#how do I overcome this what do I do what do I need to put in place to overcome this without destroying a boundary

[thatlittlered]

would've, could've, should've | aaron hotchner

warning(s): one whole curse word, smoking, stunning amount of fluff and a little bit of action

GIF by @littlecarmine

part one

part two

author's note: Sorry for the delay, hope it was worth it! I also want to thank the sweet anon for the ask with the Robert Siken poem, which I included here. Next part will be straight-up filthy smut, so stay tuned, fellow sluts.

Follow me @MadeofLilies on Ao3 and let me know if you want to be tagged here.

-.-.-

You don’t see much of each other for the next couple of days. Aaron is on autopilot, avoiding any chance to be alone with you. The rest of the team unknowingly act as a buffer and all he has to do is not look at you during work hours, keep the door to his office shut to not hear your laughter.

It’s a relief when you and Morgan are called to testify in court for a case. You’re somewhere far away for the day, where he knows you’re safe and he can go back to pretending nothing has changed.

The problems start when he’s not being kept busy.

 How much paperwork can one person do?

The stars align oddly in his favor and he’s into calls or meetings until long after everyone else has gone home. When ten pm rolls around, he finally calls it quits but sees no point in leaving in a hurry. It’s past Jack’s bed time, it’d be cruel to wake him up now and carry him back home when tomorrow’s Sunday. If all goes well, he can pick him in the morning and they’ll get to spend the day together.

His finger is hovering over Jessica’s number when he spots your name in his call logs. It’s silly and childish, but he hasn’t thought of you in a couple of hours and God.

Deep down, he knows he’s been incredibly unfair to you. He had to. Had to tell himself it was something outside of him causing him torment. An obstacle to overcome, a distraction to ignore. He had to act as if you were forcing your way into his life in order to be able to put up walls, but what have you really done except exist near him? He is the one to blame for allowing it to grow beneath his skin; succumbing to his need for some sort of intimacy when he could have -should have- nipped this at the bud a very long time ago. He recognized it within himself the other day, when he realized he could have -should have- kissed you.

But nothing is healed with a kiss. Only new grievances arise.

It’s where you go from there that matters and he finds himself unable to guide or be guided.

Where do you go from here?

When he decides to feed his insomnia with a cup of late-night coffee, he is yet again reminded of you. So, he calls, but you don’t answer and he pours another, completely indifferent to the idea of sleep.

It’s getting too late to be here, even by his standards. He tries calling again, but, no answer. He gathers his stuff to leave and there is a horrible feeling at the pit of his stomach when he settles inside the car. It’s only eleven and you always say you never sleep this early.

Another call, this time to Emily, who miraculously, picks up.

“Hello? Hotch?”

There is a deafening buzz in the background; loud voices and music blasting.

Aaron apologizes for the late hour and tries to be discreet when he asks about you. Says he needs to go over something about a case file but you won’t answer his calls and he got worried.

“Yeah, she’s fine, she’s right here with me, but it’s a little hard to get her right now. Is it urgent?”

“Uh, no, don’t bother her. Is everyone else there too?”

“Not everyone, just the two of us, Garcia and Morgan. Do you need them as well?”

You didn’t invite him, why would you? He would have never said yes.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Sorry, sir, I can’t make out much with all this noise. We’re at the ‘Matter’ if you need us. I’ll tell the guys to call you as soon as they can, okay? Have a good night.”

So, he drives two miles a little before midnight to come sit outside ‘Matter’, which is apparently a very busy nightclub downtown, half a mile away from the nearest parking spot he could find.

He doesn’t really know why he came.

He can’t come in and join you. Can’t ask for you.

They probably wouldn’t even let him in while dressed like this.

It’s very unclear what the next step is.

He knows it’s pointless to call you again when you’re probably too busy dancing and drinking with a great many people who are not him. Morgan has some trouble keeping his hands to himself when he drinks.

He sits on the curb of the street, cracks open the pack of cigarettes he snack out of the car’s glove compartment, always hidden below the insurance papers. Astoundingly loud music plays every time the doors to the club open and people come out stumbling, kissing sloppily and dragging each other away.

He just wants to see you and put this horrible feeling inside him to rest.

“No fucking way.”

He jolts at the sound of your voice and throws away the cigarette, putting it out with his shoe before he turns to see you standing outside the club. You approach timidly until you can be sure it’s him and when you step closer to the streetlight, he can really see you. The clothes you could never wear to work, the shoes you apparently spend all your money on. You’re beautiful.

He can’t possibly move until you’re sat beside him. For the first time in what seems like forever, now that he’s grown so used to it, you keep a very respectable distance between your bodies.

“You didn’t have to throw it away; I already saw you and,” you pick up the abandoned carton from the sidewalk and almost laugh at how immaculate it looks just having been opened, “I have so many questions. Since when do you smoke?”

His voice is quiet, unamused.

“Almost never.”

You look at him curiously and he thinks you would make a great interrogator simply by the way you make everyone around you spill their souls out if it will satisfy you.

“Sometimes when I’m very stressed.”

You hum, “I never would have guessed that.”

He laughs to himself and looks at his hands.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of things that are not typical of me lately.”

You help yourself to a cigarette and he cups his hand over yours when the breeze makes it too hard to light up.

“Is that because of me? Am I a bad influence?”

“No. It’s me, I’m the common denominator.”

You hum again and smile at him teasingly in an attempt to lighten the mood, “Breakthrough.”

“So, this is what therapy is like?”

He wants to thank you, for always trying to make things as easy as possible for him. You open the door and difficult as it may seem, all he really has to do is walk through it.

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t smoke in session.”

“Oh good.”

You’re sitting closer again and Aaron doesn’t know how. He doesn’t think either of you moved. He keeps his eyes on the road in front of him, glances at you only from the corner of his eye. Your perfume mingles with the smoke of the cigarette and it’s all a haze to him.

“Why are you not inside?”

“I needed a breath; it was very loud and packed in there… and I finally saw your calls.”

He hums, unable to find anything else to say.

“Why are you here?

“I don’t know.”

He knows that is not a good enough of an answer.

“I always have this terrible feeling that something is going to happen to you.”

Your shoulder touches his and he can admire the smoothness of it, focus on each mark there to avoid the dreaded eye contact.

“Do you think that fear is reasonable, or is it rooted in something else?’

His eyes shut tightly, “Don’t do that, please. Don’t talk to me like I’m a subject.”

“You use your ‘agent tone’ all the time outside of work.”

His voice deepens, “I am aware.”

Heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry I did all that and then backed out at the last minute.”

“It’s alright. I think I knew you would.”

“See, that’s even worse.”

You look at his suit, the wrinkles that have formed in the shirt underneath from the hours of wear.

“Did you come here straight from the office?”

A sigh, “Yeah.”

You nod your head in understanding and move to put out what’s left of the cigarette.

“I’m alright. I’ve got the others too; they’ll take me home. You can relax now.”

“I don’t think I ever can.”

You don’t know what to say really. If what he needs is time, you can give it, but he seems undecided as well when he picks up your hand.

“I think I’m scared of what will happen once the line is crossed.”

A confession.

That, you did not expect.

“Aside from the complications at work, I just,” his hand rubs gently on the spot your watch has left its mark, “I have proved time and time again that I can’t handle any relationship beyond professionalism and once we stop being just colleagues, I will lose you completely from my life.”

“Do you think that line has not been crossed already?”

He laughs quietly.

You can both feel the bouncer looking at you and Aaron is suddenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now.

“I guess it has.”

You’re both quiet for a little while.

“I have to go back inside now, or they’ll start getting worried.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but no words leave his mouth.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them you were here.”

That hurt. You know it, but what else was there to say?

“Maybe tomorrow you’ll know.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze before you leave and he’s left staring while you go back inside.

-.-.-

A little past two, the girls drop you off in a shared cub before going their separate ways and you rush to your apartment building, only to find Aaron waiting there.

“Well, you certainly have a thing for sitting on curbs.”

He looks tired, so tired, and alone in the empty street. It’s very hard to maintain your position when he always looks this beaten down in his most tender moments. You wish to care for him, love him back into happiness but that wouldn’t be fair.

Still, you can’t help but go to him and he is relieved that you sit closer this time.

“Have you been waiting here this whole time?”

“It hasn’t been that long.”

You softly take his right hand to look at his watch. His body relaxes at the touch.

“Huh.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, but I’m a little more drunk than the last time you saw me.”

Your skin glows under the soft moonlight and he notices.

It is technically tomorrow now.

“How drunk?”

His face moves closer and you can’t help but shiver at the sudden change. His breath is warm on your face. The words come out in a whisper.

“Not that much.”

That’s all it takes.

His lips press against yours once… then twice and then… he doesn’t stop.

You always thought he’d be one to kiss carefully and with absolute purpose, just like he does everything else, but he kisses like a man on fire. He seeks to quench something deep inside of him and you provide happily. The remnants of your lip gloss tingle on his mouth, as if kissing you alone is not enough of an awakening.

It’s becoming increasingly hard to keep up with breathing when he envelops you so, and cages you in the pleasant whirl of his scent. When you break away for breath, he’s quick to capture you once more. His hands come to your face to keep you there until he’s had enough, but how he can he ever have enough of you?

He only lets you go because he has to. You’re both practically panting and he can’t decide what to do. He wants to kiss you, look at you, touch you, but it cannot all be done at once. When your own hand comes to his face just below his jawline, he melts under the touch. His eyes are sunken, his body is begging for rest, but it would not come without you.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

His voice is low and breathy when he nods.

“Yeah…”

-.-.-

You walk upstairs, hand in hand, and Aaron can see your own exhaustion is taking over. Something started with that first touch. Your bodies wish only to find comfort near each other.

His breath is warm on your neck while you open the door, his hands softly placed on your waist with the excuse of keeping you steady. When you move to take off your shoes, he is behind you again, as if tied to you with invisible thread, and holds you gently by the elbow when he sees you struggling.

You’re suddenly very aware he is in your house again. Touching you.

“Can I get you anything?”

He shakes his head no, but you’re too focused on the way his hand moves languidly up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

He is so caring. So soft below the austere guise.

“I just need to take a shower,” you almost stumble backward and he thinks it’s the alcohol, but it might just be the feeling of his hands on your face, “I must have fifty different people’s sweat on me right now.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

His voice is soft – tired.

You turn on the lights for him in the living room and he gives a half-smile when you check on him again.

“I won’t be long.”

Once left alone, he gets to look around your house. He sees your carefully assorted nick-knacks and smiles at the framed pictures all over your bookshelves. He can’t help but notice you’ve chosen one, if not the only, photo of the team that he’s also part of.

He is important to you too.

He can see you in every corner of the room, in the books you buy and the realistic-looking-but-admittedly-fake plants sprinkled here and there for a lack of time to take care of any real ones. He can even see you in the soft material of the couch when he sits and lets his cheek touch the fabric. He has been here before in a dream, with your head in his lap.

The room is awfully quiet save for the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of running water in the background. For a man that’s usually so good at sitting alone with his thoughts, he suddenly can’t stand it.

He knocks gently on the bathroom door and opens it slowly, only to be hit with the dizzying cloud of warm steam. Your head peeks behind the shower curtain and he can tell you got tired of standing and sat in the tub instead.

“Is it okay if I sit in here with you?”

You thought he’d sit on the toilet seat, but he crawls to the edge of the tub and sits on the bathmat with his back to you.

How close is close enough?

Now that he’s ventured, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be satisfied.

So, he closes his eyes and rests his head back on the, now warm, porcelain.

“Aaron.”

He doesn’t know if he actually fell asleep, but the water is now turned off and you’re looking at him. He realizes now, for the first time, that you’re naked behind him. Your hair and eyelashes are angelically wet, the sheen of water on your flushed skin is divine. He knows that you’d be warm if he touched you now.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

You smile at him -siren- and your hand grabs a handful of his shirt, staining it with water that reaches his body underneath and makes him shiver. You kiss him with plump wet lips and he reaches for you. His hand entangles in your hair until you’re both practically pulling at each other.

A less enamored man would have broken away just to sneak a peek at your bare skin, but he won’t. He is respectful even now, even like this.

“I should have kissed you the other day. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

It’s a whisper when his mouth leaves yours, but you catch it.

You hum, eyes glossy, “Would've, could've, should’ve.”

What matters is now.

He kisses you again – just one more time. You both feel like giddy, lovesick children.

“Can you hand me my bathrobe?”

The bathrobe is also impossibly soft to the touch and when you emerge clad in it, he thinks he’d like to hold you. The spell of the warm steam is broken outside, however, and being so close to your naked body suddenly becomes very serious.

You let him sit in your bed, still fully clothed, save for his suit jacket, and he closes his eyes again. The comforter underneath is lovely.

Is everything in this house soft?

Is this what it feels like to be loved by you?

You disappear inside the walk-in closet and reappear, now properly dressed in your pajamas. The bed dips when you sit next to him and he turns to you completely.

“I have a T-shirt you can sleep in, don’t know about pants though.”

Please. Just be here, with him.

He watches you leave, but it’s not long before you return with the aforementioned shirt. You laugh when he finally realizes he’ll have to sleep in his boxers.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of you.”

He throws a teasing look, but can’t possibly come up with a clever answer right now.

“I’ll go dry my hair and you can get dressed, alright?”

You are so gentle with your guidance that it makes him feel like a helpless child, but there’s a hidden relief at that. It’s nice; being cared for like this and there is something to be said about parallels, with you going now to do as you had done a week and a half ago in a Florida hotel and him waiting for you – on your bed.

It’s the same, but it’s different.

He hangs his work clothes carefully on the chair in the corner of your room and goes to sit on the bed, but feels too uncomfortable to climb under the covers. He knows you’d find his duality funny; how he goes from hungrily kissing you to being too embarrassed to join you in bed, even if it’s only for sleep.

You notice his stiffness when you come back in the room, but don’t say anything. It’s not exactly easy for you either, you’re just better at hiding it than he is. You choose to lead by example instead and turn off the lights before reaching for the one on your nightstand and climbing inside your bedding.

He only speaks to deflect attention from him again, “You have a TV in your room.”

“Jealous?”

He turns to look at you and you’re perched up on the plump pillows, smiling at him. Your hand reaches for his own over the comfort and you gently pull him to you.

He comes, of course.

“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

“Of course you don’t.”

He joins you with his back on the pillows and his shoulder touching yours, but he’s still too stiff.

“What do you watch?”

“Mostly reruns of sitcoms-,” he laughs at that, “-Seinfeld.”

“Isn’t that show a thousand years old?

“You would know.”

He laughs again and you can almost make out a wounded pout on his face, but a kiss is enough of a cure. His shoulders relax and he gives in to the warmth and softness; be it the bed or you next to him. You can tell he’s barely managing to stay awake, but he still can’t let go completely. His head slumps backward again.

“Can we turn it on?”

You find the courage to caress his hair, admiring the softness of it and the discreet sprinkle of grey that you can only see up close.

“If you want.”

The quiet humming of the television and your breath in his ear, putting his mind to ease, are enough for him to finally sleep and you’re not long behind. His head is turned to the side where you are, hand tightly holding yours.

Later in the night, when you stir in your sleep, he pulls you further into him – wraps his arm around you completely and doesn’t let go.

[epiphainie]

what are some moments you’d like to see or you think we *should* get together between bucktommy in season 8? ‘should’ - not as in must get! but moments you think would be important to their growth and establishing them as a long term couple and would be very good for the story they’ve built so far

Hi anon,

Sorry for the very late reply, I had to think about this a bit because I love this question! This will get long, sorry in advance.

I think first things first, we need some drama lol. Seeing how a couple overcomes conflict for the first time is seeing how the relationship can/will prevail in the long term. It's also important as a story element, conflict is what makes characters make decisions and take actions, what enhances the emotional impact etc. After all, what is more satisfactory than the sense of resolution that feels earned?

I think the first type of conflict I would like to see them navigate through would be something interpersonal. I don't really want a bloated case of miscommunication because so far they have been presented to do very well in that aspect (Buck is for once not just going with the flow but proactively pursuing this relationship, they both apologize, they both hear each other, they both reassure the other etc.) but the reality is every new relationship will have a stumbling bit when it comes to communication.

I don't know what they'd specifically deal with (like Henren had trust issues and Madney ignored talking about mental health) but Buck - despite his progress - has very well-documented issues around his self-perception and the concept of love and we know it took Tommy a great deal of effort to become the guy he is today (who's in tune with Buck and seem to communicate very well), he also has his own demons. So the right triggering event can cause a moment of unexpressed emotions on both sides. (Our fic writers have been great coming up with ideas for this and I've seen many posts speculating, so if anyone has any specific scenarios in mind please put in the tags.) What I would really really love to see in a scenario like this is an explicit, on-screen reassurance of each other about the root of their issue. I want Buck to have a love interest who with clear words say what Buck needs to hear and I want Buck to reciprocate. Like I said, we've seen BuckTommy be mutually really good at this so far, so I would love to see how it looks when they deal with something bigger.

The second type of conflict I'd like to see them handle would be a conflict caused by an external threat. Maybe not something as dramatic (and hurtful) as Madney dealing with Doug but anything that puts them through the wringer a little bit. This and what I said above wouldn't need to be mutually exclusive events obviously (Gerrard, for example, can be an external threat AND a trigger for individual insecurities, interpersonal conflict etc.) but this I specifically want because I believe to convincingly set them up as a long term/significant relationship, they should show us them being a team, a united front. Where my first point was about seeing how they would navigate their individual traumas together, this is about seeing how they'd deal with the world that throws them a wrench.

Now that the heavy stuff is out of the way, I think we need to see how they would act as a couple in a group setting. This obviously touches many of the points we've collectively made over the past few months about how there's so much potential re: Tommy interacting with the other 118 members. I think one of the biggest fails of Buck's previous relationships from a writing point was how little they existed within the rest of Buck's world. The first time I watched that scene of Buck, Taylor, Eddie, and Chris having dinner together I had to do a double take because so much of Buck's relationship with Taylor and Buck's relationship with everyone else felt like two different shows. It was cute when Buck said "You don't want to see a hangry Taylor" - it made them sound domestic, it made their relationship feel actually lived. This is such a little thing for BuckTommy to feel integrated and real imo. I don't mean they have to write BuckTommy as the center of attention in a group setting, what I mean is that they need to extend BuckTommy's existence as a couple to the broader context of the show.

Kind of building on this, another thing I think would serve very very well here is if we see Tommy interact with others when Buck is not there. If we want BuckTommy to exist beyond the context of their 1:1 scenes, we need Tommy as an individual to exist beyond that as well. Again, this is going back to how Tommy has the potential for these dynamics to feel organic in a way that didn't exist with prior LIs before. And I think one specific thing I would really like to get (and this is gonna sound ironic bc I said we need Tommy uncoupled from Buck just now) is Tommy talking about Buck to other people. As we need Tommy to exist in Buck's greater world, with his people in a way that his ex-girlfriends didn't, we also need Buck to exist in Tommy's world even when he's not there. The only comparison I can make here is Abby as she was the only previous LI who had her own relationships, but damn, did we ever see a love interest talk about why Buck matters to them, how he makes them feel etc. I wanna know how Tommy perceives Buck. This is like 101 if you wanna sell to the audience the love interest is actually interested too.

Couldn't find a place for this (maybe group-setting entry was more fitting love) but I also would really like to see them act casual. This is way more superficial than my other points but I was just watching some 911: LS scenes and I truly believe one of the reasons Tarlos is sold so well is because we get domestic, comfortable touches in every scene. Again, making a relationship feel actually lived. I don't think any of the 911 couples engage in this as much as Tarlos do but they certainly still do to a degree and I want and need that for BuckTommy.

Thanks for the ask anon!

[estellan0vella]

J'Accuse ❀ includes: Gojo, Nanami, Sukuna, & Toji (REQUESTED) Masterlist

Satoru Gojo stands in the doorway, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and hurt. You've never seen him like this before. "How could you do this to me?" he demands, his voice shaking slightly.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden accusation. "Do what, Satoru? What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me," he snaps, stepping into the room. "I saw you with Nanami. You were way too close, whispering, laughing. It's obvious what's going on."

Your jaw drops. "Are you serious right now? Nanami is just a friend, Satoru. We were talking about work."

"Work?" he scoffs. "Is that what they're calling it now? Because it sure didn't look like work to me."

You feel a surge of frustration. "You’re being ridiculous! Nanami and I are colleagues. Nothing more."

"Don't lie to me," he interrupts, his voice louder now. "I've seen the way he looks at you. And today, the way you two were... it was obvious."

Your heart races, anger bubbling up. "You’re making something out of nothing. How could you not trust me? After everything we've been through?"

Satoru's eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms. "How can I trust you when you're sneaking around with him?"

"We weren’t sneaking around!" you shout back, feeling tears of frustration welling up. "We were at work, in plain sight! If you can't see that, then maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."

His face softens for a moment, doubt flickering in his eyes, but then the hardness returns. "I know what I saw."

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "Satoru, please. You know me. You know I would never do something like that to you. Nanami is a friend, nothing more."

He looks at you, searching your face for any sign of deception. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the hurt and the doubt warring within him.

Finally, he lets out a long, shaky breath. "I don't want to lose you," he admits quietly, the anger draining from his voice.

You step closer, placing a hand on his arm. "And you won't. But you have to trust me. This jealousy is going to tear us apart if you let it."

Satoru nods slowly, his shoulders slumping. "I’m sorry. I just... I can't stand the thought of losing you."

You pull him into a hug, feeling the tension in his body slowly dissipate. "You're not going to lose me. But you need to trust me, okay?"

He holds you tightly, burying his face in your hair. "Okay," he murmurs. "I’ll try."

As you stand there, wrapped in each other's arms, you hope that this will be the end of his doubts. You love Satoru, and you know that as long as you have trust, you can overcome anything together.

Your phone buzzes, and as you glance at the screen, a mixture of annoyance and concern washes over you. It's another message from Gojo, filled with his typical banter and over-the-top humor. You let out a sigh, shaking your head at his relentless persistence, and quickly type a curt response, telling him you'll talk later.

Before you can put your phone away, the door to your shared apartment opens, and Kento Nanami steps inside. His usual composed demeanor is marred by a dark, unsettling expression. You offer him a warm smile, but it fades as you notice his clenched jaw and the tension in his shoulders.

"Kento, is everything alright?" you ask, worry lacing your voice.

He drops his briefcase on the floor with a thud, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you. "Do you think I'm a fool?" he demands, his voice low and cold.

Taken aback, you blink in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb," he snaps, pulling his phone from his pocket and waving it at you. "I've seen the messages. Between you and Gojo."

Your heart sinks as realization dawns. "Kento, it's not what you think."

"Isn't it?" he scoffs, his eyes flashing with anger. "You've been spending more and more time with him, laughing at his jokes, messaging him constantly. How am I supposed to interpret that?"

Frustration flares within you. "Kento, Gojo is just a friend. You know that."

"Friends," he repeats bitterly. "Is that why he feels the need to text you at all hours of the day? Why he seems to be constantly on your mind?"

You take a step closer to him, trying to keep your voice calm. "Yes, because he’s my friend. And because he's lonely and needs someone to talk to. But that doesn't mean I'm cheating on you."

He shakes his head, his face twisted with hurt. "I can't believe you expect me to accept that. I see the way he looks at you, the way you smile at him. How can you stand there and lie to my face?"

Tears of frustration well up in your eyes. "I'm not lying, Kento! I love you. You're the one I want to be with, not him. Why can't you see that?"

"Because it's hard to believe when all I see is you and Gojo acting like you're more than just friends," he retorts, his voice breaking slightly.

Your heart aches at the pain in his voice. "Kento, please. You have to trust me. I'm not cheating on you. I would never do that."

He looks at you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit. The tension between you is palpable, a chasm of misunderstanding and hurt.

Finally, he sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging. "I want to believe you. I really do. But seeing you so close to him...it scares me. It makes me feel like I'm losing you."

You reach out and gently take his hand, squeezing it tightly. "You're not losing me. I'm here, and I love you. Only you. Please, Kento, don't let this tear us apart."

His grip on your hand tightens, and he pulls you into a fierce embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice muffled. "I just...I can't bear the thought of losing you."

You hold him close, your own tears falling freely now. "You're not going to lose me," you whisper. "We'll get through this. Together."

The air crackles with tension as Sukuna's piercing gaze locks onto you. His crimson eyes, usually filled with a chilling blend of dominance and amusement, now burn with accusation. You stand in the center of the dimly lit room, feeling the weight of his fury pressing down on you.

"You think I don't see what's going on?" Sukuna growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You think I'm blind to the way you look at Uraume?"

You blink in shock, the accusation hitting you like a physical blow. "What are you talking about, Sukuna? There's nothing going on between me and Uraume!"

His lips curl into a sneer, exposing sharp teeth. "Don't lie to me! I saw you two together, whispering, laughing. Do you take me for a fool?"

Anger flares in your chest. "I’m not lying! Uraume is just a friend. You're letting your jealousy cloud your judgment."

Sukuna steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "Jealousy? You think this is about jealousy? No one betrays me, least of all my own partner."

"There's nothing to betray!" you shout, your voice echoing off the stone walls. "You're wrong about this. I would never cheat on you!"

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "You expect me to believe that? After everything I've seen?"

Frustration boils over inside you. "What have you seen, Sukuna? A few conversations? Friendly interactions? That’s all there is to it!"

"Don’t play innocent with me," he snarls. "I know what I saw."

"And I know what I feel!" you retort, stepping closer to him. "Do you really think so little of me? Of us?"

For a moment, the room falls silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of both of you. Sukuna’s eyes narrow, searching your face for any sign of deceit. Slowly, some of the rage ebbs from his expression, replaced by a glimmer of doubt.

"Do you swear it?" he asks, his voice softer but still edged with suspicion. "Do you swear there’s nothing between you and Uraume?"

You hold his gaze, willing him to see the truth in your eyes. "I swear it, Sukuna. On everything we have together, I swear it."

The tension lingers, but a shift occurs in Sukuna’s demeanor. His shoulders relax slightly, and the fiery anger in his eyes dims. He takes a deep breath, as if grappling with his emotions.

"If you’re lying to me…" he begins, but the threat lacks its usual venom.

"I’m not," you interrupt, stepping closer to him. "I love you, Sukuna. Only you."

His eyes search yours for another long moment before he finally sighs, the fight leaving him. "Fine," he mutters. "But if I ever catch even a hint of betrayal…"

"You won’t," you promise, reaching out to take his hand. "You won’t."

Sukuna squeezes your hand, a silent truce forming between you. The argument leaves a residual tension, but for now, the storm has passed. You stand together, the silence speaking volumes about the fragile, fierce bond you share.

The room feels tense, heavy with the unspoken words that have been building up all week. You sit on the edge of the bed, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Toji stands across from you, his eyes dark and stormy, an expression you rarely see on his face.

"What's going on with you and Shiu?" he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

You blink, taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb," he snaps, stepping closer. "I saw the way he looked at you. The way you smiled back at him."

Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of confusion and anger bubbling up inside you. "Toji, there's nothing going on between Shiu and me. He's your friend, and I was just being polite."

"Polite?" Toji's laugh is cold, disbelieving. "That's not what it looked like to me. You've been spending a lot of time together lately."

You stand up, meeting his gaze head-on. "Because we were planning your surprise birthday party, Toji! That's what all those secret meetings were about."

He hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but his stubbornness keeps him from backing down. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it was a surprise!" you shout, your frustration boiling over. "I wanted to do something nice for you, and now you've ruined it with your baseless accusations."

Toji's jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. "I'm not wrong about this. I know what I saw."

"And I know what I feel!" you retort, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "I love you, Toji. Only you. How could you think I would ever cheat on you?"

For a moment, the room falls silent, your words hanging heavily in the air. Toji's expression softens slightly, the anger giving way to something more vulnerable.

"I just... I don't want to lose you," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You step forward, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "You're not going to lose me. But you have to trust me, Toji. This jealousy, it's tearing us apart."

He looks down at you, the storm in his eyes finally beginning to calm. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, pulling you into his arms. "I was wrong."

You let out a shaky breath, wrapping your arms around him tightly. "Just talk to me next time, okay? We can get through anything as long as we're honest with each other."

Toji nods, holding you close. "I promise. No more accusations."

As you stand there, wrapped in his embrace, you feel the tension slowly melt away. It's not a perfect resolution, but it's a start. And as long as you have each other, you know you can weather any storm.

[malii-the-bonehead]

The Other Woman pt6

Heres Part 6, finallyyyyy.

Slow burn

Summary: Chris, a popular hockey player at school where Y/n went, found himself falling for the beautiful, shy girl. As time went on he found out who Y/n truly was as a person and ultimately, he had to make the choice, his girlfriend, or the other woman.

Part 6

Monday came by quicker than I had hoped. When I woke up that morning I felt so sick. I had a throbbing headache and my stomach was killing me. I had been up for probably 30 minutes before I had rushed to the bathroom to vomit the acids in my stomach, since I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. 

Yeah, I was not going to school today. I also called work and explained the situation. My boss was understanding. She told me to take as much time as I needed.

I turned off my lights and put the mini trash can from my bathroom next to my bed. I flipped onto my side, facing the edge of my bed in case I had to lean over and puke again. I curled up and held my stomach, feeling the pain finally take over.

– 

I woke up from the sound of my door being opened harshly. I groaned and opened my eyes. My mom was standing in my doorway.

“Y/n, what are you still doing here? It’s Monday. You have school.”

I explained to her how I wasn’t feeling well. She walked out of the room and came back with some water and medicine for me to take.

“Rest up then, kiddo.” She kissed my forehead. “If you need anything, just call me.” She pushed my hair out of my face then turned to leave the room. I checked my phone to see what time it was.

It was 11:30. They had 3 new messages. 2 of them from Chris and 1 of them from my dad. I checked the one from my dad first.

When you coming visit? I miss yall. Don’t be a stranger, Y/n. Text me back when you can. I love you.

I sighed and closed out of the message, then clicked Chris’s contact. I looked at his message, soon responding after reading them. 

Why aren’t you in 3rd hour? Are you here today? Soon after his first message he had sent, Hello?? 

I typed back, Sorry, Chris. I’ve been sleeping all morning. I’m sick with what I think is the stomach flu. But I should be back by Wednesday or Thursday. 

I shut off my phone. I wasn’t tired anymore so I grabbed my TV remote and played some music. I sat up in my bed and grabbed my school bag from the floor. I opened it and grabbed my computer, checking my school work I had missed for the day. I had probably 4 assignments. Soon after starting my first assignment, my phone buzzed. I picked it up and checked the message. Chris had texted back rather quickly. 

Send me your address. I’ll bring you some food and medicine. I laid back on my pillow, smiling like a 14 year old with a crush. I practically kicked my feet at his message. To be honest, I knew I’d get to this point with Chris. Where I would fall for him. But I think a part of me had always liked Chris. Even just seeing him walk past me in the hallways would always make my heart hurt, I just never realized I actually liked him until he talked to me the first time. I sent him a message back.

No, don’t worry about it. I should be fine but thank you. He read it. I sat waiting for his message for a while before I figured he wasn’t texting back. I shut off my phone and started working on my school assignments once again.

It took me about 2 hours to do everything I had missed. By the time I finished, school would have been 10 minutes from the final bell ringing. Chris had never texted back. I was kind of bummed about it, but tried not to think about it too much. 

I got up out of my bed and immediately felt a wave of dizziness overcome me. I rushed to the bathroom, emptying my already empty stomach once again. I sat on the bathroom floor for a good 20 minutes, too scared to move. Throwing up was definitely my least favorite thing. 

My mom came knocking on the bathroom door once I hit the 25 minute mark. Not that anyone was counting, except for me. 

I flushed the toilet and pushed myself against the wall. “You can come in.”

“Are you sure? Someone’s here to see you.”

My eyes furrowed in confusion. The bathroom door opened after a few seconds of silence. I saw my mom, water bottle in hand. She walked in, sitting next to me. After she sat down she called out, “Don’t be shy, we don’t bite.” She giggled and pushed my shoulder softly. I just looked at her, then towards the door. 

“I brought you some food and things to help with your stomach.” Chris walked in. My eyes widened and I tried to quickly stand up. The second I felt dizzy, I collapsed back into the position I was in again. Mom ran her fingers through my hair. Then she started to rub big circles into my back. Chris put the toilet seat down and sat on it. He was now in front of me holding a bag of food and medicine. “I didn’t know what kind of food you ate but Alice said you liked strawberries and toaster strudels so I grabbed a few packs of everything.”

Yep, I was for sure going to kill Alice. He pulled out of the bag a packet of medicine and a sweet tea, as well as a pepsi. He left the food in the bag but placed it on the counter next to my sink. He read the back of the packet and took out 2 pills, handing them to me along with the sweet tea. 

“How did you get here? I didn’t tell you where I lived.” I grabbed the things from his hands. My face was flushed and I was hot. I probably looked like a mess. My face was pale and my cheeks were red. My hair was a mess and I was wearing fuzzy socks and some shorts with a hoodie. It was hot and I was sweaty.

“That was also Alice. She’s very helpful.” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. My mom put her hand on my knee. I looked at her.

“Say thank you, Y/n. He came all this way for you.”

My head was throbbing. “Thank you,” I mumbled. 

“I’ll leave you alone.” Mom stood up and walked to the bathroom door. “Yell if you need anything.” She walked out, leaving only me and Chris in the small bathroom.

Chris held his hand to my forehead. “Yeah, you’re definitely sick. You’re burning up. Where do you keep your towels?” I pointed to the cabinets under the sink. He got up and rummaged through the cabinet before pulling out a small black towel and running it under the cold water from the sink. He rang it out then placed it on my head. I went to grab it but he pushed my hand away, holding his hand and the towel to my forehead. 

“Thank you, Chris.”

He smiled and sat next to me, replacing the spot mom was previously in. 

“You know, 3rd hour was soooo boring without you.” He dragged out the so, making it seem way too dramatic. I looked at him. He pushed the hair out of my face and tucked the strands behind my ears. “Can I put your hair up for you?” I nodded my head.

“Let’s go to my room first. I’ve been here way too long.” Chris got up first, grabbing my hand to help me get up. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I would have been so nervous. 

He led me out the door and to my bed. He let go of my hand and grabbed my desk chair. He pulled it to the side of my bed next to me. I turned my back to him, handing him the hair tie on my wrist. I held the towel to my head.

He gathered all my hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. He was very gentle. So gentle I almost didn’t feel it. “There, that’s better”

I felt my face heat up. I shifted and turned back to face him. He got up and went back to the bathroom, soon coming back with the bag of food in his hand. He placed it on my bed next to me. I rummaged through it, grabbing the pack of strawberries. They looked so good. 

“Here,” I handed him a strawberry. He took it and ate it. I also grabbed one and ate it. They were so sweet. 

“You have a nice room. It really describes who you are.” I looked at him puzzled.

“That is a good thing, right?”

He nodded his head at me. A few seconds passed but it felt like minutes.

“You know, you really didn’t have to come here for me. I’m grateful, but you could have been doing better things.” I looked at him. He was studying my room, looking around and messing with the trinkets on my side table. 

“I don’t mind. I wanted to see you anyway.” He looked at me, his head tilted. He had a grin on his face. My face was red once again. I kept eating the strawberries silently, offering some to Chris whenever he had finished his last. I grabbed the remote from my bed and turned off the music that had been playing for the past few hours. Now the room was completely silent. It was a comfortable silence. Something about Chris being here was making my heart calm down. My stomach started to feel better. 

He looked at me for a while before saying, “Alice is worried about you too. You should text her. Let her know you’re okay.” I smiled at him. 

“For being sick, you’re still really beautiful.” He pushed my hair back. I removed the towel from my head and put it on the empty spot next to me. I grabbed his hand from my hair. I dropped our hands into my lap and fiddled our fingers together. I played with his hand, but it didn't seem like he minded. I lifted our hands, placing one of mine against his. His were bigger than mine, only by a little bit. We both looked at our hands. I interlocked our fingers. I don’t know why I did that, but he didn’t pull away. We looked at each other. 

He’s so beautiful. So much prettier than me, that’s for sure.

I put our hands down on my bed. Our fingers were still wrapped around each other. 

“Why is it that everytime you come around, I get nervous?” I looked at him.

“I don’t know.” He responded slowly. “But, I think you make me nervous too. I get a tingly feeling around you.” His small confession caught my attention.

My eyes widened. “I get a tingly feeling too. Right.. Here.” I placed his hand on my heart. He held it there, feeling my heart beat. 

“Your heart’s racing.”

“I know.”

He looked at me and moved his hand away. He grabbed mine and placed it on his heart.

His heart is racing too. I felt my body go numb.

“Mine’s beating fast too, isn’t it.” He said that as more of a statement than anything. 

My breath hitched. I scanned over his face. His cheeks were a light pink. His hair was slicked back into a baseball hat, a little bit sticking out by his ears. He looked so good. I looked at his eyes then down to his lips. He noticed it and I moved my hand away.

I want to kiss him. God, I want to kiss him so fucking bad. 

I looked back to his eyes, his finding mine. I looked away from him. 

You’re sick, Y/n. No, that’s not important, he has a girlfriend. A beautiful and sweet girlfriend. Someone who doesn’t deserve anything less than Chris. Someone who is way better for him than you could ever imagine. 

Chris and Clairissa were perfect together. They’ve been dating since the beginning of our junior year. Everyone knew who they were and who they belonged to. It would be a sin to separate them. 

Chris spoke, pulling me from my thoughts. 

“I guess I should get going soon. I have a hockey game tonight. You should come.” I looked back at him.

“I know you aren’t feeling well, but if you end up feeling better, come watch it. It starts at 7 at the rink.” 

“I’ll think about it.” I smiled softly. He smiled back and patted my head. He stood up and pushed the chair back to its original spot. Chris walked to the door of my room, opening it. 

“If I don’t see you later, text me.” 

I looked down at my lap. “I will. Thank you again, Christopher.” He grinned.

“Anything for the pretty lady.” My head snapped up. There it was again. He called me pretty again. He turned and shut the door. Soon after, my door opened again and mom walked in. She practically skipped over to my bed, a big smile on her face. She pushed my shoulder softly again.

“He was cute,” She wiggled her eyebrows at me and giggled like a little girl. I smiled and sighed. 

“I know.”

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[theophagie]

Kairi's unresponsiveness during the final battle in KH3 is so infuriating and so many of the excuses people make for it are utter crap to me... I don't think it should slide, but at least I can concede that she may have done nothing when Terranort attacked her because of her past with him, but not fighting back at all when Xemnas grabbed her? Bruh... literally all they did was say "we have Got to shove this girl in the fridge no matter what". Lea went through the same training as her and got his ass handed to him as well, but at least he had multiple things to fall back on when that failed (reuniting with Roxas and Xion, his whole deal with Isa). Kairi didn't even have that...........

[anthromimicry]

forever thinking about how, according to maslow's hierarchy of needs (or simply the self-actualization pyramid) that is basically this motivational theory in psychology that's made up of a five-tier model of human needs, that misao went from being on the third tier in her childhood to reverting back to the first tier currently which is food, water, warmth, and rest.

[ here's a picture of it for reference, y'all ]

so, in other words... she is just trying to survive SO badly right now at this point in her life, that she can not even worry about things like safety or security and especially not friends. and that is UHH... i might, or might not be sobbing right now

[lunarcry]

im becoming a emu blog again

[andersdotters]

I have so many opinions on the x reader/reader-insert franchise that I really can't open up about it without sounding like a crotchety old man.

[peskypixel]

constant need for gratification stemming from artistic creation and seeking validation off numbers VS the everlasting tiredness that consumes me every waking moment like the fucking plague.

[p0rchc0ll4ps3]

23 matches for Ryf

It is a pleasure to burn. Cathartic, isn't it? To watch the wanton destruction, to feel the heat, to smell the heavy heavy chemical scent of it, to be soaked in it, to wear that ash on your skin like a cologne. Good, god, yes is it a pleasure to burn. It's something that you can control... something you have in your hands... something you can do, a way to overcome your feelings of weakness, of inferiority... a way to stick it to the man, to put up a signal fire, a beacon to tell the world I AM RIGHT FUCKING HERE... and to be known by no one at all at the same time. Burn, burn, burn, take your mind off the world collapsing around you. Burn, burn, burn, and your loneliness means nothing, your inadequacy means nothing, push the darkness away with the burning light of day, you know? Gasoline, matches. Lighter, lighter fluid. Kindling, a spark, and oh... the whole world goes up in flame... Get back at it, take out your frustrations on it, and maybe, just maybe, there's a hope inside of you that you will burn down with it, isn't there? You stand there, watching it burn, smile on your face, flames dancing in your too green eyes. Words from a song come to you as you snap the burned match in your hand in half. I never was a part of you. Burn. I never was a part of you. Burn. I never was a part of you. BURN. I'm gonna' burn this WHOLE. WORLD. DOWN. Your smile widens. Someday, the world will FUCKING PAY.

[savageday6]

🍀

[g8d]

dont remember if i ever was this angry at anyone before

[advluv4life]

When you haven't even touched your homework because you're too busy journaling about these stupid jealous feelings you're getting in your baby of a relationship because it's just who you are. And you really don't want to fuck the relationship so you're just journaling it to see if maybe it helps you rationalize how ridiculous it is to think that your boyfriend of less than a month is going to dump you for some girl who is indeed much prettier than you (no matter how I look at it she is much prettier than me (there's a bit more to it but that's def something I think...) and they're going to get married in like 5 weeks. Like, it's not going to happen that way again, right? That doesn't happen every time and the idea that it would happen (considering what I know about him and how I know nothing about her)...there is no way I need to be this anxious this feeling just engulfs my entire soul and I just I can't breathe. I don't want to do that. I want to be the person who doesn't do that but I don't know how to be that person. I don't know what that person does instead of feeling the way I feel.

Help.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 2 ] || [ Chapter 4 ]

Pairing: Ghost x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1K~ cw: some sexual jokes/innuendos Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 3: Simon

After doing the dishes, you moved yourself over to the living room and turned on the TV. Some rerun of an older season of Law and Order was playing.

You started watching but you found your eyes drifting back to your phone… 

Against your better judgement, you clicked on the Tinder app icon again. Maybe, maybe you should swipe just a little more.

And so you did. 

Today you said ‘Fuck you, Beyoncé’ and always went to the Right, to the Right. 

Just as you were pondering another profile, the screen darkened with a ‘It’s a Match!’ notification, making you jump a bit, as usual.

You clicked the profile and your brow scrunched. 

You didn’t remember liking this one… Though you obviously did, after all, you were liking everyone.

The only picture wasn’t even anything. It was dark and grainy and the man was wearing a black disposable face mask. If that even was him. Could just be a random picture off-Google, picked by someone who wanted to be anonymous. Not quite a catfish but close enough…

“Simon.” You said softly and dragged your finger through the screen to read his bio. For a moment you couldn’t help but smirk a little. He was sarcastic, a bit strange, but charismatic in his own way.

“Bad jokes, Bourbon, Discreet…” You mused while scanning his profile. “Tall enough.” You read aloud and couldn’t help but laugh at it. That made you feel like he was short.

Against your better judgement for the second time, you decided to send him a DM instead of waiting for him to. Something told you he wouldn’t.

you: tall enough - does that mean you’re below 6ft?

Simon: No.

Simon: Means that I have inches to spare.

you: was that a dick joke?

Simon: No.

Simon: Unless you wanted it to be.

You snorted softly under your breath. Of course he was a smart ass too…

you: ambiguous, i like it.

you: so how tall are you then?

Simon: Does it matter?

you: no. just curious.

Simon: 6ft4.

you: that feels like a lie.

Simon: I avoided putting it for a reason.

you: worried people would call you a liar?

Simon: No use. Going to be called it regardless.

you: that’s fair ig.

you: what’s a traveling consultant?

Simon: Similar to a contractor. Get brought in to help businesses all over the world.

you: what kind of businesses?

Simon: That’s need-to-know.

you: you type so formally and professionally jeez.

you: will i ever get to know?

Simon: Force of habit. Don’t text a lot.

Simon: Not if I can help it.

you: somehow i can tell.

you: what are you doing here then?

Simon: Curiosity mostly.

you: trying to see if you attract any fish? 👀

Simon: Something like that. A friend is on here. Wanted to see what all the fuss is about.

you: i see.

you: got anything yet?

Simon: No. But only created this 12 minutes ago.

you: am i your first then?

Simon: Not my first in anything, love.

Your eyes widened a bit and for some reason you found yourself getting a bit flustered, your face warming up just a bit.

you: does that mean you’ve hooked up with people through a dating app before?

Simon: Something of the sorts.

you: aw, im really not going to be your first.

Simon: That’s alright. You can come see me either way.

Simon: I’m sure you’ll find some other thing to be the first at.

Your breath got caught in your throat and you started sputtering. That came out of left field! He had gone from professional and mild-mannered to… flirty so quickly! Gulping, you tried to answer him with something coherent and funny.

you: idk what if you murder me?

Simon: I promise I won’t.

you: is that meant to be enough to convince me? 🤨

Simon: I’ll leave all my guns at home.

you: the fact you have more than one is not reassuring the way you think it is.

Simon: If it makes it any better, I wouldn’t need a gun to kill you.

Even though you don’t know this man, you can imagine that he’s laughing to himself behind his phone screen, all smug, thinking he’s funny. And, the worst part, is that he is.

you: reassuring. thanks.

Simon: Glad to be of service.

you: i think what makes it worse is that uve not got a pic of ur face.

Simon: Wouldn’t hook up with a bloke with his face covered?

you: no? are u trying to get me axe murdered? bc thats how u get axe murdered simon

Simon: LOL.

Simon: No.

you: u sure? a masked face with a mysterious job and a suspicious amount of guns… sounds like the upgraded version of ghostface… except online rather than over the phone.

Simon: I’ll take that as a compliment.

Simon: You’re funny. 

Simon: I like that.

you: thanks. 

Simon: Wondering if you’re that funny in real life or if you’d get all shy on me.

you: probably a mix of both.

Simon: How about we confirm that then? 

Simon: Meet up with me for drinks. No pressure on time or place. You can even postpone if it comes down to it. My job is unpredictable enough so I might have to postpone too.

Your eyes widened. The first attempt at flirting from him, of inviting you for a shag, had been clearly sarcastic… But this one is genuine.

you: ill get back to u on that, is that okay?

Simon: No sweat.

Simon: And if you’re just being polite and not actually going to text me again then: This was fun. Enjoyed myself. Take care.

You bit your lip to suppress a smile when you saw his polite goodbye. He was… sweet, weirdly enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

[madschiavelique]

Restraint - Miguel O'Hara x fem!Reader

summary : you convinced Miguel to wear a muzzle to fuck you, and let's just say it drives him insane.

content warning : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex, unprotected safe (be safe kids), miguel becoming a tiny bit angry because he can't kiss you nor bite you, possessive miguel, no use of Y/N word count : 1,1k

note : needed to get this out of my brain, enjoy (english is not my first language and i tried to proofread it properly fdbfdgf)

Miguel grunted, his teeth clenching over the empty air. He snarled, thrusting further into you, trying to press his face into your neck to squeeze the metal and get closer to your skin.

You had managed, in a way that still impressed you right then, to convince Miguel to wear a muzzle during sex. You had smiled, telling him that "you won't be able to resist, it's impossible for you," because the words 'bite' and 'Miguel' were simply inseparable, whether in everyday life or just in bed. With an air of pride and restraint, he had replied, "I'll resist, and you'll be biting your fingers off."

And now, he was pounding into you, body all sweaty with the muzzle on. The restraint had enough space between the bars and his mouth that he only managed to partially graze the sides if he tried to spread his lips or his tongue.

At first, he had put it on almost like a medal, because he was convinced that he would overcome his cravings and control himself perfectly well. How wrong he was.

As soon as he realised that he wouldn't be able to kiss your lips again, that had been a problem. But to admit at that moment that he didn't like it would be to admit defeat a little too soon. However when he realised he couldn’t bite you ? Now that was a problem.

His hands came to grasp your body more tightly than ever. The lack of grip he had with his teeth resulted in his fingers digging into your skin, which turned red under the pressure.

His fingers were pinching, his hands grabbing everything they could get their hold of that he couldn't bite. He took one of your breasts in his hand, his thumb starting to play with it, but when he lowered himself to lick it, he was instantly stopped by the distance between his tongue and the metal. He frowned, but eventually resisted using just his fingers.

Then he realised he couldn't trace your belly with kisses and light nibbles. But the real weight of his little wager began to sink in when, on reaching your legs, he realised what a mistake he'd made. The soft skin of your inner thighs, where the traces he had left the previous time he had fucked you were beginning to fade, was beyond his reach. The very idea that he couldn't make sure it was newly marked, right here, right now, was driving him crazy.

And then, when he got to your pussy, disaster. It was already so wet, glistening with your own desire for him. He was already salivating at the thought of tasting it, of getting drunk on it until he fell off, of hearing you moaning as he made you go from orgasm to orgasm.

But he couldn't, the cool metal dampened by Miguel's breath on the muzzle sending a delicious shiver down your spine when he tried to kiss you there.

He grunted quietly, frustration really beginning to set in, and started to work his fingers instead of his tongue. You breathed a sigh of relief as he came back to you, wanting to nestle into the back of your neck, wanting to kiss it, to feel your cheek pressed against his. But once again, he was stopped by the meagre metal frame. This was where deprivation became sincerely complicated. He hadn't noticed until now how much power his mouth had over your pleasure. He still had control over his words and his voice, but everything else was forbidden to him.

He bit his own cheek as he thrust in you, the first thing he wanted to do with the moan you let out was to swallow it, to relieve himself from the taste of your voice, your whimper and all the others that were to come.

The idea occurred to him to suggest removing the muzzle, thinking that the argument of "but it ruins our common pleasures" would do the trick. But he stopped himself, setting off at a frantic pace, his frustration reflected in the depth and power of his thrusts. All those delicious noises you were making, he wanted them for himself, in his own body, he had caused them and they were rightfully his.

So he tried to press the muzzle aside, hoping that by contorting his lips he would be able to kiss your shoulder, but he couldn't.

"Cariño," he breathed at last, slowing slightly, "What do you say I remove this stupid thing, hm?"

The little flash of satisfaction lit up your eyes like lighters.

"What is it ?" you whimpered, looking up at him through your lashes. "Can't handle yourself ?"

His nose wrinkled under his frown, his lips forming an angry pout. But he had to retain some pride, so, reluctantly, he replied:

"I can handle this perfectly."

He turned you over, your head on the cushion, ass up for him, resuming its previous rhythm as your cries were muffled into the pillow. He'd thought maybe if he heard them less he'd be half as tempted to want them for himself, but the urge weighed.

And the noise that his pelvis made against your ass was pushing all the right buttons.

His fingers dug into your skin again, the desire to bite and kiss you becoming more and more unbearable. Perhaps in another position he would be less tempted?

So you moved into cowgirl, your pelvis undulating against his as his hands gripped your ass and your thighs. But seeing you like this, your teeth biting into your lips from time to time, prevented him from thinking straight. It was his own teeth that should have done that.

"You look frustrated," you noted as you leaned over him.

You had taken care not to kiss or bite him either, but you allowed yourself the small temptation to kiss his neck, and Miguel's desire was growing by the second. Then, with a mischievous smile, you came back to face him.

"I wonder why," you smiled, licking from bottom to top the surface of the muzzle in a slow, almost lazy gesture.

It was too much, he couldn't take it any more. So with a sharp jerk, he grabbed the strap of the object of all his torment and pulled on it, the strap ripping immediately.

He pounced on you, hungry, his lips attacking yours, swallowing your every moan with monstrous satisfaction. Inevitably, he lunged at the crook of your neck, biting down harder than he was used to into your flesh. He consumed everything in his path, insatiable.

"I'll burn that thing," he said between a kiss and a bite, thinking of the pleasure he would take in destroying the muzzle.

One thing was certain, he would never tire of devouring you whole.