#right as he lifts his eyes to speak he sees him. bright eyes burning into his from a shadowed table in the corner. the brass speaking at hi

[spiteless-xo]

31 with gojo!

what's this? me working on a request from...... august??? say it isn't so 💀

sorry this is short! i'm trying to get back into things

masterlist

╰┈➤ smut prompts - 31. “I could watch you ride me all day."

ft. gojo/fem!reader cw. unedited, not proofread, explicit sexual content (vaginal sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, spanking, oral sex, cum eating), explicit language. 1,215 words.

"Getting tired?"

"No."

Your breathless response has Gojo grinning from beneath you, fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips as you bounce up and down on his lap.

"You sure?" he drawls, smirking up at you.

You frown, brows crinkling together as you press your palms against the smooth, hard muscles on his chest. "I'm -- I'm sure."

His smirk slips into a lazy grin, head tipping backward to rest against the pillows with a slow sigh. You watch his bright blue eyes trail from your face to your bouncing breasts, before slipping to where your two bodies meet.

"Good," he hums, "because I could watch you ride me all day."

"We don't have all day," you remind him, pressing more of your weight into his chest as you bounce on his cock. "Hurry up and cum already."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," he teases, but you feel his grip on your hips tighten as he helps guide your movements.

"Satoru," you hiss, but the bite in your tone is negated by the soft whimper you make when his hips snap up to meet yours.

"You're so sexy when you're mean to me," he says. It's almost infuriating how calm and level his voice is as your hands ball into tight fists on his chest, your body curling forward into him as he keeps hitting you right there. "I love it when you tell me what to do."

"Faster."

"Oh yeah?"

You clench your eyes shut tightly and bite down on your lower lip to try to muffle yourself as Gojo's hands shift to your ass. He squeezes you hard, slamming you down onto his cock and filling the room with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

"Like this?" he asks, his voice a low grumble against your ear when you curl completely forward into his chest.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, whimpering and whining and just letting him guide your body while you lay on top of him. You can hardly breathe each time he fills you, his cock pushing against the tight, wet walls of your cunt as you squeeze around him.

He laughs, removing one hand from your ass only to return it with a swift slap! The skin burns against his palm and he doesn't even give you the courtesy of a soothing rub before he pulls his hand back and does it again.

"Why's this always happen, huh?" he asks, pressing his nose against your cheek. "You're supposed to be riding me, but I'm doing all the work."

You hear the slight waver in his voice when he speaks, filling you with the burn of desire as you realize he's close. He's trying to hide it from you, but you can tell.

Pressing your palms against the pillow on either side of his head, you lift yourself up to look down at the man below you and he looks even more wrecked than he sounds -- pink flushed cheeks, dreamy eyes -- you swell with a sense of victory.

"Satoru," you moan, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes, letting your mouth fall open.

You watch his brows twitch up, eyes tracing across your face as his tongue runs across his lower lip. "Yeah, baby?"

You start throwing your hips back against his, meeting each of thrusts and you watch him choke on air -- his brows creasing in the centre as he throws his head back in pleasure. Gojo's mouth falls open in a soft moan and his throat bobs softly as he swallows.

"Fuck," he says, fingers digging harder into your skin. "Just like that."

His chest heaves with each breath and you can see beads of sweat forming along his hairline, clinging to the white strands of hair as he shifts his head back to face you. Gojo blinks up at you, his bright blue eyes growing dark in arousal as he grits his teeth.

"I'm gonna cum," he warns, and you just nod encouragingly.

You watch his face as his breathing grows shallow, the blunt nails on his fingers digging into your skin as his pace grows hurried -- sloppy.

"Cum for me, Satoru," you whisper, waiting to lean forward until you see his eyes roll back, capturing his lips with your own to swallow back his moans.

His strong hands hold you firmly against his hips as his cock twitches inside of you, spilling his hot cum against the walls of your pussy while you suck on his tongue. Gojo's hands slide up your back, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and holding you close against his body.

You only pull away once you feel his body relax beneath you, resting your elbows down on the bed as you brush the hair from his eyes. He's still breathing hard and holding you tight, but the tender gesture has him blinking up at you with soft, adoring eyes.

Your heart swells, but this time from love as you feel your heart beat against his chest. You love moments like this -- just the two of you together, tangled in one another and breathing each other's air.

From his hairline, you trail your fingers down the side of his face and along his jaw, settling there as you brush his cheek with your thumb. You've never been more in love with him than here in this moment.

And then he ruins it by speaking.

"Not your best work," he says, and you roll your eyes with a groan. You try to pull away from him, but his hold on you is firm. "You really gotta work on your stamina."

"Let go of me," you protest, but you only half-heartedly tug against his hold. "We have to go, Satoru. We're already late."

"Did you cum?"

"No, but --"

"Woah! You gotta cum."

You squeal in delight as he rolls you over onto your back, pressing you into the mattress with his weight as he looks down at you. "I'm not going to leave you unsatisfied," he says, frowning.

"We're already late, we don't have time for this," you repeat, but he's already slipping his now-softening cock from inside you and trailing kisses down your neck. You can feel his warm cum spilling from inside of you and the sensation has you shivering in arousal.

"We're already late," he repeats, "so what's a few more minutes?"

"Minutes?" you scoff, but your hands are already tangling in the soft locks of his hair, guiding him down your torso as he kisses along your sternum. "You think you can get me off that quickly?"

"I know I can," he says, eyes flicking up to your face as he sinks his teeth into the skin on your stomach. "Unlike you, I'm good at sex."

You have half a mind to kick him off of you, but he's already hooking your leg over his shoulder and trailing his hot, wet mouth against your inner thigh.

"That's rich, coming from the guy who came first," you tease, but your breath catches in your throat when you feel his lips press against the crease of your thigh.

"Me?" he gasps in mock outrage, breathing warm air against your clit as he moves to press his lips against your other thigh. "But you have no proof."

And before you can respond, you feel his tongue lapping at the mess between your thighs.

[anantaru]

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS SHINE SO BRIGHT

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — sleepless nights with your boyfriend kuni.

— ꒰ word count ꒱ —1.1k

— ꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, soulmates, just very indulgent and fluffy

"kuni… are you asleep?"

snugly protected by the silky and soft blankets of your bed, there‘s a settling fatigued, weary voice scattered across the shaded room, your voice, that was spelling out your boyfriends name.

"i‘m not."

"—how did you know i wasn't?!"

of course you knew, you cannot not know, because no one was as exhausted and kept up by their own overactive mind as scaramouche was.

yet believe it or not, kuni would learn of a habit that was dear to him, more so important.

it was to wait for you to doze of way before he was allowed to do so himself— it‘s not like he was doing it on purpose anymore, maybe at first to make sure you‘re out of danger and safe, notwithstanding was it turning into a personal act of love, acting out the words his affections spoke to him.

scaramouche slowly slopes his arm over your body to lean into you— yet with your current state, you don’t have the energy to say anything or move at all— your muscles were thoroughly glutted with exhaustion.

while it was strenuous at first, he was finally close to you now. his warm touch the softest, gentlest and rarest, it's intoxicating and can turn a simple moment such as this one into home.

kuni’s head uses you as his own personal pillow and you feel his little hair strands repeatedly tickle your cheeks. It made you smile vividly and clear— and your heart was swelling deeply within your rib cage whenever you encountered such sincerity.

urgently, he was softly outlining your frame over your clothed body with his fingers. kuni's caress was exceptionally light  and even inside the shadowed room that was clouding his pretty face from your eyes to see— you could regardless of that, discern a tranquil smile squared on his lips— at nothing but the refined look of you being awake, next to him, being together.

"you can‘t sleep as well?" a whisper closing around your ears as he rubs your arm, silently placing his lips on you to pull you in for a quick kiss.

"no.." your breathing was slowed, emerging set apart, "i tried to sleep but it's not working." he can feel you hum against him, distantly, — a tilt shaken, somewhat saddened.

but here, you were safe, kuni realizes, there was no need for you to feel dejected. here, you were given the love you deserve, because all the repeated fire that burned in him was for you. here, in his arms, nothing was extinguished nor forgotten, but it was easier to navigate through, together.

"can you tell me a story kuni?" you tenderly slide your hands into his loose fitting sleepwear and hug him tight while drawing small circles on his bare back.

he quietly hisses at the coldness of your dainty fingers but melts into your touch despite that, smiling.

"hmmm.. a story?" he drawls and squeezes himself close to you— but by how he was approaching you, gentle and content, there‘s a honey laced perception in his tone of mannerism, an understanding kindness that only he was able to display on you. he‘s again, only offering you what you deserve, in kuni‘s eyes, it‘s everything and all.

he thinks about it, focusing and closing his eyes, hauling out a low lift of air from his lungs before speaking once more, "did i ever tell you about how i beat those two fatui guards up?" he whispers it, but proudly smirks into you too, like it‘s a love confession of some sort, as if this story wasn‘t filled with pure danger and sheer bloodlust.

a listless, airy laugh emits from the tip of your tongue which had brought his attention right back to you, "i don‘t think you did." but as you snuggle into his chest, effortlessly closing your eyes and giggle, you were eagerly awaiting a story that surely was to be wildly humorous and engaging to listen to.

"i‘ll make sure to leave out the violent stuff so you won‘t get nightmares because of me."

kuni kisses your temple, playfully entangling his legs with your own and coaxing out another laugh from past your lips— he loves doing that, letting yourself feel and experience, letting your tense shoulders fall back into the silken cushions as you play out the silly game.

now, the situation seemed more inviting, more, flowing. your mind was moderately simmering down, little by little, bit by bit.

"you‘re sweet, you know that?" this was a reminder you had planned to point out way sooner, "and you're mine kuni." with the little intention behind your words being to have your cute boyfriend flustered and giddy, all while innocently mushed into your body.

and oh, who could've seen that coming? could it be that you caught the usual cool headed and self controlled scaramouche off guard?

maybe, or— lets be real; clearly.

the truth was, kuni realizes that he needs this from you, to hear it, to receive a certain satisfaction that stirs his soul— to soften the emotions in him that were circumstantially hardened by his past.

something that would completely overthrow him to the furthest extent, words colliding and preciously riveting in his belly from how settling and compelling it was to hear this from you.

a reminder from his soulmate, you can say.

"you‘re saying this because you‘re tired." he proposes and fights back the urge to plant kisses all over your face and quote on quote, overdo it— but the spirited heatwave in his cheeks was only partly able to be kept concealed from you.

"no no no." you start to whine, leaning your forearms over his chest so he'd be the one laying down now, so it was you who could watch him perfectly— his scruffy hair, his beclouded eyes hanging low, his skin pale and illuminated by a single broken ray of moonlight flaring down on top of him, exposing his firm shoulders and collarbones from under the way too large sleep shirt he was wearing.

"i‘m saying it because it‘s true!" you huff, your eyes sparkling like the prettiest, most ethereal stars in the sky. "you're mine!"

"you need to stop doing that!" kuni can‘t elaborate on this feeling and hides his face into your neck, "don't do this." and a squeezed out mumble effuses from him onto your skin as he placed sweet little kisses on your neck.

you turned him all shy and embarrassed yet he’s rolling his eyes because, yes, you got him speechless, finally.

you giggle and slide your digits over the sharp outline of his jaw, "i'm not doing anything!" though he knows it better, knows when you were being particularly evil and ready to play out a short, cryptic game.

"fine.." he fights back a smile, "suit yourself then."

it's been a long time since you had him wholly dumbstruck and left bewildered, but … maybe he'll let you off the hook for tonight.

"tsk." he suddenly clicks his tongue, "—and here i wanted to tell you my story but you kept interrupting me!"

the night goes and passes between laughter and you kiss his lips under the stars that rest above you both, "please do tell."

and from the demise of the darkened negatives you felt just moments ago, kuni and you happily chatted away until the first out of many rays of sunlight grazed your fulfilled bodies with their presence.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[cannibaled]

wicked game

to be honest, i just knew i wanted to finally write something with felix. so i just started writing and this is what happened so, hopefully you like ! 🥹 —

☆ warnings: none, slight nsfw — just making out, ass and thigh grabbing, hickeys

☆ premise: jealousy.

being felix catton's girlfriend was most comparable to riding a rollercoaster blindfolded.

your dynamic was interesting and unique, and everchanging. at times, he was the wolf, mouth watering and snarling as he cornered you, his prey. a bunny. vulnerable and stripped helpless with nowhere to go. at times, you would be the wolf, but instead of hunger compelling all of your senses, it was instead jealousy. what made this dynamic worse, arguably, was that he was unaware. you would be upset, or even angered after a girl practically threw herself at him. he was a natural flirt, but would react kindly but withdrawn. he would stare at you with his big, brown, puppy dog eyes when you were frustrated and prepared to speak, but nothing ever came out. instead, you would brush messy chocolate curls from his freckled forehead and press a rouge kiss to his tanned skin, the red painting him beautifully. then, that starved wolf would suddenly morph into the sweetest little dog you've ever seen. prancing up happily and licking slobbery kisses into its supposed prey.

you knew you couldn't keep things bubbled forever. considering he was popular and you often attended parties together, it grew difficult. it started to become so stressful that even farleigh or venetia couldn't offer advice any longer. farleigh spoke his mind, as usual, telling you to just suck it up and talk to felix, but part of you felt like you would burden him.

alcohol burned your throat, fiery eyes watching the scene before you. he was practically surrounded by women, a swarm of a horny, desperate ocean attacking his person in waves. you began to think. was he really all that unaware?

you briskly looked away when his bright hazelnut eyes met yours, his cute, gap-toothed smile making your heart singe. as safely and quickly as possible, you stumbled off, pushing through hot, sweaty bodies towards the bathroom. surprisingly, there was no line - save for one person, who was able to get in as soon as you arrived. leaning against the vibrating, booming walls of the hallway, you huffed softly. you should be able to talk to him about anything. truth be told, he was your best friend, and, hell; to a certain extent, you could talk to him about anything. but it was difficult for you to admit you were jealous. that, you couldn't understand why. maybe it was because it would be something affecting his social life. were you afraid of sabotaging that?

the sound of a toilet flushing and the shrill squeak of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you rushed into the bathroom. ignoring how your shoulder grazed the previous user's, you locked the door after yourself and did your business. scrubbing at your hands until your skin was raw, you avoided looking at yourself in the mirror. you knew you probably looked a mess, and, frankly, you didn't need to see such a sight right now. twisting the lock on the door, you pulled it open, only to be met with large, warm hands on your shoulders. you cried in confusion as you were pushed back into the bathroom once more, the door slamming shut and clicking locked.

felix stood before you, a red cowboy hat hanging lazily from his head. you two stared at each other for a minute until his lips stretched into that cute, toothy smile of his.

"so this is where you were," he drawled lamely, his accent soft.

"you had to have known, considering you were waiting for me."

he clicked his tongue and stepped towards you, and you unconciously stepped back, until your lower back made contact with the hard, cold porcelain sink. his fingers grazed your sides, and he lifted you easily onto the sink, long digits playing dangerously with the hem of your short dress. your noses brushed one another, and despite your annoyance, you wrapped your arms around his neck. there he went again, cornering you. not only cornering you, but he was sure to get a bite. it was difficult for you to stay upset when he was in an affectionate state like this.

"you seemed upset." he mumbled softly. his breath smelled of alcohol and mint - which you assumed was from the gum he carried around. you remember asking him about that once, in which he just grinned and held up his pack of smokes. cotton mouth, you recalled.

"yeah, well." you responded avoidantly, hooking your legs around his hips and yanking his body closer to yours. he was warm, skin damp with sweat and hot to the touch. you knew it was from dancing. "you seemed quite busy hanging out with your groupies there."

felix's eyebrows raised in surprise, his hands gently squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs. "you're jealous? love, you know they're just friends."

"c'mon, felix. you know they want you." you whined, and you could tell he was biting back a chuckle.

"well, that's too bad." god. you hated when he talked like that. coolly, and without a care in the world. he was always good at defusing situations when his temper wasn't present. maybe he knew just how likable he was.

"i just don't like that you let them hang on you like that. follow you like a bunch of lost puppies. they think they have a chance because of shit like that. i can't stand it. i want to be able to spend time with my boyfriend at parties he brings me to."

he was silent, letting you vent your frustrations. his half-lidded gaze met yours, long lashes fluttering as he searched your eyes. you assumed he was watching for tears, so he could pounce onto the opportunity of comforting you and wiping them, or kissing them away. he was sweet like that.

"i admit, i know they flirt or whatever. and maybe i flirt back. sometimes. but, i belong to you. they'll never be my (Y/N)." you weren't satisfied with his answer, your eyes narrowing. and he knew you were still angrier, if not more than before. but, then, he pressed his soft lips to yours, capturing them in a desperate kiss. you could taste the nicotine and beer on him, and although you wanted to yank his hair in retaliation for his stupid fucking excuses, you kissed back.

it was heated, clumsy, passionate. his teeth grazed your flesh, allowing blood to seep through the wounds he inflicted. his tongue swept it away before tasting you properly, the sweet tase of iron clouding your senses. when he pulled away, you assumed he was finished - instead, he pressed feverish kisses along your neck, yanking your smaller frame into his with possession. "brand me," he breathed against you, and just when your mouth was about to part and your eyes flutter, they opened wide in confusion. "huh?" you gasped when he grazed a sweet spot in your neck with his teeth before pulling away, his pink lips darkened with small traces of your blood and swollen. "brand me." he repeated, slipping his hands under your skirt. he didn't dare touch the warm desperation between your legs, instead pressing his fingers into a bruising grip on your upper thighs and ass. "show them who i belong to, darling." you swallowed, manicured nails grazing the nape of his neck.

the thought of it alone was exciting. they knew already he was yours, to an extent, but once they saw him bruised up and pretty with marks caused by you, you knew that'd be the end of it. because, while felix catton was known around oxford for hookups, it was rare for him to allow his fleeting girlfriends the pleasure of giving him hickeys. it was always the other way around, him marking them up with lovebites and bruises on their thighs. for however long he pleased, they belonged to him. never him, to them. but now, he was yours.

so, you did just as he requested - because how could you deny him when he was nearly begging you? finally gripping his curls, you latched your lips onto his neck as if you were starved. he threw his head back to allow you more space and access to your canvas, and you happily painted him red and blue. deep, shaky groans reached your ears, rewarding you for your work. he was always so pretty. his moans and gasps were never an exception when it came to beauty. sex and intimacy with felix was like appreciating art, because he often looked like a painting. no matter where, or what time of day. his muscles would flex, his skin glowing warm and his lips parted. if you had the skills, you would properly copy him onto a canvas or piece of paper and officially, truly, make him your muse. you knew that there was no way physical art would do his beauty justice, though.

you stopped when your lips began to feel sore, instead sinking your teeth into his skin for one final gift.

"fuck," he all but whimpered. and though his voice was deep and he was still bigger than you, you knew were now the wolf. he was the putty in your hands now, bending and softening from a simple weakness.

you pulled away and admired your work, slipping your hands from his head, to his neck, and then, finally, his cheeks. your thumbs brushed along his flushed skin, and when he opened his eyes, you saw nothing but love. his pupils were dilated and his eyes sparkly, and if you didn't feel so dizzy with affection for felix, you would have cried. you placed one last kiss to his pretty lips, and he slipped his fingers from under your dress to cradle your back.

your kiss was cut short with an angry bang on the door, and you jumped away from your boyfriend, smacking his broad shoulder when he laughed.

"guess we kept 'em waiting." he teased cheerfully, gripping your thighs to help you off of the sink.

"okay, ladies first."

"you suck, lix."

"rather," he corrected, carefully guiding you towards the bathroom door with a hand on your back. "if we can make it out of here and to my room, it'll be you instead."

before you could shriek at him out of embarrassment, he opened the door for you and delivered a playful smack to your bottom, paying no mind to the annoyed stranger that stared at him in disgust as they walked past.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Return to Sender [5 of 7]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark! Andy Barber x Reader, Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: Andy Barber promised he would never let you go, and come hell or high water, he's going to keep that promise.

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Gaslighting, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Possessive behavior, Smut, MORE TAGS TO BE ADDED

A/N: 👀 is… is anyone still there? i promised i’d update this this weekend, and i delivered. an hour before midnight, but i delivered. 😅 i know it’s been a while for this fic, but it hasn’t been forgotten about. i really hope you all enjoy this latest installment, and please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think! as always, comments are great, reblogs are golden. thank you for reading, and mind the warnings. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

 Where am I?

You stare blearily at the distant ceiling, dull and rusting metal beams criss-crossing over exposed brick. You reach out for Dove, and when your fingers meet empty air, your throat tightens as you remember. 

Pronge walking away with your baby, and Ari—

You sit up, your fingers knotted in the thin blanket. The repurposed garage office is still and silent, the springs creaking quietly underneath you. The air smells like old motor oil, singed rubber and citrus-scented antiseptic, and it burns your nostrils. You’re almost afraid to shatter the fragile silence with the sound of your movement, but it can’t be helped as you shove your feet back into your sneakers. The office is long abandoned, the desks all pushed up against the sides of the room to make space for the bed.

The hallway is slightly better, boxes of papers and car parts lining both sides, lit by old yellow florescent bulbs that give off less light than they should. There’s a dusty, unlit neon sign that reads Gary’s Auto-body, leaning against the wall. Down the hall, you can see that the light is on in the garage proper, this one bright and brilliant white. You squint as you pass through the doorway, spots dancing in front of your eyes as they slowly adjust to the light. 

In its previous life, this place had been a car mechanic’s garage, but now it serves as something like a speak-easy operating room. The car lifts have been mostly dismantled, and sitting on the concrete in the rusted outline of where they used to be are two operating tables. Ari is on one of them, speaking quietly to the man winding a length of beige bandaging around his right shoulder. 

Zemo. Ari called him Zemo.

“Mouse, you’re up.” You cover your mouth with both hands to stop the surprised squeak from reaching him. Guiltily, you peer around the door frame, waiting for a reprimand that doesn’t come. The “doctor” regards you with cold, calculating eyes. 

“So this is the young woman Mr. Barber is tearing the city apart to find,” he says. “How nice to finally meet you.” Andy’s name sends a cold shiver down your spine, and you clutch yourself. Zemo’s welcome feels less like kindness and more like tolerance. It makes you wonder how long you’ll be staying here. 

“You know Andy?” You ask, careful to keep your face as neutral as you can manage. 

Zemo scowls. “Well enough to know we do not get along.” He shakes his head, before regarding you with a cold smile. “Your husband has just as many enemies as he does friends.” Beside him, Ari sits up on the table with a pained grunt, swinging his legs over the side. 

“We can trust him, Mouse.” Ari offers you a watery smile. Nervously, you step closer, skirting around the now defunct counter as you attempt to give Zemo as wide a berth as you can manage. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, cleaning his tools with a cloth before dropping them with a loud, metallic pap into the metal tray next to the table. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him in a quiet voice as you approach, fingers dancing nervously around the gauze. You shake your head, closing your eyes as you blow out an exasperated breath. “I mean, I know you’re not okay, but—” Ari places a warm hand over your own, a quiet laugh rumbling in his chest. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Lucky for you Pronge is a terrible shot.” Zemo quips. “He missed bone.”

“See?” Ari says, squeezing your hand tight before letting go. “I’m just fine.” 

“You’re not fine. You have a six millimeter hole in you.”  

“Semantics.” 

“Keep activity to a minimum. I shouldn’t have to tell you this,” Zemo replies dryly. “And keep it clean, I’m not going to do it for you. This isn’t a hospital.” You watch him pack up his tools, ferrying them over to the deep sink on the other side of the room. Ari slides off of the table with a grunt, and you watch him press his lips together as he stands upright, gritting his teeth against the pain. 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Ari mutters, cutting his eyes at Zemo over his shoulder. “Six millimeters.” The doctor tosses him a worn looking cloth sling. Ari tries to fit it over his shoulder, and you rush to help him. “Thanks, Mouse.” Your cheeks warm with an uncomfortable heat. “I could have done it myself.” 

“This is all my fault,” you mumble angrily, shaking your head. “I have to do something.” You step back from him, tucking your chin. He rests a warm, comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“No it’s not.” 

“If I—If I hadn’t—” Guilt is an achingly heavy cowl about your sagging shoulders. 

“Mouse, what good is this going to do you?” The gentleness in his touch makes you flinch.

“As much as I am enjoying this conversation,” Zemo clears his throat. “I have my own wife and son to be getting back to.” You watch as he places his cleaned tools back into his bag. “Do remember what I said about your… hole.” He gestures to Ari’s injured arm with a grimace. “I’m rather keen on not amputating.” 

“You and me both.” Ari says. The two of you watch as he makes his way over to the front of the shop, pulling the metal garage door up enough to slip underneath it. “What time tomorrow?”

“Noon.” 

The garage door slams down hard onto the concrete, and then there is silence. You stand there awkwardly, twisting your t-shirt in your restless hands. They’re so used to holding the baby, without her sure weight in them they feel… useless. 

You feel useless. Adrift. 

And it isn’t just Dove—it’s everything. Despite what Ari says, you know this is your fault. He’d never have been hurt if you hadn’t been so fucking helpless. And it’s your own fault, you’d let your guard down, let Andy back inside, let him make a home inside your head, and it was your fault. 

“What are you thinkin’ there, Mouse?” Ari’s voice interrupts the self-depreciating internal monologue running rampant in your head. “I hope it’s about getting some sleep, you need it.” Again, his earnestness puts you on edge. You don’t know what to do with it—it feels alien to you now, almost like you’d prefer Andy’s smug cruelty—at least then you know what to expect. 

You don’t want to admit that you’re blaming yourself, thinking about all the ways you could have prevented this exact course of events just by being better. 

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m exhausted.” If anything, you’re too awake, recalling last night’s events with perfect clarity. You can’t even look at Ari as the two of you silently make your way back to the repurposed offices, shuffling along beside him as your insides squirm. You feel too much to go to sleep, so many warring desires it feels like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.

You suppose that’s one thing you sort of miss about Andy—you didn’t have to think, didn’t have to feel. He did it all for you. You arrive back at your “room”, fidgeting nervously before you cross the threshold. You don’t think you can sleep in here now, now that the adrenaline has worn off. Now that the terror has been waylaid by your other earthly concerns. 

 Ari notes your hesitation. 

“I can stay with you util you fall asleep, if you don’t think you can.” 

You duck your head, shaking it emphatically. “I should be looking after you,” you reply, shooting him a look over your shoulder. “You should, um, rest.” Ari looks around, raising an eyebrow. Oh. There’s only one other bed—and it’s current occupant is currently snoring so loud you can hear it in here. 

“You sleep here, and I’ll—” You look around. “I’ll sleep in one of the rolly-chairs or something.” He laughs softly at your sudden determination. 

“You know I’m not letting you sleep on chairs, Mouse.” Ari rests a hand on your shoulder. “You take the bed.” 

“You got shot, Ari!” You hiss. “I-I-I can’t—”

He holds up his hands placatingly, like he can see you working yourself up. Hell, he probably can. 

“Okay.” He threads the fingers of his good hand through his blond hair. “I’ll sleep on one side, you on the other. Fair?” 

“Y-yes. Fair.” Your words shock the both of you, and you feel your face heat as he regards you with a look of pleasant surprise before you look down at your feet. 

“You don’t have to agree if you aren’t comfortable, Mouse. You know that. I wouldn’t—”

“I know.” You grip your own forearms tightly as you speak, like you’re afraid saying the words out loud will make them untrue—like speaking the name of your demon will bring him down upon you. “You’re not Andy.” 

Ari takes the left side of the bed, and the springs creak under his weight. You crawl in beside him, holding yourself as stiff as you possibly can to avoid even brushing him by accident. The truth is, you are scared—but not of Ari. 

And that frightens you, too. 

He’s a man, a stranger, wearing a face too similar to the one you’re running from. Now, though, when you’re brave enough to peek at him, you see Ari—not Andy. And the longer you’re here, the clearer you see him.

You lie there in the dark, your arms held painfully stiff over your chest as you search the dark with wide, glassy eyes. The ceiling is far enough above you that your brain begins to construct patterns and shapes on it’s popcorn-textured surface. Grinning faces, tall, shadowy figures—

“Mouse, are you sleeping?” 

You hesitate. “…No.” 

“Go to sleep.” You swallow against the thick lump in your throat, blinking back hot tears. 

“It’s… It’s hard without Dove.” It’s so silent without the baby, the darkness uncomfortably quiet without the sound of her sleepy burble. She’s probably awake right now, wailing for you. You press the heels of your palms against your eyes like you’re trying to hold the tears in. 

“I know.” The mattress creaks, and you feel Ari’s weight shift. The weight of your loss settles in on you, then, the crushing vacuum of your daughter’s absence sucking the air out of your lungs as you gasp for it. You can’t keep quiet anymore, your hiccoughing breaths rising in pitch until you’re sobbing, hot tears streaming down your cheeks to soak your hair and the thin pillow beneath. 

“Hey, hey, come here.” Ari’s touch is hesitant. He lets his fingers linger on your shoulders before he hugs you, like he’s waiting for you to rebuke him. You don’t. Instead, you curl into his chest, your wails muffled by his body as you tangle your fingers in his over-shirt. You cry so hard it hurts, your throat raw and aching. 

Ari’s hands don’t stray. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t murmur false platitudes or make promises he knows he won’t be able to keep. He just…holds you, his breath steady and heartbeat slow and even under your ear. 

And then, finally, you fall asleep.

—

In the light of day, Irene looks terrible. Her left eye is swollen black and purple, a patchwork of burst blood-vessels and yellow bruises spread out over  cheek. The other side of her face is not much better, the other eye open but blood red, and her nose swollen. It’s obvious she took a beating, a bad one. Still, she seems to be in higher spirits than last night as she shovels the last of her cereal into her mouth. You’re doing the same thing, hungrily crunching down the contents of your own bowl. 

“We need to talk about next steps.” Irene draws the back of her hand across her mouth, her one good eye focused on you. “We need to move.” 

“I’m not going anywhere without Dove.” 

“That isn’t an option anymore.” 

You clench your hands into fists on the table. “I’m. Not. Leaving.” 

“We will figure out a way to get her back, but right now? You cannot go back to Boston, he is never going to let you go, do you understand that?” It’s like you’re speaking two different languages, talking around one another in dizzying circles. You shove yourself away from the foldout table, knocking over your plastic chair. 

“I’m not fucking leaving without my daughter!” You haven’t felt like this in months, and something about it feels freeing as the hot rage pools in your chest.  No, it isn’t that you haven’t felt it, you haven’t let yourself feel it. Anger was hopeless with Andy, firm and stone faced in the hurricane of your rage until you exhausted yourself, your freedom, your life still frustratingly far out of your reach. 

You storm away from the table, kicking aside one of Zemo’s silver trays, and his tools skitter across the concrete. Behind you is the sound of Ari’s voice. 

“I’ll talk to her.” 

You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you need to be away from them. Alone. The bathroom is on the far side of the garage bay, and you slam the door behind you, your chest heaving. You can’t leave without Dove, you won’t. 

You won’t abandon her. 

You grip the porcelain edges of the sink hard as you blink back fresh tears. You turn on the water with a fierce jerk of the knob, and begin to rinse last night’s tears from your face. This is the cleanest room in the building, fresh towels stacked on on the shelves, and medical supplies arranged neatly in the glass cases across from the standing shower. 

It’s probably the only room Zemo actually uses. 

As you’re drying your face, a knock sounds at the door, and you glare at it as you huff. 

“What?”

“It’s me. Can I come in?” You chew your lip. 

“Fine.” 

You unlatch the lock, and fold your arms across your chest as it opens. Ari peers around the door. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” You repeat, and he chuckles, stepping fully inside as the door swings shut behind him. “I’m not leaving without Dove.” You say it firmly, watching his shoulders sag with his deep sigh. “It’s not happening.” 

“Mouse. Look at me.” Reluctantly, you drag your gaze from the air over his shoulder. “Your husband—”

“We’re not married.” You spit, and Ari rolls his eyes at the technicality. 

“He’s dangerous, Mouse. You know that.” Ari places gentle hands on your shoulders. “You know that as soon as you step foot back in that house that he will never, ever let you go again.” Your stomach twists at his words.

“I can get out again.” 

“Will you want to?” His bluntness feels like a slap across the face, and though Ari hadn’t struck you—would never—your cheeks smart anyway. You know what he’s implying—Andy scrambled your head all up inside, and half the time now you don’t know up from fucking down.

But it still hurts to know he knows. Knows how changed you are, even though he never got to see the before, just the after.  

“Fuck you!” You snarl. “I am not leaving her! And if you won’t help me get her back, then I’ll—I’ll go back my fucking self!” For the first time since you’d met him, Ari actually looks angry at this, his eyes darkening beneath his furrowed brows. “If you don’t care about her—”

“I let Leah go back.” It takes you a moment to realize who he’s talking about, what he means. “I let Leah go back, and then I had to bury them both.” Ari’s hand is a pale, trembling fist on the bathroom sink. His next words are hoarse. “I didn’t know they made coffins so small.” 

“Ari…”

“I care about Dove.” The words are heavy, and you hate that you know he means them. “We are going to get her back.” His eyes are shiny, but he doesn’t cry. “I fucking swear we will get her back, but you are not going to do that. Okay? You’re not.” 

“You promise?” Your mouth trembles. 

“I promise.” Ari wraps his pinky around yours, holding your entwined fingers up at eye level. “And you aren’t going back.”  

“I-I won’t.”

“Promise.” His dark eyes burn so fiercely you want to look away. “Promise.” He repeats it firmly. 

“I promise.” 

And then he’s kissing you, cupping your chin with his good hand as he presses his lips desperately against your own. Your heart pounds in your ears as you go stiff in his arms. Ari breaks away, releasing you with a soft curse. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Mouse, I—I didn’t mean to do that, I just—” For once, he’s flustered, his cheeks ruddy beneath the shadow of his beard. Ari cards his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.” 

The moment hangs between you in the air, held like a breath. 

Your body stays tensed, like you’re ready to fight, or run, like it remembers Andy’s strict instructions. Except… Andy isn’t here to deliver them himself. 

“It’s…” You don’t know what to say, hell, you don’t even know what you’re feeling. Everything is all mixed up, the emotions all biting the tails of the ones they’re chasing—you’re terrified, you’re exhilarated, you’re nauseous and scared and happy and—

“I’ll go. I should go.” Ari mutters the words more to himself than to you. You’re moving before you really mean to, leaning up on the tips of your toes to press a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I—I don’t want you to go.”  With a sigh, Ari melts against you, resting his forehead against yours.  You know you have done this before—many times, even just with Andy—but somehow there is a marked uncertainty as you lift your own hand to Ari’s face, stroking your thumb along his stubbled jawline. He hums, turning his face into your palm, and you feel the press of his lips. 

 Ari wraps his good arm around your waist, his fingers pressing into the meat of your hip through your pajama pants. His right arm flexes, his fist clenching and unclenches in the sling like he wants to move it, but he knows better. Instead, he buries his nose in your hair, the tips of his fingers creeping up beneath your t-shirt to stroke at your belly. You tense at his touch and then relax again, shivering. 

“You tell me to go, I go.” Ari repeats softly, nosing down the side of your jaw. “I won’t be angry.” You look for the pool of cold dread that usually sits in your belly whenever Andy touches you, the reluctant fear that you stamp down to please him but find it entirely absent. 

“You don’t have to make me happy, you don’t have to do what I want because I want it.” You have to stand on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around Ari’s broad shoulders. There is undeniable excitement uncurling in your belly, warmth skipping under your skin at his touch. You want Ari to touch you.

“What if… it would make me happy?”

Ari huffs out a breathy laugh, his lips curving against your own. “That’s all I seem to want to do.” He takes your mouth again with a fervor that leaves you pleasantly breathless. Ari tangles his fingers in the curls at the nape of your neck, holding you still. His teeth tug at the weight of your lower lip and you gasp, opening for him. Ari tastes faintly of cinnamon sugar and something distinctly him that makes you shiver. 

“Been wanting to do that for a goddamn week.” He sighs the words against your mouth. He smooths his hand down the back of your neck, tracing a gentle finger along the length of your spine. You don’t know you’re holding your breath until you release is as his palm skirts over the curve of your ass. He chuckles. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yes.” Ari palms your ass in response and you gasp, tangling your fingers in his over-shirt. It feels strange to be asked what you want, to even consider your own feelings as worth listening to. Andy tells you what to want, what to think, how to feel—Ari simply…allows you to be. Just as you are. 

“I wanna touch you, Mouse,” he breathes. The admission sends a sharp bolt of electricity straight down your spine. “Can I?” You can’t avoid his eyes anymore, reluctantly meeting his gaze with your own. The words stick in your throat.

“You have to tell me, Mouse.” He strokes your trembling chin with the pad of his thumb. “I’m not him.”Andy always played at giving you choice, but you know Ari isn’t. That if you tell him to, he’ll walk away, and he won’t punish you for it. 

You close your eyes hard, pressing the lids shut till they hurt. You don’t want to think about Andy right now, don’t want to think about Dove without you—you just want this. It feels like you have to reach down your own throat to find it, pulling your own voice up and out through your mouth with force.

“Please?” 

Ari groans, plunging his hand into your loose sleep-pants to wrap around your thighs. He’s strong enough to lift you one-armed as you adjust. You wrap your legs around his waist as a reflex and he hums approvingly, his fingers sinking into the meat of your hips. 

The hard planes of his body press against yours, and your face heats as you think of the new weight that has settled around your hips and belly, but Ari does not seem to notice its presence, his fingers skimming appreciatively along your skin. You can feel the bulge of his cock pressing against your core, and the breathy, surprised noise you make in the back of your throat at the feel of it prompts a chuckle. 

Ari grips your hip hard as he takes a few long strides backwards until you feel cool tile beneath your back. He holds you there, pinned comfortably between his body and the wall as he grinds into you. He ruts against you with a groan. The thin, stretchy fabric between you offers little protection, considering, you can practically feel him throbbing through his zipper. 

“See, Mouse?” He says lowly. “All for you.” Ari releases you, and your feet have barely touched down on the tile before he’s pulling at the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Let’s take this off.” You nod, tugging it up over your head breathlessly, unaware of where it lands after Ari tugs it from your fingers. He drops to his knees, hooking a finger under the elastic band holding up your pajamas. You tense, remembering the last person who had been between your legs, but Ari grounds you, his lips brushing over the curve of your hip. 

“Don’t.” His mouth moves softly against your skin. “Stay here. With me, right now. Don’t go anywhere else.” Ari peels the layers of clothing back from your skin, his hands roaming hungrily over each newly revealed inch. You step out of them and then quickly scoot off your socks. Ari looks up at you from between your thighs, making hard, heavy eye contact as he places a hand beneath your knee. 

“Can I do this for you, Sweetheart? Can I make you feel good?” God, you want to let him. Everything’s out of you control—Andy, Dove, your whole life, but this? This is yours. This, you get to choose.

“Yes.” Even the act of consent feels unfamiliar. “I—I want to.” You don’t know how to describe the way you see the relief leave his body, his broad shoulders relaxing as he widens your stance, pushing your thighs apart till he can kneel between them properly. He squeezes the back of your thigh reassuringly before slowly lifting it to rest on his good shoulder. Ari holds your gaze as he leans forward to place a kiss on the chubby curve of your vulva through your cotton panties. 

His mouth is warm and soft—reverent as he mouths at your swelling lips through the fabric. Ari strokes your hip as he catches the fabric with his teeth, before pulling it aside to marvel at your bare pussy. You want to look away but you don’t, your mouth dropping open as he delivers a sloppy kiss against your slick folds. 

“O-oh,” the sound falls from your lips unbidden, and you feel his mouth curve against you. He pauses briefly to shrug out of his flannel, and dimly you are aware of the sound of his zipper before he’s back, his face thrust hard into the soaking place between your thighs. You mumble his name. 

“Ari, Ari, Ari—” 

He rolls the pearl of your clit against the roof of his mouth, circling your entrance with one finger. You press your head back against the tile, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. You do not remember threading your fingers through his hair, but as you tighten them, tugging, he moans, throaty and low. When you chance a look down, Ari is staring at you with lidded eyes. He flicks your clit sharply with the tip of his tongue, humming appreciatively as you jackknife. 

“Go ahead and cum, Mouse,” he murmurs the words against your slick, twitching skin. “It’s okay, Sweetheart, I know you need it.” One hand remains buried in Ari’s hair, tugging on it helplessly as the other scrabbles for purchase against the tile, looking for something—anything—to hold onto. You push against the hot water knob, and the pipes rattle as water rockets through them. You are tangentially aware of the spray of warm water from the shower head—but only barely. You whine helplessly, hips rolling against Ari’s face as you cum. 

He presses the tip of his finger into your cunt, groaning at the feel of you, wet and swollen and sucking at him. He gently lowers your leg, and your trembling knees nearly buckle. You watch as Ari wraps his fist around his cock, pumping it slowly as he stares at the sticky, messy spot at the apex of your thighs. It’s thick, veiny like his forearms. He sweeps his thumb across the tip,  spreading the dewy drop of precum gathered there. 

Ari stands, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. From inside, he produces a wrinkled—but sealed—condom. He tears into the packet with his teeth before discarding it. He fumbles with one hand, nearly dropping it, but you help, gingerly pulling the condom from his fingers. Ari stands stock still as you roll it slowly down to the base before he grasps your chin, his mouth crashing against yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue. 

This time when he lifts you, he uses the wall to leverage your weight, sinking you down slow as you lock your ankles behind his waist. Ari’s head lolls, his lips parting in a silent “o” as he draws his hips back, and then fully sheathes himself inside. The air in your lungs escapes in a sharp, needy whine. 

“F-full.” You don’t even realize you’ve said it until Ari hums in agreement. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it Mouse?” He breathes. “Shit, you’re squeezing me so nice,” he breathes, drawing back until your cunt is sicking at the tip of him before driving all the way back inside. You manage a nod, your hips rolling greedily into his.

“I-I—fuck—again—” The words don’t want to leave your tongue in any sort of sensible manner, but Ari understands them, grinning hungrily as he picks up the pace. He skims your clit with his thumb, and you can feel the sparks skittering up your spine and you gasp as he does it again and again—

“Come on, Sweetheart, you’ve got one more in there for me, don’t you?” He mutters, angling his hips up into yours as you writhe against him. “Wanna feel it on my cock—mmm, fuck—” You do, leaning forward to bury your face against his chest as you wail, your cunt clamping down around him like a fist. Ari curls his massive body over yours as he empties into you, his hips pressing softly against yours. He holds you there, his cock jerking and throbbing inside of you as he mumbles soft ‘mm’’s and ‘yeah, fuck yeah’’s into your hair until he’s done. 

You stay like that, your body buzzing as the warm water streaming down over you. Eventually, when you can no longer feel the hammer of his heart against your cheek, he pulls out, and you press your lips together in embarrassed amusement at the crinkle of latex. He knots it off before tossing it into the trash bin. Your cheeks burn as Ari cleans between your legs, cupping your swollen cunt with an appreciative hum. He slides his fingers through the folds of your sticky sex, and your breath hitches. 

“I’m just cleaning you up, Mouse, I promise.” He’s true to his word, there’s   hungry, lustful intensity in his touches, only care. You str heady yourself against his shoulder, and your heart drops at the  sight of his bandages. The center is tinged with a pink circle, and as you stare at it, it darkens a little. 

“You’re bleeding.” Ari looks down at his shoulder and grimaces.

“Occupational hazard, Mouse. I’ll be fine.” He attempts to reassure you with a smile, but it doesn’t completely do away with the cold feeling in your belly.

“We’re going to need to change these, at least,” you say, fingering the edge of his wet bandage. “I think Zemo will be mad if we don’t.”

“He’s always mad.” Ari replies, and you laugh. “But yes. We’ll change them” 

It somehow feels more intimate to stand there in the shower with Ari, slowly washing off the events of the last day and a half. He shampoos your hair, rubbing it in gently at the roots with the tips of his fingers. When you’re finally done, he helps you towel off, before producing a generic grey sweatshirt and pants from one of the cupboards after a bit of rummaging. 

When the two of you return to the garage, dewy cheeked and differently clothed, Irene snorts. 

“Had a good time, did you?” 

—

Dove won’t stop crying. 

Andy isn’t a bad father, he knows he’s not, but for some reason, he can’t get her calmed down. Her little fists are clenched tight, beating the air above her head with a frustration Andy as her father, cannot seem to quell. He bounces his daughter tiredly as he paces around the nursery, mumbling soothing baby speak as he rubs circles on her back. 

She’s been wailing practically nonstop since Pronge had delivered her, his expression grim as he’d handed her over. 

I couldn’t get your wife.

Andy had wanted to rage, then, and he almost had, itching to slam the whiskey glass in his hand into Robert’s face for the trouble—but Dove’s fussing had provided a sufficient reminder that it might not be appropriate to do so. She cries herself to sleep, hiccoughing in his arms until her breathing evens. Andy carefully lays her down in the crib, stroking his hand over the curve of her cheek. He closes the door to the nursery, and to his disgust, Robert Pronge stands in the hallway, the decanter of whiskey from his office held in his hand. He takes a swig from it. 

“Who else was with her?” 

Pronge grimaces. “Irene. And her new assistant. Fucker’s as big as a goddamn house. Name’s Ari Levinson, he owns some shithole bar.” Andy’s eyes narrow.

“Get out.” He shoulders past the killer in his hallway, not bothering to take back the bottle.

“And do what, exactly?” He sneers. 

“Finish your goddamn job, and find my wife.” Andy waits to hear the sound of the front door before returning to his office. He’d had you—and you’d slipped right through his fingers again. You wouldn’t want to be apart from Dove, at least, that much he could be sure of. You’re a good mother, regardless of the doubts he knows he’ll have to plant in your beautiful head to get you to stay. 

Ari Levinson. 

The name is unfamiliar, and a search through both Massachusetts and New York state databases return no results. He does, however, get pings on basic search engines.

Ari Levinson. Dishonorable discharge, tried for murder, dismissed as self defense.

Now that is interesting.

It’s after midnight when he finally decides to turn in for the night, and as he closes his office door, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He reaches for it, frowning at the unfamiliar number—but then his eyes widen at the caller I.D. 

Albany.

“Hello?” At first, there’s only grainy silence on the other end, until finally, you speak. 

“I’m ready to talk, Andy.” 

He smiles. “Oh, Honey. I knew you would be.” 

to be continued…

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[brittscafe]

hello there, hope yoh having a good day. Can i request headcanonz jealousy for Kenpachi Zaraki and Shunsui Kyōraku, thank you hun

yes, yes, yes, and yes!

Kenpachi:

It definitely shows on his face.

Instead of wearing his usually deadpan expression, his borrows are furrows and his nostrils are flared as he glares at the healer.

The poor guy was just doing his job as his hands run up and down your wounds, but Kenny couldn't help the way he was feeling.

He starts to clench his fists and you glance over at Kenny as he marches over towards you.

Before you could say anything, he pushes the man away with zero effort and grabs onto your hand.

"I can take care of you perfectly fine on my own," Kenpachi comments with a harsh tone, leading you away from the poor healer.

"Kenny, he was just doing this job," you sigh out as he drags you behind him.

"Yeah, whatever. His hands were all over you," Kenpachi spits out harshly and you tug out of his grasp.

You both stand there in silence, glaring at each other when the healer starts to walk by.

Kenny's eyes light up and he marches over to you, slapping his hand down on your wrist.

Before you can even speak, he smashes his lips against yours.

His hand squeezes your wrist tightly and your eyes widen at the kiss.

You slap against his chest a few times before he pulls away from you, both of you breathing heavily.

"Jealous. You are so jealous," you comment and Kenny's heart skips a beat.

He scoffs quietly and glances away. "Yeah whatever," he replies dryly, taking your hand and pulling you away behind him.

He's sure to punish you later in bed ;)

Shunsui:

You never expected Shunsui to be jealous.

But that all changed when you were both out drinking sake and there were members of your squad surrounding you.

Shunsui was casted aside, downing each glass of sake that he had in front of him.

You could see the growing anger on his face, but he hid it so well from the others.

When's he had enough of the boys fanning over you, he slams his glass down on the table.

The boys continue chattering, but you lift up your head at the sound.

Shunsui's already towering over you, putting his arms around you and easily lifting you up from your seat.

"Shunsui!" you gasp out, your legs dangling in the air.

"Sorry boys, play time is over," Shunsui demands with a bitter tone, tossing you over his shoulder.

He storms out of the bar as you squirm in his tight grasp all the way back to your private living quarters.

Shunsui throws you down on the bed and you're left in a spiral of confusion.

You didn't get why Shunsui was so mad.

"You're mine, you know that, right?" Shunsui asks, grabbing onto your jaw and tilting your head up.

You gaze into his eyes, burning with a bright hot jealously and you let out a tiny chuckle.

"Oh my god, you're so jealous, Shunsui," you comment and his cheeks flush with a bright red color.

His hand drops from your jaw and he turns away from you.

"Maybe," he shrugs his shoulders and you cup his cheeks.

You brush his cheeks, his beard scratching against your soft skin.

"Of course I'm yours. There's no need to ever be jealous," you reassure him, placing a soft kiss upon his lips.

[dazed-nymphsss]

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

┕━» eddie munson x fem!reader

❕warnings❕: aftercare, mentions of smut and kinda smut but not really, fluffy fluff, adult-themed so NO MINORS

a/n: this is kinda booty but lol here you go<3

『•• aftercare with eddie <3 ••』

is it the bridge between worlds that makes you feel alone? — no face, haley henderix

You collapsed on your stomach with a huff, your breath labored, your hair sticking every which way from your lover's treatment. You were exhausted, floating away in that all-too-familiar headspace Eddie seemed to like so much.

Sounding out a whine as you felt his hand where he had cum all over you, collecting some of the mess and placing it up to your lips, "Open" was all he said, and you complied.

You suckled his fingers, that salty after-taste seeping into your tongue as he chuckled at our hazed state. He had really done a number on you this time around, driving you practically to the point of insanity.

And he knew it was time to give back.

"Good girl," he praised, before disappearing once again out of your vision.

You laid there, your back to the ceiling as you took deep breaths, trying to level yourself out, but your mind was too fucked out to even comprehend anything around you other than him.

Suddenly, you felt his hand smoothing up your spine.

"Come on, get up, we have to get you cleaned so then you don't go to bed all sticky."

"Nooooo," you mumbled into the fabric of the pillowcase, "'m too tired."

He knew that at this point, you weren't getting up, not by yourself at least, and slipped his arms under you before flipping you over, and lifting you in his arms.

You were fussy at the prospect of being moved, burning your head in his chest as he carried you to the bathroom, setting you down on the closed toilet seat.

The absence of his warmth caused much protest with you, making you grab his hand as you tried to keep your balance on top of the worn-down appliance.

"I'm right here, baby, see? Turning on some hot water for you so we can get you all cleaned up. Then we can sleep, honey, promise."

His words consoled you for the time being, but you still felt your brain float around in that dumb little headspace and the comfort he desperately attempted to instill in you was short-lived.

Thankfully, the water was warm by then.

He gently slipped the two of you in the tub as it filled up, the warm water soothing your shaking muscles, Eddie holding you up against him as you slowly felt yourself come back.

"You with me, baby?" he asked, almost unsure, but his uncertainty melted away like candle wax when he heard you speak up, your words less slurred.

"Yeah. I'm here,"

He took that as a solid enough answer, taking some soap and lathering it in a loofah.

This is when you started laughing, full-chested guffaws that left Eddie speechless.

"What so funny?" he questioned, cocking his head like a confused puppy.

"You, Eddie Munson, own a loofah?" you giggled.

"Hey, this thing actually gets the job done. And, shut up, you're the one getting cleaned with it," he argued, coasting the bright orange loofah across the expanse of your thighs.

You let out a playful 'mhm' as he continued to clean you, allowing your head to fall back against his shoulder as you closed your eyes, letting your senses take over.

Sure, you were going to smell like Old Spice body wash in the morning, but at the cost of some of the most amazing sex you had ever had, you were willing to smell like Old Spice for the rest of your life.

After he had finished cleaning you up, he wrapped you up in one of the fluffiest towels he owned while he drained the tub. You waddled into Eddie's room, you rifled through some of the shirts in his drawer, and settled on an Iron Maiden shirt, a skeleton smiling grimly on the front of it.

By the time Eddie had made it back to the bedroom, you were clocked out, asleep on his mattress, small snores leaving you. His expression softened as he climbed into bed with you, covering you up with the duvet.

He held you close to him in a comforting, cozy embrace as he finally felt himself succumb to sleep.

The two of you drifted off, sated, and more importantly, in each other's arms.

[chronically-ghosted]

there ain't enough room in this twin bed in our shitty Bogota apartment for the two of us

rating: E (explicit - 18+)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 13K 🫣

summary: after surviving the bomb, you and javier make it home to your apartment . . . and promptly pick up right where you left off in the car. 

warnings/tags: canon typical violence, discussions of death/violence, oral (f receiving), piv sex, smut-smut-smut, edging, slight overstimulation, lots of feelings, no use of y/n

a/n: part two of Go On, I Dare Ya - the final chapter because writing smut for these two really wears me out

🤍 AO3 Link

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There’s a ringing. 

Smoke. Acrid and burning. It’s in your chest, your mouth, your eyes – is that why you can’t see? You cough and just breathe more in, inhaling nails that scrape your lungs. There’s a bright spot on your hip and back and palm – pain? – yes, that’s blood – fuck, where’s your gun? Why are you laying down?

There’s a ringing. A vibration. Like the world is made of brass and someone is tapping tapping tapping with their finger nail and you can actually feel the swelling ring –

There’s still smoke. Less now. Controlled. Intentional. But it still vaporizes the air in your lungs.

“Can you put that out?” You snap at the large fed standing by the doorway. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to you, frowning, as if you are being unreasonable. But eventually, your glare wins out over his and he, as if moving through molasses, reaches towards the metal table, and snuffs out the cigarette into a grimy ashtray.

You realize the ringing is someone speaking to you.

Noonan. She looks worried, pale, but determined. The lines around her mouth are sharp, distinct, as if someone with endless patience carved them out of her skin. She looks old, you think, an idea that doesn’t come to you very often, if at all. Her mouth is moving but you don’t really hear what’s coming out of it. You watch her lips move, they look like they’re made of rubber, flapping over an empty, black hole. White. Teeth. Bite.

Something warm touches your wrist and it’s like you’re sucked back into your body.

You blink, the overhead light of the empty interrogation room suddenly very bright, the scratch of the tape recorder as it rolls on in the silence. You can see yourself in the mirror over Noonan’s blue padded suit. God, you look terrible. Ashy, dirty, there’s a cut over your left eye and suddenly you’re aware of the blood there, the pain there, and in your hands and hips. By the pressure there, you know you’re going to have bruises if you don’t already. Your hands have bandages over them so you can’t see the damages, but the cloth scratches what feels like an open wound. How much blood is there?

Three sets of eyes watch you with varying mixtures of emotion. Noonan, verging on concern. The suit behind you – Ken Something – remains unimpressed. And –

The warmth on your wrist is Javi. Just the barest touch of his fingers. He gently says your name, your last name at least, and you hear it very, very clearly. You follow the bend of his fingers with your eyes, over his wrist, up his arm that has a large bandage just around the elbow, then up his shoulder – God, that white shirt is ruined, torn, bloodied, filthy – to his eyes. 

Eyes you saw in the midst of all that smoke and fire. Panicked and white like searchlights. You remember him screaming your name – your first name – then. 

He’s looking at you like he wishes you two are the only ones in all of existence. 

“Agent,” he says softly but firmly, “the senator asked you a question.” 

There’s a cut along the arch of his cheek and you want to touch it, but instead you turn back to Noonan.

“Sorry, I missed it. What did you say?” 

Noonan glances at Javier, something about concern communicated, before interlocking her fingers on the table in front of her. 

“I said, for the record, I’d like your account of what happened after the first bomb went off. We have Agent Peña’s and now I’d like yours.” 

The microphone in front of your face feels invasive, like some streaker just flashed you before running off, giggling. You try not to scowl.

“The car bomb in front of the gambling den went off and blew out half the building. Agent Peña and I were fifty feet up the road at the intersection of Manacha and Comal. It had been a strictly routine follow up to a tip we received on Tuesday. The target, Edwardo Valasquez, was rumored to be meeting with one of the upper narcos so the mission was to watch where he went, to validate that claim. Peña and I had been tailing him all day. That night, in the car, we –,” 

Your voice catches. The tape winds, black film consumed again and again. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Javier stiffen. The room still smells like smoke, but this time you can’t tell if it’s coming from your clothes or the ashtray.

You swallow. “We had been there for seven hours when the first bomb went off. The target didn’t come out before then and we didn’t see anyone mess with the rigged car. It was a trap.” 

“Who do you think the intended targets were?” Noonan asks, interest overtaking the worry on her face. Those lines around her mouth go slack, and that no-nonsense senator is back. 

“If someone drove it there and parked it, then most likely the target was Valasquez. It was dark, I couldn’t make out the faces of the men that drove it.” 

Noonan writes something down on the yellow pad beneath her hands. “And the perpetrators? Who sent the bomb?”

“Cali.” You say simply. “They’re sending a message that no one is safe unless they’re with them.”

Noonan nods grimly. She fixes those hawk-like eyes on you again. “And the second bomb?” 

“Insurance. I didn’t see it go off, but it looked like it was stationed at the exit behind us.”

“And where were you when the second bomb went off?” 

You swallow, mouth filled with smoke, and it feels like, for a second, that your guts are oozing out onto the table. You cross your arms to hold them in. 

“I don’t know. I was providing Agent Peña with cover when the explosion went off. There was a firefight, between the two cartels. Did I mention that? After the first bomb, the street erupted into an active warzone. They shot at us because they didn’t know who’s side we were on.” 

Noonan chuckles darkly, writing down something again. “I think a bomb going off would be enough to classify the situation as a warzone, but I understand your point.” 

She sighs and looks up. “We’re almost done. Just a few more questions. What happened after the second bomb went off?”

This is where it gets tricky. 

You’d think after a second bomb to go off within twenty feet of the first that there’d be noise. So much noise, for so much chaos. That much destruction cannot go quietly. But of all the things you remember about tonight, the first thirty endless seconds after you opened your eyes, sideways on the pavement, hip bones grinding into the rocks and debris, gun out of your hands and lost to the smoke, those were thirty seconds of silence.

You know if given time, you could parse it out, you could construct something like a timeline. But now, in this yellow smoky room, you can’t quite put it together. You remember people, people bloodied, people dead, you remember something about gathering up an old woman in your arms and dragging her until something inside you told you to stop. You remember you couldn’t find Javier, and the sinking, horrific dread that clawed into your bones. You remember EMTs and lights and the scream of sirens and the fires and the smoke. But you don’t know the order. 

“I don’t remember.” 

“You don’t remember?” Noonan frowns. “Were you cleared for release?” 

“I . . .”

You trail off, unable to find the words. You think you remember someone checking for a concussion. Yes, thick, square hands grasping your elbows, forcing you to look, look at him, are you okay, are you bleeding, are you hurt – 

“Yes, Senator, she was.” Javier’s voice is smooth, collected. He has his arms crossed against his chest and his left knee is bouncing. You know that look. He’s about ready to start cracking heads for a cigarette. “I saw it personally myself.” 

“Okay, but why –,”

“With all due respect, ma’am, it’s shock. Plain and simple.” You don’t understand why he’s taking that tone so you look at him. To everyone else, he appears bored, disinterested, eager to get out. But to you, he’s coming apart at the seams. His dark eyes haven’t left your face since you started speaking. “This was her first bombing.” 

Something about his words breaks through this numb little box you’ve found yourself in and you can feel the grime on your face pinch your skin as you frown at him. His mouth flattens; what are you looking at me like that for? 

“Is that true, Agent?” Noonan pulls your attention away from Javi. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Noonan rifles through a folder to her right, another line appearing between her eyebrows. “And reports say you helped at least five civilians to safety? You did that, while experiencing shock?” 

“I –,”

“Yes, she did.” Javier cuts you off and leans forward onto his elbows. He’s closer than he was before and you smell the smoke on him. “This agent performed admirably under intense pressure and I am officially recommending her for commendation.”

“Javier –,” you hiss as the air in your lungs evaporates. He won’t look back at you.

Noonan raises an eyebrow before putting her pen to the pad again. “Noted, Agent Peña.” 

“Please, don’t write–,” 

“Is there anything else, Senator?” Javier’s knee is incessant, liable to knock over the entire table in a single twitch. With a sigh, Noonan reaches over and switches off the recording. 

“No, Peña, there’s nothing else . . . for tonight. But you can bet your ass there’ll be a shitload of crap tomorrow. I wish I could tell you both to take tomorrow off, given the hell you just went through, but there’s already inquiries coming in from the press and the government. Both ours and Colombia. What a fucking nightmare . . .” 

She stands, collecting the folder and pad. She stares at you and Javier with unreadable eyes, a thick wall of distance brought about by exhaustion and concern. A house of cards straining to hold up bricks. 

“Go home. Eat. Shower. Sleep. As much as you can because tomorrow we hit the ground running.” You nod while Javier just watches her go, but she stops by the door, Lurch already moving down the hall. “And off the record, your country thanks you for your service.” 

Your stomach knots and she leaves, her heels clacking as she goes.

“Ready to go home?” Javier’s eyes are dark, soft. He’s filthy and he holds his hand out to you. You stand without taking it. 

“Yes.”

By the time, Javi parks his Jeep against the curb, you can feel a bone-deep ache settling in. Exhaustion is so palpable in the air you can almost taste it. Given five more minutes, you would have dropped your forehead against the window and gone to sleep. But you fought it. You drove back the aches and the dreams and the steady pull into a dark sleep because Javier was driving and if he is awake, so are you. 

The car engine shuts off, the air still warm from the heat outside, and Javi’s door opens and shuts. You fumble with the handle, pop it back, and almost stumble into the street. But he’s there. As if he had been coming around to get your door for you. 

You stumble down from his Jeep and his hands catch you around your shoulders, your waist. 

“Easy, easy,” he murmurs to a quiet street. This neighborhood in Botoga is empty this time of night, its residents asleep beneath blankets of darkness. His thumb rubs your waist once before letting go. You’re somehow upright and steady. His hand on your shoulder remains, grounding you, centering the unstable universe. “Can you walk?” 

You nod and your eyes fall to his hand on your shoulder, so he lets you go. He watches you take two steps, then go up into the apartment building. He’s always close by, a shadow you could never lose. 

He’s somehow even closer, more insistent, more there when you climb the stairs to your shared apartment on the second floor. If you breathe wrong, his hand will shoot out and snatch away whatever is causing you harm. You hear the jingle of keys behind you and you realize your purse is gone.

In the midnight blue hallway, it’s like he can see your thoughts as they cross over your eyes. He’s using his own key to unlock the door. “Everything recovered was taken in as evidence. Everything from the car and everything that was found. We can get it back tomorrow. I’ll talk to Noonan personally.” 

What makes you so special with Noonan, you want to say. But you can just picture your keys and purse and everything you held important to you sitting exposed in the evidence locker for anyone to rifle through. 

He pauses, as if expecting something from you, but when given only silence, he nudges open the apartment door with his shoulder and the familiar smell of home greets you in your time of need. It smells like the chilaquiles you made last week. It was Javier’s birthday and you didn’t forget and the look on his face when he walked in and instantly recognized the taste of home and –

He stands by the couch, taking up too much room, quietly thinking, the keys still in his hand. He’s so fucking broad.

With a sigh, he tosses the keys onto the coffee table and they clatter against the glass, the sound loud and ringing in the silence. 

That heady mixture of fatigue and exhaustion slowly peels back from your brain like water receding from the sand when he tugs that filthy ruined shirt out of his waistband. He scratches the back of his head like he’s trying to knock a thought loose before pinching his eyes. With a huff, as though frustrated, he finally looks at you.

“You wanna take the first shower?” His voice is rough, attached to the back of a truck and spun in gravely circles. 

  It takes you a minute to realize he’s talking to you.

“Oh, I was, I was just going to go to sleep,” you say honestly. “Just pass out, face first, you know.”

You smile, hoping that might relieve the tension that’s winding up in his shoulders like a batter taking aim. But it doesn’t. In the dark, you can’t quite make out the expression in his eyes. But you do see the whites, like searchlights, seeking you out in the smoke.

“Don’t let it sit with you. Don’t . . . hold onto it.” You think you might know the “it” he’s talking about but you aren’t sure. But his tone lessens as he continues, “just at least rinse off. I wanna check your bandages before we go to sleep.” 

The thought of Javier peeling back anything on you leaves you almost rooted to the spot. You want to move but you can’t. There’s a slow, expanding heat starting in your lower stomach, but you won’t acknowledge it. Won’t look at it directly. What the fuck is wrong with you? 

“Javier–,” his name is strangled in your throat, this entire night living somewhere between your memories and your windpipe. 

He’s over to you in a second, hands clutching your elbows, are you hurt, are you here – I can’t find you –

“What? What do you need? Do you need me to help you?” 

“Help?” Your voice is barely a whisper. You wonder if you press your thumb to the hollow of his throat, if your skin would come back gray and dirty, and there’d be a clear spot over his skin. His chest fills your vision.

“Yes. Do you need help getting into the shower?” 

Jesus Christ, I miss pussy.

The memory is so suddenly clear and loud and invasive you feel like you’ve slapped with the strength of it. You jerk out of his arms, scowling. 

“No. No. It’s not that.” You physically lift your arm to keep him back. “No. I’m . . . just make sure the front door’s locked, okay? I’ll be out of the shower . . . in a minute . . .”

You stagger backwards and his nostrils flare, teeth grinding in his jaw, and his eyes carry the ache you feel in your bones. 

“You’re in shock. Let me help you –,”

“I’m fine. Just winded.” Turning away from him, your fingers brush the wall to guide you in the etched darkness, the lines of things just barely visible. You slide out of your shoes as you go, unbuttoning your pants and not caring if he follows.

“Can I help you into the shower?”

“No.”

“Can I wait outside?”

“No.” 

“Can I sit outside the door, with it open just a crack? In case you fall.”

The fact that that was a mere possibility ran you cold. You pause with your hand on the bathroom door, the zipper of your pants undone. He’s a shadow in the dark apartment, neither one of you reaching for the lights, but you know he’s concerned, coming from a place of care, not condescension, or ire, or disgust. Something about tonight scared the shit out of him. 

You nod, allowing this one transgression, and go in before you see him move. As per his request, you leave a small crack in the door and then brace yourself for the light switch. You squint against the bright blaze, the pounding in your head flaring for a second as you slowly open one eye, then two, and your vision adjusts. You meet your gaze in the mirror and gasp.

“What? What is it?” His voice is panicked and you know if you don’t answer in a way that satisfies him, he’s going to break the door down. 

“I’m fine, Javi. I’m just . . . I just saw myself in the mirror and I look like I’ve been run over by a semi-truck.”

Silence. “It’s not as bad as you think,” he says simply. You can almost picture him huddled up by the door, not daring to step into the strip of light. “A lot of it is swelling and that’ll go down soon. Give a day or two.”

That’s not really what you meant, but the sentiment from him is overwhelming and for the second time tonight, you struggle to find your voice. 

“G-g-good to know.” 

You smother his response by turning on the water behind you. 

Hot. Scalding hot. You want to disintegrate into the steam. With your belligerent guardian hovering nearby, you unbutton your shirt and ease your jeans off down your hips. Everything was unsalvageable. You wonder if you could get a reimbursement for clothes caught in the crossfire, remembering the story Steve told you about the time Javi got his cash bribery to a cop paid back in full by the DEA. 

Despite the things you said to him in the car, and despite what you know about him, you know he’s not eyeing you through the crack. He would never. 

I wouldn’t brag about you to anyone, even if you lost. 

And I especially would never if you let me fuck you.

That heat blooms in you again and you quickly shuck off your underwear. The steam is overwhelming, soothing the singed insides of your lungs with a wet compress. You step under the water and bite back a gasp. Fucking Jesus, it hurts. It burns, but it feels like it’s stripping off layers and layers of dirt and grime and destruction and smoke and chaos and holy shit, you almost died –

“Javi.” His name is in your mouth before you can stop it. It’s so heavy there, you can almost taste it.

“Yeah?” He responds instantly, cautiously. 

“Uh, nothing. Sorry. I was just . . . just making sure you were awake out there.” 

“I’m still here.”

He sees through your bullshit so fast it makes you flinch in anger. You scowl at the floor, focusing on watching the gray water rush down the drain. You struggle to fully wash your hair – the bandages around your palms are completely soaked but don’t come off easily – and when you go to rub soap on yourself, you pass over your hips and hiss.

Yep, bruises. Purple ones the size of your fist, up your left side, and by your ribs. You remember waking up sideways, the blast having launched you off your feet and into the road. You were grateful you didn’t knock your head against anything permanent. And lucky nothing got pierced, shattered, or snapped in two. Or crushed or bent or displaced. Two bombs and you get to go home to your bed and sleep.

And so does Javi.

Even just imagining that Javi wouldn’t make it home ran a shudder through your body so painful, the water shooting out of the shower head could have been ice cold. But the images in your mind grow and distort, his eyes wide open and no life within, his body too mangled for identification, your consciousness and his separated forever or maybe lost together in the same snarling black pit of endless nothing – tears spring into your eyes so fast it hurts as sharpness clogs your throat. 

God, you came so fucking close to dying and all this petty bullshit that you’ve dragged him through just because you didn’t want to seem incapable, when in fact, he thought you were the most talented agent he’s ever seen – why the fuck are you doing this to him? The intensity in your chest swells but you beat it back, beat it down, as you wrangle back your belligerent emotions into the box where they belong. No, fuck, that’s stupid. He’s fine. You’re fine. This is what you trained for. You cannot afford to lose it now. This is standard operating procedure. He’s not crying so neither should you. Buck the fuck up. 

You stand there for a full minute, every muscle in your body locked to steady yourself, mouth twisted down, hands fisted, thighs clenched, thighs locking up at the memory of him, of his promises, of the line you nearly crossed before it all went to hell.

Just fucking relax and let me take you apart.

You release, eyes open, mouth apart with a gasp. Fuck, this is so fucked up. You wanted Javi alive and breathing, to annoy every day, and to rail you within an inch of your life.

I’d make it good. I’d make it so fucking good, I swear.

He is just outside that door. Just waiting for you to say the word. 

No. He didn’t go running into the next open bed just because he was sad or some shit. Sad or scared or whatever. No, you aren’t going to be that pathetic, no matter how badly you throb, no matter how much you ache, no matter how much you already know that your fingers won’t be enough – and you can’t even use them. Hissing from the hot water on your skin and the frustration that grows between your legs, you carefully, gingerly, knowing full well what would happen if you made any sort of unusual sound, stepped out of the bathtub and took a towel down from the shelf. You wrapped it around yourself, your skin warm and smarting, but no longer aching. 

The door hadn’t moved an inch. 

You brush your hair a few times out of habit more than anything else and squeegee it until it's no longer dripping. Now to face him. You knock on the door, feeling as though you should respect this boundary you made on both sides. 

“Uh, Javi,” your chest won’t let you forget you were near tears, or the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn that insatiable animal between your legs decided to make. You try again, firmer. “Javier, I’m done.”

“Do you want me to leave so you can go to the bedroom?”

Leave? Why would you want him to leave the apartment?

No. He’s asking if you don’t want him to see you in a towel. You can almost picture his broad hand on the other handle. A phantom over your own.

“N-n-no. It’s fine. I’ll just – I’ll just come out.” 

You pull back the door and he’s there against the door frame, his broad shoulders turned away from you like someone left the paddock door open and all you have to do is run, run free, run away –

“Thanks,” you murmur, not meeting his eyes as you slide past him. You don’t even fault him if he looks at your ass, but you make it to the bedroom. The bathroom door clicks shut behind you and your lungs release a pent-up breath. 

He was fucking right. Getting it off you does make it better. 

From your dresser, you grab just some underwear and your older brother’s old college t-shirt. It comes to your midthigh and that’s exactly what you need right now. You don’t want anything thick on you. The smell is comforting in a way you can’t describe and you inhale as all the tension eases from your body. 

You drop your towel over the handle of the closet, in which Javi had somehow managed to find space for his many collared shirts despite you swearing there was not an inch of room for him, when you see something on the floor by the dresser. Call it delusion from the events of the night, but you don’t recognize it for what it is until you pick it up . . . and immediately drop it when the realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

It’s a rag, one you both (horrifyingly) use to wash your face, and it’s stiff on the inside. Not full, but hardened. Vaguely you can still hear the shower running as you contemplate what this means. For all the shit you give him, you really didn’t think he would cheat and not fess up. No, this wasn’t him consciously cheating – the rag was too casually discarded for this to be considered evidence. This is something else. 

All of this – the bet, the rules, the fact that you actually included wet dreams – you decided on!

Twice now I’m pretty sure I’ve gone blind in one eye, listening to all that and not being able to do a goddamn thing about it.

This is . . . your freebie. 

Your face warms, your fingers flexing around the edge of your t-shirt. Holy shit. Wet dreams. Nocturnal emissions. Holy shit.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. 

The shower turns off just as the warm rushes between your legs, unrestrained and unrestricted. You swear your mouth waters at the thought that you might find an ounce of relief, tonight. Even soon. Your thighs quiver. 

The bathroom door opens and you all but launch yourself under the covers. Your fingers are between your thighs before you can stop them, just there, a reminder of relief and you fight off a shiver. The respect he gave you slips into your mind the second before he rounds the corner into the bedroom and you snap your eyes shut, the covers to your chin. 

He moves in silence, but the things around him do not. The floor cracks where he walks. The dresser drawer groans as he opens them and shuts them. You think you hear the rustle of a towel falling, then fabric moving on skin, and the floor squeaks in protest as he walks back out of the room. 

You breathe out, the air hacked up and choppy as though through between blades. You take your fingers from between your legs, but the stickiness in your underwear remains, just as it has been for a month and a half now. You might be berating yourself – what kind of fucked up were you that this is your reaction to a near-death experience? – if the light at the end of the tunnel wasn’t so bright. You could take off that searing, serrated edge that’s kept you from sleeping well, from dreaming, remove your brain from the hot plate it's been sizzling in for a month and a half. You try desperately not to imagine Javi entirely naked as he moves about the room, but you can’t help it, not now that you’ve given yourself permission to marinate in those feelings, in that heat. Oh God, please can’t he just go to bed?

There’s a click and suddenly light blooms behind your eyelids. You squint open one eye to see him coming towards you with a medical kit in his hands. 

“I know you’re awake. Sit up and let me dress your hands.” 

The white gauze was damp and soggy from the shower, but you hadn’t really noticed. He sits down, just beyond where your toes are covered by your blanket, and sighs. 

“C’mon. Faster you do this, the faster we can go to sleep.” 

“Or we could just not. Just go to sleep now.” Just go over there. All the way over there. The bed sinks where he adjusts on your mattress and you swear you can feel his body heat through the covers. You bite your lip and force that whimper back down your throat. 

“It’ll get infected.” He taps your thigh under the comforter. “C’mon.”

You sit up but don’t give him your hands. He’s turned on the lamp light between your two beds, not the overhead light, and it blurs all the lines of his shoulders, his jaw, his hair. His white shirt is warmly golden and you realize you had been hoping he wasn’t wearing one. He still hasn’t looked up at you. Maybe he really is irritated that he’s not asleep yet, which you marvel at – you won’t be able to fall asleep for hours, even if you weren’t low throbbing between your legs. With a sigh that’s more practice than sincerity, you stick out your palms. The gauze and tape no longer sit right over your skin and you can now see the pink skin beneath it. 

Javi makes a noise in the back of his throat before digging around in the med kit for something. He pulls out a small pair of scissors and starts cutting back the gauze. 

“I could do this myself, you know.” It’s petulant and bratty but you didn’t think Javier Peña was capable of the delicate touch with which he holds your hand steady. 

“I know,” he says. “I wanted to do it for you.” 

It is painfully obvious that you absolutely could not do this unassisted but for the life of you, you can’t imagine why he’s humoring you. You watch him as he methodically cuts through the wet gauze, inordinately careful not to catch or drag the material. He cuts down between your third and fourth knuckle on both hands, and eases the gauze away.

Exposed to the open air, the wounds on the heels of your palms sting and you hiss. Javi, who just had his head in the kit, snaps his head up to you.

“Don’t–,”

But it’s too late, you’ve already turned over your hands. Angry, red, pulsing gashes, some so deep you can see muscle, sit in matching places at the bottom of your hands. Presumably, when you were thrown, you reached out to catch yourself and your hands and hips got the brunt of the impact. But your hips had your jeans over them while your hands had nothing.

“You don’t need stitches.” Javi’s gaze is heavy, his voice low. His hands loosely hold the new roll of gauze and tape. He looks like he’s bracing himself, that he’s worried you’re about to yell at him. “I checked with the EMTs. You don’t need stitches.” 

“Oh.” You won’t be able to properly close your hands for months. 

“They don’t think–,” his voice catches. “They don’t think it’ll scar either. Maybe a bit, but not so much that –,”

“Where were you?” Your question isn’t accusatory, but curious. You look up at him and he flinches. “I don’t see anything on you.” 

“You were closer.” The room is thick with his solemnity. “You were covering my right and I,” he swallows, his eyes fixated on your bloody hands, “I should have seen it coming.”

“Bullshit, Javi. No one could have seen that coming. No one could have stopped it.” His nostrils flare again and he not-too-gently takes your hand with his fingers. Your wrist looks so small in comparison to his fingers. He unwinds the gauze around your palm, and wraps it up against your wrist, securing it with tape, his movements tight and short. There’s real rage in his eyes.

“Yes, I could have.”

His fucking ego. It scratches against you until you feel your skin catch fire. You want to snatch back your other hand, but he’s insistent, not rough, but boasting no room for negotiation. “There’s nothing you could have done, you idiot. You’re not actually Superman.” 

He grinds his teeth. “I should have just done my fucking job.” 

There’s only so much you can take. This fucking man.

You snatch your hand back from him the instant the tape seals the gauze. 

“You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?” His shoulders are lined with tension. You want to kick him off your bed. His fingers dig into your mattress. “You fucking follow me around like I’m liable to break apart and then you go and pull this shit.”

“What shit?” He growls as he angrily packs up the kit and drops it on the floor.

“This! This tough guy, I’m-fucking-invincible, John-Wayne bullshit. We were both there, Javier. Both of us were in the crossfire of not one, but two explosions tonight. So don’t act like I’m the only one upset. Don’t act like this didn’t affect you.” 

He goes still. His nails freeze in their excavation of your bedsheets, his shoulders hunched like he’s straining under some immense pressure. Just as you’re about to lift your eyes to find his, he stands – and moves closer to your end of the bed. You flinch, react, because this is not at all what you were expecting from him, and you pull your knees to your chest. 

His hand hovers over your knee. 

He’s so broad he eclipses the light until he’s all you see. There’s a twitch in his jaw and finally his hand settles down. His thumb rubs your skin once, as if to confirm you’re there. 

For the first time in your partnership, his face is unreadable to you. His gaze is dark, stormy, raging, but the corners of his mouth are pulled down and his breathing is sharp. His swallow unsticks his jaw from his upper teeth.

“I thought I lost you today.” His voice is firm. Solid. Unwavering. It had been building up against his teeth, around the soft palate of his tongue. It sat in his mouth and waited for its turn. His confession makes him braver. He sits, closer to you than he was in the car, closer to you than he’s ever been. He watches his hand on your knee. How close it is to your thigh. How easy it would be to slide down to your hip. And then he shakes his head, as though physically fighting back sleep. “Don’t ask me to talk about it. Okay? I can’t. Don’t ask me about it.” 

You can almost feel his gravitational pull. But you resist. You always resist.

It can’t be this easy for him. You can’t be this willing. You cannot be some stupid skirt for him or anyone to throw around.

“You told Noonan this was my first bombing, that I was in shock.” 

“You were. That’s why you don’t remember what happened clearly,” he says gently, no condescension, “it’ll come to you, in a few days. You just need time to process it.” He speaks from experience and it makes you so angry. He breathes out his nose and his hand retreats, sliding back down your calf, his fingers wrapping around your ankle as if you intended to fly away and he wasn’t going to let you.

“But then why did you make it sound like I couldn’t handle it?” It’s not in your imagination when his eyes go dark, mouth flatting, when he sees you just have underwear on underneath your shirt. You watch him as his eyelids fall heavy and his head turns, just a bit. 

What the fuck is wrong with you? No –

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“It has nothing to do with you,” he says softly, his gaze riding back up your knee, as slow and as steady as his hand. He stops in his touchless-roving of you and looks you in your eye. Now this look . . . this look you know. It was the same one he wore when he told you he wanted to ruin other people for you. “I’ve seen fully grown men curl up into a ball after experiencing what you went through. It was horrific. People died. There’s a natural reaction to these things. You’re only human.” 

It’s a sentiment that disgusts you. 

“And it’ll come to me too.” Javier admits. The words ring in the air, hovering, crawling into your ears, down your throat and taking root into your heart. Eyes never leaving your face, he suddenly comes forward, hand going across your hip, drawing his body over yours as you lean back as far as the headboard will let you go, but his broad shoulders have you pinned. You swallow a whimper in your throat. His head turns, and the electrons between the tip of his nose and your skin crackle. His breath is less close than he is. “It’ll come for me. I know it will.” He sighs as if your scent is soothing, “do you want me to help you forget?” 

Just his gaze has you in a stranglehold. If you move a muscle, you’ll touch him. The tendons in his forearms flex on both sides. 

“I-I-I want– I want–,” 

“Tell me, baby, tell me what you want.” His voice is honey smooth, glazed with sparks and fireworks. He says one thing when he means, let me kiss you. 

His nose drags down your throat, inhaling as if to savor, and he plants one chaste kiss on your collar bone, lets his lips linger. He’s tasting you for the first time. “What were you going to say? Do you need a reminder?” As quick and as hot as lightning, his hand leaves the mattress, eases around the back of your thigh and he presses his knuckles into the wet clutch of your underwear. He punches out a quiet groan as your breathing stutters – fuck, how did he know? “She seems to remember me pretty well. Remembers how I made her feel.” 

You snag him by the wrist, your other elbow quaking, your breathing small and tight. This is it, this is how it all ends. You look him in the eye, knowing whatever is rapidly expanding in your chest has made it into your gaze, into the set of your jaw, and Javi looks like he wants to drink whatever’s in your mouth right out of your lips.

“I found the rag.” 

Tonight’s full of firsts, it seems; Javier Pena fucking blushes. 

“That wasn’t– I was sleeping, that doesn’t count. I can’t control it.” 

Your breathing hitches, victory squeezing your lungs. 

“F-f-fine,” you murmur. Slowly, you push his fingers back into your wet panties. You think you might melt from the intensity of his stare alone, “but I want a f-f-freebie too.”

You watch as Javi’s irises plunge into darkness. 

“You want me to make you come, and it won’t count? The bet’s still on?” 

You nod, frantically, rolling your hips against his fingers and he hisses, yanking back from you. 

“Fucking finally. But we’re doing this my way.”

“What do you–,”

Snagging you by the hips, he twists you perpendicular to the bed as he sinks to his knees on the floor. Your heart is pounding in your throat as you watch him toss your knees over his shoulders, eyes fixated on that wet spot on your crotch.

“Javi, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Bed’s too small,” he murmurs, licking his lips, still focused on you. “Can’t stretch out with the dresser. Knees are gonna fucking kill me but . . .”

As though called, Javi drops his head and kisses where your clit would be over your underwear. All strength is suddenly zapped from your elbows and you flop back, the sound of his corresponding groan forever imprinted on your hips.

“Oh, fuck, Javi, what are you–,” 

His fingers curve around the waistband of your underwear and with his nose hovering just over where the waistline sits, he tugs, over one leg and then the other. You feel his breath warm over the dampness in the thatch of your curls and you cannot fight the noise that breaks out of your chest. Your fingers dive into his hair and he hasn’t even touched you. 

“Just the one, right?” He licks the inside of your thigh and you arch, just a bit. God, you are so oversensitive and it’s fucking embarrasing – but it’s been so goddamn, fucking long and it’s him.  

“Y-y-yes, just, just the one.”

He surges forward, mutters something that sounds like, “we’ll see”, and licks the entire length of your slit. 

He is relentless. He is relentless and talented and so very, very, very eager –

Head thrown back, you press your shoulders into the mattress as he licks the slick from your cunt, washing your clit with his spit and your slick. He plays there, twisting and swirling, and just at the peak of pleasure, he sinks two fingers into you and a moan rockets out of you. 

“JaviJaviJavi–,”

His responding moan sends shivers across your skin as he opens his jaw wider to lick you even deeper. He shifts attention, focuses on your fluttering cunt while his thumb makes laps around that sweet bundle of nerves. With every heartbeat, you can feel his hands, his tongue, the tip of his nose, flush with your slick. It’s like he’s bleeding you dry, wringing every bit of pleasure from you while he still can. 

His fingers pump hard and fast without warning and you jolt, thighs tensing, sending a crackle down your spine that thrusts your hips into his face. Oh god, they are so much bigger than your own fingers. Oh god, he’s right. Oh god, oh god, oh god –

 The white-knuckled terror of what happened tonight snaps in half as your back arches against his chest. You can feel the hold it had on you crack as he beckons you forward, beckons you back to that knife-edge of relief, as he drags you out of this broken, horrified shell. How did he know exactly what you needed? That coil springs red hot and tight, pleasure rocketing between your legs and up your spine. 

“Worst thought I had all night was that I’d never get back inside this sweet pussy,” he mutters into your thigh. He doesn’t even ask when he adds a third finger, his other hand ridiculously stroking under your knee, as if you’d ever be calm, ever be rational again. 

“Do you hear that, baby? She’s crying for me. She missed me so much,” he grunts directly into your sopping wet pussy. He groans at the sound. Eyes fluttering, he drops his head and licks around your clit again, his wrist snapping against you so roughly you bounce up the mattress.  

Goddamn it, Javier. 

Your core starts to flutter, this orgasm that has been mounting for weeks every time you look at him roaring down on you. It's the one from the car that’s been lurking just out of sight. It’s the one from when you sat on the toilet as he paraded around topless, so consumed with hatred and blind lust you couldn’t move. It’s the one that sparked out, unwanted and unbidden when he smirked at you over his desk, and said, “fine, I’ll take your fucking bet.”

Your nails scratch at his head, fingers knotting his hair, that enormous, crushing orgasm just out of reach, with every muscle in your body extended out to reach it – if you could just get a finger on it –

“You come for me, now. Only me.” His gaze is transfixed on you, mouth, chin, cheeks shining in the low light, but the blazing in his eyes has a direct line to the white-lighting thundering behind the thrust of his fingers. Your eyes roll back in your head as he flicks his wrist faster, the precision of his thumb on your clit mind-numbing. 

“Oh, Javi, Jesus Christ, I—,”

“Just let me take you apart.”

He curls his fingers, and sucks on your clit hard. 

You’re launched. 

Launched off the ground. Into the stratosphere. White noise, propelling you higher and higher, static where your limbs should be. 

There’s the height, the peak, the intensity almost burning out your nerve-endings to numbness, you’re pretty sure you’ve stopped breathing, toes curled against his back, heels digging into his spine –

– and then –

– and then –

He french-kisses your cunt and you slam back down so hard you curl inwards. It knocks you flat back against the mattress, your fingers ooze away from the crown of his head and flop against your stomach. You do not possess the willpower or ability to open your eyes. The warmth between your legs settles, purrs, satiated.  

“J-Javi,” you try and speak through a completely dry mouth. “J-Javi, come here.” 

He grunts, uh-uh, and slowly, as feeling returns to your legs, you feel his hands around your hips, fingers pulling you down, down into his open mouth where he’s still –

You whimper, that simmer ticking up again. There is no energy left inside of you to stop him, and you don’t want to. Not really. Not when he’s rocking you smoothly, gently with three fingers, through your first high and leading you towards another. He twists his wrist, middle finger brushing you yourself could never quite reach and your hips buck up, wavering on the edged line between pain and pleasure. He presses a wet, salty kiss into your hip bone, keeping you still. 

Your own breathing seems to set you off, as if any movement at all is liable to heat that spark, make you clench tighter and tighter on his fingers. “Javi, please – it’s only-only supposed to be the o-one–,” 

He groans, rubbing his forehead against you as his fingers plug you up again and again. He licks a patch of skin just below your hip bone and you shiver. 

  “You come for me when I tell you to come,” he tongues your clit and you twist, not entirely overstimulation, but god it makes you ache. “You come, you frustrating hermosita, and you let me give you as many orgasms as I want and you forget this stupid fucking bet–,” 

Your trembling thigh pulls out of his grasp, heel digging into his shoulder, and with a jerk you pry him off you, out of you, and your second orgasm is wrenched away from you so fast, you actually black out for a second. You kick out, gasping in shock and agony, and he falls back on his ass on the floor. But you were too close, on the heels of what quite possibility was the biggest orgasm of your life, too sensitive and freshly fucked. A gyroscope of blinding heat and pulsing wet, you’re oscillating between pain and pleasure, and you clamp your legs shut, hand springing to your mouth. This is it, this is the moment you cry, the moment you break down. You can’t take it anymore. Not after a month, not after all this time as his partner, not after almost dying–  

You feel like your body is actively rebelling against you, punishing you for being so fucking stupid. 

And you know you’re being stupid too, but it's a reaction. It’s an instinct at this point – self-preservation above all else. Groaning, you roll onto your side, trying to breathe through it, trying to swallow it all down – but your thighs – they’re sticky, and wet, and you can feel your slick all the way down to the curve of your ass – and it makes you just –

“I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned the bet,” and he laughs. Easy, a little disbelieving, but not angry. You wrench your eyes open, mustering all that throbbing into a glare that you hope burns his skin. He’s climbed into the far end of the bed, leaning back against the dresser at the foot of your bed, thick cock fully tenting his shorts, but looking so smug you want to kick him again. You weakly bat at his ankle with your toe.

“Y-you . . . shut the fuck up,” you groan, your thighs quavering. You gulp down air, seeing

the other side of it, but it’s not going away fast enough. 

He sighs, adjusting himself in his pants, but not trying to hide in the slightest. “Stop squeezing. You’re making it worse.” 

“What?” you pant. 

Javi wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark, then lifts his hands, a universal white-flag, and he gently takes your ankle, pulling it back across the mattress. It spreads your legs, the cold air in the room against your overripe and exposed cunt almost tickling, but the pressure lessens, eases. You might have been embarrassed to be so completely exposed to him but you stopped worrying about dignity a long time ago. 

“Relax. And breathe.” 

You throw your crossed wrists over your forehead, sucking in lungfuls of air, as he slowly parts your thighs as they finally stop shaking. Inhaling, exhaling, you bury the sensation until it isn’t overwhelming anymore. He gently thumbs your ankle.  

“There you go. You did it . . . whatever it is you’re trying to do.” You open your eyes to his smile, no longer smug, but a little delirious. He shakes his head, laughing a bit as he looks at the ceiling. “Do you feel better?”

You scowl at him and haul yourself to the other end of the bed, closing your legs that have completely turned to jelly. You curl away from him. 

“No, you fucking asshat, I don’t feel better.” You eye his still-tented pants. “Do you?” 

He sighs, a fraction of his control slipping, and he traces mustache with his forefinger and thumb. 

“Not particularly.” He watches your ankles move on the blankets with interest, gaze hardening as it curves over your thigh. “So what’s your next move? What’s your plan?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re just going to deny yourself, forever?”

“No, just until you come first. Then, fuck, I think I’m going to join a swingers club.”

“Not funny.” 

“It is if you’re me.”

His cock is softening, easing back down, and he sulkily rubs himself. The hum between your legs has finally gone to sleep. You could turn your foot and brush his calf. This bed is definitely not meant to hold two fully grown adults. 

You can tell he’s itching for a cigarette. 

“Why do you want to win so much?” He crosses his arms, contemplative instead of sour. “I mean, you prove to them that you have more willpower than the rest of the building combined and every man at the DEA knows not to fuck with you. But then what? What do you get then?”

You push back with your shoulders, turning so that you’re facing him, your foot now near his knee. There’s a birthmark on his left inner thigh you’ve never seen before. Never before has anyone tried so hard to understand you. 

“Peace,” you answer, the answer coming to you immediately. “Quiet. I can finally do my job without worrying about some mouth-breather taking a photo up my skirt.” 

His eyes darken, an unsettling rage sparking to life. “Did someone actually do that to you?”

You pick at a thread on your shirt. “It’s none of your concern. And if it did, you don’t have to worry because I fucking launched his camera out the third story window.”

“Good. But I want you to tell me who it was.”

“No.”

“Why?” 

“Because I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“What if this was just for me? What if I don’t want to work with a fucking asshole who takes pictures of my female colleagues? What if I’ve had a shitty month and a half and I want to kick someone ass, huh?”

You sit up a little straighter, his diatribe flushing something warm inside you. He shakes his head, but you can see his gears turning about how to sneak employee records from the old lady in HR. But he brings himself back to the moment, to you.

“Okay, so peace, quiet. Fucking dead men who take pictures up your skirt. What now?”

“Now I live uninterrupted. My work is judged on its merit not what’s between my legs. I’m finally left alone.”

“Alone? Isn’t that . . . well, lonely?” 

“Doesn’t matter when you’re queen of the mountain,” you smile. And that’s what you always believed. That was the goal. That was the end. Whatever you had to crawl your way through, whatever monstrous form your ambition took, there was always the mountain. 

Javi chews on the skin behind his bottom lip as he looks at you. If there ever comes a time when he’s not frowning at you, there’s something probably very wrong. 

And then he turns his head, as if seeing a light in the distance. 

“So you’re queen of the mountain top. Ice queen, frost witch, all alone.”

Something in his voice tears at a vulnerable place inside you. “Javier, don’t. Just drop it, okay?”

“All alone and no one to call you a monster. What was your phrasing, a nagging bitch?” 

“Get off my bed, Javier. Right now. Get out.”

“If I make you come first, I’ll tell everyone I went first.” His brown eyes catch the lamplight and burn gold for an instant.

You tuck your legs underneath you, your heart rate doubling. He’s cutting a line through your emotions, jerking you back and forth between anger, sadness, embarrassment, fear — you’d swear he was using a scalpel. 

“Why is it so fucking important to you that I get off?” You snap. “Why do you want to be the one to do it? Why did you t-touch me like that? Why do you care?”

He moves quicker than he has all night, probably now that he knows you can’t out run him. That you don’t actually want to. You want him to catch you every single time. Javi crawls forward, follows your legs up to your chest, and cages you between his thighs. Your feet slid under the space between his calves and the mattress. 

He’s not trying to crowd you, not trying to intimidate you. But he does want you to be overwhelmed by him. To let only him exist in your mind. 

Gently, but this time because he wants to savor every delicious second, he takes your hand again and kisses your wrist, eyes closed. 

“Cariño,” he murmurs in his native language and it’s like someone dropped a bucket between your legs. Your cunt bottoms out at that single word. His other hand scoops down around your waist, encouraging you forward, and of course you go willingly, until you’ve got your thighs around his hips and your head tucked into the curve of his neck. He breathes deep . . . And he holds you. Just holds you. 

It’s so raw you’re trembling. 

He lifts the collar of your shirt and presses his lips to your skin. 

“Te han lastimado antes. No otra vez. No conmigo.” He puts his forehead against your temple. “You know exactly why I care. I thought it was obvious when I nearly lost my goddamn mind in the street tonight. I couldn’t find you in the smoke. I knew I was being too obvious, but I couldn’t care. It was written all over my face.” 

He’s plucking back your exposed wiring, to the meat of you. To the fleshy tender bits. The thing you always feared the most.

And yet, with him, it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like you’re losing, when he discovers your secrets. When he learns the truth of you. And more importantly, he doesn’t flinch away. 

That’s quite literally never happened before. 

Tears flood your eyes before you can stop them and you bury your face in his throat. You’ve gotten very good at silent crying but a single breath and he has his broad hands rubbing up and down your spine. 

“I think even Noonan knows. But what’s she gonna do?” He snorts, characteristically cavalier about his career in the face of what he finds most important. 

You feel very small against his chest, a position you never wanted to be in your most terrifying nightmares. 

  But looking back, there’s a lot you would tell your past self.

You lift your head, not trying to hide your tears as you gaze up at him. “Noonan knows what, Javi?” 

His smile is sad, still disbelieving, but warm. Gentle. Loving. It pricks at your heart. 

“Ask me again in the morning, baby. Okay? Pregúntame entonces.” 

You nod and he wipes back the streaks of tears with his thumbs. 

“Can I please make you come now?” 

You swallow, that heat sparking from his hands on your cheeks, down your spine, and into the very center of you. 

“Okay.” 

You reach forward and cup the back of his head, fingers twisting into his hair, and you realize this is the first time you've ever touched him like this. You sniffle. 

“Okay, Peña. Do your worst.”

He snorts. “It’s not supposed to feel like ripping off a bandaid.” 

Logically, you don’t disagree. But . . . 

“I know.” 

Do you?

His eyes search your face, his hand on your cheek almost firm as if inspecting you. “We’ll come at the same time, alright? No winners, no losers, just us.” 

You nod frantically, eyes tracing his lips, his nose, his chin. “Yeah. Just us. Just us, Javi.”

“Only us,” he murmurs breathily, gaze locked onto your mouth, and your hands tighten around the back of his neck. Shifting more into his knees, his fingers tug at his shorts, dragging them down over his hips and once you realize what he’s doing, your pulse instantly skyrockets. 

His waistband slips down and his cocks springs free, tapping against your thigh and it’s suddenly too real – his arm around you is crushing the wind out of you, but it’s not enough and too much. Is that what was in his jeans? Is that what he rubbed up against the steering wheel over and over again?

“I’m gonna do it right, I swear,” he promises your sternum as he knees out of his shorts. “I’m gonna eat your pussy for as long as you can take it, but I –,” 

His gaze flickers to your hand as you drop your shirt off the side of the bed and he stills for just a second. Then he looks back up at you, those dark brown pupils blown wide in lust and awe, and you feel the air sucked from your lungs. You are, in every sense of the word, naked in front of Javier Peña. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, pulling him on top of you, your nipples rubbing roughly against his shirt. He sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, to ready you, but you shake your head, the lack of oxygen in your brain making you slightly light-headed as if you’ve been tumbling down the side of a hill. 

“It’s fine, Javi, I just need – I want –,”

He nods because he understands you – he fucking sees you, he always, always had – and he lifts your thighs. His breath shortens in anticipation as he works your hips, your damp folds rubbing against his length. 

“I’m gonna – I’m gonna do it right, I s-swear –,”

Your nails dig into the back of his neck and he groans. 

“Javi, just do it now.” 

He settles you down and lets the weight of you take him in, inch by agonizing inch, up into your warm, dripping center. After almost two months of aching emptiness, the sudden burst of pleasure nearly knocks the wind out of you. 

“Oh, fuck,” the stretch is magnificent, ecstacy rippling through you, and you claw yourself closer to him. He grunts in your ear and his other hand latches onto the headboard.

“Ngh– fuck, I know.” 

He grip on your waist tightens, either fighting the urge to come or fuck up into you, as you sink down onto him. Your eyes flutter and you feel sweat spark out down your spine. Your hand lifts the back of his shirt and you press your palm into the small of his back.

“Take-take this off.” He complies, shifting you both and you open-mouth gasp at the change in pressure. He sags forward, his head on your shoulder, and his forearm binding you to him. His teeth nip at your skin.  

Nothing has ever felt this good. Nothing in your entire life.

God, he is going to ruin you.

“Javier, please move—,” 

He nods, and sits back. “Yeah – yeah, okay –,”

He rolls his hips once and fuck, you are never going to do this to yourself again. It’s not just that you haven’t had sex in almost two months but you had been teasing yourself around him, some primal part of your brain throwing a fit that you didn’t give into your baser instinct for him. It was him specifically that wound you tighter than a wet knot and now you are in danger of coming so hard and so fast from just a single thrust.

He shifts you more so your weight is more on top of him, pressing your low back closer, and finally he starts rolling his hips, dragging the length of him just enough out. You swear you can follow the line of your orgasm on the lines of his hips. 

“I just – I need to take the edge off–,” He confesses to your throat, in a low, wrecked voice. “Just a bit.” 

“I don’t care, Javi,” you squeeze your thighs and you can hear the headboard groan behind you. “Just move!” 

He bucks up into you, rougher, all in one go, giving himself over to your demands, to his own and starts hammering into your hips. It hurts, but fuck it feels good too. He sets a pace that has your mouth go slack, his hip bones rubbing right up against your clit over and over and over again, overheating every inch of your skin and making your mouth water. You think you feel him up in your cervix. 

“Fuck, why did we wait so long to do this?” he murmurs against your jaw. “Huh? Been living with you for a month – nghh – this’s what we could’ve been doing instead?”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull your warm tits against his chest. He groans, and his fingers slip down to the bottom of your spine, one resting against the crack of your ass. 

“Month in a half–,” you correct him breathlessly. “‘ve had to watch you walk around topless in the morning . . . for a month and a half.” 

He releases something between a growl and a groan from his chest and he drops you a bit, angling his hips down, and you gasp at the angle. You lean back and scrape your nails down his chest. 

He drops his mouth open and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, rolls it between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue. When you jolt, he seeks out the other one, nipping just hard enough it makes you gasp.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Javi–,”

“You like that?” he smirks, his sideburns damp, “yeah, you do.”

You barely nod before he turns you both onto the bed, but he grabs your knees from his hips and splits them. Switching from that rough bounce, Javi grinds his cock deeper into you, brushing a place inside of you that flicks the heat like a lighter. You want to hold your legs open for him. 

“Can’t wait to see you come like this,” he grunts. His hand leaves your knee and starts to tease your clit again. You’re leaking into the mattress, your cunt fluttering as though electrified. “See you turn off that fucking gorgeous brain of yours. Maybe then you’ll be nice to me.” 

“Never.”

He smirks above you and you can’t help but grin back. 

“You’re such a tease, you know that?” His grinds are long, deep, allowing for the sound of your cunt sucking him in to punctuate the silence. 

“Only for you.” You want to take it back the second it's out of your mouth, but you can’t and he is . . . the expression on your face, it makes him bite down on his back molars. 

His eyes flutter and he rewards you with a swift rub on your clit. You shudder, feeling so full, you can barely form sentences, much less words.

“Yeah? Only me?” His damp hand leaves your clit and slides up your ribs, taking his time as he fucks you so deep, you’re going to feel it tomorrow in your guts. He cups the heavy flesh of your breast, and circles your nipple with his thumb. You arch into his touch and his mouth drops. “All this – just for me, baby?”

You squeeze him once, your fingers wrapped around his forearms, and his rhythm slips. “You fucking heard me the first time. Don’t stop.”

He slows, his irises jet black and wide, lust-blown. His sweaty chest heaving, droplets running down the back of his neck, he pins you to the mattress with just his gaze. His hips draw little figure eights and you fight to keep your eyes from rolling back, to force that oncoming orgasm at bay.

“Still with that mouth. That goddamn attitude.” 

You swallow, because oh god, you’ve really done it now. “Yeah. I remember something about fucking that attitude out of me.”

His head cocks to the side. His hands leave your knees, hovering as they tease the microscopic hairs on your skin, until he’s braced over you. You wrap your legs around his hips, bringing them down to you.

“Do you want that?” He husks, nose trailing over yours, then your mouth, your chin, as drops of sweat patter onto your neck, your chest. The Bogota heat is really unforgivable. You know you’re staining your sheets with multiple fluids. “You want me to fuck the attitude out of you?”

“A lady never repeats herself,” you mutter, your hands combing through his damp curls. “Javi, I’m so close, please. . .” One of those disbelieving eyebrows arch up. He doesn’t seem to hear you.

“A lady, huh? Well, I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I came first, so why don’t you just . . .” He unwinds one of your legs from his hips, balances it over his shoulder, and grinds down. Your snarky retort is lost to the recess of your brain and the tension flares within you, forcing a breathy moan out of your mouth. His gaze follows your nose as you arch back and come down. “There we go, just needed it right, huh?”

“Just–,” thrust, “a little–,” thrust, “attention–,”

“God, Javi–,” you cry out. 

His new pace is even more staggering than the last. At this angle, you feel like you’re being split up, carved out, taking him in until there’s more of him than you. His thrusts are just as deep as the last but harder, rougher, faster–

Oh, god, so fast, so, so, so fast–

He’s fucking you down into the mattress and you deliriously consider the sturdiness of this fucking twin bed. It squeaks and rocks.

“So fucking tight,” Javi mutters to himself more than you, his jaw locked. “So fucking good.” 

You’re right at the peak in a fraction of the time, your walls no longer fighting him. He groans deep as you start to flutter, start to come– when he stops – again.

“Javi,” the halting of your orgasm is officially painful, your stomach tight and your cunt clenching. And fuck, you’re crying. “Javi, please, please don’t stop. I’ll do anything. Anything you ask, but please, please let me come.”

  He half-chuckles, half-pants as he lifts your hips up and sets a pillow down under them. 

“When I said I was going to fuck you and make it good, I meant it. Besides,” he swings your other leg over his shoulder again, rocking over you and nearly splitting you in half. He fills you in a single, rough stroke and at the new angle, where he’s deeper than ever, and now the tears stream out the corner of your eyes as you gasp at the sensation. “I thought you said you didn’t want to come.” You whine, high-pitched and needy, as he drags all the way back out and plummets down again, making you feel every inch of him. You’re a sobbing mess when he does it again.

“Fuck, Javi, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please keep doing that–,”

With little half-thrusts, he kisses your left temple, right over where the tears flowed into the sheets. 

“You did everything right tonight.” You split open your watery lashes to see him watching you. He looks about as wrecked as you feel, brow furrowed, cheeks pink. How does he fucking maintain control like this? “You’re doing everything right. You did so good. But let me do this. I want to – I’ve wanted, for s’long –,”

Your breathing stutters between the tears and his words. You can only nod, your bottom lip trembling, as Javi picks up his speed again, steady at first, then harder. He grunts with every stroke, like he’s trying to prove something. The slap of hips against yours is outrageous. Every thrust threatens to shatter the very center of you. Detonate something precious and vulnerable inside of you. 

“You’re close, aren’t you? God, I can feel it. I can fucking feel it.”

He thrusts down more, faster, like he’s chasing you, chasing your orgasm. He grits his teeth, neck muscles corded. He hitches your leg higher.

“C’mon, ba-by, that’s- it, that’s it– lemme fe-el it–,”

But you are seconds away and he’s still not there, still sprinting after you. So you do the only thing you can think of.

You lean up, your knee falling off his shoulder, and you kiss him. Hand clutching his neck, you kiss him with every last ounce of your awareness, of self-preservation, of fucking adoration because this man is the only creature on the planet with a willpower to match your own. And you fucking love it. 

He grunts and thrusts one more time and that’s it.

Your vision whites out, your thighs trembling, tension snapping, and sends you hurling over the edge. Both of you over the edge. You whine against his mouth, as he cock drives deep, deep within you one last time. You feel his warm ropey cum paint the inside of you, cock twitching, your walls rippling, sucking him dry, and his entire body sags down into you. You have to turn your head to breath, to gasp in air, oxygen flooding your brain, and he pants into your neck. His bicep trembles where he’s trying and failing to keep his weight off you. 

“Jesus, fuck–,” he mutters against your skin, the sweat on his forehead mixing with your own wet salt. He’s shaking above you, his pulse pounding so hard in his neck, you feel it on your skin. You wonder vaguely where he can feel your pulse. He takes a few more steadying breaths before lifting his head slightly.

“This isn’t how I usually do things after,” he pants between words, “but, uh, there is literally no room for me to roll off you.”

You laugh, the motion stealing precious air from you, you can feel your stomach expand against his, and he finally meets your gaze. You eye the embarrassing lack of space in this ridiculously tiny bed. 

“And here I thought you just wanted to cuddle.” This close, you feel the flush of his breath as he chuckles. “Here, lean up a second.” 

He groans, “mi jodida espalda. Creo que me desgarré un músculo,” but manages to get high enough for you to scoot to the edge of the bed and he dips his shoulder into the open space between you and the wall. Your bodies are so tightly pressed together, he manages to stay inside of you the whole time. 

With anyone else, you would have just gotten out of the bed. Moved away. You’ve never been one to linger after sex – either your partner was already asleep or you had better things to do – but Javi seemed intent on studying your face as his breathing slows and your heart rate eases. His softening cock slips out of you and you fight a groan at the sensation. He tucks his bicep under his head like a pillow. Sweat rolls over his tight muscle. 

“What? No post-cigarette sex?” You smirk to cover the rising blush on your cheeks, the longer he stares. “No slap on the ass, ‘wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am’?”

His face is expressionless when he asks, “is that what that was to you?”

You swallow, feeling a bit like you’re being scolded. “No, of course not, I just–,”

“Good. It wasn’t like that for me either.”

He cups the back of your head and brings you closer, closer than you possibly could be, and kisses your mouth, soft, easy, with a hint of tongue.

Something sickening like adoration claws through your chest because fuck, what if he doesn’t ever kiss you like that again? What are you going to do when he walks through the office doors coated in another woman’s perfume, his scent all over her and –

You break apart, hands on his chest. His brow furrows.

“What? What did you think about just now?”

Like he wants to know what’s going on inside your brain. 

“So we tied. What a great story that’ll be. I’m sure the office will laugh themselves silly on how we both won and lost at the same time–,” 

He says your name firmly, once, with his fingers wrapped tightly around your bicep. He cuts off your ramblings instantly.

“Stop,” he begs quietly. “Why are you talking like that, querida? What are you thinking about?”

His dark brown eyes are sad, hurt even. Why do you keep pulling away from me?

It’s been such a long night. It’s been such a long month. Year. You’ve been fighting for so, so long and all it takes is for him to knock at your door, and everything comes crashing down. You feel exposed, a live wire, a nerve rubbed raw – too much, Javi, too much – and tears rim your lashes before you can stop them. You shrug, the vice grip around your throat painful and choking. You shrug weakly, unable to meet his eyes.

“I’m just preparing myself for something funny to tell the bullpen when you walk in after you’ve fucked the secretary on the second floor. She’s been eying you for months and it wouldn’t be fair to deny her!” Your voice swings, high-pitched and pathetic on that last word, and you clamp your mouth shut, tears rushing down your cheeks. You expect him to sit up, snarling, grab his clothes and storm out the door. It would be fair. It is what you would do if he tried to pull the same bullshit you are right now. It’s too late to act like an adult right now, but at least you can try and salvage something. “You don’t owe me anything, Javi. Not after this. Not after this insane crap I put you through. I didn’t have any expectations then and I don’t now. You don’t owe me anything.” 

Your gaze focused on the crux of his elbow. 

“Can you please look at me?” Soft. Gentle. Patient. But firm. Brimming with shame, you lift your eyes up to him. 

Brown eyes. Sad. Hurt. He wipes your tears with his thumb, before cradling your neck. He runs one finger up and down the skin in a motion that is instantly soothing. He watches you, cautiously, and then he brings his face forward, his lips catching yours as his finger strokes your chin. He kisses you until you’re flat on your back and the tension eases from your shoulders, from your fingers, your mouth. When your lips freely receive him, he pulls back, hovering over you, hand gently settling on the cup of your jaw. 

“Since I’ve clearly not been able to convince you with anything else I’ve done, I’m just going to come out and say it.” His nose flares and he nips at his bottom lip before opening his mouth and saying, “I like you. I really like you. I really, really like you and more importantly, I want to date you. Only you. No one else. Do you understand that?”

Your mouth hangs open and a brush of his thumb makes you shiver and shut it.

“Nod so I know you understand.”

Slowly, you nod. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. Let me prove that.” He shifts closer and you nod frantically. “I’m going to take you out and we’re going to drink, you’re going to try and dance very badly . . . I’m not going to let anything bad ever happen to you.” 

And, fuck, you believe him. You do. You really do.

His lips press a promise into yours and you swallow the swelling emotion. He’s making you feel small but that’s suddenly not so bad. He pulls back and you can feel a grin spread across his lips. 

“So, now that I’ve seen you naked,” he whispers against your skin. “Does this mean I can finally be in the shower with you?” 

“Sure, but lemme take out that camera I put in there first.” He smirks as he pinches your nipple and you giggle as you slip off the edge of the bed. “What? I was very committed to winning the bet.”

“Oh, yeah? Had no idea.”

He lets you pull him to his feet and he stumbles into you. He kisses you again, crowding you to get moving.

If someone had told you that this is where all of it, everything, would end up . . .

You wouldn’t have believed them

The END

[noassparetime]

RUN BABY RUN . ( leon kennedy x f﹗ reader )

LISTEN : this is extremely self indulgent﹐ i read haunting adeline and i ' ve pretty much been wanting to do this for a while .

PART 2

also if you want to be on a taglist﹐ comment below . <3

word count : 1225

WARNINGS : male masturbation﹐ stalking﹐ talk about being ╱ feeling like you ' re being watched .

AS USUAL NO MINORS UNDER THE LINE I HAVE THE FBI ON SPEED DIAL

my throat burns as i swallow the whisky . it ' s my fourth glass since i ' ve been here . i can ' t stand seeing her around other men . my perfect [ Y/N ] tainted by their energy . the way their hands grip her waist makes me sick .

i know what you ' re thinking﹐ " leon﹐ it ' s a funraiser﹐ she ' s being polite . " i know she is﹐ but while she ' s out there﹐ her innocence on display for every man in this room﹐ they ' re around her like vultures﹐ waiting for the second her guard is down .

but they don ' t know her like i do . they don ' t know the dirty things she says at night . they ' re drawn to her innocence﹐ but me﹐ i ' m drawn to her darkness .

the kind she only displays in her own space .

it ' s been four weeks since spain﹐ three and a half since ashley ' s party﹐ and three since i first saw [ Y/N ] . her father is in the secret service﹐ he was one of the men who helped ashley get back home﹐ she frequently visited him﹐ bringing him lunch﹐ a coffee﹐ whatever he needed .

god i still remember it like it was yesterday . her hair﹐ the way it shined in the sun﹐ the distinct scent i now know is gabrielle chanel radiating of her smooth skin . the way you could see her tummy pudge stick out of her dress ever so slightly . she was fucking perfect . and she will be mine .

what she doesn ' t know﹐ is that i ' ve successfully hacked into the camera system surrounding her very﹐ very gated neighbourhood . i know when she leaves﹐ when she comes home﹐ and if i angle it just right﹐ i can see right into her bedroom .

she ' s a little disorganised﹐ notebooks scattered all over her desk﹐ articles of clothing littering her bedroom floor . if she was mine﹐ she ' d never have to lift a fucking finger .

i ' m snapped out of my own head as a hand rests on my shoulder﹐ my neck cranking around to see the commissioner behind me .

" mr . kennedy . " he speaks﹐ his voice raspy﹐ his tone remaining stoic . " enjoying your day off﹖"

i watched as he sat next to me﹐ i offered him a nod﹐ it prompted a bellowing laugh﹐ his shoulders raising a little too much .

" always a man of few words﹐ huh . " he said﹐ gesturing at the waiter for another round .

it ' s not that i hated the commissioner﹐ i just knew what he did in the dark . he ' s been through three divorces﹐ his kids filed for emancipation  before they reached 16﹐ and all his ex wives have restraining orders . he was a drunk with itchy palms .

my eyes drift back to my little doll﹐ a bright smile never leaving her perfectly glossed lips as she kneels down﹐ studying a drawing one of the orphans shoved in her face . she volunteered at the children ' s home three times a week﹐ she was a fucking saint . her sundress clung to her body just right﹐ her curves on full display﹐ yet﹐ she was still dressed appropriately . her tits filled out the neckline just perfectly .

the commissioner spoke on next to me﹐ mumbling something about how i ' m just about the luckiest guy on earth for surviving that fucking village AND raccoon city . i ' ve heard it all before﹐ leon the wonder cop﹐ leon﹐ the raccoon city hero . i ' m sick of it . everyone notices me﹐ everyone but her .

she sits with the kid for a few more minutes﹐ helping them neaten up the drawing . my hands grow clammy as i see her stand up﹐ her eyes immediately meeting mine . her hips sway gently as she saunters over towards me .

" commissioner jordan﹐ mr kennedy . " she greets﹐ fuck my cock strains against my jeans at the sound of her voice . it ' s like angels are singing . " here to potentially adopt﹖" [ Y/N ] teases﹐ knowing full well the answer is a hard no .

" too many already . " the commissioner chimes in and i see something shift in [ Y/N ] ' s gaze . she doesn ' t like him either . she lets out a nervous laugh as she turns her attention to me . her eyes locked on mine . i shake my head﹐ a hand raising as i flash her a smile .

her mothers voice echoes from the back﹐ calling her name . she was the small town ' s golden girl﹐ she could do no wrong . she offered us a polite goodbye﹐ wishing us a good time as she turned around﹐ heading to her mom . i practically felt my pants grow tighter as i watched her walk away .

i left soon after﹐ heading back to my apartment . i undress﹐ now in just a pair of boxers as i settle in behind my setup . about five monitors take up the space on my wall . my eyes are glued to the screen﹐ waiting for her arrival . finally after what feels like a fucking eternity﹐ she comes home . i watch her make her way to her bathroom﹐ her bedroom giving me a front row seat to the show .

she steps in﹐ the water flowing over her perfect frame . i slowly ease my hand into my underwear﹐ stroking my length as the water makes its way between the valley of her perky tits﹐ down her stomach where it eventually disappears between her thighs .

a moan escapes my throat as my thumb runs over my sensitive tip﹐ the muscles in my legs tense from the sensation﹐ my eyes shut momentarily as i imagine the hand wrapped around my dick belongs to her . i open my eyes and my breath hitches in my throat at the sight .

my little doll hunched over ever so slightly as her head hangs﹐ one arm extended﹐ her hand planted against the wall for support as the other explores her cunt . this was a beautiful fucking moment . i follow her lead﹐ matching her pace as i jerk myself in unison . i can ' t hear her﹐ but i most certainly can imagine what she sounds like . moans like honey dripping from her tongue﹐ painting the room golden as she speeds up her movements .

a feel the familiar burn in my stomach﹐ my balls growing tighter as my chest heaves up and down﹐ she ' s close too﹐ her legs are shaking . i speed up﹐ chasing my high as she chases hers . such a good fucking girl .

i let out a breath as i reach my climax﹐ the muscles relaxing as ropes of cum shoot out of me﹐ coating my stomach just below my chest . my eyes are shut as i work on controlling my breathing . i open my eyes﹐ my vision blurry as i stare at her again . her knees buckle slightly﹐ her arms extending to catch herself before she falls . i chuckle .

if that ' s how she reacts to just her finger on her clit﹐ she has a lot waiting for her as soon as she ' s mine .

[ Y/N ] steps out of the shower﹐ drying her body off before getting dressed and into bed . i clean up my mess﹐ securing my underwear around my waist once again .

i can ' t take this anymore . she ' ll be mine by sunset tomorrow . i look at the screen one last time﹐ my finger grazing the pixels that make up her face .

" see you soon﹐ baby . "

[fallenangelkitten]

Synopsis: Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto are desperate to have you between them ;)

Warnings: 18+, threesome, double penetration, choking/breath play, light punishment, size kink, mfm, cream pie, spitting/swallowing

Notes: I reworked one of my Henry Cavill fics to fit these two bc GOOD LORD. It was a must. Enjoy 🤍🖤🤍 i know my account is dedicated to Henry but again I COULDNT HELP MYSELF

Satoru’s finger tips dug into my hips as he helped me sink down onto his cock. Even with the head slick with precum and my own arousal dripping onto him, it wasn’t easy. He was massive. I couldn’t help the whimpers that fell from my lips as I took him inch by inch, the stretch burning blissfully.

“That’s it, sweetheart. I love watching you take me,” he praised. The muscles under my hands twitched as I finally met the hilt, a sigh leaving him. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes, Toru,” I whispered, rocking against him.

A warm hand pet my head, caressing down to my shoulders. Pressure slowly pushed me down to where my breasts pressed against Satoru’s chest. A quick slap was placed on my bum before I felt a cool liquid being rubbed against me.

“Relax, baby. We’re going to take care of our girl,” Suguru soothed, gently working his thumb into the pleated ring of tight muscle right above where Satoru filled me.

Satoru remained still inside of me while Suguru took his time prepping me, moving in and out at an antagonizing pace. I was panting, dripping onto Toru’s lap- desperately needing to move my hips, but his hands held me in place.

“P-Please,” I wined. “I’m ready. I’m ready, please!”

I couldn’t see Suguru but I knew amusement covered his face as he and Satoru locked eyes. A smirk lifted Toru's lips as he brought two of his large fingers to my mouth. “Suck, sweetheart. We may be the strongest, but we can’t do all the work, now can we?”

I was happy to. Just as I ran my tongue on the underside of his fingers, I felt the head of Suguru’s cock meet my little hole. He pushed into me slowly but steadily, making me moan against Satoru’s fingers and buck against the both of them. My eyes rolled back into my head.

I was so unbelievably full.

Suguru’s large hand wrapped around my throat, pulling me up so that my back arched and my hips lifted. Satoru’s fingers left my mouth with a pop. I looked down to him as much as I could, the pressure of Suguru’s hand letting in just the right amount of oxygen.

“You’re going to let us use you, understand? We’re going to fuck you. But you are to stay just like this,” Satoru explained, thrusting up into me. I mewled, desperate for them to take me. A sharp sting hit my clit. Satoru had slapped it. “I asked if you understood, (y/n).”

He knew damn well I couldn’t really speak with the pressure against my throat; his bright blue eyes let me know as much. But I croaked out as best as I could, “Y-Yes, Gojo.”

“Gojo now, is it? That’s funny, isn’t it Geto?”

Suguru chuckled and gave my throat a tight but quick squeez. “You talk too much Satoru. Let’s see if you can be a good girl, yeah, (y/l/n)?”

They finally finally began moving inside of me. They moved in tandem. Everytime Suguru pushed into me from behind, Toru pulled out from below. It was overwhelming in the best of ways, causing my body to shake, my pussy convulsing and ass squeezing around each of them. My clit throbbed.

I needed to cum. Immediately. I would have done anything for that release. The moment Suguru’s other hand wrapped around to pinch my nipple and Satoru pressed his thumb to my clit, I was lost. Completely gone.

I was unaware of the noises I made, the way my face conformed to the pleasure they gave me. As my head fell back, Suguru shifted his hand up to my jaw. He squeezed until it opened for him.

“Swallow like I know you can, baby.”

I opened further, sticking out my tongue as his spit landed on it. I happily swallowed, humming as I came down from the high of my orgasm. His hand returned to my throat, causing me to slightly choke on my own breath.

Satoru’s thumb continued to rub against my clit, already causing me to pant again as both of their paces picked up. “Look at you. You truly take us so well,” Toru praised, his voice rough with his own pleasure.

Satoru found his release first, releasing his cum into me, groaning as his brow furrowed and his head fell back, white hair slaying across the pillow. I twitched in their palms, finding another deep release of my own. The grip on my neck was loosened as I was roughly pushed onto Satoru’s chest, my hair quickly wrapped into Suguru’s fist.

Toru held my eyes with his, stunning me, stroking my cheek and lips as Suguru used me relentlessly, chasing his own high. It was just on the verge of being too much, just barely. But it wasn’t. I was happy to be used by them.

Suguru stilled behind me, growling as his hot cum filled me, his thrusts slowing and gentling. They both pulled out of me, helping me lay onto my back. I was so unbelievably spent, bliss filling my mind and body.

Two fingers gently gathered the cum leaking from me. I opened my eyes as best as I could, seeing Satoru above me. Suguru sat next to me, stroking my hair. “Part those beautiful lips, sweetheart.”

I stuck my tongue out for him, loving the way the mixture of their cum tasted as I swallowed.

[porcalinecunt]

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇 !

𐐂 summer brings out the absolute worst in you amongst the heat, rather the best in your husband’s eyes . . .

🩰 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐘𝐔 𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

🧴𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓

𝐜𝐰 — ftm!reader. sub!reader. soft dom!chifuyu. kitchen sex. voyorism(?). dumbification. praise kink. breeding.

a/n: ahhh chifuyu chifuyu chifuyu (●´ω｀●) i can’t get enough for him! i promise im working on that baji fic but i just wanted to make something for my canon boyfie. anyways, enjoy! 🫶🏼

If it weren’t for the handles, your shakey knees would’ve given in.

Strands of your hair stuck to your forehead and flushed cheeks, while beads of sweat rolled down your overheated face. The room felt so much hotter then it already was, the sun only worsening the effects. The harsh rays burned your skin, but it was the last thing your hazey mind was focused on.

“Chi—Chifuyu..right there..”

Your slurred, eyes rolling back as Chifuyu quickened his pace. The sensation overwhelms you but in the best way possible, all made even better thanks to the view from your window. It wasn’t the first time the blondie did something risqué with you, the thrill of getting caught kept his dick up and his libedo through the fucking roof.

You felt his arm wrap around your neck, holding you in a light headlock while continuously fucking into you like a dog in heat. Your eyes grew heavy, looking white from how far you’ve rolled them back. Chifuyu’s eyes turned to admire his husband’s fucked out face, driving him to press a heated kiss against your swollen lips. It was sloppy, nasty almost. Chifuyu practically almost swallowing them while you clumsily attempted to synchronize his movement.

“Too much for ya? You look like you’re gonna pass out..”

He chuckled, showing off his fangs that you adored so much. You tried to speak, yet your words were slurred and wispy. You couldn’t mutter anything past a moan in your failed attempts to warn your husband about your impending orgasm. He was right, you were so fucked out and so hot from the stuffy air that you were almost dumbified. Unable to think about anything that wasn’t the tip of his cock that kissed your cervix.

“Cummin’..”

You silently sobbed, following with another chuckle that bubbled in his throat. He freed you from his grip, causing you to stumble and place both hands on the kitchen counter while one of your legs suddenly wobbled. You turned around and nearly came at what you saw.

Chifuyu had lifted one of your legs high enough until your cunny was all he could see. Empty, yet already leaking as if you begged for a release. Of course you were, your face said it all.

“You’re adoroble, you know that?”

He cooed with faux sympathy as he wasted no time finishing the job. While you babbled your breath away, he smiled. The only thing you could hear besides the gradually loud skin slapping and your own whining, Chifuyu praised you all the way until you felt the knot in your stomach close to snapping.

“Oh my love..can’t ever get enough of you, don’t think I ever will—shit.”

He followed that up with his thrusts growing sloppier and desperate as your nails scratched at the counter. Your mouth dropped, letting out one final mewl before a gush of warmth overtook your body. Your head snapped back to face him, watching his eyebrows turn upwards as he bites back a moan. The sun made his blue eyes bright, as blood rushed back into your cheeks from the view.

You reached out, shaking hands as Chifuyu finally came. Painting your walls white, the ravenette breathed heavily until your hands were touching his pink cheeks. His skin was burning hot and sweaty from the sun bathing his body.

You could only stare, no words could be muttered between the both of you. Only smiles and flushed faces.

💌 this work belongs to @porcalinecunt. reblogs and feedback are appreciated. <3

[azsazz]

Soul on Fire

Eris x Reader

Summary: You've been called to the throne room to speak with the High Lord...and you can't say you're mad when you find out he doesn't want to talk at all.

Warnings: Smut, face-fucking, choking, brief mention of voyeurism.

Word Count: 3,172

Notes: The Eris era is really Erising. 💅🏼

_________________________________________

The tall doors of the throne room loom before you. 

Thick wood so dark it looks like it’s been scorched by the powers of many Autumn rulers before, black creeping up from the floorboards where the staff hadn’t been able to sand it away. The brass knobs are as clean as ever, polished frequently, the metal so pristine you can see the nervous sweat beading at your hairline, the flush to your cheeks, and the anxious look in your eyes.

You’ve been called to the throne to stand before the High Lord of the Autumn Court. For what, you only had an inkling of an idea, but your heart races a timorous beat as you flee from your rooms as soon as you heard word of the royal requesting your presence.

A steady breath in, and out, before you push your way into the room.

A gust of Autumn wind lifts your hair off of your shoulders. It’s chillier than you thought it would be, with the usually hot tempered High Lord this room was nearly always filled with the fiery heat of his commands. The new ruler of the Court is having a bit of trouble keeping his father’s men under his thumb. You wonder how long any of those single-minded old males will last before the breeze blows their ashes away from the palace.

The large room is silent and empty, except for the High Lord lounging upon his throne. Your breath stutters in your chest as you catch sight of him, looking every bit of the Lord he had always been destined to become.

“You called, your highness?” you ask when you reach the bottom of the dais. The intricate rug drapes down the many stairs leading to the large throne the High Lord is sat upon, sharp branches and leaves twining like that of the Autumn Court seal. The throne itself is luxurious and new, as Eris hadn’t wanted to sit on something that his father once had. He wanted the traditional umbers of the court that signified the burnt destruction Beron had caused throughout his reigning years removed. In its place sits a sleek throne draped in mossy greens – a new beginning – your High Lord sitting leisurely in his rightful spot.

He looks as effortless as ever, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him. Eris is slumped back, one leg hooked over the arm of the throne while he stares you down with a lazy grin. His burnished crown shines against the ruddy copper of his hair, a strand hanging in front of his eyes that he couldn’t be bothered to brush back. 

Eris takes his time responding, instead he takes in the sight of you, a long lick of his eyes from your face to where your crimson skirts pool against the stone floors and back up again. He smirks when he sees the brightness to your cheeks, matching the color of the fabrics you don.

“Yes.” He sounds like smoked cinnamon and it seeps through your skin to settle in your bones. Your mind strays to the night before, when he’d whispered many pleasant words into your every limb. “Take off that dress.”

“Really?” you scoff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought you called upon me for something serious.”

The caramel of Eris’ eyes burns, deepening to dark sugar. It licks up your spine, a sharp, hot, sear and your thighs clench at the sudden ache between them at his response. “Oh, fawn, I am deathly serious.”

You tsk, “Now isn’t the time to be playing, Er–”

“King,” he corrects, suddenly shifting in his seat. Your mouth goes dry as he swings his leg from where it was resting over the arm of the throne, planting his boot down to the floor with purpose as he leans forward to stare down at you, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Your Highness, King, mate…” you drawl. His nostrils flare at the last term, pupils swallowing the molten sugar of his iris’ like a void. Eris loves this little game, a King playing with his loyal subject. Even though you are his queen–his equal–you love it when he pulls rank and takes charge.

“The dress, fawn,” he reminds you, nodding to your fine clothing. He'd had the gown made for you as a surprise, and it’s the first time you’ve worn it. Maybe Eris had had ulterior motives to speak with you before you’d waltzed into the room and took his breath away.

Swallowing harshly, you hold his heated gaze for a long moment. The burning flames flicker, and you know the longer you wait to follow his orders, the rougher he’ll be.

You want to wait until he cracks. Until he stalks down from his throne and drags you back up there with him. Until he slips your skirts over your head and stuffs them into your mouth and rips your panties from your dripping cunt. Until your ass and pussy are throbbing and raw from the lashes from his thick rings and open palm.

But you know Eris has more patience than anyone you’ve ever met. He had to, to be able to deal with his father being on the throne for centuries, and even now, with Beron dead, his people still hold powerful positions until Eris kills them in a hot-tempered conversation or finds replacements for them.

He smirks at you when your hands slip behind you, finding the tie of your corset and tugging it loose. He leans back in his chair more comfortably as you let the fabric fall from your body in a dreamy wave. The thick fabric brushes against your pert nipples and you have to stifle the moan that threatens to escape at the sensual feeling.

Just as you love it when Eris is demanding, he loves it when you are obedient. He thrives when you listen to his commands, always so eager and ready for him whenever he might need it. You know exactly how to edge him, toying with your long-term lover in ways that make his wild side come out to play, and you can see that scrappy, fiery fox writhing inside of him at your blatant display of refusing to obey.

You can see the outline of his cock pressing against the corduroy of his emerald trousers when he shifts. The sight of his long, hard cock sweeps up memories of only last night, when he’d taken you in the gazebo in the gardens twice over.

Eris had made it a plan to fuck you in every single room in the Woodland house. It had started even before he was High Lord, the both of you sneaking around the palace, fucking in closets, libraries, even in his father’s beloved war room.

Your cunt clenches as his eyes linger and you know that he can smell your arousal from all the way up there because he smirks wildly and it sets your heart racing.

He nods towards the ground. “Now get on your knees and crawl to me.” 

You swallow roughly but this time there’s no hesitation, kicking your dress away and lowering yourself to your knees before your king.

The floor is cool beneath your hands and the plethora of necklaces grace the room with a rich sound as you move. The carpet of the dais burns into your skin, you know the roughness of it will leave your kneecaps tender and raw.

Eris watches you prowl your way up to him like a predator. The sway of your hips as you climb, the way your nails curl into the harsh rug. He imagines the same way your nails will rake across his pale skin and a full body shudder works its way through him.

You pause when you reach the top, sitting back on your heels like the good High Lady you are. You know better than to touch him, not while he’s still drinking you in, but the sight of his cock being smothered in those tight trousers makes you yearn to help him out of them.

A drip of your slick slips from your heat when he nods, allowing you to finally do what you’ve been aching for.

You waste no time helping him out of his pants. Eris helps you only by lifting his hips so that you can rid him of the offensive things, tossing them haphazardly over your shoulder as your gaze zeroes in on the way his cock springs from confinement. You hear the dull sound of his belt hitting the carpeted stairs behind you, but you’re much too eager to wrap your hand around him and feel him in your mouth.

He halts you, catching your throat in his hand as you duck down to taste the smooth skin of his cock with your tongue. You nearly whimper, but it’s cut off when his fingers tighten, pressing into the pulse points of your neck. You’re almost unable to look away from the bead of precum pearling at the tip of him, but he titles your head, wrenching your eyes to meet his own.

“Hungry for my cock, fawn?” He croons and you go dizzy with it. His tone sounds like a cruel tease and the fingers pressed to your throat only aid in the feeling, but it only makes you keen.

“Yes, my King,” you struggle to get out. You’re the perfect picture of begging, wide eyes and dripping for him. 

Eris’ fingers unwind from your neck, instead sliding around to gather your hair in a tight fist. He guides you closer to his cock and your lips part, eager to taste him. When you lean in faster than his hold allows he jerks you back slightly by your knotted hiar and you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sensation. Your fingers clench around his cock in response and he can’t help the grunt that slips.

“Not too fast now,” he growls, “I’m in charge.”

You nod but don’t back down. You slide your hand down his shaft as you battle with the melting steel in his eyes. You bite your lip at the sound of his breath catching in his throat, the shifting of his chest.

He allows you even closer to his cock and you pause before him, letting your warm breath fan over the head. You can see the way the muscles of his thighs are straining, how badly he wants to shove you down and slip himself down your throat.

Eris’ next words arrive on a shaky exhale. “Now be a good fucking girl and take it.”

His taut hold on you goes slack and like a moth to a flame you take him into your mouth. His precum tastes like everything you’ve ever needed, heady and smoky like the autumn fires he’s bred from. He gives you a choked moan before his hold becomes more firm, bucking his hips while pressing your face further onto his cock.

“Relax your throat,” Eris soothes, stroking a thumb across your neck where his cock is making it stretch. He groans, satisfied as you follow his directions and he shoves his way deeper. “There you are, fawn.”

You moan around him, lathing up the smooth sides of his cock, pulling back to swirl your tongue around the head. You know him like you know yourself, exactly what he likes and how close he’s getting to orgasming, and you’re so cumhungry that you use your best efforts to urge him closer.

He hisses through his teeth, figuring out quickly what you’re doing. The loosened grip in your hair tightens again and now he’s in control once more, pressing you so far down onto his cock it makes your throat burn and tears spring to your eyes, but Mother, is it everything.

“You’re just begging to be punished, aren’t you, fawn?” he growls, bucking deeper down your throat. You gag, choking on his girth but Eris doesn’t let up and he doesn’t allow you breathe until you’re raking your nails down his thighs, leaving fiery red marks on his pale skin. 

He rips you off of his cock after a final rough thrust. You splutter, spit dripping from your open mouth as you gulp down lungfuls of the heated air surrounding the both of you. He doesn’t let you swallow it, holding your mouth open with a thumb pressed to the tissue beneath your tongue. 

“Come up here,” his tone goes a shade softer, like he’s begging for you now, but he’s still very clearly in control. “Come sit on my cock, fawn. Ride me on my throne.”

You scramble to your feet, wiping your chin as you go. Eris leans back in his chair, cock standing at attention. It’s glistening with your spit, shiny in the setting sun drifting through the large windows that overlook the orchard. The tip is an angry pink and looking more than inviting.

You straddle his waist and the softness of his throne stings against the rug-burned skin of your knees. 

They’re going to absolutely kill tomorrow.

You waste no time in aligning his cock to your cunt. The wetness coating your thighs only adds to both of your arousal, and you press your mouth to Eris’ in a desperate manner as he moans loudly when you slide your slick cunt against his cock, coating it further.

His warm hands slide up the outside of your thighs, drifting higher until he can grab palmful of your ass. His blunt nails sink into your skin and you nip at his lip in response.

He opens his mouth when you pull away, to give another demand no doubt, but you’re quick to press down onto his cock, shuddering and keening like a kit as you take him in. 

“Fuck, fawn,” he grunts. The veins in his neck pop as he strains to hold himself back from fucking into you. He can barely help himself, your wet heat is deliciously tight and swallowing him so deeply he doesn’t think he’ll ever get it back. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You hum in agreement because it’s the only sound that you can make. His cock has shoved all of the air from your lungs and your fingers twine into his copper hair, twisting and pulling as you throw your head back in pleasure. Your necklaces chime as Eris mouths over them, enjoying the metallic taste mixed with your skin as he sucks bright red marks. 

You bounce a little, testing how you feel from the stretch of him inside of you. You don’t think you’ll ever be used to feeling this full, dripping like a whore onto his lap as you sit up on his throne with him and he clings to you like a lifeline.

Your eyes flutter shut as you begin moving and your mind drifts for a fleeting moment, filling your head with the thought of Eris fucking you like this as the entirety of your court stands behind you, watching their High Lord own you. 

His hands travel across your skin, pausing at your breasts to tease and twist at your nipples. You clench around him and he groans in response, the sound pulling from the depths of his chest like a wave, and he tips your chin down to see you. The sight of him makes you tingle and the fiery feelings of love he sends down the bond spur you further, swirling your hips before grinding down on his cock, sharing a moan and a breath together.

His freckles stick out harshly in the warm sunset, like embers had graced his skin as a child. The burnt umber of his eyes can hardly be seen with how large his pupils are, as if they’ve grown to be able to take in as much of you as possible.

“That’s it, fawn,” he praises, voice strained as you shift again to take him deeper. Your thighs are burning with effort, and it feels like being consumed by his powers, hot against your skin, burrowing its way beneath your delicate flesh. “Just like that.”

“Eris,” you hiss, unable to help yourself. A whimper leaves your mouth on a panting exhale as he twists your pebbled nipple in punishment. A reminder that you know what to call him right now, and his name isn’t it. 

The motion only heightens your arousal, and you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm, clawing at his clothing, tearing through the buttons, desperate to feel his chest beneath your own. 

Eris notices the slight faltering of your movement, how your bounces go from fluid enjoyment to distracted desperation as you chase that euphoria.

“King,” you whimper, and it sounds like you’re in pain. Eris’ fingers immediately find your clit and you melt into him, body shaking and muscles seizing as he works the sensitive bud with flame licked fingers. It drives the tingling through your body, the burning in your gut, but without your movements, it’s not enough.

His free hand clamps around your waist, the bulging muscles of his arm tense where your hand is wrapped around his bicep. He plants his feet, and holding you tightly, with his fingers still torturing your clit, he jackknives up into you.

He’s strong. Fuelled by the pleasure-filled adrenaline he takes you from his spot under you, pistoning his hips to meet yours in a frenzy while he circles your clit with equal amounts of fervor. You release a shuddering breath that pitches into a series of pleading moans as you cum, riding out the waves of your orgasm as he jerks inside of you.

“‘M going to cum, fawn.” Eris’ breath is hot against your skin, voice gravelly and strained. The chains around your neck are no longer cold metal cooling your heated skin, but are now as molten as you feel against him, your cunt clenching around him as if to keep him there forever. You slide your hand up his chest and hook them around his neck, drawing him in for a kiss because you so desperately want to taste your name as he cums.

You feel it all the way in your bones, you mating bond shoving to the surface to twine with his own. It feels like you’re metals melting together, burning bright on his throne, Eris’ power rumbling throughout the room. It makes the necklaces you’re wearing rattle but you cling to him tighter, his arms wrapped so tightly around you that you can hardly breathe. He is your everything, and you his.

A knock on the door startles you from your post-orgasm haze. You share a look with your mate but he doesn’t let you up, enjoying the feeling of his cock and all of his seed stuffed into you more than he should. 

“You’re not going anywhere yet, fawn,” he murmurs, and the wicked smirk that curves his lips has you tightening around him again. “You may enter!”

[stray-kaz]

Sunshine : a Cha Hyun-su x f!reader two shot : Part One

Summary: As Hyun-su's best friend, you refused to let him move away alone, so you left home and followed him to the Green Home building. Certain situations lead to feelings being revealed and you're not just friends anymore.

Thank you, @writingmysanity for helping me work at this and get it out. I finished it sitting in the dark.

Some adult behaviour, mind yourselves, mind your p's and q's.

Bright morning light burned through the gaps in the thin curtains, but it wasn't that which woke you. The persistent hammering of thumbs on a controller breached your sleep and forced you to open your eyes. Rubbing the sleepy dust from the corners, you could now see more clearly the dark haired boy sitting facing away from you, headphones set firmly in position.

"Hey" you said, to no response. "Hyun-su!"

Still nothing. You looked around and spotted your oldest favourite stuffed animal, a black bear named Paws, and flung it at his head. He whipped the headphones off, twisted round to see you and glowered.

"What?" he mumbled, a tiny smile twitching at his lips as he noticed your bedhead and sleepy expression.

You sighed and flicked one of the headphones now hanging around his neck.

"You woke me up" you complained.

Hyun-su squinted at you and shook his head.

"It was the sun" he argued.

"It wasn't the sun, sunshine" you persisted. "It was your noisy thumbs on the noisy controller."

He rolled his eyes at you.

"Would you rather hear the screams in the game?" he asked dryly.

You flopped onto your back and nodded against the pillow.

"Yes. I would rather hear the screams."

You stretched languidly and he found his gaze drawn to your body, to the soft cotton straining over your chest and the pair of his boxers you had stolen the night before, when he hadn't been able to speak to ask you why.

He blinked and turned away, spying Paws still lying on his side next to him on the floor. He picked him up and placed him carefully on your stomach, so you could wrap your arms around him. You smiled and kissed the bear's head.

"Thank you, sunshine."

"Welcome" he mumbled back, before turning around to face the TV again, slowly easing his headphones back into place.

Hyun-su turned the sound right down low so that when he heard you start shuffling around to find your clothes and get dressed, he wouldn't turn by accident. But his ears burned all the same, hidden by the headphones. Years of being by your side hadn't dampened his heart any.

Hyun-su didn't remember how late it was when he finally went to bed last night, but when consciousness flooded back in, it became clear that you had moved over in your sleep. Your back had been to him when he fell asleep, but you had rolled, and now, one of your arms was stretched across his chest and one of your legs was hitched to his hip, his same boxers on you riding up your thigh.

He glanced at the window above the bed and saw it was only just dawn, the palest fingers of the sun reaching down out of the sky. He slowly lifted the arm you weren't lying against and gently touched your shoulder, trailing his fingertips down to yours and back up, eyeing the goosebumps that erupted in his wake.

He did it over and over, the corners of his lips beginning to turn up in a faint smile. Your breath hitched slightly and he stopped his hand, holding his breath to see if you would wake up and scold him.

You woke up the second time he danced his fingers down your arm, your own fingertips tingling. It took all your self control not to let them twitch, not to let your breathing quicken. And then he heard you, and stopped.

You yawned dramatically and stretched, slowly pulling your leg away from him and then nuzzling into his shoulder, peering sleepily up at him.

"Morning, sunshine" you mumbled, rubbing at your eyes.

"Hey" he replied.

The sound of his early morning voice sent a hard shiver up your spine; it was deeper, rough around the edges, apparently designed for your ears and yours alone. Hyun-su felt the shiver but chalked it up to early morning chills and reached down to pull the blanket up over you both, tucking it below your chin. You burrowed closer and he felt your leg drift back up, slinging across his waist.

"Hey" he murmured again, but there was no response.

Hyun-su said your name, and nothing. He glanced down and was once again met with your sleeping face. He sighed and patted your head. He supposed that now you had dropped out of school with him there wasn't much else to do but sleep.

He was sorry. He hadn't told you that.

Three o'clock hit and you were stretched out over the couch, your head resting on Hyun-su's lap while he was gaming. You were always struck by how remarkably still he was, the only movement coming from his hands. He didn't jostle you while he played and the warmth of him would almost be enough to make you fall asleep if it weren't for how nice it was to lay like this and see him from a different angle, in the quiet.

You reached up to idly touch his jaw, sweeping your fingers along the cut and touching your thumb to the point of his chin. His dark eyes flickered, but he gave no other detectable reaction. You kept going, back up his jaw until you could tug on his ear, catching the lobe between two fingertips and pressing gently.

Taking you by surprise, Hyun-su caught your wrist, pulled it back around and pressed a brief and lazy kiss to the palm of your hand, before letting it drop back onto your stomach. You curled your fingers onto your palm, as if you could hold onto the kiss, while you stared up at him, heart slamming against your ribs.

Hyun-su didn't glance at you again, but the faintest kiss of pink touched his cheekbones and his mouth tugged to the side, as if he was in thought. You studied the shape of it, and the set of his jaw, and wondered what would happen if you grabbed him by it and dragged him down for a kiss.

You wondered. But then the noise started through the wall and the blush on Hyun-su's cheeks spread to his ears and infected your face, too. Something, a body presumably, thudded against the wall, followed by a whine and a low moan of pleasure.

You bolted off Hyun-su's lap, knocking the headphones off his head. You looked at him with wide eyes; he stared back, his eyes equally wide, shock tethering you. You collapsed into giggles first, covering your mouth with your hands and falling against his shoulder as the moans from the next room grew steadily louder. Slowly, you felt Hyun-su's shoulder begin to shake, soon followed by the rest of him, and then his rough giggles were falling as readily as yours.

Suddenly, you stood up and went over to the wall. He tracked you with watchful eyes, and they widened again when you smacked the palms of your hands against the wall and fake moaned, rolling your eyes back. You stepped forward and slammed back into the wall; the noise next door paused.

So you did it again.

Hyun-su stared at you, at your flushed face, closed eyes and lazy grin twisting your lips. He took a step towards you, then stopped when he felt a familiar tightness in his jeans. He sat down abruptly and fumbled his headphones back on.

He could have died when you wandered back over and lay down again, once again settled yourself in his lap.

A couple of days later, you were first to open your eyes, enveloped in warmth and cosier than you'd been in a while. You blinked and realised the reason for your warmth was Hyun-su curved into a question mark around you, his much taller body somehow slotting neatly into place with yours.

Then you moved round a little on the mattress before suddenly going still, stoppered air burning in your lungs. He was hard, pressed insistent against you, his breath falling sleepy and soft against your hair. Your face flooded with heat, so you pressed it into the pillow. Your hips twitched back of their own accord and you bit into the pillowcase to muffle a strangled moan.

You had slept in the same bed so often and this had yet to happen, to your knowledge, and you were suddenly yearning to do something about it, but he was asleep. And your best friend.

You rolled over to see his face, black hair fallen across his forehead, his mouth relaxed and soft. You reached up and gently smoothed his hair away.

"Hyun-su" you whispered. "Hey, wake up, sunshine."

He mumbled, his lips pursing slightly and eyes moving behind their lids. He murmured your name, tipping up in a quiet whimper at the end.

"Hyun-su..."

You lightly touched his mouth, trailing your thumb over his bottom lip. His hips shifted towards you, but the second you gasped, his eyes flashed open wide and he scrambled back, falling over the edge and pulling the covers with him.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, sorry sorry" he mumbled hastily, still scrambling away from you.

"Hey, wait!" you tried, fumbling off the bed to follow him, but he was already disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door shut, vibrating it on its hinges.

You banged on the door with your palms.

"It's okay!" you called through the narrow door. "It felt...nice, Hyun-su."

Dead silence greeted you. You sighed and slumped back over to the bed, picking up a discarded bar of chocolate and chewing on it absently. The bathroom door opened slowly and your eyes flicked up to see Hyun-su shuffle out and throw the blankets in your direction. You dodged and let them fall next to you, still eating. His face was flushed pink and he was looking everywhere but at you.

"What did you say?" he asked very quietly, his voice barely an octave above the floor.

It was your turn to blush then, your cheeks pinkening as he continued to avoid looking at you. But you had dug this hole; might as well fall in.

"It felt nice" you repeated. "I...liked it."

You thought he might have choked, but when you glanced at him again, Hyun-su was looking straight at you, his throat working furiously and his eyes wide. You stood up, snapped off a piece of chocolate and handed it to him; his fingers brushed yours as he took it, pocketing it inside his cheek to suck. You smiled a little.

"You look like a chipmunk" you murmured.

Hyun-su scowled and bit down on the remaining chocolate.

"Don't scowl at me" you grouched at him. "Chipmunks are cute. Like you."

He rolled his eyes and pointed an accusing finger at you.

"Why do you keep saying stuff like that?" he demanded, his voice cracking a little.

You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers fiercely with his. He stared at his hand in yours and then back at your face.

"Because I love you, dumbass!"

His eyes widened, and he didn't blink for several slow moments, until you cleared your throat and coughed, awkwardness flooding back in. You let go of his hand and slapped your hand to your own forehead, growling a sigh.

"What did you say?" Hyun-su asked quietly, blinking slowly.

"Absolutely nothing. You're hearing things, sunshine."

You spoke so fast you were surprised you didn't somehow trip over your own tongue, but he understood you just fine. That was the thing. He always did get you.

He shook his head, hair flicking out of his eyes. You tapped your fingers against your thigh to keep yourself from moving it out of the way for him.

"I know I mishear you sometimes, but not this time. What did you say?" Hyun-su asked again, taking a few steps closer until he was towering over you; right then, you were feeling all of his six feet and change.

You bit your lip, thinking.

"I love...food? Dumbass?"

Hyun-su simply shook his head again, and moved another step. All he'd have to do is touch you and you'd be done for. Did he know? Was it obvious?

"While that is something true, that's not it."

You closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh, the bar of chocolate once again forgotten in your grip, slowly melting in its wrapper.

"I love you" you said softly.

He leaned down so you could feel his breath on your cheek, so close you swore you could see his soul, bright and twisting, behind his eyes.

"I love you, too."

Startled, you giggled abruptly, taken aback.

"As friends, right? Love as friends, yes? Love as friends because we've known each other for so long?"

Hyun-su blinked again, unsure.

"Is that what you want from me?" he asked uncertainly, taking a single step backwards.

You blinked back and felt your face turn hot.

"No?"

"Tell me what you want then."

"I want…not just friends. But I don't want that to go away either. I don't want to lose it" you admitted slowly, lifting your head to look him properly in the eye.

Hyun-su slowly shook his head.

"You wouldn't lose that" he promised quietly.

You reached out a shy hand and tugged on the neck of his t-shirt, revealing flashes of collarbone.

"Okay, Hyun-su" you murmured. "Okay."

He leaned forward and knocked his nose gently against yours, soaked in your soft gasp of surprise.

"Okay?" he asked. "What does that mean?"

"You can…"

Your words disappeared as you tipped your head up just enough to touch your lips to his. Hyun-su closed the gap, kissing you slowly, one hand rising to touch your cheek to stabilise himself. You pulled back quickly, fingers pressed to your lips and your eyes wide.

"Was that okay?" Hyun-su asked nervously.

You nodded slowly.

"Yes."

You lowered your hand, lips tingling. Hyun-su shifted on his feet, sudden adrenaline waking him all the way up.

"Can I...again?"

"Yes."

Your fingers white knuckled on his t-shirt, crushing the soft fabric. He leaned down quickly, pressing his lips to yours again, fingers curling in the t-shirt you slept in, palms molding to your hips.

You were ready then, going to meet him and letting out a soft sound as you closed your eyes, as he kissed you gently, his hands an anchor holding you to the floor.

You broke away to breathe, dragging in quick gasps of air before grabbing at him again, this time sliding eager hands into his hair and whimpering softly. Hyun-su groaned quietly when you tugged his hair, slowly backing you up against the wall and kissing you back just as eagerly. Your back hit the wall and you gasped at the sudden impact, clutching at the back of his head.

His tongue traced your bottom lip lightly, beggingly, as he pressed a bit closer. You shyly let him in, the air warming around the two of you, becoming thick and heady, a little dangerous. You mewled when his tongue touched yours, and pulled tighter on his hair, trying to get closer. He was too damn tall.

Hyun-su huffed a quiet laugh at your transparent frustration and bent a little more to appease the disruption. It wasn't enough and you lowered a hand to tug hard on the front of his t-shirt.

"Not good enough" you mumbled. "Sit down?"

He nodded and spun you slowly so that his back was to the wall, and slid down it to the floor, helping you onto his lap and waiting for you to adjust. You hid your face in his neck so he couldn't see how much the position affected you and how badly you were struggling to sit motionless.

Hyun-su ran his hands gently up and down your back, also pleased you couldn't see his face. Your weight was sweet and pressing just perfectly where he needed it.

"Hey" he murmured, sliding his hands down onto your hips. "If you like...you can move. I - I can take it."

He flushed when you whimpered softly in response and shifted your weight slightly in his lap, turning your head to press your mouth to the side of his neck to muffle soft sounds as you dragged yourself over the growing hardness beneath you. His hands tightened on your hips, long fingers reaching down onto your ass to hold you firmly as you rocked on and off of him.

You removed your lips from his skin, a faint mark left in your wake you hadn't realised you were creating, and pulled back to look him shyly in the eyes. His were a little heavy and hooded, peering dazedly back at you.

"Is this okay?" you asked him, voice a little broken from the friction, and uncertain.

Hyun-su nodded and kissed you gently, desperate not to get too caught up and scare you off; he would keep you here for hours if you'd let him, just a slow grind, enough to turn his mind blank. Then you moved your hands to cup his jaw delicately, as if he might break like glass, and carefully nudged at his lips until they parted slowly.

When your tongue brushed his, his hips stuttered and he wrapped his arms tightly around your back, muffling his unquiet sounds in your mouth as he wrestled with his body to keep it under control. You slipped a hand into his hair, soft on your fingers. You gave it a curious tug, maybe a little too hard, and Hyun-su jerked up against you, sucking mindlessly on your tongue.

You moaned against his lips as he rubbed up between your thighs and then he was moving under you like he'd die if he didn't, rutting up to you. Your arms hooked around his shoulders to hold on for dear life, the kiss becoming more and more desperate as you rocked down to meet every upward roll of his hips.

You pulled back to breathe again, your mouth hovering scant inches from his, inhaling him, mixed breaths shuddering between you as your mind was consumed by the ache you felt. Your forehead rested against Hyun-su's, still pressing your hips down, quiet pants falling from your parted lips. His lids fluttered briefly as he moaned your name, hoping he didn't seem too desperate to you.

"Did you do this with that idiot you dated before?" he panted suddenly, slipping his hands underneath your t-shirt and splaying them across your bare back.

You shook your head, sighing at his touch.

"No" you admitted, shaking your head, dizzy. "I never wanted him this bad. Have you...ever...?"

Hyun-su shook his head, too, brushing his nose against yours.

"No. I was waiting for, um, for you."

You looked up at him, groaning quietly before kissing him again.

"I'm here" you said softly.

He blinked cautiously at you.

"Do you want to?" he asked, barely a whisper. "Because we don't have to. You know that, right? I'm happy to sit here and kiss you."

"Really?"

Hyun-su nodded.

"Yes. I've been wanting to for years. You don't know how hard it's been whenever you lay down in my lap not to kiss you stupid."

You felt your cheeks heat up again.

"I always wanted to pull you down to kiss me" you admitted, playing with his hair.

He blushed, lifting a hand to drag the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip.

"When the couple next door had sex and you started fake moaning and banging on the walls, I wanted you to make those noises for real."

"Yours to hear, later."

He offered up a hopeful grin.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

He sighed, content.

"I love you" he murmured. "My life sucks except for you. I'm gonna look forward to that."

You closed the gap between you and kissed him soundly, only pulling back when he whined quietly, desperate for something in between breathing and kissing you some more.

"I love you, too, sunshine."

[xdacted]

Of Strangers and Rain Delays

Paring: Reader x Lance Stroll

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, meet-cute, pure fluff, first-meetings

Word Count: 2,383

Status: Complete

___________________

With another crack of thunder, Lance spares a glance at the wide window paneling of the Montreal airport. The skies are so dark it’s nearly black, thick clouds hanging over the runways, raindrops smacking against the pavement. The wind billows on, threatening to lift the tarmac that lines small carts zipping across the barely visible rows of lights, emitting a weak hue consumed by the onslaught of rain. 

He can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

Somehow, he knew this would happen. 

From the moment he’d received word that their private airfield was closed, to the moment that his team was ushered to a quiet, empty terminal. He knew that the rain would keep him stranded in Canada. He had no real reason to worry, when Aston Martin constructed his travel plans, they always did so with the weather in mind. 

He looked over at his P.R. manager. She sat across from him, her legs crossed over one another, staring down at a tablet. The glow of the screen cast a shadow over her concerned face, moving when her fingers worried at the skin of her lips. 

“Something the matter, Charlotte?”

She flicked her eyes up at him, “Nothing that isn’t already my job, Lance.”

He snorts. 

There were very few people who would have the backbone to speak to him so freely. It wasn’t that Lance thought of himself as above them, but the world seemed hellbent on making it so that was all anyone ever said. What they said to him couldn’t be worse than what he had said to himself. 

There was a reason why he pushed himself into the car, forcing his freshly broken wrists to work just as hard as they had before. Everyone was watching him, everyone was judging him. He could feel their eyes, burning right through him. It stung. 

But he was used to it. 

From the very moment he’d gotten his seat, it was all Lance has ever heard. 

Just a rich kid running with daddy’s money. That’s all he was to them. 

Lance looked back down at her phone, a lump suddenly in his throat, “Did they say how long we’re going to be here?”

“I’m not sure,” She looked over to her left, her assistant - Mary - hunched over a computer, “Did they say?”

“We won’t have the clear for hours,” Mary muttered, her heavy bangs falling into her eyes, “Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” He clicked his phone off, pushing it into his pocket. 

“Think I’ll go walk around,” He began to stand, catching the way that Charolette’s eyes widened, “ You can’t expect me to sit like this for hours.”

She let out a heavy sigh. 

“Lance -”

He knows. He knows what it is. 

“I won’t be far,” He tries to offer her a smile, “I’ll get you something to drink, you want something, right?”

She hesitated, she knew that he was aware. Regardless of what people liked to say, Lance wasn’t an idiot. 

“I do,” She puts her hands over her tablet, leaning back in her chair, “Diet Coke, please?”

“You got it.”

_________

He can’t shake the look on Charolette’s face. It circles his mind as he walks down the long stretch of the airport hallway. The walls are painted a soothing tan, with bright lights overhead. He reaches over to skim his fingers along the dips within the paint. 

It isn’t until he approaches the end of the hallway that he begins to hear chatter. It grows louder as he gets closer, and eventually, he’s standing right in the middle of the bustling terminals. He had no idea that they’d managed to hide him so well. 

It wasn’t like he was Charles or anything, he didn’t have fans clamoring over themselves just to see him, but there were certainly weirdos. It had been a while since he’d seen one, surprised that he would’ve been allowed to go this far without seeing one of Aston Martain’s staff rounding the corner with him. 

He shrugs it away. 

People are much too preoccupied with themselves to notice him. He can hear people shouting at flight attendants from across the wide space, bags thrown around the floor. So much rain wasn’t typical for this time of year, but Mother Nature was simply an unstoppable force. 

It isn’t before long that he spots a small cart of drinks with a bright orange umbrella in the air. He sidesteps people, offering small, ‘excuse me’s. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, not after last weekend. 

He wasn’t the most popular of drivers at the moment. 

Charlotte tried to hide his phone from him after the race, saying he needed to focus on recovery. Lance saw right through her and refused to leave without it. With a slight quiver in her lip, she pressed it into his palm. 

“Don’t look,” She said, her hand tight around his, “It won’t do you any good, Lance.”

“What haven’t I already heard, Charlotte,” He slipped his hand away from hers, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He would have plenty of time to look on the plane home. 

He did. 

Lance scrolled on Instagram and Twitter, trying to bite back the anger that rose from within him again. That video - that stupid video - of him with Henry. The camera shook as he just left the frame, only the sight of his green racing suit racing out. There was the rattle of the large toolbox beside him, and the movement of Henry’s body. 

Shit.

It was everywhere. 

And so were the comments. 

They called him spoiled, a monster, a cheater, a loser - everything under the sun was thrown at him, and he just kept scrolling. 

Reading word after word, until his eyes began to burn. Lance deserved worse than this. He was a professional, Henry was his trainer, and he shoved him. 

Like a dick. 

Lance sucks in a deep breath when he gets to the cart, surprised to see no line. He digs into his pocket, “I’ll take a Diet Coke and two waters, please.”

The cashier nods along, ringing him up with a polite smile. He reads Lance his total, opening a plastic bag to place the drinks in, “Thank you, have a good day, sir.”

“Thanks,” Lance mutters, reaching for the bag, “You too.”

As he turns to walk away, he notices a kid, no older than 9 or 10, running around with an Aston Martin sweatshirt on. The green is bright against the dull furnishings of the airport. Lance can’t fight the smile that makes its way on his face or the embarrassment that begins to bloom in his gut. 

The seats scattered around the terminals are packed, filled to the brim with stranded passengers. Pieces of luggage are scattered about the floor, little kids jump over them in an attempt to entertain themselves, people are engaged in rapid conversation, and some are slumped over the small armrests, asleep. 

It was nice, to fade into the background. 

He loved the fans, but Lance has always been a quiet person. His personal time is sacred, his downtime is sacred. He had his obligations on race weekends, signing hats and shirts blindly, but here, he was just a guy trying to get drinks.

He turns back towards the exit, the walkway seems to get more crowded. Lance lets out a sigh before he can stop himself. If he goes now, he’ll be discovered. 

Fuck. 

Looking around him, there are no spaces not taken by bodies. He tries to round a corner, keeping the bag tight to his chest. 

He spots an empty seat, well, one without a human in it. 

 It’s only a few steps away from him, he’s there before he can turn around. 

There’s a girl, headphones around her head, hoodie pulled over them. Her glasses reflect the screen of her laptop, positioned on her crossed legs. She’s invested in something, a hand cupping her chin. 

Lance debates walking away, but she notices him before he can. 

She looks up at him, pulling one of the slides of her headphones back, eyes widening slightly.  

“Yes?”

“Sorry,” He says, jostling the bag in his hand, “Is someone sitting there?”

She looks over, and immediately reaches to grab her backpack, “No, no, sorry.”

He waves a dismissive hand at her, “It’s ok.”

He settles beside her, sliding down in the seat. The noise of the space fills his head, he doesn’t have to think any thoughts of his own. Minutes tick by, the bag resting against his legs. His phone buzzes. 

Charlotte.

“Where did you go?”

“I just needed a break, sorry.”

The three bubbles dance across the bottom of his screen before disappearing and reappearing. 

“It’s ok. Come back when you’re ready, kid.”

He smiles. The lump in his throat back again. Lance knows that he’s made her job harder, he knows that as she scrolls on that tablet of hers she is trying to manage the damage he’s caused. She has been nothing but supportive, a guiding hand during interviews, and he does nothing but make her life harder. 

He sighs. 

Lance tries to forget himself. He takes in the room once more, eyes trailing over the streaks of rain, over the fluorescent lights, the people. He tries to forget the last race week. He looks over at the girl beside him, catching sight of her screen. 

It’s a movie, he’s unsure if he’s seen before. The two characters on screen stalk around each other, weapons at the ready, blood dripping down their temple. Looks intense. 

He begins to pull his gaze away when he catches sight of shimmering Formula One helmet stickers. The glossy sticker glitters in the light, dark forest green mimicking the design of his helmet, with ‘Stroll 18’ written beneath it in bolded letters. His isn't the only one there, Max and Fernando among the few, but it’s the only one he cares to see. 

When he looks back at her, she already staring at him. 

There’s clear embarrassment across her face, a dark blush across her cheeks. 

She pulls her headphones off as she begins to speak, “I - I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable -”

“It’s okay,” He stops her before she can continue, a smirk pulling at his features, “You didn’t know I was going to be here.”

A beat of silence passes before he adds, “Or did you?”

She gapes at him, “Of course not! That’s so weird. Don’t even joke like that.”

“Sorry,” He mutters, trying to hide his smile with his hand. 

“No, you’re not,” She lets out a small giggle, and Lance can’t help but want to hear it again. 

With her hood pulled down, he can see her more clearly. She’s beautiful. 

The lines of her face, the curve of her lips, the slope of her nose. Even with her face glowing, her smile is all he can see.

“You’re right,” He shrugs, tucking his arms into his sides, “I’m not.”

“That’s rude,” She’s quick to answer back, movie paused. 

“I’ve been told I’m rude,” The words slip from him. 

The look on her face changes, the slight drop of her lips. She just stares at him, but it doesn’t burn. 

“Maybe you are,” She says finally, looking down at the ground before back up to him, “Doesn’t mean you’re a bad guy.”

Her words pierce him. 

The lump in his throat is thicker than before, he nearly feels like he’s choking on it. It means more than she could ever know, a stranger’s opinion. He doesn’t even know her name. He wonders for a second if she can hear his heart pounding, ears burning. 

“Thanks,” He forces out.

“‘Course,” She smiles. 

It feels like the sun on Lance’s skin.  

“Are - Are you a fan?” He tries to change the subject.

“Yeah,” She mutters pulling her laptop to her chest, “Sorry about the - the stickers…”

“It’s ok,” He laughs, trying to rub away the tightness in his chest, “It’s nice to meet a fan.”

She smiles, picking at the sleeves of her sweater, “Well, I never thought I’d be able to meet any driver.”

“Why’s that?”

She looks at him and rolls her eyes, “Are you kidding? The cost of a grand prix is more than I make in a month.”

She fixes herself on the seat, tucking her leg around the chair, “Can’t afford it.”

He hums. 

There’s a certain guilt that builds up within him. There was always that saying, ‘Cash is King.’ He has known so many talented drivers forced to leave the sport because it demanded more than they had. The prices got far too high and the rewards were far too little. He knows more than most give him credit for that he’s privileged, his father’s money has allowed him to fail more than some ever get the chance to. 

“So then,” he continues, “Where are you headed to?”

“Mr. Stroll,” She stares up at him through her glasses, “Do you know that you’re not supposed to share that information with strangers?”

The laugh that is pulled from him is far louder than he means for it to be. It draws the annoyed glances of a few people around them, but it makes him double over. She laughs too, failing to smother it with her hand. 

It isn’t funny, but it’s perfect. 

“So you get to know everything about me, but I know nothing about you?”

“You’re famous,” She mutters, pressing a hand to her chest, “I’m just a fan.”

Lance shrugs. He didn’t want her to be just a fan, but maybe that’s just the rain talking.

“Still. I think it’s only fair,” She opens her mouth but Lance adds, “And anyway, I’m just a guy.”

Her mouth clicks shut. She stares at him again for a second, that same look returning to her eyes. It’s almost as if she can see right through him, but he doesn't mind. 

“Then,” She puts her hand out, “How about this…”

She introduces herself, telling him her name before saying, “It’s nice to meet you, stranger.”

Lance looks down at her waiting hand. Her smile is dazzling. It’s bright against the dark murkiness of the rain, it balances him. 

Lance breathes out. 

“I’m Lance, nice to meet you too, stranger.”

_________________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

I also feel the need to remind some people that these are FICTITIOUS pls remember that

[fushiguroshotwife]

PUSSY PLEASER!

♡TW!: Thrusting, him eating you up, oral sex, unprotected sex. Hard Spanking.

♡Ve's note!: Okay I definitely didn't add sum trigger warnings but idk and that's all I could think of, this one's pretty simple for the theme of it, hope u like it <3

°~♡ What happens?: he thrusts you hard :)

MDNI

Toji fushiguro X black!fem!reader

Almost everyone is aware that you and Toji are dating since you share an apartment room. You had sex every day, whenever you wanted, was the bare minimum.

However, he grew tired of the typical intercourse and thus wanted to try something different.

One day as you were returning from work, your pocket-sized phone -- which you had with you at all times -- rang. "Toji?... Isn't it late? I'll be returning soon." "Y/n..". You thought you heard toji's dark toned voice responding.

You responded in a flustered tone, "Y..yes?," you say, sounding like a total dork.

He responded in an irritated tone, "Nothing.. come back soon.. ", which made you completely don't understand what you had misspoken. You simply rush back to your shared dorm.

After that, you hurry to get there. You notice Toji, your frustratingly attractive lover, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed and his arms resting on the edge of the couch.

If he weren't already fucking shirtless, of course, you wouldn't care—

Finally, you gather yourself; fortunately, he didn't see how flustered you appeared, because, well, let's just say it won't end the way you imagined it would.

He finally broke the hush by speaking. "You're late, what a bad girl you are, eh? Let's go to bed."

"Wha—what? " you responded, embarrassed as hell.

"You heard me, bedroom, Now." He replied, totally chill bout 'it not mindin' a thing ever.

"Y—uh, yes, sir." You say, He chuckled at your response, got up from the couch, and wrapped his arms around your lower hip region before spitting out. He then lifted you up like a shopping bag, made his way into the bedroom, and casually dropped you onto the bed.

He dumped you onto the bed with your belly touching the sheets, and while you lay there with your face buried in the pillows, he gradually tore off your shirt like it was nothing at all.

You speak softly and quietly as you say, "Toji.." He responded with a raspy "mhm?.." You express desperation.You pleadingly say, "Toji.. please.. fuck me.." "Well, I can't say no to that.. can I?" Toji says after clearing his throat. He chuckled. He grumbled "mm.. Well, work for it, put on a show for me, and maybe I'll fuck you.."

As you whimper, he then thrusts you from behind."Toji! TOJI!" You grunt.

He said the words "Mmm.. take it all in.." with a downright psychotic chuckle. He shoves his dick into your walls harder, causing you to whimper and roll your eyes back as he smirks at how well you're handling it all.

"mm.. what a good girl.. take it all, my sweet girl" he mocked. "Ngh! Toji!—" you spat out "Wrong. Did someone forget how you call me?.." he mocked you even more, as if that already wasn't enough.

"silly girl, looks like someone can't get their words right." He gives you a hard big slap onto your ass cheek making it burn and turn a bright creamy red, he thrusts he big cock right into you harder back and forth making your shiver and bop your head as your eyes roll back.

"A—ahh!~ da— " you moaned softly, he gives you another slap on the pussy making you scream with fear "wrong again. Cat got your tongue? Say it, now." He says, his voice commanding and loud as you quiver hardly taking it in you as he deeply thrusts his big bulge into your pussy, you scream..

"Daddy!—mm—" you repeat bopping your head to the side making yourself grunt, "you gonna take in my cock, kid?" You nod as he lifts up your legs putting them on his shoulders as you stuf your head into a pillow as tears fill your eyes, Toji grunts "hey kid, you gonna cum?.. hold it, will ya?" He commands as your face is a wet mess under that pillow, toji cums inside of you as you just moan deeply into the pillows as toji spoke

"now cum, sweet woman." He said, you let it out squirming and squirting while he's inside you milking you whole.

"hey kid.. you still alive or not?" He laughs at you, as he always loved mocking and degrading you as a hobby of his.

" H—huh of course I am!-" you protest, he laughs again like a psychopath " yeah right, was that too much for ya kid?" As he looked down on you, still wet and messy,

"Oh right, is it your bedtime? " he added. He always loved to treat you like a kid because of how small you were compared to him, how cute and little you seemed. How innocent you looked..

FUSHIGUROSHOTWIFE2023/2024™ all rights reserved, do not translate, copy, use my layouts or ideas, do not repost my work even on different sites, do not steal any of my work. Do not claim any of my work as yours, like shit ain't nice.

[sprout-fics]

Machinations

(König x F! 'Maus' Reader)

Part 8 of Little Mouse

Word Count: 4.9k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Hints of yandere König, König POV, Tending to wounds, Uneasy alliances, Jealousy, Unrequited pining Warnings: Mentions of brutal character death A/N: I am no longer doing a tag list for this series as it is has gotten too large to handle. Consider subscribing to this series on AO3 for updates

Sunset.

The Kodori range is pretty this time of year. In the dying embers of summer, the light takes on a golden hue, bronze and warm against the steep cliffs that harden with oncoming frost. In the golden hour before sunset the light ribbons through the Colchian forest, golden strands held aloft by invisible threads. It illuminates the muted greys and greens of the trees, coaxes them towards emerald, the birch a glinting silver.

A beast prowls these woods, his steps cloaked in silence, massive form brushing against thickets and yet still barely managing to make a sound. He's at home in these woods, knows their wilderness like the scars that trace his back, a map forged by history, struggle. He prowls with a primal awareness, steps measured, form hunched, coiled with a taut, focused tension like that of a predator.

Even so, König admits the dewy, golden sunlight reminds him of the illustrations in the fairytales he would read as a child. It streams through the canopy, catches bits of dust and pollen like fairy lanterns. There's a strange magic in these woods, an inexplicable energy that makes the ground seem softer, more pliant under his feet. Moss and pine needles, owl feathers that float down from above, a distant call ringing like the toll of a mournful church bell.

It isn't enough to distract him from his mission. Not when he's finally tracked the two enemy soldiers who have been on this mountain for half a day now, slowly and stealthily making their way through the groves to the periphery of the base where König's allies are guarding. They walk endlessly for hours, their endurance unwavering. He follows them at a guarded distance, blending into the foliage, tracing their steps with his own.

König had been told of this group before. British, mainly. Special forces without a doubt, arguably some of the finest soldiers on the planet. Enough to be an irremovable dagger in the side of KorTac's handler. Yet the information on them remained scarce. Like shadows into the night, they waver at the edge of flames brought from destruction- sinking back into the darkness. Spirits. Ghosts.

König had found two sets of footprints on his patrol. On larger, one smaller, both in the direction of the compound. Like a wolf in the woods König had tracked the scent, followed at a distance until at last he found them at a ruined building on the outskirts of the compound, quietly setting up camp for what appeared to be reconnaissance.

From a bluf above the sniper nest he watches, observes how these two ghosts secure themselves, concealing their forms under camouflage, hiding themselves from sight. It's unclear if they know what is inside the compound, sheltered and isolated as it is. Perhaps they think it's the warehouse of a maverick Russian general, an obscure hideout for an oligarch's private army. Maybe they don't know that the very enemy they seek is the same one that watches them keenly from the woods.

The conversation between you both is muted, consisting mostly of hand signals. Obscured in ghillie suits as you are he doesn't truly take stock until he watches the smaller of the pair pause, pull back their hood and shake their hair and face free.

He sees you then. You turn at the exact right moment, just as light seeps through the trees in a gentle, radiant hue. You don't see him, lifting a hand to blot out the dying sun at his back as you speak to your comrade. Yet the sun catches against your face anyways, glinting off your bright eyes, the tone of your skin, catching the color of your hair. He can hardly hear whatever you say, but for some reason you laugh, the sound muffled at this distance and yet feeling for all the world like the particles of feather light pollen that hover in that same sunlight.

König forgets himself for a moment then. The mission, his company, the intrusion you two pose to the compound, all of it fizzles out into nothingness for the briefest of moments. In its place König feels the strange magic of those childish fairytales appear once more, whispering with unknown words into his ears. Strange, unfamiliar incantations haunt the corners of his mind, and between it all he can make out only a single word, echoed from his own lips like a magic spell.

"...Schön."

-----

"Hey, focus."

König snaps to, blinking for a moment as he regards the man beside him. Aksel. The Norwegian is facing forward, looking at the table the rest of the KorTac operators are perched around. Yet his eyes slide over to König meaningfully, lips scowled into a frown.

"I am focused." König returns seething, arms crossed, gaze grazing across the table where his three other teammates converse.

"Aksel, König, pay attention." A voice snaps, and König's eyes land on the leader of the company, their captain. Declan O'Conor.

The Irishman fixes both König and Aksel in his narrowed stare, his hands braced on the steel table where a map is splayed. He doesn't speak, allowing his glinting, deadly stare to sink into both men, imbue them with an unspoken demand of obedience.

"Sir." Aksel murmurs deferentially beside König, his smaller stature shifting with unease for a moment before settling. König lets his eyes slide to the man, observing the way he crosses his arms, biceps bulging under his gear. Like König, he's brutally strong. The Austrian has seen him snap many an enemy soldier's neck with his bare hands. König himself still has a lingering bruise left from the last time the two of them sparred.

Sensing O'Conor's eyes on him still, König tilts his head at his captain, fixing him with a slow, blinking stare. He doesn't speak, and for a moment König thinks he might be reprimanded for that too, for not supplying an immediate response of acknowledgement.

Yet his defiant silence only seems to amuse O'Conor, for the captain's lips twist into a slight smile under the ginger hair of his beard.

"Right then." He declares, leaning up off the table and fasting his hands to his tac vest. The air in the room shifts, all eyes now focused on the Irishman. "With that out of the way, let's move to business."

König's brow arches under his hood, listening as O'Conor's face settles into a serious grimace.

"We have actionable intel that says the 141 is ready to hit one of our supply rendezvous points in Serbia. Roze-" He turns to the dark haired woman to his left. "This is the cache you set up, so you're taking point on this op, understood?"

König's eyes slide to the smallest member of the team. Roze. Their supplier, their strategist and intelligence operator. Slender, subtle, König has seen her work from the shadows. Like a snake, she hides in the underbrush, coiled ready with hungry, glinting eyes. A wry smile crawls across her lips, and for a moment König sees her glance at him with a smug, hidden knowledge.

"Affirm, cap." She returns, voice even but failing to contain her excitement. "Who's coming with me?"

"That'll be Aksel and König." O'Conor returns, and König's eyes widen at that, surprised. Yet that shock is hidden under his hood with a glower, irritation simmering low inside him. He doesn't like working with Roze. Aksel, he can manage. The two men have come to an understanding in the course of their time working together, though perhaps not a brotherhood of sorts.

Roze, however, he can't help with dislike. The woman is full of hidden agendas and concealed plot. She seems to see straight through the men around her with her keen, knowing gaze. Yet that knowledge is hidden under a needling, almost malicious teasing that digs uncomfortably into König's skin. He feels transparent around her at times, and the realization that Roze may somehow know more about him that he cares to admit is a wavering, thorny discomfort at the edge of his periphery.

"Sir-" A voice states, and four sets of eyes turn to O'Conor's right, revealing the final and fifth member of their team. Horangi.

The Korean's eyes are hidden under his sunglasses, worn even indoors in the crackling, fluorescent lighting of their planning room at their base of operations. A mask conceals the lower half of his face. Like König, the soldier has scars he refuses to bear, the silvered flesh revealing secrets about his past only he cares to know. Despite that, the man is fairly outwardly spoken, his voice a calm, steadying presence that binds the uneasy alliances within the team.

"König has been on the last two missions. Allow me to go."

König tilts his head in consideration, watching the sniper. Horangi keeps his eyes locked on their captain, ever attentive, entirely focused on his mission, gaze unwavering. His eyes never falter from their target, watching like a tiger from the jungle, unblinking, predatory in their fixation when he's behind the scope of a rifle.

König almost wants to shoot the man a grateful glance, but is stopped when O'Conor speaks again.

"No, you're still recovering from your last encounter with this team. I need your arm completely healed before I send you back into the field, understood?"

Horangi deflates an inch, but he never breaks eyes contact with the captain.

"Understood, Sir." He replies, voice clipped. Yet when O'Conor's eyes turn back towards Aksel and König, König sees Horangi offer him a small, conciliatory shrug. The Austrian smiles under his hood, despite knowing his friend can't see it.

"Good." O'Conor declares. "I'll be coordinating from off-site. As I said, Roze is on point for this mission. Should the comms go down or anything happen that I can't help with, it'll be Roze's call to make. Clear?"

"Affirmative." Aksel confirms, but König narrows his eyes at the woman beside his captain, her head tilted a little haughtily at him. He sneers.

"Crystal." König at last responds, voice betraying his displeasure. Yet O'Conor doesn't comment on it, not yet at least. Instead, he nods at Roze, who withdraws another smaller map from her side before splaying it across the table before the team. She begins detailing the logistics of the mission- transportation, targets, enemy movements, expected timelines and ex-fil.

König listens half attentively, idly soaking in the information but providing no questions or comments. Again, his thoughts begin to wander, eyes going blank as a different image begins to filter across his gaze, replacing the scene before him.

----

"Please." You whisper, eyes bright in the dimness of the safehouse. You've taken another step closer to him, like a gentle thing trying to tame a wild, hungry beast. König's eyes fix on you, his heart thumping erratically, excited as you raise a hand to him. Beckoning, an entreaty.

There's an anxiousness in your eyes that pulls at a part of him, makes the primal, starving part of his pull taut with a barely restrained eagerness that hums through his coiled form. Like a wolverine watching a rabbit in the glade, König can't quell the instinct to reach out, pull you to him, see the glint in your eyes up close melt into something softer, something like desire.

"I'll do anything you ask-" He watches, eyes settling on the plush bed of your lower lip as you speak. "So please don't hurt him."

Anything.

He loses himself for a moment then, forgetting his mission, his duty, the man at the other end of his gun. Instead, the world narrows down to just you, your smaller form drawing close, almost close enough to reach out and touch him. The phantom sensation of your fingers grazing across his form is enough to make König stifle a shiver. His mind runs wild with possibilities, of taking you, of escaping with you in his arms, of finally, finally having you completely to himself.

He feels like an electric coil, lightning fizzing in his thoughts, the sparks of him barely constrained. His heartbeat drums higher, like the adrenaline fueled thump of a rabbit caught in a snare. Under your eyes, your anxious, glinting gaze König can't help but feel, for a moment, as if he's the prey here, awaiting the fatalistic end of your touch.

"Anything, Maus?" He asks, unable to contain the tremble of excitement in his voice, watching the way realization, burning and bright, passes over your gaze.

He loses himself in the possibilities. The memory of your form, small, lovely in his arms, tiny like a baby bird and yet imbued with surprising strength, resilience, makes his blood sing a primal, thrilled symphony.

He smiles.

"Then-" He takes a step closer, eyes flashing, heartbeat rising. You're so close now. if he just reaches out-

He sheathes his blade, the blood still coating his fingertips, eyes never leaving your smaller form.

""If I ask, you'll come with me?"

----

"-The taskforce-"

König blinks, ears honing in on the mention of your company. It's Roze talking now, one hand cupped under her chin in thought as she regards the maps. When König shifts, however, her eyes flicker up to him for all of a moment with a keen, knowing smile.

"We don't know how many members there will be. However, considering the specifications of the team members I can make a guess as to who will be on the mission for sure."

Her fingers land on a set of photos near the edge of the map, stopping first over a man with a mohawk.

König recognizes him. The one who stole you away after you were injured in Uzbekistan, hiding you from sight and tending to the wound that the team had allowed you to receive.

"MacTavish." Roze declares almost absently. "He's their demolitions expert. If they decide to bring down the warehouse as opposed to taking control of it like I expect, we should expect him."

"Agreed." O'Conor concurs, and his own hand drifts towards a different photo- a man, grizzled and bearded. He reminds König a bit of Declan himself, exuding an unquestionable authority with his stare alone.

"Price." He announces. "Skilled in convert operations. They'll need to go in quiet, and knowing him, he'll want to do this himself."

"You know him." König speaks at last, and it's not really a question so much as a demand for information, eyes narrowed, head cocked curiously as he leans on the wall behind him.

"I did." O'Conor answers simply, but König sees the way his eyes grow distant, angry, hurt. "Once."

Interesting.

König makes a note to study the thought later, recognizing by the expression written on O'Conor's face that he's unwilling to share more. Yet when his eyes flick to Roze, she doesn't seem surprised at all, instead staring back at König, watching his eyes for any indication to his thoughts.

He returns the gaze passively, refusing to allow her the privilege of seeing inside his mind. She huffs a little, but then, curiously, offers him of all things a smile.

"And her-" She declares, and her fingers stop over one more photo, and König can't contain his surprise under his mask when he recognizes it.

You.

"Their sniper. No doubt Price will have her on overwatch as he and MacTavish clear the interior. She'll be the first to notice if anything is off."

"You think she'll be alone?" Horangi asks, tone lilting in disbelief.

"She's capable." Roze returns. "Sneaky, as I'm sure some of us have seen." Her eyes dart to König, and he makes another note to ask what that is about later.

"She's surprisingly slippery too, like a rat. Hard to trap."

A mouse. König corrects silently, frowning.

The thought that your captain would send you out alone to cover him and MacTavish, put you by yourself, vulnerable, chafes at the inside of König's thoughts. The reminder that this is the same team that allowed you to get hurt, that allowed you to get captured, makes irritation simmer inside him. They don't know how to take care of you. Not like he can.

Still, the familiar excitement of getting to see you again shivers inside him. The idea that with every encounter he peels away a little more of your shield towards him, revealing the beauty, the intoxicating honesty beneath your stare makes a familiar rise of warmth flush through him. He wants it, wants to hear your voice, wants to see the dizzying truth of you, the way the steel exterior of you melts away into something softer, more tender.

"We'll rig the building." Roze declares, and that draws König's attention. "Moving most of our supplies first covertly, and then using it as bait to trap and hopefully eliminate Price and MacTavish."

O'Conor hums then, a hand grazing his beard in thought.

"MacTavish, their sniper, I don't care about. Price however-" and there's a glint in his eyes then that makes König pause, try to understand his abrupt fixation on the enemy captain.

"I want him alive."

Roze hesitates, brow furrowing as she digests the expression on her captain's face. She looks like she wants to challenge him, mouth briefly opening before she decides against it.

"Fine." She then turns to Aksel and König. "You have full execute authority for MacTavish and the other. Price is to be captured. Copy?"

König doesn't respond, desperately trying to hide his growing panic at the thought of you getting caught by either of his team members. The image of your eyes going blank, your final memory a single flash of red at the end of Roze's aim, of your face caught between two of Aksel's massive hands, mouth opening in a desperate plea before there's a sickening crack-

He shivers.

"Copy." Aksel manages beside him, and König's eyes find Roze's once more, glaring.

"...Copy." He offers, even as his stomach churns with a putrid, hateful anxiety.

"Good." Roze offers, and her smile is sickly sweet somehow, knowing. It coats the back of König's tongue and leaves a burning aftertaste. "Captain?"

O'Conor nods once, seemingly satisfied. He looks up, regards the operators in his team before nodding once more.

"You have your orders." He states evenly. "Do not fail. Dismissed."

The rest of the team stands at attention, and on instinct König does as well, his eyes trailing O'Conor as the man vanishes beyond the doorway of the planning room. König waits until the other have begun to follow, shuffling and ducking under the too short doorway before making strides down the corridor.

He doesn't get all of ten steps before there's a voice behind him, high and feminine, teasing.

"Gott im Himmel." He mutters to himself, head raising as if asking the heavens for absolution  as Rozlin trots up to catch him. He turns, fists already curled in irritation. "What?"

Roze pouts up at him, eyes twinkling in mischief.

"Oh, don't be like that big guy." She whines, a single finger prodding at him. it only makes his frown deepen, face drawing into a scowl. "We're going to be working together, you should try and be nice to me for once."

He brushes her hand aside. yet the motion does little to deter her, seems to only encourage her as she smiles.

"What do you want, Rozlin?" König asks tersely, not bothering to hide his irritation. "I'm busy."

"Busy being distracted, you mean?" She asks impishly, and König feels a prickle of warning crawl across his shoulders at that. it must show through his eyes, because Rozlin seizes on it, like a coyote with a piece of meat. "I saw you in the meeting. You were zoning out."

"I was bored." He shoots back. "Your plans are not exactly enthralling, frau."

There's a thrum of satisfaction when Roze actually does look annoyed at that. Yet then that annoyance fades as that damned, knowing smile crawls across her lips once more.

"You didn't seem so bored when I mentioned her." She purrs.

König stiffens.

Shock, a dawning horror at the realization that somehow she's found it, that she knows about this secret infatuation he's developed has him pausing, muscles drawn tight in shock. Yet he tamps down on it as quickly as he can, refusing to offer Roze even an inch of ground on which to advance.

"I don't know who you're talking about." He seethes in return despite the uneven thump of his heartbeat.

"Oh?" Roze doesn't buy it. He can tell. There's a keen, sinister grin twitching on her lips. It digs at him, inside him, sends a prickle of defensive fury tickling along the underside of his skin. "You're telling me all this sneaking around on missions you've been doing has been for no reason? That you didn't linger in that safehouse in Mozambique to see her?"

"Unlike you-" König growls, stepping forward, looming over the smaller operator. "I have more important things to worry about than keeping track of a single enemy sniper."

It's a movement meant to intimidate her, and for a moment he sees Roze's eyebrows rise, craning her head to look up at the taller soldier. Yet when she opens her mouth to retort, there's another voice that floats down the hallway.

"König."

Both König and Roze turn, catching sight of their own sniper hovering at the edge of their conversation. he glances between them, taking stock of the confrontation before turning to König.

"I need to assess your stitches before you're deployed." He states calmly, almost clinically, voice careful not to provoke either of his team members. Then he turns to Roze. "I'll be borrowing him for a few minutes."

It's not a request, but neither is it a demand. Horangi's voice is smooth, even as he speaks, as if talking down an animal.

Roze wrinkled her nose at him in distaste, obviously displeased the sniper has ruined her fun. Still, she takes a step back, withdraws so she can regard both men fully.

"Fine." She bites with a roll of her eyes. "Go on an see the doc, big guy."

Roze turns with a little dismissive wave, pausing to give König a look over her shoulder.

"And König? Remember to kill your food after playing with it." She hums, then paces down the corridor back the way she came.

König watches her leave, still trying to tame the simmering frustration and anxiety roiling in his blood. Roze's needling, her smug knowledge, her ceaseless almost malicious teasing reminds him too much of the things he used to endure, of sneering expressions and laughing voices that even now makes anger, red and warm, flush through him.

Horangi settles beside him, watching Roze vanish around a corner before at last looking up to the taller man beside him.

"What was that about?" He asks curiously, and König only shakes his head.

"Nothing." He murmurs, trying to clear his thoughts before looking to the shorter soldier. "What was it you said? Ah, my arm, right."

Horangi offers only a small nod before jerking his head down the hallway, towards an unused room. König follows, larger form all but dwarfing his friend.

It doesn't take long before König is divested of most of his gear, shirt removed so their temporary medic can properly assess the long, snaking wound left as a parting gift to him by Garrick.

"You were lucky." Horangi tells him, lifting a single hefty arm above him to peer at the underside of König’s tricep. "If you hadn't reacted quick enough, he could have sliced through your artery. You could have bled out."

"I know." König growls, the reminder smarting against his skin. He didn't consider himself an easy man to get the drop on, and the fact that Garrick had not only managed to avoid being shot, but had injured him as well was as worthy of irritation as it was of respect.

One he'd have to return the favor for.

The reminder of your smile, of your easy gentleness and camaraderie around the sergeant itches at him. One of his legs bounces against the floor. Impatient. Irritated.

He's seen you with Garrick a few times now. First in the forest, at sundown, hours before you had even set eyes on him for the first time. Your laugh, bright and airy, echoed out in response to something Garrick had said. König had seen the way the sergeant's eyes had softened at the sound, his lips a tender, pleased smile.

So too had König seen the way you'd clung to his arm in Mozambique, hidden as he was from the shadows of an alleyway as he hastened to the safehouse before you could beat him there. The gesture then had been a feigned one, meant to disillusion any passerby around you into thinking you two were simply a couple. Even so, König had seen it then too, the hidden smile Garrick tucked away from your worried expression.

Even now he can hear the accusation the sergeant had levied at him, thunderous, venomous, absolutely fatal in his intent.

"Don't touch her!!"

"If you hurt her again, I'll-"

König hadn't had time to deal with it then, but now the reminder of his words made him scowl under his hood. Hurt you? His Maus? Of course, König could see why the sergeant made that assumption, but it remained far from the truth. Kong would never hurt you. He wasn't above stealing you away to some place quiet, ensuring you were safe from the hail of gunfire and smoke, but hurting you?

A grumble, low and deep, rumbles from him just as Horangi prods at one of the stitches close to his elbow.

"Ah, I'm sorry." He offers to König, but the Austrian merely shrugs, not caring to explain the true source of his irritation.

Yet then Horangi pauses, and without looking at him König knows he has fastened him with his gaze.

"What?" He asks without meeting the Korean's stare.

"She's right, you know." He starts gently. "You...have been distracted."

Ah, so he did hear that conversation after all König realizes, closing his eyes with an irritated sigh.

"I'm tired." He explains half-heartedly. "I barely got a chance to breathe after getting back from Minsk before I was sent out to Mozambique."

Horangi nods, seemingly accepting the explanation he's been given. Even if he doesn't believe it, König is grateful that he doesn't press the issue.

"She wants to get a rise out of you." He states then, and König blinks, looks at him. Horangi keeps an even stare with the larger man. "Roze, I mean. She likes getting reactions from people, and it's easy with you."

"She's a petty little witch." König hisses in return, scowling. "Why O'Conor keeps her around is more than I can understand."

"You haven't thought about it?" Horangi asks then, pressing an inch forward, only for König to automatically draw back. "That she and O'Conor seem to know more than the rest of us?"

König pauses. He hadn't really considered it before. He took this job because he enjoyed the adrenaline rush of being in the field, the ring of bullet rounds singing against his veins and thrumming through his ribs. He craved it, loved the violence of it, the bloom of red against a wall with the slash of his knife in the throat of a worthy opponent, the disastrous cacophony of a frag grenade thrown into a hiding space, echoed by his thunderous battle cry.

"No." He responds, slowly, curiously, eyeing Horangi from the corner of his vision.

Horangi settles backwards in his seat, stripping his hands of the latex gloves he used to inspect König’s arm.

"I think about it." He declares simply. "We were never told where our funds come from, our supplies, we're only paid enough not to ask questions."

König watches him, at last locking on Horangi's gaze, trying to find something beneath his sunglasses, trying to discern the true meaning of his stare.

"There's something here we don't know about." Horangi offers at last, voice low, distant. A warning.

König scoffs then, ignoring the prickle of awareness, of curiosity that itches along his thoughts.

"Think about it on your own time." He mutters dismissively, reaching for his shirt and gear. "And make sure your own injury is healed before your next mission. After all-" and he turns, offers a tilt of his head that betrays the smile under his hood. "If you were killed, who would stitch me up after?"

Horangi chuckles at that, with a little toss of his head that lets König know he's rolling his eyes.

"You're all set. Try not to get injured this time, so I have more of my own time to think." He offers as König stands with a roll of his shoulders that has his joints pop. "And don't forget to bring home your captive."

König smiles then, under his hood, feeling a familiar excitement boil higher in his veins. His heartbeat picks up, racing in time with his thoughts. Hungry, driven, fixated on the thought of you once more, of your wide eyes as he springs his trap on you, hands reaching forward to grasp you once more.

"No." He promises, grinning, shivering with an untamed, frenetic energy. "I won't."

[anathemafiction]

Jealousy — Part One

The tavern isn't full, so even as he stares intensely at the beer, convincing himself that it's the most interesting thing he has ever witnessed, he can still make out your shape in the corner of his eye. You're so silent and still. Hadrian wonders...

He glances at you again.

Hadrian tries to make himself small. He ducks his head, hunches his shoulders, and scoots harder against the corner of the wall as if he can disappear in the shadows. But, for all his efforts, Hadrian thinks you wouldn't notice him even if he was shouting bloody murder. Your fingers play absentmindedly with the handle of your tankard while your eyes are dead set on the counter. Your mouth is pressed in a pensive line, and never before has Hadrian seen someone physically there but so obviously far away.

You're in a world of your own, and Hadrian shouldn't pry, but he can't help but wonder what it is you're thinking of. He can't help the apprehension he feels at the absent look in your eyes and the grim lines on your face. He can't help the want to go to you and offer his company, as lacking as it may be.

Hadrian can't help but wonder—

"Orland, gimme the usual." A large, barreled-built man barges into his line of sight. He spoke to the bartender, but Hadrian can see his eyes are set on you. He stands just behind your chair with his belly touching the back of it, while his head is cocked to the side to peer down at you.

And now Hadrian's nails turn white when he sees his lips quirking in a leering smile. "And who are you?" the man speaks, setting his hand on the counter beside you. He's looming over you now, trapping you between his chest and the counter.

Fire spreads through his veins. Not so close.

You finally take note of the brute. Blinking, you snap out from whatever thoughts held you, and slowly lift your head to look at the man. His smile turns wider when you exchange glances, and he leans even closer toward you. Hadrian doesn't know when he grabbed his cross, but he's squeezing it so hard that part of him fears the wood might crack.

He wants to go to you, but he shouldn’t. Lord in Heaven. You can deal with this. Maybe you want this. Who is Hadrian to meddle? Who is he to think that disgusting, rotten man shouldn't be within a mile of you, much less two feet apart? What right does Hadrian have?

"Never seen you around before," the man continues when it's clear you won't answer.

You look him up and down, your neutral face slowly morphing into one of... disdain. "You won't see me again," you say then, voice cold, and turn away from your seat.

And may God forgive him, but Hadrian has never been gladder. He smiles, relieved, and hopes that—

"Come now, no need ta be like that," the idiot presses. The man chuckles when you glare at him, and Hadrian's hand shakes on his cross. "Get to know me first, will ya?"

You roll your shoulders. "Fuck off."

The man's smile stiffens, and now his canines flash, and he's not smiling any longer. He's snarling. Hadrian half-rises from his chair, ears deaf to the world but you. "You stuck-up bitch/bastard. Look at me."

The man grabs you by the arm and yanks and beer spill everywhere when your tankard goes flying.

Hadrian is out of his chair before it hits the ground.

(…)

Alessa's eyes narrow into slits.

The sun burns bright, and its insistent rays guard the world behind their shine, but although she's almost made blind, Alessa would never miss you. The cobblestones sizzle, the distant walls of crumbling buildings oscillate in the heat, and you stand amongst the stalls of a busy market day.

Alessa quietly steps into the shadows, feeling the sweat already building at the back of her neck, and lightly rests her shoulder on a post. Her legs cross at the ankles, and while her hand plays with the rim of her belt, ears always listening for any threat, Alessa decides she shall take a moment to observe you.

Just one moment. One small indulgence.

You are bent over, inspecting the counter of a stall with a tall, red cloth arranged like a tent over the merchandise. Half of you is dipped in shadows, while the other lays under the merciless sun, but you do not seem to mind the heat as you take your time studying whatever it is they sell. Alessa's lips quirk on their own accord, but she decides not to fight the smile.

'Tis hard to see from a distance, but she bets you have scrunched your eyebrows as you always do whenever you are thinking hard. She can even imagine the slight press of your lips, and her eyes narrow even further against the rays of an inconvenient sun, but her smile grows wider.

Alessa taps her fingers on her elbow, the rings flashing in bands of gold and silver, and she ponders if perhaps, she should approach you. It is... frustrating how much she finds herself wanting to. Embarrassing would be an even better word. I am a fool. She inhales, blue eyes shifting toward the ground.

You would not know.

You would not know she was drawn to your company; you would simply assume she found you amongst the crowd. Perhaps she could walk nearby and wait until you took notice. The problem was, of course, if you then decided not to call for her. Alessa's lips twist as a sour taste invades her tongue. 'Twould be unfortunate indeed. It would—

She looks back up and sees you are alone no longer.

Seemingly appearing from the cobblestones, a woman suddenly stands beside you. She is tall and dark, and the sunshine covers the world, but her beauty manages to outshine even the brightest glow. Alessa cannot help but admire her long, black hair, braided near her forehead to fall freely down her back. She wears a blue and yellow dress that is both light and intricate, and against her dark skin, she sees the multitude of stones and gems that adorn it.

She bends beside you, her neck elongating to peer down at the counter. Alessa wonders if she is the seller or simply another customer, but she mostly wonders why this woman feels comfortable standing so close beside you. And why do you allow her to do so? She is a stranger, should you not move away? Are you not concerned for your own safety?

But it seems that you are not. You stay in place, and now you turn your chin, and Alessa sees your lips moving.

The woman pauses, smiles, and then moves her long, gracious arm to pick something from the counter. Alessa's eyes are not slits, for the pupils have all but disappeared. There's no blue as she stares, stiff now, stiff over her whole body. The woman — the merchant — moves her other arm, and Alessa sees her brushing her hand between your shoulder blades.

(…)

The wine glass hangs perilously from his fingers.

Alain is vaguely aware that it's almost spilling onto the immaculate golden cushion of the plush sofa he has chosen as his perch for the evening. The nobleman decides that he does not care. Wine stains can also serve as decoration, let it show this sofa has had some use — even if by one sprawled, slightly drunk, good-for-nothing noble.

Alain twirls the glass, hearing the wine splash inside, and his lips quirk when he feels something wet coat his fingers. Oops. He doesn't look to confirm it, however, for his eyes cannot stray from you. A little sparrow.

Although of prey, you resemble nothing. You walk within the crystal halls with your head held high and your shoulders squared, and never before has Alain seen a common-born with a prouder chin. You stride forward, looking them all in the eyes, and he's struck again by that. When you first met, Alain couldn't put his finger on why you impressed him. What exactly made you stand out, but it didn't take him long to realize: you looked him straight in the eyes.

You hold people's gazes, whether they're dressed in wool or silk, whether they're covered in dirt or gems, whether they have a family name or none at all.

Alain's lips curl into a grin when he sees Lady Evelyn gather her skirts and step aside to let you pass. The painted hag scowls at your back, but he knows she'd never do it to your face. She wouldn't dare. You have the handkerchief of the Theers tied to your wrist but more than that, you have a light in your eyes and a countenance to your body that repels these rotten leeches like sunlight to maggots. They wouldn't dare approach you.

Alain brings his glass to his lips and swallows the wine. It's from an old, rich casket, and it flows like honey down his throat. He swirls it inside his mouth as his eyes keep tracking you. You're looking left and right, not hesitantly, but clearly searching for someone. His grin grows as he settles even more comfortably on the sofa, stretching his legs until he's practically lying.

His sparrow looks for him, but Alain is having so much fun watching you from afar. Besides, it's enough to warm his webbed, cynical heart. Someone that wants him. Isn't that nice?

You stop by a pillar with vines and flowers wrapped around it and slowly turn on your heels. Alain sees your eyes sweeping over the room, coming closer and closer to find him. He begins to raise his glass in a greeting, grin softening to something more of—

You snap your chin to the side as, strolling from amongst the crowd, a man approaches you.

(...)

The door swings open.

And all ladies gasp for a different reason as you walk through the door. Your long legs stride confidently into the crowd of puffed-up, powered noblewomen. Your gloved hand rests on your belt while your other one leans casually on the hilt of your sword. Ysabella forgets about insults and jealous cousins as her breath gets caught in her throat once more.

But it’s held out of admiration. How charming you are. How glad she is to see you. Amongst fake gold that glitters an ugly shine, you bring her back to ground level with nothing more than your presence.

"My ladies," you greet, halting in the middle of the drawing room. You incline your head in a respectful nod, but it's not a deep bow, and you never set your eyes on the ground. From all around the room, blushes erupt on the maiden's cheeks. Ysabella can't help but be amused by the sight.

(if Romanus is male)

Most of them have barely left their gilded palaces. They have almost no contact with men outside their families — much less with a man like you. A mercenary, bound by no orders like their guards. Oh, Ysabella can see how they eye you, and she understands them. She understands the daydreams that'll form around you. It only amuses her.

(if Romanus is female)

Most of them have barely left their gilded palaces. They never met a woman like you — a mercenary, not bound by orders like their guards. A woman free of courtesy, with scars and a hardness in your eyes, but even still... beautiful. More than all of them combined. Oh, Ysabella understands the daydreams that'll form around you. It only amuses her.

Poor pretty things. If I did not have Alain, I would have turned out the same.

"I'm here to fetch the lady Theer," you announce, turning towards Ysabella. You flash her a quick, secret grin, and she feels as if her chest will explode.

Bella beams and practically leaps out of her seat. She moves—

Caliana rises in a flash, and Bella blinks when she cuts in front of her. "Is that so?" Caliana says, wrapping her gloved hand around your bicep. She leans her chest closer, and Ysabella knows that, if you look down, you'll get a full view of her cleavage. "I didn't know you were coming for me, but I can't say I'm disappointed. Where are you taking me?"

You furrow your brows at her. "I... I believe you're mistaken."

"Nonsense!" Caliana exclaims, and she throws her neck back to laugh into the air. Her throat exposes to you, and her breasts press even closer, and Ysabella has never once struck anyone in her life, but a sudden, vicious primal beast within her wants to latch onto her cousin and tear away every single one of her hair. "I'm a lady Theer. You've come to fetch one, haven't you? Well, here I am. I'll tell you what."

Caliana plunges a hand into her cleavage and takes out a gold coin. She pushes it into your chest. "Wherever you're taking me, go by the long route. It's been too long since I've enjoyed hanging from the arm of a handsome man/ a striking woman. We high-born have to take our pleasures when we can."

She winks at the maidens, who all giggle and blush and hide their faces behind their hands. "Lady Caliana!" one exclaims, breathless, her voice high-pitched.

You're looking at the gold coin with dark, silent eyes.

(...)

The entire pieces are available on Patreon!

Meddling — Hadrian & Alessa

Commodity — Alain & Ysabella