#thoughts i keep in the tags... for now...

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 1 ┃ The Wrong Door

Male reader x Giselle

Word Count: 6.5k

Tags: squirting, dom/sub, rough sex, dirty talk, teasing

I didn’t even want to be here.

Concerts aren’t my thing. Screaming fans? Crowds packed shoulder to shoulder, sweating, pulsing to the bass of some pop anthem? No thanks. I like silence. I like my own space. And I sure as hell don’t like being herded like livestock through a stadium entrance just to watch people I’ve never even heard of pretend to sing over backing tracks.

But Jackson insisted. And Dev had already bought the tickets. “It’s not about the music,” they said. “It’s about the experience.”

The experience. Right.

Now here I was, drowning in noise and neon and perfume and sweat, trying to keep my breathing steady while Korean girls I didn't care about danced like their lives depended on it. The crowd—mostly teenage girls and a few dangerously enthusiastic fanboys—screamed every time one of them so much as flipped their hair. Phones were everywhere. Lights blinked like strobes. It was a full-on sensory assault.

And I? I wasn't interested. I was one wrong beat away from walking out.

I got lucky. The screen overhead blinked INTERMISSION — 15:00 and the music stopped. The crowd didn’t exactly calm down, but they started shifting, standing, stretching, running for merch and bathrooms and selfies. I used the opportunity to slip out the side aisle and into the nearest hallway marked RESTROOMS + VIP SUITES.

It was quiet almost immediately. Blessedly so.

The noise of the stadium dropped behind me like a curtain, replaced by sterile lighting and the low thrum of vents overhead. I passed the bathrooms but kept walking. I needed a breather more than anything, a second to think, to feel like myself again. I checked my phone—no signal—and kept walking down the hall.

That’s when I saw it: a door left ajar. Soft light spilled out.

I should’ve turned around. I should’ve thought, Maybe this is someone’s private space. But something about the glow—the hush, the mystery of it—pulled at me. I was curious. And when I get curious, I don’t stop.

So I pushed it open.

It took me a second to realize I wasn’t alone. The room was dim, expensive, quiet. Everything in soft gold tones and warm leather. A mirrored vanity glowed along one wall, surrounded by bulbs. The scent hit me next—perfume, heady and rich, wrapped around the chill of champagne. I was halfway through processing the velvet couch and the untouched strawberries on crystal glassware when I saw HER.

She was standing barefoot in front of the mirror, half-turned, her back to me. Her outfit was more lingerie than clothing—black mesh, sequins, leather straps. Her pink hair was up but imperfectly, pieces falling like silk down her neck. She was in the middle of unclasping something at the back of her neck, unaware of—or ignoring—me.

And then she spoke.

“You’re early.”

Her voice was smooth, low. American accent. A little amused.

I froze.

“I’m sorry,” I said, instinctively. “I think I’m—uh, lost.”

She didn’t turn right away. Just paused with her fingers on the clasp. Then she looked at me over her shoulder—one eye catching the light, sharp as a blade.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think you are.”

I blinked. “I really am. I was looking for the bathroom and I guess I just—”

“You opened a marked door.”

“I didn’t see any signs—”

“There were signs,” she said, finally facing me.

She was beautiful. I’m not saying that in the way people do when they meet a celebrity. I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t recognize her. I wasn’t starstruck. I was just... caught.

She had presence. Poise. Her body was slim but curved in all the places that made it impossible not to look. Her eyes didn’t smile, but they weren’t cold. They were calculating. Like she was building a character around me, testing how I’d react.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Mylo.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Is that real?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You don’t look like a Mylo.”

I smirked despite myself. “What do I look like?”

She thought for a bit. “Like someone who doesn’t belong here.”

“Believe me, I don’t. I was just leaving—”

“No,” she said again, softly. “Stay.”

That word—that tone—should’ve sent me walking. But it didn’t. I stayed.

She moved toward me slowly, a kind of predatory grace in her bare feet and parted lips. Her body language was relaxed, but deliberate. Every step said she was in charge. Not of the room. Of me.

And I let her.

I couldn’t explain why, not then. Maybe it was the way she looked at me—not like I was a stranger, but like I was hers. Like she already knew what she wanted to do with me and was just deciding whether I’d be worth the effort.

“You’re not one of the staff,” she said, mostly to herself.

“No.”

“You’re not with the crew. And you didn’t come with security.”

“No.”

She smiled. “Then what are you doing here, Mylo?”

“Wrong door,” I said again, but it sounded less convincing this time.

She took one more step, close enough now for me to feel the heat of her skin. Her eyes traveled down my body, not shy, not rushed. She lingered on my chest, my hips, the tension in my fingers.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked.

“No.” I hesitated. “Should I?”

That amused her. I could see the moment her mask cracked and something real flickered beneath it—surprise, maybe. Or interest. Or something darker.

“No,” she said finally as if she didn't believe me. “That makes this easier.”

She didn’t move for a long time.

Just stood there in front of me, arms loose at her sides, one foot slightly forward like she was deciding whether to get closer or make me come to her. She didn’t blink much. She watched me like she was reading, not listening. And somehow, I was the one who felt exposed, even though I still had all my clothes on and she… didn’t, really.

There was a quiet sort of violence in the air. Not danger exactly. More like potential. She hadn’t said what she wanted. But I knew she wanted something.

She turned back to the mirror without another word and picked up a square of folded tissue, wiping under one eye with careful precision. Glitter dusted onto her collarbone like something expensive and accidental. The strap of her outfit was still hanging loose, but she made no move to fix it.

I wasn’t sure if I should speak. So I didn’t.

“You said your name’s Mylo,” she said, her voice low again, casual. “Where are you from?”

“Long Beach.”

“Not local, then.”

“Close enough.”

She nodded, then looked at me in the mirror.

“What are you doing now?”

“Wrong turn.”

“No.” She tilted her head. “Now. In life.”

I let out a breath, almost a laugh. “That’s a hell of a question.”

“I’m serious.”

“Right now I’m… working freelance. Web development. Bit of UX. It’s not exciting.”

She turned. “Then why did you say it like it’s a secret?”

I didn’t have an answer.

She stepped closer, slowly, like she was making sure I didn’t spook. And I didn’t. I stayed exactly where I was.

Her perfume hit me again—soft, floral, expensive. I still didn’t recognize her, but that was starting to feel irrelevant. She could’ve been an actress, a singer, a rich girl playing pretend. None of it would have changed the way she looked at me.

Like she was curious about how far she could push me before I’d say no.

“You’re nervous,” she said.

“I’m not.”

She smiled. “That’s cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not.”

Her hand brushed the front of her thigh, fingers trailing slowly along her skin, just shy of deliberate. My brain scrambled for something to say, something to anchor me to reality. I was in a stadium. There was a concert happening. There were fifteen thousand people and a very real possibility that someone would walk in and see this.

I didn’t care.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“You’ll find out when you’ve earned it.”

“Is this a game to you?”

“No.” She tilted her head. “But you’re fun to play with.”

Her foot arched slightly against the rug as she took another step forward. Close now. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin, could see the light sheen of sweat at the hollow of her throat. I wanted to touch her. Just one fingertip. Just to know she was real.

“Don’t,” she said softly, like she’d read my mind.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Liar.”

A pause.

She looked down at the front of my shirt, then up again. “You don’t look like the type who follows orders.”

“I’m not.”

Her smile was slow and private. “Good.”

She reached for the strap still hanging loose on her shoulder. Slid it back into place. Not to hide. Just to reset the board.

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the velvet loveseat.

I hesitated.

“I said sit.”

So I did.

She crossed the room without looking at me again, poured a fresh glass of champagne, dropped a single strawberry in like a garnish. Then she sat on the couch—opposite to me, one leg tucked under the other, facing me directly. Like we were equals. Like this wasn’t her room and I wasn’t the one trespassing.

“You ever break into places, Mylo?”

“No.”

“Shame. You’re good at it.”

I watched her run a finger down the side of her glass. Slow. Rhythmic.

“You think this is a mistake?” I asked.

She looked up. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “Me too.”

Neither of us moved.

She didn’t touch me.

Not at first.

“You’re being quiet,” she said.

��You’re being... a lot.”

Her smile curled slightly. “Too much?”

“No.” I shifted. “Not enough.”

She tilted her head, pleased. Her eyes dropped to my hands. I didn’t realize I’d been clenching them. She noticed everything.

“You like following orders,” she said.

I shook my head. “No. Not usually.”

Her smile didn’t fade. “But you’re not leaving.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I guess I want to see what happens next,” I said.

That seemed to satisfy her. She leaned back into the couch, legs crossed, and looked me over like I was both trespasser and specimen.

“Take off your jacket,” she said.

I didn’t move.

She gave me a look—subtle, expectant.

I took off my jacket.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was intentional. Like she was seeing how comfortable I could get under pressure.

“You ever think about what it would be like,” she said, “to be told what to do?”

“I’ve had bosses before.”

She laughed. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

A pause.

She stood. Walked over to me—slow, barefoot, measured—and knelt in front of the chair I was sitting in. Her knees brushed mine. She didn’t reach for me. Just looked up, eyes steady, close enough that I could see the darker ring around her irises.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I am going to take you apart.”

My breath caught.

“And when I do,” she added, brushing her fingers just barely against the inside of my thigh, “I’ll expect you to say thank you.”

Still, I didn’t move.

Her eyes stayed on me.

She watched the way I exhaled. The way I shifted in my seat. She could feel the tension building, and she didn’t need to do a damn thing to feed it.

“You like restraint,” she said, almost to herself.

“You’ve seen me for ten minutes.”

“I don’t need more.”

I smirked. “And what do you like?”

“Control.”

“That’s obvious.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Not power. Not winning. Just control.”

“Is there a difference?”

“One makes you loud. The other makes you patient.”

She stood again and walked past me toward the mirrored vanity to admire herself. This time, she didn’t check to see if I was watching.

She knew I was.

“I don’t usually let people in here,” she said.

“I don’t usually wander into strangers’ rooms.”

“Yet here we are.”

She turned, walking back—slow, sure, calculated. There was nothing casual about it. Her bare feet made no sound on the rug, but she moved with the intention of heels. Stopping just in front of me, she leaned in and placed both palms on the arms of the chair. She didn’t touch me. Not quite.

But her body was close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her skin. Her breath was just below my mouth. Her perfume wrapped around me like a second atmosphere.

“You want to kiss me right now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say please.”

I hesitated.

And she smiled—knowing, satisfied.

“Thought so,” she whispered, and pulled back before I could say anything at all.

She sat on the edge of the couch again, back straight, watching me like a tiger lounging just out of reach.

“What do you do,” I asked, voice a little hoarse, “when you get bored?”

Her smile was a slow burn. “Get un-bored.”

She tapped the empty cushion beside her.

“Come here.”

I did.

She turned to face me fully, legs folding under her again, this time closer. Her thigh touched mine. Her hand landed on my knee.

“You’ve been good so far,” she said. “I think I’ll keep going.”

The air in the room tightened.

She moved slowly—her hand trailing up my thigh, featherlight. Her nails grazed the fabric of my pants. Her fingers reached the crease at my hip and paused.

“You can stop me at any time,” she said.

I didn’t stop her.

I didn’t want to.

She leaned in. Her lips were glossy and full and tasted like strawberries and something darker. The kiss was slow. Not greedy. Not desperate.

Commanding.

She kissed me like she was showing me how. Like I’d do it wrong if she didn’t teach me.

Her hand kept moving—along the inside of my thigh, up, then over. She didn’t grip me yet. Just touched. Just explored. The anticipation was maddening.

And then she whispered it, low against my mouth:

“Undo your pants.”

Her voice wasn’t loud. Didn’t need to be. It threaded into me like static. I looked at her—half disbelieving, half burning.

She arched one eyebrow, still calm. Still collected. Like we were discussing dinner options, not sex.

My fingers moved before I could overthink it.

Button. Zipper. The sound was deafening in the quiet. Her eyes never left my hands. She watched the reveal like it was a gift she already knew she’d earned.

“Good,” she murmured.

Her hand slid under my waistband, nails grazing skin, and that was the first real contact that made my breath catch. Her fingers were warm, deliberate. She wasn’t shy. She wrapped them around me like she’d done it a thousand times—but wanted to relearn this exact shape.

She exhaled softly, pleased. “You’re hard.”

“Of course I am.”

“Because I told you to be?”

“No.”

She smirked. “Liar.”

Her thumb dragged slowly over the head of my cock. I flinched—too much, too sensitive, too not-in-control—and that just made her smile widen. She leaned in again, kissed me with that same slow, claiming heat, and her hand stroked lazily, like she had all the time in the world and knew exactly how fast not to go.

I kissed her harder.

Tried to take some ground back. Hands moving to her hips, her waist, her lower back. But she broke the kiss and pulled back an inch.

“No hands.”

I froze.

She held my gaze, waiting.

And I let go.

Her smile told me exactly what that gave her.

She leaned in again and bit my bottom lip—just enough to leave a sting.

“You’ll touch me when I say you can.”

And then she dropped to her knees.

My breath left me all at once. I didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Her hands slid my pants down further, then my boxers, freeing me completely. Her eyes stayed locked on mine as she lowered her head and pressed the flat of her tongue against the base of my shaft.

Slow.

Upward.

Warm, deliberate pressure that sent a jolt through my whole body.

She didn’t rush. She licked. She tasted. She dragged her mouth along me like she was memorizing the shape of my shaft. Then, with the faintest hum of satisfaction, she took me into her mouth—just the head, just enough to make me want to shove my hips forward, just enough to make me hold still.

She knew.

She was watching for the twitch of my thigh. The clench of my jaw. Her hand stroked in time with her mouth, lazy, devastating, a rhythm designed to drive a man out of his body without ever letting him finish.

And she wasn't letting me finish.

Every time my breath caught, she stopped. Pulled back. Let her tongue flick once, twice, too lightly to give me relief. She kissed the tip like she was thanking me for the privilege. Then started again.

And again.

And again.

Until I was panting, fists clenched at my sides, every part of me straining not to move. Not to grab her. Not to fuck her mouth the way I wanted to.

She pulled back completely.

Wiped her mouth with her thumb.

Then looked up at me with those sharp, unfazed eyes and said, “Good boy.”

She stayed on her knees.

Not because she had to. Because she liked the angle. She liked the view. She liked that I was still sitting there, pants around my thighs, chest rising like I’d just finished a workout—and she wasn't letting me cum.

She dragged the back of her fingers up the length of my thigh, the touch so light it barely existed, like she was testing whether I was ticklish. I wasn’t. But I was sensitive. Every nerve tuned to her. Every inch of me vibrating from her touch.

She looked pleased with herself. No—she looked composed. Like she could’ve done that to anyone and stayed perfectly unaffected.

That bothered me.

Not enough to stop. Not yet.

“Still with me?” she asked, smiling like we were just chatting over coffee.

“Barely.”

“Good.” She stood. Slow again. Unbothered. She stepped out of the loose arc of my pants on the floor, hands smoothing down her sides as she crossed the room.

She didn’t go far. Just to the mirror again. Touched up her lips. Adjusted a strap. Like this was an intermission in her show.

She glanced at me through the mirror. “You’ve got a nice mouth when you’re quiet.”

“Thought you liked control.”

“I do.”

“Don't get used to it.” I said with a slight smile

That earned me a sharper look. But no protest. She let the tension sit.

Then she walked back to me, bent over, and kissed me again—harder this time. Her tongue pushed into my mouth with zero hesitation, and she moaned softly when I kissed her back like I meant it.

She tasted like strawberries.

Her body moved against mine—shoulders, chest, hips—grinding down slow as she pushed me back into the cushions. She swung a leg over and straddled me, her outfit brushing bare skin in all the right ways and none of the convenient ones.

She reached behind her, grabbed both my wrists, and pulled them up over my head.

“Don’t move,” she whispered.

I didn’t.

Her hips rolled against me once, then again. Her breath caught—just slightly—and I caught it, too. Her control wasn’t an act. But it had cracks. Beautiful ones. And I liked finding them.

She leaned down, mouth at my ear.

“You’re going to fuck me.”

I swallowed. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Not yet,” she said. “You’ll wait.”

Her hips shifted again—slow, deep grind, no friction where I needed it, just enough heat to scramble every thought in my skull.

“I’m going to ride you,” she said, like it was a lecture. “Until I’m done with you.”

I met her eyes.

“And what happens after that?”

She smiled.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She reached between us, tugging the crotch of her bodysuit to the side with practiced ease. I heard the slick stretch of fabric, the shift in her breath as her fingers slid down—coating her inner thighs, spreading herself open right above me.

She was wet.

Not fake-moaning wet. Not porn-scene wet.

Dripping.

She held me in place, pressed the head of my cock against her entrance, and then—

She sank down, inch by inch.

No rush. No pause. Just steady descent, her heat swallowing me whole, her breath catching, then stuttering out in a quiet, barely-there gasp. My hands gripped the sides of the chair so hard I thought the frame might crack. Her walls clenched around me like velvet and vice, her thighs tightening at my hips, her nails raking lightly over my chest as she adjusted to the full stretch.

She didn’t move right away. She stayed seated on me, full and still, like the moment itself was enough.

And then she whispered:

“There.”

Her hips began to move—smooth, controlled rolls, grinding down into me like she wanted to leave a bruise. Every time she shifted, I could feel how deep I was inside her. I could see the concentration on her face. This wasn’t for me. Not yet. This was her rhythm, her pressure, her high.

And god, watching her take it was better than any porn I’d ever seen.

Her hair came loose as she moved. Her head tilted back. She bit her bottom lip hard, and I wanted to suck it out from between her teeth. Her body flexed, sweat starting to bead at her chest, and I couldn’t decide where to look—her tits, bouncing just under the thin mesh of her bodysuit, or her face as she came closer and closer to the edge.

I held still. Let her use me.

And then she started talking.

“Harder,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Faster—fuck—just like that.”

Her hands slid up my chest, to my shoulders, and she grabbed tight. Used me for leverage. Started bouncing, not gently now—driven, messy, beautiful. She moaned, cursed, clenched tighter with every bounce, until—

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, over and over. “Don’t fucking stop—”

She was riding me like she owned me.

And in that moment, I let her. I fucking loved it.

Her pussy was unreal—tight, soaked, gripping me like she wanted to wring every drop out of my body. Her thighs slapped down against me with each stroke, and the sound of it—wet, hot, shameless—made it impossible to think. I was deep inside her, over and over, my cock pulsing every time she ground down and stayed there just long enough to clench.

I looked up at her—body arching, lips parted, eyes half-shut—and I swear I could’ve come just watching her move.

She was into it.

Head thrown back. Moaning with every bounce. Fingernails dragging across my chest. Riding like she needed it, like she was getting off on the fact that I wasn’t allowed to move.

And I wasn’t. I didn’t grab her hips. I didn’t flip her. I held still and let her take it.

Because watching her unravel like this?

Fucking addicting.

Her hands found the back of the chair, bracing. She leaned forward and the change in angle made me groan—deeper now, tighter. Her tits bounced right in front of me, barely covered by her bodysuit. I leaned up, took a nipple in my mouth through the mesh, sucked hard.

She gasped. Bucked.

“Fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop,” she begged, riding harder, fucking me like her orgasm was right on the edge and I was the last thing holding it in.

I bit her. Just a little.

She lost it.

“Ahh! O.. Oh!... Aghh! AAAH!”

Her body locked down around me—tight, hot, pulsing as she came. Her moan was sharp, sudden, desperate. She grinded through it, wringing herself out on my cock until she was panting against my neck, shaking.

And then, breathless—still straddling me—she laughed.

Low. Lazy. Satisfied.

“God,” she murmured, “you fuck like you’re broke.”

That word hit different.

I blinked.

“What?”

She looked at me, smiling. Still high off it. “I mean it as a compliment,” she said. “You fuck like you need it.”

The air shifted.

She leaned in, playful, mouth against my ear. “Do you want me to take care of you?”

No answer.

“I could,” she purred. “You wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You could just do this—stay hard, stay pretty—let me keep you. I have a lot of mon-” 

My hand shot up, wrapping around her throat—not hard, not dangerous, just enough to shock her system.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.

“Ah—!”

I shoved her back, flat on the couch, my grip still snug around her throat, and she gasped again, this time sharper. Her legs twitched around me. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something clever—but no words came.

“You think you can buy me?” I said, voice low, rough.

She shook her head slightly, lips parted.

“I was just teasing—”

“Bullshit.”

“Mylo…” Her voice cracked, breathy and high. “Wait—”

“No,” I growled. “You don’t get to lead anymore.”

Her pupils blew wide. Her chest rose faster.

But she didn’t push me off. Didn’t tell me to stop.

She wanted to know what it felt like when I wasn’t pretending.

I grabbed her wrists, pressed them hard above her head, and crashed my mouth down onto hers—biting, taking, tasting the gloss off her lips like punishment.

She moaned against me.

“Mmnh—fuck—!”

My hips slammed forward. She gasped again, eyes flying wide as I pushed back into her in one deep, hard stroke.

“Oh! Ohhh—f-fuck—!”

Her body jerked. Her legs reflexively wrapped around my waist, but I wasn’t gentle. I slammed into her again, holding her down, making her feel it.

“AHH—ah—Mylo!”

“You wanted this,” I snarled. “So take it.”

She whimpered.

“Yes—yes—fuck, don’t stop—!”

I gripped her hips and rolled them up, shifting the angle, and slammed in again, deeper this time. Her back arched and she screamed.

“OHHH! GOD—AAAH!”

Her whole body was starting to fall apart. Her voice was shaky, her hands scrambling for anything to hold. Her hair stuck to her flushed cheeks. Her tits bounced wildly beneath me with every thrust.

She bit her lip. Hard.

“Don’t hold back,” I growled. “I want to hear it.”

Her eyes fluttered.

And then she let go.

“…more…”

Her voice was barely a whisper, like it had to claw its way up from deep inside her.

But I heard it.

And I fucking delivered.

I grabbed her by the thighs, yanked her body to the edge of the couch, and stood up just enough to drive into her with my full weight.

“AHHH—!”

Her scream echoed.

She clawed at the cushions, gasping, moaning, totally undone.

Her pussy was soaked—wrecked—from her orgasm, still fluttering around my cock, begging for mercy it wasn’t going to get. I pounded into her, fast and deep, hips snapping against her ass, and the sound of it was obscene—wet and hot and perfect.

“FUCK—! Mylo—ohmygod—ohmygod!”

“You’re still talking?” I growled. “I thought you gave that up.”

“Ah—ahh—! I—I can’t—fuck—I can’t—”

“You’re taking every inch,” I said. “Don’t pretend you can’t.”

I pinned her thighs wide with one arm and leaned down, dragging my teeth across her chest before I sucked one of her nipples deep into my mouth. Her body arched.

“OHHH—oh fuck! Fuck—Mylo—yes!”

Her hands flew to my hair, pulling, scratching, grounding herself while I sucked hard, my hips never stopping. I bit down—just enough to make her cry out again—and switched sides, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, wet and relentless.

She was panting. Moaning. Whimpering.

Completely gone.

“Ahh! Oh—ohh fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—again—”

“Good,” I grunted. “Give it to me.”

I reached down, thumb circling her clit, tight and fast, no mercy.

“No—no no no—fuuuck!”

Her thighs clenched around me, hips bucking wildly, and then her whole body snapped. She screamed—

“AHHH—AAAHHH—OH MY FUCKING GOD—!”

Her pussy clamped down on me like a vice, her second orgasm crashing through her like it caught her off guard. She sobbed my name, twisting underneath me, heels pounding the couch, eyes squeezed shut as her whole body convulsed.

I didn’t stop.

I grinned.

“You’re not done.”

She whimpered—shaky, broken, breathless. “M-Mylo—please—!”

I pulled out.

She gasped at the sudden emptiness.

But I didn’t give her time to think. I grabbed her by the hips, flipped her over, and shoved her onto her knees.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders. Her back arched. Her ass was round, high, perfect—and dripping.

I lined up behind her.

“You’re gonna remember this,” I said.

And I slammed back inside her.

“AAAHHH! OH FUCK!”

Her hands clawed at the couch, knuckles white.

I gripped her hips and drove into her like I wanted to split her in half. Her pussy was tighter like this, deeper, hotter—perfect. She was shaking already, moaning like she couldn’t stop.

“F-fuck—yes—yes! HARDER—!”

“Like this?” I growled, slamming in faster.

“AHHH! FUCK YES—!”

Her ass slapped against my hips with every thrust, her breath coming in broken gasps, her cries bouncing off the walls.

“You love being used,” I said.

“YES—!”

“You love when I fuck you like this.”

“YES! YES—fuck—I’m yours—!”

My hand tangled in her hair, yanked her head back. I leaned over, chest against her back, lips at her ear.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “Fuck—Mylo—I’m yours!”

And then she broke.

Her whole body tensed, thighs shaking, pussy clenching so tight I nearly lost it.

“Ohhh—oh fuck—I’m gonna—gonna—AAAHHHH!”

She came again, louder than before, her voice hoarse from screaming, tears in her eyes, body jerking against mine like she couldn’t control it anymore.

I wrapped my arms around her and kept thrusting.

Long.

Deep.

Cruel.

She sobbed my name like a prayer. Like she meant it.

“Ahh… Mylo… ohhh—fuck—fuck—”

And I was still inside her.

Still pounding her. Still filling her. Still using her.

But slower now.

Crueler.

Each thrust was long, deep, deliberate. Dragging along every inch of her, making her whimper and gasp as her whole body melted forward against the cushions.

Her thighs were twitching. Her hands limp. She was trying to stay upright, trying to catch her breath—but I didn’t stop.

I wanted her at the edge. I wanted to fuck her into something wordless.

So I grabbed her hips and slammed into her again, harder than before.

“AHHH! Aghh—ohmygod—Mylo!”

She nearly collapsed. Her forehead hit the cushion. Her ass quivered with the shock of it. Her pussy clenched like she was trying to hold me in.

“You hear that?” I growled, pulling almost all the way out—then driving back in, fast, loud, wet.

Slap.

“F-fuck! Ahhh—yes—yes—!”

I kept going. Hard. Brutal.

My balls slapped against her with every thrust, heavy and obscene. Her moans pitched higher and higher—raw now, broken, no rhythm or performance left.

“AHH! AH! I-I can’t—! Mylo—I—”

“You can,” I snapped.

She tried to shake her head but her body betrayed her.

And then she started crying out.

Short, fast, choked cries between gasps.

“Ahh! Oh! O.. Oh! M-Mylo—I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking—AAAHHH!”

I leaned forward, wrapped my arm around her waist, and hauled her up to her knees.

“Not yet.”

She sobbed. Literally sobbed.

“Mylo—I c-can’t—please—I’m gonna—”

I reached down and rubbed her clit. Just once.

That’s all it took.

She exploded.

Her whole body locked. Her mouth dropped open and a noise came out that wasn’t even human.

“AHHH! OHH! AAAHH—MYLO—FUCK—FUCK—FUUUCK!”

Her pussy milked my cock, hard. Over and over. Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning, twisting her body into mine, skin to skin, sweat to sweat. She was panting, trembling, completely wrecked.

I didn’t stop.

I pulled out—slowly, watching her body shake.

Then I flipped her over and dragged her down onto the rug in front of me.

On her knees.

Her face was red, glowing, dazed. Her lips were parted, shining with spit. Her chest rose and fell fast, tits marked from where I’d sucked them raw. Her thighs were trembling uncontrollably.

I grabbed my cock—wet, slick, twitching—and jerked it in front of her.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“I want you to see it,” I said.

She nodded. Barely.

I stroked. Hard. Fast.

She stuck her tongue out. Just a little. Just enough.

I groaned—fuck—I was close.

“Touch yourself,” I ordered.

Her hand slid between her legs instantly.

She moaned.

“Ahh… ah—fuck…”

Her fingers rubbed frantically against her clit, still sensitive, still soaked. She didn’t even try to play it cool anymore. She moaned like a whore—desperate, breathy, begging for it.

“Cum with me,” I said.

And we did.

I growled, jerked hard—and exploded.

Hot ropes splattered her lips, her chin, her tongue. She gasped, eyes closing, moaning as her own orgasm took her again—so raw she didn’t even scream this time, just shook, body twitching as I painted her skin.

She came without a word. Just noise.

“Mmhh… ahh… ahhh…”

She swallowed. Licked her lips. Eyes glazed, face ruined.

I dropped to my knees in front of her.

She leaned into my chest, breath hitching, heartbeat stuttering.

And for the first time that night—

She was quiet.

Curled up against me, silent, skin hot and flushed, her breath still uneven. I could feel her heartbeat through her chest, fast and light, ticking against my ribs like a metronome that hadn’t slowed down yet.

Neither of us spoke.

She didn’t need to.

Her body was saying everything.

The way she clung to me—legs tangled with mine, face tucked into the curve of my shoulder, one arm draped across my stomach like she couldn’t let go even if she wanted to. She felt small like that. Breakable. Even though five minutes ago, she was grinding on top of me like she was trying to kill me.

Now she was soft. Quiet. Bare.

My hand ran lazily up and down her back. Just skin and slow movement. Every few seconds she twitched, her hips jolting just a little—oversensitive, still riding out the shockwaves.

She made a little sound into my chest.

“Mmh…”

“You good?”

She nodded against my skin. “Mhm.”

“You sure?”

She laughed under her breath, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think my legs work.”

I smiled.

“I can’t feel my face, either,” she added.

I reached up and ran my fingers through her hair, brushing it off her forehead.

“Cute,” I said.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, nudging me with her nose.

But she smiled. I felt it.

We stayed like that for a while. Breathing. Cooling off. The tension between us had gone slack, melted down into something warmer. Calmer. Her body fit against mine like it was supposed to be there.

I looked down and kissed the top of her head.

She shifted, nuzzling against my chest like a sleepy cat.

“Seriously though,” she said after a while, voice scratchy and small. “That was…”

She didn’t finish.

“That was,” I agreed.

She laughed again, then yawned, and her leg slid between mine.

“God,” she said. “You’re kind of dangerous.”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah. You fucked someone you don't even know the name of.”

“I asked. It also didn't seem that important at the time.”

“Still doesn’t?”

I glanced down. “I suppose it does. Your name?”

She looked up at me, half-lidded.

“Giselle.”

We just stared at each other for a second. Neither of us smiling now. Just… seeing each other.

“I liked when you didn’t know,” she whispered.

“I liked it too.”

She rested her cheek on my chest again. Slower now. Breathing deeper.

“Just… don’t get weird about it.”

I blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Like…” Her voice softened. “Don’t start acting different now that you know.”

I hesitated. “Know what?”

She lifted her head, squinting slightly. “You know… that I’m… in Aespa?”

I blinked. “What’s Aespa?”

She stared at me. Silent. Waiting for the punchline.

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

She blinked. Twice.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, half-laughing. “You really don't know!”

“Nope.”

“You came to our concert.”

“My friends dragged me.”

“Jesus.” She flopped back down on my chest, stunned. “I think I just came harder.”

We stayed like that for another few minutes. Her body pressed against mine, skin warm, lips still curled in that breathless little smirk. Every so often, she’d hum, or shift slightly, or let out this content, melted sigh like she still hadn’t landed yet.

“You’re insane, you know,” she murmured, tracing a lazy circle on my chest.

“Because I don't know who you were?”

“Because you don't care.”

I smiled, eyes closed. “Still don’t.”

Her fingers stopped moving. For a second I thought I’d said the wrong thing.

But then she whispered, “That’s probably the hottest thing you’ve said all night.”

I cracked one eye open. “That’s saying something.”

“Oh, I know. I was there.”

She leaned up and kissed me, slow and unhurried. I kissed her back, brushing my thumb along her jaw, letting her taste linger. She pulled back just an inch.

“So what happens now?” she asked, voice small.

I paused.

“Whatever you want.”

Her lips pressed together. Not uncertain. Just… thoughtful.

But then—

Knock knock knock.

Her entire body froze.

I lifted my head.

There it was again—three clean knocks, firm and casual.

“Giselle?” a voice called through the door. Female. Confident. “They’re waiting on us for the group shot.”

She swore under her breath and rolled off me, grabbing at the nearest sheet.

“Shit, shit—fuck, that’s Karina.”

“Karina?”

She gave me a wild look. “One of the girls. From the group.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

She scrambled for her phone and grabbed a tissue box off the vanity. I watched her wipe her inner thighs, dab under her eyes, fix her lips in the mirror. She still looked flushed. Hair tangled. But some of the damage was masked.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “I can’t walk out there looking like I just got wrecked.”

“You did,” I said.

“Don’t be proud of that.”

She shoved me toward the closet. “Hide. Please.”

I hesitated. She pushed again.

“Unless you want to get recognized and tossed off the balcony.”

That was enough.

I ducked into the small walk-in just as she called out, “Be right there!”

From inside, I heard the door unlock. Hinges creaking. Light footsteps.

“Everything okay?” Karina asked. Closer now. Her voice smooth. A little suspicious.

“Yeah,” Giselle replied, now perfectly calm. “Just needed a minute.”

A pause.

“You look like a mess.”

Giselle laughed, and it was almost too good. “Tried a new lash glue. Bad idea.”

Karina snorted. “It looks like you cried in a club bathroom.”

“I kind of did.”

“You want me to stall them?”

“No. I’m good now.”

Silence.

And then, just as the door started to close—

“You sure you were alone in here?”

My heart stopped.

Giselle didn’t flinch. “Of course I was,” she said, smooth as ever. “Why?”

Karina didn’t answer right away.

Then: “No reason.”

The door shut.

A lock clicked.

A few seconds later, the closet opened.

Giselle stood there—still glowing, still breathless, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she whispered.

I pulled her in for a kiss.

TO BE CONTINUED...

PART 2

[arkaiveofurown]

sitting on his lap

Pairings: Zoro x Reader, Sabo x Reader, Law x Reader, Ace x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000 words

tags: suggestive, fluff (?)

my masterlist here ♡

——

Zoro

The Sunny’s crow’s nest smells of steel and sweat, the late-night breeze slipping through the open hatch as you climb up to find Zoro mid-training, shirtless, katanas resting against the wall. His chest heaves, muscles glistening under the moonlight, and he glances over with a grunt.

“What’re you doin’ up here?” he asks, wiping his face with a towel, his tone gruff but not unwelcoming.

Below, you can hear Sanji’s flirtatious banter with Nami, the crew’s usual chaos a distant hum.

You shrug, leaning against the doorway.

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d bug you instead of sittin’ on some boring deck chair,” you say, a smirk playing on your lips.

Zoro snorts, sitting on a bench, spreading his legs slightly as he gestures to his lap with a nod.

“Fine. Park yourself here if you’re gonna waste my time.”

Your stomach flips, but you don’t back down, crossing the small space and settling onto his lap, the heat of his bare skin burning through your clothes. His hands hover awkwardly for a moment before resting on your hips, firm and unapologetic.

“Didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he mutters, voice rough, his good eye scanning you with a mix of suspicion and something hotter.

You grin, shifting to get comfortable, feeling the hard planes of his thighs beneath you.

“What, thought I’d be scared of the big bad swordsman?” you tease, poking at his chest.

His grip tightens, a low growl rumbling from him.

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, and you’ll see how bad I can be,” he shoots back, the edge in his tone sending a thrill through you.

“Oh, I’m shakin’,” you reply, sarcastic, leaning back against him, your head brushing his shoulder.

“You should be,” he grunts, one hand sliding up your side, calloused fingers rough against your skin. “Or you wanna find out how sharp my edge really is?”

The back-and-forth cuts deeper, tension coiling tight.

“All talk, Zoro. Where’s the action?” you challenge, turning to face him, your legs straddling his lap now, the position bold and intimate.

His jaw clenches, and his hands grip your waist hard, pulling you flush against him.

“Fuck, you’re askin’ for it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck as he leans in, teeth grazing your skin.

“Then give it to me, tough guy,” you murmur, fingers tangling in his green hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

His control slips, and he shifts beneath you, the hard bulge in his pants pressing insistently against your core, sparking heat that pools low in your belly.

“Damn it, you’re gonna regret this,” he warns, voice thick with need, his hand slipping under your shirt to grip bare skin, rough and demanding.

“Make me,” you dare, rolling your hips against him, earning a guttural groan as his fingers dig into your flesh, the promise of raw, unrestrained heat hanging in the air.

The crow’s nest creaks under the weight of your shared tension, the night swallowing every sound except the harsh rasp of his breath against your ear.

——

Sabo

Smoke curls from a nearby campfire as the Revolutionary Army’s temporary base hums with quiet tension. You’re hunched over a map with Sabo in a dimly lit tent, the flickering lantern casting shadows across his scarred face. His gloved hand brushes yours as he points to a supply route, and the contact—brief, accidental—sends a jolt through you.

“You’re distracted,” he says, voice calm but edged with amusement, his sharp eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Koala’s voice cuts in from outside the tent, teasing, “Don’t let Sabo bore you to death with strategy, y’know!”

You smirk, shaking your head.

“Nah, I’m just tired of sittin’ on this hard-ass crate,” you grumble, stretching with a dramatic sigh.

Sabo leans back in his chair, a rare playful glint in his gaze.

“Well, I’ve got a better spot if you’re game,” he offers, patting his lap with a subtle, challenging tilt of his head.

Your heart skips, but you play it cool, raising a brow.

“Oh? Think I won’t take you up on that, Chief of Staff?” you quip, standing and stepping closer.

His smirk widens as you lower yourself onto his lap, the fabric of his coat rough against your thighs, his body solid and warm beneath you.

“Didn’t peg you for shy,” he murmurs, his tone dipping low, one hand resting lightly on your back to steady you.

You scoff, shifting to get comfortable, acutely aware of every point of contact.

“Shy? Nah, I just don’t wanna break your fancy noble legs,” you tease, and his quiet laugh sends a thrill through you.

“Trust me, I can handle a lot more than you think,” he replies, his voice smooth, suggestive, his fingers pressing just a bit firmer against your spine.

“Oh, really? Care to test that theory?” you challenge, turning slightly to face him, your knee brushing his side.

His eyes darken, and the air between you crackles.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I might just show you,” he says, his free hand hovering near your thigh, teasing but not quite crossing the line—yet.

The banter flows, each jab and retort building a slow, simmering heat.

“You’re all talk, Sabo. Where’s that revolutionary spirit now?” you taunt, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his.

His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him, and his lips curve into a dangerous smile.

“Careful what you wish for. I don’t play fair when I’m provoked,” he warns, his thumb tracing a slow circle on your lower back.

Your pulse races as you tilt your head, lips inches from his.

“Good. I don’t want fair. I want trouble,” you whisper, and his restraint snaps for a fleeting moment—his hand slides to your hip, firm and possessive.

“Fuck, you’re pushin’ it,” he growls, shifting beneath you, the tension of his body evident, the hard press of him against you igniting a fire in your core.

“Then do somethin’ about it,” you dare, your fingers threading through his blond hair, tugging lightly.

His breath hitches, and he leans in, lips brushing your neck as he murmurs, “Keep this up, and I’ll have you pinned against this map in two seconds flat.”

The promise hangs heavy, your skin tingling where his mouth grazes, the tent suddenly far too small for the heat exploding between you.

——

Law

The Polar Tang’s engine hums deep below deck, the dim light of the control room casting Law’s sharp features in stark relief. You’re perched on a crate, watching him scribble notes in his medical journal, his coat slung over a chair, leaving his inked arms bare.

“You’ve been starin’ for five minutes straight,” he says without looking up, his voice dry, cutting through the quiet.

Bepo’s muffled snoring echoes from the next room, a reminder of the crew’s rare downtime.

You shrug, swinging your legs.

“Just wonderin’ how you don’t get tired sittin’ in that stiff chair all day,” you reply, a teasing lilt in your tone.

Law’s golden eyes flick up, piercing, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“If you’re so concerned, I’ve got a better seat right here,” he says, leaning back and gesturing to his lap with a casual, almost clinical precision that somehow feels loaded.

Your breath catches, but you mask it with a grin, hopping off the crate.

“Don’t mind if I do, Captain,” you say, sauntering over and settling onto his lap, the hard lines of his frame unyielding beneath you.

His smirk doesn’t waver, but his hand rests on your thigh, light yet deliberate, sending a spark through you.

“Comfortable?” he asks, voice low, almost a purr, as he tilts his head to study you.

“Could be worse,” you shoot back, shifting slightly, feeling the subtle tension in his grip.

“Didn’t think you’d actually take me up on it,” he admits, his tone dipping into something warmer, less guarded.

You lean in a fraction, testing the waters.

“What, thought I’d chicken out? You don’t scare me, Law.”

His eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flashing through them.

“Careful. I’m not as predictable as you think,” he warns, his fingers tightening just enough to make your pulse jump.

“Oh? Gonna show me somethin’ new, then?” you challenge, your hand brushing his collar, lingering near the ink of his tattoos.

The exchange sharpens, words slicing through the charged air.

“You’re playin’ a risky game,” he murmurs, his free hand sliding up to your waist, slow and calculated, like he’s dissecting every reaction.

“And if I am? You gonna cut me open, doc?” you tease, your voice breathy, daring him to push further.

His smirk turns predatory, and he pulls you closer, the heat of him searing through your clothes.

“Might just dissect every damn inch of you if you keep talkin’ like that,” he growls, his thumb brushing the edge of your hip, teasing the skin beneath.

Your breath hitches as you grind down subtly, earning a low, rough sound from his throat.

“Fuck, don’t start what you can’t finish,” he warns, his grip turning possessive, guiding your movements with surgical precision.

“Who says I can’t finish?” you whisper, lips hovering near his, feeling the hard length of him press against you through the fabric.

His eyes darken to molten gold, and his hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying across your bare skin as he mutters,

“Then let’s see how much you can take before you’re beggin’.”

The promise sends a shiver down your spine, his touch igniting every nerve as the room’s hum fades into the pounding of your own heartbeat.

——

Ace

The deck of the Moby Dick sways under a crimson sunset, the air thick with salt and the distant roar of waves. You’re leaning against the railing, watching Ace toss a playful fireball into the sky, the flames licking the dusk before fizzling out. His grin, wide and reckless, pulls at something deep in your chest.

���Oi, you gonna stand there gawkin’ all day, or come closer?” he calls out, wiping sweat off his brow, his tattooed arm flexing with casual strength. Marco, perched nearby on a barrel, chuckles low.

“Careful, Ace, don’t burn her with that hothead charm of yours.”

You roll your eyes but step forward, the wooden planks creaking underfoot. Ace’s dark eyes lock on yours, daring, teasing, as he pats his thigh with a smirk.

“Got a seat right here if you’re tired of standin’.”

You hesitate, pulse quickening, but his playful taunt—“What, scared of a little heat?”—pushes you over the edge.

“Fine, hotshot, don’t cry if I steal your spot,” you shoot back, striding over and sliding onto his lap with a boldness you don’t fully feel. His thighs are firm beneath you, warm even through the fabric, and his breath hitches for half a second before that cocky grin returns.

“Damn, didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he murmurs, voice low, his hand hovering near your waist like he’s testing the waters.

You shift slightly, feeling the heat of his skin, the faint scent of ash and sea clinging to him.

“Thought you liked surprises, Ace. Or am I too much for you?”

Your words drip with challenge, and his laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against you.

“Oh, darlin’, you’re playin’ with fire now. I don’t back down easy.” His fingers graze your hip, light but deliberate, sending a shiver up your spine.

Around you, the crew’s noise fades—Thatch whistling somewhere, Vista barking orders—but all you hear is Ace’s teasing drawl.

“So, you gonna stay here all night, or you got other plans to mess with my head?”

The conversation stretches, each word a spark fanning the tension.

“Mess with your head? Please, I’m just keepin’ you grounded,” you retort, leaning back against his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up. His arm finally loops around your waist, pulling you tighter, and his lips brush near your ear.

“Grounded, huh? Feels more like you’re settin’ me ablaze.”

His voice is husky now, suggestive, and you turn your head just enough to catch his gaze—dark, hungry, but still laced with that boyish mischief.

“Careful, Ace, I might just fan those flames,” you whisper, your hand resting on his chest, fingers tracing the edge of his open shirt.

He groans softly, a sound that shoots heat straight through you.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, his grip tightening as he shifts you on his lap, the friction deliberate and maddening.

The world narrows to the heat between you, the slow grind of your hips against him, and his low growl of “Keep that up, and I’m draggin’ you below deck right now.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides lower, thumb brushing the edge of your thigh, daring you to push further into this dangerous game.

[coquettebratzdoll]

HOW I SHIFTED FOR THE FIRST TIME

I'm gonna keep this short and sweet. For some context, no, this isn't literally my first time shifting (we shift all the time, remember?) as I've shifted to countless parallel realities and a couple random realities. However, this was the first time I shifted to a reality where it was supposedly fictional (MHA).

So, what did I do?

This. Exactly what I'm doing right now.

You see, every time I was going to bed or idle with my thoughts (doing chores, walking, etc), I would imagine myself writing a success story or telling a friend (luv you @vixilic) about my successful shift. I'd think about how I'd decorate it, how I'd word my sentences, the feeling I'd get from it, things like that. In the time between my last post and now, I had managed to shift by (mainly) doing that.

Before you say, "Isn't that similar to the xyz method/a combination of abc and qrs?" Congratulations! You know so much that you can actually see the different aspects of Loa/shifting being applied. I'm not gonna pretend like I invented this approach, but it is what worked for me (and perhaps for you too).

So, for those who want a coherent, step by step guide on how to do this, look below:

1. Pick a reference Pick something that you're going to base your visualisation off of. Are you going to tell a shifting friend? Your favourite blog? What about writing your own post? Don't stress, you can use more than one

2. Do the damn visualisation Everyday, imagine what it'd be like to tell your success story. What did you do during the day? How were the people in that reality like? How did it feel? Were you nervous, excited, scared? Do this when you wake up and when you're going to sleep. Bonus points for doing this at other times too.

3. Relax This doesn't have to be an instantaneous method and you may not see "results" right away. The whole reason I started doing this in the first place is because I'm pretty busy with school currently and I wanted to do something related to shifting which I didn't have to think about much. Hell, that shift happened on a night where I had no plans, I didn't "try", I just wanted to sleep 😭

Tips:

- this can be compounded with other methods if you wish: subliminals, robotic affirmations, sats, etc - don't stress if your visualisation isn't perfect, feeling is much more key here - on that note, don't try and force a "feeling" either. maybe you're overthinking it or just not in the mood, you don't have to literally feel it - go with the flow and personalise this to yourself. this is a Tumblr post, not a military boot camp - this can be applied to more than just shifting, too

Special thanks to the following creators who really helped me get out of a shifting slump recently: @scentedpeachlandcreator @hrrtshape @h1biscusgal (and @premiumbitch too but they deactivated 💔)

Moot tag don't mind me: @jealousmartini @livingmydreamlife5555 @xstrawberryshiftsx @vixilic @luckykiwiii101 @multiversal-wanderings @reiashiftsrealities @livingsecret @astrstqr @zomb13pup @zipper-is-ranting @theshifterbride @kimasoft

003 | prev post | next post | master list

[bunny-jpeg]

virtual tracks

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, sim racing, oral sex/face sitting (reader receiving), masturbation, dirty talk, sub!max

you knew what you were getting into when you first saw the sim racing set up in his apartment. redline was a big part of his life, just like formula one. even when he wasn't streaming, it still meant a big deal to him.

and you were happy that he had a hobby! after all, it wasn't the worst video game to play. you were fine with him playing his silly little racing games and chit-chatting with friends and fans.

but sometimes, you wanted to break that set up with a hammer and toss it over the balcony.

how was this possible? you were standing there in nothing but blue lace panties and one of his redbull windbreakers, the zipper down enough to show your wonderful cleavage. you were inviting him for sex. and max was not paying an ounce of attention.

you were almost dumbfounded until you crossed your arms and said, "max."

"in a minute, my treasure. one second." he said, his eyes didn't peel away from the screen. he steered the virtual car around the curb on a virtual track. you pinched the bridge of your nose and zipped the windbreaker back up.

you went over and grasped the back of his chair and leaned, "max verstappen. for someone with sharp enough vision to win four championships. you are painfully blind." and placed another hand loosely at his neck.

"just let me finish this race and i swear i'll go down on you until you cum at least three times." he promised as he felt an uptick in his pulse. your engagement ring glimmered in the low light.

"you're picking a video game over me, max?" you leaned in a little closer, "thought i taught you better than that. i dressed up for you and you're too busy with your games." your hand lowered to his shorts where you got your hand under the waistband. you gave his cock a little attention, feeling him grow hard under your touch.

he instantly crashed the sim car into a wall and let out a sweet little moan. there was the max you knew and loved. the man who whimpered.

"please, my love." he shuddered, "i'm sorry."

"i understand, you boys love your silly little games. but, now that you're done with that level. why don't you keep your promise?" and played with his cock until he started to get up from his seat.

you knew that max was smart and to see him put that brain to use was always a good sign. you guided him to the bedroom. he let you lead him then pushed him onto the bed.

he reached for you and tried to grab you, but you swatted his hands away. your tone was stern as you said, "look, don't touch. got it?" he then put his hands back on the bed, but those blue eyes were trained on you as you stripped of your minimal clothes. if he had behaved, he would have been able to undress you like a present. he felt his cock twitch in his shorts.

"look at you, maxie." you purred as you got onto the bed, "aren't you the sweetest thing ever? mister big and tough on the track, but when it's just you and i, well, you're just a cute little kitten." you reached for him and kissed him firmly on the lips, "see you look better on your back than in front of a screen." you laid him out on the bed.

he shifted on the bed and felt his pulse spike once more. he could already feel the heat in his face, you stripped him of his black shirt and his shorts. you ran a finger up his hard cock and he almost came from that, you just giggled.

you licked your lips, "do your little racing friends know that you're such a good boy for me? so sweet and loved? does your teammate know? the other drivers on the grid? i bet everyone can see if on your face." your voice sounded nurturing, but your words were erotic.

it was no secret that you were more assertive, some would consider you a little brash. but max loved it. you were quite the pair. you were unlike anyone else he had ever been with.

"are you going to make me cum with that tongue of yours? you leaned in for a kiss before you got on top of him. when you broke the kiss, you got your knees planted on either side of his head.

he licked his lips and you pressed your wet cunt up against his mouth. he clenched onto the sheets as he rubbed his tongue against your pussy. he shuddered as his cock leaked pre-cum.

he was stupid for not focusing on you. you dressed up so nicely for him. racing should have been the last thing on his mind when he could be devouring your sweet, sweet cunt.

you reached down and held onto his shirt blond hair. you remarked with a small chuckle, "your hair is getting a little long, my dear. it feels nice, a good length to yank on."

he groaned, you weren't going to pull out the strands. but the small tug made him only further aroused.

maybe it was how good he made you feel, but you were feeling generous. you looked at him between your legs as you rocked your hips against him. you said softly, "max, my love. you must be so needy. you can touch yourself."

he mumbled a 'thank you' as he reached for his cock and he stroked himself. he made a blissed out noise as he feverishly pleasure you with his tongue. he swore under his breath as he felt the sexual pleasure grow.

max was so good for you, and you were so good for him. he moaned, as did you. you held onto the headboard and moved your hips further against his face. you clenched your thighs around his head.

he knew how to eat you out so well. he was talented with his tongue. he knew the pace that really got you going, the pressure to make you eager for more. his talent, to make you moan.

you groaned and pulled his hair a little more as you rubbed up against him further. you cursed under your breath.

"master with that tongue, max." you shakily exhaled as you moved further up against him, "look at you, fuck. you look good under me, max. you look better with my thighs crushing your skull." you looked as you felt the pleasure continue to course through you.

his tongue grazed across your clit, his licks were a little more heavy and it made your pulse jump as the heat coursed through you. fire in your blood as the hot blond between your legs made your cunt with sexual want.

"drive me crazy, honey." you purred, "you know what you do to me, is that why you were so focused on that stupid game because you are such a tease." you clenched your thighs a little tighter, he groaned as you said, "you're such a tease, max."

his thought were swamped, he could only think of you, you were intoxicating. alluring. you made his cock throb, even as he stroked himself. he could feel pre-cum slide down his knuckles. he breathed through his nose as he licked your beautiful cunt.

heaven.

that was all could be said about you. he needed you deeply, carnally. he yearned for you, in a certain way that he could only describe as being heavenly. is sang in his soul. he yearned for you, needed you. he loved you, even when your thighs were squishing his head. to die by them around be a noble death.

you moaned as you felt the pleasure brew in you. the intense feeling soon reached its peak and you held onto his hair tightly and continued to move against his face. it was an intense feeling as the warmth continued to flow through you.

max continued to jerk himself off, he needed his release soon. the pressure of erotic heat was far too much for him. everything in his body ran hot as he stroked himself quickly. his cock ached for you, when you moaned, he knew he was close. his pace was quick, matching with how he gorged himself on your cock. his dedicating to pleasing you.

you panted heavily, "fuck, fuck, yes. fuck, max. that's it." your noises got louder as you felt climax so close, like it was on the tip of your tongue.

as you came on his tongue, he came around his hand. you finished together. you slowed your ace to a stop and relaxed around him. you panted heavily and pushed hair out of your face to get some relief on your heated cheeks. you got off his face, your pussy was soaked.

you laid out next to him and let him catch his breath for a moment.

"fuck, you're so good to me." you said as you wiped your wetness from his mouth before you went in for a hot kiss.

he got the cum off his hand before he pulled you closer to him and kissed your sweaty forehead. he happily accepted your affection.

"this was amazing." he purred as he held you close to him. you felt good in his arms. he kissed you head and relaxed further into the bed.

you took him by the chin and made him look up at you. you said to him, "you said you were going to make me cum three times." then smiled, "time to get to work, max and then maybe you can go back to sim racing."

"yes, please." he said as he got back between your legs,. he was focused the same way he was when he raced.

you chuckled as he gripped your thigh, "good boy." <3

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙂𝙡𝙞𝙙𝙚, 𝙎𝙥𝙞𝙣, 𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨, 𝙍𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙩

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader x Eve Wilkins

Warnings: None

Tags: Platonic kisses, flirty chaos, soft girl solidarity, poor Mark is doing his best

Word Count: 1,660

Synopsis: Mark Grayson thought he could handle a little casual skating night with friends. He was wrong. Very, very wrong. Because you and Eve showed up in matching earmuffs, holding hands—and more. Are you dating? Are you messing with him? Is he dying? Probably. But at least the hot chocolate’s good.

Mark Grayson had seen some things.

Aliens. Interdimensional monsters. His dad using his face to punch through a train and all its passengers.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for seeing you and Eve hold hands at a skating rink while wearing matching earmuffs.

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself, gripping the rink wall like he was clinging to the last shred of sanity.

It had started innocently enough. Eve invited him out for “a casual little skate night. Us, William, and [y/n], no pressure.” Which might as well have been code for a trap designed by God to test his emotional fortitude.

Because there you were. Laughing with Eve. Sipping hot chocolate with two hands, like you were trying to keep them warm after all that intense hand-holding.

And then Eve helped you tie your skates.

You were sitting on a bench, one leg stretched out, the other bent, and Eve crouched down in front of you like she did this all the time—like she was your dedicated skate assistant or something.

Mark stood a few feet away, awkwardly holding his own skates like he didn’t just realize he might not be the main character in this scene.

“You good?” William muttered beside him.

“I—yeah,” Mark said, voice cracking. “Totally. Just… watching.”

He immediately regretted saying that, but William was too busy adjusting his hat to notice.

Eve tugged the laces tight, knotted them, and patted your knee like she’d just fixed a masterpiece. “There. Try not to fall and die.”

You beamed at her. “You always take such good care of me.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. That felt... loaded.

Then you leaned in, resting your head on Eve’s shoulder, smiling so sweetly it could’ve been pulled straight out of a perfume ad.

Mark’s heartbeat stuttered.

Eve turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing your hair. “You’ve got lip balm on your nose again.”

“I like it shiny,” you said with a little grin, not moving.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eve mumbled, and then—without missing a beat—she kissed you.

Right on the mouth.

Soft, casual, no fanfare.

Mark died. Quietly. Internally. With grace.

His soul left his body and ascended into the rafters of the skating rink, where it hovered, stunned, trying to process what it had just witnessed.

They kissed. Like it was normal.

You didn’t even react like it was a big deal. You just smiled against her lips, murmured something Mark couldn’t hear, and then started adjusting your scarf.

Meanwhile, Mark stood frozen, eyes wide, throat dry. Had time slowed down? Were his skates melting? Was this a stroke?

He looked around—surely someone else had seen that. But William was digging through his pockets for his phone, and the rest of the world just kept spinning.

He looked back at you two.

You were chatting again. Laughing.

Laughing.

Mark blinked. “Did they—did you—did that just happen?”

William glanced up. “What?”

“They kissed.”

William squinted. “Eve and [y/n]? Yeah. They do that sometimes.”

“They what?!”

“They’re just like that, man.”

Mark felt like the entire foundation of his reality had shifted two inches to the left. “Since when is that a thing?!”

“I don’t know,” William said, shrugging. “Since always? You need to calm down. You're looking at them like you're in a telenovela.”

Mark turned back just in time to see you poke Eve in the ribs and burst out laughing as she tried to trip you with her skate.

They were fine. Everything was fine.

Except Mark, who was now very seriously reconsidering every platonic interaction he’d ever witnessed.

He did not scream. He absolutely did not Google “how to tell if your two crushes are dating each other and not you.”

He just skated. Poorly.

Later, Mark cornered Eve at the cocoa stand. “I just—so, you and [y/n], huh?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Me and [y/n]. What about it?”

“I didn’t know you guys were… you know.” He made a vague, flappy hand gesture that somehow communicated both romance and meltdown.

Eve blinked. “We’re not.”

Mark paused. “You’re not…?”

“We’re just friends.”

Mark stared at her like she’d said you were both celestial beings sent to test him personally. “You kissed her!”

Eve shrugged. “Yeah? She looked cute. And she got hot chocolate on her lip. You would’ve done it too.”

“No!” Mark squawked. “No, I would not have just casually—that’s not a normal friend thing!”

Eve gave him a baffled look. “Mark. You fly around in spandex and yell about justice. Don’t talk to me about normal.”

He tried asking you directly. Big mistake.

“So like, you and Eve?” he asked, trying to sound chill and definitely not like he was about to scream into a snowbank.

You looked up from your churro. “Yeah?”

“You’re dating?”

You snorted. “What? No. We just kiss sometimes. It’s fun.”

Mark short-circuited. “...For fun?”

“Yeah, like—mutual admiration and pretty girl solidarity, you know?”

He absolutely did not know. His brain was now smoke and static.

“Oh,” you added, “and she’s been helping me get over my ex.”

Mark’s heart fluttered. Hope? A chance?

You smiled. “But don’t worry—Eve promised she wouldn’t let me date another emotionally stunted guy with secret feelings. She’s so supportive.”

Ah.

There it was.

Mark nodded slowly. “Cool. Cool cool cool. I love that for you.”

You patted his arm. “You’re such a good friend, Mark.”

And just like that, he died again.

—

The three of you were standing near the edge of the rink, the chill in the air mixing with the warmth of the cocoa in your hands. Mark was trying to stay casual, but his eyes kept darting between you and Eve, who were just so comfortable with each other. Like it didn’t matter that you’d just shared a kiss on the rink. Like it was as casual as breathing.

And maybe that’s what did it.

Maybe that’s why he noticed how your lips lingered on Eve’s. How you gently traced her jaw, eyes closed, completely unbothered by how intensely affectionate you were being.

Then—oh God—you kissed her again.

Mark didn’t even know where his thoughts went anymore. His brain had just short-circuited. He stared at you both, wide-eyed, his heart rate kicking into overdrive.

“Uh,” he muttered, then cleared his throat, trying to act like everything was perfectly fine. “You two… uh, you two are just really affectionate, huh?”

“Yeah, we’re friends,” Eve said, her grin way too knowing. She nudged you playfully, but her gaze flicked over to Mark and lingered there for a second too long. Then, she went back to you, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Oh my God,” Mark mumbled. “It’s like I can’t—what even is—”

You turned to Mark, totally unfazed. “You okay, Mark?” Your voice was sweet and unbothered, like you hadn’t just caused absolute chaos in his brain. “You’re kind of… pink?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, brushing it off, but his hands were suddenly clammy. His fingers tightened around his cocoa cup like it was his lifeline.

You just grinned at him. “Well, you’re looking a little… frazzled. Here, have some of mine.” You thrust your cup at him, clearly way too calm about the situation.

“Uh, thanks,” Mark said, trying to play it cool. He took a tentative sip, but it was as if the universe was out to make him implode. He felt something drip onto his bottom lip.

“Whoops,” you said with a little shrug, stepping closer, eyes glinting mischievously. “You’ve got a little something there.”

Before he could respond—before his brain could even register what was happening—you kissed him.

It wasn’t the casual, quick peck he was mentally prepared for. No, this was lingering.

Soft. Slow. Your lips brushing over his, gently nudging his mouth open as if you were trying to get every last drop of hot chocolate from his lip. Mark’s whole body froze, his eyes wide, heart thudding in his chest as his mind tried to catch up with what was happening. Was this a joke? Was he imagining it?

And then, just when he thought he might combust from the sheer shock, you pulled back just enough to lick your bottom lip. As if you were making absolutely sure that not one drop of cocoa had been left behind.

Mark’s breath hitched in his throat, his brain screaming WHAT and WHY, but his body was already way too lost in the moment to argue. He barely even registered the quiet laugh that escaped Eve behind him.

“Better?” you asked, still smiling sweetly at him, like you didn’t just knock his world sideways. Mark couldn’t speak. He was completely dumbstruck. His mouth was too dry, his tongue too thick to form words.

“Mark?” Eve teased, stepping forward now. “You okay?”

He blinked a few times, trying to piece himself back together, but all he could do was shake his head, which only made you laugh.

“I think I broke him,” you said, and the look in your eyes was one of pure mischief. Mark couldn’t decide if he wanted to die or kiss you back.

He cleared his throat again. “I—uh—okay. Okay. Well, I gotta… I gotta go. Yeah, I’m, uh, gonna… Yeah.” He looked around, like there was an escape route. “I’m just gonna—”

“Wait,” Eve called after him. “You don’t want some more cocoa?”

Mark turned around so fast he almost tripped on his own feet. “NO,” he yelped. “I’m good. Thanks. I—uh—no more hot chocolate.”

And as Mark sprinted away, both you and Eve just watched him go, arms still casually linked.

“Well, that went well,” Eve said with a satisfied grin.

You smirked, taking another sip of your cocoa. “I think he likes it when we kiss. Don’t you?”

Eve chuckled. “I think he’s still trying to figure out if we’re doing this for real, or if his brain just broke.”

[thesharktanksdriver]

Devils may love?: thirst for connection, tearful goodbyes and trying despite the odds

Here’s part 2 by popular demand! I’m gonna start writing dmc1 soon and I shall be making a masterlist for this. Btw, comment if you’d like to added to a tag list or comment to give me ur opinions because I shall very much appreciate it and I love answering questions or geeking out over stuff especially with dmc now lol.

Links for: Masterlist, Part 1

Your not sure how your still alive 

At this point its illogical 

Vergil has the amulet and knows Dante will come after him no matter if he even has you alive anymore 

So why are you still alive currently? 

Not that your complaining per say but your severely confused 

Even that Arkham guy seems to be thinking it as well

Speaking of which the more you look at him the more familiar he looks 

You can’t quite place it though 

But it’s something with his face that’s familiar 

Well it’s something you’d rather not think to hard about when the guy is stabbed in front of you by Vergil 

If your opinion of Arkham was bad before hearing he literally sacrificed his wife to become powerful or something certainly made you internally cheer as he fell to the floor

Blood pooling around him as Vergil remarks he has no use for the man anymore 

And yet 

“Keep moving, lest I have to carry you again” 

It stirs you from your thoughts as the twin looks at you 

Wordlessly you nod, stepping past arkhams body 

When Vergil turns he doesn’t see you drip your foot in the man’s blood 

Intentionally leaving a trail for Dante to find 

“If….if you killed him can you kill the jester next?” 

Whatever Vergil expected you to say it seems like that wasn’t what he thought 

Though you hope your unpredictability is seemingly a factor keeping you alive

“Jester?” He scoffs “you mean my brother?”

At that you can’t help but raise and eyebrow “no, I mean the weird ass jester demon. The one with the long nose, and annoying penchant for appearing out of nowhere. Have you not had to deal with his annoying nagging yet?”

“Evidently no since if I had we wouldn’t be having this conversation” 

“Fair. restrains or no restrains though, I will be finding out a way to curb stomp him if he pops out of nowhere again” 

“You’re a human. If he’s a demon your too weak to kill him let alone make a dent”

You shrug at that “I might be nothing more than an insect to him…but it doesn’t hurt to at least try. That’s all we can ever really do anyways. Keep trying even if it’s meaningless because there’s nothing else we can do. It’s what I do anyways. Things get hard, parents kick you to the curb yelling to never come back unless you decide to give up your “useless” dreams and everything looks like shit” pausing for a moment you can’t help but smile “keep trying even though every job turns you away and you have to drop out of school to try and get a full time job to afford a roof over your head and food…and despite it all you find a sketchy job advertisement for a business without a proper name yet and somehow end up with the most obnoxious idiot with a heart of gold as your boss who annoyingly calls you “honeypie”. And even if his family drama gets you wrapped up in getting kidnapped and brought to a demon tower, you keep trying even when the situation is against you. Because maybe that’s all you have”

Vergil stays silent after that, just ends up tugging you closer as he leads you to wherever he’s headed 

Somehow trauma dumping on him was kinda reliving even if he would probably kill you later

Best get shit off your chest than leave it bubbling in you

A trail of red follows behind you for your red coat idiot to hopefully find you 

Fortunately if you did make it out of the your now a pro at washing out blood so your shoes would probably be ok

Walking closely behind Vergil the two of you enter a large chamber

Carved stone and a chiseled floor lead to the centre of the room

And at that centre was a circular basin?

Your not really sure how to describe it

Or this place in general

The tower was old, that was certain with its general architecture and material wise

But walking though the place there was also an odd sense of foreign technological aspects to it

It was definitely too advanced for humans especially at the time it seemed like it was erected 2000 years back or so

So with that logic it was likely demonic related

Which made sense considering the purpose of the tower in the first place

A thrumming sound echos before that of heavy footsteps that makes you turn around just as Vergil does

A demon, a big looking one as well that walked on all 4

“I found you, seed of Sparda!. I told you that I remembered your rancid scent! No matter where you run to. You can never hide from me! And what’s this? A human pest as well?” It walks forward, bloody red eyes bleeding out as a singular curved horn tilted along with its head movements.

Before you have much time to react its claw comes down towards you and Vergil, but the blue half-demon pushed you back as he jumped to eliminate his threat

You watched him fight Dante atop the tower and seen his cut down smaller demons on the way here, but seeing him fight truly was something

Clean slices compared to Dante’s showy flare

Landing atop the demon as it crumbled beneath his feet

“Y-you are not the one I faced before…but this smell…there are two of them! That excrement of Sparda had two sons!”

“Yeah bud, you didn’t figure that out by looking at him. He didn’t just change wardrobe-“

A clink of a sword and its head splits leaving a gushing waterfall of blood to spill onto the ground

Vergil flips off its back, now back to your side

A glow emits from the body, blue and blinding

Vergil extends out a hand and it pulls itself to him

Seemingly absorbing it a pair of gauntlets and boots that keep their blinding glow

You can only watch what happens next

Vergil shows off and kinda plays? With his new weapons??? Like Dante does???

He kicks around the demons corpse and shows off his new gear

All while you watch dumbfounded

You also swear he’s watching your reaction?

Getting a small flicker of pride after another show of moves?

Was this like…a fear tactic or something?

A threat to keep you in line and not to run?

Because you already weren’t going to do that

Not when demons crawled around and every corner and for some reason he still needed you alive and eliminated them

Why would you leave when at least for now he was your reluctant bodyguard?

A spray of feathers waft around in the air and cascade down around you as Vergil watches your reaction

Yet again for something?

His brow twitches and his near permanent scowl returns, maybe you didn’t look afraid enough?

Two perfect halves of a beautiful red stone combine to make one 

Two remnants of a mother lost come together in the worse way possible 

Blood rains down the ceiling into a small pool in the middle of the circular room 

You and Vergil watch with anticipation 

Gritting your teeth waiting for something 

Anything big to happen 

And yet nothing 

You wait for a solid minute with the very quickly becoming agitated Vergil 

And nothing 

The irritation and anger rolling off him is palpable in waves that rivalled tsunamis 

You smartly make the decision to try and take a few precautionary steps away 

Especially as he mutters to himself if maybe more blood was needed 

You take a particularly large step away at that comment 

Shit, maybe while he was in this mindset you could slip away 

Dante was surely not too far behind-

An arm slides itself in a familiar manner across your shoulders 

Nearly instantly making your stress melt away as red leather and the overwhelming scent of blood, sweat, gunpowder and cheap cologne invade your senses 

You’d never thought you’d be this happy to smell Dante’s disgusting ass work Oder 

Something that he knew got on your nerves when he got back from a job and would chase you around trying to give you a big hug 

Just so you could smell the disgusting mix of scents under the excuse of “come here and give me some sugar, i missed you honeypie. Oh how the hours dragged on and on from my departure-“ 

Every time he did it you had half the mind to choke him out but instead you alternated to spritzing him with water like a cat 

It worked surpassingly well 

He even ended up hissing sometimes like a disgruntled cat, though you assumed that was either his inhuman traits peaking out or him playing along with the bit 

The ropes that rubbed so uncomfortably against your wrists the entire time that it slowly became a numbing pain

It’s notable though when the rope is cut and falling to the floor with a small thud 

Allowing you to see the redness of chaffed skin that would probably blister 

Before Dante addresses his brother he seems to take a careful moment to look you over 

Blue eyes tracing your body though not with his usual joking flirtatious edge 

This time it’s worry 

Anxiety that looks too foreign to be on his overly confident face 

You step behind him when the two begin a verbal exchange

A verbal exchange that once more become psychical while you watch again from the sidelines 

Mentally halfway through you kinda check out from the exhaustion 

It’s been a way too long…however many hours you’d been stuck here 

To be fair you had better things to worry about like survival than trying to figure out just how long you’d been kidnapped 

And then an unfamiliar shot rings out 

Not from ebony or ivory 

But instead a new smoking barrel from a familiar face beside you 

Two toned eyes stare at you in a mixture of surprise and confusion 

Holy shit-

“Mary?! The hell are you doing here?!?”

“We’ll talk later.” She briefly looks at you but then directs her angered gaze to Vergil “You force my father into this and kidnap my friend?!” 

she joins the fray despite being told off by Dante

Joining in on the battle with a certain rage in her eyes 

Two toned eyes that you now realize were the same as Arkham’s 

You think you now get why she talked about her mom and not her creepy ass dad

Wait that means that means her mom was-

Clapping then rings out 

The familiar grating voice of the jester filling the stone chamber 

His annoying voice mocking Mary and then Vergil as he makes quick work of the two 

And in the brightly coloured demons place once more is Arkham 

Keeping up the creepy performance before changing back to the jester and slamming her face into the ground 

You yell out for her, wanting to race over but Dante holds you back 

A look in his eyes that makes you pause 

exhaustion that rivalled your own 

He’s been fighting whatever was thrown at him up to this point 

Stabbed, impaled, clawed, shot at and everything else your mind can picture 

Not to mention him just duking it out with Vergil moments before the clowns arrival 

As the long nosed bastard pointed out, their both weak 

Something even more apparent as he then curb stomps Dante into the ground 

The impact of which sends you flying to the floor like everyone else in the room 

He switches back to the bald bastard 

Explaining why it didn’t work despite the two halves of the amulet and some sort of blood of Sparda

Apparently they needed the blood of a priestess just as Sparta did to seal off the demon world 

Something that is then quickly remedied with the bastard stabbing his own daughter in the leg to obtain it

Because she had the blood of that sacrificed priestess, due to her being that woman’s descendant 

Red streams through the small canals in the floor of the room to the centre 

Pooling like a ruby lake 

He monologues more as the jester about his plan of making sure everyone duked it out 

Then turning to you with a yellowed grin 

Apparently he kept you around as an entertainment factor but grew tired of how Vergil kept you alive for some reason 

Something he chides the half demon for 

But he’s tired of you

The one rogue misstep in his elaborate scheme 

Something he was going to make quick work of correcting if not for the 3 others in the room getting the jump on him 

But a red glow fills the room 

A platform rises and he ascends as everything shifts 

He kicks the others off the stage but you 

Leaving you clinging to consciousness as it ascends 

You reach out a hand with blurred vision hoping for anyone to grab it 

At the top of the tower Arkham boasts of becoming the new god of this world 

Statues surround the circular platform as he struts around 

But not before giving you a good kick in the gut 

The strength of which sends you rolling across and hitting the pole that begins a mechanism to pull up several bells

Bells you’d once thought to be statues 

Looking behind you see city lights twinkle like stars dotting the night sky 

Clouds circling around 

How you haven’t yet died from the oxygen being thin is beyond you but you attribute it to either demon nonsense or adrenaline pushing you past average the human limit 

Maybe both 

Blood spills out your mouth in painful coughs

Of course he had to aim for the lungs 

And while you cough he says you should be grateful 

Grateful to see the new god of this world before he ends your existence 

Grateful you get to be the first sacrifice of many 

Grateful he’ll do it in front of Dante to give you a chance to say goodbye 

What an ass

The sky shifts as he names the seven deadly sins 

A hellish portal opening up above and letting red aura flow down into him 

Surrounding him as the wind howls and demon screeches join in a symphony 

He begins to float and your left to cling to the support holding the bell 

His laugh echoing out as he ascends 

It makes your stomach curdle 

Doesn’t help afterwards that you begin to follow him upwards as well 

You nearly puke 

Son of a bitch-

The demon world isn’t what you expect it to look like 

Less fire and brimstone with the scent of rotten eggs and smoke 

But more like weird impressionist painting of jutting stone, flowing water, diamond-like sky and purple 

Just purple 

Blue and red 

A irony not lost on you 

It would’ve made you laugh in a mixture of hysteria and dread if you weren’t 90% sure that his kick earlier broke a rib and it was currently jabbing slightly into your lung 

Something even more apparent when you drop down and land harshly on a jutting slab of stone 

Talk about a rough landing 

And rough time for your lung because that rib has definitely now punctured it a bit more 

Dear god if you survive this your hospital bills were gonna be abysmal 

Arkham stands not far away in the form of some sort of demon 

Large imposing horns and insect-like wings 

He monologues about how this was Sparda’s true form

It explains why Dante who just joined the show seems less than amused at the spectacle

Even having the nerve to call him a backed up toilet 

That gets a laugh from you, a laugh you regret a moment later when you nearly cough up a lung 

Damn your hysteria making stupid decisions 

And damn Dante for actually being funny for once 

The fight between them is a blur once more 

Clashes of swords 

Yada yada 

Your vision is getting a bit more blurry than you’d like to think about 

Black dots appearing at the edges of your sight 

But you find the will to stand 

To get up 

To try 

Because what else can you do beside laying there 

This entire time you couldn’t do anything but be a punching bag, hostage, potential therapist and yelling for Dante 

If you were gonna die you might as well die trying

You get up just in time to see the fucked up copy of dante’s dad melt away into some amorphous blob of spasming shape 

Purple and glowing 

And plain ugly and kinda more pathetic than anything 

This is what he spent years obsessing over 

What he scarified his wife for 

What he nearly killed his daughter for 

God you hated this guy more than anything right now and all you wanted was to see him die 

And by god would you try to kill that fucking clown if it was the last thing you’d do 

“Dante! Got any spare guns?”

Briefly turning away from his fight with the blob he sends you a smirk “Sure thing honeypie! Curtesy of lady!” 

He throws you the weapon you’d seen Mary with earlier, some sort of canon. Her blood still stains the bayonetta in which Arkham stabbed her in the leg with, a reminder of who’s place your also fighting for “this one time I’ll let that slip! Don’t think it’ll happen again though you ass!” 

With Dante taking an up close and personal approach it distracts Arkham from you 

Too occupied clearing the bigger threat than the sniper

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t messing him up 

You aim with your admittedly unsteady vision when he’s about to get a hit on Dante 

Distracting him enough for the red coat devil to evade and get a hit in 

Dante can’t help but make a few quips here and there 

Somehow finding ways to make even the shitiest of situations the butt of the joke 

It was perhaps his greatest talent 

And perhaps his greatest cooping mechanism 

Though beside trauma responses you’d 100% agree the complete joke of what was Arkham 

The punchline though is when Vergil arrives just in time 

Putting aside even his weird rivalry with Dante to beat arkhams ass 

Though not enough to not talk about retrieving his rightful power 

Baby steps? 

Well whatever it’s something you guess 

At least he isn’t stabbing Dante again and hurtling down into hell with you thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes 

The two work together nearly seamlessly to take him down 

Stabbing into the blob that is Arkham as you shot yet another shot at him 

All this combines in making him flail around 

The twins push their respective swords through him to the others side 

Either grabbing the others sword

Hacking and slashing once more at the pathetic excuse for something that was once a man

With only a shot left you line up a your final shot despite how shaky your body is 

Waiting at the right moment as the twins of Sparda slice at him once more 

And you pull the trigger 

Sending yet another explosive shot at him 

He screams out 

Dange pulls out ebony and ivory, spinning them before looking briefly over his shoulder to send you a smirk 

It gives Arkham enough time to send ebony out his hand though luckily Vergil takes it 

Sending his brother an unimpressed look 

But still sending the briefest of glances your way for a split moment 

A smirk on his face as well no matter how minuscule it was 

“I’ll try it your way for once”

“Remember what what we used to say?”

“DoNt dO iT”

“Do it!” 

Vergil crosses ebony over ivory, you see both twins smirk 

“Jackpot”

The bullets swirl around one another like ribbons 

Creating a blinding light as they collide into Arkham 

His final words once more about having the power of Sparda 

He dies like a pathetic loser, shocking really 

The man who obsessed over a dead guy for years, sacrificed his wife and attempted to kill his daughter died as a pathetic blob 

You have to agree with Vergils dry remark of his final words not being classy 

It gets a chuckle from you as you scale down the stone debris while ebony is tossed back to Dante 

The odd spirit water surges around your ankles as Arkham melts away

Becoming nothing in the end, a fitting fate for someone like him 

Above a gaping hole where the water pours into The two amulets and a sword fall into a abyss that both of them jump into 

But not before Vergil grabs you to drag you in with him 

Again

“Motherfucker again?!? Come on-“

The moment Vergil’s feet splash on solid ground your let go off and fall very not so gracefully to the ground 

He runs to the sword before Dante can get it 

Pulling it from the ground and gazing at Dante’s half of the amulet that his twin was able to snatch 

Two pairs of Blue eyes narrowing at one another 

“Give that to me” he extends out his hand motioning for the amulet 

At that Dante looks at the necklace before tucking it behind him “no way, you got your own” 

Children, both these men were god damn children 

Getting up from the demon water you safely decided to limp off to the side 

You smell a fight coming just like how you can smell rain before it pours

You’ve gotten your wish of helping kill the clown, now your letting them finish their business 

It already felt as if you were intruding as it was 

Better not get involved 

“Well I want yours too” the sword is pointed out to Dante as the two circled one another 

“What are you gonna do with all that power, huh? No matter how hard you try, your never gonna be like father” that taunt even from your distance seemed to piss off Vergil royally with how you see his grip tighten on the demon blade

“You’re wasting time!” He makes the first move, running with the blade held ready to strike yet there’s no clang of metal hitting one another hitting your ears all the while water coursed passed them, rushing off the cliff down into the unknown of hell itself. Instead both caught the others swords with their bare hands. 

“We are the sons of Sparda!” Both begin to push the others blade back “within each of us flows his blood but more importantly his soul!” 

At that both successfully push the other away 

Sending water spraying everywhere 

For a moment Dante’s eyes connect with your own 

You see a spark in them you hadn’t seen once before 

“And now my soul is saying it wants to stop you!”

“Unfortunately our souls are at odds brother” Vergil raises at hand up to his eye level clenching it dramatically as he continued “I need more power” 

Did these two both go to acting school at some point?

Was being melodramatic as hell a demon thing? 

Because this was borderline Shakespeare level dramatics 

Or maybe you were hallucinating this due to the blood loss

Or because you were tired as all hell

Or maybe because you weren’t paid enough to deal with this-

“And we’re supposed to be twins”

“Twins…right” 

They might not see it but you can definitely see how their both twins with how overly dramatic this all was-

Blades clash and the smell of iron and gun smoke fill the air 

Blood flies 

And your left to watch it all from the sideline 

The adrenaline was beginning to ware off as the pain of your body sets in 

Every breath felt like glass was pressing in your lungs 

Jabbing at every inhale and exhale 

Blood being coughed out in between the flurry of gunshots and swords clashing 

God this sucked 

You think back at your entire life up until this moment and wonder if this was worth it all

Back to your childhood filled with expectations already laid on your shoulders 

The loneliness of parents who brushed your passions aside in favour of a letter on a piece of paper determining your worth to them 

The way in which high school was stress upon stress with few things to relive it 

Things like Mary’s company and the few electives you got to chose of your own volition 

No complicated science equations or mathematical formulas to memorize 

Just your own passions 

Like that poetry class 

And then it comes back to that night 

Collage applications in their hands that they tore in front of your face 

The ones you had picked on your own 

The fighting with your parents 

The way they threw you out without so much as a second thought 

Just saying to come back when you became sensible 

When you’d abandon your dreams to pursue what they’d decide for you 

How you could see in their eyes they expected you to come grovelling back after about a week 

Begging for them to take you back in 

But then came that rush of resentment 

You wouldn’t let them win 

So you moved on 

Tried to live because that’s all you could try to do 

Even if it meant dropping out in 12th grade to try and find a job to cover for an apartment and necessities 

Even if it meant abandoning everything else to at least try and make ends meet 

Even if it meant getting rejected from place to place until you found that fateful advertisement 

And the pain in the ass of a boss you were currently watching brawl with his brother 

The same boss who made you laugh 

Who walked you home on late nights and looked after you that one time you got sick 

The red coat wearing idiot who’d always offer you a slice of pizza or spoonful of his strawberry sundae 

Grinning all the while 

The boy a the same age as you yet had lived more than a lifetimes worth of fear and trauma, the same one who’d cling to you in moments of silence like you were his only lifeline 

And maybe he was yours as well 

Anchoring you when all the thoughts of doubt began to set in 

Of what you lost when leaving home 

But then pulling you back to realize you didn’t loose much at all besides Mary 

Because you never really had a home, nor parents or security 

You just had yourself and the weight on your back 

A weight now gone letting you decide what you wanted to do 

No matter how stupid it was to stay at a store that still didn’t have a proper name 

No matter how idiotic it was to stay with Dante with the risk because

He was the one person who hadn’t abandoned you

Who didn’t give up to save you from this nightmare tower 

Maybe if you’d stayed with your parents your life wouldn’t have ended up this way 

You’d be stuck as a lawyer or doctor but you’d have avoided this 

Probably later on settled down at 25 with a match they’d set you up with 

Expecting grandkids by 29 or something 

All the while you lived like with a good paying job and maybe a decent person you’d have to deal with for at least the next 40 years

Yet Somehow the thought of that left you more unhappy than your circumstances now even with all the pain 

Because for as shitty as this all was you’d at least lived for yourself for once 

Taken the reigns of your life in your hands instead of them being in another 

And you didn’t regret that 

Not one bit 

Hell, the only thing you regretted was not punching Arkham in his stupid jester face 

Because even if you died here in pain and coughing up a lung 

At least you died knowing it was your own choices leading up to here and not those of your parents 

And that was a lot more satisfying than anything 

Especially when you got to meet the dumbass you called both a boss and friend named Dante, meet Mary again and talk about poetry once more 

Somehow that had made you happier than anything 

Water splashes once more yet there’s no more clatter of swords and your attention is diverted to Vergil kneeling in the muddied water

Blood mixes in it 

Though your unsure if it’s from your own or a mix from both from the showdown between brothers 

Either way it runs down past Vergil to Dante at the edge of the waterfall

This felt like the end of this all 

With heavy difficulty you get up, using a stone pillar to support yourself 

“Am I….being defeated?” It’s uttered in disbelief as he stares down into the waters reflection 

“What’s wrong? Is that all you got?” Dante moves forward in a mix of mocking and anger, “come on get up, you can do better than that” 

With shaky legs you move toward the red stained twin, nearly toppling over when the ground rumbled beneath your feet.

“The portal to the human world is closing Dante.” Briefly he looks to you, something flashing in icy blue eyes as you stood a few feet from Dante using Mary’s gun to keep yourself propped up“because the amulets have been separated”

“Let’s finish this Vergil” there’s a pause “I have to stop you. even if that means killing you”. The look in his eyes is something akin to pure conviction and yet in the small shake of his grip you could see the hesitation he steeled away.

You remember the nights in which Dante would tell you about him and his brother when they were younger 

He bragged he’d always won when they’d fight with wooden swords 

His bravado and general overconfidence made you remark sarcastically that you were sure that had happened 

Getting in response an arm thrown around your shoulder and him resting his head atop yours 

A complaint of falling from his mouth yet he still looked satisfied with himself 

The same grin 

The same blue eyes that peaked past untamed white hair with a certain nostalgic haze 

Yet now those eyes hardened themselves 

And you can’t help but both hope and dread if he was right 

If he really won all those matches as a kid when Vergil readies his blade and Dante readies his own 

They charge 

Boots creating large splashes 

Water rushing past them 

Dante running away from you and Vergil headed to your direction near the edge 

Both yell while charging yet all you can focus on is the water and sickening slash 

Metal glimmers at the perfect angle to create a horizontal line of light

And then red 

Red spews across the air and mixes once more into the water 

With baited breath you wait and neither move 

Until the pained groan of Vergil stumbles from his lips and his necklace clatters along with the blades 

He picks it up as Dante puts away his sword 

Vergil takes a step back 

Clutching the necklace in a near crushing intensity 

Trying to convince him this isn’t the way would be for naught with him 

Vergil is someone who’d died of his own stubbornness and with his ideals 

It’s something both maddening and something you can’t help but respect in a odd way 

“No one can have this Dante. It’s mine, it belongs to a son of Sparda!” He takes more steps back towards the edge, shit no-

“Don’t do it!” Despite the pain you push forwards, despite the fact you know you won’t convince him, once more you try

Dante realizes what he’s about to do as well, surging forwards as you did but you’re both met with blade pointed to your necks. “Leave me and go, if neither of you want to be trapped in the demon world” eyes flicked between you and his brother as he clutches the amulet tightly “I’m staying, this place was our fathers home”. He gets closer to the edge, nearing the tip off point.  He leans back as you and Dante move forwards, hands outstretched to try and grab him. Though one is cut whilst the other is left untouched. 

Staring down as he’s encompassed by the unknown of hell you keep your eyes locked with his. Though he was an ass, an egocentric focused on a vain goal of his own pride you still can’t help but cry for him as your knees hit the hard rock and you reach your hand out despite the fact he’s too far gone to save. Because for as much as he detested his humanity, he was undoubtedly human in the most tragic sense. He was human in his pain, human in his hate, human in the way he held a passion for old poetry and longed for connection even if he’d never admit it. And he was certainly human when in the last moments before he disappeared into darkness his eyes stared deep into your own. Widening ever so slightly at the fact you still outstretched your hand to him, that you cried for him despite it all.

In those eyes in those last moments you see the human longing for companionship, of not wanting to be alone anymore. Whilst in your tear stained ones he sees the truth of the matter. You wanted to save him. Both here as he plunged into hell and back when you warned him of opening Pandora’s box, you did it because you wanted to save him. Because For some foolish reason you cared for him. 

(And that sticks with him far more than you’d ever know) 

Blood stains your shoulder as he places a hand on it 

The one Vergil sliced yet was healing and closing into a faded memory if not for the slice on the glove as well 

It snaps you from staring down into darkness, hand still reaching to grasp a hand that you’d never hold 

It closes tightly, leaving crescent indents in your palm 

“Let’s go” his words remain empty. Gone is his usual playfulness or lighthearted tone. Just empty and desolate.

Quietly you nod, getting up once more despite the pain with a small grimace 

You’d rather not let him know right now how injured you are 

He lost his brother again for fucks sake 

Hiding your limp and the strain of carrying Mary’s weapon you watch him pick up the sword he and Vergil raced to obtain earlier 

It’s not triumphant in any sort of way 

It’s just a tragedy 

One giant tragedy of two brothers

The sky back home is darkened by clouds as the destruction of the tower and demons loom like a veil of grief 

Wind blows through now abandoned buildings 

And silence permeates just about everything besides yours and Dante’s footsteps 

You nearly cry when you see Mary 

Her mismatched gaze locking with yours after a brief moment of surprise 

“Phew, What an ordeal” Dante acts nonchalant but you know he’s hiding his hurt. Mary’s canon is slung over his shoulder after he saw you struggle in carrying it awhile back. “You’re still here?” 

“I need that back” her eyes leave yours to linger on her canon before returning to you “and I need some answers from you later”. You nod, and Dante goes to hand her back the canon-

He pulls back at the last second “no late charges I hope. I also let them borrow it as well though seems like they already have the friend discount” 

Mary hums, “I’ll think of your charge. But for them it’s free”. Getting back her weapon she handle it with care, slinging it onto her back.

Dante moves and you stand beside him watching the sky, “we should be fine for now. But I’m sure they’ll be back soon, very soon”. Your hand grips his coat sleeve, and you feel his arm shake slightly.

“Are you crying?”

“It’s only the rain” the answer is immediate and yet despite the cloudy sky no water poured.

“The rain stopped already Dante” it comes more like a pained wheeze which gains a concerned look from both of them. They look like they’re gonna stop their conversation but you just grin in a silent gesture for them to continue. they need this, Dante needs this, and you won’t let yourself be the reason they stop.

“Devils never cry” 

“I see….maybe somewhere out there even a devil may cry when he loses a loved one. Don’t you think?” 

“Maybe…” there’s the slightest bit of hope in the response that makes you smile ever so slightly as you grip on his coat goes slack and your legs give out.

Distantly you hear both of them yell your name before succumbing to darkness.

As a kid the only activity your parents signed you up for that you enjoyed in any capacity was choir 

It was a pastime that had you away from under their thumb 

A small haven from the empty crypt you called a home 

It felt nice being apart of something as a collective and not on a stage alone with the spotlight solely on you 

All the other activities they had signed you up for were individual

So the attention was on you constantly 

If you messed up it would be noticed 

And if you faltered for even a moment their eyes would scowl from the crowd 

But in choir it was different, You harmonized with others 

Joining together no matter how small your role was to create a beautiful symphony of noise that echoed in the halls 

A lot of what you remember is just vague notes and melodies 

Latin dripping from your tongue and becoming garbled to the sands of time 

But you can’t help but think back to one song though

It was old and fractured and broken 

You couldn’t remember the lyrics but you did remember the melody and solemn organ 

your choir teacher at the time insisted you all try it 

At least to give it a chance despite its broken nature 

That melody of garbbled sounds you’ll never know the meaning to stuck with you in the depths of your mind 

And even when you forgot how you knew the melody in the first place it had remained 

That minute long chorus into some greater song dances in your mind once more 

You hum to it 

Singing with it as though you were back in those piers in white robes and little angel wings 

A halo of golden tinsel above your head 

But in that mass of voices you hear a familiar one 

Dante-

It pulls you from unconsciousness 

At first you feel before you properly understand anything around you 

Soft material under you 

Something heavy but warm laid over you 

And the rough material of bandages compressing your chest 

Distantly you hear the song quietly sung 

And then comes sight and your met with the sight of the wrecked store 

The jukebox is busted 

Pool table in two with the balls scattered on the floor 

Desk splintered in half 

Drum set and guitar smashed in the corner 

The fan was in pieces on the dirty and broken floor

Yet somehow miraculously the couch you were on was alright minus the greasy pizza stains you’d failed previously to wash out

Trying to sit up is met with instant regret, a sound of pain escaping you 

The material covering you that you now realize to be Dante’s jacket falling off to the ground 

The song stops 

But with that came the jingle of a familiar chain to a necklace guarding a key to the underworld 

“Easy there, you need to rest up before you start trying to do anything. Doctors orders” 

Gently, hands that had killed so many demons and spilled such blood pushes you back into laying down properly 

Then draping his coat back over you 

Thankfully it seemed he had the foresight to wash it 

A small victory

“How do you feel?”

“I’d say like hell but that be ironic” 

That gets a small chuckle from him 

On the small couch he sits himself by your legs

Not sitting in his typical spread out manner to ensure you have enough space to laze comfortably 

“Where’s Mary?”

“Mar- oh right lady. She’s off to get you some prescription. I opted to stay here and make sure you didn’t wake up and start trying to fix the place when half dead” the last part comes out a bit harsh but you guess you kinda deserve that.

“Ah…what’s with you calling her lady?”

“Said she preferred that now….that Mary died a long time ago” 

It goes back to an awkward silence 

Your mind racing with thoughts

His as well with how he tapped his finger against his leg 

Silence permeates with nothing to fill it

It’s uncomfortable

Not like the silence you’d used to have sparingly with him, especially when he once had a need to fill it with something

Yet again a tactic he used to defuse nerves

But now there’s nothing

He wants to say something

He always wants to talk but now he genuinely wants to say something

Yet he holds back

Let’s it die in his throat when he tunes his gaze to you

Guilt creeping up in him evident by how he quickly then averts his gaze

Unable to look at you

There’s a moment it looks like he wants to reach a hand to you 

To place it on your leg as a means of comfort

Yet he hesitates Pulling back as if his touch would burn you

All the while you lay on the couch with him by your feet 

This feels so weird 

You want to move but you know the reaction and answer you’ll get 

So you lay there 

A pillow propped up against the arm while his jacket acted as your blanket 

And silence permeates for minutes on end as he sits there

Observant and looking as if a single sound would send him into fight mode

A bit paranoid even for his traumatized teenage mind 

The juxbox is broken 

So there’s no way he can play something to calm himself down

A habit you noticed when he was particularly stressed 

But maybe-

“Were you singing earlier?”

Your voice feels raw, you hadn’t noticed it until just now 

Like you had garbled sand into glass 

You can’t sing like this 

But maybe he could 

“Yeah, why?” 

“What….what was that song you were singing?”

“It was something my mom taught me, uhhhh something like “devils never cry”? They made it into a kick ass rock song-”

“I learned it in choir class, it was my favourite. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it….can you sing it for me Dante?” 

He quirks a brow “you’re full of surprises you know. I’m not gonna lie and say I remember it well or that it’s accurate because I think it’s a translated version I was taught. but, whatever the patient wants I guess…All days, I'm looking in the Deep water flowing into me, Where are all tears, are they fallen? Tell me why I feel them in me? One day, they'll tell me what I'm exactly, Tears don't fall, I'll never heal them”

Mary- er lady helps with Dante in taking care of you 

Apparently after you passed out the two had rushed to a hospital while dealing with demons 

And your prediction of a rib poking into your lung was correct 

A bit too correct for your own sake 

Safe to say the bills were expensive and in the crossfire of all that your apartment wasn’t exempt from the destruction the hell tower you now learned was called the “temen-ni-Gru” had caused

Aka your building was destroyed in the madness and now you had to find someplace else to crash  

You’d be more upset if you had more to move and mourn

But honestly you had bare necessities 

And your apartment admittedly sucked so much so you were already looking for another place 

So for now you were crashing at the store 

That now finally had a name

Devil may cry 

A fitting name and much more easy to use instead of “the store”

Like you’d had to use for months up to this point 

Made you sound ominous when you said you worked at “the store” 

Anyways 

The two took shifts and turns 

One staying while the other went out to do whatever 

Presumably killing the few straggler demons that didn’t go down with the tower

Dantes been more silent than usual but at least for now you excuse it 

He lost his brother and now he had to look after you 

Not exactly a fun combination with the fact of the store needing to be fixed 

But with that comes talking with lady 

Catching up on what had happened 

And finally the talk you’d both been needing to have 

One seemingly long overdue when she sits down beside you 

Hands folded and the canon you now knew as Kalina Ann propped up on a folding chair 

You’d have to add buying new furniture for dmc to the list of stuff to do later 

“So….why’d you do it?” Lady is quiet, her words more like a secret than anything 

“Do what?”

“Run away?”

So they told People you ran away instead of them kicking you out?

You aren’t exactly surprised but did they really think it would make them look much better? 

A sigh voluntarily leaves you 

Depending on the lengths they went missing posters might be up 

You hope to whatever god there may or may not be that they wouldn’t that go that far

But considering this is the first time you’d stood your ground against them and didn’t come crawling back…

Well, control freaks will do what they can to reel you back in no matter the cost 

Especially since they were hinging on a cushy future in which they retired early and relied on you as an atm 

“Sure running away, that’s definitely what you call throwing your kid out to the curb because they won’t become a lawyer and saying not to come back until they changed their mind” the tone is slightly bitter but not aimed to her, moreso the circumstance

At hearing that you see her mismatched eyes widen a bit 

Pits of Emerald green and ruby red peering into that of your own 

Seeing truth and bitterness stew in them 

But at their core was sadness and hope 

Bitterness at the memories 

Yet a hope for the future 

Something she’d never quite seen in your eyes 

And it’s something you can’t see in hers anymore 

For the whole she’d been looking after you it’s been present 

Looming over the girl that had been your friend 

Grief

Loss 

And an overarching sense that she’s on the brink of collapse 

Can’t blame her either

Not after whatever she’s been through up till now 

All on her own after her mom died left to stew in anger 

Only for now the grief to hit her full force for not only Miss Ann

But also for the memory of what once was her family 

For her kind mother whom she talked about in earnest 

Who despite never meeting you always packed extra snacks for Mary to share with you 

For a father there but always absent

Nose stuck in his studies whom she talked of in hopes of earning his attention 

Until that faded as years passed 

And what’s left is a bitterness to the man who took everything 

Who tried to kill her 

Who killed her mom 

His own wife 

All for the sake of an obsession that would be for nothing because ultimately he only experienced the power he wanted for mere moments 

Leaving Mary the unfortunate victim in it all

You don’t have the right to continue complaining about your parental situation to her 

Not with what she’s experienced 

Not with what she’s lost in such a short period of time 

But her eyes are what stop you 

Brimming with emotion 

Two toned eyes of emerald green and ruby red 

They shine like jewels too 

Pretty and glimmering in the dull lighting of devil may cry 

“Why did you never tell me how bad they were to you?” Her question is quiet at first but gains volume from a faint whisper to a steadfast tone as she then asks “why didn’t you come to me when you were kicked out?”

“I just….at school and with you I wanted to be normal. I didn’t want to think about what’s at home when I walked through the doors I wanted to be my age for once, and I felt that way only with you till now.” As for that second question, it’s a bit of harder thing to admit to her let alone yourself “i was panicked…I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want to be a burden-” 

“Burden?” It’s uttered in disbelief “how can you think like that! You’re never a burden to me! I was worried sick and they said you ran off! And I was alone and then I lost my mom”she pauses at that, going suddenly quiet as the words died in her mouth.

Your not really sure what to say after that 

Neither is she

She just stays motionless besides the shake in her hands

In all your years of knowing her you’d never seen her like this 

Even when she scraped her knee on the playground 

She’d always been strong 

Always held back tears even when her boyfriend in first year dumped her just before winter break 

Always had been the strong shoulder for you to lean on when you were upset 

And yet that girl is gone 

Mary is dead and lady is what’s left of that girl 

The bitterness 

The resentment 

the overwhelming grief of loosing both her parents 

And most importantly the loneliness of it all 

And your left to hold those pieces of her

Both emotionally as she breaks from the strenuous weight of everything crashing on her now 

And physically as you push past your discomfort and pain to hold her close 

She hesitates for a moment 

Unsure and unsteady 

But eases and pulls your closer 

Holding you as if you were her last lifeline 

Because in a way you are her lifeline 

You are the last good thing from Mary’s life that still remains 

And though that girl is dead, lady clings to that barest pinprick of light 

Because when being born again from rage and anger with her revenge now satiated 

What more does she have?

“I…I’m sorry” she’s desolate, quiet and a tad withdrawn until you pull her close. She’d always been the one you leaned on, but Mary was gone and it was time for you to repay the favour to what’s left of her.

“No, I’m sorry too. I should’ve contacted you, did anything sooner….i was scared and wanted to start over now that i had the chance. I should’ve thought of how you felt”

She’s silent for a few moments, but draws herself closer into your embrace. “We’re both pretty messed up huh?”

You can’t help but laugh a bit at that. “Yeah…guess we are. But we have each other again, and I think that’s what matters most right now”

She nods, and that’s all that needs to be said

….Well besides “I can get revenge on your parents-“ and “how about we talk about that later Lady”

He’s distant and stuck in his head more than before

It’s something that most wouldn’t notice since he tries to act like his typical self

Lady falls for it, though reluctantly because she doesn’t know him well but writes off why his smiles don’t reach his eyes

But you’d known Dante for about a year now

You’d known him long enough to notice when he’s off

It’s in the way his jokes aren’t the same

How he can’t properly look at you as he did before, with a sense of ease and joy that’s now damped

The drumming of his fingers and the thump of his boot against the floor creating soft creaks in the hardwood

you can tell whatever he didn’t say before was eating away at him

This wasn’t just grief (though that was still heavily apart of this) but rather something else that you can’t name until he was honest with it

Now, you wouldn’t particularly call yourself a confrontational person

You’d rather roll over than raise your voice or objection to your parents until that fateful night

And even then you mostly stood there being yelled at

You’d hardly name that a battle of words

But when it came to you, you wouldn’t do much to stand up for yourself

But this wasn’t about you

This was about Dante

And for as much as you could rot in silence like a forgotten fruit at the back of the fridge, you wouldn’t let Dante do the same

Not with how you see it absolutely eating at him

Just as it did to you before

Because you can see yourself so badly in him

And it hurts more than your currently broken chest

So when it’s finally his turn to stay with you while lady was out you take the chance

Because you can lose your apartment, your cold childhood home and what little shit you had

But you couldn’t lose him

You wouldn’t let him slip through your fingers and plunge into a different darkness that was all to similar to that of the hell Vergil voluntarily fell into

Not if you could do anything about it

“You’ve been more quiet as of late…”

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

It goes back to silence for a few minutes

This idiot isn’t taking the bait to air out his thoughts

Maybe you’d have to go the direct route instead

“So….are you gonna tell me what you wanted to say a few days ago?”

“Who’s to say I had anything on my mind”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at that, then reaching over to grab his shoulder. He was gonna run and you’re not letting him. “I know you well enough to know when you stuck in your head about something Dante…just please be honest and tell me. I don’t like seeing you distant like this”

There’s a pause in his actions at your touch, whatever was compelling him to run being stopped in his tracks. And then he answers “why’d you not say anything?”

“About what”

“Your injuries! You were hurt and on the brink of dying and you didn’t say anything about it!” 

“Dante you had just lost your brother. You had other things to deal with-“ 

“And I could’ve lost you too on top of that as well! Because I didn’t notice you were on the brink of dying and you didn’t say anything!” 

His eyes are clouded now in tears, glossy and making the blue shine like jewels

In any other scenario you’d admire the beauty in them

Yet all you see is pain refracted in the pools

Dante looks less his age and more like a scared little boy

But maybe that’s what he’s always been at heart

A scared boy still trapped in that hiding place as the house burned around him

Arms wrapped around himself to try and feel the fleeting warmth of his mothers touch

Loss drenches him to the bone

And you now realize that you’d nearly made it worse by brushing it off

But you can’t be fully to blame

Not when all your life you’d been raised to push away your own feelings

Your pain for others around you

And yet now he wants you to bare it to him

To ripe yourself open at its most tender

Because he was scared for you

Because he truly cared just as lady did

“You nearly died because of me, you were dragged into this because of me. Because I was selfish and couldn’t let go even when I knew it’d be dangerous. I….I shouldn’t have��.you’d be safer if you left. Found another job and got away from here” it come out as a quiet whisper from him, his hair overshadowing his face and obscuring his eyes. You’d known him well enough though to know they were brimming with tears. You knew at the end there was also the unsaid notion of “away from me” Did this goof really think that after all this you’d leave? Knowing how much pain he was going through and had admitted to you he was scared of being alone again. Shaking your head your hand finds his, fingers linking together.

“You’re an idiot you know? You think I’m gonna leave you here when you still need me to remind you of the overdue bills? This place would go under if not for me. I’m not going anywhere” 

“I’m being serious here for once-“ 

“I know damn it, but you listen to me for a minute before you get it all up in your head and make a decision without my input” it’s a bit sharp but you need to right now, he’s spiraling and already trying to decide to push you away. With a groan you slowly lift yourself up, getting a sound of protest from him before you silenced him with your open palm telling him to stop. Hesitantly he does so, watching you struggle but eventually sit up, hand clenching his. “I’m happy here Dante” 

“Your happy here?” It’s spoken in disbelief. Maybe all your bitching had made him think otherwise but you did enjoy your time here, you wouldn’t trade it for the world or whatever cushy future your parents wanted. “Your happy here after all this? After you nearly died because of m-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there. We’ve had this conversation before and I didn’t know then but I know now why I want to stay despite the risks. Dante I never really lived before now. My life was made up for me and my outcome was predetermined before I was kicked out. And sure, maybe staying here is dangerous” you think of that future if you’d stayed and done what your parents wanted, an older unhappy version of you staring blankly in your mind “but danger is apart of life, you can’t live without it. And I’ve never been more happier, more free than I am here. So no, I don’t care about the danger I’m staying…understand?”. You see his eyes, they���re brimming with tears and more emotions than you can processed. But beneath it all you see Dante. The kind annoying dork who like his brother longed for companionship. His lips upturn ever so slightly as your free hand not entwined with his gently finds itself cupping his cheek, thumb wiping away a tear he didn’t realize had fallen. 

“I’m staying and I don’t intend on leaving anytime soon even when things get dicey….understand?”

“Yeah…loud and clear honeypie” 

You let the use of that horrid nickname slide once again with only a roll of your eyes. You’d never admit that it maybe made you smile, something you’ll deny vehemently when he inevitably brings it up later.  But for now at least it’s ok. 

You’re both gonna be ok.

“Hey Dante?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to be back”

…….“good to have you back hon-“

“Finish that sentence and I’ll make you sign all the work orders required to fix this place”

[mintyys-blog]

I love your work, can I request invincible variants x reader who

can break the 4th wall?

HEADCANONS | mark variants with s/o who breaks the 4th wall

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS:

MAIN MARK

“So this is your character development moment,” you say, gesturing at nothing. “Cue the heartfelt speech, and maybe a swell in the soundtrack?”

Mark just blinks at you. “What are you talking about? Are you okay?”

You squint. “Huh. I figured you’d be genre-aware by now. Rookie mistake.”

“There’s… no soundtrack,” he says slowly. “Is this some kind of joke?”

VILTRUMITE MARK

“You’re acting like this is some kind of… story,” he growls.

“It is. You’re the hardened antihero from a tragic empire. I’m the wild card with unexplained powers. The shippers are gonna love this.”

His brows knit together. “What is a shipper?”

You just grin. “Exactly.”

MOHAWK MARK

“This is your edgy arc,” you say, watching him dramatically leap across a rooftop. “Moody. Shirtless. Probably doomed.”

He squints at you. “How the hell do you know what I’m gonna do before I do it?”

“Because I read ahead.”

“Read what ahead?”

You tap your temple. “The script.”

He flips you off and storms away.

SINISTER MARK

“You talk like someone who’s read my thoughts,” he says.

“No, just your Wiki page,” you say cheerfully. “Very dramatic, by the way. Love the angst.”

He goes still. “Wiki?”

“You really don’t remember the Season 2 finale? Oof. Repression is a hell of a coping mechanism.”

“What are you?”

OMNI MARK

“You always start the scene with a threat. It’s your thing,” you sigh. “Then you’ll say something about how I disappoint you.”

“You do,” he snaps.

“Boom. Called it.” You turn toward the empty air. “He’s so predictable. This is why they keep rebooting him.”

“Who are you talking to?” he demands. “What are you looking at? There’s nothing there!”

PRISONER MARK

“You ever wonder if this is all just some script someone’s watching for fun?” you ask, sprawled out beside him.

He flinches. “No… Why would you say that?”

“Because I see them.” You point past the ‘camera.’ “They’re right there. Watching us.”

He backs away, panicked. “Stop. Don’t say that. Don’t look at things that aren’t real.”

SHIESTY MARK

“You think you’re slick,” you grin. “But your arc’s been obvious since Episode 5.”

He pauses mid-sentence. “…What episode?”

“Never mind. Keep monologuing, it makes the edits easier.”

“Edits of what? What are you even talking about?”

You just wink. “You’ll catch up in the finale. Maybe.”

EMPEROR MARK

“Your empire collapses in like… six more chapters,” you say as you sip something that wasn’t in your hand two seconds ago.

He stiffens. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” You glance straight past him. “Quick, zoom in on his eyes. He’s doing the denial stare.”

“There’s no one there,” he says tightly.

“That’s what they all say.”

MASKLESS MARK

“You keep talking like this isn’t real,” he says quietly. “Like we’re… fake.”

“I’m just the self-aware love interest,” you shrug. “You’re the guy the audience cries over when you die tragically.”

His face darkens. “That’s not funny.”

“Tell that to the writers.”

FULL MASK MARK

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you muse, circling him. “Just dramatic body language. Classic.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“You’re the mysterious fan favorite. Enigmatic. Broken. Probably a walking metaphor.”

He doesn’t move. But something in his posture stiffens—like he’s starting to notice how weird you are.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, looking directly at the camera. “He doesn’t know we’re in a scene yet.”

TAG LIST: @onlybatsyy

[inseobts]

Sketching Another Life

sabo x gn!reader

you keep sketching sabo even though he died in front of you years ago. but what happens when he appears again?

a/n: omg finally got the chance to post this akdjsj it was in my draft for months and months lmao

words count: 2.9k

tags: doesn’t follow the anime canon events, childhood friends, protective luffy

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Luffy doesn’t hesitate when he sees Sabo again.

The moment his big brother stands before him, alive, real, breathing—he hugs him.

It’s not even a conscious thought. His body just moves, arms wrapping tightly around Sabo’s torso, pressing his forehead against his coat. He squeezes his eyes shut, because damn it, Sabo was supposed to be dead.

Sabo stiffens for only a second before his arms return the embrace just as fiercely “Luffy…” His voice is hoarse.

Luffy grips the back of Sabo’s coat tighter “You idiot,” he mutters “You—you were gone.”

“I know,” Sabo whispers, and there’s so much regret in those two words that it makes Luffy’s chest ache.

It takes a long time before Luffy finally pulls away. His eyes scan Sabo’s face, as if memorizing every inch of him. He’s older now, different, but still Sabo.

And then Sabo asks the question Luffy knew was coming.

“…What about y/n?”

Luffy’s stomach drops.

He knew Sabo would ask. He knew the moment his brother remembered everything, he’d remember you too.

Because how could he not?

You weren’t just a part of their childhood—you were one of them. The fourth member of ASL. The one who always trailed after them with a sketchbook tucked under your arm, the one who kept their memories alive on paper.

Luffy swallows hard, looking away. He remembers the way you shattered when Ace died. The way you curled into yourself, sketching their faces over and over like you were trying to bring them back.

The way you stopped smiling.

The way you stopped living.

You had lost both of them, and now Luffy refuses to let you break all over again.

So he lies, and for the first time ever he has to be good at lying, because now it's important and he can't do it wrong.

He forces a grin, rubbing the back of his head “Ah, y/n? Yeah, they’re—uh, they’re fine! Doing their own thing!”

Sabo frowns “Really?”

“Yep!” Luffy nods—too quickly “They’re not on the crew anymore. Just, y’know, off somewhere!”

Sabo stares at him “…You’re lying.”

Luffy freezes.

Sabo’s gaze sharpens “Where are they, Luffy?”

Luffy crosses his arms “Not tellin’ you.”

Sabo blinks, caught off guard “What?”

“You heard me,” Luffy says, suddenly serious “I’m not tellin’ you.”

Sabo stares, confusion flickering in his expression “Why not?”

Luffy looks him dead in the eye “Because you died.”

Sabo flinches.

“You died, and Ace died, and y/n almost didn’t make it through that.” Luffy’s voice is tight now, controlled but firm “I won’t let you hurt them again.”

Sabo feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.

You… suffered? Because of him?

“I just want to see them” Sabo says, softer now.

Luffy shakes his head “No.”

And that’s the end of it for now.

Sabo doesn’t push the subject.

He lets Luffy avoid it. He lets him steer the conversation elsewhere. But the thought of you lingers in his mind, heavy and unshakable.

Are you really okay?

Something doesn’t sit right, and then, by pure accident, Sabo finds it.

He’s wandering the Sunny, familiarizing himself with Luffy’s ship. The night breeze is cool, the ocean calm. He steps into a quieter part of the deck, where a small table sits against the railing.

There’s a notebook on top of it.

At first, he doesn’t think much of it. But then his eyes catch the open page—the sketch.

His breath stops.

It’s them. Him. Ace. Luffy. And you.

The four of you, standing side by side, grinning like you hadn’t a care in the world. Just like old times.

But that’s not what makes his chest tighten.

It’s the signature.

A dumb, childish sign that only one person ever used. A weird little mark that never made sense to anyone but you. The same signature you used when you were kids.

And right beneath it—a date.

Just a few days ago.

Sabo’s eyes widen.

Luffy lied.

You’re here.

Sabo grips the notebook, knuckles white. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he stares at the date—just a few days ago.

He doesn’t know whether to be angry or just hurt. He knew right away that Luffy lied but now he has the confirmation.

Before he realizes it, his feet are already moving. He storms across the deck, gripping the notebook tight in his hand. He finds Luffy near the mast, shoving meat into his mouth like nothing’s wrong.

Like he didn’t just lie to his own brother.

Sabo doesn’t stop walking until he’s standing right in front of him “Luffy.”

Luffy looks up, still chewing “Hmm?”

Sabo holds up the notebook “Explain this.”

Luffy freezes.

His eyes flick to the sketch—to the signature. His chewing slows, and for the first time since reuniting, Sabo sees something rare in his little brother’s expression.

Guilt.

“Sabo…” Luffy swallows, setting his food down.

“You lied” Sabo says, voice controlled but firm.

Luffy doesn’t deny it. He just looks away.

Sabo tightens his grip on the notebook “Why are you doing all this?”

Luffy exhales through his nose, running a hand under his hat “Because you hurt them” he says simply.

Sabo’s stomach twists “I—what?”

“You heard me” Luffy says, looking back at him “Ace died. You were gone. Y/N lost both of you. And you wanna know what happened after that?”

Sabo doesn’t answer. He’s not sure he can.

Luffy’s jaw clenches “They stopped living, Sabo.” His voice isn’t loud, but it’s heavy, filled with something raw “They stopped smiling. They kept drawing, yeah, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t for fun anymore. It was like…” He hesitates, searching for the right words “Like they were trying to keep you guys from disappearing forever.”

Sabo’s fingers curl.

Luffy sighs “I thought I was gonna lose them too.” His voice drops to something dangerously soft “I almost did.”

Sabo’s breath catches.

He never thought about it. He never realized.

He had assumed you were strong. You always were. You were the one who stood beside them, laughing, teasing, drawing stupid little comics of them falling into ditches.

You had always been there but he left. Ace left. And you had to bear that weight with Luffy alone.

Sabo looks down at the sketch again, his own face staring back at him from the page. The way you had drawn him—older, smiling, standing beside his brothers. A version of himself that you had never even gotten to see.

And yet… you still imagined him there, growing up with all of you.

He swallows hard “I need to see them.”

Luffy frowns “No.”

Sabo’s head snaps up “Luffy—”

“I said no!” Luffy stands up, fists clenched “I just got you back, and I’m not letting you mess them up again!”

Sabo’s chest tightens “Luffy, I—”

“They’re happy now!” Luffy cuts him off “They started smiling again! They’re finally okay! What if seeing you ruins that?!…”

Silence.

Sabo stares at him, realization settling in.

Luffy isn’t just protecting you.

He’s terrified.

Terrified that seeing Sabo again will break you all over again.

Sabo takes a slow breath, his grip loosening on the notebook. His voice is softer this time “Luffy… you don’t get to decide that for them.”

Luffy flinches.

Sabo takes a step forward “You think they’ll fall apart if they see me?” He shakes his head “You don’t know that. Maybe it’ll hurt at first, yeah. But don’t you think… maybe they deserve to decide that for themselves?”

Luffy doesn’t respond. His jaw is tight, hands trembling slightly at his sides.

Sabo exhales “I need to see them, Luffy.”

Luffy clenches his teeth, eyes shadowed beneath his hat.

Then, finally—

“…They’re in the infirmary.”

Sabo’s breath catches.

Luffy doesn’t look at him “They got hurt on our last stop. Chopper said they just need rest and Sanji is there to keep an eye on them” He crosses his arms “If you wake them up and make them cry, I’m gonna punch you.”

Sabo huffs a small laugh “Fair deal.”

But Luffy doesn’t laugh. He just turns away “…Don’t hurt them again.”

Sabo watches him for a moment. Then, he nods “I won’t.”

With that, he heads toward the infirmary and then hesitates in front of the door.

For the first time since finding out you were here, uncertainty creeps in.

What if Luffy’s right?

What if seeing him just brings back all the pain you worked so hard to bury?

He exhales, pushing the thought aside. No—he has to see you. He has to make things right.

Slowly, he pushes the door open.

The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lantern. The air smells faintly of medicine, and the steady sound of breathing fills the silence.

His eyes land on you instantly.

You’re curled up on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, your expression peaceful. Even after all these years, even after everything, you still look like you.

Sanji is seated in a chair beside your bed, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette resting between his fingers. He doesn’t look surprised to see Sabo standing there. If anything, he looks… expecting.

Sanji exhales a slow stream of smoke “Took you long enough.”

Sabo tenses “You knew I was coming?”

Sanji leans back, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray on the table “Didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Luffy’s been acting weird ever since you showed up.” He tilts his head “You finding that drawing must’ve sped things up.”

Sabo doesn’t respond. His eyes flick back to you, his chest tightening.

Sanji notices “They’re okay,” he says, voice quieter now “Just exhausted and resting. Took a rough hit on our last island, but nothing Chopper couldn’t fix.”

Sabo clenches his fists. The idea of you being hurt—even now—doesn’t sit right with him.

Sanji watches him carefully “So? You gonna wake them up?”

Sabo hesitates “…I don’t know if I should.”

Sanji takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose. “You really think you get to make that choice?”

Sabo looks at him, startled.

Sanji doesn’t break eye contact “You left them once already, didn’t you?” He taps his cigarette against the tray again “You don’t get to decide what’s best for them. Not anymore.”

Sabo’s breath catches.

Sanji sighs, standing up “I promised Luffy I’d keep an eye on them but I also know they’d kill me if they found out I let you walk away.” He gives Sabo a pointed look “So, what’s it gonna be?”

Sabo looks at you again.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

Then, finally—he moves.

He steps forward, slowly, quietly, until he’s right beside your bed. His breath is unsteady as he really takes you in.

You’re different now. Older. But still you.

And then, without thinking, he does something he hasn’t done in over a decade.

He reaches out—hesitates—then gently brushes his fingers against your hair.

Sanji raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Sabo swallows hard. His voice, when he speaks, is barely above a whisper.

“…I’m sorry.”

For leaving.

For making you grieve.

For not finding you sooner.

For everything.

And then— you stir.

Sabo’s breath stills.

Your eyelids flutter slightly, brows furrowing as if resisting the pull of consciousness. He pulls his hand back quickly, heart pounding.

He’s not ready but he doesn’t have a choice.

Because then—your eyes open.

You blink a few times, adjusting to the dim light, and then your gaze lands on him.

And you freeze.

Sabo’s throat goes dry. He should say something. But he can’t. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t do anything except stare because you’re looking at him like he isn’t real.

Like he’s a ghost.

Your lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. Just wide, unblinking eyes, your body going stiff beneath the blanket.

Sabo finally forces himself to speak.

“Hey.”

It’s weak. Hoarse. Not nearly enough.

You don’t react. You don’t move. You just keep staring.

A thousand emotions flicker across your face—confusion, disbelief, shock—before suddenly, your expression shatters.

Your hands tremble as you clutch the blanket. Your breath hitches, quick and shallow, like you’re trying to hold something back.

“Sanji.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, but Sanji is at your side in an instant “I’m here.”

You don’t look away from Sabo, like if you blink, he’ll disappear “You see him too, right?”

Sabo’s chest tightens.

Sanji exhales, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah, sweetheart. I see him.”

You inhale sharply “Oh.”

Sabo takes a cautious step forward “y/n, I—”

“Don’t.”

His stomach drops.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut “Don’t talk.”

He stiffens.

Sanji places a hand on your shoulder “Breathe,” he murmurs “Nice and slow.”

You try—you really do—but it’s too much.

Because Sabo is standing right in front of you, looking older but still so much like the boy you lost.

And the worst part?

He’s looking at you like he’s sorry.

And that makes you angry.

Your hands curl into fists “You—” Your voice shakes, raw with something you can’t name “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Sabo flinches “I know.”

“Do you?” You snap your head up, eyes burning “Do you actually know what it was like? To lose you? To lose Ace?! I'm so happy to see you but what the hell? Why only now... I don't know how to feel...”

Sanji’s fingers tense against your shoulder, but he doesn’t stop you.

Sabo takes a breath, steady but guilty “I can’t take back what happened. I've lost my memory and got it back just after Ace... But I—”

“You what?” Your voice rises, throat tight “You just forgot about us?!”

Sabo’s expression twists “I didn’t—”

“You did!” The words rip out of you before you can stop them “You left, Sabo! You left me, and then Ace—!” Your voice breaks “And then Ace—!”

You can’t say it.

You can’t say it because if you do, it becomes real again.

The weight in your chest feels suffocating.

And then—a hand.

Not Sanji’s.

Sabo’s.

Warm, hesitant, but firm as it settles over yours.

You stiffen.

Sabo kneels beside the bed, meeting your gaze with something deep, something raw.

“y/n” he murmurs, voice almost pleading “I’m here now.”

Your breath hitches.

Because that’s the problem.

He’s here.

And you don’t know if you can handle it.

You don’t speak, don’t even move for a few seconds. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a chaos of emotions swirling in the pit of your stomach. But then, without warning, you pull him close.

It’s a sudden movement, urgent, like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you don’t hold onto him with everything you’ve got. Your arms are tight around his neck, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

Sabo’s breath catches. He doesn’t know what to do, but he doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around you, careful and gentle, as though afraid that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment.

And it’s fragile.

Because in this hug, there’s tension. So much unspoken hurt in the way your body trembles against his, the way your breath hitches every time his fingers brush the back of your head. This doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t make up for the years, the pain, the void that has been left in the wake of his absence.

But it means you missed him. It means, despite everything, you’re still here. Still clinging to him.

He feels you pull away just a fraction, enough for him to meet your gaze. Your eyes are red and swollen, and the sight of it nearly breaks him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand, trying to hold it together. And then, your voice comes out rough, raw, barely more than a whisper.

“Don’t expect me to forgive you right away.”

Sabo’s chest tightens. He wants to speak, to apologize, to explain himself, but the words are stuck in his throat. Instead, he just nods, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I know,” he says quietly, voice thick “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You swallow, your breath still uneven, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence between you is heavy, but it’s not suffocating. It’s an understanding.

Then, without warning, you move again. You turn your back to him, walking slowly over to the window, the moonlight casting a soft glow over your features.

Sabo stays where he is, unsure of what to do, still unable to quite believe that he’s standing here, in front of you, after everything.

You take a deep breath and speak, your voice more controlled now, though the weight of everything still lingers.

“When Ace died… I thought I was gonna lose everything. But I didn’t, Sabo. I stayed. For Luffy. For… for us.” You pause, fingers curling into the fabric of your blanket “And I can’t—can’t—lose you again.”

Sabo’s heart aches. He doesn’t deserve that. You stayed. You stayed through the worst of it, even when he wasn’t there, even when Ace was gone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, barely audible “I can’t take back what I did.”

You don’t look at him, but your voice trembles when you speak again.

“I know.”

It’s simple. But it’s all you need to say.

Sabo stands there for a long moment, the weight of your words sinking in. It isn’t enough to fix things. It won’t ever be enough. But it’s a start.

And he’ll take it.

For now.

[mercurial-chuckles]

Savage Saturday Thought!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Warnings: Just fluffy fluff | Mutual pining | Smitten Captain Rogers | Dad kinda playing cupid | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I'm missing anything. | WC: 832 A/N: This drabble is more of a case study. With all the weird stuff going on with my blog lately and the lack of interaction, I just wanted to see if my fic-tag posts are getting filtered out. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this blurb--and if you do, please take a moment to interact. It would mean the world to me. Drabble based on a prompt @buck-star (Thank you, Sydney 🩷🫂) shared it with me a while ago "Friends, that's all." "I've seen that boy almost snap his neck because he heard your laugh and wanted to see why you were laughing. But yes, keep telling yourself you're friends." Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! GIF credits to the OP. Thank you. Check out my other works: Masterlist

♡ Weeklong Thingamajig ♡

Indulge Away!

****

"Stop it," you grumbled.

If you could, you'd have fled, but the cabs cost a fucking fortune from the compound, and the shuttle services weren't running for the next four hours anyway.

Your dad shook his head, chuckling. You bet his eyes were glinting, too. But you didn't dare look his way, so you put your entire focus on staring at the lake.

The water was too still. A little breeze would help. Unbeknownst to you, your eyes shifted, catching sight of the man you'd been trying your hardest to avoid.

Holy moly! What a glorious man! Golden boy man, indeed.

He looked divine. That t-shirt he wore looked so good on him. A light shade of olive green. It suited him. Who were you kidding? You bet that man could pull off any color.

"Really? You can't keep ignoring me, young lady!" your dad piped in. And your attention immediately snapped back to the lake.

"I could try," you mumbled.

Your dearest dad was being far too annoying right now.

This was all Tony's fault, really. Tony had stumbled upon you having lunch with your dad near the compound one day while your father was in town. Unfortunately, Tony had been craving a milkshake that day and happened to spot the two of you.

What followed was Tony's overt excitement at seeing you there as if he hadn't seen you in forever. He was so loud it nearly made poor Derek drop the tray he was carrying to the next table. Tony had invited himself to join, and to your dismay, your dad had been utterly delighted. That was the beginning of it. From there, it had all been a downward spiral for your sanity. Tony and your dad had a common taste in music and a penchant for sharing your distressing tales.

Worse still, your dad now had access to the compound. This morning, he'd even called to say he'd pick you up himself since he was heading to the spring party anyway.

Not that you really minded. Not deep, deep down. Truthfully, you were happy your dad wasn't brooding or getting lost in his paintings anymore.

But the real dreadful issue?

Your dear father had become far too intrigued by your interactions with a certain man. Your dad was no fool.

So, when he'd innocently handed you a lemonade earlier, you should have recognized the look on his face. You should have braced yourself. But you'd been none the wiser.

Because.

You were sitting on one of the lounge chairs by the beach, busy enjoying the view. The scenery, the warming lemonade, the hubbub, the still lake, and most importantly, one extremely gorgeous Captain Rogers. The sharp nose, that jaw, those muscles, those thighs, and…

"It's for him, isn't it? Those special art supplies you requested for a "friend's" birthday last year. Those were for the good Captain. Weren't they?" He remarked casually, and you froze.

You'd been fighting your case, nonchalantly, but your dad was grinning at you with that weird smile.

That was three whole minutes ago and you were counting, just trying to keep a cool-as-a-cucumber look, which was, mind you, not an easy task in that scorching heat.

You did consider begging someone to take you home, but that would only mean handing victory to your father.

Maybe you could walk. Yeah, the heat was really getting to you. Wasn't it?

"Friends, Dad. That's all," you insisted, trying your best to steer clear of discussing your one-sided, clearly non-platonic affections for Captain Rogers. You were careful not to tread into that dangerous territory, even in your own thoughts.

"Uh-huh! Friends!" Your dad echoed, nodding.

"I've seen that boy almost snap his neck because he heard your laugh and wanted to see why you were laughing. But yes, keep telling yourself and me that you're friends." He continued, looking far too smug.

Your dad was overthinking Steve's reaction--the too kind-hearted, goddamn gorgeous man's reaction--just like you often did, and chastised yourself for doing that exactly.

You shook your head, a scoff ready to escape your throat, but you held your ground, and turned to face your dad.

"Excuse you, old man. Aren't you supposed to detest my guy friends? Isn't that, like, your thing?" you demanded lamely, feeling a flicker of satisfaction at gaining some upper hand in the conversation.

However, he simply laughed.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't mind this guy." He shrugged, gesturing subtly in Steve's direction before continuing, "I don't need to lecture him on taking care of you. He already does it better than I do. And he loves you." He smiled, completely oblivious to the emotional grenade he'd just tossed.

You gasped, the lemonade slipping from your grasp and spilling all over your sundress.

"Hey, you okay?" Steve's voice came beside you, sending your heart into overdrive. Your breath hitched. Your dad's little speech about Steve Rogers loving you had reached its perfect and utterly humiliating climax. Now, here Steve was, handing you a handkerchief, perched beside you, his brow creased in concern.

To your utter annoyance and Steve's evident confusion, your dad burst out laughing harder.

"I rest my case, cupcake," your dad exclaimed, clearly enjoying himself. "Steve's got you. Now, if you'll excuse me, Clint said he'd show me some cool tricks."

With that, your dad briskly walked away, leaving you to stare at Steve Rogers' balming blue eyes.

****

♡ Weeklong Thingamajig ♡

If you wanna be tagged in my works, add yourself here. <3

@nekoannie-chan   @salvatoreitmeanssaviour   @bitchy-bi-trash   @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp   @greatenthusiasttidalwave   @zaraomarrogers   @shadowrose13-blog1   @king814318   @yiiiikesmish @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog @rogerscut @steviebbboi @stellar-solar-flare @looking1016 @bernelflo   @shadyloveobjects @navyhua23 @mimisweetz @buck-star @saiyanprincessswanie @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @blushingrn @alexxavicry @soelstress @bval-1 @astheskycries @8crazy-freak8 @avengersfan25 @stuckysgal @rogersbarber @slowlyshycomputer @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @thiquefunlover63 @notsostrangerthing @iamtamera @blackhawkfanatic @10bucksnpete

[di-lucss]

I would love a little drabble or story abt ur last thought (Jason not being made for hookup culture). He’s not the guy that catches feelings from sleeping w someone but rather he needs feel something for someone before sleeping w them (or else he’ll feel like physically nauseous). Unfortunately he’s stuck fwbs!reader who is blissfully unaware of that b/c he (stupidly) agreed to whatever she said, hoping he could win her over (took advice from Dick, who also doesn’t have a successful love life, which seems a bit silly but hindsight 20/20).

ohhhhhh anon you lovely lovely person i have been WAITING for this request. since i’m not very good at writing fem!pov i hope you’re cool with vague second pov!! jason is so acespec coded i lobe him. i wrote this in like an hour and a half ummm this just shows you can do anything with a little inspiration and motivation.

cw: very mild suggestive content. yearning. so much yearning. non-graphic mentions of injuries. taking advice from richard john grayson.

word count: 0.6k.

tags: @dulcet-aurora @scrumptiouslylovingarcade ❪ feel free to dm me if you'd like to be added! ❫

thinking about fwb!jason todd.

fwb!jason todd who didn’t start sleeping with you just for the hell of it. you guys had been friends for a good long while; he’d crash at your apartment every now and then after patrols, you’d patch him up when he nearly bled out was grazed with a blade or a bullet or whatever.

fwb!jason todd whose feelings for you just kind of hit him one night out of nowhere when he was once again in need of your handy-dandy sewing skills—something you’d picked up in the months since he started barging through your living room window every few nights.

fwb!jason todd who didn’t even feel the needle piercing his skin as he stared at you. at the concentration in your eyes, the set of your brows, the way your tongue stuck out between your teeth just a touch as you did your best to keep the stitches on his side clean and even. you were always considerate like that; trying to make sure nothing scarred to badly, that he wasn’t in too much pain, that he

fwb!jason todd who didn’t even mean to kiss you when you looked up at him. it just kind of happened. it was clumsy and a little rushed, but it didn't feel like the rest. didn't feel wrong. didn't make him feel like his skin was crawling off his bones.

fwb!jason todd who's had hookups before, but none of them ever felt right. but when the two of you wound up tangled up under some throw blanket on your faded leather couch... he just couldn't explain it. it didn't feel like he was betraying himself. your body slotted against his like it was supposed to be there—smooth and right.

fwb!jason todd who woke up the next morning and you looked so peaceful sleeping on him, head on his chest, arms around his waist. he didn't feel repulsed, he felt a weird, uncommon sort of peace.

fwb!jason todd who wasn't really ready for the conversation that came after. the 'what is this now' talk. he'd never had to have that talk before, not with anyone else. all he knew was he didn't want to lose that feeling—whatever it really was—that he got from you.

fwb!jason todd who just nodded along to every word you said. 'i really liked last night.' so did he. 'i don't want it to make things awkward.' neither did he. 'i don't know that i'm in a place to have a relationship.' that one made his chest inexplicably tight. what were the two of you supposed to do then? go on like nothing happened? like it was just like any other night where you'd sew him up and he'd crash on the couch and be gone before dawn?

fwb!jason todd who nearly didn't catch the solution you gave; 'we could just... keep doing that. but like, as friends. if you want.' he didn't know that was really an option—not for him, with the complicated feelings that had apparently been building up inside him for this long. he could only say he'd think about it.

fwb!jason todd who left shortly after. he didn't stop thinking about it—couldn't, really. it was against his better judgement, but he went to the one person he knew more-than-likely had experience with these sorts of situations: dick. the guy had a colorful love life, he was the only one that made sense.

fwb!jason todd who only half-trusted dick's insight: being friends-with-benefits almost always ends with you guys dating. it wasn't what he wanted, not really. he liked the sex, he really did, but that wasn't the only thing he was hoping for. but if it was what he had to do to have even a small part of you, maybe he could hold out until you were ready.

fwb!jason todd who left dick's with not so much hope as determination. he could wait for you. as long as he needed to.

© di-lucss | all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[ha-rinrin]

Little Brat

summary: She blew up your kitchen. Time to make her pay.

Pairing: Jinx x Fem!reader

Wordcount: 3k

Note:

WELCOME BACK I missed all of you so much, hope you guys didn't forget about me. I'm sorry for disappearing — I was focused on my academic comeback. I think I might be able to post more often (but no promises).

I noticed there's been a shortage in the Jinx x Reader tag, and a lot of you asked me to come back — and who am I to say no?

Anyway, I'm really happy to be back, even if I don't post daily like before. I hope you enjoy this new fic, which, by the way, was HARD to write. I'm really bad at writing smut, but I did my best.

TW: NSFW, overstimulation, strap-on, orgasm denial and control, top!reader x sub!Jinx, light degradation, teasing, and I think thats all, if I forgot something, im sorry

The fire alarm’s going off when you unlock the door. Again.

You don’t even flinch this time, just toss your keys onto the hallway table and step into the smoke.

It’s coming from the kitchen. Of course it is.

You walk in and see it: your custom-built, voice-controlled, top-of-the-line Piltover microwave blown wide open. The front panel’s cracked, the inside is scorched, and something definitely exploded.

Jinx is sitting on the counter like nothing happened—legs swinging like a child, soot on her cheek, a little too proud of herself.

“Hi, babe,” she says sweetly, waving a tiny screwdriver at you.

You blink. “What. Did you do.”

“Okay, so–” she starts, already smiling, “I was trying to make popcorn.”

You just stare at her.

“But then I thought… what if I gave it a boost? Just a little chemtech.”

She lifts a small, still-glowing power cell––clearly modified. “Y’know. To speed it up.”

The fire alarm shrieks again. A soft pop comes from the microwave.

“You blew up my microwave,” you say.

She shrugs. “I improved it. Technically.”

You don’t laugh. You don’t even blink.

You take one step closer, and Jinx’s smirk falters just slightly.

“Do you think I’m impressed?” you ask.

She leans back on her hands, still trying to play it cool. “Thought it might at least make you look at me.”

You glance at the mess, then back at her. “Oh, I’m looking.”

She quiets.

You place a hand on the counter beside her thigh, lean in just enough to make her press back against the cabinets.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, voice low. “To blow up my kitchen just so I’d come home and deal with you?”

Her eyes flicker. “Maybe.”

Another step and your knee’s between hers.

“You’re going to clean this up,” you say. “After.”

Her breath catches.

“Now get off the counter.”

She moves fast. Obedient. Like she’s been waiting for that tone all day.

She hops off the counter, but doesn’t move. Just stands there with that smug little tilt to her head, eyes flicking up and down like she’s deciding whether to listen to you at all.

You don’t give her the chance.

Your fingers close around her jaw–– not hard, but enough to stop her in her tracks. “Try me again, and you’ll be on your knees before you make it to the bedroom.”

She grins, breath hitching just a little. “Kinky threat. You sure you’re not the one who blew up the microwave?”

You don’t flinch.

“Keep running your mouth,” you murmur, “and I’ll make sure you’re too sore to use it later.”

That wipes the grin off her face. Almost.

Then she shrugs, deliberately slow. “Guess I better make it worth it, huh?”

You let go of her jaw.

“Bedroom. Now.”

She turns around with a smirk, strutting like she owns the place. “God, finally. I was starting to think you’d just let me get away with it.”

You follow, watching her every step.

“Not a chance.”

The bedroom door barely clicks shut before you’ve got her on the bed.

You don’t give her time to settle. You grab her wrist and push her downing the bed and onto her back, climbing over her like she’s already yours.

“Hands up,” you say––low, firm.

She obeys, too quickly, too eagerly, eyes flicking up to yours with that defiant spark still burning.

You drag your fingers slowly up her stomach, just under her shirt, and she shivers.

“You wanted attention,” you murmur, leaning in close. “Now you’ve got it. Let’s see how much of it you can take.”

Her breath catches, and she swallows hard, but she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t dare.

“Try anything bratty,” you add, hand sliding higher, “and I’ll make sure you don’t get to come tonight.”

And just like that, she’s quiet.

Not behaving––but quiet.

You don’t bother with slow.

Clothes come off in quick, practiced movements––yours first, then hers––until she’s bare beneath you, except for her panties. You leave those on.

On purpose.

She arches slightly, like she expects more, like she wants more, but you don’t give it to her.

Not yet.

Instead, you slide your hand down, press your palm flat over the soaked fabric, just enough for her to feel it––your heat, your control––without giving her what she really wants.

She squirms, breath shaky. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Of course I am.”

Your fingers move slow, dragging along the thin fabric, teasing the wet spot already blooming there. You circle her clit with maddening precision, just enough to make her whine.

She bucks her hips up, impatient.

You pin them down with your free hand. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to be greedy.”

Her hands tighten in the sheets above her head, body tense beneath yours.

“You blew up my kitchen,” you murmur, mouth brushing her jaw. “You’re lucky I’m even touching you.”

Your fingers press harder against her clit, slow and controlled. But you’re not done.

You tug her shirt up with the hand that was previously pinning her hips down, exposing her chest. She shivers, nipples already hard.

Her hands leave the sheets––one flying up to grab the pillow beside her head, the other fisting the blanket like she needs to hold on to something, anything, just to stay grounded.

You lean down, tongue dragging across her right nipple before wrapping your lips around it and sucking deep.

She gasps––loud, unrestrained––her hips jerking as your fingers rub tight, wet circles against her clit while your mouth teases her chest.

Your tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, then you bite––just a little. Just enough to make her cry out.

“F-fuck––” she moans, her body arching up into your mouth, down into your hand. Caught between both.

Her free hand flutters for a second, unsure, then lands shakily on your shoulder––digging in, nails pressing hard.

Your fingers don’t stop. Your mouth doesn’t either.

“Still squirming,” you murmur against her chest. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

She doesn’t––can’t. Her breath’s a mess. Whimpers leave her mouth with every stroke and suck.

Then––just as her breathing stutters––you pull your mouth away.

And slow your hand.

She lets out a broken sound, high and needy.

She’s already dripping through the fabric.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and peel them down slow––just to watch her squirm. She lifts her hips to help, breath stuttering as the cool air hits her soaked skin.

You toss them aside.

Then, without warning, you slide one finger into her pussy.

She gasps, sharp and breathless. Wet. So wet, you barely have to try.

You move slow. Intentionally slow. Just enough to make her ache, slick already coating your knuckles.

“Please,” she whispers, almost desperate.

You add a second finger.

Her thighs jerk, twitching hard, hips rocking before you press her back down with your free hand.

“Still so impatient,” you murmur.

She whines, eyes wide and glassy, her breath catching every time your fingers curl inside her.

You lean over her, lips brushing her jaw. “What happened to all that attitude, Jinx?”

She doesn’t answer, just bites her lip, thighs trembling as you pump your fingers a little deeper, a little rougher.

Then you add a third.

She gasps like she wasn’t ready for it, body tensing all over again, then melting into the mattress, legs shaking under your grip.

The slick sound of it fills the room––hot, messy, desperate.

You lean in closer, voice low and wicked against her ear.

“Next time you want attention,” you whisper, “just ask.”

She moans, helpless and breathless and already so close.

And you don’t stop.

You drag your thumb up and press it firmly against her clit, circling it slowly while your fingers move inside her––deep and deliberate.

She moans the second your thumb finds its rhythm––high and shaky, like she’s trying to hold it back but can’t.

Her thighs twitch with every stroke, already slick and trembling. You keep going, curling your fingers just right, then pulling back before she can get too close.

“Ah––god,” she gasps, hips bucking up. “Don’t––don’t stop––”

But you do.

You slow down, just slightly. Just enough to make her whine.

“No,” she breathes, voice cracking. “Please, don’t do that.”

You hum like you’re thinking about it, but your fingers are still moving––just barely, just enough to keep her strung out and desperate.

Every sound she makes now is a mess.

Tiny whimpers.

Breathless gasps.

The occasional broken “fuck” when your fingers hit just the right spot––then pull away again, cruel and calculated.

“Still think blowing up my kitchen was a good idea?” you murmur.

She shakes her head fast, eyes glassy, thighs clenching around your wrist.

“Then why,” you whisper, mouth brushing her ear, “should I let you come?”

She groans––loud and wrecked. “Please,” she begs, hips rolling, trying to chase your hand. “I’ll clean it––I’ll fix it––just please––”

You smirk, watching her fall apart.

“Not yet.”

And you keep going. Slow, deep pumps, curling just right so that they touch that spongy spot inside her that makes her see stars––then pulling back again.

Your thumb flicks her clit harder now, tight little circles that make her whimper.

But it’s not enough.

You lean down, catching one of her nipples between your teeth, biting gently as your fingers start slamming into her.

She yelps––loud and raw––back arching off the bed as the sudden overload of sensation hits her hard.

“F-fuck!”

Her whole body jolts.

You suck hard on her nipple, tongue dragging over the bud as your fingers pound into her and your thumb teases her clit in tight, wet circles.

Her back arches off the bed, hands clutching the sheets like she’s about to tear them. You don’t let up––your mouth, your fingers, your thumb––all working in rhythm.

“God––oh my god––” she cries, voice rising in pitch. “Wait––wait––”

You don’t.

Her thighs are shaking now, soaked and twitching, her head thrown back against the pillows.

She’s falling apart. Fast.

The shift from teasing to ruthless ruins her. Her hips jerk without rhythm, no control left in her body at all.

“Too much––” she gasps, voice cracking. “It’s too––”

“You can take it,” you growl, curling your fingers again. “You’re gonna take it.”

She sobs––loud and wrecked and completely undone.

And you keep going.

Fast. Deep. Merciless.

Exactly how she likes it.

She cums around your fingers.

No warning––just a broken cry and her entire body seizing up beneath you. Her back arches, mouth open in a silent scream before the moans finally catch up––loud, raw, and completely helpless.

You feel it the second it hits––her walls clenching tight, fluttering, pulsing around your fingers, squirting.

But you don’t stop.

Your mouth is still on her nipple, tongue dragging, sucking, teasing while your fingers keep going.

She gasps––sharp and panicked. “N-no––wait––”

You keep going.

Her hips jerk away from your hand, but there’s nowhere to go. You hold her there, pinned and trembling, pumping into her over and over while her legs shake and her voice breaks.

“Too much––too much––” she whines, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. Her hands claw at the sheets, one arm flinging up to grip your wrist, not pulling you away––just holding on.

Like she’s drowning.

Like she can’t take it, but she doesn’t want it to stop.

The overstimulation hits hard––her cries turn to sobs, every breath hitching, every sound wrecked and slurred and ruined.

You lean close, lips brushing her ear.

“Still think you can act like a brat in my kitchen?”

She shakes her head frantically, breathless.

“I didn’t hear you,” you murmur, fingers never slowing.

“N-no––no, I’m sorry––fuck––I’m sorry––”

You smile against her skin.

But you keep going. Just a little more.

Just until she breaks again.

Her moans and whimpers fill the room as she cums, but you’re not near finishing, as Jinx’s going down her hight ––thighs covered in her own juices–– you’re already moving, grabbing the bright blue strap-on, 4 cm of girth and 18cm long. 

Jinx’s a small girl, you're probably about to break the poor little thing in half.

She's still recovering when you hover over her, she's already so wet you don't even need any lub, she doesn't have time to register what is going on till she feels the tip of your blue cock already pressing at her entrance.

Her eyes widen, she has been dying to try the new toy, but now she's just so sensitive she isn't sure she can handle it.

“Wait–– I cant–– Too sensitive––” 

You don’t hesitate “You should’ve thought about that before blowing up my kitchen”

She lets out a soft, broken sound as the tip circles her entrance, slow, relentless. Not pushing in––just dragging, spreading the slick around, rubbing right where she’s sensitive. Rubbing your cook between her pink puffy folds, rubbing her clit a few times. 

You chuckle, taking your time. Running the shaft up and down her slit. Not pushing in. Not giving her what she wants.

Just watching her squirm.

Her hips twitch up, trying to take it, but you move just out of reach.

She groans in frustration, tears welling up in her lashes. “Please––fuck, just––”

You finally lean in, lips brushing her ear.

“You want this?” you whisper, dragging the head back to her entrance. “Beg for it.”

She moans––half pain, half pleasure, everything too much. “Please, please––I want it, I need it, just fuck me––”

And that’s when you push in.

Not gently.

Your cock slips past her slick entrance in one smooth, firm thrust, making her scream.

“Ah––too much––I can’t––”

“Oh, you can,” you growl, holding her hips tight. “And you will.”

She gasps, her body tensing, arching, trying to take the stretch as her walls clench around the thick toy. Her thighs are twitching again, eyes closed shut with overwhelmed pleasure.

You don’t move just yet.

You stay buried inside her.

Letting her feel the fullness.

Letting her realize just how deep you are.

She whimpers, completely wrecked already. “F-fuck, you’re gonna break me––”

You smirk.

And then you start moving.

Slow, deep thrusts at first––dragging your hips back just enough to make her feel it before slamming back in, harder, deeper each time.

Her body moves with it, pushed up the bed with every stroke. Her moans spill out helplessly, one after another, breathless and sweet.

A melody you never get tired of.

Jinx can feel the faux veins of your cock dragging against her walls, touching all the spots that make her dumb, the tip hitting her cervix. 

You can see the bulge of your cock inside her.

And then you start pounding.

Fast. Deep. Ruthless.

Her moans turn to cries.

High-pitched and broken.

The slap of skin against skin fills the room, echoing with every sharp thrust. Her whole body jolts with each one, pushed into the mattress like she weighs nothing.

You’re relentless now.

No mercy. No pause.

Just the thick strap-on slamming into her, deep and fast, grinding her deeper into the sheets.

She’s gasping for air, nails digging into the bed, her mouth open in a silent scream that only catches up a second later.

“F-fuck––too deep––too fast––”

You just growl, thrusting harder. “That’s the point.”

Her hands claw at the sheets. Her body can’t keep up. Every nerve in her is on fire, pleasure rippling through her in waves so intense they border on pain.

She’s soaked––completely, impossibly wet––slick pooling beneath her, dripping down your thighs, smearing between her legs with every thrust.

You grab one of her legs and throw it over your shoulder, angling deeper.

Her scream is immediate.

“God––oh god––please––”

You lean over her, one hand gripping her throat, thumb pressing just enough to make her whimper.

“You wanted this,” you growl against her ear, your cock still driving into her, hard and deep. “So take it.”

She sobs, overwhelmed, shaking, but she doesn’t tell you to stop.

Her hips meet yours on instinct now, trying to keep up, trying to take everything you give her.

Jinx a mess beneath you, mascara staining her face, lipstick smudge, tongue out like a dumb dog while her hands grab the pillow where her head is laying like a lifeline. 

Her clit’s begging for attention––swollen and flushed, untouched but throbbing.

You reach down between her legs and rub your thumb over it.

She screams.

The second you touch her, her body goes rigid, her back arching so hard it lifts her off the mattress. Her moans twist into helpless, choked sobs.

Her eyes roll back.

She’s so far gone.

You don’t stop.

Not with your cock, not with your thumb.

Circling her clit fast and tight, keeping the rhythm of your thrusts brutal and deep.

“Gonna come again?” you murmur darkly. “Already?”

She nods frantically, tears streaking her cheeks.

“Y-yes––please––please––I can’t––”

“You can,” you snarl, voice low and rough. “Come on my cock, Jinx.”

And she does.

She cums with a scream, her whole body convulsing. The orgasm rips through her like a shockwave––intense and shattering. Her thighs clamp around you, walls fluttering violently around the strap-on, soaking it all over again.

But you don’t stop.

Not even for a second.

You keep fucking her through it––deep, brutal thrusts that don’t let her catch her breath.

She sobs, completely gone, babbling your name between cries. “N-no––too much––’s too much––”

You grab her hips, slamming in harder. “I said you’d take it. So take it.”

She screams again––half-cry, half-moan–and comes again, barely a minute later.

A second orgasm, sharper than the first.

This one wrecks her, more than the three ones you already gave her.

Her whole body goes limp beneath you, twitching, broken.

And still––you don’t stop.

Just a few more thrusts, slow now, grinding in deep with every roll of your hips. Letting her feel it. Letting her drown in it.

By the time you finally pull out, she’s shaking.

Covered in sweat, lips parted, tears dried on her cheeks, body completely ruined.

You toss the toy aside and lean down, brushing her cheek with the back of your hand.

She’s barely conscious––blissed out and wrecked, blinking slowly as she looks up at you.

“Still think blowing up my kitchen was worth it?” you whisper.

She doesn’t answer.

She just moans softly––wrecked and dazed––and nods.

Like the little brat she is.

[arkaiveofurown]

you got drunk and seduced him

Pairings: Zoro x Reader, Ace x Reader, Law x Reader, Sanji x Reader

You had too much alcohol, so you decided to have a little fun.

Word Count: ~500 - 1,000 words

tag: suggestive

my masterlist here ♡

——

Zoro

The Thousand Sunny rocks gently on calm waters, the afternoon sun baking the deck as you sprawl on a crate near the training area, a jug of cheap booze in hand.

You’ve been tossing back shots for the better part of an hour, watching Zoro slice through the air with his swords, sweat glistening on his scarred torso.

That single-minded focus, the raw power in every swing, the way he grunts with effort—it’s doing things to you, things the alcohol only amplifies.

You’ve always liked pushing his buttons, seeing how far you can take it before that gruff exterior cracks.

And right now, with your head spinning and inhibitions gone, you’re ready to say some downright filthy things to the Swordsman of the Straw Hats.

You stand, wobbling a bit, and stride over just as he sheathes Wado Ichimonji, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

“Oi, Zoro,” you call, voice thick with liquor and intent, stopping close enough to smell the salt and steel on him.

He glances over, one eye narrowing, already sensing trouble.

“What?” he grunts, short and sharp, but you just grin, leaning in so your words are for him alone.

“Y’know, I’ve been watchin’ you swing those swords, and I can’t help wonderin’ how good you’d be at handlin’ somethin’ else. Bet you could fuck me so hard I’d forget my own damn name, huh? Slice right through me with that big, hard—”

His face goes from annoyed to stunned in half a second, mouth dropping open before he snaps it shut, a rare flush creeping up his neck.

“The hell’s wrong with you?!” he barks, but there’s a roughness to his tone that wasn’t there before.

You laugh, low and dirty, stepping closer.

“C’mon, tough guy, don’t tell me you ain’t thought about it. Pin me down, cut loose— I’m ready for ya.”

Do you think he’ll bite, or just swing a sword at you to shut you up?

Zoro’s grip tightens on the hilt of Shusui, knuckles whitening, and for a moment, you think he might actually draw it just to scare you off.

But his eye locks on yours, burning with something that ain’t just anger, and he steps forward, towering over you.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and you’re gonna regret it,” he growls, voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine, the heat of his breath close as he glares.

You don’t back down, tilting your chin up defiantly, your smirk daring him.

“Make me, Zoro. I fuckin’ dare ya.”

The air between you crackles, thick with unspoken challenge, and his hand twitches—not toward the sword, but toward you, hovering just an inch from your arm as the Sunny’s deck creaks under the weight of the tension.

——

Ace

The deck of the Moby Dick sways under your unsteady feet, the salty tang of the sea mixing with the sharp burn of rum on your tongue.

Lanterns swing overhead, casting golden flickers across the weathered wood as the Whitebeard Pirates roar with laughter, their voices a chaotic melody against the crashing waves.

You’ve had one too many, the warmth of the alcohol buzzing through your veins, making your skin prickle with reckless abandon.

And there he is—Portgas D. Ace, lounging against the railing, shirt half-unbuttoned, his freckled chest glistening with sweat from the humid night air.

That cocky grin of his, the way his dark eyes glint with mischief under the brim of his hat—damn, it’s doing things to you.

Why not play with fire tonight?

You stumble forward, a sly smile curling your lips, your heart thumping like a war drum as you close the distance.

“Hey, Ace,” you purr, voice low and dripping with intent, “you look like you could use some company. Or am I too hot to handle?”

His brow quirks, that grin widening as he straightens, clearly intrigued.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

You sway closer, the rum making your movements bold, your hand brushing against his bare arm—skin on skin, electric.

His muscles tense under your touch, and you can’t help but linger, fingers tracing the edge of his tattoo, the black ink stark against his tan.

“You know,” you murmur, leaning in so your breath ghosts over his ear, “I’ve always wondered how much heat you can really take. Care to test that with me?”

Ace lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest as he turns to face you fully, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game, darlin’,” he drawls, voice rough like gravel, but his hand finds your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer.

The heat of his palm sears through your thin shirt, and you press yourself against him, chest to chest, daring him to push back.

Your fingers slide up his neck, tangling in the dark waves of his hair as you tug lightly, whispering, “I like danger. Don’t you?”

His eyes darken, a flicker of raw hunger flashing through them, and you know you’ve got him hooked.

But then, in a swift move, he spins you around, pinning you against the railing, the cool wood digging into your back as his body cages yours.

“Keep teasin’ me like that,” he growls, lips hovering just above yours, “and I might just burn this whole ship down.”

Your breath hitches, the tension crackling like wildfire between you, and you can’t resist reaching up to graze your nails down his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart.

What now—do you push him further, or let him take the lead?

——

Law

The Polar Tang’s dimly lit mess hall hums with the quiet clinks of mugs and the low murmur of the Heart Pirates unwinding after a long day.

You’re sprawled at a table, a half-empty bottle of sake in hand, the buzz in your head making the submarine’s steel walls feel less claustrophobic.

Across the room, Trafalgar Law leans against the counter, his sharp eyes scanning a medical text, completely oblivious to the party—or to you.

That stoic, calculating demeanor, the way his long fingers turn a page, even the damn spots on his hat… it’s infuriating how much you want him.

You’ve had enough of his cool detachment tonight.

With a smirk, you slam your bottle down, the noise cutting through the chatter, and decide it’s time to rattle the Surgeon of Death.

You stagger to your feet, the sake sloshing in your system as you saunter over, hips swaying with purpose.

“Captain,” you drawl, voice dripping with mischief, stopping right in front of him.

Law’s gaze lifts, those piercing gray eyes narrowing as he takes in your flushed state.

“You’re drunk,” he states flatly, already turning back to his book.

Oh, hell no. You’re not letting him dismiss you that easily.

With a daring grin, you reach for the hem of your top, peeling it off in one fluid motion, leaving you in just your bra—black lace, clinging to your curves.

The cold air of the sub hits your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat in your core as Law’s eyes snap back to you, widening for a fraction of a second before his jaw tightens.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growls, voice low, but you catch the faintest flush on his tattooed neck.

Leaning forward, hands braced on the counter beside him, you let him get a good look, your smirk wicked.

“Just givin’ you a reason to pay attention, Doc. Wanna check my vitals now?”

His fingers twitch around the book, and you swear you see a crack in that icy facade—will he snap, or keep playing the untouchable captain?

The room’s gone quiet, or maybe it’s just the blood pounding in your ears as you hold his stare, daring him to react.

Law slams the book shut with a sharp thud, his voice a dangerous whisper.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re starting.”

But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t call for Bepo to drag you off.

Instead, his gaze drops, lingering on the swell of your chest before flicking back to your face, a storm brewing in those eyes.

You tilt your head, tongue darting out to wet your lips, pushing him further.

“Then show me, Law. I’m all yours to dissect.”

His hand shifts, inching toward the hilt of Kikoku propped nearby—not out of threat but pure instinct—and you feel the air thicken, your skin prickling as you wait for his next move…

His long fingers hovering just above the blade’s grip.

——

Sanji

The kitchen of the Thousand Sunny smells of fresh herbs and simmering broth, a late-night sanctuary where Sanji works his magic.

You’ve wandered in after a few too many drinks with the crew, the buzz in your head making you bolder than usual as you lean against the counter, watching him chop vegetables with that effortless precision.

His blond hair falls over one eye, cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air, and damn if he doesn’t look good in that apron.

You’ve always known how to push his buttons—he’s a hopeless romantic, after all—and tonight, you’re in the mood to be his muse.

Swinging your legs playfully, you lean forward, letting your voice dip into something sweet and teasing.

“Sanji, darling,” you coo, drawing out the words as you twirl the bottle in your hand, “you always make such a fuss over Nami and Robin, but what about me? Don’t I deserve a little of that special treatment?”

His head snaps up, eyes wide behind that blond fringe, and the cigarette nearly falls from his mouth as he stammers,

“M-my lady, of course, I—anything for you!”

You hop off the counter, closing the distance, and pluck the cigarette from his lips, taking a slow drag before blowing the smoke right in his face with a wicked smile.

“Then how ‘bout you serve me somethin’… personal? I’m starvin’ for a taste of you, chef.”

His face turns beet red, hearts practically popping in his eyes, but there’s a nervous swallow as you press closer, your hand brushing his apron.

On the other hand, Sanji’s no fool—he knows when he’s being played with, doesn’t he?

He recovers fast, a suave grin spreading as he sets down his knife, turning to face you fully.

“Ahh, my sweet, you wound me with such temptation! But I am at your service—name your desire, and I’ll whip it up!”

His voice drips with flirtation, but you see the way his hands fidget, the slight tremor in his fingers.

You step even closer, your chest brushing his as you murmur,

“I want the main course, Sanji. Hot, messy, and all mine.”

His breath catches, eyes darting to your lips, and for once, the smooth-talking cook seems at a loss for words.

The pot on the stove bubbles over with a loud hiss, steam rising, mirroring the heat building between you as his hand hovers near your waist, hesitant but oh-so-close to touching.

[rauspberries]

miss possessive. [ just keep your eyes off him! ]ׂ ╰┈➤ a lawyer!aaron hotchner x paralegal!reader fic. ׂ╰┈➤ so close to what series masterlist. paralegal!reader masterlist. ׂ╰┈➤ former chapter. next chapter.

summary: at a work outing, another paralegal wastes no time in trying to remind you of your place. unfortunately, she doesn't realize that your place is with aaron hotchner. tags/warnings: afab reader, no use of y/n and no physical description of reader, tiny smidge of making out, reader sits on hotch's lap, we've finally made it past just verbal flirting guys word count: 3k notes: i fear i still kinda don't like this but it's okay i'm just a perfectionist

Smoke curls in the air of the dimly lit bar, illuminating itself in the small scraps of light before fading into nothingness. So many people are talking that you can’t make out any of the words or any of the voices, either too lost in the feeling of the condensation on your glass seeping into your skin or too focused on the uninteresting hockey game happening on the TVs mounted near the ceiling. 

Since becoming what you’d consider friends with Aaron Hotchner, you’ve found yourself attending team bonding events for the office more than you’d like. Golf games too early in the morning, bars and clubs late into the night, luncheons at fancy restaurants you couldn’t afford without the gift of a company card. Although you tended to just hang around in the corners or find other things to do, he still continuously invited you, making it clear that he’d be your ride even though you always insisted that you could take public transportation.

Now, you sat perched on a barstool, elbow leaning against the only part that wasn’t sticky from spilled drinks. The laughter of attorneys and prosecutors boomed behind you, filling up the small space, reminding you just how much you really didn’t fit in here. 

At the sound of your name, you perk up, trying to seem a bit more interested in the outing than you were. Spinning around, your focus first catches on a plume of blonde hair, messy with heat-made curls and yet somehow perfectly in place. It travels upon sharp eyeliner, long lashes coated in mascara, lips plumped with glittery lip gloss. The sight of perfection all balled up into Cassie Sharp.

Cassie had been hired as a paralegal beside you, prim and proper in her tight pencil skirts and blouses, the opposite of your slacks and slightly oversized button-ups. You hadn’t minded her at first, more so had admiration for her ability to strut in the large heels she somehow wore every day. But now, over a year into the job, you found her annoying, pushy and obnoxious. 

She always found a way to sneak in a snide remark, whether it was a honey-laced comment about how your hair just looked so good in the messy look on days you tried really hard or a suggestion for new clothing boutiques whenever you hadn’t had the chance to do laundry for a week. At first, you thought she’d get fired for either her attitude or her flirtatious comments towards superiors that definitely weren’t HR-appropriate, but it seemed like nobody caught her negativity the way you did.

Usually, in any case, you’d be able to push that away, exercise your patience as far as it could go until you were able to duck out of her presence. But the worst part was that she was dead set on seducing Aaron Hotchner. Not because she liked him, or because she didn’t have any other offers from the other prosecutors, but because she had somehow used her bloodhound nose to sniff out your crush and feel the murderous need to crush your hopes and dreams. 

She says your name again, as if you couldn’t hear her high-pitched shrill from miles away, shoving her way between the man beside you and your stool. An elbow leans against the particularly damp spot on the bar, however she doesn’t seem to notice, too busy grinning at you with a cat-like smile that reeks of mischief. A glance at her eyes reveals her intoxication, too wide with dilated pupils. 

“Hi.” You greet with an over-exaggerated kindness, returning her grin with a fake smile. Hopefully, if you play nice for the few moments she tortures you before moving on, she’ll forget about you for the rest of the night.

“It’s, like, so great to see you here! I didn’t think you’d be invited!” Cassie’s voice is akin to a squeal at all times, scratching at your eardrums and causing your left eye to twitch. “I just, well, I just feel like I never see you at any of these! It’s good to finally have company. I swear it’s like no other paralegals are here.”

Translation: I wish that I was still the only girl here so I could have all of the attention. Maybe you’re here out of a pity invite. 

Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you let it out as you speak, keeping your tone cool and collected.  “Aaron invited me. Weird that you’ve never seen me, though. I’ve gone to quite a few of the outings by now.” As much as you try, you can’t help the smarminess that seeps into your voice. 

Oh, well. You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain. In this case, the villain is the blonde-haired succubus in front of you, who’s glossed lips part into a shocked ‘O’ before flickering into another smile in a flash.

“Must be the ones I thought were too boring. The boys tend to know what I like,” she purrs. 

You give her a scoff of a laugh before bringing your drink to your lips. Originally, you had planned to nurse a drink or two all night, but now you just hoped that alcohol would dull the sound of Cassie’s voice. Better a headache from a hangover than her grating voice. 

By the time you’ve finished gulping down the rest of your drink and turned back to her, she opens her mouth to speak again, only for her eyes to glance over your shoulder and that flirty smile start to curl on her lips. “Aaron,” she says, her tone causing your eyes to narrow at her before you follow her look. He notices your annoyance, you can tell by the small quirk on his lips and the brisk touch of his palm against the small of your back, although he doesn’t mention it. The prosecutor gives a brisk nod to Cassie in greeting, hand curling around the bar behind you to prop himself up. It gives you a spark of glee how close he is to you, not entertaining the hungry look that the other paralegal is giving him.

“Are you having a good time?” He asks, dark eyes finding you.

Cassie doesn’t get the hint. “Oh, an amazing time,” she coos. “You could buy me a drink to make it better.”

Unfortunately, Aaron’s politeness leads him, hand dipping into his pocket to pull out his wallet. With the swiftness of someone who usually offered to pay for things, he fingered out a few dollar bills, folding them over between two fingers and holding it out to Cassie. “Go ahead and get yourself something. We’re all meeting at the booth in the corner if you’d like to have them bring it there. I’m pretty sure Dennis was asking where you were.”

His voice still carries professionalism, like he was speaking with her inside of the four walls of the office rather than a dingy bar a few blocks away. You watch as Cassie practically deflates, bottom lip pushing into a pout as she takes the bills from his hand and saunters away. You don’t miss the extra sway she adds to her hips, although you’re riding too high on the fact that Aaron sent her away to worry about it.

When you look back up at him, his focus is already on your face, sending a swell of something up into your chest and stealing your voice. “Are you having a good time?” He repeats, moving to occupy the seat in front of you now that Cassie and the guy formerly occupying it were gone. 

Before you can speak, the toe of his shoe hooks underneath the bar at the bottom of your stool, pulling it closer until his knee is slotted between both of your legs. You know it’s most likely just so he can hear you better with the roar of laughter constantly coming from the corner, but that doesn’t satiate the feeling that pools deep in your gut every time your legs brush. 

“As good as I can.” Your eyes flutter over to Cassie in the corner, her manicured hand clasped over a prosecutor’s shoulder as she practically leans into his lap, laughing loudly at something another man says. “Did Dennis actually wonder where she was?”

The corners of his lips twitch, head shaking subtly. “No. But I can tell you don’t like her and I wanted to talk to you alone.”

A laugh leaves your lips at the mischievous look painted across his face when you look back at him. Your eyebrows raise at the second part of his statement, index finger tracing the lid of your empty glass. “Wanted to talk to me alone? Am I getting fired?”

Aaron’s brow furrowed at that, the lines of his forehead deepening. “I don’t think human resources would approve of me firing you inside of a dive bar while off the clock,” he says.

His tone is so serious that you can’t help but laugh again, hand brushing against his knee as you wave him off. Then, once you’re able to brush the amusement off of your face, you fix him with a mock serious stare. “I’d sue you for all you have, Hotchner.”

“Suing a lawyer is very brave,” he replies good-heartedly. Glancing at your empty glass, he gestures to it. “What do you say I get you another one and then we join everyone else?”

Before you can even think about it, a whine is pulled out of the back of your throat, one hand draping over your eyes. “Do we have to?” Then, you peel apart your fingers, peeking at him between them. “What if we just Irish-goodbyed?”

Aaron’s lips peel into a large grin, making a spark of pride travel up your spine and bloom in your chest. “Not very appropriate at a work event like this, I’m afraid. But, I’ll make you a deal.” His hand raises, long fingers closing around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face, his touch warm against your skin. You’re mesmerized as he leans in closer, his breath smelling of his normal scotch and coffee from the single espresso martini he had had to keep him awake into the late night this was sure to be. “I’ll buy you two drinks. Talk to one person other than me and finish those and then we can leave.”

You don’t want to stay. Everything in you screams for you to say no, to leave and curl into your bed. The only person here that you actually enjoyed talking to was sitting right in front of you in your own little bubble, his knees brushing yours with every small movement, his cologne mixing with your perfume. But there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, the ones that are so intently focused on yours, that you rarely see in the office. Frankly, you’d do absolutely anything to keep his focus on you, to stay in his orbit just a little bit longer.

“Deal. But only because I like spending your money,” you lie. He catches it, because of course he does, but he just smiles anyway, waving down a bartender with a crook of his fingers.

It only takes a couple minutes for two drinks to be slid in front of you, ending the small bit of banter you had as he stands up, outer thigh pressing against the inside of yours. His fingers curl around his glass as he pushes back his stool, putting enough distance between the two of you to offer you a hand to stay up. With a reluctant pout, you take his hand, finding your footing and grabbing your drink.

The prosecutor leads the way to the booth in the corner, everyone’s eyes turning towards the two of you as you walk up. Some of the other guys hoot and holler at the sight of him, obviously a couple of beers too deep, but he just smiles politely. At first glance, you don’t see Cassie, although a quick look over your shoulder points her out easily, a collection of beers in her fingers. 

Aaron slides into the open spot on one side of the booth, indicating for everyone to scoot over to allow room for you. Everyone is eager to comply until the squeaky blonde finally gets to the table, taking the last open spot on the other side of the booth. Immediately, your mood sours, eyes narrowing into slits as you find yourself unable to hold back your glare.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Cassie glances up at you, blue eyes widening in pure, unhidden fake innocence. “Were you gonna sit here? I was just so focused on getting these boys drinks, I didn’t even notice!” Her focus flutters across the bar before her lips turn downward, pasting on a comical frown. “Maybe you could pull up a chair?”

You’re about to open your mouth and spit out pure malice when Aaron interrupts you, intercepting what could’ve been detrimental. “Nonsense.” 

You watch as he slants down in the booth, letting go of his tight posture to stretch out his long legs. Dark eyes find yours as his palm slides over his thigh. “You can sit here,” he offers, although his tone makes it seem like it isn’t much of a question.

Oh.

Oh. 

For a moment, you’re frozen in your spot, lips parted as you stare at him in disbelief. Talk about things HR wouldn’t approve of. The bar around you seems muted, the loud hoots of the other prosecutors falling on deaf ears. A single movement of his brow has you glancing over at Cassie, watching as her head whips around to stare at Aaron in pure surprise, irritation blossoming across her face at the fact that her plan hadn’t worked.

Her irritation is what fuels you to take a few steps forward, setting your glass on the table next to his scotch before perching yourself on his lap, closer to his knee. Immediately, his arm is wrapping around your waist, hand splaying across your stomach as he pulls your back to his chest, forcing you to lean into him. You are deathly aware of how his thumb brushes your sternum and his pinky sits at the top of your waistband, the warmth seeping through any of the fabric and pooling deep in your gut.

“Relax,” he murmurs into your ear, tone hushed. Your brain short-circuits. 

For the next couple of hours, you forget that you ever wanted to leave. Each laugh that comes out of Aaron’s mouth sends a rumble through the back of your chest, his fingers pressing into your stomach involuntarily, bringing you back to Earth and reminding you where you are. Every time someone brings you into the conversations, his gaze finds yours over your shoulder, drinking in every word you say. You finish the two drinks he buys you and another one purchased by Dennis, leaning into him more as the alcohol starts to settle.

It’s late in the night by the time his mouth finds the space next to your ear again, breath brushing against the sensitive skin beneath it and sending goosebumps up your arms. “Are you ready to leave?”

For a month’s worth of foolish moments, you allow yourself to believe that he means with him. You slide off of his lap and let hope spike in your chest when his hand still finds the small of your back. You let him guide you out into the cool air of the late night with hopes that he’d continue to guide you to his car. You turn towards him with parted lips in hopes that he’d say anything to keep the hope going.

Instead, when you get to his car, he asks, “Do you need a ride?” 

Disappointment causes your shoulders to deflate. You’re only aware that the emotion is visible when the line in his brow shows, dark eyes scanning your face. “Are you okay? Was that too much?” He doesn’t let you answer, stepping forward and holding up a hand in apology. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want Cassie to win if you got angry at her. Plus, all of the other prosecutors seem to love her, so yelling at her wouldn’t have been very productive.”

For a moment, you just stare at Aaron, lips parted and eyes wide. He looks delectable, his hair mussed from running his hands through it, the top button of his button-up undone and his tie loose around his neck. His handsome face looks genuinely worried in a way that you have never seen, as if upsetting you by letting you sit on his lap was the absolute worst thing he could’ve ever done.

Before you can overthink it, your hand is grasping at his tie, curling it around your fist and pulling him closer. Your other hand braces on his chest as you stand on your tiptoes, lips finding his. 

The kiss starts off gentle, exploratory. You’re fully expecting him to push you away, to come up with some chilvarious excuse about how you had both been drinking, about how you worked well together and didn’t want to ruin it.

Instead, one of his hands curls around the side of your waist while the other threads his fingers into your hair, angling your head backwards to kiss you better. The hand on your waist pulls your chest flush against his, as if he wanted to mold your body into him, keep you there with him forever. The air around you seems to become ten degrees warmer, your clothes feeling too tight on your body as you grip at his.

Your head spins as he guides you to press your back against the side of his car, the cool metal digging into the slightly exposed skin of your back. The hand on the back of your head protecting you from hitting it against the car slides down to the nape of your neck, giving it a soft squeeze and drawing an involuntary gasp from your lips. He seizes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth as soon as your lips part, tasting and prodding and turning your entire body into something malleable and pliant.

Once his foot pushes yours to the side, allowing his thigh to plot between your legs, you are brought back to reality, giving him a soft prod to his chest as you pull away. When your eyes open, you take in the look of him, lips swollen and pupils blown. Both of you fight to catch your breath, chests heaving as you try to come up with anything to break the silence.

“Give me a ride home?” is what you come up with, head tilting. You're not sure what you mean by it, but any option that's available seems satisfying enough to you.

Still dazed, he nods, one strand of hair drooping onto his forehead as he reaches behind you to wrap his hand around the handle of his car door.

[anyshowwitharainbow]

hii, i saw ur requests are open. may i request agathario x reader where reader had a subdrop? reader feeling overwhelmed and anxious from a long night of activities, always curious how they would help reader 🫣

I hope this is what you were after 🥺 I may make some edits when I wake up and re-read, but here you are!! Enjoy!

Warnings + Tags: 18+ for NSFW themes MDNI, fluff, post-sex, subdrop, mentions of squirting, caring Agatha and Rio, sub reader, mommy!Agatha, daddy!Rio, cg/l themes, no mention of pronouns, pet names Words: ~2.3k

You aren’t sure when the weight sitting in your chest anchored itself to your spine. You could be convinced an alien just drop kicked you back down to Earth. Moments you know are no further from you than a few breaths feel fuzzy and you try desperately to grip them and root them back into reality.

When you reach for them they part like they are made of nothing but fog and dust. Each attempt at clutching them closer smudges their edges and blurs the memory they hold. You feel too scared to keep trying, lest they become damaged beyond repair.

There are glimpses of bliss, you still feel the buzz from a haughty assuredness that has since frozen in your bones. The warmth of a carefully woven safety net fades into a cool, shadowy abyss and you feel foreign in your own body.

Did you do something wrong?

Should you have done something differently?

Do you still have a purpose in the space you suddenly feel intrusive in occupying?

Were you welcome here in the first place?

The thrumming echo of competing thoughts swells against your skull and you’re paralyzed between fight or flight. You’re not sure if you truly have an option. If you sit still enough for long enough you could petrify into something unobtrusive. You might be more useful as decor, anyways.

What would it be like? To forever be a fly on the wall? Aware of who people are when no one is watching- but never aware of yourself?

Your body is rocked by a confident presence flopping down unceremoniously to your left.

“Jesus, I’m fucking thirsty,” Agatha heaves, panting and grimacing when her hands land on her skin.

She is thinly layered in a sheen of sweat and you assume her soft, disgruntled ‘hmm’ is the sound effect from taking a mental note to wash the sheets tomorrow.

The ballooning in your head is harshly popped and awareness hits you like a freight train, horn blaring as it crashes into you.

The sheets are cold beneath you and your own sweat makes you shiver. The movement jostles you and you recoil away from the pool of your wetness you sat in. Hazy memories crystalize in sudden clarity and you blanche- frozen aside from the burning of your cheeks.

You made a mess. In the moment, your body had stolen your autonomy… It felt so good when Rio tickled depths in you that had never been reached… Sure, squirting everywhere was probably hot for the five seconds while it was happening.

Now, its an inconvenience. Agatha and Rio don’t want to sleep in Lake Superior.

You begin to buzz with panic, highly aware that you need to appear casual. Unbothered. If you take up more space, more energy, they may tire of you.

Don’t be fucking stupid.

They won’t just suddenly cast you aside. They’ve had years to get rid of you. If they were going to toss you aside they would’ve done it by now.

It’s the truth. They’ve loved you for so many years. You’ve shared so much time. Enough time for them to grow bored of your insecurities. Who wants to have sex with someone who makes it weird afterwards?

No, that’s dumb. Everything is clearly fine.

You assert this truth over yourself for a moment. It is true…right?

Hesitantly, you let yourself feel proud. It’s not everyday you single-handedly talk yourself off the ledge.

Probably best not to test their patience, though.

You need to do something to make yourself useful. Something is begging to be fixed. You aren’t quite sure what, but you know that the consequence of not doing it is losing Agatha and Rio’s love and affection.

“I’ll wash the sheets!” you declare in an effort to avoid letting yourself wonder if you ever truly had it all.

Hastily, you clamber to rise from the bed. Your limbs are jelly and you aren’t prepared for the lack of help your body offers. Your flailing to gain enough momentum to hoist yourself up is cut short by Agatha pulling you back down.

“Don’t be silly, bunny. It can wait.” Agatha tries to nuzzle into you as she pulls the covers over you both, but you’re fidgeting uncomfortably and she looks at you with concern.

It looks as though she wants to say something more, but she doesn’t. Her eyes are scanning your face and you feel her reading your features, assessing what may be wrong.

After a moment, her eyes flick to Rio’s. You follow her gaze and see that Rio has returned to the room with a bag of wet wipes and a hand towel. Big brown eyes, swimming in concern seem to be in conversation with Agatha’s. When Rio focuses her attention on you, you are entranced by how easily she calls your full focus. She cautiously, but surely approaches.

“Can I help you sit up, bunny?” She casually offers, concern no longer as evident as it was moments ago.

You consider fussing at the ask, but her presence is so unassuming that you feel compelled to allow her request. You nod, happy with your decision when you are given a proud smile.

“Perfect. I wanted to come clean you up and I was hoping I could squeeze in behind you.” She looks towards Agatha, “That is, if Mommy agrees to release you.”

Agatha’s hold on you tightens and she drawls out a long hum of indecision.

“I suppose I can share our little bunny’s snuggles.” Agatha concedes, “On one condition.”

She coyly poses the bargain and your curiosity begins to chip away at your stoicism. You look to Rio and she only raises her brows and shrugs. Turning back to Agatha, your curiosity peaks when she matches Rio’s shrug.

“What?” you prod.

“You have to be good for Daddy while I go get us something to drink.” She presses a kiss to your temple and gives you time to consider her terms.

You don’t want Agatha to go, but you feel like it’d be ridiculous to ask her to stay. She’ll only be gone for a few minutes. And you actually are quite thirsty…

You un-scrunch your face and look to her, nodding your head. Surprise is overshadowed by relief when she doesn’t ask you to use your words. Warm contentedness pulls at the anchor that weighs you down.

“The kitchen is serving water- still or sparkling- and a selection of our finest imported juices- pouched or boxed. What will it be, my loves?”

Before you can begin to ponder your choices, Rio is assessing her own.

“Do we have the green boxes or the yellow ones?”

“We have both, but our head juice expert keeps the yellow boxes chilled at the request of our most esteemed patron.”

You didn’t know there was juice in the fridge…

“Purple?” you ask and they both look to you.

You hear Rio chuckle and you can tell by the twinkle in Agatha’s eye that she is beaming with pride. The remaining weight nestled into your chest begins to levitate away from you.

“Of course, bunny. Mommy knows grape is your favorite.” Her subtle coo turns the last of the weight to dust and blows it away. “One purple coming up. What will Daddy be having this evening?”

Rio purses her lips in indecision, brows furrowed in thought before she groans.

“I can’t decide, bunny. What do you think?”

You can’t help the smile that creeps over your features. You bite your lip and take the task of deciding seriously.

“Purple!” You decide easily.

“Purple it is!” Rio matches your enthusiasm.

“Did you pick purple so you and Daddy could match, baby?”

You give a shy nod, uncertainty threatening to pick at your comfort.

“Can Mommy have a purple so she can match too?” Agatha strokes your cheek and excitement takes the place of the previously looming uncertainty.

You nod again and swallow your whine when Agatha untangles from you and stands up.

“Three purples it is. Be good for Daddy, bun. I’ll be right back.”

Before she leaves, she grabs the hand towel from Rio. Once you are alone, Rio’s attention is firmly locked onto you. She sets the wet wipes next to you and helps pull you up. Settling in behind you, you melt into the warmth of her skin.

Her breasts are soft against your back, nipples playfully poking against you.

“Come here, mi corazoncito,” she whispers, humming in satisfaction when you soften into putty in her hands. “Do you want to talk about where you went? After we finished?”

You swallow hard but don’t have the chance wander from the safety you’re surrounded in as she slowly rubs her hands up and down your arms.

“You don’t have to, but I’m here if you want to. No matter what it is or how mean your thoughts might be Daddy’s always here to listen. You know that, yes?”

Upon your nod of affirmation, you are further unwound by her murmur of approval. She hums in the comfortable silence that’s fallen over you, swaying you gently. She isn’t waiting for you to say something, content to share this moment with you however you’d like to spend it.

“I don’t want you all to get tired of me…” You hesitantly offer.

She gives your statement room to breathe, careful with how her reaction and response will meet you.

“That sounds like a scary thought, bunny. Is there something you think we’d get tired of?”

Her question isn’t accusatory and you feel welcome to ponder it truly. You chew at your lip before you decide you’ve come up with the right words.

“I don’t know… I know I need a lot sexually and emotionally. I made a gigantic mess and I guess I just thought maybe you all wished I was less… I’m not sure. Just ‘less’ in general I guess. Then I think I wanted reassurance but that made me feel like ‘more’ instead of ‘less’. So I figured if I made myself useful it would level things out… It made more sense in my head.”

“Can I give you that reassurance now?” With your permission, she continues. “We need you in all of the same ways, bunny. You and Agatha are everything to me. You are never a burden. Everything I give, or Agatha gives, we give freely. You are endlessly lovable, sexy, and perfect in every way. And you didn’t make a mess. I proudly claim full responsibility for you soaking the sheets. Give credit where its due.”

You snort at her playful cockiness and she joins you in soft laughter.

“We love you so much, bunny.” She soothes lowly, her breath tickling your ear and freckling your skin with goosebumps.

“I know.” Your response is met with a tight squeeze. “I love you too.”

You both settle into the comfortable warmth of each other’s company before she shifts to reach for something.

“Can you be good for Daddy, sweetheart? I need to clean you up now.”

You hear the packet of wet wipes crinkle and shyness creeps over you.

“Shh… It’s okay.” Her left hand gently rubs the center of your chest and she holds the wet wipe held in the other against her own skin. “See?”

She lazily pats at your thighs with the wipe to get you used to the temperature and texture before bringing it to your center and wiping you clean.

“All done.” She whispers before a soft kiss tickles the shell of your ear.

“Can you promise me something?” She continues when you offer a soft ‘mmhmm’. “If your thoughts ever start to get mean or scary you’ll let Daddy or Mommy know, hmm? Even if you don’t have words to describe them or what you need promise me you’ll let us try and help.”

You ponder this. Not because you are uncertain of your answer, but because you want her to know how certainly committed you are to meeting her request.

“I promise.”

She quirks her brow and you understand before she needs to further coax you into what she wants to hear.

“I promise I’ll let you and Mommy know if I ever feel overwhelmed or if my thoughts get scary.”

“So good for Daddy, bunny. Thank you.” Rio squeezes you as tight as she can you you’re certain you could pop when Agatha’s voice loosens her grip.

“Promise Mommy too, bunny.”

You comply, trying your best not to make eye contact with the juice boxes tucked in her arm. She thanks you by inserting the attached straw into a juice box and offering it to you.

“Thank you, Mommy.” You make a show of your manners, hoping for praise.

“So polite, bunny. Mommy is proud of you for being brave and talking to Daddy.”

Her voice soothes an ache deep inside you that you hadn’t realized lingered. You notice the hand towel she left with is now damp and a few shades darker.

“Can you be good one more time and open up?” She taps at your legs and you let them fall open.

Your grumble at the cool air hitting your still-cold center is quickly replaced by an appreciative sigh. The cloth she pets your core with is warm and the noises you make are nothing short of purrs of delight.

You spend the rest of the night a tangle of limbs and laughter. The soft kisses the three of you share taste of grape juice and the promise of a lifetime and any that follow. Though your thoughts will ebb and flow, your best efforts occasionally thwarted by doubts, the truth of your life is nestled deeply within every fiber of your being.

You are safe. You are loved. You will be cherished forevermore.

*---*

Looking for more? -> AO3 | My Fics

[front-facing-pokemon]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday mornings are usually those where you wake up restless. It’s the day you work on chores. Yet when you rouse, you only want to sink back into the bed. You could spend all day in the faded afterglow. 

You roll onto your side and squeak. Your thighs are tender. Every bit of you is sensitive to the point of twitching. Even just the touch of the duvet is too much. 

Yet the man who made you feel this way is gone. Your chest tweaks. Is he gone? Was this all just a twisted plot by him? That would make your life so much easier. If this could just be a fantasy, 

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s drawl makes you tense. 

You lift your head and look at the door. He fills the frame easily. He’s in a pair of grey boxers and nothing else. His muscle-forged shoulders are round and firm, his middle thick and padded too. You can see all the strength you felt the night before. 

You sit up and hug the top of the blanket. You look around. “What time is it?” 

“Take your time,” he assures. “I was just looking in on you.” 

“Oh,” you rub your neck. “I-- I should--” you search for anything to cover yourself. “Get up.” 

You turn your legs over the side of the bed and keep the duvet up. He hums. “You don’t gotta.” 

“I do. I have to get the laundry. The dishes. And groceries--” 

“Laundry’s folded, waiting in a basket. I did the dishes. And we can grab groceries later.” 

You blink at him, “huh? No, you didn’t--” 

“You know, being locked up, the little things, they’re almost fun these days. I don’t got some guard glaring at me or barking at me for standing the wrong way,” he chuckles and crosses the room. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about all that. We got a road trip.” 

“A road...trip?” You echo. 

He sits next to you and caresses your bare shoulder, “mhmm. As much as I’d like to stay in bed all day.” 

You squeeze the blanket tighter and blush. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Going to see your brother. Like mom said we should.” 

“What?” You wince. “No, I’ll go. You don’t have to--” 

“I don’t have to. I want to. We’re together now.” 

You gulp and lean away from him. You stand up and brush by him. You take your robe off the dresser and open it. Before you can pull it on, there’s a tug on the other end. 

“Why’re you running?” He yanks until you face him. 

“I’m not,” you angle it in front of your body as best as you can. 

“You’re hiding--” 

“I’m cold--” 

“You could’ve stayed under the blankets--” 

“Steve,” you tug until he lets go. You wrap yourself up. The robe smells like him too. “You shouldn’t... come yet. It’s just Vaughn, he can be...” 

“A brat. Oh I know it. It’s why you’re lucky I was there to watch over him. But what about now?” 

You search his face. “You don’t think...” 

“I’m just saying. I was in there. He wasn’t making any friends.” 

“Steve,” you gasp. 

“I can’t lie to you, baby.” He puts his hands on your arms. “Not ever. Your brother needs a heavy boot to keep him in place. I might not be inside but I still got connects on the inside. And he needs to see that I still got his back so he stays in line. Make sure he gets out one day. I’d like our kids to know their uncle--” 

You choke. Kids? That’s not an argument for today. Hopefully, it never truly comes to a head. 

“I didn’t... I don’t have an appointment,” you say. 

“I do. Special request for a family meeting. The two of us.” 

“What? He’s not—He's not going to like that.” 

“He’s going to like what I’m tell him too,” Steve’s voice deepens and he brings a hand to your chin. “He should like whatever makes his sister happy. Especially after all you’ve done for him. And if he isn’t, well, then, I guess he’s on his own.” 

“It’s just—he's—he's just very--” 

“He needs to grow up. You go out there and see him and he doesn’t appreciate that. Well he’s going to start or he’s not going to see you anymore. You got a life to live here. With me.” He pets your cheek with his knuckles. “And I spent enough of mine behind bars. I’m not waiting any longer.” 

He steps closer and leans it, drawing you to him. You don’t stop him. You know better. He kisses you as you close your eyes, hiding the anxiety brewing in your heart. You have a bad feeling about this. 

💙

You’ve only ever gone to the prison alone. Being with Steve feels strange for several reasons. He keeps your hand in his as you step inside the visitors’ entrance and approach the front desk with its thick plexiglass windows. 

He lets you go to take out his wallet. You glance around as you sense the gazes of several guards. Even out of his prison garb, they must recognise him. As ever, his blond and silver hair is tidily combed and parted. He wears a blue-grey short-sleeve button up and a pair of grey slacks. The sleeves are tight around his biceps and a gold watch flashes on his wrist. 

You take out your ID and hand it over with his. You swelter in the judgment of the errant eyes around you. What must they think? You show up here with a former inmate... He might have been acquitted on appeal but how much do they know about that? 

“Step over on the x’s,” the woman directs. “Officers will search you and escort you in.” 

You follow her instructions. The officers sweep over you quickly but you notice the extra attention they give to Steve. He chuckles. 

“Miss me?” He asks. 

One of the officers clucks. 

“Outside’s treating you well,” the one feeling him up turns his wrist to admire the watch. 

“Well, you know, I got a good bag for the settlement. False convictions are a cash grab,” Steve scoff, “low pay for time done, though.” 

The officer huffs with a hint of doubt. 

“Alright, go in,” he points down the hall. “They’ll get you seated.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve salutes him and reaches for you. “Come on, sweetheart.” 

You let him drag you down the hall to the visitors’ room. Another officer greets you and checks his clipboard. He takes you to a spot at the desk with two seats and two receivers. The chair on the other side of the transparent barrier is empty. 

You fidget as you wait, staring at the white seat across from you. What will Vaughn think? What will he do? The last question worries you most. 

“Damn, I’m just thinking about the days it was me over there,” Steve chuckles and puts his hand on the back of your chair. “We’re you this nervous then? I could never tell.” 

You shrug. 

“I can tell you now. I counted down the days. I’d be on my cell bed, sat all pretty and patient for you, ‘til they sent one of these bozos to get me,” he sighs and slaps his thigh. “I can’t hardly believe I’m sitting right next to you now.” 

He plays with your sleeve. He leans over and kisses your other shoulder. You shiver and twine your fingers together tightly in your lap. 

You wince as a door shuts with a muffled thunk. You sit up as you sense the approach on the other side. Vaughn drags his feet between two guards and stops behind the chair. He snorts. 

You can’t hear through the glass as his face twists. He tenses and the guards struggle with him. You stare at him as his eyes scour you venomously, then flick over Steve. His lip curls and he tries to shake off the guards. They finally get him to sit. 

Steve clicks his tongue and sits forward, bend one arm over the table. He chuckles as he picks up the receiver. Vaughn crosses his arms and squares his jaw defiantly. You hesitate but lift your receiver too. 

Steve points through the glass. Vaughn sneers. Steve leans forward and taps the glass. Your brother rolls his eyes then reaches for the phone. The guards cautiously back off. 

“What the fuck is this--” 

“You watch your mouth,” Steve warns. “We came all this way. The first thing you can start with is thanking your sister for being here and telling her how much you love her.” 

“Fuck off, pal.” 

Steve laughs. A dark rumble that unsettles you. You’ve never heard that from him. He gets an edge now and again, the kind that makes you nervous, but this is something more dangerous. 

“I’m giving you another chance to show some respect,” Steve warns. “So clean up the language and thank your sister.” 

“You fucking him?” Vaughn sets his sight on you. 

“Vaughn, please, settle down.” You plead 

“Huh? Is that it? How the fuck did that happen? I mean--” He snarls against the phone. “I love you, sis, but I got nothing but this for a slut.” 

He swallows and spits at the glass. Steve bristles and squeezes the receiver tight. You look over as his knuckles turn white. He leans forward. 

“Last fucking chance. Apologise--” 

“Fuck you, dude. You’re out. You got nothing in here. You run shit. So I’ma say what I want to my sister and you’re going to sit there like an old decrepit man and choke--” 

“You’re walking the line,” Steve is terrifying calm. 

“Me? Me?! You’re fucking my sister--” 

“I’m gonna marry your sister. I’m a man. Unlike you.” Steve insists. 

“Marry?!” Vaughn erupts.  

He stands and gnashes his teeth. He slams the receiver against the glass. You drop yours and sit back as he hammers at the barrier until the phone breaks in his hands. The guards grab him and drag him off away from the table. 

Steve is unfazed. He watches the tantrum. You stare at the pieces of the broken receiver as the cable hangs limply. Vaughn kicks and writhes as he’s wrestled to the door. 

Steve hangs up the phone. “Ungrateful.” 

“Steve, you should’ve let me speak--” 

“And what? Let him call you a slut?” 

“I could’ve talked to him. You didn’t let me--” 

“I’m not letting anyone disrespect my woman,” he stands up. “Not even your brother. You understand me?” 

“Steve, I understand, but he’s my family--” 

“You don’t get it sweetheart,” he takes your hand and tugs you up. “You need me. You don’t take care of yourself like you should. You let them walk right over you. Well, that’s not happening anymore.” 

You get up and sniff. “I’ll come back on my own. I’ll talk to him--” 

“You’re not coming back. He can deal with consequences.” 

“Steve.” 

He squeezes your hand. You quiet. He doesn’t let up as he drags you from the room. You pass the guards with your head down. He doesn’t stop at the front desk as he marches you out. 

Finally, he stops. Right by his car. He puts his hand on the passenger door and faces you. 

“Get one more thing, doll. You don’t argue with me like that. Especially in front of other men.” 

Your mouth falls open, “I wasn’t--” 

“You were,” he puts his other hand on his hip. “I’d do anything for you but I need you to meet me halfway, got it? We’re a unit so you stand by me. Your brother wants to act like a child, so let him mope like one. He spit in your face and you’re going to take it? Nah. Not my woman.” 

“He’s upset--” 

“You’re too soft. I love that about you but it’s no good,” he tuts. He stands straight and opens the passenger door. “Come on. We got business to take care of.” 

You get in, hiding your confusion and chagrin. You knew it would go about as well as it did. So did Steve. He's not stupid. And he’s not telling you everything, not like he said he would. This business... what exactly is that? 

You would ask but you’re not sure you’d get an answer. Knowing won’t do anything to change whatever he has planned. Just like you can’t do much to stop all those big dreams of his; wife, kids... you’re caught in the whirlwind of his lost years.