#silver is mentioned quite a bit

[tonycries]

Madam Kamo - C.K.

Synopsis. Bréeding kínk? Going feraI? What the hell is that? Maybe your sweet clan leader husband knows the answer…

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Choso, arranged marriage, mentions of heirs, he’s a little ínsane, elders are awful, MARATHONS, he goes FÉRAL, BRÉEDING, creampíes, a lot of cúmplay, semi-public, dóm Choso, oraI (fem rec), cervíx kíssing, making it fit, bulges, cúmflations, matíng presses, dúmbification, overstím, making him CRY, p talking, spítting, HEADLOCKS, slight 5 + 1 things, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.3k

A/N. CLAN LEADER CHOSO CLAN LEADER CHOSO

Choso Kamo - firstborn son of the ancient Kamo clan, more of a myth than a man.

Those who attended the sprawling Kamo Estate never dared utter a word about him; and those who didn’t, well, he was all that they could talk about.

He left no evidence, he left no remorse. 

Only rumors of a silent, stoic leader who could slaughter four entirely different clans before he let even a singular whisper of it spread amongst the masses. Ones of pretty mahogany eyes, and a silver bow and arrows that hit the target of your very soul - so fluid it was as if he’d forged the weapon with his own blood. 

And then there were the other rumors - more gossip than anything, really. Spread throughout every nook and cranny of stuffy social functions about how the deadly Kamo clan leader had another, secretive side. A softer side.

But, of course, rumors were rumors. Choso Kamo was simply an enigma.

And…your new husband.

“Zoning out, hm?” A hot gust of breath sends shivers sprinting down your spine, and in an instant you’re snapping your eyes to latch onto deep, hazel ones. Choso’s. The edge of his plump lips curl slightly upwards, “My apologies, this wedding reception is quite droning, isn’t it?”

Hastily breathing, “N-no! Of course not, I…” You’re wincing when yet another wizened elder saunters up to the raised platform of your table. Probably the hundredth of the night. “-yeah, maybe a bit.”

Choso stifles out a rumbling bout of chuckles as he catches your gaze, so close now that his pearly white teeth almost nick your sensitive earlobe. “Let me take care of this, my wife.”

And when Choso shifts over to nod curtly at your oncoming guest, you couldn’t help but appreciate how beautiful he is. All tall, towering lines of lean muscle, his silken black yukata wafting of heady cologne, and delicate features that made him have almost as many admirers as he did foes. 

Or, at least, delicate features that were currently twisted into something hardened. Something exactly like clan leader Kamo of all the stories. 

He’s tilting his head up, long lashes narrowed, “Elder Tanaka, a pleasure.”

“No no! The pleasure’s all mine.” The older man slurs drunkenly, and despite the way his words were just dripping with saccharine sweet politeness, years of suffering through these exact interactions had made it easy for you to spot faux niceties. Like right now. “Or should I say- the new madam’s. You must be glad to marry into a clan as esteemed as the Kamo’s.”

The plastic smile that smears all over your face is painful, and you’re biting your tongue before it betrays you. “Yes, of c-”

“My apologies for cutting in, madam.” You’re startling - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the softened fingerpads that intertwine around yours, or the utter fire curdling in Choso’s eyes. “But I must say, I am the lucky one here.”

Oh.

Elder Tanaka is more impressive than you thought - his mask of respect barely even cracks, other than the jerky twitch of one eye. Honestly, you don’t think he’s ever heard Choso speak this much ever before. Quickly gathering his bearings, “Ah- ah, of course, master Kamo! Correct as always!”

Fuck- you can’t hold back the way you roll your eyes, only remembering yourself when Choso’s engulfing hands loosen from your own to give your thigh a warm squeeze. 

“You have wedded quite the catch, of course of course.” Your unwelcome company finally, finally looks at you properly. A sneer coating his slow blinking, “I-I simply meant that considering the master’s incredible power, wealth, and options, what she brings to the table-”

“-is herself.” Choso finishes off monotonically. “And that’s all I need.”

Choso’s words were husky, his grip on you tight. And you wonder if he even realized just how hard he was clutching onto your heated skin - mountains of his palm dragging a smooth up n’ down your clothed leg.

You knew he was well-hidden underneath the lacy tablecloth, you knew that not a single elder, family member, or friend bustling about your wedding reception could see that particular touch over the dim yolky lighting. 

But something about it just made you feel hot. 

It takes you a few fuzzy seconds to realize that Elder Tanaka was still speaking - in fact, he’d even summoned over a few more members of the council to encircle your decadent table. All the more voices speaking at you rather than to you.

“-that’s what I was saying-” You’re catching croaked-out snatches of conversation, warily eyeing the way the men clap each other supportively on their backs.“-it’s about the right time don’t you think?”

Another one nods, “Jin has been waiting for so long, after all-”

“-yes yes, to have an heir-”

Oh.

That’s what had Choso’s high cheekbones currently dusted with a faintly blossoming rose pink. That’s what had his thickened digits dipping past your luxurious evening yukata to rover between your thighs higher, and higher- like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. 

Like he was yearning for it.

“The Kamo clan shall have an heir.” You’re interrupting their ramblings, the mere sound of your voice enough to make Choso’s fingertips twitch. Smooth skin prickling with heaps of goosebumps already when you lock eyes right with his. “As soon as my husband is ready, right?”

And Choso Kamo was brought up with the most rigorous of training, raised to never show even the barest flicker of emotion - especially one where he’s caught off guard.

But right now he knows that he looks as stunned as he feels.

Coral pink maw falling into a soft oh! dark whirlpools of his eyes glinting with something so utterly raw. The trembling tips of his fingers lurch up just the barest inch to drag a lazy line down your pussymound. 

He’s instantaneously shifting his free hand up in one, fluid motion to cover the feverishly flushed half of his face. Jaw clenching with a sharp click! of his teeth when he swipes the fat pad of his thumb down a fresh bead of your leaking slick, making such a flimsy mess of your drenched panties. Was this all for him?

Because now Choso’s getting…greedy.

And you’re almost letting off a slight whimper when he hastily drags his scouring hand away - that is, before every and any sound dies in your throat once your husband dips his wetted thumb past his lips and sucks. 

Subtly. 

And his voice cracks oh-so-pathetically, “R-right.”

Eyes staring deeply into yours when he parts his doughy fingertips mere millimeters to lather it with a fat wad of saliva. Your breath hitches in your chest, frantically glancing at the babbling group of men who were, thankfully, way too absorbed in themselves to notice your little…tryst.

And it’s only with all his years as a seasoned fighter that Choso’s nuzzling his soaked digits back between your jittery thighs. In a flash.

Planting exactly three soppy smack! smack! smacks! plapped onto the perfect arch of your drooling pussy. Choso’s raising his neat brows at just how those tremors make you squirm in your seat.

“Ch-Cho—so-” You’re gasping under your breath, hips repeatedly shuffling on your cushiony chair when he licks up repeated, sultry circles- no, wait, hearts along the slippery slit of your covered cunt. Up and down. “Th-they might see…”

“Shhh, don’t want them to hear, baby.” He’s leaning in to pant out a murked cloud against your ear, throat bobbing with a ravenous swallow of saliva as he then probes a few stuffy fingers under your panties. “You seem stressed– Let me take care of it.”

Oh, it was a promise - and the rasping growl that bled into Choso’s tone told you that he was well and fully intent on accomplishing his little task. “Spread those pretty legs now.”

With a steady, muscular calf hooked with your own, he’s cracking your thighs evermore parted. The scorching hot press of his big, beefy forearm over your shoulders making you feel as if you’re on the verge of melting. Practically on his lap now-

“Is everything alright, master–?” You’re hearing from what sounds like somewhere over in the distance, even though you already know that it’s from right in front of you.

“Everything is quite alright.” Choso’s plush pecs vibrate with his rapid answer, and you’re finding yourself leaning your weight onto his. Huffing and puffing near the crook of his neck, “It seems the madam is just feeling a little ah…tired, right now. Continue your talk, elders.”

Tired - you couldn’t feel more riled up if you even tried.

“Ngh- Choso-” You’re sinking your teeth into your wobbly lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. High, carved chair singing off a slight creak! when you’re bucking your hips up to jostle his gluttonous fingers closer to where you wanted him the most. “-need you.”

Well, whatever his wife wanted - you got. 

In simple nanoseconds, Choso’s snugly prying away your gauzy lace. Letting the too-thin fabric snap back against your sappy cunt with a teasing little swat!

Before you can blink, he’s gracing your panties with microscopic tears at just how eager he was to give your plump, buttony clit a good, hard push. Cold golden wedding ring perking up against your most tender spots. Flexible wrists bending towards an even vulgarly deep angle to keep you from escaping-

And you think you could scream, you think you could open your mouth to make a scene - before Choso beats you to it. Purring out an oblivious, “Is everything alright, my wife? You seem a little feverish.”

All the while slipping n’ sliding his fingerpads to smear your gluey pussylips open. Mazing down, down, down in a lecherous little pace to plug up your geysering entrance snugly full with two of his fattened digits. 

You’re clutching helplessly onto Choso’s thick yukata sleeve when the elders stare over at you curiously, “I-I’m fine, Ch- my husband. Just a few post-wedding jitters.”

“Awww, that’s alright.” He’s cooing from above you, words sugarcoated with such gentleness - but his hands were anything but. “M’here, m’here.” Setting out a vicious, ceaseless pace that has his manly fingers outlining numerous circles round n’ round your tight, flooding entrance. Motioning in slight, sleazy swirls all around your elastic hole just to fit inside properly. “Your dear Choso’s here, y’know? And I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Ah! Of course-” Ring out the replies, evidently your hurried-out shudders were not enough for your guests to lose interest. Or for Choso, either - because he’s just feeding your slobbering orifice with more fat inches upon grinding inches. “-producing an heir is a very integral part of the marriage contract. It’s understandable to be nervous.”

Shivering, “S-sure.”

“Mhm—” Choso’s trawling his pouted mouth down your perspiration-simmered temple, “-a very integral part. But, of course, we’ve got to make sure that my beloved wife is-” Quirking the very edge of his digits to clash right into the target of your g-spot. “-ready, after all.”

The clingy embrace of your warm cunt so cozy that it’s bumping Choso’s metallic ring further and further from his hilled knuckles to dredge out a chilling, languid massage along your channel. 

It takes everything in you to manage up a half-heartedly narrowed glare up at your chatting husband, easily conversing his way through every battering ram being placed on your pretty pussy. 

He doesn’t make a sign - he doesn’t even make a noise. Nothing except for a sharp, sudden inhale once another innocent peck at your lips makes your filthy hole fountain out a fresh lather of sickly sweet juices. 

Dripping all the way down to his wrist with thickly viscous adhesive, he’s making such a fucking mess. And a loud one, too. 

Slurp after slurp being wrenched out with every pound of his neatly cut nails patterning out little indents onto your most favorite spots - ones that have your legs shaking underneath the humid table. Choso’s bouncing his knee to drum out a staccato against the floor, just to cover up your cute little melody.

He has you going insane.

You’re pushing apart your legs to dig into either side of your chair with just how desperate you were for him. For more more more.

Bumping your thigh against one of his, and the mere touch is enough to send shockwaves down Choso’s sloped body. 

“Trying to tease me, baby?” He’s hovering over you even closer, darting out a hefty thud! of two fingertips- no, three - when did he even bully in another one - onto the goopy roof of your cunt. 

“M’not-” You’re biting out, head lolling ever-so-slightly backwards when Choso furrows his brows and pumps out copious thrusts that hit your forbidden g-spot dead on. Engulfed so deeply inside your hot core that the gentle curves of his palm smudge against your clit now. “J-just keep- talking.”

And, truly, it wasn’t just because your company was peering over the two of you expectantly - it was because Choso sounded so very hot. 

Vibrato husky with an animalistic sort of need, tremoring ever-so-slightly-

“Agreed, I would like a few sons and daughters.” Choso’s nodding along smoothly, although his full attention is focused on you. His wife. And the way your sweltering hot gummy walls clench around his bludgeoning fingers even tighter at the words. Faster. “Maybe three. Maybe five. Although, it’s up to the madam.”

In the corner of your eye, you’re catching them all staring at you, and you urgently force out a nod.

“C’mon now, answer them using your words like a big girl, why don’t you–?” He’s humming, tilting your burning face up. Faster. So that you can’t hide.

Lilting shrill just as unbalanced as your head was, “Y-yes-”

But of course, that wasn’t enough - that would never be enough. “Louder. They can’t hear you over the music, baby.”

Can’t do anything but claw down drawings of red, red lines all across Choso’s milky arms when he bustles into the targets of your honeyed spots even harder. Unsteady syllables spilling out from your lip before you can even register them, “Yes- yes. As…many as possible.”

“That’s it- good girl.”

Fuck. 

And those raked scratches make perfect artwork for him to admire - just as he was admiring you right now. 

It was just such a shame that the others here were, too, even if they didn’t know the complete and utter sin happening just underneath the table cloth. Sloppier. 

Choso’s kissing his teeth, broad deltoids of his shoulder positioning to hide you away from any sleazy gazes. Because they could be near, but they couldn’t see. You were his.

“Then, it’s settled-” He’s drawling, hooded eyes locked onto you. Memorizing your every minute twitch and reaction when he urges his free hand to hold onto yours on your lap. Or, at least, that’s what it looked like to the outside. In fact, Choso’s snugly prying apart your silken robes to roll over your throbbing clit and pinch. “-we can look forward to an heir, soon. Right, madam?”

And that’s all it takes for you to cum.

Your head tucking into his sculptured shoulder, thighs closing with a dull clap! as your high crashes into you headfirst. You don’t need to mutter a single sentence for Choso to know.

For his eyes to widen just a fraction at the way your treacly slit only got infinitely dewier, rounded gumdrops of your slick sprinkling down in a weepy sheen all over his messy hands. Mouth going parched at the realization that you’re orgasming right here, right now. 

“O-oh? Seems my wife agrees.” Choso’s waving those elders away now, not taking his eyes off of you for a single second. It was just too adorable how you were shaking like a leaf at his side, “Well, m’glad. So- so…glad.”

Motioning your hips in such salacious semi-circles to bump up his upright fingers against your every extra sweet orifice.

Your sticky walls were so staggeringly tightly wrapped around him that it’s making his forehead bead with sweat, low puffs of air escaping with every peak he fucks you through. Every peak of white-hot pleasure that he draaags out until your guests are finally - finally - walking back to their own tables. 

“Sh-shit-” you’re mewling when Choso barely hesitates - barely even takes a quick sweep around the room to check who might be looking - before parting from your sappy cunt with a resounding squelch!

Immediately popping those viscously-glazed fingerpads into his starved mouth, he’s letting his glassy eyes sprint to the back of his head. Musing out a moan, “Fuck- fuck!”

You can only watch with an awed gape whilst Choso stares right into your heart-shaped pupils as he cleans himself off. One by one. Before trekking his lustrous fingers back over to your cunt, and measuring out a wide few inches - perhaps nine - from the base of your teary entrance up to your tummy.

“Choso…” you’re whispering, hazy eyes blinking up at him as if through molasses. “Wha’s that for?”

And Choso only grins, stray range of knuckles thoroughly bitten underneath his gleaming canines while he measures you up. 

As if he was holding back. Keeping himself sane. And the half-lided greed in Choso’s eyes told you that he’d fuck you all proper right here and right now if he could. “N-nothing- just making sure of somethin’, my wife. Making sure that you can take me.”

Oh. 

This was far from over. You were fucked. 

And you were completely and utterly sure of it even if the topic of an…heir didn’t come up for the next few days after that. 

Not that you didn’t think about it, though - it was hard not to, when your fatally notorious husband showed such a tender side of himself with his younger brothers. 

With you.

And soon enough even through all the bustling meetings and duties of a madam, you’re still figuring out a way to tell Choso that you really weren’t kidding about what you said during that wedding reception.

Sure, you were drunk on his fingers but - that wasn’t just all, was it?

But you’d sorely underestimated just how busy a clan leader could get. And before you knew it, putting off the conversation for the morning after your wedding night had turned into putting it off for the weekend. 

Then putting it off for next week. Two weeks. 

All the way until you’re trudging along the winding corridors of the Kamo Estate during the most unholy hours of the night. Grumbling groggily to yourself about how you’d finally told him and it had ended supremely well - in a dream, that is.

Choso had been absent for almost the entire day today, attending an important land negotiation with a far-off clan, according to Jin. 

Now, you knew just how powerful your husband was - it was impossible to escape the legends and rumors, in fact - and you trusted him. Still, you couldn’t help but toss and turn the entire night away in your coldly empty bed as you wondered just how safe he would get home.

You’d been to such veiled conferences before, after all. 

And it’s simply pure worry that has you dragging yourself out of your king-sized bed to shuffle into the barely-lit kitchen. Stifling half-blindly in the moonlight through cabinets and coolers to find ah! Exactly what you’ve been looking for. 

Thank goodness this place was empty right now, you didn’t know if you could handle it if the chef was here to lecture you about balanced diets when you’re bites deep into your sugary, shaved icing.

And it’s exactly with this thought in mind that you hear a loud thud! emanating from the far end of the hallway. Your eyes widen, ears searching for more-

Footsteps. 

At this time? Your fingers itch towards the sparkling display of knives tucked in one corner of the granite counter. Ready to aim for that tall approaching shadow, ready to fling just as Choso had taught you when-

“Baby?”

“Oh–” Your breath comes out in a heavy gust of relief, eyes unable to tear away from the shaded outline of your husband, taking up every inch of the doorway. “It’s just you, Cho.”

It was. But there was something about Choso that seemed…different. Off. 

But not in a bad way - your eyes rover appreciatively over the tautly flexed muscles of his upper half, peeking out almost-blasphemously where he’d shrugged the upper half of his deep purple yukata off. 

Glinting bow and arrow stained with crimson, held in one tightly-gripped hand. Your nose wrinkles at the slight, dangerous scent of something metallic. Something not his. 

Yet, you can’t help but ogle the slow path of dewdropped sweat trailing down between the curvaceous bulge of his heaving pecs, bumping up and down over his washboard abs, before disappearing below-

It’s like you’re being bolted with an instant flash of lightning as soon as this happens, snapping your eyes over to find Choso’s weighty ones. And oh- the moment you do it’s like something in him melts. 

THUD!

You’re jumping when his weapons hit the floor - uncaring of whether this might alert anyone else in the household, uncaring of anything other than crossing the sizzling distance between the two of you in three urgent strides. 

You don’t even have the time to process it before Choso halts right before you and falls to his knees. Dark lashes fluttering up at you, he echoes, “Baby.”

Like a broken little mantra. 

“Ch-Choso- baby-” It’s just about the only thing you can manage out through hollowed gasps when he’s immediately digging two hands on either side of your hips to easily and pliably seat you on the icy counter. Just where he wanted. “-what’s gotten into you?”

“Dunno.” He’s garbling out, and you’re letting your boneless legs tumble further and further open to let him bury his face right at his favorite place - into your fluttering cunt. “Was jus’ thinking about you alllll day.”

And you could tell.

Because Choso’s every movement was depraved. Jerky. His sensory fingertips trembling when they card underneath your cottony sleep garments, bringing it up to his canines to rip–!

All with his mouth.

“Fuh-fuck-” You’re squealing at the sudden hit of cold air - followed very closely by a scorching hot breeze overtaking every inch of your cunt when Choso leans in and sniffs. Long, hard. Curdling out a feral keen at the back of his throat, “-that’s so filthy, baby.”

“Nothing’s filthy for me if s’you, madam.” At the glint of something slobbering and sharp, you can tell that he’s grinning. “If s’you or…her.”

He was enamored with your ready core, curving a gentle thumb down the glossy edges to give your driveling hole a good trickle of spittle. 

And Choso Kamo knew he had perfect aim - he knew he didn’t have to make a mess. 

But oh, he couldn’t keep himself from tilting his head just degrees to the side to let the splatters leave dripping wet splotches down your saturated folds, your inner thighs. 

Tongue so long, lolling out drunkenly to smear away that filthy excess. He’s poking heated ounces again and again back into your soppy entrance. You were practically flooding torrents of sweet, sweet juices around him, already making a mess that lacquers his dimpled chin. 

You were always so sweet - so good for him. And he can feel his ears pop already with the greedy anticipation of what he was craving to do. 

“Think you missed me, too.” He’s snickering, teeth sinking down onto the fleshy nub of your clit. It’s enough to make you want to sob. “Didn’t ya?”

Gyrating your hips in such hypnotizing little swivels off of the smooth counter, you’re feeling his candied breaths hit your gummy walls even deeper. Sloppier. Whimpering out, “Yes- yes. Missed you so badly, Cho–”

“Oh yeah?” He’s tensing up the dexterous edge of his tongue to swipe up unhurried skids of his roughened tastebuds around and around your quivering entrance. In and out. Syrupy slick leaking in heaps right as he does, Choso tilts his head back to let those gooey masses slide down his throat. “Mmm— you’re wetter than usual, baby. How badly do you want the ngh- clan leader on his knees for you, hm?”

It was true - and Choso can feel something coiling and coiling heatedly at the base of his stomach at the idea of giving you perhaps…a kid…or two to make sure you’re not so lonely anymore. 

Ah, he was pussydrunk. 

“So- too badly.” You don’t think you’d ever be babbling away like this if Choso wasn’t making out with your needy cunt like that. 

You’re tangling your fingers hastily into his dark, silken locks - gripping desperately onto his sweat-dampened scalp as you use up all your strength and push. All the way until the very tip of Choso’s button nose was meeting your pulsing clit in a harsh smooch, his chin smacking the teary ends of your cunt.

Words tremoring against the very outer ring of your puffy pussy, silvery strings of saliva n’ sap break off when Choso mutters, “Was talkin’ to her, y’know?”

Fuck. 

And you think you would be huffing and puffing about how he was talking with your dousingly wet cunt instead of you. 

That is, if you weren’t talking back to him from between your legs. 

Because the only thing louder than the slack-jawed ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with every repeated thrust of Choso’s tongue, was the sound of your soppy squelches. “Ohhh- so that’s how your day was? Tell me more…”

So loud - so embarrassing that you can feel your heart race.

And Choso’s was, too, but for a much more lecherous reason as his tongue clashes even harder to draw out those very same pretty noises from you. He was craning his ears closer - he was addicted. 

“Yeah-  yeah, tha’s right.” Choso’s groaning, eyes faltering droopily until they were almost shut at the way his husking growls only make you wetter. Well, he could help with that. Hitting your hot core with wad after weighty wad of even more sugary spit. “Thaaaat’s fuckin’ right, missed how mouthy you hah- are. My talkative girl.”

“Cho- ngh!” You’re biting down on your tongue to hold back your words when Choso raises up a hand to leave a solid spank right on your bloated pussymound. 

He’s nodding along, head lurching intoxicatedly ever closer and closer. Wiping away a glistening streak of slick painted over his blushing cheeks - his blushing cheeks. “That’s right- would’ve made a- haaaah- a whole lotta b-better points than that stupid council does.”

Before pecking a lingering French kiss on your throbbing clit like a lover would. 

And you count one, two, three- partway through four before Choso seems to remember that he’s still in the middle of his conversation with your cute cunt. It’s rude to leave her hanging, he’s pondering.

“Well-” Stringing himself away with such a pained grunt, cerise lower lip plumping out in a pout at the mere thought of being away from you. “-better points than that stupid council d-did. They won’t be making aaaaany comments ‘bout you anymore, madam.”

Your leaden eyelids struggle to flitter open, “Wh-what do you ngh- mean, baby?”

But the only response you get is a quick staccato of swats at your leaky slit, before Choso’s curling in a thick thumb past your watering lips and in to your slicked entrance. Followed by the delicious drag of his lengthy tongue doubly slipping back inside.

Thrust after thrust. 

So extensive that he was skimming across all your ridges, mapping out every sweet spot of yours on his mouth. Your adhesive walls were clinging onto him like a vice, sappy mushes making him pry apart your thighs even more through furrowed brows. 

“Jus’- just means-” He can’t even bear to speak. To break off from stretching you staggeringly open. Your legs wrap mindlessly around Choso’s ravenous head, “-means I don’t let anyone- hah- say anythin’ about my wife.” 

Without a second thought, your eyes find his splayed-out arrows on the floor. The way they were sullied with red…

Oh. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than let your head jerk backwards, muffing out slight whimpers when he alternates in such sloppy measures between swirling the fattened expanse of his tongue all over every possible spot of your gummy walls and sucking on your clit like his favorite candy.

“They won’t say- do- anythin’—” In so deep now that all you could make out were numerous wet gurgles. And the pure, unadulterated love in Choso’s tone when he twists his thumb to graze right against your bruised and battered g-spot. Hard. “Not when I love her so much.”

He’s gonna raise your kids to love you just as damn much.

And when you cum, you think you might be sobbing - you’re shaking. 

Flurries of stars bursting behind your eyes as you dig your fingers through your husband’s perspired strands. Keening out, “Fuck- m’cumming- m’cumming–”

“I know I know.” He smirks hotly against your puffy pussy lips, so close that you could feel the cratered dimple of his grin. “Yer cute cunt told me, baby– heh- wouldn’t mind being welcomed ah- home by my wife like this every day.”

He lets himself be manhandled, pulled and pushed to your every whim. One of the strongest clan leaders whimpering - whimpering - when you pull just a bit too hard to mash his cushiony mouth in a deeper kiss. 

Hot. Sappy. 

You’re still shaking with sparking bouts of heat that rush down and up your spine, legs twitching when Choso pulls away with a loudly kissed mwah! Overly exaggerated just to see that shy, fucked-out expression on your face. 

He was so unfairly pretty like this - a delicate red blush burning all over his face, eyes half-lidded like he was feverish. A shimmery spray of your juiced slick drips down his chin, his bruised lips, all the way up to his regal cheekbones. 

He made a mess. And he was wearing it like a badge of honor.

Rising up, up, up to shutter your ajar jaw and plant a drenching kiss. Choso always left your mind so melty and stupid no matter what he did. 

“Do you…do you want some hngh- sh-shaved ice?” You’re babbling with your cottony tongue, unsure of what exactly to say after something as intense as…that. 

“Nah-” One kiss. Another Two. Five. “-I jus’ had something a whooole lot sweeter, madam.”

Right now it was so quiet in your kitchen. Just you, Choso, and the gleaming moonlight illuminating his pussydrunken enchantment. Even more so than usual. 

You’re glissading your arms around his sweat-matted neck, reeling him in even closer. He smells so good, piney cologne searing your senses even despite that tint of iron. Nervously musing, “Hmmm, wonder if s’always gonna be like hah- this whenever I get…cravings.”

Well- it wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say, but, better than nothing.

“Cravings, huh?” Choso’s eyes twinkle - and you’re not sure if that’s a result of the muted lighting or because of what you just said. Hopefully the latter. 

“Well- well just saying I wouldn’t mind if-”

Cutting yourself off, you’re sure it’s the latter when he rests a massive palm, warm against your tummy. Just for a split-second before tucking his big, strong arms underneath your body and propping you in an easy princess carry. “If you have cravings then I’d be the one cooking for ya, my wife. 24/7, at your feet.”

Yeah, you were fucked. 

But you never really realized just how much - just how badly - until just a few days later; seated on the polished hardwood floor of the famed Kamo archery dojo. 

It was routine for your husband to practice his pinpoint precise shooting, and by now it was your routine to watch him. 

How could you not? Because it was such a heavenly sight.

Choso’s pristine, white yukata unravelled at one muscular shoulder; showing off the rippling curves and dips of his sculptured back. Strong. His honed eyes filmed with a focus he only ever gets in bed. Adonis-like biceps bulging in a lecherous little flex when he draws the string back, back, back and lets go-

“YES!” Yuji’s resounding cheer thunders across the vast chamber with way too much volume than a six-year-old should possibly have. “Let’s goooo- big bwother hit the target again.”

A simpering smile stretches across your lips as soon as he turns to you for reassurance, gesturing out a slow nod at the way Choso keeps piercing bullseye after bullseye. “He did, your brother is very talented, Yuji.”

Humming, “When I grow up m’gonna be just like him.” 

“Of course.” You’re chuckling at his enthusiasm - the youngest of your husband’s brother’s always did have a special spot in your heart. And you can’t help but wonder when - if - you had an heir with Choso, whether they would be much the same. “You are his brother, after all.”

You’re frantically hovering your hands behind him once he bustles to a haphazard stand. Stumbling only a few times as he races over to the neat line of inventory, “Then- I’ll be just like him now.”

“Be careful!”

Ah, he really was a handful - which meant, you really didn’t expect it to go over perfectly smoothly. You’d known that simply wouldn’t have been possible as soon as you met Itadori Yuji. 

Yet, you didn’t expect everything to go so wrong in just a mere matter of seconds. 

Before you can even blink, Yuji’d tottered his way over to one particularly large, wooden bow - one used only by Ryomen Sukuna whenever he visited. Puffing out his chest as he reeled out the massively heavy weapon - overly heavy, way too much for even the most determined child-

CRASH!

“Yuji!” You don’t know who yelps louder - you, or Choso. But with your proximity, you’re the one that reaches him first, cradling the sniffling boy in your arms. 

You jostle away the weighty bow - honestly, how he even managed to lift this in the first place you have no idea. 

“Awww, don’t cry don’t cry–” You’re cooing, distantly registering the worried pants of his older brother skidding to a stop beside you. He always did have him curled around his little finger. Pushing away the pinkish curls from his forehead, “-you’re alright. See? You’re alright.”

“Are you hurt? Are you dizzy? Are you feeling nauseous-”

“Choso.” You warn, catching the way Yuji’s eyes widen in panic. 

Taking a few deeply necessary breaths to calm down. “You- don’t do that-” Choso’s hissing, but you could practically feel the worry seeping into his tone. Thumbing slow circles on his aching shoulders, “-ask me for a bow instead.”

You have to bite back a grin - with the watery glaze taking over his eyes, you wondered who was really hurt - Yuji or Choso himself. 

“M’sorry big bwother.” Blubbering through big, pearly tears that dry salty streaks down his chubby cheeks. He’s batting those lashes in a way you’re sure gets him out of any sort of trouble. Ever. The full, merciless force of it hits your poor heart as Yuji turns to you. “Sorry, mama.”

Mama. 

Mama. 

You freeze. Choso freezes.

Hell, even the twittering birds outside freeze mid-song. 

It seems like everyone in the entire world freezes except for an oblivious Yuji who only continues inching his tiny hands closer towards that guilty bow. Clearly not having learned his lesson - but you didn’t even register that right now. 

You’re staring at Choso, only to find that he’s staring right back. Droopy eyes uncharacteristically wide, blinking rapidly - it didn’t even look like he was breathing right now. 

Maw parting and closing stupidly agape, and you’re almost tempted to reach out and check whether he’s doing okay - before he finally finds his voice again. Finally. Husking out a choked-out, “W-well- maybe we should- ah- should-” He’s turning towards his contrastingly okay younger brother, “Yuji?” 

“Big bwother!” Comes the, unfortunately, helpless answer. 

And something in his beaming expression seems to jolt Choso out of his reverie, something that makes him let out a tight nod. Scooping up the giggling boy over his shoulder, he calls out at you, “Wait here.”

As Choso walks out of the doorway, you could only watch.

Only sit there for what could be four seconds - or maybe even four hundred years - until he’d presumably dropped off Yuji at the safety of Jin. Taking steady, focused strides back to you that thud! thud! thud! right along to the beat of your racing heart.

Choso’s expression is blank - pale as if he’s seen a fucking ghost. And he doesn’t even look at you, can’t even bear to once he walks back to the thickened air of the dojo. Now pointedly alone. 

Very, very alone. 

Wordlessly, he picks up his famed bow. And you swear that you can see his practiced hands tremble. Something was happening. 

It’s like an artwork that you can’t look away from. The fluid motion of aligning a singular arrow to aim for his final, rounded target. Doughy pads of his fingers pinching the string back, back, back until it snaps!

And misses. For the first time in years.

“Fuck.”

You barely have the time to compute - to even suck in a gasp of surprise before your husband comes and crashes into you. It’s as if he was magnetized and couldn’t get away even if he wanted to. 

It’s a frenzy of white billowing sleeves and powerful arms, throwing you over Choso’s shoulder in only two seconds flat - much the same way that he’d done with Yuji moments prior.

Except more…urgent. 

“Choso- Cho!” You’re squealing, as he lurches into hurried treads away. Legs kicking weakly in the air, only for your stubborn self to be granted with an unapologetic spank! right on the mound of your ass. Your nose crinkles as his long, inky locks tickle your face, “What is-”

“Be quiet.” Choso’s rasping, so small that it could not have been more than a whisper. So close that you’re drinking in heady wafts of his masculine cologne. 

Something in his snarling tone makes your stomach tighten. Digits grappling precariously onto the toned curves of his shoulders, your fingertips slide down the sweltering expanse of his exposed skin. 

And only too late do you recognize the familiar pathway towards your shared bed chamber- oh. 

So that was what it was. 

And judging by the dark, primal look swimming in the clan leader’s eyes you could only hope that you made it out alive-

SLAM!

You don’t know what’s forcing you more out of your excited little reverie - the shuddered slam! of your mahogany double doors, so hard that it makes the golden hinges shake, or the way you’re thrown haphazardly on the bed. 

Like some glorified toy. One of Choso’s favorites. 

You’re throwing your arms over his broad shoulders as you fall, lugging him in even closer with each springy bounce on the bedcoils. 

But closer wasn’t close enough for your husband - he’s bullying into every ounce of your personal space, caging you in between two splayed-out palms on either side of your thoroughly spinning head.

“Mama, is it?” Choso starts out. Slow. Thick. Like he was approaching a cornered prey. “Baby, I want…I want it.”

You’re blinking up at him through eager eyes, “Want what, Cho?” 

“I want an heir. I want to make you…” He gulps. The circles of his fingertips were so warm on your skin, trailing down lovingly all across your cheek. Your collarbones, your heaving tits - down to where you predictably flinched as he palmed your tummy. “-a pretty momma.”

Fawny strands of chestnut brown curtain his gaze, but you could tell just how serious he was. Just how greedy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Choso like this in his entire life. 

All you can breathe out is a crackling, “Yes.”

You said it. You finally said it after all these weeks. 

And it’s the only thing you hear before your yukata is all but torn off of you, Choso doesn’t even realize when he’s doing so. It’s melting away like butter underneath his strength, mere obstacles to where the real prize is - your gorgeous, shivering body.

Pebbles of goosebumps rise onto the surface of your flesh when he throws away those useless pieces of fabrics onto the tatami floor - you can have more newly tailored anyway. Many, many more with just how round and full you’re about to be very soon. 

He’d take care of it for you.

“Oh, madam- madam.” He’s spitting into your unfastened mouth, low growls sounding out across each four corners of your room. Held hostage by the arousal in your eyes, he can’t stop staring. “M’gonna ruin you.”

And Choso is feral like never before. 

Usually one to take his time during sex, finetuning you into it like a sultry waltz. His favorite hobby was to drive you mindlessly wild before he even thought of stuffing you full. But now…

Still not breaking his dreamy eye contact with you, Choso hooks a rapidfire finger over the cute bow-tied hem of your panties. Slurring down an oozing little snail trail of slick that laminates your jittery thighs with evidence of just how badly you wanted him. 

You feel the blistering pant of his mindless oh! fanning your features, leaning backwards with a loosened maw to admire just how glistening you are in this lighting. 

How ready.

With a low, fucked-up whimper breaking at the back of his throat, he rubs over the bloated curvature of your needy pussy. Slipping ever-so-slightly at the saturated puddles leaking out, Choso has no hesitation or shame when he tugs his fingerpads into his mouth once. 

Twice. Thrice. 

Dipping back down for more and more and more-

“Can’t-” He’s guttering out, eyes crinkling and- fuck, were those tears? “I c-”

You reach your hand up to smear away his hot rivulets of salt, and Choso stops his prattling like a broken record forced to a halt. He jolts as if your touch has just sent a zillion shocks of voltage down his spine, all the trekking trailway down to his furious, aching cock. 

Unsteady hands flinging apart his snowy robes - barely even bothering to remove them and wrench down his undergarments before you see it. You finally understand why Choso was so…restless.

Because he’s never been harder. 

Fuck being furious, his bawling cock was seething. Equally as red as the ripest of strawberries, the split-ended crown of his cockhead was just as plumply swollen. All proud inches nestled underneath his painfully-clenching breeder balls, ballooned and lush. Only the barest of your gaze is enough to make Choso’s lustrous tip twitch, laminating himself with a freshly dripping glaze of translucent pre. 

Though, it’s not like you were doing any better. 

Your gluey lips pucker and pout up at him once he’s wrangling your legs into a boneless hold. The feeling of his palms underneath your thighs are so soft - even despite his battle-hardened calluses. Worshipping. 

But the way he’s resting your legs on his shoulders, and folding you in half like a whining lawnchair is the complete opposite. Mercilessly into a-

“M-mating press-” Choso’s getting out through strangled breaths, as if the sole words had his poor sanity fraying at the edges. “-mating press- a- a-” Something he’s never tried out before. His head dips down, pearls of sweat simmering across his trembly upper lip as soon as your sticky folds leave a wet snog on his fattened mushroomy tip. Topping it with a generous heap of honeyed sap, “Well, hello there, baby. I have you in a mating press n’ m’gonna…gonna…”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

Couldn’t even finish his thought before Choso was doing - body moving miles and miles ahead of his stupidly saccharine-sweet mind. 

“F-fuuuuck–” You’re letting off the keenest of whines, the edges of your nails leaving neat crescents all over his toned back. It was the perfect little present for the way he had you so split open. 

And he was barely even pushing past the tip. 

“Oh. Oh.” Choso’s grunts are throaty, as if they weren’t coming from the man himself but somewhere murked and dark inside him. And the same went for his feverish thrusts - tight, rigid little pushes past your slicked-up hole just to fit inside. He’s spitting into your slacked mouth, “C’mon- c’mon c’mon–”

Usually, it takes so long to prepare you to take his nine- no, ten inches. But currently, fast just wasn’t fast enough.

There’s a thundering slam! abovehead - only hours and hours later do you have enough brainpower to realize that it was Choso striking his palm down on the headboard - and it makes your clingy walls grip onto the battering mountain of his dewy head. 

Squeezing in a repeatedly adhesive-like tempo, Choso’s nose crinkles at the rubbery resistance of your snug hole. Still molding to the slightest curves and ridges of his drowned slit with every desperate rut-

“Please- take it- fucking take it.” His voice was trembling on the edge of a crack, thickened exactly the way one does when he’s about to cry. “H-how can I fuck! How can I breed ya…if I don’t-”

And you’re swearing you see his ruddied cheeks glisten with a few slipped-off tears - though, that just might be from the way that your own vision mists over when his stray hand plugs up your spilling entrance to pry two thickened, scissoring digits inside and stretch. “Fucking- take that big fuckin’- cock-”

Bullying in a few more long n’ girthy inches- You’re so full that it feels like Choso’s pushing his bloated crownhead against the spongy edges of your lungs. 

The bed dips and moans with frequent soft creaks! when he plants his curved knees firmly further apart. Flexibly so. And you’re getting a good, greedy eyeful of his pale, bulky thighs - angling at the perfect bend to snap his slender hips and jackhammer-

“Sh-shit-” Your head sinks into the cushiony pillows underneath you, and it already feels like you’re in heaven. “-don’t- don’t know if it’ll fit, Cho–”

With a bitten lip, Choso rovers down his sturdy hand from the surface of the bedframe to measure out ten solid inches. Bringing it down much the same way he did during your wedding reception, “Y-you can, baby–”

“But-”

“You will.” He’s gasping, gracing you with a soft brush of his curvaceous mushroomed head along one of your utmost favorite hidden sweet spots. It’s enough to make you buck. “Gonna take my cock, n’ you’re gonna haaah- take my seed ‘ntil you’re bloated. So I’ll make it fit- fuck- watch, I’ll make it fit.” Before you know it, that very same hand finds itself crowning your head, threatening to push you down- “C-can you say hngh- ‘biiiig stretch’ f’me?”

You’re hiccuping out, “B-big stretch?”

“Nuh uh-” By the time that Choso shakes his head, you’re being sprinkled with loose flecks of his sweat. He was in so deep now. “Say it with me- b-biiig stretch, baby–”

“B-biiig- stretch!” It takes you everything in your body to hold your own against the vicious pounds being planted and struggled into your goopy depths. Choso was determined. Frenzied. 

And god, the way you’re dumbly parroting his words is so hot. He can’t help but dollop out muggy icings of pre that slosh and swab at every nook and cranny inside you. 

“Good girl.” Rewarding you with a slow heart being patterned right on the throbbing peak of your clit, the roughened edges of his fingertips rub you just right. Not too hard. Not too soft. Your husband nuzzles his flushed head into the havened crook of your clammy neck, “S-say it again, madam.”

“Biiig-”

Honestly, it’s a wonder you manage to get exactly two syllables out at all. Because soon enough, Choso’s taking your distracted few seconds to lace his fingers onto your scalp push. To bump his hips back until your geysering cunt was struggling around his fat, bulbous tip.

Before stuffing you full all the way in-

“Fuck- no.” Choso’s spitting out venomously against your thrumming pulse, sharp fringes of his teeth digging in animalistically. Bottomed out but still pushing and pushing- Slamming a lazy stripe of luscious precum down your spongy cervix, “No- no no–”

No sooner are you full of all his massive, rummaging length, he’s making you take even more. This time in the form of dribbling, ribbony volumes of cum that leak and leak and won’t stop from his heated divot. 

It’s ballooning up your tight channel even more. Swashing around and sticking to your gummy walls like a treacly lacquer. Filling you to your very brim-

“S-so much.” You’re gaping, through tear-strung lashes. The shivering edges of your fingers subconsciously dance downwards to splotch over the puddling globs of seed tricking from either side of your sloppy slit. Squeezing out even more to coat Choso’s bulky base with creamy rings upon rings. 

And, usually, your husband might be just a bit embarrassed. Usually, he would have pulled out to make out with your pretty pussy until your scores were more than tied.

But that wasn’t your husband right now. 

“Don’t.” Choso clicks his drunkenly heavy tongue, lips pulling back into what almost looks like an oh-so-feral snarl. And you have to admit that it looks so sexy on him. He’s rudely swatting away your curious hand, “Move that fucking hand n’ let me see.”

It takes only a split-second for both your hands to be pinned underneath one of Choso Kamo’s. 

“Tha’s not enough to take.”

And only one more split-second for him to flip you over onto your tummy and stuff your head into the cushy pillows. 

He’s fucking you like he’s using you. Like he’s pumping his mushy, swollen head to nudge in the weighty heft of his cum deeper and deeper and deeper-

“Y’know I hate hngh- disrespectin’ my wife, baby–” He leans over to sigh against your ear in craving hisses, pinning you with his body. His muscles. You could count each n’ every one of Choso’s bulging abs, glissading damply against your perfectly arched spine. Bubblegum pink nipples pressed roughly into your scorching skin, “Hate it- but…”

You gasp at Choso’s audacity next - at the way it makes you so traitorously soaked when he hikes up one of his feet to rest upon your head. 

Gurgling out a stupid. “Ch-Cho–”

But he didn’t seem to hear you - you didn’t know if he was even managing to breathe at this point. Only letting his devious lips twitch up, up, up into such a satisfied grin. “-but ‘ntil I get my hngh- heh…heir, you’re gonna hafta be my cumdump, madam.”

And if the saturated slurps singing out at a near-deafening tone from your dripping pussy said anything - it was that you loved the idea. 

Especially when the changed angle makes his scouring cockhead maze between the most treasured spots of your jelly-like walls to strike numerous, merciless hits dead-set on your g-spot. 

Ah, there it was, pipes up that small voice in Choso’s overtaken brain. Jostling your hips back onto his with a sudden spank on the target of your drivelling hole, the stinging pressure makes you bump your tenderest spots again and again into his ruthless batters. 

It’s bruising - the proud circumference of his plummy cock against your elastic cervix with every recoiling bounce, the rounded patterns of his balls against the hind of your pretty pussy with each thrust.

If you didn’t think you were being fucked stupid before then you were sure now. 

Your velveteen pillowcase dampens with the ever-flooding saliva spilling from your mouth every time Choso rears his aching shaft back to plant rapid, precise strikes where you wanted him the most. 

Whimpering at how every ramming dab of his split cockhead leaves leakages of pearly white cum all over the bottom of your pussy. That sultry swirl of his dumped heaps inside of you making your head spin just as dizzily. 

You almost don’t notice it when Choso’s drifting both hands to skirt over about halfway down your tummy. Feeling for that bloated, cylindrical outline of him vulgarly messing up your insides, “Gonna be e-even fuller here soon, y’know-” He’s giggling - giggling. Erratically letting his hands slide down to your clit to give the peaked ends just a tiny pinch. “-have you all round. Full. Full-”

He can’t say anything else.

He can’t do anything else - other than watch in purely entranced awe when that makes you cum all over his fucking cock. 

So big n’ thick that your claggy walls can barely even squeeze around his throbbing shaft. The thought makes you huff as he rams rigorously through your blinding high - teeth grit, your fingers fist at the pillows and make sure you can clench-

When you do- oh, when you manage to cling your gummy cunt onto his girth as if to suck out his fucking soul, it makes Choso cum, too.

Fatigued hips somehow matching his cadence, your knees shiver on top of the softened mattress stuttering through every dousing mass of cum gliding inside your cute cunt. It was so heavy having his massive torrentials inside of you, spraying the door to your womb with a slippery sheen.

It was maddening. 

And maybe it’s been hours - maybe it’s been mere minutes. But all you know is that you’re put through rounds and rounds and more rounds. But he’s still not stopping. Still dredging out the tiniest of hollowing grinds. 

Until much, much later Choso’s breath hitches in feverish stutters. It was so steamily hot inside you, only getting more humid by the minute as you ride out yet another crashing high.

“G’na milk e-every ngh- drop-” He titters, fleshy edges of his fingers closing in around where your pussylips were the most buxom. The most leaky. “-n’ you’re gonna ngh- keep it. Keep ‘ntil you give me an h-heir. Remember that, baby– keep it.”

You’re fighting against the weight of his muscular leg on top of you. Was he clamming your pussy shut? 

“Choso, baby.” Your straining out, throat drier than the Sahara at this point. Even despite how the hypnotized way your husband looks at you makes your tongue lather with watery saliva. “Want- want more.”

You think you might just have broken Choso Kamo.

Might just have made him reach another surprising high all over again with just your simple request. He’s lifting off the powerfully pressurized foot crowned on your head in favor of lurching downwards to grab your tender throat into a headlock.

Manhandling you as he pleased. Lifting you off of the tattered pillow, the completely splintered bed frame now. 

Your chin juts over his thick, bulging biceps, fighting for both air and the space-

“More- more, she says-” He’s chuckling out, words cracking a few octaves higher than normal. From the corner of your eye, you sneak glimpses at the way that Choso’s eyes were wide, crazed. Flashing all sorts of feral promises when he plants one, two, three long thuds against your soppy cervix. “Fucking- m-more.”

You’re letting off a tiny whimper - your orgasm nothing but tingles at this point. Yearning for that the piping hot streak of seed flushed into your already-overspilling cunt. Syruping in with the rest of his numerous goopy volumes, it’s thick and needy. 

Only one.

“Sh-shit.” He’s wheezing against your ear, free hand flying down to tug at his reddened base for more more more- one’s not enough. Every possibly wiry wisp and speckle that could fill you up. Could give him an heir. “Can’t cum dry- won’t- oh.”

Rutting into you like Choso won’t stop - didn’t know if he even can stop anymore. You flinch at the suddenly hot splatter! of something warm…and wet at your shoulder. 

“Cho- oh!” Not only was the clan leader drooling out glossy spatters of saliva, he was crying. Hugging you even closer, you’re showered in neverending streams of overstimulated tears.

And Choso can only babble away, “Hope- hope s’a daughter, madam.”

A/N. AYYY y’all have been wanting more dom Choso saurrrr- Anyways hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[em1i2a3]

Crying Lightning

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Lab Tech!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You have been studying a flower that Bucky brought back from one of his missions. When Bob comes to visit you in the labs to bring you lunch and messes with the unbloomed item you realize the sinister effects of it very quickly.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Ahem…We got a sex pollen fic, so there is smut, and fluff afterwards, and aftercare as well. Reader and Bob are close, and both of them have feelings for one another but it has all gone unspoken…Until now at least lol. There is swearing too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (…Y’all know what I’m gonna say. Wrap it up), Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Handjob, There’s a little bit of dominance from Bob/Sentry…And he talks you through it ahhahahahahah (oh god), Messy/Sensual Sex, There are like hints of primal energy sprinkled in here, but nothing too major, there’s mentioning of pheromones and stuff like that, Praise/Worship Kink, Spitting, Dirty Talk, Scratching, Some Choking (not rough), Cum eating, Aftercare.

Author’s Note: Woot Woot! We love a good sex pollen fic lol. Did I expect to be writing one? No. But I’ve always liked the concept and I’m so glad @mccinnamon-bun asked me to do this! Thank you <3, I really loved writing it! So so fun! Enjoy!

Word Count: 15,684

“I brought you something,” Bucky announced, stepping into your lab just as the doors slid open with their usual quiet hiss.

You didn’t look up right away. Perched cross-legged on the edge of your workbench, you were half-buried in mission reports that were a week overdue, scribbling notes with one hand and nursing a cold cup of coffee in the other. Your head snapped up, however, the second you heard the rustle of fabric and gear–a familiar sound you’d grown used to distinguishing in crowded hallways.

Bucky stood in the entryway, wind-tousled and still in partial tactical gear. The sleeves of his black shirt were pushed up to the elbows, revealing the flex of muscle and dull gleam of vibranium beneath. He had a look in his eye that was hard to read–half sheepish, half pleased with himself–and he was already fishing through one of the many compartments in his bag. He didn’t speak again until he pulled something out with a sort of slow care.

”Ta da.” You raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him pull something from his bag like it was a treasure he’d smuggled across enemy lines. You hopped off the bench with a soft thud and crossed the room toward him, curiosity instantly piqued–mostly because Bucky Barnes was not one to say ‘ta da’. Not unless he was hiding something behind that half-smirk of his.

Your eyes immediately caught sight of what he was holding.

The flower hadn’t bloomed yet, but even in its dormant state, it was breathtaking. The outer petals were tightly furled, each one smooth and iridescent like the type you would find on shells of certain mollusks–but it was shaded in a gradient you couldn’t quite place. They started as an inky, oil-slick blue at the base, then rippled out into smoky violets and blushing wine tones near the tips. Delicate veins shimmered faintly across the surface, catching the lab lights with a strange metallic luster, almost like the petals were dusted in powdered silver.

The stem curved gently, a deep green tinged with gold, and the leaves were narrow, slightly translucent, and lined with fine threads of coppery red. Even when it wasn’t fully bloomed, it had an energy to it. A heat, almost. As if it were responding to the proximity of warm skin and breath. You squinted at it.

”Bucky, if this is your idea of asking me out on a date, you really need to brush up on your courting skills.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter, head dropping forward briefly with a grin.

“Hey,” He said, handing the flower over to you carefully, “You’re the one who told me, if I saw anything weird, unknown, alien, or otherwise ‘botanically suspicious,’ I should bring you back a sample.” You gingerly accepted the stem, trying not to touch the tightly closed bud itself.

”Yeah, I meant specifiers, not some interstellar looking thing.” You shot back. He leaned against a nearby counter.

”Don’t say I never do anything for you.” He commented back. You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth betrayed your fondness.

”You absolutely broke every rule of containment protocol by walking this thing straight into my lab, but…” You gave the top of the flower another slow once-over, still entranced, “Thanks for thinking of me.” You turned, crossing to your bench and plucking a clean beaker from the rack. You filled it with a few inches of distilled water, and set the flower inside, watching it float just enough to stay upright. The petals didn’t open, but they flexed slightly–like they were stretching, or drinking the water you had put the stem in.

”So,” You started, glancing over your shoulder to where Bucky was still leaning, “Where’d you find it?” You asked, watching him give you a small, casual shrug.

”There was a patch of them, right off the tree line. I spotted them on my way back to the quinjet. Figured I’d snatch one up before anyone else trampled it.” You hummed, turning your head away–not noticing the way his gaze lingered on the flower for a beat too long. You were too busy cataloguing the possibilities in your head. It was too vibrant to be terrestrial, but it wasn’t necessarily alien. Possibly hybridized. The energy you felt coming off of it could’ve been psychosomatic–but you weren’t one to write something off without running tests.

“And you’re sure no one else touched them?” You asked, looking back over at him to see if you can spot any of the tells he had when he was lying. His brow lifted toward you.

”I mean…I touched one obviously.” You gave him a pointed look, and he immediately held up both hands.

”Didn’t eat it. Didn’t stick it up my nose. I was the only one that touched anything. Scout’s honor.” You snorted, and shook your head.

”Alright, Barnes…I’ll bite. I’ll run some diagnostics. Spectrograph, chemical composition, basic pollen analysis when it blooms…All the sciencey things that you don’t understand, then I’ll get back to you.” He gave you a mock salute and pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, going toward the door.

”Just make sure you name it after me if it ends up trying to kill you.”

”Noted,” You called, “But if it ends up giving me superpowers instead, I’ll be naming it after myself.” He was still laughing as the door slid shut behind him. You turned back to the flower, now gently swirling in the water–its petals flexing once more, as if hearing your voice. You leaned in just a touch, and breathed in slightly.

You could’ve sworn it hadn’t smelled like anything before, but now…

Now it smelled faintly of summer rain, citrus, and the soft trace of jasmine. It was warm, soft, and inviting, like it was trying to beckon you to come closer to it. You straightened slowly, then reached blindly across the workbench for a spare sheet of scrap paper, grabbing the pen you had tucked behind your ear.

”Initial scent: None. Notable change after water exposure–New profile: humid, citrus notes, floral base (jasmine like). Unsettling–shift occurred in under two minutes.” You tapped the end of your pen lightly against your chin, your gaze never leaving the beaker. The flower was still half-closed, petals fluttering slightly in the water like they were breathing–like they were aware. The surface tension of the liquid shimmered faintly around the base of the stem, as though reacting to something within the plant.

You didn’t like that.

Flowers didn’t just change their chemical profile that fast. Not unless they were highly volatile. Not unless they were engineered.

A muscle tensed along your jaw.

You slid the note aside and moved quickly now, grabbing a glass containment dome from one of the side drawers–a heat-tempered cloche you typically used when running long-term decay tests on bio-samples. It wasn’t hermetically sealed, but it would be enough to contain most airborne particulates.

Just in case.

You placed it gently over the beaker and the flower with practiced care, watching as the edges sealed against the bench with a soft thunk. The scent dimmed immediatel-ybut didn’t vanish. It clung to the air like it had already soaked into the fibers of your clothes, your skin.

You took a step back, and another, suddenly aware of the way the heat of the room felt a degree too warm.

Your eyes narrowed. You made another note.

“Mild thermal increase noted (subjective). Investigate potential volatile compounds. Possible synthetic ancestry. Unknown reaction to water exposure–possible activation trigger?”

You stood still for a moment longer, arms crossed over your chest now, staring at the flower like it might start humming.

Then you exhaled through your nose, gave your head a small shake, and muttered, “Okay, mystery plant. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

You turned on your heel and crossed to the far side of the lab, grabbing gloves, pipettes, and a test slide. You didn’t see the way the petals quivered beneath the glass dome. Or the way the center of the bud pulsed–slowly, rhythmically–as if something within it had begun to wake.

You were too busy prepping your tools.

You’d get your first sample from the outermost edge of the petal, where a small amount of condensation had begun to form–right where the flower had interacted with the water. It wasn’t much. Just enough to suggest a subtle chemical discharge. A secretion, maybe. Or pollen.

Your gloved fingers hovered just beside the dome.

You paused.

A thought scratched quietly at the back of your mind, the way instincts sometimes do when they’re not fully formed.

You didn’t ignore it.

You stepped back again.

Instead of removing the dome outright, you retrieved your small fume extractor arm—used mostly for soldering–and wheeled it over until its head hovered just above the cloche’s apex. You flicked the switch, and a soft hum filled the room as the extractor began to filter the air directly above the sample.

Another note:

“Smell is still detectable after containment. Strong. Possibly psychoactive. Proceeding with caution.”

Still, despite your wariness, you found yourself walking back toward the glass.

One more glance. Just to be sure.

The flower was still closed–but now its bud looked fuller. Like it had begun to swell. One of the petals had unfurled the tiniest bit. Barely a sliver.

But just enough for you to see a glint of gold pollen resting in the shadows of its center.

It shimmered like dust caught in a sunbeam.

You stared.

And then, carefully, you reached over to your comm unit and tapped the call button for your assistant team over in the biocontainment lab.

“Hey,” You said when the line clicked open, voice low. “I’ve got a…Weird one. Found by Barnes. It’s stable, but I want a second containment unit prepped in case things escalate.”

A pause on the line. Then:

“Escalate how?”

You glanced back at the flower. That scent. That impossible shimmer. You didn’t know yet.

“Just…Prep it,” You replied. “I’ll send over a sample in a few.”

And then you muted the line.

You looked down at the flower one more time.

It was no longer just beautiful.

It was waiting.

———————

It had been three days since Bucky dropped the flower off, and by this time it had bloomed. Not delicately, and certainly not in the way flowers usually did–with gradual graceful predictability. No. This thing had opened like it knew it was being watched and studied by you.

When you came down to your lab the morning after Bucky brought you the mysterious flower, the petals had fully unfurled–broad, sweeping things with a high-gloss sheen and hypnotic gradients that shifted from gold to scarlet to bruise-dark purple depending on the light. The stamen in its center now pulsed visibly, a slow inhale-exhale rhythm that made the entire structure look…Alive. The pollen shimmered every time it moved, a near-invisible cloud that never seemed to settle but floated in still air like it was defying gravity. Or logic.

You had kept it sealed tight under the reinforced cloche, and had the triple-filtered vents on and the entire section of the lab cordoned off with containment protocols. Your notes had doubled in size, and still, nothing definitive had come back from the biocontainment team. There were just vague updates telling you that they were behind on other specimens and that they would get around to it when they could.

So you worked around it. You monitored. You wrote. You catalogued symptoms–your own included, though they were still annoyingly ambiguous: mild temperature spikes, random surges of adrenaline, difficulty concentrating in bursts. But no rash, no lesions, no hallucinations. There was a kind of pressure, similar to urgency but just on the cusp of it, desire maybe–but for what, you had no clue. You had only inhaled a bit of the pollen and hadn’t been exposed since, so you didn’t dwell on it–not with your schedule stacked, and not with your own lab being as backed up as it was.

You were just rinsing a pipette when the door to the lab slid open with a soft hiss.

”H-Hey,” Came the voice you’d come to recognize more easily than your own thoughts lately. You didn’t need to look up to know that it was Bob, but you did anyways, just to catch a glimpse of him.

He was towering and soft-shouldered in a dark grey hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, worn sweatpants hugging the curve of his hips, and his crown of light brown hair was in absolute disarray, like he had it tied up and decided to let the locks fall free in front of his face. He looked like someone who didn’t have the slightest clue what he did to people around him, and he truly didn’t know.

The plastic takeout bag in his hand swung gently as he stepped inside, smiling at you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Brought y-you lunch.” Your stomach growled at the word lunch, and it echoed through the moment of silence that settled between you, which only made Bob’s grin stretch wider.

”Let me guess,” You started, pulling off your gloves and throwing them into the biohazard bin, “You timed this perfectly because you knew my stomach would start making monstrous noises, didn’t you?”He shrugged, with a small smirk on his face, setting the bag down on your cleared desk near one of your monitors.

”You skipped b-breakfast.” You held out a finger.

”No no…I postponed breakfast.” He shook his head.

”You always p-postpone breakfast,” He said, moving past you to pour you a cup of water from the cooler, his big hands making it look smaller than what it actually was, “And if I d-dont show up with something d-decent by 2 p.m, you would just end up inhaling the vending machine c-crackers and freeze-dried apple s-slices…Which is not s-sustainable i-in the slightest.” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his comments.

”Seems like someone has been watching me a bit too closely.” He turned and handed you the water, fingers brushing yours as he didn. His hands were boiling as usual, and it left the paper cup feeling warm from where his fingers had been holding it. His eyes lingered on your face a beat longer than necessary.

”I-I always watch you c-closely,” He said softly, like it slipped out before he could catch it. Immediately his eyes glanced down away from you, dropping to the floor for a second, before flicking away toward the cluttered end of your bench like he suddenly remembered a far more interesting smudge on the tile. His cheeks were red–not just a flush, not just a tinge, but a slow bloom of color climbing from the collar of his hoodie up to the tips of his ears.

You said nothing in response. Not because you didn’t notice–because you did. More because if you said anything, if you so much as looked at him with any kind of expression that acknowledged the truth buried in his voice, he might self-destruct on the spot. So instead, you took a slow sip of the water he handed you, letting the quiet hum of the lab fill the air between the both of you.

Then you turned on your heel toward the takeout bag.

”So what’s on the menu today, Chef Bob?” You asked lightly, pulling the plastic open and peeking inside, “Please tell me it’s not another one of your hot dog stir-fry’s.” He let out a groan.

”Listen…I-It was one time, I-I know nobody was a fan of it.” You grinned as you pulled out a tinfoil-wrapped container, unraveling it with careful fingers. A rich, savoury scent wafted up–soy and sesame and something sweet under it, like cane sugar with more of a freshness that was unexpected, “So what am I looking at?”

”Sticky rice, soy-glazed chicken, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “T-There’s some grated g-granny smith apple in the glaze…C-Cause I didn’t have honey.” You raised your eyebrows.

”Pretty decent alternative.” You replied.

”Yeah,” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, “You know how S-Sentry gets with processed s-sugars in his system. Makes him a-all buzzy.” You let out a soft laugh.

”So this is officially Sentry-approved, then?”

“F-For the most part,” He mumbled, “I-I think you’re the real t-test though.” That made you pause, glancing up at him, still holding the half-unwrapped meal in your hands, finding his gaze had landed on you again. This time it held something quiet but vulnerable. Expectant, even. Like he really cared what you thought.

And that was the difference between Bob and everyone else–you knew he didn’t make things just to impress. He made them because it gave him joy to offer them. He brought you food not because he wanted credit–but because he worried you wouldn’t eat otherwise. He brought you books because he remembered which ones made your eyes light up. He let you take his blood every month without protest, even when the Sentry made his pulse unpredictable or his veins hard to find, because he trusted you with every part of him–even that. And because of those little things, you always made sure to praise him.

Even when he burned the eggs.

Even when the pasta came out overcooked.

Even when the hot dog stir-fry almost gave you heartburn.

You forked a bite of the rice and chicken, chewed, and let your eyes widen a bit as the warmth hit your tongue. “Okay. Wait. This is actually good.”

He blinked, caught between shock and a smile. “Y-you don’t have to lie.”

“I would lie,” You said, pointing at him with your fork. “But not this convincingly. This? Bob. It’s delicious.” He looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with the praise. He rocked back slightly on his heels, running a hand through his already-messy hair, trying to hide the shy little grin that was pulling at the corners of his mouth. You watched the way his fingers threaded through the strands, the way his forearms flexed under the soft stretch of the hoodie.

You took another bite and leaned against the counter beside him, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

“Y’know,” You said between chews, “If Val found out you were secretly good at this, she’d start expecting meals during debriefs.”

”She’d want a report first,” He said, playing along, “T-Then she’d make Walker taste it for poison.” The both of you laughed lightly. The silence that followed was companionable. Safe. You brushed your shoulder lightly against his as you leaned forward to set the food container down beside the monitor.

His body went still at the contact.

Not because he didn’t want it. But because he did. You knew that reaction well by now–the micro-freeze, the way he’d let the warmth of your hand or arm settle into him like he was still learning he could have it. That it was for him.

You let your arm linger against his for just a second longer.

Then you pulled back, slow and easy.

He looked at you from the side of his eye. His voice was low when he spoke.

”H-How’s the flower?” You glanced toward the containment dome instinctively. The petals shimmered under the harsh lab light, colors shifting in slow gradients like they were part of something fluid, something still breathing. It looked even larger today. Full-bodied. Restless.

“Still haven’t heard anything back from the biocontainment lab,” You said, turning back to Bob and picking up your fork again. “Apparently they’re still backed up from the Skrull fungus incident.”

His face pulled slightly. “God…D-Don’t remind me of t-that.” You nodded grimly.

“I won’t…But this?” You took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “No movement. Just… opened. Big. Loudly. Like it knew I was looking at it.” Bob followed your glance as you continued to speak, “I breathed in a little bit of the pollen when I first got it–just a trace. It made me really warm. Flushed. But otherwise nothing dramatic. No side effects. No changes. So I think it was just my body reacting to whatever compound it’s putting off–probably a weird hybridization. Something experimental maybe.” Bob’s brow furrowed at this comment.

”You s-should’ve been wearing a m-mask.” You huffed a laugh, nudging your shoulder into his again.

”Please, I’m pretty sure I’ve been exposed to worse.”

“S-Sure,” He said quietly, his gaze fixed on you now, “B-But definitely not like this.” There was something layered in his voice—concern wrapped around protectiveness, softened by something you didn’t dare name.

You didn’t say anything to it. Just took another bite of the meal he made, let the flavor distract you from how closely he was watching you now. He shifted beside you, and you knew it was only a matter of time before–

“How’s the Golden God doing, by the way…Totally forgot to ask.” Bob rolled his eyes, “You know you’ve got bloodwork today, and I know how much he looks forward to that.” He grimaced.

”D-Darn…I f-forgot that was today.”

“You always forget,” You mumbled between bites, mockingly stern in tone, “Even though we’ve had the same schedule for, what–eight months?”

“Nine,” He corrected, “You count too?”

“Only because I have to track your blood chemistry, Bob.” He gave you a crooked smile, “Stick around,” You said waving your fork at him, “Let me finish this delicious lunch and I’ll get everything set up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave you a faux salute, backing off to give you space. You watched him for a moment out of the corner of your eye as he wandered slowly around the perimeter of the lab, hands in his pockets, shoulders soft beneath his hoodie.

Bob moved like someone who didn’t want to disturb anything. Not just the tools and data, but you–your space, your rhythm, your day. Even now, when he stopped in front of the containment dome, he didn’t lean close or peer in like most people would’ve. He just stood there, quietly watching.

The flower didn’t move. But the pulsing in its center seemed to slow, slightly. Steadying. As if recognizing something.

Bob tilted his head faintly.

But said nothing.

You finished your lunch in a few final bites, wiped your hands on a cloth, and pulled on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves.

“All right,” You called, walking over to the locked cabinet beside your centrifuge. “Time to sacrifice a little plasma for science.”

Bob grumbled playfully as he headed back toward the stool you always set aside for him during these sessions. “Sentry’s gonna make it d-difficult again. Last time you had to chase the vein for like five minutes.”

“Oh how could I forget,” You said playfully, drawing the phlebotomy kit from the drawer, “I’ve never met a God who’s afraid of needles. He flared your heart rate on purpose and kicked the adrenaline response. Your veins were literally jumping.” Bob winced at the memory and sighed.

”I-I don’t think he m-means to be a jerk a-about it.”

“No, he just is,” You turned with a teasing smile and raised your brow, “You listening in there Sentry, I called you a jerk.” A flicker of gold passed through Bob’s eyes, and his expression shifted just slightly. A pressure just beneath the surface of his calm exterior. You saw the way his jaw flexed. The way his breath caught on the edge of a heartbeat. It was gone just as fast as it appeared. You gestured to the stool.

”Alright, you know the drill.” Bob sighed and tugged his hoodie over his head with one hand, letting it fall across the nearby stool in a heap of worn fabric and static-charged threads.

Your breath caught for just a second–not that you’d ever admit it.

He was wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath. Simple, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. The fabric clung in all the places that mattered: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, the gentle taper of his torso. His arms were sculpted, the muscle built from the serum and his own training he did on the side with Walker–solid biceps veined faintly beneath pale skin, his forearms thick and freckled with golden hairs. Even through the shirt, you could see the subtle rise of his chest when he breathed. His body wasn’t exaggerated or showy like some of the other enhanced agents. Bob’s strength was honest, clean and quiet. The kind that didn’t beg to be seen–just was. He sat on the stool, leaned slightly forward, and offered you his right arm without hesitation–palm up, wrist relaxed, fingers curling just slightly where they hung over the edge of your tray. As always, he was warm. Always a degree or two above everyone else. Like the Sentry lived just beneath the surface, pulsing against the skin.

You pulled your chair close and gently cradled his arm in one gloved hand, “You good?” He nodded, jaw ticking faintly.

”Sentry’s a-already getting stirred u-up.”

“I figured,” You murmured, swabbing the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad, watching the way the fine blond hairs on his arm caught the light, “You twitched when I called him a jerk.” Bob exhaled a shallow breath, half-laugh, half-wince.

”Y-Yeah he–uh–didn’t like t-that.”

“Well, tell him to behave,” you said, voice softening as you spoke, instinctively adjusting your tone. You’d found, over time, that it wasn’t just what you said–but how. The Sentry didn’t respond well to authority. But he did respond to calm. To care. To you.

“I’m going to insert the needle now, okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He said quietly, “Keep talking through the process, t-that would help.” You gave him a smile–genuine and soft.

“All right…Just a little pressure here…” You slipped the butterfly needle in with smooth, practiced hands, watching the dark blood flood into the first vial like a ribbon of garnet. He didn’t flinch. His fingers curled just slightly, but that was it. You could feel the tension in him, though–not fear, not even discomfort, really.

Just a heightened presence.

You always felt it when the Sentry was nearby. Like a third set of lungs had begun breathing somewhere in the room. Like the molecules in the air shifted their charge.

“I’m taking five tubes,” You said gently. “You’re doing fine. Your blood flow is nice and steady today.”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob said, watching you with his head slightly turned. His voice had dropped to something deeper. Thicker. “That’s because o-of you.”

You glanced up.

He blinked, quickly. “Your voice. It…I-It helps.” You kept working, carefully switching out the first full tube for the second, then the third, eyes flicking to him only briefly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Or a cosmic honor. One of the two.” That got a smile out of him, even if it was small. The rest of the draw passed in familiar quiet–soft beeping from your equipment, the slow, gentle swirl of the containment fans, the hum of the overhead lights. His blood was warm in your hands. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you reached the fifth tube and carefully capped it.

You retracted the needle in one smooth motion, placing it in the sharps container before gently pressing a cotton ball to the puncture site.

“Pressure here, please.”

Bob complied, two fingers resting lightly over the spot. You retrieved a bandage, peeled it open, and pressed it into place over the cotton. Your hand lingered a second longer than it needed to. His skin was flushed warm beneath your glove. He smelled faintly of cedar and limes, probably from his shampoo. Then you leaned back in your chair and gave him a mock-serious look.

“So,” You said, cocking your head, “Does Sentry want a lollipop for his troubles?”Bob groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“D-Don’t get him riled up…” You laughed at the way his cheeks turned rosy again, as he attempted to hold back a smile, which failed.

”You sure?” You teased, “You don’t want me to pull out the glittery sticker chart?”

“W-We talked about this…He remembers t-things like that.” You both burst into soft laughter again, the kind that curled at the edges of your ribs and left everything just a little lighter.

And somewhere behind you, the flower twitched.

The petals shifted.

The pulse in its center matched his heartbeat.

But neither of you noticed.

——————

The next day, just after 2:00 p.m., the soft hiss of the lab doors made your head snap up again.

You were halfway through a long-winded notation on the flower’s latest chromatographic analysis when you heard the now-familiar rustle of footsteps and the unmistakable creak of someone cradling a takeout bag with too much care.

“Brought you lunch!” Bob announced.

He looked warm again–an oversized hoodie only blue this time, the same worn sweatpants from yesterday, and hair pulled back messily like he’d tied it in a rush. His free hand shoved deep into his pocket, but the other held a paper bag from a café you liked downtown. He wore the same small, crooked smile that made it difficult to think straight.

“Careful,” You warned playfully, turning in your seat to face him, “If you keep feeding me, I’ll start to expect this kind of treatment.”

Bob shrugged, walking in slow, casual steps toward your workstation. “M-might be worth it…Just to s-see you eat.”

You smiled at that–too caught up in the rare softness between you to notice the way the flower behind its containment dome had begun to stir.

Not much. Just a twitch of its outermost petals. A subtle change in the shimmer of its stamen. But you were facing Bob. You didn’t see the way it reacted to his voice.

“I-I got you the g-grain bowl you like. The one with roasted squash, the f-feta, that spicy vinaigrette you always try to recreate in your lab notebook–”

“I do not take vinaigrette notes in here,” You interjected, grinning.

Bob set the bag down gently on the corner of your cleared space shaking his head at you, glancing over at the dome just as the hum of your equipment shifted slightly. The air changed. Subtle, at first. Like something pressurizing behind glass.

He leaned over–only just–peering closer at the flower inside.

That was all it took.

The dome fogged instantly with a pale gold haze. Then–without warning–the containment glass shuddered with a sharp, pinging sound, like internal pressure had snapped a seal.

Then it ruptured.

The top of the cloche blew off with a muted pop, and a cloud of glittering golden dust erupted from the flower in a slow-motion burst. It expanded like fog, like breath in cold air–drifting, floating–straight into Bob’s face.

You froze for half a second. Then your instincts kicked in hard and fast.

“Shit—Bob!” You yelled, already leaping from your stool and hitting the emergency switch on the wall.

Red lights flashed as the isolation protocols kicked in. Vents slammed shut with a metallic clank, and the air filtration units hummed to life. Your console blinked through a security override as the lab sealed itself airtight. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drumbeat.

Bob had staggered back, coughing hard and pawing at his face, blinking rapidly. The golden dust coated his cheeks, his lashes, the curve of his nose, and clung to his stubble like cosmic pollen. It shimmered with a strange, otherworldly sheen–like it was alive, almost.

“Hey–hey–Bob, come here.” You grabbed him gently but firmly by the wrist, leading him toward the decontamination corner. “Don’t rub your eyes. Just come with me. You’re okay, just–just keep breathing.”

He nodded, still coughing, blinking fast. “I-it got in m-my face–feels like sand, b-but–s-sticky, maybe–” He stumbled slightly as you pushed the lever on the eyewash station.

“Lean in,” You ordered, voice steady. “Both hands on the sides. I’m gonna guide you.” You pressed the large silver button. The twin streams of water erupted instantly, and he hissed through clenched teeth as the cold hit. You steadied him, one hand braced on his lower back as he tilted forward.

”Keep blinking,” You instructed, “Get it flushed out. It’s probably just pollen but I can’t take chances, we still don’t know what that stuff is.”

“It’s–f-fine,” he said, spitting water out, breath hitching. “It doesn’t b-burn, just f-feels weird–” His voice was strained, breathless. You didn’t like the way his skin had started to pink at the edges, how the golden dust had clung even beneath his collar.

When the two-minute flush was over, you helped him lean back slowly, grabbing a towel from the stack nearby and pressing it gently to his face.

“We’re not done yet,” You said, pulling a second towel out and pressing it to the back of his neck. “Blow your nose. Three times. Then cough hard. I want that stuff out of your lungs if you inhaled any of it.”

He obeyed without protest, still coughing lightly between ragged breaths. The dust had left faint shimmer marks down the front of his hoodie, now slightly wet from the eyewash station. You reached over to the wall unit, flipped on the emergency fan array, and turned your console back toward manual override. The air slowly began to cycle through a localized carbon scrubbing system.

You turned back to him, grabbing a disposable cloth and wiping under his jaw, where a little gold still shimmered. His eyes were red-rimmed but clear. Breathing shallow, but not distressed.

You stepped back, hands braced on your hips, the overhead scrubbers humming louder now as the first cycle of filtered air began to push through the sealed lab.

Bob sat perched on the deacon bench, towel still clutched in his hands, his lashes dripping, cheeks damp, and glittered with flecks of gold the eyewash hadn’t quite cleared. He looked flushed–not sick, not distressed–just… warm. Lit from within, like something in him was beginning to glow. But you didn’t let yourself think about that.

Not yet.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, kneeling slightly so you were more at eye level with him, voice softening as you scanned his face for any irregularities. “Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? Anything weird?”

Bob blinked slowly, the water still dripping off the tips of his hair as he met your gaze.

“N-No…” He murmured, voice rough with lingering grit, “Just…Feel kinda like I s-snorted fairy dust.” He gave a weak little smile. “M-might be glowing in the dark now.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a half-relieved breath, giving him a playful–but firm–swat to the arm.

“This isn’t funny. You know we have to be in isolation for twenty-four hours now, right?”

Bob groaned, slumping back slightly against the bench. “Ugh. Great. Cool. L-love that.” You crossed your arms.

“We’re both trapped in here. With no way out. The lab is in full lockdown. Airlocked. Everything. Biocontainment protocol 9A.” He sighed, tilting his head toward you dramatically. “

It’s not like we don’t already spend the majority of our free time together or anything.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t act like this is some cozy movie night. You almost got yourself pollinated into another dimension.” Your voice was softer now. More affectionate, more playful. Your gaze dropped briefly–to the faint shimmer still clinging to the edge of his collarbone–and that’s when you noticed it.

You looked down at yourself.

Tiny flecks of gold sparkled faintly across your sleeves, dusted across the dark wool of your sweater and even the collar of your lab coat. The stuff was finer than you thought–so fine you’d barely felt it settle.

“Shit.”

“What?” Bob asked, alarmed.

You pulled your lab coat off immediately, shrugging out of it and tossing it into the nearest biohazard bin. Your sweater followed next, leaving you in the tank top you had underneath–thin, breathable, already damp with nervous sweat. The cold air bit at your arms, but it was better than risking more exposure. You grabbed a clean disposable mask from the supply drawer and tugged it on.

“You got exposed?” Bob asked, sitting up straighter.

You gave him a wry look as you reached for a pair of gloves. “You think that cloud only wanted you?”

He flushed again and shifted where he sat. “S-Sorry…”

“Not your fault,” you said quickly. “You didn’t provoke it.”

Bob’s eyes slid to the corner of the lab where the flower still sat in its shattered dome, motionless now, but unmistakably altered–its petals twitching like cooling muscles, the last of the pollen still floating down like it hadn’t quite obeyed gravity yet.

You pointed to his hoodie.

“That’s gotta come off too.”

He blinked. “W-What?”

“Bob. Your hoodie is covered. You’re basically wearing a glitter bomb.”

“Oh…Right.” He looked down at himself and, reluctantly, peeled the hoodie off over his head, careful not to shake loose any more of the clinging dust. The fabric crackled softly as the static gave way. You moved forward with a biohazard bag already open and waiting.

“Drop it in,” you said, and he obeyed, his white T-shirt riding up slightly with the movement. You caught a glimpse of pale skin, faint golden freckles across his lower ribs, the subtle cut of his hip. You averted your eyes quickly, pretending not to notice.

But he noticed.

You didn’t speak for a beat.

Then:

“Okay,” you said, stepping back with the sealed bag in hand, “Contaminated clothing secured. Isolation timer has started. We’ve got twenty-four hours to kill and a potentially sentient flower that just gas-bombed the strongest man on Earth.”

Bob blinked at you, then gave the tiniest smirk.

“Th-this gonna be in the report?”

“Oh, absolutely,” You muttered, deadpan. “‘Subject A leaned into mysterious glowing flower. Subject B now has fairy glitter in her bra.’”

He laughed. Harder than you expected. The sound echoed softly in the sealed room and you let it hang there for a moment. Eventually his laughter faded, but the heat that was beginning to build in the lab didn’t.

It wasn’t just the tension between you anymore–it was physical. Palpable. You could feel it crawling along the inside of your spine like static. Your skin felt…Tight. Like your clothes were holding in too much warmth. Like the fabric of your tank top was suddenly too heavy in all the wrong places and far too light in others.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, hoping it would pass, but it didn’t.

Bob was still sitting on the bench, towel now draped loosely across his lap, chest rising and falling more steadily than before–but even from a few feet away, you could see the faint shine of sweat beginning to gather at the hollow of his throat.

You squinted slightly.

“Is it just me,” You said slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your neck, “Or is it…Hot in here?”

Bob lifted his head toward you, blinking slowly. His cheeks were still pink–flushed in that way people only got when they were either just out of a fever or just getting into something much more compromising.

“I-I thought it was just me,” He said, adjusting how he sat. “I figured the air filters w-weren’t moving much cool air yet. It’s… It’s an enclosed space, so…” He trailed off, eyes catching briefly on your arms, the exposed slope of your collarbone, and then darting away again, as if ashamed of the glance.

You nodded, trying to focus–but it was getting harder. Your tank top clung to the skin beneath your ribs like a second layer of sweat-dampened silk. You could feel the heat collecting at your lower back, a slow, stoked furnace of warmth that wasn’t just the room. Your breathing shifted slightly. Shallower.

There was a kind of pressure building behind your sternum. An ache–not painful, not sharp. Just…Present. Gnawing. Low in your belly. You cleared your throat.

“Do you feel weird?” You asked, keeping your voice as casual as you could. “Like… more than just warm? Any lightheadedness? Sensory changes?” Bob didn’t answer right away. His shoulders rolled back slowly, and his hand came up to drag across the back of his neck. You watched the way his palm moved over the sweat-damp strands of hair, the tension in his forearm, the way his biceps flexed just slightly under the tight stretch of cotton.

He wasn’t looking at you now. But his voice was quiet when he answered.

“M-My heart rate i-is up,” He admitted. “But I d-don’t feel sick. I just feel–” He stopped. Swallowed. Then: “Wound up. I-it’s like I’ve been waiting for something to happen and m-my body’s just trying to stay ahead of it.” You stared at him, hearing as he listed out the same symptoms you were feeling.

Then there was the ache again–twisting low and slow, enough to make you shift your thighs closer together without thinking. You noticed the way Bob’s eyes tracked the motion and immediately flicked away. His chest was rising faster now. His jaw clenched, breath audible through his nose. Something was happening. Something chemical, something hormonal. Something Induced.

You took a slow breath, then glanced at the ruined containment dome, the flower sitting quietly like nothing had happened. Its stamen pulsed gently, and the last wisps of pollen still hovered in the filtered air like gold-lit ghosts.

”You said it didn’t burn when the pollen hit…” You murmured, “Just felt weird…Right?” He nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward your face, then to your mouth, then away. You swallowed hard, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. ”How weird?”

Bob exhaled a shaky breath. His hands flexed against his thighs, fingers twitching.

“It just felt really…Light,” he rasped. “Like ash. N-Not like sand–softer. Barely even there. But now–” He trailed off, and when he looked at you, it was like being seen for the first time. His pupils were blown wide, only a thin ring of ocean-blue clinging to the edge. His voice lowered.

“Now I feel like my skin is on fire. L-Like I’m burning…And everything’s so damn sensitive. I c-can’t stop–” His voice cracked, “–I can’t stop looking at you.” Your breath caught. The ache between your legs deepened sharply, twisting upward through your belly like someone had plucked a string that now hummed through your bones. The realization slammed into you with full force. The heat. The ache. The scent. The shimmer. The reaction.

Fuck. You staggered backward from the bench slightly and slapped your hand down on the comm panel by the edge of your lab table, hitting the line for Bucky.

“Come on, come on, pick up–”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice crackled over the line. “What’s up?”

“Bucky,” You said, trying to steady your breathing. “Where exactly were you when you found that flower? Be specific. What were the surroundings?”

“I told you, it was near the tree line,” He answered, confused. “On the way back from the ridge. Why?”

“Was there anything else? Anything that stood out?”

There was a pause. Then, “Uh…There was kind of a–garden? Like, a bunch of them. Just a whole patch. Maybe fifty or sixty, I dunno, they were all clumped together.”Another pulse of heat ripped through your core, and you clenched your thighs, biting back a soft, involuntary groan. You half-collapsed, catching yourself on the table edge before sliding down the side of it, pressing your forehead into your forearm.

“Where were they, Bucky?” You grit out through clenched teeth. “Was there a lab? A compound? A goddamn marker on the ground–anything?”

“What? Y/N, I don’t–wait, there was a lab…But it wasn’t even close. Maybe two miles east of it. Looked abandoned. You think it’s connected?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, voice rough, stomach clenching. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges. “That’s not wild growth, Buck. That’s a planted field. That was cultivated. You brought me a fucking bioweapon.”

There was silence.

Bob had shifted, and when you looked up, he was no longer on the bench. He had crouched behind one of the heavy lab tables on the far end of the room, head bowed, palms braced hard against the floor like he was praying—or like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I-it’s getting worse,” he called out, voice hoarse and echoing faintly off the tile. “I—I can feel it in my hands, my back—like I’m buzzing from the inside out. You need to go to another room, Y/N. Please. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen—”

“There is no other room,” you snapped, clutching your own torso, fingers digging into your tank top like it could peel the sensation off your skin. “We’re sealed in. Remember? Isolation. Twenty-four hours.”

You turned back to the comm, swallowing back the pulse building low in your belly. “Bucky, something happened in that lab. This isn’t just a flower. It’s engineered—enhanced. There’s pheromone manipulation in the pollen. Maybe synthetic hormones. We both got exposed.”

“What kind of exposure?”

You hesitated.

Then you exhaled shakily, voice lowering. “The worst kind. I think it’s… I think it’s sex pollen, Bucky.”

A beat of stunned silence on the other end. Then:

“…You’re shitting me.”

“I wish I was,” you hissed, grinding the heel of your hand into your temple, heart pounding. “And unless I get a suppressant cocktail in the next thirty minutes, I’m going to lose it.”

“What about Bob?”

You turned your head just slightly toward where Bob was crouched, shaking. His knuckles had gone white.

“He’s already losing it,” You whispered.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” you said, too fast. “Just…We’re locked in for twenty-four hours. There’s nothing anyone can do. Just… Just keep the others out. Don’t let anyone near the door.”

There was a long pause. Then Bucky’s voice dropped.

“Y/N. What exactly happened in there?”

You clenched your jaw and gave the only answer you could.

“I’ll tell you if we survive it.” Then you hung up the comm, bracing your hands on your knees as the ache spread like wildfire across your thighs, your chest, the hollow between your hips. Everything was overstimulated–fabric too rough, air too dry, skin too tight.

And then there was Bob.

You looked up slowly, panting now, vision swimming with heat and color. You could barely see his face in the shadow of the bench, but you heard his voice.

“I-It’s in me,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is. I can feel it in m-my blood. My skin feels like it’s too small. I’m–I’m shaking. I c-can’t stop it.” His breath hitched, voice breaking apart. “I can smell you. I c-can hear your heart. I can feel every molecule in this goddamn r-room. God, what is this stuff?” You were already dragging yourself across the floor, crawling on hands and knees to the nearest storage cabinet, yanking open drawers for anything–anything–that might help regulate internal chemistry. You were half-crazed with heat, sweat dripping between your shoulder blades, your whole body lit up like it had been set on fire from the inside.

“Okay,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “We’re gonna–we’re gonna figure this out. Just don’t come near me, Bob. Not yet.”

You couldn’t see him now, but you heard the thick, wet swallow from where he hid behind the bench.

“I w-won’t,” He rasped. “But…If you don’t figure it out soon…” His voice was barely audible now. “…I d-don’t know if I’m gonna b-be able to stop myself.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they hit you like a blow to the chest. A sharp pulse rippled through your core–your muscles tensed like a wire had snapped in your belly. The ache between your legs twisted again, hot and hungry, and a broken sound escaped your lips before you could stop it.

A whimper. Soft, shaken, and needy.

”Shut up,” You gasped, your voice hoarse with panic and arousal, hand bracing against the cabinet, “Just…Stop talking, Bob please…Your voice. Fuck sake.” Another wave of heat surged under your skin like a current of electricity. You curled slightly into yourself, arms trembling, every breath catching high in your throat.

“I–I’m sorry,” Bob groaned from across the room, his voice cracking with guilt and something far darker. You heard him shift, heard the thump of his back hit the cabinet behind him like he’d braced himself against it, like he couldn’t trust his limbs to obey. He let out a loud breath, shuddering.

”G-God, I’m–I’m sorry, I c-can’t even think straight–“ His voice broke on the last word, thick with restraint. You dragged open another drawer with shaking fingers, rummaging through cold metal and sterile pouches, tossing one after the other to the side. Glucose packs. Emergency syringes. No suppressants. No hormonal regulators. Nothing for this kind of exposure.

Your vision blurred as your stomach clenched again. You could feel sweat beading at the base of your spine, making your tank top stick like a second skin. You couldn’t stop panting. Couldn’t stop trembling.

”Fuck…” You hissed, almost on the brink of sob. You slammed the drawer shut with a metallic clang, the sound too loud, echoing in the sealed lab like it was mocking you. ”I can’t–I-I can’t find anything.” You wheezed, voice cracking. You braced your hands on the cold tile, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

The need was crawling over your skin like insects. Every breath was friction. Every shift of your body felt like dragging yourself through static. Your nipples were tight beneath your tank top, aching. You could feel your own pulse in places it didn’t belong.

“Shit–shit,” You whispered, eyes welling with frustrated tears. “Oh my god.”

Behind the bench, Bob made a low, strangled noise.

A grunt. Guttural. Desperate.

You couldn’t see him.

But you didn’t need to.

Because you could feel him.

You could feel the way the air changed when he moved. You could feel the ripple of heat that seemed to follow the sound of his voice. And worst of all–you could feel your body answering it.

Every cell in you was lit up with something heavy and humming. Something wild. Something designed.

You curled forward against the floor, pressing your forehead into your arm. You were panting now–wheezing, almos-trying to hold on. Trying not to cry.

You didn’t hear him crawl over, not until it was too late. Your breath was ragged, and your vision was swimming–and then warmth touched your arm. A large hand. Familiar. It closed over your bicep–but it lit your nerves on fire. You jerked away violently, scrambling back on instinct, collapsing onto your ass with a gasp. Your palm slammed against the tile and you skidded slightly, breath hitching as you spat out–

“Don’t touch me!” Your voice cracked, sharp and wet with panic. The motion made your spine arch, your tank top riding up slightly as your hip knocked into a rolling stool, the metal clattering away. Bob’s eyes widened in horror, hand halfway outstretched like it had betrayed him. He dropped to both knees in front of you instantly, not touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth coming off his body like a wave.

“Y/N–” He breathed, his voice hoarse, chest heaving, “Y/N I-I feel it too, I p-promise. I feel everyth-ing” His hand hovered near your shoulder again, hesitant. Then, slowly, gently, he reached behind your neck, cradling it with a trembling touch. His fingers were hot against your skin, too hot. “Look at me. W-We’ll be okay. We’ll be o-okay.” You shook your head, lip quivering as the tears came faster now. Not the kind you could hide or blink away–these ones slid heavy and helpless down your cheeks, pooling at the corners of your mouth. You were trembling all over, shoulders shaking, thighs clenching without relief.

”I-I feel like I’m dying,” You whispered, voice raw, “Fuck, Bob it’s so painful.” He nodded once, his face contorting with shared agony, as his hand slipped from the back of your neck to your jaw, like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you or let go.

“I-I know,” He rasped, his other hand gripping his thigh so hard it shook, “I-I’m burning from the inside out. I can smell y-you…I can s-smell everything–“ You swallowed, chest rising in short, hard jerks. Because so could you.

His scent was all over the room now. Thick and devastating. It rolled over you in waves—heat-warmed cedarwood, sweat, and something deeper. Instinctual. Masculine. Not cologne. Not soap. Something completely and totally him. A biological beckoning, chemical and holy and blinding.

It made your thighs twitch and your breath break.

And your own scent…You could smell it, too. Like heat-glazed citrus and clean skin. Something golden and heavy, threaded with notes of sun-warmed vanilla and fresh-cut stems. Like the wild edge of spring. It filled your nostrils, clung to your skin, hung in the air between you like a dare.

Bob’s eyes fluttered, jaw clenching again. He let out a low grunt, like the effort of staying still was costing him something visceral. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I-Isn’t there…a-any way we can stop this f-from getting worse?” You didn’t want to say it, you really didn’t. But the truth came out anyway, scraped and raw from your throat.

”Only if…” You swallowed. Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth, “Only if we have sex…” The words dropped like a stone.

Bob’s breath hitched so hard it almost sounded like a choke. His throat bobbed, and he blinked down at you, eyes wild and dilated, dark lashes damp with sweat and desperation.

There was a pause–long and shaking.

Then, softly:

“W-Would it be t-that bad if…If we did?”

You flinched. Just barely. The air stilled, vibrating between you. And then you shook your head slowly, tears welling again–not from heat this time, but from something deeper.

“I really didn’t want our first time together being l-like this.”

That stopped him cold. All the breath punched out of him in a single exhale. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His hand fell away from your jaw like it had been burned. His whole posture shifted–still close, but paralyzed with guilt.

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him now–if you looked into that face, flushed and desperate and filled with longing–you’d give in. Your breath hitched sharply—twice—before you folded forward on a gasp, one hand clutching your lower stomach like it might soothe the throbbing pulse building between your legs.

“God,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Oh my god, I—I can’t fucking take it.”

The ache had bloomed into something unbearable—wet and slick and throbbing through your core with every heartbeat. You were drenched, panties stuck to you, heat radiating off your skin like you were about to combust. Across from you, Bob made a strangled sound, his fists tight on his thighs, chest heaving as he forced shallow breaths through his nose—like if he didn’t, he might do something reckless.

“I c-can’t smell you,” He whispered, more to himself than to you. “I–I can’t smell you–I can’t–”

But he could. You both could. Your scent was everywhere–sweet and sharp and thick with want. It hung in the air between you like perfume, like bait, and you knew it was driving him mad.

You twitched again as another rush of slick gushed between your thighs and a broken moan slipped past your lips–soft, needy, involuntary. Your eyes squeezed shut as your hand pressed harder against your stomach, trying to contain it.

But it was useless.

“I can’t–fuck, I can’t take it–” You gasped, and before you could stop yourself, you were lunging forward.

You grabbed his face with both hands–hot, flushed skin beneath your palms–and crushed your mouth to his like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collision.

A mess of lips and teeth and spit.

You moaned into his mouth the second you felt him gasp beneath you–his lips parting wide in helpless surrender, his hands flying to your waist like magnets. The second he touched you, it was over. You melted into him, mouths sliding and sucking and devouring with sloppy, panting need.

Spit slicked your chin, his chin, your mouths, your skin. It dripped down between you as your lips broke and reconnected over and over in increasingly desperate, wet smacks. His tongue slid against yours, hungry and hot, and you whimpered into the kiss like your whole body was unraveling.

His hands squeezed your hips, hard–fingertips digging in, dragging you toward him roughly until your knees bumped his thighs and your chest hit his. You felt the tremble in him, felt the heat pouring off his body as he let out a low, feral grunt into your mouth, like he was trying to hold himself together and failing.

You pulled back just an inch, breath catching in your throat as a strand of spit still connected your lips, both of you panting so hard it echoed in the sealed lab.

“Fuck–” He gasped, chasing your mouth again, not even giving you time to respond before crashing back into the kiss, even hungrier this time. “You taste like–God–l-like sunlight–like h-honey–fuck, I can’t–can’t stop–”

“Don’t,” You moaned, sliding your tongue into his mouth again, letting it tangle with his, swallowing his sounds, his heat, his everything. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.” Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking at the damp curls as his hands roamed, gripping your waist so tightly it made you whine. He guided you into his lap without thinking, until your knees straddled his thighs and your body pressed flush to his. You could feel everything–the twitch of his erection beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the way his breath hitched when your hips brushed his, the way his hands couldn’t stop moving–gripping, sliding, needing. Every inch of you was pressed tight to him, and he felt all of it. The heat. The wetness. The hunger.

”G-God…” He gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder for a split second, voice thick, “I c-can’t–can’t stop–need…Need something–“ And then his hands flexed, dragging you forward–against him. You cried out, the sound strangled and high as he rocked your hips into his, grinding you against the thick line of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction sent a lightning bolt through your core, and your whole body spasmed in response, clutching at his shoulders as the contact jolted through your nerves.

“Oh–God–” You moaned, tearing your mouth from his as your head tipped back, spine arching. “Oh fuck–do that again–” He didn’t even answer. Just groaned–loud, filthy–and rolled your hips again. Rougher. Harder. Enough that your soaked panties dragged hot and slick over the outline of him, soaking into the soft cotton of his clothes and yours.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as your thighs trembled on either side of his lap. Your hands found his hair and tugged–hard–and he moaned so deeply it vibrated through your ribs. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your throat, open-mouthed kisses dragging over sweat-slick skin. His tongue was everywhere–greedy and reverent–and then you felt him kiss the top of your chest, right along the edge of your tank top.

You were panting, shaking, drenched in sweat and arousal. You couldn’t stop grinding down against him now, couldn’t stop chasing that friction as you rolled your hips again and again, letting your swollen heat drag along his cock in slow, devastating passes. The pressure built fast, sharp and aching, pulsing low in your belly with every movement.

Bob’s mouth trembled where it kissed just below your collarbone. His fingers slipped up your sides, shaky but sure–and then they hooked under the thin straps of your tank top.

“P-Please–” He rasped, looking up at you like he was about to fall apart. “Can I—can I see you?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. God, yes.”

He didn’t wait. He dragged the straps down your arms, kissing the slope of your shoulder as they slipped, one by one. Then he tugged the neckline down–slow, desperate–and bared your breasts to the heavy, sweat-damp air.

The second your nipples were exposed, he let out a groan–a sound so broken, it barely sounded human. His eyes glazed with worship, with hunger.

And then his mouth was on you.

He wrapped his lips around one tight, aching nipple and moaned–like he was dying for the taste of you. His tongue flicked, sucked, lapped, over and over, and you cried out, hips jerking uncontrollably in his lap as you rutted down against him.

“Oh my god–Bob–“ You gasped, fingers burying in his hair, yanking him closer, needier. “That–fuck–you’re so good…” He didn’t stop. If anything, he got more desperate. His tongue traced circles around your nipple, sucking it deeper into his mouth with each slow pull of his lips. One of his hands gripped your ass, guiding your hips faster against his erection, grinding you down until your whole body was quivering.

“Y-You’re so warm,” He panted between kisses. “So soft–God–“ And then he took the other nipple between his lips, just as eager, just as mindless. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe across the swell of your breast and you sobbed at the contact, your whole body arching into him. Bob groaned around your nipple one last time before pulling off with a wet pop, his mouth red and slick with spit. His eyes were blown wide, pupils so dilated there was barely any blue left–but there was something else swimming behind them too, something ancient, hungry, waiting to surface. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned in close, nudging your jaw with his nose, mouth grazing your cheek. Then suddenly–

He surged forward.

Your back hit the cold tile in one fluid motion, the breath punching out of your lungs as he guided you down with firm hands, mouth still dragging across your chest. The contrast between the icy floor and the furnace of your skin made you cry out softly, arching up into his touch.

“Bob–” You gasped, but your words cut off with a moan as his hands slipped low, gripping the waistband of your pants and underwear in one practiced motion.

“L-Lift your hips,” He instructed–voice rough and tight with restraint. You obeyed instantly, and he peeled both garments down your legs in a single fluid movement, baring you to the air, to him, to everything.

Your thighs quivered as the rush of cool air met the wet heat between them. You leaned up, grabbed the hem of your tank top, and tore it over your head. It hit the floor behind you just as Bob stripped off his shirt–his chest gleaming with sweat, muscles flexing, dusted with faint gold shimmer and a constellation of freckles across his collarbones.

You barely had a second to breathe before he dropped between your thighs again, mouth finding yours in a kiss so urgent and deep it knocked your head back against the tile. It was messier now–hotter, more desperate, his tongue fucking into your mouth with wild hunger.

Then he broke away just far enough to speak.

“I-I’m going to c-crawl on my fucking knees,” He growled, “And you’re gonna spread those thighs wider for me, and let me eat you until you come on my tongue.”You arched up with a moan, hips twitching off the floor. Your hands reached for him blindly, pulling at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your throat, your chest, your ribs.

“I need you so fucking bad,” He whispered, his voice darker now–lower, smoother. The stutter was gone.

You blinked through the haze, the heat, the sweat clinging to your lashes–and that’s when you saw it. The eyes. Not Bob’s soft blue. Gold. Molten.

“Sentry,” You whispered, breath catching.

But you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to.

His teeth scraped gently along your stomach, sending electric pulses through your nerves, and then he kissed the inside of your hip bones like he was worshipping an altar.

“You smell so fucking sweet,” He murmured, nose dragging through the crease where your thigh met your core, voice reverent and filthy all at once. “I can’t wait to have a taste.” You sobbed his name as your thighs opened wider for him, your body obeying without question. He slid his hands beneath you, lifting your hips off the floor, draping your thighs over his shoulders–his palms spreading across your lower back to anchor you in place.

“Look at you,” He groaned, lips brushing against your soaked folds without yet tasting. “You’re drenched…You’re so fucking wet I can see it drip.”

Then he leaned in.

And licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

You choked on a scream. Your hips jerked hard against his mouth, and his arms tightened around your thighs, holding you down as his tongue moved again–sloppier this time. Messier. Hungrier. He licked into you like he was starving. Long, deep strokes. Quick flicks. Circles around your swollen clit that had you crying out his name.

“God, fuck–yes–”

You gripped his hair hard, yanking at the sweat-damp strands, and he groaned like he liked it–no, loved it. The vibration of the sound against your core made your whole body shake.

“You taste like summer, like heat, like stars.” He moaned. “Absolutely fucking sinful.” He pulled back only long enough to look at you, his mouth wet, chin dripping with slick.

“I can’t wait to make you come on my tongue,” He growled.

And then he dove back in.

Tongue sliding flat against your clit, then swirling, sucking it into his mouth with slow, rhythmic pulls that made your vision blur. You cried out, grinding into his face, your hands clutching his hair, your whole body vibrating with sensation.

“P-Please–” you whimpered, barely able to breathe, “Please don’t stop–”

He didn’t.

He licked and sucked and groaned like you were his favorite meal, like he could do this for hours. His hands gripped your ass, dragging you tighter to his mouth, keeping you from squirming away.

You were going to come.

It was building fast–tight and white-hot and burning like it had nowhere else to go. You were right on the edge when–

He slipped one thick finger inside you.

You let out a loud gasp. It wasn’t pain–it was too much. Too good. The stretch, the pressure, the way his mouth never stopped moving.

“That’s it,” He murmured against your clit. “Take my fingers…Just like that…You’re so tight, fuck…I’m imagining how you’re going to take me.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned again–louder this time–and slid a second finger in, stretching you open. His fingers curled up, rubbing slow, teasing strokes into that perfect, devastating spot. Your walls fluttered, your thighs trembled.

“Oh god, oh god–”

“Come for me,” He growled. “Right now. Let me feel you.”

And he sped up.

Fingers pumping hard, mouth sucking your clit with filthy precision. You sobbed his name, your back arched clean off the tile, and you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like fire, like lightning–your thighs locking around his head, your hands gripping his hair as you wailed through it.

He didn’t stop.

Not when you cried out.

Not when you begged.

He kept sucking, licking, fucking his fingers into you as your body convulsed.

Your body was still twitching when he pulled his fingers free–slick and trembling, your core fluttering from aftershocks as he slowly sat back on his heels.

His chin was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes–those molten, god-touched eyes–burned down the length of your naked body like sunlight through stained glass.

“I should feel sated,” He murmured, voice too calm for the storm coiled in his chest. “I should be full from what I’ve just taken.”He leaned in. Slowly. Pressed one open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another–hot and reverent, just shy of your folds. His breath dragged over you, still sensitive, and it made you whimper.

“But I’m not,” He said low, his nose skimming up the inside of your leg as he worked his way toward your face. “I’m still starving.”

You were trying to breathe, but it wasn’t easy. Not with your pulse echoing in your throat, not with the ache between your legs still pulsing with the memory of his tongue, and certainly not with him looking at you like that.

“I’ve waited…So long to taste you.”

His voice was velvet heat–slick with need, rich with something that throbbed like want and worship tangled together.

He braced a hand on either side of your head as he crawled up over you, hair wild around his face, sweat glistening on the slopes of his shoulders and chest. The weight of him caged you in. It wasn’t heavy–it was all-consuming.

You reached up with a trembling hand and cupped his face. His skin was flushed, warm and slick, his jaw tight as though holding back something enormous.

“I can still feel you,” You whispered, voice raw. “On my mouth. On my thighs. Inside me.”

He smiled at that–but it wasn’t gentle.

It was hunger.

“You’ll feel me even more soon.”His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and his gaze flicked down–watching the way your mouth parted for him instinctively. He leaned in again, voice now a whisper of thunder against your cheek, “Imagine what it’s going to be like when I fuck you…” Your hips bucked helplessly beneath him, but he only smirked, catching them with a firm palm.

“Sentry,” You gasped, voice trembling as your thighs clenched under the weight of him, “P-Please. God—don’t you feel it too?!”

His nose brushed yours, breath hot against your cheek. He didn’t answer at first–just let that small, dangerous smile curl across his lips, teeth barely catching his lower lip before he released it.

“Of course I feel it,” He murmured, hips dragging downward, grinding his clothed cock into your slick heat. “It’s everywhere in me. In my chest, in my spine, my teeth.” His voice dropped to a darker pitch, and the gold in his eyes flared one last time before dimming. “I-I just know I’m going to get what I-I need…

Bob sat back on his knees between your spread thighs, hands sliding slow and sure down his stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants. “I-I already came once just from eating you out,” He confessed, voice timid now, “I t-think I have more in me…”

Then he tugged the sweatpants down.

Your breath stuttered in your throat.

His erection sprang free, flushed dark and glistening at the tip, already slick with the evidence of his earlier release. A thick bead of cum sat heavy at the crown, dripping slowly down the curve of his shaft, and your whole body twitched at the sight of it. The raw, shameless arousal surged in your belly like wildfire.

“Fuck–” You whispered, pupils blown wide.

He was beautiful. Veined and heavy and so hard it twitched with every breath. You couldn’t stop yourself. Your hand moved without thought–licking your palm once, slow and deliberate, before wrapping your fingers around him.

Bob groaned immediately–deep. His head dropped forward, curls swinging around his jaw, and his hips bucked into your touch as your hand slid down the length of him in a slow, sticky stroke. His cock throbbed in your grip. Hot. Pulsing.

“Mmmf–fuck,” He growled, the sound rattling against the walls. He dropped one hand down to your thigh to steady himself, the other bracing behind him as you worked him with your slick hand–up and down, tight and wet and slow, like you wanted to savor every second.

His breath came out in sharp pants, his face flushed, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb rubbed just beneath the swollen head, gathering that leaking slick and spreading it over his cock.

“God, I didn’t even have to touch you and you came.” You whispered,

“That’s what y-you do to me,” he gasped, voice shaking. “I couldn’t help it—god, I couldn’t fucking help it—” He surged forward, kissing you hard, and you moaned against his mouth as his hips began to stutter forward, chasing the motion of your hand with every pass.

It was hot, the way he kissed you–messy. His mouth was open, panting against yours, lips dragging along your tongue, teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth with a wet pop. He moaned into you with every stroke of your hand, deep in his chest, growling like it hurt not to move faster.

He kissed like he was about to fall apart in your arms.

Like he wanted to ruin you and thank you at the same time.

And you could feel it–he was close again. Already.

“G-God–don’t stop–don’t stop–” he choked out, hips bucking into your grip, his cock twitching hard in your palm.

Then his mouth tore from yours with a ragged moan, his body going rigid as he came–again.

Thick ropes of cum spilled across your stomach in hot, wet spurts–slicking your skin, painting the swell of your belly in messy, sticky heat. Bob cried out, breath catching, his hand clutching your thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints as his hips jerked against your hand one last time.

You watched it all, feeling it dripping down your skin. You slowed your hand, and then looked up at him. His eyes were fluttered closed. His mouth hung open, panting raggedly. His cheeks were red and damp with sweat, hair curling against his temples in loose, disheveled strands.

And then–

You ran your fingers through the puddle of cum on your stomach.

Bob’s eyes snapped open.

He watched, transfixed, as you dragged two fingers slowly through the mess he left on you–slicking them up, glossy with white.

Then you brought them to your mouth.

And sucked them clean.

He groaned–low and guttural, more animal than man. He surged forward and kissed you, hard–his mouth hot and open, tongue licking into yours like he needed to taste what you’d just tasted.

And when he pulled back–just barely–he looked drunk. Starved. His voice was hoarse, reverent.

“W-We taste so g-good together,” He whispered.

You whimpered, eyes wide and glassy.

And then your voice broke.

“I need you inside me.”

His breath hitched sharply. His eyes searched your face like a prayer–like he needed to make sure this wasn’t just the pollen, wasn’t just chemical.

But your body told him everything he needed to know. The slick between your thighs. The tremble in your voice. The way your legs fell open without fear. He saw your hand reaching for him–trembling, open, desperate–and instead of just taking it, he kissed it.

One slow kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then each fingertip in turn, reverent and breath-warmed. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even when his lips brushed the soft pads of your fingers. It felt like something sacred.

“I-I’m yours, Y/N…” He whispered, his voice wrecked–hoarse and honeyed, lined with awe. “All yours.”

Your chest trembled. Not from the pollen. Not from the heat. From the weight of it–his words, his body, his need. You brought your other hand to his cheek, touching the sweat-slick curve of his face, thumb stroking over his flushed skin.

“You’re burning up,” You whispered.

“So are you,” He breathed back.

But the ache had shifted now. It was lower. Thicker. No longer frantic. Just heavy. Full. Demanding.

His lips met yours again–slow this time, almost trembling. Not chasing. Not crashing. Just pressing. Full and warm. Your mouths moved in sync, deeper with every pass, until he adjusted his weight above you, one forearm braced beside your head while the other hand snaked down to your thigh.

His fingers curled around the underside of it, tugging you closer until your legs wrapped around him again and your slick heat pressed against his length. He groaned into your mouth at the contact.

“G-God, Y/N,” He muttered, dragging his mouth down to your throat, kissing the line of your pulse. “You’re s-still dripping. I can feel it–so hot, so wet for me…”

His hand shifted, reaching between your bodies. He stroked himself once. Twice. The glide was obscene, slick with both your arousal and his release from before. He cursed low under his breath–voice strained with restraint–and guided the thick head of his erection to your entrance. Then–he paused, letting his forehead press to yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered

“T-Tell me you want it.”

”I want you, Bob,” You breathed, “I’ve wanted you for so long…Please I want you inside me.” You begged, almost on the brink of tears just from the sheer anticipation that wracked through your body. He let out a long sigh and slid in, with such slowness you felt your whole body tense up.

You both gasped at the same time–loud, broken, raw. Your back arched and your thighs locked tighter around him as he pushed forward, inch by inch, stretching you wide with the thick, pulsing heat of him. He groaned above you, mouth falling open as your walls clenched around him, impossibly wet and tight.

“Oh–f-fuck…” He stuttered, his voice cracking like it couldn’t contain the feeling. “You feel…God…You feel like…Like e-everything.”

You whined under him, nails scraping lightly across his back. Every inch dragged through you like it was carved for you–hot, thick, filling. It was too much and not enough at once.

“You’re stretching me so good,” You gasped, voice shaking. “Bob–go slow–I wanna feel all of it.” He obeyed, hips moving with devastating care, sinking into you until he bottomed out, fully seated, buried to the hilt. The moan that left your mouth was guttural. His wasn’t any better. It came from deep in his chest–an animal sound, trembling and wrecked.

He stayed still inside you, just for a moment, just to feel everything, just to breathe.

Your chest rose beneath him in shuddering gasps, your nails pressing into the flex of his back as your hips trembled beneath the weight of him. He was deep–so deep it was hard to breathe–but it wasn’t painful. It was perfect. Like a lock clicking into place after too many years of holding the wrong key.

His forehead dropped to yours, your sweat-slick skin sticking where it touched, his breath ragged and hot against your cheek. His arms trembled faintly from the restraint, from the fire still licking through his blood, from the unholy grip of your body around him. His hands slid slowly from the curve of your thigh up to your waist, his thumbs brushing over your hips as if memorizing them. One hand trailed higher, tracing the line of your ribs, his touch light, soothing, trembling.

”You feel–“ He choked on the words, voice wrecked and shaking, “–Like…L-Like you were made for every inch of m-me.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your back arched slightly, hips shifting. The movement made him twitch deep inside you, and the sound he let out was hoarse and broken. Your lips brushed his, breath mingling.

“I need you to move,” you whispered. “Please, Bob. I need you to–”

He cut you off with a kiss.

Not desperate. Not wild. Just deep. Intentional. His lips dragged against yours in slow, soft strokes, his tongue slipping into your mouth like a secret. You kissed him back with a whimper, your hands cupping his face, fingers sliding into the damp curls at the base of his neck.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first.

A long, slow withdrawal that had your breath catching in your throat, followed by a deep, steady thrust that made you moan into his mouth. His hips rocked forward again, harder this time, but still slow. Still deliberate. Still savoring.

You felt every inch.

And he felt everything.

Your slick heat around him. The way your body welcomed him, tightened for him, trembled from the fullness. He moved like he wanted to stay inside you forever–long strokes that dragged through you with devastating patience, hips grinding at the end of each thrust like he wanted to feel the slick press of your clit against his skin.

He kissed you between thrusts–messy, wet kisses that dragged across your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again. His lips caught your whimpers. His tongue tasted your gasps. He moaned into your mouth when you clenched around him.

And then–

His hand slid up your chest, broad and warm, until his palm cupped the base of your throat. Not tight. Not forceful. Just there. Anchoring. Feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his fingers like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You’re burning,” He whispered, lips dragging across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “S-So warm…So soft…So alive…”

His hips rolled again, slow but deep, pressing into you until your breath stuttered beneath his palm. Your body arched into him helplessly, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, your mouth parting on a moan that he caught with a kiss–hot, slick, and panting. He swallowed it greedily.

The pressure of his hand on your throat didn’t restrict. It grounded. Like he needed to feel your heartbeat just to believe this was real.

You whimpered, and he pulled back enough to look at you–his curls dripping sweat, his lips swollen and damp, and those eyes, half-lidded and molten gold at the edges.

“G-God, I could be inside you forever,” he rasped, voice trembling like the words themselves threatened to undo him. “I–I never want to l-leave this. Never wanna stop feeling you like this…”

Another thrust–this one deeper, grinding. Your head dropped back with a gasp.

“Bob–” You sobbed his name like it was the only word you remembered, your fingers twisting hard in his hair. He groaned, deep and wrecked, his hips stuttering slightly as you tugged, his body responding like you’d yanked something primal out of him. His mouth found yours again, frantic and hot, tongue flicking into your mouth with messy, desperate hunger.

Then he pulled back just enough to see your face–flushed, dewy with sweat, eyes glassy and wide.

“Y-You’re close again,” He murmured, like it was something holy. His hand still cradled your throat lightly, thumb stroking gently beneath your jaw as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I–I can feel it, you’re tightening every time I move–you’re doing so good for me Y/N.” You whimpered beneath him, your hands clutching at his back, at his shoulders, pulling him deeper, harder, anything–

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, rocking into you again, the friction slow and devastating. “Let go for me. Come around me. I wanna feel it. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You moaned–high and soft and broken.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Just like that. You’re doing so good—G-God–you’re so perfect.” Your thighs shook around his hips. His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, splaying wide over your sternum, as if he could feel the orgasm building beneath your ribs. His other hand slipped to your hip, holding you still as he gave one slow, deep thrust that hit the exact spot that made your vision blur.

Your mouth dropped open in a cry.

“Come for me,” He begged, hips rolling again, steady and relentless. “Please–I wanna feel you–let me feel you come around me–”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the floor, your breath catching in a series of sobbed gasps as the orgasm ripped through you. He kept moving, kept whispering praise through your climax, voice ragged with awe.

“That’s it…That’s it, Y/N…You’re so beautiful like this–“ You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, your nails digging into his back, your body convulsing beneath him with every wave of pleasure. You could feel yourself pulsing around him, feel how it dragged a strangled moan out of his throat.

“I-I’m so close,” He gasped, his voice wrecked, his rhythm faltering. “W-Wanna fill you up–please–can I–?”

You nodded, breathless and trembling. “Yes–yes, please–I want it–give it to me–” With a broken groan, his hips jerked forward one last time–and he spilled inside you. His whole body shook as he came, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you like he needed to hold every part of you to survive it.

You could feel it–every throb, every pulse of warmth deep inside you. His moans, soft and shaking, buzzed against your throat as his breath caught in your skin.

He didn’t move for a long while.

Just stayed there–buried inside you, mouth warm against your neck, arms tight around your waist like he was anchoring himself to this moment, to the rhythm of your heart against his chest. His breath was still coming in short, shaken bursts, and yours wasn’t much better. You were both trembling a little–not from fear, not anymore–but from the rawness of what had just passed between you. Like your bodies hadn’t quite caught up to the aftermath of something so explosive, so full.

But the heat was different now.

It had shifted. Softened. Still warm. Still thick. But no longer blistering, no longer maddening. Just…Lingering.

Your hands slid slowly up his back, fingers tracing through the sweat that slicked his spine, dragging across the faint bumps of his vertebrae. He let out a soft, shaky sigh against your skin. Your fingertips wandered to his sides, palms smoothing gently over the curve of his ribs as if to say I’m here. Still here. I’m okay.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his shoulder—soft, damp, reverent. His skin tasted like salt and breathless devotion.

Bob shifted then, his arms loosening around you as he lifted his head just slightly, enough to look down at you. His hair was a light brown mess, damp curls stuck to his temples, a few clinging to his cheeks. He blinked at you–slow, still dazed–but there was something clearer in his eyes now. Something tender. His hand dragged along your side, skimming your ribs, and he leaned down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill–like maybe he never would. He kissed your mouth, then your jaw, then your neck, peppering slow, breathless kisses along the column of your throat. You giggled once–just a little–as his nose brushed the underside of your jaw, tickling your skin.

He pulled back just enough to blink down at you, lips wet and parted, chest still heaving.

”Y-You know I like you, right?” Your breath caught. Your fingers paused where they rested near the nape of his neck. His voice had cracked slightly on the word like, and you could tell he meant something so much more than that. Of course you knew his feelings for you, it was easy to spot, but hearing him say it aloud–even after the both of you just had the most carnal sex ever–still made you a bit breathless. You swallowed, then nodded–eyes searching his face, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“I like you too,” You whispered, your voice shaky and soft. “Always have…” Your cheeks burned, and not from residual heat. You traced a finger over the curve of his shoulder. “T-The circumstances right now are a bit c-crazy…But…Maybe after this…”You tried to continue, but your nerves tangled the words together.

He finished them for you.

“I-I’ll take you out,” He said, nodding once, as if promising both you and himself. “We…We can go to your favorite r-restaurant. And we can do this right…” He ducked his head a little, voice lowering to a smile. “W-Without the sex pollen.” You let out a laugh–helpless and bright–and leaned up to kiss him again. He grinned into it, just a little, and kissed you twice more, slower now, like sealing the agreement. When he finally pulled back, his thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his other hand still lazily tracing your hip.

His gaze dropped to your chest for a moment, then back to your eyes. “A-Are you still aching?” He asked gently.

You paused, body still humming with the memory of him, but no longer sharp with urgency. You shifted slightly, feeling the wet stickiness between your thighs, the throb finally quieting to something warm and dull.

“It’s dulled a little,” you admitted. “But I think we should wash up…”

He blinked, nodding. “R-Right. Yeah.”

You offered a small smile, brushing the sweat-slick hair from his forehead. “We’ve got that little makeshift shower unit in the corner storage. Emergency setup. I-I can activate it.”

He looked at you, eyes soft, one hand trailing lightly over your ribs again.

“I-I’ll come with you,” He murmured. “Just to m-make sure you’re okay.” His curls hung loose now, wild and slightly matted from where your fingers had yanked at them during your climax. The gold shimmer on his skin caught the low lab lights, making him glow faintly where he hovered above you.

“Aww,” you murmured, brushing a hand lazily over the sharp line of his jaw, “That’s sweet, Bob. Really. But we both know that’s not the reason you’re joining me.” Bob flushed immediately, lips twitching into a bashful grin.

“O-Okay,” He said quietly, nuzzling your cheek with the tip of his nose. “M-Maybe it isn’t…M-Maybe I just wanna wash you, and k-kiss you under the water…Until all this heat dies down inside me.” Your chest stuttered at that, heart tripping over itself. His voice was so soft, so wrecked, so full of you.

“Now that’s much better,” You whispered, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He smiled into it, and you felt the way his arms curled tighter around your middle, the way his cock–still half-hard inside you–twitched slightly at the praise. He sighed, then slowly pulled out, both of you gasping a little at the drag of it. You shivered, and he was already reaching for a nearby towel to cover you while you sat up. His hand cradled the back of your head as you steadied yourself. Always gentle, even now.

You stretched your sore limbs and started for the far corner of the lab where the emergency hygiene setup was stored. Still naked, still glowing with post-orgasm daze, you knelt beside the console and started activating the emergency rinse station–a compact but functional retractable stall with hot water access, a single pressure-nozzle head, and sealed drainage for contamination containment. You flipped open the sanitation kit, pulling out the packet of unscented soap, a washcloth, and the emergency towels folded like paper bricks.

Bob padded over behind you, and you heard him laugh softly as you organized the supplies with shaky hands.

“What?” You said over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow.

He scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “N-Nothing. Y-You just look really focused for someone who’s still naked and covered in glittery sex pollen.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, standing and turning to face him, “Remind me to access the cameras in here later and delete the footage of what happened…”

Bob raised his brows. “You think there’s audio?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. We shouted at each other and cried out mid-orgasm while covered in science glitter. If there’s audio, we’re already blackmail material.”

His face turned scarlet.

“Y-You think they’ll–”

“I don’t think we want our sex tape leaking,” You interrupted, grinning wickedly as you flicked the shower head on. Warm water streamed out with a pleasant hiss, filling the space with a light mist and the sound of soft rainfall. You stepped under it first, pulling him gently in after you. The water hit your skin and instantly began washing away the gold flecks still clinging to your chest and thighs.

Bob’s hands found your waist again.

“…M-Maybe I’ll take a copy,” He mumbled.

You looked over your shoulder at him with mock exasperation. “You’ll have the real thing almost every night, Bob,” you said, voice low and teasing. “I don’t think you’ll need a copy.” His breath hitched–barely–and then you felt his mouth press to the back of your shoulder, his arms circling your waist from behind.

“I-Is that so?” He asked, lips trailing kisses up your damp neck.

You tilted your head back against him, smiling into the steam.

“Oh, it’s definitely so,” You said, reaching back to cup the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as the water cascaded around you both–cleansing your skin, but not your hunger.

[st4rbwrry]

𝓢𝓦𝓔𝓔𝓣𝓔𝓢𝓣 𝓣𝓗𝓘𝓝𝓖.     eren yeager.

❤︎ . . . 12k. fem!reader, set in 03’, established relationship, pregnant!reader, southern!eren, domesticity, difficult pregnancy / doubts, home birthing, marriage / vasectomy talk, mention of healthcare discrimination, lots of crying, oral ꒰ f. ꒱, gentle sex kinda, lots of kisses! + affirmations, praise, thumb in bootay, unprotected, sensitivity play, choking, lactation ‘n eren tastes it oopsie, nasty talk, creampie, pet names ꒰ sweetie, baby, mama, papa ꒱, spanking, daddy kink. minors aren't allowed! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . officially obsessed w this couple so i couldn’t help myself by writing a third part teehee. happy belated valentine’s day <3 visual.

baby . . . i’m lonely. think i w’na baby. 

a conversation starter like that would only skyrocket the heart rate of any husband. eight years of marriage with just each other, and three with the addition of honeybelle, including the fifteen chickens, four piggies, and two baby goats on the farm alongside two of the cutest tawny cows you named tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum. every moment felt rewarding, so you questioned lately why you felt so . . lonely. for the longest time you didn’t quite understand what you were missing. the life you lived with eren was perfect. it was romantic, soft, relaxing. you couldn’t have asked for anything more. 

tending to the animals on a warm sunny day, you hum tunes to yourself as the goats follow and nudge at your toffee cowboy boots, giggling and picking juicy strawberries from their stems, enjoying their company. waffles, the tan goat with blotches of white rolls serenely in the grass while the other, miss daisie, who’s an all black goat with an almost heart-shaped spot on the surface of her skull, screams and sniffs at you, craving your attention. occasionally, you’ll reach down to give affection to satisfy her. 

a brown woven basket rests on the dip of your forearm, feet traveling along the iridescent field and dropping the fruit into a sea of fresh vegetables pulled off their roots from the garden, collecting just enough to make a few meals that require them. 

that day you had an interesting epiphany. the gravel in your front yard dances along the tires of a red pickup truck that pulls into your home. a sweet friend of yours named bea drops by with her three-year-old toddler, jason. the tiny human dressed in dark washed overalls with a teal shirt underneath, and boots whom she lifts up and rests on her hip before entering the home. 

“ ꒰♡꒱, darling. missed you so much. how are you?” instantly, she’s embracing you into a tight hug, pulling away to admire your looks. 

whenever she sees you, you’re radiant. cocoa skin, a shade darker than the last time she saw you, courtesy of the suns kisses. in few sections, your raven curls are wrapped in flawless fairy locs, styled half-up into an unruly bun. a silver heart locket containing your infamous black and white wedding day photo where eren dips you low in front of a willow tree around your neck, resting on the heat of your skin radiating a fragrance of vanilla bean. the minimal hairs on your body fuzzing up when the sunlight hits where you stand by the massive bay windows overlooking your landscape. 

almond irises and beautiful full lips, slightly taller than bea by a full foot. rustic boots, an ivory flowy skirt that sits well on your curvy hips and cascades down to your ankles, pairing it with a white laced top and a matching bandana atop your head. 

“i’m doing good. up to my usual pastime of holding down the fort and cooking,” you beam, scanning her from head to toe. “you look gorgeous, how are you and the family?” 

bea’s a gorgeous woman. you notice her face is a bit chubbier, adorable pointed chin, button nose, and curly auburn hair that rests on her shoulders. caramel complexion, light voice and the prettiest hazel eyes. her son is an exact replica of her, catching a glimpse of the angel she made as he giggles and plays with honeybelle, her two inch tail wagging as she chases him around the dining room. 

“jason’s doing pretty well, we’re just coming from a doctor’s appointment, actually. just found out today that he’s going deaf in his right ear,” bea builds up the courage to weakly smile, your body pausing its movement from situating dried dishes, needing to get dinner started for eren. 

“oh my goodness, i’m sorry to hear that,” frowning, you hold a hand over your heart, the sadness in your eyes unable to shield. “how are you taking that?” 

“it’s okay, i’m okay. his overall health is what matters most to me. things like this are just something you have to prepare for being a parent,” she nods, glancing at her son. “he’s still happy as ever.”

“right,” you purse your lips. “that’s good. i’m glad. he’s a sweetheart. and armin?” 

“yeah, he’s great. been working a lot more lately, for good reason. gotta cold right now so he’s been restin’.” 

“oh no, i can drop a pot of chicken soup tomorrow if you’d like? i know you’ve got that conference with the ladies at church comin’.” 

bea takes a seat at one of the wooden chairs you have placed against the kitchen island, resting her chin into her palm as she graciously pouts. “you are the sweetest, ꒰♡꒱. i see why eren’s so smitten of you.” 

warmth flows to your cheeks from the mention of him, never changing. 

“the man’s a sap,” you roll your eyes, wedding ring shining in the light as you go to retrieve ingredients from the fridge alongside a gift you had for her. 

“oh! almost forgot,” pulling out a basket, bea gasps as you place it in front of her. 

the basket contains fresh milk from the cows placed into a carafe with a swing top to secure it, decadent, fist sized blueberry muffins you baked yourself, of course, wrapped in beeswax paper decorated with butterflies and leaves. even a few red apples and oranges picked from the garden, bea’s favorites. 

“oh, honeybee, bless your soul. thank you!” 

you bow your head. “ ‘course, i told you i’d have a lil’ treat for you.” 

grabbing a few extra base ingredients; packaged seafood from the farmers market and a bottle of wine, you go to pour yourself a glass. “you w’na glass? i’m makin’ a big pot of seafood gumbo if you w’na stay and have dinner with us. eren’s been craving it.” 

“ooh, i’d love to, but armin wants us home before sundown. he gets really fussy about me taking long distance drives without him, especially with jason.” 

“awe, he’s protective. eren’s kinda the same. he has a heart attack every time i run out for something. he taught me how to drive ‘bout two months ago, but i’m still kinda rusty. got me that buggy out front.” 

“i did see it! that’s the cutest car ever. it’s about time you learnt how to get on the road.” 

you shrug. “my anxiety was kickin’ my ass for the longest. i can still be his passenger princess. he knows not to get comfortable,” you grin smugly, the two of you sharing a laugh before you reach for the second glass for bea, only to have her wave her hand to reject. 

“no wine for me, thanks. i can’t.” 

“mm? how come?” brow raising in curiosity, you push the cork back inside, resting a hand on your hip that you pop out. 

the dimple in her right cheek sinks in as she draws her lips inwardly, hands going down to her stomach, rubbing in a circle motion with bright eyes. your eyes dart from her baby bump she hid well underneath her black dress, up to her eyes again in shock. gasping, your hands go over your mouth. 

“no fuckin’ way! oh my god, another one?!” 

“another one! we’ve been waiting to tell everyone, but i’m ’bout four months out.” 

“holy shit, congratulations!” 

rushing around the counter, you give her a hug, rocking side by side. “oh wow, that’s such good news. does jason know?” 

“not yet, i’m kind of scared to tell him. although he’ll notice when i start blowing up. he likes his own company. a sibling is a big change.” 

“i can understand that, i haven’t any siblings so i adapted to that. i wouldn’t mind having a sister or somethin’.” 

“what about you?” bea suddenly questioned. 

as you begin to chop up veggies, you stare at her confused. 

“a baby. you guys been married for a long time. never thought about it?” 

that’s the question of all questions, one you’ve avoided your entire marriage. of course, it’s been discussed, the second year of your relationship actually. which is why you were strict on birth control given your equal sexual infatuation. it was too risky, so you took the safe option. for the longest time all you ever wanted was him, your home, and your animals. a baby was never in mind. you found it nauseating to think of, actually.

“it’s been talked about once or twice, but never to a point of coming to an agreement. eren’s okay with how our lives are now, and frankly, so am i. i don’t see a baby for us, or any time soon. i don’t dislike them, but i’m not so sure if i’m fit to be a mother. there’s a lot of sacrifices that come with that.” 

bea nods understandingly, deciding to chalk the conversation and talk of other things. as you stir the roux until you get a perfect chocolate color, you chat with her until the sun sets, occasionally glancing at jason who sits on the ground coloring in his book, fluffy blond hair tousled around his small face. you can’t help this odd feeling in your chest as you look at him, even when hearing bea talk about the new baby. you can’t shake that hunch that maybe, just maybe, it could be a possibility. far away from now that is. 

seeing your husband walk through the front door to greet your friend and kiss you on the cheek, attired in work clothes and watching him interact with the child with the widest smile on his face made your chest clench. tickling him after washing his hands, giving high fives and engaging in conversation with bea as he sits on the floor with him, right leg propped up while his large body leans down to color with him. 

it almost made you tear up, wondering how he’d be with your child. he’s an amazing man, and your positively sure he’d be an even better father. it was a tough decision. the good thing about eren is that he was an attentive listener, action based, willing to understand your feelings and concerns while coming to a conclusion, knowing you have such a bad habit of closing in. so it made it easier to come to him about a lot of things that weighed on you. 

sending off bea with a container of gumbo, you both say your goodnights to her, eren watching as she enters her car safely and drives away before shutting the door and pulling you in close for hugs and smooches. after having dinner, cleaning up and showering, in the plushness of your king sized bed, candles lit and law and order on play, that’s when you bring the conversation up while applying shea butter to your legs anxiously. 

easing in slowly, you decide to test the waters by saying something that, even though you were unsure of, was technically a true feeling. 

“baby . . . i’m lonely. think i w’na baby.” 

maybe you weren’t fit to be a mother. 

maybe this was punishment. that sinking fear you had for the entirety of your marriage about having children was right all along. you were scared. maybe this baby hated you, knew you weren’t the right person to bring them into this world. that’s why it’s been giving you the worst pregnancy known to man. or maybe your body just wasn’t built to carry a child. 

countless of doctors, a therapist even, and no one fixed that insecurity within the chromosomes of your brain. morning sickness should never start with ‘morning’, because it’s all day, every day damn near. you can’t indulge in your favorite foods anymore, walking is painful because your feet are blown up and you can no longer fit half of your closet. you cry almost every single day, and you feel bad because eren constantly worries about you. it’s just as upsetting for him. 

the incessant fatigue, headaches, backaches, occasional pelvic pain, heartburn, and multiple obgyn appointments of them telling you that all of your symptoms were normal, that there was nothing to worry about. neither of you were fond of the idea of taking tons of medications, and it became not only exhausting, but you felt embarrassed by how many times you had eren rushing you to your primary doctor. 

the first trimester seemed to be the most difficult period to which you experienced the most discomfort. you figured it was natural given your body has never been in this state before, it’s slowly transitioning. this wasn’t just a period with regular cramps, you were creating a child inside of you. that itself was terrifying, yet exciting. because in the end you know it’ll be worth it. to see both of your faces morphed into one angelic being crafted out of love. this was your first baby, so of course you were preparing for possible difficulty. you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. 

you’d spend days on end researching and finding other women whose experiences were the same. it eased you to some degree to discover you weren’t alone. then came the third trimester, and the horrible symptoms you faced from the start reappeared. you believe it’s because you were getting closer to birth. 

hating the way your mind conjured up the worst thoughts, you found yourself falling into depression. eren did his best to make sure you had everything you needed. taking time off from work to tend to you. he wasn’t the best in the kitchen, and sometimes you’d have to come help him, much better on the grill. even the extravagant ones he tried to surprise you with. though most of the time you could only eat half before you started to get nauseous. 

he took care of the farm, carried you up and down the stairs, stayed up half the night at times to study healthy exercises to practice together, and continued therapy with you. he made the process so much better. always kissing you, telling you how beautiful you were even if you didn’t feel it, gave you massages and ran you baths. even if all of it was sweet, you felt like a weakling. like he was your caretaker and you were an old ass lady. 

only he’d reassure you after you weep and sniffle in your hands by saying, “mama, i’m your husband. i’m deeply in love with you, ‘n will always be. the very least i can do, especially when you’re doing the hardest fuckin’ part which is carrying our child, is take care of you. so stop all that cryin’ and come cuddle.” 

times when check ups were happy days, and you could see your baby on the monitor as the nurse rubs the transducer over your overgrown belly, that vertical dark streak on the middle the cutest thing eren’s ever seen, often kissing it as he placed his ear to your belly to feel the baby kick — turned bad. the baby was healthy, that was the great thing. sitting low in your belly just ready to be out the womb. it’s when the pain pummels harsher that causes concern. 

one day they’re telling you that your fine, then the next you’re having trouble breathing, sleeping, horrible tailbone pain and even worse pelvic pain. you think the worst part of it all is seeing the repeated stress on your husbands face. the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, forehead creases, brittle hair, it broke your fucking heart. to see him sitting beside you as he irritably bounces his right leg while clasping his hands together and leaning forward in an almost scolding manner. listening to the nurse reexplain shit you’ve heard too many damn times. 

their methods weren’t working, and no matter how many times you expressed how you felt, it feels like it went through one ear and out the other. taking notice of it mostly when you came by yourself, and instantly you knew something was off. so you started coming with eren. you’ve lived in this town for more than eleven years, on the outskirts of georgia at that. at times you forget that not everyone’s empathetic, or open to the idea of you as a black woman. a pregnant one at that. you refused to take any more medicine. if an emergency labor needed to happen, you were willing to do whatever it takes. 

then, eren finally snaps, because he knows it’s deeper than surface level shit. 

“there have been too many occurrences where my wife has informed y’all multiple times about the pain she’s experiencing, and y’all brush it off ‘n tell her to go home, sleep it off, take this medication, rest. at this point, i’m startin’ to realize y’all aren’t listenin’ to her pain. you’re blatantly ignoring what the fuck she’s saying, and i don’t mean to get disrespectful, so excuse me for my mouth, but i’m fed the fuck up.” 

“i’m sorry, mister yeager. there’s not much else we can do but see how her body responds to —”

eren hastily stands to his feet, and your eyes bulge in slight fear, reaching to grab his bicep as he keeps his focus on the perinatologist, surprise in his eyes from eren’s defense. 

“i couldn’t give less of a shit ‘bout any of that. the only, and i mean only time y'all show her some form of care for her health is when i’m here. every time when i’m not, i’m hearing stories ‘bout how y'all sending her home tellin’ her she’s fuckin’ fine when she’s not fuckin’ fine. i have to see this shit firsthand, not you. i know exactly what the fuck this is, do not play with me.” 

what makes this out of the ordinary is that you’ve never heard eren raise his voice in your life. whenever he was upset, he usually spoke in a stern, collected manner. this made you uncomfortable, the bellow of his tone and even the shock in the nurse’s features. swallowing, you pick yourself up to outstretch your hand over your heavy belly and slowly slid off the geri, eren’s head cautiously knocking in your direction regardless of the tension in the room to help you. 

his hand goes around your waist, giving you a look to ask if you were good before you nod in response, too embarrassed to eye the nurse and apologize out of uneasiness. that would only drive eren mad, knowing he’d tell you not to apologize for shit because he didn’t deserve it. he could see it written on your face. you were too damn kind to those who weren’t worthy. 

“let’s go, baby. you are never comin’ back here. y'all better be damn lucky i ain’t suin’ y'all.” 

the day was so vague you could remember him holding your hand as you waddled to the car, rubbing your belly and staring at the back of his head in silence. knowing he needed it for a minute. he secures you in before sitting in the drivers seat and sinking back to meditate, eyes shut and chest carefully rising and falling. nibbling at your lip, you rub his arm to transfer your soothing energy. your touch makes him crack a weak smile, turning his head as he lays back to stare at your pretty face. 

eren rubs his thumb over your hand, bringing it up to kiss the back of it. “i’m sorry you had to see me raise my voice. i don’t like gettin’ outta character in front of you. you know that.”

“it wasn’t uncalled for, your emotions are valid. i appreciate you for protecting me. i think i’ve long accepted that not many people care too much about specific women’s health. it’s a sad realization, but i know i’ll be okay,” you speak softly, bringing your face closer to his to rest with him. “we’ll be okay. the baby is healthy, and pain is temporary.”

what comes next is almost scarier than this whole ordeal. eren takes a deep inhale, grabbing your face to press his forehead to yours before releasing a trembling breath, tears beginning to stream down his face as he cries. finally. locking it away to stay strong for you. the thump in your chest hurts, really fucking bad. witnessing your husband weep as he holds you, clenching his jaw, sniffling, and choking out a small cough. kissing your lips to tell you he’s okay was sentimental. he just wants the best for the both of you. the pain of a father and a husband. 

you’ve seen him cry, only one other time when his father passed away. the grief, hatred, and acceptance encased all into one as you held him in your arms by the fireplace on the living room floor, funeral clothing on you both, letting him take the time he needed. wiping his face, you kiss all over it, rubbing his broad back before giving him a warm embrace. 

“it’s g’na be okay, sweetie,” a hand smooths down the back of his head, cringing at the greasiness of his scalp. “you need a wash day.” 

both of you laugh in unison, eren sniffling and releasing a guttural ‘ugh’ as he clears himself up. “sorry, papa hasn’t been givin’ sexy, blue collar country boy lately.” 

“shush, boy,” you giggle, sitting fully into your seat. you stroke his face, staring intensely into his moss and smoky toned eyes. his lashes are long, hair disheveled into a manbun with tendrils on either side of his bushy eyebrows. the faint line of hair he has directly above his lip always an attractive feature. “you’re always sexy, daddy. even on rough days.” 

“mm, i love you, baby. so much,” eren leans in to kiss the bridge of your nose before interlocking your lips, one hand on the wheel as he arches over the center console. 

your hand crinkles his white tee, whimpering into his touch when his other hand goes to touch your lower back side, arching you into him, moving your lips with his. “eren?”

“mm,” he groans, mouth getting rougher. “miss you so fuckin’ much. you been lookin’ so good lately, mama.” 

pouting, you pull yourself away. “don’t get me riled up, mister yeager. i can’t do what i w’na do to you.” 

eren sits back, chuckling as he scratches the small stubble he has on his chin with his thumb, grinning, smile lines deep and teeth bright and perfectly aligned outside of the pointy canines he possesses. 

“you right.” 

“mhm.” 

“all shit aside, pretty. your health is my biggest fuckin’ priority. when we get home, ima order some chinese and we can look more into that midwife bea talked about. huh? that sound good?” 

“sounds perfect,” you rub at your stomach with both hands, eren placing his hand there as well as he starts up the truck. “oh, don’t forget that head gettin’ washed. grease bandit.” 

“yeah, yeah.”

after a deep, foamy scalp cleanse infused with lavender, eren sits on the fluffy rug on your bedroom floor with a baby pink spa towel wrapped around his head as he types and scrolls on his dell laptop. next to him in a butterfly position, digging into your lo-mein with wooden chopsticks inside the traditional takeout box with a red pagoda imprinted on the front. matcha green jelly eyepatches covering your dark circles, eren wearing some as well. 

you’re dressed in a black polka dot camisole with lace trimmings and matching shorts that your body eats up and shrinks. the two of you stay up until one in the morning, taking notes and searching for reliable sources. eren found out that he could get you someone called a doula, who will provide you with medical guidance and emotional support during your final stages of pregnancy. booking a few consultations for midwives as well. indefinitely, you felt very optimistic about this. you’d even find yourselves making little image boards for your baby, whom you soon discovered a beautiful surprise from. 

you received the envelope a while back, but the two of you chose to wait for the right moment considering the events happening. hand in hand at the bakery a few days later, eren requested a gender reveal cake where he drove an hour out of town back where your father resided to find the willow tree the two of you got married under. laying out a picnic blanket, there showcased the plain oval cake reading ‘it’s a . .’ with half plain for eren and half supreme pizza for you. chocolate covered strawberries to feast on after, and cranberry juice since it was the closest taste you could get to wine. 

it wasn’t a big deal to you whether it was a girl or boy, you’d love them endlessly. it would be no greater feeling than to have any baby laying in either of your arms, or the perfect beige nursery you and eren decorated together. you’ll admit you got emotional as both of you held a glass, tears running ferociously down your face, preparing to scoop either side of the cake, awaiting the reveal. 

“oh my god, oh my god. i’m scared. this is scary.” 

“eight months of pregnancy, and this what you scared ‘bout?” eren lifts a brow, your mouth curving up as you pop his shoulder. “꒰♡꒱! c’mon. i w’na see, girl.” 

“okay, okay. whew, i’m sorry. i’m ready.” 

pushing your glasses into the cake with eyes shut tight, you slowly pop open one eye to see the color, gasping and bouncing in your spot at the pink inside, weeping and wrapping your arms around eren’s neck as he rocks you side to side in happiness. 

“it’s a girl, it’s a girl!”

screeching in his face as you plop back down, you see the tinge of sadness on his face, furrowing your brows as he blinks away his tears that were coming too fast for his liking. 

“sweetie, what’s wrong?”

eren sniffles, clenching his jaw and turning his head out of view. “i’m g’na need another gun.” 

sucking your teeth, you nudge his shoulder. “oh, boy!” 

burying his face in his hand and wiping his eyes, eren chortles. “i’m serious, two precious things to protect, oh my fuckin’ days i’m g’na have a heart attack. the fear. gimme sum water.” 

“erennn, stop! asshole,” the laugh coaxes out of you, seriously watching his features as you pick at the hem of your dress. you know he’s dead serious, but you want to make sure he’s happy about it. “is a girl not what you wanted?” 

eren almost malfunctions. “are you kidding? a baby is what i want. i could give a damn ‘bout the gender. fuck, she’s g’na look just like you. the prettiest face.” 

that makes you cry again, mushing your lips with his passionately and squealing excitedly. 

after your picnic, eren took you to speak to your mother at her gravesite, awakening her tombstone by adding daises and sunflowers. you update her on the past few months, apologizing for not speaking to her for a while since you’ve been occupied, and mentioning how much you adored eren who currently spoke to his mother at her stone. it was refreshing, a mental cleanse. 

inquiring a midwife and doula was the best decision for not only your pregnancy, but your marriage. strictly requesting a top holistic woman of color for obvious reasons, their methods made you more comfortable in your body, and even anticipated to push out your little bun. the past few weeks have really been a breeze, and you felt so much healthier, and light even though little girl kicked like a motherfucker and sat low as hell. 

with each consultation, eren sat by your side to observe every interaction, coming to an agreement after two interviews. whoever you felt the safest to handle you, he was up for it. luckily for you, the doula and midwife were associated under the same company. when they arrived for the first time, rose being the doula, and valeria being the midwife, observed your home and discussed plans on pursuing a home birth. 

due to uncertain circumstances, you felt more at peace having your baby in the home where her future will begin. unmedicated and with your husband and people you trusted. they ordered an inflatable tub for you since the moment they stepped into your bathroom and saw the clawfoot tub, immediately shook their heads in disapproval. they even made you get inside to prove why it’d be bad. there wouldn’t have been enough room for you to move when you had to. 

the days were flying by, due approximately in three weeks. today was a friday, which also happened to be valentine’s day. it was warm outside, usher’s new album confessions playing soundly from your silver jensen stereo. all of the windows in the home were open, letting in the breeze as you exhale deeply. currently, you were up to another session of stretches and workouts. 

“doing good, baby girl! make sure you keep your back straight. twirl those hips for me, we gotta target that girdle pain. work that pelvic area!” 

“i’m hungryy,” you manage to weep, hands leveraging your hips as you motion your lower halve in circles atop of the baby pink birth ball. 

“it’s ’cause your husband out there havin’ a whole cookout,” rose laughs, 

“he always cooks for all the women in the neighborhood on valentine’s day,” your cheek rests on your shoulder from adornment, watching him through the window that faces the backyard where smoke fills the air along with the thick smell of barbecue. 

eren’s wearing his favorite fitted black cap with a white embroidered nba logo placed on the nape, shifted backwards on his head, chestnut hair leveled to his jaw in wavy ringlets after giving him a cut. a plain white t-shirt, and dark 501 levi jeans that fit his thighs almost snugly, still giving him enough room to appear loose. the watch you’d gotten him for your fifth anniversary on his dominant wrist as he brushed the ribs with his special sauce while his other hand, paired with a slim silver cuban link, sipped on a budweiser. 

it didn’t help that you were practically riding this ball right now while you look at him as he does nothing but grill, drink, and stare at the lake while occasionally checking on you through the window. or, perhaps, the huge belly in your way. zoning out and daydreaming the most disgusting things briefly before you knock yourself out of it, forgetting you have company. he looked irresistible. it’s been driving you off edge for a long time, forgetting the last time you’ve had sex. it had to have been about three months, take away last month when he ate you out on the recliner. 

it was so annoying how raging your hormones were ever since you got pregnant. might you add, four months after the ‘i w’na have a baby’ conversation. you were almost sure you’d have sex every time he came home from work. it wasn’t intentional, although you did hold back on your birth control, and condoms weren’t neither of your things. finding out was just a non-panicked ‘uh oh’ when you showed him the test as he sat on the toilet handling business and you brushed your teeth while staring at it the entire time. eren was ecstatic overall. 

you wanted him so bad, missed him so bad. he’s been so respectful of your healing process that it makes you hornier at the thought. also, he makes fun of you for being his ‘stalker’ as if you haven’t been married forever, constantly watching him every day. you’ll be reading a book, watching tv, or cooking something you’re craving and there he is mowing the lawn, feeding the chickens, cleaning his truck, on the grill — too many things he does turns you on naturally. 

“ ꒰♡꒱?” 

“wha—huh?” 

“up, chile. we’re g’na do these last stretches so we can have you rest for the day,” valeria chirps, gently clapping her hands together and holding out her palms to help you stand. 

“oh, okay!” 

“you alright?” rose checks in, ordering a few things you needed for the upcoming labor visit. she noticed you checked out for a while. 

clearing your throat, you nod like a bobble head, curving your lips in tight doing an awkward smile. “yeah! i just . . have an . . inappropriate question.” 

valeria stands behind you as she lowers you to sit on the yoga mat by your underarms. “i doubt it can be inappropriate. we are nurses, heard everything under the sun. okay. . . starting with happy baby!” 

groaning, you steady your breath before raising your legs, making sure they were spread far apart and lowering your knees to your side. being thirty-four weeks and thirty-six centimeters had you feeling like a whale. at least you were a cute whale. you also had an endearing fascination with your belly, often spending time with your daughter by massaging shea butter delicately over her home or having full conversations. it was your soft moments of bonding. so, she was well moisturized all the time, rarely any stretch-marks.  

you were fond of your overall growth to be honest. your appearance didn’t change much other than the obvious. your feet were a little chubbier, and your boobs only grew one bra size. skin care was a priority since you were paranoid of a bunch of insecurities, so you glowed and got hundreds of compliments. eren surely had an infatuation with you being pregnant. if the man couldn’t keep his hands off you before, it certainly became an addiction now. 

“okay, this is a bit personal. but, me and eren haven’t had sex in like three months. he’s done . . things, even helped me wax her. so i don’t think i’m insecure about how she looks per-say. i was just wondering if it’d be safe to do in the third trimester. my hormones make me feel horny, but i’m kinda scared.” 

rose and valeria manage to cackle in unison, a pout on your lips as you raise to do your deep side to side squats, valeria making sure to stay close by for balance. “seriously y’all, i w’na have sex. y’know how much okra water he’s been having me drink? she’s slippery!” 

“my god,” rose shakes her head. 

“well, the answer is yes, you can certainly have sex. it’s perfectly healthy. just remember to take it slow since you are due in three weeks. little angel could fly out any minute.” 

“fly?!” you shrieked. 

“jokesss, oh my goodness. don’t scare her, valeria. this is her first baby!” 

“sorry, sorry! sex is good! nothing bad will happen. so, have plenty of it. well, not too much though, just enough. you see where these poses got you in the first place,” valeria says, laughing as you groan knowingly. “move into the child pose and we’re all done!” 

lowering yourself down to your knees, you get into a doggy position and stretch your arms straight ahead of you, stomach hanging. “i was just thinking ‘bout how much i missed him, and we haven’t fully connected like that in a while. i hold it very spiritually in my mind. i think it will be good for both of us, especially before lil’ mamas gets here.” 

“it is valentine’s day. let’s hope he gives you a good ass time. he’s showing off right now, and he’s been staring at your ass.”

that makes you laugh hard, really hard. though instantly after, you feel a sharp pain stab at the side of your hip, wincing and hissing out loud, dropping your head and whimpering from the ache. both women rush by your side quicker than you could blink. 

“꒰♡꒱, what is it?” rose asks, crouching to be eye level. 

“it’s just that stupid random pinch i get, probably just pulled it a little,” scrunching your face up, you sit on the balls of your feet as your midwife observes. applying pressure to the spot your holding. “she’s a heavy girl.” 

“alright, honey. let’s finish for today. you’re probably overexerting yourself. i’m g’na heat up some essential oils and give you a massage before we wrap up, okay darlin’?” 

smiling graciously, you nod. “thank you both. a massage would be lovely.” 

“who’s givin’ my wife a massage?” 

suddenly, your husband walks in, holding up a tinfoil pan of ribs, chicken wings, and burgers. shirt riding up showcasing his dark happy trail, devilishly sharp v-line and the navy blue boxers tight on his skin. he’s watching you the whole time, noticing your upturned face and removing the toothpick from his molars. “mama, what’s wrong?” 

“i’m okay, sweetie. i just have some tension in my hip. she might’ve been moving as i was.” 

eren approaches you in three long strides, the carabiner with numerous keys among other trinkets hooked to his belt loop hitting against his thigh, soon crouching before you to hold out his hands he’s wiped clean. 

“c’mon, lemme help you up. you sure you good?” 

“mhm,” he’s lifting you as if you’re still the lightest thing in the world, staring at his body, sniffing his nautica cologne discreetly as he turns to look towards the other women. 

“what‘s goin’ on?” 

“i’m g’na give her a deep tissue massage before we wrap it up for the day. she’s doing good, just might’ve hurt herself while laughing and stretching.” 

“laughing ‘bout what? y’all talkin’ ‘bout me?” eren’s bushy brow arches, slanted eyes finding yours again. 

“oop,” rose purses her lips, turning her head. 

blushing from his amused tone, you answer, “just girl stuff. it made me laugh.” 

“baby, you gotta be careful.” 

“i am,” you huff irritably, rolling your eyes. he stares, your mood flipping within two seconds. 

“i think one more stretch could help before that. eren, would you mind helping her out?” rose asks. 

“sure thing,” he’s pulling you in by your waist. “doin’ the tummy lift?” 

“yes sir. just be super gentle as usual. while you hold the baby up, i’ll put some pressure on her hip.”

eren listens to their instructions, standing behind you and pressing your back to his chest. both of his calloused palms lay on either side of your tummy underneath, keeping his focus on your face to stay alert of any discomfort. he practices the breathing exercises he was taught with you, delicately lifting your stomach to give relief to your pelvis. 

“mmm,” moaning peacefully, your eyes falter shut as you rest your head back on eren’s chest. he kisses your forehead, valeria crouching underneath, sliding your periwinkle yoga pants down your waist just enough to lather and knead the oil into your flesh. 

“is that lavender?” 

“yup! lemongrass and chamomile, too.” 

“it’s soo good,” you whined, her technique making you want to drool. 

“it’ll help with the pain a lot. i’ll make sure to leave some here, eren. you can do this a few more times for her until it’s gone.” 

“anything she needs.” 

“he’s so sweet and cute, i love him,” you smile widely, reaching up to cup his jaw, eren humming and mushing his cheek to yours. 

“the sweetest,” rose agrees. “are you passing out platters to the whole neighborhood, eren?” 

“yeah, i usually give it to all the ladies who ꒰♡꒱ is close to, or buy her goodies. i’m g’na make y'all a plate to go. ꒰♡꒱ made some candied yams, and i did the potato salad.” 

“it better not be no raisins in that salad,” valeria squints her eyes playfully up at him. opening your eyes, you get what she was hinting at, trying not to burst out laughing. 

“nah,” eren chuckles, understanding as well. 

“it’s my ma’s recipe. promise, it’s real good.” 

“it is, i promise,” you vouch. 

“i trust your judgment then.”

a couple of hours had passed until the sun died down. this was your favorite time of the day to unwind. a vinyl on spin, room 112 to be exact. candles lit, the low muffle of the television streaming sex and the city, and the softness of your cloud duvet. as you sip on your cranberry juice poured into a wine glass, cheating your brain into thinking it’s red wine — you rest up against the ten’s of pillows decorated along the headboard to support you. the air conditioning kept the room icy cold like you adored, your hair was tossed up into a messy bun, and a silk pearl robe adorned your skin. 

hearing the sound of the shower stop as you write in your journal, you twinkle your toes and gaze up at the ceiling where fifty, yes fifty, heart shaped red and pink balloons floated. just this morning, eren woke you up with the prettiest surprise of breakfast in bed, a pregnant friendly mimosa, strawberries that were cut into hearts, and fluffy belgian waffles with turkey bacon. the room was filled with light, roses spread along the entire bedroom and bedding alongside a giant blooming bouquet of red roses and calla lilies. 

the strings sway around the room still from the air conditioner, smiling sweetly as you daydream of the morning, stuffing your face with the breakfast he made and watching him open the walk-in closet to show you the new vintage vanity he’d built for you. the way he showed his love for you could move mountains. 

closing your journal, you can’t help but pout as you feel yourself beginning to tear up. you couldn’t stand when all of your emotions would hit you at once. thinking of your baby, your marriage, how difficult this pregnancy started off, and even how much you wished your mother were here to witness and guide you through it all. 

“fuckin’ hell,” you set your book on the nightstand where the floral beige lamp illuminated the entire room with light. 

whimpering and wiping your face, the small sound causes your husband to whoosh his head out of the bathroom door in fear, toothpaste covering his lips as he stops brushing his teeth, towel draped around his waist and hair sleek down his structure. 

“unh uh, what’s wrong, baby?” quickly, he rinses his mouth before coming toward you, your lips curving inward as he leans over your frame with his fists on either side of you. 

all you can do is stare down at his towel lewdly showing the imprint of his dick sitting on his thigh. 

“huh? talk to me.”

“i’m okay. i’m just thinking about a lot.” 

“don’t short yourself. y’know i don’t like that shit,” his jaw clenched, waiting for a real answer.  

sighing, you sniffle and sit yourself up higher. eren reaches for your feet to rub on, smoothing his hands up and down your calves. the touch makes you swallow, trying to calm yourself down. he smelt really good, always did but he bought a new body wash that held bergamot undertones. hair appearing darker since it was still somewhat damp. arms full of veins leading to his big hands that grope you. biceps hard at touch. he watches you like a hawk, and to this day eye contact with him makes you anxious. 

“um, i just wanted to tell you that i love you. i was expressing myself in my journal about a few things i felt like i needed to say to you.”

“mhm, go on, baby.” 

splaying your hands over your belly, your face sets into happiness. “jus’ w’na say i know this hasn’t been the easiest time for either of us, and i wanted to let you know that i put your emotions on the same level as mine. seeing me like that couldn’t have been easy. it weighs heavy on me to this day. i am happy, however, that we found two special women that have made this such a beautiful ending no matter how it started.” 

“they’re amazing women, definitely. i’m immensely grateful for them. havin’ you smile again was such a blessing,” eren takes your hand to smooth his thumb over, kissing the back of it. 

of course, you’re crying again. “i want you to know that i’ve always, always cherished this baby. i hated those thoughts that doubted me becoming a mother. it haunted me on nights i couldn’t sleep. i . . i l-love our baby, eren. i swear. i love her.” 

eren’s heart clenches as you sob, sitting closer to you so he could wrap his arm under your thighs, holding your legs to his hip and leveling his face with yours while still giving you enough space. 

“hey, hey, i know that, baby. i never doubted that. you couldn’t control what was happening to you. thoughts like that are normal. this is a big step for you, this is your first baby. everything that you’ve experienced has been normal. rose and valeria even said that those doctors were fuckin’ liars and managed what they couldn’t. it’s so much better now. you’re so much better. i know you love her, and she loves you too.” 

nodding, you squeeze your eyes tight, tears pouring down your sweet face. “thank you. i love you so much. i’ve loved every moment of our marriage. i appreciate that we’ve been there for each other for a lot of shit. you make me so happy.” 

“and it will continue to be that way. i love you so fuckin’ much, ꒰♡꒱. you make me the happiest man alive. i love our daughter, i cannot wait to see her, and hold her.”

“i know right,” you giggle softly, swiping the back of your hands under your eyes. “she’s g’na be so tiny and smell like baby lotion. i’m sticking with the speculation that she has your eyes.” 

“my eyes and your precious face,” he pinches your cheek between two knuckles. “i’ll admit i am scared of being a father. not sure how i’ll be in exact, i’ll try my hardest of course. it’s when she gets older that i worry about. but, i know i’ll be a damn good one. though, only the child can judge whether or not that’s true.” 

“i think you’ll be a great father, she’ll love you. as for when she’s older, luckily we’ll have plenty of time until that begins. i just wish our mom’s could see her,” you frown, the distant pain not so distant in meaningful moments. 

eren weakly curves up his lip, the look in his eyes mimicking yours; heartbreak. “yeah, i wish they were. good thing is she’ll have her grandfather.” 

the thought of your father makes you warm, your relationship with him so much better than it was before. even eren gets along with him. 

“he’ll drive her crazy, that’s for sure.” 

“i see it now,” eren groans. 

“also,” you start, keeping his attention. “i feel like this would be a good time to talk about how i’m never doing this shit again,” the stare on your face is dead serious, scanning his features to find anything negative. “i mean fucking never.” 

eren snorts, shaking his head as he chuckles, patting your bare thigh. “baby, i knew that. i’m genuinely okay with one child.” 

“you will get a vasectomy,” you speak sternly, squinting. 

“i heard you. i’m with whatever my wife wants.” 

beaming, you let out a thankful squeak. “yup, thank you papa. you’re so understanding, and so sexyy.” 

leaning in to kiss him, you eye the way he dangerously stares at you, licking his lips after and pulling himself back to dig his fists into the bed and spread his thighs wide, knocking his head backwards and scoffing. 

“anything else you w’na talk about?” 

it dwells on you that you haven’t had that talk in a while, mentioning it earlier to chat about it and see how you felt mentally and physically. eren surveys your mind, how quiet you get as you chew at your bottom lip and study the bumpy path of his abs, thin pubic hair leading down to the towel hiding what you really wanted to talk about if being technical. 

olive irises swirling with stormy gray dilating as they scan the silky robe draped around your naked frame. because your legs are sitting halfway up, he lowers his eyes to catch your pussy playing peek-a-boo, tightening your thighs while he clenches his. 

“what you w’na do, mama. i can see it in your face,” eren rasps, just waiting for you to say it. he’s hard as fuck right now. can’t help it. 

you look radiant, skin well moisturized, lips soft and eyes low. coils of hair flowing around the structure of your face. you smell even better, in fact, he wanted to smell you right now, every where.  

lifting himself up, he scoots closer once again, your body instinctively arching into him the moment his hands glide down the top of your thighs, mingling breaths momentarily before his mouth comes to your neck which prompts your legs to spread apart. sucking on the flesh and indenting his fingers into your plush thighs. 

“eren,” whimpering, you bring your hands to hold his face, face scrunching up with pleasure as he trails his mouth on either side of your neck, leaving tender bites and heavy licks of his tongue. 

“thought you forgot how to speak?” grunting, his mouth falls down to the valley of your breasts, untying your robe and pushing it off your shoulders. 

“mm, taste me.” 

with desperation, eren runs his tongue between your breastbone, leaving kisses here and there, drawing the side of your tits into his mouth until he reaches one of your nipples. you’re laying back into the pillows, letting him slot himself in between your legs and moaning as you tug on his hair and he guzzles your nipple into his mouth. he’s delicate at first, aware of how sensitive they were to touch.

“fuuck,” eren hisses, slamming his hand on the side of your ass, feeling himself sink into the depths of his attraction for you. how much he’s been needing to fuck you. 

twirling his tongue around your areola repeatedly, he heaves over your flesh and tweaks at them with the pads of his fingers, your whines the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. eren could hear the neediness in your voice. the churn of your expressions heated yanks at his scalp making you equally grind your hips, the material of the towel drawing precum from the head. 

he’s pulling at your chest with his lips, occasionally nipping the hard buds with teeth, and it makes you blush. what comes next is unexpected. when eren unlinks his mouth, he stares down at your chest to see that you’ve lactated, feeling his face go red at the sight and his dick jump without his control. 

“ooo, shit, baby. look,” his brows connect from the arousal he feels, cupping either of your breast and pressing them together, the dribble of white pooling down to his knuckles from them both. it’s a small droplet, but it makes him wanna suck it up so bad. 

“oh my god, no!” gasping, you go to cover them in bewilderment, only to have him stop you almost aggressively. 

“don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he clenches his jaw, stopping you from the stringent tone of his voice. 

“eren.” 

“hold still, i won’t say it again.” 

soon, his thick tongue is sticking out to do exactly what he planned, to suck you up. moaning from the intense stare he gives your chest, he’s lapping it up hungrily, like he’s been craving it. did he just discover a new kink he had? for sure. and maybe you had it too because he looked so fucking good slurping you up, applying pressure with his lips to potentially draw out more he could swallow. the warm liquid pours onto his tongue little by little.  

“ugh, fuck,” eren goes to smack the side of your tit reflexively hard, grunting. 

“a-ah, baby,” the palms of your hands shove at his shoulders and he pulls away without a fight. 

“it’s sweet,” eren smirks, showing you his tongue before licking his lips and grinning at the shock on your face. “too freaky?” 

“n-no,” you bury your face into your forearm. “i’ve just . . i dunno. i’m just sensitive.” 

“they sensitive?” he taunts, moving his face to your neck again, peppering kisses and slamming his hand on your ass again. your lower body shifts, clamping your thighs together to squeeze and relieve the throbbing. 

“yes,” you respond, reaching for his towel to pull off, making a noise as you stare at his dick standing heavy and angry. needing you in the worst way. 

“show me all the places you're sensitive.”

this is a game you loved to play, the excitement brewing in your chest. 

“right here,” you motion to your hips by dancing your fingers delicately over them, eren already guessing you were going to say that. you loved having your hips kissed and licked at, it made you so wet. 

discarding his towel and your robe off the bed, eren situated himself fully on the mattress, grabbing you by your ankles to pull you down so you're on your back, making sure your head is leveraged on the pillow. his hair covers his face when he lowers himself to your aching hips you raise up with caution, trying not to smack him in the face with your stomach. eren’s mouth starts at the area under your breast, sloppily mouthing and licking until he finds his way to your twitching hips, shuddering loudly when he goes to bite there, a guttural noise emerging from his throat before he’s using the thickness of his tongue to drag at your hips and inner thighs. 

“yess, baby. ooo, keep going, please,” your mouth falls open, vision blurring and skin prickling with heat. every touch he gives you sets you ablaze, not realizing you’ve been waiting to feel this for so long. 

eren moves his mouth to the other side of your waist to repeat his actions, rushing his tongue over the mound of your pussy before he got there. the simple crusade makes you whine, bucking your hips. his fingers part your legs further apart, almost putting you back into that happy baby position you were in earlier. he takes the pads of four fingers and rubs at your clit in the slowest motions, palm on your hot mound, sinking your teeth into your lip and drenching his fingers with your slickness. 

“i can’t, i need that pussy in my mouth,” eren’s grunting, hiking himself up so he can help you sit on your knees. 

mindlessly, you let him pick you up, gawking at him as your arms clutch around his neck while he moves some pillows around to make you comfortable, literally clinging to him like a koala. 

“stretch forward.” 

blinking within a daze, he spreads you on top of the pillows, opening your knees so you’re bent over and arching yourself downwards, stretching your arms in front of yourself, belly cushioned in. 

“fuckin’ god, baby. look at you,” his throat is burning, ready to say everything under the sun about you. 

the prettiest fucking thing to ever bless his life. your skin looked incredibly smooth, ass up in the air and belly hanging low, painted toes curling anxiously from being seen. those adorable lines etched into your skin under the curve of your ass, and your pussy, bubblegum inside, labia spread open like a butterfly's wings, opening clenching for invitation. shiny with your cum begging to be slurped up. he wanted it so bad his fingers were thrumming to grab you up. 

hugging a pillow to your face, you shut your eyes nervously, swaying your ass side to side like a cat because the silence was killing you. if he looked too long he could point out an insecurity. he had to act quick. 

“put it in your mouth, eren.” 

“i fuckin’ will,” he says with certainty, stroking his hands over the globes of your ass, cuffing his thumbs under the curve of it where it sits on your thighs to spread you open a little more, shaking your flesh and watching your entrance open wider. “fuck, so damn pretty. missed her. she need me? huh?” 

when he spanks you again, you whimper feebly, grinding yourself back into his grasp. “missed you, daddy. need you.”

he’s bringing four of his fingers to rub circles on your clit again, an audible ‘shlick shlick’ noise bouncing off the walls from your drenched pussy, eren bending his head to kiss your tailbone, leading his mouth all around you once more. bright teeth resting on your flesh until his tongue and lips follow suit, guiding his face to finally drag his tongue from your clit to your puckering, forbidden star. he never misses a spot, meant it whenever he ate you out that he ate everywhere. the saliva trickling from the toughness of his tongue on your hole which glides down to your folds. 

while switching his arm to still rub at your clit, he rushes his heavy tongue along your folds, rocking his head with your ass you move in want, fisting the sheets and dropping your mouth open. “baby . . ooh, god. daddy, want your tongue in me. pleaseplease.” 

“unh huh,” he grunts against you, spanking you hard before manuvering his tongue to sink into your pussy, wriggling it to your liking and yanking you back on his face to fuck you on it. 

“ungh, y-yess. s-show me how much you love me, daddy,” you moan weakly, voice cracking the further his tongue goes. 

“mm-hmm,” with every dip of your ass he follows by stuffing his tongue into you, rubbing his hand up and back towards your stomach until you’re creaming on his hand and in his mouth. 

going to reach behind yourself, your fingers tangle into the tresses of his hair to guide properly, throwing your ass back on his face. with every thrash of the heavy anatomy, his hand is iterating harsh hits to your skin. positioning your arms in a plank position, you dip your hips while eren grips there to help you move, a few fingers sprawled over your belly. his lips enclosed on the rest of you with every passing thrust. that familiar warmth begins to swim in your lower stomach, knowing you were going to cum. too quickly. 

“noo,” you cry out, tears brimming your eyes. “cummin’ too . . fast.” 

eren pulls his face away, sloppy kissing at your inner thighs. “s’okay, baby. cum in my mouth. i’ll get you to cum again.” 

there’s frustrated tears pouring from you, sniffling and shaking your head in denial. you felt extremely vulnerable, eren immediately tending to you by massaging your lower back and hovering his body over you. “what is it?” 

“i w’na cum with you inside me, please. i just need it that way.” 

eren understood without further explanation. frankly, he never needed you to explain yourself when it came to your pleasure. expressing it was all he wanted. you craved for that moment of connection and intimacy. it was the only way you had to have it right now. you’d edge yourself if it meant you could have that. 

“anything you want, baby,” licking his lips, he wiped his mouth with his hand before spreading it over your pussy to collect your juices and covering his dick with it. “jus’ one more thing. do it for me.” 

eren could almost hear your gulp, his thumb sinking downwards into your pussy while his fingers strum your clit, eren’s face straining from the ring of cream coating his knuckle. dips it in and out a few more times before pressing the pad of it to your anus. “it’s been a min’, so breathe.” 

sloshing the head of his dick against your folds, he pushes past that tight ring with his thumb the moment you steady your breath at the same speed he sinks his dick into you. you’re pulsating on both ends, gasping and moaning from the delicious stretch. 

“s’good, sweetheart?” eren checks in, halting his movements to wait for your say-so. 

while taking a minute, releasing a shaky breath, eren raises himself behind you in a crouching position, balancing on his feet and grabbing the headboard, balls smushed to your clit like a comforting blanket. exhaling, you answer with a soft ‘uh huh, good’ to make him feel at ease. eren’s dick twitches inside of you, halfway in but allowing you to adjust.

“fuck, ꒰♡꒱, lemme stretch you open. need you t’ take it allll in, baby,” he’s persuading you through gritted teeth, eyes scrolling white, trying to control how badly he wanted to drill into your shit right now. 

“mmgh, it’s too tight,” you whimper, toes curling. 

eren scoffs amusingly. “yeah, i feel that shit. relax yourself, baby. you’re clenching up.” 

he runs by the fact that you’re probably not fully broken down, too in your head for a reason he’s unsure about. eren is careful when he takes his hand off the headboard, bringing it to take the back of your neck into his possession. he’s maintaining his balance, lowering his gorgeous face into yours that has your cheek squished into your forearm, the other digging its fingers into the pillow under your stomach. 

“don’t feel pretty or sum, baby? is that what it is? you in your head?” eren skids his pink, plush lips over yours, kneading your neck gently and interlocking your mouth with his. 

as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. you wanna hide your face, shield it from him and not have to admit that. didn’t want him to make you say it because it felt bothersome. you never had a problem with how you looked, you admired your body shape, even adored your pregnancy belly. it was hard for yourself to grasp what was wrong. it wasn’t him, it wasn’t you, then what was it? 

“need me to make you feel pretty?” eren’s jaw tightens, gently biting at your neck to get a reaction out of you, anything to keep you from thinking. 

“it’s not that,” you half lie.

eren hums, thinking a little harder before something clicks. he blinks. “she’s okay, baby. stop worrying so much. now repeat what i said.”

your cunt pulsates the instant he rushes his tongue along your neck to the back of your ear, expressions easing into elation, nibbling at your lip and swirling your eyes back as he grumbles into your skin.

“s-she’s okay.”

“that’s right.”

leisurely, he pushes in and retracts back, the french kisses allowing you to relax and take all of him to the hilt. one of your legs vibrates from the fullness, stifling a gasp and clasping your hand around your own throat to restrict your airways, eren laying his over yours to amplify the constraint. 

“good girl, baby. good fuckin’ girl,” his voice in your ear makes you shudder, whining into his face as he angles his hips back to slip out just a bit before plunging back inside, that ring of white coating the base of his dick. “yes, take it. . ugnh.” 

eren is careful about it, grinding his hips forward to mold the shape of his dick inside of you, making you remember, the back of your thighs clapping with his incredulously. the warmth of your pussy engulfs him, eren puffing out air strenuously, sinking his thumb further into you so he could get a good hook, sprawling his finger over your backside and yanking you back on his dick while giving you steady pounds, cunt squelching over it. 

“ooh, love it. love it, love it. fuck,” the hiccups and whines are his favorite parts when you submerge into ecstasy. wailing from every thrust he gives you, eren removing his hand to set it back where it was originally on the headboard, doing his best to keep most of his weight off you. 

“what you love, baby?” eren grits, fucking you a tad bit harder so he’s nudging on that sweet spot of yours, a high pitched squeal falling from you. 

“mmgh . . a-ah,” the rupture of your tiny voice ensues, each pound harder than the last, absorbing it all. “ . . ungh, shittt.” 

“you fuckin’ hear me, ꒰♡꒱. tell me what you love.” 

the messiness of your pussy trickles down your inner thighs, coming out like water. every wet splat! resounding the area and it drives eren nuts. you’re slippery as fuck, he’s drowning in it, and he can’t help but whimper from how good you fucking feel, unable to help himself by fucking into you harder. the squeaks and gasps come out of you more, body shaking abnormally as he digs his dick into you, making you take every filthy inch. 

“daddy youuu, fuck — it’s you. i love your dick.” 

“yeahh, it loves you too, mama,” every sound that comes from him is carnal, prolonging guttural grunts and pistoning his defined pelvis against your ass that thunders back on him. 

eren goes to rest his forehead against the headboard, sliding his hands to hold either side of your belly before he begins to drill his dick harder, balls slapping at your sticky clit. lifting your head, you lay it back on his abdomen, sloping your mouth along with his as the two of you silently listen in, unable to breathe. the derisive squelch from you glazing over his dick and messing up the sheets, some of it trickling down your stomach. 

“ . . awe, shhit . . aunh, aunh! fuck yes—m’goddd, f-fuck, eren. right there, right there!”  it comes out in the whiniest pitch he’s ever heard, surpassing a few octaves, kicking your feet and scrolling your eyes back as you slap and fist at the bedding.

“uh, uh,” his noises mimic yours, smushing his nose up against the headboard creating a pot of condensation, lips grazing it as he slows his movements, too close to cumming, grinding and spanking you.  “fuuck, she’s grippin’ me so goddamn good. g’na make me tap out already.” 

a dry heave submerses, pawing at the sheets in a haze to military crawl forward and relieve yourself for a mini break. “mmm, w’na lay down. gotta breathe.” 

eren removes every part of himself from you, your cackles like a tender hug on his heart. swatting your ass again, he bends down to give the spot he hit a kiss before lying beside you, bringing your back to his chest. 

with your thighs pressed together, eren wraps his forearm behind your neck to bring your mouth to his, the other smoothing over your overgrown belly up to your breast, molding them in his palms while passionately gliding his tongue over yours in a nasty kiss. 

both of your eyes were closed, eren’s dick sitting on your back, the fixation he has with touching you only makes you absurdly wetter. 

“put it back in,” you mumble against his lips, shifting your ass back, eren’s eyes low and locked on to you as he guides his dick down to your opening and slides back in with little to no hassle. 

“i love you,” eren says softly, kissing behind your ear and on your collarbone, cupping your left tit to suck back into his mouth. 

you cry, again. it seems to be never ending the amount of emotions you felt in this moment. “i love you.” 

hooking his forearm under your neck, eren’s ample hand spreads your ass cheek apart as he thrusts harder. his grunts by your ear, even an occasional nibble, the compression of your thighs together as you arch your back all feels too good, enough to make you cum actually. in fear, you whine his name, eren trying his hardest to keep his focus, also close to his climax. 

“i feel it, ‘ren. cum with me, cum in me please. i want it so bad. i need it.” 

eren moans, whistling as he blew out air, laying you flat on your back so he could lift your left leg up to your chest, locking his forearm under the bend of it while removing the arm he had underneath your neck to hook under your belly, fingers touching the thigh he held up and beating his dick rougher into you. your head falls back, watching him as he watches you, tossing his head back and giving you all of him. 

“f-fuck, baby. cum on it right now, please. be a good girl. know you got it,” his voice is shattering, balls thwacking on your clit, the head of his dick squishing deep on that spot that makes you gush out and coat his dick in your juices from every stroke. 

“cu—mmin’, oooh, fuck yes. eren!” 

sobs break out in waves, adoring the feeling of his cum streaking your inner walls as you cum as one. it’s emotional for you, crying in his face as he kisses you and swallows all the air from you. thanking him in whispers while eren rubs all over your body, unable to break apart from you. clutching your neck and deepening the kiss, his waist jumping as he gasps and shares this moment with you. 

a week later you find yourself going into labor. 

the entire process was unhurried, and extremely beautiful. eren held you the entire time, letting you dig your fingers into his arms and connecting your forehead with his, breathing you through it as rose rubbed your back. squatting into him comfortably as the warm water your body was submerged into along with the smell of herbs sprinkled around the floor and vanilla candles alleviated you. six contractions within an hour was how it started, your water breaking the moment you went to start your morning shower and yelling eren’s name in fright, staring at the water pooling around your feet. 

he never moved so fast in his life. lifting you up and bringing you downstairs where he sat you on the couch with a towel and instructed you to breathe as he dialed the doula and midwife. they rushed here within fifteen minutes, and in that process eren blew up the birthing tub and filled it up so he could get you in as soon as possible. remembering to remind you to melt into the contractions instead of tensing since it’ll make them worse. 

you told him you wanted to give birth while listening to destiny’s child, playing it on vinyl and humming along to the music currently. cater 2 u being your mental anthem. the room is dark, only candles lighting the area. eren makes sure to talk you through it, always good for that, ironically. speaking affirmations and praising you, until finally, your precious baby girl is born. with trembles and cries, rose and valeria gasp in excitement as your baby erupted in croaks and shrill cries, tears streaming down eren’s face as they place the baby on your chest so she could instantly hear your heartbeat. 

weighing at six pounds and four ounces, she’s the perfect, tiny baby. caressing her fragile body as you weep and lay your cheek atop her head. eren’s sitting back on his feet, stun overcoming him as he sees the small human, coming to realize that the two of you could create such a magnificent thing. rose makes sure to give him some water, his eyes unable to leave the two of you. making eye contact, you gawk in astonishment, holding her  miniature wrist between two of your fingers and waving at him. 

“that’s daddy, he’s speechless right now. i promise he’s cool, and funny. you’re g’na have lots of laughs,” you speak softly, smiling wide. 

he loves you, endlessly. 

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

summary After stumbling across Eddie’s intimate drawings of you, you’re left reeling, but what unfolds that night is less about the pictures and more about the trust and closeness they force to the surface. [contains fluff, artsy eddie who's a little rough around the edges, nude drawings, smut | wc 5.8k]

a/n based on this request by the lovely @valinherfantasyworld

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Under the hum of fluorescent lights, you stand waiting as a small fan rotates to blow air your way. The gas pumps outside had been empty, but the open sign held enough promise for you to mosey on in. With a sigh, you reach out to hit the top of the dainty silver call bell for the second time. The checkout counter is dotted with planetary and extra-terrestrial figurines. Old, peeling stickers are stuck to the wood as well. 

It isn’t lost on you that you could bypass paying for the trail mix and jerky and walk out the door. The intrusive thought comes just as Nelson bursts from the break room with his famously grizzled beard. His shoes squeak against the sticky floor as he hobbles to his place behind the counter with considerable reliance on his scuffed, wooden cane. When he sits on the stool, air expels from the cushion in a low, high-pitched whine. 

“My apologies,” he tilts his head to look at you from over the top of his chunky glasses. The prescription is so high that it makes his hazel eyes look larger than they are. 

You shake your head in dismissal as you push Wayne’s snacks towards him with a polite smile. He punches the prices into the cash register with practiced ease. His fingers move quickly and precisely like a starved bird pecking the ground for food.  

“No help today?” you ask. 

Nelson puffs an exasperated breath. “That Henderson kid’s supposed to be here,” he says. “Runnin’ late ‘cause of math club.” 

You hum, trying not to smile when he mutters something about priorities and the youth these days. 

“Need a bag?” He puts the snacks in one before you can answer. “Say, aren’t you dating the Munson boy?” 

“Only for the past six months,” you lightheartedly quip. 

Nelson seldom asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. Everybody in Hawkins shopped at Boone’s Quick Mart, whether they wanted to or not. Convenience trumps luxury any day, and there’s nothing quite like Southern hospitality wrapped in a Midwestern package.

As a pillar in the community for the past thirty years, Nelson Boone knows who’s who and what’s what—Tina Johnson’s divorce from her wandering-eyed husband, Jaden Rockwell’s C+ on his report card, the McNulty family’s move to Boise. This is a man who sees and hears all. 

He meets your gaze with his googly eyes. “So you heard about what happened to him last night?” 

A small stone of worry drops into your gut. “Something happened?” 

Nelson looks at you from over his glasses again, a thrilled smirk playing on his lips. “Something? Hell, I reckon he saved my ass from getting killed.” 

The spark of excitement that curls in his tone reminds you of his tendency to stretch the truth just enough to make eyes widen and jaws drop a little faster. You bar yourself against the bait in hopes he’ll be more stripped and forthcoming. It works, if the way his shoulders relax is any clue. 

“Guy from outta town comes in all big and bad, demanding I empty the register,” he starts. “Meanwhile, Munson’s in the back near the pop. All I’m thinking at this point is, I should’ve gone ahead and made those revisions to my will like I was planning to—” 

“What did Eddie do?” you cut in. 

Nelson clears his throat. “Long story short, the guy whips out some kind of folding knife, they scuffle for a bit, then Munson knocks the rest of buddy’s screws loose.” 

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. 

“Scout’s honor,” Nelson says, holding up three fingers. “He didn’t mention it?” 

You blink a few quick times as worry swirls within you. “Haven’t seen him in a few days.” 

Nelson shifts on the stool and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a meaty finger. “Well, that kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins, I tell you what.” He laughs a quick bark of a sound that sends him into a brief coughing fit. “Imagine that, though. Me dying in ‘88, the year of our Lord.” 

“Imagine that,” you murmur. 

You place the money on the counter with buzzing fingers and blood rushing in your ears. 

•••

Wayne’s truck is the only vehicle parked out front when you arrive at the trailer. The grass is greener, and the small flower bed Eddie helped you plant is vibrant and thriving. Before Spring settled, you’d told both Munsons that nurturing their slice of Hawkins could give them something to feel proud of. They’d taken it to heart. 

Though neither would ever admit it to your face, you’d come into their life and transformed it from grayscale to technicolor. 

As a breeze rustles through the surrounding trees, the early evening sun ventures closer towards the horizon. 

When the front door pushes open with a dull creak, Wayne looks up from where he’s wiping crumbs off the small kitchen table nestled beside the window. He’s in jeans and an old tee that’s loose around the collar. A smile pulls at his lips as you pad inside. 

“Thought that was you,” he says. “What’s this?” Wayne peeks into the bag as you set it on the table. 

“Special delivery.” 

“Told ya you ain’t gotta go outta your way for me like this.” He shakes his head with a sigh, but you know he’s grateful. 

“Saves you an extra stop before work, right?” You gently nudge his shoulder. 

“Thanks, darlin.’” After walking the towel back over to the sink, he catches the hint of concern in your eyes as you linger near the table. 

“Everything alright?” 

You open your mouth a couple of times. “Is Eddie okay?” 

Wayne’s gray eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I mean, he’s Eddie.” He chuckles. “You just missed him. Called about five minutes ago and said something about getting off a little later than usual.” 

You frown. “So that’s why he hasn’t made it in.” 

Wayne hums a sound of confirmation. “Said he could meet you at Benny’s at six, though,” he says. “Also mentioned something about the lake. Asked you to bring his camera.” 

At the very least, the man’s words assure you that the events of last night hadn’t been as bad as you made them out to be in your mind. 

•••

The next hour passes with a slow, Hawkins kind of ease. When you push into Eddie’s bedroom in search of his camera, the air smells like him: pinewood with a faint, smokey undertone. All things considered, the space is tidier than it’s been over the past couple of weeks. 

The open surfaces are no longer strewn with random receipts and wrappers. All his fantasy figurines are organized with a greater sense of intentionality. Even the Iron Maiden poster, whose corner once slouched off the wall, has now been readhered. 

Leave it up to Eddie to make order out of chaos again and again.  

You locate the Nikon on his dresser in seconds. The frame counter rests a few notches before 1, and after a brief pause of debate, you pop the film door open to see if there’s any film inside. Relief washes over you when you realize the chamber is empty, and you haven’t just exposed a brand-new roll to the light. In search of a fresh canister, you squat at his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. Nothing. Mainly guitar accessories: picks, sheets of music, old bridge pins—along with a couple of stray condoms. 

You move to the drawer beneath it, where journals, sketchbooks, and art supply pouches. However, a small cylindrical container tucked in the back corner catches your attention. The top of your hand pinches against the drawer when you attempt to reach the new roll of film without disturbing the other contents. That’s when you make the executive decision to pull out the first couple of sketchbooks. 

In doing so, three pictures slip out: you on a park bench smiling, you sitting on his bed attempting to play his guitar, you taking too big of a bite off an ice cream cone. 

A smile buds on your face as you flip the sketchbook open to tuck the photos back inside. Time stops. On the page is a beautiful portrait of you. It's not a mere sketch; this is much too involved. You were under the impression that he only ever drew the characters for his campaigns this intricately—dragons, celestials, faye. 

As far as you knew, your likeness was only ever confined to his quicker sketches because you were always around. It was easy to capture you in the moment with no pressure. Can’t replicate perfection, sweetheart. 

It isn’t until you’ve turned a few pages ahead that a different type of surprise prickles through you. Blooming and warm like the beginning of spring, but with a more rogue intensity. One that feels borderline forbidden because this next drawing itself ought to have remained tucked away in a secret place. 

Your lips aren’t wrapped around ice cream but Eddie’s index and middle fingers. A line of saliva runs down your chin as your eyes sparkle. 

You flip to the next drawing. In this one, you’re topless and kneeling, legs spread in an unabashed V. One of your hands plays between your thighs as you look up through your lashes. It’s drawn from memory, no doubt. Eddie had yet to capture you on film in such a vulnerable light. 

Another page. Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your neck. You recognize the skeleton tattoo that constitutes the back of his right hand to give the illusion that his bones are bared. 

Another. Your backside is drawn from the perspective of whoever stands behind you. There’s an abstractness to it, in a way. The shading suggests slight irritation or bruising from impact against your delicate skin. 

The last drawing you gleam features you lying face down with your bottom up, wrists tied with rope. Indents on your skin suggest that you’ve tried to pull free—

Something flips low in your gut. White noise fills your ears as you snap the sketchbook closed and put it back where it belongs. You move on autopilot as you toss Eddie’s camera and film into your tote bag and scramble out of his room. 

•••

The water is calm as it laps at the bank of the lake. Gnats flutter around while tree leaves rustle. On a summer evening such as this, Lover’s Lake is a wonder. Above, the sky stretches like the handiwork of a master artist. Blue fades to burnt orange to rustic lavender in a seamless ombre. Your eyes remain on the water below as you kick your feet off the edge of the dock. 

Eddie nudges your knee with his after a while. The upper portion of his coveralls is tied around his waist, exposing his white T-shirt and lean tattooed arms. The sleeve on his right arm is fuller and extends all the way to his hand. 

Despite the intricate designs inked across his skin, you can make out the thin, red scratches on his forearms and the few cuts that pepper his knuckles. None of them override the dark ink of his tattoos, but you can see them since you’re sitting so close. The ones on his neck are visible all the more because they have little to camouflage with. Some are old, but most of them are undeniably fresher. You’ve been cataloguing them all evening. 

You peer over at him with a pensive smile. His camera rests on the opposite side of him. He’d captured a few shots of you and the scenery when there was a little more light. 

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“Just enjoying the view.” 

Eddie briefly wrinkles his nose and looks out at the lake. Touché. 

The silence returns, but Eddie can’t settle into it for the life of him. He shifts, one knee propping up. “You gotta give me something to work with here.” He tries to meet your adverted gaze. “Did I say something to piss you off?” 

All you can do is manage a swallow. There were enough distractions to carry you through dinner at Benny’s, but the world seems much smaller and stripped out here. No music, chatter, or waitress checking in to refill your drinks. It’s just you, Eddie, and the unmatched stillness of nature. All of which are fertile ground for your thoughts to wander and unavoidably return to the fact he hadn’t said a word about what happened at Boone’s—or the contents of his sketchbook. Especially now that he won’t look away from you. 

Worry intensifies Eddie’s gaze. The same gaze that you now know has studied and considered you more intimately than you ever imagined. You can’t help but feel bare and exposed now. It was yet another brick to lay on top of the fact that he’d refrained from telling you about the events at Quick Mart. 

You finally look over at him.  

“Please talk to me,” he says. 

You take his larger hand in yours. He remains quiet, hopeful. You study his palm, then turn it over to assess the back of his hand, the cuts just barely visible over the skeleton tattoo covering it. You wish he could be a fraction as open and forthcoming as the illusion his tattoo presents.

“Did something happen last night?” you ask. 

A defensive edge slips into his voice. “What do you mean?” 

“At Quick Mart,” you say. 

In the time that Eddie combs through his mind in search of the right approach, you say it yourself, “You were in a fight.” It’s not fair to state it so clinically, but you do it anyway. 

Eddie looks more betrayed than surprised. “No, I wasn’t,” he says. “Not like that.” 

You feel a pang of guilt over the earnest way he expresses it, like a kid trying to prove their innocence. 

Over the years, he’d gotten better about his temper. About how quick he was to handle certain situations with the scrappier instincts of his youth. He knew now, more than ever, that words alone could get him much further than his fists. Throughout the latter half of his overstayed run in the public school system, he’d been forced to prove himself physically time after time, so he had no choice but to get good at it. Sometimes, he jumped the gun, but that wasn’t him. Not anymore.  

“It wasn’t over nothing,” he explains. “Asshole was trying to—” 

“I know, Teddy,” you’re quick to assure, voice soft. “Wasn’t pointing fingers. I’m just glad everybody’s okay.” You squeeze his hand. 

His gaze flickers down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, exhaling. He speaks up after a while. “Was it Nelson who told you?” 

The thought of Nelson—endearing, googly-eyed Nelson—makes your lips twitch upwards. Eddie almost doesn’t believe it, but he’s grateful. A fraction of the tension melts from his shoulders as levity creeps in. He presses closer to feel the shake of your shoulders as you chuckle despite yourself. If you don’t laugh, you’ll mess around and find a reason to cry. 

Your amusement eventually subsides into something stiller. “Wish it’d been you, though.” 

Eddie takes the blow. “Swear I was gonna tell you.” He dips his head to kiss the bulb of your shoulder. “Just wanted to give everything some breathing room. Didn’t want you to get all worked up and worried. Hate making you worry.” 

“Forget worry,” you say lightly. “If something involves you, I’ll always wanna know. I care about you.” Those words stir a gratefulness in his chest.  “I want you to tell me things even when they’re scary or hard.” 

Eddie sees the sincerity in your gaze. A hint of confliction seems to reside there as well.  

“No more secrets,” he promises. 

He holds out his pinkie, and just when he thinks you’re going to ignore it, you hook yours around his. It’s no surprise that he squeezes. As playful as he is, you should’ve seen it coming. You yelp and attempt to pull your hand away, but he leans in to steal a kiss that you allow him to take. A satisfied smile lingers on his face afterward. 

With a proud sigh, he lays back on the wooden planks of the dock, hair splaying like mane. With your eyes you map the faint freckles on his face when he closes his eyes, then trace his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the relaxed pout of his lips. 

Eddie’s eyes soon flutter open to meet yours.

He offers a smile. “Hmm?”

You shrug, chuckling in a mix of nerves and relief. “Just thinking of something Nelson said about you,” you say. “‘That kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins.’” 

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him that makes his eyes crinkle and his chest shake. You join in. When the moment settles into something tamer but still a bit charged, Eddie holds your gaze as he reaches down between his legs to rest a hand over his crotch. 

“You’ve seen ‘em first hand,” he drawls, palming himself through the fabric of his coveralls. “Whaddya think?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of leaving you speechless. “Jury’s still out.” 

Another laugh rumbles through him and ends with a snort. His eyes shimmer when he calms down. You’re there to twirl your finger around one of his curls and give it an affectionate tug. 

A gentle breeze rolls through and makes a part of you wish it could carry the memory of his drawings away with it. At least so you could settle into the serenity of the moment in an unadulterated way. Those thoughts don’t leave you, however. His face alone is a reminder of his secret envisionings of you. 

•••

Later that night, in the dim lamplight of Eddie’s room, you lie face up on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. It’s as if the act will still your nerves, but it doesn’t. 

Eddie emerges from the bathroom whistling, a gray towel wrapped around his slender waist. You loll your head to look at him just long enough to catalogue his damp curls, his myriad of tattoos, the light dusting of hair between his pecs, and the even darker trail that descends from his belly button. His back turns to you as he saunters to his dresser. There’s a dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades. 

“Miss me?” he asks as he digs pajamas out of his drawer. 

When you don’t respond, he peeks over his shoulder. Your gaze is directed towards the ceiling.  

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sorry. I’m just tired.” 

He hums. Your silence takes root beneath his skin and yields a certain self-consciousness. It wasn’t like you to be so disengaged. Not when it came to him. There was no denying his magnetism, even when he wasn’t actively trying to work the room. 

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Eddie walks to the side of the bed and stares down at you. “You’ve been acting funny all evening.” 

You push yourself upright, swinging your legs off the side of the bed. To buy yourself some time, you rub your eyes with your fists as if tiredness truly is to blame. There’s nowhere to hide when your hands inevitably drop back down to rest in your lap. Still, Eddie fails to get a read. 

“Talk to me, Goose.” He taps your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Is that gas station shit really bothering you that bad?” Eddie winces at his own irritation. “That came out wrong. Shit.” 

He takes a deep breath. “I honestly didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The guy had what was coming to him.”

“I care about you, is all,” you say. “Am I allowed to do that?” 

His eyes are apologetic as he looks down at you. “You’re allowed.” 

“No more secrets, right?” you say. “That’s what you promised.” 

Eddie nods slowly, unsure of where this conversation is headed. 

“That means we let each other in,” you continue. 

“You’re in, baby.” 

You bite your lower lip.

“I saw something earlier. Drawings of me that you’ve done.” 

“I sketch you all the time.” 

A few seconds pass before you bring yourself to speak again. “Not the sketches. The actual drawings. The detailed ones.” 

Eddie stills as if turned to alabaster. He looks away from you, but you don’t look away from him as silence permeates the air like a slow rising fog. Color rises in his cheeks, then the tips of his ears. If he doesn’t move, maybe he’ll wake up. Maybe he’ll disappear. A few seconds pass like an hour. The world begins turning again when you take his hand in yours, gently brushing over the back with your thumb. 

Reality fades back in slowly. His breaths, your breaths, his thick swallow. 

“They caught me off guard,” you admit. 

Like a severed branch, his hand falls away from yours. His Adam’s apple bobs as he considers what to say in the wake of embarrassment that toes the line of frustration. 

Eddie’s eyes find their way back to yours. “We’re going through each other’s things now?” 

“I was looking for film for your camera,” you explain. “Pictures fell out of the sketchbook, and when I went to put them back—” 

“They don’t mean anything.” His words are void of any conviction. 

You hold his gaze until his shoulders sag with the weight of the truth. “I’ve never had this, alright?” He makes a weak motion between the two of you. “Someone who makes me feel the way you do.” 

You nod for him to continue. 

“I think about you all the fucking time.” His voice comes out shy and gruff. “You’re beautiful.” 

“So they do mean something.”

“But now you probably just think they’re perverted when it’s not like that at all,” he accuses with a slight waver in his voice. You’ve never seen him quite like this. Frazzled in a raw, open way. “It’s the trust aspect—fuck, I’m not making any sense.” 

He runs his hands through his hair and paces a few steps away. You study the tattoos on his torso. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat is scripted just beneath his collarbones with a slight upwards curve; Latin for fortune favors the bold. A symmetrical, abstract pair of angel wings span beneath it. There’s also the small inverted crucifix on his sternum. The snake curled on the right side of his ribcage beneath his pecs. A considerable host of others have made a canvas out of his skin as well.  

“So help me understand,” you insist. 

You’re messing with him now. You have to be. This is his punishment for ever daring to put his pencil to the paper in that way. A few beats of silence pass.

“Are those things you wanna try?” you coax. 

He finally musters the courage to look at you again. “There’s so much I wanna try with you.” There’s a weighted look in his gaze, like the sentiments it bears stretch beyond this moment. “I wanna do life with you.” 

Warmth kindles in your chest at his words. “Well, here I am,” you say. “Gonna have to try harder to scare me away.” 

A humorless laugh escapes him, but it’s true. Here you are. 

“None of this was ever about the fight or the drawings, E,” you start. “It’s about you. I don’t want you to think you have to keep things from me.” 

You nearly fall into the depths of his eyes as they bore into yours. 

“I can’t mess this up too.” His voice comes out smaller than you’ve heard it. He wouldn’t make it to the other side of losing you.  

“It’s gonna take something terrible for that.” You think for a moment. “Like you cutting off all that gorgeous hair.” 

Eddie laughs. The sound coaxes you to your feet and over to him, where he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. His breath catches in his throat when he feels your fingertips ghost along his waistline where the towel is secured. 

•••

Just relax. 

Those were the words you’d uttered to him a few short moments ago before you tugged his towel down and stripped yourself of your clothes. If anything, it was more like a purr. Something about that low, melodic tone always worked with him. Even when he was the one desperate to get his mouth and hands on you. He listened because you always handled him with care. Always made it good for him. 

The sound that leaves him now seems broken, but Eddie’s never felt more whole. His arms shake where they’re braced behind him on the bed, and his spread thighs tremble. You look up at him from your kneeling position on the carpet before him without pulling away from mouthing at the warm, velvety weight between his thighs that hang like two joint fruits. They draw up when you pay keen attention to one side, making a suctioning motion with your mouth that makes him curse beneath his breath. 

He curls forward with a pleasured groan when you take the entirety of his length into your mouth. The sweet drag of your lips, paired with the encompassing warmth, makes his head spin. You venture down halfway before drawing back up to suckle on the tip with a glimmer in your eyes. Eddie doesn’t get through his next shudder before your lips are descending again, this time all the way to where curly dark hair rests at his base. 

You can feel every vein and pulse along the way. His stomach quivers at the sight as something hot stirs low in his gut. 

One of his hands settles at the back of your head, but he doesn’t push or pull. It’s a grounding gesture. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you pull back up, taking your time. At the top, you lap over his slit, where another pearly bead has formed. He huffs out a ragged breath when you begin to place lingering kisses over the head, then allow your tongue to gently trace along the slightly raised edge that separates it from the rest of his shaft. 

A selfish part of him wants more. 

“Angel…” he sighs. 

You hum around him curiously when he’s back in your mouth. Eddie knows you’re trying to make him cave and guide you into what he wants. His fingers twitch with hesitance at first, but then he applies just enough pressure to encourage you back down. You’re gracious enough to fall into your own bobbing rhythm thereafter. 

His breath stutters when one of your hands dip between your thighs to begin rubbing easy circles over your bud as your mouth continues to work him like a dream. You clench around nothing as warmth and pleasure pool between your thighs. 

“That’s so hot,” he grouses. 

You pull off of him, saliva slinking between your lips and his arousal. “Is it?” you murmur coyly. 

He nods earnestly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. What he’s not expecting is for you to sit back on your knees and redirect all your attention to yourself, bringing one hand up to cup your breast. Your cheeks warm at your own boldness. He’d seen you like this in his mind and on the page, but only you could bring the vision to life. There’s a pleasant rush to that sort of power. 

He kicks up towards his stomach when you release an airy hum as your middle finger drifts down to run along your entrance and collect the thick moisture gathered there. He scoots closer to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. Eddie strokes himself a few careful times, stopping before the tide can rise. You watch with shining eyes as he rips the foil open and slides the rubber down himself. 

“C’mere,” he rasps, repositioning fully onto the bed. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

You bite your lip as you gently probe your entrance, maintaining eye contact even as your face burns. “Think you do it better?” 

“You already know the answer.” There’s no overt cockiness in his tone. Just a steady sort of confidence that makes your stomach flutter. 

An invisible flip switches. No doubt, because he finally feels as though it’s allowed to. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but you feel the aftermath. It’s in the way he becomes firmer; he isn’t rough, but you can feel the strength behind his movements more than you usually do. It’s also in the way he lifts his head from your center when you’re mere seconds away from falling into thralls of something your entire body craves. 

You plead with your eyes as you meet his gaze, frustrated and desperate all the same. His lips upturn in a small smile that’s barely there. Your thighs fall open as he leans back down, and the fan of his breath makes you shiver. His mouth and fingers have already made you slick with arousal, only to leave you right on the edge. 

“Eddie, please.”

He gently parts you open and presses a gentle kiss to your clit before suckling it into his mouth. You whimper and cant your hips upwards into his face, but he moves away. 

“Easy,” he coos. 

You breathe an apology as he presses his middle finger to your swollen bud and circles it nice and slow. A whimper escapes you as you squirm, trying your best to keep your hips down. As maddening as it is, you like this little game. The challenge. If he maintains this same pressure and speeds up just so, you know it’d be enough to get you there. He knows that too. 

Everything hinges on his call. Eddie’s been at the helm even though he let you think you were for a time.

“Who does it better?” he asks. 

Your stomach flips. “You, Eddie—c’mon.” You huff an exasperated chuckle in spite of yourself. Eddie bites back a smile. Then your voice dips into a tone that’s impossibly sweet. It reminds him just how much he burns with desire himself. “Keep showing me how much better.” 

Eddie braces himself overtop of you and notches at your slick warmth. It takes a moment for him to gather himself, but when he does, he slips into you with ease. Each inch is welcomed with the same steady pressure, all the way until he’s buried entirely. 

While you hum at the fullness, he moans from being welcomed in so wholly. Even though you’re the one stretched to accommodate him, it’s him who needs a moment to get acclimated. It feels like he’s seconds away from falling apart, and he sure as hell isn’t ready to test the theory. 

When you circle your hips in a silent encouragement for him to move, he stills you with a steady hand. You make another attempt.  

“Angel, wait,” he weakly complains. It’s half desperate, half amused. 

“But I need you,” you murmur. 

That’s enough to spur him into an easy rhythm. Your mouth falls open, and he can’t help but run his thumb over your bottom lip. You surprise yourself when you poke your tongue out. Eddie takes a leap of faith and pushes it just past your lips. You close your mouth around it and give it a weak suck before he pulls it back out. 

As it turns out, life imitates art too.  

“You feel so good,” Eddie pants. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?” 

“Mhmm.”

His thrusts reach deeper when you hook your legs around him, eyes briefly scrunching closed as he meets that tender spot within you that threatens to make everything wound tight inside of you unravel. 

Your hands move to scratch down his back, and his hips stutter at the steady pressure of your nails. So you do it again, a little harder, and it sends a strong shiver through him that feels unfairly good. When your hands smooth back around to his chest, fingers grazing his nipples, he manages to gather your wrists in his hands and pin them above your head. Your chest pushes into his.  

“I’m close,” you breathe. “So full.” 

A groan rises in his throat. “Not until I say, alright?” 

Your whine borders on petulant, but you nod anyway. Eddie kisses you for it. First, on your lips, then he trails a few more sloppy, lazy kisses down your chin. When he pulls away, he lets go of your wrists and braces that forearm beside your head, breaths heavy. He’s so close, you can see the faint sun freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose. The grind of his pelvis against your clit makes you clench around him. 

Your breath hitches. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, angel,” he says, even as he lowers a hand between your bodies to rub that pulsing part of you with just the right amount of pressure as he continues his deep thrusts. It’s the furthest thing from fair, and he knows it.  

Your mind grows fuzzy with a sudden swell of pleasure that borders on panic. “Eddie, baby, I can’t,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me come. Please—” 

“Go on, angel,” he soothes. The wave crashes. “That’s it, there you go.”

You close your mouth to stifle the helpless sound that rises up your throat as you arch beneath him. Immediately, you’re thrown into a suspended place where all you can feel is yourself fluttering around him in strong pulses as warmth floods your entire being, pulling him in. He guides you through it with gentle praises that barely register to your ears. 

With a guttural sound Eddie buries himself within your warmth and lets go, his abdomen flexing with each wave that shoots through him. As the radiating pleasure dwindles, he touches his forehead to yours, and your lips just barely brush as you catch your breaths. You raise your hands to his neck to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers, then jolts with sensitivity as you shift beneath him.  

“Sorry,” you whisper. 

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re fine,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. Don’t deserve you.” 

“You’re gonna give me a complex,” you murmur. 

Eddie chuckles and grasps the base of himself to slowly pull out. The loss draws shuddering exhales out of both of you. He’s overcome by a surge of fondness and gratitude. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod as he dots a few kisses to your neck. “Hey, Eddie.” You cup his cheek to get his attention and he nearly melts at the content way you look up at him with slow, sleepy blinks. “Maybe next time you can tie me up.” A small smile plays on your lips, but you mean it. Even though the thought alone gives you wild butterflies. 

Eddie’s swallow doesn’t let on how dizzy the thought makes him. “Yeah?” 

You offer a tired hum. “I trust you.” That alone means everything. 

And with him, you wanted it all. 

-

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

EDDIE MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[rafesangelita]

imagining rafe finding out another man been buying things for reader and him losing it

warnings: dealer!rafe, jealousy/possessiveness, unprotected sex, rough handling, choking, arguing, mentions of sex work/stripping, slight dumbification

a/n: thank you so much for this request anon!! i had a similar prompt to this one but i wasn’t sure how to word it lol. join my private community today for girly advice and talks! let me know if you’d like an invitation ♡

it was subtle at first— rafe would see you waltz into barry’s trailer late at night with a brand new pair of pleasers, leaving behind a trail of perfume that wasn’t your signature scent. you were getting your hair done more often, even your nails started changing more frequently. he really took notice one day when barry had left to go run some errands, foolishly leaving you two alone together. rafe had your knees pressed into your chest, your pretty pedicured feet rocking with each of his thrusts as the pendant on your anklet glittered underneath the dim lighting of your room, the small detail instantly catching rafe’s attention.

he looked down at the little thing, a silver playboy bunny charm dangling from the dainty chain. “h-hey, when did you get this?” he cursed under his breath, pressing a kiss to the back of your calf as you cried out from the feeling of his pubic bone slamming down on your sensitive bud. your heart dropped at the question, your cheeks heating as rafe fixed his eyes on your face. “oh, nothing! s’just a little gift one of my regulars got for me..” you moaned, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as rafe’s jaw clenched.

he was definitely mad now.

picking up his pace, he reached down and squeezed your cheeks together, forcing you to look up at him. “what the fuck do you mean one of your ‘regulars’ are you fucking this guy?” rafe was livid, considering he had already told you he wanted you to quit dancing at the club since he pretty much funded you and bought you whatever you wanted without hesitation. attempting to get out of his grip, rafe only tightened his hold on your face, his eyebrows pinching together as you struggled to find your words. “hmphh— no! r-rafe, i’m not fucking him!”

he swallowed thickly, letting go of your cheeks only to wrap his hand around your throat instead. “so why is he buying you gifts and shit?” rafe said through gritted teeth, “what is he getting you that i can’t?” you knew rafe was just mad because he felt threatened, the thought of another man spoiling you and making you happy with their money instead of his pissed him off like no other. “he just puts some extra money in my pocket, that’s all.. plus a little bit of interest..” you looked over at your vintage purse collection, rafe following your line of vision.

what used to be like six bags sitting in the corner of your room, had now grown into an easy twenty, the evidence of your claims making him pull out of you with a hiss. “you’re fucking joking, y/n. you’re letting another man buy his way with you?” you couldn’t help but feel exposed, rafe’s demeaning tone making you want to curl in on yourself. “i’m not letting anyone ‘buy’ their way with me, asshole. except you, but clearly i’m sooo wrong for that.” you scoffed, pulling your sheets over yourself to hide your body from rafe’s view.

“i didn’t say you were wrong for that, you dummy. what i’m mad about is the fact that you’re still working at pink sugar when i told you to leave that place a long ass time ago. why are you still there?” rafe was quick to get his boxers back on, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as he plopped down at the edge of your bed. “instead of questioning me, you should ask barry why he hasn’t moved us out of this shit hole yet,” you sat up against the wall, “you and barry make all of this money but we’re still in the same spot! i do what i do so that i can get out of this fucking trailer, rafe.”

you were right, and rafe knew it. as much as he had been telling your brother to at least get a nicer place for y’all, your brother always put the money back into his pawn shop where it barely made any profit. rafe looked back at you, a mix of both sadness and irritation written all over your face. “if a man is buying me gifts and giving me money, essentially allowing me to get out of my situation, then i’m going to do what i have to do. the gifts are just tokens of appreciation for my time. and no, i’m not having sex with this guy. he’s a lonely loser who makes way too much money for himself who just wants to blow it. i’m not gonna say no to that.”

rafe listened to you carefully, his hard gaze softening as he reached out to stroke your legs under your sheets. “look.. i want you to pack your stuff and stay with me then. if you let me take care of you— not just spoil you and buy you stuff, but really let me cover everything, you know i’ll do it. you’ll be out of this trailer and you could leave the club for good, i don’t want none of this dancing shit keeping you from me anymore.” your heart was racing in your chest, everything you’ve ever wanted now offering itself to you at your feet. “but what about barry?” you sighed, allowing rafe to come up and wrap his arms around your shoulders.

“he’ll get over it, babe. i’m sure he’ll be more thankful than anything to know that you’re not in that environment anymore. you know your brother is a simple dude, all he needs is this trailer and a cold case of beers in the fridge and he’s happy.” you laughed softly at his words, your cheek resting against his chest. “i promise i’ll make him fix up the trailer so you don’t have to worry about him over here. i’ll clear out the yard and install a new ac unit if it makes you feel better, does that sound good?” you nodded, pressing a kiss to rafe’s knuckles. “yes, please. he’s too stubborn do it himself.”

[quarterlifekitty]

Love the trope of Price mentally constructing a nursery in every home and apartment he’s ever known, in the house of everyone he’s ever dated— it’s the first thing he thinks of (right after where on his body he’s gonna tattoo their name).

He has his dream nursery memorized. It’s his mind palace. He wants cream yellow walls, because his baby is going to be the sun, the same way his wife is his moon, with the away she has over his heart of the sea. He wants an accent wall with wallpaper in a classic motif— the kind they use in pediatricians offices, to be honest. Building blocks, fluffy clouds, circus animals.

John loves tradition, generational passings on, well-crafted things that can last centuries if cared for well enough. He wants his nursery furniture, all of the stuff in his house, really— to be solid wood, handmade (he promises that he’ll make the bulk of it himself, the rest antique). He’d rather die than buy a brand new house without any history. No craftsmanship, all straight lines and 90 degree angles, no consideration to what makes a home feel like home.

Despite being such a trusted member of the team, he knows precious little about your home life. Fine by him— your past is your own, he has no right to it. One day, as you’re about to pack up for leave around the holidays, you ask to speak to him as a friend, rather than a captain.

It’s well known that Price doesn’t have the family he’s dreamed of. An old war dog, bridges burned with the ex wife from his youth, he doesn’t hold out a lot of hope. Maybe in the next lifetime, it will be different. He’ll have that yellow nursery.

You tell him, with an astonishing amount of composure, that your parents passed away almost a year ago. They’ve left the care of the family home to you. It’s quite an undertaking— large, as it used to host all manner of aunt and uncle and cousin generations ago. But now, people are in the spirit of moving far away. Old wounds and grudges, new opportunities. Your parents had their own issues conceiving— leaving you an only child.

Gaz has his family to go home to, so does Soap. No one knows what Ghost does, but everyone suspects he follows Soap home for the holidays. Price has been invited time and time again, but always politely refuses. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the dream out of his reach.

But you tell him this will be your first holiday alone in the house, and that you need him. You don’t know if you can bear the silence for the season. Not to mention all of the upkeep you’re behind on. He figures it’s as good a place to be as any, and he’s the type who needs his hands busy to find any peace.

He falls in love with your old place. Sure, the bannisters could do with being refinished, a bit of carpeting could come up, a few fixtures are spotty— but it’s a beautiful place. Still very much full of love and warmth, the traces of you and your little family are everywhere. In the tarnished silver picture frames, the fraying knitted potholders, the penciled in height markings at the kitchen door.

On the tour, he’s stopped dead in his tracks at one open door. Faded yellow walls, slats of chestnut. A crib.

You explain to him that it used to be your nursery. It had been your mother’s, too, and many more. They kept it perfectly in tact when you’d grown up and moved into another room, hoping that they’d give you a little sibling. The day never came. You’re wondering yourself what to do with it— your career hasn’t left you with much time or appetite for romance. There’s a stinging sadness dripping from your words like lemon juice. You admit that you suspect this family, once monumental, will end with you— the house passed to someone who will strip off the carved filigrees of the stair railing, throw white paint over all of the walls, and put grey vinyl over the hardwood. That is, if they don’t just tear it down. Land could be divided up into a few new apartment units.

You’re barely listening to yourself talk— just ambling along, as if you haven’t just revealed to John Price what his life’s been leading up to all this time.

[imgonnaeatyouhyugosugitmoto]

Random Solivan Brugmansia Headcanons Part 2

Art Credit: @ Chemziere on IG or @ cheamiiii on Tiktok (in case you can’t read the watermark)

Sol’s a D1 Gooner for m/c

⚠️Warning: Suggestive Language, and Violence Mentioned

—————————————————————

Headcanons 🎃:

Has considered getting more piercings, but you heavily influence this decision. If you told him you like his piercings he’d say something along the lines of “I was thinking about getting more…”in order to get a response out of you. He wouldn’t outright ask you this because he’d be nervous. If your response is along the lines of:

“You should definitely get more! Piercings are cool!” then he’s immediately getting more. Just imagine him straight after lecture speed walking off campus to a piercing shop. Also Bonus points if you suggest a certain piercing. The next day in one of your shared courses he has said piercing(s), though a bit swollen

“Oh that’s nice…” or No response would result in him tweaking out internally. Outside he’s non chalant about it and doesn’t bring up piercings into a conversation again. But He’d crash out, you can imagine he rips out all the piercings and punches the mirror at home, personally I don’t. Sol seems more like the type of person to keep his piercings. But he’d try to take breaks from wearing them, or even wears piercing retainers, since he had piercings before he even “officially” met you. He likes you but those are his piercings man. This is getting to logistical but in theory if each piercing costed about $50 USD (depending on where you go and location on your body and all that, it’s way more than $50 but let’s say $50 and not factor piercing guns which are cheaper) his upper body piercing including his ears would be about $700 USD since he has 5 on each ear, and he has his nipples pierced plus the spider bites on his lips. Only if you outright said “I don’t like piercings” is when he would consider removing his piercings.

Moving on from that analysis about his piercings, he would have some freaky piercings. I saw a person talk about him having a dick piercing and yeah I agree with them (shout out whoever said that) but I wanna add on that he’d have a stack…

Also! Imagine Sol with a tongue piercing… lowkey he’d have a silver one instead of a black one. Yeah he’s mismatching his jewlery but silver ball is superior (I’m sorry don’t cancel me)

Sol would go to great lengths to take care of his piercings! He cleans them daily with saline and does the whole salt water soaks if necessary.

Imagine Sol with a septum, not a ring or the the one withs the ball ends. A SPIKEY ONE!

Sol seems like the type to stretch his septum (if he had one) or his ears. Speaking of stretching his piercings I don’t think he’d be the patient type. He’d probably experience blowout (ouch if you’ve experienced it) because he couldn’t wait.

He gives off impaitient in general. Sol does not wanna play the waiting game anymore

This is more piercing talk but if you have piercings Sol has definitely thought about asking you about matching ones! But if you take the initiative he’d be cheesing, like kicking his feet in the air giggling.

“I was thinking that we get matching piercings Sol” his Jaw drops then he freaks out inside.

I can see Sol getting tattooed since he already has several piercings. Definitely would tattoo your name on him, though its between somewhere visible like his neck or arm or somewhere private like across his chest or above the groin (quite freaky if you ask me).

Some other tattoos that seem very “Sol” could be something Edgar Allan Poe related, maybe a raven in reference to “The Raven” or a line from a poem. A silly idea would be a pumpkin since yk you’re his “pumpkin”

Speaking of that imagine if he had a raven tattoo and you say something like “wow I like your Crow tattoo!”… like Crow? Which sounds like Crowe? Crowe as in that Ichabod?! Yeah Sol’s getting a coverup tattoo or if he’s feeling extra violent he’d scratch his skin off…

This idea is just goofy and doesn’t even sound like a headcanon but imagine Sol tattooed your face on his body somewhere like “aww” but also “wtf?”

Enough with the body mods and tattoo talk, moving on

Would love matching anything. Matching clothes? YES. Matching Jewlery? Sol might as well buy you a wedding ring and propose to you right there. Matching Hair? He already has the hair dye ready. He’s obviously crazy about you so Matching is beyond what he can imagine. Plus it would show others that you belong to him.

Speaking of matching I don’t think he would enjoy any commentary such as “awww you guys are so cute together!” Or “I love the matching the sweaters” like yeah boosts his ego but also “WTF?!” like what do they mean they love the sweaters? Do they love you? Also why are they complimenting you?! Why are they speaking to you?!(Sol is included in the compliments but he’s crazy so no logic there) The Brightside is that ygs are recognized as being together…

He’s probably really into smelling you, even if you are stinky and you came back from the gym or something. Your smell drives him CRAZY.

Forgot to mention but if you ever make him something, he tweaks out. Like oh you made him a bracelet? He wears it even in the shower. You made him lunch? He’s cheesing and finishes every last bite. Wrote him a note telling him “good luck” on a final? Yeah he’s keeping that note forever, of course he laminates it. As mentioned in part 1, he’d have a shrine, and everything you made for him resides within that shrine.

Your Opinion matters as stated on multiple occasions. If you ever say something like “oh short hair looks good on some people” then he’s getting that haircut. Same thing if you like long hair, he’d grow it out for you.

Quite literally everything he does is for you.

While we don’t know information about Sol’s family and if he even has any, if you asked him about his Family he’d get really quiet and you should take that as a hint to move onto a different topic.

I forgot if I mentioned this in my last post, but Sol is the type to wear guyliner and do his eyebrows….

Keeping up appearances is important to him as it directly impacts your perspective on him.

On my Sol you are the apple of his eye

He would enjoy intimate moments: sharing a pair of earbuds with you, video calling late at night, falling asleep next to eachother.

But if you wanna get freaked out and have sex all the time then he doesn’t mind that…

Sol’s down for all kinds of intimacy because it’s with you.

Even though your first “hangout/date” was the arcade at the movie theater, Sol would put in effort towards a “makeup hangout/date” so that you can see the better of him. Plus he’d like to know you and spend time with you. (He does know everything about you but he’ll pretend like he doesn’t know your social security number especially at a moment where you’re aware of the time you’re spending with him god he’s such a freak)

He manifests you. Sol is not exactly the religious or spiritual type but I mean if collecting crystals and getting tarot readings will help him date you then hell yeah. He needs all the help he can get, he already knows he has you but just for security I suppose…

We already are aware that he stalks the shit out of you and likely has photos of you but just imagine Sol walking to a print store asking the cashier to buy a 6 foot poster of you. The cashier isn’t paid enough to question Sol but they’re also like “wtf?”. Logically Sol would probably ask Hyugo for help since Hyugo has resources or Sol has a used and abused printer at home (Lolz)

As Stated in the last headcanon Sol doesn’t seem to be studious but if he needs to then yeah he can lock in. On one assignment he could get a D; the bare minimum, but he can easily get an A. Though the professor would question him if they cared enough.

Sol would lock in for class if it involves you. Although Sol is irrational and aggressive it doesn’t mean he isn’t academically Smart.

Socially he sucks and is awkward plus antisocial. This is seen with his interactions towards you and given the fact that his only friend is hyugo (albeit through a mutual agreement or contract). I mean you don’t just ask someone to get married after they compliment the lunch you made.

Anyone who’s not you isn’t worth his time. Regarding assigned partner work, he’d ask to do it alone or Hyugo in advanced helped him out and had the professor assign the two together. I can see Hyugo also helping Sol out by bribing your professor to pair you together on several occasions.

Sol is the Crazy ex. If you managed to breakup with him he’d go insane. He’d isolate you and kill everyone you love like duhh but let’s start out slow. His immediate response would be to get back together with you, he’d apologize and literally get down on his hands and knees begging you to come back. You’re stupid if you think he would let you go so easily. If he can’t get back together with you through apologizing and begging then he’d move onto finding out the cause. He’s stalking your socials, and also your friends to see if they were the reason. If Sol can’t deduce anything from his investigation then that’s when he becomes hysterical and takes it out on everyone with an axe of course!

Scenario

You: “I’m breaking up”

Sol: “I’m pregnant!”

You: “I meant the phone”

Sol:”Sorry I panicked” ahhhh Sol

Really suggestive but regarding sexual intimacy he’s so freaked out, if you can match his freak then you’re in for a long ride. Sol is the type to be into anything. He has to be open minded for his pumpkin.

An Idea I had is rather than let’s say Sol having photos of you up on his walls, he has portraits and all kinds of paintings of you on his walls plus the photos but more so Art of you. If he was into sculpture then he’d carve a marble statue of you. You are his muse. An analogy that can explain this relationship is how the ancient greek scuptors idealized the body and human form, Sol is the greek sculptor and you are the ideal form of the human body. You are beauty.

Speaking of art, he has definitely crashed out after drawing or painting you. Maybe the lightings off or he drew your eyes wrong, he’s putting that piece into storage or something. While he wasn’t able to capture your essence properly, he can’t bring himself to throw it away or destroy it because he thought of you while making it. The next piece he spends extra time on it.

He’s such a yearner. He has that yearning playlist dedicated to you on Spotify. I can already envision the Jeff Buckley “everybody here wants you” or Radiohead “all I need” albums on the playlist

Speaking of Music Sol looks like the type of listen to pierce the veil and sleeping with Sirens or some other alternative music but in actuality he’d listen to your favorite music (if it is actually PTV and SWS then hell yeah) or some other sort of yearning music directed towards you

Sol has written Poems about you. (Yk Since he likes Poe)

Sol’s Poems would range from Haikus about you to feelings of rage towards Crowe but also the frustration he feels waiting for you to notice him.

He is the ultimate Crowe hater. D1 Anti-Crowe.

To be honest Sol’s obsession with you is quite deluded. He is self aware that he is unhealthily obsessed with you but he doesn’t care. Feelings of doubt towards you are nonexistent and he’d shut down any contradictions. If Hyugo were to comment on Sol’s infatuation with you, Sol would be infuriated and say something snide like “your advice wasn’t a condition I agreed to” or straight up “shut the fuck up.”

In the “No Witnesses ending” where you strangle him with his choker, he probably enjoyed that. The physical part, not the part where you’re crying about Crowe because you love Crowe and not Sol. Boo Crowe👎 also Boo Hyugo👎 after he stabs you

It’s canon from Fantasia Tumblr that after the NW ending that Sol begs Hyugo to kill him. But if Hyugo doesn’t kill him, Sol would die exactly how you did. Sol would stab himself in the chest, kind of sweet in a sense, but it’s symbolic. It’d be retribution for your death indirectly caused by Sol.

Sol has a belt collection and specifically a studded belt one. Just imagine Sol with a green checkered belt.

Sol would change his aesthetic for you. He’d be like Ren from 14 days with you (if yk). If you say that you prefer softer aesthetics then he works on becoming your preference. You’re funny if you think you can have a type, like what do you mean type? Sol is your type and Your type is Sol. Sol becomes your type, your ideal boyfriend and eventually husband.

Sol pours his blood sweat and tears into you. All of his being goes towards you. You are his reason for living (duhhh)

I feel like one of Sol’s main methods for courting you is through imitation he’s like the periwinkle purple audio. If you like a certain food then all of the sudden that’s Sol’s favorite food. Your Likes, dislikes and hobbies become a part of Sol. Imitation is a smart tactic since people tend to go for others that are like them/ similar. Shared tastes is an easy way to make conversation,

Sol doesn’t care about the “opposites attract” trope, especially if its aesthetic wise . Only if you believe in the “opposites attract” trope then Sol would be fine with it

He’d let you yap about interests, some drama you heard, complaints. He’s a listener, but he can be a yapper (only if you want him to be)

I feel like sometimes Sol get tired of cooking since he cooks lunch for Hyugo and himself all the time.

Sol has a high tolerance for mostly anything you do. Mayb you kept burning the food while you guys were cooking at you apartment, he doesn’t mind it happens! Plus it’d be an honor for him to taste your cooking. Or Maybe you made stupid financial decision, dw Sol’s got you. But if you spend more time with someone other than Sol? That’s his final straw.

—————————————————————

Okay That’s enough. I spent over 2+ hours writing these and I can see a part 3. These have been checked for errors to the best of the abilities. Again thank you for all the support! And Suggestions are appreciated! I noticed in this series of headcanons I jump back and forth between ideas, apologies in advance, things just come to mind. I know I said I would write Crowe headcanons and I will soon! Also I don’t know if any of you notice but my formatting is between two types as I progress as a blogger. Okay enough thanks again you perverts… Also let me clarify that I do not condone the things Sol has done to m/c in the game, let me live and have imaginary headcanons, though some are on the far side of headcanon much less canon behavior.

[digiflora]

╭┄───────────── 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐔𝐕! ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

featuring. hsr men 〆 wc. 1.0k

art creds. 海仑 on weibo 〆 contains. mentions of being drunk/drinking, some suggestiveness but still sfw

gia's notes. new layout bc im allergic to keeping a theme 🏰 also i'm writing this while i procrastinate an essay. which is due in like.. 8.5 hours. and i am 2k over the word limit. joy upon joy.

╰┄➤ ❝ request. anon 〆 What HSR men says when they are drunk. ❞

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ they’re SWEET when they’re drunk.

his voice gets a touch softer, a little lower so that you have to crane your neck and lean in real close to him to catch what he's saying over the bustle of the bar that you went to and the chatter of your friends that you came with. it’s like you’re in your own little universe with him, the sweet pinkish tint to his cheeks and the dilated pupils a look that you could definitely get used to- not that his usual more reserved look didn’t make your heart hammer in your chest, too.

but it's just so rare to see him like this, for him to look at you like you hung the stars in the sky, like every word that passes your lips is a prayer, whose hands furl and unfurl in his lap like he's itching to touch you (you wish he would).

it's not like he really says much, per se, instead opting to watch your every move wide-eyed and with a slackened jaw. you're growing warm under his gaze, and you stutter out that he'll really have to quit staring at you like that before you get the wrong idea. that does little to stop his actions, though he does flash you a sheepish smile.

"i'm sorry, you just look so beautiful."

you almost choke as you take a sip of your own drink.

gepard, dan heng (imbibitor lunae), moze, luocha

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ they’re FLIRTY when they’re drunk.

it should be illegal for him to be this much of a smooth talker with that many drinks in his system. he's completely and utterly shameless, one arm rested casually against the back of your chair and his whole undivided attention on you as he throws every line he knows right at you hoping that one will land.

you'd be lying if you said that you weren't enjoying this attention from him, though there's the remaining sober part of you screaming how he's just a friend over and over, but when he dips his head low to whisper into your ear you're delighted to find that part of you audibly drown out.

everything about him is just so... tantalising. the way his silver tongue darts out to swipe across his lip, him not missing the way your eyes follow the movement. the way he leans back in his seat, the hungry yet calculating look in his eyes doing something to you. the way you see him deliberating over something before finally opening his mouth to speak.

and when he asks you if you want to get out here with him, it's only natural for you to accept his offer.

aventurine (realistically he gets sad when he drinks but that is not romantical or lighthearted at all) jiaoqiu, gallagher, boothill

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ they’re TALKATIVE when they’re drunk.

even on a good day, he's known to just talk, and talk, and talk if he gets going. that particular quality only seems to be amplified by the alcohol coursing through his system. he's been talking your ear off for the past half hour or so, a never-ending flow of words escaping his lips as he seems to he telling you just about everything that's on his mind.

you see the glances from others, the pity edging its way to concern adorning their features, but little do they know that you don't mind one bit.

while he may not be everyone's favourite to talk to, you've always found something within you compelled to sit and listen while he talks. he's always had something interesting to say, always been wary of if you are feeling tired or bored (not that you ever would be of him), and over your few encounters you've grown to be rather fond of him.

he's still talking now, an enthusiastic gleam in his eye as you smile and nod, propping your chin against your hand as you get comfy and study his features unbothered.

he sees the affectionate look on your face and stops for a moment, smiling widely and stuttering a few times before continuing.

dr ratio, sampo, mr reca, argenti

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ they’re TIRED when they’re drunk.

it's something that happened once, a few months ago when you had drank with them for the first time. you had all been in a group, and you had been chatting away with your friends rather livelily (i dont think that's a word) until you promptly felt a weight against your shoulder.

your reactions are a bit sluggish, but when you do turn to see just what it could be you're surprised to see a head of hair, and your tipsy brain just about manages to realise he's slumped over, dozing off on your shoulder, much to the amusement of everyone at the table.

you find it rather funny yourself, sneaking your phone out of your pocket to snap a rather unflattering-angled photo of him (which he still manages to look good in) that you send to him the next morning (he smiled to himself as he saw your grinning face in the corner of it and saved it to his camera roll).

you don't quite have the heart to wake him up or shrug him off, so you sort of just... let him be and continue talking like nothing had happened. some nondescript amount of time later he wakes up, blinking uncertainly as he gains his surroundings, before jolting up ramrod straight and apologising to you.

you giggle, tell him it's alright and tease that he must be getting old to be asleep this early, which is met with an unimpressed look from him.

but from that night onwards, it happens a little too... often to be some chance.

every time he drinks, without fail, his head drops onto your shoulder. it's somewhat of a routine to snap a photo of him like this, to admire it in secret before sending it to him, and it's somewhat of a tradition now for him to wake up and instead send you a reserved smile before letting himself doze off on your shoulder again.

not that either of you are complaining.

blade, jing yuan, caelus, welt

➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... do you want somebody like i want somebody?

[dykeforhire]

Taste for A Favor | E.P.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader

Summary: Emily opens up to you about her feelings regarding sex after menopause… you decide to help her out.

Tags: (18+) smut (oral, face!fucking, dirty!talk, body worship, scissoring, fingering), bit of an age-gap, struggles with self-confidence.

Word count: 12.6k

masterlist || read on ao3

a/n: the LONG AWAITED meno fic is finally here milf lovers… enjoy !! this is so unrealistic... but hey, its porn.

…

After being at the BAU for so long, you’ve grown quite a bond with the team. You consider Penelope, JJ, and Tara to be some of your closest friends, inside and outside of work, and Luke—the brother you never had. Rossi is practically a father to everyone, so of course, you feel the same.

And then there is Emily. 

The infamous Emily Prentiss, so very poised and always effortlessly catching the attention of everyone around her. 

You aren’t quite sure where the relationship between the two of you lies. 

You’d say good friends, but then again, there has always been that strange static energy when it comes to you and her. Not to mention, the way your breath always seems to catch in your throat whenever Emily looks at you, or the way you’ve always been drawn to the way her perfume lingers in the air even after she leaves the room.

Technically, it’s a crush, which is somewhat embarrassing to say at your grown age, but also embarrassingly true.

She is the older, wickedly attractive, silver-vixen of a boss that romance novels preach about. And you just so happen to be an absolute sucker for the taboo, and for her.

That being said, it’s sort of a fairytale in the making as to how you ended up in Emily’s upscale apartment in the district, after a long and stressful day of paperwork and meetings at Quantico. It feels as though it was by some divine intervention that out of all the women on the team, you were the only one available for an impromptu ‘girls night’.

When you arrived at her doorstep, Emily was already out there waiting, sitting comfortably on her stoop, a half-smoked cigarette betwixt her fingers.

She had changed clothes since she left the office earlier in the evening, trading her sleek button-down blouse and tailored slacks for a pair of black sweatpants and a pullover sweater, the neckline cut wide enough for it to fall off one shoulder.

The warm light of the street lamps caught on her skin, making the faint protrusions of her collarbones and the ball of her shoulder glow.

Her hair was another thing.

The thick silver locks were thrown up into a messy knot at the back of her head, a few loose white strands from her crown and temples framing her face. 

She looked effortless, remarkably domestic. It was then that you found domesticity to be your favourite look on her.

“Hey! I’m so glad you could make it. All the others bailed, haha.” She reached out with her free hand, greeting you with a pat to the bicep.

“So I see… we’ve never gotten a chance to hang out alone, so… I’m sure it’ll be a good time.” You chuckled nervously, shifting the bag of takeout from one hand to the other.

She led you up the stairs with a smile, stamping her cigarette on the stone wall and tossing it behind her.

You never thought climbing a single flight of stairs could be so tolling until you were stuck climbing behind her. 

Her scent wafted into your senses with each step, that expensive French perfume and the lingering cigarette smoke in her hair. You felt like you were suffocating in the most brilliant of ways. 

You couldn’t get enough.

Not to mention the way her hips swayed beneath the loose fabric of her sweats, the cotton clinging to her body in all the right places.

You stood behind her as she unlocked her front door, pretending not to stare at her exposed shoulder blade or the scandalous curve of her neck and jaw.

Stepping inside, you were met with the scent of earthy candles, and something very uniquely Emily.

“Here, I'll take that from you…” She placed her keys on the foyer table and spun to face you, taking the bag from your hand. “You go settle in, I’ll plate this up.”

“Sounds good.” You gave her a tight but friendly smile, adjusting the hem of your shirt nervously.

You watched her float into the kitchen mindlessly, sighing to yourself in somewhat disbelief that you were spending alone time with the object of your most recent romantic desires. 

…

Emily returns to the living room with two plates balanced in one hand, a bottle of white, and two wine glasses in the other.

“Thank you, thank you.” You take the plates from her and set them down on the table in front of the couch.

She drops down beside you with a tired groan, the knot of her hair bouncing animatedly.

“Thank god for wine and you, for the take-out.” She grins, setting the glasses down and pouring a healthy amount in each.

“Cheers to that…” you laugh, tilting the glass toward her before taking a long sip.

“So…” Emily starts, taking a bite of her food. “What have you been up to lately… when the BAU isn’t holding you hostage?” 

“Ahh, the age-old question…” You chuckle, picking at your food before gathering it onto your fork. “Nothing much, I usually just laze around in my spare time or enjoy some retail therapy.” You shovel the food into your mouth.

“I get it, nights like this are a rare commodity.” She sets the plate on her lap and reaches towards the side table. “Wanna put on a movie or a show? What’s good on TV lately?”

She hands you the TV remote, which you take carefully, flicking the TV on and opening one of her various streaming services.

“Hmm, how about… here, this’ll do.” You decide on some home renovation series you’d binged recently, a mix of hoarder house and fixer-uppers.

Setting the remote down, you start eating again, only half paying attention to what is on the screen.

Reaching for your wine glass, you take a quick glance at Emily. Your heart almost stops dead in your chest when you see the angular black frames resting on the bridge of her nose. 

You’d never seen her in glasses before, so it’s understandable why one would be surprised—but you were rendered speechless for a whole other reason.

She looks undeniably sexy wearing glasses, especially paired with the messy hair and lounge clothes.

“You wear glasses?” You ask, voice wavering slightly.

“Oh yeah, have for years now.” She rattles off as if the information isn’t turning your insides to mush. “I wear contacts at the office, just makes it easier.” She pushes the frames up a bit as they’ve slipped down while she’s been eating.

You watch the way her throat bobs as she swallows, the way her tendons tighten and release.

“You should wear them more often, they look nice, fitting.” You shake yourself out of your filthy thoughts, downing the remainder of the wine in your glass.

“Really?” She turns to you, her brow arched curiously. “I think I look like a dweeb.”

“Hey… dweebs are hot.” You wave your hand, nonchalance dripping from the statement as you try your hardest not to let your voice crack.

“If you say so…” she laughs softly, nudging your arm with her knuckles. 

Emily pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she focuses back on the TV, and you can help but watch. You can see how her tongue glides over her lips, collecting crumbs of misplaced food, and how the muscles of her jaw clench as she chews.

Alright…

You settle back into a comfortable silence after that. After finishing up your food, you reach over to place the empty plate on the table—Emily catches your wrist before you can.

“I’ll take that.” She gives you a soft squeeze, smiling as she grabs the plate from your hand.

“Thanks…” 

As she wanders off into the kitchen, you take a moment to calm your nerves. Despite nearing your forties, attractive older women still maintain the ability to make you behave like a fool as if you’re sixteen years old.

Emily, plopping back onto the couch, pulls your attention back to reality. She smiles at you crookedly as she gets comfortable, folding one of her legs beneath her bottom.

“Hey, I never asked how you’re doing? What have you been up to?” There’s a slight gravel in your voice as you speak, and you take a sip of wine to soothe it.

Emily sighs as she takes in your question, which pulls a curious arc to your brow.

“Nothing good, huh?” You set the glass down, shifting on the cushion to face her.

“No, it’s just… I don’t know, when you get to this stage in life, I’m sure you’ll understand much more.” She pauses, the words arranging in her mind. 

“Understand what? I’m not that far behind you, y’know?” you chuckle, your hand reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, urging her to speak further.

“Yeah, yeah…” she scratches at the back of her neck, making a crooked face. “It’s just—ugh, I want to be getting out more. But this job, and life… it’s just so complicated.”

“I get that. Would you rather have gone to the bar tonight? We can totally still go out—”

“No, no… I wanted to stay in tonight.” Emily cuts you off. “I guess I mean it in more of the dating aspect.”

Oh.

Emily wants to start dating again…

“So you want to start dating? I’m sure that’s no issue for you, Emily. We’re in DC… there’s apps, there’s work events.” You attempt to help assure her, but you can’t deny the tiny pang of jealousy in your belly.

“I know, but…” Emily groans, taking a long sip of her wine. “It’s just hard… putting myself out there. Post-menopausal women aren’t really a hot commodity nowadays…”

You can help but scoff at the ridiculous statement, eyeing her incredulously.

“You haven’t been on the Internet recently, have you? Because I can assure you, Emily… they most certainly are.” You chuckle, leaning back against the armrest behind you.

“Okay, but it’s not just that—” she pauses, shaking her head a bit in thought. She pushes her glasses atop her head, her dark eyes a bit watery. “I want someone who understands what it’s like. To be a woman of a certain age.”

“Okay?” You urge her on, angling your head a bit closer. “So you want someone who’ll be able to cater to your needs.”

Your heart skips a few beats as the topic of conversation settles into place. Sex. Or more specifically, Emily Prentiss’s sexual needs.

“I started using those estrogen patches to help with the y'know—dryness, hot flashes, and whatever...” Emily motions downwards with her hands, vaguely. “And it’s been working well for me; my body feels more mine than it has in years. But, I’ve still been struggling with achieving… release, I guess you could say—or at the very least, having a pleasurable experience regardless of if I finish or not.”

Emily looks slightly defeated as she slumps against the cushions of her couch, the liquid in her glass swirling idly.

“Well, what do you think would get you where you wanna be?” You ask, resting your elbow on the back of the couch and your temple against your knuckles.

“I don’t know… maybe if someone else does the touching, it would feel better.” Emily sighs. “But I haven’t really had time to find dates, let alone find someone who’d even be interested in a woman like me…”

The comment makes you stir a bit; the fact that a woman as beautiful as Emily thinks that anyone would pass up on a chance to go out with her, let alone sleep with her, is rather bizarre in your mind.

Matter of fact, if given the chance, you’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Oh come on…” You swat at the older woman's thigh. “I bet you’ve got hoards falling at your feet. You’re fucking stunning.” 

“Oh, you’re just saying that…” Emily scoffs.

“Puh-lease, Emily… you have no idea.” You roll your eyes, hand lingering a little too long near her leg.

“Oh? And what is that supposed to mean?” Emily looks at you curiously, her brow arched high.

“All I’m sayin’ is, if you gave me a chance… psh” You trail off, waving your hand in the air shamelessly, averting your eyes from her gaze. 

She studies your face for a moment, a tiny smirk crooked at the corner of her mouth. The wine has brought a faint red glow to her cheeks, and the few stray hairs that’ve slipped loose from their hold under the glasses, framing her face gracefully.

“So you’re saying that given the opportunity, you—my agent—might I remind you, would sleep with me?” Her smile grows as she asks the question, the flush spreading down to her chest.

“Absolutely.” You deadpan, internally grateful for the third glass of wine in your system for a bit of liquid courage.

The lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile grows to its full capacity, the dim candlelight flickering across her features.

“Really?” Her brow worries, a line creasing through her t-zone. “You don’t think I’m too old and withered?” Emily chuckles, brushing a hair away from her lip.

“I think you’re everything.” Your gaze fixes on her, maintaining eye contact. The deep brown of her irises sparkles like the night sky as she stares back at you, a faint glistening of tears peeking over her waterline. 

“God, you’re so young…” she chuckles, placing the wine glass on the side table. “I’m sure you have better things to do than… me.”

You laugh softly in return, mirroring her position and placing your glass on the table. Shifting closer to her, your knee presses into the side of her thigh.

“I’m not that young, and you are most certainly very high on my to-do list.” You murmur, watching the way Emily reacts. You reach a hand out, knuckles brushing along the top of her thigh.

Emily’s breath hitches slightly at the contact, the muscle tensing below the fabric of her sweatpants.

“Y/n…” she whispers, her chest rising unsteadily.

“Emily…” you whisper back, matching her empathetic tone.

“You’re sure? About wanting that, I mean.” Emily looks at you, her lashes fluttering shyly. 

You smile at her, reaching up to brush your fingers along the curve of her jaw.

“I’m gonna be very honest with you right now, Emily…” Your thumb traces the swell of her chin, the underside of her lip. “I’ve thought about getting my hands on you since I first transferred onto the team.”

“Oh, m-really!?” Emily sighs almost in disbelief, as her eyes traverse your face rabidly, taking in the details. 

“Yes.” You breathe out, leaning in close enough to smell the lingering wine on her lips and laundry detergent on her clothes. “And what about you, hm? Is that, or—am I, something you’d be interested in?”

Emily silences, her gaze noticeably falling to your lips. You part them subconsciously, a hand cupping her cheek as you slowly lean in, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

“Yeah… I’m very interested right now.” Her eyes flick up to yours one last time before she sinks fully into you, her soft lips pressing against yours in an almost feather-light kiss.

You pause for a moment, letting her take a breath, letting her relax. 

When her palms land on your hips, you move forward, pressing your mouths together harder and deepening the kiss. Emily hums softly as your fingers curl around the back of her head—the vibrations reverberating against your teeth.

You let her take the lead, her tongue darting out and dragging across your bottom lip teasingly, before curling into your mouth. You suck on it gently before releasing and re-attaching your mouths in a passionate onslaught. 

Emily sucks in a sharp breath as you nip at her bottom lip, your free hand gripping at her thigh. She pulls back and rests her forehead against yours, her breathing quick and labored against your lips.

“Jesus…” Emily pants, her thumb drawing circles against your abdomen through the fabric of your shirt.

“I hope that was a good ‘Jesus’…” you chuckle, scratching at her scalp with blunt fingernails.

“It was a good ‘Jesus’, trust me.” The silver-haired woman laughs. “That was very, very nice.”

“Just nice?” You question sarcastically, leaning against the back of the couch to look at her properly. Emily scoffs and rolls her eyes, her fingers tracing the hem of your top. 

Your hand slips from her hair and reaches for the glasses atop her head, pulling them from her tresses and tossing them onto the table next to her wine glass.

“Hey! Those were expensive.” Emily feigns concern, as if she hasn’t got about ten other pairs lying around as well as a hefty amount of cash stashed away in her savings.

“I’ll get you a new pair…” You mumble, leaning in to kiss her again. Emily whimpers softly, her hand clutching at your waist to pull you closer. 

It’s a bit sloppier as you take the reins this time, your tongue rolling languidly into her mouth and tangling with hers. Your teeth scraping at her bottom lip, fingers resting on the curve of her shoulder as your body rolls with the momentum of the kiss.

The skin that peeks out from the wide collar of her sweater is hot to the touch, soft and smooth against the pads of your fingers.

Trailing up the side of her neck, your fingers dance over the veins and tendons that dance with the motions of her jaw, protruding ever so slightly at the exertion. The tip of her nose rubs against your cheek as she tilts, opening her mouth and letting you lick inside—the essence of wine and leftover cigarette sinking into your tastebuds.

Scooting closer, you raise your leg and settle it atop hers, overheated bodies pressing into each other. 

Emily hums, and her hand slips down to rest on the muscle of your thigh, squeezing. Your hips lurch forward at the pressure, a twinge of arousal surging through you.

You pull back from the kiss to catch your breath, both hands clutching at the base of her skull.

“Can I touch you?” You murmur, inhaling sharply through your nose. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yeah…” Emily exhales, her other hand clutching at your shoulder blade from under your arm. “Please, touch me.”

You dive back in with a nod, kissing her hard but slow. Taking your time in savouring the way your tastes mingle, the way she feels.

One hand leaves her neck, trailing lower. You memorize the dips and curves of her chest through the fabric of her sweater, feeling along her collar bones, her ribs, the curve of her breast—but not where she wants you most just yet.

When you reach her stomach, you pull back just enough to watch her expression, savoring the way her breath hitches when your fingers dip under the hem of her top and press against her soft belly.

“You’ve got cold hands…” Emily shudders, the muscles of her stomach flinching.

“I’m sure you’ll warm them right up.” 

Emily’s eyes flick open and lock with yours momentarily. And with a quiet moan and furrowed brows, she leans in again—sucking at your bottom lip harshly before licking over it and kissing you properly.

Your hand travels further across the expanse of her abdomen as she kisses you deeply, tracing the curve of her lower belly and over the faint ripples of muscle below her diaphragm.

Emily freezes when your thumb brushes against the aged ridges of the scar jaggedly carved into the left side of her abdomen. You know exactly what it is, everyone knows.

The age-old tale of when Emily Prentiss died at the hands of Ian Doyle, and somehow miraculously survived.

You feel the shift in her demeanor as you press fully against it, fingertips tracing the faint ridges where sutures once lay.

“Is this okay?” You whisper against her lips, pressing a soft peck to the corner of her mouth.

“I-yeah. Yes. It’s okay.” She stutters, her thoughts seemingly jumbled. “Just don’t linger too long, okay?” 

“Okay.” You smile gently. “You’re beautiful, Emily… so beautiful.” You drag your fingers away from the old wound, tracing lower along the arch of her hip bones.

Emily whimpers as you kiss her gently, lips just barely pressing against hers.

The hand that still rests on the side of Emily’s neck reaches up and pulls the tie from her hair, the thick silver locks cascading down her shoulders and back.

The strands tickle your face as you move to tuck them away, fingertips brushing over her cheekbone.

“I love your hair… grey looks sooo sexy on you.” You murmur between chaste kisses, your hands flexing against her waist.

“Yeah?” She pants breathlessly, her hand squeezing your bicep as the tension seems to thicken between the two of you.

“Yeah…” You break away from her mouth, eyes flicking open and locking with hers before you shift lower, planting kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

The warm, aged skin is soft and pliable beneath your lips as you suckle at her pulse point, eliciting a tiny gasp from her throat. Your teeth graze the flesh as you move lower, using the hand in her hair to lift her chin, giving yourself more access.

“That feels good.” Emily sighs, her body slowly leaning further into the armrest of the couch. You let out a low hum, nipping at the underside of her jaw as you press her back fully against the cushion. 

Emily’s arches into your touch as the hand beneath her shirt trails higher, palm flat against the curve of her ribcage. Your thumb glides over the underwire of her bra teasingly, pulling a tiny gasp from the older woman. 

“Can I?” You whisper against her lips, her quick breaths fanning across your face with the closeness.

“Yes.” Emily exhales, nodding eagerly as your fingers trace the padding of the cup.

You palm a full breast, and Emily moans—her hands pawing at you through your clothes. You can feel the faint outline of her nipple as you squeeze, hardening with each groping touch.

With a desperate groan, you shift on top of her, your legs bracketing her thighs. Emily looks up at you with drooping eyelids, her hands moving to rest on each side of your waist—fingertips prodding into your flesh.

“And this? Okay?” You ask quietly, dipping down to nuzzle at her cheek.

“Yeah… keep going, please.” She squeezes your hips gently, her chest pushing into your touch.

You smile at her eagerness, cupping her breasts with both hands now. The silken fabric is warm to the touch, its smoothness pairing well with Emily’s soft skin. 

You lean down to kiss her again, lips meeting in a desperate mess of teeth and tongue. Emily’s breathing is shaky and shallow as you scrape your nails over the padding, teasing her covered nipples. 

Emily pulls away suddenly, the movement so rushed it almost knocks you off her lap altogether. Her arms clamber at her own back as she shakily reaches under the sweater, unclasping her bra and pulling her arms through the sleeves.

You can’t help but smile amusedly at the older woman as she struggles to free herself from the straps, wriggling beneath the thick fabric as if it were a straitjacket.

“Got it?” You chuckle, quirking a brow.

“Mhm… just a second.” Emily chokes out, her arms untangling and slipping back through the sleeves—one hand holding a simple grey bra.

She tosses it across the room before returning her attention to you, smiling and shrugging in a way that makes your heart skip a beat before lurching forward, reconnecting your lips in a fiery, passionate kiss.

A muffled moan slips into her mouth with the force of it, your hand grasping at her waist.

Using your free hand to stabilize yourself on the back of the couch, you press forward, righting yourself on her lap. Your hips rock in tandem with the kiss, rolling subtly over the meat of her thighs.

Emily hums, clutching at the sides of your face as your hands slip beneath her sweater again. Her skin is practically boiling, a hot flush spreading from her cheeks down to her chest.

You run your fingers up her flanks, tickling at her ribs before tracing your thumbs along the underside of her breasts. Emily shivers as you tease the sensitive skin, her nails digging into your neck ever-so-slightly.

Her nipples are fully peaked when you finally brush over them, her areolas puckered. The thought of her being so affected from a simple makeout session sends a sharp twinge of arousal straight through you, compelling your hips to grind harder into her lap.

Emily pulls back with a hiss as you squeeze at her bare breasts, pinching her nipples between your index and middle fingers. You watch attentively, studying her reactions as if you were scanning them into your brain.

You think for a moment that a memory as beautiful as this deserves to be kept close and sacred for all eternity.

Urging yourself on, you crane down and kiss along her exposed throat, nipping at the veins pulsing just below the surface. Emily’s hums, her svelte fingers tangling at your nape as you drag your tongue over her pulse point.

Tugging on your hair, Emily pulls your mouth back to hers. The kiss she plants on you is wantonly needy, the way her tongue drags across your lips before her teeth bite into it drives you practically up the wall.

Sliding halfway off her lap again, you drag your nails over her breasts and down her abdomen. The way her muscles jump and twitch below the skin fascinates you.

Looping an arm around her lower back, you tug her side against the front of your body. Emily squeaks in response, her torso twisting near unnaturally to keep your mouths connected.

Your hand runs flat over her pelvis and down to her thigh, squeezing at her knee before sharply scraping back up, your callouses catching on the worn fabric of her sweatpants.

Her hips cant forward as you tease at the hem, fingertips brushing over the skin of her belly.

“Please…” Emily whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your upper lip and then the bottom.

“Please, what?” You murmur, drawing teasing circles around her belly button. “I need you to tell me exactly what you need, Emily. I want this to be perfect for you.”

“God, these are not the type of orders I’m used to giving…” she laughs breathily, tucking her face into your neck. “Just touch me… I’ll let you know if something needs to change.”

“Okay.” You press a kiss to her temple.

Emily inhales deep and shakily, her lips brushing against your collarbone. 

Squeezing her hip, you slowly let your fingers dip beneath the waistband. Immediately, you can feel the damp heat of her sex. 

“Oh god…” Emily sighs, spreading her legs further to accommodate you.

“So warm… I take it I’m doing well so far?” You quip, earning yourself a sharp bite to the side of your neck, most definitely leaving a mark.

“I’ll take that as a yes…” you grumble, cupping her pussy through her thin cotton panties.

Emily whines, pushing her hips into your palm to gain more pressure, only for you to pull away. You chuckle lowly as she lets out a needy plea, her hands still clutching desperately at the back of your head.

“I’m taking my time with you, be patient.” You murmur into her ear, breathing in the scent of her hair.

Emily stays silent as you slip your hand back into her pants, fingers trailing down her inner thighs before teasing the edge of her gusset. She sucks in a shuddered breath at the light touch, her thighs spreading impossible wider.

When you finally slip past the hem of her panties, the pads of your fingers immediately come into contact with the wiry curls between her legs.

“Sorry…” Emily mutters shyly against your neck, her face tucked just below your jaw. “If I had any idea this was gonna happen, I would’ve shaved.”

“Don’t worry about it…” You rake your fingers through the hair and press a gentle kiss to the bit of shoulder peeking out from the loose collar of her oversized sweater. “I’m a big girl… I like it.”

Emily shivers in your grasp, her hips twitching—the pressure of your palm seemingly doing wonders in working her up. Using just your middle finger, you slip lower and let it press between her folds, finding her warm and wetter than you thought she’d be.

“You’re wet…” you mumble against her shoulder, licking a broad stripe up the side of her neck as your finger draws teasingly along her slit.

“Yeah…” Emily gasps, her hips rutting against your hand. “I told you the hormones were working.”

“God, you’re so hot.” You groan, gathering some arousal and dragging it up to her clit, tracing light circles around it.

“Hm-fuck…” she whines, her muscles tensing and fingernails digging almost painfully into your scalp.

“Feel good?” You let your head rest against hers, your lips brushing at the shell of her ear.

Emily makes various whiny and illegible noises before she finally responds, her stomach clenching in concentration.

“Yeah, it’s good…” she pants, choking in her breath. “Just keep the touches light, more sensitive that way.”

“Okay…” you press a kiss to her cheek, continuing your slow, teasing strokes against her clit.

You can feel your own arousal starting to pool in your underwear simply from hearing the sounds Emily makes. The quiet gasps, the needy whines and whimpers, it all sends a thick wave of heat through your body, saturating every nerve ending in a heady glaze of want.

Trailing wet kisses along her neck and shoulder, you begin to slip from your spot atop her thigh, your knees sliding off the edge of the couch and slowly landing on the area rug below.

“Wha—where are you going?” Emily turns towards you, a worried crease between her brows.

“I wanna taste you…” You murmur, nuzzling your face into her soft chest. “Can I taste you?” You meet her gaze with wide, sparkling eyes as you kiss the tops of her breasts through the fabric of her sweater.

“Yeah…” Emily pants, breathlessly. “Please.”

You smile softly, your hand leaving the confines of her panties and resting at the curve of her hip as you settle yourself on the floor between her knees.

Emily leans back and pushes her hips towards you, her face flushed and lips parted. She watches with intent as you lift the hem of her top, exposing her soft lower belly. 

Diving in, you press a featherlight kiss just below her navel. Emily sucks in a breath at the feeling of your mouth, damp and soft against her heated skin. You can feel the pale peach fuzz beneath your lips as you drag them higher, mouthing at the skin of her upper abdomen.

Emily’s hands cup the sides of your head, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, the tips just barely touching your eyelashes. 

Her skin tastes just as sweet as imagined as you drag your tongue along the vast plains of her stomach, with a faint hint of savory perspiration. The skin prickles with goosebumps as you trail higher, lifting her sweater as you go and revealing her breasts.

Just the sight of the thick, heavy flesh makes your mouth water. 

You sit back on your heels slightly, using the tips of your fingers to hold the sweater out of the way as your palms press into the sides of her breasts. Your eyes are wide as you frantically explore the newly exposed skin, admiring every stretch mark, freckle, or sun spot, as well as the dusky pink of her nipples.

Leaning forward, you press a solid kiss to the shiny skin in the valley between her breasts, inhaling deeply.

Your kisses grow wet and sloppy, tongue laving along the hot underside of the globes. Emily lets herself fall into the spell of your attention, the pleasure. Her head falls back, tendons growing tought beneath the skin as her chest rises and falls in shallow breaths.

You look up to watch her expression when your mouth reaches her nipples, kissing the bud before dragging a flattened tongue over it.

“Oh-” Emily jerks, her head tilting forward and her gaze landing on your mouth. 

Your tongue flicks out at her nipple, drawing a choked gasp from Emily’s throat. Her cheeks grow a darker shade of red the longer she watches, her lips parted in a silent moan.

“Such a tease” She sighs, her breath fanning across your face. “C’mere… take this off of me.” Emily brushes the hair from your face, smoothing her fingers over your crown.

Excitedly, you crane up to peck her lips before sliding your hands up her sides and into the sleeves of her sweater, pushing it over her head, swiftly and discarding it somewhere on the other side of the couch.

You take a moment to admire her half-nude form, her reddened skin, her chest—still covered in the sheen of your saliva, her tousled silver hair; she is a prime example of the purest form of beauty.

You reach out, brushing the tangled strands from her collarbones before tracing over her shoulders and down her arms. When you reach her hands, you take them in your own, pulling them towards your face. 

Emily stares wondrously as you kiss her knuckles, down to the tips of her individual fingers, then her calloused palms. When you reach her wrist, you slowly run your finger along the sleek leather of her watch, unclasping it before gently sliding it off her wrist and placing it on the end table.

Your lips brush against the sensitive skin, her pulse thrumming beneath the light pressure of your thumb. A quiet whimper falls from the older woman’s mouth as you kiss along her wrist and up her arm, painstakingly slow and with lustrous intensity.

Emily slips one hand from your grasp, using it to tug you in by the hair.

Her mouth is a force as it collides with yours with a renewed passion, sucking you in as if she were trying to swallow you whole.

“Please.” She whispers, nipping at your swollen bottom lip.

Your hands cup the sides of her ribcage, feeling the ridges with the pads of your thumbs.

“Patience…” you draw the word out in a hushed whisper against her lips, nipping at the bottom one before dipping to the side again and kissing along her shoulder.

Emily groans impatiently, her flushed skin almost glistening as she struggles to hold herself back.

You smirk as you drag your tongue, hot and languid, over her right collarbone, dipping into the hollow of her throat, then the other. 

Her chest rises and falls almost frantically at the attention, her head tilting back to allow you more access.

You accept the offer graciously, a hand reaching up to catch her head as it lolls back—your lips latching on to the spot below her ear that pulls a gasp from her lungs.

With a drag of your teeth, you slip lower once again.

Your mouth moves tirelessly over her chest and the rounded edges of her breasts, your nose brushes at her side as you lavish her with undivided attention.

You inhale her deeply, breathing in the scent of sweat and skin, the intoxicating essence of her deodorant mixed with something entirely Emily.

She’s everywhere in your senses, and it makes you feel like you’re floating in space, watching it all happen from above.

You take her nipple into your mouth, and Emily breathes out shakily, arching into the suction of your lips, the swirling of your tongue.

Your teeth scrape over the bud and pull a surprised yelp from the older woman, her eyes shoot down to catch yours.

Her pupils are so blown that you can’t even tell where they end and her irises begin. The pride that surges through you is almost painful, curling deep in your chest, lungs going taught and then unfurling hotly.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, watching your face with half-lidded eyes as you shift to the opposite breast, giving it the same treatment.

Your hands glide down the length of her torso, palming the sides of her chest before your nails rake down her belly. Emily shivers, her hips twitching and her covered mound brushing against your abdomen. 

Finally, you lean back on your heels, letting your eyes take her in one last time.

You sit perched between her legs, palms driving up the underside of her thighs. The muscle trembles faintly, you wonder if it’s the anticipation or nerves—maybe both.

“Scoot a bit closer toward the edge for me, beautiful.” You murmur, dipping down to press a gentle kiss to her knee.

Her urges forward at the request, wiggling her hips as she slides closer—her ass just barely hanging off the edge of the couch cushion.

“Can I take these off?” Your fingers curl into the waistband of her sweats, teasing the hot skin at her panty line.

Emily doesn’t speak, she doesn’t trust her voice, she nods furiously—lifting her hips in the air for you to slip the fabric over her ass.

You pull the pants down agonizingly slow, revealing endless miles of leg. When the pants reach her ankles, you pull her socks off with them.

With the fabric discarded across the room, your head rests against her soft inner thigh, eyes dancing curiously over her most intimate region.

Your blunt nails scratch at the top of her thigh, noting the way a faint dusting of goosebumps rises on the flesh. Reaching the apex, your fingertips trace the hem of her panties, dipping teasingly beneath.

Emily hisses at the contact, like your touch scalds.

The thin, dark blue cotton sits slightly askew on her hips, the damp spot above her center darkening the fabric wickedly.

“Have I ever mentioned how brilliant you look in blue, Chief Prentiss?” You murmur, eyes flicking up at her through your lashes before landing on her center again.

Emily grumbles at the title, her hand brushing your hair back from your forehead.

“No, agent Y/L/N, I don’t think you have…” She plays along confidently, and it makes your breath stutter. 

You bite your lip nervously; that proud tone in her voice always makes you so weak.

“Well, you do…” You tilt your face, letting your nose drag along her thigh. “Absolutely…” You press a kiss to the meaty flesh of the apex. “Fucking…” another, right above her covered pubic hair. “Brilliant.” 

With the last words you press your mouth directly atop her clit, the bud twitching as your lips close in a slow—wet kiss.

Emily chuckles breathily as she slumps against the back of the couch, and it almost sounds like it’s mixed with a moan.

Your palms grip the backs of her knees, lifting and pressing them apart.

You breathe her in, the thick, heady scent of her arousal sending a shiver down your spine, the hairs on your arms standing.

You kiss lower, tongue swiping out to taste her through the thin fabric. 

It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

Your nose rubs her clit as you practically make out with her covered pussy, her nails digging into your scalp—pressing your face closer.

“Oh, babe…” Emily moans softly, her mouth hanging open. “Please, fuck—I need to feel that pretty mouth.”

You let out a deep, needy groan, the vibrations sending a jolt straight through her.

Without a word, you sit up, gripping the hem of her panties and tugging them down so roughly the fabric pops.

Emily gapes at the aggressive movement, her breasts swaying as she shifts up for you again, letting you tear the fabric from her legs.

You gaze at her flushed face first, she looks positively ravished, then you look at the damp cotton in your hands.

“I’m keeping these.” You declare smugly, bringing them up to your face and breathing her in before shifting onto your knees and shoving the panties in your back pocket.

“Filthy thing you are…” she murmurs, her eyes glassy with arousal. 

A grin spreads across your face at the phrase, a tiny whine bubbling in your throat from the slight degradation mixed in.

You take in her utterly nude state, the tuft of salt and pepper curls between her legs now on full display. Your mouth waters at the sight of her, saliva pooling under your tongue.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Emily leans forward, her foot drawing over your clothed inner thigh.

“Am I? Maybe you should help me out of them then?” You lift your arms, and Emily’s hands immediately grasp at the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it over your head in one swift motion.

Her hands are at your belt next, her fingers tugging it open and reaching for the button of your jeans. You’re on your feet quicker than she has time to ask you to stand, pants falling down your thighs before stepping out of them.

Emily’s whimpers as she takes in the tightness of your underwear on your hips, the curve of your breasts in your sports bra.

She reaches for you, her fingers digging into the backs of your thighs. She pulls you to stand between her legs, her hands sliding over the curve of your ass and scratching up your back.

“Jesus…” she pants, her eyes wide. 

Her mouth is on you next, soft lips pressing kisses to your belly. You shove her backwards by the shoulders before she can get too far, falling back against the couch with an oof.

“This is about you, Emily… worry about me after I make you cum.” The words are gravely as they leave your throat, arousal evident in the raspiness.

She quirks a challenging brow, spreading her legs wide and settling further into the couch.

You sink to your knees before her, her scent already clouding the air. Your hands come to rest atop her knees, squeezing lightly as you press them apart.

Your eyes rake over her body, the soft curves, the old and new scars that blemish her flawless skin.

“You..” your lips press to the center of her heaving chest, “are sooo…” your tongue drags between her breasts, “fucking…” down her stomach and nipping at the soft pudge below her navel, “gorgeous.”

With the final words your lips find her pussy, warm and wet, awaiting. Emily’s hips buck against your face as you press sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to her sex, desperate for the release she’s been craving.

“Fuck.” The silver-haired woman sighs, her stomach twitching at the contact. Her eyes are locked on your face as you bury yourself in her, devouring.

Pressing her legs up again, you settle them over your shoulders, arms wrapping around her upper thighs and pulling her impossibly closer.

Your tongue draws a flat stripe over her folds, dipping between them before flicking at the underside of her clit. Emily jolts, her fingers threading into your hair and holding you exactly where she wants you.

“Yes…” You almost chant. “Fuck my face.”

Emily moans at your lewd words, and your mouth opens—tongue unfurling and resting atop your bottom lip. 

Above, Emily grins through a silent cry—her hands gripping at your scalp and maneuvering your head in an up and down motion, sliding your tongue over her pussy whilst her hips roll in circular motions.

You groan at the feeling, your nose pressing into her pubic hair, the way she’s taken control is absolutely intoxicating.

“Hm—you feel so good.” Emily pants, and your eyes flick up to her face, watching hungrily as her muscles clench and pulse, arms flexing as she guides you.

You can’t help but flash your teeth in a wolfish grin at her affected state, hands reaching up to squeeze her breasts.

Her skin is nearly feverish as your thumbs brush over peaked nipples, circling lightly with the pads before pinching them between your knuckles. The tweaking urges a whimper from Emily’s throat, squeaking out just as her head falls back again—her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

“You look so pretty like this…” You mumble in between laps, swallowing down the excess saliva and arousal that’s gathered in the back of your throat.

Emily chuckles wryly, her gaze falling back on your face. “You look even better.” 

You hold back a groan as your mouth closes around her clit, suckling softly whilst your tongue flicks over it.

Emily chokes on a moan at the sudden shift in pressure, her hands and thighs squeezing so tightly around your head that it feels as if it might pop.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so good with that mouth.” She pants between words, muscles trembling.

You hum at the praise, jaw opening wider so your tongue can slip down to her entrance, just barely pressing inside before swiping back up and repeating the motion.

“Oh—” she gasps above you, rutting her hips against your tongue. “Keep doing that…” 

You follow her orders silently, lapping at her pussy graciously while she moves against you. A wet stain—without a doubt, forming on the lush fabric of the cushions below her.

Her face scrunches up in pleasure, and you can’t help but watch as she uses your face however she pleases. 

“Oh god… fuck, you’re so good… oh, fuck.” Emily cries, her head tilted back in pure, unbridled desire.

“You gonna cum for me, beautiful? You like the way my tongue feels?” You murmur against her pussy, quickly re-attaching your mouth to her clit as she fucks herself on your face wildly, unabashedly.

“Yes, so good—fuck, Y/n, FUCK!” Emily gasps, her hands clutching harshly at your scalp, her body seizing up, and her hips twitching ever so slightly as the orgasm she's been praying for finally washes over her.

A moan slips from your throat at the feeling of her pussy pulsing beneath your tongue, the way her hips roll—riding out the remainder of her pleasure.

Emily lets out a dramatic groan, those perfect, pearl-like teeth on full display as she falls limp against the couch, easing down from her high.

“Oh my god…” she sighs, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes as you place a final kiss to her clit.

“How was that? I do alright for you?” You question, raising your brows teasingly as you kiss up her sweaty torso.

“You made me cum, Y/n.” She laughs, you can’t help the blush that creeps onto your cheeks. “I haven’t even been able to make myself finish in months, so whatever the hell you just did…” her eyes go wide, flashing the white of her sclera before her hands cup your cheeks—pulling your mouth to meet hers in a soft kiss before leaning back just enough to look you in the eye. “I might have to keep you on speed-dial…” 

You surge forward this time, a greedy sense of pride swelling in your chest. The kiss is needy and open-mouthed, Emily’s tongue effortlessly slipping past your lips to taste herself. She groans into it, her arms wrapping around your neck and pulling you tight to her body.

You can feel her pubic hair brushing against your belly from this angle, and you swear you’ve begun dripping onto the floor even with your underwear still on.

“Can I worry about you now?” Emily murmurs teasingly, nipping at your bottom lip. 

You chuckle heartily at her eagerness, giving her one last wet kiss before sitting back and climbing to your feet with a groan. Kneeling on hard floors never has been kind to your knees.

“Let’s go to the bedroom.” You stand in front of her, reaching out to smooth your hand over her tousled silver locks. “I’m sure the bed is much comfier.”

“Oh, definitely.” She nods, her dark eyes sparkling as she rocks forward onto her feet. She wobbles for a moment, her hands shooting out to steady herself on your shoulder.

You wrap an arm around her back, the skin sticky with perspiration. “Alright?”

“Yeah… just forgot about those post-orgasm wobbles, y’know?” She grins, tilting her chin up and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You laugh softly, squeezing her hip and pulling her flush to your body. You tilt your head, inviting her in—she meets you with an open mouth, tongue invading your senses as she starts walking you backward towards her bedroom.

Her hands slip into the back of your underwear, palming your ass beneath the fabric. A muffled squeak slips into her mouth from the roughness of it, a seemingly more dominant persona taking over with the reversal of roles.

You manage to make it to the bedroom with minimal stumbling, given the fact that your eyes are closed and your body—occupied.

Upon entering the room, you’re hit with a fresh wave of Emily’s scent. You suck in a deep breath against her lips, breaking the kiss to glance around the room.

“Let me take these off…” Emily murmurs against your jaw, her hands sliding up the muscle of your back and under the hem of your sports bra. 

You lift your arms for her, letting the fabric slip over your head—the rush of cool air stiffening your nipples almost sorely. Her hands cover the exposed skin instantly, svelte fingers kneading at the flesh.

“So beautiful…” Emily mumbles, her gaze slipping to your chest. Her kisses trail over your jaw, then your neck, and she’s walking you backwards again. 

When your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you ease yourself onto it, and Emily kisses further down your torso as you go.

Her lips wrap around a pert nipple, and a whine slips from your throat, your hands clutching at the sheets.

“Your mouth feels so good, so warm.” The words sound more like a moan as they leave you.

Emily’s hums around the hardened bud, sending a sharp twinge of arousal straight between your legs. You let go of the sheets and clutch at the back of her head desperately, holding her as close as possible.

Emily climbs onto the bed next, your thighs spreading to accommodate her between them.

The feeling of her bare body flush to yours is absolutely overwhelming. Her hips press into your pelvis as she kisses back up your chest and takes your mouth once again—the patch of hair between her legs tickles the sensitive skin as she carefully rocks into you.

You let out a groan, your own hips moving against her motion to gain any sort of friction.

The kisses are sloppy and wet, but neither of you could care less, your body is surrounded entirely by the older woman, every nerve set ablaze as her touches wander.

Her hands rake down your flanks and over your outer thighs, squeezing the flesh before pressing them open wider.

“I think it’s my turn now…” Emily mumbles between kisses, her nails scratching over your skin in a way that makes your body tense and your insides churn.

“Please…” you plead, voice hardly a whisper as you clutch at her shoulders.

Emily grins, her eyes trailing over your flushed face.

“I'd like to taste you…” She bows down, her teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Would you like me to do that, sweetheart?” 

“God, yes…” your body arches into her, bare chest squishing against hers.

Emily chuckles, low and teasing, as she kisses her way down your body again. Her tongue drags across your collarbones, then down the valley of your breasts.

She sucks harshly at one's underside and it pulls a yelp from your throat. You look down at her shyly, climbing up onto your elbows.

She meets your gaze as she lifts and slides lower on the bed, her mouth never leaving your body. Her tongue laves at the edge of your rib cage, wet and searing before it drags lower, circling your navel. 

Your breathing is ragged as she nips at the flesh of your lower belly, then your hip bones.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours before she drags her nose up your inner thigh, her lips pressing teasing kisses as she moves. She does the same to the other thigh, biting at the tender skin at the apex this time.

Emily licks her lips as she gazes at the soaked spot on the gusset of your underwear. Those dangerously dark eyes meet yours one last time, a silent confirmation.

“Need you...” You sigh, breathless, hips rocking towards her impatiently.

Her nose presses into you first, dragging slowly along the length of your covered slit. Her hands clutch at the backs of your thighs, pressing them apart.

“Mm, you smell good.” She groans, and you can feel the vibrations through the thin fabric.

“Take them off…” Emily follows orders, curling her fingers into the waistband and tugging eagerly. You lift your hips to assist, kicking them the rest of the way off.

When you settle back down on the mattress, Emily’s gaze locks on your needy sex, her eyelids heavy with lust as she takes it in.

She brushes her fingers teasingly around your puffy folds, keeping you on edge. You know you’re already a mess from the way her breath fans your skin, sending a chill across the wetness.

“Touch me, Emily…” you murmur, watching her eagerly as she licks her lips—the sheen of her saliva glistening in the low light.

“You’re so pretty… so wet.” Emily rasps, she looks almost distraught as she rests her palm atop your mound, her thumb swiping over your soaked folds.

You can hear the squelch of your wetness as she toys with you, pulling a tiny whimper from your throat.

She rests her head against your inner thigh, watching closely as she brushes the underside of your clit. Your hips twitch as the sudden touch, pussy clenching around nothing as she keeps a featherlight pressure in the sensitive bud.

“Sensitive?” She mumbles, raising a brow.

“Mhmm…” you hum in response, grinding into her.

She swipes over your clit one last time before dragging it down to your slit, thoroughly coating it in your arousal before pressing it inside.

It’s hardly enough to satisfy, but it feels heavenly regardless.

She cranes forward next, her lips brushing over your mound. She presses a wet kiss to the center of your pelvis, then another just above your clit, and finally the sensitive bulb peeking out from beneath its hood.

Her tongue flicks out next, dragging flat and slow over your folds before drawing to a point and circling over your swollen clit.

Your head tilts back with a sigh as she finally gives you the pressure you’ve been craving, tongue dipping in alongside her thumb before dragging your arousal up, spreading it.

Emily’s thumb slips out, hands wrapping around your thighs and pulling your pussy flush to her face.

You moan quietly as her mouth covers your sex, her tongue dragging languidly over its entirety before wrapping her lips around the bud and sucking. 

She moans into you, practically burying her face between your legs.

Your muscles tremble as she works you, a shiver making its way through your body from how impossibly turned on you are.

Your fingers card through the silver locks at her crown, brushing them to one side so you can really admire her.

Emily laps eagerly, mouthing at your pussy as if it were her the last thing she’d do.

You can feel the tension building, that deep ache burning brightly in your womb as she urges on. Her tongue feels like everything, so perfectly overwhelming but delicate at the same time, like she knows exactly how to break you apart from the inside out.

“Shit—Emily… keep going baby.” You pant, hips rocking against her mouth. “Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” She groans, quickly reattaching her mouth. Her hands leave their spot on your thighs and reach up, scratching over your abdomen before palming at your breasts.

Her knuckles pinch at your nipples, pulling a shrill moan from you. 

Her tongue works in tandem with the rhythm of your hips, applying the perfect amount of pressure, all while keeping still enough for you to control where it goes.

You’re already so close, it definitely won’t take much longer for you to be hurdling over the edge.

Her right hand leaves your breast and trails up, her fingertips dancing over your pulse point before brushing over your already parted lips.

You let her fingers slip inside, tongue immediately swirling around the long digits. Emily groans at the sight, her eyes fluttering closed as her efforts double down—sucking harder at your clit.

“Fuck!” You yelp, your body twitching at the sudden change in stimulation.

Her hand shifts beneath her body, the now well-soaked fingers teasing at your entrance before her middle slips inside.

“Yes—more.” Your hand clutches at her scalp as you pant, holding her right where you need her.

Her index joins in at your request, curling deliciously into your sweet spot with each slow, deep thrust.

“So good…” You sigh, your body curling into itself to heighten the sensations. 

You can feel the tension growing with each pass, the thickness of her fingers filling you perfectly. Emily’s face glows pink as she breathes heavily against you, her eyes flicking up at your face before falling shut again.

Suddenly, Emily’s tongue shifts, swiping against a particularly sensitive spot, and your body begins rapidly approaching orgasm. The taught string of heat in your belly cracks, your thighs tremble, and you try your hardest to keep them from crushing Emily’s head between them.

“Fuck, Emily! Right there—oh my god…” You groan through clenched teeth, your face screwing up with the intensity of your pleasure.

Emily doesn’t change a single thing about what she’s doing, keeping the perfect consistency. With one last swirl of her tongue and press of her fingers, your body crashes into an orgasm, trembling wildly as she slows down just enough not to overstimulate you.

Your body arches off the mattress, and your elbows collapse, neck craning backwards into the pillows.

Emily’s fingers slip from inside you, her hands splaying wide over your abdomen as she eases you down.

You laugh out a moan as the waves begin to settle finally, leaving faint twitches in their wake. 

“Mm, fuck… you’re so good at that.” You sigh, your fingers raking through her hair, practically petting her. “People really don’t know what they're missing.”

Emily lets out a hearty chuckle, pressing gentle kisses to your sensitive folds and along your inner thighs.

She works her way up your body slowly, kissing, licking, and biting at your flushed skin. She hums as she reaches your upper torso, kissing over the darkening hickeys she left on your breasts.

“You’re welcome.” Emily rasps, her nose nudging at the underside of your chin as she slots herself into your side, her thigh resting between your legs.

“Mm, thank you.” You smile at her dazedly, your eyes half-closed as you lean in to kiss her. She meets you eagerly, her tongue flicking out for you to taste yourself.

You moan into the kiss, sucking on the muscle gently before letting it go. Your arms wrap loosely around her shoulders, holding her body close. Her blunt fingernails rake along your side, tickling.

Soon enough, your body is already keening for more. You grind down against her thigh subtly, your slick spreading onto her skin. 

Emily smiles into the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. She grips at the meat of your waist, pulling your pussy against hardened muscle.

You gasp, your arms wrapping around her tightly.

“You like that? Wanna ride my leg?” She mumbles into your mouth, her fingers kneading into the flesh of your ass as she guides your movement along her thigh.

“Yes.” You whisper sharply, rutting harder against her.

Emily groans, rolling onto her back and pulling you on top of her. Her foot presses into the mattress, raising herself up to press into you.

“Shit...oh—” you tremble, forearms framing her head.

Emily grins smugly below you, groaning as her tongue flicks out at the underside of your jaw before biting at it. Your spine curves to give her more room, the sharpness of her teeth on your skin sending a prickly chill over your body. 

The sound of your slick dragging along her toned thigh is just about all you can hear, aside from your own panting breaths and whimpers.

Your abdominal muscles burn as your hips roll eagerly, hands grasping at the pillows behind Emily’s head.

“God, you look so good like this.” Emily groans, her eyes dancing wildly over your body. 

A choked moan cracks from your throat as she squeezes you particularly rough, forcing your sex down hard against her thigh.

“Hm—fuck, Emily, hold on…” You gasp, pressing your hands to her sweat-slickened chest and lifting your torso.

“What’s wrong? What do you need?” She murmurs, her palms sliding up from their place on your hips and cupping the underside of your breasts.

“Let me just..” you shift quickly, rotating your hips and grabbing one of her thighs, raising it just enough for you to settle your pelvis against hers—sliding your pussy's together.

“Oh, I haven’t done this in ages…” Emily chuckles, curling up to better position herself for you. 

Emily watches with a bewildered expression as you find your rhythm, your hips dragging in a somewhat circular motion.

“Feel good for you?” You ask her breathily, holding her thigh to your stomach with one hand while your other hand palms her breasts.

“I’m not sure it’ll be enough to get me off, but I wanna watch you.” She rasps, her bottom lip shining from the pooling saliva in her mouth. “You look so pretty, rubbing yourself on me like that, fuck.”

“You feel so good.” You whine out the praise as you grind fervently, chasing the perfect amount of friction. Your clit, still hypersensitive from the last orgasm.

The lewd sounds of your soaked pussy grinding against her flesh fill the surrounding air, and the bed creaks. Emily looks so incredibly disheveled below you, completely absorbed in your presence. Her dark eyes, wide and focused, her hips and hands working your body tirelessly.

Your nails dig into the muscle of her thigh as you feel the telltale signs of an orgasm start bubbling within you. Your head lolls back, pleasure overtaking your movements.

One of Emily’s hands strays, bony knuckles pinching roughly at your nipples. The sharp sting shoots straight down to your sex, causing a fresh wave of arousal to pool between your bodies.

“Fuck—Emily.” You cry and your head tilts forward again, lips pressing against her kneecap. “So good… so close.” 

Your teeth graze her skin as you pant and rut against her, a film of sweat sheening over your skin.

You shift your hips again, and Emily squeaks—her mouth falling open as the new movement hits a particularly sensitive spot on her clit.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” She breathes, her eyes fluttering closed. “Hngh—that feels good.” 

“Yeah? Think you can cum?” You keep the position steady as you crane your neck to face her.  

Her brows crease together as she focuses on the feeling, her chest spattered in a deep red flush. 

“Yeah—fuck, I think so.” Her voice is practically a whisper as she relaxes her body, flowing with the consistency of your movements.

“What do you need? I wanna make it happen.” You set your own needs aside for the moment, letting your hand wander up her chest again.

You rake your nails down the center of her chest, and her body arches into the touch. You can see the faint muscles of her abdomen clenching with each roll of her hips.

“Just keep touching me, multiple points of stimulation help.” She whimpers through gritted teeth.

You nod silently, keeping your attention on her.

Your fingers draw teasing circles around her nipple, pinching, rolling the bud between the pads of your fingers before tugging gently. She twitches at the pleasurable pain, a whimperish moan slipping from her lips. 

You let your fingers trail upward, dancing along her collarbone before pressing into her already open mouth.

Her eyes shoot open at the unexpected intrusion, but she’s quick to accept it—sucking them in halfway before swirling her tongue between them.

Her face flushes harder at the sight of your face, the reaction your body seems to have. Your lips parting a silent moan, the motion of your hips faltering momentarily before picking up again.

You pull your fingers from her mouth and attach them to her neglected nipple, repeating the same motions.

“I want you to cum with me…” Emily pipes up, her half-lidded eyes locking on yours.

“You’re close?” You pant, picking up the pace.

“Yeah…” Emily’s brow glistens, the white hair at her temples clinging to the skin.

With a hand trailing down her belly and combing through the hair atop her mound, you can’t help but smile excitedly. The hair is completely drenched in a mixture of your arousal, slightly matted. You tangle your fingers in it, pulling it back and exposing more of her clit.

“Shit—” Emily sucks in a sharp breath, the now heightened sensitivity building her up rapidly.

“Come on, baby.” You whine, your head dropping to rest against her knee. “Fuck, you feel so good, Emily.”

“I’m almost there, ugh—almost there…" she trails off, her face contorting as the pang of her orgasm hits.

You double down on your efforts, muscles clenching as you work yourself over the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck—Emily.” Your body tenses, orgasm rippling through your body. Your hips stutter as you ride it out, thighs trembling, and your upper half almost doubling over with the intensity of the aftershocks.

Emily’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush to her chest. You paw at the older woman’s biceps, clinging to her. 

Both of your bodies are slick with perspiration; if you had any sense of function left in your brain, you’d probably try to peel yourself away—but you don’t.

Emily sighs loudly against your hair, her breath tickling your scalp.

“God, that wore me out.” You smile, your cheek squished against the protrusion of her shoulder.

“Tell me about it…” she chuckles, combing her fingers through the ends of your hair.

The pair of you lay in a panting heap for a long moment, settling into each other's overheated presences. 

You press gentle kisses along her collarbone before tilting to press your nose against her neck, breathing in her scent—a mix of sweat and lotion, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath the skin.

“God, don’t sniff me, you weirdo.” Emily swats at your arm playfully. “I probably reek.”

“No.” You mumble against the base of her ear, breathing her in again. “You smell good. You always smell good.”

“If you say so, sweetheart.” She sighs, the same hand that hit you, now stroking languidly along the muscle of your flank.

“Have you got a bathtub?” You ask, raising your head just enough to look her in the eyes.

“Yes… Why?” She gives you a curious look.

“Let me run you a bath… take care of you.” You lean down to press tentative kisses along her cheekbone, then down to her lips.

Emily hums into the kiss, contemplating.

“I suppose that would be nice…” The low purr of her voice rumbles against your chest, “As long as you join me?” A lazy smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“Of course, ready to get up?” Your hand smooths over the soft curve of her belly, comfortably,

“Yeahhh…” she grumbles, and you sit up beside her. “Why don’t you go start it, and I’ll meet you in there.” 

“Sure.” She smiles at you as you lean in to kiss her again, it's chaste and gentle. She exhales into it.

With a squeeze of her thigh, you wobble your way toward her en-suite, which earns an amused laugh from the unit chief.

The en-suite is quite large, but comfortably so. Natural colored tiled floors and a matching shower, the walls are white, but the warm shade of the overhead light keeps it cozy. 

Stepping over to the tub, you turn it on, finding the perfect temperature before plugging the drain and letting it fill. 

You’re rifling through the toilette cabinet when a set of warm hands rest upon your shoulders.

“If you wanted to snoop, you could’ve just asked…” Emily squeezes your tight, mildly sore muscles. You laugh softly before standing and turning to face her.

“I was looking to see if you had some Epsom salts or bubble bath or something.” Your hands wrap loosely around her hips, pulling her body flush against you.

“I don’t, but shower gel might work?” Her brow quirks, and she slips from your grasp.

She grabs a bottle from the shower floor and pours a healthy amount into the tub. Soon enough, the bubbles start to form, and she looks over at you with an excited smile.

“You… are so cute, Emily Prentiss.” You chuckle, admiring her mused but adorable appearance.

“I am not cute.” She huffs, grabbing two towels from the cabinet and setting them on the countertop.

“You just keep believing that.” 

…

Once the tub is full, Emily slips in first, moaning at the perfect temperature.

You slip in behind her, your thighs bracketing her hips. She leans back against your chest, her head falling back into your shoulder.

“This is nice, such a smart idea.” Emily hums, pressing her cheek against your own.

“I am technically a genius, y’know.” You quip, earning yourself a pinch to the inner thigh.

“That wasn’t very nice.” You mumble, wrapping your arms around her waist, palms flat over the curve of her lower belly.

“I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about…” She lands a soft kiss on your cheek, smiling as she basks in the warmth surrounding her.

“Mhmm.” Your thumbs rub soothing patterns over her soft skin.

Tilting your chin down, you press a kiss to the curve of her shoulder, the sweet scent of the bubbles lingering in the air. 

Emily sighs as you kiss up the side of her neck, your nose brushing the back of her ear before your tongue darts out, teasing along the shell of it.

Her breath hitches, and the dissipating flush on her skin comes back in full swing.

“Y/n…” Her nails dig into the sides of your knees on both sides of her hips.

“Emily…” Your teeth graze her earlobe, and your fingers start to dance lower again. “Think you have one more for me?” You mumble, voice low against the side of her head.

“Yes.” Emily breathes out, her thighs spreading as your hands drag down her inner thighs. “God, you’re too good at this.”

You can’t help but chuckle at how wrecked you’ve gotten her, completely willing and desperate beneath the unwielding force of your hands.

Using your hips, you raise her bottom from the base of the tub and shift her so that she rests atop your left thigh, giving yourself more room to work, all while holding her close.

“Spread your legs.” You murmur, and she instantly obliges, her right leg settling between yours and the wall of porcelain.

The bubbles on the water's surface block the view of your ministrations from above, heightening the sensations’ intensity.

Your nails rake teasingly up Emily’s inner thighs, holding them open. When you reach the apex, her hips roll into the touch, urging you on. The fingertips of your right hand dance along the crease of her sex, teasing her folds while your left slides up to cup her breasts, your thumb brushing over her nipples.

Emily whines against the curve of your jaw, her right arm coming up to wrap around your neck.

“Please…” she pants, her teeth grazing your skin. You hum in response, tilting your head to take her lips in yours.

Just as her tongue flicks out at your bottom lip, your middle finger swipes over her swollen clit. Emily whimpers, and you catch it with your lips, swallowing it down.

Dipping into her slit, you feel the traces of her arousal. The fact that you’re the one at fault for it stirs a childlike sense of pride within you, as if you just won a prize at the fair.

You draw light circles over her clit, before teasing the sensitive underside of it for a moment and circling again.

“That feels good…” she whispers, breaking the kiss for a moment. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

The confession makes your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah?”

“Yes… Just go slow, one finger.” She kisses you again, slow and deep.

You groan into the kiss, the finger on her clit sliding between her folds once again. The tip of your middle finger teases her entrance for a moment, and her hips jump to meet it. 

Emily hisses as the first inch slips inside. She’s so warm, sensitive to the touch. 

“More, it’s okay.” She mumbles, her hand covering yours and pressing you deeper.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as you bottom out, a quiet whine crackling from her throat as your palm makes contact with her clit.

“Guide me.”

She looks you in the eyes as her hand starts moving yours, angling your wrist so that your length tilts up, aiming for her spot.

Her hips cant forward as she settles into a slow rhythm, brows furrowing. 

“You feel so good.” Your nose brushes against her own, and she smiles faintly, her glassy eyes hooded. 

She pulls you into another passionate kiss, rising into it slightly, and the tops of her breasts break the surface of the bubbles.

You pinch at her nipple and you can feel her pussy clench around you. Emily moans softly, her hand in your hair, tugging at the nape of your neck.

“Play with my clit.” She whines, dropping your hand that’s inside her and dragging the one on her breast down. “Please.”

You smirk against her, nipping at her bottom lip as you scissor at her clit with your middle and fore fingers. 

Emily’s head falls back limply, and you take that as a chance to give her neck some attention. You kiss and lick along the exposed tendons, leaving faint marks that’ll fade in the next few minutes.

Her hips rut against your hands, rippling the water. 

“Mm, fuck you’re so hot.” You groan against her neck, biting at the muscle of her shoulder. Emily squeaks at the sudden aggressive gesture, her abdomen twitching.

“Oh—hm, gonna cum, baby…” she cries, lifting her head back up to face you again.

“Yeah? I’m making you feel good? You like the way I touch you?” You purr against her parted lips, her panting breaths fanning over your chin.

“God, yes… I love it, taking such good care of me.” Her eyes flutter closed, her words breathy and full of need.

The synced movement of your fingers is unwavering, working steadily until her muscles are trembling above you.

“Y/n—” she moans, her spine arching as her thighs quiver, tightening around your hands between them.

“That’s it… I’ve got you.” You finger stills inside her, keeping a constant pressure against her spot whilst your fingers on her clit circle slowly—drawing out the last bits of her orgasm.

Emily exhales shakily as her nails claw at your forearm, steadying your movements. 

“Easy, easy… fuck.” She groans, smiling brightly.

Her eyes open, gazing at you heavily. The apples of her cheeks glow pink, shining from the steam. She leans in to kiss you again, slow and chaste—but no less meaningful.

“I am definitely going to keep you around if it’s like this every time…” she chuckles, her hand loosening in your hair and cupping your cheek.

“Oh, yes. And… whenever you need it.” 

“I like the sound of that…” 

…

a/n: i hope that did not disappoint after all the waiting... anyways, happy humping!!!

taglist: @luvgreyponytail @piiinco @xoxo-maryssa @prentissmultiverse @blackcatlesbo @teeshatequila @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @classic-fangirl-emily-prentiss @wittygutsy @jareauiisms @keepinggcomposure @bernieswolfe @prentitty @garcialuvr @chiefemilyprentiss @yourneighborhoodwlw @g59mads @r0manxff @confidant-thoughts @joanofvarc @lez-talk1 @wlwoceaneyes @wandasdollie @maximoffcarter @chestnutninny @realmisssnowflakes

[limethefirst]

Mutual Understanding

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x reader (platonic)

warnings: sonic 3 spoilers, mentions of death, trauma bonding lol!!!

summary: as the assistant in training for Stone, you’re tasked with keeping an eye on the black and red haired hedgehog

a/n: just watched sonic 3, I love it so much I immediately wrote this as soon as I got home, please enjoy and go watch it as soon as possible (I LOVE YOU SHADOW AUAGHH)

You watched as Stone left the Crab, running a quick errand so he could finish the suits he was making for Robotnik and his grandfather Gerald. You had a strange feeling about him and you could tell Stone did too but as assistants all you could do was brush it aside.

As Stone left you looked towards your right, Shadow stood near you his eyes staring at where your mentor was standing only moments ago, before his head tilted to glance at you. His eyes scanned you, as you scanned him back, you knew what he was capable of, you were warned but you couldn’t help but keep looking.

Shadow held his gaze on you before he turned away, looking at the television still playing in the background, the telenovela now capturing his attention.

You watched him as he stared ahead. Deciding you had nothing else to do, you sat down on the floor, not daring to get near Dr Robotniks chair, knowing he’d notice if it was moved even a centimeter. A sigh escaped your lips as whatever was going on in the strange show kept going on, you tried to get into it but it felt too generic for you.

“Why are you here,” Was the first thing you’d heard him say. You perked up at his sudden question, this was the first time since you’d met him that shadow had talked to you.

“What?” You asked him, curious as to what he meant.

He looked back at you, no longer paying attention to the show, “I asked why are you here”

You slightly raised a brow still somewhat confused, “Well I’m uh- an apprentice here so it’s like kinda my job?” You shrugged at the hedgehog, slightly raising your arms.

Shadow didn’t seem satisfied with your answer. The room settled into an uncomfortable silence as Shadow continued to just stare at you.

Nervously you glanced around the room, not out of fear but just confusion as to what he even meant.

“Are you alone?”

“What.” You asked, deadpanning at the straightforward question, “Obviously not-“

“No” Shadow cut you off, “Why are you with them?”

You knew who he was referring to, Stone and Robotnik. Obviously they weren’t your parents, it was easy to see from the way they treated you. Stone was kind but he wasn’t very parental, he was more of a teacher. Robotnik was definitely not parental, he was more like a demanding boss who didn’t give his workers equal pay.

“They’re all I have,” you bluntly responded to the hedgehog, as you slowly brought your legs closer to you.

Noticing the uncomfortable feeling you were getting Shadows gaze somewhat fell, maybe it was empathy or something else that you couldn’t quite understand.

Nervously you fiddled with the necklace around your neck, a two little star emblems given to you by your late mother.

Shadows eyes widened, he stepped closer to you trying to get a glimpse at the necklace. You looked up at him, an arm around your legs, the other gripping the necklace tight.

“You like?” You asked him, noticing how his legs uncontrollably moved him closer to you. His gaze was still fixed on it, as if he was remembering, “My mom gave this to me before she passed, she loved the stars, I do too honestly.”

He slowly sat down in front of you, both of you now looking at each other. Slightly noticing his distress you hesitantly took off the necklace, passing it to him so he could get a closer look. You knew he wouldn’t take it, of course you’d just met him but it felt as if you two had known each other before.

The necklace was silver, it was nicely kept; obviously cleaned regularly although it was a bit too small for you by now but that didn’t seem to stop you from wearing it. On it were two stars, one big star and another smaller star, it looked as if they were shining, but one was brighter than the other.

“A light still shines even though the star is gone,” You mumbled looking at the necklace in Shadows hands. His gaze quickly snapped up, his usual angry demeanor faltering to show a small look of shock.

“What?..” Shadow asked, as he looked between you and the necklace.

You laid on your back, your knees up letting out a sigh, “It’s just, you know something I like to say when I think about her,”

Shadow got up from his sitting position, he walked over to your side, handing you the necklace back as he laid down next to you. There were no stars inside the Crab, just a bunch of machine and technology that you truly didn’t understand half of.

There was a comfortable silence now, as you two laid down next to each other; Shadow sighed, for the first time it sounded like he was free, like the demons from his past were no longer attacking his every thought.

He turned his head to look at you, “You remind me of her,”

Snapping out of your trance you looked back at him, eyebrows slightly raised, “Who?” You asked, your tone soft as to not startle him.

His gaze was, soft, no longer angry at the world, maybe at himself, you really couldn’t tell, “Someone I used to know a long time ago,”

You let out a hum of acknowledgment, “She sounds nice,” you said, looking back towards the roof of the contraption.

Shadow still looked at you, you were no Maria, but you made him rethink; that maybe, maybe the world isn’t as bad as he thought it was, maybe there were people worth saving.

“She was.”

[leo-in-the-pitt]

Look Out For Her

This is Chapter 1 of the Beginning to End series !

Summary: 4 years later and your almost done with residency. But it feels like your relationship with Jack may be coming to an end too. That is until you’re hurt and he has to come to your rescue, that he reveals his true feelings for you.

Warnings: Established relationship, implied age gap, strong language, sexual assault, mentions of alcohol, possessiveness, mostly fluff

This is a Chapter 1! 2 more already posted !! 3rd in the works !

———————————————————————

You were 9 months into your 4th and final year of ER residency. 3 more months to go. Somehow still learning the ropes of being cheif resident. It wasn’t easy to have the respect of your fellow co-residents and interns when you were in a relationship with Dr. Jack Abbott, an ER attending but, he made it worth it. Most of the time at least.

Getting to this point in your relationship wasn’t always easy in anyway. What started as hook ups, turned into arguements during every shift you worked together until you cut it off. But when 3rd year came around, you guys got close again, he let you in and you let him in.

One year and eight months. In your mind, this was the start of forever. At least that’s what you thought.

For the past month though, Abbotts been distant and you didn’t understand why. Picking up shifts on the days you were both off, date nights were becoming a rarity, bailing on nights out with your friends.

You moved in with him 6 months into the relationship. Everyone told you it was quick but, it felt like the right decision at the time.

You woke up early while he was still at work to go pick up breakfast from his favorite spot downtown. Got home made your famous homemade peanut butter cookies that he loved. Had his favorite movies lined up, ready to play. Even put on lingerie under your clothes, ready for whatever he wanted.

You heard keys in the door and were excited for him to see what was waiting for him.

There he was. Silver curls. Black scrubs. Go-bag over one shoulder. You could look at him forever.

“There’s my favorite guy.” You ran up to him to give him a hg and kiss.

He hugged you back but, swerved his head ever so slightly when you went in to kiss him.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Just had a long night. Not really in the mood for anything.”

“I planned out quite the morning for us.” You smiled at him.

“Think I’m just gonna go hop in the shower then head to bed for a little bit.” He started to walk away.

You quickly turned around to him. “Okay, no, what is your problem? Did I do something? Cause for the past month you’ve been acting cold. Blowing me off ever chance you get.”

He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face you. He looked pissed. You’d only ever seen him angry like that once during a stupid fight you guys had at the beginning of the relationship.

“You left your laptop open.”

“Okay and? I’m I supposed to know what that means?”

“Were you going to tell me that you have a bunch of interviews for attending jobs at other hospitals? Or were you just going to tell me you were leaving one day?”

“Jack everyone goes to multiple interviews. You literally did the same when you were in my position.”

“One of those is across the country.”, he paused, “Were you gonna pack up and fly over there without telling me?”

“Thought maybe you could come with me and we could make a trip out of it actually.”

He put his head in his hands. “Do you want to leave?” His voice cracked.

“What? Why would I want to leave you Jack? I literally have an interview with Robby in 2 weeks for a spot here. I’m just trying to see what else is out there too.”

“But you have everything you could need right here! Why do you wanna give it all up!He raised his voice at you.”

You took a step back.

“Don’t yell at me.” You felt your breathing become faster, chest heavy.

“Why would you not tell me? This is something we should be talking about together. This isn’t just about you.”

“And it’s not just about you. It’s my future Jack. My career we’re talking about.” You said sternly.

“So where do I fit into that future then?”

You didn’t know how to answer. “You know I love you.”

“I sense a but coming here.”

You took a deep breath. “But there’s an emergency medicine research fellowship in California. They’re really interested in me Jack. Like really interested.”

“Sounds like you made up your mind already.” He walked away and went into the bedroom.

“Jack please. I didn’t say yes to anything yet. I still have to go over there and meet with them. I might end up hating it.”

He was throwing clothes into his go-bag. You grabbed his arm and he swiftly pulled away.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to leave? Where are you even going?”

He held both hands up in the air. “I just need some air.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know. I- I just can’t do this with you right now.”

“So if not now, then when. Jack. Come on we talked about this. Never leave mad at each other.”

“I’m not mad.”, he looked down at you, “Just disappointed.”

He grabbed his bag and walked out of the room. You felt the tears start to run down your face.

“Jack please.” You begged.

You heard him pick his keys up off the table and door slam closed behind him.

You broke. Tears streaming down your face. You sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. Your reached into your pocket for your phone and tried to call him.

Once. Twice. Three times with no answer. Straight to voicemail.

You laid in bed, crying. Eyes already swelling. After went felt like an eternity, you fell asleep.

You woke to the sound of a text message.

Please be Jack.

It wasn’t. Just Langdon.

He knew you were planning Jacks favorites for the morning and wanted to know how it went. You typed out as much of what just happened as you could. He called immediately.

He could hear you crying again.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Frank, I- I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where he went. He turned his location off. He won’t answer my calls or texts. I just wanna know that he’s okay.” You voice broke as you tried to get the words out.

“Hey look I’m just gonna come over okay?” Gimme like 20 minutes, I’ll be right there. Please just hold on.”

“Okay.” He hung up.

You got out of bed and threw on one of Jacks sweaters. Beers of the Burgh. Him and Robby went together every year. You hated beer so you never went, just let them have their special guy time.

You went into the bathroom and saw how bloodshot your eyes had become. Splashed some water on your face and went into the living room.

Almost exactly 20 minutes later. A knock on your front door. Langdon.

You opened the door.

“Hey kid.” He always called you could since the first day you met even though he was only 4 years older.

Tears again. You almost fell to the floor. He caught you and lifted you up.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I got you.”

He walked you into the kitchen, had you sit at one of the bar stools and went to get you a glass of water. He knew his way around. Afterall he did help you move in and came over often for movie nights when Jack was at work.

You spent the next hour trying to explain what happened. Talking. Crying. He listened to it all.

“Have you tried to call him again?”

You sniffled. “No, if he doesn’t want to talk to me, I can’t make him.”

“He has to come back eventually you know?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You wiped your eyes onto your sleeve.

“Hey, me and some of the others from work were gonna go out later for some drinks downtown. Probably do some bar hopping. Maybe you should come? Get your mind off of things for a little bit?”

“What if he comes back and I’m not here?”

“Maybe that’d be for the best. Think you both need some time to cool off.”

You agreed. “Yeah sure why the hell not. He never wants to come out with me anyway.”

“Alright, go get ready then.”

“It’s early.”

“Its 5:30 and you definitely take forever to get ready. Plus you gotta unpuff your eyes.”

You quickly turned to the clock on the kitchen wall. Shit, how long were you asleep for? How long was he gone for?

“Okay alright then. Are you gonna stay here?”

“Yeah I’ll just watch some tv or something while you get ready. I’ll drive us.”

You went into the bedroom, scavenging the closet for something to wear. Red dress. Jack picked it out one day when you two were at the mall a couple months ago. You hadn’t worn it yet. You were waiting until he finally decided to go out-out with you. Which obviously never came.

You grabbed the dress, his favorite matching bra and pantie set and went to shower. There was a part of you that wanted him to come home to see you. But at the same time you just wanted to forget about all that happened just a few hours earlier.

Out the shower. Quickly dried your hair. Threw some light curls in it. Jacks favorite hairstyle on you. You didn’t like makeup but, put some mascara and lipgloss on anyway.

You walked into the bedroom to grab your little black heels. And walked back out into the kitchen.

Langdon was laying on your couch on his phone.

“Ugh, told you you were gonna take forever. It’s time to go, everyone’s of there way to the first place.” He sat up and turned around. “Damn kid, you clean up nice.”

“Well thanks Frank.” You gave him a side eye.

“You hoping to run into him tonight or something?”

“I- don’t know, it’s just that he picked this outfit out so, I don’t know maybe I guess.”

It’s almost as if Jack knew you were talking about him. Keys jingled in the door. It’s him.

He opened the door to see you standing there in the dress he picked out.

You both stared at each other while Langdon looked back and forth, unsure if he should leave you two alone.

“You look good. Really good.” He scanned you top to bottom.

Your heart was about to jump out of your chest. “Thanks.”

You turned towards Langdon, “We gotta go.”

“Yeah sure.” He jumped up and walked towards the door. He stopped in front of Jack.

“Gimme a second with her.”

Langdon shook his head and walked passed Jack and out into the hallway.

“Can we talk?”

“Now’s clearly not the time.” You walked into the bedroom, grabbed his sweater off the bed and walked out. “I have places to be.”

“Where exactly are you going anyway?”

“Why does it matter to you? I didn’t know where you were all damn day.”

“I was at the park. The park I asked you to be my girlfriend in.”

“You just sat there in your scrubs all day?”

He looked down at his clothes. “I’m actually going back in tonight for a shift.”

You scoffed. “Typical. Anything to avoid me huh?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m clearly not Jack. Please just let me through.”

“Just be safe. Okay?” He stepped out of the doorway and out of your way.

“Always.” And you left.

Langdon was waiting in the hall for you. You walked right passed him.

“Hey.” He stopped Langdon. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” And with that you were both on your way.

At the first bar you met up with other coworkers. Nurses, coresidents, EMTs. And apparently more people were on the way.

“Didn’t realize how many people were coming tonight?” You yelled over the music.

“Yeah me either.” Shrugged Langdon.

After the first 2 drinks and tequila shot, you realized you had ate all day. And you can’t handle your liquor.

You sat alone at the bar sipping water, looking down at your phone lock screen. A picture of you and Jack at a concert together, happy. He wasn’t into live music but, if it were for you, he’d listen to anything.

“Boyfriend couldn’t make it?”said the bartender nodding down at your phone.

“Yeah something like that.”

“That’s his problem. You look good.”

You smiled. Langdon came up behind you.

“Hey we’re heading across the street. Heard it’s 90s music night over there.”

You got up and went with the group. Thought you’d feel better by now. That you’d be able to distract yourself by talking to everyone, drinking, and listening to the music while dancing. It wasn’t working well.

Here you had 2 more drinks. 2 more shots.

Onto the next bar.

By this time, well over a a dozen people were apart of the group.

Fourth bar. More drinks. More shots. And you could feel it. But the more you drank the more you thought about him.

You went to sit at the bar alone. You checked you phone to see that he turned his location back on. The hospital, of course.

One the nurses came up to you. “Come on girl! Let’s go dance!”

“Yeah I’ll be right there.”

No texts or calls from him.

You took a deep breath and another sip of water. As you got up, you saw a guy watching you from the corner of the room. He winked and nodded his head at you. You politely smiled and went to your friends.

No matter what, Jack wouldn’t leave your mind.

There he was. The guy watching you across the room.

“Hey baby, looking good tonight.”

“Haha, thanks.” You were uncomfortable with how close he was to your face but didn’t want any problems.

“You got a man?”

“Yeah I do a actually.”

He scanned the room. “Guess he’s not here tonight huh?”

“He couldn’t make it. Working.”

“Well that’s his loss.”

Langdon spotted you across the dance floor.

“Hey, you gotta go see Donnie playing darts. It’s crazy!”

“Yeah sure.” You turned to the stranger and half waved goodbye.

“See you later.” He winked at you.

“Who the hell was that?”

“No idea.”

“Come on, stay close.”

“What about the darts?”

“They don’t even have darts here.”

It was now 1AM. You head pounding. Each room spinning. One last bar. One more drink. You lost count.

“Come on, one more tequila shot girl!”

“Yeah sure whatever.” You took it hoping the alcohol would down the feelings out of you.

Everyone was dancing, having a good time. You just wanted to be in Jacks arms, in your bed, in the apartment you had shared for over a year.

You looked over at a couple of your friends. “I’ll be right back.” Those who heard you nodded their heads.

You went outside. Alone. Still carrying Jack’s sweater, you decided to put it on. Not zipping it up but, just wrapping it around your body. You stood up against the wall on the side of the bar. Out of view.

Took out your phone. Stared. And finally dialed Jack’s number. No answer. Try one more time. Nothing.

But the thrid time you left a voicemail.

“Jack, it’s me. Um you probably knew that already, you know caller ID and everything. B-but,” your words one slipping into another, “I think I just want to say I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you about leaving. I’m stupid I know. But I love you. I always have. I- always will. I don’t want to leave you. Ever. You’re it for me Jack Abbott. I don’t want anyone else, or anything else. You’re the person I’ve been looking for my whole life. You make me a better person. I want you forever. Please just pick up the god damn phone. I need to hear your voice,”

You heard the bar door open behind you. The music rushed out into the street before becoming quiet again.

The stranger. Back again.

“Hey you get lost out here?”

“Jack I gotta go, I’ll see you soon.” You hung up.

“Not lost, just needed some air.”

“Yeah, yeah. It can get so hot in there.” He stepped closer to your body. “You know when I said you looked good tonight, baby I meant it.” He licked his lips.

“Thanks again.” You tried to step around him to go back inside.

He blocked you.

“Where you rushing off to? Not like your man is here to take care of you.”

“I gotta get back to my friends.”

“It’s okay I can take care of you out here.” He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him.

Your body now pressed against his. Heart pounding in your ears. He grabbed your waist with his other had before reaching down to cup your ass.

You tried to pull away. But his grip was tight. He pushed you against the cold brick wall, pinning you body with his. One hand on your waist. The other holding your arm against the wall. Scraping the skin on the back of your arm right off.

He leaned down into your ear. “Come on sweetheart. I can treat you better then he can.” His hand sliding to meet the bottom of that red dress. “I’ll show you want a real man looks like.” You felt his cold hand on your thigh.

This can’t be happening. Not like this. Not right in front of the bar. Where is everybody? Langdon? Oh god, where’s Jack?

All the thoughts ran through your head.

He leaned in and his lips touched yours. Youpulled your head all the way to the side.

“Damn sweetheart, wanna play hard to get I see. I can play along with that.”

He let go of your arm. He started to reach for your neck.

You pushed him. Hard. He stumbled back.

“You dumb bitch. You’re gonna have to pay for that.” He took a step towards you.

Pain. Throbbing pain was the next thing you remembered. Then blood. Yours? Or his?

Both.

You punched him. Right in the face.

You used to kickbox not long ago. Guess you still remember how to swing.

“Fucking bitch.”

You screamed. Loud. Loud enough for the security guards to hear you inside the bar. They came running around the corner.

Blood was pouring out of his crooked nose. Blood dripping down your arm from your knuckles.

One security guard grabbed him. “Guess you met you match huh? Come on, got some cops that are gonna love your ass.” He took him away.

“You alright? Come on let’s get you inside and get that cleaned up.” He walked you inside.

———————————————————————

Jack got your voicemail. Almost right after you hung up. He tried to call you back. No answer.

So he called Langdon, who was still inside the bar.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Langdon was drunk.

“Dude I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here.”

“Yeah well you should be here! It’s a great time!”

“Where is she?”

“You gotta be more specific broo”

“My girlfriend. You know the one you’re supposed to be looking out for. She called me. Left a voicemail actually. Sounded like she was talking to someone. Then hung up. Where is she?”

Langdon scanned the room. “Uh I don’t know man.”

“Can you go find her please? She sounded drunk , almost as drunk as you. I’m worried. She doesn’t handle her liquor well.”

“Yeah man, I gotchu, I’ll go find her.”

“Alright call me when you find her. I wanna talk to her.”

“Aye aye captain.”

And Langdon hung up.

He walked around the room. Asking anyone and everyone if they had seen you. No one knew where you went.

That was until you walked back in with security.

———————————————————————

Everyone immediately saw you.

Red dress with blood down the side. Blood running down your forearm. Knuckles bruised and swollen already.

You heard a murmur of “what the fucks” and “oh shits”

Langdon came running over almost immediately sobering him up seeing you like that.

“What the fuck happened?!” He reached to grab your blooded fist.

You winced in pain. Mascara running down you face. “The guy from the other bar.” Yo could barely get the words out.

He looked over your shoulder and saw the guy standing outside with security and blood running down his face.

“Oh I’m gonna go kick his ass!” He tried to get passed you.

“No, no, Langdon, stop, the police are already coming.”

“I don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna break his nose some more.”

“Please, just go get me some ice.”

“What’d he do to you?”

“Ice, Frank, please.”

He went up to the bar for your ice. You could see the police lights shining through the window.

3 police cars. 6 police officers.

You told everyone to stay inside while you went to talk to them. Langdon begged to go with you so you gave in and let him.

At this point, the guy was already sitting in the back of one of their cars. Hands cuffed behind his back.

You told them exactly what happened as you held the ice pack against your knuckles.

Langdons eyes teared up hearing what happened. He was supposed to protect you.

“You wanna press charges?” said one of the officers.

“Of fucking course she does.” Said Langdon.

“I need to hear it from her.”

You shook your head yes.

“You can either come to the station now. Or you can come in the morning.”

“What she needs is to go to the hospital. The hand is broken. Definitely in multiple places.”

“No, it’s not, I’m fine.”

“I’m literally a doctor, how are you gonna tell me it’s not broken? Have you not looked at your own hand?”

You took the ice off. Your hand was basically twice its original size. Fuck. He was right.

“Well that guy wants to go to the hospital too. Can’t take y’all to the same place so where you wanna go so we can send him somewhere else?”

“Can you take me to Pittsburgh Trauma?”

“Yeah let’s go.” You gestured to the police cruiser and opened up the door for you.

“Can I come with?” Langdon asked him.

“Absolutely not. Get a ride or call an Uber. You’re drunk. Drive yourself and I’ll have you arrested.”

“I’ll be right there, okay? I promise you.”

He went back inside the bar.

———————————————————————

All you could think about on the ride there was Jack. How he had to see you like this.

You finally checked your cellphone.

5 unread texts messages. 7 missed phone calls. And one voicemail. All from him.

You presssed play.

“Hey, it’s me. I know you probably don’t wanna hear from me right now and even if you do it’s just the alcohol talking. But look, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way that I did. I guess I’m just scared. I don’t want you to go. I can’t afford to lose you. Of course I want you to pursue whatever career opportunities you want, but I don’t think I can live without you. You make me want to be a better man. You make everyone around here better. I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you. Have a family with you. All here, all in Pittsburgh. I want whatever you’ll give me. I- I just need you to stay. Please. Look I gotta get back to work but call me back when you get this okay? Love you babygirl. See you soon.”

You didn’t know if your tears where from the throbbing pain shooting down your arm or from his words.

You got to the ambulance bay. You swung your legs out of the car. Feet killing you from the heels. The officer helped you out of the car and walked you inside barefoot.

One of your coresidents spotted you.

“What the fuck? Do I even want to know what happened here?”

“Get Jack, please.” You said practically begging.

You waited for what felt like an eternity from him to find Jack in a patients room.

“This better be important. I was in the middle of something.” Jack snapped his off gloves into the trash.

He looked up and his eyes caught yours.

“What the fu-“ he ran over to you.

He grabbed your arm as you winced and pulled back in pain.

“Babygirl what happened to you?” He leaned down to look into your eyes.

You broke. Immediately tears poured down your face.

“Come here, come here. I got you, you’re alright. No ones gonna hurt you. You’re safe with me here.”

He held you in his arms while caressing your hair. The smell of alcohol of your breath obvious. “Come on, let’s go.” He wrapped his arm around you and walked you into a room and sat you down on the bed.

Your coresident ran to get all the supplies needed to clean and bandage you up.

“Get the hell out. I got this. Close the door of your way out.”

It was now just the two of you. Alone.

“Babygirl I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there with you. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

He started to clean the now dry blood off of you.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Do you wanna tell me how this happened?”

So you told him all of it. Every single detail.

“I’m gonna find that motherfucker, I swear to god. I’m gonna break his fucking kneecaps.”

“Jack, calm down.”

“No, he hurt you. I’m gonna hurt him.”

“His nose is already broken Jack.”

“I don’t give a fuck. He’s gonna get way worse than that from me.”

“Jack.” He kept cleaning your hand.

“Jack look at me.”

He slowly lifted his head until his eyes met yours.

“I’m gonna press charges. Whichever ones I can. I want them all.”

There was a knock of the door. One of the favorite night shift nurses.

“Hey sweetie brought you a fresh pair of scrubs and our finest grippy socks. X-rays ready for you. Just come out to the hall when your ready darling.”

“Thank you.”

“You need me to help you?”

“I can get dressed myself. You have other patients anyway.”

“Those patients don’t matter to me. You’re the only one I care about here.”

“Can I just have a minute alone Jack?”

He left you to change.you looked at your fist for the first time since you got to the hospital. Looked slightly better without all the blood.

You went into the hall and the nurse walked you down to xray as Jack waited by your room. Thank god the pain meds kicked in with the alcohol because you could barely open your hand.

As you walked back, you heard yelling.

“You were supposed to be fucking watching her! Not getting filthy fucking drunk and letting her wonder off alone!” Jack was throwing his hands in the air.

Langdon stepped up to his face. “I shouldn’t have to watch her for you. You’re here fucking boyfriend. You should’ve been there yourself. Or better yet, she should’ve wanted to stay at home with you!”

“You think you can judge my relationship? Last time I checked I’m not the one in the middle of a divorce and custody battle.”

“Jack!” You yelled down the hall. “Don’t.”

You walked over and pushed him into your room.

“Frank, I don’t blame you for any of this. I need you to know that.”

“No, he’s right, I should’ve been keeping my eyes on you. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did happen. I’m okay. Or at least I will be. I’m not a kid, you don’t need to keep me on a leash. I shouldn’t have gone out there alone. No ones here to blame except the man who did this okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You hugged him and walked back into your room.

Jack was pacing back and forth.

“I’m okay Jack. You can calm down.”

Another knock on the door. “X-rays are up.”

He walked over to the computer to open them up.

“What do you see?”

“Boxers fracture.” You pointed to the obvious gap between your bones.

“Gotta go get ortho to come set it in place.”

“Can you just do it?”

“I’ve hurt you enough tonight.”

He left and came back with an ortho resident who reset your hand and put it in a brace. “Gonna need another xray in 3 weeks to see how it’s healing. In the meantime just rest, ice and elevate. You got a lot of swelling so take it easy please.”

Just you and Jack alone again.

“Jack can we talk about what you said?”

“Which part?”

“On the phone. Your voicemail.”

He knew exactly which part you were referring to but, wanted you to say it.

“The part where I said I want you to stay?”

You shook your head no.

“Then which part?”

“The part where you said you that you want to marry me. Have kids with me. Build a life with me here.”

“I meant it all. Every last part.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m going to cancel all the other interviews. I wanna stay here. With you.”

“You don’t need to do that for me. This is your career we’re talking about here. You can’t give up these opportunities. They won’t come around again.”

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for us. Jack you’re more important than some job. This all means a lot to me but, it won’t mean anything if I can’t come home to you every night for the rest of my life.”

He leaned in a kissed you passionately. He pulled away and looked softly into your eyes.

“So Jack Abbott wants to marry me huh?” You said jokingly.

“Don’t worry I’m not gonna pull out a ring right now or anything. You gotta finish your residency first babygirl.”

“Well now I’ll be expecting a ring the day after I’m done.”

“Guess I better start working on that. But for now let’s get you and that broken hand home.”

“Your shift isn’t over for another 3 hours?”

“They’re gonna cover for me. Gotta get my lady home.”

The drive home was pretty silent. He just put your favorite Radiohead album on for you. He helped you out of his truck and lead you upstairs.

He helped you pick out your favorite pajamas and you went to take another shower. Forgot you had been wearing his favorite matching set under the dress when you left. Thought the night would be ending differently for you two.

Of course you were glad that you were on good terms now. But when he put his hand on your back as you were leaving the hospital, you flinched. And he definitely noticed.

Once the booze started to wear off, you started to realize the extent of what happening to you tonight.

You cried again in the shower. Used the hot water to wash away your tears for you. Put some drops in your eyes to hide the redness.

You took a deep breath before walking out to him in the kitchen. He was holding up the breakfast bagel you bought him that morning.

“Didn’t even see that you bought these.”

“You could always just eat it now if you want. Think I’m just gonna head to bed if that’s alright.”

He open the fridge and put the bagel back inside. “Yeah let’s go. I’m just gonna jump in the shower real quick.”

You climbed into bed. Curled yourself into a ball, facing away from where he would be laying. You were holding back tears. You wanted to be strong for him. There’s was already so much going on in your lives. The last thing he needed was to be worried about you more than he already was.

You head the bathroom door open and his footsteps coming closer. You closed you eyes and preteded to be asleep.

He peeked over to see you. Eyes closed. You felt as he crawled quietly into the bed to face you.

“Hey I know you’re not sleeping. We’ve been in the same bed for over a year now. You never fall asleep that fast.”

You let out a cry.

“Hey, come here. What’s wrong?” He put his hand on your back and you squirmed away as fast as you possibly could.

“I-I’m sorry”, you whimpered out.

“Can you look at me?”

You wiped the tears flowing down your cheek and rolled over to face him.

“You wanna talk about it yet?” He knew there was more going through your mind.

You shook your head. “I need you to hold me. Bu-but I’m scared for you to touch me. It’s not you, I- I don’t know what wrong with me right now. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault, okay?”

You sat up, “Can you just put your arm out?”

“Like this?” He put right arm straight out.

You laid down so that his arm was between your head and shoulder.

“Wrap your arms around me, please Jack.”

He brought you as close as you could get to him. You cried into his chest.

“I got you, I got you. Nobody’s gonna hurt you ever again alright?”

You nodded and lifted you head up. He wiped away your tears.

“I love you so much babygirl. So much.”

“I love you too.” You laid back down into his chest.

Jack was wrong you could fall asleep fast. But only when you were in his arms.

Things were gonna be different from now on. Cause you ever trust anyone to put their hands on you again?

———————————————————————

Probably gonna end up making this a short series! Maybe just one more part! Let know what you guys think!

[aventurinesweetheart]

˗ˏˋ MESSY EATERS ´ˎ˗

characters: SUNDAY, Aventurine, jing yuan, CAELUS, STELLE (more in pt2??) genre: SMUUUTTTTTTTTTTT summary: r they a munch? come find out! warnings: afab reader (no prns used), mentions of squirting, spit!, oral (reader receiving!) (also aventurine in his part bc yall 69), overstimulation, light dacryphilia, praise, playful teasing, generally messy oral sex, mentions of hickies?, jing yuan puts his thumb in your ass while he eats it from the back, mentions of cum eating in caelus’, face sitting (stelle), idk proceed at your own risk this is one of my more tame works so 🤷 a/n: this was not originally going to be my comeback fic but i was hit with a bolt of inspiration comparable to lightning

SUNDAY

     → now. just. hear me the fuck out. sunday is THE munch. do not fuckin play w me rn. he LIVVEEESSSSS to eat pussy — he gets off on pleasing his partner (he’s a bit of a service switch, willing to take up any role to make you happy) and making you cum all over his face. he loves making a mess out of you—sweaty with cum soaked thighs.. mmh, he gets hard at the sight and ends up digging back in to your puffy cunt, tongue fucking you with no remorse and keeping your thighs spread apart with a surprising amount of strength

         → if you let him, he’ll stay between your thighs for hours, until he gets lockjaw, so for your sake and his, please remind him that you both need breaks so you don’t pass out.

     → always praising you too, talkin ab how youre so pretty and well behaved for him (as he will eat the brat right out of you), and how he just can’t get enough of you

         → “mmnhg, fuck, you taste so good, dove, i could eat you whole.” and he Does.

     → sucks on your clit and curls his fingers so good inside you until you eventually squirt n make such a mess on his face — something that initially shocks him, but he quickly grows obsessed by it and wants you to do it again, even if you protest that you can’t!

         → “did you just..?” he asks in awe and disbelief, looking up at you with big, gold eyes. he couldn’t quite believe what he’d gotten you to do—all from a little stimulation? (buddy, you’ve been eating them out for the last half hour, AT LEAST) 

     → it’s safe to say he becomes obsessed with you making an absolute mess on his fuckin face, and encourages you to make one everytime !! for a former priest or sum, he sure is unholy in the bedroom in your humble opinion! 

     “aa–ah! sunday!” you wail as he scissors your drooling, overstimulated pussy. your cheeks were flushed and eyes full of tears as he ignores your cries in favor of lapping and sucking away at your throbbing clit. 

     he had made you cum thrice now, and he was well on his way to working you to your fourth orgasm. perhaps sunday was a bit of a sadomasochist, as he focuses on overstimulating you and ignoring his own achey cock, straining horribly against his slacks, sure to leave a wet stain against his boxers. 

     sunday can’t help but moan into your cunt when you tug at his hair, forcing him closer to your core despite your protests that you couldn’t handle anymore. so, you squeeze your thighs around his head and throw your head back, uttering a silent prayer to whatever god may have been listening for any kind of mercy from this overwhelming pleasure.

     and, finally, just as you’re pushed over the edge for the nth time, you actually fucking squeal! when you feel teeth come into contact with the almost hypersensitive skin of your inner thigh—and sure enough, there was your silver-haired boyfriend nibbling on your skin as gently as he can, not wanting to overwhelm you, but still wanting to play with you a bit..!

Aventurine

     → okay so. he can suck dick AND eat some pussy. my Bisexual Versatile Switch Icon. while he’s a bit of a whore, that just simply means he has more experience to please you with <3

    → REEAALLLLYYYYYYY into spit (im projecting) and i mean spitting in your mouth, you spitting in his mouth, spitting on your face, etc. but, and i say this with a devious grin on my face, spitting directly onto your pretty pussy of course ! <3 and diving in immediately after!

         → do not let him eat you out anywhere but the bedroom, bc he will make such a fucking mess out of the sheets, the couch cushions, fucking. anything wherever you are. 

     → big on sucking your clit raw while he scissors your cunt apart and curls his fingers ever so nicely inside you. he just likes the feeling of it twitching and pulsing in his mouth, but he’s not afraid to tongue fuck you either

     → LOVES when you sit on his face oh my god PLEASE sit on his face—and if you’re fat? please keep in mind he’s a gambler and does not gaf if he dies from suffocation, that is a risk he is more than willing to take! if the pussy kills him, he can die happy.

     → but. wait. oh my god. 69ing with him. he LOVVVEEESSSSSSSSSSS to 69 oh my GOD holy shit. The 69er. always prefers you to be on top so you can still sit on his face tho.

     “mmh,” aventurine moans into your cunt from beneath you, the vibrations only serving to enhance your pleasure. as a chronic yapper, he wants to tell you how good you taste, how sweet you are, how he can’t get enough, but thankfully, for your sake, your pussy was smothering and silencing him. all you could hear was the moans and grunts he couldn’t seem to stop making — but to be fair, neither could you, as he rolls his hips up, stuffing his throbbing cock further down your throat. his hands grip your thighs tighter, and you think you may have bruises in the shapes of his fingertips later, but you don’t really mind. 

     “nngh,” you echo his moan, and you feel his dick twitch in your mouth, and you know he’s close. you two had been like this for about ten or so minutes now, and he’d already managed to make you cum once—you’re just honestly surprised he’s lasted this long (or maybe it’s because you had to pull off of him a handful of times to selfishly catch your breath while he ruthlessly ate you out, even as his jaw began to get sore, he really didn’t care).

     hollowing your cheeks out, you bob your head lower down his shaft, as one hand blindly moves to fondle his heavy balls as you focus on both getting him to cum and also the feeling of cum about to squirt down your throat. humming around him to assist you in your work, aventurine doubles down in his efforts of eating you out once he realizes what you were doing. 

     lifting you off his face ever so slightly, he takes a deep breath before locking the fuck back in and pulling you back down against his soaked face. his tongue eagerly dives into your slick hole and a chill runs down your spine as goosebumps cover your skin, your hair standing on end. 

     the blonde can’t help but moan again as he tastes you for the nth time tonight, as he sticks his tongue out as far out as it’ll go and he licks your velvety inner walls, uncaring of the way his drool and your cum coat his lower face. 

     “hmngh,” he hums pleasantly, as if he were enjoying a meal (and believe me, he was), and he pulls his tongue out of you to lick a hot line from your puffy clit to your twitching hole, where he reinserts himself and you moan around his dick again. this time, when aventurine bucks his hips up, he finds himself cumming with a groan, having to pause in his endeavors due to how intense his orgasm was. 

     thankfully, you were prepared to swallow around him as he cums down your throat, and you can feel yourself right on the edge as well. 

     “a–aven—” you whine, trying to lift your hips up—something he does not allow. in fact, he pulls your pussy flush against his messy face and easily finishes you off, until you’re creaming on his tongue and a few tears roll down your cheeks from the stimulation.

jing yuan

     → yall alr fuckin KNOW mr general will eat the FUCK out of some pussy !!!! he will make you cream yourself 3 times over before he even gets the chance to get his pants off i’m ngl. 

     → and he’s always. Always. !!! so smooth with his words, you don’t understand how !! it’s not fair, really, the way he coos at you with that stupid lazy grin on his face. goddamn him.. and speaking of that lazy grin…… the general always likes to take his time with you—like he has all the time in the world!! and to be fair, he kinda does.

         → “shh, just stay calm and i promise you’ll get what you need,” he’d tell you sweetly, just to tease you for another seven minutes!! and it wasn’t even mean teasing! he was just genuinely enjoying his time and stretching out the foreplay, which made you feel a leetol bit bad.. because you knew he just wanted to appreciate you, but.. not bad enough to sit still for him!

     → he loves to slowly pepper your body in kisses, trailing down lower and lower until he’s nestled between your thighs and his head is dangerously close to your cunt — begging him for a kiss, or anything to soothe the ache between your legs

     → you can’t even dream of being a brat w this man icl, he will eat you right back into place. he’s big, he’s beefy, and he can absolutely manhandle you into whatever position he wants—speaking of, he’s quite fond of bending you over onto your hands n knees and burying his face right into your pussy from possibly the Most embarrassing angle

         → you can feel his nose brushing up against your asshole while he goes to town on your other hole, and the whole ordeal has you feeling more than shy.. but it’s okay bc jing yuan can be rather gentle with you — although.. he absolutely does Not pass up the opportunity to stick his thick thumb into your tight asshole, spitting directly onto the clenched ring to act as a lubricant of some kind

     it’s all you can do to whine as jing yuan slowly works his thumb into your ass as his swollen lips are pressed against your slick pussy, licking away at your drooly slit. he’d had you like this for about twenty minutes now, bent over on all fours as he lazily eats it from the back. he’d been relishing in your taste and pretty noises when suddenly he got got the bright idea to try and stick a finger into your neglected asshole.

     he had spit on it beforehand, to try and lubricate it, so it wouldn’t sting as much, but the sensation only served to make you yelp and turn your head back around to look at him.

     “j–jing yuan!” you cry out, gripping the sheets at the feeling. “wh–wha—?”

     “shh, it’s okay,” he says calmly, trying to soothe your qualms. “do you trust me?” he asks, moving his head away from your cunt so he can look you in the eyes, pausing in all his actions. when you nod your head after a brief moment of hesitation, the general slowly resumes the easing of his thumb into your slightly more relaxed hole as he goes back to eating you out.

     once his thumb is fully seated inside you, paired with him licking away at your drooly cunt, goosebumps cover your skin at the dual sensations, and you don’t know how to react, but your body sure does! your asshole clenches around his thick and calloused thumb while your cunt flutters around the tongue now inside it, and it’s less than a few seconds later that you’re squirting on his face with a loud cry of his name.

CAELUS

     → okay. just hear me out Again. i think, both trailblazers for this matter, but stelle will get her own part in a moment. caelus isn’t necessarily a slob..? or maybe he is i can’t particularly remember icl i’m running off less than 4? hours of sleep in the last 38hrs and four (pacific punch) monsters lol. but either way when it comes to getting to go down on you—he all but makes out with your cunt and takes his sweet, sweet time eating you out; alternating between sucking harshly on your throbbing clit to licking your gummy inner walls

     → he can 100% get off on your noises and from humping the mattress, the feeling of your thighs around his head and your hands in his thick hair… mmmh he’s big on sensations, feeling things, feeling you…. oh aeons he is pussy WHIPPED !!! if you don’t stop him, he WILL stay between your legs, happily slobbering on your pussy and sucking on your swollen clit until you physically cannot handle it anymore

     → literally will do so until he makes you squirt on his face or until you actually cannot orgasm anymore—when there’s tears streaming down your cheeks and you’re crying out his name, pulling at his hair and begging him to stop; he just can’t help himself!! how’s he meant to have any self control when you taste so fucking good? when your reactions get him so hard!! fuck’s sake! 

     → nasty disgusting boy.. a little too into spit and slobber and other bodily fluids (real big on fucking you first, then going down on you and eating his cum straight from you fluttering hole…… how sick he is.. because he really does take delight in these. simply put. fuckin sick nasty acts!) he’s obsessed with your cunt and he loves even more the person attached to it — perhaps what he’s getting off on isn’t the act itself, but the fact that you were, in fact, enjoying yourself, or that he was the one making you feel like this

     though somewhat quiet outside the bedroom, caelus certainly moans like a bitch as he rolls his hips into the mattress beneath him and your thighs clench around his head. currently, he was preoccupied with your—would it be fair to say drooling if he was the one physically unable to contain his own saliva? while he was the literally drooling one, your pussy was certainly soaked !! both with your own juices and a genuinely disgusting amount of his spit. 

     he had been busy eating you out for the better half of an hour now, after he had actually fucked you once. he kind of does reverse foreplay, really—and he’s always so gross about it that you can’t help but feel flustered about it everytime, even if you were just as into it as he was. 

     caelus loved to fuck you first, maybe after a little bit of fingering just to get you ready for him, and then take his sweet, sweet time going down on you, and eat his cum out of your used hole—filthy slurping style. the noises he makes are always so fucking nasty and loud that you can feel yourself blush as he shamelessly slurps away at your cunt.

     “cae-lus!” you cry out his name, all but yanking at his grey locks. “pl–please— i can’t!” you try pleading with him, vision starting to grow fuzzy around the edges. 

     “just— just one more..?” he asks, glancing up at you from between your legs. he’s already creamed himself twice and his jaw was genuinely sore, but god fucking damn he just could never get enough of you!!! 

     unfortunately for you, this was his third time asking for just one more. and you didn’t know how much more you had left in you considering you were having dry orgasms at this point. it was bordering on painful, even with your hypersensitive clit in his hot mouth, there were just too many sensations going on and you were too overstimulated. you really hope he meant just one more this time…… (and thankfully, he did.)

STELLE

     → okay. now. these will be a little similar to caelus’ since they’re technically the same person, but i’ll try n add some variety

     → i think stelle is messier than caelus tbh and idek how thats possible bc he’s so…... �� but anyway. stelle is Sick Nasty™ and a slob and a lesbian ik i said sunday is The munch but i may have lied. that title actually belongs to stelle. because holy shit

     → if caelus is pussy whipped then she’s fucking ADDICTED. stelle will take literally Any Chance you give her to eat you out, and she won’t stop until she’s satisfied. so. make sure you have time, because she takes an upwards of 45 minutes to feast on you everytime without fail

     → though quiet by nature, stelle does get a little more vocal in the bedroom—not as loud as caelus, but enough to take notice of. especially when she was in her happy place!! (between your legs) 

     → she is a stone top in search of a pillow princess what else can i say?

     → i really dont have much to say hc wise that i hadn’t alr mentioned in caelus’ so instead here’s a drabble of you sitting on her face 

     “st–stelle!” you gasp out, one hand gripping the headboard while the other covers your mouth in an attempt to contain your pathetic noises. you’d been sitting on her face for the past twenty minutes, and you’ve already came three times, about to be a fourth. 

     “mmngh,” she grunts from beneath you, grip on your thighs tightening. she couldn’t be bothered right now, not when she was busy enjoying her fucking meal!! 

     sucking on your clit, it doesn’t take long for the grey haired woman to force another orgasm out of you, something she’s quite pleased with. sure, her lower face was covered in your slick, but that wasn’t actually her problem—quite the opposite, really. it would become your problem whenever she decided she was done and that she wanted to make out with you so you could taste yourself in full. 

     “sens–sensitive!” you manage to squeak, head falling back as you openly pant, overstimulated from nothing but her mouth… just wait until she got the strap (8” btw)!

     stelle hears what you say, and understands you’re trying to tell her to stop, but….. how was she meant to stop when you tasted this good? simple: she wouldn’t! because she hasn’t had her fill yet and she knows you have a few more left in you—she’s spent this long building up your tolerance and stamina, after all.

     she doesn’t even bother to slow down while you cum, either! she just sucks away at your engorged clit while both her hands come up to grope your chest and play with your stiffened nipples. sucking on your tits was her second favorite thing to do to you, right behind eating you out, obviously. 

     her calloused fingers pinch and twist your nipples, making you moan softly as she presses her tongue flat against your cunt before inserting it into your slit, moaning into you at the taste. deciding she hadn’t had enough yet, she sets her mind on pushing you to a fifth, and maybe even sixth orgasm..! yes, that would be enough to satiate her for now.

     she truly was addicted to you (it needs to be studied, actually..).

HSR m.list

[etherealrin]

♫⋆ ₊˚ toxic til the end!

call us what we are, toxic from the start...toxic!boyfriends ft. karasu tabito, michael kaiser, nagi seishiro, and itoshi rin.

tw: toxic behavior (duh), mentions of violence (kaiser), foul language

notes: fem reader! part 2 + part 3 for rin!

karasu sees green the instant he catches you with any other guy; heck he even cares which girls you hang around. it's a pitfall of his, he doesn't see himself as enough, just the average joe, so he doesn't trust that you love him enough, that you'll stick with him. hell, you should've taken the first warning—when he was upset that you were with your male cousin and his friends even before you two began dating. and now? it's tenfold worse, you can't do anything without his approval.

karasu thrusts his phone into your line of sight, eyes cold.

"care to explain, sweetheart?" but there's no trace of sugar in his honey-like words. you peer at the screen, confused.

"it's a picture of me...and my friend...at his birthday party?" you're confused at what he wants you to say, was it not obvious by the stupid little silver party hats atop both your heads in that digital camera shot?

"so? why're you posted alone with him?" tabito scoffs. "who is this guy anyway, why've i never seen or heard of him?"

"he's a friend of my parents, and we only ever see each other occasionally. i was only really invited because-"

"you're alone. with him."

"he took a solo shot with everyone, tabito! it was his damn birthday!" you're exasperated already. karasu was always a bit odd with who you were with when he wasn't there, and he seemed to recently have taken up stalking your socials and anyone who was connected to you. it's almost as if he was trying to catch you with somebody else in that way, and it hurt. did he not believe it when you told him that you loved him every morning and night? and this wasn't even near the first time, no, he had been questioning everyone you interacted with since a few weeks after you'd started dating, and although it had been almost a year by now, he seemed to grow more persistent if anything.

karasu reads your expression in a heartbeat, and he knows. if he doesn't act now, you'll slip far away from him. so he forces up a smile, murmurs an apology, and kisses you, distracting you from your worries. it's why you can never bring yourself to break up with him, he knows exactly how to play you into the palm of his hand. you think you're in love, even if your boyfriend is a bit twisted: jealous and possessive.

michael kaiser loves you. that's a fact, set in stone so clearly that you wonder why you doubt him. even if he snaps at you, even if he picks fights for no reason, even if he nearly slaps you, it's all out of love, right?

the day he breaks you is a frigid and rainy, afternoon. you're over at his place, fussing over michael because he's been coughing quite a bit, believing him to have caught some kind of cold.

"what are you doing?" he hisses, watching you mess around his forehead, hands pressed to it.

"checking to see if you're sick," you reply, frowning slightly, the concern evident on your face. he was a bit warm, but not enough to warrant a fever. "mihya, you should wear a thicker jacket or something before going out-"

"the fuck you are, my mom or something? i've practically lived on the streets since birth, i can take care of myself." he interjects, swatting your hand away like your presence was akin to a pesky bug's.

"i-i just wanted to..." you feel so small against him.

"to what?" his tone is dangerous now, eyes gleaming with an anger you've come to fear. had you caught him in a bad mood? you can't fight the tears slowly precipitating in your eyes, and when michael sees this he only makes it worse.

"and now you're crying? the fuck is this, you trying to make yourself the victim here?" his blonde locks in your vision blur, the teardrops now a steady waterfall leaking away. the room walls suddenly feel too white, like they're closing in on you, and oh, you might just suffocate if you don't get out of the damn room right now. every time, you tell yourself it's the last you allow him to mistreat you like this; you try to believe you're tired of him. so you storm out his front door wordlessly, back turned, and he waits until you're outside in the pouring rain before he allows his facade to fall, lips twisting into a scowl.

you're blubbering in the rain like an idiot on a phone call to your best friend, without an umbrella and now hopelessly drenched. she swears up and down that it's not normal for your boyfriend to act like this, you should leave him for good this time. and you're almost ready to believe her and cut yourself loose, almost.

kaiser picks the perfect time to show up, holding a black umbrella over the both of you. before he can ask who you're calling, you've already hung up, refusing to meet his piercing gaze.

"hey," he says softly, his demeanor a full 360 from how he was acting minutes before. "i'm sorry, liebe. i went too far, huh?" cold, slender fingers tilting your chin up, forcing you to look.

you just sniffle, averting his stare and still juggling the idea of leaving him. but it's futile, as if he can read your mind, because he says "i swear i won't do that again. don't leave me, please." and his tone is oh so heartbreaking now that you can't not look at him. that's the mistake which seals your demise because when you see his eyes, you're a lost cause under his spell.

"m'sorry," you mutter, as if you have anything to apologize for. he merely nods.

"i love you," michael whispers, and you hate that you actually believe him. he's just so manipulative, and you've developed a taste for his sweet venom.

nagi genuinely doesn't lift a finger some days. being with him is so tiring, so much work, on top of your already jam-packed schedule. what's worse is that nagi can't seem to understand.

"why're you avoiding me all the time?" nagi whines from the sofa.

"sei- huh?" you're baffled. you'd already told him that you had a group project for a university class and that you would likely be occupied, but nagi didn't get it.

"reo says he sees you on campus with this other guy a lot."

"sei, that's my groupmate! and it's not like we're alone, there's always three other people with us!"

"so you like them better than me?"

you have to stay silent to avoid snapping at him.

"y'know, you're bein' a real hassle right now," he sighs from under the blankets, clicking lazily at his xbox controller.

"oh, i'm the hassle now? who just cleaned your filthy living room, cooked us dinner, and did your laundry?" you're seething, was he really just a toddler in the body of a 6-foot teen?

eventually, you've had enough. it doesn't even feel like you're his girlfriend—more like you're his maid, hired help. when you end things over text, he doesn't even bother to reply to your message. it's honestly impressive.

it's a surprise to you that itoshi rin asks you out—you didn't think you were anything to him—just a classmate at most. but there was something so alluring to his cold personality, and you wanted so badly to understand him. not to mention that he was drop dead gorgeous.

so you don't think about the reasons he could have for asking you, of all people, to date him. you blindly say yes, believing that he liked you.

and he was a perfect boyfriend at first, you swear! all of your friends acted like you were the it couple: he would take you on dates in his luxurious sports car after class, pay for dinner, willingly take your instagram photos, hell even your parents liked him.

you didn't think anything could go wrong, not a hint of something amiss in the relationship, until last week. last week when his childhood best friend suddenly broke up with her boyfriend of two years, coincidentally the exact same week rin became distant.

suddenly he's taking her to the same places in the shotgun seat of the lamborghini that you used to sit in. and you pretend not to mind that much, after all they were friends. and she did just go through a breakup. it was only natural for rin to want to comfort her, right?

fuck yourself for being naive. you should've known from the things rin had told you. the impact that she's had on him was clear as day to anyone. she was his first friend, first crush, first kiss, first everything. oh, except they'd never dated! though it seemed that itoshi was deadset on changing that as well, ignoring his own girlfriend for her sake. and really, how would you ever compare to someone like her?

"rin, who're you even dating?" you complain to him as soon as he finally has the time to come over, something you'd pestered him for days about. you're partially convinced that he only did so just to shut you up.

"huh?" it's an emotionless reply.

"given all the time you spend with her, you might as well be dating her instead," you begin, ready to rant. it's unsettling, how unbothered he is by the whole ordeal—like he doesn't even have it in him to care about how you feel.

"that's a great idea." he interrupts. it's your turn to be confused now.

"huh?" you echo back, eyes wide.

"let's break up." couldn't he pretend, just a little, that he felt some unease about this? yet all you see is his expressionless face, and maybe even a hint of a smile if you squint.

"seriously?" you can't believe him.

"why would i be joking?"

"y'know what, fine! go ahead," you huff, shooing him out of your house before you collapse on the sofa, berating yourself for believing that he ever loved you. of course you couldn't be good enough for itoshi rin.

but apparently she was, because a few days later, on her instagram story, she's shoulder to shoulder with rin at the beach, him sporting an uncharacteristically wide grin, fingers interlaced. he'd never smiled like that with you. the text read "my day one luvr" and rin was tagged. you bite back a gag.

word eventually gets around that he only dated you to make her jealous. great, you hate that he had you participating in his sick little game.

a/n: been thinking ab this song all week now, i could not resist LOL. me when i realize bllk lowk has no green flags...also rin's is sm longer is my fav that obvious?

ılılılılılılı now playing: toxic till the end by rosé, heather by conan gray, tumblr girls by g-easy.

masterlist!

[loveanddeepthroat]

Trouble

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - As it turned out, lavish events in the N109 Zone were not quite your thing, and this one did nothing but prove it. You weren’t looking for trouble, but it often had a way of finding you.

Word Count - 6.4k

Warning - MDNI. 18+. Oral sex f!receiving. Fingering. Light bondage. Mention of murder.

You were in trouble.

Not that it was immediately bothering you. You were having a good time—it wasn’t your fault that the rest of your companions were quite clearly not.

And besides, it wasn’t as if you were breaking any rules. Sylus had simply advised that you remain where he and the twins could see you upon your arrival at the lavish event, and that’s exactly what you were doing.

Whilst you watched a delectable cocktail being made for you at the bar as per a stranger's request, the three sets of eyes in various places around the room burned holes in your head as they watched you and the nameless man like a hawk. You only threw a few glances at each of them, catching Luke waving the tips of his fingers against his neck in a warning to get away from the guy.

You did no such thing, however. Listening to people kissing Sylus’s ass to stay out of his warpath had quickly bored you half to death, and some stimulation was very necessary for your withering attention span. You didn’t think much of the man who had approached you at the bar. He was dressed up like every other guy in the room, but he held a familiar air of dominance around him. Just as a certain silver haired man fuming a dozen metres away did.

The man ordered you what he deemed as being the best cocktail you would ever drink, along with an identical one for himself. One sip had led to another, your glass completely drained in a matter of a few seconds. He had another one raring to go before your glass landed back on the mahogany bar.

“Didn’t I tell you? The perfect cocktail.” The slight grin he shot you revealed two golden teeth that replaced his natural canines. You imagined the man would be quite intimidating to look at for most, but you took down Wanderers for a living. He’d need to do a lot more than flash his expensive gold fangs at you to make you feel threatened.

Not that you were getting that impression from him in the first place. He actually seemed rather pleasant.

“It’s delicious,” you agreed, already starting on the second.

He perched himself on the stool beside you, taking a sip of his own as he studied you for a moment. “You came with Sylus, huh?”

You nod, not seeing any harm in answering truthfully. “Is it obvious?”

The man chuckled. “His eyes are like lasers through my skull,” he crooned. He turned his head to wiggle his fingers in greeting to your companion. You didn’t dare turn to look in the same direction. “So, what are you doing on your little lonesome, darling?”

A shiver ran up your spine at the pet name. It was almost as if Sylus had caused it as a warning to you. You could feel his patience thinning by the second.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you responded, starting to feel a bit like a worm in the sights of a crow. 

Although you weren’t entirely sure which of the two men were making you feel so much pressure all of a sudden.

A blaringly obvious hand shot in the air a little distance behind the silver-eyed man beside you, catching your attention. Kieran had attracted more than just your attention as he threw his thumb back over his shoulder, eagerly coaxing you away from the man.

It was time to wrap things up.

You finally took the hint and slipped off of the barstool and onto your stilettos, your movement mirrored by the man before you. A large hand landed upon your shoulder, causing you to freeze up. At first, you thought it was his hand clamped there, but the sheer size and strength as it gave you a small squeeze was immediately recognisable.

Sylus.

Putting your face in one of the large fireplaces in the room sounded more appealing than looking up at him at that moment, so you kept your gaze on the sly smirk now spreading across the shorter male’s face.

“Sylus. It’s about time our paths crossed tonight,” he crooned. Gone was the admittedly quite charming face you had been accompanied by, replaced with one that could be compared to that of a viper. 

This man was not someone you should have engaged with.

Sylus’s firm grip remained on your tensed shoulder, anchoring you to him. His voice was cool and indifferent, like he was already bored by the idea of conversing with the individual.

“If you fancied my attention, Frank, all you had to do was say,” he drawled.

Frank cocked his head to the side, his silver eyes dropping to your chest. You suddenly felt a little overexposed in the plunged neckline of your fitted black dress.

“I was just on my way to you when I stumbled upon a lonely little stray,” Frank purred, his cold, lingering gaze finally flickering back up to your face.

Hiding the disgust in your expression was difficult, but you had a feeling it would be wise to at least try. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the twins standing together, watching the situation unfold. They were always ready to get involved if required.

Sylus chuckled, not one iota of humour in it. “I didn’t take you for the type of man to take pity on a stray kitten,” he said flatly. “Especially one with its collar on.”

He slipped a long finger into the chain of your ruby encrusted choker, giving it the smallest of tugs. You didn’t hate it, and honestly, you felt it more in the pit of your stomach than you did in your neck. Now didn’t seem like the time to think on that, mind.

The backs of his fingers smoothed over your racing pulse as he pulled the digit back out of the small space in your tight neckpiece. You shivered quite noticeably, the sensation awakening the pulse between your thighs.

“As you can see, this one is already taken care of.”

You didn’t miss the flare of hostility in Frank’s silver eyes as he followed every movement of Sylus’s hand—even as it moved to hang from his trouser pocket with his thumb tucked inside.

“Maybe you should keep her on a shorter leash. Anyone could have gotten their hands on her,” Frank said tightly. It sounded awfully identical to a threat. “This is hardly the room full of people you would want to lose such a precious little thing in.”

Sylus didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed your arms and moved you to the side, away from Frank’s cold glare. Before you could even react, two strong arms either side of you hooked your arms with their elbows.

Luke and Kieran practically dragged you away, your feet struggling to keep up. As soon as you were released from their bone crushing clamps for inner elbows, you turned back to the interaction you were just kidnapped from.

Only to find the space completely empty.

“Okay, either you’re blind or really, really stupid,” Luke scolded.

You frowned back at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?”

“No, we won’t excuse you,” he snapped. “We’ve spent the last ten minutes thinking up different ways to dispose of your body after Frank was done with you.”

“Honestly, woman. Do we have to take you over the basic commands, again? I looked like a tool flapping my arms at you!” Kieran chimed in, looking like he was telling off a toddler.

Unsure whether it was the alcohol or their incessant rambling, you were starting to feel quite overwhelmed. You weren’t sure what they had seen differently while you were sitting with Frank, but you knew that the man had to have had a sinister intention for occupying you.

“Wait, wait,” you cut them off as Luke started to scold you again. “Shouldn’t we go find them?”

They both stared at you for a moment before bursting into obnoxious laughter. You weren’t sure what the joke was, but you were confident you wouldn’t find it funny even if you did.

If Sylus had gone off alone with the unfriendly man, then surely he would need the three of you there, too.

“You’re lucky you still have a tongue in your mouth to be able to make dumbass suggestions like that,” Luke sneered, still shaking from his chuckles.

You clenched your fists at your sides, irritated by their insults. How were you supposed to know that Golden Teeth was an enemy? You weren’t exactly well versed in the good and the bad when it came to attending events in the N109 Zone.

If they were that concerned, they could have remained beside you.

Each minute that passed without a visual on Sylus felt like an eternity, but in reality, only three minuscule minutes went by before he emerged from a door beside the bar.

His facial expression gave away absolutely nothing, but the red split in his lip did. You swallowed as you watched his tongue peak out to run over the small laceration, followed by the pad of his thumb. It disappeared in an instant at his touch.

You began to walk towards him, curious about what the hell had just happened, and if Frank was still breathing. Before you could open your mouth, however, he bent at the waist the second he got close to you, his shoulder connecting with your stomach as he hauled you off of your feet.

“What the—what the fuck are you doing?!”

He did not dignify you with a response as he stormed towards the exit, his solid arm squeezing your knees into his ribs as you started to assault his back. 

“Put. Me. Down,” you grit between harsh slaps to his back. You might as well have been flicking his ear for all the difference it was making.

He carried you straight out of the building and towards the matte black saloon car Kieran had driven you all in earlier that evening. You were utterly furious and embarrassed, doing everything in your power to wriggle out of his hold.

“I can walk!”

Sylus snorted. Snorted, like it was funny. No humour lay in his tone as he spoke, though. “Well that’s a little hard to believe.”

You whacked his muscled back again. “Meaning?!”

He yanked open the back door of the car, practically dropping you into it on your back. You felt it again, at the worst possible time.

That flutter of lust in your core.

It was something about the way he stood over you as you panted from the physical exertion of trying to fight his spine. He must’ve been able to see up the short skirt of your dress, and you hoped to god he didn’t spot any indication of your arousal on the cherry red thong you were wearing.

“Meaning, you had plenty of opportunity to use these apparent walking skills when your safety was threatened,” he growled, moving your legs so he could slam the car door, not interested in anything you had to say back.

You huffed as you pushed down on the unfolded mass of clothes in your backpack, trying to fit them all in.

It had been hours since you all got back from the absolute disaster of a night, and you had been holed up in the room you were occupying since then. Part of you expected Sylus to come and explain what the hell his problem had been, but he didn’t.

The longer you sat and dwelled on it, the more you wanted to go home. You only came to stay because he’d asked you to attend the event with him. He hadn’t mentioned that you were expected to stay by his side like an obedient dog. Nor had he bothered to mention the types of people you were to avoid.

Not only were you pissed at him, but you were pissed at the fact that he’d made you feel a certain way. Who in their right mind gets aroused by a man embarrassing you by hauling you out of a room full of people—likely with your bare ass on show. 

Scientists would have a field day with your brain.

And although you hated to admit it, it wasn’t the first time you had felt that familiar feeling of lust at his touch. The last time you had stayed, you had to relieve yourself in the shower after training with him in the ring. Every inch of him was sculpted with perfect precision, almost as if an architect had dedicated their life to working on his blueprint.

If you were being honest, you weren’t bothered about the event he wanted you to attend when he’d asked you to join him. You just wanted to see him.

But at the end of the day, you had no idea where you belonged in his world. In Linkon, a friendly face buying you a drink wasn’t something to be feared. It was exhausting having to recluse whenever you accompanied him anywhere. 

The clasps of your bag struggled as you tried and failed to clip them together. You had no idea how you were getting back to your apartment, but you were confident in your ability to just suck it up and figure it out. Even if you had to trek there in your most expensive pair of (uncomfortable) stilettos.

You slipped your feet out of them, throwing your barely closed bag over your shoulders before picking the silky, red shoes up. They’re far too noisy against Sylus’s marble floor for you to be able to slip out without being accosted by him or the twins.

Without so much as a squeak, you gently turned the doorknob, pulling the door slowly to peer down the long hallway. Nobody could be seen or heard, so you slipped out and carefully closed the door behind you to not draw suspicion.

You hurried yourself down the hallway to get to the front door, stopping dead in your tracks as you turned the corner. 

Mephisto was perched outside of Sylus’s bedroom door, his beady red eyes on you in an instant. Like hell was the glorified magpie going to let you pass him without kicking up a fuss.

“If you keep your scrap-metal beak shut, I’ll be out of your feathers. Got it?” Your voice was a whisper, but you knew he could hear you.

He did not make a sound as you slowly passed him, keeping your eyes on his as he followed your every move across the luxury floors. By the time you had passed him, you were fully convinced that he was willing to let you go. The minute you took your eyes off him, though, he started to screech.

“CAW! CAW!”

“Oh for fuck sake! You couldn’t just work with me for once in your—”

“CAW!”

“I wasn’t finished you squawking little—”

You were cut off by Sylus’s door opening, his unamused expression still ever present on his face. He was freshly showered, silver hair dripping onto the bare expanse of chest showing between the lapels of his bathrobe. You had to swallow a noise that rudely made its way up from your suddenly dry throat.

Eyes as red as the rubies around your neck flickered between Mephisto, you, and the bag over your shoulder. He clicked his fingers, sending his winged companion away.

“I was under the impression that you were above cussing out mechanical crows,” he drawled, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

It wasn’t clear whether or not he was joking, considering the less-than humorous look on his face. Either way, you weren’t in the mood for it.

“I’m going home.”

“I can see that,” he responded immediately, nodding towards your barely closed bag. “And how, exactly, are you planning to get there?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling a bit like a teenager who’s just been caught sneaking out to a party. “I’ll figure that out myself.”

Holding his cold stare wasn’t usually a challenge for you, but you found yourself desperate to look away. You had compared Frank’s domineering aura to Sylus’s earlier, but it didn’t actually come close to the man before you. 

You had seen men and women strapped with weapons that could swiftly eliminate even the most dangerous of Wanderers cower at the sight of Sylus. He was the true definition of a force to be reckoned with.

He raised a lazy eyebrow at you, his hand slipping into the pocket of his robe. “You’re not leaving without a ride home. You’re over the limit, and if I wanted you to be skinned alive walking through the N109 Zone, I’d open the front door for you.”

“You give me a lift then,” you rebuked, your patience already thinning.

Sylus offered half a shrug. “I could, but I don’t make a habit of going out half naked.” You hoped to the lord that he didn’t see your shiver at the fact that he was only concealed by a thin robe. “You’re welcome to ask Luke and Kieran.”

“And where are they?”

The corner of his lip curled so subtly that you almost didn’t see it. “Out.”

You growled at his relaxed attitude. Why the hell would he even suggest it if they weren’t around?

“They’re cleaning up a mess of mine,” he answered as if you had asked.

A chill ran through you. “Would that mess happen to be Frank’s body?”

Sylus turned away from you, strolling into his room. You weren’t entirely sure why, but you followed him in, suddenly wanting answers.

“Well?”

Dark tendrils coiled around the bag on your back, gently tugging it down your arms and carrying it out of the room, closing the door on the way out. You had a feeling your belongings were heading back to where you just came from.

Sylus fiddled with the sleek black turntable in the corner of the room, carefully setting a vinyl record into place. It was a stark contrast to the way he’d hauled you into the car.

“You’re aware of the saying, right? Curiosity killed…” he trailed off, putting the pin in its place upon the record.

You frowned at his back. “The cat?”

He blew out a short laugh, not an ounce of humour in it. “The crook.”

He turned back towards you, slowly making his way to where you were a little rigid by the door. There was that feeling again. That you were a worm in the sights of a crow.

“Tell me,” he crooned, stopping right where your forehead would connect with his heart if you took half a step forward. “What was it about Frank that had you feeling adventurous, hm?”

You forced yourself to look up at him, feeling your cheeks heat at how close you were. “What do you mean?”

“Kitten, I can read you like the nervous wrecks who attempt to double cross me. Don’t play dumb, it does not suit you.”

His eyes were fierce and serious, but you hadn’t a clue what he was getting at. Your silence only lasted a few seconds before he leaned towards your shoulder.

“What was it that attracted you to him?” He whispered so quietly that you just about heard him over the thrum of your rapid heartbeat.

Attracted to him? In the approximately two minutes you had spent with Frank at the bar, you hadn’t spoken more than ten words to him. 

You stepped away, your back connecting with the door immediately. Even with the slight gap, his look over your much smaller form was rather harrowing. And yet you felt that unhelpful flutter in your core again, so strong that your knees wobbled in place. What was this man doing to you?

“Did you hit your head this morning?” You bit back, clenching the muscles of your thighs tightly to relieve some of the pressure there. “You think that I had an eye for him because he bought me a drink?”

He closed the gap again, his large palm resting against the door right beside your head. “Why else would you not walk away when you were quite blatantly warned to do so.”

“Maybe because I was tired of—” you cut yourself off before you could finish. 

You had told yourself that the reason you hadn’t wanted to remain at his side was because you were tired of watching people practically tremble in his presence.

Now, though, you weren’t sure that was the sole reason.

Every woman in that damn room had an eye on him, and it had made you feel…strange. You weren’t typically a jealous person by nature, but tonight had proved you capable of such emotions. In fact, you were practically tearing the heads off of beautiful women in your mind, wanting to punish them all for having the audacity to look at him like he was a piece of meat.

Maybe you and him weren’t so different after all.

He cleared his throat pointedly. “Tired of…?”

You huffed rather childishly, turning your head away from his hard stare. “Of the attention that certain people were giving you,” you begrudgingly admit. 

There was no use lying to him, since falsely having him believe that you were actually interested in Frank seemed like a sure way to get on his bad side—if you weren’t already on it.

With his hand that wasn’t resting beside your head, he took a hold of your jaw, carefully turning your face back to his. “And would these people happen to be women?”

You merely shrugged, having no desire to discuss the matter any further.

Sylus studied you for a moment, contemplating. He looked as if he couldn’t decide between scolding you or shaking some sense into you. You were almost shocked that he didn’t go straight to mocking you, but you had an inclination that he had felt the same thing whilst you sat at the bar with one of his enemies.

He dropped his head beside yours again, murmuring in your ear. “If you wanted my attention, sweetie, I would have given it to you.”

You almost moaned, his breath tickling the sensitive column of your throat. Lifting a hand, you grabbed onto his wrist to steady yourself, only for him to pull out of your grasp immediately.

A flash of fear shot through you at his sudden rejection, but it was almost immediately soothed as he pried your fingers open enough to slip his own between them, pinning your hand to the door. 

“Do you have any idea the kind of danger you could have been in tonight?” It was a growling question that didn’t require an answer. You felt your breath pick up in pace, the swollen peaks of your nipples skimming the top of his abs every time your chest heaved. “Frank has been known to have a string of disappearing acquaintances. He wouldn’t hesitate to maim you out of spite to me.”

You shuddered at the thought of being so close to a killer. And yet the proximity between you and Sylus did not give you that same feeling of dread. You know that he has killed many before, and despite not having his death confirmed or denied just yet, you knew that Frank was now somewhere in the afterlife, hopefully being accosted by the people he had killed.

You knew, but you had to ask.

“Did you kill him because I was speaking to him?”

Sylus shook his head, pulling back just enough that he could look you in the eyes. “I killed him because it was long overdue. I’ve had men who have been sent out to keep an eye on that bastard, and many of them did not return,” he explained quietly, a hint of frustration in his tone. “If I had taken my eyes off of you for a second—”

He audibly swallowed, cutting himself off. You could easily guess what he was going to say, and clearly the mere thought of it was haunting him.

A wash of guilt fell over you. If you had just walked away when you were told, he wouldn’t have had to do anything.

“He wasn’t going to take one more person from me,” he finally gritted.

That very thought should have filled you with dread. It should have made you sick to your stomach.

But the mention of his eyes on you for every second you weren’t beside him caused a spreading warmth to grow in your chest. Despite the situation you hadn’t realised you were in, you had been safe that whole time under his watch.

“I would have thought you’d be glad to get me out of your hair,” you said, only half joking to diffuse the tension between you.

He didn’t seem amused by it at all, his grip on your hand tightening. “Like I said, kitten. If I wanted you dead, I’d be seeing you out of the front door instead of standing here, resisting urges I have no right to have.”

Your thighs pressed together again at his whispered confession. His eyes always warned of danger, but they were gleaming with desire. 

You were not losing out on him tonight.

With the most tender of touches, you ran the tips of your fingers over his exposed chest with your free hand, feeling his steady breath falter. He swallowed thickly, suffocating your hand in his against the door. 

“I apologise,” he whispered gruffly, his head dipping to where your collarbone was visible to him in the neckline of your dress. 

You shuddered as his breath danced across your clammy skin, droplets from his wet hair falling against your chest. “For what?”

“Handling you the way I did.” His lips were mere inches away from you, and it took all your strength not to grab the back of his head and slam his face into your chest. “The thought of that bastard doing something—”

“Kiss me.”

Sylus didn’t give you a chance to cringe at your own slip up as every inch of him pressed you into the door, his mouth attacking your pulse with expert precision. You let loose a shaky moan, your nails scratching down his rock hard pectoral.

Every ounce of animosity you had been harbouring since the event dissipated at his touch. He was rough and unrelenting, his indistinguishable power overwhelming you in the most delicious way possible.

“Lower,” you breathed softly, wanting him everywhere.

You weren’t sure how he heard you, but he obeyed your hushed command. In one swift movement, his free arm clutched you around your waist, lifting you up. Both of your legs perched perfectly either side of him, suffocating his waist.

With his newfound access to your already exposed chest, he immediately got to work, sucking and biting at the thin layer of skin over your collarbones. The pain of sharp teeth sinking into flesh married faultlessly with undeniable pleasure, causing you to writhe against him. 

A firm bulge pressed against your heat as he ground himself against your cunt. Even with the sensation being drastically muted by the material of your thong and his robe being between you, you appreciated the absolute weapon he was concealing beneath his nightly attire.

“Ah—” you gasped, the soft sound immediately erased by a sharp hiss as he sunk his teeth into your skin again.

His mouth slowly travelled down to the tops of your breasts, where he pressed uncharacteristically tender kisses to each one. You were a wriggling, desperate mess already, but he was still sane enough to take a moment to study your chest.

“I have always appreciated art,” he crooned.

He removed the arm that held you around your waist, purely holding you up with his lower body alone. Your breasts were granted a sweet release as he pulled the thin straps of your dress down, pulling the material out of his way like a man depraved.

It was the look in his eye. A million compliments that didn’t need to be put into words. You could see them. Hell, you could feel the utter captivation radiating from him.

Your free hand smoothed over the delicious muscle of his shoulders before curling around the back of his neck. With a swift yank of his head, his mouth locked onto one of your firm nipples. Back arching off of the door, you cried out as his tongue swirled and flicked the sensitive area, leaving you a little mindless.

He finally let go of your hand, hungry to feel more of you. One hand pushed up your thigh, the skirt of your dress riding up with the movement before he squeezed your hip. The other cupped your neglected breast, thumb brushing over your pert nipple as if it were the joystick on a gaming console. Up, down, left, right, and all over again. 

It was almost too much, and yet you still wanted more. He ground himself against you again, your head slamming back against the door with a reverberating thud. You felt it this time. The thickness of his solid shaft, followed by the damp sensation of your arousal.

You needed him there. Now.

“Mm—” you mumbled pathetically, unable to get a word out.

Sylus chuckled against the breast he was feasting on. “What was that, sweetie?”

All you could do was wriggle yourself against his cock, hoping to convey a message to him without the need to trip over your words. You wanted to swallow up every inch of it with your warmth, leaving it glowing like a damn firefly with the glistening sheen of your essence.

“I know that pretty mouth of yours can talk,” he whispered against the column of your throat. “Tell me what you want.”

Your mouth was dry, like the space between your legs had stolen your saliva to lubricate you further.

“More.”

Sylus clicked his tongue. “There are nicer ways to ask.”

You knew he wasn’t being serious, but you would have begged on your knees at this point. He had to have felt your legs trembling against his waist, aching for him to fill you.

“Since you haven’t specified…” he began, pulling his head back completely.

For a second, you thought you had actually irritated him. There was a darkness in his stare, a hunger. You couldn’t figure it out, but it didn’t matter once the dark tendrils of his Evol snaked around your arms, dragging them up above your head. Your eyes widened.

Was he going to leave you tied up here?

“Do you trust me, sweetie?”

Any sane person being restrained against a door by the literal epitome of bad news himself would have frantically shook their head.

But you didn’t. You trusted him with every damn crevice of your soul.

“Y-yes,” you stammered.

He brought up a hand to stroke your side before hooking it under your thigh, along with the other one. One swift lift had you hurtling upwards, as if you weighed no more than a spaniel puppy.

Your legs were quickly on his shoulders, securing him a front row seat to your soaked thong. Getting any wetter had to be impossible, but your position was serving to give it a good try. Wrists tightly secured above your head, your legs wrapped around his neck, and his warm breath fanning over your damp thighs.

No throne in the most lavish palace on earth would be more tempting than this seat of yours.

His crimson eyes flickered up to your face, a flash of uncertainty in his gaze. “Is this where you want me?”

You nodded rapidly before his hand came up to hold your jaw, halting your wordless answer.

“Words please, kitten,” he requested.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Sylus.”

He grinned, an unnerving and yet exciting sight. Wasting no time, he gripped the flimsy material of your cheap thong, tearing it at the seams to grant himself access to your bare cunt.

There was no teasing. No small pecks to your inner thighs. Not even a warning before his hot, balmy tongue lapped up a line of your juices through your folds, slowly dragging over the bundle of nerves nestled within. It took him no time at all to figure out where that heavenly little mound was, as if he knew your body like the back of his veiny hand.

Teeth. Tongue. Lips. All three of them fighting brutally for their moment on your clit, as if he couldn’t figure out which to use first. Your brain could hardly keep up with the flitting between this and that. All you knew was that you didn’t want it to stop.

Your legs tightened around his head in a bone-crushing squeeze. The suffocation only served to push him further, like he was fuelled by the possibility of having his jaw crushed like a damn walnut between your thighs.

“I could think of worse ways to go,” he growled against your hole, nose buried deeply into your folds to inhale your scent.

He pressed further into you, his tongue penetrating you with a greedy lick down your plush walls. Your hips jolted of their own accord at the sensation. He was your puppet master, making you grind and flinch on demand with his calculated actions.

The more his tongue slid in and out of you—the tip of his nose perfectly hitting your clit every time—the more of him you wanted inside of you. 

Gone were your soft, airy moans. You were crying out to whoever would listen, announcing to the world beyond the walls that you were being fucking devoured by the most feared mouth in the N109 Zone.

A mouth that could bring grown men to their trembling knees with one mere bark of an order.

You were drunk on it.

He slowly withdrew his tongue, immediately swallowing. “Like candy,” he murmured.

He licked at his lips, eyes trained on the concoction of his saliva and your fluids with awe. His hand shifted from where it had still been gripping your thigh, the soft pads of his fingers tracing circles around your hole for lubrication.

“Can you handle them?” He didn’t look up as he asked, fixated on the patterns he was repeatedly drawing through your folds.

“Mhm,” you mumbled.

He clicked his tongue. “Words.”

“Yes.”

He seemed to make quite the habit of just diving in as soon as he had permission. In one swift push, he impaled you on his lengthy index finger, his knuckles pressing against your pelvic bone.

You cried out towards the ceiling. “Fuck!” 

“You must’ve had some pretty disappointing experiences down here, sweetie,” he purred. “You’re so very tight.”

Every muscle in the lower half of your body was quivering with need, your hips unable to still themselves. He wasn’t wrong, nobody had ever truly left you gasping or crying out to the heavens.

You had a feeling he was about to change that.

Slowly, he dragged the digit back out, making sure to scrape down on your walls as he did. He began a steady rhythm, plunging his finger in and out of you lazily. His eyes held a repertoire of fascination, as if he’d been dreaming up this moment for quite some time.

He didn’t rush to add the second digit, but as soon as he did, you lost all sense of reality. The curling and pounding was precise and calculated, every brush of your neglected g-spot extracting a whimpering moan from you.

“Ngh…oh fuck,” you managed through a shuddering breath.

“Good girl,” he praised huskily. “I want to feel you come undone. Can you do that for me, darling?”

If he kept talking to you like that, it was going to happen a lot sooner than he would expect. The mental challenge of holding back was near impossible, and seemed to be displeasing him.

He picked up his pace. Firm, brutal bucks of his hand giving you every push towards that edge that you were trying to keep a distance from. You were yanking at the tendrils gripping your wrists, crying out pathetically at the sheer velocity of his fingers.

“I hope you’re not holding back on me,” he warned quietly.

He wanted you to finish. He was so very desperate to feel your release that he was practically shoving you towards it.

You couldn’t deny him.

The building pressure in your core gave out as you orgasmed, a litany of thuds marrying the sounds of your pleasured cries whilst you writhed against the door. Sylus, at the feeling of your walls contracting around his fingers, became a little breathless himself. He didn’t slow his pace, helping you ride out the waves of pleasure until your very last whimper. 

By the time you had caught your breath, the restraints on your hands slowly loosened, and you expected to be put back down onto solid ground.

Instead, Sylus brought his mouth back to your folds, clearing up the aftermath of your first real orgasm. He was slow and gentle, savouring the taste like a vintage bottle of wine.

He was gentle when lowering you back to the floor, your legs trembling beneath you. You kept a hold of his arms, looking up at his hazy eyes. Anyone would think that he’d been the one on the receiving end of oral sex.

You wanted to give back. You wanted to see everything beneath his robe.

And apparently, your need was rather obvious.

“Not tonight, kitten,” he murmured, fixing your dress to cover your exposed body.

You didn’t know if you were more perplexed or hurt. Why not tonight? Did he not see you capable enough of being able to return the favour?

He brushed a strand of your unruly hair behind your ear in a contrasting manner to how he’d been handling you earlier. “I won’t know when to stop.”

You shuddered at the thought. “I’m okay with that.”

It wasn’t a lie. He could bend you over the railing of the balcony for the whole city to see, and you wouldn’t bat an eyelid.

But he wasn’t budging, the corner of his glistening lips curling upwards at your eagerness. “I don’t doubt that.” 

He leaned towards your ear, his voice a low whisper.

“But it’s going to take a lot more than my saliva and your sweet fluids to help you take me, sweetie.”

[obeymeluv]

Getting Kidnapped was Not on the List! [Malleus x Reader]

Trigger warnings: Mentions of being eaten alive. Mentions of body pain/descriptions of shifting.

Not proofread.

The future king of Briar Valley isn't sure why he has such a feeling of impending doom, but it worries at him. He looks out the window of his room in Diasomnia as if he can see across the cobblestone and into town where you're supposed to be shopping right now. Malleus hums, green eyes narrowing as the book he's reading presses into his lower lip.

Yes, something is certainly amiss.

He feels tingly, like his very nerves are pricking and sparking at something. Malleus stands to his full height, putting the book down as he makes his way outside. There's nothing unusual in the sky, no ominous clouds, but he feels the shimmer of a glamour in the air.

It's faint, but he can sense it. Nowhere near the school, he'd gather. Wherever it is, he can't quite pinpoint it. He heads back inside to grab some snacks for the crows and ravens that call the trees around Diasomnia home. Hearing the familiar rattle of croutons, seeds, and nuts, a few of them perk up and call curiously. "Come, my friends!" Malleus encourages, sitting on the stone bench outside the dorm. They swarm, wings fluttering impatiently as he picks balanced handfuls and lays them at their feet. "Now that you're fed," Malleus leans down to them and speaks casually, like he's having tea with Sebek or Lilia, "would you mind doing a bit of scouting for me? There seems to be an active glamour and I'm curious. You would be rewarded handsomely, I assure you." They take off and he chuckles. Loyal familiars, birds. His grandmother adores them, too. Malleus brushes crumbs and bits from his pants, pushing off of the bench. All at once his chest seizes and Malleus startles.

It's enough to knock the air out of him. Is it...terror?

His phone rings in his pocket and he fishes for it, growling through the fluttering squeeze in his chest. "Hello?"

"Malleus! Help me, please!"

"Child of Man?! What's wrong?!" Malleus felt his fangs growing, threatening to cut his own tongue. The tremble in your voice, the fear, sent his stomach churning and boiling. He could feel the muscles in his back rippling as he lost his grip on his own glamour, the extra ligaments and bones needed for his wings threatening to tear his human shoulders as he staved off shifting from a biped to a quadruped.

"You dare call upon the future king?!" he heard a voice sneer with rage and disbelief. "Insolent, disgusting thing!"

"How dare you?!" Malleus roars, wincing as his jaw pops a little. His human mouth pales in comparison to the wide maw of his dragon form. Pearly teeth click against each other as they begin lose their human shape. "You shall not address my Child of Man in such a way!"

"My liege, please--"

"You call me liege but fail to state your name! That is TRUE insolence!" Malleus feels the claw on his thumb cut his cheek. He doesn't care. "To WHOM do I speak?"

"E-Elm Leafdance, sire."

The name is somewhat familiar. He vaguely recalls a miserly fae always moping about and telling old tales about horrible humans. Everyone in the castle could recite them word for word. Lilia was at odds with him, he recalled. At one point Elm had been accused of kidnapping Silver but Lilia never made a formal complaint before the court so it faded into obscurity.

"Unhand my Child of Man, Leafdance! If you have qualms with them, I shall be addressed in their stead. Come to me at once!"

"A most generous offer, young king," the fae is stuttering now, "but leaving would prove costly to, your, um...Child of Man..."

He can barely comprehend through the haze of rage. Malleus feels his chest burning to a nauseating degree, the green fire begging to be set free. Wisps of smoke slither from his lips. He snorts, expelling most of it. If Leafdance cannot leave you unattended, that means you're at the mercy of some kind of enchantment with sentience that he controls.

That sentience would diminish with distance and who knows how that would leave you? Clearly you're being restrained if it would prove 'costly'. The idea of you being in any peril ESPECIALLY from a fae has Malleus seething. His phone is barely holding on; Malleus can feel the fractured screen poking his cheek.

He turns sharply towards Diasomnia, half-floating as he jumps from ledge to crenel, climbing up a merlon to stare at the town in the distance. "Raise your sigil and I shall come to you." Malleus snaps the phone even though he tried to mash the 'end call' button. Putting his thumb through it just pressed everything inward and it crumpled like a can.

Malleus casts the broken phone aside, watching the sky out of the corner of his eye as he ascends the main tower of Diasomnia. It is one of the taller point on campus, only rivaled by NRC itself. He hunches, releasing his glamour.

His grand shadow looms over Diasomnia, wings stirring gusts as he launches off the stone. The stone crumbles a bit, his claws leaving scratches. Malleus doesn't remember the last time he flew in his true form but the wind cutting around his scales feels nice. A glittering leaf sparks in the distance and he bellows, pawing at the air as if that will help him rise faster.

Malleus catches an updraft, oblivious to Lilia ripping out of Diasomnia's storage room on a broom. The prince darts forward, his eyes hard and pupils slitted. His tail whips to and fro, top layer of scales raised and acting as a stabilizer.

He breaches the enchantment and lands in the clearing. Sadly, the thought to land ON Leafdance didn't cross his mind. The ground trembles beneath him, claws sinking into the soft grass. Malleus lowers his head to Leafdance not as a greeting, but to better see the cretin that dares harm his cherished Child of Man.

"S-Sire!" the chestnut-haired man squeaks, "H-How nice to see you!"

Malleus snorts in response, knocking the fae back. I cannot say the same, Malleus glares at the fae, green embers dancing at the back of his throat. Flecks of green sparkle in his teeth. Some dragon fae can talk in their true form but he cannot. Where is my Child of Man?

"On the subject of the human--" Leafdance begins.

His ferocious rage dims as he inhales your scent. Malleus relaxes a bit and it's like his vision clears, allowing him to see the clusters of trees and tangle of roots you're stuck in. It was a nasty gnarl, for certain. If Elm left, it would surely knot around you and you'd lose a limb (at the very least). Judging by the lone arm sticking out of the tangle, he'd guess you were being twisted and the weight of the branches would crush you.

Not something to be stuck in.

Release them, Malleus' stares at Elm, satisfied with the way the fae shakes while looking at the reflection in his large eye.

"But sire! Please come to your senses! Humans are--"

Malleus isn't sure what came over him in that moment. He was annoyed, yes, but even when in his dragon form he was rational. Composed. Regal. Fully cognizant.

And he's fully aware that he lunges forward, all teeth.

The terrified squawk is muffled in the wet cavern of his mouth, Malleus chomping on the feeble body. He feels the bones roll, flesh squishing against his teeth like pulp. I think I'd rather have Lilia's cooking, Malleus muses as he bobs his head to send the remains down his throat.

The twist of roots explode, no longer connected to their summoner. He's surprised to find you awake and alert. Perhaps Elm meant to keep you conscious and make you suffer. You're dazed and covered in tree bits.

Even in this form he finds you adorably tiny. He can't laugh in this form; it turns into a rumble of a coo. You flinch when the towering creature registers in your vision but something about the brilliant green of that eye, the way those massive paws--claws?--fold patiently in front of you, gives you pause.

"M-Malleus?" you've turned over onto your hands and knees. He rests his maw on his paws, blinking at you.

It is I, Child of Man, Malleus snorts gently. It blows your hair around and the sound he gives is akin to a purr. You sit back on your knees, stunned and staring up at him with thoughtful adoration.

Joy. Relief. Love, perchance?

He can tell it's weird for you to hear his voice but you recover quickly. The idea that his voice sooths you is more than enough for him.

"I didn't realize you could turn into an actual dragon. I just thought being a dragon fae meant you had horns and a tail!" you laughed, cheeks turning red as the embarrassment hit you.

We fae have many secrets, Malleus nudges you with his snout, careful not to shove you. He feels your tiny, warm hands brush his scales. Trace them.

Ooh it's divine! Malleus' tail beats the ground and he's careful to knock the trees away from the two of you. "Thank you for saving me," You kiss the side of his face and wonder if he feels it. His pupil dilates and you laugh as the side of a pink tongue comes out to lick you. "But you squished my groceries. I'll need to make another trip. Want to join me?"

"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!" Lilia drops down from the broom, landing squarely between Malleus' horns. He grabs onto the closest one, feet slipping as Malleus furrows his forehead and starts to move. "Don't swing me, you heathen! I can't believe you FLEW OFF FROM THE SCHOOL!" Lilia shakes the broom, yelping as Malleus looks down and forces him to dangle.

My human was in trouble. What was I to do?

"Tell Crowley?!" Lilia lets go to float in front of Malleus, one hand on his hip. Malleus huffs in response, blowing the fae towards a tree. Had he not teleported, Lilia would be dealing with some serious back pain! He reappeared beside you, leaning on the broom.

I needed a solution, not another problem, Malleus shook his head.

"Why can't Malleus come to the store with me?" you interrupt the staring contest. Apparently Malleus could filter people out when it came to telepathy; he and Lilia were making faces at each other.

"Because he needs to digest what he ate before he reverts to his human form." Lilia sighed. Malleus certainly wasn't the first dragon to eat someone but the boy hadn't been properly educated about taking care of himself after doing so. He'd been taught basic etiquette about showing off his fangs and how to control his wings but eating things in his dragon form hadn't been on anyone's mind since he preferred to be in his human form.

He was a gentle soul, much like his father, and no one really saw him resorting to such things. Queen Maleanor, absolutely! Stories of Queen Maleficia tearing chunks out of annoying suitors certainly made the rounds but no one really saw that in Malleus until now.

"He'll have terrible indigestion if he doesn't." Lilia frowned. "Among other issues."

How long will it take? Malleus cocked his head at Lilia.

"At least an hour. Two to be on the safe side." Lilia sighed, shaking his head.

"Well, I still need groceries." you shrugged, getting off the ground. You'd just have to use whatever bags the store gave you. You're sure the ones under Malleus can't be saved.

Oh Child of Man, for whom my heart sings, might you pay tribute with a bit of ice cream?

"A kiss wasn't enough?" you teased.

"A kiss? Oh, Malleus, you cheeky thing!" Lilia laughs. His young charge may be in dragon form but even dragons can be embarrassed. It's mostly awkward shuffling, dismissive wing flaps, and avoidant eyes, but it's still hilarious.

I would like both, thank you, Malleus' tail starts to wag again. It wags harder when he takes Lilia by surprise and blows him through a cluster of trees like a dandelion seed.

"I'll see what I can do," you pat the side of his face before walking over to help Lilia up and head back to the store.

[bvidzsoo]

So it's always been you

᠀𓏲Cherry Blossom, March Event᠀𓏲

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: model!Jung Wooyoung x stylist!reader

᠀𓏲 Warning: cursing, mentions of a sex toy ᠀𓏲 Word count: 6k ᠀𓏲 Rating: nc-17 ᠀𓏲 Genre: fluff, soulmates: whenever you lose an item, it ends up in your soulmates' possession somehow, fashion week au, model x stylist romance, best friends to lovers, humour ᠀𓏲 Summary: Both young and restless, Wooyoung and you have started out your careers around the same time. As newbies in the industry, you quickly found yourselves sticking together and growing closer with each passing day. Now, many years down the line, everyone knows that you and Wooyoung are inseparable besties, who have each other's backs and will crack up at the stupidest of jokes. As his stylist, it's also convenient that whatever Wooyoung loses just magically turns up in your possession since he's known for losing his stuff often. It takes you quite the years to figure it out, but when you do eventually, everything just clicks in place, all of it making sense.

A/N: Ooh, and Wooyoung's part is here! Hello, my lovelies, I hope you are enjoying our event so far, the rest of the stories are just as exciting as the previous ones hehe. This one here is a little bit sillier and all the cuter, imo. Also, what were the chances of Wooyoung attending another fashion week right as I was supposed to write this drabble? Anyways, thank you Wooyoung for gracing us with your hotness, totally appreciate it hahaha. Thank you for your support so far and for all the feedback you've left! I love hearing your thoughts, so don't be shy and share them with me. I hope you enjoy this one! ^^ divider @cromernet

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@mizushimakumiko

            The camera flash blinded you for a second as you squinted your eyes, trying to figure out just what was missing from the look. From a distance, everything looked perfect, but upon a closer look, you could tell something needed to be added to tie the whole outfit together. The flash went off again, and you bit your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed, as your eyes moved from your best friend onto the screen you were standing in front of.

“Alright, now tilt your pelvis forward and lean slightly back!” The photographer instructed as your eyes traced your best friend’s sharp features. He was a handsome man, unique-looking with features that few other models could claim. His sharp jawline and gorgeous nose would catch anyone’s eyes when flipping through a magazine, and the uneven form of his eyes made you stare at the man. His tan skin-complex was gorgeous under the sunlight, and you often found people staring at him—yourself included. You enjoyed looking at beautiful things, and as his best friend and stylist, you were supposed to admire Jung Wooyoung in order to create the perfect look for whatever occasion he needed you for professionally, “Oh! Raise your leg. Yes, that looks amazing!”

You smiled a little to yourself, eyes drawn to the pictures as the flash went off again and again, capturing Wooyoung’s sharp but ethereal beauty. He wore black clothes today, the scaly silver vest standing out nicely against the rest of the clothes. But the longer you looked at the picture, the more you started realizing that Wooyoung forgot to wear a piece…again. He was an airhead on the worst of days, forgetting his stuff in his room—or worse, in a spot where you’d never find it again—or he’d downright lose his things. Luckily, his best friend, you, were always there to find whatever he had lost previously. You felt like your mother sometimes, reaching inside Wooyoung’s closet just to find the item he was complaining about not being there…being exactly there. It’s like your hands yielded magic like none other, like magnets to anything that was owned by Jung Wooyoung. You sighed as you shook your head, and your assistant raised her eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, tone tinged with slight concern, “Do you not like the lighting? Are the angles bad? Should I tell the photographer we’re done for today?! I mean, I know he’s a newbie, but he’s really—”

“Relax,” You chuckled, grabbing her shoulder to squeeze it, “Everything’s fine. Wooyoung just forgot to put on his necklace. I’ll be right back.”

Your assistant visibly relaxed, and you watched her reach for her iced coffee, her hand slightly shaking as she raised the cup to her mouth. One would think she was Wooyoung’s manager by how much she fussed over the man, ordering the staff around if something seemed off to make sure Wooyoung had everything he needed. You left the room, walking down the hallway towards the dressing cabin, glancing at your wristwatch. It was getting late, and you were hungry. You still had to pack a bit, and your flight was in just two days. Wooyoung, much to the both of your joy, had been invited to the Paris Fashion Week. It’s been a longtime dream of his, and due to his perseverance and determination, he was finally living out his dream. And through him, by being by his side, you were also thriving like never before.

Wooyoung and you had met a good six years ago, when you were both too young and too dumb to realise what it meant working in the fashion industry. Wooyoung was just starting his modelling career, and you had been assigned your first big and important job as a stylist. Until then, you had been shadowing a well-known designer, sticking to his side to learn absolutely everything. Wooyoung, on the other hand, had no one to rely on. He came from a relatively modest family, and his parents hadn’t been the happiest when Wooyoung had told them about his career choice, but they didn’t stop him from following through with his wishes. It was a good thing, you knew how much it meant to have your parents’ support in anything you did. Your mother worked as a fashion article editor at one of the more well-known magazines, so to break in, you didn’t have to do as much hard work as Wooyoung did. And yet, the day you two had met, you both had felt like little unassuming kids, clinging onto each other for a little reassurance that you were doing well and not possibly about to ruin your careers before they could even start. After that first job of your lives, Wooyoung asked whether you wanted to get chicken wings with him, and, well, you’ve been having chicken wings with him after shoots ever since.

You smiled slightly at the memory, knowing well that Wooyoung would drag you to the nearest place that sold chicken wings and Soju, eager to end the day with a little alcohol in his system. He wasn’t a big drinker, but celebrating your success after a long day was always a must in Wooyoung’s book. First, you looked around the dressing room, thinking where the necklace could be lying, deciding to sift through all the discarded makeup on the tables. It wouldn’t be the first time that your jewellery got mixed up with the beauty items, but a quick sweep over the table proved that it wasn’t there. Next, you looked all over the sofas, coffee tables, and even inside Wooyoung’s duffel bag, only to come up empty-handed. Then, deciding that maybe it really was you who hadn’t handed Wooyoung the necklace, you went to your jewellery box and opened it, your eyebrows furrowed. You looked through it, making sure the fragile necklaces were safely in their protective cases—or else the brands you had rented them from would kill you and tarnish your name for an eternity—and still, it wasn’t there. You groaned as you stood up straight, trying to think harder, mentally rewinding your day to see whether you had left it at your office. Coming up empty-handed, you sighed in defeat and crossed your arms over your torso, pursing your lips as you turned to leave. Taking three steps away from your stuff, your eyes caught the unmistakable glint of diamonds peeking out from right underneath the grey blanket Wooyoung had used to cover himself with before walking to the shoot.

You scoffed and shook your head in mild annoyance, stomping over to the beanbag before you ripped the blanket off, the necklace glinting almost mockingly at you. You pursed your lips and carefully took it, holding it gingerly as you hurried back to the shooting room, just in time as the photographer called for a quick water break. He walked over to his computer with his professional camera, smiling at your assistant and then turning his head to the visual director to discuss more set ideas and poses that enunciated the clothes Wooyoung wore. Your eyes narrowed at your best friend as you stepped over all the wires, stepping out of your heels to not dirty the white canvas he stood on. He raised an eyebrow in amusement, opening his mouth to probably mock you for losing from your height quite significantly, but instead pointed at the necklace in your hands as a squeak left his mouth.

“Where’d you find that?!” He asked amazed, approaching you with excitement, “I’ve lost that this morning when Claire called me over for makeup.”

“Of course,” You scoffed as you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes at Wooyoung, “How many times have I told you that you can’t lose designer stuff when it’s rented, Wooyoung?! Do you think I have the money to pay for a necklace filled with diamonds if something happens to it?!”

The cheeky smirk already told you that you wouldn’t like his answer, “No, but I can certainly afford it.”

You groaned and slapped his arm not so gently, making Wooyoung whine before he started pouting, “Stop that; you’re acting like a spoiled brat in front of everyone. Now, lean forward for me, please.”

Wooyoung grinned and parted his legs slightly, leaning forward so that his face was positioned exactly in front of yours. He giggled and then stuck his tongue out when you two made eye contact, making you glare at him playfully before you reached forward, wrapping the diamond necklace around his warm neck. The design was special and intricate, and you loved the way it sat against Wooyoung’s skin. It sat tightly at the base of his neck, almost like a choker, the little diamonds glinting even brighter under the studio lights, and that wasn’t even what made it so special. You had to clasp the necklace together at the front of your neck because of the dangling chain that reached a little above Wooyoung’s belly button. It was exactly what Wooyoung’s outfit needed to make him look like the star he was, shining brightly under the white camera lights. Wooyoung’s eyes creased as he smiled at you sweetly, patting your head gently as a means of thanks.

“Now it’s perfect.” You muttered as you adjusted his collar once more, smoothing down the already smooth vest against his shoulders, but you just had to double-check everything. Wooyoung’s chest was exposed due to the very low V-neckline of the black sleeveless blouse he wore, tucked inside pants that flared around his legs and made his limbs seem longer. The chunky high heels he wore added to the charm, of course, but even without them, the pantlegs made Wooyoung’s legs seem like they stretched on for far longer as they pooled around his ankles. You had avoided using a belt since the emphasis was on the shiny scaled vest, heavy in your hands as you had helped Wooyoung into it. And now, with the diamond necklace around his neck, he looked like the model that was supposed to be on the cover of Vogue—which he would be with this issue. His long hair was whisked out of his face, and a few stray strands fell into his eyes, curling around his nape, with strands pinned behind his ears.

“Am I all ready to conquer the fashion world, Miss?” Wooyoung quirked an eyebrow as he stood up straight, looming over you and making you feel weird. You blamed those damn high heels and the fact that you had to be barefoot right now.

“Of course, you are, Mr. Jung.” You grinned and patted his chest, “You’re already a star.”

“The brightest, hopefully,” Wooyoung added, slightly quieter, and you hummed, offering him a small smile.

“To me, definitely.” He chuckled at your quiet reply, but you could see it on his face that it gave him the reassurance and little confident boost that he just so needed right now. You heard a clap behind you, and you knew it was your cue to leave Wooyoung alone, so you winked at him and then turned around, walking to your heels to step into them, then joined your assistant behind the scenes. The photographer grinned at Wooyoung as a stool was brought in, the background changing to a grey as a spotlight was focused on Wooyoung.

“Oh, this is really pretty.” The man muttered to himself, but you, being closer to him, heard it, “This is amazing, Wooyoung! Just do whatever feels good right now, grab your necklace, throw your head back, run your fingers through your hair, give me your most fierce glare—anything will do right now!”

“He’s so enthusiastic.” Wooyoung’s makeup artist chimed up behind you with a chuckle, back from his lunch break.

“I would be, too, if I got the chance to work with the Jung Wooyoung.” There was a slightly dreamy tone to your assistant’s voice, and you chuckled, giving her a questioning look.

“You do work with the Jung Wooyoung, though.” Your assistant flushed as she lowered her head, averting her eyes when the makeup artist started laughing a little too loudly. You elbowed him in the stomach, giving him a look that told him to shut up.

“Right,” The assistant muttered, pouting slightly, “He’s just so beautiful, it’s hard not to fall for him—not that I’m in love with him! It’s just—it’s good working with him; he’s a good person.”

“He really is,” You agreed as you watched your best friend do what he knew best, staring into the lens of the camera like a lion, fearless and ready to conquer, “Except when he’s yapping your ears off after a long day. Then, he’s the devil.”

Your co-workers chuckled at your playful jab, but they didn’t know it as well as you what it meant to ride back home in the same car with Jung Wooyoung after a very long and very tiring day, while all you wish for is to relax and be surrounded by silence, only for Wooyoung to either tell you random things he’s suddenly remembered, or ask the driver to turn up the music to scream the lyrics at the top of his lungs. And his voice wasn’t good, that’s why he was a model and not an idol.

            Being Wooyoung’s best friend has changed you over the years. While growing up, you were never too outspoken, too scared of hurting others. You didn’t like being in the limelight and also tried to suck up to your superiors, thinking that would get you on their good side, making you a booked and busy stylist. That wasn’t the case, however, and if there was one essential thing you learned from Wooyoung, it was the fact that you shouldn’t stay silent if faced with mistreatment, you shouldn’t let anyone walk all over you or make you feel like shit for something you thought looked gorgeous. Being on Wooyoung’s side, working alongside him in a toxic industry that required you to have steel balls, is just who you became—an outspoken and honest person, unafraid to point out injustice or bullying. But by being Wooyoung’s best friend, you have also learned to laugh more, to cry without feeling embarrassed or weak, and the most important thing that he’s taught you…was to never let him go past five shots of Soju unless you wanted to stay up all night as Wooyoung sobbed with his head resting on the toilet seat, promising to never again drink alcohol. A week later, he was found dancing on top of tables with two cocktails in his hands. But these were the old times, times when you could act however you wanted, a bit more carefree and less stressed.

You couldn’t tell how it happened or when it started, but being by Wooyoung’s side just felt right. You didn’t feel the need to act a certain way in his presence; you could snort like a pig and wheeze like a witch, and no judgment would cross his features. You could also bare your heart to him, bleeding and aching, and he wouldn’t try to use your insecurities against you in the future. No, he’d make sure they were locked away from the rest of the world, even if he was mad at you. Wooyoung was a good person, and you were thankful you had met him. In a world where finding your soulmate was no easy feat, for some reason, you didn’t feel like you had to actively search for them. At times, you wondered if they were even real—the legend of your lost things wounding up in your soulmate’s possession—but then again, you were sure it was real because it happened to your parents, your aunts and uncles, and even your grandparents. It felt a bit silly and slightly concerning when you thought of all the things you managed to lose over the years, and yet, in some magical way, your possessions always turned back up in your hands. That is why you weren’t so sure of the prophecy anymore, of the invisible red string—or just a really smelly sock—that tied you to your fated lover.

You sighed as you swiped past three pictures of models clad in designer clothes, not quite pleased with the outfits. The light jazz music in the background was calming as your left leg bounced up and down, wine glass in the hand that didn’t hold the iPad. You could hear Wooyoung humming along to the music from the kitchen, tinkering about as if he was a kitchen fairy. You were over for dinner—which was unsurprising to anyone—for a good home-cooked meal before you’d depart to France. You hated flying, and the thought of being stuck inside an airplane for so many hours had your heart racing, but seeing Wooyoung’s relaxed demeanour calmed you a bit.

“The pasta’s almost done.” Came Wooyoung's voice as he appeared in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame. For someone as rich as Wooyoung, he certainly had no desire to flaunt his wealth around, judging based on his timid and cosy apartment. Hell, even his home in Paris was more flamboyant, screaming richness and big-city boy. The AMG cabriolet in the parking garage, however, did hint at your best friend’s wealth, “Have you made any progress?”

You sighed and shook your head, prompting Wooyoung to walk over. He wasn’t drinking tonight, said the pasta would puff him up, so he didn’t want to ruin his skin by also drinking. It was not that wine would cause more harm to his flawless complexion; it was just hard to move Wooyoung once he was convinced of something.

“I can’t find anything I like.” You muttered before you took a sip of your wine, swiping to the next picture. The leather pants looked good on the model; they weren’t skin tight, but they were low rise. You wondered if Wooyoung would like it just as he plopped down on the soft sofa.

“How about something I like?” He raised an eyebrow cheekily, and you chuckled, shuffling around to sit cross-legged. Your knee brushed against Wooyoung’s thigh, and his body seemed to melt back into the cushions as he leaned towards you, relaxing into your side. You smiled as you turned your iPad to show him the model and outfit.

“How about these pants?” You asked, remembering Wooyoung’s preferences, which rarely changed.

“Oh, they look nice.” Wooyoung hummed, zooming in on the picture, “I want these.”

“You do?” You asked, surprised, turning your head to look at your best friend. Wooyoung was a physically affectionate person, and once you had gotten used to it, you craved it if he didn’t give it to you. You liked it when he cosied up into your side, and in the rare moments when you both were too exhausted to drive home from each other’s apartments, you’d end up falling asleep together, cuddled up. You didn’t think it was very normal to say you really liked falling asleep in Wooyoung’s arms, so you kept that thought locked away deep down in your mind. You tried not to think about the fact that being around your best friend just felt right, a feeling you never got around anyone. One of your aunts had once told you that when she met her husband, she knew it was him because, one, she had lost her panties at customs somehow, and two, when their eyes met, this overwhelming calmness numbed her mind, everything about the man seemingly just…right. You sighed and shook your head when you felt Wooyoung looking at you with a questioning look on his face, “Sorry, the wine’s getting to me. What did you say?”

Wooyoung chuckled, then ruffled your hair with teasingly narrowed eyes, “You have to be on your A game if you expect me to take you with me to Paris, Missy. But I was saying…do you think it’d be too much if I showed more skin this time?”

Your eyes slightly widened, but you shook your head with pursed lips, “On the contrary, you’d hit the headlines, Mr. Jung. More headlines mean more engagement and curiosity—and what does that mean?”

“More money, more power, more wealth!” You singsonged at the same time before you burst out laughing, making Wooyoung groan.

“Who are you, and what have you done to my best friend?” He pouted, then took the iPad from your hands to swipe through the outfits you had selected as potential looks for his Fashion Week appearance, “I knew I shouldn’t have introduced you to Jongho; now you’re a monster of capitalism as well.”

You laughed and subconsciously leaned your head against Wooyoung’s shoulder, sighing loudly once you settled down. You played with your glass of wine as you watched the pictures Wooyoung was swiping through way too fast to see anything, or so you thought because he made a surprised sound, quickly swiping back.

“Oh! I like this one!” He was pointing at a jacket; you hummed in acknowledgment.

“I thought I was your stylist.” You jabbed playfully, and Wooyoung laughed, putting down the iPad as he turned his head to look down at you. You slightly pulled your head off his shoulder, downing the rest of your wine.

“I just merely helped out. You can add the accessories and worry about the hairstyle and makeup.” You nodded but then realised his outfit wasn’t just yet complete.

“Right, and I also have to find you a shirt.” A beat of silence passed as a small smirk crept onto Wooyoung’s lips.

“Or not.”

“Or not?”

“Remember we just said more money, more power, more wealth?” You quirked an eyebrow as Wooyoung stood, slapping your thigh away playfully as you yelped in surprise, “Well, I’m working on just that, my dear.”

“So, no jacket, noted.” You muttered, favouriting the two pictures Wooyoung said he liked. You’d have to forward them to the brand tonight if you wanted the clothing items on Wooyoung in just three days, “By the way, have you seen my beaded bracelet?”

“The one I won for you as a joke at the fair?” You hummed, and Wooyoung shrugged, “Nope, why?”

“I lost it…again.” You whined as you threw your head back against the sofa, groaning as you wrist felt empty without it. Wooyoung had gotten you that bracelet five years ago. You rarely took it off, and yet you had managed to lose it anytime you did, which would make this one the fourth time you did. Your heart clenched at the thought of having actually lost the bracelet this time, but you were distracted by Wooyoung’s stomps as they came back towards you. You hadn’t even noticed him walking back inside the kitchen.

“Idiot,” Wooyoung huffed, then you felt something hit the side of your head, making you squeak in surprise, “You left it on the counter.”

You turned your head and looked down at the sofa, eyes widening as the beaded bracelet now lay next to you.

“I swear I didn’t!” You defended yourself, grabbing the bracelet to wear it, “I couldn’t find it since the photoshoot!”

“Yeah, whatever.” Wooyoung waved you off with dismissal as he headed back inside the kitchen, “Come eat, the pasta’s done. I’m going to bed early tonight.”

“Are you kicking me out, Jung Wooyoung?!” You raised your voice as you got off the sofa, grabbing your empty wine glass to bring to the kitchen.

“Hell, yeah, I am! Did you finish packing?”

He got you there. At your silence, Wooyoung just had a knowing smirk on his face. Fuck, and your flight was early in the morning tomorrow.

            The whole place was a mess, and it was all your fault. You hadn’t even unpacked yet, even though you should have since you were staying here for a week. But you were usually too lazy to unpack, so your things ended up all over the floor and around your luggage. And this time, like many other times, that came to bite you back in the ass. You were pushing around the piles of clothes, mainly trying to find the top you had selected to wear for the event, but also because you had a bad feeling that you had lost…well, an item that you certainly didn’t wish anyone else to find. Not because it was embarrassing to own it, but because it was a bit…questionable. Your girlfriends had gotten it as a joke for your birthday last year, and well, the joke turned into an actually very appreciated gift by you. You sighed and fell back onto your ass, the floorboards warm since they had heating installed in them. Unlike the rest of your team, you had the privilege of staying with Wooyoung in his fancy apartment in Paris while you were here for Fashion Week. Today was the big day, and you were waiting for the makeup team to arrive. You and Wooyoung had gotten up early and had breakfast, serving a small cup of coffee on the balcony that overlooked the city, and for some reason, you started feeling nostalgic about all the things you’d gone through together to get here.

Wooyoung was affectionate but rarely the extra clingy type with you, so when he hugged you out on the balcony and thanked you for being by his side and encouraging him like no one else, you almost teared up. You also chose to ignore the weird flutter of your heart since this was your best friend, the guy you’d walk through fire for. Sighing again, you decided to give your clothes another dive when you heard a loud screech coming from outside your room. You jumped in fright and turned your body, listening for any other sounds. You doubted anyone had broken inside the apartment, but then again, why was Wooyoung reacting so strangely? Deciding you could find your top five minutes later, too, you ripped your door open and took about three steps outside before you froze, blood running cold and jaw dropping open.

“What the fuck?!” You asked, eyes on the ridged orange-purple dildo in Wooyoung’s hand. He had a weird expression on his face, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and it didn’t help that his blush spread from his neck down to his exposed chest. He was also in the middle of wearing his clothes, apparently; the button of his leather pants wasn’t even buttoned yet. Your initial shock barely seemed to pass, but then you felt laughter bubbling past your lips. Wooyoung’s mouth opened, but it seemed like he didn’t know what to say as he looked between you and his extended hand, “I had no idea you were into stuff like that.”

A beat of silence passed before Wooyoung’s whole expression turned flabbergasted, and it’s been too long since you heard your best friend lamely tumble over his own words, “What?! That’s—this isn’t mine! This is a dildo, bro! Why would I own a dildo?! I don’t—not that I have anything against taking it up the ass—I mean, I heard it feels good sometimes—wait! Forget I said that! Oh my god, I swear it’s not mine!”

“Then whose is it?” You quirked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh in Wooyoung’s face again. The problem, however, was that the dildo looked suspiciously similar to the one you had been looking for this morning…the item that you had packed before leaving and was now nowhere in your luggage. You gulped, and suddenly your throat felt dry as warmth crept up your neck and cheeks. Wooyoung noticed your sudden demeanour shift and looked down at the dildo in his hand, a small smirk appearing on his lips.

“Whose is it, you ask?” Fuck, you hated your life as Wooyoung’s head fell back, a hauntingly shrill laughter leaving his mouth, “I had no idea you were into monster cocks—”

“Oh my god, shut up!” You shrieked as you stormed towards him, slapping your hand over his mouth as you ripped your dildo out of his hand, feeling mortified that your best friend had seen it. Your friendship transcended many boundaries, but not this one. This one was too intimate and definitely something you didn’t want Wooyoung knowing about, “I’m going to kill you, Woo, if you say anything to anyone about this.”

Wooyoung snorted as you released his mouth, raising an eyebrow mockingly, “Who am I going to tell? Your assistant? My makeup artist—wait, he might actually have better suggestions—”

“Wooyoung!” You screamed and slapped his chest, the sound loud as Wooyoung whined, cradling his naked chest as he gave you a pout.

“Hey, if that leaves a handprint, I’m posting your dildo on SNS.” Your eyes bulged out of your head, mortified all over again.

“Just—God, forget this happened! Delete it out of your memory, or something—don’t look at me like that!” But Wooyoung was cackling again, and because you had the sudden urge to shove him back and whine until he stopped making fun of you, you decided to storm back inside your room with your whole face beet red. You heard Wooyoung’s footsteps follow after you, but you still slammed the door shut for effect. He laughed before he nudged the door open, leaning against the doorframe as you shoved the dildo far underneath your pile of clothes. You still had to find your top, but currently, all you wished to do was jump off the balcony. Just how did your damn dildo end up in Wooyoung’s possession? You were sure you had packed it and then that you lost it somewhere underneath all the clothes, so just how did it turn up in Wooyoung’s bedroom? This felt like the end of the world as you groaned loudly, shaking your head. You expected Wooyoung to make another comment about the dildo, but instead, he said something else that made you flush again.

“Wear a jacket over your bra, and we’ll be matching.” Man, he just had to make everything worse. Your head turned sharply as you narrowed your eyes at Wooyoung, conscious that your torso was also bare except for your bra.

“I’m not going out there in a bra and jacket, Wooyoung.”

“Pity, everyone would see we belong together.”

And you had no time to question his words because the doorbell rang, signalling that the makeup team was here.

            Today had been a successful day. The media was obsessed with Wooyoung, outlets were talking about him and wanting his attention and time while you were in Paris, so you couldn’t be prouder and happier. You loved watching your best friend from the sidelines as he shined like the star he was, deserving of all the adoration and appreciation. Wooyoung was a confident man, but even he had his lapses of judgment. It felt right to support him from the shadows, but it also felt right when he ran up to you after the event to squeeze you tight, lift you off the ground and twirl you around as you both giggled. Yeah, teenager you would’ve never believed you’d once actually achieve your dreams, especially not while finding a best friend for life in the process. You were so happy that it threatened to overspill, and you had no idea what to do with it, so you just settled on smiling until your cheeks hurt, but you didn’t care.

It was the evening now, and you were getting ready to go out for a celebratory dinner with the whole team. Your assistant had been bugging you with restaurants the whole afternoon, and in the end, you just told her to choose whatever she liked. She was over the moon and told you that you could trust her to choose only the best, and you believed her because ever since she started working for you, she had been excelling at her job. Your satin black dress was flowy and simple, a turtleneck that had to be clasped together, so Wooyoung had helped you before you struggled into your white stilettos. Now, you were trying to get your diamond earrings in—a present you got three years ago from Wooyoung—but you dropped the left one. You sighed and bent to pick it up—but it disappeared. You blinked, confused and slightly startled, looking at the empty floor. It was there a second ago, and now it was nowhere. You muttered a curse under your breath as you stood up straight, looking at the dresser to convince yourself you weren’t hallucinating, and indeed, the earring wasn’t there either.

“Hey,” You flinched and whirled around, no doubt looking like you’ve seen a ghost, “Did you lose your earring?”

There, in Wooyoung’s palm, lay the earring you had dropped seconds ago. Your mouth fell open as your heart started racing, your ears ringing as you found yourself unable to speak. Your body was jittery all of a sudden, cheeks warm as you kept staring at Wooyoung with a newfound understanding. Before you could utter the words that sounded completely mental even to yourself, Wooyoung continued, “Have you seen my wrist cuff? I think I dropped it somewhere—”

And no, you hadn’t seen the wrist cuff before, but now, yes, it was suddenly in your goddamn hand. Wooyoung’s words died out in his throat, eyes bulging wide as he gaped at you in shock. His breathing got faster and you watched his hands tremble as he looked down at your earring in his palm, and yeah, holy shit, all this time it’s been Jung Wooyoung.

“Fuck, what the fuck?!” Wooyoung whispered to yourself, approaching you with sparkling eyes, “It’s—me. And then—it’s you. We are—Y/N, are we—”

“We are soulmates, Wooyoung, holy shit!” You whispered back, still in disbelief, all those years of being by each other’s side suddenly replaying in front of your eyes as if you were watching a movie. How could you be so dense that you didn’t realise until now?!

“Wooyoung.”

“Y/N.” And then Wooyoung was laughing, cupping your face as he closed the distance, “We are so fucking dumb.”

You would’ve laughed, but Wooyoung’s warm lips were pressed against yours, and he tasted like grapes, so weird yet so addicting. You’ve never fantasised about kissing your best friend before—no, your soulmate—but as your bodies pressed together now, you couldn’t imagine living anymore without this. You fit together perfectly as if you were made for each other—which, unironically, you were—and it all felt surreal as your lips moved languidly against Wooyoung’s, so right and all so warm and fuzzy. His hand was gentle on your cheek as he caressed it, and your fingers twisted his ironed shirt as you hoped this moment never ended. All these years, your soulmate was right next to you, reachable and available, and you were living in the belief that the legend was nothing but that, a silly legend to keep everyone dreaming about the moment they’d find the one. And no, it wasn’t just a legend anymore; it was as real as it could get.

“We are idiots.” You muttered as you pulled back, pressing small kisses against Wooyoung’s lips, who tried to chase after your mouth when you detached yourself from him, “We have to get ready; the car will be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Screw dinner, I want to stay here with you.”

“Wooyoung, we already know each other.”

“Yes, as best friends, but this—this is a new version of us.”

“Is it, really? Or will you lose your damn wrist cuff the second I turn my back to you?”

You both giggled, and you closed your eyes when Wooyoung kissed you again, slow and tender.

“Okay, whatever, let’s get dinner, but when we get back—”

“We will sleep because I’m completely exhausted.”

The spark of hope died out in Wooyoung’s eyes for a second, but it was swiftly back, “In the same bed?”

“Yes, in the same bed, Wooyoung.”

He fist-bumped the air, and you laughed, staring adoringly at your best friend turned soulmate. Oh, your life will be filled with so much happiness and love; this was everything you could’ve ever wished for. Maybe it is too early to say, but you loved Jung Wooyoung—your best friend, your soulmate.

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