as you straddle him on the couch, kissing up his neck and cooing at him, trying to convince him that he won't hurt you and you can take it, he feels a little bit more confident.

He blushes and hides his face with his arm thrown over his eyes when he feels you pull out his cock as well as the little gasp that came from you as you realized that he wasn't lying when he said he was big.

You pull him out from his jeans and he's already hard, his cock so heavy it thumps against his tummy if you don't hold it for him.

"W- We don't have to if you changed your mind, I know it's big so I could jus-" He tries to avoid eye contact with you trying to come up with another solution on how you two can still fuck but you shush him by shoving your thumb in his mouth.

He immediately quiets and sucks on your thumb as you start to pump him.

"Shh, none of that. I can take it. Gonna make you feel good honey don't you worry." You say reassuring him, and you laugh when you feel his cock twitch at your words.

He's such a sweet boy :(

[freedomfireflies]

Our Place*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where Harry invites you back to his apartment for the first time and it doesn't go as planned.

Word Count: 1.7k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, breeding kink, angst (happy ending), use of a safe word

Harry’s apartment is nicer than you expected. 

The furniture is cozy, the décor is unique, and his bedroom is well kept. He even has fresh flowers on his kitchen table. 

It surprised you, even though it shouldn’t. Harry doesn’t seem like a dirty guy, but truthfully, you were still shocked to find he had both sheets on his bed and no clothes on the ground.

You take in the tiny details of his life as he kisses down your neck and slips his fingers into your jeans. He’d wrangled you onto the bed only seconds after you walked through the door. He didn’t want to give you a tour of the whole apartment. Just the bedroom. Which you were more than all right with. 

He’s oddly desperate, given the circumstances. Maybe he always is, but tonight feels different. Tonight feels…hopeful.

“Shit, Tink,” he groans into your ear when he feels how wet you’ve become. “S’this just because you rode my bike?”

You gently swat the back of his head. “Stop it.”

“What?” He noses under your jaw. “Felt you squirming back there, Princess. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice how you were trying to get yourself off to the vibrations?”

You wince. You didn’t even realize you’d been doing it. “I was not, I was just…the adrenaline was a lot—”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs and something about it sounds like honey. “S’fine, baby. You know I don’t mind.”

“Well…I wasn’t—”

“Sure. Can I fuck you now?”

You huff. “That’s why I’m here.”

He rips your jeans down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder and somewhere onto the floor. The warm air feels good and it’s then that you realize he’s right. You’re soaked, all the way through your panties.

But instead of taunting you further, he only tugs them aside and pulls his cock out. 

“I think…” he murmurs as he lines himself up, “…it’s high time I got you pregnant.”

Your mouth falls open in a moan as he drops a glob of spit onto your clit and pushes in.  

You’ve noticed that his breeding kink makes an appearance more often than not these days. Which you aren’t exactly complaining about. After all, you have one, too. Mostly thanks to him.

But it surprises you all the same as he starts to work himself in and out of your tight cunt, whispering the filthiest promises. 

“Think I won’t do it, hm? I will. Swell this pretty belly with my cum. S’what it was made for, wasn’t it? To take me. Have my babies. Gonna stretch you so pretty…get your tits leaking. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you, Princess?”

You try to respond but how can you? You feel as though you’ve been fucked dumb. Unable to hear anything past the pounding of blood in your ears.

His glasses start to slip down his nose. He almost always takes them off—they’re mostly for reading anyway. But you like the look of them. Like how studious it makes him seem...how scandalous.

So, you nudge them back up. Desperate to see him exactly the way he always is.

He smirks. “You all right there, Tink?”

You nod weakly. “Yes…yeah. M’fine.”

“Thinking about what I said?” He kisses down your chest. “Thinking about calling me Daddy for real? Having our babies?"

Our. A word you didn’t think belonged to you. Because Harry doesn’t belong to you. And you don’t belong to him. You’re two separate people. Even when you fuck, he’s in his world and you’re in yours. You weren’t meant to be an “our.”

You chalk this up to a slip of the tongue. Something you say when you're threatening to breed someone. And you choose not to give it any power. Because you know what happens if you do.

The fucking gets harder. Faster. He’s chasing a high. In fact, he's been chasing it since earlier in the bar when he saw you with another man. And you know he’s trying to hold off for you, but he wants to cum. He wants to paint your belly with his seed and fuck it back in. Wants to make good on his word even if he shouldn’t.

Your nails scratch down his back, damp and covered in sweat. But his muscles feel good in your hands and you whimper as you hike a leg over his hip and bury him in your pussy.

In your lust-filled haze, your attention drifts. Head rolling to the side as you focus on the soft grunts in your ear. 

But then, your eyes find something on his dresser.

Your heart stops.

In fact, everything stops. Your breathing, your noises, your gentle rolls to meet his thrusts.

It all stops. And you whisper, “Red.”

He quickly falls still. A rather impressive feat given how anxious he is to find release. From 100 to 0 in only seconds, and you almost feel guilty as you sense him glance at you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks through labored inhales. “What…what happened, what do you want me to do?”

But you don’t look back. You keep your focus on the piece of furniture in the corner of his room and you will yourself not to cry.

Eventually, he looks, too. And when he realizes, the air in the room shifts.

He lets out a soft sigh and drops his hand to your hip. Squeezing it once. “Tink…”

You say nothing. Tears are pooling behind your lashes and your chest feels tight. 

“Tink,” he tries again, firm. His grip tightens on your waist. “Tinkerbell—"

“She’s beautiful,” you breathe. You take in a soft gasp. “Oh, my god, Harry, she’s…she’s so beautiful.”

He’s quiet for only a moment. “Yeah. She was,” he agrees gently.

You can’t take your eyes away from the picture frame. The guilt is so much worse now than it was before. Your heart is in your throat, in your ears, lying on the floor next to your jeans. 

You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. In his bed—their bed—fucking the man she died loving. While he promises to get you pregnant and give you his babies.

And how is he so calm? How the fuck is he looking at her picture while still inside of you instead of screaming at you to leave his apartment? How can he be okay with cheating on her with you?

“Princess,” he says again, and grabs onto your jaw to force your focus back to him. “Talk to me, what do you want me to do?”

Your lashes flutter. “What?”

“You said red,” he reminds you. “Which means we stop. But I need to know if you’re in pain or if I can pull out?”

It takes a moment for you to blink the fog from your mind and understand. But when you do, your stomach wrenches. “I…wait, shit, I…I want you to finish, I just…I saw her photo, and—”

“I know,” he interrupts softly. He gives you a gentle smile. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been there. But red means stop. And we’re gonna honor that. No matter why you said it.”

You whimper. “Harry, wait—”

“I’m gonna pull out,” he says, ignoring your plea. “And then we’re gonna talk—”

“Harry…Harry come on, you can’t—”

But he does. Even though he winces as slips himself out, teeth gritting together to keep from coming. 

But once he’s out, he delicately closes your legs, and sits beside you. “Okay,” he begins. He keeps your eyes on him. “What’s going on up there?” 

He nods at your forehead and you want to cry. “Nothing, I just…I…”

“You’ve never seen her before.”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so.”

“And you weren’t expecting to see her now,” he says for you. “Especially when we were fucking.”

You sniffle. “It felt like we were cheating. Like I was helping you hurt her. And then…and then I got worried that maybe you only brought me back here so you could pretend I was her. You know? With all the stuff about…about babies…and us, and…and—”

“Okay, breathe,” he instructs. He cups your cheek and presses his thumb to your trembling lips. “Breathe, Tink. Slow.”

Forced to obey, you suck in shallow gasps for air until your heart rate slows and your head doesn’t feel so dizzy.

Pleased, he says, “I know you’re not her, Tink. I don’t want you to be.”

Your expression softens.

“I brought you here because you’re the only person I want to see in the place she once lived,” he continues. His voice is strong. Steady. Like he’s given this far more thought than you anticipated. “After she died, I left it the same. I didn’t touch anything. Not the furniture she picked out. Not the dumb, cute little bowls she insisted we buy. Not the coffee pot that doesn’t work but she loved because she swore it made her coffee taste better. None of it.”

The tears fall down your cheeks, fast and without mercy. 

“I didn’t invite people over because I wanted to pretend she still lived here,” he tells you. “I wanted it to still be our place. Not just mine. And the thought of bringing someone else back here felt…wrong.”

You grab onto his wrist to keep his hand close and he smiles. 

“And then you,” he murmurs, dipping down to nuzzle his nose against yours. A display of affection you’d never expect from him. “And yeah, you’re annoying, and I hate you. But she would have fucking loved you.”

You nearly sob. 

“I want you here,” he says. “I want to talk about getting you pregnant and having our babies. I want to fuck you on this bed and I want to make you cry for a very different reason.”

You laugh through the tears.

“Look, I don’t believe in guardian angels and an afterlife and all that shit,” he admits. “But sometimes, I swear she sent you to me. And yeah, I probably should have moved the picture first. That was my fault, I haven’t had anyone in here in a while. But…you’re not her, Tink. You’re you. And that’s exactly who I want you to be.”

You can’t stop the next wave of emotion as you sling your arms around his neck and pull him close. He chuckles in your embrace but doesn’t fight you. He holds you, too. For as long as you both need.

“I hate you, too,” you finally whisper.

He smiles.

“Harry?”

“Mm?”

“…can we please finish now?”

He leans back to see you. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” You kiss him. “After all, you promised to get me pregnant. And I can’t leave until you do, Daddy."

The groan against your lips is delicious and devious.

And it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

“As you wish.”

WHY DID THIS MAKE ME WANT TO CRY!!! ALSO HI I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!

Previous Part:

~ The one where Harry gets jealous (again)

~ Full 404 Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin

@justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda

@vamprry @fdl305 @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach

@lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana

@dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley

@myalovesharry @daphnesutton @love-letters-to-uranus @kirstiea05 @lovrave

@nuggetdean @triski73 @finelinesss

[unwantedtomost]

so dirty — miguel o’hara

dbf!miguel o’hara x fem!reader

word count: 888

summary: miguel, who just so happens to be your dad’s best friend, fucks you in a bthroom

warnings: dirty talk, degradation, unprotected sex (i’m back to my old ways)

a/n: hehe two in like a day? look at me go. send me requests because i need more ideas.

“We shouldn’t do this,” came out of your voice in a tired tone. You tried to fight it but it got harder every time. How could you fight something that felt so right?

“I know, amor.”

Then he kissed you and you stopped fighting. 

Things got dirtier every time he touched you. The first time he kissed you he was so soft, so delicate. He touched you like he thought you could fall apart in his hands. Now he was bending you over the bathroom sink with the whole neighborhood in the backyard—not to mention your father, his best friend. He still loved you all the same, you never doubted it for a moment. Something about the switch felt right. This was a dirty little secret, not a Romeo and Juliet love affair. It was meant to be dirty.

He used to kiss every inch of your naked body, muttering how much he loved you every time his lips left your skin. It was a harsh comparison to how he shoved your panties to the side and rubbed his rough fingers up and down your slit.

“You’re soaking,” he stated with pride. “This all for me, honey?”

“‘Course it is, Miguel.” Sometimes you try to be soft in times like this. He’d give you a small smile then it would leave. His eyes were hungry, you almost felt like prey.

“‘Course it is,” he repeated before bending you forward.

He spit on his hand, pumping himself a few times. He rubbed the head of his dick against your clit, causing you to shutter. So dirty.

“Beg for it.” Your brows knitted together, giving him a confused look in the mirror. “You heard me. Beg for it.”

“Give it to me,” you demanded, standing your ground.

His large chest was flush against your back, his chin grabbing your chin and making you look into his eyes. His lips brushed against your ear and his other hand gripped your hip like a vice. “I said beg. Or we’re going back downstairs right now.”

It wasn’t the worst threat in the world but at some point these little hookups became something you needed. He knew that. He felt the same way too.

“Please, Miguel,” you whined. “I love you so much. Need to feel ya inside me so badly. I promise to be such a good girl. I promise. I’ll be such a good girl.”

The tiniest smile came to his lips as he saw the tears lightly brewing in your eyes. God, how he loved you. He planted a sweet kiss on your temple. “Such a good girl, only for me, yeah?”

“Only for you.”

Suddenly, the head of his member entered your entrance. You gasped, causing his hand to clasp over your mouth. “Got to be quiet, amor, yeah? We can’t have anyone find out what a dirty little whore you are for me.” He quickly pushed the rest of his length inside of you. You screamed into the palm of his hand, gripping down on the countertop.

“Fuck, princess. Best damn pussy I’ve ever had. Such a good fucking girl.”

His thrusts were brutal and you loved every second of it. Something about the strange circumstances made something dormant in Miguel come out. He said the dirtiest things. His mouth sputtering whatever came to mind as he pounded into you like both of your lives depended on it.

“Letting me fuck you while half the neighborhood is in the backyard. You wanted me that bad. You’d let me fuck you anywhere, wouldn’t you, honey? Want to be my little fuckdoll. Let me take you wherever I want. As long as we don’t get caught, right?”

You nodded vigorously as your eyes screwed shut, your head resting on Miguel’s shoulder. He let you stay like that for a while until his fingers started to rub your clit.

“Look at me,” he cooed. You had no choice but to pry your eyes open and look at the disheveled state of the man you were falling in love with. “Keep looking at me when I make you cum on my dick. Look so fucking beautiful.”

You had to use your last amount of strength to keep your eyes open, losing all control of the noises coming out of your mouth. Both of you were glad that his hand was clamped over your mouth. You tried to hold back your orgasm just a little bit, something you did often in these scenarios, you wanted to hold on just a little bit longer.

But it was always impossible. As soon as he figured out what you were doing, his fingers worked quicker.

“Please, cum for me baby,” he begged. And how could you refuse him? Quickly the coil snapped and you turned to absolute putty in his hands. “I love you, honey. I love you so much.” He whispered in your ear as he came inside of you. “Love you so fucking much.”

Slumped there, panting, you had that terrible wave of realization of the predicament you were in. Doomed to be in love with a man you could never really be with. Banished to a life of dirty secret hookups in bathrooms. But you didn’t need to worry about that now. Not when he was smiling at you.

“I love you too.” 

[astralnymphh]

18+ servicetop!ellie who has a terrible obsession with stretching you with her fingers. horny and prying for some attention—your girlfriend is already one step ahead. you imagine how soaked you must appear as her hands prop you open, eyes staring softly down there. to be judged, percieved, and asked, “what got you like this?” in that breathy, honeyed voice, is a little tincture of humiliation; you feel yourself growing wetter, and wetter on the fingers that smooth the slick around. soiling the fabric. always accompanied by questions that guide her act. “hey, don't be embarassed to ask me,” sweetening the whole thing with laughter. “what do you want me to do?”

she swallows, throat bobbing as she peels your underwear up, taking your legs with her. they get littered in kisses, following the fabric. you fold them and reconstruct the splayed position she put you in, and she reaches for your hips, grasping the flesh of them in a promising, bruising hold.

those grips etch her excitement for this thing; trying to fill her palms with as much as possible as her tongue cleans your clit, getting all stupid when you give jerky directions that barely leave your lips. a finger slips into your wetness, and invites another when she earns the exact noise that praises her. “fuck,” you shudder, and your body wants to cocoon her.

“yeah?” her tongue folds out at the end of that word, licking a heady stroke. the position lets you see everything; she intends for you to see the shiny corners of her lips, messy with your juices, when she rises and feasts on your thigh, or flashes you a smirk. undeniably concentrated on leaving reminders. phantom, or physical. her brows quirk when she takes you in her mouth again, stretching you with a sneaky third. it takes everything in her not to ask if she can stretch you with something different—something thicker.

her heart pounds in between your legs. she goes insane defiling you this way, raw with her tongue, at your fucking messiest. no way her pleasantly freckled existence caused this; she thinks she looks rather dumb throughout the day. squinting in glasses, poking out her tongue piercing. so unable to concentrate on serious things. but, in bed, she totally can.

you feel her fingers curling against your walls, searching for bliss. a twitch rushes through you when she presses it, and treats you to a pumping of it, eyes bolting shut. “god, babe, m'gonna come.” you bite your lips, enrage the skin. she pulls away to question you, “wanna do it on my fingers?” watching you with an open mouth and eyes dilated with lust. you nod, and she releases a long-held curse, flicking her lashes down. her knuckles—ringed with arousal—push in an inch deeper, creating a squelch each time she pumps out and in and rolled her wrist in a practiced manner that finished you and pulled an immaculate moan out of you, a warm gush trickling down her palm. “fuck, that's it baby.” she throbs at the sight.

credit to the lovely @/ellieabbyy for the ellie picture. now time to write vice versa!

[coveholdenmyluv]

R. Braun - Honey Soaked Promises

synopsis. In which you reminisce on your quest for revenge, irrigated with broken promises and fermented with betrayal, allowing you to act as the judge between life or death for yourself and the viper dressed in the skin of the love of your life.

— or alternatively, in which you make the stupid decision to fall in love with the wrong person on your journey to freedom...

Oh well, you'll just have to kill him now.

series masterlist

chapter warnings. Unrequited love, angst, mourning/grieving, (our girl is going thru it), comfort, fluff.

chapter synopsis. Eren asks you a question that you don’t know how to answer. Then, you’re forced to endure a day of anguish.

IV| Snowmen and Candles. 10k words.

“His honeyed eyes seemed to shift a shade deeper, the vibrant saffron flame reflected its visage onto his pupils, a sight that brought among the warmth to your insides once again.”

Or, maybe you would.

Year 851

The sand seeps between your toes as you stroll along the shore, careful not to pierce the skin of your soles with the stray fragmented shells littered across the ground. Your fingers fly to the band on your head, slipping it out of your hair, seeing as it was deemed useless to prevent your long strands from tickling your face by the harsh but invigorating breeze that drew in with the waves.

Your eyes stayed locked on the caliginous ocean to your left that could be seen as terrifying and intimidating, but held an entirely unexplored world and connected you to uncharted lands. That could never been seen as terrifying to you, not anymore.

The ocean in daylight and the ocean bathed in moonlight were two vastly contrasting concepts — with the vivid hues of cerulean and gold, and the dusky shades of mercury and navy blues. One is reminiscent of Armin and the warmth he exudes, simply by living and sharing his mien. And the other, of Mikasa and the unwavering pillar of loyalty she provides, not to mention the blanket of security.

Now though, at the hours between night and day, the sea reminds you of Jean — for it melts the sense of security and warmth into one, and doesn't require you to throw on a warm jacket, neither would it force you to tie your hair back in search for a refreshing gust of air. The colors almost looked like the work of a spontaneous artist, ranging from intense and coruscating to dusky and chasmic.

The sea is pulchritudinous and enigmatic.

"How do you do it?"

Your eyes fluttered towards the sudden voice, so familiar to your ears. Just as you had expected, though unaccompanied by a pair of socks or shoes, the brunet peered up at your form, his dark hair delicately tucked behind his ears and lidded jade eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Very rarely, have you ever referred to those eyes as jade. But recently, there was no other word you could use to describe his serpentine irises.

"What are you yappin' about, Eren?" You ask, amusingly.

Laying his palm on the void spot beside him, he gestured for you to take it, which you obliged and took the time to dig a pit in the wavering sand for your feet to lay warmly in.

"Every time I'm thinking hard about something or am at a loss, to the point where my head throbs, you appear out of thin air." He explains, which causes your brow to contort in uncertainty. His words always seemed to have an extra, hidden, layer of meaning behind them.

"Sorry?"

Your response causes his eyes to roll jovially, before they settle back onto your face. "It's not a bad thing, silly. I don't mind it."

Your gaze settles back onto the horizon, noting the way the colors have seemed to deepened since the last you had ogled the scene. It shouldn't be too long before the sun completely takes its leave and trades shifts with the moon.

"Me neither." You state softly.

Eren's eyesight follows your own, before he speaks your thoughts aloud. "It's a nice day, or I guess, a nice sunset. Though it's getting dark already."

"Yeah, it is. The ocean seems, for lack of a better word, prettier than usual lately. Summer should be coming soon." You commented, your smile gentle in the remaining light of the late afternoon sun.

"Right." He agreed. "Are you planning to bring him for a visit anytime soon? He'd love to paint the sky at dawn." He suggested before the smallest chuckle, if it could even be considered that, escaped his lips at his next words. "I bet we'd have to bribe him to get any sleep. Maybe with that paint made from seashells that he keeps talking about."

At the mention of the boy who remained back behind the safety of the inner walls, a fond grin formed on your lips. "Even then, we'd take our eyes off of him for one second and the next thing we know, he somehow dragged himself back to the shore — with the paint we bribed him with too." You mention light heartedly. "Sometimes, I swear he's part merman."

Eren hums in amusement, and it's a small sound that seemed to be the most anyone could get out of him these days. You tossed and turned at night sometimes, pondering what had caused such a sudden shift in his demeanor. What had caused his eyes to sullen and the intricate stroma of his irises ingrained into them to deepen into that cataclysmic shade of jade? Perhaps they had always been that color, but if that were the case, what was it about his eyes before that had caused you to view them so differently?

The eyes truly are the windows to one's soul, though they aren't as pellucid as it would seem, for the existence of affliction and desolation always expelled sweltering steam and fog that obscured your view.

"Something is wrong, Eren." You admitted in as fragile of a voice as you could conjure, in fear you would cause him to pull away, just as he usually would when anyone would point out the obvious.

With his gaze trained intently on the darkening horizon, not sparing you a glance, he questions your words. "What do you mean?"

Tilting your head in an attempt to draw his attention to yourself, you state, "You know what I mean."

He does. His expression tells you so. Still, he did not relent. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Growing impatient and with urgency bubbling in the broth of your guts, you do not allow yourself to falter. "Cut the crap, Eren. There's somethin' you're not telling us about, and I want to know what it is."

His gaze fell to his lap, expression not gifting you a single key into his thoughts. "Nothing is wrong. I have everything under control." His voice said, vacantly so.

You were desperate, yearning for a window that he had somehow left open, for you to enter his mind. Eren was a person you held so near and dear to your heart, he was there continuously at one of the lowest moments of your life. And he is hurting, he is falling into a hollow crater located in the pits of his soul, as deep as the body of water before you, and he is doing it alone. But he shouldn't have to, not when you were right there in front of him.

You place your hand onto his arm and nudge him gently to face your way, "Don't do that, you're deflecting." You pointed out. "You can talk to us." You reassured him, before your eyes attempted to meet his yet again, and they implored for him to concede. "You can talk to me."

How do you help someone that does not want to be helped?

"I promise you, I've got it all under control."

"That's not what I'm asking. That's not what I care about." You state, unyieldingly, and willing to forget the empty promise he has just made to you, even knowing how meaningful those are to you.

His eyes moved to meet yours, the familiar intricate lines of his irises presenting themselves to you, unashamedly. "What do you care about?" He inquired.

Without a single ounce of hesitation, you state, "You."

If he felt any warmth from that revelation, he didn't show it. His brows stay furrowed as his stare intensified, as if he could read you like a book. "Is caring for me all that you feel?" He asks.

Your eyes soften as you answer his question, not phased by the slight change in your conversation. "No, of course not. I love you."

His face drew in closer to your own, and for the first time in what felt like a millennium, his eyes shed the barriers blocking you from entering the windows to his soul, like a reptile shedding skin. You could see him, all of him. He was begging you to say what he yearns to hear.

"In what way?"

Your breath falters, and your head subconsciously moves closer, enough to rest your forehead against his. You wish you could grant him what he truly wanted you to say. Without a doubt, your feelings towards the boy were not minuscule in size, you had meant what you said earlier, and that truth would reign until your last breath. You longed to bring him freshly picked daisies on your rare strolls across green fields, where you would invite him to lay with you and watch the stars. You want to be able to cry with him and share the baggage you both carry, and to not let yourselves handle any burden alone. Eren was the boy you wanted to fall in love with, to have him in the most secure place in your heart and never think to replace him.

You wish you loved Eren Jaeger, the way that he loves you. You wish you loved him instead.

But those daisies would never blossom and flourish as beautifully as they once did when you admired them years ago, and those stars would never gleam and radiate you adoring messages as they once did not so long ago, and you couldn't cry with him because just as you had with the aforementioned activities, you had already done so with someone else. Eren could not secure that sacred place in your heart, for that place was already taken.

"Eren." You whisper. You want to convey how sorry you truly are, but you don't have the heart to.

"Please Y/N," He pleads in a hushed tone, before his warm hand grasps your own, "I need to know."

Oh, how you love Eren Jaeger; unfortunately for him and for yourself, you are not in love with him.

How do you tell someone that your hearts still calls for the honeyed pools that cleaved through your soul and placed you at your worst. That you long for the sweet nectarine taste of his lips and the warmth his body exudes when sat under the sun, beside a brisk and anarchic river. That you hate the fact that, despite his sins against the people you care the most for, the imprint and memories that he left behind did not halt their daily tour around your mind.

The brutal truth is, you don't. You warp them like wet clay and force them in the caverns of your very being, not even admitting it to yourself, in fear of cementing those facts as exactly that, facts.

It feels like hours, which in actuality was merely minutes, before you properly garner your thoughts. You handpick your words like you pick berries and swallow the ones you deem useless, until you feel prepared to speak the naked truth towards the boy who desperately wants you to do the opposite.

"Y/N, we've been looking everywhere for you!" Jean shouts from a distance, his palms cupped around his mouth for projection. "Eren?" He voices his curiosity as he finally noticed that you weren't alone. "What are you guys doing?" He questions suspiciously.

Your parted mouth, set to speak your truth, halts midair at the sudden intrusion and you wonder why you hadn't detected his presence before. Both of your foreheads part in surprise, as well as your hands, and you turn to face the, now approaching, fawn haired boy. "Gods Jean. Don't do that." You scold.

The teenager simply looks from you to Eren in succession, his eyes conveying the questions he has yet to voice aloud. Knowing him, he'd definitely submit you to an interrogation the moment he deemed it right to, which you would immediately yield to. "Right... my bad." He replied without much regret, in fact he was most likely glad that he intruded when he did.

"Did you need something?" Eren asks, not even sparing the other boy a glance, simply returning his gaze where it had laid before your conversation — the sun now nowhere to be seen, a canvas of navy blue replacing where it had once stood. He did not appreciate Jeans arrival.

"Yes, obviously." Jean states, before focusing his attention on you. "Y/N, there are some new recruits that are looking to change up their hair styles. Connie mentioned your name and now there's a whole line of them-" He began, before the interrupter became the interrupted.

"It was not just me! Armin said so too!" Connie defended from afar, sometimes you swore that Sasha's abnormal hearing had somehow spread to him over the years.

The blonde mentioned by the second intruder waltzed down the shore behind him with an apologetic wince on his face, his lustrous locks bouncing with every bounding step he takes. "That's true. I'm sorry, I didn't know so many would be interested." He admits. "In my defense, I only mentioned it but those two really drove it home."

"Of course." You quip. "How could Sasha not be involved in the plotting of my demise?" A small smile formed on your face at the appearance of your friends. Your family.

Her cackles were heard before she made her appearance, such a buoyant one too. "Blame Mikasa!" She deflects, her index fingers pointing to the unbothered girl beside her. "She was the one that started your career in the first place!"

"I had nothing to do with the current situation." The ravenette states, shifting her head to playfully glare at Sasha.

"Wow, the waves are really calm tonight." Armin mentions his observation, his eyes always being drawn towards the sea and all that it offered.

You hummed, "I noticed that too."

"Perfect! I've been wanting to go for a swim since yesterday." Sasha announces as she trudged closer to the water.

"You don't even know how to swim." Jean tells her.

"I can learn." The girl states and you expected for some amount of preparation, or at the very least for her to take her shoes off, but this was Sasha. She did not care if her belongings sullied because of the salt embedded into the water.

"Sasha!" Armin yells in disbelief, "Your clothes!- and she can't hear me because she's underwater." He shook his head in disapproval. "The captain's not gonna be happy about this."

Resurfacing, with her hair bangs clinging to her face and lashes clumped together by the water, she beckons your group to join her. "Come on, the water feels good!"

"Mikasa?" You call to the girl who now stood beside you.

"I've got you." She replies and hands you a spare hair tie that she, for a reason unknown to you, always kept on hand, despite her own hair not bearing much length. Nevertheless, you accept gladly and move to put it to good use after handing her your head band that wouldn't be of any use to you right now.

"You're actually humoring her?" Jean asks you, bewildered at how easily the girl had always seemed to sway you along for most of her excursions.

Approaching the waves, you pivot to face the boy questioning your actions with a teasingly light smirk, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." You state and Connie whooped in delight as he followed after you.

"Ew, Y/N don't ever say that again. That's something Connie would say." He attempts to stifle his amused chuckles.

"I totally would." Connie agreed, not at all deflating at the light jab at him.

Jeans eyes roll into the back of his skull and he sighs before relenting, "Fuck it." He says and sprints to join you in the water.

"You guys comin'?" You call out to the trio who still hadn't shown any sign of moving from the shore.

Eren replied by simply sitting back onto the sand, having had stood to his feet along with you at the arrival of the others, before waving you off with a faint grin. You could tell he wasn't upset by the intrusion, not too much, and genuinely wanted to keep dry tonight. "Go ahead." He reassures, and like always, his words held depth to them. He would ask you the question that carved into his heart everyday if he had to, even if that meant his main organ being butchered like a scene of a sanguinary.

You didn't even have to glance at Mikasa to know that she would stay beside Eren, the world simply wouldn't work in the same way if that were any different. Armin though, did spare the wafting waves a glimpse, before taking his rightful seat beside the brunet. You didn't expect any less from the three, standing, or sitting in this instance, beside each other through thick and thin.

So you carried on, shielding yourself from the barrage of salt water thrusted at you by the two before you, with Jean at your side, the pair of you not accepting defeat at their hands. Prepared to handle the chastising conversation you would be dealt with from your captain when you returned to base, about how filthy your garments had grown.

Willing to endure extra chores, for an extra moment of peace.

Year 846

Faint whimpers escaped from between your fingers as your hands clamped against your lips in a futile attempt to withhold your cries. Glistening streams trickled down your cheeks and stuck to your lashes as you couldn't help but express your lamentation.

Your footsteps were hefty and lacking balance as you wobbled forward, and your body was wrapped securely in your cloak while your head was in the absence of the warmth the hood would have provided.

Icicles protruded from the evergreens that wreathed your figure, having had been caused by the slight changes in the weather as the ice slowly melted and the sun grew stronger. Snowflakes spun around you in a hypnotic dance, but you had paid them no heed.

Those days were always destined to be a day filled with sorrow, and the arrival of yet another Military Police officer in search of yourself only worsened your angst. You had made your escape into the woods once more, with both your body and breath trembling.

There was an affliction, deep within your soul, that felt as if someone was endlessly tugging and twisting at your insides and no matter how many sobs had left your lips, the ache did not lessen. Your lungs felt constricted, as if there was a source of pressure that gradually grew tighter, causing your irregular breaths to contort into painful heaves. The unyielding pain had caused your legs to feel as if they would collapse at any given second, but that is what you craved.

Any form of physical pain is what you yearned for at the moment, you would have accepted anything in an attempt to make the agony that fermented within your core, seem lesser.

You had fled deep enough within the woodlands that the animals that inhabited the conifers could have been seen going about their days — so, it had not come as a shock to you when your ears detected noises that came from your right. What had caused you to halt your grieving, was the fact that the sound that had caught your attention had seemed to match those of your own nose. Sniffling is what you heard and an exhale followed, both sounds that you deemed more human than animal.

Your head instinctively turned in the direction of the noises, and your eyes caught sight of a black boot, its owner shielded from your gaze by the trees. Your fingers wiped the tear tracks from your cheeks and you slowed your pace. Your eyes narrowed as you quietly craned your neck in an attempt at sneaking a peek at the stranger.

"Reiner?" You murmured, instantly recognizing the pale color of his hair.

He was sitting on the snow with his back against a tree trunk, and his head tilted towards the sky. It had been a couple of weeks since your first encounter with the boy, and all thoughts of him had fled your mind shortly after you had parted ways. You thought you would never see him again, bar the fact that he told you of his plans of enlisting in the military, the same as you.

Many people could say they were brave enough to do such a thing, but when the time arrived, so did silence. Still, it had surprised you of what a coincidence it was that you were both in the same part of the forest, on the same day, at the same hour; yet again.

"Hey stranger." You called out, your voice startling him and causing his body to jolt in surprise.

His eyes had widened at the sight of you, which was understandable considering he likely did not expect to see you again, and certainly not so soon. "How did you find me?" He asked.

"I wasn't really looking for you." You stated as you drew closer. "And if this is your definition of hiding, I think you'd do best without all the noise."

Your words caused him to hastily wipe his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, "I didn't notice." He admitted.

You looked at his sides and noted how empty handed he seemed. "What're you doing out here, again?"

"I could ask you the same thing. You look like you've seen better days." He said as his eyes inspected your face and you didn't blame him for saying so. You could feel how swollen your harsh tears had left your eyes, cheeks, and lips. You could only imagine how blood shot your sclera had gotten, but still, you made no attempts at shielding yourself. You had grown used to the swelling of your face and the headaches that the innumerable nights you spent curled up and silently wailing, had left in their wake. It also did not escape your mind that he sat in a similar state, albeit you admitted were slightly worse for wear.

Once you had been near enough that you could very clearly see the light pink that enveloped his eyes and nose, you sat beside him, against that same tree. Not enough that your shoulders had touched but enough that you could hear each other if you decided to whisper. "I asked first." You shrugged.

Mimicking the movement of your shoulders, he answered, "I guess it's just been a rough day for me. That and I've been feeling a little homesick lately." The latter portion of his sentence had dipped in volume and his brows furrowed slightly.

"I get that. I guess you could say the same for me." You said and although you did miss your home dearly, in your case it was that you missed the way home had made you feel. Not the conditions nor the people in general, but specifically, two boys that you hadn't seen in nearly a year.

His lidded eyes faintly widened in shock that your words had caused him. "Really?" He asked.

"Yeah." You replied with your eyes trained into nihility.

His eyes drifted away as he pondered on if he should ask or not. Even if he did, he didn't think he'd be much help. Another thought in his head began to plague his mind at that instant. It was what had continued to speak to him the moment he stepped onto this soil, and it never failed to remind him just who it was that he would converse, eat with, and sleep next to.

Six letters and two syllables.

But when did a thirteen year old ever listen to what their mind implored of them?

"Want to talk about it?" He asked hesitantly.

"...No." You whispered weakly, your gaze still. "Do you?"

Static air followed after you had returned his question. You didn't mind his lack of reply and were in fact, content in lingering inside the confines of your own mind, as it was customary on days like those. Your hippocampus shone with glimpses of dirty blonde hair and forest green pearls. Violet blossoms surrounded the person you envisioned, and warmth imbued their embrace. And then it was dusky navy blue eyes that glimmered like stars, and unruly black hair. Curls ghosted the ends of the small tufts that bounced their way around your mind and whispers, belonging to the small voice that you had began to struggle to remember, echoed in your ears.

"There was a man..." He began, though his voice only served as the diegesis to your reminiscent state. "-we met him yesterday." Though your eyes didn't move, your head shifted in his direction to indicate that you were listening. "He lived in Wall Maria, in a village somewhere in the southeast mountains." He sounded fragile when he had spoken of the man that roamed his mind. "...He said it happened at dawn. The animals were roused and there was rumbling that resembled footsteps."

It had clicked then, in your mind, what exactly the story Reiner recounted was explaining. The realization caused you to gaze at his side profile as he continued, "He went to go check, and opened the window..." He didn't have to tell you what it was that the man had found, and your understanding caused your eyes to soften, a minuscule amount of emotion returned to your expression. "The rest was a blur, the only thing he recalled was that he escaped on horse and left behind some kids."

Fight or flight response was a powerful phenomenon and basic human instincts, so you would have never held it against a man that you've never even met. "Is he doing okay?" You asked delicately.

His lashes fluttered and he looked off to the side as he assembled the courage to utter the words on the tip of his tongue. "He hung himself today."

You winced sympathetically and looked forward once again. "Oh... were you two close?" You asked and internally kicked yourself for not bearing the emotional capacity to be more comforting. The truth was, you didn't know how to.

"No, I met him yesterday." He reminded you. "But what's bothering me is that, he must have been planning to do it. So, why would he tell us that, knowing that he was going to do what he did?" He explained further.

You ignored the 'us' and 'we' that he had kept mentioning, in favor of focusing on the meat of his question. "Maybe he just wanted someone to know." You said, twiddling with your fingers as you went into thought.

"What do you mean?" He said and faced you for the first time since he had begun to elucidate his thoughts.

"Well, that's a day that is very hard to forget. It was the day that changed all of our lives, in one way or another, so I highly doubt that anyone who experienced the attack of the Titans has had a single moment of silence in their minds since then. It's like it plays on a loop, whether you're awake or asleep. All the sights, sounds, and most of all, the feelings." You explained as you recalled all that you had felt during those hellish moments. "Now, I wouldn't hold it against the guy for fleeing without those kids, hell- I don't even know his name, so what right would I have? But, I'm sure that he felt different. Even more so because, that was probably the first time he had ever admitted it aloud. I think he just wanted someone to know of the things he hated himself for... before he- y'know..."

His mouth parted in awe as he hummed to himself, and his eyes slowly shifted away from you in deep thought.

As you inspected his face for any signs that you had overstepped, you had grown doubtful in your analysis. "But, then again, those are just my thoughts. And I uh- didn't know the guy so I wouldn't take what I said seriously. Plus, you obviously already knew all about the reoccurring nightmares of that day and the hot flashes because you've lived through the aftermath yourself- so, my bad." You hastily reiterated your words.

"Oh yeah, of course." He forced himself to speak. "That's the part that I- uhm yeah I relate to that." He said and cleared his throat in an attempt to calm himself. "And anyways, don't apologize. We'll never know exactly why he did what he did, but I think that I agree with what you said, and I'm glad he was at least able to vent to me, if that was the case."

You hummed in agreement, "Yeah, I'm sure he appreciated that too." You said and directed a light smile his way for comfort, a gesture he had seemed to appreciate.

More silence billowed in the air around you and unlike the last time, you didn't get trapped in your thoughts, though one did cross your mind. One that you hoped would improve the atmosphere.

"Have you ever built a snowman?" You asked and clenched your fingers as to collect the ice from under you into one of your palms, before raising your hand and separating them to allow the white substance to return back to the ground, for emphasis.

His brow rose in question, "A snowman?"

"Yeah, like a man but one made of snow."

"I know what a snowman is." He deadpanned. "And no, I haven't. Have you?"

"No, but there should be enough snow to make one. Do you want to?" You asked and tipped your head his way, his eyes meeting your own.

A mischievous grin slowly but surely made its way onto his face, the right side of his lips raising first. That in itself was enough of an answer.

You both did your best to gather enough snow to begin to form the bottom portion of the man you were set to create. Without the use of gloves, your fingers began to grow stiff, not to the extent that it had caused you pain but enough that it drew your attention. Though, even with the noticeable stiffness in your fingers, neither one of you faltered in your molding. Although there were no parts of the ground that went uncovered by a sheet of ice, that sheet was thin and, most of the time, every time you attempted to scoop a grander amount into your hands, the ice grew muddy.

Smacking your lips in frustration, you groaned. "Ugh, dammit."

Reiner, who had been crouched a few feet away from you, looked up at the sound of your distress. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you're giving up already." He teased.

"No, obviously." Your eyes rolled in displeasure at the notion. "This snow just keeps on gettin' so damn muddy every time I try to scoop too deep." You explained as you flicked your fingers in an attempt to disperse the dirt from your digits.

The dilemma you faced had caught the attention of your companion. His amber irises began to inspect his surroundings as he brushed his palms together and stood on his feet. He approached a tree layered in the white iridescent snow, with few petioles clustered with needles escaping the sheet, and deemed it worthy. "Alright. Get on." He ordered.

The abrupt demand caused an incredulous expression to display onto your face, "Excuse me?" You answered.

In response, he crouched down again and patted the tops of his shoulders, "Hop on."

"Why?"

"Because the trees have plenty of clean snow we can use. I'll give you a boost and you can grab what you can, got it?" He explained.

His demanding attitude caused you to roll your eyes once again, before begrudgingly plodding over to his form in compliance. "Why do men always go 'round actin' like they can order me around?" You asked, rhetorically, though that didn't stop him from hurling the attitude back your way.

"You'll live." He said as you situated yourself as best as you could into a sitting position.

"I better. It would benefit you most if you didn't drop me." You replied and he lifted himself slowly. After he reached his full height, you did your best to gather as many bunches of crystal shavings into the safety of your arms — but as you inspected your surroundings, you had noticed that the higher you looked, the more bundles of frost had gathered onto the tree branches. You hummed softly as you contemplated how to handle your situation, before deciding on the most obvious action.

"What's wron-" Reiner began, only to get bombarded by a countenance full of frozen stardust that had caused him to splutter. He panicked when his legs wobbled slightly and then realized that you decided to take the plunge to stand on his shoulders. "Whoa- what the hell are you doing?!" He exclaimed as he took ahold of your ankles to stabilize your stance.

"I can get greater quality snow the higher up that I go, so quit moving so much and get on your tippy-toes." You justified your actions as your own followed suit.

"You better not step on my face or I swear to the walls-"

A light chortle bounced off of your lips, "You swear to the walls? I've never heard somebody say that here, are you from Stohess or some shit?" You asked sarcastically.

"I don't give a damn, just make sure that I don't get a face full of foot." He gritted as his stance relentlessly swayed back and forth.

You stretched your arm as high as it could reach while the other served as an anchor to the tree. "Almost there-" You murmured as your fingers slowly inched closer to your target. Unfortunately, just as your thumb and index fingers had gotten ahold of the cluster of needles, the entire white sheet that sat atop of it gradually slid down and descended towards your face. Your eyes widened in realization as you emitted a coherent, "Oof-" before your legs gave out and your body plummeted with the blanket of snow hugging your face.

Your form had fallen backwards which had caused the boy supporting you to do the same, creating a domino effect and an intelligible thump as you collided on the ground.

After a few moments of digesting the rumpus events that had occurred, you briskly sat up and shook your head to discard the ice particles that had found themselves tangled within your hair. The eerie silence that followed produced your heart to accelerate in panic, "Reiner?!" You called out.

"M under here." Came a muffled voice.

"Oops, my bad." You apologized. You didn't realize that he had broken your fall, but it explained the painless clash. You pulled yourself off of him and sat beside where he laid.

Finally free of the burden on his chest, he sat up from under the snow with wide eyes and disordered hair. "You almost suffocated me." He accused.

Chuckling at the state he was in, you ruffled his hair and snowflakes flew from his head. "But I didn't."

An obnoxious snort came from the boy and he gently clutched his stomach. "I can't believe you did that, it was so damn stupid." He derided.

Joining him in his laughter, you breathlessly defended yourself, "Stupid, but it got the job done. Look at all the snow we've got to work with now." You gestured to the pile of fluffy powder surrounding your forms.

Satisfied with what the sacrifice had accomplished, he nodded his head in determination and all but leapt back onto his boots. "Let's resume then." He said resolutely and reoccupied himself with rolling a clump of his snow until he had deemed it compacted enough to remain stable. You followed after with your own portion of ice that would soon be the middle of the body.

"Okay, so he's not gonna be as big as I had expected, but that's fine." He articulated his thought process, before turning to you. "Not all men have to be big and tough, right?"

With a faux pout, you began to tease, "Aww, is that what you tell yourself everyday?" You asked as your hands constructed what you planned to make the figures head. "Yes Reiner, you would know that not all men have to be intimidating." You had jested.

Stupefied features painted his face as his brain perceived your words. "What? You don't think I'm intimidating?" He asked you as his hands absentmindedly searched the ground for suitable stones to furnish as eyes.

"Well, you're not much taller than me really." You reminded him as he tossed you the stones he had acquired. "Anyways, I don't think you'd even qualify as a man, yet. Isn't chest hair needed for that or something? I doubt you've hit that milestone." You further expanded your reasoning as to why you didn't find the boy particularly threatening. Perhaps his stature did form most of your opinions on the subject, but you didn't doubt that the empathetic and somewhat sensitive nature he had allowed you glimpses of had also played its part.

His jaw dropped at the audacity you had to utter those words to his face. "I'm like a good couple of inches taller than you." He informed you matter-of-factly.

You embellished the stones like ornaments and meticulously placed two twigs in a downward arch so that your creation could have appeared blissful. "And yet I bet I could still topple you if I tried." You muttered and whether that bold statement was the truth or not did not burden you. Not unless he had suddenly decided to test your theory, but you doubted the thought to go through the effort had even crossed his mind. You sat back and admired your labor, though you noted that you weren't quite finished, as your ice person hadn't donned a nose yet.

In response, the boy mischievously feigned a pout as he observed your concentrated state. His pale fingers steadily inched closer to your most recently added detail and he maneuvered the dark wood in such a way that the arch aimed upwards instead of the latter, making your person don a frown that had replaced the grin you had concocted.

"You're making both men here sad, girl whose name I still don't know." He said woefully, before carving tear tracks onto the apple of the snow persons cheeks with his fingernail.

Indifferent to his fatuous display, you quipped, "Y'know, I'm getting tired of speaking with boys." And carved a set of feminine eyelashes onto the snow person. "That's better. I feel less disgusted."

Your actions only forced him to scoff, and he mimicked the same motions as before to carve a thick line across what would have been the upper lip of your creation, had they truly been personified. "Some guys have long lashes to pair with a thick mustache." He informed you.

Recognizing a challenge, your eyes narrowed playfully and you dragged your finger across the chest, forming arches that indicated the existence of breasts. "I've seen a couple gals with a nice stubble." You added, forcing the grin that threatened to manifest onto your face away, which didn't work as well as you had wanted it to. In fact, it hadn't helped at all.

Reiner, having had been inspired by your bold move, followed with his own. And so on and so forth, until your shared person had barely even been identifiable and the only thought on your mind was how exhilarated the moment of hilarity and bliss you shared with your companion had made you feel.

So, for your final move, your arm reeled back and swung forward with forceful momentum. Your sleeve had made contact with the frigid ice and caused it to disperse every which way, a great amount found its way towards Reiner before he could have even thought to dodge. Without a single flinch, he took it one step further and used his leg to stomp the rest of the form away, the snow doing the same to you as it had done to him previously. Not that the temperature had bothered you, in fact you embraced it as you typically did and vibrantly gleeful giggles spilled from within your vocal cords. Both of your melodies of exuberance mingled and interlaced to form flawless harmonies.

It was in that moment that you noticed, you had not belly laughed in so long, not as you did then. You hadn't felt so light about anything in your entire young life, and with a stranger that had yet to know your name. The pain that enveloped your core earlier that day had subsided and was replaced with a different kind. One that you had found you didn't mind. One that came with tears caused by the exertion of experiencing such pure bliss. One that caused you to cradle your stomach in an attempt to ease the contracting muscles. One that allowed release and transported your body into a state of euphoria. It was a state that you had begun to crave.

And you hated yourself for that.

How dare you experience such a tender emotion, and on that day, of all days. — When the people who deserved it the most weren't there to. How dare you live your life as if they had never existed. How dare you not spend your days mourning in a never ending rotation. How dare you have the will to proceed with your days in spite of what you lost. How dare you even think to ask for more.

And so your feelings of ardor morphed into those of anguish, your roars of hysteric laughter shifted into a paroxysm of cries in agony, and the comforting warmth nestled inside of your chest transformed into a raging inferno in the process of combusting your insides. The twisting and knotting of your lungs had returned and the pressure was slowly killing you from the inside out.

Reiner was stunned at the rate of which your emotions had performed a one eighty. One second he had felt his stomach churning with butterflies and the next, he found that his heart had plummeted and squashed those very insects that littered his insides at the sound of your wails. His eyes that were once shut in ecstasy had grown wide in concern. Your body had begun to curl inwards as you fell to your knees and you bowed your head enough that it met the cold hard ground.

He had no idea of how to react.

"W-what's wrong? Are you hurt- or did I do something?" He asked and you couldn't help but sob louder, your arms moved to enwreathe themselves around your figure. "Do you need water? I can go fetch some fresh if you want or something." He offered desperately in an attempt to find a solution to make your cries subside.

"St-Stefan." You had barely managed to emit the name in between your heaves. It was so faint and muddled that it had forced Reiner to strain his ears to decode what it was that you had asked for and even then he wasn't sure he had heard you correctly.

You just wanted Stefan.

"Is that a friend of yours? Do you want me to go get him? It'll probably take a while for me to get to your settlement and back but maybe if I could help you come with me-"

"He's dead." You breathed. "You can't go get him because h-he's dead!" You spoke with cracks present in your voice that carried its fragility.

In response, the boy froze and his eyes flew to anything but you. While your screams had subsided a small amount, your tears continued their downpour and sharp hiccups came sporadically, they were so powerful that you couldn't have prevented the jolts that ran through your body.

In the end, he had decided to remain quiet and allow you to attempt to regain your composure at your own pace, which you did so. By the time you had felt calm enough to speak, nearly thirty minutes of silence had ensued. You moved to sit crisscross as you trained your heavily lidded eyes ahead.

Even then, you didn't speak right away, only let the words gather on your tongue until it felt right to share them. "It's their birthday." You finally admitted what had been plaguing your mind from the moment the sun peeked over the horizon. "Both of them. Isn't that such a crazy coincidence? Six years apart and they still enjoyed spending it in the same ways too."

Your voice was so small that Reiner didn't dare to interrupt in fear that it might've disappeared completely. He let you unpack what it was that had caused you to sob so uncontrollably, that even mere laughter was enough to break the dam that aided you in retaining such overwhelming emotions.

"I never knew the exact date that I was born, so Stefan... such a kind Stefan, he suggested that I celebrate it on the same day that they did. They both didn't mind sharing with me, even if that meant they had to split the occasion in three." You spoke of the boys fondly and with so much adoration that brimmed your eyes. "I guess that kind of means that today is my birthday too. Although, I'm sure my actual one has passed already. I don't know why I think that way, but I do." You said and your lips had begun to feel chapped. "He would've been thirteen today... and baby Ciel-" Your sentence broke when a wave of hiccups bubbled in your throat as tears had threatened to fall once again. "Cielo would've been seven." You punctuated your statement with a broken sob and your head burrowed into your knees as you hugged your legs against your chest.

Reiner was petrified.

He did not want to know more for he feared that he knew the answer as to why you had spoken of them in past tense. Your confession had served as a sort of wake up call and reminded him once more just why he had arrived at your island in the first place. He wanted to flee and create as much distance as he could have between the two of you because he did not want to face the truth of how his actions had affected the people around him, least of all you. He reminded himself what he had been taught since young, what his people had deemed your own and he wished it didn't cause such an internal conflict. He berated himself for it — why would you, someone he had yet to learn the name of, cause him to question himself and the people that raised him into what he had become? It should not be that way, and especially not on your second meeting.

You were simply someone he had yet to know the name of, is what he repeated to himself... though, he had acquainted himself enough that he wouldn't mind seeing you everyday that would follow if it meant that he would soon learn it.

The mere sight of your form that had become so frangible had hurt him, pierced his heart and dug the blade in deeper with each tremble he saw your body endure. Why it did, he did not know, and though what he yearned for the most right at that moment was to flee, he did the opposite and drew closer.

Because when did thirteen year olds ever pay heed to what their minds pleaded.

Comforting and warmly snug arms swaddled your figure, a sentiment that was foreign to your body; a side effect from the copious amount of nights you had spent laid awake with the same emotions and thoughts plaguing you, though in those instances no consolation was offered. He didn't say a thing but simply embraced what he could of you and listened to you pour your heart out.

"The thing is, I'm not even mad that I spent the whole morning cryin', it's the only thing that I've felt in a while. Most days, I spend my time in the fields to keep busy, but even when I'm not, I just feel so fucking empty. So, in the nights where I do cry myself to sleep, I feel so relieved in the morning because it proves that I'm still human and not losing my mind. So, when I felt anything other than my usual torment, I got so damn mad at myself because, today of all days, my mind decides to make me feel something resembling happiness when really, I should keep crying my eyes out because the people that should be here, aren't." You didn't even realize that was how you had truly felt, but it was true and you allowed your tongue to spill every subconscious thought it had withheld for the first time in a long time.

Seconds of silence turned into minutes and minutes had felt as though they had morphed into hours. You knew that much time could not have passed because while the sun did seem to grow a shade more aureate, its position in the sky did not yet suggest preparation for nightfall. Your swollen eyes and throbbing head almost forced you to doze off in the warmth of Reiners arms, you leaned into him and felt the vibrations of his pounding heart, your own resounding beats following directly after in consonance.

Though, it seemed that he did not intend to stay without words. "You know, birthdays are supposed to celebrate birth." He stated.

Your brow furrowed, "What?"

"Well, and this is gonna sound cheesy but bear with me here, it's called a birthday for a reason." His voice was so mellow, you didn't mind him breaking the silence. "It's not supposed to be a remembrance of death, it's a celebration of the life you've been allowed to live, a celebration of your existence. It's the reason that most people blow out candles, some believe that it's to ward your wishes of purity and a lambent future to whatever god you praise, while others use it as a way to thank them instead, for the aid they have provided in the life they've built."

"And if they don't have a future? What if they truly are gone, what then? And what if the life they have lived wasn't prosperous or anything to be proud of?" You genuinely asked. Both Stefan and Cielo lived a life full of bad deals and if any god had played a hand in that, why would you thank the architect of a dilapidated structure?

"They're never truly gone, not unless you will them to be. You don't have to remember them for what they lost or never attained, but instead, for all their wins and what they gratified."

What he said had made sense to you, and in any other situation, perhaps those words alone would have been enough to persuade your view to change. But, every angle at what the boys had that you descried, you could not fathom what merit their life had possessed. In your eyes, they were robbed of the chance of pursuing further miles stones that they had yearned for, and maybe it was wrong for you to assume as such but those feelings came from a place of deeply rooted love that you harbored for them both.

Hesitantly, he continued, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that your point of view of what they got to experience was not enough, which is fair because, to you they deserved the world. But, have you considered that maybe they saw their life as fulfilled? Or that they were content with the small things they were able to accomplish? And maybe it wasn't, but isn't it better to hold that perspective in your back pocket? As if, if they had the chance to look at what or who they left behind, they would feel it was enough."

"Maybe, but does that mean they're happy to have left me alone? They didn't have to both go."

"Not necessarily in a way that they're glad to have left those things or people behind, but content as in, they trust those people to keep moving forward or maybe even pick up where they left off, in a way."

That was the second instance in which you had doubted your long term goal. Both Stefan and Cielo promised that if they were granted the opportunity at actualizing your aspirations of venturing beyond the walls, they would have taken it without a second thought, and in return, you had promised the same, but in the moment, you were under the impression that you would do so together. Doing something so new, strange, and alien completely terrified you. So, while it was not enough to sway your long term goal in the opposite direction, that conversation fermented the seed of doubt, that had been previously planted by Annie, into your psyche. There was doubt in your road to revenge.

"Or! I could be completely wrong and overstepped my boundaries." He panicked at your silence, his arms and head pulled away hastily.

You faced him and wiped at your nose and cheeks to rid them of the aftermath of your meltdown. "No, it's okay really. I- uhm... needed that. I'm sorry for ruining...whatever that was." You trailed off, not really comprehending where you were headed with the apology.

The ghost of a smirk appeared on his face as he took in your words. "Oh? And what was that?" He jested.

"I just said, 'whatever that was' which means I don't know." You told him with a whimsical eye roll.

He hummed, "What a shame."

"Not really." You added.

He chuckled lightly at your remark before sincerity slipped back into his expression, "But seriously, you don't need to apologize, I get it. And plus, feel free to sucker punch me if I'm overstepping but, today is your birthday, right?" He asked.

You looked at him suspiciously, uncertain at what he was getting at. "Not really, I don't know when mine is. Also, I'm sure it's passed already, like I said earlier. Today is Stefan and Cielo's birthday." You explained, not wanting to make the occasion more for yourself than you already had.

"I'm sure both Stefan and Cielo wouldn't want to celebrate it alone, right?" He told you with hesitance very obviously laid within his tone. He was walking on eggshells as to not tip over on the tightrope of your boundaries, which he had felt like he was dancing on. He also made sure not to ask the forbidden question, one that he ached so badly to ask but he knew the answer would create such a disorder in him.

"You've never even met them."

"Nobody wants to celebrate a birthday by themselves. Who would light their candles?"

"We don't have candles, idiot." You tittered.

He hummed in thought, "Maybe not..." He moved to unbuckle his jacket and pulled out a small black pouch from within a hidden inside pocket. He fluidly untied the knot that sealed the objects inside of the portable bag and stuck his hand inside to search for something specific. Lo and behold, you didn't expect that what he would slip out was a set of matches. "This is survival 101, never leave your post unprepared." He informed you boastfully.

The sight had caused your eyes to widen as you exhaled in surprise. "What- you've got matches?" You whispered.

"Duh." He quipped which caused your astonishment to diminish. "I know they're not candles but this should do. Plus, it's not like we need it to burn for long, just make sure to blow it out quick." He explained.

You shook your head as he further baffled you, "Wait, what? Me? I'm gonna blow it out?" You asked with a finger pointed towards your face.

He mimicked your actions, his own digit being used to emphasize you, "Yes, you. Who else?"

"But why?"

He set his pouch down and opened the small box, sliding the portable miniature torches out and grabbing a singular one, before setting the rest away. "Because, I don't have anything to say to them. Even if today isn't your actual birthday, why wouldn't you want to celebrate it with them? Make a wish, tell them a secret, or simply ask them a question. Either way, once you blow them out, the smoke will ward your words their way. Isn't that a great tradition?" He asked and punctuated his question with the ignition of the little flame in his hands as he settled it between both of your faces.

Although the woods weren't yet a dark abyss, the flickering minute inferno did not fail to set alight Reiner's features. His honeyed eyes seemed to shift a shade deeper, the vibrant saffron flame reflected its visage onto his pupils, a sight that brought among the warmth to your insides once again. The dips and valleys of his face were highlighted, bringing to your attention details that you hadn't before espied. The delicate arch his nose took, the way the hair of his brows were slightly darker than those on his head, the form in which his cheeks were sculpted but still kept their youthful bounce, and even his lips appeared more voluminous due to the shadows on their perimeters. A familiar sensation had arose within you, it caused your mind to grow hazy and your surroundings to darken, and left the boy before you in an angelic halo.

Your enchantment was not one sided, for the flames glow had enhanced your profile as well. Both of your gazes connected in the illusion of being the sole inhabitants of the land from with you plucked and plowed each day. The flickering of the match before you had awoke you from its spell and reminded you of the fact that you were merely two humans in a world overrun by mindless monsters.

You cleared your throat and directed your eyes downward before you swallowed and set your sight onto the object in the hands in front of you. "Uhm, so do I say it out loud or-" You begun.

He visibly flinched in response to being awoken out of his delusion and looked anywhere besides the face he was caught memorizing. "Oh, yeah. I mean, no! You have to say it in your head otherwise it won't ring true." He explained before lowering his voice for the latter part of his instructions. "And you have to uhm... tell me your name. Cause, I have to say it for this to work." He added. "Rules are rules, you know."

"Oh, really?" You said, a brow lifted and your lips did not attempt to hide your forthcoming smirk.

"Yes." He nodded curtly.

"Y/N."

A smile carved itself onto his face as he took in the sound of your name for the very first time, of many to come. "Okay, Y/N." He nodded and tried the foreign word on his tongue; which slipped out as smoothly as fall honey. "Make your wish."

In preparation to speak to the loved ones you had lost, you sat on your knees and scooted closer to the light. You closed your eyes and searched deep within your cavernous soul for the words you craved to direct to the afterlife, if such a place existed. You asked yourself, if you had one last chance to ask or dispatch your words to both Stefan and Cielo, which ones would you choose? And you steeled yourself, and allowed your phrases and vocables to rebound throughout your mind, while you inhaled the strength to proceed.

'I hope I make you proud.'

And then, the once dancing flame, extinguished.

Fun fact: Remember that flower crown mentioned in the scene of Stefan’s death? Yeah, he was making that for you before… yk: 💀☠️

[amoscontorta]

Sylus gets a headache | ao3 | other fics in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, no use of y/n. This story contains: fluff, banter, Sylus has a hard time keeping his hands to himself, legal arguments, bad puns, self-indulgent writing, repetitive finger caressing, insomnia that Sylus is determined to vanquish by any means, Xavier is an innocent victim in all this and has no idea, except has Xavier ever been innocent in his entire life? CWs: insomnia, consumption of alcohol, profanity SFW, mostly. With some filthy innuendos at the end. It's Sylus, after all.

It has been a few days since you had the best night’s rest you can remember on the back of a certain miscreant crime lord’s motorcycle, and you’re once again preparing for a long, torturous night of staring at the ceiling and trying to catalogue all the classes of wanderers in an attempt to lull yourself to sleep—Nero’s suggestion. You have your doubts about whether it will work, but he gave the advice so earnestly after overhearing you talking to Tara about your insomnia that you feel obligated to give it a go. Sylus would probably scoff and say something about ‘people pleasing,’—you shake your head. That man does not get to live rent free in your brain, no matter how suspiciously kind he was the last time you saw him.

The kettle squeals, and you pour the boiling water into your chipped “World’s Greatest Hunter” mug that Caleb had gifted you once you were admitted into the Association’s ranks. The hot liquid steams soothingly into your face as it drowns a chamomile teabag, and you try not to think about the last time you saw him, when he was smiling. Patting your head. Whole, and so, so vibrantly alive. You take a deep, shaky breath.

After a suggestion from Tara, you add some honey and then slice a lime and squeeze the juice into the tea, absently stirring the spoon and gazing out your balcony window. You’re home early for once, and the sun is only just setting. You can’t see it through the high rises around you, but dusk filters down into the streets below your flat. The gentle sounds of the city moving into late evening drift up, the traffic like waves crashing on the shore, laughter and shop bells tinkling, a dog barking somewhere.

Suddenly, your doorbell chimes through your apartment and startles you out of your reverie. Did you forget that you had ordered something to be delivered today?

Without thinking too hard about it, you take your still piping-hot tea and pad to the foyer to answer the door.

Only to have your sense of calm shattered as you fling the mug out of sheer, instinctual self-preservation that Zayne accuses you of not having, when you see who is standing on the other side.

Quicker than your brain can actually process Sylus’s presence outside your flat, scarlet-night tendrils have prevented the mug from shattering on the floor, but have failed to stop the liquid from continuing its projectile path right onto his red, standing collar shirt and black vest.

“The fuck, Sylus?”

“You really, and I mean really, need to work on your greetings, kitten,” he tells you calmly, evol delivering the mug into his waiting hand while he holds the suitcase he has in the other hand away from his body to avoid being dripped on by his now soaked torso.

“Sorry, you were the last person I was expecting.” You wince, heart still threatening to beat its way out of your rib cage.

“Oh, expecting someone, are we?” he lifts a dark silver eyebrow.

“No, but least of all… you.” You flap your hand in his general direction. “What are you even doing here?”

“How about,” he drawls, “you let me in, and I’ll tell you. You wouldn’t want your neighbors to get curious and come to inquire about the mess I’m making on your doorstep, would you?”

You stare at him for a moment longer, trying to think of a way out of having him in your space, again, but you’re tired at the end of another long day, another long week, another long month and this whole entire fucking year. Trying to get rid of him will take more energy than just letting him do what he wants so that he’ll go away again. You run a hand down your face and shuffle aside.

He enters, and the scent of him fills the small foyer, warm and mouth-watering. He sets the briefcase and mug on the floor, removes his dress shoes and places them neatly by your own hastily-kicked-off boots next to the step leading into the rest of your flat. He then picks the mug back up and reads what’s written on it.

“World’s best hunter, indeed.” He snorts softly, eyes flicking from your face to your thin tank top and sleep shorts covered in grinning little bounce, bounce planet blobbus, to your bare feet. “Is this how the world’s greatest hunter always answers the door to unknown visitors?”

“It was a gift,” you say defensively, snatching the mug from him and cradling it to your chest. “And the only people who would be at my door this late is Xavier borrowing a cup of sugar for some doomed baking experiment, or a delivery person. I’m sure they’ve seen much worse than this,” you sweep your hand down your body in a dismissive flourish.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ve seen much worse.” Sylus frowns slightly.

“Yeah, so if they don’t like it, they’re welcome to move on to their next delivery.”

“Or buy their own sugar,” Sylus murmurs, reaching out to run a finger along your knuckles as you clutch the mug. “And who gave you this highly accurate mug?”

You hesitate, knowing that his face is going to do something complicated, like it always does, when you mention your family. But fuck it, he asked. If he doesn’t like the answer, he can also move on to whatever his next nefarious errand is. “Someone who was like a brother to me.”

“Brother, huh,” he says softly, still gently stroking your skin. “Well, he wasn’t wrong in this.” His hand falls back to his side. “Invite me all the way in, kitten. With your words,” he commands.

“And why should I do that? The deal was to let you come in. You’re in now. You don’t need to come in any further. Now it’s your turn to honor the deal. Why are you here?” You glare up at him, your foyer feeling minuscule with his big body and presence filling it.

“You offered me your place if I ever needed it,” Sylus narrows his glittering eyes. “I needed it today before you flung steaming liquid all over my clothes. And now I need it even more.” He looks pointedly down at the still-dripping clothes in question.

“What did you originally need it for?” You stall, the guilt of throwing a mug full—half! Half full! of tea at him starting to creep in.

“How about you invite me all the way into your home, with your words, help me take care of this mess you caused,” he waves a lazy finger at his torso, “and I’ll tell you.”

“But you already promised to tell me why you’re here in exchange for the initial value of me letting you in, and I let you in. I already paid. You can’t make me pay twice for the same goods,” you protest.

“Remind me to take you with me the next time I have contract negotiations. You’re more useful than my own legal counsel.” He pauses, considering you. “Circumstances have changed. Force majeure prevents me from fulfilling my original promise without requiring additional time and means to fulfil that promise. You owe me the opportunity to successfully deliver what I owe you.”

“What, exactly, is preventing you from telling me why you originally came to my home right here in my entryway?”

“The consequences of an unforeseeable natural disaster,” he answers with a little helpless shrug. “Namely, the trauma of nearly getting drowned in tea following almost being taken out by a mug launched with your god-like strength. Kitten, your assault is the equivalent of an act of god, and I can’t be responsible for the fact that I now need a dry shirt and a safe place to recover from the shock of almost being murdered by your tableware.”

You can’t help it. It has been so long since you’ve actually laughed out loud, so the noise that comes out of you doesn’t even sound human. You’re laughing, and you can’t stop. The affronted look on Sylus’s face in response to your ugly-snorts, causes you to laugh even more, and you’re suddenly bending over, holding your knees, laughing like you might die if you stop.

After a long moment, when you are finally able to breathe again, you straighten and find Sylus looking at you with a soft expression, one corner of his wide mouth slightly lifted… which is alarming. But you’re too filled with gratitude for the relief of laughing that his absurd exaggeration just gave you, so you refuse to think about anything at all too hard right now. You give in.

“Sylus, would you do me the honor of coming into my home? You can tell me what the hell you’re doing here after I find you a dry shirt.” You sarcastically bow as low as you can, your arms uplifted to gesture him forward.

“I suppose I can’t refuse such a graciously extended offer,” he says, as if resigned to a terrible fate, but his smile is smug and he wastes no time striding into your living room while unbuttoning his vest. He gently lays it over the back of your couch, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. You force yourself to stop staring as the pale skin slowly being revealed with each flick of his long fingers and head to your bedroom.

You paw through your chest of drawers, trying to find a shirt that will fit his broad shoulders and chest, but all you manage to do is make even more of a mess in your barely organized drawers. You stand, remembering the hoodie Xavier leant you after a recent, particularly messy battle on a chilly night. You move to your closet where you had hung it carefully to remind yourself to give it back to him after having washed it. You pull it from the hanger, turn around, and squeal loud enough to shatter glass.

Sylus is standing right behind you, chest bare, black slacks hung low around his narrow hips, and you did not heard him come in.

“I thought we were past the terror stage of our friendship, sweetheart,” he says, cocking his head, the same ruby stud earrings he was wearing at the club flashing in the light. “But that’s twice today that I’ve frightened you to the point of violence. Am I really that scary?”

“You keep… appearing, out of nowhere. A little warning would be appreciated,” you huff, heart pounding. You don’t know why you’re so nervous around him. Really. It has nothing to do with the broad expanse of creamy skin and pillowy man-tits shoved in your face at the moment. “And honestly, considering the fact that our friendship started with you choking me out and keeping me captive for days, it’s a wonder that I’m not more scared of you,” you flare, because yeah, how dare he act like you should be over the absolute shit-show of your first encounter, when you’ve hardly had any time to get to know him. That’s why you’re nervous. There is no other possible explanation. A couple friendly interactions do not make up for how much of an evil bastard he was when you first met him.

“Would you like me to wear a bell when I’m here, then?” he asks, conveniently ignoring the reminder regarding how he treated you not so long ago.

“How about you just stay out of my bedroom and stay where I can see you at other times,” you snap, feeling violent again at the intrusive thought of Sylus wearing a collar around his thick neck, cute little bell dinging every time he moved.

“I’ll do my best,” he says absently, clearly distracted by his thorough inventory of your bedroom as he takes in the tumbling plants in mismatched pots on floating shelves hanging over the unmade bed, the army of plushies scattered over the bunched up mountain of duvet and pillows. Your bed used to be your sanctuary. The place where you could find rest and relaxation after exhausting battles and long days squinting at the computer filing incident reports. Now it just gives you anxiety. You try to pull his attention away from the chaos of your former safe space by holding Xavier’s hoodie out for Sylus to take.

“Here, this might fit you.”

Sylus looks down at your offering, crosses his arms, and takes a step back, as if the hoodie is so offensive that it warrants recoiling physically from it. “That’s quite a big hoodie for you, even for days when you want to be comfortable,” he says evenly.

“It’s not mine, but it’s clean, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing I have right now that will fit you,” you say, shaking it a little in the universal, impatient gesture of just take it already for fuck’s sake.

“And who is its actual owner?”

“Xavier.”

“In the habit of wearing your partner’s clothing, are we?” he asks, still staring at it, the disdain now plain in his assessment of the sweatshirt.

“Uh, sometimes? We were on a mission recently and my jacket got torn to the point of uselessness, and it was cold. He let me wear his hoodie so I wouldn't be cold. It's been washed since then, so it's clean. I’ll just wash it again when you’re done using it before I return it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

After what seems like a ridiculous amount of time for him to apparently make some mental calculations that only he will ever understand, he finally takes the soft hoodie from you, fingertips brushing yours as he grasps the fabric. You can’t figure out why he he suddenly looks more smugly evil than you’ve ever seen, with his lips curved up in a sardonic smirk. “Oh, of course, I’m sure he will not mind at all.” He pulls the hoodie over his head and shimmies a little as he drags it down is body; it’s a little tight around the shoulders, but you don’t think it’s tight enough to permanently stretch the fabric.

After it’s on, he tugs the collar up to his nose and inhales deeply.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as if you can’t see perfectly well what he is doing.

“It smells like you,” he answers, shameless, as if that is a perfectly reasonable answer to your question.

“Well, I did wear it, and wash it with my normal detergent and it has been hanging in my closet for a while, so…” your voice trails off.

“And soon it will smell like me too,” he continues, letting the collar fall with a satisfied flick of his fingers.

What even is this conversation? “Can you just be normal? For once?" A look of boredom is all the response you get, so you continue. "Now get out of my bedroom. Come tell me why you’re here in the first place.” You stride past him, making your way into the living room.

He follows you obediently and plops down on the couch, and just like last time, spreads his legs wide. This time, he is able to rest his arms on either side along the back of the couch, effectively occupying the whole damn thing. He sits quietly, looking at you expectantly.

You stand, arms folded, a safe distance away from the couch near the kitchen island.

“Well?” You prompt.

“It’s customary to offer your guest a refreshing beverage upon receiving them in your home. I believe I offered you wine the first time I hosted you in my own home.”

“Hosted?” He can’t be serious. “What a generous euphemism for ‘unlawfully imprisoned,’” you bite out.

“Po-tae-to,” he says serenely, “Po-tah-to.”

“Sylus,” you warn—about what, you’re not sure. He wants a beverage? Okay, perhaps you’ll fling more hot tea at him if he doesn’t start talking.

“Kitten.” He continues gazing at you, clearly in no hurry to move things along.

“If you don’t tell me, right now, why the hell you showed up at my place unannounced, I will report you as a burglar and have you removed by the authorities.”

“But then how will you explain to Xavier why I’ve been arrested wearing his sweater?” he asks, eyes wide, all concern for what your partner’s thoughts on the matter would be, and what they would mean for you.

“Burglars have been known to be creeps and go rooting through their victims’ closets and wearing their clothes! I’ll just say you were wearing it when I got here. Maybe he’ll be worried that it’s him you’re actually interested in harassing,” you snicker, trying to picture Xavier’s reaction.

As you’re speaking, Sylus pulls out his phone and fiddles with it with a bored expression on his face.  

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I boring you? Perhaps you should go find something more interesting to do and leave me in peace,” you grind out after you’ve finished and notice his complete lack of attention.

Your irritation is interrupted by a notification on your phone. Since Sylus is so busy messing with his, you grab yours from where it has been lying on the counter since before Sylus interrupted your peaceful evening staring out into the city. You see that you have a new message from… the man currently oozing across the entirety of your couch, head lolled to the side and watching you with a hint of amusement curving his mouth.

You open the chat, and your eyes widen at the conversation that never fucking happened currently loading into your chat history, with time stamps corresponding to when Sylus showed up at your door.

You: Oh Sylus, my big, handsome partner in crime, I think there’s an intruder in my flat and I’m so scared!

The Sytuation: What makes you think theres an intruder in your home, kitten? Im on my way.

You: There is sugar missing from my pantry! I just bought a new bag yesterday, and it’s gone! Oh please, my dark knight, come protect me from the sugar thief who should buy his own sugar and stop coming to my place to pilfer mine!

The Sytuation: Of course, sweetie. Go wait by the door, Ill be there in 5.

“What. Is. This. Fuckery,” you demand, thrusting your phone in his face.

He shrugs. “You threatened to lie about why I’m here in a bid to get rid of me. Did you not expect me to counter your move to ensure that no one will believe you?” he pauses, and then narrows his eyes. "Did you really save me in your phone as 'The Situation,' with a Y?"

"Punny, right? My phone doubles as my work phone. You really think I'm going to save your real name in my contacts? I might as well just save you as 'Sylus Qin, leader of Onychinus, most wanted criminal in the N109 zone," you grumble. "And trust me, that's the nicest name I could come up with."

"Punny," he repeats derisively, unimpressed.

“And don't derail. What is this nonsense about a sugar thief?” You wave the phone again.

“Your colleague should learn to stock his own pantry if he wants to engage in… what did you call them? Doomed baking experiments?”

“How did you even… why does it look so real?” You gaze down at the texts that look so authentic that if they hadn’t been filled with such bullshit, you’d be doubting your own sanity about whether the conversation had really happened.

“You’re really surprised that faking evidence, alibis and dirt on my opponents is a part of my vast skill set? I’m hurt that you underestimate me so.” He looks at you like he’s disappointed, a little pout pulling down his stupid beautiful mouth.

“For fuck’s sake.” You’re done. The longer you resist, the longer Sylus will be in your flat, driving you up the wall. “Fine. Fine!” You set your phone down again and throw up your hands. “What do you want to drink, Sylus?”

“Two fingers of gin, if you have it. Or brandy. Or vodka.” He thinks for a moment. “I’m not feeling too picky tonight.”

“I don’t keep hard liquor in my house, you alcoholic. I have a half-open bottle of rosé in the fridge. Will that satisfy his lordship?” You turn resignedly to trod your way to your fridge.

“What vineyard and vintage?” he asks, perking up.

You open the fridge and pull out the bottle. You squint at the label. “I dunno. It has a cute fish on the label, so I bought it.”

He looks at you like you just murdered Mephisto, and you begin pouring the pink liquid into another mug. This one says UNT on the side in big block letters, matching the size of the handle so that when you hold it, the handle looks like a matching C. You walk back to where he’s sitting, and you think that maybe your smile looks as smug as Sylus’s usually does when you hand him his drink.

He takes the mug from you, snorts when he reads the side, and then look at its contents dubiously for a moment.

“You taste it first,” he finally says, looking back up at you.

“Worried I poisoned it?” You’re still grinning.

“As you say,” he says, tilting his head.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t demand beverages from people you don’t trust then.”

“I trust you, just not your taste in wine after learning you choose bottles based on the cuteness of the label. Indulge me,” he murmurs. “Prove to me that you’re willing to drink it, and that it’s not just swill you’re trying to get rid of by offering it to me.”

You take the mug from him and lift it to your lips, taking a sip, watching him over the rim as you swallow. His nostrils flair, and he lifts his hand in a gesture for you to return it to him. Instead of giving it back, you take one more big gulp, and his brow furrows. Only after you've slowly swallowed again do you comply, relishing the warmth spreading through your body as you lower the mug for him to take. He brushes your fingers again as he takes it back. He turns the mug, so that his mouth hovers where yours just was. He then closes his eyes and inhales, gently swirling the liquid inside. Eyes still closed, he takes a sip.

After a moment, he sighs. “Thank you. This is actually not bad, for a rosé.”

“You’re such a snob,” you smile down at him, irrationally pleased that he seems so pleased.

“Life is too difficult, and too short, to waste on inferior experiences. I only like tasting the best,” he says, bright red eyes opening and fixing on you.

He looks up at you like you should be able to draw some deeper meaning from his words, but you’re tired, warm from the wine, and despite how much he winds you up you were just moments ago, right now you’re strangely relaxed for the first time in days.

“Tell me why you’re here, Sylus,” you say quietly.

“You told me I could use your place when I needed it,” he says, just as softly. He takes another drink, rolls it around in his mouth. Swallows, his adam’s apple dipping.

“And why did you need it this evening?”

“I had some negotiations regarding a business acquisition that I’m considering in this part of Linkon City, and they were abhorrently boring. By the time they were over, I had a splitting headache, and the sunlight didn’t help. It would have been unsafe to operate a motor vehicle under those conditions, so I thought I’d come and wait for it to pass in my newest ‘safe house,’ he answers gravely, as if getting a headache was a perfectly logical reason to crash your evening and take over your couch. “Wouldn’t want to endanger the innocent citizens of Linkon City with reckless driving, now would we?”

“Aren’t all of your shady business deals done under the cover of darkness? Why were you here at a meeting during the day?”

He’s holding the mug in one hand by his fingertips now, along the rim, slowly swirling it. He crosses one long leg over the other and answers languidly. “You’re assuming that today’s business was ‘shady.’”

“So your business today was legitimate?” You’ve been standing for awhile now, and begin to shift from bare foot to bare foot.

He hums in acknowledgement. “My business interests are as varied as they are successful. You insult me by looking so surprised.”

“Well I would never want to insult you,” you drawl. “So that’s it? You got a headache and decided you’d crash my evening?”

He nods, touching his temple and grimacing. “It’s still pretty bad, to be honest.”

“The daylight bothers you that much?” you ask, genuinely curious. You have always assumed that it was the nature of his occupation and perhaps just a proclivity for being a night owl that explained his nocturnal existence, but now you’re wondering if it’s not something deeper that has him avoiding it as much as possible.

You finally decide to give your tired feet a break and perch on the little corner of couch cushion that has been freed for use by Sylus crossing his legs. “If sunlight bothers you that much, what could possibly be so important to come out in it today?”

“Are you really asking about the details of my business ventures, sweetheart?” he asks in what you suspect is feigned astonishment.

“And if I am?”

“Then I’ll tell you,” he responds easily.

“Then I am.”

“I’m in discussions for acquiring a chain of entertainment venues in Linkon City.” He leans his head on the couch’s backrest and lets it roll to the side to keep looking at you. He catches the look of disgust that is no doubt obvious on your face.

“Entertainment venues,” you say flatly.

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“What kind of … entertainment venues?” you ask, hating yourself for wanting to know. It’s his business if he wants to buy porn shops, or strip clubs, or brothels—your stomach twists, and you refuse to consider why.

“What kind of ideas are racing through that fascinating brain of yours?” he asks, reaching up and running two of his fingers along your temple, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

“Nothing,” you bite out, turning your face away from his touch. You normally dislike how you have a hard time concealing how you’re feeling, but you particularly hate it right now.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs. “Then, to answer your question, it’s a chain of arcades.”

Your brain grinds to a halt. Did he just say—

“Arcades?”

He nods, and winces, closing his eyes. You’re starting to believe that his head is actually hurting him, and you feel bad for throwing dishware and hot tea at him and refusing to offer him more than the one drink he asked for.

“Why would you be interested in acquiring an arcade chain?”

“Even for odious crime lords, it’s always wise to have a diversified business portfolio.”

You have called him a lot of things both out loud and in your head, but you’d never call him odious. Odorous, perhaps, when he’s sweating heavily after being riddled with bullets. But you have to suppress the urge to chastise him about talking about himself that way.

“Which chain is it?”

“You probably don’t know it,” he says, as if bored with the question. “It’s not a very large chain, but large enough for my interests.”

“Try me! I love going to the arcade when I have some free time. I mean, you’ve seen my plushie collection now that you invited yourself into my house,” you bounce a little on the couch.

“You invited me, kitten. You’ve had a choice, each and every time.”

“Don’t deflect! Answer the question!” You’re quite excited about this. Maybe if it’s a place you know, that has a location nearby, he’ll give you a discount if he ends up buying them? Like an employee discount or something. Is that ethical? You should check the Association’s employee handbook for conflicts of interest.

He squints, as if preparing to evaluate your reaction, and names your favorite place to play the claw machine.

“For real? You’re really going to buy them?”

“I still have to review the contract that was proposed during today’s discussions with my legal counsel, but if negotiations are successful, then yes,” he says, casually examining his nails.

Your excitement is hard to contain, but you suddenly have a troubling thought. “You’re not going to change anything, right? Like, that place is perfect as it is, and the employees are all really friendly and helpful and clearly work hard to keep it really nice,” you rush out, worried that he’s planning to reduce the staff  or try to jack up the prices for a larger profit margin.

He turns to look at you again, and doesn’t answer for long enough that you’re really starting to worry. But then he says softly, “No, I’m not going to change a thing.”

“Oh? So they’re doing well? It’s a solid financial investment?” You’re so relieved, safe in the knowledge that your plushies will continue to be accessible, insofar as claw machines by design allow them to be.

Sylus laughs softly. “Yes, the financials all look good. Considering your interest in the nature of binding agreements, would you like to look over the purchase agreement with me? I have it with me.”

“I’d actually really like to, but I’m starting to get really tired,” you yawn, the relief you were just feeling—the relief of knowing that Sylus wasn’t up to anything that would leave a blood trail today, relief that he didn’t come tonight to try to force you to resonate or finally kill you for refusing to do so, and most importantly, relief that he wasn’t going to acquire and ruin one of the little pleasures in your life—all of it is now drowned out by a heavy feeling of pleasant drowsiness.

“Then I’ll read it to you, until you fall asleep.”

“Huh? You want to stay?”

“Yes,” he says, hauling himself to his feet and offering you his hand. You take it in confusion, and he lifts you to your feet as well. He sets the now empty mug on your coffee table, and then places his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you from behind to your bedroom.

“Why?” you ask, not even thinking to object.

“Headache, remember?” He pushes you gently by your shoulders so that you’re sitting on your bed.

“How can you review legalese when you’re suffering from a headache?” You sink into the softness of the mattress.

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” he says, nudging you until you’ve scooted to the middle of the bed. “Don’t move. I’m going to get my tablet out of my briefcase.” He disappears through the doorway, and you’re left sitting on your bed, surrounded by all of your plushies, and you have no idea what’s happening. You’re just too tired to argue with him. You really did miscalculate by spending all of your energy trying to get rid of him when he first arrived.

But just because you’re bone-tired, doesn’t mean you’re going to let him boss you around. You get off the bed and pad into the kitchen, passing him as he snaps his briefcase shut, tablet in hand.

“I distinctly recall telling you not to move,” he gripes, pushing up an elegant set of gold framed glasses perched on the uneven bridge of his nose with a middle finger. Huh, you didn’t know he needed glasses to read. He looks almost … cute wearing them, a little less feral. Like a leopard wearing a monocle.

Suppressing the thought of Sylus and cute in the same sentence, you ignore him, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. Then you rummage through your most chaotic kitchen drawer for a few moments, before triumphantly pulling out what you were looking for.

You pad back over to where he’s still watching you, and offer him the glass and the half-used blister pack of over-the-counter painkillers you fished out of your chaos drawer. “Here.”

He looks down at your hands, offering him what you hope is some relief from his headache. His face is impassive, and you’re worried he assumes you’re trying to poison him again. But then he tucks the tablet under one arm, and reaches out with both hands to grasp the glass and the pill pack—except he doesn’t take them from your hands. He envelops yours with his, and pulls you gently closer to him. He somehow manages to pop two tablets out of the pack with his thumb, and they drop into your curved palm. Still holding your hand, he leans down to sweep them from your skin with his tongue. In a complete daze, you watch him lift the glass that you’re still holding to his lips, and he takes a long pull of water, washing the pills down, all the while holding your gaze with his. When he’s done, he slowly lowers your hands again.

“Thank you,” he murmurs “For the benevolence of your heart.” He says it gravely, as if you’ve just saved his life instead of giving him some headache medicine.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, feeling like you’ve been struck by a truck after… whatever that was, feeling the warmth of his tongue in the palm of your hand like he was still licking it. Sylus then turns and heads back to your bedroom.

You set the glass and the now-empty pill pack on the kitchen island, thinking you’ll clean up tomorrow if you manage to sleep tonight, and follow him.

In the bedroom, Sylus sits, leaning back against your headboard, having needed to gently scoop some plushies out of the way to make room. He stretches his legs out in front of him with a sigh. He looks so soft, wrapped in the white hoodie, silver hair rumpled, surrounded by pillows and cute little plushies.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to remember that the man currently sinking into your duvet and wiggling his sock-covered toes in contentment is the same man who straight up exploded the man who dared kidnap you, and then proceeded to kidnap you himself after choking you to the point of passing out. You try to hold both of these truths about him in your mind at the same time, but the image of Sylus dancing you gently through a press of bodies, of the way he caresses your fingers at every opportunity, the soft slide of his tongue along your palm—these images are conquering every other version of him that you know to be true in your mind. You wonder briefly if this is part of some larger scheme of his, and what his endgame could possibly be. But right now, you’re too fucking tired to care.

“What is even happening,” you ask. You’re exhausted, but you still have enough mental reserves to question how you got here, in this situation, with this man migrating from vanquishing your couch to a large part of your bed. “Is the coffee table, or kitchen table insufficient for your needs? Why are you going to review the paperwork here, on my bed?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly you fell asleep on my back on the motorcycle the other night, sweetheart. I’m just reading you a bedtime story featuring limitations of liability and allocation of risk so that you can finally get some sleep again.” He pats his thigh. “Here.”

You just stare at him. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns, tapping his thigh again with one long finger. Just for that, you glare mutinously at him and fold your arms over your chest.

He sighs again, this time in exasperation, and leans over, firmly lifting you and setting you down so that your head is pillowed against his meaty thigh. He begins to run his fingertips gently up and down the middle of your back. He returns his attention to his tablet. “Now listen carefully,” he commands, before flicking the screen with his thumb and beginning to read in his softly in his deep, rich voice.

But of course you don't. You fall asleep as the skyscrapers light up like a dragon's hoard of jewels in the night sky outside your window, to the sounds of Sylus’s quiet recitation of indeed, a terribly boring contract, and the whisper of his fingers along your skin.

When you wake up, there is another black feather on your pillow, and you are alone. You yawn, once again feeling unbelievably rested despite the chaos Sylus always brings to your door and into your life. You stretch leisurely, spreading your arms wide and turning your head on the pillow, when something catches in your earlobe. You reach up and run your fingers along a stud earring that was not there when you fell asleep. You feel your other earlobe, but it's empty. You grab your phone from the nightstand, knocking over a semiautomatic hand pistol with scarlet flames engraved along the grip that you also don't remember owning onto the floor. You stare at it briefly, ready to commit murder if you check it and find that the safety isn't on. But first things first: you put the phone camera in selfie mode and lift it to your face, but quickly lower it again after confirming that it is indeed a ruby stud in your ear, sparkling cheekily in the morning sunlight.

Later, you're relieved to find that Sylus did actually leave the safety on on your new little ... toy, and you'll find that the mugs have been washed and set neatly away, the empty pack of painkillers placed in the recycling bin. You also see that various takeout containers and other debris that had piled up on a lot of surfaces in your place are also gone, and the countertops are clean, the coffee and kitchen table gleam in the early morning sunlight. You don't notice that the white hoodie is nowhere to be found, until you meet up with Xavier later in the day. He's wearing one that looks exactly like it.

"Thanks for returning the hoodie," he yawns. "But you really didn't have to."

You pause, feeling a thread of panic start to wind its way through your stomach. You decide to just... go with it. "Oh? You found it okay?"

"Yeah, but why did you just leave it hanging from my door handle? You could have rung and come in. I had a new limited edition bag of those cookies you were looking at in the corner store last week. I would have shared some with you... but now I've eaten them all," he admits sheepishly, big blue eyes shimmering with guilt.

You try to think fast. Did Sylus give back the hoodie without washing it? What the fuck was he thinking? He could have been seen! Does this flat have surveillance footage? Does Xavier suspect anything? You realize that you still haven't answered Xavier's question as your panic spirals. "Oh, you know, didn't want to wake you up," you flap your hands, as if you can flap this entire situation right out of your messy life.

"Well, I don't know what you did to it, but it feels brand new. As if it's never even been washed. And you somehow got out the bbq sauce stain that no matter how much I sprayed it with that stain remover stuff would never come out. So you're going to have to teach me some of that laundry magic," he says contentedly, snuggling further into the entirely new hoodie that you now realize Sylus must have somehow, over the course of the night, had hand-delivered to Xavier's place. "Uh huh," you say absently, pulling out your phone to furiously text Mr. Asshat when you see that he has also changed his name in your contact list.

You: What the hell did you do with Xavier's hoodie?"

My Sy: It doesnt matter who it belonged to before me. All that matters is that its mine now.

You: It doesn't even fit you properly! You're too big for it!

My Sy: Nothing a little size training cant fix.

Your jaw drops. He cannot be implying what you think he's implying. This is your filthy mind at work. You decide that you will simply pretend this conversation never happened. Absolutely nothing good can come from trying to figure out what the fuck is going through Sylus's head at any given moment.

You: And 'My Sy?' Really?

My Sy: Its not punny, but it rhymes. And its accurate. Gotta put the phone down for a bit, kitten. Business requires my attention. Ill be seeing you soon.

You stare at his last message for long enough that Xavier asks if you're okay. You're not. You're not okay. You couldn't even bring yourself to ask him about the other earring, or the gun. You just slowly slip your phone back into your cargo pants pocket and try very hard to stop thinking, for the rest of the day.

[luveline]

If you have any interest, how about a Spencer blurb where he's off on a case and gets or misses a late night call from the reader and is super worried, only to call them back and find them drunk and missing him. And of course the team rags on him after.

thank u for ur request! fem!reader

Spencer looks down at his phone and goes ghostly white. 

"What?" Emily asks. "They had a sale at Waterstones and you missed it?" 

Spencer clicks a bunch of buttons on his phone and brings it to his ear, crushing limp hair to his neck. "Seventeen missed calls," he says. 

Derek comes to the rescue, though the lightness in his voice is slightly forced, "Don't panic, wonderboy. Who wouldn't be eager to talk to you at… two AM?" 

"Is that the time difference?" Emily asks, leaning forward in concern. 

Even Hotch puts down his pen. The team listens to the phone ring. It loops, loops, loops, and everybody breathes a sigh of relief when you finally answer. If something happened to you Spencer wouldn't survive it. Nor after everything he's already been through. 

"Hey?" he says. There's a gap of silence. "Y/N, are you there?" 

"Spencer!" 

Spencer turns away from the table they've congregated at and looks through the open window at the parking lot, police cars roaming in and out of spaces. "What's wrong?" 

"I miss you so much." 

Spencer's nose wrinkles of its own accord. "Yeah? You sound odd. Are you– are you drunk?" 

Derek laughs. Like marionettes held tight with strings suddenly cut, the team stop their stressing and send each other knowing, amused looks. 

"Just a little bit!" you promise, clearly lying. Your voice catches on the syllables like they're coated in sticky honey, the slightest slurring tripping you up at the end. "We went for– to Chilli's. I had a blooming onion and seven margaritas!" 

"I can tell." 

"I'm really sorry, Spence, I know I'm not s'posed to call when you're away," you begin. 

Spencer glances back. Rossi and JJ have returned with coffee and a late dinner, neither of them bothering to act as though they aren't listening to the conversation. 

"No," Spencer says, turning back around and hunching inward, "that's the opposite of what we talked about, isn't it? You can call whenever you want to, but I can't, you know, always answer. I thought something bad happened. Maybe next time you could text me?" Rather than call almost twenty times and give him a heart attack.

Laughter echoes from behind. They team act like a teasing family sometimes, Spencer their teenage son who's never dated. 

He would fluster if you weren't talking to him in loud but loving tones, "I can barely walk, texting wasn't happening. I'm para-spelgic." 

"You're not," he says, firmly at first. "Are you? Who's with you? Is Rebecca there?" Rebecca being your best friend. Spencer trusts her to take care of you.

"She was, but she said that I– uh… She said I talked about you too much and made her nauseous. I feel kinda sick, too, but I just needed to talk to you, Spence. I miss you. I miss you, are you home soon?" 

"Is Rebecca really not there?" he asks. He thinks about the room full of special agents he's standing in and drops his voice to a murmur. "I miss you too." 

"She's making toast or something." 

"That's good. It'll soak up the margaritas." 

"I don't want toast, I want you! Please come home safe, angel. I really wish you were here to do that thing with my ear." 

Spencer has to give in. You're speaking so loudly it's impossible the team hadn't heard it, but he can't find the will to be embarrassed any longer. You're drunk and ridiculous and all you can think about is him.

"I wish I was home, too. Do I need to worry about you? Make sure you're drinking water, okay? Alcohol makes you dehydrated, you'll get a bad headache." 

"It makes me miss you," you whine. 

He smiles fondly. "There's no cure for that." A door opens over the line. "Is that Rebecca?" 

"Yeah." Murmurings. "She says sorry for letting me get so drunk, but she didn't let me do anything. It's like you always say, Spence, I can do whatever I set my mind to." 

"And you set your mind to getting drunk at Chili's." 

"Exactly!" 

You talk a little more before he hangs up. He knows you're getting taken care of. 

A gaggle of smiling faces greet him as he turns around. "Everything okay, 'angel'?" Derek asks. 

Spencer puts his phone in his pocket. You'll text him in the morning with a hankering for Tylenol and sore eyes, but you'll be fine. "Everything's great." 

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ mdni explicit content, daddy + breeding kink

"Are you happy?"

The heat of your back bleeds into his chest, back of your head tipping towards his neck.

"Yes." The sapphire gleams, setting sun casting a glitter of rays through it, illuminating the deep sea gemstone like true light itself.

He's tried to make it right. Put it all back together. He's taken it painstakingly slow, going as far as sleeping on the couch when he was released from hospital, though it didn't stop you from padding over to him in the middle of the night and poking him in the chest until he woke up and followed you back to bed.

"Stop doing that," you mumbled into his chest, eyes already shut again, "I don't want you on the couch."

"I want you to be comfortable-"

"I am comfortable. With you in our bed. Not out there where I can't feel you." Your voice broke on the admission, his lips pressed to your forehead. "I need you to be here."

"I am. I'm here, mama. I'm here."

The dawn of it all felt so far away, so many times, but when it finally broke, a too long darkness was swept away.

"I love you," you whispered, "You can't ever do that again."

"We'll take precautions next time, Price and I discussed-"

"No... not precautions. There can't be a next time, Simon. I need you to come home to us. In one piece. You can't ever... I was scared we were going to lose you."

"You'd never." He rubed your back, pace too quick to be considered soothing, and you burrowed closer.

"So, you can't get hurt like that, again. Promise me."

Days turned to weeks, the incident turning to dust in the back of your mind, still lurking in his. He sees it in his nightmares, in waking moments, horror beyond belief sticking to his bones. It affects him so deeply, all he can do is turn to your comfort.

"Look at me," you cupped his cheek astride his waist, your nightie rucked up around your hips. You're soaked, wet cunt leaking on him, desire burning from when he had two fingers inside of you a few minutes ago. "Don't go there. Stay with me. Be here, with me."

"I am." He tried to reassure, but you shook your head.

"You're not." You pulled him free from his boxers, notching him at the opening of your pussy before lowering yourself, sheathing him inside you entirely. He groans.

"Christ." You moaned in response, his little kitten on his lap. It's a lot to take at this angle and he gripped your hips, fingers digging into the curves of your flesh there. 

"Simon." Your lips found his, and held you there, held you tight, memorizing the feel of his home. 

"You seem... distracted." In truth, he was. He was dreading going back to work now that he was mostly healed, miserable about the idea of leaving you and Orion. It was pulling his focus away from being in the moments here with the two of you, his family. "Simon?" 

"Sorry, mama." He dots kisses up your neck to your jaw, and you arch against him, ass pressing against where his cock hardens under his sweatpants. 

"Come on." He doesn't argue when you pull him into the bedroom, checking to make sure Orion is still asleep, before you lay down on the bed, underwear gone, turned on your side with a lazy smile. 

It's everything he could ever want. You're everything. 

His mind strays, a different direction this time, reaching for a dream, a vision of you pregnant, full of him, growing his baby. It poisons his blood, and he grinds his teeth, tucking you against him, hand splayed over your belly before venturing down through your curls, sticky and wet already, your pussy swollen for him. "Is this for me honey?" 

"Yeah." You breathe, jerking as his thumb grazes your clit. 

"Poor kitten." He taps, pulling a groan from your throat. "Are you aching? Need daddy to take care of you?" 

"Yes daddy, please." Your hold on his forearm is steel, and he smiles into your neck. 

"I want to give you another baby, honey." He shifts, rolling you onto your belly and knocking your knees aside, your face turned towards him with a dazed expression. "I want to be here this time," he pushes inside, walls tight around his cock. "See your belly grow," he thrusts again, your little gasps getting louder as he works into a rhythm, "be here for everything." You're still on birth control, he knows that, but the fantasy is too strong, and he's desperate to turn it into a reality. 

This time can be for practice. 

"Fuck-" Your hips push back against him, meeting his movements, desperate in a pursuit. 

"Do you want it mama? Want daddy to fuck another baby into you?" You rise to your knees and he follows, draping himself over your back. You don't answer right away, head thrown back, loud moan ripping from your mouth. 

"I- I... yeah-" Green light, his mind screams, reaching between your legs to pinch your clit. 

"You're such a good girl," he coos, "so good, gonna fill you up." 

"P-please." You're close to your orgasm now, pussy squeezing, tightening around his cock like a fucking vice, and his muscles go rigid, trying to fight off his own. 

"Come for me then, come on my cock and I'll give it to you." Your an answer is an explosion, heat pulsing around him, dragging him into it, the two of you falling together. 

Afterwards, you turn over, and blink owlishly at him. 

"Do you... was that-" He cups your cheek. 

"Yeah, honey. It was." 

[monzamash]

lando norris x reader short blurb, suggestive content requested by anon monzamusings ✨

"are you trying to make me angry?"

"huh?" you asked, mouthful of your lunch and a confused look on your face as you peered up at your scowling boyfriend.

lando pointed to the poke bowl nestled in your hands, "that... there's fish – i can smell it! that's twice this week and now  the whole apartment smells like the ocean."

you couldn't stop the scoff that bubbling up in your throat at the disgust screwed up on your boyfriends precious face.

"you're being dramatic, honey. come here and give me a hug, ya grumpy goose."

"you think i'm being dramatic?" lando gasped as you shuffled over to where he stood in the doorway, nose pinched between his fingers, "nope, back up!

you pouted and gazed into his stern eyes but he didn’t budge, "no cuddles and especially no kisses until you brush your teeth... twice." not even budging a little.

there was a moment of silence as his ultimatum hung in the air, your mind conjuring up ways to make it an even arrangement. a smirk tickled your lips as you glanced around the kitchen.

"fine. but no sex until you do the dishes."

lando looked over his shoulder and grimaced at the mess you'd made rustling up your lunch – there was a sticky rice cooker sitting half soaking in the sink, several bowls piled haphazardly beside the remnants of produce you’d washed and prepped for your lunch; you name it, it was littered somewhere across the countertops.

he knew that you were the perfect storm in the kitchen but you were a fantastic cook who hated to clean up so he was happy to be your dish pig any day. especially when sex with you was on the line.

"deal. but can we cool it on the fish? it really gets to me," he grumbled and pulled you into his arms, pouting like a lost puppy – you really couldn't argue with him looking like that.

"only if you promise to do that thing with your tongue..." you whispered suggestively, lando’s eyebrows wiggling in unison with yours.

"that can definitely be arranged," lando flirted, playfully being pushed towards the messy kitchen before you skipped to the bathroom, equally turned on by your man doing the dishes and the promise of a lazy afternoon ahead.

[berristreasuredlibrary]

Subby whiny boys who cry so pathetically for you :(((

Featuring: Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Kyojuro, Satoru, Suguru, Megumi, Itadori, Choso, Izuku, Denki, Kiri, Denji, Jean, Connie, Armin, + any of your faves!

MDNI, smut/NSFW under the cut.

It’s mean, the way you’re jerking him off so quickly, flicking your wrist every time you get to the leaky tip. His hips stutter and press back into the mattress, trying to wiggle away from your ruthless handjob. He’s already came twice, the overstimulation beginning to get to him as tears spill from his eyes, whiny moans and whimpers leaving his bruised lips. “B-baby please, can’t cum anymore. ‘S too much.” And you only hum in response, licking the tears rolling down his cheeks, running your thumb over his tip and kissing his nose. “Aww, but you’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. You can gimme another, can’t you? Be my good boy and cum one more time? I’ll let you eat me out after, honey. I promise. That sound good?” He lets put a pitiful whine as your hand speeds up, but his cock twitches at the promise of eating you out. Getting to taste your pretty pussy, get your juices all over his face, make you cum all over his tongue. You tighten your hand around the base of his dick and he whimpers, letting his head fall against the pillows as his eyes roll back. His mouth falls open and his hands fall to your shoulders, lightly pushing you away like he wants you to ease up, only for his hips to move in time with your hand. No sounds come from him until he’s shooting thin ropes of cum, a loud, strangled moan echoing in the room as his load lands all over your hand and his stomach, as pitiful as it was. Less than the two other times, but just as powerful, since it leaves him twitching and his thighs shaking. Pressing a kiss to his drool soaked lips, he whimpers when your thumb grazes his sensitive tip, whining against your lips. “Y-you promised.” Cooing softly, your free hand rubs his thigh, feeling it tense when your hand wraps around his dick again. “‘M sorry baby, can’t help myself. You’re just so pretty when you cum. I promise this is the last one, okay? Just wanna see your pretty face one more time.”